“Andar’s defiance put the lives of everyone by the lake at risk,” he continued, hoping to sway her with his words alone. “Gort and Draco were forced to sacrifice their lives to keep the beast from breaking free and slaughtering us all. Their blood is on Andar’s hands.”
“Your companions knew the risks when they joined in the ritual,” the Queen answered, her tone icy. “Like Andar and my people, they chose to participate despite those risks. Their deaths, while tragic, do not condemn Andar as a traitor.
“Based on your logic,” Rianna continued in the same cold manner, “if it had been my people who perished during the ritual, then you would be the one now accused of treason.”
Orath hesitated, wondering if the Queen knew he had intended to sacrifice her people all along.
She might suspect, but she doesn’t know for sure, he decided. She’s clinging to the doubt because she knows I am her only hope of revenge.
“Andar’s actions nearly unleashed the ogre on your kingdom,” Orath said, hoping an appeal to her sense of duty might be more effective. “He put your subjects at risk.”
“That was never his intent,” the Queen countered, though some of the steel had gone from her tone.
“Intent is irrelevant,” Orath argued. “You’ve seen the destruction that the Ring can unleash. The only way to get it back is to call upon powers even more dangerous.
“You know Andar cannot lead you down this path. That is why you turned to me.”
Orath paused, letting his words sink in. Rianna stood silent, her face emotionless and impassive.
“I asked what you were willing to do to reclaim the Ring,” the Minion reminded her. “You said ‘anything.’ Do you really believe Andar feels the same?”
When the Queen didn’t reply, Orath knew he’d won her over.
“If you still want my help,” he told her, “then your people must give me the same absolute loyalty they give to you. If they hesitate or refuse or disobey—as Andar did—then the powers we are calling upon could destroy us all. If Andar—”
“Enough!” Rianna snapped, holding up a hand to cut him off. “Your point has been made.”
“Andar must pay for his insubordination,” Orath whispered. “You must make an example of him.”
“Do not tell me what I must do,” Rianna warned him. “I am still the Queen; I will not take orders from one of my advisers. Even you.”
Orath shrugged an apology, aware she was lashing out in frustration because she knew he was right.
“I have offered my counsel, Your Highness,” he said in his most ingratiating tone. “I trust you will make the right decision.”
When the Royal Guards came for him, Andar didn’t resist. When they told him he was being arrested for treason, he didn’t speak. When they led him from his private chambers to the dungeons beneath the castle, he offered neither objection nor complaint.
He’d seen the confusion and uncertainty in the eyes of the guards. Andar was well respected, both among the common citizens and the castle staff. His reputation was unimpeachable; it was difficult for them to even imagine he was capable of treason.
Yet unlike me, Andar thought, they follow orders despite their questions and doubt.
Left alone in the small, unlit cell, Andar couldn’t help but wonder whose orders they were following: the Queen’s or Orath’s?
In the cold darkness, it was difficult to follow the passage of time. A few minutes could seem like an hour, and Andar had no idea of how long it would be before someone would come to see him. Fortunately, the guards hadn’t felt the need to shackle his hands and wrists, so he was able to find a somewhat comfortable position sitting in one corner of his cell.
He understood the gravity of his situation. Treason was a serious charge, one the Queen could not ignore. Rianna was a just ruler, but her heart had grown hard. She had banished her own son for similar crimes; it would be foolish to expect her to grant clemency to the High Sorcerer. If found guilty, he would be sentenced to either exile or execution.
And I am guilty.
When questioned, he wouldn’t deny it. He could argue that when he broke away from Orath’s ritual, he had acted in the heat of the moment, trusting his gut. But the truth was, he had been fully aware of the implications and possible consequences. Even now, with time to look back and reflect, he was confident he’d make the same decision again.
But does that make it right? Or am I still a traitor?
Eventually the steel door opened, the light of the dim lantern on the other side as blinding as the heart of the midday sun. Andar was forced to look down and shield his eyes, unable to see who had been sent to try to force a confession out of him.
“Leave us and close the door,” a familiar woman’s voice ordered.
At the sound of the grating hinges, Andar dropped the hand over his eyes and braved the lantern’s light to meet the gaze of Rianna standing over him.
“It is unseemly for the Queen to be alone with a prisoner,” he told her.
“As the Queen, I decide what is unseemly,” she reminded him. “Though I still expect my subjects to stand in my presence.”
Abashed, Andar scrambled to his feet.
“You know why you are here?” the Queen asked.
“I do.”
“Then explain yourself.”
“Orath deceived us,” Andar said after a moment’s silence to collect his thoughts. “He didn’t warn us of the true cost of his spell. I sensed the ritual was killing us; consuming us. I broke away to save myself, and I took the others with me.”
“You didn’t fear this would unleash the ogre on our people?”
Andar shifted uncomfortably.
“I hoped Orath would find another way to contain the beast.”
“I’m disappointed in you, Andar,” Rianna said, reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder. “You put the lives of you and your fellow mages ahead of what is best for our kingdom.”
“With all due respect, my Queen,” the High Sorcerer replied, his eyes fixed on the floor. “I don’t believe anything that Orath can offer is what is best for our kingdom.”
The Queen sighed and let her hand slip off his shoulder. Slowly she turned away from him and stepped toward the door. But instead of leaving, she stopped and turned back to face him once more.
“I cannot exile you,” she told him. “Not after what happened with … my son.”
She can’t even bear to speak Vaaler’s name.
“I will not execute you, either,” she told him. “Already rumors are spreading of how you saved the lives of the other mages in the ritual. You have become a hero to the common folk, a symbol of someone who can stand against the deadly powers of Chaos.
“But you did put the entire kingdom at risk by refusing to follow Orath’s instructions. For that, I must make an example of you.”
Andar bowed his head, still confused as to what she intended.
“You are relieved of your position in my court,” she told him, “and you will be held here in the dungeons until I decide on a fitting punishment.”
You won’t sentence me, but you won’t absolve me, either.
Her reticence to pass judgment confirmed what Andar already suspected: Rianna was lost in a sea of self-doubt and uncertainty.
Orath preys on this vulnerability.
“Forgive my boldness,” he said aloud, “but who have you chosen to take my place?”
“Lormilar will be elevated to the position of High Sorcerer,” she informed him.
“A good man,” Andar said, though he silently added, but one lacking the confidence to stand up to Orath.
“I don’t trust Orath,” the Queen assured him, almost as if she were reading his mind. “But in these dark times we must take whatever allies we can find. Our capital is in ruins and thousands are dead. The people are scared; they need leadership. They need to know I can protect them.”
“Orath can’t help you protect your subjects,” Andar said, shaking his head emphati
cally. “All he offers is revenge.”
“The most treasured heirloom of the royal family—the most sacred symbol of our kingdom—was stolen from us,” Rianna snapped back. “Plucked from my neck while I slept by my own flesh and blood. Are you saying we should let this offense go unpunished? The savages in the East must be taught a lesson!”
“We don’t even know for sure that Vaaler and the others are allied with the barbarian clans,” he reminded his Queen.
“Whether they are or not, the Ring is too powerful to be left in the hands of another,” she insisted, her voice defiant. “You saw the devastation it brought to Ferlhame. I cannot allow anything like that to happen again.”
“The Ring is gone,” Andar admitted. “But maybe we are better off without it.”
You certainly seem to be, he thought. The Queen was still gaunt, but she looked much better than the haggard, skeletal creature she had become in the months leading up to Vaaler’s betrayal.
The Queen shook her head, then looked at the floor.
“I saw the Destroyer of Worlds in my dreams before he came to Ferlhame,” she said in a low whisper. “I did not heed the warnings. I did not have the strength to do what had to be done. I have learned my lesson.”
“You’ve seen something,” Andar noted. “More visions.”
“In my nightmares I’ve watched the Destroyer of Worlds feasting with the barbarian tribes. I’ve seen the warriors of the East rise up, all the clans united against a common foe,” she told him. “I’ve seen the Free Cities bow down to the Order and join the vast ranks of the Southland armies, their soldiers swarming like ants to every corner of the world. I’ve seen Danaan lying dead on the battlefield, the bodies stretched as far as the eyes can see.
“War is coming,” she declared. “We cannot stop it. And we need the Ring to survive.”
Andar wasn’t a Seer, but he understood enough about Chaos to recognize the inherent perils in the Queen’s visions.
“For centuries we have survived by staying hidden in the North Forest,” he cautioned. “We have defended our borders, but we have never gone beyond them. Assembling an army and marching against the barbarians of the East will compel others to see us as a threat.
“It will force them to mass armies of their own. It may even cause the Destroyer of Worlds to unite them and use the Ring against us again.”
“You dare to lecture me on the dangers of a self-fulfilling prophecy?” the Queen snorted. “Do you really believe I have not already considered this a thousand times over?
“When I foresaw the Destroyer of Worlds coming to Ferlhame, I did not know what to do,” she explained. “So I did nothing, and what I saw came to pass.
“When I realized my son walked with the enemy,” she continued, “I could have had him killed. But I chose to show mercy instead, and Ferlhame paid the price.
“There is no way to be sure I walk the right path now,” she admitted, her voice once more slipping into the low whisper. “But this is the path I have chosen, and I will not waver.”
With that, she spun on her heel and thumped her hand on the door. It opened a second later and Rianna stepped through, taking the lamp with her. The guard on the other side closed the door behind her, once more plunging Andar’s cell into utter blackness.
Chapter 12
KEEGAN WAS STANDING close enough to Scythe to see her reaction when she learned Shalana was Norr’s wife. She didn’t say anything else—not to Shalana and not to Norr. But in seconds her expression went from confusion to shock to dismay before settling into a tight mask of cold, hard anger.
He could read Norr’s expression as well—regret and shame. The big man started to reach out his hand toward Scythe, only to think better of it and let it drop away as she turned ever so slightly away from him.
If Shalana saw the exchange, she made no reaction. Instead, she started issuing commands to the rest of her patrol, and within minutes they were on the move again. The pace was steady, but not too taxing, and Keegan was able to keep up without much difficulty. As they marched, his attention kept going back to Scythe.
The Stone Spirits had formed a loose ring around Norr and his companions. The big man was up front, hobbling slightly but managing to stay only a few steps behind Shalana as she led the way. Surprisingly, they didn’t speak.
What kind of wife doesn’t have anything to say to her husband after years apart?
Vaaler was walking close behind Norr, as was Jerrod.
He’s still keeping his distance, Keegan noted of the monk. Still worried about drawing unwanted attention my way.
Scythe had dropped back beside Keegan, though she kept her gaze fixed straight ahead, as if she was trying to burn a hole in the back of Norr’s skull. He turned around only once to check on her, then quickly snapped his head back to the front on seeing the look in her eyes.
Keegan couldn’t stop himself from constantly looking over at Scythe, but she was so intent on Norr she didn’t notice his attention. It was hard to imagine what was going through her head right now. He didn’t fully understand the relationship she and Norr shared, but he knew they were physically and emotionally close.
But not close enough for Norr to tell her about Shalana, I guess.
Keegan didn’t know what it felt like to be betrayed by someone you trusted. He had gotten over the anger and resentment he’d felt over his father’s brutal death, and since then he’d been too busy studying under Rexol to develop any close attachments besides his friendship with Vaaler. And even though several years had passed, when he came to the Danaan prince for help his friend had done more than Keegan could have ever asked of him.
Perhaps that was why he was so infatuated with Scythe. He’d known several women, but nothing had ever developed beyond a single night or two of physical passion. He’d never felt any kind of real emotional or spiritual connection to any of them. But in Scythe he sensed a kindred soul, a woman who could understand him, someone he could imagine a future with.
You’re being foolish, he chided himself. You barely know her.
It was possible his attraction to the young Islander was born of envy. He sensed the feelings Scythe and Norr clearly had for each other. Maybe he just wanted to feel that passionate about someone himself and have someone—anyone—feel the same way about him.
Yet even now, marching wordlessly beside her across the frozen tundra, he felt there was some kind of chemistry between them. He still remembered the spark he’d felt when he first set eyes on the young woman outside the inn where their lives became intertwined.
Stop this. She’s with Norr, and she’s made it clear she isn’t interested in anybody else.
He knew that Scythe was hurting, stung by Shalana’s unexpected revelation. Norr was upset, too, and clearly just waiting for a chance to speak with Scythe in private. Keegan felt bad for both of them. In their short time together they had all been through so much that he already considered them friends. It pained him to see them suffer.
But part of him—a small, dark, twisted part he didn’t want to admit existed—couldn’t help but hope this would drive a wedge between the two lovers.
Scythe had hoped the day’s march would let her work out some of the emotions raging inside her. But the pace was too slow to push her physically, and when they finally reached the patrol’s temporary camp and stopped for the night she was still fuming.
It’s Norr’s fault we couldn’t go any faster, she thought. Limping along like a cripple!
Petty and childish as the thought was, it stirred up conflicting emotions. On the one hand she was even more angry at Norr than before for holding them back. Yet at the same time, part of her was worried about him.
Why isn’t he getting better?
She’d learned enough about medicine from Methodis, her adopted father, to know that minor injuries that took too long to heal could be symptoms of something much worse.
Probably not an infection; he wasn’t cut. But he could have torn a ligament.
/> She’d have to examine him to find out the true extent of his injury. Unfortunately, that wasn’t going to be possible. Shalana had been quick to lead Norr away right after they arrived at the camp while Scythe and the others were ushered off in the opposite direction.
Glancing back over her shoulder, Scythe watched them disappear into a small tent.
They haven’t seen each other in years; of course she’d want to talk to him in private. That’s all they’re doing. Just talking.
To keep her mind from conjuring up crazy images of her lover and the tall, auburn-haired beauty, she turned her focus to the rest of the camp as their guards led them along. Though obviously temporary, it was large and well organized. In addition to the fifteen envoys who had gone to meet the Ice Fang contingent, there were another dozen Stone Spirit warriors who had been left behind to watch over the site.
Small, portable tents of animal skin had been arranged in clusters of four around the site, positioned so that they formed a tight ring, with the entrances all facing inward to offer some protection against the wind. Hides and blankets had been stretched between each quartet of tents, and a fire pit had been hollowed out in the earth in the center of each ring, the warmth of the smoldering peat captured by the makeshift animal-skin walls.
Beyond the outskirts, two long trenches had been dug to serve as latrines. Ample food and supplies—spare weapons, extra clothing, and more blankets—had been piled near the middle of the camp, along with several small sleds that could be used to haul their provisions across the permafrost terrain.
No dogs, Scythe noted. They must pull the sleds by hand.
They were led to one of the tent clusters near the edge, on the side closest to the latrines.
“Outlanders stay here,” one of the warriors explained to them in a clumsy, halting version of Allrish. “Rest of camp forbidden.”
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