King’s Wrath

by Fiona McIntosh

  And with the practiced skill of an experienced hunter, Elka’s aim was true, striking the temple of her prey with a crisp and savage force that first cracked and then splintered her skull. The woman was unconscious directly on being hit and died in that state not long later, her rosy cheeks burning as the firestorm had been.

  Elka had already ducked back into the safety of cover, blending superbly with her rocky surrounds, but she could see that Leo was already beginning to turn, with a look of genuine savagery.

  No more hiding, she decided. Crawling backward, away from the Vested, who looked suddenly disoriented and weary as their power was disrupted, she was soon jogging down the incline and back in the direction of the convent. She would be at Loethar’s side; even if he couldn’t protect her, she would never leave him again while she still lived.

  A deathly quiet blanketed the convent as everyone tried to take in the infernal scene outside. Bodies lay melted and entwined around each other in a deathly embrace, some still burning, others smoldering. The stench of crackled, bubbled and fried flesh and hair, leather and fabric blended into a revolting odor that had the unprotected gagging where they stood in their disbelief and horror.

  Kilt knew that unless Genevieve acted now, the land—even the world as they knew it—might never recover. Not with madmen like Piven and Leo on the loose.

  They had to be stopped. Their magic had to be quashed. It had to be possible or the Valisar Enchantment would not exist. Genevieve’s whole point of being . . . her very existence had no meaning if not to be a weapon against this very situation.

  He began murmuring while Leo and Piven swapped accusations and threats. He couldn’t hear Loethar’s voice in the fray.

  “The serpent god and Cormoron made an agreement. In exchange for the Valisar powers of invincibility, she made a proviso that one alone would have the greatest of all powers,” Kilt said.

  Ravan picked up on his prattlings. “A female.”

  “That’s right. But the magic was so great that no females survived.”

  “The females never survived because they were never needed,” Ravan suddenly offered.

  “What? Is that right?” Evie asked.

  “Yes,” Ravan said, blinking once, slowly.

  “Until now,” Kilt said, picking up that new thought and moving forward. “Ten anni ago providence played its unpredictable part.”

  “No, before then,” Ravan counseled. “Darros stepped outside of the family and sowed a wild seed.”

  “He was the first?”

  Ravan nodded. “Curiously, yes. Cyrena had won a promise from Cormoron that no Valisars would be born outside the family hierarchy.”

  “And everyone obeyed.”

  “The Valisars are dutiful, honorable. And seemed to beget single sons.”

  “Until Brennus.”

  Ravan smiled. “Yes. Fate dealt a terrible hand. Several Valisars were born, each of them strong in their magic. Strong in their convictions too. They were destined to clash, to challenge the crown, particularly with Loethar born outside of the normal hierarchy.”

  “And so Genevieve was born.”

  “Genevieve and then presumably the daughter that Loethar sired,” Ravan reminded. “It appears Cyrena was taking no chances.”

  Kilt looked over to where the argument between Piven and Leo still raged. He saw Elka scrambling down the hill, and above her, a ragtag group peeked out from behind a well-protected ledge. An old man and an older woman had arrived near Leo. Who in Lo’s name were they? His gaze was dragged away and down to where Jewd and Gavriel leaned against the wall, looking helpless.

  His eyes rested on Jewd as he searched his mind for an answer. Jewd had said they needed to find a cure.

  “A cure,” he murmured.

  “What?” Evie said, dragging her face from her hands.

  “You have to find a cure.”

  She frowned at him.

  “You’re a healer, Genevieve. So heal them.”

  She stared at him and he could see the flickering of understanding catch alight in her formerly beaten expression and then a flame of dawning erupt in her eyes. She leaped up.

  “Ravan, you said I have the power of coercement. Kilt, you said that too, right?”

  “You could change the thinking of a whole realm, a whole empire, is my understanding.” Ravan shrugged. “A world. This is a very dangerous magic.”

  “What if I wasn’t interested in a world? What if all I wanted to do was heal just a few people: cure them of their ills . . . of their dark magic?”

  He blinked at her.

  “Do it!” Kilt demanded. “Do it for all of us!”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Evie fled within. The Qirin was right; she had the power inside, she’d just had to find what the secret was. And it was not something buried or hidden . . . it had been the most obvious of all answers. She was a doctor, a curer of ills. And in the same way that her finely honed surgical skills could slice away at damaged tissue, her magical skills set to work at slicing away at the very fabric of the Valisars to release the poison they collectively held.

  She closed her eyes and went to work, reaching out not with her hands as she had done in her previous existence, but with her mind. And as she found each of them, each felt the touch of her immense power as it called to them, demanded they know her, forced them even against their will. Coerced them.

  One by one they turned toward her.

  Greven first. He turned to her with a look of gratitude, hoping she could tell that she should smite him magically, destroy him.

  Perl next. She looked up, haggard and shocked, from where her head had been dropped between her knees and looked longingly at Evie.

  Roddy turned with a big smile. He felt her presence so quickly and welcomed her so fast it felt like a ray of warmth through her.

  Kilt could see it happening to the others and turned with wonder, his eyes searching, his mind open, waiting anxiously to be called. When she reached for him he gave himself to her willingly, with soft eyes and a smile that reached those eyes and made her heart pound.

  She felt Loethar’s mind filled with mystification but her touch soothed him and he swung around to stare open-mouthed at Evie. His magic all but leaped at her touch; he honestly no longer wanted it.

  And now she called to Piven, who appeared confused. Greven was nodding at him, a look of wonder on his face. Piven turned, transfixed, and eyed Evie. You! Realization and understanding collided as he understood. She saw a terrible darkness in Piven but somewhere deep inside him she sensed the light might still shine.

  Leonel, she called. Come to me, my brother. But Leo resisted her, physically retreating as he wrestled his mind away from her touch, his mouth taut in a silent yell of anguish. You must not fight me. You cannot fight me. But still he struggled and in his struggle she saw the void . . . the chasm of darkness that his heart held. He would not yield willingly. Evie pressed, calling upon her vast power, lashing it around his mind like mental ropes, dragging him screaming toward her where she could look fully upon the hatred that he embodied. I am sad for you, Leo, she told him. But you must be cured. I will heal you.

  Gavriel, Jewd, Lily and Elka looked around at each other, baffled. It seemed all the Valisars and each aegis had focused their gazes on Genevieve. The strangers standing near Leo looked equally confused.

  Gavriel seized the moment of confusion. “Who the hell are you?” he demanded.

  “I am General Marth,” the older one said indignantly, “although I don’t expect you to—”

  “General Marth of Barronel?” Gavriel asked, shocked.

  “The same,” the elder said, stomping down the hillside. “And you are?”

  “Gavriel de Vis, sir.”

  “Regor’s boy?”

  “The same,” Gavriel echoed the general.

  “Well, well. What’s happening here, does anyone know?”

  “No, we’re as confused as you. But standing up there on the roof is another V
alisar, the Princess Genevieve.”

  “Princess?”

  “It’s a very long story, general.”

  “She survived?” the woman nearby said.

  “This is Reuth. Er, she’s with us,” Marth said, pointing to the top of the hill. “Those are the Vested, from the Barronel camp.”

  “Is that what it was?” Gavriel said, filled with dismay.

  “Long story, son. But Narine is dead, Reuth says.”

  “Was she the woman controlling the fire? I killed her,” said Elka, arriving. “Someone had to stop the massacre.”

  Marth nodded. “It had spun out of our control. We had agreed to stop it ourselves if the killing stretched to anyone outside of the army. Can’t say I mourn the Greens,” he said, looking around with disgust at the corpses of men and their horses.

  “Can they hear us?” Elka asked, moving toward Loethar, who appeared struck by some trick of mesmerization, staring with wonder at Genevieve.

  “Search me,” Gavriel said. “Nor do I care. I’m just grateful someone put an end to it.”

  “The princess is doing this?” Reuth wondered aloud.

  “I would say so. It seems she’s finally found her magic.”

  “Not before time,” Marth replied softly.

  Gavriel nodded. “Much too late for me,” he murmured.

  And one by one Evie began the healing process. With her surgical skill she began to strip away the aegis magic that bound each to his or her Valisar, cutting, as if with an invisible scalpel, at the strongly interwoven flesh-like bonds that magically roped each pair.

  Roddy and Loethar were first. She worked fast and with a determined focus. She knew people were talking around her but they sounded like they were coming from a long way away. Sound was muffled whereas her mind was sharp and in focus. Though no words were exchanged, no sound issued, she felt Roddy and Loethar’s support, sensed them both trying to pull apart. It hurt them, she knew, and she couldn’t help that but they bore the pain and she knew she could heal the wounds once those tight ligatures had been severed.

  It was working. Both were laughing in her mind even though she couldn’t describe it as a sound. It was color and radiance. It was warmth and love. And finally they spiritually fell apart. It was a loss for each, she sensed. But quickly she moved to stem the flood of pain, staunch the wounds with her healing balm, soothe the agony.

  She could see Gavriel and Lily rushing to the physical aid of Loethar and Roddy, who lay writhing on the ground, but she also knew there was nothing they could do. Not yet. First she healed Roddy of the palsy the Valisar magic had suppressed, pouring her magic into Roddy’s small body, making it whole again. She watched his aegis magic begin to shrivel, like water that splashes from a simmering pot onto heated iron and simply bubbles away, evaporating to nothing. And then there was no magic left in Roddy.

  Loethar’s magic did not exist of its own volition; it had no source other than an inbuilt knowledge that it belonged to a Valisar. It was easy to find that knowledge and she cut it free and consumed it, burning it away so that it no longer existed.

  She left Roddy and Loethar breathing fast and looking frightened but whole and cured.

  Perl was easy. The young woman couldn’t wait for Evie to cut away the aegis magic. The pain was immense but she pulled and fought, helping Evie tear through the fibers. Leo refused to assist. He waited, seemingly impotent, brooding and silent, giving nothing but hate back to her. Evie concentrated on Perl, gathering up her aegis magic and dissolving it, vanishing the markings on her head and allowing hair to sprout where before it had not been able to grow. Perl began to weep as she felt her prison melt away.

  Leo had no magic of his own. Not an iota. Evie cut the knowledge of the Valisars from his mind as she had Loethar’s. But unlike Loethar, who had welcomed the change, Leo was filled with hatred. She could not change that—it was the structure of who he was—but she could stymie that magic and she set to, weaving a cover over the receptacle that he had become, had opened himself up to being. He was angry. She could feel that. She couldn’t change someone’s feelings, or someone’s character; their personality was theirs. And Leo had harbored a terrible sense of victimization and rage for so long that it was now part of the fabric of his makeup. Time alone—and perhaps the people who loved him—would heal that. Once he could no longer channel power she let him go, mentally releasing him. She noticed, briefly, that only Gavriel de Vis went to his aid.

  Finally she turned to Greven and Piven. Greven was mentally begging her for release and he above all seemed to deserve it. She worked diligently and quickly, deftly cutting away bonds that had twisted and tied and re-tied themselves. These bonds felt stronger than the others had, more mature. She sighed in her mind, reminded herself that she had stood through long and tedious surgeries in the past . . . in a past life . . . and pressed on, unleashing the ties that bound poor Greven to Piven. Piven didn’t fight her. She had expected him to treat her as Leo had but there was something simple and accepting about the way he acknowledged her presence.

  Greven, like Perl, couldn’t wait to be free of his Valisar, risking the agony, tearing at his mind as he fought to shake off whatever still clung between him and Piven. And then he too was free, rolling away. She cured Greven’s dormant leprosy and then patched up a heart problem he had been carrying for a long time, perhaps his whole life. He would die of that heart problem but not yet . . . not for a long while yet. She could not give him back the hand he had lost but he looked so grateful to be freed from Piven she didn’t think he cared. The woman called Lily was at his side, weeping and holding him and Greven looked like a new man.

  Piven waited. She could feel his wonder; he was impressed by her. He was the first—the only—Valisar to express this and he waited patiently for her to heal him. She mentally stood back and looked at him. He showed no obvious signs of the pain he was bearing but she couldn’t get past the notion that what Piven most needed was light. He carried shadows that were gobbling up his own light and the more he tried to let it shine, the harder they worked to obliterate it.

  Evie gathered up her strength and courage for she sensed in those shadows was a cancer, a festering illness that consumed goodness. She’d heard about the Piven that Corbel and Gavriel had known. This Piven showed barely a trace of that character. But she sensed he existed; he could be found if only she could let the sun back into his mind. In a final push she dug deep into her well of power, found the sharp, blazing light that cut like one of her favorite laser scalpels and threshed the shadows, opening up slashes. The more they tried to regroup, the thinner and mistier they became. And Evie bent her will to it; her mind was strong, crusading with the power of healing until she had cut away the final ghosts of the dark in Piven’s mind and what remained felt like sunlight that reached to her heart.

  She let him go and watched him lower himself gently to the ground with a look of great amusement and joy. And to her surprise—the sort of surprise that reassured Evie that people were essentially good—she watched as Greven hauled himself to his shaking feet and walked toward Piven with his arms open.

  Evie turned wearily. Kilt looked back at her, his expression loving and open.

  She begged Cyrena if she was listening not to heal their love as she cut away the beautiful magic that bound them and released Kilt Faris from her thrall.

  Gavriel nodded to Jewd who had joined him in checking that Leo was recovering. Whatever the princess was doing, it seemed to be working. One by one, the Valisars and their companions had fallen away from each other, apparently released from the spells that bound them.

  All that mattered to Gavriel was getting his old friend back. As he’d approached Leo he had placed his bow on the ground. Leo looked helpless and confused.

  “Just be still,” Gavriel had suggested. “I don’t really know what’s happened but I think your sister is weaving some incredible new magic to override all the aegis magic.” He had smiled at Leo. “Welcome back.”

 
; Leo had grimaced. “She is healing it.”

  “What?”

  “Healing our magic. Curing us of our Valisar magical bonds.”

  “Lo be thanked,” Gavriel replied as Jewd arrived. “What took her so long?”

  “All right, Leo?” Jewd asked, but it was said dryly.

  Leo’s expression didn’t change. “All right? What does that mean, Jewd? I’m back to exactly where I was.”

  Jewd threw Gavriel a look of soft concern. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that. Come on. Let’s get you down into the convent. You’re quite weak. Everyone is.”

  Gavriel had looked across at Elka and found a grin for her. “Can you manage here, Jewd? I’ll check on Elka and Loethar.”

  “Sure,” the big man said. He helped Leo to his feet as Gavriel picked up his bow and the arrow he’d had previously nocked, and strode down the hillside to where Elka was helping Loethar walk back into the compound.

  “De Vis,” Loethar croaked. “How impressive is my niece?” he said, nodding toward Genevieve, who looked to be working on Kilt Faris.

  “Really impressive. She’s even unlinking herself from Kilt.”

  “Very wise,” Loethar said.

  As they turned to enter the gates, they heard Leo’s voice.

  “Loethar!”

  The three of them swung around. Leo was running toward them, brandishing a blade Gavriel recognized as Jewd’s. Loethar was unarmed; he simply let go of Elka and straightened, seemingly prepared to meet Leo head on.

  “You too, de Vis!” Leo roared.

  Gavriel was aware of Elka fumbling on the ground for a stone, but almost as though he could feel it happening at half the speed it should, all other sounds and images falling away, he saw only the bow that flashed up, nocked in an instant. He had a heartbeat to decide whether to wound or kill, and then he let fly with his arrow.

  Gasps and shrieks sounded around the killing field as Leonel was knocked off his feet as the arrow struck home . . . straight through his chest.