"She is indeed her father's heir," Ynfara said. "He will be pleased, that you bear his stamp so clearly. And pleased that you are so beautiful." A soft laugh escaped her. "You said she is trained as a warrior, Grandfather?"
"In the world of the future, our art of warfare is a game, an entertainment. Emmi has earned her spurs as a Valor and has been proclaimed high queen in several tournaments."
"She will need that skill, to protect her from scores of suitors."
"Mama..." Emrillian hated how her face burned. That strange, choking ache throbbed deep inside her for a few moments; regret tinged with resentment and the knowledge she wouldn't be allowed to find true love as her parents had. She needed to marry for alliances and power and political ties.
"You need something more." Ynfara turned again to Athrar. She gently tugged down the blanket covering his hands. "Despite you being with her, Grandfather, there will be many who will need a seal, acknowledgement that she is her father's heir."
"Athrar's signet ring," Mrillis said.
"If he were awake, he would insist. Emmi, hold out your hand. Your sword hand." Her face hardened, and Emrillian saw the warrior her mother had been, when Valors had acclaimed her the Lady Warhawk. "If I know Grandfather, he has trained you as a man, to confound those who hope for a figurehead and tool. Is that not so?"
"Yes." Emrillian felt a surge of strength go through her when she and her mother exchanged a look of total understanding.
Ynfara inhaled sharply, visibly braced herself, and picked up Athrar's limp hand to slide the heavy Warhawk signet ring from his finger. Embedded in the silver was a sapphire cut in the shape of his Warhawk emblem. "Until Braenlicach is put into your hands, this is the emblem of your authority as Warhawk's heir. Emrillian Warhawk. Last remnant of the happy days of Quenlaque."
"Mama-- Those days will return. I promise you, they will." Emrillian dropped to her knees on the edge of the bier and grasped Ynfara's hands. They were cold.
"They will indeed." Ynfara freed her hands and slipped the ring onto Emrillian's thumb.
* * * *
Baedrix, Regent of Quenlaque, Guardian of the Crown, was in the mews, tending an ailing hawk when the news reached him. For a moment he simply stood and gazed at his younger brother, until Ectrix fidgeted. Baedrix smiled in sympathy and turned to put the hooded hawk back onto its perch. The bird ruffled its feathers once, then settled back into quiet, blind waiting.
The two brothers were much alike; wide-shouldered, dark of hair and eye, their faces falling into serious lines when at rest or deep in contemplation. Baedrix stood two heads taller than his brother, fifteen years between them.
"So, the waiting is over." He took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. "Lord Mrillis could not have picked a worse time to return the heir. Nor a better. Carious arrived last night with word that the Encindi are moving through the mountains again. They have discarded the caution our father's battles taught them. Next spring, we will likely have a war."
"But with the heir to lead us--" the boy began, halting when Baedrix shook his head.
"I have no worry about that. The rebels still fear Athrar. They will likely flee in terror when his heir appears. It is the shame of giving a troubled kingdom into our ruler's hands that bothers me."
"It's not your fault!" Ectrix blurted. The anger on his face changed to confusion when Baedrix laughed. He put an arm around his brother's shoulder and hugged him.
"You have no idea how happy your news makes me. Before the war arises next year, I will fulfill my duty. Only a moon, two at the most, little brother, and I will be free to take you questing. You could earn your spurs before the year's end."
The boy shrugged, tugged his cap, and smiled. "I would much rather have you for my teacher."
"Once I am no longer Regent, we will have time in plenty. I would rather be far from the castle until I learn not to command everyone I see."
"Not Regent?" Ectrix's face fell. "I forgot that. Will the heir really depose you?"
"A regent is not necessary when the king--or in this case, the queen--has returned." He chuckled at the boy's dismay. "Come, we must make our plans. We must be there when the heir emerges from the tunnel, and make sure we have privacy to teach her the state of her kingdom before the Court descends on her."
They walked in silence, taking the short way through the stables to reach the inner courtyard of the castle. Baedrix was grateful for the long lists of preparations he had to oversee. The thought of giving up the responsibility held by his great-grandfather, grandfather and father before him was both welcome and frightening. Escaping the castle with its sad memories and going questing with Ectrix was a pleasant prospect. The early death of his father had denied him the chance to live the roaming life of a Valor, even for a short time.
Their sister, Eleanora met them as they emerged from the stables. "You look very happy."
"The messenger is supposed to report to the Regent first," Baedrix said.
"He didn't tell me anything," she retorted, ignoring his bluffing frown. "I knew from the look on his face when Ectrix rode into the courtyard. When do Lord Mrillis and the heir arrive?"
"Tomorrow, mid-afternoon, I think." He stopped, re-calculated from the information his brother gave him about the signal flame, and nodded. "I intend to persuade all the interfering hens of Court to stay here and prepare for the coronation while we ride out with a small force to meet our queen."
"Make them think it was their idea. Haven't you learned anything, after all this time of dealing with those ninnies?" Eleanora shook her head, the jewels braided into her dark hair shimmering. The green eyes she inherited from their mother sparkled in amusement.
* * * *
"I've been wracking my brains, trying to remember everything I could about the legends," Grego said.
He, Emrillian, Mrillis and Graddon sat around a fire that had been built with magically preserved supplies left in the waystop. He wished they had not had to leave the Vale of Lanteer so soon. It broke his heart to see Emrillian and Ynfara hug good-bye, and then to see Emrillian walk backwards, keeping eye contact with her mother as long as possible.
Ynfara sat down on the edge of the bier and took hold of Athrar's hand as the shimmering veils of magic slipped down like a curtain, and then solid rock coalesced into place, reforming the tunnel wall. He didn't know who he ached for more, Emrillian for losing her mother so soon after being reunited with her, or Ynfara, left to sit in silence and act as a gateway to funnel all Mrillis' and Emrillian's and his knowledge of the modern world to Athrar's sleeping mind.
"I know what you've told me about the dome and the dilation of time. How does the Death Zone figure into all this?" He glanced at Emrillian on his left, and Mrillis beyond her. It was hard to look at Graddon. The seer was an even more shadowy legend than Mrillis and Athrar and Ynfara. He didn't know if it helped that the big, bald man said nothing, or his silence just made the whole situation more surreal. "The few scientific probes we could get anywhere near the boundaries of the Death Zone all say nothing can live there. Poisonous gases, sand, and little else. How can Lygroes reappear where the Death Zone already is? It's a law of physics: two things can't be in one place at the same time." Grego almost laughed as he spoke.
"That is the nature of the enchantment," Mrillis said. "The place where Lygroes shall re-emerge cannot have grass and mountains and any life-forms at all in it. What the technology records as poison and radiation and sand is the strained, gaping hole in space and time that waits for Lygroes to come and fill the gap. I would theorize the radiation is the energy being expended as Lygroes moves forward in time right now, and has been moving forward even as it has been held back. It exists where it has always existed, but separate, with protective barriers to keep invaders from crossing through."
"The largest proof of the truth behind the legends is the Death Zone, if you really think about it," Emrillian put in.
"So the continent isn't really changed, just suspended in time. Surro
unded by a force-field," Grego said. "Easy to say. Hard to imagine or explain."
* * * *
The only sound was the soft whisper of the wind, the jingle and creak of saddles, the thud of hooves in the grass of the plain. The tunnel mouth lay at the end of the day's ride. All around was the soft green of spring growth. The air smelled sweet, the sunshine pale gold and warm.
Baedrix sat loose in the saddle, letting his mount move as it wished. He had no duty but to enjoy the lovely day and count the hours until he was no longer Regent. He knew he wouldn't actually be free of his duties and responsibilities for moons. No matter how smooth the transition from his leadership to the reign of Athrar's heir, it would take time to acquaint the new ruler with her country and assets. By his oath as a Valor, Baedrix could not simply abandon Quenlaque Castle when the heir set foot over the threshold.
Naylia would likely have urged him to do just that, he decided, a small, tight smile twisting his lips. He remembered her pride in his position as Regent. His honor, the respect accorded him--those were always uppermost in her mind as his wife. Though there was little she really understood, her support made his burden feel lighter. She had been a fine hostess, a showpiece for festivals at Quenlaque Castle, an ornament when he rode circuit court at the estates and manor houses. She had been able to handle little else.
Why did Naylia come to his mind so often, lately?
Baedrix shook his head, feeling some humor at the idea of her silent suffering. She would have reserved her ranting and raving for their private times. He couldn't remember the last time he had considered the reactions, the thoughts and feelings, likes and dislikes of his dead wife. She had been gone nearly three years now and Baedrix wagered he had thought about her more in the last two days than the previous two years.
Naylia would have been furious over this small, quiet, military greeting party that rode to the tunnel. The ladies in Court who considered themselves the arbiters of what was right and proper were helplessly furious that they couldn't turn the heir's welcome into a moon-long display of pageantry. His wife wouldn't have understood the need to bring the heir quietly to the castle, any more than the ladies who led the Court understood now. If they had their way, this procession riding to the Vale of Bo'Lantier would be half a league long, filled with wagons and minstrels and supplies. The perfect target for the Encindi forces and Edrout's attacks, visible from ten leagues away. Naylia would be on the side of the Court ladies. She wouldn't understand the need for safety and strategy and stealth when bringing Athrar's heir to Quenlaque.
Perhaps it was indeed a good thing she had died, before Baedrix had to do battle with her for the first time.
"What worries you, brother?" Eleanora asked, as she rode up next to him on her mare.
"Memories." He knew better than to give his sister a half-lie. The Rey'kil blood of their ancestors showed strongly in her, letting her tell truth from falsehood. "Naylia would be upset over this change in our family's status, and the lack of ceremony."
"Any change upset her." Eleanora pushed back her hood to adjust a loose pin in her hair. "Even the weather," she added with a mischievous grin. "How do you feel about this change?"
"Glad." He wondered how often he had used that word lately. "Our father raised me for this duty, but I am glad to be rid of it."
"Even if Naylia was alive and making us all miserable?"
"My wife's feelings would not make a crumb of difference." His smile faded a little. "If fate had been otherwise, Naylia would be too busy with our children."
"Perhaps." Eleanora frowned slightly, studying his face. He wondered what she saw when she looked at him that way, as if she looked into his soul.
Ectrix came racing back to meet them, gesturing over the rolling landscape behind him.
"We're nearly there!" the boy cried, his face alight with excitement. "We made better time than we thought."
"Not half as fast as you did, coming to fetch us in the first place," Baedrix retorted. He laughed at the proud grin his little brother wore. He could barely remember being so free, so delighted with adventures.
"Traveling without the fuss and pageantry of Court makes things so much easier," Eleanora observed, her mouth twitching as it visibly fought a smile that matched the mischievous light in her eyes. "I wonder if that is a lesson we should share with the heir."
"What's her name?" Ectrix said, as he brought his horse around and settled in next to her.
"The heir?" Baedrix laughed as he realized he hadn't thought of the name of Athrar's daughter. She had always been "the heir," or "the child." He thought a moment. "Great-grandfather always referred to her in his writings as Emmi."
"What sort of name is that for a Valor?" The boy's face wrinkled in distaste.
"What makes you think she'll be a Valor?"
"What else would Athrar's heir be, but a Valor?" their sister retorted. "I remember now. She was named for her great-grandmother, Emrillian, daughter of Lord Mrillis and Queen of Snows Lady Ceera. That is quite a good, strong name for a Valor, and for the Lady Warhawk."
* * * *
"To the heir," Carious said, raising his goblet and nearly slopping wine over the side.
Baedrix gave him a lopsided smile and returned to contemplating the contents of his own cup. The two were alone in his tent, pitched in the wide clearing around the Tower of Bo'Lantier. They now had nothing to do but think, and wait for Athrar's heir to emerge from the tunnel.
All that saved this welcoming party from turning into an overblown display of pageantry and political maneuvering was that there hadn't been time to prepare. Most of the Court nobles and the members of the Council of Lords were still scattered to their own estates from the winter quiet time, still caught up in the spring duties of overseeing plowing and planting and assessing the damage done by winter storms and Encindi deprivations. If Baedrix had half a moon to send out announcements and wait for everyone to gather at Quenlaque Castle, twenty times as many people and tents and animals would be camped around the tower, awaiting the heir. He was heartily glad that there hadn't been enough time. He had soothed the scandalized feelings of the Court ladies by leaving it in their hands to plan the coronation. Eventually they would realize they had been maneuvered and deprived of an opportunity to influence the heir from the start. Someone would be upset and eventually someone would accuse him of political maneuvering, but by the time the fuss of the coronation ended, there would be other concerns to hold the attention of the Court.
Baedrix wondered if anyone would remember that the return of the heir meant that eventually Athrar would return to Quenlaque as well. And that his return would signal the final battle in the eons-old war.
"For a man about to be freed from a heavy burden, you do not seem at all happy, my friend." The light dimmed in Carious' gray eyes. He slouched in his chair and rested his elbows on the dark wood of the table. Piles of documents and courier pouches of reports lay just out of his reach, signs of the work Baedrix had pushed aside when his friend came to visit him.
"I have been forced to remember that Lord Mrillis answered our questions about the heir with vague replies that could be read any way we wished." Baedrix sipped at the wine, wishing the delicate sweetness would help him relax. He sighed and continued talking, glad his closest friend had interrupted his work. "According to the few sure facts, the heir was a child of four years when she entered the enchanted sleep with her parents. Mrillis left us when Edrout gathered enough magic to attack the structure of the tunnel under the sea and pierce the dome. He left to raise her in the world that went on ahead of us. How much time has passed? It is less than two years here, but how many years have passed in Moerta? How old is she? Will she be able to handle the responsibility?"
"Lord Mrillis would not bring the heir to us if he was not." Carious shrugged and tipped his head to one side. The light from the lantern hanging high on the tent pole slid off his straight, close-cut cap of sandy hair. "Are you afraid to hand over your post?"
"
Into the hands of an inexperienced, spoiled child? Yes. I would feel better giving Quenlaque to Ectrix, if it came to that."
"I trust Lord Mrillis. The few times we saw him, when we were boys, there was something about him that inspired trust. I'd let him lead me, blindfolded and barefoot, through a pit of drakags." Carious gave Baedrix a challenging look.
"So would I." Baedrix sighed.
"Wait." Carious nearly stood from his chair. "You said she? The heir is a maiden?"
"She has been since my great-great-grandfather's days as Regent." Baedrix smiled crookedly.
"Lord Mrillis brings us a princess, not a prince."
"If Mrillis trained her, she won't be a useless ornament, a head to wear the crown. She is necessary to prepare the way for Athrar's return."
"We have waited so long, it seems more fable and wish tale than prophecy and promise." Carious settled back in his seat and saluted him with his goblet. "You are blessed, my friend, to see the fulfillment of all your ancestors worked for. Are you worried about being cast aside, perhaps? Lord Lycen was considered the Warhawk's brother. Surely that will count for something?"
"I don't want it to count for something. I want to be free." Baedrix let out a ragged, weary chuckle. "I could wish for a generation of boring peace between the heir's return and the coming of Athrar. But I doubt Edrout will allow that. When he realizes she comes..."
"Quenlaque is ready. You have more than done your duty. Your ancestors will be proud of you, and the heir will be pleased. What more could you want than to know you have done all you could?"
"To know it was enough, and more than enough."
* * * *
Grego straightened with a gasp. Or rather, he tried to. He could neither move nor breathe. All his muscles felt caught in a vise. Mere immobility was a discomfort he had never considered before. Blue light shimmered before his eyes, dazzling.
Then it was gone. He pitched forward, catching himself on his hands and knees before he smashed his nose into the dusty stone floor. Mrillis reached down to help him to his feet. Grego's hand tingled where their skin touched.
The Rift War Page 8