Pravus choked. He could do nothing else. Cyrus released him, and he sucked in a deep breath. “Before you decide to torture me further, you might want to consider the fact that my soul is bound with Aria’s. Any pain you inflict upon me will also be inflicted upon her.”
Cyrus’s eyes narrowed. “You’re a liar. Why should I believe a word of what you say?”
“If you don’t, then proceed as planned, but know that her death will be on your hands.”
Cyrus hesitated.
Now I’ve got the upper hand.
“Release me, and I will confess everything, including the way I manipulated you and Ilia into having relations.”
“You had no right!” Cyrus swept his arm across his body.
Pravus flew backward and crashed into a chair before hitting the ground. Pain shot through his lower back and down the backs of his legs. He lay there and caught his breath as the pain subsided. The only fight he’d win that night would be one of words, and he planned on bleeding Cyrus to death.
Cyrus stood over him in a flash. “As twisted as it is, I understand why you did what you did to Ilia and me. You wanted power and knew how to breed a mage, but why did you kill the other five? Why not leave them in stasis?”
“And risk someone waking them and ruining everything?” Pravus shook his head. “I had no choice.”
Cyrus rubbed his left bicep. “Vitara and Savannah then. Why kill them?”
“Don’t pretend that you don’t understand,” snarled Pravus. “I needed you to be motivated. You’re the only one who could’ve retrieved Ƨʈōn Dhef Dädh. Everything in my plan to resurrect my father’s kingdom hinged on you. Without you and Ilia, Aria and Alderan would’ve never been born, and Ilia’s prophecy about Fädinzh dhä Bəllek would never have come to pass.”
Rage burned in Cyrus’s eyes. “How did you find out about the resting place of Ūrdär Dhef Ƨäfn Dhä?” With a flick of his wrist, Pravus sat up.
“I have eyes and ears everywhere,” said Pravus. “Finding one of the Feƨzhärz Dhä and persuading them to help me took little effort. Family is all most people have, and they will do just about anything to save them. Like you, Omerus, the one who helped me, was no different. He helped me locate you, and I rewarded him with a quick and mostly painless death.
“The hardest part of the plan was suppressing yours and Ilia’s memories and implanting false ones. That took more time than I would’ve liked, but it had to be perfect and infallible. Do you realize how much detail had to go into that process? So many things could’ve gone wrong. False memories were planted into the minds of everyone you ever encountered. Bradwr, rest his wretched soul, claimed to be your best friend, but he sold you out without hesitation to save his own skin and that of his wife and daughter. Had he known they were already dead, he might’ve failed to finish the task. Then again, I’m certain he would’ve blamed you for their deaths.”
“You’re a bastard.” Cyrus spat in his face.
Pravus chuckled as he wiped the spit from his cheek on his shoulder. “I am, but so are your children. Speaking of them and what they represent, have you contemplated the intricacies of prophecy? It’s a funny thing. As written, the prophecy about twin wizards born to ʊnzhifʈäd parents sounds impossible and quite literally is based on the laws of mezhik, but it’s the details of the prophecies that matter.
“The prophecy about your children never specified that the parents must physically be ʊnzhifʈäd. For all intents and purposes, you and your Vitara were ʊnzhifʈäd. Planting the idea in your head that you hated mezhik was a personal favorite of mine, and watching you struggle with it still, even knowing who you truly are, is priceless.”
Cyrus glared at him. “You think you’ve got it all figured out, don’t you?”
“Yes, I orchestrated everything that happened, right down to rescuing and marrying your daughter. Now, my seed grows inside her belly.”
Cyrus’s eyes widened for only a moment, but Pravus caught it.
That’s right, you smug, righteous bastard.
Pravus continued, “She’ll never be yours again. Everything has gone according to my plan, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me. The Three Kingdoms will fall, and I will rule the Ancient Realm.”
Cyrus grabbed Pravus by the collar of his robes and lifted him clear off the ground. “Baby or not, Shanara will return to me.” Spittle peppered the air and Pravus’s face.
“She was never yours,” snarled Pravus.
Cyrus head-butted Pravus right in the nose. The crack rang in Pravus’s ears, and the pain consumed him for several seconds. Blood gushed from his nostrils.
Cyrus threw him to the ground. “Where’s my son?”
“Your son? He’s just like his father. Quite useless. The only thing he knows how to do is sit around and sulk over his sister. Pathetic.”
Cyrus stalked forward. “And where is… Alderan?” He groaned, and his hands trembled.
A gentle breeze tugged on the tent flaps and rustled the maps and diagrams on the table.
Cyrus is growing weak.
Pravus broke away from Cyrus’s mezhik hold and cracked his knuckles. “Looks like your time has ran out, old man.” He drew upon his mezhik, healed his bleeding nose, and wiped it with the back of his hand. “I’ll be certain to tell Aria that you’re the one who broke her nose.” He rose to his feet and wiped the blood off his hand with his robes.
Alderan walked through the tent flaps. “Where’s my sister?”
Cyrus turned and Pravus had the opening he needed. Within the folds of his robes he withdrew ƨäbräƨär and thrust it at Cyrus. The forward edge of the collar slipped right through Cyrus’s neck and wrapped it. Then, with mind and mezhik, Pravus began shaping the world around them.
The ground quaked as four steel walls rose up and surrounded the three of them.
A steel roof unrolled and stretched over the top of the walls.
The ground cracked open with a thunderous groan as gallows burst forth from it.
Thick ropes snared Cyrus. Tightened around his neck. Bound his hands and feet. Pulled him into the air and onto the gallows platform.
The rope around Cyrus’s neck wrapped itself around the top of the gallows and tied itself off, leaving a foot of slack. Sufficient to snap Cyrus’s neck when he dropped through the platform.
A single light focused on Cyrus. Shone in his face. He squinted to see through it.
Pravus walked up the platform stairs and faced Cyrus.
With a twist of Pravus’s wrist, Alderan flew up from the ground and landed on the platform next to the gallows lever. Alderan’s hand wrapped around the lever and rope bound them together.
“What’s going on?” demanded Alderan, his attention split between Pravus and Cyrus.
Pravus steepled his fingers and grinned at Alderan. “Your timing couldn’t have been better, Alderan. Or should I call you Shardan?”
Alderan frowned. “And why would you call me Shardan?”
Cyrus struggled against his restraints. “Is it really you? You’re Shan— Aria’s brother?”
Alderan glanced at Cyrus and then back to Pravus. “Do I know this man? He looks familiar.”
Pravus laughed. “Your own son doesn’t even know your face!”
“F-father?” Alderan’s eyes widened. “Aria told me about you.”
“Excellent. Then you know whom it is that you’ll kill.”
Alderan’s head jerked down to his hand on the lever. “No! Don’t make me do this.” Tears welled in his eyes when he looked back up at Pravus. “Please, Pravus. I’ll do anything you ask, but not this.”
Cyrus smiled. “It’s okay, son.”
“I’m not asking,” sneered Pravus.
“None of this is real,” said Cyrus. “Look at me, son.”
Confusion warped Alderan’s face. “I don’t understand.”
“None of this is real,” mocked Pravus. His smile widened. “Trust me, Alderan
. Nothing could be further from the truth.”
Pravus thrust his arm down. Alderan’s arm mimicked the motion and threw the gallows lever.
Alderan cried out as the platform door dropped out from underneath Cyrus’s feet.
But Cyrus didn’t fall. His neck didn’t snap. The rope hadn’t broken.
Cyrus floated over the opening. “Enough of your mind games, Pravus.”
The illusion Pravus had created began to unravel, starting with the rope around Cyrus’s neck.
The gallows sank back into the ground, leaving the three of them standing firmly on the ground.
The steel walls and roof disintegrated.
Cyrus pulled ƨäbräƨär off his own neck, and it turned to ash.
“Your powers are weak.” With a flick of Cyrus’s wrist, ƨäbräƨär slipped off of Alderan’s neck and wrapped itself around Pravus’s.
Pravus dug at his neck and yanked on the collar, but it wouldn’t come off. “You can’t do this to me.”
“I already have.” Cyrus sneered. “Imagine how weak you’ll look in Aria’s eyes when she finds you subdued this way.”
Gods, she can’t find me this way!
Alderan rubbed his neck. “Thank you.”
Pravus pleaded with Cyrus. “Tell me what you want, and it’s yours. Anything.”
“What I want is for you to suffer the way I did, but I know that’s not possible. For now, your humiliation will suffice.”
Vines grew up from the ground and ensnared Pravus.
Cyrus scoffed, “It’s no wonder you sought Aria’s mezhik for yourself. As with the stone, you failed to read all the words as they pertained to the soul binding you performed with Aria. The only power of hers you received was what had already awakened. Had you not been so hasty to seal the deed you could’ve been tenfold stronger. A hundredfold perhaps.”
Pravus swallowed hard. He didn’t want Cyrus’s words to be true, but he’d already known. His powers had barely increased after binding his soul to hers, and he’d tried to blame the poor results on the bond she shared with Cinolth.
Gods, what have I done?
Cyrus turned to Alderan and proffered his hand. “Come with me, son. We have much to discuss.”
Alderan glanced over at Pravus and took Cyrus’s hand. “I’m certain we do.”
“This is far from over!” shouted Pravus as Cyrus and Alderan teleported out of the tent.
Pravus roared with rage. “Guards!”
Two men dressed in battle armor rushed in through the tent flap and halted upon seeing Pravus bound with vines. They just stood there, mouths agape.
Ƨäbräƨär glowed red around Pravus’s neck and enraged him further. “Remove these vines at once, and find me a wizard!”
One soldier turned and left the tent while the other approached Pravus with caution, drawing his dagger as he neared. “Do not move, my lord.”
The soldier gasped, and his dagger dropped from his hand. In a flash, the soldier sat next to Pravus, the two of them bound together.
Pravus seethed.
That bastard’s dead when I see him again.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
The Plains, scarred and devoid of vegetation for miles on end, tore at Zerenity’s heart. As a child, she’d longed to build a home there and live among its vast sea of golden grasses. As she walked alongside Savric, she imbued the ground with mezhik. Tufts of grass sprang up with new life everywhere her foot landed. Had there been no pending war, she would’ve drained her energy into the ground and revitalized the entire area. It still tempted her, but her small contributions would have to do for the moment.
Savric hadn’t uttered more than ten words since they’d met back up at the gateway wall. Deep lines creased his brow, and the corners of his mouth drooped unnaturally—at least for him. She needn’t ask what spoiled his mood. Between worrying about Qotan and finding his godson, Calen, he had a lot occupying his thoughts. But she knew that wasn’t the real issue.
Despite not being in control of her own actions and unable to recall what she’d done to several innocent people a few days back—or anything else that had happened over the last few weeks for that matter—, Savric still brooded over the incident. Even so, if the tables were turned, she might’ve been a tad bit upset with him as well, so she placed no blame on his weary shoulders. She’d apologized several times in the last few hours, and now she needed to move forward.
Zerenity set her eyes on the plains ahead and her mind on the impending war. Many more lives would be lost in the days and weeks ahead, and the thought of it sickened her. Blood would flow in the streets and turn the ground crimson.
And my Aria fights against us.
Had she the ability, she would’ve turned back time and raised Aria and Alderan as her own. She laid no blame at the feet of Redante and Gretchen. They’d done as good of a job raising the twins as could be expected, but if she’d been there for Aria and Alderan perhaps things would’ve turned out a bit different. Maybe she could’ve fought harder and hid them better.
But this is Ƨäʈūr’s plan, not mine.
Zerenity glanced over at Savric. His scowl had deepened. She thought some light conversation might help ease the tension between them. “How far are we from the Hotah River?”
Savric continued to stare into the distance. His lips pursed awkwardly. She wondered if they’d forgotten how to form words. “Another mile, perhaps.” His voice sounded flat and dry.
She offered Savric a drink from her waterskin, but he refused it, albeit graciously. She decided to give him more time to reconcile what he’d witnessed her do with the fact that it wasn’t actually her that did it. Yes, she physically murdered those people, but she likened it to calling an axe a murderer after burying it in someone’s skull. No remorse weighed her down, but she did feel sympathy for their loved ones.
Soon, she noticed the moonlight glinting off a large body of water ahead. The Hotah River, the largest in the Ancient Realm, spanned nearly a mile across along several portions of its length and sank nearly a hundred feet at its deepest. Its breadth and width allowed vessels of all shapes and sizes to utilize it for travel between Aberporth in the north and West and East Hotah in the south. Fifteen minutes later, they stood on its western bank.
Zerenity looked around. No boats sailed the flowing waters, and as far as she could tell, they were alone. “Now what?”
“We wait,” grumbled Savric.
† † †
Savric stood on the riverbank, clutching Qotan’s staff. “Əllíʈ ʊb.” The crystal orb atop Qotan’s staff came to life with glowing, yellow light, illuminating the surrounding area. Zerenity stood next to him, her silver hair bathed in the light. It made her look a decade younger, and he would’ve told her as much, but he still stewed over the people she’d killed.
Rationally, he knew she hadn’t done it, but his mind kept tripping over the look she’d had in her black eyes when she unleashed her mezhik on them. That sadistic, venomous look haunted him and would do so for the rest of his life.
Savric turned and headed north, along the muddy riverbank. “We need to keep moving and pray that we find Calen and Eshtak before Morcinda arrives.”
Zerenity followed close behind. “I still don’t understand. If you contacted this Morcinda person an hour ago and she’s in Vallah, it could take a good ten hours for her to reach us even with her traveling downriver.”
Savric hadn’t explained Morcinda’s ancestry or unique capabilities to Zerenity and didn’t plan to. She’d see for herself soon enough.
Mud slopped underfoot and suctioned Savric’s feet to the ground with each step, slowing him down and tiring his weary legs further. “I assure you that we have twenty minutes or less before she arrives.”
Zerenity seemed to have less difficulty with the saturated ground than he did, perhaps because her feet were significantly smaller and her step lighter. No matter what the reason, it soured his mood further. He
pulled and twisted his beard in his fingers as he walked.
“There.” Zerenity pointed at the ground five paces ahead.
Savric, his eyes not what they used to be, didn’t see anything. “What am I supposed to be seeing?”
“Two pairs of tracks. One set of boot prints and one set of bare feet.” She stepped around Savric and crouched close to the ground. “It must be them. I’d recognize Eshtak’s barefoot prints anywhere.”
“Calen!” Savric’s throat, parched, protested from the strain.
I should have taken her up on the offer of water.
Zerenity rose and placed her hands around her mouth. “Eshtak!” Her method of amplifying her voice proved far superior to his vocal cord shredding one. Even so, the roar of the river decimated both their cries.
Far in the distance, a vessel approached on the river. Its unnatural speed could only be achieved by one person.
Morcinda.
Savric held Qotan’s staff as far above his head as he could and waved it in the air. The swaying motion of the light it cast rocked the world underneath Savric’s feet. He stumbled forward and right off the riverbank.
† † †
Just as Morcinda spotted it, the light signal from the western riverbank snuffed out. Moments later, she pulled her vessel up next to the riverbank. A silver-haired woman ran south along the riverbank, her arms flailing and green light emanating from her hands.
Morcinda closed her eyes, connected her mind with the river water, and sought out any sort of disturbance. Images flashed in her mind. Mud. A staff. Brown robes. Silver beard.
Savric.
Through her hands and mind, she commanded the waters to pull Savric and Savric’s staff up from its depths as she directed her vessel forward. Savric and the staff shot in the air atop two waterspouts and crashed down onto the deck of the boat as it sailed underneath them.
Morcinda commanded the water to hold the boat in place and rushed down from the upper deck, but the silver-haired woman had already boarded the boat and knelt next to Savric. He didn’t move, nor did his chest. The woman turned Savric onto his side. Green light flowed from the woman’s hands and into Savric’s body.
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