Ilythra sighed, her breath turning to vapor and dissipating into the night. A thought struck her as she remembered her day. A long-forgotten feeling filled her breast. She was content. Ilythra tasted the feeling, searched its boundaries, and as a starving man after a long fast, savored it. It was even more precious by the knowledge it couldn’t last. This night would fade and leave her only a memory. Soon they would march south.
The Siobani did not rush, she supposed because they didn’t have the specter of time shadowing them. It reminded her of life on the island, when time seemed not to exist at all. She was at home here. Ilythra smiled; such a simple word to mean so much. She gazed through the indigo night far to the south. Home, but temporary, my quest unfinished. Years of wandering stretched out in her memory. Alone. The word brought with it an ache. She pushed it aside, wrapped her arms around herself and let the night seep through her skin into her heart.
Chapter Thirty
Fiery images rippled along the blade’s surface as Ilythra examined the steel. With reverence, she traced the Siobani script and recited the prayer of protection from memory. Though not fluent, she was beginning to read and understand some of the words.
When Ewen had discovered her thirst for knowledge, he’d invited her to peruse his library. When she wasn’t training with Arien or Ewen, she lost herself for hours trying to decipher the complicated language or reading the histories in Anatarian.
Satisfied the sword was perfect, Ilythra sheathed it, keeping a watchful eye on the sky outside her window. She was to meet Arien for target practice, a rendezvous that seemed unlikely as the clouds deepened and lumbered across the heavens with a practiced gait. Her breath fogged the window as a sigh escaped her lips. Having grown up on an island, she didn’t like cold weather. She closed her eyes and tried to remember warm rain showers and gentle breezes. Although majestic, there was nothing gentle about the breezes that blew past the Siobani stronghold.
A short knock sounded on the door.
“Doed.”
“Nachiad.” Aimena entered the room. “How are you this morning? Oh, frustrated, I see. The waiting is hard for you, isn’t it?”
Ilythra smiled. “Yes and no. I love it here, but I am needed elsewhere. Am I so easy to read?”
“Do you attempt to be obscure?”
“Of course,” she teased. “Mystery is a woman’s greatest asset, haven’t you heard?”
“And a woman’s story is written in her eyes, should any care enough to study them.”
“Tailech, book four,” Ilythra said.
“Yes, I believe you’re right. You’ve been studying poetry. I think you need to enjoy yourself more.”
“I enjoy learning.”
“And training, by the time you invest.” Aimena stared into the fire. She was silent for a moment. “It’s easy for me to forget what you’re training for. What Cavin’s training for. This will be a first for many. In my lifetime, the Dawn Children have never ridden to battle. Are you really ready to march?”
Ilythra stared out the window again. She was more than ready to see Bredych defeated, to reunite the stones, but she had underestimated Bredych once before. She didn’t want to do it again. “Yes, in the morning. I’ve been told Ewen sent word for a hundred warriors from each city to assemble in Siann when the momoith tree brings forth its first fruit. Apparently they’re here. Others will join as we travel to the outskirts of Siobani land.”
“Now you sound Elder Born, Ilythra.”
“Why thank you. That’s the nicest compliment you’ve ever given me.”
Wind rattled the glass doors as the storm discarded its gentle teasing for a frontal assault. Rain pelted the small balcony and Aimena closed the doors, but she seemed preoccupied.
Ilythra tossed a log on the fire; sparks billowed almost like water, popping in seeming irritation at the intruder. She waited for Aimena to speak.
“Ewen has requested your presence in the library.” Aimena gazed into the fiery depths. Her voice held a depth of sorrow Ilythra had never heard from the woman. “You have brought life to us again.” She turned her pale eyes to Ilythra. “I wish you had not also brought death.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Weight formed and settled in her chest. Ilythra paused at the door, her hand raised. Even though she knew it was the right thing to do, she wasn’t naive enough to think Bredych would hand the stone over. Humans would die. Siobani would die. She’d learned enough about them to know what a tragedy that was.
“Nachiad, Ilythra, please enter.”
Smiling, she entered the room. It was impossible to approach a Siobani unaware. They seemed to possess an additional sense.
Ewen moved from the fire. Grooves lined the skin around his eyes, his smile without its usual warmth. “You’re prepared?”
“Yes, Ewen. I am.”
“You know the words of command?”
Arien had drilled them into her head so often, she dreamed of the Siobani words for halt, charge and shield. “Yes, I know them.”
“This is good. Your armor fits. You’ve practiced in it?”
Ilythra nodded, silent. Ewen had something else on his mind.
“Ilythra, I’d like you to consider remaining here with me.”
Stepping forward, she examined the Riege’s face. “Why?”
“Ilydearta is precious. I’d not see it risked in battle. Though you’re an able warrior, there’s always danger.” Fear darkened the Siobani’s face. “I don’t like sending you to battle.”
“Have you seen something? Is this a perception from Ealois?”
Ewen’s forehead wrinkled. “No, a foreboding perhaps. I don’t even speak as the Riege but as one who has seen much sorrow and loss. I wouldn’t lose you or the stone to Bredych.”
“You’ll not lose the stone to Bredych. There’s no doubt in my mind. But I must go. I can’t explain further.”
“I expected no less.” Ewen moved toward Ilythra. His green eyes softened to the color of moss after a rain. “If I haven’t made it clear before, know I desire your return and hope you’ll decide to dwell in these lands, not just for the stone, but for the love I bear you.”
Unaccustomed emotion pricked Ilythra’s eyes. “I’m honored. You and your household have reminded me of the meaning of home. I plan to return with Ilydearta and Crioch.”
“Ilythra, it’s more complicated than you imagine. Bredych won’t give up the stone. Do not underestimate him.”
She shook her head. “I already have once. I will not again. In war and in a fair battle, if the stone’s wearer is killed, then the stone belongs to the victor, no?”
Ewen hesitated. “Yes.”
“I know I cannot be the one to kill him or to take the stone, but I can help, right?”
Ewen closed his eyes but nodded.
Determination filled her. “Then I’ll find a way to bring you back the stone.”
* * *
Dawn found the Siobani assembling in a field outside Siann. The sight of the combined warriors took Ilythra’s breath away. They were at once beautiful and dangerous. Their armor seemed jealous of the sun, catching its light and keeping rather than reflecting it. She’d been given her own to wear, custom made to fit her body. It was lighter than it appeared—not much heavier than the thick leather tunic Yann’s wife had made her many years before.
Banners flew in the early-morning breeze, rainbows of color depicting the animal guardians of the Siobani high houses. Organized and silent, they drew into ranks and marched out the city gates with little fanfare. She rode near the head of the column, right after Arien and Cavin.
They were not exiting through the chasm, but through the eastern exit. Ewen had informed her that there were a series of tunnels and rock mazes between human and Siobani lands that were easier for the horses
to transverse. It was how Melior had left the land to find her in Greton. Even under the warmth of the sun, she struggled not to shudder. She almost preferred to face the chasm again.
Throughout the day, more companies joined them. For a time, a joyous mood filled the air, one of reunion and fellowship. The first night they camped under the stars and stories were told long into the night. Ilythra remained on the outskirts, listening. Her thoughts remained far south, focused on the faint song of Crioch.
As the days progressed, the warriors became solemn as the mountains to the east appeared more formidable. Many of them had never left their birth’s land. The tops of the mountains were hidden in clouds. What she could see appeared jagged and barren.
“The mountain is called Cethin. It is the birthplace of the river that runs down the chasm.” Cavin rode beside her but stared at the mountain before them. “Nothing grows there, save sorrow. It is impassable, even for some of the Elder, unless you know the way under the mountain.”
Ilythra swallowed. There was something unfriendly about the mountain to begin with. Knowing she’d be traveling under it chilled her to the bone.
“Why is it so barren?” she asked.
“The Airydh spelled it. It is part of the protections set in place around this land.”
Although he didn’t say the words, the land of our exile echoed in her head. Ilythra nodded, not taking her gaze from the mountain. She had no doubt it worked.
* * *
Watchfulness settled in the Siobani ranks as they entered the mountains through a narrow gorge. The path soon branched into a maze of passages, some narrowing to the breadth of a single man, others wide enough to ride four or five abreast. Arien didn’t hesitate at any turn. The wind blew through the crevasses like a wailing woman. Chills brought bumps to Ilythra’s skin and she found herself taking more sips of water to soothe her dry throat.
Soon a colder wind blew across her face and she saw a darker passage open up before them, leading down into the heart of the mountain. She swallowed. Arien spoke a word and several Siobani lit torches. Still, she could only see a few paces ahead—enough to know that even here, the tunnels branched off and off again, creating a treacherous maze in the dark. The tunnels were wide, but Ilythra still wished for Mohan’s hand. Twice she caught Arien’s watchful gaze, but she wouldn’t show fear in front of the Siobani.
Ewen had not lied when he’d said the eastern passages were more dangerous. One could easily get lost in the twisting tunnels and pathways, some of which she was told led nowhere. They surfaced for a short time in a narrow gorge that the sun didn’t quite reach, only to once again follow a path under the mountain. She slept fitfully that night and, without a sky or any light, trusted Arien knew it was morning when they started their journey again. When they finally emerged the next day, the sun was in the west and Ilythra never wanted to see a tunnel again.
Ahead, a large pillar of rocks stretched into the darkening sky above.
Cavin’s voice sounded by her side. “This is the end of our stronghold, our land. Once we pass the rocks, we are in human lands again.”
She turned to the Siobani, but he stared straight ahead, his expression pensive.
Behind her, the army seemed to ripple. A ball formed in Ilythra’s throat. She wondered if it was her imagination, but it seemed that Arien hesitated a moment before urging his horse by the stones. Nothing monumental happened to signal the event. Not even a bird trilled, but Ilythra felt the change deep in her soul. Siobani once again walked in human lands. Dread welled up inside her. What had she done? They were all in danger. Now that she knew their history, she understood why the Siobani had gone into exile. What if it happened again? Could they make another deal with the Airydh and disappear? Her heart sped.
Arien glanced her way. His eyes seemed to question her for a moment before he turned back around. A weight settled on her shoulders. For good or ill, it was done. She would make sure Bredych was defeated so Arien could claim Crioch and return to Siann. Then they would discuss what role they would take to heal the wounds Anatar had suffered.
She arched her back to stretch it and then patted Melior’s flank. It had taken practice but she’d learned to ride in the Siobani way: bareback. The silence was eerie. They passed as ghosts through the woods, no telltale report of harnesses or stirrups to reveal their presence.
“Shall I ride with you today?”
Ilythra turned to find the warrior by her side. Cavin seemed friendly, but Ilythra wondered if he was assigned as a kind of guard for Ilydearta. The flash of irritation dimmed. The company was welcome.
Ilythra glanced toward Arien; the Siobani hadn’t spoken since they’d rode over the threshold of their lands. She nodded her assent.
Cavin gazed through the trees, their new leaves pale against somber branches. “It’s been a long time since human rode alongside the Dawn Children.”
“It has. I’m honored,” she spoke.
Cavin nodded. “So am I.”
* * *
That night Arien halted north of Isolden. Pale tents bloomed from the ground’s dust as the Siobani set up camp. Efficiently, as they had every night since leaving Siann, food was prepared and served, plates and utensils cleaned and whispered tales told around campfires.
“Do you know the story of these woods?” Cavin settled next to Ilythra, handing her a blanket.
“No.” She wrapped the blanket around her shoulders, grateful for the warmth.
“Long ago, the Dawn Children dwelled here. It’s still close to our hearts and holds much that has not been seen by human eyes. A great city once stood in these forests. Over there—” he pointed to the south, “—you would see the spires standing above those trees, delicate and pale as moonlight. A temple stood next to the palace, carved from moonstone as well. When the sun touched the walls, you could almost see through them, but at night... At night they lit with inner fire, as if they soaked up sunlight, saving it to illuminate the darkness. Every tenth spring we would festival here amid the arched fruit trees. Women would weave flowers into their hair and dance—” He stopped. “It was beautiful.”
Ilythra looked around at the dark firs and dim forest. She could almost see the city Cavin spoke of, hear the women laugh as they danced around the sacred tree, their joyous faces lifted to the heavens. Deep sadness filled her heart, homesickness for a place she’d never been. “Does the sacred tree still live?”
Cavin turned to her in astonishment. “How did you—I didn’t tell you...”
Ilythra examined Cavin’s stunned face. “Perhaps I read about it.” Where had she heard of the sacred tree? She’d seen it in her mind when Cavin had told his tale. Ilythra stared into the forest. Chills traced her arms that had nothing to do with the cold. Aimena had said that the Siobani shared memories. Could the stone somehow be facilitating that with her?
“Maybe that’s it.” Doubt tinged the warrior’s voice and uncertainty filled his eyes.
* * *
Darkness didn’t hamper Siobani vision as it did hers. They let the fires fade to coals as night progressed. A familiar silhouette separated from the camp, moving toward deeper forest. Ilythra rose, blanket around her shoulders, and followed.
Arien walked silent through the woodland, east and then south toward the nearby ruined city. He paused at a large evergreen, his hand resting on the trunk. A beautiful plant grew at his feet, its leaves dark on one side, but the other shone silver by the moon’s light.
“Ilythra,” he spoke without turning, his voice weary.
She opened her mouth. She hadn’t thought before following him. It had almost been instinctive. She touched Ilydearta and scrambled for something to say. “What’s that plant? I’ve never seen it before.”
He followed her gaze, his profile chiseled as though from stone. “Amoith. It’s a plant of great worth in healing. We’ve be
en unable to grow it farther north. It’s said to grow only where Airydh have stepped.”
Silence lengthened the moment.
“I’ve never asked you.” She stepped closer and his body stiffened. “Why do you lead this army now?”
“It’s my duty.” His words were efficient but with little emotion.
“No, there are others of the council who would serve as well as you.”
Something like strangled laughter sounded in the still night. “You’ve learned our ways well, daughter of men.”
“I’ve heard many things, Arien, studied many more. I don’t blame you for your anger.”
Arien’s shoulders stiffened and his jaw clenched, then unclenched. “You’re presuming much.” Energy radiated off his still body, almost vibrating the night air.
Ilythra backed a step.
“I lead because Crioch belongs with the Dawn Children. I will return it to my people.”
“Then we are of like mind. That’s my goal as well.”
Arien turned, his gaze brushed against her, almost physical in its intensity. “That remains to be seen.”
* * *
Aclan paced the practice arena. He’d asked Konrad to seek out those still loyal to the king. Those he knew were trustworthy were to meet him in the practice arena at the sun’s crest. It was risky, but something had to be done.
“You’re going to wear out the board on the floor.” Hendrik leaned against the wall, watching him.
The door opened. A warrior entered, nodded to him and picked up a wooden sword before walking to the wooden practice column. “A good day to practice the art of killing wood,” he said.
Aclan breathed a sigh of relief. It was the phrase he’d told Konrad to tell the men to say so he’d know why they were there. He moved to the practice pole next to the warrior. In stilted whispers as he swung the wooden sword, he determined the man’s standing and informed him of the king’s state and Bredych’s manipulations. One by one, more men filtered in. He spoke to each one; exhausted, he joined Hendrik against the wall. Sweat poured down his face and his arms shook. With his daily routine, he’d thought he was in better shape. He’d have to tell Hendrik to intensify his workouts.
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