"I don't know what it is. It scares me half to death. Especially after what we've been gearing up to do for the last six hours." Visible on the screen, he picked up the browband Shalara had been sent to give him and slowly rolled it between his hands as he spoke. "I'm under suspicion because they know I'm friends with Emmi and Master Illis. Are they-- It can't be true, can it? We've had vague tales that Athrar-- But everyone said they were more lies, like the stories about Edrout-- But she can't really be his--can she?"
"The first thing we're doing when we get to Lygroes is head to the Stronghold and reclaim Braenlicach. Emmi refers to Meghianna, Queen of Snows as Aunt Meggi." Grego scrubbed at his eyes. It figured. Now he felt tired, after being unable to sleep for the last five hours. "What do you need me to confirm for you? I have to leave in ten minutes now."
"This dome that we're going to destroy with the power siphon."
Grego took a deep breath, closed his eyes to gather his thoughts, and spilled the lecture he was prepared to give to all their Archaics friends, as well as to the people of Lygroes, to explain their danger. Years ago, Mrillis had given him the task of educating and preparing himself to be Queen Emrillian's ambassador and teacher, to stand as liaison between the two worlds and times. That meant helping each understand the other.
Basically, all the Threads in the world wrapped around Lygroes, keeping it inside the dome that warped time and kept the rest of the world out. All the star-metal power in the world was concentrated on that task, and there was very little energy to feed magic in all the rest of the world because of that. Star-metal attracted all other star-metal, and that was why all the yearly starshowers fell on Lygroes and in the sea around it. That falling star-metal added more energy to the task of maintaining the dome around Lygroes and repelling all invaders.
When the Science Directorate put its prototype equipment in place to siphon away the power of the Threads, it would endanger the dome. The dome, according to Mrillis, had to be dispelled and unwoven from the inside, from Lygroes, or the resulting chaos as it fell could not only tear apart Lygroes, but damage the rest of the world. It could go back to the poisoned, devastated landscape that had been Moerta and Flintan, the lost Encindi continent, before the Rey'kil learned to tame and gather star-metal.
"You know, we always talk about great quests to save the world," Karstis said, when Grego finished. "We never figure it will really happen."
"Brace yourself, Valor. You're being asked to pledge yourself to the service of the true Warhawk. Emmi depends on you and Shalara to recruit and teach the others, and lead them down the tunnel to Lygroes in two days. Can you do it for Emmi Rakkell, if you can't believe in Emrillian Warhawk?"
Karstis' face grew stern, hardening, and his shoulders straightened. His gaze locked with Grego's, then he lifted the browband to settle it on his forehead. To Grego's relief, green and gold light shimmered, twining around the braided strands of star-metal, swirling around the decorative knots at the temples.
"Two days. Don't start the war without me," Karstis said, and reached to shut down the link.
"Wouldn't dream of it," Grego muttered, as he cut the link from his side and ran to snatch up his bags. Other than the Archaics costume he wore now, all his clothes and armor and weapons for the journey were already packed and waiting at the stables. He had come home to gather up the tools he would need for his future duties: five datapads, extra power cells, and duplicate data chips containing all the information he had spent moons deciding was needed to teach someone just learning about the history of civilization.
Grego slung his bags over his shoulder and turned to leave. He tried to see his comfortable home with all its modern conveniences through the eyes of someone from the time of Athrar Warhawk. Someone who was used to magic to accomplish basic, everyday tasks, might consider his technology crude and inefficient, or at best would be fascinated with modern living with all its bright lights and odd sounds and toys.
"Estall guard us," he whispered, as he tapped the controls that would put the house into power-save and security modes within five minutes after he walked out the door. If Kayn came looking for him, it would take him a few hours to get in. That much of a delay wouldn't be much help to the cause, but at this end of history, every little bit would help.
Grego was acutely conscious that the tunnel under the sea didn't just connect two continents, but it stretched time at one end and sped it up at the other. Only two days of hurried travel would take them to Lygroes, but by the time they got there, the fleet would be halfway to the Death Zone, preparing to begin draining power from the Threads. The disappearance of one of the scientists leading the project wouldn't do much to halt or slow the schedule.
For good measure, he took off his wrist unit, powered it down and left it in the gardening shed at the edge of his property. No one could track him now, except by remotely accessing and powering up his datapad. He would be leagues away, under the sea, hidden inside a tunnel lined with star-metal, before anyone even thought of that tactic. And Mrillis' spells to nullify all technology within and around the tunnel would heap more frustration on their enemies.
Lights blazed only in the windows of the staff living quarters when Grego reached the Rakkell house. With moonlight slanting down over the towers and crenellated walls, the old house looked like a castle. Now that he thought of it, Emrillian would make a perfect captive princess. Mrillis was a mysterious old man, the perfect reclusive wizard.
Grego would have enjoyed his fancy more if it hadn't been so very close to the truth.
Movement and noise came from the stables at the rear of the estate. He shifted his bags to a more comfortable position and picked up the pace. In a little while, he would climb on a horse, head for the tunnel, and this change in his life would go past the point of no return.
He concentrated on the sounds and smells, the feel of the night breeze, to keep from thinking too much--or he might change his mind. He was relieved to find the door into the stable standing open. All the horses were out of their stalls, saddled for riding or harnessed for carrying packs. The horses knew him, and only the bay stallion made any noise when Grego walked up the aisle, heading for the front of the stables. He could just make out the shadowy outlines of Emrillian and Mrillis standing outside in the moonlight. Grego smiled at the welcoming nicker from the stallion and allowed himself the luxury of rubbing the horse's nose before moving past him.
Instead of the blue-white glow of security lights, flames crackled. He smelled wood smoke and oil, like the torches used during ceremonies for Archaics games. He realized those were torches, when his eyes adjusted from the stable dimness to the bright yellow light. Emrillian turned to face him. Her hood slowly slid off her head, revealing long, shining hair in a simple braid, held in place with a silver headband, ornamented with blue enamel warhawks that glistened in the torchlight. He thought he caught a glimpse of dull silver mesh at her wrist. Chain mail. She stepped back. Grego stared, fascinated, as she brushed her cloak aside and rested her hand on the hilt of the sword at her waist.
Then Mrillis stepped into the open doorway, dressed like a wise man from an Archaics' role-playing convention. A dark hood framed his seamed, weathered face and dark eyes, and highlighted his neatly trimmed, silken white beard. It glowed in contrast to the dark material. Hints of intricate embroidery decorated the long, enveloping robe.
"Ready?" he said.
"I don't think I'll ever be totally ready, but... We have to do this." Grego gestured at the bags he had dropped in front of a stall. "Where do I put them?"
* * * *
"Are you cold, Emrillian?" Mrillis' voice barely rose above the soft clop-clop of the horses' hooves in the thick dust of the forest trail as they rode toward the magic-concealed tunnel entrance.
"Excited, I think. And a little afraid." Emrillian suppressed a shiver and wrapped her cloak tighter around herself.
"The unknown, even when we are prepared for it, is always frightening." Heavy cloth rustled as he pu
lled up the embroidered hood of his cloak. He let go a sigh of weariness. "I shall miss this place. Your years of growing have been ones of rest for me, despite all our hard work."
He reached over and squeezed her hand. It helped chase away the chill that gathered in her bones. She rested her hand on the hilt of her sword and ran her fingers over the engraving. The Warhawk emblem gave her comfort. She concentrated on it, commanding the feel and familiarity to give her strength for the days ahead.
"Grandfather, do you think I am ready?" she asked, and relaxed a little when her voice didn't waver or break.
"You are a source of pride to me."
"That's not the same." She muffled a nervous giggle.
"For what you face...perhaps no one is truly ready. All you can do is prepare yourself as best you can. Pray for strength and wisdom from the Estall. Give all your heart and mind and strength to each task as it comes." He paused. When he spoke again, there was a soft sadness of tender-painful memories to his voice. "That is what your father did."
"Is that it?" Grego asked, and raised his own torch.
"What do you see?" Mrillis asked.
"Light, but not light." He shook his head, his eyes flicking to the side once to meet Emrillian's gaze. "Those are darker Threads, hiding the mouth of the tunnel?"
"Very good." Mrillis tipped his head back, looking up at the tangle of overgrown vegetation that seemed to spill over the top of the heap of rock that held the entrance to the tunnel. "It has been years since we have come into this part of our property. I was almost able to forget the tunnel was here at all."
Emrillian could see the gaping maw of darkness because she had been woven into the protective spell so it would open for her automatically. During the early years of her residence on Moerta, there had always been a chance that the authorities would decide to investigate the old man who appeared irregularly through the decades, especially when he suddenly settled in the house with a child and a household of servants. If worse came to worst, they might try to take Emrillian from him, since she had none of the documentation the modern people of Moerta decided was necessary to civilized life. She had to be ready to flee into the tunnel at a moment's notice. Searching through the protective Threads or trying to see through the disguising illusion would waste precious time.
"Close your eyes and step sideways in your perceptions, to see past the illusion of the Threads," Mrillis said.
"Oh, right, of course. Step sideways while I'm riding." Grego's voice sounded amused as well as plaintive.
Mrillis shook his head at the foolery, but Emrillian thought she saw a pleased smile inside the shadows of his deep hood. She nudged her horse to go a little faster. The faithful, trained mount didn't even flick his ears when he stepped through the shield of Threads. The two packhorses under her guidance passed through the shield and she stopped all three horses in the wide, smooth-floored entryway of the tunnel. In moments, Mrillis and Grego had rejoined her. She reached with her mind to brush against the star-metal embedded in the walls. Rippling waves of faint, pale blue and lavender and pink light traveled down the tunnel ahead of them, illuminating the way, showing how the tunnel immediately dipped down, reaching far below the sea bed while they were still kilometers away from the water's edge.
"In the name of the Estall, for the people of Lygroes, in honor of all who have gone before us," Mrillis said. "We go." He nudged his horse and moved out, taking the lead. Grego fell in beside Emrillian right behind him, and the pack horses behind them. In moments the dark swirling shield over the mouth of the tunnel vanished behind and above them, and their world was limited to the globes of light formed by their torches, surrounded by a haze of darkness edged in soft swirls of magic light.
* * * *
They rode for more than an hour, before Mrillis signaled a halt. Grego waited to see what his two companions would do. His hand ached from cold, and his arm cramped from holding up his torch. He wished the protective magic of the tunnel didn't block all technology, so he could use a handlight, but he knew better. They were moving in the realm of magic now. Theory was all well and good, and he hoped his lessons in using his imbrose, as well as the long, pleasant hours discussing magic and how the Rey'kil had manipulated the Threads would stand him in good stead--eventually. Right now, he would employ the wisdom his mother had taught him on his first day of school: He had two eyes and two ears and only one mouth, meaning the Estall intended wise men to listen and to watch twice as much as they spoke.
Silence filled the tunnel, except for the crackle of torches, the rattle of tack and the rippling of cloth and skin when the horses shook their heads. Grego thought he heard movement beyond the torchlight. A single rock rolled somewhere in the darkness ahead. What else did he hear? Breathing? Claws scraping on stone? His imagination filled the blank spaces with clawed feet, jagged teeth, and burning eyes staring out of the blackness. He wished he had a good, solid energy blaster in his hand.
"Emrillian, Grego, now we will test how well the two of you work together against real adversaries." Mrillis broke the silence. "Create the defensive globe, expanding it to touch floor and ceiling."
"Grandfather?" She turned to him, eyes widening. Grego thought her skin could not go any more pale, yet it did. "What is out there? This tunnel was empty when we came through before. It has always been safe."
"Yes, but Edrout was able to attack you, straining the magic shields that separate this world from Lygroes. It is only to be expected that he would set some sort of ambush, to go where he could not."
"What kind of ambush?" Grego wished he had some weapon beyond his sword, knives, and quiver full of arrows. He had practiced the defensive globe with Emrillian dozens of times, but they had always used it to ward off fire Mrillis threw at them, or arrows and knives flung by Liris. He wasn't quite sure how his diluted magical heritage would stand up against monsters sent by a murdering enchanter.
"Nothing we cannot handle," Mrillis said. He reached across the gap between their horses and clasped Emrillian's hand resting on the front of her saddle, where a hunting falcon or hawk would sit. "You are the daughter of the Warhawk, and the blood of the strongest enchanters of the Rey'kil flows in your veins," he went on in a commanding voice.
Grego thought if Mrillis talked to him that way, he would believe anything.
Chapter Four
"It's always been a game until now." Emrillian's voice cracked.
"Never a game. Practice." Mrillis' voice dropped to a whisper. "This is your destiny. I taught both of you to envision what you wished to do. Now use your will to make it reality."
"It's much easier when we're just talking theory and philosophy," she grumbled. She turned in her saddle to face forward. For a long moment she sat still, eyes closed, hands gripping the reins. Grego saw muscles and tendons flexing through her gloves.
He watched, stretching his physical senses for the first glimpse of magic at work. He knew better than to turn sideways in his perceptions, to watch through the Threads. He didn't want to interfere or take power she needed or distract her. His duty was to feed his power to her and add the force of his will to reinforce what she did.
Emrillian sat perfectly still in her saddle. Then he caught an infinitesimal movement of her forehead, a twitch of her lips as she frowned. Her eyes narrowed in concentration.
A blue spark appeared in the air over her horse's head. The animal twitched his ears, flicking the tip of one through the light. It grew larger, brighter. Emrillian's frown changed to a thin-lipped smile. She never blinked, eyes focused on the light to the exclusion of all else. She nodded, and Grego imagined a cord the thickness of his index finger flung out through the chilly tunnel air from his chest to hers. He caught his breath when a flash of warmth and a sensation of breeze flowing through his chest indicated success. The light globe grew brighter, the blue more intense, and it moved, floating in a straight, steady line, ahead into the tunnel. The blue deepened to a vivid purple as it expanded, then shifted to a bloody, glaring re
d. It halted with top and bottom curves touching the ceiling and floor.
A hoarse snarl erupted from a dark cave mouth revealed by the light. A flash of tooth and claw and dull, black, craggy hide showed for a second. A serpentine shape tumbled into the ball of light. It thrashed and spun and snarled more, furious. A second sinuous shape leaped out of the cave to follow the first.
This time Grego identified it. Six-legged, triple rows of teeth, sulfurous red eyes, a spiny crest of plates--the drakag was a creature of legend. Fossils verified they had existed outside the storybooks, but no man alive had seen one in the flesh.
Grego wondered for the first time why anyone would choose such an ugly, deadly monster as their crest and coat of arms. He watched the second beast tumble inside the ball of light with the first, and nearly laughed when he realized he was too fascinated and repulsed to be afraid. He completely trusted in Emrillian's control over the magic that defended them.
Angered cries turned to howls of pain. One dark shape inside the light slowed its thrashing. The howls faded to a weak keening. Then both shapes lay still.
The silence startled Grego.
"Well done, my dear," Mrillis whispered.
With a flick of his wrist, the light vanished. The two drakags lay still, eyes wide open and staring, mouths gaping in silent cries of agony. Grego shuddered and felt a momentary pity for them. He shuddered harder when he got a better look at their multiple, razor-sharp claws and knew what one good blow could do to his body.
"The light contained them," Mrillis said. "There was no danger. However, it would be foolish to hope Edrout only has one enemy or pitfall waiting for us. For the next hundred meters or so, it would be best if all were silent, to listen for danger." He gave them no chance to respond, but turned his horse and headed into the darkness. His torch flared and wavered with the sudden movement.
The Rift War Page 5