Guardian Last (Lords of Syon Saga Book 2)

by Jordan MacLean

  “I think you’re smarter than you let on.” Chul smirked.

  “Yes, well.” Jath cocked his brow and tickled Colaris under the chin. “I’d almost have to be.”

  They sat in silence petting Colaris for a time, each considering what the other had said, each feeling for the first time that someone truly understood.

  “Come,” Chul said finally, “did you really see all that in that apple?”

  Jath snickered. “No.”

  They both laughed.

  “Well, not exactly,” added Jath. “Durlindale might have to do without their new and far more just marquess for a while. Thanks to the vile little worm I see chewing his way out ere he smother, I’ll not be eating this apple.” He tossed it back in the bowl.

  Gikka sat in silence sipping her tea after she’d finished relating Chul’s story to Nestor as best she could. She supposed she could call the boy in and ask him to tell it, but he’d been over it so many times already, and it did not get much clearer with each try. She saw no point in putting him through it all again.

  Poor Chul. He’d tried to tell her what had happened in the glade several times as they rode, but his story had been so disconnected. It seemed almost dreamlike in his describing, the real battle overlaid in his eyes with the gods’ visions and all, and like a dream, it was hard for him to retell with any sense without trying to guess at the missing parts. So now, in telling Nestor and having to fill in her own gaps in the story, she wondered if she’d gotten any of it right.

  When the duke’s retainer did not speak, she added, “I’ve not the wit to make sense of it, and I’ve only what the boy could recall, but at the heart, my sense of it is that the Hadrian cardinal and his priests are dead, one and all, and that the sheriff and Renda yet lived, at least as Chul left them. Of the rest, of Pegrine and all….” She shrugged and emptied her cup.

  Nestor thought for a while in silence,templed fingers resting against his lips. Then he rose to pour them both more tea. The pot had cooled a bit, so he warmed it with his hand, luxuriating in the tiny sliver of power he allowed himself to use, before he poured. “You were headed to Brannford on your own, then, with no knowledge of the troubles.”

  “Aye, so we were. My thought, it was, to leave the boy there with someone I trust and go find Dith to help the fight at Brannagh and help me rebuild Graymonde besides. But then comes Chul with news of Brannagh’s fall and Renda’s bidding for us to meet them at Brannford but no word as to why.” She shifted in the seat. “No matter, that. There at her bidding or mine, it only matters that we’re there. An she grants me leave, I can still fetch Dith down to help.”

  Nestor nodded. “The sheriff’s message to the duke was much the same, but that, from Brannford, with or without them,” he said gravely, “we must make our ways to Byrandia.”

  “Byrandia?” She could not have been more surprised if he’d said the moon. She laughed with disbelief. “There’s no getting to Byrandia. Are you certain sure?”

  “Indeed.” Nestor frowned. “Though I know no more, truly, and I was loath to mention it when I have no more to add. Only so much fits in Colaris’s little case, and even at that, Lord Daerwin’s message was hurried as he was in haste to stop the damned Hadrians.” He shrugged and sat beside her. “Gikka, I think I break no confidences to tell you that there is no place in this world more dangerous to Damerien than Byrandia, and well the sheriff knows it. He’d not suggest such an expedition lightly. So the question is not whether but how, and of course, why. What do we face when we get there?”

  “Byrandia….” She shook her head, mystified. “I gather from what Chul says, Xorden stands defeated, aye?”

  “Defeated?” Nestor shook his head. “A god, He is, child––a terribly old and powerful god, at that, especially if He has followers again. Gods do not suffer defeat except at the hands of other gods.” Nestor sipped his tea and frowned, lost for a moment in his thoughts. “Well, and even at that, He had His defeat from B’radik and Her allies in the Gods’ Rebellion, yet here He comes again.”

  “But what of the other Dhanani gods Chul mentioned? The ones in the glade?”

  Nestor shook his head. “Chul did not see any surrender, and I do not believe B’radik would allow Xorden simply to leave if She and the others had in fact beaten Him. No, from the sound of it, Xorden merely retreated. My hope it is that He and He alone lies at the heart of all. If not…”

  “Nestor,” she said quietly, “Xorden is a god of the Dhanani. He is wholly of Syon, not of Byrandia. Us all going off to Byrandia, this tells me it’s not Xorden we face, sure not Him alone, at any rate. That we leave no one behind tells me it’s not even Him we fear. Or maybe,” she breathed, “we’ve just lost all to Him already and there’s naught left here to protect.”

  Nestor rubbed his brow. “I feel some guilt in that because that creature, that vile Hodrachnad av’dagnoch, was right there, right within my reach, tripping merry along his way and spilling his filthy lies to Lady Renda, the nasty villain thinking he had us all fooled. Had I stopped him on the spot, Daerwin and Renda might have been able to fight for Brannagh instead.” He held out his hand. “Right here, he was, my Pro’chna. Oh, I had but to….”

  Gikka touched his arm, feeling it shake with his fury. “And had you done, down would have come all the worst mischief, right upon your head, then and there, right when His Grace was weakest. No, your good judgment won out, and the knights saw to him at the right time in the right place and freed B’radik in the bargain. Or so it seems to me. That Brannagh fell is none of your doing. Save guilt for when you’ve earned it proper, Nestor.”

  He closed his eyes and patted her hand. “Well, and you’re right. You’re right, and well I know it. But that Brannagh fell under attack almost at once can be no coincidence.”

  Gikka shrugged. “Can’t it, though? Maddock and the rest were provoked by the plague, no question, but I’ve yet to see Xorden’s hand in it other than that. The knights were Wirthing, no question. From their colors and their voices as the boy heard them, they could be no other. Jealous bloody evil bastards, the lot, and Wirthing, himself, besides. But they were provoked by the war, and they steeped a good while on their bruised pride, long before any of this weary nonsense.”

  Nestor sipped his tea and frowned. “What worries me most in Chul’s story, Gikka, is that he mentioned mages in and amongst the knights and peasants.”

  “Aye, so he did.”

  “An army of mages, he said.”

  She shook her head. “You and Jath probably seem to him such another army of mages.”

  “Mayhap.” Nestor stood and walked to the window, thinking. He traced his finger through the frost in the corner. “I’d tend to think fear grew their numbers in his eyes but for the destruction he described. Brannagh was not some tavern house in Belen, Gikka. Even apart from the stone of the walls, heavy ancient protections surrounded it, protections laid down by Galorin himself. To destroy it so completely….”

  She could see his hands trembling.

  “Gikka, the boy may speak true, an he does….” he shook his head. “An army, Gikka. Think of it. This land, thank the gods, has yet to feel horror on that order, and the danger of such an army is of far more concern to me than even some dusty old god. The havoc they could wreak upon this world and the universe beyond chills to my very bones.”

  Nestor was right, of course. Gikka had not given much credence to Chul’s description, so she had not taken the time to consider the implications. The histories in the sheriff’s library told of the days before Kadak, before the pogroms, when mages were more common throughout Syon and often even settled in villages and communes entirely devoted to the Art. The old stories held that mages together were many times more powerful than they were alone, but since Kadak had gone about in a fit of hysteria killing every mage his demons could find, people could go their entire lives now without ever seeing one mage, much less two or more together. So no one knew for certain if the stories were true, nor likely woul
d ever know, since so few mages were left in Syon.

  Nestor’s thoughts seemed to follow her own. “I have to wonder, then, Pro’chna: where in all Syon could one find, much less gather together and keep hidden, an entire army of mages?”

  The answer was suddenly obvious to her. Not in all Syon could they expect to find an army of mages. “I begin to think that suddenly we know why we go to Byrandia, Nestor.”

  “You think they came from Byrandia? But how?” He sipped his tea, considering. “The mages of Syon were refugees from Byrandia’s mage genocide. I should think it even less likely that someone could gather such an army there. But regardless of their origin, why go there if they’re here?”

  She had no ready answer to that. Perhaps Byrandia was where they’d find the means to stop them or at least discover who might be holding the leash. “We can guess at it all the night, but until we see Lord Daerwin, we’ve no way to know his mind. Reckon on seeing him soon, though. Trust in that.” She sighed heavily. “Sure I would that Dith were here. It’s all the more reason for me to see the boy safely to Brannford and then go to seek him out.”

  “You’ll not take the boy with you?”

  She shook her head. “Dith’s in the Hodrache.”

  “The Hodrache? But why…?” Nestor looked away for a moment, considering. “Well, in any case, you’ve not a worry. Your Chul could be nowhere safer than in the duke’s company.”

  “Thank you. But I warn you. He’s quick with his hands, that one.” She rubbed her forehead. “None to expect it, him being Dhanani and all. Can you imagine the ladies of Brannford, caught helpless in the boy’s smile even as he helps himself to their purses?”

  Nestor laughed. “Not to mention their petticoats, and who’s to look shocked when all the new babes of Brannford come next year with a certain unmistakable appeal to them?”

  She chuckled. “Not to say they don’t deserve it, them in Brannford.”

  “Aye,” Nestor grinned. “Well, I’m brought to mind of a saucy Proch’na of mine not many years past whose smile emptied many a freeman’s purse wherever the knights of Brannagh made camp. I suppose we’ll survive Chul just the same. Fear him not, he and Jath will be sworn brothers by Brannford if they’re not already. But you will travel with us that far, at least?”

  “Aye, to Brannford, and then up the coast. Certain sure, Dith has left for me a trail of trembling Hadrians, so I’ve little fear of missing him.”

  They both laughed.

  Gikka finished her tea. “By the time Dith and I return, here’s hoping you’ll have found means to cross the sea. I heard a story some years back of a fishing ship captain who claims to have made the crossing Brannford to Byrandia and back, but of course who would know an he made the story up of whole cloth?”

  “Well,” said Nestor, “were we to find him, I suppose a few of us might be able to tell if he speaks true or no.” He smiled and rose, stifling a yawn, “Oh, your pardon, Pro’chna, ‘tis the hour and not the company that tires me. The dawn comes early, even in the Feast of Bilkar, so I will bid you goodnight.” He hugged her close. “My sense of it is that we should sleep safe the night, but we should be away at first light an we would avoid trouble.”

  She nodded. “Sleep well, Nestor.”

  Eight

  Marketday

  Gikka lay awake in the darkness watching her breath fog, cataloguing the noises and rhythms of the house. She’d been listening to the creaking and groaning of the chimney cooling from the night’s fire, and the rats scraping and skittering through the walls on their way to the kitchens below for hours, to the point where the sounds had all but disappeared into the background now.

  As tired as she was from the ride, she’d bedded down on the hard floor fully clothed and armed, with only her cloak to cover her. Partly so she could hear any commotion through the floorboards and respond quickly, but mostly so she would be forced to sleep lightly and keep watch.

  Chul had not so much as closed his eyes in at least two days, so she’d insisted that he take the bed. Besides, should need arise, she had no doubt she could rouse him quickly and quietly. Like Aidan, the boy could sleep like a bear and still come fully awake in a second. She envied him that.

  She smiled to think how accustomed to sleeping in beds Chul had become, and even to wearing a nightshirt. The few times the boy had gone padding about Graymonde by night without his leathers had scandalized and then entertained her maidservants, drawing them all out with some excuse of a night to look upon him, to the point where she’d had to explain to him the virtues of a nightshirt. She counted herself lucky that he had yet to notice the attraction he held for “Invader” women. She’d been so careful to protect him from the Hadrians that she’d not yet had a chance to warn him about this other hazard.

  Tonight, though, made aware of her worries about the innkeeper’s loose tongue, he slept in his leathers beneath the blankets, his hand resting comfortably on his knife. Only the boy’s boots were off, set by the chair where Colaris stood asleep, an eerily headless little silhouette with his face tucked under his wing.

  Sleep. A nice thought, certainly, but her mind danced crazily between the worried jumble of Chul’s story of the glade and Nestor’s fears about an army of mages. Such things were unthinkable, yet within the space of a day, it seemed they had all come to pass. The gods had battled in the glade, Castle Brannagh had fallen, and now the last of Syon’s protectors were all heading to Byrandia.

  Every story, every reference, every four thousand year old word she’d ever heard or read about Byrandia played through her mind assuring her of nothing so much as that she knew absolutely nothing, and with the fearful imaginings that filled the gaps of her knowledge, she wondered if she’d ever sleep again.

  “Gikka.”

  She opened her eyes to see Chul crouching beside her, his hunting knife still in his hand. Beyond him, she could see the early sunlight peeking in at the open window where he’d stood to greet its first rays, and she could feel the cold breath of the morning air on her face. Apparently she had fallen asleep after all.

  “How now?” she whispered, her mouth feeling pasty and dry from the tea the night before.

  “All is well, I think,” he answered quietly. “The household are awake and seeing to the morning meal.”

  “Aye, I hear them below.” She listened against the floor for a moment. “Sure they’re making a right clatter of it. It’s a wonder anyone sleeps.”

  “Jath is already below in the stable, seeing to the horses. I saw him from the window.” He frowned. “I think they want to be away soon, and all the better if we are.”

  She rose silently to her feet, not wanting to creak the floorboards. She looked into his eyes. “What’s wrong? What did you see?”

  He cocked his head. “I’m not sure,” he began. “It’s more what I don’t see that bothers me.”

  “Sure it’s something or you’d not be wrinkling your brow thus.” She rubbed the cold from her shoulders and splashed water from the basin on her face. “Trust yourself and speak of it. If it’s nothing, I’ll tell you.”

  He nodded and showed her to the window. “I watched an hour ere the sun rose, and time and again, I watched the patrols pass just there, tight on the clock.”

  “Aye, so they did all the night. Every half hour.”

  He nodded. “Yes, that’s how I marked it, as well. Two different groups passed, four men in each.”

  “Those would be the marquess’s men patrolling,” she said, yawning. “They’re no concern of ours, as blind and useless as they’ve ever been.”

  He shrugged. “But come the sunrise, the patrols stopped. They were not late. They just didn’t come at all. Now, it could be they only patrol by night, or it could be they change the guard, but…”

  “The town patrols do not stop at dawn, and they ever take care not to leave a gap. Not by accident, anyway.” She looked out the window in alarm, careful not to be seen. “How long is it since the last patrol passed?”
r />   “Only an hour. Another should be passing now, but as you see…”

  “We cannot wait.” She tied her cloak about her. “Go help Jath with the horses.” She gestured quickly to Colaris, and he fluttered his wings for only a moment where he stood to shake the blood into them. A moment later, he flew out the window, taking himself high above Durlindale.

  She listened a moment at the door. Voices. Male. Calm. She cracked her door quietly to see the innkeeper standing in the corridor talking with Nestor.

  “But surely you would stay for breakfast ere you depart! My wife and daughters have gone to such trouble!” He smiled. “Besides, you’ve paid for it already.”

  “Sure we thank you,” answered the duke’s retainer in the oddly nasal accents of the north, “but as I’ve been at pains to tell you, I’m afraid our business will not wait for crumpets, what.” Beside Nestor, another figure stood quietly, patiently waiting upon him, hood raised to cover his head, and it took a moment for Gikka to realize who that must be.

  She pushed the door closed again. “Not this way, lad.”

  Chul nodded and went to the window. He extended a hand to her. “Come, I’ll ease you down.”