The Crown of Stones: Magic-Price

by C. L. Schneider

  “That wasn’t what I wanted. I didn’t mean for it to happen that way.”

  “Well you should have. Rella and Langor had been at each other’s throats for so long the only way to bring the dogs to heel was to slaughter them.”

  I shook my head at her flippancy. “Guess you’re not the sentimental sort.”

  “But I can see you are. It’s kind of cute, really. But,” she bent and brushed my lips with hers, “how about I take your mind off all this unpleasantness for a while? And in return,” slowly and meaningfully, she ground her body against mine, “you overlook that little bounty King Sarin placed on my head back in Kael.”

  “Which one?”

  “All of them.”

  “Am I supposed to forget about the family you murdered as well?”

  She flashed a wicked grinned. “Which one?”

  “I’m not bargaining with you, Taren.” Beneath the bog, I tightened my grip the sword. “You’re going back to Kael, one way or another.”

  “Come on, Troy,” she whined. “It’s a fair deal. It’s been a long, lonely three months with nothing between my legs but the back of a filthy horse. And don’t tell me you aren’t interested,” she snaked a hand down the front of me, “because I can feel otherwise.”

  “I’ll live. In fact, I’ll probably live a lot longer.” I moved my weapon toward the surface. “Now, use the knife, bitch. Or get off me.”

  Taren frowned. “Here I thought you’d be charming, being a war hero and all.”

  “I’m not a hero. I never was.”

  I expected another crude quip, which would be her last; my sword was ready, just below the top, watery layer of the marsh. But instead of more sarcasm or another bribe, Taren’s expression went strangely blank. Her voice took on an odd, husky, almost mannish tone, and she said, “It’s good you understand that. A magic user is far too selfish a creature to ever be a hero.”

  I watched her a moment. Her body was completely still. She wasn’t even blinking. “Taren?” She didn’t answer and a tingle of warning streaked across my shoulder blades. “Taren?”

  Abruptly, she flinched. The knife in her hand jumped against my throat, nicking my skin, but I barely noticed. I was too startled by the creepy way her eyes were rolling back in her head and the rapt, sightless stare she was training on me.

  With the same, weird voice, she said, “The stone. I’ll give you whatever you want for it.”

  Unnerved, I said, “It’s not for sale.”

  “You answer so quickly. Can’t we bargain?”

  “Sure. Here’s my counter offer.” I hoisted my sword up out of the bog and slammed the muddy hilt into the side of her head, so hard she went flying.

  THREE

  Taren hissed as I pressed a cloth against the gash on her head. “Damn it, Troy. Give me that.” Wrists bound, she yanked the rag out of my hand. She struggled to get up, but her ankles were tied too and the slippery mud was unforgiving. “I’m starting to dislike you,” Taren groaned, settling back down.

  “Feeling’s mutual.” I gestured at her wound. “Tighter. You’re getting blood on my rope.”

  She responded with a rude gesture. I ignored it and squatted down in front of her. Pushing a cascade of mud matted hair back from Taren’s eyes to make sure she could see mine, I said, “I need something from you.”

  “Really?” Taren bit her lip. “All you had to do was ask.”

  “Not that.” I sat back on my heels. Reaching into my shirt, I pulled out the shard of obsidian. “Tell me why you want this.”

  That abnormal, unwavering glare she had before resurfaced. “To fix the circle.”

  “What circle?”

  Almost like a song, she replied, “A beautiful circle buried in the sand, seamless and whole…until you found it.” Her expression tightened. Her voice followed. “The piece wasn’t yours to take, Troy. An ancient artifact, fashioned into the shape of a King’s circlet, containing a bottomless well of magic…the Crown of Stones is the most remarkable piece of Shinree history ever recovered. It is the most important. And you broke it.”

  My entire body stiffened. How can she know?

  I dropped my hand from the shard and stood up. Dozens of questions were spinning in my mind, but all I could get out was, “I didn’t break it.”

  Taren gave me a bored yawn. “A little over ten years ago you brought King Raynan Arcana the Crown of Stones, along with the body of his dead wife. He buried Aylagar. You hid the crown—not very well, I might add. But before that, he broke off a part and gave it to you. You put it around your neck and haven’t taken it off since.”

  Swallowing my unease, I said nothing for long while. I went from being shocked to thinking about denying it. To deciding there was no point. “You’re right. Everything you said is true. But there were only two people in the room that day and I’ve never spoken of it to anyone. Neither would he.”

  “Not willingly.”

  “Fuck you, Taren. You couldn’t get within spitting distance to Rella’s king.”

  She gave me a long, malevolent stare. “You can’t keep it. Though, I can see where you might imagine you have a right to it. Before you, the crown was nothing but legend. You made it famous. Or is that infamous?” she grinned. “But you have it backwards, Troy. It’s the crown that has a right to you. It staked its claim the day you wore it.” Inquisitively, her gaze wandered over me. “Odd, isn’t it? Shinree have been wearing stones without incident for centuries until your little episode with the crown.” Her eyes settled on their target and she asked coyly, “Did it hurt?”

  At first, I thought she was talking about the set of small scars concealed beneath the fall of hair across my forehead. Likely, in our tussle, Taren had seen them. But she wasn’t referring to the faintly colored impressions left behind where the crown touched my skin. She was speaking of a much more visible branding.

  On the left side of my head, no more than two finger widths wide, was a mark. By ordinary human standards, it was far from disfigurement. But I’m not ordinary. And magic doesn’t wound the same as a sword. It doesn’t mar the skin or inflict lingering pain. It simply left me with a bit of color where there should be none. A splash of inky darkness set against the light. It was a stain that, on anyone else, would likely go unnoticed. Yet, on one like me, a full-blooded Shinree (whose heredity demanded their hair lack all color) a band of pitch-black streaking through the white was stark and undeniable. It was blatant proof of the darkness in me. It was my punishment for taking in more power than I had a right to. And it was there forever, for all to see.

  “If you keep that piece of the crown out of some twisted homage to the lives you took—to her life,” Taren added loudly, “I think you can give it up now. Your precious Queen Aylagar has been warming Death’s bed for a long time. She doesn’t give a damn how many ways you bleed for her.”

  Rage roared out of my throat. “I could end you right now, Taren. One spell and I could end you!”

  “Then do it. Cast on me.” At the horror on my face, she smiled. “You know how good it would feel. The heat. The swell. The release. It’s been so long since you pulled it inside. One time won’t hurt. And I promise I won’t tell.”

  “You won’t tell because you’ll be dead. That’s how it works. I cast. People die.”

  Taren leaned forward. “Show me the violence in you. The power.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “I can hear your heart beating faster. See the heat building on your skin.”

  “Stop it.”

  “Need,” she gasped, her breath quickening, “it burns in your eyes, Shinree. It pounds in your head.” Taren’s mad gaze tightened. Her voice dropped an octave. “It twists in your stomach.”

  “Stop!” I shouted, because the more Taren spoke, the more my head began to hurt. Knots were forming deep in my gut and my nerves were pulsing, crawling like a mass moving under my skin.

  On nothing more than Taren’s words, the abrupt urge to channel magic was on me, stronger a
nd faster, than it had been in a very long time.

  I took a breath, trying to rein myself in.

  “Just look at you. Afraid to move, to think. Like the slightest thing might drop you over the edge.” A corner of Taren’s mouth lifted in amusement. “I know what kind of Shinree you are. Battle skills, soldiery, and all that comes with it, is the sole line of magic in your blood. You were born to do harm. So go on. Do it.”

  “I told you. I don’t use magic anymore.” But even saying it, I could feel something shift inside me. The ever-present thought of letting go, of releasing what I kept locked inside, was moving from the back of my mind, right up to the front.

  Temptation was stirring.

  One spell, I thought. Just one and she’d be dead. The months of chasing would be over. I could return to the city of Kael, collect my pay, and move on.

  Except…

  I’d be moving on as a magic user.

  The thought left me cold.

  I can’t. I’ve worked too hard to give in now.

  Swamp trailed off my legs as I stepped away from her. I wanted a moment to clear my head, yet as I put distance between us, my thirst for magic waned.

  A few more steps and it disappeared completely.

  Seeing my confusion, Taren let out a grunt. “There’s a reason your people are enslaved, Troy. A reason the Shinree have been kept drugged and stupid for the last five hundred years. Do you know what it is?”

  “We’re dangerous.”

  “You’re pathetic.”

  “You’re not looking so great yourself.”

  “Is that how you cope, with quips and jokes? By acting like channeling magic doesn’t get you hard?” Bits of the ground flew off the ends of her hair as Taren shook her head. “You can’t deceive me. I know what desire looks like. I’ve seen the faces of the Shinree healers when they cast, the pleasure that runs through them…the helpless need that brings the poor bastards to their knees.” Her eyes raked over me. “I want to see you that way, witch.”

  “Why? So you can kill me when I pass out after?”

  “There is that,” she said, with a knowing, provocative smile. “But I’ve always wanted to know what it was like to pull power into your veins, to command it…to let it fill you. It must be wonderful.”

  “It is.”

  “Then how can you possibly control it? Feeling the aura in a stone is inborn for a Shinree. Yet only you, Troy, seem capable of resisting its call. Why is that?”

  “I don’t know. I guess most aren’t willing to try.”

  “Most don’t have a choice.” When I didn’t reply, her head cocked to the side. “You aren’t troubled by that? You accept the slave laws that regulate your people?”

  “I accept that the alternative is too risky. Allowing my entire race to be free, to cast magic at will…countless would die every day to feed our spells.”

  “So, you think the Shinree should be condemned to live forever in captivity? Forced to serve, being bred and educated on the whims of their masters?”

  My voice sprung up. But I was more annoyed at myself for indulging her. “What the fuck do you want me to say, Taren?”

  “I want you to say that drugging them is wrong. That the Kayn’l elixir given to the slaves doesn’t just stop their magic, it numbs their senses. It steals their memory.”

  “Kayn’l takes away their ability to do harm, intentional or otherwise.”

  “It makes them mindless.”

  “What if it does? At least they’re incapable of the things I’ve done.”

  Taren froze. “You envy them. How interesting.”

  “It’s not envy exactly, it’s….” Unable to stop myself, the words just poured out. “I’m not like them, Taren. I wasn’t born in some labor camp. I wasn’t bred to sweep floors or plow fields. I was made as a weapon, a means for Rella’s King to protect his land. And because of a deal Raynan Arcana made with my mother, I’m locked on that course by a spell until the day I die. If Rella calls me to defend her, I go. I have no hope of living any other life. No choice but to do what I was made for. That’s the cost of my freedom, Taren. I know it. I live it. But some days…it’s just real hard to pay.”

  I walked away. Taren called after me, but I was done with her incessant questions. I was ankle-deep in swamp to do justice in the name of Kael’s king, not to waste ten years of abstinence on one, mouthy criminal.

  “I should have gagged her,” I mumbled.

  It was an offhand remark, but the idea stuck, and I found myself heading in the direction of my horse to find something to stuff in Taren’s mouth. It wasn’t far. Unfortunately, there were no straight lines in the swamp, and even less solid ground. As a result, what looked like a quick trek wasn’t.

  Hopping from one scattering of rock to another, clinging to patches of vine-choked trees, as I slogged through the endless gooey mire, I did my best to avoid the stagnant, winding streams that cut through the spongy ground like outstretched fingers.

  I wasn’t sure what kind of creature it was that called the coiling waterways home, but I’d seen their dark shapes darting below the cloudy surface. More importantly, I’d seen the regurgitated remains of their dinner on the banks and I wasn’t interested in adding my bones to the pile.

  At last reaching my dozing, brown mare, I ran a gentle hand over her back. “It’s all right, girl,” I said softly. “We’ll be leaving soon.”

  Kya opened her eyes. Her response was a curt blow of air through her nose and a head toss that was clear petulance. I didn’t mind the attitude though. Kya was one of the few constants in my life, and the only company I could tolerate for long. Even if too many years with me had made her moody.

  Picking clumps of mud from her mane, I yelled back at Taren. “Where did you leave your mount? If the poor beast is still alive, I’ll make sure he gets back to his owner. That was pretty low, by the way,” I added, “jumping a one-legged, old man.”

  Taren didn’t answer. After a minute or two, I glanced over my shoulder. I figured she was unconsciousness, or just sulking. I was wrong on both counts. Sloshing eagerly though a stream so deep it swallowed her thigh-high boots clear to the cuff; Taren was free of her ropes and coming toward me.

  “That was fast,” I said warily. “How’d you manage it?”

  Taren stopped. She raised her right hand, displaying a ring on her second finger. The stone was large and red. The gleam it was giving off was far too brilliant to be natural. “Magic?” I heaved a sigh. “So that’s how you stayed ahead of me all those months? That’s what’s been going on with your eyes and your voice?” I ran a hand over my face, nodding at what perfect sense it made. “There’s been a spell on me this whole time? Making me follow you, making me—”

  “Passive? Compliant? Chatty, even?” She nodded. “Now you get it.”

  My teeth ground in anger. My hand went to the sword at my hip. I came close to drawing the one at my back, but I wanted a hand free to wring her neck. “Who gave you the ring?”

  The stone she wore pulsed. Taren opened her mouth and worked her jaw back and forth a few times, as if she’d forgotten how to use it. When she spoke, a low, dark, decidedly masculine voice overrode hers. “I will see it now,” the voice said.

  Shit. I tightened my grip on the sword. “See what?”

  Swirls of red crept across the brown in Taren’s eyes. “I will see you on your knees.” Her ringed finger pointed at me and a wisp of something sharp crackled in the air.

  “Wait…” I said.

  Energy surged across the small space between us.

  “Taren—stop!” I cried.

  It smacked into me and I was suddenly on the ground, on all fours, with icy hot tendrils streaming out of the obsidian shard.

  They sunk down into me and I looked up at Taren. “What have you done?”

  FOUR

  “Well?” The man speaking through Taren Roe sounded pleased. “How does it feel to be free?”

  Vibrations filled my veins, painful and invigorati
ng. Energy stroked my nerves. I could barely answer. “Free…?” I shuddered.

  “Using shame to suppress your magic, shackling your body with grief…your condition, Troy, your sentence of slavery, is a purely self-inflicted one. And now, I’ve remedied that. I’ve broken your bonds and set you free.”

  “No, this can’t be.” My breath was ragged, my mouth dry. “I didn’t call to the stone. I didn’t pull it in.” Frantically, I dug my hands in the sludge, clenching my fists, trying in vain to stop shaking. “You’re not …Taren. You’re Shinree.”

  “Obviously.” Taren’s long legs lifted high up out of the water and she came closer. “It’s a little more challenging to be attacked by one of your own kind, isn’t it?”

  “Glamour spell,” I wheezed out. “You’re using glamour to wear her body.”

  “Close. But I’m not wearing it. I’m controlling it. Though controlling you is far more amusing.” Taren gestured with the ring again and a surge of throbbing heat sped through me.

  “Gods...” Wincing, struggling not to like it, I shook my head. “You can’t do this. You can’t make me cast.”

  “I’m pushing magic into you. Is it so hard to believe that I can pull it back out?”

  “Don’t. Please,” I begged. “You have to stop.”

  “I’ve found the perfect weapon to use against you, Troy. Why would I stop? Forcing you to channel magic when you have struggled to stay clean of it every day for ten years…it’s foolproof. It’s far more lasting than wounding you with a sword. And I need only strike once. One hit, one spell, is all I need to break you.”

  I pulled my hands in closer. Thick, black strings of mire clung to me as I pressed my palms down, gritted my teeth and forced myself up. “Why are you doing this?” I demanded. “I have no quarrel with any of our kind.”