Warriors of the Veil

by Jill Williamson

  “We need to get to the firelight,” Trevn said. “That’s where Rogedoth will be.”

  “That’s a long way, Your Highness,” Cadoc said.

  “Grayson?” he voiced. “I need you.”

  A man appeared in front of Trevn, and he almost swung his sword in defense.

  “It’s me, Your Highness!” Grayson said, popping a few paces back.

  Trevn relaxed. “I need you to carry me and my men to Rogedoth.”

  “He and Charlon are fighting each other,” Grayson said.

  “Carry us behind Charlon’s men. Take Cadoc first, then me, then come back for the rest.”

  “And after that? Shall I fight beside you?”

  “Take your orders from Miss Onika,” Trevn said. “You must continue to banish shadir, especially those who are serving the mantics. You can command them better than anyone. They have to obey you. Take confidence from Arman. He has equipped you for this.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Grayson carried Cadoc away, then returned for Trevn, leaving him with Cadoc in the center of the battle, directly behind Charlon’s men, who were chopping down Puru with shard clubs.

  Trevn and Cadoc were immediately engaged by Kinsman soldiers in Rogedoth’s livery. Grayson brought the rest of Trevn’s guard, and they fought hard, slowly drawing nearer the magical battle. A pause in the action gave Trevn a moment to glance past Charlon, who was creating shields as fast as the archers had loosed their arrows. Just past her, Trevn saw not one but four Barthel Rogedoths, all throwing fire toward the Chieftess.

  Hinck

  More of Edekk’s men were waiting inside the woods downriver. Hinck recognized Captain Korvoh’s wild mane of warrior twists and scarred cheek.

  Hinck jumped back to Saria, who was still chasing Lord Edekk. “He’s leading you to a second ambush! Let him go.”

  Saria slowed to a stop, sliding a little on the snow.

  Lord Edekk glanced back and grinned. “Giving up so soon, Princess?”

  Saria panted heavily. “You’re too fast for me.” Then to Hinck. “Keep an eye on them. I’m going to help Lord Faynor.” And she turned back.

  Well, this was vexing. Hinck wanted to keep an eye on Saria, not the second ambush, though she certainly could take care of herself. He drifted south until he came upon the traitors.

  And two giants.

  Hinck almost choked. “Saria! There are two giants in the second group.”

  “Find someone to break their compulsions or storm them,” she said.

  Hinck voiced Miss Onika and Oli, but both were preoccupied with the main battle. Hinck would have to deal with this problem on his own. He let his mind quest into the first massive man, seeking out anything that felt like a soul. Strangely, he found it right away, just like seeking a mind before bloodvoicing. He recalled Miss Onika’s instructions: “By concentrating and moving swiftly, a Veil warrior pushes a person’s soul from their body.”

  Hinck frowned at the giant, not liking the prospect of pushing any part of this colossal man. Best to get a running—er, flying—start.

  He moved himself back, then flew at the giant as quickly as he could, concentrating fully on his soul. At the last second he shut his eyes and winced slightly, not knowing what to expect.

  He hit something hard, momentarily stunning himself. He opened his eyes and found himself soaring over the river, hugging the giant around his waist. He recoiled and his arms passed right through the man, which confused him. Hinck told himself to stop, and he did. He was now hovering over a snowy plain on the other side of the river, watching a somewhat transparent image of the giant soar away, a look of fright on his oversized face.

  Hinck had done it! Storming appeared to be the same act as leaving one’s body to enter the Veil, just done surprisingly to someone who wasn’t expecting it.

  A chorus of battle cries made his heart leap. The second ambush was charging toward Saria, who was still battling some of the first attackers. Hinck appeared at her side just as Tace Edekk rushed toward her back, sword raised to stab.

  “Behind you!” Hinck voiced.

  Saria whirled and cut her blade across Edekk’s middle, slicing open more than his leather armor. The man groaned, staring dumbly at his killer, then dropped to his knees.

  “You should be wearing plate armor, Your Grace. It’s more effective.” Saria kicked him to his back and stabbed him in the throat.

  “Sands, you astonish me,” Hinck said. “I’ve never seen a woman fight like you.”

  She jerked her sword free. “Are you appalled?”

  “No,” Hinck said. “Greatly impressed.”

  Saria grinned. Another traitor lunged toward her. She parried the strike and was swept away in combat.

  A call of “Giant!” turned Hinck’s head. The second ambush had arrived. Hinck spotted the other giant—who could miss a man who stood two heads taller than everyone else? He lumbered in back of the Kinsman traitors, massive axe in hand. Hinck couldn’t let anyone get hit with that weapon. He sped toward the giant, focused on the man’s soul, and repeated what he’d done before. He passed over a greater distance this time before he made contact, and when he opened his eyes, instead of sailing along the riverbank south, they were somewhere else entirely. Gliding through a deep green forest in the height of summer.

  Hinck released the giant and stopped his motion. A bright glow in the distance piqued his interest. He floated toward it, curious what could create so much glorious light.

  “Hinck?” Saria bloodvoiced. “Did you attack the giant?”

  “Saria.” In a blink he was again with her, back at the river. The snowy ground was cluttered with dead bodies and patches of blood. The fight was over already? “How long was I gone?”

  “I know not.” Saria was crouched beside the body of the second giant. “There are no marks on this man. He’s breathing, but clearly incapacitated.”

  “I stormed him,” Hinck said. “Stormed both giants.”

  “You saved us, Hinck. Saved me from Edekk. Thank you.”

  Hinck beamed at Saria. “Just doing my part for my queen.”

  She pressed her lips into a thin line as if fighting off laughter. “Are you tired? I’d like to continue on to the main battle and do what we can to help.”

  “I am wide awake, Your Highness,” Hinck said. “I’ll be at your side the entire way.”

  Gozan

  I’ll kill him!” Amala screamed. “He’s no father to me.” Hatred for Sir Kalenek grew in Amala’s heart, blackening every thought. She sat on her horse, alone, far back from the battle—had left the charge the moment Masi had brought word of Shanek’s death by Sir Kalenek’s hand.

  Amala glared across the snowy field to the battle, watching the green lights of magic, and her heart wrenched. “First we must kill King Barthel. He’s to blame. He drew Shanek into his plans. Convinced him it was all for the best. Shanek would have obeyed Charlon otherwise. He would have waited until she felt it was time.”

  Gozan cared nothing for King Barthel or Sir Kalenek. He was far more interested in another detail of Masi’s story. “Dendron is truly banished?” he made the girl ask. “Gone from the human realm for good?”

  “Stop using my voice!” Amala yelled. “If you want me to speak, you need only ask.”

  Gozan had no patience for her theatrics and listened carefully for Masi’s reply.

  Dendron is gone, master, Masi said. You are the last great in the whole land.

  The last great. This changed everything. Gozan no longer need keep Dominion over this ridiculous child. He was the last great shadir in all Er’Rets—maybe the world. Shadir would flock to him as their new master. He could find a better host—someone intelligent, who was not so wounded. He might even pay Empress Jazlyn a visit.

  But first he would entertain himself by leading Amala to her death. Let’s kill a king.

  Amala nudged her horse into a walk. The girl was a poor rider. Gozan connected to the animal’s mind, and soon they were canter
ing across the snowy field.

  “He will be near his mantics,” Amala said. “Near the lights.”

  Gozan was not so certain of that, but he longed to watch the magical fight, so he did not disagree.

  At first glance, King Barthel appeared to be losing. The snowy ground was covered in the bodies of his soldiers. Gozan bet shadir were clouding the Veil, reveling in the misery and fear. Soon, he told himself. Once he was free of Amala, he would again see all.

  They approached the nearest source of fire and magical light, but Gozan saw only one mantic in this place. Harton Sonber.

  Amala, weak in her state of grief, was filled with hostility at the sight of the man who had dared use and mock her. We will kill Master Harton first, she thought.

  Fool girl. And how will we do that?

  She dismounted and her hands found a cold sword in the snow. We will stab him in the back, like he did to me so many times.

  She carried the heavy weapon toward Harton. The man was killing Armanian soldiers with bolts of flame. His cheeks were sunken. His eyes ringed in circles. He had little magic left. If he did not purge soon, he would die. Gozan wished he knew what shadir the man served. With so few mantics left, it must be a common of some strength.

  Amala’s steps were precarious in the slushy snow. She took the sword in two hands and pulled it toward her, ready to thrust. Gozan gave strength to her arms, knowing she would need it, but before she could attack, Harton spun around.

  “Mahamahts!” he yelled, shoving his hand toward her.

  Amala screamed and fell flat on her back, dropping the weapon. Wet slush seeped into her clothes, and she gasped at the cold.

  Harton sneered down. “You would kill me? After all we have been through?” He chuckled and formed a ball of fire in his hand, held it over her, grinning widely.

  Help me! Amala thought to Gozan. Save us! She struggled to sit, to wriggle away, but Gozan forced her to stay put.

  Harton dropped the fire, but before the flames could touch the girl, a blast of green light extinguished them and knocked Harton off his feet.

  Gozan released his hold on Amala, made the girl sit up and twist around so he could see who had come to her rescue.

  Charlon Sonber stood behind her. Six gowzals perched on her shoulders, arms, and head. Another five clustered at her feet, and three circled in the sky overhead.

  “You saved me,” Amala said. “Why?”

  “Shanek loved you,” Charlon said. “I spare you for his sake.”

  Amala’s feeble mind spun with what all this meant. That Charlon, who hated her, would save her life? “You just wanted to kill your brother,” she said. That, at least, made sense.

  “Harton is not dead,” Charlon said, jutting her chin to Amala’s left.

  Amala glanced over her shoulder and saw Harton squirming in the slushy snow. “Kill him!” she said. “Quickly! Before he gathers his strength.”

  A burst of flame drew Charlon’s gaze away. A ball of fire was streaking through the sky toward them. “Mahgayn!” Charlon yelled, and one of her gowzals shot from her shoulder and formed a green circle of light that met the fire, disintegrating both.

  Incredible, how much she had improved.

  “I will not kill my brother,” Charlon said to Amala. “For too long I have been a force of destruction. But there is no lasting satisfaction in killing for revenge.”

  A current of wild anger filled Amala with energy. “If you won’t kill him, then I will!” She picked up the sword from the snow and stabbed it down toward Harton’s chest.

  The man said, “Sabab bay êsh,” and fire engulfed Amala.

  The girl shrieked as the flames seared her skin and hair. She fell to the snow, but the damage had been done. So great was the pain that Gozan decided to leave. She sensed his choice, and her heart quailed within her. Gozan didn’t linger long enough to hear what she thought about the situation. He threw himself out of the girl and into the Veil.

  He instantly felt cold. Lighter too, and free now that he was not confined in so little a person. With a clear view of the Veil, he could see the shadir swirling around the dying girl, reveling in her fear and pain. Gozan felt it too, only this time it gave him great pleasure.

  Dominion need not be permanent, he was glad to discover, and he enjoyed Amala’s pain until her last hitched breath carried away her life.

  “You’re sick, Harton,” Charlon said, frowning down upon the charred corpse.

  “She was trying to kill me,” he said, rising to his feet.

  “She was a child. She didn’t know what she was doing.”

  “I disagree, sister. I was a child when I killed our mother. I knew exactly what I was doing, and it gave me great satisfaction. As did killing Amala. As will killing you. Romahk êsh!” he yelled, and a dagger of fire streaked toward Charlon.

  She cried, “Mahgayn!” and another gowzal transformed into a shield of green light that blocked Harton’s fire.

  “Surely you can do more than shield,” Harton said. “Why won’t you fight me?”

  “I have nothing but pity for you,” Charlon said.

  “I don’t want your pity,” Harton said. “I want you to suffer. tsar rûwach!”

  Clever man. It was just the right spell. Not at all difficult, but one for which Charlon had no defense. Her eyes bulged. Her mouth gaped, opening and closing like a fish, unable to command her birds, unable to breathe.

  Harton walked within reach, shoved her into the snow, and cackled. Gozan should have liked it. He should have reveled in her terror like the other shadir cavorting around the dying woman, but Charlon was too great a mantic to be defeated by someone so unimaginative.

  Gozan searched the Veil, looking for the shadir powering Harton Sonber’s spell. He noticed a woman standing barefoot in the snow, dressed in a thin, sleeveless gown of red silk.

  Yobatha, Gozan said, taking his natural form and swelling to his full size.

  The common’s gaze pulled away from Charlon’s dying body. Who are you?

  I am Gozan the Great, also called Rurek, god of war. I require the use of your human.

  What for?

  That is my business, common. Do you wish to fight me?

  Yobatha cowered. No, great one.

  Then release him to me.

  Gozan felt the common drop the thin thread of old magic in the man. So out of practice was he at doing magic of this type, it took him three tries to harness it. The moment Harton was under his control, he stopped the spell that had taken Charlon’s breath.

  She gasped for air and called to her gowzals. Her voice was too raspy, though, and croaked indiscernibly. Gozan wanted her to see him—to know who had healed her and to feel indebted. He had only a moment until she recovered her voice enough to shield herself.

  “Bara Charlon chazah,” he forced Harton to say, and the man’s face contorted in confusion and dismay.

  The last spark of magic left Harton Sonber, and he fell to the ground, in need of purging. Gozan doubted any would help him.

  Charlon’s eyes widened as the shadir swarming above her became visible. She stopped struggling and sat up, locked her gaze with Gozan’s. “What are you?” she asked.

  You know me as Rurek, he said to Charlon. You wanted to be a seer. I have decided to grant your request.

  Charlon scrambled to her feet, breath misting from blue lips. “Why do you do this?”

  Because you are worthy.

  “Will I see you again?” she asked.

  The shriek of shadir drew his attention away from Charlon. In the distance the prophetess Onika and her Veil warriors were banishing slights and commons. Gozan had no desire to test the strength of Arman’s chosen.

  Someday, perhaps, he said to Charlon, then streaked into the sky, heading for safety and the possibility of reuniting with his former slave.

  Charlon

  Charlon was no longer blind.

  The Veil was filled with moving colors. Shadir reveling. Drawn by fear and pain and death. S
ome sated. Many still feeding. A select few bound instead by service. To Rogedoth and his mantics. To her gowzals.

  Feathers fell around her like snow. Too many of her gowzals had died. Bodies broken from overuse. Unable to transform any longer. She still had four. King Barthel had at least five. Three to maintain each illusion of himself. The other two fighting her. He had more help besides. Two mantics on either end of the four King Barthels. A small man in robes and a woman. Mantics attacking with the old magic. Superior in so many ways. But they were fading. Needed to purge. Take more root.

  Masi had told her they had no more.

  Then there were the others. The humans in the Veil. Charlon had heard of this. But hadn’t understood until now. They moved like shadir. Transparent and flying as if weightless. Shadows of themselves, yet brighter somehow. Their words sent shadir shrieking beneath the snowy ground, never to return.

  They had been unable to attack the shielded mantics. A shield Charlon had tried many times to destroy. She had been unable to maintain a strike against it. Every time she tried. She had to release the spell. To protect herself.

  But now she could see. See which shadir maintained the shield. She sent word through Masi to the one called Grayson. To have King Trevn’s Veil soldiers attack those shadir.

  They were working at it now. Chanting commands in the name of their god. Those they spoke to became immobile. Other shadir went wild with fright.

  Fire shot toward Charlon. Three plumes at once. She shielded all three with one gowzal. The bird screeched but held the spell. She created a second shield to stop a spear of light. The bird succeeded but did not return. Fell dead to the snow.

  Panic chilled Charlon. Only three gowzals left. She would need the help of shadir to retreat. Had she done all she could in this battle? Should she flee? She hated to leave King Barthel alive. But without magic, she had no way to—