Guardians of the Keep: Book Two of the Bridge of D'Arnath (28 page)

knew that someday I would have to look on Avonar again. From what I could remember of my life in this

world, I had never yet done so.

Only one thing would draw a Zhid sympathizer like this Darzid to the ruins of my home. Was it

possible he had learned the secret revealed to me just before I left for the University? My father had said

we were going hunting that day, but I’d found it odd that he invited me alone, without any of my brothers

who enjoyed it more. . . .

The soft folds of Karylis’s foothills were draped in mist. The trail was new to me, and I found

myself increasingly reluctant to penetrate the sweet-scented vale. “There’s nothing here, Father,”

I said. “We’ve seen no sign of any game, large or small. There are a hundred more likely trails.”

“Not for what we hunt today,” he said, riding onward, his strong back and broad shoulders

commanding me to follow, even as my hands itched to tighten the reins and turn back.

The white-trunked birches were scattered over the grassy slopes, the glades open and smoothly

green, and as the morning waxed, the sun banished the mist into the rocky grottos that stood as

reminders that it was Karylis’s domain we traveled. The mountain itself was hidden by trees and

swelling ground. A sheen of dewdrops lay on the grass and quivering leaves.

“We’ll leave the horses here,” said my father, when we came to a stream of deep blue-green

that emerged from a towering granite wall.

“We shouldn’t be here,” I said as we dismounted, whispering as if my voice might divert some

unwanted attention our way. “What is this place?”

My father laid his hands on my head, saying, “Be easy, my son. We’ve come to a place most

precious and most secret. Only the one who bears the sign of the sovereign can know of it. . . no,

do not protest. I am not rebelling against the Way laid down for us. Though of all my sons, I

would entrust our future to you, I know that the thread of your life draws you along another path.

Christophe is young yet, but he’ll be a fine lord, and I’ll bring him here when it’s time. But you,

Karon . . . you cherish our history and our Way as no one else, and I cannot but think that this is a

place you should know.”

At his touch my reluctance vanished, and we climbed alongside the stream until we came to

two massive slabs of granite embedded in the hillside. They leaned together, leaving a triangular

shadow of indeterminate depth between them. Power pulsed from the shadow, throbbing in my

blood like the noonday sun in high summer.

“What is it?” I asked.

“It is our birthplace, one could say. From this place, some four hundred and fifty years ago,

stepped three families seeking a new life.”

“The portal from the stronghold! But I thought all the portals were destroyed.”

Somewhere, in a place far from this hillside, lay the fortress where our people had held out in

times of trouble. In the time of the Rebellion, when the extermination laws were passed, even the

fortress had not been safe enough. Imminent discovery had forced our people to scatter, leaving

behind a mystery, so our legends told us, something precious and holy that had existed since

before our oldest memory. Though drawn to the secrets of the stronghold since I was a boy, I had

assumed the portal destroyed.

My father traced the cracks and seams of the great stone with his strong fingers. “Those who

remained in the stronghold said this portal was a link to the holy mystery and hoped that someday

we would be able to practice our arts openly again and discover its true purpose. And so, to my

distant great-grandsire they entrusted the words with which it could be opened, words in a

language we didn’t know, a secret to be guarded until times would change. We’ve waited all these

years, scribed the words in stone so that time and faulty memory would not alter them
—
I’ll show

you where they’re hidden. But, of course, times have not changed
.”

I stuck my hand into the opening and felt nothing out of the ordinary. “Have you never been

tempted to venture the passage, Father? To discover whether anything remains of the

stronghold? Perhaps we could unravel the mystery, learn more of the past, make things better
. ...”

“Yes, I ventured it once, as did my father and his.” He shook his head. “We found only this

cleft in the rock. Perhaps our power was not enough. Or perhaps there is nothing to find any

more. But you . . . who knows? You should try, I think.” He whispered the words in my ear, and

his hand on my back urged me forward.

And so I stepped into the small alcove of granite. To an observer who could not sense the

power of enchantment, the place would have been unremarkable, save perhaps for the feel of the

air. While springtime lay a soft breath on the vale outside, within the alcove it was winter. Or

perhaps the cold frost was only my first reaction to an enchantment that was not meant for me.

As I walked the narrow passage that led me deep into the rock and ran my hands over the rough

surfaces of the walls, speaking the words my father had whispered, the scars on my left arm

began to sting as if newly incised. The longer I stayed, the more a bitter frost spread from my arm

to the rest of me. Enchantment was everywhere, thrumming, pounding, swelling, filling my veins

as if I had twice the blood of a normal man. So close . . . I summoned my power, drawn from life

and healing and the beauties of the mountains and the morning . . . releasing it into the

enchantment. So close . . . I could feel the walls thinning. So close . . .

But something wasn’t right. The enchantment would not yield, and soon I was shivering so

violently that I couldn’t think. I ran back up the passage and into the daylight. “We’re missing

something,” I said, my teeth clattering like a woodpecker’s beak on dead wood. “We need to

learn what the words mean.”

Quickly my father bundled me in his cloak and built a fire.

“
I’m all right,” I said, “except that I feel like I’ve spent the night naked on Karylis in

midwinter.” I had no feeling in my left arm
—
or so I thought. When my father ran his fingers over

my scars, I cried out, for his touch felt like hot iron. My left arm stayed numb and lifeless for

almost a week . . . numb and lifeless and so cold . .
.

I sat up abruptly. I must have fallen asleep as I lay in the winter sunlight. Idly, I rubbed my left arm

where it had gone numb and looked about for my companions.

The boy Paulo was communing with the horses that grazed on a few patches of brown grass exposed

on the stream bank. When he noticed my eye on him, he grinned at me and performed a hopping dance

step, a spin, and an awkward bow. I could not remember ever receiving so winning a thanks. I grinned

back at him.

The boy had been in tremendous pain when I joined with him, and in such a case, the relationship of

Healer and patient can be very intimate. His fears were exposed for me to share: the terror that he would

be more a cripple than he was already, more of a burden on the friends he so admired, beside which

dying was of no matter at all. Yet he demonstrated an absolute trust in me. And as I worked and his pain

eased, his thoughts kept returning to a horse called Sunlight ... as if I might know the beast. This boy

knew me.

The girl, Kellea, a Dar’Nethi girl, born in Avonar just before it fell—what a wonder that was—she

had recognized me, too, and the Lady Seriana . . . The lady had called me Aeren when she looked on

me that first time in her garden.

Dassine had told me that Aeren was another of my names, but that it was only an alias, not a third life

to be remembered. I was grateful for that. The name was connected with my recent history—my

mysterious second journey to the Bridge. Perhaps all three of them knew me from that time.

Lady Seriana . . . earth and sky, who was she? On this morning, when she was so angry with me,

jagged rents had again appeared in the span of my vision. Through the terrifying gaps of darkness had

poured such an oppression of guilt and sorrow that I would have done almost anything to escape it. But

for Bareil nudging me to action, I might never have moved again. No, best not think of the lady.

I lay on my sunny rock as mindless as a cat, half asleep when Bareil came, bringing oatcakes and

wine. “Is there some other service I may offer you, my lord?” The lines of worry carved so deep on his

brow grieved me sorely.

“I can ask no more than you’ve already done today.”

“I do only as Master Dassine instructed me. Are you fully recovered?”

“For now. You were quick.”

“Then perhaps . . . The Lady Seriana would very much like to speak with you.”

Speak with the lady? The sunlit meadow suddenly wavered before my eyes, as though I gazed

through the heat shimmer of a fire. “No. Not now. Tell her . . .”

How could I tell her that I was afraid of her? Clearly she knew more than she was telling me, yet I

had to trust her, because Dassine did so. But whatever she knew and whatever she was drove me to the

brink of madness. Any further along that course, and I would have to abandon the search, just to get

away from her. Then I would be left with only the disturbing task of avenging Dassine. Better she think

me a boor.

“Just tell her I won’t speak with her now. Perhaps later.”

“Nothing more?”

“Nothing more.”

CHAPTER 16

Seri

Though I tried to brush off Karon’s refusal to speak with me as a passing pique, he didn’t make it

easy. As we left the snowy meadow, he vaulted into the saddle and rode out with Kellea before I’d even

closed up my pack. When nightfall mandated the next halt, I tried to sidestep our disagreement. “Though

the weather’s no warmer, at least the sky’s stayed clear,” I said, sitting down on the log next to him as

Kellea doled out our supper, “but a night in Iskeran would still feel better.”

“Indeed.” His porridge might have been the most delicate roast quail for the close attention he paid it.

I jumped up. A mistake to sit too close. Even so near the fire, I felt the chill. “Would you prefer ale or

wine? We’ve a bit of both left.”

“Wine, if you please.” He raised his head at that, but his gaze flitted from woods to sky to muddy

earth as if I had no physical substance.

Surely this was D’Natheil’s reaction to my scolding and not Karon’s. Dassine had warned me that the

lingering echoes of the temperamental Prince would remain with Karon forever. But I would not

apologize. I had been right to keep him focused. We had to keep moving.

On the next morning, Paulo discovered the remnants of a camp just off the road. Kellea confirmed

that Gerick had been there. Karon said the fire was more than two days dead. Though we rode harder

after that, no one pretended optimism. The greater the gap between us and Gerick, the more difficult for

Kellea to follow.

Late in the afternoon of the second day from the bandit cave, Kellea called a halt in order to take her

bearings. We had ridden all day on a narrow road that was half overgrown with birch saplings and

tangled raspberry bushes. Carved stone distance markers, broken and toppled over well back in the

dense undergrowth, testified that the road had once been well traveled and much wider. Indeed, when

we emerged from the thinning trees onto a broad slope, carpeted with winter-brown grass, the faded ruts

and indentations showed the roadway to have been more than forty paces wide, sweeping up and over

the top of a gentle ridge. A snowcapped peak was just visible beyond the hilltop, but my uncertain

geography gave no clues as to our destination, and I’d found no inscription remaining on the shattered

distance markers.

Kellea dismounted and knelt to examine two paths that split off of the main track. Karon did not wait

for her direction, however, but pushed on up the hill, halting only when he reached the top.

“He’s chosen the right way,” said Kellea at last, motioning us after him.

We joined Karon on the hilltop and found a view that was indeed worth a pause—the broad valley

I’d seen from the bandit cave, no fire-shot frost plumes hanging over it any longer, only heavy gray

clouds that promised snow before morning. The valley was much larger than I had imagined, a sweeping

vista of grasslands and woodlands, small lakes and streams. The wide-thrown arms of the mountains

were softened by leagues of rolling hillsides clad in winter colors, on that day a hundred shades of gray

and blue. The valley’s beauty seemed virginal—unscarred by human activity. But for the contrary