by Cat Bruno
“I must find her,” he mumbled, unable to think of anything else. “If you have any news of her, you must send it on to me so that I can track her myself.”
“Where do you think she has gone?” Kennet muttered, still appearing sickly.
In response to Kennet’s question, Willem asked his own. “Where would be your guess?”
With wide eyes and a gaping mouth, Kennet half-croaked, “The only place where she might find safety.”
The North called, and Willem could do nothing but answer.
*****
“Tell me more of the woman you loved. Tell me of her magic.”
He looked away from her as his shoulders tightened, high and bony beneath a fading tunic. They were still at sea, still days from reaching the Southern Cove Islands, and Caryss was becoming impatient, unable to sit quietly as the ship sailed. Eager to find Otieno, and ready to head north, she had developed a strong distaste for sailing, and all aboard knew it.
Realizing that she needed a distraction, Aldric replied, “They call it earth magic, and few are as strong at it as Leorra was. She could draw rain from a clear sky, just as she could turn a soft wind into a ferocious gale. I watched once as she planted a small seed into the ground. Next, she brought rain upon it, gently, streams of water dripping from the sky. When she raised her arms and exhaled, the gray clouds vanished, replaced by a bright and clear sky. But what she did next proved to me that her power was well beyond any that I had acquired.”
He sighed, keeping his eyes toward the sea, as they stood at the railing, the spot where Caryss could often be found.
“Their magic requires more than mine. What I have is more of a gift, one that as a mage I have learned to use and to improve. But, the Island gods did not give their magic freely. Those blessed with is must work at it just as they must be willing to sacrifice a part of themselves to strengthen their talent. That is why some call it blood magic. What it easier to give than one’s blood?”
“That is what interests me most,” she told him, “To receive their magic, they must regularly give of themselves. It tempers the power and balances the scale, do you not think?”
After a long moment, he said, “I suppose that is true. I had not thought of like that, but from what I know of earth magic, your words hold weight. Leorra was never one to live excessively. She ate when hungry, slept when tired, and moved as if the wind was at her back, never following the same path.”
“In Cordisia, we have all sorts of magic, yet no one to control it. Unless you count the Tribe among those who sit on the other side of the scale.”
Aldric nodded at her words, then added, “Without the dark, the light cannot be seen. Just as with sacrifice comes reward. Perhaps in the end it is all about balance.”
“That is what we will have to teach her, Aldric. She must always seek to temper the dark with the light.”
He did not need to ask whom Caryss referred to, for it was clear the way her eyes grew misty and forehead creased that she meant her daughter. The girl born of light, but made in darkness, who forever would face a battle that few could understand. Caryss was growing wise, having time to think on concepts often left to the sages and learned men.
“On the morrow we will be within sight of the Cove. You should rest now, Caryss, as we will have much to do.”
The words were spoken kindly, but they were still a dismissal, and Caryss turned to leave. When she was gone from sight, Aldric closed his eyes. The air hummed around him in song, sweet and warm, and, for a moment, he believed that Leorra had sent it, welcoming him to her homeland.
*****
“The wards will be strong here. Stay close to me.”
She simply nodded, following quietly behind as he briskly walked down thickly carpeted hallway. They had arrived at the palace with little difficulty and had even entered the main doors behind several armed and gold-vested men, which Nahla quickly realized were members of the Royal Army. None noticed them, yet she clung to the man’s hand as if at any moment someone would.
“Do you know where her guards are being kept?”
“No. I only know that I saw one of them with Prince Crispin,” she whispered.
“Did it appear as if he was heavily guarded himself? Or in shackles?”
She paused for a moment in thought before again softly replying, “A man stood along side him, but he was not shackled.”
“Which makes me think that they are not yet jailed. We do not have time to search this whole place.”
The uncertainty in his voice surprised her, and she stumbled, falling into his back. He slowed until she had regained her footing, and then continued, more slowly this time.
Into the silence, Nahla murmured, “Would not Crispin have wanted to keep the men near him?”
“If they have not been imprisoned, yes, he would want them kept close, out of his brother’s reach. We will start in his quarters first.”
After a few more steps, he told her, “I am going to drop the veil, which means that all will see you. I shall remain guarded. When we encounter a serving woman, you will need to ask her where Prince Crispin’s rooms are. Let her know nothing of you.”
Before she could reply, she heard clanging, and looked over the man’s shoulder to see a capped woman carrying a large, silver tray, that bobbled as she walked. The plate slid across the tray, crashing into a large metal goblet, the sound traveling to where Nahla stood.
Without delay, Nahla rushed toward her, reaching up for the tray. As she steadied it, Nahla smiled up to the dark-haired girl, whose white apron was already stained across her midsection. The girl, no more than twelve, looked at her with relief, then her eyes widened as orb light shined on Nahla.
Sensing her fear, Nahla said, in Common, “Child, I am a guest of Prince Crispin’s and only just arrived from the Southern Cove. Your palace has turned me about, and I can’t seem to find my way back to his rooms. Would you be kind enough to show me the way?”
In halting Common, the girl answered, “Are your rooms near the Heir’s quarters, my lady?”
With a half-smile, Nahla lovingly told the girl, “Yes, that is just the name for it.”
The girl nodded and walked back to where she had just come from, then looked over to see if Nahla followed. When she noticed that she did, the girl continued, although her steps were slow and controlled as she held the tray out in front of her. Behind Nahla trailed the man, yet the girl never sensed that they were not alone. And so the three walked on, from one finely decorated hallway to another. Large framed paintings of noblemen and noblewomen stared down at the group, but they encountered no one else until they reached an entryway where the girl hesitated.
When the girl stopped, Nahla looked past her shoulder and noticed a door that was guarded on each side by two large, silver-vested men.
“Thank you child. I can find my way from here.”
Knowing when she heard a dismissal, the girl offered a small bow and fled. When she was gone from sight, Nahla turned toward the man, surprised that she had been able to see him while the girl had not. His eyes were scanning the hallway, ending on where the two guards still stood.
“We will search that room first,” he whispered out of the darkness, as if the walls talked to her and not a man.
When she started to walk forward, he reached for her arm and grabbed her fingers, murmuring, “Distract them. I will do the rest.”
As soon as she could, Nahla pulled her hand away, then rolled her shoulders back and held her head high, walking toward the men as if she had known them for moon years and as if she was welcome in the palace. When her footsteps were heard, both men looked down the hall and watched as she approached. Neither reached for sword.
With a smile as wide as she could make it and eyes slightly downcast, she approached. For nearly her whole time spent in the King’s City, Nahla had played many roles, from lover to friend to mother to foe, and many more beyond. Here, she would simply play another one, she mused. She would do as she must, for
a girl that she hardly knew. Yet, the Great Mother had willed it so, and Nahla acquiesced, glancing up at the men through half-opened eyes as she glided toward them, hips swaying as she walked.
When she was within arm’s reach of the guardsmen, Nahla’s lips curved, and she asked, “Sirs, I seem to be in need of some assistance. I am to bring a gift to Prince Crispin, and yet have not been able to find him. The gift is most urgent, and I must find him at once.”
Bowing his head to her slightly, the shorter guard replied, “Leave the gift with us, lady, and we will see that he gets it.”
Laughing, she chimed, “Well, you see, the gift is me. I would wait with you, but, alas, I do not think it would suit the prince to have me seen so openly.”
Both men fought to hide the smiles from their faces, and, again, it was the shorter one who spoke, as he told her, “We have not seen Prince Crispin all morning. You would do better to wait elsewhere.”
Nahla looked to where the dark one stood. He was nearly beside the taller guard, whose eyes were on her. Again, his presence was not noticed, although she could see him clearly.
What a strange magic, she thought, before looking back toward the man who had just addressed her. She knew that it was time, and did not look to the man for approval. Instead, she acted.
“Perhaps I should leave you with a taste of his gift, my lord,” she hummed, stepping into the man.
Before he could withdraw, her hands were on his waist, brushing against the hilt of a sheathed sword, pulling him close. His cheeks reddened, blotchy and hot against her own cheek. Then, she tilted her long neck back and stood tall, letting her lips reach for his.
She knew what would happen next, to the other guard. His death was nearly silent, until he fell to the floor.
The man pulled away from her faster than she would have thought he could, but, still, it was too late. The Tribesman was faster, slicing the man from the bottom of his right ear to his left, a clean cut opening his throat, just as the he had done with the first. Another kiss of sorts, she thought.
Both deaths had been quick, a small mercy. Yet, when Nahla looked to the floor where the man she had kissed lay, she fell onto the wall, overcome by fast-flowing blood that made his silver vest look black. She did not think that she could move, and leaned her cheek against the wall, closing her eyes to the scene before her.
Just as her eyes closed though, a hand grabbed her, pulling her into the room. He looked as if nothing had occurred; both hands and clothing were blood-free.
Into her ear, he whispered, “Are these the men who were with Caryss?”
Their eyes were on her, unwarded as she was, and Nahla saw recognition. Days before, she was the one standing in accusation. Her pity for the men vanished.
With a nod, Nahla stepped back, until Conall stood between the Arvumians and her.
“What is your name?” he asked, pointing to the man who stood slightly in front.
Stuttering, the man replied, “Niko, sir.”
“Niko, why were there guards outside your door?”
“The prince feared for our safety,” he gasped, fear whitening his face.
Conall laughed, and the sound was not unpleasant, Nahla thought.
“I doubt the prince had any real concern for either of you. What did you tell him of the girl?”
When neither man spoke, the Tribesman told them, “I will have my answers. If you would like to make it difficult, then so be it.”
Before either man could reply, he crossed the room, stopping just before Niko and grabbing his tunic with two, long-fingered hands.
With his eyes on the guard’s, he asked, “What does Crispin know of the girl?”
The guard hesitated, looking over to where Nahla stood, and she saw hatred for her mixed with his fear. Still, he was silent. Nahla knew what would happen next, yet did nothing to stop it.
While his eyes were still on hers, she smiled, and hoped it was the last thing that he would see. Her smile did not fade when Conall pulled a curved sword from its scabbard. The blade was thick and silver, shining and clean. It looked like most swords, which surprised her, for he was not like most men.
But the Tribesman had no real need of the sword at all, Nahla suspected. Faster than her eyes could follow, he swung, dropping the blade to just below his left hip before slicing it upward, across the guard’s stomach. With no armor to repel the blow, the sword slashed through the tunic.
The guard reached for his stomach, but collapsed to his knees instead, gargling until his body fell forward, head crashing to the floor. Around him, the carpet darkened, and the bitter smell of blood and bile filled the room.
Covering her mouth with the back of her hand, Nahla stepped back again, away from the pooling blood that came like a wave near her boots. The man had deserved his death, she thought, remembering that the Great Mother always punished cowards. Yet, still, she felt as if she might retch as the taint of death filled the room.
The remaining guard, Kurtis, scrambled away from Conall, until his back was against a window on the far side of the room. His face was without color, his hands shaking as he held them up for the Tribesman to see.
“I have no sword,” he stuttered in Common.
Blood dripped from Conall’s sword as he neared the man, a shining, crimson trail following the Tribesman as he crossed the room.
Stepping slowly toward the man, he called, “What does the prince know of the girl?”
Thick words, garbled and mad-touched came from the pale man’s blue-tinted lips, “That she took the King.”
“How did he know of the Islander?” Conall smoothly asked, nearly on top of the guard.
“He made us take him to her,” Kurtis hissed.
Wiping the sword clean across the man’s pants, Conall asked, “But how did he know of her?”
With a cough, the guard stammered, “We had no choice but to tell him.”
“One always has a choice, young man,” Conall lectured, his words crisp and deliberate. “I had a choice as well and you still live, while your kin lies dead.”
The Tribesman’s words caused prickles to spread over Nahla’s body, as if she had taken a sudden chill. He spoke with a calm that left the guard half-mad with fright, she saw.
Suddenly she recalled the prince’s visit and cried out, “Does he know of the diauxie?”
The guard’s silence was answer enough. If the King’s Heir did not know yet that Caryss traveled to the Southern Cove Islands, he soon would. She was but days ahead of him.
“Kill him.”
Her words were spoken softly, yet her ears rang with them, a sharp, hissing sound that banged and pounded.
“Kill him,” she moaned, backing away further until she fell against the door. Beneath her feet, the carpet, once gold laced with green leaves, told of what had occurred, now stained red with blood and brown with shit and bile.
When Conall moved, a rush of cool air sent another chill across her body. Nahla opened her eyes to watch as Conall fell upon the helpless guard, who had just enough time to cry out. As she gazed across the room, she saw the man clutching at his midsection, wrapping his arms around his body as if to shield himself from what was about to come. It wasn’t enough as the curved blade struck him at the back of his neck and continued until the guard’s head rolled from his body.
Half-open eyes looked up at her until the room blackened. Scratching at the door, she searched through the dark haze for the handle. Nahla’s knees buckled as she collapsed to the floor.
Hands reached for her, drawing her up. As the Tribesman carried her from the room, she let her eyes fall on the dead guards, who just days before had been in her rooms. Much had changed in the few days since she had first met Caryss, and Nahla sensed that more would change as well. More bodies would fall at the Northern girl’s feet.
She clutched at him as he raced down the hallway. With words more breath than whisper, she asked, “Who are you?”
When they neared a corner staircase, he rushed d
own it, her head heavy on his shoulder. At the bottom of the staircase, he followed a row of mage-lights until streaks of sun could be seen shining through thickly paned windows. He pushed at a wide door with his a blood-splattered hand until they were in a lush courtyard, sun pouring upon them, golden and warm.
Still she shivered.
He set her down then, and the two sprinted between neatly trimmed hedges until an iron gate appeared. Breathing hard, she followed him through, emerging on the other side of the palace grounds.
He led her away from the palace, yet in the opposite direction of the Lower Streets.
The further they walked from the palace, the more confused she became. Yet Nahla asked no questions. Soon, they were near the eastern edge of the city limits, far from the southern area, where the piers were. Scents of sea and sand greeted them as the Tribesman hurried along, still clutching at her hand.
Perhaps we will sail to the Cove, she thought, staring upon the Eastern Sea.
Their boots left deep imprints in the sand as they rushed on, yet Nahla saw no sails.
Unable to keep silent any longer, she asked, “Where are we going?”
Her breathing was labored as she hurried to keep pace with the Tribesman.
He slowed then. Mounds of sand and high sea grass offered cover, although she had seen no one since they had neared the beach. Large crags, black and sharp, lined the coast, making it impossible for ships to dock here, she knew. Again, Nahla asked where he had taken her.
And still Conall did not answer. Instead, his yellow eyes scanned the coastline.
Conall did not look to her as he continued searching. She wondered if he had forgotten she had followed, for his face was strained and his sharp eyes appeared pained.
Finally, he mumbled, “I have not had to stay veiled for so long before, nor have I had to veil another. I must rest for now, until the epidiuus arrives.”
With some grace left in him, the Tribesman collapsed. Lying on his back, he stared toward the sky.
“The epidiuus?” she breathed.
“He will carry us home,” the man whispered, low and hoarse, words swallowed by air and tide.