Her eyes flashed to him. She’d almost forgotten Kvepi Buris’ angry threats. Was Edelsat’s mother really dead? How did his family fare? Her body jerked as if to rush away to help. But she forced herself to be still, knowing the need was greater here. But as soon as she could, she would race to help his family. May I be in time, she prayed.
Edelsat caught her eye as if reading her mind. His lips tightened and he gave her a slight nod. Whatever his feelings over what she’d done to the wizards, he clearly did not fear her. But then, in her he saw hope for his family’s survival, not just dreadful power. What did Kebonsat see? And could she blame him? Look at what she’d done to those men. The stink of charred flesh hovered over the camp, a constant reminder of the massacre.
She stroked her fingers down Saljane’s back, feeling the rumble of the goshawk’s soundless croon.
“If Reisiltark had not broken the wizards’ circle, we would no doubt be at war right now,” Kebonsat said, completing his explanation. He might believe it, Reisil thought. He might even be grateful for it, but she still repulsed him.
The two Patversemese monarchs exchanged a speaking look. Then Karalis Vasalis nodded and Karaliene Pavadone’s lips curved slightly in a smile of pure malice. She motioned to a stiffly correct, tall, balding man, the lapels and cuffs of his austere black coat embroidered with the crest of the royal house picked out in violet and gold. He bowed deferentially, his heavy chain of office swinging free from his chest as he fluidly executed the movement.
“Chamberlain Dekot, announce a formal session to convene in two hours. I require full representation by the Guild and the Lords Council, but invite all else who care to listen. And send four of your best scribes to me at once.”
The chamberlain nodded, then bowed again and backed away with practiced ease.
“What about my father?” demanded Kebonsat.
Karalis Vasalis frowned. “We will demand that the guild produce Kvepi Buris and your father, but not until after the session. I don’t want to tip our hand.” His dark eyes were kind as he gripped Kebonsat’s shoulder. “Maksal is my good friend. If I could do more, I would.”
During the two hours while they waited, the weary travelers were provided with food. Reisil ate ravenously. Reikon and Sodur sat on either side of her, plying her with questions.
Her Patversemese companions had retired to a different tent to refresh themselves, and Reisil found herself missing Edelsat and Kebonsat equally. Soon she would part from them both, probably forever. The grief she’d stifled came rushing back, and with it came the sickening loss when she realized Kebonsat’s fear of her. The savory bread turned to ash on her tongue.
She swallowed convulsively, glancing at Sodur and Reikon, at Fehra and Bethorn. They all seemed easy in her company. Upsakes notwithstanding, the ahalad-kaaslane were the friends, the family, she’d see again and again.
“Time to go,” Bethorn said, peering outside. “Should be quite a show.”
“They’ll sign the treaty, won’t they?” Reisil asked.
“It is as vital to them as it is to us, though that does not always win the day. We shall see,” the Iisand answered, emerging from behind the drapery, his arm around his wife. She appeared pallid and weak.
“Is something wrong?” Reisil stood and moved instinctively to the Mesilasema’s side, halting when the other woman drew back against her husband with a gasp.
“My wife is expecting our fifth child in five months.
Always before she’s been strong and healthy. This time . . . I tried to convince her to stay in Koduteel while I dealt with this business here, but she would have none of it.”
The Mesilasema lifted her wan face to chide her husband. “You knew better than to ask,” she murmured.
“I may be able to help,” Reisil offered. Seeing Mesilasema’s fear at the suggestion, Reisil backed away, the blood draining from her face. She swallowed past the hard lump that knotted her throat. “You have only to ask and I will come straightaway,” she said in a stiff voice.
The other woman nodded, averting her eyes, and her husband led her away, his face shadowed with concern. The group of ahalad-kaaslane followed, Sodur and Reikon walking beside Reisil. Their presence comforted her as they made their way through the throng of whispering, pointing people, all staring angrily at her.
Patversemese royal guards escorted them up the stairs to the crowded pavilion. The tent had been removed and overhead the moon and stars glittered like ice in the sable sky. They found themselves ordered to a spot near the dais where Karalis Vasalis and Karaliene Pavadone now held court. Gone was the table about which they’d met before. In its stead had been set two high-backed thrones made of black oak carved with twisting symbols that seemed to melt and flow wherever the eye settled for a moment. Reisil rubbed her forehead and averted her eyes from the disquieting carvings.
The glittering nobility formed a waiting, hostile horseshoe in front of the dais. The three black-robed wizards stood on the dais to the right of Karalis Vasalis’s throne, the aged white-robed cleric standing farther back. He leaned heavily on the shoulder of his chela—a young boy with a black-stubbled head and a predatory face. The Iisand and Mesilasema were escorted to two lower and slightly less imposing thrones to the left of Karaliene Pavadone. These were also made of black oak, but lacked the mystical symbols of the Patversemese thrones.
The Mesilasema wilted into her seat, hands clasped over her stomach, her shoulders hunched. Despite her efforts to seem collected, she appeared weaker and more drawn. Karalis Vasalis nodded to Dekot, who gave a short, sharp gesture. The liveried seneschal struck his staff three times against the hollow floor. The booming sound echoed like a death knell and Reisil swallowed.
“Hear ye, gathered peoples of Patverseme and Kodu Riik. It is with gravest honor that I present the wise and powerful Karalis Vasalis and the radiant and beautiful Karaliene Pavadone, exalted by the stars, anointed by the gods.” He turned and gave a low, sweeping bow to the two monarchs, and then backed away.
Several moments of absolute silence passed. Neither Karalis Vasalis nor Karaliene Pavadone seemed inclined to break it, scanning the assembly with brooding deliberation. At last the Karalis signaled to Chamberlain Dekot, who stepped forward, unrolling a hastily scribed scroll. His voice rang loudly out across the gathered crowds, their faces distorted and deformed by the torchlight.
He told the story of Ceriba’s kidnapping, of the chase across Patverseme for her, her rescue, and subsequent journey to Vorshtar plain. He described the wizard night in the forest, and then again in the encampment. He told of Koijots’s death and Upsakes’s and Glevs’s betrayal. He described the wizard’s death in Praterside and Kvepi Buris’s torture of Kebonsat. He described every moment in the lurid detail of a master storyteller, leaving out only Ceriba’s violation at the hands of her kidnappers. He finished with Reisil’s shattering of the wizard barrier, of which he sketched only the barest bones. The gathered crowd had seen it for themselves and there was no need to supplement their stark and brilliant memories.
When he completed his recital, he surveyed the assembled crowd. Reisil felt the force of his look like a blade across her throat and shivered. This man was dangerous. She wondered how many made a habit of underestimating him. Not many who lived, she thought.
“Such is the testimony recorded in the presence of Karalis Vasalis and Karaliene Pavadone, children of the gods, arbiters of all truth.” His mouth snapped shut and he stepped down, rolling up the scroll as he went.
Again silence descended—a waiting silence full of ugly anger and resentment. Not a few people cast threatening looks at the small group of ahalad-kaaslane, Reisil in particular, and she was reminded that the truce balanced on a needle and the war could resume at a moment. But still she knew she’d done what had to be done. She didn’t know politics or intrigue, but she knew healing, and she knew putrefaction. There was much of this situation to be salvaged, but much that must be cut away to make the body whole and healthy. The w
izards in the ring had been the first cut.
“Kvepi Mastone, I should be interested in the Guild’s explanation. I should also like to know where I could find Kvepi Buris and our good friend, Maksal Vadonis.” The Karalis’s voice was all the more frightening because it lacked inflection, sounding almost casual.
Reisil was not fooled, and found herself holding her breath. Chamberlain Dekot had called him and his queen children of the gods. What gods? she wondered. Those of the old times, when warlords ruled? Before the Lady had made Kodu Riik? She struggled to remember names. She often heard Edelsat and Kebonsat swear by Ellini, the Goddess of luck and war and pain. Reisil could almost believe the Karalis and Karaliene were the children of gods, seeing them now. Light and shadow seemed to radiate from them in thick, pulsing waves, first choking, then crystal sweet like spring morning mist.
Kvepi Mastone stepped forward, dipping his head in a shallow bow, then straightened, looking haughty and dismissive. If she’d been a dog, the hair on her back would have stood on end. As it was, Saljane mantled, as did Reikon’s hawk. Bethorn’s wolf dropped his head, lips pulling back in a snarl. Fehra’s corvet hissed and scratched needle claws in the air. The crowd, so hostile to the ahalad-kaaslane moments before, hushed and cowered away from the wizard, averting their eyes and making signs to ward off evil.
Kvepi Mastone ignored them utterly and spoke to Karalis Vasalis, taking little notice of Karaliene Pavadone.
“I am sure, Your Grace, that you cannot possibly believe this fantastic drivel. It’s clearly a ploy to prevent you from doing as you must righteously do. Kvepi Buris’s absence is particularly worrisome to us. It is very convenient that both he and the Dure Vadonis should not be present. Neither man is here to refute these extravagant tales.”
“Murdering maggot-eater! Do you call us liars?” Kebonsat leaped forward, grappling at the wizard’s neck.
An inferno exploded between them, bright orange and scarlet flames spinning outward like a whirlwind. Kebonsat flew into the air, arms flung wide. A whoosh of heat and an echoing boom shuddered through the floor of the pavilion.
Kebonsat landed in the midst of the gathered nobles, knocking them about like ninepins. Kvepi Mastone sniffed and smoothed his robe, adjusting the twisted threepointed pin on the folds of his collar.
“One should remember that using magic in Our Royal Presences is strictly forbidden.” Karalis Vasalis spoke dispassionately still, but something in his voice struck Reisil like a wall collapsing. With chill certainty, she understood that he meant to challenge the Guild here and now, and there was no cost too high to curtailing the wizards’ unchecked power. No cost too high.
Reisil’s gaze swept the pavilion and beyond, to the close-gathered troops. It could be a bloodbath, a second Mysane Kosk. Should she stop it? Could she?
Reisil felt a trembling begin deep in her stomach. The scene unfolding was larger than she had expected, larger than she had dreamed. This was no simple matter of declaring a traitor—as if that would have been simple—but something much more cataclysmic. A crossroads of shadow and light, of disease and health, of futility and hope. What happened now would change everything that came after. Reisil felt the moment yawning before her like a stone teetering on the edge of a pit. A prickling began deep inside her healer’s soul. Would the change be for the better? Or for much, much worse?
Chapter 18
Kvepi Mastone met Karalis Vasalis’s condemnation with something akin to unconcern. Reisil could feel the wizard weighing his answer. She saw arrogance and irritation vie with discretion and expedience.
After several long, weighted moments, a basilisk smile curved his lips and Reisil’s blood chilled. The Karalis had thrown the gauntlet, and Kvepi Mastone was picking it up. There was a delighted malignancy in the wizard’s narrow, piggish eyes, a greedy anticipation, and she was reminded of a wolf licking its lips.
“Surely I must protect myself from outrageous attacks, Your Grace?” he asked, his nasal voice high with counterfeit astonishment.
“Surely you must do as required,” came the implacable reply.
“Ah, yes, what is required,” the wizard said, tapping his fingers against the pale, loose flesh of his cheek. And then he made the first feint, crossing the line beyond which there was no going back.
“And just what is required in a situation such as this? When to all appearances you consort—nay, shall I not say it—conspire with the Kodu Riikian vermin, our nation’s greatest enemy? When so many loyal members of the Guild, loyal subjects of Patverseme, lie dead, burned to ashes, and the culprit stands unchained? When Kvepi Buris is missing, probably murdered? Your Grace, what would you have me do? I must serve, yes, that is true. But do I serve a tainted crown? Or do I serve the people?” He shook his head sagely.
“I believe, though I doubt many here would agree, that your own Dure Vadonis would never willingly treason his venerable house by allying secretly with our enemies. No more than you would willingly do so. But I say now that these Kodu Riikian charlatans have cast a spell over you! They have convinced this panting pup that they have saved him and his sister from death and torture. All to discredit the Guild, Patverseme’s greatest defense. I ask you—what evidence do they offer of the Guild’s guilt?”
He swung his arms wide and twisted so that he was talking more to the avid audience than Karalis Vasalis.
“None. They wish to make you doubt your right hand, blaming the Guild, which has always been loyal and steadfast. But I say that the fault lies with these Kodu Riikian charlatans! I say they have cast spells to confuse and deceive us all.”
The watchers gasped and looked at one another with hard suspicion.
“I say that they use dark magic to hide their lies so they can lure us into a terrible trap! They want nothing more than to see Patverseme fall, to put their boot to our throat and crush us. Revenge, Your Grace, on the Guild for Mysane Kosk, for keeping the wolves at bay. Indeed, your own altered behavior, so mysterious and distrustful in these last months, offers greater proof that they have cast a spell over you than any tales of wizardry and kidnapping.”
His voice rang out as he waved his arm dramatically at the royal pair, and Reisil saw sharp, angry looks darting from the crowd. Much as they feared the power of the Guild, when that weapon was turned on someone else, it gave them pride, gave them a sense of strength and fed their hatred for Kodu Riik.
Kvepi Mastone continued without a pause, his voice falling sorrowfully, manipulating the crowd’s long-established resentment, fear and hatred of the ahaladkaaslane and Kodu Riik.
“I beg your humblest of pardons, but I cannot but doubt that you are of sound mind. There are no trustworthy witnesses to the socalled miracles these ahaladkaaslane supposedly wreaked, but everyone saw the destruction that whore of dogs visited on the brave, poor souls who were meant to guard you from harm.”
He pointed an accusing finger at Reisil, his voice resonating with bitter condemnation. Behind him and all around, the already heated Patversemese people shouted encouragement. Suddenly a goblet crashed to the ground at Reisil’s feet. Another struck her chest a glancing blow, the metal cup clattering to the wooden floor.
Saljane mantled and screamed. Kek-kek-kek-kek!
~Easy, ahalad-kaaslane.
Bethorn stepped closer and blocked her from further bombardment, his wolf snarling at the assembly. Edelsat flanked him and then the other four ahalad-kaaslane threaded a protective line in front of the Iisand and the Mesilasema. Kebonsat, coughing, his clothes burned, ugly blisters rising on his blackened cheeks and chin, stumbled back out of the crowd. Chamberlain Dekot caught him around the waist and passed him into the supportive arms of a blocky guard. A rain of objects pelted him—a candle, a goblet, a boot, a rock.
“Kodu lover! Pox on your cods! Deserves to be hung. Hang him! Hang him!” More objects flew through the air as the stirred mob took up the refrain. Kvepi Mastone smiled, turning a triumphant look on Karalis Vasalis. That the nobility were so easily turned t
o rabble, turned so easily against one of their own. The wizard clearly anticipated success in trimming the royal wick once and for all.
The rock on the chasm of chaos teetered and Reisil felt the situation slipping beyond control, into the abyss of hatred and evil.
“There she is! Let us go!”
A scuffle began on the edge of the pavilion, breaking the tension as the ahalad-kaaslane faced off against the ugly Patversemese crowd. Kvepi Mastone frowned and turned to discover the unwelcome source of the disturbance. Reisil saw the Karalis flick his fingers to beckon forward the old, white-robed cleric who bent to hear whispered words and then slipped away into the crowd, leaning heavily on the shoulder of his sharp-featured young chela. Then she turned her attention the knot of guards struggling with two intruders who shouted for the attention of the assembly.
“We must speak!” called a woman’s strident voice. Reisil cocked her head, frowning. She sounded familiar. “Please! Let us through! We must speak!” The man echoed his companion’s pleas in a rusty-sounding voice.
“Let them through,” commanded Karaliene Pavadone in a quiet, carrying voice. The guards responded with alacrity even as Kvepi Mastone whirled around, his mouth working.
“This is no time for—”
Karaliene Pavadone leaned forward, skewering the wizard with her black gaze.
“For what? What is it time for, do you think?” she asked.
He snapped his mouth shut, his cheeks turning white. He’d lost the momentum of the mob’s roiling resentment and would have to regroup. His eyes bulged with the force of his frustrated fury. Karaliene Pavadone sat back, smiling at his discomfort, arching her eyebrows as if daring him to act. His cheeks changed from white to red and he fingered the pin on his collar.
He hated her, Reisil realized suddenly. He resented the power of the Karalis, but he hated her with a perfect, relentless, ruthless loathing that made him lose all sense of himself. And so mistakes might be made, she thought, clutching at the hope of reprieve.
Path of Fate Page 34