Shadowborn Page 4

  “Indeed.” Israel eyed her, his nose twitching with the scent of what must have been her time spent in the pig’s wallow. “I will naturally welcome any assistance you can give me. Has your father called up more of his tribesmen? Is that where the ships have gone?”

  “Just the opposite,” Idril said, ignoring the soft, wet noise that followed when a bit of fern tangled with hay fell off her shoulder and hit the ground. Her chin rose, her eyes daring him to comment. “My father feels that you no longer pose a threat to him now that he’s taken away your army and sent them north, to serve the tribes. There was evidently a skirmish that he felt boded ill—I admit to perhaps playing upon his paranoia—and thus, he sent the tribe north via the sea, so as to quell the insurrection that I hinted would be raging all over Poronne.”

  “That was astute thinking,” Israel said, pretending not to notice when another clod of mud, straw, and leaf mould fell from a particularly spiky bit of her hair.

  One of the handmaids giggled.

  “Astute and prescient, perhaps,” Lady Sandor murmured, her gaze on Israel.

  Israel raised his eyebrows in an approximation of innocence. “If you are implying that I left behind a set of instructions for the people of Aryia to follow when I went to Eris, I have little to say except it would be most unlikely.”

  “Most,” Sandor agreed, her mouth twitching.

  Israel met her gaze with equanimity, knowing full well that although the priestess might adopt a staid and circumspect persona, she had a wicked sense of humor that she had once told him had led her into no end of trouble. That she’d been naked at the time and riding him like a rented mule had nothing to do with the assessment. If Dasa hadn’t fought her way into his heart, making herself welcome in that inhospitable organ, he might have taken up the offer in Sandor’s soft eyes.

  He gave himself a little mental head shake. “So the city is empty? Then we shall retake it. Immediately. Marston!”

  “It’s not empty, no, but the five tribe leaders who were there sailed north yesterday,” Idril answered. “Noellia, whatever that is on the back of my neck, remove it. No, don’t show it to me. I would prefer not to know what it was that slid across my flesh. My lord, wait!”

  Israel, who had started to move off to his tent to gather up his sword, and the roots and bones used to cast spells, paused at the imperious tone in Idril’s voice. “If you are going to tell me it’s folly to attack Abet again—”

  “I am not. There is nothing I would like more than to see my father your prisoner, especially after he wed me to Parker, the most brutish of all the Northmen, in exchange for their support. I wished to ask you if there is news of Deo.”

  Israel couldn’t help but raise his eyebrows at the woman who once, for a few weeks, had been his wife…in name only, he couldn’t help but remember, fighting the urge to smile. Deo had yet to forgive him for the political marriage meant to calm Jalas and bring him into the Council of Four Armies, although he had resolved his differences with Idril during the voyage from Eris. “Your father wed you off for political reasons? Again?”

  Idril’s nostrils flared at the emphasis on the last word, but she waved away the question with an impatient gesture. “It is of no matter. I am betrothed to Deo, as my father well knows.”

  “You’re going to have a hard time marrying him if your husband objects,” Israel pointed out, feeling the corners of his mouth twitch. He steeled his lips into composure.

  A martyred expression was visible on her face for a few seconds before it melted into her usual one of polite disinterest. “It is, as I said, of no account. Have you heard from Deo? Did he reach Genora? Has he found his missing Banesmen?”

  “I have not heard from him directly, no, but Deo and the others should be in Genora by now. The Queen sent word that she was going straight to her kinfolk to seek the aid of the water talkers, and I expect she will communicate once she comes to an accord with them. Now, I must leave you. Since you just escaped from the city, perhaps you might prefer to stay here while I take advantage of your father’s folly in leaving Abet so under-guarded. You could…er…avail yourself of my tub.”

  Idril’s eyes narrowed into the meanest look he’d ever seen, aimed directly at him, and he had a suspicion that if she’d been given the ability to smite him where he stood, she would have done so. Instead, she inclined her head, causing a small snail to cascade off her hair, bounce off her left breast, and fly forward to land on the back of Israel’s hand.

  He removed it without a word.

  Idril sent a scathing look at her three handmaidens, all of whom schooled their expressions into ones of humility when she marched into his tent to bathe.

  It wasn’t until dawn that Israel and his company, now armed with as many weapons as they could gather, approached the gate and demanded an audience with Jalas.

  “Lord Jalas is not to be disturbed,” the tribesman who guarded the gate called down from where he stood on the rampart. “Go back to the rotten log whence you slunk, Fireborn.”

  “My lord,” Sandor said softly, touching Israel’s arm. “There is something here…a sense of futility that disturbs me greatly. Perhaps this attack would be better left for another time, one when Kiriah is present to bless us.”

  Israel considered her for a moment. There were lines of strain around her mouth that he hadn’t recalled being there before. “Futility regarding what, exactly?” he asked, loath to abandon the chance to take back the city that was by rights his. He respected Sandor and her ability to commune with the goddess, but he doubted if another opportunity so perfect as this would present itself again. He had to take advantage of it before more troops reinforced Jalas’s contingent.

  She hesitated a moment, one hand going to her throat. “I cannot see clearly the threat. I only know it is present. It leeches up from the ground like a poisonous vine, tainting everything around it.”

  Worry was evident in her eyes, and for a moment, Israel considered withdrawing. But just then, the guard on the rampart, evidently feeling himself in a position of power, shot an arrow that missed Israel’s horse by a foot. “Stay to the rear,” he ordered Sandor, pulling the splintered rocks, bones, and roots from a small leather pouch that was embossed with silver stars and moons at the same time he gestured to Marston.

  The latter let loose with a war cry while Israel, focusing his attention on the Grace of Alba with which Kiriah had blessed all Fireborn, drew upon the living things around them. With his eyes on the guardsman, who had turned to call for reinforcements, he unleashed the power of the Fireborn, causing a flurry of feathers to swell up around the man, lifting him from the rampart and dropping him to the cobblestones below. Grappling hooks were thrown at the stone wall, and in a matter of two minutes, Israel and half his company had scaled the walls and swarmed the three guards who raced toward them.

  A sense of rightness filled him as the company swept through the town, heading for the keep that towered over Abet proper. He was surprised for a moment at just how still the town was, for the residents of Abet were not known for their quiet lives. It occurred to him as he reached the central square, passing the well and a small fountain that had been put up to mark the birth of Deo, that Jalas had sent all the citizens north with their country relations.

  It was just as he started up the steps to the keep that he realized why Lady Sandor had been so hesitant. He stopped midway up the steps when three men moved out of the shadows of the great double doors and stopped, their figures as black as the crows that wheeled overhead.

  “Banes,” Marston said in a gasp at the same time that Lady Sandor drew in a deep breath, the whisper of a prayer to Kiriah following immediately.

  Israel held up his hand at the sight of the Banes of Eris, halting the company behind him. “Keep them back,” he said quietly to Marston, knowing that the Banes would slaughter the men and women prepared to fight for him.

  �
�Aye, my lord.” Marston slipped away, herding the company back across the square with him.

  Israel took a moment to study the face of each of the three Banesmen, not recognizing them. “You are part of my son’s company?” he asked the three men, adding before they could answer, “You must be the men that Lord Hallow spirited away after the battle at Starfall. What do you here in Abet?”

  “We seek revenge for our liege lord,” the middle man snarled, his skin, a dusky blue, turning a darker hue while his eyes positively snapped with anger.

  “For Deo?” Israel frowned. “Then you would do better to sail to Genora, for he is not on Aryia.”

  “We do not seek his grave, wherever you had him buried,” the leftmost man said, making an abrupt gesture toward him. “But we will avenge his death, you may be sure of that.”

  “His death?” Israel shook his head, realizing that the men believed the scene that had played out in Starfall. He thought of explaining to them what had really happened, but knew instinctively that they would not believe him.

  In their eyes, he was guilty of killing his own son, and little but Deo’s presence before them would shake them of that conviction. No, the only way he’d get past them into the keep was by removing them from the picture. He wondered if he had the strength to defeat the three Banes on his own. One, perhaps, but three? He gave another little shake of the head.

  “Jalas told us how you had planned to destroy Lord Deo the minute you realized that he had done what no one else could—he had mastered chaos power. Jalas said you feared the power Lord Deo held, that you wed the woman to whom he was betrothed, and that above all else, you sought a reason to have him removed from Alba, and when that chance presented itself, you took it. We are here to avenge Lord Deo’s death upon you. We, who believed in him when you did not, will see to it that all know the truth.”

  A light touch on his arm had Israel turning his head to where Sandor stood, her gaze on the three men. No, he could not fight them alone, but he was not alone. Sandor stood in Kiriah Sunbringer’s favor, and had magic of her own.

  “Are you up for this?” His voice was soft, but he knew she could read the intention in his face.

  “Always,” she said with a little smile, and he had a suspicion she was remembering the time some three hundred years in the past when they had celebrated—in the most primal way a man and woman could—a hard-won victory over the Starborn. “Work our way from right to left?”

  “Of course.” He was making a mental note that sometime in the near future he would have to inform Sandor that Dasa, despite having been his enemy for centuries, held his heart, and nothing would change that. Those thoughts, along with the general sense of worry that had gripped him since their return from Eris, were pushed out of his mind, however, as his fingers clasped the bones, roots, and feathers, the old familiar words coming to his lips.

  “Kiriah, bringer of life

  surround me with the heat of your truth

  touch my spirit with this place

  and banish the energies that would act against me.

  May the four forces heed my plea:

  From the ground, I beg strength

  From the rock, resilience

  From the life around me, intention

  And Kiriah above, power.

  So it is, so it was, so it will be.”

  He released the power gathered in his talismans just as Sandor, who had been kneeling, her hands clasped together as she called upon the goddess to bless them, suddenly stood up and lunged forward in one smooth movement, a sword that had been strapped beneath her overdress flashing with the golden light of Kiriah Sunbringer. The rocks and stones that made up Alba answered Israel’s call, the ground rumbling as cracks appeared beneath the three men’s feet, the long lines turning black as they leached life from the Banes.

  Sandor swung her sword, the runes on it glowing so brightly they left little trails of sparks on the air when she struck the rightmost Bane. His head bounced down the stairs before the other Banes realized what had happened.

  The middle Bane roared, spilling red chaos outward in a wave that knocked Israel back several yards. Hastily, he scrambled to his feet, hampered by the long red tendrils that seeped out of the cracks in the rocks, twining around his legs and capturing him. He roared an oath, yelling for Marston to help Sandor when the two Banes turned their attention to her. Pain whipped through him with burning intensity, ripping breath from his lungs and causing the muscles in his legs to buckle from the strain. He felt as if he had been chained to anvils and tossed into an inferno—a sentient inferno, one that turned an eye to him and laughed in a mocking manner while he desperately summoned the Grace of Alba, throwing protective ward after ward onto the figure of Sandor. Despite the Banes’ magic, her sword danced, flashing white against the dark wooden doors of the keep.

  Before Israel could do more than send a fervent prayer to Kiriah Sunbringer to grant help to her priestess, the two Banes broke free of his magic and both turned to face Sandor. For a moment, Israel thought she was going to do the impossible and slay them, but in the space between heartbeats, the chaos magic they wielded snapped out. As it slammed into her, Sandor’s screams rose high into the still morning air.

  And then she was gone, a thick, wet puddle of chaos magic on the ground all that remained of the vibrant woman who had stood against legions of enemies for more centuries than Israel could remember.

  Marston had reached him by that point. Israel stood stunned, refusing to accept that Sandor could be cut down so swiftly, just as if she was nothing more than a bit of ash ground underfoot.

  “My lord,” Marston said in a harsh, rushed voice, pulling on his arm. “We must retreat. The company will be slain by these monstrosities.”

  “She’s gone,” Israel said, his mind reeling for a few moments before he drew himself back from the brink of rage. The two Banes were now facing him, clearly gathering power to wipe out the rest of them. Israel threw a couple of hasty binding wards onto the men, pain pricking his palms when suddenly the bones and roots cracked under the strain of his spells. He threw them down, casting one last agonized glance at the spot where Sandor had stood, before giving in to Marston’s demands.

  They escaped while the Banes were still bound to the steps of the keep, allowing Israel and his company to retreat to their camp atop the southern hill. For a horrible few hours, Israel feared the Banes would pursue them, but to his relief, they remained in Abet. He stared absently at his hands, noting the scars of past battles, and the new, bloody lines caused by the breaking ofhis talismans. “I will have to get new ones,” he said to himself, sorrow, guilt, and fury spinning around inside him in a complex knot of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him.

  But he had not been a leader for most of his life without learning a few valuable lessons, one of which was that loss was inevitable.

  “A senseless loss, though…no. That I will not stand for. She will be avenged,” he swore under his breath. Idril, who stood next to him holding a wooden flagon, simply raised an eyebrow.

  “The priestess will be in the spirit realm, waiting for Kiriah to call her to her side. Sandor is beyond such things as revenge,” Idril said softly.

  “I am not,” he answered in a voice that was as bleak as the gray stones that formed the hill beneath their feet. He turned away from Idril, spurning her offers of attention to his wounds.

  “What will you do now?” she called after him, her normally placid voice scraping sharp as a razor on his flesh.

  He hesitated at the entrance of his tent, his eyes on the one next door. It belonged to Sandor. He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing deeply of the scents of pine, sun-warmed earth, and green, growing things. It was poor balm to the deep well of sorrow that filled his soul. “We can’t defeat Jalas and the Banes that now serve him. We must have an army…and Deo. We will sail for Genora as soon as we locate a
ship. The queen will have raised her army by now; we will join forces with her. Then with Deo, we will return and destroy the rot that has taken hold in Abet.”

  Chapter 4

  It was the noise that made me want to scream in frustration.

  A slight squeaking noise, followed by the whisper of tiny nails on stone had me opening one eye, the one that wasn’t pressed into the rocky ground.

  A squat butter-and-cream-colored bumblepig paused in the act of digging through my hair, obviously looking for things to eat. Its little whiskers twitched while it gazed at me with confusion.

  “You’re a bumblepig,” I told the round, furry little creature the approximate size and shape of a loaf of bread. “You eat plants, not hair. What are you doing in the spirit world? Do bumblepigs who have died come here, too? I’m new, so you’ll have to take pity on my ignorance.”

  It ignored my questions, instead shuffling forward on legs that were comically short when compared to its rotund body. After taking a delicate nibble on one of my curls, it continued across the rest of my hair to the greener pastures of an area outside my cage.

  “My cage,” I growled, pushing myself up from the rock floor to glare through the wooden slats, grasping and rattling them for what seemed like the hundredth time. They didn’t give, no matter how hard I struggled with them. “Damn those Eidolon and their cage-making skills. Hello? Is anyone there? I need to use the privy!”

  Stuck where I was behind a large stone slab that had been propped up on a couple of plinths, I couldn’t see anything but the wall of the cave into which the thane had dragged me. I gathered that the Eidolon, so long asleep in their stony crypt beneath Kelos, were more comfortable in dolmens than the usual tents or hide shelters used by those in the mortal realm, but that didn’t give them the right to throw me into their extremely well-made cage and forget about me. “Hey! I am not dead, thus, I have bodily needs, and one of those is about to get very unpleasant if someone doesn’t let me out! Not to mention the fact that I’m hungry.”