His sister sat for a moment longer, then nodded and stood. She came to the head of the table, keeping her distance from him. It wasn’t just Sol she blamed him for. Mage Castillo had been a dear friend of hers as well.
Facing the length of the table, Aracelle said, “I have reviewed everyone’s notes about the petition and have spoken with Princess Alegria. I find it hard to believe that, despite his vote of indecision, my husband could have said anything other than ‘for’. I agree with him. Roque supports Princess Alegria’s petition to—”
The floor rippled beneath their feet. Aracelle staggered, reaching for the table for support. Faster than his sister, Alamar caught her before she could topple over. Overhead, the ceiling beams creaked and dust rained down, the windows shivering in their casements.
“What was that?” Sarabia demanded, gripping the table edge so hard his bony knuckles were white.
It came again, harder, sharper. Something big just outside snapped, the retort echoing around the building.
“Earthquake,” Galo said, insufferably calm, that hated smirk back on his lips.
The power of the quake rolled down Alamar’s spine. It wasn’t natural.
Caritina shook her head. “It’s earth magic.”
“What?” Bolivar was on his feet, panicked. His Knight stood beside him, a restraining hand on his arm.
Another quake, another crash, closer.
Anger making him tighten his hold on Aracelle, Alamar worked out what was happening. Letting his whimpering sister drop to the floor, he stalked toward the doors. “Captain!”
The doors burst open, but it wasn’t the captain of the council hall constables. A single man stood on the threshold, clad entirely in black, his hooded head lowered in grim intent. Behind him, the outer doors hung broken from their hinges, twisted by earth magic, the floor of the foyer cracked. A smaller, black-clothed person knelt on the ground outside, hands still pressed to the ground. Around the Earth Mage was a circle of fallen constables, held down by bonds of earth and stone.
“Sorry, Ibarra,” the black-clad man snarled, his voice painfully rough. “Did I interrupt something important?”
Galo’s mad laugh sliced through Alamar’s remaining calm. He spun on the arrogant bastard.
“Shut up, you cock-loving cretin!”
The newcomer waved his hand and a gale of air magic knocked Alamar to his knees, kept him down with a continual buffering.
“Since we’re all gathered, I think it’s about time for us all to start speaking the truth,” the harsh-voiced man said, stalking to Alamar. “Don’t you think, Duke Ibarra?”
A foot found Alamar’s neck and pushed his face down to the ground. Teeth gritted, he went with only a token resistance. He would bide his time, learn just who this Air Mage was and then deal with him appropriately.
“Who are you?” Caritina demanded, standing.
“Release Duke Ibarra immediately,” Isabel commanded. “Sir Idola, arrest that man.”
There was a clatter of boots as Isabel’s Knight moved.
“I don’t think so,” a female voice said and a pulse of earth magic swept the room.
The marble floor shuddered and from his vantage point on the floor Alamar had a clear view of stone moving and reshaping itself. Within moments, every person in the room was bound to the floor. Everyone except Alamar and the two mages. The Earth Mage grabbed Alamar’s empty chair and dragged it to where he was pinned. She sealed it to the floor and then between her and the Air Mage, he was lifted and seated so he faced the table. Stone closed over his feet and the wooden armrests of the chair curled around his wrists.
“You can’t do this to us,” Isabel snapped, struggling against her bonds.
“My dear, I think he can,” Galo said. “And has. I for one want to hear what he has to say. What about you, Bolivar?”
Bolivar, pale and shaking, refused to look at anyone.
Ah. So that’s what this was all about. Bolivar had cracked and by his smug smile, Alamar guessed Galo had as well. Trust a narcissist to take such pleasure in his own scandal.
The Air Mage stalked to the table, leaped onto it and stomped his way across papers and pencils, knocking aside mugs and jugs, narrowly missing fingers pulled out from under his boots.
“All of this,” he snarled, kicking a satchel of books so it sailed off the table between Caritina and Sarabia, “means nothing. It’s all lies, nothing more than shit. You all sit around this table with some high ideal about how peace between the duchies can be achieved in a meeting.”
Mouth open to retort, Isabel suddenly found herself staring at the barrel of a revolver.
“No, Duchess. No more lies.”
Regardless of the threat, she drew breath to speak.
The Air Mage pulled back the hammer of the gun. “Don’t think I won’t do it, Isabel,” he said in a gravelly hiss. “It’s already hard enough to resist the temptation. What’s to stop me from killing you, and then all of them, and walking out of here with all of Delaluz under my control?”
“You wouldn’t dare,” Sarabia hissed.
“Wouldn’t I?” The black-clad man faced the old marquis. “Why not? Haven’t we all thought about it, at one point or another? Imagine it. Ruling all of Delaluz, uniting the duchies under one throne. Delaluz would become more than a gathering of quarrelling neighbours. We’d be a nation, a kingdom to rival Alarie. They wouldn’t be able to stand up to us and those upstart greenmen across the Ranges would think twice about raiding our borders. We’d be strong, unstoppable, immortal.” He paused, looking at each of them in turn, settling on Caritina. “Imagine it, Caritina. What if all Delaluz was like Navarro. Peaceful, stable, wealthy through kingdom wide trade. You wouldn’t have to squabble with Valdes about border tariffs, or trade with Alarie on behalf of Giron or Herrera or Ibarra.” He turned to Galo. “Imagine not having to face the turmoil of Talamh alone. How much easier would it be if you could count on support from Roque or Ibarra.” To Bolivar he said, “Imagine not having to rely on hosting another man’s army just so your economy doesn’t fail.” To Isabel was the simple, “Imagine the power.”
When the Air Mage faced Aracelle, trapped at the head of the table where she’d announced her vote, he managed, “Imagine...” before faltering. After a painful moment of silence, he spun to face Sarabia. “Imagine,” he said, “if your grandnieces were at home with their parents, safe.”
An uncomfortable silence fell across the room. Alamar sneered.
“What about me?” he asked.
The Air Mage turned to him slowly. “You? You don’t need to imagine anything. You’ve moved past that. Duke Deleon is gone, leaving you a way into Roque. Isabel’s deluded herself into thinking you’ll marry her, so there’s Herrera, and if she finishes toppling Bolivar off his throne, it’s as nothing for you to swallow up Leon as well. I agree that using Galo’s arrogance against himself was the only way to guarantee he’d do what you wanted him to. Using that manipulation to bring Valdes to the point of collapse was, I admit, masterful. The only thing I couldn’t discover, was what hold you have on Navarro.”
Alamar scowled at him but before he could say anything, Caritina spoke.
“He betrothed Prince Ramiero to my granddaughter Aislara.” She turned a narrow-eyed glare on Alamar.
Her expression was repeated around the table.
“Is it true, Alamar?” Aracelle asked, her voice trembling.
“Of course it is,” Galo said cheerily. “The man’s been manipulating me for months. Swore he would ruin my reputation, my life and my family if I didn’t do what he said.” He looked to Sarabia and bowed as well as he could from his seat. “I’m sorry, old chap, given a choice, I would have voted for Princess Alegria.”
Sarabia gaped at him.
“Me too,” Bolivar ground out. If he hadn’t been held in his seat, he would knocked Galo aside just to get at Isabel.
“Do you see now?” the Air Mage asked the table in general. “Nothing in these meetings mean
s anything if we can’t trust each other. Two of our number gave false votes because they felt they couldn’t trust anyone else with their problems. All because one of us decided he was better than the rest of us.” He faced Alamar, raised a damning hand and asked, “What gives you the right to think you should rule all Delaluz?”
Before Alamar could respond, Galo said, “We? Our? Who are you, sir, to claim a place among us?”
“Me?” The mage reached up and drew off his mask. “I’m just a dead man.”
As the scared face and burned throat were revealed, shocked gasps rose around the table. Galo, naturally, laughed. Bolivar paled even further and Aracelle screamed, pulling at the stone enclosing her feet.
Alamar stared at Sol de Roque and rage burst through him. The burning source of power in his chest exploded, flooding his body with strength and magic. He lashed at the wood around his arms and it shattered. He cracked the stone around his legs and surged upward.
“By what right?” he demanded, kicking the chair away so hard it hit the far wall and splintered into kindling. “By right of strength. Of everyone in this room I am the only one who has managed to hold his throne since the birth of Delaluz. I am the only one who has worked to keep advancing Delaluz’s might and reach. I look to the future while the rest of you look at the past. Deleon, for all his faults, is right. These meetings are useless because you are all useless. All of you! None of you had the courage to step up as I did. None of you would ever have contemplated unifying all the duchies under one rule, let alone come so close to doing it. Unite Delaluz, you said it yourself, Deleon. Pity you didn’t have the balls to follow through. Some competition might have been interesting.
“Yes, I dared to take rulership of all Delaluz because I am the only one who can. I am Delaluz!”
“I don’t think so, Ibarra.”
Alamar spun. Rage swept across his vision. “You,” he snarled. “Took you fucking long enough.”
The Immortal Soldier stood in the open doors, the coat Alamar had sent him away in torn and ragged, the weapons dirty and battered, but the man was the same. Insolent, ungrateful, wilful. With a bit of effort, Alamar reached out through the link between them and forced the man to his knees.
He crashed down, dropping his swords, head bowed as everyone’s should be before Ibarra.
“Where is he? I know you wouldn’t be back without him.”
Ramiero stepped into view. “I’m here, Father.”
Behind him, the foyer filled with bloodied, hardened soldiers. None of them looked at Alamar with obedience. He recognised Demetrio de Covadonga and hissed. He also noted Captain Meraz of Tejon Company.
Lips twisting, Alamar asked, “Where’s the de Roque Bone Mage? Maybe he should witness what he helped accomplish.”
Ramiero flinched. “Mage Castillo fell in the Valley. We’re here to make you pay for his death, and for those of everyone who died needlessly in the Valley. Father, I charge you with treason—”
Alamar laughed. “By whose authority, boy?”
Another figure moved through the crowd of soldiers.
“By mine,” Abbess Morales said. “Duke Alamar Antulio Ibarra Madera de Ibarra, I hereby renounce your right to the throne of Ibarra.”
Alamar roared. How dare they? How dare these pitiful, contemptible worms think to command him?
“Immortal Soldier,” he shouted. “Kill her!”
The Immortal Soldier jerked to his feet, blades in his hands faster than even Alamar could follow. He spun, swords singing, but Morales didn’t fall. She stood tall, defiant as the Soldier’s blades arched over her head. The man completed his spin and faced Alamar.
Dark eyes hooded, he stalked toward Alamar.
“No. You can’t disobey me.”
The Soldier’s lips curled into a cold smile. “It took me a long time, but I’ve finally learned to ignore all of the pain.”
And then the impossible happened. The Immortal Soldier came for Ibarra.
#
Sol couldn’t pull his gaze off the advancing soldier. It was him. He knew it without a question. The Immortal Soldier was real. He was awake and he was angry. Two swords swung expertly in his hands as he stalked Alamar.
His shock gone and replaced by the same towering, arrogant anger as had powered his speech, Alamar smiled grimly and welcomed the Immortal Soldier closer. He waited until he was nearly within reach of the swords before moving. For a large man past his middle years, Alamar was impossibly quick. He skipped back, feinted right then dodged left, racing past the Immortal Solider, heading for Ramiero.
“Father,” the prince said, stepping up to meet him, hand on the hilt of his sword.
But Alamar was too fast. In one, blindingly fast move he reached for Ramiero’s sword, snatching it from the scabbard even as he backhanded his son hard enough to slam him into the wall.
The prince dropped and Alamar spun just in time to catch the Immortal Soldier’s first blow.
What followed was too fast for Sol to follow. Alamar and the Immortal Soldier battled back and forth, blades spinning and slicing like lightning.
“Sol!”
Shaking himself, Sol glanced at Aracelle, his heart contracting at the sight of her tear streaked, horrified face. It hurt to look at her and recall all the things he’d done in recent days. He’d lost himself in vengeance once again, but at least he’d done it.
He’d exposed Alamar for the treasonous bastard he was. Sol couldn’t think about what it had cost him. Couldn’t let the madness that had first taken him in Alarie when he’d been fighting for his life against Crusaders and fanatics take control again. He’d given in to it to do what had to be done, but it was over now.
“Sol.”
The new voice was easier to listen to. He turned to Eloisa, her mask removed as well. She looked up at him imploringly, standing beside Sarabia. The old man couldn’t catch his breath, clutching at his chest.
“Release him,” Sol ordered. “All of them. We have to get away from them.” He pointed to the furious fight roiling not that far away.
Eloisa nodded and instantly the marble fell away from everyone at the table. Aides and pages fled, funnelling through the crowd of grim faced soldiers in the doorway. Sol jumped down and helped Eloisa with Sarabia. They got him to a corner, followed by Galo, Caritina, Aracelle and Lady Veronica. Aracelle’s friend took charge of the old man. She was no Bone Mage or Sacerdio but she had some learning in healing.
Sol looked around for Bolivar, finding him at the doorway, making his escape, head down. Guilt tore Sol’s heart. He’d hurt his cousin so badly he didn’t blame Bol for leaving. Isabel, however, hadn’t moved. She still sat at the table, in shock. Alamar hadn’t excluded her from his denunciations. Her world was shattered.
Aracelle touched Sol’s arm.
He shook her off and raced across the room. Alamar and the Immortal Soldier careened past him and he rolled under the wild swing of a sword. Coming to his feet, he had to scramble quickly to avoid another close call. With a wordless yell, Alamar shoved the Immortal Soldier into the table. The massive piece of furniture lurched across the floor. It hit Isabel and knocked her out of her chair.
Flipping backwards, the Immortal Soldier landed on the table, ragged coat flaring as he spun a flying kick into Alamar’s face. Sol threw himself beneath the table as it shuddered under the weight of the Immortal Soldier. Another body landed on it above Sol and it creaked as the fight resumed along its top.
Isabel huddled at the far end, curled up in a shaking ball. If she didn’t get out of the way, she’d become a casualty. Sol crawled to her, slid his hands under her arms and hauled.
“Come on,” he grunted. The last of his air magic was fading fast, taking what remained of his own strength with it. He’d been constantly relying on the magic of wands for so long that without them, he was weaker than he realised. “Move, Isabel, or die here.”
She twitched, then jerked as the table leg beside them cracked.
“Move,” Sol
shouted, tearing his burnt throat even more. “Now!”
The leg gave out and the Immortal Soldier crashed down with the table top. Sol shoved Isabel away but the edge of the table slammed down onto his back. Something snapped. The weight of the Immortal Soldier crushed him even further into the stone floor, then it was gone as the man rolled away, flipped to his feet and chased a fleeing Alamar.
There was no pain and Sol knew that was bad. Regretting the fact he would miss seeing the Immortal Soldier in action, Sol passed out.
#
Duke Ibarra was beaten. He knew it. David knew it. The man just had to accept it. He fought on, anger fuelling his actions, something else giving him the strength and speed. David could feel it thrumming down the link, in the constant pulling in his chest, the need to obey, to give in to the commands Ibarra kept shouting at him. He resisted though, taking pleasure in the pain it caused, knowing it came from the fact that for the first time in his long, cursed life, he was doing this because he wanted to.
Ibarra’s rage worked against him. It made him take risks even David would avoid. It finally tripped him up and David caught him at last, the blade of his long sword driving into the duke’s chest and bursting bloody from his back.
Rafe screamed, a lingering affection for his father tinting the sound with grief.
Ignoring the boy’s cries, David pushed in close to the duke, shoving the last foot of the sword into the shuddering body. Raising his other blade, he snarled, “This is for Dina and Castillo.” He rammed the sword through Ibarra’s throat.
Duke Alamar de Ibarra, the latest of a very long line of men who had controlled David, who had cursed him to be something he hated, died. The pain inside faded into a dull ache, and an odd emptiness settled into its place.
As he let the body slide off his weapons and crumple to the floor, David realised what that emptiness was.
Dead Bones Page 49