The Sheening Of The Blades (Book 1) (55 page)

The horses filed into a little cleared area in the trees, and came abruptly to a stop when Kai did the same at their head. 

“Oh, no,” Rodge said, deflated.  The Dra was scouting again, looking for the trail on the other side.  Cerise ground her teeth in frustration.

Ari looked around, and felt a funny lurch.  The way the light and shadow fell…the patterns of the trees…It was small, but then
he’d
been small.  And there had been that overgrown garden—how could he forget it when it had been in his dreams for months now?  That big mess of brambly brush over there…?

“Wait,” he said.  Melkin turned sharply to look at him. 

“A clearing, you said?” Traive asked, glancing at him, too, and recalling the interview with the centaurs.  They all looked at Ari.

“Is this it?” Loren asked him.  He
’d never been there.  In fact, the ‘nuns’ had been at Jagstag with Ari, and that’s where Lord Harthunter had adopted him.

“I think so,” Ari said softly, a hundred sensations and memories
careening through him.  He felt all funny inside.  He cleared his throat, pointing at the monstrous thicket several yards away.  “That’s the garden.”

Instantly, Kai shifted his attention there, Melkin right behind him.  Excitement began to edge through the group.  Traive pulled an axe from his backbrace, as those brambles were way too thick just to be pulled aside, but before he could dismount, Kai called sharply, “Here!”

Spurring their horses, they all rushed after the Dra.  He was way back, at the farthest part of the mess of vines and thorns, and they pulled up sharply around him, adrenaline pumping.

“NO!” Melkin shouted, furious.

“I can’t believe it,” Loren said, awed.

There, cut very clearly straight out in front of them, was a neat trail leading in to the densest part of the thicket.  Down here, the mass of stalks and vines had grown well over their heads, and a clean, sharp line of fresh-cut and cleared branches ran the entire length down to where a space opened up several yards in.

It was absolutely and completely empty.

Ari couldn
’t make it register.  To have come all this way, on a trail left by ghosts, overcoming almost every obstacle you could think of and several that wouldn’t have occurred to anyone in their right mind, only
to be too late
?  Of course, they didn’t know this was the right clearing—where was the convent?—or that the Statue had ever been here, or that that was what was missing.  He had no doubt they would proceed to cut this patch to pieces…and was equally sure they’d find nothing.  He was as certain that it was lost to them as he was that his hair was red.

“What do you seek?”

They all jumped, looking at each other.  Kai was the first to move, sliding around the far end of the thicket like silk over a Cyrrhidean woman.  They followed as a mass, and it didn’t take but a second to find the source of the voice on the other side.

Well, there
’s the convent, Ari thought to himself.  Almost buried under overgrown trees and bushes, on its roofed porch sat a woman.  She didn’t look surprised to see them down here in the middle of nowhere, nor hostile, nor even particularly curious.  Kai was resheathing his blades as they all came to a stop, long before the boys had even thought to draw theirs.

“Who are you?” Melkin demanded, in a wary, neutral voice.  “What do you know of this place?”

She arched an eyebrow, silently, in such classic Imperial fashion that it took them all aback.  But with a few seconds of observation, it was obvious she was from the North, the eyebrows as golden as the neat, upswept mass of hair, her skin flawless alabaster over the fine-boned face.  A Northerner.  Here, where they’d seen no Northerners but each other for well over a month.

Traive dismounted quietly and sank to a knee.  “Lady Dorian,” he said respectfully.

Of course.  Ari felt his insides spasm as the name shot through his memory with electric recognition.  The second-in-command.  Who else was going to be hanging out down here, alone, in Cyrrh with all its danger?  And in the Forbidden part of it, no less.

“Whiteblade,” he said huskily, for the sake of the others.

Melkin looked like he’d been slapped.  His face and tone changed instantly.  He narrowed his eyes at the self-composed female perched just out of reach in front of him, gathering his thoughts.

“We seek the Statue of the Empress,” he said, watching her closely.  “We
’ve learned of its importance in trying to prevent the resurgence of the Enemy…” He hesitated.  After all, it was the Whiteblades that were supposed to be the repositories of this kind of information.  But he’d said enough.

Without a trace of anxiety or consideration for their long travels and travails, her strong, clear voice answered, “It is not here.”

Melkin glared at her.  “That much I could gather,” he said, probably thinking of the several months’ worth of mysteries he hadn’t figured out yet.  “You have it?” he pressed.  “Is it safe?”

“No,” she shook her head gravely and they all stared at her, appalled and impatient.

“Do none of these women know how to give a straight answer?” Rodge muttered.

“Where is it?” Banion rumbled, barely civil.

“It is gone.”

Gone. 
Gone.
Gone where?  Ari felt queasy with apprehension.  This was terrible, the unknowing at this stage of the game almost unbearable.  Did the mercs have it after all, or, worse, Enemy that was paying them?

“Will you not tell us more?” he asked miserably.  She swung her head at the sound of his voice and from across the grasses separating them, he could feel the bright burn of her eyes, like golden topaz, glimmering with light and with something unreadable.  Then she smiled.

“The statue is gone forever, for it is no longer needed.”

“Speak plainly,” Melkin said, harsh and low, eyes boring into hers as if he could will sense out of her.

With an effortless spring, she launched herself from her sitting position, landing weightlessly on the balls of her feet in the meadow grass.  If Ari hadn’t seen it, he wouldn’t have believed anyone could move with that much grace.  She straightened, tall and slender, with a long white neck, long arms and long,
long
legs.  Her golden-brown eyes flicked among them.

“There is no statue; the Empress is no longer stone.  She has come back to life.”

You could have heard a pin drop.  They were standing fetlock deep in meadow grass and you still could have heard it.  Birds stopped singing, animals stopped rustling, the breeze stopped, the horses froze, the sun stopped.  Time stopped.

After an eternity, Melkin repeated, “Back to life.”  He sounded stupider than Ari had ever heard him.  Banion very carefully reached up to scratch his beard.

Traive chuckled the warm, homey, comfortable laugh that they all knew so well, and the spell was broken.  The Northerners looked around at each other perplexed; it was a testament to the stranger’s force of personality that no one had made any comments yet.

In her firm voice, she said, “Your quest is ended, Wolfmaster.”  She approached, walking toward them in long, bold strides.  “You have done better than you know.  The road goes on, but there is only one of you who must follow it from here.”  She had stopped, and now from a scarce yard or so away, glowing topaz eyes met sea-emerald blue.

“You have grown up well, Ari.”

CHAPTER
27

“Well,” Rodge said briskly, “since we’re all headed home—ey!”  He ducked as Loren threw a punch at him.

“You
’re not taking him anywhere,” Loren told the golden-haired woman, “or it’ll be over my dead body.”  He stared at her fiercely.

Rodge, under his breath this time and eyeing the legs, muttered, “There
’d be worse ways to die.”

“Loyal friend,” Dorian murmured.  Her eyes had never left Ari
’s, who had secretly thought it rather appropriate that there’d be a Whiteblade here, at the site of all those childhood memories of them…but he hadn’t been expecting this.

“You know me?” he said cautiously, trying not to look too eager.

“Obviously, Ar, if she called you by name,” Rodge began, not one for long, emotive looks or pregnant silences, but the rest of it was cut off as Melkin pushed past him, the big roan sending Rodge and his dumpy pony bouncing out of the way.

“The boy
’s not going anywhere,” Melkin reiterated bitingly.  “Especially as disjointed and uncommunicative as you all seem to be—”

“He is a man grown,” she overrode him, with surprising ease.  “The decision is his.”

              Those glorious eyes had never left his and he wished desperately everyone would be quiet or just go away.  There were so many things he wanted to ask her.

             
“Where are we going?” he asked, to buy time.  He wasn’t sure it was in his ability to deny her anything, especially if it meant a continuation of this quest—with her company.  But that was before he heard her answer.

             
“Zkag.  Our path leads to the Sheelshard,” she said quietly.

             
Shocked silence settled over the meadow.  Ari’s fingers tightened convulsively on his reins.

             
“You’re not taking him there!” Loren cried, but he couldn’t quite summon enough outrage to cover his surprise.

             
“It doesn’t even exist,” Cerise hissed from somewhere in the back.  “It’s just legend.”

“So are the Ivory,” someone reminded her.

“And what possible reason can you have for dragging him into the middle of the Sheel?” Melkin asked coldly.  “Do you really think we’ll just let you talk him into this?”

“Wolfmaster.”  Traive
’s voice was firm, the one he used to give commands.  “There is no evil in the Ivory.  If they wish for Ari to accompany them, you may trust there is good reason for it.”

“I don
’t
trust
,” was the snarled response.  “What sort of devilish plan involves a trip to the ’Shard?”

“The only plan belongs to Il,” she said in her crisp, cool voice.  An indefinable air of confidence hovered around her, as if she, too, was used to command.  “All this has come to be by His will alone.  You, and you alone, are needed…very badly,” she said, softer, and looking so deeply at Ari that he felt his toes tingle.

“What about the Empress?” Cerise said waspishly.  She’d pushed Tekkara up closer to the action.  “I thought this was all about her.  She’s wandering around human again, if we’re to believe what you say, so does that mean there isn’t going to be a war?  And if not, then what do you need Ari for?”

“The Empress is no longer a concern.  She will be where she is needed, when she is needed.  And war will come, regardless.  The Peace is over.”

“Then why are you going to the ’Shard?” Banion asked, in a deadly quiet voice that hadn’t even a trace of his normal good humor.

A lightning streak of mischief flashed across her face, and for the first time she looked away from Ari.  “Because it may make a great deal of difference in what
kind
of war.”

“Lady Dorian,” Traive interceded, his low, calm voice working its usual charm on the ruffled feathers encircling Ari.  “We are loth to let our companion go on alone…”

Cerise snorted.  “That’s one word for it…”

Both of the Whiteblade
’s supple brows arched into the beautiful white span of her forehead.  “It is not forbidden that you should accompany him.”  She turned again to lock her gaze on Ari, adding softly.  “Only not necessary.”

There was a split second pause.  “Then I
’m going!” Loren said staunchly.

“I, too,” Traive said, looking satisfied.

“Not you,” Melkin growled at him angrily and Dorian spared him a stern glance from her glowing eyes. 

“It is not for you to deny anyone, as it is not for me,” she chided quietly.

“Don’t suppose there’ll be any fighting?” Banion asked, a little wistfully, doubtless thinking of the duties calling him in Merrani.

Because he was staring into her eyes, Ari was probably the only one who saw it, a flicker of some strong emotion that never reached her calm face.  “There will be such a battle as has never before been and will never be again,” she said, low-voiced.

Banion’s face glowed through his hair.  “Oh, aye, well then, the lad shouldn’t be without his friends…I’d say I’m needed more here than at Kane’s side,” he added defensively when Melkin turned to look at him in dark disbelief.

“I
’m, uh, I’m not so good with a sword,” Rodge started deprecatingly. 

Cerise interrupted him sarcastically, “Are you going back to the University alone?”

He stared at her.  “YOU’RE going?”

She tossed her head just as her mare did the same.  “I am the Queen
’s emissary.  I’m certainly not afraid of ghost stories and a little sand.”

Rodge
’s jaw dropped.  “Well,
I
’m not afraid either!”

“Ari,” Dorian
’s persuasive voice murmured under their wrangling.  He swallowed.  She was so beautiful it made his throat hurt.  What she might know about him made his chest hurt.

“Will you answer my questions, Lady Ivory?” he dared, hoping no one had heard him.  There were some private things he
’d like to get ironed out without them being shouted about all around the campfire.

“I will answer what I can,” she agreed.

It wasn’t like he had anything to lose, he told himself rationally, while his guts churned with anticipation.  “Then I’ll go.”

Dorian nodded once, slightly, and then with a completely different look on her face, swept the group around him with an all-encompassing sort of glance.  “Know that you have
chosen this Way in full knowledge of its dangers,” she warned them.  “Once we start down this trail, it will soon be as dangerous to turn back as it will be to go on.”

             
A vague guilt crept through Ari’s conscience.  None of them would be going into this, facing yet more dangers on this long trail, if it wasn’t for him.  He somehow felt not quite right about that.  It was one thing for him…

             
“Technically,” Rodge observed, “we’re not really in
full
knowledge—”

             
“Our decision stands,” Melkin snapped, his hostility edged with wariness now.  He was watching her, as if trying to divine her motives.  She stood slim and straight under his gaze, ready as a spear and eyeing them all as if they were the questionable ones in this equation. Her mannish dress, worn, fitted leathers, a loose blouse, and a long hunting knife, she wore with such composure it somehow didn’t seem outlandish at all.

             
“Well,” she finally said, “let us make what time we can then.”  And turned smartly away, her long legs making short work of the little meadow.  Traive and Kai both moved out promptly and unquestioningly after her, but for a moment the Northerners all hesitated, looking around at each other rather seriously.

             
“If it’s dangerous, maybe…” Ari started. 

             
“It’s not like we haven’t been in danger before today,” Banion said blithely.  He was stroking his beard with an anticipatory gleam in his eye.

             
“No one is obligated to continue,” Melkin rasped out, looking directly at Rodge.  “Despite what I said.  She’s not in charge here.”

             
Rodge, looking woeful, said, “You think we’ll ever get any answers?”

Melkin curled his lip, for once in complete agreement, and after another round of looks, he touched his heels to his horse and led off across the clearing.

All the angst and patent uncertainty of the last day or so might as well have never existed.  They were back in single file, walking down pleasant, sunlight-dappled paths, birds and bees humming around them…the only difference was the statuesque blonde of commanding air that was now in the lead, striding as confidently and rapidly down the path as if she’d been using it every day of her life for years.  There had been, of course, no path out of the clearing when
they’d
all looked for it, but that didn’t even surprise anyone.  The whole journey was becoming absolutely surreal.  This latest little revelation especially.

They
’d just been told the entire reason for their trials and wanderings and heightening sense of anxiety over the past few months …didn’t even exist.  Who knew how long the Statue had been ‘gone,’ as she put it?  And, all biological issues with that concept aside, what did it mean?

And
why in all the Realms were they going to the Sheelshard?

No one could deny the sense of expectation, though, now.  It was impossible not to feel like they
’d accomplished at least part of their goal, and now there was a Whiteblade—hopefully one who knew what was going on—attached to their party.  And an even more definite goal ahead of them. 

The sun and the moon stared at each other that twilight, the sky a radiance of pink and blue and white trails of clouds.  They got to see it all, because they were still in the saddle.  Rodge had just asked bitingly if they were going to sleep there, too, when the column came to a halt in a cleared spot on the trail.  Kai and Dorian were talking quietly together when Ari dismounted, and he felt a flash of jealousy.  What he
’d give for a nice, quiet, so-tell-me-my-life-story moment with her.

They were all pretty efficient at trail duties by now—even Rodge could gather a mean armful of kindling—which was fortunate, as it was so dark everything had to be done by feel.    But the camp was definitely different with that presence there.  There was something strange, almost mystical, about her when you were on the ground with her, in the moonlight, with those uncanny eyes seeming to know everything you were thinking.

But she sat with them companionably enough, graciously accepting trail food from Traive, and once their ravenous appetites had been beaten into submission, the conversation started.  Perhaps, more accurately, one should say the inquisition.

“Are you going to tell us what happened?” Melkin asked, his eyes boring into her calm ones.  Traive frowned at him, to no discernible effect.

She finished chewing, imperturbable, and said, “I assume you are speaking of the Empress?”  Nobody answered, but a rather palpable resentment flared from several pairs of eyes at this reminder of the trick pulled on them.  In the firelight, her golden hair and eyes glinted with light, the perfect skin of her face a soft gleam.

“A little over five hundred years ago, the Empress captured Raemon at the Battle of Montmorency—this much you know from the Addahite Shepherd,” she began, and was immediately interrupted.

Cerise demanded suspiciously, “How do you know we talked to a Shepherd?”

One of Dorian
’s slender brows arched toward her hairline.  “There is much I know.  Do you want to hear it?”

“Let her talk,” Melkin growled, though the possibility of finally having things explained mellowed his usual savagery remarkably.

“What happened on that battlefield was a surprise to everyone but Il.  We had been warned that something would be different at this encounter, and indeed it almost had to be.  This was the last stand of the Realms, for they had been defeated and overrun on almost every front.  When the body of the Empress began to turn to stone, she was in the process of drawing Raemon’s power—not on purpose,” she added wryly.  “He was somehow drawn into the transformation with her…and that is all we know of it.  Even the Empress, who lived through it, cannot tell us more.”

“Then how did you know the Statue would bring peace for
Five Hundred years?” Banion asked, as if he’d caught her in a slip.

She looked at him, then slowly at the rest of them, as if weighing whether or not she should tell them.  Finally, she said, “A Shepherd came to our camp a couple of nights before the Battle.  He had with him one of their
Battle Horns, and in the course of the conversation it was revealed that that horn had been around five hundred years.  It was last blown at Ramshead, when a small force of five hundred of the Ranks had driven a huge assault force off the beach.  The Horn was fissured, of course, and could no longer be blown, but it was still carried for sentimental reasons.”

She paused, glancing around at the blank faces, most of them not following this trail of evidence at all.