A Deliverer Comes

by Jill Williamson

  “Mama!” A boy with short, wiry black hair pushed out the door and threw his arms around Inolah’s waist. He was taller. And no one had bothered to keep his head shaved during his confinement.

  Her eyes blurred as tears filled them. “Oh, my Ferro! It does my heart good to see you well. How I’ve missed you.” She pulled him close and kissed the top of his head. “Is Empress Jazlyn here?” she asked the Tennish woman, who hadn’t moved from her place near the door where Sir Doran stood, holding it open.

  “The empress is in a meeting with the Tennish remnant,” the woman said.

  How interesting. “Does she meet with them often?” Inolah asked.

  “I don’t know, Your Eminence,” the woman said.

  Inolah doubted that very much. “I am taking Ferro into my custody. Have his belongings sent to his old chamber.”

  The woman bowed. “It would be my honor.”

  Inolah took Ferro’s hand and led him away from the empress’s apartment. If these people were against her, she wished they wouldn’t bother being so disgustingly polite about it. It was much easier to disdain rudeness.

  Thallah followed alongside. “Would you like to pay your respects to King Barthel?”

  “I owe him no allegiance,” Inolah said. “Rule of this realm belongs to my son, therefore Barthel Rogedoth is our guest. He should be the one to pay his respects to me.”

  Thallah grunted. She led Inolah back through the courtyard and down another hallway to a set of doors on the other side of the castle.

  “Has the empress always roomed so far from the royal chambers?” Inolah asked.

  “Her deceit was discovered before the castle was complete,” Thallah said. “The emperor made her reside in the apartment he had built for special guests.”

  That explained the gold leaf, at least.

  Rosârah Thallah stopped before yet another set of gold leaf doors. “Your chambers, Empress. These rooms were built for the emperor’s wife. Ferro’s apartment is around the corner.”

  Sir Doran opened the door, and Inolah and Ferro went inside. Inolah’s staff had already arrived and were preparing the room.

  “I want to see Taleeb at once,” Inolah said. “And see that the council is informed of my arrival.”

  Thallah pursed her lips and dipped into an awkward curtsy. “Yes, Your Eminence.”

  “Now, Ferro,” Inolah said, smiling. “Come and meet your baby sister.”

  To Thallah’s credit, Taleeb arrived not a half hour later. She bade the man join her and Ferro before the fireplace. Once they had made themselves comfortable, she began her inquiries.

  “What is happening here?” Inolah asked. “Does Jazlyn rule?”

  “She claims to,” Taleeb said, “yet we have given her no responsibility.”

  “She wants to rule her own people,” Ferro said. “I heard her say so to Qoatch.”

  Inolah nodded to her son. “That’s good to know, Ferro. And Thallah?”

  “She sits on our council and tries to rule as much as anyone,” Taleeb said. “Now that you are here, she will likely back off.”

  Inolah wasn’t so sure. “What is the status of our army?”

  “We were fifteen hundred strong before the last wave of giants attacked. While the empress worked her magic here in the castle, the people in the village weren’t so lucky. Over two hundred were taken by the giants as slaves, and another four hundred fell in the conflict.”

  “Then we still have nine hundred in the army?”

  “Only just, lady,” Taleeb said. “They are eager to take back their family and friends, though the council feels it is folly to fight the giants.”

  “They do have a great tactical advantage,” Inolah said.

  “We heard Rosâr Trevn escaped from the giants without a fight,” Taleeb said. “How did he accomplish this?”

  “He escaped down an underground river with the help of Master Grayson,” Inolah said. “Perhaps King Trevn would lend us use of Master Grayson to seek out our people?”

  “That would be ideal, Empress.”

  “Tell me about Barthel Rogedoth. What are his plans?”

  “I am uncertain. He has slowly become popular with the people. He gives them food.”

  “Our people?” Inolah asked.

  Taleeb nodded. “Venison, goats, fowl, fish. I don’t know where he gets it, but he has used it to win their trust. Also, our soldiers and his have been patrolling together. I fear the men have become friendly.”

  “Who authorized this?” Inolah asked.

  “The empress and King Barthel.”

  Inolah should have come sooner—the moment she’d heard of Ulrik and Ferro falling ill. Their enemies had been given free rein for far too long. “Will our people choose Barthel Rogedoth over their own royal family?”

  “I cannot say, lady, but it has been a sparse winter,” Taleeb said. “Food is better than gold to the hungry, and men don’t like being ordered to fight their comrades.”

  The situation was far from ideal. “It seems to me that Barthel Rogedoth came here to manipulate an alliance from a people with no leader.”

  “Actually, we have more leaders than we know what to do with.”

  “My point exactly. Ulrik had decreed Ferro would rule upon his untimely death,” Inolah said. “Did that change?”

  “No, but Empress Jazlyn believes Prince Adir should rule with her as regent.”

  “Did Ulrik write a new directive naming her regent in the case of his death?”

  “He did not,” Taleeb said.

  “Then the matter is settled,” Inolah said, thankful for that much. “Prince Ferro is too young to rule as emperor at present, so until he reaches his majority, he can act as regent under the guidance of the council, of which you will make me a member, at least until our common enemies are defeated.”

  “I believe the council would support that motion, Your Eminence,” Taleeb said.

  “Good.” Inolah took Ferro’s hands in hers. “We must fight to keep our realm strong, Ferro. I want to know what Empress Jazlyn does at these meetings of the Tennish people. It’s impossible, I believe, that it will be what’s best for Rurekau.”

  “He’s beautiful,” Inolah said, taking Prince Adir into her arms. Her first grandchild. She could not be so old, could she? Too much time, wasted.

  She had asked Empress Jazlyn to meet her in the council chambers to deliver the council’s verdict on the ascension. She had not expected the woman to bring Prince Adir to meet his grandmother. If Jazlyn thought this might be a means of manipulation, she was wrong, but that didn’t mean Inolah wouldn’t enjoy this moment.

  “Does Adir look very different from his sister?” she asked.

  “I have named him Jael, Empress,” Jazlyn said. “And though they look alike, Jahleeah is much bigger.”

  Strange to hear Jazlyn call the children by different names. “I’d like to meet her.”

  “Certainly,” Jazlyn said, “though it must be soon. I’m planning a trip and hope to leave in a day or two.”

  “Yes, I heard that you were preparing for a journey. Where are you going?”

  “I don’t see why it’s any of your business, but I’m sailing to Islah. Rosârah Laviel abandoned King Barthel’s fortress, and I volunteered to aid him in packing up the place.”

  “Such a task seems beneath you.”

  “Perhaps,” Jazlyn said, “but with Ulrik dead and his brother being groomed to rule, I see no place here for me at present.”

  Inolah sensed there was more to this story, but she had never been good at reading thoughts. She considered making an attempt, but a bigger worry sidetracked her. “I’m sorry, Empress, but I cannot allow you to take away Prince Adir.”

  “Jael, Empress.” Jazlyn’s eyes flashed. “And you have no authority to say such a thing. He is my son.” She reached for the prince.

  Inolah reluctantly handed him off. “He is also the heir,” she said.

  “The council voted for Prince Ferro to rule, so I se
e no reason why Jael must stay.”

  “He’s the heir presumptive, Empress. Should anything happen to Ferro, Prince Adir—my pardon, Prince Jael—will be our last hope.”

  “I have Protectors enough to keep him safe. And you should know that Ulrik and I signed a betrothal agreement that enables female ascension in the event that no male heirs exist.”

  Inolah knew Ulrik had signed a betrothal agreement, though she had not known all the particulars. “Then Princess Jahleeah will have to remain in New Rurekau as well.”

  “Absolutely not!” Jazlyn cried. “You cannot take both my children.”

  “Then let us compromise,” Inolah said. “If you’ll leave Prince Jael with me, I’ll speak to the council about granting special permission for you to take Princess Jahleeah on your trip.”

  “You do realize I have magic again, don’t you?” Jazlyn asked. “I could simply take my children away and compel everyone to forget they exist.”

  “Your children are not yours alone,” Inolah said. “They belong to all of Rurekau. Was that not the case with children in Tenma? They belonged to the realm?”

  Jazlyn glowered. “I will do as I please where my children are concerned.”

  “If you are going to behave like a traitor to the realm you married into, then you and all of your associates will be treated as such,” Inolah said.

  “Which means . . . ?”

  “Which means I will have you all arrested. You, Qoatch, your staff, your Protectors, and every Tennish national.”

  “You cannot do that.”

  “Watch me.”

  “I will magic them all away.”

  “If you must, though I suspect it will waste a great deal of evenroot.”

  Jazlyn’s eyes closed to slits. “If I agree to leave Jael behind, that will suit you?”

  Inolah relaxed. She had won. “If it suits the council, then yes.”

  “It had better,” Jazlyn snapped, “or I will be forced to drain my magic to place compulsions over this entire realm.”

  Inolah inclined her head. “Your restraint is very gracious.”

  Jazlyn handed the prince back to Inolah. “I will not forget this.” She strode away, head held high.

  Inolah snuggled Prince Adir close and watched the boy’s mother exit the chamber. She had won a single battle with the Tennish mantic, but she feared she might have started a war.

  Kalenek

  For three days Kal traveled north through snowy fields, the distant mountain range ever in his sights. Onika acted as guide, regaling him with the story of how she had discovered her new ability. She also told him how she and Grayson had helped Hinckdan Faluk assassinate Rosârah Laviel. Kal listened in awe as she spoke of banishing shadir and acting the part of a soldier in the Veil. He didn’t understand her new magic, but her presence, even if only verbal, was more comfort than he’d had in the past year.

  “I so look forward to returning to Armanguard and my friends there,” Onika said.

  Kal grimaced at the mention of that place. He would not be welcome. In fact, he would likely be executed as a traitor. Wilek had warned him never to return.

  As Kal rode north, Onika guided him though forests and around craggy rock bends, across snowy meadows and over rolling hills. Eventually he reached a moorland without snow, though the air was still bitter cold.

  If felt strange to take direction from an invisible voice. Too often Kal wondered if this was all another hallucination. The gods only knew how much damage Charlon’s spells had caused his mind. What if he were imagining Onika’s presence? What if he’d gone mad?

  As if in answer, Kal topped a final ridge and spotted a castle stronghold sitting atop the highest hill in the distance. He sighed in relief. If he’d lost his mind, how could he have imagined a voice that had brought him so directly to civilization?

  “Where are we?” he asked.

  “New Rurekau,” Onika said. “Barthel Rogedoth has been camped outside the stronghold these past few weeks, though he’s currently journeying north.”

  Was Shanek in the stronghold with Empress Jazlyn? Had he met Rogedoth yet?

  “He has been holding me captive in one of his tents,” Onika said, “waiting for the full moon so he can sacrifice me to his god.”

  That got Kal’s attention. The moon had been growing in the sky these past few nights. “That must be soon.”

  “Three or four more days, I believe. Find someplace to wait for the cover of darkness.”

  Kal stopped at the next stream. He ate, rested, and refilled his water jug. Mostly, he began to worry. “Miss Onika, I carry a sword, but that’s no guarantee I can use it for long. You do recall my . . . condition?”

  “Violence causes your arm to fail you.”

  “Yes, and while a great deal of time has passed since that last happened, I have no reason to believe anything has changed.”

  “Things will only change when you make an effort to heal the wounds inside.”

  Heat flooded Kal’s chest. “You sound like Jhorn.”

  “I wish you would have spoken to him about the war.”

  “Nothing he could have said would change anything. The past is set in stone.”

  “You cannot change the past, no, but I have seen many make peace with it.”

  “Through Jhorn’s magical healing ways?”

  “It’s not magic,” Onika said. “It was years of hard work.”

  That wasn’t what Kal had expected to hear. “He tried to tell me, but I wouldn’t let him.”

  “Jhorn knows there is little point in trying to help someone who doesn’t want it.”

  Kal understood that well enough. How often had he tried to help Charlon? The woman had made such a companion of her pain, she couldn’t part with it. “How did he make peace?”

  “There was no one thing. As I said, he struggled for many years. But his healing started because of a merchant. He was an amputee as well, walked with one wooden peg. He sold Jhorn his first set of canes. Whenever he passed through Magonia, Jhorn would invite him to stay. One such night, when we children had been put to bed, Jhorn asked about the merchant’s leg. The story was one of horrific abuse at the hands of his father. Jhorn asked how he could be so joyful, for the man smiled often.

  “The merchant said he was thankful for what he had gone through. While painful, it had drawn him closer to the God, allowed him compassion to help others, and enabled him to forgive his father. This angered Jhorn, who didn’t see why evil should be forgiven. The merchant had infinite patience. The longer the conversation went on, the softer Jhorn became. Soon he was telling his own story. He wanted the peace the merchant had and asked how he might obtain it.

  “The merchant told Jhorn that a wound that goes untreated becomes infected and, over time, festers. A festering wound needs to be drained or it will infect the whole body.

  “Jhorn saw friends die. He lost his legs. His anger was valid. As was his sorrow. The merchant advised Jhorn not to trample those feelings, but to wander through them until he made peace with them. To forgive himself for any part he played, then to seek the good that came of it.

  “Again Jhorn grew angry. What good? But as he raged, truth made itself clear. Had Jhorn not lost his legs, he might never have found Grayson. He would not know Dun or me. This small realization was enough to give Jhorn the first measure of peace he’d ever had in regard to his pain. From that moment on, whenever bouts of sorrow, anger, or humiliation came upon him, he acknowledged each with truth, then sought out a reverse emotion. Joy that he could care for us, empathy for himself over the loss of his legs, and pride that he was alive and able to move and care for three children. He transformed pain into joy, curse into a gift.”

  Kal considered this. “So it’s trickery. He simply trains himself to think positive.”

  “There’s more to it than that,” Onika said. “It was a difficult road. You’ll have to ask him about it. But your anger, guilt, and nightmares, your numbness . . . all are symptoms of one or more
festering wounds.”

  Kal couldn’t deny it, and he was weary of being a victim. He wanted the freedom Jhorn had, but his past was a convoluted mess of tragedy and failure. He didn’t know where to start.

  At dusk he continued on. Though he could see the torchlights of New Rurekau, it still took over an hour to reach the outskirts of the city. By then, the waxing moon hung fat in the black sky, a reminder that they had little time left.

  Onika led him toward a field of mismatched tents. Kal tied up his horse and crouched behind a bush on the edge of what he could now see was a military camp arranged in a circular formation. The moon was not bright enough to see well. He listened to the distant sounds of the men, talking and laughing, someone playing a lute. These soldiers appeared no different from those he’d known during the war. Why were they here? Was their allegiance to Rogedoth? Or were they simply against House Hadar?

  “Which tent is yours?” he asked.

  “It’s near the center of camp,” Onika said. “See those two tents on the outer edge? Someone has strung a laundry line between them.”

  “I see them.”

  “Your most direct path would be to go through there.”

  Kal prepared to stand but hesitated. “Is there a guard outside your tent?”

  “There were two when I left to find you.”

  Kal didn’t like it. “Miss Onika, what if my arm fails?” Positive thoughts would be of little use with a sword flying at his throat.

  “Do your best, Sir Kalenek. Arman and I will assist you.”

  What an odd thing to say. But the woman had brought him this far; he might as well trust her fully. “I live to serve, lady.”

  Kal set out, running in a crouch toward the clothesline. He reached his destination without incident and crept along the line until he could peer between the legs of a pair of trousers. Just ahead, five soldiers sat circled around a campfire. They were Kinsman, and Kal recognized one of them from Tace Edekk’s personal guard. Traitors, all of them.

  “Best go the other way,” Onika said.

  Kal crept around the back of the tent, then decided to circle the tent beside it too. He met no one in the shadows. As he came up around the far side of the tent, he peeked back toward the campfire in time to catch the men hooting about something.