Hand and Talon (World of Kyrni Book 1)

by Melonie Purcell

  Kinara flopped in the middle of the field. “Goddess have mercy, that was a long run!”

  “You’re just old,” Rhin countered, but he bent over and cupped his hands over his knees.

  “I saw you sucking wind, little one. Good thing we weren’t trying for a silent approach. They could hear you panting all the way to the palace.”

  “Uh huh. And who’s the one on the ground?”

  Kinara smiled. “The smart one, that’s who.”

  “My thanks to both of you for your efforts,” Sorin said. “I’m in your debt.”

  Rhin stood and, still grinning, gave Sorin a formal bow. “Keep me away from the council, and your debt is forgiven.”

  “Not likely,” bellowed a voice from somewhere behind them. “You’re well caught, Feydrhin, and you’ll not be sneaking away with that infant you call a link this time. We have work that needs doin’, and you’ll be doin’ your part of it or I’ll pluck your feathers myself.”

  Krea spun around. The man who had spoken was not much taller than she was and not much thicker, either. A line of clustered blue dots, the largest as big as her thumbnail, ran across his brow and down to his ears, erupting into a small explosion of dots on both jawlines. He wore a long red tunic with slits running the length of his leather-clad thighs. A black sash pulled the tunic tight around his middle and served to hold a black-handled dagger and a shorter meat knife.

  His appearance wasn’t striking, except for the markings, but something about the man spoke of power. Rhin’s sudden shift in formality confirmed Krea’s suspicions.

  “We were saving people, Elder Royden,” Rhin said. “That is part of the work that needs done, is it not?”

  “Don’t try that with me,” he snapped back. “Just get bunked down. It’s up early tomorrow.” The man swung his gaze over to Doran, glancing right over Krea and Sorin in the process. “Doran, I assume you and Kinara are going back to get Jayden from wherever you left him?”

  “On the morrow,” Doran answered. “We will stay with him as his cover while he brings the horses in. We intercepted a proth attack. I don’t want to leave him alone.”

  “Don’t know why you left him at all, but that will be fine.”

  Doran started to explain, but the elder held up a hand. “I don’t want to know. Just do what needs doing. I have enough to contend with right now. Get some sleep. I don’t want to see you at the morning offering.”

  Doran hesitated for a moment before dipping into a curt bow and walking off, Kinara at his side. Rhin turned to follow.

  “Wait,” Krea said. “Your feather.”

  “Keep it. A gift.” Rhin flashed Krea a weak smile that made her stomach lurch, and then hurried to join the others.

  Finally, the elder turned to Sorin. The two stared at each other for most of an eternity. The chill from the flight was fading, but Krea’s teeth continued to chatter and she didn’t protest when Dane brushed against her arm. When Sorin finally moved, the motion was jerky and forced.

  “Royden,” Sorin said, before dropping into a curt bow.

  “It’s Elder Royden, Sorin. And save it for someone who might be impressed. For years we sent messages and requests, and for years you could not even bother to reply. Not once. And now, weeks before a royal wedding that has half the Empire turned on its head, you just show up.”

  “I have business with the council.”

  “I am sure you do. Business that can’t wait, no doubt. And I imagine you want everyone to stop and tend to your business, don’t you? What do you want? A blessing to take a new link?” He waved a hand toward Krea, but still didn’t look at her. “Honestly, Sorin. I would accuse you of vanity, but that was never your way.”

  “No, Elder Royden. I do not intend to ever take a new link, but I do have business with the council concerning Krea, and no, it can’t wait.”

  Royden’s reply was little more than a grunt. For the first time since he had walked onto the field, the elder turned and looked directly at Krea. “Where is your link, child?”

  “She has no link,” Sorin said. “That is why we are here.”

  “Did your link die?”

  Krea shook her head, her mouth suddenly full of sand.

  “What, then?”

  “I never had one.”

  Royden’s bushy eyebrows met in the middle. He grunted again, glanced down at Dane, and then stared at Krea. A gentle breeze picked through her hair, carrying with it the scent of hot bread and freshly turned soil. Her grumbling stomach seemed to break the impasse.

  The elder waved them toward the buildings and began walking. “If it was up to me, I’d have you bunk in the barracks with everyone else, but it’s not up to me.”

  “The barracks are fine,” Sorin said, falling in beside Royden.

  “I would never hear the end of it. Most people around here still see you as a hero. A legend, is more of it.”

  The two walked in stormy silence as the simple but imposing buildings loomed larger and larger.

  “How did you know I was coming?” Sorin’s voice was pitched so low Krea almost missed the question.

  “It’s different now, Sorin. Things…things are just different.” He stopped in front of a large, arching wood door and turned to Sorin. “We could have used you here. We needed someone like you.”

  “I couldn’t, Royden. You don’t…”

  Royden’s brow shot up, stalling Sorin’s words. “I don’t know what it’s like? Is that what you were about to say? Goddess, I hope not, because you of all people know that I do. I also know that some things are bigger than our grief.”

  “I have been hearing that a lot lately.”

  “Well, not often enough, obviously. We needed you here, Sorin. I needed you.”

  “I’m here now.”

  “I am afraid now is too late.” They stared at each other for a moment before Royden finally opened the door. “You will not be able to meet with anyone until after morning offerings. I’ll let Elder Ulryk know that you need to talk with her.”

  “Is she now the Talmarni?”

  “No.” Royden stepped into a large entry adorned with tapestries that ran from ceiling to floor. Each told a different story of the kyrni in vivid, swirling thread. “Theya is still the Talmarni, but you won’t get to her. Ulryk is her second.”

  “I will need to meet with the whole council.”

  “And I need the wisdom of age and the body of youth, but what we have is usually half of what we think we need. The wedding has consumed us. It seems that the palace changes their mind with every turn of the sun. I will gain you and your charge an audience with Ulryk. I can and will do nothing more.”

  Before Sorin could utter more than a sound of protest, the man was walking away. He waved his hand toward a dimly lit hall. “I trust you can still find the guest wing. Someone will tend to you when you get there.”

  Chapter 22 - Council

  When Sorin turned around, his expression reflected perfect calm. Too calm. Too forced. “Come.”

  Tapestries dotted the hallway as well, but they were not as grand as those in the entry. Some held only woven pictures of dragons, rukhs, and gryphons. Others contained small scenes telling a story of the Elven War. Sorin strode past without a single sideways glance.

  He paused in the hallway that smelled of fresh bread and stew, but didn’t turn around. His shoulders lifted and fell as he sucked in several deep breaths before resuming his march. It was warning enough.

  As they rounded yet another corner, pattering feet echoed down a distant corridor. Sorin continued on, each step falling with measured consistency and in near silence. When the footsteps finally caught up to them in the form of a boy barely older than Dane, Sorin pressed on as if oblivious to the child’s presence.

  “I am here to take you to a room, milord,” the boy said, sliding to a halt in front of Sorin.

  Sorin finally stopped. He looked at the child as if he had appeared by magic, then glanced back to Dane and Krea. His rigid shoulders sl
ackened a bit, and the air around him thawed. “My thanks,” he said.

  The boy bowed and led them down a side hall away from another set of giant doors. The din of voices and clattering dishes grew louder as they passed, but they didn’t stop. Her stomach growled its protest. After a few more turns, the boy stopped in front of two doors directly across from each other.

  “The rooms are small, milord, but with the wedding, it is all we have left.”

  “They are more than fine.”

  “We are trying to find you some clean clothes right now. Do you know how long before the rest of your belongings get here?”

  Dane elbowed Krea and stretched up. “Does you hear how he talks? He ain’t no proper drudge.”

  “Shhh. Can’t you see he’s got magic? He’s probably a caller in training or something. What kind of wizard are you?”

  Sorin leveled them a deadly glare before turning back to the boy, who was blushing crimson. “I’m hoping in the next few days.”

  “Least I is one,” Dane whispered.

  The boy turned on Dane, brow furled.

  “On the goddess!” Sorin’s self-imposed calm vanished. “I am at my end with the two of you. One. More. Word. Please. Either of you, I don’t care which. Just say one more word.”

  A palpable silence filled the hallway. Krea didn’t dare so much as glance at Dane. Small specks of light danced around Sorin’s wooden fingers, probably without him even knowing they were there. Even the boy took a step back.

  After staring daggers at both of them, Sorin finally turned back to their guide. “Clean clothes would be wonderful. If not…” He looked down at his tunic. Putrid yellow smears covered more of it than not, and the light tan of his chemise barely showed through from all of the proth blood and dirt. “Clean clothes would be helpful.”

  The boy nodded. “I will place them outside your doors, if I find any. Water for washing is in your rooms, and more will be outside tomorrow morning before offerings.”

  “My thanks.”

  Only after the boy was well away did Sorin turn to Krea and Dane, expression still cast in iron. “Go in that room. Wash. Sleep. Do not come out until I get you in the morning. Is there any part of that instruction either of you do not understand? Any part?”

  They both shook their heads.

  “Good, because if I find you outside of your room or if I hear anything other than sleeping, I will probably kill you both.”

  Krea nodded and pushed Dane through the door. Somehow, she believed him.

  ###

  “I don’t know why we got to get all clean.” Dane pulled at the clean tunic again. “It ain’t like we is going to the wedding.” It was a simple brown shirt, but a little too big. It came half way down his thigh. At least it didn’t stink of proth bits.

  “Well, we are going to see the council, goddess help us. That’s reason enough, don’t you think?” Krea handed Dane his knife and tucked her smaller money bag into her belt, but not before counting out ten dalman and fifteen shol from the big one. She dropped the money into the bag she had taken from the assassin.

  “Ain’t you gonna take your dagger?”

  “The cursed dagger?” She snatched her knife off the cot and started to tie it on. “Is that the dagger you mean? I’m not going anywhere with that thing. It hissed at me.”

  “It ain’t cursed, and besides, I don’t think you want to leave it here.”

  Krea frowned at the boy for a moment. He was grinning in that way of his that only meant bad things. “What are you talking about?”

  “That.” Dane pointed to the blanket that Krea had dropped over the possessed blade. A perfect circle was burning through the cloth.

  “No way!” Krea braced herself on the trunk and leaned over. Red eyes gleamed back at her. “Not possible!” She screamed and scrambled onto the cot. “It’s a dagger. It can’t do that.”

  Dane giggled and tied his belt. “It did, and if you don’t take it with you, I bet it eats up everything in this room.”

  “You take it,” she said, still standing on the cot. “You’re supposed to be the wizard.”

  “It don’t want me. It wants you.”

  “Wants me for what? And why doesn’t it want you?”

  The door swung open and Sorin poked his head in. Whatever he was about to say was held in check as he glanced back and forth from Dane to Krea. Finally, he shook his head and stepped into the room. “Are you ready?”

  Dane nodded. “What if them elders don’t like us? Does we get to go back to the forest with Cricket?”

  “Don’t worry about the elders. Don’t worry about Cricket, either. She’s a faerie. She’s fine. Besides, you aren’t going to see the elders; Krea is.”

  “Then why did I have to wash?”

  Krea stepped off the cot and crept over to the dagger. “Because you stunk.” She pushed the smoldering blanket away with her foot and stared down at the unremarkable steel sheath. There were no eyes this time. No dragon. No gold. It was so plain it was almost an eyesore.

  “Shut up!” Dane snapped. “Least I ain’t afraid o’ no knife.”

  “It’s a wonder you two didn’t kill each other last night,” Sorin said. “We need to go. What are you burning in here? Dane, you are not going to the council; you are going to see a mage.”

  Dane froze. Blood drained from his face, and for a moment he looked like he had the day they left Ryth. “Why?”

  “Because someone needs to teach you how to control your magic, and obviously I am not the one to do it. We need to go. Krea, take that dagger.”

  One side of Dane’s mouth crept up into a smirk. Whether it was because she lost the fight over the knife or that he was going to learn to use magic, she wasn’t sure. Either way, it was annoying. “Pelt,” she muttered, snatching the dagger off the floor and pushing around Sorin to get away from that stupid grin. She dropped the money in her pocket.

  The morning meal was a hurried and uncomfortable event. Tables filled the dining hall from wall to wall, yet there was barely an empty seat in the room. Several pots hung around the fire, and the young man whose job it was to keep them rotating in and out of the heat dripped with sweat. The scent of magic hung in the air, a tingling haze, and the kyrni and callers outnumbered the nobles two to one. But she only knew that by smell. To look at them, except where the kyrni were marked, they looked the same. No one sat at special tables or ate from fired clay bowls. The kyrni held themselves with the grace of the nobles, as did the callers. Suddenly, Krea’s feet felt too big. Her arms too long. Her hair too short. Sorin had to give her a shove to make her cross the threshold.

  At first, the glances were subtle. Kicks under the tables. Nods of the heads toward Sorin. Eyes that lingered too long on his gloved hand. But as the three collected their bowls and squeezed into a table crammed in a nook, the discretion faltered. The din of conversation that had greeted them fell away to hushed whispers until the clank of utensils and cups reverberated over the hushed voices.

  Sorin pretended not to notice, but his rigid expression gave him away.

  “Do you know these people?” Krea asked.

  “Some. Most.”

  “Then how come they ain’t talking to you?” Dane scraped his spoon along the bottom of his bowl, then sighed.

  Sorin shrugged and pointed his spoon toward the giant pots. “Go get more. There is plenty.” Dane didn’t have to be told twice.

  “Because they’re scared,” Krea said, speaking mostly to her bowl. “That’s it, isn’t it?”

  “What makes you say that?” Despite the question, Sorin’s tone told her she was right.

  “I can smell it.”

  “I’m sure you can.”

  Dane was just finishing his second bowl of porridge and eyeing the pots again when Royden walked into the dining hall with a tiny wisp of a woman by his side. Both wore long red tunics, and Krea guessed the woman to be another elder. Unlike Royden, though, she was not kyrni. She was a caller.

  Before the two e
lders had stepped more than two feet into the room, the entire gathering of guests was on their feet. Sorin pushed back from the table as well, motioning for Krea and Dane to follow in kind.

  With nods, smiles, and a spattering of brief conversations, the two crossed the room.

  “Tal Sorin.” Royden placed the palm of his fist to his forehead and gave the caller a curt bow. “I don’t believe you have met Elder Ulryk. She came to us from Sra several years ago and is now the Second.”

  Sorin returned the bow and offered a separate formal gesture to Ulryk. “I am Tal Sorin, son of Rynel, caller and last in the line of Nalrashi. My first service is to the goddess, and it will then be my honor to serve you, Elder Ulryk.”

  Ulryk bowed. “May Nordu find pleasure in your service, and may her blessings be upon you.”

  “We are just returning from morning offerings, and Elder Ulryk wanted to meet you.” Royden’s expression was just shy of a smirk. “I explained that your absence was due to your difficult day yesterday, and that you no doubt needed the extra sleep.”

  “Difficult is putting it mildly,” Sorin said. He waved toward Krea and Dane. “This is Dane of Ryth and Krea of Trasdaak. Krea. Dane. Please come stand over here and allow the elders to sit.”

  “We are fine to stand,” Ulryk said as she studied Krea. Her unwavering gaze made Krea’s porridge threaten a return trip.

  Sorin stepped over to make room for Krea and Dane. “I’m not sure the entire room agrees with you.”

  Ulryk turned around and nodded again to the room full of people still on their feet. “I think you are right.” She sat in the chair Krea was only too happy to vacate, and Royden dropped into Dane’s chair. Behind them, the collective shuffling of chairs helped fill the awkward silence. “Krea, Royden tells me you have no caller.”