The Rift War (7 page)

"Ready?" he said.

"I don't think I'll ever be totally ready, but... We have to do this." Grego gestured at the
bags he had dropped in front of a stall. "Where do I put them?"

* * * *

"Are you cold, Emrillian?" Mrillis' voice barely rose above the soft clop-clop of the
horses' hooves in the thick dust of the forest trail as they rode toward the magic-concealed tunnel
entrance.

"Excited, I think. And a little afraid." Emrillian suppressed a shiver and wrapped her
cloak tighter around herself.

"The unknown, even when we are prepared for it, is always frightening." Heavy cloth
rustled as he pulled up the embroidered hood of his cloak. He let go a sigh of weariness. "I shall
miss this place. Your years of growing have been ones of rest for me, despite all our hard
work."

He reached over and squeezed her hand. It helped chase away the chill that gathered in
her bones. She rested her hand on the hilt of her sword and ran her fingers over the engraving.
The Warhawk emblem gave her comfort. She concentrated on it, commanding the feel and
familiarity to give her strength for the days ahead.

"Grandfather, do you think I am ready?" she asked, and relaxed a little when her voice
didn't waver or break.

"You are a source of pride to me."

"That's not the same." She muffled a nervous giggle.

"For what you face...perhaps no one is truly ready. All you can do is prepare yourself as
best you can. Pray for strength and wisdom from the Estall. Give all your heart and mind and
strength to each task as it comes." He paused. When he spoke again, there was a soft sadness of
tender-painful memories to his voice. "That is what your father did."

"Is that it?" Grego asked, and raised his own torch.

"What do you see?" Mrillis asked.

"Light, but not light." He shook his head, his eyes flicking to the side once to meet
Emrillian's gaze. "Those are darker Threads, hiding the mouth of the tunnel?"

"Very good." Mrillis tipped his head back, looking up at the tangle of overgrown
vegetation that seemed to spill over the top of the heap of rock that held the entrance to the
tunnel. "It has been years since we have come into this part of our property. I was almost able to
forget the tunnel was here at all."

Emrillian could see the gaping maw of darkness because she had been woven into the
protective spell so it would open for her automatically. During the early years of her residence on
Moerta, there had always been a chance that the authorities would decide to investigate the old
man who appeared irregularly through the decades, especially when he suddenly settled in the
house with a child and a household of servants. If worse came to worst, they might try to take
Emrillian from him, since she had none of the documentation the modern people of Moerta
decided was necessary to civilized life. She had to be ready to flee into the tunnel at a moment's
notice. Searching through the protective Threads or trying to see through the disguising illusion
would waste precious time.

"Close your eyes and step sideways in your perceptions, to see past the illusion of the
Threads," Mrillis said.

"Oh, right, of course. Step sideways while I'm riding." Grego's voice sounded amused as
well as plaintive.

Mrillis shook his head at the foolery, but Emrillian thought she saw a pleased smile
inside the shadows of his deep hood. She nudged her horse to go a little faster. The faithful,
trained mount didn't even flick his ears when he stepped through the shield of Threads. The two
packhorses under her guidance passed through the shield and she stopped all three horses in the
wide, smooth-floored entryway of the tunnel. In moments, Mrillis and Grego had rejoined her.
She reached with her mind to brush against the star-metal embedded in the walls. Rippling waves
of faint, pale blue and lavender and pink light traveled down the tunnel ahead of them,
illuminating the way, showing how the tunnel immediately dipped down, reaching far below the
sea bed while they were still kilometers away from the water's edge.

"In the name of the Estall, for the people of Lygroes, in honor of all who have gone
before us," Mrillis said. "We go." He nudged his horse and moved out, taking the lead. Grego fell
in beside Emrillian right behind him, and the pack horses behind them. In moments the dark
swirling shield over the mouth of the tunnel vanished behind and above them, and their world
was limited to the globes of light formed by their torches, surrounded by a haze of darkness
edged in soft swirls of magic light.

* * * *

They rode for more than an hour, before Mrillis signaled a halt. Grego waited to see
what his two companions would do. His hand ached from cold, and his arm cramped from
holding up his torch. He wished the protective magic of the tunnel didn't block all technology, so
he could use a handlight, but he knew better. They were moving in the realm of magic now.
Theory was all well and good, and he hoped his lessons in using his
imbrose
, as well as
the long, pleasant hours discussing magic and how the Rey'kil had manipulated the Threads
would stand him in good stead--eventually. Right now, he would employ the wisdom his mother
had taught him on his first day of school: He had two eyes and two ears and only one mouth,
meaning the Estall intended wise men to listen and to watch twice as much as they spoke.

Silence filled the tunnel, except for the crackle of torches, the rattle of tack and the
rippling of cloth and skin when the horses shook their heads. Grego thought he heard movement
beyond the torchlight. A single rock rolled somewhere in the darkness ahead. What else did he
hear? Breathing? Claws scraping on stone? His imagination filled the blank spaces with clawed
feet, jagged teeth, and burning eyes staring out of the blackness. He wished he had a good, solid
energy blaster in his hand.

"Emrillian, Grego, now we will test how well the two of you work together against real
adversaries." Mrillis broke the silence. "Create the defensive globe, expanding it to touch floor
and ceiling."

"Grandfather?" She turned to him, eyes widening. Grego thought her skin could not go
any more pale, yet it did. "What is out there? This tunnel was empty when we came through
before. It has always been safe."

"Yes, but Edrout was able to attack you, straining the magic shields that separate this
world from Lygroes. It is only to be expected that he would set some sort of ambush, to go where
he could not."

"What kind of ambush?" Grego wished he had some weapon beyond his sword, knives,
and quiver full of arrows. He had practiced the defensive globe with Emrillian dozens of times,
but they had always used it to ward off fire Mrillis threw at them, or arrows and knives flung by
Liris. He wasn't quite sure how his diluted magical heritage would stand up against monsters sent
by a murdering enchanter.

"Nothing we cannot handle," Mrillis said. He reached across the gap between their
horses and clasped Emrillian's hand resting on the front of her saddle, where a hunting falcon or
hawk would sit. "You are the daughter of the Warhawk, and the blood of the strongest
enchanters of the Rey'kil flows in your veins," he went on in a commanding voice.

Grego thought if Mrillis talked to him that way, he would believe anything.

"It's always been a game until now." Emrillian's voice cracked.

"Never a game. Practice." Mrillis' voice dropped to a whisper. "This is your destiny. I
taught both of you to envision what you wished to do. Now use your will to make it reality."

"It's much easier when we're just talking theory and philosophy," she grumbled. She
turned in her saddle to face forward. For a long moment she sat still, eyes closed, hands gripping
the reins. Grego saw muscles and tendons flexing through her gloves.

He watched, stretching his physical senses for the first glimpse of magic at work. He
knew better than to turn sideways in his perceptions, to watch through the Threads. He didn't
want to interfere or take power she needed or distract her. His duty was to feed his power to her
and add the force of his will to reinforce what she did.

Emrillian sat perfectly still in her saddle. Then he caught an infinitesimal movement of
her forehead, a twitch of her lips as she frowned. Her eyes narrowed in concentration.

A blue spark appeared in the air over her horse's head. The animal twitched his ears,
flicking the tip of one through the light. It grew larger, brighter. Emrillian's frown changed to a
thin-lipped smile. She never blinked, eyes focused on the light to the exclusion of all else. She
nodded, and Grego imagined a cord the thickness of his index finger flung out through the chilly
tunnel air from his chest to hers. He caught his breath when a flash of warmth and a sensation of
breeze flowing through his chest indicated success. The light globe grew brighter, the blue more
intense, and it moved, floating in a straight, steady line, ahead into the tunnel. The blue deepened
to a vivid purple as it expanded, then shifted to a bloody, glaring red. It halted with top and
bottom curves touching the ceiling and floor.

A hoarse snarl erupted from a dark cave mouth revealed by the light. A flash of tooth
and claw and dull, black, craggy hide showed for a second. A serpentine shape tumbled into the
ball of light. It thrashed and spun and snarled more, furious. A second sinuous shape leaped out
of the cave to follow the first.

This time Grego identified it. Six-legged, triple rows of teeth, sulfurous red eyes, a spiny
crest of plates--the drakag was a creature of legend. Fossils verified they had existed outside the
storybooks, but no man alive had seen one in the flesh.

Grego wondered for the first time why anyone would choose such an ugly, deadly
monster as their crest and coat of arms. He watched the second beast tumble inside the ball of
light with the first, and nearly laughed when he realized he was too fascinated and repulsed to be
afraid. He completely trusted in Emrillian's control over the magic that defended them.

Angered cries turned to howls of pain. One dark shape inside the light slowed its
thrashing. The howls faded to a weak keening. Then both shapes lay still.

The silence startled Grego.

"Well done, my dear," Mrillis whispered.

With a flick of his wrist, the light vanished. The two drakags lay still, eyes wide open
and staring, mouths gaping in silent cries of agony. Grego shuddered and felt a momentary pity
for them. He shuddered harder when he got a better look at their multiple, razor-sharp claws and
knew what one good blow could do to his body.

"The light contained them," Mrillis said. "There was no danger. However, it would be
foolish to hope Edrout only has one enemy or pitfall waiting for us. For the next hundred meters
or so, it would be best if all were silent, to listen for danger." He gave them no chance to
respond, but turned his horse and headed into the darkness. His torch flared and wavered with the
sudden movement.

Emrillian gave Grego a tight smile and followed. Her mount and the packhorses shied
when they had to pass the drakags, but she kept control, and in a moment the trouble passed.
Grego took a deep breath and dug his heels into his mount's sides. He guided the animal, in as
wide an arch as he could manage, around the dead beasts. A faint odor of corruption already
hovered around the corpses. He looked once at them, little more than a quick glance. In their
struggles they had torn their hides, which legend reported as impervious as hammered and
tempered steel.

* * * *

"I've been thinking about Edrout." Grego kept his voice just above a whisper.

Emrillian wished he would either speak loudly enough that she didn't strain to hear, or
give in and speak through the Threads. She couldn't understand why he didn't like to use that
form of communication. He hadn't had headaches from doing it for years now.

"Does Edrout really believe he is Athrar's son," he continued, when she just nodded and
waited for him to continue, "and he was cast off and punished for the sins of his father?"

"He will likely use that tale to bolster his claim to the throne. Whether he believes it or
not, who knows?"

Emrillian was glad Grego accompanied them on this journey. Mrillis was too intent on
studying the tunnel ahead of them, too deeply immersed in the Threads as they crept closer to
Lygroes and the currents of time slowed around them. He wouldn't be good company, and she
needed someone to talk with, to pass the time and relieve the tension of wondering when the next
attack might come. Drakags were easy enough, after proving to herself she could do it the first
time. The stinging bats that had come at them an hour ago were only annoying, squeaking and
refusing to fly into the light globes she conjured to stun them.

She swallowed, testing the scratching in her throat. If this damp continued seeping
through her clothes, she supposed she would have a cold, or at least a dripping nose by the time
they emerged from the tunnel. She almost laughed aloud at the thought of a queen facing her
subjects for the first time, sniffing and sneezing.

She glanced at Mrillis, wondering if she could ask him to ward off any ill effects of their
journey. A second later, common sense told her he would refuse, on principle if nothing else. She
had magic in her blood, so she should use it on herself when necessary. She wiggled her fingers
inside her gloves, fighting the temptation to rub them against her thighs. They tingled with the
growing strength of magic in the very air, more solid with every league they rode down the
tunnel below the sea.

She had to behave sensibly, responsibly, now that magic permeated her flesh and filled
her lungs.
Imbrose
was a gift to help her people, not a toy for an immature, irresponsible
child. That kind of mind-set would turn her into a greater danger than Megassa and Edrout
combined. Still, Emrillian shivered in gleeful memory of the ease in shaping the light, changing
it from protection to destruction. As Mrillis had told her often, it was a matter of imaging what
she wanted, understanding it, and then reshaping energy so her will became reality.