The Rift War Read online

  "That's something I still don't understand."

  The frustration in Grego's voice made her want to laugh.

  "The Vale of Lanteer is supposed to be a beautiful valley, full of springs and orchards. Paradise." He put a world of feeling in the word. "How can it be underground?"

  "Because it is not, as you say, underground." Mrillis settled back against his saddle, eyelids lowered in his lecturing posture. "Nor, I am sad to say, is it a beautiful valley. Long ago, it might have been, but it has been so tightly wound with Threads, it has changed. It is more a moment of halted time than an actual place, now, after all these centuries. My teacher, Graddon, has slept there since I was a young boy. I am firmly convinced he knew of its future need, to preserve Athrar's life and the hope for our world, and that is why he left me clues to find it, to find him. I dearly hope..."

  He shook his head, his eyes darkening with thoughts that made his mouth flatten with either pain or sorrow. Emrillian couldn't decide which. "Suffice to say, the Vale is the turning point of our journey. The crux of all we have worked for all these years."

  * * * *

  The Tower of Bo'Lantier

  The Kingdom of Quenlaque

  Lygroes

  200 years after the defeat of the Nameless One

  "Maybe you can tell me, Ectrix." Martus, the guardian on duty that moon in the Tower of Bo'Lantier, turned his back to the white-gold enchanted flame that burned without fuel in the wall niche. "Why do some no longer believe in the return of Athrar and his heir?"

  Time stopped in the domed room. The lanky man and the sun-browned boy looked at each other. Despite the warm spring morning, the chill in the gray stone tower grew stronger. The sunlight streaming through the arched window glanced off well-polished armor on its rack. The ceremonial bridles and bells the man had been cleaning sparkled. A bird landed on the sill of the window and chirped a question at the tableau. The silence broke and time flowed on.

  "Sir?" Ectrix blinked, startled, and shifted on the bench where he sat polishing his shield, a gift from his brother, the Regent.

  He had finished his duties for the day, seeing to Martus' armor, feeding the horses and chopping wood for that day's cooking. He could have been outside, practicing archery, but he liked to sit in the tower and talk to the Valor. Unlike other guardians, Martus was enjoyable company. He told stories and talked to Ectrix like he had already earned his spurs as a Valor. Other guardians treated him like a child--and he was nearly fifteen.

  Ectrix liked these times. Martus was better than the tutors back at Quenlaque Castle. He asked questions that made Ectrix think, instead of just repeating his teacher's words back to him. Like now. He wracked his brains for an answer.

  "I think," he began slowly, "it's because five generations have passed since Mrillis and the Queen of Snows raised the dome and Athrar went away to his healing sleep, and no sign of the heir has come. Two hundred years is a long time to wait, sir."

  "Just two hundred?" The man chuckled, a weary sound that bothered the boy. "I thought at least the Regent's family would remember the enchanter's words." Martus sat down, easing his lean frame into a hard, tall chair.

  "But I do remember." He nodded earnestly. "Athrar's heir now shelters in Moerta. When Lord Mrillis cast the enchantment, time slowed for all who remained on Lygroes." He shrugged and gave an apologetic grin. "I don't understand that part, sir."

  "It means that while we live days, the people of Moerta live years. You think the two centuries we have waited here is long?" Martus shook his head and closed his eyes, slouching in the stiff chair. "The last time Mrillis the enchanter was here, I dared to ask him how much time had passed in Moerta since the separation. He told me nearly two thousand years."

  "I'd like to see that world, sir."

  "So would I." Martus opened his eyes. He looked tired. "Ectrix, I'm only thirty years old. Being a guardian, spending my life waiting and watching, hoping that no danger comes through that tunnel, makes me feel like I am three hundred. I want to travel the tunnel beneath the sea and see that other-time world before I die."

  "That would be an adventure!" Ectrix tried to imagine the world beyond the enchanter's protective spells. What changes could two thousand years bring to the world outside the dome?

  Martus stood slowly, staring over the boy's shoulder. He raised his arm just as slowly, pointing at the opposite wall, his eyes getting bigger, his skin going pale, then a moment later flushing dark red.

  Ectrix turned and looked where his superior pointed. In the niche where it had stood as a signal for generations, the golden-white, dancing flame had changed to royal blue. It held still, as if made of glass or ice.

  "The heir is coming," the boy whispered. His gaze turned to the open window. Below, hidden in shadows and trees and tall, lush spring grass, was the mouth of the tunnel to the other-time world.

  "Go!" Martus' voice cracked. "The Regent has to prepare."

  For a moment, Ectrix drank in the colors and enchanted beauty of the signal flame. Then he tore himself away and dashed down the steps. Five seconds to snatch up the saddlebag of provisions, a water skin, and his cloak. He barely took time to saddle his horse before mounting and digging in his heels.

  "Baedrix!" he shouted to the sky, the wind forcing the words back into his mouth. "She's coming! The heir is coming!"

  * * * *

  She had felt the tingling of the portal at least ten minutes before they reached it. The growing sense of the thinning wall between the tunnel and the Vale of Lanteer made the hairs on her arms and the back of her neck stand up, and filled her with a sense of well-being. Such a strong sense, she had to fight the urge to sing at the top of her lungs, to leap off her horse and spin in a wild, child's dance, her feet never touching the ground.

  Their torches dimmed as they approached the portal. A blue and silver sparkling light shimmered around Mrillis, outlining his shape, enhancing the colors in his clothes as he passed through the wall, then the opening became visible, as if the enchanter had been the key.

  The energy shimmered across her skin, rainbow lights shooting from her fingertips like rockets for a few seconds as she followed her grandfather. She felt like she had twenty hours of sleep compressed into a flicker of time. Emrillian turned to watch Grego pass through the barrier. He stared, mouth dropping open, as he looked around at the new place they had entered.

  "Now wait a minute..." Grego stared as the roof of the tunnel vanished in bright, soft light.

  Emrillian smothered a chuckle behind her hand, watching astonishment and disbelief war on his face. She had wondered how long it would take him to notice the change.

  Sheer walls of stone glistened as if made of crushed jewels mixed with severe black and gray stone. Light flared from balls of blue and green luminescence. They oozed from the ceiling like drops of water until they detached and floated, gently bobbing in the air over their heads. Emrillian felt a gentle tingling in the air. Her hair lifted from her scalp as if stirred by wind.

  The soft, faintly amber light came from everywhere around them. Pillars of rock in muted rainbows blocked her vision, but couldn't mute an impression of vastness. She remembered what Mrillis had told Grego during their earlier stop, that the Vale of Lanteer was no longer a valley. She wondered if the rock pillars had once been trees, if the colors came from the birds and flowers that had been here, alive, absorbed when the Threads wrapped around the Vale and pulled it out of the fabric of time and space.

  "How did we get here?" Grego blurted. He dismounted when Mrillis did, staring all around, his head moving like on a loose pivot.

  "Long ago, when I was young and arrogant and didn't know what was impossible, I anchored the Vale of Lanteer to this part of the tunnel. It is a good sign, that the doorway opened at our approach, without my having to ask." Mrillis stepped over to Emrillian's horse and offered his hand to help her dismount. The somberness in his eyes made him a stranger for a moment.

  Emrillian choked, swallowing a cry of protest.
This was supposed to be a happy moment. She would see her parents again, after sixteen years. Her last glimpse of her father had been of a pale, emaciated man, wrapped in the dark haze of approaching death. Now, Athrar would be strong and healthy. She wanted him to laugh and leap from the place where he had slept for centuries, and snatch her up into the air like he had done when she was a child. She wanted to watch him wake her mother with kisses and tickling, so they would laugh and battle with pillows, just like when she had been a child. Then she would leap in among them and all would be well with the world, just for a few short minutes.

  Mrillis offered her his hand. His touch communicated a chill to her blood and she fought a need to weep. What did he fear? Would awakening Athrar bring about the destruction of the Vale of Lanteer?

  "Do you think they will both be awake, when we reach them?" she whispered.

  "Knowing your mother... I would expect her to come running. I remember how your grandfather, Efrin, used to scold Meghianna for growing up, when he wanted her to stay small. I suppose your father will be upset that you can no longer ride on his shoulder. "

  Emrillian laughed a little, and choked on the sound.

  "Once we are finished in this place, no one will visit the Vale of Lanteer until prophecy is fulfilled." The enchanter's voice trailed off. For a second, Emrillian thought his eyes grew dim, his skin transparent with great age.

  "Grandfather, are you well?" she whispered, squeezing his arm. "We can rest here a time, if you wish."

  "No, dear child." His voice grew stronger and he smiled at her. She linked her arm through his and they took the first steps together, to cross the cavern that had once been the Vale of Lanteer. Grego followed. Enchantment kept the horses quiet and still in the archway between tunnel and Vale.

  The cavern narrowed a little, and sloped downward. The blue and green lights following the three visitors cast multiple, queer shadows, from all angles, making it hard to judge shape and distances. Emrillian counted her steps. When she reached twenty-three, more light blazed around them. The blue-green bubbles of light halted. The shimmering, new light grew stronger.

  Luminous pillars of muted rainbows spilled down from a hazy spot halfway to the vaulted ceiling, enveloping two still figures stretched out on a simple pallet on a raised stone platform, like a bier.

  "Who is that?" Grego whispered. He gestured toward a shadowy niche not far from the bier. A tall, robed figure lay in the niche. The only distinguishing feature was that he had no hair.

  "Ah, that is Graddon," Mrillis said without turning to look. "My old master. For whom my Ceera named the Zygradon."

  "Will he ever awaken, Grandfather?" Emrillian asked.

  "Only the Estall knows."

  When they were halfway across the glass-smooth floor, a sound like a sudden, soft gasp came from the two sleepers. The cloth covering their forms shifted slightly, and the sounds of breathing grew stronger, louder, more steady in a few heartbeats. As her eyes grew accustomed to the shifting haze of the light, Emrillian made out more details of the two people lying before her.

  A man and a woman. Even with her fading memories of her last view of her parents, Emrillian somehow expected them both to be robed and crowned as king and queen. The man wore a plain, faded, dark blue tunic and shirt. The kind of clothes a convalescent would wear, comfortable and warm, and easily laundered.

  He didn't wear a helmet or chain mail or armor. He didn't even hold an empty scabbard, as the tales and ballads popular among the Archaics pictured Athrar Warhawk in his mystical resting place. A quilt with a simple spiral pattern in blue and green covered him partway, as if he had moved in his sleep and dislodged it. Emrillian remembered her mother making that quilt when they lived in the Stronghold. She had promised to teach her daughter to make one just like it, when she was a little older.

  Ynfara's deep golden hair was loosely bound in a simple matron's net at the back of her head. No gauzy scarves or jewels. The only jewelry visible were their marriage bands on their wrists, and Athrar's signet ring. They looked like ordinary folk, weary from long labors, in travel clothes.

  Emrillian remembered how pale and emaciated her father had been when they brought him to the tunnel and the Vale of Lanteer, to save his life through enchantment. Now, Athrar almost looked as he did from those short few moons of happy family life. He had color in his cheeks, and his beard and hair didn't look so drained of life and substance. But both her parents still looked tired, nothing at all like the triumphant king and queen, ready to leap from their bier, take up their magical weapons and lead in the defense of their kingdom.

  "Grandfather--"

  "Hush, my dear. Trust in the Estall. His timing is best."

  She studied her parents as she took the last few steps up to the bier, trying to decide what features she had inherited from whom. She had her father's upturned nose and strong, long-fingered hands. Mrillis had told her many times she had Athrar's grip and dexterity. She had inherited her mother's dainty chin and rounded brow and long, white neck. Any other features, she could not discern. The similarities were enough to comfort her.

  Ynfara sighed loudly. The arm stretched across Athrar's chest twitched. She reached up to rub her nose, and snuggled down closer against his shoulder.

  Emrillian couldn't help it. Her nerves snapped and she giggled.

  "Who's there?" Ynfara whispered, and her eyes flickered open. A frown creased her forehead as she stared up into the pearly lights spinning around her. Those eyes were deep blue. Emrillian thought she could look into them and find the answers to questions only half-formed in her mind.

  "Mama?" she whispered, her voice barely more than a squeak. She cleared her throat. "Mama."

  "Who--" She inhaled sharply. "Emmi?" She struggled to sit up.

  Emrillian hurried around the bier to offer her hand.

  Ynfara shuddered and stared, wrapping her arms tight around herself. She began to shake her head, then moaned and pressed her fists against her temples.

  "Slowly, my dear." Mrillis came to stand beside Emrillian. He rested a hand on Ynfara's head. A flash of green-tinted light made all four in the room flinch.

  "Grandfather." Ynfara offered a trembling smile. Then a sob shook her and she stared at Emrillian. "What happened to my baby?"

  "Mama, I'm still here." Emrillian tried not to burst into tears, or give in to the terror and pain that churned cold and heavy in her belly.

  "You're so beautiful. You're all grown up." Ynfara inhaled deeply, fighting her sobs. "You grew up without me. I wasn't there for you."

  "Mama." She dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around her mother's waist. "I wasn't alone. Yes, I missed you terribly. I was a terrible brat for the first few moons after Edrout--"

  "Edrout? What did he do to you?" Ynfara shook off her tears and grasped Emrillian's shoulders, holding her away to study her face. "I will tear him into little pieces. I wasn't able to punish Megassa for what she did to you--"

  "Child." Mrillis stopped her with a caress of her cheek. "Emrillian is fine. She is strong and she is trained, a warrior worthy of her father's name."

  Emrillian wanted to laugh again, seeing the struggle on her mother's face. Anger, sorrow, chagrin, growing shock. She thought she was prepared for this, but it still unnerved her to see her mother, exactly as she remembered her last, still sleepy, visibly dizzy, and ready to leap to the defense of her child with all the fury of a she-drakag.

  "Ah, now that is something I never saw, no matter how deeply I dreamed." A new, deep male voice surprised all four of them. "The Lady Warhawk. And of your bloodline, no less, lad."

  Chapter Five

  "Graddon." Mrillis went nearly as pale as his beard. He stepped away from the bier, holding out a hand toward the tall, vibrant man who blessed them all with a wide smile and laughter sparkling in his eyes.

  "The time has come." The ancient seer nodded, looking from Ynfara to Emrillian, to Grego. "A man of the future. The tools may change, but the soul, never."

>   "How does he--" Grego swallowed hard. "Stupid question. Sorry."

  "Grandfather, what does he mean, a man of the future?" Ynfara slipped an arm around Emrillian, drawing her to sit on the bier with her. "How long have we slept?"

  "There is too much to teach you, and we are expected in Quenlaque soon enough," Mrillis began.

  Graddon chuckled. "Dreams, lad." He moved over to stand at Athrar's feet and looked down at him. "There is yet some healing that must be done, so he must remain here. Yet how shall he stand against the world that has passed us by, if there is no time to teach him?"

  "To teach a sleeper, there must be one who is awake to stand guard," Ynfara said. "To take the knowledge, and...guide it." She rested her free hand on Athrar's chest.

  "No, Mama," Emrillian whispered.

  "What?" Grego demanded.

  "She has to stay here, awake, sealed in."

  "Partially awake," Mrillis said. "Are you sure?"

  "Of course not." Ynfara cupped Emrillian's cheek. "My little girl... I abandoned her, and now I must abandon her again."

  "The duty that rests on the bloodline of the Warhawk is stronger than any other." Emrillian tried to smile, when what she wanted was to make herself small and curl up on her mother's lap for a few days. "Grandfather taught me that. And you didn't abandon me."

  "I wasn't there when you were afraid, when you cried, when you--" She shook her head. "You're right." She inhaled deeply and lifted her head to look at Graddon. "Let us finish this final battle, so we can have years of peace. Boring peace."

  "I would like to learn what it is to be bored," Graddon said, nodding. "Lad, she is definitely of your blood. Tell me, how long have we slept?"

  "Three generations have passed in Lygroes since you entered your sleep, then four more since Athrar and Ynfara joined you here. Two thousand years outside the dome that protects Lygroes. Emrillian is prepared to take her place as Warhawk's heir. There is nothing I need to do to improve her mind or her heart."

  Emrillian turned to Mrillis, staring. She knew he was proud of her, but the words caused a queer, bright pain in the midst of her pride.