Warautumn (26 page)

The ground was soggy underfoot—from days of rain that had penetrated even to the undercover—and Avall found himself scanning the leaf mold for the distinctive tracks of geens. He found none—no one did. But that didn’t stop Rann from foisting his pack on a startled Krynneth and jogging off with Div in advance of the rest of the party—overtly to check on the horses, but equally likely to secure a few moments’ privacy with his lady.

Not that Avall wasn’t glad to see Strynn as well. Yet somehow the present reality of their reunion failed to match the
image of that event he had carefully tended in his mind, with the result that everything seemed slightly unreal. Given the way they always had to relearn each other after every separation, he supposed it would take a while before things between them regained a comfortable level. Now that they had the regalia again, he hoped he would
have
that time.

He was carrying the Lightning Sword because someone had to; while Merryn took charge of the helm; and strong, stocky Riff shouldered the shield along with the largest pack. It was a practical arrangement in the extreme, but such casually cavalier treatment of valuable artifacts once again put Avall off—probably because it was yet another example of the reality of an event having no relationship whatever to how he had expected it would be. Beyond that, he had also realized that far more information needed to be imparted than a simple explanation of why half of Eron’s High Council was here in the middle of the Wild. Like Zeff’s latest ultimatum, for instance, and Rann’s rebellion, and the circumstances that had precipitated them here—all of which now seemed more like an extended, and not entirely pleasant, dream, than any real series of events.

Nor were Merryn—or Strynn or Div—likely to be pleased with what they heard. And who could tell about poor Krynneth? Whatever happy reunion anyone was anticipating would dissolve into argument and anger sooner than anyone thought, once certain hard facts were made known.

All thanks—yet again—to the Eight-cursed gems!

Which was another oddity, Avall reflected, as he strode through the dappled forest shade, angling toward the brighter light of the meadow now visible beyond the farther trees.
When had he grown so accustomed to the notion of staying here, anyway?
Either on the island itself or on the cliffs around it, both of which showed promise of possessing more than enough raw materials to construct a nice serviceable small hold? And now all that was about to change just as he’d begun to accept it. Eight! Before long—maybe even within a hand—
he would be marching off to war again! He wondered if he was remotely ready.

But they had reached the eaves of the woods by then, with the meadow beyond, and the sheer beauty of the place jolted him back to the present, so that, for the too-short while it took to reach the camp, Avall forgot how ephemeral happiness could be.

Fortunately, the horses were alive, healthy, and no more nervous than typical, though Div was handing out sugar treats in a manner so profligate it prompted a scowl from Merryn.

“We’ve got food,” Bingg volunteered, shedding his pack and gazing about anxiously. “If no one minds eating waterbeast.”

“I’m sure it’s better than horse,” Merryn sniffed—and that settled it. “We’ve got cauf,” she added, with a twinkle in her eye. “I don’t suppose you lads do?”

“Some,” Avall retorted loftily, “though ours is, uh, somewhat … adulterated.”

“You were on that island
how
long?” Merryn muttered. “Didn’t someone say eleven days?”

“It’s a long story,” Avall sighed. “Perhaps we should all sit down.” And that comment seemed to be the cue for everyone to unload their packs, divest themselves of unnecessary clothing and war gear, and find places on and around the rock that anchored the camp. “The first thing you should know,” Avall continued when the din had more or less subsided, “is that we didn’t
choose
to be here.”

And for most of the next hand he explained why. At that, he only touched the high points, but neither Merryn, Strynn, nor Div had heard anything of what had transpired after Strynn had departed Tir-Eron in search of Merryn: not about the progress of the war itself, nor the coup in Tir-Eron.

“That will have spread by now,” Merryn opined when he had finished. “There’s no way this Ninth Face won’t have coordinated attacks in all five gorges.”

“They wouldn’t have to in Half or South,” Avall grumbled.
“Those two were already well on their way to chaos when the Face made their move.” He broke off, raising a brow at Strynn. “Though if anything
had
happened there, surely someone would have sent word to War-Hold. I don’t suppose you heard anything, did you? Assuming you went by there?”

Strynn shook her head. “Nothing.”

Avall flopped back against the rock and folded his arms across his chest, frowning intently. “One troubling factor is that the nature of the attack makes me think that not only is the Ninth Face involved, but that they have access to some form of distance communication.”

“Gems?” From Merryn.

A shrug. “Maybe. But I’m thinking it might be Wells. I’m finding that the more I deal with them, the more there seems to be some commonality between the effects of the gems and those of the Wells. At minimum, both affect a person’s mental powers. Beyond that, one seems to allow
communication
across distance, the other
seeing
across distance—and maybe time as well.”

“But how do you
know
that?” Merryn shot back, brow furrowed by a frown of her own.

“Because the last Well I drank from was the Well beneath the Ninth Face’s citadel, which should, in theory, owe no loyalty to me—or to the King, rather—yet it showed me a vision of the lake we just came from.”

“But I saw it, too!” Div countered. “In a dream. And I’ve never drunk from a Well in my life, nor had contact with a gem in eights.”

“You’ve had contact with the birkit, though,” Strynn observed. “And they
also
seem to be some kind of catalyst.”

“Or repositories,” Avall gave back, returning his gaze to Merryn. “And I suppose I should add that I dreamed about the geen with the sword, which might tie them into the mess as well. We need to talk about both those things, too—but not until after we’ve walked the straight trail. For instance, did
Strynn and Div catch up with you before or after you’d hidden the regalia? Obviously you have it now—but that doesn’t mean you hadn’t hidden it earlier. Though why you’d be here—”

Merryn cleared her throat, took a long swallow of cauf (augmented with some of the remaining brandy) then sighed—loudly. “If you’re through arguing with yourself, brother, there are a couple of things you ought to know, one of which will likely please you, the other of which almost certainly will not.”

Without waiting for reply, she launched into the whole long tale of her capture—first by Krynneth, then by the Ixtians—which was followed by an equally lengthy account of the geen’s theft of the sword.

Avall was frowning like thunder when she finished—but as much at Div and Strynn as at his sister. “You should have kept a closer eye on her,” he growled at them. “You know how she is.”

“If they had, you’d be floating around the lake in pieces,” Merryn replied airily, but her face was traced with guilt—like a little girl caught at something dangerous by her elders. “It was act or argue,” she continued, frankly. “I knew that time in which to confront the geen was limited, and that it was ultimately my fight. But I also knew that Strynn and Div would insist on coming along if they knew I was going—which would have reduced us to arguing about who would stay with Krynneth, who was too much risk to take along. Div would ultimately have won, because Strynn was simply too sick to make an effective second—if nothing else, because she was likely to sneeze or cough, and thereby alert the geen or geens. But if Div and I had been killed, that would have left Krynneth in the care of someone who might—forgive me, Strynn—die herself, so I had to be sure there was someone strong in camp, and that left Div. It was pure logic, brother, nothing more.”

“We’ll talk about it later,” Strynn sniffed. “Besides, there’s an even more important reason I couldn’t go—one that Avall certainly needs to know.”

Avall lifted an inquiring brow. “And that is?”

“I’m pregnant—about an eighth now.”

It took a moment for the words to sink in—though if anyone voiced a reply, Avall didn’t hear it. Only when Rann and Lykkon slapped him on the back at precisely the same time did he truly realize what his wife had said.

“Pregnant,” he blurted out.

Strynn nodded through a very self-satisfied grin. “Twins—I think. I should have told you earlier, but things had just got so grim and serious when we should all be happy—”

“However briefly,” Avall broke in ominously, as emotions warred across his face. “You know that we’ll have to act quickly now that I’ve got the regalia back. Or
I
will, at any rate.” He closed his eyes and clamped his hands to either side of his head. “But—Oh, Eight damn it! This is just too
much!
There are too many things to confront all at once, too many choices, too many Eight-cursed if-thens!”

With that, he rose and stalked away, but Merryn was on her feet in an instant, restraining him with a hand on his arm. “Is there a
reason
you have to confront it now? The ultimatum’s been expired for over an eight, in case you’ve forgotten. Whatever’s happened in regard to that
has
happened.”

Avall turned on her fiercely.
“Has it?
Maybe it has and maybe it hasn’t, but the fact is I’m still King and I’ve gone off and left people I care about in perilous straits, and people I’m responsible for imprisoned under threat of their lives, never mind what’s happening in Tir-Eron. And that’s not even considering that Zeff could well have found more gems by now—he’s had more than long enough to dig his way down to the mines, especially if he uses everyone in the hold as slave labor.”

“And you can fix this? You yourself?”

“Give me the regalia and you’ll see! And the other gems—our personal gems you demanded of us.”

“What for?”

“So I can jump back to Gem-Hold. Even if Zeff has found more gems, I’m bound to be his equal simply because I’ve been dealing with gems longer and have three very strong ones properly installed in housings designed for them.”

Merryn shook her head. “You can’t.”

“Can’t what.”

“Jump back.”

“Give me those gems and I’ll show you!”

Merryn grabbed Avall by both shoulders and shook him firmly but gently. “You
can’t
, Avall. They were damaged. They were burned in the fire.”

He glared at her. “You’ve tried them?”

A deep breath. “I haven’t dared. I remember what happened with the master gem recording Barrax’s death. These may have done that as well, and if they have—are you man enough to face another man’s death by burning?”

“The gems can be cured, Merry.”

“Can they?”

“The master gem—it was getting better before I broke it.”

“And the fragments?

“We’re still testing. That’s why I wanted to use the other gems.”

She shook him again. “And what about us, Avall? Your friends? Your family? Your wife? Your bond-brother? Everyone you love is here right now. What about us? Would you abandon us all to who-knows-what just so you can return to Gem-Hold and—quite possibly—die?”

“I won’t die,” Avall retorted. “The cursed gems won’t let me.”

Merryn’s eyes flashed fire. “The same gems that are shattered or burned past risk of usage? Do you think they owe you any favors now? You said they protected you, but look how we’ve treated them! Would you risk it, Avall?”

“You’re saying I shouldn’t go back?”

She shook her head. “Not at all. In fact, I’ll kick your
backside for you if you don’t try. But you go with the rest of us. And maybe you go via the gems.
Maybe
. We’ve got three good ones in the regalia; maybe you can jump with them. But you won’t do it alone.” She paused, grinning fiendishly. “You know, what would be true justice would be for you to jump into Gem-Hold in secret and plant the burned gems where Zeff can find them—and let him go pleasantly mad.”

Avall couldn’t suppress a chuckle. “This is the same sister who didn’t want me jumping?”

She released him with a chuckle of her own—and a warning pat. By unspoken consent, they began to walk together, away from the camp. “Madness and genius are opposite sides of one coin,” she said eventually.

“And we’d be fools to decide anything until everyone knows as much as possible.”

She regarded him seriously. “You know what we have to do, don’t you?”

“You’ll tell me anyway, won’t you?”

“Only that in order to determine what we can and cannot do, we’ll have to test every one of the gems, both alone and in every possible combination, not only to assess their present condition but also in case some combination of them might still allow jumping—which I will concede is the fastest way back there, if also the most—I’m very tempted to say ‘foolhardy.’ ”

Avall felt his blood run cold. “You’re right—much as I hate to admit it, you’re right.”

Her expression didn’t change.
“And
as soon as they’re determined to be even minimally safe, the rest of us need to try to bond with the various gems as well—including the burned ones
if
someone can determine that they’re safe. And maybe even if they’re not.”

“That’s insane!”

“Maybe so, but hasn’t it occurred to you that maybe the gems have different effects on different people, or that
people have different effects on them? Strynn has said, for instance, that the birkit told her that she’s a strong thinker.”

“So is Kylin,” Avall acknowledged. “He was able to link with me through a gem neither of us was touching.”

She grinned. “Then there you are. And there’s also the small fact that we all need to be as familiar and facile with their various … powers as we can be, simply because there’s no telling when one of us might be incapacitated or have to work with an unfamiliar gem. But beyond all that, there’s one final thing I think needs to be done—and this one you
really
won’t like.”