“Then take some of mine.”
Before he could object she pressed a hand to his throat. Her skin was cool but her presence was like a thunderbolt, and he tried not to stare.
Energy coursed back into him; limbs that had felt like lead returned to something approximating normal, and his breath eased. She lowered her hand and smiled at him, seemingly none the worse for wear.
“Better?”
“I am, thank you.” Life just wasn’t fair. Some weavers were born with greater gifts than others. He’d long heard that Cerai had more energy at call than the average weaver, and now he’d experienced it. She’d used sorcery to fell multiple opponents, control scattered horses, then had magics left to rejuvenate him.
She smiled again and stepped back. “I think we’ve much to discuss, but we’d best get things going. I’ll take the van, you take the rear, right?”
“Right.” That felt more like a suggestion from a colleague than an order from a senior alten. And it made sense, so there was no reason to debate.
Cerai continued: “We’re near the Hawklan pass. From there it’s a fairly easy ride to Alantris.”
“That sounds fine.”
In only a few moments, Cerai was once more in the saddle of her peculiar mount, leading the way, and a train of horse-pulled carts and mounted riders followed. It seemed a pitifully small number of dejected people huddled in the backs of the carts, and Rylin wondered how many of their friends and families had been left behind. How many were even now laboring for the Naor, or lay dead on their pyres?
Try as he might, those concerns were never terribly far from his mind, because he had to keep looking back, vigilant for new pursuers. He watched, too, for Lelanc, bearing word about Varama or the enemy, yet saw nobody above or between the towering pines on either hand. He followed the transport wagon for the dead, which bore Aradel, nearly a dozen soldiers, and two villagers.
The survivors were indeed fortunate he’d come along when he did, and he was fortunate Cerai had popped up out of nowhere. Much as he was grateful for her timely arrival, she was a disquieting mystery. After the war she’d been posted to the outer realms, riding her own way much as Kyrkenall had done. Varama didn’t count her among their enemies, but they’d found her name all over the ledgers in the Hall of Exalts. She was the only alten still seeking hearthstones.
If that weren’t enough to arouse some suspicion on his part, there was her bizarre horse. The thing had continued to stand impossibly still until Cerai had climbed into the saddle to depart. The creature’s discipline surpassed any he’d ever seen. Even the finest animals would be expected to shake their head every now and then, or twitch an ear, or even surreptitiously bend to snatch a little grass. All Cerai’s did was stand and breathe.
What manner of horse was it, and where had Cerai found it?
He watched uneasily for several hours, sometimes trailing at quite a distance, but he never sighted any Naor. Finally they arrived at a pretty hillside village, and one of the elders there was happy to relay that all five groups of Altenerai squires had passed through earlier in the day. Thank the Gods. Rylin was about to join Cerai in a more and more agitated conversation about the villagers’ need to evacuate, but a check overhead showed him Lelanc had at last returned.
The ko’aye descended upon a meadow just beyond a wheat field, beating wings to slow her speed. Rylin rode forth to meet her. He was halfway through the field when he heard hooves pounding behind him, and he turned to discover Cerai cantering after on her strange black horse. As she reined in beside him, he noted again that her mount loomed two hands higher than his black.
They halted as Lelanc struck the ground with surprising delicacy and then raised her head to stare at them. She waited a hundred yards out, her wings only partly folded and fluttering a little as if in nervous agitation.
At the snort of Rylin’s horse, he understood the reason for Lelanc’s hesitance. She must know that horses were, at the least, uncomfortable around her. He climbed out of his saddle and started toward the ko’aye, Cerai walking at his side.
Once they’d drawn within ten feet, Lelanc dipped her head to them. “I greet you, ring family of my ground sister.”
Rylin bowed in response. “We greet you, rider of winds.” Strange, how easily formality came to him when speaking to the great feathered serpent.
Lelanc wasted no time. “Varama comes. She is not far behind. On this trail.”
Excellent. “What about the Naor?”
“Those who sent the ones we killed have halted. They scurry back and forth, uncertain.” With all of their mounted scouts eliminated, the contingent must be regrouping. “But a larger amount is in the valley east. Maybe two days away when walking. Maybe less. They march toward Alantris.”
Good news and bad. Probably the Naor they’d encountered had been an advance column—one sent off from the host to secure the inhabited southern valleys and win plunder for its kinglet.
“Are the Naor likely to come upon Varama?” he asked.
“Not unless she slows or the enemies move faster.”
Rylin turned to the woman beside him. “I’ll go out to meet her.” He was about to ask if Cerai would mind taking his horse to the village so he could fly with Lelanc.
“I’ll go with you,” Cerai said. “I think there’s a lot we need to discuss.”
There was, at that. A little disappointed he wouldn’t be taking to the air, he nonetheless nodded acknowledgment, then spoke to Lelanc. “Cerai and I are going to double back and rendezvous with Varama. Can you keep a watch on the Naor columns until we get her safe?”
Lelanc took a moment to digest this question. “I will do this for you. But later we will kill Naor, yes?”
“Depend upon it.”
“I will. Clear a way for me, Rylin. Your horses will not like when I run forward.”
He and Cerai retreated. The hill villagers were hurriedly yoking horses to wagons they loaded with belongings. Cerai galloped back to speak with them while Rylin watched Lelanc take flight.
He stared until she vanished into the distance. Cerai joined him a short time later. “All the outlying villages will have to retreat to Alantris,” she said.
“That’s as Aradel wished. Can the city hold them all?”
She arched an eyebrow at him, and he felt as though he must have said something stupid, though he couldn’t imagine what it had been.
“There’s been plenty of room in Alantris,” she said. “Ever since the war.”
He nodded. Of course.
“Let’s get moving,” Cerai said, as if eager to break the awkward silence, and they started back down the trail. She addressed him casually. “I’ve heard some of the veterans scoffing about you newly ringed, but I should have known better, as Asrahn remained in charge of training. It seems you acquitted yourself well today.”
“That’s kind of you. The tales I’ve heard don’t do you justice.” He decided against mentioning that her beauty had been undersold as well. “Where did you get your horse?”
“The Shifting Lands.”
That surprised him. “I didn’t know there were horses in the Shifting Lands.”
Her smile was self-satisfied. “Oh, there are some horselike things there, but I shaped him.”
“You shaped your horse?” He made no effort to conceal his amazement.
“Trial and error. And practice. Something I’m sure an alten is intimately familiar with.”
He nodded. While it was true he’d played with land features a time or two, out in the shifts, he’d never dared try to mold a life-form. So far as he knew, no one but stage villains ever succeeded with that kind of experimentation. That level of capability both impressed and alarmed him.
She downplayed her obvious self-satisfaction. “He’s not a complete success. He has no will. I forged a living tool, no more. He’s like a puppet. I have to command him to do nearly everything but the most rudimentary of tasks. Yet,” she added, “he’s more powerful than any other h
orse I’ve ever ridden. He rarely tires. He has no fear. He feels no pain. And, because he’s formed from stuff of the Shifting Lands, he’s easy to mend.”
How many thousands of infinitesimal adjustments must she have made to succeed? Over what period of time? “Could you change a living horse?”
“I’ve been experimenting with that,” she admitted. “It’s a lot more challenging. But you know that. That’s why our weaving is usually about changing energy states rather than altering physical conditions.”
“Of course.” Guiding a gust of wind was far more difficult when there were no air currents. Changing the consistency of matter was one of the most challenging, painstaking, and draining of magics. It was why the best healers were highly specialized and usually aged. It required decades to gain the knowledge and experience to work with severe injuries.
The wind picked up and shook tree limbs to either side of the track.
Interesting as all this talk was, it was time to get some answers. “I’m still unclear about what you were doing in The Fragments. You said you were monitoring the Naor?”
“Yes, since our pointless commander hasn’t been heeding my warnings. They’ve been a little quiet, which is usually a sign they’re up to something, so I went over to take a look myself.” She glanced sidelong at him. “Well, as I said, I should have looked into things a little sooner. By the time I swung through I found they’d left for an entirely new war. If we had more watchers on the borders, like we did in the old days, our defenders would greet them instead of our villagers.”
He wished he didn’t have to be so cautious around a wearer of the sacred ring. Once, perhaps, he would have been able to trust and depend upon her without question. He frowned that it was no longer so. “Aradel told me the Naor are marching on Arappa at the same time. And Mazakan’s leading them.”
“Fabulous. Did she say anything else?”
“She didn’t have time to say much. She bade me to get help from the queen and Denaven—”
At this Cerai snorted.
“—and to safeguard Alantris.”
“Nothing else?”
“She said there’s a third army on the way, probably intent on using The Fragments as a staging post before it hits Erymyr.”
Cerai frowned. “Did she know how far out it was?”
“She didn’t say. She did have some tactical tips. She said that there’s high ground near Alantris that the Naor should be lured toward.”
Cerai nodded as if she knew immediately what Aradel had meant. “Oligar Ridge. That will be tricky unless we get enough troops from Darassus to back us up.”
“I didn’t have a chance to get more details.”
She pensively regarded the road leading down the tree-lined hill. “It was strange, wasn’t it, that a woman from Kanesh could so fall in love with The Fragments? I asked her once if she missed the plains, and she said she did, sometimes. But she loved this land of little valleys even more. I suppose they’ll inter her here.”
Rylin thought back to the still form in the back of the cart and wished her spirit well.
“So are you and Varama scouting ahead for the Darassan army?” Cerai asked.
He’d hoped to steer clear of any discussion about their activities, leaving that for Varama, but he supposed that had been too much to wish for. “We’re looking for Kyrkenall.” He watched her for some sign of reaction, but she only looked puzzled.
“What happened to him?”
“Denaven thinks he killed Asrahn.”
Cerai’s voice registered her surprise. “Asrahn’s dead?”
“I’m afraid so. He drowned in the Idris, and Denaven blamed Kyrkenall for it.”
“He’s hated Kyrkenall for years,” Cerai said. “Does anyone else think Kyrkenall did it?”
“Some. They’re hunting him with Denaven.”
Cerai shook her head in dismay.
“Why does Denaven hate him?”
“Because he thinks Kyrkenall won the woman he wanted. The whole thing’s childish.”
“Who was the woman?”
“Rialla.”
“The one who was so good with hearthstones.” Everything seemed to come back to the hearthstones. “Are you still searching for them?”
Cerai favored him with a thin smile. “I didn’t realize that was common knowledge.”
“I’ve been getting more and more curious about hearthstones,” he said. “So I’ve been asking a lot more questions.”
“And not getting many answers, I’d bet.”
Rylin’s horse, Rurudan, perked up his ears, and Rylin scanned the trees they passed until he spotted a lynx watching from the undergrowth. It crept away.
“You’d win that bet. Anything you’d care to share with a promising young alten?” He flashed her his best smile.
She laughed lightly. “You’re pouring it on a little thick, aren’t you?”
“I’d like some resolution,” he admitted. “Recently it feels like I’m surrounded by people keeping secrets. I didn’t think the corps was going to be like that.”
“It didn’t used to be,” Cerai acknowledged.
The sky rumbled overhead and a wispy trail of clouds veiled the sun. Cerai hesitated before speaking. “So what do you know about them?”
“Not a lot, really. Except that the Mage Auxiliary is hoarding them, that the queen and the Altenerai were at odds about spending resources to look for them, and that they’re too dangerous to be used in battle. Why does the queen want them in the first place if they can’t be used to defend the realms?”
Cerai brushed back a curling lock of dark hair. “If you’d spent much time in the Shifting Lands you’d know. The shifts are growing more and more unstable. Realm borders are decaying and blowing away and the real is shrinking. The queen and the auxiliary believe the key to saving the realms lies in mastering the hearthstones. And I think they’re right.”
“What are they going to do with them?”
“You can use a hearthstone to build things in the Shifting Lands. Make them more real. Maybe even rebuild the borders, but you’d need a lot of power and a whole lot of mages. You getting the idea?”
He was, and it shocked him. “So they’re stockpiling the things and training sorcerers for a sort of land recovery project?”
“Yes, and they don’t want to frighten the general populace, or alert our enemies to everything that might be at stake.”
Something about that didn’t quite ring true, no matter Cerai’s sincerity. He wondered if she herself had been fooled. “Why didn’t the queen simply tell the Altenerai? We’re sworn to protect the realms.”
“I gather that the queen told Renik. I don’t know if she told N’lahr or not, but things were already pretty sour between her and the Altenerai by the time he took over. I suppose she may have told her pet, Denaven.”
Rylin halted them upon a forested promontory overlooking the narrow valley through which they’d ridden earlier. The wind was rising and the sky darkening. First they scanned to the east, seeking signs of Naor and finding none, just as Lelanc had promised. They looked south, toward a gap between the hills that Varama would be crossing. Assuming that she would hold to her plan, and that nothing had happened to her.
He strove for delicacy as he broached his next question. “Don’t you think it would be wiser if she told all of us?”
“You can’t always agree with your commanders, Rylin. You should know that by now. But you still have to follow orders. The borders are weakening. The storms have trebled in the last ten years. Something will have to be done, and soon. The queen expected things to decay faster than they have, but it doesn’t mean she’s wrong about the basic concept.”
He leaned down to pat Rurudan’s neck. He was shifting nervously. Cerai’s giant, coal-black mount stood motionless and stiff. He was debating telling her just what her rational-sounding queen had done to their squires when Cerai suddenly stilled.
Following her gaze, Rylin saw a lone figure emerge from t
he trees a few miles south. He quickly recognized Varama, distinctive in her khalat and blue-tinted skin. The wind was really active now, the sky darkening.
As he looked across the ground Varama rode through, the grasses shimmered, as if he was observing her through heat haze.
He called up his view through the inner world and lit his ring even as the ground Varama rode shifted into a swathe of glowing red powder. Was that snow? He didn’t need his inner sight to see that she passed over one of the veins from the shifts that crisscrossed The Fragments to give them their name.
Just as he was turning to say something to Cerai, the older woman straightened in her saddle and raised both palms.
Out there in a suddenly bizarre landscape, reality fell away beneath Varama, ring blazing, leaving a pulsing purple void, except for the strip of crimson snow beneath her, a bridge of matter. Rylin looked again to Cerai, frozen in concentration, and knew it was her doing. Damn, but she was impressive. No matter how much he trained he could never approach that level of power.
He stared at her sitting statue still, confident, wind blowing across her perfectly sculpted features. With his magical sight he saw her entire body limned with glowing energies, greater than he’d seen in any other living being. She was terrifyingly beautiful both within and without. A bright magical nimbus glowed not only about her horse, but radiated from the pack on her saddle. He understood that Cerai carried not one but two hearthstones, and that she had tapped their power. He was still watching when she relinquished her hold upon them and relaxed in her saddle.
It was all he could do to tear his eyes away to see that his friend had made her way through the red snow field and onto safe land.
Cerai wiped her brow and then smiled knowingly at Rylin, as if to say that she was not only aware that she’d done well, but that she looked great doing it and appreciated him noticing.
Rylin relinquished his hold on the inner world. “That was astounding.”
“You could manage it if you’ve practiced with a hearthstone,” she assured him.
“I don’t have your stamina.”
For the Killing of Kings Page 37
