Sons of the Falcon (The Falcons Saga) (61 page)

“I’m
dreaming…,” Lothiar muttered even though he knew it wasn’t so.

“Lothiar,
son of Danyth and Leavhan, I am Rashén Varél.”

The
name meant nothing to him. But the sound of this creature’s voice skimmed along
his skin like a winter breeze. Avë, the sound was made of avë, pure and
powerful. He never knew such a coalescence of magical energy could exist in the
sound of a word. Lothiar bowed under the weight of it, sank to his knees beside
the bed. He had no choice.

“You…,”
he breathed. “It was you. I don’t understand. Who are you? Why do you torment
me?”

“I
knew well your Lady Dorelia before she left the Forbidden Lands. I was a friend
to your people, though I could not save them. Now I act as the Mother-Father’s
messenger. She has sent me to question you.”

“Question
me
? What for?” Ana-Forah should send praise, not questions.

The
creature glided forward. “Why do you do this? Why do you insist on this course
of flight? Do you not know that it upsets the balance that pleases the
Mother-Father?”

This
made no sense. It was Amanthia who was unhappy with him. She wept blood tears
and pleaded with him. How could the Goddess be displeased? Her people suffered.
Lothiar fought to right that wrong.

Rashén
gave him no time to puzzle it out. “She demands an answer.”

“I
do this for her!” he blurted, anger blooming in his face. Why should he have to
justify his motives to this spirit, this nightmare?

“Do
you mean Ana-Forah? Or Amanthia?” Soft blue light quivered inside those opal
eyes like tears. “No, Azhdyr, you do these things in their name, but it is not
for them. You do this for yourself.”

“If
you know, then why ask? And I don’t care who you are, do not speak her name to
me again.” Lothiar struggled to his feet, held onto the bedpost because he was
tired of kneeling before this creature. “Humanity must be shown its place!”

Rashén’s
head tilted at an odd angle, one that seemed impossible. But, then, nightmares
were made of nonsense, not bones. “What do you know of humanity’s place,
child?”

 “I
am no child. I have walked this continent for more than a millennium, and I
have watched as humanity stole everything that belonged to us. Our homes, our
freedom, our courage.”

A
note that might have been a sigh of sorrow rose from Rashén’s throat. “How
little you know, Azhdyr. I see now what the Mother-Father hoped I might learn
on my own. The Great Forgetting reaches its apex in you, Lothiar. Your actions
are its pivot.”

The
voice tried to push him down, but he refused to kneel. “What are you riddling
about?”

“Heed
me, child. Dwinovia is just as Lady Dorelia named it, the Land of the Dark
Ones. This land is not your home. You are but a visitor here.
You
are
the stranger. You are the exiled. It is you who stole from them.”

Lothiar
shook his head vehemently. “You lie! We were given this land when we came over
the sea. We had nothing. And now we have little because they took it.”

The
opal eyes flashed with green and yellow fire, and the creature seemed to swell,
filling the room with rage like a hurricane. Before Lothiar was aware, he was
pressed to the floor. His hands pushed against the rug, even while the voice
forced him down. “You would correct
me
?” boomed a great thunder. “You
speak of things you know nothing about. I was there! You call me a liar, when I
speak with the Mother’s authority? Has there ever been such arrogance in the
heart of one of her Firstborn?”

The
weight of the voice would snap his spine, crush his skull. Where were the ogres
he had stationed outside his door? Why didn’t they come?

“You,
little one, may pride yourself on your one thousand and fifty-two years, but
Rashén Varél has indwelled this universe since its inception. I sat at
Ana-Forah’s feet when you weren’t so much as a glimmer in her thought. And the
Mouth of the Mother speaks no lies!”

The
echo of the thunder subsided. When the voice let him rise, Lothiar found the
creature leaning close. A grin curled the youthful mouth. “But let us not argue
over matters of perspective. Rather, let us discuss your options.”

Lothiar
scrambled backward. This creature must think itself clever, tossing Lothiar’s
own words in his face.

“Ana-Forah
is displeased, yes. But she is merciful. She offers you this choice:  turn from
your present course, dismiss your armies, release the avedrin, and return to
Linndun—”

“Slink
back, you mean? Aerdria will have my head.”

“—or
continue into the storm wind and receive the emptiness, isolation, and torment
of the Abyss.”

“For
doing what’s
right
?” How was this just or merciful? “The Mother wants
her devoted children to cower, to hide, to die out?”

“No,”
Rashén insisted. “But this is not the way. She has laid out her own plan for
your return. Would you interrupt that? Listen to me.
I
urge you,
Lothiar, to turn. I have seen it, the Emptiness lying at the end of your path.
In that way lies only pain. Disband these abominations of avë you call an army.
Wait for the Gatekeepers who are coming to lead you home. It will happen soon. Help
us regain the balance. Please.”

The
plea mesmerized him. Lothiar sat back on his knees, staring into the silver face
inside the hood, considering. What did ‘soon’ mean to a goddess? Another
thousand years? Did she mean to wait until all but a handful of her Elarion
remained? And no doubt she expected them to hide in their prison of trees until
it suited her. Lothiar could not return to Linndun unless he bowed to the death
sentence Aerdria had handed him for summoning the rágazeth. He doubted she was
ready to hand him a pardon. Yes, he might dismiss the ogres he had labored to
raise, but what then? Was he to cower in a cold, dank cave until the Goddess
saw fit to work her miracle?

No,
we have waited long enough
,
he thought
. It’s the Mother’s fault if she chooses to work too slowly to
save us. We must save ourselves
.

Rashén’s
narrow shoulders slumped, and pity creased his brow. The sight of it set
Lothiar’s teeth to grinding. Was he to keep nothing from this creature, even
his own thoughts? He lunged for the table where he had dropped his sword belt.
“Take your pity and get out! I want nothing to do with you or the Mother’s
offer.” He spun and the naked blade sang a sweet note, but Rashén Varél only
twitched his shoulders and a great wind buffeted Lothiar off his feet. The
sword was ripped from his fingers, though he knew not how.

The
opal light diminished in the youth’s eyes, revealing black narrow pupils and
strange silver irises. A serpent’s eyes.

“Avarith,”
Lothiar whispered. The tales were true? All those chants he had sung as a child,
the stories he had read in those dusty books. They claimed dragons taught the
First Children how to speak, how to sing. Dragons taught them of the
Mother-Father’s love for them, her care and guidance of them. Lothiar lowered
his eyes of his own free will, but deference came too late, and he knew it.

“You
have made your choice, Azhdyr,” said the dragon, “and grieved will be Ana-Forah
to hear it. Thus sentence is passed through the Mouth, and you, Lothiar the
Exiled are the Damned. There remains no reprieve for you.”

Odd,
but it felt as if a warm cloak lifted from his shoulders and behind him opened
a great chasm from which burst an icy wind and a dry, hissing laughter that he
had heard too often before. He whirled to look, but there was only the bureau,
the bed, the window, all lit by the dragon’s silver glow. “Take your reprieve
and your sentence to the Abyss with you!” he shouted.

The
silver light became as blinding as the sun. A vast snout and horned head lashed
out with jaws gaping. Lothiar threw his arms over his face, prepared for the
snap and tear of the fangs. But the blow never fell. When he dared look again,
the light and the youth were gone. He stood alone in the dark. Forath’s red
light bled through the window.

~~~~

I
did not see this
coming.
The wine wagon jolted along the rutted track, jarring Kelyn’s teeth,
rattling his nerves. After a week-long journey, his bones were bruised, his
muscles stiff and aching. What was that compared to the anguish of shame?
How did I not see this coming? The boy commander grows old and slow.

Lord Rhogan had taken a turn at the
reins. Beside him on the bench, Kelyn tried to put the pieces of the puzzle together.
He thought back on everything Thorn had told him in the library on that night
he had returned to Ilswythe. Creatures from legend waging war on humankind, and
here it was, not a fear but a reality, yet it made no sense. How did Valryk fit
in? If elves meant to avenge themselves by waging a second war, why work with a
human? What had they promised the Black Falcon in exchange for the lives of his
people? And that was the critical piece that, for him, distorted the whole
picture. While there was no love lost between him and Valryk, Kelyn had trusted
him to do what was best for Aralorr. Time and again, he had demonstrated
profound care for his subjects. He was arrogant and envious, but not vicious.
I
never thought him a monster. I read him wrong. That’s where I failed.
But
looking back he could not see how he might have read Valryk differently.

It doesn’t matter
, Kelyn scolded
himself. What mattered was what he meant to do in response. He could summon
every man from every village across the Northwest, but if his soldiers couldn’t
see their enemy, they would die with their swords sheathed. What happened at
Longmead proved that clearly enough. How to plan a war against an enemy he
didn’t understand? Against a host he couldn’t see?

Over his shoulder he heard his
daughter chatting with young Aisley and Lord Rorin. Feathered hats and fur
cloaks seemed to be the topic of the hour. Listening to that desperate need for
petty cares, Kelyn’s heart ached at the realization that his armies wouldn’t be
gathering for victory, but merely to make a stand of defiance before the hammer
fell. What else could they do? Did ogres understand surrender? Would elves
permit it? Was living under an enemy’s conditions better than dying on his own
terms? Maybe he ought to ask the White Falcon that question.

The fairy sleep lay heavily upon Arryk.
Every time the horses stopped to rest, Carah tended to his wound. The rest of
the highborns sulked and bickered and sobbed in turns. Even the wagon
complained; after the mad dash toward Longmead, one of the rear wheels started
squealing. During the first couple of days on the northbound road the sound had
driven every one of them half out of their minds. Tempers had been short. But
after a while the squeak and grind became a part of the landscape, as easily
ignored as another tree, another stone. At least the fires stopped. A few days
had passed since they saw the last plume of smoke rising between the hills, and
neither Thorn nor Rhian reported signs of ogres or elves or soldiers.

One of the avedrin stayed with the wagon
at all times while the other scouted ahead. Their vigilance provided tangible
comfort, and the oppressive fear enveloping the wagon gradually waned. Drenéleth
was close now. They should arrive sometime after dark. Spirits had lifted since
dawn. Laughter rose occasionally from the back of the wagon. Kelyn tried to
feel their happiness but failed to muster it. Too much uncertainty.

When they arrived at the lodge, would
they find themselves safe or among enemies? Though Kelyn had declared his trust
in Eliad, Rhogan’s fears and Lady Drona’s statement had struck a chord. Had
Eliad known what his brother was planning for his dinner guests? Suspicion made
Kelyn sick to his stomach.

As did his certainty that Rhoslyn
was dead. After such an angry parting. Yesterday, as the wagon trundled higher
into the foothills, he saw Thorn gazing west toward Ilswythe with a dark, murderous
scowl on his face. Kelyn hadn’t felt brave enough to ask what he knew. He let
himself believe the worst while he told his daughter to hope for the best.

How could I have accused her…?
He groaned aloud.

“You all right?” Rhogan asked.

Kelyn nodded. How to tell a
stranger that he hadn’t trusted the wife who never wronged him? Was that not
proof of love more than words? Fool. Damn fool. Kelyn bailed off the bench.
When thoughts weighed him down, he needed to move. He was like his father that
way.

“Should we stop?” Thorn called. He
was their escort for the day. Only when the wagon topped a hill did Kelyn catch
a glimpse of Rhian scouting in the van. An enviable position, he thought.

He waved the wagon on and for a
while walked beside the drays until his anger drove him ahead. Yes, it felt
good to attack the road with his heels and breathe the sharp evergreen-scented
air.

The lowland lanes surrounded by
fields and farms had turned into stony tracks cutting through thick pinewood
forests. Steep hills and deep gullies crossed by narrow bridges slowed the
wagon’s progress, but over the bristling treetops, the snow-patched summit of
Mount Drenéleth beckoned them onward.

Dusk settled early beneath the
blue-gray canopy. The orange glow from the setting sun slipped slowly up the
spire of the mountain like a lady lifting a scarlet veil. The face beneath was
flat and gray and freckled with stars. Kelyn stopped racing the drays; he had
won a hundred times over, and the last thing he needed was a fall in the dark.
Climbing back into the wagon, he heard the others arguing. “Surely we’re almost
there,” said Rorin.

“Are we on the right road?” asked
Drona. Her nephew huffed, shook his head. Daxon had brooded since his aunt wielded
his dead father against him and compelled him to stay. They provided no end of
arguments. Now this petty pile of shit.

As if Kelyn didn’t know his own
lands. He cast his brother a scowl. Thorn laughed, understanding him full well.
“Does Eliad keep a full cellar?”

“Not as full as I’ll need it,”
Kelyn said. In truth, he hadn’t been drunk in over twenty years. He suspected
he might make an exception.

Thorn’s chuckle stopped abruptly.
His fist darted into the air. Rhogan leaned back against the traces and the
wagon grinded to a halt. Fear quieted the chatter. Kelyn’s ears pricked at the
sound of horse hooves. Rhian rode out of the twilight and everyone relaxed.

“People ahead,” he announced. “Half
a dozen hiding in the trees, both sides of the road.”

“Highwaymen frequent these woods,”
Kelyn said. “It’s one of Eliad’s jobs to keep them cleared out.”

“Did they see you?” Thorn asked his
apprentice.

Rhian replied with a harrumph meant
to scold his mentor for insulting him.

“Look,” Kelyn said, “if the two of
you can beat back a dozen ogres, I’m not worried about a few highwaymen. We’ll
proceed with caution. Lieutenant, you have the sword?”

Rance nodded and, crouching behind
the bench, leaned on the blade.

Rorin chuckled, though there was a
maniacal quality to it. “Imagine their faces when the thunder starts.”

The wagon rolled ahead, an avedra
riding to each side. As soon as they topped the hill that overlooked the last
dark valley, they saw Drenéleth Lodge sitting high on a shoulder of the
mountain. A light blazed in every window; the lawn was strewn with torches.
Kelyn had never seen the place so lit up, not even when Eliad hosted large
hunting parties. “He knows,” he said.

“How?” Rhogan asked.

“I told him,” said Thorn.
“Yesterday I sent Saffron ahead to warn Eliad to expect us.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” demanded
Kelyn.

Thorn decided other details were
more important. “I waited to notify him because if he’s in league with Valryk,
any message he sent to Bramoran won’t have arrived yet. We’ll have time to
investigate the situation and flee if we have to. Proud of me, War Commander?”

Kelyn wished it weren’t so dark, so
Thorn could see him roll his eyes.

Where the valley bottomed out, two
silhouettes emerged from the trees and took up position amid the road.
Six-foot-long pikes crossed.

Kelyn motioned for Rhogan to stop
the wagon. When the clopping of hooves and the squealing of the wheel grew
quiet, he called into the dark, “Eliad? Damn it, is that you?”

The pikes did not waver, but from
the trees to the left a voice answered, “M’ lord?” A third silhouette entered
the road and jogged toward the wagon.

A ball of blue light ignited over
Thorn’s hand and sped toward the silhouette. Eliad threw a hand over his face
and skidded to a halt. His sword was still sheathed, the fear on his face plain
and reassuring.

“And those?” A jut of Thorn’s chin
indicated the men with the pikes.

“My highlanders. We didn’t know who
to expect first, soldiers or you.”

“If we had been soldiers?” Thorn glared
down from the back of that black animal, eyes hard and unfriendly in the severe
blue light, but Eliad grinned.

“We’d have loosed our arrows and
asked them to tea after.”

Thorn let the light dim to a
comfortable lamp-like glow. Kelyn climbed down from the wagon. Eliad took his
hand even though he was busy peering at curious faces. “Goddess’ mercy, is this
all? Tell me more are coming.”

“No, my friend.” Kelyn’s heart
eased. He should no more have doubted Eliad than Rhoslyn.

“Where’s Carah?”

She hopped over the side of the
wagon and hugged him.

“Kethlyn isn’t with you? Is he…?”

She smiled and shook her head. “He
wasn’t there either. Why didn’t you come?”

He made no pretense to hide his
disgust. “Go to
that
party? Were any of my other siblings invited, hmm?
I sent letters asking them, all eleven of them. Only half bothered replying, we
get along so well, and none of
them
received the king’s invitation. If
they didn’t have to go, why should I? Now it seems … well, glad I didn’t
bother. But come to the house. We have beds, baths, and food enough for all.”

The wagon resumed its last gasping
stretch of the journey. Eliad left orders with his men to warn him immediately if
anyone else approached the house. Kelyn soon saw that the torches strewn across
the lawn weren’t only meant to act as a guide to fleeing highborns; they also
provided light for teams of men working well into the night. Some dug ditches,
others hauled massive logs on sledges, while more still sharpened them into fat
stakes and raised them in a palisade. Two spindly watchtowers flanked what
would soon be a gate.

“And not an order issued,” Kelyn
muttered, proud of his former squire. He and Eliad stepped aside to let the
drays pull the wagon inside the barricade. “But you didn’t start constructing this
yesterday when Thorn told you we were coming. How did you—”

“No, as soon as Her Grace arrived—”

“Her Grace? Rhoslyn, here—?”

Carah overheard, stopped fussing in
the wagon, and ran to him. “Mum’s alive?”

“She rode in five days ago with
Etivva and her handmaid.”

Kelyn found his brother dismounting
in the yard nearby. “Did you know?” he demanded. Was his brother so cruel? “You
could have spared me, spared
us
, so much fear and grief.”

Thorn raised an eyebrow. “I wanted
to make sure Eliad could be trusted before I told you.”

“
Me?
What? Why?”

“You might’ve been holding the
duchess for ransom. Knowing that wouldn’t have done my brother any good.”
Everything
for our benefit
, Rhoslyn had said. She knew Thorn better than his own twin
did. Misjudgment seemed to be the fare Kelyn had eaten most lately.

“
Ransom
?” Eliad exclaimed. “Now
listen here—”

Thorn clapped him on the shoulder.
“Don’t worry. You were in my sights but no longer.”

“We can’t trust anyone, Eliad,”
Kelyn added. “Not after what happened.”

“It was … as bad as I imagine?”

“Worse. We’ll talk of it later. Take
me to Rhoslyn.”

She must have heard the commotion
in the yard. The front door opened, light spilled onto the veranda, and she was
running toward him. “Kelyn! Carah!” She flung her arms around them both, her
face already wet with tears.

People poured from the house to
surround the wagon and unload the weary and the wounded, but Kelyn didn’t care
about any of that. How good Rhoslyn felt in his arms, like holding a second
chance. “All those things I said, forget them, I didn’t mean any of it.”

Her laughter tumbled across his
ear. “You idiot, I already had.”

She was right. How small those
suspicions seemed now. Part of a petty life now past. “H-how is it you’re here?”
he stammered, words rolling over themselves. “Why? I mean, I know why, but
how
?”

“It was Jaedren’s doing. Oh, Kelyn…”
One moment she was laughing, the next sobbing. “He warned us. He saw them
coming. He helped the garrison hold them off long enough for us to get some of
the household out. We made it to Bransdon using the old tunnels. But on our way
here, those monsters caught up to us and they took him. Jaedren just disappeared.
I tried to ride back for him, but Etivva didn’t let me. I could hear him
screaming.” She sagged against him, sniffling and shaking.

Thorn had known of this, too. Kelyn
read the sorrow, the helplessness on his face.

Carah turned to her uncle. “But you
can get Jaedren back. It’s not so long ago. You can find him.”

He wrapped an arm around her, led
her on toward the lodge. “You have other concerns. Tend to your patient.”

That was ‘no.’ Carah realized it because
she stopped insisting. Kelyn watched them climb the steps onto the veranda and
disappear in the warm pool of lamplight. Horror sank cold fingers inside him.
“How do I tell Laral?”

~~~~

C
arah soaked in a tub of
steaming hot water. The knots and bruises inflicted by the jolting wagon eased
slowly away. Nothing compared to being clean and warm again. The copper tub was
long enough to let her stretch out, and deep enough that even her shoulders
stayed warm under the water. Bubbles smelling of exotic fruit fizzled under her
chin. She had but to raise an arm over the side to find her wine glass, and a
fire of scented wood crackled in the hearth. She always liked coming to
Drenéleth, but after surviving the last week she learned to appreciate luxury.
The life she took for granted might be snatched away in an instant.