Queens (The Wielders of Arantha Book 2)

by Patrick Hodges

  As they guided their merychs down the central thoroughfare, Sen saw Vaxi's look of wonderment replaced with one of anxiety. Her eyes flicked from side to side, and she seemed determined to keep Hilly no more than a few yards away from Mizar's merych at all times.

  The sun shone brightly as they rode the last few yards up to the castle gates which, uncharacteristically, were open. Several guards on the battlements above eyed their approach, and the guards manning the main entrance bowed their heads at Mizar and stood aside to let them all pass. As Sen expected, they paid neither him nor Vaxi much notice, though one guard's eyebrows raised at the sight of the bow slung across Vaxi's shoulders.

  The three of them rode their merychs to the center of the enclosed space, where stables lined both the eastern and western walls. Mizar had no sooner dismounted his merych and handed the reins to a waiting stable-hand than a portly middle-aged man with long, graying hair rushed into the courtyard through the wide opening leading to another, smaller courtyard. He wore a dark blue cloak, a puffy orange tunic with red trim, and a red four-cornered hat. Sen chuckled as he danced around the scattered piles of dung that littered the ground. “High Mage!” he called.

  Sen recognized Taron, the King's chamberlain. Taron was a pleasant enough man, and had proven himself invaluable at keeping all the regional governors happy and comfortable during the regular council meetings. Despite looking like a great, colorful, flightless bird, he possessed a sharp mind and a keen intellect.

  “What is it, Taron?” Mizar asked as the rotund man came fluttering up to him.

  Sen dismounted but did not interrupt his Master's conversation. Vaxi did the same.

  “I am glad you have returned, High Mage. I have a message from the King that requires your immediate attention. I expected you yesterday.”

  “I was delayed,” Mizar said curtly. “When is the King due back?”

  “I'm not certain,” Taron said. “His last messenger came in today. I expect he'll return tomorrow morning. King Largo and Viceroy Callis will be arriving later in the day, as will King Torvin of Rhys.”

  Mizar seemed floored by this news, but quickly regained his composure. “Well, then, it looks like your organizational skills will soon be put to the test.”

  “Indeed.” Taron turned toward the inner entrance. “If you would accompany me to my office, I will give you the message in private.”

  Mizar nodded. “Very well. Sen, take Vaxi to my study and wait for me there.” He produced a key from an inner pocket and threw it to him. “The Forbidden Knowledge is locked inside the big chest in the corner. We must resume our labors with all due speed.”

  “Yes, Master,” Sen said, and Mizar strode through the arched passageway with Taron.

  Sen gasped in disbelief. Every crowned head of Elystra was going to be there tomorrow. He couldn't remember such an event ever taking place in recorded history.

  He looked to the side to see Vaxi staring at him. “Things are bad, aren't they?” she asked.

  “So it would seem.” He gestured at a nearby staircase that led to an upper level. “Come with me.”

  She followed him up the steps, but he stopped halfway up. “Oh,” he said, starting back down. “I forgot our bags. I'll be right back.”

  Vaxi nodded, and he ran down the steps and into the stable where their merychs had been taken. He emerged a minute later with several bags slung over both shoulders. He crossed the courtyard again, and saw her smile down at him.

  She's not prepared for this, he thought. But then, who could be? Who would have thought that one innocent girl from a distant land could hold the key to the future of all Elystra?

  Great Arantha, she's beautiful. I wonder if …

  “Out of the way!” came an angry voice from behind him, accompanied by a loud, furious clatter of hoof beats.

  Sen snapped out of his reverie to see a large white merych charging through the castle gate, heading straight for him. He threw himself to one side, narrowly avoiding being run over. He landed flat on his back, crushing a recently expelled pile of merych dung beneath him. His nose wrinkled in disgust.

  The rider pulled his mount to a halt, jumping to the ground with a clang of armored feet. Sen looked up to see a young man scowling at him. He was clad in a tunic and trousers in brilliant shades of red and white, complete with a silken red cloak with white fringe. The breastplate of his armor bore the Daradian emblem of an enormous bird, spreading its wings across the horizon. His mustache and beard were neatly trimmed, unlike the flowing dark hair that spilled around his shoulders.

  Sen knew this man, and his frown. He'd never seen him with any other expression. Prince Agedor.

  “Oh, it's you,” the man said, giving extra contempt to the last word. “You vacuous dolt! I could have killed you!”

  Sen fought the instinct to stand up. Instead, he bowed his head as deferentially as he could from his position. “I-I'm so sorry, Your Highness. I did not hear you approach. Forgive me.” He averted his eyes, hoping to avoid any further wrath.

  Agedor pulled his gloves from his hands and slapped them together. He pointed a finger at Sen, looming over him. “You are lucky I have other business to attend to, or I'd teach you a lesson right now. Not that a pathetic wretch like you is capable of learning anything.”

  Sen hauled himself to his feet, stepping away from Agedor but keeping his head bowed. “Yes, Your Highness.”

  Several other men who had followed Agedor in on merychs of their own had dismounted as well, and were awaiting their prince's company. He gave Sen one final sneer, and then strode through the inner entranceway, his cohorts in tow.

  Not until their footsteps faded away did Sen look up. When he did, he saw Vaxi staring at him from the staircase. She'd seen the whole thing, and was looking at him with …

  Pity.

  Avoiding Vaxi's eyes and doing his best to ignore the stench oozing through the back of his tunic, he rushed up the stairs and past her. He did not speak as he led her along the covered walkway overlooking the courtyard, through an inner door and down several corridors. When he reached the door to Mizar's study in the northeast corner of the castle, he opened it and motioned her inside. “Wait here,” he said tersely. She entered without a word, and he shut the door behind her.

  Sen proceeded to his own quarters, a modestly sized room with a bed, a chest for his text-scrolls and spare tunics, and a wash basin that the servants thankfully changed every day. He whipped off his soiled tunic and threw it into the corner, knowing full well the smell would seep into every part of the room by the time he returned. He scooped a mugful of water from the basin, took a sip, and poured the rest over his head and body, hoping to make himself more presentable.

  All the while, he cursed his inattention, his clumsiness, his cowardice, and his luck. Of all the times for the prince to humiliate him, why did it have to be at that exact moment? What must Vaxi think of him now? Since their conversation in Thage, he'd grown to respect her, to admire her. When they had embraced, he felt something stir within himself that he'd done his best to subdue since becoming Mizar's apprentice.

  He'd escaped the prison of his childhood and now had a greater purpose, he told himself. Mizar had recently confessed to him that he hadn't taken a wife because of the restrictions his duties put upon him. It was not a choice he made willingly, but rather because of circumstances. Sen wondered if those same duties would force him into a life of celibacy as well.

  Questions raced through Sen's mind. Does serving my King preclude the kind of relationships that all other citizens are entitled to? Will my life as a healer fulfill me to an extent that makes the crushing loneliness worth it? Am I destined to never fall in love, to marry, to have a family of my own?

  In a burst of frustration, Sen brought his fists down hard on the sides of the basin, making the water inside ripple and shake. He quickly steadied the vessel before it tipped over, chiding himself for his outburst. He looked toward the door, worried that Vaxi might have overheard him.
/>
  What was he thinking? He'd only just met Vaxi. He barely knew her, and once the drama involving Merdeen's prophecies, the Ixtrayu, and the menace of Elzor and his sister were concluded, she would no doubt return to her home, a place where he would not be welcome.

  His thoughts turned to his mother who, after a lifetime of wondering, he could now put a name to: Lyala. He pictured her in his mind: a woman in her forties, tall and thin, with dark hair, blue eyes and high cheekbones, traits he could only have inherited from her. He imagined his sister, Sershi, also a healer. She would likely be a few years older than he, with the same physical characteristics as their mother.

  Sen shook the questions from his head. With all of Elystra at stake, his personal feelings were irrelevant.

  He swore to help Vaxi while she was in Darad. After that, she would move on with her life, and so would he. He would be her friend, but there was no room in either of their lives for more than that, no matter how much he wished it could be otherwise.

  Why would she ever want a 'pathetic wretch' like me anyway?

  With a resigned sigh, he donned a clean tunic from his chest, smoothed out the wrinkles, ran a hand through his damp hair, and made his way back to his Master's study.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Maeve and Kelia stared down at the Stone, basking in the white light pulsing from within. Maeve noticed that her friend seemed reluctant to touch the Stone again.

  “We don't have to do this if you don't want to,” Maeve said.

  This wasn't quite true. It was necessary. Kelia had seen the same vision repeatedly over the last few days, and she had gleaned very little information that they might use to formulate a defense plan. All they knew was that many Ixtrayu would be killed by fire, a fire that came so fast that they could not escape. The Plateau, covered with bodies. They could only discern that the fire was not caused by nature, but by something far more malevolent.

  “No. For my people, I must do this,” Kelia said, her eyes still fixed on the Stone. “I can only pray that by adding your power to my own, Arantha will allow me to see her message with greater clarity.” She reached over and grasped Maeve's hand. “It's just that these images …” She stifled a sob.

  “I understand,” Maeve said, placing a comforting hand on her arm. “Do you think I'll experience the visions too?”

  “I don't know. What we are about to do has never been tried before. If Arantha allows you to share the vision, I suggest you prepare yourself. The images are horrific.”

  Maeve's voice became hushed. “I've seen more death and destruction than anyone should ever have to. It's not something one gets used to, but if it helps us, I can deal with it.”

  Kelia exhaled, casting a glance over her shoulder. Standing just inside the entrance were Eloni and Lyala, both watching them with concern. Katura had insisted a Council member be present, and had also instructed that a healer be nearby should it be necessary.

  Turning back to the Stone, Kelia placed her hands on either side of it, awaiting Maeve's signal.

  Maeve took a step back, raising her hands in Kelia's direction and closing her eyes. She felt the energy flow through the cave and through her.

  “I bask in your divine presence, O Arantha, for I am your humble servant,” Kelia incanted, closing her eyes as she brought her hands into contact with the Stone.

  There was a brilliant flash of white light, and for a few moments, it overwhelmed Maeve, as if she had been staring directly into the sun. Gradually, the haze of whiteness subsided, and an image began to coalesce in her mind.

  With the sheer power of the Stone close at hand, Maeve reached out with her mind and touched Kelia's. Because of their Sharing, forming the link felt as easy as breathing. The sensation was both thrilling and daunting.

  Kelia, can you feel me? Maeve thought.

  Yes, Kelia replied. I feel your strength. It is … invigorating.

  Maeve found herself standing on a dirt path next to the River Ix. Some distance away, the Ixtrayan Plateau loomed. To her left and right, the croplands and fruit vines were intact, with many Ixtrayu tending the fields, moving about their daily routine. Storm clouds loomed above, and a few scattered drops of rain were falling. From the looks of things, the time of harvest was near.

  Nothing burned. No corpses littered the ground.

  Maeve turned to see Kelia standing next to her. Before either could speak again, a loud crackling came from behind them. They turned to see a huge tower of lightning erupt from somewhere deep within the forest, shooting strands of blue electricity into the gloomy gray sky. Moments later, half the trees burst into flames. The forest disgorged hundreds of birds and other animals, fleeing for their lives.

  My God, Maeve whispered.

  What could be causing that? Kelia asked.

  No idea. Lightning's supposed to travel from the sky to the ground, not the other way around!

  Maeve could only watch helplessly as the fire burst from the forest, spreading to the fields of grain and the rows of fruit. She gasped.

  This is no natural occurrence. It's as if someone is pushing it, controlling it.

  Kelia looked aghast. You think it could be a Wielder? That's impossible! No one else can control fire but me and Nyla! And we certainly wouldn't do this!

  The Ixtrayu working the fields attempted to flee back to the village, but many of them were too slow. Maeve's stomach churned as a wall of fire enveloped them and they fell, screaming, to the ground. Kelia brought her hands up to cover her mouth, but she could not look away.

  A sphere of blue energy, about five paces in diameter, emerged from the forest and began moving toward the village. Strands of lightning swept over its circumference, burning the ground and turning the river into a billowing cloud of superhot steam as it moved along the path of the River Ix.

  Maeve and Kelia, reduced to spectators and unable to intervene, watched the sphere make its inexorable journey from the forest to the village, incinerating everything and everyone it touched.

  Their perspective changed. They were now within the plateau, its high walls rising up on both sides. Women fled past them in terror, trying to escape the monstrosity laying waste to the village. Maeve followed their escape toward the southern entrance, where she hoped they would somehow outdistance the energy sphere. Her jaw dropped in horror as they fell to the ground, skewered by a deadly volley of arrows.

  Arrows? What the fark is going on here?

  Kelia's horror rendered her mute. Maeve concentrated even harder, continuing to augment the Protectress's strength with her own.

  They turned to face north again. The energy sphere had just crossed the threshold into the village when it blinked out of existence. In its place was … a woman; tall, slender, with long, wild, dark hair. She stood still, surveying the carnage she had created with black, soulless eyes.

  Maeve felt a knot of rage twist in her stomach. She felt the urge to charge this woman, drop her with a roundhouse kick, and then snap her spine in two.

  Billions of innocents on Earth and its colonies, slaughtered. And now, on this far-distant planet, whose inhabitants resembled Maeve's ancestors in so many ways, she was forced to watch those with insufficient power fall to those with more.

  No. Not here. Not while I live.

  She'd no sooner had this thought than the vision dissolved, fragmented like a computer image breaking up. With a start, she opened her eyes, and found herself back in the cave, staring at Kelia's back. The Protectress had released her hold on the Stone, laying her palms flat on the rocky altar the Stone sat upon. Both of them were panting, but otherwise unharmed.

  Lyala moved toward them. “Are you all right, Protectress?”

  “I am fine,” Kelia whispered. She turned to Maeve. “Thank you, Maeve. Your presence here is truly a gift from Arantha.”

  Maeve smiled and nodded. “You're welcome.”

  Eloni's deep, rich voice drew their attention. “Did you see it, Protectress? The cause of our destruction?”

 
Kelia faced her. “Yes, Councilor. It was a Wielder. A woman of great power.”

  “A Wielder? Who in the Ixtrayu could do such a thing?”

  “She was not Ixtrayu. I didn't recognize her at all. But her command over lightning was … terrifying to behold.”

  “Lightning?” Eloni stepped forward, her blue eyes tinged with recognition. “Describe her.”

  Maeve answered for her. “Tall, long dark hair, very thin, pale skin. Her eyes were black.” She shuddered. “Like a demon.”

  “No, not a demon,” Eloni said in a hushed voice. “Could you guess her age?”

  Maeve exchanged a look with Kelia. “Difficult to say, but I would estimate, based on her face, that she was a few years younger than I. Say, early thirties?”

  Eloni turned away, facing the near wall. She closed her eyes, shaking her head. “Great Arantha. This cannot be,” she sobbed, covering her face with her hands.

  Kelia grasped the diminutive Councilor's shoulder and spun her around. “Eloni, what is it? Tell me!”

  Her eyes red and her voice choked with tears, Eloni faced her. “The woman you just described … it's Proda.”

  “Who?” Maeve asked.

  Eloni shot a stern glance at the Terran woman. “Thirty-three years ago, a woman named Proda Sojourned to Barju. She was a Wielder of lightning, the only living Ixtrayu with that ability. She never returned, and we assumed she'd been killed. We haven't Sojourned to Barju since then.”

  “You're saying … this monster who has come to destroy us is –”

  “Her daughter,” Eloni cried. “There's no one else on Elystra it could be. Great Arantha …” She cupped her face with her hands again.

  “Not only that,” Maeve added, “but she brought friends. You saw the arrows?”

  Kelia nodded.

  “So we're dealing with two enemies: a Wielder with the power to control electricity, and an Elystran force armed with more conventional weapons.” She paused, placing her hand on her chin. “That's not good.”