Lady Warhawk

L Levigne Michelle

Description

Raised in hiding, Athrar Warhawk emerges to claim his place and destiny as Warhawk's Heir. Guided by Mrillis and Meghianna, supported by his foster-brother, Lycen, Meghianna's adopted son, he tries to hold the alliance together as rebels and traitors fight for dominance. Young love turns to betrayal and loss, made worse by the political games of court and a growing schism between Noveni and Rey'kil.When Athrar finds his soul-mate, traitors and politics try to tear them apart, and magic tries to force her to betray him with Lycen. A new prophecy emerges, speaking of the Lady Warhawk, promising sorrow and hope for the future-even as the Nameless One emerges from hiding and begins his final campaign of destruction. Mrillis and Meghianna risk all to protect the defenseless thousands who have fled to Moerta, and in so doing lock the defenders in with their enemy, for all time. Only the Lady Warhawk will hold the key to the future, and to freedom.

Sujets

• Science fiction

Informations

• Publié par: Uncial Press
• Date de parution: 16 avril 2010
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781601740533
• Langue: English

Extrait

LADY WARHAWK
Zygradon Chronicles #4
 
By
Michelle L. Levigne
 
 
Uncial Press       Aloha, Oregon 2010
 
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events described herein areproducts of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real.Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirelycoincidental.
ISBN 13: 978-1-60174-053-3 ISBN 10: 1-60174-053-0
Copyright © 2010 by Michelle L. Levigne
Cover design Copyright © 2010 by Judith B. Glad Backgroundimage: The Crab Nebula from VLT by FORS Team, 8.2-meter VLT, ESO
All rights reserved. Except for use in review, the reproduction or utilization of this workin whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known orhereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the author or publisher.
Published by Uncial Press, an imprint of GCT, Inc.
Visit us at http://www.uncialpress.com
 
Before the ending of all things worthwhile and strong,there will be three drops of blood born to the bloody sword. The daughtersshall walk in light and be strong, but the son shall overstep them. One shallserve and one abominate and one will triumph. One will sleep and one shallwait and one shall suffer. They shall do so forever, and yet even to foreverthere is an ending. The blood drawn from the third shall open the doors andsmooth the road and waken the sleeper. Protect the strong and vigilant, sothat the three drops of blood may come. Though you look for theabomination, you will not find her until she has destroyed innocence. Keep herfrom the blood drawn from the blood, or all is lost.
Chapter One
Time ran out for them, the summer that Meghianna's sons turned fourteen andfifteen.
To the rest of the world, she was the Widow Ianni, who ran a small, clean inn in a quiet,respectable quarter of the growing port city of Quenlaque. Her dark-dyed hair had a strongreddish cast, which neatly explained her healing talents to her neighbors and friends, and her twosuitors, Kaldar, a merchant sailor captain, and Ector, head of the garrison in Quenlaque.
Technically, only one of her sons was her son--Lycen, the elder. The younger boy,Thrarin, was Ianni's little brother, orphaned when he was three years old--at least, that was thestory Meghianna told her friends when Mrillis, disguised as a horse trader, brought the little boyto live with her one blustery winter night.
In truth, Thrarin was Athrar, Warhawk's heir. The attempts on the boy's life had grownsevere enough to prompt Efrin Warhawk and his queen, Glyssani, to send the boy away intohiding, just as Meghianna had predicted nearly four years before.
She had prepared for that need, establishing herself as a healer and innkeeper and widowwith a son. Enemies would expect the Warhawk's heir to be hidden at the Stronghold. Theywould waste resources, magic, and years trying to break through the protective spells enfoldingthe Rey'kil fortress. Meanwhile, Athrar would grow up believing himself the orphaned brother ofan innkeeper, safely hidden in Quenlaque.
Meghianna had adopted Lycen, the orphaned infant son of Lysette, one of her ladieswho had left the Stronghold to set up a school in the foothills of the Wayhauk Mountains. Sheand her Valor husband, Syndal, had died defending their Encindi and Rey'kil students frompureblood fanatics who preferred murder to cleanse the land, rather than allowing Encindi andNoveni 'invaders' to pack up their possessions and leave. They justified the murder of the Rey'kilstudents by calling them traitors to Rey'kil purity. Meghianna planned to tell Lycen the truth ofhis parents' identities and lives and deaths someday. She wasn't sure when. It was the sweetestjoy in her life to have the fair-haired toddler follow her about the inn, determined to help withlittle chores, asking for stories and calling her Mama.
When Thrarin joined their household, Lycen was duly impressed with theresponsibilities of being an older brother. He made Meghianna want to laugh and cry at the sametime when he immediately took Thrarin under his wing and insisted she was to be called Mother,not Sister.
Her disguise as an innkeeper and healer brought the world to Athrar/Thrarin. Peopleknew who he was, knew he was there, and yet ignored him when he was underfoot, runningerrands, listening to stories. From Kaldar and Ector and the soldiers and sailors and tradesmenwho frequented the inn, Lycen and Thrarin learned about the world, about warfare and danger,about swordplay and the tricks of the wind and weather, tracking and wounds, treachery andheroism, through the stories the men told on long, cold or rainy evenings. When Lycen wanted tolearn to handle sword and bow and to ride something more spirited than the carthorse that hauledthe inn's supplies, Ector snuck him into the garrison for lessons on the sly. And of course, whereLycen went, Thrarin was his shadow.
By the time their life of simplicity and safe anonymity ended, Lycen and Thrarin weretoughened by short trips along the coast with trustworthy men like Kaldar, and hours ofswordplay and helping tend the horses of the garrison. They were restless, eager to spread theirwings and explore the world beyond the streets of Quenlaque and the harbor and thegarrison.
What am I to do? Meghianna complained to Mrillis that morning whenprophecy and destiny caught up with them. She sat in her inn in Quenlaque while he rodethrough a midnight forest in Moerta. My little boys are growing up. Does every mother feelthis way?
Every parent, Mrillis told her. I know we planned to wait until Athrar wasseventeen, but the boy is good with weapons, alert, agile--and he has his brother constantlywatching over him. The Estall blessed us when he put Lycen into your care. Most older brotherswould consider their little brothers a burden and punish them for it daily. He doesn't makeThrarin chafe against his leadership, either.
Hmm, yes, that's true. I keep forgetting my boys are a little unusual, Meghiannaresponded, earning laughter from the enchanter.
Such talk depressed her. She didn't look forward to the day her boys were too big forsnuggling together on the big, broken-legged, lumpy couch in the front room of their quarters,telling stories and laughing together. Truthfully, her boys had outgrown the need to cuddle withtheir mother, but she hadn't outgrown that need to cuddle them, to smooth their hair out of theirfaces and tug their clothes straight and hug them, pretending that was all she needed to do toprotect them from the bumps and scrapes of life.
Not even her power and authority as Queen of Snows would be enough to protect herboys when they took their destined places in front of the world and prophecy swept them up inits current.
We might be wise to change our plan, Mrillis said. Our enemies constantlywatch all the castles of the highest ranking nobles on Lygroes, and the most loyal of the minorkings here on Moerta. And I fear for you, my dear.
Me? Now Meghianna could laugh, more in surprise than anything else. Why?
It has been fifteen years since anyone has seen the Queen of Snows. Theenchantments we wrapped around the Stronghold, to keep out visitors and permitcommunication are still strong--but someone must suspect the enchantments, because I haveheard a dozen rumors in the last moon that the Queen of Snows is dead.
How many of our enemies spread rumors of my death to force my hand? How manyof them have decided I'm not there at all, and are looking for me throughout theWorld?
Exactly. Someone who remembers you originally had red hair, before powerbleached it white, may have an idea of what you should look like, and eventually findyou.
Do we leave our life behind, then? Move the boys to the Stronghold for a fewyears?
Give them a strong foundation in magic. Lycen needs to explore his heritage. AndAthrar certainly has more magic in his blood than Efrin, from living with you, Mrillisadded.
Meghianna opened her eyes and looked around the tiny loft room, where she kept theaccount books and tallies of supplies. It let her look out over the main room of the inn and keepwatch over all the traffic. Someone was bound to come looking for her soon. It was a law ofnature that she couldn't have more than ten minutes of privacy at a time. She got up and leanedagainst the window in the wall.
There were her boys, two fair heads, Lycen with his curls and Thrarin with his straight,coarse locks, their crossed arms resting on the table, their shoulders hunched as they listened toCaptain Ector tell them about his latest adventures while out on patrol. The Encindi rebels weremore active and destructive than usual, meaning the winter illnesses and starvation hadn'tdecimated their numbers. Meghianna welcomed Ector's visits because he made a point ofemphasizing the darker aspects of a soldier's life--wounds and long hours in the saddle anddanger. If only he wouldn't insist on asking her at least twice a year to marry him.
She admired Ector, and loved him as a good friend, but he always smelled of sweatymetal and sour leather, belched too often, and ate with his fingers. Meghianna knew those wereridiculous reasons to refuse a man, but she couldn't find any reasons to accept him. He didn'tmake her heart sing. Until her heart sang for a man, she wouldn't give it to anyone.
Mrillis...you said they're looking for Thrarin at the castles of minor kings? ArePirkin and Ynessa and their family all right?
I'm going to Goarlotte now to bolster our protective spells. What more logical placeto hide the Warhawk's heir than in the kingdom of his most loyal ally? Especially someonerelated by blood to the Warhawk's Enchanter? Mrillis' mental voice sounded utterly wearywith that last admission.
Meghianna ached for him. If any harm ever came to Pirkin and Ynessa, their three sonsand five-year-old Ynfara because of their connection to him, he would never forgivehimself.