Guardian Last (Lords of Syon Saga Book 2)

by Jordan MacLean

  Renda saw the tears running down the knight’s face, cutting through the caked blood and dirt. Amara looked down at the travois where Qorlin lay, pale and sweating.

  “He rode near and offered a hand to Vonn, to bring him up onto Zati’s back since he had lost his own horse.” She shook her head, as if trying to deny the memories as they flowed over her. “But Vonn swung the ax at him, cutting him across his chest and down his thigh. Immediately, the flesh began to sicken. Had Zati not jumped back, the blow might have been fatal even without poison. Even at that, Qorlin did not draw his sword. He thought Vonn had simply mistaken him, and he called a hail to him. But Windale saw.”

  “So I did,” spoke Kerrick quietly.

  Amara jumped.

  “Sorry,” he smiled. “I did not mean to startle you, nor do I mean to intrude if the conversation is private.”

  “On the contrary,” Renda gestured for him to join them. “I was coming to speak with you next.”

  “You speak of Vonn’s death?” He looked down. “When I saw the look in Vonn’s eyes, I knew something was very wrong.”

  Amara hesitated. “Vonn was trying to say something, but we could not understand him, and his eyes had such a strange and unnatural glow.”

  “What? You mean like a fever?”

  “No. Different. Like nothing I have ever seen. Like he was not himself. We saw it and rode at once to Qorlin’s defense,” her voice broke. “Qorlin just could not believe that Vonn would attack him. Weakened as he was…he just reached his hand out again, not understanding…”

  “Vonn swung the ax again, quite deliberately, but he missed.” Windale’s voice was strangely cold. “He was clearly out of his mind, but he was a danger. He was trying to kill Qorlin. We had no choice.”

  Amara nodded gravely. “So at that point, Kerrick––forgive me, my Lord of Windale––lifted his sword and shouted, ‘For––”

  “We killed him.” Kerrick interrupted, looked into Renda’s eyes. “We killed Vonn. Don’t you see? We had no choice.” He glanced at Amara. “He put up quite a fight. It was horrible.”

  Amara looked down and nodded.

  “Kerrick, Amara,” Renda’s heart was pounding as she looked between the two knights, a deep fear taking shape in her mind. “What happened after you killed Vonn?”

  “After…?” She thought for a moment, clearly surprised by the question. She looked at Windale, as if unable to find the answer in her own mind.

  “We retreated at full speed to bring Qorlin back to Laniel.” He snorted. “A lucky thing, too, since one of the demons we’d thought dead chose that moment to attack us.”

  “You did what was necessary to save Qorlin. Vonn is with Verilion among the stars.” Renda shivered beneath her mantle. A sad smile played over her face. “Do not let it haunt you.”

  “We did what was necessary.” Amara closed her eyes against the tears that threatened again. “I…” lost for words, she only nodded.

  “So we did,” agreed Lord Windale. “So we did.”

  * * *

  “Say nothing to anyone of what you saw. Not even your dancing Bremondine lass.”

  Dith stared at the coals at the base of the fire, one hand absently touching the soft brown waves of Gikka’s hair where she slept beside him. The strange stone in its ugly orange rucksack lay between his knees where he absently nudged it first to one side and then to the other. He could not sleep.

  They’d made camp far to the south of the main road now that the landbridge was once again broad enough that they could not see water to either side, and Gikka and Chul had taken pains to clean their trail. They’d kept the fires small and close, only large enough to cook the fish they’d had for dinner, and around him, nearly everyone else slept, waking only to take their turns on watch during the night.

  Having no words for what he’d seen, he supposed speaking of it would be more difficult than not speaking of it, yet his mind would not leave it alone until he had words to wrap around it, to gain some understanding of it. He had to take care not to bend the memory into some familiar shape, something taken from old stories and legends. That would be simplest, but it would be wrong.

  “Indeed it would. Spare yourself the anxiety, lad. I worried at it for centuries and finally had to turn from it or go mad.”

  An image came into his thoughts from Galorin, by way of answer to the flurry of questions that filled his mind.

  Night, a clearing, only starlight and a fingernail moon…details of a battle long since passed filled his mind and were quickly gone, unimportant. But just there, a tantalizing glimpse played at the periphery of his vision. Brilliant light much like what he’d glimpsed the night before only much more controlled danced at the edge of his vision. It was still far too bright to look upon directly, sparkling across the spectrum, and it vanished as the memory turned toward it, leaving a strange and tantalizing after-image that billowed across his eye for a second and was gone before it could resolve fully…leaving in its place just a man on horseback in gold and green.

  “Ildar, the Great Liberator, the first Duke of Damerien, he who refused the title of King. My greatest friend and most constant ally.”

  Dith shook his head. This was all very interesting, but Ildar had lived four thousand years ago. What did Ildar have to do with what happened last night, with what he’d seen?

  “Is it not the same thing you saw last night?”

  “I don’t know,” Dith said aloud.

  “What don’t you know?” a quiet voice answered.

  Dith looked up to see Trocu, green and gold cloak wrapped about him against the night chill, standing next to him. The mage moved to rise.

  “Please, no need,” the duke said, settling himself beside Dith. “I would much rather sit to join you in the warmth than have you stand to join me in the cold.” He smiled to see Gikka curled up beneath the cloak he had given her, dormant but protective over her like a faithful dog. The duke straightened it over her feet, and the cloth shimmered slightly beneath his touch in recognition.

  “Forgive me, I was just muttering to myself,” he chuckled, “like an old fool.”

  “Hmph. Was that directed at me?”

  “A bit young for that, aren’t you?” laughed the duke. “So now, what don’t you know? Perhaps I can help.”

  Dith smiled sheepishly. “I didn’t realize anyone was near. It’s a wonder I didn’t say something embarrassing.”

  “It’s all right,” Trocu smiled. “I do not mean to intrude on your private thoughts. If you would rather…”

  Dith looked up at him. “It’s not that, Your Grace. It’s that I have so many things I don’t know that I have no idea where to begin.” He scratched his head. “For example, I have no idea what it was that I saw last night. Everyone else was knocked unconscious, but it seems I was not,” he said, watching the duke’s reaction. “No one else saw anything, but I saw, or thought I saw…”

  “What?”

  Dith shrugged. “That is exactly the question to which I said, ‘I don’t know.’”

  “Ah, I see.” Trocu picked up a spare stick of wood and stirred the last of the coals with it. “Over the centuries,” he offered a bit hesitantly, “in the heraldry and across all the murals and tapestries and so forth, the symbol of the House of Damerien has always been a…dragon.” He smiled. Dith looked at him curiously, and, as if hearing how that must sound to the mage, the duke shrugged a bit sheepishly. ”Perhaps that is as good a name for what you saw as any, if it lets you set it aside in your thoughts and rest.”

  “A dragon. Bah. That is exactly what Ildar said to me all those years ago.”

  Dith laughed loudly enough that Gikka stirred in her sleep. “I do not know what I saw, Your Grace, but it was no dragon.” He shook his head, and his laughter faded. “It was so bright. I could not look directly at it, and I could not see what lay at the core, but I am certain it was no fire-breathing lizard with wings.”

  Damerien smiled. “No, of course not.”

&n
bsp; “What I could see was light, blazing across every part of the spectrum. Only light. It billowed like great wings thousands of feet wide over the strands and seemed to buffet them…”

  “Ah,” Trocu breathed, “of course.”

  Dith looked up at him. “Did you see it, too, then? What was it?”

  “Prophecy,” the duke murmured. “Such a delicate thing. In hindsight, it seems so obvious and explains so much.” He peered closely at Dith, his gold eyes flashing with a light almost too bright to look upon directly. “Yes. It is true.” He smiled and extended his hand. “It has been a very long time since I have counted a Guardian among my companions.”

  “What? A very long time since…?”

  How could the duke have known that he was a Guardian? And what did he mean, a very long time? No Guardian had set foot on Syon since.… Dith felt the hair on the back of his neck rise.

  “Hah, now I understand. Ildar, my old friend, you cunning bastard. I should have known. Yes, yes, indeed it has been a very long time.”

  The mage blinked, his mind spinning between Damerien’s cryptic words and Galorin’s in his mind. “Pardon me? A Guardian? I am hopelessly confused.”

  “No doubt you are.” Damerien laughed quietly and took Dith’s hand. “Come, I will explain, but out of earshot of the others, yes? A Guardian among us! Of course! By the gods, we may stand a chance at this yet.”

  Twenty-Three

  Kharkara Plains

  Two and Fiftieth Day of the Feast of Bilkar,

  Nineteenth Day of the Night Elk’s Moon

  “If you wish to kill yourself, madam, there are better ways,” Aidan seethed. Before him, flat leaves lay on the ground outside his tent where he patiently spooned unguent from the pot simmering over his fire onto them, and bound them with softened leaf veins. “This is folly.”

  “Nonsense, Aidan! My plan makes perfect sense!” Glynnis glared at him and laid more of the leaves down on the ground before him, one after another. “Do not think to shelter me like a child!”

  “While I admit your plan has merit—”

  “Merit?” The word was all of acid as she said it. She whirled on him, eyes flashing. “Aidan, I am the only person left, especially here, whom Wirthing will respect as a peer, and the only person who legitimately can call parlay with him. At best, I give him the opportunity to call the whole business a misunderstanding and save face.”

  “At worst, my Lady,” the shaman interrupted, “he captures you and executes you. Eventually.”

  “That is certainly a risk,” she said, trying not to let his meaning ripen in her mind, “but even so, a delay, even one caused by my capture, would disrupt his plans. Such a delay might allow Dane to get a better sense of Wirthing’s strength. At the very least, it might allow you and Chief Bakti more time to prepare for battle.”

  “It comes at too dear a price. You are quite the prize to Wirthing, Lady.” He turned back to filling the leaves with medication. “You are Lord Daerwin’s wife, the mother of Lady Renda, Baroness––”

  “Sister to the baron,” she corrected automatically. Wife, mother, sister…how bleak that the value of her life was measured only by her relationships to heroes and noblemen and not by her own thoughts and actions.

  “Very well, sister to the Baron of Berendor. How can Wirthing resist trying to possess you one way and another? I would prefer he not know you are alive at all, much less have you near him. If he knew you were here, he would have attacked already. To send you straight into his castle…”

  “But that is why I must go!” She fingered the gold coin she’d found among her things, the one which had inspired her plan and the one she would give at Wirthing’s gate in ritual pledge. “Aidan, no matter how loyal the tribes are to Bakti, they are not loyal to Brannagh. No, it’s all right. I understand perfectly. We are Invaders. Sooner or later, Wirthing spies will offer enough coin to meet someone’s price, and we will find ourselves compromised. In that moment, Wirthing will strike, and he will have the advantage unless we take that advantage from him now.” She crossed her arms decisively. “This is the only way, short of attacking his castle.”

  “At least take Lwyn with you,” Aidan said at last. “A show of strength would help to protect you and back your word. Bakti could send warriors with you, as well.”

  She smiled faintly. They had shifted from arguing whether she would go to how. She had won. “No, that would be a mistake. Any show of strength would signal insecurity in our position, and the presence of Dhanani would let him know where we have been hiding. Nor can I take any of the knights, especially Lwyn. Likely they would kill him on sight.”

  Aidan snorted. “They would try.”

  She smiled again. “No, I must show that we bargain from the position of strength by showing confidence, not force. I will take only one person with me.”

  * * *

  Two figures on horseback approached the southern gate, separate enough that the guards could see them fully, but still near enough to each other for protection. The horses were unmarked and unremarkable, as were the riders, undoubtedly by design, but the guards were not concerned. They had been told to expect them.

  Above them in the trees near the castle wall where he’d positioned himself the night before, Dane watched. He minded the approach of the guards to the two riders and watched for further preparations in the areas both inside and outside the castle. Satisfied that the riders were safe from ambush from outside the castle, he eased himself up slowly to the top of the curtain wall, gritting his teeth against the cascade of dew and frostmelt that fell from the branches below as he moved. He could all but feel Gikka’s cuff on his ear, as well as her whispered words from almost half a decade before.

  Quiet and mind the hazards of your space! Bloody clamorous knights…. Come the drunks from yon tavern to complain of your clatter, and I’ll kill you myself, I will! Now be still!

  But Wirthing’s guards had not noticed, so focused were they upon the riders. Relieved, he hefted himself high onto the castle wall to be sure nothing had changed since he had first brought the message to Wirthing three days before. No knights, no soldiers, no preparations for battle. Only guards and servants wandered the grounds as far as he could see. For now, at least, it seemed the riders were safe, or as safe as they could be, given that they were entering the enemy’s stronghold.

  Something about it felt wrong. It seemed entirely too perfect, like a masque. He started to give a starling’s call––a peculiar but natural sound that everyone at Brannagh recognized as Gikka’s call for caution––but stopped short. Wirthing’s men had been allied to Brannagh in the war. They, too, would recognize that cry. He scowled to himself, helpless to warn the riders and not even certain that he had seen anything that warranted warning in the first place, and moved off along the wall to find a safer vantage point.

  One of the riders lowered the hood of her threadbare but otherwise undistinguished cloak, and a spill of unkempt silvered copper hair tumbled down about her shoulders.

  “Lady Glynnis of Brannagh,” she said simply.

  After studying her face carefully and satisfying himself that she was not a disguised Lady Renda, which was Corin of Wirthing’s capital fear, the guard nodded. “The Earl is expecting you, madam.” The guard looked with suspicion on the second rider. “Your companion will need to wait here.”

  The second rider’s gnarled hand reached up slowly and lowered her hood, revealing a hideous thin veil of white hair around a sea of wrinkles on her face that made the guard step back involuntarily. She gave a feeble smile to him. “I greet you and sow your heart with truth and light,” she said. “I am my Lady’s spiritual advisor. Per her widow’s vows, I must accompany her,” she said with a delicate cough, “at all times.”

  Dane kept one hand on his weapon while he watched the guard. The man’s thoughts were transparent to him: he saw only two women, one handsome and of middle years, the other feeble and ancient, and neither of them Brannagh knights, and he relaxed v
isibly, underestimating them as he had seen men underestimate Gikka time and again. Dane smiled.

  No doubt the Earl had expected this parlay to be a ruse, and he’d prepared for Lady Renda to bring some few surviving knights of Brannagh against him. Instead, Lady Glynnis had arrived, exactly as the message had said she would, not with a proper retinue but with only a nun, and to the guard’s eye, not even one of power since she had no glow about her at all. Dane hoped Wirthing would be as easy for Lady Glynnis to gull as this guard.

  Satisfied, the guard straightened and recited the ritual words loudly. “Lady Glynnis of Brannagh, you enter under sign of parlay, and I offer this assurance on behalf of Corin, Earl of Wirthing,” he said, holding up a gold coin, “that you shall leave as you came, with your persons and your goods as you bring them, upon my Lord’s honor and mine own as Captain of the Guard.” He handed her the coin.

  “We accept Corin, Earl of Wirthing’s, hospitality for parlay,” she replied in a loud clear voice, holding up the coin he had given, “as well as your assurance of our safety, and we likewise offer assurance of our peaceful intentions.” She lifted her coin beside his for all to see. Then she made a show of handing her coin to him.

  Both the coin she gave and that which she received bore the image of Damerien, the irony of which was not lost on the Dane. The same traitor had just bound his word with Damerien’s gold who was freshly come from trying to destroy both Brannagh and Damerien, which meant the ritual bindings of parlay were all but meaningless. Then again, he figured they usually were meaningless on one side or the other, as they had been every time parlay had been called since time immemorial. Still, the forms had been observed.

  After a thousand years as allies, Brannagh and Wirthing were at war, as unthinkable as the notion seemed. Lady Glynnis was at a desperate disadvantage, but it could not be helped. She had proposed to meet on neutral ground, but she had not been in a position to insist when the Earl had returned a message that he would only meet at Wirthing Castle. Nor, he thought, had she seemed particularly surprised by his response. Ultimately, it did not matter. If Corin wanted to kill her at any time, he could make up any reason he liked for it, and who would gainsay him? He only wished Aidan had succeeded in talking her out of it.