The Golden Vial Page 2

  Night silences were the worst. As a young child Dally had loved the dark hours, when the world was still and she was tucked safely into her little bed in the room under the rafters. She heard her brothers’ sleep-breaths from the next room, soft as midnight tunes. She heard the quiet laughter as her parents ended another long day. She sensed the love that filled their home and the knowledge that she belonged here. Their fields were close to the forest, and Dally and her brothers had loved to play along the border, fighting pretend beasts and eating berries and dreaming of great quests to come.

  Until the night that changed her world forever.

  She was the only one awake when she heard the beast that the valley’s occupants wanted to believe was merely a fable. A tale used to frighten misbehaving children. But Dally knew otherwise. Her worst night hours always began with the sound that beast had made. Just before the flames had enveloped her home. Now the silence contained within the dark hours was a fiend.

  This morning’s silence was something else entirely.

  Dally was up long before the sun and quietly finished her chores before the rest of the house awoke. Since the meeting with the valley’s elders, Krim had taken to suppressing her foulest moods. Even so, it was increasingly difficult to be around the woman. Dally knew sooner or later Krim would explode, releasing all the ire and invective her husband had ordered her to stifle.

  The morning began like most others in a farming village, with the roosters challenging the day and farming families noisily beginning their chores long before the sun was fully up. Then Honor became enveloped by a breathless hush.

  Knowing what was about to happen kept Dally tossing and turning all night. She had drawn fresh well water and washed herself by the light of the morning star. She wore her cleanest shift and her only shoes. Her long auburn hair was neatly plaited. But there was nothing she could do about the way her hands shook or the tight manner of her every breath. The dogs sensed her anxiety and whined about her legs.

  Then Norvin called through the kitchen door, “Dally, could you join us?”

  The way he spoke it as a request was enough to set her heart to fluttering like a caged bird. Dally let herself out and made a mess of refastening the pen’s lock. Norvin was there in the doorway, his broad features creased by genuine shock. Silently he led her through the house to where Krim stood, hands tucked into her apron, transfixed by the apparition looming outside her front door.

  Two warhorses called destriers were flanked by half a dozen foot soldiers outside the front gate. One rider was a woman, yet she bore the same warrior-hardened expression as the man standing beside her. Their helmets were inscribed with golden crowns. Their mail held links of gold and silver both. They wore identical over-mantles that were sewn with the same crest Dally had seen upon the queen’s robes. Their sword hilts and scabbards and belts were encrusted with precious jewels.

  When Dally stepped into the daylight, the officers touched fists to chests and bowed as one.

  She knew how to respond because Shona had told her, and Dally had practiced in the shed’s secret confines. Ignoring the villagers who stood and gaped, she curtsied so deep her left knee touched the flagstones.

  “The Lady Shona sends her greetings to the family of Dally,” the woman said. “I am Meda, colonel of the palace guard. This is Captain Alembord, my second.”

  Dally had been told how to respond to this as well. She bowed back, but only slightly, and said, “This is Norvin, mayor of Honor, and his wife Krim.”

  Meda gave them both a terse nod and told Norvin, “My lady asks your pardon. She owes you both thanks and payment. But she is observing a month of mourning. The Lady Shona prefers to wait until this is ended before starting new alliances.”

  Norvin stammered, “Who does she mourn?”

  “The one you know as Hyam,” Meda replied. “He has suffered a great loss. Our lady and all her company mourn with him. Hyam’s loss is a wound to us all.”

  Norvin’s curiosity took hold of his tongue. “You said the one we know as Hyam. How else is he named?”

  Meda had clearly been expecting the question. “Prince of the realm. Consul to Lady Shona. Senior wizard. Emissary.”

  Krim muttered, “I knew he was a secret wizard. Told you, I did.”

  Meda kept her gaze upon the mayor. “Secret no longer.”

  Norvin’s mouth opened and shut several times before he said, “Our . . . Dally called Shona a queen.”

  “She has been crowned but does not use the title herself. And will not, until the scourge in Port Royal is destroyed and Shona assumes the throne.” Meda ended the questions by saying, “Now if you will be so good as to show me your dogs.”

  3

  Two of the foot soldiers followed them around the side of the house, apparently intending to guard their officers even in the mayor’s backyard. Norvin’s house fronted the nearest of his fields, with a low stone wall separating the dog pen and kitchen garden from the mayor’s herd of prize cattle. Colonel Meda paused when the garden shed came into view. She stooped down, peered inside, then turned slowly and took aim at Krim. Meda’s glare was enough to send the mayor’s wife scooting for the back door.

  Alembord drew her back around by saying, “They’re the spitting image of Dama.”

  Norvin asked, “Who?”

  “Hyam’s wolfhound.” Meda smiled at the dogs pressing tight against the fence. “She had the same white streak down the length of her.”

  “Aye, that’s right. She does.” Norvin smiled at the memory. “She’s one of my finest. Dama, you say? Interesting name.”

  “It means blood ally in Elven.” Meda put a hand through the fence, allowing the dogs to sniff her. “Alas, Dama is no more.”

  The words pushed Norvin back a step. “Elven, did you say? And Dama . . .”

  “Died protecting us from . . . a fiend. I myself owe my life to one such as these.” Meda turned away from the dogs and the memory both. “Our lady wishes to acquire them all.”

  Norvin was clearly still struggling to catch up. “But . . . I regret . . . three are claimed.”

  Meda did not actually grip her sword. Instead, her hand merely dropped to rest upon the jeweled hilt. “Perhaps I did not make myself clear. The Lady Shona will purchase all eight. You need but name your price.”

  Norvin must have seen something in the officers’ gazes, for he merely replied, “No doubt my other buyers can wait for the next litter.”

  “Excellent. The Lady Shona will be most grateful. The wolfhounds are now to be in the exclusive care of Lady Dally.”

  “In . . . Yes, yes, of course. But she’s not . . .”

  Meda cut off his comment by turning to Dally and saying, “I hear you have the gift of communication.”

  “Aye, mistress.”

  “You may address me as Colonel,” Meda said, but not unkindly. “But my friends call me Meda.”

  Dally had no idea what to say, so she remained silent.

  Meda pointed her chin at the dogs. “Which are you close to?”

  “If you mean, which do I . . .”

  “Bond with,” Meda offered. “Speak to without words.”

  Dally gestured at the pen. “These here.”

  “What, all of them?”

  “Well, the mam, she can be a bit difficult. And the sire is getting on—he sleeps much of the day. We don’t really . . . But all the eight pups . . .” She stared through the gate. “They’re my friends.”

  Meda said to the wide-eyed Norvin, “Be so good as to open the gate.” When that was done, she said, “Show me.”

  It was easy enough, for the dogs were very attentive now. They had the unique intelligence and sensitivity of silver-backs, and so when Dally reached out, they were already prepared to accept her. She drew them over to various points around the rear garden. She reached, she smelled, she listened.

  Finally she said, “You’ve got more troopers stationed along the main road between here and your compound. And others scouting the fores
t perimeter. Some of the horses are shying away from taking the paths. They smell . . .”

  Meda and Alembord closed the space between them. “What do they smell?” Meda asked.

  Dally released her hold and blinked as the world returned to the limited focus of human eyes. She replied, “The fiends.”

  4

  Dally ate her midday meal with the dogs. She had no interest in entering the house. Her secret was out, which meant there was no longer any need to cage the wolfhounds. She unlatched their pen’s door and allowed them to mill about in a tight circle. There was great comfort to be found in their closeness. They were massive beasts now, standing tall as her waist and weighing almost as much as she did. She directed two of them to sit down to her left, which shielded her from Krim’s glare out the kitchen window.

  The next astonishment arrived a few hours later. Only this time Dally was caught completely unawares.

  There were regular cycles to most farming days, and these depended upon the season. Now that the spring planting was done and most of the farm animals had delivered their young, the valley was able to take a long, slow breath before harvesting began. Added to this was the fact that every able-bodied villager stood sentry one night in four. As a result, when the sun reached its zenith and the heat was stifling, the entire valley took a long, somnolent pause.

  So only the restless and the young were witness to an event that was to form the fireside legends for generations to come. This was the day that the Long Hall wizards broke their oath.

  For over a thousand years, all magic within the realm had been restricted to communities known as Long Halls. The Three Valleys wizards were cloistered in a walled fortress a full two days’ walk from the nearest village. The trail had been cut for almost a year, and those young acolytes who had set off to join them had not been heard from again. The wizards were little more than fables now, mythic figures played by dreaming children.

  Yet on this sultry afternoon, eight grey-robed mages walked down Honor’s central lane.

  Dally’s first notice of anything amiss came by way of a soft huff from one of the wolfhounds. But before she could ask what it was, she heard a sharp rapping upon the mayor’s front door. Then all the dogs went to full alert. Dally was on her feet long before the cries and running feet sounded along the front lane.

  Through the open kitchen window, Dally saw Norvin adjust his suspenders before opening the door. There followed a brief conversation that Dally could not hear, and yet was enough to set her heart to pounding once again.

  Then the grey-robed woman pointed through the house, beyond the kitchen window, directly at Dally.

  Without waiting for Norvin’s response, the woman slipped past him, crossed the threshold, ignored Krim entirely, and passed through the house and out the rear door. “Are you the one they know as Lady Dally?”

  “I . . . Yes, mistress.”

  “Excellent.” Up close the woman was both small and quite old, though her grey eyes held the sparkle of vibrant youth. “I am Edlyn. For years I served as Mistress of the hidden orb in Falmouth Port. But while I visited the Three Valleys Long Hall, the former Mistress passed on. The mages in their wisdom asked me to take her position. No doubt much to their regret.” She indicated a slender bearded young man who stood three paces back. “This is Myron, my aide.”

  “An honor, Lady Dally.”

  “Time is crucial just now, young lady. Will you allow me to skip pleasantries and come straight to the point?”

  Dally was tempted to say this was already the most pleasant conversation she’d had in a very long while. “Whatever you want, Mistress.”

  “Excellent. Will you show me your abilities with these remarkable animals?”

  “Of course, ma’am.”

  “Make no sound nor give any signal, if you please.”

  Scarcely had Dally drawn the wolfhounds into position and identified the five other mages who stood by Norvin’s front stoop when Edlyn said, “All right. I’ve seen enough.” She turned to Myron and said, “Be so good as to fetch us two chairs.”

  The aide dropped the sack he carried, crossed the rear yard, walked past where Norvin and his wife gaped through the door, and swiftly returned with straight-back chairs from the master’s table. “Will these do, Mistress?”

  “Thank you. Come sit beside me, Dally. Now then. I have heard you communicate with our Lady Shona in dreams.”

  “Not really dreams, Mistress. They’re something else entirely.”

  “I understand.” Both mages were clearly pleased by her response. “Now I need to ask you, do you have any other dreams?”

  Dally tensed. “You mean, about the forest beasts attacking my family?”

  The Mistress glanced at her aide, then replied, “These are very important. But they are not for now. I am looking for something very specific. We mages require a sign, if you will. One I cannot speak of unless . . .”

  “Oh. You mean the candles.”

  Edlyn leaned back, clearly very satisfied. “Tell me about them.”

  “I light one. I make the fire myself. Then the flame becomes alive.”

  “Wonderful.” Edlyn gestured to her attendant, who untied the clasp to his sack.

  Dally went on, “Then they speak to me.”

  Both mages froze. “I’m sorry. They speak?” Edlyn asked.

  “They did. Before these dogs came. Not in words. But . . .” Dally looked from one face to the other. “Did I do something wrong?”

  “Lass, let me assure you of this one thing. Whatever events that have filled you with such fear are now behind you.”

  Something broke within Dally. She could no more hold back the tears than stop her own breath. She covered her face with her hands and leaned down until she was settled upon her thighs.

  Edlyn’s hand rested upon her shoulder. “Dear child, listen carefully to what I am about to say. You are far from the first who has suffered because of their magical talent. But that time is now past.”

  Dally’s entire being was filled with the most horrid question that had plagued her worst nights. “Did I draw the beast that killed my family?”

  “If you will please straighten up and look at me, I will answer you. Thank you. Dally, I will never lie to you. Even when the truth is at its most painful, you can trust me to be both direct and honest. The answer is, your talents are so remarkable it is possible they were noticeable to our foes. But I very much doubt this. Latent powers are invisible to even our most sensitive adepts.”

  Dally cleared her face with trembling hands. “I miss them so.”

  “And it is one of the many things that makes you so precious.” She gestured to her attendant. “Now let us begin.”

  But as her aide brought out two candles thick as Dally’s arm and set them atop iron holders, Mistress Edlyn said, “Just a moment.” She frowned at the rear wall, then the dogs, and declared, “This won’t do at all.”

  Myron said, “The house, perhaps?”

  “My thoughts exactly.” She rose to her feet. “Wait here.”

  Edlyn walked to the rear door where Norvin and Krim still stood and spoke in a voice too low for Dally to hear.

  Myron pointed to the wolfhound standing beside Dally’s chair. “Can you tell me what the Mistress is saying?”

  Dally found she did not mind his desire to observe her abilities. The Mistress’s words had opened something inside her. Dally realized the need for subterfuge was over. She stifled the upsurge of fresh tears and shut her eyes.

  Through the dog closest to the house, Dally heard Krim say, “And I’m saying this is my house. I don’t have to give it up for no one.”

  Norvin merely sighed.

  “That is most certainly correct,” the Mistress replied. “But think on this. In times to come, when legends speak of this very hour, how do you wish to be known? As the woman who treated a young mage as your kitchen slave?”

  Krim bridled. “I’ll have you know—”

  “I’m not done.” The s
teel in Edlyn’s voice stifled Krim’s unfinished protest. “Instead, you might care to do us this favor and thus be known as a woman who did what was best for the realm.”

  Dally opened her eyes and said, “Mistress Edlyn is having words with the mayor’s wife.”

  “Good.” Myron slipped into the chair beside Dally. “It is remarkable, this ability of yours to bond. And do so without any formal training.”

  Dally had no idea how to respond. She remained silent.

  “Nor do I recall seeing Mistress Edlyn so excited.”

  “She appears so calm.”

  “It is her way of leading. By being the eye of the storm.” He studied the wolfhound poised by Dally’s side. “Do they mind you pushing them aside?”

  Dally understood his question and replied, “I don’t take their place. I join in beside them. I’m their friend.”

  The Mistress turned and beckoned. “Let’s move inside, you two.”

  Myron gathered up his candles and sack. As he passed Mistress Edlyn, Myron declared, “We have so much to learn from this one.”

  Edlyn told Dally, “You know what I want you to do, yes? From your dreams.”

  “I think . . .”

  “Tell me.”

  The mayor’s wife must have sighed or muttered or shifted, for the mage turned and said, “This is your final caution. Utter a sound or shift one iota, and I will freeze you so tight your very breath becomes a battle.”

  To his credit, Norvin protested, “There’s no call for such threats.”

  “See that there is not.” Edlyn turned back to Dally, gathered herself, and repeated, “You know what I want you to do.”

  They were seated at the dining table. Norvin and his wife were restricted to the corridor leading to their bedchamber. Through the front window Dally could see three other mages standing sentry along the front wall, holding the gawping villagers at bay. Two more stood just inside the doorway, there to serve as witnesses.

  What Dally found most remarkable was how the Mistress had not asked if she was able to perform this deed. Instead, Edlyn had stated it as fact.