The Dreaming Hunt (24 page)

Alarmed, she clutched the pendant on its long chain in her fist. He turned their steps back toward the palace complex, announcing an end to their secret conversation.

She was disappointed she had not extracted more information from Talissar but frankly was surprised at how much she had managed to get him to reveal. Perhaps his approval of her request to approach Sasha signaled that she was finally trusted enough to become more deeply involved in the plans of the Eight.

“Remember, Your Highness. Gently steps he who would leave no trail.”

“I will not forget, Prince Talissar.”

*   *   *

Raina woke late and felt as if she'd taken a drubbing from a brace of staff fighters when she finally hauled herself out of bed. The whispers had been so loud last night that she could not go to sleep and, once asleep, had woken over and over to their echoes in her skull. If only she knew their purpose, mayhap she could find a way to quiet them.

The number of wounded coming in after the Boki incursion had finally slowed to a trickle, and High Matriarch Lenora had declared a day of rest for everyone in the Heart. Which meant Raina had no training today.

Lenora had hinted last night that perhaps Raina should make an excursion into the countryside in her new role as a White Heart healer. But before she ventured beyond the walls of Dupree, she had one task to do. A task she had been avoiding for months.

In the name of procrastination, she ate a leisurely brunch and even took a walk through the medicinal herb garden. She wasn't particularly gifted with plant lore, but she was gradually memorizing the appearances and uses of various herbs.

Unable to delay any longer, she made her way upstairs to the scroll copying room and laid out parchment, ink, quills, trimming knife, and blotter on a big work table. In the bright light streaming through the glass-paned window, she sat down to write a letter to her mother. Cognizant that the mages who'd been in league with her mother and who'd forced her leave home would likely read the letter, too, she struggled to organize her thoughts.

She had fled Tyrel rather than let the Mages of Alchizzadon force her to produce female children for their selective breeding program. They thought they were creating a queen for a great mage of old, Hadrian, an ancient human who had fallen into stasis eons ago and whose body the mages still guarded and hoped to rouse one day. She, however, had wanted no part of her family's long-standing tradition and had run away from home rather than allow herself to be used thus.

The mages, of course, had given chase. It was part of why she'd chosen the path of the White Heart. In these colors, the knights of the Royal Order of the Sun, and most people who knew of the White Heart, would protect her from being kidnapped and dragged back to Tyrel.

Thankfully, Gawaine had known and explained to her the actual purpose of the Mages of Alchizzadon's breeding program, a purpose which had been lost over time. Today, she must find a way to explain it to her mother, and indirectly to the mages themselves, in such a fashion that they believed her. Given her mother's stubborn devotion to the cause, she feared Charlotte would refuse to accept any part of her explanation. Her mother would likely accuse her of making up the entire tale to get herself and her sister out of doing the mages' bidding.

It wasn't that the mages were entirely wrong in their thinking. But, as Gawaine had pointed out, stories tended to distort with the passage of time. Details got lost or embellished until the original truth bore little resemblance to the later hearth tale. So it was with the original purpose of the Mages of Alchizzadon.

Nowadays, the mages believed their purpose to be primarily that of breeding a queen worthy of their long-lost king, Hadrian. They still remembered correctly that he had been a great mage possessed of extremely powerful magic. Dangerously so. The mages believed that only a woman possessed of exceptional magic herself could survive bearing Hadrian's children. Which might also, in point of fact, be true.

However, the important detail that had gotten lost over time—and which Gawaine remembered—was that the women of her family had been bonded to the people of Tyrel in a magical ritual by Hadrian.

Her life energy and that of all her female relatives was linked to the life energy of the people living in the lands that had once been Hadrian's. Gawaine believed it was this link that was the source of her extraordinary magical power. He also believed that it was not the women of the House of Tyrel who needed to be more magically powerful. It was the bond itself between Raina's female relatives and the land that Hadrian had wished for the mages to nurture and protect. Ironically, the mages' breeding program had actually strengthened the bond over time, even though that had not been their stated purpose.

If it would appease the Mages of Alchizzadon and stop them from pestering her or her sister, she was all in favor of accepting Gawaine's version of the ancient story. Now to convince her mother to do the same.

It took her most of the afternoon to craft the letter to her satisfaction. First, she apologized for any grief she'd caused her family by her abrupt departure. She assured Charlotte that she was safe and sound within the White Heart and enjoying her continued training. Then she did her best to explain how the mages had strayed from the truth in their recollection of ancient events. It did not help that she barely understood the concept of a bond between Hadrian's subjects and his lands herself. And she was still a bit fuzzy on how the women of her family figured into all of it. They were apparently the keepers of the bond itself.

She needed to reveal to Charlotte in general terms the credentials of whom she'd gotten the information from, but without revealing Gawaine's actual identity or where and how she'd met him. Ultimately, she settled on referring to him as a notable scholar with direct access to ancient knowledge. Hopefully, that would be enough to get her mother to listen.

She hinted in the final paragraph of her letter that she was working on getting what the Mages of Alchizzadon would need to rouse Hadrian from his ancient slumber. In return she asked for time and space, and for her family to be patient a little while longer. Which was to say, she was tacitly asking her mother and the mages to stop chasing after her.

She assumed it went without saying that she still would not participate in their breeding program to create ever more powerful female mages within her family line. It was as close to an offer of truce as she could bring herself to offer her mother and her old enemy.

The coup de grâce, of course, was that she was going to ask the Royal Order of the Sun to deliver the letter. Lest her mother and the Mages of Alchizzadon fail to accept the terms of her offer, the Royal Order of the Sun colors would be a stark warning that she was untouchable now. Assuming that Charlotte or the mages didn't just ignore her colors and snatch her, come what consequences may.

It was a calculated risk letting her mother know where she was. But by the time this letter reached far-flung Tyrel, Raina and her friends should be well away from Dupree and safe from her mother or the mages' clutches. Not that she actually expected they would be satisfied by her explanation of Hadrian's true intent for them. But maybe they would consider employing subtler tactics henceforth other than kidnapping her and dragging her by the hair, kicking and screaming, back to Tyrel.

She blotted the letter, rolled it, and sealed it with blue wax and the White Heart seal. She was just sliding it into a leather scroll tube when Rosana burst into the workroom.

“Raina. News! Eben and Sha'Li have returned. They didn't find Kendrick, but they got a lead on where Tarryn went. And they ran into a whole lot of greenskins who were jumping any settler they came across. Apparently, Eben and Sha'Li had some close calls. They're back in town to resupply, but then they want to go back out. They've asked us to go with them to find Kendrick and Tarryn.”

“Where are they now?”

“They've gone to the Mage's Guild to let the guildmaster and Will know what they found.”

“And Rynn,” Raina added with a grin.

Rosana grinned back. “Aye. And the pretty paxan. I'm almost looking forward to traveling unknown roads again. Gah, how I hate being trapped in this city.”

Raina knew the claustrophobic feeling. Although she supposed it was even worse for the gypsy for whom wandering was in her blood. Raina's impatience to get on with finding Gawaine's regalia and waking him made pure torture of each day she was forced to sit in the Heart building enduring lectures on how to bind wounds and how to properly represent the White Heart's special status within the Empire.

The pressure to take action had built up to such a point within her that she felt nigh ready to explode from it. Maybe that was what those cursed voices inside her skull were telling her.

It was time to go.

 

CHAPTER

14

Will stared doubtfully at the powerful man doffing his cloak before him in the practice yard. Krugar was barrel-chested with arms wreathed in muscle. Not especially tall, he nonetheless looked like the kind of warrior no one possessing any sense tangled with.

Likewise, Krugar studied him intently, obviously sizing him up. “Aurelius tells me you've got talent, boy. Is that true?”

Will shrugged. “I would not know, sir. I just do my best.”

“Staff and magic? What flavor?”

“Umm, force magic.”

“Ever fought with a bladed weapon?”

“Not much, sir. There's not much use for wielding a sword where I come from.” Deeply wary of this Imperial officer recognizing him, Will cloaked himself as thickly as he could in his homespun, peasant-from-the-woods upbringing.

Krugar moved over to the weapons stand at the side of the practice ground and picked up the longest and heaviest staff leaning there. He hefted it, finding its center of balance, and assumed a relaxed stance before Will. “Let's see what you've got, then.”

Nervous, Will settled into a fighting stance of his own, his hickory-and-copper staff at the ready. Krugar moved forward casually, but his staff snapped forward so fast that Will barely had time to bring his own weapon up to catch the blow. Another snap, this time with the other end of Krugar's staff, and Will grunted as the wooden pole struck his thigh painfully.

“Faster hands, boy, else I'll mark you black and blue.”

Will couldn't tell if Krugar meant that as a warning or a threat. Either way, he hadn't been this hard-pressed since the last time he'd sparred with his father. A pang of grief momentarily distracted him, and he barely leaped back out of the way of a flurry of blows.

“Don't waste my time, boy.”

Ty's training took over. Will's mind cleared, and the entire world narrowed down to Krugar's staff. Peripherally, Will registered his foe's footwork, balance, and center of mass. The next time Krugar moved in on the attack, Will caught the tip of the soldier's staff with his weapon, guiding it down the length of his staff with a sweep and turn that brought Will into position to tap Krugar smartly on the ribs before the man spun away.

Krugar's bored expression gave way to a certain interest. The soldier came in again on the attack. Will recognized the feint and flowed into the correct countermove automatically. He could not count how many times he had practiced this exact sequence with his father.

Another attack. Another response from deep within Will's muscles and memory. And with it came recollection of long ago uttered instructions from his father. “Defense is fine for marking time in a fight. For fatiguing an enemy. But to win a fight, you must go on the offense.”

Of its own volition, the tip of his staff danced in an intricate pattern, tracing a sign in the air that actually seemed to glow as he drew it. Somehow he knew that, were he to trace the sign again, it would grow in power. Spying a tiny opening in Krugar's offside defense, Will pounced, jabbing the magical sting into his opponent with the tip of the staff. Krugar was forced to leap back awkwardly to avoid the magical attack, and Will—anticipating the movement correctly—landed a quick blow to Krugar's calf. As the soldier lurched to protect his flank, Will rapped him smartly across the knuckles. Had this been real combat, he'd have hit the fist hard enough to numb the hand and force his foe to drop the staff.

As it was, Krugar swore and stepped back, pausing the sparring to shake out what Will knew from personal experience to be painful tingling in his fingers. He did his best not to grin at the soldier. No sense infuriating a man who could no doubt retaliate in such a way as to make his life miserable.

“Who are you?” Krugar asked while they waited for his hand to regain feeling.

“Apprentice to the Mage's Guild—”

Krugar cut off his stock answer. “Who trained you to fight?”

“Oh. That. Well, most of the boys in the hollow messed around with staffs. We sparred all the time. At least when we weren't cutting and hauling timber, and chopping wood, and planing lumber—”

“Are there more boys who can fight like you in this hollow of yours?”

He shrugged modestly. “None of them could best me.”

“Let's go again. This time, full out. No pauses until one of us taps out.” Krugar pulled a metal-backed gauntlet out of his belt and donned it over his off hand grimly.

Will knew the term “tapping out” from his father. It referred to declaring oneself defeated and surrendering. Not that Ty had taught him to believe in any surrender short of death in actual combat. In response to Krugar's gloves, Will fished his mother's amber hand shield out of his pouch and slipped it on. The soft, fingerless glove slipped over his left palm, fitting his palm perfectly but leaving his fingers entirely free to move. Odd. He remembered this glove fitting well when he was but a lad, as well. He used to play with it when his mother took it out to clean and oil it. The leather must have stretched to accommodate his larger hand.