Shadows on the Stars (33 page)

She shrugged, running her hand along her bow that lay beside her on the grass. “But I can’t. So I’d best just put all that out of my mind, right? Come on now, let’s get moving! We’re wasting time here.” She stood up, ready to leave.

Elli, too, rose to her feet, but only to face the elf who seemed so sturdy and yet so slender. “You really feel that torn?”

Somberly, Brionna nodded.

“And what would you do if you went to join the elves?”

“Tell them what I’ve learned. And, if need be, fight beside them.”

Elli frowned. “Must you? Wouldn’t it be better to convince them to stop, to stay in Woodroot? The elves, after all, are such peaceful folk.”

“Not now, we aren’t. Not when such a threat to our world, our way of life, has arisen. Listen, did Merlin just rest when Rhita Gawr’s blight started spreading through El Urien? And did Rhiannon sit idly by when the War of Storms erupted? They were people of peace, as am I. But with what we know now, we must act. Do whatever we can to save our world.”

“I understand,” said Elli, her voice hushed.

“So do I,” declared Lleu. He stood, straightening his lanky form. Turning to the rolling hills to the east, he confessed, “You see, I’ve been feeling the same way myself.”

The falcon on his shoulder clacked her beak in surprise, but he continued speaking to Elli. “All night long, as we walked, I’ve been wondering if I could just get to Belamir. Bring him back to his senses, if I can! Show him the horror of where all this is leading. Convince him to call it all off, while he still can.”

Elli cocked her head doubtfully. “You really think that’s likely?”

“I don’t know until I try. But it
is
possible. After all, he’s not really wicked, just misguided.”

“Hmmmpff,” said Nuic with a snort. “Wickedly misguided, if you ask me.”

“Perhaps so. But if there’s any chance to reach him—” He caught himself, glanced at Brionna, then faced Elli again. “What am I saying, though? I belong here with you. All of us do.”

“That’s right,” agreed the elf maiden, twisting her long braid around her forearm. “So let’s get going.”

Slowly, Elli shook her head. “I don’t think so. You both have been the truest companions anyone could ask for, but if there are other things calling to you, then maybe you should listen to them.”

The elf maiden regarded her lovingly, her eyes shining in the dawn light. “You’d really allow us to go?”

“No,” she replied, forcing a smile. “But I’d
command
you to go.”

Lines of worry scored Brionna’s brow. “What about the crystal? The quest?”

“I can manage just fine,” declared Elli. “After all, I’ll still have Nuic.” Indicating the little giant now dozing on the grass, she added with a smirk, “Just do me this favor, though? If you do go, take Shim with
you
”

Brionna gave a nod, then asked simply, “You’re surer”

“I’m sure. This is right for you.” She turned to Lleu. “And also for you.”

The priest studied her doubtfully. “Perhaps so. But half of me—my wiser half, probably—wants to come with you to Shadowroot and destroy that crystal.”

No
, thought the jester from his seat on the grass just a bit apart from the others.
Not your wiser half. For if you stayed with her much longer, you’d die shortly. In a terrible accident.

A barely visible grin stole across his sallow face.
Things are going my way again, how lovely.
He would miss dearly the chance to dispatch that foolish priest, but the girl—and the crystals—would be his before long.

As if, in his intuitive ear, he’d sensed the jester’s true intentions, Lleu leaned closer to Elli. “My biggest worry for you,” he whispered, “isn’t so much what you’ll have to face in Shadowroot. I know, somehow, that you can find that sorcerer and destroy his crystal. Even if you must outwit Rhita Gawr himself to do it. No, my biggest worry is that fellow over there. Something about him troubles me, though I’m not quite sure what.”

Elli merely waved his concern aside. “You worry too much. Just like Papa always did.”

His thick, dark eyebrows drew together. “And like your father, I have something very important to worry about.”

Feeling the warmth of his words, she almost grinned. “I’ll be fine, Lleu. Really. And besides, I still need the jester, remember? He’s the only one who knows how to find the corrupted crystal.”

That’s right
, thought Deth Macoll, who had overheard everything. His bells jingled as he bobbed his head.
How lucky for you.

“Then it’s decided,” declared Brionna. “Let’s travel together, Lleu, as far as we can. Both of us can head first for Isenwy.” Catching a worried look from Elli, she added, “Keeping alert for any more gnomes, of course. If no elves have arrived there yet, we can take the Isenwy portal to Woodroot. Granda did that many times, so it’s bound to work.”

“Hmmmpff,” sneered Nuic, shifting his weight on the grass. “
No
portal is bound to work. See you in Airroot.”

Brionna didn’t seem to hear. She was gazing thoughtfully at Elli. “Hear me, now. I know only a little about Shadowroot.”

“You nearly died there, you once told me.”

Brionna’s face tightened. “Yes. That horrible, unending darkness almost—but that’s a disease only found in elves. And truly, I would face that darkness again a dozen times over to help you! I would, if only I didn’t have to fight for the survival of my people.”

“I know, Brionna.”

“What you need to know, though, is this. Granda told me that even though Shadowroot has always been on the dark side of the Tree, long ago there was some light there, as well. Not much, perhaps, but still some. And remember? There was even a city there—founded by winged people from the stars, they say—called the Lost City of Light. Before the dark elves destroyed it, museos sang, gardens blossomed, bards performed, and bonfires burned endlessly. There was even a portal that brought people from all over Avalon.”

“Then all that ended.”

“It did end. But all? We can’t be sure.” Her green eyes probed Elli’s. “There are great dangers in Shadowroot. And terrible creatures—not just dark elves, but death dreamers and others who have not even been named. But there may also yet be, in some hidden corners of the realm, a sliver or two of light.”

Elli’s hand wrapped around hers. “You’ve taught me something, you know.”

Brionna shook her head. “It’s just a bit of history I learned from Granda.”

“Not that,” said Elli with a twinkle. “I’m thinking of something else.”

“What?”

“You’ve taught me what it’s like to have a sister.”

Together, they shared a look that was itself a smile.

PART III

31
•
Final Battle

Scree climbed the ridge of fire-blackened rocks. He moved stealthily, keeping to the shadows. For after three arduous days of trekking through the hills of the Volcano Lands—over charred vales, sheer cliffs, and scorched streambeds—he was finally nearing the nests of the Bram Kaie clan.

Now only this last ridge separated him from the clan’s leader, Quenaykha. From the brutal warrior who had murdered Arc-kaya. And from what he knew would be his own final battle.

He clacked his jaw, beaklike, as he moved, thinking of the village healer who had been so generous to him. Was it because Arc-kaya had lost her own son, and Scree his own mother, that they had bonded so readily? Whatever the reason, he’d felt a growing connection with her—until it was abruptly severed.

A plume of sulfurous smoke blew past, making his eyes water. He stopped, leaning against a charred boulder, blinking to clear his vision. He could still see Arc-kaya’s face bending over him in the first days after his fever broke, her fluffy gray hair shining in the starlight. And he could still feel the weight of her lifeless body in his arms as he carried her to the burial mound. He glanced down at his anklet of gray hair, now blackened by the ash of Fireroot’s volcanic peaks.
Soar high, run free . . .

A flame vent erupted by his feet. With an eagleman’s reflexes, he leaped aside—though slower than usual because of his wounded thigh. Orange flames licked his leg, singeing some of his hairs that could become feathers at will.

Upward he climbed, as his thoughts turned unexpectedly to that golden-eyed eagleboy he had met in Arc-kaya’s village. Something about that boy, whose pride and ferocity couldn’t hide how much he had lost in the attack, reminded Scree of his younger self.

His sharp eyes spied, in the shadow of a rock covered with char-lichen, a lone blossom. Firebloom—the only flower that grew on these ridges, and yet another reminder of his younger self. For on the day he’d met Queen, he’d given her a blossom just like that one. Skilled actor that she was, she’d seemed enthralled by it, stroking those orange petals that fluttered like tiny feathers—just as she’d seemed enthralled by him.

“What a broken yolk I had for a head!” he muttered angrily. “To think that I ever believed her for a second.”

He scraped his sharply pointed toenails, so close to talons, against the sooty pebbles. Sure, he’d been fully grown physically when all that had happened, having reached adulthood at age five or six like all eaglefolk. But inside, he’d been just a fledgling. Queen, he was certain, had known that right from the start—but it hadn’t kept her from taking ruthless advantage of his naivete and, yes, his need for affection.

At last, his thoughts settled back to where they had remained for most of the past several days: how to stop the murder and thievery of the Bram Kaie clan. That was the best—probably the only—way now he could help Tamwyn, Elli, and Brionna. As well as Avalon.

The answer was clear. His only hope of success was to challenge the clan’s leader, and to prevail in a fight to the death. One of eaglefolk’s most basic traditions had always been that the policies of a leader, in this case Queen, would last until he or she died. And then only the person who had won the fight for succession could set new policies for the clan.

Trouble was, what if the Bram Kaie, who valued so few traditions, no longer honored that one? Or even if they did, what if Scree somehow succeeded in removing Queen from power—and then was himself killed, before he could even begin to change the clan’s ways? What if he was killed by that brutal young warrior, who would have no trouble at all continuing Queen’s treachery?

He shook his head, even as he neared the crest of the ridge. He couldn’t answer those questions. All he could do was try his best to stop Queen, as well as that warrior, from doing any more harm.

Scree topped the ridge. Immediately, he crouched behind a boulder, scanning the clan’s village. Or, more accurately, fortress. For the nests of the Bram Kaie had changed greatly since he’d seen them last, being more numerous, more sturdy—and far more wealthy.

Tall copper torches, bejeweled statues of soaring eagles, and silken flags decorated broad avenues paved with planks of black obsidian. Every nest—and there were now more than twenty of them—was fortified with iron bars; spiraling stairways of oak, elm, and mahogany allowed eaglefolk to enter and depart without climbing on the nests themselves. The spoils of raiding and plundering lay everywhere: Scree recognized a rocking chair carved in the elaborate style of the Mellwyn clan, a chest of shiny kitchen utensils that could only have come from the metalworkers of southern Olanabram, and a winged kite that he’d seen once being flown by several eaglechildren near the River of Fire.

The whole village gleamed of new wealth—and also with the reddish glow of the clouds that always hung over the Volcano Lands. It looked as if the entire settlement had taken on the hue of molten lava. Or, perhaps, dried blood.

Sentries, armed with bows and arrows as well as spears, patrolled the streets. All wore red leg bands, and grim expressions on their faces. They were gathering at one spot in particular, around a torch that stood just outside the village. A large crowd of eaglefolk had formed there, as sentries paced to and fro. What, Scree wondered, was going on?

As he watched, trying to peer through the mass of eaglefolk milling about, a dusty brown snake slithered by him—and right over his foot. But Scree neither moved nor made any sound. If he was to have even a chance to succeed, he’d need to stay completely unnoticed until he suddenly struck, transforming into eagle form and attacking Queen before any of those sentries could loose their arrows.

The crowd grew steadily more restless. Some people shouted angrily, and a few youths started shoving each other roughly. People were clearly upset about something. By the minute, the eaglefolk grew more unruly, and the guards more anxious.

What’s this all about?

Then Scree got his answer—as well as his opportunity. His whole body tensed as he saw an eaglewoman stride purposefully out from behind a nest, approaching the crowd. Tall and muscular, she wore dozens of golden rings in her flowing auburn hair.

Queen. Scree immediately recognized her determined gait, her shapely form, and above all, her penetrating yellow eyes. He recognized, too, the way she held her head, and even the way she breathed. Suddenly, without warning, the memory of her breathing—so very close, chest to chest—flashed through his mind. It made him shudder.

Focus, Scree! No time now for such nonsense.

He studied her face. That had certainly changed, looking much more haggard than he remembered, a mask of unending worry. Her lips, once so full, so soft—now were pinched as tight as a closed beak.

As she approached the crowd, the eaglefolk parted, though some needed a push from a sentry to stand aside. At last Scree could see, from his vantage point behind the boulder, why so many people had gathered there: Sprawled on the ground beneath the torch lay the blood-smeared corpse of an eaglewoman. The same one that Scree had seen being flown back to the village moments before, by a band of warriors.

Scree clenched his jaw. The woman, whoever she was, had been brutally battered, her wings broken, the talons severed from her legs. By the black tips still visible on her wingfeathers, he could tell that she had belonged to the clan. Yet, from what was left of her, she seemed too old and frail to fight—a most unlikely warrior.