by Miles Owens
“Rhiannon’s mother, Lady Eyslk, became interested in the monks’ efforts and helped them as she could. She wrote to other nobles among the six clans asking them to search for old letters and other writings that mentioned their ancestors’ role during those days. Many responded, and what they sent was of great benefit to the monks’ study. When Lady Eyslk’s time came in her pregnancy, that group of Keepers came to the hlaford and were in attendance, praying for both mother and the coming babe. The moment Rhiannon was born, one Keeper seemed to have a special . . . insight.” Mererid paused. “I was not present, of course. What I know is from what Loreteller Girard has told me.”
“What kind of insight?”
Mererid related the happenings of that dark night. “I am sure Tellan’s indulgence of Rhiannon’s warrior desires comes from that time.”
“I see,” Lakenna said, thoughts whirling. “What became of the monk who made the prophecy?”
“He left the monastery soon thereafter and has risen high in the Keeper hierarchy.”
“Thank you for telling me this,” Lakenna said. “I do look forward to working with Rhiannon. She must be a special child.”
Mererid reached under her feet, brought out a bag, and removed three articles wrapped in soft leather. “Last fall, unbeknownst to Tellan, I commissioned these from the silversmith in Inbur. I picked them up this morning before we left.”
Lakenna reached out to take the hand mirror, comb, and brush, all crafted of silver. The mirror was half a cubit in length with a fluted handle and a ring through the end for hanging. Its circle of reflecting glass measured a handsbreadth in diameter, the silver edges decorated in a twisted rope design. The same twisted rope design outlined the edges of the brush and comb in detail so exquisitely wrought it had to be the work of a master craftsman. Lakenna sighed inwardly. She would never own anything like this. “They are beautiful.”
“These are for Rhiannon,” Mererid said. “It is my hope they will bring some femininity into her life to help counteract the harshness of her training. One of my aunts died this past winter. I will tell Tellan she left these to me. I had to bargain a diamond bracelet and two gold rings with the silversmith. If Tellan knew, he would erupt into a towering rage.”
Reluctantly, Lakenna handed the three pieces back, regarding Mererid with growing respect. The other woman carefully wrapped them in the leather and placed them inside the bag.
They bounced along in silence for a while, Lakenna lost in thought as she attempted to come to terms with Lady Mererid’s revelation.
Suddenly she felt a familiar urge build inside, as if the Eternal was calling her to pray. She dismissed it quickly. How could he be speaking to me after my failure?
Her mother and friends had questioned her decision to come here to the Dinari highlands and accept service virtually within sight of the legendary Kepploch Monastery. She had responded to their concerns with, “The Eternal is telling me to go. How can I refuse?”
But the truth had been something other than what she had said. She had mouthed reasons no Albane could argue with. But her real reason was too painful . . .
She pushed that aside. Here she was less than a day after accepting the position, and the possibilities before her were mind-boggling. A young heir to restore, a girl to prepare for something to do with the Covenant.
The urge to pray built inside her. Again.
How can I?
But the feeling grew stronger, insistent, more demanding until she could no longer discount it. The Eternal was indeed prodding her to pray. Pray for . . . protection? Pray against . . . evil?
Puzzled, she glanced at the escorts. They rode alertly alongside the carriage but seemed unconcerned. Swinging her head back, she caught Mererid’s eyes.
“Teacher? Is something the matter?”
Lakenna opened her mouth, then closed it. Was this some aftermath of the story the noble lady had just told her? But that thought was pushed aside as the feeling surged again with extreme urgency, and Lakenna knew she had to respond.
“Lady Mererid, will you join with me in prayer? I feel . . . I feel that . . . evil . . . stalks someone. It must be Lord Rogoth or the children! We need to pray the covering of the Covenant over them,” she said with a fierceness that surprised her and widened Mererid’s eyes in alarm. “We need to pray now.”
Chapter Four
RHIANNON
THE BAY GELDING Phelan rode was named Munin. Until Rhiannon had talked her father into letting her start training Nineve, the gelding had been her mount. Munin was calm and unflappable, responding immediately to knee and voice commands. He was almost as well taught as her father’s stallion.
Training a young horse was more of a challenge than Rhiannon had anticipated. She tried not to begrudge Phelan his easy ride as hers pranced along requiring constant attention and a firm hand. Phelan rode along beside her, chattering away while Tellan and Master Girard informed Creag about the winged horrors.
“Before Mother left yesterday,” Phelan said, “she said our new tutor may be a woman. I didn’t know women could be monks.”
“She is not a monk.”
“Why?”
“Why what? Why can’t women be monks or why a woman tutor? You do not have to be a monk to be a tutor.”
The breeze picked up just then, causing a clump of bittergrass growing by the trail to wave about. Nineve decided that was excuse enough to startle in alarm. She shied to the side, bumping into Munin. Rhiannon collected the filly and reined her back to the bush. The only way to train a mount not to balk at unusual objects was to make them approach it. When they got close to the grass again, Nineve snorted, then pranced sideways, still convinced the waving clump held terrors untold.
The rear guard reined his horse up and watched Rhiannon’s struggle with a bemused expression. Tellan, Girard, Creag, and the two forward guards continued, unaware of the delay behind them.
“I’ll ride Munin up to show her it’s safe,” Phelan offered.
“No,” Rhiannon said through clenched teeth as Nineve whirled away yet again. After several more tries she finally got the filly within a sword’s length of the bittergrass and declared victory.
“What happened to Keeper Astwin?” Phelan asked when she joined him back on the trail.
“He couldn’t teach Creag to read.” She worked her fingers up the reins to shorten her grip.
“He taught me to read. He never gets angry with me. If you tried harder, he wouldn’t shout at you, either.”
Rhiannon made a noncommittal sound.
“He only gets red in the face and shouts when he has to ask you the same question two or three times because you weren’t paying attention or when you forget and wear your sword into the room.”
Unbidden, her hand dropped to the hilt of her sword. It was a simple straight blade, sharp on both edges. When she had first held it, it had seemed small compared with her father’s. She had learned its weight after practicing only a few of the drills the arms instructor showed her. Her muscles had strengthened, and now she could wield the blade with greater swiftness and for a longer length of time before having to rest.
“Father can wear his sword into the room,” she said.
“Only that one time, and Keeper Astwin glared and wouldn’t say another word until Father unbuckled the scabbard and hung it on the wall next to yours. Every time since, he takes it off before he . . . ” His words trailed off when she raised her hand in a gesture for quiet.
She listened to the silence. The creak of saddle leather seemed loud, so too the crunch of hoofs in the dirt. Overhead, the sky was empty, the chatter of birds gone. Nineve walked straight, but her head was turned to the right, her ears upright and alert. Rhiannon checked Munin. The gelding was looking at the ridge, too. Her concern became more urgent.
Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that both the warrior and his horse were interested in whatever was happening below sight of the rocky ledge. He reached down, slid his bow out of its sheath, and nocke
d an arrow.
“Mistress Rhiannon,” he warned, “we need to gallop ahead and join the rest of them.”
She opened her mouth to urge Phelan on when she heard her father shouting, “Rhiannon! You and Phelan get up here!” His voice cracked with authority while conveying his concern. He had turned around and was cantering back to them. The stallion’s muscles rippled and nostrils flared as he bore Tellan down the trail.
She pressed her heels into Nineve’s side, but instead of leaping ahead, the horse slowed abruptly, pivoted directly to the right, and snorted. Dirt swirled among the rocks bordering the ledge. The filly gave a louder, longer snort. Rhiannon’s skin pricked; the hair on her arms stirred. The air thickened. Her heart hammered.
Two winged horrors soared up over the ridge.
They were more fearsome than Rhiannon had imagined from the stories. Many times the size of a horse, they were heavy chested with long leathery wings shaped like an eagle’s and a long, whiplike tail. In the air, they kept their four feet pulled tightly against their bodies. Wedge-shaped heads attached to serpentine necks swung back and forth surveying the humans before them.
The nearest creature’s eyes glowed when its gaze came to Rhiannon. Opening its mouth to reveal a double row of sharp teeth, it let out an ear-piercing screech and beat straight for her.
Nineve neighed in stark terror and bolted down the trail, nearly unseating Rhiannon. She had barely managed to right herself in the saddle when a third winged horror appeared over the ridge ahead and swooped for them. Unbidden, Nineve swerved smartly to the left and raced up the boulder-strewn hillside.
Dimly, Rhiannon realized that the creatures were neatly separating her from the rest of the party. Swallowing her fear, she leaned forward over the filly’s shoulders and urged more speed. The long mane brushed her face; her cloak clasp tugged strongly against her neck as it blew behind, flapping in the wind generated by the all-out gallop.
But within a few bounds a large shadow passed overhead, and a horror landed before them, long rear legs unfolding to absorb the shock. The creature’s skin was a mottled lizard-green, hairless and grainy. Shorter front legs attached to the body just forward of the wings possessed three wickedly curved claws with a smaller opposing thumb for grasping. The beast crouched with its huge wings spread, hissing, ready to spring.
Nineve came to a jolting, stiff-legged stop that propelled Rhiannon face forward onto the horse’s neck. Desperately grabbing a fistful of mane, she managed to stay on as the filly pivoted back in the direction of Phelan and the warrior. But two winged horrors dropped to the ground to block that avenue of escape. Again Nineve whirled—and right before them was the open mouth of a fourth beast! Its hot, fetid breath filled Rhiannon’s nostrils as sharp fangs descended—
Her father galloped into the creature’s side. The impact knocked the horror sideways and buckled the legs of the stallion. Tellan leaped adroitly out of his saddle onto Nineve, cradling Rhiannon in his arms as they rolled to the ground.
The stallion regained its balance first and kicked out at the horror. Shrieking in rage, the beast struggled back to its feet and with a swing of its heavy head batted the horse away several paces.
Nineve seized that opportunity to bolt past the other horrors closing in. The beasts paid the filly no mind as she raced by with bridle reins dragging the ground; they had eyes only for Rhiannon, regarding her with the cold-eyed menace of a pack of wolves cornering their prey.
“Red hair,” they hissed, the sound coming out of the hooked beaks guttural and grotesque. “Kill red-haired girl.”
The intensity of their malevolence toward her froze Rhiannon’s breath in her throat as the words rippled up and down her skin.
Then she remembered her sword. She started to reach for it but realized she already held it before her! Both hands gripped the hilt correctly, the point up in the ready position, wavering slightly.
“This way!” Tellan shouted. His sword was drawn as well. Reaching out with his free hand, he pulled her toward a formation of boulders several paces away.
As they ran, a horror raced ahead at an angle to cut them off, moving with astonishing speed on those long rear legs while holding out its wings for balance. Skidding to a stop in front of the rocks, it wheeled about with a viperous grace to face them. Clearly the beasts were treating the humans and their weapons with contempt. Such assuredness was even more frightening to Rhiannon than the size of the creatures themselves.
The horror’s abdomen heaved repeatedly. Its long neck rippled in a series of waves, and the skin behind the jaws expanded into a round ball. The mouth opened, and Rhiannon stared in disbelief at the red-orange glow like that of a blacksmith’s forge behind the tongue. It shot forth—
The fletching of an arrow appeared in the creature’s left eye. The horror roared, part scream of pain, part death throe. It flung its head skyward, a long plume of flame billowing from its mouth before collapsing into a heap.
The rear warrior galloped by, the Dinari battle cry on his lips. In one smooth motion, he nocked and loosed another shaft while guiding his horse by knee pressure alone into the midst of the three pursuing creatures. This time the arrow’s point hit just below the eye of the closest one but dropped to the ground without penetrating. As the man nocked another, the horrors leaped into the air with mighty flaps of their wings. The warrior loosed twice more as they flew overhead, aiming for the underbelly. Both arrowheads bounced harmlessly off the green skin.
Tellan and Rhiannon ran on and swung sharply around one end of the uprising of rocks. Many times the height of a man, the formation measured twenty strides in length and six wide. Bare boulders marked each end with a mixture of large stones, gravel, and grass comprising the middle. It offered scant protection, but anything was better than the open ground.
Rhiannon gasped for breath while her father hurriedly surveyed the jumble of rocks in the middle. He pointed to an open space between a group of man-high stones two-thirds of the way up. “We’ll crawl up there and let them be our shields.”
The words were barely out his mouth when two horrors plopped down on either end of the boulders; the third stayed in the air and circled directly above. The two on the ground regarded the humans with unblinking yellow eyes, then began the particular stomach heaving that Rhiannon now recognized as preparation to belch fire.
The two forward guards joined the rear one and skidded up from the opposite end. Leaping from their mounts, they knelt and drew back their bows. But the horror they aimed at disdainfully pivoted its rear to them.
“Up these rocks, men!” Tellan bellowed, his grip an iron band around Rhiannon’s arm as he pulled her up the steep slope. “Then you can shoot down at their faces.”
Halfway up, however, the loose soil gave way under her feet, and she fell heavily in a cascade of dirt and pebbles, almost losing her grip on her sword. Yanked to her feet by Tellan’s strength, she stepped on the hem of her dress and stumbled back to her knees. When he pulled at her this time, his footing gave way and he slid, hitting the slope on his side. Digging into the dirt with his fingers and feet, he somehow managed to keep them both from rolling back down. They scrambled up to the narrow spaces between the stones just as a shadow passed overhead.
The horror still in the air glided down at them, wings extended, round ball bulging behind its jaws. “Red hair,” the beast snarled, the words guttural and grating. “Kill red-haired girl.”
“Down!” Tellan panted as the horror opened its mouth.
Rhiannon dove to the ground face-first just as the blast of flames broke over them. Sobbing out loud, she threw her hands over her head and tried to press herself into the soil as unseen fingers of heat touched the back of her legs. Her mouth was full of dirt, and her muscles twitched as she fought the urge to curl into a ball and cry. Growing heat came from her lower legs. Looking back, she saw that the bottom of her skirt was on fire. She stared wide-eyed as the flames spread, her muscles frozen. Her courage drained away. She was openi
ng her mouth to scream in black despair when her father rolled over her legs, using his body to smother the fire.
“Pick up your sword, Rhiannon. We Dinari face foes with cold steel in our hands!” One side of his face was blistered from the blast, his hair singed, his tunic charred. He came to crouch, resting his blade across his knees, fingers clasping and unclasping the hilt. “Use these rocks as a shield and thrust for their eyes. These beasts think to have an easy time of it. You and I will show them different.”
His confident manner restored her. She picked up her sword and came to her knees. Her whole body trembled. Her mouth was dry, and she had no moisture to spit out the dirt still coating her tongue and lips. But she peered up at the threat from the sky, ready to join her father in the fight.
The horror was almost on them again when an arrow arched up from the other side of the slope, impacting the creature right below the eye. It jerked up, screeching in surprise. Two other shafts followed close behind with the same accuracy, one hitting the head and the second narrowly missing. The horror swerved away, flapping its wings to circle around.
Tellan called out, “Good shooting!”
A scrambling sound came from below. Rhiannon whipped around.
The other two horrors pounded up the slope, half running, half flying, rear legs churning, wings flapping. They projected a driven purpose fueled by raw hatred as they chanted, “Red hair, red hair. Kill red-haired girl!”
They sprinted straight at her, heads low to the ground, eyes glowing, front claws extended. Rhiannon brought her sword up, but her father jerked her behind a rock, covering her with his body. With an ear-shattering roar, the horrors crashed over them with the elemental fury of storm-driven waves.
Tellan pulled her sharply aside as front claws scored the granite only inches above her head. They crawled toward the next boulder.
Then a heavy rear foot slammed down, the ground shuddering under the impact that knocked them both flat.
