Warriors of the Veil

by Jill Williamson

  “Yes, sir.” Ottee ran into the antechamber.

  Trevn sat down and picked at the roast fowl. Waiting for Hawley to return nearly drove him mad. The convenience of the mind-speak magic had made him impatient.

  “Cadoc, with me.” He left the room and headed downstairs. He had just reached the ground floor when he met Hawley coming out of the kitchens. “Well?”

  “Barek Hadar signed off on the delivery, six days ago.”

  Trevn fought to keep his composure. “I want to speak with him. Now.”

  “He’s not here, Your Highness,” Hawley said. “You granted him permission to—”

  “Ready my horse, Cadoc. We are going to visit the duke.”

  A short ride later, Trevn and his guards dismounted in front of Barek’s house, which sat on the lakefront on the inner rim of the Crescent. Servants scurried out of the way as Trevn and his men entered the house.

  “Where is the duke?” he asked.

  “In his office, Your Highness,” a portly man said.

  “Take me there at once.”

  Trevn followed the servant down a short passage and into an open sitting room. Duchess Arzah and Lady Trista stood, embroidery in hand, and curtsied. Mother and daughter looked to have been crying. A door on the back wall opened and Barek Hadar stepped out.

  “Your Highness,” he said, his expression startled. “To what do I owe the honor?”

  “I require a private word, Your Grace,” Trevn said, striding past the duke and into the office. He did not wait for Barek to ask him to sit. The moment Cadoc closed the door, Trevn spoke. “Six days ago you approved a delivery of wine from Lord Edekk, after I forbade the import of any goods from that manor. Hawley?”

  Hawley rushed forward to show the duke his signature on the register.

  “Explain why you did this,” Trevn said.

  Barek’s demeanor shifted into one of confusion. “That’s not my signature.”

  Trevn fought back a growl. “Everyone in the castle knows your face, Barek. How could someone forge your name? Hawley? Is this possible?”

  “Only if the deliverer and the receiver were in league with one another,” Hawley said.

  “Who works receiving?” Trevn asked.

  “Several people,” Hawley said. “I would have to consult my ledger, which is—”

  “The orphan boy, Porvil,” Barek said, with a heavy sigh. “And Brisa.”

  “Lady Brisa, your daughter?” Trevn could not contain his shock.

  “It’s only a guess,” Barek said, lowering himself to a longchair. “Brisa went to visit Lady Koll, only my wife discovered yesterday that Lady Koll is in town with her in-laws, gravely ill.”

  “I’m aware of that much,” Trevn said.

  “It turns out, Brisa went to . . .” The man’s frown grew deeper. “I can hardly say it. She has taken up with Sir Jarmyn Koll. I’m convinced the man is a mantic, the way young women flock to him, no matter that he is married with a child on the way and heedless of the trail of broken hearts he always leaves behind.”

  “I am sorry, Your Grace,” Trevn said, grieved by this news. “But simply forging your signature would not get the wine where it needed to be. It leaves too much to chance. And Porvil is still in the dungeon.”

  “That root child was helping her,” Barek said, frowning. “My wife saw them talking in this very room three days ago. Not Master Grayson. The foreign one.”

  A chill ran over Trevn. “And you didn’t tell me?”

  “You already knew he was terrorizing the area. And I was worried for Brisa.”

  Trevn took a deep breath. He and Barek rarely saw eye to eye, and Trevn had sent Gunrik Koll’s son to the pole, but he needed these men now—might fail without them. It was time to ask his nobles for help. To trust them, even though he would rather not. To trust Arman. “Our enemy has maneuvered us well, Your Grace,” he said, “but it’s not too late. I need your help. And Gunrik Koll’s as well. I need soldiers. As many as I can get. Will you gather your men? Will you fight for Armania?”

  “I will, Your Highness,” Barek said. “As will Gunrik. I’ll see to it.”

  The asking hadn’t been difficult. Now Trevn would see if the armies actually turned out. “We must prepare for an attack. I feel it is coming, any moment.”

  Trevn had never felt so alone. The loss of his soul-binding with Mielle had killed something inside him. His work was the only thing keeping him from collapsing into another fit of despondency, so he spent every waking moment at his desk, refining defensive plans with Oli, General Ensley, and Marshal Winstone.

  Trevn sent ravens with warnings to Randmuir and Sir Keshton at the border houses, annoyed that they would take hours to arrive. He felt impotent without his mind-speak magic—bloodvoicing, Hinck and Saria had been calling it. Without drinking any wine the âleh should wear off in a day or two. Until then he was handicapped.

  Late that evening, he was in his office with Oli, Cadoc, and Hawley when Shanek DanSâr appeared on the left-hand side of Trevn’s desk.

  Startled, Trevn stood. Oli, Cadoc, and Hawley jumped to their feet as well.

  Cadoc drew his sword. “Back away now.”

  The intruder’s eyes shifted from one man to the next. “I only want to talk with the king.”

  Trevn doubted that very much. The young man had Janek’s eyes, nose, and hair, though he was rail thin. Trevn wanted to ask about Mielle, to grab the root child around his throat and strangle the truth from him, but he said nothing, not wanting to give himself away.

  “Your Highness,” Cadoc said to Oli. “Shall I escort our visitor out?”

  Shanek’s gaze fell on Oli. “You don’t match the description of the king.”

  “Take this intruder to the dungeon at once!” Oli yelled.

  Cadoc reached for Shanek, but the young man vanished.

  Trevn twisted around, looking for him. “Where did he—?”

  Shanek appeared on Trevn’s right and grabbed him around the arms in a bear hug. Cadoc and Oli yelled. Trevn bashed his head against Shanek’s, but they were suddenly whisked away.

  The dark, snowy landscape sped by until they stopped inside a tent. The air was chilly, the ground covered in woven mats. Shanek released Trevn, then flashed to the other side of the tent, holding his head beside a woman and two men, all dressed in leather, furs, and foxtails. Trevn’s forehead stung as well. He surveyed the tent but did not see his wife.

  “Your Highness,” the woman said. “Welcome to Magosia. My name is Kateen.”

  “Where is Mielle?” Trevn asked.

  “With King Barthel,” Shanek said. “Don’t worry. Amala made him promise that you and your wife can live together. Somewhere far away.”

  Miss Amala was helping them? “You cannot trust Barthel Rogedoth.”

  “That’s why I brought you here,” Shanek said. “Now I can be king.”

  Trevn panicked at the idea of this strange person tormenting his people. “It takes more than wishing to be a king,” he said.

  “Make sure he stays here,” Shanek said to Kateen, “and you will get more root.”

  He vanished just as the woman started speaking in an ancient language. Trevn’s arms and legs went stiff. Distressed, he opened his mouth to speak and found he could not.

  Kateen approached, a wicked grin on her face. “You look like your brother Wilek.” She pushed two fingers against his chest. Such little force was enough to send him toppling backward like a felled statue. He slapped against a mat. The force knocked the air from his lungs.

  “Make him drink this,” Kateen said.

  Trevn couldn’t see her, but she had to mean âleh. Sure enough, the men converged on him, made him sit, and forced the bitter liquid down his throat. He wanted to fight them off, but the spell kept him immobile.

  “Might as well sleep,” Kateen said when the men were done. Then she left Trevn alone, trapped with his dark thoughts.

  Gozan

  Amala begged Gozan to take her to King Barthel�
�s camp so she could check on Shanek, but he refused. This infuriated the girl, who claimed Gozan was holding her prisoner. He manipulated her mind, and she forgot her complaint until she had the idea anew to help Shanek. Round in circles they went, the girl complaining and Gozan continually making her forget.

  Gozan had searched her mind, but Amala had not been included in the planning of Shanek’s takeover of Armanguard. She knew only that the young man would, at some point, abduct Rosâr Trevn and carry him to Magosia—a side plan the two of them had made because they didn’t trust King Barthel not to kill Rosâr Trevn.

  Amala was sitting in her tent, cross-legged on a mat beside her pitfire, weaving bark into a basket when Shanek appeared out of nowhere.

  The girl scrambled to her feet, and before Gozan could think to stop her, she threw herself into the young man’s arms.

  Gozan recoiled at the power within Shanek. There was so much magic there already, but Dendron’s presence emanated in a thick, suffocating cloud. Gozan drew into himself—tried to hide deep inside Amala—but such a feat was impossible.

  Shanek pushed back from the girl. “What have you done? I sense magic in you.”

  Do not tell him about me, Gozan reminded her.

  Amala opened her mouth to do just that, but Gozan changed her words. “I am weaving a basket for you.”

  Shanek frowned. “What do I want with a basket?”

  Amala’s thoughts raced with confusion. She tried again. “Rone harvested the inner bark from one of the white trees and I . . . thought you’d like it.”

  “Have you taken more root from Mother’s hideaway?” he asked. “Is that it?”

  Her heart leapt as his words jogged her memory. “It’s not there! Either she moved it, or it has been taken.”

  “That’s unimportant at present,” Shanek said. “I left the deposed king with Kateen. Come with me now to inform my mother.”

  Sense the changes in him? Gozan asked Amala. His demeanor, his word choice? That is the great within him.

  Amala ignored Gozan and took hold of Shanek’s hand. “What of Mielle?”

  “She is safe with King Barthel.”

  “Is he treating her well? Did you see for yourself?”

  “I’ve been in Armanguard, hunting the king.”

  Amala said no more, but panic thrummed through her at the thought that she might have put her sister in danger. Such negative emotions once thrilled Gozan, but now that he felt them as his own, he found them annoying.

  He pressed calm upon Amala’s fears. We will check on Mielle ourselves once Shanek leaves. Only when we see with our own eyes will we be satisfied.

  This appeased the girl, though her sister lingered at the back of her mind, an ever-present concern that needed to be dealt with as soon as possible.

  Amala and Shanek walked the length of the camp, holding hands. Gozan felt Dendron’s curiosity within the young man, but the human bodies surrounding them kept Gozan’s true strength hidden.

  “Did you like the castle?” Amala asked Shanek.

  “It is an impressive fortress,” he said. “Much more so than the wooden one in New Rurekau. I shall like living there very much.”

  The girl wanted to live there too. “When will you go there to stay?”

  “Directly after leaving here. The Duke of Everton’s soldiers are moving into place. He has some in the castle already.”

  “Will you carry me with you?”

  “We talked about this, Amala. I need you here, helping Mother watch Trevn.”

  Her heart ached at being left behind. “What about King Barthel?”

  “He wanted to come to the castle, but I made him see his error. I need no assistance to take the fortress and hold it, and he must lead the army.”

  They reached the red tent, where Rone stood guard. He bowed his head and quickly pulled aside the door flap so they could enter. Charlon sat slouched on her throne, watching a half dozen gowzals meander about on the floor before her. Gozan felt the shadir inside them but could not identify them. Likely all were creatures of Magon’s swarm. That Charlon had never fully trusted him had been their biggest obstacle.

  At the sight of her son, she straightened. “Shanek, you’ve come home?”

  “I am moving to take Armanguard,” he said. “I have brought King Trevn here to Magosia and secured him in Kateen’s tent. You must keep him safe. Once I am installed as King of Armania, I will convey him elsewhere.”

  Charlon pushed off her throne and walked through the clustered birds, which scurried out of the path of her bare feet. Turmoil played over her face as she struggled to respond to this news. She stopped two paces from her son.

  “My sister, the queen, is being held in King Barthel’s camp,” Amala said. “When this is all over, she and her husband will live together in peace, somewhere far away from Shanek’s kingdom.”

  Charlon’s eyes fixed upon Amala, and Gozan reveled in the betrayal he saw within those dark orbs. “Will King Barthel allow that?”

  “It is not his decision,” Shanek said. “I do not trust that King Trevn would survive King Barthel’s care at present. Promise me you will keep him here, secure but safe.”

  Charlon shifted her gaze back to Shanek. “I will care for him well, my son. But surely his men will come for him. He built a fort not far from here.”

  “Do not worry,” Shanek said. “Roya is there already, holding the fort for me.”

  Charlon’s eyes glittered. “You have thought this out fully, I see.”

  “I must claim my kingdom now.” Shanek pulled Amala in to a crushing embrace.

  Again Gozan did all he could to draw deep into the recesses of the girl’s mind, where his power might not be so obvious. He could feel Dendron questing for the source of magic within the girl, but Shanek vanished, and the world seemed suddenly lighter.

  Until Charlon seized Amala by the hair and jerked her close. “You dare betray me?”

  Amala squealed. Stop her, Rurek!

  Gozan did not want the girl to get used to ordering him around, but he relished the idea of toying with Charlon. He sent power to the girl’s hands and shoved Charlon, who flew back and knocked against her throne. The chair tipped on its side and the tent jerked and trembled.

  “Chieftess?” Rone rushed inside, shard club raised. “What is happening?”

  Amala pushed Rone back out the doorway and walked slowly toward Charlon. “You have grown lax, Chieftess. Someone has stolen your hoard of evenroot.”

  “That’s not possible,” Charlon rasped from where she lay on the floor.

  “It is, and now I have given your great shadir Dominion inside me. Rurek has abandoned you. I have his power now.”

  “Fool!” Charlon said. “He controls you, not the other way around.”

  “I am his master!” Amala yelled.

  “No, you stupid girl. He has the power. You have nothing.”

  Amala screamed, mad with fear that Charlon might be right. Kill her, she thought to Gozan. I want her dead.

  But Shanek wants her alive, Gozan said. Are you ready to betray him so soon?

  Amala quailed at this reminder.

  The Chieftess is merely jealous, lady, Gozan told the girl. She is angry that she refused my offer of Dominion. And she is envious of the love Shanek has for you.

  Yes, Amala thought. I have taken her place now. So I must cast her down fully. I will become Chieftess of Magosia, and she will serve me.

  My, but this girl was an impulsive little creature. A fine idea, lady, Gozan replied, but you must have patience. And you must decide what you want. You cannot live both here as Chieftess of Magosia and in Armanguard as Queen of Armania.

  This realization knotted the girl’s thoughts, so Gozan spoke for her. “I hold Shanek’s heart, Chieftess. I do not wish for strife between us, so if you want to know your son, you will show me respect.” He forced Amala to stride away, leaving Charlon on the floor.

  As Gozan made his way down the hill, he could feel the girl struggle.
Fear and despair had silenced her, but her courage was growing. The moment they were back in Amala’s tent, the girl’s thoughts burst forth like fire from the mouth of a cheyvah.

  It’s true what she said, isn’t it? You control me. You’re my master.

  They would get nowhere together if the girl felt herself a victim. She must believe she had power, even if she did not. My power is mine alone, Amala, but our bodies are one. I will lend you my power if I wish to.

  But if I have no power, then what Charlon said is true. You are my master.

  Not at all, lady. Don’t you see? By hiding myself within you, who will know that I exist? You are the face they see. You are the one who will grow a name for yourself.

  And if I want to use your power?

  You only need ask.

  She was still breathing rapidly, trying to calm herself. I want to see Mielle. I don’t trust that King Barthel is treating her well. Can you take me to her?

  It would be entertaining. Shanek and Dendron were likely in Armanguard now, so Gozan saw no reason why he couldn’t infiltrate Dendron’s swarm and cause a little mayhem.

  Very well, he conceded. If we leave at once, we will likely look upon your sister before this time tomorrow.

  This pleased the girl. And if King Barthel does not immediately improve her situation, we will bring her back with us.

  Yes, Gozan agreed. But not before we punish him for his negligence.

  Charlon

  Charlon slowed her horse. Already she could see. Brown soil mixed with snow. Dismay rose above her anger as she dismounted and fell to her knees. Dug until hands grew numb. Scraped rocks. Fingernails tore. Still she dug. Until she was sure. Sure it was gone.

  It was. Someone had taken her root. Only Shanek knew this place. Shanek and Kalenek.

  She rode back to camp. Tears blurred her vision. That Rurek had betrayed her so utterly. That Amala had foolishly accepted Dominion. That Shanek had been pulled into King Barthel’s snare.

  And Kateen and Roya, involved in this too? Charlon could not abide it.

  Treachery, her heart said. They all must pay.