The Name Of The Sword (Book 4) (32 page)

She didn’t answer, basically implying that,
of course she could.

He climbed into the saddle and she put a nether wind in his face. He recalled Rhianne’s warning about the Nether Plane and Valso’s master. He sensed something probing at the edge of his soul, but Mortiss chose ways just below the Mortal Plane, not deep in the netherworld, so perhaps that protected him.

Mortiss neighed,
You are right to fear the Dark God in his realm.

The netherworld was a part of him now, and he wondered how that had come to pass.

You’ve always been nether.

For the first time he found traveling the nether ways difficult. Something constantly pawed at the boundaries of his awareness, as if he was protected in a cage with some beast trying to break in. By the time Mortiss delivered him to a low hill overlooking the border, exhaustion weighed heavily on him. He arrived just before dawn and the sun had yet to rise. In the dark the campfires of the two armies dotted the landscape below him.

Before leaving Rhianne, Morgin had told her he would briefly check Sabian’s castle yard at dawn each morning. If she needed to communicate with him, he would meet her there. He didn’t think she’d be there since he’d already spoken with her earlier that night, but he’d promised, so he detoured briefly into the Kingdom of Dreams. He waited alone in Sabian’s yard until Mortiss stomped a fore hoof into the ground.
Dawn has come to the Mortal Plane.

32
The Lie in a Name

Brandon would have liked to keep BlakeDown and Olivia apart, but the old woman insisted on meeting the Penda leader personally. They’d agreed to meet at dawn, with an escort of six twelves each; the escorts would hold back two hundred paces while the leaders met in the middle. Each leader was allowed to bring his or her heir, plus one member of the ruling family, plus a senior lieutenant or captain. BlakeDown was not a man normally given to rational discourse, so Brandon was curious why he’d chosen to talk first.

Theandrin, ErrinCastle, PaulStaff and his son, and an older officer Brandon didn’t recognize, accompanied BlakeDown. Olivia brought with her Brandon, Wylow and his son SandoFall, and AnnaRail and France, though AnnaRail had forcefully asserted her authority to be sure she and the swordsman were part of the group. They met in the middle between the two escorts, and all remained mounted.

“Well, BlakeDown,” Olivia said, “why the change of heart?”

“No change of heart,” he said. “I thought it only right to give you an opportunity to petition for peace.”

Theandrin gave BlakeDown an angry, piercing look that would have made Brandon flinch had it been aimed his way.

“We have no desire to petition for peace. You’re the one who sent the messenger and wanted to talk, so talk.”

BlakeDown opened his mouth, but before he could speak Theandrin said, “We have learned that Valso wants this war, wants to see us weaken each other.”

Olivia’s horse pranced sideways a step, but the old woman calmed it quickly, and Brandon recalled that as a young girl she’d been an accomplished horsewoman. “I could have told you that,” she said.

Theandrin nodded. “Yes, we all know Valso’s proclivities, don’t we? But need we cater to him?”

“Valso is always a concern,” Olivia said, punctuating her words with a level of arrogance Brandon would never attempt to imitate. “But we are here because of another issue: the unprovoked attack upon the heir to Elhiyne.”

BlakeDown nudged his horse forward a step and said, “The attack was provoked.”

“Provoked by an incident with a minor lord of Penda.” Olivia said, her voice dripping with scorn.

“Nevertheless,” BlakeDown said. “Still a lord of Penda.”

Olivia threw her head back and laughed. “Very well then, we shall attack ErrinCastle and you attack one of the lesser lords of Elhiyne. I might even provide you with one to attack. Then after we’ve bloodied your heir and nearly killed him, we’ll be even.”

BlakeDown’s eyes narrowed and his face turned red.

“Alternatively,” Olivia continued. “We are due reparation. Make payment, and we’ll all walk away from this.”

BlakeDown reached to the sword strapped to his saddle. ErrinCastle reached across and tried to stay his hand, but he shook ErrinCastle off and drew the broadsword. “Never,” he shouted, as swords were drawn by the armsmen on both sides.

Brandon turned about in his saddle and held up a hand to stay the Elhiyne armsmen, and ErrinCastle did the same to the Pendas. BlakeDown roared, spurred his warhorse sideways, bumping ErrinCastle’s mount and almost knocking him from the saddle. He turned back to his armsmen and shouted, “Advance.”

••••

Morgin climbed into Mortiss’ saddle in Sabian’s yard, and she returned him to the low hill overlooking the two armies. It was a little after dawn when he nudged her into a canter and headed down toward the border. As he rode he spotted two large troops of mounted armsmen each holding position about two hundred paces from the border. The troop on the far side carried BlakeDown’s banner, while that on the near carried Olivia’s. He estimated about six twelves in each troop, and between them a dozen individuals on horseback were meeting on the border. Had someone finally been touched by sanity and decided to talk instead of spilling blood?

He was about half way there when he sensed the pull of power and felt the anger accompanying it. With so many memories to guide him he recognized that anger: Olivia was about to kill someone.

Morgin knew he had to get there immediately and stop this before blood was spilled. His first thought was to spur Mortiss hard and race down there to intervene, but then he realized there was a better way. He reined Mortiss to a stop and said, “I think we need to arrive on a nether wind, and quickly.”

••••

“Hold,” Brandon shouted. “Hold.”

With six twelves of Penda armsmen charging toward them, and six twelves of Elhiynes charging up from behind, all with swords drawn, they were about to find themselves in the midst of a bloodbath. France snarled, “I’ll protect AnnaRail, you take Olivia.”

Brandon reined his horse to the side and spurred it toward the old woman. But a black cloud of shadow descended upon him and a monster from netherhell appeared in front of him, a demon horse twice the size of any mortal horse mounted by a demon rider wearing a twisted, fanged, distortion of Morgin’s face, and carrying a blood-red talon the length of a man’s arm. It was the demon he’d dreamed about in his nightmares. It opened its mouth and cried out a scream that sent waves of fear coursing through his soul. His horse bucked and kicked beneath him, and it was all he could do to stay in the saddle as it carried him away in a panicked charge. The animal galloped west for a hundred strides before he got it under control, but it still took every bit of horsemanship he had to calm it and bring it to a halt. He reined it about and took in the carnage where they’d met the Penda’s.

Everyone had suffered the same nightmare, and the armsmen on both sides had been scattered over an area about a thousand paces wide, most of them unhorsed. France, AnnaRail and Theandrin remained in the saddle back at the meeting point, had apparently been unaffected by the apparition. BlakeDown was on his butt on the ground beneath Theandrin’s horse, a dazed look on his face. Brandon spotted Olivia and Wylow about a hundred paces away walking their mounts back and helping SandoFall, who was horseless and limping badly. In the other direction ErrinCastle helped PaulStaff up off the ground. There was no sign of PaulStaff’s son, or BlakeDown’s senior officer.

In ones and twos they all reassembled at the meeting point, without their armsmen to back them. As BlakeDown climbed to his feet Brandon noticed the sheath buckled to his waist was empty, and a quick glance about produced no sign of the broadsword.

They slowly reassembled at the border, some standing, some astride their horses, no one willing to break the silence. Then Olivia opened her mouth to say something, but before she spoke a shadow descended upon them all, blinding them. Brandon had a moment of fear, but the apparition didn’t reappear, and the horses didn’t panic. The shadow lifted, and there, seated upon his horse in their midst, was Morgin.

France said, “A bit dramatic, don’t you think, lad?”

Morgin shrugged. “But effective.”

Morgin had changed considerably since Brandon had last seen him, as if in the year or more he’d been gone he’d aged ten. Again Olivia started to say something, but Morgin raised a hand, silencing her. “Hear me, and listen.”

Olivia eyed him skeptically, then closed her mouth and nodded.

He continued. “I am the Unnamed King, and my realm is the Kingdom of Dreams.” He looked at BlakeDown, then back at Olivia. “Stand down now, for if you don’t, the war you fight will always be in your dreams.”

BlakeDown stepped toward Morgin, the muscles in his jaw bunched. He spoke through gritted teeth. “You gave us those dreams?”

Morgin nodded. “Yes, Lord BlakeDown, I did.”

Clutching his arm to his chest and in obvious pain, PaulStaff said to BlakeDown, “My men and I are withdrawing. I didn’t want this war in the first place.”

“And I and my men,” Wylow said. “We’re withdrawing as well.”

Morgin shook his head and said, “No, we’re going to Durin. I’m going to end this now, and all of the clan leaders need to be there.”

“Impossible,” BlakeDown said. “That’s a six-day forced march. We’re not equipped for that. We don’t have the supply lines.”

“Ride east,” Morgin said, “and I guarantee you’ll be in Durin in far less than six days.”

Spittle flew from BlakeDown’s mouth as he snarled, “I’m taking my men west, back to my castle.”

Morgin leaned forward in his saddle, leaned down toward BlakeDown and spoke calmly. “You’re going to learn that as you ride west your nightmares only get worse. On the other hand, the farther east you ride, the sweeter will be your dreams. Take these armies east—no supply wagons, just donkeys and pack horses—and meet me at dawn, tomorrow, in the shadow of Attunhigh.”

Olivia cackled with laughter, and Morgin disappeared into a shadow.

••••

Hidden within his shadows Morgin slipped into the Elhiyne army’s encampment, then into Olivia’s command pavilion. He extinguished his shadows, grabbed a chair and sat down at the map table to wait for them to return from the meeting point. He looked at the maps strewn across the table, and a small piece of charcoal caught his attention. He picked it up, then drew the sigil of the sunset king in one corner of the table top. Beneath that he added the two crossed lines that symbolized the balance of clan law. He did not add the additional lines that made them look like crossed swords.

He contemplated that symbol, the name that had been his for so long but was not truly his: AethonLaw. He had always known that was not his name, and had feared what his true name might reveal. And he now knew that his fears were well founded.

He heard the rustle of skirts and the soft patter of a woman’s step crossing the floor behind him. Olivia leaned over his shoulder and looked down at the symbol he’d scratched. “Hmmm! Contemplating your name, eh?”

Morgin shrugged, not willing to waste time informing her it was not truly his name, and not willing to suffer the argument that would ensue.

“Exactly!” she said, a strange response to his shrug.

She stepped around him and into his field of view. Then she lifted her hand, palm up. “May I have the charcoal, grandson?”

He wasn’t sure what she intended to do and suspicion clouded his thoughts. Nevertheless, he placed the charcoal on her open palm.

“Let’s contemplate your real name,” she said, and with two rapid strokes she added the lines that looked like cross-guards on swords. She finished by calling him, “AethonSword.”

Morgin flinched so hard he almost toppled over in his chair. He stood to face her. “You saw ElkenSkul draw the last two lines? You knew all along?”

She gave him that irritating, condescending, all-knowing smile of hers. “Of course I saw. Of course I knew.”

“Then why didn’t you speak up? Why did you allow me to be misnamed?”

She shook her head and sighed sadly. “Child, such a name would only be given to one destined to be the Shahotma King. And had the other clans learned that you had been granted that name, you would not have lived past the next full moon. We would have had assassins trying to breach our defenses at every turn. You needed time to grow, to develop your powers and your mundane martial skills, so you could defend yourself.”

“But why didn’t you at least tell me? I spent years looking for the meaning of that symbol.”

“It would only have frightened you back then. And you were a timid enough child as it was. No, the burden of such a name would have been too much, and you might never have come into your power.”

She too had made the mistake of thinking he bore the true name of AethonSword. And while he knew she, along with Erithnae and Metadan, was wrong, he wasn’t about to open that argument with her. He turned away from her, found AnnaRail standing in the open entrance to the pavilion, Roland behind her, tiny little NickoLot peering around from behind the two of them. “I’m sorry,” AnnaRail said. “Had I known of her deceit, I wouldn’t have let you live with such uncertainty?”

AnnaRail walked into the room, followed by Roland and NickoLot. Behind them came JohnEngine and Brandon. JohnEngine burst around his parents, came at Morgin like a charging bull, wrapped him in a bear hug and tried to lift him off the floor. Morgin was larger than him, and he barely succeeded, but they got a good laugh out of it.

Brandon slapped him on the back and shook his hand, saying, “Back from the dead. You always were full of surprises.”

France had slipped into the tent and stood near the entrance. Morgin approached him and put a hand on his shoulder. The swordsman smiled, and Morgin saw that glint in his eye again. “You look a lot better.”

“Ya,” the swordsman said. “Your mother’s healing has some benefits. But damn, I hate magic.”

Brandon said, “Thank the gods you averted this idiotic war.”

“Oh child,” Olivia said. “There was never going to be any war. I wouldn’t have allowed it.”

“But—” Brandon said. “But you—you did everything you could to start a war.”

Olivia let out a dramatic sigh. “Haven’t you learned yet that everything is so much more complicated than the way it appears?” She pointed at Morgin. “He needed an army, and I gathered one for him. In fact, if you look closely, you’ll see I got him two.”

To Morgin she said, “You should thank me.”

Morgin said, “Thank you, grandmother. But what do we have out there, the two armies together, maybe four or five thousand men?” He recalled the walls of the Decouix city. “I need far more than that to breach the walls of Durin.”

“How will you get them?” Nicki asked.

He looked at the tiny woman, remembered how he’d liked making funny faces at the little child, now a powerful witch. “With the help of three of the most powerful witches in the clans, I hope to add seven thousand to that number. Will you help me, Nicki?”

“Of course.”

He turned to AnnaRail. “And you?”

She simply nodded.

He turned to Olivia. “And you?”

The old woman smiled. “I’m intrigued, grandson. What are we going to do?”

Morgin was at a loss. He hadn’t figured out how he would get the three women east of the Worshippers in a single night, and it was imperative that he do so. He didn’t know a good shadow there, so that wouldn’t work. On Mortiss he could ride the nether ways, but she couldn’t carry all four of them.