by T R Kerby
Finally his muscles failed and he collapsed onto the limp body. The rhythm of his own breathing mingled with his slowing pulse. Weakness kept him lying there as the heat left the corpse. Using every ounce of remaining strength, he rolled onto the cool, moist grass and stared up at the stars. Leaves and branches broke the sky into chunks of absolute black punctuated with glimmering colored dots. The grey-black world of his rage receded, leaving space for the agony of his reality. A light wind cooled the tears he hadn't known were on his cheeks. He tried to breathe. He might never breathe again without her.
He wept until nothing remained. Only a wrung out shell of a man existed. He'd be empty and void for the rest of his life. His long and futile life. What good was his immortality without her to share it? Everything he loved would die around him like a garden in the fall.
He braced his elbow on a half-rotted stump, staggered upright, and yanked at the leather ties of his breastplate. He slid it over his head. The mail went with it, dropping into a jangling pile at his feet. He drew his sword and flipped it in his hand. The tree stump provided the perfect footing for the hilt and he wedged it in until it no longer wiggled. He guided the blade to the space under his sternum. All he had to do now was lean and let go.
"Is this what she'd expect of you?" Narthan asked. "Falling on your sword?"
Tegedir flinched at the sudden sound of spoken words. "I've become the monster I despised in Lyov."
"That monster lives in us all, get hit hard enough and out he comes. Losing Lalaith is a hard hit."
"I failed her."
"She would disagree. Consider the twins. If you abandon your children when they need you the most, that will be a failure. You have control over that."
"They need a better example to look up to."
"You mean like a leader who has faced countless impossible decisions and does what's right, even when it's difficult? How about a man who took the best care of his family he knew how? Maybe a man who, despite his Zinotti blood, is as human as the rest of us, pain and flaws and all?" Narthan took a few steps forward. "What they do not need is a father who falls on his sword and orphans them. Grieve, but don't quit."
"How do I lead our people after ... that?" He thrust his chin toward Caeth's body.
"With your head up and dignity, the same as you always have, knowing you do the best you can."
Alimarae have mercy. What kind of father forgets his children? What kind of leader forsakes his people and wallows in his own self-pity?
Narthan kicked the hilt free and the sword spun from Tegedir's grip. The blade opened a short wound across his ribs as it went.
Tegedir stared at the blood on his tunic. His legs gave way and he crumpled, catching the stump to keep from going completely to the ground.
Narthan knelt next to him. "Stay with us, Tegedir, Commander of the Order, father to Brannon and Neva. Friend to me. Stay with us and guide us."
"I can't do this alone."
Narthan pulled him into his embrace. "You are not alone."
Chapter 36
Tegedir got to his feet with Narthan steadying him. Dawn broke through the trees and cast shadows toward the west. "Where's my daughter?"
"We lost Murdoc in the chaos. I have everyone who isn't holding Lyov's people searching."
Narthan helped him into his mail and tied his breastplate. He collected the sword from where it lay in the grass and sighted down its blade. "Not bent, but the hilt is loose. Let's hope you don't need it."
Tegedir took it, tested it, and replaced it in its sheath. He drank from the spring, then splashed his face. For several minutes, he knelt beside the calm pool and gathered strength to face his people and deal with Lyov.
Narthan's touch on his back reminded him time passed, time in which his daughter got farther beyond his grasp. He did not fear Murdoc would hurt Neva, but she might flee with her.
Birds harvested seeds among the grass of the meadow. The stream bubbled and rolled. Both unaffected by the tremendous losses and inconsequential victories of mankind. Every human voice ceased when he and Narthan left the tree line.
Randir met them on the bridge. His expression masked the pain Tegedir recognized in his eyes. Tegedir and Randir clasped forearms. Emotion and support conveyed in a manner invisible to the outsiders. "None of Lyov's personal guard remains," Randir said. "These are enlisted men, ordinary soldiers."
Lyov and fifty of his men knelt, bound and arrayed in lines in the open. Tegedir towered over the king, whose silver hair had come loose from the braids and hung limp around his creased face. His gaze did not waver, though he had to strain his neck to look up.
"You broke our alliance," Lyov said. The audacity of the man didn't come as a surprise.
"Your grandson broke our alliance. My question now is what to do with you."
"Where is Caeth?"
"Dead."
"You dare touch a —"
"You forget yourself." The full force of who, and what, he was rushed through Tegedir's veins like lava. "I am Tegedir, son of Firellon, High Lord of House Drakur, and Ilmadia, Priestess of Alimarae and daughter to the Lord of House Koravel."
Lyov's remaining soldiers, already on their knees, dropped their foreheads to the ground. Lyov glanced around in disdain. "They may worship you, but I do not. I cast that ridiculous practice aside ages ago."
"I don't care how you feel about me. You inhabit the house of my kin and I will evict you with extreme malice if you don't toe the line. I can take your head or you can agree to my terms. The choice is yours."
A muscle along the king's jaw twitched and for a moment Tegedir believed he'd choose death. He almost wished he would. He'd swing the blade himself. The root of this twisted chain of events began with him and his forced marriage of a woman who refused to be meek. He could take this man's head and not lose a moment of sleep.
"What are your terms?" Lyov asked.
"An envoy will arrive at the home of the Drakuri which you currently occupy. That envoy will take possession of every book in the library or anywhere else on the property. Every Zinotti artifact will be carefully packed and returned with that envoy. If anything is damaged or missing, our agreement is void and I will wipe your people from the earth. Your continued presence in the keep will be allowed as long as you make no move against us. Do you understand?"
Lyov gave a tiny nod.
"Say it loud for your men to hear."
"I agree to your terms."
"Ilok, look at me." The men raised their heads and Tegedir let his gaze sweep over each one. "Who is your leader?"
"Dragonlord!"
"Listen to me. Go home. Live your lives in peace. Love your families."
One of the older ones spoke. "We would serve you." The others murmured agreement.
"Then serve me by aiding my envoy. Ensure my people, our people, are safe as they return the heirlooms of my kin to their rightful place. Do so, and you have a place at my hearth."
"We will see it done."
Tegedir gestured to Randir. "Untie them. Give them their weapons."
Randir saluted and the Ilok got to their feet. They stood at attention until Tegedir dismissed them with a salute. "Keep Lyov under guard and kill him if he tries anything."
Tegedir and Narthan walked away from the soldiers and ducked into Narthan's shelter. Tegedir sank onto the trunk.
"Impressive," Narthan said. "Intimidated me and I don't scare easy."
"I've made a powerful enemy."
"Mmmm, true, but you also gained a small army of allies. You showed them you trusted them right from the beginning. Put them on a more even footing with their leader rather than treating them as tools." Narthan sat across from him. "You can relax now." He gestured toward Tegedir's head. "Your eyes are still ... reptilian. Unsettles me a little when you do that."
"Sorry."
"Son of Firellon and Ilmadia, huh?"
"Yes." He urged the muscles in his neck to relax. He wanted to sleep for several weeks and awake from this night
mare. Have his family whole and his world right side up.
"Pretty imposing family tree," Narthan said. "Don't expect me to start bowing to you or anything."
"I'd be disappointed if you did. Get me a horse, please. I need to see my son before I search for Neva."
Narthan clasped his shoulder as he walked by.
How does one tell a six year old boy his mother is never coming home? He'd delivered news of lost loved ones to many families and it was the hardest thing he had to do. No words softened it or made it easier. Nothing eased the pain. Nothing filled the gap.
A tap on the door jolted him from his thoughts. "Come."
Aric ducked inside and waited. He seemed to struggle with lack of words and the awkwardness of not knowing what to do. His eyes were red and his face flushed.
Tegedir extended his hand and Aric rushed to take it. They stayed that way for a moment, silent and hurting. "I built..." Aric swallowed and started again. "I built her pyre."
"Thank you. How many other dead?"
"None. We held the advantage of numbers and surprise."
"Good."
"I'm sorry, I fai—"
"Don't, Aric. Don't. No one is to blame except Caeth, and he's paid the price."
Aric blinked against the tears threatening to fall.
"Light a torch. I'll be there in a minute."
Aric saluted and ducked out.
After a minute, Tegedir forced his legs to lift his body and carry it outside. His people gathered around the pyre of pine boughs and fall flowers. Halfway across the meadow he stopped. He couldn't do this. Couldn't say goodbye to her. Narthan and Randir met him there and took positions on his right and left. He took a breath and continued toward the final resting place of his mate of over a century.
He climbed the wooden ladder propped against the pyre. Lalaith rested on a nest of white feathers and golden grass, orange flowers twined in her braided hair. Her simple dress was yellow as the roses that grew under their window in summer. Her face was peaceful, although pale as a winter sky. Her hands lay across her body, graceful fingers laced together. Fingers that had stitched his wounds and caressed his flesh. Hands that held their children and healed the sick. He touched her lips, the lips that had kissed his and given rise to sweet Zinotti song. He kissed her forehead that held the mind that thrilled him with its wit and depth of knowledge. She was gone. The last precious treasure of her kind. She took with her most of his heart, save the piece he retained for their children and their friends.
He touched her cheek one last time and climbed down the ladder. Aric passed him the torch and he touched it to the base of the pyre. The dry, fuel soaked wood leapt into flame and he cringed away from the searing heat. Smoke billowed into the clear morning sky and carried his love with it.
Chapter 37
Tegedir took the reins from Narthan.
"I should ride with you," Narthan said.
"I need some time." At Narthan's lowered brow, he added, "Don't worry. No more falling on my sword. That time has passed. Keep searching for signs of Murdoc and ready a Company to return with Lyov."
He trotted away from camp. The aroma of smoke clung to his clothes and lingered in his nostrils. As he rode, he held a hundred silent conversations with his son, imagined countless different ways it could go, crafted each sentence and formed each word, knowing, in the end, it would fall apart. That he would fall apart.
He prayed Narthan would find Murdoc's trail. Would she follow through on her threat to take Neva since her own daughter died? Or was she lying low until the Ilok were gone and the fighting over? She had proven her ability to avoid detection. How would she use that skill?
The sun set and the night wrapped a silent blanket around him. The horse walked steadily, rocking his body and lulling him to an exhausted sleep. He jolted awake with each loss of balance and managed to stay in the saddle. Near nightfall of the third day, he rode under the arch of Aernan. Never had he dreaded passing under those carved and fitted stones, but this time they were an agonizing reminder of what would never exist again.
He slid from the tired horse and patted her neck. He'd care for her before finding his son. She'd earned his attention and a few more minutes to consider his words couldn't hurt. He led her down the cobblestone path. Aernan was unnaturally silent. It grieved with him. Laughter no longer lived here.
The double barn doors were open to the early fall air. Deep shadows filled the corners and the horses nickered a greeting. His mare spooked and snorted toward the corner. He dropped the reins and drew his sword.
"Sheath your sword, Dragonlord. I mean you no harm." Murdoc sat in the corner, legs stretched in front of her, boot soles barely visible in the low light.
"Where's my daughter?"
"By now she's eaten a good meal and is tormenting her brother. I let her go at the gate. No one saw me. They searched, but I didn't want to be found."
His eyes adjusted to the gloom and she became dimly visible.
"Fine pair we are," she said. "Bloodied, grieving, betrayed. I'm sorry for your mate. She seemed to genuinely care."
He sheathed his sword and listed against the wall, his knees gave way and he slid down until he sat on the dirt floor across from Murdoc. "She did."
"I should have trusted my gut with Caeth. Too much of his paternal blood flowed through his veins. He was fourteen when I killed his father and ran. I thought I could change things. Thought I had changed them. I was wrong."
Did she know how deep his betrayal went? Did she suspect Caeth poisoned her daughter? Should he tell her? No. Her pain was already deep enough. "Caeth is dead."
She looked at the floor. "I suspected."
"I killed him."
"My son died the moment he came under the influence of what he was. I lost him at birth. Only my hope kept him alive, at least as the son I wished for. Now he'll hurt no one else. The instant your mate fell, I understood." Murdoc tucked her knees to her chest. "I didn't expect the Ilok. Ran into them in the woods."
"Caeth's doing. He maneuvered me by dangling the one bait I couldn't resist, a faster way to the north."
"Advantage."
"Yes."
"Cirrus? And my men?"
"Advantage ran aground at the river bar. Aldo is dead from the accident, along with two of ours. Cirrus and the others left to make their own way."
"The Ilok ship was a useful tool, but I won't miss it. Too many unpleasant memories. Cirrus is a good man. I will miss him."
"What now?"
"I surrender to you. Desperation made me do something incredibly stupid. It cost us both a price that can't be repaid. I won't beg for mercy, as I deserve none. Do what you will. No one will grieve my death."
Tegedir rested his head against the wooden wall. "Deru... Thera... Neva... Lalaith. They would grieve you. I saw you shield my daughter from the blade that would have hit her. You have a place here if you want it."
"I want that very much, but Brannon needs time. My presence will fuel his anger. He hates me, and justifiably. He'll hate me more after you tell him about his mother. I caused that."
"No, Caeth caused that. No one else."
"Still..."
"I have a proposition," Tegedir leaned forward and curled his elbow over his knee. "Go with my envoy to collect the Drakuri artifacts from Lyov's possession. By the time you return, things might be better with Bran. We can reevaluate then."
Her smile lit the dim corner. "I'd like that."
"It is dangerous for you. Lyov wants nothing more than your head on a pike. And he won't take it gently if he gets the opportunity. Be certain he doesn't get it."
"I can take care of myself."
"Obviously, but can you work within a command structure? Can you work with a team?" He watched her eyes. "Can you take an order?"
She held his gaze. "If it isn't cruel or irrational."
"Good enough for me." He pushed himself to his feet.
Murdoc got up and cared for his horse. "Go talk to your children,
Commander. I'll wait here until you send someone or come back yourself. I've no desire to get a sword in my gullet by wandering."
"I'll send someone." He walked the winding paths of Aernan toward the hall. The laughter of children froze his feet and he closed his eyes against the wave of grief. Their laughter would be replaced by tears.
"Da!" Neva raced toward him with the boys on her heels.
He forced a smile and scooped her up. Trinn and her sister, Cris, jogged after them. Trinn recognized his expression. "Who?" she asked.
He blinked against the tears and got on his knees.
"Oh. Oh, sweet Alimarae." Trinn gripped Cris' arm.
His children hugged him and he squeezed them until Brannon protested. "You're squashing us."
He raised his gaze to Cris. "Take your medical kit and go to the barn. Someone there needs your aid. Trinn, that person is to be treated as one of us. When your sister is done, ensure her patient gets fresh clothes, a bath and meal, then ride with her back to the camp and tell Narthan she is to accompany the envoy. He'll understand."
She nodded and they left.
He sat on his heels and took in the innocent faces of the children.
"Da, what's wrong?" Brannon asked.
The time had come to destroy their world.
Chapter 38
Tegedir woke to warmth against his right side. His sleepy brain insisted it was Lalaith although he knew it wasn't. He opened his eyes. His twins pressed against his side, limbs tangled, mouths open in sleep. He tucked them into their own beds every night, and every morning they woke up in his. In the week since they'd lost their mother, they cried often, but also laughed and played. He relied on their resilience as much as they relied on his strength.
He slipped from the bed and dressed. When he looked back, Brannon's grey gaze locked on him, so intense a shiver rattled up Tegedir's spine. "Bran?" he whispered. "You okay?"
His son closed his eyes and rolled over. Perhaps he hadn't been awake at all. Tegedir worried about Brannon the most. His play had become more aggressive, punctuated by shocking outbursts of uncharacteristic anger. Brought on by grief, he was sure, but it concerned him.