Keepers of the Flame (45 page)

“Fools,”
Luthan bit off, the least of the names he’d called the Seamasters. He rolled
his shoulders, then as if he couldn’t continue to remain seated, he stood and
paced toward the window. A great deal of window-looking going on today. Panes
of glass. To the outside. To the future. To the past of the winter solstice.

“Stupid
merde-begotten fools,” Luthan said. He whirled from the window, scowling.
“Equinox and Solstice times may be fine for regular rituals, but a Summoning!”
He shook his head, hard, as if trying to get beyond the notion of the
Seamasters’ stupidity. “They could at least have consulted Bossgond to find out
when Exotique Terre was most open to Lladrana.”

“Bossgond’s
consultations are expensive and the Seamasters’ cheap,” Faucon said simply.

“Truly
idiotic,” Sevair said. He shook his head. “We Citymasters didn’t like the
amount of zhiv we had to pay to the Marshalls for the Summoning, and we
discussed the matter of parting with the money long and hard. But we weren’t
stupid enough or prideful enough to think that we could work as a team to bring
an Exotique to Lladrana by ourselves.”

“Many
seafolk work as a team on their fishing vessels,” Faucon pointed out.

Sevair
gave him a tough look. His words were crisp. “The guild leaders? Do they still
go out on their ships? Do they work with their inferiors or their equals? How
often do they work as a team with their equals?”

“All
good questions,” Luthan said. “All which should have been considered. Whether
they were, we’ll never know. At least this answers a few questions.”

“Such
as?”

Shrugging,
Luthan said, “The Singer has been dropping hints about the Seamasters.
Wondering aloud whether they pursued some important endeavor, or whether they
would. Whether they often reported to the Marshalls.”

Faucon
grunted. “They haven’t had a representative at Marshall Council meetings for
years. They would occasionally ask me what happened here at the Castle, but I
think they usually spoke to my cousin about information I passed on. Third
hand.” He snorted.

Luthan’s
brows lowered. “Also, the Exotiques have occasionally mentioned dreams they’ve
had of a woman. When Elizabeth and Bri arrived the others didn’t recognize
either of them as this dream lady. Probably the prospective Exotique of the
Seamasters.” Luthan paced to the window and back, hands clasped behind him,
then he shot Faucon a glance. “To invade the Dark’s nest we will need a ship
like Lladrana has never seen.”

Faucon
raised his hands. “Don’t look at me. My brain was wrung dry just designing my
yacht. I couldn’t begin to build a ship that would take Exotiques and Marshalls
and Chevaliers and volarans to the Dark’s volcano home.” As he heard his words
and realized their impact, fear came that the ultimate battle would cost the
lives of those he loved. One or all of the Exotiques. Elizabeth. How could he
allow her to fight the horrible Dark One itself? A woman who healed? Far, far
worse than just experiencing one battle safely from the sidelines. Perhaps it
would be better if she returned to Exotique Terre, at least then he’d know she
was safe. But he wanted her so.

Again
he stooped to clearing his throat for attention. “Now let’s talk about this
battle.” They spent the rest of the afternoon with several bottles of ale,
thrashing out a good plan to keep the medicas safe on the field of war.

33

T
he alarm claxon
rang midmorning on the second day. Bri jerked and dropped the cup of tea she’d
been drinking. It shattered in a thousand pieces on the stone floor of her
living room, leaving a sticky residue she didn’t have time to clean up.

Her
housekeeper-maid dropped something with a clatter in the kitchen and stumbled
in, excited. “I’m s’posed to help you dress for battle. Just like a real body
servant or squire.” She clumped hurriedly over the mess as she flung open the
door and raced up the stairs to Bri’s bedroom

Bri’s
nerves jittered and she put a hand to her stomach. Suddenly this flying to
battle thing seemed like a really, really bad idea.

“Ready!”
her maid caroled down.

So
Bri trudged up the stairs to her bedroom. Her battle gear lay on the chest.

A
few minutes later she wore surprisingly thin and Powerful chain mail under her
icky soul-sucker skin tunic. Her tights had been replaced with “bespelled
protective pants,” also the weirdly textured soul-sucker. She had a knit cap on
her head, then a clunky helmet. It had been a while since she’d worn anything
but the red and white of the medica. This wasn’t an improvement.

Her
maid swatted her on the behind. “Go.”

Bri
stared at her in surprise until the serving woman lowered her eyes, smiled
weakly. “I saw some squires do that.”

“We
don’t,” Bri said, sounding like Elizabeth.

“Ttho,
Lady.”

“We
clean up the messes in the living room and kitchen.”

“Ayes,
Lady.”

But
“Go!” and not “Think!” seemed to be the word of the hour. Bri turned and ran
outside, settling herself on the roc. Sevair would fly on Mud.

We
fly to battle.

Then
Nuare was angling steeply, rising high into the sky. There was a thunderous
clap of her wings on the down-stroke, the whirl of blue sky and white clouds
and shafts of yellow sunlight in broken stained glass around Bri for a minute,
then the world settled again.

“Wha—?”

Roc
Distance Magic. Those clumsy horses will be another half hour. Since we are
here I will show you the border. That blue line below is Power keeping horrors
and the Dark from invading. The yellow glows are fenceposts.

Bri
had read of this, seen 3D magical images, watched the occasional battle in the
Map Room. She still stared at the awesome sight. “Lower!”

Nuare
obligingly dropped, skimmed the border just above the fenceposts, circled one.
This
was the first, set by Alyeka.

“Then
we’re near Prevoy’s Point. In the middle of Lladrana.” Bri focused on calling
up a mental map.

Ayes.
All the fenceposts to the west have been replaced. There are still gaps to the
east. Old ones burn out and fail, but new ones are there, too. Wherever the
monsters have invaded over the last year.

The
new fenceposts, tall as telephone poles, glowed brightly, almost hurting Bri’s
eyes. Some were golden, the others bright yellow.

The
golden ones are those raised by Exotiques. Alyeka or Calli
.

Bri
hadn’t been aware that Calli had made any, but they were directly north of
Calli and Marrec’s estate, so that made sense.

More
thunder from Nuare’s wings, another spatial discontinuity, and Bri saw that
they were farther east. In the distance to the south was the low oval that was
Volaran Valley, to the southeast the shadow of the great escarpment.

The
mountains to her left, the north, were massive and intimidating, much larger
than any she’d ever seen. It was late June and peaks glistened a deep and icy
white. The snow never melted. Wonderful, fabulous, and the area was so
dangerous from the horrors that people had abandoned homes and villages. Even
with the borders safe, she didn’t think humans would return to stay until the
Dark was finished.

Bri
knew people who’d moved to Denver, who’d grown up there, who never wanted to
live outside the mountains. What had this done to that sort? Where had they
gone? Had they stayed in Lladrana? Did they sicken and die of grief? Too much
thinking of sickening and dying. But she was flying to a battle after all.

There
is the breach in the border. The horrors have already crossed.

They
were certainly in Lladrana, pouring from a narrow canyon onto a plain with
grass and scrub brush. Seeing the ugly things lumbering over the green land,
deep hatred and protectiveness welled in Bri. There were yellow-spined slayers;
thick-black-furred renders with long curving claws flashing in the sun like
steel; soul-suckers, gray and tentacled and somehow slithery. She was glad her
leathers didn’t touch her skin.

This
wasn’t a small invasion of a dozen. This was hundreds.

34

W
hoops and
shrieked battle cries split the quiet. An arrow of Marshalls and Chevaliers
dived. All the Marshalls and two-thirds of the Chevaliers were called to this
battle.

Bri
caught her breath at their absolute courage.

You
said the medicas are to stay west and center of any battle, ayes?

“Ayes.”
She saw a smaller contingent, heard Elizabeth on Starflower but didn’t see her
since she was surrounded by all three of Faucon’s teams. Mud trumpeted to Bri.

Luthan
was standing as an overseer for unusual situations. With four Exotiques on the
field—two rank novices, there were bound to be unusual situations.

Work
to be done. Even as she asked Nuare to turn she saw a pair of Chevaliers go
down, their bodies sink into Amee. Cries of human pain mixed with the dying
screams of monsters.

She
didn’t know how she could stand it. But she would. She gritted her teeth. Nuare
landed in an area with rocky boulders and tree brush. Elizabeth was organizing
the four young, volunteer male medicas. “You’re best at triage.” She pointed to
the one with the shortest hair.

“Here’s
Bri,” Faucon said, hauled Elizabeth up for a hard kiss, then set her on her
feet and leaped to his mount. “Stay. I’ll be back if you need me.” He flung up
a hand. “First team with me!” Off he flew.

The
burliest two medicas followed in his wake, ready to bring wounded to the camp.

Mud
watched everything with an anxious gaze, but Sevair was with her, keeping her
calm. The man radiated control, keeping Bri from a panic attack, too. Probably
siphoning away fear from everyone else in the small medica unit, all first-time
battle participants. Volaran-back, Luthan hovered around the camp.

Before
the space was fully organized, the first wounded were brought in. Then all Bri
thought of was work fast and heal, a huge lump in her throat. Why had she
thought she’d have time to watch the battlefield? Foolish.

We
are watching
,
Nuare said.
Luthan and I
.
I will find the evil seed—my eyes are
sharper than puny human and volaran eyes. Sevair is watching you.

A
pair of Chevaliers died as Bri and Elizabeth worked over them. The medicas lost
another. Sweat dripped in Bri’s eyes as she fought death, won. Seven times.
Being here, on site, they had seven in the recovery area. She was already wrung
out. Took the bota she wore full of energizing herb tea and drank.

There
was a slight lull. Elizabeth joined Bri to stare at the field where horrors and
Marshalls and Chevaliers clashed. Screams. Warcries. Weapons meeting flesh or
monster hide or monster claws, teeth, spines.

“Terrible,”
Elizabeth said. She was pale and the scent of lavender came from her, a herbal
cleansing spell for when she perspired. Bri figured she was equally fragrant.

Elizabeth
took the bota from Bri, swigged, her gaze fastened on their medicas, flying low
over the field, searching for the injured. “I could never be a battlefield
medica.”

“Me
neither.” Bri glanced at Nuare who glided a few feet away. The bird’s eyes were
whirling and her beak and claws coated in monster fluid.

Luthan
and Sevair were close.

There!
Nuare yelled in
her mind, screeched aloud.

“What!”
shouted Bri and Elizabeth together.

A
strange soul-sucker, not the same as the others. Mutant.

“Sounds
like the Master’s been busy,” Bri snapped, craned to see it. “Which
soul-sucker?”

The
one with the rougher skin.

“Rougher
skin’s all that distinguishes him?” Elizabeth asked.

“That’s
enough if Nuare can pinpoint the monster. Maybe the Master only has one. It
takes a while to create horrors.”

It
has already inserted the evil seed into a victim through a slayer’s spine wound
.

“What!”
Bri said in unison with Elizabeth.

Nuare
dipped her head, pointed a claw.
Over there.

They
both swung to see Faucon leading his team against a cluster of renders and
slayers and one soul-sucker.

Elizabeth’s
blood froze. Her heart pounded and her breath stopped. Nothing all morning was
as terrible as this. Like all morning, she couldn’t hesitate. “No!” she
shrieked, ran. Swerved to miss Bri’s tackle and leave her on the ground
scrambling to catch up.

“Can
you kill the mutant soul-sucker?” Bri shouted.

Nuare
bulleted forward.
Ayesss
.

“Please,
not Faucon,” Elizabeth prayed as she ran. A man and volaran blocked her. “Don’t
get in my way!” she yelled, ready to use any Power, all Power, to reach Faucon.
Luthan shot out a brawny arm. Hoping he meant to help, she grabbed it, was swung
onto his stallion. “Faucon,” she gasped.