The Dawning of Power

by Brian Rathbone

  "I don't know, li'l miss. I'd hoped to avoid them completely. They're not fond of me to begin with, and I have no idea how they will react to you, but I doubt they'll welcome you. Your mother's family are not the most forgiving people I've ever met."

  Catrin asked him no more questions, knowing he would not have the answers. She supposed she would just have to take it up with the Lady Mangst--whoever that was. It bothered her a great deal that she didn't know, yet she decided not to ask. She would find out soon enough.

  The room began to feel very small as she paced back and forth, and the air felt thick and heavy, as if she were breathing water. She did not know how long Millie had been gone, but it seemed like days, and when she finally returned, Catrin's patience was lost to her.

  "We must leave at once," Millie said. "I was not to return for three more days, but this'll not wait. I've arranged a carriage for you. It waits in front of the inn. Come."

  "Will you be joining us?" Catrin asked, uncertain of what exactly was taking place.

  "I'll be traveling in a separate carriage, but they will travel together. So, yes, in a sense. Morif will act as your bodyguard and assure your safety."

  In other words, Catrin thought, he would be their jailer, there only to make sure they did not try to escape. The fact bothered her greatly, but she put no voice to her misgivings, for she doubted it would do any good. Without another word, she and Benjin followed Millie from the inn.

  As promised, two carriages waited, and they were like no carriages Catrin had ever seen before. Completely enclosed, with small doors in the side and smoky glass windows, their black finish shone in the sun, and even the wheels were spotless. Each one was drawn by a team of four horses, which appeared to be more for show than out of need. The carriages were large but not so large as to require more than one horse. The horses were obviously bred for looks; their coats gleamed, and their manes flowed. Their forelocks were so long that it was a wonder the horses could see anything. These were nothing like the horses her father raised, which were primarily workhorses, bred for power. And these were far showier than the horses of the Arghast tribes. It reminded Catrin of the townies, who used their horses primarily as a display of wealth, and the thought left a foul taste in her mouth.

  Morif proved to be an imposing man. He was missing one eye, but his movements spoke of death. His muscles were well defined, and the cords of his tendons stood out in relief. He gave them a baleful stare as they climbed aboard the carriage, and Catrin returned it, which seemed to surprise him. She would show him no fear, and for once, she felt none. Let him try to hurt them, and she would show him just how dangerous she was.

  The interior of the carriage was opulently appointed with deeply cushioned seats and smoky glass windows framed by frilly curtains. The journey to Ravenhold took four days, and they spent their nights in the best rooms the inns along the way had to offer. The common rooms were always full when they arrived, but somehow Millie always managed to secure not one, but two rooms each night.

  Morif kept watch outside their door, and the tension between him and Catrin grew as time passed. She knew she should leave the man be, but his very presence annoyed her. At every opportunity, she let him know she didn't appreciate his watchfulness, whether it was something as small as stepping on his toes when she passed, or something as overt as spilling her dinner down the front of him. It was clear he struggled to restrain himself, but Catrin didn't care. She almost wished he would provoke her so she could take out her fury on him.

  When she was honest with herself, it was not him she loathed. It was the thought that her family was automatically distrustful of her. It went against everything her father had taught her, and she resented the fact that they used his name without any trace of respect. She'd had her fill of people looking down their noses at her, and she thought she might bite the nose off the next person who did it.

  Strange sensations crossed her mind, though, as they moved closer to Ravenhold. She was farther from the land of her birth than she had ever dreamed she would be, and yet, in some small way, she felt as if she were coming home.

  Chapter 21

  The souls of heroes are forged by the gods and tempered with the pain of life.

  --Matteo Dersinger, prophet

  * * *

  Ravenhold proved to be an impressive sight. Larger than the Masterhouse and constructed with far more decorative appeal, it appeared to have been built more for show than strength. The land surrounding it was fancifully landscaped, and even in the dead of winter, there was color everywhere from the scarlet berries on the holly trees to the orange and yellow leaves of the sprawling oaks. Rose bushes lined the roadway, and Catrin knew they must be gorgeous in springtime.

  Despite its beauty, the place filled her with dread. She was but a simple farm girl. There was no place for her here. The grand facade included bas-reliefs and statuary, and all of it lent to the air of superiority, as if the people who dwelt there were of a higher race. The closer they drew, the smaller Catrin felt, and it was a feeling she liked not one bit. Benjin tried to start a conversation a number of times, but her irritation would not allow for it. Instead, she brooded in oppressive silence.

  No one greeted them at the gate except stable hands, and Millie instructed them to follow her. Morif shadowed them, and Catrin cast him baleful glances, but he ignored her completely. A subtle sidestep nearly tripped him, and she smiled--ignore that. He didn't lay a hand on her, but the look in his eye conveyed his thoughts.

  As they climbed the wide marble stair that led to a pair of oak doors twice Catrin's height, she forgot about Morif and took in all the details. Carved from the white stone, a pair of roses presided over the entrance. They twined around one another, their thorns curved delicately away from the stems, and the name Mangst was engraved in an arc over them. It seemed an arrogant display, but it was overshadowed by what lay within. Thick carpets covered the center of the wide halls, leaving only a couple of hand widths of polished stone visible along the edges.

  The walls were adorned with likenesses of those she supposed were her ancestors, for they all bore the family resemblance. Small gold plates at the bottoms of the portraits gave the names of those depicted, and Catrin tried to memorize each name as she passed them. There was a regal-looking man with gray hair only over his ears--Rasmussen Mangst--and a stern-looking woman in her middle years--Marietta Mangst. Their stares seemed to follow her, accusing her of besmirching their name. She was a ragamuffin among nobility, and her leathers and homespun seemed rags amid the glory of these trappings.

  Millie led them to a side hall decorated with finely carved tables that bore elegant pottery and dried flowers--mostly roses. When she reached a set of oak doors, Millie ushered them inside.

  "Please wait here while I alert the lady to your presence."

  "I'll do no such thing," Catrin said, her hands on her hips. "You've dragged me here against my will, and I'll either see the lady now or be on my way."

  Morif crossed his arms over his chest as if to bar her path, but Catrin pushed him out of her way. He glanced at Millie, obviously looking for direction, and she sighed.

  "Very well," she said. "Suit yourself."

  "I believe I'll do just that," Catrin replied with venom.

  Millie jogged ahead, but Catrin refused to be rushed. She let Millie gain distance on them as she strode with feigned confidence through the hallowed halls of her ancestral home. She felt no more comfortable, but she refused to let her insecurity show. Morif followed them with a scowl, but she pretended he wasn't there. Instead, she acted as if she were the one who ruled this house.

  Benjin walked beside her and matched her step. He didn't appear happy about her outbursts, but he supported her nonetheless. They were in this together for right or wrong, and she appreciated his not chastising her when it was obvious he didn't approve.

  A pair of young men in rose-embroidered livery flanked doors no smaller than those at the main entrance. Millie rushed toward them.
The men did not stall her, and she scurried inside. When Catrin and Benjin arrived, however, they barred the way. Catrin didn't attempt to force her way past them and instead stood in as regal a manner as she could muster. She listened intently but could hear only muffled conversation at first.

  "What?" came a louder voice from inside. "Here? Now? Why did you not leave them in an audience room?" This was followed by more low conversation. The two young men exchanged puzzled glances but remained at attention. "Insisted, did she? Well, bring the whelp in. Let us see what she has to say for herself." Catrin heard the disdain in the lady's voice, and her mood worsened.

  Millie was pale and shaken when she reappeared, and she motioned for them to enter. Catrin waited a moment, just for the sake of being contrary, and the two young men wore their shock on their faces.

  "Let's not start things off badly, li'l miss. We've been summoned," Benjin said, urging her inside.

  "I'll enter when I'm good and ready," Catrin said, and a tense silence hung over the hall. After a very long moment, she strode into the room as if it were her own, and Benjin followed closely.

  "So, Benjin Hawk, you darken my doorway once again, after all these years. What do you plan to steal this time?" asked the elderly woman who waited inside. She was petite and her skin hung on her like an overlarge garment, but her eyes bored holes into whatever met her stare.

  "Lady Mangst," Benjin said with a slight bow, but he said no more, as if he had not heard her question.

  "And who is this waif at your side? Someone posing as my granddaughter?"

  "Catrin Volker, Lady. Daughter of Wendel Volker and Elsa Mangst," he replied in a polite tone even as Catrin's anger flamed higher.

  "Do not speak that foul name in my presence. That man stole my daughter, and his get is not worthy of my name."

  "If you wish to address my Guardian, you will do so with respect. And with regards to my father, you are not fit to speak his name, for you would only foul it with your forked tongue," Catrin said as she stepped between Benjin and her grandmother.

  All the color drained from Millie's face, and she eased into the shadows, but the Lady Mangst drew herself up, and a fire to rival Catrin's burned in her eyes.

  "Respect is earned, not given."

  "Every creature deserves a basic amount of respect. Unless, of course, you consider yourself better than everyone else," Catrin replied.

  "Insolent child."

  "Self-righteous wench," Catrin parried, and the air between them was charged with hostility.

  "Now, ladies, surely we can be civil," Benjin interjected, and both women wheeled on him.

  "Stay out of this," they said in unison.

  "At least you two can agree on something," he mumbled as he took a step back.

  "So what brings you here, sweetling?" the Lady Mangst asked.

  "Your serving woman dragged me here on the threat of my life. I had no desire to come here. In fact, I believe I'll be leaving now," Catrin said as she turned to leave, but she was shocked to hear a slap echo through the room. She turned to see Millie with tears in her eyes, holding a hand to her face, and the Lady Mangst turned from Millie to face Catrin once again.

  "You expect me to believe that you were not bound here anyway? Where else would you be headed?"

  "Adderhold," Catrin replied.

  The Lady Mangst spit on the floor. "What would you want in that house of vipers and vermin, to worship idols perhaps?"

  "I don't see where that is any of your business."

  "I'm your grandmother."

  "You certainly don't act like it," Catrin said, and she realized this argument would get them nowhere, but she refused to back down, refused to show weakness in the face of one so pious. And she was surprised to see her antagonist reappraise her.

  "So you ask nothing of me? No coin or lands or titles? You do not claim your birthright?"

  "As I said before, I wouldn't have come at all if not for your underlings," Catrin replied, and she felt a little ashamed for being obstinate when her grandmother seemed to be warming to her, even if only slightly. "I ask nothing of you but my freedom."

  The Lady Mangst said nothing for a few moments as she considered Catrin's words. Benjin and Millie exchanged furtive glances, but Catrin ignored them all. Her thoughts were muddled by her emotions, and she struggled to focus. So much had happened in such a short time, and she felt she was reacting poorly rather than using the situation to her advantage. It was possible her family could aid her in her quest, if only she could prove herself in their eyes.

  "You've not told me why you were traveling to Adderhold. May I ask why?" the Lady Mangst asked in an almost conciliatory tone, but Catrin judged it genuine.

  "I've no desire to worship the Statue of Terhilian. I wish to destroy it."

  Her grandmother's eyes bulged. After a sharp intake of breath, she broke into a fit of coughing that threatened to claim her completely. Millie rushed to prepare her tea, but the spell passed long before the water was heated. Still Millie brought her the tea, and she sipped it with tears in her eyes. Catrin could not tell if the tears were from the coughing or something else entirely, but she waited patiently for a response.

  "I truly do not mean to be rude this time, but I must ask. What makes you think you're capable of such a thing? Though, before you answer, I will add that I think it a noble goal and one I wish I could do myself."

  Catrin cast Benjin a querying glance, but he only shrugged in return. The decision was hers.

  "I'm not only your granddaughter. I am also the one they call the Herald of Istra."

  This statement brought on a new fit of coughing, and Millie looked as if she would faint. Benjin gave Catrin no indication as to his feelings on her decision, but it was done now, and she couldn't take the words back. She would simply have to live with the consequences. The Lady Mangst slowly recovered, and after sipping her tea, she met Catrin's gaze.

  "You don't really expect me to believe that, do you?" she asked, and Catrin sensed no sarcasm. She decided to take no offense and drew a breath to answer, but Benjin could no longer hold his tongue.

  "Please don't ask her to prove her powers. It's far too dangerous, and I don't want to see anyone get hurt."

  "It's not a problem, Benjin. I will do this for my grandmother as a sign of respect," Catrin said, and Millie nodded firmly, as if this were how it should be. Catrin closed her eyes and focused her mind on the one thing she shared in common with the lady: her mother.

  She focused on memories of her childhood: her mother's scent, the feeling of her gentle caress, the warmth of her embrace, the safety and security she had always felt in her mother's presence. All of these she poured into her meditation, not allowing the startled gasps to disturb her. She added the tinkling laughter and the love her mother had always shown for her and her father. Lastly, she added the sorrow, grief, and loss brought on by her mother's death. It was painful to recall, but she felt it necessary to convey the full truth. With the kindest and gentlest of intentions, she sent her focused thoughts to her grandmother.

  When she opened her eyes, she saw Millie kneeling on the floor, her jaw hanging slack. The Lady Mangst had her back to Catrin, but her shoulders shook and her voice trembled with anguish when she finally spoke. "Leave me now, I beg of you."

  Catrin was startled by the request, but the trembling of her grandmother's shoulders gave further evidence of the impact of her demonstration. Millie slowly drew herself up and motioned for them to follow her. Catrin and Benjin did so without question, for the lady's distress was plain to see, and they left her to grieve.

  "My dear Elsa, why did you leave me?" they heard her wail as the doors closed behind them. Catrin felt no joy at bringing her grandmother pain, and she walked in subdued silence. Millie wobbled as she walked, and it was obvious that the day's revelations had been hard on her as well.

  "I want to thank you for the kindness you showed our lady, despite your disagreements, and I apologize for my actions. I have wronged
you, and I hope you'll forgive me," she said when she stopped before a set of doors.

  "We all make mistakes. And since I have already forgiven you, I must ask you to forgive me for my insolence and rudeness. Had we met under better circumstances, I'm certain we could have been friends."

  "It's kind of you to say, Lady Catrin," Millie replied, and Catrin felt she was sincere, though the title still seemed ill fitting.

  "Please accept our hospitality. You'll find the apartments within well appointed, and I'll attend to your needs personally."

  "Your kindness is appreciated. You have my thanks," Catrin said, and Millie bowed deeply before her.

  "I'll send for food and bath water."

  Catrin nodded her thanks. Her efforts and emotions had taxed her, and she was grateful for the respite. Benjin joined her as she entered the apartments, and he whistled as he looked about.

  "Millie has honored you by bringing us here," he said. "If I am not mistaken, these quarters are reserved for their most respected guests."

  Catrin was not surprised by his words, for the apartments were lavishly appointed. Deep carpets cushioned her feet, and beautiful works of art adorned the walls, depicting scenes of nature as only the most talented artists could render them. Elaborately carved chairs bore soft cushions, and a fire burned in the fireplace. Two doors led to private sleeping chambers that were not much smaller than the common room. Within she found a delightfully soft feather mattress shrouded by a canopy of sheer material.

  Though the bed was inviting, Catrin could not bear the thought of soiling the linens; she needed a bath desperately. A parade of liveried servants arrived with steaming basins of water and washtubs that required four men apiece to carry. The men placed the tubs within the private rooms, and they filled them with water and rose petals before departing with respectful bows. Others followed with soft towels, robes, and a bounty of exotic foods. Catrin thanked them for their efforts, which seemed to confuse them more than anything, but she was truly grateful for the gifts.