A Wizard's Sacrifice

by Amanda Justice

  His horse screamed; Samovael’s shied backward into the circle of aides and officers.

  Meylnara, astride a minion, emerged from the forest. “Give me the One and leave, or stay and starve.”

  Chewing her bit, eyes rolling, Thabean’s mare spun. He flew out of the saddle and set a charge sizzling around Meylnara. Samovael launched a pike at her mount. The beast twisted aside, and the rogue wizard returned fire. Thabean dodged a glowing beam, wrenched a boulder out of the earth and flung it at the minion. The monster crumpled, but a dozen more swept out of the trees and Meylnara disappeared inside a writhing chitinous ball.

  Soldiers fell upon the mass, jabbing pikes into clefts between mandibles and wing covers. Shafts snapped. Shrieking troopers were yanked into the knot; their mangled corpses spit out. The rolling congregation smashed into a cart. Thabean hurled spears, Samovael rocks. A fireball exploded against Thabean’s shield; embers rained.

  Fire, he thought and threw his waveform at a nearby tree, inciting its atoms to vibrate so violently it burst into flame. Meylnara shrieked, and lightning struck him, demolishing his shield and frying his nerves. He crashed into the underbrush, reeling. Samovael ripped open a tarp and hurled a load of obsidian at the Kragnashians. Keening, they broke apart, but Meylnara dodged the painting wizard’s fireball and smacked him to the earth with a blue claw.

  Shaking his head clear, Thabean marshaled his Woern and created a vacuum around the rogue. Her mouth stretched, the scream silent, but her creatures enveloped her and cut off his attack. One loomed over him and snapped its mandibles round his neck. Razor edges pierced sinews, and it took all his power to keep the pinchers from snapping together.

  The creature was yanked back, and a Kragnashian smashed it to the ground as more of the creatures flooded over the ball surrounding Meylnara. The newcomer bent its head to Thabean, and he swallowed revulsion as antennae tapped his forehead. Gratitude and pride flooded him. He’d felt the same sensation from the creature that had killed Dealn and again from the Caldera tribe’s leader. The first time, the feelings had frightened and baffled him. Now he understood what they wanted, and fury drove him to his feet. “I will not die for you!”

  Screaming, Meylnara flew out of the shredded remains of her guard and hurtled away through the canopy. Samovael shot after her, and the Caldera tribe melted back into the woods.

  “Should we follow them, sir?” a captain asked.

  Blood wept from a gash on the man’s shoulder; more troopers sprawled on the track or leaned, panting, on pikes. “No. We’ll tend our wounded and bury our dead. Send that message back to camp, and tell them to hurry.”

  * * *

  Fire crackling between them, Samovael rubbed the back of his neck. “Shrine, but I could do with a good fuck.” On the canvas at his feet, black lines swirled into two figures fornicating.

  Thabean’s ale wet a smile. “Dealn always said that after a fight.”

  “Dealn always did that after a fight. Fuck, but I miss fucking. I miss saying ‘fuck.’ The Council is too bloody formal.”

  Thabean shrugged. “Most of us were trained as barristers and bureaucrats; you and Victoria are the only soldiers.”

  “You’re warrior enough, my friend. And Victoria isn’t on the Council, however fine we treat her. Why do we treat her so well? I like her, but she’s an outlaw worse than Meylnara, with that whelp growing in her.”

  “Saelbeneth thinks she’s the only one of us able to kill Meylnara. Some nonsense the Caleisbahnin have fed her.”

  “I gave it a good shot today; I’m sorry I lost her.”

  A log cracked, and embers settled as smoke swirled and drifted toward the stars. Samovael topped off Thabean’s mug, then refilled his own. “What happened today?” His canvas displayed the Kragnashian tapping Thabean’s forehead.

  Thabean flicked a stone into the fire. “We were wrong about them; they are not dumb brutes, and they do not all belong to Meylnara. The attack after Dealn’s funeral was a distraction so the creatures could kidnap Lady Bethniel. Victoria and I followed them to another lair where they released Bethniel and named themselves our allies.” He waved at the supply train. “Today they demonstrated their allegiance. You and I would be dead but for them.”

  “And what price did they demand? I heard what you said.”

  A shudder seized his spine as he recalled the Kragnashian’s appalling gratitude. When they had called him the Sacrifice, Bethniel’s tears had rent his heart more than the news of his death.

  Her face appeared on the canvas.

  “Are you a Listener, sir?”

  “I’m not, but I can see that you pine for this woman. I figured it’s why you joined this mission.”

  Thabean scowled. “Saelbeneth ordered me here, but a separation is for the best.”

  Samovael swigged his ale. “What did the beasts want in return?”

  He expelled a long breath. “My life.” He told Samovael about Meylnara, the forest, and the Kragnashians’ desire he take the trees’ place.

  “Elesendar, man! Why would you agree?”

  He nodded at Bethniel’s portrait. “So they would let her go. We must find a way to move Meylnara’s lifeforce into another vessel so she can be killed.”

  “We can simply kill the trees!”

  “Saelbeneth will not countenance that. She worships the Kia.”

  “And what about your lady love? Does she want you to step onto the pyre?”

  He laughed bitterly. “No, she does not.” She was his lady love, and he would die for her, but only to make her safe.

  Gambits Revealed

  The air passed like a fevered breath through open doors and windows. By the calendar, autumn had begun, but sweat-darkened clothing and rank odors stuffed the crowded throne room. Geram used Drak’s sight to watch as Senators, Ministers, and Guildleaders waved fans and flared nostrils.

  For the Commissar’s visit, the throne had been moved against the wall so the Device was in front rather than behind it and Parnden would materialize with Elekia facing him. Her fingers tapped the armrest of her throne. Timny stood to her right, damp curls plastering his forehead. Geram stood on her left. In Drak’s vision, he maintained a stern composure, but as her scent entered and left his lungs, his hands ached for the weight of her braids and silk of her skin. He had not touched her since the night she met with the Center.

  “Majesty,” Silnauer bowed. “While we await the Commissar’s arrival, I would like to address an ecclesiastical matter. Are you aware Prince Ashel has been delivering unsanctioned sermons in Betheljin?”

  Elekia’s gaze bored into the Harmony, and sweat dribbled down the sides of Silnauer’s face. “That person has forsaken this nation and no longer holds the title prince. What he does outside this realm is not Our concern,” Elekia said.

  “He was never granted his Loremasters, Majesty, and his preachings are outside the canon.”

  “Then be glad he is far from here and unlikely to infect your flock with heresies.”

  “All humanity is my flock, Majesty. And did he not arrange this meeting? I think his actions are still relevant to Latha.”

  “This reception and my meeting with the Commissar have been arranged over many weeks of diplomatic negotiations, Harmony. Nearly our entire diplomatic corps, the Commissar’s, and the Relman Council were involved in the arrangements.”

  Geram bit the inside of his cheek in anticipation of seeing Earnk. Ashel may have forgiven the new Relmlord, but his own hatred still burned hot and fierce.

  Elekia’s eyebrow arched as the air shimmered above the Device. “It seems our distinguished guests arrive at last.”

  Senators, Ministers, and Guildleaders mopped foreheads and brushed garments as two figures percolated into the room, coalescing into shapes three times a man’s height. Shouts careened, and courtiers scrambled backward as a Kragnashian warrior spun toward the throne. Geram yanked Elekia up and shoved her away from the clacking mandibles, pu
tting himself between her and Timny as the pair scurried from the dais.

  “Get Ruler and Heir to safety,” Olivet shouted.

  “No, take Timnon and Cimba,” Elekia ordered. Her arm twined through Geram’s. “Lieutenant, stay with me and use my sight.”

  Steel-tipped spears lowered, Drak rushed forward with a dozen guards as a second pair of Kragnashian warriors appeared on the dais. Courtiers jammed the exterior door, some clambering out the open windows. Gaston hustled the royal cousins into the Manor. The inner doors slammed shut and the interior bar banged into place.

  A stole-draped Kragnashian and another warrior flowed out of the depression surrounding the Device.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Elekia clapped.

  The stoled Kragnashian’s antennae twitched, its chitinous features implacable. It was not the Center she had met in the eastern Kiareinoll. “The People assume control of this Device and all others in your world, as was ordained by the Treaty of the First.”

  “Protect the Ruler.” Olivet thrust a pike into Geram’s grasp.

  They edged back as another pair of Kragnashians appeared, followed by Parnden wearing a vicious grin.

  “Elekia, my dear, who’d have thought when we were students together that there’d come a day we would face each other as sovereigns?”

  “Parnden, this is an inexcusable breach of protocol. Who are these Kragnashians, and where is the Relmlord?”

  “Alas, your nephew has his own troubles to manage right now. I merely wanted to stop by—just for a moment—and express my joy at how often we’ll see one another, now that Ashel has claimed his Betheljin birthright. I’ve already promised your son, and I’m formally advising you, that I will deliver Lornk Korng back into your hands so you can put him under the Shrine, or whatever you like. I also wanted to personally inform you that I’ve made alliance with these good People. Goodbye, my dear.”

  Parnden stepped into the bowl and disappeared.

  Trilling, Kragnashians charged, knocking aside the guards. Elekia dashed toward the exterior doors, Geram close behind and using her sight. A Kragnashian flowed across their path, mandibles snapping.

  “Run!” Geram rammed his pike toward the chittering creature. The pike shuddered as the steel blade crunched into the thorax, the sound like a bug crushed underfoot. An acrid tang sliced the blooming spring scent, and Geram ducked. Something hissed past his ear. A splatter heralded a mortal scream behind him.

  All that mattered was getting Elekia to safety. His feet wove through sound and scent, his vision swinging from one to another guard’s like handlebars in the training yard. His pike jabbed and whirled, batting, slicing, plunging through armor and flesh, surrounded by thumps and grunts, clicks and burrs and shrieks.

  “She’s away!” Olivet cried. “Retreat. Geram, in front of you.”

  Geram ducked a whooshing mandible, leapt upon a sweeping tail and scrambled past slicing wing covers, climbed up the thorax and plunged his pike into a chitinous head. The creature collapsed, and he rolled across the floor toward the heat and shouts wafting through the garden doors.

  “To the stables!”

  Scrambling to his feet, Geram chased the gravel crunch of fleeing boots.

  * * *

  The last note of his hymn faded away, and Ashel settled cross-legged next to the cerrenil. Wineyll reclined on the grass, her fingers absently fingering the keys of her flute. Scanning the crowd, he sent another prayer to Elesendar for guidance. In the months since Demsch had confronted him at the theater, Citizens stopped him on street corners or cornered him at parties, expressing their outrage or sympathy, depending on whether they thought he was Parnden’s ally or victim. Ashel kept his answers carefully neutral during these encounters, but here, next to the old mother, every word was heavy with multiple meanings.

  And all for a man I despise.

  He looked at the dirty faces and stained clothing of the Buzzards, who had claimed the places nearest him. The young prostitute who had shown him to Emily’s was in the second row, lank hair hanging over closed eyes. Michael, Mary, and Fred came nearly every day, and so did Samson, though the inventor always sat apart from the other Oreseekers. They professed to be heretics, but the loss lining Samson’s forehead mirrored Ashel’s. They’re not here for scripture, Ashel reminded himself, but rather for the coded messages embedded in his sermons. As the miners slowly infiltrated the city, as Ashel identified Citizens who would support Lornk against Parnden, they passed information back and forth, disguised as questions and answers about the Kia. He’d never worked so hard on his lectures.

  “Welcome, friends,” Ashel said. Eyes opened, and people folded legs into other postures. The Citizens, guildmasters, and merchants sitting behind the Buzzards brushed dirt from their tailored silks.

  Ashel placed his palm on the cerrenil. “Soon the old mothers will shed their summer tresses. I’d like to talk about autumn and what it means as a transition between growth and quiescence.”

  “Soldiers!” someone shouted from the back. The crowd stirred at the edge of the copse, and a young Buzzard pushed her way through the crowd. “The Commissar’s guards just came out the east gate and are headed this way.”

  People sprang to their feet, the wealthier ranks bubbling with questions. Ashel stood. “You’d all better go before they arrive.”

  The Buzzards streamed into the trees, and others rushed after them. Ellen and Alek forded the outrush. “Would you like to join us for morning tea?” Alek asked. “Our house has a private entrance to the parklands; if we’re lucky, we can make it there before the guards.”

  Hurrying out of the copse, they paused at the edge of the greensward. The congregants had scattered, some strolling slowly as if their only purpose were to take the air, others dashing from bush to fountain as they fled. “The gate is just past that grove,” Alek said, setting a steady pace across the grass.

  “Why would they arrest you? Parnden already occupies your house,” Wineyll whispered in mindspeech.

  “I don’t know.”

  In Narath, two Kragnashians appeared. Ashel stumbled as Geram hustled his mother off the dais.

  Here in the park, the soldiers turned toward them.

  “We’ll make it,” said Ellen. “It’s just the other side of that rise.”

  Ashel stopped. “They’ve seen us. The Commissar is already suspicious of you, Alek, and there’s no justice for Oreseekers, Ellen. You go on. I’ll talk to Parnden’s troops.”

  “As you wish,” Alek said, and the couple hurried away.

  “Your nephew has his own troubles to manage right now,” Parnden said in Narath.

  “What’s happening in Latha?” Wineyll asked.

  “Parnden just arrived with a force of Kragnashians. Earnk was supposed to be with him but isn’t.”

  Her hand clapped over a cry.

  “The People assume control of this Device and all others in your world.”

  Feeling Geram’s blood surge with energy, Ashel fought quivering limbs as he made out Demsch leading the Commissar’s soldiers.

  He pasted on a smile as they drew close. “Major, always a pleasure.”

  “Come with us, Citizen.”

  “Where?”

  “We’ve had word your father’s rabble has been meeting near here. You’ll be safer in your palazzo.”

  * * *

  At the stables, Elekia ordered Geram to ride with her, while guards and servants streamed out of the paddock, two to a horse. Taking her hand, he swung up and wrapped an arm round her waist, suppressing a shiver of desire. Haunches bunched and sprang beneath his thighs, and the wind rushed over his face. Through Elekia’s sight, he saw Kragnashians swarming the grounds and had to bite his tongue as the memory of blazing, crushing agony shuddered through him.

  “They don’t seem interested in following,” Elekia said, squeezing his hand. “I think they wanted only to evict us, not kill us.”

  He nodded against
her shoulder, breathing fast to master his terror and giving thanks it hadn’t gripped his heart until they were away from the Manor.

  In Traine, Demsch escorted Ashel back to the Korng palazzo. Do you think Earnk betrayed you? Geram asked.

  No. Is it possible Fensin could have a scheme going with Parnden?

  Shrine, I don’t know. Another shudder rattled his spine, and Elekia cast a sympathetic look over her shoulder.

  This could be the beginning of the Concordance, Ashel said. Walking amid Demsch’s soldiers, the prince struggled to quell his ire at Geram’s arms cinched around Elekia’s waist. Ashel’s irritation grew as Geram’s anxiety ebbed into an unbidden joy that he had an excuse to hold her. The horse trotted down a narrow, switchbacking trail that ended at a backroad to Narath. Once on the hardpacked gravel, Elekia kicked the horse to a gallop. Emerging from the forest, the animal barreled into a crowd bottlenecked at the city gate. Elekia hauled on the reins; the stallion reared, and Geram slid off its hindquarters. Elekia caught him in a net of power and resettled him behind her while she calmed the stallion.

  It wasn’t just the horses that needed calming. Fear choked the air. Narath had not been under siege for over two hundred years, and although the war with Relm had prepared them—the townspeople drilled, the oil stores maintained, the walls and gates reinforced—too many of those pressing through the gatehouse remembered how easily a single Kragnashian had breached the prison defenses and killed all the guards.

  Elekia reached down, clasped hands and shoulders, and urged courage. People called out to her, and she paused. Head high, shoulders straight, she spoke aloud: “Latha has stood whole as a nation for four hundred years. Our enemies will not prevail because we are a united people, as sharp as crystal and solid as stone, and we will win back what is ours.”

  “The Ruler must reach the Senate,” Olivet shouted. “Make way!”

  The crowd folded back, and cries of “Make way for the Ruler! Make way for Queen Elekia!” heralded their surge past shops and houses, inns and Guildhouses. They reached the Senate just as Demsch led Ashel through the gate of the Korng palazzo. Dismounting, Geram used Elekia’s sight to climb the Senate steps, then down to the siege chamber in the building’s cellar.