"Fair Even," Telyn addressed her with a slight nod as she stepped into the room and closed the door.
"Fair E'en, Sera Gwndal." The tall blonde pushed off from the wall with the fluid grace only a dancer or warrior could know. "Pardon their gapin', but we don' oft get so high caste a warrior hereabouts."
A weary smile tugged at Telyn. This was an old battle, and she truly wished she could ignore such assumptions. "You'll find I bear no caste lines. I am called Telyn, and you aren't Gild."
The blonde laughed as she dropped into an unoccupied chair, kicking the other out toward Telyn in open invitation. "Sharp eye. I'm a Border wench, or one'a what's left o' us, anyway. Lysha Darl's the name." Her intense blue-green eyes narrowed on Telyn, then. "The daughter o' a Mistress, an' worthy enough for the anaqueri, an' ye claim nah caste line? Horsefeathers!"
Telyn had to admit, she liked Lysha's forthright style, even if the subject was one she'd just as soon died then and there. That her mother never spoke of her father, or acknowledged Telyn's birthright to the House of Gild was a wound she had no desire to lay open to anyone, least of all a complete stranger. Instead, she stuck to the acknowledged tale her mother coached her to give since her adoption at the age of six. "I claim no blood with the House of Gild, or I would bear its name, as well. I am adopted only--"
"An' I'm a Rahian spy!" Lysha countered sharply. "I've laid eyes on Mistress Cryd-Gild afore, enough ta know her likeness when I see it, an' I'm lookin' at a fair copy, right now."
"Perceptive." Grudging admiration edged through Telyn. She settled back into her own chair and faced Lysha directly. The Minegard may have hit on the core of the matter, but she didn't have to admit to it. "But I still share no title with the House of Gild. And, as to the anaqueri," she touched one hand to the hilt of the living weapon, reassuring herself through touch that it was indeed hers. "A rogue anaqueri found a companion soul in the Endland Wastes. I would never claim that I'm more worthy of the honor than the next."
Lysha's appraisal turned from suspicious to approving, and Telyn had the distinct impression she just passed some kind of test. She bit down on a smile, wondering if Lysha knew how transparent her actions were. Still... Something the Minegard said bothered her.
"What do you mean 'what's left of' the Borderlanders? What's happened out there?"
Lysha shook her head sharply, and her jaw clenched as she dropped all four legs of her chair to the floor. "Too few o' us, too many bloody wars. If yer folk an' the Bathron'd ease off each other, we wouldn' have ta defend our borders so strongly, or spread ourselves thin doin' it. As 'tis, nearly half the Northern cities're fallen ta the Rahians. We only hold'm back a day a time."
The sorrow in Lysha's aqua eyes wrenched Telyn. She knew what it was like to fight unwinnable wars -- she'd fought one practically since birth. "I'm sorry. Are you the Minegard Chief?"
Lysha nodded, her expression weary. "Aye, an' a thankless job 'tis, with that horse's arse runnin' the place. If ye don' mind me sayin' so, 'tis a right relief ta've ye here. Special with the Bathron crawlin' outta the bleedin' woodwork."
Telyn's gaze snapped to Lysha's face, searching for signs of prejudice or artifice she might have missed before. From Brun-Gild, she anticipated prejudice. But Lysha was a Borderlander, and they were amazingly neutral to the struggles between the Houses that bordered them on either side. "Have you actually seen them?"
Lysha shook her head. "Nah. They're sneaky li'l bastards. But we found Letheri traps an' rocrat carcasses along the base o' the mountain an' throughout the forest. We kinda let 'em be, at first. I figured, if they're just trappin', they're no danger, an' I'd just as soon nah lose valuable time startin' another bleedin' war no'ne can afford over a few filthy rocrats. But when things started missin' around the Camp, that's when I asked Master Brun-Gild ta send for a Gildgard. When thieves're in yer midst, trouble's ne'er far behind, me da used ta say. We're nah equipped for a raid, 'ere. But ta get war weapons, we need ye ta tell Mistress Dwth-Gild that we're in danger."
"Seems someone's already preparing for war."
Lysha lifted one brow in surprise. "If 'tis true, 'tis news ta me."
"What about the mercenary?" Telyn pressed her point. She couldn't have been wrong about him, or the way he was deliberately cagey. That mercenary was a man with an agenda. She just needed to find out what it was.
Lysha looked confused for a moment, before a grin of understanding lit her face. "Ah, ye've met Nacaris, then."
Wry humor tugged at Telyn. "We weren't exactly introduced."
Lysha settled back, looking unfazed by that news. "Nah. Don' imagine ye'd be, at that."
Interesting. It appeared Lysha knew something about their man. "So, what do you know about him?"
"Nah much. 'E keeps mostly ta hisself."
"Is he a Borderlander?"
Lysha shrugged. "I'd say nah. 'E don' speak like we do, an' aside from 'is hair, 'e don't dress much like one'a us, neither."
Which meant there was yet another secret for her to unravel. "Do you know anything about why he's here?"
Lysha shrugged again. "Master Brun-Gild says 'e's a hunter."
"Hunter?" That didn't make any sense. "What kind of hunter?"
Lysha glanced around, then leaned closer and dropped her voice to a murmur. "The kind what solves Bathron problems."
Telyn's eyes narrowed. No wonder the man took such an immediate interest in her, earlier. He saw her eyes, in the dusk. He had to know. And if he was here to do Brun-Gild's bidding, she'd be sure to keep a careful eye on him. "So you think there's a Bathron problem?"
Lysha sighed, but shrugged one shoulder up in a noncommittal motion. "Let's jus' say, I think Master Brun-Gild's anticipatin' trouble."
"I'll just bet he is," Telyn muttered to herself. In Brun-Gild's case, anticipation was hardly the word for it. He was practically salivating for bloodshed. With a sigh, she looked up at Lysha again. "We'll just have to wait and see. Personally, I don't find Letheri traps and rocrat remains particularly indicative of a Bathron presence. Letheri traps are common enough, from the Bathron to the Endlands. Anyone could be trapping out there, including displaced Borderlanders. Is there any other proof?"
"Proof?" Lysha looked baffled, and Telyn couldn't blame her. She probably didn't meet many members of the House of Gild who weren't instantly ready to blame the Bathron for every ill in the world.
With a small smile of reassurance, she pressed, "For instance, what kinds of supplies have gone missing?"
Lysha's brow furrowed. "Ya know, that's the part which's got me right buggered. All we've had go amissin' are scalin' tools an' weapons, an'..." She snapped her fingers in sudden recollection. "Those bloody night-guiders keep goin' amissin', too."
Resignation pricked Telyn, and she shook her head angrily. As she suspected all along, Brun-Gild had already poisoned the waters of this Camp with his personal prejudices. "None of that would interest the Bathron. Scaling tools are common, and their own are superior to ours, anyway. They live in the mountains, after all. Staves and slingblades wouldn't interest them, either. A scavenger party would have no desire to burden themselves with unnecessary weaponry, and a war camp would be better equipped than any Minanx Camp could ever dream."
Wry humor edged through her at the next thought. This was her true ace in the hole, now.
"And night-guiders would be a mockery to a people who can already see as well at night as at day. Nothing you've mentioned as missing would be worth a Bathron party, either scavenger or war, risking discovery for. The Letheri traps would suggest trapping, and the Bathron do trap Letheri for their skins. But then, so does half of Ravenos. But I don't recall having ever seen many Letheri around this area. Has there been a migration of them in the past handful of cycles? Did you find any Letheri remains anywhere near the traps?"
Lysha shook her head, shrugging helplessly. "Nah, ta both. I haven' seen a Letheri since I last left the Borderlands three cycles ago. An' the only remains we've e'er found've been rocrat.
I thought, perhaps, the traps were bein' set ta catch rocrats for food."
Telyn's face contorted in disgust, and she shuddered. Rocrats were horrid creatures, each a little over a meter long, and they tasted even fouler than they smelt, which was saying a lot. The Targoths of the Endlands called them cespolis, a crude joke referring to the smell of a cesspool that always clung to the filthy little disease carriers. Only the starving ever trapped the repulsive things at all. Their skins were slimy and almost amphibian in texture. They were worth less than nothing, and they left a stink of rotting vegetable matter in their wake.
"A Bathron war party would be well-supplied, even crossing the Borderlands, and no Bathron would ever trap rocrat. They'd rather starve than eat those foul things."
Lysha nodded. "That's the righta it, but who else could it be, this far South, Sera?"
Telyn's fists clenched and pain radiated from her wounded hand up her arm. Drat, she'd forgotten about the injury. "I don't know, yet. But, by Kishfa, I intend to find out."
Her gaze burned darkly into Lysha's, and she saw surprise and wariness bloom in the other woman's aqua eyes. What she was about to ask was something she knew no Minegard with orders would find easy to swallow.
"We need to organize patrols over and around the mountain."
"Master Brun-Gild's strictly forbidden that. I already suggested it," Lysha replied, and there were mutters of agreement from all around. "'E says Raiador's too unstable ta risk us climbin' all o'er it'n pursuit of spirits. Only the Miners're allowed access."
Telyn rose to her feet and glared around the room until it fell silent again. "You leave me to deal with Brun-Gild. As summoned Gildgard, I'm charged with the duty of using everything within my power to protect the House and Camp, and to do as best befits the situation." She strode purposefully toward the door. At the threshold, she turned to pin Lysha squarely with her gaze. "I have the authority to issue orders which may act against standing orders of the Master of the Minanx Camp, and my order stands. I want patrols on that mountain."
Lysha snapped to, her eyes gleaming with expectation. "As ye command, Sera Telyn. When'll I set the first patrol, then?"
"In the morn. I want to assess what -- if anything -- goes missing overnight. If I know how it's being done, I'll have a better idea who--"
"Begging your pardon, Sera Telyn, but Master Brun-Gild sent me to fetch you straightaway," a voice squeaked from behind her, and Telyn turned to see a dark haired girl in apprentice robes standing in the open doorway. She was young. Very young. Again, Telyn noticed the age distinction, and wondered why Brun-Gild would choose to surround himself with so many who were so very young.
"Very well."
Without another word, the girl turned and headed for the Master's chamber. The presence of a Gildgard clearly made her nervous, to judge by her continued wary glances back at Telyn. Telyn pretended to ignore the girl, though something inside her wondered why her presence here so distressed this child.
As they neared the doors to the Master's Chamber, the sound of loud voices reached Telyn, and the girl leading her stopped dead, clearly uncertain what to do with this situation. Telyn had no such hesitation. On stealthy feet, she inched up beside the door, where she could hear better.
"You have no control, here." Brun-Gild's voice dripped with cold fury.
"Keep telling yourself that, Brun-Gild. You'll find I have a lot more authority than you think." This second voice was deep and laced with derisive humor. Telyn frowned. She recognized that voice. Something in the timbre of it caused her heartbeat to stumble in a way she didn't understand.
"You can try, but you're not going to succeed." This scathing prediction made no sense to Telyn. Who was Brun-Gild talking to, that he would say something like that? Still, those words sent icy fingers down her spine.
Before she could move away, the doors suddenly flew open, and the mercenary Lysha called Nacaris stormed out of the room, bypassing both Telyn and the young girl without so much as a glance. The murderous expression on his face told Telyn what she overheard was no friendly chat.
Curious in spite of herself, she stepped through the open doors for the second time since her arrival at Raiador, and her eyes went straight to Brun-Gild. He sat regally in his high-backed Master's chair, his fingers tapping the armrest in an impatient cadence.
"Ah," his face brightened as he looked up to find Telyn and her companion in the doorway, "the prodigal daughter. Thank you, Rori. You may go."
Bobbing a curtsy, the girl turned and fled, drawing the doors closed behind her with a rumble. Telyn, alone with Brun-Gild, lifted her chin and glared defiantly at the old man. "Why have you summoned me?"
His lips twitched upward ever so slightly. "I heard you went to have another look at our splendid mountain."
"What I've done is hardly your concern. Who was that mercenary? Why have you brought him here?"
Brun-Gild snorted derisively. "I've not brought anyone here -- least of all that... mercenary."
She didn't believe a word of it. Brun-Gild was a master at lies and manipulation, and she knew he would bend the truth to fit his own warped designs. "Then why is he here?"
"Haven't a clue."
His gaze assessed her shrewdly, and she knew he'd found her out when those golden eyes widened in glee. Telyn stiffened, resisting the urge to hide her hand as his hawkish gaze dropped to the rough bandaging. "It seems you've cut yourself."
Telyn let her glower travel straight through him, as if he were nothing more than a phantom.
Brun-Gild scowled at her cold reaction. Clearly, he expected something more. Sorry to disappoint, old man.
"Blast you, girl. When Lanoki sent that she was sending me a Gildgard who knew about the mining process and the Dorfaíle, I imagined better. I thought I was getting a well-trained, disciplined young person. Instead, I get you, an insolent girl who has turned her back on Gifts others would give their very souls to own."
"It was my choice." She told herself she didn't feel anything. Not the rebuke, not the betrayal, and certainly not the shame. Instead, she kept her gaze fixed straight ahead and reminded herself Brun-Gild was a bitter old man.
"Tomorrow," Brun-Gild grated out, clearly outraged by her flat, emotionless voice, "you will take a troop of Minegards across the Borderlands and over the Bathron border. I want you to find them, and kill them all."
Fresh rage poured through Telyn. She spent her life fighting this very kind of prejudice, from both sides of the Borderlands. However, no one had ever tried to goad her into leading a bunch of children into battle, before. "I will do no such thing. I will scout the mountain tomorrow, and see if I can identify the culprits of these raids, but I will not cross the Borderlands, and I will not kill Bathron simply to assuage your bloodlust."
"You are a Gildgard. It's your duty to follow my orders."
"I won't," Telyn maintained stubbornly. She'd had enough of these games. If that meant disobeying orders, so be it. "I won't take a Bathron life without just cause, and I won't put the lives of others at peril for that end, either. I won't start a war. Not at anyone's orders."
"Insolent wench! Very well." He rang the small silver bell beside his elbow, summoning his apprentice back to the room. "Rori will escort you to your chambers, and you can be sure that I will be sending a courier to Lanoki on the morrow, with news of your insolence."
Very deliberately, Telyn turned her back on the AlcheMaster and stalked from the chamber, seething inwardly. She didn't speak for several long moments as she followed a meekly silent Rori toward her quarters. After a time, guilt began to gnaw at Telyn. Just because she was furious at Brun-Gild didn't mean this child needed to suffer her wrath. Rori had the look of one who already suffered too much.
"My apologies you had to witness that, Rori." She spoke gently, not wishing to startle the girl. Rori jumped anyway, her expression one of a cornered doe, and consternation chased through Telyn. Was the girl naturally this timid, or had something been done to her, to make her this
way?
"Do you not speak?" She knew Rori could talk. The girl had spoken quite intelligently when she came to summon Telyn to Brun-Gild's presence.
Rori shrugged, and then shook her head rapidly, her gaze darting along the walls of the corridor, before returning to Telyn. She'd given up hearing the girl's voice altogether, when Rori quietly hissed, "The walls have ears."
The paranoid gleam in Rori's eyes widened Telyn's. Could the girl be mad? Nothing would surprise her, in this place. "What?"
An exasperated sigh broke the girl's lips.
"Master Brun-Gild," she hissed. "He's built spies into the walls."
That's when she realized what Rori meant. Brun-Gild was an AlcheMaster -- he could create Majikal creatures to act as his eyes and ears. That explained why rumor said he knew everything that happened at Raiador.
"Here's your room." Rori's voice was a little louder than necessary as she flung open the door to one of the bedchambers. One glance inside, and Telyn snorted in disdain. So, Brun-Gild wasn't done toying with her, yet. This was yet another jab at her expense. With all its lavish decoration, the room was better suited to a Mistress than a warrior. The place flowed with the sentimental smoothness women were supposed to adore.
Not this woman. She supposed another woman might be suitably impressed, but to Telyn, this room was an insult. Flowing lumarwood chaise, vanity, and bed frame. Lurudani silks in a delicate lavender shade draped the bed, and feather-light Vatarian gossamer bloomed out from the window as the breeze stirred through it.
As Telyn's scornful gaze settled on the window, another sensation entirely wound through her and froze her in place as a sharp gasp of fear tore from her lips. The widely flung shutters allowed her a perfect view of Raiador. Her gaze riveted on the view even as terror closed around her throat, preventing her from any sound. Blood pounded through her veins like a runaway carriage, and sweat stood out on her skin. She was on fire.
Daughter of Ashes Page 3