The Dread: The Fallen Kings Cycle: Book Two

by Gail Z. Martin

  “Mine looks worse than it is,” Kolin said, his voice taut with pain. “I’ll heal.”

  “Your back is laid open to the ribs.”

  “I’ll heal. Take care of Aidane.”

  To Aidane’s surprise, the queen knelt beside Jonmarc, heedless of the growing pool of Aidane’s blood and Kolin’s ichor that spread across the floor. “She did this to protect us, Jonmarc. I saw it in her eyes before she fell.”

  “I know.” Jonmarc looked from Berry to the guards near the door. “Where is the healer?” His voice was angry, and his body spoke of frustrated motion, but in his eyes, Aidane read fear, and she knew just how well-founded that fear was.

  Aidane felt a growing coldness. She had stopped trying to staunch the flow of blood, and although Jonmarc pressed a cloth against the wound, blood was slowly coloring the cloth a bright red. Kolin’s cool hand gripped her own blood-soaked fingers.

  “Help’s coming, Aidane,” Kolin whispered. She couldn’t see the damage the guard’s sword had done to Kolin’s back, but she knew it must be substantial to cause the tightening she heard in his voice. He might have survived a strike that would have killed a mortal, but he was obviously in a great deal of pain because of it.

  “Get over here now!” Jonmarc barked as a green-robed figure swept into the room. The healer knelt next to her, and Aidane could see a worried expression on the face of the older man as he let his hand hover over her, using his healing magic to read her condition.

  “She’s losing blood fast,” he murmured. “I’ll need help—”

  “With the queen’s permission, we offer our services.” The voice was deep and rich, heavily accented in the consonant-heavy overtones of the Markian language. The hem of an ochre robe swirled into Aidane’s line of sight.

  “Please, do whatever you can,” Berry replied, and for once, Aidane thought that the queen sounded like the young girl that she was.

  A new face filled Aidane’s view, although the images were beginning to blur and Aidane felt as if she were spinning. The ebony-skinned man met Aidane’s eyes and fixed her with his gaze. He began to chant in a language she did not understand, but she caught one word: Daciana.

  Inside her own head, the yellow-robed ghost girl responded with a singsong chant. Aidane felt Daciana’s spirit fill her with warmth. Other ghosts were crowding close, drawn to the nearness of death, anxious to possess Aidane in her dying moments to own a living body once more, even if only for a few seconds. Aidane knew she was too weak to fight them off. Don’t let them take me, she murmured in her mind.

  I can’t hold them all off and hold onto you, Daciana’s spirit replied, but my companions can. Will you open yourself to us?

  Too weak to reply, Aidane dropped the last battered vestiges of her mental shielding, trusting Daciana’s companion spirits to reach her before the hungry interlopers.

  Aidane’s whole body bucked and began to shake as the spirits she had seen clustered around the Hojun priests slipped into her, filling her, leaving no space for the marauders who snarled and snapped in frustration.

  “You’re losing her!” Dimly, Aidane heard Kolin’s angry voice.

  Both of the Hojun priests were chanting now, and Aidane could hear the healer’s murmured words interspersed amid the chanting. She felt as if she were floating, and the shearing pain had dulled to an almost-bearable agony, though it felt distant, not really her own. The room around her was crowded, but inside her mind was crowded, too, and Aidane longed for the sweet peace of darkness that would make all the myriad voices be silent.

  She is not Eastmark-born.

  She is one of us in her gift. Can you not sense that?

  Her ways are strange to us.

  She reunites dead lovers, and you join body and flesh of supplicant and goddess. There’s nothing strange about it. Aidane recognized the heated voice as Daciana’s, and she was fairly sure that the other voice was of the old man’s spirit that she had glimpsed in the company of the Hojun.

  Not all blood likeness shows on the outside, old man. Look at me and my wolf. The sullen dark-haired spirit shifted into the image of a large, dark wolf. She is more like us than not.

  The rhythm of the Hojun chant changed, and it caught the attention of the wolf-spirit. Whatever the priests were saying also brought the stawar spirit to attention. It was a massive cat, lithe and heavily muscled, the ultimate predator. Aidane saw both the wolf and the stawar freeze as if hearing something she did not, and their spirit forms tensed as if their prey was in sight. The Hojun priests uttered one guttural word in unison, and both of the spirit animals sprang forward.

  At that same instant, Daciana released the shadowed remnant of the hollowed spirit that she had bound. The stawar and the wolf spirits sprang on it and Aidane felt the rush of their power surge through her, convulsing her body. Distantly, she heard a woman scream.

  The stawar and the wolf seized their prey, using their powerful claws and teeth to shred through the shrieking revenant. Its screams filled Aidane’s mind and issued from her mouth. Stawar and wolf were consuming the darkness, slashing it into dark ribbons and gulping it down, and Aidane felt the darkness tear loose, feeling as if fire flowed through her veins. Powerful hands gripped her shoulders as her body arched and writhed. Far away, she could hear arguing voices and the hum of a low chant.

  Suddenly, she was free. Her body collapsed, utterly spent. Darkness of another kind, sweet unconsciousness, rushed up to salve her wounds.

  You’re safe now. It was Daciana’s voice, and while the voice seemed close enough to have been whispered in her ear, Aidane knew that the spirit spoke within her mind. I promise you, we will leave you more gently than we entered, when we are sure that no more harm will come to you.

  Aidane awoke in a bed. She lay on her back with fresh, clean linens beneath her and covering her, and the sleeve she glimpsed was of a nightgown she did not own. I’m dead and they’ve prepared me for burial.

  The thought crossed her mind for a brief and frightening instant, and then Aidane realized that the fear caused her heart to pound in response. Not quite dead then…

  “You’re safe.” Kolin’s voice sounded nearby. Aidane opened her eyes gingerly, afraid that light would hurt. She found Kolin sitting on a chair that had been pulled near the bed, and she realized she was in her room. He gave a tired smile, but Aidane saw concern in his eyes. “That was close.”

  Aidane listened in her mind for the voices of Daciana and her companion spirits, but all was quiet. “They’re gone.”

  Kolin indicated the room around them. “Just barely. Those two Hojun priests insisted on following us when we carried you up here. Vittor, the healer, stayed with you for several candlemarks. What’s more is that the queen refused to leave your room until Vittor assured her that you would live.”

  “Does she know?” Her own voice sounded scratchy and faint. Kolin held a glass of water and gently helped her sit to take a sip.

  “Know what?”

  “That I meant her no harm. It was the spirit, the hollowed one…”

  Kolin nodded. “The Hojun priests confirmed that there was an evil spirit, and they said their spirit envoys had destroyed it. The queen knew that you turned the knife on yourself to save her.” There was a note of anger to his voice. “Dammit, Aidane! Why didn’t you signal me? I could have held you back without nearly killing you.”

  “I was afraid… that it might try to possess you… or Jonmarc, or the guards. I wanted to destroy it.”

  “By destroying yourself?”

  “If necessary.”

  Whatever reply Kolin intended to make was cut off when the door opened. Jonmarc entered, followed by Prince Gethin. Kolin’s eyes widened for an instant, and he drew back. “She’s only just awakened,” Kolin said with an edge of reproof.

  “Gethin insisted on coming, and neither of us wanted any sword-happy guards near Aidane, so here I am,” Jonmarc replied with a shrug.

  Gethin took a few steps to stand beside Aidane’s bed.
For a moment, he regarded her without speaking, and she could read nothing in his black eyes. “I came to thank you for your bravery,” Gethin said in accented Common. “You stopped an attack that was clearly meant for Berwyn or for me. Either way, I am in your debt.”

  “The Hojun…” Aidane began, but her voice trailed off, and she found that just breathing required an enormous amount of energy.

  “Along with the queen’s gifted healer, the Hojun and their spirits cast out the attacker and helped you heal.”

  “One of them… wasn’t sure about it. I’m glad he… changed his mind.”

  Gethin drew a breath before speaking, and a look of chagrin crossed his face. “For many years, my people kept many things to themselves, refusing to share them with the other kingdoms. We did not marry outside our own people, and we did not share our other… gifts. It led to great sorrows. My father decreed that all that should change. I’m here as part of that change. The Hojun shared with you something that has never been given to someone who was not of our blood.” The last four words were edged with such a thick distaste that Gethin seemed to spit them.

  “Thank you.”

  Gethin exchanged a glance with Kolin and Jonmarc. “I’m told that there are others like you, who share your talent, and that in Nargi, such a gift earns a death sentence. Jonmarc and Kolin told me that they’re part of a smuggling concern to bring valuable people out of Nargi into Dark Haven. I’ve committed ten thousand gold veneraj from my personal account to fund their efforts, provided that they also bring out any true serroquettes that they might find. I can guarantee safe passage and sanctuary in Eastmark for you, m’lady, should you choose to come, and to others of your gift.”

  “Thank you,” Aidane repeated, her voice a whisper.

  “She needs to rest.” Kolin’s voice was firm. He walked the two men to the door, and there was a hum of muted conversation before the door clicked shut and Kolin returned. “Seems you’re not only famous, but the queen considers you a national treasure. There are half a dozen guards outside your room, and Jonmarc’s asked me to stay on as your bodyguard, even though I didn’t do a very good job of it.” He looked down, and Aidane caught the bitterness in his voice.

  She managed to raise a hand to touch the place where his waistcoat and shirt were sliced open. The brocade and silk were dark with ichor. “Your side,” she whispered.

  “It’s healed.”

  “Show me.”

  Kolin hesitated, and then pulled away the remnants of his shirt. A pale line ran from his spine diagonally to his waist. “By tomorrow, it will be gone.” He managed a self-deprecating smile. “We heal quickly. It’s one of the few benefits of being dead.” He paused. “And I’ll spare you the effort of looking for your own scars. The healer and the Hojuns fixed you up just fine. Not a mark on you.”

  “I heard Jonmarc say… you were cut to the bone.”

  Kolin looked away. “That idiot guard came after you like he meant to cut you in two. I just got in his way, that’s all.”

  “He could have had your head.”

  Kolin met her eyes. “Better mine than yours.” Kolin leaned forward and kissed her on the lips, a lingering, gentle kiss. Aidane found herself returning the kiss willingly. Kolin let his fingertips stroke her cheek and gave a sad half smile at the unspoken questions in her eyes. “When you fell on that knife and I saw the blood, I thought I’d lost you. And I realized that I care about you… more than just as your bodyguard.”

  Aidane realized that Kolin actually seemed ill at ease. “I’ve existed long enough to learn that important things shouldn’t go unsaid,” he said quietly.

  Aidane paused, unsure of his meaning, and Kolin chuckled. “I don’t want you to be Elsbet. I don’t want you to be anyone but yourself. And I’m not looking for the services of a serroquette. I would like to be your suitor, if you’ll have me.”

  She reached out to take his hand. “I’d like that.”

  Kolin’s eyes registered a mixture of surprise and wonder. He touched the back of her hand to his lips. “I’m honored, m’lady,” he said, and Aidane realized that he used the term without a hint of irony.

  “It’ll be dawn soon, and since the parlor off this room has no windows, I’ll take my rest there,” Kolin said, falling back into his role as bodyguard. He gestured toward the far wall, and for the first time, Aidane realized that heavy tapestries covered the window in her room. “Just in case, we had the window covered. I don’t usually stir during the daytime, but I can if I need to, in an emergency, so long as there’s no sunlight. The guards will be outside the door day and night, and I’ll be close enough to hear if you need me, even when I’m resting.” He saw her move to speak, and he laid a finger across her lips.

  “Now, get some sleep.” His voice was light, but his fingers gently brushed the hair back from her forehead. For an instant, he looked at her and something flickered in his eyes, and then he was gone so quickly Aidane did not see him leave. Too tired to think further about anything, Aidane closed her eyes and found sleep waiting.

  Chapter Seven

  The Goat and Ram tavern was the kind of place anyone who wished for a long life was well-advised to avoid. Jonmarc pulled the collar of his great cloak up to shield his face and entered, standing for an instant in the doorway to take stock of the room with his hand near the pommel of his sword.

  The air smelled of ale and roasted goat. The tavern was about half full, with patrons playing cards or talking in hushed tones at the well-worn tables. Two hard-used trollops lounged at the bar in gowns that were several years out of fashion. Another strumpet sat near one of the men at the betting table. Conversation hushed for a moment as the patrons sized up the newcomer at the door.

  Jonmarc chose a table where he could sit with his back to the wall. A chair and a stool sat next to the table, and Jonmarc hooked the rungs of the stool with his boot, drawing it into position against the wall. Unlike the chair, the stool permitted him a clear reach for his sword.

  The innkeeper was a thin man with a face scarred by pox and fights. His angular nose had been broken and badly reset, and there was a notch out of one ear. As the man set a tankard of ale down, Jonmarc could see more scars on the man’s hands.

  “I’d advise you to drink your ale and be on your way.” The innkeeper’s voice was rough, suggesting that he was fond of tobacco and fonder of whiskey.

  “I’ve got business here,” Jonmarc replied.

  “Oh?”

  “I’m here to see Scian.” Jonmarc watched the innkeeper’s face for a reaction but saw no flicker of emotion.

  “That so? And why should Scian see you?”

  “Because an old War Dog sent me.” Although Jonmarc’s voice was low, he knew that, despite their effort to appear otherwise, the conversation was being appraised by the other denizens of the tavern, one of whom was likely to be Scian.

  “I’ll handle this one, Ved.” A figure emerged from the shadows of the kitchen passage. Jonmarc saw the silhouette first. High boots, slim-cut trousers, with a serious sword in a fighter’s scabbard that slung low across the waist. Broadcloth shirt, narrow shoulders, and sleeves wide enough for Jonmarc to be certain they hid a variety of knives.

  Obediently, Ved left the ale and returned to the bar. A rough voice just above a whisper spoke from the shadows. “Well, well. The new queen doesn’t waste time. I thought she might send a messenger, but what should I make of this?”

  “Scian?”

  “Among other names.” The shadowed figure shifted, revealing a lean woman with chiseled features that spoke of mixed blood. Margolan and Trevath, Jonmarc guessed. She leaned against the wall alongside Jonmarc, poised to see anyone who rose from their seats or entered from either the outside or the kitchen. “You don’t seem surprised.”

  Jonmarc shrugged. “By the fact that the head of the Assassin’s Guild is a woman? I’ll be the first to acknowledge that women are more dangerous than men. I don’t doubt you’re good at your job, or I wouldn’t have come.
”

  “How do you know Valjan?”

  “We were War Dogs together, long ago. He was my commander.”

  “Before you were betrayed and left for dead. I know who you are, Jonmarc Vahanian.”

  “So do we talk business, or do I drink my ale and go home?”

  Scian’s thin lips quirked upward into something that was almost a smile. “Follow me.”

  Scian led him into a private room and closed the door. She motioned for him to take a seat at a table near the fire. The room had just four tables, enough chairs for each table, and its own fireplace, which held a freshly fed fire. Jonmarc found a chair with a good view of the door, careful to make sure he had easy access to his sword.

  “So what is the Queen’s Champion doing on this side of town?”

  “Business.”

  Scian raised an eyebrow. “And that business would be?”

  “I want to know how your ghost blades are faring these days.”

  All amusement disappeared from Scian’s face and her lips pressed tightly together. “And just how are you so well informed?”

  “Because I’ve got as many friends in low places as you do.” Jonmarc did not bother to hide his annoyance. “Stop playing games. I came with a warning.”

  “And that would be?”

  “That whoever this Buka is, he—or she—has the nasty trick of hollowing the spirits of the victims. I think someone is using those hollowed spirits to attack anyone who can channel ghosts, like a serroquette—and a ghost blade.”

  Scian nodded solemnly. “Unfortunately, your warning comes too late. Within the last few days, two of our ghost blades killed themselves. It wasn’t in their nature to do something like that, so we suspected dark magic, but couldn’t prove it. Then one of our blades went mad and attacked several of his comrades. Two were killed. The others had no choice except to defend themselves, and the ghost blade was killed.”

  Scian leaned forward. “The men who were there said that as the ghost blade lay dying, his whole body began to shake and they saw a shadow leave him. The room grew cold and their breath misted. Once the shadow passed, the ghost blade was back in his right mind, but before they could call a healer, he died.”