by Lela Markham
“Thanks to you both,” he said. “My name is Cenydd, a carpenter bound for Dun Madyn.”
“I’m Padraig, an herbman from Denygal.”
“Tamys,” Tamys replied and immediately moved away. He wasn’t yet comfortable with introductions.
“Are you from the High City?” Padraig asked Cenydd.
“Aye. We’re getting out, like so many others. There’s not much left for tradesfolk and the winter saw a lot of death.” Cenydd’s eyes misted for a moment, then he turned as a baby cried among the children. “You said you were an herbman. I’ve no coin and little to trade, but I’ve a babe with sickness and I’d thank you to look at him.”
Padraig smiled.
“I don’t need coin,” he assured Cenydd. “I’ll do it for my love of the One God. Let me see the bairn.”
“The – ?”
“Oh, Denygal call babies ‘bairns.”
“Oh, aye.” Cenydd did take the child from an older sister who held the child tight to her chest and handed it into Padraig’s hands. Padraig found himself looking into the small face of an infant. He asked a few questions and found that the babe was two months old and had been born with the death of his mother. Cenydd was determined to keep the child alive and had even brought a goat from the city, but lamented that the goat wasn’t giving enough milk to support the child. “I fear I’ll lose him as I did his mother.”
“He seems a good strong child for his age, though you’re right, he’s underweight. I’m not a midwife, understand, but he needs nourishment. Travel more slowly and make sure the goat gets plenty to eat and enough water. Where are you bound?”
“Dunmaden where my brother has a tavern and a farm for me to tenant. The city’s done for. There’s still some merchant trade, but the tradesmen are leaving -- those who didn’t starve to death last winter.”
“A truly sad ending for a great city. Well, you’ll want to arrive in Dunmaden a bit late for the planting anyway. Your children are more in need of rest and good food than hard work. Slowing your travel will like get you there after the planting or to the end and all should be more healthy.”
Padraig handed the child over to his father and went over to examine the goat. Although the One True God hadn’t granted permission for healing the child, who had nothing wrong with him beside his mother was dead, Padraig asked God for a bit of help with the goat and received it. He thought Cenydd would be pleasantly surprised at the increase in his goat’s milk production.
“I’ve some herbs for colic,” Padraig told Cenydd. “Your boy should be keeping down the milk he gets.”
He found a bag of chamomile and spooned up some. When he shook hands with Cenydd, he walked over to Tamys and suggested they ride on. He did not want Cenydd to discover the bag of food he’d deposited in the cart until after it was too late to return it.
“Will the child live?” Tamys asked after they were out of earshot.
“I’d say he’ll make it to his uncle’s farm. Will he live the winter, die in a fall at 12, be killed by some war at 21? Who can say?”
Tamys looked thoughtful for a moment, then shrugged. They were just topping the rise when they heard a yell from Cenydd. Padraig turned in his saddle to see the man waving at him. He waved back and turned to follow Tamys on toward the city.
“What was that about?” Tamys asked.
“Naught. We’ll need to renew our stock of food when we arrive in the city.”
“We had enough for three days,” Tamys protested, then hesitated, then laughed with a hooting roar. “You are truly amazing!” he said. “Truly, truly amazing!”
Kin Cycle 24578 / FY 1028
Blue Iris Holt
Ryanna slapped the water, sending a spray of droplets across the apron and onto the floor. A goi’tan stopped her assigned task to deal with the spill as several other Kin turned to stare at Ryanna, who muttered in Celdryan under her breath, then turned back to the water, hoping against hope to reach Padraig’s mind this time. She’d been granted permission to connect with Padraig since Gly and Shanara had both failed in their attempts. Unfortunately, although she could view him, the window was shrinking and she could not seem to gain his attention.
The goi’tan was mopping up her spill. Under other circumstances, Ryanna would have felt ashamed at her outburst and asked to clean it up herself, but today was different. There was something going on that she didn’t understand and it worried her greatly. As the sparkles in the water settled out into reflections, the image she saw was not the one she sought. Again, the golden dragon with the green eyes looked at her.
How long before they get here? she asked. She didn’t really expect an answer and the dragon did not exceed her expectations. Instead, she saw a Celt boy running across a cobbled ward. What does he have to do with the army? Who is he? There were no answers. Then Ryanna heard the soft cries and came to recognize that her dragon was a mother.
“What are you doing?” Gly demanded, shattering the vision and causing Ryanna to gasp with startlement.
“Trying to scry to Padraig and getting our winged friend yet again. She has pouchlings,” Ryanna announced. She stood to walk with Gly. She wore Celdryan breecs and a linen tunic today. “Perhaps we should consider that someone needs to travel to Celdrya to get hold of Padraig.”
“And that someone should be you?”
“There are few in the holt who could pass among the Celts as one of them.”
Gly sighed. The argument was sound, but her timing was bad, even illegal. She was still Gil’s wife and should not be haring off after other men for any reason. If it were not for the prophesy, she’d not have risked putting herself forward in such a bold way, not even with her mentor.
“Do you realize what this might mean?” Gly asked her as they entered his workshop. He closed the door. It was rare for him to close the door all the way during their sessions. She knew it was serious when he did. “If you do not handle this rightly, you will find heavy opposition when you ask after the settling of your marriage. You remember this, I know.”
“I do, but what else can be done? Who else can travel into basketlands?”
“There are a few.”
“There are some who look human enough, but none have my skills and you know that.”
“I know that. The others may not. If you are determined, then I will present it and we’ll see where it falls, but do not think it a light thing.”
“I don’t. Gly, please, I know you know that Padraig and I are adults who will not dishonor my contract with Gil. Yes, I want to see him, but not for the reason that dirty minds will suggest.”
“My son has the dirtiest, I know,” Gly said. “He shames himself, you may be sure.” He sighed again. He’d already brought their breakfast into the workroom. He gestured for her to tuck in. “I step lightly here, but you do have some on your side. Shanara has suggested you be allowed to go with the caravan to Amalaren and carry a message to the lord there.”
“Amalaren? That’s Cenconyn. Padraig did not go to his father’s home.”
“I know this, but his family there may be able to send to him. We cannot allow you to go traveling about the basketlands, hoping to catch up with him.”
“Why not?”
“Ryanna, you and Gil had a history, do you remember that?”
“Gil is dead and I’m near 20 years older. Are you saying you know me so poorly?”
“No,” Gly said with a smile. “I know you quite well and I believe that you and Padraig will be nothing but honorable, but I am not the only one to judge. Shanara’s offer is amenable. Your brother could as well carry the message, but I believe you should be afforded the respect. I also believe you should do what you are given to do and no more.”
Ryanna put her face in her hands and prayed for patience. It was not Gly’s fault. It wasn’t even the assembly’s fault. She had done the things she’d done all those years ago and she was the only one to take responsibility for the outcome.
“Let us proceed then. Should
I prepare in any way?”
“Be ready with a statement if they ask it. Let the God your Savior be your guide in what you will say.”
Ryanna nodded. That Jesu was her Savior was easy enough to say; to wait upon His guidance was much more difficult.
Do you know the Savior, wyrm? she asked to herself, since she was not scrying.
This is the name of the One, is it not?
The voice in her head startled her. She was familiar with the touch of Sabre on her mind and this was not what she expected. This voice had a distinctly female cast to it. Yet no Kin had ever had more than one Companion at a time. How could this be?
You are not my Companion, the dragon said. You are a Sensitive, so I am able to reach you, but you are not meant for me and I am not meant for you. One like you is meant for my son.
“Ryanna, what are you thinking?” Gly asked, his tightening grip on her arm bringing her back to the workroom.
“The dragon speaks to my mind, Gly,” she reported. Her mentor stared at her for several breaths and then laughed softly, shaking his head.
“Of course a dragon speaks to your mind. It had to be either you or Shanara.” He sighed, then chortled and turned toward the door. “I’ll make those arrangements right now. You perhaps should continue your, uh, conversation. I’ll be a while, I’m sure.”
Yet try as she might, after Gly departed, Ryanna could not get the dragon to respond again. She wished she knew what that might mean.
Kin Cycle 24573
Pass of Arrival (Five Cycles Past)
A warm wind scattered pebbles down the sheer cliff below as Erik of Halforfyord sat with his legs swinging over the broken edge of the ancient citadel’s plaza. While the seacoast city had been barely recognizable as a city, the citadel had held up better. Even portions of the curtain wall were still clinging to the cliff face, though the doors and windows had long ago rotted away, leaving only the dark rock. In this, it was similar to the citadel in the elven mountains that they had viewed yesterday. The elven society had passed from the mind of men for centuries, but the dwarven-built buildings remained if one did not dismiss them as caves with unusual regularity.
The emissary Gil outlined the canyon far below with his long forefinger.
“My father’s people tramped up from the coast and met the trolls near here. That set off the troll rebellion that fractured the Dwarven empire.”
“My father spent half a lifetime looking for a pass through the mountains and never found one,” Jarl reported. “How is that it remained hidden?”
“A rock slide blocked the northern terminus when my father was a young man – some three hundred years ago. If you didn’t know it was there, you could miss it.”
“There’s a garrison beyond that bend, yah?” Eric said, pointing south.
“The dun at the Pass of the Arrival, yes. It will be a perfect feint to draw people’s eyes from the coast.”
“How do we get to the south?” Jarl asked.
“We will,” Gil said. Under his carefully arranged features, Erik caught a flash of something – irritation? – that made him wonder if the emissary was not wholly informed of their plans. Who stands behind you? Gil thought himself very clever, but Orma had taught Erik to listen between the words and the emissary had let by enough for Erik to be sure that his knowledge of the byways was recent and seemed even to be developing. Erik didn’t know how that was possible, but he was on tenderhooks listening for what the man was seeking to hide.
“These byways are more extensive than you know,” he added, tamping down the fire behind his eyes. “You should leave some men here to scout out the tunnels that lead to the canyon floor. That’s a dwarven highway. There had to have been a way to access the citadel from there.”
“Wouldn’t the Celt have found it by now?” Jarl offered.
“No. The dwarves are very clever at hiding entrances. You will find it from the inside or not at all.”
“Jarl, detail three men,” Erik ordered. The byway in the Dragon’s Back had been readily accessible to a highway. There’d been the remains of a caravanserai not far down the path, though damaged by fire. Erik felt certain they would all have such access. “Will we camp here or move on today?”
Gil looked at the sun. Erik was almost certain that he was older than he looked. His skin was unlined and his beard soft, but his experience spoke volumes toward years rather than youth.
“It’s not quite the noon tide. We should continue to our next point and camp there.”
“Jarl, detail the three. Leave them with sufficient food for …?”
“A fortnight,” Gil suggested when Erik paused.
“Should they reconnoiter the highway if they find the entrance quickly?”
Jarl was used to command. He’d been a war leader for Magnus. He always thought ahead, which made him valuable to the young Svard.
“Nah, we do not want to risk the dun becoming aware of us until we are ready to attack. When we return, it will be with clothes for spying.”
Jarl’s eyes shone with pride, letting Erik know that he had used good sense.
“When do we depart?” Erik asked.
“As soon as your men can be ready.”
“Sun’s hand,” Erik told Jarl. “Tell the men to eat before they mount, fill the water bags.”
Jarl bobbed his head in assent and went off to do as bade. Erik rolled back from the edge and gained his feet.
“This must have been a lonely place even in elven times. What was it for?”
“Religion or academics. Maybe both.”
Erik’s eyes wandered over the openings in the face of the citadel, pausing as he saw movement in one. A trick of the eye. He thought he’d seen a woman there. A shiver ran down his back as a shadow fell over the sun.
“We should get ready,” he said. “Where will we be going next?”
Gil paused, seemed almost to be looking at someone to Erik’s left, then he smiled mildly.
“Into the heart of Celdrya, of course.”
The shiver became a shudder that Erik could not explain.
High Celdrya Fallen
“Why do you insist on being battered? Why do you continue to rebel? Your head has a massive wound, your whole body is weak. From the soles of your feet to your head, there is no uninjured spot, only bruises, cuts and open wounds. There have not been cleaned, bandaged or salved.
“Your land is devastated, your cities burned with fire. Right before your eyes your crops are being destroyed by foreign invaders. They leave behind devastation and destruction.
“[Celdrya] is left isolated, like a hut in a vineyard, shoe is a besieged city. If the One who commands armies had not left us a few survivors, we would have quickly become like Sodom, we would have become like Gomorrah.
“Listen to the Lord’s word, you leaders of Sodom! Pay attention to our God’s rebuke, people of Gomorrah!”
From the Scriptos of the One, Writings of Isayah
Recorded by Brethry, Priest of Bel, Moryn FY 941
Founding Year 931
Mulyn, Dun Joran
Burcan ap Manahan, lord of western Mulyn, rode into the ward of the new dun at Loramar, where his brother Joran was establishing his own demesne on the site of an ancient hunting lodge. Two grooms scrambled out of the stables to take his horse and spare as Burcan strode across the partially cobbled ward to the great hall on the ground floor of the broch. He could hear his honor guard sorting themselves out as he let the door close behind him.
Joran met him at the door with a slap on his shoulder. He called for mead as they climbed the stairs to his greeting chamber, which for now was just a generous slice of the second floor. Joran and his wife, Lady Cadda nee Trevellyn, had no children yet, so they occupied half of the second floor. The greeting chamber was smallish, with a single window overlooking the ward, a collection of stools and one chair, a small table, and a collection of shields leaning against the outer wall.
“Did your wife give you a son, yet?” Joran
asked. It could have been a matter of competition with them, but Joran understood that Burcan was the actual heir, born 10 minutes before him, and his children would not rule except as lords. He seemed comfortable with that notion.
“Aye, Loryna gave birth to a healthy boy. How long before Cadda whelps?”
“Soon. An eightnight, mayhap a fortnight.”
“And she’s doing well?”
“Aye, she’s not having the difficulties Loryna had.”
“Well and good then. Now, for the reason I came. I think we acted too swiftly in Maddyn. Mayhap an assassin got away.”
Joran’s brow furrowed. Although others thought they looked almost exactly alike, Burcan did not see it. They had similar hair, eyes and beards, but he really saw no resemblance beyond that. Among their many differences was that Joran was more thoughtful. He’d cautioned that they go slowly in their judgment at Maddyn, but Burcan had overruled him.
“That mayhap be true,” Joran said, circumspectly. “Do we know more?”
“He mayhap have been a serving man at Dun Celdrya. He’s slipped free of there. I’ve got eyes-and-ears out to track him.”
“Well and good then, Mayhap Perryn will forgive our haste in Maddyn if we bring the last to ground.”
“He seems distracted by the coming nuptials,” Burcan explained. “Will you travel with me?”
“Nay, but I will wait here with Cadda. Being as he’s her brother, Perryn should appreciate my absence.”
“I’ll make the argument for you. He should be pleased to hear we’ve secured the line of rule in Mulyn.”
“So your concerns have been assuaged?” Joran asked.
“Not entirely, but I did find him much better prepared than I originally feared.”
“He and Maryn were not close, but Maryn liked him well enough,” Joran added. There was a knock on the door. Joran glanced at Burcan and then called, “Enter.”
A serving man entered, carrying a tray with a flagon of mead and two pewter goblets, along with a platter of cheese, meat and bread.
