Blood of the Falcon, Volume 2 (The Falcons Saga)

by Ellyn, Court

  “Oh, do give me the pleasure, sire,” Lander said, more in taunt than in true blood-thirst.

  Rhorek glared at him coolly. “Haven’t you done enough?”

  Lander said nothing else, and Goryth chuckled behind the gag, showing off his battle-broken teeth.

  Once the wagons trundled off, Morach released Leshan. He watched the dust churning up behind the wheels and decided the Warlord was a man of his word, despite the posturing the others had done, and so Leshan, too, had to hold to his word. This enemy he’d inherited from his father would come for what belonged to him, and empty taunts would be of no use.

  Lander approached him, words on his lips, no doubt as empty as the ones he had traded with the Warlord, and the stone of his prize gleamed as white and ugly as a corpse’s face. Leshan refused to hear him. He snorted in the manner of a scoffing bull and walked away.

  ~~~~

  Though Kelyn didn’t feel up to it, he descended to the dining hall for supper. Somehow, he had to find a moment alone with Rhoslyn; she had to give him answers. All day and all night, he had worried about what exactly happened in the heat of that hearth-fire, excused it away a hundred times, a thousand times. But Rhoslyn’s dress under his chair had been no dream, nor had the other signs that he knew all too well. The feel of female all over his skin; the scent of woman’s perfume in his hair.

  He couldn’t stand it another night; he had to know, one way or another.

  The highborn guests had departed with the morning, and the duchess had spent the day in the Duke’s Hall, attending to the first petitions arriving from the city. She and her aunt, the only two diners at the long formal table, bickered over the decisions to be made. They were surprised when Kelyn asked to join them. Rhoslyn’s eyes widened, and she buried her nose in a goblet, leaving Halayn to speak for her.

  “Of course you may join us. You’re feeling better then? Less discomfort?”

  “Of a sort,” Kelyn replied and sat across from Halayn, on Rhoslyn’s left. Servants hurried to set him a placing and poor wine. Kelyn laid his hand over the goblet in refusal. “Another week, in fact, and I’ll be able to ride south, if not to full duties yet.”

  Over the rim of her goblet, Rhoslyn glared in horror, as if he’d admitted to committing some crime.

  “We’ll be sorry to see you go,” Halayn said. “You will have to take better care of yourself.”

  Kelyn had arrived in time for the second course, a fine display of baked shellfish in a spicy pepper sauce. Rhoslyn glanced at her portion, grimaced, and waved her plate away.

  “Oh, my dear,” Halayn scolded, “you have to eat. Mourning does make one ill, but you need your strength.”

  Because Rhoslyn refused, Kelyn devoured every morsel set in front of him, though his nerves were hardly up for it.

  Halayn added, “If it isn’t vulgar to say so, niece, you’ve got a mess on your hands.”

  Rhoslyn glanced at her in surprise, around at Kelyn, down at the table. Halayn didn’t notice, but rattled on, “So many dishonest folk in this city. They’re trying to take advantage of you, but we’ll outsmart them. Mother help us, now is the time we need Zellel’s talents. But Kieryn will be of help when he returns, you’ll see.”

  “Kieryn?” Rhoslyn asked, as if she’d never heard the name—or tried to forget it. “Oh. Yes. Of course.”

  This time, Halayn saw the jump Rhoslyn’s eyes made in Kelyn’s direction. She glanced between the two of them, fingers twitching about the fork as an assassin might finger a dagger. “You must be worried about him, given Zellel’s parting words.”

  “Y-yes,” Rhoslyn stammered.

  “Worried? What parting words?” Kelyn asked, a second dread sinking claws into his belly.

  Halayn’s voice dropped. “The shadow. Zellel implied that thing might follow Kieryn and attack him as it did my … well, you know. I can’t understand it.”

  Kelyn recalled the horrible draining he had felt when that thing grabbed hold of him, and he felt dizzy all over again.

  Halayn sped on, “Now, when the masters of the silkweavers guild arrive tomorrow—”

  “Please, Aunt,” Rhoslyn cut in, pressing her fingers to her temples. “I can’t think straight.”

  “My dear, you must.”

  “These people can wait.”

  “Can they? Your people have concerns that have nothing to do with you, yet they depend on you for answers. Deal with them promptly and you earn their respect. Deal with them now, when you are hurting, and they may be more inclined to wait later. But these first few weeks are critical for you, Your Grace.”

  Rhoslyn groaned. “I know! And everyone is expecting me to fail.”

  “No, they are hoping you will succeed. You alone can see that you do. Am I right, m’ lord?”

  The question startled Kelyn. He stammered, “I … wouldn’t know, Your Ladyship. But I think Harac would’ve said the same. And you will have my brother to help you.”

  Rhoslyn tossed her napkin onto the table and snapped, “Fine advisers, the both of you!”

  Halayn gaped as Rhoslyn fled the dining hall. “What in the Mother’s name?”

  Kelyn grit his teeth. She was running from him, the little coward, and he would be damned if he’d let her. “I’ll go,” he said when Halayn started to rise.

  She sank into her chair with awareness seeping into her face. “I think I made a mistake sending you after her. I thought you were a man of honor. Like your brother.”

  The words disarmed him utterly. He bowed an exit and trudged leaden-legged into the corridor. This all had to be a mistake, a misunderstanding. He hurried after the receding echo of Rhoslyn’s footsteps, caught up to her on the second floor. She was pretending to be too dignified to run, and his long stride fast outpaced her. Her mouth opened, but his grip on her arm stifled the snide remark. He tossed her into the nearest parlor. “Listen, Duchess, my reputation—fragile as is it—is in jeopardy, if it’s not ruined already. I need the truth and I need it now. I don’t know what you think happened but—”

  “It happened!” Rhoslyn cried, eyes clamped shut. “How can you ask me this? You opened your eyes and looked at me. You knew it was me. I couldn’t have unlaced that dress by myself.”

  “You’re lying,” Kelyn said, hoping it was true, sure it was not. He paced before the cold hearth, fighting off the panic. “Goddess, Rhoslyn, what were you thinking? You were sober, you did this deliberately, didn’t you? Why? You were angry with him, weren’t you? Because he wasn’t here.”

  The answer seemed to catch in her throat, so much so that her hand came to rest there, fingers squeezing, and she said nothing in her defense.

  Kelyn stopped pacing and glared, hating her. “You stupid, selfish little girl. I’ll be lucky if he doesn’t kill me. You realize that?”

  She wiped her face dry and shook her head. Suddenly composed, she said, “Kieryn never has to know.” She had thought this through, likely when her aunt assumed she was contemplating one petition or another. “We were drunk. It was a mistake, that’s the end of it.”

  “Rhoslyn, you fool, he’s avedra! Your aunt all but guessed after you left the table, how are we to hide anything from Kieryn?”

  “He told me he would never intrude on my thoughts,” she insisted. “It’s an avedra code of some kind and applies to everyone but enemies. He won’t know.”

  “I’m not talking about his reading our thoughts. He knows us. No, it’s safer if I leave before he returns.”

  Rhoslyn rushed forward; her hands clenched his sleeve. “Stay. Please stay. If you go before Kieryn comes back, he’ll worry. He’ll ask me why you didn’t wait. Besides, you’re not well enough. You’ll do yourself more harm.”

  He shook her off, horrified. Had she taken advantage of him, not only to spite her betrothed, but to bind Kelyn to her, to win him, in the hopes that he would agree to provide something Kieryn hadn’t? “Don’t attach yourself to me. Don’t you dare.”

  She backed away, looking scared and hurt.
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  “Five days, Rhoslyn. He won’t be back before then, but until I leave, stay the hell away from me. Kieryn is the one who loves you.” He hurried for the door, but couldn’t resist tossing one last sting over his shoulder. “If Zellel was right, we’re worrying for nothing. Kieryn may be dead somewhere. Let that comfort you—Duchess.”

  Her echoing sobs pursued him to the stairwell.

  ~~~~

  50

  Sarvana drew to a halt under the eastern eaves of Avidan Wood. The late afternoon sun cast the shadows of the trees across the meadow and the river bank. Wind-burned cheeks and a racing heart gave Kieryn the sensation that he was still flying. He expected the Guardians of the Wood to be watching from the branches, but when he focused his Veil Sight, the woods were dark. Not a single azeth glowed in the canopy or the underbrush. Only the sound of the horse’s quick breathing reached his ears. No birds. No barking squirrels. Emptiness.

  “Saffron,” he whispered. The fairy appeared between Sarvana’s ears where she had perched for the long ride. “What’s happened?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” she said, drifting toward him. “I’ve not returned since I came away with you.”

  “Is it the rágazeth?” He glanced about nervously.

  “I would feel its evil, were it near.” She settled on his shoulder. “Besides, my ward still holds.”

  “Can you go to Aerdria and find out what’s wrong?”

  “I nearly lost you to assassins and to shadows. I’m not leaving your side.”

  Kieryn urged Sarvana into the trees; they passed through the illusory barrier, but little was different on the other side. Eerie stillness. The horse’s hooves clacked on the flagstone road, as loud as a drum. He searched right and left for signs of ogres. Perhaps they had attacked en masse. Saffron’s wards wouldn’t keep out those great reeking beasts. Kieryn imagined their mottled, septic flesh and thin orange blood polluting Linndun’s streets. Beside them lay the hacked and twisted bodies of slain Elarion.

  Kieryn spurred Sarvana to a gallop. A mile further on, a dark form leapt from the underbrush and stood amid the road. Sarvana reared and screamed. Kieryn raised a hand, ready to strike with white fire. But he recognized the green-marked face of the Captain of the Eastern Wood. Her black hair and gray leather tunic were the semblance of shadow. “Careful with that weapon of yours, avedra,” she said.

  “Goddess!” Kieryn swore. “Teriena, isn’t it? What the hell is going on? Naenion?”

  “Would that it were,” she said, her somber, ethereal face casting accusation at him. “No, the trouble lies among our own kind and concerns you directly.”

  “How?”

  “That remains to be decided, avedra.” She practically choked on the word. She harbored no love for him, that was plain. “Walk with me, and I’ll tell you what I was bid to tell you.”

  Kieryn dismounted, in no way wishing to rub this warrior the wrong way. The news she imparted was too painful to believe. Lothiar summoned the shadow? He was caught and arrested? The thing went on a rampage in the city?

  “There’s to be a trial,” Teriena added. “They’re waiting for you.”

  “For me?”

  “Nothing like this has ever happened among our kind. That Lothiar snapped only after you arrived isn’t coincidence, and many wonder what part you played.”

  Teriena was one of them; he read it in the way she crossed her arms and measured him head to foot.

  “Look, all I did was follow Zellel through the city gate. I didn’t want to come here. Why should I when you blame me for all your ills? I’m just trying to understand how I fit into all this mess, and what I did to earn Lothiar’s hatred.”

  Her indigo eyes speared him. “I think that’s exactly what Aerdria wants to find out.”

  That Aerdria might’ve turned on him in favor of her long-time protector was too heartbreaking to contemplate.

  “You’re to hurry to the city,” Teriena added, “and once there to ride immediately to the palace. Don’t give anyone time to show you hostility.”

  How quickly this people—his people—whom he had come to cherish, would disown him, even kill him. But in all this confusion, he found one cause to hope. “Aerdria sent you to warn me?”

  “No, the note came from Lyrienn.” Teriena offered neither salute nor parting words, but vanished into the dusky shadows under the trees.

  Galloping all the way, he reached the city’s South Gate just before midnight. Raising a hand, he hailed the gatekeepers, “Slanta!” A pair of Elarion in shiny helms peered down at him, but they did not repeat the traditional greeting.

  “Kieryn of Elves’ Meadow?” The guard knew him well, but translated the name of his ancestral home with the clear purpose of reminding him if its original owners.

  He bristled and replied, “Aye.”

  Silence. Kieryn feared the guards were notching arrows. “Saffron?” he asked.

  “I’ve warded you,” came a whisper in his ear.

  Instead of arrows, the silver doors turned on their hinges. Kieryn charged through, though he suspected he may never ride out again. The streets were largely deserted, but he did as he was ordered and raced along the thoroughfare to the spindle bridge. There he paused, for he glimpsed the glow of several fires in the west. Below the great sandstone wall, atop hills raised higher than the surrounding rooftops, funeral pyres burned. Over the roar of the river’s falls rang the dim, distant note of keening. He hurried on.

  As soon as he dismounted in the courtyard, someone called out to him. Lyrienn ran down the steps. “Thank the Mother you’re all right,” she exclaimed. “Did Teriena tell you?”

  He nodded gravely. In the light of orbs hovering over the courtyard, Lyrienn’s face was sallow with fear. “Oh, Kieryn, it was awful. Like a nightmare that doesn’t end when you wake. That evil thing loose among us! There was no pattern or purpose to its flight. It just swept through the palace and the streets, leaving at least a hundred dead in its wake.

  He gripped her by the shoulders. “Where is the rágazeth now?”

  “Gone. I feared somehow it had slipped through Saffron’s wards and chased after you, but Aerdria and a dozen spellweavers found it this morning, attacking one of the towers outside the city. I don’t know how they did it, but they opened a gate to the Abyss and banished the Demon back to where it belongs. It took three weavers with it. Oh, Goddess, spare them!” She sobbed into her hands. “My brother. My brother did all this!”

  “What will Aerdria do with him?”

  “I don’t know. Laniel sits with him, outside his cell. He’s not taking this any better than I. They had argued so many times over their views about humanity, you avedrin, our past, our future, but Laniel never guessed Lothiar would do anything as evil as this. None of us did.” She tugged his hand. “Come, I’ll take you to the Lady.”

  She led him along the marble corridors and up the Lady’s tower. Finding her awake, Lyrienn admitted Kieryn into the suite. Aerdria sat before a window in black silk, a color Kieryn didn’t think the Elarion possessed. Hunched with sorrow, she looked like a wraith that might dissolve with a puff of wind. She regarded him blankly, her lavender eyes dull with lack of sleep, then she turned away. Had she summoned him just so she could dismiss him? The Lady was not so cruel.

  She drifted onto a balcony where a cold wind swirled her skirts. At last, she crooked a finger and said, “Stand with me, Kieryn.”

  Relieved, he gladly obeyed. Together they gazed westward at the cluster of fires in the Burning Yard.

  “Are you familiar with this pain, nephew?”

  “Which pain, Lady?”

  “Betrayal. Have you ever trusted someone with all your heart, only to find them untrustworthy?”

  He bowed his head. “Not yet.”

  With the wisdom of long years, she said, “You are wise to expect it. We can’t often guess where the betrayal will come from. Or when.”

  “Lady, I feel this is my fault. I ask your pardon.”

 
She faced him, puzzled. “Your fault?”

  “You never had cause to distrust Lothiar before I came along.”

  She shook her head; silver baubles on her earlobes shivered like tears. “No, the signs were there. I should’ve been wary.” Turning back to gaze over the city, she added, “He was deeply scarred during the Human War. While that doesn’t excuse him, it does explain his motives. We do not forget easily. Our memories are long. And sharp. Sometimes sharp enough to cut, and old wounds do not heal. Our city is now torn because of it. I’ve received countless petitions demanding Lothiar’s freedom. Every one of them comes from Elarion of his generation, those who survived the War. But our younger citizens, they fear and hate him for loosing this evil among them.”

  “How will you judge him then?”

  She exhaled a sigh. “As I must. But I have questions for him first. There is something he must confess, though I fear he’ll refuse.” Touching Kieryn lightly on the shoulder, she added, “Your rooms are ready for you. Try to rest. Tomorrow we will see an end of this horror.”

  ~~~~

  At dawn, silver horns announced the convening of the trial. Elarion from across the city and the outposts beyond the wall converged in the main thoroughfare, crowding the street and the balconies. Soldiers wearing the red keldjeq barred the four bridges to the Lady’s Isle with a barrier of spears. Aerdria’s council and Lothiar’s kin gathered in the Moon Hall. The ten Dardrion formed a semicircle behind Aerdria’s throne, but to ensure the Moon Guard restrained themselves from taking actions on Lothiar’s part, the Lady ordered a platoon of regulars and a troop of Wood Guardians to take position along the walls to either side of the dais.

  Kieryn, standing outside the gathering councilors, felt as if he might be crushed any moment by opposing tides. He wanted to sink into the marble floor, but Lyrienn, on his right hand, looked so proud and unshakable, that Kieryn raised his chin, too.