by Kris A Hiatt
Finally the king stopped to look at him.
“We won’t send anyone,” Shamir said at last.
“Why?” Brental asked unbelievingly.
“Because this changes nothing.”
“What? How can it change nothing?”
“Surely, I see this strengthening your position,” Shamir replied. “But how do I benefit from it?”
“But you just said the plan was brilliant,” Brental pointed out.
“Oh, it is,” Shamir agreed. “But as a tool to motivate my people, not his.”
Brental hadn’t thought of that. By ensuring his own people heard the stories, Shamir would bolster his own fighting force with volunteers who would continue to support their King. In the few short weeks since the meeting in Kilindric the man had often spoke to the public. After his announcement that the blood of Kaden ran through him, more and more were rallying to his cause as the one true King. When they found out about the actions of the man opposing him, they’d support him even more. That was brilliant, but he had to see that a weakened Liernin would still save lives. “But Liernin has a good rapport with Drevic and his misguided followers,” Brental said. “If he continues to show support for them after his people know the truth, they will think much less of their beloved leader. Many of them may not fight for him then. Even if they do, they may not do so with much effort.”
“I’m not worried about their effort, it won’t be enough.”
“You’ve got to see the truth in this,” Brental pleaded.
“Isn’t your whole goal of this to have Drevic cast out?”
“It’s an added benefit, yes,” Brental admitted. “But surely you can see that Liernin’s forces would also be weakened without Drevic and his people behind him.”
“I hardly think a few dozen brothers will swing the war in his favor. I will crush him either way.”
“Don’t underestimate what they could be capable of,” Brental warned. If Drevic could do what Nimbril did, who knew what other powers the old man had passed on.
“Are you afraid of them now?” Shamir asked.
“I’m not afraid of them, but I am smart enough to know they are a threat.”
“And I’m smart enough to know the little threat they offer will not be enough to defeat us,” Shamir replied. “We have nearly six thousand men training as we speak. We will have double that when we tell our people the atrocities of the people Liernin is harboring.”
“So you’d use my plan to strengthen yourself, but not allow me to do the same?”
“If you want to strengthen your position, keep finding ways to be useful. It’s the only reason you’re still around.”
“I thought you just said my plan was brilliant?” Brental asked.
“It was,” Shamir admitted.
“Then how am I not useful?” Brental asked. It was so very confusing to him.
“With the sheer number of people we are certain to gain on our side to fight with us, I don’t see how you and your men using magic will help,” Shamir explained. “So if I don’t need you for that, then what do I need you for?”
“Sir,” a guard said entering the room and offering a quick bow. “Captain Disdane is here.”
“Why is everyone interrupting me today?” Shamir sputtered to himself. “Fine, I’ll see him,” he told the guard.
“Sir,” the guard said with a flushed face. “He’s here for the Archmagister.”
Brental looked to the King to find the man staring hard at him.
“Show him in,” the King commanded, his eyes never leaving Brental.
Disdane bulled through the door, using his shoulder to open it. He clutched both hands to his chest and blood was caked over wounds on his arms. Brental could tell the man was in a tremendous amount of pain.
“What happened?” Brental asked him, rushing forward to meet the man.
“You were right,” Disdane said through clenched teeth.
“He refused to go to the medical, sir,” the guard informed them, bowing yet again.
“Go,” Shamir bade him. “Bring my physician in.”
“There’s no need to rush,” Brental told the guard, but the man ran out of the door anyway.
“Do you not see the wounds I’m seeing?” Shamir asked.
Brental did indeed see the wounds. There were two very large ones on his right arm above the elbow. The largest was still dripping blood but the other had finally caked over. As bad as that wound was, however, it was Disdane’s right hand that seemed to be the worst. The skin from the palm and inside fingers was gone and the meat beneath it was charred. It was so badly burned that there were a few places on his fingers that Brental could see bone.
“Sit,” Brental commanded the big man. Normally he wouldn’t have spoken to the man in such a way, but Disdane did as he was told.
Brental sat in front of the large man and grabbed the man’s forearms, one in each hand and took a deep breath.
He knew his healing power wasn’t as strong as his other magical abilities, but neither was it weak. Regardless, he knew it would be far better than anything the physicians at the medical could hope to do. He knew he needed to be careful with his emotions and memories. The love he found in his memory was often mixed with other emotions, anger the most prominent. He didn’t want to burn the man alive!
Brental closed his eyes and found The Calm. He mentally reached out to find the love he held in his heart.
He found his mother’s face, tears streaking down her cheeks, looking back at him in pain. She had protected him from his father who had come home in a drunken rage and had begun to beat him. He was only a boy, but he had felt the bite of his father’s hands many times, as had his mother. His mother stepped in, knowing full well that his father’s rage would turn on her. As she accepted the lashes from the man’s belt to her backside, the eight-year-old Brental watched in horror. But while he saw her pain and sadness, he too could see the love in her eyes for her son. She would do anything to protect him and he loved her all the more for it.
He focused on that love and willed it to envelop him. When he felt the healing glow emanate from him, he used what he could and sent it on through his body to heal his new-found ally. He could feel it flow over Disdane’s wounds and Brental knew the healing light was mending them. Flesh rebuilt itself and skin regrew as the magic did its work.
He opened his eyes to see Disdane staring back at him. There was no longer any pain in those eyes, only gratitude and admiration. Brental inspected the wounds, or what was left of them. The wounds on his arm were still caked with blood, but they had closed completely. Both of them had scarred over and would remain that way for life. His hand, too, had healed, at least as well as could be expected. The muscle had regrown and skin had grown back but it wasn’t smooth. It would forever be rough and imperfect, but his hand would function as normal. He still had one wound that wouldn’t fully heal. The broken hand would take more time. Bone was entirely a different thing than tissue and the magic never seemed to help it much, but Brental was confident he at least helped the process.
“Thank you, my friend,” Disdane told him sincerely.
“You’re very welcome.”
“Useful,” Shamir said, seemingly unimpressed.
Brental knew what the King was referring to with his statement, but it was how he said it that irked him. Brental highly doubted the man had ever seen a feat like that before. If he wasn’t impressed with that, the man would never be impressed with anything in his life.
Disdane stood and bowed before his King. “Here,” he said, reaching out his hand for Brental, clearly indicating he intended on helping him up.
“Thanks,” he told him, still sitting on the ground. He grasped the man’s hand and was pulled easily to his feet. He knew Disdane’s generosity would fade in time. The byproduct of healing was some sort of intimate connection with the healer. While it went both ways to some extent, the one who was healed always seemed to have a better understanding of the healer’s w
ants and needs.
“What happened to you?” the King asked. “And he was right about what?”
“He was a traitor,” Disdane explained. “You were right about that.”
“Kint? How do you know?” he asked. “And, where is he?”
“Shall I leave you two alone or are you going to fill me in?” Shamir asked testily.
“I asked the good captain to find one of the missing men from the list of former magisters you provided,” Brental explained, not wanting to anger the King.
“But that list was complete,” Shamir stated.
“And yet it wasn’t,” Brental argued. “The other magisters told me of one who was not provided on that list.”
“Even so,” Shamir said. “What makes him a traitor?”
Brental didn’t have the response for that, so he looked to Disdane to answer for him.
“When I arrived,” Disdane began immediately. “Kint was in his home speaking with his daughter and two other men. One of those men I recognized as one of Liernin’s men. The one they called The Wolf.”
“So he was home after all,” Brental said. He had guessed as much. But what he didn’t understand was what Treace would want with Kint. It couldn’t be a coincidence that they were looking for the same man.
“So I assume you killed them?” Shamir asked.
“No,” Brental replied, beating Disdane to the answer. He could feel it from the man. He felt ashamed for not being able to do so. But he could tell he succeeded in killing at least one of them. “Not all of them anyway.”
“It’s true, my King,” Disdane admitted before lowering his head. “They got away and have to be hours from us by now. Except for Kint. That fool stone-faced himself.”
“Then he’s as good as dead,” Brental told them. “If you didn’t finish him off that is.”
Disdane shook his head.
Brental was glad the man would die slowly, but was saddened that he wouldn’t be able to feel the pain of doing so. He got off easily in Brental’s estimation.
“He did get off easy,” Disdane agreed.
“We have to assume the other one was one of Liernin’s men as well,” Shamir stated.
“They called him Moff,” Disdane added.
Brental should have known. Those two idiots had always been close. He remembered Treace the day that he showed up for his entrance exams. He couldn’t even remember his own name. What an imbecile. But if he recalled, Moffred was from somewhere around Kadenton. That sprung an idea in his head. “Where did you say you got that list from, Shamir?”
“From one of my finest researchers. Why?”
Brental was glad the man seemed to miss that he didn’t include his title when he addressed him. “I have an idea, that’s all. Would you mind if I contacted them?”
“Do you think they are connected somehow?” Shamir asked.
“I’m not sure,” Brental admitted. “But I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the man that was left off of my list was also seen meeting with Liernin’s men. Someone knew about him.”
“Very well, I’ll send a man to fetch him,” Shamir told him.
“King,” Brental said. “May I also suggest we get the word out for your men to find them? They have a ways to go before they are out of your land. We may have time.”
“Of course we’re getting the word out you fool,” Shamir scolded. “I want them found. I’ll send them back to Liernin in pieces. I want Liernin to know what I think of him and his spies.”
“I’ll draft the message myself,” Brental offered, ignoring the insult.
The King simply nodded his agreement. Brental hoped his suggestions would fall under the category of being useful.
“How did you manage to lose the fight?” Shamir asked Disdane a few moments later.
“Kint’s magic was very strong,” Disdane said, somewhat angrily. “It was like no other magic I’ve seen before.”
“Describe what happened,” Brental bade him, hoping the King didn’t take offense to Disdane’s tone.
“I had The Wolf killed. He was down and I was about to finish him off when Kint’s bitch of a daughter attacked me from behind. When I turned on her that’s when I was stuck fast in some sort of magic. I couldn’t move at all. It was like I was underwater.”
“It sounds like a magical barrier, but you say it was over you. Are you sure of it?” Brental asked. He had never heard of such a thing. A barrier protected the user and couldn’t be used on another person. Disdane must be embellishing his tale.
“Positive. I could only watch as she healed him,” Disdane replied. “Probably the same way you healed me, but I couldn’t move. I couldn’t stop it.”
If Kint’s daughter could heal, that meant Kint didn’t do as he was told. He taught someone how to use magic. If he did, Brental wondered who else may have gone against Nimbril’s commands.
“Have you no such power?” Shamir asked Brental.
“None such exists,” Brental admitted. “Though I don’t doubt your words, Captain.”
Brental could see Disdane weighing things in his mind. Did he accept that Brental said he didn’t doubt his words, or did he accept that he was just called a liar? Brental thought he best move the conversation on in case the man decided to take offense to his words. “What else?”
“When I finally broke out of the magic I grabbed my sword to strike down that bitch, but my sword grew as hot as fire. I couldn’t even drop it quick enough. It was like steel freshly pulled from a forge. It nearly burned right through my hand.”
Brental knew that magic. Path of Fire was his specialty. He himself could heat metal to near melting, with some effort. But why would Disdane let Kint grab ahold of his sword? “When you broke free of the magic, why didn’t you kill Kint?”
“He was too far away,” Disdane explained. “At least fifty feet.”
“Impossible,” Brental said. “He had to be within arm’s reach.”
“No,” Disdane argued. “No, he wasn’t.”
“What does it mean?” Shamir asked.
“It means I need to speak with a few of those magisters again,” Brental said.
“So you can’t do that either?” Shamir asked, speaking of the magic.
“I will soon enough,” Brental assured him. He would need to convince them that it would be in their best interest to tell him everything he wanted to know. If they were traitors like Kint, they better hope they could stone-face themselves. Otherwise their pain would be unbearable. And he knew just the man to take with him to inflict that pain. “I’ll take my leave, my King.”
“I’ll go with him,” Disdane said, bowing to Shamir.
Brental smiled widely. He didn’t even have to ask the man to go with him. He knew their connection would soon fade, but he meant to take advantage of it while he could. But first, he would need to write the message for the guards to carry out to find the traitors. He didn’t care about Treace or Moffred. They could be killed on sight as far as he was concerned. He wanted the girl. If Kint’s daughter could heal, Brental wondered what other magic her father had taught her.
Chapter 11
Treace forced open his eyes. Nothing was in focus and light pierced his brain and it screamed in protest, which he ignored. He opened and closed his eyes rapidly, trying to get them to focus. They were being stubborn.
He tried to process where he was and what had happened, but his mind was cloudy. He felt like he was lying face down. A deep sadness washed over him and he couldn’t remember why.
What was the last thing he could remember?
Kiril. Moffred. Disdane.
The scene played out in his mind in an instant. Disdane’s sword crashed down hard, cutting deep into his shoulder. That massive boot crashed into his face. He was fighting Disdane!
He had to get out of the way of the next attack. He rolled forward, trying to get closer to the man so that he would be too close to attack with that sword. He knew he didn’t have much time, for being such a large man, Disda
ne was uncannily fast.
He scrambled to his feet, turning to try to find his adversary.
“Whoa!” he heard someone say from his right. It sounded like Kiril.
Why was she still here? He told her and Moff to get away! He tried to get his eyes to focus, knowing full well he’d soon be dead if he couldn’t get them to do so. Disdane was a dangerous enough opponent when he could see clearly, he’d be impossible to defeat without his eyesight.
He heard heavy footfalls in front of him, but his vision was still cloudy and he could only see a very large form in front of him. It had to be Disdane!
He turned and sprang away, rolling as he did so. He came out of the roll and tried to get his feet under him, but he couldn’t find his balance and instead fell to the ground.
“Treace, stop!” Kiril commanded.
He knew he needed to protect her but there was something in her voice that made him stop. But yet it was more than her voice. She wanted him to stop so he simply stopped, wanting to do as she asked but not knowing why.
“Treace!” Moffred exclaimed. “It’s okay, he’s not here.”
There was relief in his friend’s voice, and concern at the same time. He sat up and blinked his eyes and then rubbed them, trying to get them to focus. It worked for the most part, but Moffred was still a little hazy when he rushed up to him.
If Disdane wasn’t here, where was he? And where exactly was here?
“Just give it time,” Kiril said, soothing one of the horses. “Sit still and just give it time.”
Treace did as he was told and didn’t move. He must have spooked the horse during his scramble to fight an invisible person. He guessed that was the large form he saw in front of him.
