Authors: Lynn Flewelling
“What’s happened to you, Mistress?” Remembering his manners he took her hand and silently offered her his own strength. He felt a slight flutter in his stomach as she accepted the gift.
“They burned me out,” she wheezed. “My own neighbors!”
“They got wind of a Harrier patrol on the way to Ylani and went mad,” Iya explained. “Word’s been put round that any town that shelters a dissenting wizard will be put to the torch.”
“Two centuries I lived among them!” Ranai gripped Arkoniel’s hand harder. “I healed their children, sweetened their wells, brought them rain. If Iya hadn’t been with me that night—” A coughing fit choked off her words.
Iya gently patted her back. “I’d just reached Ylani and saw the Harrier banner in the harbor. I guessed what that meant in time, but even so, I was nearly too late. The cottage
was burning down around her and she was caught under a beam.”
“Harrier wizards stood outside and held the doors shut!” Ranai croaked. “I must be old indeed if a pack of young scoundrels like that can best me! But oh, how their spells hurt. It felt like they were driving spikes into my eyes. I was blind—” She trailed off querulously and seemed to shrink even smaller as Arkoniel watched.
“Thank the Light she was strong enough to hold off the worst of the flames, but as you can see, the ordeal took its toll. We’ve been nearly two weeks getting here. We rode the last bit in a miller’s sledge.”
He brushed at a streak of flour on Iya’s skirt. “So I see.”
Nari had disappeared at some point, but she and Cook returned with hot tea and food for the travelers.
Ranai accepted a mug with a murmur of thanks, but was too weak to lift it. Iya helped the old woman raise it to her lips. Ranai. managed a slurping sip before another rattling cough took her. Iya held her as the spasm shook her wizened frame.
“Fetch a firepot,” Nari said to Cook. “I’ll make up the duke’s room for her.”
Iya helped the old woman take another sip. “She’s not the only one driven out. You remember Virishan?”
“That hedge wizard who takes in wizard-born orphans?”
“Yes. Do you recall the young mind clouder she had with her?”
“Eyoli?”
“Yes. I met him on the road a few months back and he told me she and her brood had fled into the mountains north of Hear.”
“It’s that monster’s doing,” Ranai whispered vehemently. “That viper in white!”
“Lord Niryn.”
“Lord?” The old woman mustered the strength to spit into the fire. The flames flared a livid blue. “The son of a
tanner, he was, and a middling mage at best, last I knew. But the whelp knows how to drip poison in the royal ear. He’s turned the whole country on us, his own kind!”
“Is it so bad already?” asked Arkoniel.
“It’s still just in pockets in the outlying towns, but the madness is spreading,” said Iya.
“The visions—” Ranai began.
“Not here,” Iya whispered. “Arkoniel, help Nari get her to bed.”
R
anai was too weak to climb the stairs, so Arkoniel carried her. She was as light and brittle in his arms as a bundle of dry sticks. Nari and Cook had made the musty, long-empty room as comfortable as they could. Two fire-pots stood beside the bed and someone had laid life’s breath leaves on the coals to ease Ranai’s cough. The pungent smell filled the room.
As the women undressed Ranai to her ragged shift and tucked her into bed, Arkoniel caught a glimpse of the old scars and new burns that covered her withered arms and shoulders. Bad as they were, he found them less worrisome than the strange ebb in her power.
When Ranai was settled, Iya sent the others out and pulled a chair close to the bed. “Are you comfortable now?” Ranai whispered something Arkoniel could not catch. Iya frowned, then nodded. “Very well. Arkoniel, fetch the bag, please.”
“It’s there beside you.” Iya’s traveling pack lay in plain sight by his mistress’s chair.
“No, the bag I left with you.”
Arkoniel blinked, realizing which one she meant.
“Fetch it, Arkoniel. Ranai told me something quite surprising the other day.” She looked down at the dozing wizard, then snapped, “Quickly now!” as if he were still a clumsy young apprentice.
Arkoniel took the stairs two at a time and pulled the dusty bag from under the workroom table. Inside, shrouded
in spells and mystery lay the clay bowl she had charged him never to show to anyone except his own successor. It had been Iya’s burden for as long as he’d known her, a trust passed with the darkest oaths from wizard to wizard since the days of the Great War.
The war!
he thought, seeing the first inkling of a connection.
I
ya saw Ranai’s eyes widen when Arkoniel returned with the battered old leather bag.
“Shroud the room, Iya,” she murmured.
Iya cast a spell, sealing the room from prying eyes and ears, then took the bag from Arkoniel. Undoing the knotted thongs, she eased out the mass of silk wrappings and slowly undid them. Wards and incantations winked and crackled in the lamplight.
As the last of the silk fell away Iya caught her breath. No matter how often she held this plain, crude thing, the malevolent emanations always rocked her. To one not wizard-born, this was nothing but a crude beggar’s bowl, unglazed and poorly fired. But her master Agazhar had felt nausea when he touched it. Arkoniel suffered a searing headache and feverish pain through his body in its presence. Iya experienced it as a miasma like fumes from a rotting, ruptured corpse.
She glanced at Ranai with concern, fearing the effect it would have on her in her weakened state.
But instead the old woman seemed to find new strength. Lifting her hand, she sketched a spell of protection on the air, then reached out hesitantly, as if to take the bowl.
“Yes, there’s no mistaking it,” she rasped, withdrawing her hand.
“How do you know of it?” Arkoniel asked.
“I was a Guardian myself, one of the original six … I’ve seen enough, Iya. Put it away.” She lay back and
sighed deeply, not speaking until the cursed thing was safely wrapped again.
“You understood the Oracle’s meaning all too well, even without the knowledge lost when your master died,” she told Iya.
“I don’t understand,” said Arkoniel. “I never heard of other Guardians. Who are the six?”
Ranai closed her eyes. “They’re all dead, except for me. I’d never have revealed myself to your mistress, but when I saw that she no longer had the bag with her, I feared the worst. You must forgive an old woman’s weakness. Perhaps if I’d spoken when you came to Ylani a few years back—”
Iya took the clawed left hand in hers. “Never mind that. I know the oaths you swore. But we’re here now and you’ve seen it. What is it you have to tell us?”
Ranai looked up then. “There can be only one Guardian for each secret, Iya. You’ve passed the burden to this boy. What I have to say, only he can hear.”
“No, she only left it with me for safekeeping. Iya’s the true Guardian,” Arkoniel told her.
“No. She passed it down.”
“Then I give it back!”
“You can’t. The Lightbearer guided her hand, whether she knew it or not. You are Guardian now, Arkoniel, and what I have to say can only be said to you.”
Iya recalled the Afran Oracle’s cryptic words:
This is a seed that must be watered with blood. But you see too far
. And she thought of the vision she’d had that day, of a grand white palace filled with wizards, but seen from a distance, with Arkoniel looking out at her from a tower window.
“She’s right, Arkoniel. You stay.” Unable to look at either of them, she hurried out.
Sealed out by her own magic, she sagged against the wall and covered her face, letting the bitter tears come.
Only then did the demon child’s cryptic words come back to haunt her.
You shall not enter
.
A
rkoniel stared after Iya in disbelief, then turned back to the ruined creature in the bed. The revulsion he’d felt the first time he’d seen her rushed back now.
“Sit, please,” Ranai whispered. “What I tell you now is what was lost with Agazhar’s death. Iya has acted in ignorance. No fault of hers, but it must be made right. Swear to me, Arkoniel, as all Guardians before you have sworn, by hands, heart, and eyes, by the Light of Illior, and by the blood of Aura that runs in your veins, that you will take on the full mantle of guardianship, and that as Guardian, you will lock all I tell you away in your heart until you pass the burden to your successor. Protect these secrets with your life and allow no one who discovers them to live. No one, you understand me? Not friend or foe, wizard or plain-born, man, woman, or child. Give me your hands and swear. I’ll know if you lie.”
“Secrecy and death. Is that all the Lightbearer will ever ask of me?”
“Many things will be asked of you, Arkoniel, but none more sacred than this. Iya will understand your silence.”
He’d seen the grief in Iya’s face and knew Ranai spoke the truth. “Very well.” He grasped Ranai’s hands and bowed his head. “I do swear, by hands, heart, and eyes, by the Light of Illior and by the blood of Aura in my veins, to carry out whatever duty is required of me as Guardian, and to reveal the secrets you give me to no one but my successor.”
A blast of raw energy shot through him from their clasped hands, engulfing him. It was like being struck by lightning. It seemed impossible that Ranai’s wasted body could still contain such power, but when it passed, it left them both gasping.
Ranai regarded him solemnly. “You are truly the
Guardian now, more so than your mistress was, or even her master. You are the last of the six to carry that which must be hidden. All the rest have failed or laid their burden down.”
“And you?”
She raised a hand to her scarred cheek and grimaced. “This was the price I paid for my failure. But let me speak, for my strength is going.
“The greatest wizard of the Second Orëska was Master Reynes of Wyvernus. It was he who rallied the wizards of Skala to fight under Queen Ghërilain’s banner, and he who led those who finally defeated the Vatharna. You understand the word?”
Arkoniel nodded. “It’s Plenimaran for ‘the chosen one.’ ”
“The chosen one.” The old woman’s eyes were closed now, and Arkoniel had to lean closer to hear her. “The Vatharna was a great general, chosen by the necromancers to take on the form of Seriamaius.”
She still held his right hand, but he made a warding sign with his left. Even priests hesitated to speak the name of the necromancer’s god aloud. “How could such a thing be done?”
“They forged a helm and the one who wore it, the Vatharna, became an earthly vessel for the god. It did not happen at once, thank the Four, but gradually, though even the initial guise was terrible enough.
“The helm was completed and their general put it on. Reynes found him only just in time. Hundreds of wizards and warriors were killed in that battle, but the helm was captured. Reynes and the most powerful wizards still alive dismantled it somehow. But before they could do more, the Plenimarans attacked again. Only Reynes escaped, and with only six of the pieces. He never revealed how many there were in all. He put a glamour on those he had, wrapped them as yours is wrapped, and placed them in a darkened tent. Then he chose six of us—wizards who’d
taken no part in the other ceremonies—and sent us in one at a time. We were to take the first bundle our hand found in the darkness, then depart alone, unseen. No matter what the cost, the pieces were to be scattered and hidden. Not even Reynes would know where they were.”
She coughed weakly and Arkoniel held a cup of water to her lips. “So they couldn’t put it back together?”
“Yes. Reynes was very careful, not trusting even himself to know the full truth. None of us had witnessed the ritual of dissolution, or the true form of what we carried. None of us knew what the others had, or where they went.”
“So Agazhar was one of the original Guardians?”
“No. He wasn’t powerful enough to be considered. Hyradin was the first of your line. He and Agazhar came to be friends later on, but Agazhar knew nothing of the burden he carried. It was only by chance that he was with Hyradin when the Plenimarans found him. Mortally wounded, Hyradin gave Agazhar the bundle and held off the enemy long enough for him to escape. Years later when he and I met again, I saw what he carried and knew Hyradin must be dead.”
“And all the other pieces were lost?”
“Mine was, and two others that I know of. Hyradin’s you carry. But one of us returned, saying she’d accomplished her purpose. The sixth was never heard of again. As far as I know, I’m the only one who failed and lived. It was years before I healed, and longer before I learned of Hyradin’s fate. By rights Agazhar should have killed me and I told him so, but he wouldn’t, saying I was a Guardian still. As far as I know, yours is the only fragment yet in Skala. I told Agazhar it should be hidden somewhere secure, but he thought he could better protect it by keeping it with him.” She fixed Arkoniel with her good eye. “He was wrong. It
must
be hidden somewhere it cannot be lost or stolen. Tell Iya that much, at least. I’ve had visions of fire and death since we last met, and of the girl who is hidden.”
She smiled, seeing his startled look. “I don’t know who she is, or where, only that she has been born. And I’m not the only one, as Iya knows. The Harriers who came for me had heard of her from others. If you know, and they ever capture you, kill yourself before they can wring it from you.”
“But what does this thing have to do with her?” Arkoniel asked, perplexed.
“I don’t know. I don’t think Iya knows, but it is what the Airan Oracle showed her. This evil you carry is bound up with the fate of the future queen. You must not fail.”
Ranai accepted another sip of water. Her voice was fading and there was no color left in her face. “There’s something else, something only I know. Hyradin had a dream while he was Guardian, a vision that came to him again and again. He told it to Agazhar before he died and, not knowing what it meant, Agazhar told me before I knew enough to stop him. Perhaps that was Illior’s will, for it would have been lost otherwise. Take my hand again. The words I speak to you will never leave your memory. They must be passed on through all your successors, for yours is the last line. I pass them to you now as Agazhar should have, and a gift of my own with them.”