The Encindi warriors fell back like frost before flames. The first wave of Noveni and Rey'kil warriors cleared the way. Le'esha, Breylon and Graddon followed, prepared to use all their available magic against killing, malevolent enemy power. One after another, the inner walls of the fortress breached and their gates collapsed.
Inside the fourth layer of walls, in the heart of the fortress, lay an arena littered with warrior bodies, lit green and red with flickering light formed from death energy. The dead and dying hadn't fallen from battle wounds, but from slashed throats and wrists. They lay so their blood flowed into trenches crisscrossing the arena, which drained into a moat that surrounded a dais in the center of the arena. A man-shaped figure in sodden, bloodstained robes stood before an altar, holding aloft a dagger that dripped blood. Every drop turned black as it fell on the altar, and smoked.
Le'esha called out to the Estall, entreating blessing and commanding the power entrusted to her. The blood that stank and steamed and writhed in the moat turned to dust, and evaporated.
A child screamed. Le'esha clutched at Breylon's arm when, for a moment, an image of Ceera rose from the altar. She whispered another word to banish the distracting image, and silently thought a prayer that Ceera was indeed still safe.
Bad enough the Nameless One knew about Mrillis, but now he knew about Ceera, too. Le'esha would not allow her children to remain in danger. It would end here and now.
Their enemy hauled a wriggling, dirty girl-child from a pit behind the altar. She was red-haired, perhaps five years old, crying and kicking at the robed figure holding her up in the air. He flung her down on the altar stone a heartbeat later, with enough force to knock her silent.
"No, Father!" a boy shrieked, and leaped out of the same pit. He was red-haired, and even from a distance, in the warped red and green light of poisoned magic, Le'esha recognized him from Mrillis' dream.
"His own children," Breylon whispered, and called down curses on the enchanter for violating the deepest laws.
Le'esha saw the enemy hesitate, just a heartbeat, before slapping the boy aside with the fist that held the knife. The boy fell, blood streaking his face. The enchanter paused half a breath, closed his eyes, tightened his grip on the knife and pressed the girl flat against the stone. He raised the knife. Through the hiss of magic, Le'esha heard the invocation he chanted as he prepared to slaughter his own child.
Le'esha grasped Breylon's hand and called up all her strength and her love for every child in the Stronghold, in Lygroes, in the World. She wove it into the Threads that hummed under her mental touch. Breylon gave her all his power and knowledge and braided that into her creation. They formed a lance of brilliant rainbow-hued power that hit the enchanter and flung him off his feet, across the arena, to hit the wall. He started to slide down.
Red light filled the air. The ground shook. The air stank of death and rot. Breylon cursed and leaped forward, yanking hard on all the Threads available to call up a net of magic.
Even as Le'esha's eyes adjusted to the blinding light, it began to fade. And she knew they were too late.
The Nameless One had vanished. Escaped. Aided by blood magic. Going where those who used clean magic and touched the Threads of life could not follow or trace him.
The only sound to break the shattering silence was the weeping of the children--the girl on the altar, the boy on the bloody ground, and an infant wailing, hidden in the pit.
* * * *
Le'esha brought the two girls to the Stronghold with her. They had Rey'kil blood, and after all they had seen of their father's evil, she knew they needed special care. She could not ask any family, even the most sensitive and talented among the Rey'kil, to see to the healing the girls would need. There was no telling what sort of evil the Nameless One had been hidden in their minds.
The safest place for the girls was in the Stronghold. Under Le'esha's care. No matter how strongly Rey'kil prized children, no matter how desperately many families wanted daughters, these girls would never be able to fit into a normal home.
Breylon took the boy to Wynystrys as his special charge. He and Le'esha decided to make use of the bond already forged between the Nameless One's son and Mrillis. Even knowing it was the wisest choice, Le'esha still hesitated to continue to expose Mrillis to possible danger and threat.
He showed more sensitivity, talent and wisdom than most boys his age, but would it be enough? Would he be a good influence, or would the enchanter's son be a bad influence? The two boys were of an age, both orphans. The boy would need Mrillis as his friend and to teach him the rules of the island. Both the Queen of Snows and the High Scholar hoped that need would tip the balance in their favor early on.
* * * *
"Never allow anyone to force you to do evil to prevent evil," Le'esha counseled Mrillis, before he set off for the island on a chill, rainy morning to resume his lessons and take up his new duty of friendship.
Despite her misgivings, she laughed softly when the boy gave her a confused look. Boys of nine years were unusually certain of right and wrong and of their own power to resist evil. He had recovered quickly from the fright of his dreams and the attacks from the Nameless One. His flight across Lygroes with Lyon had turned into an adventure and he had already forgotten the hardships. Ceera had welcomed him as a hero and the two had spent many hours whispering and going over maps, as if planning new adventures.
Le'esha suspected she sent Mrillis back to Wynystrys, and permitted him to spend more time there, just to keep him from leading Ceera into new adventures.
"Suppose an evil man captures Ceera?" she said, taking up that thought. She could still taste her fear when the Nameless One's illusion had hinted at threat to the little girl.
That got his attention. Ceera was one of the few reasons for not completely enjoying his longer stays on Wynystrys.
"Suppose this evil man says he will kill or torture Ceera, if you do not help him to do evil things to other people?"
"Kayla said she would pour ink all over my scroll if I didn't do her lessons for her. Lady Elayanora heard her say that, and scolded her. Kayla did it anyway. But I couldn't prove it," Mrillis added, his lower lip sticking out in a disgruntled pout. He was still a child, despite his adventures.
"Exactly. What is to stop evil men from carrying out their threats, even if you do what they ask? Remember how I warned you of choices? You are responsible for everything you do, whether good or evil. In the same way, evil men are responsible for what they do. If you resist their evil, and they kill innocent people, they will try to put the blame on you. They will say, 'If Mrillis had done as we asked, then this person would still be alive, or this village would not have burned to the ground.' But they were the ones who used the knife or put the torch to the houses. They chose to do what they did. You did not force them to do the things they threatened. Never let anyone put the blame on you for the evil they did. Do you understand?"
"I think so." Mrillis looked down at his new gloves, tugged his new cloak a little tighter around himself, and nudged his packed bags with the toe of his boot. "I heard you talking with your ladies last night." He offered a lopsided smile. "When I should have been asleep."
Le'esha pressed fingertips to her lips to stop her smile and nodded for him to continue.
"The enchanter's son." Mrillis raised his gaze to meet hers. "Endor. I heard them. They're afraid for me. They think this boy will be a bad influence on me. Why are they so afraid for me? I'm just a boy, but they think I'll do horrible things to hurt the whole World."
"Oh, my darling." Le'esha opened wide her arms and gathered the boy to sit with her on the edge of her wide, cushioned chair. She knew better than to urge him to sit on her lap, and contented herself with resting her chin on the top of his head. "You are destined to do great and mighty things. Wonderful, good, powerful things. But only if you hold to the pathway the Estall has set before you."
"They think I'll let this boy make me bad, and I'll hurt people?" Mrillis whispered, an
d clutched at her sleeves like he used to do when he was much smaller and had nightmares.
"You are like a mass of molten metal, waiting to be put on the forge by a great artisan. At this point in life, there are only possibilities ahead of you. You can be made into a sword, which can both protect and destroy. You can be made into a bowl to hold healing potions or poisons. Do you see? Power and potential are meaningless until they are put to some use. Always choose the path of light," she whispered, and pressed a kiss into his fine, dark curls.
* * * *
Endor and Mrillis acted like boys anywhere, sneaking away before their chores were finished, taking treats without asking the cooks and bakers, tearing their clothes in wild escapades so that the women who oversaw the boys in their long dormitory houses shook their heads and sighed. They climbed tall, swaying trees in heavy winds, and swam out farther than they were permitted, daring the swift currents that circled Wynystrys to carry them away into the dark, cold sea depths. Breylon watched Mrillis and Endor laugh and squabble and join forces against the bullies. He restrained himself when the uneven friendship between Nixtan and Mrillis shattered under the pressure of Endor's presence.
The High Scholar would have preferred that Nixtan be a good influence on Endor, and that his silent approval of the half-blood boy would help make the newcomer more acceptable to the students of Wynystrys. Breylon said prayers that as the boys grew older and learned to put aside childish squabbles, Nixtan and Mrillis would again be friends, and Endor would be included in that friendship. Still, such fractures in relationships were normal for boys as they struggled for their place in the unwritten ranking of boys everywhere. Breylon reported to Le'esha his certainty that she and Graddon and he had acted with wisdom. More than anything, boys with such strange and possible futures needed to be simply boys.
Mrillis spent the entire summer and fall on Wynystrys, instead of going home to the Stronghold every half-moon. When winter came, he was eager to return to Le'esha and his many adopted aunts and cousins. He and Endor made plans for the places they would explore in the Stronghold and the canyons that surrounded it, the secret passages he would share with his friend, the winter games and festivals they would enjoy--until Breylon told them that Endor could not go to the Stronghold.
"It's because I'm not pure Rey'kil," Endor said with a shrug and a tight laugh that might have fooled everyone but Mrillis.
"No, it's because you aren't husband or son or grandson to any of the women inside. No man gets inside unless he's invited or there's great need." Mrillis shivered, remembering the Encindi skeleton he had seen, crouched on the shore of the Lake of Ice, trapped in stone by his own hatred.
In his race across Lygroes to distract the Nameless One, he had seen the ravages of war. He had seen men die in skirmishes, had seen the results of Encindi attacks on villages; burned homes, dead bodies, mutilated cattle, crippled children. Men and women who lived, yet looked at the world with dead eyes. Seeing men die on the field of battle, with their fury and fear in their eyes was very different from watching men in the healing rooms die quietly, half-drugged. Or seeing the dead bodies waiting for the funeral pyre.
"What about you? Is your mother inside?" Endor walked away and stood at the doorway of the long, rush-thatched dormitory. The two boys were alone. Nearly two-thirds of the students on Wynystrys had already gone home for the winter, and more than half had left their dormitory. He pushed aside the triple layer of oxhide that served as a stiff doorflap and stared out at the icy rain.
"No. She died when I was born. She and my father were joined in their souls and when he died, she died."
Mrillis struggled to keep his voice even, as he had seen Breylon struggle for calm when dealing with arrogant Noveni noblemen who demanded knowledge, healing and magic that Wynystrys either would not or could not give them.
Instead of life becoming sweet and easy after the disappearance of the Nameless One, the destruction of his fortress on Flintan and the crushing of the Encindi invasion, the tensions spanning Lygroes had increased. It wasn't just because no one knew where the rebel Rey'kil enchanter had gone, or they had no clue when he would re-emerge to rebuild his army. Mrillis had overhead Breylon tell the other masters he feared there would soon be war between Rey'kil and Noveni. With the Encindi cowering on their disintegrating continent, offering no threat, there was no battle to ease frustrations and reduce the numbers of selfish, aggressive fools on both sides. Noveni had renewed the ages-old complaint that the Rey'kil could do something about the star-metal poisoning Moerta, but they refused. Mrillis didn't know much about the ancient scourge, but even he knew it couldn't be handled that simply.
"He died fighting my father." Endor turned from the door and fixed Mrillis with that piercing, too-old stare that sometimes made the other boy think someone else looked out through his friend's blue eyes. "Don't you hate me for that?"
"It happened when we were babies. Do you hate me because my father spied on yours?" Mrillis spoke with the same scorn he had heard some fighting masters on Wynystrys use when discussing whether it was wise to make the two boys companions.
"Don't be a stupid mudhead." The other boy snorted and spat for emphasis on the straw-covered floor. He grinned to take the scorn from his tone. "He would have killed my sisters, and then me, to stop the Warhawk's warriors. That just means the Warhawk is stronger and smarter and the one to ally with."
Mrillis shifted uneasily but said nothing. He believed the Warhawk had won because he fought on the side of right, on the side of life, because he served the Estall, and because the Nameless One relied on blood magic and death for his strength. Being stronger and smarter wasn't always the answer. He lacked the right words to convince his friend, so he kept silent.
Chapter Nine
Mrillis didn't go home to the Stronghold through the tunnel from Wynystrys. High Scholar Breylon announced that he had been asked to meet with the Warhawk in his winter quarters, in the center of Lygroes. He thought it would do Mrillis good to see something more of the land before spending the winter in the Stronghold. Mrillis was delighted, and relieved that most of the other boys had left Wynystrys already. Because of Endor's presence, he had come to the attention of older, stronger and larger boys and it wasn't always pleasant. Nixtan was no longer there, ready to step forward and use scorn or his fists to get the older, nasty boys to leave him alone. The privilege of riding with the High Scholar would only earn him more teasing and nasty tricks if those older boys heard about it.
Kathal and Tathal rode with Breylon and Mrillis. The boy bubbled with glee at riding in such favored company. It was hard to hide his excitement from Endor so he wouldn't hurt his friend's feelings.
His awe for Breylon combined with the thrill of this chance to learn from the High Scholar without other students interrupting or mocking him. Mrillis indulged in questions he hadn't dared ask during the lectures and lesson times, simply because the teachers wanted to touch on other topics. He usually saw more of the High Scholar when the man visited the Stronghold, because Breylon rarely had much time to spare for the younger students on Wynystrys. His time was devoured by queries from the Warhawk or lesser kings and chieftains among the Noveni and the Rey'kil elders.
Now, Mrillis had Breylon to himself and he felt as if his mind had sprouted the wings of an eagle, letting him soar anywhere and everywhere he chose. In later years, he sometimes writhed in embarrassment at the immaturity of his questions and curiosity, but he still laughed, remembering the eagerness. He laughed too, remembering how Breylon had seemed younger, how he laughed more in that trip than in all the previous years Mrillis had been going to Wynystrys for lessons.
"The Book of Stars and Beginnings," Mrillis said, when they stopped for lunch their first day on the road. "Where did it come from?"
The warrior brothers laughed. Breylon pretended to scowl at them, because Mrillis cringed, believing he had embarrassed himself in front of men he admired.
"Most boys don't think to ask that question unti
l they're five or six years older," Breylon explained after a moment. "Some say The Book of Stars and Beginnings existed before the Estall brought Noveni, Encindi and Rey'kil to the World. It was given into the care of the first Star Mother, to record all the history, the glories and failures, mercies and crimes of all three peoples. Though the book never grows larger, all memories are contained in it, with enough room for millennia to come."
"How is it recorded? The Star Mothers and Star Fathers don't actually write in it, do they?"
"They write in it with their souls, with their thoughts." Breylon tipped his head to one side and studied the boy, waiting while Mrillis rolled that idea around in his head for a while.
"It's like Lady Le'esha does with the mist when she has a Seeing," he murmured, thinking aloud. He watched Breylon carefully, trying to see in the man's reactions if he had come close to the truth.
"Something like." He nodded. "The Book of Stars and Beginnings is powerful and dangerous. It's said that some Star Mothers and Star Fathers weren't fully honest, when they went to ask questions of the book or to record history. They were punished, burned from inside, so bereft of their imbrose that they went mad. That is why we were worried when you rescued Ceera. We didn't want you to lose your imbrose before it had even awakened."
"And the prophecies about what I will--what I might do someday?" Mrillis blurted.
"Exactly. What we are, all our talents and strengths are gifts from the Estall. Treasures entrusted to us, to use wisely. It is a serious crime to waste what the Estall has given you to guard. If you should ever stand before the Book, you must always seek wisdom more than knowledge." He chuckled when the boy frowned. "Do you know the difference, lad?"
"I'm not sure."
"Knowledge is a sharp knife," Kathal said. "Wisdom is the proper training, so you can use it to shave without cutting yourself, and slit your enemy's throat before he cries warning."
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