Shadow and Flame

by Gail Z. Martin

  Connor squeezed her hand. “I want you near, but I want you safe even more,” he said.

  She drew back and turned to look at him. “And where would I be safe? Glenreith? Maybe, but my foresight would be no use to the fight. Castle Reach? Mirdalur? Doubtful. Camping with Blaine’s army would be even more dangerous.” She paused. “There isn’t anywhere ‘safe’ where I can be of use. So I might as well be here.”

  Connor bent down and kissed the top of her head. “There is a plan. I wish I could tell you more, but I can’t, and to be honest, it’s safer for you this way. Does your Sight tell you anything?” Connor asked.

  Zaryae shook her head. “Not yet. It’s often silent when I want most to know something,” she added ruefully. She looked at him thoughtfully. “You’re planning to go with them, aren’t you?”

  Connor sighed. “Yes. Penhallow argued against it, but even he had to see the wisdom of it. My gut tells me that it is important that I be there.”

  “You’re still not talishte, even with the Wraith Lord’s help,” Zaryae warned. “And if you’re hurt too badly, Penhallow may have no choice except to turn you.”

  “I know,” he said, putting his arm around her shoulder. “But they’re all risking their existence as well. And it won’t be worth living if Thrane and Nagok win and Vedran Pollard gains the throne. And if Nagok takes the throne of Meroven, how long before he decides to finish what he started and add Donderath to his empire? Thrane wouldn’t stop Nagok—he looks at everyone in Donderath as nothing more than food. If Blaine and Penhallow and their allies can’t win this, who else will try to stand against Thrane and Nagok? Maybe no one—at least, not in our lifetime.”

  Zaryae sighed and snuggled next to him. “Enough of war. It will come soon enough. Tell me another story about how it was before the war. I never saw Castle Reach before it burned.”

  For the two months they had been stuck aboard ship going to Edgeland and coming back, Connor and Zaryae had entertained each other with stories. Connor had already shared the unexpected adventure on the night of the Great Fire that sent him to Edgeland the first time and ended up with him in Penhallow’s service. Zaryae had recounted what had happened to the performing troupe she and the twins had traveled with from the Great Fire to when they met up with Blaine at Rikker’s Ferry.

  Now that the big tales had been told, what remained were everyday stories, reminiscences about a world that was forever gone. And while Connor would not have considered those memories to be particularly noteworthy before the Cataclysm, they had become more precious among the ruins. Zaryae listened as Connor told a story about one of the war councils he had attended as Garnoc’s assistant. It struck Connor as he spoke that although all the people in his tale had been powerful and well-known before the Great Fire, he was the only one who had survived.

  “Tell me a story I haven’t heard before,” Connor said when he finished his tale. “Something to take my mind off war.”

  Zaryae chuckled. “I told you all my good stories on the ship.”

  “Then tell me a bad story,” he said with a smile. She grew pensive and turned away.

  “I didn’t mean it that way,” Connor cajoled. How can I hold my own with ancient talishte and muddle it so awfully with a woman?

  Not so difficult to fix, the Wraith Lord’s voice sounded in his mind. Get her talking. Find out what’s bothering her. Show her that you care no matter what she tells you.

  I’m getting romantic advice from a thousand-year-old ghost?

  Don’t discount the value of experience! the Wraith Lord said with a chuckle. And now I’ll leave you two to yourselves. She’s a good one, Connor. Don’t mess this up.

  And with that, the Wraith Lord left him. Connor felt so totally out of his depth that he almost called Vandholt back. Then he drew a deep breath and laid a hand gently on Zaryae’s shoulder.

  “I’m interested in any story you want to tell me,” Connor said. “Good or bad. I love you, Zaryae. Your stories are important to me.”

  For a moment, he thought she would walk away, but then she moved to face him. “I guess you’ll hear it sooner or later, from the twins.” She hesitated again, then plunged ahead.

  “We had to leave the Lesser Kingdoms and our tribe because of me,” she said finally. “My Gift. It was before I knew as much about how to use my ability. I was so young,” she added, shaking her head at the memory.

  “My foresight came on me with my moon days,” she said with a blush. “At first, I would just blurt things out, things that I saw. People thought I was crazy. Then, when my predictions came true, they thought I was a witch. They were afraid. So were my parents.”

  “They didn’t value what you could do?” Connor asked, taking her hand as he listened.

  “They were scared of me,” she said quietly. “The gift of foresight isn’t unknown among my people. Some who have it become very powerful, tribal leaders, advisers to the king. But it’s not something you learn, or practice. One day it’s not there, and then next day—all of a sudden you’re ‘prophesying.’” She looked down at her hands. “It changed me in their eyes. I wasn’t their daughter anymore.”

  Connor felt himself go cold with anger. “What did they do?”

  “They sent me away,” Zaryae said without looking up. “To live with my uncle.”

  “Illarion?” Connor asked. Zaryae nodded. Connor had met Illarion before the Battle of Valshoa. He had lost his life on the perilous journey into a hidden, guarded mountain pass.

  “He was my mother’s brother. And he took me in, no questions asked, even though he had children of his own. Borya and Desya were his grandsons. Kata was his niece.”

  She paused. “The four of us grew up like siblings. Sometimes, I could pretend that there had never been anything else, that they were my real family and I was their sister.”

  “But something changed to make you go wandering,” Connor said.

  Zaryae sighed. “Illarion taught me how to guide my gift, how to keep from blurting things out. For a while, that worked. And then I saw something so powerful I couldn’t help it. I foresaw the death of the wealthiest man in the city. It was a murder. I tried to warn him, but I was too late—and the magistrate thought I had something to do with it.”

  She tightened her grip on his hands and looked at him with a fierce expression. “Illarion gave up everything for me, and so did my cousins. He assaulted the sheriff to free me, and we took off with just a couple of horses, a wagon, and all the goats and chickens we could carry, plus what he and the twins had been able to throw together on a moment’s notice.”

  Zaryae was quiet for a moment, remembering. “We fled into the Western Plains. After a while, they stopped chasing us. But it was done. None of us could ever go back. Illarion had the idea to create a traveling performance group. The twins were excellent riders from herding the flocks. Kata had an amazing singing voice, and the two of us could dance.”

  She blushed. “We were young enough and pretty enough that it didn’t really matter how well we danced, men would throw coins,” she admitted. “The twins learned to do some fancy acrobatic tricks. Illarion was our master of ceremonies, and back then, he could sing and play instruments as well. After a while, I learned to control my gift enough to be able to tell fortunes without saying too much.”

  “You survived,” Connor said. “You made a way for yourself.”

  Zaryae shrugged. “It was hard. Sometimes food was scarce if coin was lacking. We traded for some things and stole when we had to, or begged.” Her jaw set. “Illarion never let us down. He always found a way. He kept us together, and alive.”

  Zaryae stared off at the dark garden for a moment. “We weren’t the only ones who left the Lesser Kingdoms,” she said quietly. “There were others, outcast for a variety of reasons. If they had a talent and they weren’t a danger, Illarion let them travel with us so long as they could provide for themselves. After a while, we traveled between the outposts in the Western Plains, holding our own little s
how. People would come from all around to see us. Word spread even to Donderath.”

  “That’s how you came to play for Lord Corrender, right before the Great Fire,” Connor prompted.

  Zaryae nodded. “We played at some of the small border towns, and then were invited to hold a show at the lesser cities. Somewhere in those backwater places, a person who knew Lord Corrender heard of us, and I guess he thought it would be great fun to have us perform for him. That’s how we were camped close enough to be in the path of the Great Fire,” she said, her voice going quiet.

  “When it was over, Illarion, Borya, Desya, Kata, and I were the only ones who survived,” she added. “Borya and Desya—you know what happened to their eyes. Kata was so terrified by what she saw that night she never spoke again. My gift blasted wide open. Illarion lost his ability to play and sing, and the fire nearly killed him,” she said.

  “And so you went back to wandering the Western Plains after the Cataclysm, playing for small towns, begging for coins,” Connor finished the story. “And that’s how you were in Rikker’s Ferry when Blaine found you.”

  “Yes, and no,” she said. “We went to Rikker’s Ferry because it was a null spot, a place where magic didn’t work. We were trying to hide from the magic storms. We had run from them so often. We were tired,” she said. “I had a vision that a man would come to that town who needed us, and a warning for him. We had nearly given up by the time Blaine came.” She smiled. “But I knew he was the one for the vision as soon as I saw him in the audience.”

  Connor slipped his arm around her, and this time she leaned against him. “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you for trusting me with your story.”

  “Not as exciting as the stories you’ve shared about the adventures you’ve had with the Wraith Lord,” she said.

  “Not nearly as funny as the stories you told me about chasing goats and chickens through rainstorms and performing your way out of a scrape with raiders,” Connor countered with a smile.

  They were quiet for a while, looking out at the moon and the garden. Finally, Zaryae spoke. “What will you do, when it’s finally over?” she asked. “When the war ends. What will there be for you?”

  Connor stared at the ruined hedgerow. “I haven’t really had much time to think about it,” he said. “It’s been rather slam-bang since the night of the Great Fire.” He let out a long breath. “I was Lord Garnoc’s man. He’s gone now. And for as long as I live, I’ll be Lord Penhallow’s man—and the Wraith Lord’s—because of the kruvgaldur. While I’m a Lord of the Blood, I don’t really know what that means for my future…” His thoughts spun, and he struggled to pull them together. “I’ve been so busy just surviving moment to moment, I haven’t really thought about ‘after.’ There wasn’t a reason to worry about it, before now,” he added, and gave her a squeeze. Zaryae smiled, and Connor held her close for a few moments.

  “Assuming Penhallow survives, I suspect I could have a position with him for as long as I want it—for life, even,” Connor said. And thanks to the kruvgaldur, my life will be longer than usual, if I live through the war. “Blaine’s made it clear I’m welcome at Glenreith as well, and I’m grateful. But I think my place is here, or at Rodestead House, with Penhallow and the Wraith Lord.”

  He turned to her. “I have to admit, both he and the Wraith Lord have grown on me, too.” He grinned. “Don’t tell them—it would go to their heads. But sadly, I’m not sure it matters. The odds are pretty high that I won’t come back from this one.”

  Zaryae regarded him in silence for a moment, and sighed. “Bevin, my gift is silent on this. I wish I could tell you otherwise. Please promise me that you’ll do whatever you can to come back?”

  “I’ll do my very best,” Connor replied.

  Zaryae leaned forward and kissed him, long and lingering. She chuckled at the look of surprise on his face before he collected his wits and returned the kiss. When they finally pulled back, he was certain that he must look poleaxed with surprise.

  “I know we don’t have any guarantees,” Zaryae murmured. “But we do have tonight to be together.”

  “Zaryae… are you sure?”

  “Bevin Connor, I have never been more sure of anything in my life,” Zaryae said as she stood. The moonlight shimmered on her skin as Zaryae let her dress drop to the ground. She reached forward, taking Connor by the hand and pulling him with her.

  He moved to say something, and Zaryae put a finger to his lips. “I love you, Bevin. Nothing that happens is going to change that. I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow, but we can make this night our own. Please, give me that.” He nodded, overwhelmed with emotion, and then words were no longer necessary.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  I SAW WHAT REESE LEFT BEHIND WHEN WE LIBERATED Westbain,” Connor said to Tormod Solveig as they regarded Solsiden. “I don’t want to think about what we’re going to find with Thrane in charge.”

  Connor and Tormod rode at the fore of a contingent of the Solveig army, hundreds of men strong. It was just after noon, and the sun was high in the sky, meaning that even a talishte of Thrane’s age and power should be drowsy and besotted, if he was awake at all. It was their best chance to clear away the mortal protectors and use Tormod’s magic without jeopardizing their talishte allies.

  “You’re sure that your magic can coexist with the Wraith Lord possessing me?” Connor asked. “He’s still talishte.”

  Tormod chuckled. “In his case, the lack of his own physical body makes the difference. The Wraith Lord is a talishte spirit. During the day, I have power over talishte because they become corpses. He doesn’t become a corpse because he doesn’t have a body of his own. And remember—once the sun sets, my magic has no hold on the talishte because they’re animated by the Dark Gift. At that point, I’m no more than a swordsman for your cause.”

  “I’ve bumped up against a mage’s limits before,” Connor replied. “That’s always where things go wrong.”

  “Let’s hope that’s not the case today,” Tormod replied. He turned to his soldiers. “Archers—in position!”

  Solsiden’s defenders had a double line of archers on the wall walkway, partially hidden behind the crenellations. Tormod’s bowmen also formed a double line, protected by their long shields and their helmets, as the rest of the soldiers hung back out of bow range.

  “Fire!” Tormod shouted. Bowstrings twanged, as a hail of arrows sang through the air. Some of the arrows struck the guards near the gate, and despite their armor, they felled two of the soldiers while the others scrambled to adjust their shields. Thrane’s archers returned fire, and soon the ground around Tormod’s bowmen bristled with arrows, while more of the missiles bounced off the long shields that protected the soldiers’ bodies. With each volley, Tormod’s archers moved a few steps closer.

  Connor and the other soldiers closed ranks around Tormod, protecting him as he sent his magic toward Solsiden, reaching out to the dead and undead within its walls. Connor’s magic as a medium jangled at the brush of Tormod’s power, similar yet very different. Tormod’s eyes were shut in concentration, and he lifted his hands, palms up, gathering and directing his power.

  Connor stared nervously at the manor. Tormod’s power slipped past the walls and heavy gate, bypassing the archers and the soldiers inside the stronghold, seeping deep beneath the ground into the day crypts of Thrane’s talishte. For several moments, nothing seemed to happen. And then, shouts sounded inside the walls, followed by screams.

  “Look!” one of the soldiers cried out, pointing as plumes of dark smoke began to rise from inside the walled courtyard. First a few, then more and more plumes rose until the air over Solsiden was dark with the smoke, and the air smelled like a funeral pyre. The archers on the wall kept up their defense, but their aim became erratic as more cries and shouts rose from within. As the chaos distracted the wall’s defenders, Tormod’s archers more often found their targets, dropping so many of the enemy bowmen that only a handful remained to protect the gate
.

  Another shriek rent the air, and abruptly the archers on the wall turned toward the inside of the courtyard, firing at an unseen enemy that suddenly claimed their full attention. Whatever was happening inside drew a panicked reaction from those within the walls. Connor shifted in his saddle, increasingly uncomfortable with the power that tingled across his skin, and sidestepped his horse to move a little farther away, disturbed by the effect Tormod’s necromancy was having on him. I’m alive, but I’m fighting the urge to run away, Connor thought. I’m so jittery I can barely stand it. No wonder talishte don’t like necromancers, even if the magic isn’t directed against them.

  What you feel is a faint shadow of how a necromancer’s power feels to a talishte, the Wraith Lord said. He has no power over my spirit, but when I possessed a body, I met more than one necromancer, and each time, barely survived the encounter.

  Throughout it all, Tormod’s expression was taut with concentration. He gave a twist of one hand, a push of his other hand, and suddenly, the gates of Solsiden opened. Standing in the doorway were dozens of rotting, animated corpses, some bristling with arrows.

  “Expect there to be armed mortals inside!” Tormod shouted to his troops. “Charge!” His soldiers surged forward. Tormod was fearsome in his black armor, riding at the fore of a tide of soldiers who descended on their enemy wailing and shrieking, a move calculated to strike terror into the enemy soldiers.

  Connor, possessed by the Wraith Lord’s spirit, rode with the vanguard. Connor felt his own mortal fear mix with the heady exultation of the Wraith Lord’s love of the fight. As always when the Wraith Lord took command of his body, Connor marveled at the grace and expertise that was not his own, the moves of an expert warrior honed over a millennium of existence. Connor’s own abilities as a soldier were much improved, but he knew he could not hope to mimic the Wraith Lord’s skill, even if he had several centuries to practice.

  Before the Cataclysm, Solsiden had belonged to Lord Arvo. Parts of the manor had been destroyed in the Great Fire, and Connor could see where its protective wall had been rebuilt in places. Two towers stood on either side of the massive wood-and-iron door that barred the entrance. Connor had wondered whether Thrane’s mortal soldiers would surrender, anxious for the opportunity to break from their oppressive talishte lords. But the soldiers’ fear of their talishte masters outweighed everything else, even when an army of the dead rose from their graves.