Age of Myth (The Legends of the First Empire #1)

Gryndal looked toward the young Fhrey standing on the lodge’s porch. “Have you met the prince, Nyphron? This is Mawyndul?, son of Lothian, come to see how gods conduct themselves—to witness justice. I’m his teacher, and you are today’s lesson. The fane has granted me the power of execution to deal with the trouble you’ve caused. You have displeased us, and for that I’ll take your life just as I crushed it out of your ghazel. But let it not be said that I’m an ungenerous god. Your life is over, but I’ll allow the Galantians to live if they repent for their crimes—if they bow and worship as is proper.”

He pointed to the gathered villagers. “As your god, I demand a sacrifice. Demonstrate your remorse. The Rhunes are a plague upon the face of Elan, and you have wallowed with them for far too long. Destroy them. Cut them down as evidence that you are still worthy to be called Fhrey. In return, I’ll grant you permission to live. Sacrifice their lives to your new gods, to the Miralyith, and I’ll forgive your weaknesses. What is your answer?”

“We don’t take orders from a culina brideeth!” Sebek said.

Persephone didn’t understand either word, but Gryndal certainly did. His eyes widened, and his lips drew back, revealing white teeth. Just then, the prince stepped forward, a puzzled look on his face. “You care more for Rhune animals than your own people? Your own friends?”

Nyphron looked up at the prince, helpless.

“Gryndal, let him speak,” Mawyndul? requested.

“As you wish,” the god of chains said, and the strain on Nyphron’s face lessened.

“It is not that I care so much for the Rhunes,” Nyphron said. “But more that I hate you—you, your father, all the Miralyith, and, most of all, this miserable excuse for—” Nyphron grunted in pain, his words choked off.

“Hate?” the prince asked incredulously. He uncovered his head, revealing that he, too, was as bald as Arion and the god of chains. He took a step forward as if to present himself more clearly, as if it was possible that Nyphron didn’t recognize him. “How can you hate me? I’m your prince.”

Gryndal twitched a finger, and Nyphron could speak again, though his voice was strained. “You’re not my prince. You’re a worthless Miralyith.”

“Worthless?” The prince looked stunned. “The Miralyith are your betters. I should think at a moment such as this you’d be painfully aware of that fact. How can you deny it?”

“Because power doesn’t equal worth,” Arion said. She stepped through the lodge door, walking slowly and favoring her left side. “Wisdom, the sort that your grandmother Fenelyus employed, is a far greater virtue.” She turned to Gryndal. “I told you that I had agreed to take Nyphron’s proposal to Fane Lothian. This madness can end in a sensible conclusion that doesn’t require rivers of blood.”

“Acting as fane, I’ve heard and rejected that proposal,” Gryndal replied.

“You can’t.” Arion descended the porch steps with some effort and approached the god of chains.

Gryndal fixed her with a withering stare. “I’m empowered by Fane Lothian to do as I see fit.”

“As a member of the Miralyith, I demand that the fane personally hear what I have to say.”

“As a member of the Miralyith?” Gryndal sneered. “Not anymore. As you explained, your wound has ejected you from our order.”

“A Miralyith is not defined solely by the Art.”

“Of course we are.”

Arion faced him in the center of the dahl, in the open lawn beside the common well where the Galantians had camped, where the ladies of the dahl had led a well raid, and where Persephone had married Reglan. Now two godlike beings in shimmering clothes stood on that same grass, glaring at each other like a pair of contentious thunderclouds, and Persephone felt the same unease as if a storm were rising.

“The fane needs to know what I’ve discovered about the Rhune girl. About Suri. I won’t let you kill them,” Arion said in a low voice.

Gryndal laughed. “How will you stop me?” He faced the porch and looked to Mawyndul?. “Power does equal worth. You are seeing the proof of that today. Fenelyus appointed Arion as your teacher because of her wisdom—I have to assume. Shall we see how well she fares against me?”

He offered Arion a chilling smile. “Go back to your bed, Arion. I’ll grant leniency because I suspect that blow to your head has relieved you of your better sense, and because I’m certain the prince still harbors some misplaced appreciation of you.”

“But I told you, Suri is—”

“Quiet!” Gryndal shouted, and turned his attention back to the Galantians. “Your leader is going to die. You can’t save him, so save yourselves. I won’t ask again. Destroy the villagers, or—”

“Take off bandages.”

As Suri took a step forward, everyone who could do so turned to look at the young mystic.

“Said it would come back,” Suri said to Arion. “Take off bandages.”

“How are you speaking?” Gryndal asked.

“With my mouth,” she said. “Does everyone play that game?”

“I’ve silenced you.”

Suri offered only a shrug. She looked back at Arion. “The bear was only a bear, but…” She pointed at Gryndal. “His name is Grin—dal, yes?”

Arion’s eye’s widened. “Yes!”

Suri nodded. “The last part of the name was burned. Take off bandages I made for you, and it come back.”

“You sure?” Arion asked.

“Pretty sure.”

“It’s a Rhune. It can’t be speaking,” Gryndal insisted, continuing to stare at Suri in shock.

“That’s Suri,” Arion explained. “The one you said couldn’t exist—remember?”

She began unwrapping the bandages from her head. A week’s worth of fuzz and a horrible discolored bruise emerged.

Once the cloth was off, Arion’s eyes went wide. She sucked in a startled breath and staggered back a step. The bandages fell from her hand, revealing a series of runes drawn on the underside, the same Dherg markings from the walls of the rol.

Gryndal scowled at Suri. “Abomination! Worse than the goblin. A Rhune with the Art!” He raised his hands toward her, but Arion raised hers as well. A warm wind blew past Persephone, billowing her hair.

Gryndal spun and glared at Arion.

“I’m feeling better,” she said. “And I won’t let you hurt them, any of them.”

With those words, Persephone felt the pressure leave her throat, and she could move again. Nyphron got to his feet, and the villagers staggered. Mothers rushed to their children and husbands embraced and shielded their families. Some scurried off to their homes, but the vast majority stayed, eyes fixed to the center of the dahl where Gryndal and Arion faced off.

“Suri has the Art,” Arion declared. “The Rhunes aren’t animals, aren’t worthless in the eyes of Ferrol. This changes everything.”

“It changes nothing!” Gryndal said. “Except to reveal that the Rhunes are a greater threat than previously realized.” He turned and looked at Mawyndul?. “Leave, my prince, and be quick. It is time I erased the Rhune menace. You would be wise to leave as well, Arion. I’m done playing games.”

The ground began to tremble.

Persephone felt the vibration in her legs. Near the well, a rake fell. Along the side of the lodge, two splits fell off the woodpile. Dirt shook out from between the logs of the walls. Sheep bolted in panic. Minna retreated behind Suri, and overhead the clear sky grew dark with violently expanding clouds.

“Here it comes,” Nyphron said, trying to steady himself. “I hate this part.”

Arion clapped her hands. The ground stopped shaking. The sky cleared.

Gryndal glared at her again. He looked to the prince. “Do you see that she is interfering with the fane’s orders?”

“The fane doesn’t have all the facts,” Arion said. “The fane’s orders are outdated.”

“I want you to witness that she is defying your father’s edict. Do you understand?” he said directly to the boy.

Mawyndul? nodded.

“It’s important you do, because I must exercise the power granted to me by your father and not just with Nyphron, but Arion as well. This problem is too big, too deep for half measures. I was ordered to bring the thunder, and by the power vested in me, I shall!”

“Gryndal, don’t!” Arion shouted.

Gryndal said a single word and clapped his hands.

Arion grunted and cringed, glaring at Gryndal with a stiff, strained expression as if in great pain or suffering from heavy exertion. Then she folded her hands together and muttered softly. When she opened her hands, a gust of wind blew Gryndal onto his back.