King of Sword and Sky

by C. L. Wilson

  “I have faith in you, shei’tani.”

  “But what if your faith is wrong?” she persisted. “What if I fail?”

  “You ask that as if you expect me to revile you.” He set the brush aside and moved in front of her to grip her shoulders and look her steadily in the eye. “Listen to me, Ellysetta. I vowed the night of our wedding that I would never turn from you again, and I will not—no matter what miracles you do or do not bring about, no matter what sort of magic you possess, no matter even if you never accept my bond. I am yours, utterly and completely, from now until the end of time.”

  “But—”

  “We are both beings of great power, but we are not gods. You are not to blame for our troubles, nor will you be to blame if you cannot solve them.” His thumbs traced the soft fullness of her lower lip, then brushed the creamy silk of her cheeks. “Just do the best you can, shei’tani. That’s all anyone can ask of themselves.” He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm, then another to the fragile pulse point at her wrist, and gave her a reassuring smile. “Enough of this dire talk. Come with me, and let me show you the wonders of Fey’Bahren.”

  The caverns of Fey’Bahren were wondrous indeed, an entire city of tunnels and chambers hollowed out beneath the volcano. The tunnels, Rain told Ellysetta, extended beyond Fey’Bahren itself to the jagged peaks of the surrounding Feyls, a reminder of the days when the tairen had not teetered on the brink of extinction.

  Rain showed her the crystal-lined caverns at the mountain’s deepest heart, where veins of gemstones and precious metals colored the walls with glittering mosaics, and a stunning, mist-filled chamber where the still-warm waters of the bathing lake merged with the cool silver ribbon of an underground river and plummeted down a sheer cliff face. At the base of the waterfall, another smaller lake formed and spilled over into a stream that disappeared from sight.

  Ellie’s favorite was a chamber Rain called the Cavern of Memory, whose entrance was guarded by a pair of exquisitely carved stone tairen with diamond claws and glittering Tairen’s Eye crystal eyes. Within, every wall was covered with etched reliefs that depicted the countless past ages of tairen and Fey. The scenes, Rain told her, had been carved by artistically inclined Feyreisen over the millennia. Ellie recognized familiar Fey-tales in some of the carvings, famous battles in others, but most were of scenes that the mortal world had long ago forgotten. Ellie could have stayed in that chamber for months, years even, absorbing the amazing visual documentary of ages past without ever losing interest.

  It was only as Rain escorted her out that she saw the series of reliefs retelling the fateful day when all the world had changed. She stopped in her tracks, her fingers trembling as she reached out to touch the image of a man’s face carved with raw, untutored starkness in an expression of eternal anguish.

  “Oh, Rain…” Beside that single, heart-stopping image were others, more crudely made, of a tairen blasting a battlefield of tiny soldiers, of a woman crying out as a robed man brought a blade slicing down towards her neck, of a barren, desolate wasteland empty of all but the broken skeletons of dead trees and a tiny kneeling man lifting his arms in grief to the heavens.

  “I lacked the artistic skills of those who carved the walls before me,” Rain said softly.

  “You carved these yourself, without magic,” Ellie murmured. She could feel the embedded memory of his ancient torment locked within the very stone itself, captured for all time as the images were carved. Rage and pain and grief beyond reckoning. She pulled her hand away. “You channeled your sorrow into the stone.”

  “Did I?” He sounded surprised. “I didn’t realize. I knew only that working here, carving my own story into the stone, was the one thing that gave me some small measure of peace.”

  He had suffered so much…and now, all his suffering, all the sacrifices he had made to save the Fey, were threatened by the nameless power that was slowly eradicating the tairen. For a thousand years, he had lived in torment, fighting for sanity and for release from the mad grief that consumed him, fighting to live because the Fey needed him to survive.

  Rain said he didn’t hold her responsible for saving the tairen, but that did not absolve her. She had sensed something in Fey’Bahren that neither Rain nor any of the tairen had ever felt. Something evil and gloating. It wasn’t the familiar malevolence of the High Mage or the nightmares that had haunted her all her life, but it was just as frightening.

  She touched the carved image of Rain’s face, absorbing the echoes of his torment and his desperate resolve to live when all he wanted was to die. Had she ever been so selfless? So brave?

  No, she’d been frightened all her life, running from her nightmares, her enemies, her magic. She was tired of being afraid. And she was definitely through with running.

  “Would you take me back to the hatching grounds? I don’t know if there is anything I can do to help, but I’d like to start trying.”

  The tairen had all returned from the lake and were perched on the ledges of the large cavern when Ellysetta stepped out onto the nesting sands and approached the still-buried tairen eggs. Steli glided down and flapped her white wings to blow away most of the black sand covering them before leaping back to her ledge.

  The five remaining mottled gray eggs were nearly as big as Ellysetta was tall, reaching up to her shoulders. She laid her hand on the snub, bluntly rounded top of one of them. The outer shell was a tough, leathery, pebbled substance, neither as hard nor as brittle as the eggs of birds. She gave a gentle, experimental squeeze and jumped as the egg twitched in seeming response.

  Yanking back her hand, she turned nervously to Rain. “Can the baby tairen feel when I touch it?”

  He nodded. “The tairen are sentient even in the womb, though until the eggs are actually laid on the sands, their sentience is mostly limited to emotion and sensory impressions rather than actual thoughts, much the same as what we receive from an unborn child of our own species.” A shadow darkened his eyes. “Sybharukai says there are still three fertile females in this clutch. The one taken last night was male.” A muscle ticked in his jaw. “I suppose we should be grateful for that.”

  On her ledge above him, Sybharukai growled softly. Ellie glanced up at the tairen. Fourteen pairs of eyes watched from their ledges, gleaming in the red-orange glow of the nesting lair. Fourteen. All that remained of the once-thriving prides. And if these unhatched female kits died, the pride would end with this generation.

  She laid her hand on the nearest egg and concentrated, cautiously lowering her internal barriers and stretching out her senses as Marissya had taught her to do in their lessons together. Las, Ellysetta. Find the stillness inside you. Don’t try to rule your magic. Let it flow freely. Let it fill you, become you. She closed her eyes and tried to find the tranquil silence in her mind, where the world was glimmering light. Relax. Breathe. All living things are made of Air, Water, Fire, Earth, and Spirit. Do not seek their essence; let their essence come to you.

  Gradually, the sounds and scents of the world faded, and the shimmering darkness sprang to glowing life behind her eyes. Threads of magic—silvery Air, red Fire, green Earth, lavender Spirit, blue Water—all gleamed and shimmered, some threads radiant, others barely more than a subtle glow. The tairen were so bright they nearly blinded her. So much magic, so brilliant and untamed. Their light hummed with music: the beautiful, bold, colorful notes of tairen song, gleaming just beneath the surface, singing even when they were silent.

  Beside them, Rain’s colors were slightly dimmer, as if covered by a thin layer of shadow. She’d noticed that about him once before, that veil of darkness, as if the weight of all the souls he carried dimmed the brightness of his own soul.

  When she turned to the eggs, the shimmering lights winked out. She could see Rain beside her, the tairen around her, but where the kitling in the egg should have been, there was only darkness and silence.

  “What is it?” Rain asked.

  She frowned. “I’m not sure. I think
I’m doing what Marissya showed me, but I can’t sense the kitlings at all. It’s as if there’s nothing but a blank void inside the eggs.”

  «They are afraid.» Sybharukai’s bright voice flared across Ellysetta’s open senses. «They know Cahlah, Merdrahl, and one of their nestmates are gone. They shield themselves just as kits hatched outside the lair did long ago to hide from hunters.» Along with the words flowed the image of a mounded nest covered with sand, baking in the sun rather than in the dark protection of a volcanic cave. A predator pawed and nosed at the sand around the nest.

  Ellysetta’s spine straightened. Of course the kitlings were afraid. They were babies who’d just been attacked and terrified, who’d just felt their parents die. A fresh surge of confidence filled her. Magic might still be mostly a mystery to her, but soothing frightened children was something she’d always been good at.

  She knelt beside the egg and did her best to cradle it as if it were a child. So many times, she’d rocked Lillis and Lorelle, holding their small bodies close to hers and singing to them until whatever sadness or fear they suffered melted away. Remembering those times, she rocked against the egg and stroked the nubby shell as if it were a baby’s soft cheek. Quietly at first, and then with growing assurance, she began to croon the melodies and lullabies she’d sung to her sisters.

  At first the kitlings remained stubbornly silent, their light utterly hidden, but gradually, as she continued to sing, faint colors began to swirl in the dark centers of the eggs.

  Something fluttered at the edge of her consciousness, hesitant, weak, but curious. She turned her attention towards it. Tiny, frightened, so tired. She probed gently, stretching out towards the sensation, and blinked back tears as a thready, shimmering song played weakly in her mind. She huddled closer to the egg, stroking its surface with encouragement.

  «Hello, there, little kit. Can you hear me? My name is Ellysetta, and I’ve come to help you.»

  Celieria City ~ The Royal Palace

  Gethen Nour buttoned the flap of his silk trousers, straightened his jacket, and toed the trembling woman curled on the floor at his feet. “You may get dressed now, pet. I’ll have Brodson send in your maid.”

  Lady Montevero nodded, swiping at the tears making streaks through the remnants of powder and rouge on her face.

  “The maid—Fanette, did you call her? Does she have someone she loves, someone she would feel compelled to protect? A child perhaps? A mother?”

  He saw Jiarine’s bare shoulder tense. She knew why he asked. “A baby,” she whispered.

  “Excellent.” It pleased him that she surrendered the information, even knowing his intentions. Brodson would follow the maid home tonight. By this time tomorrow, young Fanette would bear the first of Gethen’s own six Marks. “And, pet—”

  “Y-yes?”

  “You will come to me tonight in Manza’s rooms by the wharf. You may demonstrate any other intriguing tricks he’s taught you.” Gethen smiled for the second time that morning, enjoying the way her flesh, not nearly so pampered and flawless as it had been when he’d first arrived, shuddered at the prospect.

  And still she answered dutifully, “Yes, Master Nour.” Perhaps Kolis hadn’t been quite the softhearted weakling Nour had always considered him when it came to the training of umagi.

  “I look forward to it. Oh, and one last thing…” He bent down beside her and stroked a thumb across the delicate pulse in her throat. His voice dropped to a gentle whisper. “While we are apart today, I want you to find out everything you can about any recent activity near the Garreval. Do not rouse suspicion, but don’t come to me empty-handed either. I’m not a pleasant man when I’m disappointed.”

  The choked sob escaped before she could bite her lip to hold it back. Fresh tears spurted from her eyes. The mass of tangled dark brown ringlets bobbed as she gave a jerky nod.

  “Excellent. I can see we are going to get along famously.” He rose to his feet and left the room without a backward glance.

  In the adjoining room, the maid Fanette, a plump little partridge with cornflower eyes and brown hair wrapped in a tidy plait, sat still as stone in a chair across from Den Brodson. Her hands were clenched so tight in her lap, her knuckles shone white. “Your mistress needs your assistance, girl.”

  As the maid rose to her feet, Nour reached into his pocket. When she passed by him, he grabbed her arm and blew a small cloud of somulus powder into her face. Her frightened blue eyes went blank. “You came in this morning to discover that Lady Jiarine has had a run-in with a rather…brutal…nobleman. You know what harm he will cause if rumor of his habits gets out. So you will tend your lady and you will keep silent, for her sake as well as your own. Now go.”

  The girl walked with dazed, slow steps into the adjoining bedroom.

  “Come, Brodson.” He waved to the butcher’s son. “The day’s half-gone, and we’ve much to do.”

  Eld ~ Boura Fell

  Elfeya v’En Celay lay upon her sel’dor-laced bed, exhausted and aching and filled with self-loathing after the last several bells she’d spent healing the High Mage of Eld. Hatred was a dark emotion no shei’dalin should ever clutch to her breast, but over the last thousand years, it had become as much her companion as the constant acid burn of the dread Eld metal against her flesh. Gods forgive her, but she did hate. She hated with every ounce of flesh and every drop of blood in her body.

  And if it were not for her shei’tan, Shan, chained in the lower levels of Vadim Maur’s dungeon fortress, she would have done what no shei’dalin ever did.

  She would have killed.

  If not for Shan, she would have twisted her shei’dalin powers and used them to slay the evil Mage who came to her for healing. And she would have wept with joy as the torment of taking a life struck her dead.

  Elfeya flung an arm over her face, covering her eyes as the weak, useless tears trickled from them. There was no sense in weeping. A thousand years of tears—enough to fill an ocean—had not spared her one moment of misery.

  «Shei’tani.» Shan’s voice, so beloved, whispered across the threads of their truemate bond. Soothing, comforting, Shan’s consciousness caressed her own with such vibrant richness, she could almost pretend he was there beside her, holding her, making love to her with the wild, sweet, passionate abandon they’d shared in their all too brief bells together.

  She wiped the tears from her face, then laughed at the uselessness of the small vanity. He could not see her tears, but he already knew she’d shed them. «I am here, beloved.»

  «You are alone?» he asked.

  «Never so long as I have you.» A smile trembled on her lips, then fell away. «He was here,» she told him, «but he is gone now. His health is failing.» The truth should have pleased them both, but she could feel Shan’s deep concern, an echo of her own.

  «He will be more dangerous now than ever. Desperate men always are.»

  «Aiyah. He knows he cannot delay the inevitable much longer.» Time was against Vadim Maur now. He could no longer afford the skillful patience that had been the hallmark of his reign.

  «At least our daughter is with the Fey now. They will protect her.»

  «As much as they can,» she agreed.

  Vadim Maur was too powerful a Mage for Elfeya to rifle through his mind without his notice, but he had come to her many times over the years for healing…and other things. She’d used those occasions to gain what advantage she could, testing his shields, gathering what thoughts he did not consciously guard, and slowly—very, very slowly—burrowing an imperceptible path into the secrets he held locked away in his mind.

  She could not pluck thoughts freely from Maur’s mind, but when he was weary and came to her for healing—as he had begun to do with increasing frequency—that tiny thread of Spirit allowed her to influence him slightly, pushing him to relax in her presence just enough that the occasional useful tidbit of information could rise to the surface of his thoughts, where she could draw it unnoticed into her mind for later revie
w.

  «You discovered what he is planning?» Shan asked. Vadim’s umagi spies in Celieria had been disappearing by the dozens, rendering him blind and weakening the foothold he’d established in northern Celieria. Whoever was behind those deaths, she didn’t know, but the Fey owed the mysterious agent a debt of gratitude. With the loss of his umagi, Maur had no way to open the portals to the Well of Souls that would enable him to deliver an army for a surprise attack.

  He had something up his sleeve, though. Something so important he would not even let himself think about it when he was with her.

  «Nei, his mind was too full of last night’s triumph. He has created a second Tairen Soul. A boy this time, with vel Serranis blood.» She closed her eyes in horror. The poor, doomed child. There was no one to save him as she and Shan had saved Ellysetta.

  «He must be stopped. If he Mage-claims a Tairen Soul…» His voice trailed off. Twenty-five years ago, that same fear had pushed Shan and Elfeya to willingly risk death in an effort to bind their daughter’s magic and smuggle her out of Eld so Maur could not enslave her soul. The devastating power of the tairen under Mage control—it was a horror so dark Elfeya could scarcely think of it without shuddering.

  «Elfeya…beloved…»

  Her body tensed. When her shei’tan said her name like that outside of mating, it never boded well.

  «The girl who was here earlier—the umagi who came to feed me—she asked for my help. She wants me to kill Maur.»

  Her blood ran cold. «Nei.»

  «Elfeya—»

  «Nei! It must be some sort of trap. Some new way to torment us. She is umagi. None of them could even think such a thing without the one who owns their souls knowing it.»

  «Perhaps another Mage is her master then. One who wants Maur dead.»

  «Even if that’s true, there’s no way you could kill him without being slain yourself.»

  She felt his soul sigh. Then he said, in a voice so soft and weary it made her throat close up, «After all these centuries of torment, can death truly be so terrible a fate, kem’san?»