The fire snuffed out. Sir Kalenek collapsed, slathered in oozing black mud and blood. Charlon fell to her knees at the man’s side. Mud became feather became wing became bird. Three birds, and pieces of a fourth that hadn’t survived.
“Get away!” Charlon swatted at the gowzals. They fluttered their wings but walked off, in no hurry to go. She reached for Sir Kalenek but stopped herself, hands hovering over the man’s torso. “Rurek! Râphâ zōt chêts. Râphâ zōt serafah.” When nothing happened, she spun around, face streaked in tears, blindly searching the tent. “Rurek, help me!”
So glorious was this moment—her horror and fear, his power over her need. You have no magic in you, Charlon, he said to her. Take some ahvenrood, so I can help you.
“I cannot!” Her eyes were wild and desperate. “You know that!” She shook her head, turned back to the knighten. “Sir Kalenek? Do you hear me?”
No answer came.
A sob from the back of the tent. Shanek passed through the Veil to stand on Sir Kalenek’s other side. “I’m sorry, Father.”
Amala came closer, staring at Sir Kalenek, her eyes round as eggs. “You did this,” she said to Charlon. “You meant to kill me.”
“You don’t belong here,” Charlon spat. “You ruin everything!”
“You threw the fire,” Amala said. “You’re the one who can’t control your anger . . . who killed Kal!”
“Be silent!” Charlon stood, mumbled foreign words, and a gowzal shot up from the floor and blossomed into green fire on her palm.
Amala ran from the tent.
Charlon gave chase, and Shanek followed, leaving Gozan and Sir Kalenek alone.
Gozan drifted over the man and looked down on his burned, bloodied body, feeding off his agony. His fear. Death lingered nearby, but Gozan hoped he would fight. The longer he held on, the longer Gozan could feed off his pain.
That Charlon had controlled so many gowzals at once awed him. He hadn’t realized she had become so proficient at her new magic. Such power was impressive, though obviously limited. Charlon could transform the creatures into weapons. She could destroy. But she could not heal.
“Faster!” Charlon’s voice outside the tent. Footsteps drawing nearer.
The Chieftess entered with Kateen, Astaa, and Roya. The foursome gathered around Sir Kalenek, peering down upon the dying man.
“Heal him, one of you,” Charlon said. “Do it now!”
“We have no ahvenrood, Chieftess,” Kateen said. “You know this.”
“You have reserves,” Charlon said.
“Not enough,” Roya said.
“One of you must have stashed away some root. Heal him now.”
The maidens merely stared at their Chieftess.
Charlon screamed. “Obey me at once!”
“Forgive me, Chieftess,” Astaa said, “but I haven’t the power.”
“None of us have,” Kateen added.
Only you can save him, Gozan told Charlon. Fetch some root from your stash and do what is right for the father of your child.
Charlon trembled with rage, and Gozan let himself float in the flow.
“Who knows about healing?” Charlon asked the women. “Natural healing?”
Roya shrugged. “We’ve never had need.”
Astaa took Kateen and Roya’s arms and pulled them toward the exit. “But we will look.”
Charlon stayed by Sir Kalenek’s side until the women’s footsteps faded, then she left. Gozan followed her along the path toward the red tent. At the bottom of the hill she slowed to a stop and whirled around.
“I know you’re following me, Rurek.” Her eyes roved the air as if she might spot him by merely trying hard enough. “I won’t reveal the location of the ahvenrood. So you might as well go. Find a new human to bond. If that’s what you want. You saw the magic I’m capable of. I don’t need you.”
Gozan fumed. In all his days, no human had ever dared send him away. He remained silent. Let her believe he wasn’t here after all.
She marched up the hill and into the red tent, where she sat on her bed and picked up a small tunic Shanek had worn as a babe. She fought the sorrow that threatened to overtake her, somehow managed to hold it at bay. Perhaps the hope of her child kept her afloat. Gozan waited for her to retrieve a vial or bottle of ahvenrood from some secret place, to call another shadir—one of Magon’s swarm, perhaps—or to beg forgiveness and ask him to heal Sir Kalenek. But the time went on far too long, and Gozan came to realize she would truly let the knighten die.
So Gozan returned to Sir Kalenek’s tent to revel in the man’s pain as long as he still drew breath, which at this point would not be long.
Kalenek
Kal’s eyes were too swollen to open fully. His body pulsed with heat, and any movement was excruciating. Yeetta warriors carved obsidian blades over his face and demanded military secrets he didn’t know. He slipped in and out of consciousness, tormented and confused. Had he been recaptured? Where were his men? Was Charlon on their side? Is that why she’d attacked? And what about Wilek? Had he really died?
The pain kept him trapped in a place of darkness, death, and agony. Somewhere nearby, almost in the shadows, a pale face watched. A woman with hair of gold and eyes like the sky in summer. Was she a captive, like him? Kal’s heart reached for her. He grasped the air around her face but could not touch her. Perhaps she was the goddess Iamos, coming from beyond the Veil to heal his body so he could stand whole before Athos’s Bench to be judged.
Kal was ready. He’d been ready for a long time.
Yet death did not come.
Voices caught hold of his drifting thoughts. Someone calling his name.
“Can you hear me, Kal? It’s Amala.”
“He can’t hear us,” Shanek said. “He’s dead.”
“His chest is moving,” Amala said. “He’s not dead.”
“He’s not?” So much hope filled those two little words.
“Can you heal him?” Amala asked.
“My magic doesn’t heal. Only breaks. I break everything!” Anguish and tears laced Shanek’s voice and made Kal want to hug the boy.
“We need to help him, Shan. There has to be a way.”
“The empress’s magic can heal,” he said. “She wants to know about the new magic. I could trade.”
No, Shanek, Kal wanted to say, but the words were buried in his mind.
“Your mother won’t like it,” Amala said.
“This was her fault. My father needs me.”
Arms dug beneath Kal’s back and legs, pulled him roughly off the ground and onto someone’s lap. The motion inflicted pain and nausea. Kal gagged and dark images overwhelmed him. A dead woman and child. A longsword beheaded a horse, and the animal fell into a mass of bloodied soldiers. A thin blade carved a line down his cheek.
A sudden jolt pushed Kal through a breeze. He felt weightless and strong. Whole. He opened his eyes to light and color, saw Shanek’s face from below.
The sensation ended just as quickly, thrusting Kal back into darkness and flames that seared his skin and mind. A woman screamed. A man shouted. Footsteps trampled away. Kal’s body began to tremble. He willed it to stop, but his control had finally ended.
“He’s dying,” the woman said. “You are too late.”
“Help him!” Shanek cried. “I’ll teach you Mother’s magic. It’s a fair trade, yeah?”
“You vow it, Shanek DanSâr?” the woman asked. “You vow to teach me?”
“Yes, Empress. I vow to teach you the new magic. Now hurry!”
Not Jazlyn! She could not be trusted. Kal opened his mouth to speak, felt the withered flesh around his lips tear and rip hairs from his beard. A sound came forth like a dying animal.
Then Jazlyn spoke. “Cherem âthâh. tsar serafah. tsar dâm. tsar makobay. Râphâ zōt chêts. Pârar môwth.”
Slivers of ice spread over Kal’s skin and stung like drops of poisonous water from the Red Lakes back in Magonia. He arched his back, and again came the animal cry from deep
in his breast. He thrashed his arms and legs, and they slid over a hard floor coated in icy liquid. Kal shivered and convulsed, gasping in air so cold it coated his throat in frost. His breathing slowed, which caused his lips to dry up as well.
The floor beneath Kal slid away. He circled his arms and kicked, looking for purchase. Flames danced in the blackness around him. A creature materialized, doglike with no fur. Pimply white skin like that of a plucked chicken clung to its skeletal body. It had a flat face with black eyes, nostrils, and lips. It opened its mouth to speak, but all Kal heard was a piercing scream.
Though no words were spoken, Kal could sense the creature’s offer. It wanted to create a bond. It knew his pain—not the burns that had been healed, but the memories that tortured him anew each day. If Kal would bow down and swear to serve the creature, the dark memories that haunted him would vanish forever.
Never had Kal been so tempted to acquiesce. He reached out, but a face appeared between him and the creature. The pale woman with the bright blue eyes. Her name danced on the edge of his memory, yet Kal knew that the woman and the creature were of different worlds. If he gave way to the creature, he would never draw near the woman again.
“Be gone, shadir,” he said. “Away from me.”
And the creature left.
Kal opened his eyes to a yellow ceiling and gasped in a breath that smelled of incense and fresh bread. Several faces peered down. Shanek, Empress Jazlyn, Qoatch, and two women.
Shanek grinned. “You’re okay now, Father. The empress healed you.”
Kal bit back his censure. The boy had done what he felt was best. Saving a life was a step in the right direction, even if he had indebted himself to Jazlyn. “Thank you, Shanek, for your sacrifice.” Kal would not thank the empress. She hadn’t healed him out of the kindness of her heart.
“Why don’t you carry your father back to his tent to rest?” Jazlyn suggested. “Then return here at once. I am eager to learn what you have to show me. And come alone, Your Highness. Our bargain does not need an audience.”
Shanek hung his head. The boy was discouraged. He’d made a promise he shouldn’t have, but he’d done it to save a life.
Kal reached out his hand. “Help me up, Shanek. I’m strong enough to stand now.”
The boy took hold and pulled Kal to his feet. Before Kal could get his balance, they were weightless, passing through the in-between world where Shanek liked to roam.
They arrived in Kal’s tent, standing beside the table where Amala was sitting. The stench of blood was strong, and Kal recoiled at the mess his dying body had made.
“Kal!” Amala jumped up and embraced him.
Kal squeezed her back, touched by affection she had not shown in a long while. He met Shanek’s gaze as the boy watched them. “Teaching the empress Charlon’s new magic will create an enemy who could destroy you,” he said.
“I had to, Father,” Shanek said. “To save you.”
Kal released Amala and hugged the boy. “I’m proud of you, Shan. It’s always good to save a life.”
The boy pulled away. “I’ve got to go back. To the empress.”
“Take me with you,” Kal said. “I cannot help you from here.”
“The empress doesn’t want anyone else to come.”
Kal snorted. “So she can draw you into her web. You agreed to teach her, Shan, but she has no right to tell you how. Remember that.”
“Take me along,” Amala said. “The empress likes me.”
Shanek looked reluctant, worried. “I’ll teach her quickly, then come back.”
“Be careful, Shan,” Kal said. “I have never trusted Empress Jazlyn, and Barthel Rogedoth is even worse. Stay away from him if you can. And trust nothing they say. Nothing. They have no reason to tell you the truth and every reason to convince you that their plans are best.”
Shanek scratched his head and winced. “Do you think I should be king?”
“Of Armania?” Oh, my boy, what a question to ask. “Should the line progress to you, then yes. But a good man should never dethrone another good man without reason. Have you reason, Shanek, to take the throne from King Trevn?”
“Mother says—”
“I know what Charlon says, but what has King Trevn done that you feel is so wrong? What would you do better?”
Shanek frowned. “I don’t know.”
“Well, that’s a start.” Anyone so gullible would make a terrible king, but explaining that wasn’t easy. “The bigger problem, Shanek, is that people will try to manipulate you, and you have not shown me you can stand against that. A king should be able to make up his own mind and keep others from twisting it. Don’t let anyone change you.”
Shanek nodded. “Yes, Father.”
Kal took Shanek’s face in his hands and looked into his eyes. “I love you, boy. Don’t you forget it. Be good.”
Shanek’s demeanor softened and he smiled. “Yes, sir.”
Then he disappeared.
Amala cried out and ran from the tent, sobbing. A rush of sorrow seized Kal’s heart, and tears glazed his vision. A deep breath helped to dispel them. He looked around the empty tent, feeling strange. Like his old, battered self.
Kal could not leave Shanek alone and under the influence of two mantics as devious as the empress and Barthel Rogedoth. He would take a horse and ride there.
It occurred to him anew that his compulsions were gone. Charlon had refused to heal him, which was why Shanek had made a deal with the empress to save his life.
What was the Chieftess up to? She had gone through a lot of trouble to compel him and alter his memory. Why remove all those spells and leave him to die?
He took his time walking to her tent, thinking through what he would say. By the time he stepped into her open doorway, he still hadn’t figured it out.
She glanced up from where she was sitting on her bed, then jumped. “Sir Kalenek, how . . . ?” She rose slowly, looking him over. “How is this possible?”
“Shanek took me to Empress Jazlyn. He had to agree to teach her your new magic, but she healed me.”
“No.” Charlon stepped back, her eyes cold. “He cannot do that.”
“He did it to save me,” Kal said.
She folded her arms. “What he has done cannot be undone.”
For the first time in months, Kal noticed how very fragile Charlon seemed to be. “This is your doing,” he said. “Shanek had no interest in teaching the empress your magic until you tried to kill Amala, then refused to heal me.”
“That’s not true! Rurek said you were planning for Shanek to teach the empress . . .” She frowned and glanced away.
“Rurek lied to you, I suspect,” Kal said. “It’s what shadir do. You’re smart enough not to believe everything he tells you.”
Charlon’s features grew solemn. “I’m through with his lies. Sir Kalenek, you must talk to Shanek. He listens to you. If he’s to rule Armania, he must not spend time with—”
“I never wanted to put that boy on any throne,” Kal said. “You have used your magic against all of us for too long. I’m done with it, Charlon. I’m leaving Magosia.”
“You can’t leave!”
“I’m Shanek’s Shield. I must go where he goes, and he’s in Rurekau now.”
“He’ll come back.”
“I hope so, but they’ll work hard to keep him and his magic on their side. I must be a voice of reason in the chaos around him.”
“What if he comes here looking for you?”
“Tell him where I went and he’ll find me. Unless you plan to compel me again.”
She looked away and sniffled. “I’m done with compulsions.”
“Why?”
She lifted her chin. “They’re too dangerous. With the new magic . . . I don’t need a powerful shadir to wield gowzals.”
Kal stepped toward the door, eager to leave.
“I don’t want you to go,” Charlon said.
“I don’t care what you want.”
She see
med to shrink at those words. “You don’t mean that.”
Oh, but he did. He left the tent.
“Kalenek, wait,” she called after him.
He kept walking.
Footsteps scuffed over the snow, and Charlon appeared at his side, jogging to keep up with his long strides. She reached for him but stopped short of actually touching him. “Don’t go.”
“There’s nothing for me here.”
“Miss Amala is here.”
Kal thought of his youngest ward. “Amala can take care of herself.”
“What about me?” Charlon asked. “I love you.”
“Woman . . .” Kal stopped and turned to face her. “You don’t know what love is.” He continued down the hill, feeling light and free for the first time in over a year.
“I’m pregnant.”
The words shocked his heart. He forced himself to keep walking, but his steps were slower as emotion crawled slowly over him.
She again appeared at his side, striding to keep up. “Did you hear me? I carry your child.”
Her statement brought a rush of memories over Kal that disgusted and shamed him. That he had ever lain with this woman made him ill. His commitment was to Shanek, no one else.
“Wait!” She ran ahead and stopped in his path. “You must stay. Help me raise the child. Like you did with Shanek.”
“I’m finished with your lies, Charlon.” Kal stepped around her and continued to his tent. Inside, he balked at the stench of blood. He upended his bed, pulled out the mat underneath, piled his spare clothing there, then set about gathering other supplies.
Charlon appeared in the doorway, holding the drape aside. “It’s why I stopped taking ahvenrood. To protect the babe. That’s why you suddenly remember. The compulsions ended with my magic. I made Rurek heal me so the babe won’t turn out like . . .”
Kal whirled around. “Like Shanek?”
She wilted. “He’s not normal.”
It suddenly made perfect sense. “You did this on purpose. You wanted a child to replace the one you lost—and the one you’ll lose when Shanek leaves.”
She had the nerve to smile.
“Why me?” Kal roared. “You have an army of men eager to serve you.”
“They’re not like you. You’re wise and brave and good with children.”
A Deliverer Comes Page 5