“Age is meaningless for a true maga. That’s what Eolyn says.” Adiana rested her head on Renate’s shoulder.
The older woman returned her warm embrace, inhaling the sweet smells of night mingled with Adiana’s vibrant aroma of primrose and summer winds, of the riverside city that had once been her home.
She envied her friend in that moment, not so much for her youth and beauty, but for her continued faith in the possibility that anything could be finished. Someday time and experience would break that faith. Desire and loss, terror and death, treachery and abandonment, all of it stayed with a person until the end of her days, animating the shadows at night, invading dreams, stealing away tranquility in the lonely hours before dawn.
Adiana sighed and lifted her cup to the sky. “I love this moment, when the wine makes the stars shine brighter than ever. Gods bless the vineyards of Selkynsen! Look at the fir, Renate. See how it dances in the torch light?”
“This is but a momentary truce with the Gods,” Renate murmured into her cup. “Three years they have left us in peace; it cannot last much longer.”
“Hah! There you go again.” Adiana took Renate’s hand in hers. “What’s wrong, Renate? Are you having bad dreams?”
Renate bit her lip and looked away. “Last night I was in the wastes of the dead. The magas came after me with clawed hands and hateful screams.”
“Gods, that’s awful!” Adiana withdrew from their embrace and studied Renate in the dark. “You burden yourself with far too much guilt, dear friend. It wasn’t your fault what happened.”
“It was my fault, Adiana.” There was no sadness in her voice, no regret, only the cold acknowledgment of truth. “I could blame my youth or my fear and innocence. I could say circumstances went beyond my control, but I would only be hiding inside my own myth. I made my choices. I understood their consequences, and many of my sisters burned because of it.”
Adiana sent a slow whistle through her teeth. “You’ve never said it quite like that before.”
Renate shrugged and stared absently into the darkness.
“Does Eolyn know you feel that way?”
“She thinks the Gods have a different way of judging our transgressions, that they interpret our acts across a grander expanse of time and consequence.” Renate shivered as Eolyn’s words echoed inside her head. “She believes I survived then in order to serve a greater purpose now.”
“Well, she’s right, isn’t she? You’re here after all, helping to rebuild the legacy of the magas. I bet all your dead sisters are happy about that.”
Renate frowned. How to explain to Adiana that this would not be enough? Dragon was waiting to exact a greater payment, a harsher sacrifice. The old maga had left everything behind and followed Eolyn to Moehn in anticipation of this.
“Do you know what I dream about, Renate?” Adiana’s voice became bright, washing the away the shadows of doom, as was her gift. “The Circle. Now those are good dreams, about singing with Rishona, making music with Nathan and Kahlil after the show. I miss those times, all our friends from those far-flung kingdoms, travelling from one end of Moisehén to the other.”
Renate gave a short mocking laugh. “Corey had us on a knife’s edge with that show of his. Not a day passed when I didn’t think the next magistrate would throw us all on the pyre.”
“But we laughed about it didn’t we? And we created like happy fools. So much defiance in our art! So much beauty. Do you think Corey will ever organize something like that again?”
“I don’t know.” Renate had cared deeply for Corey. She might have loved him once, had she not been such an old crone and he such a young fool. “He might. But I don’t think it would be the same, if he did.”
“No, I suppose not. I used to think Corey would be the perfect match for Eolyn.”
“Corey and Eolyn?” Renate snorted. “Adiana, you have many gifts, but matchmaking is not one of them.”
“What would have been so wrong about that? He’s a mage, and she is a maga.”
“Corey is like a vine growing in the dark. Eolyn is a flower open to the sun.”
“So he turned out to be a treacherous bastard. None of us saw that coming back then.”
“I thought you could read a man like a book,” Renate retorted.
“I can tell if a man’s a considerate lover. It’s much harder picking out the treacherous bastards.”
“Corey was not so bad.” Renate swirled her cup and took another drink. “He only did what he thought he had to do.”
“Well, Eolyn will never trust him again, not after the way he betrayed her brother.”
The sound of heavy footfalls distracted them from their conversation. One of the men approached, torch in hand.
“Maga Renate,” he said, “Mistress Adiana. Sir Malrec requests that you meet him at the north wall at once.”
Something in the man’s tone extinguished the heat of the wine. Renate’s bones creaked as she rose to her feet, and she gripped Adiana’s hand for help.
They fastened their cloaks and followed the soldier between the stone buildings and across the gardens. There were no voices to be heard, no soldiers engaged in idle conversation. Crickets and frogs filled the silence with their insistent song. The nervous whinny of horses drifted toward them from the stable. When they approached the half-built wall, their escort brought the torch low. Malrec greeted them in subdued tones and beckoned them to his side.
“There toward the north.” He indicated with a nod.
Renate peered over the half-finished wall. In the distance she spotted a luminous mist that wavered, faded then flared again. A memory stirred inside her, nebulous in form, as if she had lived this moment before, though she could not quite capture when.
“What is it?” she asked, not certain she wanted to hear the answer.
“Fire,” Malrec replied. “The fields around Moehn are burning. Or worse, the town itself.”
Renate gripped Adiana’s arm. “We must go to them. We’ll need marigold, yellow carowort, and fire-of-aethne, among other herbs and ointments. Adiana, come with me to the herbarium. Malrec, see the horses are readied at once.”
“No.” The finality of his tone caught Renate off guard.
“No?” she replied. “What do you mean, no?”
“I have readied the horses, but not to take you to Moehn. At least, not until we have some idea of what is happening there.”
“Are you mad? We can see what is happening. Those people are suffering! As a maga, I am sworn to help them.”
“As a Knight of Vortingen, I am sworn to protect you. You and the Mistress Adiana are not to depart until I give you leave to do so. I have sent a scout to assess the situation. We should have word from him within the hour.”
“I will not sit here a prisoner in my own home while people’s lives are in danger.”
“The town may be under attack.”
“Moehn under siege?” Renate threw up her hands in disbelief. “Oh, for Gods’ sake. Who would attack Moehn? Some drunken imbecile kicked over a lantern, or a torch fell from its rusted sconce.”
“We cannot be certain of that.”
A shout from one of the men perched on the wall silenced them. All eyes turned north once again. The night went still. The crickets stopped singing. Renate scanned the darkness, conscious of the unnatural silence. She could hear Malrec’s breath, low and steady. A charge filled the air, as if lightning were poised to rip through the starry heavens.
“What is it?” she whispered. “What did they see?”
Malrec hushed her, raising one hand as he searched the obscure terrain.
Once, a lifetime ago, Renate had been a High Maga, and she could change into an owl and see the night world with clarity. But she had long since abandoned those powers, and now the hills so familiar by daylight were amorphous, the distances impossible to judge.
Was that movement she saw along a nearby ridge? A lynx, perhaps, taking advantage of the moonless night to scurry across open fields.
But then a flame ignited in its wake, followed by a discontinuous arc of light that spread point by point over the low hill, like a line of small torches. On sudden impulse, the string of flames rose high into the air, slowed against the ebony firmament, then fell toward the Aekelahr in a hissing rain of fire.
Malrec took hold of Renate and crushed her against the wall, knocking the wind out of her as the arrows fell behind them, some embedding in the earth, others landing on nearby roofs and igniting the thatch in an instant.
“The children!” Adiana cried, and she tore away from the soldier who had shielded her, disappearing into the flickering shadows.
Renate moved to follow, but Malrec caught her by the arm and yanked her back.
“The horses are ready,” he said. She had never seen his face so close, so vivid. The rounded cheeks, the rough curls of his beard, the fine spittle that rode on rapid words. “Take them and head south. Do not look back, do not stop, until you reach the forest. Three of the men will accompany you. Go!”
He shoved her away. Renate’s feet moved of their own volition, carrying her toward the girls’ room even as a second volley of flames descended from the heavens. Behind her raged the shouts of desperate men, followed by the ring of metal upon metal and sudden cries of anguish. Already the assailants were topping the half-finished wall.
Adiana was ushering the girls out of their room. They stumbled, bleary eyed and confused, with summer cloaks thrown over their nightshifts. The soldiers met them with five steeds. One of the men hauled Catarina up to ride with him, Adiana mounted with Tasha, and Ghemena was given to Renate.
As they turned the horses toward the south gate, Renate caught site of Eolyn’s study. The roof was ablaze with golden flames, bright as the sun come to earth.
“The annals,” she cried in panic and spurred her horse toward the fire.
The animal whinnied and pulled back before they reached the building. Leaving the reins with Ghemena, Renate dropped to the ground. Ignoring the shock of pain in her legs, she raced to the study and burst through the door.
Smoke lodged in her throat and stung her eyes. The room itself was not yet aflame, but the roof roared and burning ash fluttered on the air like black snow.
Renate blinked back tears. Was this what her sisters had seen, as the flames rose up around them? The world aglow with scalding heat, the cold realm of the dead their only promise of escape.
Shaking the image from her mind, she spotted books on the corner shelves. She threw her cloak down in front of them and piled all the volumes she could before tying the corners into a makeshift sack and dragging it back to the entrance. By the time she emerged from the study, every muscle in her body ached.
“For the love of the Gods, old woman!” One of the men shouted. “You kept us waiting for this?”
“The horses will never run with such a load on their backs,” another objected.
“We cannot leave this behind! It is all that is left of our heritage.” Renate looked from one man to another, and finding no sympathy in their faces, turned to her friend. “Adiana, please! Help me.”
After a moment of hesitation, the young woman dismounted and removed her cloak. They divided the tomes between the two of them. Renate heaved her burden into Ghemena’s arms and bade the child to hold it tight. Then she swung herself up behind the girl and spurred the horse into a canter.
In moments they were through the south entrance and racing over open fields, hooves pounding against the earth. The horses snorted and drew labored breaths, straining under their loads. Renate leaned forward, molding her body to Ghemena’s back, eyes fixed on the black hills ahead.
Eolyn Page 36