Warriors of the Veil

by Jill Williamson

  She could not worry about her stolen evenroot at the moment. King Trevn being held prisoner in Magosia took priority. Charlon reached Kateen’s tent. Dismounted. A gowzal fluttered to her shoulder. Others flew toward her or scurried downhill from the red tent like a brood of chickens.

  Charlon went inside. Her first maiden lay on a pile of furs before her pitfire. She sat up, watching Charlon. A man lay on his back on Kateen’s pallet. Charlon circled the pitfire. Looked down on Trevn Hadar, King of Armania. Her flock settled around her feet.

  King Trevn’s eyes were open. Rolled to fix upon hers. She had last seen him at his wedding. He had more hair on his face now. Looked older. Tired. She understood. Ruling a nation was no easy task.

  “They told you?” This from Kateen, who approached Charlon, surging with power.

  Charlon had been so angry. She had not noticed. Noticed the power in Kateen. “You have magic again,” she said. “Where did you get it?” Had she taken Charlon’s evenroot?

  Her First tensed beside her. “I needed it in case someone should try to rescue the king.”

  “Where did you get it?”

  “Does it matter?” Kateen spat. “You would not share yours. Did you really expect me to go without forever?”

  Charlon turned her head slowly. Eyes locked with Kateen’s. “I expected my First to obey me. Without question.”

  “You are mad. You have driven our once great nation to dust. Magic is to be shared, not hoarded. That is one of the tenets of Magonia.”

  “Magonia died with its goddess.”

  “Because you killed her! We were better off with Mreegan at our head,” Kateen said. “She wasn’t so afraid that she hoarded power for herself.”

  “You think I am afraid?”

  “I know you are. Everything you do stems from fear. Because of what your brother made of you.”

  “Hahsaw!” Charlon yelled, thrusting out her hand.

  Kateen’s eyes widened, then she laughed. “Forgot you are dry, Chieftess? Well, I am not.” She lifted her arms and spoke, “Hali âthâh. Le hahkpi shel ôyeb.”

  Cold bathed Charlon’s skin. Icy and fierce. A breath coated her nostrils and throat in ice. She choked. There was little time. She reached for the gowzal on her shoulder. It hopped to her fingers. Loyal. She threw it at Kateen. Managed a single, breathless word.

  “Puroh.”

  The creature transformed into a bolt of flame that engulfed Kateen. Charlon’s First screamed. Threw herself to the floor. Rolled about. The mat beneath her began to smolder with thick white smoke.

  Charlon shivered violently. The ice reached within. Fingers and toes numb. Frost coated her throat. She crouched and hugged her knees. Could find no warmth. Not until Kateen died. The gowzals roosted on Charlon. Fur and feathered bodies eased the cold. It was not enough.

  Kateen stilled, her flesh smoldering. Yet a hand reached out, whispered. Too late. Few shadir would obey a dying master.

  Fog shrouded Charlon’s thoughts. Heartbeat slowed. She must hold on. A moment more.

  A low, rattling groan came from Kateen. The cold began to fade. Charlon’s throat watered. She coughed. Gasped in deep breaths of rank smoke.

  “Hali.” She took another gasp. Could not see the common who had served Kateen. It was likely still here. Feasting on the woman’s death. On Charlon’s fear. Hali would make a worthy addition to Charlon’s army. “You are welcome in my flock.”

  Oh, that smell! Her stomach churned. Queasy from her pregnancy. She put her head on the mats and stilled. Tried to hold it in. She needed air. And soon.

  Charlon pushed to her feet. Surprised to find King Trevn standing. Watching her warily. He had witnessed a great horror. Would he attack her?

  “Let us depart, Your Highness,” Charlon said. “I fear I will be sick if I stay.” She fled Kateen’s noxious tent. Outside the chilled air gripped her. Fresh. Clean. A crowd had formed. All watched her. Nuel held a bucket.

  “Was there a fire?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Charlon said. “Dispose of Kateen’s body. You might have to burn the tent. It’s quite horrible. Your Highness, this way.” She motioned the Armanian king to follow. Set out for the red tent.

  King Trevn walked on her left. Their steps tapped over the packed snow. “I never thanked you for the wedding present you bestowed upon me and my wife.”

  Charlon tensed at the king’s sarcasm. “I know not why Magon wanted me to do it. Did it burden you in some way?”

  “At times, but it’s gone now. I don’t know if it was removed by one of Rogedoth’s mantics or if my wife is dead.”

  “Queen Mielle is not dead. My son told me. She is being held in King Barthel’s camp.”

  Relief eased the strain on the young king’s face. “Thank you.”

  “I was only just made aware. Of my son’s plot against you. I had no idea you were a prisoner here.”

  “You expect me to believe that? It has been your nation’s goal from before you were Chieftess to put your child of prophecy on the throne of Armania.”

  “The Deliverer. That was Mreegan’s goal. I came to see it as folly. Shanek disagreed. Now he is following King Barthel and his shadir. It will likely end in his death.”

  “You would let that happen?”

  She set her jaw to hold back tears. “None can stand against my son. Sir Kalenek promised me that I would lose the boy. If I tried to control him. He was right. As much as it pains me, Shanek must go his own way.”

  “The prophecy is real,” the king said, “but the Magonians misinterpreted it.”

  Charlon sighed, weary of men and their arrogance. “And how do you interpret it?”

  “The Puru people Grayson rescued from the Ahj-Yeke mines gave him the name Masaoo, which translates as deliverer. I’m afraid Shanek might be the Deceiver. Him or Rogedoth.”

  Apprehension tingled down Charlon’s arms. All this time? Had she helped create a monster?

  They reached the red tent, and Rone pulled aside the door flap. Charlon entered first. Motioned for the king to sit on the furs at the foot of her throne.

  The king folded his arms. “I prefer to stand.”

  So like his brother Wilek. “Very well.” Charlon sat on her throne. Rubbed the back of her neck. Her entire body felt sore. “How can I be of service, Rosâr Trevn?”

  “You want to help me?”

  “King Barthel will use my son. Shanek still believes that the man will let him rule. A testament to my failure as a mother. I’ll do all I can. To stop him from destroying my boy. Though I am likely too late. So, I ask you again. How can I help?”

  The king thought for a moment. “Your mantic fed me âleh to silence my mind-speak magic. It will be some time until it returns. Can you deliver a written message to someone in New Sarikar?”

  “I can send one of my flock.” She gestured to the gowzals.

  The king eyed the birds warily. “I will need a pen and parchment and some sealing wax.”

  “You shall have it,” Charlon said. “You should also know. Another of my maidens betrayed me. She rode for the fort you built southeast of here. Has taken it for King Barthel.”

  This sobered the king. “I must take it back. Would you loan me a horse?”

  “I and my men will ride with you.”

  “I will not ask you to do magic for me, Chieftess.”

  “You don’t have to. Roya is my problem. I will deal with her.”

  The king frowned, his suspicion plain. “What do you want in exchange for your assistance?”

  “Nothing but your promise. Once your fort is safe, you will kill King Barthel.”

  “I am confident that my army will defeat his, but whether or not I strike the killing blow is not important to me.”

  “As long as he dies. I will be appeased.”

  The king folded his arms. “How can I be certain you won’t turn against me once the Pretender is dead?”

  “I tire of games, King Trevn. This I cannot prove. But I have no ambition beyo
nd ruling my people. I seek only peace for myself and Magosia.” And her coming child.

  King Trevn swept into a courtly bow. “Then let us ride for my southern border house in the morning. Once it is secure, I will continue on to join my army. If King Barthel is on his way to attack, no one will have peace until the Pretender is defeated once and for all.”

  Hinck

  Hinck opened his eyes to a bright day. His first thought was for Mielle and Grayson, lost while in his care, and how Trevn and all of Armanguard had been silenced by âleh. He could not worry about them at the moment, though. He had trouble enough to deal with here. He sat up, wincing at the strain on the stitches in his chest.

  “You’re not supposed to do that without assistance.”

  Hinck turned carefully to the window seat where Saria sat, embroidering. That she was here pleased him. “I thought you hated embroidery.”

  “I do, but I wanted to be here when you woke, and believe it or not, doing nothing but watch you sleep is even more tedious than embroidery.”

  “I’ll have to take your word for it. I’ve never seen myself sleep.”

  She smirked. “Yes, well, I am eager to arrest Finnel Wallington. If I had my way, he would have died the night I pulled you from the river.”

  “You were wise to wait.”

  “I’m not so certain. Think of all they could have plotted in the past two days.”

  “Our plan is solid, Saria. Trust it.”

  Finnel Wallington’s blade had stabbed Hinck at such a slight angle it had cut through his skin and scraped along the sternum. Once Master Vento had determined the wound was not fatal, General Norcott had stepped forward and suggested his plan. If Princess Nolia and her husband thought Hinck was incurable, they would wait for his death, then swoop in to claim the throne.

  This plan had been impossible with the toad-like shadir roaming around, spying. Hinck had learned enough in his brief training with the Veil warriors to banish the creature, so he’d left his body and entered the Veil. Once he’d sent it back to the Lowerworld, he’d returned to his body, knowing it was now safe for him and Saria to plot against Finnel and Nolia.

  Saria had grossly exaggerated Hinck’s prognosis as dire to the council and pretended not to know who had attacked him. All had gone as planned, and today Hinck, Saria, and General Norcott were going to enact the second part of their plan.

  “Send for Wix,” Hinck said. “Have him prepare me a bath. Once I am dressed, I will meet you in our office.”

  Saria jumped up from her window seat and started for the bedchamber door. “Your bath has been ready for the past hour. I’ll have Wix add hot water, but bathe quickly, my husband-to-be. I am eager to arrest Finnel Wallington and blackmail my aunt into submission.”

  Since Finnel Wallington could not mind-speak, they waited until he was away from his wife to make their move. When he went with some companions to the stables for a ride, instead of finding horses saddled and ready, he met a contingent of guards. The moment Hinck got word that Finnel and Sir Malder were locked away in the dungeons, he and Saria set out for Princess Nolia’s chambers. General Norcott and another contingent of guards met them there.

  “How are you feeling today, Your Grace?” the general asked Hinck.

  “A little sore, but eager to neutralize this threat.”

  The general nodded to one of his men. “Open the door.”

  The soldiers let themselves in to the apartment that Princess Nolia shared with her husband. Hinck heard the woman protesting before he crossed the threshold.

  “What is the meaning of this? How dare you enter my rooms without permission?”

  “Your husband gave us permission, Princess,” the general said. “He insists you help us.”

  “What do you mean? Where is Finnel?”

  Hinck walked inside and took his place on General Norcott’s right. Princess Nolia was on her feet, arms folded. Her eyes locked onto his, and the panic Hinck saw there made him smile.

  Saria came to stand on Hinck’s other side. “Your husband has been arrested for attempting to murder the Duke of Armanguard,” she said. “He has confessed and assured us that you have information about Barthel Rogedoth’s uprising. As you can imagine, I am not eager to pardon a man who tried to kill my betrothed, but His Grace is a forgiving sort of person, and I will not begrudge him such a noble trait.”

  “I want to see Finnel,” Nolia said.

  “Voice him if you like,” Saria said. “But you will not be together until this is all worked out. And, Aunt Nolia, he will be executed for his crimes, should you decide not to help us.”

  Nolia glared but sank slowly to a longchair. She closed her eyes and was silent a very long time. By the changing expressions on her face and the tears that leaked down her cheeks, she and her husband knew they had lost.

  She finally opened her eyes. “King Barthel has allied with some of the giant tribes. They will attack this fortress when the king attacks Armania. If you want to live, you must leave.”

  Hinck’s heart sank at the mention of giants. He supposed they might evacuate the castle, though that would mean handing it over to the enemy. There was nothing to do for the moment but carry on as planned. “If you want a pardon for your husband, you will help us,” he said.

  Nolia sighed and folded her arms again. “What will I have to do?”

  “You will carry on your conversations with Rogedoth as if nothing has changed,” Hinck said. “Tell him I died. Tell him to let the giants come as planned.”

  “That would be foolish,” Nolia said. “The giants will kill us all.”

  Saria scowled at Hinck as if agreeing with her aunt, but Hinck saw no other way.

  “Let me worry about the giants,” he said. “Do we have an agreement?”

  Nolia shot Hinck a fierce scowl, but said, “I will do as you say.”

  “Excellent,” Hinck said. “Our guards will remain here at all times to see that you do not try to escape.” He exited the room. The others followed, and once he was in the hallway, he turned to see Saria and the general behind him.

  “That went well,” the general said.

  “It was a disaster!” Saria said. “Let us worry about the giants? Hinckdan, really? How will we do that?”

  “Give me more than a minute to think about it, will you?”

  “As long as you tell me you are in fact thinking of something,” she said.

  “I am,” Hinck said, quickly turning it over in his mind. “The giants will attack us no matter what. If Rogedoth knows we have learned of his plan, he’ll change it. This way we can at least prepare. New Rurekau has survived several Jiir-Yeke attacks. I will voice Empress Inolah and ask her advice. It could be she knows of a weakness of some kind.”

  “It could be she will pass on her condolences to the realm of New Sarikar,” Saria said.

  “Do not be so negative, Saria,” Hinck said. “You are starting to sound like me.”

  Empress Inolah did not provide encouraging news. The Jiir-Yeke were a ruthless bunch. Yes, New Rurekau had twice defeated them, but only due to Empress Jazlyn’s magic. Hinck was not about to ask a mantic to come and rescue them, so he voiced Ulagan of the Uul-Yeke and asked if he might send some giants to aid them. Ulagan said he would consult with others. Hinck would check back in a few hours and see what had been decided.

  In the meantime, he went into the city to recruit more carpenters to finish the border house. While he was there, a rat bird accosted him. Hinck had always hated the wretched creatures but even more so now that he knew how the Jiir-Yeke created them. He and his throng of servants tried to shoo it away, until Wix yelled, “Wait! It’s carrying a scroll.”

  Sure enough, a small tube had been attached to the creature’s right foot. Wix caught the bird and quickly removed the scroll. “It bears Rosâr Trevn’s seal!”

  Hinck snatched it away, confirmed the imprint of the signet ring, and opened it.

  Hinck,

  I am alive and well in Magosia. Shan
ek DanSâr carried me here to keep me from Barthel Rogedoth, but Chieftess Charlon wants no part of this war and has decided to help me escape. By the time you receive this, I will have ridden for the southern border house, which one of Charlon’s mantics has taken for Rogedoth. Hopefully once we reclaim the fort, my voicing magic will have returned. Please inform the Duke of Canden of my status and location. Also tell him that Barthel Rogedoth will likely reach our central border house by tomorrow. Do all you can to prepare.

  Trevn Hadar

  King of Armania

  Trevn had gone missing? Could the message be a fake meant to lead the Sarikarian army into a trap? He tried reaching for Trevn’s mind, just in case the âleh had now worn off, but his knocks still went unanswered. Hinck needed someone who hadn’t been affected by the âleh. His mother had stopped attending dinner in the great hall when Hinck came to Sarikar and instead remained at their house in the city. Perhaps she could answer Hinck.

  “Mother? This is Hinckdan. Can you hear me?”

  “Yes, I hear you, my son.”

  Relief calmed him. “What news from the castle? Have they learned what happened?”

  “Lady Brisa planted bottles of wine that contained âleh in the castle, so most who ate their meals there have been silenced. And the king, queen, and Master Grayson have been carried away by Shanek DanSâr. Your father remains in the castle with the Duke of Canden. They hope their magic will return soon. Can you speak with the king?”

  “No,” Hinck said, “but I did receive a message from him. Will you transcribe it and take it to Oli Agoros at once?”

  “Certainly.”

  After Hinck had finished speaking to his mother, he stared again at the scroll. The news had sobered him, but he had no time to waste. Wix still held the bird. Hinck supposed he should send a reply to let Trevn know he’d received the message. He tore off a blank corner of the scroll. “Do you have any ink, Wix?”

  “I have a wedge of charcoal in my pack,” he said, nodding to the carriage. “Would someone take the bird?”

  No one moved. “You stay put,” Hinck said. “I’ll fetch the charcoal.” He found it and drew the Renegade R onto the slip of paper, then folded it and secured it to the bird’s ankle.