The one with the crest of a leaping, blue battlecat on his overtunic gestured at the shelving. "She has enough medicine in this room alone to tend half the villages on Moerta for a year. It just isn't right."
"What isn't right?" The man who had stood with his back to Mrillis, studying a tapestry on the far wall, turned around.
He wore a closely trimmed beard in dark gold and his skin was the color of freshly forged bronze. He wore the wings-spread crest of the Warhawk across the chest of his overtunic. He couldn't be the Warhawk, high king of the Noveni; Mrillis knew Afron Warhawk was a man in his late thirties, and this man was perhaps in his early twenties.
"The Queen of Snows willingly shares all the Rey'kil healing powers and knowledge with our people. All we have to do is ask. How many healers has she sent to the sufferers on Moerta this year alone?" he continued. He walked across the room and settled down in one of the low-backed chairs hung with thick woolen blankets, which sat in front of Le'esha's worktable.
"We shouldn't have to ask," the first growled. "The Rey'kil owe the Noveni. We shed our blood daily to fight off the warriors of the Nameless One--a rebel Rey'kil. He's their problem, not ours. Why should we fight for Lygroes?"
"Perhaps because the Noveni are refugees in Lygroes, and defending Rey'kil land keeps us safe as well?" the third man asked in a lazy drawl. He sat down and put his still-wet boots up on the edge of Le'esha's table.
Mrillis nearly darted out from behind the shelves, to knock the intruder's feet back to the floor. The prickle of discomfort up his spine, which warned him when Le'esha's visitors were dangerous, warned him now to keep silent. He glanced at Ceera, asleep with her thumb in her mouth. He knew his first duty was to protect the little girl.
Eavesdropping wasn't nice, and Le'esha frowned on it, but he sensed it would be worse to step out now and face these intruders. If they were angry enough, they might thrash him. What would they do to Ceera if she woke up and started crying or attacked them for hitting him?
How much longer would Le'esha be gone from her office? When would she come back, stop their rude talk, and send the strangers on their way again?
"And just why are the Noveni refugees? Because our land is poisoned, a little more every year. What poisons us?" the first man snarled.
"Star-metal," the Warhawk's man said. He sounded bored and made a face at the third man, turning his head so the first couldn't see him. Mrillis liked this man, whoever he was.
"Exactly. Star-metal falls on Lygroes just as much as it does on Moerta, but why aren't Rey'kil crops blighted? Why don't Rey'kil cattle fall sick? Why don't their women miscarry and their children die young? Why aren't their springs poisoned and the wild animals running mad?"
"The Estall loves the Rey'kil better than the Noveni?" the third man said. He slouched in his chair and closed his eyes, to all appearances ready to fall asleep.
Mrillis grinned, admiring his attitude toward the angry man. That still didn't excuse his feet on Le'esha's table.
"The Rey'kil have magic. That's how they keep their land clean and their homes and farms and people healthy. Why don't they use their magic to help Moerta?" He stomped over to the Warhawk's man and glared down at him, hands jammed into his fists. "Why doesn't the Warhawk demand answers? I know he must have the same thoughts, the same questions. Why don't the Rey'kil suffer the poison of the star-metal, when it falls on their land as much as it does on Moerta?"
"My royal brother has asked." The Warhawk's man stood, with his gloved hands clasped behind his back. Mrillis imagined his knuckles turned white from the effort not to strike the other man. "He has asked without anger, with respect for our allies who have made room for us. Our allies who have given up fertile farms and rich mines to our use, who have shared their knowledge, their skills, their magic with us. The wisest minds of my brother's court study with the leaders of the Rey'kil, seeking that very answer, and they have not found it yet."
"They won't find it because the Rey'kil can't be trusted. They pretend to be our friends, but they're killing us off slowly. Star-metal isn't poison--until the Rey'kil change it with their magic. They want this entire world to themselves."
"That would be a little hard to manage, with the Encindi chewing on their borders and the Nameless One using his blood magic to counter everything they do," the third man said.
"How do we know there really is a Nameless One? What is the difference between their so-called clean magic and his blood magic?"
"The difference between life and death," Le'esha said.
All three men turned as one, the third leaping to his feet, and they bowed to her. She paused in the doorway, studying the three intruders, before coming into the room. She walked past the shelves and glanced briefly through the gaps between the jars before sitting at her table.
"High Scholar Breylon and I have a proposal for you to take back to the Warhawk and his Council." She tipped her head to one side and waited until, one after another, the three men sat. "We will send scholars and enchanters from the Stronghold and from Wynystrys to settle in Moerta. They will study the places where star-metal lands and discern the difference between the star-metal that falls on Moerta and what falls on Lygroes.
"It could be that the difference is not in the star-metal, but in the land itself. Something in our soil might act as amethyst in a cup of wine, to nullify the poison. When we know what that difference is, we will try to duplicate it in Moerta and give your land back to you."
"That is most generous, Lady," the Warhawk's brother said, standing to give her a deep, respectful bow.
For the next hour, Le'esha conferred with the Warhawk's brother, Lyon, over the details of the plan. Mrillis watched the first man, who stayed silent, and considered his accusations.
When Ceera woke up, Mrillis turned most of his attention to entertaining the little girl and keeping her quiet. Besides, the talk of numbers and provisions and arrangements for sailing from Wynystrys to Moerta bored him. He had one question, and asked it as soon as the visitors left and Le'esha called the children out of their hiding place.
"Why can't they just walk to Moerta?" he asked, on the heels of Le'esha commending the children for being so good.
"Walk?" The Queen of Snows blinked, visibly caught off balance, and sat down in her chair. Then she laughed. "You mean the tunnels that we use to travel between the enclaves? Oh, my dear, do you know how far it is from the shores of Lygroes to the shores of Moerta?"
"Magic makes the distance shorter," Mrillis said. Now he was confused. He knew that if he rode a horse, it would take him one whole moon to travel from Wynystrys, on the western shore of Lygroes, to the Stronghold, on the far northeastern tip of the continent. Walking the tunnel from the Stronghold to the island, however, took less than a day. He had never gone into the tunnel, but he had stood at the barred door of the entrance. He knew the tingling in his fingertips and the whispering in the back of his mind was his imbrose, reacting to magic at work.
"Yes, magic does make the distance shorter. And only those of Rey'kil blood, with strong imbrose, can use the tunnels. There is no tunnel under the sea, reaching to Moerta."
"We could build one."
"Hmm, yes, but how much power do you think it would take to dig a tunnel, much less keep the weight of all that water and stone from crushing it?" Le'esha sighed and smiled and reached out her arms to the children.
Ceera, who was sleepy again, crept up into her lap. Mrillis leaned into the warmth of her arm around him and rested his elbows on the arm of her chair.
"I don't know," he admitted, after thinking a long while.
"That is knowledge you must grow into. Just as you will grow into whatever talent the Estall has given you." She brushed a kiss on his forehead. "Once long ago, when all Rey'kil had magic and power flowed like water, a tunnel reached from Moerta to Lygroes. It is long gone, vanished or destroyed, I know not. As imbrose waned in the World, there was not enough strength to keep the tunnel intact. As the World is now, there is not e
nough power to build another tunnel, nor maintain it. There is only so much imbrose available for the use of magic."
"But magic is everywhere. Can you run out?"
"To my knowledge, no," she answered slowly. "It is like the water that collects in the cisterns. Water always flows in, yes? But the level of water in the cistern changes, depending on how much we use. If we used it all, if we wasted it in splashing games, instead of using it for laundry and cooking, we would be thirsty until the water filled the cistern again. Do you see?"
Mrillis nodded. "What happens if nobody uses magic for a long, long time? Does the imbrose overflow?"
"We don't know. There is never so much imbrose that it becomes dangerous. All Rey'kil have the gift of magic, but some can't do much magic because there isn't enough imbrose."
"Like everybody can wash, but not everybody can take a bath, because there isn't enough water for that?" he guessed.
"Exactly." Le'esha hugged him. Ceera clapped and giggled, even though she probably didn't understand what they had been talking about.
"So that's why we don't help the Noveni like they want?"
"We don't help the Noveni?" Le'esha's smile faded. For a moment, she looked unutterably weary. "You overheard a great deal, didn't you?" When Mrillis nodded, she sighed and closed her eyes. "Tell me what you heard. If the Noveni have decided to blame the Rey'kil for their troubles again, we must be warned."
Chapter Three
Mrillis repeated back as much of the conversation as he could recall. Then Le'esha had him tell her what he thought of the men's words, his feelings, his fears, his questions, the things he understood and didn't understand.
"Are they going to try to take Lygroes away from us?" he said as he finished.
"The Estall gave Lygroes to the Rey'kil, just as he gave Moerta to the Noveni and Flintan to the Encindi. We are all such different people, we cannot live together."
"But the Rey'kil and Noveni do live together."
"Because we must. Because we need each other."
"Because of blood magic?" he said, bringing up the one question he had almost forgotten to ask.
"Because people are cruel and selfish. Because the Encindi choose to take what other people have, rather than work hard for the things they want and need." Le'esha sighed when Ceera whimpered and wrapped her arms around her neck. She cuddled the little girl close. "They would rather fight and hurt than ask for help. Star-metal destroys Flintan, the Encindi land. Instead of asking the Rey'kil and Noveni for help, the Encindi try to take our land away from us. Instead of asking us to share, as we share already with the Noveni, they would rather kill us all."
"Bad boys," Ceera whispered. "Tuli wanted Kayla's cake. She said no, so he pushed her down and stomped on it."
"Exactly, my little seer," the Queen of Snows whispered, and brushed a kiss on Ceera's forehead. "They destroy what they can't take, so no one can have it. We must all grow up and learn to share and live in peace, or even Lygroes will someday be destroyed by star-metal's power."
"But what is blood magic?" Mrillis insisted.
"Life itself is magic, my dear ones. Do you understand that? The Estall's spirit lives in each of us. A tiny piece of imbrose. A seed of greatness. When we die, imbrose is released, like seeds set free in a high wind. Blood magic steals the gift of the Estall at the moment of death, and uses it for terrible, cruel things. Blood magic kills in order to grow strong."
"Do the Encindi use blood magic? Is that why they fight? To steal our magic?"
Le'esha's eyes glimmered with tears and she looked long into his eyes before answering. Mrillis wished he hadn't asked, because it made her sad to talk of such things.
"Yes, they use blood magic. There is a Rey'kil who uses blood magic, and he has become their leader. He has become so evil, no one speaks his name. His own family refuses to admit that he was ever born."
"The Nameless One," Mrillis whispered. Now some things he had overheard in recent months made sense.
"Exactly." She blinked and a single tear trickled down her cheek. "Estall bless you and guard you, my dear one. So young to know such sad, painful things. But who can say that you are not being formed even now for great and wonderful duties to serve our people and save our world?"
* * * *
The storms that winter were twice as fierce as usual, as if the elements had joined forces with the Encindi to batter the north. Mrillis was grateful the cruel weather kept visitors away from the Stronghold. Especially Noveni visitors. The children spent their days together in the common room. The sun shone through the clear ceiling no matter how fiercely the storms raged outside, and birds flew among the cascades of vines and flowering trees growing everywhere in the vaulting halls and caverns. The days passed in lessons that were turned into games, contests to see who could memorize the most passages of historical texts, prophecies and poetry or dancing games to keep them strong, limber and graceful. The queen's ladies brought their husbands into the Stronghold when the storms grew fierce, instead of going home each night to their village of sturdy stone houses beyond the Lake of Ice. Mrillis enjoyed those times with men in the Stronghold, because they taught all the children how to fletch arrows, make bows, braid ropes, how to track an animal through the forest or start a fire with flint and iron, and how to dress freshly caught game.
The children helped with washing clothes and chopping wood, hauling charcoal and kindling and water wherever it was needed. The queen's ladies made their chores into contests, dividing the children into teams to see who could complete their errands the quickest, with the least amount of spillage and mess.
One day late in the winter, Mrillis was assigned to the laundry for the afternoon, to haul water and firewood. Though she was too small and young to be assigned chores, Ceera came with him. The steam that rose from the huge copper cauldron that sat over the fire fascinated the little girl. She was constantly climbing up the steps that let the water bearers pour buckets into the cauldron, to look into the slowly churning water. She begged repeatedly to be allowed to turn the crank that lifted copper buckets of hot water for the laundresses to use. Mrillis thought he spent more time bringing the child down out of harm's way, than he spent hauling wood and dirty clothes.
Mrillis was on the other side of the room, bent over to put another armload of wood into the bin, when Ceera shrieked.
Time slowed as he turned and saw her tumble off the steps, falling straight into the fire. He reached for her, though she was twenty steps away. He seemed to step sideways, inside and yet outside his body, pushed by panic and terror. Flames bit at his fingers and all the colors left the room. A blinding bright spider's web filled his vision. He saw the threads of the web warp and wrap around Ceera. He heard her call his name just before something popped, deep inside his head, and the world went black.
When the light returned, Mrillis thought he had fallen down every flight of stairs inside the Stronghold. He ached, all over, skin and bones and deep inside his head. Just moving his head made him nauseous. Opening his eyes was an effort, but he had to see something besides the spider's web imprinted on the dark side of his eyelids. Where had it come from?
"Are you awake now, my lad?" Le'esha's whisper echoed like a shout inside Mrillis' head. It wrung a moan from him that made his throat hurt. "There. Be still. You will feel better soon."
"Ce--a?" he managed to say, without earning more pain.
"She's fine. Terrified for you, but unharmed, otherwise." Her cool fingers caressed his forehead. Sparks danced at the edges of the darkness and his vision cleared, so he could see her pale face and green eyes floating above him. "I suppose you want to know what happened?" Her hand slowly stroked down his throat and the scorched, battered feeling faded. "You grabbed hold of your imbrose to save Ceera, all unknowing. Like reaching for a stick for the fire and finding it is already on fire."
Mrillis grinned crookedly, and that much effort made his face hurt. It was all he could manage, when he wanted to leap off the bed and howl
for glee and turn somersaults. Only six years old, and he had used his imbrose. There were boys in the Stronghold twice his age, who studied on Wynystrys, and couldn't even find their imbrose, much less use it.
"Ah, yes, you do have a right to be proud." Le'esha slipped her hand under his shoulders and lifted him enough to slide a pillow under him and prop him up, reclining. "But do not celebrate so quickly. Do you feel burned and bruised inside?"
"Hurts," he whispered.
"Do you remember what happens when you try to help a flower open before it is ready?"
He started to nod, but that movement hurt. Mrillis remembered what had happened when Ceera had tried to open rosebuds last spring. The petals had torn and the roses had withered and died.
"There are places in your body which merge with your soul, to protect your imbrose and guide the use and flow of it." She put a cup to his lips and trickled honeyed water into his mouth. "They are only half-grown, like flowers waiting to blossom. If you try to use the imbrose too soon--"
"I won't. Ever." Mrillis closed his eyes, aching deeper than the effort of speaking could have caused.
"Do not despair, my dear one." She leaned down and brushed a kiss across his forehead. "The Estall blesses those who sacrifice for the sake of others. Would you rather have kept your imbrose and let Ceera be burned, perhaps die?"
"No," he answered quickly, a little louder. His voice didn't crack.
"No. Of course not. We will pray and wait for you to finish growing and we will trust the Estall's grace and mercy. Be proud of the good that you have done. Scars earned in the service of others, in preserving life, are the proudest decorations any of us can ever earn. Remember that, my lad."
Mrillis tried to be brave and to be proud of what he had done, and grateful that Ceera hadn't been hurt. He still wept when he woke from nightmares that night, and didn't care if the other boys in the long dormitory room heard him.
* * * *
Two days later, Mrillis returned to his chores of fetching and carrying. Ceera insisted on holding onto his hand wherever they went. When his hands were full, she grabbed hold of the edge of his tunic. The older boys teased Mrillis about his shadow. The girls who had begun healing training understood what he had done and the risk he had taken, and they hushed the boys. Mrillis tried to ignore the teasing as well as the pitying looks, and he was grateful when he was given different chores. He and Ceera spent their days, when they weren't at lessons, carrying messages between healers and storehouses and sentinels, all around the Stronghold.
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