The Rift War (32 page)

"Did it help?" Ynfara asked. She sounded weary now, and calm.

"No, because it just made me want Papa more, to ask how he could stand it." She looked
around her room. It was a given she couldn't sleep in this bed, play with those toys, but
something ached inside her at the thought of destroying these last echoes of their short, happy
life together. This room needed a child, not a woman who had to be warrior and ambassador and
bridge between two times and worlds.

"What are you thinking?" Athrar said, eyes narrowing when Emrillian caught her breath
and sat up away from them.

"You've missed sixteen of my birthing-day parties." Her throat hurt for a moment as she
forced down the years of tears and memories and aching longing. "You owe me an enormous
present, at the very least."

"If I know Grandfather, he spoiled you dreadfully," Ynfara said.

"His idea of presents was to teach me more magic, or give me new equipment for
working star-metal, or another book full of even more ridiculous lies about our family, so we
could laugh together and imagine how mortified some of those idiot scholars would be, when we
proved their theories were wrong about us."

"What do you want, Emmi?"

"I want a brother, or a sister. Maybe both," she said as quickly and smoothly as she
could, and found it hard to watch her parents for their reactions.

"Fara?" Athrar whispered, when Ynfara said nothing for many long moments, just sat
perfectly still, staring at Emrillian, eyes wide and somewhat stunned.

"I gave up hoping for another child," Ynfara whispered. "So many people wanted to kill
us, and I thought we could never be together, living a normal life again, but... We're still young
enough, aren't we? And this is a new world."

"And despite being hundreds of years old, neither of us is ready to marry off our little
bird and let her make us grandparents." He grinned, then barked laughter as he caught Ynfara's
fist before she could punch his shoulder again.

Emrillian decided she would wait until much later, until maybe the peace had been won,
and Edrout defeated, before she would tell them what she had just realized.

She didn't want the throne. She didn't want to be Warhawk after Athrar. She would let
the child born into this world and time, born into this peace, be the one to rule in the new
Quenlaque they would all build together.

* * * *

With so many Valors and soldiers and nobles with battle experience--and a vested
interest in protecting against the Encindi invasion, because their estates would be ravaged
first--heading south to the Wayhauk Mountains, the feasting hall in Quenlaque Castle had room to
spare that night. Thanks to Graddon and Delori, an enormous holographic map of Lygroes filled
the cleared space in the center of the hall, hovering at waist height above the floor.

What Baedrix found fascinating was that the image changed as information came in
from several sources: The scouts and leading edge of the defensive force, and the satellites that
flew above the continent, out in the darkness among the stars, where the defensive web had
always hung. No one among the celebrants was told about that bit of information, and he thought
it wise.

Despite the information Mrillis and Meghianna had passed on about the changes in the
world beyond the dome, the nobles and educated folk of Lygroes had very little idea of what
technology was. Especially the science that let people launch pieces of metal into the sky, to fly
like birds and collect images and sounds and follow movements, and then look deep into the
ground to study what went on deep under the surface of the world. If the nobles he and his family
had guided and argued with and mollified for generations knew the extent of the Moertans'
non-magical magic, they would be horrified, mortified, and terrified.

Still, he spent a good portion of the feast watching the people who couldn't take their
gazes off the big, colorful, transparent map. He studied their reactions, and enjoyed the various
reactions when they realized again and again that the map had changed. How soon would the
doubters and detractors decide that there were no more Encindi in the world, because the south
of Lygroes now stopped in the middle of the Wayhauk Mountains? And in making that decision,
how many would blindly continue in the path of their troublemaker ancestors by declaring the
Warhawk was no longer necessary? By corollary, how soon would the alarmists decide that since
the Encindi territory was gone, that meant they were already overrun with barbarians who would
eat their flesh and drink their blood while they still lived, rape their daughters, and enslave their
sons?

When the main course had been cleared from the tables and teams of musicians
wandered the feasting hall--careful to stay away from the holographic map--to entertain the
celebrants, Baedrix felt free to get up from the high table. He went to the table tucked into a
corner within reach of the high table, where Grego, his sweetheart, Brysta, and Karstis worked
with Graddon and Delori. "How goes it?" he asked Grego.

"I'm starting to think either Edrout went insane in the centuries of waiting, or the stories
made up about him in Moerta were too generous." Grego passed over one of the datapads for
him to read, then froze. They met each other's gazes and laughed. "Sorry, you're just picking up
everything so fast, I just assumed..."

"Thank you. I want to learn. There just isn't time yet. What does it say?" He passed the
datapad back to him.

"The casualties are about what we anticipated, percentage-wise. But the refugees are
only a fraction of what you and Emmi prepared for."

"So more Encindi died in the cataclysm when Edrout was hit with your power siphon.
More of the land was woven into his power than any of us thought."

"Wrong, lad," Graddon said. His eyes had gained shadows, and his rumbling voice had a
mournful quality that sent shivers up Baedrix's back and congealed in his guts. "The blood magic
at work was far more extensive than any of us anticipated. Some of those who survived the
cataclysm after the princess' battle with Edrout's ship did so because they were already fleeing
for their lives. He covered the land with blood, most literally, in his quest for control and
power."

"It's like the land itself imploded, in reaction," Delori added. "Utter revulsion." She
looked up at Graddon with big, sad eyes, and the seer let out a soft moan and wrapped his arm
around her shoulders, drawing her close against him.

Baedrix gathered more information from them and returned to the high table as the
sweet course was brought in. He settled into the chair next to Emrillian, and knew the moment
their gazes met that she had gained the same information from Grego. It both irked him that she
had that link with the Moertan, and made him grateful, because he didn't have to pass on the
statistics and theories. From the somber expressions on the faces of the others at the high table,
she had shared that information with the rest of them.

He wasn't sure what he should think about the relief that swept through him, cool and
energizing, every time he recalled that despite their closeness, Emrillian and Grego were not
sweethearts. He knew it was wrong to constantly compare her to his dead wife, but it happened
without conscious choice at the oddest times. Did Emrillian know how to dance? Did she like to
dance? Then it occurred to him that he had no idea if dancing was planned for this evening.

He immediately pushed that thought away. This was a feast to celebrate victory, but also
to rally the people in preparation for the next wave in their battle. The Moertan invaders were
still heading toward Lygroes' coast, and there was no guarantee that Edrout had been destroyed
in the last great battle of magics. Until they could be certain of the safety of their land, dancing
would have to wait.

Athrar stood up to speak after the sweet course. Baedrix couldn't remember eating
through the cloud of his speculations and grim thoughts, and imagining the desperation of the
innocents among the Encindi as they died in blood and fire. Silence rippled through the feasting
hall, indicating just how intently everyone had been watching the Warhawk during the entire
feast, no matter how lighthearted they appeared to be. Athrar said nothing, and just before the
silence was complete, the doors at the far end of the feasting hall opened. A small knot of people,
keeping close together, walked down the wide, clear aisle and through the holographic image.
They stared at it, muttering, but didn't flinch when they passed through the light. That was
Baedrix's clue to their identity, despite their festival clothes.

He recognized Dr. Reynod, who had come down the tunnel from Moerta with
Emrillian's household staff and the Archaics. The Moertan scientists were to have been released
from the sleeping spell and brought to Quenlaque, but Baedrix hadn't expected them to be
brought to the feast as guests. Then again, he reflected, they hadn't actually participated in the
feast.

"Director Kayn?" Dr. Reynod blurted, when he stepped out of the dark red line in the
holographic map that indicated the shattered edge of the Wayhauk Mountains. He rubbed his
eyes, his mouth dropped open for several moments, and he staggered the last few steps to the
high table. Kayn stood from his place between Ynfara and Mrillis, dressed in festival clothes,
and gestured for the rest of the scientists to come forward. "Sir, what is the meaning of all this?
Please tell me this is a very bad dream."

"This is no dream, Dr. Reynod, and we're going to need your help in picking up the
pieces of a Fedarstanian battleship that was destroyed with magic." Kayn glanced at Athrar, who
nodded gravely to him. "Magic powered by star-metal." His mouth twitched up as muttering
broke out among the scientists.

"Sir, we have a serious problem. Treachery on the highest order." He pointed at
Emrillian. "That girl is in possession of dangerous technology, and she attacked us with it."

"That girl is the heir of the ruler of this land where we are guests," Kayn snapped.
"While you've been sleeping, doctor, I have been building an alliance. You would do well to shut
your mouth, listen, and do what you're told. Am I clear?"

He waited until Reynod nodded jerkily and the other scientists made affirmative noises
and motions. "The situation is this: Athrar Warhawk isn't a legend or a fable. He is real. Magic is
real. We have the opportunity to put our country at the top of the list of Quenlaque's allies."

"You can't be serious!" Reynod squeaked.

"Deadly serious. Now shut up and listen, and if you're smart you'll take the chance
you're being offered. Sir?" He turned and bowed to Athrar.

Baedrix barely caught Kayn's wink as he sat down.

"Citizens of Goarlotte-Welcairn, I will not apologize for the lack of welcome and short
explanations you were given, but we are in a time of war," Athrar said. He leaned forward,
bracing his arms on the table.

Baedrix caught his breath at how easily his king captured the attention of the Moertans,
and held it.

"You were, to all intents and purposes, invaders, threatening the safety of our land. I
approve of my daughter's tactics. However, now you have a choice. You may stay here and study
star-metal, how Lygroes and Moerta may share in the power that comes from it. The Rey'kil,
who have been entrusted with the guardianship of all magic since the Estall brought us to this
world, have always believed that magic should be used for peaceful, beneficial, life-preserving
purposes.

"Our war has always been, at its heart, to keep magic from being used to harm, to
dominate, to kill, to enslave. To that end, we will not permit the energy from star-metal to be
used for destructive purposes. You will be permitted to use it for healing, for exploration, for
defense, but not to attack. That is my decision and that is the law, from this moment on.

"Here is your choice: If you wish, you will be permitted to return to Moerta, down the
tunnel that first brought you here to Lygroes, accompanied and guarded by Valors who will go to
keep out all invaders. Or, you can stay here and set up a... what is the word, Emmi?"

"A laboratory," Emrillian supplied. A tiny snort of muffled laughter escaped her when
Dr. Reynod flinched at the sound of her voice.

"You will be permitted to set up a laboratory, and you will be supplied star-metal to
study. You will work with Rey'kil enchanters and scholars, to learn all that we know of the
manipulation of the Threads. For peaceful, life-supporting purposes that benefit all."

Athrar looked into the faces of each scientist, one after the other. When he looked at the
last one, he stood up straight. "What do you say? Make your decision now."

* * * *

"We show at least four battles have ended," Grego said, as he came into the front room
of the royal family's quarters. He waved his datapad, as if that was explanation enough, and
stepped around the firepit to hand it to Athrar.

Baedrix, Graddon, Mrillis, and Karstis had joined Emrillian and her parents there after
the feast dispersed. Kayn was busy with both teams of Moertans, organizing who would stay and
who would go, what equipment would stay, and what equipment they needed to bring from
Moerta to set up the lab. Baedrix had volunteered to lead the small army of Valors and soldiers
who would guard the vulnerable entrance point into Lygroes. Athrar had thanked him and
refused, saying he had a much more important duty for Baedrix to fulfill.

Emrillian was pleased that Dr. Reynod had chosen to go back to Moerta. She was even
more pleased when he balked at the sight of her father drawing Braenlicach, to make each person
swear on the blade that they would not work against the good of Lygroes, whether they stayed or
departed. Obviously Dr. Reynod still believed she and her friends had committed treason, and
had intended to send authorities back down the tunnel to punish them. He couldn't do that after
Athrar wove a simple spell into the oath-taking that sealed their lips and blanked their minds
whenever they considered acting negatively against Lygroes.