ZYGRADON (9 page)

Breylon and Le'esha crossed last of all. They rode a shallow barge surrounded
by triple layers of Rey'kil warriors, protected by swords and shields and magic. Their craft
moved without the help of oars or sails. As they crossed the water, the storm closed in
behind them and added its force to theirs.

The fortress of the Nameless One stood at the headlands closest to Lygroes'
southern tip. The stones were blood red, flaunting the source of the rebel enchanter's
power. Le'esha and Breylon led the way with the Warhawk as they approached the
craggy stone gates of the fortress, the first enemy forces to do so in decades of war. The
walls and towers looked like shaggy beasts crouching low to the ground, dark and
glaring, baring massive teeth, growling, ready to leap to attack. The Encindi warriors
screamed and howled and cursed as they flung spears and shot arrows and slung rocks
from catapults. Yet behind their cacophony, silence rang in the air, making everyone
who noticed it uneasy.

Le'esha knew better than to believe Lyon's simple strategy of distraction was
working. Something was wrong, some trick lay in wait, as the forces of the Noveni and
Rey'kil battered the gates of the fortress.

She felt the scorching of blood magic in the ground and air. She smelled the
copper-scented, death-sick sweetness at the core of everything the rebel Rey'kil threw at
the combined armies. The Nameless One resisted, yet she sensed he didn't throw all his
strength into defense. He gave up opportunities to attack. Though the combined will and
strength of the Stronghold and Wynystrys overwhelmed the poison of blood magic, she
didn't trust the gradual victory.

Even when the gates shuddered and fell, shattered under the combined blows
of magic and the battleaxes of the Warhawk. Even when the enemy soldiers vanished
like mist before hot sunshine.

She smelled a trap. Breylon and Graddon and the Warhawk agreed with her,
silently, conferring with a single glance shared among the four. Le'esha smelled more than
a trap. She smelled a charnel house. A slaughterhouse. The spies had spoken of enough
blood spilled by the Nameless One to drown the world. This was the place from which
the blood flowed outward.

The Encindi warriors fell back like frost before flames. The first wave of Noveni
and Rey'kil warriors cleared the way. Le'esha, Breylon and Graddon followed, prepared
to use all their available magic against killing, malevolent enemy power. One after
another, the inner walls of the fortress breached and their gates collapsed.

Inside the fourth layer of walls, in the heart of the fortress, lay an arena littered
with warrior bodies, lit green and red with flickering light formed from death energy.
The dead and dying hadn't fallen from battle wounds, but from slashed throats and
wrists. They lay so their blood flowed into trenches crisscrossing the arena, which drained
into a moat that surrounded a dais in the center of the arena. A man-shaped figure in
sodden, bloodstained robes stood before an altar, holding aloft a dagger that dripped
blood. Every drop turned black as it fell on the altar, and smoked.

Le'esha called out to the Estall, entreating blessing and commanding the power
entrusted to her. The blood that stank and steamed and writhed in the moat turned to
dust, and evaporated.

A child screamed. Le'esha clutched at Breylon's arm when, for a moment, an
image of Ceera rose from the altar. She whispered another word to banish the distracting
image, and silently thought a prayer that Ceera was indeed still safe.

Bad enough the Nameless One knew about Mrillis, but now he knew about
Ceera, too. Le'esha would not allow her children to remain in danger. It would end here
and now.

Their enemy hauled a wriggling, dirty girl-child from a pit behind the altar. She
was red-haired, perhaps five years old, crying and kicking at the robed figure holding her
up in the air. He flung her down on the altar stone a heartbeat later, with enough force
to knock her silent.

"No, Father!" a boy shrieked, and leaped out of the same pit. He was
red-haired, and even from a distance, in the warped red and green light of poisoned magic,
Le'esha recognized him from Mrillis' dream.

"His own children," Breylon whispered, and called down curses on the
enchanter for violating the deepest laws.

Le'esha saw the enemy hesitate, just a heartbeat, before slapping the boy aside
with the fist that held the knife. The boy fell, blood streaking his face. The enchanter
paused half a breath, closed his eyes, tightened his grip on the knife and pressed the girl
flat against the stone. He raised the knife. Through the hiss of magic, Le'esha heard the
invocation he chanted as he prepared to slaughter his own child.

Le'esha grasped Breylon's hand and called up all her strength and her love for
every child in the Stronghold, in Lygroes, in the World. She wove it into the Threads that
hummed under her mental touch. Breylon gave her all his power and knowledge and
braided that into her creation. They formed a lance of brilliant rainbow-hued power that
hit the enchanter and flung him off his feet, across the arena, to hit the wall. He started
to slide down.

Red light filled the air. The ground shook. The air stank of death and rot.
Breylon cursed and leaped forward, yanking hard on all the Threads available to call up
a net of magic.

Even as Le'esha's eyes adjusted to the blinding light, it began to fade. And she
knew they were too late.

The Nameless One had vanished. Escaped. Aided by blood magic. Going where
those who used clean magic and touched the Threads of life could not follow or trace
him.

The only sound to break the shattering silence was the weeping of the
children--the girl on the altar, the boy on the bloody ground, and an infant wailing, hidden in the
pit.

* * * *

Le'esha brought the two girls to the Stronghold with her. They had Rey'kil
blood, and after all they had seen of their father's evil, she knew they needed special
care. She could not ask any family, even the most sensitive and talented among the
Rey'kil, to see to the healing the girls would need. There was no telling what sort of evil
the Nameless One had been hidden in their minds.

The safest place for the girls was in the Stronghold. Under Le'esha's care. No
matter how strongly Rey'kil prized children, no matter how desperately many families
wanted daughters, these girls would never be able to fit into a normal home.

Breylon took the boy to Wynystrys as his special charge. He and Le'esha
decided to make use of the bond already forged between the Nameless One's son and
Mrillis. Even knowing it was the wisest choice, Le'esha still hesitated to continue to
expose Mrillis to possible danger and threat.

He showed more sensitivity, talent and wisdom than most boys his age, but
would it be enough? Would he be a good influence, or would the enchanter's son be a
bad influence? The two boys were of an age, both orphans. The boy would need Mrillis
as his friend and to teach him the rules of the island. Both the Queen of Snows and the
High Scholar hoped that need would tip the balance in their favor early on.

* * * *

"Never allow anyone to force you to do evil to prevent evil," Le'esha counseled
Mrillis, before he set off for the island on a chill, rainy morning to resume his lessons and
take up his new duty of friendship.

Despite her misgivings, she laughed softly when the boy gave her a confused
look. Boys of nine years were unusually certain of right and wrong and of their own
power to resist evil. He had recovered quickly from the fright of his dreams and the
attacks from the Nameless One. His flight across Lygroes with Lyon had turned into an
adventure and he had already forgotten the hardships. Ceera had welcomed him as a
hero and the two had spent many hours whispering and going over maps, as if planning
new adventures.

Le'esha suspected she sent Mrillis back to Wynystrys, and permitted him to
spend more time there, just to keep him from leading Ceera into new adventures.

"Suppose an evil man captures Ceera?" she said, taking up that thought. She
could still taste her fear when the Nameless One's illusion had hinted at threat to the little
girl.

That got his attention. Ceera was one of the few reasons for not completely
enjoying his longer stays on Wynystrys.

"Suppose this evil man says he will kill or torture Ceera, if you do not help him
to do evil things to other people?"

"Kayla said she would pour ink all over my scroll if I didn't do her lessons for
her. Lady Elayanora heard her say that, and scolded her. Kayla did it anyway. But I
couldn't prove it," Mrillis added, his lower lip sticking out in a disgruntled pout. He was
still a child, despite his adventures.

"Exactly. What is to stop evil men from carrying out their threats, even if you
do what they ask? Remember how I warned you of choices? You are responsible for
everything you do, whether good or evil. In the same way, evil men are responsible for
what they do. If you resist their evil, and they kill innocent people, they will try to put
the blame on you. They will say, 'If Mrillis had done as we asked, then this person would
still be alive, or this village would not have burned to the ground.' But they were the
ones who used the knife or put the torch to the houses. They
chose
to do what
they did. You did not force them to do the things they threatened. Never let anyone put
the blame on you for the evil they did. Do you understand?"

"I think so." Mrillis looked down at his new gloves, tugged his new cloak a little
tighter around himself, and nudged his packed bags with the toe of his boot. "I heard you
talking with your ladies last night." He offered a lopsided smile. "When I should have
been asleep."

Le'esha pressed fingertips to her lips to stop her smile and nodded for him to
continue.

"The enchanter's son." Mrillis raised his gaze to meet hers. "Endor. I heard them.
They're afraid for me. They think this boy will be a bad influence on me. Why are they
so afraid for me? I'm just a boy, but they think I'll do horrible things to hurt the whole
World."

"Oh, my darling." Le'esha opened wide her arms and gathered the boy to sit
with her on the edge of her wide, cushioned chair. She knew better than to urge him to
sit on her lap, and contented herself with resting her chin on the top of his head. "You
are destined to do great and mighty things. Wonderful, good, powerful things. But only
if you hold to the pathway the Estall has set before you."

"They think I'll let this boy make me bad, and I'll hurt people?" Mrillis
whispered, and clutched at her sleeves like he used to do when he was much smaller and
had nightmares.

"You are like a mass of molten metal, waiting to be put on the forge by a great
artisan. At this point in life, there are only possibilities ahead of you. You can be made
into a sword, which can both protect and destroy. You can be made into a bowl to hold
healing potions or poisons. Do you see? Power and potential are meaningless until they
are put to some use. Always choose the path of light," she whispered, and pressed a kiss
into his fine, dark curls.

* * * *

Endor and Mrillis acted like boys anywhere, sneaking away before their chores
were finished, taking treats without asking the cooks and bakers, tearing their clothes in
wild escapades so that the women who oversaw the boys in their long dormitory houses
shook their heads and sighed. They climbed tall, swaying trees in heavy winds, and swam
out farther than they were permitted, daring the swift currents that circled Wynystrys to
carry them away into the dark, cold sea depths. Breylon watched Mrillis and Endor laugh
and squabble and join forces against the bullies. He restrained himself when the uneven
friendship between Nixtan and Mrillis shattered under the pressure of Endor's
presence.

The High Scholar would have preferred that Nixtan be a good influence on
Endor, and that his silent approval of the half-blood boy would help make the
newcomer more acceptable to the students of Wynystrys. Breylon said prayers that as the
boys grew older and learned to put aside childish squabbles, Nixtan and Mrillis would
again be friends, and Endor would be included in that friendship. Still, such fractures in
relationships were normal for boys as they struggled for their place in the unwritten
ranking of boys everywhere. Breylon reported to Le'esha his certainty that she and
Graddon and he had acted with wisdom. More than anything, boys with such strange
and possible futures needed to be simply boys.

Mrillis spent the entire summer and fall on Wynystrys, instead of going home to
the Stronghold every half-moon. When winter came, he was eager to return to Le'esha
and his many adopted aunts and cousins. He and Endor made plans for the places they
would explore in the Stronghold and the canyons that surrounded it, the secret passages
he would share with his friend, the winter games and festivals they would enjoy--until
Breylon told them that Endor could not go to the Stronghold.

"It's because I'm not pure Rey'kil," Endor said with a shrug and a tight laugh that
might have fooled everyone but Mrillis.

"No, it's because you aren't husband or son or grandson to any of the women
inside. No man gets inside unless he's invited or there's great need." Mrillis shivered,
remembering the Encindi skeleton he had seen, crouched on the shore of the Lake of Ice,
trapped in stone by his own hatred.

In his race across Lygroes to distract the Nameless One, he had seen the ravages
of war. He had seen men die in skirmishes, had seen the results of Encindi attacks on
villages; burned homes, dead bodies, mutilated cattle, crippled children. Men and
women who lived, yet looked at the world with dead eyes. Seeing men die on the field
of battle, with their fury and fear in their eyes was very different from watching men in
the healing rooms die quietly, half-drugged. Or seeing the dead bodies waiting for the
funeral pyre.