by Marin Landis
"Was that before or after your captivity at the King's pleasure?" The woman's tone was a little sharper now. "I know all about what you've been through, Janesca. I think it best that you spend some time learning about your new gifts and staying away from any stress. Just to relax and learn. We're not planning to turn you into a priestess, don't worry." That smile had returned and she leaned across extending her arm. "I'm Bavh, by the way."
She shook her hand. The name was familiar. "You're the one Melvekior is looking for!"
An odd look came over Bavh's face, almost like she was in pain. It passed, but still it had taken something out of her. The smile was missing when she said, "I'll be able to speak with him soon."
"Do I have a choice in any of this? Does Melvekior know where I am?" She wasn't happy with this but recent events had taught her the value of not over-reacting.
"He will know in time and it's for the best. You do have a choice, but I promise you that the dreams will continue to get worse and it's almost certain you would eventually try to end your own life. Visions, secrets, none of it under your control. In time you will fear sleep and you won't know the difference between the death visions and the sleep deprivation induced hallucinations." She reached out again and squeezed Janesca's hand. "Please, just trust me.”
Janesca didn't really have anywhere else to go, she just felt drawn to Melvekior. He was handsome and heroic and rich, presumably, but it was more than that. He had saved her, more than once and she felt an odd kinship with him. She remembered his father's thoughts and knew things that she should probably tell him. Things about his mother and there were things about Mikael that were incredible and that should come out.
"I will trust you. I... need some time to get my thoughts in order I think. Thank you, Bavh." She started thinking about how to act in front of polite company. The lessons in etiquette that Lady Moine had taught her started flooding back. "Lady, may I ask just one more question? Was that Mithras Himself who released me from my captivity?"
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
Epilogue: Sjarcu
“The creature I saw, Sura, was like nothing else I could have imagined. He was a messenger of Mithras, there is no doubt, but he is gone. He sought no interference in mortal affairs, even vengeance ‘gainst those who left him imprisoned.”
The moon lit the night as the first chills of autumn crept in. Neither noticed the cold, nor were they perturbed by their location; the private graveyard on Nocturne Close. There was little activity in this area and the graveyard was not only quiet but it was deserted. None had set foot here in months. They would not be interrupted nor overheard.
He limped out of the mansion at the bottom of the cul-de-sac once he had been sure Accus and Melvekior were asleep. The red-headed woman wasn’t interested, nor was she interesting so to her he paid no attention. He liked the young knight, in him he saw a real nobility, and was glad he had survived the encounter with the Mage King. Regardless of that, he wasn’t going to stay in his company, for like him he might, trust him he did not.
Sura had been waiting within the shadow of the leftmost gargoyle that stood upon the gatepost of the cemetery. He saw her and silently she marveled how far he had come. None should have been able to see her, enhanced vision or not, but he used more than just his physical senses and had been affected by the Tumar in more ways than he knew. She’d keep that information for another time. He was still little more than a child.
She checked him over. Three broken ribs the worst of his injuries and those would heal within a couple of days with the appropriate treatment. She then gave him some food and water, watching him eat, looking out for any irregularities of which there were none.
“Tell me then,” she spoke at last.
He spoke of the events at Summershade, of Luchis and Lissa and the woman from the Reliquarians. Her eyebrows raised at this last part, but she gave nothing else away. Silently ruminating on this information, she seemed a little distracted when the continued his tale.
His journey to Amaranth was of little interest and she really only perked up again when he mentioned the immense flare-up of Aur. The holy energy, a by-product of divine magic. The greater the magic, the greater the incidence of Aur and the easier it was to detect.
“You did well to change your mission. Twice. I have taught you well and your discretion is noted. It would have been easy to become confused by the multiple paths open to you. Choosing the greatest threat was definitely the correct option.”
He nodded and continued, finishing only when he arrived at the point of departure from the Necromancer’s den.
“Amazing. This is one of the greatest stories I have heard, every bit of it true. Were it anyone but you I might doubt, but the proof lies in your bearing and your injuries. I must consult with Sjahothe.”
“What of me?” Sjarcu asked. She missed the edge to his voice in her excitement.
“Your mission is finished. You interrupted the course of events in Summershade. Luchis and Lissa I have been told are licking their wounds and were expelled by the humans after entering into conflict with the leader of the monks. I would know more of the involvement of the ruling classes in all of this game of immortals. Also, Melvekior, he will know more.” She looked into nothingness for a brief moment, then turned again to him. “Sjarcu, my favored one, do you have something on your mind?”
“Revenge,” said he.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
Epilogue: Others
"Is it time at last?" asked Avens. "Shall we gather the families?"
"Yes. I have discharged my duties, the promise has been kept and the wheels are set in motion." I am tired, he failed to add, but he was.
"A celebration, then." He slapped Aeldryn on the back. He walked to the open door, "Misu, come to Papa," he called.
Aeldryn watched eagerly. He loved the little girl, Misulienne, she was pure joy.
She ran in, her last step a jump and looked up at Avens with an expectant look on her face.
"Tell your brother to set the banns, The King has returned and our debt to the Deathspeaker is paid."
There was a groan. A soundless groan from a formless throat.
A convent! Of all places. And with her!
His outrage was incorporeal and his rage impotent.
“What do you think you’re doing? You cannot merely leave the service of Ain-Ordra!” She was almost hysterical, but her glamours didn’t work on him so it mattered little.
“I’m going to Fallset, if you must know. In the service of Our Lady.” He stuffed the last of his clothing and valuables into his backpack, tied it and walked through his chamber door.
He appeared, as he always did, with no warning. She could be bathing or pissing or sleeping and he would just be there. It never failed to scare the wits out of her.
This time she was cursing the dark elves and their incompetence. She’d heard nothing but praise for them and their cold logic, but if an old lady with a posy of flowers could cause them to abandon their work she’d not work with them again. In fact she was tempted to deliver them to their own people as traitors to their cause of godlessness.
“By the Gods!” she exclaimed as the creepy old bastard appeared in her chambers.
“An apt greeting, Runild,” he said in that cultured croak of his.
“I suppose you know already what has happened?” she said.
“I do, I expected more from them, but they were beset by their own people.”
“That one I encountered at the crossroads?”
“Yes. He slew my brother.”
She was not expecting that response. “My Lord, I am sorry, that’s awful.” She didn’t even know he had a brother. Who could have suspected? Thacritus was like a thousand years old.
“It’s of no consequence, I would have done it myself.” He held out a bag, heavy with coin.
“Find him, find out what he is about.”
“And then?”
“Kill him, of course.”
He had a l
arge, offensive looking nose. It was red from too much strong spirits and he sniffed a lot. Nobody could tolerate him for a long period of time. Apart from Ratcha. Ratcha wasn’t quite right in the head, but he could follow commands and he had the brute strength of one who didn’t understand restraint. Both of them now, as they had done every night for almost six cycles of the seasons, sat in the drinking hall, by themselves and drank themselves into oblivion.
There was nothing else to do. Their job was so easy as almost to be a hobby. “Watch the woman known as Odertha. Remind her every so often that unless she behaves, those darling little children will meet a sticky end.” Koehle paid well and this was such an easy gig that neither of them argued. Would he really kill the kids? Probably not, but Ratcha would. Good old Ratcha. Couldn’t count, so Harman kept half of his wages to himself. A nice little bundle he’d saved and as soon as the job was over he planned to buy himself a farmstead out here and try his luck with one of those barbarian women with the big breasts. They wouldn’t look at him now, but money talked, even around here, besides which, they owed him. He could have reported them for any number of things. This hall for example, they weren’t supposed to have them. The King had said it was too risky. Aggressive when drunk, the barbarians.
There was a murmur of discontent, accompanied by a cold blast of air, and Harman turned to look at the doorway. Nobody liked the cold air and even fewer people liked Kingdom Guards. Especially ones with Mareshian livery.
There were four of them and all activity stopped. The Accord of Theitis forbade attacks on any military arm of any of the member nations and nobody wanted to break the Accord. War was something few desired. They watched as the four guards walked, without pausing up to the table where the two Kingdom men sat.
“Your time here is done. Pack your things. We’ll escort you back to Magnar.” The man speaking left no doubt as to his seriousness. Harman started to object, but Ratcha wouldn’t be told what to do. He levered his huge dumpy body up and made to stand nose to nose with the man giving the unwelcome orders. He felt something cold against his neck and quickly realized that it was a blade, still cold from the night air. “Give me a single reason and I’ll gut you like a pig.”
“We don’t work for the crown,” slurred Harman.
“You don’t work for anyone, Koehle is finished.” He turned to Ratcha and lowered his blade. “Enough talk, go now. Any sudden moves and you’re dead.” The guard turned to the hall, all eyes upon him. He nodded solemnly and followed his men and the prisoners into the darkness.
It was about an hour before dawn when Egalfas dismounted. Similarly to his counterpart in Abst, he had three men with him. Prince’s Guards. Their cloaks showing the large sun motif of Maresh-Kar.
There were no guards at the manse of Koehle Poeledin, there was no need. This was a gated area, only people with business here could enter. They had no trouble getting in however. A Royal decree of arrest and confiscature allowed them passage.
He banged on the door with his mailed fist. Waited a few moment and then banged again. It was minutes of waiting and banging before a voice came from behind the door.
“Who is that? I’ll summon the guard!” It was Poeledin, Egalfas had no doubt. He’d been promoted to Captain by Melvekior and his first duty was to arrest this merchant. He was happy to do his duty but when he found out what sort of man this was it became a pleasure to perform.
“It is the guard, open up Poeledin!” He shouted.
The door opened a crack, “How dare you address me like that, do you know who…”
Egalfas didn’t want to know. He kicked the door open. It smacked into the corpulent merchant’s face and sent him reeling. He strode in and grabbed the man by the collar of his nightgown. “The game’s up, traitor. You’re under arrest.” He started to drag him out of the door when another voice split the night.
“What is happening here?” The accent was strong, the voice deep.
Outside the doorway stood a man, mostly naked, apart from a loincloth, hair in long braids. He was tattooed from his head to his feet. Not like the whores of the city but with swirling blue markings, and he was very heavily muscled. The guards, following previously issued orders, moved back from him.
“Langan?”
The man looked shocked. “Yes…what are you doing with my master? I don’t think he should be harmed.” He didn’t sound convincing, but there was an edge to his voice.
“Your family is safe, Langan. Melvekior, Prince Melvekior, has removed the threat. He says that this makes you even.”
Langan smiled like he never thought he would again, a wave of understanding flooding through him. “Your Prince has a strange inability to count, friend.”
“He is a generous man. He thought you might like to express yourself to Poehle here.” Understanding dawned on the merchant then and he started to struggle. “Hold him!” Egalfas ordered his men, two of whom grabbed the fat man by his arms and held him fast.
“No, I’ll leave your Kingdom law to deal with him. I am not a man of vengeance.”
“Good on you, fellow. Well, there’ll be a scribe along in the morning to clear up the deeds and all that sort of thing.” He slapped Langan on his bare shoulder and indicated for the guards to leave.
“What? Deeds?” Langan was confused. “I’ll leave at first light for Abst.”
“No need, you own this house now and your wife and children are on their way.” He grinned. “Get some sleep. I’m sure your wife will be happy to see you. I know mine will be when I return. Mithras be with you, friend.”
“And Garm with you,” Langan said softly, “friend.”
He waited until the guards had left the grounds, sat on the floor and wept tears of relief and joy.
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