Firebrand
Page 172
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“There are so many glorious possibilities. I need to meditate on it.”
“Arvyn,” Lala said, “you aren’t paying attention.”
He tore his gaze from the two women and gave her some semblance of a smile, a very false smile, and continued the lesson though his mind reeled. Estral had been captured and he knew not her fate, and now they had discovered the king’s identity. Now all was lost.
GHOSTS
She stood in a clearing of Blackveil Forest near the remains of Telavalieth, a village once inhabited by Eletians when the land was still Argenthyne. The dark forest crowded in, crushed the ruins beneath root and branch, and mist oozed between tree trunks and formed a low ceiling over the clearing. Tendrils of vegetation hissed as they snaked through the forest, seeking, seeking . . . They had lost Hana to the forest this way, the second member of the expedition to perish, when roots reached out like tentacles and snatched her away.
Blackveil. Why was she in Blackveil again?
The Rider in ancient garb stood with her, cloaked in billowing mist. His gaze wandered around the clearing. “You choose such strange places to meet,” he said.
Had she chosen it, or had it chosen her?
Something screeched in the distance. The heavy air dampened her hair and uniform. The forest leaned in, menacing, aggressive, the hiss of seeking roots louder, insistent.
“Still not doing well, are you,” the Rider said, peering closely at her. “Well, this cannot wait. None of it can. I wanted to tell you about the marks on the armor and the seals. The marks are the aegis of Westrion, symbols of protection and shielding. And in the case of the seals, of exile and confinement. It is not known to me if the marks are living entities, or if they just seem alive. These things I do not know. They are strong, but not impervious to enemies. Just because you are armored with star steel marked under the aegis of Westrion, doesn’t mean you are impervious to harm. You must always be watchful, be on your guard. If the marks die, you will become vulnerable. And of course if the marks on the seals degrade, the danger is to us all.”
A long tendril of vegetation slithered across the clearing. She stepped back and more mist wafted into the space between them.
“You must ensure the seals are whole,” the Rider continued. “If they fail? The dark ones will be freed, and they can harm the living, and even the dead. This is why you are avatar, to stand in the way of such devastation.”
“Siris,” she murmured. His name came to her from some lost memory. “Siris Kiltyre.”
“That is Captain Kiltyre to you, Rider.” There was a hint of a smile on his face.
The mist rolled in thicker than ever and obscured him. The tendrils of vegetation reached for her, wrapped around her ankles, and yanked her off her feet. She fell hard onto her back. She screamed.
FALLING TO PIECES
At Karigan’s scream, Estral sat bolt upright from a dead sleep, her heart pounding. She tried to remember where she was, had flashes of a terrible nightmare where she and Karigan had been held captive by Second Empire. She closed her eyes and forced her breathing to calm. When she opened them, she found the woman, Nari, with her head stuck through the tent flaps. Estral blinked at the influx of sunlight.
“Ah, I thought perhaps that last scream might have awakened you,” Nari said.
Last scream? Then she remembered what had been done to Karigan. She rubbed eyes crusted with dried tears. Almost afraid to know the answer, she asked, “How is Karigan? Why did she scream?”
“Enver has been tending her. As for the scream? I do not know. Pain and fever alter the mind. But Enver asked me to look in on you. It is not only the Galadheon who was hurt.”
“Just bruises,” Estral replied. “Nothing like . . . Nothing like Karigan.”
In a graceful gesture, Nari put her hand to her heart. Her fingers were long and tapered. “It is not the wounds of the flesh, but the hurt within that injures you. Remember, torture comes in many forms. But here, Enver has instructed that you take a sip of his cordial, and that you eat a . . . a . . . I believe he called it a Dragon Dropping.”
Estral smiled despite herself. “Yes.”
“He gave me one to eat, and at first I was repulsed by the notion, but the scent intoxicated me, and the taste! I have not been so enlivened in centuries, but perhaps after so long eating cave fungus, it is not a surprise. I do not understand, however, how it is your people, and not Eletians, who have created these Dragon Droppings. That is, if they are truly made by people and not the dragons.”
“The cocoa for the chocolate,” Estral replied, wondering about Nari’s diet of cave fungus, “comes from the very south of the Under Kingdoms. It is grown and harvested there, and turned into chocolate elsewhere.”
“Ah. But perhaps you should have these now, or I will talk and ask endless questions and you will not receive succor.”
She passed in a flask, of which Estral sniffed the contents. The warmth of spring sunshine seemed to melt over her shoulders, and she smelled the sweetness of balsam needles on the forest floor. The taste on her tongue was cooling, like the breeze off a lake. It sent calming waves down to her toes and to the tips of her fingers.
She took the chocolate though she knew it would not affect her the way it had “enlivened” Nari, but it comforted her anyway. When she was done, she said, “I would like to see Karigan.”
Nari nodded. “When you are ready, but do not expect her to be wakeful, or to know you if she is.”
Estral frowned. That sounded ominous. When she was ready to face the day, she crawled out of her tent. The sun was high and warm—she had slept into the afternoon. After the horror of the previous night, she was not surprised.
“Arvyn,” Lala said, “you aren’t paying attention.”
He tore his gaze from the two women and gave her some semblance of a smile, a very false smile, and continued the lesson though his mind reeled. Estral had been captured and he knew not her fate, and now they had discovered the king’s identity. Now all was lost.
GHOSTS
She stood in a clearing of Blackveil Forest near the remains of Telavalieth, a village once inhabited by Eletians when the land was still Argenthyne. The dark forest crowded in, crushed the ruins beneath root and branch, and mist oozed between tree trunks and formed a low ceiling over the clearing. Tendrils of vegetation hissed as they snaked through the forest, seeking, seeking . . . They had lost Hana to the forest this way, the second member of the expedition to perish, when roots reached out like tentacles and snatched her away.
Blackveil. Why was she in Blackveil again?
The Rider in ancient garb stood with her, cloaked in billowing mist. His gaze wandered around the clearing. “You choose such strange places to meet,” he said.
Had she chosen it, or had it chosen her?
Something screeched in the distance. The heavy air dampened her hair and uniform. The forest leaned in, menacing, aggressive, the hiss of seeking roots louder, insistent.
“Still not doing well, are you,” the Rider said, peering closely at her. “Well, this cannot wait. None of it can. I wanted to tell you about the marks on the armor and the seals. The marks are the aegis of Westrion, symbols of protection and shielding. And in the case of the seals, of exile and confinement. It is not known to me if the marks are living entities, or if they just seem alive. These things I do not know. They are strong, but not impervious to enemies. Just because you are armored with star steel marked under the aegis of Westrion, doesn’t mean you are impervious to harm. You must always be watchful, be on your guard. If the marks die, you will become vulnerable. And of course if the marks on the seals degrade, the danger is to us all.”
A long tendril of vegetation slithered across the clearing. She stepped back and more mist wafted into the space between them.
“You must ensure the seals are whole,” the Rider continued. “If they fail? The dark ones will be freed, and they can harm the living, and even the dead. This is why you are avatar, to stand in the way of such devastation.”
“Siris,” she murmured. His name came to her from some lost memory. “Siris Kiltyre.”
“That is Captain Kiltyre to you, Rider.” There was a hint of a smile on his face.
The mist rolled in thicker than ever and obscured him. The tendrils of vegetation reached for her, wrapped around her ankles, and yanked her off her feet. She fell hard onto her back. She screamed.
FALLING TO PIECES
At Karigan’s scream, Estral sat bolt upright from a dead sleep, her heart pounding. She tried to remember where she was, had flashes of a terrible nightmare where she and Karigan had been held captive by Second Empire. She closed her eyes and forced her breathing to calm. When she opened them, she found the woman, Nari, with her head stuck through the tent flaps. Estral blinked at the influx of sunlight.
“Ah, I thought perhaps that last scream might have awakened you,” Nari said.
Last scream? Then she remembered what had been done to Karigan. She rubbed eyes crusted with dried tears. Almost afraid to know the answer, she asked, “How is Karigan? Why did she scream?”
“Enver has been tending her. As for the scream? I do not know. Pain and fever alter the mind. But Enver asked me to look in on you. It is not only the Galadheon who was hurt.”
“Just bruises,” Estral replied. “Nothing like . . . Nothing like Karigan.”
In a graceful gesture, Nari put her hand to her heart. Her fingers were long and tapered. “It is not the wounds of the flesh, but the hurt within that injures you. Remember, torture comes in many forms. But here, Enver has instructed that you take a sip of his cordial, and that you eat a . . . a . . . I believe he called it a Dragon Dropping.”
Estral smiled despite herself. “Yes.”
“He gave me one to eat, and at first I was repulsed by the notion, but the scent intoxicated me, and the taste! I have not been so enlivened in centuries, but perhaps after so long eating cave fungus, it is not a surprise. I do not understand, however, how it is your people, and not Eletians, who have created these Dragon Droppings. That is, if they are truly made by people and not the dragons.”
“The cocoa for the chocolate,” Estral replied, wondering about Nari’s diet of cave fungus, “comes from the very south of the Under Kingdoms. It is grown and harvested there, and turned into chocolate elsewhere.”
“Ah. But perhaps you should have these now, or I will talk and ask endless questions and you will not receive succor.”
She passed in a flask, of which Estral sniffed the contents. The warmth of spring sunshine seemed to melt over her shoulders, and she smelled the sweetness of balsam needles on the forest floor. The taste on her tongue was cooling, like the breeze off a lake. It sent calming waves down to her toes and to the tips of her fingers.
She took the chocolate though she knew it would not affect her the way it had “enlivened” Nari, but it comforted her anyway. When she was done, she said, “I would like to see Karigan.”
Nari nodded. “When you are ready, but do not expect her to be wakeful, or to know you if she is.”
Estral frowned. That sounded ominous. When she was ready to face the day, she crawled out of her tent. The sun was high and warm—she had slept into the afternoon. After the horror of the previous night, she was not surprised.
