The Sheening Of The Blades (Book 1)

by Kari Cordis

  With common purpose and no need for discussion, they all made their way to the stables, where Melkin and Cerise were already leading the horses out.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Melkin said needlessly, and even Banion mounted with an impressive rapidity. They rode, away from the Academy of Magi, away from the distressing trembling of the very foundation of their world, away from the unsettling predictions of an out-of-favor Mage.

  And the box on Perraneus’ desk was forgotten for many long months.

  CHAPTER 11

  The capital of Merrani seemed to go on forever, but finally the last dribbles of stone buildings had faded behind them and the wide open road stretched out under the summer sun. The earthquake was forgotten, swept away by the brisk breeze off the ocean, and burned off by the brightness of midday. Before them, the road alternated between dense patches of evergreens and rocky, windswept plateau where the Eastern Sea could be seen glistening all the way to the horizon.

  Merrani was literally composed of the Ethammers, a granite plateau riddled with peaks more rough than tall, clumped with firs and pines and cleared occasionally by small croftholders. Loren, heir to Harthunters, pointed out the poor soil and stunty crops with a jaundiced eye as they passed. The scenery was not near as grand as the Wilds, neither trees nor hills invoking that sense of soaring magnificence, but the smell of the sea, the intermittent beckoning of its dazzling expanse, the bright crowds of wildflowers and brilliant sun, all eased Ari’s tenseness. He began to enjoy their adventure again.

  “Cerise,” Melkin directed when they were a few moments out, “take rearguard.”

  Her chin rose proudly and she quickly turned her horse, the mare’s white stockings flashing in the sun.

  “That means we’re in no danger,” Rodge observed as she passed.

  “You’re just jealous.” She shot him a haughty look.

  “Oh, yes, please let me eat dust and get attacked and snatched up by pursuit from behind,” Rodge answered, rolling his eyes.

  “I thought there was no danger,” she tossed over her shoulder.

  Banion had passed to the front of the group and he and Melkin rode close, talking. Kai, striding effortlessly alongside, occasionally tossed a comment up to the two. Ari almost burned with curiosity, aching to join them.

  Then Selah rode up next to him, and he forgot they existed. Kane had given her a pretty little bay, as well as outfitted them all in traveling clothes (he could get used to being clothed by royalty once a month), and they rode companionably, chatting and pointing out exceptional bits of Merrani to each other.

  The road was easy, the weather held fair, and, truthfully, it felt good to be back in the saddle again. They’d been riding south for several days before they dropped off the heights and down into a little valley. Ahead of them, the road flattened out for almost a league, and they could see the big dust cloud of an approaching party.

  “Knights,” Banion said, reining in his big horse. He’d changed out the plowhorse for something a little more dignified and, improbably, larger yet. Ari and Loren shared a glance, then looked avidly toward the dust, straining for their first glimpse of armor or lance. Real Merranic Knights…

  “Can you make out who it is?” Melkin growled, keeping his own excitement under admirable control.

  Banion shook his head. “Not yet, though it’s at least a chevric, with that guidon, and a full half-steeding behind him…moving fast,” he trailed off, sounding surprised.

  They were flat out running. Ari could see it as the strangers quickly drew closer, and a vague sense of unease filtered through his eagerness. Suddenly, he recognized the flag streaming out in front: pale turquoise-green, the silver lion in the center looking like it was dancing as the fabric was tossed in the wind. From the Silver Hills?

  Banion stepped into the middle of the road—bravely, considering the mass of men and metal hurtling towards him—holding up his hand authoritatively. They had to pull back noticeably to check themselves, but they did it. And as they came to a stop and the dust stilled, the boys’ mouths drifted open in wordless awe.

  Five columns abreast, ten deep, of champing, foaming warsteeds, each larger than Banion’s big mount by a good hand, stood prancing restlessly in formation. The fine, long hairs of their manes and tails and fetlocks stirred and floated in the stiff breeze, playing around the powerful necks and gleaming flanks and legs. And on their backs, in full armor, sat Knights of Merrani, visors down, lances gripped in rigid metal hands, sun glancing brilliant off polished steel.

  They loomed over the awed Northerners, the world full of their lathered, sweaty scent, the stamping of huge hooves, the jangling of a half-hundred fine harnesses. In front, the leader crashed a steel gauntlet into his breastplate, making them all jump, and snapped his visor open.

  “My lord Steelmists,” he panted in surprise. Under him, his huge black charger, chest heaving, pawed restlessly at the ground, his steel-shod hooves the diameter of a dinner plate.

  “Finnansterne,” Banion said in clipped military tones. “What passes?”

  “My lord,” he said, and then his sweating face crumpled in a suspiciously overwrought way.

  “Report, Chevric!” Banion snapped in a tone that made Ari straighten reflexively in his saddle. It also seemed to quell any inappropriate emotion in the Knight.

  “My lord,” he began again, with considerably more firmness, “we’ve been riding all night. The Castle of the Silver Hills is besieged—by Mohrgs.” A touch of terror crept through the professionalism, not very comforting to the Northerner contingent of Melkin’s party. “I took half my Steeding and made a break for it to bear news and beg reinforcements from the King.”

  “Go,” Banion commanded instantly, “Ride.” He yanked his horse out of the way and Finnansterne clanged a salute, throwing his visor down. The column leaped into motion after him as he thundered ponderously back into a gallop. As they flowed past, Ari could see, even through the rising dust, that some of the bright armor was dented and battered. Several Knights wore bandages and the great Warsteeds were scraped and marred with dried blood along their sides and legs, the rich caparisons of silver and seagreen torn and dirty.

  “I’m going to take this as a bad sign,” Rodge observed as silence settled with the dust. “No star-gazing needed.” Ari glanced at him. He was as skinny as ever, but neither pale nor shaking.

  After the pounding reverberation and the choking, blinding dust of several hundred hooves, the road was very empty once they’d gone. The sun didn’t seem nearly so bright, the breeze had a bite, and the specter of the Chevric’s report hung in the air. They all gathered worriedly around Banion, who was sharing glances with the other men.

  “Our route passes nowhere near Kraemoor’s Castle,” he said slowly into the weighty silence.

  “If the Mohrgs are out and in enough numbers and bad enough tempers to attack fifty mounted Knights, I want to be nowhere near the Silver Hills,” Melkin snapped. Flawless reasoning, Ari soundlessly agreed.

  “So,” Rodge said conversationally, “what are Mohrgs?”

  “There is a cut-off, the little used path just at the edge of the Hills,” Kai said quietly. Melkin met his eyes, nodding without expression when he added, “It is our only choice if we wish to make the Kingsmeet.”

  They looked to Banion, who said, “If we push the horses, we should be through the foothills by nightfall.”

  “Alright,” Melkin grated out. “Stay together.” He turned his long-legged roan sharply. They all took off after him as he sprang into a gallop, inspired by visions of imagined monsters probably much worse than any reality.

  Ari glanced back once, wondering about Kai, but he’d disappeared into the tree line. A short time later, when Melkin drew the panting, blowing horses down to a walk, he saw him flitting past and shook his head in amazement. Once the horses had settled into their pace, as if on an unseen signal, the Northerners all drew close around Banion.

  “So,” Cerise suggested bitingly, �
��Perhaps some answers.”

  Banion sighed, and took a swig of water from his waterskin. “The Hills of the Silver Lions are kind of a wild place,” he admitted. “They say there’s still leftover magic there from the Upheaval, when the gods created men and beasts. You’ll find strange things there—creatures the wrong color, unicorns, and sometimes, animals gone bad. It’s the only place outside the White Wastes you’ll find Warwolves—”

  “Wait, what about these animals gone bad?” Rodge interrupted.

  Banion hesitated. “That’d be the Mohrgs. The rest have pretty much been hunted off…they say there used to be Wolven—” Melkin shot him a quick glance of alarm, and he added hastily, “but there haven’t been any of those seen for centuries.”

  “WHAT,” four voices said almost in unison, “are Mohrgs?”

  “They’re like wild boars,” Banion finally said, resigned. “Only plated, with a rim of horn protruding up behind their heads and yard-long tusks. They’re very aggressive, and every once in a while you’ll hear of a lone traveler being gored. Fortunately, they usually travel in small groups and don’t attack unless provoked.”

  “So, it’s pretty unusual for a large herd to attack, say, a castle?” Loren prompted.

  “Very,” Banion said, trying without success to sound blasé.

  They ran again for a while, then, and when next Melkin pulled them back to a walk, pacing the horses, Ari asked, “Why did he call you Steelmists? I thought you were the Jarl of Ransok?”

  “That’s my personal title. Steelmists refers to my, er, job title.”

  “And what exactly is your job?” Rodge asked sarcastically.

  Banion’s whiskery face moved into his wolfish grin. “Making war,” he growled. The grin faded and he muttered dolefully, “Temporarily unemployed.”

  They rode straight through lunch—with no complaints—and the talk dwindled as the tension mounted. They were, it had occurred to them all, running full speed straight towards a nightmare. By early afternoon, they had topped out on a little rise and could make out what was surely the Silver Hills beginning to rise in front of them. They were pretty to look at, all covered in pale green foliage and silvery grasses, white birch trunks gleaming out of the thick, sage-colored undergrowth. They could see a narrow road cutting off to the west, skirting the Hills and disappearing into a copse of blue spruce.

  Dra Kai, whom they hadn’t seen in hours, stepped calmly out of the trees as they approached the intersection. His rolling brown muscles were coated with sweat, waistband soaked with it, and though he wore the same expression he had in Kane’s smoking room, Ari could feel the difference from several yards away. He was taut as a drawn bow, feral and intense. He said nothing, merely shook his head at Melkin’s inquiring glance.

  “Keep it quiet,” Melkin said unnecessarily, and turned down a rough, narrow track too uneven for galloping. Banion rode next to him, looking considerably more dangerous when he wasn’t snoring. Nervously, Ari moved the brown between Selah and the Hills, rigorously scanning the underbrush and smiling encouragingly in alternating cycles. Kai stayed close now, ranging back and forth in the Hills off to their left and flushing small game with his roaming—which made them jump in their saddles no matter how many times it happened. Tension sat heavily, tightening shoulder muscles, cramping legs where they gripped the horses so hard, drying eyeballs from the constant staring into the Hills.

  It was a shame, because it was stunning country. Sometimes the two sides of their path stood out in dramatic contrast: on the left, the pale, feathery underbrush, long silver-green grass and crystal-clear streams tripping over white stones, and on their right, the black rock, thin, sandy soil and scraggly larch and pine. The offended wildlife running from Kai’s boots was several shades lighter as well, bunnies a pretty, pale beige, big squirrels so light a grey they looked white in the sun.

  But it didn’t get really strange until they rounded a sharp turn in the boulder-strewn trail—and came face to face with a huge, brilliant white tree. Ari had been in and around the woods his entire life, and he knew that it was an oak…but the trunk was as white as a birch, the leaves looked covered in snow, and the budding acorns were a weird, flesh-colored pink.

  “The White Oak,” Banion turned and whispered proudly, as if it was a Merranic landmark. Ari and Selah shared a glance. Original. It was ghostly beautiful, though, and he turned several times to look back at it.

  The sun was far down on the horizon when Banion finally stopped them. The rough track they were on had gotten narrower and more clogged with pebbles and rocks the farther west they’d gone. The footing was tricky, and the horses, already out of shape from all their penned-up time onboard ship, were so tired they didn’t even bother to spook anymore. In fact, they were barely awake when Banion finally brought them all to a stop for the night in front of a big cave.

  Sunk into the rock of the Ethammers, it was apparently a popular stopover; there was a well-established firepit set a good ways into the interior and even a nice stockpile of cut wood piled nearby. They fell wearily into preparing camp, Ari gathering up armfuls of pine-needles for Selah’s bed and throwing his greatcloak over the top of it. Feeling almost rabidly protective, he scraped out a hollow in the sandy soil between her and the cave entrance for himself.

  They lingered over the campfire despite their fatigue that night, reveling in the security of the cave, the lack of abnormal creatures around, the comfort of their well-habituated presence to each other. Selah’s cooking had never tasted so good. Finally, everyone bedded down, but Ari still couldn’t sleep. A tiny part of him, to be honest, wouldn’t mind a Mohrg attack, and that faint and irrational hope was inspiring just enough adrenaline to keep him awake. Finally giving up, he rose and made his way to the cave mouth to see if he could relieve Kai.

  The Dra was almost invisible in the moon shadows, but when Ari finally picked him out and offered to take his watch, he noticed he was wet. Dripping, even. “You bathed,” he said in whispered surprise.

  Kai’s eyes glittered as they turned briefly to acknowledge him. “Humans have an unmistakable scent,” he said in a voice like leaves rustling in the wind. “Most animals in the wild run from it…but not all.”

  Ari stared at him. His and Loren’s forays into the wilderness were excuses NOT to bathe. Then the import of what the Dra had said sunk in and he gave a little thrill of a shiver. “This place feels like it’s from a different world,” he said, hushed. It was hardly the right time for conversation, but, then, it was hardly believable that the reticent Dra was having one.

  “They say that this was once the site of Ethlond.”

  Ethlond? The Ethlond…of First Settlement fame? He thought about that for a moment, of all the things he’d learned over the past few weeks, finally muttering half in disgust, “How does a god lose control of his creation?”

  Kai’s keen ears caught it. “It is said that Laschald was the most gifted with creation, that Vangoth had…a heavy hand. Lacked some of the fine tuning.”

  “That would explain the Merranics,” Ari whispered without thinking, and a quicksilver look passed fleetingly over the hawk-like features of the Dra. Astonished, Ari hissed, “You laughed!”

  Kai shrugged, expressionless as ever, and then did something Ari would never forget. He clapped him briefly on the shoulder with a hand heavy as iron, whispered, “Wake Banion in two hours,” and glided silently into the cave. Ari stood motionless, speechless, eyes full of moonlight, chest swelling with pride.

  And he was exhausted the next morning. Nobody slept well, judging from the sour silence at breakfast, and more than Rodge groaned as they all mounted up. They’d been out of the saddle long enough that the intensity of yesterday’s ride was causing a whole chorus of muscle complaints.

  Within the hour, the trail was widening and flattening as it came down off of the high ground, pleasant broadleaf trees taking the place of the prickly, pungent evergreens. Tekkara, Cerise’s mare, possibly the only one with enough energy f
or it, took a notion and spooked, tossing her head with a squeal and half-rearing. Easily the best horseman among them, Cerise rode it out with irritated expertise while the boys rolled their eyes. The other horses moved uneasily, like siblings watching a spoiled sister throw a tantrum. Ari turned away, lack of sleep making him cranky and intolerant…and so he was the only one that saw it.

  There was no warning, nothing to raise alarm except the nervous mare. But as he looked, the empty trail ahead of them suddenly filled with a creature that defied comprehension. He got only the impression of immensity, of gaping, snarling, fanged jaws and huge golden eyes, a sleek, four-legged missile of madness speeding right towards them. Before his mind could even register what it saw, the huge, hairy form lunged forward, utterly silent—and leaped, easily topping the height of a horse’s back. Kai, somehow sensing the menace, whirled, moving so fast the eye could barely follow him. He drew his sword and lunged sideways in time to impale the creature’s chest to the hilt as it leaped past him.

  It happened so fast, Ari’s mind was still numb. The horses went wild at the sight and smell of what was obviously a predator just dropping out of the sky. Kai was knocked down by the impetus of that enormous body, and it was several minutes before anyone could quiet their mounts enough to get to him. By that time, the Dra had extricated himself from the still mound of corpse and was standing looking down at it thoughtfully, as unconcerned as if he’d just snared a rabbit for dinner. Melkin rushed over to him—or rather the creature, as he completely ignored Kai and knelt quickly at the beast’s side, placing a fearless hand on the big chest.

  “What is it?” Rodge demanded shakily. “One of those mutations the gods misread the recipe on?”