Lady Warhawk (30 page)

Foul smoke filled the air, stinking of rot and diseased blood, and a tang like burned
herbs, so the air tasted and felt thick. Bodies lay everywhere, but most of them were enemies,
rather than those in the livery of the fortress. Their party of six fought the residual nausea and
urged their horses to stagger, running, toward the fortress.

Let me,
Meghianna said, and a chill, sparkling gust of air blew ahead of them. It
cleared their minds and purged the haze from the air, carving a tunnel through the burned specks
that hung in the air like dust stirred through honey.

My thanks,
Mrillis said, and breathed deeply of the energy that filled the
physical and mental atmosphere.

Grandfather? They've broken through the first doors and they've almost broken
down the second,
Pirkin called.

We're here, in the courtyard.

Thank the Estall.
Pirkin's mental voice abruptly faded to a tenth of its volume
and emotion.
I'm nearly done for. You'll take care of them, won't you?

I'll take care of all of you,
Mrillis vowed, as the party rode through the burned,
shattered main gates of the fortress. He saw through Pirkin's eyes and sensed where his grandson
had fallen, too bloody and exhausted to be any threat to the enemy soldiers who battered at the
next physical barriers separating them from their target.

Pirkin had managed to wedge himself into an alcove at the intersection of three
hallways. He had a good view of the first set of doors, shattered into hundreds of pieces that still
smoldered and glowed with an odd, poisonous green light.

Thirty steps away, the second set of doors marked the entrance to the Warhawk's suite of
rooms. Athrar had insisted his mother stay in the quarters she had shared with Efrin. Mrillis was
glad of that now, because deep within that warren of rooms and heavy doors with sturdy locks
were hidden passageways to tunnels that would take refugees to safety.

As he showed Athrar and the others the scene that came through Pirkin's eyes, the
enemy soldiers shattered the second door. Through the flying detritus of the flaming wood,
Mrillis saw the reception room, and six closed doors. He didn't doubt all those doors were barred
and sealed. He sensed magic at work.

"Smart girl," Athrar muttered, when Mrillis showed him Ynfara's
imbrose
holding those doors closed.

The six rescuers were inside the fortress now, racing up the nearest stairway that would
take them to the wing holding the family quarters.

I have him,
Meghianna called.
Pirkin is badly injured, and there's some
magic gnawing on him, but I won't let him go. Hurry--they're awakening power to use on the
next barrier. Ynfara won't be able to stand against it.

From his anguished expression that shifted to cold resolve, Athrar had also heard what
Meghianna said. They burst out into the second level, and it was a short run down one hallway,
turn right, and another short run to reach those first shattered doors and the enemy forces who
battered at the last barriers.

Mrillis allowed a small portion of his mind to wonder exactly what the enemy hoped to
accomplish by attacking Queen Glyssani, expending so many soldiers, so much magic, to kill
one aging woman. Was it to harm Athrar's spirit? To enrage the entire kingdom to act illogically?
To trigger a war the Warhawk's forces weren't ready for?

"Stand back," Mrillis barked, and reached for Athrar's arm when they were about to step
through the first shattered doors. He used magic to bring them all to a skidding halt.

Ahead of them, poisonous green light penetrated the black haze of magic and char and
smoke, and all six doorways vanished in a wave of hot air and stench that made three of the men
with them gag and choke and nearly go to their knees.

"My mother--your family," Athrar snarled. He tried to shake off Mrillis' grip.

"It's a trap to bring you here, furious and not thinking clearly," Mrillis said.

A woman screamed. Ynfara's voice, clear and sharp.

Mrillis forgot what he was about to say, launching his body and his mind forward in
desperate haste to get there ahead of the enemy.

Athrar was two steps ahead of him, holding up his arms to half-shield his head from the
flying detritus filling the air. Then they burst out into the next clear area. Two enemy soldiers lay
on the painted tiles of Glyssani's sitting room, their blood spilling out as they twitched and
writhed and gagged in their death throes. A whirling figure flashed and leaped, dodging the four
remaining enemy soldiers. Blades flicked out of the twirling mass of limbs and unbound hair,
slashing at the hands and arms and faces of the men who tried to snatch at her. For two
heartbeats, Mrillis stared, choking on the inexplicable need to laugh.

He knew Ynfara adored her lessons on swordplay and learning trick moves with knives
and other weapons, but he hadn't thought she could make a fiercely beautiful dance out of
battle.

Then Athrar roared and flew at the closest man, sword raised. The enemy soldier never
had a chance, distracted by Ynfara. He lost an arm to Braenlicach's first slash, then his head. The
second man turned, shock starting to register on his face, and stared stupidly as the glowing
blade plunged through his armor. The black haze that surrounded him burst, like a soap
bubble.

Ynfara leaped on the back of the third man, one arm around his neck, choking him while
she stabbed blindly at his face and chest. Athrar slashed the face of the fourth man, then stabbed
his sword through his throat when he turned, blindly slashing his sword through the shower of
his own blood.

The silence that fell on them was deafening. Mrillis staggered back a step, watching as
the man Ynfara rode went to his knees. She leapt off, breathing hard, stumbling against the wall,
her face a fierce, wild mask of fury and terror. She bared her teeth at them and raised her bloody
knife, ready for battle.

"Ynfara." Mrillis swallowed hard, and held out his hands. "Ynfara, it's Grandfather. It's
all right." He tried to smile, and feared his expression would frighten anyone. "You've won."

"Grandfather?" She blinked and wiped at her face with the back of her hand, but that
only smeared the blood and char and fragments that dotted her dirty face and torn clothes. Ynfara
trembled, her knees buckling.

Mrillis leaped forward to wrap his arms around her. Ynfara clung to him. She took a
deep, ragged breath, and he thought she would burst into tears. Then she stiffened and pushed
him away. It felt like tearing the skin off his arms to force himself to let go, but he knew he
would only hurt her by holding onto her.

"Papa? He was out here. He wouldn't hide with us." Ynfara staggered a few steps toward
the shattered doorway before Athrar caught her.

"My mother? Where's Queen Glyssani?" he demanded, grabbing hold of her by her
shoulders.

"I have your father, Ynfara. Don't you fear for him. See to your mother and the queen,"
Mrillis said, holding up a hand when the girl opened her mouth to protest.

For a moment, their gazes met, and he thought he saw acceptance and maybe a little less
of the fear and reserve he usually saw in the girl's eyes. In this moment, at least, they were allies.
She nodded and gestured at one of the doors behind her, very conspicuously buried under a pile
of furniture that had once filled the sitting room.

Athrar saw it, his mouth dropped open, then he burst out laughing.

"They wouldn't stay hidden. They wouldn't let me defend them. I had to keep them in
somehow," Ynfara explained, frustration making her voice rise. She glared at the young king,
filthy fists jammed into her hips. Then one corner of her mouth turned up.

Mrillis left the room to see to Pirkin, and assure Meghianna the battle was over.

* * * *

The Valors who had survived the battle hailed Ynfara as their heroine, and dubbed her
the Lady Warhawk. Mrillis shuddered at the forced gaiety in their voices, and nearly wept at how
the men fought to keep Ynfara from seeing the devastation that filled the fortress. They hailed
her as the one who won the day and held off the Black Valors. The attackers came from every
race, clothed in a black haze, ignoring their wounds until they bled to death in the midst of
battle.

"Such a master is the worst kind of enemy. This disregard for the welfare of his
followers is a sign of the Nameless One," Mrillis said, when he and Athrar, Glyssani, and
Pirkin's family had gathered to eat and talk very late that night.

They evacuated the areas of the fortress where the battle had been fought, because
remnants of the black haze clung to floors and walls, furniture and hangings. Anywhere the
Black Valors had been was left uninhabited. That was easy to do, with more than three-quarters
of the fortresses' inhabitants either dead or deathly ill from the black haze that had overcome
them. Those without any
imbrose
had died. How much
imbrose
the survivors
possessed determined how quickly they revived and how ill they were. A few survivors among
the fortress's servants and guards completely surprised the healers. It was thought those people
had no
imbrose
at all.

"If you're right, and I fear you are, then we have proof that he is indeed awake and
active again, after all these years," Athrar said. He nodded, his throat muscles working as if he
fought not to be ill.

He shifted his grip on Glyssani's hand, which he had held from the moment they sat
down at the table. "Mother, I know you love this place, because you were happy here with my
father, but please, come to Quenlaque now. You're too tempting a target, and I have too many
enemies. I need to know you're safe, short of sending you to the Stronghold."

"You don't have to plead or argue." Glyssani managed a smile, but the strain of the day
showed in deep shadows under her eyes and lines around her mouth. "This place is tainted now.
You will all come, won't you?" she said, turning to look at Pirkin's family.

"Yes, of course, you must. It will take years to adequately thank you for what you did
today." Athrar stood and pressed his free hand to his chest, making his words a solemn vow.
"King Pirkin, you have suffered so much in service to the High King and his family--"

"No, what we suffered was in the battle against the darkness. It runs very strongly in our
family," Pirkin added, nodding to Mrillis, "this sense of responsibility and sacrificing ourselves. I
didn't understand, when I was younger and foolish. My daughter makes me very proud. Yes, we
have been happy here, but it is time to move on. Give me work to do in Quenlaque, and you will
not regret it."

"And you, Princess Ynfara?" Athrar bowed to the girl, raising a blush in her cheeks.
Mrillis was glad to see that bit of color. She had been too pale and too quiet. "What can I give
you, to show the entire World how grateful I am for your service to my family?"

"Will you dance with me, at the next festival? Will you dance with me first at winter
solstice?"

"Is that all?" He laughed, a ragged sound, but it seemed to drive looming shadows back
into the corners of the guest suite they had taken over. "Ask me for something harder."

"All the festivals, from now on, you dance with me first," Ynfara said, blushing even
darker. Mrillis sat across the round table from the girl, and he thought he could feel the heat
radiating from her face.

"Hmm, that might make my wife jealous. I do have to marry someday, according to my
council of kings."

"Who knows?" She tossed her head, mischief sparkling in her eyes. "You might end up
marrying me."

Glyssani and Ynessa inhaled sharply at the teasing remark. Pirkin just grinned and
shook his head. Athrar, Mrillis noticed, smiled slowly and bowed, and there was a look in his
eyes that made him suspect the young king had finally noticed that the little girl had indeed
grown up.

* * * *

Meghianna oversaw the healing of the survivors, while Mrillis and a handful of scholars
who came from Wynystrys purified the fortress, making sure that the last lingering taint of the
black haze was cleansed away. They resorted to burning the bodies of the killers and victims,
enclosing the pyres in tight knots of Threads to keep the malevolent magic from escaping. They
buried the ashes in one thick container, sealed with Threads. There was no telling what hold the
Nameless One had on even the bodies of his slaves, long after death.

The journey back to Quenlaque took three times longer than usual, because every village
and estate along the way wanted to feast them. Mrillis didn't know whether to be amused or
worried that there was just as much adoration for Ynfara and her heroic feat as there was
thanksgiving and rejoicing that Queen Glyssani had not been captured or killed by the
enemy.

Athrar insisted on riding with his mother on his right hand and Ynfara on his left, and
would often reach over and take hold of the girl's gloved hand while the people along the
roadside or in the village squares cheered. When people picked up the Valors' name for the girl,
proclaiming her the Lady Warhawk, Athrar seemed pleased.

"What worries me," Meghianna confided to Mrillis when they finally crossed over the
last hillside and the harbor and city of Quenlaque lay before them, "is that Athrar likes her. He
considers her far more sensible than any other girl the courtiers are throwing at him as a possible
bride, and he might just choose her to spite all the political drakags breathing down his
neck."

"I can think of much worse reasons for marrying a girl," Mrillis said, just to tease her.
She scowled at him for a moment, then they shared a grin and matching sighs, but even that
amusement died away too quickly. "Yes, there are pitfalls to the proposition. And you brought
up a problem I hadn't anticipated." He gestured at Ynfara, who chatted and laughed with Athrar
while Glyssani looked on with a fond smile. "She is the darling of the nation. Anyone can see
she stands in high favor with Athrar and Glyssani. Anyone who has been maneuvering a
daughter or sister into position to share Athrar's throne will launch an all-out battle now. Is
Ynfara ready for this?"