Banshees vengeance, p.7
Banshee's Vengeance, page 7
If Azhani was surprised to see someone that had been described as a “dreamer” doing what was, essentially, the work of groundskeepers, she said nothing, merely studied the young man as they approached.
Just as they reached him, he let out a string of curses, then attacked the remaining bits of vine with vigor. Azhani was suitably impressed. If he can channel that aggression into pell work, I might be able to do something with him after all. She could easily imagine him taking a weapon to one of the rope-wrapped poles that lined the practice yards of nearly every guardhouse in Y’Myran. I was afraid he’d be some pampered pet too frail to lift a dagger, much less a sword.
Thoughtfully, she considered his appearance. Allyndev was tall, like herself, but light of skin—so pale, in fact, that it had reddened under the harsh glare of the sun. Thin, though not frail, the young man’s frame was obviously not built for heavy arms and armor. Leather, then, studded with steel strips and fitted to him for now. Chain later, when he’s built up the wind to carry it. Short sword for close work, a bow, perhaps, and I’ll train him up to the longer blades. He’ll never carry a claymore, but he won’t have to. And light shields should do—bucklers, I think. Though the elves do prefer the kite. I’ll have to see if he can strengthen that arm up enough to use one. Might as well try to make him more palatable to those he might one day serve. He was not unpleasant to look at, having the sort of sweetly handsome face she had come to expect on elven men, though it was tempered by the rounder features of his Y’Dani heritage—his cheeks were stubbly and she wondered if he’d yet learned to shave. He wore his blond hair long, as was fashion with the court of Oakheart.
“Good afternoon, nephew,” Lyssera said, startling him into turning around to face them.
“Hello, aunt.” He bowed quickly. “Is there aught you require of me?” he asked, coming closer to them. His gait was gawky, as if both of his legs had been affixed to his knees backwards. Something about him was very familiar, though. A round fullness to his face that was both human and uniquely Y’Dani, which made Azhani feel an immediate connection to the young man.
Though men and elves had shared both kingdom and gods for many generations, each side still viewed the other with a bit of wariness born of old—and in the case of the Y’Dan-Y’Syr border, recently ongoing—conflicts. Thodan and Lyssera’s peace had been hard won, which was why it was so gut wrenching to know that Thodan’s son was doing his best to destroy it with his new laws favoring humans.
Azhani watched Allyndev closely, making mental notes as to what she could do to help him become the man his aunt hoped he could be. Hm. Perhaps we’d best work on his balance first, then move into more martial pursuits. I’ll need to make use of the practice salle. Maybe even take him into the forest, away from judgmental eyes.
“Yes. I wish you to meet someone,” Lyssera said with a warm smile. “Someone you may find as vexing as I, but who you will also learn can be a great friend.” She gestured to Azhani. “This is Azhani Rhu’len, and if Fate’s hand had been kinder, she might have become your aunt.”
To hear herself characterized as such caused Azhani a sharp pang of grief, but it was the truth. Had she and Ylera been able to marry as they desired, Ylera’s kin would have been Azhani’s. Filled now with mixed feelings as she beheld the young man, she nevertheless kept her expression neutral.
Allyndev blinked slowly. “I had heard she was here.” He turned to her. “Welcome to Oakheart. I…sorrow with you. I treasured Aunt Ylera deeply.”
“Thank you,” she said.
Grinning proudly, Lyssera draped her arm around Allyndev’s shoulders. “You are to become her student, Allyn. It’s my hope she’ll be able to instill in you some sense of how to defend yourself.”
The look on Allyndev’s face was anything but excited, but Azhani ignored it. Still filled with mixed feelings, she brusquely told him, “We’ll meet in the salle at dawn. Don’t be late.” She started to go, wondering if he’d react to her tone at all.
With a much-put-upon sigh, Allyndev sullenly replied, “Yes, Azhani.”
Lesson one. Respect everyone, regardless of station—for if you offer it, it will be returned. With hardly a flicker of motion, she was upon him, ripping the axe from his hand and pushing him out of Lyssera’s grasp, pinning him to the trunk of the great tree. Pressing the edge of the blade to his throat, she growled, “Master Azhani, my prince. Queen Lyssera has named me as your instructor, and as such, I will tell you that respect offered brings its return. I may be little more than a simple retainer, but I am more than your match in the arena of weaponry. You will accord me the title of master until such time as you can walk from a battlefield beside me.” She pulled the axe back, stepped away from him, and offered him the tool hilt first.
“Y-yes, Master Azhani,” he stammered, managing not to drop the axe as he took it back.
The first lesson had been learned.
Two days passed. Each morning, Azhani promised herself that this would be the day she fetched Kyrian from the herbalist’s house. By the end of the day, she’d talked herself out of it, making excuses to keep busy. First, she had to relearn every corridor and bridge of Oakheart Manor, to be certain nothing hid in the shadows that might harm her friend. Then there was Allyndev, whose needs as a student kept her busy for many candlemarks. Lyssera also bought much of Azhani’s precious time, calling her into meetings for advice and education about the rimerbeasts, about Arris, and about anything else she or her council might ask.
It was after one such meeting that Azhani discovered an old friend wandering the halls of Oakheart. Kuwell Longhorn, a dwarven blacksmith and warrior with a huge sense of humor and an even greater sense of honor, had been a friend to her family for close to twenty years.
“Azhani! By the hammers of my ancestors, it’s good to see you!” He embraced her, pounding her back with rough affection.
“Kuwell, old friend! I didn’t expect to see you so far from your mead hall!” She kissed his bearded cheek fondly.
A look of sheer surprise crossed his craggy features. “Ye haven’t heard then? Old Uldvar dragged his arse up to me door and set me to th’ task o’ roostin’ among these elven birds!”
Chuckling in amusement, she said, “No, I hadn’t heard,” as they made their way over to a cluster of chairs near a fireplace and motioned for a servant to bring refreshments. “You’ll have heard what happened since last we met in the Crest, then?”
“Aye. ’Tis a tale fit to make a man drown himself in ale and mead. I’d hear it again, though, if ye’ve a mind to tell an old man the truths which rumors make lies,” he said quietly.
Over mulled wine and pheasant pie, she told him of loving—and losing—Ylera Kelani. Her tale covered every facet of the truth from serving her king, to Thodan’s death, to Arris’ rise to power and her own terrible fall from grace. In the end, he was holding her hand, his massive, scarred and calloused fingers engulfing hers. “Lass, ye know ye’ve got me at yer side. And rimerbeasts!” He spat. “I’ll be to my writing desk after this, though I don’t know how much Uldvar can help us—have ye heard? There be reports of a dragon harrowing tunnels and farms!”
In shock, she blurted, “No! Goddess!” Dragons had been gone from Y’Myran so long that they were myths when the Firstlanders came. “Surely it’s something else?”
He shook his head. “Not accordin’ to the few reports that have made their way here. Frankly, ’tis fair surprisin’ I’ve not been called home to help battle the beastie. ’Til I’m told otherwise, ye’ve got the aid o’ the Longhorns. I swear by Astarus’ forge, we’ll see that no rimerbeasts come east.”
“Thank you. I’ll inform Lyssera of your pledge. I’m sure it’ll help for her to know that she has you at her back,” she said, feeling very grateful for this chance meeting. After arranging to speak again in a few days’ time, they parted.
It was now time for Allyndev’s afternoon lesson. With most everyone off at court, it was quiet in the halls, allowing her the opportunity to reflect on her surroundings. There was not much about Oakheart she could not admire. The castle—indeed most of the city—was a living structure shaped from the trees by Y’Syr’s greatest mages, a secretive sect of elves known only as “the gardeners”.
Holding a position in elven society above that of even the most venerable of starseekers, a gardener’s entire life was given to the care of the kingdom’s massive trees. From a young age, those gifted with the skills of a gardener were taught to control a form of magick that allowed them to manipulate the very essence of life itself. It was an art that could be—and sadly, had been—used for great evil, thus only those with the purest of hearts and souls were allowed to join their ranks.
Azhani felt nothing but respect for the gardeners, and for young Allyndev himself, for he had wished to be among their number. Sadly, he had not been born with the gift. Otherwise his place in the Y’Syran court would have been quickly assured, for gardeners were respected and beloved no matter their familial origins. She passed a liveried guard, who offered her a sketchy half bow. Her own status had been finalized the prior evening, and now she wore a tabard that marked her as one of Lyssera’s personal retainers. It gave her access to all of Oakheart Manor, a stipend, and a suite of rooms not far from the queen’s study. For that, she was accorded the official title of Special Liaison to the guard and Master-at-Arms for Prince Allyndev.
Titles notwithstanding, this meant that in the event of a rimerbeast spawning, she would do as she had during previous beast seasons and lead Lyssera’s army. Y’Syr had been without a warleader since Princess Alynna’s untimely death, and Lyssera had yet to choose a successor. In past years, Azhani had liaised with several of the queen’s lieutenants and sergeants, coordinating the efforts between the Y’Syran and Y’Dani armies in order to combat the rimerbeast threat.
Many of the Y’Syran foot soldiers—and most of the court—had been blissfully unaware that their defense had been due to her efforts. In the event that she was called to lead the armies north, Azhani expected to face anger and outrage from certain members of the court and the military. To say that this didn’t bother her would be a lie, but it was among the least of her current worries.
Azhani had asked the queen why she did not just name a new warleader, but Lyssera had been adamant about keeping the position open, though she’d laughed and jokingly added, “Unless you want the job?”
While it was tempting to take up the mantle once again, it felt like putting on a cloak of honor she had not yet earned. Hastily she’d declined and changed the subject to Arris and how to deal with him over the coming months, for he was certain to learn of her whereabouts and seek to do something about it. Lyssera’s answer had been pointedly simple—she would deal with Arris when the time came.
Of the other kingdoms, they had little news beyond unsubstantiated rumors of strife and trouble, but with Y’Dror dealing with a dragon and rimerbeasts spawning far out of season, Azhani was beginning to wonder if those stories might contain a grain of truth.
Prince Allyndev had learned his first lesson well—almost too well, for now his respect was heavily tinged with fear. Over time, she hoped this would ease. What else he would learn from her remained to be seen. Guilt touched her thoughts then, for he had initially greeted her with kindness and she had returned it with harsh words—words he may not have deserved had she given him time to know her. She could only attribute her actions to the maelstrom of emotion that had affected her upon their meeting. In Ylera’s nephew, Azhani could see so many ghosts of her lost beloved—ghosts she saw in Lyssera, as well.
Oh, Kyrian, I need you. You would help me make sense of everything in my head. It was time and past to be honest with herself, for there were no excuses not to go back to her friend and beg her forgiveness. It was safe in Oakheart, safer than even at Tellyn Jarelle’s, where there were no guardsmen to turn away those who might put a knife in Kyrian’s back simply for helping Azhani Rhu’len survive. Staying away now only prolonged her friend’s ire. I’ll go tonight, after Allyn’s lesson.
A page ran up to her then, and pressed a sealed message into her hand, racing off before she could say more than a hasty thanks. Opening it, she found a summons to attend Lyssera after Allyndev’s lesson. For some reason, instead of being vexed, Azhani found herself relieved.
Goddess, what am I afraid of? Pausing in the hall, she stared at her reflection in a nearby mirror, noting that her eyes looked hollow and shadowed, as if she had not slept well. In truth, she had not—for when she was able to seek her bed, her nights had been filled with nightmares. Forcing herself to face the truth, she sighed and silently admitted, I don’t want her to be mad at me. Goddess, I’m a fool. I need her. She’s become too important to lose. Tomorrow, I must go and apologize, and hope…hope that she isn’t too vexed with me.
“I shouldn’t keep distracting you like this,” Lyssera said ruefully as she welcomed Azhani into her office. “But I feel closer to her, with you here.”
Solemnly, Azhani nodded. “As do I, Lyss. What did you wish to talk about?” Since she’d arrived at Oakheart, Azhani’s nights had been filled with conversations. Some of them had been about war and rimerbeasts, but when it was just her and Lyssera, it had almost always focused on their one common bond: Ylera.
They each found comfort in the other’s presence, though for Azhani, that comfort was bittersweet. Lyssera was a friend, but her face so closely echoed Ylera’s that it made her hurt all the more for looking at it.
“Tonight, I think we should speak of Allyndev first,” Lyssera replied as she gestured to the chair that was fast becoming Azhani’s seat.
“All right. Where do you want to start?”
“You know he is young—by our standards still a child, though humans, of course, see him differently,” Lyssera said as she sat in the chair across from Azhani’s and poured them each a glass of Y’Tolian wine.
“He mentioned that he had recently passed his twentieth summer.” Azhani sipped the potent wine. The last thing she needed was to wake with a muddled head.
“Aye. As you know, Alynna was our warleader, but after she died it just didn’t seem right to name another in her place. I had Allyn to raise and I think part of me hoped that he would grow into the role. That somehow her prowess would have transferred to him, making him the perfect candidate to bear the Oakheart arms.” Regret made Lyssera’s tone wistful and touched with sadness. “That was not to be. He preferred the peaceful ways of the gardeners and honestly, I would have been overjoyed for him, were he able to wield their magicks.”
“But he’s no more mage gifted than I,” Azhani said dryly. “And not terribly inclined to scholarship, either. In Y’Dan, he’d have been little more than a rich merchant’s son, never focused, never forced to do anything but dabble in whatever delighted him.”
“Exactly.” Lyssera frowned and set her glass aside. “Here, however, because we prefer to pass the warleader’s mantle on to one who is of the Kelani family, it was most frustrating. When he turned sixteen, the council begged me to keep the position open rather than elevate him and put lives in danger.”
Considering how something like that would have made her feel, Azhani winced. “It can’t have helped his self-esteem much to have his birthright withheld.”
Lyssera shook her head. “It was not a pleasant day when I told him. The words he had for me were rather harsh, but perhaps deserved.”
“To him they likely were,” Azhani replied, then gave Lyssera a long, intent look. “But you were in the right. I know the way you elves think—you gain status from the deeds of those you influence. A sword master would care little for one whose life is short and lacking in opportunities to showcase their teacher’s skill. I was lucky that Swordmaster Delaye did not think thusly about me.”
“And no amount of money would entice him to stay in Oakheart, so Allyn could not benefit from his tutelage.” Lyssera made a face as she refilled her wine glass. Azhani’s was still half full. “But you’ve given me some hope, Azhi. You can prove his naysayers wrong.”
Azhani inclined her head. “Perhaps. Though I must say that after you put him under my care, I spent some time with the servants. They do not have a very high opinion of him.”
“No, they don’t.”
“Arrogant, they called him, when they were being kind.”
“Aye, though my council calls him standoffish to my face,” Lyssera said regretfully. “That is my failure. I let him have his way too many times when he was younger.”
“Hm. Well, after hearing all that, I was certain I’d spend more time spanking him instead of training him,” Azhani said dryly. “Thankfully, that has not been the case. In the main, he is merely a young man with a delicate ego, but he is also deeply uncertain of himself. In combination, this makes him difficult to teach, because he becomes filled with self-doubt if he does not immediately grasp a concept, then gets overconfident when he does.”
Lyssera shook her head. “A dreadful combination in any young man, but especially in a prince of Y’Syr. We elves strive hard not to be seen as emotionless, icy wraiths—it puts us too much to mind of the mythic Alyrr.”
Though Azhani knew little of the people that had ruled Y’Myran in the time before the Firstlanders, she did know the elves both feared and respected them deeply. “It is something I can train out of him, given enough time.”
“Then by the Twain’s grace, you shall have it,” she said, lifting her glass in a toast.
They talked more of Allyn and his hoped-for future. Then Lyssera, perhaps affected by the bottle and a half of wine she had consumed, reached down beside her, pulled a harp onto her lap and played. Entranced, Azhani listened as a spell of music so familiar it made her bones ache was woven around her. After a while, Lyssera stopped playing. “How did Ylera like Y’Dani music?”
