"The Bearers died because they fell from their vows. They tried to use the power of the sword for their own purposes. You are now a person of great power, Lady Andrixine. Even King Rafnar must bow to your leadership. Yet remember, you bear the sword only as a servant, ever putting aside your own desires for the good of our land."
"For how long?"
"For as long as is necessary.” He offered her his arm, bent to take her weight. “Come, you need sunshine and fresh air while you rest. And those maple buns your sister is fetching."
"Not a very good excuse, was it?"
"You knew I waited, and you wished to spare the child."
"I wished to spare us a thousand questions,” Andrixine countered, a laugh leaving her lips like a bursting bubble. The sound turned to a jagged cough. Lucius supported her against his shoulder, patting her back until the spell had passed.
* * * *
ANDRIXINE WENT TO the sunny porch she knew well from her convalescence. Lucius left her with orders to rest and study. She stretched out on the cot set up in the morning sun. Next to it sat a table stacked high with scrolls, likely left by Brother Klee. The scrolls, when she examined them, spoke of the Spirit Sword, the histories, duties and thoughts of the various Bearers.
"Rakleer is alive,” she whispered. That meant Brother Klee was over a century old.
According to holy writ, the sword kept him alive and strong until time to pass it to the new Bearer.
Alysyn appeared with Brother Alpen, a tall, silver-haired, rosy-faced man. Head baker for Snowy Mount, he carried a tray with breakfast enough and plenty left over. The promised maple buns still steamed, and Andrixine wondered how he had managed that feat. It wouldn't have surprised her if all the holy folk here had prophetic power. There was milk, boiled eggs and cold glazed apples. The baker put a bun into Alysyn's hand, poured a cup of milk for Andrixine, handed it to her and left in silence, his smile a benediction.
Hours passed in a drowsy haze of glancing through the parchments and nibbling, until the wide shadow of Brother Klee fell across the cot.
"You have color in your face again.” He nodded, wearing his familiar, comforting smile. Where his robe parted around his throat, Andrixine saw only tanned skin and silvery white hair again. “There is a peace about you, now. Have you come to accept your destiny?"
"Every warrior dreams of finding the Spirit Sword. None of us ever consider the reality, do we?” She managed a smile and made room for him to sit next to her. “What will you do now?"
"Now that the duty has passed to you?” His gaze roved over her head. “Such a pity. Your hair was a great beauty. We must remember to have it cut to be more becoming before we leave."
"Brother Klee—should I still call you that?” The question just occurring to her damped her irritation that he had avoided her question.
"Rakleer is legend, not flesh and blood. I am Klee. Just as you are Andrixine, no matter what formality may dictate as your title, am I right?” He winked. “As for what I will do, why, I shall go with you. We must protect your family and rescue your mother. Those are duties that cannot be avoided. Along the way, I shall teach you the history and powers of the sword."
"You will? We will?” Her head felt light in relief.
"Daughter, holy writ states clearly those who search first for Yomnian's will and serve others find their own needs met.” He brushed a crudely cut strand of hair out of her eyes.
"I was afraid I would have to abandon my quest,” she confessed.
"No. Your performance would be hampered with such questions unanswered. This shall be a proving ground for you.” Brother Klee patted her hand. “Now, while your sister is fascinated by the birds, we should study. There is much to learn, and once you regain your strength, we must take to the road. Time must not be wasted.” He reached for the closest scroll on the table and unrolled it on his lap.
* * * *
AFTER DINNER, WHILE Alysyn pestered the head librarian for stories, Andrixine took a moment alone to go to her room and simply stand looking at the Spirit Sword.
There was so much to learn to be a proper Bearer. During her summers of training, on overnight trips, the elder Sword Sisters would sit around the fire and tell stories of the Spirit Sword and its Bearers. They dreamed of the day a woman would again be given the duty. Despite those times, Andrixine knew only a fraction of what she needed. She had wondered often, as she did now, why a warlord was never chosen as Sword Bearer. Why her? Why now?
Her warrior training had seemed more than adequate when she thought she would hold Faxinor Castle in a time of peace. Now, everything had changed. She had to learn to hold the mountain range border between Reshor and Sendorland. Sendorland sent few troops by sea. Andrixine had to learn how to direct hundreds of warriors and their commanders. She had to know all the geography of her country and those surrounding Reshor, not just the lands around Faxinor castle. She had to learn to lead men she had never met, not just the soldiers sworn to Faxinor.
Extended lessons in protocol and court manners awaited her. Ordinarily, she was required to go to the king's court three times in her life: at her twenty-first birthday, to be acknowledge as heir; at the death of her father, to vow loyalty when she took her inheritance; and at the twenty-first birthday of her heir.
As Sword Bearer, she would spend years at court at the king's side. She now had precedence over all the warlords and nobles. If the situation warranted, she could even negate the king's orders. Despite that power, she had to tread carefully. Ceremony and ritual were her only protection against unintended enemies and hurt feelings.
Andrixine shook her head to drive those thoughts away. Why worry about the future? How could she call herself Sword Bearer when she had never even touched the Spirit Sword?
The sporadic gold threads in the sword's sling caught the lamplight, winking at her. She wanted to draw the sword free and test the balance and grip. Did the blade glow with a light of its own, or had it only been her weary imagination?
Andrixine knew nothing anyone told her would make any difference if she wasn't sure how she truly felt and believed. She had to settle her own soul before she could worry about the fate of the country. She hoped that would be accomplished before she reached Faxinor.
She had new clothes now; long, draping shirts to hide her few womanly curves and heavy pants suitable for long travel and rough wear. Brother Klee agreed she should remain with her disguise as a boy. She didn't want to be seen as a woman until she was home, the threat and enemies permanently disposed of. The first step was to meet her father's soldiers and enlist their aid in the search for her mother.
Andrixine stared at the sword. Would it do any harm to take it down and look at it? She would never practice with the sword. It would not be drawn except for ceremony and battle. To be the Sword Bearer was one thing. She could accept that. To wield the Spirit Sword in battle was something else entirely.
She stepped up on the bed and brought the sword out of its sling. In the lamplight, she saw faint signs of carving in the scabbard. It was of bone, with no sign of seam or joining. Age and use had stained the ivory a creamy silver. The carvings had caught dust or perhaps blood over the years, giving definition to what they depicted. Andrixine looked closely but the figures evaded her understanding.
The grip was perfect, fitting her hand as if made to order. The balance was good, even with the scabbard still on the blade. She twisted her wrist and made several experimental passes. Andrixine nodded, pleased, though she knew it could be no other way. This was the Spirit Sword, after all.
She slid the scabbard off. The blade caught the light, cutting it into rainbows. Like in her dream. The blade looked like a mixture of silver and crystal, swallowing her reflection. No matter which way she turned the blade, flat or edge, it caught the light perfectly, sending flashes into her eyes.
Her breath caught and her limbs froze. Andrixine tried to resist, but something drained all her strength. The room dissolved around her.
; The forest was dim with morning light. Branches swayed softly in the breeze. Everything lay in green and black shadows, a few leaves touched with gold. The road curved to the left. A mile marker carved on a gray stone pillar stood to the right. Birds sang in the distance, muffled and sweet. Andrixine felt the soft chill of the morning breeze.
A distant rumbling resolved into the rattle and thump of a wagon moving too quickly. A flash of scarlet and blue canopy appeared among the leaves at the curve in the road. The horses careened into sight. The driver was little more than an impression of black beard, leather clothes and fierce scowl. He whipped the horses and shouted at them. A hot flash of angry panic speared her as she recognized her mother's wagon. The same horses drew it, foaming with effort, bleeding in countless spots. A whiplash came down on the right horse's back as Andrixine watched. The driver turned his head, revealing a scar down one side of his face—Cedes’ rapist.
A loud snap reverberated through the air. The left rear wheel peeled off its axle. A shriek came from inside the wagon, which had its curtains lowered and tied down. The driver pulled the horses to a stop with a brutal jerk on the lead reins. He stood up in the seat and blew a raucous blast on a horn he took from his belt. Four riders came around the bend in the trail from the opposite direction.
Two ruffians tugged the wagon curtains aside, reached in and hauled out two women, flinging them to the ground while the other men began to unload the wagon. Andrixine watched her mother stumble and catch herself against a tree. Glynnys tore her dress as she hit the ground and rolled once. She lay still a moment, her shoulders heaving with sobs before dragging herself to her feet and turning her attention to her mistress.
Lady Arriena held herself still and tall, refusing to watch the men as they argued among themselves and mended the wagon. She looked weary, hungry, her clothes wrinkled, dirty with ash and wear, but she stood composed as if waiting to greet guests at a festival. Andrixine felt a pain in her chest in mingled pride and fear for her mother. To all appearances, she was merely dirty and worn with travel, unharmed but for the indignity of being a prisoner. Andrixine knew her mother could survive that.
Glynnys, however, received the abuse Lady Arriena escaped. Even as she cowered next to her mistress, one man took the time to tug on her loose, golden hair and fondle her with such familiarity, Andrixine writhed in sympathy. She was glad her own features were nothing to draw lustful attention. Cedes and Lily had not been as pretty as Glynnys by half.
The vision faded on that observation. Cedes and Lily had hair as dark or darker than Andrixine's. Lady Arriena and Glynnys, both of fair hair, had escaped. Cedes had been hired during Andrixine's convalescence.
Was the person who ordered the raid someone who didn't know about Cedes? What if Andrixine's enemy ordered the dark-haired women killed and the fair spared? It was simpler than trying to accurately describe the person targeted for death.
Andrixine blinked, and the room reappeared around her. She took a few deep breaths and raised her arms to get her blood flowing. She felt she had stood there for hours. From the angle of the light it had been minutes, maybe seconds.
She sheathed the sword and hesitated only a moment before hanging it on her belt. The weight felt right, the sword moving slightly on her hip as she left the room.
When Andrixine found Brother Klee a few minutes later, he stood alone in the orchard, trimming away branches that bore no blossoms. The knife in his hand caught the last rays of sunset, sending bright splinters into her eyes. After the brilliance she had seen in the sword, no light could ever blind her again. Though she walked softly, the man turned to face her long before she was within speaking distance.
His smile held sympathy. He studied her face a moment. “There is a new light to your eyes. Dimmer, deeper and touched with pain. The sword has spoken. What is its message?"
"My mother is alive and I know the road the raiders have taken. Due east. They are going somewhere specific. I don't think they're looking for ransom alone, or else they would head south along the more direct road for Faxinor."
Brother Klee nodded. “Then we must ride out tomorrow. You are rested?"
"We could put a few hours of riding behind us tonight."
"No. There are preparations to make, prayers offered on our behalf. Two may ride more swiftly than a troop, even with several days between them."
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Chapter Four
ANDRIXINE KNELT BEFORE the altar in the chapel. She had been there since moonrise, dressed in a white robe, barefoot, holding the bare sword raised before her. Midnight approached. She felt the seconds slipping by, made keenly aware of time by the gentle, humming power of the sword in her hands. Andrixine felt a growing ache after kneeling on the cold stones for hours. Growing, but faint. The Spirit Sword gave her the strength to hold still and straight and endure. She understood now the concept of being served as she herself served.
She kept her eyes fastened on the starburst of silver and sapphires and diamonds, worked on wood, hanging over the altar. The image swam before her eyes until she blinked. She tried not to blink, tried not to do anything except concentrate on the duty awaiting her, on her vows.
After all the preparation, the instructions from both Brother Klee and High Scholar Lucius, Andrixine had expected long, sonorous chants and pompous, somber language. Her vows were deceptively simple. Lucius had read them to her as she knelt for her vigil. The time alone was meant for her to think them over, to commit them to mind and heart. Andrixine wondered if anyone had ever renounced the claim of the sword before the vows were made. History said nothing on that aspect.
Her life for Yomnian's Light.
Her body's comfort for the safety of Reshor.
Her soul to the service of Yomnian.
Her mind to the guidance of those who would follow her into battle.
Her purity of mind, heart and body, preserved as example and emblem to all the land.
Andrixine thought back to all the ballads and legends she had grown up loving. The service of the Spirit Sword was far more than any ballad or tale could convey. She felt betrayed by her former ignorance and dreams. Yet she wondered how anyone could say no to the claim of the sword on their lives.
Responsibilities and duties bound her life. She knew she had often chafed against the boundaries her position as heir had raised around her. Andrixine had wanted freedom to join the Sword-Sisters and be a maiden warrior—the Spirit Sword had now made her leader of every warrior in Reshor. She wanted freedom from the duty to marry and birth an heir. What chains of complications did the sword create now?
Andrixine knew what answer her parents would give her. She would have to marry and have a child before her duties as Sword Bearer took her to war.
She didn't want to marry. Not because of her cousin Feril's disgusting attempts at seduction. Not because the Sword Sisters taught her to hate men, as Feril claimed. Because of Cedes and Lily, the blood spilling from their bodies, the laughter of the men who had raped them.
"Oh, please, Yomnian, save me from that,” Andrixine whispered. She fought nausea as her imagination displayed images of a faceless man touching her, impregnating her out of duty.
Andrixine knew marriage could be a delight. She knew her parents were still in love after seven children and twenty-two years. She knew they were happy—but how many noble marriages were? Why couldn't she be one of the blessed?
She frowned at her self-pity and blinked her eyes hard to fight tears. The light on the sword fractured into rainbows.
A green meadow, ringed by trees. Flowers and torches, banners and music and a sense of people dancing and singing and laughing. A man stood just out of her line of sight to her right. Andrixine forgot to breathe as sensations overwhelmed her.
Strongest of all were a mixture of breathless happiness and longing pulsing through her body. Just for that moment, she knew the humming pleasure of his arm around her waist, the sweet dizziness that filled her as his lips touched hers.
Gasping, Andrixine blinked, and the flicker of vision and sensation left. She felt her face burn and knew such things were not proper in Yomnian's sanctuary.
Or were they? Hadn't Yomnian given her the vision? Was it a promise? Didn't Yomnian bless the joining of male and female and the creation of new life?
Behind her the door swung open, bringing the chill of midnight air. Andrixine imagined she heard the singing of the stars in the darkness high above. The brushing of robes on the cold stones gently tugged her thoughts back to the present. The stiffness in her knees, the ache in her shoulders and elbows, the weight of the sword all clamored for her attention.
"The darkness is allowed one final moment to turn your mind from your vows,” Brother Klee whispered, kneeling next to her. “Hold fast, daughter. It is soon over."
"We are come for your vows, Andrixine Faxinor, heir of Edrix Faxinor, Bearer of the Spirit Sword.” High Scholar Lucius stepped around her other side.
His simple blue, hooded robe had changed to one of blazing white embroidered with silver, belted with silver and sapphires. A gleaming royal blue cloak hung from his shoulders. She trembled, but not from the ache and weariness in her body.
"Purify me, Holy Teacher, for the service I now take at peril of my soul and mind and body,” she whispered. Andrixine swallowed hard against a choking sensation that threatened to steal her voice altogether. What did it all mean, her visions and fears and thoughts this night? Distraction or blessing? She found she couldn't wait until morning, when she and Brother Klee would be on the road with nothing to do but talk and study.
* * * *
KALSAN WOKE TO the sound of neighing. For a moment, he thought he was asleep by the side of the road, in a wayhouse. Or worse, he was asleep in the stable when he should have been guarding the horses.
He woke more, feeling the rush-filled mattress under him, the warmth of the blanket over his bare back. No, they were in the small, comfortable inn at Worland's Forge. Enough room here to sleep two to a bed. Some inns were so crowded they had often crammed three or four to a bed.
Heir of Fain [Faxinor Chronicles #1] Page 6