The Rift War (11 page)

"That is the nature of the enchantment," Mrillis said. "The place where Lygroes shall
re-emerge cannot have grass and mountains and any life-forms at all in it. What the technology
records as poison and radiation and sand is the strained, gaping hole in space and time that waits
for Lygroes to come and fill the gap. I would theorize the radiation is the energy being expended
as Lygroes moves forward in time right now, and has been moving forward even as it has been
held back. It exists where it has always existed, but separate, with protective barriers to keep
invaders from crossing through."

"The largest proof of the truth behind the legends
is
the Death Zone, if you
really think about it," Emrillian put in.

"So the continent isn't really changed, just suspended in time. Surrounded by a
force-field," Grego said. "Easy to say. Hard to imagine or explain."

* * * *

The only sound was the soft whisper of the wind, the jingle and creak of saddles, the
thud of hooves in the grass of the plain. The tunnel mouth lay at the end of the day's ride. All
around was the soft green of spring growth. The air smelled sweet, the sunshine pale gold and
warm.

Baedrix sat loose in the saddle, letting his mount move as it wished. He had no duty but
to enjoy the lovely day and count the hours until he was no longer Regent. He knew he wouldn't
actually be free of his duties and responsibilities for moons. No matter how smooth the transition
from his leadership to the reign of Athrar's heir, it would take time to acquaint the new ruler with
her country and assets. By his oath as a Valor, Baedrix could not simply abandon Quenlaque
Castle when the heir set foot over the threshold.

Naylia would likely have urged him to do just that, he decided, a small, tight smile
twisting his lips. He remembered her pride in his position as Regent. His honor, the respect
accorded him--those were always uppermost in her mind as his wife. Though there was little she
really understood, her support made his burden
feel
lighter. She had been a fine hostess,
a showpiece for festivals at Quenlaque Castle, an ornament when he rode circuit court at the
estates and manor houses. She had been able to handle little else.

Why did Naylia come to his mind so often, lately?

Baedrix shook his head, feeling some humor at the idea of her silent suffering. She
would have reserved her ranting and raving for their private times. He couldn't remember the last
time he had considered the reactions, the thoughts and feelings, likes and dislikes of his dead
wife. She had been gone nearly three years now and Baedrix wagered he had thought about her
more in the last two days than the previous two years.

Naylia would have been furious over this small, quiet, military greeting party that rode
to the tunnel. The ladies in Court who considered themselves the arbiters of what was right and
proper were helplessly furious that they couldn't turn the heir's welcome into a moon-long
display of pageantry. His wife wouldn't have understood the need to bring the heir quietly to the
castle, any more than the ladies who led the Court understood now. If they had their way, this
procession riding to the Vale of Bo'Lantier would be half a league long, filled with wagons and
minstrels and supplies. The perfect target for the Encindi forces and Edrout's attacks, visible
from ten leagues away. Naylia would be on the side of the Court ladies. She wouldn't understand
the need for safety and strategy and stealth when bringing Athrar's heir to Quenlaque.

Perhaps it was indeed a good thing she had died, before Baedrix had to do battle with
her for the first time.

"What worries you, brother?" Eleanora asked, as she rode up next to him on her
mare.

"Memories." He knew better than to give his sister a half-lie. The Rey'kil blood of their
ancestors showed strongly in her, letting her tell truth from falsehood. "Naylia would be upset
over this change in our family's status, and the lack of ceremony."

"Any change upset her." Eleanora pushed back her hood to adjust a loose pin in her hair.
"Even the weather," she added with a mischievous grin. "How do
you
feel about this
change?"

"Glad." He wondered how often he had used that word lately. "Our father raised me for
this duty, but I am glad to be rid of it."

"Even if Naylia was alive and making us all miserable?"

"My wife's feelings would not make a crumb of difference." His smile faded a little. "If
fate had been otherwise, Naylia would be too busy with our children."

"Perhaps." Eleanora frowned slightly, studying his face. He wondered what she saw
when she looked at him that way, as if she looked into his soul.

Ectrix came racing back to meet them, gesturing over the rolling landscape behind
him.

"We're nearly there!" the boy cried, his face alight with excitement. "We made better
time than we thought."

"Not half as fast as you did, coming to fetch us in the first place," Baedrix retorted. He
laughed at the proud grin his little brother wore. He could barely remember being so free, so
delighted with adventures.

"Traveling without the fuss and pageantry of Court makes things so much easier,"
Eleanora observed, her mouth twitching as it visibly fought a smile that matched the mischievous
light in her eyes. "I wonder if that is a lesson we should share with the heir."

"What's her name?" Ectrix said, as he brought his horse around and settled in next to
her.

"The heir?" Baedrix laughed as he realized he hadn't thought of the name of Athrar's
daughter. She had always been "the heir," or "the child." He thought a moment.
"Great-grandfather always referred to her in his writings as Emmi."

"What sort of name is that for a Valor?" The boy's face wrinkled in distaste.

"What makes you think she'll be a Valor?"

"What else would Athrar's heir be, but a Valor?" their sister retorted. "I remember now.
She was named for her great-grandmother, Emrillian, daughter of Lord Mrillis and Queen of
Snows Lady Ceera. That is quite a good, strong name for a Valor, and for the Lady
Warhawk."

* * * *

"To the heir," Carious said, raising his goblet and nearly slopping wine over the
side.

Baedrix gave him a lopsided smile and returned to contemplating the contents of his
own cup. The two were alone in his tent, pitched in the wide clearing around the Tower of
Bo'Lantier. They now had nothing to do but think, and wait for Athrar's heir to emerge from the
tunnel.

All that saved this welcoming party from turning into an overblown display of pageantry
and political maneuvering was that there hadn't been time to prepare. Most of the Court nobles
and the members of the Council of Lords were still scattered to their own estates from the winter
quiet time, still caught up in the spring duties of overseeing plowing and planting and assessing
the damage done by winter storms and Encindi deprivations. If Baedrix had half a moon to send
out announcements and wait for everyone to gather at Quenlaque Castle, twenty times as many
people and tents and animals would be camped around the tower, awaiting the heir. He was
heartily glad that there hadn't been enough time. He had soothed the scandalized feelings of the
Court ladies by leaving it in their hands to plan the coronation. Eventually they would realize
they had been maneuvered and deprived of an opportunity to influence the heir from the start.
Someone would be upset and eventually someone would accuse him of political maneuvering,
but by the time the fuss of the coronation ended, there would be other concerns to hold the
attention of the Court.

Baedrix wondered if anyone would remember that the return of the heir meant that
eventually Athrar would return to Quenlaque as well. And that his return would signal the final
battle in the eons-old war.

"For a man about to be freed from a heavy burden, you do not seem at all happy, my
friend." The light dimmed in Carious' gray eyes. He slouched in his chair and rested his elbows
on the dark wood of the table. Piles of documents and courier pouches of reports lay just out of
his reach, signs of the work Baedrix had pushed aside when his friend came to visit him.

"I have been forced to remember that Lord Mrillis answered our questions about the heir
with vague replies that could be read any way we wished." Baedrix sipped at the wine, wishing
the delicate sweetness would help him relax. He sighed and continued talking, glad his closest
friend had interrupted his work. "According to the few sure facts, the heir was a child of four
years when she entered the enchanted sleep with her parents. Mrillis left us when Edrout
gathered enough magic to attack the structure of the tunnel under the sea and pierce the dome.
He left to raise her in the world that went on ahead of us. How much time has passed? It is less
than two years here, but how many years have passed in Moerta? How old is she? Will she be
able to handle the responsibility?"

"Lord Mrillis would not bring the heir to us if he was not." Carious shrugged and tipped
his head to one side. The light from the lantern hanging high on the tent pole slid off his straight,
close-cut cap of sandy hair. "Are you afraid to hand over your post?"

"Into the hands of an inexperienced, spoiled child? Yes. I would feel better giving
Quenlaque to Ectrix, if it came to that."

"I trust Lord Mrillis. The few times we saw him, when we were boys, there was
something about him that inspired trust. I'd let him lead me, blindfolded and barefoot, through a
pit of drakags." Carious gave Baedrix a challenging look.

"So would I." Baedrix sighed.

"Wait." Carious nearly stood from his chair. "You said
she
? The heir is a
maiden?"

"She has been since my great-great-grandfather's days as Regent." Baedrix smiled
crookedly.

"Lord Mrillis brings us a princess, not a prince."

"If Mrillis trained her, she won't be a useless ornament, a head to wear the crown. She is
necessary to prepare the way for Athrar's return."

"We have waited so long, it seems more fable and wish tale than prophecy and
promise." Carious settled back in his seat and saluted him with his goblet. "You are blessed, my
friend, to see the fulfillment of all your ancestors worked for. Are you worried about being cast
aside, perhaps? Lord Lycen was considered the Warhawk's brother. Surely that will count for
something?"

"I don't want it to count for something. I want to be free." Baedrix let out a ragged,
weary chuckle. "I could wish for a generation of boring peace between the heir's return and the
coming of Athrar. But I doubt Edrout will allow that. When he realizes she comes..."

"Quenlaque is ready. You have more than done your duty. Your ancestors will be proud
of you, and the heir will be pleased. What more could you want than to know you have done all
you could?"

"To know it was enough, and more than enough."

* * * *

Grego straightened with a gasp. Or rather, he tried to. He could neither move nor
breathe. All his muscles felt caught in a vise. Mere immobility was a discomfort he had never
considered before. Blue light shimmered before his eyes, dazzling.

Then it was gone. He pitched forward, catching himself on his hands and knees before
he smashed his nose into the dusty stone floor. Mrillis reached down to help him to his feet.
Grego's hand tingled where their skin touched.

"What was that for?" he asked, his voice a weak rasp.

"Necessary." Mrillis stepped back and looked him over.

"Yes, it is adapting nicely," Graddon rumbled from his seat by the fire.

"
What
is adapting?" Grego had to fight not to say more or add punctuation with
his fists. It wasn't wise to anger an enchanter. He suspected Mrillis had just cast a major spell
over him, ten times more potent than the mind-blocking spell.

"A spell of understanding and learning. When we reach the end of today's journey, we
will emerge into a Lygroes of two thousand years ago. The styles and manners, you can handle.
However, the language would be a problem for you without the spell I have just cast."

"Grandfather always spoke the old tongue with me," Emrillian added.

"The magic of the Vale of Lanteer allowed you to understand Ynfara and me, and for us
to understand you," Graddon said. "I have been learning continually since we stepped out of the
Vale. It was convenient, and wise, to spend some time resting here. Now, it is time for you to
learn. Easier to implant information in your mind once, rather than to constantly use magic to let
you understand, and let others understand you."

"The advantage of this over a simple translation spell," Mrillis said, "is that you learn
the language while you speak it. When you return to Moerta to recruit and lead your fellow
Archaics, you will be able to translate for any of Emrillian's subjects who go with you."

"Let's hope I make a good enough impression that someone wants to come with me," he
muttered.

"All that matters is how you impress our queen," he responded in a somewhat sharp
tone. "But that is all for the future. Shall we go?" He gestured toward the waiting horses.

* * * *

Eleanora let out a soft gasp, her eyes mirroring the muted sparkle and glow of the jewels
that Baedrix spread out on a folding camp table for her to examine. Lamp light caught on their
sharp, angled faces. Her voice was muted by the wall hangings that made the large tent set aside
for Athrar's heir into a regal pavilion. Watching his sister, Baedrix smiled. He wished the heir
were a man. He would have liked to wed his sister to the new ruler of Quenlaque, and shower her
with the crown jewels he and their ancestors had guarded so carefully.

His sister was a true-bred lady, gracious and kind, devoted to honor and justice at any
cost. Her strength of body and soul and mind made a mockery of the insistence of the leaders in
Court that a "real" lady was delicate and sheltered, didn't have a brain in her head, and could do
nothing in her own defense except scream for help, and even then scream delicately. Eleanora
could handle sword, bow and shield, and control any horse in Quenlaque Castle's stables. She
had come on this journey to welcome Athrar's heir and serve as her maid and companion until
they returned to Quenlaque Castle. Neither of them had been able to sleep, and when Baedrix
saw his sister walking in the dawn mists, he had chosen to bring her the casket of jewels, to pick
which to present to their new queen first. The truly impressive crown jewels--crowns and
scepters and necklaces heavy enough to make Naylia bend over--had remained in the castle.
These, however, were his favorites, and a good indication of the wealth his forefathers had
guarded for Athrar and his family.