That had to be the Zygradon, responding. And just as it had been in the days when Mrillis had been released from near-death enchantment, and the dome had been raised, when Meghianna had been too busy to follow the sound, Emrillian could do nothing to follow and find it.
Chapter Ten
Emmi? Mrillis called, his voice faint through the Threads. Are you thinking of...
Pray for me, Grandfather!
"What are you doing?" Edrout stalked up to the shield's edge, and through it as it popped with a fizz of sparks. His death-walkers staggered for a few crucial heartbeats. Fury and fear twisted his face into a caricature of his former arrogance. A sizzling sound and the stink of scorched hair tinged the air.
"You want the sword?" Emrillian growled. She half-bent, turning away from Grego, putting her whole body into the effort. "Take it--and choke on it!"
With all the strength of her body and her mind, she pulled back on Threads as thick as her arm, wrapped them around Braenlicach, and let go, like an enormous slingshot made of all the magic of the world.
Edrout bellowed, an incoherent, animal sound, and reached for Braenlicach. It sliced through his hands and through his side just above his hip, and kept going. In an instant it was a blur as it picked up speed. It cut through the ruins, melting and evaporating stone and wood. A sonic boom erupted through the air, and then it vanished in a flash of blue-white light that lit up the horizon and reflected off the dome, and back down to the ground.
"What did you do?" Edrout launched himself at Emrillian, his bloody hands bent into claws.
Baedrix and the other prisoners erupted from their kneeling positions, knocking aside their captors, who fell like the dead men they had been all along. He reached Edrout at the same moment Grego stepped around Emrillian and swung the armor-filled duffle like a club. Light burst from the bag, sending Edrout and Baedrix flying in opposite directions.
Emrillian stayed still, frozen with terror and amazement at what she had done, and watched chaos erupt through the Threads.
The foundations of the world shook when Braenlicach pierced the dome. It shook again when the sword entered the time-outside-of-time that held the Vale of Lanteer. Emrillian nearly laughed to realize that the Vale hadn't been inside the dome enclosing Lygroes at all.
"Emmi!" Grego grabbed hold of her when she staggered forward, unbalanced by the rippling of the ground like waves from a rock thrown into a pond.
A rock the size of a mountain, tossed into a pond the size of Lygroes.
"What's that?" he gasped as he kept them both upright, and gestured at a Thread thicker than a tree trunk, streaked with writhing, shifting jewel tones. Hundreds of chords rang from it, clashing and merging, coloring the air, throwing off smells and textures, crossing all the boundaries of the senses. Hundreds of smaller Threads shot out from it.
No, Emrillian realized, as the ground heaved higher and harder--the Threads fed into it.
"It's the Zygradon!"
Then the dome holding Lygroes in the past shattered, shards of magic falling down in sharp, piercing rain, and the world vanished from her senses.
In that moment of utter silence, utter blindness, no movement, no warmth, no sense of up or down, no smells, when she couldn't even hear her own heart beat, Emrillian stood in the Vale of Lanteer. Braenlicach shot through the stone arches, turning them into sparkling dust. Ynfara rose from Athrar's side and held out her hands. Emrillian would have screamed, but she didn't have lungs or even a voice in that eternal moment. Her mother caught the sword and light flared out from her, all the colors washed from her being in a tidal wave of magic. Then the light sank down to normal, and the Vale of Lanteer re-appeared, a bowl of glass surrounded by trees, with the last faint glimmer of sunset's crimson and gold and purple behind them.
Ynfara turned and her eyes widened. Emrillian realized her mother could see her. Her mother hesitated for a moment. She blew a kiss, and then knelt at Athrar's side, putting the sword into his hands.
Athrar's chest heaved with a deep breath. His eyes opened.
"Emrillian!" Baedrix shook her, and she snapped back into her body. His face faded into view, drenched and bruised and frantic.
She realized she lay in his arms, gasping, with Karstis standing over them. Lightning flashed. That wasn't magic falling all around them but real rain; cold, hard, enormous drops. Big enough to drown her, blinding her as they hit her face.
The survivors gathered together, picking up scattered pieces of equipment and bags of supplies, and somehow staggered into the ruins. Emrillian nearly laughed, despite feeling as if all the breath had been beaten out of her, when she realized the sense of threat and eeriness had left the old manor house. Then the sound caught in her throat when she saw who was missing.
"Where's Grego?" She called up a globe of light and flung it up to the ceiling to illuminate the shattered main room. She was too busy to realize until later that the light had come almost without any effort, and stronger, brighter than she had wanted. "He was right with me. Where is he?"
She attached light globes to all of them and they went out into the rain, searching. Karstis found Grego, unconscious, scorched black on his chest and arms, his clothes still smoking as if he had been on fire. When they all re-gathered in the shelter of the ruins and Emrillian knelt to examine Grego, she felt more than heard the deep chiming chords emanating from him.
Baedrix reached to straighten Grego on the ruined tile floor of the main hall. "What happened to him?" he said, jerking back as if bitten. He dragged over one of their packs and managed to find a partially dry blanket, which he folded into a pallet to put under Grego. "He...resonates. It's as if there is a harp inside him, all the strings vibrating."
"It's the Zygradon," Emrillian whispered.
"You mean it's in him?" Karstis said. "How?"
"No, not in him." She shook her head and sat back on her heels. Now that everything had calmed down, including the storm outside and the last few echoes of rumbles in the ground, her head rang. She muffled an exhausted chuckle when she realized it was echoed by a shimmering from within her bones, and all the sounds were in harmony with the chiming coming from Grego.
"I figured, since you said it was the Zygradon," Grego explained when he woke a short while later, "maybe if I grabbed it, I could see where it led. We can't lose the chance."
"I don't know if you were being unusually brave or clever or foolish," Emrillian said. She turned to look into the fire Taran had built while they waited for Grego to wake. "You didn't see anything, did you?"
"Trees. Water. Everything had a nimbus. Rainbows, shifting all over." He shrugged. "Sorry."
"You're alive. That's what matters." She glanced at Baedrix, who had taken charge of re-establishing their camp and assessing their supplies. "You still resonate with the sound of the main trunk Thread that feeds the Zygradon. That has to be a clue."
"The question is if we should keep seeking the Zygradon, or we should meet with our allies and determine what damage has been done," Baedrix said.
"The last time Lygroes shook like this--at least, according to legend," Karstis said, "a lot of the Encindi territory fell into the sea. Any chance all of it fell now? That'd solve half our problems."
* * * *
Grandson?
Meghianna's voice in his head startled Baedrix so he fumbled the chunks of wood he had scavenged from within the recesses of the manor house. The others were gathered around Emrillian as she tended their various wounds. Everyone, including him, had a faint humming in their ears, and their skin buzzed from time to time. He was the most mobile, so he had elected to tend the fire while she examined them.
Baedrix, can you hear me?
Yes, Lady. He neatened up the wood. Are you all right?
We're all fine here. My students are ready to burst from their skins with the increased imbrose. Is Emrillian all right? What happened? Other than the dome coming down around us, of course. There's so much energy flowing through the Threads, it makes com
munication difficult. Meghianna sounded more amused than frustrated.
Can't you contact her? Baedrix stayed where he was, watching Emrillian work. He shuddered a little as understanding washed over him. He could talk through the Threads now because the dome had fallen and Lygroes--the entire world?--had been flooded with all the power that had once been used to maintain the dome.
There's so much noise around her, I can't get through. Are you all right?
I'm...I have more imbrose. I had some, but not strong enough to talk through the Threads. We...we were too busy fighting Edrout, so when the dome fell, we couldn't follow the trail of the Zygradon. Grego touched the main trunk of the Thread, though, and he's still vibrating with it. Could that be what's blocking her from hearing you?
You fought Edrout? A long, loud sigh came through the Threads from Meghianna, earning a chuckle from Baedrix.
"What are you doing?" Karstis asked, coming over to his side of the fire.
"I think I'm about to be scolded by my great-grandmother for not reporting in immediately."
Indeed you are but not too much. Her bubble of laughter made the other man jump.
"What was that?" Karstis whispered, wide-eyed.
Lady, Karstis can hear you. He has stronger imbrose than we thought.
Everyone does, now. Start from the beginning, please, and tell me everything that happened, Meghianna said, her voice crisp.
By the time he had finished, Emrillian had ended her medical tasks. She could hear Meghianna speak when she moved several meters away from Grego. She added to the tale, asking how Mrillis and Graddon were, if they had been impacted by the fall of the dome, and if anyone had been contacted by Athrar and Ynfara.
Everyone on the coasts was impacted more strongly than you in the center of the land, because the dome actually touched the sea, Meghianna said after such a long silence, Baedrix and Emrillian exchanged worried looks. I haven't heard from Mrillis, except in that first blast. I'm sure he's all right. He's bound to the Zygradon. What I'm most concerned about is Edrout.
Whether he's dead or not, and how angry he'll be when he strikes again? Emrillian said.
Essentially. My dears, I think our first order of business is to return to the coast.
To meet Athrar and his queen, Baedrix said.
Of course. Though I'm sure they can take care of themselves. What worries me is how close your scientists were to the coast when the dome fell, and how much damage they have to repair before they decide to attack our shores.
And the Threads, Emrillian said. Aunt Meggi, did I make things worse, reacting as I did?
History will have to determine that. No, what concerns me is how soon Edrout will decide to ally with these scientists. They sound like people who will want everything, instead of sharing, as the Estall told us to do at the very beginning.
"Edrout and Kayn as allies," Grego said, when they shared the conversation with him. "Talk about going from the frying pan and into the-- Forget the fire. Try the incinerator."
"My experience has been that when two nasty enemies meet, they often choose to annihilate each other, rather than ally against us," Baedrix said.
"We can only hope," Karstis muttered.
* * * *
Emrillian and her companions reached the coast first. They rode all through the night and arrived by mid-morning. They camped between the tunnel entrance and the shore, within sight of the water, on the high bluff overlooking the bay where Wynystrys once sat. Meghianna and her students did not leave the Stronghold right away, because there were supplies she wanted to bring to the battle, along with giving the women Archaics several more lessons.
Emrillian didn't mind having to wait. What mattered to her was putting some distance behind her, just in case Edrout recovered sooner than anticipated and came back for the next battle. It bothered her that she wasn't able to make contact with Mrillis or her parents. Meghianna's theory that the increased flow of energy through the Threads temporarily blocked communication over long distances didn't soothe her.
When their camp was established and she had checked the others' healing wounds, she had nothing to do but sit, rest, and think. She went a few dozen steps closer to the bluff that looked out over the water, to soak in the sunshine and listen for the first stirring in the Threads that would be her parents calling to her. She watched the island on the horizon for nearly twenty minutes before she realized it was moving, drifting closer into the curve of the bay that had been carved out by the earthquakes and other destruction when the dome was first erected. Shivering a little, she rubbed her eyes, then turned her sight sideways, to test if it was really there or someone was playing tricks on her physical sight.
The island moved closer, piling up a soft bulge of water before it. Now she could see a handful of people calmly sitting on boulders near the water's edge, watching as the island drew closer to the shore.
"Baedrix?" She backed up and blindly reached for him. He was always there when she needed him, and he didn't disappoint her this time, either. "Is that island supposed to be there?" she said, when he came at her call and caught hold of her hand.
"No. I have never seen it before... I think it's moving."
"That's what I thought."
"Island?" Grego limped over from where he was supposed to be sleeping after drinking another potion to speed the healing of his burns. "We're in the right place--shouldn't that be Wynystrys?" He looked from one to the other when they turned to stare at him. "What? Did I read Mrillis' maps wrong? What?" he repeated, when they both burst out laughing.
The island grated to a stop maybe three meters out from the water's edge. The number of men and women on the island's shore had tripled by the time Emrillian, Baedrix and Karstis found a way down from the bluff. Many of them had brought planks and benches, and they built a steady little bridge that let them cross to the pebbly beach. A small woman, with fiery golden hair wrapped around her head in a coronet, led them. She tipped her head slightly to one side as she crossed to where Emrillian and the two men waited, studying them, and her smile widened with each step closer.
"Scholars of Wynystrys," Emrillian bowed, considering that she would look ridiculous, curtseying in armor. "Welcome. I hope you weren't hurt in the shattering of the dome?"
"Some were rattled in their beds, but no, we are all fine." The woman pursed her lips, and Emrillian realized from the movement in her throat that she fought not to laugh. "It was rather exhilarating. And for a group of academics who enjoy playing with the flow of time and sidestepping our physical being so that ships pass entirely through us, that's saying quite a bit."
"Don't let the Science Directorate get hold of any of them," Karstis muttered. "They'll never get out of the lab."
"Ah, you are the man from the future, are you not?" She stepped closer, tipping her head back to look up at him.
"Ma'am, I'm one of them. Yes." He bowed, coloring a little. "Something tells me you're looking for Grego, though."
"I have heard some chatter in the Threads--it's amazing how a few hundred years of no access makes people lose all sense of control and privacy--so it's nearly impossible not to hear what people are saying. Edrout wants the man from the future caught, to use him to find the Zygradon."
"Definitely Grego." Emrillian glanced over her shoulder at the bluff, where the others waited. She thought fast. "We can't communicate through the Threads, if Edrout is able to use them. He could overhear us, just as easily. Lady Scholar--"
"My name is Asandra, child. And from the look of you, I would wager you are of Ceera's blood, yes? Athrar's daughter?"
"Emrillian, yes, Lady Asandra. Please, my friend grasped the main trunk of the Thread that feeds into the Zygradon. He still carries its resonance. To protect him, would you take him onto Wynystrys?"
"To protect him, find the Zygradon instead." Asandra beckoned, and those from Wynystrys who hadn't yet crossed the makeshift bridge started over. "The Queen of Snows is almost here. I think it would be wise to call a counc
il meeting." Eyes twinkling, she held out her hand. "Would you help an old lady climb up?"
"I would...but I think you don't really need help." Emrillian took off her gauntlet and held out her bare hand. "Lady?"
Asandra stood still, staring down at her arm. Looking around, Emrillian realized all the scholars of Wynystrys stared at her.
"What did I do?"
"How do you hide so much star-metal?" the scholar woman whispered. Her hand trembled a little when she reached out to stroke the cuff of the chain mail sleeve. Shimmers in rose and lavender spilled off the star-metal from her touch.
"I made the armor. It is part of me, Grandfather says. I also wove in a command to keep it quiet, otherwise I would go deaf from the music of all the parts working together."
"She is definitely Mrillis' granddaughter." A big, dusky-skinned, white-haired man stomped as he stepped off the end of the bridge and reached the shore. "Your bloodline enjoys doing the impossible."
"If it was impossible, how could she have done it?" Baedrix asked, his tone sour.
Asandra laughed, sounding like a flute. The big man roared, bending halfway over and slapping his thigh. Emrillian fought not to laugh, for Baedrix's sake, because she was sure he hadn't meant to be witty. She relaxed when she stole a sideways glance at him, and found him smiling crookedly.
"You resonate of the shield around Quenlaque. You have the look of Ilianora, in the eyes and nose," he said. "I am Nentor, and you are?" The big man bowed, an abrupt movement.
"Baedrix, descendent of Lord Lycen and Lady Ilianora." He returned the bow.
Nentor straightened up, jammed his meaty fists into his hips, and took a deep breath. He tipped his head back to look up at the bluff, where Pellen, Taran and Grego now stood, looking down at them. "Well, are we going to stand around like a bunch of useless courtiers, talking about nothing, or are we going to get to work?"
The Rift War Page 18
