He had great-grandchildren.
A boy and a girl.
A Visionary and a Shifter.
The Isle's wild magick was paying off. Rugar's haste in conquering Blue Isle might have given the Fey the last bit of magick they needed to conquer the Isle, and to move to the remaining continents. Rugad would live to see the conquering of Leut. He knew that much. And his great-grandchildren would do the rest.
Wild magick.
It was the advantage he needed.
FIFTY-TWO
Con slid down a moss-covered incline, hands and face first. He wasn't able to stop himself. The tunnel had gotten suddenly wider and higher, and the air fresher. He could smell the tang of the river mixed with the faint overripe scents of rot.
He had reached the other side.
The rocks below the moss were worn smooth by some ancient water leakage. He slid down it, unable to find purchase, grasping and straining with his fingers and his toes. He had dropped his torch when the slide began. It had slithered ahead of him, and disappeared into the murky darkness.
He didn't hear it clatter to the bottom of any shaft.
He could no longer hear it at all, and that worried him. He could envision himself sliding until the floor broke away, and then he would fall the rest of the way, breaking bones. He wouldn't be able to climb out, and no one would ever find him again.
No one even knew he was here.
Gradually he slowed. He lay at the bottom of the incline, his heart pounding. The area was silent, except for the ragged sound of his own breathing. The silence was eerie after the pounding march of the Fey.
He sat up, caught his breath, and felt for his flint. His supplies were flattened and moss covered but he didn't seem to be missing anything. He grabbed another torch from his belt, lit it with a spark from the flint, and blinked as the flame caught.
The walls were black with moss. The tunnel opened even wider, into a corridor large enough for several people to walk through. The ceiling was high, and old. Some of the stones had fallen, and shattered on the walkway below.
He stood. His robe was sodden, and hung on him unevenly. His face was caked with grime. His hands were black, and he supposed his feet were too. It didn't matter. He just had to get to the palace.
The map had shown the tunnel splitting here into several others. He must have slid into one of the side passages. There were many ways to get to the palace from here. All he had to do was to take a tunnel north from this tunnel.
If he could figure out where north was.
It was away from the river, that much he did know, and would be able to determine.
He took a deep breath and started forward. His feet hurt. He must have bruised them in the slide. The silence made him nervous. The hair was rising on the back of his neck. He had never felt like this before, as if someone were watching him, someone unseen.
The Fey couldn't have discovered this place.
Could they?
The corridor snaked around unseen barriers, and went deeper into the ground. He suspected that the warehouses were above him, but he had no way to know if that were true.
He picked up his pace, holding his torch ahead of him, swearing softly as he stubbed his toe on a fallen stone. Then he begged the Holy One's forgiveness for his blasphemy. He had never been through anything like this, not in all his thirteen years.
He rounded a corner, and saw movement ahead of him. A man, a woman, and a pile of crates. He stopped. The woman glanced at the man, and then someone hit Con from behind. Someone else yanked his torch away, and hands were gripping his arms, pulling them back.
He didn't say anything. He couldn't tell if they were Fey.
The hands pulled his arms so tight the skin stretched over his chest. He didn't struggle. He couldn't. There seemed to be too many of them.
His torch was behind him now. All he could see was the man and the woman. She was sitting in torch light by herself. It caught her golden hair and red dress. She was older, but she still had a prettiness to her.
The man was tall and Con couldn't see his face. The height frightened him, though. The Fey were tall. Islanders weren't.
"I thought you respected the religious, Denl," the tall man said. His voice reverberated through the cavern. It had a power that Con had never heard in any voice before.
"Dinna make fun a him," the woman said.
"I'm not making fun of anyone. I was just wondering why Denl wouldn't let an Aud go through."
"Could be Fey," said a male voice behind Con.
Con didn't say anything. This could be a ruse. He didn't know yet.
More men came out of the shadows. Ten of them at least. They settled on and around the crates. "I told him ta grab him," a man said. He was also behind Con. Con resisted the urge to turn his head. "I figured he was one a yers, holy man."
This time, Con did raise his head. Who was before him? Who would they call holy man?
"I haven't been near an Aud in fifteen years," the first man said.
Con shuddered. What kind of Islander avoided the church? Or maybe this was all an act, designed to get him to relax before they slaughtered him.
The torch circled around him. The man holding it was short, like Con, and had blue eyes that reflected the light. His face was covered with dirt, but his light skin showed through. "Tis just a boy," he said with some surprise.
"Auds usually are children," the first man said. "Especially Auds on a Charge."
"I seen old Auds," the one called Denl said.
"Of course you have, but rarely have you seen them in the Tabernacle."
Con bit his lower lip. The Fey didn't know that much about Rocaanism, did they?
"Maybe this ain't no Aud," said another male voice, also from behind.
"Sure is a quiet one," said one of the men on the crates.
"He dinna look like no Fey," said the man with the torch.
"Some Fey can mask themselves as Islanders," said the first man.
The woman got up and came closer. Her dress was dirty on the hem, but she wore shoes. Strands of hair were escaping from the bun she kept it in. She shoved her way through the men and stopped in front of Con. Her face was clean, her eyes compassionate. She took his chin in one hand, and wiped the dirt from his skin.
"How old are ye?" she asked.
"Thirteen," he said, and his voice cracked as if to prove it.
The man behind him laughed. Con kept his gaze on her face.
"Did ye come here lookin fer ana one?" she asked.
He shook his head.
"He's on a Charge," said the first man.
"N how do ye know that, holy one?" asked the man behind Con.
"Because he's got supplies," the first man said.
"Or because ye sent him yerself."
Con couldn't take this any more. "Please let me go," he said. "Please. You can take everything from me, just let me go."
"See?" said the first man. "A Charge. You're getting in the way of a religious mission, Yasep."
"I'll be gettin in the way a anathin if it might take me life," said Yasep, the unseen man in the back.
"I'm not going to take your life," Con said. "Please, let me go. People will die if I stay here."
"Yer so important, are ye?" Yasep asked. He shook Con just a little.
"He might be." The first man said. "What's your Charge, son?"
Con swallowed. He didn't know if he should tell these people or not. What if they were Fey? He would have no way of telling.
"Go on, ye can tell him," Yasep said. "He's a holy man like ye are."
The first man wasn't wearing robes. He was wearing pants and a ripped blouse. His hair was pulled back, and he was old, older than the Rocaan. Con had never seen him before. He had bandages on his face.
"Are you Fey?" Con asked.
The men around laughed. The woman stepped in front of him slightly as if she knew the question might put him in jeopardy.
"No more than you are," the first man said.
>
"He's the Rocaan, boy," said Denl. "Do ye na recognize him?"
"How could he recognize me?" the first man said. "He wasn't even born when I left Jahn."
"The Rocaan's at the Tabernacle," Con whispered.
"Aye, and a good thing that is," Denl said. "The Fey are about."
Con couldn't take it any more. "No, it's not good. The Fey have the place surrounded. They're going to attack. I'm supposed to warn the palace, and if you don't let me go, I won't be able to help."
"Warn the palace, eh?" Yasep said.
"Dinna," the woman said.
"I always wondered awhere these tunnels led."
"No," the woman said. "The boy's right. The Fey're all over. They'll be at the palace, ye can bet on it."
"Let him go," the first man said.
"Why, holy one? What's he ta you?"
"He's a boy with a Charge and a good one, too. If Nicholas isn't warned, then the Fey might get an advantage."
"Seems they already got one," Yasep said.
"Then why give them more?"
"Yer fightin hard for a boy ye dinna know."
"I know what he is and what he's doing. Don't stand in the way of it."
"Yer gonna stop me?"
"On this I am."
"Ye canna even stand by yerself, holy man. How're you gonna stop me?"
"Don't push me," the first man said. "You don't know what I can do."
"Let him go," the woman said. "he's na worth fightin over."
The pressure on Con's arms eased. He brought them forward, rubbed his wrists and turned. His captor was not much taller than he was, just as filthy, and much older. His captor's jaw was set.
"Go on," he said. "Warn the King. He canna do nothin anaway. There's too many Fey."
"He can try," Con said.
"Go, boy," the first man said. "Finish your Charge."
Con went over to him. The first man wasn't Fey despite his height. He had blond curls and blue eyes set deep barely visible around his bandages. He was badly injured, and he looked exhausted.
Con knelt in front of him. "Who are you that they think I might recognize you?"
The man smiled. One of his bandages moved up his cheek. He winced and put a hand on it. "No one you have to concern yourself with. Just an old Aud gone bad. Now go. You don't want the Fey to get there before you do."
"No, Sir."
Denl came up beside him, and handed him his torch. "God speed," Denl said softly. Then he glanced over his shoulder at Yasep. Yasep was watching it all, arms crossed, scowling.
"Thank you," Con said. He took the torch and looked around, hoping to see an opening.
"The nearest passage is on yer right," Denl said, "just ahead there."
Con nodded, and hurried to the passage. When he reached it, he stopped and caught his breath. He didn't know what they were doing there. He didn't want to know. He just wanted to get to the palace before the Fey, and then return to the Tabernacle where everything would eventually be all right.
FIFTY-THREE
Assets. The word had remained on Nicholas's mind since Arianna left. He had assets. He just had to figure out how to use them.
He had taken Sebastian with him to the North Tower. The palace really didn't have towers, not the way the Tabernacle did, but it had ancient square anchors on three corners. The fourth had been torn down when one of his ancestors expanded the kitchen. The towers, as they were called, rose an extra story above the highest parts of the palace. Jewel had wondered at them. She had thought that the palace was built like an ancient Hervish fortress, and she often wondered whether seafaring peoples from the Galinas Continent had settled Blue Isle.
She used the Hervish design as a point in her argument.
Nicholas had always disagreed. He thought the palace design made sense to any warrior peoples. And he knew that his people had fought some kind of battle in their early years just from the clues in the Words Written and Unwritten. The Roca had been fighting the Soldiers of the Enemy. The Islanders had developed weapons, like swords, that had only military uses. The religious uses came later.
A lot of good it did him now. Until the Fey arrived, Blue Isle had been at peace throughout its recorded history. Even though he had insisted on training his people to fight after their first victory over the Fey, very few had done serious, diligent work.
They had expected holy water to save them.
And, from his vantage, it didn't appear to be working.
He and Sebastian were in the Uprising room. The room was square and took up the entire top of the North Tower. For centuries, it had no glass, but his great-great grandfather had glassed in the room during the Peasant Uprising. He had said he wanted to watch his armies defeat the Uprising and not get cold.
The old man had been nothing if not pragmatic.
Nicholas could use some of that now.
There were chairs on all the stone walls, and a square stone table built into the center of the room. It was a larger version of the war room, and one he needed at the moment.
Sebastian was standing in the center of the room, as still as one of the pillars. He had his hands clasped behind his back, his chin out. He was watching Nicholas as if he were afraid his father would disappear. Given the loss of Gift, and Arianna's flight, Sebastian had reason for the fear.
Assets. Sebastian was one. He looked like Gift. He might stall the Black King if necessary, although Nicholas didn't see how. There were few others.
The birds still surrounded the palace. They were in all shapes and sizes, watching from the gate, from trees and from the ground. The tiny Fey on their backs, male and female, were nude. Nicholas had looked at them through a crude spyglass. The hair on their heads was feathered. They were part bird.
None of the Fey had ventured onto the palace itself, even though they had been staring at it all morning.
But they didn't interest him as much any more. What interested him was the smoke cluttering the horizon, smoke all over the city of Jahn. Black tendrils climbing from the southwest, another from the southeast. Jewel had told him that the Fey never laid waste to useful land.
Perhaps they didn't think these parts of the Isle useful.
New smoke was rising, thick and oily, from the other side of the Cardidas river.
And it looked as if the smoke were coming from the Tabernacle.
Arianna would tell him what was burning.
If she returned.
He whirled, unable to bear the thought. Sebastian's eyes tracked him. Nicholas went over to his son, touched him, found reassurance in the stony flesh.
"How … long … till … she … comes … back?" he whispered.
"I wish I knew," Nicholas said. She was on her own, more alone than she had ever been. If only he had sent them down to the dungeons when he had had the chance.
If only she had gone.
The dungeons.
They were his other asset.
If he used them right.
He patted Sebastian's shoulder, then turned and went to the door. He pulled the door open. Five guards stood on the stairwell, arms crossed. They were his hand-picked bodyguards, men he recognized. Still, before he spoke to them, he looked closely at their eyes. Jewel had taught him that Fey Doppelgängers, who literally took over a victim's body, were recognizable only through the gold flecks in their eyes.
His guards were clear. No Fey had made it up these stairs.
Yet.
All five of the guards looked at him expectantly. They were young men, in their early twenties at the most, and muscular. He had picked them because of their proficiency in swordplay and at hand-to-hand combat.
"Trey," he said to the young blond at his immediate left. "Find Monte. Bring him to me. Quickly."
Trey nodded, then hurried down the steps. Nicholas watched him disappear into the bowels of the palace, then he closed the door. They both knew where Monte was. He was on the lower level, making certain the doorways and windows were secure. He was the only one of N
icholas's trusted advisors that had been in the palace when the Fey appeared. So far as Nicholas could reconstruct, the Fey arrived at the same time, a great horde of them darkening the early dawn sky. The kitchen crew had seen them, and had thought it odd, so many birds arriving all at once. But they hadn't realized they were Fey sent until it was too late.
Sebastian still stood, stiff and unnatural, in the center of the room. He had an uncanny ability to blend in, to look like nearby stone structures. He had had that ability since babyhood, and it had been that ability that had saved both him and Arianna from her grandfather's wrath all those years ago.
Nicholas put his arm around Sebastian and led him to a chair. Sebastian shook his head slowly. "Want … to … see … Ari … when … she … comes."
"She'll come back to me," Nicholas said. "You'll see her."
"Wish … she … were … here," Sebastian said.
"Me, too," Nicholas said. He eased his son into the chair, and noted with satisfaction that it was near one of the pillars. Sebastian looked like a carving built into the wall.
Sunlight was streaming in the windows, highlighting the embroidery on the chairs. There were no tapestries on these windows. They were open all the time. The windows in the East and West towers were the same, but didn't quite give him as good a view of the city. The towers got in each other's way, which was not a problem here. There was no South tower.
The smoke was thicker. He hoped Arianna hadn't gotten caught in it.
He hoped she still lived.
He didn't know what he would do without her.
Then he closed his eyes. He had once thought that way about Jewel. What he had done without her was go on. One day at a time. Every morning he somehow got up, faced the day, and thought about Jewel. Then, over time, rising became easier. But he never stopped thinking about her. Even now, especially now, she was in his thoughts.
He should have foreseen the attack on the Tabernacle. She had warned him. He had once asked Jewel what she should have done if she had known about Blue Isle's holy water before she attacked, instead of learning about it later.
Destroy all the Black Robes, she said.
Apparently she had thought like her grandfather.
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