King of Sword and Sky (11 page)

The sensation was one Marissya knew all too well, though she'd never been on the receiving end of it. At least, never such a ruthless and brutally efficient weave of it.

Ellysetta had just Truthspoken the most powerful
shei'dalin
in the Fading Lands.

And not kindly.

Marissya blew out a breath. No wonder Ellysetta feared
shei'dalins
so much. A few chimes of that ravaging scrutiny, and even Marissya would have collapsed in a boneless puddle of shattered will and weeping helplessness. And Ellysetta hadn't even needed to lay a hand upon her to do it.

Whatever the Feyreisa had discovered—or found absent—inside Marissya apparently satisfied her, because when the
shei'dalin
stepped forward a second time, Ellysetta allowed her approach without protest.

Half-afraid that if she dared too much, Ellysetta's wild power might rouse again, Marissya quickly healed the physical effects of stress and shock and did what she could to help mend the barriers in Ellysetta's mind. The Mists had not been gentle with her. Each moment of the healing, while Marissya's consciousness was tied to Ellysetta, she was aware of the hot, angry hissing of the tairen, a violent sentience seething just below the surface.

Marissya had no desire to feel the full brunt of that power unleashed upon her.

When she was done, she pulled her hands back quickly and didn't protest when Dax snatched her up and hauled her several steps away from Rain and his truemate.

"Is she well?" Tajik stood tense, staring at the still-radiant, flame-haired woman standing so fearlessly beside the great black tairen, her pale, gleaming hand stroking its pelt.

"She is fine," Marissya assured him. "I was right. The Mists roused her tairen, but she is calming now."

The Change swirled about Rain, and the sudden burst of magic made Tajik fall instinctively into a warrior's slightly crouched attack stance, his hands on red steel.

Ellysetta's head jerked around, her eyes blazing at the perceived threat, and Tajik's body went rigid, his spine poker straight. A fierce consciousness invaded his own, spearing past all his shields straight to his core.

«Aiyah, you should fear us. We are fierce.»
The voice, so soft, rang in his mind with the force of a gong, leaving him trembling in its wake. «
Do not threaten us.»

She released him from his stunned paralysis, turning to face the tall, black-haired Fey beside her. Rain's eyes were blazing, power sparking around him like fairy flies. His arms caught her around the waist, and his mouth swooped down to capture hers. Unmindful of the gathered Fey looking on, he kissed her with a passion that nearly set their onlookers aflame.

«Shei'tani…Ellysetta
…» His voice sang to hers in vibrant tones, shimmering down the threads of their bond and the new, fiercely blazing connection between them that hummed with wild, raw power.

Rain did not know what had happened to them in the Mists, nor at the moment could he bring himself to care. Whatever the Mists had done, whatever their reasons for it, they had brought both his tairen and hers to savage life, and in that moment of primitive wildness, when her soul and her tairen had screamed in rage and reached for him and his, the power and fury of their tairen had arced between them like searing flames shot straight from the heart of the Great Sun. Or, rather, like savage jets of tairen flame, the fire that burned all things. That thread of pure, intense power had pierced the wildest depths of his soul and anchored there.

The fiery bond thread was still there, neither extinguished nor dimmed, untamed by the others, yet braided so tight the three had nearly become one.

When the fierce radiance of their power and the wild fury of their tairen at last began to subside, the Feyreisa released her mate and turned to face the Fey. Tajik's breath caught in his throat once more. The menace of the tairen was gone, leaving only luminous, golden beauty. To look upon the unveiled countenance of any
shei'dalin
was to know the face of love, but with the Feyreisa, the effect was overwhelming. When her gaze fell upon him, her eyes like radiant suns, it was as if the gods themselves shone a light straight into his heart.

"She is … is …" He swallowed hard. "I have no words."

Bel clapped a sympathetic hand on his cradle friend's shoulder. "I told you she was bright."

Tajik took two trembling steps forward and fell to one knee, bowing his head. When he rose again, he fixed glowing eyes on the Feyreisa's face and gave the greeting he should have offered her from the start.
"Meivelei, kem'Feyreisa.
Welcome to the Fading Lands."

Eld
~
Boura Fell

Vadim Maur's left hand was trembling.

The High Mage glared at the betraying tremors, then curled his fingers in a fist until the shaking stopped. His visit to Shannisorran v'En Celay's cell earlier today had wearied him far more than it should have. If not for the war hammer slamming into the Fey lord's skull, the blast of power that had surged from him would have caught Vadim full bore rather than glancing off his left arm. The weak shield he'd thrown up had not been enough to rob the blast of its impact, and his hand had been twitching ever since.

He should have known better than to go to v'En Celay's cell weary. And the last six days he'd spent claiming the Celierian Den Brodson's soul
had
wearied him. Most Mages who did not have the standard six years to claim a soul settled for a weaker hold on their
umagi,
but Vadim had never done things by halves. He'd taken the full power of a claiming normally spread out across six years and concentrated it into six days.

Such a reckless expense of power was not his wisest decision, but losing Ellysetta Baristani when she'd been all but his had driven him into a fury. He'd wanted a productive outlet for his rage, and Brodson's screams had been a balm to his soul. He'd also wanted complete and irrevocable control over the Celierian before using him, and since Kolis had tipped his hand in Celieria, time was quickly becoming a luxury rather than a tool at his disposal.

A knock sounded on his office door. "Enter," he called.

The door swung inward, revealing an
umagi,
who bowed and said, "Fezaiina Zebah Rael has arrived, great one."

"Send her in."

Moments later, his office filled with rich, warm, seductive scents as the beautiful, bronze-skinned Feraz witch swept inside in a flurry of colorful silken veils. "Fezai Madia sends you greetings, Chazah Maur." Zebah's red lips curved in a sultry smile as she approached his desk, but her sloe eyes were filled with an intelligence far sharper than the lush curves of her enticingly clad body would lead a foolish man to believe. Those eyes were scanning everything, missing nothing. She was the envoy of the most powerful witch in Feraz—Fezai Madia Shah, high priestess of the Blood Chalice—and Vadim knew better than to underestimate her.

"You look weary, great one," she murmured. The smooth, potent magic of her voice burned across his skin. Feraz women, particularly among the witchfolk, were a dangerous combination of exotic beauty and compelling natural sexual power. Fierce and bloodthirsty as Feraz men might be, their women held the true power.

Vadim eyed the witch coldly, ignoring the tug of her magic, and kept his still-trembling hands out of sight beneath the desk. "I am neither weary nor weak, Fezaiina, and you are wasting your time testing your power on me. As your Fezai learned long ago, I am immune to such persuasions, no matter how attractive the lure." Sex, though satisfying in many ways and useful under the right circumstances, was a distraction from the one true passion of his life: his quest for magical supremacy.

"In her last communication, the Fezai said she'd made a breakthrough that would please me," he prompted. Vadim's long association with the witches of Feraz had proven mutually beneficial in many ways, most especially in the unique spells and powers they had discovered by combining their powers, their bloodlines, and their knowledge of magic.

"Zim."
The Fezaiina left off her attempts to ensnare his senses and produced a black velvet pouch from the folds of her
jiba,
the wrap she wore loosely draped around her smooth curves in whispering flows of brightly colored silk. "The Fezai sends you this great gift, Chazah Maur." She opened the drawstring at the top of the bag and drew out a small, pearlescent stone, which she laid upon the parchment-cluttered surface of his desk.

Vadim leaned forward and inspected the stone visually before reaching for it. White, oval, and smoothly rounded, it was roughly the size of a peach pit and the shape of a child's skipping stone.

"And this is … ?"

"Magic, Chazah. Great and powerful magic."

"What sort of magic?" He cupped his hands around the stone and summoned a brief spell, but nothing in the stone responded to his flare of power. "I sense none."

"Precisely."

He scowled at her. "Do not waste my time, witch."

"Watch, great one." She bent her head, parted her red lips, and whispered a Feraz witchword. A shadow flickered in the heart of the pearly stone, like a larva wriggling in its egg. Beneath the outer layers of stone, a rune began to gleam with a brightening glow.

Vadim's brows drew together. He recognized the rune and knew its meaning only because of his dealings with long-forgotten Feraz witchcraft.

"Gamorraz?" The rune was beyond ancient, hailing from a forbidden form of witchtongue used in the blackest days of the craft, millennia ago. Gamorraz was a very powerful demon, the father of the four Guardians of the Well of Souls.

"Zim,"
Zebah breathed. "An ancient and powerful name to summon an ancient and powerful magic."

"And the purpose of this stone?"

Zebah smiled. "To open gateways, Chazah. To the Well of Souls."

He snatched the stone up off the desk and tossed it back to her. She caught it with one, swift snap of her wrist. "This is your Fezai's great new triumph? The
selkahr
crystals already do as much."

Her eyes narrowed. "You dismiss so quickly a gift whose greatness you do not begin to fathom, Chazah.
Zim,
the stones—which we call
chemar
—do what your
selkahr
does, but only in their purpose are
chemar
and
selkahr
similar." Zebah opened her fist and rolled the stone between her fingers.
"Selkahr
is very precious, we know. How much do you have to spare for such uses as gateways and portals?"

Vadim's spine stiffened at the directness of her probe. "Enough," he answered guardedly.
Selkahr
was made from Tairen's Eye crystals, and those had been in exceedingly short supply of late.

She laughed, a throaty sound. "But it is not so easy to come by." She leaned forward, her breasts pressing together invitingly, her sloe eyes fixed on his face.
"Chemar,
great one, are made from the bones of those sacrificed to Gamorraz. The stones can be manufactured at will and in great quantities. But best of all, as you have seen for yourself, the
chemar
have no magical properties until they are activated by the proper witchword. Fey wards will not detect it. No sacrifice is needed to make the stones work. You can place
chemar
anywhere you desire a portal and open the gates at will—and without using Azrahn. You can insert your armies, without warning, anywhere you so desire. The stones are consumed when you use them, but all you need do is simply drop another when you wish to open a gate again."

The High Mage leaned back in his chair. "Very well. You have piqued my interest." He gestured to the bag dangling from Zebah's wrist. "How many of those
chemar
did you bring with you?"

The witch hefted her black pouch. "Fezai Madia sends four dozen as a gesture of her goodwill."

Vadim rose to his feet, the hem of his purple Mage robes swirling about his ankles. "You will give me a demonstration of their effectiveness. Then I will decide how useful they may, in fact, be."

Zebah bowed low, but the slow, confident smile on her face when she straightened belied any implication of subservience. "As you will. It is my pleasure to serve, great one."

"What price does the Fezai have in mind for more of these
chemar?"

The Fezaiina's smile widened, showing the pointed edges of her small, white teeth. "One of your strongest males for every four dozen stones."

Vadim's glance sharpened. "That is a steep price."

"Perhaps." Zebah lifted her dark, arching brows. "But consider this, Chazah: Your males will be returned to you when the Fezai is through with them." She shook the bag of
chemar
stones and laughed. "Or, at least, what is left of them."

Three bells later, the Fezaiina took her leave, stepping into the open maw of the Well of Souls. Four muscular,
sel'dor-
shackled men followed her, tame as sheep, their eyes downcast, their faces blank with the dazed effects of the Feraz witch's enchantment.

Vadim Maur watched them go with a twinge of regret. The four had been promising men from strong bloodlines, full of latent magic. But Fezai Madia would not have been pleased if he'd sent her less than quality in payment for her latest discovery…and the woman had an evil temper.

The hand holding the
chemar
pouch began to shake again. He bent a hard gaze upon it, trying to will the trembling muscles into obedience. Instead, the tremors grew more pronounced and shot up the entire length of his arm. The velvet bag filled with
chemar
dropped from nerveless fingers.

"Master Maur." A nearby guard started towards him until a snarled command from the High Mage sent him reeling back in fear.

Vadim bent to snatch the
chemar
pouch from the ground and stuffed it in the pocket of his robes. His trembling hand he stuffed in the other pocket. His gaze swept the room, noting which men had witnessed his moment of weakness. Unfortunately for them, all four belonged to Primages who had apprenticed to a Mage other than Vadim Maur. He did not have access to their souls the way he did to the
umagi
of his own apprentices.

"You four. Come here."

Nervously, they came. What choice did they have, really?

"Kneel."

Two of them swallowed and hesitated. "Master Maur?"

The fearful defiance annoyed him. "Do as I say."

Gulping, the four men knelt. "Mast—" The guard's voice broke off in a gurgle as Vadim's Mage blade swept out in one clean slice across three of the four men's necks. The fourth man gave a cry and jerked back just in time to miss the first death strike. He didn't miss the second.

From the doorway to the Well of Souls—kept open with a combination of Azrahn and frequent sacrifices to the Guardians of the Well—demons howled at the scent of fresh blood and death. Vadim left the creatures to their feast. Souls consumed by what lived in the Well could not be called back from the dead. The four would carry no tales of Vadim's weakness to their masters.

As he exited the room, he paused to tell the guard outside the door, "Contact your captain. Tell him to send more guards for the Well."

The soldier brought his heels together with a snap and bowed sharply at the waist. "As you wish, Most High."

The Fading Lands
~
Chatok

Night had fallen. A warm, dry breeze blew from the west, swirling through the long skeins of Rain's hair. He stood on the battlements of Chatok's great tower, his face turned to the north, eyes whirling with glowing radiance as he sang a message to his tairen kin in the still-distant nesting lair of Fey'Bahren.

Ellysetta drank in the vibrant notes of his song as she climbed the last few steps to join him. He had changed out of his leathers and steel, trading them for flowing robes of dusky blue velvet over a tunic of heavy lavender silk shot through with silver thread. An intricately woven circlet of beaten silver rested on his brow, and he'd transformed the golden chain and pendant holding his
sorreisu kiyr,
his Soul Quest crystal, from gold to gleaming silver.

He turned to her, still singing, and held out a hand. She took it, and he pulled her close, his arms wrapping with casual possessiveness around her waist. The folds of his robe swirled about her, warm and rich with the scent of Rain. The tension that had been coiled within him for days was finally beginning to ease. Despite the unkind welcome the Faering Mists had offered them, at last they were here, safe in the Fading Lands, only two days' run from Fey'Bahren, the nesting lair of the tairen.

"Good news?" she asked when the last notes of his song drifted away on the wind.

"Cahlah fed again today," he said. "Sybharukai says her strength is returning. The kits show signs of improvement as well."

"That
is
good news." Ellysetta tilted her head back, a faint smile lifting the corners of her mouth. "Perhaps the Fey don't need me so much as you first thought."

His arms tightened. "Do not be so quick to discount your importance. Cahlah may be recovering, but her kits aren't safe until they break from the egg."

"So we head for Fey'Bahren tonight?"

"Nei."
He smiled and brushed back her curls. "Tonight, we rest and let the warriors downstairs celebrate the arrival of their Feyreisa. It's been too long since they've had cause for joy."

Together, they made their way downstairs to Chatok's massive main hall. There, a great fire burned in the center of the room, and all the warriors of the eastern army had gathered for a feast to welcome their new queen.

When she and Rain stepped onto the landing that led down into the main hall, a hush fell over the assembled Fey and all eyes turned towards her. For one brief moment, a shaft of familiar terror froze her in place—the memory of her first, ill-fated introduction to the heads of Celieria's noble houses—but then hundreds of Fey voices rose in a now-familiar cry:
"Miora felah ti'Feyreisa!"

Bel and Gaelen, looking taller and more handsome than she'd ever seen them, approached the foot of the stairs, smiling up at her as she and Rain descended. Like the rest of the Fey, they'd exchanged their leathers and steel for flowing robes. Gaelen wore subtle shades that called to mind images of ancient, misty forests, while Bel wore a drape of cobalt blue over a tunic of lustrous silver and pewter gray. Both men regarded her with warm eyes.