Stormseer (Storms in Amethir Book 3)

by Stephanie A. Cain

  He must have caught sight of her during one of his turns. He stopped moving and straightened. Azmei jerked her gaze away, feeling her face get hot. She hadn't meant to interrupt, and now she had been caught.

  "Azmei. I didn't mean to wake you." His words were hesitant. She glanced at him, wondering if he felt as awkward as she did.

  "You didn't. I think it was one of the horses. But I'm ready to be awake. I slept well." She smiled. She wished she knew how to thank him for standing watch last night without making things even more awkward. "Can you teach me what you're doing?"

  He raised his eyebrows. "You must have your own practice routine."

  "Yes, but I like learning new things." She smiled. "And then perhaps we could spar against each other."

  "You are almost certainly more skilled with the blade than I."

  She stepped across the paved yard to join him. "I doubt it. I am good at killing in controlled environments, and I am good at creating those environments. But you survived years on the battlefield, which I have not done."

  "You've also been honing your skills for several years, where mine have been rusting," Hawk countered, half-smiling at her. "But very well." He fell into a loose stance, his weight distributed on the balls of his feet, and stretched his arms over his head. "Mirror my poses. We'll go slowly at first."

  Azmei did as she was told. At first she had to focus on following his movements, but soon he looped around to the beginning and she realized everything he did was based on half a dozen stances. He varied where his arms were held, or the combination of poses, but once she had learned those stances, she found the routine almost meditative. Hawk's poses were like the stretches she had learned, but with more purpose; his could be turned into martial movements with little adaptation.

  It was a mixed blessing, she discovered. With her body occupied by the routine, her mind wandered back to the situation in which she found herself. Stuck in a hidden valley with one companion taken by dragons. Her brother and father threatened by assassins, certainly sent by one of the Nine Families, possibly by her cousin. What was happening in Tamnen City right now? Was Tanvel still alive, or had he been killed? Was her father still alive?

  "You aren't concentrating anymore." Hawk's voice was neutral, his gaze observant on her but not condemning.

  "I'm sorry," she said anyway. "I'm afraid my mind keeps wandering."

  He just nodded. "Perhaps the swords, then. That should keep your mind from wandering."

  Azmei laughed. "I hope so! I don't have a practice blade with me."

  "We'll be careful." He glanced over at her, waiting until she nodded slightly. It wasn't usual to practice with live steel; the purpose of practice was to make the motions instinctive, and if you pulled your strokes in practice, your instinct would be to do so in a real fight. But this once, it wouldn't be a problem.

  She drew her sword and waited while he walked to where his shirt and sword belt were draped over a stone. She fell into a ready position and watched as he drew his sword and worked his shoulders.

  He attacked without warning. Azmei had been watching, but his muscles hadn't betrayed his intent. He simply struck. She parried and countered, but he blocked her own attack easily. After a few traded blows, she found herself smiling. It was a joy to match herself against him. It had been months since she'd last sparred with Tanvel, and he had been the last opponent who outmatched her. As she and Hawk tested each other, she realized that he, too, outmatched her, both with strength and with cunning. She was in better condition, but only just. Her biggest advantage was that she had been trained in the fighting styles of three nations, and Hawk had only one.

  Still, he pressed her hard. Soon she was sweating, grateful for how it cooled her in the dry air. It gratified her to see that Hawk was breathing hard, the same fierce joy on his face that she felt on her own. Their feet scuffed sand against the stone yard, the clang of blade against blade and their panting and grunts the only other sounds. She had to admit it was a relief when Hawk's blade finally darted in to stop a few inches from her throat. "Check," Hawk gasped, and Azmei replied, "Yield."

  They lowered their blades, grinning at one another. The happiness in his eyes pleased her. Until then she hadn't realized just how sad he looked most of the time. She was proud to have brought him such pleasure. She wondered, as he stared at her, if he was feeling much the same.

  "Thank you," she said. She wiped her blade against her trousers and slid it into its sheath. Later she would check it for nicks, but now she slid into a stretch, making sure her muscles would stay loose.

  "You are skilled, indeed," he said, following her example.

  "But not as skilled as you." She smiled. "You will continue to improve as you rebuild your stamina. I'll have to work hard to keep up with you."

  There was a brief pause. She wondered if he'd caught what she'd let slip—that she wanted to try to keep up with him. It wasn't possible. He would have duties when she returned him to her brother. And she would have duties of a very different sort. But for now, hidden away in the Shrouded Vale, waiting for Yar to return with his dragons, Azmei could dream.

  "You're capable of it," Hawk said finally, and twisted at the waist. He bent over, working at his thigh. She'd seen him favoring it some during the fight, but it didn't hinder him. He knew how to fight through the pain.

  "We should eat," she replied. "There's a little meat and bread left."

  He nodded and followed her back to their stall, where she handed him the food pack. She grabbed the kettle and filled it with water while they returned back to the yard. Hawk portioned out the food while she built a fire and began heating water. When the coffee was ready, they ate. They didn't speak much, but Azmei felt more relaxed with him than she had anyone except Tanvel and, longer ago, Razem and Guira and Venra.

  "Hawk?" she ventured, as they lingered over their coffee. He looked over at her, his charcoal eyes curious and open. It made her hesitate, but she couldn't forget what they'd discovered about Arisanat. She licked her lips. "Tell me again how Aris reacted when you first met."

  He frowned, the curiosity fading from his eyes, though the openness remained. At last he shrugged. "He was tense. Cold. I saw hatred in his eyes, but I thought it was for me alone. I lived while his brother did not."

  She frowned too. For Hawk alone? But it wasn't, was it? There was no reason Arisanat would have ordered her death without having any involvement in the attack on Marsede. Something nagged at her memory. There had been something about what Hawk said that caught at her. What was it? "What did he say to you? Exactly, if you remember?"

  "He said a prisoner exchange does not bring peace." Hawk's gaze turned sad. He sipped his coffee, letting his gaze drop to it instead of Azmei's face.

  She sighed. "He must have been more destroyed by Venra's death than I realized." She shook her head. She missed Venra, too, but he had been dead four years, and she had lost others she loved since then. Time had not erased the grief, but it had dulled it. "I loved Venra myself. I...I think he meant to ask my father about an alliance between us. But I was still very young when he went to war."

  "Did you..." Hawk trailed off, looking awkward. Perhaps he had realized the question he started to ask wasn't the sort of question a warrior ought to ask a princess. But Azmei didn't mind.

  "He was my dearest friend after Razem," she said. "But no. I could have learned to love him, I know. But it was not to be." She smiled sadly at Hawk, who looked soberly back at her.

  "His love for you is not shared by his brother," he said.

  "It was once. Aris looked after us all. We got into all sorts of mischief, the three of us—my brother, Venra, and I—but Aris tried to keep us out of the worst trouble. He worked to keep us safe." She laughed. "It was like he was a herd dog, and we his sheep. We caused him no end of headache and worry, but we were devoted to him, and he to us." She bowed her head. "Perhaps it was my agreeing to the treaty with Amethir that drove Aris to hatred."

  "A man is responsible f
or his own actions, Azmei." Hawk's words were quick and low. "If Arisanat chose hatred, it was his choice, not yours."

  Azmei shook her head, not denying it, but unable to accept it, either. "He must be very lonely."

  They were silent for a time. Azmei poured herself a second cup of coffee. Hawk set down his cup and drew his sword, going over it for any blemish. The breeze picked up Azmei's hair and ruffled it. She looked away, down the length of the Shrouded Vale, and wondered if she saw dragons flying in the distance.

  "Was it difficult to be away from your father and brother for so long?" Hawk asked finally.

  Azmei glanced over at him. "As difficult as it probably was for you." She smiled. "But I have only been dead for three years. You were a captive for...what? Five years? Six? I've lost track."

  "Ah. Six." Hawk didn't look up from his blade, which he worked carefully with a whetstone. "But I have no family."

  "There were still people you loved, surely," Azmei murmured. "You must have missed them."

  He lifted a shoulder. "Emran Kho was a friend. Your cousin Lord Venra was, as well. It grieved me deeply to learn of his death."

  She sat forward, watching his face. "You knew Venra?"

  "He was my commander in Rivarden. I liked him."

  "Was he well-loved?" Azmei had exchanged letters with Venra, but he had always been humble. He had felt drawn to right the wrongs in the Kreyden, to attempt to rule the district as peacefully as possible while protecting the citizens from the Strid. But he had never claimed to be a popular leader or a visionary. She had always wondered what he left out of his letters.

  "Aye, and respected." Hawk's lips curved up as he spoke of his commander. "He had a keen mind for strategy, but he was always willing to listen to advice or opinions. He knew he had been well educated, but he acknowledged that experience often tops education. He never stood on rank." Hawk's hands went still, his eyes unfocused. "He was generous."

  Azmei smiled. "I can tell you loved him. It was churlish of Aris not to be kind to you. He should value anything you can tell him of his brother."

  Hawk's eyes focused and turned cold. "I must beg your pardon, my lady. I call him worse than churl. I call him traitor."

  Pain stabbed through Azmei's stomach. She clenched her muscles against it and drew in a long breath. "I know." She bowed her head, staring down at her hands, folded tightly in her lap. "Aris tried to have me killed." Hawk was silent. "He tried to have my father killed. He will likely try to have my brother killed." Still Hawk made no answer.

  Azmei sighed and lifted her gaze to meet his. "He plans rebellion."

  Hawk nodded silently. His sorrowful gaze was steady on hers. Azmei swallowed. There didn't seem to be anything else to say after that. They had to get to Tamnen City and stop this. She didn't know how they would accomplish it, but it was her duty, now that she'd brought Yarro to his goal.

  Hawk looked away first. "My lady—" He broke off, pointing down the valley.

  Azmei followed the line of his arm, not bothering to remind him to call her Azmei. Approaching them, far enough that they were still out of earshot, was a phalanx of dragons. At this distance, she couldn't make out their colors, just the shapes. But she could tell that the lead dragon carried a human figure on its back.

  "Yarro," she said.

  "Let's hope so." Hawk's voice was grim.

  "There's no reason for them to have lured us here and then harmed us. It makes no sense."

  He glanced over at her. "Do dragons make sense?"

  Her lips quirked at that. She rested a hand on her sword hilt and waited.

  Soon they could hear the ponderous beat of dragon wings. As they drew closer, Azmei saw it wasn't the golden dragon in the lead, but a sinuous green dragon. To its left flew the golden dragon, and to its right was another green. She wondered if their colors signified anything, or if they were just like kittens, born several different colors from the same mother sometimes. She wondered if she would ever have the chance to learn.

  All too soon, the dragons were overhead, their wings raising a wind that swirled Azmei's hair around her face and tugged at her clothes. She narrowed her eyes to protect them from the flying sand and lifted a hand in greeting. Through the cloud of debris, she saw Yar lift his hand in return. The green dragon settled down in front of them. The others winged backwards until they could land in a semicircle behind the green.

  "I'm back," Yar said. He slid down the green's shoulder and rested a hand on her neck as he walked forward. "I have much to tell you."

  That would be weird, Azmei thought. It wasn't as if Yar was given to much speech. But he stepped up to her and looked down into her face, meeting her gaze deliberately. She stared up at him. His eyes were silver now, a swirly silver that—she gulped—matched the swirly silver of the green dragon's eyes.

  "I am no longer Yarro Perslyn," he told her. "I am Yarrax, Voice of Dragons."

  "What does that mean?" she whispered.

  To her relief, he gave her a wry grin, and it was the same grin she had seen on his face on a few occasions. "I don't know," he said simply. "But I guess I'm going to learn."

  "What did they do to you?" She was surprised at how fierce her voice was. She gripped her sword hilt.

  "Nothing I didn't choose," he said. "I could have refused the Joining. They would have let me. But it would have made Xellax sad, and I..." he faltered, then looked back at the green dragon, who had pressed her nose against his back. "I find that I don't wish to make Xellax sad."

  Azmei looked beyond him to the green dragon. It was watching her. She had a feeling it had noted her hand on her sword, and it was amused, but approved. She deliberated a moment, then removed her hand from her sword and bowed. "Greetings, Xellax," she said, trying to pronounce the name with the same hissy, throaty sound that Yar used. "I am Princess Azmei of Tamnen, sometime known as Aevver Balearic of the Shadow Diplomats. I am honored to meet you."

  She felt a pressure in her head, a sort of soundless laughter, and Yar said, "She says, of course you are. But she is also pleased to behold you in the flesh, Azmei of Tamnen. There is great work in store for you."

  Azmei heard Hawk shift behind her. He must not like the suggestion that the dragons had some use for Azmei. She wasn't sure what to make of it herself, but she would at least hear them out.

  "For me?" She raised her eyebrows and met the dragon's eyes again, then transferred that look to Yar. "I suppose you'd better fill me in."

  The pressure in her head came again, and Yar tilted his head to one side, his gaze going unfocused for several long heartbeats. His bearing was both like and unlike the way he had been when taken by a vision. It was as if it didn't engulf him as fully as it used to, but also that he was understanding it better, more clearly perhaps. Azmei watched his face, counting on Hawk to keep his eyes on the dragon—Xellax.

  "There have been...rumblings," Yar said at last, and from the continued pressure in her head, Azmei could tell that Xellax was still speaking and Yar's hesitations were from translating as the dragon spoke. "We have suspected for...for some time...that the gods are waking. We now know this is true." He ignored Azmei's gasp and Hawk's muttered oath. "They stir in their slumber....it becomes more restless..."

  He closed his eyes and went silent for several heartbeats, but though Azmei wanted to blurt out questions, she suddenly couldn't think of which to start with. She waited for him to speak again.

  "Something has gone wrong to our west. Amethir...Amethir can affect this somehow..." Yar opened his eyes again. "You, with your ties to Amethir, Azmei, you can speak to...Vistaren?" He glanced at the dragon, then turned his gaze back to Azmei's. It was unnerving, after so many months of his trying not to meet her gaze, for him to look so directly at her, and with such strange eyes.

  "Prince Vistaren is my betrothed," Azmei whispered. She felt Hawk go still next to her.

  "Yes...He may be able to change things..."

  "To keep the gods from waking?" Azmei's voice cracked on the questio
n.

  The dragon swung its head around Yar to look closely at Azmei. Its breath ghosted across her face, hot but surprisingly dry. She winced at the sudden pressure in her head.

  "Xellax...is frustrated that she can't speak directly to you." Yar's voice was strained. "She knows you feel her, but you just can't understand."

  "No. But you can, Yar." Azmei rounded on him. "Explain to me. Make me understand."

  He didn't withdraw from her as he once might have. "The dragons don't know what Vistaren may do. But they know he's the only one who might be able to...to have some effect. I...I don't know whether it's to...to mollify the gods, or to..." He shook his head and shrugged. "I don't know. They don't know. But Vistaren is key. You and Vistaren."

  Oh, gods. It came back to her marriage, didn't it? As her stomach rolled over inside her, Azmei realized how much she had been hoping that, despite her regard for Vistaren, she would be able to negotiate some new treaty, some way that she could be free to live her own life.

  But this is my life, she thought. And then she remembered her father and brother.

  She folded her arms across her chest. She lifted her chin and met the dragon's gaze, gambling that the dragon could understand her, even if she couldn't understand it. "This is indeed an important message. But now that I have fulfilled my duty to Yarro, I have other duties that demand my attention."

  The dragon's head drew back, its gaze steady on her. Another dragon, the golden one, trumpeted. Azmei couldn't help wincing at the pain in her head. She wished they would stop trying to make her understand. But maybe they couldn't help it. Yar didn't wince when they spoke. Perhaps that was why he had to be their Voice.