A Deliverer Comes

by Jill Williamson

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Emperor Ulrik is trapped in the Ahj-Yeke mines and needs a rescue. If you can carry two, take Sir Kalenek with you. Ulrik said giants have threatened him, and I don’t want anyone hurt. Take Ulrik to Empress Inolah in New Rurekau.”

  “Yes, Your Highness. We will go right away.”

  “When you are finished, report to my office. I have a second task for you and Sir Kalenek this day.”

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  Trevn opened his eyes to find Mielle standing before his desk. Seeing her lightened his load, and he went to greet her with a kiss. “What is it?”

  “Tonis and I stumbled onto a new development in our investigation of the missing children,” she said. “Of those Grayson carried back from the mines, eighteen were Sarikarian children. When I interviewed them, they all described the same man who had been present when they were taken. Two named the man as Sir Malder.”

  “The name is familiar, but I don’t recall why,” Trevn said.

  “According to Tonis, Sir Malder is Finnel Wallington’s shield.”

  A chill ran down Trevn’s arms. Princess Nolia’s husband involved in these abductions? Why? “This would connect the Wallingtons with Edekk.”

  “It will be too time consuming for Grayson to take each child home,” Mielle said. “I thought he might carry them to the castle in Sarikar and Hinck could figure out where they live.”

  “That’s a fine plan. I will voice him about it.”

  “I’d also like to speak with Princess Saria.”

  “I can voice her as well.”

  “Thank you, Trevn, but you’re very busy. Tonis, Grayson, and I are immersed in the investigation. It would be so helpful if we could speak to her in person, together.”

  “You want to go to Sarikar?”

  “Just for a quick meeting. A half hour would be enough to get my questions answered.”

  Trevn didn’t like the idea of sending Mielle away, yet he couldn’t argue with her logic. “You cannot go for merely a half hour. Servants would see you and word would get out that you had a secret meeting with the princess. It would cause all kinds of rumors. You’ll have to go on an official visit. Stay at least three days, maybe as long as a week.”

  “A week?”

  “I’ll send you there in my stead, to take a betrothal agreement to Hinck for him and Saria.”

  “What betrothal?”

  “Hinck’s idea. He is set on marrying Saria, so we will support him. Go and represent Armania. Meet with the council, go out into the city and greet their people . . . everything that goes along with an official visit. Grayson may meet you there and help as long as I have no need of him. I suggest you leave tomorrow. And I’ll let Hinck and Saria know you are coming and that you wish to discuss your investigation while you are there.”

  Mielle embraced him. “Thank you, Trevn! I’ll do my best to make you proud.”

  “Be yourself, Mouse, and you’ll do fine. And please be careful.”

  “I will.” She kissed him, then walked to the door. “I must go pack.”

  He watched his wife go, hoping he had done the right thing. He well knew how pretentious the Sarikarian nobility could be. He almost wished he could be there to witness the exchanges between them and his outspoken wife.

  Instead he must go back to the dungeon, this time to speak with his First Arm.

  Oli

  Oli opened his eyes to darkness. He listened, curious where he was. He heard breathing, the sounds of something dripping, a moan from somewhere in the distance, the clink of chains. He lifted his arm to scratch his face and found a chain on his wrist. This startled him and he tried to sit up. His ankles were clapped in irons as well. Grief and fear swelled up in his throat and tried to choke him. He must have died. And now he was in the Lowerworld. He had well earned his fate and tried to comfort himself with that fact. It did not dispel his anxiety.

  His body ached as if he’d been sick for months. Residual effects of the evenroot he had taken. He despaired when he realized he still had only one arm. But why should an evil man be given a restored body, as Zeroah believed all received in Shamayim? That would be a blessed reward. One Oli did not deserve in the least.

  Time crept by and nothing changed. He felt around him, found a stone wall, shifted and dragged his leg chains until he was leaning against it.

  Someone began to cry nearby. A woman. The moaning continued in the distance. More chains clanking. More dripping. And every once in a while, footsteps passing by.

  It wasn’t until a man yelled, “Back from the door if you want to eat!” that Oli realized with sudden horror that this was not the Lowerworld as he had assumed, but the dungeon in Armanguard. He had come here before to question his mother and sister.

  His heart clenched at the realization that he had lived. And now he would have to answer for his crimes. Helplessness threatened tears, but he turned it to rage and screamed out his frustration to the surrounding darkness.

  He felt better for a moment, but it was still dark, the chains were still attached to his wrist and ankles, and the man bringing the meal was getting closer. He eventually banged on Oli’s door, slid a tray through the slot on the bottom, then walked on.

  Oli did not eat. Did not care. He cursed the physician for helping him, and Trevn for putting him here. He pondered the ways he might end his life. Strangle himself with one of the chains? Bash his head against the wall? Use his mind-speak to compel himself to stop breathing?

  It was these dark thoughts that finally sent him crawling toward the door to see if his meal had included some sort of instrument he might fashion into a weapon to fall upon. Nothing but a cold meat pie. He left it there and listened to the sounds outside his cell.

  Voices in the distance, growing near. A man and a woman. The woman’s familiar voice curled his gut. Oli did not want her here. He lay down on the sticky floor and rolled to his side, hoping she would think him asleep. A fist banged on the door of his cell.

  “Back from the door,” the guard said.

  Oli did not move. The door scraped open.

  “I will go in alone,” Zeroah said.

  “I think not, Your Highness.” This from Ephec, her guard. Footsteps drew near. “Let me put down my cloak, at least.”

  “That is not necessary,” Zeroah said.

  Oli lay still as shuffling footsteps stopped behind him. He grit his teeth, hoping she would not stay long.

  “I know you are awake, Your Grace, so do not pretend otherwise,” Zeroah said. “The guard heard you yell a moment ago.”

  What a foolish notion. How could the guard know which prisoner had yelled?

  “I didn’t understand you, at first,” Zeroah said. “Your memories grieved my heart, but it wasn’t until I realized you had so little regard for your own life that it all made sense. You think yourself worthless. And how would you know better? You’ve been told you are worthless by those who should have loved you best. But I see you, Oli Agoros. You are a good man. A kind man. You think you deserve death, yet each time you try to take your life, you fight to destroy as much evil as you can on your way out. It is noble of you, but misguided.”

  She paused, and he could hear her breathing. He waited, wondering if she would say anything else, wanting her to say more, desperate for the sound of her voice.

  “You deserve life,” she said finally. “But you must learn to extend grace to that little boy whose father was so very cruel and whose mother did not care.”

  Not his fault.

  Two steps clicked over the stone floor, fabric rustled, and a hand rested upon his shoulder. “I believe in you, Your Grace. Arman wants you to honor and serve him with your life.”

  Oli’s heart seized, so overcome was he by her words. But she did not understand. There was no good in him. Not really. He had given his soul to Gâzar long ago. He had to make her see what kind of a man he really was.

  “I compelled Vivia,” he said. “I couldn’t give her what she wanted
, so I made her forget. I changed her memories. She remembers nothing of what passed between us.” He choked on a breath but forged ahead, determined to say all he must and be done with it. “You were right, Your Highness. It was my memory magic all along. And I’m afraid I have broken Vivia’s mind in my attempt to save her from myself. So do not hold me up a hero, for I am far from it.”

  “Miss Vivia’s mind is not broken, Your Grace,” Zeroah said. “She is perfectly well, until I ask of you. It makes sense now why she becomes confused, but you did not—”

  The door opened again, and another set of footsteps strode inside. “Leave us, please.”

  Oli groaned inwardly. All hail the king.

  “This magic is new and strange, Your Grace,” Zeroah said. “I daresay generations will pass before it’s fully understood.” She squeezed his shoulder. “I will continue to pray for you. Every day.” Her soft footsteps faded away, followed by the heavier steps of her guardsman.

  “Explain what the dowager queen was talking about,” Trevn said.

  Oli sighed and rolled to his back. The light was so low, he could only see the silhouette of the king and his guards from the torchlight leaking through the open cell door. “All that I told you Zeroah had done to me with her unique voicing magic . . . entering my memories . . . well, it turns out it was my power all along. I pulled her into my mind, and once she was there, she changed my memories with her kindness. I guess, without realizing it, I was drawn to her.”

  “I see. And where did you get the evenroot this time?”

  Ashamed, Oli told the truth. “My mother had it on her when I arrested her.”

  “How much more do you have?”

  “None. I had hoped that taking it all would lure the greatest number of shadir.”

  “Here is the fact, Oli: I need you. So I cannot have you killing yourself, no matter how much you might wish to die. You will stay here a few more days and think about all the reasons you have to live. When I come back, I want a report of at least twenty. Then you will help me with the important business of defeating our enemy. Is that clear?”

  Oli smirked. “Yes, Your Highness.”

  “Good day, Your Grace.”

  A chaos of footsteps shuffled and receded as the king and his guards departed. The door to Oli’s cell shut, a key jangled in the lock, the guard’s footsteps faded, and silence returned.

  “What did you do, brother?” A woman’s voice from the cell behind his.

  A shock made Oli twist around, though he could see nothing. “Eudora?”

  “What magic do you have that destroyed some woman?”

  “The voices of blood. I can change people’s memories.”

  She chuckled. “I see why the king is your friend.”

  “He did not know I could do that until I told him just now.”

  “And he pardoned you for it.”

  “He pardoned me because he has mercy.”

  “No one has mercy,” Eudora said. “You wait, he will ask you to pay him back someday.”

  “That is a cynical view.”

  “It’s the truth.”

  “Hinckdan told me what happened to you. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

  “Yes, well, I am safe now. Until I’m executed.”

  “If the king were going to execute you, you’d be dead.”

  “I am Rogedoth’s wife.”

  “Not by your choosing. And if you could give any insight into his plans . . .”

  “You changed some woman’s memories?”

  Oli winced. “I meant to help her.”

  “It sounds like you did.”

  Oli wasn’t convinced.

  “Would you help me?” his sister asked. “I want to forget.”

  “Forget what?” But he realized he already knew and cringed that his words had sounded harsh. “Forgive me. I didn’t think.”

  “I don’t want to forget all that happened,” Eudora said. “But I’d like to forget some of it. End my torment. Is that so wrong?”

  Oli did not think so, but was this something he wanted to try again? He had taken Vivia’s memories without her consent to ease her pain and suffering. Eudora was asking for relief. Her need to forget seemed far more compelling than Oli’s desire to help Vivia.

  “Please, brother?” Her voice had a wretched tone.

  He would not deny anyone sanity. “I’ve only done this once. I make no promises. And it might . . . change you.”

  “I am not afraid.”

  “Very well.” In the darkness, he moved against the bars separating their cells, took hold of his sister’s hand, then reached for her mind. “Think about what you wish to forget.”

  As the first scene of horror began to play through his mind, Oli wondered briefly who would help him forget what memories he let in.

  Kalenek

  After Kal and Grayson had carried Ulrik to Inolah in New Rurekau, Rosâr Trevn tasked them with stealing Charlon’s stash of evenroot. Kal carried a shovel to Grayson’s receiving room and found the young man sitting on the floor against one wall, waiting.

  Grayson jumped to his feet. “We can’t go directly to Charlon or she’ll see us. You’ll have to show me the way, and I’ll carry you league by league.”

  Kal grimaced. He’d made many magical trips since the king had named him Grayson’s Shield, but he didn’t like the idea of doing it over and over. He strapped the shovel to his back, then took hold of Grayson’s arms. “Let’s go.”

  Then they were moving, like someone had jerked the world out from under their feet. Everything blurred, except their bodies, which seemed to remain in place as they passed through the air like a figurine someone had thrown.

  They stopped in a field a great distance from the castle, feet deep in snow. A gust of cold shocked Kal.

  “You’ll have to direct me from here,” Grayson said, breath fogging from his mouth.

  Kal squinted to the west and panned his gaze southward, taking in the endless snowy hills. With no roads, he suddenly doubted his ability to get back to Magosia without Onika’s help. Nothing to do but try. He supposed if they got lost Grayson could always take them back to the castle. He pointed to the southwest. “That way.”

  They grabbed hold of each other, and again they flew, though this time Kal was able to see the snowy ground moving beneath their feet. They landed on the edge of a steep hill. Kal’s ankle twisted, and he stumbled. The shovel swung, pulling him down. He hit the ground and slid, flailing to try to stop himself, though there was nothing to grab on to.

  He struck a solid object and was surprised to see Grayson looking down. The young man had planted himself on the side of the hill, and Kal had run up against his legs.

  “How did you—? Never mind.” What Kal wouldn’t give to be able to move like that.

  Grayson helped Kal to his feet. The young man had built up some muscle since Kal had helped him escape the Vespara.

  “You’ve grown since I last saw you,” Kal said, brushing snow off his tunic.

  “I haven’t tasted any root since the Vespara,” Grayson said.

  Kal tapped his temple. “I meant here.” He thumped the backs of his fingers against Grayson’s chest. “And here.”

  The young man beamed. It was hard for Kal not to see the boy under those masculine features. Back when they’d traveled through Magonia and Rurekau, Grayson had annoyed Kal with his endless questions, but he liked this older Grayson a great deal.

  “I wish Shanek could have had a childhood like yours,” he said. “Jhorn was wise to protect you from your magic. To keep you from root.”

  “Did you give root to Shanek?”

  “Chieftess Mreegan did. Every day of his life until she died.” Kal’s throat tightened, and he gripped Grayson’s arm. “Let’s keep moving.”

  They jumped again, this time landing on the bank of a partly frozen river. Next they moved to a snowy valley, beside a copse of snow-laden trees, then to the other end of that same valley, at the bottom of a large hill.


  “How big is Shanek now?” Grayson asked.

  “He looks about King Trevn’s age, but he’s really just shy of two years old.”

  Grayson wrinkled his nose. “Does he act like a baby?”

  “Sometimes,” Kal said, chuckling, “though not how you’re thinking. His mind and speech grew with his body, which slowed once Charlon forbade him from taking evenroot. The damage has been done, though. And not from root alone.”

  “What else happened?”

  “Charlon spoiled him rotten with delusions of grandeur. Promised he’d be king of Armania.” Kal tugged on Grayson’s arm. “Let’s head that way.” He pointed. “Southwest.”

  And Grayson jumped.

  They traveled the better part of the morning until Kal caught sight of a familiar rocky outcropping. He directed Grayson to take them north until he spied the blip of red in the distance.

  “The red tent is Charlon’s dwelling,” he told Grayson. “The other tents are white, so it’s hard to see them in the snow.”

  “Is the evenroot in the red tent?”

  “No.” This made Kal grin. “The Chieftess’s paranoia has made our task a simple one.” He told Grayson how Charlon had made him bury the evenroot in the field where no one could find it.

  “She trusted you,” Grayson said.

  “Aye, that she did, to her great loss.”

  “Will she hate you very much?”

  “Perhaps, though she might never learn I was the one to take it. Come on.”

  Kal combed the clearing until he located the spot, which had recently been dug up. A pang of fear shot through him. Had Charlon moved it?

  “Someone beat us to it, looks like,” Grayson said.

  Kal shrugged off the shovel. “Only one way to find out. You watch in the Veil. I want to know if anyone or anything sees us.”

  Grayson vanished, and when he next spoke, his voice came from inside Kal’s head. “I don’t see anyone. Should I come out and help dig?”

  “Stay there,” Kal said. “Since it’s been dug up recently, it won’t take me long.” And he would much rather have a set of eyes in the Veil.