The Rift War (21 page)

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"There is so much your time knows about our land," Carious said, his voice pitched low
for the quiet of the night. The company had been riding since dusk, not even pausing to eat
dinner, passing skins of water and wine and cold meatrolls among them when they were hungry
or thirsty. "Tell me, what magic weapons did my ancestor, Valor Dedorian, wield?"

"Your ancestor was Dedorian?" Karstis' eyes widened. "Just when I think I'm getting
used to all this..." He laughed and shook his head. "He's one of my heroes. There's a division of
the Archaics devoted to him. Valors of the Order of Dedorian. Men and women whose real life
actions equal the ancient Valors."

"Women?" Rafe asked. He was a year younger than Ectrix. His voice broke and
squeaked on the single word. "Sir, ladies are to be protected, are the heart and soul and music of
our lives. If they go to war--" He stopped, his voice cracking, when Grego chuckled.

"We've found ladies aren't weak and ethereal," he said.

"Are there many maidens like Shalara in your world?" Carious asked eagerly. He looked
over his shoulder.

Riding next to him, Baedrix also looked back to the middle of the party, where
Emrillian, Eleanora, Shalara, and Meghianna rode together, talking quietly and intently, to all
appearances. And totally oblivious to the studying glances of the Valors around them. Before
dawn, their party would split, each group heading off in different directions.

"Is your heart taken?" Baedrix teased. He burst out laughing, muffling the sound a
moment later, when Carious looked away. In the shadows and moonlight, he could have sworn
his friend blushed.

"Yes, there are," Karstis hurried to say as the other Valors opened their mouths to speak.
"We learned a long time ago, women would rather be partners than objects."

"Objects?" Carious shook his head. "Your meaning eludes me."

"Women have as much to fight for. Their minds can grasp rules of warfare, engineering
and science as easily as the arts." Grego took up the thread when Karstis paused. "They're strong.
Not the delicate flowers the minstrels would make them. Would you want to labor and deliver
children?"

"No." Baedrix shuddered, thinking of Naylia and her suffering at the end. If he could
have taken her to the Stronghold, Meghianna could have saved her life, but labor had come on
her too early. Even if she could have survived the journey to the Stronghold, her terror of the
place and of the Queen of Snows would have killed her. "I see your point."

"Women don't want to be owned--which is part of the idea of protecting them. Children
and the ill and weak need to be protected and guided, told what to do and how to think. Women
can take care of themselves. The sooner Quenlaque gets used to that idea, the better for the
whole planet."

"Her Majesty will cause this change of heart, then?" Carious again looked over his
shoulder at the knot of women.

"Well..." Karstis looked to Grego, and both men grinned. "She's going to start, at least.
When I think of the secrets she's been guarding all this time... There was always something
special about her. She took it all so seriously, compared to the rest of us."

"Because she knew it was real," Grego said. "She and Mrillis have plans that go beyond
this battle. Once the dome falls and the energy from the Threads is released into the world, many
more people will have
imbrose
. We might have to give them a crash course in using
magic."

"It's the 'crash' part that worries me."

"I understand only a little of what you have said," Baedrix said, "but enough to
understand the gist of it. I still have a hard time grasping that what is very serious and dangerous
to us, your world and time considers frivolity. A game."

"We're idiots, in the future," Karstis said with a shrug. "We think we're better and
smarter, just because we've invented machines to do what you do with magic."

"And your techno-lo-gy will attack us and try to steal the power of the Threads, yes?"
Ectrix said.

"Essentially." He reached across the gap between their horses and clapped the
somber-faced boy on his shoulder. "I'm sorry. I wish it could be some other way."

"Our duty," Baedrix said, "is to prepare ourselves, and take as much control as we can,
so the coming battle is in our hands and not our enemies'. And that means that we must use our
allies from the future, as well as return to the old ways of maiden warriors, of the Queen's Ladies
filling the Stronghold, going to battle to fight as well as heal." He studied the knot of women in
the center of the party. Even though he had helped train Eleanora and knew she was capable with
sword and bow, it gave him a queer feeling to think of his sister swinging a sword in a real battle.
He didn't want to consider Emrillian doing the same, though Mrillis, Grego and Karstis all
assured him that she was skilled and strong.

"Then let us hope many of your friends from the future do have magic in their blood,
with strong Rey'kil ancestors," Carious said. "What is life without a touch of magic?"

Baedrix did not like the look or feel of the day one bit. Dawn came dim and sullen, and
the morning mists thickened. The gray seemed to suck all the warmth from the light.

The procession rode slowly over ground that had been scorched during the great war
that defeated the Nameless One, the sounds of the horses' hooves on hard ground muted by the
hovering mist. Everyone wore chain mail, all their bright festival clothes and banners put away.
The urgency of their many diverse missions dictated the need to move with as little notice as
possible. Eleanora rode quietly at Emrillian's side. The reason for that wasn't just from the
intensity of her concentration as she listened to Meghianna teach, or the heavy responsibility that
rested on her as a teacher for the Moertan women who would go to the Stronghold to become
Queen's Ladies. Baedrix always worried when his sister was subdued. He depended on her to
help look after the Queen when he couldn't. Emrillian's health and happiness were important to
him.

He didn't like the solemn lines of her face, the seriousness that took away the dancing
lights in her eyes. That worried him, even though he was pleased that she understood the burdens
resting on her and wasn't the feather-headed, docile little figurehead and puppet that many in the
Court would want her to be. The schemers and traitors would want Athrar's heir and daughter to
be a toy, a tool they could use to grab control of Quenlaque. Thinking of their attempts to
infiltrate the Regent's family through marriage provided Baedrix some bitter amusement. If they
had failed all these generations to corrupt the Regency, what made them think the current Regent
would step aside and let them control the queen who came to sit on Athrar's throne and prepare
for her father's return?

He frowned when he thought he saw a flicker of movement in the scrub bushes and tall
grass of the plain they were about to cross into from the scorched landscape. Baedrix looked
around until he found Carious and caught his friend's gaze. He tilted his head toward the closest
out-riding Valors and gestured for them to come closer. Carious nodded and rode out in a wide
loop, signaling the Valors, who closed ranks.

Baedrix looked to Emrillian's group again. He wondered just how close a friend the
woman named Shalara would be to his sister. Eleanora had wanted to be a warrior since
childhood. When her blue dreams had begun, and proved to always be accurate, their father had
considered sending her to the Stronghold to request that Meghianna train her. Eleanora had been
willing, considering it an adventure to possibly be the first Queen's Lady in many generations--if
Meghianna were willing. Their father had put aside the plan when their mother died of the winter
fevers and Eleanora was needed to fill her role as chatelaine of Quenlaque. His sister hadn't been
too disappointed, because she was still able to train with the Valors. Still, Baedrix wondered now
how much better their situation would have been if Eleanora had gone to the Stronghold after all.
If she would have much stronger
imbrose
. Maybe she would have been sent to Moerta,
to the future, to train with Emrillian. Baedrix hoped Shalara's presence would be good for
Eleanora.

All other thoughts fled as he realized Meghianna had vanished. She had been riding
three horses to the right of Emrillian just a short time ago, a shimmer of pale blue and white all
around her in a nimbus as she accessed the Threads. Baedrix fought the tightening in his
stomach, the way his hands began to curl around the reins and the grip of his sword. Quenlaque
had survived four generations without the hands-on guidance of the Queen of Snows. Surely they
could travel for an hour or two without her. Then a sinking sensation filled him when he realized
if anything happened to Emrillian, it would be on his head.

He gritted his teeth, nudged his mount with his heels, and slowed to let Emrillian's knot
of friends catch up with him, putting him close enough to protect her. Despite the skills displayed
by the Moertans who had joined their cause, Baedrix had no real assurance that they would
survive a real battle. That meant he had to be there to guard his queen--because despite all her
training, she was just as inexperienced in bloody, killing battle. He studied her, how she sat her
horse, how she moved, trying to predict her reaction to danger. He told himself to be grateful that
she wore Braenlicach at her side, that the faint shine of chain mail showed at the edge of her
sleeve. She was armed and armored and ready for attack.

"Brother, is something wrong?" Eleanora guided her horse over to ride beside him.

"I don't know whether to be grateful or worried, that you and the Queen can defend
yourselves." To his annoyance, she laughed and reached across the gap between their horses to
pat his arm.

"Grandmother says men have had that problem since the day women proved they were
just as capable and just as fierce in warfare as their menfolk. Would you prefer we all be delicate,
terrified shrews?"

"Like Naylia?" he said, managing a flicker of a smile when his sister visibly avoided
saying those two words.

"You loved her, so there had to be some good in her."

He wondered if it would be wise or foolish to admit that he had loved an illusion. He
had learned he loved honor and duty more than his wife, when he would not let her nag and
whine and whimper and cry until he conceded to her uncle's political maneuvering. Eleanora
would most likely pity him, but she would never say aloud what he had thought a thousand times
since his wife died in childbirth: the Estall had been kind by removing her from the Regent's
chair.

A shout rose from Pellen, who rode a good twenty lengths ahead of the company.
Baedrix stood in his stirrups as a whiff of smoke reached him. Before his eyes, red, crackling
flames leaped from the grass and scrub bushes. Black smoke followed as fire raced across the
track and around on either side, blocking any movement except backwards. He tugged hard on
the reins. His warhorse responded instantly, pivoting on its hind legs to face the rear. Other
Valors turned to face the enemy as they rose like malignant shadows from the bushes and high
grass of the plain on either side of them. He dug his spurs in and his mount raced to carry him to
the confrontation.

Behind him, he felt a sudden drop in temperature. The wind gusted, sucking mist past
him toward the flames. Baedrix didn't dare glance over his shoulder. His ears ached from the
effort of trying to hear what happened behind him as his horse carried him thundering forward to
face the advancing foe. He knew Eleanora would only scream in fury as she fought. He didn't
want to know the sound of Emrillian's shriek.

None of the attackers wore crests or emblems on their armor, marking them as rebels
among the nobles of Quenlaque, not Encindi invaders. He knew that before he drew close
enough to clash swords. The rebels were not brave enough to proclaim their identity, even as
they burned estates and crops, killed defenseless elders and maimed young men to keep them
from bearing weapons. His impotent fury at such cowardly tactics gave extra strength and speed
to his sword arm. He killed his first opponent in only three strokes and his horse carried him to
the next man.

"Rain!" someone shouted. The word meant nothing to Baedrix as he raised his sword for
a heavy, helm-shattering swing downward.

A woman shrieked, harsh and low, sending chills up his spine. He turned in his saddle at
the sound, picturing Emrillian under attack. It was Shalara, her face twisted in fury. She dove
under a spear and thrust a sword into the man attacking her. Baedrix watched enough to admire
her skill before turning to face an assault from his left.

His heart missed a beat as he saw a man on foot dodge Ectrix's horse and leap, pulling
his brother from the saddle. Before Baedrix could urge his mount forward, the boy twisted free
of his attacker, swinging round with his knife, slashing the man in the face. Blood spurted, but
none belonged to Ectrix. He swung back into his mount's saddle and moved on, leaving his
attacker writhing in the mud.

Mud?
Baedrix looked up, squinting as gusts of rain slapped his face. Where had
the rain come from? He dodged sideways, nearly sliding from the saddle as a warrior on foot
tried to slash his midsection. He went after the enemy, sword and knife swinging, and put the
question of the weather out of his mind.

Then it was over, as quickly as it began. He sat panting in the saddle, watching the
surviving rebels flee. They vanished in the grays and browns and muddy wet of the brush and
grass, armor gleaming faintly as the sun peered through the rain clouds.

Rain clouds with a tinge of blue. Baedrix turned his horse and searched for Emrillian.
He nearly let out a shout as he came face-to-face with Meghianna. His horse squealed, dodging
away from hers. For a moment, Valor and enchantress were eye-to-eye.