Shawna Thomas

by Journey of Dominion

  Mohan held up the breeches, tunic and vest, all a depressing brown. “Why?”

  “I don’t want to stand out in Jartas and a lone Benai traveling with a woman does.”

  “Where did you...? Did you steal these?” A note of incredulity entered Mohan’s voice.

  “Not exactly. I found them on a line at a shack not too far from here but I left a gold coin in their place.”

  “A gold coin, for these?” Mohan shook his head. “I’d say you were robbed but...” He shrugged.

  “Looked like they needed it.”

  “Who doesn’t?” Mohan removed his own brightly colored shirt and slipped on the tunic. He glanced down at the garment and made a face. “Depressing. Ugly.”

  “The lack of color in the shirt intensifies the color of your eyes.”

  “Does it?” Mohan smiled and smoothed the brown tunic with a hand.

  Ilythra laughed and loaded Tashi with their belongings.

  Mohan finished dressing then replenished the firewood they used. He glanced down at his clothes. “Not even my mother would recognize me.”

  * * *

  Long before the sun set, the land opened up before them in a patchwork quilt of green and brown. On the other side of the valley, where the land began to rise but before the forest reclaimed it, stood a castle, its stone ramparts reaching up to challenge the sun. A short distance away, on the crossroads below, a small village bustled with activity. The wooden walls surrounding the townspeople seemed flimsy from a distance, and Ilythra wondered why they had not built it on higher ground. It seemed vulnerable so near the forest and hemmed by fields of green. Perhaps its proximity to the castle deterred as many bandits as the fence. She traced the water’s journey as it twisted down from the forest near the castle toward the village.

  “Jartas.”

  Ilythra followed Mohan’s gaze. He stared at the castle, his eyes unreadable. Tashi’s reins held loosely in one hand.

  Ilythra nodded and by unspoken consent, they began down the hill toward the village.

  There was little traffic going in or out of the town as they neared its wooden gate, but the single guard only looked them up and down and let them pass without a word.

  The town grew around the river. Wooden bridges spanned the muddy waters on the main street. As they crossed one, a young woman dumped a bucketful of refuse upstream from another woman washing her clothes. Angry words shot back and forth before the young woman walked away, swinging her bucket.

  The alleys between houses were full of rotting garbage and animals rooting for anything edible. It was the largest, and possibly the grimiest, town Ilythra had seen on her northward journey so far.

  They stopped before what was obviously a tavern. After hobbling Tashi, Ilythra turned to Mohan. “Follow my lead.”

  A single rickety step led to a short porch where an old man sat on a bench, his chin on his chest. Ilythra glanced at him before taking a deep breath and entering the tavern. The scent of moldering hay scattered along the floor and whatever lay under it felt almost solid as they stepped into the dusky room.

  They walked toward the back, snaking through tables where men drank or ate, throwing bones or half-chewed lumps of gristle onto the floor. Ilythra wondered how many layers of leftovers, spilled ale and puke lay under the fetid hay. Light filtered through a high window but failed to penetrate the recesses of the room or dispel the gloom.

  A round man with small black eyes stood behind a bar. “What can I do for ye?”

  “Two cups of ale.” Ilythra set a copper on the counter.

  The barkeep disappeared to return a moment later with two grimy jars full of amber liquid, pocketing the coin in a smooth and much practiced movement.

  Ilythra put the cup down on the nearest table. No way would she drink the swill. “Are you the owner?”

  He glanced around as though looking for someone to object. “Aye.”

  “I’m Ilythra. A healer. I have a bargain for you. I will be here for a while and if you spread the word there is a healer in town and give us a room to stay, I’ll give you half of my profits.”

  Greed flickered in the man’s eye. “How will I know—”

  “I never lie.” She dropped her tone.

  “Boy!” the man shouted. “Get a room ready for our new guests.” He leaned toward Ilythra and lowered his voice. “Ilythra, huh? I know of a man who would hire someone to—”

  “I don’t kill unless I have to, and never to settle someone else’s scores.” Where in the world did people get the idea she would poison anyone for profit? It didn’t say much for the other healers they’d known. Of course, a traveling healer was a rarity at best.

  “Just being friendly.” The man wore a look of hurt on his face when he walked away, like she’d refused a gift.

  Mohan cleared his throat. “Not bad. Now we have a place to stay. How does that get us into the castle? We don’t have time to heal every sick person around here.”

  “No, we don’t and I won’t have to. Word is already out. Even if only out of curiosity, the lord of the castle will invite us to dine with him.”

  “And if not?”

  “If not—” she pushed away the tepid ale and met Mohan’s gaze. She would get Mohan’s brother back. Confidence surged through her limbs. “Then we storm it.”

  * * *

  Ilythra stretched, easing into the pain. The muscles in her back and neck groaned with masochistic glee. She glanced down at the small bed she and Mohan shared. He’d offered to sleep on the floor but after one look at the scuffed and dirty surface, she’d told him she wouldn’t do that to her worst enemy, let alone a friend.

  The bed wasn’t much better, a mattress filled with straw ticking lay over ropes secured to a frame. She’d taken it apart and tried to tighten the ropes but in their frayed state, additional stress might have left them both sleeping on the floor. She tried not to think of what might inhabit the mattress.

  Mohan rubbed his jaw. He was eager to get into the castle and in truth, so was she. But her gut told her to wait, so like it or not, he would wait with her. He’d spent all morning intermittently helping her see to the townspeople’s various ills and pacing the floor. The barkeep’s larder already boasted an assortment of chickens, eggs and one small pig. They’d returned to their room as the sun hit its zenith to escape the smell of whatever the innkeeper was serving for the midday meal.

  “Let’s give it the rest of the day. If by nightfall we’re still here, I’ll think of another way,” she said.

  He met her gaze. “It’s nice seeing you at work. I mean, the healing kind. You care, don’t you?”

  She shrugged. “As much as I can.”

  He nodded. “One more day? Then what?”

  Ilythra shrugged. “Feel like storming the castle?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “Then we’ll knock on the door.”

  When someone rapped on the door’s mismatched planks, both jerked alert. Mohan cocked an eyebrow and moved to open it as Ilythra glided out of sight to stand beside it.

  “Can I help you?” Mohan asked as he opened the door a crack.

  “Is the healer here?”

  “And who would be asking?”

  “I come from King Farial.” Impatience tinged the man’s voice.

  Ilythra opened the door and stepped into view. “I’m Ilythra.”

  A man dressed in purple leggings and yellow tunic with bright red piping stood ramrod straight. He bowed. “King Farial bids me to request your presence this evening for supper and entertainment.”

  “Is His Highness ill?” Ilythra asked, ignoring Mohan’s dirty look.

  “No, milady. Not that I’m aware.”

  “Send my thanks to your King Farial. My companion and I will be honored to dine with him.”


  The man glanced from Mohan to Ilythra, bowed again, rotated sharply on his heel and marched down the hallway.

  Ilythra turned to Mohan. “Looked like one of yours.”

  Mohan shook his head. “I’ll ask him who tailored the jacket. Beautiful.”

  Ilythra smiled.

  “Why did you ask him if the king was ill?”

  “I wanted to be prepared. Know beforehand if this was business or if I was to be part of the entertainment.”

  “And?” Mohan raised a single eyebrow.

  “Entertainment, definitely. Something to talk about after I’m gone. Do you think Tarak is still there?”

  Mohan hesitated then nodded. “While you were treating the various illnesses about town, I heard some men talking about a poet at the castle. I couldn’t quite hear everything though.” He ran his hands through his hair. “He’s got to be.”

  “We’ll see tomorrow.”

  Chapter Eight

  Trapped. Bent. Discord. Pain. Restore the balance. Restore me.

  Ilythra sat upright, heart racing, sweat cooling her body. The red mist receded and with it, the flavor of the dream and an anguish too deep for words.

  “Are you okay?” Mohan gripped her shoulders.

  “No. Yes. It was only a dream.” She rose and moved to the shadows on the other side of the small room. Taking deep breaths, she tried to slow the staccato beat of her heart.

  Mohan swung his legs out of bed, sitting up and watching her. “I am Benai. You cannot say it was only a dream.”

  Ilythra shrugged. What could she tell him? Her dreams were often troubled, but this one had been strange. There was a different flavor, almost desperation. Crioch? Was it the stone? Zeynel had said the stone suffered under the use of its bearer. Could the stone be calling out to her? And if so, that meant it was close. “...a power that none of them could comprehend, let alone defy.” Zeynel’s words when she’d first asked about the bearer of Crioch drifted to her. Crioch, the stone of Dominion, given as a gift to the elder children by the One to bestow authority over His creation. Now lost to them and claimed by a man who craved power as well as dominance with no regard for Teann’s balance. Who did she think she was to stand against him? Fear clogged her throat.

  Mohan placed a hand on each of her shoulders. “You are strong enough.”

  His steady gaze caught her, slowing her racing thoughts. Grounding her. She laid a hand on his cheek. “I think we are going into something more dangerous than you realize.”

  “Are you asking me to stay behind?”

  “No.” She gave a wry smile. “I know you better than that. I’m only telling you to be prepared.”

  * * *

  The castle stood on a hill, surrounded by a masonry wall pierced at intervals by grated openings, spewing milky slops. Like a snake, the river that fed the town below curved around the foundation stones, providing another layer of protection to the King who lived within. Mohan dismounted as they started up the steep hill, spouting something about giving the poor horse a break.

  Ilythra closed her eyes, one hand on Ilydearta. She could feel it, like the atmosphere right before lightning strikes. There was a stone nearby. If they all had their own resonance, as Zeynel had taught her, this was the same one she’d faced in the Zorcani Mountains. She could see the tendrils of power, like the last vestige of lightning on a retina or the memory of thunder, washed away by rain. The trader. Justice, revenge. She narrowed her turbulent thoughts and emotions until they were condensed to a sharp, fierce blade of anger. If they could pierce through the stone, would they find him? Kill him? Her stomach soured. Fear flirted along her nerves. “Some fear is sensible, girl. Don’t you forget that.” Who had told her that? Maelys. For Maelys, Pierric, Nolwen, Shandor and even Cais, she would find the red man.

  And do what? Kill him.

  The thought drifted against her mind like a gentle breeze but chilled her to the bone. That wasn’t her mission, but it had an appeal she couldn’t deny.

  The guards at the gate were well armed and alert, allowing them to pass only after learning their names and purpose.

  They dismounted and led the horse past a dusty square into the inner courtyard. Within the castle walls, blacksmiths clanged out ironwork in forges, livestock bellowed inside darkened barns and soldiers practiced their skills in a large open area—under the catcalls and cheers of those on duty along the wall. Children ran through the streets with seemingly no destination in mind, only to be chastised by the nearest adult. Tashi’s hooves clicked against cobbles almost buried by dirt. Ilythra tossed the reins toward a waiting groom then glanced back at Mohan.

  Ivy clung to the top of the inner wall, trailing down like icing on a cake, taunting the moss growing closer to the ground where the sun’s rays could not reach.

  As they neared the castle entrance, Ilythra saw artisans working on their trades. Soon, the biting smell of a tanner replaced the tang of manure.

  A bearded man wearing a short tunic and leggings met them at the door and bowed. “I’ll take your weapons and your pouch.” He clapped his hands, and a young boy bounded forward. Ilythra and Mohan handed the youth their swords, which he took with reverence.

  My pouch? And what exactly does he think I can do with it? Bespell the king? She shrugged off the medicine pouch. “Be careful with this,” she warned.

  The boy nodded his head with enthusiasm, bowed and disappeared down the gloomy hallway. The porter nodded then led them across a large hall. Cool, moist air chilled Ilythra’s skin after the warmth from the midday sun outside.

  They walked down hallways, passing various shields on display until they reached large double doors. Ilythra searched the shallows of Teann but couldn’t detect anything different or strange. What if he’s not here? He is. I know he is. She took several deep breaths in the hopes they would steady her nerves. They didn’t. The man opened the doors then stood aside, gesturing for them to enter. Ilythra nodded to him and stepped into a large open room, Mohan close behind. A table, its chairs facing the doors, stood on a raised dais in front of a fireplace large enough to house a wagon. Other tables, perpendicular to the first, stretched almost the length of the room. Torches burned in brackets along the wall, adding sporadic light but no warmth to dancing shadows.

  A large, richly dressed man detached from a group and neared, his face creased by a grin and his arms outstretched. Gray hair fell to his shoulders but his eyes were deep set and dark. Ilythra shuddered as she felt the first dissonance in Teann. The red man. She’d never seen his face. Was this him?

  “Are you okay?” Mohan asked.

  “Yes, just cold,” she said as the man drew near.

  “Welcome to Maivesbrook. I am King Farial, and you could be no other than Ilythra. Word of your charms fell short of their reality.”

  Ilythra bowed. No, this wasn’t him. She’d sensed Crioch. The stone was nearby. “I am honored, Your Majesty. This is Mohan, my companion.”

  Farial took Ilythra’s arm. “You will sit with me at my table, of course.” He glanced toward Mohan. “I’m sure you don’t mind sitting at a lower table. We have many guests today.”

  The slight was obvious, but Mohan sent Ilythra a warning glance. “Of course, Your Majesty.” He let the porter lead him to the long table.

  Ilythra breathed deeply to get oxygen to her lungs. The air felt thick, dense. She remembered the same sensation entering Zindelo’s t’sera for the first time. It was as though the air was charged with electricity. Ilythra glanced around but saw nothing out of the ordinary. She felt along the winds of Teann. The slight dissonance remained, but there was nothing else to direct her. If she could meditate, maybe she could find him.

  “We have wonderful entertainment today. A visiting noble has brought his cousin, a poet. His words are delightful. I’m sure you’ll enjoy them.�
� The king beamed.

  Ilythra gave the king her full attention. Tarak is here. As she stepped over the rushes toward the table, Ilythra breathed the scent of rosemary strewn around the king’s table to mask other less pleasant smells. “I’m sure I will. Thank you.” Ilythra strained her neck to find Mohan. Was it possible that Tarak’s kidnapper and the trader she sought were in the same castle at the same time? The coincidence seemed too great. All this time, had Ilydearta been leading her toward the trader and his stone, instead of toward the Siobani? She shook her head to clear her thoughts. She needed to keep her wits about her.

  Mohan sat next to an older gentleman and what looked like his much-younger wife. A man neared the king and whispered in his ear then scurried off. “Ah, that is a shame. Lord Bredych is ill and cannot attend, but he sends his regards and hopes to meet you soon.”

  “Bredych is the noble who brought his cousin, the Poet?”

  “Yes. Lovely man.”

  “I’m sorry to hear he’s ill,” Ilythra said. Bredych must have recognized Mohan. She wondered if he and Tarak were already long gone. Should they go after the noble? The king hadn’t said he’d left, only that he was ill. Besides, Crioch was near; she didn’t want to leave until she found the bearer. Mohan, forgive me. Tarak could wait a little longer.

  “Perhaps after we sup, you can look in on him,” Farial suggested, settling next to her.

  “Of course, Majesty,” Ilythra replied. She felt restless, on edge, as though she was missing something vital. She shifted in her seat, glanced again toward Mohan then to the tapestries on the wall. She should be rushing after the noble and Tarak instead of here with the idiotic king.

  “Don’t worry. He’ll be well taken care of until he’s back in your arms again,” the king assured her.

  Ilythra nodded, letting the king have his misconceptions. Her name came with so many rumors, she thought she could show up with a harem of men and no one would blink an eye. It would be only one more story to tell when she was gone.

  Servants bustled out with bowls of parsnip soup and bread heavily seasoned with parsley. Stuffed fish followed, but Ilythra had little appetite, a condition that didn’t seem to afflict her dining companions. Laughter echoed from the high ceilings, and men and women ate as though it were their only meal of the day. She glanced toward Mohan who, from the blush on the woman next to him, was not suffering at the lower table.