Sword and Illusion

by Nancy S. Brandt

  Darkwater was the shorter of the two, with dark brown hair that brushed her shoulders and green eyes. Strongshield, who stood at least a head taller, had long blond hair, brown eyes, and a scar on her left cheek that marred what might have been a stunningly beautiful face.

  The Candidates bowed to Moonrazer, mounted their horses, and rode out of the Tower grounds.

  ****

  As soon as the men left the battlefield area, Whiteshadow hurried to her quarters. She hadn't had time to clean up her table before being summoned to the opening of the Candidates' Hunt.

  All the Sisters of the Flame had gone to the chapel to pray for the Exalted Warrior and the Candidates. If she didn't join them soon, someone would come to see if anything had happened. Even though no one would enter her room without her permission, she had to get rid of the herbs. She couldn't risk someone noticing them on her table.

  She tried to keep the sense of panic from overwhelming her. Drugging the Candidates had not been part of her original plan, but when she saw the herbs that Tree Woman used on Moonrazer's shoulder, the idea planted itself in her mind.

  If she could eliminate the other Candidates during the Hunt, there would be no need for any more delay. Lucan could become the Consort and take the Sword of Justice sooner.

  Fortunately, she knew that the flarezhar that Adazzra used as a painkiller could also induce visions if ingested, something she'd had to do her first year as a Sister of the Flame.

  When she saw Adazzra using this herb, it seemed like an opportunity too fortuitous to let slip past. Clearly the Holy One was with her. He had provided a means of eliminating some of the Candidates that stood in the way of her plans.

  The lunch baskets, by tradition, were tailored to the personality and country of origin of each Candidate. It required no great skill to keep Lucan's basket free of contamination. By giving each Candidate just a bit of flarezhar, she could induce minor hallucinations that would have the men shooting at imaginary creatures rather than real ones and failing at the Hunt. All of them, that is, except Lucan. No one would be the wiser.

  Now, she paused in the middle of tossing scraps of herbs into her cold fire pit to smile as she imagined the problems that could occur as the Candidates ingested the drugs and began wandering around the ice fields. Was it too much to hope that at least one of them might be lost or killed by a wild animal?

  That thought brought her up short. How could she, the Spiritual Leader of the Sarl, be hoping for the death of an innocent man?

  Whiteshadow dropped to her knees to ask the Holy One for forgiveness. However, she had to be honest with herself.

  Each of the Candidates left in the Choosing was possibly a worthy mate for Moonrazer, and without a little assistance, she could easily pick the wrong man. The future of the Sarl depended on Whiteshadow's intervention, and while she didn't really want someone to die, it would be for a good cause and surely that man would find his afterlife a glorious one in Paradise.

  ****

  Olaf, along with a squad of seven Sarl warriors, stopped after riding all day.

  "We will reach the Temple of Sacred Radiance at Icy Chapel by midday tomorrow," Blackhammer, the tall, muscular captain of the squad, told Olaf as she tied up her horse to a tree on one side of the clearing.

  She had insisted that the party camp inside the forest, a place full of dark green fir trees perpetually covered in snow and ice.

  "We will be well hidden from any thieves or other outlaws," the warrior had explained.

  They ate a simple meal, and the warriors either took a guard shift or retired to a shelter to rest for the next one.

  Olaf finished his meditation and went to the fire.

  "O Holy One," the serpent man murmured. "Keep your daughter, Moonrazer, safe from the schemes of those who would do her harm."

  ****

  Traveling to the forest for the Offering Hunt was fairly uneventful, but tension ran high among the men. Varian could feel the anxiety in their minds, but even with his skill in projecting calming images, he couldn't ease anyone's thoughts.

  The forest lay ahead of them. They had ridden in complete silence from the time they'd left the Tower arena until the pale sun began to creep below the horizon. The warriors accompanying them allowed a brief rest period to eat the first meal packed in their baskets.

  "We will travel on until complete darkness before we set up camp for the night," Strongshield said.

  ****

  When Strongshield woke the Candidates the next morning, the sun was still below the horizon. Even after a night's sleep, Varian was still tired, but he was able to revive himself by combining his magic with specially selected memories of home and his past. He saw his mother's smile on the day he'd finished his schooling and been officially named heir to the throne. A warmth spread through his cold joints.

  "We need to reach the forest as early in the morning as possible to find the best animals," Darkwater said, already on her horse's back. "The largest predators, those that would be the most worthy offerings for the Exalted Warrior, hunt in the morning before the sun has warmed up the smaller animals' homes."

  They rode in silence, but Varian knew this was more from fatigue than from competition.

  The forest appeared thicker and darker than any of the bright, welcoming groves on Tellan. The Prince shivered a bit as he imagined how much colder the air inside that black shade would be.

  "You should rest for a little while," Strongshield said. "Now is the time to eat the last meal in your basket. Until you have killed your Offering and found your way back to the Tower, you will have to depend on any food you find on your own."

  Then Darkwater and Strongshield rode off.

  Suddenly, a loud roar came from the forest and Varian saw Prince Raphael nervously glance over his shoulder, his sword already in his hand.

  The Prince of Tellan empathized. He wasn't eager to find his way through that forest by himself, let alone travel back to the Tower, carrying an animal carcass with him.

  Still though, he had to do this if he had any hope of saving his kingdom.

  ****

  Vaurt was tired of pretending to be Lord Olivier, but the Offering Hunt would give him the perfect opportunity to kill Prince Varian. A death here would be dismissed as an accident, and he could go back to King Rillaur for his reward.

  He sat some distance from the rest of the Candidates. As he opened his basket, he was glad he wasn't closer. His reaction to the food would have been noticed.

  Flarezhar.

  The odor of it wafted to his nostrils, and he glanced at the others.

  His training at the Assassin's Academy had included five years devoted to the study of poisons. He had learned to distinguish various herbs, both poisonous and non-poisonous, by scent. By the time he'd received his professor's commendation, he'd been able to identify even the smallest traces of anything that could be used to kill a man.

  Flarezhar was not the most effective poison, but in sufficient quantity, it could render a man senseless. The victim would be confused and have no idea of his surroundings because of hallucinations. A killer could walk right up to him, shove a knife in his ribs, and the victim would never know what had happened.

  The odor became stronger when he opened the sealed crock that contained cold meat soup.

  He carefully sniffed each morsel. At this strength, it would cause hallucinations and maybe abdominal cramping, but the victim would recover.

  One of the Candidates was cheating. It likely wasn't Prince Varian, who would have used magic instead. If Varian's food was similarly tainted it would make him an easy target.

  ****

  Varian wrinkled his nose as he took a bite of his cherry pastry. He was surprised at the bitter taste as the meat pie had been delicious.

  He forced himself to finish, knowing he would need the energy for the Hunt. Looking around, he noticed that none of the other Candidates seemed to have a problem with their food.

  Shrugging, he put his basket i
n Obsidian's pack and walked to a nearby stream where Darkwater was breaking up the ice, melting pieces in a pot over a nearby fire and mixing in tea leaves.

  "Thirsty, Your Highness?" She handed him a hammered tin mug.

  He looked at it and she smiled at him.

  "I suppose on Tellan you are more accustomed to fancy goblets. Luxuries are rare here on Carrick."

  Studying her face, he wondered if she expected him to defend the life he led. "Tellan may have a reputation as a pleasure world, and Tellanites for enjoying a life of ease, but it is not so. There are many who wish to take what we have, and the nobility of our world need to be ever vigilant."

  He took the proffered mug and scooped out some of the tea. "Thankfully, some of us get to enjoy the riches of Tellan. My sister Gloriana has a marvelous eye for fancy goblets and sumptuous fabrics."

  Darkwater stood. "The Exalted Warrior deserves the best. Are you the most skilled hunter among of all these Candidates?" She jerked her chin toward the other men.

  As he followed her glance, he saw Lord Olivier talking to one of the other men. They appeared to be trading pastries, and one of them laughed.

  Varian replied, "She deserves better than a hunter. She deserves a man who will bring her real happiness, someone who will appreciate her as a warrior and a woman. The military strength of Carrick would be a valuable asset to any world, but she should have a mate who sees beyond the political."

  A pang of sorrow hit him as he thought of his previous two wives and all the politics that had been behind those weddings. "That is hard for anyone of noble birth to find."

  "A fine answer." She walked away from him.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Varian rode far enough into the forest that he could barely see sunlight through the ice-covered leaves. Suddenly, he was overcome with a wave of dizziness. He barely kept himself on his horse, and it took all his strength to keep panic at bay.

  Obsidian sensed his distress and stopped. Varian dismounted near a stream and saw several large blue lizards writhing on the surface. Their skins were covered with rough beaded scales, and their feet were equipped with sharp claws that gripped the frozen ground firmly. Their fat bellies glided over the ice as they crawled toward him, tongues flashing in and out of their ridged mouths, tasting the air.

  He closed his eyes and forced his more rational mind to dominate the affected part. How could cold-blooded creatures survive in an environment like this? Was this illusion magic? When he looked again, the animals were fewer and smaller, but he could still see them.

  One of the creatures came close, and Varian reached out to touch it. To his shock, it felt real. Angrily, it snapped at him, but he pulled away in time.

  He'd never seen anything like this before. Not only was this reptile living in a cold environment, but it moved rapidly. Something was wrong here.

  Reaching into a creature's mind was not as simple as touching a person's, as he had done with Whiteshadow. It required much more power, as there was less mind to read.

  However, the only way to understand if these things were real was to see if there was a consciousness.

  Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath to settle his rolling stomach. It occurred to him that this might not be illusion magic, but some mesmeric herb. Many of them could upset the stomach.

  When he felt more centered, he imagined himself as a beam of light. Power crept through him, seeping in as though from the ground beneath his body, flowing into his limbs until it gathered in the center of his being.

  Behind his closed lids, vibrant colors swirled and mixed, separated and recombined as the magic pooling just below his ribs grew and expanded, filling him until it seemed to blot out his real body, leaving only a bright, hot, translucent ball of energy.

  The colors whirled faster and faster, growing brighter and brighter until he could stand no more.

  Then he opened his eyes and spears of color shot into the nearest creature, filling and racing through the animal, searching for a mind, a thought, an idea, anything that would identify its essence.

  Almost instantly, the colors returned to him and abruptly faded.

  There was nothing there.

  The animal was utterly empty.

  A hallucination.

  Had any of the other Candidates been subjected to this? Was it a test?

  Carefully, Varian went back to Obsidian, focusing on what he knew to be real. His ability to control minds should keep him from succumbing completely to the poison, if that was, indeed, what had happened.

  He decided to continue with the Hunt, but he would need all his wizarding skill to keep safe.

  ****

  The sun was low in the sky when clouds began to obscure its light. Beneath the thick, snow-covered trees it was almost as dark as night.

  In the beclouded dawn, Varian caught sight of a shape moving between the trees. It shimmered, melting away like mist when it crossed the light, but became more solid in shadow.

  Violetta.

  Varian rode closer. The last conversation they'd had echoed in his mind. Refusing her forgiveness was wrong. However, his anger at her abandonment of their daughter rekindled.

  It's an illusion. Yet he could not bring himself to use the same test he'd used on the lizards. He had unfinished business with her.

  Then he saw a dozen of Rillaur's men charging through the forest toward him. He kicked his heels, and his horse began to run.

  No. He reined in his steed. Rillaur's men could not be out in force in the forests of Carrick. He turned to face them.

  His heart pounded and sweat soaked his garments under his coat. The effort of keeping his panic under control threatened to debilitate him. Rillaur's men vanished.

  "Greenblade." Violetta's voice was a death whisper.

  He spun. His hands shook.

  "Greenblade," the spirit called. "Greenblade, come here. Your father's looking for you."

  The world around him reeled, and suddenly he understood.

  Violetta, from wherever she was spending eternity, had returned to help him find their daughter.

  ****

  Vaurt saw Prince Varian through his spyglass and smiled. The Prince wasn't panicked the way Raphael and Everard had been, but neither was he sitting relaxed and comfortable on his horse.

  Suddenly Varian took off toward the edge of the forest. Vaurt followed, keeping a safe distance. After crossing a stream, Varian came to a halt.

  Before Vaurt could draw his bow, however, Varian's horse galloped away again.

  As soon as the Prince reached the edge of the clearing, he paused, his silhouette against the pink morning sky like a target on the practice range.

  This was the perfect shot Vaurt had been waiting for. Even the lighting was ideal. The assassin pulled out his bow and aimed.

  He would take Varian's cloak as evidence of his death and return to Andarnnon. The Sarl would assume Varian had gotten lost or eaten by some wild animal.

  Vaurt let the arrow fly.

  ****

  Varian leaped from his horse and ran toward Violetta. Suddenly, he heard a thunk and saw a blue-fletched arrow embedded in a tree. It belonged to Lord Olivier.

  Glancing over his shoulder, he saw a shape disappear in the branches of a thicket. He ducked behind Obsidian.

  When he looked for Violetta again, she was gone.

  Varian's head pounded. Had she really been here, or was that an effect of the poison?

  What about the arrow that had flown past him? He crouched a bit lower, uncertain.

  Suddenly, from across the clearing, a red tundra bear lumbered into view, some kind of fish dangling from its mouth.

  The color of the animal's fur was the same shade as the bark of the trees in this section of the forest. Until the animal had moved, he hadn't seen it. Was this another hallucination?

  The creature stepped into a clear space, raised its head, and spied Varian. The bear dropped the fish and charged.

  The Prince got out his bow and an arrow
, not taking his eyes off the bear. He rose to one knee and drew the string.

  "Greenblade!" Violetta's voice.

  He spun toward the sound. Dizziness overtook him, and the bowstring slipped from his fingers. The arrow went wide of its target, flying high into the morning light.

  He felt a tingle in his mind, and something whizzed over his head. The creature roared, swatting at the arrow in its belly.