The Price of Survival

by Meagan Hurst

  Dyiavea’s eyes were the color of her father’s, but the Thinyai had the greater control. Her eyes were sweeping those gathered until they fell upon and held Z’s. She spoke softly over her shoulder and the Thinyen’s gaze followed a moment later. The magic stayed, but the immediate threat of action stilled for a moment. Midestol barked for his warriors to back off, but he stopped them at fifty feet back.

  “Your turn,” he told her icily. Z nodded slowly and walked forward with care, testing her strength as she went.

  Please don’t let a seizure strike, she thought bitterly as she grabbed Nivaradros’s amulet through her shirt. It pulsed powerfully beneath her hand and Z felt a wave of strength hit her.

  All you had to do was ask. A sly voice replied in the depths of her mind. There was a cold and irritated pause before it continued. Well, ask and not make your mind closed to absolutely any kind of contact. Your defenses are too well formed. But the point of that amulet is to strengthen you and to prevent your seizures when it can. It is not, of course, full proof, but what it can’t prevent it will try to repair. This is not a fix, Zimliya, but it is what could be offered to help you.

  She decided not to comment because she would feel stupid arguing with the Shade, and because she didn’t really feel like discussing her defenses at the moment. Instead she continued to stroll forward before she paused a good three feet from the enraged Dralations. Raising a brow in a silent question, she gave them the chance to speak first before she started the conversation.

  “Helluva welcome you managed to give me,” she remarked mildly.

  The Thinyen’s lips curved upwards into a small smile. “We heard you had arrived, but the mortal would not tell us how you arrived, and these guys had grown lazy in their watches. It never fails to surprise me how easy it is to lull humans into a false sense of security.” He looked her over intently. “What did he do to you?”

  “Nothing yet,” Z replied cheerfully. “But the time I paid to awaken the Shades is being collected.”

  She had the pleasure of seeing the Thinyen’s perfect features lose their beauty for a moment as absolute shock took him. “Now?” he demanded as the power in his hands flared with his anger. “You just got back!”

  “Believe I am aware of this,” she told him dryly. “Regardless, I have managed to buy some time, but it comes with a higher cost than is probably wise. Balsish came,” she added as she softened her voice. “She is worried about you.”

  “We told her not to go to you,” Dyiavea snapped coldly, her tone making the seizures seem positively pleasant. “You are too important to risk. Now even more so. We can leave,” she added.

  Z shrugged. “Possibly, but not without losing at least two of us. Midestol’s agreed to let you go if I stay, that is the bargain we struck.” It wasn’t, not really, but she sensed the Dark Mage approaching from behind. Tensions were high enough that she didn’t want the amount of magic that could be thrown here summoned; the backlash would be disastrous, and Rangers did live here still.

  “Zimliya is correct. You are free to go, but she has given me her word she will remain. I am not interested—at this time—in her death. When and if she answers my questions, I will release her unharmed.” Z couldn’t describe how grateful she was that the Dark Mage was backing her story. It made her suspicious, but Midestol already knew her weakness, and so far, he had yet to exploit it. Midestol held the cold eyes of the two immortals for an extended time before exhaling icily. “I give you my word on that,” he declared.

  “Binding?” Dyiavea demanded.

  “Yes,” Midestol hissed. “But you will destroy nothing further, and no one further, on your way out.”

  “Done,” the Thinyen agreed angrily. Neither party was happy, but both of them bound themselves to their words with magic. The Thinyen’s eyes then moved to hers. “Zimliya,” he greeted softly. “Welcome back.”

  She inclined her head at his words and then grimaced. “Balsish is in the Syallibion lands,” she told him quietly. “Try not to start a world war when you get there.”

  The immortal’s left brow rose. “The Mithane is also there, I take it.”

  “As is the Islierre. And Nivaradros, although you two got along well enough last time.”

  “Charming,” the Thinyen sighed with a shake of his head. The threat of magic vanished, and he held out his hands to her without apparent concern. As she accepted them gravely, he pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her in a hug. “Whatever you do, don’t you dare die,” he murmured in a tone for her ears alone. Before she could respond, a warm brush of magic coursed through her system. The Thinyen wasn’t a healer, but he was something close; his magic restored even more of her strength and locked her proneness to seizures further away for the moment.

  He released her reluctantly, showing far more familiarity and concern for her than he had done in the past. “Has the Islierre suggested you marry his son yet?” he wanted to know as he watched her.

  Her brows rose. “What did I miss?” she demanded.

  His laugh was at her expense, but welcome. “He taunted the fact that my children are both female while he has a male. It was not hard to get what he was implying. Will you take the offer?” A hint of danger entered his tone.

  Z shook her head. “No. I already turned it down and I intend to turn down every other offer.”

  Pleasure touched the still rose colored eyes. “Good. Then I have something to bring up to him now. Don’t worry,” he added at the look of horror that touched her eyes. “I will not start a war.” He glanced over her shoulder at Midestol and sighed. “Go,” he told her at long last. “We will meet again, and thank you.” She felt him watch her return to the Dark Mage’s side, but when she turned around both he and Dyiavea had vanished.

  “Nice job,” Midestol murmured as he regarded her with a mixture of disgust and amusement. “Come on,” he added softly as he began to walk back to his tent. “You should go back to bed.”

  “I’ve recovered,” Z argued shortly. “How about you tell me why you orchestrated all of this to catch my attention instead,” she countered, making it a statement, not a question.

  He said nothing until she had followed him back to the privacy of his tent. Only when the flap was closed and he had sealed it against outside ears did he turn to face her.

  “One of your Shades approached me when you were gone,” he told her softly. Z felt her heart stop as she realized abruptly what this was all about, his next words confirmed it. “He mentioned the desire to learn my granddaughter’s name—”

  There was a strange light in his eyes she couldn’t identify. Rather than pressing him and possibly learning what it meant in the wrong way, Z kept her silence and just waited for him to resume his story. Eventually Midestol exhaled when she didn’t give him even the slightest indication she knew what he was talking about, and his next several words did nothing to improve how her last week had been going.

  “He told me it was for research he was doing into the history of Tenia, and I believed him, in the beginning. A few days later though it occurred to me that he had sought the name of the child because he had been sent to fetch it.” His eyes held hers. “You know of the story regarding the Tenian teenager who claimed she was of my blood?”

  “You incinerated her,” was Z’s amused reply.

  “Actually, Zimliya, she died because I had created a ring that would be able to identify those who were blood relations of mine, and when she slipped it on her finger, it attacked her. It was her magic—not mine—that caused her demise. Not that I was bothered by her death, but I would have preferred her to suffer more than she did.” Orange eyes met hers. “You know where my granddaughter is, Zimliya. More importantly you know—you have always known—that she is alive. I would like to meet her.”

  And there it was. Z felt the ground drop out from under her and it was only years of keeping things from registering in her expression that saved her. “And if I tell you that yes, you are correct, she is alive, but t
hat she doesn’t wish to meet you?” she wanted to know in a bitter, hating tone.

  “Make her,” was Midestol’s flat reply. “I have waited for long enough—been told she was dead for even longer. She is family, Zimliya, and while you do not seem to understand it, believe me when I tell you I mean her no harm.”

  “You attempted to kill her when she was days old and you did kill both her mother—your daughter—and her father in the attempt.”

  Midestol’s expression darkened. “That was not,” he said heavily as he sunk into a nearby chair, “how it was supposed to go.”

  Z felt the blood draining from her face and she looked at the ground. “What?” she demanded sharply of the Dark Mage. Not even caring if her tone enraged him.

  “I sent a small delegation of mages to collect and bring my daughter, her husband,” and here the mage’s mouth twisted into a display of disgust, “and my granddaughter home. My daughter and I—despite what you will have heard—never had a falling out. I was disappointed with her choice, but she cared for him, and I could see he cared for her. The problem was his father; there was a rift between the two that could not be healed.” He fell silent again and he scowled at her. “Regardless, Zimliya, just make her come.”

  “Not without more information,” Z argued as her heart hammered. “If you sent your people to fetch them, why did her parents end up dead? She will ask me, Midestol.”

  “Then tell her I will explain it to her when she arrives,” Midestol snapped. “I will answer whatever she asks, but it is not knowledge you need to know.”

  But it was, because it was her history. Z closed her eyes and exhaled angrily. “As you say. But I will make no promises that she will come.”

  “Then tell her I will kill you if she refuses.”

  “She is a Ranger,” was Z’s amused reply. “She knows better than to give up her life for mine.”

  “Then do whatever it takes to make her come!” Midestol shouted at her as he got up from his seat and approached her. Everything in his stance was a threat, but Z was too emotionally drained to respond to it.

  “If you kill me, she most certainly will not come,” Z told him tiredly. “And you are bound,” she reminded him.

  Midestol’s eyes burned, but he took a step back. “As you say,” he snarled. “Go back to the cot.”

  Sighing, she held her ground. “Midestol—” she began with care. His eyes were dangerous, and she immediately reconsidered speaking. “Don’t you want to know anything about her?” she asked cautiously, vaguely hoping he said no.

  Anger and suspicion faded. Midestol resumed his seat with a cold silence, but he did back off of her. “Yes,” he agreed in a guarded and reined in tone. “I thought perhaps you didn’t know her, or you avoided her, seeing how she is of my blood, and Rangers have all sorts of ways to avoid people they don’t wish to speak to.”

  “I wouldn’t shy away from anyone because of blood alone,” Z murmured, running her mind over her history—trying to find what she could say to him. “What would you like to know?”

  “Is she married?”

  That question was going to get someone killed one day. Soon. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  And so was that one. “I’ve never asked,” Z told him dryly. “But I presume it is because she took the Warrior’s way as well, Midestol, and she doesn’t want a family involved in it, or waiting with baited breath for her return when so few of us who are constantly in the field do.”

  Orange flickered in surprise. “So, she is a fighter then?” An edge of eagerness, of approval, crept into the Dark Mage’s tone, and Z nodded slowly. “How long has she been a fighter?”

  There was a tricky question. “A while,” Z answered slowly. Seeing impatience and irritation at her elusive answer she held up her hand. “Over five years, well over them,” she added. “She’s more of a loner—”

  “Like you,” Midestol mused thoughtfully. “Do you two get along?”

  “Very well, most days,” Z assured him while hiding a smile. “But I rarely travel with anyone nowadays that isn’t an immortal.”

  Midestol’s eyes danced slightly as he conceded the point. “Does she use magic?”

  And here he learned forward in his chair. Z could see the hint of hope in his eyes that his granddaughter was not a minor power on the earth. While it immediately irritated her that he could care more about the magic than anything else, she had to admit she was astonished over his apparent interest in someone he had tried to destroy, though he claimed he had not. What had happened that night twenty-four, twenty-five years ago now? Could Midestol truly care? Could one member of her family want her? How could she respond to that? How would she?

  “Less than you would approve of, but yes, Midestol, she can and does use magic.” Seeing the next question, Z lightly held up her hand. “Yes, she is a power. She is talented in her areas, and she studies them as any Ranger would.” She was pleased to see a scowl emerge at the last sentence.

  “Well, at least she uses magic,” Midestol grumbled. He tensed and regarded her intently. “Who knows?” he wanted to know.

  “Pretty much everyone, when it comes to the Rangers,” Z remarked with a cool smile. “With our mental communications and everything else, it would be almost impossible to hide that. But no one bothers her, Midestol. As I said, blood counts for little. She is treated as a Ranger, not as your granddaughter, and it is a subject we don’t bring up.”

  “And among your immortals?”

  “They are not my immortals, I possibly could be counted as theirs, but they are certainly not mine!” Z declared heatedly. “Some of them—possibly all of them—know she is alive. Only a direct few have ever mentioned it in my presence, or in hers. Again, they do not care. She is a Ranger and treated as such until a time when her amulet shatters and she is declared otherwise, and I don’t see that ever happening. She is happy as a Ranger, Midestol.”

  Midestol’s silence was murderous, but he didn’t make a move towards her, and, eventually, his anger began to fade slightly. “And the former King of Tenia?” he asked in a deadly tone.

  “I would advise you to quit mentioning him to me,” Z answered in a clipped tone. “And I would certainly not bring him up in front of her. He was not a grandfather, Midestol. He wasn’t even remotely family-like to her. I can tell you none of his people knew she existed until the very end, and maybe a handful of the survivors—and that’s rounding up—believe what they were told. It wasn’t something she’s made a fuss about.”

  “What did he do to her?” Midestol’s eyes held hers. “I know what he did to you,” he added with a bitter smile. “I saw you before I added my own collection of scars to your skin, and he was more than willing to hand you over to my hold if it meant we could bargain on my men in his lands. He was a coward, and he was weak.”

  “I may have been his practice,” was her angry reply. “Do not mention him again.”

  Midestol’s eyes blazed at the implications she wouldn’t truly confirm. “And you are certain he is dead?”

  “Positive.”

  “Damn it,” Midestol growled. “I would like to have killed him myself.”

  “You did have thousands of years to do that,” Z pointed out. “And besides, if he was still alive you would have to stand in line—there are a number of others that wanted to kill him as well.”

  “And you?”

  “I had no one to replace him with.”

  “And my granddaughter?”

  “She accepted my judgment.”

  He attempted to speak and Z raised a hand to cut him off. “Enough, Midestol,” she told him coldly. “I will contact her and see what she says.” Moving away from him she faced a wall and closed her eyes. Of all the things she hated to do, pretending to have a conversation with herself had to be one at the top of them.

  Midestol was magically sensitive—not like her, but close—so she couldn’t just pretend to reach out. She had to speak with someone. Closing her eyes, she manage
d a dark smile, and reached out for the one person she was vexed with. What did I say about contacting Midestol?

  She felt shock, surprise, and utter delight over the fact she had contacted him. Where are you? Crilyne demanded softly. The Dragon has already attacked a wall—no, not any part of the castle, he wouldn’t damage the tree, but he might if you do not give me something to give him!

  I am with Midestol, Z pointed out irritably. Which you all know. The Thinyen and Dyiavea must have gotten there by now.

  They did, but your presence in Midestol’s clutches was not something Nivaradros wanted to hear. How are you?

  Alive, was her dry reply. Tell him I am alright, but, Crilyne? He wants to meet me. She felt his horror and she managed a tight smile. My thoughts as well. I don’t think he’ll kill me, but I’m at a distinct disadvantage.

  Your seizures?

  Precisely. He already knows about them. If he decides to use them against me here I may be unable to react.

  I will send the Dragon.

  Uh— Z winced, but she couldn’t think of a better being to be behind her. Alright, but remind him that I agreed to this, and I do not want to get in a fight with Midestol if I can avoid it. Not while he can so easily overpower me.

  And you are curious.

  Sadly, yes.

  They spoke for a few minutes more, and Z made tentative plans with the Shade before turning back to Midestol. His eyes were narrow, and suspicious, but he had given her space and he made no move to breach that area now. When she didn’t speak for several minutes, he raised his hand, and a small globe of fire began to form in the center of it.

  “She will meet you,” she told him quietly. “But she’s bringing a friend.”

  The globe vanished. “I see,” Midestol said mildly. “I will bring no one but you, you will be my leverage for good behavior.”