The Rift War

by Michelle L. Levigne

  Illis Rakkell and Emmi were in actuality Mrillis the enchanter and Emrillian Warhawk, daughter of Athrar. Sixteen years ago, the spell that protected Emrillian and let her sleep through the ages had been attacked and destroyed by Edrout, son of Megassa and the Nameless One. Mrillis had brought Emrillian to Moerta, to raise her in the modern world and prepare her for the day she would return to Lygroes, to lead the Valors of Quenlaque in defending their land against Edrout and his Encindi barbarians, and prepare for the return of Athrar.

  Grego had met them only a few days after coming to live with his grandparents, just an old man and a little girl, five years old, having a picnic in the forest. He might have continued exploring the forest, lost in the haze of pain from the death of his parents, but Mrillis had been drawing pictures with light, making Emrillian laugh and the Threads dance. Grego had seen the light and the Threads and felt the humming of power in the air that enclosed the clearing, and he stayed, fascinated, pulled out of his misery.

  By seeing the lights that day, he had proven he had imbrose, and that had been enough for Mrillis to listen to his heart, to his sense of destiny, and take the lonely, hurting boy under his wing. Grego had been included in Emrillian's lessons about the history of Quenlaque, the Rey'kil, magic, and warfare. He had investigated the Archaics, devoted to scholarship, delving through the many false legends Mrillis and Meghianna, Queen of Snows had sown through the centuries, to protect the truth. It had been the natural thing to join the Archaics and search for others who had imbrose, and when he was sure they were trustworthy, to introduce Mrillis and Emrillian to them. The plan was to recruit from those trusted friends among the Archaics who had proven themselves honorable, skilled, and devoted to Quenlaque, and take them down the tunnel beneath the sea someday, to help in the defense of Lygroes.

  "It's happening too soon," Grego muttered, as the upper towers of the Rakkell estate became visible through the thick forest. He had no idea how he would slow the progress on the star-metal reclamation project, now that the sensors he had developed were operational.

  Dangerously operational. He hadn't expected them to work so well, or so soon.

  The irony was that Emrillian and Mrillis had encouraged him to stay involved in the project. They felt it would be better for him to be at the center of this threat to the integrity of the dome of Threads that protected Lygroes and kept it safe in far distant history. If he had resigned his position, he could have come under suspicion of treachery by the Science Directorate and Kayn's paranoid compatriots, and he wouldn't be in a position now to warn Emrillian and Mrillis when their worst fears came true.

  Which he was about to do.

  He was so busy with his thoughts, trying to frame the right words to share the news, that he didn't notice the streamers of gold, silver, and blue light swirling around Emrillian's workshop until he ran into them. They were as tangible as streamers of spun sugar, brushing against his skin and startling him out of his thoughts.

  Grego 's bare skin prickled a little where the light had touched it. Amazed as he always was, even after all these years, he reached out one hand, brushing his fingers against a particularly vivid streak of royal blue. Sparks fizzed and spun around his fingers where they penetrated the light. Still moving forward, he pressed his hand deeper into the light, enjoying the somewhat pleasant, faintly ticklish sensation. Such a strong reaction among the Threads protecting the Rakkell estate meant only one thing: Emrillian was at work at the forge in her workshop, taking another step in the project she and Grego and Mrillis had shared for three years now.

  The construction of a suit of armor entirely made of star-metal, for Emrillian to wear in hand-to-hand combat with Edrout. She had sworn at the age of twelve to destroy the enemy enchanter so her father would not have to face the man again.

  Grego stepped out of the forest and into the intricate gardens surrounding the main house of the Rakkell estate. The lights swirled and spun in a dome around the large workshop that sat a good hundred meters away from the manor house. Mrillis' voice came from the workshop, answered a moment later by Emrillian's rich alto. Relieved to be able to share this perilous news as soon as possible, Grego pushed through the barrier of light and came out the other side, feeling as if he had taken several whiffs of pure oxygen. His skin tingled all over as if scrubbed clean. He pushed the door open, and knowing how Emrillian worked, he moved quietly and slowly. It was not wise to distract or startle her while she worked star-metal.

  Emrillian stood in the center of a globe of silvery-blue light, eyes closed, hands spread midway between shoulder and waist. A glowing, molten mass of silver-blue metal, almost the same color as her eyes, churned in mid-air, suspended by green and white streaks of light coming from her fingers. She moved her left hand out, and the metal streamed out and flattened into a sheet. She raised her right hand, just a little, and pointed with her index finger, twirling it, and the sheet of glowing metal folded in on itself, again and again, as if it were a paper being compacted into a packet. Then she flattened it into another sheet, and again folded it. Flattened and folded.

  Grego remembered to breathe. He had watched her do the exact same thing not two moons ago to a piece of fine steel, working it and tempering it and folding it, then shaping the hot metal with a stone hammer until she formed it into a thick cuff to protect an archer against the snap of the bow string. Emrillian had quite a reputation as a metalworker among their Archaics friends, and the bow guard, engraved with the image of a drakag, had been a gift for a friend of theirs when she graduated to Valor rank.

  With star-metal, the streamers of light and the slight movements of her fingers were Emrillian's tools, rather than the forge, the anvil, the tongs, and hammer.

  "Grego!" She lowered her hands. The cuff floated gently down to the granite surface of her worktable and the sphere of light surrounding her faded to nothing. She wiped sweat off her face and then wiped her hands on the seat of her loose trousers. "What a nice surprise. It's more than a moon since you visited."

  "Is the armor finished?" He nodded to Mrillis as the man stepped out of the shadows at the other side of the workshop to join them at the table.

  "Why?" She laughed and raked her hands through her sweat-damped hair, white and gold touched with red highlights. It had come loose of her braids in the strenuous work and the gusts of air and thrashing of the Threads, as always, and hung past her waist. Her silver-blue eyes sparkled with the euphoria of the energy she always gained while working star-metal.

  "You're going to need it. I assume since you're working on bow guards, the armor is done?"

  "Done, and ready for a celebration party," Mrillis said. He nodded at the cuff. "That is a gift for Shalara. I anticipate great things from her, when her imbrose is awakened."

  "What's happened?" Emrillian gestured across the workshop, to the corner where a coldbox and padded benches formed a resting place amid the multiple work stations and projects in various stages of completion throughout the large, one-room building. The three settled down in their usual places for one of their long, intense, rambling talks.

  "Something dire, I fear," Mrillis said. He gestured at the coldbox. The door swung open.

  Grego was somewhat relieved that the white-haired man didn't levitate a bottle of juice over to him. Now wasn't the time for amusing tricks. He gathered his thoughts as the three served themselves.

  "It's happened," he said, after considering and tossing aside a dozen different ways of breaking the news. "The next phase in my project. They'll load the ships with the power siphon equipment in the next few days, to sail to the Death Zone."

  "But how?" Emrillian said, slowly shaking her head. She put down the bottle of juice and leaned forward, elbows on her knees, hands clasped together, as if that would help her concentrate and understand. "The next step is to get the sensors working."

  "They are working." Grego swallowed hard. "Working too well. I'm thinking someone else has been working on the programming and adding it to mine. The first
test went spectacularly well. Today. Kayn was in my office, watching practically over my shoulder, when an enormous deposit of star-metal was found right here on the coast."

  "The tunnel," Mrillis said. He stroked his beard, lips pursed in thought.

  "They'll come right here, before they go out to the Death Zone," Emrillian said. "How could they resist all that star-metal, here for the taking? Grandfather, we're not ready."

  "Since when does prophecy require that we be ready?" he responded, shaking his head. "And you are partially wrong, my dear. The star-metal is not here for the taking. They must penetrate quite a few defensive spells to find the tunnel."

  "And if they think to bring Grego's power siphon? If they decide to activate it, to help them find the star-metal when your spells block the way? How long will the defensive spells stand against them when the Threads are attacked and drained?"

  "It's worse," Grego said. "Kayn is probably halfway to getting the legal right to confiscate your house and grounds, in the name of national security."

  "Then we will not be here, will we?" Mrillis said with just a touch of smirk in his dark eyes, curving the corners of his mouth, visible through his thick beard.

  "Grandfather, we're not ready," Emrillian repeated.

  "It is time to take the throne." He stood and gestured at the house. "You need to wash, and Grego and I will get something to eat. I fear we will have a very long night of talking and planning, and it is best not to do that on an empty stomach."

  * * * *

  Mrillis and Grego detoured through the kitchens to request food from Layessi, one of the Rey'kil who had come from Lygroes to help raise Emrillian. While Emrillian washed up, they headed upstairs to the library and music room that took up half of the third floor of the house and looked out over the sea. A full suit of armor, shimmering softly with lavender, silver, and blue light, hung on a manikin stand in a corner of the room by the enormous arched windows. Grego inhaled sharply in admiration--and relief, knowing Emrillian's armor was done. Then it occurred to him that that meant she would indeed go into battle against Edrout, just as she had vowed when she was a child.

  The armor was woven of fine chain mail, with the Warhawk crest in blue gemstones worked into the right shoulder, and the starburst emblem of the Estall blazoned across the chest in diamonds and topaz.

  Grego thought about how little star-metal had been retrieved from the bottom of the sea, at great expense and effort, and shivered at the estimate of how much this suit of armor was worth. It could purchase the entire eastern coast of Moerta, for a hundred kilometers inland. Kayn and the entire military of Goarlotte-Welcairn would have strokes if they ever learned this much tamed star-metal was only a few kilometers from the Science Directorate's headquarters.

  He thought of the legal hoops and hurdles various members of the Science Directorate would go through, to confiscate this suit of armor--claiming it was being done for the common good of their country, in defense against their many enemies. Emrillian and Mrillis would be branded enemies of civilization if they resisted in any way. They could even be branded terrorists for possessing so much star-metal, which, until Grego and his associates developed the refining process, had been considered more dangerous and destructive than any weaponry civilization had ever created. It wouldn't help their case in any way if Emrillian announced her identity as Warhawk's Heir--technically, ruler of the entire planet. That is, if kings and queens and nobility hadn't been made obsolete, even outlawed in some countries, centuries ago.

  Chapter Two

  "We have to contact Karstis and Shalara, at the very least. Tonight," Emrillian said, when she joined Mrillis and Grego in the library a short time later. "We test them with star-metal, and leave them with Liris to give them some basic lessons. They can recruit and indoctrinate the others."

  Even though he had seen Emrillian in these same clothes many times before, it was as if Grego saw her for the first time. His perspective had changed, not her. Emrillian had always dressed in a somewhat Archaic style. Old-style loose trousers and the long tunic with cuffed sleeves suited her. They belonged in this setting, the deep shelves jammed with scrolls and tablets, as well as ancient bound books and the newer plasti-sheet volumes, and every reading device that had ever been devised. There was a museum's worth of the history of the recorded word in this room. Mrillis had collected most of it.

  Emrillian had always looked the part of a warrior princess in hiding. She had been more at home among the Archaics than the modern world: talking battle strategy with historians, discussing weaponry design and tactics with arms-masters and artisans, risking bruises and broken bones in the tournaments and competitions that ignored all the political and geographical boundaries and barriers across Moerta. She had earned her spurs as a Valor five times over.

  Now, knowing that soon all her years of practice and study would become reality, made Grego see her differently. He thought of the various legends of Athrar being raised in hiding, to emerge victorious through the smoke of danger and destruction. Emrillian would make new legends soon, through no choice of her own. Grego hoped she would live long enough to hear all the variations of the tales of her heroism.

  The three of them settled in the deep sofas arranged in a square in the center of the room. Grego couldn't count all the times he had come to see Emrillian, and found her here in the library, lost in other times and places and lives. That was all about to change, and he had been part of bringing about that change. It didn't help that he had stayed working on the star-metal project at Mrillis and Emrillian's request.

  "I will miss this place," Mrillis said, after Layessi had brought up a little wheeled cart loaded with trays of food and pitchers of hot and cold drinks. "Meghianna first bought this estate, and she and I have taken turns coming here through the centuries, adding to the building, collecting the records of the growth and change of civilization, observing history as it happened. Utterly fascinating, in many ways. And depressing, how humanity repeats itself over and over, never learning from the mistakes of history. Of course, it could be because the victors always rewrite history to paint themselves in a better light, and to deny that the losers even existed or that they might have been in the right."

  "Grandfather, Grego doesn't need that sort of lecture right now." Emrillian winked at Grego and tucked her legs up under herself. "Neither do I."

  "Quite right." He took a deep breath and leaned back against the deep maroon cushions of his favorite seat.

  They nibbled and sipped and talked, and in a short time worked out the details of how they would break the news to their two Archaics friends. Mrillis went to notify the household staff that it was time to prepare to return to Lygroes. Grego joined Emrillian at the communication screen, to call Karstis and Shalara and ask them to come to the house. He had the time now to find it ironic that both of their Archaics friends were also members of the Science Directorate, charged with internal security and defensive protocol.

  "Sometimes Grandfather gets irritating because he says it so often, but maybe this time it really is a very visible part of the Estall's plan," Emrillian said, when Grego shared his thoughts with her. Then her first com-request went through, and Karstis came on the screen.

  "Sorry. Can't," the big, broad-shouldered, red-haired man said. The perspective made Grego think he was using a portable com-screen, not talking to them from his home. "Some emergency meeting at the Directorate. Big hush-hush, but they're talking about moving out within the next moon-quarter. In fact, my cart is just pulling up in front."

  "Check with Shalara when you're done, will you?" Emrillian said. "It's vitally important. She'll have amazing things to tell you."

  "Will do."

  "Kar, I'm speaking as your district commander, as well as your friend. This is something you and the scholars in our district would die for."

  "Oh, and you expect me to go into this meeting now and be able to concentrate?" He laughed, and his hand approached the screen, preparing to turn it off.


  "Just trust me, and believe everything Shalara tells you." She sighed. "The Estall bless you until I see you again."

  Karstis nodded, his expression going somber, and the image died.

  "What if Shalara can't come either?" Grego muttered, as Emrillian tapped the next com-request code into the com-system.

  Fortunately, Shalara wasn't required to attend the same meeting as Karstis, and she was close enough, coming back from a shopping excursion after work, that she would arrive in fifteen minutes. Grego and Emrillian kept busy in the interim, packing the star-metal armor and doing an inventory of the other star-metal pieces she had created in her years of training: knives, necklaces, bracelets, pins, rings, bow guards, browbands. Emrillian kept out a browband for Karstis, and an assortment of rings and bracelets for their other Archaics friends who would be recruited in the next few days. The bow guard sat on the table in the middle of the square of couches when Shalara arrived. Mrillis had waited for her downstairs, and the two were engaged in laughing conversation as they came up the long flight of winding stairs.

  Grego tried to look at Shalara as if he had never seen her before. Long and lean and graceful, she wore her ebony hair short. She disdained jewelry and cosmetics as a waste of time and money, but he knew there was a large handful of men among their Archaics friends who would argue and say she was beautiful. Shalara was an archery champion, taking first or second place in nearly every competition and tournament she entered. Her goal was to earn enough prestige points to reach the rank of Stronghold Guardian before the age of twenty-five.

  He laughed silently now, wondering how she would react when she learned the Stronghold still existed, and Meghianna, Queen of Snows, to whom all female Archaics vowed their honor and allegiance, was alive. And not only alive, but aunt to Emrillian. He suspected Shalara would consider that more stunning and wonderful news than learning that Emrillian--their friend, with whom they laughed and argued over weapon design and dreamed of days of heroic deeds--was the daughter and heir of Athrar Warhawk.