Jenna cast her mind back to the dreams. “You said Lanyer was bleeding heavily as he ran this way. Assuming he made it into this chamber...” Her voice trailed off as she stepped over to study the cobweb-shrouded altar more closely. The thick white strands made it hard to see, but there seemed to be a shape slumped behind it. “Trayn?”
He came cautiously closer. “It can’t be,” he muttered. His hand went automatically to his empty scabbard. He muttered something choice under his breath and grabbed up a sword from the altar instead. The jewels in the hilt flashed and the blade shimmered with sudden silver light. Jenna cried out in warning, but he was already slashing at the cobwebs around the altar. As the shroud parted, it revealed a lumpy cocoon on the floor. Gently, Trayn sliced open the cocoon.
Jenna braced herself for the desiccated remains of Lanyer, but the body that came into view was remarkably well preserved. As more and more of the cocoon was cut away, it became clear that the hair, the skin, even the clothing looked much as she had seen in the vision. Older and more haggard, yes, but hardly ten years older.
She stepped closer, unsure what any of this meant. She knelt beside Trayn and reached out to touch Lanyer’s pale face.
The mouth gasped and the eyes shot open. Hands reached out to grapple with her.
“Stop! Lanyer, it’s me—Trayn.”
The young man ceased his attack, frowning suspiciously. “Can’t... be,” he rasped, voice dry with disuse.
“It’s been ten years,” Trayn insisted. “You’ve been dead ten years... except you’re not.” He stopped speaking as his voice threatened to crack, and he turned away, ostensibly to set the sword back on the altar.
“Drink,” Jenna ordered, pushing her waterskin to Lanyer’s lips. “And I have travel-bread—” A rumble overhead reminded her of their bigger problem. “We don’t have much time. Can you walk?”
“Not well,” Lanyer croaked.
“I can carry you—” Trayn began.
Another rumble. Suddenly Dwarf popped into the chamber, his body riddled with holes like a mouth-eaten blanket. “I’m through,” he growled. “Just telling you before I go to ground for a long sleep. And you owe me blood.” He winked out.
“Dwarf,” she told Trayn. “We’re on our own. We need to go.”
Again Trayn reached automatically for his empty scabbard. “Damn!” he snarled. He glanced about and grabbed up the altar sword once more. The blade exploded into a shaft of white light.
“Trayn!” Jenna shouted.
“No, I’m fine,” he murmured, brandishing the sword in awe. “But a certain shadow-snake may not be. With this, we have a way to get out of here. I’ll draw off the snake while you and Lanyer escape. Then I’ll follow.”
“You’re placing a lot of faith in one sword—” she began.
“A magic sword,” he corrected.
“And not one sword, but two,” Lanyer croaked unexpectedly and grabbed up the other jeweled sword from the altar. He looked too weak for a fight or even a fast retreat across the city. “Why is my sword not glowing?” he demanded when nothing happened.
Jenna mulled a moment. “Trayn’s hand was bleeding. Maybe blood activates the swords.” As blood energized ghosts. She offered him her ritual knife.
Lanyer drew the knife across his palm, letting the blood trickle freely as he grabbed up his jeweled sword again. The blade glowed blue. “My thanks, mistress,” he said, handing her back the knife. “It seems you were right.” He seemed suddenly stronger as he joined his brother at the steps.
Jenna grimaced as she followed them upward. Magic swords. Arcane weaponry made their chances of survival that much better, it was true. But they knew nothing about this magic... or the price it might exact. And she didn’t like that blood was part of the equation. She mounted the last step and pushed through the wall. And drew back as she smelled the sickening sweetness.
The shadow-serpent boiled up from the well, the brothers shouting at it as they backed toward the plaza. For a moment, its blind head rocked back and forth as if trying to catch the scent, then the snake whipped forward and the battle was joined. It looked as though nothing could deter the line of its attack, but at the last instant, it slunk aside, avoiding the glowing blades. Jenna felt a surge of hope as she inched forward, getting ready to run. The creature didn’t like the magic in the swords.
But as she kept watching, she saw that the thing was too fast for either brother to land a blow. Again and again, the serpent moved like shadowy lightning but fell back before the twin glowing blades, only to slither away and attack from a different direction. The brothers whirled to meet the new threat, but it was already slithering away again. She saw a deadly flaw in their thinking. The swords were holding it off, but the snake was so fast that it had them pinned, unable to retreat toward the gate as they planned. It was trying to catch them from behind and eventually would as they tired. They needed a better plan.
As she stood there wracking her brain, unwilling to abandon the brothers, she realized she was near the well where all of this had started. The images of the murder and the bloody runes danced before her eyes, the past intruding onto the present. And the past was the key, she realized.
She hurried to the well, recalling the specifics of the dream where the serpent had been summoned. Four runes on the lip of the well, each scribed with the blood of both wizard brothers. And here were brothers of the same bloodline. It had to be more than coincidence. The runes glowed ominously, indicating their magic was still active. But with magic, whatever was done could often be reversed if you had the right elements to work with. And for this, she needed the blood of two brothers.
She blinked. No, she had the blood of both brothers. Trayn had used her knife earlier to draw blood to feed Dwarf, and Lanyer’s had just used it to activate his sword. She looked at the runes again. Reverse order, she decided quickly and began drawing her knife blade through the four runes, crossing blood with blood. “As once the blood of brothers summoned thee,” she intoned at each, “so now the blood of brothers bids thee depart.”
It was pure improvisation on her part, but it followed the form of standard magical rituals. As she finished with the fourth, there was a great swishing behind her. She shrank back as the serpent lunged. But it wasn’t seeking her. It lifted its blind head and emitted a shrill keening, then drawing itself up, faded away to nothing. The blood-crossed runes along the lip sputtered, then faded as well. It looked very final. All her instincts said that this curse was gone from Sarosar.
She looked up as boot heels pounded on the cobblestones. Trayn and Lanyer, swords no longer glowing, were running toward her full tilt. “Are you all right, Jenna?” Trayn gasped, coming to a halt. “What did you do?”
“I found a way to banish the serpent,” she said. “I think it’s truly gone.”
“Banished forever?” Lanyer huffed, joining them. He looked spent as the energy of the sword began to fail him. “We’re safe?”
“I believe so, but I wouldn’t want to test that hope after dark. We should go now while we still have the daylight. Who knows what else lurks in this city?”
“But a moment to rest, if you please,” Lanyer urged, sinking to the ground. “The chamber where I awakened,” he asked a moment later, glancing down at his sword. “Where this came from. There were more talismans there. Was that not near the well?”
The eagerness in his voice gave Jenna pause. That arcane trove should not be loosed upon an ill-prepared kingdom. That was both her personal and professional assessment. She caught Trayn’s eye and slowly shook her head.
He understood. “Let it go, brother,” he said. “Aren’t the magic swords we sought as children enough of the Old Magic?” He held out a hand to his brother. “We should go.”
Lanyer sighed. “Perhaps so.”
They turned toward the postern and made good time to the gate by way of the main streets they had avoided earlier. At the switchback trail beyond, they descended hurriedly. Jenna was several steps in the
fore and couldn’t clearly hear what the brothers were saying, but increasingly heated words drifted to her ears from behind.
“An insult avenged... alliance... should pay in blood,” Lanyer was saying.
“Let it go... let it go, I say!” Trayn answered.
She caught the words but didn’t understand the argument. Some old grievance, apparently. No doubt it would come clear as they continued on to Castle Harebridge. She gave a sigh. With Lanyer recovered, Lord Harebridge would certainly recall Trayn from exile... and she could well be on the verge of losing her companion who was so much more than her Knight-Guardian. But Trayn would be a fool not to return to his family, and she would never stand in his way.
At the bottom of the cliff, they reclaimed the horses. Two horses, three riders. Manageable for the short ride to Harebridge, she supposed.
“Unless you reconsider and come with us, brother, here we part ways,” Trayn said, much to her surprise. “We can offer provisions for your walk, but Jenna and I ride north, not to Harebridge.”
“You should return home with me,” Lanyer insisted. “You’re being an idiot.”
“Then I’m an idiot. But Harebridge is no longer my home. When you were lost, I was banished. I have made a destiny elsewhere.”
“But if you bring Lanyer back, surely the banishment will be lifted,” Jenna pointed out. She didn’t understand his position, but all this was evidently part of the earlier argument.
“I have made my destiny elsewhere,” Trayn repeated. “Arryn for one would not welcome me if I were to—”
“Who?” Jenna demanded.
“Our older brother. Currently Heir to Harebridge.” He fixed Lanyer with a stern look. “I return to the northlands. Come with me... please.” Lanyer shook his head.
In the strained silence that followed, Jenna moved some cheese and travel-bread into a small satchel and handed that with an extra waterskin to Lanyer. All the while, Trayn stood fidgeting uneasily. “Good travel,” she said to Lanyer when there was nothing else to do except mount up. “Welcome back to the land of the living.”
But as Lanyer turned, Trayn caught him in a tight hug. “Fare well, brother.”
“Come home, Trayn,” Lanyer responded. “We should be allies. Against two magic swords, no one would stand.”
Trayn shook his head and broke the embrace. With a sigh, Lanyer turned up the road to Harebridge. It seemed a poor parting for brothers who had survived a cursed city together.
As Jenna and Trayn rode toward the North Road, Trayn kept his silence. Only when they had passed over the next ridge of hills and Castle Harebridge was obscured from sight, did he utter a long groan.
“What have I done?” he whispered, slumping in his saddle. “What have I done?”
“You’ve survived Sarosar, banished an ancient curse, and freed your brother,” Jenna supplied tentatively. “Why are you in anguish?”
“Because Lanyer means to kill our brother Arryn and become Heir. And armed with a magical sword, he likely will—that or be killed himself. I hate this course he has chosen. Better to sleep forever in spidersilk.”
Jenna blinked. “Kill or be killed? You make no sense, Trayn.”
“Growing up, Arryn was the strong son, Lanyer the clever one, and yours truly was the dumb one. So said Father. Returning to Sarosar and talking again to Lanyer has shown me how true that was. Then I knew nothing of politics and deadly family traditions. But since then, I have experienced King’s City and royal politics and now see with different eyes. Ten years ago it was Arryn who lured us to Sarosar with tales of magic swords. But he knew the danger and planned for both of us to perish in the city. I see it all clearly now.”
That might well be a motive for Lanyer’s vendetta. “Then shouldn’t your family be warned that a blood feud is coming?”
Trayn gave a mirthless laugh. “House Harebridge is born pre-warned. The tradition of the House is that the strongest, not the eldest, son inherits. I now realize that means one must slay the others. Brother is set against brother from birth. The inheritance has been settled for the last decade, and I have opened it to bloodshed again. I truly am the dumb one.”
Thinking back to her vision, Jenna recalled the scene of one wizard-lord killing his brother. Was that where this wretched tradition started?
“You are not the dumb one,” she stated suddenly. “You are the one who walked away from your family and can live free of the snake pit. I believe that makes you the smart one.”
Trayn gave the ghost of a smile. “Let us hope, Mistress Exorcist. I strongly prefer not to end up one of your future assignments at the hand of an overly ambitious brother.”
“The gods forbid,” Jenna returned with passion. Did he really think Lanyer might turn on him? Maybe Trayn was right: Better to sleep forever in spidersilk.
Diplomacy in the Dark
Suzan Harden
Anthea was an unwilling priestess, and her efforts to avoid her fate were unsuccessful—at least in getting her released from the Temple. They did, however, give her some unique abilities.
Two years, a twelve-hundred-mile move, and a handful of published stories later, Suzan Harden’s husband is still nagging her for a full-length novel of Justice Anthea and Brother Luc’s adventures. Hopefully, this story will tide over him and the other lovely readers who’ve contacted her since “Justice” appeared in Sword and Sorceress 28. To see sample chapters of the future book, go to www.suzanharden.com. In the meantime, her beloved beagle keeps her feet warm while she adjusts to the temperature difference between Houston and Toledo.
I didn’t bother to hide my displeasure at my early morning guests. Even my staff here in the Temple of Balance had learned not to disturb me in the mornings before my second cup of tea in the four months since I’d been assigned here.
Well, sentenced, depending upon one’s point of view.
However, I did alter my footsteps so I didn’t stomp into the receiving room as a disgruntled child would. It was inappropriate for the chief justice of Orrin.
Despite decorum, I didn’t wait for my head warden, Little Bear, to announce me. I shoved open the doors, and the two men inside jumped to their feet.
“Magister DiCook, I truly hope His Grace is not telling you that interrupting my breakfast is acceptable behavior.”
The magister stiffened. Whether it was from my appearance or my tone, I couldn’t tell. I rarely bothered wearing my hood indoors since everyone in the city of Orrin learned of my unusual appearance and that I was sighted during my trial at the beginning of summer.
Knowing my eyes discomfited the magister, my action was a petty maneuver on my part. But he had tried to run roughshod over me since my appointment to the justice seat. Of course, his behavior might have something to do with my investigation of him in connection to the previous duke’s high treason.
“Arturo, the captain of the Mar Tranquilus, has been murdered, Justice Anthea.” If Duke Marco DiMara’s anger wasn’t evident in his voice, the surge of orange through his normal golden appearance marked the emotion. It also explained the crimson cast of the magistrate.
The duke’s family controlled a majority of Orrin’s merchant fleet since the end of the last demon invasion over a century ago. Of course, he’d take the death of the master of his flagship personally.
I clasped my hands behind my back. “I am certain the magistrate and his peacekeepers will present me with all evidence along with the culprit when they capture him, Your Grace.”
“Therein lies the problem, Justice.” DiCook actually sounded uncomfortable. “I’m not sure the captain was murdered.”
“You can’t tell me that a man freezes to death in his heated cabin before winter by accident,” Marco snapped.
I immediately regretted not having my second cup of morning tea, and I suppressed the urge to rub my forehead from the headache I no doubt would have before the matter was complete. “From the beginning, please, my lords.”
“The Mars Tranquilus was scheduled to doc
k shortly before dawn,” Marco started. His four short months as the Duke of Orrin as well as his recent marriage had given the youth a measure of maturity. “They were returning from a run from Jing.”
A frown tugged the corners of my mouth. “Now?”
Marco shrugged. “The weather oracle predicted one more major storm in two weeks. Arturo believed it was sufficient time.”
Only the bravest, the most experienced, or the most insane of merchant sailors tried to squeeze in a trip to the Far West between the autumn typhoons and the winter squalls.
“And?” I prompted. DiCook remained quiet, which bothered me more than I cared to admit.
Marco forced out a harsh breath. “Prior to the trip, Arturo and I had discussed his first mate Titus’ readiness for a command of his own. So, Arturo was in his quarters, and Titus brought the ship to dock. He discovered the captain’s body when he went to make his report.”
I measured my words before speaking. As much as I found the duke’s company pleasant, he could react brashly. “Your Grace, if Captain Arturo died of exposure, that does not constitute murder.”
“You misunderstand, Justice,” DiCook finally spoke. “He was discovered on the floor of his cabin frozen as solid as any hank of meat in the middle of a Gray Mountains winter. The coals in the cabin brazier still glowed when I boarded the ship for the initial query. There is also the matter of a small casket found next to the body that wasn’t listed on the captain’s manifest.”
“And it wasn’t listed on the contract either,” Marco spat out. “Sorcery has to be involved considering the manner of Arturo’s death, which makes it murder.”
“Unless he was smuggling an illegal magical object,” DiCook snapped back. “And accidentally killed himself with it.”
I swallowed a sigh. Obviously, the two men had been at odds about the discrepancies long before they arrived at my temple. Normally, I could dump a minor contractual matter on the Temple of Light, but the investigation of an unusual death landed on me, regardless of the sorcery question. “And the casket was not a personal effect of the captain or one of the crew members?”
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