Sword of Shadows (11 page)

Shaking the image from her mind, she spotted the books on the corner shelves. She threw her cloak down in front of them and piled all the volumes she could before tying the corners into a makeshift sack and dragging it back to the entrance. By the time she emerged from the study, every muscle in her body ached.

“For the love of the Gods, old woman!” One of the men scolded. “You kept us waiting for this?”

“The horses will never run with such a load on their backs,” another objected.

“We cannot leave this behind! It is all that is left of our heritage.” Renate looked from one man to another, and finding no sympathy in their faces, turned to her friend. “Adiana, please! Help me.”

After a moment of hesitation, the young woman dismounted and removed her cloak. They divided the tomes between the two of them. Renate heaved her burden into Ghemena’s arms and bade the child to hold it tight. Then she swung herself up behind the girl and spurred the horse into a canter.

In moments they were through the south entrance and racing over open fields, hooves pounding against the earth. The horses snorted and drew labored breaths, straining under their loads. Renate leaned forward, molding her body to Ghemena’s back, eyes focused on the black hills ahead.

“Help me, Ghemena. Speak to the horse.” she urged as the girl’s fine hair whipped in her face. “Tell it to run faster!”

“I’m trying!” The child’s voice was desperate, panicked.

The horse to their right whinnied and reared. Metal clashed against metal. Taunts of men in battle overtook their flight. Attackers closed in on both sides, swords drawn and tipped with blue flames. One assailant met the guard ahead of them, his blade a glowing arc. The animal screamed, and the guard was unhorsed.

Panicked, Renate reined in her own steed to avoid riding into the fray. To her left, Adiana and Tasha slipped toward the shadows at full gallop.

Digging her heels into the flanks of her mount, Renate veered in the opposite direction, heading away from the melee. Only when the cries and whinnies began to fade did Renate realize in horror that Catarina had been left behind. The girl was riding with one of the guards, and all of the men were engaged with their pursuers.

Renate halted their flight and looked behind, uncertain whether to risk returning.

A rider emerged from the shadows, carried upon an ominous melody of hooves and mail. His blow was blunt and brutal, tearing Renate off the horse.

Pain shot through her ribs and shoulders as Renate hit the ground. She staggered to her feet, head spinning. Ghemena also toppled with a sharp cry, the books tumbling out of her embrace and scattering over the earth.

“Come, child!” Renate reached toward the girl, but a horse stepped between them, tall and heavy, restless upon the earth. The rider’s face was hidden by the night, his sword a shaft of cobalt flame. Before Renate could think to run, another man appeared behind her, chest to her back, knife at her throat.

“Let the child go,” she said. “I beg you.”

If they heard, they gave no indication. Renate was shoved in the direction from which they came, and Ghemena dragged kicking and screaming after her.

They were taken to a circle lit by torches. There, Adiana stood ashen-faced with Catarina and Tasha clinging to her skirts. The King’s knights were nowhere to be seen. Renate’s throat was released from the bite of her captor’s blade. She straightened her shoulders and walked with deliberate calm to Adiana’s side. Ghemena was thrown at their feet with such force the girl’s enraged cries were silenced. Renate helped Ghemena up, wiped tears of anger from her cheeks, and took tight hold of her hand.

Men-at-arms surrounded them—too many, it seemed, for raiding a school and capturing a handful of women and children. The colors they wore were indiscernible in the dark. Swords were drawn and trained upon them, bolts cocked at close range. The pungent scent of sulfur hung in the air, coupled with an odor of sweet spices that tugged at Renate’s memory.

One of the men stepped forward. His long nose, straight brow and chiseled features reminded Renate of Tahmir, the Syrnte prince who had collaborated in Ernan’s rebellion.

“Which one of you is Maga Eolyn?”

Renate pursed her lips. Catarina and Tasha whimpered, wrapping their arms tighter around Adiana’s waist.

“Which one is the maga? Speak now, or all will die.”

A cold stillness settled in Renate’s stomach, a deep awareness that her fate had arrived. She looked down at her hands and noticed how aged they had become, papery skin stretched over brittle bones and dark veins.

Ghemena broke away from her grip sprang forward. “She’s not here, you fool! If she were, you’d all be turned into toads by now.”

“Hold your tongue, child!” Renate scolded. “Or these men may well cut it out.”

Ghemena drew a breath to respond, but upon seeing Renate’s severe expression, she bit her lip and lowered her chin.

Renate smoothed her skirt and drew a deep breath. She caught Adiana’s gaze, noting the terror and uncertainty in the young woman’s eyes, and gave her a reassuring smile. Then she lifted her chin and announced, “I am Maga Eolyn.”

Adiana gasped. “What are you doing?”

Renate stepped forward, speaking quickly. “I am the one you seek. This woman is my scullery maid, the girls her helpers. Let them go. They are worth nothing to you.”

She was but a couple paces from the soldier now, and could see the harsh lines of his face, the cruel intensity of his eyes. A satisfied smile touched his full lips. He gave a nod of respect. “Maga Eolyn. The San’iloman will be pleased.”

With that, he drove his sword into her stomach. Hard metal ripped through soft flesh, violating Renate’s entrails with the searing kiss of death. The metal point emerged from her back, releasing a hot river of blood. Renate doubled over. She heard the girls screaming in the distance. A red mist hovered in front of her eyes, and she struggled to recover her focus.

The man withdrew his weapon.

Renate pulled herself erect, facing him with fierce determination, fingers pressed against her abdomen and sticky with blood. Her torso was a mass of throbbing pain, but she understood the meaning of this moment and refused to cower in front of her assassin.

Again he ran her through.

“Stop!” Adiana cried. “Oh, for the love of the Gods, please stop!”

Renate stumbled back, inky stains spreading over her bodice as the sword released her once more. She clutched at her stomach with both hands, but the blood flowed in torrents now. Burdened by an unbearable weight, she sank to the ground, first on one knee, then on the other.

The night wavered around her.

Ghemena stood close by, fists clenched at her sides, watching Renate with unblinking eyes.

“Child,” Renate murmured. “Remember what I taught you.”

The sword plunged into Renate’s ribcage, snapping bone and cartilage, tearing open her heart. Renate slid away from the blade and crumpled to the ground.

Shadows descended on the world of the living, warm and soothing in their embrace.

At last the Gods have exacted their price
.

Her crimes were paid, her burden released. Renate surrendered to the abyss in peace, hopeful the dead magas would soon call her home. 

Chapter Ten

Adiana’s nostrils flared
at the smell of charred wood punctuated by the stench of burnt flesh. Sounds of lament rose from hidden places, terrified wails and tortured sobs that made her wince and turn away.

Moehn had always been a ramshackle town, but now it was little more than a pile of stone and rubble. On the edge of the remains, there were shouts and movement, the flutter of starched canvas and the rhythmic fall of hammers upon stakes. Soldiers who had laid their claim were now setting up residence. They were Syrnte, all of them, yet Adiana could make no sense of their presence in this mountain-bound province.

Her captors stopped and began to dismount. Some of the men threw the children over their shoulders, hauling them off like sacks of grain. Tasha’s and Catarina’s screams were muffled, their small feet flailing in useless kicks.

Ghemena, remarkably, did not resist, but lifted her face and watched Adiana with an intense gaze and furrowed brow. Her lower lip protruded in that stubborn frown Adiana had so come to love. As the shadows threatened to conceal the girls’ retreating figures, Adiana cried out and lurched after them.

The men stopped her, their steely grip sending fresh pain through her shoulder and ribs.

“Where are you taking them?” she demanded, struggling though her hands were bound.

They said nothing but shoved her in the opposite direction.

Adiana was brought to a broad pavilion surrounded by guards. Inside, the tent was filled with movement and conversation. Servants set out food, poured wine, carried water basins, and even assembled furniture. At the center was a long table overlaid with maps being scrutinized by men in armor. Upon Adiana’s entrance, one of them fixed his gaze upon her. His blue eyes were set in a swarthy face, handsome though scarred and lined with age. Adiana shivered under his assessment, feeling like a fawn among wolves.

“Prince Mechnes.” Her captor saluted the blue-eyed man. “The maga’s stronghold is destroyed. I bring you two women.” He held up the blood-stained bundle that contained Renate’s head. “This one claimed to be Maga Eolyn, and said her companion was a scullery maid. Three children were with them and are now under guard. All the others are dead, just as you ordered.”

“That was all you found?”

“Yes, my Lord Prince. I assure you no one could have escaped. We had the site surrounded well before the attack. They were taken completely by surprise.”

Mechnes eyes flicked from the bundle to Adiana. “Leave that here, and the woman. I will send for you shortly.”

The soldier departed with a brief bow.

Prince Mechnes turned back to his men. There was something deeply familiar about his stance, the set of his shoulders, the dark vigor of his presence. Adiana’s breath caught in her throat when she realized what it was. Mechnes reminded her of Kedehen. She had seen the old King, Akmael’s father, on a few occasions during the days of Corey’s Circle, when they were invited to perform in the City. Kedehen’s physical appearance was very different, having had chestnut brown hair, eyes black as night, and more angular features, but the ease with which he wore his authority and the hint of ruthlessness that hovered about him were identical.

“You have your orders,” Prince Mechnes was saying. “Go now. You’ve earned your rest. Find some drink and some women. We will continue this conversation at dawn.”

Their departure filled Adiana with an unnerving sense of invisibility. Not one of them glanced her way when they left the tent. Four guards remained, their gazes fixed on some empty point in front of them. The servants continued their business of clearing, cleaning, assembling, and arranging. Prince Mechnes lingered at the table with his maps, took a leisurely drink from his cup, and wiped his beard on his sleeve.

Sweat trickled down Adiana’s back, though a chill had penetrated her bones. Her arms ached from being bound. The cords were cutting into her wrists, and her fingers were falling asleep.

Without looking at her, the Syrnte commander strode to the table where the soldier had left Renate’s head. His demeanor was quiet, contemplative. He took his time unwrapping the bundle, exposing Renate’s matted tresses, the ragged edge of severed flesh, the face—oh, Renate’s face! Stiff, gray, and lifeless. Never again would she laugh, drink wine, cast a spell, or heal a friend.

Adiana’s stomach clenched, and she fought the surge of bile in her throat.

Calm
, she told herself.
I must remain calm
.

Just as Renate had, just like Eolyn would, without as much as a change in the rhythm of her breath.

“Who is this woman?” Mechnes’s voice hit her like a spear.

“It is…” Adiana’s throat tightened. Every breath sent sharp needles through her ribs. “
Was
Maga Eolyn.”

Mechnes grunted, studied the gruesome package, and set his hard gaze on Adiana. “And who are you?”

“My name is Adiana.”

“You are this woman’s scullery maid?”

Adiana swallowed. She had learned how to lie during her youth in Selkynsen, after her parents were killed and she fled to the piers.
Lies must be presented on a bed of truth, or they lose their seductive power
. “No, I am not a servant. I am a musician from Selkynsen. Maga Eolyn brought me to Moehn to teach music to her students.”

“Music?” Amusement broke on the commander’s face. He seemed genuinely surprised. “What use do magas have for music?”

“Music is also magic, according to the traditions of Moisehén. Eolyn says…used to say that it’s a form of Primitive Magic, the oldest and most sacred of all.”

“So you are a maga?”

“No.” The thought came, terrible and unbidden, that now she would never be. “I only play music.”

“Then Maga Eolyn was trying to protect you by saying you were a scullery maid? How curious.” He draped one end of the bloodied cloth over Renate’s disfigured face. “I can assure you a musician will find a much better place among the Syrnte than a scullery maid.”

“I don’t intend to find a place among the Syrnte.” Adiana’s breath stalled under the look he gave her. “What I mean is, my home is here, in Moisehén, not with the Syrnte.”

“It’s all one kingdom now. Or perhaps better stated, will be soon.” He nodded to the guards. “Unbind this woman.”

In an instant, the cords that secured her wrists were removed. Adiana cradled her hands, rubbing places where the leather straps had left her skin raw.

“You will have to find a place among us, Mistress Adiana, or you will perish. That is the way of conquest.” Mechnes closed the distance between them and took her hands in his. “What do you play?”

Adiana’s skin crawled at the intimacy of his touch. His aroma was sharp, like coals on the hearth, and laced with the smell of blood. She wanted desperately to look elsewhere, but Mechnes’s massive frame filled her vision. His presence, at once sinister and magnetic, demanded all her attention.

“The cornamuse.” Her voice dropped to a nervous whisper. “The dulcimer, and the lute, the short wood, as well. Among others.”

He pressed her hands between his. Adiana was visited by the sudden image of him snapping her fingers one by one, as if they were nothing more than dry twigs.

“I see you are telling the truth, in this much at least,” he said. “You have beautiful hands, Adiana. We must be grateful they were not damaged during the attack on Maga Eolyn’s
Aekelahr
. And we must also hope they will come to no harm here, under my care.”

A heavy silence followed.

Adiana understood the unspoken threat that hovered between them.
Who else will he ask
? The children, the survivors of the siege, the members of Lord Felton’s household, if any of them still lived. There were untold numbers of people in Moehn who would recognize Renate’s face. What would Adiana’s deception gain for Eolyn in the end? Fifteen minutes? Half an hour? It did not matter. Every moment could mean the difference between Eolyn’s escape and her death. Adiana had already lost one friend tonight. She would not betray the other.

She lowered her eyes and held her tongue.

Mechnes lingered close for what seemed an eternity.

“Bring Felton back,” he said, and two of the guards departed.

The Syrnte commander released Adiana and moved a few paces away. He studied her in silence, as if judging the wares of a street merchant.

Presently, the guards returned, towing Lord Felton between them. Adiana stifled a sob at the appearance of the old patriarch, who had treated Eolyn, Adiana, and all their companions with only kindness and generosity. His face was bruised and swollen, his beard encrusted with blood. All laughter had vanished from his once jovial expression. He kept his eyes downcast, his shoulders slumped in defeat. Adiana was not even certain whether he saw her.

“Lord Felton,” Mechnes said, “I’m pleased you could join us. I need your assistance with a new prisoner that has been brought into my camp.”

Felton looked up then. Mechnes nodded in Adiana’s direction, and the old patriarch turned his head toward her. His gaze seemed distracted, his spirit hollowed out by the weight of unbearable loss.

Where was his wife, she wondered. His children and grandchildren?

“Please, Felton, tell me who this woman is.”

Felton blinked, cleared his throat, and stared at the floor again. “That is Mistress Adiana, Prince Mechnes. She teaches music.”

Mechnes nodded, a satisfied smile touching his lips. “I cannot tell you how much it pleases me to hear this, Lord Felton. Now one more question and you may go.” He removed the cloth, exposing Renate’s ghastly head once more. “Who is this?”

Felton gasped and lost his balance. He would have fallen to the floor had not the guards caught him and pulled him upright.

“I am waiting, Lord Felton,” Mechnes said.

The poor man was trembling. He looked from the severed head to Adiana, then back again, eyes wide with terror and uncertainty. Moments passed, and he did not speak.

Mechnes approached him, his tone quiet and tense. “Lord Felton?”

“M-my Prince.” He looked past Mechnes at Renate’s head, and once again averted his gaze to the floor. “That is the one you seek. That is Maga Eolyn.”

Adiana lowered her face, hoping the relief that flooded her heart did not show in her eyes. Praise the Gods for granting Felton such a fine instinct! She wanted to dance and laugh and hug the old man, but she held as still as a mouse under the eyes of a cat.

“Could it be that the humble citizens of Moehn have acquired Syrnte powers of communicating through thought?” Mechnes returned to Renate’s head and lifted it up by a fistful of hair. “I was told Maga Eolyn has hair the color of fire. That she is young and beautiful. Beautiful enough to seduce a king.”

“Magas can change the color of their hair with the seasons,” Adiana retorted, emboldened by this small success. “And nobody is beautiful when they’re dead.”

Mechnes threw his head back with a rich and throaty laugh.

“Well spoken, Mistress Adiana.” He let go Renate’s head. It landed with a thud on the table. “I hope your music is as sharp as your wit. Take Felton away. I’m done with him, for the moment.”

The old patriarch was dragged off, and Adiana found herself alone once again with Prince Mechnes. The activity in his tent had died down considerably. Only two of the guards remained, and all of the servants had disappeared, except for one who was arranging the covers and pillows on his bed.

“My sleeping quarters are quite comfortable,” Mechnes said, “and always open to beautiful women like yourself.”

She looked away, sickened by the fact that he had noticed the direction of her gaze.

“Can I go to the children now?” she asked.

“They are no longer your concern.”

“They are always my concern. They are as my own daughters to me. What your men did to their tutor—the way they cut her down in front of them—they will never recover from that. They are innocents, miserable and terrified, suffering through no fault of their own. They require my comfort and my support. I must be allowed to see them. Now.”

“You are in a fine position to make demands,” he said with a shrewd smile. “You need not worry, Mistress Adiana. I have entrusted your precious girls to the able care of my men.”

“Entrusted them to your—?” Adiana lost her voice, so horrifying was the thought inspired by his words. “But they are only children!”

“How old are they?”

“Eleven, twelve. Ghemena has seen but nine summers.”

“Old enough for our needs. Indeed, not too old, fortunately. You see, Mistress Adiana, our allies have special…appetites that Maga Eolyn’s students will serve quite well.”

Adiana flung herself at Mechnes, intending to claw out his eyes. She did not feel his blow until she hit the ground. Her palms stung from the impact against swept dirt. Her cheek swelled hot with pain. She spat out blood and beat back the burn of tears.

I will not let him see me cry. That I will not do.

When her vision cleared, his booted feet were inches from her face.

“They are only children,” she said. “For the love of the Gods, let them go.”