Lady Warhawk (37 page)

"That would certainly help us narrow down Edrout's paternity, wouldn't it?" Ynfara said,
her tone sharp. She blushed and ducked her head when Mrillis laughed at her words.

"You are more like Ceera every day, my dear." Mrillis nodded, his smile fading a little
too much for Meghianna's taste. "But yes, that is the truth. We would have a better idea of who is
Edrout's father, if he is able to touch the sword without dying of it."

"That would be a victory for our enemies," Lycen said. "They will claim it is proof that
Athrar is his father after all." He made a face of disgust and spat. "Begotten on his own
sister."

Meghianna sighed. "I wonder where Megassa is now. A prisoner of the conspirators, or
murdered once she was no longer useful?"

"Or the heart of the conspiracy?" Ynfara whispered. She shook her head. "I know how
she poisoned Mother Glyssani and you thought she had fulfilled the prophecy of the one who
abominates--but what if that isn't all of it? What if... I have heard enough people call Edrout an
abomination, a child of incest. Megassa was the only one with Indreseen for moons before she
gave birth. The midwife vanished--some say she was killed to keep her silent. What if Edrout
is
Megassa's son?" She licked her lips. "And what if the Nameless One is his
father?"

"That would be an abomination, yes," Mrillis said. "Just as it was rumored Trevissa was
the daughter of Endor and his sister, Triska. It would be something I would indeed expect of the
Nameless One, to double back the family power again by breeding his great-granddaughter. And
Megassa has a strong talent for illusion. It would be simple for her to substitute her own
child."

"Illusions. Yes. We must counter illusions with truth," Deyral said, as he joined the
group on the shore. He nodded toward the city, with the castle fortress rising high above it. "It is
time to impress on these Noveni fools and rebel Rey'kil just who and what they dare to rise
against."

Ynfara laughed, meaning she understood what the High Scholar meant. Then Mrillis
nodded, his eyes sparkling with mischief when Meghianna glared at him, demanding an
answer.

"The operative word, my dear," he said, reaching for her hand to squeeze it, "is
'impress.' How long has it been since Wynystrys detached from its foundations?"

"Since I was an infant. Ah." She nodded, and decided to laugh rather than feel
foolish.

Athrar and most of the Court of Quenlaque waited along the shore, with flags waving
and jewels flashing in the sunshine. Deyral and Lycen had called through the Threads to warn
them that they would be arriving today, returning Mrillis and Meghianna and Ynfara. The plan
had been to simply climb into a boat and row to shore. If Meghianna correctly read the glint of
determination and mischief in Deyral's eyes, Wynystrys would come close enough to the docks
that the island would scour the floor of the harbor and Ynfara could step from the shore to the
docks and into her husband's arms without touching the water.

And the sight of the mysterious island of the Rey'kil, appearing where ships had been
displaced moments before by magic, would certainly impress on the Noveni doubters and
skeptics that the Rey'kil enchanters still had more than enough power. Despite the continued
raiding of star-metal artifacts for that foolishly proposed dumping on Encindi territory.

"I've told Athrar what we're doing," Ynfara announced, as the first ships skittered to the
far sides of the harbor and out of their path, moved by suddenly capricious winds and currents.
"He thinks it's a marvelous plan. He told me I had better be sitting down, and I'm not to walk a
step until he comes for me," she added, her voice thickening with happy tears.

"Smart lad." Mrillis nodded and patted her shoulder. "I'm starting to think he might just
be good enough for you."

Lycen and Meghianna stared for a few moments, then the four of them burst out
laughing. Deyral pretended disgust, shaking his head, but soon joined in the merriment. The
noise of the crowd along the shore quieted to murmurs, as they finally realized something odd
was happening in the harbor. People stared, watching the ships that were pushed aside by magic
as the island's long, tapering end approached the shore. Most of the ships filling the harbor had
reacted to the first stirrings of magic and moved out of the way under their own power. Few
ships were actually tied up at the docks, because Athrar had ordered six docks in a row to be
empty. He had feared an attack on Ynfara when she appeared in her boat. Those who couldn't
convince him that she was a betrayer like Indreseen might try to murder her, after all.

When the water grew shallow enough that the disturbance along the bottom grew
noticeable, and the displacement of water for visible nothingness created an eye-aching gap, the
murmurs grew into an odd mixture of gasps and strained silence that made the air crackle.
Meghianna chose to sit down on the boulder Ynfara had chosen for her seat, and wrapped an arm
around the young woman. Despite the years of control moving the island, Deyral had never
brought it this close to a shore before, and the stop might be rough.

The air shimmered around them and the crowds gathered along the shore and docks let
out a collective gasp as Wynystrys appeared from thin air for all to see. A moment later, Athrar
appeared at the end of the nearest dock, his face gleaming with laughter. He ran, flinging himself
across the narrowing gap of water and shore, landing with a crunch in the soggy pebbles and
mud, but not falling. Meghianna got up and moved aside quickly, letting Athrar gather up Ynfara
in his arms and spin her around twice before kissing her soundly.

The crowd on the shore let out cheers that made Meghianna's ears ring.

"That's sure to settle any doubters and scandal-mongers," Mrillis said, stepping up to
link his arm through hers.

"Ah, yes. I forgot one of my first lessons. Staging and appearances are more valuable
than the most potent spell," Meghianna said, nodding. She smiled when Lycen linked his arm
through her other arm.

A gangly, dark-haired boy stood square in the gates of Quenlaque Castle when the
procession led by Athrar, with Ynfara on the saddle in front of him, reached the castle. He stood
alone, and the guards were conspicuously absent.

"Stop!" Mrillis commanded, and his voice echoed off the castle walls, reverberating so
every hard surface seemed to ring. He slid down from his horse and hurried forward, putting
himself between Athrar and the boy.

Meghianna reached through the Threads to test the boy, as the celebrating crowds
behind them fell silent. Her head ached for a moment, and then she realized she couldn't feel the
boy's presence through the Threads at all. Either he was an illusion... Or he was wrapped in a
type of magic she had never encountered before.

"Edrout," she whispered, and recalled all those days of speculation about Megassa's
magic and who Edrout's real father might be. Magic had aged the boy so he looked nearly
grown.

"Ilianora," Lycen growled, and sat up stiff and tall in the saddle, looking beyond the boy
to the silent castle behind him. "What has he done?"

"No matter what he has done or not done, or what he wants us to believe he has done,
we must move slowly and cautiously," Meghianna whispered, and reached across the gap
between their horses to grasp her son's wrist.

"Welcome home, Father," Edrout said. He bowed grandly, making his dark cloak flutter
so all the gold thread embroidering the edges and the jeweled brow-band he wore glittered in the
sunshine. His gaze flicked once over the muttering crowd before turning all his attention back to
Athrar.

"I am not your father." Athrar's voice was calm, almost uncaring. He released the reins
of his horse with one hand and rested that hand on Ynfara's belly. "This is the only child I have
fathered. My heir."

"I am your heir!" The boy's voice rang, a flat, dissonant sound in contrast to Mrillis'
earlier shout. "I will prove it." He held out his hand. "Let me take Braenlicach in my hand. It will
shine for me like it never shone for you."

"All that will prove is that you have the blood of one of the forgers of the sword in your
veins, not that you came from
my
blood." Athrar glanced at Lycen. The communication
was momentary and Meghianna didn't catch it, but she knew them well enough not to be
surprised when her son dismounted and came over to stand with Athrar's horse, visibly guarding
Ynfara.

Athrar dismounted and walked forward slowly until he stood halfway between his horse
and Edrout, with his hand resting on Braenlicach in its scabbard.

"I will prove that I am of the Warhawk's blood," Edrout said, still holding out his hand.
"Let me draw the sword."

"All you will prove is that my bastard sister used magic to hide her pregnancy and lied
when she claimed you were Indreseen's child. That is the only way you could have the
Warhawk's blood in your veins." Athrar shook his head. "Braenlicach will not go with anyone,
unless I permit it. You will have to take it, boy. I will never give it to you."

"Then I will take it." The boy grew taller, wider, his face darkening and twisting as his
proportions shifted. The now-familiar dark haze filled the air all around him and tentacles of
darkness shot out of the cloud, reaching for Athrar.

Braenlicach burned, white-hot and near-blinding, as Athrar drew it, slicing through the
tentacles. A rotten stench and shrill screams filled the air and the boy staggered backwards,
shrinking back to his original size and shape. He howled in demented fury, and vanished in a
thunderclap and a burst of blackness that seemed to suck all the light away from the spot where
he had been standing.

* * * *

Meghianna gathered up Glyssani, Ilianora, Garad and Ynfara and fled with them,
without even taking time to pack provisions or extra clothes. The only safe place for Athrar's heir
and wife and mother was the Stronghold. Lycen's place was at his adopted brother's side in this
war, and for him to serve undistracted, his wife and son had to be protected.

Mrillis surrounded Quenlaque with a shield woven of Threads, similar to the sky-web
that brought star-metal down into Lygroes' control. While the surrounding countryside shook
with the first magical assaults of black lightning strikes, Quenlaque held firm and steady.
Wynystrys vanished and tidal waves in the harbor bore testimony to how quickly the scholars of
the island moved it away from shore and out into the sea where no one could track it. Meghianna
remembered the experiments with time and space that Deyral had described to her, and hoped the
island had gone to a place where the Nameless One could never find it.

She and her party of fugitives had barely reached the tunnel to the Stronghold when a
black haze swept across the countryside, buzzing louder than locusts. Meghianna felt a presence
that made her shudder and stole the breath from her chest. Something yanked on the Threads
binding the door of the tunnel shut and invisible. Furious, she shot power through that binding
and the heavy, rotting presence recoiled and fled.

As a precaution, she took precious time to move soil and rocks and trees and even
diverted the course of a stream to change the landscape and cover the trail leading to the opening
of the tunnel. Now only those who had gone through the opening recently, who still had the
feeling of the tunnel in their flesh and blood would be able to find it.

"How so many things change through necessity," Glyssani whispered, when Meghianna
explained to her companions what had happened and what she had done.

"Will they be able to follow us?" Ynfara asked. "If they somehow find the opening, if
they tear apart the Threads, could they follow us?"

"This tunnel is like the Stronghold. Only those who belong can walk it. That means
women, and those few men who were born here." Meghianna shivered as she looked at Garad,
gangly from a growth spurt at eleven years old, sitting behind Ilianora on her horse. "Garad,
when you get married, you must bring your wife to the Stronghold when she has babies, so all
your children will be able to come in and be safe too."

"Grandma? I'm not old enough to get married." The boy shook his head, panic making
his face comical. He scowled when the women burst out laughing, then grinned a moment later
and joined them.

* * * *

Mrillis stood on the parapet of the tower that looked south of Quenlaque, to the broad
plain that had once held feasts and the summer fair, where Valors sometimes held tournaments to
show off their skill at arms. The meadows that once held festival tents now bristled with the
weapons and tents of enemy soldiers. While Edrout had distracted them and all of Quenlaque had
waited for Ynfara to be returned safely, the Nameless One had brought thousands of troops up
across the frontier from within the Wayhauk Mountains.

Blessed Estall, are we to spend eternity fighting this man who gave up his soul
centuries ago?

"Lok and Mykil lead them," Athrar said, coming up the last few steps to join him and
look out over the gathered enemy. "They've sent a challenge to their brothers to join them or be
the first to die. Arkan and Garyn both want to race out and skewer them. I think they imagine
killing those two traitors and winning the war in a few minutes."

"Years," Mrillis whispered. He heard a hollowness in his voice, felt the same hollowness
in his chest, and knew a power beyond him spoke warning.

"Will my daughter be walking and talking, and not even know who I am, before we have
peace again?" He tried to smile, to make light of his words, but the pain in Athrar's eyes tore into
Mrillis.

"I'm sorry, lad." He turned to grasp the young king's shoulders and brace him. "I swear,
you will be reunited with your Ynfara and you will be together for many years to come, in peace.
Your daughter will be called the Lady Warhawk, just like her mother, and you will hand your
sword to her..." He shuddered and took a step backwards, reaching for the wall of the parapet to
steady himself. "No...