“So do I,” Suiden said.
I paid scant attention to the two captains—my gaze was riveted on who rode with Commander Loel. “Sirs—” Javes and Suiden looked where my finger was pointing, and they grew very still as Slevoic took up a position behind the commander.
“Well, it seems as though we’ve found the missing staff and skin,” Javes said.
The sun flashed off the shield Slevoic carried, turning it green, then purple. I allowed my eyes to shift to the hauberk, now turning for a brief moment pink, then back to white. Slevoic held in his other hand Prudence Oak’s body with a flag attached to it, and Javes leaned forward, trying to get a better look. “The House of Dru’s device: an oak tree,” he said. He gave a short laugh. “How ironic.”
Ironic. I blinked to clear the red mist that rose up at Slevoic’s mocking defilement. “Murdering spawn of hell,” I said as my hand grew warm.
“Yes,” Suiden said, a deep rumble in his chest. “I want this pastan auc.” Rabid dog? I frowned at Suiden’s Turalian as it occurred to me that Slevoic hadn’t translated this morning at the embassy.
King Jusson signaled and it fell silent in the square, the snapping of the pennants and standards the only sound. Then Lord Teram stood in his stirrups. “Citizens of Iversterre—”
“No pretty speeches, Teram ibn Flavan e Dru.” Jusson’s mild voice carried over the entire square. “You are in rebellion against your king.”
“He’s of Dru?” I stared at Teram in horror, my skin crawling at the thought of being connected to Slevoic and Gherat’s House.
“His mother,” Suiden said. “No blood relation to you.”
“What do the aristocracy do? Go around marrying each other?” I asked.
“Yes,” Suiden replied. “Your parents did.”
“Rebellion?” Teram shouted back at the king. “You’re harboring an evil sorcerer—”
“Told you,” murmured Javes.
“—taking him into your House, to the very throne! We are not rebels!” Teram waved his hand around at his men. “We are the last bastion against the corruption you have let loose on Iversterre!”
“And the fact that Lord Rabbit has sixty-four degrees and you only forty has nothing to do with any of it,” Jusson said, his mild voice turning dry.
“Sixty-four?” I asked, startled. “It’s not seventy-two?”
“No,” Javes said. “There’s some duplication. All that intermarrying.”
“I have proof of his sorceries!” Teram yelled. “Done right here in the Royal City!” He beckoned and an assorted group of people emerged from behind his troops to stand in front of him. Recognizing most of them, I sighed.
Javes sighed with me. “As I said, anyone could be suborned.” The server from the restaurant with cold drinks, silver-haired Guarez from the royal furniture shop, the duty cook from the Royal Garrison, a servant in Flavan livery, even the man who flinched away from me when we watered our horses in the park. I glared at the ground, thinking it was too bloody hot for this rotting nonsense.
“He also has seven brothers and sisters, each one twenty-four lines closer to the throne than you’ll ever be,” Jusson said, his voice even drier as he ignored the witnesses.
“All abominations, like he is!” Teram shrieked, the king finally goading him into abandoning his rehearsed speech.
“Why? Because you say so?” The king shifted in his saddle. “This has nothing to do with sorceries and everything to do with you coveting what you never will have. Not now, not ever, Flavan of only forty lines to the throne. We still hold the Royal compound, including the garrison and bridge. Our men have secured the city gates and our Own are now at the House of Dru. Your confederates have failed and are either fled or in our dungeons.” He waved a hand in my direction. “And Lord Rabbit ibn Chause e Flavan has once again escaped from your clutches.” The men in front of me parted and I smiled, nodding at my cousin.
“Not all have fled or are imprisoned, Jusson ibn Iver!” Teram screamed, flinging a hand up, and I heard a muted thwack, then a buzz, sort of like a bumblebee’s hum. I recognized the sound and my heart jumped, then sped up as everything else slowed down. I barely raised my shield before feeling a thump against it.
“Archers!” someone cried.
Another thwack and the buzzing sounded again.
Trust, the wind said.
The humming abruptly stopped, the square becoming absolutely quiet. After a moment I lowered my shield, an arrow quivering in it, my thumping heart the only sound I heard. Jusson was once more staring wide-eyed, but instead of at me, he was focused on an arrow that was frozen in midair a span away from his face. Beside him, Thadro was also wide-eyed as he tried to cover the king with His Majesty’s shield. I looked around and saw other arrows in shields and shattered on the ground, but more hung in the air, stopped midflight.
Jusson reached out a finger to touch the arrow in front of him. He watched it fall to the ground, as did all the others that hung in the air. He then turned gold eyes on Lord Teram.
Teram did not hesitate. “Witchcraft! See how the arrows stopped—”
“Take them,” Jusson said.
There wasn’t time for the trumpets to sound the advance. Nor was there room in the square for any clever battle plans, any elegant maneuvering for position. The two sides simply fell on each other with a clash that made my ears ring: swords against swords, against shields, against armor, enraged horses screaming, men shouting. Suiden swirled away, his sword rising and falling. I heard a man cry out and Suiden’s sword shone red. Javes pressed forward, his own sword flashing out and striking sparks as his lips pulled back in a snarl. I followed him, my horse shouldering king’s men, mercenaries, and rebel troopers out of the way in my haste. “Slevoic!” I bellowed.
I reached the front of the king’s line and out of the corner of my eye I saw Esclaur and another lordling both ride to the witnesses who huddled together in terror of wayward swords, battle-axes and flailing hooves. Jusson separated a man’s head from his body, then charged forward to engage Teram, but the Flavan lord instead rode towards me while Commander Loel bore down on the king. At that moment the melee parted and I caught a glimpse of purple. “Slevoic!” I tried to ride past Teram, shoving at him with my shield. But he dodged it and brought his broadsword up in a show of competence, the blade whistling past my head. I bent low, using my knees to turn my horse around to face him and raising my shield just in time to block a second hacking blow. I was startled at the power behind it, the hit jarring my arm.
“You should’ve stayed in the Border, cousin,” Teram said as he swung again, grunting with the effort. “But now I shall mount your head above my throne. And I shall warm my feet on a mountain cat rug.” What I’d thought was fat contained a fair amount of muscle—once again blocking his sword jarred my shield arm. He closed in, trying to unseat me, but my horse pushed his off, hooves flashing out, teeth biting at his horse’s neck.
Eso Dru, Slevoic’s cousin. I wondered how I could have missed the malice behind Teram’s “well met” front. I opened my mouth to speculate on his mating habits and probable parentage of his children but I found myself yelling, “Reaver!” as the rune’s warmth filled my hand again, traveling up my arm.
“Oh, really! Is that the best you can do?” Teram’s eyes slit in a smirk. “No ‘Murderers’ or ‘Assassins’?” He shook his head. “What a bumpkin!” He brought his sword around and I dodged out of the way. I then raised my own sword and this time he parried with his shield. He feinted, then swung once more at my uncovered head. I ducked, and at the same time brought my sword up to his open side. His hauberk deflected it, but I hit him hard enough to cause him to gasp for air, his eyes indignant that the Border provincial had dared to connect a blow.
“Reaver!” I yelled again, as the warmth from my hand spread across my body. I thrust at his sword arm and when he shifted his shield to block, I brought my sword around at his knee. He quickly lowered his shield to stop me, and I hit his exposed f
ace with the edge of my own shield, his nose exploding like a ripe tomato despite the nose guard on his helm. Teram grunted, this time in pain, and tried to bring his shield up once more, but it had caught on the bottom of mine. I dropped my shield inside of his and pulled, yanking him out of his saddle, and Teram fell to the ground with a surprised shout and clatter of armor. He still held onto his sword, though, and tried to gut my horse by thrusting it up through his belly. But my horse reared up and danced on his hind legs, ready to bring steel-shod hooves down on Teram ibn Flavan e Dru.
“Hold, Rabbit!” A hoof from another horse came down, and Teram’s mouth opened in a gasping scream as his sword hand was crushed. I allowed my horse to land, his hooves alighting on either side of Teram’s head, and I found myself staring at King Jusson, Lord Commander Thadro behind him. Jusson gave me a very nasty smile, a cut dripping blood down his cheek. “This one’s mine, cousin, and I want him alive. For now.” More than willing, I moved out of the way as Jusson was joined by his wolf pack and guards, and I scanned the square. To my surprise, the battle was already ending; many of the turncoats were kneeling in surrender while Commander Loel lay unmoving on the ground. Several of the King’s Own had joined Esclaur in guarding the witnesses, while a mixed group of troopers, guards and lordlings rode past me to Flavan House to pound on the gate. More went down the sides of the mansion, where they also hammered on doors. Esclaur saw me looking and, with a word to a guardsman, wheeled his horse and headed my way at a fast trot.
I was trying to find Suiden or Javes when something flickered off to the side, and I turned to see Slevoic ride into a side street on the other side of the square. I urged my horse to follow and, hearing more horses behind me, I spared a brief look over my shoulder and saw Jeff and Esclaur. Pacing with them was Basel’s stag haunt. I faced forward and cantered down the side street and, seeing a flash go around a corner, I swung my horse wide and stopped at the street’s mouth to peer in, making sure there wasn’t an ambush. There was. Slevoic and about twenty renegade troopers were waiting. All facing me.
Slevoic smiled as he held Prudence Oak’s body in one hand, his blue eyes gleaming in the street shadows. “Oh so easily led Border puke.” He made a show of looking us over. “No Groskin?” His smile widened. “I’d be careful who I’d let get behind me. No telling who else doesn’t like freaks.” His men laughed at his wit.
I was getting really tired of facing smirks. “Captain Suiden is behind me, Vicious. Should be here any minute.” (My hand didn’t burn, so it must’ve been true.) I watched the smile falter on his face at the thought of coming face to face with the dragon prince. I looked at the renegades. “You should’ve seen him this morning. I thought he was going to have an accident.”
“Shut up, freak!” Slevoic was not amused.
“Me a freak? Tell me, do your playmates know what you’re wearing, Vicious? What your banner staff is made of?”
“I said shut up!”
Suppressing the urge to say “Make me,” I sighed. “Commander Loel is dead and Teram is captured. The rebellion is put down, Slevoic. It’s over.”
“Perhaps it is, Lord Sweet Cheeks Puke, or perhaps the best is yet to come, but right now it’s just you and me.” Slevoic said, reaching for his sword.
I once more marveled at Slevoic’s universe that excluded the other twenty plus people with us. But again, I was more than willing, and I hefted my own sword while my horse took a step forward, his hoof loud against the cobbles.
“What the hell is that?” one of Slevoic’s men yelled. I stopped and looked at him but he was staring beyond me, his eyes wide.
I frowned for a moment, then smiled as something pale ghosted up to my side. “Why, this is Trooper Basel.” I looked back at Slevoic. “Remember our cook, Vicious? You know him—you two served together until he was transferred to the mountain patrol.” I leaned forward. “He was murdered today, his throat slit while he was out in the kitchen garden.”
“The mutant cat probably did it,” Slevoic said, also staring at the shade.
“Border folk hold white stags sacred,” I said as Basel moved to where I could more easily see him. “Laurel Faena would no more have killed him than the patriarch would desecrate church altars. No, one of his troop mates murdered him.” Basel lowered his antlers and silently struck the street with a hoof, and I shifted my gaze once more to the soldiers behind Slevoic. “He also sabotages weapons. Are you sure you want to go off with him?”
The turncoats muttered, a couple even starting to ease away, but froze as Slevoic turned to glare at them. He whipped his head back around at me, and I bit off an exclamation at how his eyes were now glowing. “Nobody’s going anywhere unless I say so.”
“Bones and bloody ashes,” Jeff said from behind me. “What’s happening to the Vicious?”
Not only were his eyes glowing, but also his hauberk, shield and banner staff. Slevoic hadn’t translated in the embassy. But neither had I or the royal healer. I knew why I hadn’t and I could guess why the healer hadn’t—both of us were mage-born. That meant that Slevoic—
“Sorcerer,” I said.
Just then I heard horses approaching from the square, moving fast. “Rabbit!” Suiden called, his voice echoing.
“Here, Captain!” I called back.
“No!”
I stared at Slevoic, tasting his sudden terror bitter across the back of my tongue as he stared over my shoulder. My horse danced, pulling against the reins as he too felt the intense fright of the man. Surprised, I moved so that I could see what was coming down the street while keeping an eye on the Vicious, but it was only my captain leading troopers. I shot a quick glance at Basel, but he hadn’t moved and now stood with raised head, looking as puzzled as a ghost stag could.
I looked back at the lieutenant again. Even with the scare Suiden gave him that morning at the embassy, Slevoic’s reaction was extreme, sweat pouring down his colorless face, his hands shaking. Then memory burst upon me of how I was when I started to come into my power. “Oh, hell—”
“No! Keep away!” Slevoic howled, raising Pru Oak’s body just as Suiden drew even with me, and I could see Pru’s eyes—black pits in her screaming face.
Get down! the wind said.
Get down, Rabbit! I heard Laurel bellow.
“Duck!” I shouted as I slammed down along my horse’s neck. My pommel caught me in the stomach, hard, knocking my breath out of me, and it grew dark as I tried to suck in air. I swallowed, this time a metallic taste filling my mouth. A roaring filled the street and I vaguely heard screams and horses galloping off.
Whatever had just happened, I thought, it was not good.
Chapter Forty
I lay wheezing in my saddle as I was led out of the side street back into the square, my eyesight still dim with sudden flashes of light, the metallic taste strong in my mouth. Once we reached the square, Jusson took one look at my face and told me to go inside Flavan House. I did not argue, even when I was made to lie on a couch in a room off an enclosed atrium filled with bright, twittering birds. I closed my eyes, the butterflies settling on my head.
After a while my breathing became easier and when I heard a commotion outside the room, I sat up. The door flung open and the king entered, followed by Captain Thadro, his Own, Lord Esclaur, and Captains Javes and Suiden. Jeffen, who was sitting guard, and Basel, who hovered in the corner in his man form, jumped to attention.
“So you’re saying that you don’t know what happened?” Jusson asked. He had cleaned the blood off his face, the thin cut along his cheekbone already scabbed over.
“No, Your Majesty,” Suiden replied. “I had followed Lieutenant Rabbit and found him and Trooper Jeffen facing off against Slevoic and a small detachment of rebels. The moment I arrived, though, Rabbit yelled ‘Duck.’ ” A wry smile crossed his face. “I’ve learned, Your Majesty, that in battle it’s not wise to ask questions when someone shouts an imperative. I ducked.”
There was muted laughter, and a smile flitted a
cross the king’s face.
“When I came up again,” Suiden said, “parts of the street were scorched and Slevoic and the rest were gone.”
“I see,” Jusson said. He walked over to the couch and looked down at me. “And you, cousin? Are you well? Your color is better.”
“Yes, sire,” I said. “I’m well.” I stood, a little loath to be sitting while the king was standing. Except for some wobbliness in my legs, everything seemed to be working fine.
“Good.” He grabbed Jeff’s chair and sat down, waving me back to my seat on the couch. “Then perhaps you can tell us what happened.”
“Slevoic is starting to come into his power, Your Majesty,” I said.
A bird chirped and then fell silent.
“Define ‘power,’ ” Jusson said.
“He’s mage-born, same as me, sire, and he’s going through what I just did.” I looked at Suiden and Javes. “Only three people didn’t translate in the embassy, sirs. Me, the healer, and Slevoic.” I cast a wary glance at Jusson. “I’m not calling the honored healer a mage, but she probably has some talent.” I indicated the butterflies and braid. “You know what I am. So what does that make Slevoic?”
“Sorcerer,” Jeff said, staring at me. “You called him a sorcerer.”
“He wears dragon skin and carries a death staff, Jeff. With his, uhm, bent, it’s not a wholesome combination.” I felt the resistance, the refusal to believe that a member of a Great House could be something so foul. “What would you call him if his hauberk was human skin and his standard attached to human bones?”
“That’s different—” Thadro began.
“No, it’s not. Sir. They were people.” I looked back at Jusson. “Even before this”—I waved at my hair again— “happened, I didn’t want to be anywhere near the staff or hauberk, warded or not. Neither did anyone else—Trooper Ryson even avoided them. Slevoic is wearing one, has attached his House’s device to another—and it probably gives him great pleasure.”
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