“Boy!” she shouted, waving a restraining hand at her warriors. “You must be Viridina’s—follow us, we’re beating the bounds, and we’ll be at my lady-keep in a trice.”
By then they were all so weary, and Lorryn was so sick with worry for his mother, who had fallen into a stupor, that he would have accepted help from Jamal himself. Over Mero’s objections, he did follow, and they led him to a cleverly concealed keep of the oldest sort, the kind that was proof against just about any form of siege.
She brought them in, she saw Viridina into a bed and them to a meal, and while her humans guarded and watched them warily, she got all of their tale out of them. Even out of Mero, who was not proof against her charm or her motherly manner.
“Hmm!” she said when they were finished. “My husband was a brute, my son’s a beast, and my daughter got me one of these little trinkets of yours—” she caressed the necklace with one finger “—to keep me safe from his machinations. He wasn’t content with having most, he wanted all, even this little corner of the world that was left to me. I got my boys here their own little amulets when I saw what they would do, and we all settled down to wait for what I knew was coming.”
“You knew?” Mero said. “But how? We were very careful—”
She laughed. “When you are my age and you came from Evelon, boy, you have seen enough to be able to guess a great deal from a few signs. I never held with slaves, and I treated the human friends I had like the people they are, didn’t I, boys?”
One of her great, grim guards crackled a smile, and put an armored paw gently on her shoulder. “That you did, little mother,” he said comfortably. “Would that more were like you.”
She sighed. “Well, I often said it would come to fire and the sword again, and so it has. I think my son is dead; my daughter and her overseer held the manor when last I heard, and those slaves that haven’t run off are helping them hold it.”
“That’s most, little mother,” said another of the guards. “You taught her well.”
“Ah, well, I tried.” She sighed again. “How this is all going to fall out, I don’t know. I heard the army sent to kill the wizards has mostly run back home to join whatever part of the fighting suits them best They’re full of tales of dragons and black men, and you can tell me if those are moonshine and madness, or truth.”
Mero cleared his throat. “They’re truth, as near as we can tell you. We don’t know what’s happening with the wizards, either; it’s been too hard to send a message—
He stopped, and she laughed, that peculiar, brittle laugh of hers. “I know; I know the human magics, boy. I know why you can’t thought-talk now. It happened when we first came over; the more chaos, the more thoughts in the air, the harder it is for yours to get through, even with power behind it.”
“Ah.” Mero seemed at a loss for words. The old lady looked them all over sharply.
“Sleep in a bed tonight, boy,” she told him, and turned to Lorryn. “All of you bide overnight; you’re weary enough to drop, you’re about to founder your horses, and you’re all sad and sorry and sick of heart. Leave Viridina here with me; I’ll care for her and bring her out of this. I knew her mother, and her as a girl, and if any can give her heart’s ease, I think it will be me. If any can protect her, I think it will be me and mine.”
Now Lorryn recognized her: Lady Morthena, “Lady Moth” as he had called her as a child. She had been one of his mother’s most frequent visitors, and always had hours of scandalous stories to tell. He had never guessed this side of her. Perhaps she had hidden it beneath the guise of the scandal-mongering old lady on purpose.
His mother had never let him say a word against her, though. Now he thought he knew why.
He looked at Rena, who nodded slightly. “Please,” he said, putting all of his fear for his mother and her sanity into the word. Lady Moth nodded, as if she understood.
‘To bed with you all, and get on with your journey in the morning,” she said only, and shooed them off to beds as if they had been children out of the nursery. And as if they had been children, they all obeyed her, even Mero.
The next morning she met them at the door, as her guards brought them their rested horses, with saddlebags of provisions. ‘Travel safely, but travel swiftly,” she told them. “When the storms are over, come to me again and tell me what has happened. I think your mother will be glad to see you.”
Then she smiled, and for a brief flash of enchantment, Lorryn saw what she must have been like when she was Rena’s age, and her elders opened the Gate from Evelon. “And bring me some of your young wizards,” she added. “I’ll tell them some history, and they can show me wonders and bring me scandal.”
“Scandal, Lady Moth?” Mero said, as easy with her now as Lorryn and Rena were.
She laughed. “There will always be scandal, boy. Maybe you and my little Sheyrena here will make some, hmm?” And as Rena blushed and Lorryn managed a smile, she waved them off. “Hurry up, now; my boys tell me there’s a looting party on the road, and I don’t want you to meet it You might hurt them.”
The last they saw of her was her hand, waving at them from the top of the wall around her sturdy little keep.
Two days later, and they were at the edge of the iron-seeded territory—Keman had told them about that, before he flew off with all the iron bits they could spare at the time—and Lorryn was as tight as a bowstring with tension, wondering what kind of reception they were going to get.
And what had happened to Shana through all this.
But he was not expecting to be hailed quite so soon.
“Hold!” cried out a voice, and a score of human archers stepped across their path, iron torques around their necks, and a wizard leading them. The wizard stared at them—he was an old one, and Lorryn looked to Mero, who shook his head, meaning that he did not recognize the old man either.
This looked bad. It looked as if Shana had won the war only to lose to Caellach Gwain. Lorryn clenched his fists in mingled fear and rage, and his horse danced as the reins tightened.
“You and you,” the wizard said coldly, “are welcome. But that—” his tone made the word a curse as he pointed at Rena “—is of elven blood!”
Mero bristled, and Lorryn reached for a sword he didn’t have.
“Of course she is, you twit!” shouted an acidic, weary voice that made Lorryn’s heart leap. “Where do you think halfbloods come from, a cabbage patch?”
And Shana brushed the wizard and the archers aside.
“Fire and Rain, I thought you’d never make it back!” she said, “But—” She looked them over and obviously came up one short, and paled. “Oh, Lorryn, your mother—
“Is fine,” he assured her. “Well—maybe not fine, but we left her in good hands, and Lady Moth says she’ll be fine and—”
He was babbling, and he knew it, and so did she. She held up her hands and he cut the stream of words off. “Easy. We’ll get to it all in time. Right now—let’s get you all away from here before some idiot war party shows up and tries to kill the wizards again.”
She turned away from them and the archers parted to let them through—and Lorryn’s heart sank to his boots.
All of this time he had been afraid of what would happen if she lost—to the elves, or to the divisions within her own ranks. Now—
Now what do I do? She’s won. She doesn’t need me, she doesn’t need anyone—
Black despair washed over him; in all this time he had not once been tempted to weep, and now his throat choked with tears; his chest constricted until he couldn’t breath, and he picked up the poor horse’s reins to send him bolting away, far away—he lagged behind them all for a moment, so that he could slip away without them noticing. In a moment they would be around the bend in the road ahead and he could escape—think—figure out what to do with his life since she didn’t need him in hers—
:Lorryn—:
The single, weary word in his mind froze him in his saddle.