by Lara Adrian
Braedon's mount followed but an instant later.
"Let's get moving," he ordered Kenrick and her, his voice quiet and nearly detached in the swirling mist that shrouded the banks of the ravine. "The fog will hide us, but not for long."
They fled at once, silent but for the heavy beats of their mounts' hooves as they escaped deeper into the woods. Somewhere near, there was the sound of running water, a trickle of a small stream, strangely unhindered by ice or cold. Braedon led them along its shallow, steaming banks, riding against the flow to the point where the rivulet curved toward its source, a hidden spring that bubbled up from beneath a craggy wall of granite. The dark shadows on the rough-hewn rock all but concealed the narrow mouth of a cave. Ariana might not have seen the portal at all, had it not been for the sudden slash of white that appeared in its space.
It was a woman, slender-built and ethereal. She wore a pale dove-gray gown that skimmed her figure like a cloud. A mass of white-gold hair spilled over her shoulders and down around her, framing a beautiful face and haunting silver eyes.
"Braedon." Ariana gestured to point her out, but he had already spied the woman.
For a moment, he did not move. Indeed, it seemed to Ariana, watching him in perplexity, that he could scarcely breathe. Stock still, staring, he said nothing as she and Kenrick drew up beside him. Then he exhaled a soft oath.
"Braedon, who is--?"
"Leave the horses," he said, her concern disregarded as he swung down off his mount. He came around to assist Ariana down from her saddle. "It's all right."
"Can you be sure?" Ariana held onto Braedon's arms for a moment after her feet touched the ground. In the mouth of the slim cavern entrance, the lady was holding out her hand in invitation, backing into the gloom of the fissure as if to show them the way. Puzzled, Ariana turned her gaze back to Braedon. "Do you...do you know this woman?"
"Aye," he answered, frowning with incredulity, his voice oddly wooden. "She is my mother."
* * *
A thousand questions spun in Braedon's mind as he and Ariana and Kenrick entered the mouth of the cavern cleft. That his mother was there before him, now, inexplicably, after so many years since she had abandoned him to his father's scorn, was like something out of a strange, forgotten dream. And thinking on strange dreams come to fruition made him think on the white she-wolf as well.
To imagine it coincidence that the wolf and his mother would appear in the same place at the same time seemed impossible. To imagine it anything else--to think, even for a moment, that the two were somehow connected, or, by some brand of sorcery, might exist as one--was surely nothing short of madness. In truth, after all he had witnessed since embarking on this strange journey, he had to wonder if it were no less insane to follow this white wraith as she led them farther into the unknown.
Behind him, her feet shuffling on the path, Ariana draw a shaky breath. "It's so dark," she whispered.
"Take my hand." He reached back in reassurance, clasping her fingers tight in his own as the group of them forged on.
Lightless, save the movement of his mother's pale form a few paces ahead of them, the narrow passage seemed to breathe warm air and the clean mineral scent of fresh-running water. A natural spring, Braedon realized a moment later, hearing the trickle on the other side of the moist, slanting rock wall he followed with his free hand. Descending almost imperceptibly, they turned a sharp corner and at last saw a glimmer of light at the end of the long passage. Candle glow, its reflection wobbling on a subtle curve of stone, spilled softly from somewhere at the heart of the labyrinth.
The blood in Braedon's temples yet raced from their flight into the forest. It picked up a tighter pitch of warning as they rounded the bend in the sleek granite passageway, which opened onto a dimly lit chamber. A rustle of movement within alerted him to the presence of others; his nostrils flared as he took in air, the faintest tang of unsheathed steel catching in the back of his throat. With one hand inching Ariana behind him, Braedon drew his sword before they reached the threshold. His mother was still walking, unaware that he had freed the blade from its scabbard until the barest hiss of sound rasped like a whisper in the dark passage.
"No," she gasped. Her long, silver-white hair sifted about her slight frame as she turned to shake her head at him. "Please, do not be afraid. There is no need for violence here."
"I'd rather be the judge of that," he replied, for in that same instant, as they cleared the threshold of the cavernous chamber, they were met with like preparedness, like mistrust.
Six guards--four large men and two agile-looking women--all bearing deadly, unsheathed swords blocked them off, barring entry to the room. Carved out of the granite without a single corner, the space was shaped round like a wheel, with perimeter passageways fanning out as spokes bored into the rock, their torchlit depths leading ostensibly farther into the subterranean compound. When the four men in the group advanced to challenge the outsiders, a wisp of pale, flowing silk held them off.
"It is him," Braedon's mother said, her hand raised in gentle command. The guards obeyed with total deference, withdrawing their weapons in uniform time. "This is Braedon. This is my son."
Ariana stood directly behind him, her hand clutching his arm. "What are they doing, Braedon? What is going on here?"
"I don't know." In question, he glanced to his mother's placid smile and welcoming expression. "Explain this. Why have you brought us here?"
"Is it not yet clear to you? I have been waiting for you to come for a long time, Braedon. We all have."
"Waiting for me?"
"You're finally home," she said, sweeping her arm out in a generous arc to the others standing before him. "These are your clan. Your kin, Braedon."
The words sank in with heavy meaning. A cautious part of him rose to deny what she said as he looked at the six pairs of pale eyes now trained on him in unblinking curiosity and waiting expectation. His clan, indeed, he thought, scoffing at the notion. He was not of this breed. He could not be. The group of guards with their dragon-hilt swords bore the trace scent of shifters: changeable, quicksilver, as mutable as the colors of their keenly watchful eyes. That same stamp of dark magic shimmered about the strange and lovely woman he'd once known as his mother.
He turned a glare on her. "This is madness."
"Is it?" she asked, almost sadly. "Can my son be so like his father that he refuses to accept that which exists right before his eyes?"
In that very moment, that fleeting space between one heartbeat and the next, Braedon's mother faded away--she shifted into the silvery form of the white wolf, then just as quickly back again. It seemed an illusion of his own confused mind, until he heard Ariana's gasp of fright behind him. "It's all right," he told her. "They mean us no harm."
Kenrick swore an oath as he came to stand at Braedon's side. "For Christ's sake, le Chasseur. They're shifters. They are under de Mortaine's command."
Braedon considered the warning, but he knew with every instinct he possessed that de Mortaine held no power over these few. There was a beastly magic here, but there was no malice in this place. As he looked into his mother's eyes, quicksilver and unblinking, he felt a sense of knowing lap at him like the slow, incoming tide. Strange as she was, this creature he hardly remembered and had for so long strove to renounce, he could not deny their bond. Nor could he shake the sudden feeling that although he had never been to this place--not even in his dreams--he was somehow tied to it. And to the strangers who stared at him now, like some prodigal son returned to them after a lifetime of wandering in the world outside.
"Why did you summon me here?" he asked her. "For that is what you did, is it not? 'Twas you in my dream the other night...you, the white she-wolf. And it was you again out there in the forest, leading us to this place."
"Your friends need rest, and so do you," she said, moving to guide them toward the network of caverns beyond. "There will be plenty of time for talk, my son. I will explain everything to you in time."
> With a look of silent command, she sent the other shifters away. The six of them dispersed, but when his mother began to lead the way toward one of the cavern portals, Braedon reached out and seized her by the wrist. "Nay, madame, this won't wait."
"Braedon," Ariana said from beside him, her soothing voice coaxing him to calm when his fingers tightened on the delicate bones of his mother's arm. The lady seemed not the least concerned, giving him a placid smile.
"Will you at least permit us look after your friend there, before he collapses from his exhaustion? His body needs healing, and we have those skilled in such arts."
Braedon agreed to Kenrick's care with a curt nod of his head, then watched as the battered knight was assisted toward one of the torchlit passageways by two of the shifter men. The other clansfolk followed, leaving Braedon and Ariana alone with the mysterious creature who bore him.
"I want answers now, madame. Why have you brought me here? Why now, after all these years of leaving me to wonder if you even lived? Why do you come to me now--like this?"
"Because I could not bear your pain any longer." She withdrew her hand from his slackened grasp to reach up and trace the scar on his left cheek. "Your wounds are my wounds, Braedon, save that I wear them in my heart."
"You left me. I hated you for that."
"I know you did, but it seemed the only way. I thought that without me there, you might adjust to their ways. I...hoped." She slowly shook her head, as though recalling the years long past. Emotion clouded her gaze, then faded with a sweep of her lashes. "This is the only place you'll be safe...from them, and from those of our clan who would hunt us as they seek out the Dragon Chalice."
"What do you know of the Chalice?"
"It is the most valued treasure our people have ever known. It is the very heart of Anavrin, our kingdom." At Braedon's skeptical look, his mother explained further. "The cup was forged long, long ago, by the High Mage of Anavrin and given to the ruling King as a gift of peace and a promise of protection. It was a symbol of balance and trust among the two classes of the realm--the Magics and the Immortals. Unless it is returned, Anavrin and all its people will perish."
"But if the legends are true, the Dragon Chalice is in four pieces," Ariana pointed out. "And one of those pieces now belongs to Silas de Mortaine."
"Avosaar," Braedon's mother said, nodding slowly. "The cup that holds the Stone of Prosperity. The three others, Calasaar, Vorimasaar, and Serasaar--Stones of Light, Faith, and Peace--remain somewhere Outside. They are protected by an enchantment, but even Anavrin's magic is fragile in this world."
"De Mortaine will stop at nothing to have the treasure for himself," Braedon said. "He has killed for it already. He has a number of your own kind at his command and he has made it his mission to recover the Chalice for himself."
"Yes. And now that one of the stones has been found, the others cannot remain hidden for long."
"Do you know of any way to stop him?" Ariana asked. "Any way at all to keep him from claiming the Chalice treasure?"
"I fear there is little that can be done to stop the cycle now that it has begun. Leastwise, not by any of us. One of our clan thought to intercede by attempting to steal Avosaar back, but she paid a terrible price. Lara knew the risks, but she did not heed them."
"Lara?" Braedon frowned. "Do you mean to say that the girl--the queer, fey young thief who raided de Mortaine's keep and took the Avosaar cup was one of your own? A shifter?"
"Yes, she was. But not the same as those on the Outside. She was like the rest of us here, in hiding, no longer Seekers, but living away from the others as Shadows."
"Seekers and Shadows?" Braedon asked impatiently. "You speak in riddles, madam. Explain your meaning."
She gave him a placid look, her lupine gray eyes unblinking. "Twenty of us were summoned from Anavrin to walk among the Outsiders. It was our quest to seek out the Dragon Chalice and see it restored to its rightful place. However, the prophecy surrounding the Chalice decreed that as it had been taken away in an Outsider's hands, so, too, it must be returned."
"Then why don't you help us thwart de Mortaine?" Ariana suggested, her eyes brightening with hope. "If we find the three other stones, help us win back the one in de Mortaine's possession and you will have the Dragon Chalice for your people."
"It is not so simple as that, my dear. We can influence the will and actions of man, using our ability to shift forms among them--our glamour--but we cannot touch the treasure in order to bring it back to Anavrin. We were sent out as Seekers, but to lay our hands on any part of the Dragon Chalice would spell our doom."
"What would happen to you?"
"She would perish instantly, engulfed in a plume of fire," Braedon answered, instantly recalling the horror of what happened on the Brittany cliff so many months ago. He let out a low curse, shaking his head. "The girl had seemed peculiar to me, the way she'd stolen the cup from de Mortaine's keep, yet carried it in a leather pouch, refusing to touch it outright. As bold as she'd been, she was terrified as well. She had gloved her hands in two layers of thick hide just to hold the strings of the pouch that contained the pilfered cup. I didn't know why until de Mortaine ordered her death before my eyes."
"Oh, Braedon." He felt a comforting hand on his arm and looked down to find Ariana glancing up at him, her gaze filled with sympathy even though he likely deserved contempt for his role in the girl's demise.
"When I brought her to him to collect my reward, de Mortaine forced her at swordpoint to hold the prize she had stolen. The instant her shaking fingers touched it, there was a blinding flash of light. It poured out from the stone in the center of the cup, incinerating her as though hell itself had opened up to swallow her whole. At the time, I thought the fire to be the work of de Mortaine's wicked magic."
"No," his mother replied. "It is simply the power of the Dragon Chalice. None of us can interfere in this--not even those who are the Seekers. You have seen it for yourself, Braedon. There is a terrible price to be paid by anyone born of Anavrin who attempts to win the Dragon Chalice." Her gaze seemed to pale a bit as she looked at him. "That includes you, my son. You are no shifter, but my blood--the blood of Anavrin kings and sorcerers--runs in your veins." He grunted, still struggling to accept all that he was learning about the damned Dragon Chalice and himself. "You know it's true," she said. "It is what separates you from other men on the Outside. It is the reason you have struggled out there, among them. You don't belong there."
"And where do I belong then--here, with you? Powerless, cowering below ground in fear?"
Anger flared in his voice. His mother took a step back from him as though not quite trusting him, blood of her blood or nay. Braedon did nothing to coax her back. In truth, he'd had enough talk of magic and things he could no control. He felt adrift on a strange tide, where nothing made sense anymore. "I have heard enough," he said, his tone dismissive and brooking no argument. "Just leave me for a while--both of you. Let me think."
"As you wish," his mother replied softly.
She departed with scarcely a sound, but Ariana remained, her gaze filled with concern. "Braedon, if what she says is true, perhaps you should heed your mother's advice. After all, we have seen what Silas de Mortaine is capable of."
"You would have me hide, too?"
"We could, yes."
He glanced down to where she stood beside him, her hand tenderly caressing his arm. "What are you saying, Ariana? That this is the life you would choose for yourself? Nay, I don't think so."
"If this is the safest place for you--for us--then what other choice do we have? We could stay here in the caverns, or we could go somewhere else, far away from here, and forget we ever heard about the Dragon Chalice."
"Run, you mean. Live in hiding, forsaking everyone we know, as I have done for the past nearly two years? You would never see your brother again, or your home at Clairmont. Is that truly what you want?"
Nay, it wasn't. She would not deny it, nor did he think for a moment that sh
e would balk if he took her up on her desperate plan that very moment. She would run with him if he asked her to. But he would never make her face that choice. He loved her too much for that.
"Tell me you'll think about it," she demanded of him, reaching up to cup his face in her palm. "Promise me?"
Braedon caught her hand in his and pressed a kiss to her fingertips. "Go see to your brother, my lady."
"What will you do?"
"Like I said, I need time to consider all of this. Alone." He touched her velvety cheek, giving her a smile meant to reassure her. "Go on. 'Tis all right."
Reluctantly, as if she feared she might never see him again, she backed out of his arms. She paused near the mouth of one of the cavern passageways, the one down which Kenrick had been taken a short while ago. "We are in this together, do you agree? That was our pact."
He gave her a vague nod, his thoughts already spinning, contemplating his far too few options. All he knew was he would not spend another day in hiding--not from anyone or anything. Nor would he allow Ariana to be a part of the danger. This was his battle now, and he meant to finish it. The sooner, the better.
Chapter 20
The caverns were a serpentine maze of torchlit chambers and passageways. Countless living spaces, meeting rooms, and thick supporting pillars had been hollowed out of the rock, the whole of it warmed to a humid, near summer-like climate by a hot water spring that ran beneath the strange, subterranean haven. Kenrick had been tended by a healer some hours before and was currently installed in one of the private chambers deep within the place, as was Ariana, although at the moment, facing an abrupt dead end in the corridor she followed, she could not recall precisely where her quarters lay.
She had gone to fetch a pitcher of water for her own refreshment and toilette, which had seemed an easy enough task, following the healer's directions to and from the cavern well, but apparently, somewhere on the return she had strayed off course. With a whispered word of frustration, she pivoted to turn and retrace her steps.
