The Warrior's Curse

by Jennifer A. Nielsen

  Expelling these two precious powers cost me more than I had expected, but I began to understand why. The first disk was the power over life; the second was the power over death. Nothing greater was in me.

  I finally released the black disk when the metal became so hot to the touch that I could not keep hold of it any longer. Etched into the metal was the same symbol that was now a faint scar on my right palm, a square cross, narrowed and slightly curved at the tips. I dropped it into my satchel, then collapsed to the ground, exhausted.

  “Kestra!”

  Recognizing Darrow’s voice, I lifted my head and vaguely saw him running toward me with Rosaleen at his side. While she helped me into a sitting position, he looked up. “Did you fall from the palace windows? How can you still be alive?”

  “I had magic.”

  “Had?”

  I gestured to the white disk in front of me. “That one is for you. Should you ever need to use it on me.”

  Darrow fiercely shook his head, horrified at what I was suggesting. “Do you know what the white disk does to its victim? I never would do that to you, never.”

  “Take it. And this disk bow too. It’s not mine anyway.” For some reason, that made me smile. A day ago, I wanted Harlyn dead. Now my conscience was prodded by the thought of having stolen her weapons.

  Darrow put his arm around me and helped me to my feet, though I still leaned heavily upon him. Rosaleen stood on my other side, helping to brace me.

  “We can get you to Loelle,” she said.

  I shook my head. “Take me to the palace courtyard.”

  Darrow stopped walking. “That’s not a good idea. Joth is there fighting Simon. It isn’t going to end well. Joth will not let Simon win.”

  “That’s why I have to go.”

  “You can’t even stand! What can you do to help him?”

  “Joth has the same magic now as Lord Endrick. If the Olden Blade could kill one, it should be able to kill the other.”

  “You don’t know that. And if you’re wrong, Joth will not let you walk away from there.” I had looked away from Darrow so he counterstepped to catch my attention again. “Listen to me, Kestra. If you enter that courtyard, you will not leave it alive.”

  This time I stared directly at him. “But I am going to enter because this is my responsibility. I will crawl there if I must, but nothing you do or say will stop me. This may be my last chance.”

  Darrow sighed and tightened his arm around me, and he and Rosaleen began again to help me walk toward the palace courtyard.

  Joth believed he was on the verge of victory, but I had no plans to make his claim on the throne this simple.

  With his knife headed straight toward my chest, I braced myself, standing perfectly still until the blade was just in front of me. Then I swung my sword at it, connecting with a clash of metals that rang in my ears. The knife careened off sideways, and before Joth had time to react, I raced toward him.

  He thrust me backward, but the courtyard had begun to rumble with voices of discontent.

  “Make it a fair fight!” someone from the audience yelled.

  Joth’s face twisted as he glared in that direction; then he responded by pulling his fingers into a fist, corresponding with a desperate cry for help from that same man in the audience. I saw his body collapse and a woman next to him scream out, “What have you done?”

  “Kneel to me now.” Joth turned to address the crowd. “And no one else has to die.”

  I used that moment to rush at him, tackling him from behind so that he fell to the ground face-first. He struggled, but I got my hands on his wrists, locking down his body with my legs. Suddenly, I was sapped of strength when Joth rotated one wrist just enough to touch my hand. I fell to the ground, struggling for breath and feeling every cut and bruise in my body swell with pain.

  Joth knelt beside me, grabbing my shirt and pulling me into a seated position. “Tell them to kneel,” he said. “Tell them or you will die right here.”

  In the loudest voice I could muster, I said, “Do you see how Joth kneels before me now? He asks that you follow his example and kneel to me as well!”

  Furious, Joth reached for me again and surely would have pulled out what life still remained in me, when at my right, I recognized Huge’s voice, shouting, “Simon is our king!”

  Joth stood, forgetting me. “Who said that?”

  “Simon is our king!” another group shouted behind Joth.

  “Simon is our king!” So many people began chanting it, Joth didn’t know where to place his attention.

  Instead, both of his hands clenched into fists and his face tightened into fierce concentration. He was gathering magic such as I suspected Antora had never before seen.

  “To your knees!” he screamed, raising his arms, and when he lowered them, the entire audience was forced to kneel. “Now watch as I destroy your so-called king!”

  I had lifted myself into a crouching position, still unable to stand on my own, but just as he sent magic toward me, Rawk flew over the platform directly between us, his wings outstretched wide, and Joth fell again. The magic Joth had sent diffused around me, though Rawk had let out a horrifying screech as he was hit by the magic, and his balance wavered as he flew away, injured. I tried to send a thought of comfort to him but could not find him, and that terrified me.

  “Protect the king!”

  Gabe’s words quickly became a rallying cry around the courtyard. Weapons seemed to come out of nowhere and people stood and began pressing toward the platform.

  “Protect the king, my brother!”

  Above all other noises now thundering within the courtyard, Rosaleen’s strong voice easily carried to me, demanding the attention of those who had gathered here. I turned to see her and Darrow pushing forward through the crowd.

  For the past several days, I’d been desperate to see her. I’d looked for her around every corner, amidst every group of Ironhearts we’d encountered, and never once had caught a single glimpse of her. Now here she was, but at the worst possible time. I wanted her to be anywhere but in this courtyard.

  Unfair as it was to ask, I sent thoughts to Rawk to help Rosaleen, if he could.

  This time, Rawk answered. Despite his injuries, he immediately rounded toward us and, with his breath, sent fire down to the edges of the platform, creating a barrier the audience would not cross and which probably created some sort of protection from Joth’s magic.

  Joth screamed in anger, then waved his fingers, summoning my sword straight into his hands. “When the fire burns down, they will see their king dead by his own weapon.”

  “They will see a dead king, but it won’t be Simon.” Kestra leapt onto the platform, untouched by the fire, with the Olden Blade in her hands. Joth turned, but she was charging at him so quickly, he barely had time to react. He grabbed her shoulders as the Olden Blade entered his chest. Something in his touch must have harmed her too, for she let out a cry that pierced the air, pierced my heart. Instinctively, I understood that he was not just taking strength from her. His touch was killing her.

  Kestra looked over at me, and I watched the light fade in her eyes, then extinguish. In that same moment, her cry was cut off in a choking silence and then her body went limp. I screamed out her name and ran forward, but even before I caught her, I knew she was dead. I landed on my knees, and when I tried pulling her into my arms, an explosion of light erupted around us and she was ripped away from me.

  The light vanished, and a second later, I heard a thud on the ground.

  Fearing it might be Kestra, I hardly dared to open my eyes, but when I did, I saw the Olden Blade implanted point down in the platform floor, smoke rising from what appeared to be searing hot metal. Not a drop of blood was on it.

  Nor was Kestra anywhere in sight.

  Or Joth.

  I was alone.

  Only then did the fire around me begin to diminish. I realized that no one would have seen what happened, and perhaps with the roar of the flames,
they might not even have heard it. They only would have seen a bright flash of light that had instantly vanished from within the flames.

  I rose and retrieved my sword. The Olden Blade was still too hot to touch, but I stood near it, desperately calling for Kestra. Fully aware she would not, or could not, answer me. And calling out her name anyway.

  With the flames nearly burned out now, the people in the courtyard gasped when they saw I was alone. They probably had no idea what Kestra had just done, what she had sacrificed. They only knew that Joth was no longer here.

  Gabe and Harlyn were the first to climb onto the platform. He put an arm around me to offer support, and Harlyn asked, “What just happened?”

  As if in answer to her question, moments later, Joth walked out onto a balcony at the front of the palace. He was making an obvious effort to appear as strong as ever, but I’d seen where Kestra stabbed him and he clearly was injured.

  But he was alive.

  He shouted down, “Victory is mine. The Scarlet Throne is mine. There is no one left to challenge me, so please, my people, accept that and let us be happy.”

  I stepped forward, shouting back, “Where is Kestra?”

  He laughed. “You saw it for yourself, Simon. Your love, Kestra Dallisor, is dead. And so will all of you die if you continue to defy me.”

  Gabe tugged at my arm. “Come with me. We have to get out of here.”

  I shook my head, unable to process his words. She had been here only seconds ago, and surely she would return again. Wasn’t she immortal now? When her magic regenerated within her, this was where she would come.

  Unless she couldn’t. Unless she wasn’t truly immortal.

  Rosaleen reached my side, though she obviously understood something devastating had happened. She took my arm in hers. “Lean on me.”

  Joth shouted, “Yes, crawl from here, King of the Banished, King of Nothing and No One. And take your sad Alliance with you. Anyone still here in ten minutes had better be on their knees offering themselves as my servants.”

  Rosaleen said, “He must be more injured than he is letting on, or he would attack. But that won’t last long.”

  Harlyn pressed a hand against my back. “We must leave, Simon. Please.”

  By then, Trina had joined us, and I followed her gaze toward the Olden Blade. “Kestra was here, Trina.”

  “I know, I was in front and heard everything.” Trina crouched before the Olden Blade and picked it up with her cloak. “Simon, I know you don’t want to hear this, but I think Joth is telling the truth. I think Kestra really is gone.”

  Gone. Removed. Stopped. All the words we used to avoid saying what really was happening.

  I wouldn’t say it either, but as my friends and sister led me from the courtyard, the words I was trying not to think about were shattering my world apart.

  Kestra was dead.

  I truly didn’t care.

  Whatever the threat, whatever the latest disaster or complaint, I could not make myself care enough to solve it.

  Loelle had healed my wounds, and Rosaleen had put a bowl of stew in front of me that I didn’t touch. Somehow I had ended up in the Woodcourt library, though I couldn’t say exactly how long we’d been meeting, or even what we’d been discussing.

  With me was Gabe, who had taken over leadership of the Coracks. Harlyn and Trina sat near him, also Basil and Imri Stout. Closest was Rosaleen, who had her hand over mine, though I couldn’t feel it. Each was seated in a circle, all eyes on me, waiting for me to say something.

  And I had nothing to offer.

  “Did you see the Dallisors kneeling to Joth as we left the courtyard?” Harlyn asked. “I’ll bet he invited them into the palace and now they’re lying on the floor mostly dead while Joth has made himself whole again.”

  “I saw them, the cowards.” With another squeeze of my hand, Rosaleen added, “Darrow and I were the last people with Kestra before she climbed onto that platform. I think she knew she was going to die, whether the Olden Blade worked or not.”

  Basil’s mind was in a similar place. “If Kestra stabbed Joth directly in the heart with the Olden Blade, then why didn’t it work?”

  “Kestra was the Infidante tasked with killing Lord Endrick,” Trina said. “Only Lord Endrick. The Olden Blade contained his magic, not Joth’s. Every power that Joth acquired from Endrick probably was damaged when she attacked him, but according to Loelle, he has other powers too.”

  “Endrick made the Olden Blade to keep himself immortal,” Gabe said. “As far as we know, Joth has not created any similar object. He’s learned from Endrick’s mistake.”

  “Then we need a new plan.” Imri leaned forward. “Surely you have other ideas.”

  “I don’t.” My voice sounded as hollow as I felt. “Nobody does.”

  I stopped before saying what I really believed, which was that Joth’s defeat was impossible, especially with our few numbers and thin alliances. And I was no longer content to simply nip at his ankles in a petty rebellion. If we would continue to fight, it had to be for the purpose of winning. Which, as far as I could tell, had no chance of success.

  “You have Rawk,” Harlyn offered. “He defended you against Joth during the duel.”

  Loelle had examined Rawk following the duel, or attempted it. He had swatted his tail at her, which for a dragon was no small thing, then flown away. Loelle had assured me he would be all right, but he had no interest in the medicines of man or of magic.

  I nodded, barely able to process what that meant for us, if anything. So I stood and said, “You all are welcome to talk for as long as you wish, and I hope you will come up with something useful. Thank you all, for everything you did today.”

  I started out the door but, behind me, heard Gabe stand and push back his chair. “Hail Simon, my king.”

  “Simon, my king,” Harlyn echoed, also on her feet, followed immediately by Trina.

  Rosaleen stood as well. “Simon, my brother, my king. I suppose I have to be nicer to you now.”

  I glanced back and smiled faintly. Beside them, Basil stood and offered his drink to me in toast. “Well, you’re not my king, but you are a king, and I know you will be a great one.”

  Still seated, Imri folded her arms. “He is not a true king until he defeats that insolent brat now occupying the Scarlet Throne.” Then she looked up at me. “But when you do, and you will, you will be a great king.”

  I gave each of them a grateful nod, then left the library. I didn’t go directly to my room but instead wandered out to Woodcourt’s yard and called for Rawk.

  He was longer to arrive than usual, though when I inspected him for wounds, he appeared all right other than a small chip in a scale on his right side.

  “Where do you go when you’re not with me?” I asked, then more to myself, added, “Where does anyone go when they are the last of their kind?”

  Kestra had been the last of her kind too. I had never truly appreciated how that must have felt for her. I never had fully appreciated her. Time after time, she found herself in a position where she could not win, and she had always found a way through it. Always.

  Until today.

  Rawk’s patience seemed to be wearing thin. I had been trying to recall what I had intended by calling him to me in the first place. My only thought was that I wanted to go someplace where every direction I looked didn’t remind me of Kestra.

  I climbed onto Rawk’s back and said nothing, neither aloud nor through silent communication. After a moment, Rawk flew us into the air anyway.

  There was nothing specific I wanted to see, and indeed, nothing of any note caught my attention. I did notice a great number of loaded carts headed out of Highwyn, which was little surprise.

  On the outskirts of Highwyn sat the two sentries, the enormous rock statues, one to welcome those who came, the other to bid farewell to those who left. Surprisingly, they gave me hope. They had been here before Endrick, survived the War of Devastation, and many battles between the Halderi
ans and Dallisors before that. They would outlast Joth as well.

  As we continued, gradually All Spirits Forest came into view. Despite the winter elsewhere, here the forest was alive like springtime. Green leaves budded on strong tall trees, grass was growing, and the air was full of a perfume that I caught even as high as we were.

  At my request, Rawk flew us down into the forest, landing near a small flowing river. I slid to the ground and began to wander among the trees, my senses taking in a place that for the first time in a generation was fully alive.

  Eventually I came to a small rock home, bearing evidence of someone who had recently lived here. I entered and saw ashes in the fireplace, mice scattering from a table where food must have been, and, on a chair in the corner, Kestra’s cloak. The one she had been wearing before Loelle took her away from Nessel in the night.

  Kestra had been here.

  I picked up the cloak and held it in my arms, no longer fighting my grief. I nursed it until the sadness turned to anger at all those who had wanted her dead for no reason other than who she was, who we had all forced her to become. But when I looked inward, my anger grew. Hadn’t I been as responsible as anyone else?

  I closed my eyes, imagining her in my arms again, and then hurting all the more because of how impossible it was. My anger was grief, and my grief roared like a tornado within me.

  I never should have come here and couldn’t stay here any longer, dwelling in despair and hopelessness. So I stood, folding the cloak to carry with me to Woodcourt, another place where every corner would echo with some memory of her. But at least I had distractions there.

  In my hurry to leave, I stumbled over a small table beside the chair, knocking a book to the floor. I picked it up and thumbed through the pages, quickly realizing this was Joth’s diary.

  Curious, I briefly browsed through the entries. He must have had several journals, for the first page on this book was only a little over a month old, and every day contained a new entry.