The Name Of The Sword (Book 4)

by J. L. Doty

  . . . insane . . . war . . . Penda . . .

  Disjointed words, or perhaps thoughts, flittered through her mind, clearly DaNoel’s thoughts.

  . . . can’t do it . . .

  Was he talking to himself, thinking to himself? It wasn’t enough to act on, nothing even vaguely incriminating. But for some reason the thought of Valso had triggered something very strong in her brother.

  She had one lead charm remaining. She decided to modify it. If she applied the white of Clan Decouix, could she sensitize it to anything DaNoel thought regarding Valso? She’d have to do a little research first, figure out the proper way to make the modification, then plant the charm in his room.

  ••••

  Morgin awoke before dawn, and sensed immediately that the three of them were not alone. The small fire had long since burned out, he was tangled in his blanket and knew he’d be slow getting to his feet. The cold steel of a sword blade touched his cheek, and Blesset said, “Get up, Elhiyne.”

  Morgin moved slowly, rolled over and sat up. Jack and Harriok were already on their feet. When Morgin stood, Blesset touched the tip of her sword to his chest. Jack said, “Now Blesset.”

  She looked into Morgin’s eyes for a moment, then lowered the sword and sheathed it. “I’m riding with you.”

  Morgin asked, “You want to go to Kathbeyanne?”

  “No. I want to watch you waste yourselves on a fool’s errand.”

  She turned and looked at Jack as if defying him to deny her. Jack shrugged and nodded toward Morgin. “It’s up to him.”

  Morgin said, “Looks like she’d riding with us.”

  They pushed the horses a bit and reached the sands after nightfall. To avoid the heat of the daytime sun they continued on, the glow of a half-moon guiding their steps as they rode down one dune and up another. It was a monotonous trek, and Morgin drifted off into a light doze.

  As the sun rose the next morning Jack stood up in his stirrups to scan the horizon. All Morgin saw was an ocean of sand ending in more dunes in every direction. They were close to Aelldie so they continued on and reached the oasis well before noon, replenished their water skins, camped there briefly and moved on at nightfall.

  In the middle of their second night out, Morgin felt that arcane pull again, at first a faint sensation, but it grew stronger with each step. At sunrise, while the whitefaces set camp he climbed to the top of a dune, shaded his eyes with his hand and saw the city of tall, glassy spires on the horizon. The three whitefaces joined him at the top of the dune.

  Harriok shaded his eyes and said, “Kathbeyanne.”

  Jack said, “The city of glass.”

  Blesset said nothing.

  Morgin stood facing the city squarely. He closed his eyes, but now he sensed its arcane magic off to the left. He opened his eyes, and still it appeared to be directly ahead. He closed his eyes again, extended his arm and pointed in the true direction of the city. “It lies that way. We’ll sleep through the day. Then tonight, when none of us can see the mirage, I’ll lead us to the true city of glass.”

  ••••

  Theandrin and BlakeDown hosted a small reception for Torthan et Tosk, heir to the House of Tosk. Chrisainne donned one of her most revealing gowns, and at the reception played BlakeDown like a finely tuned harp. She made sure she was always within his line of sight, never winked or did anything overt, but tempted him with little things. Several times, when he happened to look her way, she ran her tongue across her lips, slowly, provocatively. Once, when he was near, and with no one else looking, she leaned forward just a bit. She’d chosen this particular gown because it was cut low and slightly loose around the bodice. It tended to billow out when she leaned like that, giving him an enticing view of a lot of skin. With Theandrin and half his liege lords and their ladies present, he stayed on his best behavior, didn’t dare try anything, but near the end he brushed past her and whispered, “I’ll meet you later in your bedroom.” He sounded almost desperate.

  Chrisainne didn’t want to meet him in her bedroom, not at first. He’d just slam her down on the bed, rut on her for a few moments, spill his seed and be gone. So as the festivities broke up she enticed Silaya et Tosk to join her in the west garden. Silaya was young, impressionable, and quite flattered at the attention.

  The night was cool and comfortable as Chrisainne strolled down a path with the young girl. She pretended to be entertained by Silaya’s naive banter, but kept an eye open for BlakeDown, knew he couldn’t help himself.

  On the far side of the garden she saw him step out of the castle proper and start walking her way hurriedly. But when he spotted Silaya he slowed his pace, and tried to appear casual as he approached them.

  “Lady Chrisainne,” he greeted them. “Lady Silaya.”

  They both curtsied, and Chrisainne took care to give him a good, long view down the front of her dress. When she rose and lifted her eyes to look in his face, he blinked and gulped.

  He asked Silaya, “Did you enjoy yourself, young lady?”

  “Oh, yes, Your Grace,” she said, breathlessly excited and thrilled as only a young girl from the family of a minor lord would be.

  “But aren’t you a bit young to be out this late? I don’t want your mother angry with me.”

  “You’re right, Your Grace,” she said, “but I was so excited to walk with Lady Chrisainne. With your leave, I’ll go to my room now.”

  BlakeDown nodded his approval, she curtsied, and rushed away from them.

  “Thank you for rescuing me,” Chrisainne said. “I couldn’t get rid of the poor girl. Otherwise I would have met you in my bedroom as you wished.”

  “That’s all right,” he said, though he almost trembled with the tension of his unsatisfied lust. “Let’s walk this way.”

  They were in a public place, so he dare not touch her. She kept her pace slow, needed time to make this work. “How did it go with the Tosks, my lord?”

  “They’ve reluctantly agreed to support me if I choose to act against Elhiyne, though I gave them a somewhat edited version of the events on the border. We must appear to be the wronged party.”

  “Will you act soon?”

  “I don’t know. Theandrin is against acting at all. And she’s making my life miserable.”

  “Hmmm!” she said.

  “What’s bothering you?”

  “Well . . . I shouldn’t say, my lord.”

  “Out with it.”

  “Well . . . I mean no disrespect to your lady wife, but . . . and I say this as a woman myself, a woman who is as intelligent as any . . . but what do we women know of such things? We haven’t trained in war, have no experience at it. How can we make proper decisions? Why . . . it would seem to me we’re not even qualified to advise men like you, what with all of your experience and knowledge.”

  He stopped in his tracks and turned to face her, his chest swelling with pride. He was an easy one to flatter. “You’re right.” He spit each word like one might spit seeds from a melon. “I’ve been a fool.”

  “No, my lord, you’re never a fool.”

  He turned back to the path and started walking. “I was a fool to consult Theandrin, and that won’t happen again. It’s time I did what needed doing.”

  At that point they reached the entrance to the castle, and once inside turned different ways. It would not do for him to openly accompany her to her bedroom.

  When she closed her bedroom door, she didn’t have long to wait. He knocked quietly, she opened it, he stepped into the room and clutched at her breasts before she even had the door closed. He pushed her on her back on the bed, lifted her skirts, groped at her crotch, tore her small clothes and thrust into her. He pounded in and out of her, his anger fueling his lust, was done in a matter of moments. He pulled up his pants and left.

  She realized that, with him, she actually preferred it that way. It was quick and dirty and done with, and she didn’t have to waste a lot of time flattering him and pretending she enjoyed herself. And he was go
ne.

  Chrisainne was pleased with the night’s work. She’d grown weary of Theandrin’s constant badgering for more information. It would be nice to be present when Theandrin learned BlakeDown had decided to ignore her counsel, to see the look on the old witch’s face.

  ••••

  Theandrin carefully examined the doorway that led from the outer hall into her sitting room. She’d made six more of the blue-thread charms, and last night at midnight she’d placed them around the threshold: six threads for Penda, combined with the blue of Vodah. She’d started early that morning, had summoned the least likely candidates one at a time, first the two guardsmen she’d seen walking through the castle yard, then Lewendis. As each crossed the threshold into her sitting room, her charms confirmed her suspicions: none of them carried Vodah loyalties.

  She turned to the young servant girl sitting in the corner sorting the spools of thread for stitching. “Would you kindly summon the Lady Chrisainne.”

  The girl hopped to her feet and bobbed a quick curtsy, saying, “Yes, milady.”

  She walked quickly out of the room, and Theandrin turned to the window overlooking the castle yard to wait. She’d looked into Chrisainne’s background, learned that she’d been born Chrisainne et Vodah.

  Time passed, and she concluded the girl hadn’t found Chrisainne in her room and had to go searching for her. She was probably somewhere fucking BlakeDown, or the stable boy, or the stable master, or Lewendis, or whoever else she chose to spread her legs for.

  When Chrisainne entered the room, Theandrin knew it instantly, for her charms triggered and rang a bell of triumph in her soul.

  Behind her, Chrisainne said, “You wished to see me, my lady.”

  Theandrin turned and gave her a neutral look, careful not to give the slightest indication she now knew the girl was a spy for Valso. “Yes,” she said. She wanted to see the little slut squirm. “What have you learned from Lewendis and my husband about the border?”

  The charms had triggered rather strongly, and Theandrin was confident that when she had a chance to examine them more closely, she’d find that the girl’s loyalties had remained unchanged.

  Theandrin quizzed her unmercifully, learned a little, but nothing of significance, then dismissed her. The only question that remained was what to do with the girl. Certainly, at some point she would expose her, BlakeDown would undoubtedly have her removed, and they’d be rid of her. On the other hand, a spy who didn’t know she’d been discovered could be of some use. Theandrin decided to let her continue without hindrance, but keep a close eye on her.

  It occurred to her that overconfidence here would be unwise. She reminded herself to never forget that the little slut could be far more dangerous than simply a pair of spread legs. The girl was a reasonably strong witch, had no compunction about anything, and to forget that could be fatal. It would be wise to make certain preparations: something extra to protect herself and her family, and something special to control the girl if it came to that. Chrisainne was not a weakling when it came to spell-crafting, so it would have to be something powerful. Theandrin smiled as she considered what she might do.

  26

  Prophesy Thwarted

  Morgin wandered through the Kingdom of Dreams. The Living Forest opened a path before him that led to Sabian, but the castle was deserted now, no sign of its past inhabitants. He saw a ghostly image if a woman, partially transparent, wandering in a daze through the castle yard in a floor-length bed gown, realized she was a dreamer. There were many of them, appearing and disappearing as their dreams came and went.

  Could he find Rhianne, talk to her, try to plan her escape from Valso? He wandered down to the room and the bed they had shared, longed to hold her in his arms again, and swore that he would let nothing prevent him from doing so. But how would she know to meet him here? They might both come here at random times and never cross paths.

  Right now he lay asleep in a Benesh’ere tent out on the sands of the Munjarro, sleeping through the day. He needed to get this prophesy thing over with, so he could return to sleeping at nights. He’d have a much better chance of finding her then.

  He went back to the castle yard, to the spot near the wall where Erithnae had died. With his boot heel he scratched a message in the dirt: Meet me here at dawn. He didn’t sign it, trusted that she would know it was from him. He looked up at the walls that surrounded him and said, “Sabian, please preserve this for Rhianne’s eyes, and if she comes to this kingdom, make sure she sees it.” He wasn’t sure if the castle could really control a dreamer that way, but he had to try.

  He awoke in the late afternoon, spent the remaining heat of the day in his tent wondering if he’d ever see his Rhianne again.

  After the sun set, Morgin and his companions packed up their camp and set out for Kathbeyanne. In the dark Morgin didn’t really need to wear a blindfold, but doing so prevented him from trying to make use of the dim moonlight and his shadow sight, forced him to rely purely on his arcane sense of the ancient city. Wearing the blindfold, he pointed the way and they rode their horses at an easy pace across the sands.

  Deep in his gut Morgin feared there would be no city when they got there, that even his magical senses were being misled by ancient enchantments. He’d said nothing to his companions of these fears, but the previous morning the city had appeared to be no more than a single night’s journey. So he’d sworn to himself that if they didn’t reach it this night, he’d abandon the search, and leave the city to its ancient ghosts.

  Even blindfolded he could tell when Mortiss struggled to climb up the side of a dune, felt it when she reached the peak then started down the other side, only to climb another. He noticed a dim, yellowish light leaking through the blindfold, and realized dawn was approaching, and feared that he had failed again. Then Mortiss and the other horses topped a dune, and Jack said, “By the gods!”

  Harriok answered, awe in his voice, “Aye, friend. By the gods!”

  Morgin ripped the blindfold off and saw that before them stretched the ancient city. What appeared from a distance to be magnificent spires jutting toward the heavens, they now saw were nothing more than broken shards of glassy stone, jagged spikes testifying to the ruin of Kathbeyanne. Through the centuries the sands had encroached and buried many of the buildings, while most of those still visible were nothing more than tumbled blocks of broken masonry. With Morddon’s memories, he realized that even though they still stood on dunes of sand, they were well into what had once been part of the city proper.

  “You’ve done it,” Blesset said, a note of awe in her voice. “You brought us to the city of glass.”

  Harriok said, “It’s enormous.”

  Harriok had never seen a real city before. To Morgin’s eyes, Kathbeyanne was now a mere shadow of what it had once been. With Morddon’s memories to guide him, he thought he could find the old center of the city. “Come,” he said, and nudged Mortiss forward.

  As they moved off the sands and in among the crumbled, ancient buildings, Morgin thought he sensed life within the city, as if it hadn’t been completely abandoned, but the feeling passed quickly. They came to an intersection of two large avenues. Blesset started and pointed up at the side of a partially intact building. “In that window up there.”

  On the second floor Morgin saw a dark, black square, heavily shadowed by the bright sunlight.

  “I saw someone standing there looking down at us.”

  Jack spoke with a harsh note of skepticism. “I don’t see anyone.”

  They continued on. Morgin now recognized this part of the city. The first time Morddon had come to Kathbeyanne, he’d walked these streets on his way to the palace of the Shahotma. He’d stopped in a weapons maker’s shop to buy a sheath for the naked sword he was carrying, and he’d been appalled at the poor quality of the steel the man offered.

  Harriok started, thought he saw someone standing in a doorway. Jack thought he saw someone looking at them from the depths of a dark alley. Interesti
ngly enough, Morgin saw none of these apparitions, though his companions grew quite skittish, were jumping at every shadow they encountered. And then the street they rode down opened onto the magnificent parade ground at the center of the city. The vast open space was littered with blocks of broken masonry and wind-blown piles of sand. At the far end the once magnificent palace of the Shahotma had been reduced to a single, square facade. The balconies and balustrades no longer soared high above the city, and gone were the spires that reached toward the heavens. It saddened him.

  Out of curiosity, Morgin led them to the barracks of the first legion of angels. They dismounted; Morgin didn’t have to worry about Mortiss, and the well-trained Benesh’ere mounts would not wander. There was no longer a door on the opening at the front of the barracks. Standing just outside the threshold he saw that the roof had collapsed, filling the interior with rubble.

  He stepped across the threshold and the rubble disappeared. The roof above him was whole and undamaged, the interior walls sported paintings and banners celebrating the victories of the legion, and a cool breeze promised a pleasant afternoon. He turned around and looked for his companions, but they too had disappeared, though through the doorway he saw that the parade ground was clear of all the rubble, and had returned to its original glory. He heard the sound of sad pipes, turned back and found Metadan standing in the center of the room.

  The archangel said, “Magnificent, isn’t it?”

  “No,” Morgin said. “This is just a memory. You’re just a memory. The glory of Kathbeyanne is gone forever.”

  The memory of Metadan lowered his head and wept openly.

  Morgin turned back to the door and walked out of the barracks. As he crossed the threshold the parade ground returned to its state of decay. He heard something behind him, turned and found his three companions emerging from the barracks. “Just more decay,” Jack said.

  Obviously, they had not shared Morgin’s experience.