I’ve seen today: The keep’s been invaded.” Quickly and quietly, he told her about seeing the company of black-clad warriors pass, bringing some sort of Darkswarm demon with them. “I was trying to warn the temple,” he said at last, “to get around the invaders somehow. But I just got drawn deeper and deeper into the Old Keep, until I met you.”
Malian felt sick, almost dizzy. “So it’s not just an assassination attempt,” she whispered. “This is a major attack. Even now, our people may be dying in their sleep!” Her hands shook and she curled them into fists. “We must find a way to warn them, to save them!”
“What can we do, just the two of us?” She saw her despair reflected in Kalan’s face. “We’re not armed and there are were-hunters after us. Or after you,” he amended, with that same measuring look.
Malian ignored his unspoken question and began to pace. “I was asleep,” she said, half to herself, half to him, “and when I woke it was to a voice in my mind, telling me to flee. The warning was so compelling that I didn’t wait to ask questions; I just did as it said. I ran.” Her fingers opened, then closed again. “Unlike you, I didn’t even think about warning anyone else.”
Kalan was frowning. “It’s probably just as well since the were-hunt was after you. Brother Selmor’s books are full of warnings like that.” A thread of excitement crept into his voice. “All from the old days, of course, when we were strong in the powers and the Golden Fire burned in every keep. Some stories claim that the warnings came from the gods, some say from the Fire. But they almost always came to the Blood alone, usually when they were in very great danger.” He nodded, as though a puzzle had clicked into place. “I knew your name seemed familiar, although mostly people just say ‘the Heir’ or ‘the Heir of Night.’ But it certainly explains why they’re hunting you.”
“I suppose it does. But otherwise—” Malian shrugged. “I don’t think it matters that much who I am, not right now.”
Kalan rolled his eyes. “Of course it matters! You’re the Heir of the House of Night, by all the Nine Gods! There
are
no other children of your Blood—you’re the only heir that Night has. You of all people have to know how important that makes you.”
Malian sighed. “
‘If Night falls, all fall.’
They say that prophecy is as old as the Derai Alliance itself, but that its true meaning has been lost over time.”
Kalan’s lip curled. “Brother Belan always said that the prophecy means exactly what it says; that belief in it is the only thing that’s been lost. But you do see,” he added, stumbling a little over the words, “that it’s my duty to help you, and to try and protect you and all that other stuff, now that I know who you are?”
Malian grinned. “You’ve already helped me,” she pointed out, “and not because you knew I was the Heir of Night.” The grin faded. “Can you understand how I feel, though, knowing that I fled when it was my duty as Heir to warn and protect my House?”
“I can,” Kalan said slowly, “except that you were told to flee. And in the old stories, it’s always disastrous to ignore warnings like that—to set your own will against that of the gods, as it were. No good ever comes of it.”
“Wise boy.”
The whisper seared the quiet air with light and heat and both Malian and Kalan jumped, staring around the twelve-walled room.
“Who are you?” Malian demanded. “What do you want?”
“You, Heir of Night.”
The will-o’-the-wisp danced at the edge of her vision.
“Well, I’m here,” she said, as boldly as she dared. “Now—who
are
you?”
“Do you not know me? “
asked the voice, a rumble of muted thunder.
“I and my fellows are in all the histories of the Derai, your long allies and your friends in the age old war against the Swarm of Dark.”
Malian pushed a hand through her hair. “Then I do know you,” she
Malian felt sick, almost dizzy. “So it’s not just an assassination attempt,” she whispered. “This is a major attack. Even now, our people may be dying in their sleep!” Her hands shook and she curled them into fists. “We must find a way to warn them, to save them!”
“What can we do, just the two of us?” She saw her despair reflected in Kalan’s face. “We’re not armed and there are were-hunters after us. Or after you,” he amended, with that same measuring look.
Malian ignored his unspoken question and began to pace. “I was asleep,” she said, half to herself, half to him, “and when I woke it was to a voice in my mind, telling me to flee. The warning was so compelling that I didn’t wait to ask questions; I just did as it said. I ran.” Her fingers opened, then closed again. “Unlike you, I didn’t even think about warning anyone else.”
Kalan was frowning. “It’s probably just as well since the were-hunt was after you. Brother Selmor’s books are full of warnings like that.” A thread of excitement crept into his voice. “All from the old days, of course, when we were strong in the powers and the Golden Fire burned in every keep. Some stories claim that the warnings came from the gods, some say from the Fire. But they almost always came to the Blood alone, usually when they were in very great danger.” He nodded, as though a puzzle had clicked into place. “I knew your name seemed familiar, although mostly people just say ‘the Heir’ or ‘the Heir of Night.’ But it certainly explains why they’re hunting you.”
“I suppose it does. But otherwise—” Malian shrugged. “I don’t think it matters that much who I am, not right now.”
Kalan rolled his eyes. “Of course it matters! You’re the Heir of the House of Night, by all the Nine Gods! There
are
no other children of your Blood—you’re the only heir that Night has. You of all people have to know how important that makes you.”
Malian sighed. “
‘If Night falls, all fall.’
They say that prophecy is as old as the Derai Alliance itself, but that its true meaning has been lost over time.”
Kalan’s lip curled. “Brother Belan always said that the prophecy means exactly what it says; that belief in it is the only thing that’s been lost. But you do see,” he added, stumbling a little over the words, “that it’s my duty to help you, and to try and protect you and all that other stuff, now that I know who you are?”
Malian grinned. “You’ve already helped me,” she pointed out, “and not because you knew I was the Heir of Night.” The grin faded. “Can you understand how I feel, though, knowing that I fled when it was my duty as Heir to warn and protect my House?”
“I can,” Kalan said slowly, “except that you were told to flee. And in the old stories, it’s always disastrous to ignore warnings like that—to set your own will against that of the gods, as it were. No good ever comes of it.”
“Wise boy.”
The whisper seared the quiet air with light and heat and both Malian and Kalan jumped, staring around the twelve-walled room.
“Who are you?” Malian demanded. “What do you want?”
“You, Heir of Night.”
The will-o’-the-wisp danced at the edge of her vision.
“Well, I’m here,” she said, as boldly as she dared. “Now—who
are
you?”
“Do you not know me? “
asked the voice, a rumble of muted thunder.
“I and my fellows are in all the histories of the Derai, your long allies and your friends in the age old war against the Swarm of Dark.”
Malian pushed a hand through her hair. “Then I do know you,” she
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