Deathcaster (Shattered Realms)

by Cinda Williams Chima

  Maybe it was Destin’s imagination, but he could have sworn Vega’s black eyes turned ruby red. Power jolted into his hands from Vega’s, making a claim on him. Jemson had warned him that this might happen, but it was stronger than he’d anticipated. He pushed back, trying to contain the energy that was attempting to enter his body.

  DeVilliers stood frozen, eyes wide with shock.

  “DeVilliers!” Destin gasped. “A little help?”

  She added her flash to his. It took both of them to keep the spirit contained in the intersection of their joined hands.

  “Lord Darian! We call you forth to answer before the Maker on your own merits!” Jemson thundered.

  And all at once, a flaming green vapor appeared in the air. It resembled the fox fire sometimes seen in Tamron Wood. It sent long tendrils out toward the humans in the room, as if looking for a host.

  “Go home, Darian,” Jemson said, in a voice that brooked no argument. “Be at peace. You do not belong among the living.” He tossed the remaining water in the pitcher over the flames and they hissed out, leaving a faint scent of decay and a bone-deep chill behind.

  “Is it gone?” Lila muttered, edging forward, her face a mask of revulsion.

  “It is gone,” Jemson said, swiping sweat-dampened hair from his forehead. “Thank the Maker.”

  “I have to say, I’ve seen more creepy scummer in the past year than in my entire life before that,” Lila said, with a shudder.

  Destin sat down beside Vega’s bed again, while the others withdrew to the margins of the room. The wizard had gone quiet and still, and it seemed that some essential spark had departed, leaving an empty husk behind. His skin purpled, blistered, and flaked away as evidence of his previous injuries surfaced. It was as if the demon inside him had kept them at bay, or hidden them under a glamour.

  Something of the original man remained, because Destin could see the glitter of his eyes between slitted lids.

  “I believe you’re dying, Lord Vega,” Destin said.

  For a moment, it looked as if Vega was going to disagree, but then he coughed and cleared his throat, spitting blood on his wizard stoles. “I believe you’re right,” he said.

  “Some say that confession is good for the soul,” Destin said.

  “Do you expect me to confess to you?”

  “I say that revenge is even better,” Destin said. “Perhaps you would like to give me the dirt on somebody else.”

  Vega laughed, harsh and wheezing. “Is there someone in particular you’d like to indict?”

  “You can choose who you give up,” Destin said. “The only stipulation is that it’s true.”

  Vega snorted and fell silent, as if he meant to take all his secrets to his grave. Destin knew it was a long shot, but he had found over the years that the dying—even villains—are often eager to preserve their legacy by telling their story. And, clearly, Vega didn’t see himself as a villain.

  “How long have you been working with Arden?” Destin prompted.

  “You misunderstand, spymaster,” Vega said. “It’s never been about Arden. Everything I have done has been for the church, and for the salvation of the wicked. Healing applies to more than flesh and blood—I have long dreamed of healing souls. Darian himself gave me the knowledge and the tools to do that when I was just a student.” He paused and, when Destin opened his mouth to speak, snapped, “And yes, your theory was correct. That was in Aediion. He chose me to carry out his holy work here on earth. He chose me.”

  By now, Vega was so disfigured by his injuries that he was scarcely recognizable.

  “Unfortunately, I’ve had to work through sinners to do the will of God. I looked to Arden for assistance, but Gerard Montaigne disappointed me again and again. Even after I risked my life and my reputation to kill the Demon King and restore the—”

  “Hang on,” Destin said. “That happened a thousand years ago.” Scummer, he thought. He’s losing his mind. Please stay coherent long enough to give me something I can use.

  “No, no,” Vega said. “The reborn Demon King. The High Wizard, Alister. I knew that the empire—and the church—would never prevail as long as he was alive.”

  Jemson had been busy cleaning up the debris from the ceremony, but now he looked up. “You were the one who killed Han?”

  “I conceived the plan, prepared the poison, and secured the assassins,” Vega said, rather proudly. “The plan was to kidnap the boy—his son—and kill the father. That would prevent the boy from taking his father’s place as the agent of the Breaker on earth. Instead, he would become the bargaining chip that would force the witch in the north to bend her knee.”

  “Brilliant,” Destin murmured, while thinking, Not a chance. If you hadn’t been so focused on paradise, you would have known the queen would never agree to that.

  By now, every pair of eyes in the room was fixed on Vega. Destin looked from person to person, shaking his head to prevent any of them from interrupting. Let him talk.

  “But the boy escaped,” Vega said. “I was afraid he might have recognized me and would report me to the queen, but he simply disappeared. I knew that if I continued in direct operations, I would be recognized, sooner or later. I knew I needed more reliable help. Darian provided, once again. He taught me how to build a new army of Darian Brothers.”

  “How did Finn get entangled in this?” DeVilliers asked.

  “He was curious about the Church of Malthus, and so I began to instruct him. He was an excellent scholar. He spent more and more time on spiritual matters. Soon, every winter, when Finn was supposed to be at the wizard academy, he was studying the word of Malthus at the Temple Church at Oden’s Ford.

  “The next summer, Finn came into the healing halls, near death. He was like a vessel that needed filling with truth and purpose. I took it upon myself to prepare him for his holy mission.” With that, Vega exploded into a fit of coughing, spattering the bed with droplets of blood.

  “Eventually, I took him to Aediion and the real war began. I was just the facilitator. Finn sul’Mander was the vessel through which the great saint worked to extend the true church throughout the Realms, even into the north. He deserves the praise of every follower of Malthus,” Vega said. “I hope you’ll tell the principia, Father Fosnaught, when you see him. Perhaps they can raise a monument to his sacrifice.”

  I’m sure that will more than make up for what he’s lost, you despicable bastard, Destin thought. “Finn was my contact with the Darian Brothers at Oden’s Ford,” he said. “He called himself Lord Darian.”

  “Which, in fact, he was. He was the one who alerted us to Prince Adrian’s presence there. But he wasn’t involved in the sacrifice, because we worried that the prince would recognize him.”

  Destin rushed on, aware that he was running out of time. “How did Princess Mellony know that Finn was behind the murders of the prince and the queen?”

  “Because Princess Mellony was behind Finn,” Vega said. He shivered and closed his eyes, and it was like every muscle in his body went slack. Destin leaned forward, afraid the priest had expired, but his chest was still rising and falling, each breath a struggle to move air in and out.

  “Mellony . . . was in on this?” Jemson said, unable to remain quiet.

  “Yes,” Vega said, opening his eyes. “Mellony saw no path to winning this war. She, also, was concerned about the spiritual health of the queendom.”

  Lila snorted softly.

  “We conceived a plan to marry Finn to Julianna. They would ascend the throne as king and queen, and establish a kingdom of God here on earth, with Darian at its head.”

  “Except, unfortunately, there was already a queen, and a princess heir,” Lila said.

  By now, Vega seemed oblivious to his audience, so eager he was to tell his story. “There was. We assumed the princess had died in the attack on Chalk Cliffs, or would die in captivity in Carthis. When the prince planned a mission to rescue her, we couldn’t take the chance that it would succeed.” Vega close
d his eyes again, as if it was too much trouble to keep them open.

  “Which is why Finn sank my ship,” DeVilliers said.

  “And how Mellony knew about it,” Lila said.

  “Would the Montaignes hold still for that? An independent kingdom of God on their northern border?” Destin said. He was pretty sure he knew the answer to that.

  “The new kingdom would, of course, be part of the empire. We knew that it would be difficult to win over the population at first, and so Arden offered an army to put down any resistance here in the north.”

  “Perfect,” Destin said, thinking it was perfect for Arden. “How did it go wrong?”

  “King Gerard died, Jarat ascended to the throne, and Mellony began dragging her feet, even after Finn opened the path to the succession. We decided to go forward with the marriage in secret. And you saw what happened.”

  We did, Destin thought. Mellony threw her new son-in-law off a cliff.

  This latest burst of speech seemed to sap Vega’s remaining strength. He lifted his hand, apparently meaning to make the sign of Malthus, but then it flopped down on his chest and Vega was done.

  Destin took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. He scanned the room. The others looked positively pounded with mingled fury and sorrow.

  “The question,” Destin said, “is what happens now?”

  51

  DISPERSION

  Evan convinced the crew of Destiny to maintain their camp at the harbor so that they could repair their ship as quickly as possible. Also because he didn’t really have a choice. Though he was eager to meet Breon—another of his magemarked brethren—he had no way to get to the mountain camp. None of the dragons would agree to carry him anywhere.

  Flamecaster—the dragon Jenna called Cas—still had a serious grudge against him. The other dragons followed his lead. It was harrowing to look up from a book to find multiple pairs of dragon eyes watching his every move.

  This was in contrast to the welcome the healer received. Cas gave him credit for removing the collar that he blamed Evan for. He was brother to the popular Lyssa Gray, whom Slayer had bonded with. And he’d freed the dragon named Goat from the ship’s rigging.

  When Evan asked Jenna for advice on how to win Cas over, she rolled her eyes. “You put a collar around his neck, locked him in a dark hold, and carried him across the ocean. Don’t you think that might have been off-putting?”

  Evan cast about for excuses. “He was wearing the collar when I bought him in the market.”

  “That’s another thing. You don’t ‘buy’ dragons or ‘have’ dragons or ‘tame’ dragons. Dragons are not weapons or airships. They are comrades. You partner with them, you bond with them—or you don’t.”

  “He burned my ship,” Evan said. “Doesn’t that make us even?”

  “‘Even’ is for enemies and rivals. You’re going to have to give him more than that if you want him to trust you.” Relenting, she added, “When you’re trying to communicate with dragons, remember that they think visually. Show them what you mean, don’t tell them, and you’ll do a better job of making your case.”

  Still, the message was clear. You’re on your own.

  “How far away is the camp?” Evan persisted. “Is there a trail? Could I walk up?”

  “Not where it is now,” Jenna said. “We wanted a camp that the empress’s soldiers wouldn’t find unless they grew wings. So we moved it to the other side of the mountain.” She paused. “Don’t worry. Splash is coming with us. We’re planning to bring Breon down here so that Adrian can work on the ship and tend to him, too.”

  “How is he doing?” Evan said. “Is he feeling better?”

  “I think so,” Jenna said. “We’ll see. He still doesn’t have his voice back, though he is making some sounds.”

  So Evan watched enviously as Jenna and the healer mounted Cas and launched from the quay.

  That night, the two dragons returned, with Jenna and the magemarked boy riding double on Cas, and Adrian astride Splash.

  Evan and Sasha rushed to help unload the patient.

  “It’s the busker!” Sasha exclaimed as he slid down the side of the dragon and into her waiting arms. “Thank the Maker.”

  The busker smiled when he saw Sasha and croaked a greeting.

  “You know him?” Evan said, crowding in close.

  “Yes,” Sasha said, carefully setting him on his feet, but keeping a grip on his arm. “His name is Breon d’Tarvos. I captured the scummer-tongued scoundrel after Lyss was ambushed in Fellsmarch. I was his gaoler in Chalk Cliffs.” Leaning down toward him, Sasha whispered, “Now, don’t you dare spew on me like you did the last time.”

  “So,” Adrian said, clearing his throat. “He must have some redeeming qualities?”

  This sent the dragons into fits of laughter.

  Sasha blushed crimson. “He’s not really a murderer,” she said defensively. “It’s just that he was a razorleaf addict. He’s quit it now, though.”

  “Bad news,” Ash said. “He’s been using it again, because he’s going through withdrawal.”

  “Is that true?” Sasha tried to catch Breon’s eye, but he avoided her gaze.

  “Celestine must have given it to him,” Evan said. “She’s the biggest dealer along the coast.” He tried not to stare at the musician—at his red-brown hair with a streak of glittering gold, his long-lashed blue-gray eyes. The musician’s features stirred a deep memory that didn’t quite make it to the surface.

  “What is his gift?” Evan said.

  “He has the gift of charm and empathy through sound,” Sasha said. “The way he describes it is that he hears a person’s song and repeats it back to them, which forms an immediate connection between them that is hard to resist.”

  Looks like it works, Evan thought, looking from Breon to Sasha. He couldn’t wait to get a look at the busker’s magemark.

  The spellsinger was staring at Evan, frowning, as if trying to surface a memory of his own.

  Evan reached out and took Breon’s hand. “Hello, Breon,” he said. “I’m Evan.”

  Breon smiled. “Ev!” he whispered.

  The busker’s voice was returning, hoarse, but improving every day. After supper, when it was too dark to work, he would sometimes play the jafasa, though singing was still too painful.

  People said that scent is at the seat of memory; if it was, music was snuggled in beside it. The busker’s music surfaced images that had been deeply buried until now.

  The story Breon told was skeletal, halting, but, like all the others, his first memories were of survival on the streets.

  Evan, Jenna, and Breon spent every spare moment together. They were like orphaned siblings reconnecting, trying to assemble the puzzle pieces of their memories and experiences into a picture that included all of them.

  They debated endlessly. Were they all related to Celestine? Did she have a magemark, too? Was that why she was hunting them—so she could pry off their magemarks and steal their power? So she could eliminate rivals to the throne?

  If so, why did she need them alive?

  Was it possible that she just wanted to reunite her family?

  “Blood is thicker than water,” Evan said drily. “Ask the bloodsworn.”

  “Did she treat you like a prince?” Jenna asked Breon.

  “Sort of,” Breon said. “She dressed me up in fancy clothes and drowned me in affection.” He paused, then added, “But she got me hooked on leaf again and took away my voice. She was really possessive—smothering, even. And bossy.”

  Reading the expression on the busker’s face, Evan recalled the day he’d met Celestine, when he was crewing aboard his uncle’s ship. The empress had dismissed him, had called him a ratling. Until she found out that he was a weather mage. And then, like the sun breaking through clouds on a stormy day, the weather changed.

  You carry Nazari blood—the heartsblood of the empire. You have a magical heritage that goes back centuries. Strangward wants to keep you to himself, but
you belong at my side.

  “There’s something else,” Breon said. “She wasn’t complete. It was like she had huge pieces missing.”

  Like a heart? Evan thought.

  “What do you mean?” Jenna said.

  “Her song,” Breon said. “There were gaps that needed filling. It was . . . like a cadence with no melody. Or a melody without a rhythm.” He sat back, looking pleased with himself.

  Evan looked around at a circle of confused faces. Still, as if by mutual agreement, they left it alone. Though each person had his own history, his own quirks and desires and dreams, they were bound by blood and trouble.

  Maybe, Evan thought, this is what it’s like to have a family.

  Evan, Adrian, and Sasha worked on Destiny from sunup to sundown, repairing and replacing her masts and spars, splicing her lines, doing whatever it took to make her seaworthy again. As Breon improved, he began to pitch in. Jenna and Cas brought materials from all over the island.

  Days passed, and Evan’s sense of urgency grew. The empress was in the Realms, and so was Destin. So was the young Gray Wolf queen. He needed to get back there, to find a way to salvage what he could. He needed Destiny seaworthy and ready to sail.

  Annoyingly, doubts kept surfacing. Evan was a skilled ship’s master, and his weather magery was most effective at sea. Even as a mage, would his entry into a land war make any difference? Was that the best way to defeat Celestine?

  Two of the young dragons—Goat and Splinter—had taken to hanging around the quay, curious about what the humans were up to. Goat in particular wanted to learn more about the ship that had snared him. Soon, they began to help in a limited way—carrying lines up the masts, lifting the mainmast into place, and ferrying materials and supplies from ship to shore. Communication was a little awkward. The dragons could understand human speech, but only the healer could hear what they said back.

  When the dragons grew tired of ship repair, they flew complex aerobatic maneuvers over the harbor, often joined in their mock battles by Splash. Sometimes Evan and Adrian stopped working to watch.