The Forgotten (The Lost Words: Volume 3) (55 page)

One day, he might actually get to know his half sister as a person, too.

The artillery crew was ready for his signal. He smiled weakly. “Proceed.”

Wordlessly, they made the last adjustments. The soldier who had sighted and aimed earlier pulled another large lever and released the string from its groove. It whipped forward faster than the eye could follow, and the giant missile sprang away. Tiny slivers of chipped wood fell off the Slicer. The metal rail heated to dull orange before fading back to muted gray.

The arrow crashed into the pigs with a tremendous force, throwing them up in the air. The frame held, but it swayed.

A horseman trotted off to inspect the damage, then returned, his horse’s flanks peppered in crystal powder. “Direct hit, Your Highness…es.” He looked at James and Amalia in turn, looking ever so slightly uncomfortable. “Went through all four.”

James pursed his lips. Four bodies, pierced clean through. This meant that if the Slicer fired accurately into a marching crowd of infantry, it could kill maybe half a dozen soldiers with a single missile.

“Very good,” he praised.

The crew seemed content. Master Guilliam was wearing a somber expression, as if the impressive result was nothing out of the ordinary. He might still be put off by Amalia’s remark.

Master Hector was scowling in the direction of the target, probably calculating the odds and angles of using a dozen of those weapons side by side against a Parusite charge. Xavier was cleaning his fingernails, not really interested in the big, impersonal machinery.

His two Sirtai advisers did not seem interested in this nonmagical weaponry either. They were standing aside, talking in their foreign language, a respectable space clear around them.

Commander Adrian of the Seventh was also attending the demonstration, and he looked quite pleased. As one who had surrendered to James, he did not seem burdened by the duality of rulers. In fact, he seemed quite content.

“Impressive,” he piped in.

James turned toward Rob, who was keeping to the side and somewhat quiet. “James,” Rob called when he noticed, his voice resonating with urgency, “come with me.”

“Right now?” James looked at his friend. There was no cigarette pressed between his lips now. He looked pensive, the same he had been ever since that night Amalia was discovered. The emperor flicked a quick glance at his sister. She arched a brow that indicated she did not like Rob’s demand but would not interfere in their dynamic.

“Yes, now, please.” Rob was already pacing away. Grudgingly, James left his officers and his half sister and followed his friend toward the field tents. Soldiers of all kinds were standing round small fires, talking, laughing, hands snugged under armpits, feet stomping the white earth. They saluted smartly at the emperor. Rob was leading away.

“Speak,” James demanded after they stepped off the beaten cart track into the thick drift that surrounded the practice grounds.

Rob was looking toward Amalia. She was talking to Master Guilliam again, and he was gesturing with precise arm movements, like only someone who designed killing machines could.

“There are several things you need to know. I should have told you sooner, but then, would you have believed me if I’d started talking about wizards and magic and legendary persons that even books do not mention?”

James had no idea what his friend was trying to tell him, but there had to be a good reason. Rob always seemed to know what he wanted to say. “Most likely not.”

Rob sighed. His hand reached into the pocket where he kept his cigarettes, but it came out empty. “I did tell you about my grandfather serving Emperor Adam.”

James nodded. “Yes. Briefly.”

“I also mentioned how your title was wrong, because the realms already had their supreme ruler. You remember, of course.”

Well, the constant talks and lectures with Jarman made sure he could not forget, even if he wanted.

“Get to the point, Rob,” James pressed. He did not like this.

His friend pointed at Amalia. “Your sister knows a great deal about Calemore. I did not know that before. If I had known, I would have told you earlier. But the threat Jarman and Lucas talk about is real. This White Witch is real. You should heed their advice.”

James was silent for a moment. “Why? What else do you know?”

Rob closed his fist and touched it gently against his lips. “I once read a book that—”

Something warm splashed James’s face, made him blink instinctively. Warm and tangy, and it smelled like copper. He
wiped his cheek, and the fingers came off red. He looked at Rob, waiting for him to finish his sentence, but his friend just sagged to his knees and keeled over.

James saw a giant hole in his friend’s chest, leaking dark blood through ruined bone and muscle.

Rob had just been wounded.

None of the bodyguards seemed to have noticed yet. There was just stunned silence, and his friend dying, his blood melting the snow under him.

James felt confusion first; then it was replaced with naked fear.

“We’re under attack! Soldiers, to me!” he tried to roar, but his voice came shrill, thin.

The quiet training camp exploded into mayhem. James found himself crouching, big hands pressing against him, keeping him down. His guards were trying to protect him with their bodies and large square shields. People were shouting and cursing. Glimpsing through a forest of armored legs and arms, he saw someone drag Rob’s limp body away, leaving a trail of red smears behind, already gelled with cold.

James felt as if he were watching someone else’s life in stark detail, the emotions compacted into a solid ball of icy shock. Not the kind of heroism you expected from an emperor, not at all.

“Move aside!” a voice called, strong, authoritative, louder than the rest. Jarman stepped into his view, pushing past the panicking troops. The wizard was wearing all black and a fox fur cape, looking like a rich merchant rather than an exotic Sirtai magic wielder. His sudden, heavy presence seemed to stun everyone. “Move,” he barked again, his tone dangerous.

James saw his soldiers obey, relieving the suffocating pressure off his back and shoulders, opening a space around him.
He could breathe again. Jarman lifted a hand, and his fingers twitched. James thought he saw the air shimmer in a dome above him, as if someone had huffed against a windowpane.

“Now you’re safe,” the Sirtai said, breathing hard. “Those soldiers cannot protect you from the weapon that killed your friend.” He shrugged. “I only wish you had not requested we do not use magic. We might have been able to detect the attack earlier.”

James was silent for a moment.
Safe?

“Rob is dead?” he whispered.
Rob is dead?
Well, of course he was. No one could survive that gaping maw of red in his chest where the heart and lungs were. Only now he had said it, he realized what had happened.

An assassination attempt, and they had missed, killing his friend instead.
Pum’be?
he wondered. Did they ever miss?

Instantly, he was feeling relieved that he had survived. Elation, followed by regret and shame and that guilty glee that said,
Better him than me
.

Jarman was snapping his head left and right, looking, scanning. The soldiers were standing outside that air shield, looking foolish and afraid. One poked a hand against the shimmering bubble, and it felt like he was caressing solid stone. But the air and sound passed through, and the chaos was every bit as lively as before. Nothing like a failure to make everyone try twice as hard.

Now you’re safe
.

No guilt, just relief. Simple, brittle relief. James began to realize there would be no more death now. Whoever, whatever had killed Rob could have tried again. The fact they had not meant the element of surprise was spoiled, and there would be no further bloodshed. All the commotion and extra vigil would be a wasted effort of bruised egos and helplessness. Oh, how
his mind raced now, so full of wise counsel, but he could not shake the very intimate knowledge he had hunkered down and shouted for help first.
Would my father have balked like that? Would he cower while his troops protected him?

Jarman knelt by his side, touching his left hand against James’s spattered face. “You are not hurt?”

James shook his head, a strained motion. “No. This is not my blood.” His voice still sounded girly, full of breathless air and excitement.

The wizard exhaled in a loud huff. “Good. Do you know what that was?”

James frowned. “A crossbow?” His friend was dead, but all he could focus on was the fact he lived and was unharmed.

“No, Your Highness. That was the bloodstaff. The deadliest weapon you will have ever heard of.”

The bloodstaff, it sounded like another scrap from one of the myths. James saw movement from the corner of his eye. Lucas was running in big, efficient strides, dashing toward the mines, a handful of soldiers following after him, because it seemed the only sensible thing to do at the moment—run and look busy. Closer, Amalia was walking toward him, a huddle of soldiers around her, shields raised high.

A moment of selfless fear washed over James. What about his half sister? “Amalia is unprotected.”

Jarman released his magical barrier. “No. Your enemy targeted you. Or rather, your friend. If he’d wanted to attack Amalia, he would have directed his weapon against her.”

“Who?” James asked stupidly.

The wizard’s eyes flamed with emotion. “The White Witch.”

Amalia stepped close, her face pale. Behind James, a knot of armed men were staring at Rob’s corpse. He looked serene,
his features creased with an unfinished sentence. The only thing out of the ordinary was a giant, gaping wound in his chest.

She knelt and reached forward, her hand hovering and trembling above the red ruin. “This was done by the blood-staff,” she whispered.

Jarman was staring at her intently. “Yes, it was.”

James felt a spike of terror claw up his back, between his shoulder blades.
She knows this? How?
Was she in league with the Sirtai? After all, Jarman had interceded on her behalf, saved her life.

A few moments later, everyone was there, his commanders, their deputies, a hundred soldiers. They all stood and pushed and jostled, looking afraid and shocked. No one really understood what had happened. No one could guess the enormity of the disaster in their midst.

“My weapon makes a wound like that,” Master Guilliam remarked cheerfully.

The Sirtai smiled at him. “And where is the missile?” The master’s grin vanished.

James was sitting in the cold snow, the chill seeping through his wet buttocks. One of his hands had gone numb resting against the ground. He rubbed his palms together. Slowly, he stood up, swaying, dizzy with fright and, mostly, a sense of worthlessness. Today, he finally understood that he was just a tiny figurine in a great game.

Images flickered before his eyes, Nigella licking her palms and predicting the future for him, these two Sirtai coming to preach to him about unseen dooms and great enemies. Strange names, strange places, fables. It no longer had anything to do with King Sergei, the High Council, or anything of that sort.

Jarman tried to tell me. I did not want to listen
.

The hubbub subsided, becoming only a leathery jangle of armor, shouted orders, the crisp rustle of kicked snow. Discipline and logic came back to his troops, and they did what was expected of them. They set a perimeter in widening circles, archers in the center, swordsmen at the flanks, horsemen with lance and crossbow riding out to inspect the terrain, looking for any signs of trouble. Men kept their shields in front of them, forming a wall around him.

A chivalrous, meaningless act.

It was beautiful, but half an hour too late and totally useless.

Nearby, men who had witnessed some of Jarman’s magic and could see the corpse of the Eybalen investor and a good friend of the emperor held their conviction in lesser regard. They seemed shamed and stunned. They had tasted magic, and their old superstition and bedtime terrors came back. James was worried by what he saw. Tomorrow, rumors and stories would begin rolling and grow bigger with every turn. He would have no say in the power and unpredictability of this new reality.

Like a man stiff from too many hours of hard riding, James hobbled over to his friend and knelt near his sister, every muscle in his body weak, spent. Amalia looked genuinely afraid. Unlike the soldiers, there was a lucid gleam in her eyes. She understood this threat, and it worried him.

“You have seen this before?” he mumbled.

She nodded mutely.

“A magical weapon?” he asked.

She nodded again.

The Sirtai was there, too, staring sadly at the dead man. “I wonder why Calemore would want your friend dead. What did he know?”

“He wanted to tell me,” James stammered. “But then, he just collapsed.”

Amalia reached and wiped a streak of blood from his cheek. He started at her touch, but then almost felt relieved.

“How can you fight that?” James could only see the garish dark reds, like the petals of a wicked flower, the greasy, hot buds of death. He had witnessed the carnage of war before, but never something like Rob’s death.

“With magic,” Jarman said curtly. “Only with magic.”

Lucas returned. His clothes were drenched with sweat, but he did not seem winded. His blue face revealed no trace of emotion. Jarman just glanced at him briefly.

“He’s gone. Whatever he wanted, it was between him and your friend Rob.” He put a hand on James’s shoulder. “From now on, you will need our protection at all times. We shall never leave your side.”

James made a small, weak motion, and his hand slumped into his lap. “So be it.”

“You must focus your effort on defending Athesia against the forces of Naum. We do not know when they will attack, but they surely will. The wars in the realms are meaningless. You must all fight together against the common enemy.”

So long, friend
, James thought. He gripped Rob’s dead hand and then stood up.
Time to act the emperor
, he thought.
I have shamed myself enough today. Time to put on a brave, stolid face
. But he only felt like hiding. This was not what Nigella had prophesied for him. Not this. He was supposed to be the ruler of his father’s land, not get embroiled in some magical war. This was insane.