The Crown of Stones: Magic-Scars

by C. L. Schneider

  Liel gave a holler. I raced back into the room to find him kneeling on the bed, putting the tiles back on the headboard. Behind him, atop a fur blanket, was the Crown of Stones. All nine colors were dull and empty.

  I stepped up to the bed. I picked up the crown and the tingling in my scars vanished. I couldn’t hear the vibrations any more. I couldn’t feel them in the artifact, either. It was completely devoid of magic.

  I shoved the axe I pilfered down through my sword belt. “Give me the shard.”

  Liel pulled the obsidian stone from his trouser pocket and handed it over. For something that had once been such an icon in my life, as I looked at it, my first thought was that he’d put it on a new string. My second was the small amount of magic the piece held. The workings I’d done downstairs had drained it considerably, and there hadn’t been enough time for the energy to renew itself. I had no idea if that mattered. I wasn’t sure how reuniting the shard with the crown was even supposed to work. Or what would transpire when I did. I only knew it had to be done.

  Holding them both in my hands, I pressed the shard against the crown; fitting it into the hollow it was cut from over ten years ago.

  Nothing happened.

  I separated them and tried again. There was no reaction whatsoever.

  “Now what?” Liel said.

  “Now, we leave.” I slipped the cord with the shard over my head and shoved the crown inside Liel’s bag on the floor. Noticing my braces inside, I pulled them out and slipped them on. “We can go back the way we came, or take the servant stairs.”

  “The servant’s entrance will get us to the kitchen. We can go out from there. But we’ll be smack in the middle of that mess.” Liel gestured at the balcony. I’d left the doors open and in with the chilly air came the sounds of metal and men dying.

  “There’s a moat down there where I can cast. All we have to do is get to it.”

  Given my past with the crown, it seemed safer for Liel to hold it, so I tossed him his bag and crossed the chamber. As I passed the door to the adjoining room, there was a figure in the corridor. I stopped short of pulling a weapon. Even in the dark I knew her shape.

  Her barefoot strides brought her closer. Unbound curls bounced, playing against the sides of her silhouette. Slender legs protruded from a slit in her dressing gown. It was a delicate garment that conflicted with the gleaming sword in her hand. Her poor grip on the hilt conflicted with her parentage.

  Aylagar would have been appalled at the impression her daughter was giving off. Myself, I found Neela’s attempt at self-defense, while dressed for bed, amusing.

  She came out of the corridor. Neela caught sight of me and her sword hit the floor. Staring, she whispered, “Oh, thank gods,” and ran up and threw her arms around me. “I can’t believe you’re here. I can’t believe you’re alive.” She held me tight a moment, her sleep-tousled, midnight curls drifting over my skin. Pulling back, she put her hands on my face. They lingered on the bruises Krillos gave me. Even longer on the black scars. Neela opened her mouth to comment then shook her head like it didn’t matter. “Darkhorne is the last place you should be, Ian. Why did you come here?”

  “Jarryd.”

  “Of course,” she nodded. “Did you find him? Is he all right?”

  “He will be.”

  Noticing Liel at my elbow, Neela raised a brow. “You seem to grow larger every day, boy.”

  Liel bowed deeply. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

  I put a hand on Neela. “Elayna. Have you seen her? Is she free?”

  “She is free, yes.” Neela’s posture stiffened slightly. “As to seeing her…I tried. But Elayna refused to speak with me before she left the keep.”

  “That doesn’t make sense. You were apart for so long.”

  “We were apart because my father and I deserted her. We left her to perish.”

  “You didn’t even know she was alive. The only person to blame for Elayna being in prison all these years is your husband.”

  “Elayna disagrees. Draken says her resentment is only natural. After all, I became Kabri’s queen in her place.”

  “That’s bullshit.”

  Her lips pursed. “You believe Draken lied?”

  “It’s what the man does, Neela.”

  “Perhaps he was trying to spare me the pain of her rejection?”

  I tried to think of a non-violent response. When I couldn’t, I turned away with my teeth grinding. “Liel, watch the hallway. I need to get the Queen some clothes.” I glanced at her bare feet. “And shoes.”

  “I can’t go with you,” she objected. “Draken will be furious.”

  “Then it’s a good day after all.” I took Neela’s hand and pulled her with me.

  “Ian… Stop. I’m his. I belong to him.”

  “What,” I grunted, “like a fucking horse?”

  “By Langorian law I am his property. And in his own way Draken loves me.”

  “You can’t be serious,” I laughed.

  “Is that so hard to believe? He is my husband.”

  I stopped short. I was about to ask the next, obvious question (if she loved him), when Liel whispered from across the room. “Ian. There’s boots in the hall.”

  Tightening my grip on Neela’s hand, I changed directions. “We’ll find you something along the way.”

  “You’re making a mistake,” she said, resisting. “Draken will come for me.”

  Liel closed the door quick. “We have to go. Now.” He drew the bolt across. Halfway through, the pin got stuck in the chamber. He slid it out and tried again. Before he could get a solid fit the door burst open, striking Liel in the face and sending him reeling. He crashed into the display of decorative pitchers and potted ferns bordering the pool. A few plants slid into the water, sending the swan flapping and squawking to the other side, just as six Langorian soldiers stormed the room.

  Dropping my pack, pulling the sword and the axe as I ran, I took on the man in front. I dove under his predictable kill-shot for my head. When he brought his club around again, stubbornly aiming for the same target, I threw my sword up to block and thrust my axe up into his groin. As number one doubled over, number two closed in from the side. Genuine surprised slackened his jaw as I spun and stabbed my sword through his throat

  Three was guarding the doorway. Four and five were heading toward the pool. I should have marked the position of number six. Instead, I looked to Liel—and got an arrow in the arm for my stupidity. It was only the tip. My leather brace caught the rest. I was pissed more than hurt as I pivoted and threw the axe at the pudgy Langorian who’d fired at me. The blade nicked his hand, displacing the bolt he was notching in his crossbow, and I went after him.

  He wasn’t ready for close combat. I predicted he’d drop the heavy bow and go for the knife in his belt. But as I closed in, he hurled the crossbow at my sword arm; knocking the weapon from my grip and my body into the wall. Instantly, he started pummeling me. I responded in kind. With the extra padding on the man’s bones, it took me four solid punches before he even winced. Four more and I got a grunt of pain. Another three and I got his meaty head to spring back. My hands were hurting and my knuckles were split, but I snuck in a good, solid uppercut that bought me time to pull the arrow out of my arm and shove it in his eye. Knocking him down, I stomped the bolt through the shrieking bastard’s head until he fell quiet.

  Liel was on the other side of the room contending with two guards. His face was bloody. He’d taken a few hits. Still, I had to give him credit. His form was near perfect. His footwork was fast and sound and his stances solid. It wasn’t my magic making his strikes and blocks so precise. With the decent pounding I’d taken, it was safe to say my spell had worn off. Clearly, whatever training Malaq had provided the boy, it stuck. Liel’s only visible shortcoming was a lack of experience and familiarity with his enemy. Unfortunately, both were crucial against men whose only goal was to bash his head in by any means necessary.

  Finding my sword and retrieving the a
xe, I ran to help him.

  I was twenty paces away when Liel made his first mistake.

  Ten when the sword point slid into his stomach.

  THIRTY SEVEN

  “Back up.” Clutching the boy against him, the bushy-haired guardsman aimed his stained blade at Liel’s heart. “Move. Or I’ll stick him again.”

  I held position. “Let him go. It’s me you want.”

  “Don’t worry, witch.” Flaunting a gap-toothed sneer, he tossed Liel to his friend. “I’ll make sure you get plenty of personal attention.” Adjusting his grip, the guard advanced on me. His stance shifted; betraying his intention. In a breath he would step, draw back high, and come down in a fast, right-left arc.

  I let him get as far as the step. Then I drove my sword down through his boot and impaled his foot. The scream was still in his throat as I swung the axe across his bearded chin and cleaved it near in half.

  It was a dramatic kill that turned the room quiet. Number five was not happy.

  “I think you were told to back the fuck up,” he blustered. “So be a good little witch…” he transferred his blade to Liel’s throat, “and back the fuck up!”

  Liel struggled in the man’s grip. “Don’t do anything he says, Ian. The son of a bitch is going to kill me either way.”

  “It’s all right,” I told him. “Hang in there. We’ll be out of here soon.”

  A new, masculine voice entered the mix. “There was a time, Troy, when I found your optimism entertaining.”

  A chill went up my spine. Draken.

  “Now,” he drawled, “it’s just been done to death.”

  I turned. He was in the doorway, swathed in red silk and black leather. His smile was wide and smug. It was begging me to rip his teeth out and shove them down his throat. But for Liel’s sake, I kept my cool. “This is a fine room you have here, Your Grace. The swan in particular is a nice touch. Though I admit, the symbolism stumps me.”

  “I’m not surprised.” With casual, untroubled strides, Draken strolled closer.

  “I get the idea you’re not surprised I’m alive, either.”

  “Regrettably, no. See, I’ve come to equate you, Troy, with a horned mule beetle. It’s a tenacious, pesky, little bug we have here in the mountains. One of those hard-shelled bastards that’s impossible to squash no matter how many times you step on them.” He ran a slow, gloved hand over his bound hair, smoothing it. “What does get me is that you were foolish enough to think you could abscond with my wife. Still can’t keep your hands off her, eh?” His grin was wolf-like. “I suppose we have that in common.”

  “I didn’t come for Neela.”

  “Ah. So it’s the Rellan whelp, then? Well, you’re in the wrong place. His accommodations are a few floors down.”

  I gave him my best smile. “Not anymore.”

  “Then this prison fiasco is your doing? Naturally,” Draken breathed. Stepping closer, he squinted at me. “You’re looking quite freakish these days.” Tilting his head, he studied my latest magic-scars with interest. “What is it they say? Like father, like son?”

  “I could say the same for you.”

  “Oh,” he chuckled. “I’m a far better man than my father, Troy.”

  “Then I’m glad I never had the pleasure.”

  “You should be. Taiven would have never made the mistake of letting you live so long. He would have boiled the skin off your bones ages ago. But I was referring to my father’s accomplishments. Of which, there were none. While in two short years I’ve punished the perpetrators of the oldest crime on record in these lands. It was a most heinous transgression—the very one that led my people into Shinree hands and forced us into these mountains.”

  “The Rellan invasion of Mirra’kelan,” I nodded. “They conquered your people and sold you to mine. I get it. You were fucked over. But we’ve all fucked each other over a hundred times now, Draken. It’s getting to be a damn tired excuse.”

  “Well, perhaps I should forgive and forget then? Is that it, Troy? We could start right here, with you and me. Feel free to go first.”

  I said nothing, and he laughed at me. Draken looked about ready to lob another taunt my way, when Liel jumped in.

  “My Lord King, please…I beg of you.” Pain made the boy’s words wobbly and breathless. “Don’t tell Prince Malaq of my betrayal. He was kind to me. If he learns I was part of this…that I plotted against him…” Liel let out a convincing sob and once again, I was impressed. He was wounded and in enemy hands. Yet, his biggest concern was throwing Draken off Malaq’s trail. “Sire, please. The Prince will brand me a traitor.”

  “Silly child.” Draken tossed Liel a withered, snooty glance. “Not only will I inform my dear brother of your brazen disloyalty, I will punish him for failing to keep his staff in line. A nice, public flogging should do the trick, don’t you think?”

  “No, you can’t,” Liel pleaded. “This isn’t his fault. Prince Malaq is a good man.”

  “Yes,” Draken frowned, “so they all keep saying.” His attention veered back to me. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen your father recently?”

  “We don’t really keep in touch.”

  “Apparently, neither do we.”

  “What happened? Lover’s quarrel?”

  His stately brow pinched. “I see prison did nothing to soften your tongue.”

  “Guess you should have cut it out when you had the chance. You did offer.”

  “Yes, it was on my list. But it was such a long list. I had to set priorities.” He looked me over again. “You remember it now, don’t you, all the intimate details of our time together?” I declined to reply and Draken sent a wicked smile in Neela’s direction. “You should have seen him, my dear. All that bravado, all that wonderful, droll wit, that…valor,” he said in disgust. “I made it all go away. I crushed it. I whittled your Champion down to a whimpering coward. And it wasn’t that hard. A few cuts here,” he made a slicing motion in air, “a few there. But,” Draken looked back at me and sighed. “As with all good things, our fun came to an end when you kept missing the mark with that pretty Nam’arelle bitch. Though how you failed to find purchase in such a well-worn cunt like that one I can’t imagine.”

  The cool I’d been trying to keep, evaporated. “Don’t talk about Sienn like that.”

  “Defending the very honor you besmirched? How splendidly egotistical of you, Troy,” Draken smiled. “Which I suppose is why you thought you could get away with this. Coming into Langor, sneaking into my home, emptying the prison as cover, all so you could gain access to my wife…it’s positively touching.”

  “I told you. I’m not here for her. I’m not even in her room.”

  Understanding set in and his expression fell flat. “You son of a bitch.” Draken pointed at me. “You keep your hands off my crown!”

  “The crown is Shinree made. It’s not yours. Neither is she.”

  “It’s all mine, Troy. Her, the crown—everything! And no one takes what belongs to me.” Draken drew the hefty sword hanging at his hip. “Tell me, dear wife, what is a man to do when a thief breaks into his home?”

  Quietly, Neela replied, “Defend it, My Lord.”

  “And so I shall.” Draken’s gloves creaked as he squeezed the grip of his sword. Staring down his predator-like nose, his lips wore the faintest glimmer of a smile. It wasn’t intimidation. It wasn’t even meant for me. It was a private, anticipatory expression, a chilling display of sensual delight that made plain how merely the idea of inflicting pain aroused him.

  It was a look he’d worn often at the prison. And I hated it. I hated the memories it invoked and the momentary flash of unease that came with them. They triggered an unfamiliar pang of vulnerability and gave Draken a kind of power over me that I couldn’t abide. All I could think to erase it was to remind us both what I was capable of.

  “Guidon was arrogant like you,” I said. “And then he wasn’t.”

  “Guidon?” Draken looked at me sideways. “That was you?”
/>
  “That was me. So you might want to have one of your men fetch some water to wash what’s left of you off the walls when I’m done.”

  “Guidon Roarke was a groveling toad. But you wouldn’t kill all those innocent people to get to him. The Ian Troy I know is far too anguished and pious for such a deliberate selfish act of violence.”

  “You need to catch up, Draken. That man died in prison.”

  Draken studied my hard, unwavering stare. “All right. I’ll buy that you slipped enough to slaughter a few chamber maids and sycophants. The world is better off without so many lazy Kaelish peasants anyhow. But, hornblende aside, with the boy here, and Neela, you won’t chance killing them with a spell.”

  “Try me. Because the way I see it, Liel’s bleeding out and Neela’s a double-crossing bitch. So I don’t have much to lose, Your Grace.” Brandishing the axe and the sword, I reduced the space between us. “What about you?”

  Draken answered with a swing. I blocked it and shoved him away. He came back with a series of insistent, brutal hacks. I deflected the first three. When it was clear he wasn’t stopping, I crossed the blade of the hand axe with my sword and let his weighty weapon pound mine. Despite the strain, my defense held up. The sword Malaq had given me was well crafted. And in Langor a hand axe was not nearly as small as it sounded.

  Draken drew his sword arm back again—farther for more force—and I used the extra seconds to pivot clear and jab my sword hilt into his face. As he recoiled, I went after him. Well acquainted with Langorian combat, I knew in large groups, with their abundance of endurance, brute force, and complete lack of morals, they could be unstoppable. Few were worth a damn in single combat though, and their King was no exception. Draken’s swordplay was haphazard. But it was energetic. He fought with the usual Langorian arsenal of strength and stamina. I didn’t have time to wait for them to wane.

  Letting him in, I sidestepped. His blade skimmed under my arm. Mine sliced across his as he charged past and went tumbling into the scattered pitchers and ferns. Draken threw them off. Wavering dazedly, he got to his knees. I drew back to take his head, and Draken twirled around with one of the metal pots in his hand; smashing it across my face so hard I didn’t even realize I was down until I picked up my throbbing head and saw him standing over me.