White Star

by Elizabeth Vaughan

  Blackhart turned and reached for another mug. “Three days’ hard ride from the shrine, in the Black Hills.” He looked at her over the rim.

  Evelyn took in the state of her clothes, her hair, the faint fuzzy taste on her tongue. “A sleep spell.” Indignant, she sat up straight and glared at him. “You used a sleep spell on me.”

  “I’ve an apprentice mage with me.” Blackhart looked smug. “After I hit you, he made sure you’d not awaken until I wanted you to. He said you’d not suffer thereby.”

  Evelyn narrowed her eyes. “Where is he?”

  “Hiding,” Blackhart said. “My men have seen what you can do, Lady High Priestess. They are not eager to have their eyebrows burned off.”

  “What’s to say that I won’t?” Evelyn pointed out. “You’ve kidnapped me, after all.”

  “I rescued you,” Blackhart corrected. “Fine thing, to roast your hero alive.”

  “My hero?” Evelyn sputtered, then laughed.

  “Exactly.” Blackhart stood. “And since I think the food is cooked . . . and if you promise not to hurt them, or give them some kind of crotch rot. . . .” Blackhart tilted his head at her. “We are all that stands between the odium and the people of the Black Hills.”

  “I won’t hurt them,” Evelyn said quietly.

  “Thank you.” Blackhart gave her an odd look and lowered his voice. “I need your help, Evelyn.” He lifted his head, and called out, “It’s safe. She won’t hurt you.”

  The pines stirred, and six men emerged, gathering up their plates and mugs, and settling by the fire.

  Evelyn studied them as Blackhart made introductions. They nodded their heads as their names were called, but seemed more intent on their food than anything else.

  The one named Archer had a mug in his hand but remained standing, watching over the area. She recognized the stance of a man on guard.

  The smaller man brought her a plate of pan bread and refilled her mug with kav. “I’ve seen you before, Reader.”

  “Might could be, ma’am.” The man bobbed his head nervously as he moved back to the fire.

  There was a huge, bald black man, his arms and face covered in decorative scars. His big white eyebrows rose as he gave her a nod and a smile. “Sidian, Lady High Priestess.” His voice was deep, as she’d expected, but he had an odd accent.

  The youngest, the one she felt certain had to be the apprentice, kept trying to hide behind Sidian.

  “I won’t hurt you,” Evelyn repeated.

  “Mage, settle down and eat,” Blackhart said. “We need to get moving as quick as we can.” He nodded to the last two men. “That’s Thomas and Timothy.”

  Those two, clearly brothers, settled by the fire and helped themselves to food.

  Evelyn bit into the warm bread, and chewed thoughtfully. They ate in silence. Blackhart moved to take Archer’s place, so that he could eat.

  After the last of the kav had been poured, the men started to gather their things.

  “There’s a stream back in the trees,” Blackhart said. “We’re off, as soon as we’ve broken camp. The town’s not far. If we ride hard, we’ll be there before sunset.”

  “I’ve nothing—” Evelyn cut off her words when Blackhart dropped a saddlebag by her bedroll. She licked her fingers, and opened it to find the few personal items she’d had at the shrine, and her spare clothes.

  She looked up at the man who stood standing there, looking down at her. She thought about her options for a moment, then stood, gathering up the saddlebag. Without a word, she handed the red cloak to Blackhart.

  He took it from her, and swept it over his shoulders.

  “I’ll just be a minute,” she said softly, and faded back into the trees. The stream was close, and there was a fallen tree where she could take care of basic needs. Once that was done, she knelt by the stream, and washed quickly in the cold water.

  She could leave. There was nothing stopping her from opening a portal and returning to the shrine, or to the church in Edenrich, for that matter. That was what she should do, under the sanctions the Archbishop had placed on her. Not to mention the gift from her father. That was still tucked within her robes.

  But her curiosity had the best of her. Blackhart was alive, and had men working for him. What had he managed to accomplish? And why did he need her?

  Evelyn sighed, using her robe to dry off. She braided her hair back up into its bun, and gathered her things into the saddlebag. She was a prisoner, wasn’t she? Unable to work magic, as the Archbishop had instructed. She’d have to go along with Blackhart, wouldn’t she?

  Rationalizations firmly in place, she walked back to the camp.

  ONCE they were mounted, Orrin gestured for Archer to take the lead. Usually he rode in back, but Orrin wanted his sharp eyes at the front on this ride.

  Archer raised an eyebrow, and nodded as he urged his horse forward. The others fell in line, and Blackhart took the rear.

  He had to watch the prisoner, didn’t he?

  He grimaced as his horse headed down the path. What was he thinking? Yes, she had power. Yes, she might help them. But she’d already risked so much on his behalf. This was trouble, pure and simple. There was no way she—

  “Orrin.”

  He looked up, and saw that she had waited for the road to widen as they emerged from the trees, and then moved her horse alongside his.

  “That shrine, where you found me, that was in Farentell.”

  “Yes,” Blackhart said. The truth would come out at some point, so he might as well tell her now. “Just on the edge of the old border.” He paused, giving her a hard look. “Your punishment?”

  Evelyn’s cheeks flushed pale pink. “Yes.” She frowned, and looked him in the eyes. “How did you know I was there? Only a few priests and the Archbishop knew.”

  Blackhart faced forward. “I’ve managed to gather more than a hundred men to aid me so far, about all that’s left of the army of the Black Hills. We decided to round up every living man, woman, and child, and stuff them into walled towns with strict curfews and warriors walking the walls. It accomplishes two things. It protects the people—”

  “And it ‘starves’ whoever is creating the odium,” Evelyn said. “They need living prisoners to make more.”

  “Right.” Blackhart shifted in his saddle as his horse set a steady walk. “Once we’d cut off the source, we started attacking, whittling down the numbers of the undead.”

  “How many?”

  Blackhart raised an eyebrow. “What?”

  “How many people have you saved?” Evelyn pressed.

  “Oh.” Blackhart paused, then shrugged. “Didn’t count them. Enough to stuff Wareington to the bursting point. Took us weeks to gather them together.”

  “Weeks?” Evelyn asked. “Didn’t they understand—”

  “He doesn’t always ask nice,” Sidian offered.

  “Farm folk can be kinda thick, ma’am,” Reader added.

  “I see.” Evelyn gave Blackhart an arched look.

  Blackhart scowled at his men. “This is a private conversation.”

  “Oh, that it is,” Reader said, not turning around on his horse. “There’s none about to hear us.”

  “So you forced people into the towns,” Evelyn concluded, a barely repressed laugh in her voice. “I take it they weren’t pleased.”

  “Like herding cats,” Blackhart grumbled. “A few saw the sense of it, but I had to insist with some others.”

  “Once within the gates, most came to understand,” Sidian pointed out. “They chafe at the restrictions, but there is always them that ignore the rules.”

  Evelyn coughed. Blackhart was sure she was biting the inside of her cheek. “But what does this have to do with how you found me?”

  “As I was saying,” Blackhart growled, “we cut off the source of new odium, and then started to try to wipe them out, clearing the countryside as we looked for more of the living. But lately it seems we’ve seen more and more odium, in larger groups.”


  “Maybe they are getting their victims from Summerford,” Evelyn suggested. “Or maybe Athelbryght.” Her tone was doubtful, even as she spoke.

  “Ain’t Athelbryght,” Archer spoke from the front. “No one’s moved back, leastways not along the border.”

  “And Lord Fael has pulled his people back from the border areas and into fortified towns,” Blackhart added. “He’s not pursuing the odium like we are, but he’s protecting the living.”

  “I’m not sure what this has to do with me,” Evelyn pushed.

  “We came across a large group of odium headed for Farentell. We attacked, wiped them out, and found this.” Blackhart fumbled in his belt pouch, cursed, and drew his horse to a stop. “Hold up, lads.”

  The group came to a stop, with Archer and the others taking up watch all around them. Evelyn sidled her horse closer to Blackhart.

  “Hurry up,” Archer said, scanning the fields around them. “Don’t like to sit for too long.”

  Blackhart handed Evelyn a piece of folded leather, and she spread it out to look at it. He watched her face as her eyes flickered over the crude pictures.

  “I don’t understand,” Evelyn said.

  “This is how we found you.” Blackhart leaned over. “This is the Keep, and this is the main road to Farentell.” He ran his finger down to point to the branching. “This is the road that branches off to your shrine. It’s not the most direct route, but easy enough for an odium to follow.”

  Evelyn gave him a doubtful look. “Odium are stupid. They are little more than corpses powered with magic. They barely follow spoken commands. They certainly don’t read.”

  Blackheart tapped the figure on the leather. “Then explain this.”

  Evelyn held the leather up, and looked closer. Blackhart knew full well what she was seeing. The crude figure of a woman with white hair, white robes, and pale blue eyes, standing before a shrine.

  Evelyn puffed out a breath, then opened her mouth.

  Blackhart cut her off. “And don’t try to tell me that there are other priestesses with white hair.”

  Evelyn closed her mouth.

  “And if you think you can explain it away, then explain this.” Blackhart turned to Reader. “Show her.”

  “Pulled this one off the ones we searched back at the shrine.” Reader took out a second piece of leather, and unfolded it to show Evelyn the same crude drawing.

  “We need to get moving,” Archer insisted. “We’re wasting time. Argue once we’re behind the walls.”

  Blackhart plucked the map from Evelyn’s hands. “They were sent for you, Lady High Priestess.”

  Evelyn looked at him with wide, startled eyes. He could lose himself in those light blue depths, but he looked away and crammed the leather back into his pouch.

  Archer urged his horse forward, and the others started to follow.

  “I was repaying my debt.” Blackhart kept his voice low. “Now, I find out that you wield more than just healing powers and the magic of the Gods. Just what other secrets do you have, Lady High Priestess?”

  SIXTEEN

  EVELYN didn’t say much for the rest of the ride, and Blackhart didn’t press her. She was grateful, lost in her own thoughts.

  To her knowledge, only the Archbishop, Dominic, and a few others knew where she’d been sent. Oh, the room had been filled with people when her banishment had been pronounced, but she couldn’t remember if the Archbishop had mentioned the specific shrine at that point.

  Of much more concern were the odium. Odium were supposed to be stupid: shuffling corpses powered by magic and a mage’s will. They were foul and dangerous, but there was no sense within them.

  Except that the odium that had attacked her had moved faster than she’d thought possible. And they’d carried a map. A crude one, easily read.

  What would they have done with her?

  A frisson of fear went up her spine. Whatever—whoever—was behind these things knew more about her than she did about them.

  And they wanted her.

  THEY reached the town walls just as the sun was setting.

  The gates were opened wide enough for them to ride in, then shut behind them. The courtyard beyond was filled with people. In the confusion, Evelyn wasn’t certain who was who, but she was grateful for the safety of high walls, and to slide out of the saddle. They’d ridden hard the last few hours, and she ached.

  Blackhart appeared next to her with an older woman. “Lady High Priestess, let me introduce Bella of Wareington. Bella is charged with our injured and the nursery.” Blackhart paused. “She’s a healer, Bella.” With that, he was gone.

  “You’re tired, Lady. Let me see to you,” Bella said, taking her saddlebag.

  Evelyn reached for her arm. “I’m a bit stiff, Bella, but naught that a bit of walking and standing won’t cure. Do you have a need for a healer? For the babes?”

  “Aye.” Bella’s face filled with pain. “We’ve a few warriors with infected wounds, and some of the babes should be seen to. Nothing life-threatening, but—”

  “Take me to the warriors first,” Evelyn said, straightening easily now that she knew she was needed.

  “This way,” Bella said with a pleased smile.

  BLACKHART found her in the nursery hours later.

  He’d seen to his men, checked the walls and the watch, and had reports from the scouts. All was as well as could be, given the odium in the countryside. They’d even found a few more families to bring within the walls.

  This late, the nursery was bedded down, children sleeping on every inch of the floor, the women watching over them. Blackhart took care to move quietly as he entered. It wouldn’t do to wake the children.

  He found Evelyn by the fire, a babe in her arms.

  She was cooing at the little one, rocking him gently. The firelight seemed to make her robes glow, and set her hair ablaze with glory. But then Blackhart blinked, and realized that she was glowing because she was working healing magic on the child.

  Bella put her finger to her lips. Blackhart nodded, and moved back to the door. “What’s she doing?” he asked softly.

  “A healing on the little one,” Bella whispered. “His mother died in childbirth, and his bowels aren’t—”

  “Enough.” Orrin lifted a hand to cut her off.

  Bella huffed at him. “The Priestess said she could set it right, and we might be able to get a bit more sustenance in him.”

  Blackhart nodded, then looked at the beds near the fire. “The others?”

  “Nothing that serious,” Bella answered. “Nothing to worry yourself over. We’d one with a bad rash on the bum, another with a croupy cough. She’s looked the others over, just in case.” Bella pressed her hand on his arm. “You’ve brought us a fine one, Lord Blackhart, that you have. She’s already seen to some of the warriors with infected wounds.”

  Blackhart shook his head, but Bella had already moved off to check the sleeping children. He leaned against the wall in the shadows, and watched.

  The baby was naked, dark-skinned, with black curls that hugged his head. He was kicking his feet and gurgling at the Priestess.

  Evelyn was smiling, whispering something as she rubbed the babe’s belly with her free hand. The light seemed to spill from her, catching on the white and gold of her robes.

  Blackhart’s eyes narrowed. Hadn’t she even changed? Bella was supposed to have seen to her.

  Evelyn’s lips stopped moving, and the deeply asleep babe’s head lolled to one side. She handed the child to one of the women, and rose from her seat by the fire. From across the room her eyes met his, and a spark went down his spine. Blackhart caught his breath as she walked toward him.

  “Haven’t you eaten?” he asked harshly, trying to cover the emotion in his voice.

  “I’ve had kav,” Evelyn said softly. “I wanted to see to the babes first.”

  “That was hours ago,” Blackhart snapped. He took her arm and pulled her out of the nursery, tugging her toward the stairs
. “You’re no use to me drained of power and starved.”

  Evelyn jerked her arm out of his grasp, and gave him a cold look. “I decide how to use my powers, Lord Blackhart. Healing babes is not a waste.”

  Blackhart scowled. “That’s not what I—”

  Evelyn brushed past him, and went down the stairs. “There’s food in the kitchen, I take it?”

  Blackhart cursed, and followed her.

  AN older man stood before the hearth, stirring a large stewpot as Evelyn entered the kitchen. He turned, and she caught her breath as she realized that he wore the traditional black robes of a priest of the Lady of Laughter.

  Blackhart followed her in, and stomped over to one of the long tables, claiming a bench for his own. “Dorne, this is Evelyn, Lady High Priestess of Edenrich.” Blackhart grabbed a mug and a pitcher of kav. “Dorne is our cook.”

  “But you are a priest,” Evelyn said.

  “What better way to a man’s soul than through his stomach?” Dorne smiled at Evelyn. “What can I get for you, Lady High Priestess?”

  Evelyn returned the man’s smile, then focused on his silver brooch and counted the stars on its surface. Her eyes widened, and she curtsied to the older man. “I greet thee, Your—”

  “Priest is more than enough of a title.” Dorne cut off her words, and gestured toward the table. “And Cook is an even better one, if you think my skills merit it. Let’s get you something to eat, shall we?” He turned and frowned at Blackhart. “There’s a well and a washbasin out back, Blackhart. Use both, and take the Priestess with you.”

  Blackhart drained his mug, and gestured for Evelyn to precede him. There was indeed a well, and Blackhart pulled the first bucket.

  “You do know that’s a priest of the Lady who’s cooking your meals?” Evelyn asked quietly. “I’ve never seen that many stars on a brooch before; he must be of high rank.”

  “What does that mean, in a land with barely enough people to fill this town? Besides, he’s said that he has no magic,” Blackhart said bitterly. “I value him more for his cooking and counsel than for any rank he might hold in a church. Especially yours.”