by K K Ness
Pulling open the drawers, Danil shook his head in dismay. “Empty.” He tapped the edges of the drawers, hoping for a hidden compartment. Old Minna from Farin had liked to hide her fire-ale from her daughters by stashing it in the back of her dresser.
Viren kicked back the rug, walking the floorboards with slow, measured steps. His Trueform sat in the doorway, head tilted as if listening intently for false boards and other smuggler tricks.
Hafryn sat back on his heels, scowling. “There’s little of interest here. Certainly nothing to connect the missing panther to our assassin.”
“Do you think someone’s been here before us?” Danil asked as he closed the dresser.
“This was a stretch even by Eyrie standards.” Hafryn rapped his fingers on the top of the trunk. “Viren?”
The man nudged the rug back into place. “I didn’t send anyone ahead to pull your tail, cousin. My people had little to go on before the custodian awoke.”
Muttering under his breath, Hafryn lifted the feather-stuffed pallet. “Aha!” He pulled out a small trinket box no larger than his palm. “Not the place I’d put it, but our assassin doesn’t seem to be particularly smart.”
Peering over his shoulder, Danil saw the box was made of plain wood, with only two glyphs etched near the hinge. Hafryn ran his thumb over the latch, and one of the glyphs glowed a sullen red. Hafryn seemed not to notice.
“Wait,” Danil said. He took the box from Hafryn and turned it about. He gently nudged the latch, nodding when the glyph darkened to congealed blood. “See?”
Hafryn gave him a blank look. “I’m afraid I don’t, fala.”
“The—oh,” Danil paused, frowning. “How many glyphs do you count?”
Stepping close, Viren said, “This one here is a maker’s mark—the box came from the lakelands district within Eyrie, though you shouldn’t take it as an admission of guilt.”
Danil resisted a snort.
“There are no other markings that I can see,” Viren finished. His hand skipped over the red glyph as if averse to touching it.
The glyph set Danil’s nerves on edge. “I don’t think we should open the box.”
Viren gave an annoyed huff.
Hafryn, however, took Danil at his word. “Let’s get an enchanter to check it over, just to be safe.” He tucked the box under his tunic. “Chin up, fala. It looks like we finally found something.”
They returned to Corros as magelights filtered soft light through the night-filled archways.
Viren bid them farewell in the lower levels. His Trueform loped to a nearby stairwell, tail jaunty like a streamer. The four Eyrie guards remained with Danil and Hafryn.
Bone weary, Danil trudged up to a balcony filled with night revelers. The spiced aromas of a large banquet sat heavy in the air. Long tables lined the dining hall within.
Hafryn frowned as he peered amongst the throng.
“Danil!”
Arlyn pulled herself away from the balcony party. Her officious robes were heavy with silver embroidery. The crest of Roldaer glinted in the magelight.
“Wonderful news, is it not?” She beamed.
Danil mustered a bow. “I’m not sure what you speak of, emissary.”
Arlyn hooked her arm through his. “The High Council’s decision, of course! There were a few concessions on both sides, naturally, but the deadlands shall return to neutral territory once again.”
Ears suddenly ringing, Danil blurted, “What?”
Hafryn pushed his way between them. “We’ve been outside the citadel, emissary, and weren’t here for the announcement.”
Arlyn affected a look of confusion. “The High Council reached an agreement this morning. It’s been all anyone can talk about today.”
With a flash of understanding, Danil realized Viren had taken part in the decision before joining them at the harbor inn. “Why didn’t Viren say anything?”
Hafryn’s teeth clenched. “Why indeed,” he gritted out.
Arlyn smiled again, though her eyes were sharp. “Well, your aid will be most welcome, Danil. You, too, Hafryn. Although there can be no more Amasian camps in the deadlands, I’m afraid. But it’s scarcely a place one visits willingly anyway.” She laughed gaily.
A wave of despair seized Danil. There was no way he could protect Kailon. Not on his own. “But I haven’t spoken to the High Council yet.”
Hafryn suddenly gripped Danil’s arm. “Excuse us, emissary.” He steered Danil off the balcony, away from Arlyn’s knowing gaze.
Numb, Danil let himself be guided into a quiet corridor, far from the noise and bustle of the celebrations. “Hafryn,” he said dazedly. “The magi can’t be allowed near Kailon. They won’t treat it like neutral territory.”
Tightening his grip, Hafryn said, “Perhaps Arlyn exaggerates.”
“They’re rejoicing in there, Hafryn. Like war has been averted.” Shoulders slumping, Danil added, “I saw the council members.”
“I know,” Hafryn muttered. He directed Danil up a set of stairs. “I never imagined they’d bargain away kiandrite and leylines for a mere whiff of safety. Roldaer has threatened us with war for decades, but we’ve always dismissed their demands.”
Danil slowed as a new realization dawned. “Arlyn saw us dig out the first crystal—she’ll tell the magi.”
“If her soldiers back at Farin haven’t already,” Hafryn agreed. He trotted up the stairwell. “Come on, fala. We need Sonnen—or Griff, really. Time to leave this place and return to where we belong.”
Realizing Hafryn meant to journey back to Kailon, Danil said, “But the treaty. If what Arlyn says is true, there can’t be any Amasians in Kailon.”
Hafryn spun about, suddenly angry. “Kailon belongs to neither Amas or Roldaer. Are you going to let those arrogant rats back there dictate its fate?”
That steeled Danil. “No,” he swore. If Amas would not lend aid, then they’d stop Roldaer themselves. Even if he had little idea how. “It won’t be easy, Hafryn. Are you sure you want to go back? This is your chance to be free of this mess.”
Hafryn trod down the steps so that they were at a level. He cupped Danil’s face, green eyes earnest. “Being with you has guided my steps for longer than you know, fala.”
It set a low heat in Danil’s belly. He pressed his mouth to Hafryn’s, hoping it would convey how deeply he felt. “Thank you,” he whispered.
Hafryn pulled back, smirking. “Besides, who wouldn’t want to be the dashing lover of a custodian?” He strode up the stairs with a swagger.
“Dashing?” Danil raised an eyebrow as he trotted to catch up.
“I’ve been restraining myself, fala,” he admitted. He raised a finger. “But no more. If we’re to battle Roldaer, they’ll get the full measure of me.”
“Sounds frightening.”
Hafryn huffed a laugh.
A shadow crossed above them at the top of the stairs. In the uncertain light, a handful of shifters emerged to crowd the steps. Danil thought he saw the flash of a drawn blade. Then a ghostly, blue-winged owl glided down toward them.
“Hafryn,” Danil hissed.
But it was too late. As many as a dozen red-haired Eyrie strangers blocked the stairs below them, also. To Danil’s alarm, their four guards drew their swords and joined the Eyrie ranks.
Cursing, Hafryn ushered Danil close to the wall before he pulled out his blade.
“Don’t make a fuss,” a plain-faced woman ordered. She strode down the stairs, her pace leisurely as she wove a symbol into the air.
Danil wondered if these were assassins sent by his mysterious enemy. He felt the moment the enchantment swept over them. Voices and the scuff of footsteps beyond the stairwell grew suddenly silent, and Danil realized whatever happened here, he and Hafryn were alone in facing it.
“Stay close,” Hafryn muttered as they moved back to back. “There’s not enough space for them to all come at once.”
Dagger in a sweaty grip, Danil waited with dull dread. The Eyrie made no prete
nse as to their intentions. They strode the stairs to form a menacing half circle around Danil and Hafryn.
“What about the ritual?” Danil asked desperately. It was supposed to protect Hafryn from harm by his own people.
Hafryn snorted. “You think these traitors are following Viren’s orders?”
The plain-faced woman smirked. “It’s fortunate you care for him, custodian.”
Danil was entirely sure she meant otherwise.
A heartbeat later, the Eyrie attacked. Shouts rang off the walls as Hafryn cut his first assailant across the thigh before stabbing another in the chest. The Eyrie facing Danil were more hesitant, perhaps leery of the consequences of attacking a custodian. Danil pressed the advantage, lashing out in a panicked frenzy.
Then his vision flickered to reveal a massive wolf watching placidly from the top of the stairs.
Viren, he realized in horror.
An Eyrie brought up her shield to slam it in Danil’s face. It rocked him off his feet. He sensed Hafryn scrambling to protect him, shouting, but then a boot slammed down. More rapidly followed.
Blackness stole him away.
21
Danil groggily woke to the sound of rushing water.
Face feeling like a single throbbing bruise, he staggered to his feet to find himself in the cargo hold of a small ship. Sunlight streamed in through a grate overhead, while the low murmur of voices and the pad of bare feet filtered in from the deck above. A sliver of awning was visible through the grate, moving slightly with the slow roll of the ship. The hold itself ran the length of the vessel and was crowded with barrels, wooden crates, and bolts of brightly colored fabric.
Hafryn lay curled only a few feet away, face bloodied and pale. He’d been stripped of his sword and daggers, but to Danil’s relief, his breathing was sound. Danil carefully rolled him over, squeezing his shoulder when he didn’t stir. “Hafryn,” he whispered.
The wolf moaned.
“He’ll be fine.”
Danil jolted in surprise.
Viren leaned at his ease against one of the nearby crates. Without his councilor robes, the Eyrie Keeper could be mistaken for Hafryn’s older brother. They certainly dressed the same, right down to the style of leather boots and the way they carried a sword on their right hip. Danil eyed him with dislike.
“You were behind the attacks after all,” Danil snarled as he moved to stand in front of Hafryn’s unconscious form, fists clenched.
The councilor regarded him with cool indifference. “I assure you, custodian, no contract under my Keeping lies unfulfilled.”
Why take us, then? Danil wondered. He had little sense of where they were headed, but already he could feel his connection to Kailon stretching thin.
The ship seemed to rock slightly as if adjusting to a new weight. Voices called out in greeting.
“Ah,” Viren said as the hatch leading to the deck eventually opened. He smiled. “It would be for the best if you didn’t fuss, Danil.”
A handful of Eyrie guards clattered down the ladder. Terrified, Danil spread his feet in preparation for a fight, all too aware that Hafryn remained helpless behind him.
A young woman then made her way into the hold, and in the streaming sunlight Danil could make out the blue-tipped wings of an owl Trueform. Like Hafryn and Viren, the woman was red-haired and lightly freckled, though her eyes were coldly dark.
“My personal enchanter,” Viren said by way of introduction. “Your loyalty to your wolf is admirable, Danil, but I should warn you that Merlias is not known for her patience.”
The enchanter gave a poisonous smile. She wove a symbol into the air, and with a thundering heart, Danil saw it float past him to settle over Hafryn’s prone form.
Merlias twisted her fingers.
A sudden rictus of pain overcame Hafryn’s features. He convulsed, boots scuffing upon the wooden deck.
“What are you doing—stop!” Danil cried, throwing himself over his friend in a fruitless attempt to shield him. The crystal about his neck flared angry red.
“I seek only your word, Danil.” Viren’s voice was disarmingly mild. “No custodian tricks.”
Hafryn convulsed again. The whites of his eyes showed, and a horrible wet sound came from his lungs as he struggled for breath.
“You have it,” Danil choked out, frantic. “My word as custodian!”
Viren motioned to two guards, who roughly hauled Danil from Hafryn. “We’ve made our point, Merlias.”
The young woman pouted slightly. “Yes, my lord.” She made a cutting motion. Hafryn turned slackly unconscious once more.
“Curse you,” Danil hissed, eyes stinging. His captors dragged him forward, where Viren stood with his hands clasped behind his back.
“Now your hand, if you please, custodian,” Viren requested.
The guards gave Danil no chance to resist, forcing open his fist to reveal the golden House glyph of Corros.
Smiling thinly, Merlias spun a new enchantment over it. Sharp cold bit into Danil’s skin. The House glyph suddenly dimmed like a banked fire, and a new glyph made of black lines and hard edges perched atop it.
Danil wrenched his hand free, gasping. The cold throbbed all the way to his elbow.
“Nicely done, Merlias,” Viren commended. “The dragon prince is far too covetous to not add extra safeguards to his glyph. This way, Danil, he certainly won’t find us.”
The crystal was an angry murmuring in the back of Danil’s mind. “I thought tampering with House glyphs was anathema to all Amasians,” he uttered, shaking slightly.
“Indeed, but you were never part of the House of Corros,” Viren replied, voice impersonal. “Not in a way that matters.”
“That’s not for you to decide,” he snarled.
The Eyrie councilor gave another indifferent shrug. “Two custodians under one House can make even rational people nervous. But you should concern yourself with the here and now, custodian.”
Danil’s eyes narrowed. “Such as how Roldaer can now walk into Kailon at whim?”
Viren said, “That is hardly an Eyrie concern.”
The councilor was far too astute to ignore the consequences of magi taking control of Kailon’s leylines. “You’re lying,” Danil spat back. The crystal raged an angry red against his chest.
Viren’s gaze settled on it, green eyes acquisitive. “It’s a first crystal, isn’t it?”
“What?”
“It was…resistant to removal.” Viren looked mildly nonplussed. “We’d assumed the crystal was given to you by our dragon prince, but now I suspect otherwise.”
Merlias released a low chuckle. “It should be easy takings now, my lord.”
Viren smiled. “By all means, then, Merlias.”
The guards tightened their grip on Danil’s arms when he made to pull away. The crystal blackened ominously as Merlias reached for it. She paused, cautious. After a moment she withdrew her hand with a frustrated snarl.
Viren appeared delighted. “You may prove useful yet, Danil.” He signaled to another guard, who strode to a nearby barrel and scooped out a cup of water. He tossed it in Hafryn’s face.
Hafryn stirred, coughing, and was wrenched roughly to his feet before he could gather his bearings. Awareness filled his eyes as he took in the Eyrie holding Danil captive. Breath ragged, he snarled, “I never took you for stupid, Viren.”
“Nor I you, cousin,” Viren replied. He made casual steps toward Hafryn. “But I am disappointed you fell for such an obvious trap.”
Hafryn bared his teeth in a humorless laugh. “You mean at the inn.”
Danil threw him a startled look. His friend was thin-lipped and pale, trembling between the guards who held him, but his green eyes were sharply furious.
“The trinket box, Danil,” Viren supplied. “Though for a time I thought you’d never discover it.”
It still made little sense, until Danil remembered the dangerous red glyph hidden from ordinary sight. His eyes widened slightly.
&n
bsp; Viren smirked. “Yes, we are quite aware of your skills, videre.”
Hafryn sagged a little between the men gripping his arms. “Should have known you’d overheard Freyna, but you never let on,” he said bitterly.
“The High Council’s decision did force my hand, but first I had to be sure,” Viren said with an eloquent shrug. “There have been only two videre since the time of Aramanth. Both could discern beyond the normal.”
Danil shook his head. “That trinket box—do you even know what the hidden glyph does?”
“It’s an Eyrie relic from before the Great War,” Viren replied. “Owned by an enchanter, I believe, who had an apprentice with a liking for thievery. He did not steal again.”
“You could have killed us all,” Hafryn argued.
“Only if the custodian lacked the skills we need.” Viren regarded Danil with detached interest. “You can’t know what the Great War cost Eyrie, Danil. We paid a higher price than any other House when Kaul stole power from our great lodestone.” His gaze hardened as it lowered to the crystal about Danil’s neck. “As I’m sure you’re aware, much of the leylines that now run under the deadlands belong to Eyrie.”
Danil set his jaw. “Leylines can’t be owned.”
Smiling, Viren said, “A quaint assessment, custodian. We should discuss it at length sometime. But more salient is that our enchanters fought to stop Kaul from taking the lodestone from our great repository. In losing the battle, many of our glyphs were taken as well. We have spent centuries rebuilding our power, borrowing glyphs from other Houses.”
“Stealing,” Hafryn muttered, mouth tight. “Or as payment for murder and disorder.”
“Doing as we must, exile,” Merlias countered with a cold smile. Her fingers jerked as if with the desire to form a new enchantment.
“It’s as Merlias says.” Viren signaled her away. “However, not all Eyrie believe our glyphs are lost.”
Danil frowned. “What does this have to do with us?”
“Why, I want you to search Eyrie’s great repository for our lost glyphs, Danil. My enchanters trust that simply by inscribing them once again, the glyphs will return to our people.”