The Apostate Prince (Godswar Chronicles Book 2)
Page 6
Victor shook out his black coat with a growl, the plates on his back clacking together. Justin took another step back, and Victor lowered his armored head and growled threateningly. Justin really should have waited and memorized a few spells.
“Victor,” Justin said, and held out a hand. “You don’t have to do this.”
He patted the air for the wolf to stay, unsure if Victor could understand him or not. Wizards maintained their consciousness while Polymorphed, but this was a different sort of magic - darker. The wolf snarled and snapped its massive jaws at Justin’s hand, and Justin snatched it away.
Justin backed up, and Victor stalked after him. Justin walked faster until he backed into the hedge. Victor snapped at him again, teeth clamping shut inches from his chin, evoking a startled cry. Justin ran. Eyes over his shoulder, Justin collided with the hedge at the first turn, scratching his face on the trimmed wall of branches and leaves. He rolled into the turn, and sprinted again. The wolf crashed into the hedge behind him. Justin’s heart hammered in his chest.
He cut another corner with the wolf on his heels, then another, avoiding a dead end. He needed to head away from the fountain - away from Victor’s spirit animal - but could not make out the sound of the water over the thudding of his heart in his ears. Victor snarled behind him, claws tearing at the grass as he followed Justin around another turn.
Justin zigged and zagged over the paths, getting lost in the maze. Losing Victor was all that mattered. But Victor stayed on him, the stink of rot and sulfur from the wolf’s breath hot on his back. A long straightaway leading to single turn ahead stretched out in front of him. Justin ran harder, his breath ragged, crimson robe billowing behind him.
The wolf’s armored head hit Justin from behind, sending him sprawling into the grass. He rolled onto his back and Victor’s wolf form loomed over him, saliva dripping from canines the length of Justin’s fingers. Justin held up a hand.
“Stop! You made your point!”
Another demonic growl came from behind him. Justin spared a glance over his shoulder. Victor’s spirit guide - another Abyssal wolf - stalked toward him on the path, its eyes effulgent in the deep shadows of the labyrinth. By now, Victor knew Justin had no spells on hand, or he would have used them.
He had been too impatient to learn more about the sword to attend to his memorizations. His Master back in Drokin would be disappointed to hear he had left home with his mind a blank slate. Justin balled his outstretched hand into a fist and with a whisper it glowed an icy blue. He added sparkles of ethereal white for effect. Victor snarled, and Justin gave him his best warning look.
“Fun’s over,” he said, using his other hand to get to his feet, chest still heaving from the run. He snapped his fingers, and it too started to glow, this one red with two black orbs circling it. He held the blue one out toward Victor, and the other to the late arrival.
Victor turned his head to the side and held his distance, seeming to consider if Justin was bluffing. His massive nose sniffed once, testing the air. The other one stopped advancing, but kept its head low and teeth bared. Emboldened, Justin met Victor’s blood red eyes.
“You made your point. Don’t force me to make mine.”
Victor eyes closed and he growled again, a halting and repetitive sound - laughter. Victor sat and his snout shortened, tendons and bones shifting with wet, popping noises. His form shrank and the fur receded, revealing his animal hide tunic. The staff appeared in his hand, and Victor grinned at him.
“You can put your hands down. The magic on them is so faint I can hardly smell it.”
Justin dropped his hands with a sigh of relief. The Cantripped illusions snuffed out. “What exactly was that supposed to accomplish?” he asked and leaned into the hedge to get his breath. He stood up carefully.
Victor came closer until he was face to face with Justin. The smell of rotten eggs lingered on his human form. “There is magic in the Darkness, Justin. Greater magic than you will ever find in any of your dusty tomes. I can walk between worlds, summon wolves from the Abyss, take the form of my spirit animal, and so much more. I did not study as a wizard. Imagine the power you could have.”
“Power isn’t everything.”
“Spoken like a man who has never been without it.”
The other wolf snarled at the end of the passage. Justin lifted a hand in greeting, still out of breath. “This is your spirit animal, I take it?”
“His name is Eggs.”
“Because of the sulfur. Adorable. So, are you going to show me this ritual?”
“I can’t show you the ritual.”
Justin threw up his hands and let them drop. “Thanks. Glad we did this.”
“I can’t show you because those that die here in Hornstall are given rites to put their spirits to rest. If someone dies tragically, without a god, and with unfinished purpose in this life, the spirit will linger long enough to be kept.
Another piece of the puzzle found its place. Dylan, Celia’s father, had died without slaying the harbinger of the Dark Queen, Justin’s mother. He also never received any last rites, or so Justin assumed.
“If the last rites are given to a fetished item, does that destroy it?”
“Once the spirit is imprisoned, it is too late for rites.”
Justin’s heart sank. The stench of sulfur made his eyes water. Eggs had come up and sat behind him. An involuntary shiver crept up Justin’s spine at the Abyssal wolf’s proximity. The horror of Victor chasing him through the maze and then stumbling upon another wolf was still too fresh. Justin stepped to the side, away from both of them.
“How is the lingering spirit imprisoned?”
“A shaman can place an enchantment or a blessing on an item, then walk with the spirit, and trick it into believing the object is the gate to their afterlife.”
“That means they could also willingly enter. Right?”
Victor shrugged one shoulder. “I guess. I don’t know why they would.”
Justin did. Dylan had stayed to protect his daughter; to be her ‘light in dark places’. Dylan himself had created the sword after his death. He had willingly entered the blade after either Celia or the High Priest had blessed the sword. It did not directly help to destroy the sword, but it was a start down the right path. Justin smiled at Victor.
“Thank you, Victor. I have what I need,” he said, and walked past him.
Victor shrugged again. “Uh huh. Tell the Empress that Eggs and I will be in the forest. I’m training the pack to avoid the road.”
Justin spoke without turning around. “Sure thing.”
Chapter Seven
Brothers in Red
Justin followed the worn path out of the labyrinth as the sun peeked over the top of the trimmed hedges, stopping between the two towering walls of greenery that marked the exit to take a deep breath. A lock of black hair hung down over his eye and he swept it back behind his ear. The birds had resumed their song, a pair flew out from a gap in the hedge ahead of him. In the distance, the main portcullis clanked open; Victor was heading out to the forest to join his pack.
As he walked along the path to the portcullis of the inner gate, a Red Knight on top of the gatehouse waved to him, arm up over his head. Only one Red Knight would wave to him with such understated but clear enthusiasm - James. Although Justin wanted nothing more than to get back to his room, after his encounter with Victor his heart welcomed James’ do-goodery. He must have come out to notify the men that General Deetra had lifted the double guard shifts. Justin raised a hand back, and James disappeared behind the battlements as he walked toward the stairs.
It was James who first told Justin about the dragon skeleton found by the Behir tribe while he was away at school. When Justin came home, James had joined him on the excavation. They spent more than a month together in the desert, digging up bones, talking about Justin’s apprenticeship, James’ exploits as a knight, and getting sunburned.
James reappeared in the gatehouse with his helm und
er one arm as Justin approached. The portcullis ratcheted open with a series of metallic clanks. The sun shining on his red armor, James’ face switched from a smile to a frown of worry.
“You alright?”
“Why wouldn't I be?” Justin said.
“Your braid is half undone, your robe sash is crooked, one cheek is swollen, and the other has a dirty scratch.”
Justin wiped his face with his palm and winced as dried mud crumbled away from the wound and showered down over his robes. His hands went to his hair next and pulled out the leather thong that held the braid. He ran his fingers through it and let it fall to his shoulders. He did not like the braid anyhow, his mother did - he only wore it to please her.
“Better?” Justin asked.
James pointed to his sash and then placed his hands on Justin’s face as Justin retied it. He whispered the prayer of humility for healing. James hand’s cooled and the sensation spread over Justin’s body. The ache in his belly from Victor’s punch went away, and the throbbing in his right cheek faded.
“What happened?”
Justin finished the knot and shrugged. “Victor.”
James’ expression went flat and he sighed. “Let’s go,” he said, and reached for Justin’s arm.
Justin pulled away from him. “Where?”
“Victor can't just go beating on you, no matter what you said at dinner.” He reached for Justin’s arm again, but Justin shook his head. He rested a hand on his older, but much shorter, stepbrother’s pauldron. He liked James, but he thought too much of his authority over his stepbrothers. Victor and Justin both respected him, but not in the father-figure manner he believed.
“Not necessary, James. It’s already settled.”
James turned his head to look at Justin out of the corner of his eye. “How? He’s not dead, is he?”
Justin laughed. “No. We’re both fine. I apologized for dinner, and he…was Victor about it.”
James nodded but his frown and gaze drifting towards the Children’s Garden suggested that he remained unconvinced. Justin urged him to walk together toward the keep, and James acquiesced with one last hard look over his shoulder to the garden.
The second portcullis lifted. Justin shook his head, raising his voice over the noise. "He left already."
“He shouldn’t be putting his hands on the Prince, and you should be more polite. You aren’t children anymore,” James said as he ducked under the gate.
Justin followed. “I said I apologized.”
James sighed again. "I guess you met Eggs."
A cold shiver ran up Justin's spine. The smell of sulfur still lingered in the air, or perhaps just in his imagination. "We met. The pleasure was all Victor's"
James laughed once. "I'm sure."
"Did you want to talk to me?"
James nodded. "The funeral for the Red Knights will start at sunset. Will you be attending?”
Justin sucked air between his teeth. He hated funerals. The morbidity and the heavy religious ceremony of it allmade his skin crawl.
“I know,” James said, as he stepped up from the street to the flagstone walk. “But this one’s different. It’ll be held outside of the city. No pomp, no ceremony. Just a bonfire, drinking, and fun. No priests.”
‘No priests’ was meant as a comfort, but it also meant that his mother would not attend, only Deetra. His mother had no love for fire beyond that of a warm hearth during winter, and Justin had no desire to spend quality time with his stepmother. A horse-drawn carriage clopped down the road, heading for the open gate. The driver tipped his hat as he passed.
“I don't drink,” Justin said and waved to the carriage driver. “You know that.”
“Make an exception. My knights want to pay their respects to the man who captured their comrades’ murderer.”
“Tell them to put it in a letter,” Justin said.
Of course, most, if not all of them, had no ability to do so. James elbowed him in the ribs. Justin flinched and rubbed the spot.
“Ow.”
“You’re not funny. It would go a long way toward mending fences with Deetra.”
“They can pay their respects by not standing around watching the next time Victor decides to punch me in the guts. And I couldn’t care less about Deetra’s fences.”
“They have no authority over Victor, nor any other Orc. And you should care what the General thinks of you.”
“Victor’s not an Orc. And I don't.”
James shrugged. “I hope you’ll change your mind.”
“Sorry. I have a lot of studying to do and that sword is still on my desk.”
The pair walked on in silence, conserving their breath as the road sloped upwards. Another wagon loaded with lumber turned down Trade Street and they waited at the corner for it to pass, returning the driver’s cheerful wave.
“The guards told me you visited the Guardian last night," James said, keeping his eyes on the road ahead of them.
They passed an old chapel across the street, stained glass portraits of his mother and Deetra glistening in the morning light. James cupped his hands under his chin, making a symbolic prayer to the Night Goddess.
" I said that I would," Justin returned.
"What is your impression of her?"
"I think she is a pawn in a greater scheme."
"That's not what I asked.”
The farther into the city they walked, the more people filled the walkways headed for the ward of the main keep. After his run-in with Victor, Justin’s patience for games had worn thin. He stopped on the flagstone path beside the road, before the real city traffic started, where they could speak more or less in private.
“What are you asking?”
James looked up and met Justin’s eyes. “Do you have feelings for her?”
Her eyes, the color of shining emeralds, and soft lips smiled at him in his memory. Justin blinked the image away. Celia had never smiled at him, not even when she believed he had come to free her from the dungeon. He swallowed and cleared his throat.
“She’s a murderer. Why would you think that?”
“It’s a concern that was brought to my attention.”
“By whom? Your mom?”
James’ expression hardened. Justin had hit the nail on the head. Deetra was forever driving a wedge between him and James. This time, it started the moment he and James returned from the dragon dig at the edge of the Sandsea. He and James got along famously until Deetra started forcing James to choose a side on every disagreement she and Justin had.
Deetra knew that sending her son to talk to Justin, lips loaded with nonsense, would drive the wedge further. No matter which direction Justin turned, someone was talking and plotting behind his back. Justin had only started talking with James as a reprieve from the ordeal with Victor, not to throw himself right back into more family drama.
“She’s concerned,” James said.
“This is her way of getting back at me for what happened at dinner. Nothing more, James. If she was really concerned she would have come to me with this herself.”
“She just thought that you would be more likely to listen to me.”
“No, she’s forcing you to pick a side.”
“I'm not on anyone’s side. But if you have feelings for this Guardian, you need to tell me.”
A happy couple walked down the flagstone sidewalk, hand in hand, headed for the inner gate. It was a beautiful day for a walk in the Children’s Garden. They noticed Justin and James, and took a knee. Justin lifted his chin, acknowledging them, and then took a step back to let them pass between him and James.
“She murdered men in the streets and tried to kill my mother. It’s a ridiculous question.”
“That you still haven’t answered.”
Justin covered his face with his hands, exasperated, and spoke into them. “I don’t have the time or the energy for this, James.”
“It’s a simple question. Do you, or do you not have feelings for this woman?”
“No. Satisfied?”
James eyed him, running a hand over his crewcut. If he was satisfied, his face did not show it. A line appeared over his nose and his eyes narrowed.
“If you have feelings for her, you can tell me. I won’t judge you. I hear she’s very beautiful.”
The happy couple continued on their merry way toward the garden, linked hands swinging in happy-couple fashion. Celia was beautiful and Deetra must have taken notice of Justin’s moment of stunned silence when he first laid eyes on her. He had never seen a woman like Celia. Her haughty southern accent enchanted him. But they would never be that happy couple headed for a walk in the garden.
“She is beautiful, but I'm not a fool, James,” Justin said, still watching the couple as they stopped for a kiss. James’ hand waved in front of Justin’s face and Justin faced him again, annoyed. James pressed his lips together and squinted at him. The sun shone on James’ face and reflected off his armor as he looked up at Justin.
“I don’t think you’re a fool. But I also don’t think you’re telling me the truth.”
Justin raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re doing Truth Circles now?”
“I know my brother,” James said simply.Justin balled his fists. He liked talking to James, not to Deetra’s mouthpiece. James had not spoken to him more than a handful of times in the past two weeks. They used to talk about Justin opening the school, and how James wanted to have children: four boys. They imagined Justin teaching them, and argued over whether they would be warriors like their father, or wizards like their uncle. But every disagreement Justin had with Deetra, she invariably got her adopted son involved. It only took a few instances of that before James started avoiding him.
“If you ever want to talk, James - and I mean you, not Deetra’s messenger boy - you let me know.” Justin turned and walked up the street towards the keep.
James trotted up behind him. “Justin, wait.”
He kept walking.