"Women don't want to be owned--which is part of the idea of protecting them. Children and the ill and weak need to be protected and guided, told what to do and how to think. Women can take care of themselves. The sooner Quenlaque gets used to that idea, the better for the whole planet."
"Her Majesty will cause this change of heart, then?" Carious again looked over his shoulder at the knot of women.
"Well..." Karstis looked to Grego, and both men grinned. "She's going to start, at least. When I think of the secrets she's been guarding all this time... There was always something special about her. She took it all so seriously, compared to the rest of us."
"Because she knew it was real," Grego said. "She and Mrillis have plans that go beyond this battle. Once the dome falls and the energy from the Threads is released into the world, many more people will have imbrose. We might have to give them a crash course in using magic."
"It's the 'crash' part that worries me."
"I understand only a little of what you have said," Baedrix said, "but enough to understand the gist of it. I still have a hard time grasping that what is very serious and dangerous to us, your world and time considers frivolity. A game."
"We're idiots, in the future," Karstis said with a shrug. "We think we're better and smarter, just because we've invented machines to do what you do with magic."
"And your techno-lo-gy will attack us and try to steal the power of the Threads, yes?" Ectrix said.
"Essentially." He reached across the gap between their horses and clapped the somber-faced boy on his shoulder. "I'm sorry. I wish it could be some other way."
"Our duty," Baedrix said, "is to prepare ourselves, and take as much control as we can, so the coming battle is in our hands and not our enemies'. And that means that we must use our allies from the future, as well as return to the old ways of maiden warriors, of the Queen's Ladies filling the Stronghold, going to battle to fight as well as heal." He studied the knot of women in the center of the party. Even though he had helped train Eleanora and knew she was capable with sword and bow, it gave him a queer feeling to think of his sister swinging a sword in a real battle. He didn't want to consider Emrillian doing the same, though Mrillis, Grego and Karstis all assured him that she was skilled and strong.
"Then let us hope many of your friends from the future do have magic in their blood, with strong Rey'kil ancestors," Carious said. "What is life without a touch of magic?"
Chapter Nine
Baedrix did not like the look or feel of the day one bit. Dawn came dim and sullen, and the morning mists thickened. The gray seemed to suck all the warmth from the light.
The procession rode slowly over ground that had been scorched during the great war that defeated the Nameless One, the sounds of the horses' hooves on hard ground muted by the hovering mist. Everyone wore chain mail, all their bright festival clothes and banners put away. The urgency of their many diverse missions dictated the need to move with as little notice as possible. Eleanora rode quietly at Emrillian's side. The reason for that wasn't just from the intensity of her concentration as she listened to Meghianna teach, or the heavy responsibility that rested on her as a teacher for the Moertan women who would go to the Stronghold to become Queen's Ladies. Baedrix always worried when his sister was subdued. He depended on her to help look after the Queen when he couldn't. Emrillian's health and happiness were important to him.
He didn't like the solemn lines of her face, the seriousness that took away the dancing lights in her eyes. That worried him, even though he was pleased that she understood the burdens resting on her and wasn't the feather-headed, docile little figurehead and puppet that many in the Court would want her to be. The schemers and traitors would want Athrar's heir and daughter to be a toy, a tool they could use to grab control of Quenlaque. Thinking of their attempts to infiltrate the Regent's family through marriage provided Baedrix some bitter amusement. If they had failed all these generations to corrupt the Regency, what made them think the current Regent would step aside and let them control the queen who came to sit on Athrar's throne and prepare for her father's return?
He frowned when he thought he saw a flicker of movement in the scrub bushes and tall grass of the plain they were about to cross into from the scorched landscape. Baedrix looked around until he found Carious and caught his friend's gaze. He tilted his head toward the closest out-riding Valors and gestured for them to come closer. Carious nodded and rode out in a wide loop, signaling the Valors, who closed ranks.
Baedrix looked to Emrillian's group again. He wondered just how close a friend the woman named Shalara would be to his sister. Eleanora had wanted to be a warrior since childhood. When her blue dreams had begun, and proved to always be accurate, their father had considered sending her to the Stronghold to request that Meghianna train her. Eleanora had been willing, considering it an adventure to possibly be the first Queen's Lady in many generations--if Meghianna were willing. Their father had put aside the plan when their mother died of the winter fevers and Eleanora was needed to fill her role as chatelaine of Quenlaque. His sister hadn't been too disappointed, because she was still able to train with the Valors. Still, Baedrix wondered now how much better their situation would have been if Eleanora had gone to the Stronghold after all. If she would have much stronger imbrose. Maybe she would have been sent to Moerta, to the future, to train with Emrillian. Baedrix hoped Shalara's presence would be good for Eleanora.
All other thoughts fled as he realized Meghianna had vanished. She had been riding three horses to the right of Emrillian just a short time ago, a shimmer of pale blue and white all around her in a nimbus as she accessed the Threads. Baedrix fought the tightening in his stomach, the way his hands began to curl around the reins and the grip of his sword. Quenlaque had survived four generations without the hands-on guidance of the Queen of Snows. Surely they could travel for an hour or two without her. Then a sinking sensation filled him when he realized if anything happened to Emrillian, it would be on his head.
He gritted his teeth, nudged his mount with his heels, and slowed to let Emrillian's knot of friends catch up with him, putting him close enough to protect her. Despite the skills displayed by the Moertans who had joined their cause, Baedrix had no real assurance that they would survive a real battle. That meant he had to be there to guard his queen--because despite all her training, she was just as inexperienced in bloody, killing battle. He studied her, how she sat her horse, how she moved, trying to predict her reaction to danger. He told himself to be grateful that she wore Braenlicach at her side, that the faint shine of chain mail showed at the edge of her sleeve. She was armed and armored and ready for attack.
"Brother, is something wrong?" Eleanora guided her horse over to ride beside him.
"I don't know whether to be grateful or worried, that you and the Queen can defend yourselves." To his annoyance, she laughed and reached across the gap between their horses to pat his arm.
"Grandmother says men have had that problem since the day women proved they were just as capable and just as fierce in warfare as their menfolk. Would you prefer we all be delicate, terrified shrews?"
"Like Naylia?" he said, managing a flicker of a smile when his sister visibly avoided saying those two words.
"You loved her, so there had to be some good in her."
He wondered if it would be wise or foolish to admit that he had loved an illusion. He had learned he loved honor and duty more than his wife, when he would not let her nag and whine and whimper and cry until he conceded to her uncle's political maneuvering. Eleanora would most likely pity him, but she would never say aloud what he had thought a thousand times since his wife died in childbirth: the Estall had been kind by removing her from the Regent's chair.
A shout rose from Pellen, who rode a good twenty lengths ahead of the company. Baedrix stood in his stirrups as a whiff of smoke reached him. Before his eyes, red, crackling flames leaped from the grass and scrub bushes. Black smoke followed as fire raced across the track
and around on either side, blocking any movement except backwards. He tugged hard on the reins. His warhorse responded instantly, pivoting on its hind legs to face the rear. Other Valors turned to face the enemy as they rose like malignant shadows from the bushes and high grass of the plain on either side of them. He dug his spurs in and his mount raced to carry him to the confrontation.
Behind him, he felt a sudden drop in temperature. The wind gusted, sucking mist past him toward the flames. Baedrix didn't dare glance over his shoulder. His ears ached from the effort of trying to hear what happened behind him as his horse carried him thundering forward to face the advancing foe. He knew Eleanora would only scream in fury as she fought. He didn't want to know the sound of Emrillian's shriek.
None of the attackers wore crests or emblems on their armor, marking them as rebels among the nobles of Quenlaque, not Encindi invaders. He knew that before he drew close enough to clash swords. The rebels were not brave enough to proclaim their identity, even as they burned estates and crops, killed defenseless elders and maimed young men to keep them from bearing weapons. His impotent fury at such cowardly tactics gave extra strength and speed to his sword arm. He killed his first opponent in only three strokes and his horse carried him to the next man.
"Rain!" someone shouted. The word meant nothing to Baedrix as he raised his sword for a heavy, helm-shattering swing downward.
A woman shrieked, harsh and low, sending chills up his spine. He turned in his saddle at the sound, picturing Emrillian under attack. It was Shalara, her face twisted in fury. She dove under a spear and thrust a sword into the man attacking her. Baedrix watched enough to admire her skill before turning to face an assault from his left.
His heart missed a beat as he saw a man on foot dodge Ectrix's horse and leap, pulling his brother from the saddle. Before Baedrix could urge his mount forward, the boy twisted free of his attacker, swinging round with his knife, slashing the man in the face. Blood spurted, but none belonged to Ectrix. He swung back into his mount's saddle and moved on, leaving his attacker writhing in the mud.
Mud? Baedrix looked up, squinting as gusts of rain slapped his face. Where had the rain come from? He dodged sideways, nearly sliding from the saddle as a warrior on foot tried to slash his midsection. He went after the enemy, sword and knife swinging, and put the question of the weather out of his mind.
Then it was over, as quickly as it began. He sat panting in the saddle, watching the surviving rebels flee. They vanished in the grays and browns and muddy wet of the brush and grass, armor gleaming faintly as the sun peered through the rain clouds.
Rain clouds with a tinge of blue. Baedrix turned his horse and searched for Emrillian. He nearly let out a shout as he came face-to-face with Meghianna. His horse squealed, dodging away from hers. For a moment, Valor and enchantress were eye-to-eye.
"Well done, Baedrix. They will not try such a trick again."
"Lady, where were you?" Baedrix wished his voice hadn't cracked so loudly. He sounded like a nervous adolescent.
"I felt foul magic brewing in the dawn mists, and took myself off to seek its source."
"Did you bring the rain?"
"No. Emrillian did." Her smile grew merry, eyes twinkling with mischief at Baedrix's surprise. "Emrillian is Mrillis' granddaughter and my niece. What else would you have her do? Let the fire burn, encircling and trapping her people? I am proud of you both, this day."
"Thank you, Grandmother," he murmured, feeling like a small boy who had somehow both erred and triumphed.
"Did you find the source, Aunt Meggi?" Emrillian said, as she appeared out of the haze of smoke, mist and rain. Her hood was thrown back, revealing her coif of mail. One arm of her tunic had been slashed, showing the mail underneath. Smoke smudged her face.
Baedrix saw blood spatter across one leg and up her side, clear indication of a fierce encounter that she had evidently won. Her eyes sparkled with excitement, her cheeks were red with effort and she breathed heavily from exertion. She looked whole and alive, and entirely in control of the situation as she stood in her stirrups to survey the clearing battlefield. He had an urge to lift her to his saddle and inspect her to make sure she was unharmed.
"There is more magic than when we came through here yesterday." Meghianna shook her head, frowning.
"Our charade failed, then? Edrout?" Emrillian's voice quavered a little before tightening as she shifted from dismay to angry resolve. Baedrix understood and felt some reassurance at that reaction. He would have been more worried if she had been too confident.
"Either that, or the rebels have found stores of star-metal and know how to use it. Those last years before we raised the dome were chaotic, and fools were running amok, either stealing and hoarding star-metal, or throwing it in the sea in the vain hope of destroying all magic in the world." She shook her head and turned to look toward the coast and Quenlaque. "The worst enemies are the ones who wear friendly faces, and are willing to wait generations for their victory. I would guess, Grandson, that some among your nobles want to make sure Emrillian does not take her father's throne."
"You have my oath, Highness, that you will arrive safely home in Quenlaque, to be crowned and to see all your enemies kneel before you," Baedrix said, gripping his sword's hilt and raising his other hand to emphasize his words.
"Home is the Stronghold. Quenlaque...is an unknown world, in too many ways." She exchanged a weary, wry smile with Meghianna.
"Then if you wish, I will ride beside you and tell you all about the castle and the people who live there, so it will be familiar territory before you ride through the gates." He held out his hand as he made his offer. Warmth flooded him when she hesitated just a little to put her gloved hand into his. Her smile when she met his eyes again was shy like a child's.
"Thank you, my lord. That will help more than you can imagine."
* * * *
Carious and the main body of Valors departed less than an hour after the ambush, heading for Quenlaque. Emrillian suspected Baedrix felt a little more comfortable with their numbers reduced, because they would be a smaller target, harder to spot. She wondered how he would be feeling when Meghianna had left them and taken her recruits down the tunnel back to the Stronghold. When it was just their small company heading inland, toward the place where the first Emrillian had been when she hid the Zygradon Would he worry more, or less?
She supposed it all depended on how soon Edrout realized what they were doing out among the forests and the abandoned sites of villages and manor houses and estates. Karstis and Grego would ride with them on their hunt, and Pellen, and two other Valors who seemed to be more eloquent with their horses and swords than with words. It seemed a pitifully small number, especially if Edrout brought large numbers against them. Emrillian knew what Mrillis would say, if she contacted him through the Threads and confessed her own uneasiness. He would tell her to trust in the Estall, in the training he had given her, and in Braenlicach.
How much good would possession of the star-metal sword do them, if it wouldn't burn and sing for her when she needed its magic and power the most?
Keeping busy, learning, preparing for trouble was the best tactic for battling fears, as Mrillis had always maintained. Emrillian rode further up the column, leaving Meghianna to her students and their lessons, to ride with Baedrix and resume her own lessons about the Quenlaque that existed now.
* * * *
"It's an insidious thing," Baedrix admitted. He turned to check the progress of their company, then met Emrillian's eyes again. She saw concern on his face, making momentary wrinkles around his eyes. He smiled ruefully. "Indeed, Lady, I wish you had contained your questions to the castle and not asked about the rebels. The conversation would have been more pleasant."
"Pleasant, yes...but it is better for us all if I know what I face." She glanced away when it seemed his eyes penetrated too deeply, as if he could see the romantic schoolgirl longings stirring in her soul.
Eleanora had told her about Naylia. Alt
hough her new friend obviously didn't think much of Baedrix's dead wife, Emrillian knew he had to still feel some loss. She felt sorry for him, and knew he wouldn't appreciate being the object of silly, romantic dreams. Even if he was deliciously handsome and dark and intense. Everything a princess could want.
"When were the first signs of rebellion?" she asked, yanking her thoughts back on track.
"Looking back with clear vision, I realize it began in my father's youth. But the incidents were so small, so scattered...no one realized. At first, they were simple things, with easy explanations. Bad harvests, bad roads, too much work on an estate, all making the tribute delivery late or making it impossible for the required allotment of soldiers to take their turn patrolling the Wayhauk Mountains. When my father was killed, and the enemy botched their effort to make it look like an accident, I grew suspicious. Of everything," he added on a sigh.
"I checked the tribute records, and found the same lords were tardy in their duty. Progressively later every year. When I sent Valors to enforce the tribute and investigate the status of the estates, the rebellion became more visible."
"They knew that you knew, or at least suspected, so they felt no need to hide their activities?" she hazarded.
"Exactly." Baedrix gazed ahead at the forest path ahead of them.
Emrillian was delighted that he forgot his courtly manners and treated her like a co-worker.
"The tributes came in relatively on schedule, but bands of unmarked Valors and common warriors appeared as time went on, stronger and more visible, harassing the people. They vanish into the grasslands and mountains, no way of tracking them, and no mark or insignia on their armor or arms to identify them. We have our suspicions, but no proof to bring them to justice."
"If you pressed charges against everyone who was late, who couldn't offer valid excuses for slights and failures, you would punish the innocent with the guilty," she said, thinking aloud. It irritated her a little that at the back of her mind, more and more as Baedrix explained the situation she was riding into, she kept asking herself what Mrillis would think, what he would advise. Hadn't he said she was ready to face her duty and hold Quenlaque for her father's return? Wasn't she betraying his trust and training, by leaning on him this way?
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