“Seven? Wait…” Frost said, rubbing his beard the way he did when he was pondering. “How do you know there will be seven? How do you know any of this?”
Malcolm shook his head. “That’s not important at the moment. Just consider it a good guess. How we stop them is what we must discuss.”
Suri looked back at Arion and shook her head. “We can’t.”
“You sure?” Malcolm asked.
“Pretty—” She didn’t finish and the tears flowed again.
“Isn’t this Nyphron’s and Persephone’s problem to solve?” His voice had an odd sound, more gravelly than usual. Raithe didn’t understand the change. He sounded upset, and his anger grew each time he looked at Arion’s face. It didn’t make sense; the dwarfs had hated Arion. Everyone knew that.
“They can’t solve this,” Malcolm said. “But the people in this room can.”
This conjured a round of puzzled faces as they looked to one another for hints of understanding. They found none.
“What can we do against an army of Fhrey that Nyphron and Keenig Persephone can’t?” Frost asked.
“He means me,” Suri said, shaking her head. “But I can’t—”
“Actually, I mean everyone,” Malcolm said. “Every single person in this room must do their part.”
This brought a look of absurd disbelief from Tressa, who remained uncharacteristically silent.
“There’s nothing I can do!” Suri was shaking her head. “If they hit me with the same power as before, I can’t—”
“They will hit you, and with more than last time,” Malcolm assured her. “Only one Miralyith fought you today. But after the bridges are made and the troops are across, all seven will focus on you. Once you are gone, we won’t stand a chance. The Fhrey army will butcher every living soul while the Miralyith obliterates what remains of the city.”
“If what you say is true, we don’t actually have a problem,” Raithe said. “We have a lack of hope.”
“Gifford might return,” Roan said, causing everyone to look her way. The sudden attention caused her to shrink back, drawing up her knees and hugging them. Still, she managed to add in an unusually proud tone, “He rode a horse to fetch the Gula.”
Tressa was shaking her head, but Malcolm smiled at Roan, a warm, encouraging look accompanied by a confident nod. “Yes, I honestly think he will, but it won’t be enough, and it won’t be in time. And the Gula don’t have armor—they lack the protection of the Orinfar. Were they here now, they would be obliterated by the fane’s Miralyith.”
Roan looked guilty.
“It’s not your fault. You and your army of smiths did an amazing job. No one could have done more. There simply wasn’t time.”
“Then it really is over,” Raithe said. “There’s nothing we can do.”
“No,” Malcolm replied and shifted his sight back toward Suri. “She knows a way.”
The mystic’s tattoos drew together in a confused furrow on her brow. “But you just said I wasn’t strong enough against all of them.”
He nodded. “But you know something they don’t. You know how to make something that the Miralyith’s magic would be powerless against.”
Suri appeared even more puzzled and was shaking her head. “I don’t know what—”
She froze.
The tattoos around her eyes separated, and her brows jumped up. Her mouth opened, first in understanding, then in horror. The mystic’s head began shaking rapidly. “No—not that.”
“You can do it,” Malcolm said softly. “You’ve done it before.”
“No—I can’t.” Suri inched back, withdrawing from him, from all of them. Her fear-filled eyes darted to each of their faces as if they all plotted her death.
“It’s the only thing that will save us.”
Roan had her hands up to her mouth, her eyes reflecting Suri’s horror. Frost dropped the tongs he was holding, and Rain joined Suri in shaking his head.
“What’s going on?” Raithe asked. “What are you talking about?”
Malcolm replied by looking at Suri, who refused to answer. No one else said a word.
“Everyone knows what’s going on but me,” Raithe said. He focused on Roan. “What is it?”
The woman lowered her hands, and after a fleeting glance toward Suri, she said, “He wants her to make another Gilarabrywn.”
At the sound of the word, Malcolm turned with a curious look. “Gilarabrywn?”
Roan nodded. “That was her name.”
Malcolm thought a moment, then nodded. “Oh—I see; yes, of course.”
“I can’t do it.” Suri’s head was down, her fingers raking through her short hair. She gripped and pulled, making herself wince.
“A Gilarabrywn would be immune to their magic,” Malcolm told her. “It could end this battle. Might even end the war.”
“But I can’t!” Suri nearly screamed.
“I don’t understand. Why can’t you make this thing if it will save us?” Raithe asked.
Again, Suri didn’t answer. She drew in her arms and legs, closing on herself, collapsing. She gazed at all of them. “Don’t ask me to do that. Not again.”
Raithe looked to the others, then finally just stared at Roan once more.
“To make a Gilarabrywn, she has to kill an animal,” Roan explained.
“That’s no problem at all,” Tressa said. “There’s a dog, a filthy mutt that Filson used to feed that—”
“No!” Suri erupted in anger. “Not an animal. I don’t have to kill an animal.” I have to…I have to kill…it has to be a sacrifice.”
“Like a lamb?” Raithe asked. Lambs were animals, but that’s what they always used as sacrifices in Dureya.
“No! Not like a lamb—not a killing—a real sacrifice. This isn’t about slaughtering some innocent beast. It isn’t about destroying what might have been a nice meal. It has to be real, not symbolic. And it has to be mine. I have to destroy…I have to take a life that matters to me. Don’t you understand? I have to kill someone I love.”
By the surprise on the faces, this was news to everyone—except Malcolm, who placed a comforting hand on Suri’s shoulder. “In order to save the lives of everyone who went to Neith,” Malcolm told Raithe, “Suri sacrificed Minna.”
Raithe knew the wolf was missing, and he’d heard she’d been killed on their trip, but he had no idea that— “You loved Minna.”
Tears slipped down Suri’s cheeks as she nodded.
“Suri,” Malcolm said. “You have to make another Gilarabrywn or everyone will die. Not just us, but the Gula-Rhunes, too. And if the Fhrey succeed in winning here, the fane will order his army into Rhulyn where he’ll scorch the fields, burn the villages and dahls, and hunt every last human to extinction. As bad as that sounds, it won’t end there. The fane has lost reason, gone mad.” Malcolm looked to the three dwarfs standing by the anvil. “He knows the Belgriclungreian people helped. He knows about the iron weapons and the Orinfar.”
“We didn’t give either of those,” Frost protested. “The Orinfar was found in an old rol, and as for iron…” He pointed at Roan. “We didn’t give that. She stole it.”
Roan got to her feet. “And you stole the same secret from the Ancient One.”
“We didn’t steal it. My ancestors made a trade.”
“Which your ancestors didn’t honor, which means you stole it.”
Frost didn’t answer.
“And this isn’t iron.” Roan let her hand run over a sheet of metal lying on the table behind her. “It has iron in it, but I changed the process. This is a different metal: harder, lighter, and it won’t tarnish or rust. But you’re right. I did steal the idea, most of it. I improved on the concept, but the majority I got from the rubbings.” Still touching the shiny metal, she added, “I shouldn’t hide that. Everyone should
know the truth.” She nodded. “Yes—I did steal this, so that’s what I will call it—steel.” Her lower lip quivered as she nodded. “Yes, that’s a good name. There’s no rrr sound in steel.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Malcolm’s voice lowered to a sympathetic tone. “What matters is that the fane believes the Belgriclungreians broke the agreement they had with Erivan. Lothian will seek to do what Fenelyus refused to. He’ll march on Belgreig, slaughter his way south, and destroy Drumindor with as little problem as you’ve seen here.” Malcolm stared at the three dwarfs. “Your people will be destroyed along with the humans. Two massive branches from the tree of life severed, and that’s too much of a shock for the old gal to sustain. With no outside enemies, the Fhrey will devolve. Some have already broken their covenant with Ferrol, ignored the law of the horn, and killed each other. In time, more will seek to rid themselves of the Miralyith, or the Miralyith will seek to purify themselves and eliminate the other tribes. A population like theirs that reproduces so slowly can’t survive a civil war. The goblins will see their opportunity and attack. Then it will be the Grenmorians against the goblins, and civilization will vanish, snuffed out before it ever had a chance to truly bloom.”
Suri glared at him. “So, I have to do this or the world ends? Is that what you’re saying? Is there anything else you want to add? How about the sun, will it go out? Will the moon fall? Will all the lakes, rivers, and streams dry up?”
“Actually, there is one more thing,” Malcolm said, then looked down at Arion. “This is part of what she needed you to do—why you had to live and become a butterfly.”
At the sound of that last word, Suri gasped. She clutched her body tighter and her breath grew shallower as she glared at him.
“Her Art,” Malcolm explained. “Her ties with the world whispered the message in her ears. That was her gift, the one Fenelyus saw, but neither of them fully understood. Everything Arion did since coming to Dahl Rhen has led you to this point. She worked hard to provide you with the power to save your people and hers. The treasure you brought back from Neith wasn’t iron or steel. It was the knowledge you gained from Minna’s sacrifice. Suri, your sister didn’t die to save the nine of you, she sacrificed herself to save the world.” Malcolm offered a knowing smile. “She truly was the wisest of wolves.”
The tattoos came together again as Suri bounced back from the blow Malcolm had delivered. She looked angry.
Minna was a subject Suri avoided. The wolf’s death was something Raithe knew to step carefully around. Malcolm was dancing on the narrow ledge of a very high cliff.
“How do you know?” Suri demanded. “How do you know about the butterfly?” She pointed at Arion. “Did she tell you?”
“No,” Malcolm said. “But that’s not important.”
“It is!” Suri rose up to her knees to face him.
“No—it isn’t. What’s important is that what I’m telling you is true. If it isn’t, just say so.”
Suri stared at Malcolm with a wild look that terrified Raithe.
The mystic was breathing hard, her teeth clenched as if she was deciding whether to make Malcolm explode or not. Her breathing slowed, and the muscles in her face relaxed. “Doesn’t matter,” she replied while looking over at Arion. “I’m all out of friends to kill.”
The smithy fell silent then. From outside, the sounds of people digging and heaving stones entered the open doorway. Suri threw her head back and wiped her eyes. Roan stared at her worktable, and the dwarfs inspected their boots.
“Is she?” Malcolm asked.
“I’m clearly not in the running,” Tressa said. “For once, being universally hated is a good thing.”
“Is she, Raithe?” Malcolm looked at him.
“Is she what?” he asked.
Malcolm waited.
“Don’t look at him,” Suri said. “Why are you looking at him?”
Malcolm continued to stare. The man who didn’t know how to use a spear and had never seen a dahl was gone—no longer the clueless ex-slave whom Raithe had saved from death in the wilderness. There were no questions in those eyes, no fear. All Raithe saw was sadness, sympathy, and patience as he waited for a response.
“Are you saying…” Raithe began, then faltered.
Is he saying what I think he is?
Malcolm nodded. “You wanted to make a difference.”
The words punched him in the gut, and it was Raithe’s turn to look devastated.
“You can make your life matter.”
“You mean I can make my death matter.”
“Wait, what?” Roan asked.
“He’s suggesting that Suri kill Raithe to make a Gilarabrywn,” Rain said.
Suri stared aghast at everyone.
Malcolm stayed focused on Raithe. “She gave you all the food. She took from herself and Kaylin, and gave it all to you. She did it so you would live. Just as Arion sensed the importance in Suri, so, too, did your mother understand that one day you would be needed. She wasn’t a mystic or a Miralyith; she didn’t need to be. Elan spoke to her just as it did to Arion, but your mother understood it as intuition, as belief. She sacrificed herself and your sister so that one day you would be here—and that you would have the courage to make a similar choice. Her sacrifice wasn’t to save her remaining child, but to save everyone’s sons and daughters.”
Outside the smithy, the dead were pulled from the wreckage of the ruins of Alon Rhist. Inside that building, Raithe wept.
* * *
—
Trapped in the Shrine, without a window, Persephone lamented that she hadn’t seen the sun set. It would be her last, and she wanted to say goodbye to the sun. Everything had gone so wrong so quickly—all of it her fault. She should have had a better plan to ignite the signal fire. That was a stupid mistake. She should have kept more troops in the fortress. She should have ordered the Orinfar runes scribed over everything, not just the outer walls—she should have had it tattooed on every person. When looking back, all of the mistakes were easy to see and so tragic because the first day had seemed so promising. Everyone thought they’d won.
A report had just arrived that the fane’s Miralyith were creating bridges across the Grandford gorge.
“We’ll make the last stand up here,” Nyphron told the Galantians as they gathered around Persephone’s bed, along with Moya, Padera, and Brin.
“You can’t fight them,” Moya said.
“If they come in here, I can and will,” Tekchin replied.
“No, you can’t.” She was firm. “You can’t kill another Fhrey.”
“Yes, I can,” Tekchin growled. He pointed at her with his sword. “If they try to kill you…trust me, I can.”
“I don’t want you to.”
“She’s right,” Persephone said. “It’s not worth it. You’ve already sacrificed too much on our behalf. If we’re going to lose anyway, what’s the point of cursing your souls in the process? Maybe if you surrender, the fane will spare your lives.”
“She’s right,” Nyphron said. “The fane’s anger will focus on me. You can’t break Ferrol’s Law.”
“I’m not going to just stand here and watch them die,” Tekchin said.
“Then leave,” Moya told him. Her voice was cold. “All of you should just go. I’m sure you know a way out. Some back exit, some warren hole. Go on and leave us.”
“Moya!” Persephone scolded. “Don’t be so cruel.”
“She’s not,” Tekchin said. “She’s being brave. She’s being exactly what any of us would be. She’s being a Galantian.”
“She is, isn’t she?” Grygor grinned at her. “Proved herself in battle, too, against a giant monster, in a one-on-one with a chieftain, and in a melee.”
Eres nodded. “And she’s the best in the world with that bow of hers.”
They each looked at Moya
critically. No one scoffed; no one laughed.
“A Rhune?” Nyphron asked them all with a smirk. “And a woman to boot.”
Tekchin nodded.
“Look at me,” Grygor said. “I’m no pretty Fhrey.”
“I’m not sure that’s an argument in her favor,” Nyphron told the giant, but Eres kept nodding.
“What makes you think I even want to be in your lousy club?” Moya asked, but her tone lacked the usual bite.
“You don’t understand,” Tekchin said. “Galantian isn’t a group or organization. It’s just a word. A Fhrey word.”
“Moya,” Persephone said. “Galantian means hero.”
“At its core, it means the best,” Nyphron said. “In Instarya tradition, he is Galantian who epitomizes the best of the tribe’s values: honor, martial skill, and bravery.” He looked at Vorath and Anwir who both nodded, as did Eres. “And so seven once more becomes eight.”
Moya looked from one to another, each smiling back at her. “As nice as all that is, and thanks for the vote of confidence, you really need to leave.”
“Running away isn’t very heroic, is it?” Eres said.
Anwir nodded. “We appear to be trapped by our own ideals.”
Moya sighed and pointed to the east. “Seven bridges, people. They’re making them right now. Climb what’s left of the Spyrok and look for yourself. And we don’t have walls anymore. Come dawn they’ll kill us all. And since you can’t help by sticking around, you ought to go.”
“I will if you will.” Tekchin grinned at her.
“You know I can’t.”
“You can,” Persephone told her. The pain in her stomach was still awful, but she had a little more movement than before. She could sit up and she was, but sitting in a bed did little to enhance her authority. “As the keenig, I’m the only one who has to stay. This is my mess, and I bear the responsibility for it. No one else does.”
“I do,” Moya said.
Age of War Page 34
