A terrible thought crossed Persephone’s mind. What if Nyphron has been waiting for reinforcements before starting a slaughter?
The two groups exchanged hand gestures—nothing threatening, greetings perhaps—and then they came together and began talking in Fhrey. Persephone did her best to understand the exchange.
“What are you doing here?” the leader of the other group asked.
“I was going to ask you the same thing,” Nyphron replied.
“We’re looking for the Rhune that murdered Shegon.”
“Not here.”
“You sure?” the other Fhrey asked.
“We’ve been here for days. I think we would have noticed.”
The other leader nodded thoughtfully, and there was a long pause.
“Why’d you do it?”
It was Nyphron’s turn to nod thoughtfully. “You’re not looking for Shegon’s murderer, are you?”
“We are, but Petragar also asked if we could find you.”
“And what will you tell him?”
“I don’t know.” The Fhrey sighed. “Fleeing just made matters worse.”
“Fleeing?” Nyphron laughed. “Sikar, tell me honestly, have you ever known me to flee?”
Although there had been a formation of sorts on their approach, both groups had broken their lines. They didn’t exactly mingle, but they weren’t prepping for combat, either. Sikar stood in the forefront with Nyphron. Smaller, thinner, with shorter hair and a weaker posture, Sikar appeared no match for the leader of the Galantians.
“So what would you call it? Petragar said you refused orders, broke his jaw, and ran off.”
“First of all”—Tekchin paused to belch—“Petragar, the little ass-ica that he is, was unconscious at the time. So he doesn’t know Tet.”
Sikar kept his attention on Nyphron. “Are you saying you didn’t defy orders?”
“Oh, we disobeyed,” Nyphron said, and glanced back at the Galantians with a wry smile. “That part is true. And we have no intention of returning to the Rhist.”
“You might want to reconsider,” Sikar said. “Petragar has sent word to Estramnadon.”
“What a brideeth,” Nyphron said. “That’s the kind of overreaction I’d expect from someone like him and it’s exactly why Lothian shouldn’t have turned over the reins of the Rhist to anyone but an Instarya.”
“Nyphron, you refused a direct order from the fane, and you broke the commander’s jaw. What did you expect?”
Nyphron shrugged.
Sikar stared at him in disbelief, then looked back at his troops and shook his head, clapping his hands to his sides. “Nyphron, the fane could order your execution. Why did you do it?”
“I thought you’d met Petragar,” Nyphron said, and smiled.
Sikar sighed. “This isn’t funny. When I go back, I will have to report finding you.”
“If you feel you have to, go ahead.”
“And then what? I don’t want to be the one getting the order to bring you in…or worse.”
Nyphron smiled. The Galantian appeared to find this entertaining, but he seemed to be the only one. “Do you think you could?”
Sikar stared at him, his face hard. “I wouldn’t have a choice. Nyphron, your father is dead. Lothian won. He’s the new fane and can’t be challenged again for another three thousand years. So you’re going to have to live with that fact. Even if he dies before the Uli Vermar, his son will take over, and then what will you do? Challenge him? Repeat your father’s mistake? Swords can’t defeat the Art. You were there. You saw what happened in that arena.”
Nyphron no longer looked so jovial and began walking around Sikar.
“A Rhune killed Shegon,” Nyphron said. “It proves Rhunes can fight.”
“According to Meryl, Shegon was unconscious when he was killed.”
“I hadn’t heard that, but it doesn’t change the fact that the Rhunes know what is possible now. Fhrey can’t kill Fhrey, but Rhunes can. If provoked, they will fight back.”
Sikar shook his head. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“Let’s just say I don’t intend to make the same mistakes as my father.” Nyphron stopped and clapped Sikar on the shoulders, leaving his hands there and looking into his eyes. “What do you say? Why don’t you join us?”
“You can’t be serious. What you’re suggesting is unthinkable. It’s not our place to question the fane. Our lord Ferrol appointed him—”
Nyphron shoved him backward. “Don’t give me that crap! Ferrol didn’t pick Lothian. He was the son of Fenelyus; that’s how he got the Forest Throne. Before the Art, challenges were fair. But now it doesn’t matter who the Aquila picks. From here on we’re doomed to be ruled by the Miralyith, and Lothian just happened to be the next in line. He’s a privileged, self-centered elitist who thinks anyone from another tribe is a lesser race. We’re nothing but slaves to him. My father was the only one willing to say so and back it up with a sword.”
“And now he’s dead,” Sikar said, stepping forward to regain the ground he’d lost.
“I think I’d rather die than be a slave,” Nyphron shot back.
Sikar looked up at the wall lined with spectators. He sighed. “You might be put to that test sooner than you think.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean it might not be me who is sent to retrieve you. The Rhist is expecting a visitor from Estramnadon.”
“A visitor?”
“Her name is Arion.”
The Galantians looked at one another. No one appeared to recognize the name.
“Rumor has it she’s the tutor to the prince,” Sikar said.
“Miralyith,” Nyphron said gravely.
“Tutor to the prince,” Tekchin added. “That can’t be good.”
Sikar nodded. “Petragar was falling all over himself making preparations of welcome. Running honor guard drills, hanging banners, scrubbing walls. Nyphron, her nickname is Cenzlyor.”
“Swift of mind?”
Sikar nodded. “It was given to her by Fenelyus—Fenelyus!”
“You think she’s coming after us?”
“Why else would a palace-level Miralyith pay a visit to the Rhist?” Sikar’s face filled with sympathy. “The only way you could be in more trouble is if Gryndal or the fane himself was on his way.” Sikar sighed. “Listen, I wasn’t in Estramnadon for the challenge. I didn’t see it, but I heard what happened—what Lothian did to your father. You should run. Just disappear.”
Nyphron shook his head. “It wouldn’t help. No one can hide from a Miralyith.”
Sikar nodded and extended his hand. “Any idea where we can find Shegon’s killer so this trip won’t be a total loss? Perhaps it will appease Petragar if we come back with something.”
Nyphron turned and looked up at Raithe. “I’m pretty sure he’s southeast.”
“What? In Menahan?”
“That’s a possibility.”
“Great. I love the stink of sheep. Okay.” Sikar sighed. “Good luck to you.”