The Rift War Page 6

  Emrillian gave Grego a tight smile and followed. Her mount and the packhorses shied when they had to pass the drakags, but she kept control, and in a moment the trouble passed. Grego took a deep breath and dug his heels into his mount's sides. He guided the animal, in as wide an arch as he could manage, around the dead beasts. A faint odor of corruption already hovered around the corpses. He looked once at them, little more than a quick glance. In their struggles they had torn their hides, which legend reported as impervious as hammered and tempered steel.

  * * * *

  "I've been thinking about Edrout." Grego kept his voice just above a whisper.

  Emrillian wished he would either speak loudly enough that she didn't strain to hear, or give in and speak through the Threads. She couldn't understand why he didn't like to use that form of communication. He hadn't had headaches from doing it for years now.

  "Does Edrout really believe he is Athrar's son," he continued, when she just nodded and waited for him to continue, "and he was cast off and punished for the sins of his father?"

  "He will likely use that tale to bolster his claim to the throne. Whether he believes it or not, who knows?"

  Emrillian was glad Grego accompanied them on this journey. Mrillis was too intent on studying the tunnel ahead of them, too deeply immersed in the Threads as they crept closer to Lygroes and the currents of time slowed around them. He wouldn't be good company, and she needed someone to talk with, to pass the time and relieve the tension of wondering when the next attack might come. Drakags were easy enough, after proving to herself she could do it the first time. The stinging bats that had come at them an hour ago were only annoying, squeaking and refusing to fly into the light globes she conjured to stun them.

  She swallowed, testing the scratching in her throat. If this damp continued seeping through her clothes, she supposed she would have a cold, or at least a dripping nose by the time they emerged from the tunnel. She almost laughed aloud at the thought of a queen facing her subjects for the first time, sniffing and sneezing.

  She glanced at Mrillis, wondering if she could ask him to ward off any ill effects of their journey. A second later, common sense told her he would refuse, on principle if nothing else. She had magic in her blood, so she should use it on herself when necessary. She wiggled her fingers inside her gloves, fighting the temptation to rub them against her thighs. They tingled with the growing strength of magic in the very air, more solid with every league they rode down the tunnel below the sea.

  She had to behave sensibly, responsibly, now that magic permeated her flesh and filled her lungs. Imbrose was a gift to help her people, not a toy for an immature, irresponsible child. That kind of mind-set would turn her into a greater danger than Megassa and Edrout combined. Still, Emrillian shivered in gleeful memory of the ease in shaping the light, changing it from protection to destruction. As Mrillis had told her often, it was a matter of imaging what she wanted, understanding it, and then reshaping energy so her will became reality.

  "I have no fear for your skill or your maturity," Mrillis said softly, breaking his silence that had lasted nearly three hours. "As you will prove again and again. And now."

  "Grandfather, do the people of Quenlaque remember--"

  "Ah...excuse me?" Grego waved to get their attention. "What's that smell?"

  Emrillian sniffed and understood the worried, slightly disgusted look on Grego's face. The rancid stench became stronger with every step their horses took. Rotten meat, mixed with musk and sulfur.

  "Rixils," Mrillis said. He shook his head. "Edrout is being exceptionally childish, putting them in our path."

  "Why?"

  For a moment, he couldn't answer as their mounts reacted to the stink of the rixils and they had to fight to calm them. Mrillis looked only irritated when he snapped his fingers, sending a shower of blue sparks to touch the horses. Emrillian felt the calming of his magic, dulling the beginning of terror in the animals.

  "Are rixils as bad as the legends say?" Grego asked. "Or can we just assume their smell is the worst part?"

  "Yes, just as bad. But only between the ages of ten and twenty." Mrillis glanced at Emrillian, a calculating light in his eyes. She took a deep breath, bracing herself for whatever her grandfather would ask her to do next. Irritation flared through her. He could deal with the creatures without much effort, but he would have her do it to test and prove to herself that she was ready.

  "Why's that?" Grego pressed.

  "That is their breeding age. Nursing mothers are the most dangerous of any creature."

  "Can I assume we will both need magic to fight this?" Emrillian asked.

  "If there are more than three, yes." Mrillis signaled, and they slowed their horses. A few packhorses snorted and bobbed their heads, resisting the magic that kept them still. Emrillian wondered how much magic it would take to calm the animals during the coming confrontation.

  "Grandfather," she said, feeling only exasperation, "rixils have litters of twenty at a time."

  * * * *

  "Why so many?" Grego blurted. He faced straight ahead, trying to glimpse the rixils before they leaped.

  Legend said rixils had beaks like birds of prey; greasy, harsh fur of black or muddy brown; prehensile tails tipped by a poisonous sting; and paws sporting four razor-sharp claws each. They loped on four legs but went upright in battle. Grego shivered at the thought of facing those creatures without an energy blaster.

  "They have so many at each birth because the strong kits eat the others when they stop nursing." Mrillis drew back on the reins of his mount. Grego followed suit, gusting a sigh of relief that they wouldn't ride any further into danger. "Swords and shields this time."

  "Swords? Aren't we using magic?" Grego winced when his voice cracked.

  "We are," Emrillian replied. "Magic only works in equal measure with your control over it. If there are many rixils, there may be too many for you to consciously attack. A sword in the hand would have saved many Rey'kil in the past, who depended completely on magic."

  Grego waited until she wedged her torch in a crevice in the rock wall beside them before he followed suit. One rule from their training days had been to always keep one person on guard while the others were busy with tasks. He released his torch with a feeling of regret and swallowed hard, trying to control an urge to shout, or turn tail and run. From one of the bulky packs, Emrillian brought out two long, triangular shields. One, she handed to Grego, and kept the other. Both looked like they had gone through hard service, toughened by experience. Grego hoped so. If worse came to worst, he could use the lower point of his shield as an additional weapon. The length would provide more coverage. He had won a decent share of his tournament trials, but that hardly seemed adequate preparation now. The contests Archaics indulged in were all play, even at their most serious.

  A squeal threaded its way through the darkness from the black hole of the tunnel ahead of them. It faded as it reached them, as if the light of the torches diffused the threat. The foul smell grew, as if it were being deliberately blown toward them. Grego tried to breathe through his mouth as he readied his sword and pulled on the mail gauntlets and his helmet. That maneuver didn't help. He could almost taste the filth in the air.

  Armed and ready now, they could move forward. Grego gathered up the torches while Emrillian mounted her horse. He handed them to her, mounted his horse, and took back his torch. They moved at a slower pace than before. Grego was grateful for Mrillis' calming spell, envisioning his horse rearing and throwing him at a crucial moment.

  The attack started before Grego could see any movement in the darkness ahead. Emrillian stood in her stirrups. Blue light flashed in a column like a fountain, forward into the darkness from her outstretched hand. It turned red and expanded as a lithe, brown form darted out of the blackness. The light flared to reveal a warren of caves on either side of the tunnel, dug into the walls, going up almost into the arch of the ceiling. Emrillian tossed her torch aside to grasp her reins. The flam
e guttered and nearly died as the thin shaft of wood rolled, but flared up strong as the torch came to a stop. Between it and the light created by Emrillian and Mrillis, there was more than enough illumination to fight by.

  Grego regretted that, even as he was grateful. Sometimes, seeing the enemy was worse than not seeing the enemy.

  Mrillis made fireballs that shot straight from the fingertips of his gloves. Mounts and packhorses stood still, as if accustomed to such pyrotechnic displays.

  A rixil shrieked and squealed like a stabbed boar as it leaped straight at Emrillian. The force of its collision with the spear of red light she shot at it sent it hurtling backwards, bowling over four other beasts preparing to leap. The five fought among themselves as the light thickened and wrapped around them. Grego wished his magic extended to offensive weapons. He concentrated on thickening the stream of power from his imbrose to Emrillian, and kept his shield and sword ready, poised to jump into battle if any threat came against her.

  Mrillis scorched seven with fireballs, which did not fade but burned brighter each time they found a target. The flames followed the individual beasts, reminding Grego of homing hover-bombs. Then the fireballs grew and wrapped around their prey. Grego turned away, covering his mouth and nose with his bent arm as the stink intensified. The beasts' greasy fur sizzled as they writhed and screamed, flinging themselves to the floor, against the walls and at each other.

  "Emmi, 'ware above you!" Mrillis shouted. He reached into a pouch at his belt and brought out a handful of what looked like glitter. The silvery sparkles coalesced into three whirling blades of metal, thinner than paper, that spun toward two leaping beasts. It all happened in the flicker of an eye, before the echo of his voice could fade.

  Leaping to dodge the blades, one rixil soared over Emrillian's head, landing in the clear space between her horse and Grego's. He stared for a moment into the burning, sickly yellow eyes of the beast. As it gathered itself to leap at him, he brought up his shield and swung his sword with as much force as he could muster.

  Something solid and heavy contacted with his sword, jarring his arm up to his shoulder, and rebounded against his shield. The blows he had taken in tournaments were nothing compared to the force of the impact. His horse jerked back from the weight and inertia. Unprepared, Grego fell forward off his horse. He kept the shield before him, his sword pointing forward. Numbness momentarily took him as his knees hit the ground. A heavy body hit, driving against the shield, but his arm held. Grego heard the distinct sound of claws scrabbling against the shield, sliding and scraping until the beast hit the ground.

  At the back of his mind, he was giddy with relief that he'd kept feeding power to Emrillian.

  Then Mrillis was there, face calm as he brought his sword up high and thrust it down with both hands. Grego heard a wet squelch and a thump. Curiosity overrode caution and he tilted aside the shield. He looked down to see the rixil shudder, legs splaying, mouth opening in a soundless shriek, the sword pinning it to the stone floor. Only a dozen or so centimeters lay between his knees and the animal's fangs. Black blood gushed from the rixil's ears and mouth. It died with one last spasm, outstretched claws scratching faintly against the edge of the shield.

  "Thank you," Grego rasped.

  "You did well." He nodded and turned away. "Emrillian?"

  "Untouched." Her voice sounded ragged. Grego got to his feet and moved toward her on trembling legs.

  Emrillian knelt over a bloody, burned body, wiping her sword on the hem of her cloak. A shudder passed over her as she stood and Grego thought she swayed. Mrillis offered her his arm for support. All around, silence rang with the subconscious echoes of the brief battle. The enchanter gestured toward the horses and Grego complied, gathering up reins and leading the animals over to him and Emrillian. She smiled at Grego as she took her mount's reins, and her lips trembled.

  "May we leave, Grandfather? I doubt I can do my share to hold the animals calm for much longer." She mounted as she spoke. Her hands shook a little as she gathered up the reins.

  "Release them after we have mounted, but slowly."

  When they were all back in the saddle, the enchanter nodded to Emrillian and tightened his hands on his horse's reins. Grego took warning from him. The next moment, the light around them dimmed and his horse let out a squeal of terror. If he had not held the reins so tightly, Grego knew the animal would have reared up and thrown him. Suddenly, the vaulting tunnel roof was too close for his comfort.

  They resumed their journey down the tunnel. Grego wondered how long it would take before they left the stench behind.

  "Grego." Mrillis' unusually soft tones surprised him, coming after what felt like hours of tense, watchful silence once they'd left the rixils' nest far behind. "Keep watch over Emrillian. I fear the strain was too much for her."

  "Too much for her?" Grego barely managed to keep his voice down. He glanced at Emrillian. She slouched forward in her saddle. Her hood covered her face completely, but from her posture he could guess at the pallor of her face, the dazed look in her eyes.

  "Like you, she has never fought a battle in earnest until today, and despite our lessons, never did so much at one time with her magic. The strain and the shock of killing so much, so quickly, weighs heavily on her. I would stop and dose her now, but I wish to reach a more hospitable place, first." As he spoke, Mrillis urged his horse to a trot. The sound of hooves multiplied geometrically.

  "More hospitable?" Grego wished he didn't sound so doubtful. "You mean the whole place isn't like this?"

  "I had hoped to ride straight to the waystop, the halfway point, where we will camp and then go into the Vale of Lanteer. That isn't possible now."

  "Where Athrar--" Grego urged his horse forward as Emrillian leaned to one side. The torch slipped from her fingers. The horse snorted and sidestepped the falling flame. Her movement was slow, like in a dream. He managed to reach her before she lost her grip on the reins and slid to the ground. Her horse stopped.

  "Can you carry her?" Mrillis called from ahead, as he halted his horse and the pack animals.

  "Don't worry about me. You just keep a watch out for any more nasty surprises." He gathered her into his arms and settled her securely across the wide saddle. Emrillian's face was too pale, as if she had lied, and some blood spilled behind them had been hers, after all.

  * * * *

  Emrillian woke slowly, to the clear, precise tones of Mrillis lecturing. She sat up slowly, in fear of a pounding head. A weary weakness made her body heavy and slow to move. Her eyes blurred until she blinked a few times. What she could see was not much of an improvement.

  Mrillis had stopped them in a niche where the tunnel curved. It wasn't exactly a cave, but it gave an illusion of shelter among all the shadows and damp. She lay in a nest of blankets with a saddle as a pillow, against the wall. A torch sat wedged into a pile of rocks near her head. A faint dusting of crystals in the roof of the niche gave back a dull sparkling glow. A fire burned in a circle of rocks and Mrillis and Grego sat on opposite sides, talking. Tea steeped in a small metal pot, hanging without visible support over the flames. The spicy aroma reminded her of cozy afternoons in Mrillis' library, curled up on the couch, reading ancient histories or listening to her grandfather tell her what was true and false about the events recorded there, and even sharing some stories of how he or Meghianna had deliberately fouled the histories to hide the truth. Emrillian wished for those days.

  "I know what you think, I can read it in your eyes," Mrillis said. "You wish to know why, with my powers, I don't remove dangers like the drakag. The answer is simple, if you think a moment."

  "Only simple to you," the younger man muttered, picking up a cup of tea.

  Emrillian's throat and mouth felt dusty, watching him drink. She held quiet, wanting to understand the conversation before joining it.

  Mrillis chuckled, the sound brightening and warming the cold and gray surrounding them. "I agree, the answer is only simple to those who understand t
he legends and magic. The dangerous beasts remain here specifically to protect the tunnel. Even the monsters and nuisances that Edrout insinuated here."

  "Protect it against what?"

  "More accurately, to protect whom?" Mrillis lifted one finger and the pot of tea swung out and tipped. The greenish liquid arched so it streamed into his cup without spilling.

  That flamboyant little gesture brought her own magic to mind. Emrillian felt some pride that she had functioned so well in the attacks they had faced, even as instinct told her the ache in her head came from improper control. She knew Mrillis would take her aside for refined lessons soon enough.

  "Imagine the chaos and danger, for both worlds, if Moerta's people blundered upon this tunnel. Many there have the potential to work magic," Mrillis continued, after taking a long sip of the tea. "They simply lack the energy necessary. Let me remind you, not all Athrar's followers stayed inside the dome erected over Lygroes. Many crossed to Moerta. If anyone has magic in the age to come, it is because of the blood of Rey'kil ancestors."

  "You're sure magic will extend over the whole planet again, once the dome falls?" Grego's eyes gleamed. "I can't decide if people will be thrilled or terrified. Karstis and Shalara were prepared, somewhat, and even they got a good shock."

  "The question is whether the easier access to magic will be a good thing, or the beginning of the end for our world." Mrillis turned from the fire. A cup rose, was filled, and floated toward Emrillian. "I am glad to see you among us again, child."

  "I feel much better," she said, answering the unspoken question. She stood, caught the cup in mid-air and settled down in front of the fire, Mrillis on her right hand, Grego on her left. "Though ashamed at my weakness. More lessons?" she asked, when her grandfather caught her wrist and she felt the questing of his spirit against hers as he checked her health.

  "Discipline must be learned through practice." He nodded and released her wrist. "When you are ready, we will go. A little more than three hours of riding, we will be at the Vale."