Age of Legend Page 3

  “Well, no, but—”

  “Then whoever wrote these was certain you’d find them. That, or . . .” He tapped a finger thoughtfully to his lips.

  “Or what?”

  “Or they knew your markings would be so widely known that anyone could read the tablets. This would suggest your symbols really will become universal. Either way, the writer clearly had the gift of future-sight. But because it was you who read them, and given that this is far too unlikely to be mere coincidence, I’ll stay with my first conclusion: These were intended for you, and you alone.”

  Brin began to wish Malcolm hadn’t visited that morning. He’d only been there a few minutes, and she was terrified of her book and frightened that some ancient powerful being knew her name.

  “Suri mentioned something called the Agave. What’s that?” Malcolm asked.

  “Ah . . . It’s a chamber deep, deep below Neith. Rain said it was like the world ended down there, and he’s a digger, you know? It’s where the Ancient One was trapped. He’s the one who wrote the tablets. He taught the dwarfs how to make bronze and iron, secrets he gave them in exchange for his freedom. But the dwarfs didn’t keep their word. I’m pretty sure that’s a thing with them. Anyway, he eventually offered them a seed from the First Tree, and he told them if they ate its fruit, they’d live forever. When they opened a hole to get the seed, the Ancient One escaped and left Balgargarath behind to punish the dwarfs and stop anyone from entering Neith.”

  Malcolm looked concerned, like a father who’d lost track of his children and heard the distant howl of a wolf.

  “Malcolm, is something wrong?”

  “Yes, I think so. You’ve just answered a great many questions I’ve wondered about for a very long time, but you’ve also created a long list of new ones. I’m going to have to leave for a while.”

  “Leave? Are you going to Neith?”

  He nodded. “To start with, yes. I’m going to see if I can recover those tablets. If I do, can you translate them for me?”

  “Of course!” Brin’s face blossomed into a wide grin. The thought of reading all the tablets made her giddy with excitement. “Before you leave, go see Roan. She can give you charcoal and vellum and show you how to make rubbings from the tablets. There are too many of them to carry. They’d be too heavy anyway—” Reality hit, and the grin faded. “But you can’t reach them! Suri collapsed the mountain. There’s no way to get in.”

  “Maybe, but I’m going to try anyway.”

  “Why?”

  Malcolm laughed, shaking his head. “That would take too long to explain, and I—we—don’t have that kind of time.”

  “Well, if you get to Caric, watch out for Gronbach. Don’t trust him. That dwarf is an evil liar.”

  Malcolm flashed an amused smile. “I’ll be careful, and you should, too. Right now, you are the only one capable of reading those tablets, as well as your book. You’ll need to change that, or what’s the point? While I’m gone, teach others so that your symbols really will become universal.”

  “Will you be gone long?”

  “I suspect so. After I visit Neith, if I can’t—as you say—get in, I may need to go looking for the Ancient One.”

  “Search for him? But he has to be dead, right? Or do you think he was telling the truth about immortality?”

  “We’ve just learned that someone who has lived for thousands of years at the bottom of the world left you a message, one that you received. I don’t think it’s wise to rule anything out.”

  “Would it help to know his name?”

  “You mean besides the Ancient One?”

  “That’s just what the dwarfs called him, but in the tablets, he referred to himself as The Three.”

  Once more, Malcolm’s eyes widened. “I really do have to go.”

  Chapter Two

  Exodus

  In the beginning, our clans were nomads. Then we settled on dahls, and for generations we did not move. The war made wanderers of us once again. — The Book of Brin

  Persephone insisted she’d be able to walk, but Moya declared that wasn’t going to happen. The keenig’s Shield spoke with both hands on her hips, reinforcing her seriousness with the same glare she had used on Udgar just before putting an arrow through his throat. For such a beautiful woman, Moya could be as scary as the Tetlin Witch.

  “I’ve ordered a wagon for you,” Moya said, as if this would make any further debate pointless.

  “Everyone else is walking. I can’t ride in a cart like some privileged—”

  “Seph, you can’t walk. It’s been less than a week since you were gutted. You can barely stand up straight, and you’re still as pale as a goose egg. You’ll be lucky to get down to the gate without help.” Moya sighed and softened. “I know you’re all about image and putting up a good front, but imagine how it will look if everyone sees you fall on your face. You’re the keenig, our fearless leader. Let’s not ruin everyone’s screwed-up fantasy by giving the dirt a big kiss. Besides, it’s a nice wagon. I picked it out myself and arranged for everything. There are plenty of pillows and blankets, plus wine, cheese, a girl to hold your cup and wipe your brow, a boy to fan you, a piper to play music, and two muscular, handsome, shirtless men who will stand on either side. They’ll protect you not only from harm but also from the sun, as they hold a canopy to provide shade while you roll along in style.”

  Persephone looked at her, horrified.

  “I’m joking. Relax. By Mari, when did you lose your sense of humor?”

  Persephone knew exactly when, and Moya would have, too, if she’d thought about it. But she didn’t. Everyone was doing their best not to think, ponder, or reflect—plenty of time for that later. For now, they kept busy: working, digging, gathering, packing, moving, always moving. The horror of the battle remained fresh; stopping would give their sorrows the opportunity to catch up. As long as everyone had something to do, they could delay facing the loss of their homes and loved ones and pretend life could continue like on any ordinary day. Well, maybe not ordinary, but close enough.

  Confined to her bed, Persephone had no such luxury. All she could do was reflect on mistakes made, lives lost, and her mountain of regrets.

  Moya tapped a finger against her lips. “Although now that I think about it”—a wicked smile rose—“the part about men holding a canopy is kind of tempting. I wish I had arranged for that.” Focusing her glare once more on Persephone, Moya added a pointed finger. “But I’m serious about you traveling in a wagon.”

  Persephone had been sequestered in what she assumed to be the best remaining room in the once-upon-a-time fortress that, after three days of battle, had become a devastated ruin. Moya had insisted on the finest accommodations possible for her wounded keenig. As Persephone lay in one of the tiny prison cells beneath the imploded Verenthenon, she knew the destruction of Alon Rhist was all but total.

  Hastily cleaned and decorated with drapes, the room was so small there wasn’t room for anything except the bed, which forced Moya to stand in the hallway. For several days, the labyrinthine warren of prison cells known as the duryngon had served as living quarters and administrative center of the Forces of the West. Persephone had invented the name out of necessity. She couldn’t refer to those she led as the Ten Clans or the Rhune Horde because that would leave out their Fhrey allies and the three dwarfs. Besides, Forces of the West had the benefit of sounding powerful and inclusive.

  “How are things coming?” Persephone asked.

  “Fine,” Moya said, but Persephone wondered how much of that one-word report was born of not wanting to add to her stress. Perhaps sensing that her keenig expected more, Moya added, “Where are we going anyway?”

  “Merredydd, I suspect, but I’ll need to speak to Nyphron first. I’ve only visited Alon Rhist, and I don’t know which of the other Fhrey fortresses might suit our needs best. I’m told Merredydd is closest. But can it support all of us? Alon Rhist was the primary Instarya fortress, so I’m assuming it was the bigge
st, but with all the added Gula, even it would be too small. If no other outposts can handle the army, Rhen might be a better option.”

  “No walls left in Rhen,” Moya pointed out. “Not anymore.”

  “Not at the moment, but we can rebuild.”

  “Do we have that kind of time? And how good will wooden walls be?”

  “I was thinking Frost, Flood, and Suri could assist with that.”

  “Suri doesn’t like walls.”

  “True, but I think she’ll help just the same. The important thing is that Rhen isn’t too far, and it has plenty of room, wood, water, game in the forest, and cultivated fields. Who knows what we’ll find at the other Instarya settlements.”

  “Shouldn’t we just stay here? Can’t Suri put everything back the way it was?”

  “I doubt it. I don’t know how the Art works, but I’m certain it’s easier to destroy than to rebuild. Would you know where every rock and splinter goes? Do you think she does? I suppose she could do something: clear the rubble, put up new walls perhaps, but if we’re going to that much effort, we might as well start fresh somewhere else—someplace that doesn’t have corpses for a foundation. No, we can’t stay here. I want to get moving the moment Nyphron gets back.”

  Moya’s brows rose. “He returned yesterday.”

  “He did?”

  Moya made a sour face. “Doesn’t bode well, does it? Your not knowing, I mean.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I heard you two are getting married.” Moya cringed, as if expecting a slap.

  “Where did you hear that?” Persephone asked, shocked.

  “Nyphron.” Moya looked a little confused. “He made it sound like it’s something you two have been discussing.”

  “We’ve been talking, sure, for about a year, but I haven’t said yes.”

  “Oh, well, I can see why. He comes back and doesn’t even stop by to say hello? If Tekchin did that, I’d—”

  “How’s that going?” Persephone wanted to change the subject, avoid talk of marriage, but given that she was contemplating a similar arrangement with Nyphron, she was genuinely curious.

  “What? Tekchin and me?”

  Persephone nodded. As far as she knew, Moya and Tekchin were the only Rhune–Fhrey pairing in history. In many ways, it made no sense that an arrogant, eleven-hundred-year-old Fhrey warrior would find a twenty-six-year-old Rhune mate-worthy, but in others, it was perfectly logical. They were both wild things: passionate, aggressive, and competitive. The two were so much the same—reflections born in different realities. As unlikely as it seemed, they somehow fit each other perfectly.

  Persephone saw similarities between their affair and her relationship with Nyphron. She and Nyphron both viewed themselves as leaders first and individuals second. They focused on the roles they played in shaping the future rather than any personal comfort or desires. Even the fact that he hadn’t visited her right away made sense. Upon returning, Nyphron’s priority would be hearing reports from the defense forces he’d left behind, not checking up on her.

  A Rhune fiancé might have rushed to her out of an emotional desire, a need to reassure himself she was safe. Such sentimentality would take unwarranted hold of his judgment. There was no reason to fear for her well-being. She was adequately protected, and any concerns he might have would be immature and irrational compared with the many real concerns left in the wake of such a devastating battle. Nyphron was neither childish nor illogical.

  Raithe was both, and I loved him for it.

  What Persephone wanted to know from Moya was whether a relationship between Fhrey and humans could work. Is such a pairing plausible?

  “We’re good.” Moya effortlessly rolled her shoulders. Then she paused and narrowed her eyes. A new smile appeared on her lips, this one hinting at self-satisfaction. “Are you asking about how we—”

  “By the Grand Mother, no!” Persephone threw up both hands, warding her off.

  Moya’s grin only grew more mischievous. “I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised to discover that Fhrey are even more—”

  “Stop! Stop it! I don’t want to know anything about that. I was just thinking, well, it’s a completely different culture. I was only curious if ah . . . ah . . .”

  Moya folded her arms and watched in amusement as Persephone struggled.

  “I mean, Fhrey women are so . . .”

  “Boring?” Moya supplied. “That’s what they are, you know? Or at least that is how the Fhrey see them.”

  “I actually meant—”

  “No, seriously. Tekchin says it all the time. Sure, Fhrey women are gorgeous, but they’re also dull. We lowly Rhunes have short lives, so we don’t have time to be tedious. I know I don’t. And to me, Tekchin is so much more than a man, especially in bed. He’s . . . he’s, ah . . . well, he really is sort of like a god—and don’t you ever tell him I said that.”

  Moya looked so suddenly concerned that Persephone found herself smiling. She realized it was the first time since—

  “You’re going to marry Nyphron, aren’t you?” Now it was Moya’s turn to change the subject, and suddenly their conversation felt like a game of Truth or Dare.

  “Yes, I suppose, as soon as we get settled again.”

  “Wonderful.” Nyphron’s voice echoed from down the corridor.

  “Shush.” Persephone put a finger to her lips. A moment later, the Galantian leader appeared at the threshold, sidling up to Moya, who inched over to share the doorway.

  “How much did your Fhrey ears hear?” Persephone asked, concerned.

  Nyphron grinned. “Enough to know that Tekchin is godlike in bed. He’s gonna love that.”

  Moya’s mouth dropped open, her expression aghast. Nyphron gave her a moment to retort, but the keenig’s Shield said nothing.

  “And”—Nyphron looked at Persephone—“that I’ll need to arrange a feast following the pitching of the new camp in the High Spear Valley. That’s how we do such things in Fhrey society. We publicly announce our association, and then the attendees eat and drink themselves stupid.”

  “Our association?”

  “Association, marriage, same thing.”

  Persephone looked at Moya, appalled. “See what I have to put up with?”

  “Tekchin is worse. He won’t have a ceremony and refuses to say he loves me. He’s always going on about how actions are more important than words.”

  “And for once, he’s right,” Nyphron declared. “Pronouncements are a foolish frivolity. But in this case, a public display is unavoidable.”

  “How come?” Moya asked.

  “Politics,” Nyphron stated. “She’s the keenig, and I’m commander of the Instarya, so it’s important for everyone to witness our joining. The people need to see the two of us as a unified team and hear our pledges to each other and the cause.”

  “Romantic, isn’t he?” Persephone said.

  Despite his keen ears, Nyphron didn’t seem to hear that. He hooked a thumb back over his shoulder. “I noticed a number of carts being lashed to horses outside. What’s that all about?”

  Persephone wanted to think he’d switched subjects because the talk of romance had made him uncomfortable, but Nyphron was never uneasy. He was merely his usual focused self and had spent enough time on small talk.

  “Roan had the idea of having a horse pull them,” Persephone replied. “A single animal can haul heavier loads than a team of men.”

  “Will horses do that? My experience is that they are skittish things, stupid animals that are best avoided. Won’t they end up kicking the cart? They’ll probably bust it and break a leg in the process.”

  “Roan and Gifford have been working with the animals that survived. I heard they’re having good results.” She looked to Moya. “Isn’t that so?”

  “They had a little trouble at first, but they’ve worked things out. Oh, I forgot to tell you.” Moya’s face lit up with excitement. “Gifford took me for a ride yesterday in this little two-wh
eeled cart Roan and the dwarfs built. He hooked it up to Naraspur and, sweet Mari, we flew across that plain so fast my eyes watered. We chased a group of deer! If I’d had Audrey with me, we could’ve filled the storehouse.”

  “Really?” Nyphron appeared intrigued. “You think you could down a deer with your bow while riding in a cart?”

  “I can shoot anything, anywhere.” Moya smiled at him. Now it was her turn to wait for a retort, but just as before, none came. Maybe the two were figuring out ways to coexist.

  “Moya, I need to speak to Nyphron privately. Can you go spread the word that we’ll be leaving soon?”

  “As you wish, Madam Keenig.” Moya smiled and bowed to Persephone, who rolled her eyes in response as her Shield retreated.

  Nyphron stared after her. If he were anyone else, Persephone might think he was appraising the view, but Nyphron’s mind was working on something, and it had nothing to do with watching Moya walk away.

  “So, what happened?” Persephone asked.

  It took a moment before he responded. “Hmm? Sorry, what?”

  “The fane? What happened when you caught up to him?”

  Nyphron ran a hand through his helmet-crushed hair. “Oh, that. We didn’t. The troops he left behind offered little resistance but provided enough time for the fane to escape. To be honest, I hadn’t planned for such a significant victory. For him to be routed like that . . .” He shook his head. “I left soldiers in the High Spear Valley, and we’ll consolidate all our forces there for the next stage.”

  “And what will that be?”

  “Preparing for the advance. The Gula came the moment they saw the signal fires, and most didn’t pack so much as a blanket. It’ll take months to organize a supply chain capable of supporting our combined forces as we shift to an offensive stance, and by the time it’s in place, winter will arrive, and that’s no time for war. If we do this right, we can take the fight to Lothian by next spring. By then, we ought to be in good shape.”

  “Shouldn’t we get behind walls? Isn’t that why we came to Alon Rhist in the first place?”