The Rift War (10 page)

Ynfara's deep golden hair was loosely bound in a simple matron's net at the back of her
head. No gauzy scarves or jewels. The only jewelry visible were their marriage bands on their
wrists, and Athrar's signet ring. They looked like ordinary folk, weary from long labors, in travel
clothes.

Emrillian remembered how pale and emaciated her father had been when they brought
him to the tunnel and the Vale of Lanteer, to save his life through enchantment. Now, Athrar
almost looked as he did from those short few moons of happy family life. He had color in his
cheeks, and his beard and hair didn't look so drained of life and substance. But both her parents
still looked tired, nothing at all like the triumphant king and queen, ready to leap from their bier,
take up their magical weapons and lead in the defense of their kingdom.

"Grandfather--"

"Hush, my dear. Trust in the Estall. His timing is best."

She studied her parents as she took the last few steps up to the bier, trying to decide
what features she had inherited from whom. She had her father's upturned nose and strong,
long-fingered hands. Mrillis had told her many times she had Athrar's grip and dexterity. She had
inherited her mother's dainty chin and rounded brow and long, white neck. Any other features,
she could not discern. The similarities were enough to comfort her.

Ynfara sighed loudly. The arm stretched across Athrar's chest twitched. She reached up
to rub her nose, and snuggled down closer against his shoulder.

Emrillian couldn't help it. Her nerves snapped and she giggled.

"Who's there?" Ynfara whispered, and her eyes flickered open. A frown creased her
forehead as she stared up into the pearly lights spinning around her. Those eyes were deep blue.
Emrillian thought she could look into them and find the answers to questions only half-formed in
her mind.

"Mama?" she whispered, her voice barely more than a squeak. She cleared her throat.
"Mama."

"Who--" She inhaled sharply. "Emmi?" She struggled to sit up.

Emrillian hurried around the bier to offer her hand.

Ynfara shuddered and stared, wrapping her arms tight around herself. She began to
shake her head, then moaned and pressed her fists against her temples.

"Slowly, my dear." Mrillis came to stand beside Emrillian. He rested a hand on Ynfara's
head. A flash of green-tinted light made all four in the room flinch.

"Grandfather." Ynfara offered a trembling smile. Then a sob shook her and she stared at
Emrillian. "What happened to my baby?"

"Mama, I'm still here." Emrillian tried not to burst into tears, or give in to the terror and
pain that churned cold and heavy in her belly.

"You're so beautiful. You're all grown up." Ynfara inhaled deeply, fighting her sobs.
"You grew up without me. I wasn't there for you."

"Mama." She dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around her mother's waist. "I
wasn't alone. Yes, I missed you terribly. I was a terrible brat for the first few moons after
Edrout--"

"Edrout? What did he do to you?" Ynfara shook off her tears and grasped Emrillian's
shoulders, holding her away to study her face. "I will tear him into little pieces. I wasn't able to
punish Megassa for what she did to you--"

"Child." Mrillis stopped her with a caress of her cheek. "Emrillian is fine. She is strong
and she is trained, a warrior worthy of her father's name."

Emrillian wanted to laugh again, seeing the struggle on her mother's face. Anger,
sorrow, chagrin, growing shock. She thought she was prepared for this, but it still unnerved her
to see her mother, exactly as she remembered her last, still sleepy, visibly dizzy, and ready to
leap to the defense of her child with all the fury of a she-drakag.

"Ah, now that is something I never saw, no matter how deeply I dreamed." A new, deep
male voice surprised all four of them. "The Lady Warhawk. And of your bloodline, no less,
lad."

"Graddon." Mrillis went nearly as pale as his beard. He stepped away from the bier,
holding out a hand toward the tall, vibrant man who blessed them all with a wide smile and
laughter sparkling in his eyes.

"The time has come." The ancient seer nodded, looking from Ynfara to Emrillian, to
Grego. "A man of the future. The tools may change, but the soul, never."

"How does he--" Grego swallowed hard. "Stupid question. Sorry."

"Grandfather, what does he mean, a man of the future?" Ynfara slipped an arm around
Emrillian, drawing her to sit on the bier with her. "How long have we slept?"

"There is too much to teach you, and we are expected in Quenlaque soon enough,"
Mrillis began.

Graddon chuckled. "Dreams, lad." He moved over to stand at Athrar's feet and looked
down at him. "There is yet some healing that must be done, so he must remain here. Yet how
shall he stand against the world that has passed us by, if there is no time to teach him?"

"To teach a sleeper, there must be one who is awake to stand guard," Ynfara said. "To
take the knowledge, and...guide it." She rested her free hand on Athrar's chest.

"No, Mama," Emrillian whispered.

"What?" Grego demanded.

"She has to stay here, awake, sealed in."

"Partially awake," Mrillis said. "Are you sure?"

"Of course not." Ynfara cupped Emrillian's cheek. "My little girl... I abandoned her, and
now I must abandon her again."

"The duty that rests on the bloodline of the Warhawk is stronger than any other."
Emrillian tried to smile, when what she wanted was to make herself small and curl up on her
mother's lap for a few days. "Grandfather taught me that. And you didn't abandon me."

"I wasn't there when you were afraid, when you cried, when you--" She shook her head.
"You're right." She inhaled deeply and lifted her head to look at Graddon. "Let us finish this final
battle, so we can have years of peace. Boring peace."

"I would like to learn what it is to be bored," Graddon said, nodding. "Lad, she is
definitely of your blood. Tell me, how long have we slept?"

"Three generations have passed in Lygroes since you entered your sleep, then four more
since Athrar and Ynfara joined you here. Two thousand years outside the dome that protects
Lygroes. Emrillian is prepared to take her place as Warhawk's heir. There is nothing I need to do
to improve her mind or her heart."

Emrillian turned to Mrillis, staring. She knew he was proud of her, but the words caused
a queer, bright pain in the midst of her pride.

"She is indeed her father's heir," Ynfara said. "He will be pleased, that you bear his
stamp so clearly. And pleased that you are so beautiful." A soft laugh escaped her. "You said she
is trained as a warrior, Grandfather?"

"In the world of the future, our art of warfare is a game, an entertainment. Emmi has
earned her spurs as a Valor and has been proclaimed high queen in several tournaments."

"She will need that skill, to protect her from scores of suitors."

"Mama..." Emrillian hated how her face burned. That strange, choking ache throbbed
deep inside her for a few moments; regret tinged with resentment and the knowledge she
wouldn't be allowed to find true love as her parents had. She needed to marry for alliances and
power and political ties.

"You need something more." Ynfara turned again to Athrar. She gently tugged down the
blanket covering his hands. "Despite you being with her, Grandfather, there will be many who
will need a seal, acknowledgement that she is her father's heir."

"Athrar's signet ring," Mrillis said.

"If he were awake, he would insist. Emmi, hold out your hand. Your sword hand." Her
face hardened, and Emrillian saw the warrior her mother had been, when Valors had acclaimed
her the Lady Warhawk. "If I know Grandfather, he has trained you as a man, to confound those
who hope for a figurehead and tool. Is that not so?"

"Yes." Emrillian felt a surge of strength go through her when she and her mother
exchanged a look of total understanding.

Ynfara inhaled sharply, visibly braced herself, and picked up Athrar's limp hand to slide
the heavy Warhawk signet ring from his finger. Embedded in the silver was a sapphire cut in the
shape of his Warhawk emblem. "Until Braenlicach is put into your hands, this is the emblem of
your authority as Warhawk's heir. Emrillian Warhawk. Last remnant of the happy days of
Quenlaque."

"Mama-- Those days will return. I promise you, they will." Emrillian dropped to her
knees on the edge of the bier and grasped Ynfara's hands. They were cold.

"They will indeed." Ynfara freed her hands and slipped the ring onto Emrillian's
thumb.

* * * *

Baedrix, Regent of Quenlaque, Guardian of the Crown, was in the mews, tending an
ailing hawk when the news reached him. For a moment he simply stood and gazed at his younger
brother, until Ectrix fidgeted. Baedrix smiled in sympathy and turned to put the hooded hawk
back onto its perch. The bird ruffled its feathers once, then settled back into quiet, blind
waiting.

The two brothers were much alike; wide-shouldered, dark of hair and eye, their faces
falling into serious lines when at rest or deep in contemplation. Baedrix stood two heads taller
than his brother, fifteen years between them.

"So, the waiting is over." He took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. "Lord Mrillis
could not have picked a worse time to return the heir. Nor a better. Carious arrived last night
with word that the Encindi are moving through the mountains again. They have discarded the
caution our father's battles taught them. Next spring, we will likely have a war."

"But with the heir to lead us--" the boy began, halting when Baedrix shook his
head.

"I have no worry about that. The rebels still fear Athrar. They will likely flee in terror
when his heir appears. It is the shame of giving a troubled kingdom into our ruler's hands that
bothers me."

"It's not your fault!" Ectrix blurted. The anger on his face changed to confusion when
Baedrix laughed. He put an arm around his brother's shoulder and hugged him.

"You have no idea how happy your news makes me. Before the war arises next year, I
will fulfill my duty. Only a moon, two at the most, little brother, and I will be free to take you
questing. You could earn your spurs before the year's end."

The boy shrugged, tugged his cap, and smiled. "I would much rather have you for my
teacher."

"Once I am no longer Regent, we will have time in plenty. I would rather be far from the
castle until I learn not to command everyone I see."

"Not Regent?" Ectrix's face fell. "I forgot that. Will the heir really depose you?"

"A regent is not necessary when the king--or in this case, the queen--has returned." He
chuckled at the boy's dismay. "Come, we must make our plans. We must be there when the heir
emerges from the tunnel, and make sure we have privacy to teach her the state of her kingdom
before the Court descends on her."

They walked in silence, taking the short way through the stables to reach the inner
courtyard of the castle. Baedrix was grateful for the long lists of preparations he had to oversee.
The thought of giving up the responsibility held by his great-grandfather, grandfather and father
before him was both welcome and frightening. Escaping the castle with its sad memories and
going questing with Ectrix was a pleasant prospect. The early death of his father had denied him
the chance to live the roaming life of a Valor, even for a short time.

Their sister, Eleanora met them as they emerged from the stables. "You look very
happy."

"The messenger is
supposed
to report to the Regent first," Baedrix said.

"He didn't tell me anything," she retorted, ignoring his bluffing frown. "I knew from the
look on his face when Ectrix rode into the courtyard. When do Lord Mrillis and the heir
arrive?"

"Tomorrow, mid-afternoon, I think." He stopped, re-calculated from the information his
brother gave him about the signal flame, and nodded. "I intend to persuade all the interfering
hens of Court to stay here and prepare for the coronation while we ride out with a small force to
meet our queen."

"Make them think it was their idea. Haven't you learned anything, after all this time of
dealing with those ninnies?" Eleanora shook her head, the jewels braided into her dark hair
shimmering. The green eyes she inherited from their mother sparkled in amusement.

* * * *

"I've been wracking my brains, trying to remember everything I could about the
legends," Grego said.

He, Emrillian, Mrillis and Graddon sat around a fire that had been built with magically
preserved supplies left in the waystop. He wished they had not had to leave the Vale of Lanteer
so soon. It broke his heart to see Emrillian and Ynfara hug good-bye, and then to see Emrillian
walk backwards, keeping eye contact with her mother as long as possible.

Ynfara sat down on the edge of the bier and took hold of Athrar's hand as the
shimmering veils of magic slipped down like a curtain, and then solid rock coalesced into place,
reforming the tunnel wall. He didn't know who he ached for more, Emrillian for losing her
mother so soon after being reunited with her, or Ynfara, left to sit in silence and act as a gateway
to funnel all Mrillis' and Emrillian's and his knowledge of the modern world to Athrar's sleeping
mind.

"I know what you've told me about the dome and the dilation of time. How does the
Death Zone figure into all this?" He glanced at Emrillian on his left, and Mrillis beyond her. It
was hard to look at Graddon. The seer was an even more shadowy legend than Mrillis and Athrar
and Ynfara. He didn't know if it helped that the big, bald man said nothing, or his silence just
made the whole situation more surreal. "The few scientific probes we could get anywhere near
the boundaries of the Death Zone all say nothing can live there. Poisonous gases, sand, and little
else. How can Lygroes reappear where the Death Zone already is? It's a law of physics: two
things can't be in one place at the same time." Grego almost laughed as he spoke.