JOURNEY OF THE SACRED KING III Read online

  Power shimmered around the mage. Tiderider could taste the aura, sense the way it moved, see the patterns in his inner vision with an intense vividness that he had only encountered with Queen Meileilyki. It spoke to him of green leaves and woodland shadows, star-lit paths and the full moon on the meadows. And roses. The man smelled of roses. His mind and awareness filled with roses, and he had to close his thoughts to them. It took great effort. The mon had too much power. Tiderider hoped this mon was not an enemy, because he felt a certainty he could not take him.

  "Where are you from?" Blue Lily asked, prancing closer to Dynarien, and tilting her head, flicking back her silver hair.

  "Here and there."

  "I mean where were you born? I doubt someone found you under the butterfly bush." She snapped open her fans a fraction of an inch from his mid-section, and Dynarien sucked in a sharp breath, but did not move. Blue Lily's eyes snapped to Tiderider's with the identical suddenness of her fans, having caught Dynarien's reaction. A tacit understanding passed between them: the mage knew what the fans really were and what they could do.

  "Imral... Vallimrah."

  Channadar laughed. "Did a goat nibble your ears?" The Fae lord danced up to Dynarien next, a sudden frown flashed, and was gone as he entered the mage's auric field.

  Dynarien blushed, and put his hands on his ears. Tiderider could tell from the mage's expression that he was thinking swiftly and felt certain that they would still not get the truth. "Darr. I'm from Darr. I'm just a commoner with an uncommon talent. But I'm fresh come from the Battle of Errilyn where I fought under Aejystrys Rowan's banner. And I've the wounds to prove it."

  Eshraf nodded at that. Dynarien had gotten the conversation off on another track.

  * * * *

  Belyla and Yahni drifted into the nether reaches of the far gardens carved into intricate moldings along the mountain itself, using the rocks as sculptures. The hiding places for lovers were many, exquisite, and deliberate. One of the early Grand Masters had been a lady who decreed that love deserved a place for its games as much as did death – a reference to the Stalking Grounds and the Guild itself. The Guild respected love in a way that often ran counter to the mores of the general nobility because they were aware of how incredibly fragile life was. They were freer, knowing there might not be tomorrow, and reluctant to make promises they might not live to keep; yet some did wed and some had families; and a few even managed to grow old. With luck, Yahni might have been one of those last ones, but Belyla doubted it strongly because he kept telling her he loved her. It made her sad. She should never have let things go this far, but she was lonely. No one else had ever even noticed Wrathscar's plump homely daughter.

  As Yahni's hand moved to her breast, stroking the nipple, she stiffened, catching his hand. They had been sleeping together for weeks, so it was not new, only her attack of conscience was. "Don't. If my father catches us, he'll kill you."

  "I'm Guild."

  "Don't be an innocent. He won't do it himself. He has a thousand ways to get what he wants. Your family is right about me." Belyla sounded bitter.

  "We could run away. I have relatives in Shaurone who would understand."

  Belyla's eyes filled and Yahni dabbed at the tears with his fingertips. Sucking in deep shuddering breaths, she wondered how far her father's reach was. Could he reach to Shaurone? But there were worse things to tell him. "Yahni, I'm not inexperienced. I'm used." That was such an awful way to put it.

  "You're what?" Yahni said, caught off guard. He felt her tense. He had stopped trying to be Derryl when he realized he did not have to be with her. Belyla always allowed him to be himself. He wanted only Belyla and the warm feelings he had around her. So he pulled back, turning her to face him better, seeing more tears. "I love you, Belyla. It doesn't matter. Honest. You're the only woman I could be myself with."

  "I want you."

  "Then let's run away." His words quickened into a rush, desperate to hold onto her. He could sense her readiness to flee and, if she did that, he suspected he would never see her again. Yahni could not bear the thought of that. "I'll write the letters tonight. As soon as I hear from them, we'll leave. Mikkal could marry us and give me a letter of wanderyear."

  "But our families..."

  "Who would you rather have? A noble foisted on you by your father or Yahni Kjarten, Guildsmon? Granted, if we run off my father will disown me, giving everything to Maya. But I can support us through the Guild. We wouldn't be rich, but we wouldn't be poor either. I love you, Belyla."

  "Yahni Kjarten, Guildsmon is what I want."

  Belyla pulled him down with her behind the veiling ivy. Yahni wondered briefly at her curious choice of words in calling herself "used."

  * * * *

  Talons heard Galee calling her in her dreams, calling her out of sleep, demanding and imperious. She hurt. Her stomach felt tight and sour. Her head ached, throbbing. Edouina lay spooned around her. Talons slipped free, sliding off the low bed. Tighter and tighter wrapped the chains of Galee's coercions around her mind, dragging at her. She had to go. Her body moved now of its own accord. She staggered against the door, opened it, and got through, closing it softly behind her. Talons fumbled with a robe, bumped the couch, and almost fell. There was so much pain. What was wrong with her?

  She set aside the bar, opened the door, and went out into the corridor, again closing the door quietly behind her. The pain had become so severe she had to keep one hand on the wall to remain standing. She walked past four suites and paused. Galee's call came from Lord Wrathscar's suites. Talons opened the door. Galee sat at the table with the wine and vials waiting alongside a slender-stemmed green goblet. Lord Wrathscar leaned against the wall by the door into the bedroom. Unseen by either of them, Philomea watched and listened interestedly from the top of the stairs, hidden by the balusters where she crouched.

  "Close the door and sit down," Galee ordered.

  Talons obeyed, taking a chair across from her and folding her arms on the saffron brocade table covering.

  "Does she know it's poison?" Wrathscar asked.

  "Yes. You can see how much pain she is in. Talons, it is time to drink your death. Pour both vials into the wine and drink it."

  Talons did as she was told.

  Lord Wrathscar marveled. "Will I be able to do this when you have turned me?"

  "Yes. But I will not turn you unless you continue to take orders. Defy me once I have turned you, and I will destroy you. I do not tolerate the existence of rogue children."

  "I swear it, Galee."

  "Talons, go into the bedroom and undress. Lord Wrathscar wishes a ride."

  Talons removed her clothing, dropping everything on the floor before walking into the next room.

  "She's pregnant?"

  "The cow is in calf ... by your son. Try not to be too rough with her."

  Wrathscar growled, "It should have been my calf."

  "There will be no more calves for you, Wrathscar, once I've turned you."

  Wrathscar laughed. "The city crawls with my bastards. But this one would have been fun to break."

  "The council would never have agreed to a match between you and the heir. They would never have allowed her in your bed. Your habits are too well suspected."

  "It is power I want, Galee."

  "And it is power you will have."

  He nodded at that and went into the bedroom.

  Philomea waited a long time, listening to her father take the heir. Then she crept back into her rooms to think. She hungered for the power Galee offered her father. Her smug satisfaction at the way her father humbled the heir pleased her. The house of Gee was failing and House Wrathscar would replace it, especially now that Bryndel had managed to get the heir with child. It had taken her brother long enough – sometimes Philomea wondered if he could get it up at all, mostly while hearing the disparaging remarks her father made about him, throwing his very manhood into question. Philomea was certain that she would have made a better son than Bryndel ha
d.

  * * * *

  Jysy and Arruth bounced into Talons' apartments bright and early one morning. Arruth seemed perkier that day and it made Jysy feel more hopeful. There was no one in the parlor and the bedroom door stood open. They could hear noises coming from it. They went closer and then stared open-mouthed at Bryndel riding Talons hard, both of them naked.

  "Holy shit!" Jysy shouted before she could stop herself.

  Bryndel turned with a curse and the girls fled. "Hasn't anyone taught them to knock?"

  Talons lay breathing hard, listening to him scream, resenting the sound of voice, his anger, the self-righteousness of his attitude. He had not once said anything about her. He had not even asked if she felt like making love, he had simply shoved his rod into her both times as if she should feel privileged to receive it. More and more she dreamed of Dynarien, and wondered where he was, why he had not come. She felt alternately angry and worried: angry that he might simply be off chasing someone else and worried that he might have been injured or slain in the Battle of Errilyn. There was no way to know what manner of monstrous things Lord Hoon of Waejontor could have fielded against him, knowing that a yuwenghau was coming for him. Please be alive. Please be alive. Oh, Dynarien, why won't you answer? You said you loved me.

  She had told neither Bryndel nor Edouina how sick she felt nor how much pain she was in. Bryndel shoved her roughly as he rolled off the bed, dragging his pants on. "Get dressed," he said crossly. "They'll have it all over the palace, so we might as well have breakfast in the Music Chamber."

  "I'm tired, can't we have something sent up?"

  "Wear something nice."

  "I'll dress."

  The door opened and Edouina came in. "Bryndel, your father is looking for you."

  Bryndel gave a wordless snarl and ran out.

  "Is he?" Talons asked, sinking back into bed.

  Edouina sauntered to the outer door, dropped the bar, and swaggered back grinning. "No, honey, but I did not like the expression on your face. And I figured it was time to give you some news. A friend of yours got in a few days ago. Eshraf did not want me to tell you. We're introducing him around in a gradual fashion. He was hurt real bad at Errilyn and he's still a long way from whole. We're just saying he's a mage, but I get the impression he's a battlemage of some kind. A Willodarian. He's working for Eshraf."

  "Dynarien." She could not suppress the small catch in her voice when she said his name. It could only be he. Wounded. That was why he had not answered in all these weeks of her calling him.

  "There's something you're not telling me?" Edouina cocked her head, regarding Talons thoughtfully, wondering how she had guessed his name. Talons had been in Norendel just before the Alliance Armies of Rowanhart, Vallimrah, and Shaurone marched into Errilyn. Had she met him there?

  "A lot of somethings." She fingerspelled 'scrying.'

  "You feel like going out? Eshraf said he was not to come here yet, but said nothing about us running into him accidentally on purpose, honey. Yukiah is introducing him around today."

  Edouina helped her dress and they walked to the quad together. Along the way, Edouina bribed some students she knew to fetch them one of the basket lunches – it was already getting too late to call it breakfast – that one of the underground eateries specialized in. The underground compound called the Cloverleaf was a warren, but a carefully guarded one with only a few exits and they all curved about into the center. Talons kept her arm slipped through Edouina's as they walked, leaning against her in a worn way.

  "I don't understand why you're so tired, honey."

  "Bryndel. Don't ask too many questions. I don't have any answers."

  "Tell you what, you sit here." Edouina settled Talons in a pleasant sunny spot. By then the student had shown up with the basket. "I'll spot them and motion them over."

  Edouina wandered further than she intended before she spotted Yukiah and Dynarien with Jysy and Arruth in tow. Did they know him also? The girls looked a tad downcast and she wondered what that was about. When they returned to Talons there was a small crowd of students seated around her. Talons held a wine glass in her hand.

  "Where did that come from, honey?" Edouina asked suspiciously.

  "Galee, a toast to ... I forget." What had Galee said? Drink your...? She had been sitting all alone at that moment, and then Galee had come upon her, and then...? A chill ran down her spine. She started to hurt again. Then she saw Dynarien; their eyes met and everything else vanished from her awareness.

  Yukiah saw the look passing between them and understood why Eshraf had wanted to take things slow. Talons might claim to love Bryndel; yet this was the mon she truly loved. As soon as he could get them alone, Yukiah intended to warn them in no uncertain terms about guarding their faces. Talons should know better. Even taking into consideration all the stress she was under, she should know better. If Lord Wrathscar caught wind of it, he would kill this mon.

  "You were at the Battle of Errilyn, the Patriarch says." Jimi offered Dynarien his hand. The scruffy, light brown-haired youth of fifteen, whose roguish smile concealed an iron-will and a well-disciplined mind, came from the eastern steppes where they hunted giant, flightless, predatory birds from horseback, armed only with javelins and bolas. Jimi was madly in love with Jysy, but determined not to tell her before she turned fourteen.

  "I was," Dynarien replied, accepting his hand and shaking. When their eyes met and the yuwenghau's slow, almost shy smile emerged, Jimi knew he had met his match in roguishness. The Guild tended to attract a certain type of devil-may-care, edge-walking rogues who liked the adrenaline rush of pitting their skills and wits against great odds in the name of vengeance and justice for those who would not otherwise get it. The Guild did not work for free; they were hired and worked within the tenets of their faith. However, a poor woman might pay them in bread or by sweeping the temple floors. The nature of a mon's payment was kept secret. The nethergod they worshipped, Hadjys the Dark Judge, demanded this of both parties as an act of faith. They did not harm the innocent. The souls of the guilty they killed were sent to nethergod's Nine Hells to be judged and punished until they were cleansed and returned to the wheel.

  Jysy, seeing the students start to crowd in too closely at that, shoved them back, "Don't start bumping him. Ribs and that shoulder," she indicated the left one. "His wounds aren't healed yet."

  Talons' face took on an odd expression, noticeable to those who knew her. She could see the way Dynarien stood, favoring his shoulder, yet trying not to. The days when Talons could maintain her icy assassin's mask had melted away like the winter's snows, but it was a spring of nightmares and not of hopes. She could not hide the concern in her eyes, nor the love. More than anything she wanted to touch him. All those desperate days when she had begun to feel abandoned, he had been laying somewhere in pain. "What happened?"

  "Stone trolls. I killed two. Clemmerick got the other two." At the awed faces he added, "He's an ogre."

  Edouina found herself grinning. Battlemage, had to be: a blade in one hand and power in the other. She imagined him that way and felt her loins grow wet. And if this was the male Talons had fallen for then she knew how to pick them. Now, if he looked as good with his clothes off as he did in them – she liked the hair, definitely liked the hair.

  Yukiah changed some of his assessments in light of the trolls. Perhaps the mon could prove more than Wrathscar bargained on. He looked forward to the meeting with Eshraf. He fingered the scar on his neck. Maybe they would get the vampire this time. What they needed was a yuwenghau; a divine champion. At least Eshraf had found them an extremely potent battlemage. Two stone trolls and lived to speak of it. Battlemage. Had to be.

  Introductions continued to go around for over an hour until finally Talons reluctantly put an end to it. "I'm tired. Yukiah, tell Eshraf I must see him today. At once. That it's urgent. Edouina, walk me back."

  Dynarien frowned after them. "She doesn't look well."

  "They say Sharani cannot be pois
oned," Yukiah said.

  "It isn't true."

  "I didn't think so."

  * * * *

  "Eshraf, I want him to simply Jump in here and Jump out again tomorrow. But he's the only one who can set the wards and shields and tell-tales that can protect me to the degree I need to feel safe." Talons sat at her parlor table with her feet propped in another chair. She had a hard look in her eyes that showed she would brook no excuses in the matter.

  "Talons, you have not looked well in several days."

  "I am not discussing anything here or elsewhere until this place is warded."

  The Patriarch sighed. Talons was being very much the heir with him and she had never done that before with him. Her reasoning could not be argued with – they both knew what Dynarien was. "So be it. Nine bells, tomorrow. Be certain your friends are prepared to keep Bryndel away."

  "They will be."

  * * * *

  Channadar sat with his Thirteen Chosen, which included his brother Juna, in an upstairs study. They sat around their lord in a circling of chairs two deep, arranged by rank. Tiderider sat on his right hand, as First of Thirteen, and Juna at Channadar's left as second. "What do you make of this new mage of Eshraf's? He radiates power," Channadar said.

  "Battlemage." Tiderider said. "A powerful one."

  Channadar glanced at the closed fans in his lap. Until that morning, no one – except the evil one – had recognized their 'pretty toys' as anything more than a cultural affectation. Yet this new mage had immediately seen the truth: They were weapons of gold washed kenda'ryl, the sharpest metal on their world and capable of holding an extremely potent magical charge. "And the fragrance of roses? Do you think he's trying to convince us that he's Dynarien Willodarusson?"

  "Why would he do that?" Blue Lily said. "I sensed no threat in him."

  "To keep us in our place." Juna suggested. His face was thinner than Channadar's, his eyes more rounded. Juna grinned as if to take the bite out of what he had suggested.

  Tiderider threw Juna a glance of utter contempt. "Eshraf would not do that."