Do . • Mamas€¦ · Do . • Mamas . Created Date: 1/18/2006 1:33:43 PM
The Legend of HEARTSTONEphoto.goodreads.com/documents/1353322304books/16132056.pdfF or Lori, Mark...
Transcript of The Legend of HEARTSTONEphoto.goodreads.com/documents/1353322304books/16132056.pdfF or Lori, Mark...
The Legend of
HEARTSTONEVolume 2:
Daughter of War
L.H. Nail
This novel is a work of fiction. Any references to real events,
persons, businesses, organizations, and locales are intended only to
give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity. Any resemblance
to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or
transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical,
including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and
retrieval system, without the written permission of the Author/Sweet
South Ink Publishing, except where permitted by law.
For information address:
Sweet South Ink Publishing P.O. Box 311, Pfafftown, N.C. 27040.
Published by Sweet South Ink Publishing
All rights reserved - L.H. Nail.
ISBN-13:
978-1480242906
ISBN-10:
148024290X
The Legend of Heartstone Series copyright 2008 L.H. Nail
TLOH Book 2: Daughter of War copyright 2012 L.H. Nail
The design and all likenesses representing the Heartstone crest are
trademarks of The Legend of Heartstone and property of L.H. Nail.
Book two character rendering and cover created by L.H. Nail using
Daz3D software/downloads, GNU Image Manipulation Program,
Corel 14 and seemingly unending man hours.
Other books by this author:
The Legend of Heartstone - Book 1
Sisterhood of Steel
The Legend of Heartstone - Book 2
Daughter of War
* Coming Soon *
The Legend of Heartstone - Book 3
Sons of Aramus
For Lori, Mark and the kids (Micah, Mallori, Holly). The Mamas
Cravy (my ‘peep’ Laura C. and Catherine the great) Jason and
the TEAM, Carl the warrior and his flock of Coopers. To Marta
and family (Hi ‘C’), Kim R., Kat (Cousin J and those three handsome
boys), Ms. Kim, Kathleen (Adam & Eden plus one to come) and all
the babies (not excluding Lucy and Cosmo, of course). The Fulks
(thanks John), Sean, ‘J. Squire’, and other fantasy loving friends.
Clarence S. - the most well-read man I know. My one and only
Cindy, her valiant son, Matt and James who was born to be
someone’s knight in shining armor. As always, my hubby and our
pride and joy. Mom, dad and the most awesome in-laws on the
planet. And to our men and women in uniform, for every hour you
are apart from your families. God bless and see you safely home.
Love and honor to you all.
The legend continues . . .
TABLE of CONTENTS
Prologue: Son of the Sea . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 16
1-Rain: By God and New Morning . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 24
2-Lira: The Underneath . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 36
3-Sorano: How, Under Heaven . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 49
4-Shara: Raise Up Thine Warriors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 59
5-Rain: Daughter of War . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 70
6-Lira: How Broken the Crown . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 78
7-Sorano: So Too, the Messenger . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 83
8-Shara: A Lion in Wait . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 93
9-Rain: Sweat, Stone and Sand . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 102
10-Lira: Chains . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 110
11-Sorano: Toe to Crown . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 115
12-Shara: Awakening . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 121
13-Rain: Outside, In & Through . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 125
14-Lira: A Traitor Among Enemies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 134
15-Sorano: In the Black . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 139
16-Shara: Beyond the Mountain . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 144
17-Rain: We Serve Still . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 151
18-Lira: A Visit from the Devil . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 156
19-Sorano: Bad Dreams . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 161
20-Shara: Beneath the Dead . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 167
21-Rain: Buried Alive . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 172
22-Lira: Return of the Watchers . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 177
23-Sorano: Time & Time Again . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 185
24-Shara: Forgotten . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 194
25-Rain: The Lair of the Warrior . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 202
26-Lira: Circle of Sorrows . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 207
27-Sorano: God’s Wall . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 211
28-Shara: Wounded . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 218
29-Rain: Waking . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 228
30-Lira: Dead is Better . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 236
31-Sorano: A Devil at the Gates . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 244
32-Shara: Secrets . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 249
33-Rain: Soul, Salt & Sand . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 259
34-Lira: Was, Is and Is Not . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 268
35-Sorano: A Season for Dying . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 273
36-Shara: Remember Not . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 279
37-Rain: Flesh, Fire & Forgotten Things . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 285
38-Lira: Trapped . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 293
39-Sorano: Good or Ill . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 297
40-Shara: Unraveling . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 305
41-Rain: Barbs and Bloom . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 309
42-Lira: Right Through My Fingers . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 320
43-Sorano: Into the Narrows . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 328
44-Shara: Fire on the Wind . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 337
45-Rain: Break as the Tide . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 343
46-Lira: Out of the Grave . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 348
47-Sorano: Blade In, Blade Out . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 352
48-Shara: This One Thing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 361
49-Rain: Only One . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 364
50-Lira: It Lives . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 369
51-Sorano: The Good From Dross . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 375
52-Shara: Unraveling . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 380
53-Rain: Come Giants, Come All . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 385
54-Lira: Hounds in the Halls . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 392
55-Sorano: Dance With the Devil . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 400
56-Shara: Turn of Chance . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 407
57-Rain: So Say the Dead . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 413
58-Lira: Shattered . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 421
59-Sorano: Late Or Never . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 426
60-Shara: A Thunderous Chord . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 433
61-Rain: No Small Matter . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 439
62-Lira: Enemy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 447
63-Sorano: Blood on Blood . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 452
64-Shara: And So I Must Be . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 458
65-Rain: Raise Up thine Land . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 465
66-Lira: Fire on the Mountain . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 477
Sorano: The Way of Dying . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 487
EPILOGUE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 497
And the first son grew bitter of the power held sway over
him, having known the taste of a magic so great as to
make him without any equal. His vanity would be the
foundation of the destroyer’s reign, leaving the brotherhood of
our newly created naked to his rage. Then came the second of
those most favored sons, and he was found to be exceedingly
faithful; being set above the first by the Father of worlds. By his
hand; this mighty second son, the battles began and the skies
did burn, as the wars of the Chosen encompassed a universe of
God’s making.
Excerpt found in the Valerian Codex
as was translated by Watcher Maven Hine;
age unknown.
16
Prologue:
Son of the Sea{Current day Northern Kingdom}
The sea, she hates us.” Nolan Hine cast his fistful of sand into the
wind, shaking his head at his thoughts.
Booted footfall rumbled above he and his companion where
they had hidden away beneath one of several docks.
“Papa, an ocean has no allegiances. Not like men,” his
grandson insisted, watching the angry waves come and go.
Vestor Hine eyed his grandfather from the edge of his vision,
waiting for his thoughts to come full circle.
As of late, the old Ship Master had had little good to say.
Now, he absently brushed the sands from his dark woolen coat; never
mind that even the fabric of a seaman’s garb seemed woven with
grains in the thread. Vestor took note of the deepening lines in
Nolan’s once jovial expression, worrying with the collar to his own
heavy coat. The boy felt the scruff across his chin, checking it
against the full beard neatly cropped on his grandfather’s own;
admiring the look of the solid figure at his side.
Nolan Hine was a legend at sea, as was his father before him.
Their family had kept near to the rolling waves and away from the
troubles inland for unknown generations. It had always been their
way. However, with the raising of this new King, came an
unwelcome onslaught of newcomers; all of them wearing the mark
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of tyranny with pride. Wave after wave of the newly recruited
choked the pier, stinking of ambition and armed to the teeth. They
muttered and growled at any who passed, but where Vestor ignored
them, Nolan seethed in their wake.
It had been a long day. One of far too many, and there were
many more such as these to come. Even now, the Moon King’s
armies came and went on the wharf, shuffling along the docks in
straight lines. Day and night, they would wait until called to the
ships lining the bay. Every face wore some stain of battle. Whether
marked by a skirmish in an alley, or a clash beneath some
unfortunate city’s gates, those men had scars to confess their
allegiances. Worse still, every eye had that wild look of being
powered by Rile Moon’s drug.
Not all of those men on the wharf would be addicts. Not yet,
but eventually. And in the end, what the earthblood took away from
them would be clearly viewed in the soulless hollows of their eyes.
What it afforded them, however, was a tireless hunger to deal out
death in gory abundance. Whatever this King desired, he gathered in
the culminated fist of these men, and thus far, no other realm had
bettered them. At least, none until now.
One people had chosen to stand against these butchers and
their inexhaustible might. A solitary few who were willing to die for
their sovereignty.
“Why so many?” Nolan asked, working the white on his chin
with a big, callused hand.
“What?”
“Them,” he began, raising his eyes to the clamor above them.
“Moon’s army. Why so many to take down one tiny island? It makes
no sense!”
“Oh, that . . .” Vestor grunted, determined to share the latest
talk. “Well, Hedder says word is the Island Queen killed Moon’s
nephew few years gone. They sent his bones back on a trader’s ship.
Looked like he’d been dead a good while.”
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“An’tis good riddance, says I,” Nolan insisted with a thick fist
ground into his palm. “That one was a terror and a louse if there ever
was.” The blustery old man scowled.
Vestor checked his surrounding beneath the dock and then
leaned in with a whisper. “Yeh, but she took out a Brother and the
whole lot of ‘em that went with the boy, too. None of ‘em came
back.”
“Better killed than captured,” Nolan reasoned.
“Tell the Sons of Aramus that and it’s both our heads on a
pike. We’ll be dead b’fore sunrise.”
Nolan Hine looked on the young man with a regretful eye.
His grandson did not know war, and under this King, Nolan knew
nothing good would come of the one being waged now.
“Maybe so, Vestor,” he finally said, “but that don’t make it
right; this thing the Moon King does.”
“Ship Master!”
Nolan and Vestor jumped, each searching the eye of the other,
wondering if they had been overheard. The constant goings-on above
could not snuff out the bellow of the man who called them. Admiral
Agiss Ver San, the bastard of the ocean and a mean, contentious sort
if there ever was. He was a lean skeletal fellow, but rumored to have
a frightening bit of strength in him. Some said he had punched a hole
clear through his second, just for spilling ale on his uniform. Most
swore it was truth.
“Ship Master!”
The old man and the youth scrambled from underneath the
shade and out into the grays of the season. “Aye Admiral, just takin’
a lunch with m’ boy, see.”
“What I see, “ the Admiral growled, “is that the Blackwind
has a belly full of store but no men. Where is my crew!”
“What? Well I . . .” Nolan’s words ended as did his ability to
breathe. He was hoisted off the ground as if he were only a small
child.
19
“I am not concerned with explanations, Ship Master. You
will have those men at the ready before midday, or I will feed you
and the boy to the fish. Do we have an understanding?”
Nolan’s limited nod had him released from the Admiral’s
grip; his grandson worrying over him as he filled his lungs while
kneeling in the sand.
“Vestor, go grab the men,” he whispered. “Go, boy! Search
every bar, every other bed. Get them down here. Now!”
His grandson took off at a run, calling names against the roar
of the El’Varion while the old seaman struggled to stand. Nolan
looked back as another spirited round of waves rolled up the beach,
shaking his head at the sadness that filled him hat to heel.
“Aye, you hate us for sure, don’t you ole girl?” he mumbled
against the salted bluster, and then, pulling his heavy coat closed to
the cold, Nolan Hine made his way to the docks.
There, the dead-eyed army walked their lines without notice
of the fellow in their midst. Rows of them stood stone-faced and
looking into the horizon, waiting to board one of twenty six ships
snugged along the quay. The ocean was choked with a constant
coming and going, rocking tirelessly into the sands as the ships came
and went.
Nolan stepped carefully about them, twisting in and out of the
eerie silence and toward the last and largest of all the King’s ships.
These men had no set uniform but that swath of red high on their
arms. It was all they required.
Over and beyond so many heads, long down the line of
moored ships, old Nolan Hine saw the menace of the sea, her masts
towering above all others. The Blackwind was newly built; so big
that even the El’Varion failed to hardly move her while she sat on its
back.
The aged Ship Master walked the long stretch of dock,
entertaining the possibility of his death that day with apparent calm.
He could taste the imminence of it behind the crisp salt air. It had
20
been a constant struggle for him to reason away worry under the
newly raised King, and would seem to be a struggle shared by all. At
the least, Moon’s predecessor, Faylor the XII had the will of the
people on his tongue, even if the desires of the many were rarely met;
but not this King. This unknown, one come from among the lesser
lines of Lords, had managed a fearsome overtaking of a throne once
held by a most respected house.
Whatever the King named of the Moon desired, was handed
to him by armies of faithful, on a platter bathed in the blood of
innocents. That was the lot of both the Northern and Southern
realms, and now these armies massed to take down a lone Queen on
an Island in the fold of the El’Varion’s breast. Nolan snickered
through his snowy beard, glaring at the backs of the armies who, thus
far, had failed to take out New Eden’s few. Secretly he urged the
unknown island Matriarch to victory every time the quays filled with
the Moon King’s men. Inwardly, he prayed that she was ready for the
fight to come.
Other than those waiting troops, there were none there to
greet Nolan as he rushed the steep incline to the big ship’s deck,
gripping the swayed hemp strung along the side.
“All men up!” he called when he reached the top, but none
answered.
The lengths of sails were wound tight and waiting. Every line
was at the ready but there were none aboard, it seemed, to loose the
Blackwind’s majesty to the wind.
“All men up, I say,” the Ship Master yelled again, wandering
the polished deck alone, calling above the creak of the wood beneath
his feet. “Bloody sailors,” he swore.
Going below, Nolan threw back every door, checking the
bunks with a glance and moved into the big ships belly, finding the
kitchen without a cook, or even a common mouse. Instead he found
half-full cups sitting absent their owners, and a boot that lay forgotten
in the middle of the floor.
21
“Spending your money before it’s earned. All men . . . ” he
began again, and then choked on his words, his eyes glued to the
polished plank floor.
Beginning with that lone boot was a stretch of stain, marring
the perfect sheen of the new wood. And that was when the smell hit
him.
“Phew . . . ” he covered his mouth and nose, eyes down
on the dark smears reaching beneath the gallow doors.
Nolan had seen blood on a ship before. There were
almost always the beginnings mutinies, or arguments had
between sailors full of drink. Men had come back from raids,
some missing arms or legs, others short their lives. It was war,
and if the fighting didn’t kill you, than the cramped quarters
at sea, would. That was the nature of it. With this in mind,
Nolan stomped off through the hung doors and toward the
narrow stair leading into the belly of the Blackwind.
“Already killin’ yourselves over gamin’ or women.
Fools all, I say. Fools every one! “ he swore, his words
sounding small in the deepening hollows of the ship.
There was a slight lurch, as the El’Varion made herself
known, while Nolan fought the bile rising in his throat. It was
that smell. Something about it was wrong, somehow.
The old man grumbled as he went, gathering courage
around him, the tiny hairs on his neck rising with alarm. He
took a second set of narrow stair, and Nolan stood beneath the
tide; down where the cool kept sane men away. The slight
creek hardly heard above deck was the sound of a tomb’s aged
doors; the hinges of imagination raking the skins of the mind.
All around him, the stores to feed an army were
arranged in neat rows and piles. Barrels of ale and wine were
netted in place. Paths wound between an infinite sort of
22
necessity, some in trunks, some in crates or bundled and
swinging from hooks. But all of it needed for the invasion of
an island sitting alone in the middle of the sea.
If not for the storehouse doors on deck being thrown
wide, there would have been no light at all in that place. As it
was, Nolan avoided the darkest crags and corners, following
the deeper red trail of blood. It led aft in the ship, and further
from the light that tunneled weakly into the hollow bottoms.
“Come now. What cha done is no business of mine,” he
rasped, “we got a ship to put to sea. “ the old sailor soothed,
knowing that behind it all, he was somehow only pleading for
his life.
The Ship Master opened his mouth again, hoping to call
out the victor of some sailor’s argument when he stepped into
an open space. It was absent of any box or barrel. Instead,
there was a long crate burst open and from it a knot of
rumpled cloth; all of it soaked in dark blood. Clumps of earth
lay scattered in a ring about the shattered wood, some of it
floating in the shallow red pools.
Nolan swallowed hard behind his hand, straining to see
in such dim light, and then there came the sound; an almost
welcoming whisper that seemed to caress his soul in barbed
strokes. The old man trembled beneath that slight touch,
looking around into every dark corner and seeing nothing but
the shadow in them.
“What?”
“SSSSStaaaaay,” it came again; a wet, thrumming gurgle
purred at him from within and without.
“Who are you?” he insisted nervously, hoisting his fist
in the air with menace. “Show yourself!”
The Ship Master’s words were met with an abrupt shift
23
in those sea-cooled bottoms. A shadow swayed almost
seductively on the edge of his vision, remaining just outside of
the pooled light in which Nolan stood. It was as a lady of the
evening who held firm to her darkened doorway. Even the
limited light from the cargo doors seemed to retreat from that
shadow, where the intruder breathed in rattled draws. Nolan
could almost see the eyes watching him.
“Ssshhhhhh ,” the voice soothed. “I have been waiting for
you, son of prophets.”
“Waiting for . . . ? Woman I am no son of naught but
the sea,” Nolan began but his burst of greater courage seeped
from him as from an opened wound.
“Son of salt, yessss. But blood of prophets run in your veins.”
The thing in the shadows corrected as it slid into the light; a
beast free of the lair, its words grating along the inside of
Nolan’s skull. “You will ssserve.”
The white haired sailor choked on a scream that
thundered wildly beneath his flesh. It was as if a heavy weight
wrapped around him from crown to toe, one that felt too
much akin to laying within a heaping pile of dead. Suddenly
Nolan was quite sure he was suffocating.
Perhaps he was, he thought; as a final stream of muted
day passed over his shoulder. He followed that thinning ray
of life to the glistening remains that lie at the end of a trail of
blood. It appeared that the Blackwind would need a new
cook, and by the looks of things, a new ship master as well.
“Ssserve,” the demon sang in his ear, but all Nolan Hine
could hear was the sound of the ocean tides.
24
CHAPTER 1
Rain: By God and New Morning
I am not wearing this!”
“You will, Rain, or I will take your refusal straight to your
Grandfather.”
“This is stupid!” I swore, roughly kneading the satiny blue
material between my fists. “I might as well have a bulls-eye on my
back.”
“Lady Heartstone, you will honor the wishes of the Keepers,
or as God is witness, I myself will issue punishment in full view of
their council!”
“A spanking?” I fumed, but the elder woman was unmoved.
“I can, and will, Lady Rain. Certain and sure,” she promised
with a sniff.
Not a promise, I corrected myself. This was a threat.
With a submissive shrug, I grinned at her, towering from my
greater height. The old woman’s hair was a snowy, fly-away
catastrophe, every line of her face marked with more years than she
would number. Thick spectacles hung off the end of her nose,
leaving the impression that she might be looking down on you if not
for her being so short in stature.
Ole Ginnie Winter was as resolved in this as she was anything
else, leaving me helpless beneath the more heavy of all her many,
daily demands.
“Okay, Miss Ginnie, but not one word to Logan,” I pleaded.
“He would never let me live it down.”
25
“I wouldn’t even consider it, young one. Anyway, my
greatson has his own worries this day. Now, into the dress.” With a
grunt, the little woman stepped quick to, and then out, my door.
I was alone.
It had been a long time since I had had to have that argument
and the only time I had ever lost in it. Grandmother never made me
wear those awful things when I was a child, if for no other reason
than the inconvenience of having to listen to my protest.
Anyway, there was no place for such frills at Island’s End. No
one in their right mind would haul wash or slop hogs in their finest.
There’s no hunting with swishy, frilly girly stuff running off all your
supper. And you certainly can not climb trees in a blasted dress!
They were useless attire, as best I could figure, but both
Grandmother, and of recent, my best friend were apt to disagree.
Grandmother dressed up all the time now that she was back
on the throne. She said she had to, to satisfy the people’s vision of
leadership. But I think she did it because she looked so pretty in
those things. My friend E’mory was worse. One of the best young
warriors in the mountain, and as good a climber as me. But you get
her near the boys for courting and she loses her mind. I thought it
was a phase, but Ginnie swore I would do the same one day. I of
course, was adamant that I would not.
So much had changed, these past several years. How long
had it been?
“Too long,” I answered myself under my breath, popping my
head and arms out the top of my bane and snugging the dress over the
slight curve in my hips. I hated those new curves, almost as much as
I hated that dress. Almost.
A rumbling boom rippled beneath the bedrock and died; one
of many that this and nearly every day would bring. Northlander
encounters were often more skirmish than battle, but the caveborn
took each one as an affront; putting out the flame of resistance before
it burned full. It seemed strange to me to think that the cannon’s call
26
had become so common as to go unnoticed. Even so, those raids had
become as much a part of island life as the stony earth.
I often wondered if Rile Moon and his minions expected less
resistance, or maybe they were fooled by the years our Grand
Matriarch lay claim to. But I was not fooled. I knew my Queen’s
mettle. She was the epitome of a warrior; a thing of living legend
with her weapons being only an extension of her intent.
Ana’Lira Heartstone.
Oh, how I missed her. Every year she would make a showing
for my birthing day, if only for a few hours. I crammed in an account
of my studies, my dreams and all the angst of youth. In turn, she
shared the political currents of the kingdom, and the battles brewing
across the island. She was still my very best friend, although I had
claimed others since I had come here. But more than any, she was
my mentor, my disciplinarian and the only mother I had ever known.
Every day I wondered if the next battle she would lead, might take
from me my greatest ally, and every year she would come to assure
me that it had not.
It was worth the dress just to see her again, but I wasn’t going
to tell anyone I thought so.
A knock at the door, or more like an impatient pounding,
jarred the iron straps riveted into the heavy wood. “Come on, Rain,
we’ve got to go!”
I blew a sigh through my lips, stole one more passing glance
at the mirror, and threw the door open, hands quick to my hips.
“Not one word !” I warned with a scowl.
Filling my doorway was my nearest equivalent to a sister, and
most certainly my most trusted confidant since I had come to the
caves. E’mory Shine was just that, a bright light in the dull of the
mountain. Tall and stately, E’mory wore her womanhood like a
brilliant crown, but no one could take the mountain out of the girl.
And even though she had me by three years, she never held it against
me. Well, almost never.
27
“Rain, don’t you think it would look better without the
sword?” E’mory asked, her brow drawn high.
“Oh . . .” I felt about my waist, taking notice of the strap to
the baldric marring the silken blue. The short sword was there as
much out of habit as anything. I liked the weight of it, but admittedly,
it did nothing for the dress worth mentioning.
“Yeh, I guess so,” I agreed. “But at least the blue stone sets
off the fabric,” I said thumbing the jewel set in the blade’s hilt.
“Kind of nice, don’t you think?”
E’mory barked a laugh. “Never mind,” she said. “I guess the
council knows you well enough by now to be thankful you wore it at
all. Well?”
“Well what?”
“What are you waiting for, silly? Come on. We’re going to
be late.”
E’mory was out of sight before I could recheck my
appearance, leaving me to catch up in the halls. I suddenly found
myself worried over my hair, troubled that I had forgotten to glance
at it on the way out. I blew a vagrant strand from my eyes, and
lengthened my stride to match that of my friend’s long legged gate.
Nothing to be done for it now, I reasoned.
E’mory grinned over at me, and I growled in return.
“Excited?” she asked.
“About the meeting with the Council? Hardly,” I told her.
“I think it’s exciting,” she mumbled in return, trotting away
from me, most likely trying to keep from freezing.
I shrugged in the wake of my friend, determined to suffer
anything to wind my arms about Grandmother’s neck. She was
always at the forefront of my thoughts, but as of late it was my
dreams that she filled to overflowing.
In them I had lain in her arms again, a toddling child nuzzling
her neck while she read to me. The Matriarch’s seat sat majestically
before a roaring fire; Island’s End quiet beneath the colorful blanket
28
of fall. Her voice was as music, warming me. I would drift with
those words, following them into sleep, at peace. Content.
In another, I was being taught to ride a newly broken S’halya,
or perhaps it was better put to say that I was being schooled on how
not to fall off. The mare would stand as still as a statue and then the
moment Grandmother stepped away, S’hayla would prance, stepping
high as I tried not to squeal like a ninny. I met the ground with a
grunt, always determined to walk wherever I went as opposed to
getting back on that horrid beast.
I relived birthing days at a table for two. Recalled treks
through newly filled puddles and up my favorite trees. The smell of
morning meal drew me from sleep, only to find mountain stone and
Grandmother far from my affection. These dreams left me feeling
vulnerable, aching to tell her just how much I loved her and how
deeply I missed being in her shadow. I missed our home.
The caves, on the other hand, were only ever as warm as was
the Island ground, and this fall season had been especially chill. The
inside of the mountain was so cold we had sheets of ice forming
along some of the halls.
My breath steamed before my face as I trailed behind E’mory.
We dashed past some of the mountain youth, apologized to an aged
servant of whom we startled and nearly ran into and over another.
Apologies given, we turned our trek to the Keeper’s chambers into a
race. She and I traded the lead and I made note of her easy gait; her
auburn braid swinging low on her back. E’mory’s uniform was in the
colors of the mountain, a gray so dark it was as smoke; black boots
high on her knees.
I had always thought the long tunic, with the sides split to the
hip, looked much like a very short dress; the only saving grace being
the black leathers worn beneath it. Either way, she looked a lot
warmer than I was.
“I hate this,” I complained, trying to ignore a passing knot of
young soldiers.
29
“Nice!” someone yelled down the hall, and I turned to growl
at Logan Winter, who was being shadowed by an old friend. Shame
grinned and nodded, waggling his brow at me, noting the dress. I
stuck out my tongue at the both of them and took the next corner like
my feet were on fire.
Logan was born to get under my skin, but Shame should have
known better. Life in the caves was corrupting him. Since our
meeting, Shame had been the focus of a dozen examinations by some
of the greatest minds in the mountain, and yet not one could explain
his extraordinary height and strength. Nor could they account for his
inability to speak. But Shame and I had our way of getting the point
across, if often only a wink and nod. This time, however, Shame’s
bouncing brow and child like grin only made me mad.
I was jerking at the delicate fabrics again, threatening under
my breath to rip them in two. E’mory only rolled her eyes at me and
slowed to a more suitable pace.
“Come on, Rain. You’ll be back in uniform before you know
it,” she said and reached out, taking my hand to drag me into another
hallway and a gathering crowd.
There was the normal clamor for the Keeper’s attentions, the
people of the mountain lining the wide stone hall for a chance to
speak before the council. I nudged past familiar faces, greeting each
with a nod as E’mory pulled me through the tighter spaces. One
particular tug nearly tossed me nose down on the floor, when the toe
of my boot caught the delicate hem.
Blasted dress! I thought, imagining the sniggering laughter
that I would have had to endure.
There was a shift at the big chamber doors as they opened and
closed, and then someone called my name.
“Lady Rain?”
“Great,” I muttered, rolling my eyes.
E’mory stopped and turned to shoot me a hard look, as an
aged Keeper approached through the press. Harper Hile, whisked
30
through a space between callers, his long white hair gathered at the
nape of a slender neck. He was his usual kind and dusty self, well
meaning and irritating in one.
“Ahhhmm, Lady Rain,” he said again, checking me head to
toe, with the heavy glare of one passing judgement. “Is the sword all
so necessary, child?”
“It is not, Sir Hile, but I would keep it, if you don’t mind.”
My grin was met with pursed lips. “So. Is she here?” I asked.
“Grandmother?”
The Keeper blinked and then turned toward the chamber
doors. He either did not hear, or was refusing to answer. Whatever
the reason it was making me mad.
“Keeper Hile?” I yelled over the din, with E’mory shushing
me and dragging me toward doors. “What is wrong?” I called at his
back.
“Please, Lady Rain,” he sighed. “If you must skirt propriety,
let us do it with less of an audience.”
I nearly broke my teeth, I slammed them shut so quickly. It
was clear that Keeper Hile had no intention of telling me without the
council present. Whatever had happened, nothing good would come
of it. Even the grip Harper Hile had on his robes spoke volumes.
The man had no idea what was going on, only that something was
amiss, and Grandmother appeared to be at the heart of it.
I looked to E’mory hoping to find a reasonable counter to my
concern, but her brow was drawn with suspicion. Satisfied that I
would not fall out in a fit, the old Keeper ordered the guards to admit
us and the doors were opened.
A few long strides and we were in the Keeper’s inner
sanctum. A thick buzz of discussion went totally silent in our
coming. The guardsmen shut the chamber doors at our back and I
felt sure I had just entered a tomb. Every elder eye was raised from
a gathering full of frantic discussion, and in the center of that line of
Keepers was my grandfather, Reagan Northwind. The Prince of
31
Stones. He sat as a king before the long, polished table, his chair
back rising above his salt and pepper crown. The crease in his
forehead smoothed by force of will, only adding to the worry I had
brought with me.
“Welcome warrior,” the seated Keepers greeted me, each of
those few women and men looking at me as if they were seeing the
walking dead.
I myself had seen the dead walk, and knew the look all too
well.
“What’s going on?” I blurted out filling the solid stone walls
with my concern.
E’mory still stood at my side, her hand nearing my shoulder
as if to calm a beast, but I shrugged it off and stepped closer to the
line of Keepers.
“The Queen. Where is she?” I insisted. “She should have
been here by now.”
Those several sets of eyes looked on me with building
compassion and my heart sank to greater depths. My Grandfather
looked away, his hand run absently through a thick head of hair as he
stared out one of a few windows in all the caves.
I watched him, paralyzed. My tongue felt thick in my throat.
I wanted to scream at them. Meanwhile, outside the El’Varion
thundered against the mountain stone, deadening the unnerving quiet
This chamber was part of a separate jut of mountain peak, as
a tower extending from the side of the greater mass of mountain
stone. All around were those rounded ports, but where the one in my
room looked out over the wood, these held only a view of the
surrounding sea. My El’Varion. My beautiful, rolling blue.
I could hear her call to me. Drawing me into her depths as
she had done during the battle of Twin Points, and I needed her all
the more, for it.
“Someone say something!” I yelled, the ocean seeming to
punctuate my rising ire.
32
“Manners, Granddaughter,” my grandfather’s deep voice
filled the chamber, jerking me erect. I could sense E’mory shift
uncomfortably at my shoulder.
“Sorry,” I exhaled, “I just . . .”
“Lady Rain,” it was another of the council members, a woman
named Sandson. Logan’s maternal grandmother.
She was especially tall, being the polar opposite of Miss
Ginnie, and sat straight now, her white hair in a perfect twist atop her
head. There was something peculiar about the way she looked at me
now, as if she might be riffling through my thoughts.
“I see you wore your Grandmother’s gift,” she said, but it was
not a question, just a simple statement of fact. “You are to be
commended. It is becoming of your station that you conduct yourself
with a lady’s delicate prose on occasion, is it not?”
“My station?” I stared in open puzzlement at the woman,
picking apart her words as she swept her hand towards E’mory, who
stood at attention to my left.
“Miss Shine seems easily given to carrying herself with some
feminine airs. Yet, she is also a fierce warrior.”
“What has my dress got to do with this?” I blurted out, the
Keeper’s brow risen at my lack of respect. “You all speak in circles!”
My grandfather cleared his throat, superceding the strange
commentary with one of his own. “You do look beautiful,
Granddaughter,” he added, motioning at the fitted blue material that
felt more like funeral garb than anything to celebrate in. “She would
be proud,” he said simply.
“Please, Grandfather. Tell me where Grandmother is! She
was coming today, was she not? That was what the stupid dress was
for, right?”
“It was,” he replied quietly, seeming sad. “Our Queen sent
the dress via messenger a fortnight gone. She was to arrive late last
eve.”
“But she did not come . . .”
33
“No Rain, she did not.”
There was a shudder in the mountain then, but it was nothing
to compare to the deepening ache in my heart.
“But she comes every year! She . . .” I stalled in pleading my
case, tears brimming in my eyes. “We celebrate my birthday every
year, whether early or late, she always comes!”
“She does and I am most sure, she would. But this time,” his
pause sucked the air out of the open room, “this time, she can not,
child.”
Grandfather rounded the long table, seeming bent inwardly
with worry. “Granddaughter,” he said more softly straightening
himself before me. “Ana’Lira may have fallen to ill end.”
My heart fell like a stone. I could not breathe; wanted to run
out the chamber doors and straight for High Eralon’s walls into
Grandmother’s embrace. There were several sets of eyes on me
awaiting my response, and the only thing I could press between my
teeth was hardly audible.
“No!” I groaned, but the Prince of Stones drew me to him,
holding me up by the strength in his big hands.
There was a deafening pause and then his hold on me
strengthened as he finished his thought. “Captured for certain, if not
dead,” he whispered, sounding at odds with the tears glistening in his
eyes.
No one breathed. No one spoke. I heard a resounding, distant
crash at the base of the mountain as my El’Varion struck the stone,
my eyes on my grandfather’s own. The passion the man held for his
wife seemed to harden behind an insistence that he remain strong.
Meanwhile my blood was afire, every length of me almost trembling
with anger.
Outside, those waters hardly mirrored the building rage in me,
only echoing a longing for some great vengeance that I would
steadily nurse to new heights. I stilled myself, my hands clenched in
fists. Wet my lips to speak, swearing inwardly that by God and new
34
morning, I would see to that revenge if it took me the rest of my life
to do it.
“Captured?”It was all I could say. I would not acknowledge
the possibility of anything more.
“Aye, child, at the least, she is that.”
“And how do we know this?” I left the question suspended
before them, waiting for an answer I did not want. “How do we
know?!”
The Keepers flinched as my voice boomed, being yelled out
in the hollows of both mind and mountain stone. Every eye was on
me.
“S’hayla has come to the walls, alone. She is injured,”
Grandfather answered.
“S’hayla,” I repeated with a small laugh, seeing again my
grandmother’s cloaked figure riding off on the back of the honey-
colored mare; S’hayla’s tail stretching out with speed. That was the
day that Grandmother left me to the Keeper’s cares. That was the
beginning of the end of my childhood innocence. I knew enough of
the prophecies to see her reason then. This, just as I knew with equal
assurance that my beloved grandmother never once desired to put her
back to me those many years ago.
“She will heal, of course . . .” the Prince of Stones continued.
“My mare? Why, that doesn’t mean anything,” I insisted.
“Grandmother leads many battles. They could have become
separated.”
“Rain.”
“Grandfather, S’hayla is only a horse!”
“Not only that, child. Ana’Lira would not let her mount run
idle Rain, and certainly not S’hayla, if ever any. You know that,” the
Prince spoke with unfortunate confidence.
I did know just that, but shook my head at him anyway.
“But . . .”
“Lady Rain,” another broke in. “There is more.”
35
I pulled free of my Grandfather’s grip and moved in steady,
slow strides to stand on the opposite side of the table from the
Keepers’ wary stares. I felt some of them shift, if only by a hair;
testing the distance to whatever weapon they may have had near to
hand, but the Keeper named Dania Sandson only blinked.
“I have seen you in a living dream,” she finally said. “Your
ire built against us for bringing such news, as it is now,”she noted.
“But unfortunately what our Prince says is true. I have seen you as
you are now, standing in that dress, and after; wielding your black
blade against an innumerable foe. I have seen giants, and death. The
stink of it is in me now.”
The woman took a deep breath and rushed on, leaning toward
me with the worst of it. “And the Queen is also in the dream that is
more. But in it she is, and is not. There is an impenetrable darkness
around her that no light seems to roll back. I have never experienced
such as this,” Dania Sandson finished, looking exhausted.
“You could be wrong,” I began, but she shook her head
emphatically.
The aged woman did not look so tall or stately as before. She
looked heartbroken, her eyes glistening as she spoke.
“It is regretful but true, child. Nothing in me would ever wish
this hurt on you. But, it would appear that our Matriarch has most
certainly gone missing. And my greatest fear still, is that she may be
gone to the dead.”
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