As the exalt reached into his belt pouch, N’lahr faced Elenai, lean and attentive as a hound waiting in its traces for the command to hunt.
“How long will it take you to access Thelar’s shard?” N’lahr asked.
“Only an instant,” Elenai answered.
“Good. Don’t trigger it until I give the word. We don’t want to alarm the exalt or her aspirant.”
“What should I do?” Rylin asked.
“Stand ready in case Nerissa finds some magical means to wake the prisoners.”
That would mean four more allies on Nerissa’s side. Owing to the tremendous skill of the palace healers, all but one of the underlings Rylin had fought on the stairs yesterday had lived through the encounter, including the woman who’d taken a terrible sword wound to the face.
The infirmary and its associated offices occupied a substantial portion of the third floor’s west wing. Rarely a bustling center of activity even on an ordinary day, this morning the hallway brooded with shadows. No one moved along the carpet stretching down its center and the doors to smaller wards, offices, and labs were closed. Down the hall to the right, at the head of the main stairs, three squires waited alertly in the furnished lounge. They returned N’lahr’s “hold position” signal.
To the left, the hallway extended past only a few more closed office doors before terminating at the entrance to the infirmary itself. Conspicuously absent from the chairs just outside it were the guards he and Thelar had encountered last night.
N’lahr pointed Elenai’s second ranker to a closed door near the infirmary. The squire opened the door, then scanned the room before waving the healers inside. Apparently N’lahr was staging them out of harm’s way as battle medics.
The commander advanced to the chairs outside the infirmary, and spared a moment to consider something on the floor, a sticky splotch of blood staining the carpet. The light-eyed squire looked away in shame.
N’lahr checked to ensure Elenai held Thelar’s shard, then nodded his head to the exalt, who stepped to the door and rapped it twice before speaking. “Nerissa, this is Thelar. I want you to remain calm, because no one else has to be hurt.”
The silence was so pronounced Rylin feared Nerissa and her occupiers had already fled. And then a woman’s voice, thick with anger, answered.
“Well, they will be hurt, unless I’m allowed to leave with my people. They should be your people. Why have you joined them? You were the one who always complained about their corruption! That they weren’t living their oaths.”
It wasn’t so difficult to imagine Thelar once having said such things. During their squire days, Rylin’s chief impression of his new friend had been of a bristly, humorless malcontent. When Rylin had been promoted to fifth rank in advance of him, Thelar had accused the higher-ups of playing favorites, and resigned to accept a post in the newly created Mage Auxiliary.
“There was corruption in the Altenerai Corps,” Thelar said. “But I was blind to the corruption in ours. An exalt and an alten murdered Master Asrahn. Do you know why?” He waited a suitable interval, and, hearing no reply, answered the question himself. “To protect their secrets. We were lied to. Commander N’lahr wasn’t dead. They’d imprisoned him, and they killed Asrahn to cover it up. Denaven knew. Synahla knew. And so did some of the exalts.”
“Altenerai killed Synahla!” Nerissa’s voice shook with rage. “And you’re with them?”
Thelar checked with N’lahr, who motioned for him to continue.
“Did you hear me, Nerissa? Corrupt elements of both the auxiliary and the Altenerai led to a whole host of unjust deaths.”
In Thelar’s voice Rylin heard the threat of rage he remembered coming so easily to him. Too easily. This time, though, he understood it, and shared his feelings.
The exalt continued. “Synahla was a champion liar. She could be very convincing. I think she used hearthstone magic to change thoughts. She might have cast magic to change yours, which is why you have to reason this out, Nerissa. You admired Asrahn as much as I did. And he’s dead because of Synahla and the queen.”
“You’re wasting your breath, traitor,” Nerissa said. “I have a knife to the throat of this healer and my companions have the guard and the orderly. If you and the Altenerai try to get through, we’re going to open their necks. You won’t have time to stop us before they die. Is that clear?”
Thelar sucked in a long, slow breath, and his hands tightened into fists. After he exhaled, his voice was calm. “It’s clear. But you need to listen.”
“No, you listen. If I so much as feel the beat of a hearthstone from you I’m going to kill them.”
Thelar looked helplessly back at the commander, who walked up beside him. “I don’t know exactly what you’ve been told, Exalt Nerissa,” the commander said to the door. “But Thelar has told you nothing but the truth. This is Commander N’lahr. I would be happy to sit down with you, unarmed, to explain. We don’t want you harmed or imprisoned. We need you in the larger fight to preserve our realms.”
Did he mean that? Even after Nerissa had killed innocent squires?
Elenai apparently wondered the same thing, for she met Rylin’s eyes with a questioning look before glancing two doors down, where the second-rank squire lingered in the doorway. The young man’s head was turned away from them, his attention rooted to something inside. Rylin’s wariness eased when he realized the squire was monitoring an object or person within, probably under orders from N’lahr.
“I don’t know who you are,” Nerissa’s voice came back dully. “But I know some of my best friends were wounded by yours, and I mean to leave this palace with them.”
“Where would you like to go?” N’lahr asked.
There was a pause, then Nerissa answered, “Away.”
“Maybe we should let them go,” Rylin whispered to Thelar, hoping the commander could hear. “Follow them to the queen.”
Thelar shook his head and replied, his voice low. “Nerissa wouldn’t know where the queen’s taken the other exalts. She’s never been part of the inner circle. That’s why she was given border duty.”
The second ranker in the doorway down the hall looked their way, raised a hand and lowered it. N’lahr noted it with a nod. A moment later the squire lifted his hand and waggled it, whatever that meant. N’lahr motioned for the nervous first-rank squire, Pelin, to move farther off.
“There’s a lot of dangerous territory between here and ‘away,’” N’lahr said. “We need to discuss arrangements to get you to that goal.”
“Is there any chance we can talk about this face-to-face?” Thelar suggested.
The squire in the doorway raised one finger, and stood waiting, as if for a response. N’lahr raised a hand indicating him to hold.
Nerissa screeched her reply. “You think that will make any difference, Thelar?! I can barely stomach hearing your voice! You betrayed the queen! You betrayed the Goddess!”
“Exalt Nerissa,” N’lahr said sternly, “the five realms need you. And they need the lives of your hostages. We’ve lost too many people already. Let’s talk about what we can do to get you out of here.”
“Enough talk! You’re only trying to confuse me. You think I didn’t plan very well. You think you can trick me!”
N’lahr, with a sad sigh that was more physical than audible, slowly drew Irion until the long straight blade was ready in his hands. He motioned Thelar back and faced Elenai. He mouthed the words “ready” then looked to Rylin.
He drew his own sword, wishing he could think of something inspired to say or do.
“There’s still time to settle this peacefully,” N’lahr pleaded. “What’s the first step you’d like us to take?” His free hand was raised in a conciliation Nerissa couldn’t see.
“I’d like you to take me seriously! Maybe this will help.” A strangled cry rose from within the infirmary, followed by a scream.
N’lahr swept his hand down. The second ranker whirled and mimicked the gesture. From within th
e infirmary came a crash of glass, and on that instant Rylin felt Thelar’s shard flare to life. Threads pulsed out from it and blew the door open.
N’lahr charged through.
He pushed past a dresser that had apparently been blocking the door before Elenai’s blast had toppled it. Rylin vaulted after him into the wide, sunny room. One squire stood indecisively at the duty desk in the infirmary’s center, sword raised over a wounded guard. The other had been posted near the storage room door holding an orderly, and now backed away, wild-eyed. Nerissa, a slender, dark-skinned woman in an exalt’s khalat, lay twitching on the floor, in line with a wide window bearing a smashed square, an arrow buried in the back of her head. Before her a kneeling healer was grasping at his throat, blood pouring from between his fingers.
Rylin sent a blast of wind against the man crouched beside the desk. He blew him backward. Elenai, just behind Rylin, brought one hand down like a knife blade. Energy rushed past Rylin, and each of the enemy squires slumped limply to the floor. It was an impressive display.
Thelar rushed in to the pale healer and activated Nerissa’s hearthstone to slow the man’s bleeding. The gash in his throat was still giving up alarming quantities of red, and the gurgling sounds from his attempts to draw breath did not bode well. The armored healers rushed in with the remaining squires and bent to attend him.
Rylin reviewed the rows of beds beneath the windows where the men and women he’d injured yesterday still lay unconscious. On the floor a few feet away from the storeroom lay the bodies of three first rankers—two guards and one clearly just in from patrol. He didn’t know his hands had tightened into fists until his fingers dug into the skin of his palms.
Elenai stepped to the window, her hand raised in the sign to stand down. Kyrkenall must have found a vantage point, and the second ranker had been notifying N’lahr when he was in position.
Rylin pushed a table away from one of the storage rooms, and opened the door. A nervous young woman emerged, from her green sleeve band one of the attendant nurses.
Thelar stepped back from the knot of healing professionals crouched beside Nerissa’s victim. He nodded tightly to Rylin, then returned his attention to their efforts. Whether their patient was his lover, friend, or relative, he didn’t know. Also unknown, the numbers of other loved ones who would be grieving today for the dead squires who’d survived a Naor attack only to be slain by their allies. He couldn’t help wondering how the realms could stand against outsiders when they couldn’t stand together.
6
A Land of Plenty
As the evening rays of the great golden sun poured down, Tesra eyed the lush blueberry bushes flourishing upon a ridge. Plump berries weighed down their branches, yet she could have sworn they had been picked clean just this morning.
Probably they had been. The queen had delivered them unto paradise, where life was easy. Any resource they required was ready to hand.
She started down the moss path. An hour of daylight remained, which meant most of the others would continue working. Only an hour after that, a huge silver moon would rise and set the nightflowers and all their grasses glowing in strange splendor, and by their light the most dedicated of the exalts and aspirants would continue their examination of the hearthstones.
She felt a fresh wave of guilt that she’d lost interest in their labors and wished Synahla were here. In recent weeks the exalt commander had proven indispensable whenever Tesra felt doubt. Talks with her inevitably stiffened Tesra’s resolve and redirected her energy so that she no longer felt lost or uncertain.
She didn’t dare to tell anyone else of her misgivings. So far no one really seemed to have noticed her frequent breaks. The queen herself sat in a trance before the statue of the Goddess so much of the time that leadership had devolved to others, and a solid core of seven remained absolutely dedicated to assembling the statue of the Goddess by night and day with only short breaks. The rest spent much of their time exploring the impossibly beautiful land.
As she wandered on, she nibbled from a bunch of deliciously sweet red grapes. In the near distance a mountain soared, ringed with greenery and capped by snow. A stunning waterfall dropped from its height, plunging thousands of feet.
It was serenely beautiful, yes, but Tesra felt more and more out of place, oddly repulsed by the ardent fervor of her fellows. Not for the first time she wondered what might have happened if she hadn’t walked through the portal. She kept hearing Rylin’s voice as he declared the queen had no right to wake the Goddess without consent of the people. And he had acted to save the people of Darassus rather than the Goddess in her hearthstones. Couldn’t the queen have repelled the Naor and then resumed their devotions? Surely many Darassans had died in the attack. Would the Goddess truly restore them all?
She knew from personal experience Rylin was a liar. Yet he had apparently convinced Thelar, who had never been easy to deceive, and who had no good reason to side with his hated rival.
A conversation about her misgivings with anyone here would elicit the usual explanations: evil was insidious, even attractive, and she’d allowed herself to be led astray before. The others would surely tell her she must repent and redouble her efforts on behalf of the Goddess. Tesra couldn’t bear the pitying recriminations to which she’d be subjected. Only Synahla had seemed to accept her doubts and ease them. She missed the peace that flowed from unswerving connection to a greater, glorious whole. To know where the answers lay.
Tesra rounded a hill as she reluctantly walked back toward the statue, passing through vibrant grasses. She paused to drink in the meadow where the rainbow-hued statue of the Goddess towered, one hand outthrust, still supported by scaffolding. The assault by the Naor dragon had blown hundreds of hearthstones free, but the statue remained exquisite, and her immortal beauty grew more and more certain as the exalts and aspirants restored the pieces.
They crouched at the statue’s feet amid neat piles of shards and hearthstones. Their work was challenging without the reference books left behind in Darassus. Every stone had to be tried in all possible configurations. Supports had been crafted from trees so perfect it felt criminal to fell them. They had no tools, but with magical energy so abundant they’d easily shaped additional scaffolding and ladders. Men and women perched upon the rungs and platforms, puzzling over the fit of each piece. Progress was frustratingly slow, yet the mood remained upbeat.
Watching their patient zeal brought no accord, and so Tesra turned to contemplate the line of smaller statues erected across an ancient reflecting pool. Seven stood at its far end, each formed of some seamless, gleaming metal, and while they were dwarfed by the hearthstone Goddess, the images of smiling young men and women still towered like giants.
Six were the false Gods she’d been taught to worship from childhood, five of whom had betrayed the Goddess. It was easy enough to guess the identity of half-feral Kantahl even if most of the other Gods didn’t look the way they were depicted across the realms. Darassa could be identified from her sword and curling hair. And Syrah, youngest of them all and the last in line, was obvious, a crown of flowers in her long straight locks.
But who was the first one, androgynous, somewhat morose? He/she was the same size as the others, though stood apart.
The queen spoke from just behind her right shoulder. “This land is a wonder.”
Tesra forced herself into calm as she turned.
Queen Leonara’s expression was vague. She had grown even more otherworldly and strange since their arrival.
“Yes, my queen,” Tesra agreed belatedly, then added: “It’s wonderful here. Thank you for bringing us.”
Not so long ago, the queen had smiled to receive such praise, inviting it as her due. Now her response was distracted, as if she listened less to what had been said and more to the tune of her inner thoughts. “Soon all the realms will resemble this one. It is a time of miracles.”
The queen pressed her hand to her heart. Tesra vividly recalled that there had recently be
en a wound just under that point on her shimmering green dress. She had witnessed Rylin’s attack, and known it for a fatal blow. But not a mark was left upon the queen. The injury had healed instantly. Leonara had told her worried followers she had felt little pain. She’d repaired the rent garment just as easily.
The queen uncharacteristically noted the direction of her gaze. “I see that you contemplate my mortality. I am beyond such concerns, as you will be soon. With our hearts totally devoted to the Goddess, we are perfected, holy and immutable.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” Tesra said, discomfited rather than inspired. “You’re very wise.”
“We are close,” the queen declared. “So very close now. Only days separate us from the return of our Goddess.”
Tesra had been certain the queen would complain she wasn’t working hard enough, but the ruler of the five realms simply stood there, vacantly contemplating the horizon.
Tesra cleared her throat and dared a question. “Are you worried that the Altenerai will find us?”
The queen answered without looking at her. “My child, this realm is impossible for them to find. We are safe. I wish only that I had been pure enough for its existence to be revealed sooner.”
Pure. Holy. Leonara had used those words liberally since their arrival. Tesra wondered why her own faith had weakened so. Even confidence in her leaders had faltered. She began to feel less as though she missed Synahla, and more as though she resented her, though she couldn’t identify the reason.
“Besides,” the queen continued breezily, “should the traitors somehow find their way here, we will deal with them. You need not fear when you are with me and the Goddess.” She favored Tesra with an icy smile, then wandered off toward the towering, inhumanly perfect statue without farewell.
With abrupt, searing certainty Tesra understood that proximity to the queen and her statue was the most frightening place of all.
7
When the Goddess Wakes Page 7
