“Alas, Lady Evynine, I regret that there is more afoot than what awaits you in the woods. We no more expected to stumble upon these hrumm at your doorstep than you expected them there. Your peril is greater than siege or ambush alone.”
“Indeed?” Evynine sat back in her chair, frowning. “This is troubling news. Please explain, but rest yourselves while you may.”
Two-Moons nodded, and he and Symmlrey took their seats, for which even his seasoned limbs were thankful. He poured himself a goblet of the clear wine before beginning his story, relishing its sweet caress as it washed away the dryness in his throat. He closed his eyes for a moment, loathe to deliver such tidings, but finally spoke.
“I will come right to it. The force here is but a vanguard. Malakuur has an army at Ten Man Pass, and they prepare even now to march against you. Worse, this is not like any army yet assembled by the thars. They have gathered hrumm, dringli and humans, as before – but leading them are at least a half dozen andu’ai. We do not know if any of their number are qals, but they are certainly making ready for war alongside the Malakuuri.”
There was silence.
Two-Moons waited as the impact of his words sunk in. The Lady Vae’s face paled as she bit her lower lip. Kassakan nodded her snout, as if the revelation made some sort of sense to her. Osrith furrowed his brow and sneered back at Two-Moons, reaching for his wine goblet.
“Andu’ai?” he scoffed, taking a large drink and wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “Not bloody likely.”
Symmlrey leaned forward, her voice icy. “Do you really think we would be here if we weren’t sure it was the Old Foe, and not some clever subterfuge?”
Osrith rolled his eyes, but didn’t answer.
“I understand your reluctance,” Two-Moons said with a nod. “When Raefnir came to us from Malakuur, we too were skeptical. She was one of the most honored of our Order, but her body was twisted and half-eaten by plague and her brain wracked by feverish visions. We couldn’t know if what she told us was real or her illness eating away her reason.”
Two-Moons paused to quench his dry throat with more wine before going on, the corners of his mouth turning downward at the memory. “In truth, though we’d been fighting this wasting sickness since Goldenmoon, I had not yet seen the affliction so advanced. Her tongue was so swollen she could barely speak. By all rights she should have been long dead, but Raefnir was, well….” He sighed, unable to find the words he sought.
“Tenacious of will,” interjected Kassakan. “She was a strong ally and a good friend. She will be remembered well.”
“So how do you know she wasn’t crazy?” pressed Osrith.
“My companions and I infiltrated Malakuur to see what could be seen for ourselves. To our dismay, we found the andu’ai just as Raefnir had described, amongst the massed troops and clearly in charge.”
“Goddess Above,” whispered Evynine, her head shaking ever so slightly from side to side. “Andu’ai? But –”
“How? Why?” Two-Moons finished the question for her. “We do not know. We have been preoccupied with the wasting sickness, perhaps to a fault, but until this news plague seemed our greatest worry. Regardless, it is now more a question of what we may do to stop them. They do not come to the Malakuuri empty-handed. We believe they have tapped an iiyir well.”
Only Kassakan’s reaction betrayed any hint of what that simple statement implied.
Osrith straightened in his chair, focusing on the white haired wilhorwhyr. “What in the pits is an ear well?” he grunted skeptically. “I’m as well-traveled as any man, more than most, and I’ve not heard scream or whisper of one before now.”
“Iiyr wells are known by many different names; they are called feain iiyir by the Seven Tribes, muachmii by the underkin, and y’rtai by the hosskan. To humankind, they are more readily recognized by given names, such as the Riven Tree or the Starless Pool. Regardless, they are all the same, links to our world from a place of infinite energy. They are great and inexhaustible sources of magic.”
“The Starless Pool,” Osrith sighed, though decidedly not in relief. “That is a name I recognize.”
“But Andulin destroyed the Starless Pool, or so the legends say,” added Evynine. “Can we not do the same to this other iiyir well?”
“I’m afraid it won’t be an easy matter, milady,” said Kassakan, her eye slits contracting. “Andulin was forced to destroy the Eye of Miithrak to close that Well. Such an artifact is not available to us. At least not to my knowledge.”
“Nor mine,” said Two-Moons, “but the good sage Gaious resides not far from here. He may have help for us.”
“Gai? I’m afraid he’ll be of help to no one,” said Osrith, pulling a crust of bread from one of the loaves on the table. “Dieavaul’s first visit was to his retreat. That’s where I came from. I doubt he still lives.”
Silence again.
The fires crackled and spat in an attempt to heat the room, but for Two-Moons it grew only colder. Gaious should have been no simple meal, even for the Pale Man. He had worn the black robes once. He could cast the greater spells, had cast them in the past, before his oath. This was indeed a loss.
Two-Moons rubbed his cheek with his index finger. Reaching Castle Vae had only been a short-term goal. He and Bloodhawk had believed they could best find their way from here, like surveying the land from the tallest peak to choose the clearest path. Instead, Two-Moons found fog and mist clinging to the valleys below his vantage point, obscuring his sight and the road before him. Perhaps he simply needed sleep. Perhaps, but there was no time for that now.
“I am leaving for Dwynleigsh in the morning,” said Osrith, interrupting the stillness. “I’ll carry your news there along with mine. I never trusted the likes of Agrylon much, but Gai spoke highly of him. Maybe he can be of some help.”
Evynine turned on the man to her right, eyes wide and face flushed. “You are not yet well, I forbid you travel anywhere! You agreed to stay until you were whole again.”
Osrith laughed, but Two-Moons detected no mirth in the hollow sound. “That, milady, is not likely to happen soon. At any rate, my presence here has brought evil to your gates. If I leave, perhaps it will follow.”
“Kassakan,” pleaded Evynine. “Dissuade him from this foolishness.”
“It is foolish but necessary, milady. Perhaps the errand that Gai set for Osrith shall provide us with the answers we seek. And, as he says, his presence here is dangerous for you and your people. We will have to risk the journey as soon as possible.”
The baroness set her jaw squarely and bent her eyes downward. “Very well, I shall have my castellan supply you with all you need. Horses, provisions, men-at-arms if you’ll have them.” She looked across the table at the wilhorwhyr. “What of your plans, Two-Moons? You are welcome here as long as you’ll suffer our limited hospitality.”
Two-Moons shook his head. “I will bring your friends to Dwynleigsh unharmed, through paths hard traveled and little known. Then we shall see. Agrylon is known to me only in name, but he is wise among men. He may offer a plan to destroy the iiyir well, or defeat the andu’ai. If he has naught for us, then we shall make our own way.”
“I suppose I shall wait here for siege or fever, whichever comes first,” sighed Evynine. “I offer you whatever you may need, as well as my prayers and good wishes. I hope they suffice.”
“Gods!” spat Osrith as he rose and made for the door. “The war will be fought before you finish with your pleasantries. The Empire was won and lost in the time it takes you to say goodbye. I must make ready.”
Two-Moons watched as the door slammed behind the disheveled mercenary and stood, laying a hand on Symmlrey’s deceptively delicate shoulder. “Gruffly put, but true enough. Thank you for your kindness, Lady Evynine, but we must away.”
“The thanks will be mine to give if you bring that dour man to Dwynleigsh alive,” said Evynine, waving the back of her hand at the door. “He’s not yet ready for the task himself.”
&n
bsp; Two-Moons offered what comfort he could in the steady confidence of his voice. “No steel shall touch him while under my protection,” he promised, his gentle tone contrasting the boldness of his words. “You must concern yourself with far more than one man, no matter how dear a friend, so I shall concern myself with him.”
“As will I, milady,” Kassakan assured her. “He will be well guarded from Dieavaul and his beasts.”
Evynine drew herself up and smiled on her guests, the worried lines about her eyes and mouth melting away into her soft milky skin. Two-Moons was almost fooled by her show of relaxed acceptance, but years of experience allowed him to peek beneath the well-oiled armor of her court etiquette and see the anxiety that dwelled within. He admired her show of strength, and he had no illusions for whose benefit it was displayed.
“I shall summon my castellan,” she said as she walked from the room. Pausing at the door, she added, “Good speed to you all, and good luck.”
As her footsteps echoed down the hallway beyond, Two-Moons exchanged a glance with his silent companion. They both knew they would need whatever luck was left to offer them.
And all too soon, he feared.
CHAPTER SEVEN
STORMS AND WARDS
CALVRAIGN sat on the crooked tree stump with a grunt, leaning the heavy iron woodsman’s axe against the oaken remnant and flexing the stiffness from his fingers. He wiped his leather gloves on his thighs and brushed bits of dirt and bark to the half-frozen ground. Dawn was breaking, a pale gleam stealing across the horizon like a stealthy knife in the dark. He inhaled deeply and stretched his arms out over his head. A slow burn smoldered in his muscles. Four stacks of wood, nearly half a cord, were piled next to the back door of the Wayside Inn.
The work was hard, but along with the ache in his shoulders came familiar comfort. Calvraign had scarce left Craignuuwn, and this passing moment of the mundane was a welcome peace. For all his thoughts of adventure, he’d not much occasion for travel save an odd trip or two to Eahnswod or Brinishire to trade, and once, to Draenuuwn for a woodsmote with Ewbhan Breigh. He was beyond it all now, in the windswept in-between of the plains where his father had once tread on his way to war.
This road led him to the greylands, he thought.
Calvraign closed his eyes. He could still see the column of soldiers, winding like a steel snake through the hills, with colors flying bright against the suns-set from spears and halberds and staves of oak and ash. Marshal Bowen’s return brought tales of triumph, glory, and the return of the King’s Peace to the plains of Paerytm. But the old Marshal also brought with him the cost of that victory, in dead and dying flesh.
Ibhraign had been wrapped from head to toe in linen and then dressed in his mail and leather cuirass and greaves. His helm had been split but secured to his head with wires, and fitted with fresh plumage of eagle and hawk feathers. Ibhraign had marched out of Craignuuwn side by side with Bowen and the other war captains of the Cythe, the madhwr-rwn, Faille and Gabhougn, but only the Marshal had returned on his feet. They’d left Faille in Dwynleigsh with a death of fever; Gabhougn had fallen at Haight Hollow; and Ibhraign had come home on his shield.
Bowen had fed Calvraign’s father to the barrow mound with all the honors due a fallen hero and knight of the realm. There had been feasting and drinking and tales of his valor and his victories and finally a dirge of his death. Ibhraign was buried with spear and bow, but Calvraign had received his father’s sword. For his mother, the king had sent a pensioner’s purse and a sealed writ she’d burned after reading.
Calvraign couldn’t recall his father’s face, not truly, nor but a hint of his voice. His legend, he had committed to memory. His sword, he wore at his hip. But of the man himself, his remembrance was but a shadow on a breeze.
The scent of sizzling bacon tickled at his nostrils, and his thoughts fled as his empty belly grumbled. Calvraign rose to seek out the matron. She’d promised him a full breakfast in exchange for his labor, as was the custom at the Wayside Inns that dotted the king’s highways. Brohan had chosen to pay in coin, but Calvraign neither wished to skip a meal or take the bard’s generosity for granted. He’d mucked the stables and repaired a faulty hinge the night before, and then risen well before dawn to milk the cows and split logs for firewood. It had been more than he was asked, but he hoped to earn either a few copper talons or some extra biscuits for the trail.
Calvraign pushed open the rear door of the inn, leaving behind the frosty morning for the warmth of the kitchen’s cooking fires. Pots and utensils hung from the walls, and foods in various states of preparation were laid out on the oaken worktables at either end of the room. It was not a large kitchen, but it was well provisioned with several varieties of colored squash, meats, potatoes, cheeses, eggs, bread and dried fruits.
The matron was not difficult to find. She was a robust woman and not a soft speaker. Currently, she stood at the farthest of the hearths, sweating over a pot of porridge. She wore the same plain black homespun garb as all the servants of the Wayside, her thinning gray hair pulled back into a bun. She directed her two sons with the help of an oat-caked wooden spoon, the loose skin of her arm flapping with each gesticulation.
Calvraign caught her eye, and the glistening flesh of her cheeks rippled into a smile that revealed too few teeth to be attractive. “You’re a busy lad about this morning,” she said. “No stranger to work, I can tell. Go sit b’the fire, and my Hedwin will bring you a bite.”
“Perhaps two bites, if I’m lucky,” Calvraign said, eyeing the abundant fare with a smile and a wink.
Calvraign retreated to the common room. The pre-dawn glow seeped through the windows, illuminating half a dozen long oak tables with benches, one doublewide hearth, and a pair of young boys playing timbo sticks in the corner near the stairs. The Inn did not offer many comforts, but it was clean and warm, and this alone was great improvement over the last two nights wrapped in a blanket on the side of the trail. The tables sat vacant, and though the fire was still young in the hearth, Calvraign waded through the thick layer of fresh rushes to claim a seat with his back to the warmth of the awakening flames.
Hedwin was not long behind him, and delivered oat porridge and thick-cut bacon on a trencher of rye, with a cup of thin ale to smooth its passage. The matron’s daughter was only a ten-year, if that, but she had wide beautiful eyes of chestnut brown that reminded him of Callagh Breigh. He was surprised how much he missed her already. How much he remembered the feel of her against him at the dance, how he could but just recall the wispy memory of her kiss. He wished he could have at least bid her a fare-thee-well before leaving Craignuuwn, but Brohan had practically chased him down the road that morning they’d set out for the capital.
“Thank you,” he said, as if showing her courtesy might assuage his guilt, or soothe his unsettled loneliness. “Many thanks, indeed.”
Hedwin nodded, biting down on her smile as she backed away to the kitchen.
Calvraign made short work of the meal. The porridge was not remarkable, but bacon at breakfast, save during the Feast of Oa, was an exceptional and welcome treat. By the time he spotted Brohan descending the steps at the far end of the room, only a bit of trencher remained.
“Shall I get you a bite to eat?” offered Calvraign.
Brohan smiled. “Did you leave any? No matter. I’ve done my damage to the stores this morning already, with Sister Aidhen. Fried apples with spiced sausage and light, crusty bread slathered in a thick cream of butter. Delightful.” Brohan paused for a moment, taking a seat across from Calvraign. “Ah, and how was your porridge?”
“It seems you had better company and better fare than I managed,” Calvraign said, with a perturbed shake of his head. “I hope she was worth whatever coin you lavished upon her. A real lady from the House of Flowers is not without price, or so they say.”
“Sister Aidhen and I are old friends. Or, at least, I’m old and she’s friendly. She finds me companionable enough, and she knows how best to enter
tain the likes of me.”
Calvraign laughed aloud at that. “What? She plays Mylyr Gaeal with you all night, and lets you win?”
Brohan only grinned, changing the subject with a nod at the door. “We should go. The suns are waking, and we’ve more long days ahead of us.”
Calvraign nodded. “I’ll get the packs,” he said, rising.
Brohan waved him down with a roll of his eyes. “Sit, sit. They’ll bring our packs, lad. You’ve done all but mend the thatching around here. The custom is to trade a chore for a hot meal and lodging, not to indenture yourself, by the Gods Between. Had they any horse in the stable, I’d take them too, in trade for the work you’ve done.”
“A horse would be nice,” Calvraign agreed, resuming his seat. “Even a pack mule.”
“Only the busiest of the waysides are stocked with anything but some basic foodstuffs, these days,” lamented Brohan. “We’re still a bit off the beaten path, here – at least for king’s business.”
“But, by Oghran’s luck, you manage to find a pretty flower and spiced sausage where I find a straw pallet and a bowl of porridge,” Calvraign observed.
“I make my own luck, lad. My comings and goings are not so much of a secret this close to the Winter Festival, and the flowers know from whom to mine coin in hard times. Aidhen….”
Further explanation died on Brohan’s lips as the heavy main door flew open with a creak and a thud. Calvraign shifted his attention to the doorway as well, and the three men who walked in stiff and cold as the morning breeze.
Thick winter cloaks of dark forest green were draped over their mail byrnies, half-helms cradled in the crook of their arms, their free hands but a thought away from the long swords sheathed in black leather scabbards at their sides. The steel of their mail and helms was dulled, oiled but not shiny, almost black in the faint light of morning. Calvraign could just make out a small badge sewn into their cloaks, a blue shield bearing a black wolf’s head, with a bar of silvered lightning, sinister.
In Siege of Daylight Page 9
