“If we have lost Herensen, we have lost the province,” Ernan maintained. “We must march before it is too late.”
“Why does nobody answer me?” Adiana demanded. “We must do something about Corey.”
Ernan studied her with a puzzled frown. “There is nothing to be done.”
“Nothing to be done?” she repeated, incredulous. “They will torture him, execute him even, if we do not act quickly.”
“If we are lucky, they will kill him before he reveals too much.”
“You can’t be serious.” Adiana looked to the others for support. “We can’t abandon him just like that. He is the thread that holds us together. None of us would be here if it weren’t for Corey.”
“Adiana is right,” agreed Khelia. “We cannot simply sit here while he perishes at their hands.”
“Marching on the King’s City is not sitting here.” Ernan’s voice was thick with impatience. “We have this one opportunity and we must seize it!”
“Let me go for Corey,” Adiana insisted. “Give me half a dozen men and women. We will find a way.”
“They intend to take him to the King’s City,” Rishona said.
“There you see? I know that road. I can walk it in my sleep. There are two passes, both excellent for an ambush, and a third that could work if the others fail.”
“They will expect you in all those places,” Ernan objected.
“I don’t care. We must at least try to save him.”
“Adiana.” Ernan placed his hands firmly on her shoulders. “I cannot sacrifice any of my warriors to this mission you propose. We need every last man and woman if we hope to bring down the Mage King.”
“I can send some of my people with you, Adiana,” Khelia offered.
“And I, some of the Syrnte,” Rishona added. “They are fighters of great stealth, and their magic may be of use to you.”
“Has not the obvious occurred to you?” Anger flashed in Ernan’s clear green eyes. “Do you not see the possibility that is we who are betrayed?”
Stunned, Khelia took a step backwards. “You can’t possibly mean that.”
“Why not?”
“Corey started all of this,” Khelia replied. “He would never lie to us. Not like that.”
“Mages of Tzeremond don’t lie. They simply avoid telling the whole truth.” Ernan turned to Eolyn. “What say you, sister? Is there anything Mage Corey has said or done that might be inconsistent with him being a spy of Tzeremond?”
“He hates Tzeremond,” Eolyn replied. “He spits that name out as if it were venom. He refused to study High Magic because of Tzeremond.”
“Did Corey tell you that, or are you simply repeating one of the many rumors he has allowed to flourish around his person?”
“Ernan—”
“He gives the appearance of a Middle Mage, but you told me that in the King’s City, he kept company only with the High Mages.”
A grain of dread settled in Eolyn’s heart. Ernan had a point. Corey had always seemed far too influential for his rank. He never wore the colors of a Middle Mage. And yet in the city, the High Mages had received him as one of their own.
“His life was built on duplicity,” Ernan continued. “His cousin betrayed her clan. Who are we to presume she did not teach him by her example?”
“I saw him arrested by the Lords of Selkynsen,” Rishona said. “His magic was bound, and he was beaten. My visions do not lie.”
“How long has he studied your Syrnte ways?” Ernan countered. “The mages of this land can plant visions in the minds of our people. Surely by now Corey knows how to plant visions in your mind, as well.”
“That kind of spell can only be cast at close range,” Eolyn objected. “And there are clear symptoms. The victim cannot tell, but those around him can. We would know. I would know.”
“Would you, sister?” Ernan turned on Eolyn, hands flexing at his sides. “What transpired between you and the Mage King in the moments you spent alone with him?”
A chill passed down Eolyn’s spine. “I told you what happened.”
“No, you did not,” Ernan said. “You have kept something from me, something important. I feel it simmering beneath your reserve, goading you with every moment that takes us closer to battle. The Mage King set you free and entrusted you to Mage Corey, who brought you to us. Why? To force our hand? To bring us out before we were ready?”
Ernan seized Eolyn’s arm in a painful grip.
“Will you betray your kin, Eolyn,” he growled, “as Briana betrayed hers?”
Eolyn froze at this unfathomable accusation. She felt the eyes of Khelia, Rishona, and Adiana upon her. Silence hung stiff as a hot summer cloud.
“Oh, for the love of the Gods!” Khelia’s powerful voice cut through the tension. “If there is no one in this room you can trust, Ernan, we may as well pack up our weapons and go home now. Adiana, you will have three of my best warriors to accompany you to Selkynsen.”
“And three of the Syrnte,” Rishona said.
“I too would like to go,” Eolyn said.
This announcement was met with silence.
“There will be mages to contend with,” Eolyn reasoned. “You need someone who knows how to confront them, who can release Corey’s magic.”
“Now that I cannot permit,” Khelia replied.
Ernan lifted his hands to the heavens. “Thank the Gods we are at least in agreement on this!”
“If we lose you in addition to Corey, we have no hope,” Khelia said. “I cannot ask my warriors to march upon the Mage King without a High Maga at their side.”
“I could fly back here once we are done.”
“And risk a High Mage trapping you along the way?” Ernan objected. “Never.”
“Well which is it, Ernan?” Eolyn’s own temper flared. “Am I strong enough to defeat the Mage King, or too weak to contend with one of his mages?”
Ernan’s jaw clenched. His face hardened in distrust.
“Or do you think I wish to abandon this rebellion and run away with Mage Corey?” Eolyn said.
“Eolyn, we do not question your abilities or your loyalties,” Khelia interjected, though a glance at Ernan betrayed her flicker of doubt. “This is not about you, it is about our own sense of hope and purpose. You have become the symbol of our struggle, the promise of our success. Our people see you, and they are motivated to attempt the impossible. If you disappear on the eve of our confrontation with the Mage King, the effect would be devastating. You must stay here. Adiana will find a way without you.”
But how could Eolyn remain behind? For if Ernan was wrong, then Corey must be saved. And if he was right…
If he’s right, I want to hear it from Corey’s own lips.
That he had deceived her with his friendship. That he had set her up as the unwitting instrument of her brother’s doom. That he had used her, right from the very beginning.
Rishona placed a comforting arm about her shoulders. “His arrest was sent to your dreams, Eolyn, but that does not mean his fate is in your hands. You must let Corey go. It is your destiny that requires your attention in this moment, not his.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Mage and King
Corey hit the ground with a harsh thud. Shadows blurred about him, men silhouetted against a twilight that was unbearably brilliant after so many days in the dark.
Aromas of summer grass and night blossoms filled the air, yet did nothing to alleviate the stench of blood and sweat that clung to Corey’s clothes. He recognized Thelyn’s smooth baritone, along with voices of three other High Mages.
By Thelyn’s command, Corey was wrapped in a coarsely woven net of Lievian spider silk. Every time they moved him, pain shot through his limbs. Just as his vision began to clear, he was lifted off the ground, suspended in the net between flying staffs. They rose high and carried him swiftly over a rolling landscape illuminated by a silver moon.
Night air refreshed his face, and trees met his passing with shifti
ng words of encouragement, but every muscle throbbed in protest. Every thought echoed with regret. What he wouldn’t give for a hot bath, a mug of wine, and the songs of his people under a starry sky. What he wouldn’t give to meet the Solstice Dawn at Eolyn’s side once more, to enjoy her light-hearted laughter, to feel the heat of her hand in his.
If he could turn back the days, months, and years, he would see things done differently the second time around. But then so would everyone else. The resulting mess would be just as dismal. In all likelihood, Corey would still have finished here, a sack of bruised flesh carried upon the wind toward certain doom.
But I would have kissed Eolyn. I would have known the bittersweet taste of a maga’s lips.
Below them, the King’s City appeared, blanketed in shadows of gray and midnight blue. They landed in one of the lower courtyards, slamming Corey’s battered body against the flagstones. The net was sliced open. Rough hands grabbed him and dragged him off.
They descended into the labyrinth of shadows beneath the fortress. Corey had thought the dungeons of Selkynsen miserable, but here the darkness was absolute. The only sound was the musty heart of the mountain, beating slow and cold.
No food or water was brought to him. For what seemed hours, he sat in the company of his aching body, wondering who would arrive first, Tzeremond or Baedon. Perhaps they would come together, magical instruments in hand, eager to play their games of torture and intimidation.
At last he heard footsteps and voices, the turn of the massive lock, and the screech of dry hinges. The heavy door was shoved inward. Torch light blinded him. Guards stepped into the cell, followed by King Akmael.
Surprised and wary, Corey watched his cousin through swollen eyes. Briana’s son stood tall, somehow at home in that dark place, his face as expressionless as his father’s had once been. The guards set the torches high and ensured the steadfastness of Corey’s chains before retreating from the cell. For several moments, king and mage studied each other in silence.
“I sent instructions regarding your care,” Akmael said at last. “It appears they were not heeded.”
Corey shrugged, though his shoulders winced at the movement. “They would have had my head on a pike and thrown my flesh to the vultures had High Mage Thelyn not intervened. I am as he found me.”
“We will have to work with what is left, then,” Akmael replied. “There is much I would learn from you, Mage Corey.”
“My Lord King.” Corey drew a wheezing breath and met his cousin’s gaze. “As I once told you, what humble knowledge I command is intended for your service, for the good of our Clan, as was sworn to your mother and my protector, Queen Briana. Ask what you will, I will respond truthfully.”
“So you say, but I am told you revealed nothing to the inquisitors of Selkynsen.”
“I do not know who pays the inquisitors of Selkynsen. My secrets are meant only for my Lord King, to be heard and acted upon by him alone.”
Akmael lifted his brow in doubt. “You would have died at their hands rather than speak?”
“Yes.”
Akmael studied the stale air for a moment, then returned his gaze to Corey. “Why did you deliver the maga to the rebels?”
“It was the safest place I could think of outside this citadel. What happened to me in Selkynsen would have happened to her—and worse—had I attempted to hide her in any other corner of this kingdom.”
“You knew her brother was their leader?”
“No.” Corey frowned. How had the King come by this information? “That was unexpected, and unfortunate. The maga would not have been so keen to support their cause, were it not for him. She loathes the very thought of war, but she loves her brother and will not abandon him.”
“I see.”
Corey studied his cousin, but to no avail. The mage could read the face of Master Tzeremond himself, but these accursed Kings of Vortingen never let a thought slip past their eyes. Of one thing he was certain: his fate would be decided within the next few minutes.
“I wanted to smuggle her out again,” Corey said, “but it seemed too risky on all accounts. In any case, the current situation may well be to our advantage. Her presence has mobilized them, brought them forward before they are ready. Ernan’s forces cannot hope to match yours, and they will find no support in Selkynsen, as Herensen remains loyal to you. They’ve no choice but to confront you with what they have.”
“She is the only one left to us, Mage Corey. She cannot be lost.”
Corey cleared his throat. A difficult point, that one, but he had done what he could. “Her brother will not allow any harm to come to her. As an additional precaution, I have left the maga with annals of war time magic pulled from the libraries of Selen. Old techniques used by mages with no training in weaponry. It’s no guarantee of course, but it should keep her out of harm’s way when they meet you in battle.”
The King did not respond.
“It would be prudent for our mages to use similar techniques,” Corey added, to fill the silence. “Otherwise she might conclude I have deceived her.”
Akmael nodded, though his expression remained unchanged. “The seals on the East Tower have been broken. A room is being prepared for you there.”
The significance of this declaration was not lost on Corey. The East Tower had not been opened since Briana’s death. “How long will I be detained?”
“Until we crush this rebellion,” Akmael replied.
Or until the King decides whether he has any further use for his cousin.
Tension faded from Corey’s muscles. He had been granted time and words. With enough of both, he might yet secure his future.
“Sir Drostan will see you on the morrow. You must treat his ears as mine, Mage Corey. I will not indulge you with another private audience until your loyalty is beyond doubt.”
The mage nodded. The weight of regret and relief brought his aching head to his bruised hands.
“You will be moved before sunset.” The King turned to take his leave.
Corey drew another painful breath. His ribs pinched his lungs. “That armband she wears. You gave it to her didn’t you?”
His words brought the Akmael’s smooth retreat to a sudden halt. “She told you about that?”
“No. She speaks to no one of you. I recognized the Silver Dragon as an heirloom of East Selen. When I first saw it…” How long ago was that? A year perhaps, under a late spring sky on the grassy knolls of Aerunden. Eolyn was no more than a peasant with a curious gift then, an unassuming girl of little significance. “I suspected she had met some lost cousin of mine. It was easier to imagine another member of the Clan surviving, than to conceive of a manner in which you might have known her.” Easier, and somehow more bearable. “But then the pieces of her story came together, and they all pointed to you.”
“It was an improvised present,” Akmael spoke to the door, “from a self-centered boy with neither the foresight nor the imagination to craft a gift worthy of her friendship.”
His words fell like pebbles into a deep well, disappearing as soon as they were uttered. Corey would have thought he had imagined them, were it not for the resonance they left, waves reverberating against the dank air. “You invoked an ancient tradition of our Clan when you honored her with that jewel.”
Akmael turned to his cousin with a puzzled expression. “The armband was mine, a present from my mother. She said nothing of the Clan when she gave it to me.”
“It makes no difference whether you understood its significance. It was the Silver Dragon that chose Eolyn, not you.”
“Chose her?”
“That jewel came from the heart of East Selen. It is an invitation to join the Clan, to be a part of its legacy as much as any person who carries the blood of our ancestors.”
“And Eolyn knows this?”
“No.” Corey shook his head. “To speak to her of it during these days would have been imprudent. She must be told, however, and she must decide whether to accept.”
/> The King took a moment to absorb this. A smile curled his lips, and he nodded. “Then we may yet make her ours, Mage Corey. We may yet make her ours.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Revelations
“They head southwest, my Lord King,” Sir Drostan reported. “Their numbers are reinforced by about four hundred men from Selen.”
“Cavalry?”
“Fifty, at most. The rest are foot soldiers. Mage Corey suspects they intend to reunite with Syrnte riders, secure the Pass of Aerunden, and recruit additional support from Moehn before marching toward the King’s City.”
The knight waited as his liege considered the news.
Tzeremond stood with them in the council room, bony hands working against his rowan staff.
The King took his time, back turned to his advisors as he looked out the window and surveyed the broad expanse of land toward the south. An undulating landscape shone green and gold under the summer sun. In the distance, a dark blue smudge indicated the low mountains that bordered Moehn.
“Very well.” Akmael turned to face them. “We depart at dawn. Send immediate word to Herensen and the lords of Selkynsen. They are to meet us at Rhiemsaven in three days’ time.”
“With all due respect, my Lord King,” Tzeremond said, “I think it unwise to act upon information given to us by a traitor and a heretic.”
“I understand, Tzeremond, and I agree. But Mage Corey’s words are corroborated by what we have gathered from our own scouts and spies. We must respond accordingly. We cannot simply sit here until the enemy knocks at our gate.”
“Of course, my Lord King.” Tzeremond nodded respectfully. “Then perhaps it would be wise, before we march, to settle the matter of how best to dispose of the maga.”
“That question has already been settled,” the King replied, “as you should remember. She is not to be disposed of. She is to be captured and brought to me, alive and whole.”
“But if we allow them to meet us in battle, with her power at their disposal—”
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