“Before any of your virtuous dreams can come to pass, Serban will have to be destroyed, Constantine. That will be no easy task,” Vladimir said somberly.
“Don’t be such a defeatist, my friend. I just acquired us a notorious mercenary company, and that’s just the beginning. By this time next year, the baron will only be a bad memory. Take heart. God is with us.”
* * *
The others were inside planning how they would retrieve the prince and deal with the archbishop without getting caught. Kian was not much good at that kind of thing, so he had excused himself for a walk. Restlessness tugged at him, and he was unsure why. Perhaps the thought of the journey to Brova had stirred his heart. The thought of battle quickened him, as it never had before.
He passed a few of K’xarr’s men lingering around the entrance to the camp. Even though Constantine had refused to allow them to stay among his people, K’xarr would have to keep a tight leash on the mercenaries. Trapped here all winter so near the rebels, things could easily get out of hand.
The mercenaries would grow bored with nothing to do but mundane chores. The cold would draw them to the rebel’s stocked camp like a colony of ants, and there were a fair number of women among the Trimenians. If the Sons weren’t watched closely, the captain would have trouble on his hands. Constantine was asking for clashes with the mercenaries by keeping them out. If the winter got any worse, even K’xarr might not be able to keep the Sons from storming the encampment.
Not sure why he had left the comfort of the warm cabin, Kian strolled into the forest as the day’s light faded. Heavy flakes of snow drifted through the sleeping forest, and Kian found the scene beautiful. The swordsman lazily watched the snow fall until something tickled his senses. He felt that something was out in the wood. Unsure of the origin of his feeling, Kian moved farther into the forest.
The familiar scent of magic brushed his nose. It wasn’t just the magic that filled the air of Saree. The smell of this magic was well-known to him. Silence jumped into his hand without a sound. Tavantis was near.
“Show yourself, dead thing,” Kian challenged.
The air shimmered and his twin appeared before him. The sorcerer was smiling and holding both arms in the air. Kian sniffed. The smell of death was gone from wizard. Somehow the mad mage had shaken off the shroud of unlife.
Kian lowered his sword and glared at his brother. Tavantis no longer looked the part of a powerful caster. He was in soft leather, and bore an array of weapons. He hid his face in the hood of his cloak, but there was no mistaking his twin’s scent.
“Can your keen nose tell I am once again to be counted among the living?”
“How you escaped the ranks of the undead and became a man once more, I do not know. I will tell you this, though: it is the only reason your head is still attached to your neck.”
“My time as a vampire was not of my choosing, nor was having the power of the night taken from me my decision. In any case, the whole incident was a catastrophe.”
“So what trick have you brought to kill me with this time?” Kian said, pointing his sword at the mage.
“I have no tricks, Kian,” the archmage said, pulling his hood back. Kian could see that his brother was bald now, even his eyebrows were gone. The swordsman stared at the black clawprint covering the left side of Tavantis’s face. The thumb of the print ran up the side of the wizard’s nose, while the palm was stamped on his cheek and the fingers ran from his eye over his ear and down the side of his neck. It was as if a huge hand had grabbed him by the side of the head and burned its imprint onto his face.
His twin’s ears were mutilated as well. The tips of each had been cut off, and the skin of the right side of his face and neck bore the scars of poorly healed burns.
“I see you have noticed the mark the Beast left me when he pulled the vampiric curse from my body.”
“That is the hand of the Beast?” Kian asked, stunned by Tavantis’s appearance.
“Oh yes, brother. He and I are old friends.”
Kian sighed. “Why you are here? If you want to continue your mad attacks on me, hurry on with it. The air has a chill.”
“I’m not here to fight you, Kian, quite the contrary. I seek your help.”
Kian’s brow wrinkled, unsure he’d heard his treacherous brother right. “Why would I ever help you? You have done nothing but try to kill me since we were reunited.”
Tavantis shrugged. “I can think of only one reason: Mother.”
Kian’s expression became pained. “She is dead, you said so yourself.”
“I may have been mistaken. I never really saw her die. I just assumed she was sacrificed.” Tavantis pointed to his face. “When the Beast gave me this, he hinted that she still may live.”
He wanted to believe Tavantis, but his brother had lied so many times, he wasn’t going to get his hopes up. “If mother lives, where is she?”
“With the God of Evil. I believe Beast still holds her prisoner.”
“Why did you lie to me?”
Tavantis shrugged. “Most of what I told you was true. Mother was stolen by Nasir Sana and the slaver took her to Blackgate and I followed, just as I have said.
“My magical power was not enough and I had little martial skills, so I joined the Kabash Sar. I hoped the notorious assassin’s training would aid me in saving her. During my time with the Kabash Sar, I found my talent for killing was just as natural as my ability for sorcery. In time, I broke from the Kabash Sar and stole into the palace to get Mother. My only lie was telling you I never rescued her. The fact is, I manage to retrieve her.”
Kian felt his head begin to throb. “Then why is she is still there?”
“The Beast took note of my achievement. No one had ever escaped the palace dungeons before, so he wanted to make an example of me. I was captured by my fellow assassins and brought before the god himself.
“I thought I would be killed, but instead he offered me power beyond my wildest imagination. I wanted more than anything to be a mighty sorcerer; I wanted the respect that came with the title of archmage, and I wanted revenge on all those that had hurt us, Kian. No more would I be some half-breed nothing, bowing and scrapping for those who had only contempt and hate for me. I would be powerful, and I would have my vengeance.
“So when the Beast asked me what I was willing to give to command such magic, my answer was anything. I never thought his price would be our mother.
“I tried to take it back, but he refused. He told me she would be a fine sacrifice for his altar. When I tried to use my newfound power on him, I was nearly destroyed. The evil god cursed me and cast me out of the city. So yes, some of what I told you was a lie, but I did believe our mother was dead, Kian. All this time, I knew it was all my doing. Now the fiend taunts me by hinting that she may still live.” Tavantis stared at him, a touch of madness in his eyes. “Can you imagine it? All that time living as a prisoner of evil?”
“You wretched bastard, you traded Mother to the evilest creature that walks our world, for a filthy bag of tricks? I should kill you now,” Kian growled.
Tavantis held up his hand. “I told you losing her was never my intention, and if you kill me, we will never know for sure if she survived.” Tavantis lowered his hand and stepped towards Kian. “And I assure you, brother, that it was no mere bag of tricks I received from the Beast.”
Heart pounding, Kian stayed his hand. “Why would he want her? I see no reason for it.”
“Who can say, to torment me to torture her, I don’t know, but I intend to get her back from that wretched thing. To do so, I will need you to help me.”
“The Beast controls a kingdom, an army. How can we fight a god?”
There was a gleam in the mage’s eyes. “I would not have bothered with you if I did not have a way. There is an item of great power that was crafted in the last days of the Elven Empire, and its sole purpose was to kill immortals. It is called the Star of Saree, or the Elven Star, depending on what text you read.�
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“And you have this magic?” Kian said, closing one eye.
“No, but I know where it might be found. I am on my way there now. I don’t know how long it will take me to locate, but I must know—when the Star is in my possession, can I count on your help?”
“Yes,” Kian said without hesitation. The risk of Tavantis’s treachery could not outweigh the chance his mother lived. He had to know for sure what his mother’s fate had been, and this time, he would find the truth himself.
“When I have the Star, I will return. We will go to Sidia and destroy a god.”
“Can I trust you, Tavantis?” Kian asked.
“In this you can, brother, but I will make you no other promises.”
“Nor can I promise not to kill you if this is some kind of trick,” Kian said, sheathing Silence.
Tavantis nodded slowly. “That sounds fair enough to me.”
Only his wife’s labored breathing disturbed the silence of the room. The royal healers had managed to save Zaria’s life, although she would never be the same. His physicians were not optimistic about her recovery. The queen would suffer the rest of her days because of the terrible wounds Serban inflicted on her.
King Petru rose from the chair he had pushed up beside Zaria’s huge canopy bed. The smell of his languishing wife’s room was atrocious, and the stench sickened him. Her attendants did their best, but between the smell of Zaria’s wound and the wastes from her poor body, it was difficult to keep the room from being odorous.
Walking to the window, the king pushed the heavy shutter open. Squinting against the cold wind, Petru gazed down at Brova. Even in the fading light, he could still make out the city below. He had always liked the fact that the palace had been built on the large hill above the city. Once the view gave him a sense of superiority, but now it was only a reminder of how far he had fallen. He was the king of nothing, and all he could do was wait to see what fate’s cruel hand held for him.
“Are you ready, Majesty?”
Slowly turning his head towards the doorway, Petru beheld Baron Serban standing there in his finest doublet and hosen, his pale hands resting on his hips. A monster in his court best, Petru would have laughed if the very presence of the creature did not turn his stomach.
“Ready for what?” Petru asked with disinterest.
The baron’s look soured. “I informed you that we were to meet with the other nobles today to discuss Danika’s wedding, and our campaign against the rebels in the spring.”
“Yes, I had forgotten.” Petru walked over and kissed the queen softly on the cheek. Looking down at her, the king stroked her soft hair. “Do you really need me, Alexis?”
“Truly no, but you’re coming with me anyway. The sovereign of Trimenia’s attendance will make things go much smoother. All you have to do is sit there and keep your mouth shut. I will do the rest.”
Petru nodded soberly and followed the well-dressed blood drinker out of the room.
His hand slid down the polished railing of the huge staircase that led from his family’s private quarters. It had once been a place filled with vibrant activity, but now its halls were as grim as an executioner’s block. His wife was mutilated and in pain, seldom even conscious. Danika spent all her time with Henry, Dimitri wasted away in the dungeon, and little Pepca was gone only God knew where. He had only the monster that he now followed to the great hall to keep him company, and he was to blame for it all. If he weren’t such a coward, he would hang himself from the royal balcony and have done with this nightmare.
Trimenia’s remaining noblemen had gathered in the great hall. All bowed as he and Serban entered. Petru took his seat at the far end of the huge room, while Serban stationed himself beside him. The creature looked down, waiting for him to speak his part. “Baron Serban will now inform you of what will be required of you come spring. He is very clear on what my wishes are. His words are mine.”
The undead baron stepped forward. “Thank you, Highness, I only hope I can convey your orders properly.”
Petru didn’t listen while Serban droned on about Danika’s wedding and the spring campaign. Petru could not care less what happened anymore. He just wanted an end to it. Once the vampire had full control of the kingdom, he and his family would no longer be needed. The thought of that day used to terrify him, but now he almost longed for it.
Rising voices brought his interest back to the conversation at hand. It was seldom that anyone argued with the intimidating noblemen.
The rotund Baron Radsul and his counterpart Baron Laszlo, the youngest nobleman of his court, apparently didn’t like what Serban had said. The two had stepped forward from the cluster of lords and were questioning Serban’s demands. Petru also realized their remarks were directed at him as well. He had been paying so little attention that he didn’t notice he was being spoken to.
“Sire, I don’t understand why you need my men-at-arms to ride to the south with the army come spring?” Radsul said hotly, his portly body shaking with indignation. “There are only remnants of the rebel army left, and Constantine has showed himself to be a poor commander.”
“I agree,” Laszlo chimed in. “The king’s own army should be more than enough to wipe out what remains of those rebellious curs. If it isn’t, you can send your own mercenaries to aid them, Baron Serban. I don’t know why you would need nearly every fighting man Trimenia has to finish off a band of farmers and beggars. We have our own lands to protect.”
Petru said nothing, merely glancing at Serban. The baron nodded as if he had been given leave to answer their queries. “His Majesty wants this rebellion ended once and for all as swiftly as can be done. No one wants to spend another year hunting these traitors down. One massive attack and the insurrection will be over. Besides, your king wishes it, so are you saying you need more than the king’s word, young Lazlo?” Serban countered.
“I don’t think King Mayson will approve of the entire Trimenian army such a short distance from his border. The King of Warmark is not known to have an understanding nature,” Radsul said mockingly.
Serban’s cold gaze fell on the large baron, and the man’s resolve seemed to wilt under his unnatural scowl. “The king spoke with Mayson after the incident at the engagement ball. The King of Warmark wants the rebels destroyed as quickly as we do. Henry and Danika’s union is paramount for both our nations; it binds the treaty that has been signed with Warmark. Since the wedding is to take place here, he asked that we assure the safety of his queen and the members of his household that plan to attend. I assure you that King Mayson will not protest our activities near his border, for he is well aware of the situation.” Serban stepped forward and put his finger on the heavyset baron’s chest. “I suggest you follow the crown’s orders, Baron Radsul, or King Petru may think that you are as seditious as some of our former noblemen.”
Petru watched as Laszlo and Radsul shrank back into the crowd. Serban’s threat had frightened them. They all remembered how many of their fellow noblemen had been arrested and hanged as traitors over the last several years. They feared Serban and their king, though Petru knew his reputation as a tyrant was truly unearned.
Trimenia was lost, but he had at least saved Danika. After her marriage, she would move to Warmark and be free of the dangers of the crazed blood drinker. King Mayson would protect her. He was far stronger than Petru, and would not be fooled by the monstrous baron’s sly nature.
As the noblemen filled out, the creature turned to him with a smile. “I think that went well, don’t you?”
“If you are pleased, so am I. May I return to my wife?” Petru muttered.
Serban ignored his request. “In the spring, Trimenia will rise to new heights, Majesty.”
“You still have to deal with the rebellion. You should not take them lightly,” Petru said.
“The rebels will be all but defeated by then. I don’t plan to wait till spring to strike. Very soon, they will get a taste of what is to come. With any luck, the little surprise I
have prepared for them might just end their rebellion before the thaw comes.”
Petru looked at him in confusion. “You are attacking the rebels now? Then why the insistence on our forces being in the south come spring?”
The baron stuck out his lip like a pouting child. “Oh, poor foolish Petru, you are as slow as you are weak. When the snows melt, you will see what a true leader of men is capable of.”
* * *
The snow was coming down harder as they neared Brova. The city was only two days away, yet it felt as if it would take forever to get there. The weather had slowed their horse’s pace. The animals couldn’t be pushed too hard in the cold or they would be walking the rest of the way.
Kian looked back at the others clad in their heavy cloaks and winter garb. At least the wind had died down a bit, quieting some of the small company’s grumbling. The cold was uncomfortable to him, though the Bandara blizzard he had walked through to save Queen Raygan from his brother had been far more demanding than the early snows of the Trimenian winter.
Tavantis had been on his mind since his brother had appeared claiming their mother still lived. Kian wished he could trust his twin. As it was, he would have to be very cautious. Tavantis was as cunning as a fox and as deadly as a viper. If the story his brother told him was some kind of ruse, he would have to be ready. He wouldn’t let himself believe his mother was alive, not yet. It was far too soon to hope. For now, what mattered was the feat they were about to attempt in Brova.
The Star Of Saree Page 25