The catch was simple: Lanaie had the title, but she had nothing else. The country she now ruled was burned and buried under ash. It might come back from that, but not for years. All she could claim was a wasteland.
Still, she was pursued, and at the present time Brolley was most earnestly courting her.
Nachia wasn’t quite certain how she felt about the situation. On the other hand Lanaie was nice enough.
It wasn’t her concern. There were other matters to look into.
“I know you’re busy, Nachia, but I haven’t seen you in days and I wanted to make certain all was well with you.”
Nachia smiled and stepped closer, opening her arms to hug her younger brother. They had often been at odds, but had always been good friends. That was the way with family. Well, some family. The rest of her blood relations were rather debatable.
“It’s busy. We’re at war. Still, I’m always delighted to see you.”
Lanaie bowed formally and Nachia returned the gesture. They were not nearly as close and wouldn’t be until she was absolutely certain what the woman’s intentions were.
Before she could do more, another messenger arrived with a sealed document. She smiled her thanks to the boy and broke the seal.
The words were direct and she studied them for a long moment, frowning.
“What’s wrong?” Brolley stepped closer and she moved back. The message wasn’t for him. She trusted her brother, but she didn’t want him fretting. There was enough going on that he already knew and she wanted no more of it in his life.
“Not for you, Brolley.” She shook her head. “Not this one. This is for me alone.”
For a moment the old anger was there. The nearly physical need to show how he could do whatever she could do. He pushed it aside and nodded his head, smiling instead.
“Is this something you need to attend to now?”
“I’m afraid so.” She sighed. “Join me for dinner tonight?”
Brolley smiled. “Yes, of course.”
A moment later he and Lanaie were gone from the chambers and she was alone with her two mountainous bodyguards. Merros liked to pick men who looked as if they were bred to pull wagons, but they were, as she had already seen, very skilled at their duties.
That didn’t bother her. She understood the necessity; though she preferred to handle as much as she could herself, she could not be left alone, not when assassins had already proven they could enter the castle.
No. The problem was with the Temple of Etrilla, where several hundred people were now locked inside and the remaining priests were turning people away from the locked doors.
Those who had entered were beyond sick now. They were dying or dead.
The Temple of Etrilla was one of the larger structures in Old Canhoon. It was nowhere near as grandiose as the palace, of course, but it was built of heavy marble walls and gilded besides. The structure was nearly as old as the palace, and housed as many as a thousand people at a time. In the olden days it might have held more, but there had been a collapse some hundred years back and somehow along the way the land had been used to build other structures. Just as well. Under most circumstances you could not find a thousand individuals entering the structure at one time, but now was a time of need and that changed the way people looked at churches. As Vendahl, the god of wealth and prosperity, was quoted to have said to his followers when he still walked the lands, “When people no longer trust their mortal leaders, they look to the gods. When there is war or disaster, expect the coffers to fill faster than in times of peace and plenty.”
Wendtle Hearin was the head of the temple. He was newly appointed, as his predecessor had succumbed to old age and passed in the chaos of the city rising into the air. Still, he was comfortable enough with his decisions. The coffers were full enough for now, and he’d stocked up water and food for the faithful and was offering it out when it was needed. Those who served with him were faithful and diligent. The one exception had been properly punished. Following the rituals of Etrilla as told by Humble Ohlmer, the seventh prophet, the man was stripped of his position and cast from the temple after being marked with a brand to the forehead. Was it distasteful? Yes. Did it hurt him to burn a man’s face? Yes. Was it necessary in a city the size of Canhoon to punish a sinner? Yes.
Now, this.
Was it the Plague Winds? It mirrored the symptoms, but that hardly seemed likely. The faithful came to the temple and sat in the pews and waited for their chance to seek solace and blessings from Etrilla. At first Wendtle thought it was merely another day, with a few seeking a chance to seek aid from the gods. But this? This was madness. The sick came in as a nearly constant stream, a trickle at first and then a river and now a flood. He had no choice but to close the doors and lock them. There was simply nowhere else to put the people who sought refuge.
The inside of the temple was filled to overflowing. People sat in the aisles, rested against the walls, even occupied the seats of the great table, simply because it was necessary. At first prayers were offered, and the passing out of food and water added to the tasks assigned the priests. The food would not stay down. The water could not be swallowed by throats that burned with sickness.
The followers were pale and shook with fever, and their skin began to scale as if they had, indeed, endured the Plague Winds of old. But the winds did not strike with discrimination. They burned and struck rich and poor alike, regardless of faith. These were the faithful, familiar faces even after only a few days in some cases. There were the Followers of Etrilla and they were being crushed by the horrid sickness.
Now, despite the cold, the sick continued to come, seeking solace, and all he could offer them were the patches of the temple’s lawn that had not already been taken by the dispossessed.
Wendtle barred the doors of the temple and stood before them and did all he could think to do. He prayed to the God of Cities and Towns, and was joined by others. It was all that was left them.
Sometimes prayers are enough. Sometimes faith is enough. It was the only weapon left in his arsenal.
By the time dinner came around, Nachia was hardly in a mood for company, even her closest friends and family. Still, one did what one had to do.
Because there was no other time for it, she had a dinner with her inner council and with her brother and Lanaie besides.
Merros ate. He was a soldier and that was something she quickly learned: when soldiers are told to eat very little stops them from fulfilling that duty.
Desh was too busy discussing everything with her to eat. “I’ve examined several of the people at the Etrilla temple. It looks like Plague Wind. But it is not that particular affliction. It’s poison.”
“Well, how are they being poisoned?”
“I’ve no idea, Nachia. I’m a well-learned man but poisons are not my specialty.”
“Is there anyone in your gathering of sorcerers who might know?”
“Corin. I have him investigating the situation now. But the damage is done, Majesty. This is a poisoning. Somehow, someone has poisoned an entire congregation.”
“I know a lot of the churches keep emergency supplies.” Merros looked up from his food and wiped at his mouth with one wrist. “We had that incident with the horses before everything went from bad to deadly. Someone poisoned their feed. You might have Corin investigate that.”
Desh nodded his head. “I will. He was the one who found the poisoned feed, but best to doublecheck.”
“Best that we add extra guards to the stores here, too.”
Merros looked at his meal and sighed. “I’d be worried about this, but honestly, I’m rather hungry and I’ve already been eating.”
He pulled a sliver of meat from his plate and wrapped it in bread before chewing on it.
Nachia found her appetite waning.
“We are now a little over a day away from the mountains. Have you found a way to make certain we are clear of any obstacles, Desh?”
Desh shook his head. “I believe w
e will be safe. I’ve consulted with the Sooth and others have as well. We should be safe. Beyond that, if it comes to that, the only other option at this time is to try to level the mountain.”
Nachia took in several deep breaths and finally nodded her head. Desh did not want to use sorceries of that level. As he had already said, there were always prices to be paid. But he would if he had to and that was enough.
“Or,” Desh said, looking at Merros the entire time, “I suppose I could grow us all wings and we could fly away to the Great Star.”
She looked at Merros and had to stifle a laugh. He was thinking about the level of power it would take to move a mountain, and his attitude toward his food reflected as much. The bread and meat sat on his plate while he tried to manage to finish the bite he had in his mouth without being sick.
Brolley looked at her and spoke his mind, as he was wont to do. “I was looking over the wall. They’re close to us, close behind us. We should do something to hurt them.”
“Like what?”
“Well, perhaps spears or arrows…” Brolley’s face flushed red.
Merros spoke up. “I’m more worried about the ones we obviously have here with us. We have to stop them. We have to find a way to detect them and capture them.”
Desh scowled. “It’s not for lack of trying, General Dulver.”
Merros raised his hands. Every time the sorcerer called him by his proper title it was an immediate sign that he was irritated. “I’m not accusing anyone of not doing their best, Desh. I’m just speaking aloud. As much as I like the notion of dropping something on our pursuers, our more immediate threat is the group that has caused riots and possibly poisoned our supplies. Again.”
“I’m certainly open to suggestions.” Desh drank the last of the wine in his goblet and shook his head. “I know you said they were skilled, Merros, but the damned enemy has dead gray skin. How is it that we haven’t actually had anyone report seeing any of them?”
“I know many people thought I was exaggerating, but I meant what I said about their skills. Ten of them killed over a thousand of the Guntha because they move like ghosts. They make no noise, they are not seen unless they want to be seen.”
Brolley nodded his head. “The one we have – Jost, I think? – she was the one who waited for Desh in Roathes. Well, the ruins. The ashes. There was nothing there but dust and ash and a few burned-out huts but she waited and not a one of us saw her until she wanted to be seen.”
Nachia thought about that and suppressed a shiver. Her brother was many things, but he could never keep the truth from his face. The Sa’ba Taalor scared him. That was good. She wanted him scared. Scared people were cautious.
Desh nodded. “We can continue trying to find them. In the meanwhile, the Sisters have come up with a plan for slowing the ones behind us. If it works, it works. If not, we have wasted only a bit of effort.”
“What do you have planned?”
Desh smiled at Nachia. “It’s a surprise.”
That was all he would say.
Eight
Andover climbed from the river’s waters and suppressed a shiver. The air was cold, but not unpleasant. It was the breeze that sent the chills through him. Despite his training he was not used to the smells of death. The Blasted Lands were to his back and two of the Seven Forges now breathed ash and toxic gasses into the air to the south. Durhallem and Wheklam raged, reshaping the world.
They had swallowed the Guntha. They had swallowed Tyrne, the only world Andover ever knew before going to the Taalor Valley.
For the briefest moment a flash of anger struck him at that thought. One look at his hands was enough to quell that fury.
Tega sat near his bundle of clothes. She looked at him as he approached, but he felt no embarrassment. Flesh was only flesh. He had changed a great deal and though she showed little emotion, he suspected the way she stared was more to do with how much he had been changed in a short time than it was about lust or any interest.
“You are so different, Andover.” She offered him his breeches and he took them, sliding them over the scars that covered his thick legs then nodding his thanks as he took the shirt from her and finally his vest. The cloak stayed where it was for the moment, wrapped around his stockpile of weapons.
“I am me.” He looked at her, studied her. His heart still felt a flutter when he cast his attention her way, but she was no longer the whole of his universe. There had been a time when he would have killed for her, would have starved for her. When he would have done anything at all, just to have her attention. All she had ever cost him was his hands, and all she had ever done for him was find a way for him to have his hands again.
He looked at his hands for a moment.
“You have changed as well, Tega. You are like Drask. I can feel the differences inside you from here.”
“I haven’t changed, Andover. I just hold onto some energies. I’m the apprentice to Desh Krohan. The power is there; I could use it if I wanted, but it hasn’t changed me.”
“What is it then?”
“Just power. Lightning is power. Power is everywhere. In the flames of a fire, in the breeze, in the heartbeat of a person. This is just extra.”
“I don’t understand.” He stood near her and carefully put his weapons where they belonged. There had been no attacks, but only a fool would expect the world to remain unchallenged. There was a war going on.
Tega held out one hand. “I know how to access power. I was taught by Desh. I am… not as skilled as I would like. I have actually destroyed things I only meant to hurt or stop, without trying very hard. But when I finished casting my spells there was always a price. I was as hungry as if I had gone days without eating, or I was so tired that I had to rest. That is why Desh always says that magic has a price. You can do amazing things, but there is always a cost.”
She sighed, and then reached up to take his hands in hers. Tega looked into his eyes and spoke earnestly. “Your hands were made of iron, Andover. I could not have accomplished such a feat. I could not have healed your hands, though I stopped them from being completely destroyed.” She shook her head. “I could do very little, because the damage was so great and in order to heal the wounds on you I would have had to ruin someone else. I thought about doing that to Purb and Menock, but it was not for me to decide.”
She paused a moment then shook her head again. “Fellein has laws to stop me from performing that sort of sorcery, because the cost is too high. There was a time when sorcerers would heal someone who was rich enough by taking the power from the poor or even from people who gave up years of their life for a few coins. People who were desperate. Desh pushed to have the laws put in place that stopped that.”
“Why?”
She looked long and hard at him before answering. “Because the weak sometimes need to be protected.”
He nodded his head. “I used to believe that. I understand.”
“When Purb and his friends broke your hands, they were wrong. You were given a chance to prove that, but before the laws were put there, it was just accepted that the strong should survive. Without those laws, you would not be here now.”
“Without the Daxar Taalor, I would not be who I am. They gave me hands and they taught me lessons. The Sa’ba Taalor spend their entire lives learning those lessons. Tega. Had I been raised by them I might never have needed to fear Purb and Menock.”
She nodded and stood up.
“Before you were hurt you worked for a blacksmith. You were learning a trade. You were also punished a few times for theft.”
“I stole to live.” He nodded. “Mostly fruit or bread after my parents made me leave. If Burk had not taken me in, I would have likely been killed at some point. Even before that, I had a few scars from the lash of the City Guard.”
“Burk took you in. He saw you and accepted you. You were not strong, Andover. You were not a fighter. But you learned, yes?”
“Of course.”
“I understand that Tyrne
is gone. Destroyed. That’s what the first people we found when we left the Blasted Lands told us.”
Andover nodded and pressed his lips together. “Yes. Durhallem chose to raise his mountain there to teach the people of Fellein a lesson.”
“What lesson?”
“That they should have agreed to a peaceful accord instead of insisting on a war.”
“And did Burk escape Tyrne before that happened?”
Andover shook his head. “I do not know.”
Tega looked away from him. “And I do not know if my mother and father are alive. Or my aunt. Or my little brother. Or my dog.” He watched as she blinked furiously to hold back tears. “All I know is that one of the gods you now follow might have killed them all to teach a lesson.”
“I am sorry if you have lost loved ones.”
Tega nodded. “I am sorry if I did too. And if Burk is dead. And Libari Welliso, who helped me carry you to the palace and a meeting with Desh Krohan.” She looked up at him again. “Do you know what all of them have in common?”
“They helped me.”
“They did not prey on the weak.”
Andover looked down at Tega for several moments. Her face was the same, as beautiful as he had ever seen. The boy he had been still nearly worshipped her. The man he had become could even understand why.
“Why did you help me, Tega?”
“Because Purb hurt you because of me. And because you were always nice to me. You smiled and I liked your smile.”
Her fingers moved up and gently caressed the line of Great Scars that covered his mouth. “I’m not even sure if I could see your smile now, Andover. That is a sad thing to me. You had a beautiful smile.”
She rose and started to walk away.
“Tega, if I asked, could you bring Delil back to life? Are you capable of that sort of thing?”
“Yes, Andover. I think I could, just as I now have the power to mend your old hands.” She gestured toward Tyrne. “But as much as I like you, as much as I used to wonder what it would be like to be closer to you, there is a city full of corpses I would likely want to tend to first.”
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