Endor strutted like a rooster and crowed nearly as loudly, the day he was chosen to go on the second ship to leave Lygroes' shores the spring after he and Mrillis turned seventeen. He irritated so many others who wanted the coveted post, he would have been ambushed and beaten five times before he left for the port of Quenlaque, if not for Mrillis' intervention.
Mrillis missed his friend, but he was glad Endor had proven himself worthy of his important duties. Some who had said Endor would never accomplish anything but trouble because of his heritage were surprised or ashamed, and a few even admitted they were wrong. It was a day of triumph for both young men.
Mrillis couldn't understand why he hadn't been chosen. What had he done wrong?
He endured a month of taunts from the bullies on Wynystrys who had yet to grow up. They spoke in innocent voices, their faces pleasant while their eyes gleamed with vicious delight. They asked why the half-blood Endor had been chosen, but the amazing Mrillis, Breylon's pet and errand boy for the Queen of Snows, hadn't been chosen.
Finally, Mrillis couldn't take any more. He didn't fight back where the teachers could see him, but he amused himself for three days with small inconveniences. Nixtan, who had graduated to running errands on the mainland for Breylon, gave him several ideas. Mrillis let birds into the dormitories, to deposit on the belongings and beds of his tormentors. He spilled water outside doorways in the middle of the night, to make mud pits they stepped into in the morning. He tweaked the Threads so those with little imbrose couldn't find power. Then he graduated up to bigger inconveniences.
Tathal caught him early on the fourth morning, after he set a trip-line across a threshold, attached to a bucket of mud and rotted vegetation on the door lintel. The warrior frowned, shook his head and hooked an arm around Mrillis' neck to lead him to speak to Breylon. He said nothing, but Mrillis thought he saw a glimmer of amusement in the somber warrior's face.
"I suppose I should be glad you didn't whine and complain, but such tricks..." The High Scholar shook his head. He sat up straight in his wide chair in the front room of his quarters, but Mrillis could see the man wanted to wilt with weariness. It was very early in the morning. "Those are the tactics of a boy half your age. You're almost a man grown, Mrillis."
"Then why don't you give me the work of a man grown?" Mrillis retorted more sharply than he intended.
"Why didn't you ask me for my reasons when we sent Endor away, instead of eating yourself alive and letting those fools taunt you?"
Mrillis had no answer. His face warmed, and he suspected that he had just learned an important, painful lesson. Why, he wondered, was his pride twenty times more tender than the most sensitive part of his body? When he spoke with Ceera next, she would probably laugh at him and ask the same question. Coming from Ceera, he wouldn't be so aggravated, though he would feel more shame.
"I could have sent you to Moerta, yes. Many have questioned my wisdom in keeping you back." Breylon's long white beard stirred as he smiled wearily. "The Warhawk has requested you, specifically, but the timing hasn't been right to send you to serve with him."
"Serve the Warhawk? How? The Threads?" Mrillis blurted. "I can speak to anyone, anywhere on Lygroes, with the Threads. I can reach Endor on Moerta."
"Exactly. But we don't want anyone to know the real reason for your presence. Hidden enemies could attack you if they knew your true function. When you join the Warhawk, it must seem an accidental thing. Of no consequence. And you must be of no consequence, even as you hold all the secrets of the Stronghold and Wynystrys and the Warhawk in your head." He paused, studying the young man's face. "I think you can do that. Do you?"
"Yes, Master. I'll not shame you or Wynystrys or Lady Le'esha."
"Hmm, yes. I would rather you strive to make us proud, rather than to avoid shame. Can you see the difference, lad?" He snorted and shook his head, interrupting before Mrillis could frame an answer. "I'm becoming a doddering old fool. You're not a lad any longer, are you? Grown up and strong and eager for adventures. Like a well-trained colt that needs to break out of the barn and test his muscles and speed before he can really be of any use. Well, you'll soon break free. I wager one fine day, you'll wish you were a student again, chafing against rules and curfews." He chuckled when Mrillis struggled to hide his look of dismay and disbelief, and failed miserably.
* * * *
Four days after Mrillis stood before Breylon and received much to think about, the Warhawk rode to the docks opposite Wynystrys. Lyon rode at his royal brother's side and Mrillis wasn't surprised when the nobleman singled him out for notice. No one remarked on the attention he received, because his friendship with Lyon was already known.
When Mrillis sat at the Warhawk's table during the welcoming feast on the meadow above the docks, there were jealous looks and remarks, but no one suspected anything. Mrillis had spoken with the Warhawk before, and he was there to serve more than to enjoy the exalted company. He spent half his time fetching platters and pitchers and serving his elders, but no one thought it strange when he participated in the table conversation. He was Breylon's prize student and a friend of the Warhawk's brother, after all.
Two days later, Mrillis rode away with the Warhawk's traveling party. It made sense for the Warhawk to request Breylon's prize student to serve as his scribe and to explain the reports of everything being done with star-metal, the vales, and on Moerta. Mrillis worried, though.
How long would it take for people to suspect instantaneous communication between Stronghold, Wynystrys, Moerta and the Warhawk's camp? Would anyone suspect the young man with his straggly new beard? Mrillis appreciated his years of practice fading into the background on Wynystrys, to hide from bullies. He learned to stay near the Warhawk, to be ready at a moment's notice, but to never be noticed by the greedy, self-important and power-hungry.
Endor was jealous, though he tried to hide it. Mrillis felt the discontent vibrating along the Threads, when he contacted his friend. The tales of mishaps, complaints of discomfort and boasts about his strength and responsibilities grew fewer. Endor found excuses not to indulge in idle talk when he made his regular reports from his superiors for Mrillis to pass on to Breylon. He didn't skimp on the details of his messages and reports, though. Mrillis took comfort from that, and prayed that the next time he saw his friend, all would be normal between them again.
When the fall storms came, the Warhawk retreated to his fortress winter quarters, and Mrillis' assignment with him continued. Nixtan, who had proven himself with several heroic rescues of small farming homesteads over the summer, was rewarded with a position in the Warhawk's entourage as Mrillis' assistant. The two young men fell into an easy friendship that felt like the early years on Wynystrys, and Mrillis was glad. He had missed that friendship more than he realized, partly because he had been so busy with Endor, helping the other boy find his own place among the Rey'kil. Mrillis chose not to tell Endor that he and Nixtan were friends again. Despite the changes in his friend's attitude and his new maturity, Mrillis knew Endor would not be pleased. Why couldn't he have more than one or two good, close friends?
Nixtan enjoyed the game of pretending to be a harmless scribe, and once he got over his awe of the Warhawk and Lyon, contributed just as many ideas to the game of subterfuge they played together. Sometimes, though, Mrillis saw admiration in the other young man's eyes, heard it in his voice. That bothered him. Nixtan was the elder, with more experience. Mrillis didn't know whether to be embarrassed or flattered at the deference that sometimes filtered through their interactions.
Nixtan's presence, to receive and pass on messages for the Warhawk, left Mrillis free to travel on errands for the Warhawk, the Stronghold and Wynystrys. He rode to the western coast to meet Endor. Two Rey'kil ships returned to Lygroes for the winter, to bring maps and written reports on the progress of the settlements and let the leaders on both sides of the sea make plans for new tactics in the spring. Endor had proven himself trustworthy as well as talented, and was entrusted with
the report scrolls for Wynystrys, and to deliver letters and packages to the families of those who stayed behind in Moerta.
As they traveled across the country, the two friends fell back into their old habit of wild speculations and good-natured mockery of each other. They stopped in Wynystrys to deliver Endor's burden and to make the first report to Breylon. Then, they were assigned the duty of taking a copy to the Stronghold for the Queen of Snow's archives, and to make a copy for the Warhawk.
"We've been too insular," Breylon explained, over a private dinner before Mrillis and Endor set out on their journey. "We've held too much knowledge to ourselves. We've let our prejudice and pride create a wall of silence. Rey'kil and Noveni alike suffered when illness, flood, fire and war struck. Those who held the secrets of healing and the wisdom of the ancients died without passing on that knowledge. I truly believe our ancestors knew how to harness the power of the star-metal from the first. It was given to us as a blessing. But that knowledge was hoarded, not shared, and so it was lost." He sighed, his smile soft with weariness and satisfaction. "Now, there will be records everywhere, so no knowledge will be lost."
* * * *
Ceera had grown up over the summer. Mrillis stared at her new curves and felt an odd stirring in his belly when the willowy girl flung her arms around him in greeting. His heart jolted when she kissed both his cheeks and then leaped back, teasing him about how his beard tickled her.
Heat crackled through his gut when she hugged Endor, and laughed when the red-haired young man wrapped his arms around her and spun her around in the entryway to the Stronghold. Mrillis tried to be content that Ceera didn't kiss Endor, but the wooden bracelet his friend had given her clattered softly around her wrist when she gestured with her long, delicate hands.
"Our Lady will be so glad to see you. She's been overseeing your rooms and changing her mind ten times over about what to have for dinner," Ceera chattered as she led them up the wide, winding stairs to the top of the Stronghold.
At the third landing, she paused and tugged aside the sliding wooden panel that covered the deep, narrow window slit. Sleet spattered through, and the muffled howl of the wind grew into a shriek. She laughed and slid the panel shut.
"The storm is just as bad as she feared. Come. We'll have a lovely evening, talking and singing and telling tales!" She hooked her arm through Mrillis' free arm and danced up the stairs again.
Mrillis was hard pressed not to grin his triumph. He knew better than to glance back to gauge Endor's reaction. His friend absolutely refused to talk about Ceera at all, and had changed the subject the few times Mrillis had brought up the girl's name on their journey. That was the surest sign of all that his friend was more than mildly interested in the silver-haired girl.
She's Le'esha's heir, Mrillis reminded himself. She doesn't have time for the stupid games he likes to play. She won't even notice if he tries anything. If she did notice, she'd laugh and think he's silly.
Still, the thought of Endor trying to catch Ceera alone, to kiss her or hold her or whisper empty flattery, made something churn and stab in Mrillis' chest. He could hardly breathe as the three climbed the last few turns of the stairs. He tightened his hold on Ceera, even though he was ready to drop his saddlebags and cloak and other gear from pure weariness.
Ceera had been his family, his dearest friend, his anchor for as long as he could remember. They had cried for each other, got caught in foolish, childish escapades together, risked their lives for each other, plotted tricks against their foes together. Together, they had found the key to unravel the mystery and danger of the star-metal. The thought that someone would try to come between them made Mrillis sick to his stomach, and his head ached as if someone tried to hammer pegs through his temples.
"Are you all right?" Endor asked, when they emerged into the common room, full of magical sunlight despite the storm.
"Fine," Mrillis said, trying not to clench his teeth.
"You're not fine." Ceera tugged her arm loose. She sparkled as she danced out of his reach. "You smell of horse and sweat and campfires. I'm not letting either of you anywhere near our Lady until you've bathed and changed your clothes." She darted in and yanked on Mrillis' dark curls. "And cut your hair!"
His rumbling feelings vanished in laughter as he snatched at her and managed to yank the garland of flowers from her hair. Ceera shrieked, trying to sound angry through her laughter, and kicked at him. Mrillis dropped his gear and caught her, wrapped his arms around her and swung her off her feet for a moment.
The sense and shape of Ceera in his arms had changed drastically. He wasn't prepared and the differences threw him off balance so he stumbled and almost fell. Heat rushed over him as he imagined, in a fraction of a heartbeat, landing on top of Ceera on the floor. His arms tingled where they settled into her new curves. Mrillis stumbled as he put her down, and nearly dropped her.
"Bully." She made as if to kick his shin, but danced away again. A flick of her fingers shot pale gold sparks across the wide common room and a door swung open, leading into the passageway connecting all the living quarters. Now that they were grown, he and Endor had private rooms instead of sleeping in the dormitories. "Take your baths, both of you, before I put you out in the storm to rinse you down. Warm water is ever so much more pleasant," she added, and vanished through another door that clicked shut loudly behind her.
Endor laughed. Mrillis refused to look at his friend as he gathered up his gear and followed him through the door. They walked down another flight of stairs, to reach the bathing level where hot springs provided a constant supply of water. Even when he lay up to his neck in a tub of hot water scented with spicewood, Mrillis still felt the warmth of Ceera caught tight in his arms.
Why couldn't she have stayed a little girl, so they could stay friends just the way they had always been, where it didn't matter who was a girl and who was a boy?
Chapter Eighteen
"So, we wondered when you would notice."
Le'esha laughed softly when Mrillis spun to face her, moving so quickly he almost overbalanced and fell. The sound chimed against the shimmering wall of magic that kept the cold wind and snow out of the tower room looking out over the icy Northern Sea. She laughed again when he turned his back to her and glared out through the snow that blew nearly horizontal. Her arms wrapped tightly around him from behind. He stiffened, then silently called himself a fool and relaxed into her embrace that enfolded him in her soft gray cloak like twilight.
He had grown over the summer absence, too, he realized. Le'esha no longer tipped her head to rest her cheek against his hair. She tucked her chin into his shoulder instead.
Mrillis didn't like these proofs of change. Le'esha was his mother. She would always be wiser, taller and right about everything.
"Yes, Ceera is a woman now, but she laughs and thinks it foolishness when boys offer her flowers and sweets or sing songs to her when we make our rounds through the villages," she murmured. "She's too busy learning, exploring all the paths opening before her. I'm almost afraid she'll never open her life to womanhood in all its dimensions."
"If she's to be Queen of Snows after you...." Mrillis sighed. "But she won't need to be--will she?"
"My authority does not grant me immortality, and I thank the Estall for that. We live an illusion of peace, my lad, don't ever forget that. And like the mists off the ice in the heat of summer, it can shred and evaporate in an instant, with just a breath of wind. Illusions conceal traps. We have enemies. And enemies mean pain and death. I would be a poor servant of the Estall if I did not prepare against my own death. Just as Breylon prepares his heir." She squeezed his shoulders and turned him sharply, so he tottered as he faced her.
Mrillis felt his heart lurch. "Not--me?"
"Do you fear it, or consider yourself unworthy?"
"I don't want it!" burst out of him before he could think. Mrillis laughed as a light sensation flooded his chest. "I don't want to be High Scholar. Is that wrong? I want to explore a
nd keep learning and sail and see Moerta and... do things."
"You're young and you think that sitting and planning and directing the actions of others is reserved for the old and tired." She smiled, shook her head and wrapped her gray cloak closer around herself. With her pale coloring, she looked ageless, but Mrillis felt a shiver of fear for her, for the first time in his life. "Don't fear, my dear one, Breylon did consider you for his heir, but we agree, your destiny does not lead you to the high seat on Wynystrys."
"Ceera's destiny, though, keeps her here." He didn't question it. A heavy sensation, like a mud-coated rock, settled in his belly.
"That does not preclude love and marriage and children."
"But she'll be Queen of Snows!"
He tried to imagine Le'esha heavy with child, like Anyicka as he had seen her just a few hours before. Tried to imagine her with a husband who held her on his lap, or children tugging on her skirts. Well, yes, he could imagine the last, because he had tugged on her skirts. All children loved Le'esha. The difficulty was imagining Le'esha as an ordinary woman, suffering labor, nursing a baby, changing dirty diapers, being tired, growing old, becoming a grandmother. Everything that entailed. He couldn't. It violated all the laws of what was right and proper in the World.
"I was married, long ago."
Her quiet voice and the flicker of sadness in her green eyes shocked Mrillis more than a flood of Encindi warriors leaping into the tower from the snowy sky.
"He waits for me in the Estall's Bliss. He was a warrior with Afron's father." Mischief glittered in her eyes. "Can you take any more sacrilege, my dear? My husband, my lover, was Noveni, not Rey'kil."
Somehow, that was the easiest part to accept. Mrillis thought of his recent feelings for Ceera and couldn't wrap his imagination around a man touching Le'esha that way. He couldn't meet her gaze any longer. He looked away, out to the snow.
ZYGRADON Page 17