The Rift War (6 page)

"Baedrix." She called up memories of Lycen, Ilianora, and Garad. Which of them did
their descendant most resemble?

More important, would he regard her with the same awe as many among the Archaics
regarded her father, Athrar Warhawk? Or would he consider her an outsider, an interloper,
someone to be dealt with and manipulated to acquiesce to what he thought best for the kingdom
his family had protected since Athrar entered his enchanted sleep? Would he consider her a tool,
a nuisance, and someone who had stolen the throne from underneath him, simply by being
born?

"He is a good man. A loyal, strong, wise man. And it doesn't hurt that he's still young
and handsome," Mrillis said as they reached the bottom of the stairs.

"That was sixteen years ago, Grandfather."

"Hmm, yes, but not even two years in Lygroes' time. I don't expect him to have changed
that much since the last time I visited Quenlaque."

"Nor has the situation with Edrout and the Encindi and the rebel enchanters." She
shivered as they reached the ground floor, remembering the nightmare she had suffered several
hours ago, about Edrout's attack that woke her from the enchantment of long sleep.

"Hmm, yes, there is that." Mrillis laughed and gave her a gentle shove for the door that
would take them outside. "But consider this, my dear. Edrout likely thinks you are still a little
girl. He won't be ready for the warrior queen who comes against him, clad in star-metal
armor."

"But when he learns that I have grown up and trained? When he learns I don't hold
Braenlicach?" Emrillian stepped through the door and jumped down the few steps. Across the
wide courtyard and gardens of their estate lay the stables, her horse, her weapons, and the
star-metal armor she had dreamed of for years before she gained the skill to actually make it.
Whether she had inherited her great-great-grandmother's visionary gift and the star-metal armor
had come about through prophetic guidance remained to be seen.

"By the time he learns of that lack, you will be on your way to the Stronghold to retrieve
Braenlicach. No one but those born in the Stronghold may enter. No one but those of the
Warhawk's blood may wield Braenlicach."

"If it accepts me. If it lets me." She shivered, though her armor and cloak and the clothes
underneath them had felt slightly too warm just a few moments ago.

"You are the Lady Warhawk. You were spoken of in prophecy. Of course you will hold
Braenlicach and it will burn with fire and light and sing for you. Be sure of it, my dear." Mrillis
wrapped his arm around her shoulders as they crossed the courtyard of their house, for what
might possibly be the final time.

* * * *

The thought that he might never return to his scientific life thrilled and threatened to
paralyze Grego simultaneously. He had been unable to sleep when Mrillis had sent him home to
pack and rest up for their pre-dawn flight.

He wrote a letter for Brysta, trying to explain his reasons without sounding insane. It
occurred to him that he would have felt better about lying to her, hiding this part of his life from
her, if she had ever showed some jealousy of his friendship with Emrillian. Brysta had
sometimes remarked that Emrillian seemed slightly distant from their friends, as if she held
herself back from them.

Grego would have been angry with her, if Emrillian hadn't confided in him a few times
that she knew she was destined for a political marriage, and refused to let herself be tempted with
romantic 'foolery' and dreams. He had wished sometimes that his sweetheart and his closest
friend could confide in each other. Now, as he left a note for Brysta, he regretted having to leave
her behind. If she had been an Archaic, hungry for the days of Athrar Warhawk to return, she
would have been perfect. He might even have asked Mrillis to allow her to accompany them on
this flight.

Would Brysta hate him, or be wistful, when she realized that he had thrown away all his
training, education, and hopes for advancement in the Science Directorate for the sake of magic
and honor and adventure, and hadn't been able to include her?

Just how deep and real had their growing love been, if he couldn't share this most
precious part of his life with her?

Too easily, Grego put away that part of his life, and Brysta, as he prepared to leave
Moerta, perhaps for good.

His most dominant thought was that he had brought this trouble on Emrillian and Mrillis
and a world he preferred over the one he had been born into. If he hadn't focused so intently on
proving star-metal was not only tamable but had been tamed in the past, and essential to the
continuing growth of his world, none of this would be happening.

The com-box signaled when Grego had gone through his house for possibly the last
time, gathering up the last few items he knew he couldn't live without, and returned to stand over
his bed, trying to decide if he could fit it all into his saddlebags.

With his luck, Kayn was on the other end, unable to sleep with all the plans he had made
to ensure no one in the world knew star-metal existed on the shores of Moerta. Grego knew his
partner in the project considered him a dreamer, unrealistic, idealistic, and despised him. He
knew what irritated Kayn more than the existence of the Archaics was the fact that his foolish
Archaic partner was one of the few people he could talk to about the project that seemed to have
become his sole purpose for living. If Grego didn't answer the call, despite the lateness of the
hour, the other man would find a way to authorize breaking down his door within ten minutes of
being unable to get through to him. He needed to get out of his house and head to the Rakkell
estate within the next half hour. Now was not the time to annoy or infuriate Kayn, even though
he had a growing need to stick his tongue out at the man.

"Grego? Please tell me you've been asleep," Karstis said, almost before his image
appeared on the com-screen, "and Shar is just playing a really, really bad joke."

"It's true. All of it." Grego held up his hand and concentrated on his ring to make the
star-metal glow, rippling through green to blue and back again. His stomach knotted when a
reason for his friend's doubt occurred to him. "Please tell me you have
imbrose
just like
Emmi thought."

"I don't know what it is. It scares me half to death. Especially after what we've been
gearing up to do for the last six hours." Visible on the screen, he picked up the browband Shalara
had been sent to give him and slowly rolled it between his hands as he spoke. "I'm under
suspicion because they know I'm friends with Emmi and Master Illis. Are they-- It can't be true,
can it? We've had vague tales that Athrar-- But everyone said they were more lies, like the stories
about Edrout-- But she can't really be his--can she?"

"The first thing we're doing when we get to Lygroes is head to the Stronghold and
reclaim Braenlicach. Emmi refers to Meghianna, Queen of Snows as
Aunt Meggi
."
Grego scrubbed at his eyes. It figured. Now he felt tired, after being unable to sleep for the last
five hours. "What do you need me to confirm for you? I have to leave in ten minutes now."

"This dome that we're going to destroy with the power siphon."

Grego took a deep breath, closed his eyes to gather his thoughts, and spilled the lecture
he was prepared to give to all their Archaics friends, as well as to the people of Lygroes, to
explain their danger. Years ago, Mrillis had given him the task of educating and preparing
himself to be Queen Emrillian's ambassador and teacher, to stand as liaison between the two
worlds and times. That meant helping each understand the other.

Basically, all the Threads in the world wrapped around Lygroes, keeping it inside the
dome that warped time and kept the rest of the world out. All the star-metal power in the world
was concentrated on that task, and there was very little energy to feed magic in all the rest of the
world because of that. Star-metal attracted all other star-metal, and that was why all the yearly
starshowers fell on Lygroes and in the sea around it. That falling star-metal added more energy
to the task of maintaining the dome around Lygroes and repelling all invaders.

When the Science Directorate put its prototype equipment in place to siphon away the
power of the Threads, it would endanger the dome. The dome, according to Mrillis, had to be
dispelled and unwoven from the inside, from Lygroes, or the resulting chaos as it fell could not
only tear apart Lygroes, but damage the rest of the world. It could go back to the poisoned,
devastated landscape that had been Moerta and Flintan, the lost Encindi continent, before the
Rey'kil learned to tame and gather star-metal.

"You know, we always talk about great quests to save the world," Karstis said, when
Grego finished. "We never figure it will really happen."

"Brace yourself, Valor. You're being asked to pledge yourself to the service of the true
Warhawk. Emmi depends on you and Shalara to recruit and teach the others, and lead them down
the tunnel to Lygroes in two days. Can you do it for Emmi Rakkell, if you can't believe in
Emrillian Warhawk?"

Karstis' face grew stern, hardening, and his shoulders straightened. His gaze locked with
Grego's, then he lifted the browband to settle it on his forehead. To Grego's relief, green and gold
light shimmered, twining around the braided strands of star-metal, swirling around the decorative
knots at the temples.

"Two days. Don't start the war without me," Karstis said, and reached to shut down the
link.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Grego muttered, as he cut the link from his side and ran to
snatch up his bags. Other than the Archaics costume he wore now, all his clothes and armor and
weapons for the journey were already packed and waiting at the stables. He had come home to
gather up the tools he would need for his future duties: five datapads, extra power cells, and
duplicate data chips containing all the information he had spent moons deciding was needed to
teach someone just learning about the history of civilization.

Grego slung his bags over his shoulder and turned to leave. He tried to see his
comfortable home with all its modern conveniences through the eyes of someone from the time
of Athrar Warhawk. Someone who was used to magic to accomplish basic, everyday tasks,
might consider his technology crude and inefficient, or at best would be fascinated with modern
living with all its bright lights and odd sounds and toys.

"Estall guard us," he whispered, as he tapped the controls that would put the house into
power-save and security modes within five minutes after he walked out the door. If Kayn came
looking for him, it would take him a few hours to get in. That much of a delay wouldn't be much
help to the cause, but at this end of history, every little bit would help.

Grego was acutely conscious that the tunnel under the sea didn't just connect two
continents, but it stretched time at one end and sped it up at the other. Only two days of hurried
travel would take them to Lygroes, but by the time they got there, the fleet would be halfway to
the Death Zone, preparing to begin draining power from the Threads. The disappearance of one
of the scientists leading the project wouldn't do much to halt or slow the schedule.

For good measure, he took off his wrist unit, powered it down and left it in the
gardening shed at the edge of his property. No one could track him now, except by remotely
accessing and powering up his datapad. He would be leagues away, under the sea, hidden inside
a tunnel lined with star-metal, before anyone even thought of that tactic. And Mrillis' spells to
nullify all technology within and around the tunnel would heap more frustration on their
enemies.

Lights blazed only in the windows of the staff living quarters when Grego reached the
Rakkell house. With moonlight slanting down over the towers and crenellated walls, the old
house looked like a castle. Now that he thought of it, Emrillian would make a perfect captive
princess. Mrillis was a mysterious old man, the perfect reclusive wizard.

Grego would have enjoyed his fancy more if it hadn't been so very close to the
truth.

Movement and noise came from the stables at the rear of the estate. He shifted his bags
to a more comfortable position and picked up the pace. In a little while, he would climb on a
horse, head for the tunnel, and this change in his life would go past the point of no return.

He concentrated on the sounds and smells, the feel of the night breeze, to keep from
thinking too much--or he might change his mind. He was relieved to find the door into the stable
standing open. All the horses were out of their stalls, saddled for riding or harnessed for carrying
packs. The horses knew him, and only the bay stallion made any noise when Grego walked up
the aisle, heading for the front of the stables. He could just make out the shadowy outlines of
Emrillian and Mrillis standing outside in the moonlight. Grego smiled at the welcoming nicker
from the stallion and allowed himself the luxury of rubbing the horse's nose before moving past
him.

Instead of the blue-white glow of security lights, flames crackled. He smelled wood
smoke and oil, like the torches used during ceremonies for Archaics games. He realized those
were torches, when his eyes adjusted from the stable dimness to the bright yellow light.
Emrillian turned to face him. Her hood slowly slid off her head, revealing long, shining hair in a
simple braid, held in place with a silver headband, ornamented with blue enamel warhawks that
glistened in the torchlight. He thought he caught a glimpse of dull silver mesh at her wrist. Chain
mail. She stepped back. Grego stared, fascinated, as she brushed her cloak aside and rested her
hand on the hilt of the sword at her waist.

Then Mrillis stepped into the open doorway, dressed like a wise man from an Archaics'
role-playing convention. A dark hood framed his seamed, weathered face and dark eyes, and
highlighted his neatly trimmed, silken white beard. It glowed in contrast to the dark material.
Hints of intricate embroidery decorated the long, enveloping robe.