Age of Swords

by Michael J. Sullivan

  “Congratulations!” Aiden appeared with a big-brother grin. “Did you just get here?”

  “Why is everyone congratulating me?”

  “Why?” Aiden appeared puzzled and looked at Makareta.

  She shrugged and addressed Mawyndulë. “I…I don’t think…I mean…you weren’t at the Airenthenon today, were you? Mawyn, do you not know what happened?”

  Mawyn? That’s new. I’m not sure I like it.

  “My father didn’t want me attending. Why? What happened?”

  “Of all people to be the last to know! Am I right?” Aiden shouted and clapped Mawyndulë hard on his back.

  Is everyone drunk? Do I act this way when I’ve been drinking? Mawyndulë was pretty certain he didn’t.

  “Know what?”

  “Vidar was found guilty of treason,” Makareta said. “Your father called him out right from the floor of the Aquila. He’s an assassin who was plotting to kill the fane.”

  “Vidar?” For an instant, Mawyndulë wondered if perhaps there was another Vidar, some evil version. Even remembering the shadow that had stalked Mawyndulë in his dream the idea still didn’t mesh with the reality of the dusty old man, feeble and barely intelligent enough to feed himself. Vidar was an idiot, not a traitor.

  “That makes you the new senior councilor, old Fhrey,” Aiden said, clapping Mawyndulë’s shoulder, harder this time, and Aiden topped it off with a little shake. “You made it. You can be our voice. We can finally be heard!”

  Mawyndulë felt the gathering of people pressing around him. A pack, he thought, though he had no idea what they might be a pack of, or where that idea had even come from. Mawyndulë had never had a dog, and had only seen a single wolf. Still, they felt like a pack, a warm excited family.

  Several of those gathered were grinning, and one of them placed a cup of wine in Mawyndulë’s hand.

  “To the new senior councilor of the Aquila!” Aiden shouted, and everyone raised glasses and drank.

  “I’m so proud of you,” Makareta said, pressing against him and clicking cups.

  “Why? What did I do?”

  “It’s what you will do.”

  She squeezed his hand. Hers felt hot, and a little slickness had formed between their palms. This hidden touch, held down and out of sight from the others, excited him. He took a swig of wine.

  Aiden raised a cup again. “To our first victory!”

  Everyone echoed, “To our first victory!”

  They drank. Mawyndulë didn’t.

  “Wait? How is it your victory?” Mawyndulë asked.

  “You don’t think Vidar is really a traitor, do you?” Aiden said with a mischievous smile and a wink.

  Initially, Mawyndulë took this for an honest question. He even opened his mouth to reply, but stopped. “Wait. Are you saying Vidar is innocent?”

  “I guess he could have been up to something, but it doesn’t matter,” Flynn said. “Your father is convinced of Vidar’s guilt. Lothian locked up the ex–senior councilor, pending sentencing.”

  “And appointed you to replace him,” Makareta said with admiration.

  He felt her hand in his again. He wanted to let go, but that would be rude. He needed to think, and her closeness confused him. “But if Vidar isn’t the assassin, then a real one could still be out there.”

  This brought a laugh from nearly all of them.

  “There never was an assassin,” Aiden told him.

  “No, you’re wrong. There was…or I should say is…one,” Mawyndulë insisted. “The Master of Secrets learned about a plot weeks ago.”

  They shook their heads, all of them, even Makareta.

  “Vasek’s an idiot,” Aiden said. “And his spies are so easily fooled.”

  “It was Aiden’s idea,” Makareta said.

  “Yep, Vasek is always looking for conspirators so we gave him one. You provided the target,” Aiden told Mawyndulë. “Getting rid of Vidar has allowed one of our own to assume his position.”

  “So the assassination plot was just a hoax?”

  “Yep. A rumor we started. We planted just enough clues to make Vasek drool.”

  Several laughed at this.

  Mawyndulë was unsure what to make of it all. He certainly held no love for Vidar, but it felt wrong to let him be punished for a crime he was innocent of. He drank his wine, still trying to work everything out.

  “Vasek is such a waste. How is an Asendwayr going to do anything? I don’t see why your father chose him rather than a Miralyith. I mean, what if Vidar had really been an assassin? Vasek couldn’t have done anything to keep the fane safe against a Miralyith,” Aiden said loudly, and elicited laughter from the crowd. “Am I right?”

  They all cheered and a few of the nearest members slapped Aiden on the back.

  “I don’t know, I thought Vasek had some smart ideas,” Mawyndulë said.

  “Vasek? Smart? I don’t think those two words have any place being together. What did he ever do that demonstrated even an inkling of intelligence?”

  “Well, he does use Miralyith to safeguard the palace. All the windows and doors are sealed by the Art.”

  Aiden opened his mouth to speak, but Mawyndulë shut him down. “And only those assigned residency can even pass inside the walls of the Talwara.”

  There, that’ll teach Aiden. He thinks others are dumb, but he’s not so smart. Who is secretly holding Makareta’s hand? Who has just been appointed as senior councilor? Me, that’s who. Am I right? The thoughts brought a smile to Mawyndulë’s face.

  “The fane could still have been poisoned,” Flynn pointed out.

  “Nope. Wouldn’t work.” Mawyndulë’s smile blossomed into a grin. “All food is cleaned by Miralyith as well. So, yeah, he might not be a Miralyith, but he knows how to employ them to take care of things.”

  Everyone was looking at Mawyndulë and nodding thoughtfully.

  He felt good, as if he’d just made an exceptional stroke while sword fighting. He’d never touched a sword, but he could imagine the thrill of catching an opponent’s blade at the last instant before a killing stroke, slapping it away, then stabbing out with his own assault. For once, he had all the answers, and he’d delivered them perfectly, with his lady by his side. The fast ripostes left him giddy, and he downed the last of his wine in victory.

  “You’re going to make a great senior councilor,” Makareta said with ardor. “Who are you going to appoint as your junior?”

  Mawyndulë didn’t even know that was something he had input on. “I’m sure my father will find someone.”

  “Choice of junior councilor is the prerogative of the senior.”

  “Oh? I didn’t know that.”

  “You didn’t know you were senior councilor until a minute ago, so you can hardly be blamed. But who do you think you might choose?”

  “I can pick anyone?”

  “Yes, but we wouldn’t want someone from another tribe to be the next in line,” Aiden said.

  “I actually think Aquila law prevents that,” Inga added.

  “That’s true,” Makareta confirmed. “Those rules were formalized in the First Quorum. But other than that, it can be anyone.”

  “You know a lot about the Aquila, don’t you?” Mawyndulë asked her.

  “I go there often. You’ve seen me. I think I’ve witnessed every meeting for the last century.”

  She’s that old? Still, she wasn’t too old. She might be, and likely was, only a little over a century, and there was value in age, experience, and knowledge that he didn’t have.

  “So do you know who you’ll take as your junior?”

  “Yes, I think I do.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Losing Face

  The worst nightmares are the ones you cannot wake from because they are real.

  —THE BOOK OF BRIN

  If not for Minna, they never would have known Brin had been taken.

  The wolf brought them awake with her barks, and in that fleeting moment, Persephone
caught sight of the girl. She was being hauled away, a pale hand clamped over her mouth, her heels kicking weakly against unforgiving stone. Then she was gone, lost to the darkness.

  “Brin!” Persephone shouted.

  Scooping up the glowing shard beside her, Persephone scrambled to her feet and chased after Brin. She hadn’t thought to grab a shield, and thanked Mari that she’d slept with the sword belt on, the weapon still in its scabbard. Persephone didn’t remember falling asleep. She had sat up, watching over the others in case the raow came. Just a precaution, she hadn’t thought it really would. There were ten of them, counting the wolf, and only one raow—at least she’d only seen one. She’d considered assigning shifts to keep watch but thought sleep was more important.

  So, so stupid!

  Having lost sight of everything familiar, Persephone stopped running and stood among the black-and-white squares of a checkerboard floor, completely lost.

  This can’t be happening. “Brin!” she screamed, her voice echoing in the vast hall.

  No answer.

  Oh, holy Mari, please no!

  Panning the light around, she saw half a dozen corridors and archways. Brin could be down any of them. How much time did she have to find her?

  Brin’s voice replayed in her mind. What part of “they eat people’s faces” didn’t you hear?

  Running footsteps approached, and Moya rushed into the glow of Persephone’s stone. “Where is she?” Moya exclaimed, her eyes huge, her breath coming in short gasps.

  “I don’t know. I don’t know!” Persephone yelled back, continuing to pan the glowing stone, cupping it the way Rain had instructed.

  She spotted a light back toward camp. Rain had chipped another shard and was searching as well.

  “We have to find her!” Moya nearly shouted.

  “I know that. Don’t you think I know that?” Persephone peered into each corridor for any sign, any indication about where Brin had been taken; she found nothing. Maybe if they had more light they might find clues like footprints in the dust, but Persephone didn’t see any.

  “Minna will find her,” Suri said. The mystic trotted up with the animal at her side. “Won’t you, Minna?”

  The wolf was still bristling her fur and had an ugly snarl on her lips. She wasn’t even looking at the corridors. Minna was growling at the stairs.

  “They went down,” Suri said.

  That was all Persephone needed. She was running again. They all were. The wolf outpaced the rest, her nails scraping the stone as she leapt down, yipping as she went. Persephone remembered being chased by wolves in the forest, but this time she was the one pursuing, a member of the pack.

  Persephone took the stairs three and four at a time. Moya ran alongside with her spear, but there was no sign of her shield.

  Minna didn’t pause at the bottom; she went right on down the next flight, and the flight after that until Persephone lost track. Finally, they reached the bottom of the staircase, and the wolf sprinted into the darkness. Suri, who was as quick and nimble as a deer, was close behind. Persephone and Moya followed. Meanwhile, somewhere behind them, Roan, Arion, and the dwarfs brought up the rear.

  Persephone almost slammed into a pile of rubble, and Moya just managed to leap a toppled metal pole that looked to have been some sort of lamp. Debris was strewn everywhere: broken stone, collapsed pillars, and fallen arches. Ahead, they still heard Minna, but the wolf’s barks had turned to howls and then a threatening growl.

  “She’s caught it,” Suri announced.

  Another few strides and Persephone saw the wolf. Minna was crouched, ready to fight. Suri was closing in. Ahead of them stood the raow, still holding Brin with one long hand clamped over her mouth. Persephone focused the light and saw it clearly for the first time. Pale as the underbelly of a dead fish, the thing was tall, lanky, and thin. Its arms could touch the floor with barely a bend to its back. Long, thin strands of black hair hung from a grotesque head, the locks shrouded much of its body like a brittle cloak. Just as Suri said, it had claws, sharp-pointed nails of ebony, and when it hissed at Minna, Persephone saw yellow teeth and bleeding gums.

  Brin was still struggling, but she was held off balance by powerful arms. Stifled shouts and indistinguishable screams leaked through the raow’s palm. The creature had stopped its flight, and with the light of her shard, Persephone saw why. Behind the raow, the floor was missing. Smooth marble tiles could be seen twenty feet beyond, but in between was the darkness of a gaping chasm. The floor, the width of the entire chamber, had broken away, leaving the raow trapped against a massive hole.

  Suri stopped short and crouched beside Minna, glancing back. Beside her, Moya took a firm double-handed grip on the spear as Persephone drew her sword—no fear this time, no hesitation. She was going to kill that thing for touching Brin.

  Then, as all of them watched, the raow threw Brin off the edge.

  The girl screamed. Persephone stared in horror at Brin’s flailing arms and legs as down into darkness she went. Her scream trailed for some time and then was cut horribly short.

  Persephone stopped, as did Moya, both paralyzed in disbelief. Persephone felt as if her breath had been stolen, and she couldn’t find another. The creature took several steps toward them, turned, and in a wild, running leap jumped the gap, barely catching the far side with its clawed hands. It hung there for the briefest of moments, and then pulled itself to safety.

  Persephone ran forward, hit the floor, crawled to the edge, and looked down. Even with the light, she only saw darkness below. “Brin!”

  “Oh, sweet Mari!” Moya exclaimed.

  The others arrived. Rain joined his light to hers, helping to illuminate the tragedy below.

  “Where’s Brin?” Roan asked.

  Persephone couldn’t answer.

  “What’s it doing?” Arion asked, looking across the chasm at where the raow climbed a tilted pillar.

  The chamber was a mess of turmoil and wreckage. Parts of the ceiling had been shattered, and a few columns, freed from their loads, stood balancing on their plinths. The raow jumped to one of these freestanding pillars and continued to climb. At the top, it braced itself against a nearby wall and the remaining ceiling and began to push with its legs.

  The pillar moved. Hardly noticeable, but it did rock slightly. Realization descended on Persephone. The hole in the floor that Brin had fallen through was long and thin—the size and shape of a toppled pillar. The raow was aiming another at them. Even if it missed, the massive column of stone would take out the rest of the floor.

  “Help!” Brin’s tiny voice wafted up from the abyss. “Help me!”

  “Brin?” Persephone looked back down, still unable to see anything. “Are you all right?”

  She waited—they all did—no answer.

  Across the gap, the raow shifted the pillar another inch.

  With an angry glare, Moya backed up a few feet to give herself room. For a moment, Persephone thought she was about to hurl herself across the gap like the raow had. She wouldn’t make it. No human could clear that jump. Even the raow had barely succeeded. But Moya wasn’t planning on jumping. She ran to the edge and when she reached it, she let her spear fly. A beautiful throw, the spear sailed straight and far but fell short, landing near the base of the pillar. The movement and noise caught the raow’s attention. It grinned and heaved once more, causing the pillar to rock.

  “We need to leave,” Frost said.

  “For once, I agree with Frost.” Flood nodded while rapidly backing away.

  “We aren’t leaving her!” Persephone said. Then she shouted down into the abyss, “Hold on, Brin!”

  Moya stood near the edge with clenched fists glaring at the raow. “You son of the Tetlin whore. You slimy—” Moya pivoted. “Roan! Roan, make your bow work.”

  With a nod, Roan dropped her gear and pulled out the sticks. She and Arion had been the only ones who’d picked things up before joining the chase. Even the dwarfs had forgotten their packs, althou
gh Rain had his pick secured on his back. He likely slept with it, the same way Persephone had fallen asleep with her sword.

  “Suri.” Arion moved forward to where the mystic knelt. “You can stop it.”

  Suri continued to hug Minna, looking up at the Fhrey, terrified.

  “You must try.” She resorted to Fhrey, but kept her words steady and calm.

  Suri only hugged Minna closer.

  Roan had the bow strung in seconds.

  Moya took it from her. “What do I do? I put the little javelin in the string and pull back, right?”

  Roan nodded.

  Moya nocked the little stick. She pulled, aimed at the raow, and let go. The miniature spear flew, but it didn’t travel as far as the spear Moya had just thrown.

  “You need to draw it back farther, near your cheek and then let go,” Roan explained, holding out another of her stone-tipped sticks. “Don’t worry, the bow won’t break. It’s very strong.”

  Moya did as instructed, and the big bow creaked with the strain. This time the shaft shot out of the bow faster than the eye could see. It soared well over the chasm and came close to where the raow was heaving on the pillar—so close the creature looked over, frightened—but the stick drifted into a flat spin and fell away, bouncing off the far wall.

  “It doesn’t fly straight!” Moya shouted.

  “I thought it would now,” Roan said.

  “Well, it doesn’t!”

  “Suri,” Arion said more firmly. “You need to do something.”

  “This was all a mistake,” Suri said, shaking her head. “I shouldn’t have come. I’m not an Artist. I can’t do anything. I…I…I don’t even know what you want me to do. That’s not a giant over there. It’s a pillar and a raow, and there’s no dirt to swallow it.”

  “You can hold the pillar in place,” Arion said, her voice surprisingly calm, so sedate that it managed to irritate Persephone—as if the Miralyith denied everyone’s peril. “You can also paralyze the creature, or kill it. Use the chant, center yourself. You can—”