For the Killing of Kings

by Howard Andrew Jones

  “What goddess is that, Tesra?”

  “If you’re good,” she said with the hint of a wicked smile, “I’ll tell you later.”

  Finally she led him to a courtyard where eight recruits worked through sword forms under the tutelage of a broad-shouldered swordsman dressed, like Verin, in a khalat with red decorative piping. He looked familiar, but with his back turned Rylin couldn’t place him.

  Their arrival almost immediately brought the training to a standstill. Pair by sparring pair, the men and women on the flat, sandy surface lowered their dulled practice swords and stared at him.

  After a moment, the instructor turned as well, and that was when Rylin realized he should have recognized him from the start. Wavy auburn hair, close cropped; flat brown eyes; a narrow nose with a proud hook.

  “Thelar,” Tesra said, “we’re sorry to interrupt. The commander wanted me to show Alten Rylin around.”

  Thelar barked at his pupils to return to work. He strode over sand shaded by three and a half stories of building, his bootheels crunching the soil with every step. The others saluted one another with their weapons and returned to slicing, thrusting, and blocking, their swords clacking dully as they met. Rylin didn’t see the rank novices he’d partly expected.

  Thelar didn’t bother nodding and directed his question to Tesra. “What’s he doing here?”

  She started to speak. “Rylin’s considering—” And then she quieted, apparently remembering that Rylin sought discretion.

  “I might start training work with your division,” Rylin offered.

  Thelar’s expression was naturally inclined to frowns, and it went midway on to sneer. “I think I have things well in hand. I thought we were through with Altenerai around here.”

  “Maybe not,” Rylin said. He had been surprised someone so temperamentally unsuited had reached as high as the fourth rank of the Altenerai and glad to see Thelar leave the corps when he did. And then he remembered, with striking clarity, that it was Denaven who’d argued for Thelar’s continued advancement back then. Just as it was Denaven who’d pressed other Altenerai to back Cargen’s promotion, and then K’narr after him. If the Mage Auxiliary hadn’t been created, might the man before him be wearing a sapphire rather than a ruby?

  “Nice ring,” Rylin said cooly. He regretted the comment immediately. It drew attention to Thelar’s failure to advance with the Altenerai, surely his original goal. He could never quite resist needling the thin-skinned rustic from Alantris. But he didn’t expect the venom that followed.

  “You arrogant ass.” Thelar’s voice was low, ugly. “You still think you’re better than me, don’t you? I bet you could scarcely wait to volunteer your services after Cargen and K’narr were murdered. But then you were always ready to jump on any undeserved opportunity.”

  Oh. “Is this still about that blonde?” Rylin couldn’t even remember her name. Nira something.

  “This is about you.” Thelar stabbed a finger at him.

  Rylin kept his eyes planted on Thelar’s upper chest, just below his neck, the better to watch any peripheral movements. An attack might be imminent. And here everything had been going so well. Synahla had admonished him to be tactful. “I didn’t come here to fight you, Thelar.”

  The sparrers continued poking at one another but kept glancing toward the more engaging conflict at the courtyard’s edge. Tesra looked like she might intervene, but Rylin raised a hand to warn her off; he realized he’d have to set some precedent for interactions with Thelar if he were to mingle with the auxiliary regularly.

  Thelar wasn’t interested in conciliation. “You think you’re such an excellent trainer? Here. You show us how it’s done.” He spun and clapped hands twice.

  On the instant, the assembled students ceased their half-hearted sparring and pivoted so that each stood beside another, at parade rest.

  Rylin caught the scent of perfumed hair as Tesra leaned close. “Maybe we should go,” she said in a whisper.

  “It’s fine. I can play along.”

  Thelar was addressing his pupils. “We have a special guest today. Alten Rylin. One of the sapphire-bearing Altenerai. He’s agreed to a small demonstration.”

  Rylin leaned toward Tesra. “I don’t recall doing that.”

  “You don’t have to join in,” she said, then added, “you probably shouldn’t.”

  He knew he shouldn’t, just as he knew he’d never live it down with Thelar if he demurred.

  “A practice bout to a count of three,” Thelar said, his teeth flashing in a grin. “What do you say to that, Rylin? Against two of my finest pupils?”

  Two? He’d have preferred one, or none, but he could hardly refuse, even knowing Thelar was planning something. “If you think it will be instructive. You’re in charge here, Exalt, so I defer to you.”

  For some reason that set the man sneering. “Oh, it’ll be instructive.” He motioned for two tall, young redheaded women. They wore sleeveless leather-reinforced shirts, and their pale skin gleamed with a sheen of sweat.

  Rylin unbuckled his sword belt, wondering what Varama would say about this. Probably she’d advise him not to tarry, to make excuses and get out with information. Yet, if he was supposed to infiltrate the corps, he had to obtain the respect of its members, and a martial instructor who didn’t want to fight wasn’t especially impressive.

  Neither was a martial instructor who lost.

  Rylin mulled over his motivations even as he strode to the practice rack and looked at the battered metal swords. Most had a fair balance. One proved almost as light as his own, though its reach was a thumbspan shorter.

  He still wasn’t entirely certain this was a wise course, or a necessary one, but he stepped up to the browned sparring circle in the courtyard’s center. Its edge was marked with a scattered spray of black pebbles.

  Thelar announced: “M’vai, Meria, the combat is to last three rounds. Each round concludes if one of you scores a point against Rylin, or if he scores against both of you. If he should score a point against one of you, the round has ended only for the person scored against; the round continues for the other combatants. All other rules are standard.”

  “Yes, Exalt.” The squires answered as one, their voices blending smoothly. They moved at the same instant to take up equidistant points on the circle, forming a triangle with Rylin. Judging by their lack of hesitation, they’d fought together before.

  Rylin raised his own sword in salute before he brought it sweeping down at the same time as his opponents.

  M’vai, distinguished from her twin by a small brown mole above her lip, darted in with a thrust to Rylin’s chest. He parried high, pivoted on his right foot, and kicked her sternum with his left. She stumbled toward Meria. While Meria danced clear he swatted M’vai’s small round backside, temporarily visible when the tail of her leather tunic flew up. One point, and the impact sent her sprawling to the dirt.

  Meria gritted pearly white teeth and charged. All he had to do was parry and wait for the opening—and then his leg slipped forward and he staggered. Meria pounced and just managed to touch his shoulder as he leaned away.

  He stepped back and saluted. “Nicely done.”

  She nodded. As she turned to help her sister to her feet, Rylin glanced at the sand. It didn’t appear any looser where he’d slipped. He surreptitiously inspected the sole of his right boot and found nothing amiss.

  Thelar grinned at him. “They’re better than you supposed, aren’t they? Alten?”

  He’d faced better. But he’d underestimated them, and possibly been too reckless.

  And then it came to him as he saw Thelar’s glee. Standard rules might not mean the same thing here as it meant in the Altenerai training rings. And even if it did, who was to say Thelar wouldn’t cheat?

  “Quite surprising,” Rylin called back. He breathed out, focused a kernel of energy from deep within, and used it to keep his ring’s lighting mechanism disabled. An important skill, lest the thing act as a beacon while mov
ing at night. He pretended to brush something from his blunted sword’s edge as he willed the sapphire to life without its glow. Instantly he grew conscious of the different sources of energy surrounding him. The pulsing life force of all those in the practice field. Thelar’s ring, Tesra’s hair band—interesting.

  If a spell were being thrown, he would know its source.

  Rylin resumed position across from his opponents and saluted them. This time he sensed the passage of energy between Meria and M’vai and understood they worked together through a mental link.

  Rylin exploded forward, rolling away from M’vai’s strike and parrying Meria’s as his momentum carried him past both. As M’vai recovered and swung to follow, his blunt sword struck her twin under the left arm.

  In the stumble that followed, Rylin tapped M’vai in the kidney then stepped back. He’d felt no other magic at play, but then he’d moved so fast, perhaps there hadn’t been time.

  The sisters’ eyes held a predatory gleam as they raised their swords for another pass.

  This time Meria went in first and M’vai followed on Rylin’s right flank. He swept Meria’s blade aside. As he pivoted he sensed the pressure against his heel this time, as well as the surge of energy that rose from Thelar. Sensing and acting were two different movements, though, and even as he recovered his footing two swords swung toward him at the same moment, one toward his shoulder, the other toward his chest. He slipped away from one and felt a magical push that thrust him straight into line with the second strike even as he raised his sword to block Meria’s. Too late.

  He stepped apart.

  “Two points on you now, Rylin,” Thelar said.

  The shoves from Thelar had been well-timed, and unlikely to be registered by the ring’s defenses, because they weren’t direct physical or mental assaults. They were also ill-mannered in a training bout, which should be between contestants only.

  But then this wasn’t really about the sparring on the sand.

  Rylin nodded. “Indeed.” He glanced over the rest of the assembled mages, saw them fingering their blades, felt them watching with their own power.

  So they knew their master cheated. He might ask if magics were allowed, or permitted from outside the circle, but then he could be mocked for having to ask, or for not being up to the challenge. He also was certain Thelar knew he’d assume the rules were the same here as in Altenerai training where this use of magic would be declared and only from combatants.

  Better to act than to ask.

  As Rylin dropped his sword in salute he sent a superb wave of nausea toward Thelar while stepping in toward Meria. She thrust at him on the instant.

  Even as he felt his spell rebuffed by Thelar, he dodged Meria’s point, which passed near his throat, and he slammed his pommel into her knuckles. Just then Thelar pushed at the back of his knee, but Rylin was prepared with a spell block. Meria, with a cry of pain, released her hold on the blade and Rylin grabbed it from her with his off hand. He swatted her shoulder even as he swung his other up to block a savage head blow from M’vai. She was wide open for his new second sword, but Rylin backstepped instead and coaxed a fluff of air toward Thelar.

  Meria, disarmed, scrambled clear of the circle as Rylin maneuvered himself closer to Thelar, to his right but a little behind, and while the latter wove a defense for an assault that was nothing more than wind, he sent a more powerful gust into the small of the man’s back.

  That broke Thelar’s guard and tripped him a step forward just as Rylin extended the weapon in his right hand and took Thelar in the temple with the flat of his blade. He felt the satisfying thud, heard a moan and the sound of a body slumping to the sand.

  Rylin easily parried M’vai’s second and third thrust. As she withdrew to circle him, he whipped Meria’s sword at her.

  Practiced she might be, but she gasped a little to find a spinning length of metal flying at her head, even if she knew its edges were dull. She managed to block it, only to find Rylin’s other sword touching her shoulder.

  “Point,” he said.

  He stepped back to look down at Thelar, crumpled and groaning feebly. “And seeing as our referee’s been injured in the bout, I think that’s match. If any of you have healing talents you might want to look him over.” Rylin drove his sword into the practice field sand. “But I doubt there’s any lasting damage. His skull’s fairly thick.”

  Tesra handed over his sword belt, and he walked for the exit as he fastened it. He heard her following, but he didn’t speak to her until they’d left the courtyard for an empty corridor.

  “Well, that was interesting,” he said.

  “I’m so sorry. I had no idea he was going to do that.”

  “He’s always hated me. Didn’t you remember?”

  A flush had spread over her cheeks. “Not until we walked in. And then it was too late.” Her embarrassment looked genuine. “He’s not usually like that anymore.”

  “Hard to believe. But if he was like that all the time, I suppose someone would have killed him.”

  “It’s not a total loss. Everyone’s going to be talking about that training exercise. But couldn’t you have dealt with Thelar without embarrassing him so badly? Now you’re going to have an enemy waiting when you join.”

  “I always did and just didn’t know. Besides, I couldn’t very well ignore the challenge.” He cleared his throat. He should get back to business. “What about this hearthstone shard you were going to show me?”

  She gave him a half smile and took his hand. “All right.”

  He felt a stab of jealousy when he saw Tesra’s suite was larger and more sumptuous than his own, with colorful wall decorations and elegant modern furniture with plush cushions. All the bright scarves and hangings paled to insignificance, though, against the shining object she brought forth from the pouch tucked up one sleeve, like a diamond afire from within.

  Was this the shard he’d seen earlier? It looked entirely different now and far more fascinating.

  She stared at it hard for a long moment, and then the glow brightened enough to throw long shadows. Yet it wasn’t the sort of light to ward your eyes against, but one that soothed and welcomed.

  His voice was a whisper. “So this is a hearthstone?”

  “Part of one. We’ve classified them into different sizes. This is a size three shard.” She touched his hand and guided it toward the stone. “Go ahead. Reach into the inner world and feel it.”

  He resisted the pull, but didn’t release her fingers. Why was the touch of her hand so enticing? He hadn’t been this aroused by such light contact since his first real kiss, long years ago. It was a struggle to maintain concentration. “What were all of you doing in the Great Hall? Studying their effects?”

  “Well, yes. Each hearthstone has different energy flows. We have to see how they fit together. What their powers are.”

  “And the people with the clocks?”

  “The hearthstones are alluring. We have to have someone monitoring so none of us get lost in their glories.” She tugged once more. “Now stop. I can’t tell you any more until later. Don’t worry. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “I didn’t think you would.”

  “But you’re nervous.” Her eyes sought his. “If you’re serious about this, Rylin, you have to trust me.”

  He definitely was nervous, though he hadn’t meant to show it. Would she be able to see into his mind with that thing? “Oh, I’m serious.”

  She seemed to like that, and nodded slowly.

  “What will happen when I touch it?”

  “Wonderful things.”

  There was promise in her eyes. Rylin readied himself and opened his view to the inner world.

  The words rose, unbidden, to his lips. “It’s lovely.” There was nothing so lovely as a lovely woman, but that astonishing, vibrant, coruscating energy had something of the feminine in it. Certainly it was beguiling and mysterious and beautiful all at once.

  He needed no urging to touch his own
fingers to the surface, but he felt Tesra’s against his own, and it was powerfully erotic.

  “Careful,” Tesra said. “Reach for it.”

  He touched the sorcerous power with his, and his ring lit even against his wishes, so great was the surge of energy washing through him.

  “Fill yourself with the power! Drink it in.”

  Aches and pains he hadn’t heeded and even lingering wariness washed away from him until he found himself laughing in pure, unbridled joy. He hadn’t been so carefree in ages.

  And he found her eyes looking into his, reflecting that joy, saw her back arch in ecstasy as that energy swept through her as well.

  “Goddess!” she cried.

  He felt the energy spiraling away, felt her own spirit pushing him out, and then they cleared and the hearthstone was dim and she stared at him, panting, with smoldering eyes.

  He wasn’t sure who threw themselves at whom.

  “Did you feel her, Rylin?” she gasped between kisses. “Did you feel her heartbeat?”

  “Whose heartbeat?”

  She fumbled with the hooks to his khalat, and he stood, lifting her bodily from her couch. She wrapped her legs tightly against him, her pelvis pressed to his. “The Goddess,” she whispered, even as he bore her toward the doorway to her bedroom.

  He was too busy with the goddess in his arms to ask her anything about another.

  9

  Semblance of Truth

  He made his excuses after noon and found his way to Varama’s workshops, striving his best not to grin stupidly, like a virgin after his first roll. That was a challenge in itself. Sex with the hearthstone enhancement had been astonishing. He could get used to that.

  But that was part of the danger, wasn’t it? That the damned things were so seductive mages had to safeguard against being completely absorbed. Still, he looked forward to further experiments.

  Varama’s buildings were long and low and crammed full of artisans. Near the entrance to the largest, a trio of people were working with long, lightweight wooden poles. He wasn’t sure what that had to do with the defense of the realm, but he did hear the distinct sound of a hammer on a forge close by, so at least there was some metalworking underway.