Wildmane: Threadweavers, Book 1

by Todd Fahnestock

  “I wonder if he even knows that his pet is missing.”

  “I do not know, my master.”

  “Ah, here he comes.”

  A red and smoky cloud billowed out of the Fountain. It coalesced into a voluptuous red-haired woman. Her long, fiery locks floated about her head like seagrass. She wore a filmy gown which clung tightly to her body.

  She was not a he at all. Intriguing.

  Zilok was amused. Her form had no more physical substance than his, so her appearance was entirely her own choice. Who did she think had come calling? A long-lost lover? Or was this the way she saw herself?

  It suddenly occurred to him that his own self-projection wasn’t any less bizarre. Any physical projection for one who had transcended physicality was a bit ridiculous.

  We are human yet, to possess such vanity.

  The red-haired threadweaver saw Sef and the struggling darkling. She floated up to them, then saw Zilok. She stopped her ascent.

  One of her prowess would see his burning blue eyes. Out of courtesy, he made his form fully apparent, hovering in front of Sef as if he were a mortal man. He bowed low to her in the fashion of a nobleman of his time.

  “Who are you?” she asked tersely. “Why do you meddle with my creatures and my Fountain?”

  Neither the creature nor the Fountain belonged to her, but that wasn’t the conversation he wished to have with her today.

  “Zilok Morth at your service, my lady,” he said at the nadir of his bow.

  The image of herself became indistinct for a moment as, he surmised, she lost her concentration. He smiled. It was nice to be recognized.

  It must be a little unsettling to believe you are the largest lyonar in the land, then to turn around and see another lyonar just behind you.

  “What do you want?” she asked.

  How rude.

  “I could not help but notice your handiwork. Your talent screams to be appreciated. I have come to appreciate it.”

  “What handiwork?” she asked. Threadweavers were notoriously secretive about their prowess. It was almost a prerequisite of the vocation. Still, she really should conceal her hand more effectively if she was going to act indignant when someone noticed it.

  He smiled. “The darklings you have running all over Amarion like trained dogs, for one. The smart additions that you’ve made to my descendant’s Fountain, for two. It’s quite impressive.”

  The red-haired spirit smiled a little, albeit reluctantly. “You can see my work?”

  “Every bit of it, my lady.”

  Abruptly, she laughed, loud and shrill. He narrowed his eyes. “You are Zilok Morth, after all,” she said.

  “I would not have chosen fluted columns for your greatroom, but that is only a matter of personal taste.”

  “Oh...” she furrowed her brow. “What would you have chosen?”

  “I am partial to smooth marble. The beauty of simple elegance is often underappreciated.”

  The red-haired woman nodded and looked back at the Fountain for a moment. “Perhaps I shall take your advice.”

  “I am flattered.” He suddenly wondered at her mental stability. She behaved much like the nubile young woman she appeared to be. Could she really be that emotionally immature? He had only met a handful of threadweavers who had the presence of mind to transcend mortal death and live on as a spirit. Even fewer who could master Difinius’s great spell of folding space. She obviously had a mighty will. Yet the transition from mortal flesh to immortal spirit was a shock, to say the least. It could easily plunge an unwary mind into insanity. Had this happened to her?

  He decided that he must step carefully. It was far more likely she was trying to deceive him than that she was a malleable, vacant-headed girl. A thrill went through him. Oh, how he loved crossing swords with a peer!

  “My lady, I do not mean to be rude,” he said, “but might I have the pleasure of your name? I do so enjoy knowing the names of those with whom I converse.”

  “Oh!” She gave him a coquettish glance. “I am Ethiel Doahrta, Duchess of Gorros in the kingdom of Calsinac.”

  The Red Weaver! So, this was the one who’d pushed the poisoned thorn into the side of the Wildmane. Zilok could barely keep himself steady, he was so excited.

  “Of course, I suppose I am no longer the Duchess of Gorros. Calsinac has fallen, hasn’t it?”

  “Many years ago.”

  “Well then, I am Ethiel Doahrta, Empress of Daylan’s Fountain.” She giggled.

  He bowed low. “Your majesty,” he said.

  “Do you think me ostentatious? To call myself Empress?”

  “It fits you,” he replied. She should have kept the moniker “the Red Weaver.” It was far more impressive to be a threadweaver of her stature than an empress.

  “So,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “What are you really doing here?”

  “I have been honest, your majesty. I am here to admire your handiwork. I have never seen anyone master so many darklings at a time.” Well, that was a lie, but she obviously enjoyed his praise, and he saw no reason to stop now. “What could you possibly be doing with all of them?”

  “I’m hunting.” She bounced, clasping her hands together.

  “I feel pity for your quarry. I find it difficult to believe that you have not yet caught him. Darklings are superlative hunters.”

  Ethiel’s brow furrowed. “He’s hiding from me. I think he knows I’m after him.”

  “Ah...” And then he understood. His thoughts raced, compiled the information he had spent studying these past days, the histories he missed during his long sleep. “You seek the Wildmane,” he said.

  Ethiel’s childish demeanor vanished, and Zilok glimpsed the ageless spirit beneath the emotional performance.

  “So the legends of you are not exaggerated.”

  Now they were getting to the thick of it. “You do me too much credit, your majesty.”

  “What makes you think I seek my love?”

  Her love. Interesting that she saw the Wildmane that way...

  “An educated guess, my lady. Many years have passed since we were alive, and GodSpill has been absent from the lands. Who else but the Wildmane might have lived so long that he would still be around for you to seek?”

  “You said ‘might have lived.’ Do you think he has died?”

  He shook his head. “Oh no, my lady. He is very much alive. I have seen him.”

  She stiffened. “Where?”

  “Let us not rush things. I am impressed with what you have done here, and I should like to cultivate your acquaintance. I have long wondered how Difinius managed to bend space, and here you have accomplished it.”

  “You want Difinius’s spell?”

  “Let us say that I wish to begin a conversation with you. Perhaps an exchange of knowledge. There is much we can learn from each other. We have no peers anymore. With whom shall we talk if not each other?”

  “Who indeed?”

  “Then let us begin our conversation.”

  “And you will tell me where I can find my love?”

  “I will do you one better.” He smiled. “I will bring the Wildmane to you.”

  20

  Tyndiria

  Tyndiria stood on her balcony and looked out to the Inland Ocean. The sun sank slowly toward the waves, painting them bright orange and red. Ships rocked gently in the harbor. A few were just sailing in, done with the day’s fishing. Tyndiria always loved watching the ships. It was one of the few things she remembered about being with her father. She had been nine when the Sunriders attacked. After that, her father had no time to spend with her. But during those rare moments, he would point out the different kinds of ships, and they would laugh together. Her father had been able to name each ship and her captain. Now she could, too.

  At moments like this, Tyndiria missed her father terribly. She had loved him more than her own life. It was one of the reasons she had been so adamant to keep the throne. It was what Father would have wanted. He woul
d be proud to see how she had guided the kingdom. Life was hard in Teni’sia, but they were doing much better than their neighbors to the north and the south. They were rebuilding. They would thrive again.

  Tyndiria wondered how much of their fortune had to do with Medophae. She had spent enough time with him to believe he was something of a good-luck charm. Medophae had once said that Tyndiria would lead her people into a golden age, and just by him saying it, she could see it. She could believe it. He had a way of instilling confidence in those around him.

  She let out a breath, slow and long, until she was done with it. Enough of that. This was the moment she told herself would come. She’d seen the pain at the end of the road when she’d set foot upon it. She wouldn’t lament her choice. She’d learned her lessons from an immortal; now was the time to implement them. Now was the time to be her own good-luck charm.

  Medophae had been her first lover, but he wasn’t her first love. Tyndiria deeply loved her duty to her people; she had loved Teni’sia first. She would lean on her work until she could consider what must be done next.

  She decided she would wait one year, get her bearings, and steady her heart. Then she would do what was best for the kingdom. She would choose another consort from a suitable house and make an heir to keep the succession stable. That was the responsible thing to—

  “Am I interrupting something?” a high-pitched voice asked.

  Tyndiria sucked in a breath and spun, clutching the rail. A small, furry creature stood between her and balcony’s archway. It looked like a cross between a giant cat and a squirrel, and a burning sheet of flame ran the length of its spine, from the base of its neck to the tip of its tail. Its thin body perched high atop thin legs, which were obviously built for running. Its long, flaming tail twitched back and forth. Curled, wicked-looking claws protruded from its catlike paws, and its feline face held wide, insane-looking eyes.

  It sauntered forward and leapt lightly to the rail, watching her. The squirrel-like tail hung weightless over the tremendous drop.

  Tyndiria forced herself to breathe. She would swear the thing was smiling. She prayed that this was a dream, that she would wake and find she was alone.

  “I had hoped to catch you when you weren’t busy.” The catlike creature’s lips moved against the fangs, forming words. “Shall I return when it’s more convenient?”

  “By Thalius...” Tyndiria breathed. “What are you?”

  The creature had a high, thin chuckle. “Humans. Always with the curiosity. Don’t say I didn’t give you a chance.” It cocked its head. “In the past, your kind called my kind bakkarals.” The bakkaral’s speech was impossibly lucid. It shouldn’t have been able to speak clearly through those catlike lips. It made Tyndiria dizzy. And that flame on its back... How could... How could that be?

  “I know,” the bakkaral said, as if it understood the source of her shock. “I always thought it a funny kind of name. But what can be done? Humans will be humans.”

  “What are you doing here? What do you want?” She tried to maintain the steadiness in her voice. A queen talking to an envoy, that was all she was.

  The bakkaral’s lips pulled back, revealing long, white teeth. “I’m here to scare you. Are you scared yet?”

  She cleared her throat. “No,” she said, “I just don’t—”

  The bakkaral’s eyes flew open, and he jumped forward on the rail. His mouth gaped wide, and he hissed. The flame on his back roared upward.

  She screamed and threw herself sideways. She stumbled on her gown and fell to her knees. Gasping, she clambered to her feet, waiting for those deadly claws to slash her back, those teeth to tear her neck.

  But it didn’t happen.

  Cold sweat beaded on her forehead. When she realized she wasn’t being attacked, she tried to get up, tripped on her dress, almost went down again, and finally scrambled awkwardly to her feet.

  The bakkaral perched calmly on the stretch of rail where she had leaned a second ago. Again, its lips pulled away from white teeth in a frightening mockery of a smile.

  “How was that?” it asked. Its high-pitched voice rattled through her. “Scared yet?”

  She panted like she had just run up ten flights of steps. She tried to control her breath, but she couldn’t. Her heart thundered in her chest.

  “Why...” she breathed, “Why do you want to scare me?”

  The wide, insane eyes blinked, and the bakkaral let out small breath. “Very well, I’m not really here to scare you.”

  “You’re...not?” She edged backward, brushing against the gathered drapes in the balcony’s archway.

  “No. I’m here to kill you.”

  Her chest ached. “No...” she said in a small voice.

  “Oh, yes.”

  “I’ll call the guards,” she whispered.

  “Oh good. More guards,” the bakkaral purred. It stretched tall and settled back on the rail. It seemed to be enjoying the game. “Yell loudly. All the guards in this part of the palace are dead.”

  Her lip trembled, and she continued backing away. “Don’t...”

  The bakkaral smiled again. “Are you going to run?”

  “Please, don’t,” she said, holding her hands out in front of her.

  “This is the part I like the best,” the bakkaral said.

  She turned and sprinted for the door.

  21

  Medophae

  The sun had just disappeared behind the castle walls of Teni’sia when Medophae reined his horse in. Long shadows covered the steep streets. Overhead, a raven cawed and wheeled in the sun’s last rays. The light flashed white on the black bird’s wings as it settled atop the nearby guardhouse. Medophae loved this time of day. The land seemed to sigh contentedly at sunset, as though satisfied with a long day’s work.

  Word of Medophae’s return had already spread from the gatehouse to the royal stables and young Casur was waiting for him. Medophae dismounted and gave the horse over, ruffling the boy’s hair with a smile. Casur grinned up at him.

  “What news, Casur?”

  “Lady Bae’lee’s mare came up lame during her ride yesterday.” Casur said. “The physic’s looking at it, but they think they’ll have to put it down.”

  Medophae nodded soberly. “Was Lady Bae’lee hurt?”

  “No m’lord. Sad, though. My cousin, she works in the palace, and she says that the lady’s been in her room all day crying.”

  Medophae put a hand on Casur’s shoulder. “Thank you, Casur. I’ll drop in to see Lady Bae’lee in the morning.”

  Casur beamed.

  “As for this one.” Medophae indicated his own mount. “Give him a good, thorough rubdown. I’ve ridden him hard for three days now. He needs tending. Be generous with the oats, too.”

  “Yes, m’lord.” Casur led Medophae’s tired gelding away.

  He went around the stables and immediately to the palace guardhouse. Lieutenant Lo’gan was there, talking with a young recruit. The young guard saw Medophae and immediately saluted. The new guard kept his composure fairly well; his eyes widened only a little. Medophae nodded to him. He wished that Lo’gan didn’t find it necessary to instill such fearsome formality in his soldiers. Medophae could do without all the saluting. A polite nod worked just fine for him, but he and Lo’gan had had that argument before. Medophae had finally given up. Lo’gan was a fine lieutenant, and it was best to let fine lieutenants run things their own way.

  “You may go,” Lo’gan said to the new guard, who turned smartly and marched out of the guardhouse, leaving Lo’gan and Medophae alone.

  “Sir.” Lo’gan nodded. He did not salute. It was his unspoken concession to Medophae in the argument. Lo’gan did as Medophae requested between the two of them, out of respect.

  “How are things?” Medophae asked.

  “Silent as sand, Captain.”

  “Good. The queen?”

  “She retired to her chambers not long ago. Aeder and Mik’syn have just gone on shift.”

  “I
’ll go see her.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Medophae went through the back and into the narrow stairs that led into the heart of the castle. He passed through the first two doors to which only he, Tyndiria, and Lo’gan had the keys. His mind was still awash with Orem’s words and he longed to talk with Tyndiria. One look into her eyes would remind him why his place was here now. He didn’t have an obligation to support Orem or his delusions.

  The stairs spiraled straight up five stories before opening into the hallway where Aeder and Mik’syn would be standing guard. The last door was solid steel with three locks. To the left of it was a narrow window that looked out on the northern mountains. The only reason Medophae had not had the window bricked up was because it was too narrow for a man to pass through. Even a child could not fit through that narrow slit.

  Medophae inserted the first key into the top lock and turned. The tumblers spun and the bolt withdrew. He repeated the process with the second lock. As he inserted the key into the third lock, he heard a fluttering of wings.

  A loud caw filled the small stairway, and Medophae spun. A raven perched in the narrow window, and the base of Medophae’s skull began to tingle.

  The raven cocked its head and cawed again.

  Orem’s words filled his mind: These dark creatures, they aren’t going to stop. You’ll find them at the gates of Tyndiria’s kingdom soon.

  “Tyndiria...” he whispered. He jammed the key into the third lock, twisted it, and shoved the door open.

  Four bodies littered the hallway beyond. Aeder and Mik’syn had fallen at their posts. The guard hidden in the recess behind the tapestry was crumpled in an unmoving heap, folds of the heavy cloth clutched in his stiff hands. The guard who had been hidden in the rafters lay in a pool of blood just below his perch.

  A scream ripped through the dead silence.

  “Tyndiria!” Medophae drew his sword and sprinted down the hall. He didn’t bother with keys anymore. He hit the door to Tyndiria’s wing at a run. His shoulder surged with a golden glow as he rammed it into the wood. The thick oak exploded as if struck by lightning and Medophae stumbled through, regained his feet, and sprinted on. The crackling energy around him lit up the dim hallway.