Mageborn 05 The Final Redemption

by Michael G. Manning

  He rejected the idea of trying to wear the dead man’s gambeson, its smell was prohibitive. Instead he decided to simply wear the chainmail over his finer clothes. They were thick enough that they should provide adequate padding, but he imagined Rose would be displeased with the result later. A simple round shield and plain metal helm completed his arming.

  “Gather your folk and get ready to follow me out. Give me a ten second lead, and by the time your people reach them, they should be in disarray. You should also switch clothes with one of the…,” Dorian began, planning their escape, but Ariadne interrupted.

  “No,” she said.

  The heavyset knight was confused, “What?”

  Ariadne repeated herself, “I said ‘no’. I have no intention of leaving you to face this alone.”

  “That’s foolish,” returned Dorian. “You may be the only remaining heir, for we have no way of knowing how Roland fares.”

  “I agreed with you,” she replied, “but your arrival has changed matters. We have a chance of salvaging something now, more so if you have people to help you.”

  Dorian looked at the motley collection of servants before returning his eyes to hers and lowering his voice, “How much help do you think this lot will be?”

  “They fought their way free from inside the palace with me,” she said defiantly. “They may not look like much, but there is fight in them.”

  “I can’t condone this idea.”

  The princess gave him a cool glare, “Too bad. You will submit yourself to my command, Sir Dorian, and I command you to help me rescue my mother and father. Besides, if you do find one of them, or your own lady mother, you will need assistance. What if they’re wounded? Can you fight and carry someone?”

  “That’s irrelevant,” said Dorian. “My sworn duty is to the King, not you. I will see you to safety before doing anything else.”

  “They might both be dead.”

  “In that case, your brother will be elevated to sovereign,” responded Dorian.

  “Most usurpers take care to eliminate all descendants. There is a strong possibility that I am the only remaining heir,” argued Ariadne. “If that is the case, then I am your sovereign.”

  Dorian groaned. Ariadne was giving him a headache. “You argue that your entire family may be slain, making you the next Queen, and my liege—so that you can order me to help you save them? Surely you see the contradiction in that.” He studied the men and women who had fought to escape with their princess. Some of them were wounded and only three appeared to be actual guardsmen, but all of them held a certain look in their eyes. They had not lost their spirit.

  How did she rally them like this? wondered Dorian. “How many of you are willing to follow our suicidal princess back into the palace to rescue the King?” he asked them.

  A chorus of ‘ayes’ and other affirmative noises answered him as they raised their odd collection of weapons and implements. One of the guardsmen answered clearly, “Where she goes, we go.”

  “What’s your name?” asked the Knight of Stone, focusing on the soldier who had spoken.

  “Alan Wright, Your Lordship.”

  The guard next to him spoke up, “The same is true for me, Your Lordship.” The third guard, who seemed subtly uncomfortable in his armor, nodded as well.

  Dorian bowed before Ariadne. “Very well, Your Highness, if these good folk have decided to throw their lot in with yours I have no choice. I cannot force you to leave, nor can I keep you from following me, therefore I will make the best of it.” Turning to her followers he began issuing commands, “Those of you still able, strip the bodies. If there’s anything you can use, take it. Those of you who are wounded will remain here. Put on the enemy tabards and bar the doors when we leave. You will have the most important job. Hold the gatehouse until we return, it’s probably our only hope for getting out of here alive. Those who are still capable of fighting will stay with the princess and me.”

  Ariadne looked hopeful, “Do you have a plan?”

  “Honestly, I do not,” said Dorian, grimacing. “The fact that you and your crew managed to escape and take the gatehouse tells me that the enemy didn’t expect any armed resistance. Sometimes surprise is a more potent weapon than superior numbers. They must be aware of you by now, but I doubt they expect your group of surly servants to turn around and invade the palace.”

  She raised an eyebrow, “Surly servants?”

  Dorian shrugged, “I kept bad company as a child and poor attempts at humor were a frequent offense.” Marcus and Mort would have laughed at my inept joke, but probably only from pity. His absent friends were never far from his mind.

  “They’ll wish we was a lot less surly before we’re done!” announced one of the scullery boys.

  “Grab those spears,” said Dorian. “They’ll be a lot more effective in untrained hands than what most of you are carrying.”

  Chapter 22

  We stood before the central trunk of the father-tree. Seeing its massive size up close with our normal vision made it seem all the more impressive. Tennick was huge. In terms of size, human kind had not seen anything like it in over two thousand years. And this is what I’m going to bring back to the world? I thought, questioning my motives again. Not that I had any choice in the matter at this point. Lyralliantha’s commands would not be ignored.

  “How do you speak to them?” asked Gareth. He and Moira stood beside me while a ring of Kriteck surrounded us, watchful that we did nothing harmful to the father-tree. “Can it communicate telepathically?”

  “Yes,” I said nodding, “When it’s awake it can. But only the tree can initiate the exchange.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You have to think like a tree, a really old tree. They don’t actually sleep, their minds just move at a vastly slower pace than ours. They operate on an entirely different timescale than we do. When I say awake, I’m actually referring to special moments when the She’Har accelerate their thoughts. During times of emergency or stress they will speed up to more human-like speeds—mentally that is,” I explained.

  “So what do we do?” said Moira.

  “We wait,” I told her.

  The loshti remains within my line despite a hundred generations. Your memories are clear, yet you are not my son.

  The mental voice came with a powerful presence that swept over us. In some ways it was like the aura possessed by the gods, or myself now that I was heavy with power, yet there were subtle differences. As the father-tree’s attention focused on us, I felt a sense of depth and complexity that was absent from my previous experiences. Tennick’s mind swept over us, examining and studying. I had the feeling that he knew more about us within those first few seconds than even we were aware of.

  Your son is dead. I am a poor copy, but still I am left to fulfill his will, I responded.

  State your purposes, the presence demanded.

  You have already seen within me. You know them, I replied.

  I do. State them, so that I may know what ‘you’ know of them, said the last tree of the Illeniels.

  I sighed inwardly, the restoration of the She’Har and the preservation of your children.

  Our children, the mind of the first archmage informed me. Images flashed through my mind, of Matthew and Moira, little Conall, and tiny Irene, before I had been separated from them.

  My first impulse was to deny that they were my children, since both Lyralliantha and Moira had made it clear to me that I was not the original Mordecai, but even as the thought started I realized that in every way that mattered, they were my children as well. Yes, our children, I agreed silently.

  The Kriteck are very agitated. They expected the arrival of my Kianthi. It will be difficult to restrain them.

  That puzzled me. Do they not follow your will?

  In general, yes, but I created many of these with complex intellects, in preparation for the coming trials. Though their lives are short, they are stubborn and willful.

  W
hat trials? I asked.

  You have seen the beginnings. The god-seeds have returned to this world, and Mal’goroth has upset the balance. There will be a reckoning. The struggle that is building will test existence itself.

  ‘God-seeds’ was an unusual word in the She’Har language. It might be more correct to translate it as ‘spirit-servants’, but it had no direct cognate in the human tongue. Tennick was referring to entities that we called the Dark Gods. What will you do? I questioned.

  Ultimately, I am the cause for this disruption. Lyralliantha will help me to atone for my mistakes, but the burden of my sins will fall upon your shoulders. Your people will decide the fate of this world.

  I didn’t like the sound of that, but it was what I had expected. What must I do?

  Lyra was wrong to bind you, just as you were wrong to bind those with you. The two beside you will be pivotal in the coming storm. Rely on their strength, trust them. Slavery will lead only to destruction. The Kriteck will accompany you. Lyra must be returned.

  I felt a shift in the earth as if something had moved. Shifting my attention, my magesight revealed that four massive growths surrounding the father-tree had broken away. The newborn Kriteck unfolded, stretching massive wing-like appendages as they began to move. Their bark-like skin was covered with small vines, but as they moved I could see that they were shaped like a grotesque parody of Gareth’s dragon form, except they were each easily twice his size. Their heads were much smaller in comparison to their bodies, and there was no visible mouth, just a multitude of eyes.

  They lowered their bodies to the earth, and the forest around us came alive with movement. The Kriteck were climbing onto their massive flying brethren. I was amazed at their numbers, as well as their variety. Tennick had created them in many forms, small and large.

  Bring my Kianthi to me, he commanded.

  And then? I asked.

  Then we go to war.

  Chapter 23

  “Keep that shield up, Your Highness,” admonished Dorian. He had made Ariadne take one of the wooden round shields from the gatehouse. She couldn’t wear any of the armor but he hoped it would offer her some protection.

  She grunted, “It gets heavy, keeping it up all the time.”

  “Then put your dagger away and use both hands,” replied Dorian. “I’m more worried about you catching a stray arrow than whether you can stab someone.” They were inside the front entry hall now. The resistance so far had been minimal. Four guards had been stationed inside the doors but Dorian had killed them before Evan and Alan had even crossed the threshold behind him.

  “Where are we going?” asked Gerold. It was the first time he had spoken since they met Dorian at the gatehouse and there was a nervous warble in his voice.

  “The royal living suite,” announced Ariadne. “Mother and Lady Thornbear were there when they sent me that message.”

  “Begging your pardon, Highness, but shouldn’t we find the King first?” queried Alan.

  The princess’ face blanched for a moment, “I think we’ll have a higher chance of success reaching my mother.”

  Dorian put a hand on Alan’s shoulder and leaned close to his ear, “The King is most probably dead. They would have made sure of him first. The Queen might be alive.”

  Alan winced, “Forgive my presumptuousness, Your Highness.”

  Ariadne straightened her back and lifted her chin, “Never fear to speak to me openly, Alan, regardless of our current or future stations. Any that follow me today, fighting for my sake and for the sake of Lothion shall be held high in my regard.” She raised her voice, making certain that those around her could hear, “I will never forget the bravery and loyalty of those who fight beside me today. You have inspired me with your courage and honor, whether you be man or maid. I will forever hold those with me now as dear to my heart as my own family.”

  The crowd around them gave a subdued cheer, raising spears, swords, cleavers, and one odd rolling pin over their heads. More than one eye was moist at hearing her sentiment.

  “Let’s get moving then,” said Dorian, heading to the left into a side hall that would take them to the nearest staircase. The royal suite was two floors above them.

  The first major resistance met them outside the stairs. A score of soldiers had been posted there to control access to the upper levels. Dorian could only assume that a similar number had been stationed at the other three sets of stairs in other parts of the palace. It didn’t matter anyway, they had been spotted, and their only course at that point, was forward.

  “Follow me, lads! For the Princess!” shouted Dorian to those behind him, and then he started forward. He walked at first, using long strides and a quick step. It gave those following a chance to find their courage as they followed his lead. He quickened his steps and was soon moving at a jog as their charge developed a steady, lethal momentum. At the end he leapt forward, dashing into the enemy to break their formation before his disorderly allies reached them.

  He was met with spears and pole arms, but he swept them aside almost negligently, moving like a dancer despite the heavy chain he wore. The men facing him might have been standing still in comparison with his speed as he slipped through their weapons and began to bring his terrible sword to bear. The first two men were dead before he had passed between them, and then he moved sideways, slicing and killing those that held the spears, for they were the greatest threat to his friends.

  Blood and confusion followed, and cries of pain echoed in the hall as men lost life and limb, mostly at Dorian Thornbear’s hand. His speed and power, combined with a lifetime of practice and training, made the fight more of a slaughter than a contest, and the chaotic crew of weapon bearing palace servants that followed him made it a gory massacre as they fell upon the wounded he left behind him.

  The fight was over almost as soon as it had begun, and Ariadne was grateful that their losses were few. One of the scullery boys had been stabbed through the thigh and another was dead. None of the enemy had survived.

  “Not bad,” said Dorian, looking at Evan. “Remember to keep the shield up, you keep letting it drop like that, and someone’s going to take advantage.” Turning to Alan he continued, “Your form was excellent, but you need to keep the elbow of your sword arm tucked in closer to your body. You’ll have more power in your swing that way.” He glanced at Gerold last, shaking his head a bit. Ariadne hadn’t mentioned that he was actually a messenger, rather than a guardsman. “You need a lot of practice. For now though, just try to keep the shield in front of you. It does you no good at all if you keep it behind you while you lead with the sword.”

  Alan and Evan ducked their heads as Gerold answered, “Thank you, Your Lordship.”

  They made their way up two flights of stairs before emerging on the third floor. Several more of the palace servants were there, and they quickly joined the princess’ band of defiant heroes. Traveling through the halls, they maintained the initiative, finding and killing several more pairs of enemy soldiers. The rebels died before they understood quite what was happening. Even Dorian couldn’t help but feel a sense of hope at the ease with which they made their way to the royal suite.

  His hopes were dashed when they found the Queen.

  Four men were stationed within the room where her body lay. Dorian and Ariadne’s band of liberators showed them no mercy. Evan and Alan killed the two closest to the door, while Dorian charged the ones stooping to rifle the Queen’s still form. His mother lay beside her.

  The looters were dead before they could stand.

  Kicking the corpses out of the way he knelt beside Genevieve Lancaster. Before his hand could reach the Queen, his mother’s eyes told him that her friend was dead.

  “Mother!” cried Ariadne, shaking Genevieve, hoping beyond hope that her mother might be merely unconscious. “Mother, please wake up—please!”

  Dorian turned away and tried to help Elise ease her way up from the floor.

  Elise gasped at the pain, “Careful Dorian,
I think my shoulder is dislocated, and my ribs are definitely cracked.” Her words came in short bursts, for she could only take small, quick breaths.

  Ariadne had gone silent, her face buried in her mother’s chest. A laundress and one of the cooks assisted Elise while Dorian went back to the princess.

  “I’m sorry,” he told her gently.

  Her head came up suddenly, a cold look in her eyes. “Don’t be. This was not your fault.” She stood, brushing away his attempt to assist her. “Lady Thornbear, what of my father, do you know whether he is alive?” she asked in a firm tone.

  Elise shook her head negatively, “They told us he was dead.”

  “Ariadne…,” began Dorian.

  The princess raised her hand to forestall Dorian’s words of concern, “Not now, Dorian. My grieving can wait for now.”

  “He also claimed there was a fire in Lancaster,” continued Elise, “but I think he lied. He also said that you had been captured, Your Highness.”

  Ariadne’s eyes wavered for a second—bright with moisture, but then they steadied, gazing into the distance. “I see,” she said tonelessly.

  “We need to leave, Princess,” Dorian told her. “It isn’t safe for us to remain here.”

  “We need to find Tremont and the other noblemen who gathered here today. They had a meeting with my father. The traitors will be among them,” she answered, ignoring his statement.

  He frowned, “What are you thinking of doing?”

  “Justice must be served,” she declared solemnly.

  “This is no court, Ariadne, this is war. High justice is in the hands of the King’s judges. What you are thinking of is plain vengeance,” he warned her. By ‘high’ justice Dorian was referring to the power of execution.

  Ariadne Lancaster’s eyes focused on him then, “Except for treason, Sir Dorian. The King retains the right of high justice in matters of treason.”

  “But you are not…”

  “My family is slain,” she interrupted. “To the best of our knowledge, I am the last scion of Lancaster. I am your monarch, Sir Dorian,” her words were cased in steel. “We will proceed to the meeting chamber where my father met with his council today. We may yet find them there.” As she spoke, her face grew smooth, losing its natural expressiveness, even as her posture took on a sterner form. Her pronouncement had wrought a change in her, as though her subconscious came to accept the fact as she spoke.