The Adani Chronicles: Birthright

They made camp in a tiny grove of feathered aspens well before sunset that evening. Brandt wanted to continue until nightfall, but Ryn refused, arguing that it was better to cross the nearby wraith-hills in broad daylight, rather than at twilight. The possibility of getting stuck within those eerie mazes of burial mounds in the dark was too great, and Ryn had done that exactly once before, when she’d first struck out on her own.

Never again.

The brothers, to their credit, heeded her advice—she would have doubted they could manage a guide/traveler relationship if the men had begun arguing against her so soon—and within an hour there was a roaring fire, bedrolls laid out nearby. The men had brought small collapsible canvas shelters, she could see, but Evin had a good eye and predicted there would be no moisture tonight. Sleeping under the stars was easier and would make for a less rushed morning. She preferred it anyhow; there was something inherently peaceful about falling asleep beneath a blanket of twinkling lights.

This particular evening was shaping up to be a pleasantly quiet one, the kind of night that made folk say that quests were lovely, agreeable things. Obviously, such reasoning was hopelessly faulty, given what living on the road really entailed; but even Ryn had to admit there was some joy to be had in sitting around a campfire with a comrade, doing the soothing things one did after a day of hard travel—sharpening knives, repairing gear, cooking food.

The latter, tonight, was to be stew; Kota had brought in two hares that afternoon, and the men’s vegetables were still fresh enough to be used. Kota munched happily on his dinner while the stew filled the cool evening air with delicious scents, the fire providing warmth as the day began to chill. Evin was sitting across from Ryn, who was mending a strap, his golden eyes focused on an elegant dagger in his hands. The blade was as long as her forearm, slightly curved and double-edged. The hilt was some sort of dark wood, wrapped in what looked to be leather.

Curious, Ryn laid down her work for the moment. “It is a good dagger,” she stated without thinking, then immediately felt awkward for saying anything at all. Evin looked up, apparently surprised. She very nearly blushed outright, feeling foreign and clumsy, and cursed herself, wishing she’d just left him alone.

“I found it in the troll hoard,” he answered, with a tiny smile quirking the corners of his mouth.

Ryn tilted her head. “The troll that you led right to me?”

Brandt laughed from her left, where he sat writing something studiously in a thickly bound book. She blinked. She wasn’t being funny; she was genuinely curious. But Evin was smiling, too.

“The very same, my Lady.”

Putting aside for the moment the title she would not presume to bear—she’d correct him later—Ryn rubbed Kota’s tufted ears thoughtfully as she asked, “What do you know of it?”

“The troll?” Evin’s brow furrowed in confusion.

Ryn just stared at him.

Brandt reached over and smacked his brother on the back of the head. “The knife, you numbskull.”

Evin’s eyes widened, as though surprised to be asked. “Oh!” He laughed. “Not much, aside from what I can deduce on my own. The hilt looks like arancia wood, actually, wrapped in dragon hide. The curve of the blade and the hilt material suggests it’s ancient Y’rai.”

“Y’rai?” Brandt questioned, though he didn’t look up from his writing. “Thought they were just legends.”

“They are, now. But once, they were real.” Evin shrugged, looking back down at the blade he was wiping with an oiled rag. “This comes from the Dragonbacks, at least. Arancia wood isn’t available anywhere else, and true dragons, while rare, usually only live in the far northern peaks. Would you like to see it?” he asked Ryn.

She nodded and took it when he handed it to her, hilt first. The blade was lighter than she expected, well-balanced, and the dragonhide leather provided a nice grip. “Could be Eloni,” she remarked. She’d never seen one of the wood-elves in person, but she knew their weaponry as well as anyone.

But Evin dismissed the idea. “It is a good guess, but there are slight differences. The only curved blades Eloni use are single, not double-edged, and the half-moon shape is generally more pronounced. Besides, Eloni don’t fight dragons, they ride them. Sometimes.” She could not argue, he was right about all that. The man grinned again. “But the Y’rai had double-edged blades like this one, and look at this—” he reached over, stretching around their small fire to point at tiny runes that decorated the edge of the blade near the hilt. Ryn didn’t even remember to draw away from him, instead leaning over to see. “This etching, it is far more akin to the Y’rai ancient language than the elvish tongue.”

Ryn had to concede the point; the runes were definitely not Eloni, though they were similar. But she said nothing. She didn’t believe the legends about an entire race of folk created by Eir Windweaver, Aeos’ immortal consort, to heal the hurts of the world. If such a race had existed thousands of years ago, they had failed miserably and were of no concern to her now.

But some still held to belief in the Old Tales, and she did not begrudge the man his faith.

Still. The dagger was far too sound to have been that old. Perhaps a dagger made in the style of the Y’rai, by one who still believed the Tales, in their honor. She handed the beautiful knife back to Evin.

“Keep it,” he said. “I have no need of it.”

“What?”

Evin rolled his eyes and smiled. “I want you to have it.”

Ryn blinked, shook her head. “It’s yours, and it’s clearly old and very valuable—”

“And I got it doing something I oughtn’t have, that nearly got us all killed.” Evin laughed out loud. “Come, my Lady, accept the gift. It is a good knife, solid and sharp. It will serve you well, and I’ve a hope, bring you a smile when you see it.” He paused. “Something to remember our adventure by.”

Ryn sat back, stunned, but still holding the dagger. It had been years since she’d been given anything; she never stuck around long enough, preferring to defend travelers and leave the moment the danger passed, often before her clients even realized it was over. Ryn studied the knife more closely than before, as it was to be hers. Evin had done well, sharpening both edges and oiling the blade; it gleamed in the firelight.

“I’m no lady,” she returned in answer.

Evin just grinned.

The River Rena wound from the far north, to the furthest reaches of Southdale, before it disappeared into the Amaranthine Sea. It was the largest river in Adan by far, and its many tributaries helped water the land all the way from the Western Ocean to the Dragonback Mountains, the range that divided the known world in half.

At Neth Heoran, the massive lake that hemmed in the city of Thaliondris, the river split into two large serpentine forks that wound their way south side by side about a league apart, meeting again at the ancient ruins of Galaron. They were aptly named the West Rena and the East Rena, and it was the former of these that the travelers stood beside now, readying to cross. The West Rena was the shallower and gentler of the two, which wasn’t saying much, Brandt thought as he eyed the swift current and rocks covering their path across.

“All right,” Ryn said as they gathered at the water’s edge. “We’ll ford here. It doesn’t get any shallower.”

“How deep?” Brandt asked.

Ryn motioned to the middle of her thigh. “Not terribly, but the current is swift and dangerous in places. We will need to assist one another if we are to cross.”

“Have you done this before?” Evin asked as they all removed their heavy boots, replacing them instead with lighter leather strapped sandals, which would keep their heavy boots dry and provide them better footing in the water.

Ryn cocked an eyebrow at Evin. “I ford rivers all the time, Master Evin,” she replied.

The younger man gave her a crooked grin and pulled on his pack again, boots strapped to the outside tightly.

Brandt was following suit. “And what of your pet cat, lass?” he asked, motioning to Kota, who was sniffing at the water as he searched for a place to cross, delicately picking his way along the beach on giant padded paws.

Ryn smiled, tightening the straps holding her weapons beneath her rucksack. “He’ll get across in his own way. And he’s not my pet.”

Brandt looked at her oddly, but she didn’t give him a chance to probe further.

“Come,” she ordered, holding out both arms as though to a lord in a mighty manse, waiting to escort her to a dance. Both men linked arms with her, one on each side, then with each other, so the three formed a sort of tripod. “This way, if one of us slips, the others can assist easily. If you do fall and lose grip with the others, position yourself feet forward in the water and let the river carry you til the current lets up before attempting to swim to shore. If you panic or fight the river, you will make things worse.” At a nod from both men, she gave the signal and began shuffling them into the water.

Brandt bit back the urge to gasp at the frigid water swirling around his ankles. While the leather sandals provided no protection at all from the cold, he was glad of them; it would have been torturous to wait for their boots to dry while their feet were that cold. They traveled in a diagonal sort of pattern, toward the opposite shore but following the current loosely. As Ryn had told them; their best chance was to work with the river rather than against it.

They were a little past halfway before anything of note happened. Ryn slipped, on what, they never did find out; she went down swiftly and with a soft gasp of surprise. Wet, her arm slid right out of the crook of his elbow when he stumbled, and Evin shouted in surprised concern. Kota was already on the other bank, yowling and dashing forward and yon, as if they weren’t reacting quickly enough for his liking. However, Ryn reappeared a moment later, carried further down by the current, but head held high and holding a thumb up. Brandt breathed a short sigh of relief; she was following the very advice she had given them, all was well.

“Keep going!” Brandt called to Evin, shuffling forward again, holding tightly to his brother. “She will do as she said and swim across further down!” Evin nodded, and they kept moving forward and downstream, working a little harder to remain balanced now that there were only two of them.

They were nearly at the other side when Evin shouted in alarm. His brain practically conditioned to respond to that sound, Brandt whirled to see what had distressed him, and his heart leapt into his throat unbidden.

A limp body was tangled in the thick leafless branches of a fallen tree trunk further down. Brandt cursed vividly.

It was Ryn, and she wasn’t moving. He acted on impulse, shoving Evin the rest of the way toward the shore even as he turned to go back.

“Watch Kota!” he ordered. The lynx was screaming now, pawing ineffectually at the river. Brandt was concerned the creature might try to save his Mistress and end up in worse straits for his trouble.

“But—”

“I’m the better swimmer!” Brandt roared, then turned and dove. It was true, after all; he was the stronger swimmer, always had been, as Evin was far from comfortable in any water deeper than he could touch the bottom. He kept his stride short—the current took him far with each movement, he didn’t need to try to go further—and his eyes open as he carefully navigated the distance to their guide.

When he reached her, he wedged his feet firmly against some underwater stones that seemed stable enough. He thanked Aeos that whatever had happened, she had gotten jammed into the tree branches face-up. He checked her over quickly—steady heartbeat, deep breaths, a scratch on her forehead that bled more than the mark seemed to warrant, as head wounds do. Her nose was also bleeding, but he could see bruising along that side of her cheek that led him to believe the damage was mostly external. He prayed her neck was unbroken, for he had little choice but to move her. He could not rightly leave her in the river, and besides, there were no healers for leagues in any direction.

“Ach, lass, come now. Let’s get you out of here, shall we?” he murmured, more to himself than her, for Ryn did not respond. He disentangled her from the stiff wet branches with some level of difficulty—her staff and longbow held him up, tangling in the rough branches several times, too well-secured for him to pull them loose. Finally, out of desperation, he pulled his knife and sliced the straps criss-crossing Ryn’s chest. The move loosened her pack and freed the bow and staff, which he threw to the shore—he’d always had a good arm—then he tossed the woman unceremoniously over his shoulder, holding her pack by the severed straps, and waded the rest of the way out with the assistance of her erstwhile prison, the felled tree.

She woke near the bank with a shout and a kick that nearly brained him. Brandt called her name to let her know he was a friend, and she went limp after a moment, making his job infinitely easier. They reached their worried party moments later. Brandt staggered onto the bank, setting Ryn gently on her feet and holding her by the shoulders to be sure she didn’t sway. Ryn shoved him off gently—“I’m fine, I’m fine”—and he stumbled a step or two away, hands on his knees, breathing hard. Evin rushed to him and pulled him upright roughly, checked him over for injuries. It was a familiar custom, one he had returned plenty a time, so Brandt didn’t protest.

“Are you hurt, brother?” Evin asked. Brandt responded by slapping him on the shoulder to assure him of his well-being. He was far too winded to speak just yet.

Ryn was bent over at the waist, clearly not as fine as she’d asserted, receiving a similar treatment from Kota; the lynx whined and nosed her gently in his search for injuries, licking her face and hair like a mother cat cleaning her kitten. Ryn snorted a laugh, then coughed as blood dripped onto the gravel bank from her head and nose. She moaned slightly and, failing to find something on which to lean when she searched blindly with one hand, went to her knees and leaned against Kota. Wiping shaking fingers on her leggings, she fumbled for a scrap of cloth to stem the flow of blood. She startled, garnering a low warning growl from the lynx, when Brandt thrust a torn cloth between her face and the gravel.

“Here,” he muttered, ignoring Kota.

“Thanks,” she murmured, sounding a bit faint yet.

Brandt eyed her worriedly. He tore his gaze away when Evin made the strangest noise in his throat, almost like a scoff. He blinked, blue eyes meeting gold, and Evin cocked an eyebrow at him, his expression straying dangerously toward teasing.

Brandt’s brow lowered. “What?” he asked.

Evin just tilted his head toward the lass, who still wasn’t looking at them and was shivering in the wind. It occurred to Brandt they ought to build a fire.

But that wasn’t what Evin was on about, he realized with a measure of annoyance. His brother was teasing him, for his concern over their Guide. He stared at Evin for a minute, then rolled his eyes—he wasn’t King yet, after all, the childish gesture was still allowed him.

“For the love of Aeos, Evin, can you think of aught else?”

Evin snickered outright.