For the Killing of Kings

by Howard Andrew Jones

  Exactly so. Except that he hadn’t been able to use the sword because it was locked away in a hunk of crystal for seven years. Now, though, it was time to fulfill his destiny.

  “We’ll reexamine the whole matter should it prove necessary.” He wasn’t sure how he’d explain laying hands upon the sword they’d surely recover from N’lahr when there was a duplicate weapon in the hall, but he supposed he’d work that out when the time came.

  Deciding there was nothing more to be gained from talking with Gyldara, he rose. “Excuse me. I’ve other matters I’d best look in on.”

  “Of course.”

  As he left her, he congratulated himself again on the lengthy experiments he’d performed against the defenses of the vaunted sapphire rings. Long years of effort had prepared him for exactly this kind of moment, when it had become necessary to shape the opinions of the Altenerai, allegedly unassailable by all but the most powerful, and obvious, sorceries.

  His success was just further evidence that no problem was insurmountable if you put in the proper amount of preparation, especially if blessed with ample savvy and determination. He smiled grimly as he climbed onto the porch of another house farther down the lane. Sooner or later, his skill would overcome Kyrkenall’s luck.

  Inside the home, Ortala was sitting right on the bench where he’d left her, the hearthstone on the little table beside it.

  The exalt’s eyes were glazed, and the hearthstone shone from within. Ostensibly the bony weaver stared at the figures seated statue-like around a cold stone hearth, though he knew that she considered the delicate magical filaments that sustained, protected, and bound them in place.

  He stepped deliberately into her line of sight and willed his Altenerai ring to full power. Even to someone enmeshed in the hearthstone, the sudden flare of magical energy would draw attention. “Report,” he said. “Are you any closer to freeing them?”

  Ortala sat blinking against the slatted bench back before she could focus well enough to meet Denaven’s eyes.

  She started to rise and he shook his head. “At ease. What have you found?”

  Ortala’s square face was almost a comical scowl. “I’m just not sure if we can free them, Commander. It’s going to take a lot of effort. For each one.”

  “It’ll have to wait then. I need the hearthstone to check on Kyrkenall’s whereabouts.” He actually didn’t want to have anything to do with the stone, but he couldn’t afford any more disasters. After the long ride and the expenditure of effort getting into the valley, neither he nor Ortala had been eager to magically track them last night, not when there were other signs Tretton could follow.

  Ortala handed it up. Denaven nodded his thanks and left her there. The frozen woman and children in the home’s central room were unsettling, so he stepped for the porch, then sat down against the outer wall. He didn’t like holding the hearthstone in his lap as if it were a baby, either, and thus placed it under his hand on the planks beside him before slipping into the inner world.

  It unnerved him that it was growing simpler and simpler to use this hearthstone. Once he returned to Darassus, he’d hand it back into the storeroom and make sure he requisitioned a different one the next time it proved necessary. The more he acclimatized himself to one particular stone, the more likely he’d end up like Belahn or the queen or one of the others enthralled to the cursed things.

  He sent his spirit forth, seeking hearthstones northwest, the direction the outlaws had been heading.

  Oddly, he felt nothing. Perhaps Kyrkenall and N’lahr had made excellent time, so he reached farther, drawing closer and closer to that maelstrom of incipient chaos that was the border of The Fragments and the Shifting Lands.

  Might Kyrkenall already be traveling there?

  He was loathe to search the nearby Shifting Lands with a hearthstone, dangerous as it was, but he did so.

  And he discovered no active hearthstones inside.

  Fighting down panic, he pulled back closer. They must have changed directions after they left the village. Yet there was nothing to north, or northeast, or west, or southwest, or south … more and more frantic, he searched each direction, discovering no stones active anywhere within days of travel.

  He pulled back, stunned, and saw that Gyldara and Tretton stood on the porch beside him, and Decrin waited on the steps below. The larger man looked more weary than Tretton, though that might have been grief. Lasren, he finally noticed, sat on the steps swigging from his winesac.

  “They’re gone,” Denaven said, immediately hating himself for the panicked edge in his voice.

  Tretton disagreed. “They can’t be more than two or three hours ahead. Riding roughly northeast. They won’t hit the border for a few more hours. We can catch them.”

  “But they’re not there,” Denaven said. “I can’t find their hearthstone.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you,” Tretton said, dismissive. “The tracks don’t lie. They’re riding for the border.”

  The answer came to him like a sword thrust. “By the gods.” Denaven held no faith whatsoever in gods and had long since struck reference to them from his vocabulary save for when he spoke to the religious. He put aside his surprise before the greater one of his revelation. “Elenai’s figured out how to turn down the hearthstone.”

  Tretton understood his worry at last. “If even a minor storm whips up…” The older alten didn’t bother finishing his sentence. It was just possible to follow someone through the Shifting Lands, even without tracks, by detecting little echoes of order left in the wake of travelers. That assumed that the lands would remain calm, and that was far less likely than it used to be.

  Denaven climbed to his feet, pushing Gyldara’s helping hand off. He could hope they’d catch them before they entered the shifts, or hope that when they entered there’d be no storm, but he wouldn’t “hang hereafter on a hope.” He put thunder into his voice. “Ortala!”

  The exalt hurried out of the door and crowded onto the porch.

  “I want you to seek the northeast border of the shifts through the inner world. And I want you to raise a storm. One so vast he won’t dare to venture into it.”

  “Sir?” Ortala looked at him as if he were demented.

  “It can be done,” Denaven said, striving his best to sound reassuring. Confident. “I saw Kalandra do it.” He’d do it himself, but it would badly weaken him. He couldn’t afford that, right now. “You’re one of the strongest casters in the auxiliary.”

  “I’ll try, sir,” Ortala promised.

  Tretton challenged him with his eyes. “If you raise a storm, they’ll become nearly impossible to find.”

  “We’re going to stop them before they enter,” Denaven said. He called to the squires. “Ready the horses! It’s time to ride!”

  16

  Reunion

  As Elenai woke, she realized the voices intruding into her confused dream were those of N’lahr and Kyrkenall. They spoke in low tones on the other side of the camp. She could see the leaves in the canopy overhead, which meant dawn had come and gone and that, once again, she’d probably only managed a few hours’ sleep. And this was the last she’d get before they crossed the shifts.

  She stilled, listening in on Kyrkenall in midsentence: “… for a long time.”

  “It’s hard to adjust,” N’lahr admitted. “I’m seven years out of step. I had … plans. And I’ve yet to learn all that’s been taken from me.”

  Several moments passed with only the dull clank of tin on tin.

  Kyrkenall’s next question was hesitant. “Were you awake in there?”

  “No. Praise the Gods. I’d probably have been driven mad.”

  “Oh, yes, praise them roundly.” Kyrkenall’s voice was heavy with sarcasm. “In their infinite wisdom they locked you away and let everyone think you were dead while the Naor waxed in power and our defenses rotted away. Nice fucking job.”

  “Asrahn would tell you not to blaspheme.”

  “Sure,” Kyrken
all said quietly. “I wish he would. Not that I was ever that good at listening.”

  N’lahr broke the morose silence with a different line of questioning. “I’ve been meaning to ask. What’s been done with my savings?”

  “I think they divided your effects between a couple of second cousins.”

  “Which ones”

  “I don’t know. One had a big nose. The other was kind of cute. I didn’t talk to anyone. Wait. You had money?”

  “Not much, but it was a start.”

  “What were you saving for?”

  There was a pause while Elenai wondered if she should rise and let them know she could hear, but it was oddly pleasant to listen to them talking. Besides, sleep still clung to her. It wouldn’t take much to lose herself to the darkness again.

  “Well. I thought I’d get some property. For when I retire.”

  “You? Retire?” Kyrkenall laughed. “Did you honestly think you’d ever leave the corps?”

  “I thought I might, when the war was over. If I lived.”

  “That’s always the hurdle, isn’t it. Wait—the war was practically won. Did you plan to retire straight after?”

  N’lahr actually sounded a little defensive. “I’d been thinking about it. Don’t tell me you never thought about what you’d do when the war was over?”

  “I planned on having a lot more baths, and a lot more sex.”

  N’lahr chuckled. “And here I was thinking you’d changed.”

  “You think I’ve changed?”

  “A little.”

  “How?”

  Elenai smiled to herself as N’lahr subtly needled his friend.

  “I thought you’d grown a little more careful with age. It might have been wishful thinking, though.”

  “I’m practically the soul of caution now. I learned it through abstention, righteous contemplation, and devoted prayer.”

  N’lahr snorted.

  One of them stirred the fire before Kyrkenall spoke, serious once more. “Something’s been bothering me.”

  “Do tell.”

  “I just can’t believe Denaven and his lot brought Belahn in on their side.”

  “It probably wasn’t easy. I’d guess Denaven worked on him a while.”

  “That snake’s always working on someone. Maybe he’s more like a spider, except they’re a lot easier to kill.”

  “I underestimated him,” N’lahr admitted. “I thought him ambitious, but not treacherous.”

  Kyrkenall said something softly.

  “You were right,” the commander responded. His tone changed as he shifted subjects. “Your squire’s handling herself well.”

  Elenai stilled even further, for a moment forgetting even to breathe.

  “She’s not my squire.”

  “Then whose squire is she?”

  “She’s more just along for the ride. You don’t see her spending her spare time polishing up my sword or saddling my horse, do you?”

  Is that what he expected her to be doing? She supposed she really hadn’t been acting the part of a real squire. But hadn’t he told her to stop being deferential to him?

  “She sleeps more than we do,” Kyrkenall went on. “You think old Temahr would have let us sleep longer than him?”

  Both men laughed.

  “Are you saying we should send her on pointless elk hunts in the rain?” N’lahr asked good-humoredly.

  “She’s holding her own. With us. That’s pretty good. And she’s picked up on the hearthstone a lot faster than I’d ever have guessed. She’s also pulled me right out of it a few times.”

  N’lahr agreed. “It sounds like she’s shown some real ingenuity.”

  She couldn’t help smiling at that.

  “Asrahn trained her,” Kyrkenall said, and silence fell. Even from here she sensed their mood had become somber, then his voice grew so soft Elenai strained to hear him. “Do you really think we’ll find her?”

  He had to mean Kalandra.

  N’lahr’s answer was simple. “Yes.”

  “And do you think she’ll be as messed up as Belahn?”

  “No.” N’lahr’s voice was heavy. “But I’m worried about her, too. And beyond that, we need Kalandra. We needed Belahn.”

  Some rustling and clinking carried on for a few moments and then it became quiet awhile.

  Kyrkenall broke the silence. “Mazakan doesn’t know he’s going to get you. And Irion.”

  “I don’t have the faintest idea how I’m going to get near enough to fulfill this damned prophecy.”

  “You’ll think of something.”

  “Right now we’ve other things to worry about. Speaking of which, it’s time to rouse your squire.”

  “I think she’s our squire.”

  “Whatever she is, it’s time to wake her.”

  “Great. Time to ride again. If I find out that they’ve stopped chasing us, I’m going to be pretty irritated.”

  From the sound of rustling clothes and footfalls she imagined him rising and striding her way. She closed her eyes, hating the deception she played but hating more the thought of revealing that she’d eavesdropped.

  Thus she shammed a stir as he drew close.

  “Time to wake,” he urged, and Elenai sat up on her bedroll, blinking in the pale sunlight. Despite being fairly alert, she ached terribly in her shoulders and thighs. And there was dried dirt all over the back of her hand, stiff as a second skin. Dawn might already have arrived, but the sky was darkening and the wind rising.

  “How long did I sleep?”

  “Six hours.”

  It didn’t seem that much. “And how long did you sleep?”

  “About three hours.”

  “You should have let me take some of the watch.” Elenai was feeling especially self-conscious after he’d jokingly referenced her sleeping in.

  “You’re our only mage,” he explained. “We’ve got to keep you fresh. Well, fresh-ish.” He didn’t look at all disappointed with her.

  Nearby trees shivered in the wind as the sky darkened further.

  Kyrkenall noticed it with a frown. “We may be in for a rough crossing.”

  She took a close look at him for the first time that morning. He needed a shave and the dark circles under his black eyes gave him a hollowed-out look.

  “Grab your gear and some griddle cakes. N’lahr’s saddling the horses.”

  She nodded and took a deep breath, centering herself. It was time for morning prayers. Before she could move, a confused jumble of images washed over her—a blur of galloping horses and arrow flights. Men and women in khalats rode hard toward them, weapons bared. She saw a dozen different versions of the same moment playing before her at the same time. Sometimes Gyldara led, sometimes Tretton. Sometimes a sober-faced Decrin was shouting for the others. But always they drove on, and their swords were raised to strike.

  Death was coming. Fast. Unless they fled now, in one direction. “Northeast.”

  “What?” Kyrkenall asked, half turned.

  “We should ride northeast!” she practically shouted while rising. “And fast.”

  “Easy there. No magery—”

  “The Altenerai are coming,” she said through gritted teeth. “We need to go. Now! Northeast.”

  Kyrkenall froze for two heartbeats, staring at her as if suddenly remembering something. Then he raced off to N’lahr while she snatched up her bedroll.

  The first time she’d glimpsed the future she’d thought it was related to her connection with the hearthstone. This time it had come while the hearthstone was off. There was no doubting this vision’s veracity, though—it was clearer and stronger than last time. Such was the certainty of the images, she had little time to trouble herself with their origin or what it might mean for her.

  When Kyrkenall returned with N’lahr, the commander had questions. “How do you know they’re nearly here and why do you suggest that direction?” She hadn’t noticed last night, but he looked drained, and drawn. Probably he hadn’t had
a proper rest since before the Battle of Kanesh, seven years ago.

  Elenai struggled to find words, so Kyrkenall answered. “She’s done this once before, and it saved my life. Same look in her eyes. If she’s wrong, what does it hurt? We were going to go north anyway. Now we just veer a little.”

  N’lahr’s eyes were piercing. She opened her mouth to say more, to try to make him understand, but it wasn’t necessary.

  “Right,” he said. “Northeast.”

  They mounted up and started off, advancing across the forested hilltop that had sheltered them for half a night. The low-slung branches they pushed through and dodged swayed wildly in the stiff winds. They diverted past a rocky outcrop shaped like an anvil until they looked down on a deep grassy valley with gently sloping sides that wound back the way they’d come and stretched on to the northeast as if laid out for them.

  It was filled with an immense herd of animals. Gusts brought them the pungent scent of the massive wild oxen known in Kanesh as “eshlack.” Each stood half again the height of a full-grown horse and were crowned by a pair of long, downward pointing horns. Thousands of the shaggy gray beasts grazed fitfully, heads up and down watching the weather. Here and there smaller, younger eshlack chased each other through the grasses as if excited by the bluster. Sentinel beasts, near the edge of the herd, stamped and shook their manes, dark eyes peering keenly at the blue-coated trio through wind-whipped shaggy strands of fur.

  “That’s a whole lot of dangerous meat,” Kyrkenall remarked loudly before they started down the grassy slope, parallel to but maintaining a respectful distance from the herd.

  “Eshlack live in Kanesh,” Elenai called up to him. “Not The Fragments.”

  Kyrkenall half shouted his reply to be heard over the wind and cattle. “They could have wandered over through the Shifting Lands during a calm spell.”

  Elenai’s horse snorted at the scent of the eshlack they neared. She would have preferred riding her chestnut, but he trailed on the lead line, along with the other spares. Kyrkenall, as usual, rode Lyria.

  They kept to the upper slope, downwind of the wary cattle. Elenai couldn’t help looking both at them and behind. Despite her own cautions, it was Kyrkenall who first spotted their pursuit.