Godfire

by Cara Witter

  And then Lukos reached into his sleeve and produced the paralysis charm again, pointing it at Kenton.

  Kenton was too slow to react and would have been caught full in the chest by a blast of magic, were it not for the girl with the flame, who grabbed Lukos’ arm, setting his sleeve alight.

  Body shrunk back to normal, Lukos screamed and pulled away, batting at his robe. Kenton advanced on him, and the mage gave them one last sneer before turning and running between two buildings, disappearing from view.

  The Mortichean moved to follow, but Kenton grabbed him by the shoulder, holding him back. “Don’t,” he said. “He might lead you into another trap.” They couldn’t afford any more fighting—not tonight. They were battered enough as it was, and even in the aftermath of the battle, Kenton knew that each member of this company was too important to risk.

  Perhaps, he grudgingly admitted, this even included Daniella.

  The Mortichean stopped, body slumping with exhaustion, and nodded. He cradled his left arm, wincing from the pain in his shoulder. Blood ran down his cheek from a cut on his face, at the center of what would likely become a spectacular bruise. He still clutched his rock-weapon.

  Kenton’s breath heaved in and out. Sweat dripped from his forehead. The sword still gripped in his hand, he stood and headed back toward Daniella, who had sunk to her knees, dropping the crossbow to the ground.

  Sayvil and Perchaya emerged around a building behind her. They must have doubled around again after escaping from Lukos. Perchaya gave Kenton a weak smile.

  Kenton looked into the faces of each of the bearers. Gods, this was really happening. After all these years, he’d really found them.

  As, it seemed, had Diamis.

  “Come on,” Kenton said. “We can’t stay here. Not when Diamis’ men will know where we are.”

  The Mortichean looked in the direction Lukos had gone. “Diamis?” he said. “What in the name of the gods would Diamis want with us?” He looked back at Daniella. “And you, what . . . ?” He trailed off, like he wasn’t even sure what to ask.

  Kenton sighed. “Just come. It seems we have a lot to discuss.” He led them all in the direction of the nearest town gate, stopping only to grab a few daggers from the hands of dead men on the way.

  Thirty-six

  Perchaya and the others waited for Kenton outside the wall while he retrieved their horses and supplies. Though there was much to talk about, and lots of suspicious glances all around, they did little more than exchange names and stand in silence, as if the exhaustion and shock of battle had stolen their voices for the moment. The fish-boy they called Nikaenor was covered again in several thick cloaks, leaving only his carefully-dried face exposed. Perchaya felt sorry for the boy—and for the rest of them, too. They were going to have to spend another night in the dirt. The wet dirt, no less, when they’d all hoped to pass it in dry beds.

  Mourning the comforts of an inn was foolish, though. Kenton had finally found his bearers. The bearers—the people she’d read about, the people whose images she’d seen painted on walls and drawn in illuminations.

  She had to admit that not one of them would have made a good likeness for any of those works. Except for maybe the one who called himself Jaeme—who was likely a knight, being from Mortiche and fighting with that level of skill. Even with a bruised face, he was handsome enough to be in a painting. The artists always made the chosen look so noble and serious, but Perchaya thought from the lines around his mouth that he probably smiled often. Not that there was anything for him to smile about tonight.

  They had only four horses for the seven of them and far from enough money to buy more, even if they could afford the risk of going into another town and being caught again by Lukos.

  How he had followed them here was enough of a question.

  Perchaya offered the back of her horse to the fish-boy, who gave her a grateful look. She supposed he’d expected her to recoil from his still-scaly hands, but if those scales were, in fact, the mark of Mirilina, then Perchaya had nothing to fear from them. She looked down at the pattern of his scales, committing the curved edges and sharp angles to memory. The pattern would make a lovely border for an illumination of the Book of Mirilina, if Perchaya ever got back to her paper and inks. Though she supposed she did still have her small sketchbook, carefully wrapped so as not to soak through in this weather, and could start practicing while on the road. The thought made her fingers twitch excitedly against the reins, wishing she could begin drawing now.

  Sayvil offered the back of her horse to the Tirostaari girl—Saara—who accepted with a curt nod.

  Jaeme approached Daniella’s horse slowly, as though he thought either might spook. “May I ride with you, my lady?” he asked.

  Daniella hesitated before quietly agreeing, and Perchaya wondered if she ought to have offered him a place on her horse instead, to spare Daniella the awkwardness. The two obviously knew each other—and Perchaya made a note to ask Daniella about it at her earliest opportunity.

  But there were few opportunities for talk as they fled Bothran, heading southwest through the marsh, and the boggy landscape made for slow going. Perchaya was afraid Kenton would try to push them all night—he had a bad habit of always wanting to go a little farther. Perchaya had grown used to that pace on their trip to Peldenar, but now they had others to think of. Kenton must have read her thoughts, because after about an hour’s ride into the darkness, he stopped on a relatively dry hill thick with oak trees, which provided a decent shelter for both themselves and their horses.

  They had little choice but to build a fire. Even though the rain had stopped, they were soaked through, cloaks and all. If they didn’t get at least partially dry, they might succumb to foot rot, what with all of them squelching in wet boots.

  As soon as Kenton signaled for them to stop, Perchaya set about digging a sizeable hole, with a second, smaller one beside it. On the side of the hill, her spade met dry dirt a foot and a half down. As Kenton saw to the horses and the others looked at each other warily, she prepared a fire hole in the way her father had taught her years ago—flame sunk down below the earth, connecting hole providing a chimney-like current of air so the fire would burn hot, reducing the amount of smoke. She turned over a fallen log and found bits of kindling dry enough to burn. When the fire began in earnest, the others gravitated to it naturally; the light illuminated their faces, even though it would be difficult to see from a distance, sunken as it was into the hole.

  Jaeme and Daniella stood farthest from the fire, talking to each other uneasily, though Perchaya couldn’t catch all of their conversation. She did hear Jaeme ask if Daniella was a prisoner, to which Daniella fervently shook her head.

  “Peldenar,” Daniella said, “is the last place I want to be.” She edged closer to the fire, and while Jaeme looked confused, he stepped up next to her and ceased his questions for now. The two joined Nikaenor and Saara in stripping off their wet outer clothes and began to stretch them out around the fire. While the light was minimal, the heat was intense, almost uncomfortably so in the already muggy air. They should all have a set of dry clothes ready before morning if they each took a turn rotating things during the night’s watch.

  Jaeme approached the fire, turning his questions on Perchaya. “Who are you people? How did you find us?”

  “It was Sayvil that found you,” Perchaya said. “We’ve been looking for you.”

  Saara eyed her warily. “It seems you’re not the only ones. Those men—”

  “Lukos must have hired them,” Perchaya said. “On behalf of Diamis. He’s hunting us.” She’d wondered briefly why Lukos hadn’t used Sevairnese soldiers, but the answer had become clear as soon as the mage started openly using blood magic.

  There was no way Diamis wanted his official troops seeing his pet Vorgalian mage doing that.

  “Hunting you. Because of Daniella,” Jaeme said.
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  “He was already after them,” Daniella said quietly, still staring down into the fire. “Because they’re Drim.”

  Perchaya cringed, glancing up at Jaeme. Nikaenor turned to look at her, horror etched on his face. But Jaeme merely looked surprised. “If they’re Drim,” he said to Daniella, “why are you traveling with them?”

  Daniella sighed. “It’s a long story. One I’d rather not get into at the moment.”

  “Yes,” Perchaya said. “We’ve all had a long night. Perhaps we should—”

  “But why were those men after us?” Jaeme said. “We weren’t traveling with Daniella. We aren’t Drim. And they were definitely following us. That mage went after Nikaenor and—”

  “I think I killed a man,” Daniella said, blurting it out like she couldn’t contain the information any longer. Perchaya felt a stab of guilt. Daniella had felled that man because he was coming after her. She was grateful for the protection, but she hated that it left Daniella with such a heavy burden.

  Footsteps squelched on the sodden ground, and Kenton approached from behind Daniella. “We’re all just as surprised as you are, Princess,” he said.

  Jaeme scowled at Kenton and looked about to say something, when Nikaenor sputtered, “Princess?”

  Kenton nodded. “Yeah, kid. Welcome to the esteemed presence of the daughter of Lord General Diamis.”

  “And two Drim,” Jaeme said. “Not that I’m not grateful for the rescue, but I can’t help but feel like we’re in more trouble than we started with. And what in all hells is a blood mage doing working for Sevairn?”

  Now Daniella was scowling, though Nikaenor was staring at Daniella in wide-eyed wonder, and Saara was giving her a look of general alarm.

  All of which, Perchaya supposed, were called for.

  “Diamis works blood magic,” Perchaya said. She looked at Nikaenor. “I’ve seen it. He tried to do the same thing to me that Lukos did to you.”

  Jaeme snorted. “That would figure. It’s always the least honorable knight who insists loudest that the codes be kept to the letter.”

  Nikaenor shivered. His skin was returning to flesh now in the warmth of the fire, and he looked a bit older than Perchaya had previously surmised—perhaps seventeen or eighteen. His face had an open quality to it, and she imagined he must have lived a more sheltered life than the one he now found himself in.

  “What—” Nikaenor said, “what was it he did to me? I don’t remember anything until I woke up in a heap on a pile of straw. It’s like my mind just disappeared.”

  “That’s what blood magic does,” Kenton said. “He took full control of you.”

  “But not of me,” Daniella said. “He wasn’t following me.” She turned toward Jaeme. “He didn’t even seem to know we were in town until we stopped him from following you.”

  Kenton looked like he wanted to argue with Daniella but couldn’t find the cause. Perchaya edged closer to him. He feared the Daniella in a way she’d never seen him fear anyone, not even Diamis, which made her wonder what had happened between them.

  But Daniella was right. Lukos hadn’t taken control of her. He hadn’t been stalking them through the town. Which lent credence to the theory that, like Perchaya, Daniella was somehow unable to be controlled.

  Nikaenor stared at Kenton, white-faced. “What—what in the name of the waves does a blood mage—or the Lord General—want with us?”

  “Yes,” Jaeme said. “That’s a very good question.”

  The group fell into silence for a moment, just the sound of the water dripping from the thick oak leaves, occasionally hissing as a stray droplet fell into the fire hole. Even Sayvil was quiet, for which Perchaya was glad. Kenton had been waiting so long for this moment. He should be the one to share the news.

  “You’re godbearers,” Kenton said. “All four of you.” He pointed to them each in turn. “Arkista. Nerendal. Mirilina. Kotali.”

  Jaeme let out a humorless laugh. “The chosen of the Banishment Chronicle? There isn’t a drink strong enough to make me believe that.”

  The others were slower to react. Nikaenor’s mouth fell open. Saara didn’t budge from where she sat, taking everything in with her fierce, dark eyes.

  Perchaya glanced at Kenton and found him also studying them, waiting for their response. There was so much that needed to be explained, so much they needed to know. It must be hard to choose where to begin.

  Perchaya couldn’t help herself. “We know this sounds mad,” she said, “and perhaps too much to handle, especially after what you’ve all just been through. But it’s because of what you’ve just seen that you must believe us. Diamis wants to free Maldorath, and the only way to stop him is for you three to join with Sayvil and find the godstones.”

  Kenton nodded his agreement.

  Saara’s eyes flicked to Sayvil. “You believe this?”

  Sitting back on her hands, Sayvil opened her mouth, then closed it again. “When I first saw you, I felt that I knew you. I felt that I’d been looking for you. That you three are the reason I’d come south from Drepaine.”

  All three of the other bearers looked at each other, and Perchaya couldn’t help but smile. That sounded familiar to them. They felt it, too. The call from her ring had worked.

  It was happening.

  Saara turned to Nikaenor. “The bearers in your prophecy. Were they cursed?”

  Nikaenor still looked stunned and fumbled over his answer. “Signs,” he said. “They’re supposed to have signs. Tokens from the gods. But I never thought—”

  His words trailed off, and Perchaya could hardly blame him. She knew something about what that felt like—suddenly discovering that you could play a far greater part in the history of the world than you’d ever anticipated.

  For one who already believed in the prophecy, the news must be overwhelming.

  “All right,” Jaeme said, holding his hands up. “Let’s pretend for now that we believe we’ve been singled out as the prophesied bearers from the Banishment Chronicle, and that somehow out of all the people in the wide world, the three of us managed to end up traveling together, and that we were found in our hour of need by the fourth bearer and the very people who are trying to bring us all together to accomplish this task of fulfilling the prophecy.” He paused to let that sink in, as if it were ironclad evidence that Perchaya and Kenton were out of their minds.

  She could see how he could think that. This was all either an incredible coincidence, or it was the work of the gods. After watching the four of them fight using their powers—powers they had no right to have—Perchaya knew which she believed.

  “Miraculous, isn’t it?” she asked.

  “It is,” Nikaenor said, his voice filled with awe. “And they will know each other by their miracles.”

  Jaeme shot him a look and continued. “So if we’re pretending all of that, then the question is, what do we do about it? No one knows where the godstones are. That’s the point, isn’t it? So, short of wandering around waiting to get attacked by this Lukos fellow and his friends, what would be the plan?”

  “We know where Nerendal is,” Kenton said.

  Saara sucked in a breath, and Perchaya could see her entire body tense.

  Kenton continued. “The Tirostaari keep the Sunstone out in the open, right in the throne room of the palace, if tradition holds. And since no one can touch it but the bearer, I can’t imagine they’ve moved it far.”

  Jaeme laughed in disbelief. “You’re suggesting we go to Tirostaar and just march into the throne room and take it?”

  “The bearers,” Saara said loudly. “They can touch the godstones?”

  Nikaenor nodded furiously. “Yeah, they’re supposed to be the only ones who can.”

  A torrent of Tirostaari words poured from Saara’s mouth, her voice growing louder with each one. Perchaya cringed, studying the woods around them,
hoping that no one was nearby to hear. Not that anyone would be likely to understand. Perchaya certainly couldn’t.

  Daniella, however, stared at Saara with wide eyes, her cheeks growing pink.

  Kenton straightened, focused on Saara. “What?” he asked. “What is it?”

  The girl was on her feet, pacing the area in front of their drying cloaks. “She knew. She knew all along.” More Tirostaari words dropped from her tongue, and Saara glared straight at Kenton. “You mean to say I could have just picked up the damn stone?”

  Kenton stared at her. “You’ve been in the palace. You’ve seen it.”

  Saara swore, this time in Sevairnese. “I was raised in the palace. My aunt is the queen of Tirostaar. And that stone—the thing has been begging me to take it. Then my aunt tried to have me killed and—” She stopped, shaking her head. “Why would she do that? If I’m supposed to save the world?”

  Daniella cleared her throat, her voice hesitant. “Maybe because she didn’t want to lose her throne.”

  All eyes turned to Daniella. Saara’s blazed with anger. “What?” she said.

  “That’s—that’s the history,” Daniella said. “I read about it. The reason the stone is kept in the throne room. It’s because when Nerendal picks a bearer, she’s supposed to take over as queen of Tirostaar.”

  Kenton was nodding—he’d heard this before.

  Saara stared at Daniella, her mouth fallen open. “If that was true,” she snapped, “I would have known about it.”

  Daniella shook her head. “The book said—well, the truth has been buried for hundreds of years. Your historians likely know about it—a few of them, at least. But it’s been taken out of the Chronicle, because Queen Radma, who ruled during the—”

  “So what you’re saying,” Jaeme cut her off, pointing at Saara. “Is that she’s a queen. And he’s a fish.”

  Nikaenor blushed, and Perchaya had to admit that this didn’t seem particularly fair.

  Daniella’s face reddened further, but she nodded. “I don’t know of any tradition that the bearer of Mirilina will—”