18

 

Journey Home

 

Quinn closed the coffin lid, shutting Aewen from Kai’s sight.

At his side Murial swayed in grief. “Sleep well, little flitling. May you find the peace denied you in this life.” After combing her mistress’s dark hair and plaiting it with deft fingers, Murial had watched over Aewen’s body until Quinn and Kai placed her in a strongwood box normally used for carrying grain. The makeshift coffin sat upon trestles in the small room where Aewen had died.

“On the morrow I’ll take her to Cobbleford for burial.” The words tasted bitter in Kai’s mouth. With Torindan under siege, he couldn’t bring her body to Elcon, and she shouldn’t be laid to rest here among strangers.

“You must leave now.” Quinn informed him in an apologetic tone.

“But it’s yet night.”

“I’m sorry, but the other guests won’t welcome death in their midst.”

Murial dashed away tears. “I can’t abide with you to Cobbleford. Without Aewen to shield me, Queen Inydde will turn me away.”

Kai had heard and seen enough at Cobbleford Castle to know she spoke the truth. “You must remain here, with the babe, if they have room for you to stay.”

“I would take her to my sister’s homefarm in the north, but I doubt she’d allow a baby in the house. She’s lived alone so long it’s made her into a curmudgeon, I’m afraid.”

“That is well. Syl Marinda is too young to make the journey to Westerland now, and perhaps there will be no need. Torindan may stand against Freaer. If that happens, she can go into her father’s care as Aewen wished.” He did not pretend to know what would happen if Torindan fell.

They loaded Aewen’s coffin on a rough cart in the stableyard, and Kai set out by land. Fletch pulled the cart into the mountain heights and crunched through the thinning snow of early spring. Although rutted from the wheels of the carts which journeyed this way, the common road still provided the quickest route across the hilly farm country that bounded Norwood on the south and east. The road followed the contours of the hills and traveled around obstacles, bending in sudden turns with dizzying frequency. He made slow progress, obliged to pause often to steady the coffin. He traveled through the night and day, but at the next nightfall sought shelter in an abandoned barn just where the road curved into the kaba forest. Although the northern part of the forest could not be called wilderness, he would not enter it until morning. Bruins and shaycats might still roam by night despite the scattering of homefarms located there. Besides, he needed rest.

He set off again as the first rays of sunlight searched the morning mists. The predators of the night would lie down now, but as the forest closed about him, he kept his eyes and ears open and his weapons ready. Although the cold and Murial’s anointing herbs would preserve Aewen’s body, he still carried with him the scent of death.

The road climbed all morning before leveling at a low pass. He dismounted and rested on a flat-topped boulder, averting his face against the nip of the steady west wind. From here he could see as far as the mists curling above the lands of Darksea and Whistledown to the gleaming waters of Maer Ibris. To the north and west a barren salt marsh edged Muer Maeread, the Coast of Bones where his brother, Daeven, was said to have met his end in a shipwreck.

Gazing now upon the long coastline where foaming surf wreathed dark rocks that stood in sharp warning, he longed to search for the truth of Daeven’s end. If, as his father believed, wreckers had by night lured Daeven’s ship onto the rocks and lain in wait for survivors to emerge from the shipwreck, his brother had been murdered. Because Kai had been needed to protect Shae on her journey to Gilead Riann, he’d denied himself the chance to learn the truth, and, if he admitted it, avenge his brother’s blood. Now duty to Elcon and Elderland held him fast.

He returned to the cart. He had made his choices and would not sway from them. He could hope, however, for the day he might walk in freedom upon the shores of Muer Maeread.

The road trended downward, Fletch’s hooves striking with renewed fervor. As the road passed through Lancert, it broadened but also congested with traffic. When Elders who drove carts or rode horses and donkeys saw the burden he pulled, however, they yielded. Many gazed upon him in mistrust, for few Kindren ever ventured this far into the Elder lands, and a winged horse should not pull a common cart. He kept eyes and ears open, but none challenged him. When he left the city with its dust and noise behind, he sighed in relief.

He passed through the heart of Westerland now, with its small hamlets and homefarms carved from virgin forest. The day darkened, casting fields and forest in purpled shadow, for storm clouds gathered. The very air crackled with pent energy.

Kai turned from the main road at Cobbleford. As the cart crossed the bridge over Weild Aenor, known to the Elder as the Cobble River, the roar of the swollen waters nearly drowned the thud of hooves and drum of wheels. The castle loomed ahead, brown and ungainly against the beauty of the weild. Kai stopped at the gatehouse.

“Name yourself and your duty!” The cry came from the battlements above. Kai squinted, for in the dim light he could not well see the figure behind the crenellations. “I am Kai of Whellein, sent to King Euryon in the name of Lof Shraen Elcon of Faeraven.”

Silence fell, followed by the hiss of whispering. “How do we know you speak truth?”

He sighed. His body ached from the journey, he hungered, and he had little patience remaining. “The matter is urgent.”

Silence, followed by more whispering. He could just see the guard’s face peer from one of the embrasures. “What is in that box?”

“I bring the body of one dear to the king.”

“Hold there.”

Kai sighed again. The shadows lengthened, and a crack of thunder preceded rain, which rolled off the thick perse of his cloak to soak his woolen leggings. Fletch picked up his feet and put them down again, flicking his ears.

“You there!”

Kai squinted upward. He thought he recognized the captain of the guard.

“What brings you here?”

“I would rather speak that to King Euryon in private, for it’s a tale of sorrow.”

“Sorrow, you say?”

He shifted to ease his cramping muscles. “I will tell you, since it seems the only way to gain admittance. I bring the body of Aewen of Westerland home.”

At last the portcullis rose, screeching, and the wooden doors opened. He rode into the gatehouse, where the captain met him. “I will alert the king to your presence.”

The wooden doors thudded and chains clanked as the portcullis lowered again. Now in the gatehouse, Fletch shook his head, water spraying from his mane. Rain hammered the ground outside the gatehouse and shimmered silver beyond the arrow slits.

Kai kept his eyes and ears alert, a habit formed during his early training as a guardian of Rivenn. He did not allow his mind to think ahead to his audience with King Euryon or to wonder what happened at Torindan.

The captain returned. Euryon, flanked by two guards, followed him. The king wore such a wild look Kai knew at once the captain must have broken the news to him. Kai dismounted and bowed. Euryon paid him no heed but went straight to the cart and placed his hands upon the coffin. “Open it!”

The captain signaled one of the guards, who hurried from the gatehouse but came back almost at once with a pry bar.

Kai flinched. He’d not considered the possibility that the king would want to open the coffin. Nor had he steeled himself to see the raw pain on Euryon’s face as he gazed upon his dead child. Euryon did not weep but reached as if to touch her, only to draw his hand back again. With a curt nod he turned away, his shoulders slumped. “Put the lid in place but do not nail the coffin shut, for Inydde may want to look upon her daughter. Take Aewen to the chapel and advise Brother Robb.”

The coffin lid clunked back into place. Euryon faced Kai. “How came this?”

“She died after giving birth. The doctor arrived too late.”

Euryon’s eyes widened. “Doctor? Not praectal? How came she to dwell among the Elder? Why do you bring her to me rather than bury her at Torindan? Has Elcon cast her off?”

Kai waved a hand to quiet him, for Euryon’s last words came out near a bellow. “Nay, Elcon did not cast her off but sent her away for safety’s sake. Torindan is at war.”

Comprehension crossed Euryon’s face. “Freaer!”

“Freaer’s armies lay siege to Torindan. He sways half of Faeraven. Elcon thought to spare Aewen, but she went into labor and gave birth along the wayside. We brought her with all care to an inn in Norwood, but she died there.”

Euryon shook his head. “I cannot bear the thought of my daughter birthing on the wayside and dying in a common inn.” His face crumpled. “I refused Elcon my help against Freaer when he asked it. Had I given it, Aewen might yet live.” Grief bent him double, and the captain offered his arm to escort him from the gatehouse.

The two guards who had flanked Euryon bore Aewen’s coffin past Kai, on its way to the chapel. He stood alone.

A voice called from above. “Hold there.” A guard’s face looked through one of the murder holes in the ceiling overhead. The face withdrew and the trapdoor closed. It seemed an interminable wait amid the steady patter of rain.

At last the captain of the guard reappeared. “You there, follow me. Leave your beast. The groom is already on his way to tend it.”

Kai followed the captain into Cobbleford Castle and down the long corridor he remembered to Euryon’s outer chambers. Euryon stood with Inydde in the midst of the room’s red and gilt splendor, shivering like a pauper in a blast of winter wind. Kai made another bow.

Inydde’s face gave little emotion away. She might have met him on any social occasion, save for the whiteness of her skin. “You were with Aewen when she died?” She held herself straight and tall as she addressed him.

“Yes.”

Tears glinted in Inydde’s deep blue eyes. “Did she suffer?”

He hesitated. “All women suffer in childbirth, but Aewen found rest and comfort at the end.”

“That is well.”

Kai looked to Euryon, who listened with tears coursing down his cheeks. He waited, but neither Euryon nor Inydde asked about Aewen’s babe. Perhaps they assumed the child had died.

Inydde stepped toward Kai. “We will bury her in the morning. You are welcome to attend. After that, you will want to be on your way.”

“Yes, that is best. You should know that Aewen’s daughter remains in Norwood, under the care of a nurse, until she can join her father in Torindan.”

Euryon’s eyes widened. “Let us hope he, and Torindan, remain standing.”

Inydde raised perfect eyebrows. “If not, you will have to make other arrangements for the child. I’ll not harbor a half breed.”

 

****

 

In the aftermath of rain, morning dawned with the promise of new life. Trees budded. Early flowers broke through the warming soil. Flitlings hopped from branch to branch. Birdsong filled the garden.

Kai entered the chapel through the open doorway. Aewen’s body waited before the altar, her coffin nailed shut a final time. None had gathered yet. With its vaulted ceiling, gilt trim and golden implements upon the altar, the small chapel gave an impression of opulence. As Kai walked to the bier, his footsteps echoed hollowly. A red velvet covering bedecked with gilded early flowers draped Aewen’s coffin. He fingered the rough wood that showed at the edges and smiled to himself. Aewen, daughter of the kings of Wester, would go to the tomb in her humble casket. From what he knew of her, she would have preferred that. At the sound of weeping, he turned. Caerla, unkempt and with an air of bewilderment, wrung her hands in the doorway. Her gaze never wavering from the coffin, she paced the length of the chamber and halted before Kai. Tears ran down her cheeks to drip from her face, but she paid them no heed. “Aewen cannot be dead. She would not leave us, thus, without a goodbye.”

Without a response to give her, Kai said nothing.

She sank to her knees, so fragile she appeared little more than a wraith. Resting her arms on the edge of the dais, she lowered her head onto them. Kai barely caught her whispered words. “She would not go without letting me tell her how sorry I am for the words I last spoke to her.” Heart wrenching sobs overcame her.

Kai could find nothing of comfort to give her.

Voices carried from the path. Euryon and Inydde leaned toward one another in the open doorway. Euryon’s face ran with tears, but Inydde’s remained impassive. She seemed to clutch her grief as a treasure. Kai stood to one side, watching and waiting as other mourners came. He had already said his own goodbye to Aewen, in the small, stuffy room at the inn. And yet he remained through the brief invocation for Elcon’s sake.

Outside in the sunshine Euryon touched Kai’s arm and placed in his hand a leather band with a single sapphire at its center. “Give this to Aewen’s daughter when she’s older. It was her mother’s.”

The sapphire band blurred, and Kai heaved a breath. “I will.”

Euryon turned to lean again on Inydde. The two moved off along the path to the castle. Kai did not follow. He wanted nothing of the funeral feast that waited in the great hall. A sudden longing seized him for the untainted air of the open road.

 

****

 

As Elcon reached the battlements above the gatehouse, the stair gave a faint but perceptible vibration.

Craelin looked up from his examination of the water pot nearest the eastern tower. As Elcon watched, the shining surface quivered and stilled.

He lifted a brow. “Miners?”

Craelin gave a brief nod. “We’re sure they mean to collapse the gatehouse towers. We’ve already started a counter shaft.”

Elcon put a hand on the back of his neck and kneaded the knotted muscles there. The days had settled into a monotonous exchange of missiles from the catapults, the constant threat of arrows from ensconced archers, and the attacking armies’ steady infilling of a portion of the moat with stones and rubble. Sheltering beneath a makeshift roof, the foot soldiers made progress despite the arrows, debris, and pots of slaked lime and boiling oil rained down upon them. Elcon pictured the siege tower that waited beyond the reach of Torindan’s catapults and heard again the cries of the wounded. “When will our miners break into their tunnel?”

Craelin squinted against the sun’s glare. “It’s a guess but three days, maybe four. We’ll meet them with dragonsfire.”

Elcon sucked in a breath. Dragonsfire, a mixture which ignited upon contact with water, burned with such fury it eradicated all life in its path. The guardians had perfected a pump system that spewed water and the volatile mixture from hand held tubes. The resultant blaze flared forth with such intensity it resembled its namesake. “Let us hope we alone possess it.”

Catapults twanged anew and a barrage of rounded stones flew over the walls. One of the merlons in the parapet gave an awful crack and exploded into shards. As debris caught the edge of his eye, Elcon put up a hand.

Craelin placed himself between Elcon and the parapet. “Here, let me see.” He stepped back. “Just a cut, but Praectal Daelic should treat it.”

Elcon stepped back. “Daelic has enough to concern him these days without worrying about a simple cut.”

A pained expression flitted across Craelin’s face. “True enough.” He hesitated. “Lof Shraen, perhaps you should not venture here. Why not let the priests hide you?”

Elcon resisted the temptation Craelin’s words stirred. “Don’t ask me to shirk battle.”

“But if you fall the Kindren will lose heart.”

Elcon’s sweeping inspection encompassed those positioned to defend walls, barbican and gatehouse. He spoke the truth but not without a pang. “They have no heart now.” In a sense they had already seen him fall. “If I fight with them, they may rally.”

“They stand ready to die for the privilege of preserving your life. Will you cheat them?”

He sighed. “I will fight.” He touched the corner of his eye, now sticky with blood, and grimaced. “Inform me of any developments. I’ll be in my chambers.”

“Of course.” Archers approached from farther along the battlements, and Craelin walked toward them. “We’re well. The masonry took the worst of it.” Craelin’s words followed Elcon onto the stair. “I’ll set a guard outside your chambers. You might let Weilton escort you whenever you leave them.”

Elcon grimaced and put a hand to Sword Rivenn’s hilt in a brief caress but made his way to his chambers—for now. He salved his cut eye and then stretched out, falling at once into the oblivion of sleep.

An almighty roar woke him. He sat up in darkness, but light flared around the edges of the window hangings and sent the shadows on his chamber walls into a macabre dance. He stumbled to the window and fumbled at its coverings.

His dressing room door creaked open. “Let me, Lof Shraen.” Weilton, who slept within, stepped forward to complete the task.

Bright fireballs with streaming tails lit the sky as they shot over the walls. The cookhouse’s thatched roof already blazed. Screams arose but soon died to nothing.

Torindan waited in quivering silence.

Flames from the cookhouse fire showed the stronghold’s catapults rocking in retaliation. Stone missiles launched in the face of the enemy’s dragonsfire. Ineffective as the effort seemed, an uproar outside the walls indicated some small success.

Shrieks filled the air. Winged death blackened the fire-lightened sky. Elcon drew a shaky breath.

Welke riders.

More screams. Voices raised in uproar. Weilton shoved him out of the window opening just as an arrow whizzed past his cheek.

Weilton slammed the shutters shut. His voice carried over the rasp of the metal latch. “Forgive me, Lof Shraen. I meant no disrespect.”

Elcon scrambled in new darkness to find Sword Rivenn. Near his bedside, his hand encountered its scabbard. He hoisted its weight. “Pray don’t concern yourself with such niceties, Weilton.”

A tap sounded at the outer door. Anders met them in the outer chamber, a lighted lanthorn in hand.

Weilton approached the door. “Who goes there?”

“It’s Eathnor. Craelin sends word to Elcon.”

At Elcon’s nod, Weilton cracked the door but stepped back as Eathnor burst into the room. “You’re well, then?”

Elcon lowered his sword and inclined his head in acknowledgment of Eathnor’s belated bow. “Well enough. And Craelin?”

“He’s uninjured, but we lost several archers on the wall and three who manned a bastion.”

“Can we not return dragonsfire of our own?”

“We have not had time to replenish our supplies, and what we do have is marked for use in the tunnels. But I’ll ask your question of Craelin.”

Elcon could ask Craelin his own questions. “Give your report.” His words snapped out, sharper than intended.

“They’ve filled in the moat and will soon wheel the siege tower next to the wall. Craelin expects its advance by morning. Our footsoldiers and archers stand ready to meet it. Their masonry sappers work under an iron roof to weaken the wall below the ruined bastion. Its thickness should deter them for a time, at least, but we may need to make a foray to stop them. Progress on the counter tunnel halted when our miners encountered bedstone, but they’ve rerouted.”

“And what of the welke riders?”

“I don’t know what Craelin intends to do about them. They showed themselves just as I ducked into the keep.”

Elcon turned away to hide tears. Craelin would send wingabeast riders in response, as he’d done during the previous siege. How many would they lose before the rays of morning banished the welkes to their roosts?

“Craelin suggests you seek the priests’ protection at once.”

“I’ll not hide while my people die.” Elcon jerked open the door and ran from the chamber. He took the stairs to the battlements above the guardhouse two at a time.

Craelin descended to block his way. “So. You’ll not preserve your life.”

Elcon’s gaze did not waver from Craelin’s. “Not at such a cost. What would I save myself for, anyway? If Torindan falls, I’d subsist by wandering—an exiled shraen without a raven—until they hunt me down. If I stand with my people, there’s a chance we can hold the fortress until reinforcements arrive. If not, I’d rather die in battle.”

“As would I,” Weilton spoke from behind Elcon.

Elcon turned with a smile. “You followed me.”

Weilton smiled back. “I’m assigned to protect you.”

The steady thumping of the battering ram gave way to a splintering crash.

“They’ve entered the barbican!” An archer called from his position at the parapet. Craelin took the stairs upward, and Elcon followed to look out from an embrasure.

“We’ll give a hearty welcome to all who enter the gates of death.” Elcon read the truth in the pained expression that belied Craelin’s brave words. They might hold the barbican, with its three gates, for a time. But already the siege tower swayed against the sky as it rolled toward the filled-in moat, pulled by teams of muscular bovines.

Eathnor joined them from farther down the battlements “Foot soldiers now ascend the barbican with grappling hooks and ladders.”

“Besides toppling the ladders, we can still greet them with pots of slaked lime, stones, and boiling water.” Craelin raised an eyebrow in inquiry. “Provided our stores last.”

Eathnor gave a swift nod. “They will hold, for now.”

“We must halt the wheeled siege tower.” Elcon’s brow furrowed as the tower rocked closer to Torindan’s outer wall. Once in place, archers behind the siege tower’s merlons could shoot their arrows downward, and a ramp would lower to provide the enemy access to Torindan’s cleared walls. Craelin moved closer to Elcon. “It advances with such speed terror strikes those on the wall.”

Elcon clutched the rough stone at the edges of the embrasure. “Shoot the beasts that draw it. That will at least slow its progress. Craelin’s eyes widened and then respect settled across his face. He turned to Eathnor. “Go at once and give the Lof Shraen’s instructions to the archers on the outer wall.”

Eathnor ducked his head and set off to obey.

Elcon scanned the horizon. “No sign of reinforcements?”

“None.”

“Let us hope we can hold out.” Fear winged into Elcon’s mind and found its roost, talons curving to claw his soul. The smell of death breathed over him. Pain twisted in his mind. Sorrow struck his stomach. He doubled over with a cry.

Hands caught him, preventing his fall. “May Lof Yuel protect you.” Craelin breathed.

Elcon gripped the stone of the parapet until Freaer’s touch slid away. He stiffened. Distant figures streamed from the canyonlands toward Torindan, and Elcon’s heart beat double-time within his chest. He shouted above the renewed thumping of the battering ram. “Garns approach.”

The look of horror on Craelin’s face told its own story. “We’ll never stand against so many.” He turned his head. “You may soon fulfill your wish to die in battle.”