Emergence (Book 2)

by K. L. Schwengel

  Donovan staggered from his bed, his shoulder connecting with the doorframe on his way out of the room. The dim light of a single wall-mounted oil lamp sliced across his vision as though someone had pierced his eyes with a knife. He flicked a backhanded wave, and the flame went out. Even that minor use of power sent his stomach roiling.

  "Priestess."

  He slammed into the door across from his. Damn the unholies if she had not already woken.

  "Priestess," he said, louder.

  The door gave way, and he lurched into her arms. She pushed him upright and guided him to her bed, allowing him to collapse onto it. She swung his legs up, folding a blanket over him.

  "The Lady's power is killing you," she said. "You need to release it."

  "No."

  "You are not meant to hold more than one. It will destroy you."

  "You know nothing of it."

  "I know what I can see," she said, her voice sharp. "It grows worse with each passing day. It is her curse upon you for your betrayal. If you don't find a way to release it, you will die."

  Donovan groaned at the dagger-like pain in the back of his skull. He had been so close to claiming the General, closer than he had ever been before. A single moment longer and he would have tasted victory. And then the crone's power had overwhelmed him. Had forced him to relinquish his hold on the Dominion magic and release the General. Even then, if he could have returned in time he could have gathered the shattered bits of the man and claimed him. That moment had now passed.

  The priestess laid a hand across his forehead. Her touch seemed the one thing able to calm the crone's power, though even that cure had started to take longer. Or perhaps it was because Donovan found it necessary to draw from the crone's power continuously in order to maintain the wards that kept his actions invisible to the Emperor and the Imperial Mages.

  He would need Arnok's intervention to make that no longer a necessity.

  "Tell Colm to summon Arnok," Donovan said, the thinness of his voice unnerved him. "We will need to move quickly now. I cannot abide in Nisair much longer."

  The priestess made a noise that would have earned her a slap had Donovan the strength. "A fool's decision, coming here at all. You toyed with her on the road when you should have taken her from their clutches."

  He found the strength to strike her for that comment. The blow had little behind it though, and the priestess skipped back with a hiss.

  "Do as I say, Priestess," Donovan said, spittle flecking his lips. "Do not think I will hesitate to kill you for your insolence."

  "Pah. Kill me and kill yourself," she said, heading for the door. "I am all that can ease the Lady's hold on you."

  She left him lying there, gritting his teeth, and shivering beneath the blanket, the truth of her words sliding into him like a sharp blade. He swiped at his nose, surprised by the streak of red across the back of his hand when he pulled it away. Haste made for errors, but Donovan no longer had the luxury of waiting. He would need to strike as soon as possible.

  ***

  "I want you and Salek to take this to the Emperor." Commander Garek scrubbed a hand across his face, and handed Berk a folded parchment. From the looks of it, he'd been up all night. "Leave right after you get some breakfast in you."

  Berk must have hesitated because the Commander's brows went up by the same degree the corners of his mouth pulled down.

  "Is there a problem?" he asked. "Because Goddess knows, that's what I need right know is another one."

  "No, sir." Berk tapped the message against his fingertips and glanced across the still-empty common room. "Are the General and Ciara all right?"

  "Lady Nialyne says Ciara is just exhausted. The verdict's still out on the General. Damn magic. I can't tolerate it." He dipped his head toward the parchment. "It's all in there. Emperor's eyes only. Understood?"

  "Yes, sir," Berk said, still not moving off as he tried to come up with a non-offensive way of broaching the fact he'd no desire to be the one going to Nisair.

  "There's something sticking in your craw, lad," Garek said. "I can see it. I've about run out of patience so you best give out with it or swallow it."

  Berk shifted and thought about just taking the message, finding Salek, and heading toward Nisair. Instead, he said, "Why not send a couple of Captain Rothel's men?"

  The Commander leaned back in his chair and sucked his teeth, and Berk knew he'd pushed at the wrong time. Too late to take it back now.

  "I'm going to take a wild guess at what this is about, so let me do something out of the ordinary and explain my reasoning to you." He shifted forward again, leaning his forearms on the table and fixing Berk with a hard glare. "There's nothing saying the road between here and Nisair is clear. Salek's done in. You know it as well as I do. He's seen too much he can't deal with quite yet. I can't say with any amount of certainty that if we had a set-to we could rely on him just now. Can you?"

  Berk shook his head and kept his mouth shut.

  "He needs to get home. I need someone he knows to get him there. Someone I can trust to keep a cool head if something should go wrong. You want to leave that to one of Rothel's men?"

  "No. I just--"

  "Damnit, Berk, you're trying me. It's nothing to do with what happened at Broadhead, if that's what you're thinking. This isn't some kind of punishment."

  Berk hadn't even thought about Broadhead. But probably better the Commander had, because the real reason wouldn't make him any happier. And then he must have read Berk's mind because he blew out a sigh and shook his head.

  "Lad, that one's a lost cause. You care for her, I can see that, and she's a lucky woman for it, but you're not blind either. You know how that sits." The Commander pushed out of his chair and groaned as he arched his back in a stretch. "I need sleep. You need to get Salek and deliver that message to the Emperor. So we're done here. Right?"

  Berk nodded. "Right." He tucked the parchment behind his belt, saluted, and left the common room kicking himself for being a fool.

  ***

  The ride from the Oak to Nisair took a day at a leisurely pace. Once on the road, Berk had little desire to take it easy. Salek seconded that once he found they were heading home, so the pair arrived in the city well before dusk. Per the Commander's orders, they entered Nisair through the garrison gate instead of through the city. Set in the northern wall, the gate opened to an archway four horse lengths long and wide enough to ride five abreast. Arrow slots dotted the walls and murder holes broke the smooth curve of the ceiling. The iron portcullis at either end stood open in times of peace but never went unguarded. Beyond lay a broad, cobbled courtyard. The guards' barracks, three stories tall, nestled against the inner wall. An L-shaped building that housed the stables, smithy and armory sat opposite it. To the east rose the Imperial castle.

  Their horses' hooves clattered off the stones as they crossed the yard. Berk dismounted and passed his horse off to one of the stable boys with a request to see his bags taken to the barracks. When he turned he found Salek still mounted, staring at nothing in particular.

  "Hey, c'mon, Sal," he said. "You're not off-duty yet. You need to chase down Mauralyn and see to getting rooms ready for the ladies."

  Salek nodded. "Sure." But he made no move to dismount.

  Berk slapped his leg. "Move it. See to those rooms, get your gear stored, then consider yourself off-duty until the Commander sends someone looking for you."

  Again the nod, fingers twisting the reins between them.

  "Look, we're home now," Berk said. "You have to leave everything else behind you."

  Salek turned a stricken look his way. "I'm just supposed to forget about Duff and Kort?"

  "I didn't say that. Remember them, honor their memory, drink a toast to them tonight, but the rest of it--you can't change what happened. Dwelling on it doesn't make it any better. Go on, now. Find Mauralyn and get those rooms set up. I need to pass the Commander's report on to the Emperor. Unless you'd rather..."

  "No." Sa
lek swung his leg over the horse's rump and dropped down. Younger than Berk by a good five years, the prospect of direct contact with the Emperor still unnerved him enough to set him in motion. "No, I'll see to the rooms."

  Berk squeezed his shoulder. "Get to it then."

  He watched Salek head off across the yard toward the housekeeper's quarters, a slump to his shoulders, then turned in the opposite direction slapping the dirt off his uniform with his gloves as he walked. Good words of wisdom he'd given Salek, and far easier to say than to do. Closing his eyes still brought images of the marauder's camp flooding into his mind. The guilt and shame that came with those memories made them even harder to bury. Goddess above, how could Ciara even look at him without distrust and revulsion after what he'd tried to do? She could tell him a thousand times over the drug had been to blame, and act as though it hadn't happened, but Berk couldn't seem to shake the specter of it. Maybe if he didn't harbor the hope she could ever give him more than a passing glance, he'd be more inclined to let it go.

  He let out a frustrated growl. Ciara's kindness toward him had been nothing more than the Lady of the Greensward offered.

  She's a healer, Berk reminded himself. It's in her nature to be caring. Doesn't make you any more special than anyone else.

  Berk's boot heels echoed off the flagstones as he crossed the Great Hall to the stairway in the back. He took the steps two at a time, suddenly anxious to just be done with his messenger duties and have a few moments of peace without having to be constantly looking over his shoulder.

  He rounded the corner toward the Emperor's office and came up short, sidestepping to avoid a collision with a figure in deep amber robes. The man swept his dark gaze over Berk from head to toe in the kind of contemptuous appraisal most people had come to expect from this particular Imperial Mage.

  Berk dipped his head in a quick bow nonetheless. "Your pardon, Lord Arnok." He skirted around, not intending on stopping.

  "Oh, of course." Lord Arnok's voice dripped with sarcasm. "How silly of me to have gotten in your way."

  Berk stiffened. He turned slowly, making every effort to keep a pleasant expression on his face. "My apologies, my lord, I should have been more careful."

  Arnok flicked some unseen speck from the sleeve of his robe with an elegant backhanded motion but his eyes never left Berk's. "You're one of Commander Garek's men, aren't you?"

  "Yes, my lord."

  "Then the Lord General is..."

  "Not yet within the city," Berk said. "They hope to arrive by tomorrow evening."

  "They hope to arrive? There have been more problems since Broadhead?"

  "Just a delay."

  "What sort of delay?"

  "With all due respect, Lord Arnok, my orders were to give my report to the Emperor alone," Berk said.

  "I see."

  Lord Arnok continued to stare at Berk. He looked about to say something else when a shiver coursed through Berk, followed by beads of sweat. Unbidden memories and emotions flashed through his mind so quickly it made his stomach lurch. He shook his head and took a step back, his hand shooting out to grip the wall as a sudden wave of dizziness wreaked havoc on his sense of balance.

  "Are you injured?" Arnok's voice lost some of its haughty disdain as he took Berk's elbow.

  Berk rubbed a hand across his face. "No. No, I think I'm just--" He squeezed his eyes shut and steadied his breathing. Just exhausted, he thought. That's all. He extracted himself from the mage's grip and straightened, the fog lifting as quickly as it had come. "I'm alright."

  "Now it is I who should apologize for my ill manners. I, of course, hold the guard in as high esteem as I hold the Emperor himself. Without them, who would be able to sleep without fear?"

  "Is there something else I can help you with, my lord?" Berk asked. "If not, I need to make my report to the Emperor."

  The upturn of the mage's lips made his expression look like a smile though it held no warmth. "No, nothing at all. Please, carry on."

  Berk gave another respectful nod before turning away to continue down the corridor. He could feel Lord Arnok's eyes on him until he entered the anteroom outside the Emperor's office. Even then, his presence seemed to linger until the Emperor's aide stepped out to usher Berk through the wide, double doors.

  ***

  "You put us both at risk with your constant summons," Arnok announced as he entered Donovan's study. He stopped short, just inside the doorway, his gaze narrowing. "You are unwell."

  Donovan curled a lip. "And you presume that gives you an edge. Allow me to assure you it does not. Should you attempt to try me the Order of Mages will find themselves in search of a new leader."

  Arnok scowled and crossed his arms, tucking his hands in his copious sleeves. The habit made Donovan curious as to what types of things the mage might keep stowed in them. A bit of poison, perhaps? A dagger? Some sort of protective amulet? None of which would surprise him in the least.

  Colm entered with a steaming mug of some concoction the priestess had brewed. It smelled like boiled swamp water, and tasted of mushrooms and dirt. Donovan wrinkled his nose but forced a mouthful down his throat. The priestess knew her herb lore, and possessed the uncanny ability to subdue the worst of the effects he experienced from using the crone's power. Or her curse, as the priestess had called it, and Donovan wondered at her use of that word.

  "Sit down, Arnok," Donovan said, his voice sharp.

  The mage did so after a moment's hesitation, folding his frame into the upholstered chair and arranging his robes of office with precise moves of his fingers. He caught Donovan's gaze and stilled his hands in his lap. Donovan would have laughed had he felt less like something left to die on the side of the road, and more like his normal self. The mage had actually attempted a bit of hand magic, a self-ward to negate Donovan's influence on him.

  "I sent my request shortly after dawn," Donovan said. "It is now dusk. I did not realize it took quite so long to travel here from the castle."

  "I have some news you may find interesting," Arnok said, ignoring the comment.

  "Do tell." Donovan took another swallow of the hot bog juice.

  "I ran into one of the Emperor's personal guard."

  "That is bound to happen when one spends a great amount of time fawning at his royal feet."

  A flash of anger lit Arnok's eyes. "This particular guard was one of those sent to provide escort to the Lord General and your...daughter."

  Donovan covered his reaction by holding the mug cradled beneath his nose. The stench brought bile rising in his throat. "They are in the city?"

  "If by 'they' you mean General Bolin and the girl, then no. Not yet. Apparently there was a delay of some sort. The guard felt they would be here by tomorrow evening. He didn't elaborate on the nature of the delay. His report was apparently for the Emperor's ears alone."

  "You have thus far failed to interest me," Donovan said.

  Arnok smiled, a parody of Donovan's usual expression. "I believe the man could be of use to you."

  "Of use to us? In what manner? I hardly have need of a personal guard."

  "I took the opportunity to read him. A ridiculously simple task, really."

  "As simple as reading you?" And Donovan would have done so merely to prove his point if his head were not still throbbing. The priestess's brew had helped, but the day had drained him. "I do not play guessing games, Lord Arnok. I have neither the time nor the patience for you to exercise your cleverness. Tell me plainly how this man will be of use, and then assure me of your willingness to cooperate with me, or tomorrow will be a day of mourning for the faithful of Nisair."

  Arnok stiffened. "Knowing your plan would make it easier for me to offer assurances."

  "Or to betray me," Donovan said. "What I require from you is a lifting of the city's wards."

  The mage barked out a laugh. "Impossible. That would take the entire Council and the Emperor himself."

  "Not necessarily. I have spent some time studying the structure of the
wards. There are points around the city at which they are weaker than others. Places where one or two Imperial Mages could manipulate them without the Council or the Emperor being any the wiser. The northwest corner of the outer wall, for instance."

  "You said one or two mages," Arnok said.

  "If you can manage on your own, then do so. If you cannot, then I suggest you enlist the aid of your youngest member."

  Arnok fussed at his robes, adjusting his chain of office as he shifted in the chair. "My part in this..." He wet his lips before dragging his gaze back to Donovan. "What is it exactly you hope to accomplish here?"

  "I plan to reclaim what is rightfully mine."

  "And afterwards?"

  "Have we not discussed this?" Donovan studied the mage. "Ah, you seek reassurance. You look for some guarantee of your position in the new order of things once I have become something even greater than your hag of a Goddess. I have a long memory, Lord Arnok. I value those who stand with me, and will not tolerate those who do not. Does that answer your question?"

  "I risk much to stand with you. If you should fail I will be ruined."

  "And what do you presume will happen should you not stand with me and I succeed? Ruin can come to a man quickly, or agonizingly slow. There is but one way for you to emerge from this whole. Now," Donovan waved Colm over and handed off his empty mug, "tell me how this Imperial Guard can be of use to us."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  "Welcome back."

  Bolin rolled his head and blinked, something which took far more effort than it should have. A thin shaft of dust-streaked light filtered in through the half closed shutter, showing Garek slouched in a chair, his feet propped on the end of the bed, ankles crossed. The expression he wore reflected a blend of concern and irritation. If Bolin had to guess, he could look forward to that look from more than just Garek.

  "Ciara?" The word came out like the croak of a frog.

  "Sleeping."

  "She shouldn't have..." Goddess's blood, he felt weak as a newborn, and stringing words together seemed an impossible task. "How long was I out?"