Angelaeon Circle 2 - Eye of the Sword (10 page)

“So the legend goes,” said Haden. “I’ve no notion if it’s true, but when I was a boy, Windwings were common here. Then the Dregmoorians began trapping them. Rumor said the immortal Firstborn bred Windwings with common horses to create herds for the Under-Realm, but in order to keep the Windwings from flying away—”

“He severed their wings? Is this still going on?”

“Ended a score or more years ago,” said Haden. “Fierce battles were fought over it. In the end Arelin’s forces set the Windwings free.”

“Who is Arelin?”

“A warrior angel, if you believe in such.” Haden eyed Trevin.

“I know one,” said Trevin, thinking of Jarrod.

“Oh?” Haden looked at him with interest. “Arelin managed to release the Windwings, but the breeding had already begun, so the horses who rejoined the herd were mixed. Some were Windwings, and some were sired by them but born without wings. Each spring the Golden culls the wingless out of her herd and runs them here to the Edgelands of Eldarra. I think she knows we’ll respect and care for them. I confess, I dream that someday the wingless will breed a winged one.”

“Almaron obviously didn’t escape the Dregmoors with the other Windwings.”

“But he did escape,” said Haden. “Maybe he’s the reason the Golden allowed herself to be penned.”

Trevin and Haden stepped into the shade of the grove, and Trevin set down his load. No doubt Almaron had known what he was doing when he ran with the herd—he was running with the Golden. Trevin couldn’t blame him. If Melaia were nearby, he knew where he would be.

Several of the horsemen had already ridden back to Prince Resarian’s camp, but four who remained at the grove volunteered to help search for Pym. Since Brink had stayed at the canyon as a guard, Haden let Trevin borrow Brink’s gelding.

“We haven’t a great deal of time,” warned Haden. “At nightfall the wolves start prowling. Besides, the prince will likely send a search party for
us
if we don’t return to camp by dusk.”

“Then let’s make quick work of it.” Trevin mounted Brink’s horse. “My friend Pym will be glad for a meal in good company.”

“A man with my own taste,” said Haden. “I like him already.”

The horsemen headed out in twos, Haden riding beside Trevin. As they scoured the path of the wild herd, clearly defined by flattened grass, Trevin braced himself to find Pym and the roan trampled.

Afternoon crept toward evening. Clouds turned orange red. A distant
howl moaned across the plain, echoed by another, making the horses snort and sidestep.

“Wolves are more plentiful when the wild horses run.” Haden looked toward the darkening east. “It’s time we turn back. Your friend … Is he a seasoned traveler?”

“He is,” said Trevin, though he took little comfort in the thought. “As armsman to Main Undrian, Pym has traveled every corner of Camrithia. That’s one reason we’re here. I’ve been sent to search for King Laetham’s comains. They’ve all disappeared.”

“So we’ve heard,” said Haden. “How did you escape such a fate?”

“I’m newly appointed.” Trevin circled back with Haden. The other riders fell in with them, and they cantered toward a sunset that streaked the lavender sky with rose and gold. Trevin kept glancing back over his shoulder, hoping to see Pym galloping toward them.

“One of your comains, Catellus, rode the territory east of here near the wolf caves of Montressi,” said Haden. “On the Dregmoorian border.”

“I met Catellus once,” said a sandy-haired rider. “He helped protect shepherds in the foothills from wolves.”

“Won’t wolves stalk the horses you’ve trapped?” asked Trevin.

“Our guards are masters of the bow,” said Haden. “As for your friend, he’ll most likely make a fire, which should keep the wolves at a distance. If he finds a sheepcote for shelter, he’ll have an even better time of it.”

They broke into a gallop, passed the grove, and headed toward the prince’s camp.

Trevin felt as if his heart had been torn into three parts. One remained at Redcliff. Another lay in the enclosure with Almaron. A third roamed the hills in search of Pym. He yearned to be in each place.

Instead, he was headed away from all of them. He had no heart left for that.

s Trevin and the horsemen rode into the prince’s camp, hoots and guffaws rose from a company of men gathered around a bonfire. Savory aromas twisted Trevin’s stomach with hunger. He dismounted and looked back at the darkening plain. If Pym hadn’t lost his pack, he’d have food, but where would he find shelter?

Following Haden and the other horsemen, Trevin skirted the fire and approached a flaxen-haired young man seated on a stump and bent double with laughter. Trevin couldn’t help recalling Dwin at the tavern, but this youth had been cornered by a skinny, bush-haired jester rather than three loathsome Dregmoorians.

Haden pointed to the young man. “Prince Resarian.”

The prince wiped his eyes, rubbed his freckled nose, and caught his breath. “A fine story, Dio,” he told the jester. His voice held the lightness of youth with an edge of manhood. “Do you have another tale as funny?”

“Maybe Haden has brought a story, a glory, a timely tale, so to say,” said Dio.

“Uncle Haden!” The prince jumped to his feet.

Haden strode to the front of the group, and Trevin hung back, watching.
Uncle?
As Haden and the horsemen knelt before the prince, Trevin did the same.

“Rise! Rise!” said the prince. “I heard you trapped the Golden!”

“I’d say she allowed it,” said Haden. “Maybe chose it.”

“I wish I had been there!” said the prince. “I’ll ride out to see her tomorrow.”

Wolves howled in the distance, and a momentary apprehension rippled through the group.

Haden clapped his hands. “I’ve a riddle for you, Resarian.

Prince Resarian pursed his lips and drummed his fingers on his knees. “One head at the front and one at the rear? Or two side by side?”

“Neither,” said Haden. “One at the front and one in the
middle
.”

“Grotesque!” said the prince. “Could it be a malformed insect?”

“Not that strange,” said Haden.

The prince raised his hands. “I surrender.”

“A horse and its rider,” said Haden. “Stand, Main Trevin.”

“Oho! You trapped a rider!” said the prince.

“Comain of the kingdom of Camrithia,” said Trevin, bowing.

“We heard the comains disappeared,” said the prince.

“Main Trevin is newly appointed,” said Haden.

“Welcome, then, Main Trevin.” The prince waved him forward. “Come dine with us.”

Haden and the other horsemen wandered off to their duties while Trevin joined the prince and Dio. As they ate, the prince plied him with questions. What was Camrithia like? Where had his travels taken him? What was it like to be a comain?

Trevin answered cautiously, wary of revealing too much information to people he didn’t know. Resarian, however, talked freely of his life as prince of Eldarra, growing up in the palace city of Flauren. He was the youngest of four children, but the older three had died in childhood.

“I’m embarrassed to confess I’ve never been this far from home before,” said the prince. “At least not without my father. You see, my mother shields me, therefore my father shields me. I am forced to implore him to trust me with responsibility, to let me prove myself.” Resarian swept his arm toward the
provision wagons. “This is the extent of the duties allowed me. It peeves me to be assigned the simple task of minding the camp while the horsemen do the ‘dangerous’ work. I’m quite ready to face the challenges of the wild.”

The prince’s bravado reminded Trevin of Dwin, but while Dwin hurled himself into action, Prince Resarian hurled himself into words.

Haden returned with a jug of wine and refilled the prince’s cup. Then he eased his lanky frame to the ground and refilled Trevin’s. “You told me you were searching for the missing comains,” he said.

“Perhaps they were captured and spirited away to a magical maze,” suggested Dio.

“If only I could journey like Main Trevin and find a magical maze!” said Resarian. “That’s a challenge fit for a prince.”

Haden filled Dio’s cup and his own. “I know of canyons and caves, groves and thickets, but I’ve never seen a magical maze.”

“The dull face of reality.” Dio gulped his drink.

Haden leaned back against a tree trunk. “To return to my subject, Main Trevin, you said searching for comains is one reason you’re here. What’s your other reason?”

Trevin gazed past the bonfire into the black of the woods, wondering if he should mention the harps. “I was advised to consult the Oracle,” he said.

“You were headed to Windsweep?” asked Dio.

“I and my friend,” said Trevin. “Have you been there?”

“Not I,” said the prince.

“Nor I,” said Dio. “But legend says Windsweep is where the Oracle gives advice, answers, wise words, so to say.”

Howls pierced the night, and the horses shifted uneasily.

“I hope your friend finds shelter, some abode off the road, so to say,” said Dio. “After dark, wolves prowl the Edgelands.”

“So I’ve been told,” said Trevin.

Dio leaned forward. “I’ve stories to make your flesh crawl, tales of a hooded figure who wanders the mountains. When men draw near, he throws off his hood to reveal a ravenous jackal with glowing eyes!”

Another howl split the air, and Trevin shivered.

“Or the tale of vulturous draks that lead wolves to prey,” said Dio. “The wolves make the kill, and no matter the victim, the wolf pack leaves the
prey’s head, hands, and feet for the draks to feast on! A sacrifice between beasts, so to say.”

Haden cut his eyes toward Dio, and Prince Resarian laughed. “Dio takes pleasure in trying to scare me to the utmost. Sends me to bed with the shakes.”

“I’ll be the one who retires with the shakes.” Trevin laughed in an effort to calm his sense of foreboding. He had seen enough of draks and shape shifters to know that the line between tale and truth did not always fall where he wished. With Pym unaccounted for, he preferred not to spend the night fighting back fears, founded or unfounded.

Trevin eyed Dio. Perhaps the jester knew a story that might be more enlightening than frightening. “Do you know the tale of the Wisdom Tree?” he asked. He had never heard the entire story though it held Melaia in its grip.

“I do!” Dio cradled his lyre, plucked a mournful melody, and sang:

Over the pensive tune Dio told the story. “Rivals they were, Firstborn and Second, in games of skill, games of logic, games of love and life, until rivalry itself became their great game. They rivaled themselves past the grave, beyond death, the knell, the dirge, so to say. You may ask, how so? Listen and learn, my friend:

“In search of the best of all gifts for his father, the Second-born came upon a great Tree bearing a crimson fruit not known in his land. The Wisdom Tree it was, concealing the stairway to heaven, the lightbridge for angels who carry the dead heavenward, skyward, across the veil, so to say. The Second-born plucked its fruit as a gift for his father.

“Enraged, the Tree’s guardian angel appeared, demanding he return the fruit, for its flesh held the gift of knowledge and wisdom, and its seeds were forbidden to mortals.

“The Second-born begged the angel to let his father taste such fruit. At last she allowed him a single fruit in return for his vow to bring back its three seeds. Moreover, she required him to bring her the first creature that greeted him upon his arrival home. If he failed to repay this debt, said the angel, she would
take payment in breath and blood. Impetuous bargain, reckless pledge, foolhardy promise, so to say. For his niece, the Firstborn’s daughter, welcomed the Second-born home.

“Upon hearing his story, the girl offered to return the seeds herself and plead release from his debt. In secret she and her uncle stole away, but the Firstborn discovered their plan, their scheme, their plot, so to say. He followed with warriors, rescued his daughter, and destroyed the Tree so his brother could never repay the debt.

“What of the seeds, you ask? One, the Firstborn ate. The other two, he forced his daughter and brother to swallow, and they became immortal. They have carried their feud, their blame, their game from the time that was, into time that is now, unto time that will be. As far as the mind can see, so to say. As far as the mind can see.”

Only the crackle of flames broke the silence as Trevin stared into the bonfire. He had heard Melaia tell fragments of the tale. Dio’s version differed in some details, but Trevin saw the entire story now and knew the basic facts were true.

A howl brought him out of his reverie. Small protective fires flared up in a ring around the perimeter of the camp.