Springwar (61 page)

“Someone also needs to take the sword to the King,” Krynneth noted.

“Not yet,” Avall countered. “The thing works, granted, but
it’s … out of balance, which could make it dangerous. The shield and helm have to be finished as well. I don’t know how I know that, but I do. Trust me.”

“So the sharp edge,” Tyrill said, “is that you can finish the helm or the shield, but not both.”

“Not in the time we have,” Avall agreed. “And Strynn—”

“Is under royal command to go downriver at first light, in order to observe.”

“And take Averryn away from my destructive influences,” Avall added bitterly.

Tyrill gnawed her lip, scowling furiously. “I don’t like this,” she growled. “I don’t like it at all. There are too many things that need doing, and not enough people to do them.”

Avall puffed his cheeks. “I know what you mean. Much as I hate to say it, it’s times like this I wish we still had Eddyn.”

“Don’t mention that name,” Tyrill gritted. “I’ve had enough of him. I tried and tried, but … No, don’t get me started, or I’ll wind up like Eellon.”

“So the shield …?” Krynneth dared in turn.

Tyrill closed her eyes. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “I’ll let you know tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Veen snapped. “Do we have that much time?”

“We’ve no choice,” Tyrill replied. “I hear footsteps, which can only be our delinquent folk approaching. Which means other decisions. I’ll let you know at breakfast. In the meantime,” she finished, “you, young man,”—she pointed to Avall—“have, at the very least, a helmet to complete. I’d suggest you be about it.”

Avall started to reply, then thought better of it. He considered leaving with Strynn and Evvion, when Averryn started fretting, until a warning glare from Tyrill changed his mind. But all through the ensuing meeting, during which Tyrill was confirmed as Acting Clan-Chief of Argen, he was sketching determinedly, trying to figure out where best to route the wires that would tie the King’s blood, bone, and brain to a mass of inert metal.

M
erryn had no idea what time it was—only that she’d been very sound asleep indeed—when she was abruptly awakened. Someone was in her room, the door to which she clearly remembered locking. As would any rational person, given the situation. She rose in one smooth rush, squinting into the scanty moonlight. Her hand found a dagger, but she didn’t bother with clothes. Modesty was no use to the dead.

By the time her feet hit the floor, she’d determined that the invader was standing unmoving in the doorway.

“Merryn,” it—
she
—hissed, “it’s me, Strynn!”

Merryn’s tension drained out of her so fast she nearly collapsed. Eight, but she was edgy! Still, if anyone was going to catch her with her guard down, better it was Strynn. She sat down on the bed pad with a thump, reaching absently for a night robe she’d left on a nearby chest.

Strynn had said nothing—probably waiting until she was certain no attack was forthcoming—then strode forward, moving with surprising confidence in the dark.

Merryn fumbled to light a candle, sensing that it was not yet time for speech, though whatever had called Strynn here in dead of night was bound to be important. Light flared. Strynn found a chair and a bottle of wine—and drank deeply before extending it to Merryn.

Merryn took it gravely. “Couldn’t sleep?” she ventured, cocking a brow.

Strynn shook her head. “I need to sleep, but it’s one of those times when you know you won’t until you just go ahead and do what has to be done.”

Merryn regarded her keenly. “That bad?”

Strynn nodded.

“So bad you couldn’t even tell Avall?”

Another nod.

“One of those things that you don’t dare mention because you know he’ll forbid it, but you know you have to do it anyway?”

Strynn chuckled. “You’ve become a mind reader now?”

Merryn shrugged. “Maybe. I think working with the gems even a little improves one’s abilities that way. But surely, sister, you know by now how very well I know you.”

Strynn took another swig and wiped her mouth on her sleeve, rough as a man. “We have to do something dangerous,” she said at last. “And we have to do it tonight.”

“Tonight? Why? What—”

“Because there’ll be no one to stop us. Avall’s in the forges exorcising his frustration after that damned meeting. Tyrill’s being Tyrill. Eellon’s—better not to speak of him. No one else matters but Averryn. Tomorrow I’m supposed to leave for the coast. I may be able to delay a little—but with time as important as it is—”

“What
is
this thing?” Merryn demanded, her voice more forceful than was her wont.

Strynn swallowed hard, looking at the bottle instead of at her bond-mate, her face as grim and determined as Merryn had ever seen it. “We have to rescue Eddyn.”

“Eddyn?” Merryn cried, mouth gaping into an O. “Eddyn’s in the south, Strynn. Last I knew, he was imprisoned in the same place I was.”

“And before that?”

“I don’t know. Avall says he was here. He says he place-jumped out of prison.”

“With the gem.”

“
With
Avall’s
gem.”

“I have one, too. It’s weaker, but—”

Merryn snared the wine and filled herself a goblet. “You’re saying you and I should … place-jump down past South Gorge and rescue Eddyn, so that—”

“He can finish the shield.”

Merryn shook her head. “But surely it doesn’t have to be
that
shield, if all you have to do is fit a gem—”

“No, I think it does, and so does Avall. Sure, on one level all that has to happen is that the gem be wired to the shield and the wielder alike in such a way that the proper connections are made. But there’s more to it than that. Avall can’t explain it—he says there aren’t words for what happens, any more than one can describe an emotion or a color. But he says it’s something to do with … art. The same parts of our mind that make art without thinking about it are the ones that carry the power of the gems—at least the aspect he’s talking about. And somehow that power gets put into the object while it’s being made, and …”

“So you’re saying,” Merryn broke in, “that though any shield would suffice, one made by a master like Avall or you or Eddyn would be much stronger.”

“Maybe not so much stronger as more balanced,” Strynn corrected. “Avall thinks the trio of helm, sword, and shield, if activated at the same time, will make whoever wields them very powerful indeed. But if one of those elements doesn’t match—”

“But Tyrill’s already remade most of the framework.”

“To Eddyn’s exact design, however. Plus she’s a master in her own right. And she taught him everything he knows. If anyone thinks like him, it’s her.”

“And how is Eddyn going to learn all this?” Merryn demanded. “If even Avall doesn’t know it until he does it?”

Strynn shrugged again. “Mind to mind, as best I can tell. If Gynn was able to see it and show it to Avall, then maybe Avall can show it to Eddyn. If not … he can still do the artistic work, and let Avall do the final connecting.”

“Ha!” Merryn snorted. “That’s assuming he’d do anything at all. He’s no cause to love anyone up here now.”

“He loves Eron,” Strynn said simply. “I’ve never doubted that.”

Merryn frowned. “But this is all speculation.”

“I know. But it’s also the only thing I can think
to
do, given that I have to leave tomorrow. Otherwise,
I’d
try to finish the damned thing, and get Avall to show
me
how to make the wretched connections. But if we could place-jump—”

“That’s a large ‘if.’ We’ve never done anything like that before. I’ve barely worked with the gems at all.”

“But assuming—”

Merryn reached over and took Strynn’s hand. “Sister, what are you thinking? He
raped
you. He bared your body and stuck his thing in you and took from you what he had no right to take—and with that he took away most of the choices you had left in your life.”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” Strynn shot back, eyes bright with tears. “Do you think I don’t think of that every moment of every day? Every time I see Averryn? Every time Avall and I make love? He’s always there, like a shadow on the sun. But it wasn’t entirely him, Merryn. It was also the imphor he’d been chewing and the game he’d just lost, and all that pressure Tyrill’s laid on him since he was born. I can see how one wrong thing might break him.”

“That sounds like you’re excusing him.”

“Never! But maybe I understand him better. Besides, this isn’t about me, or him. It’s about the survival of the kingdom.”

Merryn took a deep breath. “So why don’t
I
do it, then? You can lend me your gem, and—”

Strynn chuckled grimly. “I figured you’d say that. But we don’t know if it can even take two people that far, never mind bring three back. What we do know is that the two times place-jumping worked were through will and desire. It has to be the
only
thing one wants for that instant, Merryn, and that’s why I have to go. I’m the only person with enough of a bond to Eddyn. Even then, it may not succeed, but I think I can focus the desire—or the anger, or the hate; whatever it takes—strongly enough to get me there.”

“But not alone.”

“I can fight,” Strynn replied, “but I’m no fighter. You’ve been where he is; you know the lay of the land.”

“Does it have to be tonight?”

“I don’t have any nights left. Besides, this late, he’s unlikely to be heavily guarded.”

Merryn felt an urge to laugh. “And of course you’re also a master lockpick.”

“Well, I certainly intend to take my tools.”

“So the plan is to jump down there, pick his lock, and jump back?”

“That’s it.”

“You’re forgetting one thing.”

“What?”

“The energy factor. We’d be drawing enormous amounts of power. It could kill Eellon.”

“No, actually I considered that,” Strynn chuckled. “If we do it in the stables, we’d have the horses to draw on first—and they’re bigger, warmer, and stronger.”

Merryn gnawed her lip. “And in the cloister we’ll have the army …”

“Some of it. The bulk has moved on. But there’d be guards, prisoners. Leftover baggage train—”

“Maybe.”

Strynn finished the wine and set the bottle down. “Merryn, it’s the only chance we’ve got. Even if we die—”

“We won’t,” Merryn countered fiercely, rising and starting to pace. “I have to think about this, Strynn. Not long, but I have to puzzle this out alone. Meet me in the stables in half a hand, and I’ll give you my answer.”

Strynn rose as well. “That’s as much as I can ask for. And at that, I know I’m asking a lot, Merry.”

Merryn gave her a brief hug, but didn’t watch as Strynn passed through the door, her mind already spinning with implications.

There are people who don’t live as well as these horses
, Strynn thought, as she paced around the stables. Certainly the
stonework could have graced any palace, and the hardware and accoutrements were as well-made as those in the King’s own chambers. Tucked as it was into an angle between the royal herb garden and one of the war courts, it even smelled nice. And very clean.

Not a bad place to wait, if one felt like waiting.

Strynn didn’t, which was why she was pacing the perimeter of the arcade that surrounded the exercise court, and glancing all too frequently at the sky.

It was past midnight, though not by much. Avall would be returning to their chambers soon. He’d miss her. He might even come looking for her.

She had no intention whatever of letting him know what she was about until she’d accomplished it, either. And she was as ready as she’d ever be, clad in supple black-leather hose and short-tunic under light mail and a plain black hooded tabard, with black gloves and black boots to complete the ensemble. Decent protection, while still being good for stealth and allowing freedom of movement.

For armament, she had a short sword, daggers in each boot, a third at her waist, and a small buckler for defense. And her lockpick’s tools.

But where was Merryn?

Once again, she started pacing. Counting the horses this time, wondering if the gem could indeed draw on their life force to power what she and Merryn would shortly be undertaking.

Or she alone, if Merryn didn’t show.

She fingered her gem nervously, where it hung exposed in its filigree clasp from a chain around her throat. It thrummed at her, like a cat purring. Which startled her.

Maybe it approved. Or maybe—

Footsteps. Purposeful, and with Merryn’s distinctive cadence.

Strynn hastened her own steps to match them—and met Merryn coming through the door.

And couldn’t help laughing. Her bond-sister had dressed almost exactly as she had, save that there was more quilted fabric and less leather.

Then she noticed the weapon at Merryn’s side. “Eight save us!” she whispered, even as Merryn grinned. “You’ve brought
that
sword.”