But she’d ignored the part of her vows that required obedience. Obedience to authority, the Archbishop . . . and the Regent.
She’d changed an entire kingdom without asking a single soul for advice and counsel. She’d imposed her vision of what was right on nobles and peasants alike, without so much as a by-your-leave. And if she’d had aid, from within the kingdom and without, she knew full well that without her decision to support the cause, the Chosen would not now sit on the Throne of Palins.
Perhaps she had taken too much upon herself. As much as it would be comforting to say that it had been the will of the Gods that she had succeeded, not once during the entire time had any voice spoken to her. Nor was she aware of any divine aid.
Except for the voice that bade her save one particular man.
The sun seemed to freeze in the sky. For a long moment Evelyn looked her actions full in the face, trying to see them as the Archbishop did: as arrogant, as wrong, as disobedient, willful, disrespectful. . . .
The young queen drew herself up to sit tall and straight on the throne. She raised her hands, and started to remove her gloves. “I am the Chosen, restored to the Throne of Palins. But Red Gloves is no name for a queen.” She took off the first glove and began on the second. “From this day forth, I shall be known as Queen Gloriana.”
Joy washed over Evelyn as she remembered Gloriana in that moment. Perhaps she had overstepped her bounds, but she’d done the right thing for Palins. And if that meant scrubbing shrines for a while, so be it.
The sun was sinking below the horizon. The sky was still lit, but the stars were starting to peep out.
Soon, Dominic had said. Well, she could be content with that. She yawned, and got to her feet. Enough wool-gathering. She’d eat, and then sleep well this night.
But she paused for a moment and held still, knowing full well that she was imagining things. That she was being very silly. No doubt Blackhart had long forgotten her. But she couldn’t help herself.
She turned her head, and looked to the north.
The Black Hills still glowed with the faint light of the setting sun. She could see their tall granite tops, stark against the sky. There were forests at their base, but at this distance they appeared as dark splotches of deeper gray against the mountains.
Once in a great while, if the sky was clear and the wind was right, she’d think she’d caught a glimpse of a red cloak gleaming like a star beneath the trees.
A star that could be seen only in just the right kind of light.
Foolishness, really. But she prayed to the Lady of Laughter to aid Orrin Blackhart in his quest. She’d probably never see him again, or would only receive news of his death. But here, alone, with only the stars and the Gods to witness, she could dream.
And with that, she was content.
FOURTEEN
A week later, Evelyn was no longer content, and her patience had worn thin.
A week with no summons, no news, no word at all. At least the pilgrims had been fewer, but Evelyn was growing more and more concerned. There wasn’t much to do other than clean, pray, and worry.
She had the worry part down to a fine skill. What was happening back in Edenrich? Why hadn’t she heard anything from anyone?
And now, by the sacred flames, there was a small crowd of pilgrims coming up the path to the shrine, and Evelyn’s irritation outweighed her priestly concern for their spiritual well-being. There had to be twenty or thirty of them.
All with dirty shoes, no doubt.
Evelyn rose from her bench and hurried down to greet them at the edge of the shrine. They could just damn well take off their shoes before they stepped onto the white marble. Their adoration of the Lady would be no less if they were barefoot. One could only hope that their feet were a bit cleaner than their shoes.
She paused halfway down the path, and scolded herself. Some attitude for a priestess to have, that was certain. She should worry more about their souls than their soles.
That made her snort at her own joke, at her impatience, at her frustrations. Wouldn’t the Archbishop chide her for her misbehavior, and rightly so?
She drew a deep breath, and watched as the pilgrims advanced slowly. As they grew closer she could see that they seemed to move oddly, staggering as if wounded. She frowned, then continued toward the shrine, now truly concerned for their safety. They might have run into a wild animal, or even a monster of the human variety. She was under a binding as to her magic, but she could heal those with serious wounds, and even portal them to help if necessary. It would feel good to work a bit of magic, especially to meet another’s need.
And if the portal was to the church in Edenrich, and if there happened to be a reason for her to help someone across, well surely there was no harm in that?
In a better frame of mind, she stepped up to the platform of the shrine, and moved around the pool to the far edge, to stand between two pillars. She assumed the proper demeanor of one of the priesthood, standing tall and straight, her hands pushed into her sleeves. She lifted her gaze to the sky for a moment, and focused on the proper mental attitude for one charged with the spiritual guidance of questing souls.
Biting their heads off about the condition of their soles was not appropriate.
Evelyn suppressed a smile, and lowered her gaze to focus on the pilgrims. The first of the group cleared the last turn and came steadily on, looking oddly . . . gray.
Bad food, maybe? But their clothes were tattered and torn, as if they’d been out in the open for some time. She had opened her mouth to greet them when she realized—
Odium. They were the undead, coming fast, faster than she thought they could move. Their faces were gray, with rotting skin hanging and white bone exposed in some places. Any hair was matted and filthy; any clothing hung in tatters from their frames. The stench wafted over Evelyn, causing her stomach to clench.
The first was on her before she finished her thought. It reached out long, clawlike hands, grabbing for her robes.
Fear surged over her. Odium fought tooth and claw, like wild animals. Even if they didn’t tear your flesh apart, the wounds they caused festered.
Evelyn stepped back, her hands raised to ward it off, falling back into her training without making a conscious effort. With a single word, she called the battle magic she’d not used in a decade.
And the magic responded. Fire burst from her hands, burning through the chest of the odium before her. It fell at her feet, its legs still twitching as its skin curled black.
Another took its place. And another.
She moved back again, stepping into the pool, releasing a burst of fire toward the ones in front. But they kept coming, threatening to swarm her. She swept the area before her with flame, trying to keep them back. If she could get to the far pillar, get her back to it, she might—
A sound came from behind. She ducked as an odium reached for her hair, grabbing at her bun. The braid fell down her back. They were closing in. She pulled her fists in close, closed her eyes, and used her fear to fuel her magic. The flames exploded out and around her.
“WHERE is it?” Blackhart snarled as he pulled himself up the rocky trail. “You said—”
Archer followed along. “Save your breath. The shrine’s supposed to be up this goat track. Over the next ridge, maybe.”
Blackhart cursed. “Goats are too smart to use a trail this bad.”
Archer ignored Blackhart’s words, feeling the same frustration. But they’d been told by a shepherd a few miles back that this was the quickest way.
He paused for a moment to look back. The others were climbing as well, spread out on the trail. Sidian brought up the rear, his bald black head gleaming in the sun.
Blackhart had reached the steep crest and was waiting, pressed against the rocks. Archer did the same, crawling on his belly to reach Blackhart’s side. Loose rock shifted under his body and tumbled down the path onto Mage’s hands.
“Wait for the others,” Blackhart breathed. “I sa
w a building, maybe two.”
Archer nodded, catching his breath, digging in his pouch for his bowstring.
Mage moved up, with the others following. They all took a moment, crouching low, catching their breath. Reader had his dagger out. Thomas and Timothy were pulling their shields off their backs and preparing their maces.
Mage recovered first. “See anything?” he asked, quivering like a puppy.
Sidian grabbed his shoulder. “Head down, youngling.”
“Haven’t looked.” Blackhart glared at him. “It could be that she’s not there.”
A fireball burst from the other side of the ridge, a gust of sulfur and ash passing over them.
“I’m thinking that’s her,” Archer said dryly.
Blackhart was already over the ridge, and gone. Sidian, Reader, Thomas, and Timothy scrambled after him.
Archer and Mage rose to their feet.
“Wish I could do that,” Mage said wistfully as the Priestess scorched another odium.
“Ya do what ya can, kid.” Archer stood, bringing his bow to bear in one swift, strong movement, his entire focus on the targets below.
Blackhart was charging down the path, his red cloak streaming behind him. The others followed right on his heels, moving fast.
It was easy to see the Priestess, clad all in white. She was almost surrounded by odium, so intent on the ones in front that she didn’t see the others moving around the pool, reaching for her. Her hair had come out of its bun, and the braid was swinging. One of the odium reached—
Archer drew a breath, waiting—
“Evelyn!” Blackhart’s shout rang out.
The Priestess’s head snapped around, as did the odium’s. “Orrin?” Her voice rose in astonishment.
Archer’s focus was the odium. At the slight shift of its head, his first shot took it in the eye.
The creature fell to its knees, grabbing at the arrow.
They’d been fighting odium for weeks now, and Archer’d learned a thing or two. It wasn’t that the things felt pain. An arrow to the chest or leg didn’t really do much to them. But whatever magic powered those things still needed eyes to see and hands to grab.
They weren’t easy shots to take, but Archer was patient.
Mage was next to him, chanting under his breath. Archer waited, nocking another arrow. Mage had a spell that let him move small objects at a distance. It might not have the explosive force of the Priestess’s flames, but it had its uses.
“Far right,” Mage said in a distant voice.
Archer waited.
Suddenly, an odium’s head was jerked to look right at Archer, as if held tight, an unmoving target.
Archer put an arrow in each of its eyes, as easily as he’d hit a barn.
As the odium fell, Mage spoke again. “Far left.”
Archer nocked another arrow.
ORRIN plunged down the stone steps. “Evelyn!”
He saw her turn, saw her surprise, and saw the odium behind her go down, Archer’s arrow in its eye. He ran then, coming up behind one of the odium trying to surround his woman.
It was what was left of a woman, its rotting flesh and sagging breasts hanging from white bone. He swung his blade in a wide arc, aiming at the monster’s neck.
The sword cut through flesh and bone in one blow, and the head went flying. The body took one more step, then collapsed.
Reader ran past on his right, and Sidian on the left. They both waded into the odium, Reader darting in, using his speed and his dagger to hamstring any within reach. The odium didn’t feel pain, so their legs collapsed before they knew he was there.
Sidian followed behind. As each odium fell, he swung his mace and crushed its skull.
Thomas and Timothy attacked, fending the creatures off with their shields and bringing their maces to bear. Two-on-one worked best, but Orrin waded in, shearing off hands with his blade, pressing through to Evelyn.
She stood now, her back pressed to a pillar, breathing hard, her glazed eyes wide with shock.
He placed himself in front of her, giving her a bit of breathing space, facing the odium that remained. Taking a deep breath, ignoring the stench, he swung his sword with care, using the heavy blade to break the arms of the odium as they reached out.
Briefly, he heard Evelyn shout something, and fire burst out behind the odium, clearing the back ranks. The heat washed over him, and Orrin watched with grim pleasure as their rotting flesh crisped on their bones as they fell.
Within moments, all the odium lay on the ground, some still twitching and trying to crawl.
They’d learned the hard way to make sure that the monsters were truly dead. The others walked through the field of battle, smashing skulls.
Archer and Mage were headed down from the ridge. Orrin wiped his blade and then sheathed it, turning to look at Evelyn.
She stood there, leaning against the pillar for support. “Orrin?” She looked at him, her blue eyes dazed. “Where—?”
He reached for her arm, to steady her as she swayed. He could feel her trembling under his fingers. “Are you injured?” He stepped closer. “Did they—”
She reached out, pressing her hand against his chest. He drew her a bit closer, but she shook her head, her long braid hanging over her shoulder. “Just drained of power. Give me a moment.”
“That’s more than we have,” Orrin growled. “We need to get you out of here.”
Her blue eyes focused on him, wide with surprise. “I can’t leave the shrine.”
“You must,” Orrin said. “We’ve learned—”
“I can’t,” Evelyn repeated impatiently, as she looked around. “Look at this mess. Those bodies need rites said over them, and a decent burial.”
“Evelyn,” Orrin snapped.
“I’m bound to the shrine.” She lifted a shaky hand to her head, brushing back the loose hair from her face. “I can’t leave without the Archbishop’s permission. I’m not even supposed to use magic, except that—” She gave him a weak smile. “I could really use some kav. Would you like some? I’ve some stew by the fire, and—”
Orrin hit her square on the jaw.
Evelyn’s head snapped back, her eyes rolling up into her head. Orrin scooped her up as she collapsed, unconscious.
“Kav, my ass.” He slung her over his shoulder, grunting as he got her into position. “Let’s move.”
“Did she say something about food?” Reader asked.
“Gather her things, and try to make it look like she fled in a hurry.” Orrin shifted his burden, settling her on his shoulder. “Mage, keep her unconscious.”
“No problem.” Mage stepped forward. “I don’t want her frying my ass when she wakes up. She’s not gonna be happy. I didn’t bring any spell chains, and I can’t take the time to make—”
“Cast the damn spell.” Orrin’s rough voice cut through the babble.
Mage blinked, jerked his head in a nod, and reached out to touch the Priestess’s head.
“So”—Archer was looking out over the valley, watching for threats—“we’re kidnapping her?”
“It’s a rescue,” Orrin said as he continued up the path, Evelyn balanced on his shoulder. Sidian and Reader were already moving to follow his orders.
“Ah”—Archer’s voice held silent laughter—“I’m just a simple man of the land, but it sure looks like a kidnap—”
Orrin turned and glared.
Archer closed his mouth with a snap.
Orrin turned again, and headed up the hill.
FIFTEEN
EVELYN awoke slowly, to the sound of a lark’s song.
She was stretched out on the ground, on a bedroll cushioned with blankets. She didn’t have to open her eyes to determine that. On patrol, most like. It was oh-so-familiar, sleeping on the ground. Didn’t really bother her that much. There was a pillow for her head, and she was lying on her side. The scent of ehat wool surrounded her—her old red cloak, no doubt. Though the smell wasn’t her favorite, it wasn’t bad
enough to make her want to face the dawn just yet.
She was warm and comfortable. There was stirring in the camp, and someone was cooking on the fire. The smell of strong kav hung in the air, as well as the scent of fried bread. Her stomach rumbled in response. If they were lucky, there’d be a bit of pork fat in the pan for seasoning. On patrol, that was a real treat.
She frowned, thinking, unsure of the day or which patrol she was on. But it didn’t really matter. She relaxed, trying to sleep just a few minutes more. Sure enough, there was a footfall by her head, more than likely the watch commander about to—
She hadn’t been on patrol in years.
Evelyn’s eyes flew open, and she jerked up, wide awake. The old red cloak slid from her shoulders as she sat up.
Blackhart stood over her, steaming mug in hand. “Thought you could use some of this.”
She blinked at him, confused. “Orrin?”
“The same, Lady High Priestess.” Blackhart squatted in front of her, giving her an almost apologetic look.
She sat up within the blankets, smoothing back her hair and looking around to get her bearings. They were under some pine trees, with a tiny fire. There were pots and pans by the fire, but no one else was in sight. She reached for the mug, trying to cover her disorientation.
Their fingers touched when she took the mug. His were callused and strong under hers.
Her body flushed at the warmth of his skin, and she looked up into his eyes with a bemused smile. His hazel eyes were on hers, caring but also worried. Her heart warmed to see him as she took a sip of kav. It was hot, dark, and bitter, and blew away all the cobwebs.
“You hit me!”
Blackhart leaned back on his heels. “I did. You were blithering.”
“I wasn’t.” Evelyn frowned as she remembered the fight. “Where—? How long—?”
White Star Page 10
