by K. C. Julius
Despite the pain, his dreams took him almost at once.
He was enclosed in a billowing vortex of dark smoke from which he could not break free. He cast himself against it time and again, desperate to escape the nameless, impending doom weighing down on him. As the whirling funnel closed in, he cast his gaze up to see black rain drifting down.
No—not rain. Feathers. It wasn’t smoke that swirled round him, but living, breathing birds.
A peal of shrill laughter rang out, and he was drenched in icy dread.
Whit bolted upright to dawn’s spreading light. His whole body ached, and his arms felt leaden. Across the cold ashes, Master Morgan slept on. A huge flock of crows still festooned the trees, but as if they’d only been awaiting Whit’s awakening, they lifted off and seethed, in grim procession, to the east.
The racket made by their wings woke the old wizard, who rose stiffly to watch them depart. And so it was that they both saw one of them break away from the heart of the flock to swirl back in their direction. While still in flight, the dark bird transformed before their eyes into a hag with long, grey hair streaming behind her, garbed in a cape of rustling birds.
Whit shielded his head with his arms as she swooped down, so close he felt the air stir above him. Her raucous cries echoed those he’d heard in his dreams.
“The Cailleach made flesh!” Master Morgan gasped. “But how is it possible she has escaped the dreamworld?” He turned toward Whit, then drew a sharp breath and caught his arm in a vise-like grip. “Where did you get this?”
Whit looked down to see his sleeve had fallen back, exposing the scar on his wrist. Aghast at the wizard’s horror, he wrenched his arm away. “In… in Altipa.”
“That long ago? With whom did you bind?”
“No one. I—”
“Don’t lie to me!” Cold fury fired Master Morgan’s eyes. “What were you promised for this treachery?”
In that instant, Whit glimpsed how terrifying the wizard must have been in the days of his full powers. “Nothing!” he insisted, taking a step backward. “I got away before she—”
“She?” Master Morgan looked up at the witch circling and shrieking overhead. “Are you telling me you entered into a binding with the Cailleach?”
“No! There… there was a high priestess of Velicus in Altipa. I thought she could help me find Halla. It turned out she was really a sorceress, hiding in plain sight from the Albrenians while posing as a holy woman. She tried to force a binding with me, but she failed. I swear, master, it’s the truth.”
The Cailleach was still weaving through the branches high above them, but the wizard seemed to have forgotten her entirely. It took a long moment for a semblance of reason to return to the old man’s eyes, and when he spoke, his voice was once again calm.
“Forgive me… of course I believe you, and I trust you would never go over to the Dark. But the appearance of the Cailleach in the waking world requires an explanation, and upon seeing your mark, I had to consider that you’d deliberately drawn her to you. Only the darkest of wizards would be capable of that. Why, in the name of all gods, did you not tell me about this… this encounter in Albrenia?”
While Whit struggled to put his reasons into words, a regretful smile curled the old man’s lips.
“That was a foolish question,” the old wizard said. “I’ve done little enough to foster your faith in me. But if you can find it within your heart to trust me now, I need to know exactly what transpired between you and this sorceress.”
Whit drew a ragged breath. He was badly shaken by the suggestion that the Cailleach had managed to cross over and assume a corporeal body because of him. He recalled his dream, and couldn’t help but wonder if, somehow, he had called the witch to him.
Master Morgan listened in grave silence as Whit recounted what had happened in Altipa. When he finished, he recalled one more detail. “Encertesa was very interested in that ring you gave me. But it may have been only a ruse to get me within her reach.”
Master Morgan’s brows arched. “And what became of the ring?”
Whit flushed. He’d removed the ugly thing and dropped it into his pack when he was at the Magpie’s Mirror. He hadn’t bothered to look for it since, but he assumed it was still there, along with the almanac, still unread, that Morgan had left for him with Elvinor.
“I have it.”
“I see. Well, I’ve never heard of this High Priestess Encertesa. As a rule, wizards and religious devotees don’t cross paths, and when they do, it’s usually under dangerous circumstances for them both. Still, if she really is a sorceress, I should know of her. Even before the Purge, we magical folk were few in number. She must be both very powerful and cunning to have remained in Albrenia undetected all these years.”
A harsh screech rent the air, then trailed off to the south. The Cailleach had departed with the last of the crows.
“If I may?” The wizard looked pointedly at Whit’s wrist.
Whit held his arm out for inspection, and felt an odd tingling when Master Morgan traced his finger over the scar.
“What do you feel?” the old wizard asked.
“A prickling, no more. Do you feel something as well?”
“Oh, indeed. Your blood calls to mine like a lodestone to a magnet.”
“Master, what does it mean?”
Morgan released his arm. “I’d hazard a guess that some sort of binding did occur between you and this unknown sorceress. How it relates to this bloodcurdling between us, though, I cannot say.”
Bloodcurdling? Whit didn’t like the sound of that.
“It’s a rare phenomenon,” the wizard said, “but we should wait until we’re behind Cardenstowe’s walls to continue this discussion.”
“I’m not going to Cardenstowe,” Whit blurted out. “At least not yet. The crows and the witch are heading east—toward Lorendale. I… I’m meant to follow them. I can’t explain why, but it’s just come to me now that this is what I need to do. And while I’m there, I can solicit my cousin Nolan’s support for Fynn.”
The wizard gave a slow nod. “Very well, then. I shall ride on alone to Cardenstowe. But you must join me there as soon as you’ve attended to this.”
So it was that at the fork in the Old Road, Whit turned to the east, following his dream to Lorendale. He only hoped the Cailleach, streaking ahead of him, wasn’t a harbinger of what awaited him there.
Chapter 21
Borne
Since returning from Nalè, Borne had settled into a routine that suited him in every way. He rose before dawn to study any dispatches Balfou sent his way, then after breakfast, he divided his time between training officers of the Companions in the new weaponry and drilling his own company to keep them in top form. During the hottest hours of the afternoon, the men were released to find respite in their quarters or in the city baths, and upon their return, they partook in sparring, wrestling matches, and other rough entertainments that appealed to soldiers at arms.
Borne’s evenings were spent at the palace, where he fulfilled King Crenel’s charge to gather as much information as he could regarding Olquaria’s stance on any number of issues that might prove valuable to Gral. He found himself looking forward to this part of his day, not only to engage in repartee with the courtiers whom Zlatan had left behind—and eavesdrop on their more serious political discussions—but also because of the evening meal that followed. Princess Yasiha had remained his constant partner at dinner, and he took increasing pleasure in her company.
As he returned one evening to the barracks after another enjoyable repast with the princess, he was intercepted by a palace slave bearing a missive. It bore what looked like the Imperial seal. Borne broke the wax, then scanned the brief message with a sinking heart. It was an invitation he was not at liberty to refuse.
Resignedly, he followed the slave back to the palace. They entered the
grounds through a hidden garden passage, then passed through a series of darkened corridors. All the while, Borne wondered if a very dangerous liaison was about to be proposed to him.
The slave left him in an airy bower in which fresh candles had recently been lit. The low table between the long couches was laid with refreshments, although his hostess had just attended the same sumptuous dinner he had.
Borne remained standing, and when beads parted to his left, he made a deep, formal bow and held it, keeping his eyes fixed on the floor in front of him.
“Such decorum,” said a low, sultry voice. “You are here as my guest, Ser Borne. We will not stand on formalities. Pray, be seated.”
Borne straightened, but stayed where he was. “Your Majesty—”
The Basilea was already half-reclined on the couch. “Expects to be obeyed.” To Borne’s relief, she inclined her head toward the opposite divan. Empress Shareen’s eyes, so like her niece’s, sparkled with amusement. “You look as if you think I will bite. Or perhaps you find the sight of me unappealing?”
He had no choice then but to meet her languid gaze. “Your beauty is unrivaled in the realm, Basilea, as you must be well aware.” And it was true. The empress could no longer be called a young woman, but the years had not dimmed her charms.
“Pretty words on a pretty tongue. A pity I cannot indulge my curiosity regarding what other attributes you possess.” Her eyes brazenly traced the lines of his long body. “But considering the boon I have to ask of you, it would not be appropriate.”
Borne silently released the breath he’d been holding. It seemed he would not be commanded to commit treason against the Basileus after all.
“If it is within my power, Empress, I will gladly serve you.”
She lifted the silver ewer on the table, filling two goblets with scented rosewater. “Oh, it’s within your power. It concerns my niece.” She offered him the drink, laughing at the expression on his face. “I see you cannot imagine what Yasiha has to do with our little rendezvous. Tell me, how do you find her?”
“Find her?” Borne recalled the princess’s request. “Princess Yasiha is a lovely woman, and a most enchanting dinner partner, Empress.”
Shareen Basilea inclined her head. “Only this?”
“What else would you have me ‘find,’ Your Majesty?”
“That she is alluring?”
“Your Majesty? It would be unseemly of me to—”
“The hazar wants Yasiha,” Shareen stated baldly. “Kurash intends to ask my husband for her hand in marriage, as a further reward for this successful campaign in Nalè.”
Borne felt his stomach clench at the thought of this fragile flower in the crude hazar’s possession. “May I ask how Princess Yasiha feels about this?”
The empress’s pouting lips twisted in disgust. “As revolted as I do.”
“She is of your royal blood, Basilea. Surely you have a say in this matter.”
Shareen gave her head an impatient shake. “Yasiha’s parents are both dead. While I am her guardian, it is up to my husband to arrange her marriage. And if the hazar asks for her, the Basileus will likely grant his request.” She held Borne’s gaze with her midnight eyes. “Kurash has three wives already, and he knows Yasiha does not desire to become his fourth. But he has long coveted her, both for the status a marriage to her would confer upon him, and because he lusts after her.” She rose gracefully and paced to the curtained window, her diaphanous robe clinging to her sinuous form.
Rising respectfully as well, Borne recalled with distaste how Kurash had roughly fondled the slave girl. “What would you have me do, Your Majesty?”
Shareen spun to face him, her soft robe belling at the hem. “Rescue her. My niece is the only daughter of my beloved sister, Jamilah. I will not see Yasiha condemned to the life this man will force on her.” She moved closer to Borne and took his hands between her own. “If you would serve me, ser, as you vow you wish to, you will ask for Yasiha first.”
Borne couldn’t contain his laugh of astonishment. “Forgive me, Your Majesty, but surely you can’t think I would be a suitable husband for your niece? A foreign soldier of common stock?”
The empress kept her fingers pressed against his. “The Basileus has conferred on you the Order of the Bells, which makes you more than acceptable. Besides, when you were made a herald of Gral, you were raised to noble status.”
“But… what about Yasiha? Would she not prefer an Olquarian spouse?”
Shareen Basilea’s smile was knowing. “I’ve seen her with you these past weeks. If she’s not already in love with you, it will take very little to bring her to this happy state.”
Borne tried another tack. “But… if I should accede to this request, it would not be a proposal born of love.”
The empress gave a dismissive wave. “Love. What is love, really? In most cases, only a flowery word for physical attraction. But if you require this, surely you can learn to love such a pearl as Yasiha?”
“If I require this?” Borne fought to quell his irritation. “Forgive me, Basilea, but what I don’t require is a wife.”
The Basilea released him and took a step back, her dark eyes boring into his. “Are you so sure of this?” She tilted her chin, her expression suddenly much cooler. “I understand the Basileus mentioned to you his recent alliance with Jorgev of Albrenia. As a result of this pact, it can only be a matter of time before you and your company are sent back to Gral, where your mission will be viewed as a failure. But if you marry Yasiha, I shall put a stop to this budding relationship with the Albrenian king and encourage the Basileus instead to advance closer ties with Gral. As for your own future… King Crenel will surely release you from his service to join in marriage to our royal house. Indeed, he will commend you for having accomplished this diplomatic feat, for this marriage will strengthen the bonds between Gral and Olquaria.”
She tilted her head at him, her gaze speculative. “One could say you’re duty-bound, Ser Borne, to accept this role, for in doing so, you serve both Gral and Olquaria. Would it really be such an unpleasant one to play?”
“Empress—”
The Basilea laid a painted finger on his lips. “Consider my proposal, ser—and do so quickly. Once the Basileus returns to Tell-Uyuk, the hazar is sure to act while Nalè is still fresh on my husband’s mind.”
Shareen was so close that the musk of her scent was intoxicating. Her palms slid down to rest against Borne’s chest, and he felt the full force of her sexual magnetism as she gazed up into his eyes. “You will have a brighter future here than anywhere else in the Known World, ser,” she murmured. “And I promise you—if you do this for me, I will repay the favor a thousand-fold.”
She lifted her hennaed hand and gently caressed his cheek. “I shall use my influence over my husband to ensure that, when the time is right, you are made the next hazar of the Seven Thousand. Consider it, Borne Braxton of Drinnglennin. Consider it well.”
* * *
After his astounding meeting with the Basilea, Borne wandered aimlessly through the city streets, attempting to come to grips with her proposal that he take Khadin Yasiha to wife. He would have to at least consider it, as he hoped to stay indefinitely in Olquaria. With what he’d learned about the vaar’s monsters in the Lost Lands, Zlatan Basileus would have need of all the fighting men he could retain, which meant Borne would have a lifetime of work. Whereas if he declined to marry Yasiha, the Basilea had implied he would be sent back to Gral. What then? He thought it unlikely Latour would have him back after the failure of his mission here.
The prospect of returning to Crenel’s realm didn’t appeal to him in any case. In Olquaria, Borne was performing on a greater stage as a commander in his own right, and had attained a status that would never have been possible elsewhere. The Empress Shareen’s promise that one day he might become hazar of the Companions of the Khardeshe was tantal
izing. He didn’t know, and suspected he didn’t want to know, how the Basilea planned to help him attain this position—and it would obviously require removing Kurash—but Borne did not for a moment doubt her power to do so.
Then there was the House of All-Knowing, where some of the greatest minds in the Known World regularly gathered. He would very much regret it if he had to leave this eminent community of scholars, and in particular, his wise friend Taqui-Rash.
Lastly, he had to take into account the girl herself. If Yasiha were to end up with Kurash, Borne knew he would carry the responsibility for her unhappy fate for the rest of his days, just as surely as he already carried those of his parents, Cole, and Lord Heptorious. Maybe, just maybe, the empress’s offer was a chance, at last, to lighten this burden. In time, he might even put to rest the insistent longing for Maura he’d yet to quell. Which he would have to do. His heart might be irretrievably lost, but she was a married woman now, forever out of his reach.
If he could not love another, he was surely capable of finding contentment with Yasiha. She was intelligent, and shared his enthusiasm for the music and lore of her land, and he sensed she could be passionate in other ways as well.
Borne returned to the barracks without reaching a firm decision. Finding his men sparring in the yard, he took up a sword to banish the spiral of arguments playing over and over in his head. By the time he’d worked up a sweat and raised a few new blisters, his sole thought was of a cleansing ale.
Which was probably why he didn’t pay more attention to the veiled woman he glimpsed leaving the yard as he finished his last bout. It was only later, over a jug with D’Avencote and the others, that he remarked upon her presence.
D’Avencote choked in mid-gulp, his face flushing scarlet.
Smirking, Nargoret nudged him in the ribs. “I saw the wench leaving your room, you sly dog!”
