by Sanan Kolva
“I… I’m no lady, sir,” she managed, tensed as if she would bolt at any moment.
“And I am no enemy to your lord,” Lyan said. “Nor to you.”
She swallowed hard and moved her head in a jerky nod.
“I need you to take a message to my men with all possible haste,” Cailean said, drawing her attention back. “If I succeed tonight, Ewart and the one he serves will be dead. I need my men to be ready to strike once the leaders have fallen. Tell them the signal will be my standard flying above the keep. Can you do this?”
She nodded. “Yes, my lord. Of course! I’ll go immediately. Please… be careful, Lord Cailean. We’ve been waiting… praying for your return.”
Cailean nodded. “Thank you. Ahebban watch over you.”
She curtseyed, and then quickly bundled clothing into a basket. Her eyes slid back to Lyan. He smiled gently at her, trying not to alarm her more. Cailean motioned to Lyan to follow him, and left by the door they’d entered. He pulled it closed behind them, and wiped his face free of the sweat born from the hot, damp washroom air.
“I hope she’s safe,” Lyan said quietly.
“She knows what she’s doing,” Cailean said. “Guards try not to annoy the washer women—they end up with holes in their clothes when they do. She’ll be fine. As long as she gets the message passed on, everything should be fine.”
Lyan wasn’t so easily convinced, but he couldn’t do anything to help a woman who nearly fainted at the sight of him. “Where should we wait for night? Not in here, if we can help it. Anyone would be able to smell us coming.”
“No, not here.” Cailean nodded to his men, and they roused from their brief rests. “But I know the ideal place. Almost no one goes there, and I doubt Ewart would change that, or even think about it.”
Aikan frowned thoughtfully. “My lord, do you mean your late mother’s suite?”
Cailean nodded. “Other than servants cleaning it once a week, the rooms are unused. It’s the best place I can think to rest until nightfall.”
“Less talking, more moving,” Kithr said. “Lead the way, Tathren.”
Cailean nodded. “Follow me.”
Chapter Eighteen
Blessed are they who stand
Fearing not the coming night
Blessed are they who stand
Bending not to Murdo’s blight
Lyan leaned against the stone wall, gazing out the window and running his fingers over the cool glass. Glass was rare in Eilidh Wood, and these small panes, fitted together in their frame, fascinated him. The crafter had colored some panes and used them to form patterns. Sunlight caught the colors as it flowed into the room, painting the floor and creeping up the wall as the day grew later.
The room smelled unused—dust in the air that regular cleaning couldn’t dispel. Lyan also caught lingering hints of a floral scent, the ghost of perfume worn by the woman who had once called these rooms her own.
Behind Lyan, Kithr dozed on one of the thick rugs. Any sudden movement would wake him—bow and arrow rested close at hand.
Lyan turned from the window and looked toward the door into the bedchamber. He didn’t hear any movement from there now, and resisted the urge to check on his Tathren friends like a mother hen on her chicks.
“You should rest, Lyan Stargazer,” Yion said quietly. Aside from Lyan, he was the only one uninjured and keeping watch. Praett scouted the rest of the keep and listened for any alarms at their escape.
Lyan shook his head, though he did sit in one of the high-backed chairs. “I don’t think I’d get much rest if I tried.”
“You worry,” Yion observed.
Lyan nodded and spoke quietly, as if the Tathrens might hear him from the other room. “I don’t think Dalrian will be fit for a battle tonight. He’s not bleeding to death, but he could barely walk here even with Shiolto’s help. The stairs nearly undid him. Shiolto’s in better condition than his brother, but even so… I don’t know if he would be better staying with Dalrian. Aikan… he’s hurting and he’s been beaten, but I know better than to think he would stay behind. He deserves to be there, and he’ll fight Ewart and Porephyn for as long as he’s able. Then, Cailean…” Lyan thought of the weariness he saw in Cailean, and the stiffness in his movements even with Equinox blocking his pain.
“You worry about entering this battle with only two of our warriors at full strength,” Yion finished. “And wisely so. But do not forget advantages we still hold. You carry your Spear without the restrictions that bind Lord Cailean, and Torqual is foolish to dismiss the threat of Equinox or your wit. And in addition to the Spear, you control the pooka. Torqual believes in the power and strength of a warrior—in spite of what he has seen, he would not think to warn his master that you are a danger.”
“Am I?” Lyan asked, feeling Torqual’s doubts held more truth than Yion credited them with.
“We are here thanks to your plan, Lyan,” Yion replied.
“You could have gotten out without any help from me, Yion. You demonstrated that earlier. How did you get into the other cell without being seen?”
“My former life demanded the ability to move unseen, to open that which is closed, and to kill without a sound,” Yion said. For the first time, his gaze moved to the window, avoiding Lyan’s eyes. One hand rose to rub at the faint indentation in his forehead.
“And you still have those skills,” Lyan finished.
“Not so honed as they were. Should I face others with the same training, they would be the faster, and I would not lay wagers on my victory. Especially if I faced more than one.”
That thought both startled and chilled Lyan. Someone faster, more skilled, more deadly than Yion? “Do you think that would happen?”
Yion turned his gaze back to Lyan. His voice remained even, but this time, Lyan doubted the calm front. “Any encounter would more likely be only chance, and if they were not seeking me, I would have the advantage.”
“Why did you leave, if you knew doing so would bring your own people hunting you?”
“Because a life of death is not a life, Lyan. I chose to spare a life that did not deserve to be taken, knowing that to do so forfeited my own in return. I fled from my land and saw the life I had spared to a place of safety. Then I prepared to face the hunters I knew would follow me.” Yion paused, gaze distant. Then he smiled. “Before they found me, one far greater did so. He asked me to follow in his path—a path different from the one I had walked before. He called me to serve him and learn a new life, and he removed me from that place and those who sought my death. In turn, I pledged myself to him.”
“And you became a mercenary?” Lyan asked.
“It is a simpler occupation to explain, and less presumptuous than describing oneself as a champion of a god,” Yion said mildly. “And before you ask, he still wishes not to be named.”
A champion. Not just a follower or a worshiper. A champion of… “He’s a Tathren god, isn’t he?” Lyan said suddenly.
Yion raised an eyebrow. “Why do you say that?”
“Because you’re here, helping Cailean. And because Kithr and other elves who do know Tathrens at a glance say something about you feels Tathren, even though you aren’t one. Not only that, it makes sense for a Tathren god to send someone to help protect the Tathren Spearbearer.”
Yion smiled. “My lord says you are more clever than you give yourself credit for, Lyan, and that I may tell you that you are correct. Perhaps this will also answer some of Kithr’s questions.”
From the rug where Kithr lay, Lyan heard a muttered insult. Lyan wasn’t surprised Kithr was awake and listening, any more than he was surprised Yion knew Kithr was doing so.
Lyan’s own anger surprised him. “So why doesn’t your god have you lead us, Yion? Why not grant you power to stop all that’s been going on here? Murdo isn’t even a real god, and he gives power to his followers! Why should we even have found Equinox? Everything that’s happened, why?”
Yion’s expression grew seri
ous. “Because the Spears are the weapons that can battle Murdo, and they are not limited by the same confines as mortals. Murdo uses his followers as tools, giving little regard to the ravages his power wreaks on those he grants it to. Though I tried, I was unable to reach Lord Cailean before the curse fell upon him. Had my god granted me power while I stood amid Ewart’s men, the followers of Murdo among them would have recognized the truth and cut me down. My skills are not those of one who leads. Others are far better suited to the task than I.”
Lyan remained unsatisfied. “Since Cailean’s keep fell, he’s been chased by Ewart’s men, had the pooka hunting him, and had a traitor in his midst. Your god couldn’t have given you the means to intervene?”
“I did not know for certain that a traitor remained in Lord Cailean’s company,” Yion said. “My god granted me minor talents: the ability to ward our camp against those who would enter with intent to harm, the ability to turn the pooka’s eyes away from us—as I was doing when we met you in Eilidh Wood—and the skill to identify the pooka’s influence on another. As for Ewart’s men, my own skills have been sufficient to deal with them.” Yion looked at Lyan. “My answer still fails to satisfy you. Perhaps it will suffice instead to say that yes, my god could have given me power enough to strike down Ewart’s men and the pooka and ease our path to the Shrine of Equinox, but doing so would have killed me as well. Murdo cares little what becomes of his followers, but my god would prefer his champions live long enough to see the battles for which he called them. Had he given me that power, Lyan, you would still face this battle with Ewart and Porephyn. Only you would face it without me.”
Lyan said nothing for a long minute.
Finally, he turned his gaze back to the window. “What about Porephyn? He uses Murdo’s power to cloud the sky, and to curse Cailean. It hasn’t killed him.”
“He built a shrine to Murdo, and spends sleepless nights within it, Lyan. I expect he spends the time in rituals and sacrifices to counter the cost of the magic. Do you not know that magic works by rules? Every power comes at a cost.”
Lyan remembered the first time he’d seen Nylas successfully make a plant bloom, and the evident strain his cousin had shown. He nodded slowly, but his gaze turned to Equinox.
If powers come at a cost, what price do the bearers of the Spears pay?
Equinox’s voice whispered softly in his mind, startling Lyan. “The price of our powers has already been paid. It was paid long ago by my brother and me.”
“Lyan?” Yion asked.
Lyan shook his head. “Equinox answered a question when I wasn’t anticipating an answer.” An answer that only raised more questions.
Yion nodded in understanding and leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes. Lyan returned to the window.
o0o
As evening neared, activity in the keep trailed away. Guards changed posts, a few servants finished final errands, but even watching from the window, Lyan sensed that everyone preferred to be safely in their quarters when darkness fell, if they could.
Lyan turned from the window. “It’s time, Kithr.”
Kithr nodded and sat up slowly.
Leaving him and Yion to prepare, Lyan walked into the bedchamber to wake his Tathren companions.
Two people could easily have slept on the bed, but only Cailean lay on it. Aikan dozed in a chair, while Dalrian lay on the divan and Shiolto sprawled in another chair. They all looked worn, exhausted. Lyan almost turned and walked back out. He made himself go over and shake Cailean’s shoulder.
“Cailean, it’s time.”
Cailean stirred with a tired sigh. “Already…?”
“I’m sorry,” Lyan apologized. “But it’s almost night.”
He roused Aikan next. The older man opened his eyes, glanced to Cailean, then glowered at Lyan.
“I thought I told you to wake me first, elf.”
“And Cailean told me to wake him first,” Lyan replied. “I had to pick one of you.”
Aikan scowled, but finally nodded. Lyan offered him a hand, which Aikan ignored.
Shiolto stirred before Lyan said anything to him, and peeled open his eyes. “Hey Lyan, how’s Dalrian?”
“Still asleep,” Lyan answered.
“Let him sleep some more,” Shiolto plead.
“We agreed Dalrian should stay here.” Cailean climbed to his feet. “If anything goes wrong tonight, he can make his way out to my men when he’s able.”
“Does Dalrian know this?” Lyan asked.
Shiolto nodded. “It wasn’t easy for him, but he agreed.”
Lyan looked again at Dalrian. The Tathren’s face was pale, and he slept despite the stirring around him.
Back in the sitting room, Praett had returned. “Are you prepared, master?”
Lyan snorted and gave the creature a dubious look. “Am I ever going to be?”
“Porephyn is preparing for something this evening, master. I overheard the guards discussing it. I would guess he intends to make use of the prisoners he thinks he has, probably intending to offer one or more to the Mad God.”
Lyan stiffened. “When?”
“Late in the night. He hasn’t sent anyone to the dungeon yet to check on the prisoners, and he didn’t call on me to attend him.”
Lyan nodded. “You said Ewart seems at his weakest at the end of the day. We can’t wait until they discover we’re not locked in cells.”
“Ewart is at his weakest, and the guards and their dogs are at their most alert,” Praett answered. “We will encounter patrols in the halls.”
The thought of dogs reminded Lyan of the hounds that accompanied the reapers, and he shivered. He looked to his companions. “Are you ready?”
“If we’re very lucky, we can get to the courtyard without raising an alarm,” Cailean said. “Dogs could be a bigger problem.”
“Kill Tathrens, kill dogs, kill the minions of Murdo, don’t get killed,” Kithr said. “Do we need more of a plan than that?”
“If and when we do, we’ll make it up as we go,” Lyan responded. He felt Aikan glowered at the reply. He also read the tension in Kithr, and the need to act rather than talk.
Shiolto cast a look back over his shoulder toward his sleeping brother, then nodded to Lyan.
We’re as ready as we can be.
Lyan opened the door cautiously and looked up and down the empty hall. He was tense, expecting a trap to spring closed around them at any moment. Lyan stepped to the side. Cailean took the lead, pale face grim and eyes hard, ready to fight whatever stood in their path. Aikan’s expression matched Cailean’s, and he gave a silent nod of acknowledgment to Lyan. Yion looked as he normally did, as if he dwelt in a private certainty of their success based on something known only to him. Shiolto fidgeted with the tassel on his mace handle. Kithr’s face, unsurprisingly, said he was ready to kill something.
Cailean walked with confidence. Lyan trusted the Tathren lord to know his way through the keep; Lyan himself had no idea where they were or where their destination lay. At the top of the stairs, Cailean slowed and listened.
“Two guards around the corner at the bottom,” he said softly.
“Allow me, Lord Cailean,” Yion offered.
Cailean nodded. Yion moved down the stairs with the silent grace of a serpent. Lyan listened; he didn’t hear any sounds to hint at violence or death. Yion returned as quietly as he’d left, and inclined his head.
“The path is clear.”
“I’d ask you how you do that, but I’m not sure I want the answer,” Cailean said.
“If you wish to ask, I respectfully suggest you do so later, Lord Cailean,” Yion said. “We first have a task to complete.”
“And yet he’ll tell you the short version of his life’s story…,” Kithr muttered in Elven in Lyan’s ear.
“We weren’t trying to sneak through this stone monstrosity at the time,” Lyan whispered back.
“Bah. Details,” Kithr scoffed.
A smile twitched the corners of Lyan’
s mouth as he shook his head. They moved down the stairs and rounded the corner. No guards remained. Casting a look around, Lyan noticed a closed door near them, and wondered if two bodies now lay on the other side. Torches lit the hall, reflecting off the pale stone walls.
Cailean looked forward. “I don’t know of any servants’ passages that will bring us close to the back courtyard. The best path is the direct route.”
“Are these halls kept lit all night?” Lyan asked, soto voce’.
“Doubtful,” Aikan told him. “The torches will either be allowed to burn out or be extinguished unless there’s good reason for keeping them lit.”
Shiolto looked at the torches uneasily. “These were recently replaced… they won’t burn out anytime soon.”
Cailean said nothing, but turned sharply to the right down another hall. He almost ran headlong into a patrolling guard. The men stared at each other for a frozen moment. The guard opened his mouth and grabbed for a weapon. Cailean slammed the hilt of his dagger into the guard’s face. The man reeled back. Blood gushed from his nose. Cailean’s other hand jabbed the throat and cut short the guard’s cry. As the guard staggered, Cailean stabbed him. The guard sank to the floor in a clatter of armor, skullcap spilling off to roll across the floor. Cailean panted for breath.
“Lord Cailean!” Aikan moved to his side. “Are you hurt?”
Cailean shook his head. “No. No, I’m all right. I was careless, didn’t even look first.”
Aikan scowled. “If he had been more alert, my lord…”
Cailean just shook his head, grabbed the dying guard’s arms, and dragged him toward a door. Aikan opened it, checked inside, and nodded. Yion drew a rag and wiped s blood streaks from the floor. Lyan tried to convince his racing heart to slow.
Cailean pulled the door shut. “I’m sorry. Kithr, would you scout ahead to the next intersection?”
Kithr answered with a single, sharp nod and moved ahead. Lyan almost followed, but stopped. He longed to be outside and out of these enclosing walls. That wish clawed at him until he struggled to think about anything else.
Kithr motioned them to follow. Lyan forced himself to focus. Tapestries hung on the walls, depicting scenes of men on horses chasing a deer, or fighting one another. In another, a man and a woman sat together, hands clasped, the woman looking up into the man’s face. The torches burned lower in this hall than in the last one. Lyan didn’t know if that meant it less-traveled at night than other passages.
