Angelaeon Circle 2 - Eye of the Sword (37 page)

He helped her up, and they made their way to the king. Serai was bathing his forehead with an herb-scented cloth. “He’s sleeping,” she said.

“His legs are crushed.” Melaia sat beside her father. “And one hand.”

“Hanni says the king will live,” said Serai. “He may regain strength in his hand, but he’ll not have the use of his legs.”

Melaia wiped tears from her eyes and held the king’s good hand.

Trevin felt completely useless. Melaia needed his comfort, but he needed hers. He left her with the king and was wandering toward where Ollena’s body
was laid out when he noticed Catellus under a tree, bowed over the comains’ shields. Trevin moved to Catellus and placed a hand on his back.

Everyone needed comfort, and strangely enough, that thought was comforting.

The Full Sail was crowded that night. The king occupied the largest room upstairs with Melaia. Hanni and her girls took a room nearby, as did Lord Beker. Jarrod, Serai, and Livia remained with the injured and dead outside the ruins of Alta-Qan.

Trevin, Catellus, and Pym carried Dwin and the shields into the cellar, where Cilla set out ointment, poultices, and a potion of painkiller, thoroughly instructing Trevin in their use. During the night every time Dwin moaned, Trevin awoke and shifted a poultice or gave Dwin a sip of the potion.

And every time Trevin returned to his mat and closed his eyes, he saw Ollena wielding her sword, shooting an arrow, watching him from the landing at the Navian inn or on the deck of the ship or on horseback on the road. He wondered what he could have done differently. How could he have saved her?

After Cilla brought breakfast the next morning, a puffy-eyed Caepio arrived to fetch the shield of his brother Vardamis. Since Dwin was sleeping soundly, Trevin joined Caepio, Catellus, and Pym over the shields.

“You’re certain the comains are melded to their shields?” asked Caepio.

“I’m sure,” said Catellus.

Trevin was sure too. Like the flower on Melaia’s chair and the cave paintings, the comains were flattened, imaged as their chosen emblem of valor in their shields. Undrian the protective bear. Gremel the defending ram. Brevian the furtive rock badger. Vardamis the swift osprey. Solivius the elusive partridge. Catellus’s son as his father’s strong white stag.

As Trevin scanned the shields, his hands tingled with heat.

Catellus shook his head. “I know no way of releasing them. Maybe Varic did, but he’s gone.”

Trevin’s hands blazed as if Flametender were touching them.
Seed of wind, heir of fire, born to free
. He rubbed his palms together.
Born to free. Born to free
.

“I know how it’s done,” he said, heading for the stairs. “Bring the shields to the corner of the temple at Alta-Qan.”

After asking Hanni and the girls to look after Dwin, Trevin sprinted to the ruins of the temple, praying he would find the net. Jarrod’s quarters were buried under rubble, but Trevin knew exactly where the net should be. He started digging, his hands hot as fire.

As the others climbed over the rubble with the shields, Trevin called to them, “We’re looking for Varic’s net. It was under a stool in this corner.”

Catellus, Pym, and Caepio dug like mad dogs at the debris and soon reached the stool. It had broken, but the silver net still lay underneath.

Trevin drew out the net and unfolded it, marveling at how wide it spread. He draped it over Catellus’s shield, then pressed his hands to it.

His palms felt molten.
Seed of wind, heir of fire, born to free
. Sweat dripped from his forehead and sizzled on the net, which began to rise and bulge and push against him. Trevin eased back but kept his hands on the net until he felt the full form of a crouching boy underneath. When he slipped off the net, a lad with big ears looked around, dumbstruck. Catellus had the boy in his arms before Trevin could rise.

“Great stars!” Caepio gaped at Trevin. “How did you do that?”

“Flametender’s gift.” Trevin stared at his hands. “She touched me with her fire in Eldarra, but I didn’t know why.”

“A better gift I never knew.” Pym solemnly laid Undrian’s shield in Trevin’s hands. “Freeing what’s bound.”

Trevin bent to his task once more, this time releasing Main Undrian, a tall, thin man with feathery white hair.

Caepio handed over the next shield, and soon his brother Vardamis emerged, a dashing nobleman smoothing his tunic as he rose with his close-shaven armsman. Bulky Main Gremel and his ruddy-cheeked aide came next. Then paunchy, bald Main Brevian and fair-haired Main Solivius, each with a young armsman at his side.

Trevin’s hands remained hot until all had been restored. Then he leaned against the wall, feeling as dazed as the comains and their armsmen looked.

Caepio and Pym ran for water and wagons to carry the comains to the Full Sail. As the wagons rattled down the road, Trevin made his way through the rubble to Jarrod, who was supervising the digging of graves.

Trevin scanned the shrouded bodies. “Ollena?” he asked.

Jarrod pointed to one figure set apart, covered with the king’s cloak. “Melaia wants her buried in the royal plot.”

Trevin’s throat was too tight to reply. He simply trudged to the body, knelt, and bowed his head.

That night over food and drink in the common room, the comains took turns describing their ordeals. Cilla had given Dwin permission to lie on a mat and listen, and Trevin sat on a bench nearby, leaning forward to hear the details.

In each case an urgent message stamped with King Laetham’s seal had summoned them to come immediately to the king’s aid at the citadel in Qanreef. On the way each comain had been ambushed by Varic, trapped by a great net of silver mesh. Some said the net made them feel as if the sun was drying them like a raisin, leaving them with nothing but their life force. Others described the sensation of a wasting disease draining their strength and leaving them powerless.

Having survived a net in the Dregmoors, Trevin understood at least part of the feeling. A living death. He shuddered. Trapped within their own shields, the comains and their armsmen had been able to see and think but could not speak or move. They had been helpless when Varic scattered their shields throughout the kingdom to confuse searchers.

The lamps burned low, Cilla cleared tables, and Paullus topped off mugs. The comains began to reminisce, swapping stories of their travels.

Melaia returned from caring for the king upstairs and sank onto the bench next to Trevin. “My father will recover,” she said, “but his winter palace is rubble.”

“We’ll have to stay the winter at Redcliff,” said Trevin.

She rubbed her arms. “Redcliff is cold in the winter.”

“I’ll keep you warm.” Trevin put his arm around her.

She laid her head on his shoulder. “In that case I may enjoy winter after all.”

Dwin cleared his throat, and Trevin scowled at him. Having a spy for a brother held definite disadvantages.

One more task loomed ahead of Trevin: confessing to Jarrod about Dreia’s death. He tried to tell himself Jarrod didn’t need to know and busied himself caring for Dwin, clearing rubble, and mending cracks around the Full Sail.

But each day he avoided the matter, the bigger it grew and the more tainted he felt. He couldn’t help thinking of the malevolents, whose aura always seemed corrupted. Rusty, moldy, impure. He wondered if that was because of guilt or shame or self-deceit.

At last Trevin grew weary of fighting it and asked Jarrod to join him on an evening stroll along the wharf.

As they set out, the sea sparkled gold in the setting sun. Fishermen pulled in nets and sorted their catches. Boatmen secured their vessels, and sailors headed to taverns.

Trevin strode tensely along the sea walk. “I’ve a confession,” he said.

“No need,” said Jarrod. “I don’t hold you responsible for the quake.”

“That’s good to know,” said Trevin, “but my confession has to do with Dreia.”

Jarrod looked askance at him.

Trevin kicked a rock toward the skeletal remains of Alta-Qan jutting up from the chalk cliff. “I was involved in Dreia’s death.”

As dusk settled around them, he explained his past to Jarrod as he had to Benasin and Melaia.

Torchlighters passed, making their rounds. Jarrod kept a measured stride, staring ahead silently, his jaw clenched. Trevin felt the distance between them.

Jarrod stopped at the base of the climb to Alta-Qan and sat on a large stone that had tumbled down the hill. Shoulders slumped, he studied his clasped hands. “You’re no more at fault than I,” he said. “I was at Aubendahl when Dreia came for the harp. I knew she meant to take it to her child who had come of age, ‘breath of angel, blood of man.’ ”

“Melaia,” said Trevin.

“I thought the child was a son,” said Jarrod. “I was jealous, convinced I should have been that child. But I intended to go with Dreia. I was in the middle of copying a scroll and asked her to wait for me so I could accompany her, but she left without telling me. She was always doing that. I was so exasperated with her,
I didn’t follow. Until the message came that her caravan was under attack. I arrived too late.” He picked up a rock and flung it into the moonlit sea.

Trevin scooped up a handful of rocks and threw them one after the other as hard as he could. Jarrod threw his handful all at once. They peppered the water with stones until they were panting and sweating.

For a moment Jarrod stared out into the dark waves. Then he started back toward the Full Sail.

Trevin watched him walk away. No doubt Jarrod would never speak to him again. He grabbed the largest stone he could hold and hurled it at the ruins of Alta-Qan.

“Come on,” called Jarrod. “Life is best lived forward.”

Trevin turned to see the warrior angel waiting for him.

Jarrod raised his eyebrows. “I happen to know where Paullus keeps a fine aged southern isles wine.”

Trevin grinned and loped to Jarrod. Shoulder to shoulder they headed down the torchlit sea walk.

After the palace fell, the court stayed a fortnight in Qanreef. Then they returned to Redcliff, accompanied by the six comains and their armsmen. As the group traveled north, they found that the earthquake had closed the rifts. But gash had damaged fields and farmlands, and only a few families were on the roads venturing back home.