“To the ground, men!” he yelled. “Grab a sword and defend this fort.”
His men scrambled down the stairs. Hinck went after them and found the last few archers pawing through a pile of weapons near the door. Hinck’s sword was in the office. He crossed the room and pushed past the curtain at the door.
Eudora’s cot was empty. She lay on the floor, a hooded soldier kneeling over her. By the arcs of blood streaked over the sanded pine floor, someone was bleeding badly.
Hinck fell upon the man, whose hands were clenched around Eudora’s throat. Eudora’s eyes had rolled back in her head. Hinck ripped the man off Eudora, pinned him to the floor, and pulled back his hood, which revealed coils of soft braids.
“Lady Brisa?” In one of the Sarikarian uniforms.
“I hoped she would bleed out,” she said. “The shadir said she might. But she felt the knife on her wrists and returned to her body.”
Hinck glanced back at Eudora, who lay unmoving, eyes glassy and staring. Deep cuts across her wrists were still oozing blood. Woes!
“General!” he voiced. “I need the physician and two guards in my office now!”
The guards locked up Lady Brisa with those who had surrendered. She claimed a shadir told her how to find Eudora’s body and stop her from freeing the giants. Hinck bloodvoiced Trevn and Oli to tell them what had happened, warning them to guard well the bodies of any who had entered the Veil.
The physician declared Lady Eudora dead. This Hinck already knew, but he’d hoped he was wrong. He apologized profusely to Oli, who now had lost his entire family.
“This is war, Hinckdan,” Oli voiced back, though his voice sounded strained. “Casualties are to be expected. I am thankful she died a free woman and doing some good for once in her life.”
Hinck wondered when Duke Canden had become such an optimist.
“It’s all but over now,” a voice said. It was the general, stepping in through the door.
“What happened?” Hinck asked.
“We have won, though we lost too many in that last attack.”
“Not enough arrows,” Hinck said. “And Lady Eudora . . .”
“Very sad, Your Grace. I didn’t see Lord Edekk or Sir Jarmyn among the dead or the prisoners. They’re likely hiding somewhere or have gone south to join the larger battle. Now, I insist you lie down and let the physician look at your stitches.”
Hinck reluctantly lay back on his longchair, wincing at the pull on his chest muscles. He bloodvoiced Saria and told her all that had happened. When the physician finally looked him over, Hinck was dizzy from blood loss. He had ripped out over half the stitches. The physician sewed him up and ordered him back to New Sarikar to rest. Nothing Hinck said would convince the man to change his mind.
“A physician’s order outranks even a king. Or a queen,” General Norcott said.
Hinck didn’t bother to challenge that statement. He knew both Trevn and Saria would agree.
Grayson
At Queen Zeroah’s insistence, Grayson popped to the physician in the castle and let the man coat his ear in aloe, which was all he said could be done for a burn. After that, Grayson went to the great hall and was relieved not to see Shanek DanSâr. Queen Zeroah and Danek appeared in the Veil beside him.
“What are you doing?” Danek asked. “You need to find Shanek DanSâr and kill him.”
Grayson looked away from the duke’s accusing eyes to Queen Zeroah’s kind ones. “The king didn’t tell me to kill him. Just to keep him distracted. And away from the battle, which hasn’t started yet.”
“Ask the king,” Danek said. “I’m sure he means for you to kill him.”
Grayson squirmed at the idea of killing anyone. “I want to see how the queen is doing.”
He thought about Queen Mielle and moved. She was leading two maids down from the third floor to the second. Sir Kalenek stood on the second-floor landing, waiting.
“See that these women are sent to Duke Highcliff’s manor,” she said.
Sir Kalenek gestured to a nearby soldier, who had been watching the exchange. “You heard the queen. Get these women to safety at once.”
“Yes, sir,” the soldier said, escorting the women down the next flight of stairs.
Kal’s attention fell on Grayson. “Grayson! What news?”
“Shanek DanSâr is gone for now,” he said.
“That’s a relief,” the queen said. “I wish Amala had never met him. Or that she could influence him for good. To stop this madness.”
Kal embraced the queen. “Amala thinks Shanek would make a good king.”
They held each other, and the queen cried for her sister. Grayson felt awkward and in the way. Thankfully the front doors opened, and a soldier walked in. A female soldier.
“Lady Pia!” Queen Mielle ran to her shield. “I thought you were dead.”
“No, Your Highness. Lady Mattenelle spared me. Apparently, nearly ten years in such service together builds loyalty for one another.”
“What of the children?” Mielle asked. “Did the mantic take them away?”
“She left them and a horse and cart, which I believe belonged to Master Orban, so I transported the children here. Some guards in the bailey took them to the Duke of Highcliff’s manor.”
“Oh, Pia, you’re brilliant!” The queen threw her arms around the woman. “Thank you for taking care of those dear ones. I wish I could—”
A blast of green fire flew past Grayson’s arm. He dove aside and into the Veil, twisting to his back as he might when swimming. Around him, people were screaming and running. Shanek DanSâr had returned. He was walking toward Grayson, had passed by the queen and her guardswoman, by Sir Kalenek and the soldiers, who had all pressed back against the walls. They looked scared.
Grayson was scared too, especially when he felt the coldness coming from Shanek and remembered King Trevn saying Shanek had a great shadir inside him. He popped three times across the second-floor landing, hoping to confuse Shanek, then threw a ball of green fire.
Shanek vanished before the fire reached him. It struck the wall and a tapestry caught fire. Before Grayson could think, a stream of fire flew past, and heat seared his left side. He howled and popped to the roof. Shanek arrived a moment later, but rather than attack, popped away. Grayson followed him to the great hall and found Shanek standing just inside the doorway.
Grayson threw a ball of fire. Shanek stretched a glimmer of green light between his hands. Grayson’s fireball struck the light and faded.
How did he do that? Grayson zipped through the Veil, exiting in various places outdoors, hoping that Shanek would follow, but he did not. Grayson again found him in the great hall. This time he lobbed a fireball at Shanek’s back, but Shanek disappeared and the green flames fizzled out into nothing.
Before Grayson could give chase, fire scorched his left arm. He yelped and popped up to the ceiling, floating near the carvings and looking down. Shanek stood by the doors again, head swiveling as he sought out his opponent.
“You cannot hide from me,” came Shanek’s voice in his mind.
That was true, but Grayson didn’t need a shadir’s help to win this fight. He had an army of warriors loyal to Arman.
“Onika,” he voiced. “I need you to banish the shadir inside of Shanek DanSâr.”
Onika
Shanek DanSâr has a shadir inside him,” Onika voiced her warriors. “We must banish it if Grayson is to stand a chance at winning this fight. Follow me and pray.”
She trailed Grayson as Shanek pursued him through the Veil, but keeping up proved challenging. She exited in the gatehouse barely in time to see Shanek disappear. She then went to the roof, then the stables, the training yard, and the throne room. Onika arrived at each stop moments before Shanek disappeared, only seconds behind Grayson.
Again and again she chased until she reached the great hall. A green surge of light pulled her attention to the center aisle. She jumped there in time to see Grayson lying on the floor, Shanek stan
ding over him. Green flames shot out from Shanek’s hand and struck Grayson, whose body flipped over. The fire singed his blue tunic.
He looked dead. He couldn’t be. Arman, help me!
She soared toward Shanek, hoping to storm him, but rather than grasp his soul and pass through his body, she struck something solid. Something cold. The shadir inside.
Onika spun off toward the ceiling but managed to stop herself before she flew too far. She looked back on the scene. The prince was still there, but Grayson had gone. Onika concentrated on him. Jumped. Appeared at the front of the great hall.
How could that be? She did not see him. She crouched and found that Grayson had crawled underneath the front table. Her heart wrenched at the sight of blistered skin under the gaping burn holes in his tunic.
“Can you banish the shadir?” he whispered.
“We will try, but I need you to try something as well,” Onika said. “Remember what King Trevn said about you having power over shadir?”
Grayson paled. “I don’t think that’s true.”
“Then you must trap Shanek some other way. We cannot banish the shadir if Shanek doesn’t hold still.”
“If I talk to the shadir, I can’t protect myself from Shanek or make fire to throw at him.”
“That shouldn’t matter if you’re commanding the shadir to stay still.”
Grayson looked ill. “If you distract him, I’ll go behind and—”
The table flew up, knocked off its legs by a burst of green light. Grayson vanished.
Onika cowered. Arman, we need your help! She felt the God’s heat kindle inside. He was going to speak. She stood and faced the enemy.
Shanek frowned at her. “You’re the prophetess King Barthel wanted to sacrifice.”
“Hear my words, Shanek DanSâr,” Onika said, the God’s voice flowing straight through her. “By the pride of your heart you say, ‘I am a king; I sit on the throne of a king, so therefore I am the highest in the land.’ But you are a mere mortal, not a god, and you have aligned yourself with my enemies against my chosen people. How then will you say, ‘I am a god,’ in the presence of those who kill you? You will die a mortal, not a god, in the arms of the one who loves you.”
Shanek yelled and grasped his ears, troubled by the prophetic words. Or perhaps by whatever Grayson was saying to the shadir within him. Onika shuddered as Arman’s warmth faded. Rosârahs Brelenah and Zeroah were both praying aloud, Zeroah on her knees with hands lifted high, and Brelenah singing a lament. Danek, Oli, and Kempe stood with the women, echoing Zeroah’s prayers.
“Holy Arman, you arm us with strength,” Zeroah was saying. “Guide us and help us rid the land of this creature who defiles your name and seeks to destroy your creation.”
“Save us, Arman,” Brelenah sang, “for the waters have come up to our necks.”
Shanek cowered behind a table. “Stop talking!” he yelled.
Onika stepped between Zeroah and Brelenah. “Dendron, I know you hide within this young man, but I cast you out, unclean one, along with every bit of power the enemy Gâzar has equipped you with. In the name of Arman, be gone and stay far from all creatures of light. For it is Arman who commands you, Arman who flung you headlong from the height of Shamayim and into the depths of the Lowerworld.”
Shanek clutched his ears. “Don’t say that!”
“You are mighty,” Zeroah prayed. “Only you can carry this shadir where it belongs.”
“Those who seek to destroy us seek also to destroy you,” Brelenah sang. “Let it not be so!”
“It is Arman who commands you, Dendron,” Onika said. “Listen and tremble in fear, you enemy of the God, you foe of his chosen people, you bringer of death, you robber of life.”
“Stop!” Shanek yelled. “He doesn’t like it!”
“Deliver us from those who hate us,” Brelenah sang, “from the deep waters that threaten to drown us all.”
“Fear him,” Onika yelled, “who triumphs over the powers of your master in the Lowerworld, where all darkness lives. Fear him and tremble.”
Prince Shanek fell on his side. Onika saw Grayson behind him, on his knees, lips moving silently, brow scrunched in concentration.
“By Arman’s name, leave this man and the world forever!” Onika yelled, and Oli, Danek, and Kempe repeated her decree. “Return to whence you came.”
Prince Shanek writhed on the floor as the creature seeped out of him. It was pale and massive, all legs and arms and coiled horns.
“Be gone to the depths of the Lowerworld,” Onika cried.
The shadir roared as it slipped through the floor, arms and legs flailing to grab hold.
“Defender of all creation,” Onika prayed, “take Dendron into the depths where he can cause no more evil.”
The shadir lost its grip and slipped away. Peace blanketed Onika. She fell to her knees. “Thank you, Arman. You are our mighty hero.”
Green light brightened the floor behind her. Onika turned, squinted. The light was coming from Grayson, who stood a few steps from where Shanek lay. A sheen of green light stretched between his hands.
Grayson laughed. “I did it!”
A groan pulled Onika’s gaze to Shanek. The Deceiver was moving. Arman had taken away the shadir. Now the root children could fight as equals.
Kalenek
Something seemed to have hurt Shanek, and from the snippets he’d heard Grayson say, Onika was somehow involved. He imagined the Veil warriors were here, working their magic, but he could only see Grayson, standing over Shanek and holding what looked like a pane of green glass between his hands.
“We’re even now,” he told Shanek, stretching his hands apart, which made the green glass bigger. “If you surrender, I’ll let you live.”
Kal winced. Ultimatums never worked on Shanek. They only fueled his ire.
In a blink Shanek moved from the floor to his feet, his face twisted into a snarl. “I don’t need a shadir to defeat you.”
He blurred toward Grayson, plowed into him so fast that Grayson didn’t have a chance to move. They hit the floor and skidded, Shanek on top. Grayson wrapped his arms around Shanek, and the green light curled with them, enclosing Shanek in a transparent glow. The light exploded, and both boys disappeared, into the Veil, likely, where Kal couldn’t see.
Shanek appeared up on the dais, standing between Trevn and Mielle’s thrones, looking somewhat dazed as he scanned the great hall.
Give yourself up, boy, Kal thought, willing Shanek to do just that. But unlike root children, mind-speakers, or mantics, Kal had no magical abilities. He wanted to help, to stop Shanek, but he knew the boy wouldn’t listen. And if Shanek kept on like this, he’d kill Grayson and Onika and anyone else who stood in his way.
Kal couldn’t allow that to happen. Shanek was his responsibility, no one else’s. Wilek had assigned him the task, and Kal would not fail.
Grayson came into view behind Shanek, green fireballs in both hands. Shanek whirled around just as Grayson let fly. The first fireball struck Shanek’s shoulder. He howled but caught the second fireball with his right hand, which was also glowing with green light.
The boys flashed around the great hall and threw fire at each other. Sometimes they managed to shield themselves. Sometimes they didn’t. Neither seemed close to winning.
At one point Grayson appeared along the wall, a few paces down from where Kal was standing. “Arman, help me,” he mumbled. “I don’t know how to win.”
A flash near the entry doors drew Kal’s gaze. Shanek stood there, fire burning in both palms. “I don’t have to kill you, you know,” he said to Grayson. “We could help each other. The prophetess is wrong to say we aren’t gods, because we are. No one alive can stand against us.”
“Arman is alive,” Grayson whispered. He popped away. Green flames shot down on Shanek from the ceiling, then Kal spotted Grayson in the center of the room, lobbing what looked like a spear made of fire. How could the boys hold the fire and still be burned by it?
/> Shanek popped behind Grayson and grabbed him around the waist, his arms and hands crackling like he was made of lightning.
Grayson yelped and they fell in a tangle of limbs. Grayson managed to turn and set his gleaming hands to Shanek’s face.
With a yelp, Shanek disappeared, leaving Grayson alone on the floor. The boy looked badly hurt this time, and Kal worried that he’d let things go on too long.
A few paces away, Shanek appeared, hands glowing, and leapt into the air. He spread his arms and pulled the light into a glossy green ribbon. He vanished, but the light arched over Grayson’s head like a rainbow. Shanek reappeared on Grayson’s other side and pulled the glossy ribbon to the floor. A clap of his hands, and the sheen closed in on the sides, encircling Grayson like a giant bubble. Grayson, who still lay on his stomach, reached out and yanked his hand back. Tossed fire against the barrier, but the bubble absorbed it. He didn’t pop away.
Kal figured he couldn’t. Had Shanek won?
Shanek waved and the bubble shrank. Grayson had to curl in on himself to keep from touching the sides.
“See?” Shanek said to Grayson. “You said you’d rather die than serve me. So you’ll die.”
Kal could take this no longer. He pushed off the wall and started across the room. “Shan, stop this at once.”
Shanek turned his attention to Kal. “Father! Look, I’ve caught the other root child.”
“You’re not a killer, Shan,” Kal said.
“I’m king of Armania now. He’s a threat. He must die so I can rule.”
Kal heard Rogedoth’s lies in Shanek’s words. “You’re better than that.”
“You don’t know me anymore, Father.” Shanek turned back to his bubble, admiring it with a small smile. “I’m different now. I learned much from the shadir.”
“Don’t do this, Shan,” Kal said. “I warn you. I won’t let you harm him.”
“You can’t stop me.” Shanek pressed his hands toward the floor and the bubble began to shrink.
Warriors of the Veil Page 13