Although gaining control of Kana-Akün province and Falantir, its capital, had been an unexpected struggle, it did result in a very important victory. Healer Belessa Tir, prime of the woodland province, now harvested others by his command. It freed him to enact the rest of his plans to conquer Kinderra from anywhere he chose while she harvested warriors for him.
The Ain Magne shoved his belt knife back into its sheath. He cupped his amulet with one hand and held the horse’s hoof with the other. Reaching deep within himself, he harnessed the innate power of his Defending Aspect through the Light from Within and enjoined the crystal in his amulet to condense it. He let it build a moment, then sent a thin beam of light toward the frozen mud holding the stone. A tiny cloud of steam lifted in the damp night air as the muddy ice melted. The stone fell away. He let his Defending Aspect recede and called to his Healing Aspect, mending the knife prick in the flesh of his mount’s sole. He stood and again stroked the horse’s black coat.
The Light from Within. The Power from Without. Using one’s Aspect alone. Supplementing it by bringing in more life forces from outside of oneself. It was the same damn power, the same Aspect. Only the road to touch it was different. That was all. Just a difference of connection. Why would Kinderra not accept this? It was so bloody obvious, and yet the Fal’kin preferred war to understanding, embraced killing over enlightenment.
His stallion stomped and neighed again in irritation. He received the distinct impression of hunger. The Ain Magne reached into his saddlebag for a small sack of oats and set it down. The horse paused, waiting for a command from its master despite the gnawing in its stomach. He obliged the steed, and the animal buried its nose in the feed.
Now that he had Falantir and a secure location from which to stage his armies, he needed only two more conquests to make Kinderra his: Two Rivers Ford and Deren. Securing the Ford bridge complex stretching over the Garnath and Anarath Rivers was just a means to an end, though. Deren, the citadel and capital of Kin-Deren province, ai, that was the key to everything. The other eight provinces might be Kinderra’s limbs, but Kin-Deren province was her heart, and Deren, her soul.
The Ain Magne wiped the chill rain from his face and frowned. Kaarl Pinal’s daughter Mirana and her warning call were now additional frustrations in gaining Deren—and perhaps his greatest ones. Petite, raven-haired, with the penetrating silver eyes of her father, the girl held the Seeing Aspect and was considered quite gifted in that expression. Speculation about the girl had swirled across Kinderra for summers since she was a small child. What was first believed as her defender’s acute reflexes were later explained away as manifestations of her Sight showing her when and how to move.
It wasn’t the fact that Mirana was able to call to Pinal, even at a great distance, that concerned him. A caller needed only to sense the presence of another with the powers of the Aspects. Distance, and the noise of all the minds in between, did, however, make calling more difficult by diluting that connection. It was the circumstances in which she accomplished the feat that he found deeply troubling.
To find minds at a distance? And call to them? While those minds were hidden? That skill was difficult even for him—with an amulet. She was hardly more than a child, certainly not old enough to have chosen an amulet yet. Had she taken one in secret? It was possible. He had bonded with the crystal for his amulet when he was but ten summers old, unwilling to wait until he was eighteen as customary.
Interpretation of a vision, however, rested solely on the brilliance and insightfulness of the seer, something completely separate from amulet use. In that, he truly had no equal. Perhaps still. Perhaps not. Her abilities were more than impressive, they were daunting in their implications.
The Ain Magne glanced again at the camp. It was quiet now. He retrieved the now half-empty oat sack from his horse and stowed it back in the saddlebag. When he was certain he would no longer be disturbed, he reached out to his seer second’s mind again.
... We may have a complication ... Pinal’s daughter ... She warned the il’Kin your beasts would attack ... I’d like to know how she knew ...
... I sent the grynwen in utmost secrecy, I assure you ... his lieutenant returned. ... How is this possible? ...
... How indeed ... The Ain Magne noted his second had changed the subject most skillfully, deflecting his scrutiny back to the girl.
What if Mirana Pinal’s Defending Aspect had not been misidentified? A child’s Aspect was known at birth, often before. Misidentifying an infant’s Aspect rarely happened and certainly not after the child had seen one summer. Then again, his own Aspects’ alignments would be sensed as blurred by others, superimposing themselves over each other, unless he chose to use one alone.
... Do you think she is another Trine? ... his servant called. ... There has never been any mention of the girl possessing the Healing Aspect ...
... No mention? ... Or outright lying? ... While Kinderra’s Aspected had never been numerous—perhaps one babe in a thousand was born with gifts—centuries would pass without a Trine coming into the world. ... Pinal could be hiding his daughter’s true identity ...
... He would not dare ...
... Oh, would he not? ...
Pinal—and maybe his wife, too—risked removal of his amulet and expulsion from his home province of Kin-Deren if he deliberately withheld Mirana’s Aspects from service to Kinderra.
He yanked at the strap closing the saddlebag. There could be only one reason Pinal would hide his daughter’s Trine gifts with such a sentence hanging over his head—he feared for her life because of the Trine Prophecy.
Ai, the Ain Magne knew of Kaarl Pinal’s weaknesses, and Mirana was his greatest.
His seer pushed at his mind in alarm. ... If she is a Trine, do you think she is one of those predicted in the Trine Prophecy?... It says— ...
... Aren’t you a little old for minstrel’s tales? ... he snapped back.
He was far too pragmatic to believe in the dire words written by a forgotten soothsayer thousands of summers ago. What exactly did the prophecy say, anyway? Chronicled in the Book of Kinderra, a Thrice-cursed and a Thrice-blessed, a Dark Trine and a Light Trine, were cast as mortal enemies. It portended in dramatic fashion great upheaval in Kinderra as one of the Trines would come to destroy, the other to rebuild. He remembered well those who cared for him as a boy had remained vigilant for signs that the Trine Prophecy was being fulfilled, lest his own young life be in danger.
Regardless of Kinderra’s belief—and his disbelief—in the prophecy, Mirana Pinal was a concern, Trine or no. If the girl found her father’s hidden presence and had correctly interpreted his seer second’s grynwen attack without possessing an amulet, what else could she deduce? The idea chilled him more than the sleet. He would have to alter his tactics for his strike on Two Rivers Ford. Immediately.
... I have a new strategy for the Ford ...
The Ain Magne wove an image of the bridge complex into a precise tapestry of time and space—the Ford as the warp, the Ken’nar as the thread of the weft—and called it to his second’s mind.
... Are you certain this is the right course of action? ... We will be left vulnerable ... his young seer called.
... Then you understand precisely the false advantage I will present the Fal’kin ... They will be even more likely to take this bait ...
... Ëo comprende, Great One ...
He sensed his servant’s mind lingering in his own. ... What is it? ...
... Mirana Pinal ... If she is a Trine, your life could be in danger, my lord ... The Trine Prophecy says— ...
... I know what it says ... he replied, his mind-words clipped. ... And it is as vague as it is sensational ...
... If there is even a chance the prophecy is true, she must be killed ... I will not let Pinal’s brat destroy all we have built together ... Nor destroy you ...
The Ain Magne considered the option as he hefted his horse’s saddle. His second’s concern regarding the prophecy, to say nothi
ng of his life, was unfounded. The girl, however, did appear to possess formidable talents, ones that could become troublesome. He did not take the decision to kill lightly and would not do so until he had more information.
Embracing his Seeing Aspect, indistinct images began to fill his mind, then slowly resolved themselves with greater clarity.
The walled city of Deren, the capital of the Kin-Deren province. A vast expanse of bodies heaves in the torment of war. The watchtower of Jasal’s Keep juts two hundred feet into the sky. Mirana’s face pales in agony, her silver eyes hold desperation. The watchtower explodes in white light.
He gasped and dropped the saddle, startled by the vision. The explosion of white light from Jasal’s Keep. The Book of Kinderra said the deserter’s keep saved Deren from certain destruction by the Ken’nar. Somehow. It was never explained. This legend lent strength to the myth that Deren would never fall, a myth he was looking forward to proving quite wrong. Was Jasal’s Keep a weapon? It must be. Yet, the vision of the keep appeared along with Mirana. The keep and the girl must be connected. His Aspects were telling him as much.
The shock from his seer second’s mind speared through his own. ... My lord! ... The keep ... In Deren ... The light ... Such power ... And Mirana Pinal is— ...
... You are not to concern yourself with her ... Make certain Falantir remains secure ... Prepare for the Ford, and be ready to ride on my order ...
... Ai, Great One ... It shall be done ...
The Ain Magne let the connection to his seer second slip from his mind. He ground his teeth together. He hadn’t expected to see Jasal’s Keep, let alone allow his seer to witness it. The boy was talented and ruthless. And ambitious. He had trained his second himself. Perhaps too well.
The keep could be a weapon of such stunning proportions, whoever possessed it would control all of Kinderra. With his Ken’nar and the keep, he would be invincible. The Fal’kin would be forced to accept him as their sole leader.
He ran his hand along the stallion’s back. It shivered under his touch. His steed would feed freely from farm fields of fresh, sweet grass instead of gleaning bloody stubble from battlefields.
Once the unconquerable city and its mysterious keep came under his amulet, the other provinces would know resistance was pointless. One by one, they would fall under his amulet. Kinderra would be his, and the needless waste of death that had run unchecked for three thousand summers would finally come to an end.
All logic told him to kill the girl, she endangered everything he had spent his life building. She and the watchtower were somehow connected, though. If he wanted to gain control of Jasal’s Keep and end the war, she must remain alive.
The Ain Magne lifted the saddle across his mount’s back once more and returned to the camp. He nodded a greeting to the defenders keeping watch.
One of them rose and came over to him. She reached inside an oilcloth bag and held out two leathery strips of meat to him. “Some dried beef, Lord Trine? It’s not roast pheasant, but it will keep you from starving.”
“Gratas Oë.” He took the pieces and tore off a bite with his teeth. It was tough and tasteless. He gave her a tight smile in gratitude.
“Please take your fill, my lord. You fight three times as hard as any of us.”
He shook his head. “I have three times as many Aspects to help me endure, too. I shall be fine. Make sure the others have enough.”
She dipped her head in a polite bow, but the emotions that flowed from her mind to his held wonder, even astonishment. Why were people so surprised when he cared about their welfare? As a Trine, was not the welfare of the entire continent his ultimate responsibility?
The Ain Magne continued through the camp and chose a spot close enough to the others to be seen, yet still far enough away where his meditations would not be disturbed. He made a crude lean-to from his bedroll, draping one end over his mount’s back and the other across the hilt of his blade plunged in the hard earth. He crawled under the thick cloth and out of the elements.
He let the vision of Jasal’s Keep fill his mind once more. He would make certain Mirana Pinal lived. For now.
CHAPTER 4
“Etís nunqa onoír cinen u’verdas. Verdas revelaré en tempre, birente tuda pián thet ísié maent ísi runhé.”
(“There can never be honor within a falsehood. Truth shall be revealed in time, bringing all the suffering that was meant to be hidden.”)
—Ora Fal’kinnen 89:75–76
Mirana looked at the spoon in her hand, but she saw clouds. Rain was coming. Rain always came in Fourthmonth, as spring defeated winter at last. True sunny warmth would not come until Sixthmonth with the summer season. The thunder rumbled throughout the learning hall, muted by thick stone walls. It had rained, too, when her father had been attacked by the pack of grynwen. She pushed the thought away and concentrated on filling a medicine jar with sticky, pain-relieving numbweed salve.
Numbweed was made from delicate peda blossoms. The tiny, yellow blooms flourished in Sixthmonth. Paithe would be long home by then, and the grynwen and her warning would fade under the summer sun like winter frost. The incident would be forgotten and not mentioned again.
The Choosing Ceremony, when the province’s Aspected scholaire’e chose their amulets to be elevated to Fal’kin status, was held on the first day of Sixthmonth as well. The same day as her birthday. She frowned as she scooped salve into a small clay medicine jar. She’d turn sixteen.
Birthdays were considered almost sacred by the Fal’kin because so many saw so few with the constant state of war. When she was younger, her parents gave her a doll for her birthday. At fourteen, she received a beautiful dress, now old enough to attend the Quorumtide pavanes. Her birthday this time only brought her another summer closer to the Choosing Ceremony. When she turned eighteen, she would trade a dress for armor and a doll for an amulet.
And a dream for a nightmare.
She closed her eyes and took a long, slow inhale. Patients in the healing hostel were in pain. They needed numbweed, and the sooner she filled the jars, the sooner people would stop hurting.
The healing hostel, housed within the learning hall, was large enough to convalesce one hundred patients. The hall itself, however, was an enormous compound that could hold with ease twenty times as many Fal’kin. At the moment, she didn’t care if it could hold a thousand times as many people. She wanted it to hold only one right now. Father. Paithe.
Mirana picked up a cork stopper. The alarm from his mind at her call was the only thing she had sensed from him since the warning. It had been sevendays. Was he now simply better hidden, his presence better diluted by those of forest creatures? Of course, he would be hidden. He must be. What if he wasn’t, though?
The memory of the gnashing fangs of the grynwen that had ambushed her father and his Fal’kin gnawed at her. Ambush. Her stomach constricted. He had not stumbled upon some hunting pack of wild beasts in the forests of Kana-Akün province. That, she knew for certain. The vicious carnivores had made straight for them. The attack must have been premeditated. His strike force, the fabled il’Kin, was meant to be eliminated. Murdered.
She shoved the cork in the jar and let out an explosive exhale. She glanced behind her. No one in the apothecary heard her. She reached for another empty jar.
Some evil warlord—whom everyone called the Dark Trine—controlled the Ken’nar. Was it he who had sent the grynwen after her father?
The Trine Prophecy spoke of a Thrice-cursed, who would destroy, and a Thrice-blessed, who would rebuild. Would this “Thrice-blessed” only be considered, well, blessed because he—or she—destroyed the Ken’nar’s Dark Trine? She swallowed and stared at the jar in her hand. Not all gifts were blessings.
Mirana took another deep, slow breath. She’d never get all these jars filled with those kinds of thoughts. People would need this medicine. People like her father.
Paithe.
She wasn’t supposed to act alone on visions she saw because she h
adn’t chosen a crystal amulet yet. Studying images in detail without one was all but impossible. There had been no time, however, to have the vision of the attack on her father examined, questioned, and debated by others.
She gestured to the large pot of numbweed salve, wrapping it with an Aspected intent of movement. It drifted across the workbench closer to her.
Calling to someone’s mind through the powers of the Aspects was one thing. Anyone gifted with the powers of the Aspects could do that, even without an amulet. Just like moving a pot. Her father’s presence existed as a metaphysical embrace of love, devotion, and protection strong enough to be an Aspect of its own. The Aspects Above created him, as the indivisible deity had created her, her mother, all life. They blessed him with a breath of their power through his Defending Aspect.
Her call this time, however, had been wholly different. Of course, it was. She was a Trine. She beat the spoon against the jar rim with quick, violent blows to deliver more clinging salve into the container.
Why would the Aspects Above give her abilities such as this only to have her destroy Deren someday, summers from now? By the Light! It just made no sense.
She had known by her father’s surprise once he had dropped U’Nehíl he had heard her. Then, he disappeared and never contacted her again.
What if she was the reason he never contacted her again?
She gripped the spoon tighter.
Had her journey toward darkness and destruction already begun? She set the spoon in the serving pot and gripped the workbench, calming herself.
Should she search for her father once more? What if this time she searched, and she truly found nothing? Had she distracted him with that call at a critical moment? She paused in her ladling, holding the handle so tightly, its edges pressed into her palm. What if he, Morgan Jord, Binthe Lima, and the other il’Kin had died, and only she knew what had happened to them?
Trine Rising Page 4