Fortress Draconis (68 page)

“I’ll make you more not you. There are two spells in there. One is poisoning you. The other is shielding it.” Kerrigan smiled, forcing confidence into his words. “All I have to do is to split the two spells, then eliminate the first.”

Orla closed her brown eyes, but nodded. “Yes, but you cannot.”

“I must. I can figure it out.”

She shook her head without opening her eyes again. “Kerrigan, you were not fashioned for that work. They made you a bludgeon. This needs a stiletto.”

“I know, I’ll get the wand.”

“No!” Her adamant outburst left her weak, then coughs shook her. “No.”

“But it cast the spell, so it should help me reverse it.”

“No.” She freed her hand from his. “Go to the deck. Stop pirates. Do what you can. Send Resolute to me.”

Bewildered, and not a little hurt, Kerrigan left Lombo’s cabin and stepped down to the next one. Peri, Resolute, and Crow had crowded themselves around the berth in which Alexia lay. He waited in the doorway and nodded to Resolute. “Magister Orla asked for you, Resolute.”

The Vorquelf left the room, but there still was not enough space for Kerrigan to enter, even if he’d been inclined to do so. He just stared down at Alexia, where she lay with a bloody rag wrapped around her head. Unlike Orla, she looked peaceful and had a healthy color to her skin.She ‘snot dying.

Resolute poked his head out of Lombo’s cabin and called for Crow. The white-haired man got up, clearly reluctantly, his clothes still red with his own blood, his shoulder dappled with Alexia’s. He squeezed past Kerrigan, hissing slightly as his cut side brushed against the Adept’s belly.

Kerrigan reached out and caught Crow’s right arm. “I can fix that for you.”

“I’m sure you can, son, but heal Alexia.” Crow gave him a grim smile. “Another scar on me won’t matter.”

Under Perrine’s watchful eye, Kerrigan cast the same diagnostic spell on Alexia as he had on Orla. She’d had a hard knock on the head, but her skull hadn’t been broken. He gladly took on the pain of her healing, of the reknitting of her scalp, scourging himself for having failed Orla at least twice.

In the dark he returned to his post on the afterdeck. He took a chunk of the smashed taffrail and smoothed it in his hands. Watching the sea, and working idly, he reshaped the wood with magick. Once again he re-created Orla’s staff, then sat there, caressing it.

As the sun came up, splashing orange light over the deck and pitching his long shadow deep into the sea, Kerrigan’s eyes burned. He would have welcomed sleep, but still held it at bay. He’d not been able to save Orla, so he could at least honor her last directive to him.

Footsteps sounded on the deck behind him. “Kerrigan…”

“I’ve not the time to heal your side, Crow.”

“Don’t need it, thanks. Resolute sewed it up while we spoke with Orla. She wants to talk with you.”

KerriganrolledontohiskneesandfoundCrow

I

crouched there, with his right hand held up to stop him. “What?”

“She wanted me to talk to you first. About the wand.”

The Adept snorted. “What would you know about that wand?”

Crow rested his elbows on his knees. “About the wand, nothing, but about Heslin and Chytrine, far too much. Nefrai-laysh was once Bosleigh Norrington. The last time Chytrine came south, he acquired a sword known as Temmer. It made him invincible in battle, and as you saw back there, he needed that sort of help. He could not stand against Resolute or me without some sort of ensorcelled weapon.

“As great as Temmer was, it exacted a fearful price from the man who wielded it. It took him over, slowly, and controlled him, ultimately destroying him. With that example, Heslin could easily have built such safeguards into the wand. If you think about it, it is the perfect brake on any apprentice who might wish to rise above his station.”

Kerrigan slowly nodded. “And a trap for me?”

“That’s what she fears.”

The Adept snarled and punched a fist against the deck. “If I had acted faster, if I had been smarter, he never would have hurt her.” Kerrigan pounded his fist against the deck again, then just flopped down on the oak and began to cry.

Shock ran through him as Crow grabbed him by the shoulders and hauled him up against a solid portion of the taffrail. “Listen to me, Kerrigan, and listen very well. If you blame yourself for Orla’s injuries, for her death, you will diminish the sacrifice she made. You saw her step forward to deal with Wheele. You heard Wheele say her sacrifice was what doomed her. She knew what she was doing from the beginning, and to blame yourself dishonors her nobility.”

Kerrigan hung his head. “I would never do that.”

“Good. Now look at me, son, right in the eyes, look at me.” Crow’s brown eyes blazed and the scar on his face had become livid. “We all make mistakes, some of us more than others, but we all do. I gather you’ve been shielded from the results of mistakes.”

“I don’t make them.” Kerrigan remembered the weight of the flour sack smashing him in the chest, and the kicks and punches of the urchins in Yslin. “Not many of them, anyway.”

“You’re a long way from Vilwan, Kerrigan. Out here mistakes hurt, missions have costs. Orla is badly hurt and might die, we might all have died, but Chytrine has been denied a portion of the DragonCrown. At Svoin she lost asullanciri, and her pirate ally lost a huge portion of her fleet. I’m not suggesting that Orla’s life is in any way worth so little as all that, but even she is happy at the damage we’ve done.

“My point, though, son, is this: We learn from our mistakes. We have to. You can figure out what you think you could have done better, then resolve to do it. I need you to do that.We need you to do that.” Crow poked him in the chest with a finger.“You need to do that, for us, for Orla, yes, but for yourself most of all.”

Kerrigan closed his eyes and furrowed his brows, feeling the finger hard against his chest. Some of what Crow said made sense—in fact, most of it did, though Kerrigan’s fear of losing Orla, losing his last link to Vilwan, shook him.

The Adept slowly nodded, then looked up. “You said she wanted to see me?”

Crow nodded, then stepped back, crouched, and handed Kerrigan the staff. He accepted it, then climbed down to the main deck and into the companionway to Lombo’s cabin. He found Orla half awake, speaking in a whisper to the Spritha, who sat on her pillow. Qwc nodded and flew out of the cabin.

Orla smiled weakly as Kerrigan drew up a chair. “You’ve come.”

“Yes, I brought you this.” He laid the staff on the bed beside her and wrapped her left hand around it. “Good as new.”

“Thank you.” Her lips formed the words, but they came with but the ghost of a whisper.

Kerrigan moistened a cloth and brought it to her lips so she could suck in some water. He held it there until she nodded, then tossed it back into the bowl at his feet. “Crow told me about the wand. I understand.”

“Good. You must promise …”

“I promise I’ll not use the wand.”

“Yes, that. And other things.”

“What?”

Orla lay there breathing hard for a half minute or so, then nodded. “You can’t return to Vilwan.”

He shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise, but why?”

She continued as if he’d not asked his question. “Follow Crow. Follow Resolute. Promise.”

“I promise.” He covered her left hand with his. “Tell me why.”

Orla turned her face toward his. Pain washed over her face, but he knew it was not physical. “There are destinies, Kerrigan. Will’s was writ in prophecy. Alexia’s inscribed in blood. Yours was forged….”

“Forged?” He hesitated. “Forged as in by a blacksmith, hammered of steel, or forged, faked, untrue, a charade?”

“Those who forged it will think the latter.” She shook her head slightly. “I know it’s the former. Vilwan will destroy you now, in fear. That cannot happen.”

“Why would they do that?”

“They wanted you to be many things. You could be any of them, but not all.” Her smile slackened. “The world needs you to be you. You know how to do much. You must decide what it is you must do.”

Orla’s eyes closed and her breathing evened out, though remained shallow and labored. Kerrigan remained with her and slowly succumbed to sleep, though it was not very deep nor restful. Every time he awakened, he glanced at her, hoping to see she was better, but clearly she was slipping away.

TheShark had sailed due east since leaving Wruona. Qwc had sped forward of the ship, reaching Loquellyn four hours before they did. He bore a message to the Loquelves and they sent a ship out to meet theShark. On it had come two of the best healers available at Rellaence. They roused Kerrigan from his sleep and shooed him from the cabin before setting to work.

Kerrigan yawned and stumbled down the companionway to check on Alexia. Perrine had continued her vigil and now lay swathed in a blanket on the bed, with Alexia sitting on the chair in the corner.

She smiled up at him. “I owe you thanks, Adept Reese. I’ve been hit hard in the head before, and never recovered so quickly.”

He shrugged. “I was glad to help someone.”

A shriek rang from Lombo’s cabin. A wave of sorcery pulsed out from it and cut at him. A fiery ethereal blade seemed to slash a line straight through his middle, numbing his legs and dropping him helplessly to the companionway deck. He shivered and shook, then grabbed one hand with the other to stop the shaking.

Alexia leaped over and past him, meeting Crow and Resolute following two crewmen from on deck. In the corner of his eye, between their legs, Kerrigan saw one of the Loquelves being dragged from the cabin by the sailors. He appeared to be completely stiff-limbed, as if he’d been dead for a while. The other elf staggered out. Resolute caught him and dragged him up on deck.

Alexia returned to Kerrigan’s side as the prickling of feeling returned to his legs. “How are you doing?”

“Get me up. I want to see her.” He pushed off the deck and bulkhead, trying to lever himself up, but Alexia’s gentle pressure on his shoulder kept him down. “Please, I have to.”

“No, you don’t, Kerrigan. You don’t need to see her like that. She’d not want you to. Peri, help me.” Alexia took one of his arms, the Gyrkyme the other, and dragged him over to the still-warm cot. They forced him down into it, ignoring how the ropes and frame creaked in protest. “You’re staying there and sleeping, Kerrigan. You dream about Orla and all she wanted for you, all she expected of you.”

Alexia looked up at Peri. “He doesn’t get up. Sit on him ifyouhaveto.”

Peri nodded and easily shoved Kerrigan back down into the bed as he made a feeble attempt to rise. “Stay there, Kerrigan. If I must choose between disappointing my sister or drawing your blood, you know what I will do.”

Kerrigan nodded and slumped back on the bed, finding its warmth seductively inviting. The blanket Perrine spread over him had an exotic scent that he distracted himself by trying to identify. His concentration soon eroded and sleep again claimed him.

Tf there had been a virtue to a nighttime attack, Markus I Adrogans decided, it was that it hid the deplorable condi-Itions in Svoin. The reasons no one had been looking out from behind shuttered windows were simple and terrifying. First and foremost, there were very few people remaining in the city. Second, those who did remain were grossly malnourished. Third, for a generation they had learned it was worth their lives to avoid being seen.

The men they had freed from the mines had been long enough away from Svoin that they had no idea of the true conditions therein.

The Vorquelves had not dwelled on the plight of men in the city, and had apparently willfully allowed Adrogans and his people to assume they were no better off than the men. The simple fact of the matter, as it turned out, was that even the most wretched of the Vorquelves was far and away better off than almost any man in Svoin. Adrogans imagined that Chytrine ordered such kind treatment of the Vorquelves to build resentment among men against them.

The Svoin Vorquelves had subverted that policy by helping men when they could—they keenly felt the debt owed to men from the time of the evacuation of their homeland. Still, the Vorquelf errors of omission were understandable because even Adrogans would have thought otherwise of risking so much to save so little.

Svoin had once been a city of twenty-five thousand, which made it the largest city in the south. It benefited from trade with Jerana, and the nearby hills had once produced wonderful wines and iron ore. The lake had provided a great deal of food, and nearby farming settlements had supplemented the food supply in exchange for trade and manufactured goods. Trade up and down the rivers had been brisk and brought Svoin a fair bit of prosperity.

After a quarter century under Aurolani rule, the population had shrunk below five thousand, with the best off being the fisherfolk. The lake still provided a fair supply of fish, which became the staple food, along with lakeweed and some grains from fields cultivated by slave labor.

Adrogans had toured the town and everywhere had seen emaciated, hollow-eyed people covered more in open sores than rags. One man had been picking at scabs, making them bleed, and refused help when Adrogans had ordered one of the Zhusks to treat his sores. The man said, “No, my lord, the gibberers, they don’t like eating us crusty ones.”

That statement had sent a shudder through him, and for a moment he was able to see what the city was to the Aurolani. It wasn’t a gathering of people, a center for trade and industry—which is how he would have evaluated it were he looking to take it. No, for them it was one big stockyard. They could cull men as they wished, torturing them, eating them, letting their disappearances inspire fear.

The fearful glances he got as he rode through the city told him much more than the people wanted. They clearly had done things, unspeakable things, to survive. What would he do if gibberers had come down his street looking for a meal? Would he hide his own family? Certainly. Would he point them to someone else? Not actively; he hoped Kedyn would grant him the courage to avoid that. But passively? And forced to choose between his mother and a brother or brother-in-law, what choice would he make?