Braenlicach

by Michelle L. Levigne

  "I will not allow my sister to marry that bully."

  "Nixtan hasn't been a bully for years. Ceera wouldn't have chosen him to be part of the Zygradon, or the sword now, if he were."

  "She's still my sister. I have the right--"

  "You have neglected her for years now. Otherwise you'd know that the two of them have been courting since before Emmi was born." Mrillis nearly laughed at the widening of Endor's eyes in shock as he calculated how long that was. The baby was more than a year old now.

  "Still--" Endor didn't protest when Mrillis grabbed his arm to lead him out of the common room.

  "They intend to be together, no matter what anyone says. The Queen of Snows has more authority over Nainan than you do, both because of her vows of loyalty and your leaving her alone for so long. Nainan believes you have discarded her, that you have no use for her." He paused long enough to let Endor deny the words, but his friend just pressed his lips flat together in that well-known expression that meant he didn't like it, but he accepted what he had just learned. "Ceera approves."

  "Oh, well, if Ceera approves, what good does it do for a brother to protest?" Endor bared his teeth in a humorless grin.

  He made no show of friendship or giving his blessing to the couple, which would have worried everyone concerned. Triska took the news with open-mouthed astonishment, turning red and wearing a sickly grin that Mrillis suspected meant she was embarrassed.

  "Of course she's embarrassed," Nainan said with a roll of her eyes, when she and Nixtan met with Ceera and Mrillis late that evening. "Here I've been falling in love right under her nose, happier than I've ever been in my entire life."

  "She's very good for my self-confidence, have you noticed?" Nixtan muttered, which earned a shake of her head.

  "And my sister, who should certainly be closer to me than anyone, never realized." She shrugged, and let Nixtan wrap an arm around her shoulders and draw her close. "Then again, she likely believes as everyone else did, that I am entirely unlovable."

  "Which makes me doubt even more my choice to keep her as my heir," Ceera said. Despite her mocking expression, part grimace, Mrillis sensed far too much truth and seriousness in her light, teasing words.

  "We shall see how she performs in the forging of the sword," he offered. "As you said, the Zygradon changed those of us who joined together to make it. Triska could go through a purifying and tempering of her own."

  "I will pray the Estall for that to be true. Otherwise, I fear we will have a return to childish pranks and temper tantrums, as the day for our wedding draws closer," Nainan said.

  "What day?" Nixtan sat up, wide-eyed, and drew away so he could look her in the face. "When did you say you would marry me?"

  "Right now." She laughed, the sound muffled when he swept her into his arms, then onto his lap, and kissed her soundly.

  Ceera tugged on Mrillis' arm, and they retired for a discrete time, to check on Emrillian in her cradle.

  * * * *

  "A Noveni?" Endor's voice wasn't the loudest raised in protest when Ceera announced the addition of a new member to the team forging the sword, but it was the most intense, and invested a world of scorn in the word. "You want to involve a Noveni in the making of the sword?"

  "Athrar is a Valor. He possesses imbrose," Ceera said, staring at a point in the air in the middle of her council table, instead of looking into the eyes of anyone gathered around it. Mrillis observed on her behalf the shock, confusion and approval her announcement generated.

  "He is one of the few Valors who fully regained their imbrose after the Battle of Flintan," Master Deeclan offered.

  "He is still Noveni," another protested, from the ranks of those who stood along the walls of the council room. "The star-metal and the power of the Threads belong to the Rey'kil."

  "I should think it is obvious," Ceera said in that calm, slightly bored tone of voice that more effectively slapped down fools and hotheads than the most scornful rebuke. "If Noveni do have imbrose and can touch the Threads using star-metal, then we are not separate races. We are cousins, if not quite brothers and sisters. If it is a crime to deny your neighbor the means to defend and shelter and feed himself, how much more monstrous to take that from the hands of your own blood-kin?"

  More grumbling arose from those who had come to witness the final council session before the forging of the sword, but no one else protested. Mrillis wished Ceera hadn't found it necessary to announce that Athrar, as Warhawk, was integral to the procedure, but he understood her reasoning.

  There was some resentment among the Rey'kil, especially those who had lost the ability to touch and manipulate or even communicate through the Threads after the massive draining of power caused by the Battle of Flintan. These were the same Rey'kil who hadn't had more than the ability to heal small wounds or light fires, before he and Ceera discovered how to release the power of star-metal and begin refilling the vales. They didn't like being reduced to their former impoverished levels. They blamed their leaders, who chose the action that drained the Threads, but more loudly and angrily, they blamed the Noveni, reasoning that the Noveni failure to destroy the Encindi generations ago had caused this poverty.

  Ceera had chosen to include Athrar, not just because he was Warhawk, not just because he was a Valor who retained some imbrose, but because he symbolized all the Noveni. If he was part of the making of the sword, then future generations of Rey'kil could not claim the Noveni had no part in the sword.

  What Ceera told no one but Mrillis, Master Breylon and the highest level of leaders of the Rey'kil, was that she intended to bind the sword to Athrar and the Warhawk's bloodline, and through the sword, bind him to the Zygradon. The sword was to defend, the bowl to heal, and she intended that both should belong to the entire World, not just those who could work magic.

  * * * *

  "Lady Ceera?" Athrar fidgeted like a boy half his age. Mrillis bit his lip to fight a grin.

  "Yes, my Lord Warhawk?" Ceera swept him a low bow in greeting.

  The young king's eyes widened and he glanced around the chamber at the base of the Tower of Bo'Lantier. A few scowled, whether at Ceera's light mood or what they likely perceived as a delay in setting out for the tunnel under the sea between Lygroes and Moerta. The star-sword was to be forged underground, in the resting place where the Zygradon had been formed. Mrillis wondered if anyone caught the symbolism as Ceera intended, or if they only thought she wisely followed established precedent.

  "I am considering Ygerna, daughter of King Praskin of Cairnwahl, as my wife."

  "Congratulations." Her lips pursed as she fought a smile. Athrar flushed and shook his head.

  "No. I mean, thank you--please, Lady--"

  "Athrar, we have known each other since you were small enough to ride in front of Mrillis. We are friends. Family, in some measure. There is no need to stand on ceremony."

  "Yes, Lady." He snorted and shook his head again. "What do you think of Ygerna?"

  "If I say I don't like her, would that stop you from marrying her?"

  "Be kind, love. Remember how awkward I was in expressing my heart," Mrillis murmured, and slid his arm around her waist.

  "Hmm. Yes. Men need so much coaching and prodding, it's a wonder children are born at all."

  Athrar sputtered, his blush darkening as he tried not to laugh aloud. He grinned and wiped his eyes and the stiffness that had put up an invisible wall among the three of them fractured and then evaporated. Mrillis glanced around at the others waiting to leave the tower, and watching them. Only a few pretended not to be interested in the conversation.

  "Why do you want to marry her?" Ceera asked. She rested a hand on the young king's shoulder and tipped her head back to look him in the eye.

  "I like her. She's sensible. She likes me, not the High King. I think we are already good friends. She understands--" He clenched his fist and held it out, displaying the star-metal ring that had first awakened his imbrose.

  "Ah. Yes. Now I remember." She nodd
ed gravely.

  Mrillis wasn't fooled. He knew Ceera remembered every Noveni maiden who came to the Stronghold for some training in their imbrose. Ygerna was not only the oldest daughter of the most powerful Noveni king in the reclaimed territory of Moerta, but she was a half-blood, and had the right to ask to serve in the Stronghold. If Mrillis remembered correctly, she was a sensible, sweet-tempered girl with a good sense of humor, who had gotten in a few fights defending younger students from the inevitable bullies that arose when noble-blooded students mixed with commoners.

  "She is a good political choice," Mrillis observed. He was pleased when Athrar made a face. "I know you had to consider it, and you hated having to do that, and that says much for how you feel about her. Marriage is mind and heart and body. How do you feel about her, man to woman?"

  "I don't know what's worse," Athrar muttered. "Being away from her, or being close enough to hold her hand and not being able to do anything more than that."

  "Your parents approve? Her parents? Your council?" Mrillis nodded, pleased, when Athrar answered positively, without hesitation. "Then marry her as fast as you can."

  "Lady Ceera?" He turned to her. "Do you approve?"

  In answer, she held out her hands. He gave both his hands into her grasp. The star-metal ring sparked blue when she touched it. Ceera inhaled sharply and tears glimmered in her eyes even as she smiled brightly.

  "Waste no time, my dear. Even though you are young, time is too short to let politics and wars delay the completion of your love." With a choked laugh, she flung her arms around him, hugged him hard, then stepped back. "What are we all waiting for?" Ceera gestured at the doorway and the waiting horses beyond. "We have a sword to make, and a wedding to plan!"

  "What did you see?" Mrillis asked on a whisper, as he helped her mount her horse.

  "Sweet, strong love that will carry them through great sorrow and loss. Athrar will not use the sword we put into his hands, thank the Estall. It will like the hand of his son only a little better, but his grandson... I see great and terrible things, and a daughter of our blood will stand beside him and make possible the victory that will change the world," she whispered.

  * * * *

  Endor grew silent, his face unreadable, as their party traveled down the tunnel to the halfway point where they would camp, sleep, and wake to forge the sword of star-metal. He never once looked at the wagon that held the Zygradon, tucked in anonymously among their supplies. Mrillis found that suspicious. Then again, he found Endor's studied politeness to Nixtan and Nainan suspicious as well, and didn't like the way Endor held Triska's hand or rested his hand on her shoulder at every opportunity.

  The star-metal that had been refined and tamed in the sky battle floated peacefully in their midst, guided and kept aloft by Mrillis and Ceera taking it in turn. The horses the company rode flicked their ears at the sparkles of blue that sometimes erupted from the lump the size of a man's torso, but otherwise seemed unconcerned by its presence. Mrillis chose to take that as a sign of peace and success in this task.

  We were such children, so ignorant and reckless, Ceera mused, when they reached their destination at the end of the day and settled down around the fire to eat their dinner. We should have died, the last time we did this. We didn't know how dangerous it was.

  That is exactly why we succeeded. Fear would have paralyzed us, made us hesitate at the wrong moment, Mrillis countered. He settled down behind her with their saddles as his backrest, and drew her down to sit with her back against his chest, resting between his legs.

  What will keep us alive this time? She made that happy, purring sigh he loved to hear, and snuggled down against him.

  Experience. The confidence that we know what we're doing this time, and you will never make a mistake. And the fact that if Nainan and Nixtan don't marry on their appointed day, you will never forgive yourself. He snorted, muffling a grunt of pain when she expertly jabbed her elbow backward into his ribs.

  They muffled their laughter, and Ceera squirmed a little as he slid his hands around her waist, trying to get through the layers of her cloak and tunic and vest to tickle her. Then Mrillis felt an odd, unpleasant tickling sensation of warning. He looked up in time to see Endor wipe away the fire from his eyes, the anger and hurt from his expression. His friend--was Endor truly his friend?--looked away, his expression calm, to all appearances undisturbed by anything.

  I saw it, too, Ceera said. He has never forgiven us.

  We were made for each other, and he never had a chance. You never encouraged him. What is there for him to forgive, except maybe forgiving himself for wanting what was never his?

  That night, when everyone else slept, Mrillis wrapped his imbrose around Ceera as securely as his arms were already around her, and took her sideways, following the Threads to the Vale of Lanteer, where Graddon slept. They stood in silence, drinking in the sight of their beloved teacher, until the utter silence and stillness of the place grew heavy on them.

  You will bring him here to sleep, Ceera said, as they withdrew from the hidden place and returned to their sleeping bodies. The blood. The one who will wait. The one who will be wounded, almost to the threshold of death. The third drop of blood. The first drop of blood will help you, will hide him, will hide as well. You will long for the sleep you give him, the sleep they will both take, but it will not be permitted you. A soft sob escaped her and she turned over, pressing her face into his chest. My love, my only love, be strong.

  "As long as you're with me and you love me, I can face anything," Mrillis whispered into her hair, and ached as he felt her shudder with tears that died away in only a few heartbeats.

  "But what if I am not--" Ceera stiffened against him. Do you feel it?

  Together, they reached out again through the Threads. A cold, prickling sensation at the very edge of their awareness drew his attention toward the far side of their sleeping companions. A soft groan, more sensed than heard, broke the stillness. Mrillis bit back a curse as his imbrose reached out and brought him an image of Athrar, sweating and pale, face wrinkled in pain or some terrifying dream, twitching in his blankets.

  Peace, Ceera whispered, and reached out the hands of her mind to brush over his brow.

  Something snapped, inaudible to physical ears. Mrillis caught a glimpse of something dark, thinner than hair, with many branchings, like the cracked glaze of an old jar. It faded before he could get a good look at it. Athrar sighed and his face calmed. On the other side of the group, Ceera sat up and pushed aside their blankets. She wrapped one around herself and padded across the dusty, cold stone, around the banked fire, to sit on the edge of Athrar's blankets. Mrillis followed her as far as the fire, where he placed more chunks of wood to build it up again.

  Someone does not want Athrar to be part of the sword, he offered unnecessarily.

  Someone will have to learn the helpful lesson of not always getting what you want, Ceera responded, and rested her hand on the young king's brow.

  You need your sleep if you expect to forge star-metal in the morning.

  I know. I will. She sighed, loudly enough she interrupted a few snores and sleepers half-woke with snorts and grumbles. I wish I was home. I need to hold Emmi.

  Two more days, he soothed. Come back to bed. I can guard all of us.

  In the morning, Mrillis studied all their companions as they woke and rolled out of their blankets. He wasn't sure what he searched for, but no one seemed to watch the young king with extra concern or interest. It was more than possible that someone had followed them with magic, down into the tunnel under the sea, despite the guarding and disguising properties of the huge lump of partially tamed star-metal. Mrillis said nothing, and could find no reason to delay when Ceera bade them all take their pre-determined places to prepare for the forging of the sword.

  He stood outside the circle, taking his role of guardian and overseer, just as he had with the bowl. Mrillis walked around the circle, pausing every five steps to close his eyes and send his vision s
ideways, through the Threads, studying what went on within the circle and inside the lump of star-metal, as well as reaching out through the entire World and back again.

  All was well, all went as intended, as rehearsed, just as Ceera wanted and needed it.

  Until Mrillis sensed discord. He sent his questing touch of imbrose along the web of Threads that bound their company together more securely than chains of iron. The discord wrapped thin threads around Nainan. Enough to interfere with the harmony of souls and imbrose Ceera needed to establish before the forging of the sword began. Mrillis opened physical and mental eyes to study those gathered around the glowing, blue-white star-metal. Nainan stood with Nixtan, holding his hand. It wasn't exactly forbidden, but the physical touch had to be a distraction. Mrillis moved closer, narrowing his eyes, and shifted his gaze sideways to study the Threads.

  If anything, Nixtan's touch helped smooth out the discord, almost forcing it into harmony, which said much for the power of their love and the unity the two had achieved already. The discord had to come from someone else, then.

  Mrillis picked out the Threads and their tones that clashed against the harmony Nixtan and Nainan created between them. As he had done with Ceera when Brictan died, he put himself between the sweethearts and the malevolence directed against them, and turned his mental eyes to follow the dark, splintered discord to its source.

  A haze with fine black fissures through it, like cracked glaze on a jar, surrounded Triska. Mrillis took two steps closer, and saw she had her eyes open, against Ceera's instructions, and she frowned at her sister.

  Triska, concentrate on the sword.

  She ignored his command. Mrillis suspected she concentrated so intently on her sister, she couldn't hear him. He tried again, louder, but couldn't shout with his physical voice or grasp her with his physical hands, because it would disturb the thickening shield of energy Ceera wove from the contributions of everyone in the group. She would begin folding the molten metal any moment now, and that discord had to be muted, if not removed.