“My way is faster and safer. The Dhargots have other things to worry about. They won’t pull a hair for a few bored soldiers escorting a prisoner.”
Igrid took a step toward him, a dangerous glint in her eyes. “Easy for you to say. You won’t be the one in chains.”
“More like rope. I don’t have any chains, unless you brought some with you.” Jalist laughed. No one joined him.
“Tell me,” Igrid said, “how long did you spend coming up with this brilliant plan of yours?”
“About as long as we’ve been talking about it,” Jalist confessed. “Doesn’t make it a bad one. Anyway, once we’re past Hesod, we turn south and ride for the Wytchforest like Fohl himself is chasing us.”
“Straight through Godsfall,” Vardan mused. “Now you want us to risk the Olgrym, too?”
“The Olgrym are who Silwren is fighting,” Jalist countered. “We find them, we find her.”
Igrid threw up her hands in exasperation. “Even if we find the wytch, what makes you think she’ll stop fighting the Olgrym to help us instead?”
“That was always going to be the last stone in our path. But Locke will talk her into it. If Lyos is in danger, he’ll come.”
No one spoke. Jalist sensed that he had nearly convinced the two men, but he suspected that Igrid would only go along at swordpoint. But that was a concern for another day. “Rest,” he said. “We’ll leave at first light. I’m sure we can argue more about it then.” Without saying more, he turned and headed for one of the empty rooms to sleep.
“Locke, my friend, you better still be alive,” Jalist muttered as he lay down, still armored, his long axe resting on the straw beside him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Questions and Loyalties
Shade woke in a bed, staring up at a roof. He thought for a moment that he was dreaming. Then he turned and found El’rash’lin sitting in a chair, smiling faintly. The old man’s twisted features looked even more ghastly for the dark circles under his eyes.
“Good morning, Kith’el. I must say, you have a remarkable knack for staying alive.”
Shade closed his eyes, testing the magic inside him. He felt it roil through his blood. He opened his eyes again and considered attacking El’rash’lin, then reminded himself that even at full strength, he was no match for a Dragonkin. “Where are we?”
“A town, east of Brahasti’s compound. I can’t tell you the name because everyone was gone when we got here. Looks like the Dhargots passed through.” He added, “You almost killed yourself, burning those guards.”
“Where’s Zeia?”
“Still asleep. I induced it. She’ll stay that way, for the time being. The Light knows she needs the rest.”
Shade got out of bed and found a fresh change of clothes on a nearby table next to a washbasin. He started to dress.
El’rash’lin said, “If you need to use the chamber pot, I’ll step out.”
Shade could not tell if he was joking. “Am I your prisoner?”
“I’d prefer to think of you as my ally.”
Shade spotted a sheathed longsword lying nearby. He wondered if El’rash’lin had left that for him or if it had simply been left behind by the room’s last occupant. He touched the cold, wire-wrapped hilt. “I have questions.”
“I figured as much.”
“But first, have you restored Zeia’s hands?”
El’rash’lin shook his head.
Shade frowned. While restoring severed limbs was well beyond the limits of Shel’ai magic, he imagined such feats were simple for Dragonkin. “Can you?”
“I can,” El’rash’lin said, “but I won’t.”
“Why not?”
“I’ll explain that later.”
“You’ll explain that now.”
El’rash’lin smiled. “No, Kith’el, I won’t. For now, just trust that Zeia is not in pain. I saved her life and stopped the bleeding.”
“But without her hands—”
“She can’t summon wytchfire,” El’rash’lin interrupted. “Is that what you were about to say?”
“In part.”
“No need. For now, she’s safe. We all are.”
Shade’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t sound too sure of that.” When El’rash’lin did not answer, Shade asked, “What about the Sylvs?”
“I restored their will. Their minds are their own again.”
Shade turned back to the washbasin and splashed cold water on his face. He stared at his reflection. “I couldn’t care less about their minds. I’m more concerned with what’s in their bellies.”
“The ones who aren’t pregnant have left,” El’rash’lin said. “I tried to talk them out of it, but they chose to take their chances in the wild. They might have tried to kill me, but Keswen stopped them.”
Shade turned.
El’rash’lin said, “That’s the one who killed Brahasti.”
Shade answered with a noncommittal grunt and continued buckling the sword around his waist.
“All the Sylvan women who are pregnant are carrying Shel’ai babies.”
Shade froze, mid-buckle. “How is that possible?”
“Chorlga’s devilry. But I don’t suppose you know who Chorlga is yet, do you?”
“I can guess. A Dragonkin. A true Dragonkin. He made Jolym and took over Brahasti’s… breeding program.”
El’rash’lin nodded slowly. “He’s done a lot more than that. He’s been moving in the shadows for centuries. We didn’t even know he was there. But all the while, ever since the Shattering War, he’s been stoking the fires of hatred against the Shel’ai.”
Shade thought of all the Shel’ai he’d seen murdered, including Rhas’ero, the old man who had adopted and raised him. “I doubt the races needed much help.” He sensed that El’rash’lin was about to argue with him and decided to change the subject. “Why did they stay?”
“The pregnant Sylvs?” When Shade nodded, El’rash’lin said, “I think because they knew they would not be welcomed back in Sylvos. They knew they’d be hated by their own people. One even drowned herself.” The old man’s voice was filled with grief.
So they finally understand. Shade almost laughed. “Where will they go?”
“I’m taking them to Coldhaven.”
Shade’s smile vanished. “No, you’re not.”
“Do you know a better place for them?”
“For the Shel’ai babies they’ll have, no. But I don’t relish the idea of letting Sylvs see where we’ve been hiding. What if they run back to Sylvos and tell their king?”
“They won’t betray us.”
“Even if they don’t, Coldhaven isn’t safe anymore.”
“It never was. But I agree that we’ll need a new place, somewhere Chorlga can’t reach.”
Shade hesitated. “Zeia talked about getting a boat on Sorocco and leaving Ruun altogether.”
The idea sounded absurd when he said it out loud, but El’rash’lin nodded. “Fadarah and I argued about that many times. He said it was cowardice to flee a land we should we ruling.” He smiled slightly. “I should have argued harder. If I had, thousands might still be alive.”
Shade sensed the old man’s despair but had no desire to comfort him. “So we gather all the Shel’ai who are left… plus these Sylvan women, if we must… and flee. We find some island off the coast and hope the Dragonward is real enough to keep Chorlga from following us. Is that your plan?”
“The Dragonward is real. We’ll have to trust in that if Rowen Locke loses.”
He will. “Will you stay and help him?”
El’rash’lin shook his head. “The Isle Knight needs me… but I can’t stay.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not the only Dragonkin tha
t Chorlga brought back from the dead. In fact, my resurrection was an accident. Chorlga only intended to bring back one other.”
Shade frowned. Then his eyes widened. “The Nightmare…”
El’rash’lin nodded. “While one of us lives, the other cannot stay dead. We will keep coming back to life until the spell is broken.”
Shade was quiet for a time. “If we could yoke his strength again, like before…”
“You can’t,” El’rash’lin snapped. “Have you learned nothing?”
Shade ignored the question. “Where is he?”
“He’s here on Ruun somewhere. His madness affects his resurrection so that every time he comes back to life, he appears somewhere else. Chorlga will have to find him.” El’rash’lin calmed himself. “Chorlga can see through the eyes of his Jolym, so he knows I’m alive. He’ll surmise the same about Iventine. Once he finds him, with Iventine’s power added to the strength of the Jolym and the Dhargots, Chorlga will be too powerful.”
“Powerful enough to kill all the enemies we leave behind.”
“So everyone on Ruun is your enemy now?”
“Near enough.” Shade saw a pair of boots. He sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled them on. “We should get moving. If this Dragonkin knows about you—”
“He won’t come himself. He’s much too busy thrashing every kingdom south of here.”
Shade tested the fit of his new boots. They were a little loose but adequate. “If you’re so worried about the people of Ruun, stay and help them. I don’t particularly want you with us, anyway.”
“I’m not staying on Ruun,” El’rash’lin said, “but I’m not sailing beyond it, either. There’s only one way I can help Rowen Locke, and that’s by eliminating Iventine. To do that, I have to eliminate myself.”
Shade tapped the pommel of his new sword. “I’d be happy to assist you.”
El’rash’lin smiled thinly. “It wouldn’t work. I wouldn’t die for good. But I think I know of a different way…”
“The Dragonward,” Shade said finally. “You’re going to throw yourself into it.”
El’rash’lin did not answer.
A pitcher of wine was sitting on the end table. Shade filled a cup and drank. “If you want me to try and talk you out of this, you’re going to have a long wait.”
El’rash’lin turned to the window and watched a slant of setting sunlight move along the floor. “The Isle Knight needs help,” he said at last. “I can’t send him you. So I have to send him Zeia.”
Shade lowered his cup. “You’re sending him a Shel’ai with no hands?”
“I’ve already spoken with her. She knows what’s at stake. She’s agreed to stay behind.”
Shade raised one eyebrow. “I find that hard to believe. Up until a few weeks ago, she was fighting with Fadarah against the Sylvs and everyone else.”
“So were you. Then you turned Fadarah’s skull to ash.”
Gods, how did he know that? Shade drained his cup and said nothing.
“We Shel’ai have lost this war. But another, bigger war rages in its place. We each must do our part.” El’rash’lin paused. “Silwren understood that.”
Shade considered throwing his cup at El’rash’lin. “Don’t talk to me about Silwren.”
El’rash’lin nodded. “Then I’ll talk to you about Zeia. She’s staying because there are still Shel’ai in Ruun. They will keep being born in Sylvos, to Sylvan parents, one birth in a thousand. And there are others in hiding, ones Fadarah and I never found. If Locke survives the war, he’ll do what he can. But they will still need a Shel’ai protector. Just as you will safeguard all those who sail beyond Ruun, Zeia will protect all those left behind.”
Shade thought of the Shel’ai he’d left in Ziraari’s camp. After freeing Zeia, he’d warned them through mindspeak to flee, as well, lest they be blamed for Ziraari’s murder. But by then, they’d discovered that Shade had killed Fadarah. “There may be Shel’ai in Coldhaven who want me dead.”
“Oh, I’m quite certain there will be. But I’ll be with you.”
“They probably want you dead, too.”
“Then we’ll have to rely on Zeia to talk them out of it.”
“I thought you were sending her to help the Isle Knight.”
“I am. But she’ll have to go to Coldhaven first… not just to keep us alive but to give her time to train.”
Shade scoffed. “Train for what? You honestly think a lone Shel’ai woman who can’t even defend herself will be able to travel all the way back from the Wintersea to… wherever that Isle Knight is? The first Dhargot, Olg, or Human bandit she comes across will make her wish she was dead.”
El’rash’lin offered a frustrating, knowing smile. “Even without her hands, Zeia can defend herself.”
“I doubt it.” Shade remembered her pale, stricken face and the blood-soaked rags around the stumps of her wrists. “Wytchfire is our strongest form of attack. She can’t summon it without her hands—which you won’t restore.”
“She still has her mind.”
“Yes,” Shade conceded. “She’ll be able to read thoughts, maybe move small objects or confuse some dull-witted enemy, if she concentrates hard enough. That’s still less useful than a squad of trained swordsmen.”
El’rash’lin shook his head. “For centuries, no Shel’ai has bothered to develop other magical forms of attack, relying instead on their wytchfire. Now, without her hands, Zeia will have to correct this. That will make her unpredictable.”
“Unpredictable, but still weak,” Shade countered. “It would’ve been better if Brahasti had just killed her. Restore her hands or put her out of her misery.” He refilled his glass, took a drink, and glanced up. “Don’t look at me like I’m a monster, old man. I saved her life.”
“You only saved her so she’d help you free the Sylvs.”
“Exactly.” Shade raised his glass. “So she’d help me free enemies who were being treated unjustly. How monstrous of me.”
El’rash’lin rose from his chair. “I must check on Zeia. Feel free to wander around the compound, but if I were you, I’d stay well away from the Sylvs. They have as much cause to hate you as you have to hate them.” He started for the door.
Shade looked down at the contents of his glass. He thought of the Sylvan women, imagined how they must be feeling given all they’d endured, and decided not to argue.
Chorlga stood alone in Cadavash, having ordered the rest of his disciples to wait for him on the surface. The eerie depths of the dragon graveyard lay before him, a dizzying mass of temples and excavated tunnels. For centuries, Chorlga had preferred the silence of the deeper, secret chamber that housed Namundvar’s Well. He’d visited it in secret, using it to tap into the Light and add to his own considerable magic.
No more.
Chorlga understood that the Well had a will of its own—the will of the Light. Though Chorlga had conquered that will countless times, something had changed recently. Somehow, the Well had learned how to defy him. He could no longer use it to draw power from the Light or use it for divination.
Still, days ago, through the eyes of his Jolym, Chorlga had seen El’rash’lin. The sight of the twisted old man had forced Chorlga to admit that somehow, he’d misjudged the nuances of that resurrection spell even more horribly than he’d first thought. If El’rash’lin was alive, so was the Nightmare. But the Well would not help Chorlga find either of them, let alone the Isle Knight who carried Knightswrath.
Chorlga had considered teleporting himself to Brahasti’s compound, capturing El’rash’lin, and studying him to better understand what had gone wrong with the resurrection spell—or, at the very least, in order to prevent the old man from interfering any further with his conquests. But even for a Dragonkin, teleportation was difficult. Without access to Na
mundvar’s Well, recovering his full strength could take days.
Of course, that left the Nightmare. He’d tried to locate the Nightmare on his own, but somehow, the madman remained hidden. That, too, should have been impossible, meaning either that Chorlga had made still more mistakes in the resurrection spell—mistakes of which he was still unaware—or else the gods themselves must be interfering.
The latter prospect made him shudder. Never in all the bloody ages of Dragonkin rule had the gods done such a thing. Then again, he might have brought it upon himself. The gods were children of the Light, and Chorlga had directly defied the Light countless times.
Chorlga shook his head, trying to wash the doubts from his mind by focusing on what lay before him: the bones of a dragon. While most of the excavations at Cadavash had encountered just a few fragments of dragonbone, occasionally parts of a skull, or a webbing of wing bones, the skeleton before him was entirely intact. And it was huge.
“Godsbane…” Despite his growing anxiety, Chorlga smiled as he spoke the name. Discovered centuries ago, its awful visage had supposedly been the impetus for the founding of the dragonpriests’ order. They thought the discovery of the dragon’s skeleton was a message from the gods. Chorlga could not blame them. The dragonpriests had suspended the massive skeleton from the chamber ceiling, using gigantic chains of brass and iron. Each link of the chain was as thick as a man’s wrist. Enough metal to arm and shield an entire army had gone into the making of those chains. Nevertheless, the dragonbones creaked as though they might fall free from their own weight at any second.
Though the great dragon had died countless millennia before Chorlga’s time, he’d heard tales of it all his life. Born in an age before the gods had pacified the dragons out of jealousy and fear, Godsbane had been the terror of the skies. Supposedly, even Zet had feared her.
Kingsteel (The Dragonkin Trilogy Book 3) Page 24
