Relief gave Oli a moment to breathe calmly. He looked at the plans before him, trying to remember what they had been talking about before the interruption. The door opened again before he had the chance. This time it was Kipp who ran inside, face flushed.
“I bring a message from Sir Kalenek, Your Grace,” Kipp said, breathing hard. “Sâr Shanek just left the great hall. He came alone, looking for you. Lord Idez told him you were in the city and invited him to dine while he waited for your return. He declined and said he would come back in two hours’ time.”
“Thank you, Kipp,” Oli said. “Go back and tell Lord Idez and Sir Kalenek to hold their positions and keep me informed of anything new.” Then to those in the room he said, “Our enemy has come. Miss Onika, you have two hours to find Master Grayson and get him back.”
Qoatch
Ulrik is using his magic to manipulate me,” Jazlyn said, pacing before the fireplace in her sitting room. The three gowzals she’d bonded with for the new magic hobbled on the floor, trying to trail along beside her, but they could not keep up with her long strides. “Every time I remind myself I hate him, something compels me against it.” Her eyes found Qoatch, where he stood behind her empty longchair. “Speak, Qoatch. Advise me.”
“I agree, Great Lady,” he said. “You have behaved most strangely since returning here.”
“I have never loved a man. Not once!” She resumed pacing. “I must leave to establish New Tenma as planned. The sooner I am away, the better. If I am to go mad for Ulrik Orsona, let it be at a safe distance where no harm can come of it. Where you can talk sense—remind me of the truth.”
“The first Tennish delegation awaits your order,” Qoatch said.
“I have given the order twice!” she yelled.
“And taken it back twice,” Qoatch reminded her.
She groaned. “That odious man! If only I could kill him.”
“I could,” Qoatch said.
“No,” Jazlyn said. “I do not understand the mind-speak magic enough to risk his wrath. I only wish to take the Tennish remnant to the land I’ve chosen. To start anew with no interference from false kings or controlling young emperors or giants or anyone! There must be a way.”
“The answer is simple, Great Lady. Order me to ignore any commands from you which I know to be folly.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Are you mad?”
“In all the years we have been together, have I not proven myself loyal? It is my greatest hope to see you installed as the High Queen of New Tenma, as you rightly deserve.”
Jazlyn continued pacing. His Great Lady had listened. Qoatch could ask for nothing more.
She was still roving about the sitting room when a knock sounded on the door. Qoatch opened it and found a Rurekan servant waiting.
“A message for Empress Jazlyn, may she live forever,” the man said, handing over a sealed scroll.
Qoatch accepted it with raised brows, surprised by the respect in the man’s voice, though ever since Jazlyn had defeated the giants, many had changed their opinions toward her. He closed the door and carried the scroll to his Great Lady.
Jazlyn ripped it open and read quickly, her eyes trailing from left to right. She frowned and handed the message to Qoatch. “Read it and tell me your thoughts.”
Qoatch drew open the scroll.
Empress Jazlyn,
I think we all can agree that the discord between us has moved beyond the normal quarreling of a husband and wife. I know you wish to leave and establish New Tenma, and I am prepared to let you have your way. It is my fervent hope that we also might put an end to all manipulation of mind or magic. I propose that you and I sit down for a formal negotiation of peace, with my mother and your loyal servant Master Qoatch as witnesses. If it is convenient for you, we could meet tomorrow at morning bells.
Ulrik Orsona
Emperor of Rurekau
“He means to trap me in some way,” Jazlyn said. “Shape my thoughts to his liking.”
“Forgive me, Great Lady, but I disagree. If he meant to take advantage of you, he would not have included Empress Inolah and myself as witnesses.”
Jazlyn snatched the scroll from Qoatch and read it again. “But I do not trust the emperor. He will toy with my thoughts.”
“If you sense him in your mind at all, you must say so. If the man will not respect you, we will not stay for the negotiations.”
Jazlyn tapped the scroll against her palm, lips twisted in thought. “Very well,” she said at last. “But in the meantime, you will send word to the first Tennish delegation. They must set sail for New Tenma and help those I left behind to build the fortress. Should I change my mind on this, I give you leave to ignore me. Do not tell me you’re doing so. That will only raise my ire.”
Qoatch bowed, fighting back a smile. After a life of service, he well knew how to deal with Jazlyn. “I will do as you say, Great Lady.”
“Nothing is to be said of New Tenma during this negotiation. It is my wish that no others from the Five Realms will ever find it.”
“I will do everything in my power to make your vision a reality,” Qoatch said.
“Good. Now let us craft my reply to the emperor.”
Grayson
Rogedoth didn’t speak with Grayson on the second day. Many shadir came and went from his tent. Gowzal birds too. The mantic women cast different spells on Grayson so he could eat and drink, but he couldn’t pop away. It was like he had forgotten how.
The third day, Rogedoth came to see Grayson again. “Have you changed your mind, my grandson?” he asked.
“I’m not going to help you do evil,” Grayson said.
“What one man says is evil, another man says is good.”
“No,” Grayson said. “Evil is the opposite of good. You can’t tell the difference because you hate Arman, but if you followed him, you would know.”
Voices outside the tent rose, and the women went out to see what was happening.
Rogedoth didn’t move—acted like he didn’t hear the noise at all. “You have quite a lot of strong opinions, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir. And you should know something else. That other root child? Shanek? There are prophecies about the two of us. He’s going to lose, and I’m going to help make that happen.”
This made Rogedoth’s eyes flash. “Others than Miss Onika make prophecies, boy. Just you remember that.”
The man called Timmons entered. “My pardon, Your Highness.”
Rogedoth spun around. “What is it?”
“Me, Your Highness.”
A young woman strode inside. The few shadir still present flitted away from her, watching warily. Rogedoth’s mantic women rushed in after the newcomer. Lilou grabbed her arm but was thrown to the ground with a wave of the young woman’s hand.
“Miss Amala,” Rogedoth said, stepping away from Grayson.
This must be Queen Mielle’s sister! Had she come to help?
Rogedoth frowned at the girl. “Did Shanek carry you here?”
“I came on my own,” Amala said. “You broke your promise to me, Your Highness, and if you don’t remedy the matter immediately, you’ll forever regret it.”
“What promise?”
“I’ve seen the disgusting tent you put my sister in. And she’s bound by some horrible spell. It’s disgraceful how quickly you have neglected the things Shanek and I asked of you. What else will you ignore, I wonder?”
Queen Mielle was here and alive? Grayson hoped he could rescue her.
“Miss Amala, this is war,” Rogedoth said. “You should not be here wasting my time with your whining. Zenobia, get her out.”
But the moment Lady Zenobia touched Amala, she too was thrown down. “You cannot defeat me, lady,” Amala said. “My shadir is greater than yours.”
“She has power, Your Highness,” Zenobia said, rubbing her arm.
Rogedoth narrowed his eyes. “What shadir did you bond? Did Charlon give you root?”
“That’s not your conce
rn,” Miss Amala said. “But if you don’t immediately remedy my sister’s accommodations, I will unleash upon you the full extent of my power.”
Rogedoth lifted both hands, eyebrows raised. “That won’t be necessary, my dear. If my servants have treated your sister poorly, you have my word it shall be remedied at once.”
Amala stepped aside. “After you, Your Highness.”
Rogedoth’s nostrils flared, but he inclined his head and exited the tent. Amala, the mantic women, the shadir, and two gowzals all followed, leaving Grayson alone.
Grayson expected Rogedoth would return at some point and continue to harass him, but the first person to come back was Lady Zenobia.
“It’s a shame you wouldn’t obey your grandfather,” she said. “A waste of great magic.”
“A waste?” Grayson asked. “How?”
Sâr Shanek arrived then, standing in the open doorway. “Where is he?”
“We are here, Your Highness,” Zenobia said. “He is under a spell. Shall I remove it?”
Shanek popped across the tent and stood over Grayson, glaring down. “No. This is better.” He crouched and dragged Grayson to a sitting position.
“Where are you taking me?” Grayson asked.
“You angered the king,” Zenobia said. “Since you will not help him, he will trade you to the Jiir-Yeke. They very much want the man who freed their captives. So you will go to them, and in exchange, they have agreed to join us in the coming battle.”
Both facts filled Grayson with dread. “What will they do with me?” he asked.
“I imagine they will kill you in their temple sacrifice.”
Before Grayson could object, Shanek carried him away.
Trevn
Trevn rode southeast with Chieftess Charlon and a group of three dozen Magosians toward his southern border house. The terrain was hilly, forested, and snow-covered, which slowed them immensely. He hoped to reach the fort before dark, reclaim it, and prepare Randmuir Khal for the enemy that would be coming from the west and north. Then he needed to go north himself.
The Magosians were joined by a flock of gowzals flying overhead. Occasionally one or two would perch upon Chieftess Charlon’s shoulder or the rump of her horse and ride along.
Charlon had given Trevn furs to wear for the journey and a shard club as a weapon—something he had no idea how to use. Add to all this the fact that he’d lost his voicing magic, the soul-binding with Mielle was gone, and none of his guardsmen were with him, and the whole experience left Trevn feeling like he was living through a dream. He longed for anything familiar to anchor him and found that reciting from the Book of Arman gave both comfort and hope.
Trevn and Chieftess Charlon rode in the center of the group, yet no one spoke to them. He found it curious how little she communicated with her people. She gave commands when necessary but never made small talk. So when she spoke suddenly, it came as a surprise.
“I might,” Charlon said.
“You might what?” he asked.
“Someone is speaking to my thoughts.” She held up a finger, signaling for him to wait. “Tell me this message.”
Hope rose within Trevn. Had the âleh worn off in Armanguard? Could this be someone trying to find him?
“What of Sir Kalenek?” Charlon asked.
That wasn’t much of a clue. Charlon might have sent a shadir to spy on Sir Kalenek.
“That is very much like him. But Shanek will not like it.” Charlon reined her horse and turned her attention to Trevn. “Your prophetess speaks to me, Your Highness.”
Miss Onika. Was she here in the Veil now? “What does she say?”
“She wishes you to know that Queen Mielle and Master Grayson were being held in the camp of King Barthel. Though Grayson has been given to the Jiir-Yeke. Shanek carried him away moments ago. In exchange, the giants will fight alongside Rogedoth against you.”
This was terrible! “Tell her we must do all we can to rescue Grayson. Has anyone else’s mind-speak magic returned?”
“She said nothing about—” Charlon frowned. “Brelenah and Zeroah, she says.”
Trevn hoped it would all return soon—to Oli, at least. They would need his help breaking whatever magic had been keeping Grayson prisoner. “What of Duke Canden? What goes on in Armanguard?”
“Your staff in Armanguard awaits Shanek’s return,” Charlon said. “Sir Kalenek hopes to convince Shanek that King Barthel is not to be trusted. That he should return to Magosia. Where he will be safe.” Charlon frowned. “Shanek will not listen.”
“Ask Miss Onika to go back to my wife and tell her I am well.”
Charlon stared at her hands. “She promises to do so. And will continue to bring you updates. Until your magic returns.”
“Thank you, Miss Onika,” Trevn said.
Silence grew, and Trevn became aware that the Magosians had circled around them.
“She has left,” Charlon said.
“Then we should continue on.” Trevn spurred his horse forward.
Charlon continued alongside. “See? You just accepted my assistance. My assistance with your magic. Yet you disdain mine? Is not magic magic?”
“It’s the shadir I want nothing to do with, Chieftess,” Trevn said. “They are enemies of my god. They are also tricksters who seek to destroy all that is good.”
Charlon seemed to think this over. “A mantic can use shadir magic for good.”
“But there is still a cost,” Trevn said. “You cannot control evil. The only way to stop it is to expose it for what it is. To stand against it. If you do not, the shadir will continue to use you.”
“I am in control now,” Charlon said. “I wasn’t before. But the new magic is different.”
“You think you are in control, Chieftess, but you still rely upon shadir. Needing them at all makes them your master, not the other way around.”
“On that we will have to disagree,” Charlon said.
That did not surprise Trevn in the least. They rode on. The ground leveled out, yet the forest thickened. Clouds filled the sky, so when the sun began to set, dusk fell swiftly. Bright lights appeared in the distance like twinkling stars. That had to be the border house, though it was difficult to see how far away it actually was. Chieftess Charlon sent her gowzals ahead to scout, and they returned shortly.
“My shadir tell me, once we pass this thicket, there is a vast clearing around the fort.”
Trevn had designed it that way. “We will leave the horses here and go on foot,” he said.
It felt good to get down and walk. The smell of torch smoke reached Trevn long before he caught sight of the distant palisade through a gap in the trees. Movement on his left halted his steps. He raised his hand to signal the others, but as the Magosians weren’t his soldiers, they didn’t understand. “Halt,” he said, as loudly as he dared.
The man called Rone glanced back. His eyes fixed beyond Trevn and widened.
All around them, shadows emerged from the trees and seized upon the Magosians. Trevn reached for his shard club, but the cold point of a blade at the back of his neck stopped him.
“Identify yourselves,” a woman said from behind him.
“I’m an Armanian,” Trevn said. “I seek refuge in our border house.”
“Then why leave your horses behind?”
Trevn knew that voice. It was too dark to see, so he asked another question. “Why are you out here? I wouldn’t think Randmuir Khal’s daughter would patrol like a common soldier.”
“Who are you to make such assumptions about my identity?”
“I’m the one who asked Oli Agoros to break your father’s compulsion,” Trevn said.
“I’ll be bludgeoned. King Trevn come to our rescue?” Snow crunched and branches snapped as Zahara Khal stepped around to Trevn’s front. She looked harmless, shrouded as she was in a hooded black cape. Trevn knew better.
“How many are with the mantic who took the fort?” he asked.
Zahara was studying the Magosian
s with something like disgust. “Fifty or so compelled Puru. What are you doing with this group?”
“Shanek DanSâr carried me to Magosia, but some of them decided to help me.”
“Lucky, that,” Zahara said. “Can they help with their kinswoman?”
“I can,” Charlon said.
“Is this all of you?” Trevn asked, wondering where the rest of the pirates were hiding.
“We’ve got three patrols,” Zahara said. “Father and Meelo head up the other two. The mantic came yesterday. When Father wouldn’t let her in, she blew open the gates with a wave of her hand. We lost so many that Father gave the order to flee out the back and make a perimeter in the woods. He figured if we couldn’t keep her out of the fortress, we could at least keep others from joining her. Unless they’re mantics too.” She glared at Charlon.
It occurred to Trevn then that Charlon had killed Randmuir’s mother. Keeping the two apart might be tricky. “If you’ll lead the way, we’ll follow,” he said.
“Let’s go, then.” Zahara set off through the forest, and the Magosians followed.
Trevn grabbed Charlon’s arm. “Try not to let them know your name,” he said. “Randmuir Khal would enjoy killing the person responsible for his mother’s death.”
Charlon nodded gravely, then continued after the others. She whispered a word, and all but the gowzal perched on her shoulder transformed into a thick, white fog that hid their party as they left the cover of the forest and approached the border house. The magic unnerved Trevn.
“Mercy on me,” Zahara said. “Father won’t like that I’ve teamed up with mantics.”
It was certainly a strange situation. Trevn gripped the shard club, ready to face whatever enemy came his way. Though he moved in the center of the pack, he was completely alone, a feeling he hadn’t experienced in a long time. No Cadoc, no guards, no council, no Mielle.
The smack of a shard club. A man grunted. The front of the line had reached the gate. Being in the center kept Trevn five paces behind the action. He stepped over three dead Puru at the gate, then two more just inside it. The smell of fresh blood pulled his mind to another time, and dark memories from the Battle of Armanguard flashed in his mind’s eye.
Warriors of the Veil Page 6
