HEDDA'S SWORD
Guardians of Light 02
By
Renee Wildes
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520
Macon GA 31201
Hedda's Sword
Copyright © 2009 by Renee Wildes
ISBN: 978-1-60504-371-5
Edited by Linda Ingmanson
Cover by Anne Cain
First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: January 2009
www.samhainpublishing.com
Table of Contents
Title Page
DEDICATION
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
EPILOGUE
About the Author
Dedication
For Lee, my sister and my friend by ties stronger than blood. Gone too soon but never forgotten. Now the angel on my shoulder. May I always make you proud.
A special thanks to the Central WI Writers, esp. Erin, who went above & beyond to help me get this out after NJ, and also to the FF&P RWA Mudpuddlers – you gals (and guys) rock!
Chapter One
The woman was destined to die without his aid, forever lost to the spreading darkness.
Cianan ta Daneal's visions were no longer confined to nighttime dreams. In yet another one, he watched as, surrounded by boiling rivers of blood, she held off an army of skeletons with a flaming sword. How many times had he seen her fall, felt her terror and despair in her final moment of life? Horror skittered up his spine. He had no idea how to find her, or how much time he had to save her. But his heart told him where he needed to be – here in Shamar, an unfamiliar name in the northern region of his map.
Cianan swallowed down the nausea, a side effect of gating halfway across the world. Hours later, his ears still rang from the energy currents. He shivered in the saddle, pulled his hood up and wrapped his green cloak closer. Dracken rue, but the wind was bitter! It pulled him out of the vision and back into the real world.
He should have listened to Lord Elio, the elven Minister of Defense, his adoptive father. The old warrior had tried to dissuade him from coming alone. But Cianan thought he would have better anonymity this way. Clouds veiled the new moon, although he still felt its pull. All around him, the skeletal branches of trees loomed. They clutched at his clothing like the wasted fingers of the dead from his recurring nightmare.
The visions began after his initiation as Lady's champion, high warrior-priest for the sun-goddess, the Lady of Light. Those urgent Goddess-sent nightmares were the reason he journeyed so far from home. At the time, it seemed a noble, heroic quest, the stuff of legends, a chance for fame and glory.
That urgency told him the woman still lived. He still had time. But how much? Frustration gripped him. Why were dreams so graphic in horror, yet so vague in usable details? Which parts real and which symbolic? After centuries of war against trolls, goblins and most recently a demon, armies of skeletons did not seem far-fetched. But no one should die alone.
Temple stories of past Lady's champions, told in the bright comfort of the elven capital city of Poshnari-Unai, never mentioned how miserable walking the world could be. It was supposed to be midafternoon when he arrived, according to the mage Gwendolyn's calculations. Apparently, daylight this far north was but a mere lightening of the darkness. And the rain! Sleeting stuff that stung his skin and chilled to the bone.
Beneath him, his war mare Kikeona plodded through the mud. Warmed from within by the Light of the Lady Goddess, she seemed impervious to the gate effects – and the foul elements. "We shall stop at the first inn with a decent stable," Cianan promised her, trying to stop his teeth from chattering.
She sent a small pulse of energy through their partner link, providing immediate but temporary relief. "Stop that," he ordered. Breath steamed out with every word. "I am not ungrateful, but you cannot keep doing that." Mortal, though long-lived, her powers were finite.
"I should be comfortable while you turn into a block of ice? What do you take me for, warrior? How can you complete a rescue if you freeze to death yourself?" Through the link, he felt the rainwater stream down her long forelock into her eyes. Kikeona shook her head. "Mayhaps your seeming of a mercenary was not the best idea."
He considered that. The seeming blurred their elvish features into a more mortal appearance, a trick of the mind undetectable by all but the truly god-touched. "How else to explain my weapons and horse? Keep going. This road leads somewhere." Unless this also proved part of his nightmare – doomed to ride endlessly under a moonless sky.
"Lady, save me from would-be bards." Kikeona sighed. "If you must wax poetic, at least make it good poetry."
He grinned, patted her rain-slick neck and resumed scanning the woods, his other hand on the hilt of his sword.
"Relax, partner. We are the only creatures mad enough to be about on a night like this." Kikeona broke into a canter. "I need to get you out of this freezing rain."
Another hour passed. The rains grew worse. The sting of hail now joined the steady sleeting downpour, soaking the cold into Cianan's bones. How could anyone stand to live in such a forbidding place? Every time he thought he could not take another moment, Kikeona sent a pulse of warmth through their link. He was too grateful to reprimand her.
Several lights appeared through the gloom. Kikeona slowed to a trot. "Town ahead – looks big enough to have an inn."
Her hooves rang on mud-smeared stone as she carried him through the market, closed for the night, and down a wide street betwixt various shops, a livery and the smithy. The sound echoed in his mind. The entire town felt abandoned, though lights glowed in various windows off the main thoroughfare. Shielded lanterns on every street corner revealed no one about in the storm. In the far distance, towering above all, riotous mosaics of color stood out in vivid relief against the dark. Stained glass windows, indicating a fine home indeed, mayhaps even a palace.
They stopped afore a two-story stone building. The sign hanging over the door read The Green Lady. Cianan rode around back to the stables. The scent of wet horse and wetter wool vied with the familiar smells of manure, hay and leather. The stable boys were not to be seen.
Where was everyone?
"'A true ranger always sees to his horse first.'" Cianan recalled that part of the ranger code as he rinsed the mud off Kikeona and cleaned her hooves. Even when freezing rain ran down his back and his fingers were so stiff with cold the joints creaked. He put her in a clean tie-stall betwixt a plow horse and a mule, settling her ankle-deep in dry straw. Save for his bedding, flute and a few knives hidden on his person, he piled the rest of his gear in the manger and covered it with a large quantity of decent grass hay. Then he gave Kikeona a ration-and-a-half of salted oats and checked the freshness of the two water buckets. He brushed her down from dripping grey to almost white again and draped her with th
e saddle blanket.
"Shall you be all right out here?"
"I am quite content." She nuzzled him. "See to yourself."
Comforted by the fact their link meant they were never apart, regardless of physical distance, Cianan shouldered his bedding pack and strode out into the rain, around to the front door of the inn.
When he entered the main room, blissful warmth struck him from two roaring fireplaces, one at each end. Shadows danced on soot-frosted walls. The smell of hot stew, roasting meat and – Lady Goddess, fresh-baked bread! – made his mouth water. Underpinning these were the sour scents of bitter ale and many people in desperate need of baths all crowded together.
Beneath it all, Cianan also caught the sharp smell of fear.
Why was everyone afraid? And of what?
He strode up to a beefy man serving behind the bar. "I need a room and stabling."
Haggling ensued until Cianan was satisfied he had not been cheated. He paid the innkeeper in copper armbands, then took his gear upstairs to the last room on the left as instructed. It was a tiny cell with worn furniture, but clean and vermin-free. He laid his cloak afore the fire to dry, wrung out his hair and changed into dry clothes. He hung his wet clothes on wall pegs. Stashing his pack under the bed and the flute beneath the pillow, he returned to the common room.
The innkeeper served him a mug of hot apple cider and a trencher heaped with mutton stew, a fist-sized chunk of sizzling roast pork and a thick slice of steaming brown bread dripping with melted butter. A couple of merchants slid over to make room for him at their table.
"Heyla." Cianan took a big bite of the bread and closed his eyes in sheer bliss. Ah, the simple pleasures mortals took for granted – like hot bread drowning in butter. "Nasty night."
"Aye," the younger replied. "What's your name, merc?"
"Cianan." The first swig of cider thawed some of the ice in his veins. "Interested in a caravan guard or bodyguard?"
The older man shook his head. "We just returned from our final trip to the Marcou ports. Our season's done for the year. This isn't a good time for hiring or traveling." He kept his voice low and glanced over his shoulder as he spoke, as if in fear of being overheard. "You're lucky to get here when you did. It's not safe to travel alone after dark."
The door opened, and in strode a swarthy man with gold hoop earrings and a scarlet cape. "Greetings, gentlemen!" he boomed. "Lousy night for traveling. I'll take a room and a cup of ale, barkeep – and a round for every man here, as well."
Stony silence greeted him. Cianan looked at the closed faces of the men around him. The innkeeper spoke first. "Full up. Move on."
Cianan could not see turning a stray dog out into that weather. He studied the stranger. The flamboyant man's aura felt cloudy, but not dark. "Let him warm by the fire for a spell."
The older merchant gripped Cianan's arm in warning.
The newcomer squared his shoulders. His gaze met Cianan's for a moment, then he replied to the innkeeper, "My money's good."
"We don' serve yer kind. Get, 'fore I summon th' night watch," the barkeep growled.
With a mocking bow, the man left. Anger burned under Cianan's skin. The bread sat like a lump in his stomach. "What is going on?" he whispered to the older merchant at his side. "Turning away paying folks on a night like this?"
"This is a decent establishment," the younger merchant stated. "People see a filthy drifter in here, Brekk loses business. Long-term, savvy?"
"And you agree with this?" Cianan demanded.
A shadow crossed the older merchant's face. "It's the way things are. We don't make the rules. We just try to get along with them. Now you heed my words and hold your tongue."
The door slammed open, and in swept two uniformed swordsmen. Bronze marigolds pinned their cloaks. Cianan focused on those marigolds – like the ones in his visions. Were these men part of the skeleton army? The air itself grew thick with dread. He got the distinct impression every man in the room wished himself invisible.
"Queen Sunniva's night watch," the older merchant whispered. "Trust me, boy, you want no part of them."
The guardsmen strode up to the bar. The men there scattered like sheep. Brekk handed each guardsman a mug of ale. "Yer food's comin' right up, sirs."
An older woman brought out two heaping platters. She plunked them down onto the bar and retreated into the kitchen. The watchmen wolfed their dinners. The younger motioned for another ale. "Ye're behind on yer spirits tax. We've come t' collect fer th' queen."
"I paid ye last time," Brekk protested.
"That was fer last quarter. We're here fer this quarter."
Brekk opened the moneybox and counted out a handful of silver coins. The guard re-counted it and looked up. "Where's th' other half?"
"What? That's th' same amount I paid last time!"
"Well, now there's an immigration surcharge. I take th' other half or shut ye down, Arcadian. I'm sure th' good Shamari businessmen will welcome th' increase in revenue."
Brekk paled but handed over the additional coins. The guards laughed, finished their drinks and left without paying.
Cianan couldn't help overhearing. Prejudice, discrimination, corruption and extortion – quite an eye opening adventure. "This Sunniva, she is queen here?" Cianan asked. "Think she could use another guard?"
"What are you doing?" Kikeona demanded. "That was not part of the plan. Rescue the girl, then go home. Remember?"
The Lady's Light burned in his heart. "Plans change."
"We are not here to spy."
The merchants looked at Cianan like he had lost his mind. "You must be from very far east of here not to know of Queen Sunniva," the younger man stated.
You have no idea, Cianan thought.
"She's made a lot of improvements to Shamar," the merchant persisted.
"The cost is too high," his older compatriot disavowed, shaking his head.
It had the feel of an old argument. This fear and dread was not natural. Cianan yearned for home, even as his sworn vow as Lady's champion to drive back the darkness compelled him to stay. The Lady wanted him to stay, and not for the sake of one woman.
"I wouldn't go looking for work from her, stranger, unless you've got your guild stamp."
It figured a local mercenary guild collected dues for stamps. Cianan finished the remainder of his dinner in silence. "I bid you gentlemen goodnight." He rose, bowed and returned to his room. He rolled his bedding across the bed and stripped down to his breeches. He slid one knife beneath the thin mattress and another under the feather pillow, then crawled in and pulled his blankets up to his chest. "We shall visit the merc guild in the morning."
Kikeona's sleepy affirmative greeted his statement.
Everything ached, body, heart and soul. Cianan did not want to close his eyes, to revisit those visions yet again. How many times could he die with her? Even in dream-form, he felt the darkness burn him, a little more with each death. Desperate, Cianan pulled out the flute. Softly, he began to play. Songs of Light. Songs of home.
* * * *
The captain behind the battered wooden desk looked up at Cianan with narrowed eyes. "You don't look Shamari, soldier."
Cianan's head still ached from that accursed gate. He eyed the motes of dust floating in the thin sunlight that streamed through the single eastern window. Lady, how he missed the sun! East. Home. Away from this dark and dangerous land.
"I am not," Cianan said in careful common – tradespeak, up here. Despite decades of practice, he retained a telltale lilt.
The captain caught it. "Foreigner, eh?" His manner cooled; his lip curled.
"Here we go again," Kikeona said. "What is this prejudice? Who wants a war on his own soil? Of course we would be foreign."
"What company were you with last?" the man demanded.
"Fought with the Eagles in the south. Northern Arcadia, on the side of King Hengist of Riverhead, against Count Jalad of Westmarche." Cianan produced the documentation Dara, queen of the elves, had re
ceived from her human father, King Hengist. Thinking of the half-dragon fire mage as his best friend Loren's wife still boggled the mind. Loren had once been Lady's champion. Cianan had been selected by the Lady of Light to replace him when Loren became king.
The captain's eyes widened. "A royal seal, signed by the king's hand himself!"
Cianan shrugged. "We won. King Hengist was most grateful." Considering what the demon-possessed Jalad had done to the people of Riverhead, Cianan thought that might be a gross understatement. Contributing to Cianan's cover had been the least of what Hengist had offered. Not that these Shamari would understand. As far as he could tell, magic did not exist in this land. At all. Unless it was buried deep, its practitioners hidden.
The captain's mouth twitched, the first sign of thawing. "What's your specialty?"
"Archery and horse, but I am a fair hand with a sword."
"We'll see. A demonstration's required."
"Good thing you can do this in your sleep," Kikeona commented. "You look and feel a bit haggard this morning. You need rest. You cannot keep this up."
"We have to find her. She does not have much time. It gnaws at me, this darkness."
"Of course." Cianan figured a Shamari captain would not take a foreign mercenary at face value. He followed a burly sergeant with a granite face marred by ritual scarring out into the training yard. Soldiers appeared to be taking advantage of the break in the rain to get some practice in.
"Awright, ladies!" the sergeant bellowed. "Need a new lad tested. Who wants a go?"
Cianan drew his sword and paired off left-handed against a couple of stolid fighters who relied more on strength than on imagination. Best not to reveal all. He was right-handed, but the ability to use either was vital to any fighter.
His next opponent was smaller, lighter and quicker, with a curved scimitar in each hand. The man plied both with expert dexterity. Cianan found himself enjoying the duel. Not that the human pushed him, but he did get to move enough to thin the still-half-frozen blood in his veins.
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