Song of the Worlds Boxed Set

by Brandon Barr

  Luminess. The word breathed hope through her.

  She took the treaty from her inner cloak pocket. “I must deliver this to my father, but I fear Valcere has put himself head-deep in his own treachery. He knows the stakes if I succeed in waking my father. I fear he is not far from resorting to bloodshed.”

  “We will defend you with our lives,” whispered a brawny young man whom she knew from the kitchen staff as Kren.

  Hushed words of agreement reverberated in the passage.

  Meluscia lifted her hand. “I forbid you fighting any more than you already have. If it comes to it, I will challenge Valcere myself. If he dares accept my challenge, then he will do so to his own ruin.”

  Mica knelt first, and the others followed. She turned and saw Heulan and Terling kneeling also.

  “We are honored to help protect you,” said Mica.

  “Any willing to risk further danger, I would be grateful if you’d accompany me to my father’s room.” She turned to Mairena and Praseme. “If the two of you would spread news about my imprisonment and Valcere’s treachery throughout the Hold, I am certain no small earthshake will rattle this place to the core. Most of the soldiers are not our enemy, only a few under Valcere’s influence.”

  Meluscia looked down the passage that angled upward. It was not far to her father. “Those who are coming, follow me.”

  She fingered the hilt of her sword, remembering the Maker’s promise.

  Then she broke into a run.

  CHAPTER 41

  MELUSCIA

  Two guards stood before her father’s room. They drew their swords at the abrupt approach of Meluscia and the sizeable number of servants behind her. Meluscia took a torch from a brawny woman beside her and went slowly forward.

  She saw fear and questions written on the guards’ faces.

  “I am Meluscia, Trigon’s daughter.” She put the torch before her so they could see her face. “Make way for me and my friends. We wish to see the Luminar.”

  “Afraid not,” said the man left of the door. “Orders are that no one enters.”

  Meluscia kept her voice calm. “My father is dying. You would keep me from him at this hour?”

  “Not I, My Lady,” said the soldier warily, as if counting the number of men behind her. “Valcere has given me my orders.”

  “Then I demand that you suspend your orders immediately,” said Meluscia coolly. “Valcere is a traitor to my father. I will be given entrance, as Luminess Imminent. If you would sheath your swords and let us pass, you will be exculpated of any wrongdoing under Valcere’s command. It is that or face my wrath, and that of my friends.”

  The two soldiers looked at one another, then both put away their swords.

  Meluscia strode past and entered her father’s room. Candles glowed about the walls. To her surprise, Katlel stood beside the physicker, a book in his hand. He appeared to be reading scriptures to her father.

  “Meluscia!” he cried. “You’re home!”

  She came beside the bed and found her father’s hand.

  “I’m afraid,” said the physicker, “this may be his last night. He is close.”

  She stared down at her father’s pale face, the weight of the moment hitting her chest hard. Childhood memories of her father in his health were counterposed by the sight before her. Suddenly, she felt her fingertips begin to tingle, just as they had in the meadow with the Maker.

  Was her father to be healed? Or was she simply giving him strength? Strength to read the treaty and declare her Luminess.

  A thought passed through her she knew immediately to be wicked. It was of losing the crown once again, only this time, to her father.

  It was healing she felt in her fingers, and she felt anger and shame all at once.

  “It’s a pity King Feaor is as stubborn as your father,” said Katlel. “If you couldn’t persuade him, none could.”

  “You’ve heard lies,” said Meluscia. “Do not trust the bull my father has placed as judge.” She brought forth the treaty from her cloak. “It is signed.”

  Katlel stared in confusion, then cried, “Praise the Makers!” cried Katlel.

  “Your father cannot speak,” said the physicker. “He is too far under the malady.”

  “He doesn’t need to speak,” said Katlel, “Many know of his promise. That if Meluscia returned with a signed treaty, then she is to be made Luminess.”

  Meluscia looked at her father and the dark, ugly thought returned.

  If you heal him, he will spoil the promise you made to Feaor. War will continue.

  These felt like noble reasons to keep her healing hand at her side, but she knew the logic to be wicked. “Curse my ambitions,” she said under her breath. Her father’s face loomed before her, sickly, fragile. She longed to see him as he once was.

  And what did she know of the future, might her father not soften, especially once he heard Meluscia’s account? And if he knew of the spies that Savarah had listed and how Isolaug was on the verge of gaining some mysterious power that would crush them all, would her father not turn his eyes to his true enemies?

  A sense of peace came to her heart at the thought of her father’s health returning. Perhaps she was not to be Luminess after all, but to play some other role.

  She spread her hands and placed them lightly on her father’s chest. Between them, she laid her head over his heart. Tears came to her eyes at the thought that, through her hands, her father would be made well by the Makers.

  The warmth in her hands began flowing down into her father’s chest. The sensation was pure power, like nothing she could describe. She closed her eyes, absorbing the moment, in awe of it.

  A cry of alarm came from the room’s entryway. She lifted her head to see Valcere flood through the door with a mob of soldiers. The loyal servants who’d come with her pressed back to where she, Katlel, and the physicker stood.

  “You’ve caused quite a stir in the Hold,” said Valcere, his eyes hard as diamonds as they glared at her. “You are no peacemaker, Meluscia. In fact, you seem to have sparked the beginnings of war within your own house.”

  Meluscia saw several familiar faces behind Valcere. A few she knew were friendly. Behind him stood Rivdon. His eyes met hers briefly.

  “Sometimes peace requires rooting out a tyrant,” said Meluscia. “If blood is shed, it’s on your head, Valcere. You are the one guilty of treason. I have a right to be here with my father, as his daughter, and as his peace delegate to the Verdlands.”

  She held the treaty beside her head. It hung like a dagger from her upraised hand.

  Valcere’s smile was ice, his eyes brimming with malice. “Give it to me.”

  “The treaty is between Feaor and my father,” she said, hiding her fear behind defiant eyes.

  “Your father is two heartbeats from death—mute and unable to hear. I am his chosen judge, and when he passes, I will be Luminar.” He stepped toward her menacingly. “Now, give me the treaty.”

  “As long as I am alive, you will never touch the treaty, nor be Luminar.” She stepped forward, the rightness of her cause flowing furiously through her veins. “You forsook that office when you imprisoned me. You sought to prevent the treaty from reaching my father so you could secure your position—that is why I call you treacherous before all who will hear.”

  A hush fell over the room. Meluscia suspected—hoped—that some of the soldiers present were unaware of Valcere’s actions.

  “Her treaty with King Feaor means nothing.” Valcere turned around and looked at the soldiers, entreating them. “She knows nothing of the skirmishes and the blood spilt by Verdlands soldiers.” He turned back to Meluscia. “You went and groveled before our enemy, without honor, without pride. He did not sign our treaty in the past, so what did you do? Whimper and beg? Bow down and plead to Feaor like a fool?” He sneered. “Tell me, did you really propose only your father’s conditions, or did you promise other things to him? Things you would do once you gained power?”

  Melu
scia glared at him.

  “I love my father, but I am not him.” She held Valcere’s gaze. She would not hide the truth. “I promised Feaor just as you have said, but there is much you do not know, Valcere. And if I were to tell you, your stubborn mind would twist it to fit your own vision. A war-hungry heart cannot appreciate kindness and respect to one’s perceived enemies. And that, among other reasons, is why you must never be Luminar.”

  The throng of servants around her shouted in agreement.

  “You have the mind of a child,” snapped Valcere. “If you were a man, I might say Feaor has you by the balls. But you’re a weak, groveling woman. Tell me, did part of your side dealings with Feaor include the spreading of your legs?”

  “Enough!” roared a voice behind Meluscia. The sound of it stilled her fury. She turned and saw her father, eyes open upon the pillow, teeth bared. “How dare you speak to my daughter like that! Your duty as judge is over, Valcere. I’ve heard enough. Treachery is my judgement. The dusty floors of the dungeon will be your new throne.”

  Meluscia fought the urge to run to her father. Clearly the healing had begun. But prudence held her feet. She returned her gaze upon Valcere, a man turned wild by desperate words and deeds.

  Fear and hysterical rage boiled across Valcere’s face. “You are dying, old man. And to those loyal to me, you are already dead.” Valcere’s sword flashed in his hands. “All who resist—kill them!”

  Another voice shouted out, “If you wish to remain loyal to the Luminar and your future Luminess, join me!” It was Rivdon. He moved beside Meluscia, trailed by other soldiers. When the room stilled, there stood fourteen soldiers with Rivdon, along with the many servants who’d helped Meluscia gain entry into her father’s room. Opposite stood Valcere, with an equal force behind him.

  Meluscia raised her sword and met Valcere’s murderous eyes. “If any soldier behind you drops his sword and abandons you now, he will be forgiven.” Her face became grim. “To you, Valcere, I offer this: surrender or die.”

  “Kill her,” breathed Valcere. “Kill them all. Now!”

  Valcere and his men sprang forward like a tide. Rushing in front of her was Rivdon. His sword clashed against an oncoming soldier. The ring of steel filled the room. Meluscia saw a handful of Valcere’s men hold back, drop their swords and flee from the room. She scanned the faces of the fighters, searching for Valcere. Her hand resting on her sword hilt made her feel powerful, confident, as if the blade and her body had practiced swordplay for centuries. And yet, she couldn’t forget the promise the Maker had spoken. If the sword remained sheathed, no weapon could kill her.

  She felt a sudden presence come upon her left side. She ducked and spun as a longblade cut the air above her.

  Valcere’s face was white with surprise, for he had thought to cleave her head from her neck. He stepped back, the woven chainmail clinking against his golden breast plate. All about, the sound of shouts and fighting rang loud in Meluscia’s ears. A hiss escaped his lips, “Run away little princess…while you still can!”

  He lashed out again with his longblade, knuckles pale. Meluscia flung herself against the rock wall, barely escaping a blow that would have sliced her chest wide.

  She glanced at her sheathed sword, her right hand frozen to the hilt. She knew Valcere’s strength was three or four times her own.

  But the Maker’s promise wore heavy on her mind.

  She could draw the sword and kill him. The desire vibrated furiously within her. To show him that the woman he deemed a child was able to match him at his own game. To see the look on his cruel face when she thrust the sword through his chest.

  But something called to her. A voice inside, warning her that this choice would define her. A fork in the road, one leading to vengeance, the other to…

  With a fanatic cry, Valcere lunged forward, golden chest plate gleaming in the firelight. Meluscia threw her hand from her hilt, relinquishing her fate to the Maker’s promise. Boldly she moved to meet Valcere, as if her body were a weapon.

  Teeth bared in a wrathful grin, his sword slashed a vicious arch downward, and Meluscia’s breath caught in her throat.

  A sword sung to her left, slapping Valcere’s attempt to skewer her aside. Her father stood from the bedside, vigor and fury flushing his cheeks red. He thrust his sword up under the armor of Valcere’s breastplate, and drove him down to the ground.

  Valcere stared at the old man, then at Meluscia. He reached out, clutching her father’s shoulder, his fingers digging through the old man’s cloak and into his skin. She felt frozen there, watching Valcere’s wide eyes stare at her in bewilderment. The glint of crimson gushed from Valcere’s lips as her father withdrew the sword, then thrust the blade in a second time, the tip scraping the stone floor as it exited the traitor’s back. Valcere’s eyes glazed over, and then his head fell back against the floor and he lay dead.

  Her father jerked his sword from Valcere’s body.

  Meluscia stared at the red-slicked weapon as her father raised it high.

  “Valcere is dead!” shouted Meluscia, over the din of fighting. Tears stung her eyes. “Valcere is dead! My father has killed him!”

  At those words, men stopped mid-combat. Those still alive who’d been loyal to Valcere dropped their weapons at the sight of his blood-soaked body. There was no reason to fight and risk their lives for a dead leader. Immediately, Rivdon took charge of the treasonous men, and shouted orders to the remaining soldiers and the servants. Several bodies lay still on the ground. Others grimaced or cried out where they lay on the floor, some terrible wound marring their body.

  Meluscia looked to her hands and thought of the healing gift. She turned to her father.

  Her father suddenly fell to the ground. She hurried to him, realizing that perhaps she hadn’t finished what she’d begun in him.

  Her father looked up weakly at her. “Mel, you’ve proved yourself right and me a stubborn old man.” He winced as soon as the words were out, and his head sunk to the floor beside Valcere.

  She touched her hand gently to his cheek. Tears came again to her eyes, but this time, it was because she wanted to heal him. Quickly she placed her hands on his chest. She wanted her father back…but the fire in her fingers was gone.

  Then she knew.

  Her father had received strength, not healing.

  “I’m sorry,” he managed to say through gritted teeth. “My precious daughter. My peacemaker.”

  “Don’t speak,” whispered Meluscia, stroking her father’s face.

  “Luminess,” he wheezed before a contorted grimace took hold of his face, but still he gazed at her.

  Meluscia held his hand tight in her grip. Her father said no more and all at once, the suffering was gone from his eyes. His spirit had departed.

  Katlel whispered a prayer.

  Meluscia lingered, holding her father’s hand in hers. A hush had fallen over the room at her father’s passing. Finally, she stood from the bedside and looked about. The dead and wounded had been carried off. Several servants were on hands and knees, quietly cleaning up blood from the floor and removing carpets and rugs that had been sullied. A dozen or more soldiers stood in the room, a look of respect in their eyes. A few bowed their heads when her eyes met theirs, displaying their admiration for their new Luminess.

  “I need one of you to fetch Rivdon,” said Meluscia. “Tell him I have chosen him as a councilor and need his advice. I will meet him in the infirmary.” She turned to Katlel and the physicker. “Katlel, you are my other councilor. Don’t worry, my friend, I’ll not require you to leave the Scriptorium often. I think I shall find my way there easily enough, and often.”

  Katlel bowed his head, tears of joy and sadness marking his face.

  “This is a day of new birth,” said Katlel. “Though we grieve today, tomorrow, the Blue Mountain Realm wakes to a new Luminary. The Hold has never been stronger.”

  CHAPTER 42

  MELUSCIA

  When she entered the infirmary,
a tremor of fear came over her, for she didn’t know whose friendly face she might find in pain or close to death. The wounds ranged from dismembered limbs and open chest wounds to minor cuts, and the infirmary housed both friend and foe.

  As she walked down the line, her fingers stirred with power. This time, she knew it was for healing—the gift of strength was gone. She turned, letting the power in her fingers lead. There lay an old soldier who she’d seen fighting for Valcere. The hairless scar that ran through his scalp and the mangled ear where the scar ended were unforgettable. He was the soldier who had harassed her when she’d ridden out with Captain Breccio to try and save the outpost village from the Nightmares.

  Now she understood the man’s insolence. A dog of Valcere.

  She hovered her hand over the man obediently. A cruel gash ran down his chest where a sword had frayed the chainmail.

  “What are you doing?” asked Katlel.

  Meluscia hid a smile, for Katlel didn’t know that his acolyte had encountered a Maker.

  “What does it look like? I’m healing him.”

  Katlel looked on with a frown. Meluscia ignored him, focusing on the warm feeling in her fingers. Little by little, the man’s injuries appeared less severe.

  “You’re serious,” stammered Katlel, his eyes widening. She didn’t reply, only watched as the wound closed, until the obvious injuries to the man faded as if they’d never existed.

  “Praise the Makers!” cried Katlel.

  The old soldier sat up and felt his chest. Meluscia looked at his face and startled. She’d paid such close attention to the chest wound, she hadn’t witnessed the healing of his scar and ear. His head appeared normal now. The man reached up, touching his face and running his fingers over his ear.

  He stared at her, frightened.

  “The Makers have healed you,” said Meluscia. Her eyebrows drew downward. “You were among the soldiers who rode with me to the village slaughtered by Nightmares. I don’t remember your name, but I do remember receiving more than a few of your insults.”