Fireborn (A Born Prophecy Book 1) Read online

  “I’ll just have to convince Deo to take you with us,” I whispered in one of her long ears. “Just wait here with the horses. And be polite, no nipping anyone on the rump. I wouldn’t put it past those boys to set you loose if you give them any grief.”

  Buttercup snorted, and laid back her ears. I gave her a swat on the shoulder, and went back to convince Deo that I was indispensable.

  “The trick is to get him to see that fact. ...” I sat on my heels behind the stack of barrels, and watched the comings and goings of the camp. Several people came up to Deo’s tent, but all of them were met, and ultimately turned away, by the officious little man. He didn’t see me when he dashed out of the tent, heading down the hill toward the water, where a dray was unloading some goods, clearly on a mission from his master.

  I smiled to myself, rose, and strolled toward the tent entrance, doing an immediate about-face when two men ran up the hill to take up guard positions.

  “Goddess blast them,” I muttered to myself, trying to figure a way to get rid of the guards. After a moment’s thought, I trotted around to the back of the tent.

  “The thing with canvas is that most people forget it’s so easily cut,” I announced as I entered the tent, having used one of my swords to cut along the corner seam. “They think there’s no way in, when in reality, it’s quite easy—goddess! Who are you?”

  The man in front of me spun around, and for a moment, I was speechless with surprise. The Deo from my past was a dark-haired god, with beautiful amber eyes.

  This man had jet-black hair all right, but his eyes were of matching ebony. He was broad across the shoulders and chest, his tunic strained tight across thick ropes of muscles. He stood taller than me, taller than most men I could call to mind, and reminded me of the tales of the giants who’d lived on Alba before the twin goddesses brought us to it.

  “What ...” I stumbled back another step, holding my swords out in front of me. “Who are you? What have you done to Deo?”

  The man made a deep rumbling noise, and I realized he was laughing.

  “What have I done, indeed?” He took one giant step forward and thrust his face into mine, brushing aside my swords as if they were twigs. His eyes weren’t true black—there were glints of red in them, as red as the blood that beat so loudly in my ears.

  Visible beneath the opening at the neck of his tunic was what I could describe only as a silver harness, inscribed with the most powerful containment runes I’d ever seen. He also wore metal bands on both wrists, these glittering with active protection runes. His hair was pulled back and tied with a leather thong, revealing features that were sharp with suspicion, features that were etched with pain. One hand rose as if to grab me by my throat, but instead, it brushed a strand of my unruly hair back from my face. “Allegria. I should have known you would not take no for an answer. It has been many years, but not so many that I have forgotten your willfulness.”

  My jaw dropped as the words registered in my stunned brain. “Deo?”

  “You didn’t recognize me?” His face twisted into a grimace, although his voice carried a note of sarcasm. “Have I changed so much? You hurt my feelings, priestling.”

  I stared in silent horror. How on earth could this ... changeling ... be the fresh-faced, handsome boy of my youth, the one I had kissed in the stable loft, the one who had filled my thoughts for so many years?

  Was this what I’d risked everything for?

  CHAPTER SIX

  “What in the name of the goddess has happened to you?”

  Deo studied the woman in front of him just as intently as she gazed at him, albeit without the confusion that crawled across her face. He had braced himself for just such a reaction when he revealed himself to those who had known him in the past, but to see the expression of disbelief and on the face of someone he remembered with fondness cut deep.

  Allegria gestured at his torso, her expression slowly changing to curiosity. “You’re ...”

  “Transformed.” He stepped back from her in order to give her space, knowing his physical presence was overwhelming. He had many fond memories of this little priestling, his Allegria who had spoken so fiercely when they were both young and filled with an idealized vision of life. They had made many plans in the short time they had together: he would be a great warrior like his mother, a savior of both his father’s people and those of his mother, while Allegria would fight at his side, her quick bow helping bring peace where there had been none for an eternity. “You see before you the result of years of experiments with chaos magic.”

  Experiments? the magic whispered. Adventures, old friend. What we had were adventures. Grand, glorious adventures wherein you accepted me, and together, we killed the unworthy.

  Deo ignored the voice. He’d found that the more he acknowledged it, the stronger its hold became.

  “Chaos magic?” Allegria shook her head, obviously having a hard time accepting his changes. “I’ve never heard of such a thing. There’s arcane magic of the Starborn, and the grace of Alba that magisters wield, but those are the only two types of magic.”

  “It was once, but not now. The Harborym brought chaos magic with them, and although it has cost me much, I have at last mastered it.” Deo felt a grim satisfaction at the words, the memory of years of anguish now but a shadow on his mind.

  Who has mastered whom? The chaos magic laughed into his mind.

  It wasn’t a pleasant experience.

  “You consorted with the Harborym?” she asked in disbelief.

  “No!” he snarled, then held up a hand when she recoiled. “I’m sorry, Allegria. That reaction was not for you. My father used the same phrase a few weeks ago when I told him that we should be using the Harborym’s magic against them.”

  “I take it he didn’t approve.”

  Deo gave a short bark of laughter. “Hardly. He threatened to banish me again, saying I had become a monster for trying to control it.”

  Fools, all of them. They had no understanding of just what I am.

  “But ...” She gestured toward his chest, where the harness wrapped him in its tight grip. “But you mastered it.”

  “A fact that my father did not wish to acknowledge or accept. Do you know why I was banished?”

  Allegria shook her head. “There are stories ... but I did not believe them.”

  “I have no doubt there are many tales, but I will tell you the truth. My father said I must be banished so that I could do no harm to others. He said that to me, the one who was born to unite Alba in peace!”

  We will rule Alba. Soon, very soon.

  “What Lord Israel did to you was cruel.” Allegria’s soft voice softened the sharp memories a bit.

  “Cruelty is no stranger to my father,” he said, and pushed away the old anger. It was not time to address the ills done to him.

  “And yet, he was right in that this magic has made you ...” She gestured again, clearly unable to say words he might find insulting.

  “Changed,” he said simply. “It took from me the grace of Alba, all signs of my Fireborn blood, and left me as you see. It is a form of corruption—”

  I prefer to think of it as an enhancement.

  “—but one that will allow me to use the Harborym’s magic against them, and finally destroy them.”

  Mmm, destruction. What a lovely warm feeling that gives me.

  “Shut up!” Deo snarled, his patience frayed beyond bearing.

  Allegria backed up a step. “I’m sorry—”

  “No, that was not intended for you.” Deo took a deep breath, embarrassed that his temper had slipped his control. He’d never admitted to anyone but his three trusted lieutenants the truth about the transformation, but Allegria was different. He felt without a shred of doubt that she could be trusted. “The chaos power ... talks ... to me.”

  She stared at him for the count of twenty.

  “I know how it sounds.” He made an abrupt gesture and turned to walk over to the three wooden chests holding
various personal items. “But I assure you I am not mad. Not yet, anyway.”

  “This power is ... sentient?”

  Oh, I like her. She’s bright.

  “Yes. That is, it gives me ... urges.” He squared his shoulders and spun around to face her again. “Violent urges. But none of that matters, because tonight, under the light of the goddess Bellias’s eyes, I will transform an army who will drive the Harborym from my mother’s land, and free her kin from the slavery that has bound them so long. Once that is done, then the chaos magic will have nothing to power it, and it will disappear on the wind.”

  I wonder if that’s strictly true.

  Her wary expression faded, followed swiftly by one of assessment. She eyed him with speculation now, and he knew he’d pricked her interest. He smiled to himself. Sweet Allegria, still the same. “You have not changed, have you, little priestling?”

  A flicker of anger lit her brown eyes. “If you mean I have little love for fools, then no, I have not changed. Is that why you refused to see me? You thought that this metamorphosis would alter how I felt about you? Or did you just not want me here?”

  He heard the note of pain in her voice, and was reminded again of how vulnerable she was. He’d known it years before, when they had dallied so pleasantly in the hayloft, but even then, his heart was not his to give away. It belonged to Idril.

  Until she destroyed it by leaving him to wed his father.

  And together, we will have our revenge on them both.

  Deo ground his teeth. Of all the temptations the chaos power offered, it was revenge against his father that was the hardest to resist.

  “Deo?”

  The pain was stark in Allegria’s voice now, and he hurried to make amends for his moment of introspection. “I am, and always will be, happy to see you,” he said with a little bow. “But I did not wish to frighten you with the change that has been wrought in me. Nor do I have time to go into detailed explanations of what I am doing, and what chaos magic is. We have only a few hours before the transformation.”

  “You’re going to turn all of your people into ...” She waved a hand toward the harness on his chest.

  He smiled, although, to be honest, it wasn’t a smile that expressed any joy or happiness. “The transformation was harder on me because I experimented with chaos magic for so long before I could master it.”

  Again, that word “master.” I must protest it. Ours is a collaboration. You give me a voice, and I give you that which you seek most.

  Disbelief was evident on Allegria’s face.

  Despite his statement to the contrary, he found himself explaining, “My force will be transformed, yes, but not to such extreme proportions as you see in me. To take in that much chaos magic would be disastrous for most people—it would turn them into the very beings we are hunting.”

  That end is inevitable. You know this as well as I do.

  “Wait, are you saying you consume the magic?” Her forehead wrinkled in disbelief. “You take it into yourself? Isn’t that incredibly—”

  “Dangerous?” he asked, one side of his mouth quirking up, and for a moment, he felt he was back in the loft of the stable, having discussions about their goals in between kisses. “Inadvisable? Risky?”

  “Stupid,” she said, then looked appalled at the word. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t kind.”

  He gave a short bark of laughter. “Perhaps not, but I appreciate honesty, Allegria. I hear it all too infrequently. I have tried the transformation on three others, my lieutenants. They are in Genora, scouting out the locations of the Harborym camps. Their change into banesmen was not so devastating as it was to me—the magic leaches from them the colors of the Fireborn as it has done me, true, but it does not change their bodies, nor does it speak to them.”

  You are special. You are the end to our means. You are destined to a bright greatness, a brilliance that will shine forth and blind the unbelievers.

  “And we have found that runes worn on the wrists and ankles are enough to keep the magic from consuming them and turning them into Harborym,” Deo finished, steadfastly refusing to answer the magic that taunted him with such provocative statements.

  Allegria eyed him silently for a moment. “The lines on your face show ... does it ... does the magic hurt?”

  He considered shielding the truth from her, but he had always been honest. “Yes.”

  “Is there no ease for your pain?” She clutched her hands together, clearly in distress. “Is there nothing that can be done?”

  “Nothing I have tried has helped, but do not let your empathy get the better of you. I have borne worse pain than what I bear now.”

  She shook her head as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “And you’re able to control this chaos magic?”

  “By the grace of the goddesses, and the runes that are bound to me, yes. For now, it is in check.”

  Concern filled her eyes. “For now? Do you mean that someday it might be set free?”

  “I have no way of knowing.” He gave a shrug, impatient to be under way, impatient to be rid of her so that he might continue pacing in his tent until the time of transformation was upon them, and yet, at the same time, oddly comforted by her presence. She brought with her a reminder of times past, of pleasant days when his hopes and dreams hadn’t been crushed by his father.

  She reminded him of what he could have been.

  What you will be is so much more interesting.

  “I can see that you’ve mastered it, although if those runes are anything to go by, it’s taking tremendous amounts of energy to keep it in check, but even assuming we could control this magic, is it wise to consume something so corrupted?”

  “We?” he asked, amused. “Is that why you are here? Not to deliver to me the boon promised at my birth, but to join my cause?”

  She smiled and picked up her swords, sliding them into the crossed sheaths on her back. “If you recall the time we spent in the stable loft, I told you how much I wanted to fight against the Harborym.”

  He touched her wild golden brown hair, twining a curl around his finger. “You are a priest, Allegria, not a soldier, and even if you were otherwise, I would hesitate to see you sacrifice yourself to chaos magic. You are too valuable to the priesthood to be taken from it.”

  “I am more valuable to you,” she said, giving him a level look. “There’s something I never told you, Deo, a secret that Sandor swore me to keep from everyone, but I knew the day would come when I would have to reveal it.”

  His eyebrows lifted in faux surprise. “You shock me, priest. What secret could an innocent young woman such as you hold so tightly to your ample chest?”

  She gave him a look that let him know she didn’t appreciate the reference to her bosom. “I see I wasn’t wrong when I suspected in the hayloft that you liked breasts.”

  His laughter rumbled, even while he briefly ogled her upper half. “Only on women.”

  “Well, drag your eyes up from mine, and heed this: I am a priest of the Temple of Kiriah Sunbringer, yes, and through her, I wield the grace of Alba, but I am something more than that, Deo. I am a lightweaver.”

  His eyes widened, genuine surprise taking him momentarily aback. “Are you sure?”

  She made a face at him. “Am I sure that I can alter reality by pulling on the power of Kiriah’s sun? Oh yes, I am very certain. My parents gave me to Sandor when I was only a few summers old simply because I had a power they couldn’t—and wouldn’t—understand. She refused to let me use it, though.”

  A mischievous look flitted across her face, and she held out her hand. On it, a small horse made of golden light—like liquid sunlight—pranced across her palm.

  “Sandor doesn’t know I still conjure animals. I started doing it as a child, but she told me to do such was forbidden, and a crime against Kiriah, and insisted I bury my abilities deep within me.”

  “Evidently you didn’t heed her,” he said, amused despite himself.

  “No,”
she admitted with a wry smile. “But I don’t let anyone else see it. She warned me against allowing others to know about my powers lest I be made the target of unscrupulous people. That made sense then. Now ... now it’s different. I can be of a great help to you.”

  “A lightweaver,” he mused, rubbing his chin. “Lady Sandor kept that from my father.”

  “She was worried that the temptation to use me would be too great,” Allegria said slowly, obviously picking her words carefully. She knew, of course, that there was no love lost between him and his father. “I am not blaming Sandor for keeping my ability hidden—I didn’t understand at the time why she made such a fuss about me never using it, but I know now it was to protect me. And the temple.”

  Deo turned his back and walked a few steps to the end of the tent, pulling from a leather chest a tunic made of fine black cloth, embroidered with silver threads. He removed his tunic, hearing Allegria give a quiet little gasp when she saw the scars of whippings long past on his back, visible beneath the harness.

  He was surprised the chaos magic had nothing to say about Allegria’s offer to join his forces. He wondered if it had finally realized he was not going to pay attention to its insidious whispers, or if something more sinister was behind its silence.

  “If you were anyone else, I would send you on your way,” he said finally, pulling the fresh tunic over his head before turning to face her. “And as it is, I have the gravest doubts. You understand, don’t you, that should you undergo the transformation, I cannot guess what the chaos magic would do to you? That I don’t know how it would affect your abilities?”

  “Why should it affect my magic at all? It’s something inherent in me,” she pointed out, shaking her hand so that the light horse dissolved to nothing. “It’s as part of me as my flesh is, and you just finished telling me that the transformation on your army will not be as great as yours.”

  He hesitated, glancing toward the entrance of the tent. “It’s not just the act of becoming a banesman that poses a risk. It’s the chaos magic itself.”