A Sword Named Truth

by Sherwood Smith

  Glenn closed the distance between them. “Where’s the queen, Perles?”

  “They say she fell. In the attack on Roderic. Someone else said that they were taken prisoner. She and Commander Roderic.” Perles raised her unwounded arm, making a vague gesture at the fire. “Somewhere.”

  Sickened, Leander said, “Let us go. Perles, is that your name? Do you want to transfer with us?”

  Perles backed away, raising her hands. “No. No. Take the princess and prince away. Keep them safe. We fight to the last.” She turned away, and was lost in the smoky entrance.

  Senrid said, “We can do nothing more here.”

  Glenn managed a short nod.

  One by one, the four transferred out, Senrid going last.

  * * *

  In Delfina Valley, Tsauderei’s group had moved outside to discuss where to search for the missing four when light flickered on the other side of the grassy terrace and Arthur said, “Transfer.”

  One by one, the four appeared, staggered, then took in the circle of faces.

  Tahra leaped into the air and flew away. Kyale and one of the Mearsieans peeled off to chase after her, ready to coo and pet as needed. Glenn looked indecisive, then stuck his jaw out and crossed his arms, glowering in spite of the tear tracks still wet on his face.

  As the crowd lit on the grassy path beside the cottage, forming a half-circle, Atan said, “Where did you go?”

  “Everon,” Glenn said in a flat, belligerent voice. “We had a right.”

  “And so we took them,” Senrid said, indicating Leander and himself.

  Hibern had heard that tone in his voice before, and seen that nasty grin with too many teeth and no humor. Senrid, for whatever reason, was spoiling for a fight.

  Hibern had little expectation that anyone would listen to her, but she raised her voice. “I think we should give Glenn and Tahra the choice whether they want to talk about what happened, or to be private.”

  “I agree,” Atan and Derek said at exactly the same time. Then cast a startled glance at the other.

  People took to the air, with many questioning, doubtful glances cast back. Glenn flew off alone. Senrid sensed he was at the end of his self-control, and didn’t know whether to go with him or stay. It seemed cowardly to leave him, but he loathed the thought of sticking around unwanted.

  He was distracted by Jilo’s appearance. Jilo sidled up, glanced furtively around, then muttered, “The book says that Detlev’s in Everon.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Everon to Norsunder Base

  DETLEV peered down at the smoking ruins of Ferdrian from the hilltop where Kessler had pitched camp while he waited for the worst of the fires to burn out.

  He snapped the glass to. “Where is Roderic Dei?”

  Kessler remembered a report in the constant stream, something about Henerek’s men hoarding prisoners to play with, but at that time he’d been commanding the last, fierce battle at the Ferdrian palace. “Henerek has him.”

  Detlev cut in. “You didn’t think to ask Henerek where before you rendered him speechless?”

  “Nobody gave me orders concerning prisoners.” Kessler knew how weak that sounded, though it was the truth.

  Detlev said derisively, “That’s because those orders came from Yeres. You did know that Henerek is her current toy.” His tone implied that it was obvious—and in retrospect, it was obvious. Henerek never would have gained this much command without backing from higher up.

  Detlev didn’t wait for the answer that Kessler couldn’t give. “Go back to Base. I’ll deal with the detritus.”

  It had not occurred to Kessler until that moment that he had been set up.

  He transferred, and while still recovering, left the Destination at Norsunder Base, and walked the short distance to the command center. The prickling hairs on the back of his neck and the faint but distinct metallic not-quite-scent, not-quite-taste warned of a window opened from Norsunder.

  He walked into the command center, and there was tall, dark-haired and sharp-faced Yeres, dressed in crimson, lounging in a doorway from the Beyond—wasting enormous power—in the middle of the room. Because of the way windows were made, no matter where people walked in the room, they saw the same angle, which meant she wanted an audience.

  A lot of people had crowded into the command center, clearly expecting entertainment. Siamis did not number among them.

  Yeres ran her fingers through a long lock of her glossy dark hair, then said, “Efael is not happy with you at all, Kessler.”

  Silence.

  Yeres spoke slowly, as if to one of the soul-bound. “Everon was Henerek’s reward.”

  Kessler said, “He was losing. I was told to go clean it up.”

  “Your orders, I believe, were to clean. It. Up. Not destroy everything and everyone in sight. I’m sure it was fun, but Henerek was to capture Roderic Dei for Efael, and to lure Berthold Delieth and his wife from their citadel, so that Detlev could use them. He also wanted whatever artifact they had in that palace that prevented our getting mages in there. Did you find the artifact before you torched the place?”

  Siamis had never mentioned any of this. Kessler had been framed, and he knew how much his admission was going to cost, but said it anyway: “What artifact?”

  Yeres looked around in mocking disbelief, then put fingers to her forehead. “‘What artifact?’” She got the expected laughter from the avid audience, then said, “Did you ask Henerek for his orders? No. Though he can barely speak, he has given me to understand that you did not.”

  The room had gone silent.

  She continued in a sweet, mock-sorrowful tone. “Now, Kessler, everybody likes their fun, and a short temper can be useful, except when you manage to destroy not one.” She raised a forefinger, in case there was dispute about the number. “Not two.” Up came another finger, the back of her hand aimed at Kessler in deliberate insult, causing snickers around the perimeter. “But three, count them, three people’s plans. Detlev’s, Efael’s, and mine. Henerek says he had Roderic Dei, but your followers squabbled with Henerek’s leadership—yes, dismal, but at least he understood orders—and the old man hobbled away in the midst of the tiff.”

  She tsked, causing another wave of snickers.

  She went on in that chiding, slow voice, as though he were a lackwit with no will. “We do not like waste, so you will be given a task that might be easier for you to compass. You are to take that token there on the map desk, and remove yourself to Geth. It seems our two favorite busy bees are not cooperating in establishing their little hive, and Siamis wants a drone to set up and maintain the guard station, which will free him up for important tasks. Now.”

  Kessler took up the token; the moment he touched it, the room vanished, and he found himself enclosed in a bubble somewhere in the weird area on the outer perimeter of the Beyond.

  He and Yeres were alone.

  She smiled. “If everyone despises you, they do not notice you.”

  Kessler said nothing.

  She said, “Siamis scorns you, and Detlev ignores you. Can’t you see what a useful weapon you can be? Go to Geth. We cannot get into the city Isul Demarzal.”

  Kessler had no interest in Geth-deles, much less any of its islands, but he had to maintain a semblance of obedience because of that damned blood-spell Dejain had inflicted on him. Until he got rid of it, he was Norsunder’s minion.

  So, “What is Isul Demarzal?”

  Yeres smirked, always glad to demonstrate the ignorance of a captive audience. “Isul Demarzal,” she stated, “is the oldest city on Geth-deles. All their mages and magic are centered there. You hold Isul Demarzal, and you hold the world. Surely that makes sense to your military mind?”

  Kessler stood impassively.

  She sighed, cast her eyes skyward, then said, “Siamis managed to lure its leader out, and used
that enchantment of his to make them permit him access. He’s now inside. He says he’s working to break the wards keeping us out, but no one believes that. It’s unlikely that you’re warded from getting inside, since no one on Geth-deles knows your name, or even that you exist. Siamis wants you to run his guardhouse, but Efael thinks what that really means is, he wants you running backup.”

  “In?” Kessler asked.

  “Efael thinks that this is the battleground Siamis has chosen to fight dear Detlev. You handle the bloodletting, he the magic.”

  Kessler shrugged, and Yeres sighed. “My very dear boy,” she said, though they looked exactly the same age. “It is the first time any of us have breached that city. I want in. Efael wants in. Svir wants in. You achieve that, and you can have anything you want.”

  She snapped her fingers, and the transfer token hurled him out of the world.

  * * *

  Delfina Valley

  At Tsauderei’s cottage, Senrid stared at the old mage, then exclaimed, “But this is the right time to go to Miraleste for the last rescue, while Detlev’s in Everon!” Then he stopped, appalled. How could he be so stupid?

  Tsauderei’s brows shot upward. “He most definitely is not in Everon. But he was. How did you know that?” He regarded Senrid steadily, as Senrid rapidly formed and discarded lies.

  After a silence that felt like two days to Senrid, Leander, and Jilo, the old mage sat back, saying with dry humor, “Well, it takes no intelligence to understand that you youngsters have your own methods of communication. Or you would not have seen fit to take the two Delieths to Everon in the middle of battle. However, no harm came of it, and you did get them back safely. So least said, soonest mended.”

  He paused as lightning crackled outside the cottage, and a sudden downpour nearly drowned the thunder. He spoke more seriously now. “I know you think that because you’ve been successful so far, by rights you should be able to get Lilah out of Miraleste. Have you considered that she’s the lure to a trap?”

  Senrid said, “Of course we have. This is why we saved her for last. We’ve run ten other rescues, the last two in Miraleste, and nothing’s happened. We’re really fast by now.”

  “Miraleste,” Tsauderei said, “but not the palace. Correct?”

  Derek put his hands on his knees. “I promised Peitar.”

  He didn’t say it aggressively, or angrily, just with that utter conviction that made him so appealing a leader. Tsauderei could see in subtle movements, the lift of chins, the inadvertent smiles, the way the youngsters all faced him, that the kids responded to Derek exactly the way Peitar did: with their trust.

  So he came at his objection in another way. “As I said, I appreciate that you youngsters have your own communications—yes, Derek, at my age, I regard you as one of ’em—and I commend you all for keeping within safe margins. If a little closer than your adult guardians, whoever they may be, might have liked. You’ve seen I’ve been away on my own concerns. Oalthoreh and I have been rescuing mages from Sartor, one by one. However, when Murial tried to rescue Chief Veltos, she nearly walked into a trap. Actually, she would have, if Veltos had been in another chamber. But the one she sits in happens to have some very old magic left in it, with a protection afforded by an artifact of the kind we cannot reproduce today. It exhibited a warning that only a mage would perceive, before she set foot in what seemed to be an unwarded room. We thought we’d removed all the Norsundrian wards. And there are a lot of them.”

  He saw the sobering reaction in Senrid and Leander, who understood magic. Derek looked like he was patiently waiting for Tsauderei to finish speaking.

  So he tried again. “Lilah will be free very soon, as well as Peitar. Soon—at most, three days. The antidote spell is being taught to all mages who are deft with ward and tracer magic, while other mages do their best to spot and ward hidden magical traps that might bring Siamis back to this world. None of us want that, right?”

  He looked at each young face, seeing ambivalence in Senrid, but resistance in Derek’s tight forehead, the lift to his chin. Bren and Innon both turned pleading eyes to Derek, and Tsauderei knew, with a sinking heart, that they were going to act with or without his leave.

  So he said more crisply than he’d intended, “I can’t go with you. There is a heavy ward set against me, a mirror ward with a lethal trap built in, so any magical attempt to remove it if I choose the wrong side of the mirror will rebound onto me. As well as alert Norsunder before I can remove it. I’ve been waiting for one of the stronger mages to have the time to deal with it in tandem with me, but it will take us considerable time to test and remove the traps. We’ve chosen to work on the universal deployment of the antidote to Siamis’s enchantment first.”

  Derek still sat there, arms crossed, blank of face. Senrid grimaced at the mention of mirror wards, but he said nothing.

  Tsauderei gave up. Short of dropping Derek with a stone spell, which would guarantee his followers going wild with what they’d consider a betrayal, there was no stopping him from doing whatever he was going to do.

  And then he had it, the motivation underlying everything. The mage rescue could be a matter of hours away, but Derek would contrive to get there first. It mattered to him to be the one to free his particular charges from the enchantment, and he considered Lilah one of his charges.

  Tsauderei sighed. “If you’re determined to proceed, I suggest you take not one, but three of you to scan for further wards. Each with transfer tokens gripped in your fingers.”

  He nodded at Hibern, then turned to Jilo and Senrid. “You two are probably familiar with every likely form of dark magic that might be laid down. If you find anything suspicious, promise me you’ll transfer immediately.”

  They promised.

  Tsauderei’s attention shifted to Jilo, who was more hunched than ever, as if he was a breath away from running out the door. Because he’d been coerced into this reckless plan of theirs? No, he’d entered calmly enough. That tight-shouldered hunch had happened . . . ah. Directly after Senrid uttered his remark about Detlev.

  He was going to need to probe that.

  But not now. “However, I got sidetracked. Permit me to finish what I was saying about Detlev. I just received a communication, sent between worlds by Erai-Yanya, that Detlev has been seen on Geth-deles a lot in the past few years, ever since Evend destroyed Norsunder’s rift magic.”

  Tsauderei jabbed a finger at them. “Think about that. A man born four thousand years ago, whose appearances in the world are usually once a century, has been spending appreciable time there. If he finds a kind of rift magic that will get around Evend’s binding spell, you know he’s going to bring it back here.”

  He stopped there, afraid he’d said too much. But no one seemed to be making the leap to the weaknesses in Evend’s binding.

  Jilo’s eyelids flickered, then he rubbed stiffened fingers down his trouser legs.

  Not the rift, Tsauderei intuited. But definitely something, and Jilo was the key. Probably some dire scrying object created by Wan-Edhe, though what it might be, Tsauderei could not imagine. It would have to be extraordinarily powerful (and dangerous) to track the movements of someone like Detlev, and Jilo clearly was wary of sharing it with Mondros, or Tsauderei would have heard about it by now.

  “All right, I think that answers your questions,” Tsauderei said.

  That broke the meeting up, Senrid streaming out with Jilo and Leander, talking in low voices. Hibern followed, and Atan headed after her until she caught Tsauderei’s gaze.

  She waited behind until everyone else was gone. Tsauderei’s expression was grim, which made Atan press her arms tightly against her ribs. Whatever he was about to say was bad news.

  Then a horrible idea hit her. “Julian,” she gasped. “They found her . . .” The word dead could not get past her lips.

  “Not that,” Tsauderei said quickly, and smoot
hed his mustache, one of his rare unsettled gestures. “I debated within myself, then decided you would want to know. Siamis seems to have taken her to Geth.”

  Atan turned away, disheartened and sick with failure. Her one living relative, this small cousin, and Atan hadn’t even been able to get the child to acknowledge her as anything but a possible enemy.

  She flew through the rain back to her cottage, where she found Hibern setting slices of bright orange cheese on hunks of bread, which were laid out on a pan ready to be set over the fire in the fireplace.

  Hibern glanced at Jilo and Arthur sitting at the table at the other end of the room, muttering over ‘wards’ and ‘chained spells,’ then back to her work in such a way that Atan suspected something was wrong.

  In fact she was certain of it. She hadn’t seen the usual group playing around in the rain. “What is it?” she demanded.

  The two boys looked up, then down again as Hibern said, “You really want to hear it?”

  “Maybe I’d better hear it,” Atan said.

  “Well, I guess CJ told Rel—”

  “Stop.” Atan shut her eyes as she flung up a hand. “Stop right there. I changed my mind. I don’t need to hear it. Here, give me that knife. Let me do something useful. At least I can toast bread.”

  Hibern set down the hunk of cheese, handed over the knife, and pretended not to hear Atan as she muttered, “I hate that girl.”

  * * *

  —

  “Bring Lilah right to us, promise?” Bren said, hopping up and down on his toes.

  Innon stood next to him, his pale blond hair hanging in his eyes, wet from the lake. Swimming in a thunderstorm was a double pleasure. “She’ll want to see us first thing. Especially since Peitar is still in the enchantment.”

  “I promise,” Derek said, holding up both hands. “We’ll come straight to you two first. Even before Tsauderei, though if he turns me into a tree stump, be sure to explain to Lilah.”