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

“She needs you to train her troops, help plan strategies, and indicate where the Fhrey are weak and how best to exploit their vulnerabilities. Without you, those thousands of iron-wielding warriors will be little more than a bunch of skittish farmers. They’ll run at the first Miralyith earthquake.”

Malcolm allowed himself a full smile. “Presented at the right moment and in the proper light, it could work. Even if Persephone doesn’t find you appealing, I believe she’ll see the wisdom of a union. She’s a very practical woman and entirely dedicated to her people.”

Nyphron looked back at the dahl. The Rhunes were gathering supplies. They had a new leader, new hope, and spirits were high for a better future.

“And, of course, you’ll outlive her and any children she bears,” Malcolm went on. “After enough generations, people will only remember what you want them to…about Persephone…about the war…and about yourself. I’m positive that one day you will be known as Nyphron the Great and your empire will be regarded as the most impressive in the world.”

—

“Can you do anything for her?” Suri asked the old woman.

Arion was probably twenty-five times older than Padera, but the Fhrey didn’t have the look of wisdom that came with wrinkles and white hair. Padera had enough wrinkles to be the sage of sages; and according to Maeve, she wasn’t white-haired, she was bald under her head wrap. Tura hadn’t looked even that old, and Tura could fix anything.

“Hmm,” the old lady intoned, sucking in her lower lip, rolling it like a curl of dough as she walked around the Fhrey.

Separating from Persephone at the gate, Suri, Brin, and the three dwarfs had carried Arion around the wall of Dahl Tirre and laid her in their old camp under the wool. Padera had been the only one there. The old farmer’s wife sat in a pile of wrinkled clothes, two deft hands stitching a hole in a shirt far too large for her.

Padera heaved herself to her feet and laid a hand on Arion’s forehead. Her insanely malleable lips shifted around thoughtfully. The old woman put her thumbs on the Fhrey’s eyes and bent over, as if to kiss her. Then she clutched Arion’s throat, fingers kneading into the soft hollow of her neck. Nodding, she let go and waddled over to the cooking pit. She placed two logs on the coals, blew on them until they caught fire, and then suspended an animal-skin bag above the flames.

“Well?” Suri asked.

“We’ll see.” Padera poured water from a gourd into the bag. “Not totally here, is she? Not gone, but not here, either.”

Suri sat down beside Arion the way she had during most of the boat ride. The Fhrey looked pale, almost white, not that she had looked all that robust before. Suri hadn’t noticed it in the cave, or even on the ship, but when upon familiar grass and dirt, she saw how colorless Arion had become—how dead she seemed.

“She’s not dead,” Padera said.

The mystic blinked in surprise, thinking the old woman had heard her thoughts.

“No, not dead, but very close. She’s teetering. Seen it a thousand times. Usually with the fever. They sweat, they wail, they see things that aren’t there. Then they calm down, just lie quietly…and they teeter. It’s as if they’re trying to make up their minds about leaving or staying.”

“Is there anything we can do to convince her to stay?”

“Not really,” the old woman said, pulling leaves from a jar and tossing them into the boiling water. The moment she did, Suri smelled the scent of feverfew. “You have willow bark on you?”

Suri nodded.

“Figured you would. Hand it over.”

The old woman took the bark, broke it up, and added it as well. “If she wants to go, she will, and there isn’t a thing we can do. But…if she wants to stay…we can make it easier for her to come back.”

Suri hung her head.

“Guess things didn’t go so well in the land of the Dherg?” Padera asked. “Did you at least get what you wanted?”

Suri didn’t answer.

“Where’s your wolf?”

Brin, who had been unpacking her bag, froze. “I don’t think that—” the girl started to say.

“I killed her so Arion could live,” Suri said.

The old woman sucked on her lip again and nodded. Then she reached out and took hold of Suri’s hands. “Stop blaming yourself. That won’t do either of you any good.”

Suri’s throat tightened, making it hard to swallow.

Padera rubbed Suri’s back and then walked away. Turning her attention to Brin, she said, “And what are you doing back there?”

Brin, who had been digging through the supplies stacked at the back of their shelter, said, “I saw a map hanging on a wall in Caric. Made of treated animal skin that was soft like cloth. They drew on it with something called ink. It’s a dye made from a chalky stone, but Roan says she could make something better. There’s a tree called a book pine. She says she can make a resin from its syrup. Apparently, when you cook it, the stuff becomes really dark.”

“It does do that.”

“She also thinks a hollow straw, feather, or reed would hold the resin and make it easier to control the marks. I’m looking for some feathers that I think are back here.”

“And why do you want all this?”

Brin looked up with bright eyes. “I’m going to write the history of the world. I’m going to put all of it down on soft, cured animal skins so they’re light, easy to carry, and will last forever. Centuries after I’m dead, people will still be able to understand them and know what happened. Even if the Fhrey win this war, even if we are all killed, this will remain. And it will be the truth, the truth about all things. No one will be able to lie or change the story, or forget. Everyone will know there was an evil dwarf named Gronbach, a terrible monster named Balgargarath, a mighty warrior named Moya, a brilliant leader named Persephone, and a genius named Roan.” She looked over at Suri. “They’ll also know about a powerful mage named Suri, a wise Fhrey named Arion…and a brave and beautiful wolf named Minna…the wisest wolf in the world.”

“Thank you,” Suri whispered.

“And I’ll write about my parents, too, so they will never be forgotten. In a way, they won’t really die. Anyway, I’m going to mark it all down, so no one will ever forget us, or them. I’m also going to include what I learned from the tablets. It will be the most complete story, the best story ever, and it will never be forgotten.”

“What will you call this story?” Padera asked. “The Tale of Clan Rhen?”

Brin shook her head. “It will be about more than just our clan. More than only Rhulyn or the Gula. It will be about everything.” The young girl paused and thought. “I know. I’ll call it My Book Pine Markings. That’s true enough.”

“A century from now do you think anyone will know who My is? Maybe you should use your name. Call it Book Pine Markings of Brin.”

“I like it. Yeah, I’ll call it that.” Brin smiled.

Padera brought a bowl of the brew over and spooned a little into Arion’s mouth. The Fhrey moaned, but she didn’t cough or choke. The medicine went down.

“Padera,” Brin said, “isn’t there anything else you can do for her?”

“This will help. It’s the best I have to offer.”

“Suri?” Brin asked. “What about you? Can you do anything?”