The Rift War (8 page)

"I have no fear for your skill or your maturity," Mrillis said softly, breaking his silence
that had lasted nearly three hours. "As you will prove again and again. And now."

"Grandfather, do the people of Quenlaque remember--"

"Ah...excuse me?" Grego waved to get their attention. "What's that smell?"

Emrillian sniffed and understood the worried, slightly disgusted look on Grego's face.
The rancid stench became stronger with every step their horses took. Rotten meat, mixed with
musk and sulfur.

"Rixils," Mrillis said. He shook his head. "Edrout is being exceptionally childish, putting
them in our path."

"Why?"

For a moment, he couldn't answer as their mounts reacted to the stink of the rixils and
they had to fight to calm them. Mrillis looked only irritated when he snapped his fingers, sending
a shower of blue sparks to touch the horses. Emrillian felt the calming of his magic, dulling the
beginning of terror in the animals.

"Are rixils as bad as the legends say?" Grego asked. "Or can we just assume their smell
is the worst part?"

"Yes, just as bad. But only between the ages of ten and twenty." Mrillis glanced at
Emrillian, a calculating light in his eyes. She took a deep breath, bracing herself for whatever her
grandfather would ask her to do next. Irritation flared through her. He could deal with the
creatures without much effort, but he would have her do it to test and prove to herself that she
was ready.

"Why's that?" Grego pressed.

"That is their breeding age. Nursing mothers are the most dangerous of any
creature."

"Can I assume we will both need magic to fight this?" Emrillian asked.

"If there are more than three, yes." Mrillis signaled, and they slowed their horses. A few
packhorses snorted and bobbed their heads, resisting the magic that kept them still. Emrillian
wondered how much magic it would take to calm the animals during the coming
confrontation.

"Grandfather," she said, feeling only exasperation, "rixils have litters of twenty at a
time."

* * * *

"Why so many?" Grego blurted. He faced straight ahead, trying to glimpse the rixils
before they leaped.

Legend said rixils had beaks like birds of prey; greasy, harsh fur of black or muddy
brown; prehensile tails tipped by a poisonous sting; and paws sporting four razor-sharp claws
each. They loped on four legs but went upright in battle. Grego shivered at the thought of facing
those creatures without an energy blaster.

"They have so many at each birth because the strong kits eat the others when they stop
nursing." Mrillis drew back on the reins of his mount. Grego followed suit, gusting a sigh of
relief that they wouldn't ride any further into danger. "Swords and shields this time."

"Swords? Aren't we using magic?" Grego winced when his voice cracked.

"We are," Emrillian replied. "Magic only works in equal measure with your control over
it. If there are many rixils, there may be too many for you to consciously attack. A sword in the
hand would have saved many Rey'kil in the past, who depended completely on magic."

Grego waited until she wedged her torch in a crevice in the rock wall beside them before
he followed suit. One rule from their training days had been to always keep one person on guard
while the others were busy with tasks. He released his torch with a feeling of regret and
swallowed hard, trying to control an urge to shout, or turn tail and run. From one of the bulky
packs, Emrillian brought out two long, triangular shields. One, she handed to Grego, and kept the
other. Both looked like they had gone through hard service, toughened by experience. Grego
hoped so. If worse came to worst, he could use the lower point of his shield as an additional
weapon. The length would provide more coverage. He had won a decent share of his tournament
trials, but that hardly seemed adequate preparation now. The contests Archaics indulged in were
all play, even at their most serious.

A squeal threaded its way through the darkness from the black hole of the tunnel ahead
of them. It faded as it reached them, as if the light of the torches diffused the threat. The foul
smell grew, as if it were being deliberately blown toward them. Grego tried to breathe through
his mouth as he readied his sword and pulled on the mail gauntlets and his helmet. That
maneuver didn't help. He could almost taste the filth in the air.

Armed and ready now, they could move forward. Grego gathered up the torches while
Emrillian mounted her horse. He handed them to her, mounted his horse, and took back his torch.
They moved at a slower pace than before. Grego was grateful for Mrillis' calming spell,
envisioning his horse rearing and throwing him at a crucial moment.

The attack started before Grego could see any movement in the darkness ahead.
Emrillian stood in her stirrups. Blue light flashed in a column like a fountain, forward into the
darkness from her outstretched hand. It turned red and expanded as a lithe, brown form darted
out of the blackness. The light flared to reveal a warren of caves on either side of the tunnel, dug
into the walls, going up almost into the arch of the ceiling. Emrillian tossed her torch aside to
grasp her reins. The flame guttered and nearly died as the thin shaft of wood rolled, but flared up
strong as the torch came to a stop. Between it and the light created by Emrillian and Mrillis, there
was more than enough illumination to fight by.

Grego regretted that, even as he was grateful. Sometimes, seeing the enemy was worse
than not seeing the enemy.

Mrillis made fireballs that shot straight from the fingertips of his gloves. Mounts and
packhorses stood still, as if accustomed to such pyrotechnic displays.

A rixil shrieked and squealed like a stabbed boar as it leaped straight at Emrillian. The
force of its collision with the spear of red light she shot at it sent it hurtling backwards, bowling
over four other beasts preparing to leap. The five fought among themselves as the light thickened
and wrapped around them. Grego wished his magic extended to offensive weapons. He
concentrated on thickening the stream of power from his
imbrose
to Emrillian, and kept
his shield and sword ready, poised to jump into battle if any threat came against her.

Mrillis scorched seven with fireballs, which did not fade but burned brighter each time
they found a target. The flames followed the individual beasts, reminding Grego of homing
hover-bombs. Then the fireballs grew and wrapped around their prey. Grego turned away,
covering his mouth and nose with his bent arm as the stink intensified. The beasts' greasy fur
sizzled as they writhed and screamed, flinging themselves to the floor, against the walls and at
each other.

"Emmi, 'ware above you!" Mrillis shouted. He reached into a pouch at his belt and
brought out a handful of what looked like glitter. The silvery sparkles coalesced into three
whirling blades of metal, thinner than paper, that spun toward two leaping beasts. It all happened
in the flicker of an eye, before the echo of his voice could fade.

Leaping to dodge the blades, one rixil soared over Emrillian's head, landing in the clear
space between her horse and Grego's. He stared for a moment into the burning, sickly yellow
eyes of the beast. As it gathered itself to leap at him, he brought up his shield and swung his
sword with as much force as he could muster.

Something solid and heavy contacted with his sword, jarring his arm up to his shoulder,
and rebounded against his shield. The blows he had taken in tournaments were nothing compared
to the force of the impact. His horse jerked back from the weight and inertia. Unprepared, Grego
fell forward off his horse. He kept the shield before him, his sword pointing forward. Numbness
momentarily took him as his knees hit the ground. A heavy body hit, driving against the shield,
but his arm held. Grego heard the distinct sound of claws scrabbling against the shield, sliding
and scraping until the beast hit the ground.

At the back of his mind, he was giddy with relief that he'd kept feeding power to
Emrillian.

Then Mrillis was there, face calm as he brought his sword up high and thrust it down
with both hands. Grego heard a wet squelch and a thump. Curiosity overrode caution and he
tilted aside the shield. He looked down to see the rixil shudder, legs splaying, mouth opening in a
soundless shriek, the sword pinning it to the stone floor. Only a dozen or so centimeters lay
between his knees and the animal's fangs. Black blood gushed from the rixil's ears and mouth. It
died with one last spasm, outstretched claws scratching faintly against the edge of the
shield.

"Thank you," Grego rasped.

"You did well." He nodded and turned away. "Emrillian?"

"Untouched." Her voice sounded ragged. Grego got to his feet and moved toward her on
trembling legs.

Emrillian knelt over a bloody, burned body, wiping her sword on the hem of her cloak.
A shudder passed over her as she stood and Grego thought she swayed. Mrillis offered her his
arm for support. All around, silence rang with the subconscious echoes of the brief battle. The
enchanter gestured toward the horses and Grego complied, gathering up reins and leading the
animals over to him and Emrillian. She smiled at Grego as she took her mount's reins, and her
lips trembled.

"May we leave, Grandfather? I doubt I can do my share to hold the animals calm for
much longer." She mounted as she spoke. Her hands shook a little as she gathered up the
reins.

"Release them after we have mounted, but slowly."

When they were all back in the saddle, the enchanter nodded to Emrillian and tightened
his hands on his horse's reins. Grego took warning from him. The next moment, the light around
them dimmed and his horse let out a squeal of terror. If he had not held the reins so tightly,
Grego knew the animal would have reared up and thrown him. Suddenly, the vaulting tunnel
roof was too close for his comfort.

They resumed their journey down the tunnel. Grego wondered how long it would take
before they left the stench behind.

"Grego." Mrillis' unusually soft tones surprised him, coming after what felt like hours of
tense, watchful silence once they'd left the rixils' nest far behind. "Keep watch over Emrillian. I
fear the strain was too much for her."

"Too much for
her
?" Grego barely managed to keep his voice down. He
glanced at Emrillian. She slouched forward in her saddle. Her hood covered her face completely,
but from her posture he could guess at the pallor of her face, the dazed look in her eyes.

"Like you, she has never fought a battle in earnest until today, and despite our lessons,
never did so much at one time with her magic. The strain and the shock of killing so much, so
quickly, weighs heavily on her. I would stop and dose her now, but I wish to reach a more
hospitable place, first." As he spoke, Mrillis urged his horse to a trot. The sound of hooves
multiplied geometrically.

"More hospitable?" Grego wished he didn't sound so doubtful. "You mean the whole
place isn't like this?"

"I had hoped to ride straight to the waystop, the halfway point, where we will camp and
then go into the Vale of Lanteer. That isn't possible now."

"Where Athrar--" Grego urged his horse forward as Emrillian leaned to one side. The
torch slipped from her fingers. The horse snorted and sidestepped the falling flame. Her
movement was slow, like in a dream. He managed to reach her before she lost her grip on the
reins and slid to the ground. Her horse stopped.

"Can you carry her?" Mrillis called from ahead, as he halted his horse and the pack
animals.

"Don't worry about me. You just keep a watch out for any more nasty surprises." He
gathered her into his arms and settled her securely across the wide saddle. Emrillian's face was
too pale, as if she had lied, and some blood spilled behind them had been hers, after all.

* * * *

Emrillian woke slowly, to the clear, precise tones of Mrillis lecturing. She sat up slowly,
in fear of a pounding head. A weary weakness made her body heavy and slow to move. Her eyes
blurred until she blinked a few times. What she could see was not much of an improvement.

Mrillis had stopped them in a niche where the tunnel curved. It wasn't exactly a cave,
but it gave an illusion of shelter among all the shadows and damp. She lay in a nest of blankets
with a saddle as a pillow, against the wall. A torch sat wedged into a pile of rocks near her head.
A faint dusting of crystals in the roof of the niche gave back a dull sparkling glow. A fire burned
in a circle of rocks and Mrillis and Grego sat on opposite sides, talking. Tea steeped in a small
metal pot, hanging without visible support over the flames. The spicy aroma reminded her of
cozy afternoons in Mrillis' library, curled up on the couch, reading ancient histories or listening
to her grandfather tell her what was true and false about the events recorded there, and even
sharing some stories of how he or Meghianna had deliberately fouled the histories to hide the
truth. Emrillian wished for those days.

"I know what you think, I can read it in your eyes," Mrillis said. "You wish to know
why, with my powers, I don't remove dangers like the drakag. The answer is simple, if you think
a moment."

"Only simple to you," the younger man muttered, picking up a cup of tea.

Emrillian's throat and mouth felt dusty, watching him drink. She held quiet, wanting to
understand the conversation before joining it.

Mrillis chuckled, the sound brightening and warming the cold and gray surrounding
them. "I agree, the answer is only simple to those who understand the legends and magic. The
dangerous beasts remain here specifically to protect the tunnel. Even the monsters and nuisances
that Edrout insinuated here."

"Protect it against what?"

"More accurately, to protect whom?" Mrillis lifted one finger and the pot of tea swung
out and tipped. The greenish liquid arched so it streamed into his cup without spilling.