Fire and Sword (37 page)

He ordered one of the knights to tie Kumul’s corpse to his horse so he could parade him in front of the enemy, letting them know that nothing—and no one—could defeat the army of Queen Areava Rosetheme of Grenda Lear. When it was done, he rode off toward the center, an escort of knights on either side. When he saw the single Chett rider coming straight for him, he thought it must be some madman. Two of the knights spurred forward to kill the Chett before he reached their general, someone they had learned to respect and admire despite his Amanite blood.

Sendarus watched the madman closely, amazed and horrified by the fanaticism the Chetts had shown throughout the battle. He noticed that he seemed to have no face. Sendarus squinted and saw that indeed there was a face, but it was so pale it might almost have been nothing but a skull, the white bone shining in the sun.

He watched as the two knights lowered their lances and charged. The Chett waited until the knights were only paces from him, then swerved to his right. The knight on his left had too much momentum to change course and rode past, but the other had only to change slightly his grip on his lance to redirect it. Sendarus saw the lance go through the Chett’s body, and at the same time saw the Chett’s sword cleanly take off the knight’s head. The Chett slowed, the end of the lance wobbling in the air in front of him.

“He doesn’t know he’s dead yet,” one of his remaining escort joked.

By now the other knight had wheeled and was charging back. The Chett looked over his shoulder and then down at the lance impaling him. As Sendarus watched, the Chett grasped the lance with his free hand and slowly pulled it out of his body, then twisted in his saddle and hurled it toward the charging knight. The lance struck the knight in the eye, propelling him off the back of his horse.

“Fuck,” another of the escort said.

The Chett turned back to Sendarus and his escort, kicked his mare into a gallop and whirled his sword in the air above his head. And behind him, just coming over the rise, was the rest of the Chett army.

Sendarus’ heart froze with fear.

“Her shoulders are coming through!” the midwife called excitedly.

Trion was wiping Areava’s face and throat. “Your daughter is almost here, your Majesty ...” He stopped because he could feel something warm near his arm. He turned and saw that the Key of the Scepter was pulsing with light.

“Your Majesty ... ?”

Knights kept on getting in Lynan’s way. He sliced through necks with his sword, punched faces with his free hand, even used his teeth when he could. He felt lances pierce him, but there was no pain. He felt swords fall on him, but they could not break his bones. One by one he got rid of the annoying, armored flies, and went straight for the man who still held his ground, the man whom Lynan in his fury did not recognize, the man with Kumul’s body tied to his saddle by a length of rope, the man with the Key of the Sword hanging over his heart. He said nothing, casually brushed away the man’s sword, and thrust his own weapon deep into the man’s throat.

Areava screamed suddenly in terror and pain, her back arching off the bed.

Trion, taken by surprise, jumped back.

The midwife tried desperately to keep her hands on the baby still half in, half out of the queen. Before her eyes, a wound opened in the baby’s throat and spouted blood all over her. The midwife fainted.

Lynan pulled the sword out and thrust again, this time into the man’s heart. The man fell forward over Lynan’s arm and keeled sideways, still hanging in the saddle. Lynan put his other hand on the pommel of his sword and drove it in farther; he saw the point emerge out the man’s back, then threw him off his horse.

Trion cursed and rushed to save the baby, but before he could touch her, Areava, shouting and screaming, sat up and grabbed her by the shoulders. She pulled the baby out, lifting her up to her arms, the umbilical cord dangling between her legs. Even as she did so another wound appeared in the baby’s back. Trion put his hand over the wound, but blood seeped over his hand and spilled down his arm. He was crying now, shouting in rage, but he was helpless. The baby’s head lolled back. Her eyes opened once, seemed to stare at him, and then lost focus.

Trion stood back, in shock.

Areava held her daughter to her, the baby’s blood mingling with her own. She wailed in grief and pain, and the whole palace filled with the sound.

Ager was the first to reach Lynan. The youth was huddled over Kumul, holding him in his arms, rocking back and forth on his knees. Ager stood there, not knowing what to do. Then Jenrosa was there, and she leaped from her horse and joined Lynan on the ground, held her beloved’s head, and kissed his pale, blood-flecked face.

The Red Hands and Ager’s own warriors, led by Gudon, had swept on, discarding their bows and using their swords to drive into the main body of knights. Their fury gave them each of them the strength of two men, and even the knights could not withstand them. When Korigan arrived with reinforcements and drove into the enemy’s flank, some of the knights started to turn and gallop off.

But Ager could see the reorganized Grenda Lear infantry, most of them carrying long spears, approaching from the left. They were led by a small, dark-haired woman who marched with them on foot. Soon the Chetts would be sandwiched between the infantry and the knights, and fortune would turn against them once more.

They had lost this battle. Only barely, but they had lost it.

He knelt down next to Lynan and put his hand on the prince’s shoulder. “Lynan, we have to withdraw.”

Lynan looked up at him. His face was stained with tears, and at that moment Ager once again could see the youth he had first met in the Lost Sailor Tavern all those long months ago.

“What can I do now, Ager?” Lynan cried. “What can I do without Kumul?”

“Fight again another day,” Ager said. “Fight again to revenge his death. But not here, not now.” He put a hand under Lynan’s arm and helped him stand, then pointed to the battle still raging nearby. “We have the upper hand and can retreat without much chance of pursuit, but if we wait too long, the enemy infantry will arrive and most of our forces will be trapped.”

Lynan wiped his face with the back of his hand. He looked down at Sendarus and recognized him. “She sent her lover,” he said dully, then bent down and took the Key of the Sword from around Sendarus’ bloody neck. Ager brought his horse and helped him climb into the saddle. “I will bring them back, Ager, but you must look after Kumul and Jenrosa for me.”

“They will be safe, I promise.”

Lynan nodded and rode off to save his army.

Dejanus slept through the night in a drunken stupor. A sergeant found him lying in his cot, smelling of wine, and threw a jug of water over his face. Dejanus woke spluttering and angry. He grabbed the sergeant’s jerkin and pushed him against a wall.

“I’ve gutted men for less than that!” he roared.

The sergeant did not seem to care, and this confused Dejanus.

“Maybe you’re hard of hearing—”

“The queen lost her baby,” the sergeant said.

“—but I said I’ve gutted ...” His voice faded.

“Last night,” the sergeant continued. “I heard say that it was a girl, but that she was spitting blood when she came out of the womb. It was a demon child. It almost killed the queen.”

Dejanus let the sergeant go. He could not believe what he was hearing.

“And the old quarter in the city burned down. Hundreds are dead. They say the demon did that, too.”

“The old quarter? All of it?”

“Almost. I’ve just come from there. Your guards have been helping where they can, but things are a mess. We need the constable to come down and take charge.” The sergeant looked at Dejanus with sudden interest. “You
are
the constable, aren’t you?”

Prelate Edaytor Fanhow and many magickers were working with priests and guards to help clothe and feed all the victims of the fire. He knew it could have been worse, that if the fire had taken hold earlier in the night an untold number would have been caught in their beds, but with so many homes destroyed the city still had the problem of finding shelter for thousands of people.

He overheard two of the victims talking about the miracle worker in the inn at the north end of the old quarter who was healing the dying and badly burned, and knew immediately who they were talking about. It took him an hour to find the inn. Two weary guards were still standing outside.

“Is the prince inside?” he demanded of one.

The guard looked frightened. “He went in this morning and still hasn’t come out. He ordered us to stay here. There was a weird blue light...”

Edaytor let the guard babble on and entered. There were hundreds of people there, most injured in some way. He could not see Olio. A man was walking among the people with a large ewer tied to his back and a cup in his hand, offering water. Edaytor went to him and asked about the prince. The man nodded to a small bundle squatting in one corner, his face hidden from view.

Edaytor went to him and called out his name, but the prince did not answer. He put his hand under Olio’s chin and lifted his head.

“God, your Highness, what have you done?”

Two blank eyes stared right through him. The prince’s mouth was slack, and saliva dribbled from one corner.

“Stand up,” Edaytor said, and struggled to help Olio to his feet. When he let go, Olio was able to stand alone, but he made no further effort to move. Edaytor wiped the prince’s mouth and chin and then took his hand. “Come with me,” he said, and Olio obediently followed.

When they went outside, the guards snapped to attention, then looked agog at Olio.

“What happened?” one of them asked.

Edaytor thought he knew but saw no need to speak of it. “Take him to Doctor Trion at the palace.”

The guards each took one of the prince’s arms. “What about you, Prelate?”

“I’m going to see if I can find anyone among the theurgia to help him. Tell Trion I’ll join him as soon as I’m able. Now go.”

The guards left with their charge. Edaytor closed his eyes and shuddered. He wanted to weep, but was too tired and had seen far, far too much destruction in the last few hours. He was sure there was no magic to cure the prince. After all, what could undo the work of one of the Keys of Power?

Primate Powl was crying over the corpse of the baby girl lying in rest on the altar of the Royal Chapel. He could hear the murmured prayers of several priests in the pews behind him, but no one else shared the altar with him.

Dear God,
he prayed silently,
tell me why you have done this thing? Why did you pierce the flesh of this child? There is no demon in her. She is just a babe, slaughtered by some power, and aren’t you the source of all power?

He stroked the head of the baby. She had wisps of dark hair. The little body was black with blood, the skin bruised to the color of wine.

Is this your curse on Kendra for my sins? Is your vengeance that terrible? Will you murder other children in your name?

Powl stopped his crying and took deep breaths.

In your name, Lord, if we only knew what it was.

* * *

“I have posted sentries,” Galen told the new commander of the army, “but I do not think they will be back.”

Charion had never been so tired in her life before. “We must do something with Sendarus.”

“We have no means of preserving him. He must be buried.”

“Then take out his heart. Pack it in a casket with salt. Areava deserves to get something of him back.” She looked at Galen carefully; she had been curious by his show of grief for the Amanite. Although Charion lived a long way from Kendra, she was well aware of the antipathy members of the Twenty Houses felt for the nobles of the kingdom’s lesser provinces, including her own. “What did you think of him?”

“He was a brave soldier, and a clever captain. I think I liked him. I am sore for Areava. His death will devastate her.”

“He died a hero, at least,” Charion said, trying to make Galen feel better, a reaction which surprised her. “He drove off Salokan, saving Hume, then drove off a second and unexpected invasion by the outlaw Lynan.”

At the mention of that name Galen shivered. “Lynan has been transformed into a demon.”

“Did you see him?”

“Only from a distance. I saw what he did to eight knights and to Sendarus.”

“Demon or not, he has gone.”

“For now, your Highness, but do you think for a moment that he will not be back?”

The Chetts had recovered most of their dead. When night fell, they laid them out with their weapons in a shallow pit they had dug. Jenrosa had counted over fifteen hundred of them, nearly a third of them lancers. In the middle of the line lay Kumul. She stood before him, watching his face. He looked remarkably peaceful there, surrounded by his fellow warriors, his sword set lengthwise along his body.

“Kumul Alarn,” she said. “Constable of Grenda Lear. Captain of the Red Shields. The General’s Giant. Father to Lynan Rosetheme.” Her throat constricted, and tears came when she thought she had no more tears go give. “And beloved of Jenrosa Alucar, apprentice magicker from the Theurgia of Stars.”

He was the last and the greatest to be named. She stepped back into the arms of Ager and Lynan.

“It is done,” she said, and a thousand Chetts moved forward to finish burying their dead.

Areava lay in her bed. Maids and servants silently stood to one side. Hansen Beresard stood at the foot of her bed, and Orkid Gravespear near the head. Doctor Trion finished examining the queen and stepped away. He signaled to Orkid.

“She is physically fine. I cannot speak for her mind. She has not spoken since ... since the birth.”

Orkid went back to the queen. He picked up her right hand. “Your Majesty, your people grieve with you for your loss.”

Areava gave no sign she heard him.

“Is there anything, anything at all, that we can do to help—”

“Where is Olio?” she said suddenly. A few of the maids and servants jumped, but she had spoken quietly, even gently. She looked at Orkid. “My brother, Chancellor? Have you seen him?”

Orkid turned to Trion, who hurriedly came forward.

“He is ... unwell... your Majesty,” Trion said. “He is in my care.”

“Bring him to me, please, Doctor.”

“I do not know—”

“Bring him,” Orkid said, and Trion knew by the chancellor’s tone that it was an order he dared not refuse. Trion left.

“Is there anything you need, your Majesty?”

Areava sighed. “He is dead, you know.”

Orkid assumed she was talking about the baby. “Your daughter. Yes,
she
is in the royal chapel...”

“Oh, I know she is dead. Her name was Usharna. Did I tell you that? Usharna is dead. That is how I know Sendarus is dead, too.”

Orkid blinked. “I don’t understand, your Majesty.”

“He was stabbed in the throat and then he was stabbed in the heart. The second time the sword went clean through him. He died quickly at least. It was Lynan who killed him. I saw it in my mind. The Key of the Scepter let me see everything.”

As soon as Areava had said the words, Orkid knew it was true. He did not know what to say. A thousand thoughts and feelings flooded his mind, including grief for his nephew. And what of the army he led? Was it destroyed? Had Salokan succeeded in taking Daavis?

But she had said Sendarus was killed by Lynan. How was that possible, unless the prince really had been serving Haxus?

Trion returned, holding Prince Olio’s hand. Orkid gasped. He had not seen Olio for two days, and the person who stood before him now was not the same man.

“Your Majesty,” Trion said. “Prince Olio is here. But I must warn you—”

“Bring him closer,” Areava said.

Trion led Olio to his sister’s bed. Areava reached out and took his hand from Trion. She studied her brother’s face for a moment, and then with some effort sat up. She groaned with sudden pain.

“Your Majesty!” Trion cried and came forward.

“Stay, Doctor,” she ordered, then leaned over and took the Key of the Heart from around her brother’s head and placed it around her own. It chinked when it rested against the Key of the Scepter.

“Dear Olio, you will not be needing this anymore,” she told him, her voice still gentle. “You have failed me for the last time.”