A Deliverer Comes

by Jill Williamson

  Kal grunted. “Can one tally lives and deaths with mere strokes of charcoal?”

  “One could,” Trevn said, “but I think it wiser to live life knowing that you are not a god. You are one fallible man. You do your best. And whether you live or die is up to Arman. Since you are here, he still has purpose for your life. So do your duty by the God. Forgive yourself, and live well.”

  Kal didn’t know if he could ever forgive himself for all he’d done.

  “My wife is eager to see you,” Trevn said. “Hawley will show you to your room where you can bathe and change into fresh clothing. When you’re done, send for him and he’ll bring you to Mielle. Dismissed.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Kal stood, then took Onika’s hand and squeezed. “Good midday, Miss Onika. I hope it will not be long before we see each other again.”

  “We have never seen each other, Sir Kalenek, at least not at the same moment. Though I’m sure it won’t be long until we meet again,” she said. “And if it is,” she added with her voicing magic, “then we will talk like this.”

  For the sound of that voice, Kal would always be listening.

  Trevn

  Trevn had Grayson carry Sosovik and the Puru people to Conaw’s village. Once they were settled, Grayson carried Ulagan the Uul-Yeke giant to Trevn’s office to discuss the Jiir-Yeke, who, according to Princess Saria, had recently attacked two villages on the outskirts of New Sarikar.

  “This is the first trouble any of the Kinsman villages have had from the Jiir-Yeke,” Trevn said. “Any idea why they are attacking now?”

  “Masaoo dishonored the Jiir when he stole their sacrifices,” Ulagan said. “He endangered the chance for Jiir ancestors to become immortal.”

  Such a strange practice. Trevn didn’t understand it. “But New Sarikar had nothing to do with that.” Mielle and Grayson were to blame.

  “Most Yeke think dirtmen are of the same tribe,” Ulagan said.

  Well, that was fairly insulting. “We have discovered another way to fight any who attack us, but it will take time to train our people.” Miss Onika had promised to teach her new offensive magic to those with the mind-speak ability. Trevn hoped it worked on giants.

  “The Uul-Yeke tire of the evil the Jiir and Ahj wreak on the Puru,” Ulagan said. “We will stand with you against the Ahj and Jiir if war comes.”

  “Thank you, Ulagan,” Trevn said.

  After Grayson carried Ulagan away, Hawley brought in Trevn’s next appointment: Captain Veralla’s sons, Sir Keshton and Zanre.

  “Thank you for coming, gentlemen,” Trevn said. “I’d like you to look at this map.” He motioned to his desk, where he’d anchored his map of South Er’Rets with weights. Veralla’s sons stepped closer, while Cadoc and Nietz observed from the door.

  “See this line?” Trevn traced his finger along it. “It’s a river that branches off the Great River and runs all the way to the coast near Er’Rets Point. It’s not large. Perhaps fifteen paces at its widest, but it makes a nice natural boundary. I want to build some border houses along this river. We have the watchtower at Er’Rets Point, and New Sarikar sits on the eastern arm of the Great River in the north. Three border houses in between would be ideal.”

  He tapped his finger over the map to show the locations he had in mind. “I’ve asked New Sarikar to build a border house in the ridgelands east of the river, just south of the fork. Armania will build the other two, and I’d like you to take charge of one. A basic fort surrounded by a palisade. Big enough to store supplies for our army. Should Rogedoth march upon us, these posts could stop his army from reaching the farms and the city, which will save a lot of lives. I know it’s asking a lot to uproot you from your families in the middle of winter, but will you oversee the building of the central border house?”

  “Yes, sir,” Sir Keshton said, and his brother nodded his agreement.

  The door opened and Hawley peeked inside. “Barek Hadar to see you, sir.”

  Trevn masked his annoyance. “Is Duke Canden out there?”

  “Not yet,” Hawley said.

  “Tell Barek I have meetings scheduled all day. He may have five minutes.”

  Hawley nodded and shut the door.

  “Who have you asked to build the southern border house?” Sir Keshton asked.

  “I’m still deciding,” Trevn said. “I welcome any recommendations.”

  “Sir Ransen would be a good choice,” Sir Keshton said of Lord Idez’s eldest son.

  “He’s on my list.” But the man didn’t have his own army as Sir Keshton did. The only officers with personal armies were, unfortunately, from noble families Trevn didn’t trust.

  He worked out the details of the border house with the brothers, and when they left, Barek Hadar entered. The man took a seat before Trevn’s desk and waited for Hawley to leave. Trevn could feel Barek’s agitation. Once the door was closed and they were alone but for Cadoc and Nietz, Barek got right to his point.

  “You’re making a grave mistake with Sir Jarmyn Koll.”

  “Am I? Sir Jarmyn not only deserted his post, he directly defied General Ensley’s order to attack the enemy commander. That’s two orders disobeyed. The pole is the minimum penalty.”

  “You must release him at once. Sir Jarmyn claims he misheard the order, and his father’s men are very loyal to him. They might all rise up against us.”

  “Let them,” Trevn said. “Then I’ll have reason to arrest Gunrik and his men too.”

  “Tace Edekk also supports him.”

  “Because Tace’s daughter is Sir Jarmyn’s wife,” Trevn said. “Sir Jarmyn’s charges are based on his actions. I cannot help what he did.”

  “But he claims to have misheard the order. Would we accuse him of lying, then flog him?”

  “Whether or not he heard the order, he didn’t turn back when I voiced him. Armanians died because of his choice. My sentence stands. He will face the pole tomorrow.”

  “This humiliation will only further divide the nobility against the throne.”

  Mention of the nobility further annoyed Trevn. “The nobility has no bearing on my decision.”

  “It should!” Barek yelled, and Trevn felt his anger flare. “Do you recall history, Your Highness? Under the reign of your ancestor King Nathek, who openly defied his peers, three noble families infiltrated the castle and deposed him. They mercilessly tortured and executed the king’s closest friends and molested his wife.”

  “Yet the king overpowered them and had them all hanged. I know the story.”

  “So you know what you risk,” Barek said.

  “The throne is not a tool of the peerage,” Trevn said.

  “They’ll rise up against you. I’ve seen this kind of division before in Sarikar.”

  “Let’s leave the prophecies to Miss Onika and Father Wolbair, shall we?” Trevn said.

  Barek banged his fist on the desk, and Cadoc and Nietz swept up to stand on either side of him. Barek’s expression grew sheepish. “My pardons,” he said.

  “Your Grace,” Trevn said, struggling to keep his own temper, “You serve on the council because I value your opinions, but do not forget which of us is king.”

  Barek stood and bowed. “Thank you for hearing me, Your Highness.” And he stormed out, angrier, it seemed, than when he’d entered.

  “Good day,” Trevn said to the man’s retreating back. He felt Mielle’s concern reach for him but pushed her aside, then fingered the red imprint of the shell on his palm, the mark of their soul-binding. He still didn’t know what to say to her—how they could fix what she had broken. He wanted to forgive her and be done with it, but it wasn’t that simple. She continued to justify her actions. It didn’t seem to matter that she’d broken his trust. And trust wasn’t so easily mended.

  Hawley peeked into the room. “Are you ready for Duke Canden?”

  “Yes,” Trevn said, clasping his hands on his desk. “Send him in.”

  Oli entered and sat across from Trevn, who relaxed. Here, at least,
was a person he could trust fully—who had proven himself loyal.

  “Your Grace, what news have you for me?” Trevn asked.

  Oli used his hand to rest his wooden arm in his lap. “Rosârah Zeroah’s mind-speak progress is a bit . . . uncomfortable.” He explained how Zeroah had pulled forth one of his memories. “The end result is, well, she changed me.”

  “Changed you how?”

  “That memory had plagued me for years, but now when I think about it, I feel . . . rehabilitated. She comforted me as a boy, and it forever softened the sting of that dark time. She exposed my shame for what it was. Unnecessary violence and cruelty on my father’s part.”

  While Trevn could plainly see the raw emotion in the duke’s face, he didn’t understand. “What was this memory, Duke Canden?”

  Trevn sensed the man’s unease and sent Cadoc and Nietz out of the room. Once they were alone, he did his best to reassure the duke. “Whatever you share will stay between us, Your Grace. You have nothing to fear.”

  “I’m not afraid, I simply . . . Oh, very well.” Oli sank back in the chair. “As you know, most boys become pages at seven, backmen by fifteen, soldiers by twenty. It’s the way of things. My father wanted to prove to Rosâr Echad that I was special, so he had me serving as a page in his army by age four, and by the time I was seven, I was responsible for some tasks that today I would only assign a trusted officer. Most of my assignments involved spying. Father would dress me in rags and send me into enemy territory to see what I could learn.”

  The duke went on to tell a story about a time during the Centenary War that his father had ordered him to spy on a Magonian regiment, but he had fallen asleep. “Father felt that I deserved the same punishment a grown man would have received, so he sent me to the pole.”

  “Sands,” Trevn said, aghast that any man would treat a child so, though unsurprised that his own father, King Echad, had allowed it.

  “The point is, Your Highness,” Oli said, “Rosârah Zeroah inserted herself into that memory without my permission, nor could I stop her. And now, when I recall the aftermath of that day, she’s with me, comforting me as if she’d been there all along. I can no longer remember the incident any other way.”

  “That’s most strange.”

  “It’s remarkable. She has healed a small part of my soul. Such an ability could be a tremendous asset, but . . .”

  “But?”

  “If this magic can be used to alter a memory for one’s healing, I fear it could also be used to alter a memory for one’s detriment, especially as a war tactic. There might be a way we could use this to our advantage in battle.”

  “A fairly terrifying idea,” Trevn said, thoughts spinning at the prospect. “You will continue to work with her, won’t you? See if you can train her to use the gift better?”

  “I’m honored to help her develop her gift and see what can be learned, though I’m certain she would never harm another human being—even our enemy. She has too much grace and compassion—sees us all as Arman’s children. The woman actually longs for everyone to know how much they are loved by their creator and that nothing can separate us from him.”

  The words from the Book of Arman washed over Trevn. “I didn’t know you had converted, Your Grace.”

  “I haven’t, Your Highness. I’m simply repeating the dowager queen’s words. I caught her proselytizing to a group of guards in the great hall last week, and yesterday she was telling my manservant about Arman’s many gifts.”

  Trevn chuckled. “Yes, Mielle said that Zeroah is better at sermonizing than any priest.”

  “She would never let herself be used as a weapon. But if I can learn how she does it, perhaps I can teach others.”

  “Changing one’s memories.” Trevn fought the urge to shudder. The idea was rife with possibilities and danger. “How would we ever monitor such a thing?”

  “It would be impossible,” Oli said.

  That’s what Trevn was afraid of. “Thank you for your efforts in this regard, Your Grace. Continue to practice with Zeroah, but do not teach anyone else without my permission.” He stood, Oli stood with him, and Trevn walked the duke toward the exit. “This reminds me. Hinck told me about something extraordinary your sister did.” Trevn told the duke about how Eudora had given Hinck her memories. “I wonder if Rosârah Zeroah can do the same?”

  “I’ll look into it at once, Your Highness,” Oli said.

  “Excellent.” Trevn opened the chamber to let Oli out. “Hawley, could you have a snack brought up, please? I’m famished.”

  “I’ll send for one right away,” Hawley said.

  “Thank you.” Trevn was about to go back inside when he saw Hinck leaning against the wall. “Hinck. Are you waiting for me? How long have you been out here?”

  Hinck pushed off the wall. “Since the Veralla brothers left. I need to talk to you.”

  “You can talk to me anytime,” Trevn said, tapping his temple.

  “Yes, well, I know it might sound strange to one so busy as you, but I’d like to occasionally look upon your face when we speak. Especially when I have something important to discuss, which I do.”

  “I understand that desire. I’ve seen my face.” Trevn re-entered his office. Hinck followed and closed the door behind them. Trevn sat on the front edge of his desk. “Well?”

  “I want to go to Saria.”

  Trevn sighed. Why would nobody listen when he declared an issue decided? “You have new reasons, I’m sure.”

  “With the Jiir-Yeke attacks and her conniving council, well, as you said, she needs someone.” Hinck shrugged. “As it turns out, I am that someone.”

  “That’s the whole of your reasoning?”

  “No, but . . . growing up in her home . . . and, well, she is our sister in the faith, if not from years of hair pulling and pranks. How can you ignore her plea?”

  “Because I have no alternative,” Trevn said. “I trust no one well enough to send.”

  Hinck held out his hands. “Yet here I stand.”

  “I need you here.”

  Hinck tapped his temple. “As you have just indicated, you truly do not. Besides, I am little to you anymore but a listening ear.”

  “You’ve always been far more than that, but I do rely upon your counsel like no other.”

  “I understand, Your Shortsightedness, but because of the voices, you will still be able to reach me at any time. Since I’ve returned, you and I have had a few moments together in which you tell me your woes, I listen and give what thoughts I have on the subject, then you leave to contend with all your very important duties of the crown, and I’m left alone, completely unengaged until you have woes to share again. I have no purpose, Trev, and I need one.”

  “I could set you up to train some bowmen. Though I would prefer my bowmen actually learn the skill from one who can properly loose an arrow.”

  Hinck did not even smile at Trevn’s jest. “Ever since you’ve mentioned Saria’s troubles, she has been on my mind. She has lost much. We cannot abandon her to those wolves in her council. With Finnel Wallington married to her aunt, I wouldn’t doubt he’s plotting to take the throne of Sarikar. It’s in our best interest that he not become king of anywhere, don’t you think? And with the giants attacking . . . we need Sarikar strong. Rogedoth will likely go there first.”

  “But what can you do about it that General Norcott cannot?” Trevn asked.

  “I’ll think of something. I’ve had over a year’s training in the art of corruption under Barthel Rogedoth. I likely picked up some tips on treachery that Saria could put to good use.”

  “You haven’t a treacherous bone in your body, Hinck. Any plans you come up with will undoubtedly involve some gentlemanly code of honor that traps you in Sarikar far longer than I wish to give you up, and I don’t see how you’ll get a council with Finnel Wallington at its head to hear anything you say.”

  “Please, Trev? You’ve replaced me here. You no longer need me as a backman or a onesent or eve
n a council member. I find myself hovering outside your door each day, hoping you might devise some errand to occupy even a half hour of my time. I crave a greater purpose. Let me go to Sarikar and give aid. I know I would be of greater use to you there than here.”

  Trevn sighed again. “I do need New Sarikar to build that border house. Saria’s council rejected my plan.”

  “I’ll convince them,” Hinck said.

  Trevn hoped so. “You’re the best man I know, Hinck. What shall I do without you?”

  “Precisely what you have been doing. Rule the realm and keep Rogedoth from taking it.” Hinck flashed his huge smile. “Thank you, Trevn. You won’t regret this.”

  Trevn wasn’t so sure.

  After Hinck left, Trevn picked at the food on the tray Hawley had brought in and weighed the many things that were bothering him. The Jiir-Yeke. Rogedoth. Shanek. Sir Jarmyn. Tace Edekk. Barek Hadar. Hinck leaving. His fight with Mielle.

  It was all too much. Though he continued to strive, he couldn’t possibly handle it all on his own. He wasn’t strong enough or wise enough. Something was going to get left behind, and he worried it would be Mielle—out of sight, out of mind. And that shouldn’t be. He needed her. Yet he didn’t know how to fix what she’d broken.

  “Are you well, Your Highness?” Cadoc asked. “Can I get you anything?”

  Trevn glanced up at the man, sensed his pity. “What I need cannot be given like a gift.”

  “Actually, it can.”

  Trevn narrowed his eyes. “How so?”

  “Repairing broken trust does not lie with the one who broke it, nor does it depend upon that person proving they are once again worthy to be trusted. The power lies solely with the one who has decided not to trust. Your anger is justified, Your Highness. But as long as you hold tight to your anger, there’s no hope of reconciliation.”

  “So I must take the high ground? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “You cannot hope for change if you don’t do your part.”

  “I did my part, Cadoc. I do it every day. And I’m tired. What you’re suggesting is too much. I won’t allow myself to be manipulated. When Mielle is ready to make peace, she knows where to find me.”