Son of Corse (The Raven Chronicles Book 2) (14 page)

Chapter Twenty

H
e’d been outside playing tag with some of the children in his village when the screams started.  He ran as fast as his short legs would carry him to his home only to find it in flames.  Through the thick smoke he could see the bodies of his parents lying side by side on the floor. Someone led him aside and towards the church as the men rushed to extinguish the flames.

              Once the fire was out, the elders went in and looked at everything.  The clerics of Hauk had been feeding him lunch when the elders came into the kitchen.  It was murder, they said.  The stench of dark magic was all over them. Lu’Thare kept his eyes on his porridge, trying hard to ignore the eyes he felt looking at him.  He’d already learned at this young age to keep his mouth shut.  Things tended to happen near him, bad things. With his parents dead, the village wasn’t going to take him in out of kindness. 

              That night, when the moon hit its high point in the sky, Lu’Thare rose from his cot and snuck out of his sleeping alcove of the church.  He knew there was a noble within a day or two with a history of taking in orphans.  Stealthily, he crept towards the kitchen.  Using the blanket from the cot, he quietly put a few loaves of bread and pieces of cheese into it before tying it into a makeshift rucksack. He paused at the door and looked back at the altar to Hauk.  Maybe the God hadn’t deserted him like the villagers would, but he wasn’t willing to wait around and find out.

              By the time he reached the Baron’s keep, Lu’Thare was more than a little tired. His tunic was torn and travel stained.  Stopping for a moment before the guards could see him, Lu’Thare took a few minutes to make himself look even more disheveled.  The limp he didn’t have to fake.  The blisters on his feet were painful.  He slowly approached the guards, the looks on their faces telling him plenty.  With little ceremony, he was given a place to sleep near the guardsmen’s barracks.  A bath was brought, along with a change of clothing.  Some woman kept saying, “tsk tsk” every time she looked his way.  Once clean, he was given a bowl of watery stew and some day old bread.  The next day, he was led to the stables and told to start earning his keep.

              Overall, the next three months weren’t bad.  The work wasn’t hard, and he was given a warm place to sleep and enough food to fill his stomach.  His tenth birthday was still several months away, but there had been talk already of starting some training with a sword when he reached the proper age.  He hadn’t shown any talent around the animals.  Perhaps they could make a soldier out of him.

              His own laughter echoed in the room.  A soldier?  Not likely.  His hands weren’t meant to hold a sword and shield.  And, if he was truly Corse’s son, there shouldn’t ever be a need. 

              Realization slowly crept over his mind.  No wonder he and Arwenna were so evenly matched.  He was as much a demigod as she was.  With the exception of their morals.  There were things she wouldn’t do.  Senyan didn’t have those restrictions.  One or two more pieces and he’d finally know everything.  Eagerly, he reached back towards the sword.

              Lu’Thare sat quietly in the dim corner, trying to decipher the larger words in the book on his lap.  Time lost meaning to him whenever he was able to find a book.  One of the priests had taught him to read over the last year and it was something that brought him happiness. 

              “Well now, look who has his nose in one of those books again instead of practicing drills?”  The snide voice of Cole broke through Lu’Thare’s concentration. A figure crossed in front of the candle, making it impossible to read.

              Looking up, Lu’Thare saw the hulking form of Cole.  The boy may only be twelve, but he was the size of a full grown man already.  And he held little liking for Lu’Thare. Two of his cronies stood behind Cole, snickering already about the beating they knew was coming.

              Cole quickly tore the book from Lu’Thare, squinting at the words. “One hundred ways to be lazy in drills,” Cole announced.  Reading wasn’t as easy for him as it was for Lu’Thare.  Carelessly, he tossed the book away.

Lu’Thare watched where the book went flying with the thought of retrieving it later. A strong arm grabbed the front of his tunic and pulled him up.  Cole’s breath stank.  “The rest of the unit’s getting bloody tired of you spending more time with your nose in a book than practicing with your sword, Lu’Thare. You’re holding us all back.  We don’t appreciate having to do more chores because you’d rather read than learn how to swing your sword correctly.”

              Lu’Thare reached out a hand to catch himself as Cole threw him against the wall.  He knew what was going to come next.  Cole had been beating him where the bruises wouldn’t show for months now.  Something strange and new began to stir within him.  All he could think about was the need to stop the beatings. He raised his arms, ready to fend off Cole’s fists, when the smell of smoldering flesh assaulted his nose. Lowering his arms, he stared in a mix of horror and curiosity as the three bullies dissolved into ash before him.

              Lu’Thare stared down at his hands.  Small sparks of magic still flew from his fingertips.  Balling up his fists, his thoughts started racing.  This was not good.  The Baron did not approve of magic unless absolutely necessary. He would banish Lu’Thare from the keep at the very least, possibly even kill him for this. Frantically, he skirted the piles of ash and bone, his mind trying to think of the best way to run.

              An arm reached out and stopped him.  Startled, Lu’Thare looked around and saw a familiar and friendly face.  Bohrs was a relative of the Baron’s, here to learn the arts of war before joining the Paladins of Silas. The two boys had never talked much, but Bohrs was the closest thing he had to a friend here. He anxiously watched Bohrs’ face as the latter took in the piles of ash.

              “Get a broom and pan.  We’ll sweep what’s left of them into the fireplace.  No one ever needs to know.  This is between us.”  Bohrs gently pushed him forward, urgency in his voice.  “If anyone asks, let me do the talking.  If we do this right, no one will ever think you had anything to do with this.”

              Lu’Thare quickly located the items and started the grisly task of dealing with the remains of Cole and his cohorts.  “What did you see?”

              “Enough to know you’re better suited for magical training over martial.  The Baron won’t agree, though.  I can teach you enough that you’ll be able to hide it, control it to some degree.”  Bohrs quickly bent and picked up some small bits of melted metal. “I like you, Lu’Thare.  I think you and I could find ways to help each other.  But this must never be spoken of again.” Without another word, he placed the bits of metal under a loose floorboard near another trainee’s bed

              Senyan was able to keep his hand on the stone this time, riding the swirling mist of memories that encompassed him.  Did Bohrs remember him from that time?  Or were Senyan and Lu’Thare two separate people for him?  Excitement built inside him as he searched for the last few pieces he needed.

Absently, Lu’Thare swatted at the back of his neck.  The mosquitoes were out in force today.  The lake was surrounded by pools of stagnant water left behind after the local miners were done digging, making it a perfect place for the annoying creatures to live.

              He shifted his pack slightly. There was another book in there he was itching to read. The Baron wasn’t big on books, but didn’t mind Lu’Thare borrowing the few tomes he had
.
It kept the peace.
 

              The normal activity of setting up camp reminded him to get busy with his own tent.  The patrol was routine, though long.  Rumor around the fire was that there was some evil temple up here the Baron was tired of hearing about. Most likely, it wasn’t much besides a thieves’ den. Lu’Thare would stand back, keep out of most of the fighting, make sure stragglers were able to talk to the Baron.  It seemed to be what he was best suited for.  He could kill someone, if necessary.  The training was there. But his body wasn’t really suited for it, and both he and his commander knew it.

              Shouts and the unmistakable sound of metal on metal woke Lu’Thare with a start.  He grabbed his sword and ran from his tent.  It took a moment for his eyes to focus on the shapes just outside the firelight.  Well armored men had caught the sentries by surprise.  Drawing in a deep breath, Lu’Thare charged into the melee. Something hard hit him, and blackness took over before he hit the ground.

              Sounds registered in his ears, slowly clearing away the fog in Lu’Thare’s head.  He was lying flat on his back, but something told him it wasn’t the ground.  His bare back scraped against something that felt like stone as he shifted. The sounds became more discernable. Someone was chanting a spell.  He opened his eyes and found himself bound to an altar.  A black robed priest was at his feet.  The words that came from his mouth made Lu’Thare strain against his restraints.  It was a summoning ritual of some kind. The kind that involved sacrifice of someone or something.

              A chill wind blew into the stone shelter, making the fire sputter before regaining its strength.  Panic rose in Lu’Thare’s throat as the priest at his feet turned to reach for the sword in the fire.  He recognized the white hot blade as his own.  Straining even harder, Lu’Thare struggled to find enough give in the ropes.  He needed to stay out of reach of that blade.

              With a snap, one of the ropes around his wrist gave and he twisted to the side.  Momentum was on his side and he pulled his feet and other arm free as he rolled clear of the altar. Standing quickly, Lu’Thare looked toward the priest.

              The man stared back at Lu’Thare; his face grew paler as some unseen hand threw him against the wall of the makeshift temple.

              “You wished to sacrifice someone to bring me into the world?  How is it, then, you failed to recognize my own blood when you saw it?” The words came from Lu’Thare’s mouth, but the voice wasn’t his. 

              The priest babbled in fright, staring at Lu’Thare as if it was a demon standing before him.  “I am sorry, great one!  I did not know!”

              Part of Lu’Thare’s mind began to scream inside as the realization that whatever was holding the priest to the wall was coming from inside him.  The same voice that spoke aloud now spoke to him alone. “Through you I will come into this world.  Through you I will announce my dominion to come.”  The cold determination made his skin crawl from the inside out.

              Lu’Thare’s vision changed and he viewed the scene as if from above. He stood there, arm outstretched towards the gibbering priest. The shadow of something else, something evil, was shifting across his face. The other voice spoke from his mouth. “I will accept your sacrifice.” The sarcastic twist placed on the last word made Lu’Thare’s mind recoil in fear. A flash of light jolted out from his hand. The light bore into the priest’s chest with precision. Lu’Thare’s awareness settled back into his body just in time to see the priest explode.

             
One more piece, that’s all he needed.  A sense of urgency overtook him as he wildly searched the mist for the final piece of the puzzle.

He stirred a bit, the coolness that hit his face came as a shock.  His body burned with fever.  It took a great effort for him to open his eyes and focus them on anything. There, perched like an angel next to his bed, was a beautiful elven woman.  She was young yet, barely old enough to be about in the world. A small fist was embroidered on her plain dress, telling him she was a Cleric of Silas.  His raw throat croaked out, “Am I dead?” This was the first time he’d spoken in days.  Even to his ears, his voice seemed odd.

“No, you aren’t dead. You’re in an infirmary. My name’s Arwenna. I’m a Cleric of Silas. We’ve been taking care of you for several days now.” The woman turned slightly to rinse out the cloth in a bowl beside the bed.

“She’s lying,” a whispered voice echoed in his head. A quick glance made him realize there was no one else near them.

“You’re not an angel, then?” Disappointment crept over him.  Death held no fear for him.

Arwenna smiled and laughed slightly. “No, I’m no angel.  I’m just someone who wants to help.”  She placed a gentle hand behind his head, supporting him enough to sip some water.

“What happened?” he asked as she helped him rest back on the pillow. 

“You don’t remember anything?” Her voice had a cautious tone to it.

“No, nothing.  I don’t think I even know my own name.” He looked to the ceiling, his mind frantically trying to recall even the smallest detail of life before this room.

“Well, some of the Order have taken to calling you Senyan Dakar.  Would that sit well with you, at least until we can discover the right name?”  She smiled at him.

“Senyan, huh?  I suppose that will work as good as anything else.” He closed his eyes for a moment, absorbing the name into his consciousness.  It did not take long for him to sleep again.

              Lu’Thare eased his hand away from the gem.  The headache slithered off, chased away by the truth.  He now knew who, and what, he was. 

              And it was time for war.

Chapter Twenty-One

A
rwenna woke slowly, her body stretching from the long sleep.  Joss lay next to her, the slow rise and fall of his muscular chest convinced her to remain in bed a while longer. She snuggled up closer to him.  There hadn’t been the chance to laze about in bed for months, and she wasn’t about to wish it away.

              His arm encircled her, alerting her that he was awake, followed by a soft kiss on the top of her head.  “How’d you sleep?”  His voice was low.

              Arwenna raised her head enough to place a kiss on his cheek.  “Like a rock.  It’s been a long time since I slept that deeply.”  Resting her head back on his chest, her fingers traced the yellowish outline of a fading bruise. “I take it this is a remnant of you and Bareks’ ‘understanding’?”  She tried to keep her tone light.

              Joss chuckled. “If it makes you feel any better, he has a few of his own.  I think we both pretty much agreed to let them heal naturally.” He kissed her again. “Some wounds heal better with time than magic, you know.”

              “Is that why you left your hands scarred?  To remind you of what happened that night?”

              He raised his hands, turning them over as they both examined the criss-crossed burn scars.  “I didn’t want to forget. There’ve been those who offered to heal them, and I could do it myself, but it’s always felt right to keep them there. I remember using them to fall asleep when I was younger.  Each one would be a different person I’d lost, and I’d trace one scar after another, whispering that person’s name.  It was my way of never forgetting who they were, of how they died.”  He drew one finger over the top of a longer scar.  “This was the one I named for you.  Until I saw you in the tent with Barek and you put two and two together, I thought you were lost with everyone else.”

              “Is that why you asked me if I was real yesterday, by the graves?  Did you think I was a ghost?”

              “For a moment, yes, I think I did.  I hadn’t expected to find our village, the graves, let alone you.  Having you appear out of nowhere, when the last place I’d seen you was down in that cave…I feared you’d been killed by one of them.”  Joss took a deep breath.  “I think I’m ready to let go now, though.  I can let the scars heal.”

              He shifted, turning to face her.  Arwenna took in the serious look on his handsome face.  “What about you, though?  Your scars from here are so much deeper than mine.  And you know Bohrs will use that against you if he can.  Can you finally heal now?”

              Arwenna blinked, taken aback by his question.  She knew her fear of being alone came from the night she’d spent hiding after the attack.  “I hadn’t thought of it, really.  After all, I have you.  You’re not planning on going anywhere, are you?”  She smiled, her voice teasing him.

              There was a slight pause, small enough that she barely noticed it.  “No, of course not.”  He smiled back, leaning in to kiss her.

              She returned the kiss, the nagging doubt in the back of her mind silenced by the feel of his body against hers.

              A while later, she finally gave into her grumbling stomach and got out of bed.  Joss had fallen back asleep.  She didn’t want to wake him, so she dressed quietly.  She held her boots in one hand and descended the stairs.

              Y’Dürkie and Hugh sat at the table.  A platter with the remains of a loaf of bread, eggs, and ham dominated one end of the table.  Arwenna put her boots down on the floor as she took a clean plate off the small stack near the food. 

              “You are up late.”  Y’Dürkie grinned at her.  “Vere you that tired last night, or did you and Joss stay up too late?”

              Arwenna could feel the heat rise in her cheeks. “That, my dear sister, is not something I choose to share with you.” She laughed a bit.  “What time is it, anyway?  And where’s everyone else?”

              “It is vell past mid mornink.  Barek and Anthones are outside, discussink vays into Corse’s lair.  Mialee asked Jerrik to show her around.  She has been very restless lately, does not like beink indoors.”  Y’Dürkie pulled a small chunk of bread off the loaf.  “This is a good place for us to rest and gather strength for vhat is ahead.  Even Barek did not argue vith my suggestion ve stay another night.  From vhat Joss vas like vhen ve encountered the graves of his father and brother, ve all vant to give you both time to say your goodbyes before ve move onvard.” 

              Nodding, Arwenna said, “Thank you for that.  I’m almost done, but I think Joss will want to visit his mother’s grave later today.  Neither of us has been back here since the raid.  We both needed to come.”

              Two hours later, she stood behind Joss as he knelt at his mothers’ grave.  It was just feet from the front door of his house.  “I should’ve seen her when I came out,” he said, his voice full of emotion.

              Arwenna sank to her knees, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “It was dark, smoke was everywhere. There’s no way you could’ve saved her if you had.”  She gently kissed the tip of his ear. 

              Minutes passed in silence. She waited, patiently, for him to finish saying his goodbyes.  She rose once he did, brushing the dirt from the front of her skirt.  Turning towards the burned shell of his childhood home, she commented, “Well, looking at what remains of the house, I’m surprised only your hands were burned.”

              Joss turned, surveying what remained of the building. A small opening stood out against the otherwise collapsed timbers.  Arwenna slipped her hand into his.  “Is that where you came out?” she asked, her voice quiet.

              “I had to move a lot of debris out of my way, most of which was still burning.”  He sighed, and slid his hand away from her own.

              Moving to face him, Arwenna looked up.  He smiled down at her, the ghosts of the past playing across his face.  “It’s time, I think, to look more to the future than the past.” 

              Arwenna watched as a blue glow began to encircle Joss’ hands.  One by one, the scars on his hands melted away.  When he at last finished, she took them again gently into her own, placing a gentle kiss on the new skin.

He laughed. “Hey! That tickles!”  Joining his laughter, Arwenna embraced him tightly.

* * * * *

Barek sat on the edge of the porch, methodically polishing his sword with a bit of oil.  Hugh had taken the nicks out a couple of days ago.  And Barek knew there would be fighting ahead.  Better to clean it now than have it rust within the scabbard.

              Mialee appeared, easing her way down next to him.  He’d always gotten along well with her, and knew when she was thinking.  Or needed to talk.

              “How do you do it, Barek?”

              “Do what?” he continued to work the oil into the blade.

              “Watch someone you love want someone else instead.”

              Barek looked out towards where Joss and Arwenna stood farther down the road.  “It gets easier with time,” he grunted.  “If they’re happy, it makes it easier.”  He was curious about where she was taking the conversation, but kept quiet.  She’d share what she wanted to share.  No more, no less.  Mialee’s scars ran very, very deep.

              “Did it help?  Beating him in a fistfight?”  There was a bitter edge to Mialee’s voice.

              He laughed mirthlessly, “Somewhat. I didn’t think he’d best me, if that’s what you meant.  But there was a certain amount of satisfaction in making sure he knew it.”

              “And now you two are getting along.”  There was no mistaking the sarcasm.

              Barek stopped working his blade, looking back at Arwenna and Joss.  “Joss and I understand each other now, yes. We both want to keep her safe.  She’s been through more than most of us, has had to do things the rest of us would run screaming from.  At some point, Joss and I had to stop our private war before it interfered with what Arwenna needs to do.”

              Mialee didn’t respond.  They sat in silence for a few moments, watching the pair down the road.  Seeing this place again had been both painful and necessary for both Arwenna and Joss.  Barek figured that out quickly enough.  He’d known for years that you couldn’t go through life constantly looking over your shoulder.  Arwenna needed to say goodbye to a lot of things.  Starting here was a good thing in Barek’s mind.

              “This is about Senyan, isn’t it?” he finally asked her.  He watched her reaction closely.  No one had ever questioned Mialee about her relationship with Senyan that he knew of. 

              A small tear rolled down her cheek. “It’s terrible, I know. Loving someone who you know has to be destroyed. All I wanted to do that day I left camp was to save him. I still do.” The last came out as a whisper. 

              Barek wrapped a massive arm across her shoulders and gave her a comforting squeeze.  “If Arwenna’s right, it’s still possible.  Once Corse is destroyed for good and she’s rebuilt his insides, he’s going to need someone to take care of him.  I can’t imagine he’s going to be in much condition to resist.”

              “But he’ll still have that curse within him, Barek.  It’s still going to eat at him.  It did that to me, until I had Joss pull it out.  It was a constant fight to hold it off.” Fear, for both herself and Senyan, tinged her words.

              “I’m sure it’ll work out somehow, Mialee.  Arwenna’s never let me down before, and I don’t suspect this trip will be any different.”

              She swiped at the tear rolling down her cheek and managed a small smile. “You’re probably right, Barek.”  She gave a short laugh, “Aren’t we a pair?  Both loving someone we can’t have.”

              He smiled back.  “It beats being dead.”