The Rift War

by Michelle L. Levigne

  "If we're lucky." Ynfara shook her head. "What a strange world we have leaped forward to join."

  "We have been very lucky, child. Blessed beyond all expectations, by the Estall," Mrillis said. "You forget, many of our enemies among the other nations also have the ability to strike through the air."

  "What does that mean?" Baedrix said.

  "Aircraft to carry passengers aren't made for long-distance flight. No one flies over their own borders unless that border belongs to an ally. There is nothing that can fly people over the ocean, and until the dome fell, there was no reason for people to want to fly over the water," Emrillian said. "The Death Zone played havoc with instrumentation. However, many nations are very good at devising destructive flying devices called rockets, to hurl bombs into each other's countries. And satellites to spy on each other. Eventually, they will recalibrate their satellites to study Lygroes, and it will occur to them that since the Death Zone is gone, and there are people here, they should recalibrate their rockets to attack us, also."

  "You say that too easily," Athrar said, meeting her gaze. "I assume you and Mrillis have discussed what to do, when that happens?"

  "The same sky web that protected Lygroes from star-metal, in the days when we saw it only as an enemy," Mrillis said. "We will adapt and strengthen it, to deflect rockets away from us."

  "Deflect where?" Baedrix asked. "When burning oil is deflected by a shield, it spatters on something or someone."

  "You think just like Lycen," Athrar said, nodding. "Very good. Yes, where will these rockets be deflected?"

  "First we must discern if we have that much control," Mrillis said. "I would rather trust to diplomacy and to impressing our enemies into fearing us, so they do not dare to attack."

  "Before that, we must be sure of Edrout's destruction, so he cannot ally with those attackers and help them get past the sky web." Athrar turned to Emrillian again.

  "And for that," she said, sighing, "we need the Zygradon, don't we? It is his last hope to gain enough power to destroy us--if he is still alive."

  "We need to unmake the Zygradon," Mrillis said.

  "Grandfather, no!" Ynfara said, turning to clutch at his arm. "It is part of you. Unmaking the Zygradon could kill you."

  "Be assured, my dear, I have thought for many years about just such a need, and how to prevent that...uncomfortable side effect," he said, chuckling softly and patting her hand.

  * * * *

  Grandmother? Baedrix stood in the shadows of the main courtyard of Quenlaque Castle in the darkest, coldest hour of the night, holding his horse still and quiet, and pushed as hard as he could with all his increased imbrose. Meghianna, Queen of Snows, can you hear me?

  I much prefer when you call me Grandmother, Meghianna responded, laughter chiming through the Threads. What is wrong, Baedrix?

  Lord Mrillis proposes to unmake the Zygradon. Can't you stop him?

  Ah... Yes, we come to that exigency, don't we?

  Exigency? He didn't know whether to be comforted by how calmly she reacted to the news, or infuriated.

  Understand two things, my dear grandson. First, Mrillis is an old man, even compared to me. Her breath of laughter was more a sigh this time. He has the right to rest. Being bound to the Zygradon as he is, he will never rest. And second, the Zygradon was in many respects a mistake.

  How? He didn't care that he sounded like a frustrated child in his own mind.

  It was created with disregard for the implications of gathering all the Threads of the world together in one nexus point. Mrillis was bound to the Zygradon to protect that nexus point, so the enemy could not take control. By bringing Lygroes forward to the modern world, sharing the power of the Threads... It will be wiser, easier to protect them, to have the Threads scattered. Easier to share the power more equally. And less of a danger to Mrillis, if someone should learn how to drain the power so quickly, so thoroughly, that it kills him and destroys the Zygradon, and in doing so, unmakes the entire world.

  To protect him...we must risk his life?

  Perhaps. A sensation like an ethereal arm brushing his shoulders passed over him. Trust in the Estall, Grandson. And do not borrow tomorrow's troubles. Today has enough trouble--and today you have a heavy duty ahead of you. Before we can unmake the Zygradon, you must find it.

  I'm not telling you anything new, am I?

  You can't imagine how it pleases me, that you would turn to me in your turmoil. No, nothing is secret from me. Mrillis and I are in nearly constant communication. And I promise that as you and Emmi journey, seeking the Zygradon, I will be with you both. I believe your companions are coming.

  Baedrix looked around and caught a flicker of movement on the far side of the courtyard, a lighter shadow among the blackness where the torches on the walls didn't reach. He hadn't heard hooves.

  Baedrix? Emrillian called.

  Here, by the gate. Thank you, Grandmother.

  Be sure I will not let anything happen to either of you, nor to Mrillis. I've waited long enough for the infuriating man to wake up to what's under his nose, I'm certainly not going risk losing him at the last moment.

  Grandmother? Baedrix fought a rising sensation of horrified fascination and realization.

  Silly boy. Did you think only the young have hungry hearts? Did you think only the young need to be touched and held and adored?

  No. But--

  Men are the Estall's most oblivious creations. Take some advice, my dear, and don't make Emrillian wait as long as Mrillis has made me wait. With a ripple of laughter, her voice was gone from the Threads.

  "What did Aunt Meggi say?" Emrillian asked, as she and Grego emerged from the shadows to join him.

  "I was asking her about the Zygradon," Baedrix said, relieved to have something truthful to say. He didn't know what shocked him more: the idea of Meghianna and Mrillis as sweethearts, or the chance that Meghianna might just approve of his slowly growing affection for Emrillian.

  "Well, here we go. I didn't say it before, with everything else going on, but I think I should warn you," Grego said, as Baedrix led the way through the small man door beside the gates, which were closed for the night.

  "The resonance from the Zygradon is fading?" Emrillian said.

  Baedrix looked back in time to see her rest a hand on Grego's shoulder.

  "It's all right. I'm not worried. The sound itself is embedded in my flesh and mind. We still need you, but..."

  "But I'm not the only asset we have." Grego offered Baedrix a brave, stiff smile. "Thank the Estall for that."

  * * * *

  Emrillian knew Baedrix felt uncomfortable about it just being the three of them in search of the Zygradon this time, but she agreed with Mrillis, and so did her father. Smaller numbers would let them move more quickly, more invisibly, with less noise and interference from the imbrose of others, and time was of the essence. The plan was simple enough: return to the ruined manor house where Edrout had attacked them and they had heard and felt the main trunk of the Thread of the Zygradon resonate. Once they had found the Thread, they would follow it to the Zygradon's hiding place.

  Even if there were Encindi forces somewhere in the land, and even if they were crazed with fear and bent on revenge, the three of them were more than capable of defending themselves with magic. If Edrout had managed to survive the power siphon being turned on him and the cataclysm that sent the southern tip of Lygroes into the sea, he could be too weak to find them through magic or any other means.

  And if he had enough magic to find them, being surrounded by half the Warhawk's armies wouldn't be enough to protect Emrillian any better than she could protect herself.

  Her parents didn't like her riding out with only two companions, under the threat of a mortal enemy who undoubtedly blamed her for his two most grievous defeats in centuries. However, they agreed with her desire to endanger as few people as possible on her behalf. The fewer hostages Edrout could use against her, the better.

  "This is definitely much fas
ter," Grego commented as the first silvery glow of dawn showed against the horizon far to their left. The ragged clearing that used to be the ruined estate was visible as a lighter patch among the darkness of the forest that slowly reclaimed its ancient territory.

  "We didn't have that many people with us the first time we came this way," Emrillian retorted.

  "True."

  "Highness, perhaps--" Baedrix began.

  "Please, won't you ever call me by my name?" Emrillian tried not to whine, but she considered him a friend now. They had spilled blood for each other, supported each other, fought together. She wondered if she was overreacting, to be so hurt when he insisted putting up the wall of titles and ranks between them.

  "I will try." He met her gaze for a moment, then looked ahead to their destination.

  "You were starting to relax before. What changed between us?"

  "Something Lady Meghianna said last night."

  "What? You kept secrets from us?" She pretended shock, pressing her gloved hand over her heart. To her relief, he grinned at her instead of being irritated.

  "I asked her about the threat to Lord Mrillis, if we succeed in unmaking the Zygradon. She assured me that she hadn't waited so long for him to... I believe her words were 'notice what was right under his nose,' that she would risk losing him now." Baedrix shook his head. "It boggles the mind, to think that she would have such feelings for him."

  "Really?" A bubble of laughter burst out of her, despite the need to keep their voices low, to avoid them carrying in the early morning quiet. "I'm sure Grandfather will be delighted. There are times, things he's said when talking of her, a look in his eye, that made me sure he is sweet on her, too. It would be lovely if we could be secure enough, have enough peace, to allow them to pursue that dream."

  "All right, then I wasn't hallucinating," Grego said. He hunched his shoulders and leaned forward in the saddle, to see around Emrillian to Baedrix. "I could have sworn I saw them sneak into a dark corner during the feast, down by Wynystrys, and steal a couple kisses. I thought I was imagining it, because maybe I'm no expert, but that sure didn't look like old friends saying hello after a long absence."

  "You don't mind?" Baedrix said, when Emrillian's smile grew wider.

  "Oh, I admit it feels odd. Consider it--my grandfather and my aunt, sweethearts. I have to remember that they are not related by blood, and there are many generations between them, and between him and me and..." She shrugged. "I'm glad for them. Please, blessed Estall, let them finally have happiness together."

  "She said you're never too old for love."

  "Or too young?" Grego offered.

  "What does that mean?" Baedrix snapped.

  Something twinged in her chest, and it startled her even more than his too-quick response. Emrillian felt breathless for a moment. Did she have hopes, where she had no reason?

  * * * *

  Their trio passed the ruined manor house without incident, and Grego felt a little queasy with the strength of his relief. He wanted to laugh at this sign that he had expected Edrout to set up another ambush at the place where Emrillian had beaten him, then the next moment he decided that would just make the anticipation from then on worse. Every step along their trail from now on, retracing the journey the first Emrillian had taken when she hid the Zygradon, was unknown territory for all of them.

  Noon came and went. There were enough small interruptions--wildlife startled as their paths intersected, signs of recent campfires, even meeting up with two units of mounted soldiers, that indicated they approached the no man's land between Quenlaque's territory and Encindi territory--to keep breaking the tension before it grew too tight.

  Two hours before sunset, they stopped to study a map for places where Baedrix thought they could make camp for the night, depending on which direction they chose to ride. Emrillian went to the small brook a dozen steps from the trail to refill their waterskins while the men checked their horses. Grego felt the resonance in his chest flare up, tightening everything as if his muscles shrank and his ribs hummed like harp strings. He clutched at Baedrix's arm, and the other man's eyes went wide, showing he felt the chiming filling him.

  "Emrillian!" Baedrix barked.

  Chapter Fourteen

  "I feel it." Emrillian hurried across the clearing to them, the waterskins leaving a trail of drops behind her. "I think it's happened. The enemy navies have crossed the line and turned their attention to us rather than each other."

  "What's that mean?" Grego said, and was relieved to find he could breathe, despite the compressed feeling.

  "Papa is using magic to link the communication devices from Kayn's ship to the Threads, to talk to all the ships and navies and governments at the same time. Grandfather was talking about possibly commandeering all the government communication systems in the world. The Threads have spread out more, reweaving their patterns around the whole planet since the dome fell. That makes communicating, using the equipment as linkage points, at least theoretically possible. It would be easier if the Zygradon had been undone, but..." She turned her palms to the sky and shrugged.

  To Grego, her shrug expressed all the unknowns, the variables, and the tasks that couldn't be accomplished in time.

  Ships and soldiers and governments of Moerta.

  Athrar's voice rang in the center of Grego's head and his chest, and his limbs folded without warning. Baedrix and Emrillian caught him and helped him sit.

  "Do you hear that?" he whispered, and half-expected to have his voice reverberate across the planet.

  Emrillian pressed her gloved fingertips against his lips.

  By now, you have gained enough information to realize that a continent has appeared in the place of radiation and chaos and devastation you have so eloquently labeled the Death Zone for the last two millennia. Whether you choose to believe or not, magic is real, and the land you know from legend as Lygroes has been released from a protective dome of magic, brought forward in time, to rejoin your modern world.

  I am Athrar Warhawk, High King, defender of all nations and lands against the scourge of blood magic, barbarians, and rebels. Your belief or refusal to believe matters not to me. As the wisest of minds have said: What is, is. There is no changing reality.

  Here is reality. What is, and what will not be changed. Lygroes will suffer no attack from your bickering governments. Lygroes will acknowledge no claims, no demands, no interference. You had a taste of our power and our willingness to defend ourselves and our shores when the Fedarstanian battleship approached our shores to attack, and was utterly destroyed.

  Here is what Lygroes says to you. We will be enemy to no one and we will be friends to everyone. In three moons' time, we will welcome envoys at the harbor of Quenlaque only. No sooner, and at no other place along our shores. Approach us as friends, as partners in peace, or do not approach us at all. Until that time, leave us to find our place in the modern world and to deal with our enemies.

  Try to force our hand. Make demands. Make threats. And when you do, you will brand yourself our enemy for all time and learn the power of the star-metal sword, Braenlicach, the wrath of the Warhawk and the enchanters of Wynystrys, the combined power of the Stronghold, the Queen of Snows, and Mrillis the enchanter.

  For a long time after Athrar finished speaking, Grego sat still, feeling the reverberations fade from his body, waiting until he could breathe normally again. He finally opened his eyes. Emrillian and Baedrix sat facing him, the three of them forming a close triangle. It was almost amusing how their horses cropped at the grass and bushes in the small clearing and the brook gurgled over the pebbles in its bed, and the world went on as if nothing had happened.

  "You do realize," Emrillian said, sounding tired, "the most vicious and paranoid idiots will take his words as a challenge, and attack."

  "They have been warned. Have they learned nothing from history?" Baedrix stood and held out a hand to help Grego get to his feet.

  "What you don't understand is that what is his
tory and truth to you, and to us, and to the Archaics...the rest of the world considers fable. Who pays attention to and actually learns from fictions made up to amuse children?" She took his outstretched hand and let him help her to her feet.

  * * * *

  Grandmother? Baedrix stepped away from their small camp to communicate with Meghianna, even though he knew it wasn't necessary. He was proud of his growing skill and control, so that he could carry on private conversations through the Threads.

  Baedrix, what a nice surprise. Eleanora is right here with me. Would you like her to join the conversation? Meghianna sounded a little startled.

  Is this a bad time? He had a sudden image of having walked into her private quarters without announcing himself, and seeing her scrambling to finish dressing. That made him slightly queasy.

  Not at all. We just didn't expect any communication. Any luck?

  Not yet. Grego is still buzzing from the Warhawk's announcement earlier, and it's bad enough that it's interfering with Emrillian's sense of the Zygradon through the Threads. I wanted to ask if you could help us with that, if you had any theories, any advice. We're worried it might interfere with finding the Zygradon.

  Perhaps it isn't a reaction to that at all.

  Grandmother?

  Baedrix heard voices, threatening his concentration. He opened his eyes and moved farther into the darkness, a dozen steps away from the campfire. A hunched shape approached the fire. He saw Emrillian reach out, smiling in welcome, and help the figure sit down. They had encountered several tiny villages in their journey already, little more than two or three families living in simplicity and isolation. This was probably yet another representative of yet another peasant village, attracted by their campfire, drawn by curiosity, or asking for help of some kind.

  Pyris never recorded where their company was, exactly, when the first Emrillian divided them and took the Zygradon to hide it. The possible territory that could have been covered... Every member of their party was a child of the forgers of the Zygradon and Braenlicach. All born into power. All linked to the Zygradon. The memories of that time were chaotic, because of the attack on the Stronghold from inside its walls, because of the deaths and treachery among Emrillian's company. She could have sent the Zygradon far away from her when she hid it.