“The Rhunes are in total revolt. The Gula and the Rhulyn. They’ve united and appointed a keenig.”
“Yes, we know,” Elysan said, looking past the Galantians toward the hills.
“The Rhunes will be the arms we shall use to make the fane understand reason,” Nyphron explained. “Or the swords by which we will replace him.”
“But this is…” Sikar looked pained. “I hate to say it, but Petragar is right. What you’re doing is treason.”
“And what the Miralyith have done to the Instarya is what? Right? My father tried to follow the rules. He obeyed the laws, and you saw what happened. Do you think Ferrol, who gave us the horn, intended that one tribe should be forever dominant? What’s the point of the horn, then? The Miralyith will never give up power, and who can hope to succeed in single combat against one?”
Sikar and Elysan shared a look, and while it was slight, Nyphron was certain he saw Elysan nod.
“So, what do you say?” Nyphron asked. “Will you turn your back on Ferrol and learn to worship the Miralyith as your new gods? Or will you trust me, a fellow Instarya who was raised to lead this tribe by a father who gave his life to save us from these so-called gods?”
“Bas-ward! My jaw bwoke again,” Petragar slurred. He had only managed to make it back up to his knees and crouched on the ground holding his face, tears in his eyes.
Sikar turned fully around but didn’t even look at Petragar. He faced the gathered Instarya and said, “The fane has ordered us to apprehend or kill these Fhrey. Nyphron asks us to stay our hands. The fane is our ruler, the Galantians our family. In this, I am inclined to side with family, and I’m willing to recognize Nyphron, son of Zephyron, as the rightful lord of the Rhist.”
“I concur,” Elysan said. “But, as it is against the will of the fane, no one can be ordered to do likewise.”
Sikar nodded and backed up, clearing the path to the bridge and the Galantians. “Any Fhrey who doesn’t wish to defy the fane’s orders, you are free to draw your weapon and do what you believe is your duty.”
Sikar took a few more steps away from the bridge and made a show of looking and waiting for those loyal to the fane.
Petragar, still clutching his face, shifted his head, looking around. “Ooh it!” he shouted when no one moved. “Obey your fane!”
Still, no one moved.
After several minutes of stillness and a silence that was broken only by the desperate outbursts of Petragar, Sikar nodded. “So be it.” Then he turned back to Nyphron. “Welcome back, my lord.”
* * *
—
“What do you think that means?” Krugen asked when most of the Galantians and the defending Fhrey disappeared inside the gates of the fortress. Only Tekchin and Grygor walked back across the bridge.
“They didn’t kill them,” Lipit said. “That’s got to be a good sign, yes?”
Persephone was already descending the narrow dusty trail, wondering how fast she could safely move. She wanted to be at the bottom, wanted to learn what transpired, and was wondering why she’d climbed up in the first place.
“What happened?” Moya was the first to greet her. Her big eyes loomed larger than usual. “Did they fight? Did Suri do something?”
The mystic looked at her, surprised.
“No to both questions, but we don’t know exactly what happened.” Persephone slipped on a loose stone two feet from the bottom, stumbled, but landed safely on the hardscrabble plain. She touched down within the gathering of the chieftains’ Shields. They had all remained there after Raithe explained there wasn’t room for everyone at the top. “Tekchin and Grygor are on their way back, I hope with good news.”
“Tekchin?”
“Yes, Moya.” Persephone rolled her eyes. “Your boyfriend is fine.”
“Just asking, Madam Keenig,” she said crisply.
“Don’t call me that.”
“Everyone else does.”
“No, they don’t.”
Persephone pushed past Oz and Edger, grabbed the hem of her skirt, and trotted down the slope to the road. From there, she saw the two Galantians striding toward her. The gathered clansmen, a mixture of Rhen, Tirre, and Warric men, flowed in behind, all curious for news.
“Madam Keenig,” Tekchin greeted her with a modest bow.
Persephone scowled. “What happened?”
“We’re in.”
“What do you mean by that?”
Tekchin made a lavish wave of his arm in the direction of Alon Rhist. “Welcome to your new fortress. I think you’ll find it more suitable than East Puddle.”
“My fortress?”
Tekchin laughed. “Madam Keenig, weren’t you watching? You just conquered Alon Rhist.”
CHAPTER THREE
The Rhist
We traded dirt and rough-hewn logs for marble and glass.
—THE BOOK OF BRIN
The other times Persephone had been to Alon Rhist she’d stuck close to Reglan, and neither was prone to wander. No one wandered inside Fhrey territory, much less in the heart of their principal stronghold, whose largest tower had come to symbolize a monolithic sentinel. During those early visits, the procession of chieftains marched across the Grandford gorge under guard. When the men were led to a meeting hall, the women—those allowed to come—waited in nearby rooms. Persephone had marveled at the lamps, windows, curtains, and furniture. She didn’t dare set foot out of the little apartment; none of the women did. They weren’t offered a midday meal, and all the Rhunes ate the evening meal together.
On her second visit, Persephone and Gela—who she’d assumed was Lipit’s wife only to later discover that she was his mistress—dared to climb the stairs to the window level where they peered out at an unprecedented view of the great dome, the beautiful city below, and the massive tower that rose higher than she thought possible.
No one had stopped them, no one so much as looked their way, but she’d been scared to death. They only had the courage to approach the one window, but that view had stayed with her. She’d had dreams where she walked the city’s paved streets, visiting the pillared shops. She was never frightened in her dreams. No one could see her, and somehow she knew this. Persephone had never once believed those dreams would come true in waking life.
The day Nyphron became lord of Alon Rhist, he spent the afternoon providing Persephone with a personal tour of the fortress that would be her new home. The outpost wasn’t as large as she had thought. The majestic fortification crowned the pinnacle of the crag, appearing as the inevitable conclusion to the natural rock. The city, formed of lighter stone and some wood, spilled out below. These smaller buildings trickled down the hillside in tiers, curling around the base of the butte like the tail of a dragon around a hoard of gold.