A Deliverer Comes

by Jill Williamson

“I must go back,” the young man said. “Make him take me back!”

  “He didn’t want to come,” Grayson said, brushing slush off his trousers. “Said he had to stay in the mines.”

  “In the giant mines?” Mielle asked. “Why would you want to stay there?”

  “Nikz!” Master Winlin rushed upon the scene and embraced the young man.

  The young man’s face crumpled. “Father, please. I must go back. It’s important.”

  “Why do you say this, my son?”

  Nikz pushed out of his father’s embrace. “I can’t tell you.”

  “You can and you will,” Mielle said. “Thirty-six other children have been reported missing. They’re counting on you for their freedom, so you will tell me what you know at once.”

  Nikz frowned at Mielle. Took in her attire.

  Bero nudged Nikz’s shoulder. “Bow before your queen, boy.”

  Nikz flushed and dropped to his knees, head bowed, uncertain.

  “I see you are conflicted,” Mielle said. “Can you tell me why you’re afraid?”

  A defiant scowl. “I’m not scared.”

  “You simply prefer the life of a slave over one with your family?” Mielle asked.

  “Answer the queen, son,” Master Winlin said.

  Nikz sighed. “The men said they’d hurt our families if we tried to escape.”

  “You do this for me?” his father asked.

  “For all of you,” Nikz said, voice choked. “It was King Trevn’s idea.”

  “What was?” Mielle asked.

  “Selling boys to the mines. To keep the giants away from Armanguard.”

  Fury threatened to set Mielle off. That someone would not only abduct children for slavery but threaten to hurt their families? And pin it all on Trevn? It was unforgivable.

  Mielle set her hands on her hips. “Your king would never do such a thing. Who said this?”

  “Master Lycor.”

  “Again we find this name,” Mielle said. “I’m beginning to think Mett Lycor a root child the way he continually evades capture.”

  “I’m not so certain it’s magic we’re dealing with, Your Highness,” Tonis said. “What does Master Lycor look like, boy?”

  “A soldier,” Nikz said. “Wears more warrior tails than I’ve ever seen on one man.”

  Tonis narrowed his eyes. “How was he dressed? Any livery?”

  “No livery, sir. He and his men wore blue and black.”

  “We’ve heard this description before,” Mielle said.

  “Yes, but it doesn’t describe Mett Lycor,” Lady Pia said. “Master Orban’s description was correct. Mett is about my height and soft around the middle. Drinks too much ale.”

  “Someone is pretending to be Mett Lycor,” Tonis said. “And I think we all know who this warrior is.”

  Mielle sighed deeply. “Captain Korvoh.”

  Qoatch

  A caravan approaches, Your Highness,” Captain Orbay told King Barthel. “Empress Jazlyn returns.”

  Finally. Qoatch breathed out his relief. He had grown weary of serving King Barthel.

  “Back with my harvest of new evenroot, and just in time,” the king said, glaring at Qoatch. “When she arrives, bring her here, Captain. I want a word. Now, where is Paliki with our report on Armanguard? Sâr Shanek needs to know what he is facing.” He nodded to the young man, who sat beside him. Sâr Shanek and Miss Amala had been spending part of every day in King Barthel’s camp. Now that the king had started to move out his men, he would be asking the couple to leave with him. Unless Jazlyn could stop it, Qoatch suspected he would have his way.

  Paliki appeared before the thrones, looking every bit like an oversized frog.

  “Report,” the king barked.

  The slight passed on news about the failed assassination, that Sarikar was gaining aid from Hinckdan Faluk, and that Lady Zenobia had nearly replicated the tonic King Trevn was using to keep Queen Eudora silent. “And the prophetess continues to attack shadir.”

  “Then stay away from them!” the king roared. “How many times must I tell you? They cannot harm you if you are not near them. Now, we must increase Sâr Shanek’s attacks on the people of Armanguard. Go with him.” Then to Shanek he said, “Edekk’s men will join you.”

  “Why keep attacking the commoners?” Shanek asked. “Shouldn’t I attack the castle?”

  “You must prepare the way, my sâr. The time to attack the castle is coming, I promise.”

  Timmons stepped into the tent. “Your Highness? Captain Orbay has brought Empress—”

  Jazlyn pushed past the onesent, followed by three of her Protectors. “You dare have me brought before you like some renegade criminal?”

  Qoatch smiled, relieved to see his Great Lady again.

  “Isn’t that what you are?” King Barthel asked. “You lied to me, Empress. You went to Islah in search of my harvest of new evenroot. Deny it.”

  “Why should I? You clearly didn’t want it.”

  “I want it now.”

  “Well, I’m afraid I didn’t bring it with me,” Jazlyn said, smirking.

  “Search the caravan and bring me my root,” the king told Captain Orbay. “Until it is found, keep the empress in custody.”

  “Do you really think you can hold me?” Jazlyn asked. “King Barthel, I would hate to have to kill any of your men.”

  The king’s face darkened. “We have a treaty, woman!”

  “The treaty is between yourself and New Rurekau. If you have a problem, I suggest you bring it up with my husband. Emperor Ulrik will be home soon.”

  An awkward hush descended inside the king’s tent. Qoatch did not know what to make of his Great Lady’s words. It must be some trick.

  “You promised to help me take Armania,” the king said.

  “I did no such thing,” Jazlyn said. “I have never been interested in your war.”

  “Then you are against me,” the king said. “You stole from me, and you left your eunuch here to spy. I should kill you where you stand.”

  Jazlyn frowned, as if feeling sorry for the man. “You could not, Your Highness. Not even with the help of your new puppet.” She raised her eyebrows at Shanek. “I am too powerful.”

  The king’s jaw flexed and his eyes burned toward Jazlyn, yet he did not deny her—he did not dare. “I want no fight with you, Empress.”

  “I’ll be on my way, then. I am quite exhausted from my travels and have much to prepare for Ulrik’s return. Qoatch, come.”

  This second mention of Emperor Ulrik set the mantics whispering.

  “I am not finished with the eunuch,” King Barthel said. “I’ll send him back tomorrow.”

  Jazlyn glowered at the man. “Before morning bells. Not a moment longer.”

  King Barthel bowed his head in agreement, and Jazlyn swept away.

  The king grabbed the goblet off the stand beside his throne and threw it across the tent. “Insolent woman! She’s mad, talking about the emperor’s return. This must be a trick.”

  “Emperor Ulrik is not dead,” Shanek said. “He’s with my mother in Magosia.”

  The king worked his mouth, as if trying and failing to find words. Before he could succeed, Dendron materialized before his throne.

  The king snapped out of his stupor, tried and failed to hide a smile. “Yes?”

  You have become disrespectful, Mergest, the great said. You treat my shadir like slaves.

  His smile vanished. “That’s what they are.”

  To me, perhaps, but not to you. Without Islah, you do not have the power you once had.

  “We are so close! We can still take the throne of Armania. So long as no one else betrays me.” He glanced at Shanek. “Betrays us, I mean.”

  You speak of betrayal, Mergest, yet you have betrayed me.

  The king looked up, brow pinched. “How so?”

  Iamos. Yobatha. Haroan. Daliza. Paliki. They are not your bonded. Yet you use them for your magical experiments. Apart from me.

  �
��The shadir are free to go their own way if they’d rather.”

  Or I could destroy them. I might, actually, if that’s what it will take to get your attention.

  “But you have no interest in the new magic!”

  You would have nothing if not for me, Dendron said, yet it has not crossed your mind to have Shanek fetch Islah back, nor have you given an answer to my offer of Dominion.

  “That’s what this is really about? I’ve left you out of things, and you’re jealous. For the past thirty years you have been my only source of power and strength, but now I have another way. Sâr Shanek and I . . . we don’t need you.”

  You are mistaken, Mergest. It is you who have underestimated me.

  The king narrowed his eyes. “What does that mean?”

  Come here, Great One, Dendron said.

  Rogedoth tilted his head. “Come where?”

  Not you, Mergest.

  Shanek appeared beside the shadir, hands at his side, chin raised.

  “What’s this, my sâr?” The king pushed to his feet. “Has this creature been bothering you?”

  “He says I must not trust you,” Shanek said.

  “He lies,” the king said, glaring at the great.

  We would be wise to work with King Barthel, Dendron said to Sâr Shanek, but we must make sure he does not take the throne for himself in the end.

  “You dare manipulate the sâr?” the king yelled. “He has been through enough.”

  Dendron chuckled. You see? he said to Shanek. It is as I said. You are wise, Great One, and can make your own decisions. I leave the choice to you.

  “What choice?” King Barthel asked. “Sâr Shanek, you must not trust this creature.”

  Shanek’s eyes widened. “He told me you would say that.” He turned to Dendron. “Very well, shadir. Come into me, if you want, and make me king of Armania.”

  As you wish, my king. Dendron’s pale eyes fixed upon King Barthel one last time, then the shadir began to change. His brown tree trunk shape lengthened and became smooth gray skin. Twiggy branches became two arms and two legs. His waterfall of hair shortened into a thick, curly black mop. He looked just like the young prince, then floated toward the boy until their bodies became one.

  King Barthel staggered back and fell into his chair. “No.”

  Qoatch could not believe it either. Sâr Shanek had given Dendron the Great Dominion over his soul.

  Onika

  Onika was on her knees praying when the Duke of Canden spoke to her mind.

  “Miss Onika, can you hear me? There are shadir on the roof. Dozens of them. I am engaged elsewhere but thought you should know.”

  “I hear you, Your Grace.” Onika’s heart raced at the opportunity. “Kempe, help me to my chair. We must enter the Veil at once.”

  “Yes, miss.”

  Onika pushed herself to standing and waited for Kempe’s rough hands to grasp her arm. The woman led her to her longchair, where Onika lay down and concentrated on the roof. She left her body behind and reappeared in the midst of a cloud of shadir. The presence of so many made it difficult to see and very cold.

  Why would so many be gathered here? Could Master Rogedoth finally be attacking? Arman, what shall I do?

  “WAIT FOR THE OTHERS AND ATTACK AS ONE.”

  “Warriors of the Veil,” she voiced. “Our enemy has congregated on the castle roof! Come to me.”

  She drifted toward the parapet, trying to find a place that was not overcome with shadir. Kempe arrived next, then Grayson, in his physical body. The shadir closed around him. One perched on his shoulder. Another coiled around his arm.

  “Sands alive! There are a lot of them,” he said.

  Rosârah Zeroah appeared beside Onika. “Why are there so many?” she asked.

  “I know not,” Onika said. “We will attack together when the others arrive. Fighting one at a time will only scare the rest away.”

  “I don’t like it when they touch me,” Grayson said, pushing away those around him.

  Danek Faluk arrived at the same time as Lady Brisa. Onika explained her plan, then repeated it when Rosârah Brelenah and Sârah Hrettah appeared.

  “We will speak to Arman in unison.” Then she recited the prayer she planned to say.

  “Where is Duke Canden?” Rosârah Zeroah asked.

  “He is likely drunk,” Lady Brisa said. “Or with some serving woman.”

  “That is unkind,” Sârah Hrettah said.

  “He is occupied elsewhere,” Onika said. Arman, is it time?

  “ATTACK, AND I WILL GIVE YOU VICTORY.”

  “We must act,” Onika said. “Let us join hands.”

  Her warriors obeyed, forming a large circle.

  “All together,” Onika said, then began reciting. “Arman, by your name we ask you to banish these unholy creatures from this world. Send them back where they belong.”

  Heat flowed into Onika through the hand of Rosârah Zeroah on her right and Sârah Hrettah on her left. Noise erupted around them. Scattered cries from the creatures.

  “Again,” Onika said. “Arman, by your name we ask you to banish these unholy creatures from this world. Send them back where they belong.”

  This time the flock above seemed to screech all at once.

  “Again!” Onika yelled.

  They chanted the prayer, and Arman’s warmth pierced the chill of the shadir’s presence.

  The creatures went wild, thrashing into one another as if they had gone blind. Slowly the cloud sank through the castle roof. Onika continued her prayer until long after the last shadir had vanished, wanting to make sure the task was complete.

  “Well done, all of you,” she said finally. “Arman has granted us victory.”

  Grayson crowed. The women laughed and cheered. Zeroah embraced Onika, then Rosârah Brelenah. The celebration continued until Danek raised a question.

  “Who is that?” He pointed across the roof to the stairwell enclosure.

  A man lay slumped against the back of the enclosure, as if trying to hide from any who might use the door. Onika floated toward him. He wore the hooded cloak of a garrison soldier and clutched a bottle in his hand. “Grayson?” she called. “Can you pull back his hood?”

  Grayson appeared beside the man and drew back the thick fabric. It was Oli Agoros, seemingly unconscious. A sheen of sweat glazed his face. The women gasped.

  “Why is he dressed like a soldier?” Danek asked.

  “As I said,” came Lady Brisa’s voice. “Drunk.”

  Grayson sniffed the mouth of the bottle. “He’s not drunk. Not on wine, anyway. He’s taken too much evenroot.”

  Another collective gasp.

  “Surely he wouldn’t have,” Brelenah said. “It’s illegal.”

  “And depleted,” Danek said. “Where would he have gotten it?”

  “Trevn will not be pleased,” Princess Hrettah said.

  “Why would he have done it?” Brelenah asked.

  “To call shadir for us to banish,” Zeroah said. “I’ll fetch the physician.” She disappeared.

  A heavy silence fell over their group.

  “I’ll tell my father,” Lady Brisa said. “If there is evenroot in the castle, the council should know.” She faded away.

  The situation troubled Onika. “You may return to your bodies,” she said. “I’ll wait here. Thank you for your help today, for your faith. Arman dealt our enemy a crippling blow.”

  The Veil warriors left her alone with Duke Canden.

  Arman, what does this mean? This man sinned against you in an effort to help us. His sacrifice worked, yet what of his soul? What say you of all this?

  “IT IS MINE TO JUDGE, MINE TO REPAY.”

  Of course it was. While Onika wanted to make sense of everything, some circumstances she must trust to Arman alone. Footsteps drew her attention to the stairwell door. Zeroah walked through, followed by Sir Kalenek, Rosâr Trevn, Sir Cadoc, and Master Nietz.

  “Miss Onika?” the king said aloud as he circled t
he stairwell enclosure and stopped where Duke Canden lay. “Are you still here?”

  “I am,” she voiced him.

  “Explain what has happened.”

  Onika told the king how Duke Canden had summoned her to the roof. “He said he was busy elsewhere, but he must have taken the root, called the shadir, then voiced me.”

  “And hidden himself here.” King Trevn relayed their conversation to the others.

  “Is he dead?” Sir Cadoc asked.

  Sir Kalenek crouched beside the duke and felt his throat. “He’s alive, but barely.”

  Onika prayed that Arman would grant the king wisdom in dealing with the duke.

  King Trevn ripped the bottle from the duke’s hand. He upended it but only a drizzle came out. He paced across the roof, and when he returned said, “Arrest him. Put him in the dungeon next to his sister. Maybe that will stop her ranting.”

  “Nietz, get his feet,” Sir Kalenek said, grabbing the duke under the arms.

  “You will not drag him away like a criminal,” Zeroah said, stepping in Nietz’s way. “Order a litter, Master Nietz, so that the duke can be carried.”

  The guardsman glanced at the king, who nodded his assent. As Master Nietz hurried away, Sir Kalenek released Duke Canden. Zeroah knelt at his side and ran an embroidered handkerchief over his brow.

  Onika voiced the king. “What he did was wrong, Your Highness, that I know for certain, but had he not done this, we would not have succeeded in banishing an entire swarm of shadir.”

  The king frowned. “How many?”

  “Close to one hundred,” Onika said. “When I inquired of Arman about the duke, he reminded me that it is his place to judge and repay, not mine.”

  A deep sigh from the king. “Duke Canden knew he could die, didn’t he?”

  “He knew,” Sir Kalenek said. “He still might die.”

  “Arman spared him,” Zeroah said.

  “And continues to, for some reason,” the king said. “Well? Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t say I’d execute him, but I can’t very well pin a medal to his breast either, can I? He goes to the dungeon. For now.” The king stalked away, Sir Cadoc jogging after him.

  Onika remained with Zeroah as they waited for the litter. They took turns praying that Arman would have mercy on the soul of this man and heal whatever wounds had gouged his heart.