Lady Warhawk (4 page)

In his waking mind, he was just Thrarin, a boy who liked to sail and play at being
soldier, who couldn't decide which he wanted to be when he grew up; who liked to listen to the
wonderful tales of adventures the soldiers and sailors who frequented the inn told him and his
brother. He grew angry at stories of treachery and attacks on innocent people. And he still liked
to cuddle up with Meghianna on snowy, blustery winter days and tell stories in front of the fire in
their quarters.

Meghianna sometimes felt breathless with anticipated sorrow and pain, when the spell
she and Mrillis had woven would unravel and her brother's dreams merged with his waking
mind. He would understand, but that short span of confusion, where Athrar Warhawk destroyed
the simple innkeeper boy, Thrarin, Meghianna wished she could spare her brother that pain.

And what about Lycen? How would he feel when he learned she wasn't his birth mother,
and that Thrarin was his future king, rather than his little brother and fellow adventurer? He
would likely be delighted to realize that he had
imbrose
, inherited from his birth parents,
and he would indeed be a Valor someday. But the boy couldn't be entirely happy at having the
foundations of his world shattered beneath his feet.

"What's wrong, Mother?" Lycen asked, reaching across the table as if to hold her
hands.

"This has been a very long, surprising day. I need time to gather my thoughts, that's all."
Meghianna took a deep breath in lieu of several hours of solitude to think. The three sets of male
eyes watching her were somber, worried, and she felt warmly protected by their concern. "My
dears, we are going on a long trip, and I hope Captain Ector will be able to ride with us."

"Ask whatever you wish." Ector held up his hand, making his words a solemn oath.

"Here is the story, and you must not tell anyone what we discuss in this room, do you
understand?" She watched her brother, wondering if the things she was about to say would
awaken echoes from his dreams, and perhaps pick loose a thread or two of the spell that
separated his sleeping self from his waking self.

Both boys raised their hands in silent, solemn oath as well.

"Our visitor is Princess Megassa, daughter of the Warhawk. I knew her long ago, and I
consider her a dear friend. She has repented of her treachery and the Warhawk has forgiven her.
Remember that. She is forgiven and has paid for her deeds. She is on a mission to protect the
Warhawk's heir, and she has asked us to help her." Meghianna choked on laughter as excitement
made both boys' eyes gleam and they sat up straight, perching on the front edges of their chairs.
"You will ride with her sons and you will take lessons from their tutors. I expect you to make me
and Captain Ector proud, and make a good showing with your spelling, figuring, archery and
swordplay, do you understand?"

Lycen and Thrarin nodded so hard and fast, her neck ached. She glanced sideways at
Ector, and found him fighting just as hard as her to smother a grin.

"We are going up the coast to the Magra River, and travel inland. I expect you two to
work hard and to obey Captain Ector if there is any sort of trouble. And if anything odd happens,
I want you to tell me immediately. No matter how small it may seem. Magic surrounds Megassa,
because she is the Warhawk's daughter, and because she trained as a Valor."

"She's the Nameless One's granddaughter," Lycen offered. "Doesn't that give her a lot of
magic, too?"

"Great-granddaughter," she corrected, nodding. "And that is another thing. You will be
exposed to jewelry and knives made of star-metal." She fought down anger that the training
schedule she and Mrillis had devised for both boys was being tossed to the wind. She had
planned to take the boys on a trip next summer, to a sheltered spot in the middle of nowhere, to
give them star-metal rings, test their
imbrose,
and start whatever training they
required.

"You both have talent for magic. When you are exposed to star-metal, your
imbrose
will awaken. Keep in mind that
imbrose
is ultimately the servant of
your will and your imagination. The moment you notice strange things--light where it should not
be, things moving that should not move--tell me, and we will explore it together." She sniffed. "I
don't care to have either of you set the caravan on fire or call down a horde of wild dogs on us."
She widened her eyes in mock anger, when both boys snorted and exchanged excited grins. "And
I expect you to be much better behaved than the four boys you'll be traveling with."

Meghianna sent up a silent prayer that her four nephews were as obedient as Megassa
promised. The last thing she needed was for one of them to call her Aunt Meggi where they
would be heard, and create a flood of questions that couldn't be easily explained away.

* * * *

Actually... I'm delighted we have had as much time as we did,
Mrillis said, after
Meghianna had sent him all her memories of that day's meetings and conversations. He had been
silent quite a while, and while she waited for his response, she imagined she could hear snippets
of other conversations through the Threads, from halfway around the World.

You mean Megs could have contacted us much sooner, or our enemies could have
narrowed down their search parameters sooner? True.

Or our spells woven around Thrarin's dreams could have snapped and unraveled
from the pressure.
He chuckled, and the sound vibrated through the Threads, warming
her.
He's quite strong, our boy. Brilliant. Impatient, though he shows his strength by how
well he contains that impatience. I've been tempted to link him to Braenlicach during our last
few lessons, just to see how the sword reacts to him, even in just a dream touch. I truly do believe
that his is the hand born to wield that blade.

If you connected him to Braenlicach... Could it shred our spells?
Meghianna
shivered a little, imagining all the disasters that could come from that violent sort of magic. All
the World would feel the Warhawk's heir bond, mind and soul, with the star-metal sword.

Could he be the one to find the Zygradon, do you think?
she asked a moment
later.
The reverberations when he touches Braenlicach, could they be strong enough to
awaken Zygradon, so it calls to us?

I hope not. No, I may be wrong, but I believe the Blood born of the Blood will be the
one to find the Zygradon and complete the healing of the World. In the far distant
future.

Meghianna tried to imagine the child to be born to her brother. It was hard imagining
Thrarin interested in girls more than swordplay and sailing at this point, let alone being a
father.

Long after the connection through the Threads closed, Meghianna sat still in her chair,
hearing Mrillis' voice in her soul. He had stayed away from her inn, stayed away from
Quenlaque altogether, except for the day he brought Thrarin to her. In some ways, that had been
the hardest part of this strange, voluntarily exile to protect her brother. Even harder than not
visiting with her father and Glyssani. The pain of losing contact with Megassa didn't even come
close to this separation from Mrillis, unable to hear his voice and watch the subtle play of
thought and emotion across his face as he talked. It surprised Meghianna to realize that now.
Well, Megassa had returned to her life, and in less than a moon, she would be able to take
Mrillis' hand and look into his eyes, and a short time after that, she would feel her father's arms
around her and hear Efrin's laughter.

Would she be able to rest when she handed over the responsibility for the welfare of the
Warhawk's heir?

"I highly doubt it," she whispered to the silent room. "I am Queen of Snows, after all."
The words seemed to shimmer with portent, chiming against the colored glass bottles the boys
had bought her for a birthing-day present a few years ago, and making the moonlight waver just
slightly. "I will always be responsible."

She didn't go to bed for some time after that, but wandered around the sleeping inn,
impressing all the comforting, familiar images in her mind and heart. When this journey ended,
she would not be able to return to this place that had been her shelter and resting place for so
long. Despite all the work involved, living as an innkeeper and healer had indeed been a time of
rest. When Thrarin took his place in the World's arena, becoming Athrar Warhawk, and
prophecy again began to move, her duties would resume.

* * * *

Mrillis sat on a bench in front of the riverside inn and watched the company come down
the road in the crimson light of sunset. He forced himself to watch only with his eyes and listen
only with his ears, and not wrap Threads around the caravan to study each member.

Three horses ranged out from the group. Meghianna had told him two nights ago that the
boys had formed pairs, an older looking after a younger, and shared horses so they could go
adventuring when the steady pace of the wagon horses bored them. Mrillis was pleased that
Thrarin and Lycen got along well with Megassa's sons. He felt as if some ragged edges on his
soul were mending. He had missed Megassa, missed their spirited conversations over table
games, her teasing, the tales of her adventures. He had grieved with Meghianna when Efrin sent
Megassa and Lorkin into exile. Perhaps Megassa would smile when she recognized him, and he
might be allowed to make friends with her sons.

"Please, blessed Estall, let them be innocent, good boys, allowed to enjoy life far longer
than Ceera and Meghianna and I ever did." Mrillis' voice caught, his throat tightening as his
vision blurred with a threat of tears.

He silently scolded himself that he was just being maudlin, an old man feeling his age. It
was time to go back to Goarlotte and five-year-old Ynfara, to cuddle and amuse the child with
flashy, useless magic. Mrillis had been both relieved and disappointed the first time he saw
Ynfara. Her hair was dark gold and her eyes were deep blue and there was nothing of his
Emrillian about her. She was of his bloodline, and he intended to spoil her no matter what her
grandmother, Dowager Queen Lynzette said or did. Sometimes Mrillis suspected he enjoyed
visiting Goarlotte partly because the Noveni woman hated him so much.

"Yes, you're an old man. A cantankerous, meddling old man." Mrillis got up from the
bench and walked through the inn yard to where the caravan would halt in ten more
minutes.

The rangy old brown gelding ridden by Thrarin and the littlest of Megassa's sons
clattered into the inn yard first. Thrarin looked at him with the polite smile of greeting reserved
for strangers. He had never met the boy in his waking hours. Until Mrillis and Meghianna
unraveled the spell that let them teach Thrarin in his dreams, the boy would not recognize him
while he was awake.

"Good day to you, Grandfather," Thrarin said. He swung a leg over the saddle and slid
down to the cobblestone yard. "Are you the innkeeper? Do you know the schedules of the
riverboats?"

"Just a traveler like yourself, lad." Mrillis nodded, pleased at the boy's politeness.

"Is traveling fun?" Garyn chirped, as Thrarin reached up to help him down from the
horse. "This is the first time we've gone anywhere. When we're Valors, we'll travel all over the
World, protecting people."

"Yes, lad, traveling can be fun." Mrillis resisted the urge to bend down and tousle the
boy's golden brown curls. Garyn's easy spill of words reflected how he and his brothers had been
raised, the kind of people their parents were.

Next, a gray mare slid to a stop only a few steps from the horse trough. The boys who
slid off it looked sulky. From Thrarin's and Garyn's grins, Mrillis suspected they had lost a race.
The sour looks didn't last, and soon the four chattered about future races with better horses.

"When we'll each have our own horses and we won't be held back by the little ones,"
Lok boasted. He grinned at the brother who had ridden behind him.

"That's because us little ones will be way ahead of you," his brother retorted.

Then the remainder of their traveling party entered the inn yard, and between the noise
and the hustle and bustle of the innkeeper and his servants rushing out, Mrillis had no chance to
talk further with the boys. He retreated to his bench, content to be merely an old man resting in
the warm sunshine, watching a new group of travelers come into the inn.

Meghianna climbed down out of the biggest of the wagons, with the canopy and gauzy
curtains made to shelter ladies' delicate skin from the sunlight. Mrillis bit his lip to keep from
laughing. Indulging in such luxury didn't fit Meghianna. She had never enjoyed the fuss over
clothes and jewelry and cosmetics. She would have preferred to spend her day riding a horse,
rather than bumping along in a wagon, no matter how luxurious it was.

Nor did the luxury and ladylike behavior of a wagon suit the Megassa he had known
sixteen years ago. Mrillis' lips pressed flat in pained memory as he recalled how she had changed
when she fell in love with Lorkin and became concerned about appearances and court
precedence and politics. Efrin had been right to be furious with Lorkin for changing his common
sense, warrior daughter into a frilly, painted court lady.

Megassa climbed down out of the wagon after Meghianna. The two sisters were again a
study in contrasts. Meghianna wore simple clothes, dark blue and brown, with her red-dyed hair
bound back by a simple knot at the base of her neck. Megassa wore layers of bright, delicate
cloth. Jewels sparkled through the gauzy scarves that protected her intricately braided hair and
painted skin. Mrillis had to look closely to see the resemblance between the two. The years of
exile, despite all her luxuries, had not been kind to Megassa. Perhaps it was the simple, busy
life--and the freedom from the dragging responsibilities of the Queen of Snows--but Meghianna
looked like a woman in her late twenties, rather than her forties. Magic or her clear
conscience?