she couldn’t. She hated him for refusing to judge the Al-Drechar as she did but she loved him for his unswerving strength. So she sat with him in silence, both of them just staring at the bed of flowers as it ruffled gently in the warm breeze.
There was nothing to say. One day, perhaps, she would admit his grief. But right now she couldn’t even begin to cope with her own.
Her head was throbbing. Like every day, the One entity was trying to assert itself. Trying to gain influence over her mind. But it was not strong enough and it gave her grim satisfaction that it could not rule her the way they had all let it rule and then destroy Lyanna.
Erienne knew it wasn’t sentient, that it was just her subconscious mind interacting with a power that intrigued and disgusted her in equal measure. She imagined it as a disease, a cancer she couldn’t destroy but could suppress and bend to her will. She knew that to let her defences fall would open her mind to power she wasn’t sure she could control. And she knew that to do so would mean she had to talk to the Al-Drechar, because without them she would only hasten her own demise.
There had been times when that had seemed preferable to existence without Lyanna. But something inside her stopped her taking her own life. Deep down, she believed in the One. She just couldn’t reconcile that she was now its last hope. She knew that some time she would have to accept what she was. But it would be on her terms alone. No elven witch or Xeteskian mage would pressure her.
Inside her was the power of the One, living. It shouldn’t be there but it was. And it reminded her every moment of every day that Lyanna had been sacrificed for it to be within her. So, like so much, she both hated and craved it. But for now, and maybe for ever, the hate held sway.
The confusion within her made her mind pound all the more.
She turned her head to look at Denser. His beard was trimmed, his black hair neat and short, his cheekbones and jaw angled and so attractive. He was looking down at the bed, tears rolling down his face either side of his sharp nose.
For a heartbeat, she thought about kissing his tears away. But in that moment, the grief deluged her again and she crumbled back into her nightmare.
Chapter 4
Rebraal arrived back at Aryndeneth after two sharp downpours, each followed by steaming heat as the sun forced its way through the cloud. He could imagine the strangers running for cover as an inch and more rain fell in drops the size of his thumbs, extinguishing fires and drumming on canvas, finding its way through every loose stitch and seam.
For his part, the leader of the Al-Arynaar had merely found the best shelter he could under the broad green leaves of trees, and had listened to the sounds the rain brought to the forest: the undergrowth alive with animals scurrying for holes and burrows; the spatter of water on leaf and branch; the shifting of vegetation at every level of the harmony.
Rain was something to be enjoyed, not endured. It brought a freshness to the air and drove the insects from the sky. It brought life to the environment. It was warm on his skin and cooled the extremes of temperature. Rebraal loved the rain.
Later, standing on the overgrown stone apron in front of the temple, Rebraal called the Al-Arynaar to him. It was a call to arms and one that struck a chord of fear and determination in all of them. He had wondered whether the call, a song that echoed out through the forest in an ancient and long-dead language, was really required. But in truth, the threat was so great even the Deneth-barine song couldn’t communicate its magnitude.
With Mercuun gone to spread the alarm and light fading quickly with the close of day under a bank of thickening cloud, Rebraal faced just eight. Two mages and six warriors. Their faces told him they understood the gravity; he now had to explain the reality.
There was an expectant air, tinged with anxiety. The song had not been heard in the living memory of any of them or indeed the two generations before them. They gathered in a loose group around Rebraal as the evening birds began to call and the rasp of a thousand pairs