Sacrifice (Book 4)

by Brian Fuller

  “Imagine my despair when I found out that this dream was not to be! That she had given her heart to some obscure woodsman, that I only later came to know was Aldradan Mikmir. I was crushed and hurt, the very joy of life ripped from me cruelly. It was as if death had found me. I felt she had betrayed me, and my world had gone as black as the grave! I fled from her glorious presence and my pain, and in my despair I wandered, my duty to her lost beneath my sadness.

  “I return now knowing my position is lost, but begging only one favor. I wish to be in her honor guard at her wedding. I can only hope that my years of service as a Dark Guard and a Protector can earn me some leniency for the disappointment she must feel at my dereliction of duty. This one favor I ask, and no more.”

  Gen regarded Dason closely. It wasn’t difficult to hear the shattered heart in his voice, and Gen remembered the Chalaine’s tale of their stolen kiss of regard while he was her Protector. The Chalaine had grown out of her infatuation while his infatuation had grown into love or at least some expectation of it.

  “I cannot blame you for your feelings, Dason,” Gen said. “Nor will I render judgment on your request immediately. I will consult the feelings of the Chalaine, who, I believe, has always considered you an excellent man and a good friend. From those close the the Chalaine, I know you have rendered good service in the past, and I do not wish to be punitive at this time of celebration. Take a room at the Quickblade. I will send our decision to you before midday.”

  “I thank you, your Majesty,” Dason said, appearing relieved. “I will await your word.”

  Dason strode away and Gen glanced at Mirelle, who leaned in close. She said, “It is a cruel thing, poor man. It was the wish of his father that they wed. The Chalaine should have spurned his advances more forcefully.”

  Gen shook his head. “She had a great deal of affection for him once.”

  “Once,” Mirelle agreed, “but she hasn’t thought of him that way for a long time. You taught her what love really was, and she never looked back.”

  Gen nodded and sat back, pondering as Dason disappeared behind the double doors. He could pity the man. To lose the love of the Chalaine would crush anyone, though it appeared that Dason’s surety of the Chalaine’s reciprocation of his love proceeded from a healthy imagination fed by vanity.

  “Should we make a wager on whether the Chalaine will allow him in the honor guard?” Mirelle asked. “I’ll wager fifty gold she says yes just to spare his feelings.”

  “I accept your wager and say she won’t,” Gen replied. “She was powerfully annoyed with him before he left. When she found out he had ridden off, she said, ‘Good riddance.’”

  Mirelle grinned. “We shall see, Lord Mikmir. A mother knows her daughter.”

  CHAPTER 84 - SHATTERED SKY

  The Chalaine stood in front of the Walls, staring at the people gathering on the square in preparation for the wedding. As was custom, they formed two lines, holding lanterns and candles to create an avenue of light for her and Gen to traverse. The evening deepened on a perfect summer day, and she couldn’t help but draw comparisons to the betrothal ceremony she had so dreaded with Chertanne. Tonight, the right man would be on the horse, and dutiful Churchmen had scoured the Chapel to ensure that no uninvited demonic visitors would interrupt the ceremony. More than anything, she wished she could tear the veil from her face and toss it into the crowd so they could see the life and happiness in her face.

  Her mother worked her hair to perfection, smiling as she twisted and looped and tied. The Chalaine felt profound relief at the warmth and serenity of Mirelle’s countenance. She had feared for so long that her wedding to Gen would break Mirelle’s heart, but she appeared perfectly content and happy to give her daughter to the man she also loved. The love of a mother was still a mystery to her, but in time the Chalaine hoped she would have the chance to understand the depth of dedication that a woman could have for a child.

  “How are you feeling, dear?” Mirelle asked. “You don’t seem as nervous as you should be.”

  “I am at peace,” the Chalaine answered truthfully. “This is the kind of man I wanted to marry in the first place, and I know and love Gen so well that there is simply no room for fear in my heart.”

  “You need to call him Lord Mikmir from now on, Alumira,” Mirelle chided. “One slip in the right company could prove disastrous.”

  “I know, I know,” the Chalaine said. “It just seems so awkward and formal. I’ll be careful. There’s just some part of me that wishes that everyone knew that I was marrying Gen and not some legend I’ve barely known a week. I want the whole world to see that I loved the man who fought and bled and even died for me. He deserves that recognition and that reward.”

  Mirelle adjusted her daughter’s dress, shifting the veil to precisely center. “You are the reward, and since I know Gen, I know he wishes for nothing more than you. And speaking of reward,” her mother said, voice teasing, “are you ready for the honeymoon, such as it is?”

  The Chalaine blushed. She didn’t have the heart to tell her mother that she had been thoroughly enjoying her honeymoon for days. Since Gen had to leave Mikmir the morning after the wedding, they could not travel to some exotic place to be alone. The honeymoon would consist of a stay in the Chalaine’s Tower, a place where her decoys had lived and to which she had never been.

  “I will hardly speak of such matters with you, mother,” the Chalaine replied. “Gen—I mean, Lord Mikmir—will do quite well, I’m sure, and we will keep such matters private, as is proper.”

  Mirelle chuckled. “I love it when you blush. Just don’t keep him up too late. He’s going to need his wits about him tomorrow. But don’t cheat him, either. He deserves the love of his wife before he rides into danger.”

  “That’s quite enough advice on the topic,” the Chalaine said, pulling at a strand of hair. “I’m sure we will be sensible.”

  “But not too sensible, for pity’s sake!” Mirelle admonished, picking up her daughter’s veil from the bed where it was carefully folded. “It’s supposed to be memorable, after all.”

  A knock at the door hurried Mirelle’s efforts to secure the veil to her daughter’s head.

  “Come in!” the Chalaine said.

  Gerand poked his head in. “Dason has arrived and wishes an audience with you, Lady Alumira.”

  “Let him enter,” the Chalaine said, suddenly feeling sick to her stomach. She had agreed to let him serve as honor guard out of respect, but since Gen had brought the news of Dason’s return to her, she had chastised herself for not making her feelings—or rather the lack thereof—plain to Dason. She never wished to cause him pain, but as he entered, it wasn’t pain but purpose that she found in his eyes. He bowed.

  “Thank you for this honor, Lady Alumira,” he said.

  “You have earned it, Dason,” she said. “I am sorry if I have hurt you. I did not wish to make you think I felt more than I did for you.”

  This stung him, but he seemed resolute, straightening and stepping near her. “I beg you to reconsider this marriage,” he said, voice intense. “I love you and only want the best for you. You are being deceived!”

  “Dason!” Mirelle said, stepping between him and the Chalaine. “Leave at once!”

  His face screwed up into a scowl of righteous anger. “I’ll leave, Mirelle!”

  Dason stepped forward, and with a powerful shove pushed Mirelle backward with such force that she tumbled over the bed. Entangling bed veils clung to Mirelle, and she grunted when she landed hard on the floor. Before the Chalaine could think, Dason grabbed her arm in a vice-like grip and placed his other hand on the Walls.

  “Renberry Cathedral!”

  The Chalaine screamed for help as the interior of the old Church resolved into view. The door exploded open, Gerand entering with sword drawn.

  “Let her go, brother!” he yelled.

  But to the Chalaine’s surprise, Dason walked forward and then into the Walls. He pulled her in after, her room d
isappearing in an instant.

  She and Dason stood in the deserted Cathedral, a stone wall behind them where they had crossed through. A single lantern hanging askance from the wall created a small pool on the deserted benches halfway back. The Cathedral, built on the edge of Kingsblood Lake, stood at the center of an Eldephaere stronghold. Its dark, thick stone and ascetic interior was meant to reflect sobriety and service rather than to stun a parishioner into reverence. Unlike other Church buildings with ornate windows and glass, only thin vertical slits in the walls allowed the dying evening light to slice into the room. The Chalaine stared at the boxy interior with disbelief. Her Walls were a Portal! No one had never told her!

  “What have you done!” the Chalaine yelled, yanking her arm from Dason’s grip.

  “What I had to do to save you, Chalaine. You have been gravely deceived and are, I fear, under the influence of magic,” he explained, voice placating. “I love you and only wish to see your mind and heart put right again.”

  “You are the one who has been tricked!” the Chalaine spat. “How dare you do this to me against my will! Gen will come for me, and you will pay for this treachery with your life!”

  “Gen is dead, Chalaine!” Dason said, trying to place his hands on her shoulders. She moved away. “You are clearly not in your right mind!”

  “You are fool, Dason,” she said, cursing her slip of the tongue. “There will be no mercy for you this time.”

  Dason shook his head. “We’ll be gone before anyone can find us. Athan will provide protection and undo whatever lies have been foisted upon you.”

  “Athan!?” she yelled. “You really have lost your mind! Athan is a deluded fiend!”

  She waited for Dason to respond, but as his eyes searched the Chapel around them, his countenance lost its confidence. The Chalaine followed his gaze. Around the edges of the floor Eldephaere soldiers lay dead, and a Churchman was draped over the altar behind them.

  “Dason?”

  A man rose in the darkness near the back benches and walked toward them calmly. He had a soldierly stride and stance, but he wore no weapon. A glint of anticipation shone in his dark eyes as he approached.

  “Good evening,” he said. “Welcome to Renberry Cathedral, Chalaine. It is an honor to know you at last.”

  The Chalaine backed instinctively away, and Dason pulled his sword.

  “Who are you?” Dason asked.

  The man smiled. “Sir Tornus of Echo Hold. Forgive the mess. I have been very hungry lately.”

  Gen examined himself in the mirror and almost couldn’t recognize himself. Even more disturbing, the man who returned the gaze looked like an actual King. A week of having every servant and aristocrat call him Lord Mikmir hadn’t helped the lie sound like the truth to him or lessened the feeling that he was a fraud and an impostor. But now, staring at himself bedecked in rich blue and gold, a simple crown atop his head, an uncanny invitation to believe in his own abilities and destiny called to him. Mirelle beaming at him with unabashed pride as they sat in council or in court almost convinced him that Kingship was a calling he could fulfill. But something of the peasant boy of Tell still remained within him and refused to let the conversion fully take place.

  The chambers of Aldradan Mikmir had received a hasty cleaning and restoration after he arrived, though the scent of dust still clung to the side chambers in particular. A cadre a servants swirled about, some to ensure his clothing was in proper order, and others asking about this detail or that. The drama of his arrival and his display of power had nearly convinced everyone that Aldradan Mikmir had indeed returned, although skepticism still bred in some corners of Rhugoth, especially among those dedicated to the Church of the One.

  “I believe you are ready, Milord,” his servant said after inspecting the golden cape. “Your itinerary states that you are to retrieve your stallion from the stables and proceed to the front of the Great Hall to await Lady Alumira’s approach. Shall I review the rest, or are you confident of the procedure?”

  “I know it well enough, thank you,” he said. “You and your fellows may retire and enjoy yourselves.”

  “You are most gracious, Lord Mikmir,” the servant said. “A thousand blessings to you.”

  Gen nodded. He promised himself not get used to the fawning and scraping. As yet, there had hardly been enough time for the Regents and Generals to curry favor with him, but he knew it would begin in earnest if he sat on the throne much longer.

  A servant opened the door for him and an honor guard of six Rhugothian knights fell in around him as he strode down the hall to the side door near the kitchens. The Great Hall was a blur of servants placing tables and food, and amid the chaos he spotted Marna firmly in command, rolling pin in hand. It was her scepter, and she prodded and smacked as much as she rolled dough.

  “Marna,” Gen said, “I have heard your sweetbread is second to none. Please have some taken to the Chalaine’s Tower tonight.”

  The poor cook nearly fainted, but she composed herself and bowed, blushing furiously.

  “I’ll bake it myself!” she said. “Don’t fear! It’ll water your mouth right good.”

  Gen winked at her and she giggled girlishly, returning to her work with redoubled fervor. The grounds outside were thick with children playing in the cool evening breeze. All activity stopped as the impressive guard and a King exited the kitchens and into the night, tiny faces agape with awe. Gen smiled and lifted his arm in a friendly wave, though only two of the group had the courage to return the greeting.

  The din of the crowd waiting outside the front entrance to the Great Hall filled the air with a lively rumble as they approached the stables. A thick, dark stallion awaited him, arrayed in armor, and Gen mounted the beast carefully, sensitive to the massive power the warhorse possessed. With a gentle incantation and a push from Mynmagic, the horse settled itself and walked forward without prodding spurs or commands. The knights walked three to a side as they approached the side gate that would lead them to the square beyond. Hard pressed soldiers kept the immediate environs of the gate free of revelers, but once the trumpet sounded to announce the approach of Aldradan Mikmir, a surge nearly overtook them.

  To a chorus of shouting he rode forward, two lines of soldiers forming a lane toward the Great Hall where nearly two hundred soldiers stood at attention, all sporting the device of the rose, the Chalaine’s symbol. Gen sat up tall and willed the horse forward. He set forth at a walk, projecting an exultant, friendly air as the horse sauntered down the temporary avenue and then up the stairs toward the porch of the Great Hall. He turned toward the crowd, raising his hand for silence. To his surprise, it actually fell, and quickly.

  “Good people of Rhugoth,” he said, using Duammagic to enhance and project his voice. “It is with a feeling of great honor that I share this night with you. As in days long past, the people of Rhugoth are indeed the best and most loyal of people. I thank you for your trust and support in these difficult times as we once again must be the tip of the spear that will pierce the heart of Mikkik and lead the world out of deception and destruction.

  “I am most humbled and gratified that I have the great privilege of marrying the most glorious daughter of this nation, and I swear to you that I will dedicate my life to filling hers with peace and joy. Now return to your revels while we await the favor of the Lady Alumira. Let there be feasting, let there be song, and let our joy be unrivaled in Ki’Hal!”

  A wave of applause and cheering shook the air and Gen dismounted, keeping an eye on the double doors in anticipation of seeing his bride. The Chalaine had expressly forbidden him from seeing her arrayed in her chosen dress, wanting to surprise him. More than anything, he wanted to see her and have the whole procession and ceremony done. The people needed the pomp, but he wanted only the private moments before riding off to battle the Church soldiers in Tenswater and then on the plain around Echo Hold.

  He could feel her presence somewhere below, still in her chamber. But as he turned to watch the
crowd, she moved in an instant to somewhere on the other side of the city. He waited for a moment, alarmed, disbelieving his own senses. But her position did not return to the hall behind.

  Dason! he thought. He came to stage a rescue of his own!

  Gen placed his foot in the stirrup of his horse, but gasps and expressions of surprise filled the air before turning to silence. The music died, and even the rowdiest of revelers held his peace. Gen turned and gazed upward to see a figure burning like a white hot sun descending from the sky as if plucked from the stars. This same trick of glory Gen knew from the battle at Echo Hold. Mikkik had come for him.

  The crowd shied back as Mikkik settled on the stones of the courtyard with a graceful step, striding forward toward the stairs. Gen drew his sword and swallowed. How would Mikkik approach him? As an enemy? A wayward child? After dying and being revivified by the Millim Eri, Gen had used Trysmagic to reapply the protection against transmutation, but would his will be strong enough to counter the force of a dark god bent on destroying the world?

  “Remain here,” Gen commanded his knights.

  Working up his courage, Gen marched down the stairs with a regal step, keeping calm. A burning sword of fire ignited in Mikkik’s hand as they closed upon each other. The god knew when to apply a little theatricality. Mikkik towered over him, his simple white robe and golden belt so bright that it illuminated the faces of the stunned crowd around them.

  “I have come to end this treachery,” Mikkik’s voice boomed. “I am Eldaloth, the only King of Ki’Hal. There may be no other, especially not one who unworthily takes upon himself the name of one of my great and noble servants of times past.” Mikkik raised his sword. “I will cleanse this place of you and redeem Rhugoth from this farce!”

  Gen raised his sword to defend, but suddenly Mikkik pressed upon his mind with brutal force, sending his thoughts scattering in a hundred directions. Gen’s vision blurred as Mikkik threw images and emotions from his life at him as if pelting him with rocks. His concentration wavered, unable to push aside the memories and feelings enough to gather his thoughts to defend himself. Mikkik would crush him with the first blow.