Through the Veil

by Walker, Shiloh

  “The lives of two worlds are connected there. Many lives—it creates a great deal of power.”

  Quietly, Lee asked, “Is the power dangerous?”

  “Power is a weapon. Its danger lies in the hands of those who would wield it. But none from our world can tap into the power of the gates. It doesn’t know us. It doesn’t recognize us. Most of us cannot even see it, talent or no. Whatever power is needed to manipulate them, we do not possess it.”

  “I was told that the power there isn’t stable. That you can’t tap into it. Who can manipulate it?”

  Eira sighed. Her chest rose and fell in a heavy sigh. There was a faint, gurgling sound to her breathing, like there was fluid building up inside her lungs. Her lids drooped low over her eyes. “Warlords.”

  Lee dropped her head into her hands. The Warlords. So far, she hadn’t seen the men that were spoken of only in whispers, usually followed by a sign that Lee had come to correlate with a Catholic crossing himself. As though even saying the word was enough to bring down the Warlords’ fury and the speaker needed divine protection. “So nobody here knows how?”

  Eira’s undamaged lid lifted. Her gaze met Lee’s. “It is not that we do not know. We cannot. The gates recognize power, but it is selective. It does not seem to feel our power—the gate will open to a power it recognizes.”

  “And it recognizes the Warlords?” She started to stand up and then she stopped. Looking at Eira, she leaned over and took the old woman’s hand. “Do you feel its power? I do—it’s like a song in my head. It was calling me, Eira.”

  A small, secret smile flirted with the unaffected side of Eira’s mouth. “Tell me.”

  So Lee did. When she got to the part about Morne, she skipped some of it. Like the way she’d felt almost hypnotized when he stared at her. The music she’d felt coming from him. And the part about Kalen. She wasn’t going to share that part. But the rest . . . yes, she told Eira about the music of the storm, the drums that seemed to call her name.

  “Has it happened to you?” she asked when she finally finished. “Have you felt them?”

  Eira was quiet for so long that Lee thought maybe the old woman had fallen asleep. “No. Magick isn’t a song to me. I haven’t heard these drums. But it doesn’t surprise me that you have heard them.” Eira yawned. “Lee, I need to rest. But come back—tomorrow. There are things I need to tell you, while I still can.”

  Lee stood reluctantly. She wanted more answers. She was so confused. She murmured a good-bye, but Eira was already asleep.

  “This is quite an opportunity.” Char glanced at his spy and nodded approvingly. “Yes . . . yes . . . a good opportunity. Tell me, my friend, where are their other witches?”

  “Gone, Warlord. The old witch’s daughter left for the east. It’s safer there.” The spy smirked and added, “Relatively speaking.”

  “Hmmm. And when Eira is gone, they have no true magick left?”

  The spy shrugged. “What magick remains is minimal. A few soldiers that have small fighting magicks, but nothing impressive. There is one other powerful witch, a woman. But she’s young and she doesn’t know her power yet. She has mastered her minor magicks, but the true power still lurks deep inside, waiting to wake. Without Eira there to train her, she will pose very little opposition. I don’t know how reliable this woman is. She’s come and gone before, for years. When events take a turn for the worse, I imagine she will do as she’s always done and leave. When Eira dies, she will be the only one left with any true power, Warlord. The Sirvani have captured many that have been born the past few decades. The ones with significant power that haven’t been captured have either died during the battle or have left.”

  Char tugged on his lower lip thoughtfully. “Not many witches left in this area at all.” If he didn’t already have other plans for his world, the lack of witches could prove to be a serious predicament. He did have his plans, though, and the witches bred well in captivity. Already the newest generation of Warlords was in training and proving to be quite powerful.

  “What about the witch’s daughter? Their weapons aside, if their witches are truly gone, the Roinan Gate is all but ours. Quite a coup, yet I can’t see them leaving themselves so unprotected. They would send for help.”

  “The only daughter she had left retreated into the east. They have sent for her, but it will take time for her to reach them. They still will not use anything but the most basic means of transport for fear of the wyrms.”

  Char smiled. The wyrms had been an inspired choice. The High Lord had made few very wise decisions, but the wyrms were definitely one of them. It had been a risky choice, with possibly deadly consequences, sending battalions of Sirvani to the wetlands to harvest the wyrm larvae. The wetlands were far to the south, and the entire venture had taken decades to complete. The fools across the gate had no idea how long the Sirvani had been using their world as the breeding ground for the wyrms.

  Wyrms were like addil fish, growing as large as their environment would allow. In the wetlands to the south where food was scarce and the wyrms overpopulated, the things didn’t grow so well.

  But across the gates, the rich, fertile soil was like manna. They grew huge, so damned big they could swallow a flank of soldiers and still have room for more. And they were drawn to the pulse and thrum within the cities and towns. The power that the people relied on was like a siren’s song, calling to the ugly beasties. Or maybe a dinner gong, Char thought with a smile. The cities beckoned to the wyrms, and the wyrms learned quickly that where they sensed that pulse, they would find food.

  It was the wyrms that had turned the tide. The resistance armies had held their own against the Sirvani, even against the demons that Taise had sent through the gate.

  All of Taise’s plans had seemed madness at the time, at least to Char, who had seen the way the High Lord deteriorated, but that madness had worked in Char’s favor. Even as he shook his head in disgust at the way Taise had allowed the demons to run amok in Ishtan, Char hadn’t worried.

  If he had been concerned about the continued need for slaves, Char would have been more worried, and indeed, he might have been forced to take drastic measures to protect the future of Anqar. But he already knew that they didn’t need Ishtan—it was like a mama weaning a babe. The babe would fight, but Char had no doubts he would prevail over it.

  Once Taise was out of the way.

  But the wyrms, yes, they were inspired. The resistance had proved helpless against the wyrms—they were all but defenseless. It was almost pitiful.

  He heard a soft sound and glanced up to meet the gaze of his spy. A broad palm, scarred and calloused, was held out, and Char smirked. “Always the mercenary, aren’t you, old friend?”

  A smile came and went. Char paid him, adding a little extra because the news had put him in such a good mood. Nature had done what his men had failed to do—eliminated the old witch. She might not be dead yet, but it wouldn’t be long, not if she had another attack. With the witch out of his way, the Roinan Gate would fall so much more easily. Lives would be lost, but mostly men. The resistance had finally figured out they were wise to get most of their women away from the gates. What few remained would be warriors and healers, and Char’s men knew that women weren’t to be harmed, if at all possible. Securing the gate and the land beyond it would take some time, but he had reliable men he would leave in charge of that.

  Freeing him to seek out his child.

  “Shall I go with you to tell the High Lord?”

  Char glanced at the spy with a frown. “No.”

  The man paused, a shrewd look in his eyes. “He may have questions.”

  He considered lying. The spy didn’t need to know his plans. However, Char had been using his services for decades, had made huge strides with his personal plans thanks to the information the spy had shared with him. Char knew the man was a canny bastard, and he also knew the man had one major personality trait that would work in Char’s favor. The man had no loyalties to any save himse
lf, and the spy also knew that Taise’s grip on reality was slipping, as was his ability to rule rationally.

  “If we tell Taise, the High Lord will advance his plans on the final assault.” Char wasn’t prepared for that yet. The final assault that Taise had in mind would have a body count unlike any they had seen before. Char wasn’t fond of waste, but beyond that, he wasn’t going to let the old fool’s asinine ideas interfere with his own plans.

  From the corner of his eye, he watched the spy. “I have certain objectives, and if he moves forward, I may never meet those objectives.”

  “If I may?” The spy glanced behind him as though he were worried about being overheard. “You realize that if we conceal this information, the High Lord could consider us both in direct violation of his orders.”

  With a cynical smile, Char said, “We’re both intelligent men here. We both know that even the greatest leader will eventually make . . . less than wise decisions. Some of those decisions may not have much of an impact. Others could prove detrimental to all who would follow him.”

  “And not reporting back to him as ordered could prove detrimental to me.”

  “You don’t always report directly to Taise, my friend. Often you’ve reported to me, and in turn, I speak with Taise. We shall just let a few details of this conversation go unsaid.”

  Char watched the man think it over, and when the faint smile appeared, Char knew the man would say nothing. He slid Char a squinty-eyed look and mused, “It could be worth my while to decide that I have already been gone from my post for too long.” He held out a palm and gave Char a beatific smile. “It wouldn’t do for my absence to be noticed.”

  “Not at all.” More money exchanged hands and each of them smiled. They understood each other.

  Char watched as the man tucked away the gold and the paper currency used in Anqar. Then he angled his chin toward the door and said, “You had best be going, before you truly are missed.”

  Instead of leaving, though, the spy studied Char thoughtfully. “I wonder what your agenda is. You know how unstable the gates have become—while I do not think Taise has always acted with the utmost caution, I wonder why you are not leaping into action for a full-scale assault and grabbing as many females as you can. When the gate falls, it may be permanent. Do you not fear for the future of Anqar?”

  “No. I do not. Unlike Taise, I have been preparing for this. His madness has made him foolish. A full-scale assault would suit his plans.” With a thin-lipped smile, Char added, “But not mine. A full-scale assault could certainly secure more slaves; however, it would end with too many lives lost.”

  “You do not strike me as the type to worry overmuch about the loss of life.”

  “Waste offends me, my good man. It always has.” Part of the reason he was so determined to reclaim his property. A man’s assets should be put to work for him, not left to flounder or die.

  “Hmmm.”

  Char wasn’t fooled by the noncommittal sound. He weighed his options. He could order the spy to leave. The man wasn’t a fool—he wouldn’t dare to ignore an order. Ignoring orders could lead to death in this world. But the man was too valuable a tool to lose over that. A valuable tool—an asset. Assets weren’t to be wasted.

  With that thought in mind, he paced away from the huge war table and moved to the window. It faced east, and far off in the distance, he could see the flickering green, blue and red lights of the gate energies. If he lowered his lids and focused, he could see the rippling energy forming the actual gate, superimposed over the physical earth. He could hear it as well, that vibrant, seductive song. But over the past few years, the song of the gate energies had become tainted.

  Oh, it was still lovely, but too often the sweet flow of music was interrupted by a discordant thrum. That discord was now more part of the song than not, and the gate energies were splintering even as they tried to repair the damage. “Do you know how the gates work, my friend?” Char didn’t bother to wait for an answer. “It’s a disruption in the energy flow of both worlds. When the powers touch, they splinter the fabric that holds our world separate and the gates form. They are sustained by the lives of the worlds. A few souls here and there passing through the gate does little to the power base, but when huge armies pass through, the gate energies are pushed to the breaking point. Left alone, the gate could repair itself. But too many pass through and there is little time for the gate energies to rebuild. Soon they will falter and collapse, and travel between the worlds will be no more.”

  He glanced behind him to the spy. “Does this worry you? If the gates fall, you will not be able to run back and forth between the worlds, selling information. Already it becomes more difficult to raise my personal gate to bring you to me. In time, you will not be able to cross at all.”

  A faint, sly smile curved the man’s lips. Avarice and greed shone in his eyes. “I will manage.”

  Char wasn’t surprised by the response. Many had reacted with outrage, but this man was too practical to waste energy on something that he couldn’t control. “Yes. I imagine you will.” Looking back toward the gates, he said, “Time is getting away from us. Soon, the power will be all gone and the gates will close. There is something in Ishtan that belongs to me. It was taken from me years ago and I will have it back. Once I do, the gates can collapse and never again remake themselves. I could not care less.”

  Ever the enterprising bastard, the spy rubbed his palms together and said with a quick smile, “If you will tell me what you seek, perhaps I could help. For a minimal fee.”

  Char laughed. “You’re a cocky bastard. How much money do you think you can bilk out of me?”

  There was a knock at the door and both men fell silent. The spy moved on silent feet to the small lounge off the side of the war room, and Char waited until the man was out of sight before he opened the door. In the great hall, he could see his servants awaiting him, but he did not call them back into the room yet. Business such as his was too delicate to risk being overheard. Instead, he stood aside and let Arnon enter the room, and once the Sirvani had passed through, Char closed the door behind him.

  Arnon’s eyes flicked to the lounge and he murmured, “I have spoken with the High Lord.”

  He said nothing else, but Char understood the unspoken words. “A moment.”

  It took not much longer than that to get rid of the spy. When Char returned to the main chamber, Arnon was waiting in the exact the same position, his hands linked behind him, his gaze unreadable. As tradition demanded, Arnon’s head was shaved bare. His clothes, from the tunic to his boots, were spotless, and Char knew that under those clothes was a veritable arsenal. A well-maintained one, at that. Arnon was one of the most powerful Sirvani in Char’s army, and the most reliable.

  Char trusted no one the way he trusted the man before him. Char might not reveal his objectives to the spy, but Arnon was a different matter. Not for the first time, he considered sending Arnon across the gate to help in the quest, but decided against it.

  One thing Arnon couldn’t do was blend in. One look at him, and the small resistance would know exactly what he was. Warlords and their offspring weren’t easy to overlook, and Arnon was no exception.

  “You look very grim.”

  “I have heard rumors about the old witch. My own sources confirm it is indeed true. Have you told the High Lord?”

  Char shook his head. “No. And I will not.”

  Arnon nodded as though he had expected no other response. “We are on borrowed time, Lord.”

  From under his lashes, Char watched Arnon and replied, “I am fully aware of that, Arnon. Have you come with useful information or will you simply parrot back what I have already heard from a number of sources?”

  A cool smile formed on Arnon’s face. “I simply wonder what your spy had to say about any remaining witches.”

  With a dismissive wave, Char responded, “Little to none. One untrained witch in the immediate area, and the others are likely weeks away.”


  One dark brown brow winged up, but other than that, Arnon’s face remained impassive. “One untrained witch.”

  Char chuckled. “It would seem we have been perhaps too thorough in the raids. Most of the talented Ishtanians have already fled, or were captured during the raids. Once Eira is gone, there will be no balancing force on the other side of the gate, and it will be only a matter of time before the power fluctuations completely destroy it. We must find my daughter before that happens.”

  EIGHT

  “Lee.”

  It was hours later and Lee was too damn tired to deal with Kalen or his moods, but it was pretty damn clear he didn’t care. Lee could all but feel the heat of his anger beating the air around her. The afternoon she’d spent avoiding him hadn’t seemed to cool his temper in the slightest.

  Damn. Just ten more feet and she would have made it inside and she could have collapsed onto the bed, feigned sleep. After a minute or two, she wouldn’t have had to feign anything. Lee was tired enough that she knew within a few minutes of being horizontal, she would have been dead to the world. “I’m tired, Kalen. I don’t feel like talking.”

  “Too bad,” he snarled. His hand came down on her neck and he squeezed. Lee tried to keep walking, but he’d stopped, and that unrelenting grip on her neck wasn’t letting go. He wasn’t hurting her, but he wasn’t going to budge either.

  She recognized the futility of struggling, and rather than suffer the indignity of trying and failing, she just stood there. “What do you want?”

  He glanced around and scowled. Too many people were watching them without really appearing to. Lee could feel their eyes on them, and now self-consciousness piled on top of anger. “Not here,” he muttered.

  Anger chased away the weight of exhaustion, and the second the door closed behind them, she said, “If you don’t take your damn hand off me, I’m going to bite you.”

  His head lowered, and he rumbled into her ear, “Go ahead. I’ll bite back . . . but first . . .”