Korith stood as well, letting his host’s subtle reference slide without reaction. Thordike’s network of informants was beyond impressive. Jayden had learned over the past few weeks that it put his own to shame. Any information Korith passed on, Thordike already seemed to know. It was a daily struggle to feel as though he was participating in their “alliance”, which he knew his future claim to a throne depended on. Best to be cooperative, though, be patient and learn what he could while Thordike trusted him.
“More magic users, do you think?”
Thordike shook his head. “No, I don’t meet with them personally until they choose to stay. Simon introduces them to the others, who explain what to expect. I won’t force anyone into a war, not if I can help it.”
Korith was stunned. “You … let them leave? Knowing they have unnatural powers?”
“Very few choose to go, but yes. Not a one of them has caused a moment’s trouble.”
“Still, the risk…”
Thordike rolled his eyes. “Not to me. Most of them only hate you. Speaking of that, would you prefer to wait in your room while I talk to the newcomers?”
Jayden bristled. “Am I a part of this alliance or not, Thordike? Their opinion of me has nothing to do with the danger facing the land right now.”
“Simply an offer,” Thordike said, moving towards the door. “Let’s see what they have to say, then.”
Korith followed his host, standing to the left of Thordike’s chair and surveying the group that was gathered in a tight knot in the receiving hall. They were ragtag at best, Korith thought, but they could pass for soldiers with some training. Most of them looked hardened, as though they’d seen their share of fighting already. Korith’s appraisal of the group came to an abrupt halt when he recognized one of the men, and the color drained from his face. This couldn’t be.
“Welcome,” Duke Thordike was saying, cheerful and pleasant as was his usual. “Enemies of Semaj are always welcome here. How may I aid you?”
One of the men, a lean man with dark hair and a green cloak, stepped forward and began to speak, but managed barely a word before Duke Korith interrupted.
“Arrest that man!” Jayden pointed directly at the forest walker, the man who had escaped from beneath his very nose. The man looked at him and Korith could see the recognition on his face. There was no doubt - this was Calder.
Thordike set his jaw, reaching for patience. He held up a hand to silence Korith before the Duke could shout again. The gathered men were more than prepared to draw their weapons, and he didn’t want this getting out of control.
“Duke Korith, I will do no such thing. I will, however, ask why you feel strongly enough to interrupt my guests.” Thordike saw flickers of emotion on every face when he mentioned the visiting Duke’s name.
Jayden’s face was twisted and angry. “That is the man my exiled soldier set free,” he snapped, not taking his eyes from Calder’s face. The ranger didn’t respond, but the others moved closer to him in a show of support.
Thordike took in the motion, and nodded to himself. “Well. It seems some introductions are in order,” he said. He smiled as if the tension in the hall was not there, and gestured to the pink-faced Korith. “This is Duke Jayden Korith of Epidii, and I – as you know – am Duke Thordike. I would like your names, please, one at a time.”
Rhodoban was already in front of the others, so with a glance to Jovan, he bowed low in front of Thordike. “I am Rhodoban of Foley, your Lordship.” He stepped back into the group as if he had not seen the surprise evident on both Dukes’ faces at the mention of Foley.
Jovan gave a respectful nod, but did not move from his position. “Jovan Fisher,” he said clearly. He looked directly at Duke Korith when he spoke. The Duke turned nearly purple with recognition and rage.
“You!” Duke Korith charged from the dais, drawing his knife and heading for Jovan, but Thordike’s surprised guards stopped him short. “Let me through!” he shouted. “I demand you arrest that man immediately!” He struggled against the guards holding him even as another wrested the blade away from him.
Jovan never took his hand from the hilt of his sword, but neither did he draw it. He simply watched.
Thordike threw up his hands. “What did this one do?”
Korith shook off the guards and stood straight, practically trembling with suppressed anger. He pointed at Jovan. “That man killed my son.”
“I never touched your son.” Jovan kept his voice even.
“Liar! You hated that I closed those barbaric fighting pits. You killed him to spite me! You beat him to death!”
“I did not kill your son,” Jovan repeated.
Duke Thordike motioned for silence, leaned forward in his chair, and gestured at Calder. “You, sir. What is your name?”
“I am Calder, my Lord. I call no city my home.” The ranger looked from Thordike to Korith and back again.
“Thank you. Now, Korith. Is Calder the man released by the soldier Orrin, who you later exiled?”
“He is,” Korith said, not taking his eyes off of Jovan - a much bigger threat than the forest walker, as far as he was concerned. Jovan returned his stare with implacable calm.
“You told me the man Orrin had released was your son’s killer, did you not?”
Korith began to look uncomfortable, glancing to Thordike and then at the gathered men. “I did, but that was because my wife—“
Thordike shook his head, cutting off the man’s answer. “Now you’re telling me that it is this man, Jovan, who killed your son?”
Korith licked his lips, and slowly nodded.
“So Calder, then, is not your son’s killer?”
There was a long pause before Korith gave his reluctant, almost strangled answer. “No.”
Thordike smiled cheerfully. “Well then, now we’re getting somewhere. Calder, I will not be arresting you, and you will all please remove your hands from your weapons.”
Everyone – with the exception of Jovan - complied. Thordike noticed. “Jovan Fisher.”
“Duke.”
“You claim you did not kill Korith’s son, that you are not – as he says – responsible for the boy’s death?”
“That is the truth.”
Korith began to make sounds of protest, but Thordike sent the Duke a warning glare. “Is there any truth to Korith’s tale? Were you a pit fighter? Did he close the Arena?”
Jovan nodded. “I was. He did. But I never laid eyes on his son. I did not harm him, I did not kill him.”
“Then it was your brother,” Korith burst out, furious. He tried to take a step forward, only to be blocked again by Thordike’s guards. “It was one of you! I have my sources, I know for fact—“
“By the Break, Korith, would you stop shouting for a moment so we can get to the bottom of this? Jovan? A brother?”
“Kaeliph didn’t kill anyone,” Jovan said.
“I’d like to ask him that, if I might.”
“He’s dead,” Jovan replied, unblinking. “I watched Korith’s men kill him.”
Thordike let that sink in for a moment. “Duke Korith, did you give that order?”
“Of course I did. I had prices on both of their heads. They killed my son!”
Jovan’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t bother with further protest.
Donnel Thordike took a deep breath. “Your son. You said he was beaten?”
“Yes.” Korith had eyes only for Jovan. “Lucian was barely seventeen, and this man beat him to death.”
“Jovan.” Thordike turned to the larger man. “In the Arena, what was your weapon of choice?”
“Sword. Same as now.”
“Your brother?”
“Rapier.”
“That doesn’t prove anything,” Korith insisted, finally turning to Thordike. “He obviously used his hands to avoid suspicion. My man said it was them, and I believe him.”
“Your man?” Thordike asked.
“My— Chancellor, Garen Tambor.” The hesitati
on in his voice was slight, but noticeable.
“I remember him,” Jovan said. “Fought bare-handed in the Foley Tournament. Disqualified for killing his opponent.”
“Where is this Chancellor now, Jayden? Perhaps we could speak with him and clear this up?”
Korith’s face was a mask, emotions warring beneath the surface. “He’s gone.” The visiting Duke’s voice was flat.
“Of course he is.” Thordike sighed, sitting back in his chair. “Well. You’ve now accused three separate men of the same murder, without evidence against any of them. I am truly sorry for the loss of your son, but unless you can provide more than suspicion, this matter is settled and I will hear no more of it. Therefore, Duke Korith, you will stop insisting that I arrest these people. They are as much my guests as you are, and you hold no dominion over them.”
Korith nodded, but he was clearly not pleased.
“Jovan. Duke Korith is also my guest, and any dealings you may wish to have with him concerning the death of your brother need to wait until you are not both under the protection of my roof, do I make myself clear?”
“You do.“ Jovan nodded, and finally took his hand off the hilt of his weapon. His eyes, however, remained fixed on Duke Korith, who had returned to standing silent behind Thordike, flanked by several alert guards.
“Now,” Thordike said. “Let us continue—“
“He was wrong, you know. Wrong. This changes everything.” The elderly man who entered the hall had an armful of scrolls, one of them partially open. He was focused on the paper, and did not look up until he nearly tripped over the dais where Thordike sat.
The Duke’s ever-present smile had slipped somewhat, and he rubbed at his mustache briefly. “Crestus …”
The old man continued, completely oblivious to his Lord’s guests. “It’s astonishing, my Lord. Phelwen Semaj was wrong. I’ve checked my findings several times …” His eyes went back to the scrolls, and he followed along a line of text with one wrinkled finger.
“Wrong about what, Crestus?” Thordike apologized to his guests with his eyes while trying to get the scholar’s attention.
“Magic, my Lord…” A long moment passed, and Crestus finally looked up from the scroll. “He was wrong about it.”
Thordike smiled. “You’ve mentioned. Could we perhaps discuss this another—“
Crestus frowned. “But the meaning, my Lord! We’ve blindly accepted Semaj’s writings because he went the farthest, accomplished the most. I have found proof that the very foundations of what we believe are false. Magic,” he spoke slowly and deliberately, “is not bound by bloodlines.”
He seemed disappointed when Thordike did not react to his statement.
“Duke, this is important - you must understand what this means! Anyone can use magic, not only those of a certain descent. It can be learned, though of course any teachings have been lost or destroyed…”
The Duke nodded. “Your findings are indeed important, old friend, but as you can see, I have guests. We will meet this evening to discuss what you’ve learned.”
Crestus turned around, seeing the assembled men for the first time. His eyes widened, and suddenly his scrolls spilled unheeded across the stone floor in a dry slither of ancient paper as he brought his hands to his mouth. He took a hesitant step towards Jovan.
“It can’t be,” he breathed, reaching towards Jovan’s sword. “It was lost, they were all lost, or destroyed...” He found his hand blocked by Jovan’s own. The old man looked up, and still further up, finally seeing the man instead of the weapon. “Let me see it, son!”
“Crestus, what is it?”
The scholar ignored Thordike’s question, reaching again for the weapon.
Jovan looked from the odd little man so interested in his sword to Duke Thordike, his glance a question. Thordike shrugged with a small nod, and Jovan slowly drew the blade from its sheath. Crestus went white.
“Vengeance.” The scholar’s voice was a reverential whisper. He stepped back, unsteady. “It has been found.”
“Vengeance?” It was Jovan who asked the question, viewing the decorative but well-balanced weapon with new eyes. The writing on the crossbar above the hilt was nothing he could read, and down each side of the blade were etched images depicting the phases of the moon. A black gem was set into the center of the crossbar on each side, and a perfectly round moonstone nestled into the pommel.
“That weapon could change history, my boy.” Crestus looked around at their curious faces. “Just after the Fall,” he explained, “after Semaj was defeated, artisans and mages alike worked together to forge items the likes of which had never been seen before … in case the threat were to come again.”
The old man laid his fingers gently on the blade balanced in Jovan’s hands. “Swords, rings, amulets, staves – all magically imbued with some power to be used against Semaj. The sacrifice was enormous,” Crestus continued. ”The magic user gave their own power to the item - sometimes more than one person’s magic was needed. Once it was made, they were never able to use magic again.”
“Why have we never heard of such trinkets?” Korith’s face was twisted in a disbelieving sneer.
“Because many of them were destroyed by those who came later,” Crestus replied. “Closed-minded purists, insisting that all magic was evil.”
Thordike looked over his shoulder at Korith, who ignored him.
“How come you by such a treasure, boy?” Crestus asked, running his fingers over the gems in the crossbar.
Korith snorted. “Stolen, no doubt.”
Jovan ignored him, and slipped the blade back into the sheath. “The weapon was a gift.”
That doesn’t make it any less stolen.
He could hear Melody’s smile along with her not-voice in his head, and his lips twitched slightly. She had given him the weapon outside of Foley, and Jovan had never asked where she had gotten it, or what it was. Perhaps he should have, but he wasn’t very interested in asking her anything at that point.
“You have discovered its power?” Crestus peered at him sharply, and again, Jovan nodded.
“One strike kills the undead - it doesn’t have to be a fatal blow.”
Thordike raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Well now, that is a helpful thing,” he agreed, leaning forward. “Magic does have its uses, it seems.”
“Especially against Semaj,” agreed Crestus, still eyeing the weapon at Jovan’s side as if he was afraid it would disappear without his gaze to hold it in place. “Mere steel will have no chance against him, as much magic as he’s been able to soak up.”
The men surrounding Jovan were nodding their assent, maintaining their tight knot behind him.
“I do have some mages in my employ,” Thordike said, leaning back in his chair. “With more arriving here recently. Only a handful of Healers, though. Recruiting them has been difficult, in large part to certain policies held elsewhere in the land. My word on their safety does not put them at ease enough to come forth. I wonder why.” He again shifted his eyes to Korith, whom he thought might have the decency to look embarrassed. Korith didn’t.
Instead, the visiting Duke’s eyes were fixed on the group of men in the hall, who had parted with a single step to either side. Thordike followed his gaze to the girl their motion had revealed.
“I can help you with that,” Melody said.
10
Every eye turned to Melody.
Korith stood frozen, momentarily paralyzed at the sight of the witch-child. She was the image of Solus, with the bearing of Bethcelamin, and she was standing right there in front of them, neither dead nor undead. It was both impossible and inarguable.
Melody thought she would feel something when she saw him, this man who had been hunting her for her whole life – but she did not. This man was married to her mother, she told herself, but the thought made no impact on her. This man had most likely given the order to kill her father. She felt sadness, but nothing else. No fear, not even anger.
&n
bsp; “Oh my.” Crestus took a step towards her, his eyes wide. He nearly stumbled, catching himself on Jovan’s arm.
“I’m sorry, sir, I did not mean to startle—”
Melody’s words were drowned out by Korith’s delayed shout: “Arrest her!”
Thordike stood and whirled to face Duke Korith, who took a quick step backwards at the sudden movement. “Jayden Korith, I have had enough!” Thordike’s raised voice echoed against the ceiling of the hall, and he snapped his guards to attention. “Remove this man at once.”
Korith backed away from the guards, pointing at Melody. “She is a greater danger than you can imagine! She is in league with Semaj himself!“ He struggled, still shouting, as he was dragged away. The door closed behind them, finally silencing his protests.
Thordike sat back down, taking a deep breath. “Did you also kill his son, my dear? There’s been a good deal of that today.”
Melody shook her head, not smiling at his joke. “No,” she replied, her eyes still on Crestus. She reached towards the scholar. “Are you all right, sir?”
The old scholar had kept his feet with Jovan's aid, but Thordike brought him one of the chairs from the dais just in case. Crestus sank into it gratefully. “It’s impossible,” he said softly.
“Crestus?” Thordike asked. “Do you know this girl?”
The elderly man shook his head, and regained his composure. “No, no,” he breathed. “Her pendant … that stone. I never thought I’d see it. Legend and myth, together, right under my nose. Extraordinary.”
Thordike furrowed his brow. “Another artifact?”
The old scholar shook his head. “Much older than that, Duke. It’s a Havenstone.”
Melody brought her hand up to touch the pendant Jovan had given her an eternity ago. The amber was smooth and cool under her fingers.
“The Havenstone, I should say.” Crestus corrected himself. “Legend only ever tells of one.”
“What is it, though?” Duke Thordike tried to contain his impatience. “Why is it important?”
“It’s a physical piece of an invisible place, that’s why. The Haven is a myth, a place of renewal that’s said to appear only to the faithful, in times of great need. That stone is proof that the Haven really exists.”
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