The Blood King (48 page)

“If the Obsidian King existed before he possessed Lemuel, then who was he?”

Riqua shook her head. “Even the Sisterhood isn’t sure. Bava K’aa knew more than anyone, having been his prisoner. She said the Obsidian King was a spirit willful enough to defy death itself, a mage who wanted immortality and unchallenged power.”

“Thank you,” Tris said.

“Guard the vial well. There’s no mage strong enough to make it again, and the way of its making went to the grave with your grandmother.”

In the distance, they heard a scream.

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KIARA AWOKE WITH a start to find a cold palm pressed across her nose and mouth and a firm grip pinning her to her bed. The reed torch had burned down to embers, just enough for Kiara to make out the silhouette of a woman poised above her.

“You can hear me?” Elana whispered close to her ear. Silently, Kiara nodded.

“Good. Someone has been looking for you, Kiara of Isencroft.”

Kiara struggled against the seduction of that voice, like a warm blanket of honey enveloping her, draining her will. Instinctively, she glanced toward the other bed, where Carina slept soundly, her back to them.

“Your friend can’t help you. My kind have cer-tain… talents… to make sure we’re undisturbed.” As if in answer to Kiara’s unspoken question, a bundle of cloth tumbled and squirmed on the floor.

“Your pet will be no help,” Elana added conde-scendingly. “Lord Gabriel and the others are resting. They won’t hear.”

Elana smiled coldly. “Don’t blame Riqua. Her welcome was sincere. But she’s not my maker,” the blonde vayash moru said with a hint of bitterness. “I have no choice.” Her eyes glinted with old pain.

“Come.”

Elana drew Kiara to her feet and Kiara stood, panicked that her body seemed incapable of obey-ing her will, captivated by Elana’s voice. She took one step, and then two toward the hallway. Once into the corridor, she would be lost.

She had no doubt who Elana’s master was. Arontala had sum-moned his creations, and once delivered to the dark mage, Kiara had no illusions about her fate.

As she moved toward the door, she brushed against her sword belt where it lay on the foot of the slab, sending it and her dagger clattering to the floor.

Elana gave a hiss of anger and wheeled, grabbing Kiara by the throat with a hand strong enough to crush her neck. The pressure on Kiara’s throat made her gasp.

“Kiara?” Carina called. Seeing the silhouette of Elana with her hand gripping Kiara’s throat, Carina screamed. Elana whirled as Carina dove for the fall-en sword.

With a desperate cry Carina lunged, plunging the blade through Elana’s belly.

Elana struck back, toss-ing Carina against the stone like a rag doll. The distraction was all Kiara needed as Elana loosened her grip. Kiara twisted, using her legs to knock her attacker to the floor. A cold hand closed on her leg as Kiara struggled to get away. Boot steps pounded in the distance.

Carina struggled to her feet and dove at the attacker with her full might. Elana hurled Carina away and released her prisoner as a cold wind swept through the room. Kiara, pushed backward against the wall, had the barest glimpse of her own dagger glinting in the dying light of the torch. She heard the sickening thud of dagger’s blade meeting flesh.

Carroway burst into the room, sword drawn, a torch aloft in his grip. An instant later, Tris and Vahanian joined him. They stopped in utter astonishment. Riqua stood over Elana’s motion-less form. In Elana’s chest, buried hilt deep, was Kiara’s spelled dagger and, protruding from both sides of Elana’s body, Kiara’s sword. Carina, thrown hard enough against the crypt wall to have the breath knocked out of her, was strug-gling to her feet, her expression a mix of determination and terror.

“What the hell happened?” Vahanian demanded.

Kiara shook her head, trying to clear the last of the vayash moru’s influence.

“She was going to take me to her master,” Kiara said. “I… I couldn’t resist her.”

“I gravely miscalculated,” Riqua said coldly, looking down at Elana’s body. “I believed that I knew who had made Elana. It appears that I did not. What did she tell you?”

“That she had no choice, that she had been told to bring me to him. She didn’t have to say his name.”

“Arontala,” Tris supplied.

“Great. Just great,” Vahanian snapped, with an accusing glare at Riqua. “Are the rest of your brood coming after us now, too?”

“You have nothing to fear from them. They are my creations. This one,” she said, with a disdainful look at Elana’s remains, “came to us a few months ago.

Perhaps Arontala has planted his own among all the families, watching for you.”

“Does he know we’re here?” Tris asked.

“Doubtful. Elana wasn’t strong enough to alert him. More likely, she’d been given orders to watch for you, in case you showed up.”

“The dagger,” Kiara said, looking down at the hilt in Elana’s corpse. “It can turn the undead or destroy the soul.” She reached down and withdrew the blades, cleaning them on the hem of Elana’s dress before resheathing them.

Carina sat down on the slab, visibly shaken. “I didn’t even realize that I grabbed a sword,” the healer murmured, “I just knew someone was taking Kiara away.”

“You picked a good time to get over using a blade,” Vahanian said.

“Elana was sure the rest of you couldn’t inter-fere,” Kiara said.

Vahanian glared at Carroway. “You were sup-posed to be on guard duty.”

“I was. I didn’t see anything,” Carroway said, appalled. “I swear by the Lady.”

“You couldn’t have prevented what happened,” Riqua said. “We’re skilled at passing unnoticed.”

Gabriel joined them, and Tris thought he saw uneasiness in the vayash moru’s face. Riqua looked at Gabriel. “I thought you were sleeping.”

“I’ve learned to sleep lightly.”

Kolin and Keir joined them and, at Riqua’s word, pushed their way in to gather up Elana’s body. “Place it outside, where it will catch the sun. She doesn’t deserve burial.”

When they were gone, Riqua turned to Gabriel. “If Arontala has his fledglings planted among our houses,” she said, “you can’t be safe among any of our kind you didn’t make yourself.”

“I’ll revise my plans,” Gabriel said.

“Do we get a vote on that?” Carroway muttered.

“We can’t lose more time,” Tris said. “The Hawthorn Moon is only a few weeks away.”

“You’ll reach Shekerishet by the Moon,” Gabriel vowed. “You have my word.”

“Cross your heart and hope to die?” Vahanian asked.

“Now, despite this… misfortune,” Gabriel said, “you need to rest, and so do I.”

“I don’t feel very tired right now,” Kiara replied, rubbing her neck where Elana had gripped her.

“I think we should stay together,” Carina added.

“I’ll watch over you personally,” Riqua said. “I have eternity to rest and, unlike Gabriel, I don’t have to save my strength for the journey. I assure you, none of mine will harm you while I’m your protector.”

Vahanian looked as if he were about to make another comment, then saw the ice in the vayash moru’s eyes and thought better of it. “Let’s get to it, then,” he said.

What Vahanian lacked in diplomacy, Kiara thought as they filed out, he made up for in voicing the sentiments of them all. She fastened her sword belt and walked to the door, where Tris waited to follow her.

Riqua led them to her own quarters, a sumptuous tomb obviously intended for one of noble birth. It had been transformed to a well-appointed boudoir, with one significant difference. In the center stood an ornate catafalque, and atop it an alabaster image of Riqua. Exhausted, Kiara and the others made impromptu beds of couches and pillows, choosing to stay close enough together that no one could pass among them without waking the others.

Kiara gave Carina’s hand a grateful squeeze. “Have I ever told you how happy I am that you’re a light sleeper?”

“I’m glad I was able to stop her. But I can’t believe I used a blade.”

“What exactly do your healer rules say?” Vahanian asked from where he had stretched out, blocking the doorway with his body. He closed his eyes, trying to relax.

“The taking of life or the shedding of blood in anger with a knife or blade is forbidden.”

“Then you’re clear.”

“What?”

Vahanian opened one eye. “Elana was already dead. Undead. You didn’t take her life. And what-ever that stuff was on the floor, it wasn’t her blood.”

Kiara chuckled. “He’s got a point, Carina. I like his logic. And admit it—it wouldn’t be the first time healers have split hairs on some obscure rule.”

“I’ll have to think about it tomorrow,” Carina said, settling in next to Vahanian and sharing his cloak. “That just might make sense in the morning.”

Kiara smiled, finding a spot beside Tris, glad for the arm he slipped around her shoulders and the warmth of his heavy cloak.

When the others were quiet, Tris turned toward Kiara. “I have something I want you to carry for me.”

“Not another magic dagger, I hope?”

Tris carefully withdrew the precious vial of Bava K’aa’s elixir from where it hung on the strap around his neck. He slipped it over Kiara’s head. “Wear this for me, please.”

“What is it?” She looked at the vial, which glowed a faint violet through the thick glass.

“It’s a potion. Grandmother left it for me with Riqua. Quite literally worth a king’s ransom.” He reached out to touch her cheek, and kissed her. “It will cure a mortal wound.” She gasped, looking at the vial with renewed respect. “Keep it safe, please? If it’s needed—and I hope it isn’t—you’re more like-ly to be able to do something with it than I will.”

“I don’t like it when you say things like that,” she said, suppressing a shiver as she carefully slipped the vial down the throat of her tunic.

Tris put his arm around her. “I have every reason to want to live through this,”

he said, tangling his fingers in her hair, glad for her nearness. “You know that.”

“I know. But it doesn’t make me worry less.”

Tris kissed her gently, and she leaned back against his shoulder. “I’ve thought a lot about what you said, back in Principality, about being the ‘hound of the Goddess.’ Coming when the Lady calls and doing as She bids. I only wish I were a fox hound, and not turned out after a beast.”

“But look at your pack,” she said. “A good pack can bring down a very large bear.”

“Have I mentioned, recently, how much I love you ?

She nestled closer. “Yes, but tell me again.” Tris let his kiss answer her, and then folded her close. They shared the warmth of his cloak in the crowd-ed room, content for the company as they fell asleep in what might be the last safe night before the Hawthorn Moon.

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BAN SOTERIUS SHIVERED and gathered his cloak tightly around him in the harsh winds of northern Margolan. It was the fourth month, the Lover’s Moon, but the winds had turned unseasonably cold, even for the unpredictable weather of the north. Rain fell, mixed with sleet, in a last winter storm. Soterius had ridden a candlemark since leaving the shelter of the vil-lage where he raised his most recent cluster of fighters, and had yet another candlemark to ride before reach-ing his destination. Although it was not yet dusk, the heavy gray clouds made it seem much later. Soterius found himself wishing for sundown, when Mikhail promised to join him.

The trek across northern Margolan had been suc-cessful so far. He had gathered thousands of volunteers and deserters into the ranks of his mili-tia, seeding small groups of rebels to harry Jared’s troops.

It had started with the refugees and the three deserters from the Margolan army in the Principality camp. Soterius knew there was plenty of bottled up rage against Jared, but he had no idea just how deep the feelings went, or how broadly they were shared. Once his purpose became known, the number of volunteers swelled. He and Mikhail were moved from village to village, protected by ties of kin and marriage, hidden in barns and wag-ons, caves and sheds.

Many a tavern keeper welcomed them by the back door, tired of Jared’s troops busting up their inns and taking liberties with the women. Soterius and Mikhail slept in crypts and barrows, watched over by ghosts and the undead. Out in the villages one’s kin included the living, dead, and undead. Those ties of kinship were as binding as any blood oaths; Soterius found that many of the families were linked from village to village all along the Borderlands. When multiplied by many generations with the inclusion of kin who were vayash morn or ghosts, Soterius came to see the villages as a tightly woven net of families, similar to the nobility at court.

Opportunities to test the skills of their trainees were readily available. Both Soterius and Mikhail led skirmishes against Jared’s troops that height-ened their renown and drew volunteers to their cause. As the successful strikes grew more numer-ous, Soterius amassed a better store of uniforms and weapons, wagons and horses. These he hid in the caves that pock-marked the foothills, until the time was right to march an army of his own toward the palace.

The villagers who volunteered were men old enough that Jared’s troops had not conscripted them and women who had been subjected to the lusts of Jared’s soldiers, or who had lost daughters and sons to Margolan’s army. Those who could leave their villages Soterius and Mikhail trained to fight, helping them understand how to turn the land itself into a weapon. Those who could not leave became spies, passing along information as valuable as ammunition.

Willing tavern masters became important gatekeepers in the resistance, noting the movement of troops and the number of soldiers passing through an area.

Mikhail, a reasonably skilled musician, made sure to teach Carroway’s defiant songs to the minstrels he met. He added sto-ries of Tris’s prowess as a Summoner to the bards’ tales. Thanks to Mikhail, Soterius did not doubt that Carroway would find all the minstrels and bards he needed to create chaos in the palace city on the night of the Hawthorn Moon.

The courage of the rebels increased with every victory against Jared’s army. After a few months, Soterius noted that the army did not venture north without large numbers. By then, the rebels were well-trained enough to harry the intruders, deci-mating their numbers and keeping them off balance and in constant fear.