by Miles Owens
Rhiannon looked at Vanora, who stood next to Rahl’s mother. Their look of concern mirrored her fear. Keeping her features smooth, Rhiannon told them, “I know Phelan is safe with Rahl. Both Teacher Lakenna and High Lord Keeper Branor think no further attacks have occurred.”
Vanora blinked back tears.
Rahl’s mother, a plump woman with a kindly face, nodded bravely even as her chin quivered. “Like Lord Tellan says, m’lady, Serous and Bowyn will keep everybody together till you and our men get there and deal with these evil creatures.” She shot a quick glance at Cora, then looked back to Rhiannon. “Teacher Lakenna was not the only one praying night before last.” Murmurs of agreement came from the others. “The Eternal woke many of us up to pray. We know Teacher Lakenna and the Keeper will be with you.” Her voice strengthened. “But you’ll be riding under our prayers as well, Lady Rhiannon, both for this and for your prophecy.”
Another wave of agreement came with many nodding heads.
Tears came to Rhiannon’s eyes. She did not trust herself to speak. “Thank you,” she managed finally. “Whatever the prophecy entails, I will strive to be faithful.”
Rhiannon and her father took their leave and hurried to mount up. Lakenna and Branor stepped forward. The Keeper wore his black rope and a thick winter cloak. His boots shone with fresh polish. Lakenna wore her customary white blouse, a blue cloak of heavy wool, and one of Rhiannon’ split skirts. The two of them had altered that skirt and another one like it for Lakenna during the night’s frantic preparations.
Night before last, Lakenna had startled the entire family after rising from her knees from what she described as another call to prayer similar to the one on the road to Lachlann. She said this one had seemed much more difficult, and without the assistance of some unknown partner, it might have failed. Since the hlaford and the immediate area were quiet, everyone’s first thought had been for Phelan and the sheep. Those fears had been confirmed at the herder’s arrival the next day.
Then, upon Branor’s arrival at the hlaford late yesterday afternoon, he had related a prayer battle exactly like Lakenna’s. At first, both Albane and Keeper had seemed relieved to discover the identity of their fellow spiritual warrior. But not for long. Things had quickly chilled since that initial revelation.
Now, however, they seemed in one accord as Lakenna spoke first. “M’lord, before we leave, there is a matter of grave urgency that Bra—. . . that High Lord Keeper Branor and I feel we must share with your family and your advisors.”
Tellan frowned fiercely. “Be quick. We have delayed long enough.”
Branor and the tutor stepped inside the sables. Rhiannon, Tellan, Mererid, Creag, Llyr, and Girard followed.
Branor and Lakenna described in detail their prayer battle on the night of the attack. Then, with each one helping the other put words to such a difficult subject, the two startled everyone—all but Rhiannon, anyway—by declaring they believed a siyyim indwelt Maolmin Erian.
Tellan received that revelation more calmly than Rhiannon would have thought, if a face hard enough to chop wood was calm. He stood with arms folded across his chest. Mererid stood straight-backed by his side, her fingers drumming on her leg as she digested the implications of what it would mean if the supreme leader of their clan were truly indwelt by a demon. Girard and Llyr stood on Tellan’s other side. The loreteller was ashen-faced. He put a hand over his eyes and moaned. Llyr nodded to himself as he stared at the ground.
Finally, Tellan spoke into the silence. “Rhiannon, is this what you felt in the stable at Lachlann?”
She loved him for that. “Yes, Father. In the stable and then in the pavilion, I sensed the same . . . wrongness about the High Lord.”
More silence. Outside, the day brightened. Rhiannon was as anxious as anyone to be gone, but this had to be settled.
She was also wrestling with a new and insistent feeling that she needed to bow the knee to the Eternal. It confused her. She had done that years ago at the ceremony at Kepploch. Why should more be necessary? She was as ready as she could be to be Protectoress of the Covenant. Still, the more she read Holy Writ and talked to Lakenna and Branor, the more it seemed that she had to, well, surrender to the Eternal. It was as if the faith she’d had as a child had served her well, but, like a young girl’s dress, she’d outgrown it and must now decide if she wanted a new one fitted for her, a mature faith that could look hard at the Eternal’s ways—accepting that she would never understand everything—and embrace it nevertheless.
“Lord Tellan,” Branor was saying, “I have thought long and hard over this matter and have discussed it with Abbot Trahern. If true, this explains your continual ill will toward Maolmin.”
“Of course!” Mererid looked at her husband. “All who know you have wondered at that. Lord Baird and I have talked of it many times.” She frowned. “But why only Tellan? The other kinsmen lords have no such feelings about Maolmin.”
“Rhiannon’s father is her first line of defense,” Lakenna said. “Though Lord Tellan may not have understood why, the Eternal was ensuring Rhiannon’s protection.”
Tellan’s face darkened. “You’re saying Maolmin is a threat to Rhiannon?”
“Yes,” Lakenna and Branor replied as one. They looked at each other, then back to Tellan.
“How great a threat?”
Keeper and Albane exchanged another glance. It was Branor who answered. “A deadly threat, my lord. The siyyim inside him must be seeking Rhiannon’s death so the prophecy will go unfulfilled.”
“Then why did he send winged horrors to attack the sheep a day’s journey distance?” Rhiannon asked.
“To draw us away,” Llyr rumbled. “Maolmin expects us to gather most of our men, gallop off to protect the sheep, and leave you here.”
Tellan swept his arm across the courtyard and the men and horses assembled there. “Which is exactly what we had planned to do!”
Branor related what he had learned from his reading about that outbreak centuries before, about how the Mighty Ones’ creatures seemed to be controlled by a siyyim.
“Keeper Alock noticed that the directed attacks ceased when the high priestess, or more specifically the demon inside her, was out of the general area. From what your herder has told us, the recent attack on the sheep must have been undirected, while the previous one on the road must have been directed.” Branor paused. “If Maolmin is attempting to draw away Rhiannon’s physical protection, he must be planning to come here and direct another attack himself.”
“Not Maolmin,” Girard said, “it’ll be his rhyfelwr, Lomas Erian.” Everyone turned to look at the short loreteller. “Lomas will be in Lachlann tomorrow to check on preparations for the Presentation. It was to be Abel Caemhan, Maolmin’s loreteller.” Girard rubbed his chin. “The other loretellers and I were to meet with Abel and decide who was to speak at the Presentation. But last week, Abel sent a letter asking me to make those choices in his place. It seems Abel’s sister lost her husband during a sudden outbreak of lung fever. Since she lives in the Ardnamur Mountains, Abel and his family were leaving immediately so they could be back in time for his daughter, Breanna, to participate in the Maiden Pole ceremony. Lomas is coming to Lachlann instead.”
“The Albanes have teachings that say lesser demons, like a rabisu, serve the greater demons,” Lakenna said slowly. “Perhaps Lomas is indwelt by one of those.”
Branor nodded. “Rabisu are said to be male and bloodthirsty. Lilitu are female and are depicted as very sexual. It is said they . . . ” His voice tailed off. “Discussion for another time. I agree with Lakenna. If Lomas harbors a rabisu or lilitu, it could direct the winged horrors even without Maolmin’s presence.”
“So where does this leave us?” Mererid asked. “How do we send enough men to bring Phelan back safely and still defend Rhiannon? Not to mention us here at the hlaford.”
“By me still riding with father,” Rhiannon said, determined to ignore her thudding heart and clammy palms. Her father and
Mererid frowned mightily, but she hurried on. “With my training I will be an asset, not a liability. Tomorrow Girard can ensure that Lomas knows I have left in the midst of twenty-five Rogoth warriors. There will be no reason to attack here. Besides, if winged horrors do find me, don’t you think it’s better to face them in the open and not trapped inside a burning building?”
Tellan pondered. The etched lines around his mouth cast deep shadows on his face. Finally, he raised an eyebrow at Llyr.
“I would prefer to face them in the open,” the rhyfelwr said. “And I’d feel better having Rhiannon with us.”
“How do we handle Lomas?”
Llyr gave Tellan a look. “Girard tells Lomas that if anything happens to the hlaford—anything—then I’ll find a reason to call him out on a matter of honor and kill him.”
The two locked eyes for a moment. Tellan nodded slightly, then turned to Girard. “At first light, you ride into Lachlann and give Lomas this message from Llyr.”
“I will go with Girard,” Mererid declared firmly, “and deliver Llyr’s message myself.” Her eyes flashed. “These things slink around and attack children and unarmed herders. I want Lomas and Maolmin to know that we are prepared and ready.” She looked at Tellan, her eyes fierce as a mother bear defending her cubs. “Would that we could deliver the same warning to Maolmin himself.”
“Why not?” Lakenna asked, puzzled.
“By honored tradition,” Rhiannon explained, “the six clan High Lords are protected against attack on their person or property, or being called out on matters of honor like the challenge to which Llyr refers. In the event of an unprovoked attack, all kinsmen lords unite and march on the traitor and strip away title and lands.”
“We’ll be treading on dangerous ground to even challenge a High Lord’s rhyfelwr,” Girard said. “If Maolmin chooses to make an issue of it, I fear the Loreteller Assembly will decree it would be the same as attacking the High Lord himself.” He sighed. “Unfortunately, Maolmin—and the siyyim, if one truly dwells in him—are protected by clan lore. We would have to prove to a majority of kinsmen lords that Maolmin is what you say he is. Can you do that?”
Branor and Lakenna shook their heads.
“But there is one thing more, Lord Tellan,” Branor said. “I . . . we fear your association with Lord Gillaon and the Broken Stone Land might be hindering our ability to pray for protection.”
Tellan’s face darkened. “Explain.”
Again, the two looked at each other. “Something is,” Lakenna began. “I . . . we think—”
“This stretches things too far,” Tellan said. “Worship of the Mighty Ones, I can see. But we are far from that. Trade is trade, and coin is coin.”
“We don’t understand it,” Lakenna said. “We are new at this and uncertain on many things . . . ”
Tellan clenched his jaw. “Until you are, continue to pray. We will keep our bows strung and our swords sharp. Mount up.”
Rhiannon gave Mererid a quick hug and hurried out with the others.
A groom brought out Munin, Phelan’s gelding, and gave the reins to Lakenna. The tutor eyed the horse uncertainly, as if trying to decide which end to mount.
“You’ll do fine,” Rhiannon assured her. “Munin taught me how to ride. He’ll do the same for you.”
Lakenna looked unconvinced. “I could ride in the carriage. It could carry part of the supplies.”
“The terrain is much too steep and rocky. A carriage would never last.”
“I am a tireless walker,” Lakenna stated with faint hope as she continued to eye the saddle. It was the highest-cantled saddle they had, something that would to give her a more secure seat.
Rhiannon found herself smiling for the first time since the news of the attack. “We will be riding fast, alternating between a trot and a canter.”
“Trot?” The tutor swallowed. “Canter?” She looked anew at Munin, her expression one of growing doubt.
“As we discussed at length last night,” Keeper Branor said as he mounted easily his long-legged bay mare, “it makes perfect sense for you to remain here with Mererid and Creag while I accompany Rhiannon and Lord Tellan.” He shifted in the saddle to arrange the black robe around his legs. Though freshly shaven, his face still had a dark beard shadow. “If another attack comes, we can pray together in the same manner as we did night before last.”
Lakenna’s expression firmed. She patted Munin on the neck. “M’lady, show me how to mount.”
Rhiannon helped the tutor mount and showed her how to hold the reins. Moving around to mount Nineve, Rhiannon caught Creag’s gaze and knew he was furious about being left behind. She stepped close to him. “It is a measure of Father’s confidence that he trusts you to protect Mother. Besides, you are the heir; you must carry on if he does not return.”
Creag thought that through and seemed somewhat mollified. Llyr and the others mounted. Rhiannon’s filly danced around skittishly as Rhiannon took the reins and mounted, careful to keep her sword out of the way.
Rhiannon nudged Nineve closer to Creag. “I’d feel better if you and your sword were by my side. But I know what a comfort that sword is for Mother.”
“Indeed,” Mererid said. She placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder while giving Rhiannon a look of approval. Creag brightened and wished Rhiannon safe journey.
A touch of pink showed in the eastern sky. Tellan gave Mererid a formal bow, charged Creag to protect his mother, then mounted easily his stallion and rode to the head of the column of the warriors.
They made an impressive column, Rhiannon thought. Twenty-five men with various types of metal helmets, swords, strung bows, and quivers bristling with arrows lined up behind the Rogoth banner: a white ram with triple spiral horns on a red field. More than half wore chain mail, treasured heirlooms handed down from father to son. Four pack mules and five spare mounts were hitched head to tail at the rear of the column. Rhiannon noted that the mules were being handled by Larris Werfl, the young man her father had sent home for not maintaining his gear. As Tellan had predicted, Larris had satisfied Llyr and regained his place in the reserve.
Llyr rapped out an order, and three riders galloped ahead to a serve as scouts.
Rhiannon joined Lakenna and Branor in the middle of the column.
“Stay between Rhiannon and me,” Branor advised Lakenna. “We will keep you in the saddle.”
“I’ll be fine,” the tutor declared. She patted Munin’s neck—then her head jerked back as the gelding leaped to follow the horses ahead. Eyes wide in alarm, Lakenna seized the saddle horn in a death grip as Tellan led them out at a fast canter toward the Fea Mountains.
They were several turns of the glass from home, the horses in a ground-eating trot, when Rhiannon felt the first tingle. It felt like a chill running up her spine. She shrugged it off.
The sun was high in the cloudless sky. The land was all uphill, rolling crests covered with a carpet of tough grass dotted with clumps of rank bitterweed. Groves of trees became more scattered as they traveled higher.
Lakenna was hanging on determinedly. Both hands still gripped the pommel of her saddle as she bounced about on the leather seat. Rhiannon could only imagine the agony the tutor was going to suffer in the next day or two.
Branor, an experienced horseman, rode smoothly. His mare, however, was not used to such a pace over uneven terrain; she was well lathered and her nostrils were flaring when Tellan finally called halt for a short break.
After helping Lakenna step down, Rhiannon loosened Munin’s and Nineve’s girths. Groaning, Lakenna wobbled away, knelt in a patch of grass in front of a rock, and began massaging the inside of her thighs.
Tellan rode down the column, checking horses and men as they dismounted, eyes missing nothing. When he saw Branor’s mare, he snorted. “You should have listened to me, Keeper, and left her at the hlaford. Unsaddle her. I’ll send you one of our spare mounts, a sturdy Rogoth horse that’ll carry you at this pace all day and not be blowing like this
one.”
Branor nodded sheepishly and began uncinching his saddle.
Rhiannon felt it again: a strong tingle between her shoulder blades. Shivering, she felt the hairs on her arms rise.
Branor froze. He turned and looked at Lakenna. The tutor rose to her feet, face concerned.
“What is this I am feeling?” Rhiannon asked, afraid that she knew.
“The presence of the Mighty Ones’ creatures,” Branor answered as he dropped his saddle to the ground. He regarded her with interest. “You are sensing this, too?”
She nodded. Then her stomach twisted up in a sick knot. Branor grimaced as well. Hands on hips, he scanned the horizon. The sky was empty. No birds flew. It was deathly quiet, punctuated by an occasional snort from a horse and the creak of gear as the men checked their mounts and the straps on the pack mules.
The feeling passed.
Branor sighed, looked back at Lakenna again—and frowned. The tutor was turning in a complete circle, searching the sky. Finally, Branor cleared his throat. “Ah, Teacher?”
Lakenna still studied the sky. “Yes. They are further away somehow. Still, we’d best inform Lord Tellan.”
Rhiannon watched Branor chew his lower lip in indecision. He looked about to speak again when a young warrior led up a shaggy-haired gelding.
He handed the reins to Branor, then picked up the saddle. With practiced ease, he placed it on the horse’s back and cinched it tight. He took Branor’s mare. “I’ll try to give her a quick rubdown before we mount back up.” The young man led the sweating horse to the rear of the column.
Branor rubbed the muzzle of his new mount, then looked toward Lakenna again.
The tutor must have felt his scrutiny. She turned to face him. “Yes?” Her voice was cool. Rhiannon could barely hear it.
Branor stepped toward Lakenna. “Are you . . . in pain?”