Kingmaker's Sword (Rune Blades of Celi) (18 page)

The musical note increased in pitch and volume, wild and keen, sharp, distinct and crystalline around me, transmitting itself along the blade, through the hilt into my flesh, my sinews, my blood, until every nerve was alive to the music, thrumming in harmony with it. Overtones of triumphant jubilation sang in the note with shades and subtle nuances of burgeoning power. As the harmonic tone increased in pitch and intensity, so did the gleam of the blade. It moved swiftly through red to orange, then to yellow until it was incandescent white, burning with a radiance to rival the rising sun, too painful to look at directly. The whole spectrum of the rainbow swirled and spun in wild patterns around me, edging the trees, the water, the gravel strand beneath my feet, with flashing patterns of coruscating colour. The joyous chord rang wildly in the air. I had the distinct impression of something awakening and stretching after a long sleep.

The runes blazed brightly and clearly, flashing silver fire back to the rising sun. Words I could not read ran like liquid flame along the length of the blade with a life of their own, searing my eyes with their brilliance.

I yelled in terror. Sweat trickled coldly down my back, from beneath my arms, poured into my eyes, stinging. I tried to throw the sword down. But my hands felt welded to the leather of the hilt. I didn’t know if I could not let it go, or it would not let me go, but I could not hurl it from me. I had awakened it, and now it bound me to it. I could not loosen my grip. I could not drop the sword.

Slowly, inexorably, it began to pull, stretching my arms to their fullest extent. The tip quivered amid the brilliance, drawing me around with it to face northwest. The musical note moved into a minor key and a yearning that was not mine suffused my body.
Home
was in that direction. Home where I belonged.

The note changed. Something akin to firm resolution quivered through the bond connecting us, and the sword began to turn me, drawing me implacably around with it until we faced northeast. Determination and certainty filled me, a conviction of purpose. That way lay the goal. Northeast toward the far corner of Isgard, toward the border of Maedun.

The pull became stronger—irresistible, inexorable, overwhelming. My feet dragged in the gravel strand but they moved. I had to move with the sword, or have my arms pulled out of their sockets, torn from my body. I yelled again, but still could not loosen my grip on the sword.

Suddenly, Kerri was there, her sword drawn. She leapt in front of me and her blade came up to meet mine. I had the impression of a great explosion of light and noise like a hundred-hundred crystal goblets shattering. Shards of brilliance fell like  crystalline motes, flashing and sparking in the air around us. The bell and harp tone rose to a crescendo and splintered into fragments that glittered for an instant before vanishing. Then abrupt, ringing silence.

Kerri sheathed her sword and watched me anxiously, her eyes wide and startled. For a moment, I thought I could feel her fear, taste it as distinctly as I knew my own. I discovered I could pry my hands from the hilt of the sword. I rammed it home into the sheath and looked at the palms of my hands. They were reddened and blistered, dripping sweat. I rubbed them along the thighs of my breeks and slumped in combined relief and exhaustion.

“Gods,” I muttered. “Gods, what in Hellas was that?”

“You awakened the sword,” she said quietly. “You aroused it to its purpose.”

I shuddered. But the magic the sword invoked was beautiful—the colour and the wild, clear music. It left no taint in the air, no curl of nausea in my belly. It merely frightened me into cold, shivering immobility.

I looked at the sword, quiescent now in its scabbard, then turned and drew my hand back to hurl the Hellas-born thing into the water. But I couldn’t. My arm froze and something akin to pain slammed through me.

“You can’t get rid of it now, Kian,” Kerri said. “No more than you can get rid of your arm or your heart.”

I turned on her furiously. “I don’t want it,” I shouted. “I don’t want the accursed thing.”

She smiled. “You’re stuck with it,” she said. “Just as surely as you’re stuck with me.”

I couldn’t throw the sword away, so I slipped the harness around me and settled it onto my back. “Tcha,” I said in disgust. Residual terror still caused tremors to quiver in my guts. “Tcha...”

“What did it show you?” she asked.

“Show me?” I repeated.

She smiled patiently, irritatingly.

I made an exasperated noise, then pointed northeast. “That way,” I said. “It wanted to go that way. It pointed first northwest, then northeast.”

“Toward Celi first,” she said. She looked away, over the trees. “Home.”

Home. I shivered again, remembering the longing and desire that swept through me as the sword drew me. Not my home. Never my home.

“What lies northeast then?” I asked.

She laughed softly. “Kyffen’s grandson,” she said. “You told it to lead. It’s leading now, Kian, and we have to follow.”

I stood there a moment, staring at her, aware my expression was anything but pleasant. It didn’t make it any easier to realize that the whole debacle with the sword was my own fault. It was I, not Kerri, who had challenged the perverse thing to show me. I could hardly blame Kerri because it had. But that didn’t prevent me being angry with her, as well as being annoyed with myself. It made for an unpleasant combination of emotions. When I tried to sort it out, I found frustration predominant. I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to howl and snarl like a wolf, hit something, or simply stomp off in disgust. In the end, I did none of those things. I merely said, “Does that mean you’re going to forget that ridiculous notion that I’m your lost prince?”

She turned away and walked upstream toward the ruined cottage. “Mayhap,” she called back over her shoulder. “We shall see what the sword tells us.”

***

It took less effort than I anticipated for Kerri to persuade Cullin to go northeast toward Maedun. All he did was glance from her to me a few times, then smiled and shook his head like an indulgent father, amused by the antics of his offspring. I was about to snarl when I realized it would only heighten the image, so I wisely kept my mouth shut and went to saddle the horses.

The countryside
of Isgard was rife with rumour. Isgard had long stood uneasy with Maedun to its east, but reasonably secure with the sea to the west and Tyra to the north, neutral, but benevolently so. Falinor and Isgard had never been allies, but maintained warily peaceful relations because both were equally strong and war would have been mutually disastrous. Internal strife, coupled with a strong nudge from Maedun, had toppled Falinor. Faced suddenly with Maeduni on two borders, Isgard hastily set about tidying its own backyard. It had always been easier for the noble houses of Isgard to hire mercenaries rather than take men from farms, or merchants from business, all of whom provided the Houses with sufficient income to support extravagant lifestyles. Most of those mercenaries were Maeduni, and the lords of the houses wasted little time in ridding themselves of what abruptly reared up as an immediate menace.

Every small village, every town, every roadside inn, was filled with men called to their lord’s service. We heard stories of fighting between hastily trained local troops and mercenaries still in the service of lords who refused to relinquish them. There were more stories about the Ephir sending emissaries to Tyra and Saesnes to contract for an alliance in the event Maedun invaded Isgard. One innkeeper told us emphatically that Maedun had no wish to quarrel with Isgard mainly because Isgard was so much stronger than Maedun. An Isgardian officer who had been sitting quietly with his meal and ale at a table in the corner laughed at him.

“Maedun will not invade Isgard,” he agreed. “But not because we are the stronger. They will not invade because they yet lack the sorcerer to defeat us. Let that man appear, and we will see a Lord Protector on the throne of Isgard and the Ephir and his whole family put to the sword.”

“Never,” the innkeeper protested stoutly. “The men of Isgard will never let that happen.”

“The men of Isgard will have little choice in the matter,” the officer said, returning to his meal.

“The throne of Maedun must now be in strong hands as it never was before,” I said to Cullin. The officer overheard me and laughed again.

“Not yet,” he said. “But it soon will be, if that accursed General Hakkar has his way.”

“Hakkar?” Cullin repeated. “I have never heard of him.”

“Nor had anyone else until Falinor fell,” the officer said grimly. “He is a brilliant general, I am told, and he is also something of a sorcerer. He is trouble no matter how you look at him. If the gods favour us, he will not be able to put his brother Vanizen on the throne.” His eyes narrowed as he studied first Cullin, then me. “You have the look of Tyrs, for all you wear not the kilt. How stands Tyra in this?”

“Tyra is neutral,” Cullin said. “We have learned how to treat with the Maeduni. Their sorcery willna work in the high country, and Tyra has little else but mountains.”

The officer grunted. “I’ve heard it said that the Maeduni are hunting for a young Tyr,” he said. “One who carries a Celae Rune Blade. The price in gold they offer might tempt an unscrupulous man. You might be wise to stay out of the way of any such man to prevent any mistakes in identity.” He went back to his meal.

The advice was worth consideration. We took to the fields and forests after that as we rode northeast. The roads were inordinately full of patrols, and troops of Maeduni riding east. Many of the departing mercenaries were accompanied by a man who exuded the harsh stench of magic. They gave no impression of searching for someone, but we thought it prudent and expedient to take ourselves well out of their way.

***

We were camped less than half a league from the city of Frendor under a grey, sullen sky, and I had lost another argument with Kerri. Our supplies were running low, and I suggested that I should go to the city market to replenish them. Kerri jumped up and insisted she should be the one to go, not I.

“The city is crawling with Maeduni,” I said. “You can’t go alone.”

She planted both fists on her hips and thrust out her jaw at me. “Are you implying I can’t take care of myself?” she demanded. “Because if you are—”

“I’m implying that a woman alone is asking for trouble,
sheyala
,” I said. “Especially a lone Celae woman.”

“I’m not the one with ten Maeduni gold pieces riding on my head,” she retorted.

“I’m not the one three Maeduni mercenaries tried to haul off into slavery,” I snapped back. I lifted a hand to forestall her declaration she could have handled all three quite nicely, thank you, with no help from a half naked barbarian. I had heard that refrain often enough to quote it chapter and verse from memory. “You can’t go alone.”

“Take you with me and have some Maeduni try to collect those ten gold pieces? What makes you think I’ve got time to run around rescuing you if you’re recognized?”

“You? Rescue me? Don’t make me laugh. Besides, they probably won’t recognize me dressed like this.”

She snorted derisively. “Like that Isgardian officer didn’t recognize you as a Tyr? Mayhap if I cut off that braid and dyed your hair black for you, they wouldn’t.”

My hand went defensively to the braid at my left temple. “Now look—”

“No, you look.” She took one hand off her hip and stabbed at my breastbone. “You are going to stop—”
Jab
“—treating me like some helpless female—”
Jab
“—and listen to reason—”
Jab
“—if I have to knock it down your throat—”
Jab
“—with my sword.”
Jab
.

I took a couple of quick steps backward to avoid collision with her chin, then slapped aside the stabbing finger. “By all the gods,
sheyala
, you’ll stay here where it’s safe,” I roared, reverting to volume rather than reason. When had she ever listened to reason, anyway? “They’ll recognize you—”

“Just like a man,” she muttered in disgust. “When you know you’re losing an argument, you start yelling.” The air around her shimmered very slightly, then I stood staring at an Isgardian farm woman, short, plump and dark. Only the faintest ripple of a chill slid down my spine.

“Can you do this?” she asked sweetly. She reached up and patted my cheek with infuriating superiority. “See? I told you there was a difference with Tyadda magic.”

I turned helplessly to Cullin for support. He shrugged, the corners of his mouth twitching. “I certainly wouldna recognize her that way,” he murmured.

“I can hold this masking spell indefinitely and it’s unlikely any Maeduni warlock will detect the magic,” she said. She shot me a look of triumphant, smug scorn. “Even you can’t feel it, can you?”

I rubbed my arms, but the prickle along them was more because I knew what she was doing, rather than because I sensed it. “I can feel it,” I muttered.

She caught the reins of her mare and mounted. “I’ll be back by an hour before sunset,” she said. She wheeled the mare and kicked it to a canter.

“Verra determined lass, that,” Cullin said, watching her disappear down the dusty road. He grinned at me. “I’d say she won that argument fair and square.”