Book 3: Chapter Two

Katrin hummed to herself, then played the same tune on her harp before marking it down on the sheet of paper before her. While she hummed the next few notes, Shavala came into the room and greeted her.

“Back to trying to write a song?” the elven woman asked.

“Now that my fingers aren’t constantly frozen, I figured I should. I just can’t think of the lyrics. I’ve finally got two decent melodies, but they’re not good enough to stand by themselves. I need to put words to them, and I just can’t come up with any.”

“What sort of songs?”

“One sounds almost heroic, the other is sort of sad. I tried to write something about Fergus for the sad one, but what can I say? He died when a tree branch hit his head after the snow beasts broke our spear trap. I can’t put that in a song. He deserves better.”

Shavala bit her lower lip as she thought. “Why not write about his life rather than his death?”

Katrin considered that. The leader of the Jol’s Brook refugees had been a decent person and a hard worker, a man who was just trying to get by in a situation that kept growing steadily worse. He wasn’t some great hero out of legend, but then, he didn’t have to be. He was what the refugees had needed at the time. Maybe she could work with that somehow—a requiem rather than a lament. He deserved to be memorialized. She just hoped he wouldn’t mind if she was the person to do it.

“I’ll try that,” she said. “What have you been up to?”

“I went to see the horses.”

“How are they doing?”

“Socks and Dot want to leave. They’re tired of being in the same place for so long. The others are happy enough—they’ve got plenty to eat, the stable is warmer than outdoors, and the stable boys are exercising them every day.”

Katrin nodded. “I wonder if Sarette has a horse.”

“Are you thinking of giving her Duchess?”

“That’s why we brought her—in case we needed another,” Katrin said. Duchess had been her own mount for the ride from Circle Bay to Tyrsall. They’d sold the other extra animals from that trip, but Katrin had kept her as a spare, though she herself usually rode Flower, the mule Corec had bought for her the day after they’d met. “Though I suppose, even if Sarette’s already got a horse, Nedley still needs one.”

“Either way, I’m sure Duchess will be happy. She’s been feeling left out.”

Katrin laughed. “I thought you could talk to animals but they couldn’t talk back to you?”

“You can learn a lot from their body language. Horses are very expressive if you know what to look for.” Shavala glanced out the window to check the position of the sun. “Isn’t it time for you to go downstairs?”

“I don’t know if it’s worth the bother. Yesterday, I only made six coppers for the whole afternoon.”

“You get a free room, too,” Shavala pointed out.

“I suppose, but it’s still not much.” Despite her words, Katrin gathered up her harp and her flute.

There weren’t many inns in Snow Crown, and they were mostly frequented by outside visitors and traders rather than locals. The stormborn themselves rarely left the mountains, so they seldom had need for temporary accommodations. This particular inn was small, and Katrin and her friends took up half the rooms. While the music had attracted others to come inside, business had been slow.

“Maybe if you ask him again, he’ll let you play in the evenings,” Shavala said.

The innkeeper did good business at night, mostly among Snow Crown’s tiny community of foreigners, but he didn’t allow music after the sun went down. He made more money selling food than ale, so he focused on moving patrons in and out rather than having them linger around for hours.

The city had plenty of taverns that allowed minstrels to play, but the customers were almost all stormborn. Katrin had visited two different places, but with the looks of surprise she’d received from everyone in the room, she hadn’t felt comfortable asking for work. The stormborn preferred their music to be in their own language, which she didn’t speak, and she’d only learned a few of their songs so far.

“No, it’s not worth it,” she said. “We’ll be gone in a day or two, and I’ll do better once we get back to Tyrsall. I don’t know about the trip to Cordaea though. Maybe I should stay in Tyrsall while everyone else goes.”

“What? Why wouldn’t you come with us?”

“I won’t be able to work there at all. Bobo says they don’t even speak trade tongue; it’ll be like here but worse.”

“The others won’t care about that,” Shavala said. “We’ll just pay for our rooms the normal way.”

Katrin sighed. “I just feel so useless compared to everyone else. What am I contributing?” It was the first time she’d spoken out about the concerns that had been building up in her mind over the past few months.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not like you or the others. You’ve got your bow and your magic, Treya can hit a man hard enough to knock him out, Ellerie casts spells. And now there’s Sarette—Corec and Boktar already trust her to fight alongside them. What do I do? I’m no help in a fight.”

“You’ve helped before. You stopped two of the snow beasts.”

“I sang to them and made them fall asleep. It’s not the same thing. You hit them with lightning.”

Shavala stared into the distance. “I wish I hadn’t. It’s good that we can defend ourselves, but being able to kill someone… It shouldn’t have been necessary. Why do you feel like this now? When you killed that man in Circle Bay, you were sad for days.”

“I don’t know. Seeing Sarette jump into the fight like that… She’s the sort of person Corec should be recruiting, not me. He cast the binding spell for her on purpose, but for me, it was an accident.”

“It was an accident for the rest of us too, but he still spends most of his time with you.”

“That’s different,” Katrin said, allowing herself to smile. “I’m not worried about my relationship with him; I just feel like I’m not contributing enough. If I stay in Tyrsall while you’re gone, I could support myself, plus make enough money to get us started in Four Roads or wherever we end up.”

Shavala frowned. “We could be away for half a year, maybe more. You can’t stay by yourself for that long.”

Katrin hadn’t considered how long the trip would take. Circle Bay might be better than Tyrsall if she didn’t want to be alone, but she wasn’t ready to see her brother and uncle again yet. “Well, maybe I’ll go, but I wish I could do more to help. My singing didn’t work on the red-eyes.”

“The red-eyes shouldn’t be a problem now that Treya knows how to deal with them.”

“See? That’s what I’m talking about. She can do things I never knew were possible. You all can, except for me. All I can do is sing.”

“Do you remember what Yelena said about wardens and their bondmates? One person’s strength compensates for another’s weakness.”

“But I don’t have a strength.”

Shavala shrugged. “Sometimes you sing to get us free rooms, sometimes you make snow beasts fall asleep, sometimes you cook or gather firewood. Not everything has to be about magic or killing.”

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#

The royal guards bowed as Rusol approached. He ignored them, passing through the archway that led to the palace’s inner quarters, followed by Yassi, Kolvi, and Samir. Kolvi peeled away wordlessly when they passed the corridor leading to her apartment, and soon they reached another pair of guards outside the royal family’s quarters.

Rusol paused there and looked back at Samir. “It’ll likely be weeks before we hear anything, but I’d appreciate it if you remained in Telfort while we wait.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” his old friend said with a bow. He usually remembered to follow protocol when others were watching.

“Have a pleasant evening, Yassi,” Rusol said to Samir’s sister, while giving her a look of warning. She’d been acting stranger than usual on their trip to Northtower. If she wasn’t careful, Samir might grow suspicious.

She stared at him expressionlessly with those dark eyes of hers until he passed through the double doors to his family’s private domain.

His manservant was there waiting for him. “Your Highness,” the man said with a bow. “Welcome back. Would you like me to have the cooks make up a meal for you? Or perhaps you’d prefer a bath? Fresh clothing?”

“Draw a bath for me, but first, I’d like to see my father. Where is he?”

“His study, Your Highness.”

“I’ll go speak with him now. Start that bath, and see to it that someone is supervising the servants unloading our things from the carriage.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

The man left the room, and Rusol proceeded to his father’s study, surprised to find his mother Sharra—his father’s concubine—there as well.

“Mother, Father, I’ve returned from Fort Northtower.”

“So I can see,” King Marten said. “What did you find out? Is Leonis dead? Is he the one that killed Rikard?”

Rusol sprawled on one of the chairs facing his father’s desk. “I doubt he was directly involved, but he may have known about it. He’s more dangerous than I thought, though. He claims to be Torwin Larse.”

Marten leaned forward in his chair. “Torwin Larse? Which one? Our family hasn’t used that name in over two hundred years.”

“Torwin the First.”

Sharra drew in a sharp breath.

Marten barked a laugh. “What sort of game is he playing?”

“He seems to believe it himself.”

“A madman, then?”

“Yes, but not necessarily about this. There’s something you should know—in the dream where I learned about wardens, some of the visions suggested they could live for a long time.”

“Sixteen hundred years long?” his father said doubtfully.

“I don’t know, but would it be that crazy? Grandmother told me that some demonborn lines have a long lifespan.”

“Not hers, unfortunately. I wouldn’t mind some motherly wisdom right about now. Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“Because everything about the dream seemed so ludicrous, and Rikard didn’t believe me about any of it to begin with. Later, after he… I just never brought it up again.”

“Your brother should have believed you,” Sharra said, frowning. “It wasn’t fair how he treated you.”

“That’s in the past now,” Marten told her firmly. He turned back to Rusol. “You think Leonis is telling the truth?”

“I wouldn’t say that; I just don’t think we can discount the possibility.”

“But you still think he’s a madman?”

“He believes there’s a ritual that will give Pallisur control over all the sources of magic, not just divine.”

“I don’t understand,” Marten said.

“Think about what it would mean if wizards could only cast spells if they’d received a blessing from Pallisur, like a priest.”

“There’d be fewer wizards,” Sharra put in.

Rusol nodded. He’d had plenty of time to think about the ramifications during the journey back to Telfort.

“It sounds like nonsense,” Marten said, “but even if it were true, it would only strengthen Larso. We don’t depend on magic. Matagor and Terevas do.”

“That depends on who Pallisur chooses to receive those blessings,” Rusol said. “It would make the Church stronger, at our expense.”

“A good point,” Marten replied with a scowl. “I don’t have enough control over the Church yet as it is. Cardinal Aldrich might not be able to overcome the conditioning I’ve placed on him, but he’s still clamoring to bring more of the blessed priests back to the city, if for no other reason than to have more healers here. But if I allow too many, they may realize what I’ve done to the unblessed priests.”

“Why do you allow them so much power?” Sharra said. “You’re the king, Marten. If the priests won’t do as you say, they should suffer the consequences.”

Marten shook his head. “I’ve told you before, it doesn’t work like that. A kingdom, or even a small city, can’t run on one man’s whims alone. It’s a balancing act. The king, the dukes and barons, the army, the knights, the merchants and guilds, the Church. Every element of society wields its own sort of power, no matter how small that might be. What would happen if the lamplighters all refused to work tonight? It would be chaos. Granted, it would be a small and short-lived chaos, because they hold very little power, but it’s still power of a sort. My job is to balance them all against each other so that I have final say on the important issues.”

Sharra rolled her eyes when Marten wasn’t looking.

Rusol wasn’t interested in hearing his parents argue about the subject again. To head them off, he said, “It wouldn’t just be wizards, either. Leonis claims the same would hold true for elder and demonic magic.”

“I don’t see how any of this could be true,” Marten said. “The gods grant divine blessings, and only divine blessings. That’s how it’s always been.”

Rusol shrugged. “Leonis believed what he was saying. He’s almost certainly insane, but I can’t say whether he was lying or not. I don’t trust him, and I don’t think we should let him proceed.”

“And yet, you left him alive.”

“I need more time to plan. He’s a true priest, and he brought more priests with him. I need a way to kill him and his men quickly enough that they can’t heal themselves and retaliate. Besides, he plans to bring more of the wardens together for the ritual. If I can get two or three of them at once, without warning…”

“Smart boy,” Marten said with a smile of approval.

“I was thinking perhaps a fast-acting poison rather than risking a fight.”

Marten sighed. “I’m tempted to remind you about honor in battle, but I suppose talk won’t do you much good when you’re outnumbered. Yassi and Jasper are no warriors. If he’s willing to return to Northtower, we could surround him with archers, but it would be hard to keep that quiet. Poison may be the safest option. Ask Kolvi to send word to her father. He knows poisons.”

“I will,” Rusol said, then made his excuses so he could go wash off the grime from the journey.

Stepping into his own quarters, he experienced a wave of pain and dizziness. He stumbled and grasped his head, bracing himself against a wall. The symptoms had started during that strange dream. The shadowy creature in the dream world had granted him divine blessings, as if he was a priest…but with those blessings had come the pain. It had lessened on the carriage ride back to Telfort, but it hadn’t gone away entirely.

Most priests received just one or two blessings, if that. Rusol had been given many, along with instructions on how to use them. He knew how to heal, how to protect himself from physical attacks, and how to block magical attacks. Most importantly, he knew how to stop other priests from striking at him through his demonic side. Demonborn were susceptible to divine magic, but now he had a way to negate that disadvantage.

But at what cost? So far, he’d resisted the temptation to try those new spells, worried it would somehow give the shadow creature a hold on him. That wasn’t how it worked with the real gods—once a blessing was granted, the priest had full control over it—but the shadow creature wasn’t any sort of god Rusol had ever heard of. What if the rules were different?

He didn’t want to risk it, but Leonis and the First could both wield divine magic. If he was to face them, he might not have a choice.

#

After her master headed for his quarters, Yassi continued on toward her own apartment. Samir walked with her, but he’d be leaving soon, and despite their time together during the long trip to Fort Northtower and back, she still hadn’t gotten through to him. She couldn’t tell him what Rusol had done to her, and he just couldn’t see it on his own. He still thought of Rusol as a childhood friend—perhaps one who’d grown more curt and distant than in their youth, but still the same boy underneath it all.

“I wish you’d speak to me,” Samir said.

“About what?” Yassi asked. Perhaps being silent wasn’t the way to go about it.

“About anything! Are you mad at me?”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because we never talk anymore! Mother and Father ask about you, but I can’t tell them anything because you never tell me anything. Why did you stop visiting home?”

“I’ve been busy lately. I’ll visit them soon. I promise.” When she broke that promise, it might lead him to ask more questions.

“Then what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Yassi said, then had a thought. Could she say something generic enough that it wouldn’t trigger the compulsion Rusol had laid over the warden bond, but specific enough that Samir would understand it? “I just think that sometimes, the people we grew up with aren’t who we think they are.”

Samir’s eyes darted in the direction of Rusol’s quarters. “Did he…do something to you? Did he hurt you?”

“Of course not,” she said with a wide smile. “Don’t be silly. I love it here.” She screamed in her own mind as the lie came out before she could stop it. The spell Rusol had cast on her was insidious.

“I’m sorry,” Samir said. “I know he wouldn’t do anything like that. I just don’t understand the way you’ve been acting.”

“Don’t worry about me; I’m fine. I’ll come visit soon.” Yassi wanted to cry, but the compulsion wouldn’t allow it. She’d need to find some other way to reach out to her brother. They came to a stop outside her rooms. “I’d like to get some rest now. It was a long trip.”

“I’ll head home, then, but at some point, you’ll need to tell me what’s wrong.”

She just smiled and hugged him, though she managed to avoid saying nothing was wrong.

After Samir had left, there was a knock at her door. She opened it expecting to find him, but instead it was Jasper.

“Well?” the elderly wizard asked. “Did you have any luck?” He didn’t have to explain what he meant, and he probably couldn’t have even if he’d wanted to. He was under the same compulsion as Yassi.

“Not yet, but I’m still working on it,” she said.

“What happened in Northtower?”

“Rusol met with Leonis. He didn’t tell me much, but I think he’s going to kill him.”

“Should we try to w…w…w…” Jasper grunted. “Should we try to w…” He gave up and slammed his fist into the wall.

Should we try to warn him? Yassi thought to herself. That must be what Jasper had tried to say.

“I don’t see how we can,” she said, cradling the old man’s bleeding hand in hers. “We’d better go have Kolvi bandage this up.”

“I don’t like Kolvi.”

“It’s either her, or we ask Magnus to heal it.”

Jasper grunted. “Fine. Kolvi.”