by Brian Fuller
“No, Mother!” the Chalaine exclaimed amid the nods of assent. “My life is not worth the blood of these men! Let me go, if Athan requires it. I would rather join Gen in death than see the blood of good men spilled to save my worthless life! I have failed, and nothing can change that! My time is over!”
“Mikkik wants you,” Ethris said tenderly, taking her by the shoulders, his gaze boring through the veil. “If you weren’t important or a threat to him, then Padra Athan would let you go. I’m sure that in his mind, he simply wishes to return you so that Mikkik can usher you out of this world. But the truth is that you are the only member of the prophecy of his destruction that still exists, and you are the only hope we have!”
The Chalaine wrenched herself from his soft grip. “I will not. . .”
“You will!” Mirelle interrupted, face severe. “One of the best men I ever knew just sacrificed his life so you could live. You will not dishonor his memory by throwing that life away.” Her mother closed her eyes and steadied herself. “I do not mean to burden you or be cross during this time of mourning. You know I feel this wound as deeply and as painfully as you, but do not compound it by suggesting I give away what I have treasured above all.”
The Chalaine nodded in acquiescence, and the council relaxed.
“It is settled, then,” Ethris said to solidify the decision. “Chalaine, I must intrude upon your thoughts. I need your memory of Aldemar’s vision and what passed between you and Mikkik on the bridge of Echo Hold. Will you allow me?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you, dear,” he said tenderly. “Do not let pain overwhelm you. We cannot see all ends. When I am done, Mirelle and Lord Kildan will accompany me to talk sense into Athan. There may be a way out yet. Lord Kildan, please approach Athan again and let him know we have evidence of our claims.”
The Chalaine bowed her head as Ethris placed his hand upon it, but despite his comforting words, no serious hope took root in a soil she feared too hardened by tragedy to let any seed creep in.
Mirelle kissed the Chalaine’s cheek before she mounted her horse, joining Ethris, Kildan, Cadaen, and a retinue of soldiers ready to ride toward the center of the yawning space between the amassed armies. Athan had agreed to hear their arguments, though Mirelle doubted the conniving Churchman would take them seriously.
Mostly, Mirelle was grateful for Ethris, a Mage powerful enough for Athan to respect and a loyal friend who had generously taken up the slack in her leadership that the fog of her grief had left. She hardly had the will to command anything or anyone, having Gen’s pale face and marred body cradled in her arms the only memory that mattered to her. Only the need to protect her daughter had roused her to activity, and she clung to that steadying purpose to will her mind to turn again toward strategy and negotiation.
They moved at a steady pace toward a pavilion that Athan had ordered erected in the field between the two factions. Mirelle tried to understand the matter from the perspective of everyone at Echo Hold, save those few who knew the truth. The day before had proceeded just as prophecy had dictated—until Gen had stabbed the impostor Eldaloth in the back and wounded him, turning the bliss of victory into terrifying uncertainty. That Mikkik had commanded Athan to retrieve the Chalaine and her supporters meant that the dark god had survived Gen’s attack on the bridge and was in command.
What terrified Mirelle the most was Athan’s pride. He would take his inability to control Gen as a personal failure that had led to the wounding of his god. This task from Eldaloth would provide him a way to save face in a small way. If Ethris’s demonstration of her daughter’s memory was not sufficient to convince the Padra of the true identity of the being he thought a god, there would be no way to avoid bloodshed.
The noon sun shone warmly upon them as they approached the pavilion, a cadre of eunuch Eldephaere ringing the outside and stiffening to attention as they dismounted. Padra Athan stood outside in his robes of office, eying Ethris and Mirelle as they approached. Padra Nolan stood at his side. Athan’s face and hands bore recently healed scars, but the power of his piercing eyes remained alight, filled will divine purpose. Without a word he stepped aside and signaled for them to enter.
The dim tent sweltered in the afternoon heat, the ground covered with functional rugs and rough camp chairs that circled the interior space. A third Padra waited inside, already seated with a quill and paper on his lap. They exchanged no greetings as they sat, Athan staring at them all with barely checked contempt.
“Let me be clear that I allowed this parley as a courtesy,” he began. “I fully intend to recover the Chalaine. I was gratified to hear that Gen was slain and will have my men search among the corpses so that we can drag his body through the streets of Echo Hold and then burn it. If I have my way, Mirelle, you will suffer the same fate. I hope you can see where your naive trust of Gen has led us. You knew he was the Ilch and chose to give him honor and position despite it all! Now Eldaloth bleeds with a wound that cannot be staunched. His wound has no power to take his life, but no power to be healed, either. Only the Chalaine can help him. She must come with us!”
“Gen saved the Chalaine’s life, Athan! He died at Butchers gap, destroying Mikkik’s creatures to keep them from catching and killing her,” Mirelle countered.
“The Chalaine was set for Erelinda before the Ilch interfered! She would now be partaking of the joy that Eldaloth gave to Chertanne. . .”
“That is not Eldaloth, Athan,” Ethris said forcefully.
“Ah, yes,” Athan said, “the delightful story Lord Kildan warned me about. What proof could you possibly have? What circumstance could confirm it? The world now rejoices! Mikkik’s creatures are in retreat as we crush them and drive them east! Eldaloth sits upon the throne in Echo Hold rewarding the faithful and healing the sick, and you come with wild tales. Who concocted this story? Gen?”
“It is the Chalaine that confirms it,” Ethris said, “though a thoughtful consideration of the events at Echo Hold might tender its own evidences. Don’t you think, Athan, that the battle went just a little too easily? In the first two Mikkikian Wars, tens and even hundreds of thousands were killed. So Mikkik returns and just throws his soldiers at Echo Hold with no plan or military purpose? I doubt even a hundred of our defenders were killed. Then Mikkik crafts some creature for you to believe is him, and you all play along.”
“Ridiculous!” Athan thundered. “If you have real evidence, then let us see it. If all you have is words, then return to your soldiers and tell them it’s time to die.”
Mirelle’s doubts about Athan’s willingness to negotiate became all too real as Ethris rose and approached the zealous man. Athan would not leave without her daughter. He had already carved his intended path, and only a confession from Mikkik himself would deter him down a different road.
Ethris stopped in front Athan. “My evidence consists of two memories I have copied from the Chalaine’s mind. The first is a vision given to her from Aldemar in which he showed her Mikkik when he slew Eldaloth. The second is the Chalaine’s encounter with Mikkik on the bridge of Echo Hold just before Gen pulled her into the ravine. It is very clear to the Chalaine and anyone who sees this memory that the one who killed Eldaloth hundreds of years ago stood on the Bridge of Echo Hold and unmade Chertanne and the Holy Child using Trysmagic. You may enter my mind and view these memories. I know it is in your power.”
Athan, clearly unconvinced, stood and invited Ethris to sit in his chair so he could place his hands upon Ethris’s head and do the reading.
“Do not try to wander where I do not wish it,” Ethris warned. “You would regret it.”
The spectators fell quiet as the two men concentrated, Athan whispering the words of his spell. For several minutes both sat motionless as the memories gleaned from the Chalaine’s mind played before Athan, whose controlled facial expression revealed nothing of what he might have thought or felt. At last it was over, and Athan backed away, eyes refocusing outward as Ethris returned to sit with Mi
relle. For a moment, Athan actually seemed to consider seriously what he had seen, Mirelle’s hope rising. But his words crushed it in an instant.
“You call that evidence?” he said with derision. “These are images from the mind of a frightened young woman whose faith Gen had poisoned her from the moment he met her. And let’s not forget that the memory given her was from a race of creatures whose purposes and intentions are as unknown to us as Gen’s were. If you have nothing better than that to offer, then I suggest that you turn yourselves over peacefully now. I will allow Lord Kildan to return to your lines and order the soldiers to surrender their weapons. They will be free to return to their homeland once we have reached Echo Hold with the Chalaine.”
“See reason!” Ethris pleaded, standing. “You have been hopelessly deceived!”
“Guards, seize them,” Athan ordered, nervously eying Ethris.
“Wait!” Mirelle yelled as the Eldephaere entered the tent, weapons drawn. Cadaen shoved his way forward to stand by Mirelle.
She stood toe to toe with Athan. “If the Chalaine goes with you, can you promise that she will come to no harm?”
Ethris said, “No, Mirelle!” She silenced him with a look.
“Of course!” Athan exclaimed. “It is you who is taking her into danger! I only wish to do as Eldaloth wills! She will be far and away more protected in Echo Hold than riding through the wilderness where the remnants of Mikkik’s forces roam leaderless.”
“Then let me speak with my daughter,” Mirelle said, doing her best to act defeated. It came easily because she felt it. “I would inquire of her will and see what she wishes.”
“Then be quick about it,” Athan said. “I expect a report within the half hour.”
Mirelle’s mind raced as they left the tent and mounted the horses, polishing every detail of the plan that was born as soon as she saw Athan’s determined, implacable face.
“You can’t be seriously considering this,” Ethris said quietly, face questioning. “But I see that you aren’t. What do you propose?”
Mirelle waited until they were farther from the tents before she explained, signaling for Ethris to lean in close so Cadaen couldn’t hear. “If Mikkik uses impostors, then so can we. I will take the Chalaine’s place with a little help from your magic. After we have pretended to counsel together, we will send Kildan back with the deal. He will say that the Chalaine has agreed to return with Athan, but only if he lets everyone else go free. If I’m right, he will agree. Getting the Chalaine is everything to him, and punishing the rest of us of far less import. I will take Dason and ride to their camp to complete the illusion. If we’re lucky, he’ll be so excited to get underway that he won’t submit me to any close examination.”
“What about. . .” and Ethris cast a glance back to Cadaen.
“You or I will have to drop him and keep him under for as long as it takes,” she said. “He will ruin everything if he comes chasing after me.”
“Athan was serious about dragging you through the streets, Mirelle. Are you sure you want to do this?”
Mirelle nodded. “If that is what it takes to keep my daughter away from Mikkik, I’ll suffer it. But I think Athan knows that if he hurts me, the Chalaine would never forgive him or get anywhere near his control. I’ll remind Athan of that if it comes to it.”
Ethris nodded as they arrived at their lines to a sea of expectant faces. Taking care of Cadaen would be easy compared to convincing her daughter, but Mirelle had to try. If need be, she would have Ethris put her into a slumber along with Cadaen. Her council gathered about them, but Mirelle asked for privacy, pulling her daughter away toward the rear of the camp where they could speak alone.
“We’ve little time, daughter. I am going to ask something very difficult of you, and I need you to be strong for me.”
“You’ve decided to let me go with him after all,” the Chalaine said, resigned and even relieved.
Mirelle took her daughter’s face in her hands. “No, my love. I need you to let me go with him.” As she explained the plan to her daughter, the expected resistance came.
“I cannot lose you and Gen both! Not now!” the Chalaine exclaimed.
“That is the point!” Mirelle countered. “If you go, Athan will have no qualms about torturing and killing me and maybe others besides. If we refuse, his army will destroy us. If I go as an impostor, you can flee. By the time he figures out our little trick, you will be out of his reach. He cannot kill me. He knows that doing so would turn you against him forever, so he will keep me safe. In more ways than one, I will be much safer than you.”
The Chalaine began to weep, and Mirelle embraced her tenderly, knowing that her arguments had broken down the Chalaine’s defenses. She signaled for the council to come to them and quickly explained her plan.
Cadaen, incensed, objected. “I will not put you within reach of that man or. . .”
Ethris incanted and Cadaen fell to the ground, unconscious.
Mirelle regarded him softly, tears coming to her eyes. “I am sorry, old friend. You cannot follow me this time. Please see that he is treated with dignity and honor.”
“It will be done,” Lord Kildan assured her.
“Dason,” Mirelle said, “are you prepared to come to Athan’s camp with me? I cannot say what he will do with you.”
“I am loathe to leave the Chalaine in this peril,” he said.
“Please, Dason,” the Chalaine said. “Do this for me. If he allows you to stay with her, please do. It is the greatest gift you could give me. I would be in your debt forever.”
He bowed. “Then I will.”
“Let’s hurry,” Ethris prompted. “There is little time. Kildan, ride to Athan’s camp and let him know our terms. There is a small hedge just a little way off. Mirelle and the Chalaine will trade identities and clothes there.”
They worked quickly in the heat of the summer afternoon. They had to conjure a replacement veil for the Chalaine, though Mirelle knew that the powerful beauty that had once exuded from the Chalaine had already dimmed, the darkness around her red-streaked eyes dulling her once-powerful radiance.
When they were finished, she signaled Ethris over.
“You are of the same height and build,” Ethris observed, “but the problem is in voice and bearing. The voice I can change. The Chalaine’s bearing is yours to imitate, Mirelle. You are used to ruling and commanding and getting your way. Right now, you need the humility, fear, and exhaustion of your daughter. I mean no offense, Chalaine.”
“I feel those things, too,” Mirelle said. “I plan on saying little.” To her daughter, she said, “Since you spent a great deal of time with Athan, I will need you to inform me of any significant events that he may bring up casually, though there is no time for detail.”
While Ethris incanted, the Chalaine rattled off a number of meetings she had attended and conversations she had had with the Padra, but Mirelle doubted they would help much. When Ethris finished, the voice of her daughter issued from her lips, surprising her.
“It will be strange,” Ethris warned her, “and it will only last for about a day. If you can keep up the ruse that long, we should be far enough out of Athan’s reach.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Duke Kildan returned, galloping directly to where they waited. “He has agreed,” he reported. “He demands she come at once. There is a lot of activity in their lines, and I am worried he means to attack anyway.”
“Let’s get this over with,” Mirelle said, embracing her daughter one last time. “Remember your worth, Chalaine. Remember who died for you. I hope we may meet again soon, but if not, remember me for my love, whatever my mistakes have been.”
Prying the reluctant Chalaine away, Mirelle signaled Dason over to her and steeled herself. If she failed to convince Athan of her identity, she had little doubt Athan would see her run through on the spot. Ethris hugged her and the rest of the party bowed.
“Remember,” Ethris said, “you are your daughter. Di
ffident, quiet, and not prone to sharp remarks. Speak as little as possible and you’ll get through.”
Mirelle nodded, and, with Dason in tow, mounted the horse and rode away from the line of soldiers who, unaware of the ruse, whispered among themselves about the Chalaine’s departure. Course decided, she allowed one last look backward at her daughter and let the grief she had held at bay finally have its just due.
Ahead, Athan waited next to a prison wagon, and as Lord Kildan had observed, the lines bustled with movement and preparations that indicated that more was at stake than just an unforced departure. Men donned armor and checked weapons, and Athan’s bearing bore the hallmarks of impatience. He bowed as they approached.
“Most Holy Chalaine,” he intoned reverently. “I thank you for the wise decision to return to Eldaloth’s embrace. I am afraid we must depart rather hastily. Some of Mikkik’s creatures still have the will to fight on without him. I had intended less confined accommodations for you, but I am afraid you must bear a little discomfort for your own protection, as during the caravan to your wedding.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Mirelle said, the Chalaine’s voice still feeling strange in her throat. “We’re doomed no matter what we do.”
Athan furrowed his brow in concern. “You are mistaken, Chalaine. When you see Eldaloth, you will understand your error and feel of his kindness and mercy. Then you will find hope again.”
Mirelle mounted the prison wagon, and Dason tried to follow, only to have the Eldephaere guards rebuff him.
“Dason, you are dismissed,” Athan said. “Return to your people.”
“I will not leave her!” he exclaimed, and Mirelle was impressed by the sincerity of his voice. Lord Kildan’s son was quite an actor, after all.
“Go, Dason,” Mirelle said, keeping the despair at the forefront of her voice. “You can do me no more service, now. Go help my mother. Keep her safe, and you will be rewarded.”
He bowed stiffly. “Your will.” He mounted the horse and took the other by the reins, leading them away.
