ZYGRADON (12 page)

Mrillis looked away, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. He knew husbands and
wives kissed on the mouth, but never in public, and certainly never as long as Lyon and
his wife kissed. The servants continued with their work as if they witnessed such behavior
every day. Despite himself, Mrillis risked another look. He supposed kissing couldn't be
nearly as disgusting as it looked, if Lyon did it. He certainly seemed to like kissing his
lady. She laughed, a light, soft sound, when Lyon finally lifted his head and sat
back.

"You act like you haven't seen me in ages, love," she said. "What are you going
to do when you ride off for your spring inspection tours?"

"Teach you to ride and take you with me," Lyon retorted with a wide
grin.

That earned gasps and whispers from the servant women. Mrillis grinned. He
liked Lyon's lady when she only laughed at his words. Then both of them turned to look
at him.

"So this is young Mrillis?" She swung her legs off the couch and put her feet
down on the ground. When she beckoned him to come closer, Mrillis stepped up to the
side of the couch. "You are most welcome."

"This is my wife, Lady Gretha." Lyon stood and stepped around the couch and
reached into a wide basket. "And this is our son. We will name him Athrar." His face
nearly glowed with his pride as he brought over the tiny, blanket-wrapped bundle and
sat down before handing the baby to Gretha.

Mrillis swallowed a lump of disappointment that rose in his throat. He had
hoped Lyon's son would at least be old enough to talk to and explore the fortress with
him. He had seen enough babies in the Stronghold; he guessed Athrar was maybe a
moon old at the most.

"Oh, I'm sorry, lad," Lyon said, and burst out laughing. Gretha scowled at him,
which only made him laugh harder. Trying to calm down, he explained to his wife the
greeting the three princesses had given Mrillis.

"You thought you would find at least one friend, didn't you?" Lady Gretha said.
"I'm sorry, Mrillis. My dear husband is overly proud of our son. As if he did all the work
and I had nothing to do with it."

"Not true!" Lyon pressed his gloved hand over his heart, as if wounded by her
words. "You had the most important duty of all. Which reminds me of the reason why I
brought the lad here. Mrillis, would you stand with us at the naming? It's tomorrow
morning at sunrise."

"Naming? Me?" Mrillis' voice cracked with surprise, but he didn't care. The
naming of a child was an important occasion, usually only attended by family and close
friends.

"To strengthen the friendship between Noveni and Rey'kil, between you and
our family. We did our part to win the victory on Flintan, you and I. We fought
together, and even if we didn't shed any blood together, we forged a bond." Lyon got
down on one knee on the floor and held his hand out in pledge. "This war against the
Nameless One will continue, and I will be proud to stand with you again." He winked.
"Only I beg you, no more mad races across the countryside. My backside is still
tender."

* * * *

To Mrillis' relief, he ate in the great hall, with Breylon on one side and the twins
on the other, close enough to the high table for them to carry on a conversation with
Queen Elysion and the Warhawk, Lyon and Lady Gretha. Mrillis didn't speak. He was
content to listen to everyone else around him. He had seen enough askance glances from
the Noveni noblemen as he entered the great hall to know silence was the best action.
Children weren't welcome at the evening meal, obviously. Even the youngest servant
boy was in his teens. Like his first few visits to Wynystrys, the way to survive and enjoy
his meal was to be quiet and make everyone forget he was there.

He shared a room with Breylon, who was asked to officiate with the Star Father
who served in the fortress at the naming of Lyon's son. Mrillis had a troubled sleep,
waking constantly, wondering what about the place made him so uncomfortable. He
was wide awake when Breylon moaned and muttered in his dreams. Concerned for his
teacher, Mrillis got out of bed and lit a lamp. He almost reached the bed when the High
Scholar let out a cry and sat up, holding out his arms as if warding off an attack.

Breylon slammed back against the wall, startled by the sudden light in his eyes.
A moment later, he slumped and rested his face in his hands. Mrillis put the lamp down
on the table by the bed and hurried to the pitcher to pour a cup of water.

"Bless you, lad," the man murmured as he took the cup and sipped. "Surprised
you, didn't I?"

"Master?"

"You didn't think adults had nightmares too, did you?" He raised his head, raked
his fingers through his hair and managed a crooked smile.

"No, Master." Mrillis grinned, relieved to hear the wry tones in the man's
voice.

"Well, we do. And we must thank the Estall when they come." He gestured at
the table. "My writing kit, lad. I must write this vision down before I forget it."

Mrillis held the lamp in one hand and the pot of ink in the other while Breylon
recorded the dream that had awakened him so precipitously. He knew better than to try
to read over the man's bent arm. This wasn't like sneaking into the bubble in the rock
and listening through the wall of Le'esha's office. It was a battle, though, to keep his gaze
focused on something other than the parchment and ink and the flat slab of thin wood
that Breylon balanced on his lap as a writing surface.

"It's eating you up inside, isn't it?" the High Scholar said, after he had finished
and Mrillis took the ink and quill to put them away. He held the sheet of parchment on
his lap, studying the few lines marking the page. The boy thought there weren't nearly
enough lines to account for the terror that had troubled his teacher.

"Master?"

"You want to know what's here, what I saw, don't you?"

Mrillis opened his mouth to deny the charge, paused to think, then grinned and
nodded. He knew better than to try to lie to the High Scholar.

"You aren't afraid of the dark visions and terrible dangers that would make me
so afraid?" He held the boy's gaze for a few seconds, then he winked and nodded,
pleased by Mrillis' inability to think of the right answer. "The terror was part of the
dream, feelings forced upon me. Strange. I can still feel the sorrow, smell the blood, but
it does nothing to me now. I think what I felt was evil, hovering over us all. The kind of
evil that finds pleasure and...sustenance, I think, in the destruction of innocence." He
shook his head.

"Here is what I saw," he said after many long moments of silence, while the boy
waited, not sure what to say or do. "I saw warhawks, on the nest. Four sharing a nest.
Strange, eh? They flew away to hunt and to play. I saw them dancing through the sky,
two males and two females. And there were five little nestlings left behind. The terror
wrapped around me, and...fury, I think. Something so foul, it choked and blinded me.
But only for a moment. "

"And when I looked again, the nest was torn down, lying on the ground in
pieces, burned and soaked in blood. The nestlings were nothing more than bits of
feathers and bones, smashed and burned and hacked apart as if by a sword...but one
wasn't touched. It moved and tried to leap up into the sky to fly, though its wings were
soaked in blood. The adults came back and their furious cries tore the sky apart."

"I felt the...the satisfaction of the evil that had killed the nestlings. It watched as
the warhawks mourned their nestlings and rebuilt the nest. Though the females sat on it,
there were no more eggs. Then I felt the watching evil turn to try to find me. And I
woke," he finished on a whisper.

"Five nestlings." Mrillis settled down on the edge of his bed, feeling colder than
the night chill seeping through the shutters could warrant. "Between the Warhawk and
Lord Lyon, they have five children."

Breylon's frown deepened, and he nodded. "A warning then."

"Will you tell them, Master?"

"Yes, of course. Why do you ask?"

"You don't sound happy about having the warning."

"Ah." The High Scholar rolled up the piece of parchment and slid it into the
writing kit, then put it on the floor beside his bed. "Remember this night, lad. If you are
the tool the Estall has chosen, you will be given many warnings and messages in your
long service. Many will be painful to deliver, and you may hesitate to speak them, to
spare others the same pain. Withholding a warning, refusing to warn someone to leave
the path of destruction, is as evil as attacking him or urging him to stay on the path. Do
you see?"

He sighed when the boy could only nod. "I sorrow to deliver such a painful
message. I must think long on how to deliver it without hurting the mothers or warning
the enemies who plot against the children. I wish we were both wrong, and it is not the
Warhawk's children at all."

Mrillis nodded. He had found the princesses loud, squeally and irritating, but
certainly not worthy of death.

* * * * *

The naming ceremony the next morning was cold and brief, and little Athrar
slept through it. Mrillis stood with Lyon and Gretha, grateful he didn't have to hold the
baby. He hadn't slept well after Breylon's nightmare and he felt wobbly on his legs, ready
to curl up under a warm blanket and go back to sleep. He tried to listen to Breylon and
the Star Father deliver the homily on the duties of parents, but it bored him.

The Warhawk and Queen Elysion stood at the back of the sanctuary, holding
the lanterns full of holy scented oil. They doused the flames when the rising sun's rays
peeked through the long, starburst-shaped hole carved in the roof. The first streak of light
touched the sleeping baby's head. Athrar snuffled and rubbed his face with one tiny,
clenched fist and never woke. That earned smiles and soft laughter from those
gathered.

When they went into the great hall for breakfast, Mrillis woke up fully for that.
The princesses straggled in just as he had finished and stood to leave. He went around
the long rows of tables in one direction, while the three girls scampered up toward the
high table to their parents from the other direction. He scowled when Kathal grinned at
him, but didn't pause for more than that. So what if the warrior thought he was a
coward?

Why couldn't the princesses be like Ceera?

That thought stunned him a little, and kept him occupied until it was time to
saddle their horses several hours later. Lyon accompanied Breylon out of the fortress and
from his somber expression, Mrillis could tell the High Scholar had indeed given his
warning. He wished he knew enough magic to offer some kind of help to protect the
children. His archery was good, but not up to battle standards.

He could pray, though, and many times that day and in the days that followed,
he asked the Estall to protect the children.

As they passed through more inhabited areas, their journey, by necessity, halted
often. Anyone who asked help from the High Scholar of Wynystrys could have it.
Breylon stopped to serve as a judge, to dispense advice, even to perform minor healings
on injured farmers, craftsmen, farriers or anyone else who asked.

During a long halt, Mrillis waited in the shadows and watched as his teacher
conferred with the village elders before passing judgment. The boy had time to think
back on all the things that had happened in the last few months. The string of events,
mistakes he had made and the decisions and actions of others led his thoughts into new
directions. He stayed silent for the remainder of that day's ride.

"The boy is thinking deep thoughts," Kathal said, when they stopped to make
camp. They were only one day of travel away from the Stronghold. "You're thinking too
much, lad. Your head buzzes like it was full of bees. What's caught your attention
now?"

Mrillis flushed and grinned, knowing he had been caught. He didn't mind the
teasing. He finished putting down the armful of wood he had gathered and settled down
on the springy pile of pine boughs Tathal had gathered for their beds.

"I was thinking about your vision, Master, and how long the Nameless One has
been alive, trying to help the Encindi take Lygroes away from us. And...I don't know, it
just seems wrong that after all the people who fought and died and how you and the
Lady went into danger to go into his fortress, it isn't right that he escaped and he's still
alive. It's not right that he killed so many of his own people and they let him, and they're
all dead or prisoners and he's alive and free."

"He's hiding somewhere, licking his wounds, aye," Tathal said. "But he's badly
weakened. We've taken away his army, his slaves, and the blood he needs for his filthy
magic. He can ever again touch the Threads for power or awaken his own
imbrose
. He lost that ability when he turned to blood. Thank the Estall for
mercies, large and small," he added with a little more force.

"Evil always finds a way to live on, sometimes sleeping for decades before
bursting forth again like a plague." The High Scholar looked weary, as if talking of their
enemy drained him. "That is why the Estall sends visions, to warn and prepare us, so we
can fight the evil."

"Why doesn't the Estall just destroy all the evil once and for all?" the boy
muttered.

"And take away all the fun of fighting it?" Kathal drawled. "What's the good of a
weapon you don't use? What's the good of having big, solid muscles, if you don't use
them? Or a horse that's faster and smarter than any horse ever born, if you don't ride
him into battle and let him fight for you? Does the Estall want us to be lazy and expect
everything to be safe and simple?"

"And boring?" his twin added, almost in the same tone.

"There is no freedom," Breylon said, "if there are no choices. There can be no
true choice if we do not face difficulties in choosing. Therefore, evil is allowed to be
strong and beautiful, because it would be too simple a choice if all evil were ugly,
diseased, filthy and foul-smelling. Evil is allowed to deceive us, so we can use the spirits
the Estall gave us to see truth and wisdom and honor. Do you see?"