ZYGRADON

by Michelle L. Levigne

  That night, Mrillis dreamed of the red-haired boy he had seen. The boy didn't look horrified, only sad. He spoke, but Mrillis couldn't hear a word the other boy said. He thought of what Le'esha had told him, what his teachers had taught him about his duty to help and protect.

  Maybe he had been shown this boy because it would be his duty to find him and help him?

  If this boy lived with the Nameless One, he definitely needed helping.

  * * * *

  When Mrillis and the other boys gathered at the door of the tunnel to Wynystrys, to return to the island for lessons, Le'esha joined them. She wore a hooded cloak against the chill in the tunnel, and carried a basket filled with pottery jars that clinked softly among rags swaddling them against breakage. Mrillis caught a glimpse of the markings on the jars and knew she took healing salve and other potions to the island. Like the other boys, he was reluctant to ask why she was going to Wynystrys. They all just stood there in the antechamber, waiting while the door was unbarred and pulled open. Finally, Le'esha laughed, startling them all.

  "I'm not certain what you're afraid of," she said, and nodded thanks to the two sentinels who had unbound the sealing magic on the tunnel door. "Do you think the Stronghold will fall to rubble if I leave it for a day? Or are you afraid I'm going to oversee your lessons on the island, as well as here?"

  Mrillis held out his hand, offering silently to take the basket. He wasn't quite sure what he sensed, but he knew all would be well if Le'esha didn't let him carry the basket for her. The Queen of Snows smiled at him.

  "Thank you, my dear, but the walk is short, and you will have to hurry off to your lessons as soon as we arrive. I'm going to have a nice, long talk with Master Breylon and leave some salves for his healers, and then come home again. Nothing to worry about." She nodded toward the black, gaping mouth of the tunnel. "Percus, you can lead the way this time."

  The white-haired, gray-eyed boy jumped when she said his name, but he grinned and bowed with a flourish of his cape, and stepped into the darkness. Starting in the summer, Percus would be old enough to stay all spring and summer on the island. Mrillis envied him a little. Not enough to want to leave his home in the Stronghold for moons at a time, but enough to look forward to the time he would be old enough.

  Mrillis walked beside Le'esha, watching her, fearing some sign that she had come along with the boys to protect them. But the Queen of Snows chatted with the boys around her on the short walk and seemed unconcerned. Mrillis wished his imbrose was strong enough, sensitive enough, that he could feel if she tested the protective magic of the tunnel. He didn't have that strength of sensitivity yet, so all he could do was watch, and hope that if the Nameless One attacked them, he would be able to help Le'esha defend them.

  Chapter Seven

  The walk went twice as swiftly as usual, and Mrillis wondered if perhaps the magic had been augmented to compress time and distance even more. He checked the angle of the sun when they emerged from the cave on the shore facing Wynystrys. As far as he could tell, it was the same hour of the day they always emerged when the boys returned for their studies. He laughed at himself when he realized he was disappointed.

  Just as Le'esha had said, the moment the ferry reached Wynystrys, the boys had to dash to put away their belongings in their dormitory huts and hurry to their lessons. Mrillis looked back once and nearly ran into another boy when he thought he saw Graddon's bald head glinting in the sunshine, just before the seer stepped into Breylon's stone house.

  What would bring the recluse all the way from Whispering Vale in the south of Lygroes?

  Mrillis shivered in anticipation, and knew that Le'esha had come for a meeting with the seer and High Scholar Breylon. That was the sensible answer. If only there was a tunnel with a bubble in the rock where he could listen in to this meeting.

  * * * *

  Both Graddon and Breylon were silent after Le'esha had told them of Mrillis' nightmare and his sudden burst of imbrose that let him touch her mind. She showed them the images she had taken from Mrillis' memory.

  "The Child of Blood, you think?" Graddon murmured in his rumbling, rocky voice.

  "Son of the Nameless One, he would have to be," Breylon said, nodding. "If he grows up. If his father doesn't succeed in killing Mrillis."

  "That is a far distant future," Le'esha said, shaking her head. "We have all seen many prophecies proven...not false, but vague and misinterpreted. Mirroring is prevalent in our prophecies of late. Something that we thought fulfilled long ago is fulfilled for a second time, in a new and strange way. We are fallible mortals, my friends. If we can intervene, this nameless boy can be turned from the destiny his father has bred him for."

  "Intervene." Graddon nodded. "I have had a vision. Three drops of blood. A boy and his two sisters. Two different fulfillments. Definitely a mirrored prophecy. If the Nameless One has fathered a son and two daughters, then we must act before the vision becomes set in stone."

  "I agree." Breylon rested his chin in his hands, his elbows planted on his worktable. "There have been more attacks on boys heading home from Wynystrys. We must end this threat now. It is time to go to Flintan and beard the enemy in his den."

  "And rescue the boy," Le'esha said. "If we rescue our enemy's boy, we rescue our boy."

  "Children," Graddon said. "Three drops of blood, shed by one father. They shall shake the foundations of the World far more than the most deadly starshower has ever done."

  * * * *

  Ceera waited with news, the next time Mrillis went home to the Stronghold. Afron Warhawk had come to the Stronghold to meet with the Queen of Snows. Graddon of Whispering Vale and High Scholar Breylon of Wynystrys had been there, waiting for him. Ceera had gone to the bubble in the rock behind Le'esha's office and listened, but she was delayed and only heard the very end. What she heard was enough.

  "The Nameless One is preparing enough blood magic to drown the world, the Warhawk said," Ceera whispered, when the children retreated to the privacy of her bedroom. She wrapped her arms around herself and hunched her shoulders a little more. "What did he mean?"

  "He's getting ready for an attack, I suppose. And he wants to be strong enough to overcome us." Mrillis leaned back against the wall. "I think the Warhawk's spies have found out something, and he came here to see if our Lady understood what they learned. Did they say what they were going to do?"

  "They're riding to war. They're going to Flintan." She shivered. "What if the Nameless One kills her?"

  "I won't let him. I'll ride with her, and I promise I won't let anybody hurt our Lady."

  He bit his lip to keep from telling Ceera about the red-haired boy from his vision. This might be his only chance to find and help him. Mrillis had heard enough war stories; he understood that innocents were often killed during battles and sieges. Perhaps the Estall had shown him this boy as a command to help him. It would be dangerous, but it was the perfect opportunity to go to Flintan and find the boy from his dream.

  "They won't let you. They were talking about you, and they think the Nameless One is trying to control you." Ceera cocked her head to one side as a new thought visibly took her attention. "What if they're going to Flintan to fight for you?"

  "Don't be silly." He grinned, despite his fear for Le'esha's safety. "I'm nobody. Maybe the Nameless One is mean enough to want to hurt me for what my father did, but I'm not important enough for anyone to go to war."

  "They're worried about you. That's all I heard. They won't let you come along."

  "Then I won't tell them," he said with a shrug.

  The moment those words left his lips, Mrillis suspected he had spoken too quickly. Wanting to ride to war, to fight the Encindi, protect his beloved Queen of Snows and find the red-haired boy was one thing. Hiding among the warriors and arriving on the shores of Flintan undiscovered was something else altogether. How could he accomplish it?

  * * * *

  Mrillis chose hunting clothes that would help him blend in among the older boys who
rode with the war party to serve the Queen of Snows, her ladies and the warriors protecting them. He planned to stay with the horses and keep his head covered. He didn't delude himself that he could stay undiscovered for long.

  If his imbrose awoke fully, then Le'esha or someone almost as sensitive would feel his presence. If he had more terrifying nightmares, he could wake up the entire camp. To protect Le'esha, to calm Ceera's fears for their foster mother, and for the sake of his dreams and longing for adventure, he had to risk it. Taking a risk didn't mean he could act foolishly, however. He hoped to avoid the inevitable scolding by taking precautions. After all, he wasn't a little boy any longer.

  He went into the armory late at night, after everyone else had been outfitted and the party was to leave before dawn the next morning. Mrillis knew what his strengths were, and how to defend himself. The warriors of the Stronghold had given all the children lessons in self-defense, using knife, staff, bow and slingshot. When Mrillis and the other boys went to Wynystrys, they perfected their archery and learned more skill with the knife and staff. Of the weapons that remained, Mrillis chose three knives, a good bow and a triple helping of arrows. Then he stood staring at the swords that had been left in the racks, wishing he could carry one.

  The swords left behind needed repairs or had lost their balance or just weren't good to begin with. That didn't matter to a boy who had yet to earn the right to carry a sword. Mrillis knew better than to strap on a sword and take it on the journey to meet the Warhawk. He had been lectured by warriors, both in the Stronghold and Wynystrys, about the dangers to himself and to those around him if he tried to wield a weapon he hadn't trained with. Kathal and Tathal would swat him black and blue with the flat of the sword he borrowed, if they caught him. He didn't want to disappoint his teachers. Common sense said if he wore a sword, he would invite attack. Some arrogant fool among the Noveni soldiers would see a skinny boy with a sword almost too big for him and try to take it, either to test the skill of one so young or just to prove himself better than a Rey'kil.

  Knowing he couldn't take a sword with him didn't stop Mrillis from taking a short blade off the rack. Its edges were nicked and dulled with use, the leather binding on the pommel dry and cracked and packed with dirt, stiff with the sweat of years. Mrillis grinned as he held the sword out at arm's length. He turned the blade, trying to make the lantern light glint off the dulled metal. The light flashed into his eyes.

  He saw a blade, long and thin, double-edged, gleaming with a pale blue radiance. The sword lay in a bowl made of stars, which gleamed with the same blue light.

  Ceera appeared out of the utter blackness surrounding the bowl. She picked it up, and the blue radiance engulfed her.

  Mrillis opened his mouth to cry out in terror for her, but she only smiled and held out the bowl to him. The bowl and the sword grew larger until they filled his vision. Mrillis reached out. He took the sword. The radiance filled his eyes.

  A dark form stepped forward, emerging from the light rather than blocking it. A man held out his hand for the sword and went to one knee. Mrillis rested the blade of the sword on his bent arm, so the kneeling man could grasp the pommel.

  Brilliant white light shattered the blue radiance. Gasping, Mrillis dropped to his knees. The sword fell from his hand and clattered to the stone floor, worn smooth by generations of boots. He knelt until the cold seeped into his bones.

  Whenever he closed his eyes, he still saw the bowl and sword, and the man waiting to take the sword.

  Mrillis couldn't make out any features, other than that the man was tall and broad-shouldered like a warrior, and he had dark gold hair--Noveni, then, not Rey'kil.

  * * * *

  Ceera cried silently, tears dripping off her little nose as she helped Mrillis pack. She didn't want to be left behind, but Mrillis finally made her understand that a little girl of seven couldn't keep up with the warriors riding to war. He was grateful she didn't point out that a boy of nine wasn't much stronger or skilled in warfare, and might not be able to ride all day, either.

  They both knew someone had to ride with Le'esha and watch over her. Mrillis had been outside the Stronghold before. Ceera had yet to walk beyond the Lake of Ice or the homes of her little friends in the canyons surrounding the Stronghold.

  She promised she would tell no one that he had gone, and do her best to keep the ladies left behind from discovering what he had done until it was too late to bring him back.

  Mrillis slipped into Ceera's room in the dark hours before dawn and stood a moment, watching her in the faint glow of magic light Le'esha had woven into the curtains of her bed. He had realized in the sleepless watches of the night that he rode out to protect Ceera, too.

  Le'esha, Breylon and the Warhawk were right: the Nameless One had to be stopped, at long last.

  Sighing, Mrillis untied the leather wristguard he had fashioned the summer before, and tucked it into Ceera's curled fingers. Having something of his might comfort her.

  The other boys teased Mrillis for paying any attention at all to a little girl who wasn't his sister. He didn't care. Ceera was as much a part of his life as Le'esha. She would always be there. They would always be together.

  "This is the last time I'll do anything important without you," he promised on a whisper as he walked down the dark stairway to the stable cavern.

  Chapter Eight

  "How is he?" Graddon murmured as he joined Breylon and Le'esha by the fire, on the evening of their fifth day on the road to the coast.

  "Dirty and exhausted from riding all day, working past dark and getting up before dawn." Le'esha shook her head and smiled at her two companions. "He's having the adventure of his life."

  "Let's hope it's the first of many," Breylon growled.

  Le'esha sighed. The High Scholar didn't see the humor in the situation they faced. Mrillis had managed to infiltrate the ranks of the horse and errand boys without anyone questioning his presence. He had managed to stay hidden at the back of the procession for two whole days. She was proud of him for his skill, endurance and cleverness, even as she nearly wept in fear for him. Seeing the humor in what the boy had done was the only way to keep from giving in to anger and worry.

  "He's here for the enchanter's boy," Graddon said. "I've touched his dreams since we realized he was here. Every night, a red-haired boy wanders at the edges of his dreams. The black net is never there. I don't know if it means the Nameless One isn't trying to find and snare him--"

  "Or if he's using his boy to lure our boy in where he can pluck him like a ripe fig," Breylon said. "You agree with me now? The Nameless One has been weaving his magic to capture our boy and warp him. And destroy him if he can't do that."

  "Yes, we are agreed." Le'esha stared into the fire. "Ten more days until we reach the coast, and half a day of sailing to reach Flintan... and I can feel the poison of his blood magic. It makes the ground tremble and fills the air with scorching. It makes the very Threads buzz with discord. I had hoped Afron's spies were exaggerating, when they reported the rivers of blood being spilled in Flintan."

  "The Nameless One turned to blood magic in an attempt to control star-metal and protect the World, and look what evil he has fallen to," Graddon rumbled. He stared into the fire as if it held the answers to all the mysteries of life. "What is he trying to control now, with so much blood and death?"

  "Us. The future. The World." Breylon snorted. "Who can know, when a mind is so soaked with evil and death, so separated from the Threads, we can no longer find him?"

  * * * *

  The black net appeared that night in Mrillis' dreams. He felt it wrap around his throat, covering his eyes and blinding him. Gasping, blood thundering in his ears, he struggled to yank the burning, sticky, thorny cords from around his throat, but they wouldn't budge.

  "Cut it," a boy called from the mud-thick darkness behind him. "You can cut it."

  Somehow, Mrillis found his knife. It felt cold in his hand and heavy. The blade glimmered, catching a light
he couldn't see. It was the only light anywhere, perhaps the only light anymore. He raised his arm, pushing against air thicker than frozen honey, heavier than stones tied to his limbs and pulling him down to the bottom of the stormy Northern Sea.

  For every finger's length of progress as he struggled to raise his arm and put the knife to the cords at his neck, it grew a little easier. Mrillis gasped, unable to even cry out against the pain. It felt as if the cords had cut halfway through his throat.

  Finally, he had the knife to his neck. He turned the blade with numb fingers, pressed the tip against the bottom cord and tried to slide it up.

  His dream exploded into light and shouts and hands shaking him and other hands slapping him and heat that burst through the cold and scorched his skin.

  Mrillis opened his eyes to find two boys sitting on his chest and legs, another boy sitting on his left arm and a fourth boy stomping on his right hand, which still clutched the knife from his belt. He gasped. The air rushing into his lungs was sweet with wood smoke, the scent of horses, mud and sweat.

  Breylon and Lyon, the Warhawk's brother appeared among the crowd gathering around him. Mrillis went limp and fought not to cry. His first thought was that he had been discovered and would be sent home. His second was to wonder what he was doing so far from his bedroll with his knife in his hand, and why the older boys sat on him.

  * * * *

  "Blood magic," Afron Warhawk grunted, and scowled as he stared at Mrillis.

  Le'esha clenched her fists to fight the need to wrap her arms around the boy. She wanted to shake him until his eyes rattled. She fought to swallow the words that she feared would escape in a shriek, demanding to know why he had hidden his dreams from her for so long.

  It was part of the Nameless One's enchantment, she suspected, that Mrillis had been unable, not just unwilling, to tell them. And perhaps the boy, for all his brilliance, didn't quite understand the danger he had been in.

  She had needed to drain massive amounts of imbrose from the Threads to cleanse Mrillis from the taint of blood magic that clung to him. She had fought to help him remember the dream that had nearly destroyed him. She still found it hard to breathe when she thought of the near-disaster that struck at them tonight. She was thankful for the vigilant servant boys, who had awakened when Mrillis went sleepwalking, drew his knife and nearly slit his own throat.