A Deliverer Comes

by Jill Williamson

  Six had been seated at the table tonight. Saria and Mielle’s honor maiden, Miss Abree, sat on either side of Mielle. Hinck sat across from Saria, with Grayson on his left and Tonis, Mielle’s onesent, beside Grayson. Outside the open door, Hinck’s guards stood with Mielle’s guards, Bero and Lady Pia—a more awkward visitor in Hinck’s new world he could not have imagined.

  “I like eating here,” Mielle said. “It’s much quieter than how we do dinner in Armanguard, and far less stressful.”

  “Hinck and I have not been crowned,” Saria said, “so there is no point eating in the great hall, where so many would glare and whisper behind raised goblets.”

  “A great hall does tend to put one on display,” Mielle said.

  “That is part of ruling,” Saria said, “but I have no stomach for it without the security of a crown.”

  “When will you marry?” Mielle asked.

  “The coronation and wedding are in the planning stages,” Hinck said, “but we are waiting to set a date until the threat of Barthel Rogedoth has passed.”

  “Sometimes I think that will never happen,” Mielle said.

  “It will happen,” Hinck said. “His army is headed this way now.”

  “I’m sorry I haven’t had a chance to meet with you until now, Your Highness,” Saria said, changing the subject. “I thank you again for recovering those Sarikarian children. I’m ashamed that I didn’t know any were missing.”

  “Finnel Wallington is involved in all this,” Mielle said. “If only I could prove it.”

  “If I can help in any way, I am most willing,” Saria said.

  “As am I,” Hinck said. “I would relish any reason to arrest that man.”

  “The Sarikarian children described Sir Malder as their captor,” Mielle said. “Is their description enough to arrest Finnel’s shield?”

  “Not without adult witnesses,” Hinck said. “If they’d taken a noble child, maybe.”

  “He’s right,” Saria said. “Our council is quite old fashioned. They would never take the word of common children over that of a nobleman. We must find stronger evidence.”

  “Or catch them in some other crime,” Hinck said.

  “Mett Lycor is the missing piece,” Grayson said, drawing the attention of those at the table. “Every trail leads to him.”

  “Mett Lycor formerly of Raine?” Saria asked.

  “He’s an apparition,” Mielle said. “We cannot find him anywhere.”

  “Well, no,” Saria said. “Because he is dead.”

  Hinck hadn’t heard that. “When did this happen?” he asked.

  “In the Battle of New Sarikar,” Saria said. “He fought alongside Fonu Edekk and was struck down by one of my father’s guards. As he was minor nobility, his body was returned to his mother. She lives on the estate of Tace Edekk.”

  Mielle sat back in her chair. “Of course she does.”

  “All this time, Mett Lycor has been a diversion,” Tonis said.

  “Something still doesn’t fit,” Mielle said. “Everyone we spoke to described Captain Korvoh when asked to describe Master Lycor. Except Master Orban, the first father we visited. He described the real man—said he’d seen him weeks before.”

  “Which means he knew him,” Hinck said.

  “Which means he lied,” Mielle said. “Lycor would have been dead when Orban claimed to have seen him. He has to know who is behind all this. They must be threatening him—perhaps holding his son captive.” She pushed her chair back and stood.

  Hinck rose to his feet, as did Tonis, and after a moment, Grayson.

  “Are you leaving us, Your Highness?” Saria asked.

  “Forgive me, but I must consult my papers.” She started for the exit. “I might know what happened.”

  “Please let us know the moment you puzzle it out,” Saria said.

  “I will,” Mielle said. “Abree, Tonis, I insist you stay and enjoy the meal. Grayson, I’d like your assistance.”

  The young man exhaled a deep breath. “Yes, Your Highness.”

  Mielle paused in the doorway to wait for Grayson, who pocketed two rolls on his way out. “Good evening,” she said, then ushered Grayson from the room.

  “I do hope she has made a discovery,” Saria said.

  “It will be such a relief to find out what happened to those children,” Miss Abree said.

  “The queen is a most tenacious woman,” Hinck said. “I have no doubt she will succeed.”

  “How do you like working with the queen?” Saria asked Miss Abree.

  “Oh, it is wonderful,” the girl said.

  “I do not have an honor maiden,” Saria said. “It did cause me some trouble until my betrothal was announced. My dearest duke has solved so many of my problems.”

  Hinck grinned and bit into his chicken leg, watching as Saria engaged Miss Abree in a discussion about Queen Mielle’s favorite pastimes. The princess was beautiful and brave and witty. Hinck had always admired her and could already feel his heart attaching. He was going to enjoy being married to Saria. The question was, how did Saria truly feel about him?

  Hinck entered his chambers, eager for bed. He pulled off his belt and loosened the laces on his tunic. Mielle had not returned to dinner, and he wondered what, if anything, she had discovered.

  The door to his chambers opened and Wix, Hinck’s recently appointed onesent, entered. Wix was thin, with short hair cut like the top of a mushroom. He stood at Hinck’s height, but his posture was so hunched that if he straightened he’d likely be two hands taller.

  “Good evening, Your Grace,” Wix said. “I thought I heard you come in. Are you hungry?” He walked to the hearth and stoked the fire.

  “I just came from dinner,” Hinck said. “I crave only my bed and a dreamless night.”

  Wix nodded, plucked the belt from Hinck, and draped it over his arm, then took over unlacing Hinck’s tunic and helped him with his boots. For all Hinck’s years as a young noble, working as a backman to Trevn had kept him living below his status. He still wasn’t used to having servants of his own.

  “I placed hot coals under your bed about half an hour ago,” Wix said, “so it should be nice and warm. Is there anything else I can get you?”

  “No, thank you, Wix. Have a good evening.”

  Wix departed. Hinck lifted a candlestick from a table near the fire and carried it into his bedchamber. Light danced over the walls until he set the candle on the bedside table and stilled the spinning shadows. He stretched his arms above his head, and while he held himself taut, a shadow moved on the wall.

  Heat flashed over Hinck, but he remained calm and reached down toward his bed as if to pull back the blankets. Instead he grabbed the dagger he kept in a sheath attached to his shin. He drew it, then dove onto his bed, rolling to his feet on the uneven mattress, blade extended.

  A man stood at his bedside, also clutching a dagger, though his was gleaming bronze. Finnel Wallington. He stabbed at Hinck, who jumped backward off the other side of the mattress. Finnel circled the foot of the bed, hemming Hinck against the wall. Behind him hovered the pale yellow, toad-like shadir Hinck had first seen in the sitting room with Princess Nolia. Its three bulging black eyes were fixed on Hinck.

  “Now, this is a surprise,” Hinck said, waving his dagger before him to act as a shield. “You seem the type to send a servant to do your killing.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong.” Finnel lunged, grabbed Hinck’s wrist that held his dagger, spun in a half circle, and elbowed him in the face. Pain spiked through Hinck’s nose and he dropped his weapon.

  “Saria!” he bloodvoiced. Her shields were up. “Saria!”

  Finnel set his blade to Hinck’s throat. “I expected more difficulty in disarming the highly esteemed Duke of Armanguard.”

  Hinck scrunched his stinging nose. “I’m really more of a bowman.”

  “Hinckdan?” Saria said to his mind. “Is something wrong?”

  “I’m under attack! Send some guards to—”
>
  Something hard bashed against his head. Hinck slumped to his side, stunned. The shadir cackled.

  “With you dead”—Finnel’s voice came near Hinck’s ear—“once I dispose of Princess Saria, the throne will be mine.”

  A blade slid into Hinck. Sharp waves of heat sharpened his focus to the pommel of Finnel’s bronze dagger extending from the center of his chest. The shadir flew circles around him, laughing madly.

  Saria’s worry pressed against his fear. “Hinckdan, where are you?”

  “I am dead.” This was the end. He’d been murdered by Finnel Wallington.

  “Stop joking at once and tell me where you are.”

  “Finnel . . . the shadir.” He could think of nothing else but the pulsing throb in his chest. He must be bleeding. He should try to stop the blood.

  “Drop him in the river,” Finnel said from afar. “I don’t want his body found.”

  Sir Malder’s face overhead. A flash of fabric and darkness descended, shrouding Hinck in prickly burlap that smelled of onions.

  Arman, he prayed. Protect Saria.

  A shock of cold woke Hinck. He opened his eyes to a blur of swirling darkness. He briefly thought he was dead until he choked in a mouthful of burlap and frigid water. Finnel’s men must have thrown him in the river, and he was sinking fast. He pinched his lips together and desperately tried to determine which way was up, but it was too dark. He kicked hard but the sack inhibited movement, plus there was something heavy in the bottom, dragging him down.

  His lungs burned for air, and his whole body ached from the cold needling through him. Darkness clouded his vision. Death was going to take him now, and there was nothing he could do about it. After all of his adventures, he would end in a watery grave.

  He panicked and wriggled wildly in the water, though his strength was quickly waning.

  “Hinckdan!” Saria’s voice in his head revived him. “Hold still.”

  “I’m drowning. Finnel had Sir Malder throw me in the river.” Plus he’d been stabbed. Oddly he felt little pain from the wound to his heart. How could that be?

  Something scraped across his back. There were likely rocks down here and submerged trees, maybe even some fish.

  “I said hold still. I don’t want to cut you.”

  A hand touched his side, slid down his legs to his feet. Saria was here? Underwater? A surge of affection for this woman distracted Hinck from death’s call. The burlap tugged tightly over his face. He suddenly lost control and sucked water up his nose. This made his body writhe and his nose and throat burn. His vision faded just as a great weight fell away from his feet. He floated upward, turned. Hands gripped the sack, near his side and his shoulder.

  He was rising.

  He burst through the surface into the cold night and sucked in frigid air. Coughs wracked his body. Water ran down his face and spilled into his mouth, but the cold froze the moisture on his skin, making his cheeks and forehead stiff.

  “Here!” Saria yelled. “Sir Oris! Help us!”

  Voices called out, drew nearer. Water splashed. Multiple hands grabbed him, dragged him from the water. He was still coughing—his nose and throat stung—though breathing was getting easier. As air began to pass in and out of his lungs, he noticed the cold more. And the dull throbbing in his chest.

  He’d been stabbed. He could still die.

  Arman, please don’t torture me any longer.

  “Where’s the litter?” Saria again.

  “Behind you.” A man’s voice. Sir Oris.

  “We need blankets here!” Saria yelled.

  Hinck’s feet found the ground, but when he tried to stand, his chest hurt too much and his knees buckled. Strong hands supported him as others dragged the burlap up over his head. The night was dark, filled with faceless shadows. Hands lifted him, set him on a firm surface, covered him in dry fabric. Then he was moving again, this time carried on the litter. A thousand pinpricks tingled his skin. He was getting warm. That was good, right?

  “Where’s the physician?” Saria asked.

  “Here, Your Highness.” Master Vento’s voice. “Bring him into the rear sitting room.”

  Hinck watched the dark sky change to a dark ceiling as the litter entered the castle and twisted and turned through several rooms. He saw the toad-like shadir once, floating above him, but when he looked for it again, it was gone.

  “You’re going to be fine, Hinck.” Saria brushed aside the hair matted to his forehead.

  Hinck wanted to tell her about the shadir, but he couldn’t find the strength to speak. Plus his body had begun to shake uncontrollably.

  He didn’t remember reaching the sitting room, but a sudden chill brought him back from sleep long enough to hear a man say, “There’s a lot of blood here. Where’s that coming from?”

  “His shirt. Cut that off him. Carefully now.”

  As hands pawed at his chest, two others grabbed the sides of his head, and he found himself staring upside down into Saria’s face. A wrinkled brow betrayed the falseness of her smile. “Hold on, Hinck. Please? I need you here. Stay with me.”

  But Hinck could not. Sudden pressure on his chest induced shocking pain, and he knew no more.

  Mielle

  Mielle and Grayson had read through all her notes and talked circles around how Master Orban might be involved in the abductions, but they’d found nothing. So she decided to have Grayson carry the man here, where Bero and Pia could question him.

  Grayson left but didn’t come back. The candle clock burned through an entire hour. Tonis and Abree returned from dinner, but still no word from Grayson.

  Mielle paced the room, wringing her hands. “What if something happened to him?”

  “He’s lightning fast, Your Highness,” Bero said. “No one could harm him.”

  Mielle wasn’t so sure. The virtue of patience wasn’t an easy one to strive for. She walked back to the fireplace, staring into the orange flames as they warmed her. She rubbed the shell on her soul-binding necklace and felt Trevn’s curiosity rise over the distance.

  “I wish I had the mind-speak magic.” Then she’d know exactly what was happening with Grayson. And she could speak to Trevn whenever she wanted, rather than be forced to wait—

  Cold air gusted behind her. “Found him!”

  Mielle spun around. Grayson held not a man in his arms, but a girl of about ten or eleven. She wore a wool dress and leggings that were wet from the knee down and dusted in snow, as was the hem of Grayson’s cloak. Both had pink cheeks and noses and were breathing heavily.

  “This is not Master Orban, Grayson.” Mielle pulled a blanket off her bed and draped it around the girl’s shoulders. “What’s your name?”

  “Leean, ma’am,” the girl said. “Is this Armanguard?”

  “This is the castle in New Sarikar,” Mielle said. “You’ve been rescued by Grayson, son of Jhorn, a hero with great magic. He can carry people from one place to another in an instant.”

  “The Deliverer,” Leean said. “Will he rescue the others too?”

  “There are more,” Grayson said.

  “Of course he will help them all,” Mielle said, “but I must speak with him first. Sit here by the fire and warm yourself. Miss Abree will bring you some tea and food. Abree?”

  The honor maiden nodded and rushed from the chamber.

  “What happened, Grayson?” Mielle asked.

  “There was no answer at Master Orban’s house,” he said, holding his hands out to the fire, “so I popped to his location. He was in a cabin in the forest with a woman. Not the wife we met before, but someone else. I snooped around and found a wagon on a trail that led to a shed in back, with more than a dozen children inside. I told them I’d be back soon and grabbed this girl.”

  Mielle fetched her cloak from the hook by the door. “Take me to the children. Now.”

  “Best wait until morning, Your Highness,” Bero said.

  She could not wait! “I won’t leave those children alone another moment. Th
ey’ll be brought here at once.” They must be freezing! She went to her trunk to find more cloaks.

  “Grayson can carry the children here, Your Highness,” Lady Pia said. “No need to go.”

  “It’ll take time for Grayson to move them all,” Mielle said, draping a cloak over her arm. “I’ll wait with the others until all have been rescued.”

  “I’ll go first,” Bero said. “Then Lady Pia. Then you.”

  Mielle supposed it was wise to bring her guards. She bade them fetch their cloaks and any extras they could find.

  “How many will be coming, Grayson?”

  “Around twenty,” Grayson told her.

  “Once you’ve freed them, Grayson, carry Master Orban and the woman to separate cells in the dungeon.” When the guards returned, Mielle put on her own cloak and three extras, draped two more blankets over her arm, and removed the lantern from the sideboard hook. “I’m ready.”

  Grayson carried Bero away first, then came back for Lady Pia. By the time he took hold of Mielle, his clothing was cold again.

  “Here we go, Your Highness,” Grayson said.

  Suddenly they were moving. Darkness swirled around them in the space of one deep breath, and they appeared between two buildings, knee-deep in snow. The lantern light revealed a cabin on Mielle’s left and a shed on her right, the door cracked open.

  Mielle pushed in the door. “Hello?” She held the lantern ahead, which created a void of blinding brightness. Beyond the light dozens of eyes reflected in the glow.

  “I’m here, Your Highness,” Lady Pia said.

  “Where is Bero?” Mielle asked.

  “Checking the cabin.”

  Mielle didn’t like that he’d strayed from the plan, but the children needed her, so she put him out of her mind for the moment. “My name is Mielle. We’ve come to help you.”

  Movement caused her to step back.

  “I’ll take those, ma’am.” A boy’s voice, adolescent. He claimed the blankets.

  “I’ll carry this one next,” Grayson said, hand on a little girl’s shoulder. At Mielle’s nod, they popped away. This made the children gasp.