Epic Of Palins 01 - Dagger Star (15 page)

Bethral nodded. “He took broth during the night. I had to clean him, but he never stirred.”

“Just as glad we missed those festivities,” Red said into her kavage.

Evelyn narrowed her eyes. “We?”

“I’ve hopes he’ll wake soon,” Bethral said as she sat on the edge of the bed.

Evelyn settled on the chair. Josiah reached over and handed her kavage. She looked at him, but he was still avoiding her gaze. “What’s going on, Josiah?”

Josiah turned his head to look at Red, and Evelyn sucked in a breath at the passion mark on his neck. “Priestess I may be, but even I’m not that innocent.” She leaned forward. “That’s a—”

“That’s none of your business.” Red cut her off firmly.

Evelyn turned toward her, ready to protest, but one look made her close her mouth. Red’s eyes were intent and serious. Commanding.

Evelyn settled back in her chair, feeling the heat on her cheeks, and lowered her eyes. “As you say.” She took a sip of kavage to steady herself, suddenly feeling very unsure. The dark fluid filled her mouth, hot and bitter. She wrinkled her nose.

Bethral chuckled, and handed her a wooden bowl with warm bread and pork.

“So,” Red said, sopping up meat juices with her bread, “what do we have in the way of men, arms, money, support?”

Evelyn gathered her wits. “We’ve built a core group at Auxter’s farm. There’s roughly one hundred men there, all trained to fight together. We’ve three mages, an excellent healer, and she has two apprentices.”

“Are you counted in that figure?” Red asked.

“No.” Evelyn shook her head. “I’m not really a mage or a healer.”

Bethral and Red looked puzzled. Bethral glanced at the bed.

“I’m a priestess,” Evelyn explained, “with prayers that bring magical healing. But I’m limited in how much healing I can do. A healer knows the ways of the body, and uses herbs and other remedies. In many ways, much more powerful than I am.”

Red tilted her head, and considered that. “So, in a plague, for instance…?”

“I’d be fairly useless,” Evelyn responded. “I can save only a few, while a healer can save far more.”

“To those few, you’d be far from useless, Evie,” Josiah rumbled. “And no healer could have aided our friend here.”

“True.” Evelyn smiled. “And if I could reach one person sick with the plague, and heal him before it spread, then yes, that would be an effective use of my skills.”

“Can the other mages open those portals?” Red asked.

“Yes,” Evelyn answered. “Auxter insisted that there be lots of avenues of escape from the farm.”

“Smart,” Bethral said.

“So.” Red set aside her bowl and took up a mug. “One hundred men, brought together, trained together, and all loyal to their Chosen.”

“Who happens to be a young girl raised to believe that she was the one who’d triumph in glory and take the throne,” Bethral pointed out.

“From the look on her face, she’s none too pleased about my advent,” Red added.

Evelyn leaned forward. “We’ll talk to her. Gloriana wants what’s best for Palins. I’m sure she’ll understand.”

Josiah spoke. “Auxter’s had the training of the children since their rescue. Gloriana’s been taught to see the broader picture. She will understand.”

Red snorted.

Bethral looked doubtful.

“So, a base from which to build,” Red said. “What more?”

“Horses, armor, weapons,” Evelyn said. “We’ve not a lot of coin, but Auxter has provided what we need.”

“How nice of him,” Red said. “Why so generous? Where’s his profit, eh?”

Evelyn stiffened. “Not everyone is involved in this for money.”

“That depends on how you define profit,” Red snapped back, her eyes sliding over to Josiah.

Josiah flushed.

“Red is just trying to understand the people involved, Priestess.” Bethral spoke gently, her voice warm and smooth. “She needs to learn much in a short bit of time, and she has to ask rather than observe.”

Evelyn took a breath. That made sense to her. “Auxter was a member of the King’s guard who was injured in a skirmish, and pensioned off. He returned to his family’s farm, but remained friends with the King. When the King died, he blamed himself.”

“Auxter was a loyal supporter of the King, for all that he was from Soccia,” Josiah added. “He offered aid to Evie even before she found the first of the Chosen.”

“The farm had the added benefit of being isolated. Auxter’s lands are far from Palins.” Evelyn played with the food in her bowl. “We could build up a force without any questioning eyes.”

“What does the Regent know of this plan of yours?”

“Nothing.” Evelyn looked Red in the eye. “If he knew of it, I’d be dead.” Her gaze drifted over to the bed. “Or worse.”

Bethral shook her head. “Word gets out, Priestess. You mentioned that you’d talked to the other High Barons. They know, and you don’t know who they’ve talked to.”

“I’ve been very careful,” Evelyn insisted. “All my contacts have been with the High Barons alone, and privately. I’ve only talked about the Chosen. I didn’t give any details of the farm.

Only general information.”

“What about Dominic?” Red asked.

Evelyn shook her head. “Dominic thinks little of my ‘projects,’ as he calls them. He thinks only that I heal the sick who appeal to me for aid, without thought of payment. He knows nothing about the Chosen.”

“Who knows about the children?” Bethral asked. “Or that more than one person bears the mark?”

“No one outside the farm.”

“That’s probably what’s saved you,” Red said. “You’ve been talking of vague plans, with a very young Chosen, and with no specific support. With everyone thinking Josiah is dead, then you’re no real threat.” She leaned her head back, staring up at the roof. “That will change.”

“It will,” Bethral agreed. “Once you’ve started this, you must move fast.”

“We can keep this quiet,” Evelyn insisted. “Surprise is essential.”

Red shook her head. “Oh, we’ll try, but you can’t assume that the enemy won’t learn of it. Once we start to approach the High Barons with news of my existence and trained forces behind me, word will spread to all the right ears, and all the wrong ones as well.” She stretched out her legs, and laced her fingers over her stomach. “So all I have to do is supplant a twelve-year-old girl, get the support of her followers, flash my tits at the High Barons, and claim the throne.”

A hoarse whisper came from the bed. “Now there is a tale worth telling, had I a tongue to tell it.”

STARTLED , Bethral twisted around, looking into the deep green eyes of the slave.

“You have a tongue,” Red said calmly.

“I do not. Those villains took consummate pleasure in removing it.” The man’s voice was a rasp, and his hand moved under the blanket to touch his throat. “I remember….”

“You are safe now,” Bethral assured him softly. It was so good to see those eyes focus on her face. She smiled at him as he stared at her.

“I suppose that is one way to view death.” He frowned at her. “I am not sure I share the sentiment.” His gaze moved over the room, to focus on Evelyn. “See, here is a priestess of the Gods of Palins, who will bring the holy light to this place and show us the shadows on our souls.”

Evelyn’s eyes went wide and she stiffened in her chair. But the man didn’t notice; he was looking at Josiah. “There is Lord Josiah, High Baron of Athelbryght, dead these five years.”

His eyes met Bethral’s again. “You are one of the Angels of the Light, come to escort me to paradise.”

Bethral flushed a bit at that, as Red snorted a laugh behind her. The man looked over at Red and frowned. “And you are”—he paused for a moment, considering Red Gloves—“one of the Legion of the Damned, apparently.”

Red scowled. “It’s no wonder they cut out your tongue.”

“You’re Ezren Storyteller,” Evelyn breathed, as if in prayer. “Ezren Storyteller, Ezren Silvertongue.”

“Am I?” The man’s face went blank, as if he was trying to remember.

“You told us his eyes were brown,” Evelyn challenged.

Bethral looked at the priestess. “I did, and don’t ask me why.”

Josiah was looking over at the man. “Evie, are you sure? He’s got the eyes, true enough, but—”

“Who could say?” Red pointed out. “The man looks like a week-old corpse, with scarce enough flesh to cling to his bones. And no hair to speak of.”

A thin hand emerged from under the blanket, and the man ran it over his bald skull. He pulled back his hand and held it up, watching it shake.

Bethral reached out, and took his hand in hers. “It’s not as bad as she makes it out to be.” She tucked the hand under the blanket. “Is Ezren your name?”

He stared up her, blinking, a puzzled look on his face. “Do names matter in the afterlife?”

Bethral smiled again. “You’re not dead. The priestess has healed you, and given you back your tongue and your life.”

“It’s him,” Evelyn insisted. “He disappeared a year ago, and there were rumors that he’d been taken by Elanore’s forces.”

Josiah stiffened. Red shot him a glance, then glared at Evelyn. “Who is Elanore?”

Bethral ignored them, and sat on the edge of the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Amazingly well for a week-old corpse.” He closed his eyes with a sigh. “Thirsty, in fact.”

“Who is Elanore?” Red asked sharply.

Bethral took up her own mug, and handed it to him. “Here,” she offered.

He took it carefully. “Tell me,” he whispered harshly, “does she really bear the mark of the Chosen?”

Bethral nodded.

“How odd. I thought that nothing but a folktale, with no substance.” He sipped from the mug carefully, then made a face. “I must be alive. Had I truly departed the world for the glorious haven of the afterlife, I doubt the kavage would taste this terrible.”

“Ezren Silvertongue is a storyteller,” Evelyn said. “One of the best in the land. He can weave stories that bind his listeners to sit and listen for hours.” Evelyn leaned forward. “What happened, Ezren? What do you remember?”

WHAT did he remember?

He remembered…

Betrayal. Pain, such as he’d never known. Beatings…he closed his eyes, seeing blows he could not evade, feeling a whip cut into his…

“You’re safe.”

That voice. He opened his eyes and looked up at her warm blue eyes, her halo of golden hair.

The memories changed. He saw a flash of copper, felt the roughness of a warm blanket and moisture in his mouth. And her voice…

“Who is Elanore?” The brown-haired woman asked again, this time through clenched teeth.

He answered without a thought. “Elanore is the High Baroness of the Black Hills, allied with Orrin Blackhart and the Regent.” The information was there, in his mind. He took a deep breath, and let the words flow out of him. “A mage of considerable power, rumored to practice the blood rites. A lovely face that conceals a cruel, vindictive, and manipulative personality. She has not been seen in Edenrich in recent years. It has been bruited about that she was injured in the battle for Athelbryght, but I have not been able to confirm it.”

“‘Battle.’” The other man spoke with disgust. “It was a massacre.”

He would swear that man was Josiah of Athelbryght, but Lord Josiah had been killed, had he not?

Tiredness washed over him in a wave, followed closely by despair. He knew he was right, but he did not know how he knew. He closed his eyes, ashamed of his weakness. If he was not dead, then he was naked, in a lowly hovel with a priestess, two women warriors, and a dead man’s twin.

He frowned. There were the makings of a story there….

“Ezren Silvertongue,” the priestess said again in a satisfied tone, and the name resonated in his head. Ezren. He supposed he might be Ezren.

“Evelyn, leave him be.” Josiah spoke again. “Give him time.”

The blonde leaned over him, pulling the blanket up to tuck around his shoulders. “What about some food? Do you think you could eat?”

Hungry. He was hungry. He had a tongue; he could….

“Yes, please,” he rasped out, trying not to sound too eager.

A warm wooden bowl was placed in his hands, with the smell of pork and fresh bread filling his nose and mouth. His mouth watered, and he paused for a moment, enjoying the sight and smell.

His hand shook as he helped himself. There was no way to maintain proper deportment, given the situation. But he forced himself to go slow and careful, so as not to make a mess. The bread melted in his mouth, and he could taste the meat juices on the back of his tongue as he chewed.

Lord of Light be praised…. He swallowed, amazed at the sensation, at the feeling of being whole. He closed his eyes, consciously trying to capture the moment. One does not fully appreciate one’s tongue until it is gone.

He opened his eyes, and found the others concentrating on their food. All but the woman with brown hair. She stared at him, her lips quirked up at the corners, studying him. When she caught his gaze, she raised an eyebrow.

“I find myself at a disadvantage.” His voice was harsh, although his throat felt well enough.

“May I ask where I am?”

“In what is left of Athelbryght,” she answered. “You have the priestess to thank for the healing.”

The priestess shook her head. “Thank the Gods, Ezren. It was their doing. I am merely their tool.”

“My thanks, regardless.” He paused for a moment. “Your pardon, but your white hair…are you the Lady High Priestess Evelyn, of the Church of Palins in Edenrich?”

“I am.” Evelyn nodded at the other man. “You know of Josiah of Athelbryght.”

Ezren gave a nod. “I know of you from the Court, my Lord.”

Josiah returned his nod with a pained expression. “Lord no longer, Ezren.”

Ezren raised an eyebrow, but acquiesced. “As you wish.”

“I am Red Gloves, a mercenary out of Soccia,” the brunette said. “And the Chosen. Want to see my tits?”

Ezren frowned at her blunt speech. This was the Chosen? The one to restore the throne of Palins?

And her name…“Why do you wear—”

“I am Bethral, mercenary and warrior, also of Soccia.” The blonde blocked his view with her body. He looked up, to see her give him a warning look. It appeared that gloves were not to be a topic of discussion. “Eat, Ezren Silvertongue. You need to rest and heal.”