Shadowborn

by Katie MacAlister

  “No grain,” Deo informed the boy, dismounting and handing over Crow’s reins. “Not until morning. He’s too heated.”

  A soft whooping noise had them all looking at where Darius lay face down on the ground, evidently having lost his balance and fallen off his horse in his struggle to make someone understand him.

  “Send your brother to tend his lordship’s prisoner,” the innkeeper told the boy Frog as the latter led away a lathered Crow.

  Deo hoisted Darius to his feet at the same time a man tottered toward him, calling his name. Deo ignored him, instead looking down the hill to the dock, pleased to see one of the ships that had made the trip between Genora and Aryia. “Evidently we’ve arrived just in time,” Deo told Darius. “I will see to our passage just as soon as you are locked away.”

  “My lord Deo!” the tottering man said, plucking at his sleeve until Deo spun around to fix him with a glare.

  “What is it?” he demanded, having little time to spend chatting with the local citizens.

  “This is a fortunate day, despite the horrible trip here. It’s a wonder I survived without heaving up all of my internal bits. How anyone can desire to sail anywhere is beyond me. If Lord Israel thinks I’m going to return to Aryia, he is well mistaken.” The man’s face was pale, gaunt, and unpleasantly moist. “But I must put my own suffering behind me. My lord, I come bearing a message.”

  “Another one? I just received a message yesterday.” Deo took the letter that the messenger dug out of his jerkin. “Ah, this one is from my father, and the other few scribbled lines I had were from Idril. Here.” He handed the man a few coins before grasping the back of Darius’s jerkin, pulling him into the inn.

  “I have cleared out one of the storerooms for your prisoner,” the innkeeper said, bustling forward from a dark hallway. He paused as soon as the lantern he held cast its light on the face of Darius, who was moaning and making piteous noises behind his gag. “But…but that is Lord Darius, is it not? King Darius, I should say. Bellias bless us, whatever are you doing with him?”

  “He is no king, and just as soon as my mother has gathered her kin, he will be lucky to have his life. As for what I am doing with him, I’m taking him to account for his crimes against Queen Dasa. Stop bleating at me, man. You are not about to perish. Did you act such a weakling in front of the queen? It’s a wonder she didn’t geld you and turn you into her handmaiden. No,” Deo said after a moment’s recollection of the sorts of things Idril asked of her maidens. It was almost frightening how cutthroat those handmaidens could be. “Not a handmaiden. Perhaps one of those male harlots who serve other men by dressing up as hairy shepherdesses. Although I doubt if the queen would keep a shepherdess harlot at her court. She’d be more likely to have the male harlots who pleasure women, a thought I must pass along to my father since it will be sure to make him grind his teeth. Innkeeper! Why are you standing here wringing your hands instead of placing Darius into your locked storeroom?”

  It took some time, but at long last Deo was seated by the fire. Darius had been given food and wine, and locked away with a privy bucket and a pallet of somewhat smelly furs. Deo drank deeply of the ale provided him by a worried innkeeper before turning his attention to the bit of sealed parchment that the messenger had brought.

  Deo, it read, written in his father’s neat hand. May the grace of both goddesses fall upon your unworthy head. By the time this reaches you, Idril and I will have sailed for the north of Genora, to aid the queen in the raising of an army. We leave Aryia because Abet is temporarily out of our reach. I am saddened—although in no way surprised—that your Banes have sided with Jalas against the Fireborn. You have much to answer for in creating those misbegotten creatures, who have now killed a valiant, brave woman.

  For a moment, Deo’s heart seemed to cease beating. Had Idril been slain? By the goddesses, if anyone had harmed a hair on her head—he had risen out of the chair and was halfway to the door before he recalled the opening lines. He sat down again, quickly scanning the rest of the message.

  Lady Sandorillan, the priestess of the Temple of Kiriah Sunbringer, died at the hands of your Banes. May the goddesses have mercy upon you, for right now, I feel none myself. If you were here, I’d strangle you with my bare hands, but it’s just as well you are a continent away, where I cannot work out the grief of losing a stalwart friend and talented priestess to the monsters you created in your own image.

  Deo frowned, guilt digging little needles into him before he told himself that he had not raised the Banes of Eris to attack the innocent. Their sole purpose was, and had always been, to free Alba of the Harborym. That they had indeed turned was driven home by the senseless death of Lady Sandor, and he would have to think long about how he would respond when he again met them.

  She did not die in vain, however, dispatching one of them before the other two finished her. Aryia has diminished with her passing, and I trust that you will make appropriate offerings for prayers to be held at the temple in her honor. This stains your soul most grievously, Deo, and although I am sure you are already trying to disclaim any responsibility for Sandor’s death, you have much to atone for.

  The censure fairly dripped off the parchment, but it wasn’t his father’s words that had Deo shifting uncomfortably in the chair. The goddesses knew that he had created the Banes to save Alba, but he accepted that by doing so, he was partially to blame for Lady Sandor’s death. He would have to atone for that sin.

  We sail with the coming of Kiriah on the morn. Since I have heard no word of the Eidolon running amok on Genora, I assume you, Hallow, and Allegria have things well under control there. Once I have met up with your mother and assisted her as is needful, we will head south to Starfall. I’m sure you will wish to join us there as your mother reclaims her throne, after which time we will address the issue of Nezu.

  There was more to the message, warnings to be wary of dealing with Darius and some magister who served him, but guilt-laden as he was, Deo had had enough of his father lecturing him, and tossed the message onto the fire, thinking hard about his Banes, and what he must do.

  The following morning he spent a good hour arguing with the captain of the ship that sat in the harbor, with the end result that his purse was lightened of quite a bit of silver, but by the time Kiriah had reached her zenith, the ship was sailing northwards, along the coast of Genora to the port town of Summit. Forty-six hours later, he rode down through the steep, winding streets of Deeptide, a town that perched on a cliffside like a mushroom on the trunk of a tree. He was mildly surprised that the port of Summit was located some five miles from the water talkers’ capital, but as he looked down to the sparkling navy blue water, he realized that despite the name of Deeptide, the rocks continued down from the cliff, prohibiting portage. “Why, then, did the water talkers choose this location for their town?” he asked aloud. “It makes no sense.”

  “You are as ignorant as you are boorish,” Darius snapped, his temper obviously frayed. But that was nothing compared to the whining Deo had been forced to listen to during the journey, both on ship and horseback. He didn’t trust Darius, and kept him bound, although reluctantly he’d removed the gag on the voyage north. Somehow, Darius had spirited away the bit of cloth, leaving Deo without a suitable gag.

  “I should have spent the time finding a replacement,” he grumbled to himself.

  “The water witches do not mingle with the Starborn, since they are not beloved of Bellias, as we are. I should have thought you would know this, since they are kin to your mother, but obviously, you never bothered to learn about them,” Darius continued with a sniff that made Deo’s fist itch to punch something. “They are children of Alba, placed here by the All-Father, keeping to themselves, which is right and proper.”

  Deo frowned while he dug through the dusty hallways of his mind. He had a vague memory of a tutor explaining to him the rise and fall of various races, but he’d had little
time in his youth for such useless things. He made a note to consult his mother about it later, and ignored the pointed references Darius made as they rode down to the shore, where a temple sat at the tip of a long stone pier.

  Idril was the first to greet him, moving out of the shadowed entrance of the temple when he halted before it, her lithe form bringing with it a deep sense of satisfaction as she glided toward him, a bevy of handmaidens trailing her.

  “My lord Deo,” she said, stopping before him and making an elegant curtsey. Her expression was as placid as ever, but he’d seen the flash of fire in her amber eyes. “You are most welcome, although we had no word that you were coming to Deeptide.” Her gaze shifted to Darius, a momentary look of surprise on her face melting away almost immediately. “Darius, I did not know you sought to consult the water talkers.”

  “I don’t wish to consult them,” Darius snapped, wriggling on his saddle to try to free his hands from where they were bound behind his back. “I have been kidnapped, most brutally and heinously kidnapped by this monstrous behemoth.”

  “If you keep struggling like that—” Deo started to say, but stopped and gave a little sigh when Darius managed to throw himself off his horse. Again. “I’d think you would have better things to do than attempt to harm yourself in this manner. No, Idril, do not assist him up. He’s taken to biting whoever is in range. He’s worse than Allegria’s bile-spawned mule.”

  Deo was tempted to leave Darius where he lay, but the sight of the queen and his father proceeding down the length of pier toward them had him jerking up the usurper, and even going so far as to brush off the front of the man’s jerkin before turning to face his parents.

  “Deo! What are you doing here? You are supposed to be at Kelos, assisting Hallow and Allegria,” Israel growled. His father’s scowl was a fearful thing to behold, but it paled in comparison to the look the queen was bending upon him.

  “Once again you have intruded upon my plans in such a manner as to render them completely pointless,” Dasa snapped, her nostrils flaring in a dramatic manner.

  Stiffly, Deo made his mother a bow, one hand on Darius’s back forcing him to do the same. “You must be confusing me with someone else. I have never made any plans pointless except those that aren’t worthy of being undertaken, and I’m sure you would never make anything of that sort. Except, of course, for your plan to woo Racin into complacency, at which point you thought to kill him. That was the height of foolishness, as was proven when he escaped Eris.”

  Dasa’s nostrils flared again. Deo wondered if he ought to point that out to her, since it wasn’t a particularly flattering look, but upon second thought, he decided against it. Although she wore a becoming and delicate silver and blue gown, a sword was strapped to her hip. After becoming familiar with his mother’s temper during the last eleven months, he decided there was no good to come of trying her when she was so armed.

  “That plan would have worked but for your interference. Rather, that of both you and your father.” Dasa transferred her glare to Israel, who ignored it.

  Deo wondered whether or not his mother had dressed to entice his father. He wouldn’t have thought so, since their relationship had ever been rocky, and the queen, while comely enough, didn’t put much store in how she appeared to others. And yet the flowing garments she wore now were much fancier than he had seen her wear in the past.

  “What exactly are you doing here? And why do you have him?” the queen asked, gesturing at Darius.

  Another thought struck Deo. He turned to Idril. “Did you put that on just to please me?” he asked, gesturing toward the gold and white gauzy gown that fluttered around her hips and thighs in the breeze that rolled in from the water.

  “No,” she answered after a moment of narrowing her eyes at him. “I wore it because it is comfortable in this heat, and it is what my handmaidens packed. Also, it looks good on me.”

  There was no denying that fact. He smoothed his hand down his black tunic, which bore the mark of the Banes of Eris, a field of stars and a moon over a sun. He’d taken care to keep this tunic as clean as possible, since he knew Idril would likely be in the company of his mother by the time he arrived. “You look well.”

  “Thank you,” she said with a little smile, patting one of the two long pale blond braids that hung to her waist. “I had a few trying days, but I believe that all of the snails have been relocated to a more suitable environment.”

  “Deo,” his father said in a familiar long-suffering tone. “Your mother asked what you are doing here. You didn’t come all this way just to gawk at Lady Idril like a boy whose stones have just dropped.”

  “I’m wearing my Bane tunic,” Deo pointed out to Idril, in case she’d missed that fact. She liked him in black, or so she’d told him on their journey out from Eris. She had said it made him look darkly dangerous, and very sexy. She’d made it very clear that the only thing she liked better than him in black was him without any clothing.

  “Yes, you are,” she agreed.

  “It’s black,” he said, gesturing toward his chest.

  “You have an amazing grasp of colors,” she said with slightly raised eyebrow. “I’m glad to know you aren’t color blind.”

  “If I struck him on the head with the hilt of my sword, how long do you think he would be senseless?” the queen asked Israel.

  The latter looked thoughtful, and pursed his lips. “Not long enough, I’m afraid. He has an exceptionally hard head. He gets that from you.”

  She narrowed her lips at him, her fingers twitching toward the hilt of the sword that hung at her waist. “As is usual whenever Deo is present, we have strayed from the point. Deo! Heed me!”

  Deo had been on the verge of asking Idril what she thought of his tunic, but a warning note in his mother’s voice drew his attention. He recalled himself to the questions his parents had asked, and waved a hand toward Darius. “I came to bring you the usurper.”

  “I am not a usurper!” Darius squawked, struggling to move forward. Deo held a hand on Darius’s jerkin to keep the man from drawing too near the queen. “I was kidnapped by this monstrous—er—by your majesty’s son. And may I say how thrilled and delighted I am to see you hale and hearty, Queen Dasa? We had heard the direst rumors, very dire rumors indeed, and everyone said that you had died on Eris, so, what was I to do? I have ever been devoted to you, and I knew I must take charge of the Starborn in a manner that you, yourself, would have done had you been in my shoes.”

  Israel shook his head, sliding a quick glance at Deo. “Why would you bring this puling mouthpiece to us?”

  Deo frowned, not liking the anger visible on both his parents’ faces. “I found him on the road on the way to Bellwether and knew you would want to punish him for declaring you dead so he could take your throne.” He gathered his dignity around him. Would the day ever dawn when his actions would please his father? “Now that I have done so, I will return to Aryia and deal with my Banes.”

  Dasa shook her head, muttering to herself under her breath before announcing, “I must return to the negotiations that were so rudely disturbed. I will leave you to deal with our misguided son.”

  “Misguided!” Deo thought briefly of flaring his own nostrils, decided it was a look he didn’t care to have Idril see, and contented himself with a frown at his mother’s back when she stalked into the temple at the end of the pier. “This is the thanks I get for bringing her the usurper?”

  “Thanks?” Israel took a deep breath, obviously trying to regain patience. “Unless you have Lyl stuffed into your saddlebags, there will be no thanks offered to you.”

  “Lyl? Who’s Lyl?” Deo asked, little flicks of anger stirring the chaos inside him. “It is Darius who usurped the queen’s throne.”

  “Not usurped, kept occupied for her return,” the obsequious runt of a man said with an ingratiating smile at Israel.

  “Did you not g
et the message I sent? No, you must have, else you would not have come up here to disturb your mother’s delicate negotiations with her kinfolk. Thus, you must have seen the warning I gave you about watching the actions of Lyl, the arcanist who is stirring up the Starborn, and of the importance of your remaining at Kelos. With you, Hallow, and Allegria just two days ride from Starfall City, he will not cause trouble, knowing the threat you three pose him. And yet, you deposit this ill-begotten mongrel at our feet and expect praise. Perhaps you would like to explain this, Deo?”

  If there was one thing Deo hated, it was being treated as if he was twelve years old, and had been caught doing something forbidden. He was a man grown, the prophesied savior of Alba, and yet here was his father demanding an accounting of his actions just as if he had been a heedless youth.

  Guilt pricked at him again, remembering how weary he’d grown of the chastisements in his father’s message. “I didn’t read all of your missive,” he admitted, holding his father’s gaze. Deo might be many things, but he was no coward, and he owned up to his mistakes. “I was distraught at the knowledge that my Banes had turned and killed Lady Sandor, and I could read no further.”

  He assumed that Israel would continue to rail at him, but to Deo’s surprise, a flash of pain twisted across his father’s face, and he clapped a hand on Deo’s shoulder. “I was overly hasty blaming you in that message. For that, I have my grief at losing a friend to blame. While it was your Banes who struck her down, I know full well that you would not condone such actions. I have never doubted that your intentions are good…sometimes, however, the method you use to achieve them leaves me in doubt of your wisdom.”

  Deo started to relax, assuming that an accord of some sort had been made between his father and him, but that hope died immediately.

  “The fact that you captured the wrong man, leaving a powerful enemy in charge of the Starborn, is another matter altogether,” Israel ground out. “The goddesses alone know what Lyl will get up to once he finds out that you are no longer within striking distance of Starfall.”