Lady Warhawk Read online

  LADY WARHAWK

  Zygradon Chronicles #4

  By

  Michelle L. Levigne

  Uncial Press Aloha, Oregon

  2010

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events described herein are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN 13: 978-1-60174-053-3

  ISBN 10: 1-60174-053-0

  Copyright © 2010 by Michelle L. Levigne

  Cover design

  Copyright © 2010 by Judith B. Glad

  Background image:

  The Crab Nebula from VLT

  by FORS Team, 8.2-meter VLT, ESO

  All rights reserved. Except for use in review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the author or publisher.

  Published by Uncial Press,

  an imprint of GCT, Inc.

  Visit us at http://www.uncialpress.com

  Before the ending of all things worthwhile and strong, there will be three drops of blood born to the bloody sword.

  The daughters shall walk in light and be strong, but the son shall overstep them.

  One shall serve and one abominate and one will triumph.

  One will sleep and one shall wait and one shall suffer.

  They shall do so forever, and yet even to forever there is an ending.

  The blood drawn from the third shall open the doors and smooth the road and waken the sleeper.

  Protect the strong and vigilant, so that the three drops of blood may come.

  Though you look for the abomination, you will not find her until she has destroyed innocence. Keep her from the blood drawn from the blood, or all is lost.

  Chapter One

  Time ran out for them, the summer that Meghianna's sons turned fourteen and fifteen.

  To the rest of the world, she was the Widow Ianni, who ran a small, clean inn in a quiet, respectable quarter of the growing port city of Quenlaque. Her dark-dyed hair had a strong reddish cast, which neatly explained her healing talents to her neighbors and friends, and her two suitors, Kaldar, a merchant sailor captain, and Ector, head of the garrison in Quenlaque.

  Technically, only one of her sons was her son--Lycen, the elder. The younger boy, Thrarin, was Ianni's little brother, orphaned when he was three years old--at least, that was the story Meghianna told her friends when Mrillis, disguised as a horse trader, brought the little boy to live with her one blustery winter night.

  In truth, Thrarin was Athrar, Warhawk's heir. The attempts on the boy's life had grown severe enough to prompt Efrin Warhawk and his queen, Glyssani, to send the boy away into hiding, just as Meghianna had predicted nearly four years before.

  She had prepared for that need, establishing herself as a healer and innkeeper and widow with a son. Enemies would expect the Warhawk's heir to be hidden at the Stronghold. They would waste resources, magic, and years trying to break through the protective spells enfolding the Rey'kil fortress. Meanwhile, Athrar would grow up believing himself the orphaned brother of an innkeeper, safely hidden in Quenlaque.

  Meghianna had adopted Lycen, the orphaned infant son of Lysette, one of her ladies who had left the Stronghold to set up a school in the foothills of the Wayhauk Mountains. She and her Valor husband, Syndal, had died defending their Encindi and Rey'kil students from pureblood fanatics who preferred murder to cleanse the land, rather than allowing Encindi and Noveni 'invaders' to pack up their possessions and leave. They justified the murder of the Rey'kil students by calling them traitors to Rey'kil purity. Meghianna planned to tell Lycen the truth of his parents' identities and lives and deaths someday. She wasn't sure when. It was the sweetest joy in her life to have the fair-haired toddler follow her about the inn, determined to help with little chores, asking for stories and calling her Mama.

  When Thrarin joined their household, Lycen was duly impressed with the responsibilities of being an older brother. He made Meghianna want to laugh and cry at the same time when he immediately took Thrarin under his wing and insisted she was to be called Mother, not Sister.

  Her disguise as an innkeeper and healer brought the world to Athrar/Thrarin. People knew who he was, knew he was there, and yet ignored him when he was underfoot, running errands, listening to stories. From Kaldar and Ector and the soldiers and sailors and tradesmen who frequented the inn, Lycen and Thrarin learned about the world, about warfare and danger, about swordplay and the tricks of the wind and weather, tracking and wounds, treachery and heroism, through the stories the men told on long, cold or rainy evenings. When Lycen wanted to learn to handle sword and bow and to ride something more spirited than the carthorse that hauled the inn's supplies, Ector snuck him into the garrison for lessons on the sly. And of course, where Lycen went, Thrarin was his shadow.

  By the time their life of simplicity and safe anonymity ended, Lycen and Thrarin were toughened by short trips along the coast with trustworthy men like Kaldar, and hours of swordplay and helping tend the horses of the garrison. They were restless, eager to spread their wings and explore the world beyond the streets of Quenlaque and the harbor and the garrison.

  What am I to do? Meghianna complained to Mrillis that morning when prophecy and destiny caught up with them. She sat in her inn in Quenlaque while he rode through a midnight forest in Moerta. My little boys are growing up. Does every mother feel this way?

  Every parent, Mrillis told her. I know we planned to wait until Athrar was seventeen, but the boy is good with weapons, alert, agile--and he has his brother constantly watching over him. The Estall blessed us when he put Lycen into your care. Most older brothers would consider their little brothers a burden and punish them for it daily. He doesn't make Thrarin chafe against his leadership, either.

  Hmm, yes, that's true. I keep forgetting my boys are a little unusual, Meghianna responded, earning laughter from the enchanter.

  Such talk depressed her. She didn't look forward to the day her boys were too big for snuggling together on the big, broken-legged, lumpy couch in the front room of their quarters, telling stories and laughing together. Truthfully, her boys had outgrown the need to cuddle with their mother, but she hadn't outgrown that need to cuddle them, to smooth their hair out of their faces and tug their clothes straight and hug them, pretending that was all she needed to do to protect them from the bumps and scrapes of life.

  Not even her power and authority as Queen of Snows would be enough to protect her boys when they took their destined places in front of the world and prophecy swept them up in its current.

  We might be wise to change our plan, Mrillis said. Our enemies constantly watch all the castles of the highest ranking nobles on Lygroes, and the most loyal of the minor kings here on Moerta. And I fear for you, my dear.

  Me? Now Meghianna could laugh, more in surprise than anything else. Why?

  It has been fifteen years since anyone has seen the Queen of Snows. The enchantments we wrapped around the Stronghold, to keep out visitors and permit communication are still strong--but someone must suspect the enchantments, because I have heard a dozen rumors in the last moon that the Queen of Snows is dead.

  How many of our enemies spread rumors of my death to force my hand? How many of them have decided I'm not there at all, and are looking for me throughout the World?

  Exactly. Someone who remembers you originally had red hair, before power bleached it white, may have an idea of what you should look like, and eventually find you.

  Do we leave our life behind, then? Move the boys t
o the Stronghold for a few years?

  Give them a strong foundation in magic. Lycen needs to explore his heritage. And Athrar certainly has more magic in his blood than Efrin, from living with you, Mrillis added.

  Meghianna opened her eyes and looked around the tiny loft room, where she kept the account books and tallies of supplies. It let her look out over the main room of the inn and keep watch over all the traffic. Someone was bound to come looking for her soon. It was a law of nature that she couldn't have more than ten minutes of privacy at a time. She got up and leaned against the window in the wall.

  There were her boys, two fair heads, Lycen with his curls and Thrarin with his straight, coarse locks, their crossed arms resting on the table, their shoulders hunched as they listened to Captain Ector tell them about his latest adventures while out on patrol. The Encindi rebels were more active and destructive than usual, meaning the winter illnesses and starvation hadn't decimated their numbers. Meghianna welcomed Ector's visits because he made a point of emphasizing the darker aspects of a soldier's life--wounds and long hours in the saddle and danger. If only he wouldn't insist on asking her at least twice a year to marry him.

  She admired Ector, and loved him as a good friend, but he always smelled of sweaty metal and sour leather, belched too often, and ate with his fingers. Meghianna knew those were ridiculous reasons to refuse a man, but she couldn't find any reasons to accept him. He didn't make her heart sing. Until her heart sang for a man, she wouldn't give it to anyone.

  Mrillis...you said they're looking for Thrarin at the castles of minor kings? Are Pirkin and Ynessa and their family all right?

  I'm going to Goarlotte now to bolster our protective spells. What more logical place to hide the Warhawk's heir than in the kingdom of his most loyal ally? Especially someone related by blood to the Warhawk's Enchanter? Mrillis' mental voice sounded utterly weary with that last admission.

  Meghianna ached for him. If any harm ever came to Pirkin and Ynessa, their three sons and five-year-old Ynfara because of their connection to him, he would never forgive himself.

  Mrillis broke the connection through the Threads. Meghianna was still running their conversation over in her mind when her link with the Lake of Ice opened. She nearly snarled her anger aloud. When she chose to abandon the Stronghold for her false identity in Quenlaque, she and Mrillis had woven the enchantment that blocked everyone from entering the Stronghold, and let her speak to all visitors standing at the Lake of Ice. The lack of any visible proof that the Queen of Snows still lived discouraged visitors and requests for aid. Visits to the pebbly shore of the Lake of Ice had gone down to just a trickle, maybe three in a year, by the time Thrarin was ten years old.

  Now Meghianna had to think back to the last time someone had come to the Stronghold. Maybe eight moons? Why did they have to seek the help of the Queen of Snows now? Especially when she needed to get downstairs and interrupt what looked like a plotting session between her boys and Captain Ector? Meghianna didn't trust the way they kept looking up at the window into the loft, as if all three had guilty consciences. If she wasn't careful, she would come downstairs and find out that she was not only betrothed to Ector, but the three men had already contacted a Star-Mother to perform the vows at the ceremony. Worse yet, Bethian, the inn's cook and manager, would be involved in the plot, providing the feast for the festivities.

  What do you seek, that you come to the Lake of Ice? she asked, and didn't flinch when her impatience made her voice snap and boom across the ice.

  The enchantment brought the image of a man in the Warhawk's brown and gold livery to her mind's eye. He dropped to both knees on the pebbly edge of the Lake of Ice.

  "The Warhawk has sent me to ask you to bring his heir to him, Queen of Snows. Treachery rises in the Court. He is ill, and his enemies will trick him into naming one of them heir unless his son comes to him now."

  The man, far too handsome to be trusted, in Meghianna's opinion, was an unfamiliar face. She pegged him as a Moertan, or of the new generation of Rey'kil Valors who hadn't trained at the Stronghold. She pushed a little against the enchantment, to test the harmonies of the Threads wrapped around him.

  Her impatience turned to anger when she found the Threads too tight, held with an iron fight so they didn't chime at her testing touch. He couldn't tell that she had tested him, and that was a foolish trick she would never have allowed one of her students to use.

  Liar. She gripped the arms of her chair to keep from leaping to her feet or reaching out physically to slap him. I am well aware of the health of Efrin Warhawk, who knows his heir is not in the Stronghold.

  Her voice crackled and snapped across the ice and made the pebbles of the shore vibrate. The false messenger jumped to his feet, visibly trembling now, and looked around him in all directions. Meghianna's magically produced voice rang off the surrounding high walls of rock, the boulders, and shredded the mist that clung to the shore of the Lake of Ice, so that the bodies of the enemies of the Stronghold were revealed. She thought it particularly gruesome to leave skeletons scattered all around the shore in their rotting shreds of finery and rusting fragments of armor and weapons, but Meghianna had learned never to cast aside any tradition of her predecessors. There were plenty of places along the Lake of Ice where the inhabitants of the Stronghold could walk in undisturbed tranquility and enjoy the landscape. The only places visitors would ever see were filled with the fragments of cruel punishments and death.

  Yes, there is treachery in the Court, and you are part of it. Did you believe you could lie to the Queen of Snows, and not be punished? You were judged false from the moment you walked through the stone gates. Your own lies have wrapped death's cords around your throat.

  If the man had fled the moment she accused him of lying, he would already be in the maze of caverns that surrounded and guarded the Stronghold, and he would live to tell about his adventure. But like every self-righteous, lying traitor, he stayed to argue and lie more.

  Meghianna felt a little pity when he shook and his face grew a little paler as he spoke, shaking his head and holding out his hands in a gesture of pleading. She didn't listen to his words, as she gathered up her will.

  Just a few nights ago, Kaldar had brought the boys a deliciously horrifying tale of a ship that had sailed too far north at the worst of the winter storms. All its crew had been found encased in ice, standing at their posts on the deck of the ship. Meghianna had found the story just as horribly fascinating as her boys.

  It would certainly be a new and novel punishment, and would preserve the body for other liars and traitors to see. It might warn away those who still had a conscience.

  You ignored the warnings and you came to lie, she said, breaking into the man's denials. You refused to leave when you could. Very well, then. Stay here forever.

  Gathering up the frigid air and water from below the ice, she wrapped them around the man, encasing him in a pillar of glistening ice, as solid as crystal, without even an air bubble to escape his nostrils or lips.

  Meghianna shivered a little in sympathy, even knowing the man had died instantly. She was glad she felt some horror at his death--it meant she hadn't become completely hardened to such drastic measures.

  Rubbing her hands against the chill that came through the enchantment, she hurried down the stairs to Ector and her boys, praying she was in time to prevent a wedding she was far too busy to escape with any courtesy.

  "Mother!" Lycen darted across the room to Meghianna the moment she parted the curtain at the bottom of the loft stairs, and stepped into the main room. "Who is that?" He gestured with the head motion Ector had taught the boys, part of the signals used for communication in the presence of enemies. Meghianna opened her mouth to tell the boy that while his gesture was more polite than pointing, he was being ridiculous to use such tactics.

  Then she saw the woman in her gold-trimmed cloak of black that shimmered in the lantern light filling the inn. Below that shimmer of fine cloth, she saw the faint glim
mer of magic, long restrained and tightly disciplined. Its resonance was familiar.

  Megs? she called, feeling a trembling deep in her chest. Though the visitor's face was hidden in the shadowy depths of her fine cloak, Meghianna recognized the presence of her sister, though it had been sixteen years since they had seen each other or communicated across the Threads.

  Efrin had sent Megassa and Lorkin into exile for poisoning Queen Glyssani to prevent conception. The years had softened the anger of the Warhawk, and he communicated with his younger daughter in her fortress in the Wayhauk Mountains. He sent gifts for her four sons. Efrin had never formally invited Megassa, Lorkin, and their sons to Court, though he had rescinded his order of banishment.

  When Meghianna became Ianni the innkeeper, she had severed the link that had existed between her and her sister since the scholars of Wynystrys wove the spell that limited Megassa's imbrose. She could not take the risk that someone with stronger imbrose could follow that link between the two sisters and find Athrar. Meghianna had heard little from Megassa since her banishment. Her sister had refused all attempts at communication through the Threads, and only sent letters and accepted them. Glyssani believed Megassa harbored a grudge that Meghianna hadn't taken her part when she was punished for her treachery.

  Meghianna regretted severing the link, because it gave her no ability to reach through her sister's protective walls. She had no way of knowing how strong Megassa's imbrose was, how much control she had over it, and if her sister had come to this small, obscure inn to cause harm.

  "I hear there is a talented healer woman here," Megassa said, tugging back her hood. She wore her red hair bound back on her head, with jewels woven into it, and a gauzy scarf covering the intricate mass. Streaks of silver added to the elegance of the look, and there were lines around her eyes and mouth.

  Meghianna shivered at the strangeness of realizing Megassa looked at least ten years older than she. She congratulated herself on keeping her voice and steps assured, no wavering, no hesitation when she spoke. "I am Ianni, a healer in this quarter of the city."