A flurry of wings beat against her face, knocking her backward with a startled cry. Panicked, she screamed her husband’s name.
But he was gone. Only a shimmering afterglow of his image remained in his place.
A shrill screech pierced the air. Azár’s stomach lurched in fear. She scanned the line of trees, desperately seeking the source of the cry. Then she saw it. There, silhouetted against the stars, the dark form of a bird rose swiftly into the sky.
“Sayeed Zakai!” she screamed, terror in her heart.
She staggered backward over uneven ground, eyes pinned on the falcon as it darted across the thin crescent of the moon. Another shriek pierced the night.
She heard footsteps sprinting toward her. Then Sayeed was at her side, eyes wide and alarmed.
“Are you harmed? What happened?” he demanded.
“There!” Azár cried, pointing upward, her finger tracking the bird’s motion. It gained height in slow circles, finally leveling out to skim gracefully overhead.
“How…?” Sayeed gasped.
The demon-hound gazed upward, cocking its head.
The falcon let out another piercing screech. It dipped its wing and veered away, soaring toward the mountains in the far distance.
“He is not coming back!” Azár cried, watching the bird flapping away.
Face aghast, Sayeed gripped her arm, his fingers biting into her skin. The cries of the falcon grew fainter. Soon its form was lost, slipping away into the shadows of the night.
Tears streaked Azár’s face. A feeling of futility washed over her, weakening her knees. Sayeed caught her up, supporting her weight against him.
“He will come back,” he reassured her. But she could tell by the sound of his voice that he was just as concerned as she.
“What if he doesn’t remember he is a man?” she whispered.
They stood by the fire as the night dragged on, measured by the moon’s slow progress.
They stood there until the coals grew cold and dawn broke across the horizon.
When Sayeed finally picked her up and carried her back to her tent, Azár didn’t resist. She was barely aware of the officer settling her into bed, arranging her covers over her with the care and compassion of a brother. Feeling more alone than she could ever remember, she fell into a deep and troubled sleep.
Azár awoke to the feeling of a hand stroking her face, running tenderly through her hair. She opened her eyes and stared up through the shadows of the tent into the solemn face of her husband.
Her anger exploded. She shot bolt upright. Enraged, she swept out a hand, striking Darien in the face.
He closed his eyes, accepting the blow.
His lack of response angered her more. Azár hauled her arm back to strike him harder. This time, he caught her wrist.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Her anger melted. Sadness took its place. Exhausted, she collapsed against him.
Kyel followed the white-robed priest down the long hall toward the main sanctuary of the Temple of Death. Through the glass, he could see the temple’s garden courtyard, with its long reflecting pool bordered by manicured shrubs. White and black swans plied the pool’s waters and roosted along the shore. Beyond the garden rose the verdigris dome of the sanctuary, replete with its hundreds of stained-glass windows.
The sound of their footsteps rang off the walls as the gangly priest he followed turned a corner and led him down a narrow hallway that ended at a door. Kyel waited as the young man knocked twice, then opened the door and stepped back. Kyel nodded his gratitude and moved past, turning to confront the old man who sat waiting for him behind a wooden desk.
At the sight of him, Luther Penthos rose to his feet. Kyel walked forward, taking the priest’s hand. Strangely, he felt none of the hesitance he’d always experienced before in the presence of this formidable man. Luther Penthos was Naia’s father, as well as the High Priest of Death. Kyel’s history with him had been turbulent. He had no reason to think that had changed.
“Your Eminence,” he said in acknowledgement.
“Grand Master Archer.” There was no trace of a smile on the priest’s face. “I wish I could say it is good to see you again, but I’d be lying. Have you had word of my daughter?”
“No. Nothing.” Kyel shook his head, feeling a pang of regret.
The old man nodded, slouching just a bit. “If you happen to see her before … well…” His voice trailed off. “Please tell her that I love her.”
Kyel nodded. “I will, Your Eminence.”
Setting his pack on the floor, he took a seat. He let his gaze travel around the room, looking over the assortment of books, tapers, lamps, and scrolls the man had amassed. The High Priest’s study looked much more cluttered than the last time he’d seen it only months before. As though the man’s enthusiasm for life had fled with his daughter.
“So.” The old priest folded his age-spotted hands on the desk. “I hear you desire an escort through our Catacombs to Rothscard. I suppose I should warn you that Rothscard is not a safe destination at the moment. The city is under siege. We can get you in but, considering the size of the Enemy host, your sojourn may prove dangerous.”
Kyel took the man’s meaning. He said softly, “I’m not entirely defenseless.”
Penthos raised an eyebrow. “So I’ve heard. I would like to thank you for a laudable defense of this valley. I fear, however, that such an outcome may not be easily replicated in Rothscard. The Enemy host is well over a hundred thousand strong, with more arriving each day. Rothscard is almost certain to fall.”
Kyel glanced up at a painting that depicted one of the aspects of the goddess Isap. Remembering what Arvel had said about the goddess, Kyel stared harder at the image. In it, Isap appeared as a human woman with an elaborate headdress, holding a tall, stringed instrument. Her face, covered by an opaque veil, was unknowable. She could have been any woman, or every woman.
Looking back at Penthos, Kyel said, “I’d be grateful for help getting to Rothscard. But I’m not going there to defend the city. My goal is to destroy Xerys’ Servants.”
The old priest’s eyes hardened to steel. “Then you will have all the aid I can give you. We no longer fight a war against the Enemy. That war is already lost. What we fight for now is the future of humanity. And that is a battle we can’t afford to lose.”
Kyel inclined his head. “I understand, Your Eminence.”
29
Every Advantage
The sound of his boots crunching on pebbles had occupied Darien’s attention the entire morning. The noise grated on his nerves. He was growing fed up with it.
And with his wife’s relentless silence.
Azár hadn’t spoken to him all day, had made a point of showing him her back and throwing glares at him when she thought he wasn’t looking. She had managed to walk at his side while successfully ignoring him for hours, her face set in a perpetual scowl. He’d had enough of it.
Darien let out a long, frustrated breath, groping for patience. “I’m sorry,” he said in as gentle a tone as he could manage. “I gave you a fright. I ought to have warned you.”
Azár’s eyes glinted with ire. She was silent for a long minute. Then she responded, “Why did you do it?”
Darien breathed another irritated sigh. “Because I need to find an edge. Kyel handled me too well back there. With that talisman, he’s stronger than I am.”
Azár cast him a look of troubled doubt. “How can turning into a bird help you defeat your apprentice?”
Darien shrugged. “Mobility. Recognizance. I can go places no one could expect. Other than that … I don’t know. I’m sure there are other advantages.”
She tossed another glare his way. “Why didn’t you return?”
“I did return.”
“You were gone all night!”
He wanted to growl. “I told you. I’m sorry. Now, can we be done with it?”
“No,” she snapped. “Tell me why you were gone so long.�
�
He scrubbed his hands through his hair, trying to find the right words to explain his actions. It was far more difficult than it seemed. Perhaps because, at the time, he hadn’t been thinking in words.
His brow furrowed. “At first, I was just taken with the feel of flying. The freedom of it. I’ve never known anything like that. And my thoughts were different.” He struggled, searching for a way to explain it. “They were bird thoughts. Not human thoughts. All I could think about was getting away, of escaping. So that’s what I did.”
Azár looked appalled. She whispered, “You forgot you were a man.”
Darien shook his head. He still had a hard time understanding all of it. “I didn’t forget. It’s just that … being a man didn’t seem all that important at the time. I had other needs that were much more powerful, and I didn’t know how to override them.”
The look in Azár’s eyes could have melted glass. “Don’t ever do that again! What if next time, you cannot control it?”
She was being unreasonable. He had just discovered a wonderful new advantage. Darien had no idea what purpose it could be put to, but he couldn’t discard it just because his wife was worried for his safety.
“Next time, I’ll be stronger. I’ll have more control.”
“There will not be a next time.” Her tone left no room for argument.
Darien clenched his fists. “There will. I need to find and use every advantage I can. Every advantage. Don’t you understand?”
He glanced significantly down at her middle. When she realized what he was staring at, her hand went immediately to her belly, as if seeking to shield the small life within.
She scowled. “How will changing into a bird save our child’s life?”
“I don’t know. But it might.”
“You are stupid, Darien Lauchlin. I will not—”
He’d had enough. There was nothing more to be said about the issue.
Darien opened his mind to the magic field and tugged at it violently. He stumbled midstride. There was a brilliant flash. Then he was falling—
Reflexively, he shot his arms out to catch himself. But he kept falling, falling upward. Falling away from the ground, flying—
The pull of the sky…
He beat his wings, climbing higher. Below, a tangled line of people wound through the trees. He circled above them, searching for an updraft. Finding one. He relaxed and let the warm air currents lift him higher.
The feel of the wind…
Everything below was impossibly sharp, impossibly vivid. He could see every detail of every face. New colors he had never before seen. A glowing fluorescence that dappled the ground. Far away beneath a tree, something moved—
Prey…
He tucked his wings and dove toward it. Then:
War. Child…
He pulled up, reminded of his purpose. He banked sharply and set his course parallel to the river. Ahead, he could see a great black plume of smoke that resembled a bank of clouds.
The city…
Below, the forest ended, and a vast grassland began. A great mass of people spread like a dark ocean across the plain. There were horses, fires—
Danger…
He wheeled away, but not before marking the colors of the banners. He angled back toward the river, pumping his wings, soaring over the forest, to the drawn-out column of men and women—
Azár…
He skimmed lower, finding a path between the trees, lower still, meeting the ground—
He staggered and fell to his knees, roughing the heels of his palms on the pebbled surface. He glanced up—
—into Azár’s startled face. Sayeed was already running toward him. People were backing away, eyes wide with fear, holding up their hands in a ward against evil.
He lurched to his feet. Sweat streamed from his brow, drained into his eyes. He swiped a sleeve across his face. He was panting. Weak. He staggered.
“I did not believe it,” Sayeed gasped, putting an arm out to steady him. His face was full of wonder. Or fear. Darien couldn’t tell which.
He turned to Azár. Before she could say anything, he held a hand up. “I know. I’m stupid.”
To his disbelief, his wife grinned.
The shrine of Death didn’t look familiar, although it should have. The last time Quin had seen it had been under the spell of everlasting winter. But that spell was broken. Now the Isle of Titherry lay basking under the warm spring sun, enjoying a thaw that had been delayed for years—ever since the collapse of the Hall of the Watchers.
When Aerysius had fallen, its Circle of Convergence had died with it, its conduit severed from Athera’s Crescent. Without that input, the Crescent had resorted to pulling the energy it needed directly from the air around it, encasing the isle in a winter that didn’t end. Now that Quin had repaired the conduits, Athera’s Crescent was functioning just as it was designed to do.
Quin turned to Naia, his eyes running over her. She was occupied with the business of lighting the shrine’s assortment of tapers. It was almost like a graceful dance that swept her from one end of the room to the other. Quin watched her as she worked, lighting one taper from another by means of a wooden splint, moving in what seemed a random order back and forth across the shrine. He had a feeling there was nothing random at all about her movements. He stood back and watched, enjoying the fluid grace of her body.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said, staring at her back. “These visions—or versions—that you have. Is Zavier Renquist in each of them?”
“Yes,” Naia responded without pausing in her candle-lighting.
Quin’s eyes wandered across the walls of the shrine, taking in a series of numbered frescoes painted there. “What if Renquist was taken out of the picture? I mean, could he be blocking your ability to see past him? Like Tsula?”
Naia didn’t pause. “I don’t know,” she said with her back to him.
“But it’s possible, right?”
She turned slowly around to stare at him with a skeptical look. “I suppose. Why? What are you thinking?”
“It strikes me as odd that Renquist was Tsula’s husband. It’s highly irregular for Harbingers to marry anyone, much less a Prime Warden. Maybe Tsula wasn’t helping him intentionally … but that doesn’t mean she wasn’t helping him unintentionally.”
Naia frowned with a look of intense concern. “Do you think he knows what we’re about?”
“I don’t know,” Quin muttered. It took him only a moment to arrive at a decision. “You go on ahead to Rothscard. Show me the way to Bryn Calazar. I’ll meet up with you when I’m done.”
“Done with what?” Naia asked, moving toward him. She extinguished the wooden splint with her fingers and set it down. She stared at him intensely.
Quin took her hand and kissed it. “There’s something I need to do that I should have done a long time ago.”
“And what is that?” Naia whispered with a look of dread.
Quin smiled dangerously. “I’m going to kill Zavier Renquist.”
Kyel’s gray stallion shied away from a street dancer’s brightly colored ribbons. He reined in and brought the animal under control. He couldn’t believe anyone could be dancing and flipping around ribbons in the midst of a siege. But people had to put food in their mouths, he supposed, even under the direst of circumstances. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a coin and tossed it to the woman, figuring she needed it more desperately than he did.
His escort of blue-cloaked guardsmen were having a difficult time holding back the crowd as they waded through Rothscard’s unruly streets. The city was bursting with masses of people swarming the shops and market stalls, scrambling to find food and supplies. The city guard was hard-pressed to keep order, often resorting to bludgeons and swords to maintain some degree of civility.
Most of the markets were already emptied, the street vendors sold out of wares. The storefronts had been boarded up, the shopkeepers fled. The only commodity Rothscard seemed to have in
good supply was an abundance of prostitutes and opportunists, the former touting their wares in exchange for food, the latter pushing medicinals at criminal prices. The stench of smoke and fear-sweat combined to yield a heady miasma in the air.
The gates of Emmery Palace were heavily guarded. Kyel was ushered through quickly, garnering more than his share of shocked looks and stares. The people of Rothscard were no longer used to the sight of a black cloak. Most of the population took heart in the sight of it. Others looked on in fear.
His escort led him through another gate into the Inner Ward of the palace, past fountains hedged by immaculate gardens. At the palace steps, he was relieved of his horse and greeted by a flustered-looking minister who bowed and blotted his brow with a folded kerchief.
“This way, Great Master. The Queen and Prince await you in the council chamber.”
The council chamber was an upgrade, Kyel decided. The last time he’d visited Emmery Palace with Meiran, Romana had relegated them to the Blue Room. Kyel took it for a good sign; perhaps he was finally being taken more seriously. He followed the minister through a series of long hallways dripping with chandeliers to a set of double doors.
The minister pulled open the doors with a flourish and announced, “Grand Master Kyel Archer of the Distinguished Order of Sentinels.”
Kyel stepped into the room, feeling irritated and rather embarrassed by the pomp and formality. He wasn’t there to exchange courtesies, and he didn’t care a whit about decorum. His business was far more serious in nature.
The council chamber was dominated by a long table carved from a single piece of burl wood. Queen Romana and her husband rose from their chairs, the only two people in the room. Kyel walked forward, not bothering to kneel; he was a mage, and therefore the equal of any queen. He sat next to them at the table, waving away a servant who scurried forward to offer refreshments.
The Complete Rhenwars Saga: An Epic Fantasy Pentalogy Page 135