“And how do you intend to accomplish that?”
Kyel pushed himself out of his chair and stood up from the table. He reached down and unhooked Thar’gon from his belt. He held the talisman up and, turning it slowly, watched the spikes of the morning star glisten in the candlelight.
“With this.”
22
Hope Besieged
Darien bit off a strip of jerky and chewed it automatically. He was engrossed in the old leather journal in his lap. He tore off another bite and flipped a page. Master Edric’s notes were scrawled on papers of different sizes and weights, as if they’d been scribed loosely and then collected and bound at a later date. The journal was full of diagrams, notes, equations, and descriptions. Edric’s preoccupation with birds was evident throughout. Nearly every bird species Darien knew was documented and sketched at least once. And there were many other creatures that had been the objects of intense study. Mostly reptiles: snakes and lizards. A few insects, though it seemed Edric had abandoned that line of inquiry.
Darien’s finger moved over a page as he tried to follow the logic of a particularly long and complex passage. He got lost halfway through. It seemed Edric had made up his own shorthand system. Darien had tried working forward and backward to understand how the man had arrived at his conclusions, without much success. He thought he had an idea of which general directions the Bird Man’s mind had wandered, but he had no idea of the exact paths.
He tore off another strip of dried horsemeat and worried it in his mouth, flipping back to the ribbon-marked page he’d started with. He studied the diagrams of the bird intensely. It was a warbler: a palm-sized bird with a sharp beak that was common throughout Amberlie Grove. There had to be some reason why Edric had bookmarked that page in particular. It had to be a starting point … but to what?
He looked up when he heard Azár’s footsteps approaching. His wife sank down next to him in the grass, crossing her legs and resting her head on his shoulder.
“Have you learned anything more?” she asked, looking down at the journal.
Darien shook his head. “I think I know what he was trying to get at, but the energy transformations would be mindboggling. I don’t have the faintest idea how he could get around it.”
Azár sat up and took the last strip of jerky from his hand. Popping it in her mouth, she said around the bite, “What do you think he was trying to do?”
Darien hesitated, afraid to voice his thoughts for fear of sounding like a fool. “I think he was trying to turn himself into a bird.”
Azár stopped chewing and looked him over with an expression that seemed to question his sanity. “How is that possible? Birds are small. How could a whole man fit into a bird’s tiny body?”
Darien said, “It’s a simple matter of converting the physical to energy and then converting it back again, but you’d lose a lot along the way. A better question would be, how much of the man could you get back out of the bird?” Darien shrugged, his shoulders vocalizing his frustration better than words ever could.
Azár swallowed her mouthful of horse meat. “Would it not be like healing? Rearrangement of the flesh?”
“It’s far from rearrangement,” Darien grumbled. “It’s more like reinvention. I don’t know how Edric could have pursued anything like this. He was only third tier. And even if he could make it work, I can’t imagine he could transform himself into anything larger than a cockroach.”
Azár leaned into him, her body pressed against his. “Does it say he managed to accomplish this? Or only that he tried?”
“Not that I’ve found. He suggests that he did, but he never comes right out and says it.”
She pulled back and looked at him. “You are not thinking of trying this thing, are you?”
“No.” Darien shook his head. “I don’t understand even a quarter of it yet. And there’s too much risk. If something went wrong, I could end up a quivering mass of goo.”
Azár’s face scrunched into a grimace. She held her hand up in a gesture against evil. “Ugh. No. I would not like you like that. You should put that book away.”
Darien grinned, closing the journal and wrapping it back up in its cloth covering. “I thought you wanted to be rid of me.”
“Not yet.” Azár smiled mischievously, holding fast to the expression as she kissed him.
“Papa!”
Kyel laughed in joy, scooping his son off the floor. He crushed him against his chest, rocking his little body from side to side. Gil’s soft curls tickled his cheek, and his sharp knees ground into Kyel’s ribs.
“I’ve missed you!” he exclaimed into his son’s golden hair.
“Missed you too, Papa!” Gil squeezed tighter, wriggling in excitement. Kyel sat down on a chair and set Gil on his lap. He had to pry Gil’s arms away from his neck to keep the blood flowing to his head. Kyel held his son against his chest, never wanting to let go. When Gil had enough, he laughed and squirmed out of the embrace.
Bouncing up and down on Kyel’s leg, he exclaimed, “Papa! Did you fight a war?”
Kyel shook his head. “Not really.” Then he thought about it. “I don’t know. Maybe I did.”
His son’s eyes widened like saucers, his mouth forming an enormous O. “You fought a war?”
Kyel ruffled Gil’s hair playfully. “Something like that.”
“What is that?” Gil asked, pointing at the morning star Kyel had set down by the door. It wasn’t a very good place for a spiked weapon, he realized.
“It’s a magic stick,” he said, grinning.
Gil made a sharp, excited gasp. “Can I have it? Please?”
Kyel shook his head. “No. It’s not a toy. In fact, Papa needs to find somewhere else to put it.” He lifted Gil and set him on the floor, then rose to find a better home for the talisman.
“Wanna wrestle?” Gil asked, bouncing up and down.
Kyel picked up Thar’gon and glanced around for a place to put it. His eyes leaped to a book case set against the wall. He placed the weapon on top, out of reach of curious hands.
“Papa’s a bit tired,” he admitted.
Undeterred, Gil clung to his leg and tugged as if trying to pry Kyel’s foot off the floor. Kyel pinwheeled his arms then pretend-fell and rolled onto his stomach, letting Gil clamber on top of him.
“I win!”
“Yes, you beat me!” Kyel gasped, trying to catch his breath as his son bounced up and down on his back.
Gil slid off, got down on his belly, and stared Kyel in the face. “Are you a king?”
“No, not a king,” Kyel laughed, pushing himself up and leaning back against the wall. Gil wormed his way over to him, sliding into his lap. He wrapped himself in the drape of Kyel’s arm.
“Uncle Arvel said you’re a king.”
“Oh, he did, now?” Kyel frowned, not certain how he felt about ‘Uncle’ Arvel. And this king business.
“Are you a prince?”
“No. Just a mage.”
“Oh. Love you anyway, Papa.” Gil squeezed Kyel’s arm tight.
Kyel embraced his son back. “I love you too, Gil.”
A knock at the door destroyed the moment.
With a sigh, Kyel set his son on the floor and rose, crossing to the door. He opened it just a crack and peered out, prepared to tell whichever cleric was there to go away. To his surprise, he found Alexa waiting in the hallway.
He’d forgotten all about her.
Feeling chagrinned, Kyel turned to Gil. “I’ll be right back,” he said, then slipped sideways out the door, closing it before Gil could get a look at Alexa. Or before Alexa could get a look at his son. He wasn’t sure which he was trying to prevent.
“I was just coming to check on you,” he lied. Then he realized he’d lied. And he didn’t care, which was the strange thing. Dismissing the train of thought, he asked her, “Are they treating you well?”
Alexa regarded him with an expression that was three parts irritation and one part disbelief, no doubt over his
lack of concern. “Yes, if you call ignoring me treating me well. I told them I’m a mage, but they don’t seem to believe me. I can’t get anyone to fetch me so much as a cup of water.”
Kyel wondered why Alexa just didn’t fetch her own water. Swallowing his misgivings, he tried to mollify her. “I’ll talk to them. I’m going to be meeting with—err, the High Priest—after supper.”
Alexa’s face lit up. “Am I invited to supper?”
Kyel doubted she was. Arvel certainly hadn’t requested her company. Kyel found himself lying to her again. “I assume you are. They have to feed you, don’t they?” Lying was a lot easier, he realized, than telling Alexa the truth. Her feelings were fragile, he was finding out.
“Is that your son?” She leaned forward, trying to peer past him through the crack in the door.
Kyel stepped sideways to block her view, pulling the door all the way closed behind him.
“Yes,” he admitted, knowing Alexa must have caught a glimpse of Gil.
“Why is he here?”
That was indeed a long story, and one Kyel deeply regretted. Trying to make it as short as possible, he told her, “Meiran had me bring him here. She was hoping he’d inherited the Potential from me. We thought it wise for Gil to receive an education, just in case. With Aerysius gone, this temple is the best center of learning in the world.”
“That makes sense,” Alexa said, nodding. She glanced up at Kyel, her eyes full of candid innocence. “Doesn’t he miss his mum?”
Kyel sighed, nodding. “He does. It was a hard choice.” Looking into her eyes, he realized how easy it could be to forget Alexa was a mage.
She looked suddenly saddened. “Poor dear. What are you going to do with him after—”
Kyel put his hand up, stopping her. He had just been holding his son after five months of being apart from him. He didn’t want to be reminded that these few moments might be the last he’d ever get with him.
Alexa’s gaze slid downward. Apparently, she realized she’d overstepped. She said quietly, “Maybe there’s something you can do. Some way you can stay with him.”
Kyel’s anger flared. The last thing he needed was hope. “No,” he said firmly.
“Maybe we can find a way,” she insisted, her eyes brightening.
“It’s impossible.”
Alexa shook her head. “Nothing’s impossible.” She set a hand on his arm and squeezed it reassuringly. “Don’t lose hope, Kyel,” she said, then turned and walked back down the corridor.
Kyel stared after her, silently seething. Alexa was wrong. Hope was just a delusion people clung to in order to make life seem bearable. What they didn’t understand was how much worse they’d feel when hope inevitably failed. He wasn’t going to make that mistake. He wasn’t going to be deluded into thinking that he’d have more time to spend with his son and show Gil how much he loved him.
To Kyel’s surprise, Arvel relented and allowed Alexa to join them for supper. Not that it mattered. It was the most uncomfortable meal Kyel had ever been forced to sit through. Not a word was spoken that wasn’t necessary. All parties sat on different sides of the table. Possibly different sides of the war. If Arvel and the old man next to him were conversing, Kyel couldn’t tell. Both seemed just as intent on ignoring each other as they were bent on ignoring him.
When the meal was finished, Alexa pushed back her plate. “Thank you, Your Eminence, for your graceful hospitality,” she said, breaking the resounding tension.
Arvel smiled at her indulgently. “His Eminence appreciates your gratitude. However, he does ask that you excuse us now. We wish to spend some time alone with Kyel.”
Alexa shot Kyel a questioning look. He ignored her.
“Of course,” she muttered, seeming flustered. “My apologies.” She scooted her chair back and, with one last, stabbing glare at Kyel, exited the room. The door closed behind her more roughly than it should have.
Kyel took his time about folding his napkin. He set it down carefully on the table. Then he turned to look at the High Priest. Or whatever the silent old man actually was. More than a puppet but less than a figurehead, Kyel supposed. He wasn’t surprised when the old man rose and followed Alexa out of the room.
Kyel watched his exit, feeling somewhat grateful for the man’s departure. He turned to Arvel and spread his hands. “Well. Here I am.”
“Yes,” Arvel said with a condescending look. “Here you are. Let’s start with that woman. Do you trust her?”
“No,” Kyel said honestly.
“Interesting. And yet you travel with her.”
He shrugged. “I don’t distrust her either.”
Arvel planted an elbow on the table, cradling his face with his hand. “I’m aware of the peculiar way you found that woman—Cadmus was able to relay the information to us before he was slain. Let’s just say … I am concerned. At the very least. You see, Alexa Newell’s name was added to the List years ago.”
Kyel had heard the clerics of Om referring to that List once before. He’d assumed it meant some type of catalogue of deaths.
Arvel continued, “It is possible this woman you know as Alexa is exactly what she seems. And if that’s all she is, then she may be a tremendous asset. With her, there exists the possibility that together you might seal the Well of Tears before you pass from this world.”
Kyel’s mouth dropped open. He hadn’t thought of that. Arvel was right—that would be a tremendous opportunity. Although Alexa was only a Master, not a Grand Master. They would have to find a way to Transfer her at least one more tier of power.
“There is also the chance she will betray you,” Arvel continued darkly. “Be very wary of her. There is only one god who has ever returned a soul from beyond the Veil. And Xerys is very real.”
Kyel nodded, pondering the implications. “Point taken.”
“Now, as far as the talisman you inherited from Byron Connel—”
The man suddenly went rigid, his eyes narrowing to white slits, his lashes fluttering. The knuckles of his hands turned a milky white. He sat there tensed for a long, frightful moment. Then he opened his mouth and exhaled a great gasp, his body sagging as if melting into his seat. He opened his eyes.
“We’re out of time,” Arvel said, his gaze shooting up to lock on Kyel’s. “Lauchlin’s army has arrived and has cordoned off the entrance to the valley. For all intents and purposes, we are under siege.”
“What are you going to do?” Kyel asked.
Arvel pushed his chair back and rose, tossing his napkin on the table. “We are prepared to field every able-bodied priest, monk, and layman of every temple. For the past few days, we’ve been fortifying the valley’s mouth.”
Kyel followed him to his feet. “We need to negotiate.”
“There’s nothing to negotiate.” Arvel waved him off, making his way around the table.
Kyel moved to block him. “We don’t even know what he wants.”
The man studied Kyel intently, as if peering deep into his soul. “Darien Lauchlin is a Servant of Xerys who has brought an army to the Valley of the Gods. What do you think he wants?” He lifted his eyebrows.
“I’m going to talk to him,” Kyel said, resolute.
Arvel stared at him flatly. “He’ll kill you.”
“No, he won’t. He already had that chance. He didn’t take it.” In the dungeon of Greystone Keep, Darien had been a hairsbreadth away from ending his life, Kyel felt certain. He’d seen it in his eyes. He still wasn’t sure why Darien had held back.
“How do you know he won’t change his mind?” Arvel pressed.
“Because I know him.”
The man fixed him with a hard-as-granite stare. “And he knows you.”
“No, he doesn’t. Not anymore.”
23
Parley
The wind howled and shrieked like a murder. The gale battered Kyel’s back, pushing him forward as he walked with Arvel and Alexa up a rise of sandstone steps that snaked upward to the crest of a low hill,
the only truly defensible position on the valley floor. The steps had been worn down so much, they were almost a ramp. They led to the surface of a thick stone slab of chiseled marble: the footprint of an ancient temple, now reduced to a jumble of toppled columns.
Arvel led them across the foundation toward a group of men and women clustered at the far edge. Kyel stopped behind Arvel and watched as the man inserted himself into the group of robed priests and priestesses. He exchanged greetings and small talk, while Kyel stood on the edge of the gathering, waiting and watching, wondering how long he was going to be ignored.
After a long interval, Arvel turned and beckoned him over, the bronze sleeves of his robe billowed by the scolding wind. Kyel complied with a scowl, moving only close enough to be within earshot.
Arvel had to shout to be heard over the wind. “This is His Eminence! Ansel Stroud! The High Priest of Zephia!” He indicated a man standing next to him who wore a dark beard and a darker glower. Kyel recognized him. He’d met the man before, at a gathering of temple patriarchs. He hadn’t liked Stroud then, and he liked him less now.
“I’m sure you remember Kyel Archer!” Arvel shouted at the priest, who stared at Kyel and didn’t respond.
Kyel nodded a curt greeting that seemed to ruffle the man.
Arvel excused himself with a wave and a smile, moving off the foundation in a crackling ripple of oversized robes. Kyel stared after him, more unsettled than angry. He turned back to the Patriarch of Zephia, wondering who, between the two of them, was supposed to be in charge.
He leaned forward and shouted at the priest, “I’m going down there! I want to see if he’ll negotiate!”
“He won’t negotiate,” Stroud disagreed. “We have nothing to offer him!”
Kyel thought about it. “We can tell him if he surrenders, we’ll let them keep the North.”
The priest took a step back, staring at Kyel with a look of gaping disbelief. “You can’t just give them the North!”
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