A Deliverer Comes

by Jill Williamson

  “The princess is right,” Lord Faynor said, passing the scroll of Hinck’s heritage to Duke Brixmead. “We are not in a position to deny the king of Armania anything.”

  “You don’t honestly think we should go along with this?” Finnel asked.

  “The claim is legitimate,” Lord Faynor said. “Hinckdan Faluk is clearly next in line for the throne. I move that we accept this offer straightaway, with grace and gratitude, in hopes that King Trevn doesn’t take over our realm entirely.”

  “I second that motion,” General Norcott said.

  “He’s sent his man to rule us!” Finnel gestured to Hinck. “He is taking over our realm.”

  “It would take very little for King Trevn to absorb our nation into Armania,” the general said. “We are in that much trouble, whether the rest of you will admit it or not.”

  “It’s only by King Trevn’s kindness and regard that he makes this offer,” Lord Faynor said. “That he would marry his Second Arm to Saria is a great honor. And a co-regency at that. We still rule through our princess.”

  Saria quirked a brow at Hinck. “Hear that?” she bloodvoiced. “They still rule.”

  “Patience, lady,” Hinck said. “They’re leaning toward acceptance. I can feel it.”

  Duke Brixmead grunted. “What say you to this, Father Wolbair?”

  “Arman is with Rosâr Trevn and his nation,” the prophet said. “To align with them is to choose life over death.”

  “This is absurd,” Finnel said. “We would be handing our nation over to two children. What do either of them know about ruling?”

  “I spent nearly a year as a spy in Prince Mergest’s camp,” Hinck said. “I stopped Rosârah Laviel before she could attack Armanguard. No child could have survived such feats. As to your fears, I’m sure Princess Saria would agree that we shall need your wisdom to advise us as we seek to strengthen New Sarikar and defend against our enemies.”

  “Undoubtedly,” Saria said.

  “I’m in favor of this plan,” Lord Faynor said, nudging the scroll on the table between him and Duke Brixmead. “This proves that Duke Armanguard has the blood right to Sarikar. He’s a decorated war hero, just returned from saving his realm from the evil queen, and Wolbair supports him. I say we vote.”

  “Let me see that betrothal contract,” Duke Pixford said. “You wrote this, I hope, Your Grace? Best not to sign anything contrived by a woman.”

  A full hour passed as the men debated, repeatedly inquiring of Father Wolbair and questioning Hinck as to his motives and plans for the realm. Hinck was almost certain they’d gotten their votes, until Finnel Wallington again raised the subject of the border house Trevn wanted New Sarikar to build. Then everything started anew, and Hinck had to convince them why the border house was ideal. When they finally did vote, it was split, Lord Faynor and Duke Pixford for the agreement, Finnel Wallington and Duke Brixmead against.

  “The tie-breaking vote belongs to General Norcott,” Lord Faynor said.

  “Not in matters of regency,” Finnel said.

  “Why not?” Duke Pixford asked. “Because you want the title for yourself?”

  “I vote to accept the betrothal and make Princess Saria and her husband co-regents,” General Norcott said.

  Lord Faynor clapped his hands. “Then it’s settled. We must schedule a coronation.”

  “Not before a wedding,” Duke Brixmead said.

  “A swearing in of co-regents will do temporarily,” Duke Pixford said.

  “You’re all fools!” Finnel strode to the exit, pausing to point his finger at Hinck’s nose. “You will regret coming here, Your Grace.” And he left.

  Hinck had expected resistance from Finnel, but not a threat. The council then swore in Saria and him as co-regents, though it wouldn’t be finalized until after the wedding—a wedding Hinck had no intention of celebrating until after they helped stop Rogedoth.

  Trevn

  Rogedoth has left,” Inolah said. “I got word this morning, then went to see for myself. Every tent is gone. Worse, at last report, he took three hundred seventeen of our men with him. I knew many of our soldiers had befriended his, but not to the point of desertion. I sent scouts to follow his trail, but they found none. Magic, I suspect.”

  “Surely he is coming here,” Trevn said. “I wish the border houses were complete. Sarikar just broke ground on theirs yesterday.”

  “And Shanek?” Inolah asked. “Is he still causing trouble?”

  Shanek DanSâr was the bane of Trevn’s life at present. “Plenty. He killed a field of sheep with his magic. Jhorn has heard over thirty eyewitness testimonies. He is terrifying my people.”

  “Foolish if he seeks to rule them.”

  “Is it?” Trevn asked. “I can’t imagine anyone would dare stand against such power.”

  “One cannot rule by fear for long,” Inolah said.

  “Father managed it for twenty-four years,” Trevn said. “At some point, Shanek is going to come into the castle and attack me. How will I stand against him?”

  “Let Arman stand against him. You simply stand with Arman.”

  That sounded good in theory, but such a plan hadn’t kept Wilek alive.

  A knock came on the outer door and Cadoc entered.

  “I must go, Inolah.” Trevn closed the connection. “What is it?” he asked Cadoc.

  “Unexpected guests, Your Highness. Randmuir Khal and his daughter, Zahara.”

  The names brought a chill over Trevn. “What do they want?”

  “To speak with you. Should I have them sent away?”

  Trevn thought about it. “Bring them here—no. Take them to the council chambers. Allow no more than two of their guards to accompany them. I assume they brought men?”

  Cadoc nodded. “No more than two, Your Highness.”

  His shield closed the door behind him, and Trevn said a quick prayer before seeking out the minds of Randmuir Khal and his daughter. He was surprised to find both well shielded, though he supposed that after Fonu’s compulsion they had reason enough to take such precautions. That didn’t keep Trevn from sensing their emotions, and while Zahara seemed driven and desperate, her father’s temperament was a crucible of too many feelings to name.

  As Cadoc had promised, when Trevn stepped out from the antechamber and into the council room, Hawley was waiting with four pirates. Of the two standing guard at the door, Trevn recognized one as Rand’s son, Meelo, still missing his lips from a long-ago encounter with Charlon Sonber.

  Zahara and her father had taken seats along one side of the table. The former looked healthy and intimidating. Dressed all in black like the rest of the pirates, her fitted tunic revealed an athletic body and muscled arms that could do serious damage with or without a weapon.

  Her father, however, had aged ten years since Trevn had last seen him. His hands were clasped and resting on the table, wrists bound with thick, braided hemp. A collection of welts, fresh and scabbed over, ringed his arms from elbow to wrist. His eyes were bloodshot and creased, and his threadbare tunic had holes in both elbows and was frayed around the cuffs.

  Those reddened eyes found Trevn’s, looked him up and down. “I see you’ve benefitted from your brother’s death,” he said.

  Heat flashed up Trevn’s spine. “What do you want, Master Khal?”

  “Father, hush.” Zahara stood. “Thank you for seeing us, Your Highness. In honor of my grandmother, I hope you’ll allow the Omatta to join you in your war against Barthel Rogedoth.”

  Interesting. “Why?” Trevn asked. “What do you get from this?”

  “A mantic,” Randmuir said. “To remove my compulsion.”

  Fonu Edekk had compelled Randmuir to capture Grayson and take him to Rogedoth. A compulsion sometimes ended when the mantic who cast the spell died, but it didn’t in Randmuir’s case—hence the way he had bound himself to keep from trying to obey the magic.

  “I can’t promise to capture a mantic,” Trevn said. “And even if we could, had he or she any
magic left, it would undoubtedly be used to try to escape, not to help you.”

  “Let us fight,” Randmuir said. “I’ll worry about catching my own mantic.”

  Trevn took a deep breath as he considered the request. “I cannot add men to my—”

  Zahara cleared her throat.

  “My pardon. I cannot add men and women to my army who might, when the moment arises, abandon my cause for their own.”

  “We have three hundred sixty-two trained warriors,” Zahara said. “We dedicate three hundred fifty to your cause and will send the other twelve after a mantic.”

  Trevn considered the risk. Randmuir was compelled to abduct Grayson, and though he was fighting against it, what if he succeeded? Plus, these were pirates. Such a group would have no loyalty to Trevn’s officers. They’d also have their own methods of warfare.

  Yet he needed soldiers. Badly.

  “I must consult my prophet,” he said. “In the meantime, I’d like you to meet with my First Arm. He is gifted in the mind-speak magic. There may be something he can do to help.”

  Oli

  Shortly after lunch, guards escorted Oli from the dungeon to his chambers, where he was told to bathe, shave, dress, then report to the king’s office. He obeyed, and Trevn gave him a rather odd assignment—to head to the council chambers to meet with pirates.

  There he found a woman seated with three men. Upon Oli’s entry, she jumped to her feet and grabbed the hilt of a short sword she wore at her waist. Oli recognized her instantly as the woman who had given Janek the scar on his nose.

  He couldn’t help his smile. “Good midday, Miss Zahara.”

  “You work for the king?” she asked. “Aren’t you part of that cult?”

  “I was, but no longer.”

  “Who is this person?” the man beside her asked. By his bound wrists, Oli guessed him to be Randmuir Khal of the Omatta.

  “This is Oli Agoros, a duke,” Zahara said. “He was a close friend of Sâr Janek’s.”

  Randmuir scowled at Oli. “This is who the Armanian king sends to help me?”

  “Janek and I parted ways several months before he died,” Oli said. “I’ve come to assist with your compulsion. I have a unique blend of knowledge and skills that might be of use.”

  The pirate’s eyes narrowed. “Say that again in plain language. I’ve wasted enough of my life trying to decode royal speak.”

  As much as Randmuir hated royals, the man sure did remind Oli of King Echad. “If you’ll allow it, I would like to look into your memories so I can discover the type of compulsion placed upon you and the name of the shadir used to create the magic.”

  “Why would that help?” Zahara asked.

  “It might not,” Oli said. “But if the spell was temporary, we could try to track the shadir and destroy it.”

  “You can destroy a demon?” Randmuir asked.

  “I cannot, sir, but the prophetess Onika can. I’ve seen her do it.”

  Randmuir’s scowl faded. He looked at his daughter. “Well?”

  “What do you have to lose, Father?”

  “My mind.” He gestured his bound hands at Oli. “He wants that I should lower my shields and let him dig around in my head.”

  “I don’t want to do anything harmful to your mind, sir,” Oli said. “My king has asked me to try to help you. It makes no difference to me whether you agree or refuse.”

  “Oh, cease your pompous babble and get on with it.”

  “Very well.” Oli started around the table.

  Zahara resumed her seat, which was on her father’s right. Oli pulled out the chair on Randmuir Khal’s left, which put his fake arm closest to the man, so he twisted and grabbed Randmuir’s forearm with his left hand.

  “Please recall the day the compulsion was placed upon you,” Oli said.

  “I don’t know that,” Randmuir said.

  How unfortunate. “When did you first meet Master Fonu Edekk?”

  “He was a sailor I picked up in Everton,” Randmuir said.

  “No.” This from one of the guards at the table, a man whose lips had been cut off, baring his teeth. “He come aboard long after that. From one of the ships we pirated. A month or two before we found land.”

  Randmuir twisted in his seat. “That recent?”

  “Master Fonu was aboard the Seffynaw out of Everton harbor,” Oli said. “After the mutiny he jumped overboard to avoid arrest.”

  “And snuck aboard my ship, then worked his magic to make me Rogedoth’s slave?” Randmuir followed this realization with a host of unsavory epithets as to what he really thought of Fonu Edekk, Rogedoth, nobility, and the world in general.

  “Think back to the last time you remember being in full control of your mind,” Oli suggested. “Or if there was a time you remember doing something out of character.”

  “Don’t remember nothing like that,” the pirate said.

  “The decision to attack that pale’s ship,” the lipless man said. “Made no sense to me why you’d want that rickety outfit. That was the first time I thought you was out of your head.”

  “Recall that day, if you can,” Oli said. “And lower the shields around your mind.”

  Randmuir growled but closed his eyes. Oli did as well. He connected with the man’s mind, and images started to flash by.

  The process moved tediously through the day, then all of a sudden, Oli saw Fonu join Randmuir at the stern. It felt strange to look on his old friend, knowing he was dead. Fonu complimented the size of the pirated fleet, and Randmuir snarled and sent him back to work. Yet the conversation had continued, which seemed out of character for the pirate captain.

  Oli inserted himself into the memory and asked Randmuir to back up and retrace his steps before he had walked to the stern. Oli found Fonu, standing by the mizzenmast as Randmuir passed by. He followed as Fonu trailed Randmuir up the stairs to the stern deck and saw that he’d whispered a spell as they walked.

  “Haroan tsamad ani. Ten shel cheber tokef. Randmuir Khal yahal pelach ani. Randmuir Khal yahal shmah shel aymer.”

  “I’ve found it,” Oli said. “It was a permanent compulsion using the common shadir Haroan, who takes the form of a brown wolf. Haroan likely went to Rogedoth once Fonu died.”

  “Can you kill him?” Randmuir asked.

  “Not I, no. And even if Miss Onika manages to, it won’t break the spell.”

  “Why not? I want that creature dead and my mind back!”

  “Calm, Father,” Zahara said. “The duke said it might not work.”

  “There must be something you can do,” Randmuir said to Oli. “I’m mad to find that root boy and drag him to Rogedoth. It’s all I think about. All I dream about. There must be a way to end my torment beyond taking my life.”

  The words “end my torment” reminded Oli of Eudora. He’d taken great pains to manipulate her memories. If he could help Randmuir forget he ever heard the compulsion, might that break its hold over him?

  How thrilled would Eudora be if Oli could break the compulsion Rogedoth had placed upon her? She’d be able to tell King Trevn all she knew. In fact, if this worked, Oli might be able to break any compulsion, as long as he could get into the head of the one who’d heard it.

  It was risky, though. Something could go wrong.

  He released the pirate’s arm. “I’m sorry. Compulsions are strong magic. I don’t—”

  Randmuir grabbed his tunic. “Don’t keep things from me, royal. You hesitated. I deserve to know what you were thinking. Whatever it is should be my choice, not yours.”

  Oli drew in a deep breath and smoothed his tunic. “I do have an idea, but I’ve never tried it before.”

  “What’s the idea?”

  “I would attempt to convince you that you never heard the spell in the first place.”

  “I didn’t hear it!”

  “But you did,” Oli said, “or I wouldn’t have been able to see the memory. Fonu likely compelled you to forget.”

  Randmuir growled.
“If I’ve forgotten, how can I forget again?”

  Oli had confused him. “Forgive me,” he said. “Fonu wouldn’t have compelled you to forget the spell he placed upon you, but to forget that you’d heard him speak that spell. If you don’t remember hearing those words, it might break the magic. Like I said, I’ve never tried it. And it might be years before we’d know if you had suffered any aftereffects.”

  The pirate glanced at his daughter, who shrugged. “It’s your choice, Father.”

  Randmuir turned back to Oli. “All right, royal. Let’s try it.”

  A thrill of excitement ran through Oli. He again took hold of the pirate’s forearm. “Take me back to that same memory, and this time, I’ll try to change it.”

  “This is remarkable,” Trevn said. “By freeing Randmuir’s mind, you removed a threat against Grayson and gave me a small but fiercely loyal group of allies. Randmuir Khal will forever be in our debt. He has already agreed to man our southern border house.”

  Oli smiled—couldn’t help it. He had astounded even himself. “I never would have thought it possible to break a compulsion,” he said.

  “All things are possible with Arman,” Trevn said. “And he works everything together for the good of his children. I wonder if you could search Tace Edekk’s memories from afar?”

  “I cannot search memories, Your Highness. I can only see what is shown me. The duke would have to recall enough that I could insert myself into a memory. Once I’m there, I can move about some, but I cannot get inside unless I’m invited and shown where to go.”

  “Don’t be so certain,” Trevn said. “It seems to me that if you can enter someone’s memory and—how did you put it in regard to Randmuir? Back through time?—then you should be able to search as well. You need only practice.”

  Oli did not want to search through that much of anyone’s memories. “It would be terribly invasive.”

  “I’ll find you a practicing partner to see what you might discover.”

  “So I’m to become an experimental subject?” Oli asked.