Sons of the Falcon (The Falcons Saga) (33 page)

Jaedren’s eyes sprang wide. “You
mean the green men!”

“The green men?”

Jaedren gnawed his upper lip as he
put a knee in his chair and leaned across the table. In an urgent whisper, he
confided, “I saw them in a dream, too. Only Aster didn’t have to tell me about
them. I’ve had the dream lots of times. There’s this beautiful lady. Black,
black hair. And a bright light like the sun around her—only it doesn’t hurt me
to look at it. She smiles at me, then she looks real scared, and these ugly
green men come out of the dark and grab her. They have blood-red eyes and huge
teeth, like wild pigs. The lady screams and tells me to run, don’t let them
find me, ‘cause they wanna lock me up. I try to run, but I can’t go fast
enough. Dreams are like that, you know. Sometimes I think I get away. Sometimes
I wake up because I think they’ve got me.” He paused. “Sir?”

Thorn roused himself. Lord Rhogan’s
granddaughter had black hair. Like a raven’s wing, the farmer had said. How
long had Thorn been searching for her? From the wilds of the Drakhans to the
Shadow Mounds he had searched. He’d even traveled as far as the Glacier, taking
narrow winding dwarf roads. Was Jaedren’s dream merely coincidence, or had he
somehow been aware of her abduction and the growing threat to the avedrin?
“Yes, I … I mean these green men, son. And it’s important that I teach you how
to see them. With your avedra senses, I mean. Most of the time the green men
are hidden by magic and can’t be seen with your ordinary eyes.”

“Is that how they took the lady?”
Jaedren asked. “She couldn’t see them?”

“You’re certain she wasn’t just a
dream?”

The boy nodded, mournful. “And I’m sure
she’s dead now. It makes me sad.”

“Me, too.” How could he have
guessed that he’d find the end of his search in his own library? “She might have
survived if she could see them.”

“Once you show me how, I’ll be able
to escape them?”

“You think they’re coming?”

Thin shoulders shrugged. “Aren’t
they?”

~~~~

S
ilhouettes spun, laughing
and singing about the bonfires. The waters of the Avidan rippled orange and
black beneath festoons of lanterns hung along the banks. Harpists, drummers,
and pipers weaved between the fires, playing tirelessly while the people
danced. Rhian kept watch. He’d put away his avedra robe in the hopes of drawing
less attention. In a black jerkin and black riding leathers he tried to blend
into the darkness, but a stranger was a stranger and people stared anyway.

Though he tried to remain as
objective as the cold, white stars overhead, his heart hurt with unexpected
longing. Sandy Cape might have been a dying town, but its people knew how to
throw a dance. At the end of whaling season, when the whalers returned from the
icy waters off the Dovnyan shore, their wives and daughters celebrated with song
and skirt hems flying high. Back then, he would have felt at ease with these
folk of earth and sweat. He might’ve grabbed the baker’s plump daughter and
taken a turn about the bonfire himself. But now Rhian felt as much a stranger
among these commoners as he did among the silken leagues of the nobility.

He had a duty. He would see to it.

Carah made a show of shunning him.
Her laughter and squeals were loud and forced, like fingernails digging a
little deeper. Every time the dances swept her close, the turn of her nose belied
her success in pretending he didn’t exist.

In the middle of the first dance, shortly
after sunset, she spied him lurking among the spectators. Her foot missed a
step, she shook off Eliad’s hands and advanced on Rhian like a cyclone. “What
are
you
doing here?”

For a moment, Rhian debated whether
he ought to bother answering. No words from him would cool the spoiled brat’s temper.
“Dathiel assigned me to keep an eye on you.”

Carah’s fist went to her hip. “Oh,
he did? I don’t need another chaperone. I have Eliad.”

“Eliad couldn’t see an ogre till it
tromped up and bit his head off.”

“It’s Lord Drenéleth to you, pearl
fisher.”

Rhian grabbed that finger stabbing
at his face. Carah gasped and twisted, but Rhian held on tight. One of her
knuckles popped; it must’ve hurt because she stopped struggling. He hissed into
her ear, “Believe me, lady, I’m no happier about this assignment than you are.
It’s a snob you are, and there’s nothing I’d like more than to see you get
yours, but Dathiel dotes on you, so here I’ll stay.”

Her mouth opened, but only
voiceless puffs of astonishment came out. Hadn’t anyone dared tell her how they
really felt? She stomped off and rejoined the throng in time for the second
dance. That was hours ago, and Rhian was getting tired of seeing the underside
of
Lady
Carah’s nose. If she only knew ...

The hillsides were quiet so far, blacker
than the star-freckled sky. A cluster of bright lifelights approached Ilswythe
Village. Just latecomers to the party, all huddling together in an ox-drawn
cart. The only other azethion whirled about the bonfires or drifted high atop
the castle walls. Zephyr’s white glow hovered near Rhian’s shoulder. His
guardian was lost in the music, whirling and humming, but never more than two
feet away. The fairy deserved a moment’s respite from keeping watch. Ach, the constant
watching. Rhian felt as if he’d been pulling sentry duty for four years. Four
bloody years. If he’d known what that seal was leading him to, he would have
swum back to shore and taken his chances with the noose.

He grinned to himself. That wasn’t
true at all.

A hand reached from the dark and
clenched his shoulder.

Rhian’s hand darted for his sword
hilt.

Thorn asked, “See anything?”

“Curses on you, Dathiel! It’s an
eejit you are. Sure I mighta struck,
then
looked to see who was tackling
me.”

“Twitchy.”

“If I am, it’s your fault.
‘Anything happens to her, I’ll skin you alive.’ And I don’t doubt you’d try.
Guard her yourself next time.”

“Tsk, tsk. She yell at you again?”

“Bitch.” Carah floated gracefully
among the heavy-footed farmers. A diamond among stones. The firelight glistened
on her brow and throat like topazes set in smooth ivory. Too bad her attitude
didn’t match her face.

Thorn snickered. “That’s my fault,
too. It’s not you she despises, not really. She might even get over it.
Eventually. Come along. We’re to meet in council with the War Commander. He
won’t wait any longer.”

“Why so formal?”

Thorn shrugged. “He’s the War
Commander, and this is war.”

“But what about …” He flicked a
hand toward Carah.

“None of the people were abducted
from the middle of a crowd. Saffron is with her. She’ll fetch us if she detects
anything. Unless you’d rather stay?”

“Hnh.” Rhian started up the hill
toward the gatehouse. The warmth of the bonfires receded and the night-chill
settled on his shoulders. He glanced back and found Carah standing outside the
ring of dancers, watching them go.

~~~~

K
elyn paced the library. The
stink of dust and old paper offended his nose, but Thorn insisted they meet
here. His domain, his information. Since receiving Thorn’s vague news of
trouble, Kelyn hadn’t enjoyed a moment’s peace. At the supper table, Rhoslyn
asked why he was so fidgety. Of course, Carah had been sitting between them, so
he refrained from voicing his concern. He responded instead with a curse upon
his brother’s mother-loving hide.

He realized the two avedrin had
arrived only when he heard the library doors shut. They moved as softly as
assassins. Thorn snicked the lock. “Is Etivva below?” he asked.

“No, I asked her to sit with Rhoz.”
Kelyn pulled out a chair but didn’t feel like sitting. He pushed it under the
table again. “Let’s not waste any more time. Why does my daughter need to learn
to protect herself? Before it was just ‘training another avedra,’ but now it’s
become ‘protection’?”

Thorn dug through the contents of
the sideboard, found a label that pleased him and popped the cork. The vintage
was some golden wine he’d brought home during one of his visits. “You’re aware
of the disappearances?”

“Of course. Rumors of the latest
disappearance spice every dinner table in Aralorr. Have for years. People
hardly pay attention to the news anymore.”

Thorn offered his brother a glass
of the foreign wine. Kelyn waved it away, so he offered it to his apprentice
instead. Rhian muttered his thanks and took his glass to the window seat. The
delicate crystal looked fragile in his rough, tanned hands. He directed his
attention out the window, but there was little to see but flowerbeds, high
walls, and darkness.

“Let this renew your interest, War
Commander,” said Thorn, nose lowered over his own glass. “Every person who
disappeared is avedra. Or strong enough in the Old Blood to be suspected.”

“What, all of them?” He recalled at
least two dozen persons missing from Aralorr alone, more from Evaronna, more
still from Leania.

“We aren’t as rare as I once
thought. Most avedrin, it seems, simply never find out the truth. But someone
somewhere knows. It’s easy enough to detect them if you have the skill, like I
did with Jaedren this morning.”

Now Kelyn had to sit. He sank onto
the edge of the scarred writing table. “Carah—” How many times had he let her
go into the village alone? Go riding with only a handful of guards, or with
only her brother to accompany her? It could have been her. At any time, his
little girl might have disappeared.

“Four years ago, I started
investigating the disappearances. The same signs cropped up each time.”

“Bear tracks.”

“Right. Bogginai.”

“Ogres. Yes, I remember.” Kelyn
eyed the dagger with the ogre-tusk haft adorning Thorn’s belt.

“They’re using magical means to carry
out the abductions. That’s the only thing that accounts for the tracks leading
nowhere.”

“Were the two dwarves avedrin also?”

“Dwarves?”

“The iron merchants I told you
about, four or five years ago.”

“Ah, I’d forgotten. No, as far as I
know dwarves can’t be avedrin. Though I’ve not heard of elf-dwarf children
either. My guess is that it was the iron their attackers cared about. The
dwarves themselves were probably roasted.”

“So the war the dwarves are
fighting ties in with these disappearances?”

“Somehow it must, but that’s the
one part of the puzzle we can’t decipher.”

“And what do ogres want with
avedrin?”

“Maybe nothing. It’s probably those
who
command
the ogres who want the avedrin.”

“I thought I knew all my enemies,”
Kelyn muttered. He felt as if he swam in foreign waters. Despite voicing his
curiosity over the years, he’d never been able to convince his brother to speak
openly about things of Magic before. While he was fascinated, he was also
terrified. He did not understand this enemy. “Who are we dealing with?”

“We think we know, but we’ve had
little confirmation. Several years ago, Elarion began defecting from Avidan
Wood.”

“
Elves?”

Aye. And unless you would see me
pinned to a tree by arrows you will keep that to yourself. Agreed?”

Kelyn nodded. Foreign waters,
indeed.

“Shortly afterward, the ogres began
amassing, clan joining clan. It was unprecedented. Understand, ogres and
Elarion have been enemies since the first ogre walked out of the Mahkahan
swamps three thousand years ago, so it took us a while to believe what we were
seeing. It’s these rebel Elarion who must be leading the ogres and abducting
the avedrin.”

“But
why
? My daughter has
nothing to do with ogres or elves.” If he said it loudly enough, often enough,
might the words act as a charm and keep Carah safe? He had never felt so
helpless to protect his family, and that made him angry.

“Oh, come, come, Kelyn. You know
what avedrin are capable of. So do the Elarion. Trained, we are a force to
reckon with. They want us out of the way. Why? I don’t know. It could be simple
hatred. Hatred for the mixed blood. But do Elarion hate ogres less? Quite the
contrary. If these rebel Elarion have something to do with the war between the
dwarves and the ogres, and it seems likely, then I must assume they have some
larger plan in mind. And I fear that plan is to wage war on humankind as well.”

“Another Elf War. Goddess help us.”
Kelyn wished now he had paid more attention to Etivva’s history lessons. He
resolved to have a long discussion with his old tutor at the first possible
opportunity, and apologize for not caring. “That was so long ago, it’s more
legend than history. Unless they’re scholars like you, people won’t
understand.”

“Many Elarion were alive then.
They
still remember.”

“Are they all against us?”

“By no means.” Thorn poured himself
a second drink. Kelyn recanted and gestured for one as well. His brother took
pity and filled him a glass. “When I reported this information to the Elders,
they agreed to let me lead a search party into ogre territory. An armed
company, if you will. Believe that? Your scholar of a brother leading soldiers?”

“Not for a moment.” The golden wine
was strong and rich. Green apples and caramel, butter and cinnamon in his
veins. At any other time he would’ve complimented his brother’s choice, but
right now he only cared for its calming effect. He wanted to grab onto some evil,
conniving shadow and break its neck.

“We looked everywhere for the
avedrin. Didn’t we, Rhian?”

The younger avedra nodded, somber
and silent. Thorn rolled his eyes at his apprentice’s lack of contribution. The
younger avedra fidgeted, paced from one window to the other, as if he felt more
useful outside walking the walls. Thorn tried to shove another glass of wine
into his hand, but Rhian’s mouth formed a tart, if silent, response. Thorn
shrugged and set the glass down on the sideboard. Kelyn suspected the words
that passed between them were anything but sweet endearments.