Chains of Blood
Page 6
Quin stared deeply into the farmer’s sleeping face.
“What is his name?” he asked.
Gil answered, “Rylan Marshall.”
“But that’s not his name,” Ashra interjected.
“Pardon?” Quin turned to regard her with an expression of great interest.
Gil glanced at Ashra, then back to Quin. “His real name is Gerald,” he explained. “His mother was a mage. A Master of Aerysius.”
The Prime Warden’s eyes widened, her complexion paling. She remained frozen for long moments, her gaze fixed on Rylan’s face as if glued there.
“Who’s the father?” she whispered at last.
“No one knows.”
Quin drew in a sharp breath. Naia’s eyes darted to lock on his, her jaw going slack. Gil wondered what it was they saw in Rylan. Something significant, he felt sure.
Abruptly, the Prime Warden rose from her seat and moved toward the door. To Ashra, she said, “Remain here. Send for me immediately if his condition changes.”
Ashra ducked her head in acknowledgment, moving aside to let her pass.
Naia looked at Gil. “I need you to come with us,” she said. “Right now.”
7
Born of Darkness
Rylan awoke to dim lantern light flickering across dark mahogany walls. Startled, he realized he had no idea where he was. He was in a strange bed in a strange room. He lay still for a while, struggling with his memory. Then he saw Ashra’s face and remembered the transfer portal. And the pain.
“Where are we?” he asked, looking around the small room. It was dark and plain, containing only a small wardrobe and two other pieces of furniture. There wasn’t even a window; just four dark walls.
“The Lyceum of Magic in Karikesh,” Ashra informed him. She smiled kindly. “How are you feeling?”
“I feel fine,” he said, surprised that the words were actually true.
Reaching up to his chest, he found that his wound had been healed completely. An intense feeling of relief swept over him, and he closed his eyes. He was enormously groggy, like he’d been sleeping for days. And hungry. Rylan could feel his stomach squirming inside him. He realized he had no memory of the last time he’d eaten.
Ashra smiled, pushing her thick, raven hair back behind her shoulder. “The Prime Warden herself came to look in on you. She’s concerned, and she also has questions. When you are feeling well enough, she wishes to speak with you.”
Rylan tensed. He had no desire to meet the Prime Warden, especially not in the state he was in. He had no idea how to behave in front of such an important person, for one thing. Prime Wardens had always been the true authority in the Rhen, above even kings and queens. But it was more than that. Thinking of the horrible oath he had sworn to the man in the cornfield, he felt a wellspring of shame seeping up from some dark place inside. What if the Prime Warden looked within him and saw the corruption that was there? Would she order him slain? No doubt he deserved it—deserved death. But he couldn’t die. Not yet. Not before finding his daughter.
“Give me a moment,” he said.
“You can have more than a moment,” Ashra assured him. “Take your time.”
He moved to sit up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He sat still for a moment, waiting for the room to steady itself, blinking back the shadows. He ran his tongue over his parched lips. “Is there anything to drink?”
“Water,” Ashra offered, indicating a pitcher on the table. “Or I can ask for some tea.”
“Water’s fine.”
She poured him a cup and handed it to him with another smile. He wasn’t sure how he felt about her smiles. She was a woman of the enemy and had shown no signs of changing her sympathies. Nevertheless, Rylan downed the entire cup in a few gulps.
He asked, “Do you think the Prime Warden can help me find Amina?”
The woman raised her eyebrows. “Is that your daughter’s name? Amina?”
“Aye.” He nodded, scratching his cheek. His whiskers itched; he’d gone too long without shaving.
“You can ask the Prime Warden to help you look for your daughter,” Ashra told him. “Naia knows many things. Many secrets. And she can connect you with others who know even more.”
That answer was enough for Rylan. He set the empty cup down on the table and rose from the bed. “All right, then. Take me to her.”
Ashra looked up at him in surprise. “All ready? You still look exhausted. You need more time—”
He shook his head. “I don’t. If there’s a chance she can help me find Amina, I’m not about to linger here.” Somewhere out there, his daughter was in the hands of monsters. Nothing else in the world mattered. Nothing.
Ashra’s eyes searched his face for a moment. Then she rose from her chair. “Very well. The Prime Warden’s office is downstairs.”
Rylan pulled on his boots and followed Ashra out of the room. Unlike the small bed chamber, the hallway outside was well-lit, the walls tiled in a riot of colors and patterns. As they walked, they passed a few people, all wearing the same black cloaks with the emblem of the Silver Star on the back. Mages, Rylan knew. His skin prickled at the thought that everyone around him could wield a power he didn’t understand.
Including himself.
His mind was spinning by the time they descended the stairs to the ground floor and arrived at a wide door at the end of the hall. Before the door, wedged into a corner, a prim, gray-haired woman looked up from behind a small writing desk.
Ashra said, “Please inform the Prime Warden that Rylan Marshall would like to speak with her.”
The woman rose from her chair. Opening the door, she disappeared within. It was a moment before she emerged and beckoned Rylan forward with a curt motion of her hand. “Master Marshall, the Prime Warden awaits you within.”
Those words clawed at Rylan’s nerves. He felt suddenly weak, hesitant to move forward. The most powerful woman in the world waited for him on the other side of that door. A woman he had no business being in the same building with, much less the same room. It took all he had to gather enough courage to walk forward, Ashra following after.
The woman held her hand up, halting them. “The Prime Warden desires to speak only with Master Marshall.”
“Of course,” Ashra said, glancing at Rylan with a look of apology. “Go ahead. I’ll wait out here.”
A nervous sweat broke out on Rylan’s brow as he realized he wouldn’t have even Ashra’s meager support. Following the woman’s direction, he nodded his thanks at her and moved through the doorway.
The door close behind him, and he stopped where he stood.
In front of him stood a wooden desk, the chair behind it empty. Instead, two mages were seated along the back wall of a room. One was a woman wearing a white cloak, her auburn hair captured in an elaborate braid. She was of middle years, but exceptionally elegant. Next to her sat another mage, olive skinned, garbed in a black cloak and a black hat. On the wall across from them sat another man of Malikari descent who was dressed in opulent layers of cloth worn over a gold-trimmed tunic. His hair hung past his shoulders in tight curls, and he wore a well-trimmed beard that accentuated his jawline. He regarded Rylan with a penetrating stare that felt like it cut right through him.
Rylan had no idea who the two men were, but the sight of the Prime Warden was enough to intimidate him. Instantly, he dropped to his knees before her, bowing his head. He had no idea if that was the proper greeting, but it was the only gesture he could think of.
“Please rise,” the woman said, her voice rich with the accent of Chamsbrey.
Rylan obeyed, regaining his feet. He realized that all three people in the room were staring at him intently, as if he were some object of intrigue. He could feel their eyes on him, making his skin itch and prickle. The Prime Warden raised her hand, indicating an empty chair adjacent to her own.
“Please, have a seat.”
He complied awkwardly with a distrustful glance at her companions.
Rylan felt his mouth go dry and his pulse stutter to a stop. His gaze went to the Sultan and stuck there. The man returned his stare with eyes that held no expression within them. Rylan didn’t know what to say or how to feel. This was the same man who had conquered his own motherland, had driven his people from their homes—those he hadn’t massacred. Rylan felt his cheeks heat in fury at the thought. He clenched his jaw, reining in his emotions. It took everything he had to force his gaze away from the man and back to the Prime Warden.
Naia Seleni smiled affably and gestured toward a silver tray that held a small tea service. “Would you like some tea?”
Her words seemed unfathomable, surreal. Rylan licked his dry lips and said, “No thank you, Prime Warden.”
She poured herself a cup, sweetening the tea with a scoop of sugar. Setting the spoon down carefully, she asked, “How are you feeling, Rylan?”
“Better. My thanks for asking,” he said, then thought to add, “Prime Warden.”
The Sultan and the other mage were still staring at him fiercely. He didn’t think either one of them had so much as blinked since he’d entered the room. His eyes scanned the walls, which were cluttered with various pictures and tapestries, along with shelves of bright knickknacks.
The Prime Warden said, “My condolences on the loss of your son. I cannot imagine the pain of losing one child, much less two. I understand your daughter was taken?”
Rylan nodded, relieved the topic had come up so soon in the conversation. Determined to take advantage of the opportunity, he blurted hurriedly, “She was, Prime Warden. I was hoping you’d help me find her. I—”
Naia Seleni raised her hand, cutting him off. “Be assured, finding your daughter is of utmost importance. But for the moment, we must attend to other matters more pressing, not the least of which is your health. And your identity.”
A heavy weight of disappointment sank deep into Rylan’s bones. Nothing else was important—didn’t they understand? They had taken his baby girl. And the longer it took him to find her, the more she’d suffer. He cast a resentful glance at the Sultan, blaming him whether he deserved it or not.
The woman went on, “While you were recovering, we spoke at great length with Grand Master Archer. He told us what he knew of your family. He mentioned that the parents who raised you are not your true parents. And he informed us that your name at birth was not Rylan. It was Gerald.”
Paying only half-attention to her words, Rylan said absently, “That’s true.”
“Do you know anything at all of your birth parents?”
He shook his head. “No, Prime Warden. I don’t.”
There was a long pause. The woman lowered her teacup and set it on the table beside her.
“We do.”
At first, he didn’t think he’d heard her right. He chastised himself for not paying better attention.
“I’m sorry?” Rylan asked, looking up in confusion.
Lifting her hand, Naia Seleni gestured around the room. “The three of us are very familiar with the story of your parents.”
Rylan’s breath hitched in his throat. “You know who they are?”
“We know who they were,” she corrected him with a look of sympathy. “I’m sorry, Rylan, but both of your parents are long dead.”
For some reason, he felt disappointed at hearing that. He wondered why. They were two people he’d never met, who’d abandoned him as a child. Who hadn’t cared enough to remain.
With a sigh, he said, “What can you tell me of them?”
The Prime Warden sat forward in her seat, adjusting her cloak. She said, “Your mother’s name was Meiran Withersby. She was a Master of Aerysius. After its fall, she became Prime Warden for a short while.”
Rylan felt stunned. “My mother was a Prime Warden?”
“Yes.” The woman nodded. “As was your father.”
Rylan glanced around the room. The two men were still studying him, appearing to be assessing his reaction. The truth was, he didn’t know how to react. He felt dazed. Everything about the room and its occupants seemed entirely unreal.
“Who was my father?” he asked.
“Your father was Darien Lauchlin.”
Hearing that name made Rylan reel as if hit with a war hammer. Revulsion dripped like liquid down his nerves. Deep in his gut, his stomach clenched in nausea.
“Darien Lauchlin?” He could hardly get the words out. “No… That has to be wrong. Darien Lauchlin was a demon… A Servant of Xerys.” He almost choked. “He slaughtered thousands… mothers, babes… whole villages….”
For the first time, the Sultan moved. He leaned forward in his chair, hands gripping the armrests. Cold impatience fueled his stare. “It was war,” he said, his voice low and thickly accented. “Atrocities happen. Your father fought and died so that my people could live free in a land of sunlight. To the Malikari people, your father was a hero unparalleled in history.”
Rylan dropped his gaze, daunted by the force of the Sultan’s glare. Your father was a hero. He didn’t believe that, not for one minute. Never had the Kingdoms known a more heinous adversary. Darien Lauchlin had been a traitor, a slaughterer, a relentless conqueror who knew no restraint or mercy. Worse. He had wielded the power of Hell and brought it to bear against the Kingdoms’ defenders. Lauchlin had been more than a butcher. He’d been demonic.
Rylan felt stunned. Unhinged. In a shaking voice, he whispered, “Prime Warden, there must be some mistake. Your information has to be wrong….”
There was sympathy and understanding in the woman’s eyes. “No, Rylan. We are not wrong. Are you certain you wouldn’t like some tea? Or perhaps some wine?”
“I’ll take wine,” he managed raggedly.
It felt like a thick fog had settled down around him, dampening his thoughts and senses. He was barely aware of the cup that was placed into his hand. He stared down at the blood-red liquid it contained. Bringing it to his mouth, he drank the wine down in a few swallows.
“How can you be so certain they’re my parents?”
The Prime Warden replenished his cup. “Why don’t you allow me to tell you their story? It’s actually your story, Rylan.”
He didn’t think he wanted to hear it. He could feel the wine souring in the pit of his stomach. Chancing a glance sideways at the Sultan, he saw that the man was still staring at him, as if trying to bore into his soul.
Relenting, Rylan nodded.
Naia Seleni smiled. “Your mother and father met before Aerysius fell,” she told him. “Your father was the son of Prime Warden Emelda. When he met your mother, Darien was just an acolyte. Meiran was a Grand Master, so their love was forbidden. They hid their relationship for years. But Prime Warden Emelda finally got wind of it. She sent your father to fight at the Front in an effort to separate him from Meiran.”
Leaning forward, she filled his cup again with fresh wine. Rylan hadn’t realized he’d finished the last cup.
She continued, “What he didn’t know was that your mother was already pregnant with you. Meiran gave birth to you in secret and named you Gerald after your grandfather. Then she gave you up to a family to be fostered in the Vale.”
It all corroborated the story Clemet had told him. The Prime Warden’s tale seemed impossible to refute. The realization brought Rylan an acute ache of pain that burrowed deeply into his bones. There, it twisted into anger.
“Why?” he demanded. “Why did my mother give me up?”
The Prime Warden shrugged. “I suspect she was afraid the Prime Warden would react poorly to the news, perhaps even exile Darien permanently. Who can say? I’m sure your mother had very good reasons—or thought she did, at the time. She went looking for you after Aerysius fell. But your adopted mother told her you had died.”
The anger h
e felt went cold. Then it turned, now directed at his adopted parents. They had lied. Lied to him… and lied to his mother. What would have happened if they had admitted the truth? Would he have known either of his parents? But they were dead, he reminded himself. He didn’t know how his mother had passed, or when. But he did know Darien Lauchlin had died with the destruction of the Well of Tears. It was common knowledge. All of Xerys’ Servants had been wiped from the world that day.
He shook his head, leaning back in his chair. “I’m sorry but… it’s not every day you learn you’re the son of a demon.”
“You’re right. Darien Lauchlin was a demon. But so was I.”
Rylan’s gaze snapped up to take in the face of the Grand Master who sat glaring across the room at him with smoldering eyes.
“I, too, was a Servant of Xerys,” Quinlan Reis said. “But neither your father nor I had any choice in the matter. Not any real choice, anyway. We both swore our allegiance to Xerys because the only way to fight him was to serve him.” He raised a finger, his face set in harsh lines. “But just because we were demons doesn’t by definition make us evil. No matter what else he was, Darien Lauchlin was a man of honor. Never doubt that. He sacrificed his life so that the Well of Tears could be destroyed. If it wasn’t for him, you would be living in a conquered world ruled by Xerys. And then worrying about who your father was would be the least of your problems.”
Rylan looked away from the man, feeling stunned. Feeling sickened. The Grand Master’s account contradicted everything he’d ever heard. Lauchlin’s infamy was boundless, his legacy one of carnage and atrocity. Throughout the world, his name was synonymous with evil. Never had there been a man more reviled.
Or so Rylan had been raised to believe.
“I don’t know what to say,” he finally whispered. In truth, he didn’t know what to feel or believe. Here were three people who claimed to know his father well. Was it possible they could be right about him? He would like to believe that.