"As I read the flame, my lady, they only stop for a few hours and then move on." Martus paused, licking his lips. His gaze darted from her to Ectrix and then back to Grego. "Could there be trouble, sir?"
"Emmi said all the household staff are of Rey'kil blood," Grego offered. "If what I saw her and Mrillis do in the tunnel when we faced the rixils and drakags applies to everyone..." A bark of laughter escaped him as they reached the door of the tower. "If I were them, I would pretend to be helpless. Then, once I got access to all that star-metal in the tunnel, I could overpower the Directorate people. Our enemies are more likely prisoners than invaders."
"They are still invaders if they come here uninvited and unwanted, carrying technology that could hurt the Threads," Ectrix said.
"True," his sister said, her expression grim.
It was a matter of moments to climb to the top of the stairs and step into the tower's main room. The signal flame flickered in purple and red, indications of intruders and non-magical presences, according to Martus. The closer intruders came to the mouth of the tunnel, the more foreign colors would fill the flame.
"What does that streak of black mean?" Grego asked, when the tower guardian's voice trailed off and the four of them just stood there, staring at the flame.
"Deaths," Eleanora said, and turned away from the flame. "I would guess the invaders tried to use their weapons, which failed them."
"Makes sense. Lord Mrillis set a spell blocking technology," Grego offered. "They probably headed down the tunnel with crawlers, some kind of transports, communication equipment, scanners. And they were stupid and stubborn enough to keep going, on foot, even when their technology failed them. It never occurred to them that their weapons, which are high-tech, computer-controlled, wouldn't work either."
"The Queen's servants probably told them of the dangers, and they refused to listen."
"How should we prepare for their arrival?" Martus asked.
"We welcome victorious allies. Hot food, clean clothes, and warm baths. For those who oppose us..." Eleanora's lips pursed as she visibly fought not to grin, eyes sparkling in mischief. "Have our full force of Valors waiting at the tunnel mouth when they arrive."
* * * *
They rode in silence, Baedrix, Emrillian and Meghianna pushing their horses as fast as they could safely move in the confines of the tunnel from the Stronghold to the coast. Baedrix led the way, though he knew it was foolish, because who could attack them within the spelled safety of the tunnel? He still felt better at least presenting an image of guarding the two women who rode behind him.
Emrillian's silence made far too much sense to him. How could she feel anything but overwhelmed and stunned by what had happened in the last several hours?
Braenlicach had burst into song when she stepped into the Stronghold's library, where it had waited for so many decades. Chords became solid, tangible, invading the other senses, cascading in sheets of blue and silver and green light from the stone walls and ceiling, making the tapestries ripple as if stirred by a swirling wind.
Emrillian's hand trembled and she flexed it several times before obeying Meghianna's directions to reach out and take up the sword from the cushion where it lay, on a long table in the center of the massive room. That hesitation had only proved to Baedrix her wisdom and common sense.
There had been no ceremony of bestowing the sword into the guardianship of Athrar's heir, and he supposed none was needed. The star-metal blade had most certainly heralded her as the proper hand to wield it. Still, Baedrix felt a little disappointed.
Meghianna's silence worried him, though. What was the Queen of Snows doing? Spreading her consciousness across the land? Testing the Threads stretching out from the Stronghold? Communicating over long distances, as his great-grandfather's memoirs had indicated she could do? Baedrix wished he had inherited that strength of imbrose. It worried him, after the abortive attack earlier that day, to be cut off from Quenlaque and the welcoming party that had stayed at the Tower of Bo'Lantier.
"Emmi." Meghianna broke the silence when they were only a dozen paces from the tunnel mouth. A latticework of dim green Threads covered the opening, giving a hazy view of the sunset-streaked landscape outside. "Give Braenlicach to Baedrix. Let him carry it, and let him step from the tunnel first." She tugged on her horse's reins and the massive black Stronghold-bred horse obediently slowed and stopped, half a length from the Threads.
"Give it to me, Lady?" Baedrix's hand felt hot, just at the thought of taking the blade.
"Your bloodline was involved in the forging of the blade, Grandson." Her lips twitched, visibly fighting a smile when he flinched at the title.
Baedrix suspected that if he accepted their relationship and didn't feel unworthy and about to be ambushed somehow, she wouldn't find so much pleasure and amusement in calling him Grandson, and might even use his name.
"Braenlicach sang for you, as well as Emmi," she continued. "Subterfuge is often the sharpest tool in our arsenal. And I have learned in my many years of life that if your enemy wraps everything in lies, then he is more susceptible to the masks you employ--especially if he knows that you hold truth and honor more precious than gold."
"Lady?"
"Someone is outside, waiting," Emrillian said. She dismounted and reached up for the belt and sheath containing Braenlicach, which she had carried tied to the side of her saddle. "If so many want to believe that Athrar's heir is a male, we should foster the false tale as long as possible. And if our enemy sees you, the Regent, holding the sword, they might believe the heir is not here yet, or unready, too young for the duty."
"They will believe us desperate and afraid, and the whispers of treachery among the Court are more fact than fear and fable." Baedrix saluted them both before he dismounted. These two were clever strategists, and he was glad they were on his side.
A fountain of peach-tinted light gushed up to the ceiling and showered down around him when he took Braenlicach in its scabbard from Emrillian's hands. He found that comforting, because the same reaction occurred when he put on his first piece of star-metal, an armband that had been his grandfather's. He tried not to hold his breath as he attempted attaching the scabbard to his belt. His hands shook and his fingers refused to obey.
"Allow me." Meghianna slipped the scabbard from his hand and went gracefully to one knee. In a moment, she had his other scabbard off the belt and had handed it to Emrillian, who attached it to Baedrix's saddle while Meghianna attached the scabbard for Braenlicach.
She stood back. Shadows touched her eyes as she looked him over.
"Lady?" Baedrix said.
"I was remembering." She sighed and gestured at the latticework of magic across the tunnel mouth. "Lycen was sensibly nervous, too, when he put on a sword before his first real battle. I know you have battled the Encindi threat all your life, in one form or another. I know you have earned scars and you have seen friends die. Grandson, this is the battle you have trained for all your life, destiny and training and strength inherited from your ancestors. You were born for this, just as surely as Emrillian was born for her role. Trust in the Estall and go forward." She gestured for him to turn.
He obeyed, taking the reins of his horse and resting his hand on the pommel of the sword. Warmth wrapped around his hand, as if the sword reached out to grasp his hand in return.
"Estall, please guard us," Baedrix whispered as he stepped through the shield over the tunnel mouth, into dawn light. His horse snorted and tossed its head and he braced himself for attack.
Nothing.
Braenlicach warmed more, tingling through his gauntlet. The roar of the surf in the bay, a few dozen running steps beyond the trees, added to the sense of impending trouble.
"Don't worry about taking Braenlicach to Quenlaque." The voice was a sour tenor.
The man who stepped from the shadows at the edge of the clearing wore purple, gold and black. Lines of recent pain creased his too pale, too thin face, contrasting with the black of his hair
. The hairs on the back of Baedrix's neck and on his arms stood up in instinctive fear and loathing.
Now he knew who had been behind the attack in that narrow valley. Baedrix smiled thinly as he realized that Emrillian had done their enemy some damage in return.
"Braenlicach is my birthright," the stranger said, his voice dropping to a low, throaty growl. He stepped toward the tunnel mouth and yellow sparks gathered around his outstretched hand. "I will have it now, Regent."
"No." Baedrix shook his head. Meghianna's words of confidence rang in his mind to counter the loathing and fear that spurted through him. "I know who and what you are, and what you claim to be." His voice came out flat, calm and strong. "Braenlicach belongs to the true-born daughter of Athrar. Not to you, Edrout."
"I will not play games with you, Regent." Edrout smiled thinly, and Baedrix shivered at the delighted malice that glowed in his eyes. "Come, let us bargain together. The sword is mine by birthright. You can either yield it to me here or make me come to Quenlaque to claim it."
"The sword belongs to Queen Emrillian. Only her hand can draw it without bringing disaster on the wielder."
"Her hand?" He let loose a raucous laugh. "She is a mere child! Even if she is of Athrar's bloodline, the sword will not obey her--she is a woman. Her place is in a man's bed. If I allow her to grow up."
"You have no idea..." Baedrix gripped the sword harder and focused on the image of using it to lop Edrout's head from his shoulders. Childhood stories, told in the Valor barracks to frighten the youngest boys, said that Edrout could reach into a man's mind and know his very thoughts. He refused to betray Emrillian by thinking of her waiting in hiding.
"If you obey me now instead of waiting to swear fealty as I hold the sword over your head, I will reward you richly."
"You have nothing I want."
"I imagine your expected reward for bringing Braenlicach to Quenlaque is to marry Athrar's daughter. I cannot marry my sister and continue the family tradition, much as that would please me." He chuckled when Baedrix snarled and took a step closer to him, barely swallowing a stream of scalding oaths. "Come, be reasonable. Give me the sword instead of forcing me to take it from you, and I will give you the girl for your bed."
"You were born in a lie, as all Quenlaque knows." Baedrix began quietly, working slowly to strength and piercing volume. "You were raised in lies and foul magic. Son of the Nameless One and Megassa, who broke her vows and her loyalty of blood. Queen Emrillian Warhawk will not submit to you. Braenlicach will not submit to you. And I shall never yield to you though it cost me my life!" he thundered.
"Well said, Regent," Meghianna said as she stepped out through the magic shielding the tunnel mouth. "Grandson, you make me proud."
"Go back, old woman!" Edrout shouted. Despite the rage on his face and in his voice, his fear was clear. He backed away, into the shadows, which deepened as the sun crept closer to the horizon. "Don't make me fight you."
"Fight me with what? Deceptions of beauty? Lying young men, enchanted into thinking they love me, so you can use them against me, as you used Nema against Mrillis? Oh, but I forgot, even that trap failed your mother and your father." She stepped up next to Baedrix. "The wise learn from the mistakes of others. You have grown in power since you tried and failed to kill Athrar, but even you cannot be so foolish as to believe you could stand against me."
"Be careful, old woman--"
"Be you gone, Edrout. Show wisdom, and give up your false claim for all time."
"Never!" Edrout raised his hands. Poisonous yellow sparks danced from his fingertips, thickening and increasing to form a shield around him. His voice turned into a malevolent hiss. "I will return, with more magic and more warriors than you dare face. Braenlicach will be mine, and Quenlaque, and that arrogant child will warm my bed!"
"Be gone." Meghianna flicked her wrist at the glowing yellow mass that encased Edrout. With an audible pop, it vanished. Only a few blue sparks in the air remained.
"I thank you, Lady," Baedrix whispered.
"You did well without me." The Queen of Snows smiled and patted his shoulder. "You carried your part well. Edrout no doubt believes Emrillian is a child, either hiding in Quenlaque, or she has yet to arrive."
"Not a woman grown, ready to do battle," Emrillian said, stepping out through the shielding magic and leading the other two horses. "Thank you, Lord Baedrix."
"I live to serve." He bowed and tugged on his sword belt. "Will you take this back, or should I keep it to continue the illusion?"
"Edrout is no fool. As long as he knows I ride with you, he will not attack. Not until he has built up his allies and his numbers," Meghianna said. "Back to the tower, then on to Quenlaque, to prepare for war."
"We might have a war on our hands before we reach Quenlaque," Emrillian said. She stepped up to help Baedrix take Braenlicach from his sword belt to return to her. "Grandfather contacted me. We have company coming." A tiny snort of laughter escaped her when Meghianna and Baedrix both gave her confused frowns. "Our friends are coming from Moerta with unwanted company. Grego sent a warning, though he certainly doesn't have the knack yet for speaking through the Threads."
"And you do?" Meghianna chuckled when Emrillian blushed at her teasing criticism. "Ah, I am still muzzy in my head from sleeping, waiting, living in my memories. I didn't hear Mrillis contact you. What does he say we should do?"
"He said I am queen in my father's stead, and a good student, so he trusts me to devise my own strategy without him looking over my shoulder." She grimaced as she finished re-attaching the sword to her belt, and immediately swung up into the saddle.
"And?" Baedrix asked, deciding to be amused by the exasperated tone she used, and to ignore the fact that the man she spoke of with affection and frustration was Mrillis the enchanter, in whom was anchored all the magic of the entire world, through the missing Zygradon.
"I think I would be a fool not to take advantage of those with far more experience and wisdom. Aunt Meggi, you will ride with us?"
"Of course. What did you think I would do?" Meghianna swung up into her saddle.
"I think that with the threat to the dome even stronger now, you might ride to catch up with Grandfather and Graddon, to prepare to either brace the dome against collapse, or bring it down under your own terms." Emrillian nudged her horse, and the three of them moved out of the clearing.
"Stronger how?" Baedrix said. He shuddered at the thought of the dome woven of Threads collapsing down across the entire continent of Lygroes. With only a vague idea of how magic kept the land safe in a slower current of time, he had a vision of being thrust forward into the future like a boy slung mud pies with a slingshot. The people of the future would suffer, and the mud pie itself would be annihilated.
"If the Directorate people acted quicker than we thought and took our friends captive for at least part of the journey..." Her face went grin, and her eyes lost their focus as she gazed westward toward the unseen coast. "They could be attempting to drain power from the Threads sooner than we anticipated. If I were in their place and invading people's homes in pursuit of a dangerous, deadly metal, and I lost contact with my team..." Her mouth flattened more.
Baedrix pitied her, the weight she carried, and he admired her for calmly facing what had to be a grim and unwelcome realization. He only partly understood what she talked about, after the brief lessons given on the structure of the world of the future.
"I would step up the schedule to tap and drain the power of the Threads," Emrillian said. "I would attack where I could, on as many fronts as I could. They will send ships to the edge of the Death Zone, carrying their equipment, and send more people down the tunnel. And for every day that we live here, ten pass for them. They have plenty of time on their side." She dug her heels into her horse's sides.
"Teach me about your world, Emmi," Meghianna said as their horses trotted through the gap in the trees. "I need to see Moerta through your eyes, your heart." She cast out Threads of purple and green a
nd blue, streamers that hung in the air until Emrillian let go of her reins and reached for them. The Threads flashed silver and faded into the air.
"Let me ride point," Baedrix said, urging his horse around them when the trail widened. "You'll be distracted."
"Not that much, but enough. Thank you," Emrillian said. "We are in a race now. Don't spare us."
"Yes, Highness." He exchanged a grim smile with her as they exchanged places. "Lady Warhawk."
* * * *
Grego stood at attention at Emrillian's side, watching the gaping black mouth of the tunnel from Moerta. He reflected that less than two days ago, the people had waited with joy as Mrillis, Graddon, Emrillian and he came out of the darkness. There was a difference this late morning. Some arriving were friends, servants of the queen. Others were possible enemies. It all depended on who Kayn had sent, and if the man had been paranoid enough to lead the assault team on the Rakkell estate himself. And if he had brought the power siphon equipment. How effective would Mrillis' technology-killing spell be against equipment that drained away the power behind the magic?
"They come." Meghianna strode through the trees and shadows to the cleared area where Emrillian and her inner circle of supporters waited.
Grego smiled, seeing how some people stepped back or jerked, startled at the appearance of the Queen of Snows. He liked Meghianna much more than all the various incarnations of her, played out during dramas at the Archaics meetings. The resemblance between her and Emrillian was strong, despite her coloring. The affection between Meghianna and her niece was very clear, and Grego relaxed, knowing such a powerful enchantress would keep Emrillian safe no matter what happened.
"Aunt Meggi, do you sense anything?" Emrillian asked. She almost left the improvised throne that Eleanora insisted she use, to impress the newcomers.
"You mean, their minds? Their thoughts and potentials?" Meghianna shook her head, a faint smile gleaming softly. "Your imbrose is strong. Use it."
The Rift War Page 13