Eakkashet did a wingover, flew straight into the flames, and transformed with a roar, three times as large as he had been before, a giant made of flame, howling with the voice of an uncontrolled wildfire, and flexing arms as bright as the sun.
The tumble of priests and demons came charging over the hill—and abruptly stopped at the sight of him amidst the wildfire, tumbling together in a milling, confused mess.
Eakkashet roared again, and stamped his foot. Flames shot up from it.
“Fire!” the Captain ordered again, and a rain of arrows fell among the demons and priests.
The priests, it seemed, had not been able to maintain their shields while in pursuit, and at least three shrieked in unaccustomed pain—and one fell from the demon he was riding, which promptly turned on him, as did two more next to it.
Bloodcurdling screams, quickly cut off, told of his fate, and that, it seemed decided the rest of them. With odd little pops, most of the demons vanished, leaving only the ones being ridden by priests to turn tail and vanish back the way they had come.
20
While Eakkashet and Vela put the fire out before it turned into something worse and threatened lands in Valdemar as well as Karse, Halina was doing something. She hung in the air, facing something he couldn’t see, while they all caught their breath.
Actually, it was more than just “catching their breath.” All of them slid bonelessly from the Companions’ backs and just lay on the ground, cold as it was, for a while. Or at least it was cold until Eakkashet shrank back down to “normal” size and sat among them, radiating enough warmth that it felt like sunbathing.
The Guard Captain finally felt moved to say something. “It is almost dark—” he said to Kee, apparently recognizing him as the Prince. “We need to be away from here.”
“I understand,” the Prince groaned, and got to his feet, giving Sira a hand up, as Tory and Ahkhan did the same.
“Halina has negotiated a peace with the air spirits,” Eakkashet announced. “They will not trouble us if you do no egregious magic.”
And what counts as “egregious” magic? Tory wondered, mounting the nearest Companion and helping Ahkhan back up behind him, even as the Guard Captain exclaimed, “The thing talks? What did it say?”
“Just a comment about how glad we were to see you,” lied Tory. And with a wrench of his mind to put it back into the Sleepgiver tongue, he said to Eakkashet, “Come here and let me give you my language talisman, so the Guard can understand what you are saying.”
He pulled it off his neck as the afrinn paced over to the side of the Companion, who snorted at him in a friendly fashion, and put the crystal talisman into the afrinn’s outstretched hand.
“Can you all understand me, good friends?” the afrinn said in perfect Valdemaran. “If so, let us move from this place before the Karsites return. I will light the way at the bridle of the lead horse.”
And with that, he turned into a firehawk. A firehawk on fire, as bright as four torches.
“How on earth did you find us?” Tory asked the Guard Captain as they rode at a fast canter straight to the west.
“I’d be damned interested to hear that myself,” said Ahkhan at his back.
“Dunno. The Heralds knew,” the Captain replied, as one of the two Heralds turned his head at the word “Herald,” and his Companion began weaving through the pack of Cavalry until he reached their side.
“Herald Mikel at your service,” the graying, ginger-haired Herald said with a little bow. “I assume you wanted something?”
“How did you know where to find us?” Tory asked, as Kee and Sira closed in on his other side.
“Herald Mags told us via Mindspeech. I don’t know how he knew. But you can ask him yourself when we stop at the Border Fort tonight.” The Herald grimaced in the darkening twilight. “Nobody wants to be out in the open longer than we have to. That was the biggest group of demons and priests anyone along the Border here has ever seen, and I wouldn’t count on them not coming back once they regroup. They must have desperately wanted you.”
“I think that’s a fair assessment,” Tory agreed, wearily, all too aware that he was exhausted, starving, his clothing was in rags, soaked in sweat, and it was completely inadequate against the winter chill. Somewhere during the fight, they’d all lost their packs and winter cloaks—though considering that this was probably because the demons had struck them and got those instead of a piece of their backs, he was going to consider it a fair trade.
“Now what I would like to know is, what in the name of all the gods are these things you have with you?” Herald Mikel asked.
“They are spirits of the elements,” Sira spoke up. She and Kee looked even worse than Tory felt. It was hard to tell in the dim light, but they looked pale and drawn. “The fire is called Eakkashet. The water are Atheser for the small and Vela for the large. The air is Halina. It is a very long story, how they came to join us, but I assure you, they are my allies.”
The Herald got round-eyed. “How is that even possible?” he asked.
Sira smiled wanly. “As I said, it is a very long story. And much of it is secrets of my people that I am not free to share.”
“I completely understand,” Mikel replied respectfully. “Still . . . seeing them in battle is one story I’ll be sharing at the fire for a long time.”
They finally reached the Border Fortress under full dark, with Eakkashet providing light for the lead horses to follow. If the Guards found following a flaming bird odd, it appeared that they did not find it disturbing enough to object to taking advantage of it. But it was obvious that everyone was glad to be within the shelter of the stout stone ramparts once they arrived there.
When the gate was firmly shut behind them, Eakkashet volunteered to go sit in the forge, Halina flew to the highest point of the fortress and wrapped herself around the flagstaff there, and Vela and Atheser settled into the horse trough. “We will be fine,” he assured Tory, before he followed the blacksmith to his overnight resting spot. “I believe rest will be enough for now. I would not like to anger the air spirits by asking the Prince to feed us power tonight.”
Well, that settled that. The humans all followed the Captain into the barracks, and they soon found themselves seated at tables in the mess, with a simple soldiers’ meal of bread and stew in front of them. Tory sat there for a long moment with his hands wrapped around the bowl, almost too tired to eat.
But he and the others must have done so, because the next thing he was aware of was that all four of them had been taken to an office just off the mess where four pallets had been hastily laid out. And that was the last he knew until morning.
In the morning, Herald Mikel woke them all with arms full of Guard clothing, which suited Tory just fine, since it was all winter wear and clean, and thus infinitely superior to what they were wearing. And more to the point there was hot water in the kitchen for something like a quick wash, which he, at least, felt in desperate need of.
By the time the sun had properly risen, they were back on the road, this time accompanied by only the three Heralds, which meant they could all go at a Companion’s pace, which was much, much faster than anything the Guard horses could have managed. One Herald rode ahead to scout the road, one rode behind to cover their back, and Mikel rode with them.
“We discussed this last night while you were sleeping,” Mikel told them. “We decided that getting you quickly out of range of the Karsites was going to be safer for you than riding with a Guard escort. We’re taking you to the Menmellith crossing.”
:The same one that you used the first time, son,: said a familiar, and oh-so-welcome voice in his head.
The other three started, and Sira looked about wild-eyed. “Who—what—”
“That was my father, Herald Mags. Your father’s cousin, the strongest Mindspeaker in Valdemar,” Tory told her, then continued aloud, “Father,
how close are you?”
:Close enough to meet you there, where you can tell us everything in person.:
“Good,” Tory sighed, both longing for and dreading the meeting. “There is an awful lot to tell.”
* * *
• • •
This might not be the first time in the history of Valdemar that a King had been housed in a barn—but there probably had not been too many such incidences.
Mind, it was an extremely fine barn; really, it was nicer than many inns Tory had taken shelter in. It had been built by Lord Merdan’s grandfather to house his collection of delicate racehorses; on the death of that worthy but improvident man, his son had sold off the entire collection, which had not done much but sire more of their kind and eat their heads off, according to the present Lord Merdan. The barn was much more impressive than the manor, if truth were to be told. The manor certainly was not as tightly built, nor as well-warmed, and it boasted of only a single water pump, and that one was in the kitchen and had been fitted recently. The barn, by contrast, had exquisitely carved stalls, solid wooden floors everywhere except in the stalls themselves, where the floors were pounded and oiled clay with drains in the center. It also had four water pumps, a copper boiler for heating water, a small kitchen, two huge brick fireplaces of the same design as the ones that served the Companions’ stable at the Palace, and a very spacious one-room dormitory on the second floor for the small army of grooms that had attended those aristocratic horses. So far as Tory could tell, there was not a single draft in the entire building, which could not be said of the manor.
Of course, poor Lord Merdan was not actually aware he was hosting the King; if he had been, he would have been mortified at sticking the King, the Queen, and the King’s Own in his barn to share a dormitory. He thought he was playing host to a group of Heralds and a handful of unspecified “others” that the Heralds needed to meet with. And monsters. The monsters made him very nervous, and he was just as happy that they were tucked away in the barn, in the stalls, well out of sight.
Tory had not expected the King. He certainly had not expected the Queen. Or his mother, the King’s Own Herald. And he was exceedingly relieved that as soon as they had had the time to begin explanations, Kee had stepped up and spoken up for himself, including his reasoning about going into Karse. A short explanation, given that the relieved greetings had taken up quite a bit of time for both families.
That had been a couple of candlemarks ago, when they had first arrived here. Following that, the King had made it clear there was going to be a very private conversation between the Prince and his parents. This was one discussion that Tory had been grateful that he did not need to participate in.
The one with his father, mother, and brother Perry was going to be easier on the nerves. But first he’d given his report about everything, which Mags had noted with only mild disapproval, but understanding, when it came to Kee’s insistence that they were going into Karse and they were helping to rescue Sira.
“I couldn’t stop him without knocking him out, and even then, I think he would have gotten away from me and followed Ahkhan anyway,” he told Mags.
“Prolly,” Mags said laconically. “He didn’ get the Royal Obligations stuff knocked into him th’ way his older brothers and sister did.”
With that part over, the rest was just narrative, although it was hard to contain his own excitement when describing all the real magic he had seen.
“But I don’t understand how you knew to send the Heralds and the Guards,” he ended.
“Well, fust of all, you cain’t hev expected t’send what sounded like goodbye t’ever’thin’ letters, the two of ye, and not ‘spect us t’hev taken thet poorly,” Mags replied, in what sounded like scolding for the first time since the Royal Party had intercepted the lot of them on the road to the Menmellith Border crossing. “As fer how, it ’pears thet your friend’s llusions don’t work on Farsight. For which we’d all better be grateful.”
“Of course,” Amily added, “we only needed a glimpse. Once we knew which stream you were following, it was logical you’d take it straight to the Border. So we had plenty of time to assemble a force to greet you. And Tariday and Elissa insisted on coming along in case you needed a rescue. Which—well, we’ll never know if you could have fought free of them yourselves, I’m just glad you didn’t have to.”
Tory thought back on the fight and could only shudder. It was true that the huge earth afrinn that had come to their rescue might have been able to regather itself and avalanche down on the Karsites a second and even a third time—but it might not have. And he was just as glad they hadn’t needed to find out.
They were gathered at the fireplace at the east end of the grooms’ quarters. The Royals were at the fireplace at the west end. Sira and Ahkhan were sitting quietly in the middle, with the rest of the Heralds. Tory kept glancing over at them, feeling guilty about how uncomfortable they surely must be feeling. At least Kee seemed to be holding his own with the King and Queen. His head was up, his posture was confident, but not defiant, which made Tory think that—
—wait, the King had signaled to Herald Mikel.
Mikel came over, spoke a few words, and went back and got Sira and Ahkhan.
Oh, glory. Here it comes. Now he was doubly glad he was not part of that conversation.
Amily, Mags, and Perry had all followed his gaze and noted what had just happened. Tory turned back to his father, dreading what was coming next, but to his surprise he saw that Mags was smiling wryly.
“Bey c’n charm a broody hen off ’er eggs,” Mags observed. “If’n thet runs in the family, an’ I reckon it does, them two’ll hev no prollem wi’ th’ King an’ Queen. Jist wait fer it.”
And in what Tory considered a shockingly short period of time, the Queen was embracing Sira, and the King was slapping Ahkhan and his own son on the back.
“There ’tis,” Mags observed. “ ’Course, it don’t hurt thet murderous little gel’s a Princess uv sorts.”
“It also doesn’t hurt that Kee can never come back to Valdemar,” Tory said bluntly, finally putting into words what he hoped Kee had made clear to his parents. “He’s not just a Mage, Father, he’s a powerful one. There’s no way the vrondi would leave him alone, even if he never performed another act of magic in his life. And . . . that’s not likely. When you’ve got something that strong, it makes you want to use it.”
Mags pinched the bridge of his nose. “I ‘spect that has somethin’ t’do with it too,” he admitted. “ ’S better Kee’s gonna be safe in the safest place in th’ world than playin’ ambassador outside Valdemar. You say as a Mage, he’s gonna be right in their stronghold, all the time?”
“That’s what Sira said. She said their Mages can scarcely be coaxed to come out into the daylight, much less leave the Mountain.”
“I want to go talk to those afrinns you have with you,” Perry said, getting up. “Or, rather, try. I think they might be akin to that living city, and I might well be able to speak with them.”
He was down the stairs before anyone could stop him, though, truthfully, no one really wanted to. It was just what Tory had just said about Kee—when you’ve got something that strong, it makes you want to use it. And Perry absolutely could not have seen nonhuman creatures and not tried to speak with them. Especially since they already knew his kyree companion, Larral, could. That had been established on the road here—and, in fact, Larral was with them right now down in the stable part of the barn where they were gathered on the downstairs, eastside hearth, probably giving them a kyree’s view of Valdemar and all it contained. Or gossip. Or both.
Tory cast another look at Kee, and he felt such mingled happiness and sadness that he could not tell where one ended and the other began. Because Kee sat with his arm easily around Sira, and she with her arm around him, and he felt, like a physical tearing, the last of the Kee he had once known separat
ing from him. It closed his throat, and he turned back to his parents with his eyes stinging.
To see them looking at him with compassion. Mags reached out and clapped him gently on the shoulder.
“Ev’thin’ changes,” Mags said, with deep sympathy. “An ’e’s leavin’ ye behind. This might be both hardest an’ easiest way fer ye. ’Cause it’s not like he died—but it’s kinda worse this way.”
He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. “I have a selfish reason, too,” he admitted. “Kee was why I could reach so far with Farsight. Now—I got nothin’. Or at least, nothin’ any of your agents haven’t got. I—”
He choked up and got to his feet, turning blindly toward the stair and stumbling down it.
His parents didn’t try to stop him.
Rather than join Perry and the afrinns at the hearth, he went out the door into the winter air. It had snowed the previous night, and a thin coat of white covered everything. This barn was in the middle of partially wooded hills that had been dedicated to pasturage for the horses, and the manor was somewhere on the other side of it, behind him. As a result, there was no sign of human hands but the wooden fences. It was beautiful. It didn’t ease his heart, but the austere, sterile white and clouded skies did match his plummeting, bleak mood. The hole inside him hurt, and never mind that he was happy for Kee, for himself—he was devastated. Abi had her Master Artificer rank and her friends, Perry had his kyree and his Gift and his friends, and he had . . . nothing. And yes, he’d seen magic, real magic at work, and it had been thrilling. But Kee had his love and magic and what had he gotten out of this besides adventure? Nothing. In fact, he’d ended up with less than he’d had when he’d begun.
Something shoved him from behind.
He turned to remonstrate with whoever had been so rude—
And found himself looking into a pair of bottomless, sapphire eyes . . .
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