by Beam, Brian
“I know.” I shut my eyes again, holding back the anger that threatened to overwhelm me. If I hadn’t been wearing gloves, my fingernails would have cut into my palms with the effort of holding back my rage. “It’s the one who’s deceiving them that bothers me.”
Max was silent for a moment and then leapt onto Oreon’s chest again. Oreon flinched. “Why is the Prime Sovereign here in Amirand? Why is he acting as Gualain’s king?”
“I do not know,” Oreon answered cautiously, trying to avert his eyes from the ball of flame. “He was already here and in control of Gualain, its army, and . . . and those monsters when we arrived.”
“And does anything about that seem strange to you?” Max inquired. Oreon remained silent. “Salmaea?”
The fire lowered another fingerbreadth. The air filled with the scent of Oreon’s singed eyebrows.
Oreon, now panting in fear, couldn’t get his words out fast enough. “The Prime Sovereign assured us that he would bring an end to the civil wars at home while we fought to keep Paigea safe from invasion.” Oreon’s voice was frantic as the fire lowered even further. “I do not understand why he would be here when he is supposed to be ending the wars in Paigea.”
“I see,” Max mused.
Sal’ put a hand to her hip. “Now, who is going to tell me exactly what Paigea is? Who is this Prime Sovereign?”
“Soon,” Max assured her. “Oreon, what does the name Jonasir Spensolin mean to you?”
Oreon turned his head slowly to look at Max, squinting against the flame. “Jonasir Spensolin? Ever since I was a child, there has been a price on that traitor’s head,” he spat. “He killed the Prime Sovereign’s son years ago in an attempt to establish himself as heir to Paigea. His devious plans were discovered, so he fled, crossing into this world. He is the one who started all of this, the one who desires control over his homeland. His plan to bring armies into Paigea is the reason for our presence here.”
So, I once mentioned in this journal that I could count the number of times that I’d seen Max truly surprised on one hand. Well, I was about to have to start using the second. I felt a flutter in my stomach at the idea of Max being considered a fugitive on the run for killing . . . well, me. I didn’t believe a word of it, though. I mean, I was still alive.
Max recovered from his shock quickly and continued. “So, according to the Prime Sovereign, this war is about stopping Jonasir?”
“No, not just that,” Oreon panted. “It is about weakening Amirand in order to eliminate it as a threat.”
“And how does Gualain fit into this?” Max asked.
“The Prime Sovereign found Gualain to be an ally. Gualain’s king offered the Prime Sovereign control over his army and a legion of the dead raised by his wizards. In exchange for his assistance in this war, Gualain will be established as the true seat of power in Amirand, fully backed by the Prime Sovereign.”
I was impressed by just how much a little ball of flame could draw out of a man.
“Is that so?” Max mused gravely. “And what is Raijom Weist’s part in this?”
Oreon shook his head, “I do not recognize that name,” he claimed with a shaky voice.
“Prexwin Imos?”
Oreon swallowed. “Prexwin is the Prime Sovereign’s advisor.”
Silence filled the house. We knew that Prexwin was Raijom’s apprentice, by his own admission. We also knew that Raijom was involved in the war from Menar’s last words. So why was Raijom’s existence not known to Oreon while Prexwin’s was?
Max nodded to Sal’, and the flame extinguished. “Get him up,” Max told me. “And try not to attack him this time.”
It was a battle to follow Max’s request, but I was able to raise the chair without strangling Oreon again. Barely. Besides, he didn’t deserve the brunt of my anger. He’d been deceived. Deceived by my father. I felt like sicking up on the floor.
“We are not done with you,” Max growled at Oreon before leading Sal’ and me to a back corner.
“Max, my father . . .”
“Do not start,” Max snapped. “There is something going on here—something we are not going to glean from this man’s words. Do you not find it odd that this soldier believes Prexwin to be your father’s advisor, yet he knows nothing of Raijom? Do you not find it odd that Paigea is supposedly torn with war, and yet your father is here, not there?” Max closed his eyes with a grimace. “There is something sinister occurring here.”
Every muscle in my body tensed. My vision started turning red, and closing my eyes just made it worse. “Yes, and that something sinister is my father. Maybe Raijom is to blame, but my father is the one who—” I was cut off by a sharp slap across the face, a slap hard enough to send me twisting and reeling backwards.
“I had to use my own energy for that, so please do not make me do it again,” Max grumbled. “I would really hate to literally lose my mind to make a point.”
My rage continued to boil. The very effort of keeping it in check was the only thing preventing me from doing or saying anything to Max.
Sal’ put a hand to my reddened cheek, and the sting eased. I reached up to touch her hand and realized I was actually smiling. Maybe Sal’s labile nature was rubbing off on me.
“All right, lovebirds, listen. Korin, I have already told you that your father is not a wizard. He cannot be controlling these undead. I find it very hard—impossible—to believe that your father would consider me to be starting a war against Paigea. Obviously, I did not kill you, and I did not flee Paigea.” Max twitched his nose. “Well, maybe I fled, but not as a fugitive. Yet this is what Oreon believes. This is what he was taught. There is something we do not yet understand at work here.”
“But Max—”
“If you make me explain once again why you should not yet despair about your father, I may just start tearing out my fur.”
“I would really appreciate an explanation,” Sal’ insisted.
Max rolled his eyes. “As I told you, soon.”
I pulled my hand from Sal’s and ran it through my increasingly shaggy hair. “Max, even if my father is somehow being controlled . . .”
“I know it is deeper than that, Korin. Just put some trust in an old squirrel, okay?”
Having trusted Max nearly my entire life, it would’ve been a shame to stop now. I’d never questioned him in the past. When he was serious, I listened. Somewhere along the line, that habit had been broken.
“Okay, Max,” I answered, and not just to appease him. His words really did ease the tightness in my chest and the weight pounding down on me. Max was nothing if not honest. He had a strong history of keeping the truth hidden, but not of lying.
Even if I still dreaded the worst, Max’s words provided me a sliver of optimism.
“Now what?”Sal’ asked. She lifted a hand towards Oreon but paused with a sharp intake of breath. Her head swiveled back and forth, her brow drawn tightly. “Something’s wrong.”
“What?” I asked, my hand going back to my sword.
“You don’t feel it? Max?”
Max shook his head, but his fur was bristling. “What do you feel, Salmaea?”
“It feels like . . . not quite like eldrhims, but something similar. Something evil.” Her voice trembled. She thrust her hand into her wicker case.
At this point, my sword was out and ready to go. I stepped in front of Sal’, wanting to put myself between her and whatever she was sensing. It was as if the small amount of heat from the hearth had been sucked from the room.
“There!” Sal’ exclaimed, pointing just to the side of Oreon’s chair. There was nothing there. However, Sal’ was able to see and feel magic energy—a rare talent, according to Max. Just because we couldn’t see anything didn’t mean there wasn’t something there.
Sal’s right hand started glowing as she held it out before her. Max tensed on my shoulder, although to cast any magic, he’d be reduced to using me or himself for the energy. I remained in a position Chasus called the “coiled
snake,” ready to attack or defend on a whim.
“I can feel it now,” Max announced. “We should get out of here.”
“Too late,” Sal’ called as a black form slowly twisted into existence before us, drawing from the hearth’s smoke. It was the same apparition from the night Kait’ and Jefren had been killed.
“I knew they would not just leave me to die,” Oreon declared with a confident smile.
“Oh, I would not say that.” The shadowy form spoke in my father’s voice, only its tone was tainted with cruel malice. I could still see the wall through the figure, but it was becoming more opaque as the thin trail of smoke continued to pull towards it from the hearth.
Sal’ released a ball of fire towards the apparition before I could stop her. It passed right through it, not even displacing the smoke. With a rapid wave of her hand, the flame extinguished before it hit the wall.
“What is it?” Sal’ hissed through clenched teeth.
“Who are you?” I screamed, tightening my grip on my sword.
The figure laughed—a laugh just as devoid of sanity as the last time I’d heard it. “Why, I am the one you will soon be calling Master,” it answered as two glowing red dots lit up on what would be its face. “One who has been forgotten, but will soon be remembered.”
Aside from being frustratingly vague, the figure’s response also sliced into my heart. If it really did represent my father, this was my first true interaction with him.
“And you,” the figure continued, “are familiar.” His last word trailed off, sounding like wind through trees. My every muscle froze. His red-dot eyes flared. “Ah, yes. I remember your face.”
My body tightened to the point of pain. I couldn’t blink, couldn’t breathe.
“It appears you have survived my eldrhims. Your fortitude is impressive. You would do well to serve me.” His recognition of me being based on the night of the eldrhim attack was a relief; I’m not sure how I would’ve reacted if it had instead been because I was his son.
“Never,” I growled, responding purely on instinct. He’d just admitted an association with eldrhims. Even if he was my father, I’d never serve him.
Max was decidedly quiet. His claws were dug deeply into my cloak.
The apparition sighed, a plume of smoke roiling from where his mouth would be. “Such a shame. Perhaps you will live to once again receive such an offer.” Another cruel laugh echoed through the room. “Perhaps. As for now, I am glad to have an audience to witness my power—the power your army must bow to or die. You see, this soldier’s life is mine to do with as I wish.” The figure lifted a smoky arm towards Oreon. “Behold.”
Oreon’s eyes widened and darted back and forth, his breathing rapid and labored through his open mouth. “What are you going to do?” He struggled against the ropes binding his hands and feet, sending the chair teetering. “I have done everything asked of me!” The panic in Oreon’s voice made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
The figure let out a sound that may have been a laugh, but it sounded more like a hissing cat—and trust me, I’d heard plenty feline hisses before Max’s rodential transition. “Yes, and now,” the shadowy figure rasped, “you are asked to be an example of what all of Amirand faces.”
With a grating choke, Oreon’s eyes widened even further, to the point of bulging. Strangled gagging bubbled up from his throat. His face went completely white, and his chair wobbled noisily on the floor as he continued his struggle.
With a violent tremor, blood began gushing from Oreon’s mouth. He continued to shake as his blood spouted down his front like a fountain, spilling onto the floor and forming a puddle beneath the chair. The tottering chair legs splattered sickeningly in the thick red fluid. The skin of his face and hands blackened. His eyes flared with a bright red tint.
And then Oreon was still. His death had only lasted a matter of moments, but it had felt like a lifetime. The two red orbs on the apparition’s face seemed to convey amusement as we watched, helpless to do anything.
“I truly hope you enjoyed my demonstration,” the apparition spoke with cruel satisfaction. “Understand that I cannot be defeated. Your armies, your wizards, and your dragons are all incapable of withstanding my power. There is no one to protect you. Not this time.”
With that, the smoke comprising the figure dissipated, leaving nothing but us and the dead Paigean soldier.
Chapter 47
Anger, Acceptance, and a Squirrel’s Empty Stomach
Without even being conscious of my actions, I lobbed my sword across the room, shattering some glass ornaments on a bookshelf. My vision went red, camouflaging the blood pooled on the floor before me. I let out a scream that sent Max jumping from my shoulder—a scream of hopelessness. A scream of futility. A scream of frustration.
I wanted to collapse from the weight of the world, from the weight of the expectation that I could somehow stop the senseless death that surrounded us. Even if the prophecy didn’t explicitly state that I’d put an end to the war, that sense of duty still blanketed me, still constricted my being until I could barely breathe.
Sal’ was suddenly standing before me, fear reflecting in her eyes. Max was on her shoulder, his face drawn in concern. The front door swung open with a loud crack, admitting Julus, the younger wizard, and a cold burst of air. Both wizards seemed ready to incinerate anything that threatened Sal’.
“General, are you okay?” Julus questioned. He took in Oreon with a flicker of revulsion. “What happened here? We heard screaming.” When he saw my trembling body and the anger on my face, he took a step towards me as if I were the threat. I’m not sure his concern wasn’t warranted.
“Leave us,” Sal’ commanded harshly, casting a no-questions glare towards Julus.
Julus paused, making me wonder if he’d take this opportunity to finally accept that Sal’ no longer had authority over him. Instead, he clapped his fist to his chest. “As you command,” he obliged. “We will remain outside the door, however, in case our assistance is required.” He tugged the younger wizard behind him, pulling the door shut as they exited. Sal’ shook her head ruefully and brought her eyes back to my own.
Each breath sent raging anger coursing through my lungs. My hand balled into a fist, and I felt the urge to slam it into Sal’s face simply for being another person who thought I should be able to put an end to the war. The spike of pain that bore into the back of my skull—the area where the voice of reason lay imprisoned—reminded me that my anger was beyond irrational.
I shut my eyes and clenched my jaw until it hurt. I forced myself to control my breathing, struggling to relax my arms before something bad happened against my will.
“Korin, it’s okay. We’re here for you,” Sal’ whispered. “Come back to us, Korin.”
“Listen to Salmaea,” Max commanded softly. “Concentrate on your love for her—on our love for you. Take control of your emotions. You have done it before, and you can do so again.”
When I opened my eyes, the world was back to its normal hues. Sal’, even with her eyes brimming with tears and lined with concern, was beautiful. Max was . . . well, Max was still a squirrel.
Max’s atypical display of emotion helped me realize just how close I was to losing myself to the unnatural anger. I needed to take control again. “I’m okay,” I told them, confident that I could hold the still churning anger at bay now that I’d recognized it. “I’m okay,” I repeated, more for myself this time.
Sal’ slid one hand around the back of my head, studying my eyes. She then gave me a soft kiss as one tear escaped down her delicate cheek. I leaned into the kiss, the feel of her lips helping to numb my internal strife. Max grunted, most likely disgusted that the display of affection occurred while he was still on Sal’s shoulder.
When Sal’ leaned back, she had a tenuous smile on her lips. “What is happening to you?” she asked in a whisper.
“That’s something else I’ll have to catch you up on,” I answered, unsure how
to explain to Sal’ that because of Max drawing magic energy from me, I had a fuse about as long as a fingernail and an anger as controllable as lightning. I tried not to think about whether I could ever completely trust myself not to hurt those I cared about or not. If I’d let my mind go down that path at that moment, I’m not sure I would’ve found my way back. “For now, I’m all right.”
“You have an interesting definition of ‘all right’,” Max chuckled. Though still working to keep my seething anger at bay, I managed to give him an appropriately sarcastic glare.
I stepped forward and crouched to examine Oreon’s corpse. His face was black, and his still open eyes were blood red. He looked like some kind of demonic creature. Blood continued to ooze from his mouth, nose, and ears. I couldn’t help but pity the man; he’d had a family, one who’d never know that he’d died or how he’d been betrayed.
“What did that thing do to him?” I asked.
Max let out a loud exhalation. “My guess is that he increased the pressure of Oreon’s blood flow until every blood-carrying vessel in his body burst. It was a quick but painful death. As to the how . . . I am not sure in the least.”
Max’s words sent a shudder through my body.
“What was that thing, anyway?” Sal’ questioned. “Why did he know who you were, Korin?”
I rose slowly to my feet. “I encountered him once before, when I was on my way to find you,” I answered. “After he appeared, he sent eldrhims and undead after me. He may do the same here. We may have another fight on our hands tonight.”
Max shook his head. “No, they may have another fight on their hands tonight,” Max corrected, gesturing with a tiny arm towards the front door. “You, on the other hand, will sleep. If you wish to continue on to Bherin tomorrow, you need to be rested.” Max paused before adding, “And alive.”
“No, Max, I . . .” I didn’t even have an argument. Max was right: I needed to concentrate on the bigger picture. If I was going to fight, if I was going to die, I wanted it to be in an attempt to end the war.