Behold my glorious triumph!
Suddenly, another voice joined Celwen’s inner monologue.
Celwen, the masculine presence said. It’s Teg.
Teg? Celwen sat bolt upright. Are you alright? How are you talking to me?
Through a certain red-headed nexist, Teg explained. And I’m fine, thanks in part to you.
I am glad you are well, said Celwen. The last few days could have gone worse for me. Then again, things could be better.
Funny you should say that. I’m in a bit of a bind myself, and I was wondering if you could lend a hand.
Sure, Celwen said. What kind of a bind are you in?
I’m gonna sneak onto Cadrys and steal some stuff.
Teg’s pronouncement made Celwen’s breath catch in her throat. Cadrys is Shaiel’s greatest Middle Stratum stronghold! The sphere is guarded by a fleet of recommissioned Guild vessels and a fanatical army of Lawbringers. Evil that has never been human oversees the House of Law.
That’s why I need you to create a diversion, said Teg. I’ll be in the Desolation six days from now. You have till then to get the navy and the Lawbringers looking the other way.
Celwen paused to let the enormity of Teg’s request sink in. The scope of the betrayal terrified her, but the challenge beckoned.
I have an idea, she said. There are no guarantees, but the kind of diversion you need should be feasible.
That’s what I like to hear, said Teg. Celwen could almost see his roguish grin.
Celwen snatched up her jacket and headed for the exit hatch at a brisk stride. Gien had been sequestered by Lykaon’s bestial lieutenants, but there were ways to get to anyone.
The path that Astlin had been told to climb ended in a steep flight of stairs carved into a rocky lesser summit of Seele. She paused on the first step to take in the dizzying view. The bare red-brown stone gave way to sheer green hillsides far below, while thick mists wreathed the upper slopes, hiding the main peak from sight.
Anris told me to meet him here in an hour, Astlin thought, remembering the captain’s instructions to her after their meeting with Teg, Jaren, and Avalon’s royal family. Unable to visualize herself into a place she’d never seen, she’d taken a few wrong turns in the woods. Now she hoped her hour wasn’t up. It didn’t seem smart to keep a malakh waiting.
The spectacle that greeted Astlin at the top of the stairs put the lower slopes’ grandeur to shame. She stood upon a stone platform no wider than the stairway itself that was one segment of a broken rock rim. Other sections rose to her left and right like jagged horns crowning the head of some colossal beast.
In front of Astlin, another set of stairs plunged into a depression shaped like a shattered bowl. More stairways descended from some of the surrounding rim sections, while narrow platforms ending in vertical cliffs capped other segments.
The center of the depression was a solid circle sixty feet across whose smooth white stone matched the platforms above. Five sets of stairs, including the one before Astlin, rose from the circle to the rim. Past the circle’s edge, and between the cliffs that formed the sides of each stairway, yawned a fog-shrouded abyss.
Men’s voices echoed among the rocks. Astlin looked down and saw that they belonged to Anris and Teg, who sat at the feet of adjoining stairways, carrying on a lively conversation.
“…just about tripped over the cords,” Teg said to Anris. “They’re holding the door open. I look in and see her asleep in his bed while he’s passed out on the floor.”
Anris’ light brown eyes widened. Then he threw back his lavender head and laughed so loudly that Astlin feared a rockslide.
“It is good to know that my queen’s daughter conceived her son out of love,” Anris said.
Teg scratched his goateed chin. “That’s not what I took away from that scene, but you’re a lot less cynical than me.”
“Should you two really be discussing that?” Astlin called down to them.
Anris looked up at her and smiled. “The Zadokim is right. It is a poor thing to gossip about one’s friends; especially those who can no longer defend their honor.”
“The Magists called me a Zadokim,” said Astlin. “What does it mean?”
“Ancient legends tell of those who stand before the gods on behalf of men,” Anris explained. “They are set apart to make the final choice for good or evil. Those who choose for good are called the Righteous—Zadokim in Nesshin. You interceded for all before Zadok, so the title is doubly apt. Now, My Lady, please join us.”
Astlin’s palms prickled as she faced the sheer descent, but she put aside her fear and soon stood within the stone circle. A not unpleasant odor of sweat lingered on the cool air.
Both men rose to meet her. “We’ve been waiting for a while,” said Teg. “Did you get lost?”
Embarrassment warmed Astlin’s face, but thankfully Anris changed the subject.
“Her Majesty commands that I prepare both of you for the battles ahead. Your recent deeds against the enemy leave no doubts of your strength in mind and spirit. However, force of arms will also be needed to defeat our common foe.”
Anris gave the impression of an agile predator from arid grasslands as he moved from Teg’s side to stand over Astlin.
“I have already sparred with Mr. Cross,” the malakh said. “He shows superior ability for a human his age. There is yet hope of making him equal to his chosen task.”
For the first time, Astlin noticed the darker swathes of fabric around the neck of Teg’s grey shirt and the sweat that plastered his hair to his forehead. Anris showed no signs of exertion. The contrast made her vaguely nervous.
Anris continued. “I have never faced a Zadokim in battle. Forgive my discourtesy in saying that the prospect intrigues me.”
This guy is the head of Nakvin’s army, thought Astlin. Before that he was a Guardian of Almeth Elocine, and he was an angel of war before that. Racking her brain for a way to gauge Anris’ strength without betraying her unease, Astlin found a likely benchmark.
“My husband was good friends with a malakh from Avalon,” said Astlin. “Did you know Nahel?”
A grim look came over Anris’ face. “That one’s name is held in high honor. He was my…what is the human term?”
“Lieutenant?” suggested Teg.
“Friend?” offered Astlin.
Anris’ eyes gleamed with sudden remembrance. “Pet!”
Astlin felt as if the rock under her feet had turned to mud. “Nahel was your pet?”
Anris frowned. “Is that what you folk call your hunting hounds? Nahel served me in a similar capacity. But you must understand that each malakh differs from another as greatly as two mortal species differ from each other. Our relationships are difficult to describe.”
“I think I’ve got the idea,” Astlin said, forcing a smile. “You know I killed Hazeroth and Shaiel’s Will, right? Can’t we call that good enough?”
“Lykaon, Shaiel’s captain, is greater than Hazeroth,” Anris said. “As for the Will of Shaiel, a kost is not so easily killed. His soul flees to a specially prepared vessel if his body is slain, and he may return in other forms unless his vas is destroyed.”
“You tangled with a kost and won?” Teg raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips in a silent whistle.
“Actually,” said Astlin, her voice somber, “there were two. I got one. The other got me.” She turned back to Anris and said, “If it’ll improve my track record, then let’s get started. What do you need from me?”
“What is your preferred weapon?” Anris asked.
Her lack of a ready answer frustrated Astlin. She cast about for a better response than superheated metal hands or other people’s minds.
A tall rack standing between two stairways on Astlin’s right caught her eye. Several hand weapons hung there, including a steel-tipped wooden spear.
Just like Xander used to carry.
“Let me see that spear,” Astlin said.
Anris strode over to the rack and picked
up the spear, which looked like a showman’s cane in his massive hand. He walked to the center of the circle and tossed the weapon to Astlin. She easily caught its light slender shaft.
“Show me the ways of battle you have learned,” said Anris, beckoning to her with his hand.
“What about your weapon?” she asked.
Anris patted the sickle-sword at his hip. “My steel shall meet yours if need be. First, see to yourself, and strike.”
Astlin still disliked the thought of fighting Anris, but she needed his training for Xander’s sake. She charged the malakh and swung at his side. The spear hummed as it cut the air, but Anris’ leather-wrapped forearm intercepted the shaft with a tremor that jarred Astlin’s shoulder.
“I could barely follow that,” Teg said from the sidelines His awe should have encouraged Astlin, but the ease with which Anris had blocked her attack left her frozen with indecision.
The spear still rested against Anris’ upraised arm. His face was unreadable as he said, “Your strength and swiftness far surpass those of normal humans, but these alone will not ensure victory.”
Anris turned his wrist faster than Astlin could pull the spear away. He plucked the weapon from her grasp and swung it in a blurring arc that barely missed her head as she fell to her knees.
“If your opponent gains control of your weapon, he gains control of the battle,” Anris warned. “Never open yourself to such a grave disadvantage.”
That wouldn’t be a problem if I could make a spear like Xander can.
Astlin recalled Xander’s explanation of how he commanded the prana and elements around him to become a weapon. She concentrated on the stone beneath her feet, the mist and the air, the fire in the daylight beating down on her, and the prana coursing through everything. Then she willed them into the shape of a spear.
Pins and needles played across Astlin’s palm. A hazy line extended from either side of her closed fist. Feeling her concentration slip, she partially uncovered her light. The ghostly spear solidified in the sapphire glow, becoming more and more substantial until Astlin could feel the wood grain in her hand. She stood, raising her new weapon in triumph.
The spear exploded. Wood fragments flew across the arena, sending Anris and Teg diving for cover.
Anris climbed to his feet. “Now there is a wonder.”
“There is an eye hazard,” said Teg, dusting himself off.
Astlin didn’t try to hide her near-panic. “Are you guys okay!?”
“I’m fine,” said Teg. “Your hand looks like a toothpick factory accident.”
Only then did Astlin notice the throbbing pain in her right hand. Closer inspection proved Teg right. Several wooden splinters had embedded themselves in her bloody palm and fingers. Focusing enough to fix her hand took a long moment.
“I heard shouting. Is Anris playing too rough?”
Astlin recognized the musical feminine voice before she turned and saw Nakvin descending the stairs. The queen carried a slim box of lacquered wood in both hands.
“A little,” said Teg, “but she got the worst of it.”
“Sounds like it’s time for a break.” Nakvin turned to Astlin and said, “You need to lighten up.”
Astlin hung her head with a heavy sigh.
“You’re gonna make us ask what’s in the box,” said Teg, “aren’t you?”
Nakvin marched up to Teg and thrust the case against his chest. “See for yourself.”
Teg carefully took the box and spent a moment looking it over. “Walnut,” he said approvingly.
“Just open it!” said Nakvin, rolling her eyes. “I promise it won’t explode.”
“That’ll be nice for a change,” Teg said as he popped the latch.
“Sorry,” Astlin muttered under her breath.
Teg stared into the box at length, the open lid hiding his expression.
“Why don’t you show the rest of us?” Nakvin suggested with a satisfied smile.
Anris held the case as Teg lifted a gleaming pistol from its black velvet lining. Astlin saw that a matching piece still lay inside. She didn’t know much about guns, but she recognized the white metal in which Teg’s hands cast blurry purple reflections.
“Are these what I think they are?” Teg asked.
Nakvin rested her hands on her white-robed hips. “Fifty caliber Worked pneumatic pistols—forged from ether metal.”
Astlin had seen Teg fight a swarm of his dead neighbors and face down Shaiel’s Blade, but she’d never seen him this surprised.
“You made zephyrs out of ether metal?” he said.
“No,” Nakvin corrected him. “Zephyrs are Worked, but their ammo isn’t. These not only have air elementals bound to them, they have direct lines to the White Well—tiny versions of the kind that fuel ether-runner engines. Pulling the trigger charges each round with prana as it’s fired—a deadly little surprise for targets that normally shrug off bullets.”
“You’re a genius,” said Teg.
“With the paperwork to prove it,” Nakvin said, “but the automatic ammo charging was Elena’s idea. In fact, she put in the prana lines herself. That time you spent with her in the Exodus’ armory paid off.”
“She’s getting a new shrine for this.” Teg gently laid the pistol back in its case and closed the lid. “No—a temple.”
“I did add a few finishing touches,” said Nakvin, “improved noise and recoil reduction, mostly. Emptying a mag sounds like popping bubble wrap.”
Teg carefully; lovingly tucked the case under his arm while steadying it with both hands.
“I won’t hug you,” he said to Nakvin, “but I really want to.”
Nakvin folded her arms. “You’re welcome. Just make sure to kill enough of Vaun’s lackeys to make it worth my while.”
Teg rushed past Nakvin like a kid hurrying home to play with a new toy. “If anybody needs me, I’ll be at the range for the next six months,” he called back down the stairs.
Nakvin turned to Astlin. “How do you like working with Anris?” asked the queen.
“It’s really testing my limits,” Astlin said sheepishly.
“That is the only way they are known,” said Anris, “and perhaps overcome. If I may say so, Your Majesty, the Zadokim’s potential befits her exalted station.”
“Vaun will do whatever it takes to get what he wants out of Xander,” Nakvin said. “Will she be ready when he gets here?”
Imagining the torment that Xander must be suffering at Shaiel’s hands kindled Astlin’s resolve. “I will,” she promised.
“Good,” said Nakvin. “Because you might have to kill him.”
31
Finding Gien was simple for a clairsentient like Celwen. Getting him alone was another matter.
Still, arranging a private conversation with Gien was a technical problem with a technical solution.
Celwen’s father had often told her stories of his days fighting the Guild in the Gen Resistance. More than one of those tales had mentioned the communications abilities of guildsmen’s robes.
Sneaking onto Gien’s commandeered ether-runner proved far easier than infiltrating his quarters. Using the ship’s sending to transmit a message to his robe depended on more than a little luck—and the assumption that Magists’ robes were Worked like Steersmen’s.
Largely due to their blood-soaked history with the Guild, the Night Gen relied on nexism more than Workings. That was no guarantee against detection—especially with Shaiel’s minions aboard—so Celwen sent only a short message imploring Gien to meet her in secret.
Her mutinous deed done, Celwen sat back in the comm station chair. A deep breath she didn’t remember taking forced its way out of her lungs.
The rest is up to Gien.
The irony of trusting her people’s fate to the man who’d tortured her father wasn’t lost on Celwen. But to be honest with herself, she’d come to appreciate the symmetry.
With each step along the graceful bridge leading from the palace to the landing pad,
Astlin recounted one day of grueling preparation for this one. She’d spent every hour of the past six months longing for Xander. Now, as she marched out of the sweet-smelling trees and onto the paved hilltop that would be the site of his return, she found herself dreading it.
Anris, Nakvin, and Elena walked before her, with Teg following behind. The queen had dismissed her guards, who would have been in greater danger than anyone under their protection.
The sky was overcast, and the birds that normally filled Seele’s woods with song were strangely silent. But as the group neared the band of grass encircling the stone landing pad, Astlin noticed a low roar. She mistook it for the stream rushing under the bridge at first, but soon she realized that the deep rumbling was coming from in front of her.
“What’s that noise?” asked Astlin.
Anris extended his arm toward the low wall at the platform’s edge. “See for yourself,” he said with a smile.
Astlin cautiously approached the retaining wall and stared, awestruck, at what she saw below. Thousands of men—tens of thousands—stood on the field at the hill’s foot, arranged in tight rectangular formations. Their green, gold, and brown uniforms made Astlin think of fall leaves on grass. The deep roar was the army chanting with one voice.
“Are they praying?” she asked.
“They renew their oaths to family, tribe, queen, and country,” said Anris.
Astlin felt new respect for the Light Gen army, but also deep sadness. “Those things won’t help the ones who die.”
“Those who live in hell may despair of a life beyond it,” Anris said.
Teg stepped up to Astlin’s right and leaned over the wall. “I used to be just like those guys down there,” he said. “I even died in hell, but that didn’t change anything.”
“What did?” she asked him.
Teg fixed his eyes on Astlin. “You.”
“Me?”
“No lie,” said Teg. “These last few years gave me lots of time to think. The old gods conned everybody and walked out on the world. The Guild ran it into the ground. Now Shaiel’s picking up where the Guild left off while Zadok plays watchmaker.”
The Secret Kings Page 27
