The Blood King (34 page)

“Just a feeling. We’ve passed too many soldiers headed in the same direction. It could mean word has reached Jared that some of our first groups have cut off main roads. Or they could be planning something else. That’s what worries me.”

“You’re sure the citadel we’re headed for will take us in? I’d hate to find out we’re not welcome.”

“I’ve known Sister Fallon for many years. We’ll be welcome—and safe.”

They reached their destination just before dawn. The citadel of the Sisterhood was a walled enclave atop a hill with a village clustered at the foot of its high, ancient stone walls. Sister Fallon greeted them at the gate.

“Welcome,” Fallon said with a perfunctory bow that Soterius and Mikhail returned. “You’re lucky to have arrived when you did. Soldiers are on their way, and it’s nearly daylight.”

“Why?” Soterius asked.

“They’ve been sent by King Jared to hunt down and destroy the Sisterhood.”

Soterius let out a low whistle. “Jared is taking on the Sisterhood? Can he harm you?”

“Strong as we are, we do bleed and die,” she said ruefully.

“Can you hold them off?”

“Oh yes, at least, long enough. The villagers worry me the most. Once, before we realized what was happening, a group of soldiers destroyed a whole village on the rumor that one of our Sisters was among them.” She gestured at the citadel’s walls. “I’ve sent Sisters to gather the villagers into the citadel. Most of them are already here. We’ll try to keep them safe, until the soldiers can be turned away.”

“I don’t understand,” Soterius pressed. “How can the soldiers hope to win? After all, they’re only reg-ular men, against mages!”

Soterius thought he glimpsed sadness in her eyes. “King Jared, I fear, knows our weakness, that the Sisterhood abhors the taking of life if it can be avoided.

Arontala knows we will try to turn the sol-diers back, not destroy them outright. He’s gambling that in the process, the troops will over-come the odds.”

Mikhail scratched his stubbled chin. “But why?” he asked. “Why does Jared even want to fight the Sisterhood, let alone destroy it?”

“Because of Bava K’aa.”

“Bava K’aa is dead.”

“A mage of her power does not simply cease to exist,” she said. “After all, any soul with a purpose can remain among us. That’s even truer for a spirit mage.

“King Jared fears the spirit of Bava K’aa will take revenge for what he’s done.

Even more, he fears that she might transfer her power to another mage who would rise up against him. Arontala cast a spell over Shekerishet to banish the spirits that guard the king. Only then was he able to kill Bricen.” She paused, worry clear in her eyes. “Jared may fear that his brother is a greater threat than he expected.”

“But why is Jared attacking the Sisterhood if none of you can stop Arontala?”

Mikhail pressed.

Fallon folded her hands in frustration. “Because he believes that Bava K’aa’s body is buried in one of our citadels,” she replied. “He thinks that if he .finds it, and destroys it, that he will end her power and influence.”

“Can he? I mean, would it?” Soterius asked.

“Who can say?” she replied. “Bava K’aa was the greatest mage of her generation, save the Obsidian King himself. I don’t know whether a mage of that power is governed by the rules that limit lesser mages. There are ways to desecrate the body that also bind the spirit.”

“If the Sisterhood knows what’s happening in Margolan, then why in the name of the Crone don’t they do something to help?”

“The Sisterhood never quite recovered from the Mage Wars. We feared that Bava K’aa was the
last of the great mages. The mages that survived the war—and the ones born since then—have not equaled the power of the mages who fought that war. We haven’t seen another mage of her power— until now. Until Martris Drayke.”

“So while my Sisters have many fine words to talk all around the issue, the Sisterhood does not get involved because many of the Sisters are afraid. They don’t think they have the power to stand up to Arontala, or to the Obsidian King. The Sisterhood has always walked a fine line between intervention and meddling—not every-one would agree on the difference. Now, I’m afraid their fear has turned them inward. Those of us who are willing to put ourselves at risk— like myself and Sister Taru—are distinctly in the minority. You understand that you will not be able to leave this citadel until the soldiers are defeated.”

“I don’t claim to understand magic or mages,” Soterius said, “but I understand the oath I swore to Tris. And I’m doing a poor job of it locked up in a tower!”

“I understand. But a large force is headed this way, with siege machines. We can’t permit you to leave until the confrontation is over—else, I fear, you will find yourselves captured by Margolan troops.”

“We can’t just sit here,” Mikhail objected. “We have a job to do.”

Fallon looked quietly at the two men, as if she were making up her mind. “Yes, you do,” she agreed. “And perhaps, for that reason, the Lady has brought you to us.”

“So we just wait? I don’t like this.” Soterius began to pace. “A siege could take months! We don’t have that kind of time.”

“Perhaps,” Fallon interrupted gently, “events will take their own course. But today, and for a while to come I fear, this will be your home. Rest. You look like you’ve traveled all night. One of our Sisters will show you to your rooms and bring you food. Your rooms are in the levels below ground where no day-light will intrude.”

She turned. “Before you came, I was headed for a Council meeting. We must get ready for the attack.”

“We’re grateful for the shelter,” Soterius said, with a glance at Mikhail. “But we’re both soldiers, and we have no love for Margolan troops. Give us a way to help.”

She seemed to consider his offer. “Yes, you may indeed be here for a purpose.”

Fallon signaled for a Sister to take Soterius and Mikhail to their rooms.

Soterius and Mikhail found themselves in two adjacent sparse rooms, with a small sitting area between them. Another Sister arrived with a platter of salt pork and a bowl of boiled eggs for Soterius, and a carafe of fresh goat’s blood for Mikhail. In the weeks since they had left Principality, Soterius found that the vayash moru’s choice of nourishment no longer bothered him. He did not watch the dark red liquid being poured, or think too hard about its source.

“I don’t think I like the way she said that, about being here for a purpose,”

Soterius grumbled.

“I’ve always believed,” Mikhail said, “that the Lady keeps her hand on those who do for themselves. So if we do what we can here, where the Lady has led us, perhaps we can change the course

of what happens later.”

“Maybe,” Soterius said thoughtfully. “Who here would know Margolan tactics better than you and I? If anyone can find the troops’ weakness, we should be able to do it.”

“You have a point there.”

“We’ve got to get into the Sisterhood’s strategy meetings. We don’t even know how this citadel is situated, or where it’s vulnerable. I’d rather fight than sit around waiting on the Sisters to save us.”

FALLON NEEDED NO convincing. As the evening bells began to toll, Soterius and Mikhail found themselves on their way through the windowless twisting corridors to join a war council of the Sisterhood. Soterius felt the heady, fear-edged antic-ipation that always surged through him on the eve of battle.

Mikhail, usually imperturbable, looked nervous as a cat.

Fallon led them through the corridors with a ball of blue mage light carried in her hand, and stopped before a great wooden door. Iron-bound and ancient, it swung open to reveal a large, circular room, lit by brilliant torches and a fire that roared in a massive hearth. Along the stone walls, tapes-tries recounted battles whose names were lost to time. In the center sat a great table, a massive scry-ing orb fitted at one place. At the table sat eight brown-robed Sisters.

“Come in,” a Sister gestured for them to enter. Her face was lost in the shadow of her cowl, and her voice sounded ancient. Fallon stepped back for them to pass, and closed the door behind them. “We have heard your tale from Sister Fallon,” the cowled Sister continued. “And we know that you are swordsmen.” She pointed a gnarled finger at Soterius and Mikhail. “You have both served the armies of Margolan. Within a day, those troops will be at our door. Where does your allegiance lie?”

Soterius stepped forward and made an awkward bow. “My lady,” he began, “we are the liegemen of King Bricen. At his death, we swore our vows to his son, Prince Martris. We will not serve the traitor Jared. His armies are our enemies.”

“You have spoken well, swordsman,” she said. “Come closer.” It was eerie, Soterius thought, to hear the rasping voice from beneath the brown cowl, but see no face. On the far side of the table were two empty chairs. “Please sit down.” The other Sisters watched them in silence, giving Soterius cold shivers down his back.

“Fallon tells us that you have volunteered to serve the Sisterhood in this matter.

Is that true?”

Soterius hoped he looked confident. “I was King Bricen’s captain at arms.”

“And in my mortal lifetime, I was liegeman to King Hotten,” Mikhail said.

“I trained Margolan troops and I know their tac-tics,” said Soterius. “If you can tell us more about this citadel, and the terrain around it, perhaps we can find a way to turn their attack.”

“This citadel stands on the Plains of Marccam, built by King Lwelyn more than five hundred years ago. It can support several hundred troops for many months with its own water supply and a more than ample stockpile of food. We can protect our villagers, but not indefinitely.” She paused. “The tower rises as high as five buildings atop each other, and has withstood fire, battering rams and siege.”

“What of the troops from Margolan?” Soterius said, frowning.

“Jared may send several hundred soldiers. It is not, however, the number that I find of concern,” the cowled woman said, “it is their tactics. Arontala has prepared each group with specific knowledge about our strongholds. Some his mages burned, set-ting so many fires and speeding them with pitch that we had no choice but to abandon the structure. Even mages have their limits. We were unprepared. At another, his mages diverted a river, sweeping the building away.

“In each case, the mages could have saved them-selves. But Arontala knew we would protect the villagers, and in doing so, be unable to fully protect ourselves.

We lost many villagers and Sisters, and abandoned several of our strongholds.

We have also lost libraries, artifacts, and magical items which can’t be replaced.”

She spread her gnarled hands, palms up, in a gesture of frustration. “Each attack grows stronger. In the last two, Jared sent dark mages with the troops.

Disarming their magic kept the Sisters busy while the siege troops did even greater damage.”

“How can we help?” Mikhail asked.

The Sister inclined her head. “This citadel has many defenses of its own, and we have trained our villagers. But dark mages can play havoc with sim-ple things. In one tower, the defenders were prepared to pour down boiling oil on the attackers, only to have the pot wrested from their hands by magic and poured upon their own people. We know his mages will find ways to challenge our protec-tions. The battle must not be our villagers against the troops while the Sisters fight the mages. We have to find a way to stop his mages, and then rout his troops.”

“I’m all for that,” Soterius agreed.

There was a dry chuckle from beneath the cowl. “Good. Then you can help us plan.”

next

contents

A HEAVY FOG lay over the land the next evening. Soterius and Mikhail watched from the citadel’s highest point while the Margolan troops took their places. Soterius wrapped his own cloak tighter around himself against the cold winds. As Fallon had predicted, several hundred soldiers were encamped against the citadel.

“I don’t like this.” Soterius looked down at the ring of soldiers. He had made that comment more times in the last few candlemarks than he could remember.

“They’ve got to be relying on their mage,” he added, surveying the soldiers. “It’s as if they’re waiting for us to come out.”

“They have a plan.”

Within a candlemark, one of the Sisters had returned with news that the citadel’s water was tainted. “We protected the ground around the tower,”

she explained, “but the water springs from a river beneath the ground. A water mage could easily have caused it to be fouled before it ever reached our protections.”

“That cuts down our time,” Soterius said soberly.

The Sister shook her head. “It’s bad, but not hopeless. We’ve stored some water, wine and ale. Two of our water mage sisters are trying to purify water from the pump. They can’t extend their pow-ers far enough to cleanse the spring where it has been fouled. It will be a hardship, because they can only purify a few barrels at a time. And it diverts their powers from other uses.”

Just then, another Sister joined them. Her robes were stained with mud and smelled of the stables; dirt streaked her face and hands. “There is madness among the animals,” she reported. “None have seen its like. It is, I fear, mage sent. Two villagers were killed before we realized what was wrong. Sittra is there now to see what can be done. We can barely contain the beasts, and we don’t dare slaugh-ter any for food.”

“They’ve made the first strike,” Soterius grum-bled.

“Our land mage has been busy himself. Do you hear that?” Fallon asked, leading Soterius over to the thick wall.

He concentrated, straining to hear beyond the citadel’s heavy fortifications.

Then he heard it, a constant, steady cawing of crows. “Crows?” he asked, frowning. “How many crows does it take to make that much racket?”

Fallon smiled. “The ground is black with crows. They are clever birds; they elude the soldiers’

arrows. They will foul the tents with their drop-pings, and their noise will be a constant annoyance.”

“Why don’t you just call down wolves and be done with them?” Soterius asked disparagingly.