“Nesnys, you mean? She’s tricking you, Elyas, twisting your mind! Listen to yourself. You have to fight her influence.”
Elyas shook his head. “Nay, it’s too late for that. I gave my oath. Taren, this is the only way. Join with us so we might end this war and save countless lives, restore the peace. Nobody else has to die.”
He couldn’t believe this was his cousin. However, his face was familiar, albeit somewhat aged, as if he’d been through some truly hard times in the past months. Haven’t we both?
“Come with me, Elyas. You can leave all that behind. It’s this armor, isn’t it? It has a fell enchantment about it. Let me help you—I can try to break its spell and free you.”
He slipped into his second sight again, examining the armor more closely as he sought a way to unravel whatever foul enchantment gripped Elyas. A complex layer of spells cocooned the armor, particularly the helm he wore, and Taren was awed by the intricacy and puissance of the enchantment. He tried to insert a tendril of magic experimentally to see if he could temporarily block the armor’s influence, which he had no doubt was cursed in some manner. At the touch of his magic, runes on the armor suddenly flared, blazing like liquid fire. His probing tendril withered at the touch like a blade of grass thrown into a fire.
Elyas’s voice cracked like a whip. “Cease that at once!” His voice had suddenly changed as if he were merely a mouthpiece and someone was speaking through him for a moment. “Your tampering will not be permitted, mageling. You will destroy your cousin if you persist.”
Taren took a step back in shock, unnerved by the sudden change, and he knew he was hearing Nesnys’s words. He could see the binding from the helm Elyas wore, a thin dark tendril extending outward into the distance, like some foul vine that had bored into his head, tethering him to Nesnys at the other end, he assumed, although no sign of the fiend was apparent in the area.
Elyas shuddered, gripping the sides of his helm and giving another pained groan before he spoke again. He was himself again, or what remained of the man he had been.
“Taren, I ask again: will you join with us and put an end to the fighting? Think of all the innocent lives you can save. Please.” The pleading look in his eyes was at odds with his strangely emotionless voice.
Mira pulled Taren back a step. “I don’t think he’s your cousin any longer. His spirit is corrupted by evil.”
“Elyas…”
“I require an answer,” he demanded, voice cold and eyes strangely blank.
Taren sighed, flooded with a mix of pity and sorrow. “Then you know what my answer must be. My answer is no.”
“You have chosen poorly, Cousin.” Elyas raised his gaze back toward those gathered nearby. “I will speak with your queen now.”
Taren and Mira fell back, the monk with a comforting hand on his arm. All he could think about was that cold semblance of his cousin, corrupted by evil and enrobed in that cursed armor—and the manner in which Nesnys had spoken through him like a mummer through some marionette of flesh wearing his cousin’s face.
Sianna walked past them with Lord Lanthas at her side, searching Taren’s face, looking clearly concerned, but he barely noticed. Columns of guards passed by to either side, flanking Sianna.
Taren could do little but mourn the loss of his cousin. In the back of his mind, he again heard the seeress at the Midsummer Festival in Swanford, what felt like years past. Of those who you love best, one will die willingly, another a sacrifice unwilling, the last seduced by evil. He had already known the first was Wyat, the second Yethri, but now he knew the last was referring to Elyas.
He sat in the carriage without remembering getting there, his thoughts a bleak tempest. But soon, one thought rose above the others: I shall not forsake you, Elyas. I’ll find a way to end this and bring you back.
***
Elyas’s head pounded as he watched his cousin retreat with the short-haired woman at his side. His mistress was exerting her influence through the helm, mercilessly crushing the remnant of who he was, which had surfaced momentarily. The sight of Taren had given the remnant a sudden influx of energy, a yearning to somehow turn back time and revisit a happier time from Elyas’s past. Parts of their conversation had seemed to blank out, leaving holes in Elyas’s memory of their entire exchange, likely because of Nesnys’s intervention.
“I am Queen Sianna Atreus. What do you wish to say on behalf of your warlord?” A pretty auburn-haired woman stood a short distance away. She seemed much too young to be a queen yet held herself with admirable composure. Beside her was an older man Elyas belatedly recognized as Lord Lanthas, along with a few dozen guards, most with hands on hilts, a few with loaded crossbows leveled at Elyas.
Deliver the mistress’s ultimatum, then this will be over. In addition to leaving him with a wicked headache, his encounter with Taren had also left him feeling strangely unmoored from reality.
“Disband your army and be prepared to surrender the city of Carran to Warlord Nesnys in a week’s time,” Elyas answered coldly. “Do so, and your people shall be spared further bloodshed.”
“If that is all she offers, then you could have spared yourself the trip.” The queen’s green eyes burned with indignation. “I know better than to trust her word. You are the intruders upon my lands, so you will hear my demands. Order your army to throw down its weapons, cease all hostilities, and retreat across the border to Nebara at once. Only then shall peace be possible.”
“Do not be so quick to spit on the warlord’s offering,” Elyas replied. “She has little interest in occupying your country. Your people shall be spared, provided you hand over the mage Taren to us and surrender unconditionally.”
Sianna regarded him steadily a long moment, appearing unsurprised at his words. “And all she wants other than our surrender is Taren as her captive? I find that hard to believe.”
“That is all.”
“Your Majesty,” Lanthas said quietly in her ear, but loud enough for Elyas to just make out, “perhaps if she can make an overture of honoring her word, we should entertain the idea of handing over the mage—”
“Absolutely not,” Sianna snapped. “Taren is a good man—a hero—and shall not be turned over to the likes of Nesnys. I mistrust this sudden claimed lack of interest in occupying and making war on Ketania.”
“I require an answer,” Elyas said, his head pounding. He wanted to be done with this and perhaps find some refugees with which to quench the Soulforge armor’s hunger. “Hand over the mage and surrender in a week’s time. Disband your armies. If you comply, you will even be allowed to keep your throne.”
“I shall not. You go tell Nesnys that she shall pay dearly for all the destruction and loss of life she has wrought. We are done here.” Sianna turned on her heel and strode away.
Elyas suddenly was thrown off balance as the remnant surged up, passionately seizing control. “Your Majesty, there’s one other thing.”
Sianna stopped, his abrupt change in tone perhaps causing her to turn back around.
“I wished to pass on a message your brother Dorian entrusted me with at his passing. He wanted you to know he died a fighter, and that he never broke, never gave up hope of returning someday.” The words came out in a rush, unstoppable.
“Dorian? What did you say?” She looked confused, her calm façade slipping.
“Aye. He and I were captured and enslaved. Together, we were forced to fight in the Pits of Leciras. Your brother was a loyal and honorable man, who I counted as a true friend. Dorian died a gladiator in the arena nearly a fortnight past. He wanted you to know that his thoughts were for you and his family in his final moments.”
Her face paled from its angry flush of earlier. “Oh, poor Dorian…” She put a hand over her mouth.
“He—ahhh!” Elyas staggered and nearly fell at the brutal lances of pain driving through his skull. His vision blurred, and he feared he’d collapse, skull exploding like a dropped melon. A moment later, the pain relented somewhat, and his though
ts were clear once more, the remnant banished into the depths of his tormented mind.
“I shall deliver your response,” he said coldly and turned away. A whistle summoned his horse. He mounted up, casting aside into the dirt the spear shaft with the affixed truce flag, then took off at a gallop.
***
Sianna sat quietly in the carriage during the ride back. Her thoughts were on the strange emissary, Taren’s cousin, and on his tragic message about Dorian.
Sol, please bless Dorian’s soul.
Dorian and Sianna had always had a closer relationship than she had with her elder brother, Jerard, since the two were nearer in age. For a time, she had felt in her heart that Dorian wasn’t dead, even though she had no credible reason to believe he lived. She’d always held out a sliver of hope, a fantasy in truth, that he had escaped into the countryside after the army’s defeat and was raising a resistance, poised to drive out the invaders. Perhaps he would even return and resume his position as rightful heir and king so that she wouldn’t have to keep bearing the heavy mantle of rule. The thoughts had been a childish hope, but to hear confirmation of his death, although not unexpected, snuffed out that small light of optimism and put her in a bleak mood.
She stole a glance at Taren, who seemed equally devastated as he stared out the window, obviously lost in his own thoughts.
It must be a crushing blow to know your cousin turned traitor and is now working for the enemy.
The emissary had unnerved her and not only because of his fearsome armor. He had at first been cold and emotionless, as if reciting a script, but then he acted as if someone else had broken through whatever influence Nesnys held when he told her of Dorian’s passing, some desperate need to tell her such, and the attempt had obviously pained him to do so.
He’s ensorceled somehow. And I’ll wager Taren knows it and will seek a way to undo it. She felt a certainty of that and wished to reach out to him, to seek mutual comfort for their respective losses, but duty weighed heavily upon her, abolishing her freedom to do so, especially under Lanthas’s disapproving gaze.
She sighed and turned her gaze out her own window, unseeing as they passed through the city. Her unsettled thoughts turned back to the demands made. So they do want Taren badly—as he suspected. She remembered the nearly unbelievable story Taren had recounted a few days past in the elven camp. Nesnys and her master Shaol sought to capture him in order to manipulate his mother, the ruler of Nexus. Failing that, they sought some mystical machine to try to reorder the multiverse and destroy Easilon in the process.
Could I truly spare Ketania if I turned him over to her?
Guilt filled her simply at the thought of handing Taren over to that fiend. Even if she didn’t both owe him her life and consider him a friend, she knew she would never do such a thing. Nesnys cannot be trusted, and I could never turn anyone over to such a monster.
She couldn’t resist another glance at Taren. Least of all you.
***
Nesnys was annoyed at Elyas’s stubborn resistance. She’d been forced to rein him in while he was speaking with his cousin, warning the mageling not to meddle with the Soulforge armor, but then Elyas managed to totally slip the bit like an unruly charger when he blurted out the message about Sianna’s brother. Nesnys had been forced to hurt him to reassert control.
He withheld that information from me. The thought irked her, for at one time, she could have exploited the situation with Sianna’s brother to her advantage, but that was in the past now.
Taren will not join us, as expected. The path that remains is to take what I want by force. She wasn’t displeased, for that had been her plan all along. Finding out Elyas’s personal connection to Taren had been a route worth exploring, however.
Fire and blood shall now reign, and I shall capture and break Taren, then crush the fool girl and her armies. Shaol shall be pleased.
Chapter 21
The morning following the unsettling encounter with Elyas, Taren woke after a restless night filled with tormented dreams. The nightmarish images he vaguely remembered: those of Elyas being dragged to the Abyss in that infernal armor he wore, the armor’s enchantment making it come alive. He cried out and struggled in vain as the armor delivered him to an eternity of torment at the hands of Nesnys and even worse demons.
Taren splashed water on his face from the washbasin in his chamber then wet his hair and smoothed it back. He dressed in the spare robes he’d brought back from Nexus. The material had a satiny feel to it, soft between his fingers yet sturdy. If Sianna wanted him as an advisor for the conclave, he figured he had better look the part.
He briefly wondered if he was doing the right thing, waiting for the impending conflict with Nesnys rather than setting out at once for the Hall of the Artificers.
Mother and Sabyl said it is urgent, yet I cannot leave my friends to be slaughtered and the kingdom destroyed. What good are my talents if I can’t use them to save those I care about? Sabyl hadn’t necessarily discouraged the idea when she’d sent him a vision as a warning, and he felt confident she would alert him if events took a turn for the worse.
And what of Elyas? Is he ensorceled somehow or truly corrupted with evil? He said he gave an oath to Nesnys. That admission had come as just another in a series of shocks, and he couldn’t believe his cousin would serve her voluntarily. I’ll find a way to free you, Cousin.
Taren shook his head and sighed, feeling overwhelmed by the burden of responsibility. He stood at his window, looking out over the harbor and the lake in the distance.
I’d give it all back—the magic, the adventure, all of it—just to return to how things were a year ago, before Aunt Shenai took ill. No war and death, no evil plots threatening Easilon and the whole multiverse. Just a simple life free of such cares.
But he didn’t have that luxury. He was needed to take up the mantle of his birthright—the thaumaturge he was expected to be—and put a halt to Nesnys and her master’s plans.
A soft knock at the door ended his disheartening rumination.
Mira stood outside in the hall. “Good morning, Taren.”
“Morning. Heading to breakfast?”
“If you like,” she agreed.
“Sure, just let me get my boots on.” As he pulled on his boots, Mira stepped inside, and he could tell by her manner she had something on her mind.
After a moment she spoke up. “May I ask a favor?”
“I don’t know, Mira,” he replied seriously. “You can be awfully burdensome at times.”
Her eyes widened, growing comically round at his unexpected reply, and he could hold back his laughter no longer. She smiled and looked relieved when she realized he was merely teasing.
“Mira, you can ask of me whatever is in my power to grant. Surely, you’ve earned that.” He squeezed her shoulder affectionately then followed her out into the hallway.
“It’s nothing major. I was hoping you wouldn’t mind accompanying me to find an herbalist in the city. I’d like to purchase some tea leaves, if you could spare a bit of coin.”
The prospect of accompanying Mira on a minor errand would be a welcome relief to take his mind off weightier matters for a time. He knew she was unnerved by the bustle and crowds of such big cities and also wouldn’t want to leave him alone if she were gone.
“I don’t mind at all. We can go now if you like. I’m sure we can rustle up some food when we get back.”
From the way her face lit up, he felt like a bit of a selfish lout for his lack of consideration for his friends, Mira especially, who was the most loyal and least demanding person he had ever known and probably ever would. She thanked him, but simply knowing he could do something for her for a change would have been thanks enough.
An elderly chambermaid Taren queried in the hallway gave them directions to an herbalist. The morning was cold and the sky clear though the wind was biting. Without difficulty, they located the shop, tucked away down a narrow side street a couple blocks away from the harbor. The
aroma of herbs and spices filled the air the moment they stepped inside. Rows of shelves were lined with jars and bins filled with more varieties of leaves, roots, seeds, herbs, and other plant-based substances than Taren had imagined existed. His only comparable experience was the small herbalist in Swanford, which had about a quarter the stock of this store. The shopkeeper was happy to help them, and Mira was delighted to find the type of green tea leaves she enjoyed back at her monastery. The shopkeeper filled a pouch with the dried leaves, and Taren gladly parted with a few coppers from the purse his mother had given him.
Not being in any particular hurry to return to the castle, they walked down to the docks. The brisk wind kept the lake’s more unpleasant odors, fish and algae, from being overpowering. Despite the cold morning breeze, the weather remained fair and sunny for early winter. Fishing vessels were out on the water, plying their trades, white sails dotting the choppy waves as far as the eye could see. The lake itself seemed nearly as great as the ocean to Taren, its blue waters stretching to the horizon. He wondered if such a large lake froze over in the depths of winter. Seeing Mira enjoying the sight as much as he did made him happy.
A good-sized fish market was set up just off the docks. The sight of some large, freshly caught trout made him think of how delicious they would taste after frying them up over a fire. Naturally, that led to his stomach grumbling at its emptiness. Once that occurred, Taren decided they should head back to the castle and scrounge up some breakfast. Mira, naturally, was agreeable.
They returned to the castle and found Ferret waving at them excitedly from across the bailey. “Taren! Mira! I’ve been looking all over for you two.” She jogged toward them, footsteps clanging on the flagstones. “The dwarves are arriving! So is the other elven party!”
Trial of the Thaumaturge (Scions of Nexus Book 3) Page 18