Light of Eidon (Legends of the Guardian-King, Book 1) by Karen Hancock

all could end.”
    Eldrin rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes. Carissa’s already sung this song. I don’t
need to hear it again.”
    “I don’t think you heard it the first time.” Raynen folded his arms, scowling.
    Eldrin scowled back. “Saeral is High Father of all the Mataio, Eidon’s
Hand and Voice in the land. He could not possibly be the murderous manipulator you’re making him out to be.”
    “Our kin were not the only casualties, you realize. Did you know that of
the fourteen Guardians ahead of him in succession, nine fell into disgrace or
madness and three died? The last two were so intimidated they readily
stepped aside.” He paced back up the row of chairs, waving an arm. `Ask
around. It’s easy enough to prove. Of course, nothing can be traced directly
back to him. The deaths were `accidents.’ And one can’t blame madness on a
man in court.”
    “Indeed.”
    Raynen stopped behind the chair across from Eldrin, gripping the tall
back with both hands. “But the accumulation of evidence, the sheer coincidence of it-“
    “Perhaps it is indicative of Eidon’s hand in the matter, promoting the man
he would have at the head of his Mataio.” Eldrin frowned at him. “You ask
how I can know I am not being deceived. Well, I could ask you the same.
Father hated Saeral from the day he arrived, and you were always Father’s son. I think you believe he’s evil because you want him to be.”

    “I believe he’s evil because he is. I saw him kill our Father, Abramm. And
Aarol. I was there.”
    That gave Eldrin pause. “I thought they were mauled.”
    “Yes, but not by creatures of this world.” He whirled to pace alongside
the table again, stopping halfway back to glare out the window, arms once
more folded across his chest, features reflected in the glass. For a long time
he stared into the darkness, and just when Eldrin had decided he was not
going to continue, he spoke. “Shaped like night herons, but not herons. Not
birds of any kind.”
    In the reflection his face grew vacant with remembered horror. “Black as
ravens, with needle-sharp beaks and white-hot eyes. Tens of them, stabbing
at him, at his face and arms and chest. When he went down, Aarol tried to
drag him to safety, but they turned on Aarol, too … both of them screaming
and screaming, and I …” He braced a trembling hand on the window frame.
    Eldrin stood rigidly, chilled to the core. Black as ravens, needle-sharp
beaks, white-hot eyes. “Feyna.” The word whispered out of him.
    Raynen’s head snapped around. “They are not myth.”
    Perhaps not, but Eldrin had never seen one, had never known anyone who
had. The First Word warned of them frequently, creatures spawned by
Moroq’s rhu’ema. Born of the passions and blood of human flesh, they had
flesh themselves and thus the power to strike directly, blow for blow in the
physical world, something the rhu’ema themselves could no longer do. The
Flames supposedly kept Kiriath clean of such things.
    Uneasily, Eldrin glanced at Meridon, still standing beside the hearth,
watching them closely.
    “I was hiding in the bushes,” the king said, looking back into the night. “I
couldn’t move, though I wanted to run for my life. When the screaming
stopped, I watched the creatures fight over their bodies. Suddenly they all
took wing. I thought they had sensed me, that I would be next, but then a
man came out of the wood, cloaked and cowled. Several came and perched
on his shoulders. The others just kept flying. He stood over the bodies for a
long time before he began to laugh. And there was nothing human in it. As
he left he walked past where I crouched, and I saw his face clearly.” Raynen’s
gaze came back to Eldrin’s. “It was Saeral.”
    His words plunged into silence. Eldrin stared at him, rooted to the floor, shaken by the conviction in his brother’s voice, the certainty in his eyes, but
unable to accept this final, damning accusation. At