The Silent Tempest (Book 2)

by Michael G. Manning

  ***

  It was morning, and he knew they had little time left. Their food had been brought an hour earlier, and he had been pleased to see that it was much better than the previous meal. Gwaeri was already making good on his promises.

  “Name the five groves,” he commanded.

  “Illeniel, Prathion, Centyr, Gaelyn, and Mordan,” she recited dutifully.

  “When facing their slaves, what special qualities do you expect from each?”

  She answered promptly, “Prathions can make themselves invisible, and they have a knack for illusions. Centyr mages can create spellbeasts to aid them during battle. Gaelyn mages can transform their bodies at will, and the Mordan are able to teleport to any location they can see or remember. Illeniel…” Haley frowned. “What can Illeniel mages do?”

  “There are none. The Illeniel Grove does not keep or breed slaves,” he told her.

  “But you’re an Illeniel,” she responded.

  “I’m from Colne, the same as you,” he reminded. “Their special abilities come from birth, not training. You and I have nothing of the She’Har in us. What is the weakness of the Prathion’s invisibility?”

  “To become completely invisible, even to magesight, they must forgo their own ability to see.”

  “How do you handle a Mordan mage?”

  “Trust my defense and strike when they strike. They cannot teleport while doing something else,” she said immediately. “I won’t have to fight a Mordan, will I? Since they are the ones who—own me?”

  “You may. The groves do trade slaves. Every grove has some fighters that come from other groves,” he explained. “When is a Gaelyn mage weakest?”

  “During a transformation their shield becomes weaker. Some of them cannot maintain a shield at all while transforming.”

  “When do you shield yourself?”

  “Always, even while sleeping…”

  “Except?”

  “…Except when in the presence of the She’Har. They consider a shield to be an act of hostility,” she replied promptly.

  He continued drilling her with both questions and exercises until it was close to noon. Lyralliantha would be back for him soon. Their time was nearly at an end. Haley was far from being ready for the arena, but Tyrion comforted himself with the fact that she was much better prepared for it than he had been.

  “You may have several days or even a week or two before they decide to blood you,” he informed her. “Make sure you practice every day.”

  “There’s nothing else to do here,” she replied somewhat bitterly.

  He could only agree with that, “The solitude will test your sanity.”

  “Is that what changed you?”

  Tyrion stared at her, unsure how to answer.

  Bolder than she had been in the past twenty-four hours, she elaborated on the question, “I can see Alan’s features in your face. He talked about you a lot. Helen did too, but you seem very different than the son they described.”

  “I am not the son they raised.” Daniel is dead, he told himself, uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was taking.

  Haley turned away, but her voice continued, “Listening to them while I was growing up, I often imagined you as an older brother. I knew you were my father, but they were my true parents. Hearing them talk, I couldn’t help but feel like we were siblings, except I never got to know you.”

  “You were lucky…” he replied hoarsely, “…on both counts.” The voice of the wind was whispering in his ear now, as it often seemed to do when his emotions grew stronger than he could bear. Beneath his feet the earth pounded like a distant drum.

  “I am lucky,” she said defiantly. “Despite everything else, they loved me, just like they loved you. Not everyone is given that much. Now that I have met you, I have one less regret.”

  “Here you will discover that no one even understands the word ‘love’,” he told her. “Don’t think about the past, or the pain will undermine your will to survive.”

  “I don’t intend to survive,” she said in a quiet voice.

  “What?”

  Calmly she turned and looked him fully in the face, “I have been taken from my family, terrified, and abused. Until you arrived, I had no hope at all. I appreciate what you’ve tried to do, but I can’t be like you. I can’t kill. I would rather die remembering the life I had, than live by becoming a beast.”

  Tyrion’s eyes turned hard, but he knew he had no more time. Beyond the walls of the hut he could sense Lyralliantha’s approach. She would be at the door in a few minutes. You stupid girl, he thought, but his mouth found a better response, “Keep your defense up. Don’t let them kill you easily. You’ll find your will to live before it’s over.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  He suppressed an urge to slap the impudent girl. Curbing the violent impulse only served to remind him further that he was no longer anything like the kind boy his parents had raised. He was a beast, just as Haley had implied. He survived, but violence had become ingrained at the center of his being. He stood without answering, his fist clenching. Despite his anger, he didn’t want her to die.

  A minute passed without a reply from him, so she asked another question, “What’s your reason for surviving? Why do you keep living like this?”

  Tyrion gave her a long stare before finally answering, “There is no reason to life.”

  She shook her head, “You have one, or you wouldn’t still be alive after all these years.”

  The door opened behind him, and Lyralliantha’s voice called to him, “Your time is done. We must leave.”

  He turned and moved toward the door, “Remember what I have shown you.” Beneath the surface he was seething with anger, but he had no answer for Haley’s question.

  “What is your purpose?” said Haley, repeating her question as he walked out. She wanted to follow him, a sudden desperate urge filling her as the door began to close between them. She saw his eyes watching her as the gap closed. Then he was gone.

  She was alone.

  Her calm vanished, and a wave of anguish and loss rolled over her. She was alone. Sitting down on the bed, she picked up the blanket he had left her and wrapped it around herself, balling the extra material up in front of her and hugging it closely.

  Haley fought against the urge to cry, but the tears came anyway. The walls closed in and the air in the room seemed to suffocate her.

  She was alone.

  Chapter 6

  Tyrion and Lyralliantha rode back atop a large dormon, but they didn’t attempt to talk. The wind made conversation difficult, and he was in no mood to talk anyway. The world seemed to crawl by slowly beneath them as they drew ever closer to home. Thillmarius hadn’t bothered to come for this trip, a fact that didn’t make much of an impression on Tyrion until they had reached the Illeniel Grove.

  “It seems Thillmarius wasn’t interested in seeing if I made any impression on her,” he noted as they descended the god-tree that the dormon had landed on.

  Lyralliantha paused, giving him an odd look.

  “What?”

  “We need to talk,” she answered.

  “So talk,” he suggested.

  “In private,” she added.

  Privacy was not something the She’Har valued, or even considered most of the time. Tyrion’s interest was piqued. “Your platform is closest.”

  “No, more private,” she replied. “Your house?”

  Now he was definitely curious. She was referring, in a roundabout way, to the fact that he was building his enchanted stone house partly for the purpose of preventing eavesdropping, magical or otherwise. She really wants to make sure we aren’t overheard. “One of the rooms is finished,” he stated simply.

  Half an hour later they stood within the front arch of his enchanted stone house. The outer walls were up, and the roof was in place, but there were no doors, and the interior was still unfinished. The building stood three stories in height, an oddity amid the massive trees at
the edge of the Illeniel Grove.

  “If you wanted it to be so tall, why not grow it?” she asked. “Stone is a crude medium for such a building.”

  “Stone endures,” was his only reply before stepping through the empty doorway and leading her up the first flight of stairs. He had built the master bedroom on the third floor, and so far it was the only one that had an actual working door. And the ability to shield us from any who might be curious about our conversation, he added mentally.

  Once they were inside the room and the door was closed he turned to face her squarely, “No one can hear us now.”

  Lyralliantha took a moment to test the enchantments herself, letting her magesight roam throughout the room, seeking any opening that might let a spy intrude upon them. Once again she marveled at her pet’s cleverness. While his new magic was not so fine grained as the spellweavings of the She’Har, it was no less effective, and she was continually surprised at its versatility.

  “Your people are in danger,” she said without preamble.

  Tyrion frowned, “What do you mean?”

  “News of the new baratti found by the Mordan has spread rapidly…” she explained.

  My daughter, he thought irritably, but he held his tongue. After fifteen years Lyralliantha had gotten better, she never referred to him as an ‘animal’, but she still used the term when she spoke of other humans.

  “… and they will send wardens to search for more of your offspring,” she finished.

  His heart jumped. Haley had been hard enough. What would I do if they had all of them? How could I watch them being forced to fight one another? A hard lump formed in his stomach. He should have thought of this already. Haley’s discovery would lead to a rush of wardens searching Colne, and probably Lincoln too, hoping to find another human with his wild talent. Every grove would want at least one—or more.

  How many children do I have? He had no idea.

  “I have to get there first,” he stated firmly.

  “Thillmarius has already sent a team to get there before the others. That is why he was too busy to come with me today,” she informed him.

  Tyrion clenched his fists, “How long ago, and how long before the others leave?”

  “I am not sure,” she admitted. “They probably left at dawn. The others will surely leave by dawn tomorrow.”

  “It will take them a lot longer, though,” he noted. “None are as close as the Prathion Grove, besides us.” The Illeniel Grove had the closest border to the stony foothills in which Colne was located, but the Prathion border met the edge of the Illeniel Grove not far from there.

  Lyralliantha shook her head, “They will use the dormon and fly them to the foothills and proceed on foot from there. The distance will not delay them much.”

  “Shit,” he said, growling in frustration. “Still, they can’t carry horses with them, can they?” None of the dormon he had seen thus far were large enough to carry livestock.

  “Some dormon are made large enough for such things, but I doubt they will bother,” she answered. “They aren’t worried about the speed of their return, for which horses would be useful, only the speed of their arrival. Once they capture a slave, the other teams will respect their claim.”

  “I have to go,” he said firmly. “I can’t let this happen.”

  “You cannot stop them, Tyrion,” she told him. Her features hinted at sadness, though it was well hidden by her near lack of expression.

  “Then help me!” he bit back, raising his voice. “Send wardens with me.” An idea struck him then, “Yes! Send wardens, help me capture them for the Illeniel Grove.” At least then they would all have the same owner. They wouldn’t be forced to fight each other.

  “We have no wardens, Tyrion. You know that. The Illeniel Grove doesn’t keep slaves. You are the only one.”

  She was right, of course. He wasn’t thinking clearly. “Then send me—alone. I can’t let them take my children.”

  “No.”

  His eyes narrowed, “Then remove my collar.”

  Her calm exterior began to crumble, and her eyes widened, “No, Tyrion. If I do that, you know what will happen. They will kill you. All the She’Har would set themselves against you, to kill, or even to capture you for their own.”

  “You swore you would,” he pressed. “If I asked, either that or…” He held up his arm, flattening his hand into a blade, reminding her of the other side of their bargain.

  “Maybe that would be better…” she said, a strange hesitancy in her voice.

  “They’re my family,” he said firmly.

  “They don’t even know you.”

  Tyrion was unmoved, his determination clear. “Makes no difference, they’re my family even if they hate me.”

  “You told me family was about love. You said I was your family.” Lyralliantha’s face was hidden by her hair now, her eyes cast down toward the floor.

  He reached out, lifting her chin with his hand, “You are. Love and hate are not so different; both require that you identify someone or something as a part of yourself.”

  The skin around her eyes crinkled as her face tensed, “Then it’s alright that I hate you now?”

  He kissed her briefly. “Of course.”

  They stood together silently for a moment before she broke the silence, “So those are my only options, your freedom or death together?”

  “Don’t neglect the first option, sending me on your behalf,” he reminded her.

  “You will set the Illeniel Grove against the others if you kill their agents,” she cautioned.

  He snorted, “I’m glad you have faith in my abilities.”

  “I know you,” she replied. “If you find they have already taken some of them, you must respect their claim.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Then you must make certain none of them return to inform the elders of your betrayal,” she added.

  “I hope it won’t come to that,” he told her.

  She clenched her jaw, resolving herself to the decision, “Go. You have three weeks. Do as you will.” Lyralliantha stepped back, leaving his path to the door unobstructed.

  He took several steps, then paused, “I’ll need a horse.”

  “You are my agent, take whatever you need.”

  ***

  An hour later he rode for Colne, pushing his mount as hard as he dared. There was little in the way of underbrush beneath the massive god-trees, but once he reached the border the terrain became more difficult. The giant trees gave way to smaller oak and elm. Bushes and rocks crowded beneath them, forcing his horse to slow and pick her way more carefully.

  The journey to Colne was just over six hours from the border of the Illeniel Grove. If the Prathion group had left at dawn, they would probably have arrived sometime after noon, perhaps a bit later since they had started from Ellentrea. Given those assumptions, the Prathion group would have had at least six hours to search before he got there.

  Tyrion glanced at the sun where it hung low in the sky. It would be dark when he reached the town. But there’s a good chance they haven’t taken anyone yet, he told himself. None of his other children had awakened to their power yet, at least not as of a week ago when the Mordan warden had found Haley. If there had been others, they would probably have been detected.

  Unless they were hiding their power like I did, he corrected mentally.

  Still, the chances were that none of the others would appear as anything special yet, unless one of them had awakened very recently. That gave him a distinct advantage. While he might not know how many children he had, he did know which women he had slept with. He could approach each directly, and if they had a child of the right age, he would know it was almost certainly his.

  And then you’ll have to take them.

  It wasn’t a pleasant thought. He had brought nothing but misery to the women he had known back then. Now he was returning to do even worse, stealing their children, but the alternative was unthinkable. The She’Har w
ould take them all, one by one, as they discovered their power. Slaves to various groves, his children would then be forced to murder one another in the arena.

  Unless some of them don’t inherit my curse.

  If that were the case, then he would be dooming some of them to miserable lives, trying to prevent a disaster that might never come to them. He turned those thoughts over and over in his mind as he rode, but he found no satisfying answer.

  Pragmatism dictated one response. He would take them all.

  He bypassed the first few widely scattered farms. None of the women he had been with lived in them. It wasn’t until he reached the Tolburn’s house that he stopped. Brenda Sayer had given birth to his first child, and she had married Seth’s father. It had been over a decade, but it was likely that she was still there, raising her daughter Brigid.

  My daughter, Kate’s half-sister, and Mr. Tolburn’s step-daughter… it’s a complicated world I’ve left behind. In his mind’s eye he remembered the one time he had met her, a strange dark haired girl full of energy and whimsy. She had played with his parent’s dog, Lacy, and afterward he had tried to teach her to play music on his cittern.

  It was the only remotely parental memory he had.

  As soon as the Tolburn house came into view he knew something was wrong. It was still beyond the range of his magesight, but he could see smoke rising from the main house, and it didn’t appear to be coming from the chimney.

  Tyrion felt a surge of anger, but he refused to give in to it. The horse felt his anxiousness and began to walk faster, but he reined her in, keeping the pace steady. Whatever had happened there was done. I may need her strength later, he thought, putting one hand on the mare’s neck to reassure her. Despite his forced calm, his mind’s eye envisioned them running down the men who had attacked the Tolburn home.

  “Not now, not yet,” he told himself.

  Twenty minutes later he was riding into the yard in front of Owen and Brenda Tolburn’s home. It was dark now, but his magesight had already located the one survivor. Owen sat in the front room of his home, cradling his wife’s dead body. The fire that had burned the front of the house had gone out already, leaving the front wall of the house scorched and still smoking. Either Owen had been lucky, or he had managed to put the flames out himself.