Again a rustle went through the Great Hall. The Lady of Elliath—First of the Twelve of Lernan—had not taken to the field since the days of Gallin Bright Sword—the days of legend.
“The Sarillar will travel with me.”
Almost everyone in the crowd nodded; Erin felt herself doing the same.
“I will take some ten others. The cost to the Bright Heart will be high—but we cannot wait; behold.”
And she cast her arms wide. Power crackled down the thin bareness of her hands. Above her head an image began to coalesce beneath the beamed ceiling. It was white and formless at first, like clouds too thin to block all sunlight. But this mist drew slowly back into the blackness of night, punctuated by glimmering starlight.
Black against even the darkness were three of the four that the Sarillar had spoken of.
Erin froze. Bright Heart . . . not again . . .
Surrounded by shadow, they stood tall. Only their backs could be seen, but there was no mistaking them—or what they were doing.
Walking.
There was no sound; the Lady had spared them that. But jutting out at odd angles from the closest Servant’s back were two flailing arms. The Servants, the nightwalkers of the Enemy, were feeding.
Erin’s hand flew to her sword and smacked uselessly against her unadorned hip. She opened her mouth, but like the Lady’s image, she, too, was silent, unable to voice what she felt.
The flailing arms fell into shadow even as she took her first step forward.
Two hands gripped her, one on either shoulder. The light, sure touch on her right she recognized as Belfas. But the other—she turned to her left to see Telvar’s face. His lips were drawn back tightly and she wondered if she only imagined the tremor of his hand.
“Not yet, little warrior. But soon.” There was something strange about his tone of voice; it contained disapproval—with which she was only too familiar—but approval as well. She was not surprised to see that his hand rested squarely on the hilt of his sword. She couldn’t think of a time when she had seen him walk unarmed, and this was no exception.
The image crumbled into light.
“The Grandfather of the line will travel with us. Katri, come forward.”
An older woman came quickly through the crowd at the Lady’s command. Erin could see the likeness between the set of lines of her face and the familiar face of the Grandfather.
“Lady.” She bowed, looking completely formal although she was not dressed for the occasion.
“You will preside in the Grandfather’s place, as is your duty and right. Guard your line-children well and see to the front—if I am not mistaken, there will be much activity there, and much loss.”
“Will you take Karana back, Lady?” someone asked from the audience. It was a male voice, one that Erin didn’t immediately recognize.
“There is little enough to take,” she replied. “It is the Servants of the Enemy that are my concern; they must not walk further into Elliath lands. We will do what we can to succor those that survive.”
There were no more questions.
Telvar stepped forward.
“It will be some moments before your guard is ready, Lady.” He bowed once to her and then turned to the Sarillar. “Sarillar.”
Andin nodded.
“Lady, ” Telvar said as he straightened out, “your guard?”
“Yes, weaponsmaster. You shall accompany me.”
A look of relief flittered across his scarred face. “The others?”
“Only two here can memory-walk; the others are at the front.” Her eyes turned to rest upon Belfas, and Erin felt her heart sinking. To see him go out with the units in the long line that had taken her mother the first time was going to be difficult enough. To know that he was going into the lands that the Servants occupied was worse than anything else she could have imagined.
Not him, not Belf. Please, Lady, not him.
But of course the Lady couldn’t hear her thoughts.
“Latham is completely untrained. He is master scholar; he must remain.”
Telvar turned to look at the newly adult Belfas, who was standing speechless beneath their gaze.
“Who did you train under, Belfas?”
“Carne.”
Telvar nodded. “He’ll manage.”
The Lady looked out into the audience again.
“Kredan is one of yours, is he not?”
Telvar nodded. “He’s returned from the front, Lady, but he’s relatively uninjured.”
Kredan stepped forward. He, too, was armed; Erin could see this clearly.
“Carla.”
Carla stepped forward, grim-faced and sure; every inch Telvar’s prize pupil. She came to stand beside her master. She, too, was armed.
“Evanyiri.”
Another woman came to the front, one that Erin didn’t recognize. She was older, but her face attested to experience in battle, most of it hard. Like Carla, she nodded once to Telvar to show clearly whose pupil she had been.
“Anders.”
This time a man stepped forward and paused at a respectful distance from Telvar.
“Rodry trained me,” he said.
Telvar frowned for a moment, noticing the man’s lack of weaponry, then nodded almost bitterly. “You’ll do.”
“Dorse.”
Another man, this one maybe seven years older than Erin or Belfas. She recognized him and smiled to herself. He was a part of Kredan’s unit and had just returned from the front. He, too, gave Telvar the name of the master who had taught him arms, and Telvar once again grunted assent.
“Dannen.”
Erin took a deep breath and struggled to remain standing at proud attention. Dannen nodded at her as she walked past; they had drilled together for several years, and while Dannen was larger and stronger, Erin knew that in a short bout, she had the advantage.
Eight, Erin thought to herself as she counted the assembly over and over. Eight, and the Grandfather makes nine.
“The Lady said she would take ten.”
She forced herself not to speak, but it was very, very hard. She had to avoid looking at Belfas.
The choice of the tenth seemed to trouble the Lady as well, for no name came immediately from her. Instead she gazed outward, into the audience, and beyond. Her wide, green eyes seemed to see something that troubled her greatly, for they closed and she seemed to shrink inward momentarily. Then the Lady straightened out, light pulsing from her thin body as if it were a beacon. She was strong, she was powerful, she walked with the power of God. Erin wondered then if the doubt she thought she had seen was merely a reflection of the way she herself felt.
“Erin.”
Erin froze for the second time in the evening.
This was what she had prayed for; this was what she had pleaded and argued for; this was what she had existed for all these many years. But now that it had come, she didn’t quite know what to do.
Her wide gaze met the Lady’s, and for a moment she stared into endless green light, mesmerized like a moth.
Again the Lady seemed to hesitate, and this time Erin thought she knew why. Fear of losing her one chance to prove herself moved her, where the Lady’s choice had not. She walked over to stand in front of Telvar.
He looked down at her, tight-lipped and silent. Then he looked up beyond her head to meet the Lady’s eyes.
“It is unusual, Telvar, but these are darker times. You yourself have said that Erin may soon be Carla’s equal.”
He said nothing, but Erin knew what he was thinking: she was only a child; she did not belong on the field of battle yet. As the rest of the audience caught sight of her, a murmur rose at her back; they did not approve of the choice, for they knew she was no adult.
The Lady knew it as well.
“Telvar, in the days of Gallon Bright Sword, almost all were children. I would choose another, but most of yours are already fighting for their lives far from here.”
He looked down at Erin again, his
dark eyes searching the green eyes that she turned, fearlessly, to meet his.
“Serdon?” he murmured quietly, never taking his eyes from hers.
“It is in the Lady’s hands, Telvar,” the Grandfather replied.
The weaponsmaster put one hand on either of Erin’s shoulders. “Well, Erin? Will you fight?”
He knew what she would say; child or no she was still one of the best of his students. But the radiant smile she gave him as she nodded still cut him deeply with its double edge; pride in and fear of her determination.
chapter six
“You’re going where?” Katalaan was white as a sheet. Her night robe was crumpled from sleep and drawn tightly around her wide girth. The shadows that followed her down the stairs flickered in lamplight.
“To Karana,” Erin said. Her sword was already at her waist. Gone now were green and brown; the baker’s colors had been exchanged for the student browns that Telvar trained with. “I go with the Lady.”
Kat was confused, but all she could see was the sword that hung by Erin’s side. Gone was the young lady who had left in such a nervous rush. In her place, this lean young fighter that the lines had trained stared back at her.
What had happened?
“What are you going to do?”
“Fight. Fight them.”
Katalaan shook her head. “Erin, you—you can’t.”
Erin straightened herself out. “This is important, Kat. The nightwalkers are out there killing people like you and like me. I have a chance of stopping them. How can I stay?”
“Nightwalkers? Bright Heart’s blood.” Katalaan sat down heavily on the steps, her white hand still clutching the banister. “Erin, only the Lady can stand against a walker.”
“The Sarillar is going, too. And we have the Gifting of God,” She picked up her pack and turned to the door. “I have to go—time is too important.”
“Erin?”
The young woman turned back.
“Is this so important to you?”
“Yes.” Her green eyes were preternaturally bright. In a lower voice, she added, “They killed my mother.” She had never spoken of it before, but she owed Kat at least this much.
Katalaan bowed her head. “Come back to me, Erin. Don’t be only a warrior.”
But Erin was already gone.
Belfas intercepted Erin on the way to the Great Hall. Apparently he had more faith in providence than she did, for he carried no pack, although he was properly armed. She stopped for a minute to inspect him and nodded.
“I’m glad,” he struggled to get out, as he followed her forced jog, “that you’re coming with us.” He didn’t really have the energy or opportunity to say it shyly.
“So am I,” Erin said, without looking back. “Someone has to keep you out of trouble.”
“Erin!”
“Besides, we always said we’d go to war together. We were right.”
She didn’t need to look back to know that his smile was the twin of hers.
They weren’t the last to arrive at the Great Hall, although they weren’t the first, either. The Lady, all willowy white light, stood silently apart from the rest of the gathering as they clustered beneath the southern arch. Carla, the Sarillar, the Grandfather, Telvar, and Kredan were speaking among themselves. Horses had already been saddled and looked as if they were only waiting for riders.
“Look at Telvar!” Erin whispered to Belfas.
“Where’d he get that armor?”
Erin turned to give Belfas the look he was most familiar with.
“What? What did I say?”
“It isn’t the armor. Look at his face.”
“What about it? Looks like Telvar to me.”
“Belf.” Erin shook her head. “You’re the memory-walker. You tell me the last time you saw him smile like that.”
“What, now?”
“Well, you’re going to be called upon to use your talent sometime soon—otherwise you wouldn’t be going.”
Belfas grimaced and closed his eyes. “I’m going to have to walk a lot for this.”
“Don’t be so lazy.”
But Belfas couldn’t hear her. He had already called upon the strength of the line-power and let it swirl through his blood. The whole of his body was tingling with a faint, green light.
Human memory was not a linear thing, with one image following another in logical order. Rather, memories were interlinked, with one image as the key for any number of others in a loose, disorganized sequence. Belfas began to shuffle through his memories, searching for Telvar and comparing the images of years ago with the one of seconds past. Thus had Latham taught him.
At length he opened his eyes. “Never,” he admitted. “I’ve never seen him smile like that.”
Erin shook her head. “It’s a good thing you can memory-walk, Belf, because you’ve no normal memory of your own.”
They turned back to look at Telvar. The smile was gone from his face, but Erin could see the differences that lingered in his familiar countenance. He looked lean, as always, but there was an aura of danger about him, an aura of the predator. She shivered as he showed a quick flash of teeth and let his fingers linger over his sword hilt. For the first time in her life, Erin realized that Telvar’s bouts in the drill circle were in no way in earnest—not like this.
As if aware of their observance, Telvar looked up.
“Erin, Belfas.” He nodded, indicating that they should join the larger group. He watched them as they made their way across the courtyard. “Are you ready?”
Erin nodded as Telvar inspected her, his eyes taking in the fitted browns, the scabbard, and the back straps. He nodded in return and turned to Belfas. Only newly an adult, Belfas also wore his browns; no grays had yet been made for him, and no armor had been fitted.
Evanyiri, Dorse, Dannen, and Anders joined them soon, and the Grandfather gave the signal to mount.
“Lady?”
She shook her head. “I will walk; it will be easier to create a path for the horses.”
They began to move into the night. The Lady’s light was dim in the darkness, but evident nonetheless. She walked swiftly before them from the Great Hall to the edge of Elliath.
As they made their way toward the Gifting of Lernan, Erin saw, for the first time, the power of the Lady at work. She had wondered, briefly, how the horses were to carry them the last three miles through dense forest to the well; she did not wonder further. The Lady stopped at the outskirts of her forest and raised her arms, making a crossed circle in the air. A trail of light followed her hands, marking the pattern clearly into the eyes of those who watched. She spoke but few words, then brought her hands down. The light about her dimmed.
Very slowly, the trees began to move, sidling in a rustle of leaves as far back as they could.
Erin shook her head in disbelief, knowing it to be no dream.
“Come. It will last only long enough for our passage.”
The Sarillar, who was in the lead, spurred his horse forward, instructing the others to follow single file.
The forest swallowed them as they made their way toward the Gifting.
Only when they reached the sparkling water of the well did Erin breathe a sigh of relief. Green, pale light robbed the clearing of the shadows of nightfall.
“Dismount,” the Grandfather said, even as he left his horse. “Form the circle.”
Kredan, Dannen, Belfas, and Erin looked at him in some confusion.
“Do not worry.” The Lady’s voice came to them alone. “Here we form the circle of initiates—and it is just that: a circle. Come, Erin. Take my hand.”
Erin did as the Lady ordered and, after a minute, felt Belfas take her other hand. One hand was warm, one almost icy.
“In time you would have been shown this, but you are all too newly adult, and there has been little need of it.”
Dannen and Kredan formed up on the other side of the Lady, until the group formed a circle facing inward. All eyes settled on the
rippling surface of the living blood of God.
“Lernan, God.” The Lady spoke. “We ask for your aid in this darkness. Three of the Enemy walk abroad, and without your power we cannot hope to face them all.”
Once or twice before in her life, Erin had spoken to the waters of the well, but never with such an effect as this: the water bubbled upward, forming an irregular column. She felt the tension of Belfas’s hand in hers as he took a step backward.
“Erin.”
Erin dragged her eyes away from the Gifting of God.
“As I have asked, so now must you, and all of this circle.”
“Lernan, God,” she whispered, in a voice so low she could feel it more than she could hear it. “The Servants of the Enemy are walking. Grant us the power to—to save those that we must protect.”
“Good, Erin.” The Lady’s hand squeezed briefly and coolly into her granddaughter’s. “Belfas.”
Belfas repeated the Lady’s words perfectly, and then, in sequence, every member of the circle did.
“Now you may release hands,” the Lady instructed them quietly. “Now those of us with the experience to do so must draw upon the power of the blood of God.”
So saying, she pulled her own hand back. She drew out a small knife, one that glittered with the reflected light of the column. Without effort or pain, she slid the knife along her palm.
Only Erin was close enough to see that the color of the Lady’s blood was not a mortal color. Before she could look more closely, the Lady lifted her palm and laid it gently against the living pillar. A flash of light struck the Lady, and she absorbed its brilliance, slowly drawing her hand away.
Erin began to pull her sword; it was the only edged knife that she had. She felt the warmth of the Lady’s hand upon her own.
“Not you, child. You do not know the way of it, and I fear we have not the time to teach you. Untaught, you would draw more from the Hand of God than your mortal body could contain. You would be consumed by the living Light.”
Before Erin could think on it, the Lady also ordered Belfas, Kredan, Dannen, Dorse, and even Evanyiri away from the blood of God.
The Grandfather was the next to step forward. He, too, cut his palm to mingle his blood with God’s. But he barely touched the light that grew in front of him. The Sarillar, Carla, Anders, and finally Telvar repeated this process.
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