Beyond the Boundary Stones (The Chronicles of Tevenar Book 3)

by Holder, Angela

  Twenty-Six

  Josiah jerked his nodding head up and tried to force his eyes to focus on the words of the fifth History, but it was no use. They insisted on drifting closed. He’d thought to make up for missing a whole afternoon of healing by doing a little studying, but it looked as if that wasn’t going to happen. He certainly hadn’t accomplished anything else worth taking so much time away from their patients.

  He sighed. He and Sar had kept the Mother’s power fixed on Thanna’s body the whole time she was eating the sweetbreads, and for a long time after she was finished. All they’d sensed was the normal process of digestion. If any of the mysterious substance was present in the meat, it had been destroyed by being cooked, or by the acid in Thanna’s stomach, or maybe it had just passed right through her body with the other waste. But none of it had ended up in her blood. The cloying honey stickiness had increased just as always. Finally he’d given up and had Sar give the tiny islands in her pancreas a gentle surge of power, speeding up their diminished capacity until Thanna had enough insulin to last the night.

  Neither Gevan nor Nalini seemed as discouraged as Josiah felt. They’d both told him it was no surprise that their first idea hadn’t worked, and that they’d probably have many more failures on the way to success. They’d made plans to meet again Firstday morning. But Josiah couldn’t stop thinking about Thanna and all the others who were depending on the wizards to find a way to help them. The Mother’s power could keep them alive, but it wasn’t a long-term solution. If something happened to the wizards or their familiars, or if they had to flee back to Tevenar, their diabetic patients would be doomed.

  He flipped the book closed and flopped on the bed. He should change into his nightclothes, but he couldn’t find the energy. Instead he went over and over everything he’d felt and heard and tasted with the Mother’s power, everything he’d seen through Gevan’s lens, trying to come up with a new angle to try.

  Urgent knocking disturbed him. He listened for a moment, then shut it out. It was too distant to be his door, so it must be someone who wanted Elkan. Hopefully he’d give up soon and go away.

  The noise stopped. Just as Josiah was settling back into his thoughts, it resumed, so close and loud Josiah jumped. “Smash it!” he grumbled and went to yank the door open. “What do you want?”

  The man outside was a stranger. He was dressed in a uniform of some type, but it wasn’t the one the Matriarch’s soldiers wore. Closer to her servants’ outfits, but not quite one of them, either. He eyed Josiah doubtfully but brightened when he looked beyond and spotted Sar drowsing in his corner. “You’re one of the wizards? Please, we need your help.”

  “What’s wrong?” Josiah was sure his voice was far less gracious than Elkan’s would have been, but it would have to do.

  “My mistress, Lady Nathenarre Rothen—”

  “Rothen? Keeper Emirre’s wife? Vigorre’s stepmother?”

  He nodded. “Her husband’s arrest proved more than a woman in a delicate condition could endure, and her confinement has come upon her before her time.”

  It took Josiah a moment to sort through the Ramunnan euphemisms. “You mean she’s in labor?”

  The man’s lips tightened. “The wise woman says the child will surely die if it comes so soon, and perhaps my mistress as well.”

  “How far along is she?”

  The man’s voice was stiff. “I believe the happy event was anticipated three months hence.”

  Josiah looked over at Elkan’s door. “I think Master Elkan is still with the Matriarch. He told me not to disturb him, and I’m not supposed to go off without him. Can you wait for him to get back?”

  The man twisted his hands together. “Please, it may already be too late. I don’t wish to be indelicate, but my mistress seemed to be in great distress, and the wise woman was very distraught.”

  “Where’s Vigorre?” Josiah trusted the young Keeper’s judgement. He’d know if it was something that required the Mother’s power or whether the midwife was over-reacting. Many women experienced occasional contractions during late pregnancy, which usually stopped without incident. Not always, though. Sometimes a baby was born before it was ready to breathe on its own and required the Mother’s power to mature its lungs. Josiah had only seen a few such cases, because the midwives in Elathir were skilled in knowing when to bring a prematurely laboring woman to the wizards. They couldn’t reverse birth any more than they could reverse death, but they could stop labor if it hadn’t progressed too far.

  “Keeper Vigorre insisted on staying at Lady Nathenarre’s side.” The man scowled. “He asked me to tell you to hurry.”

  Josiah would have thought Vigorre would have come himself. Ramunnans had odd ideas about not allowing men near birthing women—every time a midwife had brought a woman with any sort of pregnancy complication to the square they’d insisted on Kevessa being the one to see her. It was one more sign Vigorre was meant to be a wizard that he’d defied custom to give his stepmother comfort, even if he couldn’t yet help her.

  Sar, wake up. Elkan had ordered him not to leave the palace, but surely that didn’t apply to emergency situations. But he’d better not go alone. “Give me a minute. I need to call Borlen or one of the other soldiers to go with us.”

  “I fear there’s no time. Keeper Vigorre was very insistent that I fetch a wizard immediately.”

  Josiah rolled his eyes. “It will only take—”

  Just then a guard turned the corner and strode down the corridor toward them. “See? Hey, you!” Josiah shouted. “I need you to go with me into the city.”

  The soldier snapped to attention. “Yes, sir. My orders are to accompany any wizard who needs protection.”

  “Good.” Josiah sat to pull his boots on. You coming?

  Sar didn’t reply, only moved to take up his usual place at Josiah’s side. The donkey didn’t like being roused from sleep any more than Josiah did, but he never voiced a complaint. Part of the whole no-free-will thing, probably. Josiah was glad he was free to grumble as much as he pleased, even if he’d never leave such a call unanswered any more than his familiar would.

  The messenger led them through the palace. There were fewer people around than Josiah expected—it wasn’t that long after midnight, and the Matriarch’s entertainments often lasted much later. But she was off with Elkan for another pregnancy-accelerating session, so everyone else must have taken the opportunity to retire early.

  The guards at the gate let them pass at a quiet word from their escorting soldier. The familiar road down to the Beggars’ Quarter was transformed by darkness into alien territory. Josiah thought he would have been able to find his way alone, but he wasn’t sure of it. Luckily Lady Nathenarre’s messenger knew exactly where he was going. He strode so quickly Josiah could barely keep up.

  You’d think the man could have brought a carriage. With so little traffic in the streets this time of night, it would have been a lot quicker than walking. A horse would have been even quicker. Sar could have kept up easily. He was trotting at the messenger’s heels, getting further ahead every minute. Josiah grimaced and quickened his pace. Did they really have to run? Surely a minute or two wouldn’t make a significant difference. It wouldn’t do Lady Nathenarre much good if he was too exhausted when they got there to—

  The messenger made a sharp left turn into a narrow side street. Sar’s hooves scraped on the cobbles as he lunged to follow. Josiah skidded into the turn, nearly losing his balance, scrambling to catch up before Sar’s swishing tail vanished around the next bend of the crooked alley.

  “Josiah, watch out!”

  Josiah spun around, seeking the source of the shout. His boot slipped on the cobbles, and he pitched sideways, flinging out both hands. He yelped as his palms struck stone. One wrist buckled with a fierce jolt of pain and a dull snap.

  A blade whistled past his ear. Steel flashed in starlight as the soldier recovered from his missed strike and brought his sword around to finish the job. Sar’s shr
ill scream pierced the night.

  Another sword blocked the soldier’s blow. A horse shouldered the man away from Josiah, and an urgent hand reached down. “Come on!”

  Josiah retained just enough presence of mind to offer his uninjured arm. Even so, the yank jarred his snapped wrist, sending a wave of agony and nausea flooding through him, so intense he almost blacked out.

  When his head cleared he found himself perched on the horse in front of the rider. Vigorre’s voice spoke in his ear. “Can you hold on?”

  Josiah clutched the horse’s mane with his good hand and nodded. “Sar,” he croaked.

  “I know.” Vigorre’s voice was grim. He kicked his horse forward. Josiah bit back a cry of pain. Armed men crowded around them from every side. Ahead, hooves met flesh with solid thuds. A sword flashed, and Sar screamed again. This time his fury was laced with pain.

  Vigorre beat off their attackers, but they kept grabbing for Josiah’s legs, trying to drag him off the horse. Josiah clung with his knees and good hand. His head swam and his arm was on fire. He fought to stay conscious.

  “Get ready,” Vigorre growled. The horse reared and plunged ahead, into the cluster of men around Sar. Barely in time, Josiah understood what Vigorre intended. He loosened his grip as the horse drew alongside the donkey. Vigorre sheathed his sword, gripped the neck of Josiah’s tunic and the waistband of his breeches, and heaved him onto Sar’s back.

  The instant they touched, Sar ripped energy from Josiah and sent a wave of golden light into the man swinging his sword high over the donkey’s neck. Josiah felt the Mother’s power penetrate his skull and rip into the delicate network of pulsing blue arteries. For a horrible instant a blast of shrieking crimson bitterness cut like a knife through his head. The man crumpled; his sword glanced off Sar’s neck, leaving a long shallow slice. Sensation faded to grey stinking fog, then nothingness. Gold light still enveloped the man’s head, but it might as well have been a stone.

  It winked out as Sar turned his attention to the rest of their attackers. When he could he ripped swords from hands and sent them soaring out of reach, but twice more only a killing strike was swift enough to save them, once from strangling hands around Josiah’s throat, once from a fallen foe’s knife raised to gut Sar’s belly. Vigorre’s darting sword killed two attackers and wounded three more before one of the remaining men barked a harsh order and their adversaries retreated.

  Josiah sprawled over Sar’s withers. The donkey stood with all four legs braced wide and head drooping, heaving great shuddering breaths. Vigorre swung stiffly down from his horse and limped over to them. “Are you all right?” he asked as he supported Josiah under the arms and helped him slide off Sar’s back and down to the street.

  “I think so.” Josiah grabbed for Sar’s leg, both to keep himself sitting upright and for the contact that allowed Sar to send the Mother’s power flowing though both of them. The donkey had several cuts besides the one on his neck, but none of them were deep. Josiah’s wrist was his worst injury; other than that it was only bruises and abrasions. “What about you?” Sar turned the gold light outward.

  Vigorre’s limp came from a heavily bleeding slash across his thigh. Josiah groaned and sucked in his breath when Sar dragged out enough energy to clot the blood. He pressed his forehead into the donkey’s leg. “Give us a minute to rest and we’ll finish it.” He knew from experience they weren’t deeply drained. This was the acute tiredness that followed a sprint and not the exhaustion of a prolonged run.

  Vigorre protested, but Josiah ignored him, concentrating on sucking in air. Gradually strength came back to his muscles and his head cleared enough to become intensely aware of just how badly his wrist hurt. He waited as long as he could, but when Sar shifted his weight and jarred it a whimper escaped. Sar, please, could you…

  Warm gold light sent its delicious tingles through his wrist. Josiah sagged against Sar’s leg in relief. As soon as the worst of the pain was gone he struggled to his feet. “All right. Your turn.”

  The donkey’s wounds were quickly dealt with. They turned their attention back to Vigorre’s leg. He stared at the bright glow around his thigh, occasionally closing his eyes in a way that suggested to Josiah he was concentrating on how the Mother’s power felt as it worked to accelerate his body’s healing.

  When the light died, he cleared his throat. “We’ve got to get you to the palace. They might come back.”

  Josiah nodded, then jerked his head up as he remembered. “Your stepmother! She’s in premature labor. We’ve got to go to her. I hope it’s not too late already.”

  Vigorre frowned. “No she’s not. I was just there; she’s fine.”

  Josiah blinked at him, then looked around, registering the bodies lying scattered in the street where they’d fallen. The nearness of their escape hit him, along with the amazing good fortune of their rescue. “A man came to the palace saying he was from your house, pleading for a wizard to come back with him. It never occurred to me—” He shuddered. “What were you doing here?”

  “I was on my way back to the palace. Nathenarre begged me to check on Father again. I recognized Sar and saw you turn down this little alley that doesn’t lead anywhere, so I hurried to find out what was going on.”

  “They were trying to kill us.” Josiah sagged against Sar’s leg. “If you hadn’t come—”

  “Thank the Mother I did.” Vigorre scrambled to his feet and extended a hand to Josiah.

  Josiah accepted it and rose with a groan. “It must have been the Purifiers. They can’t have been just thieves; we were lured out here, and the Matriarch’s soldier—” He rubbed his ear and the back of his neck. That’s where the man’s blow had been aimed; it could easily have taken off his head. The thought gave him a queer dizzy feeling. If Vigorre hadn’t yelled, Josiah would be standing before the Mother right now. “I’ve got to warn Elkan. If the Matriarch sends out soldiers quick enough, maybe she can catch the ones that ran. Or at least we can trace them back with a window to confirm where their orders came from.”

  Vigorre froze and swallowed hard, looking around at the carnage. “You can’t. The Matriarch will never release Father and the others from the dungeon if she believes the Purifiers were behind an attempt on your life.”

  Josiah scowled at him and put his arm around Sar’s neck. “Yoran Lirolla deserves to rot in prison for this.”

  “Maybe Keeper Yoran does, but I’m sure Father had nothing to do with it.” Vigorre turned to Josiah with desperate eyes. “If he isn’t released from the dungeon soon, what’s going to happen to Alna and Bravenorre and the twins? And Nathenarre and the baby? I have to think about them.”

  “We can’t keep this a secret.” Josiah gestured at the sprawled bodies. “It’s not like we can get rid of them.”

  “Fights break out in the Beggars’ Quarter all the time; it will be assumed it was a private quarrel that got ugly. No one knows what happened but us. If we don’t tell anyone, they’ll never know, and the Matriarch will release Father and the others as soon as she feels like she’s made her point.”

  “I can’t lie to Elkan!” Josiah swallowed. It would be a relief not to have to tell his master how their enemies had tricked him so easily, how he’d disobeyed him and gone out into the city with strangers, how his careless impulsivity and lack of judgement had once again nearly gotten himself and Sar killed.

  Vigorre must have sensed that he was wavering. “Please. It’s not only Father, but Kevessa’s uncle, too. And all the others who’re only guilty of believing what Keeper Yoran showed them. Do you think the Matriarch will spare any of them if she thinks her precious wizards were threatened? She threw her own husband in the dungeon!”

  Josiah was afraid he was right. “So you’re saying we should go back to the palace like nothing happened?”

  “If anyone asks, you went to check on Nathenarre and found out it was a false alarm, her labor had stopped on its own. I’ll tell her to back up your story if necessary.”

  Josiah
chewed on his lip. “Probably no one noticed we were gone. I didn’t tell anyone I was leaving, or where I was going.”

  “See? It will be easy.”

  “But I have to warn the others! The Purifiers aren’t going to quit trying just because one attempt failed.” He clenched his fists. “We’re in more danger than ever.”

  “You’ve known about the danger all along. What precautions can you take that you aren’t already?” Vigorre stepped forward and gripped Josiah’s arms. “If the Matriarch learns about this, she’ll be so angry she’ll do something rash. Maybe even order all the prisoners executed. I can’t let that happen.”

  For a moment his fingers were so tight and his expression so desperate Josiah almost feared him. But then he shook his head, released Josiah, and stepped back. “I’m sorry.”

  Josiah rubbed his arms. “It’s all right. It’s your father; of course you’re scared.” He walked over to the dead swordsman and stared down at him. “There’s not a mark on him. All the damage is inside his head. It’s going to be obvious he was killed by the Mother’s power.”

  Vigorre joined him and studied the body. With a grimace he drew his sword and cut a slice across the man’s throat. Only a little blood oozed out of the dead flesh. “There. It’s not perfect, but nobody’s going to be looking too closely.”

  He glanced sidelong at Josiah as he went to attend to the other two that Sar had killed. “So, you can use the Mother’s power to kill?”

  “In self-defense. It’s in the Law.” Josiah swallowed. Feeling those men’s lives torn away, knowing he was in part responsible, had been horrifying, but at the same time he’d rejoiced fiercely to live while they died. He had no doubt they would have succeeded in killing both him and Sar if the donkey hadn’t acted so quickly and decisively. Sar wouldn’t have been able to do it if it was against the Mother’s will.

  “I guess I remember reading that part.” Vigorre gave one of the dead assassins a thrust through the heart, the other a slash across the belly that let the man’s innards spill out. Josiah’s stomach flopped, but it wasn’t as if Vigorre could cause the dead men any further pain. “That’s another reason for keeping this quiet. I doubt most people would care about the distinction. They’d just see that a demon had slaughtered their countrymen. It would play right into Keeper Yoran’s hands.”