Warriors of the Veil

by Jill Williamson

  Oli Agoros appeared beside the golden bird. Danek Faluk came seconds later.

  “Oli! Danek!” Trevn called and the two men flashed to his side.

  “We are looking for Lady Zenobia,” Oli said, frowning at the scene. “That’s her shadir.” He nodded to the golden bird. “Perhaps she has taken another form.”

  “As Mielle?” Trevn asked, pointing to the likeness of his wife.

  Oli frowned. “I cannot tell without storming her.”

  “Kempe,” Trevn voiced. “Can you storm the mantic who looks like Mielle?”

  “There is no point,” Kempe said. “See how she glows?”

  “No,” Trevn said, at the same time as Oli said, “Yes.”

  “It’s very faint, Your Highness,” Kempe said. “An outline of green light.”

  Trevn saw it now. He’d thought it a reflection from the light barrier holding him captive, but the living Rogedoth had it around him as well. “What does it mean?” he asked.

  “That storming them will fail,” Oli said. “We saw this on the battlefield. The shield must be broken before we can storm them, but only Grayson can do that. Or Chieftess Charlon.”

  “Grayson!” Trevn voiced. “I need you!” He also called the other Veil warriors, wanting all the help he could get. He spotted Cadoc, Nietz, Novan, and Rzasa crouched behind the wagon, swords drawn and creeping toward the end—toward the Mielle mantic and Trevn’s trapped body.

  “Cadoc, do not attack,” Trevn voiced.

  “Your Highness! Are you well?” Cadoc thought.

  “I am uninjured,” he said. “The Veil warriors are coming to destroy the mantics—then you can free me. Wait for my word.”

  Zeroah arrived first, followed by Grayson, who brought with him a cloud of shadir that not only chilled the air, they blocked the view of the ground. Trevn had never seen so many of the creatures in once place. It was fairly terrifying.

  “Why so many shadir?” he asked Grayson.

  “I’ve been calling them to me,” Grayson replied. “To see if they’d obey.”

  Miss Onika appeared beside Trevn, and a great many of Grayson’s shadir fled at the sight of her, which enabled them to see the mantics below. Mielle and Natod were still arguing.

  “What is happening here?” Onika asked.

  Trevn explained about Rogedoth’s trap. “That’s not Mielle but a mantic wearing a mask. My body is trapped under the green glow.” He indicated the light barrier.

  “Why haven’t they killed you?” Onika asked.

  A fair question. Killing Trevn would win Rogedoth the war. So what was he waiting for?

  “Puroh!” Rogedoth had spotted Trevn in the Veil. A burst of flames shot out from each of his hands.

  Before the fire reached them, Trevn moved to a new location, now hovering in the air above the wagon. Most of the Veil warriors had reappeared in the sky behind the mantic who had cast the spell. Zeroah, however, had come into view above the horses. Rogedoth shot a ball of orange fire toward her. She disappeared in time, but Trevn didn’t see where she moved to.

  “What is the name of that mantic’s shadir?” Grayson asked Oli. “Do you know?”

  “Rogedoth only ever had Dendron, which we now know was a lie,” Oli said. “The golden heron that was here before. It is named Kabada, and it has always been bonded to Lady Zenobia, though I don’t know how you will find it again in this swarm.”

  “I will call her,” Grayson said. “Kabada! I wish to speak with you at once.”

  Little by little, shadir in the swarm drifted aside until only the great golden bird remained, suspended in the air over the Rogedoth mantic.

  “Incredible,” Oli said.

  “Come to me, now, Kabada,” Grayson said.

  To Trevn’s relief, the shadir obeyed.

  “What’s it doing?” Natod asked Rogedoth.

  “I don’t know,” Rogedoth said. “Kabada!” But the creature was not listening. It flapped its wings and came to a stop before Grayson, black eyes watching him.

  “Those mantics are against me,” Grayson said, motioning to Rogedoth, Natod, and Mielle. “You will abandon them at once. Is that clear?”

  “I have served them for many years,” the creature said.

  “Did you not hear me?” Grayson yelled so loudly that Trevn flinched. He’d never heard the young man use such a commanding tone.

  Kabada shrank until she resembled a youngling version of herself. “I heard you clearly, Master,” she said, “but I—”

  “Obey me at once!” Grayson said. “Abandon the mantics. And use up all of their evenroot reserves, if they have any. Do this now.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  Trevn stared at the light barrier, expecting it to vanish. It did not. But the green shields around the pacing Rogedoth, Natod, and Mielle faded. Rogedoth began to change. The skin on his face bubbled and stretched. His graying hair in its long braid shortened, and shiny black curls sprouted over his head. His body shrank, long limbs growing slender and feminine.

  It was Lady Zenobia.

  “Your Highness, look!” Oli said, pointing at the dead Rogedoth.

  He too was changing, arms, chest, and legs shrinking into a slight figure. A trim black beard and moustache grew on his face.

  “That was Natod?” No wonder the man had fought so poorly, but what about the Natod arguing with Mielle? Trevn drew his gaze to the other two mantics, who were changing too. Natod grew taller, hair shriveling on the sides but extending into a long braid, gray at the top, black at the bottom.

  “He’s the real Rogedoth,” Oli said.

  Mielle’s long hair coils grew thicker and more ornate. Her frame shrank, but her limbs, torso, and face swelled, still feminine, but chubby and very familiar.

  Trevn gasped, and a chill washed over him. “Mother?”

  “Trevn!” She still held the light barrier but pointed her free hand at Rogedoth, who was still transforming. “He wanted to kill you, but I stopped him.”

  Trevn had no mercy left for his mother. “Oli, storm Zenobia,” he said. “Danek, storm my mother. Grayson, you must stop the one who looked like Natod and is turning into Rogedoth.”

  “No!” Mother yelled. “Trevn, please!”

  Trevn turned his attention to Grayson, who now stood on the ground. He shot green light from his hands. It gushed over the light barrier and knocked the real Rogedoth to the ground. He instantly started to stand again.

  A scream pulled Trevn’s gaze to his mother, whose body collapsed in the snow. He saw her likeness shrinking and spinning into the distance. Stormed.

  The shield over Trevn’s body vanished. He returned to his body, scrambled to his hands and knees, then to his feet. He sprinted toward the wagon, where his guards were waiting. He grabbed the end and slid around the corner to a stop, peeking back around the side.

  Lady Zenobia’s body lay on the ground, but the Pretender was back on his feet amid a flock of gowzals. Three circled overhead. Two had perched on his shoulders. Another handful roamed around his boots.

  “Ragaz, Shama, Daliza,” Rogedoth said. “Sabab bay kef.” Three of the birds by his feet melted into stones the size of fists. “Daah!”

  The stones shot toward Grayson, who stopped them with a gleam of green light that spread between his hands. The rocks fell to the snow and slowly turned back into gowzals.

  “Mikray, sabab bay eben,” Rogedoth said. One of the flying shadir clumped to the ground and swelled into a boulder that rumbled toward Grayson.

  The young man popped out of its path and threw more green fire back at Rogedoth. The Pretender lunged aside, but the fire singed his tunic and he frantically patted out the smoke.

  “Onika,” Trevn voiced. “Can you banish the shadir inside the gowzals?”

  “Doesn’t work,” she said. “They’re able to ignore us somehow.”

  “Iamos, sabab bay kefay. Daah!” Rogedoth shouted.

  One of the shadir on his shoulders crumbled into dozens of embers that melted through t
he snow. Another word from Rogedoth and they whizzed at Grayson. He shielded most without difficulty, though they were so small that several got past and pelted him, scorching burn marks onto his leather armor. Rogedoth sent a second group of embers, and this time Grayson popped out of the way.

  “Grayson?” Trevn voiced. “Can you command the shadir within those birds?”

  “I tried,” he said. “But they’re bonded to the gowzals, and the gowzals want to obey Rogedoth.”

  “Can you order the shadir out of them?”

  “They don’t want to leave,” Grayson said. “They like it there.” He appeared behind Rogedoth and threw what looked like a sheet of green glass at the man. Rogedoth turned in time to repel it with a cry of, “Seeosi, sawkal,” which turned the gowzal on his other shoulder into a spear that pierced Grayson’s glass and shattered it. The bird did not return as the others had. It lay on the ground between Grayson and Rogedoth. Dead.

  An idea struck Trevn. “Grayson,” he said. “The gowzals die when used too long for this magic. What if you told the shadir that gowzals are weak? Suggest they find a stronger creature?” Trevn scanned the area, but all he saw were the dozens of horses his men had dismounted. He recalled the cavalry charge. “If you convinced them to go into the horses, could you then command them?”

  “I think so,” Grayson voiced.

  “Haroan, Bahji, sabab bay kef,” Rogedoth yelled.

  Two gowzals transformed into fist-sized rocks that shot toward Grayson. He again protected himself with a wall of green light. When the rocks struck the surface, both gowzals shrieked and fell dead to the snow.

  “Shadir inside the birds,” Grayson yelled. “See how small your hosts are? Easily killed, as you just saw. Why not go into the horses instead? Horses are much stronger than gowzals.”

  The birds squawked. One flew over onto the back of a nearby horse.

  “Iamos!” Rogedoth yelled. “Don’t listen to him! He’s trying to trick you!”

  “I only want to give my friends the strength they deserve,” Grayson said. “What do you want for the shadir, I wonder, Master Rogedoth? To control them, it seems to me.”

  The birds squawked again, and this time three more flew over to the horses.

  “Go into the horses, if you want, shadir,” Grayson said. “I promise you’ll feel much stronger in such noble creatures than you do in those scrawny birds. Horses won’t die so easily.”

  “Shama, sawkal, daah!” Rogedoth yelled.

  A gowzal from the ground transformed into embers that pelted Grayson. He popped away and reappeared near the horses the gowzals had flown to.

  “Go ahead, Seeosi,” Grayson said, patting a black horse’s nose. “Now that your bird is dead, you should try a horse. Go inside this rouncy.” Next he stroked the neck of the white horse beside it. “Bahji, you too. Come and try this courser. It’s very fast. I think you’ll like it. And, Haroan”—Grayson popped to the other side of the white horse and motioned to a huge war-horse—“you should take this brown destrier. It’s much more like a wolf, don’t you think?”

  “Don’t listen to him!” Rogedoth yelled. “Mikray, Iamos, sabab bay eben!”

  But this time, nothing happened. Trevn had no idea how Grayson knew the names of the creatures, but they appeared to have listened.

  “There are more horses here!” Grayson yelled, popping across the clearing. “Iamos, Mikray, come. Ragaz, Daliza. Shama, you too. Over here.”

  “Isaro!” Rogedoth yelled. “Sawkal, daah! Muteeo, Paliki, sabab bay kef!”

  The shadir seemed to be done listening to Rogedoth, however. Grayson popped around the clearing, guiding shadir into horses, animals that had not been born from a Jiir-Yeke temple sacrifice and therefore were not as susceptible to a mantic’s bidding.

  Rogedoth continued to yell at shadir, but it earned him no support. “I have given my life to serving you!” he yelled. “I demand you obey me this instant!”

  “He has been loyal to you,” Grayson said. “Go back to him now. In fact, run. Run to your master. Run!” He slapped the rear of the courser beside him.

  The horse whinnied and took off at a trot. Grayson popped to the next horse and whacked its backside as well. He moved quickly, frightening the horses and commanding the shadir inside to run, until over two dozen were bolting toward Rogedoth at once.

  The former pontiff stared in horror at the approaching animals. “Stop!” he yelled. “Slow down!” But when the horses did not, Rogedoth turned and ran.

  He moved quickly for a man of his age, but war-horses—trained for cavalry—could easily outrun even the most terrified of men. The animals trampled Rogedoth, and his bellows of pain and terror made Trevn wince, despite the Justness of the moment.

  The horses slowed down and eventually stopped. Trevn sent Grayson after them. “I want the shadir out and the animals back here where they can be of use.”

  “Yes, sir.” Grayson disappeared.

  “Soldiers of Armania!” Trevn yelled to the men who were picking themselves up off the ground. “When the horses return, they will be safe for you to ride. Mount one, and capture or kill any of the enemy you see fleeing this area.”

  Trevn walked with his guards toward the body and finally came to stand over the former pontiff—the Pretender—the man who had caused so much trouble for so many for so long.

  No more.

  Barthel Rogedoth, Prince Mergest III of Sarikar, was clearly dead, trampled by pounding hooves. Underneath the blood that marred the man’s features, Trevn could see skin that was old and withered, a ridged brow, and a long black-and-gray braid. The features that had long haunted him.

  “Arman, have mercy on his soul,” Trevn said.

  “Do you really mean that?” Novan asked.

  Trevn thought about it. “Doesn’t really matter what I think. Arman is merciful, and he will do what he will do. Of that I have no doubt.”

  The air and sky felt peaceful and quiet, despite the distant sounds of the occasional clash of swords or a man’s cry of pain. Some were still fighting. Trevn should find a horse for himself and ride back to the battle.

  A niggling thought tugged at his mind. Rogedoth was dead, but he had forgotten something.

  The shadir.

  Grayson might have forced them out of the horses, but they were still gathered in the Veil, whether or not Trevn could hear or see them. He suddenly needed to see. He jogged back to Rogedoth’s wagon and climbed inside.

  “I’m going into the Veil, Cadoc,” he said. “Guard my body.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Trevn lay down on the pile of furs and let his soul drift up. Sure enough, the shadir were still congregated in this place. The cloud was so thick, Trevn couldn’t see the sky.

  “Grayson?” he voiced.

  The young man appeared beside him. “Here, Your Highness.”

  “It’s time to deal with these creatures.”

  “There are so many.”

  “You did perfectly with Kabada. And making the horses charge Rogedoth was brilliant.”

  Grayson fought a smile.

  “You obviously have power over them,” Trevn said. “Why don’t you banish the lot of them and be done with it?”

  “Some of them will argue.”

  “I didn’t say it would be easy. But they will obey you.”

  The young man nodded and blew out a long breath. “Yes, sir.” He drifted a few paces from Trevn, studied the shadir, then glanced back, a look of reluctance on his face.

  Trevn offered his most encouraging smile. Seconds passed by in silence, then suddenly Grayson began to speak.

  “Minions of Gâzar,” he yelled in that same commanding voice he’d used before. “Come to me and listen!”

  The horde swept closer, pressing all around Grayson and Trevn in a circle. They were so different, yet so alike. Bright, textured colors in many shapes and sizes. Faces like animals, humans, plants, water, feathers—too many things to imagine. All had at least one eye, or two or three
or more. All those eyes were fixed upon Grayson with expressions a mixture of curious, confused, startled, and annoyed.

  “I am your master, and you will obey my command,” Grayson said. “Return to Gâzar’s realm now. Go back into the arms of darkness where you belong.”

  The shadir reacted like an angry mob. Screeched. Hissed. Yelled curses. A few merely glared.

  “You will obey me,” Grayson said. “Arman, the One God, is my master, and he has given me the power to command you. By his name you will leave this place.”

  For some, that was enough. They shot toward the earth like dropped rocks. Others wilted in size, looking as if their feelings were hurt. The larger ones stayed put, eyes burning with fiery anger.

  “A trick!” said one who looked like an old woman.

  “Betrayal!” a brown wolf said.

  “Treachery!” the golden bird added.

  “Do not be fooled,” a tattooed man yelled to the smaller shadir. “He is but a human.”

  Many of the smaller shadir stopped moving, eyes fixed upon the larger ones.

  “I’m not here to fool you,” Grayson said. “I’m here to send you all home. You are no longer welcome in this realm. Leave and return to your own.”

  “Who do you think you are, human?” the old woman asked Grayson.

  “I am Arman’s chosen,” he said. “And he has given me Dominion over you.”

  “Lies!” the old woman hissed.

  “We are more powerful than you, little human,” the tattooed man said.

  “You cannot make us go.” This from the golden bird.

  “You are nothing,” the wolf said, baring its teeth.

  The old woman circled Grayson. “Do you know how many years we have lived?”

  “We don’t have to listen to him!” the tattooed man said, and the cloud of shadir crowed their agreement.

  “It’s not working,” Grayson voiced to Trevn’s mind. “The commons are too strong, and they’re making the slights brave.”

  Trevn drifted behind Grayson and put his hands on the young man’s shoulders. “You can do this! Let me call everyone to pray. Will that help?”