“What ails you, m’lord?” Hultul asked him. “Twice have I asked you a question, yet you do not seem to hear me. What is wrong?”
“Leave him be,” Thirbe spoke up before Shadrael could answer. His keen eyes seemed to cut through Shadrael, seeing too much. “Shakes and snakes, ain’t it?”
The protector’s friendly tone, containing just the right amount of sympathy and understanding, did not fool Shadrael. He perceived a deep vein of anger running through the protector, hidden behind that perfunctory smile and offer of false comradeship. Cautiously Shadrael gave Thirbe no answer.
“M’lord,” Hultul said, removing his head wrap and sitting respectfully at Shadrael’s feet. “I ask your forgiveness for what happened between us before. I was acting on my most esteemed and beloved lord’s orders. And I know that you felt obliged to kill my men to save yourself. May we call a truce between us while we are prisoners of these vile men and work together to escape this place?”
Shadrael’s gaze narrowed. “Perhaps.”
Hultul grinned briefly and edged closer. “Thank you, m’lord. Now, this foreign dog before you has the intelligence of a donkey and the temper of a scorpion, but together he and I have explored this place, and there is—”
“Quiet!” Thirbe said in warning.
There came the sound of approaching footsteps.
Hultul scrambled away from Shadrael just before the lock was opened and the jailer appeared in the doorway.
“You,” he said to Shadrael. “Come out.”
Warily Shadrael got to his feet. As he stepped over the threshold, several Vindicants pounced and bound his wrists with spiked shackles that cut cruelly into his flesh. They shoved him roughly along a passage that led outdoors, crossed the camp, and skirted the mercenaries camped in makeshift tents. The men seemed oddly quiet. Among them stood Fomo, his scarred face showing no expression at all until he saw Shadrael’s shadow on the ground. He gaped, his eyes nearly bulging from his skull before he grimaced and spat eloquently.
Inside the caves, Shadrael was taken through several passages until he reached the round chamber containing Beloth’s altar. Half-expecting to see Lea stretched across it in sacrifice as she’d been last night, Shadrael instead found the stone bare. Only two torches were burning now, casting uneven light on the bloodstained altar. The stains were dark—old, not fresh, he was relieved to see.
The cart used to shift Lord Barthel’s obese body remained near the doorway into the chief priest’s private chamber, yet of Barthel’s corpse there was no sign.
Wondering if they meant to execute him here, Shadrael grew tense. Unable to test his cruel bonds, he shifted his gaze about, seeking escape.
Urmaeor appeared from the gloom, standing across from him on the other side of the altar. The priest’s eyes blazed at Shadrael almost without recognition.
The escort shoved Shadrael to his knees.
“Leave us,” Urmaeor commanded, and the others backed away.
Shadrael climbed onto his feet, refusing to remain in a position of respect. “Where is Lady Lea?” he asked.
“Locked away.”
Concern too intense to be controlled spread through Shadrael. “Is someone caring for her? Is she being kept warm? Has she regained consciousness?”
“She is not conscious. She lies very ill, thanks to you.”
“Will she—”
“Enough! You’ve caused us all a great deal of unnecessary trouble, and you have stolen the best of her essence.” Urmaeor glared at him a moment. “Congratulations, Shadrael. I did not realize you were adept enough to tempt the very breath of life from her.”
“It was—”
“I withheld the soul I’d promised you because it was the only way to control you. Now you’ve achieved restoration another way. How clever. You look positively sleek from feeding on the girl. As for your concern for her, stop pretending. If it’s for her benefit, she can’t hear you. If it’s for mine, I don’t appreciate the mockery.”
“It’s one thing to use your cruelty on me,” Shadrael said. “Quite another to harm her as you’ve done.”
“The harm came from you,” Urmaeor said angrily, then restrained himself. “But why fret? You have what you want. Are you so greedy that you would take still more from her? Will you leave nothing for—”
“For whom?” Shadrael broke in, angered by what Urmaeor was saying. “Yourself?”
The priest schooled his features into a phony smile. “How perceptive of you. As you can see, I have begun to experience the less pleasant effects of withdrawal.”
“Really? I thought it was from too much contact with Lea.”
Hatred twisted Urmaeor’s features for a moment before he smoothed his expression. “She has not been cooperative.”
“Imagine that,” Shadrael said. “Abduct the girl from her friends and family, lock her up in this icy ruin in the middle of nowhere, torture her, and try to drain the very life from her body to salvage a rotting shambles of a man. Why should she resist?”
“My patience with you grows extremely thin, Commander. Do not try me further.”
“Aren’t you grateful for what I’ve done for you?” Shadrael replied. “Thanks to me, you’re now chief priest.”
Hissing, Urmaeor raised his fist, and Shadrael braced himself, but the priest did not strike. Slowly, he lowered his hand and glared at Shadrael for a moment before he spoke.
“Despite your treachery, Lord Barthel is not quite destroyed.” As he spoke, Urmaeor extended his staff so that Shadrael could see a pale green mist swirling within the crystal orb affixed to one end. “I have preserved his soul, as you see. And in due course another host will be found to hold it.”
A chill ran through Shadrael. He thought of those weeks ago when Urmaeor had offered him a soul, and he could not help but wonder what horrible thing might have taken possession of him had the bargain been kept.
“But Beloth’s legacy is lost,” Shadrael said.
“No.”
“I saw it leave Barthel’s body.”
“You’re mistaken! I have preserved it. I have preserved everything.”
“Why bother?” Shadrael asked, keeping his tone light. “I thought you had ambitions to be chief priest.”
Something flashed across Urmaeor’s gaunt face too quickly for Shadrael to read. “Do you think you can tempt me?” Urmaeor asked quietly, strain in his voice. “Do you think you will entice me to finish what you failed to do?”
“Why not?” Shadrael asked with a shrug. “It’s what you’ve always wanted.”
“I am not ready.”
“Are you sure?”
“Be silent!” Urmaeor cried. “One more word, and I shall destroy you where you stand.”
Shadrael said nothing, and after a moment Urmaeor seemed to regain some of his customary calm.
“Clever,” he said flatly. “Very clever, seeking to goad my temper. You are working much mischief against us, Commander, and if I had the leisure I would personally see you boiled alive and the broth from your bones served to the demons hiding in the Hidden Ways. As it is, I still have a use for you.”
“What is it?”
“Exactly what I wanted before.”
Shadrael frowned. “That’s lunacy. Without Barthel, you can’t raise an army of the dead.”
“Can’t I?”
“You’ve admitted you’re not ready to lead. Without Barthel—”
“Believe what you wish,” Urmaeor said, undercurrents running through his voice. “I shall not waste time persuading you otherwise. If you think you will again trick us, or take actions to betray us, put aside such intentions. You are wholly in my power. And you will act as I direct you.”
“You’ve never controlled me,” Shadrael said defiantly.
“In the past that was true. Now you’re a spent force, and I know where you are vulnerable.”
Shadrael raised his chin.
“You have betrayed your devotion to the girl. You are bound emotionally to
her. You perhaps even love her.”
Shadrael felt his guts twist.
“Oh yes,” Urmaeor said silkily. “Why else risk so much to come among us as slyly as a shape-shifter, pretending to be an ally? Why hide your thoughts so adeptly from me? Why attempt murder against Lord Barthel? All that effort to rescue one little witch.” He cocked his head to one side, pretending to study Shadrael. “And now you feel so pathetically grateful to her, do you not? She has given you renewed life, as would Lord Barthel, had you waited.”
The lie made Shadrael scowl.
“I confess I underestimated your charm to her,” Urmaeor continued, “but then I do not have a feminine mind. Was it easy to convince her to sacrifice herself for you?”
“That isn’t—”
Abruptly Shadrael stopped his involuntary defense. He wasn’t going to give Urmaeor more to twist against him.
“Protecting her?” Urmaeor asked. “Such a touching, if stupid, gesture. We will make sure the girl learns a lesson she’ll never forget.”
“If you harm her, I’ll—”
“I’m not interested in your threats,” the priest said. “Now heed me closely. Our quarry is on the move, coming to the Valley of Fires from Kanidalon. By morning he will be inside our trap.”
Surprised, Shadrael stared at the priest, wondering if the information was true. Light Bringer must have ridden like the wind from New Imperia, or else he had used the Hidden Ways himself.
“Yes,” Urmaeor said with a snap, apparently having discerned Shadrael’s thoughts. “He rode the wind. But now he comes to us as only a mortal, determined to rescue his sister at any cost. Therein lies his undoing. And once he puts himself into our trap, you will close it.”
Shadrael let his gaze narrow. “Has Vordachai ridden in?”
“The warlord camps close by. He and his barons scheme and lay their plans, but you, Commander, will take charge of all our forces. Our human forces.”
“Vordachai won’t accept me as commander.”
“He will. From the beginning he has sought your help. He will be relieved to see you take charge.”
“We’ve quarreled. He won’t trust me now.”
“Leave that to me,” Urmaeor said with assurance.
“Vordachai is a law unto himself. You can’t control him, or his barons,” Shadrael said. “You’re getting weaker every day, not stronger. Lea’s influence has upset your entire—”
“The girl’s presence is a hindrance no longer. Sacrificing herself for you seems to have drained her abilities to a dangerous point. Now she is too weak to matter. Even those baubles she wears—so devoted of you to return them to her—have lost their power.” Urmaeor smiled. “How well things work to the larger purpose. You have lost your magic. And she can no longer interfere with our spells.”
“Take care, Urmaeor,” Shadrael said sharply. “If she dies, the emperor will—”
“Another threat? How tiresome. I thought you intended to deal with me so thoroughly there would be nothing left for the usurper to trample.”
“Repeated threats bear heeding,” Shadrael said.
Urmaeor shrugged, sliding his hand along his staff. “I don’t care what Light Bringer does or intends. We shall destroy him.”
“At least let the girl go.”
“Why should I?”
“You’ve said you’re through with her. Why—”
“To torment you, Shadrael,” Urmaeor said. “That should be obvious.”
“You’ve hurt her enough.”
“No one has hurt her, but you.”
“Then lead the army yourself,” Shadrael said. “I won’t do it.”
“Oh, but you will. You are a key player in our ruse. You are experienced with shadow and can keep the men from panicking when the dead appear.”
“Work your filthy magic alone, Urmaeor. You’ll not get my help.”
Urmaeor spread his fingers, and a small dark mist formed over the altar between them. The center of the little cloud cleared, showing Shadrael a vision of Lea lying pale and far too still on a crudely made bed.
“The girl,” Urmaeor said softly, “grows dangerously weak. We can revive her, or we can let her die. That depends on you, and whether you will cooperate.”
Anger filled Shadrael. Instinctively he reached for the priest’s threads of life, but his shadow magic was gone. For a moment he raged with frustration, until Urmaeor’s quiet laughter distracted him.
“Pathetic,” the priest said. “For years you have played such a tragedy figure of angst and misery, pretending to wallow in despair while you yearned for a soul. And now that your wish has been granted, you long to once more be an evil donare murdering at will. There is simply no pleasing you.”
Bitter shame spread through Shadrael. He dropped his gaze with nothing to say.
“I believe I liked you better, Commander, when you were utterly ruthless and quite despicable. Now you are dull indeed.”
“I murdered your chief priest,” Shadrael reminded him. “No matter how many little crystals you collect, you’ll never revive him. Take care I don’t run a blade through you.”
“Oh, you will not try,” Urmaeor said, and gripped his threads of life, making Shadrael gasp in pain. “It tempts me to see if I can capture the girl’s soul as I have Lord Barthel’s. Or I can simply discard it. She would make an interesting host for his essence, would she not?”
He released Shadrael, who staggered, fighting to stay upright. The priest’s threat against Lea horrified him.
“Her fate depends entirely on how well you spring tomorrow’s trap on Light Bringer. Now do I have your complete attention?”
“Yes.”
“Convince him he faces a real army. Pull him into the fray and—”
“His legion commanders will direct the battle,” Shadrael broke in. “You don’t expect him to charge out there, swinging a sword himself, do you?”
“Of course. This emperor is young, and his blood runs hot.”
“That’s not the way a battle is fought. His officers won’t let him risk himself.”
“Then draw him into danger! Light Bringer must take the field,” Urmaeor said.
“I would have to be winning,” Shadrael said. “Only then would he risk danger by riding among the men to rally them.”
“Then that is what you must do.”
Shadrael did not understand how Urmaeor believed this pathetic plan had any chance of success, but he kept silent.
“When Light Bringer is on the field,” Urmaeor continued, “I shall unleash the army of dead.”
“Unleashing them is one thing,” Shadrael said, thinking of his brother’s men. “Controlling them is another. Who will do that? You?”
“Leave that part of the business to me.”
“Once the battle starts I can let the uneven numbers sway the outcome. I can let the Imperial soldiers overrun mine, and the battle will be over before you can unleash the dead. Why not give me a real incentive to carry out your plan?”
“Such as what?”
“Let the girl go, and I’ll lead your forces to victory.”
Chuckling, Urmaeor smoothed his saffron robes. “You bargain as though you actually have leverage. The girl will remain here, firmly within our control.”
“Then I won’t ride forth on the morrow,” Shadrael said.
“Oh, you will ride and you will command, exactly as I’ve ordered,” Urmaeor said flatly.
“Put me in the saddle, but I won’t fight,” Shadrael said. “Unless the girl is safe, I’ll do nothing.”
Again Urmaeor grabbed his threads of life.
The agony was almost unbearable, but Shadrael managed to gasp out, “Kill me, and you will have only Vordachai to lead the dead. Will he?”
“I can make you dance as my puppet.” Urmaeor released him, and Shadrael sank to his knees with a groan. “I can force you to drive a sword through your own vitals should I wish.”
Shadrael climbed slowly to his feet. “Yes, you can enspell
me,” he agreed. “But your magic is weaker than it used to be. While you govern me thus, can you also control the dead? Are you that powerful without shadow gods to help you?”
Urmaeor’s eyes glittered with anger. “Very well,” he said reluctantly. “I’ll release the girl.”
“Now?”
“She’s unconscious.”
“Revive her. Give her to her protector and send them out of here.”
“Later.”
“Now.”
Urmaeor smiled, tight-lipped. “So she can ride straight to Light Bringer and warn him? When the battle ends, I’ll let her go.”
“Release her before it starts.”
“If I release the girl before the battle, Light Bringer will have no reason to fight.”
Shadrael had to laugh at the priest’s naiveté. “He’s here to crush rebellion. He’ll fight. And if we are not the victors, our lives will be forfeit to summary execution for treason. We all have reason to fight.”
“Then your quibbling over my army of the dead makes no sense.”
“I want to win,” Shadrael said, “not die. I do not want to be cornered by your fiends, or see my brother torn to pieces by creatures you can’t control. That is my objection. Nothing more.”
Urmaeor picked up a ceremonial knife off the altar and thrust it and a small bronze bowl at Shadrael. “There is one way to protect yourself and Vordachai. A blood oath.”
Shadrael hesitated, trying not to betray his distaste. “I am no longer shadow sworn.”
“Then swear anew! I will have your blood oath, Commander. Or you can go into battle unprotected, and the girl will never leave our camp.”
Involuntarily Shadrael flexed his wrists, and felt the spikes dig brutally into his flesh. Shackles of shadow, he thought. As cruel to his spirit as to his body. Urmaeor was not content to let Lea’s valiant sacrifice cleanse one tiny corner of Shadrael from all that tainted him. Why must he demand that Shadrael discard what Lea had done for him, to retreat into the smothering depths of shadow?
Because he is evil and petty, came the answer in Shadrael’s thoughts. Because he must hate anyone who escapes shadow’s cruel talons, as he never can.
The Crown Page 23
