Lady Warhawk (29 page)

Or was he just a weary, lonely old man, whose sleeping mind tried to warn him not to
chase after the heart of a beautiful young woman?

* * * *

Welcairn Castle was the first stop on their journey. Meghianna intended to meet secretly
with King Markas to learn the truth about the rebellion. She didn't anticipate finding her sister
and the boy at the center of the rebellion waiting at the end of the hidden passageway she used to
enter the castle.

Edrout was only three years old, so it disturbed Meghianna to see Megassa teaching the
boy letters and numbers, writing on a wax tablet and making him copy them. The sight of the
two of them studying so diligently startled Meghianna, so she stood still and stared for several
moments when she entered the little anteroom.

"It's about time you got here," Megassa said, her tone absent, as she guided Edrout's
hand. Then she looked up and her somber look brightened to a weary, but mischievous grin.
"Surprised you, didn't I?"

"You did indeed," Mrillis said, stepping around Meghianna. He pushed the panel closed
and tugged the disguising tapestry over the doorway. "Do we dare hope for good things, from
having you waiting for us?"

"Mama?" Edrout slid off his chair and climbed into Megassa's lap. The wax tablet slid to
the floor with a loud clatter.

"Hush, dearling. These are the ones who will help us." Megassa wrapped her arms
around him, turning to face them. "I suppose you've come to find out just what part we're playing
in all the trouble for Athrar." She sighed. "I feel like such a fool. They've kept us in the dark for
so long. Of course, Lok and Mykil are the worst of them. They don't want me to know anything.
How can they expect me to join them wholeheartedly in taking the throne from my own
brother?"

"That's the problem, isn't it?" Mrillis said, his voice softening. "Wholehearted. Wouldn't
you like to see one of your boys on the Warhawk's throne?"

"I saw enough when Papa was Warhawk not to want all that trouble for my sons." She
jounced the boy a little on her lap. "More important, I would much rather be a prisoner in
Quenlaque, under suspicion, than living in luxury and ignorance, never knowing if I'm to be
queen mother one day or condemned for my Rey'kil blood the next. And my little Edrout a
prince one day and trash the next. I remember what it's like. I won't have him go through
that."

"Have you heard that they say you're his mother, and Athrar is his father?" Meghianna
immediately regretted those words when her sister flinched and flushed dark red. Part of her
wanted to believe what Megassa said. Part of her cynically shouted that Megassa was here in a
plot to trick them into foolish trust.

"Yes, I've heard. And it sickens me." Megassa shuddered, wrapping her arms tighter
around the boy so he squirmed. "Lok came up with that particular story. He laughed, he thought
it amusing to shred my reputation. Then he told me I should be grateful that an old woman still
had the beauty to make the story believable. Of course, the squeamish ones in the plot are
making him change the story, saying Athrar pursued and drugged me, so I didn't know what he
was doing. As if anyone could drug me, when my
imbrose
has been growing and--"

She shuddered, her face still flushed, but with anger instead of embarrassment. "Meggi,
I don't care if Athrar puts us in prison cells lined in star-metal, so deep underground we never see
daylight or meet another living soul, you have to get us safely back to Lygroes."

"Mama's scared," Edrout whispered.

"There is no need to be afraid," Mrillis said. His stern expression softened, and he went
down on one knee before the boy.

Meghianna nodded agreement, though she could only stare, fascinated. Edrout's hair and
eyes were dark, when Indreseen had been all pale gold hair and blue eyes. That said something
about the boy's father. She had seen images in others' memories, of Mrillis when he was young,
and his eyes and hair had been dark. Was the boy's father such a strong Rey'kil enchanter that the
coloring didn't come out the red of the half-bloods?

Meghianna shook her head. Speculating about the boy's bloodline didn't matter right
now. What mattered was getting Megassa safely away from Moerta. She could imagine too well
the fury of the rebels if their most valuable playing piece vanished from under their noses.

"How long have you been here?" Meghianna asked, pushing all her other considerations
aside for later.

"A day, and a little more. I've been trying to contact you, ever since I got beyond all the
star-metal wards those two wretches wove around me." Megassa slid Edrout to the floor and
stood. "When I couldn't find either of you, I took the chance you were in the tunnel, and coming
here." She sighed. "Most likely to check on me and make sure I wasn't causing more
mischief."

"More mischief?" Meghianna embraced her sister. "How could you create 'more' when
you haven't been making any?" She sighed, more glad than she could express when she felt no
tension, no reluctance in her sister's embrace.

"Can you do lots of magic?" Edrout asked, looking up at Mrillis with all the serious
intensity of a three-year-old.

"That depends on your definition of 'lots,' but yes, I am somewhat talented," Mrillis said,
nodding. "Would you like to learn some as we travel?"

"Mama? Can I? You said someday I would learn." The boy took a step backward and
reached blindly for Megassa's hand.

"Someday, yes." Megassa led the boy to the chair where their cloaks hung. "I think it
would be best if we didn't go outside of this room to say farewell to our hosts. The fewer people
who are reminded we were here, the safer we all will be." She sighed. "Especially dear Markas. I
don't know how long he'll be safe, as Athrar's half-brother. And he won't leave Moerta."

"Let's hope without you and Edrout as figureheads, the rebellion will lose its fire and
fuel," Mrillis said.

* * * *

Something about Edrout disturbed Mrillis, so he didn't try to charm the boy during their
return trip through the tunnel. He couldn't put his finger on it, and stayed quiet, letting
Meghianna and Megassa do all the talking and interacting with the boy. Then when Meghianna
remarked to him that Edrout was far too well-behaved for a child of his age, after he had gone to
bed without protest, Mrillis realized that was it.

For three years old, Edrout was too observant, too quiet, too obedient. He didn't lisp or
choose wrong words or drop words altogether in his hurry to be understood. He listened far too
much, and didn't complain about the long hours spent riding, with nothing to do but listen to the
adults talk. Mrillis wondered what the boy's big, dark eyes saw, as they rode through the tunnel.
Did he already know how to step sideways in his perceptions, to study the Threads and how they
wove together into nearly a solid sheet of magic, lining the tunnel? Did he see the weaving of the
Threads that compressed time and distance, so they traveled in two days what would take a moon
of travel by boat?

I think we must disappoint Megassa, and not teach her darling anything of magic at
all,
Meghianna said, when Mrillis shared his observations and theories with her.

You are most probably right,
Mrillis agreed, and breathed a sigh of relief that
Meghianna had said it, sparing him the unpleasant task of saying it himself.

* * * *

The disappearance of Megassa and Edrout from under the noses of the rebellion
squelched it. Athrar was gracious when most of the rebels came crawling back to Quenlaque to
reweave their alliance with the High King. Gracious, but he gave no indication he fully believed
or forgave them. Nobles and minor kings who had once been part of the council now found their
seats at the table held by others.

Megassa and Edrout were hidden on a large northern island, where the inhabitants were
loyal to Athrar, and the storms from mid-fall to mid-spring made it difficult to travel there by
ship. Megassa expressed delight at how inaccessible the place was, and how hard it would be for
strangers to slip through the shadows and spy on them. Meghianna and Mrillis regularly changed
the Valors assigned to guard Megassa and Edrout, making sure the men were loyal to Athrar,
suspicious of Megassa, and most important of all, disciplined and strong in
imbrose
, so
no one could unduly influence them.

There were just enough rumblings of dissatisfaction, just enough minor kingdoms on
Moerta disloyal to the Warhawk, and just enough feints by Encindi across the wasteland barrier
from the south, that no one suspected the enemy was marshalling to attack.

So the attack on the fortress and the attempt to kidnap or murder dowager Queen
Glyssani came as a complete surprise and shock.

Pirkin's call came in the middle of a boring council session. Mrillis stood up while Lord
Mennard droned on. Athrar shot to his feet, alarmed, when Mrillis braced himself on the table
and concentrated on Pirkin's mental call. He shared the images with Athrar when the young king
grasped his shoulder in concern.

Men clouded in dark hazes of magic raced across the practice fields. Balls of fire hit the
walls and burst apart in blinding light, sending shattered stones and dust everywhere. Valors
fought and soldiers without
imbrose
lay in pale, still heaps on the ground, their weapons
still sheathed, their arrows still in their quivers, their bows shattered into splinters.

Grandfather, can you do something? Only those with magic are still alive,
Pirkin called.

My mother?
Athrar asked, breaking into the link.

She's fine. I left her with Ynessa and Ynfara, locked behind five sets of doors, in a
room with access to a hidden passage, if all else fails.
Pirkin turned to face four men, their
features obscured by that black haze, who advanced on him as a group.

"What can we do?" Athrar demanded, his grip tight enough to bruise as he shook
Mrillis.

"Majesty?" Lord Mennard asked, only now realizing that something had happened.

"Meghianna?" Mrillis spoke aloud as he reached through the Threads.

I'm in the Stronghold. There's nothing I can do but send more strength to the Valors
and to Pirkin,
she responded. Frustration and tears of fury thickened her voice.
I have
rallied all Valors within an hour's ride, but I'm afraid the battle will be over before anyone
farther away can get there. You folded distances once, long ago, without a tunnel.

"Yes, of course." Mrillis silently berated himself for forgetting. "Come, lad." He flicked
his fingers at the nearest door and it slammed open, sending splinters flying as the edges
shattered against the wall. "We must ride, and quickly."

Mrillis calculated he could bring four more men with him and Athrar. Anyone else
would strain the temporary globe of power that would help them slide through the distances that
separated Quenlaque from the fortress. He kept up his link with Pirkin, watching the defense of
the fortress, but made no effort to talk with his grandson. One moment of distraction could be
fatal. He forbore to tell Athrar the enemy outnumbered the living defenders four to one.

Meghianna contacted him just before their hastily assembled party mounted in the
stables, and reported that she had found several rooms in the fortress that enemies had not
entered yet, where servants and ladies and children hid, and she had sealed them so no one could
get in. She sent power through the Threads to the defenders, healing those she could from such a
distance, and searched each room of the fortress for enemy soldiers. Each time she found a room
safe from the enemy, she sealed it against them, protecting the inhabitants inside.

What about Mother?
Athrar asked, when Mrillis included him in the
communication.

I can't find her. Not clearly. The enemy has a haze around her. I fear she is the target,
Meghianna said, her mental voice tightening.
She is alive, and has not been captured. I can
sense Ynessa and Ynfara with her, and a large empty space where the enemy is not, but it is like
trying to see through black smoke. I'm sorry.

That will have to be enough for now.

Mrillis remembered that long ago race across the entire width of Lygroes, to reach the
Stronghold while enemies barred the entrance and magically enhanced plague decimated the
inhabitants within. The fortress was only a day's ride due north of Quenlaque. The trick was to
get their party of six close to the gates without draining himself to the point he would be useless
against the enemy's magic. Once they arrived, Meghianna would send him all her strength,
draining all the Threads within five days' ride, if necessary. Mrillis promised himself they would
get there in time. He refused to fail Ynfara again.

They had to ride beyond the outskirts of Quenlaque before he activated the spell that
would fold space and distance. Mrillis didn't want to take any unwitting bystanders with them--it
would drain more energy. He gritted his teeth as they rode down streets that hadn't existed three
years before, and silently cursed at the rapid growth of the port city. It was already the largest
city in the World, and threatened to double in size in another ten years, if not sooner. Mrillis
reflected sourly that even five years ago, the streets their small party clattered down, dodging
carts and ponies and playing children, would have been open fields and they could have activated
the spell and been halfway to the fortress by now.

Finally they reached open ground, with no people within fifty paces in any direction.
Mrillis raised one hand to signal the other riders, closed his eyes, reached with his mental hands
for the Threads to trigger the spell, and pulled hard with far more force of will than necessary.
His frustration and fear for his family added impetus to the spell, to the point that he felt slightly
dizzy. It took all his concentration to shield their mounts and keep them upright as the spell
ended and they staggered out of the shimmering brilliance, onto the practice field at the far
southern corner of the fortress.