The Crown

by Deborah Chester

  “Oh, Shadrael,” she whispered.

  Fomo prodded her, making her flinch. “Hurry. Hurry!”

  Lea slid her fingers across the commander’s palm. There, stuck partway into his flesh like a splinter, was her tiny gli-emerald. She pried it free with her fingertips and slipped it into her pocket.

  “What was that?” Fomo asked suspiciously. “What have you there? What are you doing?”

  Lea’s heart shot into her throat, but she forced herself not to hesitate or even look over her shoulder. “Helping him,” she replied with a calmness she was far from feeling. “As you asked me to.”

  While she spoke she reached into the commander’s cloak pocket to draw out her necklace of large gli-emeralds. The commander uttered a sighing moan.

  At once, Fomo knelt beside her, his shoulder bumping hers as he bent over the commander. “M’lord, you must rouse. Sir!”

  But the commander did not stir again.

  “Give him time,” Lea whispered, and backed away.

  Sunlight glittered on the jewels in her hand. She turned the necklace over, delighting in having it once again. Although the emeralds were large, they could not be considered beautiful in the usual sense of the word. Bumpy nodules marred the shape of some of the jewels. The center stone of the nine was cracked almost in half, yet as she held them she could feel a response to her touch as though the necklace was coming alive. A warm, uplifting sense of security flowed into her arms. Suddenly she felt complete, whole. Her quai gathered around her, and she was centered once more.

  Smiling, she fastened the necklace around her throat.

  “Here now!” Fomo rasped out. “Give me that!”

  With renewed confidence, she lifted her chin, meeting Fomo’s gaze without fear. “I shall walk down the road to meet the patrol,” she said. “You and the commander will have time to hide, get away. That much I’ll do for him.”

  Fomo swore something horrific under his breath. “You ain’t escaping that easy,” he growled, avidly staring at the jewels. “If the commander’s lost, he’s lost. I ain’t walking out of this with nothing.”

  “You—”

  He sprang at her, but Lea skipped aside. His dagger whistled harmlessly past her. Fomo staggered to catch his balance, and whirled to strike again.

  “Earth spirits!” she called.

  They came promptly, shaking the ground beneath Fomo’s feet and toppling him. Part of the ground cracked open beneath him, but he twisted like a cat and saved himself from falling in. His dagger skittered over the edge and was lost as he rolled to his feet, spitting oaths. “You damned—”

  “Go!” Lea commanded him, pointing toward the pass. “This is finished.”

  “Not quite,” the commander said from behind her.

  Startled, Lea spun around to see Shadrael on his hands and knees, struggling to rise. Impatiently he swiped the blood from his nose with the back of his hand.

  “Commander!” Fomo said urgently. “To your feet, sir! We’re under attack.”

  “You,” the commander said in a rage to Lea. “What did you—”

  “Commander, no time!” Fomo broke in. The centruin ran to help him up. “Patrol’s coming. We’ve got to go.”

  Lea pointed at the rocky slope rising above their heads. “Help him up there into cover,” she said. “I’ll tell the patrol that all of you ran away. They will not bother to search for you when I—”

  “Ran away?” the commander said with a ghastly attempt at a laugh. “Shadrael tu Natalloh ran away?”

  She could have stamped her foot in frustration. Why would he not take the chance she offered? “Does it matter what I tell them? Go while you can.”

  “Quickly, Commander,” Fomo said, looking past her down the road. “I’ll help you.”

  “Mael blight your help!” the commander said, shaking him off. He drew his sword, swayed, and held himself upright with a visible effort. “It does not end here, Lady Lea. Your offer I refuse.”

  He took a step toward her, but Lea lifted both hands to her necklace and backed swiftly away.

  “You’ve lost,” she said. “I am no longer yours to order. Good-bye, Shadrael tu Natalloh. I—I thought things could be different, but now—”

  “Save the pretty speech of farewell,” he said harshly. Lifting his hand, he spoke a word of magic that thundered in her ears.

  Caught by surprise, Lea tried to use her necklace’s protective force as a shield, but his stronger magic broke through her defenses, and her hands dropped to her sides. She found herself frozen, unable to move or speak, unable to run.

  Astonished, Lea berated herself for not running away while she could. She’d assumed he was too weak to attack her with magic.

  Staggering over to her, the commander gripped her arm and paused for breath. His face was contorted with effort, his skin gray and drawn tight. His dark eyes were those of a stranger’s, blazing fierce and . . . quite mad.

  “No, Lady Lea,” he said, his voice strained and raw. “Not over. You’ve broken me, but so will I see you destroyed in turn.”

  The cruelty of his threat made her flinch. She wanted to speak his name and could not.

  “They’re nearly on us, sir,” Fomo said. He ran to grab the bridles of their nervous horses, leading them back to where the commander and Lea stood. “Hear ’em? Be coming around that bend any—”

  The commander pushed himself away from Lea. For a moment she felt the spell holding her falter. She lifted her hand, but the commander crushed his magic around her again with such force she would have cried out had she still a voice.

  The patrol of Imperial soldiers swept into sight. Lea heard the startled neighs of their horses and the shouts of the men. She saw the vivid banner of the Ninth Legion flying in the breeze. Sunlight gleamed on burnished armor and upraised swords. The officer leading them shouted in surprise and reined up his horse abruptly.

  Time seemed to freeze for a moment. The officer’s eyes met Lea’s, and his mouth dropped open in recognition. Gowned in rags, her golden hair half falling out of its braid, the emeralds gleaming at her throat, Lea could do nothing but stare at him in mute appeal, while inside she screamed and struggled with all her might to draw on her necklace’s power and break free of the commander’s spell. The effort made her temples throb, yet she could not prevail. Her vision blurred, and she could not fully breathe. She had to abandon her struggles in order to remain conscious.

  Attack, she thought. Attack now while he is still weak.

  But the patrol was not coming forward. Bunched together awkwardly on the narrow road, they stared, a few even pointing with their swords.

  The commander spoke a word of magic, opening the Hidden Ways. Behind her, a ghastly breath of rot and evil exhaled from the bowels of the shadow world. Astonished that he could do this, as weak and injured as he was, Lea knew she’d hurt him. He was damaged, so how in Gault’s name was he holding on to his magic like this?

  Not through Gault’s name, she thought in despair. Beloth’s.

  She realized then that because she had removed her emeralds from his pocket, they were no longer hampering his abilities. But now . . .

  I’ve helped him reach fully back into shadow, she thought, and could have wept.

  “Men, advance!” the patrol leader shouted, and spurred his horse forward.

  In a surging thunder of horses, the soldiers came at them. Sunlight glinted off swords and armor. The men were shouting, their voices ringing off the cliffs in a deafening din. Lea saw their eyes, furious and determined. She saw their strength and valor. She felt the heat of their battle lust, like a wind of violence.

  This time, she thought, the soldiers would reach her in time.

  She was wrong.

  The officer swung his horse beside her, so close she could have touched the animal’s heaving flank had she been able to move. He reached down to her, his hand so near she could see the freckles in his skin beneath a mat of gingery hair. She struggled against the spell, striving to gra
sp his fingers. Almost she broke the commander’s spell; almost she managed to move her hand.

  But almost meant nothing.

  A dark, icy cold mist engulfed her from behind, drawing her beyond the officer’s reach. His horse reared in fright, blundering into another shying mount. Suddenly all the soldiers were shouting and fighting to control their bucking, terrified horses while already it was too late for Lea. The Hidden Ways closed around her, and a veil of shadow separated her from the chaos on the mountain trail. Their voices grew fainter until she heard them no more, saw them no more. Around her, there was only the cold silence of murk and rot and defeat.

  No! she wanted to scream. No! No! No!

  But shadow won, and all was darkness.

  Chapter 5

  They emerged from the Hidden Ways with a jolt so painful Shadrael could not suppress his groan. Gasping for breath, icy sweat running down his face, he leaned against a boulder, pressing his cheek to the gritty stone, and focused on getting his breath.

  It was dark here. Night had fallen while he’d concealed Lea from rescue. Now the wind blew cold, making him shiver. And he had not reached the Vindicant camp.

  The horrible idea that he’d lost the markers and come out at some opposite end of the empire possessed him. He lifted his head, struggling to stand fully upright. Had to find his bearings, had to know . . .

  “Commander?”

  Fomo’s rasping voice, sounding strangled and uncertain, made Shadrael gather himself as best he could. He could not sever the pain grinding through his chest. It had to be borne the hard way, through sheer willpower. And although he wanted to sink to his knees and pass out, he held himself up, bracing one gloved hand against a boulder.

  “Centruin?” he responded wearily.

  When Fomo hesitated, Shadrael looked through the gloom at the man’s shadowy figure. If he wanted reassurance or perhaps just orders, Shadrael had neither to give.

  As for Lea, she sat heaped at his feet, huddled beneath her tattered cloak. Her silence was a blessing. Shadrael did not think he could cope with her at the moment. She had damaged him, draining his powers to the dregs. He had so little left, having squandered nearly all his carefully hoarded reserves of magic to bring her here, and now . . . and now . . . if he’d failed this time to reach his destination, it meant the end of everything.

  “M’lord?”

  “Yes, Fomo.”

  He forced himself away from the boulder’s support and set about taking his bearings. They stood near a mountain summit, well above the tree line, just as before. Above him in the inky sky, the star Kelili glowed steady and bright with her sisters. He turned his face eastward. Before him stretched a breathtaking vista. Dahara Peak, its snowcapped top shining in the moonlight, stood tall and majestic in the distance. Foothills gathered along its hem like the ruching of a lady’s finest gown. Shadows, dark and soft in the twilight, filled the folds of canyons and softened the angular edges of cliffs. Ahead lay the unmistakable Valley of Fires, a land creased and folded into strange shapes of stone that long ago had flowed hot and molten. Gigantic boulders lay tumbled about as though once they had been pieces in a game of spillikins for the gods. Across the valley, cliffs rose to a plateau that he recognized as the Anvil of Hadra. He stared, imagining he could see the black mouths of caves riddling the cliffs. A cloud of bats flew overhead, momentarily dark against the spangled stars, then was gone.

  It was very cold. Shadrael could smell snow in the air, in the bank of clouds lying on the north horizon beyond Dahara Peak. And behind him rose Ismah, the mountain he’d been climbing at midday. Ismah Pass, and the patrol checkpoint, lay to his rear.

  He had made it through the Imperial line. He was safely in Broken Spine country, where no Imperial patrol could track him. He was . . . home, where he could die as a Ulinian should.

  A tremor of sheer relief passed through his body. Shadrael tipped his head back and closed his eyes.

  “Steady, sir.” Fomo’s hand went under his arm, supporting him.

  Realizing he was swaying, Shadrael stiffened his body and pulled free, turning about to face Fomo.

  “It’s all right, Centruin,” he managed to say. “We’re close enough to the meeting place. They’ll arrive soon.”

  “Have some water,” Fomo whispered.

  Shadrael pushed away the proffered waterskin. His mouth was parched, but he feared if he tried to swallow liquid he would spew his guts. A clammy sensation spread through him, and then he felt hot and dizzy. He dropped to one knee, swallowing hard.

  Fomo crouched beside him. “Easy, sir. Take the water and rest. How long before they come?”

  Shadrael could not answer. A chorus of whispering, dreadful voices clamored in his mind. He felt the sucking glee of madness drawing him down, and it seemed too hard to shake it off.

  Yet he knew he must try. He had to hang on for just a short time more. He was Shadrael tu Natalloh, and he’d never been defeated in battle. He would not die now a failure.

  “Call them,” he murmured.

  “Sir?”

  “Call them. Damn you, must I say everything twice?”

  Fomo sat back on his heels. “How?”

  Shadrael grunted. “Help me up.”

  “Sir—”

  “Do it!”

  With the centruin’s help, he struggled to his feet. Fomo would have supported his weight, but Shadrael pushed away and managed to shoot one feeble burst of magic sparks into the sky. Then he walked unsteadily over to the girl.

  She sat motionless and silent, her hands folded together. He realized belatedly that he was still holding her under a spell. He released it, feeling a fresh razor slash of pain as he did so.

  Lea drew an audible breath and brought her hands up to her face.

  Sorry for how he’d treated her, Shadrael wanted to apologize, wanted to offer her comfort, but he had none to give. Angrily he closed the momentary tenderness in his heart. They could not go back, any of them, he thought. Nothing could be undone now. He had to go forward, had to gain the soul the Vindicants had promised him. He saw his end approaching, and was afraid. He could not die without a soul.

  “Get up,” he said to her.

  She lifted her face slowly to his. The moonlight gleamed upon her pale face, and there was a soft radiance to her hair and skin and eyes that even her fatigue and fear could not diminish. The gli-emeralds at her throat glowed brightly, casting a nimbus around her.

  Shadrael frowned. His dizziness was fading, and he could breathe more easily now, with less pain. Which meant that perhaps death was stepping back from his shoulder for the time being. Even so, he knew it was vital to make no more mistakes. He could not risk leaving the gli-emeralds in her possession.

  He did not want the cursed jewels near him, but he had no choice. They were too valuable to waste on priests.

  “Get up,” he said again.

  When the girl did not obey his order, he gestured at Fomo, who yanked her upright and gave her a good shaking.

  “When he speaks, witch, you jump,” the centruin snarled at her.

  Still courageous, still defiant, Lea ignored the centruin and met Shadrael’s gaze, lifting her small chin high.

  “You are too ill to command me now,” she said, touching her necklace. “I shall call the earth sp—”

  Shadrael snapped his fingers, but Fomo was already moving, pinning her bodily against a large boulder. He jerked her hands away from the necklace, twisting them behind her back so that she cried out.

  The agony in her voice made Shadrael frown, but he did not stop Fomo. Lea had cost him too much, more than he could forgive.

  Then Fomo did something that made her gasp and stop struggling. The centruin was laughing.

  “Would you rather have a kiss or a broken arm?” he rasped, licking her cheek.

  Lea shuddered, straining to avert her face.

  Fomo laughed again, a low, evil sound. “Right. Then—”

  Lea screamed, sinking halfway to her knees befo
re Shadrael said, “Enough.”

  Fomo’s head whipped around. “Have a heart, m’lord. It’s time to sport a bit with this fancy piece of—”

  “You’ve had enough,” Shadrael said, barely keeping his temper. “Keep her still.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He forced himself to ignore the faint whimpers she was making beneath her breath. Her face remained averted, but in the gloom he could see how violently she was trembling. Compassion sparked briefly to life in him before he stamped it out.

  The last thing in the world he wanted was to touch that damned necklace of hers, but he steeled himself and jerked it from her throat.

  The touch of it burned through his glove and made him shout hoarsely. The necklace went flying through the air, falling in a heap on the dusty ground.

  Lea’s courage seemed to go with it. She shrank a little in Fomo’s merciless grasp. Tears were glistening on her face. “Please,” she whispered. “Please!”

  When Shadrael picked up the shining necklace, the light in it lanced through him. He somehow shoveled it into his cloak pocket, his hand throbbing. Already he could feel what scant strength he possessed draining away, exhausted by the necklace’s proximity. He struggled to endure it.

  All his hatred of light, all his resentment of her brother, all his bitterness since his disgrace came boiling up inside him. He drew on the night itself, shielding himself from the power of gli. This was simple magic, hill magic, the kind a mere child could do, but it served to mute the necklace, diminishing its effect to a bearable level.

  “Let her go, Fomo.”

  The centruin released Lea, giving her a rough little push that staggered her. She rubbed her wrists as though they hurt, and dabbed tears away from her face with the backs of her hands.

  Whatever she might have said to him was silenced by the sudden appearance of the gray Vindicant raven. It flew from the night sky, swooping down at Shadrael’s head so close he felt its talons skim his hair.