by M. S. Brook
“That’s hardly fair, My Lord,” Uncle Leo said in my defense. “She was sleeping in her own cottage!”
“Ah, but someone has noticed her. I’ll wager one of the Blackcoats you encountered on patrol has reported to Saduk. I spoke with young Arvel, and he thinks it very possible that she was spotted. A Northlander at Highfield—that makes you a target.” The chief regent waved at the chairs around the table. “I suppose you’ve remembered something about the attack that you want to tell me?”
Uncle Leo closed the heavy oak door behind us, and we took our seats. “Not precisely. But there’s something you should know, and it must not to go outside of this room.”
Lord Kempton propped his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “What do you have?”
“A bit of ancient history first. You know me as a kingsman, but there’s more to it.” Uncle Leo reached into a pocket and pulled out a golden signet ring engraved with the image of a key. “I am a Warder of the Key of Ashling. I was King Aidan’s advisor and champion, with him until he fled Ashling Keep some fifteen years ago.”
Lord Kempton took the key and examined it. “Not many of these around.” He stared at Uncle Leo for a long moment. “Do you have proof other than the ring? I don’t wish to doubt the word of an old friend, but this would be easier to believe if you had told me when you first came to Highfield.”
“I will show you further proof presently, but I think you will see that I had good reason to lie low. You are aware that Queen Riana had a child eighteen years ago and that she died when the child was two. What you don’t know is that the heir was given into my hands for safekeeping.”
Lord Kempton flew out of his chair. “Then the rumors of a son are true. There really is an heir?”
“There is an heir, yes. You see, when the queen was taken by the fever, Saduk was already pressing us hard. King Aidan had me spread it abroad that the heir was also dead. Saduk backed off for a season, but he returned the next summer with reinforcements. The king asked me to find a safe home for the child until he could drive Saduk out and reclaim the Northlands. Regrettably, that never happened.”
I looked at Lord Kempton out of the corner of my eye. He was leaning over the back of his chair, hanging on to every word. “This could change everything,” he almost whispered. “He would be eighteen years now, old enough to restore the royal line and turn back Saduk from our borders. If I know anything about the king, his heir would be raised as a warrior. This is just what we need. A strong, young scion whom men will not hesitate to follow.” He paused, looking into the air as if he were already planning what the heir would do. “So where have you hidden him?”
“In plain sight, my lord—she is right in front of you!”
Lord Kempton froze, staring at me, his transparent skin flushing red all the way up to his hairline. “Are you telling me the heir is a girl?”
“She is—as you’ve observed all along the way.”
Uncle Leo’s dry wit was lost on Lord Kempton. “But…the prophecies, they all speak of the scion reuniting the realm…”
“Yes, they do.”
“Come, be serious, Lionel! How can a woman reunite the realm?”
“How can anyone unite the realm? And where is it written that the scion must be a man?”
Lord Kempton slumped back into his chair, face in his hands. I had to feel a little sorry for him. We’d just crushed his every long-held expectation regarding the king’s heir. It was a lot to swallow in one go, and yet I felt my temper stirring at the way he spoke about me; as if the king’s heir were a game piece to be played for the regents’ purposes.
“Take your time,” Uncle Leo said. “I know this isn’t what you thought.”
I studied the wooden box on the table in front of me, tracing my finger over the familiar seal of Enfys carved on the lid. Part of me longed to be just plain Aidriana again, to be free of the expectations of others. But the chick couldn’t go back into the egg. The more I acknowledged my identity, the more I tied myself to my future. Again the thought came to me: There could be no halfway response to my destiny. I must engage every bit of strength and courage and wit that I possessed.
Lord Kempton roused himself. He rubbed his eyes with his fingertips and sat up straight in his seat. “So, what is this proof that you mentioned?”
Uncle Leo nodded to me. I turned the key and unlocked the box, reaching across the table to hand it to Lord Kempton. His eyes flickered to me and then to the box. He took it from me, examining the carved decorations, running his hand over the polished surface. He lifted the lid and found the letter lying on top. It still held the imprint of the royal seal pressed in red wax. He fingered the seal and then opened the letter, reading it from start to finish without comment. Still silent, he lifted out the portrait, looking back and forth between the painted images and my face, comparing the likeness.
“I never had the privilege of meeting King Aidan or Queen Riana,” he said at length, his voice hoarse. “My father moved here before any of us were born. But the king has the look of his older brother, Prince Alestar, whom I knew well—and so does his daughter.” He cleared his throat. “I’m surprised I never saw it before. The resemblance is strong.” He arranged the objects back on their silken bed and closed the lid. “I owe you an apology, Princess Aidriana. I have misjudged you. It is clear that King Aiden has chosen you to be his heir.”
Before I could stop him, he knelt on the carpet. I could hardly think how to respond except that I was obliged to treat him with the same honor he showed me. I stood and reached out my hand. “Arise, Lord Kempton. Please do me the honor of taking your seat again.”
He bowed his head. “My liege.”
When we’d taken our seats, I said, “Lord Kempton, this revelation will change nothing for now. The council of regents will carry on as before. We do not intend for my identity to be known at present.”
He gave me a perplexed look. “I do not wish to differ with you, Princess Aidriana, but you are the heir. We have not had a scion of the House of Enfys in residence since Prince Alestar was killed. I beg your pardon, but do you not see that everything changes?”
Uncle Leo sighed. “We would like to keep her identity hidden for now. The attack reveals that Domaine has suspicions, at the least, but we don’t know what they know for certain. There will be a time to reveal her identity, but I don’t believe it is now. So we ask that you not use her title or address her in a way that might attract attention.”
“Whatever you require, I will do. We Kemptons are proud of our service to the House of Enfys. If discretion is what you need, no word of this shall pass my lips. Only allow me the honor of serving my king—and his heir.” Lord Kempton spoke with careful formality, his face wearing an almost chagrined look. The balance of power had shifted, and now was the time to strike. I matched his formal address.
“Then let you make me a Guardian regular!”
Uncle Leo raised his eyebrows, and poor Lord Kempton was thrown yet again. He appealed with a desperate look to Uncle Leo, who answered him with a shrug and raised hands.
“Lord Kempton,” I said, “did you not just say that we need a strong scion to lead the people? If my people require a warrior to lead them, then I must be a warrior.”
“But you are the heir. Now that I’ve found you, I cannot put you in danger!”
“If I were a man, you would not say that.”
“But you are not a man—”
“I am not—but I am the heir.”
Lord Kempton was silent for a bit. He looked at Uncle Leo. “Lionel, you are a clever old fox! I see now why you spent all those years training the princess.”
“I merely gave her the opportunity to become what she desires. All else is her heritage.”
Lord Kempton bowed. “Very well, Princess. I yield. King Aidan has chosen you as his heir, and I will trust his wisdom and judgment. It will be
my great honor to appoint you a Royal Guardian.” The crafty look came back into his eyes. “But I have two conditions, if I may.”
I nodded, and he said, “One, Arvel remains your champion, and two, I am allowed to select the men who ride in your company. They will be the strongest and bravest of the Eagles.”
I smiled. “I could hardly argue with such conditions.”
“Very well. I believe this is a good time to do it. The talk in the garrison is all of Miss Aidriana and her courageous fight with the Blackcoats. Even those who have grumbled about a woman wearing the Red and Blues are all admiration. We will proceed at once.”
“Meanwhile,” Uncle Leo said, “not a word of this to anyone, not even to your family or the council.”
Lord Kempton bowed again. “I swear it! And may the Songmaker protect this daughter of Enfys as she goes to battle!”
Chapter 22
In spite of Lord Kempton’s worries, I remained unharmed through the autumn and into the cold winter months. Our patrol, selected by Lord Kempton, was led by Captain Longmeadow, an experienced, respected officer with steel-gray hair and sober eyes. The other officers were known to me. Azar was the first sergeant, and Torin was the second. Red-haired Brady, Rowland’s friend in warfare training, was also in our band. I couldn’t help wondering if Brady remembered mocking me for wanting to be a warrior several years ago.
We saw fewer raids in the winter. The Blackcoats weren’t looking for a fight, just some easy plunder now and again. They would come across the border and steal from farms and small villages until we picked up their trail. Then they would disappear into the deep woods, or if they couldn’t shake us, they would dodge back across the border only to emerge at another point and start the game over. But it wasn’t a game for us—not for those brave Canwyrs whose homes and lives were ruined, and not for the Guardians, who chafed at their failure to defend the king’s sovereignty.
Since I was now a healer as well as a regular, our patrol duty was often near the border, where my healing arts were most needed. We saw long weeks of hard riding with few opportunities for rest, but I was pleased with my new position. The men seemed to grow more comfortable with me, and I came to think of them as the older brothers I’d never had. But I was far from satisfied with my own performance. Although I trained daily with Arvel, I could not match him. I had yet to be tested in true warfare with the enemy, and sometimes I would lie awake in the night wondering if I was brave, or just mad, to think I could be a warrior.
When the muddy spring rains were over, Dominian raids resumed in earnest, and along with warmer weather came the vithons. Our patrol group was riding through the wild hill country east of the Emerald Dales, when we stumbled across a recent Blackcoat strike on a lonely sheep steading. A war band had trampled down newly planted crops and stolen a few lambs. They were careful not to slow down long enough for us to catch up to them.
The farmers gave us a meal of cold mutton, and then we were off again, eager now that we had a solid trail to follow. Connor, our tracker, kept us in rapid pursuit, following the broken twigs and grasses flattened by the passage of vithons.
By evening of the following day we discovered another steading that was visited by the raiders. One of their herdsman was suffering from a vithon bite, and when they learned that I was a healer, they rushed me to his bedside. The young man was mindless with fever, his head rolling from side to side, damp hair sticking to his face like tangled straw. His wife pulled away the sweat-soaked linens to show me the bite on his thigh. Angry red streaks ran up his leg, and the thigh was as tight as an over-filled water skin. Rows of puncture marks, edged with purple, gaped in the swollen flesh.
I’d not yet treated a vithon bite, but Uncle Leo had prepared me for it. I cleaned the wound with camphor and applied a poultice to draw out the venom. The man’s wife helped me bathe him with cool water to bring his fever down, but the whole time we worked on him, his eyes remained closed. He only groaned when we touched his leg. We propped it on soft feather pillows, and I asked her to tell me how it happened. The tears she’d been holding back spilled onto her cheeks, and she brushed them away with her sleeve.
“The Blackcoats wanted to terrify us,” she said. “They wanted us to know that they could have whatever they wanted from us. They told us to line up in front of the barn. We did exactly what they told us to do, but it didn’t matter. They let the vithons come right up to us and sniff at us—so close we could smell their foul breath and see the foam dripping from their teeth. The keepers let them stay there ever so long, staring at us with their hateful eyes. I have never been so frightened in all my life.”
She moistened her cloth in the basin and wiped her husband’s forehead with trembling hands. “We all stood still as tree trunks. But then my little girl—not much more’n a baby, mind you—started crying. And the vithons went mad. They clawed at their ears and screeched and lunged against their restraints. One of them pulled so hard that it dragged its keeper, stout as he was, along with it. My husband threw himself in front our girl, and the vithon bit his thigh.” She shook her head. “It had to be pulled off by the keepers, and they took their time about it. They were laughing! The whole time he’s screaming in agony—and they’re laughing.” Her face twisted. “In the end he fainted away from the pain, but they wouldn’t let me go to him—I had to wait until after they’d left.”
“I’m afraid the Bezarqs have no mercy.”
“Seems that way, lady. Honestly, I wouldn’t have believed a person could do such a thing unless I’d seen it myself.”
With effort, I brought the conversation back to the care of her husband. “I’m going to leave a drawing salve with you. Apply it to the wound morning and night. Vithons carry venom on their teeth. When they bite, it goes deep into the wound. That’s why he’s so sick.” I tried to sound encouraging. “I’ll sing a healing song to draw the poison away. The salve will help too.”
I sang a long, soothing healing song over him, and his wife hummed along with the melody. When I finished, he looked a little better. He was strong enough to drink some feverfew tea and eat a bite of soup, though his eyes were still glazed over. I left supplies and instructions with his wife and accepted her thanks. “I’m hopeful he will improve,” I said. “Do you remember the melody we were singing tonight?”
She nodded.
“Keep singing it while you care for him.”
“I will,” she said.
Our patrol moved out again at daybreak. For two days we followed the raiders’ trail, and then it began to rain and we lost track of them. For the rest of that miserable afternoon, Connor had us making circles around the point where we’d last seen their tracks. It reminded me of a hound chasing its own tail, and we had the same results.
Finally, we came across a muddy game trail leading to a large lake. We began a careful circuit around the lake. The rain had mostly stopped, but we were soaked; my clothing was plastered to my skin, and even my bones could feel the damp wind blowing across the water. I stared ahead. The wind was breathing on our Eagle standard, making it billow in and out as if it were alive. I gazed at the undulating motion. To my tired eyes, the eagle looked like it was flying. I was drawn to it, remembering the riddle I’d studied as a child: “When unlocks the key so the eye can see, when the eagle soars and the lion roars, then shall there be in the land—unity.”
The eagle and the eye. I turned the words over in my mind, watching the eagle flap its wings in the wind. Why was the riddle so hard to understand? I’d been puzzling over it since I was old enough to read and still had no answer. It began with the unlocking of sight, but what sort of key could do that?
No one was sorry when Captain Longmeadow gave the order to stop even though it was midafternoon. We made our camp in the shelter of a rocky outcrop. The rain had mostly given up too, and we were able to dry out beside several blazing fires. We roasted the mutton the farmers had given us and
drank our tea. None of us felt much like talking. After my clothes were dry, I spread out my bedroll and held it close to the fire to chase away the damp. When evening fell, I wrapped myself in its toasty warmth and dropped off to sleep, and in the middle of the night I saw what my daytime vision could never see.
I dreamed that I soared with the wings of an eagle, flying over the land we’d crossed on horseback that day. The wind flapped at my clothing, caressing my face and hair and filling my ears with the sound of rushing waterfalls.
Everything looked different from above. I saw an emerald country where the greens were so vivid that even variations in shades and depths seemed like altogether different colors. Above me the vast dome of clear blue sky stretched into eternity, while far below lay the heathery hills and grassy meadows of the earth. Patches of forest appeared dark against the verdant, earthy fields, the sections lined by meandering streams. To the north, I recognized the great River Plevin, cutting a wide border between Canwyrrie and Domaine on its way to the sea.
Every detail was clear and sharp in the bright sunlight—until my eyes reached the border. From there, the sky turned dark and secretive. A smoky fog repelled the light, reducing the brilliant hues to dull grays and browns. I could see nothing for sure there. Every prominence was veiled in the murky ether. Above that dismal cloud, the sun shone radiant as ever, but it could not pierce through to the land except in pallid dribs and drabs, revealing nothing in its true light.
I turned my attention back to the land below me. Was that a flicker of movement? I pulled in my arms, circled, and dropped for a better view. Currents of wind whipped about me, roaring in my ears as I fell through the sky. And then I saw the enemy, tucked away in a hollow in the woods.
