"Yes, I sent them away."
Andrixine had dragged the dead bodies further into the forest and left them where scavengers could feed and no passing travelers would be offended by sight or smell. Traitors didn't deserve the courtesy of burial; she had little energy to spare. She pocketed the gold coin for proof. Gold coins were not easily obtained except by nobility and warlords.
"I need a new sword, Grennel,” she said, turning to the horse. He snorted, bobbing his head, eyes closing in pleasure as she rubbed the sensitive spot between his eyes. “It's a long journey home, and we saw how people react to my owning you. If I can't defend myself, they'll cut off my warrior braids and take you.” She slipped an arm around the stallion's neck and pressed her face against his warm, scratchy coat.
Threads of dreams returned, triggered by her words. Andrixine kept her eyes closed, willing the memory clearer.
Brother Klee stood at the head of a line of cloaked and armored figures that stretched to the horizon. He carried a sword. A ghostly sword, emitting a light of its own. The sword from her dreams. The holy man held it out to her and knelt.
"Yomnian, are you speaking to me?” she whispered.
She had Grennel saddled when Alysyn came back, her face rosy from enthusiastic scrubbing. Andrixine gave her a clean shirt to dry with and set aside another shirt to dress her. Then she went to the spring to wash herself, with fresh clothes under her arm.
The moon barely showed above the trees as they emerged onto the trail. Andrixine wrapped her arm around Alysyn, hugging her sister with sudden jubilation. The child giggled, straining against the cloth that bound them together in the saddle.
Alysyn looked up, her head hitting against her sister's breastbone. “Mamma doesn't let me stay awake when it's dark. Why?"
"Because little girls need their sleep."
"But the dark is pretty."
"I know. Enjoy it while you can, poppet.” She nudged Grennel to a faster trot. “Remember, we're still playing a game. Can you be quiet like a kitten until we stop again?” She smiled when her sister bobbed her head in answer, off rhythm from Grennel's pace.
Andrixine settled into the horse's stride. If they had no more trouble, they could reach Snowy Mount's gates by sunrise.
The night stayed quiet. Andrixine listened to every sound, trying to break the steady rhythm of Grennel's hoof beats. If she fell into the sound she would get drowsy. Grennel might get them to their destination if she fell asleep, but she couldn't take that chance.
The only movement came from them; the clomp of hoof beats and the creaking of saddle leather the only disruptions to the night quiet. The cool whispering breeze sifting through the trees helped her stay awake.
Alysyn fell asleep. Andrixine envied the innocent trust of the little body and mind in her care. With each league that passed under Grennel's hooves, Andrixine longed more for the shelter ahead of them. Not for clean clothes and food and safety, but to pass Alysyn's safety and well-being to more capable hands.
Those thoughts grew depressing. She studied the moon to escape, until she thought she detected movement in the shadows of its glowing surface. Andrixine blanched and turned her attention back to the forest. Imagination was all well and good, but at the back of her mind lurked the fear of things swooping down and snatching Alysyn or her or both from Grennel's saddle.
"Brother Klee will want a report,” she whispered. Andrixine chuckled as Grennel's ears swiveled at the sound of her voice. “He will treat me like a soldier to make me feel better, and demand a report."
Her voice sounded odd, muffled by the thuds of Grennel's hooves. The forest vibrated with soft humming sounds. She thought she heard the questing calls of owls. Something flitted over their heads, crossing the gap of the trail, retreating into the cover of the trees before she could see. The forest went on undisturbed by their presence. It made her feel safe and very small and unimportant.
"I have to think of a report to make, Grennel. Get the news out as quickly and impersonally as I can. That's the trick in all the troubadour tales. The messenger always has a personal interest in the message, but he gives it to his master without any feeling. Then he goes outside and cries until he faints.” Andrixine snorted. “I'm done with crying. Nobody is going to cry but the one responsible for this when I catch him."
Light touched her face. She blinked, then rubbed her eyes as her attention turned outward again. Grennel emerged from the forest as the light of pre-dawn touched the sky. Below them lay a shallow valley washed in the silvery light before sunrise. On the other side of the valley, where the land rose to meet the first slopes of Snowy Mount, lay the gate and walls of the holy scholars’ retreat.
"Alysyn,” she said, grasping her sister's shoulder to wake her. “Alysyn, poppet, wake up. We're almost there."
She laughed, her voice jolted as Grennel broke into a gallop. The stallion loved to race to the full limit of his strength in smooth, open land like this. Alysyn stirred in her arms. Andrixine wondered how the child could sleep with the thunder of Grennel's hooves and the rushing of the air whipping his mane into their faces.
"Birds,” she said in her sister's ear, nearly smashing her nose against the side of her head. “You can see the birds soon. And breakfast! Porridge and milk, poppet."
They were nearly halfway across the plain, the ground starting to slope upward when Grennel began to slow. The long hours of travel told against his dependable strength. He didn't resist when Andrixine reined him to a walk.
"Hungry,” Alysyn said.
"You're always hungry.” She laughed, hugging the child with one arm. “We'll eat soon. And you're going to get a proper bath, too. And clean clothes. Does that sound good?"
"Cherry conserve with porridge?"
"And cherry conserve. If there's any left. You ate most of it before."
It felt like years since they had left Snowy Mount, not three days. Alysyn had eaten herself sick on cherry conserves, given by doting, elderly scholars who lost all sense of discipline when it came to sweet little curly-haired girls.
Laughter poised silent on her lips, she strained to see the gates. Something dark moved among the shadows there. She frowned and leaned forward, as if that would help her see better. Grennel picked up his pace. Whatever it was didn't bother him.
Another half mile, and the shape resolved into a figure in blue Renunciate robes coming down the path from the gates. A silver-bearded man, he stood tall with wide shoulders and a stance that spoke quiet readiness. Brother Klee always seemed to know. She was too tired to question how now, but grateful.
"You are not well come back, my children. I grieve at the pain that enfolds you,” he said when they drew close enough to hear him. His voice held gravel so early in the morning. Tears threatened in his eyes.
Brother Klee stepped out to meet them when Andrixine reined Grennel to a stop. He held out his arms, and she gladly lowered Alysyn into his grasp. Then she dismounted, holding tightly to Grennel's reins. Brother Klee slipped his arm around her shoulders. She leaned into his support, and tears pricked her eyes as he brought them in through the gates.
"Daughter ... Andrixine, let go.” A touch of laughter in Brother Klee's voice startled her.
Andrixine jerked from her daze. She sat on a bench in the outer courtyard paved in silver-gray cobblestones with high walls of amber and white stone. A tiny, pock-scarred woman stood before her, trying to take Grennel's reins from her hands. She felt a hot blush grow as she opened her clenched fist and released the reins. Alysyn was gone, presumably taken away by another early riser. It felt like several great weights fell off her back at one time, knowing Grennel and her sister were both tended to now.
"How did you know we were coming?” she asked as Brother Klee tugged her to her feet. It was the only question clear in her mind. She held onto it to keep herself awake.
"My dreams. I saw you riding with fire and swords behind you and tears on your face. Were you attacked on the road?"
"At the inn.” S
he shuddered. A sob broke out. “Brother Klee, I've killed!"
"The first blood is always the hardest,” he murmured. He slipped his arm around her back again, a firmer support than before. “Do you wish to speak to the High Scholar?"
"Before anything. Please.” Andrixine swallowed hard against another sob. Just a little longer, a little more iron control, then she could rest. With help so close and release in sight, she dredged up strength she didn't know she had.
Her entrance to High Scholar Lucius’ private apartments was different from her last visit, when she had bade him good-bye. Remembering, she felt more sticky and dirty and tired. She longed for the flowers in her lost hair, the silken swing of her long gown, the light swishing of her slippers on the stone floor slabs. She felt embarrassed, appearing before the gentle, wise leader of the Renunciate scholars in her soiled, ragged condition. But she had to do it while her resolve was still strong, the words and memories still fresh in her mind.
"Once again, your visions prove themselves painfully accurate, Brother.” The musical creaking of Lucius’ voice greeted them as the door to his antechamber swung open. The elderly man's thin, bony face and wide blue eyes were a beacon of hope amid the dark wood and the forest scenes depicted in the thick wall hangings.
"Sir, I ask sanctuary for my sister, Alysyn of Faxinor and aid for myself,” Andrixine blurted as Brother Klee led her inside. She had to speak before the High Scholar's compassion robbed her of her strength.
"Sanctuary?” The man stared, looking from her to Brother Klee and back again. “Lady Andrixine, do you know what you ask of us? The implications?"
"My mother's traveling party was attacked two nights ago. The innkeeper was part of the plan. I found him and his wife in the forest, murdered, but with no sign of struggle.” She dug into the pouch at her belt and pulled out the gold coin. Her hand shook as she displayed it. “I found this under his body. I believe it was payment and they were murdered to keep the tale quiet. I believe these men were sent by the same person who poisoned me last fall."
"Ah, now that explains much. But Brother Klee, let the child sit. She is ready to collapse.” Lucius waved at the chair directly behind Andrixine.
"She is a warrior. Her dignity is more important than her comfort.” Brother Klee took more of her weight upon himself. “Continue—but hurry.” The slightest smile on his lips made her head swim with relief.
"Sir, I ask permission to leave my sister here and for provisions. I must rescue my mother. I ask to borrow a sword. My own sword was broken along the way."
"Broken?” He helped her to sit now, apparently feeling the report was over.
"A man who felt Grennel was too fine for a dirty boy. He attacked me. I snapped my sword on a rock.” A sheepish smile crossed her face just before a jaw-cracking yawn took over.
"We have no swords to give.” The High Scholar exchanged a resigned look with Brother Klee. “You know Brother Klee always used wooden swords in practice."
"But there is another sword here. I saw it!"
"Saw it?” He raised his eyebrows. “Where?"
"In Brother Klee's quarters. An embroidered sling over his bed. The sword ... it's like nothing I've ever seen."
"Brother Klee?"
"My vow of silence is unbroken.” Brother Klee sighed.
"I saw it in my dreams,” Andrixine admitted. She waited for either man to tell her she had hallucinated.
"Dreams, we understand too well,” Lucius whispered. He closed his eyes a moment, then looked to Brother Klee. The other man nodded, stood and left the room.
"Sir, have I done wrong?” Andrixine whispered. Her bones felt light as feathers, her muscles like water.
"No, you merely obey Yomnian's will. How is your throat?"
"It burns. There was a fire and I had no rest. Where—"
"Yes, you must rest. In a little while. I must warn you before Brother Klee returns, your life is no longer your own.” He tried to smile. “I wish it could be otherwise."
"Sir, I don't understand.” Andrixine felt her chest tighten, squeezing her lungs.
"Lady Andrixine, heir of Faxinor, hear my words.” He crossed the room to stand before her. Despite the shapeless blue robe, he wore the majesty of sacred ritual. “I have learned through my many years in holy service, if we bow willingly to Yomnian's guidance we will have joy in harsh surroundings, contentment in the midst of famine, peace in the midst of pain. Since conception, you were part of a grand plan. Prepare yourself for obedience and faith, even when you do not understand."
"I don't understand right now,” she whispered, clasping her arms tight around herself. She felt more vulnerable now in the company of this ancient, holy man than when she stood in the open before the burning inn.
"A light burned in the darkness, against the darkness, piercing and shattering the cold with warmth, the black of death with the rainbow fires of life,” Brother Klee intoned as he stepped back into the room.
Fire burned in his normally placid eyes. His robe hung open from neck to waist revealing a silver mail shirt that sparkled in the lamplight. Balanced between his outstretched hands lay the sword from her dreams, half emerging from its bone scabbard.
"The light became a sword,” the High Scholar continued, “of prophecy and leadership. Yomnian gave it into the hands of a child.” He knelt before Andrixine, his eyes meeting hers.
"The sword chooses its own,” Brother Klee said, holding it out to her. “Since I entered these walls, no one has seen this sword. No one has spoken of it. It called to you in visions. My guardianship now passes to the next Sword Bearer."
He waited. The room spun under Andrixine, and she clutched at the chair as his words penetrated the haze in her mind. Bits of legend and daydreams spun dizzily through her thoughts. She should have recognized the sword from her dreams.
"The Spirit Sword?” Andrixine found the strength to stand. She nearly tripped on Lucius’ robe as she struggled past him, away from the sword. “I can't.” She clasped her hands behind her back. The sword stretched out arms of light for her.
"The Spirit Sword never calls a new Bearer unless there is need. I wanted to be a scholar when I was called. My duty was to lead during the Thirty Years War with Sendorland.” Brother Klee paralyzed her with the intensity of his eyes.
"But ... that war started over eighty years ago! Rakleer? You are Rakleer?” Andrixine thought all the air fled the room.
"I was Rakleer, once. Bearer of the Spirit Sword. Now the sword awakes and calls its new Bearer. Hail, Andrixine Faxinor."
"Our prayers go with you,” the High Scholar whispered.
Andrixine fainted. She felt Brother Klee catch her, saving her from slamming her head into the wall, before everything went completely black.
* * * *
ANDRIXINE SMELLED FLOWERS and clean, mountain cool air. She felt a soft mattress and thick sheets smelling of herbs.
Her body was clean, she realized. No longer itchy, sticky, sweaty, smelling of salt and blood and horse. Her muscles ached. Flexing her arms and legs experimentally, she felt the stiffness of bruises. From the sounds of birds she guessed it was day, but she didn't want to open her eyes. It felt almost too wonderful to simply lie still and let the world go on without her.
"How is your sister?” High Scholar Lucius’ voice was soft, coming from another room. Vastly different from the near worshipful tones he had used before.
"Sleeping. Is Rixy sick again?” Alysyn sounded somewhat petulant. Andrixine smiled and even at that small effort, ached.
"No, she has simply gone beyond her strength. Check on her for me, will you?” There was a scraping sound, a chair moved, and then a soft creaking of wood as a body settled into it.
A shuffling of little feet approached. The mattress sagged on her left side as Alysyn climbed up onto the bed. She touched Andrixine's face. Little fingers stroked her cheek. The hand rested on her shoulder, pressing hard, then she felt a soft, wet kiss planted on her cheek. And a teardrop.
&
nbsp; "Don't cry, poppet,” she whispered. Andrixine forced her eyes open against sticky dryness. Her throat hurt, and her voice rasped.
She saw Alysyn's worried pout break into a glowing smile. The few tears glimmering in her eyes trickled down slowly. Andrixine looked up toward the ceiling. The sling of embroidered cloth from her dreams hung over the bed. The unmistakable shape of a sword pressed against the material. Memory made her head throb.
"You really better?” Alysyn whispered loudly. She scrubbed at her wet cheek, leaving a trail of biscuit crumbs.
"Just tired. Is the High Scholar outside?” A quick nod and smile were her answer. Andrixine wondered if she herself would ever be as easily reassured again. “Did Brother Alpen give you maple buns for breakfast?"
"Hot.” The girl giggled with remembered delight. “He said lots for you when you feel better."
"I feel much better. Will you get some for me?” she asked, wedging her arms under herself to sit up. Andrixine barely got upright before her sister slid off the bed and ran from the room. She pushed the blankets off and slid her legs over the side of the bed. The room seemed to tilt a moment.
"Gently, daughter.” Lucius stood in the doorway. “We erred by thrusting a heavy burden on you ill-prepared. You must go slowly for a while."
"Is it a sin to ask for explanation? Not justification, but simply to understand?” Andrixine balanced against the side of the bed, taking deep breaths until her head cleared.
"No.” He smiled. “Perhaps it is a sin not to ask to understand. Blind faith is as foolish as deliberate refusal of destiny.” He picked up a long robe of soft white from the chair by the door and handed it to her.
"Thank you,” she murmured, slipping the robe over the loose shift she had slept in. As she tied the belt, her gaze returned to the sword hanging over the bed. “It hovers over me like a vulture."
"A guardian spirit, to keep you from deadly injury."
"The histories say some Sword Bearers have died in their duty,” she countered.
"Do the histories say why?"
"No. Only that a new Bearer heard the call and took up the sword from the hand of the dead,” she whispered.
Heir of Fain [Faxinor Chronicles #1] Page 5