"Oh, Emmi, I'm not blaming you." Ynfara's voice cracked and she sniffled as she leaned into Athrar, who had crossed the room and wrapped his arms around her. "I just need to hurt someone, and the ones I want to slash and punch and turn on a spit over a roaring fire--they've been dust for centuries." She punched Athrar in the shoulder when he muffled a snort of laughter, then seemed to go limp and dropped her head onto his shoulder.
"I wish they had cleared these rooms out, emptied them of all these lovely, precious ties to our old life. Everything even smells the same. Your room was an utter mess from how quickly we packed to leave. I picked up your little shoes and opened your trunk and there was your dress, and I opened my mouth to call you to come get dressed for the feast. Then I realized how ridiculous you would look in that little dress."
"Not to mention indecent," Athrar said, tipping his head back to look at the ceiling, addressing his remark to no one in particular. "Though I'm sure you would gain several score suitors in no time at all."
"Papa!" Emrillian didn't know whether to be scandalized, horrified, or amused. She took her cue from Ynfara, who punched him in the shoulder again. The three smiled wearily at each other, as he settled down on her bed, cradling Ynfara in his lap.
"You're all grown up, and that fact keeps hitting me at the worst time." Ynfara sighed and reached out to stroke Emrillian's hair back from her face. "You don't need us anymore."
"I will always need you." She scooted over to lean against her father's arm. "I was a terror to Grandfather for moons. He had to put guards on the doors to keep me from sneaking away at night to go back down the tunnel, on foot, to get back to you and home. I did all my crying and raging years ago. That doesn't mean this doesn't hurt, I just... I just don't have any tears left for that. What is, is." She took a deep breath, fighting the aching sense she would burst into tears in a moment, despite what she had just said. "It wasn't until I was nine or ten that I realized you had gone through the same thing, Papa."
"Did it help?" Ynfara asked. She sounded weary now, and calm.
"No, because it just made me want Papa more, to ask how he could stand it." She looked around her room. It was a given she couldn't sleep in this bed, play with those toys, but something ached inside her at the thought of destroying these last echoes of their short, happy life together. This room needed a child, not a woman who had to be warrior and ambassador and bridge between two times and worlds.
"What are you thinking?" Athrar said, eyes narrowing when Emrillian caught her breath and sat up away from them.
"You've missed sixteen of my birthing-day parties." Her throat hurt for a moment as she forced down the years of tears and memories and aching longing. "You owe me an enormous present, at the very least."
"If I know Grandfather, he spoiled you dreadfully," Ynfara said.
"His idea of presents was to teach me more magic, or give me new equipment for working star-metal, or another book full of even more ridiculous lies about our family, so we could laugh together and imagine how mortified some of those idiot scholars would be, when we proved their theories were wrong about us."
"What do you want, Emmi?"
"I want a brother, or a sister. Maybe both," she said as quickly and smoothly as she could, and found it hard to watch her parents for their reactions.
"Fara?" Athrar whispered, when Ynfara said nothing for many long moments, just sat perfectly still, staring at Emrillian, eyes wide and somewhat stunned.
"I gave up hoping for another child," Ynfara whispered. "So many people wanted to kill us, and I thought we could never be together, living a normal life again, but... We're still young enough, aren't we? And this is a new world."
"And despite being hundreds of years old, neither of us is ready to marry off our little bird and let her make us grandparents." He grinned, then barked laughter as he caught Ynfara's fist before she could punch his shoulder again.
Emrillian decided she would wait until much later, until maybe the peace had been won, and Edrout defeated, before she would tell them what she had just realized.
She didn't want the throne. She didn't want to be Warhawk after Athrar. She would let the child born into this world and time, born into this peace, be the one to rule in the new Quenlaque they would all build together.
* * * *
With so many Valors and soldiers and nobles with battle experience--and a vested interest in protecting against the Encindi invasion, because their estates would be ravaged first--heading south to the Wayhauk Mountains, the feasting hall in Quenlaque Castle had room to spare that night. Thanks to Graddon and Delori, an enormous holographic map of Lygroes filled the cleared space in the center of the hall, hovering at waist height above the floor.
What Baedrix found fascinating was that the image changed as information came in from several sources: The scouts and leading edge of the defensive force, and the satellites that flew above the continent, out in the darkness among the stars, where the defensive web had always hung. No one among the celebrants was told about that bit of information, and he thought it wise.
Despite the information Mrillis and Meghianna had passed on about the changes in the world beyond the dome, the nobles and educated folk of Lygroes had very little idea of what technology was. Especially the science that let people launch pieces of metal into the sky, to fly like birds and collect images and sounds and follow movements, and then look deep into the ground to study what went on deep under the surface of the world. If the nobles he and his family had guided and argued with and mollified for generations knew the extent of the Moertans' non-magical magic, they would be horrified, mortified, and terrified.
Still, he spent a good portion of the feast watching the people who couldn't take their gazes off the big, colorful, transparent map. He studied their reactions, and enjoyed the various reactions when they realized again and again that the map had changed. How soon would the doubters and detractors decide that there were no more Encindi in the world, because the south of Lygroes now stopped in the middle of the Wayhauk Mountains? And in making that decision, how many would blindly continue in the path of their troublemaker ancestors by declaring the Warhawk was no longer necessary? By corollary, how soon would the alarmists decide that since the Encindi territory was gone, that meant they were already overrun with barbarians who would eat their flesh and drink their blood while they still lived, rape their daughters, and enslave their sons?
When the main course had been cleared from the tables and teams of musicians wandered the feasting hall--careful to stay away from the holographic map--to entertain the celebrants, Baedrix felt free to get up from the high table. He went to the table tucked into a corner within reach of the high table, where Grego, his sweetheart, Brysta, and Karstis worked with Graddon and Delori. "How goes it?" he asked Grego.
"I'm starting to think either Edrout went insane in the centuries of waiting, or the stories made up about him in Moerta were too generous." Grego passed over one of the datapads for him to read, then froze. They met each other's gazes and laughed. "Sorry, you're just picking up everything so fast, I just assumed..."
"Thank you. I want to learn. There just isn't time yet. What does it say?" He passed the datapad back to him.
"The casualties are about what we anticipated, percentage-wise. But the refugees are only a fraction of what you and Emmi prepared for."
"So more Encindi died in the cataclysm when Edrout was hit with your power siphon. More of the land was woven into his power than any of us thought."
"Wrong, lad," Graddon said. His eyes had gained shadows, and his rumbling voice had a mournful quality that sent shivers up Baedrix's back and congealed in his guts. "The blood magic at work was far more extensive than any of us anticipated. Some of those who survived the cataclysm after the princess' battle with Edrout's ship did so because they were already fleeing for their lives. He covered the land with blood, most literally, in his quest for control and power."
"It's like the land itself imploded, in react
ion," Delori added. "Utter revulsion." She looked up at Graddon with big, sad eyes, and the seer let out a soft moan and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, drawing her close against him.
Baedrix gathered more information from them and returned to the high table as the sweet course was brought in. He settled into the chair next to Emrillian, and knew the moment their gazes met that she had gained the same information from Grego. It both irked him that she had that link with the Moertan, and made him grateful, because he didn't have to pass on the statistics and theories. From the somber expressions on the faces of the others at the high table, she had shared that information with the rest of them.
He wasn't sure what he should think about the relief that swept through him, cool and energizing, every time he recalled that despite their closeness, Emrillian and Grego were not sweethearts. He knew it was wrong to constantly compare her to his dead wife, but it happened without conscious choice at the oddest times. Did Emrillian know how to dance? Did she like to dance? Then it occurred to him that he had no idea if dancing was planned for this evening.
He immediately pushed that thought away. This was a feast to celebrate victory, but also to rally the people in preparation for the next wave in their battle. The Moertan invaders were still heading toward Lygroes' coast, and there was no guarantee that Edrout had been destroyed in the last great battle of magics. Until they could be certain of the safety of their land, dancing would have to wait.
Athrar stood up to speak after the sweet course. Baedrix couldn't remember eating through the cloud of his speculations and grim thoughts, and imagining the desperation of the innocents among the Encindi as they died in blood and fire. Silence rippled through the feasting hall, indicating just how intently everyone had been watching the Warhawk during the entire feast, no matter how lighthearted they appeared to be. Athrar said nothing, and just before the silence was complete, the doors at the far end of the feasting hall opened. A small knot of people, keeping close together, walked down the wide, clear aisle and through the holographic image. They stared at it, muttering, but didn't flinch when they passed through the light. That was Baedrix's clue to their identity, despite their festival clothes.
He recognized Dr. Reynod, who had come down the tunnel from Moerta with Emrillian's household staff and the Archaics. The Moertan scientists were to have been released from the sleeping spell and brought to Quenlaque, but Baedrix hadn't expected them to be brought to the feast as guests. Then again, he reflected, they hadn't actually participated in the feast.
"Director Kayn?" Dr. Reynod blurted, when he stepped out of the dark red line in the holographic map that indicated the shattered edge of the Wayhauk Mountains. He rubbed his eyes, his mouth dropped open for several moments, and he staggered the last few steps to the high table. Kayn stood from his place between Ynfara and Mrillis, dressed in festival clothes, and gestured for the rest of the scientists to come forward. "Sir, what is the meaning of all this? Please tell me this is a very bad dream."
"This is no dream, Dr. Reynod, and we're going to need your help in picking up the pieces of a Fedarstanian battleship that was destroyed with magic." Kayn glanced at Athrar, who nodded gravely to him. "Magic powered by star-metal." His mouth twitched up as muttering broke out among the scientists.
"Sir, we have a serious problem. Treachery on the highest order." He pointed at Emrillian. "That girl is in possession of dangerous technology, and she attacked us with it."
"That girl is the heir of the ruler of this land where we are guests," Kayn snapped. "While you've been sleeping, doctor, I have been building an alliance. You would do well to shut your mouth, listen, and do what you're told. Am I clear?"
He waited until Reynod nodded jerkily and the other scientists made affirmative noises and motions. "The situation is this: Athrar Warhawk isn't a legend or a fable. He is real. Magic is real. We have the opportunity to put our country at the top of the list of Quenlaque's allies."
"You can't be serious!" Reynod squeaked.
"Deadly serious. Now shut up and listen, and if you're smart you'll take the chance you're being offered. Sir?" He turned and bowed to Athrar.
Baedrix barely caught Kayn's wink as he sat down.
"Citizens of Goarlotte-Welcairn, I will not apologize for the lack of welcome and short explanations you were given, but we are in a time of war," Athrar said. He leaned forward, bracing his arms on the table.
Baedrix caught his breath at how easily his king captured the attention of the Moertans, and held it.
"You were, to all intents and purposes, invaders, threatening the safety of our land. I approve of my daughter's tactics. However, now you have a choice. You may stay here and study star-metal, how Lygroes and Moerta may share in the power that comes from it. The Rey'kil, who have been entrusted with the guardianship of all magic since the Estall brought us to this world, have always believed that magic should be used for peaceful, beneficial, life-preserving purposes.
"Our war has always been, at its heart, to keep magic from being used to harm, to dominate, to kill, to enslave. To that end, we will not permit the energy from star-metal to be used for destructive purposes. You will be permitted to use it for healing, for exploration, for defense, but not to attack. That is my decision and that is the law, from this moment on.
"Here is your choice: If you wish, you will be permitted to return to Moerta, down the tunnel that first brought you here to Lygroes, accompanied and guarded by Valors who will go to keep out all invaders. Or, you can stay here and set up a... what is the word, Emmi?"
"A laboratory," Emrillian supplied. A tiny snort of muffled laughter escaped her when Dr. Reynod flinched at the sound of her voice.
"You will be permitted to set up a laboratory, and you will be supplied star-metal to study. You will work with Rey'kil enchanters and scholars, to learn all that we know of the manipulation of the Threads. For peaceful, life-supporting purposes that benefit all."
Athrar looked into the faces of each scientist, one after the other. When he looked at the last one, he stood up straight. "What do you say? Make your decision now."
* * * *
"We show at least four battles have ended," Grego said, as he came into the front room of the royal family's quarters. He waved his datapad, as if that was explanation enough, and stepped around the firepit to hand it to Athrar.
Baedrix, Graddon, Mrillis, and Karstis had joined Emrillian and her parents there after the feast dispersed. Kayn was busy with both teams of Moertans, organizing who would stay and who would go, what equipment would stay, and what equipment they needed to bring from Moerta to set up the lab. Baedrix had volunteered to lead the small army of Valors and soldiers who would guard the vulnerable entrance point into Lygroes. Athrar had thanked him and refused, saying he had a much more important duty for Baedrix to fulfill.
Emrillian was pleased that Dr. Reynod had chosen to go back to Moerta. She was even more pleased when he balked at the sight of her father drawing Braenlicach, to make each person swear on the blade that they would not work against the good of Lygroes, whether they stayed or departed. Obviously Dr. Reynod still believed she and her friends had committed treason, and had intended to send authorities back down the tunnel to punish them. He couldn't do that after Athrar wove a simple spell into the oath-taking that sealed their lips and blanked their minds whenever they considered acting negatively against Lygroes.
"We can only assume the losers are returning to Moerta and the winners are continuing east, to us," Grego continued, as Athrar glanced over the data scrolling down the screen.
Emrillian decided to be amused at how easily, almost eagerly, her parents picked up the use of technology and the accompanying terminology. Ynfara had learned just as much as Athrar, from all the information and knowledge that had passed through her to him, while he slept in the Vale of Lanteer. She couldn't decide if her parents considered it a game, to apply what they had learned, or they soaked it up as a defensive action against all the changes that had
enfolded them. The world they remembered and had sacrificed so much to defend was gone. Perhaps they dove into this new life to counter the pain of knowing they couldn't go back.
"How many?" Mrillis said.
"Six ships. Two are from Goarlotte-Welcairn. Kayn has already made contact, and we're getting even more detailed information from them, now that they're convinced their sensors are working and we're not all dying and insane from the poisoned atmosphere." He rolled his eyes expressively and started to step over to Emrillian's bench, then glanced to her right, and changed direction to settle down on the bench next to hers.
Emrillian glanced at Baedrix, who sat on her right, in time to see him turn to look in her father's direction, and a faint flicker at the corner of his mouth, as if he was pleased by something. Was it her imagination, or had he discouraged Grego from sitting next to her?
She decided not to even speculate on what had just happened. They were all tired, and Baedrix had spent so much time defending her from insults and attacks, it was most likely a knee-jerk reaction. After all, Grego was her friend from childhood.
Maybe that was the problem?
"So we can expect attack on our shores how soon?" she said, determined to stop that line of thought before it led her into trouble. After all, if Baedrix were interested in her as more than just a fellow warrior, wouldn't he have said something by now? Wouldn't he have accepted the invitation to address her by name? If he was interested in courting her, he wouldn't insist on calling her "Highness" and "Lady," would he?
She scolded herself for being a ninny. She would worry later, after the peace had been won, about the conundrum of the Valor of her adolescent dreams not seeing her as a woman.
"There've been a lot of threats and accusations exchanged between the winners of those battles, and between them and our navy," Grego said. "If we're lucky, they'll fight each other again, send a few more ships limping home, and give us a few more days of breathing room."
The Rift War Page 24
