“Then do it,” she insisted.
Gareth’s answer was calm, without a hint of the stress or conflict most would feel at refusing the Queen. “No.”
Ariadne stood, her eyes catching fire at his defiance. “I command you.”
“I have done all I can reasonably do,” said the archmage. “The wound itself wasn’t too bad; none of the major blood vessels were damaged and the injury to his liver wasn’t serious. I’ve sealed the skin and repaired most of what was wrong, but his stomach was pierced. Sickness and fever will almost certainly take him in the days to come.”
“Then do whatever is required to prevent it,” said Ariadne.
“No,” said Gareth again, unfazed. “Doing so would require more than ordinary magic and could potentially kill me. I will not do so for one of Mordecai’s heirs.”
“You would defy my command?” asked the Queen.
“How you choose to interpret my choice is up to you,” said Gareth smoothly. “I would caution you, however, with Tyrion in chains and young Conall dying, I am the last pillar supporting your rule.”
She glared at him, unbowed by the implied threat. “You would let him die, just to increase your power?”
“If I were to try and fail, you would have no mages left to aid you,” explained Gareth calmly. “The manacles I have placed on Tyrion will not last indefinitely. Without a constant guard, he will escape eventually. I would counsel you to execute Tyrion soon. Wasting your resources on Mordecai’s child will not profit you at all.”
Disgusted, Ariadne pointed at the door. “Get out.”
“As you wish.” As Gareth stepped out, an old serving woman entered, carrying an empty basket, presumably to collect the dirty linens.
Ariadne paid little heed to the other woman’s presence. Instead she resumed her seat, taking Conall’s feverish hand in her own. “You deserve better than this,” she muttered.
“Most would say it is an honor to have a queen attending him as he dies,” said the laundress in a clear voice.
Surprised and mildly affronted by the servant’s boldness, Ariadne looked at the woman. The washer woman was removing her head covering and had already placed her basket on the ground. Ariadne was shocked to realize she recognized the old woman’s face. “Lady Thornbear?”
Elise Thornbear nodded diffidently, almost ignoring the Queen as she leaned over to examine Conall. She placed one hand on his forehead before lifting his shirt and studying the new scar on the young man’s belly.
“How did you get in here?” asked Ariadne in a subdued tone.
“No one pays attention to servants,” replied Elise distractedly, “especially old women.”
“Where have you been?”
Elise snorted, then glanced up at the Queen. “With Mordecai and my daughter-in-law both declared outlaws, I thought it better not to be seen. Albamarl hasn’t been the friendliest place for my family over the past month.”
Insulted, Ariadne drew herself up. “That may be, but I would not have touched you, whatever their crimes were. None of it was your fault. I am wounded that you think so little of me.”
The old noblewoman’s eyes fixed her in their clear gaze. “You are not the only power in Albamarl, Your Majesty. Now let me focus on my patient.”
Ariadne’s anger dissipated as quickly as it had appeared, and she deflated, letting her eyes drift down toward the floor. “Lord Gaelyn says he will not live.”
“I’ll judge that for myself,” growled Elise, then she pointed at the scar on Conall’s abdomen. “Since he closed the wound, I’m assuming he repaired whatever was damaged within. It’s a shame, though. I can’t tell if the stomach was punctured without opening him back up.”
“It was,” said Ariadne. “He fixed that as well.” Then after a thoughtful pause, she asked, “How would you tell if his wound was open?”
Elise lifted a cloth sachet filled with pungent herbs. “I’d brew a tea with this and feed it to him. If you can smell it in the wound, then you know the stomach or intestines have been compromised. He’s saved me that trouble at least.”
Ariadne shuddered. “Is there anything you can do?”
Elise pursed her lips. “Perhaps, but not here. I’ll need him moved to the kitchens.”
“The kitchens?”
“I can’t boil enough water here. I’m going to need assistance. We’ll have to boil a lot of water, as well as towels. Send your herbalist to see me. I don’t have everything I need,” commanded Elise.
“What about the royal physician?” suggested the Queen. “He was here earlier, though he said there was little to be done.”
Elise shook her head. “He’d just be in my way and probably complain that I was killing him.”
Alarmed, Ariadne asked, “What are you going to do?”
“Save his life, if possible,” declared Elise. “My methods may be a little shocking, but he has almost no chance if we do nothing. Do you trust me?”
Ariadne wasn’t entirely certain that she did, but she nodded anyway.
“Then I’ll need you to stay with me. Bring Harold as well. The servants will probably balk at some of what I want to do. It will take your authority to keep them in line,” said Elise.
The hours that followed were strange, as Elise organized and directed the boiling of water and towels in a variety of pots which she insisted be cleaned and recleaned first. After the towels were boiled, some were used to cover additional pots of boiled water, though the old woman refused to say why that was necessary.
Ariadne couldn’t help but feel the arcane procedures were more like some strange magic ritual than most of the actual magic she had seen in her life. She also had serious doubts about their effectiveness, but she held her tongue—for the most part.
“Where did you learn all this?” she asked at one point.
“This is part of the hidden teachings of the Church of Millicenth,” replied Elise as she watched over the boiling pots.
The Queen frowned. “The Church…?” The Church of Millicenth was still active in Lothion, but its numbers and power had diminished greatly during recent years. One of the consequences of having had their deity extinguished. Of course, those that still worshipped believed that their goddess was alive and well, despite all evidence to the contrary.
“I was a Lady of the Evening Star in my younger days,” added Lady Thornbear, as if that simple remark explained everything.
Ariadne was stunned. She was a prostitute? She had no idea what to say.
Elise laughed, watching the younger woman’s discomfort with evident humor, then she nodded. “Yes, I know what you’re thinking, and yes, you’re correct. What you might not know, however, is that some of the Ladies of the Evening were trained in additional arts.”
That made some sense to Ariadne, at least, since Millicenth had been the goddess of healing, but the goddess was gone now. How could their rituals work without the deity that had empowered them? Unsure what to say, she finally stated her concern flatly, “But Millicenth is dead.”
“This isn’t magic, Your Majesty,” returned Elise. “I was trained in poisons and healing medicines.” She stopped briefly to reprimand one of her helpers. “What are you doing? I said I needed salt, not that you should add it. It has to be measured first.”
As Ariadne watched, Elise added a large batch of herbs, wrapped in cheesecloth, to one of the pots. Then she began measuring salt using a set of scales the royal herbalist had brought. What sort of tea has salt in it? Eventually, she asked, “How is he going to drink all that?” The pot in question held at least a couple of gallons of water.
The old woman began laughing. “This isn’t for drinking, Your Majesty. There will be medicinal teas, of course, but that comes after. This is an irrigating solution, a bath of sorts, for his innards.”
“A bath?”
Elise nodded, adding, “For his insides.”
“But how?”
The older woman pointed at a freshly boiled cloth that held several small
knives that had been similarly cleaned. “I’m going to open him up, so we can wash out the filth his stomach released when it was ruptured.”
Ariadne’s cheeks lost their color and she felt as though a cold breeze had swept through the room. Everything swayed as her vision narrowed down to a long tunnel stretching out before her. Faintly she heard Elise barking orders to one of the guards, “Get her out, quickly! If she vomits in here, I’ll have to start all over.”
Harold and one of the other guards hastened to usher her outside, and while the Queen didn’t actually throw up, it was several minutes before she felt completely herself again. She went back in. Later, when Elise’s ‘irrigating solution’ had cooled sufficiently for use, she stepped out again. She didn’t trust herself to watch what was about to happen.
Sir Harold and the guards were forced to escort several more of the kitchen staff out, most because they were near to passing out, but the cook’s chief assistant because he seemed to think what was happening was some sort of evil witchcraft. After things had calmed down, and only Elise and the more strong-stomached servants remained, Harold joined Ariadne in the hall, his face visibly pale.
“Is it that bad?” Ariadne asked him.
Sir Harold shook his head. “I’ve seen worse on the battlefield, and afterward, but there’s something wrong about opening a man up and pumping his belly full of water. It’s unnatural.”
She shivered. “I’ve never doubted her before, but I’m struggling to believe this will help.”
Harold said nothing, but his expression was clear. It had been her choice to allow Elise to do what she was doing.
The Queen sighed. “Both Lord Gaelyn and the palace physician agreed he would almost certainly die. There weren’t any other options.” Another thought occurred to her then. Unless this causes him to die in a more painful way. She pushed it aside, such thinking wouldn’t help.
***
In the shadows of a dark alley several miles from the palace, Moira Illeniel’s body sat, huddled against one wall. A casual observer might have thought she was alone, though a mage would have quickly noted the powerful spellbeasts hidden at both ends of the alley, protecting her privacy.
Wrapped in cold solitude, Myra wept, for she was, for the first time in her life, utterly alone, the sole inhabitant of Moira’s body. “I told you not to do it,” she muttered miserably. “You should have sent me, or let one of the new ones do it.”
Isn’t this what you really wanted? came a dark thought, unbidden. You have a true body now. You’re alive. You’re Moira.
She cried harder, tears and snot mingling on her chin. “Not like this,” she sobbed. “Never like this.”
As she hid, a multitude of messages flooded in, reports from the various krytek that Moira had taken control of, but she couldn’t bear to face them. Her entire being was focused on her creator’s last moments, for they had been connected, right up until the last seconds. Myra had even felt echoes of Moira’s pain as Tyrion’s armblades had torn through her chest.
This was for the best, Moira had told her. You were the version of myself I truly wanted to be.
“I don’t want this,” mumbled Myra, closing her eyes. Deep within she could see her aystrylin, Moira’s aystrylin, the source of life and aythar that maintained the body she resided within. It was hers now, hers alone, but she didn’t want it. Not anymore.
She hadn’t claimed it yet, not truly. She had been holding it in trust for Moira’s return, keeping her body alive while she was away. All I have to do is let it slip away. It won’t even hurt… She could fade away and leave the pain of the real world behind. A soothing grey calm passed over her as she relaxed her hold on it.
NO!
The mental command came as a silent shout that stunned her with its sheer force. A being had appeared in the street at the far end of the alley, a being composed of seething black fire, and even at that distance its presence made her skin burn and tingle with pain. Myra struggled to create a shield powerful enough to preserve her flesh, and only barely succeeded.
I will not lose two daughters, thundered the voice, shattering her thoughts and despair. You must live.
It vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving a gaping silence in its wake. Myra stared in the direction of where it had been, her eyes idly noting the way the buildings had begun to crumble where its power had touched. “Father?” The experience had been so intense it had been difficult to recognize at first, but as her mind processed what had happened, she became sure. That was him.
Her tears had dried without her noticing. Drawing herself to her feet, Myra shrugged off her self-pity and embraced the living flame in her heart. Moira might be gone, but her life was still there, waiting to be lived. She began paying attention to the messages coming in. There were over five hundred krytek under her command, and while the original mission had been fulfilled, they needed new instructions.
Myra felt embarrassed by her stupidity. A moment ago, she had nearly forgotten their reason for coming to Albamarl. But I won’t forget again. Using her sleeve to wipe her face, Myra began to give new orders. We’re going to save you, Father. Then she remembered she was alone, so she rephrased her thought, addressing it to the emptiness inside where her sister had lived, Don’t worry Moira. I’ll save him for you.
Chapter 17
Karen kissed him again, enjoying the slow reaction that played across Matthew’s face. He still hadn’t reached what she would consider a normal speed, but there were certain advantages to having him react slowly. She could watch the subtle movements of his eyes and lips to judge his true feelings better.
Matthew’s face was always difficult to read, but the slowness of his response made it easier. She could see the faint signs of surprise and pleasure that normally happened so quickly they were disguised by his taciturn expression.
He blinked. “Please…”
“I can tell you’re enjoying it,” she said mercilessly.
“… stop,” he finished.
“Make me,” she replied, kissing him again and laughing at his pitifully slow attempt to dodge her tender assault. When he tried to roll from the bed, she tossed the sheets over him and twisted them to keep him from escaping.
“I have work,” he began.
“I’m the first item on your schedule,” she told him firmly, pinning him down and throwing one leg over his midsection.
“…to do.”
The night before had been memorable, not the least because Matthew’s altered sense of time had drawn certain things out to excruciatingly lengthy periods. Karen wasn’t about to waste the opportunity to enjoy the more interesting aspects of his malady before he completely returned to normal. Pressing down on his shoulders, she let her eyes explain her intentions as she slowly stretched out her torso above him.
Matthew’s face changed, showing resignation and anticipation simultaneously. “Fine…”
Unfortunately, it was at that moment that the door to the room opened and Alyssa stepped in. “Lyralliantha says there’s a messenger here for you,” she announced, her gaze taking in the situation without any sign of judgement, or embarrassment.
In contrast, Karen’s light blue cheeks turned purple as she blushed, and she hurried to reclaim the bedsheets to cover herself with, inadvertently exposing Matthew’s body in the process. He sat up slowly, not bothering to protest. Alyssa smirked and left.
They dressed quickly, the mood having been broken. Well, Karen dressed quickly, anyway. Matt did his best and she did what she could to speed things up for him, gathering up his clothes and putting them in easy reach for him after she had finished.
In the main hall, they found everyone gathered around a small bird. It wasn’t a true bird, of course, but rather a spellbeast. As Matthew approached, it flew to him and settled on his hand before dissolving into his skin, its message delivered. His face grew pensive as he considered the mental images and words it had brought. Almost five minutes passed before he spoke, “Moira has accompli
shed our goal.”
“Your goal,” countered Irene, her tone sour. “None of us agreed to it.” Her eyes met Karen’s and they both nodded. Everyone else in the room looked vaguely uncomfortable, and none of them looked directly at Matt.
“You chose to make me your leader,” said Matthew slowly. “You read my message to Moira and you delivered it. Whatever misgivings all of you may have, you’ve accepted my directions. I’ll say it again, Moira has accomplished our goal.”
Chad Grayson had been examining one of his knives and began stropping it on the leather of his jerkin, though the enchanted weapon needed no such attention. “I never thought you’d take to treason so easily, lad.”
Matt smiled. “I doubt the Queen would define it as treason.”
“You mean your sister,” argued Chad, “since she’s the one that rules.”
Matthew blinked, his slightly slower speed making the action seem almost languid. Then he replied, “Control is an illusion, but a handy one, and it rests in my hands now.”
“You think you can control her?” asked Irene incredulously. “Moira holds the reins now, and she’s shown no compunction about using her power as she sees fit. Don’t forget what she did to Karen.”
Matthew’s power flicked out, seizing Chad’s hand as it started to slip, stopping the blade it held from slicing his finger. The hunter glanced up, a faint shiver running through him. “That’s just creepy,” said the archer.
“Would you rather cut yourself?” asked Matthew before continuing. “Let that serve as a reminder. The world is ending. The best we can do is guide it to a conclusion that suits us.”
“It would be best if we decided together what conclusion suits us best,” Irene declared.
Matt looked at his youngest sister carefully and Karen saw almost imperceptible flickers of silver aythar shimmering in his eyes. “That won’t be necessary,” he replied before turning his attention back to Chad. “You’ll be heading to Iverly. You’ll find Lady Rose there. Karen, you’ll take him.”
Transcendence and Rebellion Page 13
