The Threshold Child (61 page)

“It must be important.”

“Yes,” he agreed.

There was some sort of a commotion in the camp as they approached.
E’nes was rousing everyone frantically. Adesina and L’iam hurried forward.

“What is it? What is wrong?”

E’nes saw them and let out a sigh of relief. “I thought you had
gone!”

She gave her brother an incredulous look. “Why would we be gone?”

He threw up his hands. “For some harebrained idea of saving us
from this mission!”

Adesina looked at the expression on her brother’s face, and her
eyes scanned the others in their company. She could see how important it was to
each of them to continue onward, and how committed they were to rescuing the
imprisoned L’avan.

Feeling an unexpected rush of warmth, she put her arms around
E’nes and hugged him tightly. “I could not go on without you.”

When she let go, he was smiling. “Perhaps you are right.”

They continued on their way as quickly as possible. The forest
persisted in whispering at them, but the words that Adesina heard had changed.

“When you return…”

“…dear sister…”

“Child of the Serraf…”

“…hurry, hurry…”

“Time flows onward…”

“…and soon will run out…”

“…at home, here…”

“Rest, dear one…”

“Our eyes shall stand guard…”

***

Kendan no longer went to visit the L’avan prisoner down in the
dungeon, but instead had the prisoner brought to him.

The Shimat fortress had three underground levels. The first one
was where Kendan’s study was located, as well as the smithy and the stable and
so forth.

The level below that was where all of the clandestine experiments
were conducted—which were many—and the lowest level was the dungeon. The third
level was a damp and fetid place, and Kendan hated going near it.

His study was a bare room; holding only a fireplace, a couple of
chairs, and a desk. Still, it offered light and warmth, something that the
prisoner hadn’t experienced in many weeks. Kendan wanted to offer those small
things to the L’avan man he had met in the fortress’s darkest prison. Also, he
preferred being able to look someone in the eyes when he spoke to them.

Now, as he looked into those strangely metallic spheres, he
thought he caught a glimpse of the pride that was found in Adesina’s eyes.
There were very few other resemblances between the two—the shape of the eyes,
certain angles of the facial features—but Kendan was still certain that this
was the father of the woman he loved.

He gestured to the dinner tray that he had ordered before the
arrival of the prisoner. “Please eat.”

The L’avan remained still, staring at him with a stony expression.

“I swear to you that I have done nothing to alter it.”

“Why do you offer it to me?” the prisoner asked hoarsely. A
wracking cough interrupted his words, doubling him over in pain.

Kendan was very concerned about this sickness that had taken hold
of the man before him. His body didn’t have the strength to fight it off.

He walked over to the frail L’avan and led him to a chair by the
fireplace. “Because I do not wish to have your death on my hands in addition to
everything else I have done.”

The coughing subsided, and he looked up at the Shimat warily. “Do
you have a square of cloth? A napkin?”

Kendan handed it to him and watched as he divided the meal into
two even parts and wrapped one half in the cloth. The cloth was then tucked
away in the ragged remains of his shirt.

“For later?” the young man asked.

He shook his head. “For Faryl.”

“Ah, the woman in your cell.”

He didn’t respond, but avidly tore at the bread on the tray.
Kendan watched him in pity. He hated seeing anyone reduced to such
circumstances.

He pulled his own chair around from behind the desk and set it
across from the prisoner.

“The first time I met Adesina, I was struck by her beauty. She has
a glow that wells up from deep within and spills over every aspect of her. When
you look into her eyes, you see a strength that bears her up in every
situation.”

The prisoner’s eating slowed to a stop as he listened to the words
being spoken. Faintly, he asked, “What color are her eyes?”

Kendan’s features softened as he pictured her face before him.
“Purple with flecks of gold.” He closed his eyes and continued, “I used every
trick in the book to try and intimidate her, but she just looked at me—defiant,
unmoved. The world could have ended, and she would have remained standing in
that spot.”

A strained chuckle caught his attention.

“Perhaps she is my child after all.”

Kendan stared at the L’avan in amazement, but said nothing as the
ragged man went on. “When I first saw her, I thought she was her mother. They
look so much alike. It did not occur to me until later that the girl I saw was
much too young to be my E’rian.”

A pained pause followed this statement. After a few moments, the
prisoner looked up at Kendan and quietly asked, “Will you tell me more about
her?”

He smiled in relief. “Of course.”

He hesitated before asking, “May I know your name?”

After a brief pause, the prisoner replied, “Me’shan. My name is
Me’shan.”

King L’unn’s expression became more and more grim with each report
he received from the Rashad. They were running themselves ragged, trying to
keep the L’avan and Rashad leaders informed.

There was no doubt that the army approaching Pevothem consisted of
mercenaries from all over the continent. It didn’t take much imagination to
figure out who must have hired them, even if there would be no proof ever found
tying them to the Shimat.

The mercenaries had been gathering over the past several weeks in
a forest just south of the mountain range that protected Pevothem from the
outside world. The gathering had been done quietly and they had remained
undetected until they began marching north as a force.

“Do the Rashad have a head count?” L’unn asked his counterpart.

Rajan shook his head, where the black fur was touched with gray.
His golden eyes bore the weight of his many years. “Their numbers seem to be
growing daily. More mercenaries join up with them as they march.”

“What was the last count?”

“Just over five thousand,” the Rashad leader replied.

King L’unn felt his heart sink. Their own army would be hard
pressed to number over two thousand. Their seclusion had always been their
protection, so their military was small. The L’avan race had never been
numerous, and most of the men were farmers, artisans, or scholars. The
Protectors, as the warriors were called, had always come from the family
descending from Ed’mon, and he was only one of the eleven founders.

L’unn’s voice was heavy with disbelief. “How can we possibly face
such a force?”

“The Rashad will stand with you,” replied Rajan, “and you bear the
gifts of the Serraf.”

“Will it be enough?” wondered L’unn.

“I do not know,” his friend replied sadly.

The L’avan king let out a heavy sigh before straightening his back
and striding out of his study. Rajan followed close behind, and together they
walked down the many hallways and stairs out of the palace.

The city was alive with activity. Women and children were
preparing provisions for their journey to a place more easily defendable, the
smiths were working day and night to produce weapons and armor, walls were
being reinforced and trenches were being dug. Inexperienced men who had
volunteered to join the army were being trained by Protectors, every Healer in
the land was being gathered to the city, scholars who had dedicated their lives
to the study of
vyala
were teaching
the soldiers everything they knew.

King L’unn walked purposefully to the training grounds, which had
expanded to the parks surrounding the original building. His son, L’on, was
teaching some of the boys the finer points on how to mix
vyala
and archery.

It made the king sick to his stomach when he saw the youthful
faces of the fifteen and sixteen year old soldiers. When the preparations for
war began, the order had been that only adult L’avan could fight. As the
numbers of their opponents grew, however, that age limit for L’avan soldiers
had dropped from twenty to eighteen, from eighteen to seventeen, and finally to
include these young men. Their orders were to shoot from afar and stay away
from the main battle, but it was still dangerous—too dangerous for any peace of
mind.

Off to the side, a large group was gathered to hear the words of a
central figure. L’unn frowned, and walked over to see who it was that was
addressing them.

He recognized the figure of the young Protector who had traveled
extensively with L’iam. He searched his memory for the young man’s name,
finally recalling that it was K’eb.

“…she said that we cannot expect our enemies to have the same
morals as ourselves.”

One of the men closest to him shook his head stubbornly. “That
does not mean that we should discard our morals as well!”

K’eb raised a hand, trying to explain. “I am not suggesting that
we do so, nor was Adesina. She said that we can still fight with honor, but we
need to be aware that our enemies will not always do the same. If we can
anticipate their lack of integrity, we are better prepared to defend
ourselves.”

“How can we trust what a Shimat says? Even if she was born a
L’avan?” asked another man from the crowd.

K’eb turned with an indignant expression on his face. “She is no
Shimat! She may have been trained as one, but she is as L’avan as any of us.”

“What do you say, Than’os?” asked another, gesturing to the thin
man standing a few feet away from K’eb. “You trained with the Shimat girl, did
you not?”

“I did,” replied Than’os decisively, “and she is the most gifted
warrior I have ever seen. I do not know how she compares to other Shimat, but
her skill is definitely superior to my own. I, who have been a Protector for
seventeen years.”

At this point, King L’unn was spotted, and a murmur ran through
the crowd. They parted, opening a path to the two L’avan in the center.

As L’unn approached, K’eb and Than’os bowed and placed their hands
over their hearts in salute.

“Your Majesty.”

He beckoned for them to straighten and looked them directly in the
eyes. “You have been teaching what Adesina taught?”

K’eb’s voice was hesitant. “In a way, your Majesty. That is,
I
was
passing on some useful suggestions that I received. Than’os was merely
observing. He would not presume to take the training of Protectors into his own
hands.”

The king waved a hand. “You need not defend him. He can speak for
himself.”

Than’os’ sharp features were pinched thoughtfully. “I was not
teaching, your Majesty, but I wish that I had been. Adesina imparted highly
useful knowledge before leaving the city, and I think it should be used.”

L’unn surveyed the expectant faces around him. Some were clearly
against using any knowledge given from a former Shimat, others were eager to
learn anything that could help them in the upcoming battles. His own
inclination was with the latter.

“You are correct in feeling so, Than’os. I only regret that I did
not think of it sooner. Pass on all that you have learned from Adesina to the
members of the L’avan army. You as well, K’eb. It may be that her instruction
is the key to our success.”

“But, your Majesty!” protested one of the Protectors.

When the king turned his powerful eyes on the young man, he bowed
his head and continued in a more humble tone of voice. “What if the Shimat girl
was sent here to lead us astray?”

L’unn raised his chin and spoke with all of the authority in his
being. “She has my confidence.”

No one dared object after such a mighty declaration. The king
nodded to K’eb and Than’os, and they immediately began passing on the knowledge
that they had received at the hand of the young girl who bridged the span
between Shimat and L’avan training.

He turned and saw that his eldest son was standing behind him,
watching with a wary expression on his face.

L’unn smiled and beckoned for his firstborn to join him as he
continued his survey of the battle preparations. L’on did so without
hesitation.

“Father, I do not mean to question your judgment, but are you sure
that this is a good idea?”

The king’s smile widened at the diplomatic manner in which his son
spoke, the upright stance of his walk, the self-assurance that only came with
many years of hard work. He watched as his son acknowledged the soldiers they
passed, encouraging and uplifting as he went. L’on was going to make a fine
king.