“No, it was--” A magebolt sent Stavin tumbling backwards and landed him flat on his back.
Karvik was suddenly at his side, propping him up. “Stave, are you all right?”
“Oh, Gods Above,” was all Stavin could manage to say. He sat up with Karvik’s aid and looked toward the wall. Servallan was standing on it with a smile on her face.
“Stave, you can’t fight her! She’s too powerful a mage! Ravashanal is helping her!”
“No. I don’t think she can, Kar. If Rava interferes, Arandar can as well. That’s all Servallan.” Stavin slowly climbed to his feet and used his Dragon’s Tongue as a staff to keep himself upright. “Get back, Kar. Outside the circle.” He looked around and saw that his own words were entirely correct: There was a circle of people around him and Servallan.
“Stave,” Karvik began, but Stavin shook his head.
“No, Kar. She won’t take me by surprise again.” Stavin limped forward again, reaching the same place, but this time he went to one knee. Servallan struck again, but he was braced by his Dragon’s Tongue and she just knocked him back a little, like a strong gust of wind.
“You can’t win, human,” Servallan hissed.
“What are you?” Stavin asked in a suspicious tone.
“Your death!” she screamed in reply and took a leap that was beyond any human, landing in front of Stavin. Her hand swung, hitting Stavin’s breast plate and knocking him onto his back. She attacked again, but Stavin, the tiny boy who had always fought bigger opponents, was ready.
The Dragon’s Tongue in Stavin’s hands flashed in a circle, taking Servallan’s hand off. Ruby red droplets sprayed in an arch as she whipped the stump of her arm back, but the damage was done. Stavin was sprayed with her blood, and some of it fell on the exposed skin of his face. He gasped in pain because the blood was scalding hot, like hot kava or tea.
Servallan staggered back screaming, and that scream turned to a screech that tore at Stavin’s ears. Her form seemed to flicker, then blur, then she changed. The lovely woman was gone: What remained was a small dragon-like creature about the size of a horse. Stavin recognized the creature from his studies: Servallan was a Draiger. But she was deformed.
Servallan’s left wing was stunted, resembling a withered leaf. Her left leg and arm were similarly twisted. As her head rose to keen in pain, her face was revealed to be as twisted as the rest of her left side.
Stavin scooted back on his hands and butt, frightened and intrigued by the creature above him. Then a trickle of the blood that had sprayed onto his face, just a drop of the draiger’s blood, entered his mouth and the dragon magic in his blood reacted to the magic in the Servallan’s blood. Stavin’s entire being ignited, lighting the scene and making him once again look like a statue of Arandar come to life.
Servallan was holding her severed wrist, howling in anger and pain, as Stavin rose to his feet. He was blazing with power now. His armor was brighter than Arandar above. His Dragon’s Tongue was a shaft of light. He felt invincible, like he had when he first held the Sword of Zel’Hallan.
Stavin’s voice rang across the circle and echoed off the temples surrounding them as he looked to the south. “You think to defeat me with this! You think the puny magic of a draiger can overcome the magic of a dragon?” He shifted his gaze to Servallan and sneered. “You foolish little bat! I will destroy you!”
Servallan fell back, holding the stump of her hand up to ward off Stavin’s wrath as she tried to escape. She tried to push herself back to the wall, back into the territory of her goddess, but without the magic to support her she was just a crippled creature of the air stuck on the ground.
Stavin stalked forward slowly, his Dragon’s Tongue spinning in his hands like the quarterstaff that was its ancestor, his golden eyes blazing at Ravashanal’s creature. Blazing at the creature he’d maimed. Blazing at the crippled little dragonet. Blazing at the defective little--runt. His fury chilled into dread and confusion, and he began to feel again. He could feel half of those terrifyingly powerful beings anticipating his kill, while the other half dreaded it. But that wasn’t right either: The dread was coming from behind him.
Stavin looked at the draiger and found the compassion of Alankarah in his heart. He finally took the last step forward and went to one knee, grasping the stump of Servallan’s missing hand in his blazing fist. Dragon magic burned against draiger blood, cauterizing the wound closed as she screamed and writhed in his grip.
Stavin stood and moved back a step. He glared at the temples in the southern half of the circle, and his voice echoed off the stones as the dragon in him roared, “I won’t murder a helpless creature! I won’t kill her for your amusement! I will not do evil at your bidding!” There was a feeling of shock, joy, benevolent amusement, loving pride, and above all else, relief from the ever-so-powerful beings behind him while the influence of the Gods Below faded. Stavin looked at Servallan in time to see her form engulfed in darkness, and hear her last scream.
“What’s the matter, Ravashanal? You can’t kill me, and can’t get me to kill her, so you kill your own Blessed?” There was a moment of heat and menace, followed by a vastly more powerful feeling of protection. Somehow Stavin knew that Sahrana had just protected him from the anger of a Goddess that no human, not even one backed by dragon magic, could have survived. Given what he’d just felt, he decided not to push his luck any further and kept his mouth shut.
Stavin turned and stalked back toward the temple of Arandar as people fell all over themselves to get out of his path. His royal guardsmen formed up behind him, and he was aware of Karvik’s intense gaze. “I’ll explain later, Kar,” was all he would say until he faced the king.
Stavin bowed deeply to the king before saying, “Your Majesty, Rey is safe from the followers of Ravashanal--this time at least. With your permission, I would like to return to the palace and take a bath. I feel sticky.”
King Alred looked like he needed a drink as he replied, “Of course, Prince Stavin. Please take your time and return only when and if you wish.”
Stavin bowed deeply to the king again, then bowed even more deeply to each of the five temples behind the royal family, and finally turned away.
* * *
Back in the palace, everyone from the guards at the gate to the servants in his suite fell to the floor as soon as they saw him, not daring to look at the Avatar of Arandar. Stavin was still blazing like Arandar, but he was already feeling the power of the dragon beginning to ebb. He shook his head as he walked past his prostrate servants and just climbed into the tub still wearing his armor. “Help me take off my armor, Kar, but be ready. I think the backlash is going to be a real mule-kick this time.”
Karvik stood at the side of the tub and received Stavin’s armor one piece at a time as soon as the draiger’s blood was rinsed off it. When he finally helped Stavin shuck himself out of his under padding, he had to grab his friend by the arm to keep him from drowning.
Stavin was so tired he felt drunk. “Oh, Gods Above, why did it have to be a dragon-kin?” he moaned. “They are close enough in lineage and power that the dragon magic reacted once her blood was in my mouth. I feel like I’ve been beaten.”
“Stave, you’re one big bruise from head to toe. When she hit you, you looked like you had been kicked by a mule. A big mean one. You flew through the air like a rag doll for about ten paces.”
Stavin whispered, “Wow,” as he tried to ease his body into the hot water. “I don’t think I can get out anytime soon, Kar. Send someone to express my apologies to his majesty. I don’t think I’ll be back to the festival today.”
When Stavin opened his eyes again the butlers were beside him. They all wore expressions of fear on their faces, but seemed determined as well. “Blessed One, how may we serve you?” Orlan asked.
Stavin mumbled, “Broth. And willow bark tea. Lots and lots of willow bark tea.”
Someone left, but the others remained. “May we summon a Healer, Prince Stavin?” Harran asked.
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“Yes. Yes, that would be a good idea.” It seemed to be just a matter of moments before an old woman knelt by the bath.
“Prince Stavin, Blessed One, I am Healer Adept Valeria Zel’Martan, the King’s Healer. With your permission, I would like to see to your injuries.” Stavin just nodded and groaned, so she placed her hands on either side of his head. She murmured, “Hold still, Blessed One.”
Stavin felt her erasing the pain from his body. He felt her repairing the damage his short flight had done. He felt her--Stavin shifted in the water and looked at the old woman with shock-widened eyes. He brought one finger out of the water and shook it at her.
“That was naughty.”
Valeria chuckled warmly and smiled, then said “My pleasure, Blessed One.” She was still chuckling as she stood and walked out of the room.
Karvik was looking confused as he asked, “What did she do?” Then he saw that Stavin was blushing and burst out laughing.
“Shut up, Kar,” was all Stavin could manage to say.
The next morning Stavin, dressed in a splendid outfit, and his full escort returned to the festival. The people were cautious around him until they saw him dancing with Princess Maridyn. Then they became friendly, though it was obvious that many of them were remembering his performance of the day before.
For Stavin’s part, he was finally relaxing a bit. He wandered through the crowd, watching the shows, playing a few of the games, until something caught his attention. It was a familiar scent blowing on the breeze, and he glanced at Karvik and grinned. Before Karvik or Varik could stop him, he was jogging through the crowd to a vendor’s booth.
He said, “Good morn, good lady,” as he stopped. “Sausage with peppers and onions for myself and my men.”
The woman was looking at him with an expression that shifted between pride, avarice, and pure, unadulterated terror. “Y-Y-Yes, Blessed One.”
Stavin took the first sausage and bit into it. As he’d expected from the smell, the sausage bit back and he enjoyed the slight burning sensation in his mouth. It was a matter of moments before all forty-three members of his escort were similarly enraptured by the delicious food. Stavin tossed five gold crowns on her table, then led the way to a nearby beer stall. He again ordered for all of them, and again overpaid by an outrageous amount.
Major Zel’Jalavan said, “Blessed One, you needn’t pay. All of this is yours for the asking.”
Stavin laughed and grinned up at the major. “I’d never get my armor on again!”
Karvik was laughing as well. “If he ate like that we’d have to roll him home.”
“Ignore them, Major,” Varik said as he looked at the two laughing men. “When these two get together, even Shari can’t make them behave.”
Stavin and Karvik laughed even harder, then Stavin led them through the festival. Major Zel’Jalavan glared at Varik and muttered, “You forget yourself, Lieutenant.”
Varik shook his head as Stavin and Karvik continued to laugh. “Your pardon, Major, but no, not really. Prince Stavin married my big sister Sharindis, and I married Major Kel’Carin’s little sister Zahrinis. We’re all family. About the only person who can get either of them to sit straight and behave is my mother-in-law, Sahrena.” He grinned as Stavin and Karvik went instantly silent. “Even King Kalin gives Sahrena a wide berth.”
Stavin muttered, “After he saw her make Charvil and Barvil look like misbehaving little boys that time, who can blame him?”
“Your Highness?” the major asked as he looked at Stavin.
Stavin shrugged and said, “Warmaster Charvil Kel’Horval and Warmaster Barvil Kel’Carin. Varik and Karvik’s fathers.”
Major Zel’Jalavan looked between them before asking, “How many Warmasters are in your ranks?”
Karvik chuckled as he replied, “Just three: Dad, Charvil, and Prince Stavin.”
Stavin turned so the four hollowed stars on his armguard were toward the major. “Four stars for greater than one hundred and one combat kills.”
“And hollowed for greater than one hundred twenty-six,” Karvik added.
The major whispered, “Gods Above.”
Karvik looked the major in the eye as he replied, “Yes, fortunately for us.”
The rest of the festival was a blur of singing, dancing, and celebrating the victory of Arandar’s Blessed.
Chapter 25
STAVIN SLEPT LATE THE DAY AFTER the festival officially ended. He felt he deserved it. After all, his mission was a complete success. Reynadia was willing to accept his trade proposals for Evandia and Kavadia. He’d established House Kel’Aniston in all the kingdoms except Andaria. And he’d defeated Ravashanal’s Blessed.
Someone must have been listening for him, because he’d no more than yawned at the early light than all the butlers entered his bed chamber.
“Good day, Blessed One. His Highness Prince Killian stopped by and asked if you could find time to speak to Master Scholar Zel’Tammal. Prince Killian said you’d know what it was about.”
Stavin nodded. “Yes, I know. How late am I?”
“You are still early for the morning meal with the court, Blessed One.”
“That late, huh?” Stavin asked with a grin. “Very well. Please lay out something simple and comfortable. What else do I have scheduled for today?”
Orlan bowed deeply. “You have no other obligations for today, Blessed One.”
Stavin nodded. “Very well. I’d like another hot soak. I’m still stiff, a little sore, even with the Healer’s ministrations. After I eat, please invite Prince Killian and his Master Scholar to join me in the library.”
All four butlers bowed deeply, then began carrying out his orders. It was just six spans later that Prince Killian, dressed in Apprentice Scholar robes, escorted a skeletally thin man dressed in Master Scholar robes into the suite.
Stavin stood to greet his guests. He said, “Prince Killian, I’m pleased to see you again,” then looked at the scholar.
Prince Killian bowed slightly and then motioned toward the man behind him. “Prince Stavin Zel’Andral, I am pleased to introduce Master Scholar of Comparative Religions Dahnav Zel’Tammal, my master this year.”
Stavin bowed slightly as he said, “Master Scholar Zel’Tammal, I am pleased to meet you. Arandar Zel’Aniston said I should look you up to discuss my Blessing, and provided me with a letter of introduction.” Stavin bowed slightly as he held out the letter.
Prince Killian passed the letter to his still silent master. Dahnav bowed as he took it, opened it, then snorted in amusement. He looked at Stavin with an expression of mortified embarrassment on his face.
“Your pardon, Prince Stavin. Arandar’s choice of words is, as usual, highly inappropriate.”
Prince Killian asked, “Master?” The scholar handed the letter to his student, and the prince read it aloud. “Dahn, Stavin is living proof of your theories, so don’t be an ass.” Prince Killian gave his master a look of horrified sympathy, then turned toward Stavin.
“I beg your forgiveness, Stavin.”
Stavin chuckled. “I take no offense, Killian. Remember, I was around Aniston for fourteen days. Arandar was the least reserved around me.”
Master Zel’Tammal bowed before asking, “May we sit, Prince Stavin? I fear my back is not up to prolonged standing.”
Stavin immediately led them to a table and chairs. “Please sit, Master Zel’Tammal. Prince Killian.”
“Thank you, Prince Stavin,” Master Zel’Tammal said as he carefully lowered himself into a chair.
Prince Killian went to the door and said, “Fortal, bring us some white wine.”
Master Zel’Tammal smiled at his student’s back, then turned his attention to Stavin. “I suffer from a fortunately rare bone disease, Prince Stavin, and it makes prolonged physical exertion or standing very painful.”
“Like arthritis?”
“Yes, Prince Stavin, something like it, but not exactly the same. What is the same is that the Healers cannot do an
ything about it. The best they can do is give me potions and smelly unguents that dull the pain for a short time.” He suddenly stopped talking and bowed his head. “Forgive me, Prince Stavin. I sound like a peevish old man.”
Stavin bowed his head slightly. “There is nothing to forgive, Master Zel’Tammal.”
Prince Killian returned with Fortal, and served the scholar with his own hands while Fortal served Stavin. The scholar fumbled with the front of his vest and Prince Killian again served him, retrieving a medicine box and providing a small white pill. The scholar was able to take his medication unassisted, and Killian stepped back.
Prince Killian turned toward Stavin and nodded. “That will take effect in a few moments, Prince Stavin. With your permission, I will be taking notes for Master Zel’Tammal.”
Stavin nodded deeply. “Of course, Prince Killian. I do, however, have most of this written down.” He smiled as the younger prince nodded. Turning his attention to the scholar, Stavin nodded once.
“Master Zel’Tammal, I have skimmed through your treatise on the Elder Gods. The majority of your conclusions are absolutely correct. However, while we are one and all influenced by all ten of the Gods, they do not take a direct, active role in our lives.”
The scholar gave Stavin an intense look. “Your forgiveness, Prince Stavin, but you appear to be a contradiction of that statement.”
Stavin shook his head. “No, but we’re never going to get anywhere if you keep apologizing every time you disagree with me.” He nodded toward Prince Killian. “Please treat me the same as you do your student.”
The scholar sat up a little straighter and bowed his head. “If that is your wish, then so be it.” He paused and moved into a more comfortable position. “You say the Gods do not take an active role in our fates. Support your assertion.”
Stavin felt his spine stiffen in response to the change in the scholar’s tone and demeanor. “Master Zel’Tammal, the fact that I am still alive to speak to you is proof that the Gods don’t take an active role. When I faced the Blessed of the Goddess of Terror there was a moment, just an instant, when the goddess Herself turned Her gaze directly upon me. For the space of a heartbeat I felt Her, and almost died. Then Sahrana intervened and kept me from being destroyed.”
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