The Legend of

HEARTSTONEVolume 2:

Daughter of War

L.H. Nail

This novel is a work of fiction. Any references to real events,

persons, businesses, organizations, and locales are intended only to

give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity. Any resemblance

to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or

transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical,

including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and

retrieval system, without the written permission of the Author/Sweet

South Ink Publishing, except where permitted by law.

For information address:

Sweet South Ink Publishing P.O. Box 311, Pfafftown, N.C. 27040.

Published by Sweet South Ink Publishing

All rights reserved - L.H. Nail.

ISBN-13:

978-1480242906

ISBN-10:

148024290X

The Legend of Heartstone Series copyright 2008 L.H. Nail

TLOH Book 2: Daughter of War copyright 2012 L.H. Nail

The design and all likenesses representing the Heartstone crest are

trademarks of The Legend of Heartstone and property of L.H. Nail.

Book two character rendering and cover created by L.H. Nail using

Daz3D software/downloads, GNU Image Manipulation Program,

Corel 14 and seemingly unending man hours.

Other books by this author:

The Legend of Heartstone - Book 1

Sisterhood of Steel

The Legend of Heartstone - Book 2

Daughter of War

* Coming Soon *

The Legend of Heartstone - Book 3

Sons of Aramus

For Lori, Mark and the kids (Micah, Mallori, Holly). The Mamas

Cravy (my ‘peep’ Laura C. and Catherine the great) Jason and

the TEAM, Carl the warrior and his flock of Coopers. To Marta

and family (Hi ‘C’), Kim R., Kat (Cousin J and those three handsome

boys), Ms. Kim, Kathleen (Adam & Eden plus one to come) and all

the babies (not excluding Lucy and Cosmo, of course). The Fulks

(thanks John), Sean, ‘J. Squire’, and other fantasy loving friends.

Clarence S. - the most well-read man I know. My one and only

Cindy, her valiant son, Matt and James who was born to be

someone’s knight in shining armor. As always, my hubby and our

pride and joy. Mom, dad and the most awesome in-laws on the

planet. And to our men and women in uniform, for every hour you

are apart from your families. God bless and see you safely home.

Love and honor to you all.

The legend continues . . .

TABLE of CONTENTS

Prologue: Son of the Sea . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 16

1-Rain: By God and New Morning . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 24

2-Lira: The Underneath . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 36

3-Sorano: How, Under Heaven . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 49

4-Shara: Raise Up Thine Warriors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 59

5-Rain: Daughter of War . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 70

6-Lira: How Broken the Crown . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 78

7-Sorano: So Too, the Messenger . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 83

8-Shara: A Lion in Wait . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 93

9-Rain: Sweat, Stone and Sand . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 102

10-Lira: Chains . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 110

11-Sorano: Toe to Crown . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 115

12-Shara: Awakening . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 121

13-Rain: Outside, In & Through . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 125

14-Lira: A Traitor Among Enemies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 134

15-Sorano: In the Black . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 139

16-Shara: Beyond the Mountain . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 144

17-Rain: We Serve Still . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 151

18-Lira: A Visit from the Devil . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 156

19-Sorano: Bad Dreams . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 161

20-Shara: Beneath the Dead . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 167

21-Rain: Buried Alive . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 172

22-Lira: Return of the Watchers . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 177

23-Sorano: Time & Time Again . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 185

24-Shara: Forgotten . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 194

25-Rain: The Lair of the Warrior . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 202

26-Lira: Circle of Sorrows . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 207

27-Sorano: God’s Wall . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 211

28-Shara: Wounded . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 218

29-Rain: Waking . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 228

30-Lira: Dead is Better . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 236

31-Sorano: A Devil at the Gates . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 244

32-Shara: Secrets . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 249

33-Rain: Soul, Salt & Sand . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 259

34-Lira: Was, Is and Is Not . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 268

35-Sorano: A Season for Dying . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 273

36-Shara: Remember Not . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 279

37-Rain: Flesh, Fire & Forgotten Things . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 285

38-Lira: Trapped . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 293

39-Sorano: Good or Ill . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 297

40-Shara: Unraveling . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 305

41-Rain: Barbs and Bloom . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 309

42-Lira: Right Through My Fingers . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 320

43-Sorano: Into the Narrows . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 328

44-Shara: Fire on the Wind . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 337

45-Rain: Break as the Tide . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 343

46-Lira: Out of the Grave . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 348

47-Sorano: Blade In, Blade Out . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 352

48-Shara: This One Thing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 361

49-Rain: Only One . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 364

50-Lira: It Lives . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 369

51-Sorano: The Good From Dross . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 375

52-Shara: Unraveling . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 380

53-Rain: Come Giants, Come All . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 385

54-Lira: Hounds in the Halls . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 392

55-Sorano: Dance With the Devil . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 400

56-Shara: Turn of Chance . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 407

57-Rain: So Say the Dead . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 413

58-Lira: Shattered . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 421

59-Sorano: Late Or Never . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 426

60-Shara: A Thunderous Chord . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 433

61-Rain: No Small Matter . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 439

62-Lira: Enemy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 447

63-Sorano: Blood on Blood . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 452

64-Shara: And So I Must Be . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 458

65-Rain: Raise Up thine Land . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 465

66-Lira: Fire on the Mountain . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 477

Sorano: The Way of Dying . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 487

EPILOGUE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 497

And the first son grew bitter of the power held sway over

him, having known the taste of a magic so great as to

make him without any equal. His vanity would be the

foundation of the destroyer’s reign, leaving the brotherhood of

our newly created naked to his rage. Then came the second of

those most favored sons, and he was found to be exceedingly

faithful; being set above the first by the Father of worlds. By his

hand; this mighty second son, the battles began and the skies

did burn, as the wars of the Chosen encompassed a universe of

God’s making.

Excerpt found in the Valerian Codex

as was translated by Watcher Maven Hine;

age unknown.

16

Prologue:

Son of the Sea{Current day Northern Kingdom}

The sea, she hates us.” Nolan Hine cast his fistful of sand into the

wind, shaking his head at his thoughts.

Booted footfall rumbled above he and his companion where

they had hidden away beneath one of several docks.

“Papa, an ocean has no allegiances. Not like men,” his

grandson insisted, watching the angry waves come and go.

Vestor Hine eyed his grandfather from the edge of his vision,

waiting for his thoughts to come full circle.

As of late, the old Ship Master had had little good to say.

Now, he absently brushed the sands from his dark woolen coat; never

mind that even the fabric of a seaman’s garb seemed woven with

grains in the thread. Vestor took note of the deepening lines in

Nolan’s once jovial expression, worrying with the collar to his own

heavy coat. The boy felt the scruff across his chin, checking it

against the full beard neatly cropped on his grandfather’s own;

admiring the look of the solid figure at his side.

Nolan Hine was a legend at sea, as was his father before him.

Their family had kept near to the rolling waves and away from the

troubles inland for unknown generations. It had always been their

way. However, with the raising of this new King, came an

unwelcome onslaught of newcomers; all of them wearing the mark

17

of tyranny with pride. Wave after wave of the newly recruited

choked the pier, stinking of ambition and armed to the teeth. They

muttered and growled at any who passed, but where Vestor ignored

them, Nolan seethed in their wake.

It had been a long day. One of far too many, and there were

many more such as these to come. Even now, the Moon King’s

armies came and went on the wharf, shuffling along the docks in

straight lines. Day and night, they would wait until called to the

ships lining the bay. Every face wore some stain of battle. Whether

marked by a skirmish in an alley, or a clash beneath some

unfortunate city’s gates, those men had scars to confess their

allegiances. Worse still, every eye had that wild look of being

powered by Rile Moon’s drug.

Not all of those men on the wharf would be addicts. Not yet,

but eventually. And in the end, what the earthblood took away from

them would be clearly viewed in the soulless hollows of their eyes.

What it afforded them, however, was a tireless hunger to deal out

death in gory abundance. Whatever this King desired, he gathered in

the culminated fist of these men, and thus far, no other realm had

bettered them. At least, none until now.

One people had chosen to stand against these butchers and

their inexhaustible might. A solitary few who were willing to die for

their sovereignty.

“Why so many?” Nolan asked, working the white on his chin

with a big, callused hand.

“What?”

“Them,” he began, raising his eyes to the clamor above them.

“Moon’s army. Why so many to take down one tiny island? It makes

no sense!”

“Oh, that . . .” Vestor grunted, determined to share the latest

talk. “Well, Hedder says word is the Island Queen killed Moon’s

nephew few years gone. They sent his bones back on a trader’s ship.

Looked like he’d been dead a good while.”

18

“An’tis good riddance, says I,” Nolan insisted with a thick fist

ground into his palm. “That one was a terror and a louse if there ever

was.” The blustery old man scowled.

Vestor checked his surrounding beneath the dock and then

leaned in with a whisper. “Yeh, but she took out a Brother and the

whole lot of ‘em that went with the boy, too. None of ‘em came

back.”

“Better killed than captured,” Nolan reasoned.

“Tell the Sons of Aramus that and it’s both our heads on a

pike. We’ll be dead b’fore sunrise.”

Nolan Hine looked on the young man with a regretful eye.

His grandson did not know war, and under this King, Nolan knew

nothing good would come of the one being waged now.

“Maybe so, Vestor,” he finally said, “but that don’t make it

right; this thing the Moon King does.”

“Ship Master!”

Nolan and Vestor jumped, each searching the eye of the other,

wondering if they had been overheard. The constant goings-on above

could not snuff out the bellow of the man who called them. Admiral

Agiss Ver San, the bastard of the ocean and a mean, contentious sort

if there ever was. He was a lean skeletal fellow, but rumored to have

a frightening bit of strength in him. Some said he had punched a hole

clear through his second, just for spilling ale on his uniform. Most

swore it was truth.

“Ship Master!”

The old man and the youth scrambled from underneath the

shade and out into the grays of the season. “Aye Admiral, just takin’

a lunch with m’ boy, see.”

“What I see, “ the Admiral growled, “is that the Blackwind

has a belly full of store but no men. Where is my crew!”

“What? Well I . . .” Nolan’s words ended as did his ability to

breathe. He was hoisted off the ground as if he were only a small

child.

19

“I am not concerned with explanations, Ship Master. You

will have those men at the ready before midday, or I will feed you

and the boy to the fish. Do we have an understanding?”

Nolan’s limited nod had him released from the Admiral’s

grip; his grandson worrying over him as he filled his lungs while

kneeling in the sand.

“Vestor, go grab the men,” he whispered. “Go, boy! Search

every bar, every other bed. Get them down here. Now!”

His grandson took off at a run, calling names against the roar

of the El’Varion while the old seaman struggled to stand. Nolan

looked back as another spirited round of waves rolled up the beach,

shaking his head at the sadness that filled him hat to heel.

“Aye, you hate us for sure, don’t you ole girl?” he mumbled

against the salted bluster, and then, pulling his heavy coat closed to

the cold, Nolan Hine made his way to the docks.

There, the dead-eyed army walked their lines without notice

of the fellow in their midst. Rows of them stood stone-faced and

looking into the horizon, waiting to board one of twenty six ships

snugged along the quay. The ocean was choked with a constant

coming and going, rocking tirelessly into the sands as the ships came

and went.

Nolan stepped carefully about them, twisting in and out of the

eerie silence and toward the last and largest of all the King’s ships.

These men had no set uniform but that swath of red high on their

arms. It was all they required.

Over and beyond so many heads, long down the line of

moored ships, old Nolan Hine saw the menace of the sea, her masts

towering above all others. The Blackwind was newly built; so big

that even the El’Varion failed to hardly move her while she sat on its

back.

The aged Ship Master walked the long stretch of dock,

entertaining the possibility of his death that day with apparent calm.

He could taste the imminence of it behind the crisp salt air. It had

20

been a constant struggle for him to reason away worry under the

newly raised King, and would seem to be a struggle shared by all. At

the least, Moon’s predecessor, Faylor the XII had the will of the

people on his tongue, even if the desires of the many were rarely met;

but not this King. This unknown, one come from among the lesser

lines of Lords, had managed a fearsome overtaking of a throne once

held by a most respected house.

Whatever the King named of the Moon desired, was handed

to him by armies of faithful, on a platter bathed in the blood of

innocents. That was the lot of both the Northern and Southern

realms, and now these armies massed to take down a lone Queen on

an Island in the fold of the El’Varion’s breast. Nolan snickered

through his snowy beard, glaring at the backs of the armies who, thus

far, had failed to take out New Eden’s few. Secretly he urged the

unknown island Matriarch to victory every time the quays filled with

the Moon King’s men. Inwardly, he prayed that she was ready for the

fight to come.

Other than those waiting troops, there were none there to

greet Nolan as he rushed the steep incline to the big ship’s deck,

gripping the swayed hemp strung along the side.

“All men up!” he called when he reached the top, but none

answered.

The lengths of sails were wound tight and waiting. Every line

was at the ready but there were none aboard, it seemed, to loose the

Blackwind’s majesty to the wind.

“All men up, I say,” the Ship Master yelled again, wandering

the polished deck alone, calling above the creak of the wood beneath

his feet. “Bloody sailors,” he swore.

Going below, Nolan threw back every door, checking the

bunks with a glance and moved into the big ships belly, finding the

kitchen without a cook, or even a common mouse. Instead he found

half-full cups sitting absent their owners, and a boot that lay forgotten

in the middle of the floor.

21

“Spending your money before it’s earned. All men . . . ” he

began again, and then choked on his words, his eyes glued to the

polished plank floor.

Beginning with that lone boot was a stretch of stain, marring

the perfect sheen of the new wood. And that was when the smell hit

him.

“Phew . . . ” he covered his mouth and nose, eyes down

on the dark smears reaching beneath the gallow doors.

Nolan had seen blood on a ship before. There were

almost always the beginnings mutinies, or arguments had

between sailors full of drink. Men had come back from raids,

some missing arms or legs, others short their lives. It was war,

and if the fighting didn’t kill you, than the cramped quarters

at sea, would. That was the nature of it. With this in mind,

Nolan stomped off through the hung doors and toward the

narrow stair leading into the belly of the Blackwind.

“Already killin’ yourselves over gamin’ or women.

Fools all, I say. Fools every one! “ he swore, his words

sounding small in the deepening hollows of the ship.

There was a slight lurch, as the El’Varion made herself

known, while Nolan fought the bile rising in his throat. It was

that smell. Something about it was wrong, somehow.

The old man grumbled as he went, gathering courage

around him, the tiny hairs on his neck rising with alarm. He

took a second set of narrow stair, and Nolan stood beneath the

tide; down where the cool kept sane men away. The slight

creek hardly heard above deck was the sound of a tomb’s aged

doors; the hinges of imagination raking the skins of the mind.

All around him, the stores to feed an army were

arranged in neat rows and piles. Barrels of ale and wine were

netted in place. Paths wound between an infinite sort of

22

necessity, some in trunks, some in crates or bundled and

swinging from hooks. But all of it needed for the invasion of

an island sitting alone in the middle of the sea.

If not for the storehouse doors on deck being thrown

wide, there would have been no light at all in that place. As it

was, Nolan avoided the darkest crags and corners, following

the deeper red trail of blood. It led aft in the ship, and further

from the light that tunneled weakly into the hollow bottoms.

“Come now. What cha done is no business of mine,” he

rasped, “we got a ship to put to sea. “ the old sailor soothed,

knowing that behind it all, he was somehow only pleading for

his life.

The Ship Master opened his mouth again, hoping to call

out the victor of some sailor’s argument when he stepped into

an open space. It was absent of any box or barrel. Instead,

there was a long crate burst open and from it a knot of

rumpled cloth; all of it soaked in dark blood. Clumps of earth

lay scattered in a ring about the shattered wood, some of it

floating in the shallow red pools.

Nolan swallowed hard behind his hand, straining to see

in such dim light, and then there came the sound; an almost

welcoming whisper that seemed to caress his soul in barbed

strokes. The old man trembled beneath that slight touch,

looking around into every dark corner and seeing nothing but

the shadow in them.

“What?”

“SSSSStaaaaay,” it came again; a wet, thrumming gurgle

purred at him from within and without.

“Who are you?” he insisted nervously, hoisting his fist

in the air with menace. “Show yourself!”

The Ship Master’s words were met with an abrupt shift

23

in those sea-cooled bottoms. A shadow swayed almost

seductively on the edge of his vision, remaining just outside of

the pooled light in which Nolan stood. It was as a lady of the

evening who held firm to her darkened doorway. Even the

limited light from the cargo doors seemed to retreat from that

shadow, where the intruder breathed in rattled draws. Nolan

could almost see the eyes watching him.

“Ssshhhhhh ,” the voice soothed. “I have been waiting for

you, son of prophets.”

“Waiting for . . . ? Woman I am no son of naught but

the sea,” Nolan began but his burst of greater courage seeped

from him as from an opened wound.

“Son of salt, yessss. But blood of prophets run in your veins.”

The thing in the shadows corrected as it slid into the light; a

beast free of the lair, its words grating along the inside of

Nolan’s skull. “You will ssserve.”

The white haired sailor choked on a scream that

thundered wildly beneath his flesh. It was as if a heavy weight

wrapped around him from crown to toe, one that felt too

much akin to laying within a heaping pile of dead. Suddenly

Nolan was quite sure he was suffocating.

Perhaps he was, he thought; as a final stream of muted

day passed over his shoulder. He followed that thinning ray

of life to the glistening remains that lie at the end of a trail of

blood. It appeared that the Blackwind would need a new

cook, and by the looks of things, a new ship master as well.

“Ssserve,” the demon sang in his ear, but all Nolan Hine

could hear was the sound of the ocean tides.

24

CHAPTER 1

Rain: By God and New Morning

I am not wearing this!”

“You will, Rain, or I will take your refusal straight to your

Grandfather.”

“This is stupid!” I swore, roughly kneading the satiny blue

material between my fists. “I might as well have a bulls-eye on my

back.”

“Lady Heartstone, you will honor the wishes of the Keepers,

or as God is witness, I myself will issue punishment in full view of

their council!”

“A spanking?” I fumed, but the elder woman was unmoved.

“I can, and will, Lady Rain. Certain and sure,” she promised

with a sniff.

Not a promise, I corrected myself. This was a threat.

With a submissive shrug, I grinned at her, towering from my

greater height. The old woman’s hair was a snowy, fly-away

catastrophe, every line of her face marked with more years than she

would number. Thick spectacles hung off the end of her nose,

leaving the impression that she might be looking down on you if not

for her being so short in stature.

Ole Ginnie Winter was as resolved in this as she was anything

else, leaving me helpless beneath the more heavy of all her many,

daily demands.

“Okay, Miss Ginnie, but not one word to Logan,” I pleaded.

“He would never let me live it down.”

25

“I wouldn’t even consider it, young one. Anyway, my

greatson has his own worries this day. Now, into the dress.” With a

grunt, the little woman stepped quick to, and then out, my door.

I was alone.

It had been a long time since I had had to have that argument

and the only time I had ever lost in it. Grandmother never made me

wear those awful things when I was a child, if for no other reason

than the inconvenience of having to listen to my protest.

Anyway, there was no place for such frills at Island’s End. No

one in their right mind would haul wash or slop hogs in their finest.

There’s no hunting with swishy, frilly girly stuff running off all your

supper. And you certainly can not climb trees in a blasted dress!

They were useless attire, as best I could figure, but both

Grandmother, and of recent, my best friend were apt to disagree.

Grandmother dressed up all the time now that she was back

on the throne. She said she had to, to satisfy the people’s vision of

leadership. But I think she did it because she looked so pretty in

those things. My friend E’mory was worse. One of the best young

warriors in the mountain, and as good a climber as me. But you get

her near the boys for courting and she loses her mind. I thought it

was a phase, but Ginnie swore I would do the same one day. I of

course, was adamant that I would not.

So much had changed, these past several years. How long

had it been?

“Too long,” I answered myself under my breath, popping my

head and arms out the top of my bane and snugging the dress over the

slight curve in my hips. I hated those new curves, almost as much as

I hated that dress. Almost.

A rumbling boom rippled beneath the bedrock and died; one

of many that this and nearly every day would bring. Northlander

encounters were often more skirmish than battle, but the caveborn

took each one as an affront; putting out the flame of resistance before

it burned full. It seemed strange to me to think that the cannon’s call

26

had become so common as to go unnoticed. Even so, those raids had

become as much a part of island life as the stony earth.

I often wondered if Rile Moon and his minions expected less

resistance, or maybe they were fooled by the years our Grand

Matriarch lay claim to. But I was not fooled. I knew my Queen’s

mettle. She was the epitome of a warrior; a thing of living legend

with her weapons being only an extension of her intent.

Ana’Lira Heartstone.

Oh, how I missed her. Every year she would make a showing

for my birthing day, if only for a few hours. I crammed in an account

of my studies, my dreams and all the angst of youth. In turn, she

shared the political currents of the kingdom, and the battles brewing

across the island. She was still my very best friend, although I had

claimed others since I had come here. But more than any, she was

my mentor, my disciplinarian and the only mother I had ever known.

Every day I wondered if the next battle she would lead, might take

from me my greatest ally, and every year she would come to assure

me that it had not.

It was worth the dress just to see her again, but I wasn’t going

to tell anyone I thought so.

A knock at the door, or more like an impatient pounding,

jarred the iron straps riveted into the heavy wood. “Come on, Rain,

we’ve got to go!”

I blew a sigh through my lips, stole one more passing glance

at the mirror, and threw the door open, hands quick to my hips.

“Not one word !” I warned with a scowl.

Filling my doorway was my nearest equivalent to a sister, and

most certainly my most trusted confidant since I had come to the

caves. E’mory Shine was just that, a bright light in the dull of the

mountain. Tall and stately, E’mory wore her womanhood like a

brilliant crown, but no one could take the mountain out of the girl.

And even though she had me by three years, she never held it against

me. Well, almost never.

27

“Rain, don’t you think it would look better without the

sword?” E’mory asked, her brow drawn high.

“Oh . . .” I felt about my waist, taking notice of the strap to

the baldric marring the silken blue. The short sword was there as

much out of habit as anything. I liked the weight of it, but admittedly,

it did nothing for the dress worth mentioning.

“Yeh, I guess so,” I agreed. “But at least the blue stone sets

off the fabric,” I said thumbing the jewel set in the blade’s hilt.

“Kind of nice, don’t you think?”

E’mory barked a laugh. “Never mind,” she said. “I guess the

council knows you well enough by now to be thankful you wore it at

all. Well?”

“Well what?”

“What are you waiting for, silly? Come on. We’re going to

be late.”

E’mory was out of sight before I could recheck my

appearance, leaving me to catch up in the halls. I suddenly found

myself worried over my hair, troubled that I had forgotten to glance

at it on the way out. I blew a vagrant strand from my eyes, and

lengthened my stride to match that of my friend’s long legged gate.

Nothing to be done for it now, I reasoned.

E’mory grinned over at me, and I growled in return.

“Excited?” she asked.

“About the meeting with the Council? Hardly,” I told her.

“I think it’s exciting,” she mumbled in return, trotting away

from me, most likely trying to keep from freezing.

I shrugged in the wake of my friend, determined to suffer

anything to wind my arms about Grandmother’s neck. She was

always at the forefront of my thoughts, but as of late it was my

dreams that she filled to overflowing.

In them I had lain in her arms again, a toddling child nuzzling

her neck while she read to me. The Matriarch’s seat sat majestically

before a roaring fire; Island’s End quiet beneath the colorful blanket

28

of fall. Her voice was as music, warming me. I would drift with

those words, following them into sleep, at peace. Content.

In another, I was being taught to ride a newly broken S’halya,

or perhaps it was better put to say that I was being schooled on how

not to fall off. The mare would stand as still as a statue and then the

moment Grandmother stepped away, S’hayla would prance, stepping

high as I tried not to squeal like a ninny. I met the ground with a

grunt, always determined to walk wherever I went as opposed to

getting back on that horrid beast.

I relived birthing days at a table for two. Recalled treks

through newly filled puddles and up my favorite trees. The smell of

morning meal drew me from sleep, only to find mountain stone and

Grandmother far from my affection. These dreams left me feeling

vulnerable, aching to tell her just how much I loved her and how

deeply I missed being in her shadow. I missed our home.

The caves, on the other hand, were only ever as warm as was

the Island ground, and this fall season had been especially chill. The

inside of the mountain was so cold we had sheets of ice forming

along some of the halls.

My breath steamed before my face as I trailed behind E’mory.

We dashed past some of the mountain youth, apologized to an aged

servant of whom we startled and nearly ran into and over another.

Apologies given, we turned our trek to the Keeper’s chambers into a

race. She and I traded the lead and I made note of her easy gait; her

auburn braid swinging low on her back. E’mory’s uniform was in the

colors of the mountain, a gray so dark it was as smoke; black boots

high on her knees.

I had always thought the long tunic, with the sides split to the

hip, looked much like a very short dress; the only saving grace being

the black leathers worn beneath it. Either way, she looked a lot

warmer than I was.

“I hate this,” I complained, trying to ignore a passing knot of

young soldiers.

29

“Nice!” someone yelled down the hall, and I turned to growl

at Logan Winter, who was being shadowed by an old friend. Shame

grinned and nodded, waggling his brow at me, noting the dress. I

stuck out my tongue at the both of them and took the next corner like

my feet were on fire.

Logan was born to get under my skin, but Shame should have

known better. Life in the caves was corrupting him. Since our

meeting, Shame had been the focus of a dozen examinations by some

of the greatest minds in the mountain, and yet not one could explain

his extraordinary height and strength. Nor could they account for his

inability to speak. But Shame and I had our way of getting the point

across, if often only a wink and nod. This time, however, Shame’s

bouncing brow and child like grin only made me mad.

I was jerking at the delicate fabrics again, threatening under

my breath to rip them in two. E’mory only rolled her eyes at me and

slowed to a more suitable pace.

“Come on, Rain. You’ll be back in uniform before you know

it,” she said and reached out, taking my hand to drag me into another

hallway and a gathering crowd.

There was the normal clamor for the Keeper’s attentions, the

people of the mountain lining the wide stone hall for a chance to

speak before the council. I nudged past familiar faces, greeting each

with a nod as E’mory pulled me through the tighter spaces. One

particular tug nearly tossed me nose down on the floor, when the toe

of my boot caught the delicate hem.

Blasted dress! I thought, imagining the sniggering laughter

that I would have had to endure.

There was a shift at the big chamber doors as they opened and

closed, and then someone called my name.

“Lady Rain?”

“Great,” I muttered, rolling my eyes.

E’mory stopped and turned to shoot me a hard look, as an

aged Keeper approached through the press. Harper Hile, whisked

30

through a space between callers, his long white hair gathered at the

nape of a slender neck. He was his usual kind and dusty self, well

meaning and irritating in one.

“Ahhhmm, Lady Rain,” he said again, checking me head to

toe, with the heavy glare of one passing judgement. “Is the sword all

so necessary, child?”

“It is not, Sir Hile, but I would keep it, if you don’t mind.”

My grin was met with pursed lips. “So. Is she here?” I asked.

“Grandmother?”

The Keeper blinked and then turned toward the chamber

doors. He either did not hear, or was refusing to answer. Whatever

the reason it was making me mad.

“Keeper Hile?” I yelled over the din, with E’mory shushing

me and dragging me toward doors. “What is wrong?” I called at his

back.

“Please, Lady Rain,” he sighed. “If you must skirt propriety,

let us do it with less of an audience.”

I nearly broke my teeth, I slammed them shut so quickly. It

was clear that Keeper Hile had no intention of telling me without the

council present. Whatever had happened, nothing good would come

of it. Even the grip Harper Hile had on his robes spoke volumes.

The man had no idea what was going on, only that something was

amiss, and Grandmother appeared to be at the heart of it.

I looked to E’mory hoping to find a reasonable counter to my

concern, but her brow was drawn with suspicion. Satisfied that I

would not fall out in a fit, the old Keeper ordered the guards to admit

us and the doors were opened.

A few long strides and we were in the Keeper’s inner

sanctum. A thick buzz of discussion went totally silent in our

coming. The guardsmen shut the chamber doors at our back and I

felt sure I had just entered a tomb. Every elder eye was raised from

a gathering full of frantic discussion, and in the center of that line of

Keepers was my grandfather, Reagan Northwind. The Prince of

31

Stones. He sat as a king before the long, polished table, his chair

back rising above his salt and pepper crown. The crease in his

forehead smoothed by force of will, only adding to the worry I had

brought with me.

“Welcome warrior,” the seated Keepers greeted me, each of

those few women and men looking at me as if they were seeing the

walking dead.

I myself had seen the dead walk, and knew the look all too

well.

“What’s going on?” I blurted out filling the solid stone walls

with my concern.

E’mory still stood at my side, her hand nearing my shoulder

as if to calm a beast, but I shrugged it off and stepped closer to the

line of Keepers.

“The Queen. Where is she?” I insisted. “She should have

been here by now.”

Those several sets of eyes looked on me with building

compassion and my heart sank to greater depths. My Grandfather

looked away, his hand run absently through a thick head of hair as he

stared out one of a few windows in all the caves.

I watched him, paralyzed. My tongue felt thick in my throat.

I wanted to scream at them. Meanwhile, outside the El’Varion

thundered against the mountain stone, deadening the unnerving quiet

This chamber was part of a separate jut of mountain peak, as

a tower extending from the side of the greater mass of mountain

stone. All around were those rounded ports, but where the one in my

room looked out over the wood, these held only a view of the

surrounding sea. My El’Varion. My beautiful, rolling blue.

I could hear her call to me. Drawing me into her depths as

she had done during the battle of Twin Points, and I needed her all

the more, for it.

“Someone say something!” I yelled, the ocean seeming to

punctuate my rising ire.

32

“Manners, Granddaughter,” my grandfather’s deep voice

filled the chamber, jerking me erect. I could sense E’mory shift

uncomfortably at my shoulder.

“Sorry,” I exhaled, “I just . . .”

“Lady Rain,” it was another of the council members, a woman

named Sandson. Logan’s maternal grandmother.

She was especially tall, being the polar opposite of Miss

Ginnie, and sat straight now, her white hair in a perfect twist atop her

head. There was something peculiar about the way she looked at me

now, as if she might be riffling through my thoughts.

“I see you wore your Grandmother’s gift,” she said, but it was

not a question, just a simple statement of fact. “You are to be

commended. It is becoming of your station that you conduct yourself

with a lady’s delicate prose on occasion, is it not?”

“My station?” I stared in open puzzlement at the woman,

picking apart her words as she swept her hand towards E’mory, who

stood at attention to my left.

“Miss Shine seems easily given to carrying herself with some

feminine airs. Yet, she is also a fierce warrior.”

“What has my dress got to do with this?” I blurted out, the

Keeper’s brow risen at my lack of respect. “You all speak in circles!”

My grandfather cleared his throat, superceding the strange

commentary with one of his own. “You do look beautiful,

Granddaughter,” he added, motioning at the fitted blue material that

felt more like funeral garb than anything to celebrate in. “She would

be proud,” he said simply.

“Please, Grandfather. Tell me where Grandmother is! She

was coming today, was she not? That was what the stupid dress was

for, right?”

“It was,” he replied quietly, seeming sad. “Our Queen sent

the dress via messenger a fortnight gone. She was to arrive late last

eve.”

“But she did not come . . .”

33

“No Rain, she did not.”

There was a shudder in the mountain then, but it was nothing

to compare to the deepening ache in my heart.

“But she comes every year! She . . .” I stalled in pleading my

case, tears brimming in my eyes. “We celebrate my birthday every

year, whether early or late, she always comes!”

“She does and I am most sure, she would. But this time,” his

pause sucked the air out of the open room, “this time, she can not,

child.”

Grandfather rounded the long table, seeming bent inwardly

with worry. “Granddaughter,” he said more softly straightening

himself before me. “Ana’Lira may have fallen to ill end.”

My heart fell like a stone. I could not breathe; wanted to run

out the chamber doors and straight for High Eralon’s walls into

Grandmother’s embrace. There were several sets of eyes on me

awaiting my response, and the only thing I could press between my

teeth was hardly audible.

“No!” I groaned, but the Prince of Stones drew me to him,

holding me up by the strength in his big hands.

There was a deafening pause and then his hold on me

strengthened as he finished his thought. “Captured for certain, if not

dead,” he whispered, sounding at odds with the tears glistening in his

eyes.

No one breathed. No one spoke. I heard a resounding, distant

crash at the base of the mountain as my El’Varion struck the stone,

my eyes on my grandfather’s own. The passion the man held for his

wife seemed to harden behind an insistence that he remain strong.

Meanwhile my blood was afire, every length of me almost trembling

with anger.

Outside, those waters hardly mirrored the building rage in me,

only echoing a longing for some great vengeance that I would

steadily nurse to new heights. I stilled myself, my hands clenched in

fists. Wet my lips to speak, swearing inwardly that by God and new

34

morning, I would see to that revenge if it took me the rest of my life

to do it.

“Captured?”It was all I could say. I would not acknowledge

the possibility of anything more.

“Aye, child, at the least, she is that.”

“And how do we know this?” I left the question suspended

before them, waiting for an answer I did not want. “How do we

know?!”

The Keepers flinched as my voice boomed, being yelled out

in the hollows of both mind and mountain stone. Every eye was on

me.

“S’hayla has come to the walls, alone. She is injured,”

Grandfather answered.

“S’hayla,” I repeated with a small laugh, seeing again my

grandmother’s cloaked figure riding off on the back of the honey-

colored mare; S’hayla’s tail stretching out with speed. That was the

day that Grandmother left me to the Keeper’s cares. That was the

beginning of the end of my childhood innocence. I knew enough of

the prophecies to see her reason then. This, just as I knew with equal

assurance that my beloved grandmother never once desired to put her

back to me those many years ago.

“She will heal, of course . . .” the Prince of Stones continued.

“My mare? Why, that doesn’t mean anything,” I insisted.

“Grandmother leads many battles. They could have become

separated.”

“Rain.”

“Grandfather, S’hayla is only a horse!”

“Not only that, child. Ana’Lira would not let her mount run

idle Rain, and certainly not S’hayla, if ever any. You know that,” the

Prince spoke with unfortunate confidence.

I did know just that, but shook my head at him anyway.

“But . . .”

“Lady Rain,” another broke in. “There is more.”

35

I pulled free of my Grandfather’s grip and moved in steady,

slow strides to stand on the opposite side of the table from the

Keepers’ wary stares. I felt some of them shift, if only by a hair;

testing the distance to whatever weapon they may have had near to

hand, but the Keeper named Dania Sandson only blinked.

“I have seen you in a living dream,” she finally said. “Your

ire built against us for bringing such news, as it is now,”she noted.

“But unfortunately what our Prince says is true. I have seen you as

you are now, standing in that dress, and after; wielding your black

blade against an innumerable foe. I have seen giants, and death. The

stink of it is in me now.”

The woman took a deep breath and rushed on, leaning toward

me with the worst of it. “And the Queen is also in the dream that is

more. But in it she is, and is not. There is an impenetrable darkness

around her that no light seems to roll back. I have never experienced

such as this,” Dania Sandson finished, looking exhausted.

“You could be wrong,” I began, but she shook her head

emphatically.

The aged woman did not look so tall or stately as before. She

looked heartbroken, her eyes glistening as she spoke.

“It is regretful but true, child. Nothing in me would ever wish

this hurt on you. But, it would appear that our Matriarch has most

certainly gone missing. And my greatest fear still, is that she may be

gone to the dead.”

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