"You're done--of course you're done," Grego corrected himself, feeling like an idiot. Baedrix and Graddon and Carious stood behind Mrillis, and the door of the tower a few dozen steps away hung open. Their meeting had ended at the perfect moment to catch him unawares. The last thing he wanted to do was come across as a tongue-tied fool, and ruin Emrillian's first impression with the people who would support her campaign to protect Lygroes.
"Baedrix should marry the queen. He's the strongest Valor, and even the lords in Court who don't like him will follow him," Ectrix said. He went a little pale, and his chin tilted up in the air as he spoke, making a lie of his brave, calm voice and expression.
"It never changes," Graddon rumbled, his rough voice rich with laughter. "No matter how many centuries a man sleeps, politics and matchmaking never cease their eternal tangle."
"Indeed, that is the queen's choice, and something she must leave for later. There are far more important things to deal with," Baedrix said.
Grego had no idea from the Regent's expression or his voice if his brother's words affected him in any way. This man had learned all the tricks of keeping his thoughts and feelings to himself.
"Like what?" Ectrix challenged.
"Edrout will know soon that Athrar's heir has returned," Carious said. "If he hasn't felt the reaction in the Threads already. We set out in the morning on our quests."
"Quests? How many?" The boy looked to his brother, who grinned and rested a hand on his shoulder.
"You could earn your spurs very soon," Baedrix said, nodding. "Lord Grego?"
"Just Grego. Until I've earned my spurs, too," Grego added, offering a grin to Ectrix.
"You will play an important role, and I will ask you to trust in my brother and my sister to guide you." He glanced at Mrillis and Graddon. Both men nodded. "Many in Quenlaque do not remember that Athrar's heir is a daughter. You have imbrose, and you are a face no one has seen before. Your resonance of magic is unfamiliar."
"A decoy." He took a deep breath, fighting the giddy sensation that mixed with that falling feeling of apprehension he had felt the first time he entered a tournament and realized he was outweighed and under-armed. "Let me guess. I will go to Quenlaque Castle, riding out in the open with an escort, and let everyone think I'm the Warhawk's heir, while you and Emrillian will go around through a back way."
"Close," Mrillis said. "Graddon and I will go to the Wayhauk Mountains to assess our enemy's strengths. You will present a decoy and distraction, staying here until Shalara and Karstis arrive with their recruits. Emrillian will go to the Stronghold to awaken Meghianna, and retrieve Braenlicach."
"That's where it's hidden?" Ectrix said, eyes wide and shining. "Why didn't anyone tell us?"
"That is exactly why," Grego offered. "If nobody knows, nobody will ruin the secret, and the sword is that much safer from Edrout."
He met Baedrix's gaze. The Regent nodded, but there was a somberness in his eyes that made Grego suspect the star-metal sword's location had been a secret and burden he had carried alone.
* * * *
"The land is still shifting, crumbling, rising and falling in unexpected ways and places. We learned in my grandfather's day to conduct a new survey every five years." Baedrix unrolled the thick roll of parchment that Martus, the tower guardian, handed him. "This is the most recent view of the land, as of a little more than a year ago."
"Thank you, Lord Baedrix," Emrillian murmured. "You do realize you have your work cut out for you, educating me about Lygroes, don't you?" She leaned forward and studied the map. Next to it on the table lay a map Mrillis had produced.
The others gathered in her pavilion watched her. She could feel it. The weight of their attention pressed on her shoulders and made her head ache. Almost as weighty was the realization that because she acted as queen in her father's place, she might never have privacy again. Her pavilion was, in effect, the center of the government. Her lips quirked up in silent amusement when she decided to be grateful there were a little less than three dozen people in the welcoming party. How could she have fit hundreds into this pavilion?
Then she really looked at the maps. The differences between them tore at her heart. Her vision blurred and she realized tears filled her eyes. Emrillian blinked them away and finally looked up.
"Grandfather, you told me how it was, but it wasn't real until now." She gestured at the two maps. Seeing the questions on the faces of those closest to her, she continued. "The modern world only has maps that have come down from legend, like this map." She pointed at the one Mrillis had brought out. "The Death Zone keeps people from approaching the shores of Quenlaque. Their spy drones cannot fly over, their satellites cannot take pictures, to discern the actual shape of our land."
"Fly?" Martus asked, his voice cracking. The Valor hunched his shoulders when attention fastened on him.
"How can people fly if there is no magic among them? There are no Vales in Moerta," Eleanora said.
"Technology," Mrillis answered. "But we are here to learn about Lygroes, not Moerta. Lord Grego will be your teacher when that time comes. You were saying, Emmi?"
"The people of Moerta know little about the boundaries of Lygroes. That is our advantage--but only for a short while--when the enchantment ends." Emrillian felt a smile inching across her lips. This was beginning to sound like her old lessons with Mrillis, which put her on more familiar ground.
"What other danger will we face, besides the chaos from the dome falling, and Edrout trying to take advantage of the renewed magic?" Baedrix said, his voice soft.
"The feuding governments of Moerta could very well put aside their squabbling to attack us, trying to take control of magic, to aid in their quest to subjugate the others. The government of the land where we lived will soon try to tap the energy of the Threads, to use in weaponry. We must wrest that power away from their machines, limiting them to our type of warfare, hand-to-hand, armed conflict. Our enemies will not work together, but they don't need to work together if they all battle to defeat us."
"The only way to win that conflict is to prepare," Grego put in. From the somber calm of his voice, Emrillian knew he understood more as each second went by. "That's what you need me for."
"The other Archaics, who should arrive soon. There are many, I believe, who would renounce their citizenship and swear fealty to the Warhawk throne, to defend our land against the modern world."
"Thousands," he whispered. He leaned forward, fastening his gaze on the map. "When I think of the hundreds of hours our Archaics gatherings spent in discussions about the legends. What we would do if Athrar really would come back, how much we would be willing to sacrifice for the old ideals..." A snort of laughter escaped him. "I always had a hard time not spilling the truth. When our friends realize that we just sat there, listening to them talk and dream and brag, and never admitted the legends were true, that Athrar would return...that he was your father. Emmi, I still have no idea if they'll hug you, bow at your feet, or try to strangle you!"
"Who would dare attack the High Queen?" Carious snarled.
"Peace, Lord Carious," Mrillis said. "It is the modern way of talk. How would you feel if your closest friend kept secret from you the fulfillment of your fondest dream? Wouldn't you threaten destruction, in jest?"
Carious and other Valors exchanged disgruntled, dismayed looks. Emrillian missed it, but someone smiled and someone else shrugged, and soon the tension fled. Her loyal Valors understood. Some things, she realized with a lightheaded feeling of relief, would never change.
"We will need all the warriors of the Archaics when the time comes," Mrillis said. "Your task, Grego, is to prepare the people of Quenlaque so they will not misunderstand or insult our allies."
"A huge task," Baedrix said. "Please, Lord Grego, teach me and my companions first, so we can help you. It will take longer, but there will be definite results."
"You mean instead of a stranger trying to change your way of life?" Grego asked, grinning.
They studied the map, comparing the new land to the old. Emrillian stayed silent, letting Mrillis and Baedrix lead the discussion. It felt strange to hear the names of legend bandied about as if the events were only a few years before. She had wanted to visit the vales, walk along the white sand beaches of the south, ride through the mountains of the north, sail along the rivers. Mrillis had told her the landscape had changed, but it had merely been part of the story until that moment.
A glance at Grego, when she could no longer bear to look at the disparate maps, showed he felt what she did.
"What about the Encindi?" Emrillian asked. "What have they been doing all this time?"
"Breeding, training, growing angrier. And reviving the blood magic, from all indications." Baedrix ran his finger down the mountain range on his map, and then down the larger, wider mountain range on the old map of Lygroes. It still neatly and effectively divided the continent. Emrillian was comforted that the people of Quenlaque held more than two-thirds of the land, and the Wayhauk Mountains took up nearly a third of what remained. "As far as our scouts can tell, they are moving out again for the first time in thirty years. And they are also building up their defenses. That was their greatest flaw before--they concentrated on attack, not defense."
"Moving out how?" She sat back, keeping her gaze on the map.
"Mostly movement through the mountains, finding their way through the new passages, discovering which old ones have been blocked. The time was when assignment to the border patrol was for young men who had just earned their spurs, and for the very old who still wished to be useful. There was more danger from the terrain than the Encindi, but the duty was still honorable and necessary. Now--" Baedrix shrugged. "In the past few years it has become something of a bane and a challenge. Those who crave glory bought at peril of their lives ask for such duty."
"Since the attack on the Threads blocking the tunnel?" Graddon said. "Since Edrout tried to kill Emrillian?"
Baedrix frowned, his gaze unfocused. He rubbed at his chin. Emrillian had already decided that was a sign of deep thought. She admired him for the simple wisdom of stopping to think before answering, so he had the right answer.
"I believe so, my lord."
"Then Edrout was frightened, when he failed in killing me," Emrillian said. She clasped her hands together in the folds of her overtunic in her lap, to keep them from shaking. "It could be he has been looking for me, here in Lygroes, all this time. Or he has been preparing for the final battle, because he knows he erred badly when he awoke me from the enchantment."
"Let us hope he never learns how badly, until it is too late for him to mend it," Graddon murmured. He nodded, staring at the map. Then he cocked his head to one side, met Emrillian's gaze, and winked. "Do the Encindi have boats?"
"They can't navigate around the Wayhauk Mountains where they extend into the sea. It takes them too close to the dome, and it burns anyone who tries to penetrate it," Carious said. "Our spies say their ships are made for fishing close to shore, and are too small to hold more than a few warriors."
"Then that will give us an advantage," Mrillis said. "When we bring down the dome, we must have ships full of warriors ready to move down both coasts, land, and come up behind the Encindi before they realize what has happened, while they are still trying to penetrate the barrier of the mountains."
The talk changed to the ocean currents, the types of boats in use, the strength of the royal fleet. Emrillian had little experience with ships of any kind, despite growing up on the coast, but Mrillis had trained her to understand the necessity of protection on the water and coastlines. There was so much to plan for, so much she had to acquaint herself with, before she could feel even middling competent in her duty. She wondered that Mrillis had ever pronounced her ready to rule.
As she listened to discussions of sea strength, sailors at the ready, schedules of sailing tours and inspections, she caught herself rubbing the Warhawk ring on her finger. It comforted her, reminding her of that short moment of reunion with her mother, the sight of her father with healthy color on his face.
From the naval strength of Quenlaque, talk changed to the Death Zone. Baedrix and his people understood the magical barrier from living inside it. No ship of Quenlaque could pass out through the barrier. Those who deliberately attempted to pass through were burned, as Carious had said. Those who were pushed against the barrier by storms, or lost control of their boats in the unnatural currents, passed through a wall of fog instead of lightning and fire. Passing through that fog, they found their ships headed back toward Lygroes, though navigators and pilots swore they never turned by a degree. The only way to enter and exit Lygroes was through the tunnel under the sea, until the enchantment lifted. Those who surveyed the Death Zone with technology saw only poisoned land and sampled poisoned air, corrosive gases, and wastes of sand.
"One thing about modern people should help your battle," Grego said, grinning. "They trust machines more than common sense. If you can bollux their sensors and computers, you'll never lose a battle."
"Computers? Sensors?" Eleanora laughed. "There is a whole new language we must learn."
"Indeed. Will Lord Grego teach us this language as well as all the history we have missed?" Baedrix asked.
"That would help." Emrillian sat back in her chair, wincing as she felt the ache in her back. "Grego, I think you should start your lessons immediately. Don't wait for our friends to show up. Lord Baedrix and I ride out before dawn to fetch Braenlicach. We will return here, hopefully by afternoon the next day."
"How can you cross Lygroes and return so quickly, Highness?" Carious shook his head. "It is many days of hard riding. And how can we be sure that the Stronghold will allow you to enter it, or that the Queen of Snows will relinquish the sword without a fight?"
"He doesn't know about the tunnel," Baedrix said, before Emrillian could respond. "There is a tunnel to the Stronghold, like the tunnel beneath the sea, that turns a journey of nearly a moon into half a day."
"Half a day of walking," she added, and fought not to laugh when everyone in the tent displayed various expressions of shock, wonder, and disbelief.
"Then why hasn't our enemy found it and used it to attack? And why does no one... Ah, yes, of course, to protect it." Carious nodded and bowed a little in his chair. "Forgive me, Highness."
"The tunnel is bound to the same protective enchantments that shield the Stronghold. Only women of Rey'kil blood may travel it, or men who were born in the Stronghold." She nodded to Baedrix. "The Regent's family is descended from Lord Lycen, who was Lady Meghianna's son, and it is tradition for them to all be born there, to ensure the door stays open."
"Lady Meghianna left her sleep when my parents went there for Ectrix to be born," Eleanora said, her voice soft, her gaze dim and unfocused. "I went with them. Baedrix stayed home--his first duty as regent-in-training. I remember going there and being terrified and fascinated and thinking how very sad and empty the place was. I remember Lady Meghianna was so delighted to see all of us, and she was very good to me. I pestered her with a flood of questions." She blushed prettily. "I think I would like to go back with you."
"Later. When we awaken the entire Stronghold and send women with imbrose to study there once again," Emrillian said. "For now, I depend on you to learn from Grego, so you can teach all the women whom you think would be the most apt pupils."
"Forgive me, Highness." Martus, the tower guardian sat far around the loose circle of chairs in the pavilion. "I feel uneasy, sending just you and the Regent to the Stronghold, even with the guarding enchantment. Magic is not tame, like a candle, but a raging fire."
"I was born in the Stronghold, Lord Martus. It was my playground. And the Queen of Snows is my aunt. She will welcome me, even if she repels all others." Emrillian inclined her head to him. "I think you for your concern, even so." Grandfather, do they have reason to fear? Could Aunt Meggi have changed, after so many years of sleeping and silence?
Trust in her, child. All will be well, Mrillis responded.
The discussion broke up soon after that, so Emrillian and Baedrix could prepare for their journey, and the others could prepare for Grego's first day of lessons. Emrillian wished she could ride with Mrillis and Graddon. They would be heading down the coast with her and Baedrix for a short while, until they turned west to go to the hidden tunnel entrance. The two enchanters would continue south to the Wayhauk Mountains, to spy on the enemy. Emrillian tweaked the Threads to make herself sleep, because she knew she was more likely to lie awake all night, wondering and worrying and wishing. She needed all her energy.
* * * *
The sun shone bright and warm as it escaped the clutches of the horizon, beating straight into his eyes. Baedrix debated whether to call a halt to eat a late breakfast. He glanced over his shoulder. The flat landscape, dotted with shrubs, had not changed much despite hours of riding. He imagined he could see Quenlaque, a faint smudge on the horizon, though he knew a forest and a few small hills sat between him and the castle perched above the harbor. Ahead, a shallow slope led down to the river. A small copse of trees stood close to the water's edge, offering a promise of shade while they rested and ate. He estimated another half hour at their present pace to get there. They could wait. Every step on their journey was a step closer to reaching the Stronghold. The sooner Braenlicach rested at Emrillian's hip, responding to her touch, the more secure he would feel.
And the sooner he could lay down his duties as Regent.
Strange, how that glorious hope didn't fill him with eagerness as it used to do. It wasn't that he didn't trust Emrillian to understand her duties. She was more than competent. Mrillis had trained her, after all, and he had stood beside the Warhawk throne for multiple generations, through crises that threatened to destroy their world.
Baedrix suspected that it was Emrillian herself who made him reluctant to step down from his post, and the fascinating world of the future that she represented and would bring to Lygroes. This was an adventure more thrilling and uncertain than anything he could have envisioned when he promised his little brother they would go questing together someday.
Carious emerged from the trees and shadows up ahead, and another member of their party rode ahead to take point. He and four other Valors had been waiting when Baedrix arose before dawn, and announced that they would be remiss in their duties to allow him and Emrillian to ride to the tunnel alone after Mrillis and Graddon left them to head for the mountains.
It had been a quiet ride for the first two hours, while Mrillis talked of some of the changes in Moerta, teaching the Valors and Graddon. Emrillian had taken over the lessons when the two enchanters parted company with them. For the last hour, she had turned the situation around, asking questions of all of them, as thirsty for details of life in Quenlaque as they were for information on the future world.
Right now, Emrillian rode with two Valors on either side of her, discussing the differences between the tournaments the Archaics held, and the training of the Valors now, and how it differed from the practices before the dome had been raised. Baedrix enjoyed listening to Emrillian's thoughtful, sometimes wry, sometimes amusing observations. She impressed him with the thoroughness of her training and her clear insight, and he discovered somewhere in this morning's journey that he pitied her, caught between two worlds and times and ways of life.
"What do you think of her?" Baedrix asked his friend now, pitching his voice low so their conversation was as private as possible, considering their circumstances.
"I think it will be a long while before people can put aside her bloodlines, her magic, and her beauty, and realize what a wise, sensible queen she is," Carious said after a moment of thought. "And I think I look forward to the battle royal, when we reach Quenlaque, and the power-hungry schemers scramble to find ways to control her. Once they get over the shock of realizing that the heir is a maiden and not a lad." He snorted, grinning wide. "I don't doubt a dozen fathers are preparing their daughters to win the seat on the throne beside Athrar's heir."
"The dangerous ones are those who have searched the archives and know her name. They, or their sons, are preparing right now to win her heart." He glanced over his shoulder at Emrillian, and wondered if she had a sweetheart back home in Moerta, among her Archaics friends. It would be wise, politically, for the queen to have a consort from the modern world.
"And those who don't have anyone to marry the heir, to gain control that way..." Carious sighed and shook his head, his expression going grim. "The truly dangerous ones will be masked as friends. The trustworthy ones will be the bullies and arrogant boors. They at least show their true faces and speak their minds openly and honestly."
"I think, though, that the Estall blessed us, giving Athrar a daughter rather than a son. Her enemies in Court won't know how to deal with her, because she can think in both worlds and times, and they will assume that she will want a husband to rule for her."
"I think whichever husband wins her heart...will be won first, and gladly let her rule him." Carious grinned, just for a moment. Then he looked ahead to the copse of trees. "How soon until we reach the tunnel?"
"Not long. But I want to give any watchers the impression that we have a long journey." Baedrix glanced over his shoulder again at Emrillian. She looked ahead now, visibly studying the landscape, while the Valors on either side of her carried on some sort of friendly argument, judging by their rising voices, shaking heads and grins.
He was pleased that the four looked relaxed enough in her company. They were good men, loyal, and didn't believe that all women were born naturally limited in their wits. Then again, they came from families who had female soldiers and Valors in their bloodlines. They kept the memories alive, of a day when women were just as fierce in battle and just as skilled in magic as men.
"I remember reading in the histories, how the Noveni lords lived in terror that the Rey'kil wanted to take over Moerta, and they fought to keep the Warhawk from marrying into magic bloodlines. I think the Estall blessed us when Athrar wed the granddaughter of Mrillis. What other queen could lead us in this time of danger?"
Baedrix again glanced over his shoulder at Emrillian. It wasn't necessary to keep checking on her, he knew. She was independent and alert, able to take care of herself, and not so proud that she would take foolish risks in unfamiliar territory. It amused him to speculate how soon it would be, until all of Lygroes was familiar to the Warhawk's heir.
He admitted that he liked looking at her. What was so wrong with that? Emrillian was beautiful without the flashing brilliance most women considered necessary. She had strength and poise without needing to constantly command attention. Her mind was sharp and quick. Their conversations, over the most mundane details of their journey or strategy, had been interesting. She could make jokes to liven dull topics and find a glimmer of positive in old troubles. He admired her.
He compared her with Naylia, Baedrix suddenly realized. Emrillian, he decided, would never let herself die from a simple fever, fear, and premature childbirth. The queen was alive and alert, strong in mind and body, despite the idealism that made her look young and vulnerable. Baedrix longed to protect her, and knew she needed no protection. She could endure every disappointment and find hope in failure.
He smiled, wondering if he idealized her so soon. He hardly knew her--but then, that was the only way someone could be idealized. When he grew to know her better, her flaws and virtues, his tendency to worship would fade. He doubted his admiration would ever die out.
However, he already knew one flaw. Emrillian had strength, but despite her training, she had the innocence of inexperience. An innocence that could lead to pain, if she was not careful. Baedrix worried for her.
More than an hour later, the trail led down a narrow valley lined with pebbles, between occasionally steep sides. Baedrix suspected this place had once been a riverbed. He looked at the black-green, drooping trees on the hilltops and urged his horse into a faster pace. He would prefer to avoid this path, but the tunnel entrance was on the other side of this valley.
"Spooky kind of a place," Emrillian muttered from her place on his right.
Baedrix didn't understand the word, but he guessed the meaning. The silence made the click-clack and rustling tumble of pebbles under their horses' hooves sound loud as avalanches.
A raucous howl shattered the uneasy quiet. The drooping, dark trees seemed to split open as yelling men, waving spears and swords and shields, hurtled on foot down the steep sides at the riders. Baedrix had one clear look at them. Untrimmed beards shining with grease, eyes wide with battle frenzy, the Encindi barbarians were as imposing and undisciplined a force as legend said. There were nearly thirty, to their seven riders. He dug his spurs in, knowing flight was the only way to survive. His horse kicked up pebbles and let out a harsh scream. Thunder bellowed across the sky.
"Look out!" Emrillian shouted.
Staring, Baedrix wrenched on the reins, bringing his stallion to a stumbling halt. A massive tree slid down from the left to partially block the path. Another rumble of thunder. Now, he saw the flash of green light that accompanied it. A second tree fell from the right.
"Magic," Carious gasped, coming up behind Baedrix. The two men traded glances for half a heartbeat, nodded in complete agreement, and spun their mounts to meet the onslaught coming up behind them.
"Surprise," Emrillian growled between bared teeth. She snapped her arm out in front of her, as if throwing a spear, but her hand was empty.
Blue light flashed to fill the valley. Green like rot tinged the edges and there was a smell of gangrenous flesh and then incineration as the color was visibly burned out of the air.
"That ought to make things a little more even," she said, sounding breathless.
"For the Queen!" Baedrix shouted as he raised his sword against the first barbarian to reach him. Bringing his weapon down on the spear that tried to reach his heart, he breathed a prayer to the Estall.
His stallion reared, lashing out with its forelegs, striking the man down. Baedrix finished the job with a cut to the neck, then turned to the next attacker. His shield caught a blow before he saw the man coming at him. At the fringe of his awareness, his companions fought hard. A horse screamed somewhere. Baedrix prayed it was a packhorse and no companion had been unseated. At the fringe of his vision, he saw Emrillian stand in her saddle, slashing with her sword, sparks of blue and purple fountaining up from each strike of her blade against an enemy sword or battleaxe or shield.
More thunder roared, close in the air. Baedrix winced against the ache and momentary deafness from the volume and pressed the attack. Lightning flashed, green and yellow. He smelled the stench of burned flesh. A hoarse screaming began, and it took a moment to realize it came from the barbarians.
"They're running away!" someone shouted as Baedrix finished his man.
Like a dream, the barbarian slowly slid to the ground. Baedrix took a deep breath, watching him, then turned. His face felt grimy and his eyes burned. The air still crackled with the power that had screamed through it moments before. Blinking, he adjusted his vision. The barbarians scrambled up the sides of the narrow valley into the cover of the trees, dragging their wounded with them.
"This isn't right." Carious turned to Baedrix, eyes wide, face pale. "They had us outnumbered four to one, they were on the point of overpowering us. Even with the Queen's magic. Barbarians don't retreat like that, and they don't carry away their wounded."
"Unless somebody leads them," Emrillian pointed out. She slid off her horse, keeping a tight hold on the reins. Baedrix saw she had taken a wound on her wrist, where mail shirt parted from gauntlet.
"What are you doing?" he demanded, and winced at the fear-tinged fury in his voice.
"Grandfather taught me this, but I've never had a chance to use it until now." She bit at two glove fingers, still holding tight to her horse's reins with her other hand, and yanked her gauntlet off, then pressed her bare hand flat against the ground. Blue and gold light sparkled at her fingertips and raced across the moss and dirt before soaking into the ground. It followed the path their fleeing enemy had taken.
Baedrix shook his head. Despite having magic in his blood, and being raised in all the teachings of his ancestors, he had seen more magic performed today than he had seen in several years combined. He wondered if that uneasy niggling in his gut was jealousy, that Emrillian had such strong imbrose she could call up magic at will, using it prodigally instead of being careful to save her strength for dire circumstances.
Wasn't this attack on their traveling party dire, though?
"Are we all whole?" he asked, turning around to survey their group. Better to keep busy while Emrillian tried whatever that defensive trick might be. He told himself to be grateful she was there, but gratitude was difficult in the face of a sense of failure. He was Regent--he had been born to protect the throne--and that meant the one who sat on the throne.
Two packhorses had lost their burdens, the straps cut. Pellen had lost his helmet. The younger Valor looked winded but excited. Harron nursed a hand that looked only bruised. Carious squatted in front of his mount, examining its leg.
"Can we keep moving until we're out of this cursed place?" Baedrix asked. As a group, they nodded. "Highness? Are you ready to leave?"
"I'm not sure what I'm feeling, but...it's imbrose magic, but fouled. It stinks, but a smell I can't describe." She swung up into her saddle and turned to look at them as she tugged her gauntlet back on. "What's that look for?"
"Highness?" Carious broke the look he and Baedrix had been sharing.
"You know something."
"Remember, Highness, that we have been living poor in magic. What comes easily to you is more legend and theory than reality for us," Baedrix said.
"Grandfather says my father hated all the formality of Court, and now I know why. I suppose you won't unbend enough to call me by name, will you?"
Carious laughed, muffling the sound behind his glove, while Baedrix choked, unsure if that was laughter or horror or some unnamable emotion filling his chest.
"Lord Grego said you won many tournaments among your Archaics. Did you earn some rank that we can use, that you would be more comfortable with?" Baedrix offered when he could breathe again.
"Actually..." Emrillian blushed, biting her lip to fight a grin, and that intrigued him. "I worked my way up to the rank of Valor, and I'm only one hundred points away from Warhawk's Champion. Only thirty-two people in the entire history of the Archaics have achieved that rank." She shrugged. "That doesn't help much, does it?"
"Lady Warhawk," Pellen offered. "I've read the histories. Queen Ynfara was called the Lady Warhawk before she won Athrar's heart."
"It would be safer to address her as Lady," Carious offered. "In case we're overheard. It's a given the Encindi will be spying on us now that they know we're here."
Emrillian growled something unintelligible. "They shouldn't be this far into our territory, should they?" she demanded, when all six men gave her questioning frowns.
"No, of course--" Baedrix groaned. He suspected the unrecognizable word was a modern world curse. "Did they break through the sentinel lines in a new place? Destroy a guard tower and kill the sentinels? There's no way of knowing."
"Lord Mrillis and Lord Graddon are riding straight into danger," Harron offered.
"No, the Encindi are riding into disaster," Emrillian said. She raised her hand for silence and closed her eyes. Baedrix caught glimmers of filaments of light tangling around her fingers. Everyone in their group held still and waited for her to open her eyes. She slumped a little when she did so. "Talking through the Threads isn't easy inside the dome, but they've been warned." She offered them a tight smile with an edge to it. "They won't know what hit them. Grandfather says they'll backtrack our attackers and repair whatever damage they did."
"If the Encindi dare come this far into our territory," Baedrix said, thinking aloud, "they're either preparing to attack now -"
"Or Edrout knows Grandfather has come back, and our arrival has triggered a war," Emrillian said. "Let's move out. The sooner we have Braenlicach, the sooner we can end this once and for all."
Baedrix wished he had her assurance. Could he blame it on inexperience, or simple confidence and strength?
Their party stayed silent after they rode around the massive trees that had fallen to block their path. He thought long on what had happened to them. Until they were out of sight of the oppressive-looking trees, beyond the atmosphere of the valley, he would not let his companions talk or slow their pace. The conclusions he reached after considering the attack did not please him.
"Someone leads the barbarians," he said, when they reached the clearing where the tunnel mouth lay, hidden by magic.
Beyond the trees, the smell of salt from the sea was stronger, the faint grumbling song of the surf a strange counterpoint to the whisper of the wind in the branches. At one time in Lygroes' history, the tunnel mouth had been closer to the water, and the path to the shore had been a gradual slope. In that bay, ravaged by quakes centuries ago, the island of Wynystrys had once sat. Where the magical island inhabited by Rey'kil scholars was now, no one knew. It had slipped through time and shields of magic even before the dome had been raised over the remnants of Lygroes.
"Someone with magic," he continued, fighting down the longing that had grown since the death of his father, that he could call on the scholars of Wynystrys for assistance and advice. Why had they chosen to make the island movable, of all things? "Either Edrout or one of his minions. Lady, that foulness you felt was most likely blood magic, mixed with imbrose."
"I should have thought of that." She nodded, and looked around the clearing slowly. More filaments spun around her hands and her head, and Baedrix realized it was a physical manifestation of the Threads being used. She was likely looking for the opening to the tunnel to the Stronghold.
"There's something else to consider," Carious said, as he urged his mount up next to Emrillian, putting her between him and Baedrix once again. "They retreated when they didn't need to. It looked like they didn't want to retreat, now that I think about it. Some of that thunder and lightning wasn't directed at us, but at them, perhaps? Their leader might even have been angered that they continued to battle when he said to pull back."
"I believe you are right." Baedrix nodded. "Their leader tested us. Perhaps even now follows us. He is likely more interested in knowing what we seek, so far from Quenlaque, and so clearly not a supply train or a new crop of sentinels for the towers."
"We can't let them know the tunnel entrance is here," Emrillian said. She glanced at an outcropping of rock with a tangle of bushes and brambles in front of it. "I had hoped to rest a little before we go in, maybe under cover of darkness. The sooner we get in, the better our chances of being unseen. Especially if they have to regroup before coming after us."
"If we can't see the tunnel, Lady, why should we worry that our enemies will?" Harron asked.
"Once you're shown the place, you'll be able to see it." She slid down out of the saddle. "All of you have imbrose, you just don't have the power to make it active all the time. You'll be able to feel the shield part to let us through. If our enemy is watching and knows the entrance is around here somewhere, he could at the very least feel the Threads move aside for us. It you are right, and blood magic is mixed with imbrose... I wouldn't put it past our enemy to sacrifice all his men to try to force the way open. No, our best tactic is to move quickly and for the rest of you to leave and lead them on a wild hunt. Whatever you do, don't let them get close enough that they realize we are no longer with you."
"Lady Warhawk," Baedrix murmured, shaking his head in admiration. He grinned when his words brought an answering flush to her cheeks. He dismounted and gestured at the others. "You heard our queen--move out."
"And lead the barbarians on a mad chase." Carious grinned, executing a bow to Emrillian that nearly toppled him from his saddle. "Lady, I hope you have friends who are just as clever as you, among the modern-day women. I believe I would like to court a woman from Moerta, from your Archaics warriors."
"Be careful what you wish for, Lord Carious. You have no idea how...attractive a man like you can be to women who dream of quests and battles and magic, and think modern men are soft and have no sense of adventure." She laughed at the varying expressions of shock and interest and amusement from all the others. Then her gaze met Baedrix's, and the laughter abruptly stopped.
He wondered, with a strange, hollow feeling in his chest, what she thought of him as a Valor of Quenlaque, and how he appeared in her eyes, specifically.