“Xo-Taro . . .” Kylpin dropped next to the Shi’kwaran and reached for the blade. “My friend . . .”
“No,” Xo-Taro gasped. “Leave it.” He grabbed Kylpin’s hand. “You must finish . . . my task . . . I give it . . . to you . . . Save . . .”
He toppled over onto his side and died.
“Kylpy!” Evie cried.
Kylpin tore his gaze off the dead Shi’kwaran and found Evie pointing at . . .
Gylfalen. The wind mage was on his hands and knees. He planted one foot and started to rise. Pain etched across his darkened face as he struggled to stand. His black eyes narrowed when he saw Kylpin staring back at him.
“Come at me with that sword, and I’ll kill you,” the wind mage threatened. Something, blood perhaps, leaked out of his mouth. “And I’ll kill her too.” He glanced over at Evie.
Kylpin straightened. His grip tightened on his sword. Only ten feet separated him from the mage. How fast could he summon the wind?
Gylfalen got his other foot under him and though he wobbled, he did manage to stand upright. Kylpin hesitated. If he attacked and failed, the knowledge he had about Lord Ragget would die with him. Ian had to be told . . .
A slow grin spread across Gylfalen’s face, revealing two rows of pointy teeth. “Bre’nen viol’iate’!”
Kylpin lunged forward. Evie screamed. Over the wind mage’s shoulder, Kylpin caught a glimpse of movement. It was Kin-Tar. He was on his feet and armed with his Dulon and he was racing toward Evie . . .
What was the young Islander doing?
That split second of broken concentration disrupted his lunge. His sword tip lowered and dropped slightly down and to the right . . .
Wind churned behind him. Whirling blades sliced through the air. His sword tip bore forward, pierced the mage’s vest pocket . . . and struck something . . . solid!
Gylfalen’s black eyes widened in surprised.
Evie’s scream became a shriek.
“Viol’iate au’meh!” Gylfalen muttered.
The wind mage’s outline shimmered. Bubbling liquid gushed out of his chest. Kylpin had missed his heart . . . Had he punctured his lung instead?
A giant fist of wind exploded through the side of the warehouse sending long splinters of wood whipping across the room. The invading wind swirled around Gylfalen, plucking him off Kylpin’s sword and spiriting him safely away out into the pink light of dawn. Kylpin glanced down at his sword. It was coated in a foul-smelling blackish ichor. He had hurt the wind mage!
“Kylpy . . .”
He turned and saw Evie, white-faced, standing against the warehouse wall by the bottom of the stairs. A half-dozen Dulons were imbedded in the wood all around her. But she wasn’t looking at the quivering blades.
She was staring at Kin-Tar. The young Islander was standing very still directly in front of her.
“Kin-Tar? What are you . . .?”
He trailed off as the Shi’kwaran spun slowly around, his dark face a mask of pain.
“Did I . . . get them all . . .?” he wheezed. His weapon dropped from his fingers and he shuffled forward, his light footsteps now heavy. Sunlight shone through the blasted hole in the warehouse and glinted off the exposed blades of five or six Dulons jutting from his body.
Kylpin raced forward and caught Kin-Tar as he toppled over. “What . . .?” He glanced over at Evie again and realized the young Islander had stepped in front of the whirling blades and had shielded her from harm. Easing the young Islander gently to the floor, Kylpin stared helplessly at his ruined chest. Blood stained the entire front of his tunic. There was nothing he could do.
“I saved your woman,” Kin-Tar struggled.
“Yes, you did,” Kylpin replied. He held the young man’s hand. Even now, the Islander’s strength threatened to crush him.
“You must . . . save my sister.”
“Don’t talk like that . . . I’ll get a healer.”
“No time,” Kin-Tar coughed up blood. “Listen . . . You must save Rai-Lin. Return her to . . .”
“Save your strength.”
Kin-Tar grabbed the front of Kylpin’s shirt and pulled him close. “Promise me . . . she will save . . . return . . . to Dondagla . . .”
“I promise, my friend,” Kylpin replied. “I swear I will see it done.”
Kin-Tar grimaced and his hard face began to soften. “Our ship . . . a harbor . . . tree . . . north . . .” He coughed up more blood. “Save . . . Rai-Lin . . .”
“Yes, my friend.”
Kin-Tar let go of his shirt and lay back. He stared up at the ceiling and a faint smile plucked at the corners of his pale lips. “My ancestors are coming for me.”
Before his eyes, the fierce Shi’kwaran warrior became a young man, barely more than a boy. Gone was the anger and rage, gone was the impassive face.
“I promise,” he said again, but the boy was gone. He reached up and closed his blue eyes.
“Kylpy . . .?”
He glanced over at Evie. She was still standing against the wall. Her face was still white. The pain and fear were still there too. Her hands were clasped in front of her, clasped around . . .
A thick piece of wood.
“Kylpy . . . I can’t feel my legs . . .”
Kylpin leapt to his feet and raced to her side.
“Is it . . . bad . . .?”
Kylpin immediately saw the truth. A plank of wood longer than his sword and as thick as his arm had punched through her middle and had pinned her to the wall. He wrapped her in his arms and kissed her lips and held her close. “No, my love . . . it’s not bad at all . . . I’ll summon a healer . . . and when you’re well enough we’ll be married . . . and have babies . . .”
“What about the sea, Kylpy?” Her head rested on his shoulder. “You love the sea . . .”
“I love you, Evie . . .”
He felt her smile against his cheek. “. . . Say that again.”
“I love you, Evie . . .”
Silence.
“. . . Evie . . .?”
chapter 42
Theodora woke and found herself sprawled face-down on a dirty marble floor. She rolled over, noting she suffered only a mild headache, and spied Lord Glavinas Roth sitting against the wall beside her, reading Lumist’s message.
“I’m sorry about that,” Glavinas said, gesturing vaguely. “I thought you were my . . .”
“Dead wife?” Theodora offered. She sat up and arranged her robes. “I pray that is not how you treated her when she lived!” She rubbed the back of her head and felt the beginnings of a small lump.
Glavinas grunted and shook his head. His face was red and puffy, but his eyes told her the whole truth. They were red too, but they were no longer filled with anger and rage, just a deep and profound sense of sadness. He was still grieving the loss of his wife. Her own feelings of anger melted, and she found herself pitying him. A lump on the head was nothing compared to the pain he must be suffering.
“I see you’ve read Sir Lumist’s message,” she said, in a gentler tone. Was his earlier madness due to a severe mixture of grief and alcohol or was there something more? He seemed different now, sitting beside her calmly, but that could just be an act. She’d seen it before in the mental ward. A simple magical exam would reveal a deeper unresolved problem, but this was not the time or the place for conducting such tests.
“Leave it to Lumist to find a conspiracy,” Glavinas said, holding up the paper.
“What do you mean?”
“Lumist believes there is an order of Yordicians, Gyunwarian-haters he calls them, who are out to kill him and others of his countrymen.”
“Sir Lumist is at the Belyne Infirmary recovering from a stab wound,” Theodora said. “And minor riots are breaking out all over the city, especially in the Little Ryerton district. Perhaps your friend’s belief is correct.”
Glavinas shrugged. “Perhaps.” He wiped at his moist eyes. “And he wants me to ensure Lord Ian receives a fair trial.”
“Ye
s. He thought you might be willing to help a friend.”
“Then he doesn’t know what was found in Ian’s vault, does he?”
“I don’t know,” Theodora said. “Why?”
Glavinas dropped the paper. “You have heard of the Thief of Belyne and the vault burglaries, I assume?”
“There have been rumors throughout the city, but I try to avoid gossip.”
Glavinas snorted. “You may look like my wife, but you’re nothing like her. She loved gossip. Hearing it, spreading it . . . if something happened in this city, my wife knew about it. One time . . .” He fell silent, staring off into space. After a moment or two, he glanced back at her. “As I was saying, the contents of all the burgled vaults were found in Ian’s. Mine, Lumist’s, our friend Lady Cuci Kindacaid’s. He even took items from Lord Ragget and the king.”
“So, you are disinclined to help Lord Ian.”
“Wouldn’t you?” Glavinas’s voice contained a hardened edge. “I thought I was ruined.”
“What did Lord Ian say?”
“What does that matter? He was caught . . .”
“Because if he was my friend,” Theodora interrupted him, “and he claimed he was innocent, I would give him the benefit of the doubt.” She stood and folded her arms into her robes. “Now, I must return to the infirmary and give Sir Lumist your reply. What will it be?”
“Do you think Lord Ian is innocent?”
“I do not know him personally, but he has done many good deeds for those in need,” Theodora answered. “And I find it hard to believe that someone so willing to help complete strangers would purposely harm his own friends. Don’t you?”
Glavinas looked down at the paper again. “I will see what I can do, but Ian’s trial is this afternoon, I cannot promise much.”
“So soon?”
“King’s orders. He wants this matter resolved swiftly.”
“Shouldn’t a king want such matters resolved correctly?”
“I think he believes those two go hand-in-hand.”
“Rarely has that been my experience.”
Glavinas shrugged. “The king is entitled to his beliefs, is he not?”
“Of course.” Theodora climbed to her feet. For a moment, she felt a touch dizzy, but a few muttered words and the sensation passed. “Thank you, M’lord. I will inform Sir Lumist of your decision and trouble you no further today.” She curtsied politely and turned for the door.
“Please, give my regards to Sir Lumist,” Glavinas called after her. “And tell him not to worry. I’ll make sure Ian gets everything he deserves.”
chapter 43
Lord Ragget left the infirmary after speaking with Lord Arbassi and quickly strolled across the garden square toward his waiting carriage. A sly smile crept across his rugged façade, but it didn’t stay put for long. Though his plans were slowly falling into place, he had suffered some annoying setbacks. The most frustrating of these was the entire Joseph Hewes debacle. What the hell had set him off? Why had he decided to turn against him? Ragget thought back to what Mister Hewes might have overheard. Had he been concerned with his schemes for war here and across the sea? It seemed unlikely considering some of the weapons the man had invented, but then, maybe Mister Hewes had been against his alliance with the Euclacian Empress? Was he worldly enough to understand and disagree with her tyrannical politics?
Lord Ragget shook his head. No, more than likely the old Gyunwarian wizard had simply developed a soft spot for his fellow countryman and Ambassador, Lord Ian Weatherall.
Regardless the reason, Ragget was now having a difficult time directing all his hired men and women in a timely manner. Quick communication with Scylthia was impossible now and hiring another wind mage and sending him to the jungle would only cut the two-week delay for each return message in half. Wind speak, channeled through Gylfalen, would have to suffice for now, but soon he would either need to restore the magic discs somehow or find another communication alternative.
Otherwise, his grand scheme for a spreading war across the continents would hang in the balance.
Another setback was Mister Hewes’ daughter, Josephine. The young actress was proving to be a difficult person to catch. She knew the city well and her aim with that damn crossbow of hers was just too damn good. She had killed two collectors and a water mage during her escape from the Factory and in the process, she’d taken with her a wagon filled with . . . construction material. While the loss of a dozen or so bodies was unfortunate, what he found most regrettable was the fact that she knew about the Factory. There was much work still to be done down there to augment his growing army and he didn’t want just anyone poking around in his business. A young warden had reportedly been following her after her escape, but he had not checked back in and Ragget now assumed he had lost her and was too scared to admit his failure.
Or perhaps she’d killed him too.
Had he known before how resourceful Josephine was, he might have attempted to recruit her for a greater part in Lord Ian’s downfall. The fact that she had eluded Gylfalen too, he found most disturbing. Was she being aided by some sort of magic? Her father’s? Her own? A third party’s?
Each was troubling in different ways.
If her father was still assisting her from beyond the grave, then he had cast longevity spells on any of several objects or items and there really was no way to determine what she might have at her disposal. And though he prided himself on his ability to plan, it was near impossible to account for every contingency when an unknown magical power was at play.
The same could be said for her own magical abilities. Were they the same as her father’s? Greater? Weaker? Could she make the discs work again? If so, could she be made to make the discs work again? What leverage could he hold over her? She’d already lost her entire family. Even threatening her with death might not work. With everyone she loved gone, she might welcome it. All that remained was torture. Pain was a great motivator but at the same time it could play havoc with magic.
And finally, Ragget considered third party aid. He knew at least one other like himself was here in Belyne. Perhaps two. Was one of them working on Josephine’s behalf to thwart him and his plans? Or were there two, and were they working together to oppose him indirectly? It wasn’t unheard of for two or more to gang up on another like that. He was doing something similar himself with the shipment of stone-treated Islanders and created hybrids heading to Euclacia. Only his scheme to spread war on more than one continent wasn’t just to thwart others like himself. He had an even grander plan in mind, and it required that the gods be distracted.
And nothing distracted them better than war.
And yet, while he struggled to see his great plans realized, he found himself troubled by the failures of others. Garett Navarro’s escape was another example of this. The damn fire mage, while greatly diminished by the loss of his Elemental, was still running around the city with some potentially damaging information against him too. Wardens had tried to stop him, the city patrol had tried to stop him, his Loyalists had tried to stop him, but he was proving to be just too quick for them all.
Perhaps he needed to hire faster henchmen.
Or, perhaps he should just start killing those who failed him and let that be a lesson to those who remained in his employ.
Of course, he was tempted to start with the wind mage. Just after sunrise, Gylfalen’s wind speech had ended abruptly in mid-sentence. He had related some sort of disturbance at the north warehouse, but shortly after responding, his words were silenced.
And that had been over an hour ago.
Ragget reached his carriage and climbed inside. Amarias materialized out of the darkness and sat opposite him.
“Any word from Gylfalen yet?”
Amarias shook his head.
“Dammit!” Ragget growled. He pounded on the roof. “Driver take me to the Necropolis.”
He sat back brooding as the carriage rolled out into the street and joined the other early-morning trave
lers. He had just about reached the end of his patience with the wind mage. Perhaps he should invest in more competent help. He wasn’t against spending gold to accomplish his goals he just hated having to rely on others to do some of the work for him. Except for Amarias, everyone else had failed him to some degree or another. At least the lesser gems coming in from the jungle shipments would be more than enough to pay for additional mages, and since he now owned two of the five largest banks in the country, he had the monetary clout to back all his schemes without having to rely on Bolodenko’s financial help any longer.
Ragget’s jaw tightened. He had never met Bolodenko directly, always before he had met with one of the man’s many underlings, but the shadowy moneylender seemed to have a finger in everyone else’s pie. His included. But no more. The banknote in his pocket would cover the last of the construction costs for his Central Tower. After today, he would be free.
The sly smile returned and this time it lingered. He had a second banknote ready in his pocket. Not only would he become free today, but he would also own another lord.
A gust of wind whispered through the carriage’s open window and a shadowy figure appeared beside Amarias. The giant instinctively drew his dagger, but as the cowled figure’s form solidified, he relaxed.
“Gylfalen!” Ragget said, his voice dripping with scorn. “Where have you been?”
The wind mage did not immediately respond. His body was rigid, and a black liquid oozed from his chest. It did not smell pleasant. Ragget scowled and fanned the space in front of his nose.
“What happened to you?”
“That damn ship captain!” Gylfalen wheezed. Air seemed to leak out of him as quickly as he could suck it in. “I’m going to kill him . . . I’m going to kill him slowly . . .”
“Lipscombe did this to you?” Ragget asked. He knew the crafty, old sailor was quick, but he’d always guessed the wind mage was quicker.
“No!” Gylfalen wailed. He pressed his hand against his chest. “Kylpin Caleachey.”
“By himself?” Ragget raised an eyebrow. This was unexpected news. Kylpin was no slouch with a blade, but he never would have thought him capable of besting a wind mage.
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