Bastien snorted in his ale, spoke for the first time. He’d been concentrating on his food. “Not my brother.”
“All over in two weeks,” Bri said, disliking that her voice rose. Facing life-altering decisions and changes again so soon. Pushed around by fate. She wasn’t ready. How could she prepare except by thinking about things she didn’t want to?
“You might consider the prediction that way.” Jaquar smiled charmingly.
“Or you might think of it as a deadline,” Marian said.
That afternoon, after Elizabeth had left to catch up on Castleton’s healing, Faucon went down the hall to Luthan’s door and strummed the harp.
“Come,” said Luthan.
Faucon wasn’t surprised to see Sevair. He nodded to the Citymaster. “I’d like to speak with you, Luthan, about the Exotique Medicas’ safety in the upcoming battle.”
“We’ll talk shortly about the battle,” Luthan said. “First, I understand that you made a quick trip to your cousin’s. What did he say about the Seamasters?”
Faucon hesitated.
Luthan said, “I think the Citymaster should know. In fact, I believe it’s time we talk to selected people.”
“The Exotiques.”
“Ayes.”
Faucon raised a hand. When he spoke his voice was rougher than he liked. “I also want to know about any predictions regarding my lady.” He nodded to Sevair. “I’m sure Sevair would appreciate some indication about the future of his lady, too.”
Luthan deliberately looked aside, toward the window and the sunless day beyond, not catching either man’s gaze, though they both stared at him. “I would rather not say anything,” he replied softly. “The future is still in flux.”
He sent Faucon a glance, did the same with Sevair. “The Snap is a very strange phenomenon. More often than not, an Exotique’s decision to stay or go happens in that instant, not before.” He smile wryly. “Exotiques’ futures are notoriously difficult to predict.” There was a short pause. “Sometimes I experience glimpses of the future, years in advance. I knew there was a great chance of my father falling in battle last year. I knew Thealia and Partis would not live to see the final outcome of the fight with the Dark—and that ultimate resolution is still very much unknown to me, too.” He shrugged. “But when I try to look even a week into the future of any Exotique, nothing happens. So, please, either of you, do not ask me again.”
“Agreed,” Sevair gritted out.
Sighing, Faucon said, “I won’t, upon my word of honor.”
“Let events progress as they will.” Luthan spread his hands.
“About the Seamasters,” Sevair pressed.
Faucon shifted and the others knew he’d be giving important news. “The Seamasters have not been forthcoming—”
“A secretive lot,” Sevair said.
“—but my cousin has been able to piece together a very interesting story.”
“Ayes?” asked Luthan.
“It seems that the Seamasters have listened to the tales of Summonings and Exotiques with considering and discerning ears.” Faucon took a seat on a sofa. It was too hard to be comfortable. “The Seamasters, being the thrifty souls that they are, and suspicious of the Marshalls and their authority, decided to try a Summoning of their own. Last winter solstice at their biannual gathering at Seamasters’ Market.”
Both Sevair and Luthan gazed at him with wide-eyed astonishment. Gratifying.
Faucon coughed for emphasis. “Needless to say, they failed.”
Luthan swore, low and long and Faucon stared at him. He’d never heard Luthan, the perfect gentleman, curse.
“By the sweet Song,” Sevair finally said.
“Fools,” Luthan bit off, the least of the names he’d called the Seamasters. He rolled his shoulders, then as if he couldn’t continue to remain seated, he stood and paced toward the window. A great deal of window-looking going on today. Panes of glass. To the outside. To the future. To the past of the winter solstice.
“Stupid merde-begotten fools,” Luthan said. He whirled from the window, scowling. “Equinox and Solstice times may be fine for regular rituals, but a Summoning!” He shook his head, hard, as if trying to get beyond the notion of the Seamasters’ stupidity. “They could at least have consulted Bossgond to find out when Exotique Terre was most open to Lladrana.”
“Bossgond’s consultations are expensive and the Seamasters’ cheap,” Faucon said simply.
“Truly idiotic,” Sevair said. He shook his head. “We Citymasters didn’t like the amount of zhiv we had to pay to the Marshalls for the Summoning, and we discussed the matter of parting with the money long and hard. But we weren’t stupid enough or prideful enough to think that we could work as a team to bring an Exotique to Lladrana by ourselves.”
“Many seafolk work as a team on their fishing vessels,” Faucon pointed out.
Sevair gave him a tough look. His words were crisp. “The guild leaders? Do they still go out on their ships? Do they work with their inferiors or their equals? How often do they work as a team with their equals?”
“All good questions,” Luthan said. “All which should have been considered. Whether they were, we’ll never know. At least this answers a few questions.”
“Such as?”
Shrugging, Luthan said, “The Singer has been dropping hints about the Seamasters. Wondering aloud whether they pursued some important endeavor, or whether they would. Whether they often reported to the Marshalls.”
Faucon grunted. “They haven’t had a representative at Marshall Council meetings for years. They would occasionally ask me what happened here at the Castle, but I think they usually spoke to my cousin about information I passed on. Third hand.” He snorted.
Luthan’s brows lowered. “Also, the Exotiques have occasionally mentioned dreams they’ve had of a woman. When Elizabeth and Bri arrived the others didn’t recognize either of them as this dream lady. Probably the prospective Exotique of the Seamasters.” Luthan paced to the window and back, hands clasped behind him, then he shot Faucon a glance. “To invade the Dark’s nest we will need a ship like Lladrana has never seen.”
Faucon raised his hands. “Don’t look at me. My brain was wrung dry just designing my yacht. I couldn’t begin to build a ship that would take Exotiques and Marshalls and Chevaliers and volarans to the Dark’s volcano home.” As he heard his words and realized their impact, fear came that the ultimate battle would cost the lives of those he loved. One or all of the Exotiques. Elizabeth. How could he allow her to fight the horrible Dark One itself? A woman who healed? Far, far worse than just experiencing one battle safely from the sidelines. Perhaps it would be better if she returned to Exotique Terre, at least then he’d know she was safe. But he wanted her so.
Again he stooped to clearing his throat for attention. “Now let’s talk about this battle.” They spent the rest of the afternoon with several bottles of ale, thrashing out a good plan to keep the medicas safe on the field of war.
33
The alarm claxon rang midmorning on the second day. Bri jerked and dropped the cup of tea she’d been drinking. It shattered in a thousand pieces on the stone floor of her living room, leaving a sticky residue she didn’t have time to clean up.
Her housekeeper-maid dropped something with a clatter in the kitchen and stumbled in, excited. “I’m s’posed to help you dress for battle. Just like a real body servant or squire.” She clumped hurriedly over the mess as she flung open the door and raced up the stairs to Bri’s bedroom
Bri’s nerves jittered and she put a hand to her stomach. Suddenly this flying to battle thing seemed like a really, really bad idea.
“Ready!” her maid caroled down.
So Bri trudged up the stairs to her bedroom. Her battle gear lay on the chest.
A few minutes later she wore surprisingly thin and Powerful chain mail under her icky soul-sucker skin tunic. Her tights had been replaced with “bespelled protective pants,” also the weirdly textured soul-sucker
. She had a knit cap on her head, then a clunky helmet. It had been a while since she’d worn anything but the red and white of the medica. This wasn’t an improvement.
Her maid swatted her on the behind. “Go.”
Bri stared at her in surprise until the serving woman lowered her eyes, smiled weakly. “I saw some squires do that.”
“We don’t,” Bri said, sounding like Elizabeth.
“Ttho, Lady.”
“We clean up the messes in the living room and kitchen.”
“Ayes, Lady.”
But “Go!” and not “Think!” seemed to be the word of the hour. Bri turned and ran outside, settling herself on the roc. Sevair would fly on Mud.
We fly to battle.
Then Nuare was angling steeply, rising high into the sky. There was a thunderous clap of her wings on the down-stroke, the whirl of blue sky and white clouds and shafts of yellow sunlight in broken stained glass around Bri for a minute, then the world settled again.
“Wha—?”
Roc Distance Magic. Those clumsy horses will be another half hour. Since we are here I will show you the border. That blue line below is Power keeping horrors and the Dark from invading. The yellow glows are fenceposts.
Bri had read of this, seen 3D magical images, watched the occasional battle in the Map Room. She still stared at the awesome sight. “Lower!”
Nuare obligingly dropped, skimmed the border just above the fenceposts, circled one. This was the first, set by Alyeka.
“Then we’re near Prevoy’s Point. In the middle of Lladrana.” Bri focused on calling up a mental map.
Ayes. All the fenceposts to the west have been replaced. There are still gaps to the east. Old ones burn out and fail, but new ones are there, too. Wherever the monsters have invaded over the last year.
The new fenceposts, tall as telephone poles, glowed brightly, almost hurting Bri’s eyes. Some were golden, the others bright yellow.
The golden ones are those raised by Exotiques. Alyeka or Calli.
Bri hadn’t been aware that Calli had made any, but they were directly north of Calli and Marrec’s estate, so that made sense.
More thunder from Nuare’s wings, another spatial discontinuity, and Bri saw that they were farther east. In the distance to the south was the low oval that was Volaran Valley, to the southeast the shadow of the great escarpment.
The mountains to her left, the north, were massive and intimidating, much larger than any she’d ever seen. It was late June and peaks glistened a deep and icy white. The snow never melted. Wonderful, fabulous, and the area was so dangerous from the horrors that people had abandoned homes and villages. Even with the borders safe, she didn’t think humans would return to stay until the Dark was finished.
Bri knew people who’d moved to Denver, who’d grown up there, who never wanted to live outside the mountains. What had this done to that sort? Where had they gone? Had they stayed in Lladrana? Did they sicken and die of grief? Too much thinking of sickening and dying. But she was flying to a battle after all.
There is the breach in the border. The horrors have already crossed.
They were certainly in Lladrana, pouring from a narrow canyon onto a plain with grass and scrub brush. Seeing the ugly things lumbering over the green land, deep hatred and protectiveness welled in Bri. There were yellow-spined slayers; thick-black-furred renders with long curving claws flashing in the sun like steel; soul-suckers, gray and tentacled and somehow slithery. She was glad her leathers didn’t touch her skin.
This wasn’t a small invasion of a dozen. This was hundreds.
34
Whoops and shrieked battle cries split the quiet. An arrow of Marshalls and Chevaliers dived. All the Marshalls and two-thirds of the Chevaliers were called to this battle.
Bri caught her breath at their absolute courage.
You said the medicas are to stay west and center of any battle, ayes?
“Ayes.” She saw a smaller contingent, heard Elizabeth on Starflower but didn’t see her since she was surrounded by all three of Faucon’s teams. Mud trumpeted to Bri.
Luthan was standing as an overseer for unusual situations. With four Exotiques on the field—two rank novices, there were bound to be unusual situations.
Work to be done. Even as she asked Nuare to turn she saw a pair of Chevaliers go down, their bodies sink into Amee. Cries of human pain mixed with the dying screams of monsters.
She didn’t know how she could stand it. But she would. She gritted her teeth. Nuare landed in an area with rocky boulders and tree brush. Elizabeth was organizing the four young, volunteer male medicas. “You’re best at triage.” She pointed to the one with the shortest hair.
“Here’s Bri,” Faucon said, hauled Elizabeth up for a hard kiss, then set her on her feet and leaped to his mount. “Stay. I’ll be back if you need me.” He flung up a hand. “First team with me!” Off he flew.
The burliest two medicas followed in his wake, ready to bring wounded to the camp.
Mud watched everything with an anxious gaze, but Sevair was with her, keeping her calm. The man radiated control, keeping Bri from a panic attack, too. Probably siphoning away fear from everyone else in the small medica unit, all first-time battle participants. Volaran-back, Luthan hovered around the camp.
Before the space was fully organized, the first wounded were brought in. Then all Bri thought of was work fast and heal, a huge lump in her throat. Why had she thought she’d have time to watch the battlefield? Foolish.
We are watching, Nuare said. Luthan and I. I will find the evil seed—my eyes are sharper than puny human and volaran eyes. Sevair is watching you.
A pair of Chevaliers died as Bri and Elizabeth worked over them. The medicas lost another. Sweat dripped in Bri’s eyes as she fought death, won. Seven times. Being here, on site, they had seven in the recovery area. She was already wrung out. Took the bota she wore full of energizing herb tea and drank.
There was a slight lull. Elizabeth joined Bri to stare at the field where horrors and Marshalls and Chevaliers clashed. Screams. Warcries. Weapons meeting flesh or monster hide or monster claws, teeth, spines.
“Terrible,” Elizabeth said. She was pale and the scent of lavender came from her, a herbal cleansing spell for when she perspired. Bri figured she was equally fragrant.
Elizabeth took the bota from Bri, swigged, her gaze fastened on their medicas, flying low over the field, searching for the injured. “I could never be a battlefield medica.”
“Me neither.” Bri glanced at Nuare who glided a few feet away. The bird’s eyes were whirling and her beak and claws coated in monster fluid.
Luthan and Sevair were close.
There! Nuare yelled in her mind, screeched aloud.
“What!” shouted Bri and Elizabeth together.
A strange soul-sucker, not the same as the others. Mutant.
“Sounds like the Master’s been busy,” Bri snapped, craned to see it. “Which soul-sucker?”
The one with the rougher skin.
“Rougher skin’s all that distinguishes him?” Elizabeth asked.
“That’s enough if Nuare can pinpoint the monster. Maybe the Master only has one. It takes a while to create horrors.”
It has already inserted the evil seed into a victim through a slayer’s spine wound.
“What!” Bri said in unison with Elizabeth.
Nuare dipped her head, pointed a claw. Over there.
They both swung to see Faucon leading his team against a cluster of renders and slayers and one soul-sucker.
Elizabeth’s blood froze. Her heart pounded and her breath stopped. Nothing all morning was as terrible as this. Like all morning, she couldn’t hesitate. “No!” she shrieked, ran. Swerved to miss Bri’s tackle and leave her on the ground scrambling to catch up.
“Can you kill the mutant soul-sucker?” Bri shouted.
Nuare bulleted forward. Ayesss.
“Please, not Faucon,” Elizabeth prayed as she ran. A man and volaran blocke
d her. “Don’t get in my way!” she yelled, ready to use any Power, all Power, to reach Faucon. Luthan shot out a brawny arm. Hoping he meant to help, she grabbed it, was swung onto his stallion. “Faucon,” she gasped.
“I know,” he said.
Wait! Power amplified Sevair’s mental voice. People checked. The Master is here. I can sense him. If you kill the mutant soul-sucker, or when you kill all the horrors, he will leave. We want him.
There were only two knots of monsters left, both surrounded. Nuare swooped down on the mutant soul-sucker, snatched it up, smacked it against a boulder. It is dazed but alive. The roc sped to where Calli and Marrec were checking volarans. Nuare dropped its prey.
Luthan used the mental broadcast band next, calmly, incisively. Faucon, you and your teams report to the medica unit now! Any with slayer spine wounds may be the next sickness victim. Sevair, find the Master. Divert him. Marshalls and Chevaliers split to confine the horrors. Toy with them until I give word we have the Master.
They were flying close to Faucon’s teams. Elizabeth’s gaze fixed on her lover, scanned his armor, looking for wounds. Nothing on his neck. His face was whole, but his expression grim. She saw him stare at the man at his right. The one showing a split shoulder seam of dreeth dragon leather, and a round acidic hole in his upper arm.
Faucon’s major domo. The man who was like a father to him. Broullard.
Trusting Mud, Sevair closed his eyes, tilted his head, searching for the warped personal Song of a man he’d once known well. Familiar but not. It had taken nearly the length of the whole battle for the Song filtering through his brain to make sense. Sevair swung Mud toward a mass of heavy brush.
Then Nuare was beside him, and Sevair controlled Mud’s instinctive fear of the roc.
Nuare clicked her beak and projected her thoughts. He is here watching. He has another diseased-sprout and an “eye.”
“Eye?” Sevair said, flying high.
Eye. A small Powerful pebble to be implanted in someone. To see and report back to the Master and the Dark.
Keepers of the Flame Page 31