Age of Swords (The Legends of the First Empire #2)

“How?”

“One day, one day soon, she’ll weigh more than you, run faster for longer, and have teeth and jaws that can rip flesh that will provide her all she needs to eat. Minna won’t need you then; you’ll just be a nuisance.”

Suri looked down at the bundle of white fur with the black nose and the curled tail. “Minna would never hurt me.”

“She’s a wild thing. She listens to the wind and to the will of Wogan. If a situation calls for it, she could turn.”

“What kind of situation?” Suri asked.

Tura shrugged. “Life and death. If the two of you were starving in a cold winter, she could see you as nothing more than a tasty rabbit.”

Suri smirked as she played with the little pup, whose needle-sharp teeth pulled at her belt bag until Suri lost her balance and fell over. “Minna would never hurt me, not even then.”

“How do you know?”

“Because she loves me, just as I love her.”

“Maybe. But if I were starving…if you and I were going to die…I think I might consider what wolf meat tastes like.”

“That just proves Minna is better than you. You hear that, Minna? You’re wiser than old Tura. You must be the wisest of all wolves.”

Suri tried again and this time managed to steal a berry. She popped it into her mouth before Tura could stop her. The old woman frowned.

Suri grinned and chewed, but the berry had been a green one, and tasted bitter.

Suri woke up with a crick in her neck, one still-sleeping leg, and an aching sense of loss. The blissful dream broke apart, leaving only traces of joy that rapidly dissolved in the acid of reality. The others were getting to their feet and Suri joined them, struggling with the pins and needles in her lazy leg.

She heard it then, such a familiar sound—panting.

Suri snapped her head around, looking behind her, but the glowstones were both up ahead, and all she saw was black. She peered into the void but saw nothing.

“Minna?” she whispered.

No response—even the panting had stopped.

She waited until the others were far ahead. She wanted it to be true. Flashes of her dream came back. Images of a wolf pup rolling on a floor.

“Minna?” she called louder.

Silence.

“I miss you,” she said. Then she turned and followed the others.

By the time they reached the top of those stairs, even Suri was exhausted—and still they were far from out. Instead of reaching sunlight, they entered a large hall in the city of Neith. Suri’s legs throbbed, feeling tight to the point of snapping. She lay down with the rest of them, the cold stone feeling good against the heat of her back.

“We’re only to here?” Moya said in agony.

Tilting her head up, Suri noticed that the hall was vaguely familiar. Pillars lined the open space except a large section where the floor had fallen away.

“Is this…?” Persephone started.

“This is where we fell,” Moya confirmed. “We still have all those wide stairs left to go.”

“Is there really no more food?” Brin asked.

“I’d be happy with water,” Moya said. “I’m sweating like a rat in a cat’s mouth.”

“Water on the level above us,” Rain said.

“Then I say we head up, have a long drink and a rest before we go any farther,” Persephone declared.

“Okay,” Moya said, but she took her time getting up.

Nevertheless, everyone had moved off toward the stairs except the mystic, who remained seated. She waited, looking back down the dark hole of the steps.

“You okay?” Persephone called back.

“No.”

“Right, stupid question. Sorry.” Persephone came back to her. She sat down, pulled her knees up, and offered Suri a sympathetic smile. “When my husband, Reglan, died it was just a few days after my last son’s death.” She shook her head remembering. “I felt all alone in the world. Empty. Lost. Angry, too. Lots of anger really, hate even. I had plenty of that. I hated the world, myself, even Reglan for dying, as if he’d done it just to hurt me.”

Persephone was trying to be comforting, but she wasn’t helping. Her loss was nothing like Suri’s. Minna hadn’t died. She’d been murdered by her best friend.

“Want me to leave you alone?” Persephone asked.

Suri nodded, though she wasn’t really sure. She didn’t feel like talking, or listening, but silence didn’t help, either. Nothing helped.

“Okay.” Persephone started to walk away, then stopped. “Here,” she said, holding out the glowstone. “We’ll be at a fountain one flight up. Don’t take too long. You’ll make me worry.”

Suri listened to the shuffle of Persephone’s feet until they faded away and she was alone again.

She set the glowstone down, hugged her legs, and watched as the others, marked by their bobbing light, climbed the steps and disappeared.

Then Suri waited.

My imagination. That’s all it was.

She sat as still as she could, listening. So strange to be alone in that silent dark. Suri strained to hear anything, but not a creak, not a rodent scuffling, not even the drip from some unseen pool disturbed the quiet. Suri sighed and stood up. Partway to her feet, she froze.

Panting.

The sound was close—very close—right behind her.

Minna?

Suri started to turn, but before she could, an icy, damp hand clamped over her mouth.

—

Persephone began recognizing things and realized they were nearly out.

The hardest part of the trip was over. Already Persephone began wondering: Have they appointed a keenig? Is it Raithe? It has to be him, who else? Certainly not that limp bit of a man, Lipit, or the skittish Alward. But maybe Raithe had remained adamant in his refusal, or maybe he had simply left—gone with Malcolm to his hill past the Bern River to build a new life. Maybe the chieftains had given up. Have they disbanded the Council of Tirre, gone their separate ways, leaving the question unresolved? Or have the Fhrey attacked? This last one frightened her more than any of the others. Although she was surprised to discover that not seeing Raithe again came in a close second. Now that she was heading back, Persephone was seized with fear and worry that she’d be too late, had taken too long. She saw faces in the dark: Padera’s mushed-melon frown, Gifford’s lopsided smile, Habet’s boyish grin, even Tressa’s scowl. What if while she was gone the Fhrey had killed them all?

“Where’s Suri?” Brin asked.

They were gathered alongside a stone fountain. About the size of Brin’s old roundhouse, it had a basin like a shallow bowl, partially sunk into the floor. In the center, was a statue of three dwarfs standing back-to-back, though they could hardly be called dwarfs given they were at least seven feet tall. At the feet of each sat a bucket, partially tilted and spilling water into the basin. When Persephone arrived, the others had already drunk their fill, and some, like Moya, splashed their faces and wet their necks.

“Just downstairs,” Persephone replied. “Wanted to be alone. She’ll be along in a little while.”