She cut herself off.
The rowboat drew parallel to the island, veering south. Seri took a deep breath to calm herself. Master Hain, the current head mage of her homeland, would be waiting at the dock. Five years ago, he had seemed disdainful of her chances at the Conclave. Yet he had accepted her application to become an acolyte. She hoped that meant his opinion had changed.
A small wave swept across the surface of the lake, running counter to the normal waves. Hauk noticed it too, and frowned. “What’s that?” he mumbled. A second wave flowed past the boat.
“It’s coming from the island,” Seri said, leaning forward to get a better look. A chill wind struck her face as the boat rocked.
“Watch it!” Hauk warned.
The island shuddered. Seri saw rocks and clods of dirt tumbling down steep banks. The citadels themselves seemed to vibrate, as the ground on the nearest slope cracked open, dirt and water both pouring down inside.
Seri caught a glimpse of a tall figure in purple robes at the top of the slope, looking down at the crack. He looked unsteady, as if he were having a hard time keeping his balance.
And then, to Seri’s open-mouthed horror, one of the citadel pinnacles began to tilt. Slowly, as if time itself decelerated, thirty feet or more of the tower began to fold over on itself. Bricks separated. Windows shattered. Roof tiles slid in every direction. The entire conglomeration plunged toward the water only a few yards away.
Seri leaned further, trying to discern from which citadel the pinnacle had fallen, and if the man she had seen was safe. The collapsing tower struck the surface with a tremendous impact, splashing ice cold water over the rowboat. Hauk pulled with all his strength, trying to get them out of the chaos, but the boat’s rocking intensified, catching Seri by surprise. She lost her grip on the gunwale and plunged into the lake.
The glacial temperature of the water rendered Seri insensate, turning her muscles into ice. Her heavy clothes sucked her under the waves. The cold penetrated straight through her clothes, her skin, and her very bones.
Seri’s thick gown, so rooted in current Arazu fashion, tangled around her legs. Even if she could manage to tear part of it off, it would be too late.
Her mind comprehended all of this in an instant, even as it screamed out at the injustice of losing her life when she was so close to achieving her greatest dreams.
And then, a rope came toward her. No, the rope swam toward her, moving back and forth as if it were a sea serpent skimming through shallow waters in an oasis. Seri assumed it must be some final hallucination, perhaps due to the lack of air in her burning lungs.
In spite of all that, she seized the rope, but her fingers struggled to entwine. It yanked her back toward the surface. She lost it for a moment, grabbed it again, and found herself dragged upwards into the light of day.
Bursting out of the waves, she gasped, choked, and spewed water. The rope continued to pull up onto the nearest slope of the island. The tall man she had glimpsed before stood waiting at the top.
“Welcome to Zes Sivas, Seri-Belit,” he announced.
As she collapsed, shivering uncontrollably, Seri’s couldn’t help thinking that if all the mages already knew her full name, she might as well have drowned.
CHAPTER THREE
THE EARTH SHOOK on the day Marshal’s life changed forever. It wasn’t much of a shaking, like thunder from a distant storm, but strong enough to be felt. Marshal looked around Drusa’s Crossing uneasily. A couple of nearby villagers murmured. One touched his index fingers to his palms and whispered. But nothing changed and the shaking did not repeat itself.
Aelia emerged from a cottage, pulling on her gloves. “Titus’s leg is knitting,” she announced. “But it will be some time before he can walk again.” She handed her bag to Marshal, who had been waiting outside for her. She cocked her head, noticing the look on his face. “What is it, son?”
He grimaced and pointed toward the ground.
Aelia nodded. “I felt it,” she said. “It was far away, whatever it was. I’m sure it means nothing to us.”
Marshal started to nod, but stopped. That wasn’t right. He shook his head.
“Skeptical, are you?” Aelia started down the central road through town. “The wider world leaves us alone. Let us do the same for it.”
Aelia flipped her hand in the air and looked at him expectantly. Marshal frowned. He knew she had used this gesture many, many times, but when he tried to decipher it, his thoughts seemed to dissolve in his head.
His concentration broke at the sound of hoofbeats. He turned to look at the same time as his mother. Five riders emerged from the forest and rode into Drusa’s Crossing. A single rider would be unusual here, especially before the mountain pass opened. Marshal couldn’t remember seeing five at once.
“Theon’s wings shelter us,” Aelia whispered. Marshal glanced at her, but his attention returned immediately to the strangers. The riders passed right in front of him.
Three appeared to be guards or soldiers of some kind. Their long swords hung in practical sheaths at their belts, while two also carried bows and quivers full of arrows on their backs. The third had a flail on his back, something sure to draw Victor’s attention. Their red and gold-trimmed cloaks marked them as part of Varioch’s military.
The other two were not soldiers. A woman, thin and severe, ignored everything around her. Her small, upturned nose, sharp eyebrows, and long, dark hair screamed haughtiness to Marshal. But it was around the final rider that the guards formed a protective circle. This man wore an air of elite nobility that radiated in every direction. His tailored clothes fit tightly to his muscular frame. As Marshal watched, the man threw his hood back, despite the chill, revealing short blonde hair and a carefully groomed short beard. His cold blue eyes settled briefly on Marshal before moving on to Aelia. His eyes sharpened at the sight of her, and he glanced back at Marshal.
“This way, your Lordship!” one of the guards called. After one more glance back at Marshal and Aelia, the noble continued on.
“I should have known,” Aelia said. She gave a great sigh. “I just hoped we’d have more time…”
Marshal frowned, but Aelia smiled at him. “Don’t be concerned, my treasure. Whatever happens today, remember what I have told you every day of your life. And–” She stopped and laughed. “I almost said not to tell them anything. I’m getting old, son.”
He shook his head. No matter how old he grew, his mother always seemed young. He knew she had been very young at his birth, barely old enough to have a child of her own. No one could use the word “old” to refer to her.
The riders dismounted in the center of town. The nobleman gestured and one of the soldiers returned down the road on foot. After a few steps, he looked with dismay at his boots, coated now in thick mud, and growled something incomprehensible. He shook his head and approached them, head down as he tried to avoid the muddiest spots.
Aelia spoke first. “Good day to you, sir.”
“Good day,” he answered, looking back up at them. “His Lordship would like a word with you.” He gestured toward the town center, really nothing more than a wider space in the road.
The mother and son followed him dutifully. Marshal studied the longbow slung across his back, the fine thread of the red cloak, and the erect posture so different from the average villager around them. A crowd of townspeople gathered around the horses and their riders.
As they approached, Marshal saw the nobleman talking with several locals, including Balaes and the village major. Marshal almost laughed at their expressions. He couldn’t tell if they were honored or frightened. Maybe both. The woman had not dismounted, and continued to stare off into the distance.
Upon seeing them approach, the nobleman gestured the other men away with a small but insistent gesture. He strode to meet Aelia and bowed to her. The act shocked the other townspeople. Marshal couldn’t hide his smile this time, but he was just as confused as everyone else.
“My lady,” he s
aid, “I’m sure you can guess who I am, but I do not know your name.” He spoke loud enough to be overheard some distance away. Marshal frowned.
“You are Varion’s son,” Aelia answered. The crowd almost exploded over this information. As one of the six Lords of Antises, Varion ruled over the land of Varioch.
The young man’s eyebrow twitched. “I am,” he said. “My name is Volraag, heir to the Lordship of this land.” He lowered his voice so the other townspeople could not hear. “Though not the eldest son of Varion, if I am right about your identity.”
“What do you want from us?” Aelia demanded.
Volraag looked taken aback. “I came to meet my brother and speak with him.” His eyes turned to Marshal.
Marshal’s smile vanished and he took a step back. Brother? Of this nobleman? That couldn’t be right.
The townspeople started to move closer, but the three guards stepped in the way.
“If you know what you claim to know, then you also know that my son is cursed because of your father. He cannot speak.” The last three words came in almost a whisper. Aelia’s face hardened and she swallowed.
Marshal’s mouth went dry. Aelia had never told him the name of his father, the man who had raped her and passed a curse down on his son. Lord Varion was that man?
Volraag’s eyes narrowed by a fraction. “Then we shall communicate in other ways. What is his name?” His voice returned to its normal levels.
Aelia looked back at him, breathing hard. She opened her mouth, but didn’t say anything.
The town major stepped forward nervously. “His name is Marshal, your Lordship,” he said. “He sort of helps out in odd jobs around town. He doesn’t…” He trailed off.
“When I want to hear from a blathering side of beef, I will ask for it,” Volraag said without turning around. The major blanched and stepped back.
Volraag’s eyes blinked to Marshal and then back to Aelia. When she still did not speak, he glanced around again and sighed.
“Otioch, make sure we are not disturbed,” he said to one of the soldiers. He pointed at Marshal. “You, come with me.” Without waiting for a response, he stalked away past the framework of Balaes’s new workshop.
Marshal looked to Aelia for instructions, answers, anything. He needed to know something more from her. She glanced at him and only nodded. Without any other guidance, Marshal frowned and followed the Lord’s son away from the crowd.
He caught up to Volraag next to the fallen tree beyond the workshop. Balaes and Victor had rolled it some distance further. Upon seeing it, Marshal could think only of Titus. Volraag sat on the trunk, folded his arms, and studied Marshal with a sharp eye.
Marshal stood still under the scrutiny, not knowing what else to do.
“You are different than I expected,” Volraag said after a moment. “I can see our father in your face and hair, but your eyes definitely come from your mother.” He glanced back toward the village. “It’s easy to see what Varion saw in her, by Theon. I’ve rarely seen such a beauty in such a… rustic locale.”
Marshal scowled. What Varion saw in her? He had raped her! His fist clenched.
“Before I arrived, you didn’t know you’re father’s identity, did you?”
Nod is yes. Shake is no. That he could remember. Usually. Marshal shook his head.
Volraag snorted. “Well, I never thought I would be the one to give out such news, but congratulations. You’re the firstborn son of the all-powerful Lord Varion.” He paused. “You’re also a bastard, conceived by rape.” He shook his head. “To be honest, muteness seems like a relatively minor curse for the crime of rape, compared to others I’ve seen.”
Marshal found himself growing angrier as he considered this information. He wondered why Aelia had never told him, but the full weight of Lord Varion’s actions was almost unbelievable. Most people who bore a curse bore the consequences of their own actions. But the Lords of Antises had exempted themselves from the magical laws. Any curses of their actions fell on their children. Marshal had known that his father must be a noble, but Lord Varion himself?
And a “minor” curse? What did Volraag know of him? Muteness was only the beginning. As if in response to his thoughts, his right hand began to tremble.
“There it is!” Volraag whispered. He rose from the fallen tree and took a step toward Marshal. His eyes had widened, but not with surprise. Marshal had seen the same look on faces at the town’s annual thawing feast. He had seen it on Victor’s face a time or two when he looked at Careen and she wasn’t looking back. Volraag’s face held… desire?
Marshal took an involuntary step backward and grabbed his right hand with his left.
“Does it do that often?” Volraag asked, never taking his eyes off the trembling hand.
Marshal shrugged. That was the right gesture, wasn’t it?
“That is not a part of your curse, brother. That is something… much more.”
Marshal looked at him with narrowed eyes.
Volraag tore his eyes away from the shaking hand and looked Marshal in the face. “Do you at least know of the six Lords and their magical power?”
Marshal nodded. Who didn’t?
“Varion is one of the six Lords. That means he holds a vast portion of this world’s magic within him. He wields unbelievable power when he chooses to…” Volraag trailed off and looked away, as if thinking of something unpleasant. He shook his head and looked back.
“Despite the fact that the… circumstances of your birth led to you being cursed, your birth also entitles you to this inheritance. When Varion dies, or surrenders his power at the Passing, that power will move on to you.”
Marshal released his trembling hand and looked at it. Magic power? The power of a Lord? He had nothing like that. He had shaking, trembling. He was “Curse Boy,” not “Lord’s son.”
“Yes, you already possess a tiny fraction of the power within you.” Volraag took another step closer. “It’s like a lodestone calling out to metal. When Varion releases his power for the last time, it will be attracted to that. It will come to you, and there’s nothing anyone can do to prevent it.”
Marshal found himself breathing hard. He could feel the trembling spreading through him. It had done that before, but he hoped it didn’t happen now. He didn’t like the way Volraag looked at him, and he didn’t know how to think about these revelations.
Volraag started to turn away, then rotated back, a long, thin dagger in his hand. “Actually, there is one thing that can prevent it: your death.”
Marshal stumbled and looked around. The guards still kept everyone else in the town center.
Volraag looked down at the dagger. “I could kill you myself, right here and right now. Based on what I can guess of your life in this pathetic dungheap, I doubt anyone would be very upset, other than your mother.”
Volraag casually pushed the point of the dagger a full inch into the fallen tree trunk. Marshal’s eyes remained fixed on it.
“But since I’m not a Lord yet, if I were to do that, I would be cursed. And I won’t be a Lord until my father dies. At which point, you would already have the power.” He spread his arms wide. “You see my dilemma.”
Dilemma. Marshal’s existence was a dilemma to this man.
Volraag sighed and leaned back against the tree without actually sitting. “This is not going as I expected it to,” he admitted. “Out of all possible curses, I had not anticipated muteness. I was relying on my own persuasive ability here, but it’s impossible to tell if you’re sufficiently grasping what I’m saying.”
He studied Marshal again. “I’ve been searching for you for a few years now. Obviously, I knew Varion had a bastard child, but I didn’t know where. I’ve had spies out all over Varioch and even across the borders.” He paused and gestured toward the south. “That’s not easy when we might be going to war with Rasna any day now.
“A few days ago, I heard about a cursed, fatherless man in a secluded village, and I knew.” He tapped his own
head. “I just knew that my search was over.”
He pushed away from the tree and stepped forward. Despite his own admission that he was the younger brother, Volraag stood a full span taller than Marshal and appeared far stronger. Marshal’s hand continued to shake, and he swallowed. If Volraag really did choose to kill him, he could do nothing about it. The only thing protecting him was Volraag’s fear of cursing himself.
“Let me put it this way,” Volraag said. “Lord Varion’s power will be mine one day, one way or another. In fact, it’s really just one of two ways.”
He held up two fingers and pointed to one. “The simplest solution for all of us is that you kill yourself. No one gets cursed, and I get what I want.” He looked into Marshal’s eyes. “If Varion’s power came to you, after all, your curse would prevent you from fully using it. Besides, who would miss you? Your mother is still young. She’ll get over it. And I would think, with the life you live here, it would actually be a… relief.”
He pointed to the second finger. “And she is the reason why you don’t want to wait for the second solution. Should you fail to kill yourself, I will have to arrange for your death in other ways. More specifically, I will send someone to kill you, someone who isn’t worried about curses.”
He leaned in so close Marshal could see the moisture in the corners of his eyes.
“And he will also kill your mother.”
•••••
Volraag spun on his heel and walked back toward the town, leaving Marshal shaken and alone. He started to follow but stopped to pull the dagger from the tree. It took more effort than he had expected. When he finally got it free, Volraag was far ahead. He frowned, concealed the dagger in a pocket inside his coat and hurried past the workshop.
When he reached the town center, Marshal saw Volraag already mounted. “Let’s move!” he called to the soldiers. “I want to be back in Reman before the new moon!”
Until All Curses Are Lifted Page 2
