A Deliverer Comes

by Jill Williamson

Her glare darkened. “So far I am unimpressed with this plan.”

  “Once your council has assembled, you inform them that, second only to Prince Mergest, I have the greatest claim on the throne of Sarikar through my grandfather, son of Princess Maqee.”

  “I will do no such thing.”

  “Hear me out. Due to treaties signed by your father and Rosâr Wilek, and due to Armania’s assistance in the war that went so very badly for all our sakes, Rosâr Trevn has asked us to marry to strengthen the alliance between our two realms and to put an end to any rebellions on either side.”

  “You want my throne. That’s why you came here.”

  “I truly don’t. But your council doesn’t know that. Finnel Wallington doesn’t know that. To them I’m a newly titled war hero just returned from saving Armania from the evil queen. Trevn said your council wants you to marry. Use me as the man they need to appease their superstitions. I promise I won’t take your rule from you.”

  Saria eyed him warily. “Why should I believe that?”

  He shrugged. “Because you know me.”

  “Power corrupts the best of men, Hinck.”

  “I spent almost a year with Barthel Rogedoth. That I survived should be some proof of my integrity.”

  “Proof of insanity, maybe . . .”

  “It would stop Finnel and your council from scheming against you. Then you and I could do some serious work in helping your people. And mine. We could build the border house Trevn asked you for.”

  “My council has already rejected that proposal,” Saria said. “There’s no money.”

  “Let Trevn fund the project, but use Sarikarian workers to build it. That’s carpentry jobs for the heads of forty or fifty hungry Sarikarian families.”

  Saria stared at him so long that Hinck flushed at the scrutiny of those eyes, so gold they put the Painted Dune Sea to shame.

  “What?” he finally asked.

  “You were always the clever one, Hinck. Trevn had a lot of big ideas, but he always left you to figure out how to accomplish them. What will he do without you?”

  Was she saying yes? They sat still, watching each other. Hinck should feel terrified, but he didn’t. This felt right. “He’s been doing fine without me for quite some time.”

  Saria broke their stare and started shuffling through the scrolls on her desk. “I need proof of your royal line. And I’d have to work out a betrothal agreement with Trevn. You’d be king consort only.”

  Hinck needed more than that. “I must have some responsibility,” he said.

  “The army would be yours.” She glanced up. “And you’d sit on the council as a voting member.”

  He nodded. “Thank you.” Though he had no idea how to manage an army.

  They stared at one another until Hinck’s eyes began to water. Then Saria reached across the desk and squeezed his hand. “Thank you, Hinck. I accept your offer on the condition the betrothal agreement is written to my satisfaction. And yours,” she added. “With your help, we just might have a chance to save this realm. Now help me find that scroll.”

  Saria released his hand. His betrothed. Hinck flushed, recalling Trevn’s prediction that he would undoubtedly do something honorable that would trap him in Sarikar far longer than Trevn wished to give him up.

  What would Trevn say when he heard this development?

  Trevn

  Stop laughing, Trev,” Hinck voiced.

  “Oh, but I cannot,” Trevn said. “It’s simply too delightful. I predicted you’d save the day by nobly sacrificing yourself, but marriage, Hinck? I told you to remain here, but nooo . . . You were bored. Needed some excitement.”

  “Are you against this, Your Royal Pain?” Hinck asked.

  Trevn tapered off his laughter with a happy sigh. “Not at all. This is a fine development for Armania. It unites our two realms in a way I’d never considered. As much as I disdained the way my father married off his children, I never realized how helpful such a practice could be.”

  “You mock me.”

  “A little, yes. If you wanted to marry her, why didn’t you just say something?”

  “I didn’t come here to marry her.”

  “Hinck . . .” Trevn tried to sound serious. “Don’t you want to find your own bride?”

  “Who is there to marry who matches my rank? No one I want. I suppose I could wait for your sisters to grow up, but Saria and I have history. This makes sense.”

  In a very logical, boring way. “If you mean to follow through with this, know I will support you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “But I won’t allow you to be a consort alone. You must be co-regent. Perhaps His Royal Highness, the Duke of Sarikar or something like that. If you are only a consort, even the Sarikarian council would have authority over you. I won’t make you their puppet, Hinck. You must have a voice.”

  “What if Saria refuses?”

  “She asked that of you to keep from being under your thumb, so it’s only fair that she afford you the same courtesy. She’ll agree.”

  “If you say so,” Hinck said.

  Trevn closed the connection and chuckled again. Hinck to marry Saria. Ah, if that wasn’t the most amusing idea he’d ever—

  A knock on the door, and Cadoc entered. “Your Highness, I have news.”

  “Did Porvil confess?” Trevn felt the stiffness of the scabs on his side and arm and shuddered at what might have been.

  “No, but we did confirm the knife belonged to Tace Edekk.”

  That figured. “I’ll talk to the boy myself after my meeting with Miss Onika.”

  “Yes, sir. There’s another matter. Our men can no longer enter Nawhar Forest. The duke’s men threatened to attack if they did not leave.”

  Tace Edekk continued to astound Trevn. “He can’t do that.”

  “He did, sir.”

  “Then I’ll ask him why.” Trevn leaned back in his chair, found the duke’s mind, and forced his way inside. It was rude, but since his magic was strong enough, he felt the need to remind Tace Edekk who was king. “You threatened my soldiers, Your Grace?”

  He felt the duke’s surprise, his raised heartbeat. “You needlessly flogged Sir Jarmyn Koll,” came the nasal voice in Trevn’s head.

  “Come now, Your Grace. Sir Jarmyn disobeyed my order. Men died because of it.”

  “So you say, but as you have no proof, I’ll take the word of my son-in-law over yours.”

  “It’s to be rebellion, then? For you alone? Or for Sir Jarmyn, Lord Blackpool, and all of your men as well?”

  “I speak only for myself,” Edekk said, “but you are no king of mine.”

  “Then I will count you among my enemies and have the executioner sharpen his axe.” Trevn closed the connection, shaking slightly from fury and shattered pride. He’d nearly lost control, which was something he could not afford to do with the likes of Tace Edekk.

  He sighed deeply. Barek had been right in his prediction that Trevn would lose some of the nobles and their armies if he punished Sir Jarmyn. Now Armania was divided, and just when Inolah had told him that Rogedoth had begun packing up camp. Trevn hoped the man took his time about it.

  “Are you well, Your Highness?” Cadoc asked.

  Trevn stood. “Tace Edekk has confessed his rebellion against me. I fear I’ve lost not only his army but the armies of Lord Blackpool and his son as well. I must go to Miss Onika and learn what I can of this Veil magic. Perhaps it will make up for the loss of so many soldiers.” He started for the door, but a great nervousness slowed his steps. Mielle, nearby and anxious.

  Nietz poked his head inside and whispered to Cadoc.

  “Send her in,” Trevn said, curious what his wife wanted. Things between them had been much better since she’d apologized. Why would she be nervous?

  Cadoc opened the door farther and Mielle strode inside.

  The sight of her lightened Trevn’s heart. “Good midday,” he said, taking her hands. They were cool and trembling. Apprehension thrummed out
in waves. “What’s wrong?”

  She pulled away and curtsied, strangely formal. “Thank you for seeing me, Trevn. I would like your permission to have Master Grayson help me with a project.”

  Grayson’s name instantly set Trevn on edge. Already she wanted to use him? “What kind of a project?”

  “No progress has been made in finding the missing Armanian children whose parents accused Tace Edekk of conscripting them into the military. I wonder if Grayson and I visited each home, and if Grayson held something that belonged to a missing child, he might be able to—”

  “—pop to their location. Mielle, that’s brilliant.”

  She smiled, laughed a little, and her nervousness faded. “I have your permission, then?”

  “Yes, of course, but I don’t want you putting yourself in danger. If you discover something, let my guards make the arrests. Is that clear?”

  She nodded and kissed his cheek. “I will. I promise.”

  Trevn watched her go, confident that if anyone could find those children, it was his wife.

  Madam Kempe led Trevn and Cadoc into Miss Onika’s chambers. The prophetess and Rosârah Zeroah lay on two longchairs that faced the hearth, eyes closed as if sleeping. Sir Kalenek stood leaning against the hearth, the dune cat Rustian curled up at his boots. Zeroah’s guards, Doth and Ephec, sat on chairs near the window, unconcerned with their lady’s state. When they saw their king, they stood and bowed, then went back to their seats.

  Sir Kalenek touched Miss Onika’s shoulder. “The king has come, lady.”

  Onika’s eyes flickered open. “Your Highness, thank you for coming. It’s my hope that all who can mind-speak can also enter the Veil to banish shadir and storm, as Sir Kalenek calls it.”

  “I would very much like to learn both,” Trevn said, eager to try.

  “You’ll need your own longchair,” Sir Kalenek said. “To try this standing will leave your body empty. You’ll collapse and might be injured.”

  “Take my chair, Your Highness,” Zeroah said, standing.

  Trevn reclined on the longchair Zeroah had vacated and found the cushions warm. He listened carefully to Miss Onika’s instructions, then made several failed attempts before he was finally able to sit up into an ethereal world and leave his body behind.

  In this place—which Miss Onika claimed to be the Veil between worlds—everything looked somewhat the same, yet it was brighter and bigger somehow. He saw Zeroah, Onika, Sir Kalenek, Kempe, the guards, the apartment and all its furniture, but no one could see him. Even more impressive, Trevn could move like Grayson. He need only concentrate on a person or specific location, and he appeared there. Miss Onika, who astonishingly had her eyesight in this place, led him first with short movements, instructing him to concentrate on following her. They went from her sitting room to the great hall to the forest, then all the way to the roof in Er’Rets Point.

  Trevn stood breathless at the parapet wall. “We can go anywhere?”

  “So it seems,” Miss Onika said. “You only need imagine the place you want to go or the person you want to see.”

  Trevn thought of the quarterdeck of the Seffynaw and appeared there. Captain Bussie was at the whipstaff, talking with a sailor Trevn didn’t know. So this must be why Grayson called this movement popping. It was instantaneous.

  Miss Onika appeared beside Trevn. “You are a quick learner, Your Highness.”

  Trevn thought of Bakurah Island, where they’d left a settlement. He appeared in a grassy field he recognized as the place Wilek had been attacked by rebels and Trevn had first killed. It was dusk here, and in the distance, a village of wooden houses covered the side of a hill.

  Miss Onika arrived beside him. “What place is this?”

  “Bakurah Island. I wanted to see how they fared. In fact . . .”

  “Your Highness, please wait for—”

  But Trevn had already gone. When he arrived at Castle Everton in the Five Realms, he appeared underwater. The coolness shocked him, though he had no trouble breathing. He rose to the surface and into a dark night—could see little despite the moon overhead. His eyes adjusted slowly, yet there was nothing here but ocean.

  Miss Onika’s voice flooded his mind. “Your Highness? I cannot see you.”

  “I wondered if some had survived. Perhaps at higher ground?” Trevn focused on the summit of Mount Radu and found himself standing under a copse of trees outside a stone wall lit by torchlight. His heart leapt with hope. He popped up to the sentry wall and looked upon a village of mud and thatch huts. He counted the nearest ten huts and multiplied them to estimate at least two hundred. And in the distance, a great house. Who resided there?

  Miss Onika emerged beside him. “Where are we?”

  “At the summit of Mount Radu in the Five Realms.”

  “Praise Arman! I never thought to come look for survivors. Why is it so dark?”

  “It’s night here. The sun cannot shine on both sides of the earth at the same time.”

  “How fascinating,” Miss Onika said.

  Trevn was much more interested in the survivors of the Five Realms than the workings of the sun, though he supposed now was not the time to explore his homeland. “I’m returning to your chambers,” he said, concentrating on his physical body.

  He opened his eyes and found Cadoc standing over him with Sir Kalenek. Trevn felt oddly weighted to the longchair. It took effort to push himself to sitting, not because he was weak. He simply found his own weight cumbersome.

  “Well?” Cadoc asked.

  “That such a thing is possible amazes me,” Trevn said. “There’s no scientific explanation for such a phenomenon.”

  “Did you see us?” Cadoc asked.

  “I did. Then we went to the tower in Er’Rets Point, then to Bakurah Island, then to Everton, and finally Mount Radu. Everton is gone, but there is a settlement at the mountain’s summit. Some survived the Woes.”

  “My mother might have survived?” Zeroah asked.

  Trevn found her gaze in the crowd. “I suppose anything is possible.”

  “Did you see any shadir?” Sir Kalenek asked.

  “I did not, though I wasn’t looking. Miss Onika, you must train others to do this. Duke Canden and Hinck to start. As many as are willing, actually. I’ll make you a list. Then we must make plans as to how we can use this ability to stop Rogedoth and his giants.”

  Trevn ducked through the narrow doorway after Nietz and entered the dark cell. Nietz held aloft a lantern, which cast spilling shadows over the tiny space. The boy, Porvil, sat cross-legged in the center of the cell. He glanced up, sullen.

  “Have I harmed you in some way, boy?” Trevn asked. “Since you failed to kill me, you may as well air your grievances.”

  “You left my mother in Everton.”

  Ah. Trevn preferred acts of revenge over blatant treason. “Did I?”

  “The soldiers wouldn’t let us board. Then some man ran down the docks, calling for orphans. Mother said I’d be an orphan soon enough. So he took me. But he wouldn’t take her.”

  “She was a brave woman to save your life.”

  Porvil’s face twisted into a snarl. “There was room enough for her on the Seffynaw. Lord Edekk said it was your idea who got on board. He wanted everyone saved, but you said no.”

  So Edekk was involved here. Trevn would have to add sedition to the duke’s growing list of crimes. “Lord Edekk, who took no more than one hundred aboard his gilded houseboat?”

  The boy’s brows sank.

  Trevn leaned against the cold stone wall. “I won’t pretend things were decided fairly during the Five Woes, because such a thing was impossible. Do you know the population of Armania when the Woes came upon us? Or how many lived in Everton?”

  The boy merely glared.

  “Allow me to illuminate, Master Porvil. The realm of Armania had, at the time of the last census, just over half a million people. Everton, and its surrounding areas, was by far the largest city in our realm with just shy of eig
hty-five thousand. We gathered one hundred forty-one ships in Everton and, regardless of what you or the Duke of Raine think of our methods, managed to board some seventy-three thousand souls. Now, the Seffynaw had a maximum capacity of five hundred, but a roster in my brother’s journal lists seven hundred ninety-two names. Can you guess how many were on board when we made landfall at Er’Rets Point?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Two hundred seventy-one. The numbers are similar across the fleet. Over half of those who boarded ships out of Everton died before reaching land.”

  The boy’s emotions had shifted from anger to overwhelming sorrow.

  “Why did you steal Lord Edekk’s knife?” Trevn asked.

  “I didn’t. He gave it to me. As payment. ’Cause I done work for him.”

  “What kind of work?”

  “Ran wine to those who bought it.”

  “To the castle as well?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Why did you attack me?”

  Porvil swallowed and met Trevn’s gaze. “’Cause Mikreh said to.”

  Trevn made the leap. “The god of fate?”

  “He spoke to me. Said I’d be a hero if I did it.”

  Trevn’s heart sank. “That was a shadir, tricking you into doing its master’s bidding.”

  The boy shook his head. “No, sir, it wasn’t. I saw him. He came to me at night. Promised he’d rescue me himself if I succeeded. Said he’d send a man like Grayson to carry me away.”

  A tingle ran up Trevn’s arms. He turned and ducked through the narrow doorway, leaving the cell. He paused beside Cadoc. “I need Sir Kalenek in my office at once. It seems that Barthel Rogedoth has allied with Shanek DanSâr.”

  Oli

  Oli could not believe he was hovering in the air outside the castle—inside the Veil. And here he had two hands. How could such a thing be possible?

  Also learning this skill were Danek Faluk, Master Grayson, Madam Kempe, Rosârahs Brelenah and Zeroah, Sârah Hrettah, Lady Brisa, and Hinckdan, whose body was in New Sarikar. King Trevn had made this sound like some kind of warfare. That Oli might be able to fight on a different kind of battlefield had piqued his curiosity.