Sacrifice (Book 4)

by Brian Fuller

  With a frantic shove, she pushed the heavy oaken door aside and stepped out onto the wide, square porch of Renberry Cathedral. Revelers in the streets beyond the Church complex had all stopped to turn their gaze to the deep blue evening sky. To the Chalaine’s amazement, the moons had gone, their solid, beaming faces replaced with mighty clouds of dust expanding steadily outward and thinning. Trys, Myn, and Duam had been destroyed, and with them something else, a vibrancy to everything—living and inanimate—around her. It was palpable to her, and, by the expressions on the faces of those nearby, she could tell that they felt it, too.

  An iron grip closed around her arm. “Come back inside, Chalaine,” said Sir Tornus. “The sign has been given, and the bargain must be completed. This is, I admit, most unexpected. The moons have shattered like little clods of dirt tossed against a stone. Is this the end of magic, then? No matter. I am nearly free. Come. We wouldn’t want to frighten these people more than they already are! It would be bad manners, don’t you think? You see, I am not as heartless as you think me.”

  She wouldn’t go willingly. With all her strength, she struck out with a sharp kick to Sir Tornus’s knee, but whatever damage or pain she hoped to inflict did nothing to the Craver who held her bound. Roughly he dragged her back toward the Chapel, and the Chalaine screamed for help. No one seemed to hear her cry, and Sir Tornus shoved her back inside and closed the door.

  “Now, Chalaine,” he began, standing erect and taking on a formal air. “It is time for me to apologize for what I must do. I cannot help it, nor would I.” The hunger crept back into his eyes. “It is nothing personal, I assure you. In fact, in other circumstances, you and I might have been good friends. But a bargain is a bargain, and I must fulfill!”

  His hand shot out and caught her by the neck, his eyes alight with anticipation.

  A voice behind him pulled him up short. “Stop, Sir Tornus! Or you’ll doom us all!”

  He released the Chalaine’s neck, keeping an iron grip on her wrist, and turned. Joranne, now in middle age, approached them down the center aisle. She appeared troubled and did not approach Sir Tornus closely.

  “Doom?” Sir Tornus said. “This is my freedom! He will release me if I do this! Or do you wish to kill her yourself? Did he promise to end your curse, too?”

  “Yes,” Joranne confirmed. “Two of his pawns sent for the same purpose and promised the same reward. But he cannot make good on his promises now, Sir Tornus,” Joranne explained.

  “Why not? Is he dead?”

  “No,” Joranne replied. “He is powerless. He did not expect this. The only magic left powerful enough to heal either one of us is in her blood. If you kill her then neither of us can escape our fate!”

  “No!” he thundered. “No! No! No! He promised me!”

  “Quit acting like a child, Tornus!” Joranne scolded. “We must work together or he will not free us!”

  Sir Tornus let go of the Chalaine, who stumbled backward, caressing her neck. No magic! Mikkik was powerless, but Ki’Hal felt wrong. Joranne and Sir Tornus eyed each other, two predators trying to decide how to deal with a shared prey.

  “See reason, Sir Tornus,” Joranne argued. “Mikkik is the only one who knows how to undo what was done to us.” The Craver’s eyes still burned, but, his brow crinkled in thought. “Think,” Joranne continued, coming closer. “Her blood was the only power that could destroy Elde Luri Mora, but it is also the only power that can restore it to life, which he does not want. As long as we have her, we have a way to manipulate and control him.”

  A thought struck the Chalaine and she approached the middle ground between the two. “There is someone else that may know how to heal you, someone who will listen to me.”

  “No one knows all the secrets of blood magic except Mikkik,” Joranne said. “He would not give them all, even to me.”

  “Gen knows them,” the Chalaine said, trying to sound confident. She wasn’t sure what Gen knew of blood magic, but she had to conjure a way to get herself out of the power of the two people seeking to use her as leverage.

  “Gen is dead,” Joranne said, face skeptical.

  “He isn’t. Who do you think is parading around as Aldradan Mikmir? Mikkik isn’t the only one who can play tricks.”

  “How can this be?” Joranne asked. “He was killed! I am sure of it.”

  “He did die at Butchers gap, but the Millim Eri returned him to life using the blood magic of which you speak, though they were loathe to do it.”

  “Loathe?” Joranne exclaimed. “They were expressly forbidden by Eldaloth from its practice, as were all of the elder races who had the power of magic.”

  The Chalaine said, “If you take me to him, I may be able to persuade him to help you. I dare say, you have a better chance of convincing him than trying to persuade Mikkik to use the power of my blood to help you rather than himself.”

  Sir Tornus rubbed his chin and something unspoken passed between him and Joranne.

  “I agree that it is worth a chance,” Sir Toruns said, “but there is a problem.”

  “What is that?” the Chalaine asked.

  “Mikkik went to kill Aldradan Mikmir.”

  Mikkik’s spell released, and Gen found himself in possession of his own mind again, but not soon enough to avoid the bite of Mikkik’s blade. Gen dropped to his right just enough that the sword—its magical flame now extinguished—hacked deeply into the meaty part of his shoulder instead of his neck. He ignored the pain and rolled to the right, happy to sacrifice an arm to keep his head on his shoulders.

  When he came to his feet, he took stock of his enemy, now stripped of all his pretended brilliancy. On Mikkik’s upturned face played an expression of ecstasy, a release from hundreds of years of torture inflicted upon him by the very existence of Elde Luri Mora. His bloodied sword hung limply in his hand. Gen raised his own to strike, but the horrified expressions of the crowd and the odd feeling of loss within him stopped his hand.

  He turned his eyes upward and joined the throng in dismay as Trys, Myn, and Duam disintegrated before their eyes in a deep purple evening sky. The exploded moons had robbed Gen of his magic, but the entire world felt palsied and weak, as if inflicted with a withering disease from which it would never recover. Mikkik opened his eyes and began to laugh and cry at the same time, as if witnessing a sublime beauty only he could comprehend.

  “It is done,” Mikkik said in the ancient tongue. “At last the world will be free, and I will be left eternally and blessedly alone.”

  He dropped the sword, the metal clanging against the stones as he turned and walked toward the gates of the castle without a look back. Infuriated, Gen grabbed his sword and charged at the retreating Mikkik. As he sprinted to close the distance, a sound from behind him pulled him up short. A dark cloud of sleek, black birds descended from the sky, the beating of their wings and the shriek of their call rolling toward the square like a storm. Gen backed away and uselessly hacked with his sword as the flock of birds rushed by, surrounding him in the haunted cacophony of their horrible cry. They were the size of ravens but clothed with feathers that glinted like metal armor. Slender, sharp beaks the length of a finger gave the suggestion of a poniard. Three slammed beak-first into Gen’s body, puncturing his chest, abdomen, and right leg, only to extract a portion of blood and then fall dead to the ground, just as the beetles had.

  Gen fell and rolled into a ball, receiving two more wounds before the flock passed him completely. Blood seeped from five wounds, and he rolled over. The birds swirled around Mikkik in a globe, attacking anything or anyone near the dark god as he walked away unchallenged. The people fled. Gen pushed himself up, leaning heavily on his sword. His knights rushed forward and surrounded him.

  “I need a horse!” Gen yelled. He knew he needed to staunch the deep wounds dripping blood around him, but he couldn’t wait, wondering what treachery Athan and Dason had set against the Chalaine. The knights complied without question.

  Gerand, Volney, and Maewen
found him moments later, aghast at the portents in the sky.

  “Lord Mikmir!” Gerand exclaimed.

  “Don’t mind me. Get a horse and get to the Chalaine.”

  “Get him inside!” Maewen yelled at the knights.

  “No Maewen,” Gen said. “I’ve got to find her.”

  “Not like that, you won’t!” she said firmly. “You can hardly stand. Send Gerand and Volney and the knights. You can follow when we get you well. There is no magic to help you, now.”

  Gen signaled his men on, and Maewen threw his arm over her shoulder as they thundered away.

  “This brings back memories of our little excursion against the Uyumaak,” Maewen said in Elvish as his concentration wavered. “I had to help you walk then, too. Perhaps you should try not getting hurt so badly.”

  Once they passed through the doors of the Great Hall, a handful of servants helped carry him to his bed chamber. A trail of his blood ran through the hall.

  “Shall we fetch the chirugeon?” one asked.

  “Only if you wish him to die,” Maewen said. “Leave him to me. Bring Mirelle here.”

  Maewen pulled a knife from her boot and cut away his robe and tunic, sucking air through her teeth. “They bleed more badly than they should. One of Mikkik’s nasty tricks.”

  “There are two on my back, as well,” he groaned, feeling weak.

  Hastily, Maewen sliced away the rest of his clothes, leaving him in nothing but breeches. As she began slicing chunks of the bed sheets away for bandages, Mirelle burst in through the doors, face concerned.

  “What happened!?” she exclaimed.

  “No time to explain,” Maewen said. “Take these bandages, Mirelle, and press them wherever he is bleeding. Tie one around his leg, and he’s got two more wounds on his back. The ones on his chest and belly are the worst. I need to fetch my bag from my room.”

  Mirelle nodded, and Maewen sprinted away. Hastily Mirelle complied with the half-elf’s instructions, Gen’s blood slicking her hands and staining the beautiful white gown she had worn for her daughter’s wedding.

  “I sent Gerand and Volney after the Chalaine,” Gen said weakly. “I will go after her, too, as soon as I can.”

  “Hush, now, my Lord,” Mirelle said, face pale and sad. “Save your strength.”

  “You know, trying to marry the Chalaine really seems to be a deadly business.”

  Tears ran down Mirelle’s face as she worked. “You should really shut up now, my love. You have to fight it, Gen. Look at me. Fight.”

  Gen stared up at Mirelle’s beautiful face. He reached up to stroke her hair, but she pushed his hand down. By her cursing, he could tell her attempts to staunch the bleeding were failing. His vision swam, and he felt drowsy and disconnected from the world around him, a heavy dullness pulling him comfortably down into a warm embrace. The pain of the wounds didn’t concern him. He was tired. He needed sleep. Just a few moments wouldn’t hurt, and he deserved it, anyway. He slipped away into blackness, feeling numb.

  “Gen!”

  His eyes snapped open. The Chalaine, her dress dirty and torn, sat on the bed next to him. Her touch had healed his wounds. He sat up in his blood-soaked bed, a tableau of relieved faces surrounding him. Mirelle, face tear-streaked, was covered in his blood, crying quietly as she sat next to her daughter. Gerand, Volney, and Maewen looked on with satisfaction as color and health returned to Gen’s face.

  “I wondered if your gift would still work,” Gen said, taking her hand.

  “It will work as long as you love me,” she said.

  Gen regarded himself, noticing his nearly nude, bloody state. “I am a mess.”

  “I will send the servants with a bath to clean you up,” Mirelle said, wiping her face. “I wish you could rest, but you have some unusual visitors.”

  “Who?” Gen asked.

  “It is Joranne and Sir Tornus,” the Chalaine explained. “Athan plotted with Dason to take me to Renberry Cathedral. Mikkik plotted with Sir Tornus to kill me once Elde Luri Mora was destroyed. Joranne convinced Sir Tornus that now that the moons are gone, Mikkik has no power to make good on his bargain to remove the curse they each suffer from. My blood is, apparently, the most powerful source of magic left in the world, and I convinced them that you had the power and knowledge to help them.”

  Gen frowned. “It won’t work. Blood magic can heal, even from death, and destroy to the point of annihilation, but it cannot do the work of Trys and remake them to what they were before they made a bargain with Mikkik. And without Duammagic to heal, bleeding anyone for the purpose of using their blood will likely result in death.”

  “I didn’t know if what I said was true, but it convinced them to bring me to you rather than to Mikkik,” the Chalaine explained.

  “Well done, Alumira.” Gen thought for a moment. “Joranne is powerless, now, so there is little she can do to us, but Sir Tornus is a Craver and is nearly impossible to kill.”

  “All he wants is death,” the Chalaine reported. “My blood could provide him that.”

  “Yes, but I won’t risk bleeding you or me for his sake. He can be locked away and restrained, if need be.”

  “There’s more,” the Chalaine said. “Joranne said my blood had the power to undo what Mikkik has done to Elde Luri Mora, that my blood held the power to heal it. That’s why Mikkik sent Tornus to kill me, to make sure what he did could not be undone. He couldn’t kill me until he was sure he didn’t need me anymore.”

  Gen’s mind spun with the knowledge, and he realized immediately that it was true. If the power of her blood could destroy Elde Luri Mora, it could restore it as well. The Chalaine still bore the burden of the world’s salvation on her shoulders. With tenderness he regarded her. If only she could be free. If only she could escape her fate and be the beautiful bride and wife and mother she longed to be. But peace, it seemed, was ever to be denied her.

  “I need time to think,” Gen said. “I will speak with the people to calm them first, then I will see what Joranne and Sir Tornus have to say.”

  “What about the marriage?” Mirelle asked.

  Gen glanced at the Chalaine, who shook her head. “We can wait,” he said. “This is not the time for celebration and feasting. It is a time to mourn and to plan. Maewen, I need you to go see if the portals still work.”

  The room cleared as the servants worked to wash Gen and clean the room of his blood. His mind churned, trying to find a way to keep the Chalaine from another horror-ridden trip to Elde Luri Mora to be bled in an attempt to heal what Mikkik had destroyed. To bring the dead back to life required the beneficiary to be bathed in blood. How could they bathe the entirety of Elde Luri Mora in the Chalaine’s life essence? How could they bathe the city even in a small part without killing her?

  Pushing aside the impossible quandary, Gen donned another set of royal robes and descended to the Great Hall. Again his knights formed around him, relieved to see him well again. Outside, the populace awaited news, and a great hail rose as he emerged from the doors. With a practiced air of calm that he did not feel he reassured them. There was no time for flowery speeches. He promised that he would lead the march against Mikkik in the morning and returned to the Great Hall where Mirelle and the Chalaine waited by the throne.

  “I would that the two of you not be here,” Gen said. “Cravers are unpredictable and dangerous.”

  “We will not leave your side, Lord Mikmir,” Mirelle stated firmly. “It seems most everything is dangerous, anyway.”

  Gen nodded and sat on his throne, Mirelle signaling for the Chalaine to sit in hers while she came to stand by Gen. Volney and Gerand flanked the dais.

  “Are we sure that Joranne can do no magic?” Mirelle whispered.

  “She can do blood magic if she knows it,” Gen answered, “but no more than that. We are equals now, save that her curse puts her in a precarious position. With Mikkik and her magic no longer sheltering her, she needs our protection, which means we can use her. She knows Mikkik’s plan
s and schemes and strongholds. Unfortunately, I have nothing I can offer her in return without bluffing, and I fear she knows enough about blood magic to know I cannot help her. Let’s see what she has to say. Bring them in!”

  Chamberlain Fedrick, sill dressed for the wedding, signaled for the guard to open the door. Joranne, now looking nearly as aged as the good Chamberlain, shuffled into the room, Sir Tornus coming slowly behind her as he took in the glory of the hall.

  Gen dismissed his scribe, the Chamberlain, and the guard. The strange pair came cautiously, Gen trying to weigh the attitude of the two cursed creatures approaching the throne. Joranne, always haughty and in control, appeared humbled, but Sir Tornus still maintained his air of aloof lunacy that he had demonstrated from the first time that Gen, Gerand, and Volney had met him at Echo Hold.

  “You will bow before Lord Mikmir!” Gerand commanded when it became apparent they wouldn’t do it.

  “There’s no need for ceremony here!” Joranne returned. “I know the man who sits on the throne. As an infant he drank of my milk and grew strong. I would recognize him anywhere, even if the Chalaine hadn’t told me who he was. You are bold, indeed, Gen, to assume such an honor as the throne of Mikmir. The need for power was something the Millim Eri somehow bred out of you, but you seem to have come to your senses now.”

  “We don’t need a history lesson, Joranne,” Gen said. “We need answers.”

  “I would just like to die, if you don’t mind,” Sir Tornus said, eying the Chalaine. “It would be good for everyone if you could kill me before I get really hungry again. I’m stuffed full of Eldephaere right now, but I am not very disciplined about denying myself a little snack now and again. Joranne tells me that just one bleeding of the Chalaine ought to do it.” Suddenly, the Craver’s eyes shot wide. “But you have a soul now, Gen!”

  “What?”

  “Yes! Yes, indeed!” Sir Tornus exclaimed, excitedly. “When we first met, you were as empty as a drunkard’s bottle, but there is something in you to feast on now, something not quite human!”