The Sword And The Pen (28 page)

"Why? What a strange question, daughter. Why not? is what you should ask. The royal family had power. I wanted it. I had the ability, so I took it."

Cautiously I eased across the loose rock. Stones shifted under my feet and skidded over the edge. But listening to Roark spout the nonsense I'd given him, I swallowed back the bile burning my throat. This was the last scene playing out much as I'd written it. Nothing had changed to match any rewrite.

"As advisor to the king, you had wealth, status, power. You held his trust and affection. Anything you wanted was yours."

"It wasn't enough. I wanted more. I would have it all--position and power. I would have had the people worship me as they did him."

"So, you betrayed and killed them..but you gained nothing. You're a fool. At your treachery, the people turned from you."

"Once their last hope lies dead, their hope will fade. They'll come back to me."

"My death will not give you their love. The heir yet lives. He'll be found, and Barue will return to its former glory. You'll be forgotten."

Roark's laughter echoed over the thunder. "Without me, the heir will never be found."

Seri stepped forward. Her sword dipped. "You know where he is? Tell me and I'll let you live."

Distracted by his revelation, she didn't react as Roark lifted his sword.

"No!" The wind whipped away my scream of denial. Slipping and sliding, I charged forward. The mud made it all but impossible.

Roark lunged. His blade found Seri's chest and pierced it. Her eyes widened in shock. Her sword clattered to the ground.

Roark gripped Seri's shoulder and pulled her close, forcing his blade through her to the hilt. Over his shoulder, her gaze met mine. I read her intent. Yards still separated us.

"No, Seri, don't," I whispered. I was still too far away.

"Before I die, tell me," she rasped. "Who is he?" Her fingers curled around Roark's upper arms.

"Why, young Jole of course!" He let go of Seri's shoulder and his sword, and he started to step away, but he couldn't. She held him fast.

Pleasure and surprise lit her face as she looked at me. "Take care of him."

Her words were for me, for King Donoval. Despite all her fears and anger, she trusted me to see to the welfare of Barue and its rightful king. Her hands remained locked on Roark's arms. Her body swayed.

"What are you doing? Let me go." Roark tried to pry her fingers loose.

Her smile lit up the pale oval of her face, even as the light in her eyes dimmed. "I think not. . .Father."

Arriving just too late, I watched helpless as she folded Roark in her embrace and stepped over the edge--into the nothingness.

I stood at the edge of the chasm. No sound or light revealed the passage of these two epic enemies, enemies I had created and ultimately destroyed. Like the blackness meeting my gaze, my heart was empty.

Shoulders bowed in grief, I sank to my knees. My sword dropped uselessly from my fingers. Rain washed away the meager warmth of the tears running down my cheeks. I'd failed Seri. As surely as if I'd run the sword through her heart and pushed her off the cliff myself, I'd killed her.

It was over, the villain vanquished, the heir to the throne discovered, the heroine sacrificed for the good of all; the story of Warrior Woman was finished. All tied in a neat, satisfying bundle. Readers could rail against fate, revel in the tragedy. All I could do was sob.

I ground my fists into the jagged stones on the ground, threw back my head and howled. This wasn't right. This was as I'd written it, but it wasn't what I wanted.

"Your power with words will demand great sacrifice. And if you're not careful, it will destroy you." My Grandmother's words came back to me. If only I'd heeded them, perhaps believed in the warning of my vanished father, would Seri still be alive?

No. I wasn't going to let it stand. Losing her would destroy me. Whatever entity directed this universe had miscalculated. I was still here. My doubts had let Serilda die, but no more. No matter the sacrifice demanded of me, I would change her fate. I felt Donoval's agreement.

Parchment and quill. I needed parchment and quill.

I scrambled to my feet and darted up the secret passage and into the keep.

PART THREE

I burst out of the door onto the ledge just behind Roark. Confused, I stopped and blinked against the rain dripping down my face. Was I dead? I touched my chest. No blade protruded. No blood gushed around my fingers. No pain stole my breath. Lightning crackled overhead. Thunder rumbled, shaking the ground beneath my feet.

As had happened many times on the battlefield, once very recently in fact, I'd been plucked away a moment before death claimed me. Only, this time I was back where I started, not in some grey place shrouded in mist.

Like the rain drenching my body, memories poured through my mind. Again, that endless grey void. A strange world of mechanical carriages without horses to pull them. Donoval. No, a wizard named Brandon. One after another, images, thoughts, emotions too numerous to sort and understand rushed over me. I could no longer separate this world from the other, tell the real from the unreal.

Donnie's claim of being another man, from another world, another reality, none of it seemed bizarre any longer.

Beneath the onslaught, I staggered. In front of me, beyond the narrow ledge, the world disappeared into a black so deep not even lightning revealed any hint of what lay within.

Roark moved along the ledge away from me. Whatever or whoever had brought me back, I couldn't let him escape. I ran after him. "Stand and face me, Father!" I cried.

At my call, he glanced back but didn't stop. With the brief turn of his head, he missed seeing the lightning illuminate the figure racing toward him. Donnie! Sword held aloft, his golden hair flying, Donnie attacked.

At the last second, Roark raised his sword and deflected Donnie's blow. Sparks flew off their clashing blades. Arms raised, their bodies slammed together then bounced apart.

Lightning struck the ledge in front of me. The force of the strike knocked me on my backside and sent a tingle of energy through me. I felt the ledge crack at the castle wall and shift beneath me.

As if unaware of the danger, Roark circled Donnie. I held my breath as Donnie's feet moved closer to the tilting edge. Chunks crumbled and fell away. Their collapse made no sound over the crashes of thunder reverberating through the air.

As the ground buckled, Donnie staggered, arms pinwheeling, body teetering over the edge. Roark's manic laugh of triumph was chilling. Blade upraised for the killing blow, he surged forward.

I scrambled to my feet and tried to move to help. The ledge rocked beneath me.

At the last moment, Donnie ducked beneath Roark's blade, twisted and came up behind him. Roark whirled. His blade caught Donnie's sword arm, slicing through the leather guard. Blood spurted forth. Donnie's arm sagged; the point of his sword dipped. Then, through the rain and between the flashes of lightning, unable to move for fear of distracting Donnie or sending the unstable ledge tumbling into the void, I could only watch in horror. Roark plunged his sword into Donnie's chest.

Donnie fell to the ground. But as Roark leaned forward to push the blade home, Donnie lifted his feet against Roark's chest and threw him.

Roark's feet left the ground. His scream of rage turned to terror. Arms flailing, he twisted midair, searching for some way to return to the loose rock. Then he was over the edge, gone. His shrieks, which should have echoed as he fell, vanished.

I peered into the darkness but could see nothing.

"Donnie?" I picked my way across the ledge to his side.

Dead? My heart ached at the impossible thought. He couldn't be dead! I loved him.

"I love you, too," he rasped.

Had I spoken aloud? It didn't matter. I'd shout my love to the heavens if it would keep him with me.

"Stay with me." To keep the rain from his face, I leaned over him.

"I'd really like to, but. . ." He coughed. Blood gushed from his lips. "As usual, things didn't go quite the way I wrote them. He wasn't supposed to stab me. Damn, it hurts." He reached inside his shirt and pulled out a folded piece of parchment. "Take this. Read it."

"Don't talk. I'll get the healer." I ignored the parchment and started to rise.

He grabbed my arm; his grasp was weak. "It's no use."

"You'll not die. I won't allow it." Tears made hot streams down my rain-chilled cheeks.

"It doesn't matter. I did what I meant to do: I saved you." I had to bend my head to his lips to hear his words.

"Without you," I sobbed, "my life matters not. What will I do without you?" I realized it was true. Everything I'd fought for, everything I'd desired--it was nothing without him to share it

He chuckled softly. "It matters. The people of Barue. Jole. Mauri. And you managed without me for years. You'll do so again." His chuckle turned to choking coughs.

I wrapped my arm around him and braced his back against my shoulder, as if by loving him I could lift and carry him to safety, perhaps keep death at bay. But I knew it was useless. My love hadn't saved my family or the monks. It wouldn't save this man I loved.

"There's something you need to know," he gasped. "Young Jole is the missing heir. I can't tell you how I know, but at the base of his spine, he has the royal birthmark as proof. He'll need you to help him bring peace and order back to Barue."

Burgeoning grief drowned my pleasure in the news. Jole would make a fine king.

Donnie took my hand and closed my fingers around the damp parchment. "Read it and you'll understand," he said. "Knowledge will set you free. Believe. I love you."

Then his eyes closed, and he sagged in my arms. Dead.

I raised my face to the rain. None of this made sense. Not my scattered memories, nor Donnie's strange claims. How could anything be the answer to this puzzle?

Sitting in the rain, tears streaming down my face, I unfolded his parchment. Wet with Donnie's blood, most of the script was smudged; only one line in Donnie's ragged scrawl remained crisp and clear.

The power of love opened her eyes, and she believed.

Against all possibility, in that instant, everything crystallized in my mind, even as the parchment crumpled in my grip. My nails dug into my palms.

"You can't be dead! I love you!" The tempest swallowed my scream.

I loved him, all the parts of him. King Donoval, strong, brave and exasperating. Donnie, sweet, caring and lovable. But most of all I loved Brandon, clumsy, unsure and endearing and the genesis of it all. Too late, I remembered. Too late, I believed. Too late, I understood. Our time together was ended.

In grief, I clutched his limp body to my chest. I shook, but not with cold. Tears scalded my eyes but refused to fall. Around me the storm raged on, the thunder and lightning a contrast to the quiet emptiness expanding inside me.

Lightning struck the wall. Energy sizzled through me. Stones pelted my face. I knew I should move, flee, especially as the ledge shifted beneath me. Soon it would collapse. But as I didn't have the strength or the heart to move Donnie's body, nor could I leave him to plunge alone into the void, I refused to move. We would stay together. Our fates were linked.

I whispered the words Brandon had written, "The power of love opened my eyes and I believed."

Yes, I believed. I believed in Brandon's world. I believed in my world. I believed in the magic and power of love. And though he believed we were through, that I would continue on as he had once written me, I believed in my own autonomy--in the power I wielded as well. I was no longer a pawn, to be controlled by bards or scribes, kings or tyrants. And I believed somewhere, sometime, someplace Donnie and I would be together once more.

Lightning struck again. The ledge crumbled beneath me. My stomach rose in my throat, but I held Donnie tight as we tumbled into oblivion.

Hard lumps dug painfully into my spine. I reached under me and pulled out a. . .pen? I tried to shift away, but a warm, wet weight lay across my chest. Blinking water from my eyes, I tried to focus on the ceiling of my office.

The ceiling?

My office!

I was alive! At least, I felt alive.

Cautiously, I moved. No pain seared through me. No sword protruded from the center of my chest. No blood stained the garments I wore, but they were indeed drenched--from the rainswept cliff from which I'd come? My muscles ached, my skin felt damp and raw, but all my parts seemed to be intact and in working order.

I collected my scattered thoughts.

I remembered dying. I recalled Roark's sword plunging through me, the pain, the anguish in Seri's eyes as she watched me slip away into the unknown. What happened after that remained a blank. No brilliant white light or scorching flames. No loved ones welcoming me to the other side. No red beast with horns and a tail dancing in glee. No one telling me to go back. No memories. Just nothingness. Then I'd woken up here and now.

"Seri?" I gasped. I looked at the woman draped across me. Spiked with moisture, her dark eyelashes lay against her pale cheeks. With each breath, her parted lips blew warm air against my skin. One hand rested on my thigh. At the sound of my voice, her fingers curled into my flesh. My instant reaction was unexpected but not unwelcome. I couldn't suppress my grin at the knowledge that part of me was definitely in working order.

In her hand she clutched a soggy piece of parchment. Ink smeared the crumpled folds. One word remained legible:

She stirred, lifting her head from my chest. Slicked with water against her skull, her reddish-blonde curls were to crimson shot with gold. Green eyes veiled, concealing her thoughts from me, her gaze met mine.