Heir to the Raven (The Pierced Veil, #1)

by J. Wesley Bush

  “Shoot him, now!” Gladwin yelled.

  The beggar-spy circled right, lifting his hand crossbow. Magus raised an arm and cried, “Shatter!” The crossbow bolt struck him in the chest as every glass object in the workshop broke into pieces. The magus lifted his head and wheezed out a single word. “Fly.”

  As if hurled by a gale, glass shards flew straight at them. “Kraal!” Larissa screamed, picturing the hedge shield in Far Ingarsby. Glass shattered against an invisible wall, just inches away. But the shield was too small. The beggar-spy fell to the ground, burbling blood from his throat. A hundred wounds cratered his skin. Hajsem had only been partly covered, and now his left arm dangled uselessly.

  Gladwin and Hajsem charged the magus, each grabbing an arm and forcing him against a furnace. Gladwin stabbed him in the stomach. And stabbed him again. Tancred cried out in agony, struggling against them for a moment, and then his head lolled forward.

  Larissa felt a wave of mixed relief and sadness. She covered her mouth with a hand, but couldn’t keep back the sobs. Monster or not, Magus had been her friend. He had taught her everything she knew. “I’m sorry, Gladwin. I know he was bad…” Another wave of sobs burbled up.

  “It’s fine to cry, Larissa,” Gladwin said, glancing back with a smile of encouragement. “We should always mourn a lost soul.”

  Larissa tried to return the smile, but movement distracted her. Magus shifted in the men’s grasp and seemed to grow. And grow. Gladwin stabbed him with lightning quick strikes. Nothing stopped it. She watched in horror as Tancred sprouted gray, wiry fur and his mouth thickened into an inhuman maw. Curving tusks erupted from his gums.

  Magus is a changeling.

  A massive paw struck Gladwin to the ground and then Magus seized Hajsem. His mouth yawned open and he bit deeply into the joint of neck and shoulder. Blood sprayed. He tossed Hajsem aside like a straw doll and turned his attention back to Gladwin. Larissa fumbled with her belt knife, shaking hands refusing to obey. “Get away from him!”

  That drew his attention. Magus plucked the crossbow bolt from his chest and turned on Larissa. She saw his stomach wounds begin to close. “This isn’t what I wanted. I thought I could get free. Or else in time you would join me.” Tusks mangled the words and his voice came out in a rumble.

  “Like Kolos?”

  “Kolos came to me dark. You had only the seed of corruption, the geas.”

  He stepped closer. Larissa backed away in horror. Even hunched as he was, Magus towered over her. His face was awful, with traces of bear, and wolf, and something not of this world. A reek of musk filled the room.

  “I’d never help you!”

  “I’m so thankful for that. Truly I am. Avishag has my soul, but you will be free of her. I love you, Larissa, like you were my own daughter.”

  She turned to run.

  “I’ll tear out your spine before you reach the door.”

  Shaking, Larissa faced him again. She tried to meet his gaze, hoping to eyebite before he could charm her.

  Behind him, Gladwin rose quickly to his feet, dagger in hand. Only skystone or a magic weapon could harm a changeling in faie form. “Enchant!” The last dregs of her reservoir flowed out. As Gladwin slammed the dagger home, she saw the blade shimmer for a moment, but the feeble energy dissipated.

  The magus roared, flaring his wide nostrils. He turned and shoved Gladwin with both paws. The knight flew across the room and struck a rocky wall.

  Larissa closed her eyes and tried to summon the Veil. Only the light faie could save them. Powerful hands seized her, shattering her concentration. She opened her eyes to find the magus twisting a long, bronze pipe around her as easily as if it were a grapevine, pinning her arms at the side. He lay her on the ground and twisted a second one painfully tight around the ankles. Next would come a bite to the throat. Terror shook her wildly.

  Instead, she heard the magus stomp heavily across the room toward Gladwin. Cracking her eyelids, she watched him drag the fallen man to the center of the room. He took up Gladwin’s dagger from the floor. It looked tiny in his paw.

  “Don’t let Avishag take your soul, Tancred! You can still come back!”

  “I know.” His thick brows curved together sadly. “That’s why I must stay alive, Larissa. If I’m executed now, my soul goes to Avishag.”

  If she was going to die, she had to know. “Why? Why would you serve her?”

  “A moment of weakness. I made a mistake once. Lost my temper and killed a master who was hurting us boys. The Dandrenor Guard was hard upon me.” He motioned with the dagger. “I needed escape, but the light faie wouldn’t treat with me, not with fresh blood on my hands. So I turned to Avishag.”

  His laugh was bitter as raw kaif. “The evil bint saw my desperation and made me a deal. Saved me from execution, but at the cost of my soul. Until I find a way out of it, I can’t afford to die. Though I hate that you must pay for my mistake.”

  “Killing Gladwin won’t save you. The king will follow you to the end of the world if you murder him.”

  He shook his head. “King Randolf will thank me for bringing the murderer to justice.”

  A horrible realization dawned on Larissa. “You’re going to blame me. Like Kolos.”

  “I worried this day might come. The Royal Council is well-aware of your debt to Avishag and my fears that you might go dark.”

  Bile rose in her throat. “And the glassblower’s family will support you.”

  “They are servants of Avishag.”

  Gladwin groaned and stirred. Magus knelt at his side.

  “Gladwin!” Larissa shrieked, squirming in the restraints.

  The magus closed his eyes. “Avishag, accept this sacrifice.” The dagger plunged into Gladwin’s chest. Once, twice, a third time. Power flowed from the body, more than Larissa imagined possible. Gladwin had so much eldritch dignity, for he was good, and honored, and well-loved. An instant later, the magus’s reservoir filled with light.

  “Whoreson bastard!”

  “Actually,” the magus replied softly, “my mother was a grove-fiend. Though I plead guilty to the second accusation.” He stood and crossed to Larissa. “This brings me nothing but grief.”

  “Ram the grief up your arse — sidewise!”

  “It will need to resemble a battle wound,” he said, tracing the dagger in a slow, diagonal line across her stomach. He raised the blade again and she saw the resolve in his expression. The end was coming.

  Larissa clenched her eyes shut and hot tears leaked down her cheeks. She tried flinching away, but the bindings wouldn’t yield. Magus drew in a deep breath. A queer shiver rippled through her body. In the time of a dagger stroke, she felt a change.

  The blade traced white agony across her belly. Larissa recoiled in pain, the bronze bindings fragmenting in all directions and her dress ripping apart. Opening her eyes, she found the room strangely bright.

  Magus struck her in the arm. Larissa yelped and scrambled away. Retreating into a corner, she arched her back and growled a warning. Only then did she notice the dark fur covering her paws.

  “As I suspected,” Magus said, tossing away the dagger, “You’re a sinistrous panther.” Larissa remembered an etching of one from their studies and knew he was right. Her tongue slid over needle-like teeth. Tufted ears twitched. Leathery wings folded tightly across her back.

  Larissa circled her enemy. She could smell the blood on his fur, hear the beat of his heart, and the gurgling of his stomachs. Instinct said to run from the larger predator. She was slightly bigger than a leopard, while Tancred weighed several times as much.

  Then she spotted Gladwin’s twitching corpse. Anger surged through her, a feral, uncontrolled rage. Powerful hind legs launched her upward toward Tancred’s throat. He shifted and her teeth closed on his shoulder, claws digging furrows in his chest as she scrabbled for purchase, clumsy in the unfamiliar body.

  Magus grabbed the loose fur of her nape and hurled her to the ground. Then a heavy foot sent her hal
f-flying, half-tumbling across the room, impacting the wall next to the door. She tried to stand but her right foreleg would take no weight.

  The monster bellowed, nothing human in the sound. His heavy footfalls echoed through the workshop. Larissa staggered into the hallway. He was right behind. Panicking, she unfurled her wings and kicked off with hind legs.

  Through the hall and into the shop she vaulted. The glassblower’s children shrieked. Hobbling and fluttering, Larissa made it out the window to the street.

  Nails clattering on the cobbles, she fled down the narrow alley. She glanced back to see Tancred emerge from the shop, close on her heels. Flight was the only hope. She coiled and then sprang into the air, wings beating hard. Claws swiped just short of her hind legs. Up she flew, between the overhanging rooftops and into the night sky.

  As Larissa climbed into the air, the city spread out in all directions, and while it was hours until dawn, everything seemed bathed in a hazy light that smoothed the corners and edges of the world. The view was dizzying, but she felt no fear. Her body wanted to fly.

  But she was already growing tired. A distant, human thought arose. Books say the faie form only lasts a short while. She had to escape the city before it ended, for soon every man’s hand would turn against her.

  Where to go? She longed to flee to the savanna, to Mother and brothers and Zsuzsi, but the king would look for her there. Perhaps the forest?

  No — first she must go to Gladwin’s manor and get Kiyandla. With a pony she would have a chance of escape, and Kiyandla was all she had left of Gladwin. Her eyes found the dark line of the riverbed, and she wheeled to follow it southward.

  If the guards noticed a shadow passing overhead, they gave no sign of it as she cleared the city wall. A trailing wind carried her over field and pasture for miles, but the only trees she saw belonged to orchards and windbreaks. The houses she passed were small peasant huts. She felt tired and heavy. Toothy yawns came one after another. If Gladwin’s manor didn’t appear soon, she would need to find a barn and take her chances.

  There! To the right front, far in the distance, the ground seemed to roll and mound. It took a moment to recognize the treetops. The Shield Forest! Struggling onward, she resisted the temptation to stop upon reaching the woods, instead skirting its edge until she spotted Gladwin’s house and outbuildings.

  Larissa landed in the pasture, mewling from the pain in her foreleg. She collapsed on a soft hummock of grass, and paws became hands and pelt gave way to skin. Gone also was the cold, animal mind. Exhaustion and an overwhelming sadness flooded through her. Why? Why did it have to be Gladwin? Neither God, nor the unfeeling woods made a reply.

  Grimly, she forced herself to stand and trudge to the stables. Inside she found a boy snoring on a pile of straw. She sidled past him to Kiyandla. Her pony was dozing peacefully, but came alert when Larissa entered the stall, tail raising and ears flicking back and forth. “Shhh. It’s alright,” Larissa cooed, stroking the pony’s neck. “We’re going to go for a ride.” She quietly bridled the pony, settled a blanket across her back, and strapped the saddle in place. It all took much too long with an injured arm. She led Kiyandla out of the stall and secured her to a pole.

  Next came the hard part. Larissa grabbed a thin blanket and a three-tined pitchfork from the floor and crept over to the sleeping boy. He was probably eleven, but tall for his age. Covering herself with the blanket, she gave him a light jab with the pitchfork. “Ayi! Wake up – give me your clothes.”

  The boy squealed and grabbed at his leg. Blinking confusedly, he looked up, his eyes widening in surprise. “Wha-what?”

  “Give me your clothes. I have to ride.”

  “D’you need help? Should I go get the stablemaster? He’s in the manor house.”

  “Only if you want a fork in your belly. Now skin down.”

  The bewildered lad stripped and handed her the clothes, blushing furiously. Her own cheeks felt warm as well. Once decent again, she bound him with twine and shoved a swath of blanket in his mouth. “Sorry about this. I’m not a bad person – I’m just not a very good one.” The morning sun was just rising as she led Kiyandla out of the stable and into the waiting woods.

  CHAPTER 48

  S elwyn hunched over Leax’s writing desk in the stateroom of the Amber Stag, reading the Cycle of Hesydran by light of a tallow candle. Armored knights and serjeants sprawled around the room, making use of the fine pillows and cushions. The cabin reeked of sweat, weapon oil, and brightleaf juice. He squinted to make out the copyist’s archaic script.

  The poem told of a war between the Commonwealth and the Dagoran Empire, over a millennium ago, before the Dagorans gave way to the Manticore and retreated into their jungles. Though full of the usual exaggeration and bluster of an epic, the poem was remarkable for its tactical detail. He took notes on a vellum page. Scholars believed the science of warfare had declined after the Great Rupture, as had all science, but perhaps it could be recovered.

  Voices out on deck broke his concentration, and then Reyhan pushed into the stateroom, a young woman at his heels. Even in the poor light, it was easy to see she was covered in mud and scratches. Her hair had come loose, but the purple linen of a prostitute still wound among the tresses. Lords Hewland and Switt filed in behind them. Reyhan loosed a stream of brightleaf juice on to the carpet. “This is Famida. She’s just come to us from Leax’s camp.”

  Selwyn rose and offered her the chair, and she nearly collapsed into it. He poured a cup of black kaif from a pot on the table and pressed it into her hands. “How did you know where to find us?”

  The woman was clearly exhausted, but he saw no fear in her eyes, which seemed too old for her youthful face. “The Belgorshan knights all avoid straying from camp. They see Jandari hiding under every clump of grass. I figured if I walked long enough, one of you lot would find me.”

  “Why did you leave the camp?”

  Famida shrugged. “I’m a favorite of Captain Narcis, of the Blackhelms. He came to me this evening. After, he cried like a wee boy. Said when he woke up yesterday, a white moth was in his tent and everyone in Sigga knows that means death. They’re going to assault the castle this morning and he’s sure to die.”

  “Did he say anything else?” Selwyn felt his pulse quicken. The moment he dreamed of and dreaded was soon coming. “Anything about their plans?”

  “Neh. Mostly he just sobbed and talked about his mum back home.” She thought a moment. “You should probably know that disease is getting bad in the camp. Me and five other girls rode here from the Cape. Only four of us are left and one of them is fit to die.”

  “You took quite a risk. Why did you come to us?”

  “I haven’t always…” Another shrug. “I guess I wanted to do something important.”

  “This was important. Thank you — it gives us the extra time we need.” Selwyn motioned to Reyhan. “My friend will take you to the infirmary. You’ll be safe with the clarks until we return.”

  Once they were gone, Selwyn looked to Hewland and Switt. “Do we believe her?”

  “Men pay her to lie to them, but in this case, I don’t see what she would gain by it,” Lord Hewland answered. “And I don’t see how the lie would benefit Leax.”

  Batuhan Switt nodded. “Agreed. Her words had the sound of truth.”

  Selwyn rubbed the tension from his forehead. He’d still hoped that Helaena’s mission would be successful, that the Swans would appear just in time like in the epics. But life was not a poem and time was up. “Batuhan, does this give you enough notice to swing around Harlowe Ford and hit from the south? They won’t expect an attack from that quarter.”

  “Aye. I was thinking the same thing. If we ride hard, our men can be in place by morning.”

  “Excellent,” Selwyn rolled up the Cycle of Hesydran and placed it in a bamboo tube. “Meantime, our boats will head downriver and then anchor until the enemy is fully committed to the assault.”

  They roused the camp and it came im
mediately to life. After days of sleeping in full kit, the soldiers were anxious to get moving. It took only a few minutes to douse fires, saddle horses, and weigh anchors on the boats. Lord Switt and the cavalry left at a fast trot. Selwyn felt a pang of sadness and worry. Nearly a third of their number had fallen while seizing the convoy. He hoped Batuhan Switt still had enough troops to make a difference.

  “Oarsmen to their places!” Lord Hewland called from the deck of the Stag, his clear voice ringing through the night air. He waited a few moments. “Ready oars! Give way together!” Selwyn felt the deck lurch beneath his feet and then the galley began a smooth journey downriver. Leaning out over the gunnels, he saw the Queen Bethany following suit. Ever since seizing the galleys, Hewland had focused on training oarsmen and coxswains. They seemed to have learned their lessons.

  As they traveled, the Stag’s deckhands called to each other in Belgorshan, with Selwyn catching the occasional word. He expected the enemy pickets to be suspicious when the two boats arrived in the middle of an assault, so the deck crew was Belgorshan volunteers from Wicke’s lands. Lord Hewland had experience at sea, and the fair hair of his Oberyn mother, so he was commanding the Stag. Of the other knights, only Sir Ivo was light enough to pass for Oberyn, so he held command of the Queen Bethany. Anything to fool the enemy long enough to destroy the dam.

  With their supplies offloaded and stored in Mazun Lindon’s keep, the boats sat light on the water and made quick time. It was still an hour before dawn when Jandari scouts appeared on the bank, shrouded in morning fog. “My lords! I see you believed the report of the young woman our men escorted north.”

  “Thank you for bringing her safely to us,” Selwyn answered from the deck. “Any sign the enemy is preparing for an assault?”

  “Their camp is busier than most nights, aye. And they’re sending out heavy scouting parties for the first time in ages. That’s why we halted you so distant from the castle.”

  Selwyn looked for a landmark, but the section of river looked like any other in the dark. “How far to Nineacre?”