A Deliverer Comes

by Jill Williamson

  “It’s what I was. What I am. For so long. Too long.”

  Brelenah took the water from the guard and gave it to Grandmother. “No longer. You are free now. And safe.”

  Grandmother’s face crumpled, and it looked like she was going to cry again. She sniffled the tears away, though, and took a sip of water. “Well, Grayson? Where are your manners? Are you going to introduce the slave—your grandmother—to the rest of these people?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Grayson did his best to make formal introductions all around, though Sir Cadoc had to supply the names of the guards.

  “We believed you long dead, lady,” the king said. “When Hinckdan Faluk told me he found you in Rogedoth’s prison, I knew we needed to try to free you.”

  “For the slave’s sake?” she asked. “Or so the slave can tell you all Mergest’s secrets?”

  The king blinked. “Um, in all honesty, madam, both.”

  Grandmother’s face wrinkled in a huge grin. “Been a while since the slave met an honest king. Very well, young sir, the slave can tell you much about the man you call Rogedoth.”

  She proceeded to talk about the mantics who worked with her husband. There were surnames like Modim, Jervaid, Rolan, and Borid, which Grayson had never heard of, but he recognized Edekk, Wallington, Koll, Nafni, Yohthehreth, Lau, and Agoros. She talked of which mantics were the strongest, which shadir were the most powerful, and which nobles Rogedoth still spoke to. And while it seemed to Grayson that some of those she mentioned were dead—like Fonu Edekk, Kamran DanSâr, and Canbek Faluk—others were very much alive.

  “He communicates with Tace Edekk still?” the king asked.

  “Oh, yes. Through shadir. The duke’s son is a mantic, you know. As is his servant.”

  “I knew Fonu was a mantic,” the king said. “But which servant do you mean?”

  Grandmother’s eyes bulged. “You expect the slave to remember a servant’s name?”

  The king winced. “I hoped you might.”

  She sighed and glanced at the ceiling. “You know, I think he was called Natad.”

  “Natod?” the king asked.

  “That’s what I said. Oh, and one more thing. Lady Zenobia is his second in command. Always has been.”

  “Thank you,” the king said. “I very much appreciate your help.”

  “Would you tell us your story?” Rosârah Brelenah asked. “How this all came to happen?”

  “The slave—” She paused, shook her head, and started over. “I discovered mantics a few months before I turned fifteen. Sarikar had strict rules about such things, but I fought those rules, pushed against the boundaries, and all my wild living eventually led to my bonding with a shadir. Oh, I tell you, it was fun—at first. I married Mergest on my ageday and quickly pulled him into my world. My power was immense. Shadir came to me constantly, begging me to leave my bonded and choose them. I upgraded steadily, until one day, a great shadir came. Dendron, he was called. His glory and might went straight to my head. When I bonded with Dendron, I not only won him, I won an entire swarm.”

  Grayson couldn’t believe it. He had expected to hear that his grandmother had been an innocent captive of Rogedoth’s, not that she served Dendron.

  “For many years Dendron and I did plenty of damage,” Grandmother said, “until my children were born and softened my heart. I wanted to give them a home with loving parents and the chance to find their own way in the world, apart from magic. Dendron advised against such sentiments, of course. And Mergest saw our girls as assets to get revenge upon his father. He and Dendron developed a plan to marry one of the girls to King Echad. The best way to do this, they decided, was to secretly give our girls to the Nafni family to adopt as their own. This would give them a noble name so they might have opportunity to meet the king. Well, I forbade it. No one would take my girls away. Mergest and I fought about it for months, until one day, he and Dendron conspired against me. They locked me up, and when I cast spells to get free, Dendron ignored them. He preferred Mergest’s ambition to my love, and so they have continued to use me all these years. So many years. Lost. Darlis lost, and now Laviel too.”

  “You knew about Laviel?” Grayson asked.

  She nodded, and a tear rolled down one cheek. “Dendron told me.”

  “He still speaks with you?” King Trevn asked. “Even after Rogedoth stole him away?”

  “Oh, Mergest didn’t steal Dendron,” Grandmother said. “The great has always been mine.”

  “But why didn’t Dendron bond with Master Rogedoth if they liked each other so much?” Grayson asked.

  “Because, dear boy, your grandfather is a malleant. He cannot wield magic at all.”

  Hinck

  Hinck studied Castle Armanguard for the first time as the barge carried Bahlay Nesos and him across the lake. He felt like he might be in a dream. His journey here had been long, and many times he’d thought he might never make it, but now the structure seemed to float impossibly on the water in front of him. How in sands had they built such a thing?

  They disembarked on the other side and were met at the gatehouse by Bahlay’s son, Maleen. Hinck witnessed their joyful reunion but didn’t understand a word as they chattered on in their native tongue. Longing for a few reunions of his own, Hinck left Bahlay with his son and walked through the inner bailey and into the keep. An impressive circular staircase wound up through the center of the fat tower. A maid informed him that the royal court was assembled for the midday meal in the great hall on the second floor. Hinck climbed up a level to a breezeway that circled the stairwell. Doors led off at somewhat evenly spaced intervals. Opposite the landing, a short hallway stretched to a set of double doors.

  Hinck paused outside, wondering how many knew he had been a spy and how many still thought him a traitor for his actions aboard the Seffynaw that day so long ago, when he had appeared to be an accomplice in taking Rosârah Zeroah hostage.

  He finally entered the great hall and took in the scene. Trevn and Mielle sat center front at the high table. How strange to see his closest friend not only married but king of the realm. A year ago, Trevn never would have believed such a thing possible, yet tragically, here they were. Also seated at the high table were rosârahs Brelenah and Zeroah, the sârahs, and Oli Agoros. Hinck made his way up the center aisle. Halfway there, Trevn saw him and stood.

  “All hail Hinckdan Faluk,” Trevn crowed, raising his goblet, “Earl of Dacre, hero of the realm, whom I now name Duke of Armanguard and my Second Arm.”

  A rumble rose among the crowd, and Hinck beamed at Trevn’s high praise. With a shout from a table in the front right of the hall, his father came running toward him, Mother on his heels. Hinck continued on, choked up more than he wanted to admit in front of so large an audience. Father embraced him with such a force, the stitches in his side throbbed.

  “My son, my son, come home at last.” Father took Hinck’s face between his palms and stared into his eyes. “I am so very proud of you, my boy.” Then he shouted to the crowd, “My son is home!” A scattered cheer rose up. It seemed not everyone understood what was happening.

  Mother kissed him over and over, her face streaked in tears. “What that woman did to your face . . .” Her thumbs brushed over his burn scars. “You still look as handsome as any prince. Doesn’t he, Dan?”

  “He looks like a hero come home from his very important task of saving the realm.”

  Trevn appeared and threw his arm around Hinck’s shoulders. “Never again will I send you on such an assignment. A year and a half it’s nearly been since I first asked you to infiltrate Janek’s retinue.”

  “You really were on to something there, telling me to follow Eudora,” Hinck said.

  “Only by lucky accident, my friend,” Trevn said.

  “You kept us in the dark for far too long,” Mother said. “You have no idea how much I worried that you had gone off your head.”

  “She made offerings to Cetheria every day those first few months you spent with Jan
ek,” Father said.

  Mother took his hand. “I was terrified Rosârah Laviel would take you from me.”

  “Don’t mention that woman’s name after what he’s been through,” Father said.

  “I am well, Father,” Hinck said. “Arman was with me.”

  “Well said, my son.” Father beamed with such admiration, Hinck began to choke up again.

  “Come sit with me at the high table,” Trevn said. “I want to hear the story again, this time from your mouth, not your mind. Duke Highcliff, Duchess, you’re welcome to join us.”

  Father waved him off. “Enjoy yourself, my son. We will talk with you later.”

  Mother embraced him again, then Hinck followed Trevn up to the high table, where a chair had been wedged in between Trevn’s throne and where Duke Canden sat.

  Hinck removed his cloak and handed it to a servant, then sat down. He nodded to Duke Canden. “How fare you, Your Grace?”

  “Well enough, Your Grace,” Oli said as his gaze flickered over Hinck’s scars. “Glad to see you here and whole, if not a bit worn. You’ve done well. How do you feel?”

  “Thankful to be alive.”

  “I well imagine that,” Oli said.

  Trevn sat down and leaned back in his throne, beaming at Hinck.

  Miss Mielle—Rosârah Mielle, now—leaned over her husband’s lap. “Welcome home, Duke Armanguard,” she said. “I’m so pleased to see your marvelous smile.”

  This made Hinck grin even wider, which he knew likely showed every tooth in his mouth. “Thank you, lady,” he said. “It seems we both had a treacherous adventure.”

  “I not so much as you,” Mielle said, her eyes flicking toward the scars on his face. “I always had an army around me, making sure I was safe.”

  Hinck met the golden eyes of Zeroah as she peered past Mielle and felt heat rise in his cheeks. He had voiced her a formal apology not so long ago for his part in the mutiny, but it still felt strange to see her. He nodded and said, “Hello, Rosârah.”

  “I too am glad to see you well, lord,” she said. “Though I am grieved to hear that you were injured more than once.”

  “My side is a little sore,” Hinck admitted, “but it is healing nicely.”

  “Unlike your face,” Trevn said, punching his arm. “She certainly left her mark on you, didn’t she?”

  “Why, yes, Your Royal Rudeness, she did,” Hinck said.

  Trevn chuckled. “It’s good to have you back, my friend.”

  “Waste no worry over those scars,” Zeroah said. “They make you look brave.”

  “Oh, I agree,” Mielle said. “No one will dare cross you now, and you’re still quite handsome.”

  “Hear that, Hinck?” Trevn said. “All the ladies will be pining over you now.”

  Hinck flushed, wishing they would speak of something besides his scars. “Yes, well, I’ll believe that when it happens.”

  “Recount for us all that you’ve been doing since arriving in Er’Rets, Your Grace,” Oli said.

  So Hinck told them about his life as a member of Barthel Rogedoth’s trusted few. His affinity for acting made it easy to regale those at the high table with tales of the danger he had experienced as part of his mission. Princess Hrettah asked several questions, surprising Hinck by how much she’d grown. Strange how time had passed by in his absence. It seemed only yesterday that Shessy Wallington had been chasing after Trevn at the behest of Sâr Janek. Oddly enough, that very woman was sitting at a table on the floor with the other Wallingtons. Somehow Trevn and Hinck’s youth had gone. Now they were both of them men. And Trevn married. And somewhat bearded.

  “You must come to court,” Mielle told him. “Now that things seem quiet, Trevn has permitted me to host it in the great hall. It’s less than two weeks away, and I still have much to do.”

  “Oh, he’ll come,” Trevn said with a glance at Hinck. “Arman knows I will not survive without some friends present.”

  Mielle swatted Trevn’s arm. “What did you say to him? I felt your sarcasm! Trevn Hadar, you’ll be sorry you tease me so.”

  “I still think it’s a waste of time,” Trevn said. “Unfortunate though it sounds, the Battle of Armanguard helped my reputation with most of the nobles. I’ve never had so few complaints.”

  “Yes, only two dozen a day now, rather than ten dozen,” Oli said, smirking.

  “Is it really so bad?” Hinck asked.

  “Oh, it’s dreadful,” Mielle said. “The nobles hate the Youngling King.”

  “I prefer King Lackbeard myself,” Trevn said, scratching his scruffy cheek.

  As the group laughed, Hinck regarded his friend, who sat on the throne like it was any other chair. He looked weary. His eyes had a distant coldness, and he carried with him a sorrowful demeanor that Hinck had never before seen him wear. The battle, the throne, the loss of Wilek—or all three together—had brought on an incredible weight.

  “The rosâr did not exaggerate about the success of the Battle of Armanguard,” Oli said. “He won the loyalty of the army with how he dealt with the attack.”

  “Only with Duke Canden’s help,” Trevn said, then voiced, “I truly had no idea what to do. If Arman had not blessed me with loyal men, I would be dead.”

  Hinck gave Trevn a subtle nod of understanding, then turned his head back toward the Duke of Canden. “I’m sorry about your family,” he said to Oli.

  “They certainly made a mess of my good name, didn’t they?”

  The man had killed his own father, his mother had been executed a traitor, and he made jokes. “What became of Lady Eudora?” Hinck asked.

  “In the dungeon,” Oli said.

  “I’m inclined to pardon her,” Trevn said, “but she has so many compulsions upon her, I don’t dare.”

  This brought a shiver over Hinck. “No offense to you, Duke Canden, but I don’t trust her. What if she voices Rogedoth?”

  “She cannot,” Trevn said. “Unbeknownst to Lady Eudora, she’s being fed a steady diet of the âleh plant, which keeps her from voicing or hearing anyone.”

  “Might I have some of that?” Hinck asked. “It would be handy should I find myself in need of some undisturbed rest.”

  “I have not voiced you since yesterday!” Trevn said.

  “I know it. And I grew rather fond of the silence.” Hinck winked at Mielle, who giggled.

  “You’re still blinking,” Trevn said, shaking his head. “Pathetic. Here returns a lauded hero who cannot even wink.”

  Hinck’s face burned as everyone had a good laugh at his expense. He decided another change of subject was in order. “Any idea of Rogedoth’s plans?” he asked, wondering what the man might be forcing Nellie to do.

  “He’s allied with some of the giants,” Trevn said, “and they’ve been harassing Sarikarians. Princess Saria has asked for aid, but I have no one to send her at present.”

  Concern for Saria rose within Hinck. “Does she need soldiers?”

  “She needs everything,” Trevn said. “Her father wrote her in as his Heir, and she has General Norcott on her side, but the council will not accept a female regent. Plus, there’s a lot of conflict with her aunt and others scheming behind her back. I really don’t know how to help her beyond sending food.”

  “The Sarikarians are a critical lot,” Zeroah said. “It’s partially why I chose to stay here. You are all my family more than they ever were. I pity Saria, though. It must be difficult to go this alone.”

  “I could go to her,” Hinck said, hating that his childhood friend might be in trouble.

  “Absolutely not,” Trevn said. “You’ve only just returned.”

  “I don’t have to be gone for long,” Hinck said.

  “I will not hear another word about it,” Trevn said. “You and I both know Saria is tough as leather. She will find her way. Besides, I need you here. If it’s work you want, I have several tasks for you.” Trevn popped a piece of roast chicken into his mouth and continued the conversation in their minds. “I want y
ou to continue eavesdropping. I have reason to believe that some of my nobles are colluding against me.”

  “Anything but that,” Hinck voiced. “I’m weary of shadowing thoughts. It’s tediously boring and forever ruins my opinion of the people I monitor, even the good people. The things that go through a person’s head . . . I tell you, it’s very off-putting.”

  “Then who will help me if you will not?”

  “Kempe has eavesdropped for you before, hasn’t she?”

  “Yes, but she is not as perceptive as you are.”

  A serving woman ducked between them. She set a platter of food before Hinck and filled his goblet with wine. He glanced back to thank her and caught sight of Lady Pia, standing against the curtained wall with Sir Cadoc and a man Hinck thought was a sailor. His stomach sank as he took in the deep scars that slashed across her cheeks and forehead.

  “Why is Lady Pia with the guards, and what happened to her face?” Hinck asked Trevn.

  “I made her a guard. She’s quite efficient.”

  A guard? Pia? “And her face?”

  “Kamran DanSâr found out she was Wilek’s spy and tortured her. I never told you this?”

  “No,” Hinck said, horrified that he hadn’t known. “You did not.”

  “Well, there was a lot going on at the time with Kamran having poisoned Zeroah and Chadek. And I was in the north. It must have slipped my mind.”

  Hinck pushed back his chair and stood.

  “What are you doing?” Trevn asked. “You haven’t taken a bite.”

  “I must speak with Lady Pia.” Hinck walked toward her.

  Cadoc met his gaze. “Attention!” he said.

  Pia and the sailor turned their backs to the wall, facing forward like soldiers.

  “Lady Pia,” Hinck said.

  Her gaze traced the scars on his face. He fought the urge to stare at hers, knowing how it felt to have such blemishes be the focal point of every glance.

  “Might we talk after dinner?” he asked.

  “I am High Shield to the queen now, lord,” she said. “I will be busy after dinner.”