by Connie Ward
I approached Valleri, standing unbound beside his horse, buttressed on either side by a pair of guards. Naren, who considered even my shadow too close for comfort, attempted to follow me but I stopped him with a curt gesture. I wished to speak my farewells to Val without an audience, and so dismissed the guards as well.
Clad in travelling gear, Valleri seemed composed, resigned, if a little sombre. I had discounted him as mad, greedy, devious, when in truth he was none of these things. Misguided perhaps. Ruthless certainly. But he had loved me, and I could not discount his heart so easily. My conscience prodded me to ask, “Where will you go, Val? What will you do?"
He tossed me his familiar cavalier glance and crooked smile. “I thought I might travel to Chakan, to offer my services as a hiresword to that desert chieftain who had given Bertrand the Shouda. He is rumoured to reward those who serve him well and faithfully with riches beyond mere mortals’ dreams."
I nodded. That seemed a sensible undertaking. The chieftain had refused to become involved in our domestic strife, much too busy himself mediating tribal feuds and foiling murderous rivals to meddle in anyone else's affairs. No doubt he would enthusiastically welcome Val's tactical experience and fighting prowess. And even if by some stroke of stupidity he did not, Valleri could still make himself a lucrative career as a mercenary. I could well imagine him thundering across the dunes on a fleet courser, leading a charge through his enemies and waving a scimitar over his head. Just as easily, I could picture him ensconced in a silk tent, lounging on plush cushions, his every need and want attended to by a bevy of scantily clad female admirers. A life filled with exotic delights awaited him. Desert gold. Beautiful concubines. Countless enemies to slay. What more could a warrior want?
But with that vision a sense of misgiving assailed me. Tactical experience? A rich and powerful foreign ally? I shuddered to think what
Valleri could do with such things, and briefly wondered whether I had been too careless with my mercy.
That unease must have shown on my face, for Valleri accurately read my thoughts. “Don't worry, Kathedra. You need never fear I will return one day to make war on you. I don't want Thylana, and I certainly won't help anyone else wrest her from you. You and your throne are safe from me, no matter what rubbish Ginger tells you."
He seemed so sincere, so adamant. But Ginger had planted a seed of doubt in me, and always there would lurk a suspicion in the back of my mind, allowing me no peace. Forcing a smile, I stepped in close to clasp his hands. “I know that, Val. I know. I wish nothing but the best for you."
He bent to kiss my cheek in the formal way. “I'll miss you, Kathedra. But if you ever need me, for any reason, just send word and I'll come. I may be in exile, but my heart is here with you."
Though I'd expected him to be bitter, he wasn't, which only proved how little I knew him.
We embraced, there before everyone, all trying to look busy and sympathetic at the same time. As we drew apart, I swear I saw gnarly old Gregaris brush away a tear.
"Peace, Val."
"And a long and prosperous reign to you."
Even as we parted, I think our fingertips still touched when I heard my name cried out with a note of urgency. “Kathedra!"
Startled, annoyed, I turned to see Ginger had crawled out of his sickbed to rave at me in apparent delirium. Though the look of weakness, of exhaustion, still clung to him, he marched towards us with unwavering stride, purpose and resolve etched onto the hard planes of his face.
"Kathedra, you should take more care,” he told me, without trace of mockery. “There is danger here. I sense it."
"Danger from who? From Val?"
"No, not Valleri.” He frowned, his gaze sweeping the area. “But nearby.” There was an intensity, a watchfulness to him. His jaw was rigid with tension, and perspiration beaded on his brow, not the sweat of sickness but fear. Whatever his discomfiture, it was genuine.
By this time, Valleri had had enough. “Ginger, just what is it that you think—"
A shout from above cut him off, and we all craned our necks to peer up at the top of the wall where a man, wrapped in a drab homespun cloak and hood stood. Stunned, I whispered, “Urharde?"
Beside me, Valleri murmured, “No,” and took several steps forward, staring at the figure on the wall. “Not Urharde. It's—"
"Ragsey,” I breathed. My heart flip-flopped in my chest like a dying mackerel.
Even as I spoke, Ragsey threw off his hood to reveal himself. His clothes were ragged, bloodied, and caked with road dust. He swayed atop the wall, one arm hanging loose, made useless by the festering arrow wound; it was a marvel that he could even stand. Why he was here was anybody's guess. Following his encounter with Naren's crossbow, he must have made his way to the teleportal shortly after we left Idyll, then bided his time until he could slip into the castle disguised as just another refugee.
"You!” he shouted down to me. “And him!” He indicated Ginger with a jerk of his chin. His voice was shrill, piercing, a hysterical edge to it. He was not in his right mind, if ever he was. Pain and exhaustion and vengeful thoughts had left him mad.
"The two of you messed up everything!” he yelled. “Valleri was supposed to be king. And with my help he still can be."
While not everyone might agree with his skewed reasoning, technically he was right. No one had thought to revoke Valleri's claim to throne in the event of my death and Uncle's.
Ginger turned to Valleri, hissed, “What treachery is this?"
Just as menacingly Valleri spat back, “I don't know what he plots but I swear I have nothing to do with it."
"What are you going to do, Ginger?” Ragsey demanded from his vantage atop the wall, ignoring the sentries who had begun to converge upon him from all directions. “Who will you save? Kathedra or yourself?"
Then his hand whipped out from underneath his cloak and he let fly a throwing star. I saw it coming, the glint of metal against a backdrop of blue sky, heard the whine of it slicing through the air. I started to turn, to lift my arm to ward it off, but Ginger was quicker I bet than even Ragsey had anticipated. With a gesture and whispered command the star that had been spinning toward my throat halted, there in mid-air, to rotate so slowly I could count each blade, tinged with some vile substance, before it dropped harmlessly to the stones with a rattle of metal.
All this happened within seconds, and yet seemed to pass in slow motion. Someone, my ever faithful bodyguard, I suspect, tackled me from behind, bore me to the ground. Even as I fell, I saw with a mind-numbing terror another star hurtle towards the mage. Counting on Ginger's distraction with the first missile, Ragsey had loosed a second. It flew through the air, a deadly spinning disc, bang on for Ginger's heart. Though the sentries sprang to subdue the madman, none of them had reached him in time.
I didn't know whether Ginger had another spell ready or if he even had the strength to invoke it, but it didn't matter ... because Valleri was there, stepping into the star's trajectory. The missile struck him square in the chest and penetrated deep, knocking him sideways. He reached out to stop his fall, and found Ginger's arm, his weight dragging both of them to the cobbles.
My cry went unheard in the commotion that ensued. The men on the wall had collared Ragsey, and by the fuss he was making he wasn't going quietly. I wrestled my way free of Naren, climbed onto unsteady feet, staring in horror at the hunk of metal protruding from Val's chest. I froze, watching this nightmare unfold, unable to believe any of it. Ginger was yelling for help, shouting for the surgeon, cursing Ragsey with every oath he knew. He pulled the star free of Valleri's flesh, heedless of its tearing points, used his own hands to stop the bleeding. But even at this distance, I could see it was no good. The poison had already worked its evil. Valleri's face had drained of all colour. His chest heaved as he fought for breath, fought for speech.
I moved to go to him, then stopped myself. I had already spoken my good-byes to Val. It was Ginger's turn.
Valleri batted away his fr
iend's well-meaning hands. “It's no use,” he gasped out. Fumbling, he grabbed for the mage, blood-tinged fingers clenching in the folds of his tunic. “Listen to me. The duty of the Gryphon Highlord is to protect the king or queen of Thylana,” he paused to draw a ragged breath, “and I can think of no one who can do that job better than you."
Ginger hunched over him, propping Val up in his lap. His voice trembled, threatened to break. “If that were true, then it would be me here lying in your place."
"No, Ginger. It's exactly why you're not. It is I who is unworthy. I see that now. Do you understand?"
"No. Damn you, Val! I don't understand!"
"Promise me you'll take the job. Promise me."
"Job? What job? What the hell are you—"
Val's fingers twitched, drew tighter around the fabric, pulling Ginger closer til their faces were a scant inch away. “Just promise me."
"All right. All right. I promise."
Valleri smiled, closed his eyes and nodded. His hand relaxed, then fell away altogether.
"Val? Val!"
* * * *
"Cheer up, princess. He'll be back."
I slumped on my stool by Arial's bedside. Ginger was gone, disappearing shortly after Valleri had died. For days I pined, fretted. Until I had word from him I would remain unable to think or sleep or eat. Nothing cheered me. Not the news that Ragsey had expired of gangrene, or the revelation that Urharde had been apprehended, or even the arrival of a messenger from Belvemar with word that Sestus was making a spectacular recovery. I was gratified yes, but not cheered. I haunted the stables, the kennels, hoping to find him there with his Shouda bitch, who'd deserted me also. I spent much of my time in the infirmary, visiting Arial.
It seemed Arial would make a partial recovery, though he suffered great pain from his injuries. His arm worried me most, broken and nearly severed by a sword blow he never saw coming. “How is it today?” I asked, in my ho-hum tone.
"Better some. Yesterday it was agonizing. Today it is only excruciating."
I smiled weakly at his wit. It went beyond my ability to whip up a potion to augment the pain alleviators, which the surgeon had given him. That was just too dangerous a task for me to attempt without the proper training, the required skill. Though Naren had pointed out that I was now free to hire the best damned Teki tutor in all the world, such a prospect held no interest for me.
Despite his own misfortune Arial sought to console me, placing a comforting hand over mine. “I have to admit, for a Crusader/Umagi he's not a bad fellow. Still, I'm murderously jealous of any man who can do this to you."
"Do what?"
"Come now. I don't think all those tears you cry are for my poor arm."
"Maybe one or two."
"Ahh, how generous!” His fingers squeezed mine, reassuring in their strength. “Trust me. Your mage will come back to you when he's ready. He just needs some time to absorb it all."
I supposed that was part of it. I'd finally gotten the truth of what had happened so long ago in Idyll, having learned it one evening from Naren, who grows surprisingly loquacious over a few cups of ale. According to him, Ginger, Valleri and Ivor had come into the pantry after a day's hard play wanting something for their bellies only to be promptly chased out. But boys being boys, they hatched a plan. Ginger was to stand lookout while Ivor distracted the kitchen staff with a spell, at which point Valleri was to sneak in and grab a tray of freshly baked honeycakes. As a result, Ivor's free-flow of telekinesis collided with Mauranna's simple spell to augment the cookfire.
Ginger might have forgiven himself for the events at Idyll, and even forgiven Ivor as well. But he was finding it harder to forgive Valleri, who had kept the truth of it to himself, using his silence as a means to let his hatred for Uncle ripen his vengeance.
A cold wet nose nuzzled my hand. I looked down to see the female Shouda, and knew Ginger must be near by. Pivoting on my stool, I saw him in the doorway. At my smile of welcome he stepped into the room. “Sorry to interrupt. I won't stay. I just wanted to tell you that I don't think I can accept the position of Gryphon Highlord."
My smile faded. Hurriedly, he continued, “I don't deserve such an honour. There are others more worthy than I. Give it to one of them."
I could not fathom what he was saying. While a likely candidate, Sestus was too close to retirement age. Naren would refuse the office, for he had expressed a desire to return to Idyll and restore the keep to its former glory. And Arial? Sad to say, Arial would never swing a sword again.
"Valleri thought you deserved it."
"It doesn't matter what Valleri thought. All that matters is what you think."
I remembered Ginger summoning magic so potent it nearly killed him. I recalled, too, his deflection of a poison-tipped throwing star hurled at my throat. He had even braved a keep full of Shouda, knowing what the price of failure meant. He'd risked his life and the lives of others in order to fight by my side and win me a throne. I understood all this, just as Valleri had.
"Believe me when I say no one is more worthy than you. The position is yours, if you want it."
"Its not that simple, Kathedra. If I accept the role of Gryphon Highlord I want all the titles and privileges that go with it."
"Of course."
"You would agree even though I don't meet all the criteria?"
"Criteria? I don't know what you mean.” I glanced at Arial, who seemed equally baffled.
"I am not a member of Gryphon's house."
"Oh.” I let out a heartfelt sigh of relief. “That is more tradition than requirement."
He appeared deflated by my answer. “Don't worry,” I hastened to reassure him, desperate to make him stay. I got to my feet, faced him from the opposite side of Arial's sickbed. “I won't bind you to me with tedious vows or legal shackles. You will be free to live your life outside the office as you see fit.” He had no idea how much that cost me to say, but I did not want Ginger bound to me out of duty or law.
"What if I told you I don't want to be free? That I want to be bound, mind, body and soul to you."
I still wasn't following his thread of logic.
Arial, on the other hand, figured it out. “For heaven's sake,” he yelped at me, “he's asking you to marry him!"
It took a moment to sink in. I can be as thick as one of Biddy's bunion creams when the mood strikes me. I had not dared hope for such a thing from Ginger. Elated, I let out a shriek of joy and flung my arms around him, bearing us both down to the cot.
And Arial, bless his sentimental heart, abandoned his sickbed of his own volition rather than be forcibly ejected from it.
* * *
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