“Yesterday’s end is the beginning of today.”

from the journal of Scanlin Ross, First Sword in Tyrian, Believer

When at last they reached the subterranean chamber into which the Alwynns had evacuated, Camryn burst from one of the dozens of shadowed nooks and crannies and threw himself into Alira’s arms with energy Aralt envied. “Is it true, Liri? Are there Naharasii? Did you see them? Gah! You stink!”

She held her younger brother tight and, for the first time since their ordeal had begun, Aralt saw tears flowing freely down her smooth cheeks. There, among family, she no longer needed to be Alira of Alwynn-Muir. There she was sister and daughter, and he could see her searching faces, afraid to ask if Penafull had been telling the truth about her father’s demise.

“Were they eating people?” Camryn asked, dragging his sister through the milling crowd.

“Lad,” Scanlin told the boy as he and Kolarin trundled Lian by in a makeshift litter, “’tis not a thing to speak of.”

The Alwynns’ steward, hastily dressed and his white hair askew, ushered them toward a side chamber. “Sweet Creator—kavsa Lian. Bring him this way, out of the crowd. Lady Alira, syr Tremayne, you’ve arrived! We feared the worst. It’s been such a confusion down here, such a confusion. Is it true, what they are saying?”

“I’m afraid it is, old friend,” she told him, taking his wrinkled hands in hers. “I’m afraid it is.”

“Heaven help us…”

“Only heaven can,” Alira told him as he shuffled away, barking orders. She turned her eyes toward Aralt. “Gareth, what if he isn’t—”

“Liri!” Veryl, dressed in knee-length breeches and a nightshirt over which he’d buttoned a velvet doublet some decades out of fashion, crossed the hall with a stiff-legged run, crushing his daughter in his embrace. He took hold of Aralt’s arm and pulled him close as well. “Oh, my giddy aunt! What is that smell?”

Before he could explain, Veryl roared on, asking about the situation topside.

“How goes the battle for my city? They tell me the Naharasii have returned. Aralt, tell me it isn’t so. I’ve no stomach to see babies’ heads on pikes come daylight.”

Camryn blanched. “They don’t really? Do they? Papa?”

“This way! This way!”

A squad of guards and three aides peeled out of the crowd and fell in behind their laird as he capered off, paying no heed to the denizens of Faerkirke scrambling out of his path. Weary as he was, Aralt followed the parade, drawn by the sound of water, blinking as they moved through light and shadow into a space so immense, he staggered at the sight. The tallest tower he had ever seen could have fit inside the cavern, which stretched further than he could see in the uneven light. To one side, a waterfall dropped into a plunge pool, which in turn divided into two rivers, one that rushed the length of the cave and the other disappearing beneath the ground. To the other, a shimmering cascade of crystal mirrored the waterfall, its surface frozen in place. He followed Veryl over the churning waterway via a natural bridge.

“Where are we?” he asked, turning himself in circles, overwhelmed by hundreds of cave formations that gave the impression of having entered another world.

“Hah! Secret!” When they reached the other side of the bridge, Veryl spun to face Aralt, grabbing his arms. “Now, give me news! They think I’m too old and frail to hear the truth of it! Tell me! Where are the demons?”

He exchanged glances with Alira, then simply said, “We fed them to the Kell Sea’s witch.”

Veryl’s eyes narrowed under his grizzled brow. “Did you now. That’s one way to flush away the vermin, I suppose. Down the sewers? Splendid!”

“Syr Tremayne?” Camryn clasped his hat in his hands. “Sir, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I took Lian to Mar Alvis. This is all my fault. What can I do to make it better?”

“What?” Veryl’s voice rose into a roar. “What’s this?”

“Trouble in their pockets, didn’t you say?” He forced himself to smile. Well, it might have been a smile. His face was numb with cold and dirt. “Done’s done, lad. He’s sorry he asked you, so you’re even on that score. You can both stop blaming yourselves. Neither of you brought this to Faerkirke. If you can find him a change of clothes, that would help. He had blood and puke all over his.”

Camryn screwed up his face in disgust. “I’ll find something. And get him water. He probably wants water.”

Not after their wastewater baptism, but he let the boy go. Veryl hadn’t let go of him.

“You’re going to need this,” the old man said, dragging a parchment case from within his doublet. He slipped an oilskin map out, pointing with one finger as he tried to display the map with his other hand.

Aralt tried to focus on the complex labyrinths. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

“This is the way to freedom.”

He looked to Alira for explanation, but she looked as puzzled as he felt. He tried to concentrate on the lines and arrows as Veryl waved the map in his face.

“You need to get Lian to Askierran. But first you have to get out of the domain. This is the route, right here. Rosstafarr Alwynn’s map!”

“Papa, no,” Alira interjected. “That map’s been on display for as long as I can remember. No one’s gone that far in decades, if they ever did at all.”

“What choice do they have? You might have washed some of the Naharasii down the drain, but there are always more—and Shirahnyn besides, am I right? Aha! I knew it! Where are my councilors? I’ll box their ears…”

“Father,” Alira said firmly, “calm down.”

“Is Penafull still alive?” Veryl spat.

Alira let go a noisy breath then nodded. “Yes. He’s at the city center vault…”

“ Is he? First one to run for cover, I’ll bet.” He looked down at the map, confusion washing over his wrinkled face. “You have the map? You have the map. The map. Yes! If Rosstafarr Alwynn escaped the Great Horror this way, then it’s Aralt’s best chance of getting Lian Kynsei to safety.”

Alira pressed her hands against her cheeks and gave her head a shake. “If Rosstafarr Alwynn was even a real person, he lived centuries ago.”

“If he was real? Of course, he was real. I ought to know. I was there. All right, I wasn’t, but I feel that old—except on days like this. Days like this, I have more energy than a flashing turbine. Where’s my sword?” He turned to the nearest aide. “Get me my sword! Get me two swords!”

“Papa, calm down. Steady nerves. You always say we must keep our heads,” Alira told him. “The city evacuation plan is working. There were hundreds of people at the central vault and there must be thrice that number here. Maybe more. If any of the Naharasii survive, they won’t stray far into the countryside, and besides, the outlying parishes will have heard the alarms and seen ships in the air—”

“Hush!” Veryl Alwynn roared. “So many words. Unless you and Aralt are going to get married before he leaves, hush!”

Alira blinked, color rising in her cheeks. She drew Aralt’s sodden coat about her modestly. “What does that have to do with—”

“Well, you brought the khiyerey with you,” he told her, waving one hand at Shepherd Alinn on the other side of the bridge. “Or was that because you thought I’d be dead? Or is he going to Confirm Lian? That’s what you should do! Did you talk him into staying? You were supposed to talk him into staying.”

“That isn’t up to us and never was,” Alira told her father. They attempted to steer him toward one of several fountains. Carved esri with serpents’ tails, like the waterspout upon which Lian had perched at the top of Mar Alvis. “Papa do sit down. Where are your boots?”

“With my esri! No, I didn’t have time to bring him down either. They did that, you know,” he told Aralt, hands grasping imaginary reins. “They took esri through these tunnels, guided only by lamplight and prayers. We should have brought down the esri!”

More color rose in Alira’s face until Aralt thought she was going to scream. “Mother and Son!” she sputtered, face crimson. “Go ahead. Tell him ghost stories. What we ought to be doing is confirming that the city is secure. The vault at town’s center will have been sealed by now. Have there been any messages? Who is on watch above? Where is your First Sword?”

“Probably leading five hundred warriors to their deaths by cannibalism!” the old man shouted, waving his hands in the air.

Aralt put himself between them when Alira’s green eyes flashed. Veryl rolled on like a spring plow behind a rampaging esri. “Fine. Fine. See what you can learn, my girl. They aren’t telling me what’s going on. Or I’m forgetting. Or I’m remembering the last time we had to hide down here. I don’t know!”

Alira rounded on two of her father’s aides. They cringed. “I want a report and I want it now. If you don’t have one, get one!”

“Aralt, you’ll never have a better match than that one. Feisty, like her mother. Kept me in line. Your grandfather always said that’s what I needed. Someone to rein me in, stubborn mule that I am. Smart man. He made watches and designed engines and…but you know that, of course.” Veryl stopped and looked Aralt up and down as if for the first time. “You look rather like him.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Alira—”

“Has been as courageous as a seasoned Sword today. She is her father’s daughter.”

“Never doubt it.” Veryl straightened his nonexistent collar with a satisfied tug. “Get married. Keep those memories only between you.”

He couldn’t help but notice her face brightened at the notion. “Forgive me, sir, but today is probably not the best day to hang a wedding garland.”

“Why not? We’re all here and we aren’t going anywhere. Seasoned Sword, eh? She didn’t use a sword, did she? Doesn’t like blood, that one. Childbirth might be a problem. Was that blood on Lian’s shirt? There was blood in Faerkirke when the Horror came.” He noticed the map in his hand again and collapsed to one knee, dragging Aralt down with him. That night he smelled of sweat and peppermint and lemon tea. He spread the map on the ground, pointing with a gnarled finger. “See this? My ancestors found these rivers and tunnels quite useful as hiding places. Naharasii. Dreadful business. Twisting tunnel trolls. Thought they could get in here. No, sir. This was Rosstafarr Alwynn’s legendary escape route. According to the stories, a Riahi helped him find his way to Estevedyn.”

“Papa, really? We don’t have time for stories. Even ones as wonderful as yours.”

“Stories? Stories. Is that all they are to you now? And I suppose this wasn’t all foretold?” He pointed a crooked finger in Lian Kynsei’s direction.

The boy was no longer where they had left him. He zigzagged through the crowd, head turning, searching, and Aralt felt the twinge of his fear.

Aralt? Aralt, where are you? Aralt, don’t leave me here…

Easy, lad. We’re here.

When Lian saw them across the bridge, he closed his eyes, his lips moving in thanks. The people who a moment before had overwhelmed him, became his focus. A moment later, Aralt could no longer see him.

Veryl watched it all. “And all those years ago I thought Marcynn would be the harbinger of doom. For all I loved him, I nearly had a heart seizure anytime the man traveled to the north country.”

“Sir?” he asked, surprised. Beside him, Alira clamped a hand over her mouth, but held her tongue. The remaining aide was not as wise.

“K’talyn, such talk about Kavistra Marcynn.”

“Aralt, help me up.” Veryl rolled the map into a cylinder and thumped his aide soundly on the head with it. “I knew him when he was just Marcynn. When he stole the kavistra’s boat and we sailed to one of the islands off the coast of Leyth. Illyn Arranach. No small feat, that. Had to understand the tides. Marcynn did. Marcynn knew the sea better than any man I ever knew. They think I’m a foolish old man, Aralt, but I’m telling you the truth.”

“I know you are. My grandfather told the same story.”

“Maybe we’re all getting old,” Veryl said, voice breaking. Tears welled in the corners of his eyes. “Your grandfather left us too soon, I tell you! And where is Marcynn? Where is he? It’s only Teren Glynn and me now, and when do I ever see him? He never tells stories. I know he doesn’t. I have to tell the stories. I have to remember. But I’ve been resisting change. Maybe it is time for Verin and Alira. Maybe we’ve all had pants on our heads.”

A newly arrived entourage of aged councilors, led by Veryl’s equally wizened steward, objected. Veryl told them all to put a sock in it, then put his arm across Aralt’s shoulders and steered him away from the group, leaving Alira to mend bridges, as she so often did. She caught his eye. Just go with him.