For her illusion to work, she needed the help of both Ynessa and Markas. More accurately, she needed to dip into their memories of Timark in all his moods, in different actions and occasions. Her short audience with the regent had only shown her one face of the man, standing still for the most part, disdain on his face. She needed his other expressions, other tones of voice, to choose the right mannerisms and words to persuade Timark's followers that they had the wrong man inside the tower with them.
The chore of sifting through their memories took her until nearly noon, and both her sources of information were drained and ill. Markas grumbled, because he wanted to be on his feet, ready to race into the tower when the doors opened, not asleep under the influence of a healing potion.
"Why can't you just restore me like Lord Mrillis did with the soldiers on their forced march?" the boy said, when his arguments got him nowhere.
"Because, my young king," Mrillis said with that calm, reasonable voice that had sometimes frustrated Meghianna when she was far younger than Markas, "the penalty to you will be that much more severe." He chuckled when the boy gave him a confused frown and shook his head. And winced a moment later at the unwise movement.
"The energy to heal you has to come from somewhere. We cannot cheat the laws of nature the Estall has given us," Meghianna explained. "True, we have increasing quantities of tamed star-metal to draw on, but it is better for your healing if we use physical things, rather than magic. It is more natural. The magic that will clear your head and strengthen you will end, eventually, and your body will punish you and demand twice the penalty later. Most likely on the ride home to Welcairn. Do you want to worry your mother, after all she has gone through, to think that you harmed yourself to help rescue her?"
That was a low blow, she knew, but Glyssani's welfare was the master stroke in any argument to persuade the boy. Markas scowled, showing he knew what she had done, but he stopped arguing and submitted to the potions and enforced sleep.
"I will wake you when the doors open, so you can hurry to enter at the Warhawk's side," she promised the boy, when he had taken the first potion and lay down in the shelter of the tent closest to the front of the siege company.
"She won't know he's the Warhawk, will he?" Markas' heavy, bloodshot eyes flickered open and he tried to sit up. Meghianna pushed him back down on his pallet of blankets. "No, I just thought of something. What if she thinks he really is Timark? She won't cooperate with him. Not after everything he's done all these years. Even if he seems to rescue her."
"He will tell her that you're... oh, I see. Why would your mother believe you're siding with Timark now, after all this time?" She nodded. "I will ask my father--"
"Give him this." Markas pulled a massive silver and onyx ring from his belt pouch. "It's my father's signet. Timark kept taking it from Mother's jewelry casket, and she finally gave it to me to make sure he didn't try to use it. He nearly tore the castle apart, looking for it," Markas added with a chuckle that earned him another wince of pain. "But he couldn't admit that he had been taking it without permission. If the Warhawk wears this, Mother will know he's on our side, because I'd rather die than give it to the real Timark."
"Clever." She kissed his forehead and brushed hair out of his eyes--and muffled a chuckle when her gesture raised a hot, dark red blush from hairline to collar. "Now, go to sleep. Perhaps by morning, your mother will be free, and you might just be king of Welcairn."
"Too young," the boy muttered, his voice thick as the potion finally took over.
"My father says you have proven your wisdom and self-control, far beyond that of men twice your age. He's quite impressed with you. If he says you are able to rule, with your mother's guidance until your majority, of course, who will gainsay the Warhawk?"
"King Markas the second." He smiled, his eyes fluttering but unable to open completely.
"Sleep well, Majesty." Meghianna waited until a touch of magic showed her the boy truly slept. She enhanced his sleep with a layer of magic, enfolding him in three Threads to feed healing, rejuvenating power to his body, taken from natural sources and not star-metal. The boy had earned the right to charge at the front of the rescuers when they took the tower of Tantagar.
Dusting off her skirts, she rose and strode across the camp to the tent where her father waited for the cloak of illusion. Meghianna took a deep breath and braced herself for the task ahead--and tried to think of the right way to persuade her father to indeed make sure the crown ended up on Markas' head. True, Efrin had said the boy had shown himself mature and able to rule now, but he hadn't said he would make the boy king immediately. On what authority, she wondered, had she made that promise? As the Queen of Snows, or as the Warhawk's eldest child? Or perhaps as the sister and supporter of the Warhawk's unborn--not even conceived--heir?
You have created a web to tangle yourself, haven't you? she scolded herself. Being an adult and having authority wasn't quite as liberating as she had thought when she was only half her age. Meghianna thought she had learned that lesson, but it seemed she had to re-learn it, now, and most likely again in the future.
* * * *
"You blithering fools!" Efrin roared, his voice changed to Timark's higher-pitched, blustering tones.
He spread his arms and stomped back and forth in the small margin of open land where he was close enough for his features to be clear to those standing on the wall, but far enough away that only expert marksmen could hope to hit him with an arrow. The view from the ledge in the cliffs had assured the besiegers there were no catapults, and no room to maneuver one into position to hit Efrin, even if there were.
Kettin led the original team of Valors up to the door of the tower, disguised in another illusion that directed the eye away from them. Megassa and Pirkin insisted on being part of the venture, because all six claimed first rights of breaking in to rescue Queen Glyssani. After all, Kettin had reasoned when he petitioned Efrin to let them try their plan, the queen had been kidnapped while they were in her castle, so that made it their responsibility, perhaps even their fault.
Efrin had argued against the kidnapping being their fault.
Mrillis saw clearly that he argued to hide the internal battle of worry and pride over Megassa putting herself at risk.
Eventually, however, the Warhawk agreed their plan was a good one. While he stood in clear view and confused and harassed the rebels inside the tower, the team of six Valors would ply their joined magic talents against the door. Even if Timark convinced his followers that he was not the imposter, the door would open and Glyssani would be rescued and the siege and rebellion would end today.
One way or another.
It was that last part that made Mrillis step back and think over the plan one last time, checking for flaws, some weakness they hadn't seen. Yes, he worried because Megassa had walked into a dangerous place--but he shouldn't worry, because she had proven herself as a warrior and had imbrose to assist her. The five Valors with her had enough assorted magical talents among them to make any despot quake in his boots and consider surrender. He shouldn't worry, because Efrin's plan was a good one.
"There's still a chance something could go wrong, isn't there?" Meghianna murmured, stepping up next to him. She offered him a crooked little smile when he rested a hand on her shoulder. They stood in the shade of Efrin's tent, where those in the tower could not see their features and guess what powers came against them.
"There is always a chance of something happening which we did not prepare for." He sighed. "We assumed, correctly, that because of Timark's vehement stand against magic, he is actually using magic for defense. So far we have been able to counter the measures we have encountered--the tunnel and the cleared zone around the tower, and the monsters that congregate in the wilderness around that. There is always the chance that he has some other weapon, hidden inside the poisoned magic that fills this place. We have not been able to identify the numbers and strengths of the enchanters and Valors who might be aligned with him. Or
what sort of magic they practice."
"Blood magic, you think?"
"We have learned to watch for it, in the decades since the Nameless One fell. No, I do not sense it. Maybe it would be a relief to know there was blood magic here, because we know something of its limits and strengths."
"But not all." She licked her lips and stepped away, so she could face him. "What if the Nameless One never fell? What if he's like the insects you showed me, that burrow into mud and sleep for years, and then awaken when water softens their prisons?"
"We have considered that," he admitted, and found himself fighting to continue looking her in the eyes. Mrillis didn't know right in that moment if he feared seeing a glimpse of Endor, or a hint that Meghianna feared her great-grandfather reaching through the generations to awaken some magic deep in her soul, that would allow him to control her.
Beyond them, in the brilliant golden light of late afternoon, Efrin roared and postured and scalded the air with curses. Mrillis saw Meghianna flinch at a particularly blasphemous string of words, and a snort of amusement escaped him. The fragility of the moment shattered. He rested his hand on her shoulder again and gave her a little shake.
"Have you said your prayers, child? The Estall only asks that we do our best, and then he will stand in the gap."
"The problem is that we don't know what the great, overarching plan for the World is, and whether victory here is part of that plan." The wry twist to her mouth and voice, the self-deprecating humor in her eyes, comforted him.
"You have seen Efrin and Glyssani married and producing his heir. I will trust the Estall that vision is a promise of what must and will be."
"The third drop of blood of the prophecy." She shivered a little, then a moment later pressed her hands to her ears and let out a shaky laugh. "Must Papa be so foul?"
"Timark talks like that when he's in a good mood," Markas said, coming up to the tent doorway to join them. He shrugged, his mouth twitching as he visibly fought not to laugh.
"Abomination!" a woman shrieked from the arrow slit over the tower door. Something dark and glittering spewed through the air.
"Is that his chief enchanter, the creator of the tunnel?" Meghianna murmured.
They watched as the darkness didn't fall, like the dust it appeared to be, but shot through the air in a long streak, straight for Efrin. Markas stiffened. Mrillis rested his other hand on the boy's shoulder and they waited for the shield of woven Threads to protect Efrin. He silently counted backwards from five. On one, the darkness hit the shield with an audible sizzle and splattered like some thick syrup hitting a rounded surface, curving up and around. A flash of blue-white light erupted around Efrin, burning the darkness away.
The hidden woman shrieked more words, and Mrillis flinched as he recognized a string of Encindi oaths tied to blood magic. So, that speculation was truer than he or Meghianna had guessed. It surprised him a little that a woman of the Encindi had been allowed to attempt magic of any kind.
Blood magic, death magic, was reserved for men, because women were too closely tied to life to be effective at dispensing death. At least, that was the theory and the practice all those years ago, when Flintan still existed. Who really knew how the Encindi ways had changed in the decades since their scattered remnants became outcasts and aliens in the lands they had tried to conquer? Just because the Nameless One had reduced Encindi women with any magical talent to vessels and tools for his plans didn't mean that strong ones had not emerged and gained power in the years since his supposed fall, and learned magic of their own.
What if, as Meghianna feared, her great-grandfather still lived, wrapped in sleep like the seer Graddon, directing his followers like puppets? What if he could even now see them through the eyes of this woman full of foul magic?
"It would take a great twisting and warping for a woman to practice blood magic, wouldn't it?" Meghianna offered, as more darkness streaked from the tower window slit and met the shielding with the same results. "She would have to be even more evil than the Nameless One. But why don't we sense the blood magic at work?"
"Because just as in Endor's day..." Mrillis sighed. "Blood magic and imbrose have learned to work together without one canceling the other out. One shields the other. For all we know, untamed star-metal allows blood magic to flourish."
"Then you need to clean up the rest of the poisoned land as fast as you can, don't you?" Markas said.
"Indeed, Highness," he said, as a blue-white haze rose from the shadowy group gathered in front of the tower door. "What are they--"
A blinding flash erupted in the air, streaking straight up and slamming into the window slit where the woman let out an inhuman howl. The darkness exploded in a shower of white sparks and a poisonous yellow haze that dissipated in two heartbeats. A massive, smoking gap in the wall replaced the window slit.
Efrin shouted, letting out a war cry, and withdrew Braenlicach from its sheath, shredding the illusion. As the smoke and dust and powdered stone gushed out from the new hole in the wall, the six in front of the doorway became fully visible. Mrillis watched, his vision partially turned sideways so he could see the Threads at work, as Kettin and two others flung loops of Threads around the door and then all six reared back and yanked hard.
The door fell off its hinges with a resounding bang and echo as Efrin leaped forward, Braenlicach blazing in eye-aching scarlet and gold light. The warriors hidden behind their own shielding illusion echoed his battle cry and the shield fell, revealing them standing all around the tower less than a bowshot away.
Stunned silence rang out from the tower with nearly audible intensity. Mrillis gripped his companions' shoulders and swallowed down his cheers as the first invaders spilled through the doorway into the tower and no one appeared to move to stop them.
"What are you waiting for?" Meghianna shouted. She scooped up the helmet waiting for Markas, shoved the boy forward and slapped the helmet down on his head. "Your mother needs to see you before anyone else."
Mrillis laughed and slid his arm around her shoulders as they watched the boy race down the narrow aisle the soldiers made for him. He caught up with Efrin just as the Warhawk pounded up to and through the door of the tower.
"Now let all history report that Efrin Warhawk and King Markas the second were partners in the rescue of good Queen Glyssani," Meghianna said, satisfaction thick in her voice. Then she let out a long sigh and leaned hard into Mrillis' support. "And pray the Estall we don't have to do anything like this again for a long time."
"If ever," Mrillis added. He brushed a Thread over her, measuring how much the effort of maintaining the multiple illusions had taken out of her. "Oh, well done, Queen of Snows. Let history also say that you are by far the cleverest and strongest who ever held the title." He decided he would wait until much later to warn her that the effort, the flow of magic through her in such high quantities, had washed the last golden and red tints from her hair, leaving it blazing, almost crystalline white.
"One last task. I don't care how much they stunned that filthy enchantress with that brilliant attack..." Meghianna held out her hands to him, physical and mental.
Mrillis bowed to her, head and shoulders, and grasped her hands. They closed their eyes together, and together reached with the force of their wills and spirits to pull hard, sharply, at the braided rope of Threads they had formed, connecting all the star-metal fence posts together. The ground shuddered and geysers of light and flame and dust shot up in the air as the buried star-metal transitioned from solid to liquid and streamed upwards to meet in one silvery-blue, blazing, churning mass high over Tantagar, illuminating the briefly raging battle.
Mrillis felt Meghianna tremble deep inside at the effort to bring all the streams of purified ore high up in the air, when their natural tendency was to take the shortest path to intersect--forming the ball of purified star-metal in the middle of the open ground in front of the tower. Everyone in the valley and the tower would have been vaporized, reduced to steam and dust
in an instant.
"Just a moment more, my dear," he whispered, and drew on all his strength and experience to cool the mass. It condensed and the light dimmed in the space of four heartbeats, forming a spinning, smooth sphere as tall as a man, blue-black and glossy as a lady's mirror.
A howl of pain and rage echoed across the valley as the rumbles in the ground and the hissing of falling dust and rock faded. Mrillis shuddered at the evil in the cry, and knew the enemy enchanters had been tied to the star-metal to control the untamed, poisoned magic. How many of them had died?
More important, how many had escaped?
* * * *
Meghianna resisted the aching need to sit down somewhere dark and quiet and slide into oblivion. She needed to see her father and sister and Queen Glyssani emerge from the tower and know everything had turned out right. She busied herself with domestic preparations during the wait, flinching every time she heard a shout and the faint echoes of metal on metal that rang from the tower. Someone--though judging by the fading sounds, a decreasing number--insisted on resisting the Warhawk's forces. She knew her father would turn his tent over to Queen Glyssani, and no matter how comfortable Timark might have made his prisoner, the rescued woman would want to wash and change her clothes and rest. Meghianna suspected Timark would have utterly abandoned his civility after his mask had been ripped away by the kidnapping, and she would find Glyssani half-starved and filthy and parched. She prepared a sweet, healing herbal infusion and hung a massive pot of stew over the fire. Excited, victorious warriors were always hungry, according to Megassa.
Her sister would be delighted to finally have been part of something dangerous and important. Meghianna hoped the blood and brutality of real battle wouldn't have shocked Megassa too much.
She remembered a boy who had come to the Stronghold for healing in spirit and body, after his first bloody, brutal battle against Encindi raiders. He was only seventeen, fresh from intense training at the Warhawk's fortress, and as his dead father's heir, in charge of the defense of his family's mountain estate. The boy--why couldn't she remember his name, now?--had saved his mother and sisters and nearly everyone in the estate, but at a terrible cost to his peace of mind. Meghianna prayed Megassa hadn't been forced into something totally against her nature, for the sake of saving someone's life, especially her own.
THREE DROPS OF BLOOD Page 20