"No one is going to criticize her, Omen," 7 replied. "And the dragons are more concerned about protecting the country. They are glad of your aid in helping to investigate what has gone wrong with the Autumn Lands. The Widow Maker should not be here, and no one can explain why that is."
"So we're going to Kharakhan?" Omen hadn't really expected anything else, but the mere possibility sent a shiver of anticipation down his spine, despite his unease. Tormy hopped across the foyer with a bounding leap and greeted the doorman, who reached up to scratch the huge cat behind the ears.
"You and Kyr are going to Kharakhan," 7 amended. "We all spoke last night — the dragons are afraid the Widow Maker will attack the city again. They've asked me to stay here to fight it."
Omen's heart skipped a beat as he realized what his father was saying. "But if Kyr is the one attracting it, won't it follow us instead of coming back here?"
"We don't really know if Kyr is what attracted it," 7 said after a few beats. "And after what happened, there is a good chance it will return here for revenge. It is a collector of souls, and to save itself, it had to give up thousands of those souls to block my attack. For a brief moment I felt its unspeakable rage. It knows who I am, and it knows what I did. It is just as likely to return here to try again."
"Can you stop it?" Omen asked, concerned.
7 gave a thoughtful shake of his head. "Don't really know. That's not really the sort of thing you can truly know until it happens. But I do know that I'm the only one in the city who has any chance of even attempting it. You saw what happened yesterday. If I hadn't driven it away when I did, a lot of people would have died."
"I get it." Omen understood the deep sense of responsibility that kept his father from going with him, but that didn't mean he wasn't frightened by the realization that he would be on his own. He has to choose between all the people in the city or his son. "I can handle this on my own." The doorman had pulled open the front doors, letting Tormy outside. The large cat was spinning in circles in the front courtyard, chasing his tail.
"Yes, you can," 7 agreed. He paused a moment to watch Tormy spin happily around in circles — a breeze had picked up, unseasonably cool despite the summer sun. "You're strong enough. You just have to stay focused. I talked to Kadana last night — she's agreed to take you to Kharakhan."
"I'm surprised anyone would volunteer their ship under the circumstances," Omen said.
"Kadana is just as worried as everyone else, but like the dragons she knows that something has to be done. Someone has to find out what happened, and the only way we can do that is by going to Kharakhan. Her family is there. She won't let a sea serpent stop her from getting home. And her ship is fast and has a number of magical protections on it. She's got the best chance of getting across the sea safely. And she has sense enough to sail hard and fast and escape anything hunting you."
Omen swallowed nervously. "Maybe having Kyr with me will make it easier — he'll be our early warning. We'll know to change course ahead of time."
"Maybe." 7 let out a short breath. "I assume Templar and Liethan will go with you."
"I don't think I could stop them," Omen agreed. "Bryenth will want to come, but I suppose he'll be expected to stay here and protect the city as well. And Tormy and Tyrin will come too of course."
"Of course," 7 shot an amused look at the large cat who was now gripping his tail fiercely between his paws and cleaning the end of it with frantic licks. "Still, you'll need someone smart as well."
"Templar's smart," Omen said defensively.
7 blew out a laugh. "Someone smart who also has good sense."
Omen paused momentarily. Good sense?
The hesitation made his father laugh even harder.
"Go talk to Shalonie." 7 nodded as if approving of his own idea. "She's the only person besides me who can build a Cypher Rune Portal in Kharakhan. Once there is a portal there, you can return home as soon as you find Khylar. And you're going to need someone like Shalonie to find your way into the Autumn Lands in the first place."
"I thought all I had to do is go into the Mountain of Shadow to get into the Autumn Lands?" Omen asked. Night's tongue! It's already getting complicated.
"The Mountain of Shadow has openings to a thousand different realms and dimensions, and it's filled with traps and riddles," 7 explained. "Shalonie has studied what little we know about the Mountain — she'll be your best bet for getting through it. You and Tormy head over there now. I'll send word ahead."
"What if I trigger the hex again?" he asked.
"Your mother says the hex is activated by either implying or actively refusing to rescue Khylar," 7 began, only to be stopped by Omen's protest.
Wasn't that mentioning a refusal? "Dad!" He tensed, waiting to hear any sign from inside the house that Kyr had been injured.
7 glanced at him. "The hex was meant to bind you and Kyr — you're the only ones who can't refuse. And you shouldn't really talk about it either. You'll figure it out. Now go on with you. You can't delay."
Omen gave a curt nod. Fine, I can do this! Get Shalonie, cross the ocean, don't get eaten by the Widow Maker, save Khylar, get the hex removed, come home. Good sense not required.
"Come on, Tormy." Omen reached up and put a hand flat on the big cat's shoulder. "Let's go see Shalonie."
He wondered how he would explain the hex without triggering the mark. A smile spread on his face. Shalonie's smart. She has good sense. She'll figure it out.
"Is you thinking Shalonie's mommy is still being mad about the bunnies?" Tormy mused, gazing thoughtfully up into the summer sky.
Omen faltered a step, glancing uncertainly at his father. 7 tensed as if bracing himself for what was coming.
"What bunnies?" Omen asked warily. Shalonie's mother, Hold Lord Tatharion, wasn't the friendliest of people. She didn't care for all the foreigners in Melia — and despite his having lived in the city most of his life, she still considered Omen an outsider.
"The ones I is chasing into her sitting room," Tormy explained guilelessly. "They is running, I is chasing. When bunnies is running, I is having to chase them, Omy. I is sorry about the broken stuff, but I is not sorry about the chasings."
"That would probably explain the bill I received from their Hold last week," 7 quipped. "And the angry letter."
"Oh yes!" Tormy agreed happily. "She is saying lots of letters — and words too! I is not knowing most of them, but Tyrin is learning them. Come on Omy! We is got to get started on our quest."
"Right." Omen sighed heavily as he followed after his now purring cat. I'm supposed to have trouble getting past Shalonie's guardian Hold Dragon, not her mother!
Tormy trotted across the courtyard in the direction of the Tatharion Hold, his long plume of a tail high in the air; Omen trailed behind.
Chapter 7: Shalonie
SHALONIE
Shalonie sighed with relief as she finished signing her last piece of correspondence for the day. All morning, she'd been writing letters to the families of various business partners while dealing with routine Hold business and trying to research anything she could find on the creature that had threatened their shores the day before. Widow Maker. Not much written about you. She shut a thick tome on Melian creature lore, the pages crumbling and warped. What do you want from us?
Knots tightened in her stomach. They all tried to jump in the ocean. To drown themselves. The Sundragons' song still swirled through her head. Thank Melia. She muttered a quick prayer to the first of the Sundragons, the mother of them all. Thank you for keeping our people safe. "And thank you for the Daenoths." She still didn't know the entire story, but she had a strong suspicion that 7 and his family had done more than their fair share in keeping the city and its citizens protected during the attack.
Shalonie prodded a stack of missives freshly arrived from the province of Miran. It never ends. "But it's enough for today."
Her efforts, however diligent, seemed constantly hampered by her mother's interference, and Shal
onie was looking forward to having some time to herself. Her mother, one of the twelve Hold Lords of Melia, had found yet another excuse to shirk her responsibilities, leaving the Hold business to her daughter as she had since Shalonie was old enough to forge her mother's signature.
"I have completed the books, my lady," the Hold accountant said as he shuffled into the room, holding the heavy, leather-bound accounting ledger containing the city's finances. This year, the Tatharion Hold was responsible for all the collective finances of the country, a task that came around every twelve years. Could be worse — I could be on trade agreements like last year. What a nightmare!
With the opening of the borders, trade had become far more complex as new currencies constantly flowed into the land. At least the shared governance of the twelve Holds insured that no one Hold Lord was ever burdened with any one complex task for too long.
"Thank you, Stenic," Shalonie told the accountant while reaching for the heavy book. Stenic, though nearly a decade her senior, was still considered quite young by Melian standards. He shifted nervously as she opened the books and glanced through the most recent records. What lovely penmanship. Pity he can't add.
"The numbers are off again, Stenic." Shalonie added the columns in her head. "This first page is short twenty-seven silver; it won't balance on the next."
Stenic frowned. "I rounded," he said. "Your mother told me to."
Stenic, like most Melians, was not prone to lying. It was entirely possible that her mother had told him to round the numbers. Mother doesn't understand accounting either. But even if he had rounded all the numbers, he still would not have reached the totals on the page.
"You cannot round the financial records, Stenic," she told him, deciding to give him the benefit of the doubt.
He pulled at his collar uncomfortably, his eyes on the book she still held in her hand. Shalonie's thoughts flashed again to the events of the day before — the haunting music that had invaded all of the city, the sudden death march of nearly the entire population toward the ocean, the sudden transformation and flight of their Hold Dragon to defend the city. Stop! she told herself. Stop it.
Stenic, regardless of his weakness as an accountant, possessed a rudimentary psionic shield and had been the only person besides her who had been unaffected by the Widow Maker's music. Stenic and Shalonie had frantically worked to bar the rest of the household from marching to their doom. Under the circumstances, she was inclined to forgive his shortcomings. "Never mind that. I want to thank you again for yesterday."
He cleared his throat as if he wanted to say something. Seconds passed, but he remained silent.
Can't find the words. She gave him a tight smile. "I'll correct the numbers. Go pay Teleon and his crew for repairing the docks last week and tell them we have more work for them. The school needs a new roof before winter."
Seeming relieved that he did not have to deal with the books any longer, Stenic inclined his head in a respectful bow. "At once, my lady," he agreed, and then hurried out the large double doors of Shalonie's office.
"And Stenic . . ."
"Yes, my lady?"
"Good work yesterday," Shalonie said sincerely. "I couldn't have—"
"Thank you, my lady," Stenic said quickly, embarrassment tightening his voice. He bowed and left.
He is a good man, Shalonie thought. I should find him a different position. Maybe promote him to . . . I don't know. I'll make something up. She glanced around her office, wondering what her father would do in her position.
The room was actually her father's office, but as Shalandor Tatharion Lir Drathos had not set foot in Melia in over a year, Shalonie had commandeered it for herself. Even when her father was in residence, he rarely took time to sit at his desk and deal with the work of the Hold. When he did, he conjured solutions for complicated problems with ease and breathtaking speed. Shalonie admired his ability as a problem solver, but she knew that only consistent leadership would allow the Hold and Melia to flourish. And consistent leadership means me. And if I'm going to do the majority of the work, I might as well have a nice desk to sit at. To her delight, her father's office was lined with bookshelves that held some of the most prized manuscripts and scrolls in the city. Access to these references allowed her personal research to move forward.
"Shalonie!" her mother's voice echoed through the white marble halls of their Hold.
A moment later Shalonie heard distinctive, slipper-clad steps as her mother swept through the office doors.
Lady Alisina Tatharion Lir Drathos, Hold Lord of the Melian Provence of Miran, more than lived up to her commanding title. She was tall and beautiful, regal by all accounts, her golden hair worn in braided circlets around her head like a crown. And certainly she was dressed as befitted any queen, in a gown of white and gold splendor, cut according to the latest Melian fashion. The blue gems she wore around her pale neck likely cost a king's ransom, as did the matching bracelet around her left wrist. In comparison Shalonie, clad in simple leathers, her own golden hair pulled back in a messy braid, looked like a commoner.
Taking in Shalonie's messy appearance and the worn leather tunic and pants she preferred, Alisina feigned over-exaggerated shock. Shalonie remembered her boots had mud on them from her foray into the woods in the early dawn hours in search of a rare plant she needed for an experiment. She decided to stay behind the desk.
"Why aren't you dressed?" Alisina demanded indignantly.
Shalonie frowned down at herself. Considering she was planning on spending the rest of the day crawling through the catacombs of the city library, she was dressed appropriately. Some of those old rooms are caked in dust — and unless I missed my guess, there is a walled-off room in the northern basement that's been sealed for centuries. It's not like I can use a pickaxe and a shovel in a dress. "What are you talking about? I'm—"
Her mother cut her off with a curt wave of her hand. "Never mind, I'll send the maids to dress you and fix your hair. You're hardly presentable like this!"
"Presentable?" Shalonie asked with unease. "Presentable for what?"
"Our afternoon luncheon at the Garden!" Alisina exclaimed as if Shalonie were exceptionally slow-witted.
The Garden, a private courtyard near the Melian park, was expressly reserved for the ladies of the twelve Holds. Surrounded by stone walls, the sanctuary had been designed in concentric circles that featured seasonal Melian blooms, charming statues, and a many-tiered center fountain. Some of the finest chefs in the city clamored for the honor of preparing scrumptious meals at the Garden. And many of the ladies of the Holds took genuine pleasure in hosting Garden events, working tirelessly to impress and delight their peers.
"We brunched in the Garden yesterday," Shalonie reminded her mother. "For three hours, if I remember correctly!" We talked about fashion — for three extremely long hours! And then all hell broke loose. "Mother, I am exhausted after—"
"We will be discussing the . . . event!" her mother informed her sharply. "It is your duty to reassure the ladies that the danger has passed."
"I spent hours meeting with the other Hold Lords last night discussing the event!" Shalonie reminded her mother. "While you took a nap."
"I was affected by the music, Shalonie!" her mother huffed to her. "You were not. It was terribly distressing. And if I am distressed, so are all of my friends. You have to explain how the dragons saved all of us."
Shalonie bit her lip, holding back her remark. "I'm sorry, mother," she breathed heavily. "I do understand — but as I said, I've already spoken with all the Hold Lords. They'll all be very busy today — there were people who were actually wounded. And ten people on the docks nearly drowned. They're still being treated by the healers. No one will have time for another luncheon."
"There are a dozen ladies coming to my gathering," her mother insisted. "You have responsibilities, Shalonie! You cannot spend your days fiddling about with frivolous pursuits when you have responsibilities to this Hold!"
"Frivolous pursuit
s!" Shalonie exclaimed, disheartened. She lifted the heavy leather accounting book from the desk. "I have been working on Hold business all morning. And now I have to spend another hour fixing all the mistakes that your accountant made before I give the books to Lord Geryon!"
"Stenic is a very nice young man." Her mother frowned. "A few addition and subtraction errors are not the end of the world, Shalonie!"
"They will be when we hand the books off to Hold Lord Sive next year!" she said simply.
That at least caught Alisina's attention. Her mother had the good sense to flush uncomfortably. If there was one person Alisina did not want to anger, it was Hold Lord Sive.
"I promise you, he will find every single one of the mistakes we make," Shalonie said. The man is like a ferret. "And you know him, he will not keep silent about it." A really loud ferret.
"Then you can fix those pesky things tonight," her mother insisted. "And while we're on the subject of Hold business, why did you cancel the carriage I commissioned?"
Exasperated, Shalonie tugged at her braid. "Because we already have three carriages. We don't need another."
"We have summer, fall and winter carriages," Alisina told her indignantly. "We don't have a spring carriage."
"We don't need a spring carriage," Shalonie said. "That sort of excess is obscene, Mother. People will talk!"
"People will talk if I don't have a spring carriage." Her mother stomped one of her slipper-clad feet.
"We don't have any place to keep it!" Shalonie tried to sound reasonable. "Our carriage house only has room for three carriages."
"Which is why I have also commissioned a new carriage house," her mother replied simply, seeming quite pleased with herself.
Shalonie frowned — the Hold's lands were extensive, but theirs was a very old Hold, already quite built out. There was no room for a new carriage house. "Built where?"
"The grove, in the south yard," her mother replied dismissively.
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