“Can you tell me one thing?”
“Not about Persephone, is it?”
He shook his head. “About my sister and my mother.”
“Oh.” Malcolm nodded. “You want to know if you’ll see them again?”
“I think about it. I think about it a lot. I never got to say goodbye. I never got to express my thanks. I don’t know how the afterlife works. Don’t know if I’ll go to Alysin, Rel, or Nifrel. And I don’t know where my mother and sister are.”
Malcolm thought a moment. “They gave their lives to save you. You’re giving your life to save everyone else. I suspect the afterlife will look kindly upon all of that.”
“You don’t know? Or you can’t tell me?”
He smiled. “You’re going to find out for yourself very soon, but I don’t believe you have anything to worry about.”
“Can you at least tell me your real name? It’s not Malcolm, is it?”
“It is now. I’ve been Malcolm for a few hundred years.”
A few hundred?
“Names are temporary things, like clothes. They serve to make us look a certain way but are quite trivial and can be changed. It’s like you’re asking me what my real shirt is.”
“What was your first shirt, then?”
“That was a very long time ago,” Malcolm said, but Raithe wasn’t satisfied and stared until Malcolm sighed. “Turin,” he finally said. “Turin was the name of a very young, very innocent, very stupid person.”
Raithe looked across at the forge where Roan drew out the glowing metal to begin the hammering. “And you’re certain this is the only way to make the world right, Turin?”
“Unless someone’s foot gets in the way. Speaking of feet…” He stood up. “I need to have a talk with Nyphron and make sure he keeps his on the ground, and doesn’t do anything rash.”
“I’m guessing that’s a full-time job.”
“It is with most people.” Malcolm took two steps then paused, and looking back, added, “Including myself.”
* * *
—
Nyphron was alone on the third floor balcony that ran around the outside of the Verenthenon when Malcolm found him. “So much for your plans,” he told his ex-slave. “I think your prediction of me becoming the ruler of the world was a bit off.”
“Try not to think too much; you don’t have the talent for it.”
Nyphron’s brows rose. He was having trouble adjusting to this new Malcolm, this onetime slave who behaved as an equal. No, he thought, he acts like my superior—like my father. Nyphron had never cared for the easy authority Zephyron exercised over him, one of the many reasons he’d spent so much time abroad with the Galantians. And he cared even less for Malcolm. If either of them had more than a day in their futures, he might have voiced his objection, settled the issue, but as it was, he couldn’t see the point.
“They’re creating bridges right now.” He pointed down at the seven tongues, each of slightly different lengths, reaching out toward their side of the Bern. “Come morning—”
“Not morning,” Malcolm said. “They’ll attack tonight.” He looked up at the stars. “Two, maybe three hours.”
Nyphron felt a surge of panic, then it subsided. What difference does a few hours make? The result will be the same. “Just as well, I suppose. No sense prolonging it.”
Malcolm stared at him, perplexed. “You really think you’re going to die?”
“The fane won’t pardon me after this.”
“No, I mean you’re certain the fane will defeat us?”
Nyphron looked out at the campfires, and then down at the rubble below them. “We lost almost half our fighting force today, and that was without the fane bringing in his infantry. Yes, we will all die. Maybe not you. Can you die?”
Malcolm smiled at him. “What would it be worth to win this battle?”
There was no point in replying, so Nyphron simply waited. He had no idea who, or what Malcolm was—a Miralyith perhaps? But he’d never seen Malcolm perform magic. A crimbal lord? There were legends about them sometimes leaving Nog and visiting Elan. They possessed great powers and weren’t bound by the same laws as Rhunes, Fhrey, and Dherg. But again, there was that issue of a lack of magic, and crimbals were known to wallow in the stuff. He might be a demon or spirit. Stories spoke of such things walking the face of Elan and causing mischief to mortals. Whatever Malcolm was, Nyphron certainly didn’t trust that smile.
“You’ll owe me a favor,” Malcolm said. “I will ask you to do something, and you must do it—no matter what it is.”
“Scary promise.”
“It is.”
“I won’t kill myself.”
“No, it won’t be that.”
“And I will be ruler of the entire civilized world?”
Malcolm paused in thought. “Well, minus Belgreig. The Belgriclungreians are about to have a bit of a revival, but you’ll be allies.”
“Fine,” Nyphron said. “I did say civilized world.” He stared at the thin figure before him, who didn’t have a trustworthy face, and he certainly wasn’t a man. “Why do I feel like you’ll twist this into something terrible?”
“You’re right to be wary. I can tell you now that you won’t like what I’ll ask of you. Certainly not at the time I ask it. Wouldn’t be much point in my making this agreement if it was something you’d agree to willingly. But it won’t be anything too horrible, and in time, you’ll agree that I was right.”
They stood looking out at the torch- and star-filled night, watching the growing bridges—seven fingers of death.
“So, do we have an agreement?”
“If by some miracle we do win tomorrow—or tonight—how can I know it was you who made it happen?”
“If you agree to my demand, then tonight you’ll see a dragon rise from the rubble of Alon Rhist. This”—he paused and allowed a little smile to creep onto his lips—“Gilarabrywn will fend off the worst of the fane’s assault.”
“The worst? And what of the rest?”
Malcolm pointed to the eastern sky. “The Gula-Rhunes.”
Nyphron shook his head. “That’s impossible. The fires were never lit.”
Malcolm’s eyebrows rose sharply. “Seriously? I just told you a dragon would rise up out of the rubble and do battle for you, but it’s the coming of the Gula horde that you can’t believe?”
“Okay, none of it is believable.”
“So when it happens, when you see it all with your own eyes, and exactly as I’ve described, you’ll know it was my doing, and you’ll be bound to this agreement we make tonight, yes?”
Nyphron didn’t need to think long. The bridges were growing at an uncomfortable speed. Malcolm was right about that much. The attack wouldn’t be in the morning. “Agreed. I just wish you were telling the truth.”
* * *
—
Padera and Malcolm were the first to enter Persephone’s room after Nyphron had left. “That Fhrey downstairs is a terrible patient,” Padera grumbled.
“Sebek?”
“Is that his name? Terrible, just terrible. Won’t stay put. Won’t listen.” She pointed at Malcolm. “Even when he translates, it does no good. That Sebek gets himself bleeding. Stubborn fool.” She smiled at Persephone, waddling over duck-like. “So, how are we doing?”
“I’m fine, but I need you to do a few things for me.”
Padera glared with one eye. “I am; I’m checking your bandages,” she said, tugging at the covers. “Wait, who are you talking to?”
Persephone held the blanket tight. “Both of you. Malcolm, do you know about the pigeon loft?”
He nodded.
“I want you to send a message.” She paused, trying to remember what Arion had told her months ago when she had stood in the Karol and pleaded for Persephone to send word.
Arion had a very odd way of saying it. Something about the limitations of the system they used to convey reports. The symbols used were few and specific. There was no symbol for beautiful, bumblebee, happiness, or eagle, just to name a few; the script revolved only around the needed ideas for military reports and orders: numbers, supplies, deaths, births, seasons, and such, and all of it was in a shortened form so a message could be tied to and carried by a small bird. “I can’t remember how Arion put it, but you need to convey that: Rhunes are not animals. We are capable of the Art. All we want is peace. Are you willing to find a way to end this war? That had been Arion’s message. I’m only now seeing the wisdom in it. The fane won’t see the message in time, but maybe after he returns home, he will. Once he has regained his fortress and we are no longer a threat, perhaps then he will read it. I hope he does, and it softens his heart so he won’t kill all that remains of our people.”
“I actually have some experience with the messenger pigeons,” Malcolm explained. “I can handle it myself.”
“Good, that’s better. I was worried about trusting the Instarya to write it correctly. This is important, Malcolm. Thank you. You’ve always been there for me, haven’t you?”
“As I will always be, until the very end.”
Persephone smiled. Sometimes he said the oddest things. No, it’s not what he says; it’s how he says it, as if he knows something I don’t.
“Let me see those stitches,” Padera said.
“No, I need you to find Raithe. Tell him I want to see him right away.”
“Of course, of course. Why not?” The old woman threw up her hands. “There’s only a war on, and the place is an obstacle course of broken rubble. Why don’t I rebuild the fortress while I’m at it?”
Padera and Malcolm left, and Persephone laid her head back down on the pillow. She had done all she could to save her people. That part of her life was over. Only one loose end remained between her and a peaceful death. She needed to make a confession to a man she had lied to.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Wolves at the Door
I can honestly say I was never more frightened in my life. It was not that I thought I might die—I knew I would. I knew it with the same certainty that I knew I was in love—all this and I was only sixteen.
—THE BOOK OF BRIN
Horns blew sometime past midnight.
Tesh had finally gotten used to the bell announcing attacks, but the bell had fallen along with everything else. Trumpets were the new heralds of doom, and they woke him from a nightmare-filled slumber where Brin was dying, trapped in the Kype. He couldn’t reach her. No matter how many Fhrey he killed, more always came.
He hadn’t planned to sleep, didn’t even think it would be possible. He promised himself he’d just close his eyes for a moment, but after sixteen hours of moving rocks to help build a makeshift wall, his body had betrayed him.
Now, Tesh ran across what remained of the courtyard. Jumping onto the collapsed remains of the old Frozen Tower, he looked down and saw seven bridges that hadn’t been there when he had gone to sleep. Across them, seven columns of soldiers flowed above the chasm. All around, men ran wildly, trying to find each other, trying to locate their leaders, trying to understand what to do.
“Has anyone seen Raithe?” Tesh shouted.
No one answered. No one knew. No one cared. Everyone had problems of their own.
He could join up with the men forming in the lower courtyard. He saw them from his perch, ragged lines coming together slowly. Both Harkon and Tegan were down there shouting. Raithe couldn’t stop him from fighting this time. Now, no one had a choice. Tesh looked back over his shoulder toward the dome and the Kype. The nightmare was fresh enough that he had to resist an urge to look for Brin.
My duty is to Raithe. “Raithe! Raithe!” he called, standing on the tips of his toes to see better.
“There you are!” Tesh heard a woman yell at him as she hauled a bucket of water. Her name was Tressa. All he knew about her was that most people spat on the ground after she walked by. “Raithe is in the smithy. He’s been wanting to talk to you.”
“Is that where you’re going?” Tesh asked.
The woman nodded.
“Let me help you with that, then.”
Tressa looked at him in shock, as he took the bucket from her hands.
The courtyard was an obstacle course of fallen rocks and rushing people, and he dodged his way across to the smithy. The furnace was going. He could see the firelight leaking out from under the door. Inside, he found Roan and the dwarfs working at the polishing table, while Suri and Raithe sat in opposite corners of the room. Malcolm stood near the door.
“They’re attacking,” he announced.
Heads came up, but no one moved.
“Raithe?” Tesh said.
“I know,” Raithe replied.
“They’re forming up in the lower courtyard. What do you want me to do?”
Raithe stood up and walked over. His movements, agonizingly slow, made Tesh want to scream. This was an emergency; seconds counted and his chieftain was meandering his way through the stacks of charcoal and iron.
“We need to talk,” Raithe told him.
“What? Now? The Rhist is under attack. They’ve got bridges. They’re coming over right now. Seven columns!”
“Yeah, I know.”
“You know?” Tesh couldn’t see how Raithe could possibly know if he’d been sitting in the smithy.
“This won’t take long.”
“What won’t?”
Raithe lifted his good arm and put a hand on Tesh’s shoulder. “I want you to know that I’m proud of you, and that you’re the closest thing I’ve had to a son. That if I had one, I would have wanted him to be like you.”
“You think we’re going to lose this fight.” Tesh saw the defeat in Raithe’s eyes. He’d already given up.
“No.” Raithe shook his head. “We’re going to be okay. I even think we might win the war.”
Tesh scrunched his face up. “You said this was a lost cause.”
“Changed my mind.”
“Odd time for that.”
Someone outside shouted for more arrows to be brought to the Verenthenon. Tesh looked out at the action of soldiers running and hoped Raithe would hurry up.
“The victory will come at a price.”
Outside, the trumpets blew again, and Tesh imagined that the Fhrey were fighting in the lower courtyard. “We can have this talk later, can’t we?”
“No, we can’t. Tesh, when—if anything happens to me, you’ll be the last Dureyan. You should make sure that our people don’t die with you. You like Brin, don’t you?”
“I really don’t think now is the time—look, I need to get down to the—”
“Now is the perfect time because I don’t want you anywhere near the fighting.”
“What? You can’t be serious! You stopped me last time—and I can help!”
“You can help more by living through this night.”
“What do you want me to do? Cower somewhere?” Tesh exploded. “You’re being stupid. I can—”
“I want you to go to the Kype and protect Brin.”
Tesh remembered his dream and lost some of his anger.
“And when this battle is over,” Raithe said. “I want you to start a family. Raise children, and live a good and happy life—someplace safe and green, like on a high bank overlooking the Urum River. I want you to do what I never could.”
Why is he telling me all this now?
Tesh noticed the others watching them, Suri and Malcolm especially. The tattooed girl had tears glistening on her cheeks. “Why are you—?”
“You have talents, and you’ve learned to use them, but don’t let that be your whole life. Dureyans have always been known as warriors, but you need to
change that. Promise me you’ll do something good, that you’ll make your life worth something more than killing.”
“What’s this about?”
“Promise me.”
“But I don’t understand why—”
“Promise me.”
Tesh looked at Raithe. His eyes were desperate.
He thinks he’s going to die tonight. Maybe the mystic had foretold his death. Tesh heard she had magic powers, and Raithe’s eerie calm unnerved him. “Okay, I promise.”
Raithe smiled. “Good. Now go to Brin. Take care of her. Be a good man and a good father.”
Tesh, who had been eager to leave a moment before, lingered a moment longer. He was missing something. There was tension in the smithy, a strange silence.
“What’s going on?”
“You’ll find out,” Raithe said. “For now, your chieftain has given you an order. Get going.”
Tesh stared at him, trying to understand. But it was impossible, and memories of his nightmares pushed him out the door.
* * *
—
Brin couldn’t find Tesh. Minutes felt like hours, and hours turned into an eternity. With each passing second, her desperation grew. When the horns started blowing, she knew her time was up.
With that sound, every man stopped what he was doing and rushed down toward the lower courtyard, forming up. That’s where he’ll go, she realized. He wants to be at the front of the line. The lower courtyard was no place for a Keeper of Ways, but she desperately needed to see Tesh one last time.
“Brin!” Chieftain Harkon shouted. “Get out of here, lass. The enemy is upon us. Run back to the Kype! Do it now!”
Brin ignored sense and joined the ranks of men rushing down the steps. She was shocked by the devastation of everything below the upper courtyard. Collapsed buildings and towers had blocked access to the city streets, but the stairs and a pathway had been cleared all the way down to the lower courtyard. Walking down to where the front gates had been felt like swimming out too far; she was going too deep, getting over her head. When she reached the bottom—where men were forming in lines to replace the stone wall with one of flesh and blood—she still didn’t see Tesh. The sound of marching made her look east. The seven bridges were complete, and the elven army was crossing.
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