There was a bright halo around the moon when he came up to the frozen lake. He dropped rope and a pack of food to the side of a tree and was thinking about starting a fire when he saw a shadow cross the snow close to the mountain. He held his breath, wondering if it was an intruder. He had not seen hoofprints at the trailhead. Who else would be up at this hour? Most of them slept until well into the morning; Sapphire, in particular, did not seem to like leaving her furs until there was sufficient daylight to warm the air. Kefier himself never noticed the change in the temperature—stinging cold was the same as slightly less stinging cold—but he supposed that despite what she said, all those debates tired her out.
The shadow disappeared. He followed the path where he last saw it. It followed the left side of the tomb, towards another wall of runes that the mages had been interested in yesterday. As soon as it came in sight, he stopped, vapour forming around his breath.
Enosh was standing there, a dagger in one hand. There were marks on the snow behind him. He was reading the wall and talking to himself, which was one of those things he never seemed to notice he did. It was irritating at times.
Kefier crouched against the wall, watching him. He didn’t know how long he stayed there, but his legs were protesting when Enosh finally made a movement. He stepped back, drew the dagger, and struck his arm. A spray of blood splashed on the writing on the snow. Enosh bent over then and touched the wall with his bleeding arm. It creaked.
The sound made Enosh glance up, but only for half a second. The wall dropped back, revealing a doorway. Enosh slipped through. Kefier held his breath for another moment before he went in after him.
The passages caught him off-guard. He had figured it to be a straight, if narrow, hall, carved deep into the granite, but he noticed several crooked turns and realized he was lost. He swore and backtracked. His heart pounded in his throat. The memory of being in the same situation from over thirteen years ago returned to him like a slap in the face. When he found the correct passage, and saw Enosh staring back at him with a box in his hands, he almost thought he had somehow made his way back to Gorent and that they were in the temple in Sagun.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asked, his voice echoing against the thick walls of the cavern.
“Always been a pain in my neck, haven’t you, Ke-if?”
He drew closer to him. It had been so many years, and he wasn’t afraid of his brother anymore. “If that’s what I think it is…”
“So what if it is?” Enosh asked. “Are you going to stop me?”
“You’re not working for Yn Garr anymore.”
“Is this what it comes down to? Yn Garr or Bannal, pick a side, see who wins?” He snorted. “Come, now, brother. You know me better than that.”
“Actually, I don’t. I don’t know you at all.” He straightened his neck and felt lines of tension run down his back. “I thought you were here to help Bannal out so that you could return with us back to Cael. Sume asked you.”
“I didn’t say I agreed. I said, I’ll see. Did she take that as a yes?”
“It sounds like you didn’t leave her much of a choice. She told you what’s at stake here.”
“The girl-child. Yes, I’m aware.” Enosh tapped the top of the box. “I was fond of Sume for a while there, but I don’t know the child. It is difficult to give all of this up for that.”
“That,” Kefier growled, “is your daughter.” The words burned in his throat, but it needed to be said.
Enosh was shuffling his feet, thinking of an answer, a way out. Damn him—couldn’t his brain ever stop working for once?
“I don’t know if I quite believe she is mine,” he said at last.
He clenched his fists. Thirteen years ago, he had thrown himself at him and they had fought. But they weren’t boys anymore; they were grown men, and the only thing left for Enosh’s words to do was remind him of a hole in his heart that had been made a long time ago.
“Her name is Kirosha, but we call her Rosha,” he said. “She has your eyes. Father’s nose. Sume’s jaw, thank Ab. A fire in her soul, but that’s all her. She loves books, and animals, and she’ll listen to stories for days on end.”
Kefier swallowed. “And she doesn’t need you to acknowledge her. She can live the rest of her life and never know you at all.” He fell silent. They stood there staring at each other for a breadth of time.
“Kirosha, you say,” Enosh murmured. “You named her after your sister?”
“Our sister, Enosh.”
They heard movement from the cavern entrance. Sapphire appeared before either of them could react. She turned to Enosh and at the box in his hands. “Good job,” she said, after a moment’s consideration.
Kefier opened his mouth, but no words came out. Enosh bowed. “All in a day’s work, my good Sapphire.”
“Is it safe to hold it like that?”
“I should think so. The seal is keeping it asleep, and quiet.” Enosh held out the box. “You can have it.”
Sapphire approached. Kefier expected Enosh to strike her at any moment, but he didn’t. He handed the box to her. She held it against her chest before placing it to the ground. “Perhaps it’s safer where you found it,” she said. “Bannal’s waiting outside.”
“Of course he is,” Enosh said, giving a thin-lipped smile. He looked at Kefier.
Disgusted with the whole thing, Kefier left them.
Sume saw Kefier returning alone from the path and strode up to meet him.
“We need to talk,” she said in a low voice.
He lifted his eyes to meet hers before following her to a ledge, sheltered by several stunted trees and overlooking the trails. Wind and snow brushed up against his hair. Her fingers ached to wipe them away, but she also didn’t know if she ever wanted to touch him again.
She found herself wishing, not for the first time since their argument, that she was in a position to forgive him. A careless word thrown her way, or a moment of temper, or even another woman…she could work her way around any of these things and then they could go back to whatever it was they were before all this. But she knew that train of thought led to nowhere. On principle, she wasn’t even supposed to be talking to him; if they were in the Jin-Sayeng of old, in the time of warring warlords and dragons, it would have been perfectly acceptable for her to stick a dagger into his chest to avenge her brother.
But they weren’t in Old Jin-Sayeng and she didn’t want to kill him, despite what he’d done. She drew a deep breath. But for what she was about to tell him, she might as well. “I’ve been thinking over the past few days, talking to Sapphire and watching what they’re doing. I think we should stay with them,” Sume said. “That creature needs to be destroyed, which is not what Yn Garr wants to happen.”
There was panic on Kefier’s face, at first, and then anger. “What about Rosha?”
“We’re not helping her by dragging Enosh back there. He could just as easily find the thing with the help of Bannal’s circle, and at least we know that they want it destroyed. Destroying it will help Rosha.”
“That’s right,” Kefier murmured. “You haven’t met Yn Garr. If he finds out we’re doing this…for Ab’s sake, Sume, do you know what you’re asking of me? You want us to abandon Rosha? Leave them to do what they want with her, while we go on our merry way with these bastards we don’t even care about? Unless…”
Sume struggled to contain her own anger. “Don’t even think about going down that road again. I’m sick of trying to deal with your jealousy. And don’t think it was easy for me to come to this conclusion. I’ve been thinking about this for days, Kefier, and it makes sense. It makes more sense than helping the man who wants this creature restored to the world. What do you think it will do to Rosha when it gets stronger?”
He swore, reached out, and smashed his fist into a tree beside him. She took a step towards him and he hit it a second time.
“Don’t ask me to do this,” he said. “I won’t leave her.”
“
We can’t drag Enosh against his will, either.”
“What makes you think you’re of any use to these merry band of do-gooders, anyway? You’ve got no skill in the agan. You can’t handle a sword, you’ve got no connection to royalty…”
“Except Rysaran,” she said.
He snorted. “A dead prince.”
“I don’t think he’s dead. If my hunch is correct, then I know where the creature is hiding, and if it’s there then Rysaran will be, too. And I can talk to him.”
“Talk,” he said. “That’s your big plan: talk to the guy. You’re her mother.”
“Kefier, as difficult as this is for me to say, you know that Yn Garr won’t hurt her. Jarche herself made this clear.”
“How long do you think that will last if we suddenly changed our minds and worked against him? He could hurt her in many other ways.”
“I don’t think Jarche will allow that to happen. Kefier, let’s work with facts instead of assumptions. We know that creature is out for her, and the best way for that to stop is to destroy it. Kefier, listen to me. Kefier...”
He walked away from her. She called for him, her voice lost to the wailing wind.
He was halfway across the lake when she saw the shadow in the sky. She hesitated for a second, thinking it was a trick in her vision, and then she screamed.
Enosh drew his sword as the men came up from behind the trees. They were not Dageians—far from it. As he tried to process this, he saw Yn Garr step out into the light.
He broke into a smile, even as his heart pounded in his chest.
“Master!” he called out, holding out his arms. “How unexpected of you. And yet what a joyous reunion this is—why, you look like you haven’t aged a day!”
“Be silent,” Yn Garr snarled.
“Why should I be? We don’t see each other for years—you’ve got to forgive me for being unable to contain my excitement. I’ve thought much of you in my years of solitude in Gaspar. You never came to visit.”
Yn Garr’s face remained calm. “You’re angry about that?”
“I was angry about a lot of things,” Enosh said. He grinned. “I’m not, anymore.” He lifted his sword and swung.
Yn Garr turned his body, moving fast for such a big man. He pinned Enosh’s arm with his own. Enosh reached out with his free hand, retrieving the dagger he hid in his sleeve, and stabbed Yn Garr’s shoulder.
“I’ve wanted to do that for a very long time,” he laughed.
Yn Garr roared, dropping him so he could pull the knife out and draw his own sword. Enosh rolled out of that first swing and slashed low. Yn Garr’s blade flashed over him, making a sound that bit through the cold air. He turned to meet Enosh, who kicked snow at him.
“You and your petty tricks!”
Enosh pulled back, trying to avoid the heavy blade. Yn Garr closed in on him. He swung again; Enosh rolled, and the great sword bit into a tree behind him. As Yn Garr struggled to loosen it, Enosh stabbed him a second time.
He kicked the tree, pulling the sword away. The new wound did not seem to bother him. “Did you really hate me so much?” he asked. “After all I did for you?”
“You’re one to tell me about gratitude,” Enosh murmured, stepping out of the way again. “You work to replace me, and then you frame me in Gaspar and send your new pet after me…”
“I tire of your mewling. If you will not return to me then you will have to be put down. Get him!” Yn Garr roared.
Three men moved towards Enosh, and no more. He smiled again, striking at the closest. Their swords clashed. He lifted one hand, hovering it above the man’s head. The man must have heard stories, because he drew back, eyes open in horror. He smiled wider and stabbed him in the heart while he was open.
The next man was not as intimidated, almost catching him off guard. Enosh barely managed to avoid the mace seeking to crush his head. He swore—since Gaspar, his reflexes had been unbelievably slow, and a nagging doubt began in the back of his mind. Should he withdraw before they catch on to his act? A mage pinned-down is still just a man, and not a strong one, at that.
Enosh smelled smoke, just as he was beginning to think how convenient it would be if he could actually throw fireballs like people thought he could. He remembered that there were others there with him who could do exactly that. He tripped his bewildered opponent, watching him fall onto his own mace in the snow. He pressed his knee into the man's back and stuck his sword up his spine.
Enosh whirled around to face the third man and realized he was gone.
Dragging his bloodied sword across the snow, he howled for Yn Garr.
He saw him standing near a bluff, facing Bannal. When did Bannal arrive? He heard swords clashing around him, and noticed Daro and Mahe back-to-back, cutting a line through Yn Garr’s mercenaries. Tachya stood a foot away, incinerating anyone who came close.
Enosh laughed. “It’s over, Yn Garr,” he said, approaching them. “Back off, Bannal. He’s mine.”
“Is he?” Bannal flicked his sword. “I’m afraid you’ll just embarrass yourself. There must be a reason why he got tired of you.”
“Good thing I don’t work for you,” he spat.
“As interesting as this all sounds,” Yn Garr broke in, “I’m not in the mood to banter. Believe it or not, Enosh, you’re not the reason I’m here.”
Enosh felt something prickle in the back of his head. He snorted. “I’m not sure I follow you, old man. Bannal and I came here for the view. You can see over the cliffs past the mountain. It’s amazing.”
“Indeed. That’s the way we came from, on Aina’s Breath. The Boarshind can be incredibly resourceful if you give them a chance.”
Enosh licked his lips. Something was wrong. Yn Garr was making small talk and wasn’t moving. A bleeding man, facing two others who wanted more of his blood, had no business looking so calm. Something clicked in his head. He knows Farg's creature is here. More than that—someone else was going to fetch it for him.
He took a step back. Yn Garr continued watching him with the expression of an amused wolf. Enosh licked his lips again. Should he run back to the caverns? If he bared his back, who would strike him first?
All three stood there, the snow swirling around them.
Interlude
Enosh closes the door before Sapphire could pass.
She thinks he was meaning to lock her up in the passageway, but then she hears him talking to someone and realizes that the inevitable has happened. Yn Garr has caught up with them. But how could he have known where they were?
She traces her way back to the room and to the box sitting in the middle. She touches the surrounding runes—simple spells to dissuade a common thief—and picks it up. It strains her arms, but now is not the time to worry about such trivialities.
She steps back out into the passageways. Given the network of tunnels, she is almost sure that there is another way out. Enosh wouldn’t have so confidently closed the door otherwise. That, or he doesn’t care about her running out of air or getting trapped in those caverns forever, but she likes to think, despite everything, that she still knows how to trust people.
She takes her time, tracing her fingers along the walls as she walks. The box she holds snug in one arm, a blanket draped over it. How can a mere thing contain such power? She can sense the thing inside, churning. Enosh was wrong about it being asleep. It is waiting. It knows.
She tries to put it all in the back of her mind, even as it weighs down on her. She repeats a mantra in her head to calm her down, traces runes on her lap with her free hand to occupy the space between in her thoughts. Every time the creature presses down, she deflects it.
It becomes easier when she smells fresh air, mixing in with the dampness. She follows it and finds another door. It is made to be opened from the inside and the spell allows her without a problem. She crawls through the crack and into the snow.
“I’ll be taking that, thank you,” she hears. A cocky voice, still half-breaking from youth. She tr
ies her hardest not to roll her eyes.
“Arn,” she says.
The young man drops from his griffon, smiling at her. The griffon lunges. She throws her hand out, summoning a barrier. She directs it to her arm, bracing herself as the griffon's beak closes around and clamps down. It draws back just as quickly. She pulls out her other hand, summoning a fire spell and stamping it into the griffon’s bare shoulder.
It shrieks and takes flight. Arn rushes her, swinging his sword. She dodges and wrenches her dagger free from the sheath on her leg. She is not trained in sword fighting and knows she cannot face him directly, but she is not frightened. The haphazard way he is swinging his own blade tells her he is not trained, either.
A boy, too big for his breeches. She is sorry his father had died in that fire, but how was she to know Vilum would trip that lamp, or that Yn Garr's house was not as empty as they had thought? There is nothing she can do about it now; she has long stopped letting such things bother her.
She throws a ball of fire. The boy, half-trained in the agan also, deflects it, but not well. He screams. She grabs his arm from behind, pulls him to the ground. She holds her dagger up.
A dark shadow crosses them. A wing knocks her to the side. The griffon grabs the boy in its talons before rising in the air.
“Let me go, Faran!” Arn screams, but the griffon doesn’t listen.
Sapphire watches them grow smaller, the boy dangling from the griffon like a dead rabbit, before she gets up to retrieve the box where she dropped it.
She wipes the snow that has gathered over it. Takes a step forward. Realizes she has dropped it again. Confused, she looks down, and sees a drop of blood on her tunic. More, on the ground.
She feels a pressure in the back of her shoulders as the knife is pulled from her side, leaving the gaping hole in her abdomen. She feels herself being set aside, almost gently. Sees the dark man bending over the box and wrapping it with a piece of cloth.
An Elegy of Heroes Page 77
