ZYGRADON (11 page)

"My best harp, too," Breylon said. He sighed, but by the sparkle in his eyes,
Mrillis guessed he wasn't disappointed to lose the wager. The two grinned at each other
for a moment. Then Breylon nudged his horse to get moving again, and beckoned for
Mrillis to ride next to him, instead of next to Tathal. "Come, lad, you've earned yourself
more lessons."

Breylon taught him exercises for the mind, so he could find the Threads to feed
him strength and healing, and even gain an image of the landscape ahead of him. The
High Scholar was impressed that Mrillis could differentiate colors, and see the changes
when a Rey'kil tapped them for strength.

Spider's web was a better image, Mrillis discovered after several days of lessons.
With each exercise and test Breylon set for him, his sensitivity grew, and he learned to
sense where different lines intersected. Where did all the lines come from, he wondered,
and where did they go when they crossed the sea and over the known continents? Even
Breylon couldn't answer that question. The two spent many happy hours discussing
theories, piling one impossibility upon another until they made themselves and the twins
laugh with the absurdity.

"Maybe, Master, there really aren't that many Threads," Mrillis speculated two
evenings later, when they were only a day away from the Warhawk's winter quarters.
He curled up in his blanket and watched the dancing flames of their small campfire.
"Maybe it's like a huge spider's web but the lines just keep going, wrapping around and
around the World, so everything is connected. Maybe, if somebody is strong enough and
lives long enough to touch them all...he could know everything to know in the World,
and touch every place," he finished on a yawn.

Tathal and Breylon exchanged long looks, mixed pride in and worry for the
boy, who thought of things that scholars five times his age had never imagined. Kathal
stepped out of the shadows of the forest where he kept watch, and waited until the
boy's eyes drifted close and he went limp into sleep.

"If anybody could, lad, I think you will," the warrior whispered. "He's destined
to live forever, isn't he, Master?"

"Only the Estall knows. If that will be a good thing for our lad, or a bad
thing...only the Estall knows." Breylon went down on one knee from his perch on a
fallen log, and tugged the blanket up higher around Mrillis.

* * * *

Webs filled Mrillis' dreams. To his surprise, he discovered that another web
arched up high over the landscape, halfway between the stars and the trees.

He watched a sentinel stationed in the watchtower along the coast that
faced Flintan. The sentinel wrote on a long scroll, but instead of rolling it up, sealing it
and giving it to a courier, he pressed the scroll against his head. The scroll vanished and
the sentinel went to the top of the watchtower and reached up into the sky. A Thread
shot down from the web and the stars and touched his head. The Thread thickened in
one bulge and pulsed with light. The bulge moved along the Thread, shooting out into
the night.

Mrillis flew through the night sky, following that thicker Thread, reaching
out with his hands to touch the pulses of light. Before he could quite reach it, the Thread
shot down and touched the silver-white head of a Rey'kil woman standing on the top of
another tower, with vast armies camped all around it. She wore the blue and silver livery
of the Warhawk. The scroll fell out of her forehead, she caught it and hurried down the
steps of the tower. The Warhawk waited on a high throne at the bottom of the tower
and she gave the scroll to him.

So that was how the strongest Rey'kil enchanters and healers communicated!
Mrillis laughed at the discovery. He nearly woke himself. His eyes flickered and he
drifted near the edge of sleep. He saw the campfire and Kathal feeding the flames. Then
darkness closed around him again.

When his dreams returned,
he found a thick blue Thread close to the
ground. The Thread thickened as he followed it and grew brighter, until he almost
couldn't see. Mrillis shaded his eyes with his hands and peered out between his fingers.
He cringed back from what he saw, not quite sure what it was, and flew away, through
the night.

A red, thicker Thread caught his attention. Shivering, he followed it as it
grew brighter and thicker. The light didn't hurt his eyes so much, and he clenched his fists,
refusing to run away until he was sure. He pressed closer to the near-blinding source of
the light, the place where Threads were born. A force like the current around Wynystrys
pushed at him, trying to shove him backwards. Mrillis reached out and snatched at the
red Thread, nearly as thick as his wrist, to stay put.

Screaming woke him. He rolled away from his blankets, sure they were on fire.
His hands ached where he pressed down to push himself upright. The ground felt as if
thick grains of sand as sharp as blades covered it. Mrillis curled up and tried to block his
ears with his arms pressed against his head.

"Enough, boy!" Kathal roared, and slapped a hand over Mrillis' mouth.

The screaming stopped. Mrillis gulped in surprise and his throat hurt and he
realized
he
had been screaming. Kathal swore and released him, jerking away
as if scorched.

"Mischief indeed." Breylon got down on one knee in front of Mrillis. "What did
you do, lad?" He held out his hands, clearly commanding Mrillis to give his hands into his
grasp.

"They hurt, Master," he whimpered, and didn't care that he sounded like a
dirty-diapered baby.

"I don't doubt it. Look at yourself. With your spirit eyes, as we discussed
yesterday," the High Scholar added.

Mrillis gasped, seeing flickers of blue and red writhing around his hands and up
his arms, like snakes encircling his limbs. Shaking, he put his hands into Breylon's
grasp.

A sizzling sound filled his ears. He sighed, feeling the shriveling heat leave his
hands. The blue and red flickers danced across Breylon's hands and up his arms and
soaked into his robes, like raindrops.

"Now, what did you do?" Breylon said when the last burst of light had vanished
and he released Mrillis' hands.

Tathal warmed spiced wine for them. Mrillis was glad to sip the healing brew as
he struggled to remember every detail of his dreams and describe them. He had to hold
the leather travel cup with both shaking hands, to keep from dropping it as he reached
the end of his dream, just before he screamed.

"What did you see, lad?" Tathal said. He pressed his hands around Mrillis' and
guided the cup to his lips to ensure the boy downed the last mouthful of wine.

"Star-metal." Mrillis stared into the depths of the cup. He could hardly believe
what fell from his lips. "The Threads come from star-metal. In the ground."

"Ah." Breylon nodded and stared, frowning, into the fire for such a long time,
both warriors grew impatient.

"Just 'ah,' Master?" Kathal said. He picked up the kettle that still held the
warmed wine and offered it around. Though Mrillis shook his head, declining, the
warrior filled his cup anyway and frowned at him until he drank several swallows.

"This stays just among the four of us," Breylon said at last. He looked weary,
new lines etched around his eyes by the seriousness of his thoughts. "For nearly thirty
years now, we have suspected that our power does indeed come from the star-metal. No
one has ever followed the Threads to their source before, yet it is well-documented that
the Threads are thicker, brighter, the magic stronger around the places where star-metal
has fallen. Stories from the beginning time, when our three races first came to the World,
claim that the Estall gave us star-metal as a gift."

"I've never heard that," Mrillis muttered around the lip of his cup.

"For very good reason." He smiled at the two warriors. "How would you like to
hear that something which is killing you is actually a gift, and it is meant to help
you?"

"It's all well and good to have that mystery solved," Kathal said, "but what good
does the knowledge do us?"

"It answers a question or two," his twin said. Tathal settled down next to Mrillis
and guided the cup back to the boy's mouth again. "Lygroes isn't poisoned by star-metal
because we suck the fire out of it when we use our
imbrose
. That's the
difference between Lygroes and Moerta. We protect ourselves."

"Say rather, the Estall gave us the ability to protect the whole world with the
imbrose
born into our flesh," Breylon said.

"The Noveni aren't going to like it if we tell them they have to let us live in
their land," Kathal said.

"That was tried, generations ago. The poison is so prevalent, so concentrated,
the Rey'kil who tried to settle there were overwhelmed." Breylon reached over, took one
of Mrillis' hands and opened his clenched fist, so they all could see the streaks like burns
across the skin. "Burned from the inside." He sighed. "The task that lies ahead of us is to
discover how to tap the power of all that star-metal without burning ourselves. It's like
reaching into a blacksmith's furnace with our bare hands. We have to find the right tools
to handle the molten metal, the molten power, and move it where it is cool enough to
use without killing us."

"Perhaps you're the one to do it, lad," Kathal said. He rested a hand on Mrillis'
head.

"Perhaps." Breylon nodded and turned to look into the fire again. "And perhaps
that destiny is left for another. The lad has accomplished enough in his short life to more
than fulfill Le'esha's vision. Don't torment him, expecting more."

* * * *

Queen Elysion met their party on the steps of the main doorway of the fortress,
when the four riders reached the Warhawk's winter quarters. The daughter of a Rey'kil
scholar with only enough
imbrose
to sense when people lied, she was a
black-haired, gray-eyed, tiny beauty who had helped build a much-needed bridge between the
two allied races. She was also a distant cousin to the warrior twins and greeted them
with laughter and hugs when Kathal and Tathal dismounted.

She curtsied low to Breylon and offered Mrillis her hand when they were
introduced to her. The three girls behind her watched with big gray eyes and whispered
and giggled among themselves. Mrillis prayed the girls were servants and not the
princesses, and he wouldn't be expected to spend time with them. He wanted to sit at
the table with the adults and listen to talk of all the interesting things happening on
Lygroes.

He compared their wriggling excitement to the girls at the Stronghold. Rey'kil
girls had better manners, he decided. At least, they stood still and wouldn't say anything
about visitors until they were in their rooms.

The girls' long red hair meant they were half-bloods, which made the odds
good they were indeed the Warhawk's daughters. Mrillis hung back when Elysion turned
to introduce the four visitors to the princesses. He forgot their names immediately. The
Warhawk had a son, but the little prince was barely a year old and probably with his
nurse. Mrillis almost wished he had gone through the tunnel to the Stronghold instead of
enjoying the privilege of riding with Breylon. At least he would be home right
now.

"Please, Mama, can we take the boy with us?" the oldest girl said. She didn't tug
on her mother's sleeve, but her voice tended toward whining.

"I think not," a familiar, deep voice called. Lyon strode out through the wide,
double doors and grinned broadly at Mrillis. "I promised him a tour of the fortress when
he came to visit, and we barely have enough time before dinner."

The girls' protests sounded like a cross between chattering birds and snarling
cats. Mrillis glared at the twins when they just grinned at him. Lyon clapped a hand on
his shoulder and led him away.

"Enough!" Queen Elysion smiled, making a lie of her sharp tone. "What sort of
manners do you have, my dears? You'll see enough of our young warrior before he
leaves. Right now, your Uncle Lyon needs him. Now, back to your room. Nurse is
waiting with your dinner."

"I don't have to eat with them, do I?" Mrillis dared to ask as he hurried across
the outer courtyard with Lyon.

"No. And you'll have to forgive me, lad." Lyon gestured through a dark
doorway. They started up a set of curving stairs almost immediately. "I talked about you
so much; the girls think you're a hero. Elli, the oldest, is ten and she thinks she's going to
marry you. Sight unseen."

"What?" Mrillis stopped short, feeling sick to his stomach.

"Don't worry. Just act like a normal boy and they'll lose interest immediately."
He winked and continued up the stairs without waiting to see if Mrillis followed.

The boy had to follow. He had a horrifying vision of being caught on the stairs
by all three girls and carried off somewhere he could never escape. Running, he caught
up with the Warlord near the top of the stairs, and only puffed a little as they turned
down a hallway.

Lyon spent the next hour showing Mrillis the armory, the six towers where
sentinels and archers were posted constantly while the Warhawk was in residence, the
stables and other points of interest. Mrillis thought the man had forgotten the incident
when he arrived, until Lyon led him through a set of doors inlaid with polished stones to
make a picture of a warhawk, wings spread in flight. The rushes strewn on the floor, the
tapestries on the walls, the smells of perfume and sounds of harps and women's voices
told him this was the royal family's living quarters. Mrillis stopped again. He didn't care
how he looked in front of this man who had been his teacher and friend on that long
flight across Lygroes.

"No fear, lad." The Warlord winked and beckoned for him to follow. "The
terrifying trio is far away. These are my rooms, and my lady's. I want you to meet my
son."

That was different, Mrillis decided. He followed Lyon down the hall, into the
largest room. A wide brass brazier full of glowing coals sat in a depression in the stone
floor and thick tapestries hung across the windows. A tall woman, with hair so pale she
could have been mistaken for Rey'kil, lay on a couch, reading from a scroll. Several older
women sat around the brazier, working on mending, embroidery and carding wool. The
lady stopped reading when she saw them, and sat up. She had looked pale, as if she had
been sick, until she saw Lyon. Her smile brought roses to her cheeks. Lyon settled down
on the edge of the couch and took hold of her hands and kissed her.