by Cindy Dees
“I don’t know, sir. I just … did it.”
“Who are you? Where are you from?” Aurelius demanded.
“As I told the council, I come from Hickory Hollow.” He passed over the thorny question of his identity and plowed forward with delivering his father’s message. “The hollow has been attacked by orcs, and everyone in the village has been killed except me. But there is more to the story, and it is this I was charged with relaying to you, sir.”
“Indeed? Then by all means, tell your tale.”
“Ki’Raiden, Sixth Thane of the Boki, led the attack. And he demanded that the yellow dragon show himself. He declared the villagers little more than sheep and of no interest to him.”
The elf’s eyebrows shot straight up. In Will’s experience with his mother, such an obvious display of surprise was rare. The guildmaster interrupted, demanding, “Do you know to whom this Boki referred?”
“I believe I do, sir.”
Aurelius stared at him a long time, myriad emotions flitting across his golden features. Finally, he asked, “How did you manage to survive and escape?”
“We—my parents and I—ran when the Boki came. My father had an emergency stash of weapons and armor in the woods. He and my mother stood and fought the Boki that I might flee. At my father’s command, I came as fast as I could to deliver the message to you. Only you.” He hung his head. “I didn’t know what to do when the governor’s captain dragged me and Rosana before the council. I dared not lie.” He added, blurting defensively, “And I could not stand by and let them throw her into slavery. She spoke the truth!”
“Exactly how many orcs attacked your village?”
“Upward of two dozen, plus some ogres and goblins who were with them.”
The guildmaster asked carefully, “And who might your father be?”
“Ty the cobbler.”
“Of Hickory Hollow,” Aurelius finished dryly.
“Aye.”
“Dost know why he sent you to me?”
“He said I must continue the quest in his stead. That you would know more about it and could tell me how to proceed.”
The guildmaster flung himself backward in his chair, staring in open shock. Eventually, he muttered, “Did he now? He judged you ready, then?”
Not bloody likely. Ty had never judged his only son ready to do much of anything. It had always been chores and more chores, always pushing, always demanding. But Will had never measured up to his father’s ridiculous expectations. Of course, now he understood why his father’s standards had been so unattainable. The man had been no cobbler at all. He’d been some sort of battle-mage knight for this man and his guild. And the Empire. The thought was bitter in his heart.
Will answered honestly, “I doubt he found me ready. It was simply that he had no choice in the matter. Ki’Raiden was coming for us, and he knew he was going to die.”
“Did you see your father’s body?” Aurelius asked grimly.
“No. My mother struck me with a fear gas poison to make me run before they engaged the thane.”
Aurelius grinned, momentarily giving his features a surprisingly boyish cast. “That doth sound like Serica. Efficient woman.”
“You know my mother?” Will blurted.
Aurelius didn’t bother to answer. Instead, he leaned back. “So your father sent you to me, did he? Did he tell you to ask me for training?”
“No, sir.”
That occasioned another smile from Aurelius, this one rather more wry, however. “Arrogant whoreson thought he taught you more than I could, did he?”
Will had never heard his humble father called arrogant before. It gave him pause. That last night, though, when his father had been snapping orders and toying with Boki warriors, Will supposed he’d seen a flash of a man who could be labeled arrogant. Or maybe just supremely confident.
“If you don’t mind my asking, Guildmaster, who was my father to you?”
“He was my right-hand man. More than a friend. Like a son to me.” A pause as a distant look entered the elf’s golden eyes. “Did he tell you that I adopted him?”
Will’s jaw sagged. No speech came to him. This man was his adopted grandfather? His mind could not process the meaning of it.
Thankfully, Aurelius filled in the silence by explaining, “Solinari culture places great emphasis on family lineages. It is vital to bring honor to your family name and to pass that name on to your children. My career and … events in my past … have made it nigh impossible for me to have a family of mine own, however.”
Will frowned, not understanding.
“Females of my race able to bear offspring are exceedingly rare, for one thing,” Aurelius responded to his unspoken question. “For another, some years ago I drew out and absorbed the magics of the Hand of Winter to save my commanding general from being consumed by it. Some of Winter Lord’s curse still resides within me. Ice magic and my gift for fire magics do not mix well.”
Who on Urth was the Hand of Winter? Hearth tales were told in Dupree of the Lord of the Harvest, who was a friendly fae lord with a pumpkin for a head. He visited the region each autumn to ensure a bountiful harvest. Was a winter lord similar, somehow?
Aurelius continued, “I have been close to the De’Vir family for centuries. When young Tiberius came along, so extraordinarily talented, I suppose it was natural that I should form a particular affection for him. I took over his training personally, and I confess I pushed him mercilessly.”
Will snorted. That must be where his father learned how to be such a hard taskmaster.
Aurelius’s voice became almost hushed. “For my people, the highest expression of our race is to achieve everything of which one is capable. Only then can one’s name be etched upon the Naming Stones at the top of Mount Sohlaya.”
Will recalled his mother speaking of this mountain once. It was in the Sunset Isles and was the heart of the solinari culture. A circle of standing stones crowned the mountain, one for each great solinari clan. And great heroes within the clans, upon their final death, got their names carved on the stones. As a child, he’d thought it sounded like an awful lot of work just to get one’s name on a rock. But standing before a solinari now, seeing the longing in his golden gaze when he spoke of being remembered forever, Will understood a little better.
Aurelius continued, “Over the years, your father and I became a fighting team, he the warrior-mage and me the straight combat-magic caster. Tiberius was implacable. Invincible. A force of nature upon the field of battle. If a fight was unwinnable, he was the one person who could see a way through to victory, no matter how improbable the odds. He was instrumental in turning the tide of the Boki insurrection.”
Will would like to hear more of how his father personally defeated the Boki during the invasion sixteen years ago, but Aurelius was not done speaking.
“Anton was furious that we defeated the Boki.”
That made Will stare. Why would the governor be angry that invaders were repelled? Aurelius gave Will no pause to ask, however.
“Of course, we completed your father’s naming ceremony in Koth. We attempted a polymorph upon Tiberius here to make him into a solinari, but unfortunately, Anton’s hired mercenaries found us before the ritual could be completed.”
Such a transformation from one race to another was possible? Will had never dreamed of such a thing. Will interrupted, shocked, “My father was to become an elf?”
“Aye. Your mother, of course, we did manage to transform—”
Wait. What? His mother had begun life as a human and only later become a silvani? Why had his parents never bothered to tell him? Likely for the same reason they’d never bothered to mention that his father was one of the greatest warrior-mages in the colonies.
Aurelius was still speaking. “… Anton’s thugs also found us before I could name Tiberius’s infant son. As the eldest member of our family in the colonies, the task of naming all offspring of the line falls to me, you see.”
That infant son had been hi
m. It felt strange to Will to think of himself as a babe in the presence of this man.
“So, in point of fact, young Will, you have no name.”
“My father said once that he wanted me to be called Villerius.” Will had protested against it, however. He’d thought it sounded far too stuffy for a cobbler’s boy from Hickory Hollow.
“A fine solinari name.”
Which explained why it had sounded so stuffy!
“Until the solinari naming ceremony can be completed, however, you are neither Villerius nor De’Vir.”
It was no great loss in Will’s mind, but Aurelius’s voice was laced with significance. The solinari seemed to expect a response from him, so Will shrugged a little.
Aurelius challenged, “If someone associated with the Empire were to ask you your father’s full name, how would you answer?”
“I would say his name is Tiberius. Tiberius De’Vir.”
The effect of those words upon Aurelius was startling. The man’s gaze went utterly black and he lunged out from behind his desk so quickly that Will barely saw him coming. One second the solinari was seated in his chair, and the next he had his hand upon Will’s throat, squeezing so tightly he could barely breathe.
“Never…”—the strong fingers tightened upon his neck—“… ever utter that name if you wish to live. That name is Death upon the lips of any who speak it. If you wish to live, you are the son of Ty the cobbler, and no more. Do you understand me?”
* * *
Galvanized, Sha’Li darted out after Kerryl as the first guard took a wild swipe at her with his sword. She raced pell-mell down the alley after Moonrunner. His dark green cloak billowed out behind him like bat wings.
They reached the mouth of the alley and he bit out, “We need to split up.” He gave her a shove to the right as he bolted left.
No time to argue or even think. The guards were almost on them. She took off running in the direction Kerryl shoved her while a hue and cry rose behind her and spread, picked up by townspeople and soldiers shouting of thieves at the Mage’s Guild storehouse. She ran until the stitch in her side was so severe she could not walk, let alone run. Besides, to be seen running when a hunt was on for a thief was more dangerous than not. She slowed and dived into a darkened doorway to catch her breath. Now what?
The faint, distant shouts changed in tenor. She eased closer to the street to listen. A roar had overtaken all the other sounds. Something to do with a guild storehouse being breached. Of it not being guarded.
Well, of course not. The guards had chased her and Kerryl from the structure. Glee entered the tone of that roaring mob. As of many, many people joyfully anticipating robbing their oh-so-beloved empire.
But then a new sound intruded upon the celebration. Boots running in unison. Like a mass of soldiers quick-timing their way to the warehouse. More sounds ruptured the night: Battle cries. The screams of wounded. The cries of a mob fleeing. Of soldiers pursuing. In short, Dupree was in chaos.
Just the sort of chaos she could hide within and slip away from here. So far, the street before her was relatively quiet. Only a few townspeople had raced by earlier.
At least she had nothing of value on her person from the warehouse. Just that stupid little piece of wood. No one would miss it or know it for Aurelius’s, right? Still, to be safe, she’d better dump the stupid thing where no one would find it or associate it with her. A woodpile across town. Or a trash heap.
She should just walk out of here as if she’d done nothing. That was it. Play it cool and pray the warehouse guards had not seen that a black-skinned lizardman girl was one of the thieves who started this whole riot.
She stepped out of the doorway.
And all but ran into a patrol of soldiers.
“There’s a lizardman! Get her!”
Swearing, she took off running again. If they caught her, she’d never get her Tribe mark. Not to mention, she would be so dead.
* * *
Raina hurried along beside the Landsgrave of Hyland through chaos unlike anything she’d ever seen before. Apparently, there had been some sort of break-in at a guild warehouse, dozens or hundreds of locals had partaken in a looting spree, and now Anton’s men were chasing them down in a vain attempt to recover the stolen goods.
She desperately wished for Cicero’s sword and steady countenance at her side. But he had prudently elected not to accompany her to the governor’s council table.
“Oh, for stars’ sake,” Hyland muttered in irritation. “Cannot Anton even manage to keep order in his own city? He has an entire army at his disposal.”
“It appears to me,” she offered hesitantly, “that Anton’s army is contributing to the overall disorder rather than containing it.”
Hyland threw her an aggrieved look. “Aye. Just so. The legion has no discipline at all. It is a disgrace.” He added as a running mob of youths wielding clubs raced past, jostling her into him, “Move to my left side and stay by me as if we’ve got a paste of stickiness joining our cloaks.”
She nodded and did as told. “Why the left side?” she asked as the street quieted once more.
“Most swordsmen fight right-handed. A backpack healer should stay left, out of their way and behind their shield, but close enough to pump healing and magical shields into the warrior as they need it.”
“Could you show me how to do that, sometime?” She was always eager to learn more about the many ways of using magic.
He snorted. “You may get to practice it before we reach my house across town. We have to pass through the Great Square, and if I know Anton’s sergeants, there will be a full-blown brawl in progress there.”
In fact, the brawl was just winding down when they reached the main square. She recognized Captain Krugar bellowing orders and personally shackling soldiers who failed to stop fighting immediately. Problem was, townspeople kept taking potshots at the soldiers and restarting the hostilities.
Hyland took one look at the scene and drew his sword. The blade glowed as he strode forward, shouting out orders of his own. Raina was intrigued that the townspeople seemed prepared to obey his command to disengage when they completely ignored the governor’s men.
Between Hyland and Krugar, the two mobs were separated quickly. And that was when the carnage became fully apparent. Dozens of people lay on the ground bloodied and broken. Some appeared to have been trampled, others run through with bladed weapons, yet others simply beaten to a pulp.
Hyland glanced over his shoulder at her. “You know all the standard healing spells?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Then have at it.”
How on Urth was she supposed to deal with a dozen or more dead and what looked like a hundred badly injured spirits?
Hyland must have caught her look of dismay, for he instructed, “Life the dead and give the dying the minimum healing necessary to keep them alive. If you’ve stabilized everyone and have any magic left, go back through and fix the most seriously injured.”
She took a deep breath and called magic to her. Although the density of humanity was high in this place, only a portion of them were natives of this continent, tied to it in the same way she was. But there were enough of them. She drew their spiritual power to herself like a cloak.
There was no time for delicacy in delivering healing. She moved from body to body, combat casting life spells as fast as she could incant them. Thankfully, there were only eleven actual dead upon the ground. She got to all but one of them in time to prevent a resurrection, and that fellow had likely been beyond a life spell before she arrived in the square. As Hyland had instructed, she turned her attention to the dying next, casting just enough magic into them to keep them alive.
She was starting to feel fatigued and hungry as the toll upon her mind and physical body rose, but there were injured people everywhere she looked. She dug deep and continued to draw magic to her. Pull, incant, cast. Over and over, she cast basic healing magic. The faces blurred together as she grew more and mor
e exhausted. Finally, when she was too tired to move around, a nearby voice gave an order for the wounded to be brought to her.
As she drew near the end of her resources, someone put a strong, gentle arm around her shoulders to support her while she gasped the incants and forced the magic out of herself and into her targets.
And then it was over. No more injured people remained in front of her. With huge effort, she raised the back of her hand to mop the sweat off her brow. She gazed around and realized two things: first, Hyland was the one with an arm around her, holding her upright almost entirely of his accord, and second, a strange, almost reverent, silence had fallen across the Great Square. Everyone she could see was staring back at her. Like she was some kind of freak.
“Why are they looking at me?” she murmured to Hyland.
“You really have no idea how unusual you are, do you?” he responded.
She didn’t know how to answer that, nor did she have the energy left to figure it out.
“It has been a long time since an arch-mage took the field.” He shrugged and added, “Not to mention they are not used to a healer of your power turning her resources upon commoners when Anton’s men are about.”
She frowned. Why wouldn’t a healer heal commoners?
“You must be hungry,” Hyland continued. “My wife was always ravenous after a long healing session, and she couldn’t do a fraction of what you just did. Come, child. Let us get you under a roof. You’re done for the night, anyway.” He added under his breath, “After healing half the town, you should be done, at any rate.”
She turned to accompany him from the square and that was when she spied a man lurking in the shadows at the edge of the square. A man who made her blood run cold. A tall man wearing a dark cloak. Was that blue, mayhap? They’ve found me.
* * *
His eyes practically bugging out of his head, Will struggled frantically against Aurelius’s claw-like grip on his jugular but to no avail.
The guildmaster flung Will away from him and commenced pacing the office in high agitation, muttering to himself in a tirade Will only half-understood.
Shaken, Will straightened his shirt and rubbed at his throat. What was that all about? Had the solinari not just finished telling Will all about the proud tradition of his father’s name and the honor it was for Ty to have been given it? He surreptitiously eyed the glowing door and a possible escape from the crazy guildmaster.