The Rift War (17 page)

"You mentioned them," Eleanora said. "They are the ones who threaten the Threads,
because their tech-no-lo-gy--yes?--it can drain the power from our magic?"

"Exactly." Grego's head felt like a thick band squeezed it. He fought the need to press
his fists against his temples. "Is there any way we can access the star-metal in the tunnel, and use
it against them? At the very least, keep them from draining the power?" He held out his hand and
stared at his star-metal ring. "I don't know about distances..."

Please, Estall, help me reach them.
He closed his eyes, gathered up his strength
as Mrillis had taught him, and put images as well as words into a tight mental packet. He stepped
sideways in his perceptions, finding it far easier than he had imagined, when the technique was
only theory. A moment later, the message had raced away along the Threads. He could only hope
it reached Mrillis and Emrillian quickly, and not garbled.

"What did you do?" Martus asked. He looked impressed.

Grego felt relieved for a moment, then his spirits dropped a few more notches. If others
could sense or even see his use of
imbrose
, then he had wasted too much energy through
sloppiness and lack of control.

"I sent a warning through the Threads to Emmi and Lord Mrillis." He swallowed down
the urge to add,
I hope.

"Thank you. Now, come." Eleanora hooked her arm through his and gestured back at the
pavilion that had served as their classroom. "We should alert the rest of our people. Perhaps
someone among us will know how to do what you suggest." She frowned, her gaze unfocused as
the four of them hurried across the open field around the tower. "I would like to see the flame for
myself. You say the people should be arriving tomorrow morning?"

"As I read the flame, my lady, they only stop for a few hours and then move on." Martus
paused, licking his lips. His gaze darted from her to Ectrix and then back to Grego. "Could there
be trouble, sir?"

"Emmi said all the household staff are of Rey'kil blood," Grego offered. "If what I saw
her and Mrillis do in the tunnel when we faced the rixils and drakags applies to everyone..." A
bark of laughter escaped him as they reached the door of the tower. "If I were them, I would
pretend to be helpless. Then, once I got access to all that star-metal in the tunnel, I could
overpower the Directorate people. Our enemies are more likely prisoners than invaders."

"They are still invaders if they come here uninvited and unwanted, carrying technology
that could hurt the Threads," Ectrix said.

"True," his sister said, her expression grim.

It was a matter of moments to climb to the top of the stairs and step into the tower's
main room. The signal flame flickered in purple and red, indications of intruders and
non-magical presences, according to Martus. The closer intruders came to the mouth of the tunnel,
the more foreign colors would fill the flame.

"What does that streak of black mean?" Grego asked, when the tower guardian's voice
trailed off and the four of them just stood there, staring at the flame.

"Deaths," Eleanora said, and turned away from the flame. "I would guess the invaders
tried to use their weapons, which failed them."

"Makes sense. Lord Mrillis set a spell blocking technology," Grego offered. "They
probably headed down the tunnel with crawlers, some kind of transports, communication
equipment, scanners. And they were stupid and stubborn enough to keep going, on foot, even
when their technology failed them. It never occurred to them that their weapons, which are
high-tech, computer-controlled, wouldn't work either."

"The Queen's servants probably told them of the dangers, and they refused to
listen."

"How should we prepare for their arrival?" Martus asked.

"We welcome victorious allies. Hot food, clean clothes, and warm baths. For those who
oppose us..." Eleanora's lips pursed as she visibly fought not to grin, eyes sparkling in mischief.
"Have our full force of Valors waiting at the tunnel mouth when they arrive."

* * * *

They rode in silence, Baedrix, Emrillian and Meghianna pushing their horses as fast as
they could safely move in the confines of the tunnel from the Stronghold to the coast. Baedrix
led the way, though he knew it was foolish, because who could attack them within the spelled
safety of the tunnel? He still felt better at least presenting an image of guarding the two women
who rode behind him.

Emrillian's silence made far too much sense to him. How could she feel anything but
overwhelmed and stunned by what had happened in the last several hours?

Braenlicach had burst into song when she stepped into the Stronghold's library, where it
had waited for so many decades. Chords became solid, tangible, invading the other senses,
cascading in sheets of blue and silver and green light from the stone walls and ceiling, making
the tapestries ripple as if stirred by a swirling wind.

Emrillian's hand trembled and she flexed it several times before obeying Meghianna's
directions to reach out and take up the sword from the cushion where it lay, on a long table in the
center of the massive room. That hesitation had only proved to Baedrix her wisdom and common
sense.

There had been no ceremony of bestowing the sword into the guardianship of Athrar's
heir, and he supposed none was needed. The star-metal blade had most certainly heralded her as
the proper hand to wield it. Still, Baedrix felt a little disappointed.

Meghianna's silence worried him, though. What was the Queen of Snows doing?
Spreading her consciousness across the land? Testing the Threads stretching out from the
Stronghold? Communicating over long distances, as his great-grandfather's memoirs had
indicated she could do? Baedrix wished he had inherited that strength of
imbrose
. It
worried him, after the abortive attack earlier that day, to be cut off from Quenlaque and the
welcoming party that had stayed at the Tower of Bo'Lantier.

"Emmi." Meghianna broke the silence when they were only a dozen paces from the
tunnel mouth. A latticework of dim green Threads covered the opening, giving a hazy view of
the sunset-streaked landscape outside. "Give Braenlicach to Baedrix. Let him carry it, and let
him step from the tunnel first." She tugged on her horse's reins and the massive black
Stronghold-bred horse obediently slowed and stopped, half a length from the Threads.

"Give it to me, Lady?" Baedrix's hand felt hot, just at the thought of taking the
blade.

"Your bloodline was involved in the forging of the blade, Grandson." Her lips twitched,
visibly fighting a smile when he flinched at the title.

Baedrix suspected that if he accepted their relationship and didn't feel unworthy and
about to be ambushed somehow, she wouldn't find so much pleasure and amusement in calling
him Grandson, and might even use his name.

"Braenlicach sang for you, as well as Emmi," she continued. "Subterfuge is often the
sharpest tool in our arsenal. And I have learned in my many years of life that if your enemy
wraps everything in lies, then he is more susceptible to the masks you employ--especially if he
knows that you hold truth and honor more precious than gold."

"Lady?"

"Someone is outside, waiting," Emrillian said. She dismounted and reached up for the
belt and sheath containing Braenlicach, which she had carried tied to the side of her saddle. "If so
many want to believe that Athrar's heir is a male, we should foster the false tale as long as
possible. And if our enemy sees you, the Regent, holding the sword, they might believe the heir
is not here yet, or unready, too young for the duty."

"They will believe us desperate and afraid, and the whispers of treachery among the
Court are more fact than fear and fable." Baedrix saluted them both before he dismounted. These
two were clever strategists, and he was glad they were on his side.

A fountain of peach-tinted light gushed up to the ceiling and showered down around him
when he took Braenlicach in its scabbard from Emrillian's hands. He found that comforting,
because the same reaction occurred when he put on his first piece of star-metal, an armband that
had been his grandfather's. He tried not to hold his breath as he attempted attaching the scabbard
to his belt. His hands shook and his fingers refused to obey.

"Allow me." Meghianna slipped the scabbard from his hand and went gracefully to one
knee. In a moment, she had his other scabbard off the belt and had handed it to Emrillian, who
attached it to Baedrix's saddle while Meghianna attached the scabbard for Braenlicach.

She stood back. Shadows touched her eyes as she looked him over.

"Lady?" Baedrix said.

"I was remembering." She sighed and gestured at the latticework of magic across the
tunnel mouth. "Lycen was sensibly nervous, too, when he put on a sword before his first real
battle. I know you have battled the Encindi threat all your life, in one form or another. I know
you have earned scars and you have seen friends die. Grandson, this is the battle you have
trained for all your life, destiny and training and strength inherited from your ancestors. You
were born for this, just as surely as Emrillian was born for her role. Trust in the Estall and go
forward." She gestured for him to turn.

He obeyed, taking the reins of his horse and resting his hand on the pommel of the
sword. Warmth wrapped around his hand, as if the sword reached out to grasp his hand in
return.

"Estall, please guard us," Baedrix whispered as he stepped through the shield over the
tunnel mouth, into dawn light. His horse snorted and tossed its head and he braced himself for
attack.

Nothing.

Braenlicach warmed more, tingling through his gauntlet. The roar of the surf in the bay,
a few dozen running steps beyond the trees, added to the sense of impending trouble.

"Don't worry about taking Braenlicach to Quenlaque." The voice was a sour tenor.

The man who stepped from the shadows at the edge of the clearing wore purple, gold
and black. Lines of recent pain creased his too pale, too thin face, contrasting with the black of
his hair. The hairs on the back of Baedrix's neck and on his arms stood up in instinctive fear and
loathing.

Now he knew who had been behind the attack in that narrow valley. Baedrix smiled
thinly as he realized that Emrillian had done their enemy some damage in return.

"Braenlicach is my birthright," the stranger said, his voice dropping to a low, throaty
growl. He stepped toward the tunnel mouth and yellow sparks gathered around his outstretched
hand. "I will have it now, Regent."

"No." Baedrix shook his head. Meghianna's words of confidence rang in his mind to
counter the loathing and fear that spurted through him. "I know who and what you are, and what
you claim to be." His voice came out flat, calm and strong. "Braenlicach belongs to the true-born
daughter of Athrar. Not to you, Edrout."

"I will not play games with you, Regent." Edrout smiled thinly, and Baedrix shivered at
the delighted malice that glowed in his eyes. "Come, let us bargain together. The sword is mine
by birthright. You can either yield it to me here or make me come to Quenlaque to claim it."

"The sword belongs to Queen Emrillian. Only her hand can draw it without bringing
disaster on the wielder."

"Her hand?" He let loose a raucous laugh. "She is a mere child! Even if she is of Athrar's
bloodline, the sword will not obey her--she is a woman. Her place is in a man's bed. If I allow
her to grow up."

"You have no idea..." Baedrix gripped the sword harder and focused on the image of
using it to lop Edrout's head from his shoulders. Childhood stories, told in the Valor barracks to
frighten the youngest boys, said that Edrout could reach into a man's mind and know his very
thoughts. He refused to betray Emrillian by thinking of her waiting in hiding.

"If you obey me now instead of waiting to swear fealty as I hold the sword over your
head, I will reward you richly."

"You have nothing I want."

"I imagine your expected reward for bringing Braenlicach to Quenlaque is to marry
Athrar's daughter. I cannot marry my sister and continue the family tradition, much as that would
please me." He chuckled when Baedrix snarled and took a step closer to him, barely swallowing
a stream of scalding oaths. "Come, be reasonable. Give me the sword instead of forcing me to
take it from you, and I will give you the girl for your bed."

"You were born in a lie, as all Quenlaque knows." Baedrix began quietly, working
slowly to strength and piercing volume. "You were raised in lies and foul magic. Son of the
Nameless One and Megassa, who broke her vows and her loyalty of blood. Queen Emrillian
Warhawk will not submit to you. Braenlicach will not submit to you. And I shall never yield to
you though it cost me my life!" he thundered.

"Well said, Regent," Meghianna said as she stepped out through the magic shielding the
tunnel mouth. "Grandson, you make me proud."

"Go back, old woman!" Edrout shouted. Despite the rage on his face and in his voice,
his fear was clear. He backed away, into the shadows, which deepened as the sun crept closer to
the horizon. "Don't make me fight you."

"Fight me with what? Deceptions of beauty? Lying young men, enchanted into thinking
they love me, so you can use them against me, as you used Nema against Mrillis? Oh, but I
forgot, even that trap failed your mother and your father." She stepped up next to Baedrix. "The
wise learn from the mistakes of others. You have grown in power since you tried and failed to
kill Athrar, but even you cannot be so foolish as to believe you could stand against me."

"Be careful, old woman--"

"Be you gone, Edrout. Show wisdom, and give up your false claim for all time."

"Never!" Edrout raised his hands. Poisonous yellow sparks danced from his fingertips,
thickening and increasing to form a shield around him. His voice turned into a malevolent hiss.
"I will return, with more magic and more warriors than you dare face. Braenlicach will be mine,
and Quenlaque, and that arrogant child will warm
my
bed!"