Age of Death

by Age of Death (retail) (epub)

  Beatrice nodded. “Very good, my dear, very good, indeed. Andvari—the greatest craftsman the world has ever known—made Lorillion from equal parts metal from Elan and the remains of one of Eton’s falling stars. This is the real sword of Mideon, and Rain will take it with him when he leaves.” Beatrice put it back and made the drawer disappear.

  “Aren’t you going to give it to him?” Moya asked.

  “Not yet.” She looked guilty. “My father doesn’t know I have it, so it’d be awkward if he spotted Rain wearing it.”

  “Won’t he be angry when he finds it gone?”

  Beatrice laughed. “He doesn’t use it. My father prefers his big ax. I took his sword centuries ago, and he still hasn’t noticed.” She looked toward the dwarf. “You can retrieve it before heading out. And when you return to Elan with it, everyone will know you are the rightful king.”

  “Won’t they just think he’s the rightful grave robber?” Moya asked. “Just because some folks said the tomb wasn’t opened, doesn’t mean there won’t be a lot who think they lied.”

  “Yes, but there was a famous prophecy from hundreds of years ago that told about a great hero, a legendary digger of the first order who would enter the underworld and retrieve the Sword of Mideon and return it to Elan. It was also predicted that the hero would marry the long-lost descendant of Mideon and restore the royal line of Belgreig kings.”

  “That’s a pretty specific prediction,” Moya said.

  “I know. I was the one who made it. I had it chiseled on the wall in Drumindor.”

  “You wrote it down?” Brin asked, shocked. “You understand writing? You can read?”

  Beatrice shook her head. “I ordered the court artists to create the story in an engraved mural. Rhunes aren’t the only race which has Keepers. This tale has been passed down for centuries. Many Belgriclungreians know it, and many wonder whether they are the worthy one. When Rain stands beneath the portrayal of the triumphant hero holding Lorillion aloft in Drumindor’s Great Hall, there will be no doubt. He will prove the truth of his words and mine.”

  “But even if they believe, there will be those who refuse to accept me based only on a sword and a prophecy.”

  Beatrice nodded. “Which is why you are not returning with Mideon’s socks. You will have to fight to unite the realm, but you do so knowing that you will succeed and become the First Lord of Drumindor. Then you marry Amica and have a child who will succeed you, and the blood of Mideon will be restored. This will usher in a Silver Age for the Belgriclungreian people. For the next one thousand eight hundred and sixty-nine years, the Lords of Drumindor will rule with dignity and honor, and your name will be remembered. And attached to it will be a signifier The Great. And you will be the only king in our history to hold that honor.”

  Rain thought about this, and in a most un-Rain-like manner, he looked worried, even a little scared. “Is this—is Amica—is she pretty?”

  “Truth be told, she’s an ugly little thing with a bad temper, but love is overrated.”

  If Brin were still alive, she would have been sleeping.

  The thought brushed against her with a sympathetic touch as she looked at the warmth of the fire and the soft cushions on the floor. After such a long trip, after running, after . . . everything, Brin would have curled up in blankets, hidden her face from the world, and let herself drift into the comforting refuge of sleep. Like the sun, the real stars, and a heartbeat, this simple comfort was gone. Brin missed being alive. For the first time since entering the pool, she wondered if she’d made the right choice.

  If I hadn’t come, would Tesh and I be alone in our tent, mourning the death of Padera and wondering what became of Moya and the others? Would I be just as miserable? Probably. But I’d have Tesh and could still find refuge and consolation in sleep.

  Beatrice had left to check on her father’s progress. That’s what she had said, but Brin felt the princess was granting them a respite. Even shades needed time to pause, to think, and gather themselves. They had been constantly moving ever since the night they spent in the Swamp, and Brin recalled that she hadn’t slept well.

  But now she found that having time to think wasn’t such a good idea. Sitting off by herself in a corner of the princess’s parlor, Brin realized that as exhausted as she was—as see-through thin as her soul felt—the constant movement had been a blessing. With no time to dwell, no opportunity to think, she’d been granted an unseen gift. Now that she was sitting in a warm, softly lit room, thinking was all she was able to do. And all she thought about was Tesh.

  “You okay?” Moya approached and sat beside her. In a strange way, she reminded Brin of Darby, the dog of her childhood. Whenever Brin had been sad, Darby would come over and curl up alongside her. The shepherd would lay his head on her ankle, and Brin would tell him everything. Getting it all out made the hurt easier to bear.

  “Not so good,” Brin admitted.

  Moya pulled her knees up and held Audrey across them like a bridge that ran too far. The longbow spread out on either side like wings.

  “Moya? How did it feel?” Brin asked. “When your leg was crushed and cut off, I mean. I know you weren’t in pain in Rel, but when you crossed over . . . was it . . . did it . . . was it bad?” Brin asked this with a pleading hope that somewhere in Moya’s response she could find solace that maybe Tesh wasn’t suffering.

  Moya let her head rock back and rest against the blond-paneled wall. The whole of the princess’s room was decorated in lacquered wood, the color of creamy butter, soft and simple. Not a princess’s parlor at all, not even a woman’s chamber; it was a child’s room. Brin wondered if it was always like this, or if Beatrice had changed it for them.

  Moya frowned. “I know what you want me to tell you, Brin. But I’m not sure which would be better, the truth or a lie. I’ll go with the truth because I know you are strong enough to take it. You may not feel like you are, but I know it to be true. Just as Rel has no feeling, I think that here in Nifrel everything is greater, more intense. Those cinnamon cakes were amazing. No food has ever tasted that good. Pain is the same way.”

  She looked at Brin with heartfelt openness. “But hey, it’s not all doom and gloom. My leg is fine now. Tesh will figure it out. He knows he can heal himself. And of course, we can’t die again, remember? He’ll be waiting for you when we come back through—”

  “I’m not continuing.” Brin decided as she said the words. “I’ve got to go look for him. Not on the way back, but now.”

  “You can’t, Brin. There’s a war outside. It’s still going on. You know that.”

  Although the deep pounding of the wall’s defenses was muffled and faint, Brin could still hear it. The explosions never paused.

  “When it stops, I’ll go out and look. They can’t fight forever.”

  Moya stared at her, shocked. “Brin, this is Nifrel. Of course they can, and probably will—and besides, we have to go to Alysin.”

  “How, Moya? How can I? I can’t leave him . . . he died for me, not once but twice. He went into the pool.” Brin took a bitter breath and put a hand to her lips to hide their quivering. “He said . . . he said he did it just to stop the pain, but I don’t think so. He was so bent on revenge, but he gave that up—he gave it up for me.”

  “So, Meeks was telling the truth?” Moya’s face hardened.

  Brin nodded.

  “How did you find out?”

  “Tesh told me. He admitted it when trying to stop me from going into the pool. Tesh killed them all—murdered the Galantians one by one out of revenge.” Her eyes lowered, and her voice grew quiet. “I think that’s why he wanted to go to the swamp—why he didn’t want me to come. I think if he’d had the chance, he would have tried to kill Tekchin.”

  Brin took her friend’s hands. “Please, Moya, don’t hate him. He had a reason. It wasn’t just any Fhrey that destroyed Dureya and Nadak. It was Nyphron and the Galantians. I know you love Tekchin, but he was part of that. Tesh saw them—all of them. The
y slaughtered the whole village, old men, women, and children. Tekchin has blood on his hands, too. They both do.”

  “Nyphron said he was the only one who refused to obey the fane’s order, that he and the Galantians were the only Instarya that didn’t slaughter Rhunes.”

  “There was no order, Moya,” Brin said. “Only Dureya and Nadak were ever attacked. They were sacrificed to convince the rest of us that we had to fight. The fane never wanted this war. Nyphron did.”

  “Are you saying Nyphron started the war?” Moya rocked where she sat.

  Brin looked into Moya’s eyes. “I . . . I think so, yes. He wants revenge against the fane, but his god prohibits Fhrey from killing Fhrey, so he made us do it. He put the blood on our hands so his could remain clean.”

  Moya stopped rocking and stared at Brin. “And Tesh knew this and didn’t tell anyone? He never told Persephone? If he had spoken up instead of seeking his personal revenge, she might have—” Moya shook her head. Her eyes roamed the room as her mind worked to absorb more than she likely wanted to know. “Oh, Brin . . . they married and had a child!”

  Brin closed her eyes, and tears ran down her cheeks. Moya was right. Since learning about what Tesh had done, she hadn’t had the time to consider the implications. Now that she saw it, the horror left her overwhelmed and lost.

  Brin felt arms pulling her close, reeling her back. “Shhh, shhh, Brin, it’s all right. It’s okay.” Moya’s hands stroked her hair as the two rocked together, the motion soothing away the impact. “Don’t . . . don’t do this to yourself. You couldn’t have known.”

  “My mother was right—the world is broken. It’s like an avalanche, and it gets bigger as each rock is set into motion. Lothian brutally murdered Nyphron’s father, so Nyphron warred against him. Before Tekchin met you, he thought Rhunes were the same as animals, so he thought nothing about following the orders of his friend. Tesh thought it was his responsibility to avenge his family, and now Persephone has had a child with a man that was responsible for thousands of her people’s deaths. Where does it all stop? If we manage to return to Persephone . . . do we tell her the truth? Or will that just make matters worse? Will it be another rock that sets a huge boulder rolling?”

  “It would put her in an impossible position,” Moya said, “She couldn’t ignore the transgressions, but Nyphron has proven he’s too dangerous to imprison or exile. So what can she do? Execute the father of her child? Would his absence ignite a power struggle between the clans? And how can we win this war without his military leadership? Oh, I don’t know what . . . ” Her voice trailed off as her own tears began to flow.

  They hugged and rocked, rocked and hugged. For how long, Brin didn’t know. When at last she could think again, she pushed back, wiped her eyes, and said, “I still love him, Moya. Mari forgive me, but I do. Despite what he did, I can’t help myself.”

  Moya sadly nodded. “I feel the same way about Tek.” She cupped Brin’s face and leaned in, until forehead touched forehead. “Tesh and Tekchin are clearly not the sharpest teeth in a hound’s mouth, but then neither are the women who love them.”

  Beatrice’s bed frame was made of stone shaped to look like a grand sled. Upon it were a comfortable mattress, half a dozen brightly colored pillows, two dolls, and a stuffed dragon. The bedspread was a quilt of bright yellow with a flock of bluebirds stitched in the upper right-hand corner and a mountaintop in the lower left.

  Why does she have a bed at all? Gifford thought. Do people in Nifrel sleep?

  When Brin had started crying and Moya went over to sit beside her, Gifford and Roan had silently urged the others into the bedroom to grant them privacy. Each remained awkwardly just inside the door. No one dared sit on the bed.

  Shelves decorated the walls and were filled with pretty ornaments—glass balls containing liquid and miniature scenes: a little mountain, a house, or dwarfs strolling through a forest. Gifford had picked one up, and artificial snow swirled, then settled. “Anyone else notice how . . . well, childish everything here is?” Gifford gestured at the bedchamber. “For a seer who commands the respect of so many important people in Mideon’s Hall, it just seems odd that her bedroom would be—”

  “A nursery?” Tressa suggested. She finally took a seat on the chest at the end of the bed, which had a pretty tasseled cushion.

  Roan likewise sat down, but on the floor. She put a lock of hair in her mouth and chewed.

  “A bit older than that, but it does seem girlish, doesn’t it?” Gifford said. “Maybe she died young.”

  “She did,” Rain told them. “The legend says she looked like a child when Mideon gave her hand in marriage. The war was going badly, and he needed an alliance. Many people believe he sold her for weapons.”

  “Couldn’t have been too young,” Tressa said. “She was old enough to have a daughter.”

  “Some would say that’s debatable,” Rain replied. “Seeing as how she died while giving birth.”

  “How long we gonna stay in here?” Tressa grumbled. “It’s a bit cramped for all of us. Rain doesn’t even have enough room to properly pace, and his step-step-turn thing is starting to grate on me.”

  Rain stopped walking and frowned. “Helps me think.”

  “Really? Well, it’s driving me insane.”

  Roan muttered, still chewing on her hair. “Moya is here.”

  The others looked around, puzzled. Moya was still with Brin. Gifford could hear them whispering and occasionally weeping.

  “She’s not, Roan. She’s in the other room.”

  “Yes—yes she is.” Roan shook her head slowly as her hand crept to her mouth. “Poor Brin.”

  Gifford looked at the others and wondered if anyone else understood. They didn’t. “What’s wrong, Roan?”

  “Moya and Tesh,” Roan said. “They followed us into Nifrel.”

  “But that’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

  She shook her head. “They didn’t have the key.”

  Understanding reached each face.

  “How did they do that?” Gifford asked.

  “Because they belong here,” Roan said. “Everyone rides the river to the Rel Gate. Those destined for Nifrel walk the White Brick Road to here, and they can pass through the door.”

  “The bad ones do,” Tressa said, sadly. “Moya I can understand, but I would have thought that Tesh—”

  “Nifrel isn’t for bad people,” Gifford recalled what Fenelyus had told them. “It isn’t punishment. It’s for ambitious, brave, and courageous people. Which is good because that means Tekchin will be able to cross over, too. He’ll be able to find us.”

  Roan nodded. “Yes, he will, and that’s good for now, and I’m happy for Moya. But eventually, when this is over and we really die—you know, come to Phyre forever—Brin’s place will be in Rel.”

  “But that’s good, too, right?” Gifford asked. “She’ll be with her family.”

  Roan looked at the door, toward the sound of crying. “But she won’t be with Tesh. You and I, Moya and Tekchin—we’ll be together for all of eternity, but Brin . . . she’ll never see him again.”

  The full weight of the revelation landed, and in turn, each looked at the door and the sound of the weeping women beyond.

  “Yeah, okay, that’s messed up,” Tressa said.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Sacrifices

  I had imagined that if Suri told the fane the secret before we reached her, there would be so many dragons in the sky over Rhulyn that they would blot out the sun. But I had not been in the smithy, so I did not understand. — The Book of Brin

  “It’s to be a lottery.” Imaly shouted the words. Such a thing wouldn’t have been necessary in the intimate chamber of the Airenthenon, but that hall couldn’t accommodate the gathered multitude. Instead, Imaly spoke from the Airenthenon’s steps, casting her words to the crowd that gathered below in Florella Plaza. Mawyndulë wasn’t sure if they could hear her. The silence that followed answered that question.

  Maw
yndulë stood on a step above the members of the Aquila, who were gathered on a lower landing. Vidar was there, but no junior councilor stood beside him. So few Miralyith remained in the city that none could be spared to take the position. The only available Miralyith was Mawyndulë, and Vidar refused to have him. The prince looked down at his ex-mentor’s gray head.

  Another political blunder, you fool. When this crisis is over, I’ll be certain to remind my father to replace you.

  “There will be exceptions.” Imaly plowed ahead through the drifts of morbid silence. “The prince will obviously be excluded, as well as the senior members of the Aquila.”

  This caused a low rumble, not words but gasps, groans, and whimpers that came from the juniors who hadn’t been in the meeting the day before. No one liked the decision, but none of them was willing to fight for their own survival. Mawyndulë was surprised. The Aquila was famous for its insolence toward fane edicts. That morning they were silent.

  Dire times. Dire measures.

  Those were the words his father had used when he personally explained to the senior members of the Aquila that sacrifices would need to be made. That was yesterday, but today, every citizen of Estramnadon had been invited, and the entire plaza was filled to capacity as the people came to discover their fate. The fane had learned how to make dragons, but there would be a price. For every creature created, a life would be taken—a Fhrey life. Everyone had come to learn who the first victim would be.

  “Likewise,” Imaly said, “the palace staff will not be included, nor will”—Imaly hesitated—“any member of the Miralyith.”

  The gathered crowd roared with outrage. Fists shook and feet stomped. Imaly made no attempt to rein them in. She simply waited. One word shouted from the back row pierced the din. It had come from a Gwydry. “Why?” he asked. “It’s not fair for the fane to exempt his own tribe.”

  “It’s because the Miralyith are indispensable in this war,” Vidar said with all the impunity of someone privileged with a double pardon. “Without them guarding the river, none of us would survive. And make no mistake, the Rhunes are salivating for our blood. They are savages, uncivilized barbarians who will defile our children and revel in our humiliation. And slowly, monstrously, they will butcher every last one of us. They will carve us like venison, cook us alive over bonfires, and toast their victory with goblets stolen from the fane’s table, filled with the blood of our sons and daughters. If you were freezing to death in a wooden home, would you begin by burning the walls or start with the furniture?”