by Beth Alvarez
Rune frowned. “What?”
“Begging your pardon, sir, but you'd best aim to have them under your control as soon as possible.” The captain shook his head with a scowl. “Tren sent out his army before you and the men from the village arrived. The loyal officers and I tried to stop them, but all it did was stir up fights before they went.”
A minor complication. Rune squeezed his eyes shut. “How many?”
“Five thousand strong, sir. Two to assault the villages on the eastern border, near the outpost, and three to attack western lands.”
“What?” Rune shot to his feet and regretted it instantly. Minna grabbed his arm and clucked at him to sit down. He hoped Davan thought he was just humoring her when he sank back to his seat.
“He gave them the Gate-stone. I don't know how he got it. I'm sorry, sir, but there's no way of knowing where they are now.” Davan's tone was truly apologetic, but it didn't do much to comfort him. Rune groaned and cradled his head again.
Even if he knew where they had gone, he was in no condition to open a Gate of his own. And if their army had split, that only made it harder. Which did he go after? The army that could put his new bride at risk? The larger army that threatened his father and the capital city? He felt torn in two directions. Five thousand! How had Tren kept hold of such a number?
“Prepare horses,” Rune said at last, getting to his feet with a murmured thank-you for Minna. “I need you to send word to the village. Call everyone there back to Core on my order. I have to find the army that went into Kifel's lands. If he sees me with them, we might get out of this alive.”
“Yes, sir.” Davan started for the hallway, pausing in the doorframe to add, “Sire.”
All Rune could do was stare. The full weight of his new position settled on his shoulders so swiftly, he was not sure how he would stand.
Firal wiped her hands on her apron and strode toward the edge of the village with her head held high. Most of the women and workers hid in the half-built houses, for lack of better place to seek shelter from the army moving toward them. The men left to guard the outpost, a scant two handfuls, followed close at her heels.
Several had tried to dissuade her from meeting the approaching soldiers, but she insisted. It was not a large band, perhaps fifty men on horseback, but they were well-armored and carrying good steel. If they failed to recognize her as a mage and ally, her magic would be more useful against them than any sword.
Most of the men at her back fingered their weapons, though she’d tried to convince them combat wouldn’t be necessary. No one had taken her word, and they fanned out to either side of her as they waited for the horsemen to arrive.
They were knights, marked by the bands of silver on the edges of their capes. Two carried banners depicting the seven-pointed star of Ilmenhith on a field of blue. A cluster of horsemen moved to the front and she took a step forward to meet them.
“The lands ruled by King Kifelethelas lay at least five miles to the west,” she called, resting her hands on her hips as they drew their horses to a halt. “What brings His Majesty's knights this far from his territory?”
“I am well aware of where the border is,” the horseman in the middle replied as he removed his helm.
Firal blinked and swept into a bow that was only hesitantly mimicked by the men at her sides. “Forgive me, Majesty. I did not recognize you in your armor.”
Kifel eased himself down from his horse. “I wouldn't expect you to, you've never seen me in it.” He'd obviously been prepared for the worst, riding into what he believed were lands still held by Relythes. The scant number of armored ruin-folk that stood in front of his band clearly surprised him.
Firal licked her lips in nervous uncertainty. The king was the last person she'd expected to see. All the things she'd planned to say scattered from her head. “I apologize, the village is not prepared to welcome such prestigious guests. I would offer you wine or tea, but I'm afraid we have neither here.”
“I'm not here for tea,” Kifel replied. “I've come seeking someone.”
“Rune—Ran isn't here.” She gestured toward the well in the plaza some short distance behind her. “Shall I have water drawn for your horses?”
He shook his head. “No, thank you. And I'm not here for Lomithrandel.”
Her brow furrowed. “I beg your pardon, Majesty?”
“Pardoned,” he said with a nod as he passed off the reins to his horse. “While I would love to speak to my son, I've come to see you. I would speak to you in private, if we may.”
The soldiers around her tensed. Firal lifted a hand as if to soothe them. “Of course, sire. One of my men shall accompany us for propriety's sake. Your men are welcome to rest by the well in the meantime.”
“Very well.” Kifel gestured for her to lead.
She hesitated a moment before she started for the nearest house. One of the soldiers who had flanked her peeled away from the group to join them. He remained close to her side, his hand poised to draw his sword at any moment. Dedicated, determined, despite that she didn't know his name.
There were no furnishings in the building yet, but like her infirmary, a hearth stood finished in the center of the far wall. She stopped beside it, unsure whether she should sit on its edge or remain standing. Even having met him before, she still did not know how to behave around Kifel. That she was now married to his fostered son only made things more confusing. Was she to tell him of their bond, or was it best to leave that for Rune? Did that make Kifel her father-in-law? Or would that only have counted if Rune was his blood child? Lifetree's mercy, she was entertaining the king. Why was he even there?
“What is this about?” Firal asked, clasping her hands together for lack of something else to do with them.
The king looked at her for a long time before he spoke. “It's come to my attention that the Masters of Kirban never told you of... of your parentage.” He fumbled over the words. That was odd enough on its own, but his choice of subject struck her as stranger.
“They have not,” she said calmly. “Surely you haven't come all the way from Ilmenhith to discuss this.”
“It's very important that you know,” he insisted. He rotated his helmet, worrying its edge with both hands. “Had they told me, I would have come to you much sooner. I realize that the timing is poor, what with the conflict, but you must know. The Archmage Envesi—she is your mother.”
Firal's heart fell to her knees. Memories of the Archmage flashed through her head—her frigid expression and the cold venom in her voice as she declared Firal expelled. Her mother. Only steps away throughout her entire life, never having spoken a word to her before the moment Firal had been discarded by the temple. Her mother had cast her out without a second thought, without so much as batting an eye.
Firal blinked against tears and swallowed hard. “If... if you believe that means I would stand against you because of her secession, you are mistaken.” She struggled to keep the tremble from her voice.
Kifel's mouth fell open in surprise and stepped forward with a hand outstretched. “No, please! That isn't what I mean. You must understand, the... the Archmage is—was—my wife.”
She didn't realize she'd sat on the edge of the hearth until she put her hands out to steady herself. His wife. Her mother was his wife. She struggled to wrap her mind around the picture, to make herself understand what he was saying. All of a sudden, the royal crest she'd been given as a child—the one that had belonged to her mother—made sense. The Archmage had broken her ties with Ilmenhith's court to found the temple. Broken her ties with the king.
Kifel was her father. That was what he'd ridden from Ilmenhith to tell her. The king was her father. The man who had adopted her husband. The man who had raised him as his own.
“Does Ran know?” she choked out.
“No.” Kifel knelt before her. It took some effort, his armor cumbersome. “He doesn't. Even I didn't, until Nondar told me. It has been no more than a week.”
“Nondar,�
� Firal repeated as a wave of bitterness washed over her. The Master who had all but raised her, been all but a father to her. He'd known, all this time, and never told her.
Kifel's gauntleted hand brushed her face and she blinked at him through a haze of tears.
“I'm sorry,” he said softly, searching her eyes. “I've spent days thinking of how I would tell you once I got here. I couldn't think of any gentle ways.”
“My lady!” A voice cried from the doorway.
She shot a fiery glare at the soldier as he leaned inside. “Do you not know what privacy means?” she snapped, shoving Kifel's hand away and scrubbing tears from her face.
The soldier bowed with a hand over his heart. “I apologize, my lady, but it is urgent. You must return to Core.”
“For what reason?” Firal stood. Beside her, Kifel did the same.
“Word from the captain just arrived. By the general's order, we are all to return to Core immediately. Lord Daemon rides to join the army that moves against Ilmenhith.”
“What?” Kifel's emerald eyes widened and then turned hard.
“Brant's roots, man!” the soldier who had escorted Firal roared from the corner, making her jump. She'd all but forgotten he was there. “Do you not see the King of Ilmenhith standing right before you?”
The man in the doorway grew pale and his jaw went slack.
Firal scowled. “I will not return to Core. If Daemon rides to Ilmenhith, then I will see him there.”
Kifel shook his head. “We have no extra horses. Even if we did, we'd not be able to beat them to the capital.”
“There is more than one way to reach a destination, Majesty.” Her words were cold and formal, the title tacked on as she shoved the new knowledge of her lineage to the back of her mind. She didn't know which mages might be in Ilmenhith or who she could ask for help, save one.
She pushed past the soldier in the doorway and marched into the open street. The budding village already boiled with frenzy as ruin-folk scrambled to gather their things and escape. Firal didn’t doubt they now thought the presence of Kifel’s men meant the village was under siege. The knights kept tight rein of their horses, the animals stamping and whinnying in displeasure as people filled the street.
Firal pushed past villagers and soldiers alike, her bodyguard lost in the crowd, though Kifel managed to stay at her heels. She sucked in a deep breath as she marched past the edge of the village and into the empty space beneath the trees, the madness of evacuation behind her. She locked the old Master's face in her mind and gathered energy to the center of her being.
With one powerful thrust, she sent the pulse of the Calling. A strange, pins-and-needles sensation echoed back. She sent another pulse, laced with emotion, pleading, and the impression of herself and a Gate.
A long moment passed, Firal's uncertainty growing by the moment. Kifel's men gathered around them, quieting the horses. Uncertainty became desperation, desperation melting to disappointment.
And then the air before her sizzled, and Nondar and a half-circle of Masters emerged from the invisible Gate before them.
“Child,” Nondar laughed, a look of relief on his face. “Who ever taught you such a thing? Opening a Gate to a person instead of a place. Who would have imagined such an idea?”
“It was all I could think to try,” Firal said as she wrapped the Master in an embrace.
Nondar started to speak, but stopped in surprise when his eyes fell on Kifel. He grew solemn, dipping his head in reverence.
Firal released the old Master and stepped back, swiping her eyes with a thumb.
Behind the mages, crackles of energy broke the sky into shards that fell away to reveal the courtyard of the palace on the other side.
“Prepare my armies at once,” Kifel ordered as his men poured into the courtyard with their horses. “We must ride immediately. Nondar, summon Medreal. Tell her—” He paused, and his eyes fell on Firal. “Tell her my daughter is coming home.”
24
War
“War has changed.” Kifel moved colored figurines across the map laid on his desk. “My forefathers fought to establish nations, uphold principles. They never faced battles like this.”
Medreal set down the tea tray, mindful of the markers the king placed. “War never changes, my liege.” She filled several cups; he assumed it meant they would have guests soon. She added honey to his tea before she pushed it across his desk. “Since the dawn of time, blood has been spilled in the name of everything. Revenge is no exception. History repeats itself, sire, writing more bloody chapters for scholars to read.”
He frowned, taking the thin silver teacup in both hands. That she'd taken to serving him in silver instead of fine porcelain hadn't escaped his notice. Perhaps she feared he'd ruin another tea set. He let the cup's warmth seep into his fingers as he tore his eyes from the figurines that represented the army moving into his territory.
Estimates put the number of men at less than he expected, but still a large enough army to cause considerable damage. Kifel had expected retaliation, but he hadn't expected his son to lead it. Surely they didn't think they would stand a chance against the armies of Ilmenhith. Ran knew what they were up against. Why lead his men to slaughter?
“Where is Firal?” he asked. With everything on his plate, he needed at least one piece of good news.
“Avoiding you.” Medreal took a teacup for herself and blew steam from its top. One for him, one for her, and two others on the tray. At least one Master mage would be joining them, he wagered. “Almost as soon as the lot of you arrived, she said she wanted to visit the mages in the chapter house. I suppose after the fracture, she wishes to know where she stands among them.”
“She has friends there, no doubt.” A good thing, Kifel suspected. Something to help anchor her to Ilmenhith. He didn't intend to let her slip away. If only recovering his son would be as easy. “Has she seen her quarters?”
“She has been told of them. I'm sure she remembers from her last visit. I took the liberty of placing her in the same room as before, to lend whatever comfort I can.” The old woman sighed, shifting on her feet and staring into her tea. “I'm afraid I don't know when she will return. I imagine your meeting this afternoon gave her quite a shock. She will need time to settle. Rushing will only make it worse.”
Kifel grimaced. The stewardess knew him too well, knew he was anxious to announce Firal's presence and place a crown on her head. He'd always intended to declare Ran heir to the throne, blood or not. But now his son led a rebellion, and Kifel could not risk entering a war without an heir.
“You could have crowned Lomithrandel long ago,” Medreal said, as if hearing his thoughts. Perhaps she could. She'd been a mage of the old ways, long before the temple was founded. He didn't really know what she could do.
“I wanted to. I would have. But how could I? For all that he wanted it, if only as a chance to impress me, how could I? He would have been trapped, forced to spend the rest of his life hiding, keeping secrets. He could never walk in his own skin around the council, around a wife. He'd never have heirs. Even if he is able to father them, what if the taint that ruined him passed on to his children? Would he risk that, just for sake of passing down the throne?” He shook his head and let his shoulders slump. “I couldn't do that, Medreal. I couldn't condemn him to that. And now I'm afraid he'll never understand that I never named him because I wanted better for him.”
“It's never too late to say these things, my liege.” Medreal drained the last of her tea and placed her cup upside-down on the tray before she made for the door. She reached it just as someone knocked. If she couldn't hear thoughts, Kifel had no idea what trick was up her sleeve. The stewardess drew the door open, and two white-robed Masters swept in.
“Majesty,” Anaide greeted him with a stiff but formal bow as she positioned herself beside the desk and surveyed what lay before her. Edagan was only a few steps behind, but the stern-faced Master of Earth said nothing.
“Good of you
to join me.” Kifel gestured for the women to sit as Medreal moved chairs closer. “I trust you have something to contribute to the situation?”
Edagan sniffed as she took a seat. “Of course. As we understand, there is a powerful mage present in the approaching army?”
“Lomithrandel will be with them, yes. You don't need to pretend you don't know what's going on.” He tried not to sound as irritated as he felt. Perhaps the Masters thought they were being polite by failing to mention Ran's name, but they weren't fooling anyone. Short of the Archmage herself, Ran was the only mage they feared.
“Of course.” Anaide settled and laced her fingers together in her lap. “I'm sure you understand what a challenge his presence will present. As a result, we feel it best that your men be accompanied by mages who can provide shields and healing on the battlefield.”
Kifel frowned. “Do you have enough seasoned mages to spare for such a thing?”
Edagan nodded. The two of them intended to tag-team him, it seemed. “Even the youngest of our magelings are capable of shielding, and we have several who are quite skilled with healing. Not all of our mages wear white, but I assure you they will perform most admirably.”
“Very well,” he ceded with a sigh. “Medreal will collect your mages and add them to the ranks.”
Anaide rose as quickly as she'd sat. “Good!” she exclaimed. The look on her face was startled yet pleased, indicating she'd expected a fight. “We will see to it immediately. You will not regret this decision, my king.”
Kifel waved them away with a hint of agitation.
“I will see to it that all choices are appropriate, my liege,” Medreal said, dipping in a bow as graceful as her words before turning to escort the mages from his office. Kifel gave her a grateful nod. If Firal was with the mages, Kifel did not want her to be swept out to the battlefield alongside them. He was relieved to see Medreal didn't need any prompting.
But then again, she could likely read minds. Would that she had known his thoughts before he'd charged into the ruins, fueled by anger that had simmered within him for decades.
