by Tony Donadio
Gerard shook his head.
“The lieutenant is right,” he said. There was a wheezing burble to his voice that sent a shiver of fright up her spine. He reached up to take her hand and held it.
She started again to try to quiet him, but stopped. His eyes were locked on hers. The expression on his face was desperate, entreating.
“There is something you can do, but not for me,” he said firmly. “Only the ring’s magic sustains me now, and that won’t last long. You must listen to me, while we still have time.”
Randia looked at the hand that held hers. She’d sensed the ring during the battle. Now, with it touching her skin, awareness of its power flooded her mind. With it came an understanding of her brother’s determination. She found herself nodding, unable to deny him.
“What is it?” she asked. “I’ve never felt anything like it.”
“My mission,” he replied softly.
He smiled at her look of puzzlement.
“It’s an artifact, a secret heirloom of our house,” he continued. “I didn’t know about it until today. Father used it to defend against the attack. Without it the demons would have taken the palace.”
“How did you get here?” Stefan asked. “Weren’t you at the palace too?”
“I used it to levitate, cloaked, across the city, from the mage’s tower to here.” He waved his other hand at the glade, littered with the bodies of monster and defender alike. “And to slay these demons.”
Randia only looked at Gerard, her eyes serious and attentive. Stefan and Kay exchanged astonished glances.
“You said you were on a mission, Gerard,” Randia asked gently. “Was it to save me?”
“No,” he replied. “Though I promised to, if I could find you. I was to bring the ring to Grandfather.”
He looked into her eyes, and his gaze became searching and hard.
“That mission must succeed, Randi, or the world is lost. You can sense why, can’t you? What you can feel when it’s near you, when you touch it?”
“The song,” she said softly. Her face had a faraway look. “So majestic, so powerful …”
Gerard smiled. “Of course. Father said it would affect each of us in our own way.”
“I don’t feel anything,” Stefan said tentatively.
Gerard shook his head. “You can’t. Only a Killraven can wield it.”
“And in the hands of the Archmage …” Randia began.
Gerard nodded weakly.
“Father said it would make him like a demigod. Bringing it to him is the only hope we have left of stopping the invasion.”
“We were trying to reach him, too,” she said. “To make it to the Silver Star. Is he still there?”
Gerard shook his head. “I don’t know, but I hope so — or at least that you can pick up his trail. Grandfather went into hiding the moment the invasion began. Mother says it’s because a powerful demon lord is hunting him. My guess is that he’s cloaked himself, as I did to travel here.”
“Stefan and I will go,” Randia said firmly. “Lieutenant Kay will guard you. We’ll find Grandfather and bring him here. If this ring is so powerful, then perhaps he’ll be able to use it to heal you, as well as defeat the demons.”
Kay and Gerard exchanged knowing glances. He turned back to his sister and slowly shook his head.
“You still don’t understand,” he said. “Although I suspect the lieutenant does. I’m already dead, Randi. Only the ring’s magic is keeping me alive, and that won’t last more than another few minutes. When I’m gone, it will be up to you to bring the ring to Grandfather. You will have to complete my quest.”
Randia stared at her brother, eyes wide. She found herself unable to speak.
“You say that you were cloaked?” Kay asked. “Is that why there were no enemy reinforcements? Because you were using magic to keep the rest of the demons from seeing our fight?”
Gerard turned to her. “You’re very perceptive, lieutenant,” he said appreciatively. “Do you understand what that means?”
Kay nodded.
“It means that spell is either spent, or is about to be. It means that at any moment, the demons in the rest of the city could notice a battlefield littered with the bodies of an entire company of their fellows, and come to investigate.”
She looked at Randia. “It means we need to go, Your Highness. Right now.”
Gerard beamed at her. “Bright, as well as valiant. I’m glad that my sister will have someone like you to help protect her.”
The young officer’s cheeks colored. “Thank you, Your Highness,” she said softly. Randia saw that her eyes were glistening.
A fit of coughing suddenly wracked Gerard’s body. Blood sprayed from his lips as he fought to bring it under control. His grip tightened on Randia’s hand until the knuckles turned white.
“The magic is fading,” he said weakly. “There’s more that you need to know, and there is little time left.”
She nodded to him, numbly, tears running freely down both cheeks.
Gerard turned to Stefan. His wand glowed dimly with silver magic as he handed it to the young bard.
“Take this,” he said. “Use what power it has left to protect her.”
Stefan nodded. He, too, seemed unable to speak.
The prince turned to Kay. She was still kneeling at his side, one hand pressed to his chest in a desperate attempt to stem his bleeding. In the other she held his sword. He took it from her and extended the hilt to his sister.
“Aron is dead, Randi,” he said solemnly. “You are now heir to the throne of Carlissa.”
A sound like a whimper of horror escaped Randia’s lips. Gerard continued without pause.
“Mother and Father were still alive the last time I saw them, but their counterstrike has failed. They’ve been driven back to the palace, and the demons and dragons are massing for an attack. They have no chance of withstanding it. If they don’t make it, then you must be prepared to lead our people.”
Randia’s eyes widened as the full implications of what he was saying finally hit home.
“No!” she cried. “Not me! I can’t!”
Gerard shook his head weakly. “I’m so sorry to have to lay this burden on you,” he said. “I know it’s not what you wanted.”
“Grandfather —”
“— is old,” Gerard interrupted. “He will help you, but he cannot lead this fight. I think we both know that. Carlissa will need him to be its archmage, but it will need you to be its queen.”
She shook her head violently.
“I’m a performer, Gerard! I sing, I dance! I write ballads and act in comedies! I’m no wizard, no warrior! I can’t lead people to fight demons!”
Gerard reached up to touch her face. His eyes were determined. For some reason she couldn’t explain, the confidence she saw in them frightened her deeply.
“You will be everything you need to be, Randi,” he said kindly. “I’ve known you all your life, and nothing has ever stopped you once you put your mind to it. Mage, warrior, commander, adventurer — you will be all these things, and more. You are truly the Princess Bard, and one day they will call you the Bard Queen.”
Gerard coughed again. He turned to look first at Stefan, then at Kay. Randia’s throat caught when she saw his eyes beginning to glaze over.
“Protect her,” he whispered. “You must bring her and the ring to the Archmage. Every hope we have left depends on it. And help her with what comes after. She will need you.”
“I will,” Stefan said simply. He looked at Randia and nodded. “To the end of my days.”
“With my life, Your Highness,” Kay said fiercely. “I swear it.”
Randia saw that he was beginning to slip away. With an effort of will beyond anything she had summoned before, she forced the confusion and grief from her mind. Her brother was dying, and she had to be strong for him. She would not fail him in his final moments.
“I will do what must be done,” she said. Her voice rang wi
th a confidence she did not feel, but she knew this was not the time to show it.
Gerard smiled at her. “I know you will,” he whispered. “And one day you will know it, too.”
The muscles of his face began to slacken, and Randia saw that her brother’s life had reached its end. She bent down to kiss his cheek.
“I love you, Gerard,” she said. “Go now into the embrace of the Divine.”
“I love you too, Randia,” he whispered.
Then, slowly, the light faded from his eyes. Gerard Killraven, Wizard Prince of Carlissa, was gone.
Randia wept at her brother’s side. She felt Stefan’s hand on her shoulder, but no comfort could reach her through her grief.
Grim Wait
Diana pulled herself slowly out of Orion’s arms. Her face was still wet, and her green eyes were wide and vulnerable as she looked into his.
“And you saved mine,” she said simply. “There’s no sense keeping score.”
He shrugged. “I suppose not.”
“I’m just glad you came after me, back at the academy. I never would have made it this far without you.”
He shook his head. “I never would have had the courage to run without you.”
She smiled. “We make a pretty good team, don’t we?”
He nodded, smiling as well. “We do. And we’ll get through this thing together.”
She chuckled.
“I like your optimism. The way you never give up, even when facing hopeless facts with brutal honesty. I can’t imagine what it would have been like, going through all this, without an ally like you at my side.”
“I’m glad for that too,” he said. He was surprised that his voice came out without any of the awkwardness that he thought he should be feeling.
Diana stood slowly. She turned away from him and pulled the camisole over her head. Like her legs, the muscles of her arms and torso were toned and athletic. Orion winced when he saw her back.
She looked over her shoulder at him. “What do you see?” she asked.
“Two long slashes,” he replied. He tried to keep the worry out of his voice.
“I know that. What else?”
“They’re about two inches apart. Both run from a pair of ugly wounds that begin just below your left shoulder blade. That’s probably where Nalef’s claws first hit you. They run around your back under your arm to your chest.”
“How bad are they?”
“One’s shallow, and looks like it’s already clotting. The other’s pretty deep.”
She looked relieved. “That’s about what I expected.”
Orion pulled a ceramic jug from his bag and moved to stand behind her. He carefully began to pour some water from it onto a small cloth.
“I’ll start cleaning them,” he said. “I know how to do a basic field dressing from my training at the Star.”
She shook her head. “Not yet. We have to treat them for closure first.”
His eyebrows arched. “With what?”
“With a mixture of tranzalin and regenera. In the right proportions they’ll combine to form a paste that can be spread into the wound.”
She rummaged in Orion’s bag, selected a few additional items, and set them on top of a short stack of boxes next to her. She removed the cover from the tranzalin and looked into it, trying to judge how much was left. Then she unstoppered the bottle of regenera and began slowly pouring the blue liquid into the jar, stirring the mixture constantly with a small spoon.
“We’ll need to treat the wounds in three steps. Wash them with water, and then apply the deathsbane to prevent infection. Finally we’ll treat them with the mixture I’m preparing. We’ll need to get the medicines deeply into the wounds, even where they’ve started closing. Don’t be afraid to pull them open again if they have.”
“That’s going to hurt,” he warned. “The deathsbane, especially.”
“You bet it will. But it’s necessary. We can’t be too careful, not with wounds from a demon’s claws.”
“I suppose not. But why the paste? I thought you were supposed to drink regenera. I’ve never heard of applying it directly into a wound.”
She nodded. “That’s because it usually doesn’t work. Regenera only activates when it’s absorbed into the bloodstream, and that’s best done by drinking it. Pouring or swabbing it into a wound is usually a waste because only a little of it ends up being absorbed.”
She took the spoon out of the jar and set it down.
“That’s where the tranzalin comes in. Mixed and applied properly, it’ll leach the regenera into the bloodstream right at the site to speed-heal the wound.”
Orion looked at her skeptically. “I’ve never heard of such a thing. Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
“Of course I do. I’ll start by treating the slashes in my chest and side. Then I’ll treat your wounds, and you can do my back. Watch carefully so you can see how I do it. It’s not hard.”
She turned to face him, jar in hand, and extended it. “Here, hold this. And give me that cloth.”
She went to work on her wounds, and he was impressed at the speed and confidence of her movements. She quickly re-opened and cleaned the cuts with water and cloth. Then she applied some of the deathsbane to a small ball of cotton and, hissing in pain, swabbed them with it. Finally she dipped her fingers into the jar that Orion was holding and began smearing the ointment into them. When she was done she nodded at his torn jacket and shirt.
“Your turn,” she said.
Orion stripped off his ragged shirt. Diana nodded appreciatively as she examined him. His build was slim, except for a cut of lean muscle that hinted at recent and rigorous training. A long gash ran across his arm and back, similar to hers but not as deep. The left side of his ribcage also sported a large purpling bruise. He winced as she touched it.
“Looks like you may have cracked a rib or two there,” she said. “Nothing much I can do except bandage it. The regenera we have left over should help.”
“Where did your mother learn so much about medicines?” he asked.
“At the temple of Nalendra. Before my father took her as his wife.”
Orion nearly dropped the ointment in surprise.
“Your mother was a priestess consort?” he asked. “Doesn’t that involve some kind of mortal contest?”
She nodded absently and started cleaning his wounds.
“The challenge is rare. Even in Dorian, where the ancient traditions still have the force of law. It’s even rarer for a challenger to survive it, much less win. But my father is extremely capable, and he’s always been very ambitious. Winning my mother’s hand was a coup that helped solidify his rising star within our government.”
“Is that how he won his assignment as the Carlissan Ambassador?”
“It did help set his career on that path. His ambassadorships followed a long series of progressive assignments that included advising and later serving as a provincial governor.”
“He sounds like an impressive man,” Orion offered.
“He is,” Diana said. The note of respect and affection in her voice was unmistakable.
“And he has equally high standards for his family,” she went on. “I have half a dozen different instructors, you know. Our class would have made you my seventh.”
Orion whistled. “I would have loved to have that many teachers when I was growing up. What are you studying?”
“Pretty much everything. Medicine and religion with my mother. Natural philosophy, literature, art. Engineering. Rigorous athletics. And I have a personal tutor who came with us from Mandor, to make sure I was well versed in our national history and statecraft.” She wrinkled her nose. “That’s the boring stuff.”
“I suspect you’re a good student.”
“Of course I am. My father expects me to excel at everything I do. And he’s not a man you want to disappoint.”
Orion sighed with relief as she finished treating his wounds and began to bandage them. “Your Carli
ssan is excellent, and you barely have any accent at all. How long have you been studying it?”
“The language? I started about two years ago, when we first learned that my father would be taking his position here. We only came to Lannamon last summer. Before that he served as Ambassador to Rayche.”
She paused for a while, a wistful look in her eyes.
“I spent my early teens growing up in Highpeak,” she said finally. “The mountains there are even more beautiful than in Lannamon.”
“It sounds like you have fond memories of it.”
Diana tied off the last bandage. “I do,” she said. She picked up his shirt and handed it to him, and he began to put it on.
“All done. Now I’ll need you to do the wounds on my back.”
She reached around for her hair as he finished buttoning his shirt. Her long auburn tresses were badly disheveled, and she had some difficulty pulling them around the nape of her neck and over her shoulder.
“You’re clear on what to do?” she asked.
He nodded as he picked up the cloth and wet it again. “I watched you carefully. It seems pretty straightforward.”
He set to work cleaning the wounds in her back. He saw her muscles tighten as she braced herself against the pain, and tried to make his ministrations gentler. She shook her head.
“Don’t do that. You need to clean them thoroughly. My wounds are deep, and it’s going to have to hurt. Don’t try to spare me.”
“All right,” he said. “There’s one thing I don’t understand, though. Shouldn’t we be stitching these? Especially the gashes in your back?”
“No,” she said. “There’s no need.”
“Why not? Won’t they leave terrible scars otherwise?”
“That’s the beauty of the paste I prepared. Tranzalin is a medical astringent. It’ll pull the wounds closed so that the regenera can heal them.”
“That’s remarkable,” he said. “And now that you mention it, I think I can actually feel mine tightening. Like you said.”
She nodded. “We were lucky you found some. It’s not very common.”
“I suppose we were about due for a break. You’d better brace yourself. I’m about to apply the deathsbane.”