ZYGRADON (22 page)

He couldn't bring himself to go to the healer hall and visit while his former
friend recovered from the beating the other three gave him, but Mrillis slipped his
honeycake to Nixtan at the first meal the older boy came to, after being released, and
earned a lopsided, bruised grin. Endor mocked whenever he saw Nixtan and the handful
of first-time students who followed him, hero worship in their eyes. Mrillis thought of
Le'esha and her 'ducklings,' and punched Endor's arm to get him to shut up.

Mrillis turned sixteen, Ceera fourteen, and the Warhawk came to the
Stronghold to speak with Le'esha and Breylon about sending Rey'kil settlers to Moerta.
Mrillis fully expected ships to be sent as soon as the weather improved enough for
crossing the ocean. When nothing happened, his spirits plummeted and he understood a
little how Endor could feel and speak so sourly so often. Even when Le'esha granted
Endor permission to come inside the Stronghold for visits, proving he had earned the
trust of the Rey'kil elders, Mrillis still felt disgruntled with life in general. He tried to cheer
up for Endor and Ceera's sakes, when the three met at the highest point of the
Stronghold for summer equinox festivities. It was hard to do when Endor had decided to
talk about nothing but his disappointment over the postponed mission to Moerta.

"They do nothing but talk," Endor complained, for what felt like the fiftieth
time that day alone. He stomped to the edge of the cliff that looked out over the calm,
dark sea.

Mrillis imagined how easily Endor could fall from the cliff, just a little nudge at
the back of his knee to make him stumble. He stepped backwards, shocked at the idea,
and more shocked at the strange thrill that went through him. What was wrong with
him?

"Someone attacked the storehouses holding the supplies for our settlers in
Quenlaque," Ceera said. "And the ships that were prepared for the settlers have been
neglected so long, the boards are rotting. Someone interfered with the magic guards, and
set loose woodbugs and other disgusting things to damage the ships. It will take all
summer to make them ready again. Ships will sail in the spring, and our mission will
finally begin." She smiled and looked out over the sea, her gaze unfocused. Mrillis
wondered if she had a glimpse of the future. Perhaps she didn't see the Northern Sea at
all, but the ships sailing to Moerta in the spring?

"Your mission, maybe," Endor grumbled.

"You are just as much a part of this as anyone else," Ceera half-whispered,
confirming Mrillis' growing suspicion that she had indeed begun to have Seeings, growing
into her destiny as Le'esha's heir. "You will walk Moerta's soil and help bring healing. Do
not reach to grasp for what was never meant for your hand, or you will be burned and
bring grief to those who love you."

"Ceera?" Mrillis felt a shudder through the solid rock under their feet and
understood it was not physical, but a reverberation through the Threads that fed her the
power for her vision. He reached to grasp her shoulder, but she flinched and stepped
backwards, away from him.

Away from Endor, too, Mrillis realized a moment later. He glanced at his
friend, who reached out to Ceera, mirroring his posture. The two traded glances and
dropped their hands a moment later.

"Papa." Ceera gasped and turned sharply, to run to the shelter that covered the
stairs leading back down into the Stronghold. Her face was bright with a smile.

"What was that all about?" Endor murmured.

"Her father is here. We won't see anything of her until he's gone." Mrillis
shrugged, and laughed at Endor's scowl. "Master Candon isn't able to come here very
often, he's kept so busy carrying messages or spying for the Warhawk."

"But this is my first visit here," his friend grumbled. "If he really cared about her,
he wouldn't leave her alone all the time, would he?"

Mrillis had no answer for that. He wondered if Endor thought about his father,
who had vanished after the defeat on Flintan. Several times over the years, Endor had
said things that made Mrillis think his friend still loved his father, despite all the cruel
things he had done, including preparing to sacrifice Endor and his sisters.

He found out soon enough his certainty that Ceera would be busy was wrong.
Candon wanted to meet his daughter's closest friends. He sat with them at dinner that
evening and invited them to take a moonlight ride with him and Ceera, to try out the
new horses he had brought for the Queen of Snows, as equinox gifts from the Warhawk.
Mrillis admired the big, battle-toughened Rey'kil warrior, and he felt like a little boy
granted an amazing gift when it became evident Candon approved of him as Ceera's
friend and guardian.

"Even though you seem to lead her into twice as much mischief as she could
find on her own," her father added with a grin. He wrapped his arm around Ceera and
drew her up against his side, shaking her a little in silent rebuke, and they all
laughed.

Later, Mrillis realized Endor hadn't laughed, and hadn't even tried to smile at
the jest. His friend grew more silent and sullen as each day of Candon's visit passed, but
at the same time, he never refused a single chance to spend time with Ceera and her
father.

"Oh, you're fine. You're wonderful. He's probably already had the marriage
bands made and wrapped in blessing spells," Endor snarled, when Mrillis finally asked
him what was wrong, the day after Candon rode away.

"What?" Mrillis shook his head. He couldn't seem to track Endor's words, and he
felt as if the two of them had stepped off a precipice and fell, spinning, in utter
darkness.

"He approves of you. He can't stand me. He all but threatened to slit my throat
if I put one hand on his precious little princess. Hates me because I'm a half-blood. It's
not my fault!"

Endor spat, hitting the wall of the room the two shared. He raised a hand and
power glowed around his fingertips. Mrillis shifted his sight and saw red Threads twist
and warp to slide within Endor's grasp.

"What do you think you're doing?" Mrillis whispered. Endor wasn't going to use
magic to hurt Candon, was he?

"If I could, I'd--" He stopped, closed his eyes, and held his breath for so long,
Mrillis feared for him. "This is stupid," he gasped, exhaling at last. That familiar, cocky
grin brightened Endor's face. "What could I do? I don't have enough magic, enough
control yet. And it's wrong to hurt him. Ceera loves him. Right?"

"Right." Mrillis shivered, but pushed the uneasiness aside. Endor had once again
proven that he was stronger, better than his half-blood heritage. He was a better man
than his father, the Nameless One. He had conquered his rage. Endor proved that by
laughed and joking with Mrillis and challenging him to races when they left the
Stronghold the next day, to head back to Wynystrys.

Mrillis remembered Endor's anger and hurt feelings when news came, two days
later, that Candon's horse had thrown him, breaking his leg and arm and cracking his
skull. An investigation showed that something sharp and dirty had lodged beneath the
horse's saddle, and when it wore through the blanket pad it had cut into the horse's hide,
bringing pain and sickness in the wound. When Candon remounted after a rest stop, the
abrupt weight in the saddle irritated the wound. He hadn't been firmly in the saddle yet
when the horse reacted in pain and reared. When Candon fought to keep from being
thrown, he had pulled the horse off balance. It landed on him, crushing him into the
rocky ground.

Ceera left immediately to tend her father and bring him back to the Stronghold
to heal. Mrillis knew his friend couldn't have been to blame, even as he knew Endor
would have liked to have hurt Candon. If he had sabotaged the horse's saddle, he
wouldn't have been so tempted to use magic to hurt Candon. Would he?

* * * *

As students completed their studies in the Stronghold and on Wynystrys, they
chose their life work, guided by their strengths and talents, and named where they
wished to serve. Many competed for the privilege of going to Moerta, even if they had
to wait for the third or fourth or even tenth shipload--and only three ships were to go
each year. The greatest adventure and most important work in every young imagination
was to destroy star-metal, pull the excess power out of the soil and feed it into the
Threads so all Rey'kil could use it.

Endor strutted like a rooster and crowed nearly as loudly, the day he was
chosen to go on the second ship to leave Lygroes' shores the spring after he and Mrillis
turned seventeen. He irritated so many others who wanted the coveted post, he would
have been ambushed and beaten five times before he left for the port of Quenlaque, if
not for Mrillis' intervention.

Mrillis missed his friend, but he was glad Endor had proven himself worthy of
his important duties. Some who had said Endor would never accomplish anything but
trouble because of his heritage were surprised or ashamed, and a few even admitted they
were wrong. It was a day of triumph for both young men.

Mrillis couldn't understand why he hadn't been chosen. What had he done
wrong?

He endured a month of taunts from the bullies on Wynystrys who had yet to
grow up. They spoke in innocent voices, their faces pleasant while their eyes gleamed
with vicious delight. They asked why the half-blood Endor had been chosen, but the
amazing Mrillis, Breylon's pet and errand boy for the Queen of Snows, hadn't been
chosen.

Finally, Mrillis couldn't take any more. He didn't fight back where the teachers
could see him, but he amused himself for three days with small inconveniences. Nixtan,
who had graduated to running errands on the mainland for Breylon, gave him several
ideas. Mrillis let birds into the dormitories, to deposit on the belongings and beds of his
tormentors. He spilled water outside doorways in the middle of the night, to make mud
pits they stepped into in the morning. He tweaked the Threads so those with little
imbrose
couldn't find power. Then he graduated up to bigger
inconveniences.

Tathal caught him early on the fourth morning, after he set a trip-line across a
threshold, attached to a bucket of mud and rotted vegetation on the door lintel. The
warrior frowned, shook his head and hooked an arm around Mrillis' neck to lead him to
speak to Breylon. He said nothing, but Mrillis thought he saw a glimmer of amusement
in the somber warrior's face.

"I suppose I should be glad you didn't whine and complain, but such tricks..."
The High Scholar shook his head. He sat up straight in his wide chair in the front room of
his quarters, but Mrillis could see the man wanted to wilt with weariness. It was very
early in the morning. "Those are the tactics of a boy half your age. You're almost a man
grown, Mrillis."

"Then why don't you give me the work of a man grown?" Mrillis retorted more
sharply than he intended.

"Why didn't you
ask
me for my reasons when we sent Endor away,
instead of eating yourself alive and letting those fools taunt you?"

Mrillis had no answer. His face warmed, and he suspected that he had just
learned an important, painful lesson. Why, he wondered, was his pride twenty times
more tender than the most sensitive part of his body? When he spoke with Ceera next,
she would probably laugh at him and ask the same question. Coming from Ceera, he
wouldn't be so aggravated, though he would feel more shame.

"I could have sent you to Moerta, yes. Many have questioned my wisdom in
keeping you back." Breylon's long white beard stirred as he smiled wearily. "The
Warhawk has requested you, specifically, but the timing hasn't been right to send you to
serve with him."

"Serve the Warhawk? How? The Threads?" Mrillis blurted. "I can speak to
anyone, anywhere on Lygroes, with the Threads. I can reach Endor on Moerta."

"Exactly. But we don't want anyone to know the real reason for your presence.
Hidden enemies could attack you if they knew your true function. When you join the
Warhawk, it must seem an accidental thing. Of no consequence. And you must be of no
consequence, even as you hold all the secrets of the Stronghold and Wynystrys and the
Warhawk in your head." He paused, studying the young man's face. "I think you can do
that. Do you?"

"Yes, Master. I'll not shame you or Wynystrys or Lady Le'esha."

"Hmm, yes. I would rather you strive to make us proud, rather than to avoid
shame. Can you see the difference, lad?" He snorted and shook his head, interrupting
before Mrillis could frame an answer. "I'm becoming a doddering old fool. You're not a
lad any longer, are you? Grown up and strong and eager for adventures. Like a
well-trained colt that needs to break out of the barn and test his muscles and speed before he
can really be of any use. Well, you'll soon break free. I wager one fine day, you'll wish
you were a student again, chafing against rules and curfews." He chuckled when Mrillis
struggled to hide his look of dismay and disbelief, and failed miserably.

* * * *

Four days after Mrillis stood before Breylon and received much to think about,
the Warhawk rode to the docks opposite Wynystrys. Lyon rode at his royal brother's side
and Mrillis wasn't surprised when the nobleman singled him out for notice. No one
remarked on the attention he received, because his friendship with Lyon was already
known.

When Mrillis sat at the Warhawk's table during the welcoming feast on the
meadow above the docks, there were jealous looks and remarks, but no one suspected
anything. Mrillis had spoken with the Warhawk before, and he was there to serve more
than to enjoy the exalted company. He spent half his time fetching platters and pitchers
and serving his elders, but no one thought it strange when he participated in the table
conversation. He was Breylon's prize student and a friend of the Warhawk's brother,
after all.

Two days later, Mrillis rode away with the Warhawk's traveling party. It made
sense for the Warhawk to request Breylon's prize student to serve as his scribe and to
explain the reports of everything being done with star-metal, the vales, and on Moerta.
Mrillis worried, though.