“We need all the information we can gather,” Mererid said, lightly placing her hand on her husband's arm. Mererid sat neat and composed in her chair. She had changed into a soft, rose-colored dress accented with a white border. Her hair was brushed, and it gleamed in the lantern light. And though there was no doubt Tellan was in charge, Lakenna could see that Mererid was second only to him.
“We must conclude that the horrors came after you,” Mererid told Rhiannon. “Girard says our lore mentions siyyim walking the Land. Unfortunately, there is no mention of what they look like. We are treading almost blindly through this. Any incident in the stable, no matter how trivial it seemed at the time, may have bearing on these discussions.”
Rhiannon nodded. “High Lord Maolmin came in after Elmar left to prepare the poultice. When he looked at me . . . I felt the same as when the horrors looked at me.”
“How so?” Girard asked. The loreteller sat directly across the table from Rhiannon.
“His eyes. They were . . . ” She bit her lower lip. “They reminded me of the winged horrors.”
“Tell me what happened once you entered the stable,” Tellan commanded.
Rhiannon did, then finished by saying, “I sensed Harred felt the same. He looked ready to engage High Lord Maolmin empty-handed.”
Lakenna thought something flickered on Rhiannon's face when the girl said “Harred.”
“Tell us more about Harred,” Mererid urged. Her eyes met Lakenna's, and a moment of understanding passed between them.
Rhiannon's expression closed. “An Arshessa warrior. Not noble-born. He is Lord Gillaon's rhyfelwr. As I said, I was glad for Harred's presence around High Lord Maolmin.” She raised her chin slightly. “Harred and Elmar both treated me with the respect due one warrior to another.”
Bodies shifted in chairs. Girard cleared his throat, opened his mouth, then closed it quickly at Tellan's glare. Mererid shot a meaningful look at Llyr.
Finally, the old warrior blinked, met his lady's gaze, then rubbed a meaty hand through his hair. “I will talk to this Harred,” he rumbled in a voice like an earthquake. “We'll see if he is a decorated scabbard or if he can handle steel.”
“Steel,” Rhiannon said flatly. She raised her chin a bit more.
Llyr glanced again at Mererid, then back at Rhiannon. He fixed the girl with a stare hard as winter ice. “I will talk to this Arshessa tomorrow and take his measure. 'Til then, you will stay with one of us,
Mistress
Rhiannon.”
Rhiannon withstood the rhyfelwr's gaze for a moment, then nodded and dropped her eyes.
Lakenna exchanged another look with Mererid. In spite of Rhiannon's apparent interest in a commoner, her stepmother seemed pleased. A faint twinkle danced in her eyes, making Lakenna think of the silver mirror set. She did not think Mererid had given it to the girl yet.
“What about High Lord Maolmin Erian?” Tellan asked. He gestured to the scroll and other parchments before him. “Our creditors have been patient, but it is time they be repaid. And the hlaford needs to be rebuilt and furnished. The Rogoth wool must sell tomorrow. Maolmin and the Sabinis merchants will strive to hinder any agreement we reach with Lord Gillaon. Was this . . . feeling Rhiannon had about Maolmin part of that, or could it be part of the attack by the winged horrors?”
Tellan looked at each of them. “I was caught unprepared this morning, and it was only by the grace of the Eternal that Rhiannon survived.” His lips firmed, and the lines around his mouth deepened. “We will not be caught unprepared again.”
The words were even, but they carried the impact of an ax hitting a tree. That, and the glint in Tellan's eyes, sent a chill through Lakenna. Home seemed far away in the mist of this hard-edged warrior atmosphere.
Mererid spoke. “Teacher, this encounter in the stables would have been while you were eating in Rhiannon's room. Did the Eternal . . . did you feel anything then like you felt on the road?”
“No, m'lady. But this is new to me.” Lakenna noted how everyone's look turned to puzzlement. It was most disconcerting. What did they expect from her? She was awestruck with Tellan's account of the horror attack. She sat in a room with people who had been face-to-face with the Mighty Ones' creatures as had Destin Faber and Stanus Albane! Loreteller Girard said that her prayer and that of Mererid must have cut the beasts off from the Mighty Ones, allowing them to be killed.
Lakenna's mind still boggled at that. True, she had responded in faith to the Eternal's urging on the road. But at the time she had no idea it was as deadly serious as winged horrors of the night. And if the loreteller was correct, perhaps a siyyim as well! It was one thing to sit in the meetinghouses and hear Albane teachers of doctrine expound upon how the Eternal expects believers to fight the good fight of faith in the heavenlies. It was quite another to be engaged in that battle with actual lives at stake.
Now, aware that all eyes in the room rested on her, a wave of concern passed through Lakenna. It seemed the Rogoths were expecting her to issue warning of any new danger to Rhiannon.
I can't do this! You don't know what I did!
She reined in her thoughts. Lord Tellan and the others around the table waited to hear what she had to say.
“As with you, this is my first time involved in matters of this gravity. I am sure you are aware that during Stanus Albane's day, outbreaks of winged horrors of the night began occurring as they had before the Founding. It was not surprising. Keeper monasteries were riddled with drunkenness and debauchery of every description. The Keepers who worked among the people were equally ineffective. Many people in the Land returned openly to the worship of the Mighty Ones. It was proclaimed widely that the Eternal had abandoned the Covenant.”
Lakenna strove to keep her voice level and matter-of-fact. “The Great Rising that Stanus Albane helped usher in resulted in a rebirth of faith, and the Mighty Ones' bid to regain dominion over the Land was beaten back. Since that time Albanes have prayed faithfully for the Covenant and the Faber dynasty. There have been no similar outbreaks of these creaturesâat least in our areas.” Then she could not help adding, “I assume Keepers still go about their rituals. To what effect, I do not know.”
She looked around the table. “I will strive to remain open to the Eternal's leading. I will pray . . . ” she swallowed, her insides roiling. “I will pray for Rhiannon and for all of you daily. As far as engaging the Mighty Ones, I know the teachings, but the specifics of this are new to me.”
“All of us are thankful for your efforts this morning,” Girard proclaimed in a deep rolling tone so surprising in a man his size. “One day soon, allow me to take you to the Kepploch Monastery. In the courtyard there is a statue of Destin Faber killing a winged horror of the night. The base of the statue contains names of more than seven score Keepers who have died in battles against the Mighty Ones and their worshipers. Five have been chiseled there this century alone. How many Albanes have died for the Eternal since Stanus' day?”
Lakenna detected neither anger nor reproach in the loreteller's voice, just statement of fact. She stole a quick glance at Tellan. His expression was unreadable. She looked back at Girard. “Our prayers have prevented any need to battle thusly. We Albanes do notâ”
A sharp knock sounded. Conversation ceased. Llyr rose to his feet, scabbard held in one hand, the other gripping the sword hilt. He walked to the door. After a muffled exchange he slid the latch back and swung the heavy door open.
A Keeper strode into the room with purpose and an air of command, black robe swirling around his long strides. Lakenna thought he was in his mid-thirties. Average height and thin, his face was freshly shaved but still showing the shadow of a heavy beard. A large hooked nose gave him a rugged, angular look. The Keeper's black robe was of rich linen and finely tailored. She noticed the knots of white rope belt. Three each on the tasseled ends dangling beyond the large gold clasp
. Six knots?
Even she knew that only His Most High Excellency, the Ruling Keeper, wore seven.
Tellan's chair scraped backward as he stood. A puzzled expression furrowed his brow. As everyone else followed Tellan's example, Lakenna remained firmly in her seat. This was her first time in the same room with a Keeper, but as far as she was concerned, he was no different from anyone else.
“I am High Lord Keeper Branor. I have come in the Eternal's name for your need.”
Girard's eyes widened, and his head whipped toward Tellan. The Rogoth lord's expression was a study of emotions: surprise, anger, uncertainty, and finally an inward longing that was gone in a flash. He stood ramrod straight and made no effort to welcome the Keeper.
Awkward silence filled the room. Mererid turned to Tellan, obviously puzzled at this breech in manners. When her husband remained an unmoving statue, she stepped toward the Keeper. “Our deepest gratitude, Lord Keeper, for comingâ”
“What is the meaning of this?” Tellan spat. “Am I mocked?”
Mererid's hand came to her mouth. She stepped back, eyes darting between her husband and the Keeper.
Branor shook his head slowly. “Lord Tellan, fifteen years ago I wronged you. I hid behind the walls of my order instead of meeting with you so we could come to terms with the manner of Lady Eyslk's death. I deeply regret that.” He lifted his hands, palms outward. “I humbly beg your forgiveness.”
Tellan's face was a stone mask. But Rhiannon's eyed widened. She opened her mouth and made to step forward, but Mererid placed a hand on the girl's arm and gave a quick headshake.
Branor regarded Tellan with a level, yet pained look. “I wronged you then, and I have wronged you since by not seeking your forgiveness sooner. I ask again, will you forgive me?”
“My wife is dead because of you, and you ask forgiveness?”
Mererid's face paled. She peered at Tellan for a long moment, then her eyes dropped, and she plucked at the folds of her dress with a shaking hand.
The Keeper shook his head. “I do not ask forgiveness for Lady Eyslk's death. That is bound up in the mystery of the Eternal's purpose, and its understanding is beyond me. I ask forgiveness for not meeting with you afterwards.”
When Tellan made no reply, Branor continued smoothly. “It is no accident I am here. This morning many at Kepploch were driven to their knees by the hand of the Eternal to pray. When your letter came, we realized why. We are bound together and must be one in the Eternal.”
Lakenna started.
Keepers
had been praying as well? Inexplicably, she felt betrayed. Quickly she dismissed the feelingâor tried to.
“Tell me, Keeper,” Tellan said, the title coming out almost as an accusation, “was a siyyim directing the horrors this morning?”
Branor's expression remained neutral. “All the accounts I have studied say that where winged horrors act with purpose, they are controlled by a siyyim.”
“I would meet this siyyim . . . ” Tellan's eyes flashed. “ . . . this monster who sends such creatures after a young girl. Can you assist me in that?”
“I am a Keeper. I am here to see this outbreak from the protection of the Covenant contained and your daughter safe again.”
“Help find the siyyim,” Tellan said. “Then you and Teacher Lakenna do like this morning and allow me to meet it with weapons.”
Branor looked at Lakenna. He took in her white blouse and brown skirt, and she could see “Albane” click in his mind. She returned his gaze evenly. He was not bad looking. His hairline receded slightly, but the remainder was thick and showed a hint of a wave combed straight back. For some reason, she sensed great turmoil inside the man, beyond the obvious tension with Lord Tellan. The Keeper's brow seemed permanently creased with deep worry lines, his shoulders weighted down from a heavy burden.
He hides secrets as I do.
The thought startled her. She lowered her eyes.
Branor looked back to Tellan. “Siyyim cannot be killed. They are spirit beings, powerful creatures second only to the Mighty Ones.”
“Didn't Destin Faber kill all the siyyim during the battles before the Cutting of the Covenant?” Rhiannon said.
Branor turned to the girlâand stared. He blinked, then gathered himself. “My pardon, Iâ”
“Please, my lord husband.” Mererid showed no evidence of anxiety on her face, but Lakenna heard the strain in her voice and saw that the woman's fingers were white where they gripped her dress. “Let us take seats and make introductions. High Lord Keeper Branor says he is here to help. I am sure you agree we need all we can get.”
Tellan hesitated, then gestured for everyone to sit. The only free chair at the table was next to Lakenna. Branor looked at it and then at her. She kept her gaze straight ahead.
He inclined his head slightly, removed his cloak, and draped it over the back of the chair. The cloak was wool, expensive, and dyed black as his robe. Crisp linen rustled as he sat and crossed a leg over a knee. After arranging the folds of his robe, he clasped his hands in his lap. The fingers were long, the nails manicured, his palms smooth and free of calluses. A scholar's hands. Everything about him was a far cry from Loane and the other weather-worn Albane farmers and herders in the fertile valley where she had spent most of her life.
Tellan formally introduced Mererid and Rhiannon. While Girard and Llyr were presented, Rhiannon seemed barely able to sit still in her eagerness to question the Keeperâthen the girl suddenly jumped in her chair and glanced at Mererid. Lakenna suppressed a wry snort. The stepmother's face remained unreadable, but Lakenna could imagine a busy foot under the table.
“And this is Lakenna Wen,” Tellan said. “She has taken service as tutor. When you arrived, Keeper, we were discussing her role in the happenings this morning. From what you said, it would seem both of you were . . . involved.” Tellan paused. “It is still unclear to me exactly how your prayers rendered the horrors vulnerable to our weapons and how long we can expect that to last. I need enlightenment. But more, we must know
why
. Why were the horrors so determined to kill the âred-haired girl'?”