by Jeff Wheeler
“Commander Folkes’ regiment is nearly to the Dayspring Rush,” Ballinaire replied with full confidence. “Soon yours will be reinforced. I think you are too generous with their ale, Commander. The men can hardly stand up straight.”
“It isn’t easy to stand straight with tide fever. Mage and I will join the army in the morning to make sure Miestri has left. Was she acting under your orders, my lord?”
“You all act under my orders,” Ballinaire seethed. “Do not take that tone of voice with me, Commander Phollen. Your army is in lamentable disarray. No discipline. No order. They should be in Landmoor by now, not perched at the brink.” He held up his finger to stop Tsyrke’s retort. “I want to know what you have done to move our cause along. Where were you?”
Tsyrke leaned back in his chair. “I was at sea, my lord. Securing supplies for my regiment. I can’t likely buy my grain from Iniva, or raid it like you do. We’ll need to be ready to withstand a siege, and likely a very long one.”
“No,” Ballinaire said, cutting him short. “You need to be ready to march. To march on Dos-Aralon itself.”
Tsyrke shook his head and chuckled. “March on Dos-Aralon?”
“There is nothing at all amusing about my orders, Commander. General Dairron is swinging his army down from the north. We need to start marching to arrive at the borders of Dos-Aralon when they have left to attack him. We must not fail General Dairron.”
“Do you know if his army has left the Vale yet?”
“Miestri informs me that it has,” he answered.
“Has she also told you that the Shae know about this? Do you think they’ll stay in Avisahn while we attack Dos-Aralon?”
“You do not appreciate the power of the Everoot,” Ballinaire answered. “I see that you do not. It is no matter if the King of Dos-Aralon himself awaited us there with all the hosts of the Crown, for he cannot win. If the Shae send the Crimson Wolfsmen across the river, they send them to be slaughtered. I have seen what the Everoot does when it becomes like dust.” He shook his head and fixed Commander Phollen with his finger. “If you lack full confidence in our cause, perhaps you shouldn’t be leading one of my regiments.”
Tsyrke glared at him, the grooves of his mouth frowning more. His blood ignited in his veins.
“I do not reward failure, Commander Phollen. You’ve forgotten your heritage. I fought against your grandfather during the Purge Wars. He was a vicious and a cunning general, and a skilled leader. That is why I desired you for my Rebellion. I hold you responsible for everything that has happened since the Sleepwalker shamed your troops in the Shadows Wood. I want no excuses, Commander. I expect you to exercise your full faculties on behalf of my army. If you do not, I will relieve you of command. Remember that, Commander!”
Tsyrke’s hands tightened into fists as Lord Ballinaire swung around and left him alone with Mage.
Tsyrke waited for several long moments.
“You didn’t tell him about the Shae we captured,” Mage said.
“I did not,” Tsyrke agreed. He rubbed his thumb on the rim of the goblet. He looked at Mage. “He’s a little overconfident, isn’t he? He’s assuming Dairron left the Kingshadow.”
“He hasn’t. But Folkes is marching and the knights will collide with him if he doesn’t turn back soon.”
Tsyrke nodded confidently. “Just like we planned. Here – in Landmoor. The Rebellion ends here.”
Mage nodded and rubbed his chin. “You did the right thing, letting the girl set them both free. Having the knight locked up with him was the most convenient way to do it.”
“It was your idea,” Tsyrke said with a sobered smile. “You planted the seeds in her mind.”
“Yes, but seeds don’t always sprout. She’ll think it was her idea after all. And now we’ll learn what the Shae have been hiding beneath the city all these years.” The Sorian looked smug. “She must help him claim the magic and slip out tonight – before Ballinaire learns who he really is.”
Tsyrke nodded. “Or Miestri.”
* * *
The shock and warmth of the knight’s death made him double over in ecstasy. The dagger. Oh, the dagger! The juice of the ‘Root tingled inside his mouth, but that was salt compared to what the dagger made him taste. It was like licking tongues of copper fire. It sent swirls of feeling inside him. And pleasure! Oh, sweet pleasure! Secrist yanked the chain from around his throat. No bruises or even a gash. Whole and unharmed.
Invincible.
The Kiran Thall looked down at the dead knight. He was gone, a lifeless husk. His entire body had shriveled and blackened with the Deathbane’s power. His memories and pain and triumphs were inside Secrist now. Harvested like grain for the winter. He felt the knight’s skill and training whispering to him. The man’s skin was already crumbling to dust. The feeling of power would not last long. Maybe a day. Maybe only hours. But for now, he was everything the knight was. The magic was locked inside him, ready to use. To kill again. To keep killing and to keep feeding the hunger. To kill the Shaden. To cut down the banned Shaden and drink his blood. It burned inside his mind, growing hotter and hotter. What would the Shaden’s life taste like when he died?
Secrist didn’t remember why he wanted to kill. Only that the need drove him. Like hunger or thirst. He went to the cage-like door of the cell. It had shut and locked. Secrist jabbed the dagger into the lock. The metal hissed and corroded, steaming as it burned away. The blade sliced through it as if it were freshly churned butter. Shoving the cell door open, he emerged into the hall. The whelp was not far away.
Hungrily, he started to run.
XXXIII
The sputter of torches lit the main hall of the tunnel in even increments, but further down emerged several soldiers carrying their own. Gripping ‘Stasy’s hand, Thealos pulled her into a side tunnel to hide. The Bandits were everywhere. He stopped in the darkness, waiting for the soldiers to pass and praying that he had seen them first. Sweat streaked down his face and his stomach clenched after the hard run. His legs trembled, out of fear – out of anger. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to blot out the look of agony on Sturnin’s face as he died.
“Quickfellow,” Ticastasy whispered, and he clamped her mouth shut with his hand.
Four Bandit soldiers passed by and the light from their torches played in the grooves of the paving stones, just reaching the tip of Thealos’ boot. He watched them pass, relieved, and then nodded.
“Is he…do you think he’s still following us?” she panted. She wiped the hair away from her eyes.
“I don’t know,” Thealos said, breathing heavily. He was winded. “I thought we lost him at the junction, but he followed.” Carefully, he went back to the main corridor and peered down. He watched the glare of the torches. The Bandits had stopped for something nearly fifty paces away. There was a grunt of warning and then cries of alarm. Secrist cut them down, his strange dagger glimmering with a greenish light in the distance. The four soldiers collapsed in a heap, their deathcries grating down Thealos’ spine.
Ticastasy gripped his arm. “Come on,” she begged.
Thealos nodded, and they slipped back into the main tunnel, heading away from Secrist. Four Bandit soldiers, down in hardly a wink. He shook his head. The Deathbane was powerful. The stink of Forbidden magic crept in the air behind him, getting closer. The sound of the boots warned him – Secrist was running.
“Come on!” Thealos said and bolted. Ticastasy looked bone weary, but he appreciated her determination. Her gown was damp with sweat and it hindered her stride, but she ran with a furious scowl, gripping his hand tightly to keep from stumbling. He would not let her go, no matter if Secrist caught them. He would not leave her to die.
“Shaden!” Secrist hollered. The voice was disembodied in the tunnels. He didn’t sound tired at all. “Shaden!”
Thealos’ knees groaned liked a rusted door. The constant pounding sent sharp stabs up his ankles, and his feet, swollen and tight, threatened to crack into pieces. He had to keep
moving. Keep running.
“Quickfellow,” Ticastasy panted. “I’m…I’m so…tired.”
“It’s okay,” he said, squeezing her hand. “A little further.” He wiped the stinging sweat from his eyes and tried to focus on the passageway ahead. They had crossed a good deal of the city already. Broken aisles and corridors split off here and there, but he didn’t dare take any, knowing that it might lead to a collapsed tunnel that would trap them. Somehow the Kiran Thall still followed them, getting closer and closer the longer they delayed. It was more than hate and anger that drove him. No, it had to be something more. The look in his eyes – the madness. The reek of Forbidden magic.
The Sorian.
He shook his head, too tired to curse. If he could only get to the Silverkin. He knew that the magic would be able to stop them all. But he was so tired of running!
“Shaden!” The voice sounded much closer.
“Keep running. Come on, keep running!” Thealos’ arm jerked as Ticastasy stumbled and fell, nearly bringing him down with her. She winced as her knees struck the ground. Chewing on her lip, she brought herself back up and looked into his eyes.
“A little further,” he lied. “Please!”
She nodded, her shoulders sagging. She couldn’t speak.
They started running again, though it was hardly more than a jog. His legs felt like mush and the stitch in his ribs was stabbing deeper with every breath. They had to keep running. He needed time to get the Silverkin and use it on Secrist. He could not leave her alone with him. Passing another sideshaft, they hurried to distance themselves from the Kiran Thall.
“Thealos!” a gruff voice hissed from the dark tunnel they had just passed.
Thealos stopped, whirling around. Ticastasy’s eyes were wide. “Flent!” she said, her eyes widening in recognition.
Thealos’s mouth opened with wonder when he saw Flent and Allavin emerge from the darkness into the torch-lit main hall.
“Thank Vannier!” Thealos gasped.
Allavin smiled with relief. “It’s about bloody time we found you.”
Ticastasy hugged Flent fiercely, nearly weeping on his shoulder with relief and panic. “We’ve got to run, we’ve got to run!”
He pulled her away, studying her face. “What’s wrong, girl?” he demanded.
“Shaden!”
Allavin spun around, an arrow nocked in his yew bow.
Secrist slowed, his eyes full of fury. Blood spattered across his cheek. Thealos gulped and stepped back, watching the Kiran Thall advance. The dagger was poised in his right hand, its mottled tip dark with blood.
Allavin didn’t hesitate. He let the arrow fly. The bowstring twanged and the shaft struck the Kiran Thall full in the chest. It jerked him back but didn’t stop him. Secrist shrugged off the blow and kept coming, not bothering to remove it. The woodsman loosed two more on him. He was too close to miss. But the Kiran Thall’s eyes leered in the torch light. He was looking at Thealos, not at any of the rest of them.
“I’ll kill you,” he said in a half-gargled breath. Spit dribbled down his chin. Wrenching the first arrow out of his chest, he flung it to the ground. The wound closed up on itself, perfect and whole.
Allavin drew another shaft, bringing it back to his ear.
“No,” Thealos said, clamping his hand on Allavin’s shoulder. “You can’t kill him.”
“We’ll see about that,” Flent snorted, swinging loose his Sheven-Ingen axe. “Get going,” he snapped over his shoulder.
“No, Flent!” Ticastasy warned. “He killed Sturnin! No, we have to run!”
“Not very good at that,” the Drugaen said. He approached the Kiran Thall, the axe haft tight in his meaty fist. “Come on, you rook. You still owe me a dance after what you did in Sol.”
“Flent!” Ticastasy screamed.
Thealos felt his heart groan. Not the Drugaen too. Not them all.
–Son of Quicksilver–
The whisper of the magic came from the ground, swelling around him like mist. He opened his eyes, feeling the magic’s need grow inside him. It was there. Behind an Otsquare. He jerked straight, remembering again what Jaerod had said. Where no human could follow.
“Come on,” Thealos said, grabbing her by the arm. “Come on. Before he gets us all! Allavin, do you know the way out of here? I have no weapons, I can’t protect us.”
Allavin nodded, his face twisting with anguish. He watched the Drugaen face off with Secrist.
“Come on, you bloody rake!” Flent roared, bringing the axe up with both hands. He swung wide at Secrist, but the Kiran Thall ducked the blow and stabbed up at his ribs. Ticastasy shrieked and nearly tore away from Thealos, but he yanked her back. Flent dodged the blow and punched the man full in the face. The axe whirled around, up and over, slicing straight down Secrist’s front. The gash dropped the Kiran Thall to the ground. But the magic of the Everoot revived him and he came right back up.
“Ban it! Let’s go, lass,” Allavin said, taking her other arm. “He’s made his choice. Best to honor him for it. We’re not far from the end of the crossroads,” he told Thealos.
Thealos nodded and hurried down the length of the tunnel. He could feel the magic beckoning him. He didn’t know how far they had gone, but the Silvan magic whispers grew louder.
–I will protect you–
A half-dozen torches appeared in the corridor ahead, carried by Bandit soldiers.
Allavin called out in warning, bringing up his bow. The arrows loped from it swiftly, dropping two before they even knew who was there. Thealos heard ‘Stasy sobbing with grief, and he felt tears swim in his eyes. Not Flent. Please, Keasorn, don’t let him die!
The Bandits attacked, bringing out their swords as they rushed the hall. Allavin had just enough time to toss Thealos his own sword before the soldiers were there. Allavin swung his yew bow around, stabbing the tip into a soldier’s throat. Thealos unsheathed the Silvan-made blade and crossed swords with the next man. The blades rattled, but Thealos slipped around the man, kicking his boot up from under him. Thealos finished him with a stab before the next man was there in his place. Thealos felt his arms go numb with the shock of trading blows. He ducked, feeling his opponent’s blade whip past his ear and crash into the wall next to him. He drove his blade into the soldier’s gut and shoved him back.
Allavin had a knife in his left hand and finished slitting the throat of the last man. Thealos looked at him and nodded, wiping the sweat from his eyes.
Ticastasy had a knife in her hand now and stared back down the hallway. “Flent,” she mumbled. “No!”
Thealos spun around and saw Secrist. As soon as the Kiran Thall set eyes on Thealos, he let out a hiss and started running at them.
“Run!” Thealos shouted. The Kiran Thall was close enough that they could hear his ragged breathing. “Keasorn help us. Run!”
They bolted, abandoning the dead Bandit soldiers.
“Shenalle protect us from the Firekin,” Thealos prayed, scrambling down the corridor. “Shenalle protect us and keep us. Shenalle bring peace to the troubled. Keasorn guide my sword. Keasorn give me courage to strike my enemy…” Poor Flent!
“He hasn’t caught us yet!” Allavin Devers snarled in anger, grabbing Thealos’ arm and pulled him towards the crossroads ahead.
–Son of Quicksilver, I have waited for you–
At the end of the tunnel was a junction leading two ways. They stopped, gasping for breath. One path led down to the foot of the hill beneath Landmoor. It opened up to the moors and the streams and darkness where it was still night beyond. The darkness would aid an escape.
The other path led to the Otsquare and the Silverkin Crystal.
Thealos looked back and watched Secrist appear out of the gloom, not thirty paces away. The Silvan magic of the Crystal was so strong that he felt it tremble beneath the stones. He looked down the corridor towards it, seeing blue light shining from a distant set of pillars. The Otsquare. He licked his lips, nearly able to taste the magic.
“Take her to Castun,” Thealos whispered, squeezing Allavin’s shoulder and giving his sword back to him. “I’ll join you there.”
“Where are you…?” Allavin demanded as Thealos pushed Ticastasy into his arms. She turned around, her face stricken.
“I’ll join you there!” he promised.
“Wait, lad!”
“I’ll be safe here,” Thealos said, staring into Allavin’s eyes. “He won’t be able to follow me. Take her and go!” He risked a look at Ticastasy. “I’ll come for you,” he promised.
“Shaden!” Secrist’s voice rasped and he ran at him again. Thealos retreated into the corridor with the Otsquare and watched as Allavin and Ticastasy fled the other way. His heart burned. So many dead. But so many others would die if he didn’t get to the Silverkin. He felt the light of the magic caress his neck and shivered from the thrill of it.
–Come–
Secrist turned down the hallway after him. A sick grin came over his mouth when he saw Thealos alone. His boots plodded forward, almost like a hoppit doll. Thealos moved slowly, bringing the Kiran Thall after him – deeper into the tunnel’s throat. The stench of Forbidden magic was mild compared to the rush of Silvan magic caged behind him. Glancing at the walls, he saw where the chunks of stone had been broken away after Justin had turned the Earth magic loose on the aged Sorian. He did not feel the warding anymore. No, the Sorian had set one trap to warn him of intruders. And they had sprung it earlier that morning.
“I’ll drink your blood,” Secrist said, jabbing the air with his knife. “I’ll lick it from the rocks.” He was squinting, as if he couldn’t see Thealos anymore.
Thealos moved backwards, foot over foot, crossing the distance to the portal. He could see Secrist stagger now, his arm coming up to shield his face from the light. It was bright, as bright as the sun. Thealos felt the hair on the back of his neck rise as the magic whispered again.
–I am the Silverkin Crystal–
The words came with a shriek of light that nearly blinded Thealos. Spinning around, he squinted at the stone archway suspended by two pillars sculpted like gryphons. The searing light came from within the archway, brighter than the sun at noonday. He didn’t know how he could see anything at all, but there it was. Still squinting, Thealos approached the pillars. The light drowned out details, blurring the pathway to follow. He heard Secrist screaming in pain, but he no longer smelled the Forbidden magic. The Silverkin soothed him with its voice, comforting. Thealos touched the stone portal. He ran his hand along the cool chiseled stone.