Caile stepped out into the corridor and loosed his arrow. It whizzed by Makarria’s ear, and Kadar leapt to the side, just narrowly dodging the projectile. He raised his hands to strike back, but Makarria had changed her course to run right for Caile, blocking Kadar’s line of sight. Caile fired another arrow over the top of Makarria, and this time Kadar had no choice but to jump for cover in the nearest of the chambers.
“He’s in!” Caile yelled, notching another arrow.
Makarria skidded to a halt and plopped down on her butt, facing back toward the chamber. “Keep him in there,” she said breathlessly and closed her eyes.
“I only have four arrows left—move fast,” Caile yelled, but Makarria was already halfway in her trance, and Talitha and her men had jumped to his aid besides.
“What is she doing?” Talitha grunted out as she hurled fire at the doorway.
“I don’t know,” Caile said as he fired another arrow. “Just keep him trapped in that cave.”
Beside Talitha, one of the Snjaer Firan warriors hurled his war hammer at the doorway when Kadar tried to peek his head out. Kadar flung a tight ball of blue flames at the man and ducked back into the cave as the war hammer slammed into the wooden door. The fireball flew true and knocked the Snjaer Firan warrior back onto the ground, where he died with a truncated scream.
Makarria was aware of none of the fighting around her. Her breathing was calm, her thoughts focused. In her mind she envisioned the door to the chamber and closed it.
The door closed with a bang that echoed through the cavern.
Makarria now pictured the living rock around the door frame. She imagined it blending with frame and door. She imagined the rock bleeding into the wood. She imagined the entire door turning to stone, becoming one seamless wall of rock. The same coldness and resistance she felt before washed over her but stronger than before. It was as if she herself was running headlong into a stone wall. But she pushed through it and solidified the image in her mind. Over and over again she pictured the door turning to stone. She clawed her mind through the resistance, she envisioned the door becoming stone. She projected it outward and made it so.
When she opened her eyes, all was silent.
“Did it work? Is the door stone?”
“Yes,” Talitha said, stunned.
“Will he be able to get out?” Makarria asked.
“If it were wood, perhaps, or steel even, but you’ve made it solid stone. He is trapped. He will die, either of starvation or lack of air, whichever comes first.”
Makarria pushed aside the knowledge that she had just killed a human being and let out a breath of vast relief. We’re safe now, she consoled herself, and slowly all the nervous energy left her body. She felt herself slipping away into unconsciousness but could do nothing to stop it. Caile saw at the last moment as her body began to collapse and jumped forward with a startled yelp to catch her before she hit the hard ground.
When Makarria awoke, she was lying in a proper bed. She was startled for a moment, not recognizing where she was, but she soon remembered what had happened and realized she must be in one of the stone houses of Issborg. She was in a small square room with a window along one wall through which she could see the glacier above the city. In a chair near the foot of the bed sat Talitha.
“I’m glad to see you’re awake,” she said. “You’ve slept a long time.”
“Is he dead?” Makarria asked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “Kadar, I mean.”
Talitha nodded. “If not yet, he will be soon. The air in that chamber can’t last more than a day or two.”
“What about Roanna? I didn’t see her anywhere.”
“Dead. Kadar must have killed her before I arrived.” Talitha grabbed a tray of food from a table near the door and placed it on Makarria’s lap. “Here: eat, drink. You need to regain your strength.”
Makarria sat up and looked over the food in wonder. Her meals back in the caves had been nothing more than bread, dried meat, and water twice a day. The plate before her now consisted of bread, fresh meat, cheese, and an assortment of berries she had never seen before. She dug into the food like a starved animal. When she finally finished and washed it down with a cupful of honey wine, she laid back content and tired again.
Talitha was not intent on letting her sleep yet though. “What you did yesterday, Makarria, was terribly brave but also terribly foolish,” she said.
Makarria knew the truth of it, but she didn’t see how she could have done anything differently, and besides, she felt this woman should be saying thank you rather than lecturing her. I did save her life after all.
“You are too important to be risking your life needlessly,” Talitha went on when Makarria said nothing.
“There was plenty of need for it,” Makarria retorted. “Taera had a vision, and I saw it too. Not only would you have been dead, but the whole city would have been dead too.”
“I know. Taera told me what she saw. And don’t think I’m ungrateful. It’s just that I fear for you. You used yourself as a human shield. You can’t go on taking your life so lightly.”
“I don’t take it lightly,” Makarria told her. “It’s just, Kadar and Roanna were using Taera and me for so long—because they knew what we could do and they were greedy and wanted to control us—it somehow seemed right to use that same greed against him.”
Talitha smiled. “You are more astute than you might know. When people learn you are a dreamwielder, they will go to all ends to control you, to manipulate you, and to tempt you with promises and riches in order to make you do their bidding. And if they know of the prophecy regarding the Emperor, they will have even more reason to manipulate you. Some will try to win you to their side for their own selfish purposes, others—like the Emperor himself—will want you dead. But there are others, like myself and perhaps even Kadar, who understand the fragility and flexibility of prophecy.”
“What do you mean?”
Talitha closed her eyes. “What seers see is merely an image of a possible future. Probable, yes, but not definite. Seers absorb the thoughts and feelings of those around them, sometimes of those far away, and in some way their brain translates these into potential events yet to come. They are by no means certain though. A thief might be inclined or predisposed to steal my coin purse as I walk by, but if I foresee this happening and eye him warily, or if a marshal walks within eyesight by happenstance, or if any other random act occurs, that thief might be persuaded to change his course and the prophecy becomes false. Alternatively, a seer might foresee something and try so hard to avert it that he or she actually sets in motion the very sequence of events that make the vision come true—the self-fulfilling prophecy.
“So you may ask yourself, Makarria, are you the one spoken of who is foretold to kill the Emperor? I would answer yes, but I would answer also that this does not mean you will kill him. Yes, the Emperor will try to kill you to preserve his own being, and yes, most of those who hate the Emperor will keep you safe in order to kill him for their own means but not all of them. Prophecies leave much to chance. People are unpredictable, and even those who want something from you might sooner kill you than not get their way. Kadar easily could have done so. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t mean to chastise you,” Talitha said, looking kindly upon Makarria. “I just want you to be more careful, that is all.”
“What I want,” Makarria replied, “is to know what it is you want from me?”
“A fair question. Do you know who I am?”
“I know your name is Talitha. I know you’re a sorceress, and you saved Caile. The Snjaer Firan follow your orders for some reason, too.”
“Yes, it is because I am their chieftain. I am Trumball’s daughter. Like him, I am a follower of Tel Mathir. I have spent my life learning the ways in which all things, both living and dead, are linked to her. Everything in our world is connected, Makarria. It is a world of complex cycles, all interconnected. Understanding how T
el Mathir operates gives me a greater understanding of the power you and I wield. It does not necessarily make me more powerful—indeed, Kadar, who knew nothing of Tel Mathir and little of what he was capable of, nearly slew me—but it does give me greater purpose and makes me better able to teach others.
“I will not lie, Makarria. I too want Guderian gone. He murdered my father, but it is much more than that. Guderian means to rid the world of all magic. He does not realize that magic, too, is one of the many cycles of Tel Mathir. If he succeeds in his goal, he will change the earth irreparably. The link between humans and nature will be gone. He cannot be allowed to succeed. If you choose to face him, I will assist you in whatever way I can. But I will never force you to do anything against your will, for that too would be contrary to the will of Tel Mathir. And the fact of the matter is, Guderian is not invincible. Another could kill him. He could simply catch a cold and die. There are an infinite amount of possibilities. Yours is merely the most probable.”
Makarria’s head swam with everything Talitha had told her. She was less certain now than she had been before. “Tell me this at least,” she asked. “Both Taera and Kadar and now you have said that I am the one from the prophecy. But the prophecy says it’s supposed to be a prince or princess, and I’m just a farm girl. I understand what you say, that the final result of a prophecy can be wrong, but how can it be so wrong about such a simple part? I’m not a princess at all.”
Talitha smiled. “To answer that question, I think it’s best you hear the news your friend Siegbjorn brings.”
“Siegbjorn? He’s back?”
“Indeed, he returned while you slept, and he has much you must hear.”
28
Grave Decisions
Makarria and Talitha joined Siegbjorn in the town hall, who sat waiting at a large table along with Taera and Caile. The enormous room was otherwise empty and seemed overly large for their meeting. Makarria found herself running an awkwardly long distance to reach Siegbjorn and throw her arms around his chest.
Siegbjorn guffawed and ruffled her hair. “A good deal of trouble you’ve gotten yourself into, I hear. Can I not leave you for a moment?”
“I’m glad you’re back,” was all she said and sat down beside him.
Talitha sat, too, and regarded them all silently for a moment. Taera’s face was bruised and swollen, but she sat erect and proud. Caile slouched forward with his arms on the table, again annoyed that he had no idea why they were meeting or what was going on.
Talitha sighed, then turned to Siegbjorn. “Tell them what you’ve learned.”
“Yes,” Siegbjorn said and cleared his throat before continuing. “At the bidding of Roanna, I traveled south to Weordan to gather news of what events have befallen the empire. She has spies there—part of her sorcerer’s guild, although they are not sorcerers themselves—and they gather what news they can from the Five Kingdoms. Usually they would have little to say but much nonsense, but it seems much of import has happened of late. Wulfram himself was sent to Kal Pyrthin to dethrone King Casstian when the Emperor heard of your escape, Prince. Your father’s imprisonment was short, however. He was set free several days later, and Pyrthinia has declared war upon Sargoth. Already as I was leaving, their forces were assembling at Kylep.”
“Father?” Caile asked. “I didn’t think he had it in him.”
“It seems he does,” Siegbjorn said with a shrug. “The Emperor is not one to sit idly by, however. The dark army of his is mobilizing in Col Sargoth, and it is common belief that the Valarion navy will set sail for Kal Pyrthin the moment Guderian’s army begins to march.”
“Those are not good tidings,” Caile said. “Our navy is no match for theirs.”
“Perhaps not, but there is more,” Siegbjorn went on. “The wildest rumor I was to hear is that the heir to the Valarion throne has returned and allied himself with Pyrthinia. His name is Prince Parmenios Pallma, they say. To hear of him, he is young and quick with a sword, and it was he himself who freed King Casstian.”
“Impossible,” Caile remarked. “Parmenios was killed with the rest of the Pallma house. Don Bricio himself told me he saw him drown in the harbor of Sol Valaróz. And besides, he was young thirty years ago. Even if he were alive now, he’d be an old man.”
“Perhaps not,” Talitha said. “Siegbjorn, what do they say is Parmenios’s nickname?”
“Parmo. And there is something more. It seems he was there on Pyrthin’s Flame, Makarria, and somehow survived.”
Talitha looked to Makarria. “Do you understand now? Why don’t you tell us your grandfather’s name. Tell us also where he is from and what you’ve done to him.”
Makarria could not answer at first, she was so surprised. She was happier beyond description to hear that her grampy was alive but still could hardly believe her ears. Why didn’t he tell me?
“My grandfather’s name is Parmo,” she said at last. “He was born in Sol Valaróz but lived with me and my parents near Spearpoint Rock. He was old and sick and about to die, and I was so sad I accidentally dreamt him a young man again. That’s when we ran away and got rescued by Pyrthin’s Flame. He explained a lot of things to me, but he never told me he was a prince.”
“It was out of necessity he never told you,” Talitha said. “If word reached Guderian that the true heir of Valaróz still lived, Guderian would stop at nothing to find and kill him. And whether your grandfather knew of the prophecy or not, he would know that your life was in danger being both a sorceress and of royal blood. You were safer if you didn’t know who you were.”
Makarria said nothing. She loved her grandfather, but at the same time she was mad at him, and Talitha trying to defend him only made it worse. In the long run, Parmo’s secret had done Makarria little good. He was off fighting a war and here she was, freed from capture at last but facing danger nonetheless and her identity known.
“What do we do now?” Caile asked, breaking the silence. “Are we going to sit idly around while Pyrthinia goes to war against Sargoth?”
“That is for you to decide,” Talitha replied. “I will tell you something more before you all choose your course of action. We are all aware of Wulfram, of course, and the danger he presents, but he is no longer the Emperor’s most dangerous weapon.”
“He has more sorcerers?” Taera asked.
“No, something worse. He has created machines of war. In the factories of Col Sargoth, he has been building steam-powered wagons meant to destroy everything in their path. They stand fifteen feet tall, eight feet wide, they are fully armored and armed with battering rams, scythe-like blades at the sides to cut down enemy troops and horses, and turrets along the top for archers. They are of the likes which the world has never seen. Only the half-human, half-machine horrors of the Dreamwielder War surpassed them in destructive power. King Casstian is marching into a death trap.”
“How can you be sure?” Caile asked. “I was in Col Sargoth and saw nothing of the sort. Steam-powered wagons, for sure, but nothing like what you describe.”
“I was not in Col Sargoth only to look after you, Caile,” Talitha said. “I’ve been spying upon Col Sargoth for many years. The Emperor’s factories are in the ground, deep beneath his smelting factories, and he only allows slaves to work on them so as to keep their existence secret. He has hundreds of these machines, and they will cut through the Pyrthinian troops like a scythe through wheat.”
“Then we have to warn Father,” Caile said.
“To what end?” Taera asked. “Father has committed Pyrthinia to war. They cannot retreat now. The Emperor will not let this act go unpunished even if we were to surrender.”
“She is right,” Talitha said.
“We still have to warn Father,” Caile insisted. “I don’t know what he has planned, but we have to tell him what he’s up against before he faces these machines in the open. He’ll have to change his tactics, draw the fighting into wooded areas, something.”
“It’s possible,” Talitha conced
ed. “It is also possible the Emperor will send his machines on regardless—let your father’s troops nip at their heels while they destroy every Pyrthinian city in their path.”
“He’ll turn our people into homeless vagabonds,” Taera said, and they could all see that she had slipped away into a trance. “I see Kal Pyrthin in ruins, our ships burning in the bay. I see our people wandering aimlessly, hurt and hopeless.”
Taera opened her eyes only to stare away at the table below her. They were all silent for a long moment, lost in their own thoughts. Makarria remembered the sight and smell of the slain Snjaer Firan she had come across in the cavern while confronting Kadar. And that was only eight men dead, she remembered. How many will die in this war? Not just warriors but innocent people in the towns and cities? Hundreds? Thousands? The numbers were incomprehensible to her, but the faces of those dead she had seen were enough. What if that were Grampy dead? Or my parents? Or Siegbjorn? Taera and Caile?
Makarria turned to Talitha. “Can I stop all of this if I face the Emperor?”
Talitha regarded her silently for a long moment. “It is impossible to say.”
Taera dropped her hands away from her face. “Makarria, no. Don’t even think about it. You’re too young. You can’t hope to defeat the Emperor. Not yet.”
“If there’s any chance of her succeeding, then she has to,” Caile objected. “If the Emperor dies then all this stops. Think of the destruction and death we will avert.”
“She’s just a girl, Caile,” Taera said, an edge in her voice. “She can’t go alone.”
“Of course not. Talitha can go with her. They can take every last Snjaer Firan with them, too. What does it matter? If she’s ordained to kill the Emperor, how can she lose?”
“It doesn’t work that way, Caile,” Talitha said. “Nothing is for certain, especially prophecy.”
Caile dropped his hands down on the table in frustration but said nothing. All of them were silent for a long moment.
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