To Wield the Wind (Enclave World Book 1)

by Remi Black

  He didn’t say it on a sigh, waiting for her to dole out all of her mistakes. He asked because he would need the information. It armored him, armored them both, like his mail shirt did.

  “I told him about the wyre’s partial shift and his silvered eyes and what that meant. He was surprised.”

  “Is that a guess, Orielle?” He turned back and continued leading.

  “The Crygy are hard to read. They’re so still.” She remembered the displacement, caught between the hard rock gripped by her toes and an icy frost that emanated from the knight. She saw again the slow rise and fall of the horse’s silvery mane. “His horse reacted. It tossed its head. I know that could mean much more than a controlled reaction sensed by his horse. But the knight said the Lady dislikes wyre, especially sorcered wyre. He agreed to tell her of the wyre. He wanted to see the grave. Proof of my words, I suppose.” The wight had taught the lesson of never deceiving a Crygy.

  He stopped again. She gained several steps and caught his grin. “Clever city lass. You’ve overpaid the debt.”

  “That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

  “Lady Bone will decide if it is.”

  He didn’t ask the question she expected: What’s the knight’s name?

  Sangrior. The name rang within her. And she realized that she’d known his name, long before he said it. Had he planted his name in her mind when he named her Aiwaz Solsken?

  Or when he gave her Lady Skuld’s name.

  And she knew Volk, who had leashed the wight. She knew more names.

  No names spoken, Lady Aiwaz.

  The words rang in her ears, louder than the jingly bridle rings and the iron hooves on pebbles and the river’s incessant singing. The words had Sangrior’s voice. She shivered in the returned chill. Ghost snorted.

  No names, she agreed. If saying a Crygy name brought them near, she would stick with Lady Bone, not the name that the sword knight had revealed.

  ~ 10 ~

  `Ware attack!

  The words rang her awake. She woke to a horse’s terrified neigh and the warning still rolling through her head.

  Throwing back her blanket, she sprang up. “Grim!”

  “Here.” Back to her, he stood with the horses on the fire’s other side. He held Ghost’s reins. Eyes rolling, the dappled grey strained at the reins. He kicked back, throwing dirt into the darkness. The chestnut’s jug head arched forward, big teeth bared, like a snarl at something beyond the ever-shifting light.

  She scrambled into her boots then rushed to Grim’s side. “What is it?”

  “Don’t know. The horses alerted. That woke me. Then something tested the wards.”

  Nothing moved in the smothering dark beyond the sphere of firelight. Ghost made too much noise to hear anything. “Did you use the symbol of chaos that Lady Bone reminded us of?”

  “Do you want to be in the Lady’s debt?”

  “If I use it, since she gave it to me through her knight, we would risk that. She did not give it to you. Can you not use it?”

  “You’ve parsed a fine distinction. She, however, would sense any disturbance in the element and interpret it however she wished. There.”

  For a half-second, twin shards of silvery light shined in the darkness. Then it vanished.

  “Wyre?” she whispered. “The whole pack of them?”

  “Doesn’t smell like that.”

  She sniffed. An acrid tang pierced her nostrils. The smell reminded her—no, memory eluded her. “You should have called me earlier.”

  “I didn’t call you.”

  “You didn’t shout `Ware attack? Look!” Again she saw the twin gleam, joined by another pair. She flashed light.

  In the brief seconds of the bright spell, two stunted creatures stood frozen. Open mouths revealed fangs. One gripped a broken branch like a club. The other twisted a coil of rope. Even in the spell’s warm yellow light, their eyes had a silvered glow, like the partially-shifted wyre. Sickly green rimmed their eyes, obvious sorcery in use.

  Her spell faded. Leaves rustled as the gobbers shifted position.

  “How long can you hold that spell?”

  Her power might not be great, her hoard of spells might be few, but what she did have, she knew how to use. “As long as you need it.” And she re-lit the bright spell.

  He thrust Ghost’s reins at her and drew his sword. In his left hand, he shaped a sphere, ghostly pale, swirling with the energy of controlled Air. “Be ready.”

  She remembered the gobber fleeing her camp. “It’s only two. They won’t attack.”

  “More than two. Be ready, Orielle.” On the word, he whirled and jumped behind her.

  She heard a high-pitched squeal, pig-shrill, and saw a trio of the creatures dodging back from the swing of Grim’s sword.

  A fourth gobber flung dirt on the fire. The flames sputtered. More dirt landed on the fire.

  Ghost tried to rear. She jerked his head down. “Not now.”

  A hard thwack hit her leg. The branch-wielding gobber swung again. She arced the bright spell at it. The creature screeched and dropped the branch to cover its round eyes. It stumbled away, into another, the one with the coil of rope.

  Orielle shined the spell toward that one. Scrunching its eyes, it swiped a free hand at her. She dodged the short claws and landed against her horse.

  Grim fought a trio of gobbers with the sweep of his sword. Another stood at the fire, dropping dirt on the coals to smother any chance of fire. Two crept behind Grim. She cast a hurried glance for her own safety and saw more gobbers lurking at the verge of the mage light, eyes greeny silver, mouths gaping to reveal triangle-sharp teeth.

  The big chestnut stomped a gobber trying to grab his reins. He kicked another behind him. She released Ghost. The horse reared back. A gobber slid off his back. Runnels of blood dripped from his back and rump. With an outraged neigh, the grey fled into the night.

  Flicking up more power, Orielle swept away the creatures at Grim’s heels. Then she whirled and blasted Wind at the waiting gobbers.

  Something dragged on her skirt. A gobber, claws dug into the heavy cloth. It reached for her extended hand maintaining the bright spell. She swiped at it. Chittering, it snapped at her hand. A gust of Air only lodged the short claws deeper into her skirt. Remembering scrunched eyes, she directed the mage light at its face.

  The silvery glow left the round eyes. It yowled. Then it snatched away, but those claws dug deep into cloth. Jerking around, it flailed and scrabbled. The shifting weight destroyed her balance. She stumbled to her knees.

  A silvery coil dropped over her head. Orielle released the wind spell to hook her fingers in the tightening rope. The gobber shrieked in her ear. His strangling grip didn’t ease.

  The mage light faded. She poured energy into it. With the last air in her lungs, she cried, “Sangrior! Sangrior!” The noose tightened, choking the last naming to a mere breath. “Sangrior.”

  She toppled and felt fists pummeling her chest, driving out the last breath.

  Thunder clapped. Moon-silvered light flooded the campsite. Gobbers screeched. Fists and claws left her body.

  She dragged in blessed Air and jerked the noose choking her.

  A lightning-bright flash of power re-ignited the doused fire. Orielle winced and gobbers shrilled anger and fear.

  Cold hands lifted her. Cold hands tugged the noose from her neck and over her head.

  Her bleary eyes cleared. The sword knight knelt before her. “You came,” she croaked.

  “In good time, Lady Aiwaz.”

  Grim knelt beside him. “Are you hurt?” He fingered the rents that the gobber had left in her skirt.

  “She does not bleed, not even a scratch. Did you spill gobber blood, Rhoghieri?”

  “Not a drop. They’re too fast. They stayed back from my sword.”

  “The gobber cannot bear Fae-wielded steel. It is very well for you that you did not hurt them. They are the Lady’s.”

  “Not with those silvery eyes rimed w
ith foul green,” she claimed, voice still hoarse as her throat recovered. Talking hurt, but Sangrior needed to know the sorcerer had controlled this attack by the gobbers.

  “Silvery eyes rimed with foul green? Lady, are you certain?”

  “I was eye-to-eye with two of them.” She coughed at the remnant of their acrid odour, the fetid breath that flooded her face when she tipped over. She pointed at the rope Sangrior absently coiled. The braided hemp shed sparks of eerie green as it passed through his hands.

  He hissed. Those black eyes reflected the flames. “Sorcery. The one who tries to use the gobbers, he will the Lady punish.”

  Remembering the wight’s fear, Orielle shivered. Grim pressed her shoulder against him.

  “You are fortunate to have survived, Lady Aiwaz. The sorcerer targeted you.”

  “We are fortunate that you came when called. Did you warn me, earlier?”

  He didn’t answer. He coiled the rope tightly, shedding more sparks of sorcery.

  “Why do you help us, Sangrior?”

  That odd look returned, far from now in time and place. “I remember—.” The long fall of his white hair sifted over his shoulders like cocoon-spun threads. “Do not kill the gobbers. The sigil of chaos will protect you.”

  “We’ll not be using that.” Grim remained firm. “We do not wish to be in the Lady’s debt.”

  “I may not be able to come when next you call. The sigil offers additional guard.”

  The Rho started to argue, yet when she touched his hand, he fell silent. She wished their own disputes were so easily ended. “The sigil will limit chaos. It controls the element for our purpose rather than allows its energy to run free.”

  “The Lady gifts this knowledge,” Sangrior added. “In the Wilding, power protects. You wish to avoid debt to the Lady? Be in debt or be in Neothera. The choice is yours.”

  “As it was yours,” Grim gritted out.

  Pale lids closed over those black eyes. Sangrior sat still as marble, cold as bone. When his lids lifted, his eyes were flat, without any glimmer of light. “Use the sigil. It will not bind you to the Chooser.”

  On the words, spoken like a vow, Sangrior backed away from them. He turned edge-side then seemed to fold upon himself. Wind swirled. Leaves and twigs spun about. Then the wind swooped toward him as he folded again and vanished.

  The fire lost its lightning ferocity and faded to flames trickling over half-smothered wood.

  With a muttered oath, Grim refueled the fire. “See if my horse is injured.”

  The chestnut rolled its eyes at her. Speaking softly, she shined the mage light with amber-glow to reassure him. Once she caught the reins, she cold examine him. No sliding claws and pointy fangs had cut him, but he shivered at her touch. She ran a reassuring glow over him, adding warmth to her soothing magic, for the night had grown chill.

  Or their narrow escape had kicked through her body, giving her shudders worse than the horse.

  The fire blazed up, adding true warmth to the campsite.

  Grim spoke softly as he joined her. The horse flicked his ears and turned his head to look at his rider. Adding his touch to hers, he patted the horse’s neck then offered a handful of oats from his stock. The horse snuffled and, in the way of animals, cast off the memory of the attack for present comfort.

  Orielle stepped back. “I will renew the wards.”

  “And use the chaos sigil?”

  “We are foolish not to use it.”

  “Lady Bone will know.”

  “Then I will pay my debt to her when she comes to collect it. Or do you wish to have another attack from gobbers? Or trolls? Wyre with gobbers, eager to feast on us. Or the sorcerer driving an ogre in?”

  “They would feast on me. The sorcerer will want to play with his captured wizard. I’m expendable.”

  She shuddered. “I shall definitely use chaos now.”

  “When you finish, we need to talk.”

  Guessing his interrogation would be worse than anything her tutors pealed over her, she hunched her shoulders. Then she shook off the worry. Gobbers are worse. Trolls. Ogres. Keep perspective, Orielle. She tossed her head and blinded him with her smile before walking to the edge of the firelight and carefully drawing the first ward, linking the next with the sigil of chaos.

  ~ 11 ~

  Grim had the big chestnut settled when Orielle linked the last ward to the first and sealed them both.

  As she had encircled their camp with magical protection, she considered the best answers to give him. She would not lie. That opened a way for darkness to enter. Whatever she omitted would reveal itself in a few hours, so she should tell it all.

  Except—.

  She still didn’t want to reveal Sangrior’s belief that she belonged with Grim. That pushed them into a greater connection when all she had wanted was a guide and a guard to Iscleft Haven.

  Sangrior hadn’t used Grim’s name. He’d said, “You are the Rhoghieri’s.” Had he meant more generally rather than personally?

  Or did he play mind games just as Lady Bone did?

  She trudged back to the fire. The flames burned merrily over the new fuel. Remembering the gobber tossing dirt onto the flames, remembering the ones who had crept behind Grim, claws outstretched to pierce his hide trousers and get to the big veins and tendons, she shuddered. The memory of the silvery loop tightening on her neck, the gobbers crawling over her, their fists pounding, knocking the air from her lungs—she would never forget that.

  Swallowing, she touched her tender neck.

  Grim dropped beside her. Startled, she flashed mage light, then she came back to the present and released the magic to the Air. It dissipated into the curling smoke.

  “Throat hurt?” He poked a log. Flames shot up then began consuming the bark he’d shifted into the heat.

  “Not so much hurt as remembering.”

  “Keep that memory. It’ll keep you alive. You had enough breath to call for him. How did you learn his name?”

  An unspoken plaint ground through the question. Was he angry that she hadn’t called for him? He’d had a clutch of gobbers attacking him. “Would you have killed the gobbers? That would have displeased Lady Bone.”

  “I’ll kill anything that’s trying to kill me. Don’t try to distract me, Orielle. The Crygy knight gave you his name. Was that when he returned the horses? What else did he do? What bargain did you make with him?”

  “No bargain! I swear. The only thing he asked for was my good will. I told you that!”

  “Aye, you did, but maybe we need to rethink what a Crygy knight calls good will when it comes from an Enclave wizard.”

  “Not-Wizard,” she reminded.

  “An insult from Lady Bone, designed to provoke you. And disappointed when you weren’t provoked. What’s the knight’s name? His true name, for he came when you called for him three times, the way that magical beings like Crygy and Fae must come.”

  Grim should have heard it, but she supplied it anyway. And she reminded him of Lady Bone’s true name. Then she turned the focus on him. “And Rhoghieri and wizards, do they come when you call for them three times?”

  “Rho do. If nothing else binds them in place. And wyre. But wizards and sorcerers are mundane first, magical second. Calling your name won’t bring you to me. I can control you with it, with the right spell.”

  She blanched, remembering her journey through the Lowlands, giving her name blithely to anyone who asked. The Enclave didn’t teach guarding the true name—although the wizards followed custom, the birth name and clan name as identity, but the second name, the family name, not given and generally forgotten. “If you had the whole of my true name, you could control me. You don’t.”

  “Best if I never do.”

  Insight blinded like sunrise. “That’s the reason you’ve never given your true name to me.”

  “Grim serves.”

  He didn’t trust her. He knew her ignorance about the Wilding. He knew her Enclave-taught arrogance. Ignorance
and arrogance equaled death. Luck had graced her so far. How long would it last?

  That first night in the Wilding, the gobber that crossed her wards could easily have attacked her rather than fled. Without Grim, the wyre would have killed her. The wight would have haunted her to madness—and created easy prey for the Wilding predators. Even Lady Bone and her knights, they could still catch her with the cruelty Grim had described.

  “I am a fool.”

  “The Enclave teaches fools. Outside the Enclave, you learn. Your knowledge of the Wilding grows. Does the Crygy knight know your true name?”

  “No, not even half my name.” She still refused to reveal Sangrior’s statement that she was Grim’s, but she shared, “He woke me. Before the attack. He called me out of sleep. `Ware attack. I thought that was you.”

  He finished stirring the wood in the fire and tossed in his stick. “He spoke into your mind?”

  Orielle shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. “I don’t like this, Grim. How did he do that? He doesn’t know my name. He knows my element is Air, but I’ve been careful not to give the Crygy a link to me. I didn’t use the symbol until tonight. I didn’t make any bargains.”

  “But he’s connected to you.”

  “How?”

  “You’ve answered to the name he gave you, Aiwaz Solsken. It’s accurate enough to be the connection. Through Lady Bone he gave you a true name, called you by it, wrote it on your forehead when he gave you the chaos sigil.”

  She remembered the brief seconds when he wrote the sigil, over and over. “He didn’t have time.”

  “The Crygy can collapse time, the way he collapsed space.”

  Yawning fear opened. “Did we do something, say something, swear an oath or accept a bargain that we don’t remember? Lady Bone seemed pleased, there at the end.”

  “There’s a spell to discover if you’ve lost time and memories. I don’t know it. A Haven wizard will know.”

  “How far to the Haven?”

  “Three more days with our single horse. With Ruddy packing double.”

  She didn’t badger him with I told you so about Ghost’s proclivity to run. “We still have food and our waterskins.”