ZYGRADON by Michelle L. Levigne Page B

meet
the Warhawk. He had been lectured by warriors, both in the Stronghold and Wynystrys,
about the dangers to himself and to those around him if he tried to wield a weapon he
hadn't trained with. Kathal and Tathal would swat him black and blue with the flat of
the sword he borrowed, if they caught him. He didn't want to disappoint his teachers.
Common sense said if he wore a sword, he would invite attack. Some arrogant fool
among the Noveni soldiers would see a skinny boy with a sword almost too big for him
and try to take it, either to test the skill of one so young or just to prove himself better
than a Rey'kil.
    Knowing he couldn't take a sword with him didn't stop Mrillis from taking a
short blade off the rack. Its edges were nicked and dulled with use, the leather binding
on the pommel dry and cracked and packed with dirt, stiff with the sweat of years.
Mrillis grinned as he held the sword out at arm's length. He turned the blade, trying to
make the lantern light glint off the dulled metal. The light flashed into his eyes.
    He saw a blade, long and thin, double-edged, gleaming with a pale blue
radiance. The sword lay in a bowl made of stars, which gleamed with the same blue
light.
    Ceera appeared out of the utter blackness surrounding the bowl. She picked
it up, and the blue radiance engulfed her.
    Mrillis opened his mouth to cry out in terror for her, but she only smiled
and held out the bowl to him. The bowl and the sword grew larger until they filled his
vision. Mrillis reached out. He took the sword. The radiance filled his eyes.
    A dark form stepped forward, emerging from the light rather than blocking
it. A man held out his hand for the sword and went to one knee. Mrillis rested the blade
of the sword on his bent arm, so the kneeling man could grasp the pommel.
    Brilliant white light shattered the blue radiance. Gasping, Mrillis dropped to his
knees. The sword fell from his hand and clattered to the stone floor, worn smooth by
generations of boots. He knelt until the cold seeped into his bones.
    Whenever he closed his eyes, he still saw the bowl and sword, and the man
waiting to take the sword.
    Mrillis couldn't make out any features, other than that the man was tall and
broad-shouldered like a warrior, and he had dark gold hair--Noveni, then, not
Rey'kil.
    * * * *
    Ceera cried silently, tears dripping off her little nose as she helped Mrillis pack.
She didn't want to be left behind, but Mrillis finally made her understand that a little girl
of seven couldn't keep up with the warriors riding to war. He was grateful she didn't
point out that a boy of nine wasn't much stronger or skilled in warfare, and might not be
able to ride all day, either.
    They both knew someone had to ride with Le'esha and watch over her. Mrillis
had been outside the Stronghold before. Ceera had yet to walk beyond the Lake of Ice
or the homes of her little friends in the canyons surrounding the Stronghold.
    She promised she would tell no one that he had gone, and do her best to keep
the ladies left behind from discovering what he had done until it was too late to bring
him back.
    Mrillis slipped into Ceera's room in the dark hours before dawn and stood a
moment, watching her in the faint glow of magic light Le'esha had woven into the
curtains of her bed. He had realized in the sleepless watches of the night that he rode out
to protect Ceera, too.
    Le'esha, Breylon and the Warhawk were right: the Nameless One had to be
stopped, at long last.
    Sighing, Mrillis untied the leather wristguard he had fashioned the summer
before, and tucked it into Ceera's curled fingers. Having something of his might comfort
her.
    The other boys teased Mrillis for paying any attention at all to a little girl who
wasn't his sister. He didn't care. Ceera was as much a part of his life as Le'esha. She would
always be there. They would always be together.
    "This is the last time I'll do anything important without you," he promised on a
whisper as he walked down the