The Rift War (15 page)

He smiled, wondering if he idealized her so soon. He hardly knew her--but then, that
was the only way someone could be idealized. When he grew to know her better, her flaws and
virtues, his tendency to worship would fade. He doubted his admiration would ever die out.

However, he already knew one flaw. Emrillian had strength, but despite her training, she
had the innocence of inexperience. An innocence that could lead to pain, if she was not careful.
Baedrix worried for her.

More than an hour later, the trail led down a narrow valley lined with pebbles, between
occasionally steep sides. Baedrix suspected this place had once been a riverbed. He looked at the
black-green, drooping trees on the hilltops and urged his horse into a faster pace. He would
prefer to avoid this path, but the tunnel entrance was on the other side of this valley.

"Spooky kind of a place," Emrillian muttered from her place on his right.

Baedrix didn't understand the word, but he guessed the meaning. The silence made the
click-clack and rustling tumble of pebbles under their horses' hooves sound loud as
avalanches.

A raucous howl shattered the uneasy quiet. The drooping, dark trees seemed to split
open as yelling men, waving spears and swords and shields, hurtled on foot down the steep sides
at the riders. Baedrix had one clear look at them. Untrimmed beards shining with grease, eyes
wide with battle frenzy, the Encindi barbarians were as imposing and undisciplined a force as
legend said. There were nearly thirty, to their seven riders. He dug his spurs in, knowing flight
was the only way to survive. His horse kicked up pebbles and let out a harsh scream. Thunder
bellowed across the sky.

"Look out!" Emrillian shouted.

Staring, Baedrix wrenched on the reins, bringing his stallion to a stumbling halt. A
massive tree slid down from the left to partially block the path. Another rumble of thunder. Now,
he saw the flash of green light that accompanied it. A second tree fell from the right.

"Magic," Carious gasped, coming up behind Baedrix. The two men traded glances for
half a heartbeat, nodded in complete agreement, and spun their mounts to meet the onslaught
coming up behind them.

"Surprise," Emrillian growled between bared teeth. She snapped her arm out in front of
her, as if throwing a spear, but her hand was empty.

Blue light flashed to fill the valley. Green like rot tinged the edges and there was a smell
of gangrenous flesh and then incineration as the color was visibly burned out of the air.

"That ought to make things a little more even," she said, sounding breathless.

"For the Queen!" Baedrix shouted as he raised his sword against the first barbarian to
reach him. Bringing his weapon down on the spear that tried to reach his heart, he breathed a
prayer to the Estall.

His stallion reared, lashing out with its forelegs, striking the man down. Baedrix finished
the job with a cut to the neck, then turned to the next attacker. His shield caught a blow before he
saw the man coming at him. At the fringe of his awareness, his companions fought hard. A horse
screamed somewhere. Baedrix prayed it was a packhorse and no companion had been unseated.
At the fringe of his vision, he saw Emrillian stand in her saddle, slashing with her sword, sparks
of blue and purple fountaining up from each strike of her blade against an enemy sword or
battleaxe or shield.

More thunder roared, close in the air. Baedrix winced against the ache and momentary
deafness from the volume and pressed the attack. Lightning flashed, green and yellow. He
smelled the stench of burned flesh. A hoarse screaming began, and it took a moment to realize it
came from the barbarians.

"They're running away!" someone shouted as Baedrix finished his man.

Like a dream, the barbarian slowly slid to the ground. Baedrix took a deep breath,
watching him, then turned. His face felt grimy and his eyes burned. The air still crackled with the
power that had screamed through it moments before. Blinking, he adjusted his vision. The
barbarians scrambled up the sides of the narrow valley into the cover of the trees, dragging their
wounded with them.

"This isn't right." Carious turned to Baedrix, eyes wide, face pale. "They had us
outnumbered four to one, they were on the point of overpowering us. Even with the Queen's
magic. Barbarians don't retreat like that, and they don't carry away their wounded."

"Unless somebody leads them," Emrillian pointed out. She slid off her horse, keeping a
tight hold on the reins. Baedrix saw she had taken a wound on her wrist, where mail shirt parted
from gauntlet.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, and winced at the fear-tinged fury in his
voice.

"Grandfather taught me this, but I've never had a chance to use it until now." She bit at
two glove fingers, still holding tight to her horse's reins with her other hand, and yanked her
gauntlet off, then pressed her bare hand flat against the ground. Blue and gold light sparkled at
her fingertips and raced across the moss and dirt before soaking into the ground. It followed the
path their fleeing enemy had taken.

Baedrix shook his head. Despite having magic in his blood, and being raised in all the
teachings of his ancestors, he had seen more magic performed today than he had seen in several
years combined. He wondered if that uneasy niggling in his gut was jealousy, that Emrillian had
such strong
imbrose
she could call up magic at will, using it prodigally instead of being
careful to save her strength for dire circumstances.

Wasn't this attack on their traveling party dire, though?

"Are we all whole?" he asked, turning around to survey their group. Better to keep busy
while Emrillian tried whatever that defensive trick might be. He told himself to be grateful she
was there, but gratitude was difficult in the face of a sense of failure. He was Regent--he had
been born to protect the throne--and that meant the one who sat on the throne.

Two packhorses had lost their burdens, the straps cut. Pellen had lost his helmet. The
younger Valor looked winded but excited. Harron nursed a hand that looked only bruised.
Carious squatted in front of his mount, examining its leg.

"Can we keep moving until we're out of this cursed place?" Baedrix asked. As a group,
they nodded. "Highness? Are you ready to leave?"

"I'm not sure what I'm feeling, but...it's
imbrose
magic, but fouled. It stinks, but
a smell I can't describe." She swung up into her saddle and turned to look at them as she tugged
her gauntlet back on. "What's that look for?"

"Highness?" Carious broke the look he and Baedrix had been sharing.

"You know something."

"Remember, Highness, that we have been living poor in magic. What comes easily to
you is more legend and theory than reality for us," Baedrix said.

"Grandfather says my father hated all the formality of Court, and now I know why. I
suppose you won't unbend enough to call me by name, will you?"

Carious laughed, muffling the sound behind his glove, while Baedrix choked, unsure if
that was laughter or horror or some unnamable emotion filling his chest.

"Lord Grego said you won many tournaments among your Archaics. Did you earn some
rank that we can use, that you would be more comfortable with?" Baedrix offered when he could
breathe again.

"Actually..." Emrillian blushed, biting her lip to fight a grin, and that intrigued him. "I
worked my way up to the rank of Valor, and I'm only one hundred points away from Warhawk's
Champion. Only thirty-two people in the entire history of the Archaics have achieved that rank."
She shrugged. "That doesn't help much, does it?"

"Lady Warhawk," Pellen offered. "I've read the histories. Queen Ynfara was called the
Lady Warhawk before she won Athrar's heart."

"It would be safer to address her as Lady," Carious offered. "In case we're overheard. It's
a given the Encindi will be spying on us now that they know we're here."

Emrillian growled something unintelligible. "They shouldn't be this far into our territory,
should they?" she demanded, when all six men gave her questioning frowns.

"No, of course--" Baedrix groaned. He suspected the unrecognizable word was a modern
world curse. "Did they break through the sentinel lines in a new place? Destroy a guard tower
and kill the sentinels? There's no way of knowing."

"Lord Mrillis and Lord Graddon are riding straight into danger," Harron offered.

"No, the Encindi are riding into disaster," Emrillian said. She raised her hand for silence
and closed her eyes. Baedrix caught glimmers of filaments of light tangling around her fingers.
Everyone in their group held still and waited for her to open her eyes. She slumped a little when
she did so. "Talking through the Threads isn't easy inside the dome, but they've been warned."
She offered them a tight smile with an edge to it. "They won't know what hit them. Grandfather
says they'll backtrack our attackers and repair whatever damage they did."

"If the Encindi dare come this far into our territory," Baedrix said, thinking aloud,
"they're either preparing to attack now -"

"Or Edrout knows Grandfather has come back, and our arrival has triggered a war,"
Emrillian said. "Let's move out. The sooner we have Braenlicach, the sooner we can end this
once and for all."

Baedrix wished he had her assurance. Could he blame it on inexperience, or simple
confidence and strength?

Their party stayed silent after they rode around the massive trees that had fallen to block
their path. He thought long on what had happened to them. Until they were out of sight of the
oppressive-looking trees, beyond the atmosphere of the valley, he would not let his companions
talk or slow their pace. The conclusions he reached after considering the attack did not please
him.

"Someone leads the barbarians," he said, when they reached the clearing where the
tunnel mouth lay, hidden by magic.

Beyond the trees, the smell of salt from the sea was stronger, the faint grumbling song of
the surf a strange counterpoint to the whisper of the wind in the branches. At one time in
Lygroes' history, the tunnel mouth had been closer to the water, and the path to the shore had
been a gradual slope. In that bay, ravaged by quakes centuries ago, the island of Wynystrys had
once sat. Where the magical island inhabited by Rey'kil scholars was now, no one knew. It had
slipped through time and shields of magic even before the dome had been raised over the
remnants of Lygroes.

"Someone with magic," he continued, fighting down the longing that had grown since
the death of his father, that he could call on the scholars of Wynystrys for assistance and advice.
Why had they chosen to make the island movable, of all things? "Either Edrout or one of his
minions. Lady, that foulness you felt was most likely blood magic, mixed with
imbrose
."

"I should have thought of that." She nodded, and looked around the clearing slowly.
More filaments spun around her hands and her head, and Baedrix realized it was a physical
manifestation of the Threads being used. She was likely looking for the opening to the tunnel to
the Stronghold.

"There's something else to consider," Carious said, as he urged his mount up next to
Emrillian, putting her between him and Baedrix once again. "They retreated when they didn't
need to. It looked like they didn't want to retreat, now that I think about it. Some of that thunder
and lightning wasn't directed at us, but at them, perhaps? Their leader might even have been
angered that they continued to battle when he said to pull back."

"I believe you are right." Baedrix nodded. "Their leader tested us. Perhaps even now
follows us. He is likely more interested in knowing what we seek, so far from Quenlaque, and so
clearly not a supply train or a new crop of sentinels for the towers."

"We can't let them know the tunnel entrance is here," Emrillian said. She glanced at an
outcropping of rock with a tangle of bushes and brambles in front of it. "I had hoped to rest a
little before we go in, maybe under cover of darkness. The sooner we get in, the better our
chances of being unseen. Especially if they have to regroup before coming after us."

"If we can't see the tunnel, Lady, why should we worry that our enemies will?" Harron
asked.

"Once you're shown the place, you'll be able to see it." She slid down out of the saddle.
"All of you have
imbrose
, you just don't have the power to make it active all the time.
You'll be able to feel the shield part to let us through. If our enemy is watching and knows the
entrance is around here somewhere, he could at the very least feel the Threads move aside for us.
It you are right, and blood magic is mixed with
imbrose
... I wouldn't put it past our
enemy to sacrifice all his men to try to force the way open. No, our best tactic is to move quickly
and for the rest of you to leave and lead them on a wild hunt. Whatever you do, don't let them get
close enough that they realize we are no longer with you."

"Lady Warhawk," Baedrix murmured, shaking his head in admiration. He grinned when
his words brought an answering flush to her cheeks. He dismounted and gestured at the others.
"You heard our queen--move out."

"And lead the barbarians on a mad chase." Carious grinned, executing a bow to
Emrillian that nearly toppled him from his saddle. "Lady, I hope you have friends who are just as
clever as you, among the modern-day women. I believe I would like to court a woman from
Moerta, from your Archaics warriors."

"Be careful what you wish for, Lord Carious. You have no idea how...attractive a man
like you can be to women who dream of quests and battles and magic, and think modern men are
soft and have no sense of adventure." She laughed at the varying expressions of shock and
interest and amusement from all the others. Then her gaze met Baedrix's, and the laughter
abruptly stopped.

He wondered, with a strange, hollow feeling in his chest, what she thought of him as a
Valor of Quenlaque, and how he appeared in her eyes, specifically.