by Joseph Lallo
“For the God’s sake, lady, do something!”
“I’ve killed him,” Julia sobbed. “Oh God, why didn’t I warn him?”
Athlone smirked. “Now that’s more like it. Don’t worry about the traitor. All three can share a grave.”
Abarsis looked shocked at the ward’s appearance, and he exchanged worried glances with his companions. They ignored Athlone’s pleased commentary to launch a concerted attack. Jihan ducked as all three men threw fire, and magic flame clawed at Julia’s insubstantial wall. The ward flickered, and its light dimmed noticeably, but it held.
“It wasn’t you, lady!” Jihan said desperately. “Look at those smirking bastards. They did it!”
“No, it was me,” Julia whispered sadly. She dried her tears on her sleeve, and glared hatefully at the sorcerers. “All I ever do is destroy, but you’re right. They don’t deserve to profit from my stupidity.”
The sorcerers attacked a third time, but the ward flared bright and strong. It easily intercepted the attack. Jihan covered his ears as it screeched and howled in protest, but it remained bright. It was obvious even to him, that they didn’t have the power to overcome it.
Julia screamed in pain as she conjured something in response. It was fire, but it was unlike any Jihan had ever seen before. A puddle of molten stone bubbled beneath it. It grew, and the roaring it made grew louder with it. The fiery demon churned, and fell in upon itself only to be renewed stronger with each cycle it completed. Julia screamed as if undergoing the most hideous torture he could imagine. She held her hands toward her evil creation, her fingers hooked like claws, and converted her hate and spite into heat. At some signal only she heard, she clenched her hands into fists, and punched them at the panicked sorcerers.
“Dieeeee!” she screeched.
The fiery demon roared toward the sorcerers, leaving a trail of molten stone in its wake. Abarsis managed to throw a fireball, but it was absorbed into the roaring mass, making it stronger. A ward snapped up to intercept Julia’s wrath, and blue streaks of lightning crackled as it went straight through without slowing. The three men barely had time to scream before they ceased to exist. Where they’d stood, nothing but a bubbling pit of molten stone remained. Julia’s hideous creation paused as if swallowing a meal, and then disappeared abruptly as if it had never been.
Two of Keverin’s men ran into the room, and skidded to a shocked halt when they saw their lord’s body. Julia knelt by Keverin’s side as they watched, and burst into tears. She cried as if her heart were broken.
“Take that out of here. Lock him up somewhere,” Jihan ordered, gesturing at his father.
Athlone was cowering in a corner, staring at the molten pit in horror. It seemed to be solidifying now, and the trail to it was as well. The guardsmen drew their weapons, and took him out of the room.
Jihan knelt opposite Julia, hoping to comfort her in some manner, but he couldn’t think of what to do. He turned his attention to Keverin. He turned the body over so that he might say goodbye to his friend’s face, and not his back. The fireball had struck him in the belly. His armour was burned clean through, and blood welled in the wound.
Blood welling!
“He’s alive!” he gasped, hardly believing his eyes. “He’s alive, lady! Use your magic for the God’s sake!”
* * *
Julia was in hell. How many of her friends would die before she learned to strike first? Her hesitation had killed dozens at Athione, and now it had cost her Keverin. She needed to be as hard as Athione’s walls. No, she needed to be harder even than that. Feelings would destroy her in the end.
“He’s alive, lady! Use your magic for the God’s sake!” Jihan yelled.
“No, he’s dead. I killed him just like all the others.”
“Since when do corpses bleed?”
Julia followed Jihan’s pointing finger, and saw the blood pouring from the ghastly wound. Her magic leapt into her grasp, almost without willing it, and she dove into the healing realm. Keverin was barely alive. His aura was hardly moving, and its colour was mostly black. She forced herself not to panic, and drew hard upon her magic to strengthen him, but even as she poured her power into him, his aura began to fade.
No! Don’t do this to me!
She tried to gather him up, but the more she tried, the worse it got. Just like all the others she’d lost, he was fading before her eyes. In desperation she built a glowing net, a kind of ward around him. It sprang into being fully formed to encircle him. His already tattered aura touched the golden net, and recoiled. She prayed it would keep working, and concentrated upon healing him. Doing two things at once was incredibly hard, but she was determined not to let him go without a fight. His aura stopped trying to escape as the black light diminished, but she wasn’t taking any more chances with Kev’s life. She kept the ward up, and as strong as she could.
* * *
Jihan paced impatiently, cursing the delay. Malcor’s guardsmen were awake, and raging about what they would do when they got out. They’d already tried to escape one of the barracks, but Mathius’ ward had held. What they’d do if they realised that setting a fire would get them out, he didn’t know. One thing was certain, unless he could make them understand his father’s betrayal, he would never be able to rule here.
Athlone’s cronies were kinless men. He’d taken a lot of outright bandits into the guard over the years, but the majority were honourable men with families to protect in Malcor Town. He was sure that he could rely upon the locals to at least listen to him. He would turn the others out.
“Don’t ever do that again,” Julia whispered.
Jihan spun around in time to see her lean in and kiss Keverin on the mouth. So, that was the way of it? He hadn’t realised, but then, neither had Keverin judging by the stunned expression on his face. It was little wonder that Julia had lost her head when she’d thought him dead.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Jihan said, wishing he could allow them the time they needed. “But the men are getting anxious.”
Julia blushed, and hastily rose to her feet.
Keverin was slower to rise. He was healed, but he still seemed a little unsteady. “What are your orders, my lord?”
Jihan stood taller. “I’m not Lord of Malcor yet, m’lord, but if I were, I wouldn’t give orders to my friends. If I might make a request?”
Keverin smiled. “Ask.”
“Will you and your lady accompany me to the barracks, to see what might be done there?”
“Of course we’ll come.”
Julia nodded.
He led their party to the barracks. He chose the one closest to the armoury for convenience sake, but he was glad he did. Ahnao rode into the courtyard with her escort, as they were passing through. He stopped to greet her.
“My lady, welcome to my home,” he said, and bowed.
Ahnao’s eyes glowed with pleasure at his courtesy. She looked wonderful in her blue silk dress, but then she looked gorgeous in anything she wore. He reached up and lifted her down. She was light as a feather in his arms, and he released her only reluctantly.
“Thank you, my lord,” she said slowly and with exquisite care. “I’m glad to find that you’ve taken no hurt from your father.”
He gaped. She’d spoken like a noble born and bred! Now he knew what she’d been discussing with Julia on the journey. Silly woman. She didn’t have to put on airs for him to love her, but now was not the time to tell her. They would have a long talk later. For now, he offered her his arm. She beamed a smile at him, and he escorted her to the first of the barracks.
The humming sound of Mathius’ ward pulled his attention away from Ahnao, and focused his mind on what he had to do. The door to the barracks was open, and the faintly glowing ward was no bar to his sight. The men were sitting on their bunks talking amongst themselves. He watched them through the ward and tried to marshal his thoughts, and arguments.
“You’ll be fine,” Julia s
aid.
“Ready?” Keverin said from his other side.
He nodded and the ward came down. They stepped quickly inside, and Mathius put it back in place. The men saw them enter, and rose angrily to their feet. Hands reached for weapons, and he feared they would attack before he had a chance to explain. Julia raised her hand, lightning crackling from finger to finger, and they hesitated.
“Down with the traitor!”
“Kill him!”
“He sold us out!”
“I agree with you!” Jihan shouted over the noise. “Down with the traitor say I, but who is the traitor?”
“You are!”
“You sold your honour...”
“No!” Jihan shouted them down, angrily. “I haven’t been negotiating with sorcerers, but my father has. I haven’t taken bandits and raiders into the guard. I haven’t raised them over honest Devan guardsmen! Athlone did all those things, but did you protest? Where were you when he began bribing and corrupting the King’s own chancellor?”
Murmurs took the place of shouts, as they exchanged looks with their friends, wondering what the truth was.
“My father is guilty of all those things, but do you name him traitor? No! Where were you, when that animal killed my mother? Where were you, when as a child I was tormented and abused until nearly insane?”
Silence fell, and they shifted guiltily. They knew what Athlone’s cronies had put him through day after day. They had watched and done nothing. The oldest among them remembered him as a boy crying over his mother’s grave, and later, they watched him fighting desperately to learn how to survive against overzealous tutors. Did they help him, console him, offer advice or friendship to him? No.
He forced himself to lower his voice, and not reveal his growing anger. “Lady Julia destroyed an entire Hasian legion at Athione. She’s here to help me destroy another. How many of you believe the Hasians are our friends?” He paused waiting for an answer. “None of you? Why then did you allow three of them to live under our roof?”
“We never—”
“The Lord said they were all right—”
“I didn’t know—”
“It’s not my place to—”
“Silence!” he said. “You make me want to puke. It’s not my place you say? If it’s not your place to protect your own families and friends, whose place is it? When I leave here, I’m going to challenge my father to a duel and slay him for his crimes. Don’t doubt for a moment that I’ll do it. If any of you want to aid me in saving your families, you can swear your oaths to me here and now!”
The silence was deafening. No one stirred until a grizzled man stepped forward and sank to one knee before him. It was Ernard, a sergeant and one of the oldest guardsmen at Malcor. He’d witnessed three lords come and go in his time.
“I swear on my life, my honour, and my soul to be your man ‘till death. May the God bear witness,” Ernard said, and circled his heart.
Julia frowned at Ernard for a long moment, and then she smiled. “He’s telling the truth. We can trust him.”
Uneasy murmurs spread amongst the watching men.
He looked at her in surprise. Was their ruse truly a ruse? Could she really tell a man’s loyalties just by looking at him?
Julia noticed his look. “He’s loyal.”
He stepped forward to raise Ernard to his feet. “I swear on my life, my honour, and my soul to take you Ernard into my service—to protect and uphold you and yours in good times and in bad, and to use you in all honour. May the God bear witness,” he said, and circled his heart.
One after another, the men swore their oaths until only a small group hung back. He recognised some of them as his father’s captains, but all were cronies.
“You men are banished from my lands,” he said with relish, and then addressed himself to his loyal men. “Choose four captains from among the best of you. You know better than I who they are. I want you all in armour and ready to escort my father’s… err… loyalists a long way from here. If I catch any of them on my lands in a tenday, I’ll treat them as brigands.” He turned to Mathius. “Drop the ward and let them out, if you would.”
He stepped out of the room, and stood aside as the men, his men now, trooped out and headed to the armoury to weapon up. Mathius raised the ward, leaving the dregs still inside.
* * *
46 ~ Lord of Malcor
Jihan stood stripped to the waist, waiting for his men to bring his father. The entire population of Malcor had crammed the courtyard to watch him kill Athlone, and take his place as their lord. Their chatter filled the air. Ahnao looked worried, and strangely, it made him feel better. It was wonderful to finally have people who cared about him. During his short time at Athione, he’d made a few friends, not least Keverin and Julia, but it was Ahnao that he’d instinctively looked for upon entering the courtyard.
Despite the goose bumps pebbling his arms and chest, he’d chosen to fight during the early hours of the morning, before the temperature rose. Although the season was exceptionally hot, and it would likely sap his father’s strength before it sapped his, he preferred not to fight in the heat of the afternoon. He didn’t need the light in his eyes. At least the drought meant they wouldn’t be fighting on slippery cobbles. Athlone would be enough of a handful without that.
He drew his sword, passing the sheath to Keverin as his father entered the courtyard, and a hush fell over the spectators. His father had chosen to wear a plain white cotton shirt rather than his usual silk, and like him, Athlone had a dagger thrust into his blood read sash, but Sergeant Ernard had charge of his sword. He surveyed the spectators and sneered, before raising an eyebrow at Ernard. Jihan nodded, and the sergeant gave Athlone his sword before retreating to watch, sheath in hand.
“So, boy, Malcor is yours. You finally have what you wanted,” Athlone growled. “But are you man enough to hold it?”
“I never wanted it,” Jihan said calmly, refusing to be riled. “I would rather be a farmer’s son, than have you for a father. All I wanted was the love of my parents, but you killed mother, and love isn’t in you. I used to think I might gain your respect by learning what you wanted, but all you gave me was contempt. Well, it’s time I showed you what I learned. On your guard!”
He didn’t start slow; there was no point. He knew Athlone’s style as well as he knew his own. He attacked with a furious combination of two handed blows, smashing wildly at Athlone’s defence as if he’d forgotten everything he’d ever learned about the sword. Startled at the onslaught, Athlone was driven back, but he regained his poise in short order. He offered an attack of his own.
Back and forth, they attacked and defended neither gaining the upper hand over the other. He switched to a single hand and drew his dagger with his left. Athlone did the same and the fight took on a new deadlier dimension. He allowed his father to gain an opening, and then tried to turn it to his advantage by using his dagger in close. Athlone failed to take the bait, and the fight continued unchanged. He switched his sword to his left hand, and surprised, Athlone failed to parry his blow. The wound to his upper arm looked minor, but it was enough to make him back warily away.
Athlone began to tire, but Jihan felt as if he could go on all day, and his overconfidence nearly ended the fight prematurely. He over extended. His father reacted instantly to the sloppy lunge, and slammed his blade to one side, easily breaking through his defence. Jihan saw the dagger at the last instant. Throwing pride to the winds, he dove aside, and rolled out of Athlone’s reach. He knew better than anyone how dangerous his father was, yet what did he do? He took stupid chances, and Athlone had nearly made him pay dearly for it.
He scrambled back to his feet, cursing under his breath and vowing to be more careful. Emptying his mind of all distractions, he settled into a smooth rhythm, as if practising against one of his tutors. They’d been masters of the sword, and wouldn’t tolerate even the slightest mistake. Athlone noticed his sudden blank faced c
alm, and became even more wary.
Finally, it happened.
Athlone, so weary that he was stumbling, tried to end the fight quickly by using a lunge, the same move that Jihan had tried and failed to perform. It might have worked, but his weariness betrayed him. He tripped over his own feet. This time Jihan didn’t miss his chance. His sword went home in his father’s guts, all the way to the hilt. Athlone’s eyes widened in shock, and his sword dropped from suddenly nerveless fingers to ring upon the cobbles.
Looking into his father’s eyes, Jihan said one last thing before sending his soul to kneel before the God. “This is for mother,” he whispered and twisted his blade savagely.
He withdrew his sword, and Athlone crumpled to the cobbles, already dead. Jihan looked around at the silent crowd, his father’s blood dripping from his sword. First one, and then everyone at once cried out in one voice.
“Long live Jihan! Long live Lord Malcor!”
* * *
47 ~ Assassin
Lucius felt they were making excellent time, but Purcell still drove them hard from dawn to dusk. It was hard to blame the man. Seeing his home under attack, and not being able to help, was driving him mad with frustration.
Keverin had loaned them enough horses to mount their entire force, and had sent Captain Marcus with five hundred men along. He could easily afford the horses—he’d lost a great many men in the attack, but the guardsmen were another matter. Gylaren had protested, insisting that Keverin needed them for his own venture, but he’d replied that a thousand men had no more chance than five hundred to take Malcor. If they were to succeed, it would be by guile and sorcery.
Lucius agreed with Gylaren about the risk, but he’d come to know Julia quite well. She was very determined, and had badgered him unmercifully about lessons in mage-craft. She had been especially interested in wards and shielding. He’d tried to explain that personal shields were hard to master because they were exactly what they sounded like—personal to the individual. She already knew that; Mathius had explained it, but she wanted to know the various ways used by other mages. She had a notion to link the methods in some manner, and find a common thread. He’d been doubtful, but she’d been very insistent.