Silver mage, p.51
Silver Mage, page 51
Smirking, Shrogar slipped his arm around his wife’s waist and drew her close. She was a slight woman, silvery blond hair framing pleasant, kindly features. No great beauty, perhaps, but possessed of a quiet dignity that complemented her husband’s vibrant presence.
‘See my young brother,’ he said proudly. ‘Gone for years, and just look at the state of him when he returns. I always said he needed his family to take care of him.’
Iarwin took no offence. He grinned at them, pleased by the warmth of their welcome. ‘Lady Dianeth, it is always a pleasure to see you. I do believe you become more beautiful with every passing year.’
‘Indeed, she does,’ agreed her husband warmly, and his hand came to rest over her stomach. Seeing the secret happiness that passed between them, Iarwin was quick to offer his congratulations.
‘We only knew for certain this last month,’ Dianeth replied, her pale face alight with a warm glow. ‘Your brother hopes for a son to be his heir. For myself I think your family needs more women.’
She smiled at her husband as she spoke, then her gaze fell on the bandages and she became instantly concerned. ‘You are hurt.’
Shrogar laughed as his brother brushed aside her concerns. ‘He fell from his horse. His horsemanship has always been poor.’
As Iarwin protested, his dignity ruffled, Dianeth smiled. Yet however welcome the banter, it could not disguise the air of anticipation, and her eyes were drawn to the message cylinder still resting on the chair.
‘Kinseris sends news at last?’
Cued by his wife, Shrogar picked up the cylinder and broke the seal. Three lines of coded script met his enquiring glance, and long moments passed as he read and reread the message. Then he looked at Iarwin with a frown. ‘You saw Kinseris? He was well?’
Iarwin nodded. ‘So it seemed to me. What does he say?’
Shrogar looked down at the scrap of parchment, turning it over in his hand as if looking for more. Growing concerned, Iarwin reached out and took the message from his brother’s slack grasp.
‘What is this nonsense?’ he demanded after a moment. ‘Why does he speak of trade and the price of silk?’ He snorted, tossing the paper aside. Shrogar leant down and picked it up.
‘He does not,’ he said heavily. ‘It is but one of many codes we devised.’ He shook his head, unsure how to feel, how to react to the tersely phrased message. ‘I never thought we would have need of it.’
Dianeth laid a hand on his arm. ‘Tell us.’
Shrogar’s hand covered hers for a moment, then he gently pried it loose and moved to stand by the window. He did not speak for several minutes as he gathered his thoughts. ‘Long ago Kinseris told me of a legend of his Order. It was late. We had been drinking, and…’
He paused, his voice suddenly choked. Kinseris had come to Ephenor only once that he remembered, during the dark days after his father died. Ephenori scouts had found his body in the deep desert, two days from the edge of the Redfern plains where the Kas’Talani had left it for them to find. Roden had been dead for weeks, his body ravaged by the elements and desert scavengers, but the priests had left tokens enough on the body to ensure that his identity would be known. Tokens, but not his sword, the sword of his house that Shrogar now wore at his waist.
He touched a hand to it, fingers tracing the engraving on the hilt. It had been Kinseris who had returned it to him, Kinseris who had known his father since before Shrogar was born. An alliance forged out of necessity had become something more, deepened by friendship and mutual respect. Kinseris was the man who had kept Ephenor fighting, the man who had kept their resistance alive, and he alone understood what had driven his father. They had dreamed together, shared their secrets and their fears, and through his memories the priest had been able to give Shrogar back a small part of the father he had lost so young. He had also drawn the young ruler into his confidence, transferring to him the loyalty he had given to the father, and receiving the son’s in return. While Kinseris lived, the link with his father, so precious to him, would remain, but the contents of the priest’s message threatened to sever it forever.
‘We spoke of many things,’ Shrogar continued finally, pushing back the memories of a grief that was still too raw. ‘One of those things was Æisoul.’ Behind him he heard Iarwin make an impatient noise. ‘I do not speak of barroom gossip,’ he snapped, ‘but of Kas’Talani lore. This legend comes from the priests themselves and if they think there is truth in it, then I will not dismiss it lightly.’
‘And what did Kinseris say of Æisoul?’ Iarwin asked scornfully. ‘What is this thing the priests fear so much?’
‘Æisoul is a man. He is the man the Kas’Talani believe will destroy them.’
‘Destroy them?’ Iarwin sneered, but his face had paled. ‘Who could the priests possibly fear?’
If Shrogar noticed the change he said nothing, his eyes trained once more on the tiny scroll. ‘I do not know,’ he admitted. ‘Kinseris could not tell me, and I did not think, at the time, that he believed the tale to be true.’ He crossed the room in three long strides and set the paper to the flame burning in the lamp on his desk, watching as the corners curled and the message blackened and burned, crumbling to ash on the table.
‘At the time?’ Dianeth asked quietly.
Shrogar gave her a quick, reassuring smile. ‘If he did not believe it then, he does now.’ He turned to look at Iarwin, silently brooding. ‘Kinseris sends word that he has found Æisoul, and that he is a captive of Vasa. They both are. He asks for my help.’
‘Your help?’ Iarwin demanded. ‘What help can you give them? If they are prisoners of Kas’Tella nothing can save them.’
Shrogar sucked in a deep breath, forcing himself to show the restraint his brother lacked. Iarwin himself had only narrowly escaped that same fate, and he had spent many years in Kas’Tella. He had served the Order. Iarwin knew far better than any of them the horrors they were capable of.
‘There is more,’ he continued, ignoring Iarwin’s hostility. ‘The man had companions who might be on their way to us even now. He asks that we give them shelter.’
‘Of course,’ Dianeth murmured. ‘Friends of Kinseris are always welcome here and we will offer them what help we can.’
Shrogar squeezed her hand. ‘I know you will.’
Dianeth lowered her eyes, returning the pressure of his grip, willing herself not to give away her fear for him. She knew what he would wish to do.
Shrogar understood her fears and was torn. What Kinseris asked for—the risk he asked Ephenor to take—might take him from her and their unborn child forever, and love for her made him waver as no amount of reasoned argument ever could. Taking a deep breath, he steeled rebellious nerves and tightened his grip on Dianeth’s hand. ‘The council meets at sundown,’ he told them steadily. ‘I wish you both to be present. Kinseris has asked for our help, but he asks a lot and we must consider this carefully.’
‘No!’ Iarwin surged to his feet, careless of his injury. ‘To do what he asks is suicide! If Ephenor had the power to challenge Kas’Tella we would not have fought all these years in secret. We cannot do this!’
Shrogar regarded his younger brother calmly, seeing the creeping exhaustion that had abraded already fraught nerves. His thin face was creased with pain, but his pallor had given way to bright spots of passion on too-prominent cheekbones.
‘Kinseris would not ask such a thing unless there was no other way. And he does not ask it for himself, but for another.’
‘We cannot do this,’ Iarwin repeated. ‘I will not go back there!’
Shrogar’s head came up sharply. ‘You would not have to accompany us. Indeed, I would not expect it. You should remain here and give yourself time to heal.’ Iarwin’s physical injury would not prevent him riding if he had need, but Shrogar recognised that there were other raw scars in him that would take much longer to fade.
Stung by his brother’s tone, Iarwin turned away from them. ‘I am not afraid,’ he whispered, though there was little conviction in his voice. ‘But it is too great a risk, even for this Æisoul. We should not risk our people for the sake of a legend that has nothing to do with us.’
Dianeth glanced at her husband, unsure whether she should stay. Shrogar nodded and she gave him a small smile, a wisp of golden hair escaping her combs as she turned to leave.
As the door closed behind her, the Lord of Ephenor studied the brother who had not even acknowledged her departure. ‘What is it that you know?’ he asked gently, placing a hand on Iarwin’s shoulder. ‘Tell me. If I am to make this decision, I need to know everything.’
Iarwin winced at his touch. When Shrogar did not remove his hand, Iarwin stepped away from him. He turned slowly, his face white with strain, and a muscle twitched in his clenched jaw.
Shrogar watched him with irritation and concern. His brother had been away a long time, but he could not have changed so much. He was so rigidly controlled that he seemed almost on the edge of hysteria.
‘Tell me,’ he urged again.
Iarwin shook his head, a tight laugh escaping his lips.
‘Then what is it you fear?’
‘I am not afraid!’
‘Then why is it that you look so terrified?’
Iarwin glared at him, a savage light in his eyes that sent Shrogar reeling back a pace. At the shock on his face something in Iarwin seemed to crumble. Some of the tension left his body and his shoulders slumped in defeated exhaustion.
‘I am sorry,’ he apologised. ‘I am merely tired, so tired.’ He scrubbed a weary hand across his face and eased himself back into the chair.
‘It is more than that.’
Iarwin sighed, looking away from him towards the room’s sole window. ‘There is nothing,’ he insisted. ‘I swear I have told you everything.’
Shrogar seated himself on the stool once more, close to his brother should he be needed.
‘Do you believe in this legend?’ Iarwin asked at length. ‘Do you really believe that any man can end the tyrant’s rule?’
‘I do not know, but legends have power, even if men don’t. If the priests believe this Æisoul can destroy them, that belief might be their undoing.’
Iarwin shook his head with a bitter laugh. ‘And your idealistic dreams might be our undoing. I do not think it wise to place our faith in a legend, even less one the priests have created.’
He hesitated, and Shrogar studied his taut profile.
‘Be careful,’ Iarwin began, gathering his courage with a visible effort. ‘Kinseris may not be the man you knew if he escapes Kas’Tella. There are... things... there that could turn even him against you, against himself.’
Shrogar felt a flicker of fear, a sliver of his nightmares come to life. ‘What are you saying? That he might have betrayed us? That this is trick?’
Iarwin paled at his brother’s tone. ‘Not willingly. Maybe not even knowingly. But even if he has not betrayed us, he is still Kas’Talani.’ He turned to Shrogar at last, his urgent gaze fixing on his brother. ‘I have lived in that place for many years and I know our enemy as you cannot. They are dangerous, and they are secretive. They shroud themselves in their mysteries, and they never reveal their purpose to anyone outside their precious Order. Kinseris might be your friend and our ally, but he is Kas’Talani before everything. In this he is no different from the rest.’
As Shrogar listened in stony silence, Iarwin fretted with his cloak. ‘Who can say if Kinseris has truly found this Æisoul, whether he even exists or ever will? And who knows what his purpose truly is. How can you really know that we should trust him?’
‘I trust him because he has earned my trust,’ Shrogar replied simply. ‘Because until I have proof that I should do otherwise, I will honour the years of loyalty between us.’
He stood, pacing restlessly to the window. ‘You say we cannot know his purpose, and perhaps you are right. Æisoul is but a name to me, not a man, not a hope of victory. Yet I will welcome an end to Vasa’s rule however it comes about, and if Æisoul can make that happen how can I stand aside and let Vasa destroy him?’
‘And if you do not stand aside and you die in Kas’Tella’s dungeons along with him?’ Iarwin countered. ‘You would leave Ephenor defenceless and Vasa will destroy our people too. Please, Shrogar. If this is indeed a trick, and you ride to Kas’Tella, your people could lose more than their lord. They could lose everything.’
‘Iarwin, I know!’ Shrogar drove his fist into the wall for the second time that morning, swearing as the impact left his knuckles bruised and bloody. ‘Do you think I do not understand what is at stake? Do you think I have given no thought to our people?’ He cradled his damaged hand to his chest, focusing on the pain to dull the edge of his anger. ‘That is why I ask—if I go—that you remain here. Should I perish, it will fall to you to continue our struggle. The people will need you. They will look to you to give them courage, and I would have no one else care for my wife if I cannot.’
‘You think there will be any struggle to continue if you are gone?’ his brother shot back. ‘Shrogar, my lord! Should you fall into Vasa’s hands, no matter your courage, he will get the answers he wishes from you in the end. If he should come to Ephenor, we cannot stand.’
Shrogar whirled around. ‘You can, and you will! And I will stand beside you.’ He crossed to his brother, kneeling before him to take his shoulders in both hands. ‘Vasa will come,’ he told him more gently. ‘Do you not yet understand? He was always going to come eventually. We could never have kept our secret forever. And if this is the end, Iarwin, then we cannot escape it no matter what we do. We can remain here and nurture our strength, or we can look outwards for our salvation. Perhaps in Kinseris and Æisoul we have been given the means to survive.’
He held Iarwin’s gaze, searching his eyes for a sign of understanding, but his brother lowered his lashes and looked away.
Shrogar sighed, releasing his grip. When Iarwin still refused to meet his eyes, he walked to the door and flung it open. ‘Go, rest,’ he urged. ‘You are tired and hurt, and I have kept you talking too long. Nothing will be decided while you sleep. Your apartments are as you left them, and you shall not be disturbed.’
Iarwin rose to his feet. ‘I did not mean to offend.’
‘I know,’ Shrogar replied. ‘And you did not. We will talk later, when you have rested. There are matters I must see to now that cannot wait.’
Chapter Two
Alone in the darkness with only pain as his final companion, Vasa’s mind wandered in delirium, switching from the present to the past to things only dreamed of without conscious awareness of his drifts. At times he called out for his servants, to friends long dead, but most often he called for Shakumi. He could not understand why she did not come, only that she never did, and the tears rolled silently down his face for this cruellest of betrayals.
In some moments, as he crossed from dark dream to darker reality, he knew snatches of lucidity. He remembered the sight of her body, blood and poison crusted round her beautiful lips, bursting into flame on a thought. He cried out his confused grief, and cruel sanity prevailed that did not allow him to retreat into the comforting arms of oblivion.
‘Shakumi, forgive me,’ he whispered into the blackness, and he heard a rustling of movement answer him.
‘It is too late now for that, old friend,’ a brittle voice told him. ‘She is dead, and her forgiveness will never be yours. Absolution rests with the Maker now.’
Vasa moved his head towards the voice, too weak to do more. ‘Seledar?’ he called softly, ‘have you come for me at last?’
‘It is I.’
Vasa settled back with a sigh. ‘I knew you would come, at the end.’
‘And I did,’ the old man answered, arriving at his side. The knowledge of his approaching death was etched starkly in the lines of his face, and each movement was burdened with the exhausted pain of great age. ‘I waited for you these last nights,’ he said in a voice that rustled like the wind among dry leaves. ‘And when you did not come to me I came to you. Long ago, old friend, I warned you that it would come to this, but you would not listen.’
‘Can you not leave off the sermons even now?’ his high priest pleaded. ‘I find I have no stomach for them, quite literally. All I ever wanted was to protect our Order, can you not understand that?’
‘Maybe at the beginning that was all you wanted,’ Seledar replied, folding his scarecrow limbs as comfortably as he could on the stone floor. One hand stretched out to find another, limp and cold, and grasped it tight. ‘But did you never stop to think whether it deserved protection? Such power corrupts as it always must, and there was never a time you did not long for power.’
Vasa shifted in irritation. ‘You were not innocent. In those days your hatred was for what you had lost, for the youth and vigour I had taken from you, and the glittering career you saw ahead of you. You were not so sanctimonious then.’
‘I was not,’ Seledar agreed, ‘but I have had long years of old age with nothing to do but think on the past. That was your gift to me that was meant to be my punishment. Many things became clearer to me once I could no longer influence them. You might say I have had an unfair advantage.’
Vasa laughed, his breath coming in wheezing gasps. ‘That was not quite how you represented it to me when I would visit you. You, ah –’ He stopped, a cough deep in his chest causing jagged edges of bone to scrape together, and his fingers curled around the hand in his grasp as the pain hit him. ‘You told me… I… I had consigned you living into the lowest of Andeira’s hells, and I believed you… For me it would have been so. It should have been you,’ he admitted, each word an effort now. ‘The black throne should have been yours. I knew it, and so I could never forgive you.’
Seledar didn’t reply, waiting out the spasm of raw pain that convulsed Vasa’s broken body. But the high priest had not yet said all he wished to say and tried to force the words past the agony in his chest as tears of frustration poured down his sunken cheeks.
