The Crimson League (The Herezoth Trilogy) (42 page)

“You’re right about Zalski,” said Kora. “At least in part. But he also…. He doesn’t want Malzin to ache like she would, having your son about. He really cares for that woman. He’d rather be heirless, I believe it, than upset her by bringing his nephew to the Palace, to her home. Their relationship, it’s oddly functional.”

Laskenay let out a mirthless laugh. “It always has been. Zalski and Malzin are just different enough that they find each other stimulating.”

“She’s crueler than he is,” said Kora. “More impulsive.”

“Never cruel without justification—or what she deems justification. Vengeful, that’s what she is. I’ve loathed her since we were four and my pumpkin juice spilled on her favorite doll. She retaliated dumping a pitcher of cream on my head. When we were older, she convinced herself I pried Valkin from her—perhaps I did. I certainly urged him not to attach himself to Malzin. I knew they were wrong for one another. That wasn’t my place, he hadn’t asked my opinion, but he noticed her vein of cruelty for himself, watched her berate a butler who dallied when she called. Once she and Valkin found a bluebird in the garden, dead off the path, and he proposed they bury it because he thought she’d be distressed to leave it rot. She preferred not to soil her gown. That alarmed him. Such indifference spoke to her character, he told me later. Valkin remained fond of her, though. Always believed she might better herself. I knew differently.”

“Laskenay, when I suggested we give Teena the
Librette
I didn’t realize….”

“How could you? I made Lanokas swear on his mother’s grave not to tell a soul where we left my son.”

“We can move the book.”

“Where to? It’s safest where it is. I’ve considered what might happen, if Zalski learned I left my son at Teena’s inn and went there…. He’s always deemed me the paradigm of caution, Kora. Never would he consider I might leave my son, a sorcerer himself, in the vicinity of spells like that book contains. The boy could find them and use them down the road, you see? Oh, he won’t, I know he won’t, I’ve been telling myself Valkin’s son could never…. But the possibility is there, and Zalski would be sure I’d die before taking that chance. I told you once before, Teena Unsten is the safest guardian in the kingdom for that book. And we
must
keep the book secure, now more than ever.”

“For Bennie.” Kora hung her head. “Every time I think of her trapped in that room….”

“Your heart cracks a little, I know.” Laskenay took Kora’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “Mine does as well.”

“If only there were something we could do for her!”

“There is,” said Laskenay. “Keep the
Librette
from Zalski.”

They circled the barn in silence, Kora trying to make sense of the day’s revelations. Valkin looked nothing like his mother, she thought. She tried to remember what Teena called the boy, whether she had mentioned his name. Laskenay’s voice pulled her from her recollections.

“I’ve been open, I think you’ll agree. I have something to ask now, and I expect you to speak candidly. Is there any attachment between you and Lanokas I should be aware of?”

“Lanokas?” Kora’s cheeks grew hot. “Why would you think that?”

“I’ve wondered for some time, more so of late. His anger with his brother is too hot to be disinterested. It’s all on your behalf, and you hardly looked at one another all day. Again, is there something between you?”

“Something between us? Besides his birth? My sorcery?”

“That’s not what I’m asking.”

Kora took a deep breath. “I do care for him. I do. Losing Brianna like he did, it convinced him he cares for me more than he actually does.”

Laskenay said, “He deserves more credit. He’s lived without Brianna for some time.”

“Perhaps. It really doesn’t matter. The two of us would be doomed from the start, we both know that.”

“You’ve talked about this?”

“Last night.”

“Last night? Yes, that explains today.”

“I’m not wrong, am I? I mean, I can’t expect Herezoth to tolerate me. It’s public knowledge what I am. Assume we reinstate Menikas….”

Laskenay crossed her arms. “That’s quite an assumption.”

“What kind of a life should I plan for?”

An air of exhaustion overcame Laskenay. She sighed, a light sigh, as though she lacked the energy for a heavy one, and stopped walking to lean back against the barn. “I’ve been waiting for that question. Dreading it, to be honest. As for the answer: a quiet life, Kora, that’s what you should expect. At the very least, that’s my advice. A quiet life, in a provincial area. I expect that’s not what you wanted me to tell you.”

“Not exactly. But you’re forgetting where I come from, outside village limits.”

“You may find—you
will
find—individuals more reasonable and more accepting than the public at large. You’ll have friends. You’ll marry and start a family, there’s no reason to think otherwise. But you’re wise to avoid a gentleman of standing, that’s undeniable. As for a prince….”

“What will you do when all this is done?”

“I don’t know,” Laskenay admitted. “I had a plan, but after Rone I just don’t know. I trust you not to breathe a word about my son.”

“Of course I won’t.”

“In that case, is there anything else I should know? Any tracking reports?”

“Zalski knows we killed Alten.”

“That was a matter of days at best.”

“I hoped Ranler would be out of the city first. And Menikas. Zalski’s gone back there, back to Yangerton.”

“Don’t worry, I’m meeting the men in two days. I’m bringing them here, with any of Galisan’s men who’ve nowhere else to go.”

A somber expression fell over Laskenay, and Kora realized she herself had not spared a thought for Galisan since leaving his body behind. She felt guilty for forgetting him, until the barn door’s creak made her jump.

Lanokas was responsible; the moonlight glinted off his blond head. “You’re lucky,” Kora told him. “I nearly just cursed you to kingdom come. You’re not on guard for another hour.”

“I was up,” he said.

Laskenay beckoned him nearer. “I need you to accompany Hayden tomorrow, you two specifically. In case something goes wrong. Have a drink at the inn:
a
drink,” she specified. “A glass of wine for appearances. It’s cheap. Keep an eye on the game, but don’t be conspicuous, and don’t use magic unless someone’s life depends on it, either of you. I’m trusting your discretion. If we have to flee Wheatfield, we’ll be living in a wood somewhere.”

“Understood,” said Lanokas. Laskenay nodded, and he remarked, “Not our brightest hour, is it?”

Laskenay said, “I just hope this is worth the risk. Not the monetary risk, that of your neck. Menikas will have your head if Hayden gambles away our silver.”

“I told you earlier, I can handle my brother.”

“Yes, that’s the other scenario I dread.”

Lanokas raised an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean? I realize we’ve never shared the details of our lives, he and I.”

“And you grow more distant by the day. I’m frightened of a rift, Rexson.”

“Between Hune and me? In truth?”

“We’re all entitled to o
ur irrational fears. Humor me. T
ry not to anger him unnecessarily.” The younger prince assented, and Laskenay turned to Kora. “Why don’t you turn in for the night? I’d like you up earlier than the rest of us. Zalski will be at work before the sun’s risen, I promise you.”

To learn Zalski’s plans for the day would only make sense; that way, Kora might know in advance all that hinted of importance. Lanokas offered to finish watch for her. “Go on,” Laskenay prodded, and Kora made her way back to the barn.

* * *

Zalski rapped on an unmarked door on the top floor of Yangerton’s City Hall, and Kora recognized the man who opened to him: an elite guardsman with gray hair, a goatee, two scars on his right cheek, and another down his arm. She had tied him to a chair in her first raid; he had come to as she was leaving through the window. Now, as then, resignation lined his face.

“I figured you’d be paying me a visit.”

The room was a small office, and rather reminded Kora of the League’s second apartment, strewn with papers and maps in an ordered chaos. Two swords leaned against the far wall next to a folded cot. The guardsman, with an irregular gait, overtook his guest to clear a stool, but Zalski ignored the gesture and remained on his feet.

“How did this happen?” asked the sorcerer.

“It started when Vobel botched the warehouse job and had to kill Galisan Bane. I hate to speak ill of the dead, but he was in charge.”

“His incompetence reaped its own reward.”

“Vobel’s mistake let on we had a spy, which forced us to raid League headquarters with no previous surveillance. You were there, you know there wasn’t time. Someone returned before Alten got out.”

“Three adolescents, in fact,” said Zalski. “Who are they?”

“If Rone met them, he didn’t mention it.” The guardsman shook his head. “Over a year. Over a year it took him to be trusted with their headquarters, and immediately Vobel….”

“Rone knows of these boys. Where is he, Argint?”

“Awaiting burial.”

“He’s dead as well.” Zalski shook his head. “By the League? How did they know he was ours?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea.”

“How could
they have known? In theory?”

“Perhaps they have a spy themselves,” said Argint. “In the elite guard.”

“Not after the Wilhem Horn fiasco. I made sure of that.”

“You have to admit it’s possible.”

“If they had a spy, they would have known Rone was a traitor. In that case, would they have waited for something like the warehouse job before killing him?”

“Maybe something in the warehouse clued them in.”

“I searched it yesterday. There was nothing. That’s not to say, of course, the League hadn’t destroyed the proof, or that some piece of information in conjunction with another…. Suspicions arise easily. Yes, that must be how it happened. It’s of little matter. Even alive, Rone would be useless after Vobel’s folly. Whatever the case, I find myself equally deprived of a spy as of a general. Sit down, Argint.”

Argint seated himself on the stool he had cleared, the false leg that had so surprised Kora protruding in front of him. How had she forgotten it?

“Your father was a soldier, I believe. You yourself have been in the military your entire adult life.”

“Thirty-five years.”

“And an officer for twenty.”

“Twenty-three,” said Argint.

“I stand corrected. The fact is, you’ve deserved a promotion for some time. I finally find myself capable of granting one. Congratulations, General.”

Argint rose and shook Zalski’s hand. “It’s an honor, Sire, thank you.”

“You shouldn’t be surprised. You’re a brilliant strategist. Every plan you’ve had a hand in shaping has been nothing short of successful. I considered you for Captain of the Guard, but I needed someone who could physically lead those men. In your new post you’ll have ample officers to handle such duties. The leg you lost should be no hindrance.”

“I’ve never allowed it to get in my way.”

Zalski glanced at the cot in the corner. “I was sure I’d find you in,” he said. “How long have you been sleeping here?”

“The past three nights. There’s been too much going on for me to leave.”

“Was it you who sent Webb to Podrar?”

“Let’s say I suggested for his own well-being he’d do better not to stop on the journey.”

“Where are Grombach’s personal effects?”

“At headquarters.”

“Miss Carder’s remains?”

“Kansten Carder was interred in the prison cemetery.”

“What of Mouser Rone’s intelligence? Have we taken advantage of it in the wake of Grombach’s death?”

“As much as possible. We arrested three of the men whose names he gave as Galisan Bane’s
cohorts. They’ll go on trial. C
onviction’s guaranteed with our evidence. The others have disappeared.”

“Someone’s warning them,” said Zalski.

“That’s what it looks like.”

“Come with me to headquarters. I need to collect something I gave your predecessor. You can give me specifics later.” Argint took two steps toward the door before Zalski stopped him. “I have more efficient ways to travel.”

445

CHAPTER TEN

Of Snakes and Scorpions

As far as Kora was concerned, Zalski revealed nothing unknown or unexpected to Argint. The item he collected was Alten’s crystal, and he passed it to the general’s successor. He put Argint in charge of the mayor’s assassination and gave him a rundown of the situation, a situation Kora was sick of thinking about. She maintained the connection to study the League’s promoted enemy, not to listen to Zalski; Alten’s replacement was a stoic, prudent sort, entirely professional. All in all, Kora found herself at a loss as to what the man thought of the morning’s events.

That afternoon, Kora revealed what had happened in Yangerton as she straightened up the loft with her fellow sorceress.

“Argint Wicker, you say?”

“What do you know about him?” Kora asked.

“Only what Wilhem mentioned, which is little. He comes from comfortable beginnings. He’s a cautious type: takes in everything and leaves little to chance. He has principles, Wilhem said, more than most of the elites.”

Kora scoffed. “Principles? Yes, well, so does Zalski.”

“What was your impression, Kora?”

“I couldn’t tell you. I couldn’t make heads or tails of him. He struck me as serious, very serious, but that falls in line with Wilhem’s description, doesn’t it?”

“How does he compare to Alten?”

Kora thought for a moment. “I don’t know if it’s intuition or just plain lunacy, but I’d rather Alten be at the helm of the Fontferry job. Argint seems more methodical, more thorough. I’ve seen him before, Laskenay.”

When they finished in the loft, Laskenay went off to the plaza. Kora took it on herself to rack her brain for a spell to enhance the security and secrecy of Wheatfield, but came up with nothing. She checked on Zalski a couple times; he and Argint were setting a timeline for the assassination plot, one that differed little from Alten’s previous schedule.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” said Neslan, climbing the ladder. “I wanted to show you this.” He pulled, with great delicacy, a leather-bound tome from his sack. Its binding looked ready to split.

“Were you supposed to take that?”

“It won’t be missed in twenty-four hours. I’ll replace it tomorrow.”

Kora looked to the spine, but no title was visible; cracks and scratches in the leather had rubbed it away, if indeed it had ever been printed. Neslan handed her the book. “Careful with it,” he warned. The title, it turned out, appeared on the first page in a dull, black cursive, hand-written:
A History of Magical Lore.
The author was someone named Conter Runic.

“It’s painfully bad,” Neslan warned. “The style, I mean. Utterly pretentious. One of my professors mentioned this book in a lecture. He said it was atrocious from an historical standpoint and couldn’t prove its claims. Since I disagreed with the man ninety percent of the time, I thought it might be useful if I could track it down.”

“Is it?” asked Kora.

“In its way. Its aim’s not to prove the truth of legend, but to trace legend’s evolution through different eras. My professor’s critique was out of place, which doesn’t surprise me. The man was an ass. Proof or no proof, Runic might be more historically accurate than academics hold. Go to the third chapter.”

Kora turned from the title page. A small rip, an eighth of an inch, tore the first sheet near the edge, and Neslan cringed. She flipped the next sixty pages with greater care, until she found the chapter Neslan mentioned and began to read: no easy task, as the writing was small and blurred in spots.

The Legend of the Lifestone exists in many forms, some closely related, others widely divergent. The most intricate version comes from ancient villages north of Fontferry. That region was unique in blending the tale with the legend of the Marked One and that of a second magic artefact, and its account falls among the scarce category of folklore to attribute the stone’s creation to a man rather than a woman.

Even this particular version has distinctions within itself, the main being a contradiction as to whether the sorcerer in question was a progenitor of Brenthor or of Hansrelto, though this aspect was a late addition; the legend unmistakably predates the birth of both by at least two centuries.

The story goes that there once lived a sorcerer of astounding power. He married in his forties a woman half his age, also empowered.  He loved her deeply, so a part of him was filled with dread when she told him she was with child. In this epoch childbirth was the leading cause of death among women, though records make clear that most of those who succumbed survived one or two previous births. The sorcerer became particularly alarmed when he was summoned by the king, either to the first session at the Hall of Sorcery, or to a council to decide upon a site for the Hall. The motives vary, but every account has the sorcerer warned in advance of a separation from his wife at the time when his child was to be born.

Unbeknownst to his spouse, the sorcerer worked a powerful piece of magic upon the jewel in a necklace. The spell he wrote and cast was such as would secure his wife’s health, or so he believed. He gave her the jewel as a gift, and made her promise not to take it off in his absence. She thought it was his way of being present in spirit as his son entered the world, and gladly acceded. He left unwillingly, but without doubt that he would return to a healthy baby and the woman that he loved. He returned, indeed, to a flourishing son of the age of two months, but to find his wife in physical distress. The enchantment of her necklace had proved unable to prevent injury or pain, only descent into death. An aneurysm during the birth left her paralyzed. The sorcerer knew instantly that the enchanted jewel was the only thing responsible for her labored breaths.

The sorcerer spent a month attempting to heal his wife, but no magic he knew could counteract the woman’s physical damage or even relieve the bulk of her pain, which made her wonder, every day, how it was she did not die. Medical magic was poorly established in the early centuries, considered taboo, and though her husband did not confess what he had done, he ached to witness his wife suffer so acutely from an ailment that without unnatural aid would have taken her life weeks before. He recognized that her time had come, as it must for all, and in one of the rare moments when she drifted into sleep, he removed the enchanted stone from her possession.

One of the women to tend to the sorceress found herself enamored with the deceased’s husband. Some versions of the tale go so far as to attribute to this nurse a hand in provoking the aneurysm, but this author attributes such melodrama to humanity’s love for gossip and vilification more than to historical fact. What does seem clear is that it was through this woman that the Lifestone first entered the realm of public knowledge. Whether she kept a candid eye on the man she loved as he sought to destroy his creation, or read the private logs of his vain attempts, or even was party to them and betrayed the widower when he failed to return her affections, her role as traitor in revealing the protagonist’s secret lends a credibility to the northern strain of the legend lacking in all others, none of which offer an account of where stories of the Lifestone could possibly have their origin.

The legend goes on to indicate, if faith of any kind may be bestowed in it, that when the sorcerer became aware that others knew of his atrocity, he stowed it away someplace where he hoped it never would be found. No tale ever written about the stone, from North or South, or either side of the Podra, dares to hint at the artefact’s location, but that has not stopped many from seeking it through the ages, despite the cautionary nature of the legend and the blatant moral in each of its manifestations that death is never to be cheated.

The northern history of the Lifestone (as noted above, more convoluted and developed than any other) in its longest forms does not end with the enchanted gem’s concealment. It is said that the enchanter, though his creation lay in safety, grew restless at the thought of his occult magic, irreversible by its nature. What further damage could it wreak in unsuspecting or abusive hands? He grew obsessed, and only one thing gave him hope: the legend of the Marked One, a hero who perhaps might hold the power to confront the Lifestone’s evil. It is sometimes appended that the sorcerer, before his death, wrote another spell of incredible strength, an enchantment that he cast upon a second object (sometimes presumed to be a ring) that would only be potent in the hands of the Marked One and that would serve as an aid against any who possessed the Lifestone. He believed, the nature of the Marked One being what it was, that this second artefact would somehow make its way into his hands should it ever be required.

Most interesting in this conflation of the two legends is the proof it offers of how truly ancient is belief in the Marked One’s rise. Well established, likely for centuries, before the Hall of Sorcery’s erection….

Kora shut the tome, her eyes wide. “It explains everything,” she said. “My chain. The Lifestone. This man was living when they built the Hall.”

“Assuming it was a man.”

“I guess it could have been a woman. But I don’t think any woman would have helped design the Hall, not that long ago. Neslan, that’s where this person hid the Lifestone. That’s where Zalski found it. He must have heard this version of the legend, the one that mentions the Hall of Sorcery. Could this book have other copies?”

“I imagine so,” said Neslan. “It’s an obscure work, though. This is the original.”

“How old would you say this is?”

“Two hundred years, easy. Maybe more.”

“Zalski has a copy. But then why…. Why would he tell Bennie a woman made the stone?”

“That’s the version she’d be familiar with, isn’t it?”

“I guess that’s true. Thanks, Neslan, it’s nice to have an idea where this tracking power came from.”

“Might have come from,” he qualified.

“How about we settle on ‘probably came from’?”

“Sounds good to me.”

Kora said, “Can I ask you a question? You know what power this chain holds. What do you think of it? Beyond what you said yesterday?”

“I think you should be careful not to abuse it. To let it corrupt you. It has the propensity for that.”

“Am I wrong to use it, though?”

Neslan held up a hand. “That’s out of my realm. Who am I to say that?”

“I don’t mean to….”

“What does your gut tell you?” he asked.

“I loathe the thing, and have from the start. Its power’s unnatural. Sometimes I think I’m a coward for being too afraid to let it go. I mean, I could choose not to use it, but there’s a sense of security in knowing what he’s up to, what his plans are, that I’m terrified now to do without. Anyway, I know if I were to get rid of the thing, I’d feel just as cowardly as if I kept it: like I was shirking my duty. Like I was too weak, too feeble to handle a responsibility I was clearly meant to bear.”

“All right then. All right, first things first: you’re being way too hard on yourself. The fact is, we need access to Zalski, and you’re all we have. We’ve no spies with any kind of rank. You’re uncomfortable because you hate, in particular, invading Zalski’s thoughts. That’s what’s unnatural, am I right?” He was. “Well, to me, that discomfort should form a pretty strong barrier against the abuse of your power. I’m sure you only use the chain when the probability—the high probability, as far as you can judge—of gaining pertinent information outweighs the intrusion. As long as that’s the case, I don’t think you’re doing anything immoral. I don’t know if that helps you any, but….”

“It does,” said Kora. “Thank you.”

“If this really does bother you, you should take a few days to mull things over. Laskenay wouldn’t mind.”

“Menikas would. And he’s coming here tomorrow.”

“Hang Menikas! He swore when we started the League he’d never ask a soul to do a thing that churned his stomach. You’re the only one who understands what power that chain really gives you. I can’t fathom it. Neither can he, and if it repulses you, it’s for good reason. You’re a sensible person, and you’re justified in telling anyone who can’t recognize that to go turn himself in to the guards. This is
sinister magic we’re discussing. Menikas won’t object to you laying it aside.”

“Did you think he’d shove a bandana in my mouth?”

“We all make mistakes, Kora.”

“Most mistakes don’t cost other people their freedom. Or their lives.”

“I’m not arguing the contrary.”

“No, you’re not. I know you’re not, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be sharp, not with you. It’s just that, the thought of being around him again….”

“You need to coexist with Menikas.”

“I can’t. I thought I’d be able to, but I can’t.”

“You can’t make the attempt to respect him on a professional level? As a military superior?”

“It was as my superior he prevented me rescuing Zac.”

“I imagine that makes my suggestion difficult.”

“You imagine correctly. My God, Neslan, I’m sorry,” she said again. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I have no problem with you, none at all. Some fresh air, maybe that would do me good. I’ve been cooped in here all day.” She went over to the ladder, glancing up at Neslan before her head dipped below the loft. “Thanks for showing me that book. I really do appreciate it.”