Braenlicach

by Michelle L. Levigne

  "Nainan finally does have a home," Ceera said, when arrangements were made and everything settled, and she and Mrillis were alone in their bed late that night. She snuggled close to him and sighed happily. "I thought she had finally been repaid for all the hurt she suffered as a child, that she had finally outgrown all her nasty tricks. I truly liked her, and forgave her. But this, to have a place where she is wanted, to have a man who adores her, to have her child growing inside her, she has finally found her place."

  "Such deep thoughts," he whispered, and startled a squeak of laughter out of her by turning over swiftly and trapping her, his arms on either side of her so she couldn't move. "Please, please, love, tell me you're pregnant again."

  "I don't know if I should be insulted or not," she quipped, then laughed, the sound muffled as he kissed her.

  "Philosophical because your womb is full, or because you're turning into an old granny?" he said between kisses. "I know what I would choose."

  Ceera struggled weakly to free herself, sputtering with laughter and trying to look indignant. She failed miserably, and returned his kisses, both of them laughing until they were breathless. She was not pregnant, but they refused to let that disappointment cloud the gentle peace and sweet warmth of their lives.

  * * * *

  Triska vanished from the common room moments after Ceera announced the news of Nainan's pregnancy to the Stronghold. Mrillis likely wouldn't have noticed, except that Endor was visiting when he and Ceera returned home and his friend fled the room, a stern expression darkening his face, just when Mrillis thought they could sit down, talk, and catch up on each other's news.

  Then Mrillis felt a sour jangling in the Threads and followed the discord to a high room that opened out onto the cliffs at the top of the Stronghold. He paused a moment in the doorway, out of breath from running up all the flights of stairs. With every step he had taken, the discord grew louder, more jagged, until he feared whoever raged at the center of those tangling Threads would explode with the mounting fury and send out waves of destructive imbrose, like a massive rock dropped into a pool of burning oil.

  Triska let out a shriek, fists clenched and raised above her head. Her face was red, her hair tangled as if she had yanked it repeatedly. Ripples of darkness obscured her features, making Mrillis shudder in fascination. Triska had more imbrose, more strength, than anyone had ever guessed, but it only came out now when her emotions tore away her discipline.

  "No!" Endor growled, and lunged from the shadows of the room, just at the moment Mrillis reached to grab hold of Threads and contain Triska, as he had done during the forging of Braenlicach.

  The movement startled him so he paused, curious.

  Endor slapped Triska hard enough to make her head snap back. She shrieked, rasping like a hawk about to attack. The dark haze of uncontrolled, fury-laced imbrose spun around her body and crackled in faint red flames at her fingertips.

  "You will not!" Endor roared, and slapped her again, making her stagger backwards. He raised his hands and snapped his arms downward.

  A massive gust of wind tore through the room, almost sucking Mrillis in through the doorway. It shoved Triska hard against the wall, knocking the breath out of her. The imbrose in the force tore away her magical flames and coiled around her in almost visible strands of power that bound her, trussing her in a neat, helpless package.

  "I will not let you endanger everything, everyone, all we hold dear, for the sake of a temper tantrum," Endor growled. He paced in front of his helpless sister as he spoke, four rapid steps, turn, four rapid steps, turn. "You want a baby? You want a husband? You want a lover? What do you need all that for, when you're going to be Queen of Snows? But now, little sister, you want to have everything, and you can't understand why no one will come near a pouting, whining, snippy brat. Have you ever really looked at yourself in the mirror? Oh, very attractive, yes. I can't understand why all the chieftains of the Rey'kil and the most powerful enchanters in the land aren't lined up three deep to win you as a bride."

  He halted for two heartbeats when a muffled sob escaped Triska.

  "Little sister." He choked, coughed, and continued in a gentler tone, but still tight with anger. "Little sister, you are destroying everything you've ever worked for, taking away everything you ever wanted. It's no one's fault but your own. You don't remember, but Nainan and I do. We hated our father. We should have loved him, but we hated him because there was no kindness in him. He was handsome, but there was no beauty in him to make us love him. You are beautiful, but no one wants you because you're sour inside. You complain. You worry so much about people taking away what belongs to you, no one wants to give you anything, either."

  He stepped back and raked his fingers through his hair, until it nearly stood up on end. "What am I going to do with you? Lock you away in a thousand-year sleep until you mend your ways?"

  Tears dripped down Triska's cheeks. She blinked hard and gasped for breath, but Endor's enchantment wouldn't let her speak.

  Mrillis watched, fascinated, and it didn't occur to him until Triska's gaze flicked in his direction that he should have discretely retreated long before then.

  "Do you think I'm being too harsh with my sister?" Endor said, without turning. A chill crawled up Mrillis' back as he wondered how long the other man knew he was there.

  "How many times did our teachers have to take a strap to our backsides or slap our disrespectful mouths when we were growing up?" Mrillis retorted.

  "Yes, but we were still children. Triska is a grown woman with heavy responsibilities on her shoulders. She should act worthy of the respect due her as Queen's Heir."

  Mrillis wondered, just for a moment, if Triska's position as heir mattered more to Endor than the damage she did to her personal life, to her heart and soul.

  "Then it is up to Ceera to discipline Triska as her heir. Some allegiances are stronger and have precedence over others."

  "Then why isn't she doing something about it!" he snapped. For a moment, fury made Endor ugly, his eyes wide, almost bulging, his face darkened with blood.

  Mrillis thought of the traces of blood magic that had appeared during that last great battle in the sky over the lump of star-metal that became Braenlicach. What if some powerful enchanter forced others to destroy their imbrose by working blood magic, and enslaved those people, so he could use blood magic through them without endangering his own imbrose? Could Endor do something like that? He was clever enough to figure out such a tactic, but was he cruel and arrogant enough to follow through?

  It saddened Mrillis to realize he didn't know his friend well enough anymore to answer that question.

  "Who says she isn't? Who says Triska hasn't been warned, and she isn't trying to mend her ways? I think you are so concerned about Triska's position as Queen's Heir, you don't see the progress she has made."

  "So small, no one can see it unless they look very closely," Endor muttered.

  "True. But it is still progress. I don't blame Triska for being jealous." He muffled a snort of laughter when both siblings gave him wide-eyed looks of shock. "Nainan is very happy. If Ceera and I weren't together and if we didn't have Emrillian, I would be jealous. There is nothing to compare with finding that one person who completes your soul, and then being used of the Estall to bring new life into the World, through that unity."

  "Hmm, yes." Endor grinned, sliding back to his usual charming, mischievous expression. "Marriage and fatherhood has softened you, Mrillis, turned you into a philosopher. Next, you'll tell us you're considering studying to become a Star-father."

  "Maybe when I'm a grandfather." He gestured, twitching a few Threads so the bonds holding Triska immobile and silent became visible for a few seconds. "Release your sister. Her jealousy is understandable, and I think you enjoy provoking her to make things worse."

  "Me?" Endor laughed, a harsh roar of sound that died in a few breaths. He bowed extravagantly and chopped one hand down, so the Threads released Triska. She would have fallen t
o the ground before she could get her legs under herself, if Mrillis hadn't lunged to catch her.

  He waited for Triska to beg him not to tell Ceera what had happened, but she said nothing other than to whisper a brief thank-you and hurry from the room. Mrillis felt chilled by the stiffness and anger radiating from Triska's body in those few seconds that he touched her.

  "I think I only made things worse," he told Ceera, after sharing his memories of the encounter with her.

  "Her mind and heart are such that unless you defend her without hesitation or compromise, you are the enemy. Or at the very least, you agree wholeheartedly with her brother." Ceera sighed loudly enough to make five-year-old Emrillian look up from the puppy sleeping in her lap. "Warnings have done no good. Having her read histories of others who made the same mistakes, to teach her from bad example, has done no good. No matter what sympathy we give her, no matter what little presents we offer her to appease her wounded pride, it will do no good."

  "She wants a husband and child," Mrillis offered.

  "Only because Nainan has them." She made a face at their daughter, who giggled, and then slid out of her chair to sit on the floor with the little girl. "You haven't been here when she turns down suitors, and she has plenty. At least she has the wit to see that most of them are only interested in her pretty face and the power that she might someday hold."

  "Triska is mean," Emrillian lisped.

  "Triska doesn't know what she wants, so nothing can make her happy," Ceera corrected, and lifted child and puppy together into her lap. "Promise me, sweetling? Promise you will never be greedy and nasty and a bully?"

  "Promise." Emrillian sealed her innocent promise with a wet kiss on her mother's cheek, which prompted laughter from both her parents.

  From this moment, I do not consider Triska my heir. I have shown more than enough patience and forbearance. Likely far too much. I will notify Master Breylon and the Elders, but the announcement will not be made public until Triska goes too far, in a public manner. There is always a chance she might still mend her ways, and I would not humiliate her for all the star-metal in the World, she thought to Mrillis as she cuddled their daughter.

  Triska won't believe you. No matter what she does or says, she will consider it a scheme against her, and not her own fault.

  I intend to spend the next eight moons making sure her options and the consequences of her actions are very clear.

  * * * *

  Nainan and Nixtan named their daughter Belissa. Emrillian was heartily disappointed that her promised new playmate preferred to sleep and eat instead of getting out of her cradle to romp with her. Prince Cafral, now a year old and used to being the center of attention, was visibly disgusted at the attention paid to the newborn, and he used his newly discovered ability to walk to escape his nursemaid and cause trouble whenever possible.

  The two children seemed to be the only ones in the fortress who didn't rejoice at the birth. Neither of Nainan's siblings attended the birth or the celebration afterward. Endor was at sea, chasing a band of Encindi who had taken to piracy, raiding along the coast of Moerta. Triska found one excuse after another not to make the journey to the Warhawk's fortress, where her sister had remained and where she gave birth.

  Athrar held a feast to celebrate the child's birth, and several remarked that it was as grand and joyous as the one marking the birth of his son and heir.

  "I'm half-terrified he will announce at any moment that he wishes to betroth Belissa to Cafral," Nainan joked, as she handed her sleeping baby over to Queen Ygerna.

  "I admit, he did mention the possibility," the queen said, laughter making her voice rich. She glanced across the wide, crowded feasting hall, to where Athrar sat near the hearth with a circle of his advisors.

  "Forgive me," Nixtan said, "but that is the one sacrifice I won't make. I want our daughter to be able to find her heart's love, like her mother and I did."

  Why don't you talk like that anymore? Ceera thought to Mrillis, and gave him a wide-eyed look of innocence and confusion that didn't fool him for a moment.

  I never talked that way, he retorted just as silently, and tightened his arm around her waist. They shared one chair, as they often did even at public events.

  Liar! Ceera squeaked and tried to wriggle free of his arm, most likely so she could dig her clever fingers into his waist to tickle him in punishment.

  "The two of you are like children sometimes," Nainan observed without turning away from her daughter. Nixtan laughed and slid over on the bench they shared, to wrap an arm around her shoulders.

  "They have the right idea, love." He scooped her up onto his lap, to the amusement of the others sitting with them in their guarded little corner. The two Valors who stood guard over their privacy glanced over their shoulders and amusement danced in their eyes, even if their dignity prohibited them from laughing aloud or even smiling.

  Mrillis and Ceera retired soon after from the feast, to put Emrillian to bed and prepare to leave in the morning. They planned to visit Wynystrys and several smaller teaching halls before taking the tunnel under the sea to Moerta. It had been years since they had visited their friends on the other continent, and they wanted to see for themselves the progress being made in the purification and renewal of the land.

  Mrillis was nearly asleep, content to hold Ceera and watch her sleep, and entertaining an idea for a gift to celebrate Emrillian's birthing-day. The sensation of being torn in four different directions nearly lifted him out of the bed and stole the breath from his lungs so he couldn't even cry out.

  Emrillian whimpered and cried out for her mother before she woke completely. Mrillis struggled against waves of blackness and searing pain, the child's voice his lifeline. He found Ceera in that darkness and they clung to each other as they struggled, half-blinded, out of their bed and staggered across the floor to their daughter's little cot on the other side of the room.

  "Hurts my ears," the child whimpered, and curled up, shivering, in her mother's arms.

  "The Zygradon," Mrillis rasped, catching the image from her mind. "She felt it. The bowl has been attacked."

  "No." Ceera raised her head to look at him. Tears made her face shine. "One of us has."

  "Show me. Let me be the hunter this time." He clasped her hands, wrapped her arms even closer around their daughter, and opened his mind to take the image from her.

  Mrillis silently cursed the day he and Ceera had devised a way to tame and forge star-metal into something useful. Every time someone attacked the Zygradon through its forgers, Ceera felt it. And now they had proven what had only been theory--their daughter was tied to the bowl of power as well.

  Ceera hesitated only a moment. Motherhood won the battle with duty and responsibility and the guilt she had carried since Loereen's death. She closed her eyes and sent the single, brief image of the web of Threads that enfolded the Zygradon and then spun out tendrils connecting it to those who had formed it.

  Mrillis muffled a curse that would have made Tathal and Kathal proud. An image filled his mind of a single Thread waving like a veil in a gentle breeze, showing where the connection had been broken. He reached with his mind for the stinging, burning sensation of pain and death that still hovered in the air, like the stench from charred flesh, trying to find the other severed end.

  Ceera! Nainan's cry echoed through the fortress. It jangled against their nerves, harsh with shock and confusion and terror.

  "No, please, blessed Estall, not him," Ceera whispered, and opened tear-filled eyes to meet Mrillis' gaze.

  "Stay here," he whispered, his voice cracking, and strode to the door, barefoot and bare-chested. Mrillis hurried down the hallway to the stairs up one level, to the quarters in the family section of the fortress. He was the first to arrive at Nainan and Nixtan's quarters. He paused, his hand raised to knock on the door, as Belissa's first wail cut through the unnatural quiet. Mrillis grabbed at the lock and yanked the handle hard.

  Nixtan lay sprawled on his back on the
cold stone floor, eyes wide in shock, mouth open in a shout, neck still bunched from the effort. Nainan knelt in the doorway, clutching her wriggling daughter, her face white and eyes glazed with shock.

  Athrar. Mrillis hoped the young king was awake. How could anyone with imbrose have slept through Nainan's soul-shattered cry?

  * * * *

  "Our enemy has grown more clever," Ceera said quietly, as she sat down at the head of the long table in Athrar's private council room.

  All the remaining forgers of the Zygradon, and all those who had been involved in the making of Braenlicach, had gathered without needing to be summoned. They had all felt Nixtan's death, whether through their direct bond with the bowl or their secondary bond through the sword.

  "Clever how?" Athrar wanted to know. "Is there anything we can do to shield against these attacks?"

  "We must," Nainan whispered. She didn't look at anyone as she spoke, but kept her head bowed, all her attention focused on her sleeping baby. "Belissa felt the attack, and Emrillian, and all the other children born of us. We can fight--Nixtan struggled with someone before he died--but our children don't understand what is happening. For the sake of our children..." She scrubbed at her eyes, denying the tears that tried to spill out. "I don't want to suggest it, but maybe we should consider destroying the bowl and the sword."

  "I have considered it," Ceera said, before anyone could do more than gasp at Nainan's suggestion. "I'm not sure I could undo what we have done."

  "But we have an idea," Mrillis said, taking over from her. He rested his hand over hers on the table and squeezed gently. He needed the contact with Ceera, who held Emrillian, and understood all too well why Nainan held onto her daughter with an almost manic intensity. "Nixtan fought. Remember that. He had time to fight. I believe our enemy wanted his bond with the Zygradon. The struggle was to break the bond. Nixtan's murder was secondary to our enemy's goal."

  "Small comfort," Jeffyr whispered from the far end of the table.

  "But helpful," Athrar said quickly. "If your enemy wants to steal from you more than he wants to kill you, that gives you a chance to defend yourself and perhaps even overpower him."