Queen of Song and Souls (7 page)

"So now the
dahl’reisen
—at least some of them—are in league with the Eld," Rain summarized. "Which means the Warriors' Path and every nonprivate Spirit weave are compromised."

"And the
dahl'reisen
from the Brotherhood are spinning Gaelen's invisibility weave on behalf of the Eld," Bel added. The black-haired, cobalt-eyed Spirit master of Ellysetta's quintet made the announcement with none of the implied accusation that had been in Tajik's voice earlier. Bel had been the first warrior to welcome Gaelen back into the fold, and he was still the only Fey Gaelen truly considered a friend. "It won't take the Eld long to figure out how to penetrate it, if they haven't already."

Some found it odd that Bel, a warrior widely regarded in the Fading Lands as the living essence of Fey honor, could befriend the
dahl'reisen
whose infamous deeds were legend and whose name had become synonymous with the Dark Lord's, but Rain knew that Bel's unswerving sense of honor was exceeded only by the greatness of his heart. Belliard vel Jelani was a warrior who embodied the best of the Fey. He could plan the systematic and merciless destruction of an enemy army, kill with breathtaking skill, and make decisions that would break lesser men—but even when he'd clung to the pained, gray existence of the rasa, he never abandoned either honor or compassion. That nobility of spirit, an intrinsic goodness that suffused his every action and yet never blinded him to the harsh realities and demands of a Fey warrior's life, was one of the qualities Rain admired—and envied—most about his oldest and most trusted friend.

It was in part
because
Bel found Gaelen a worthy friend that Rain had abandoned the old prejudices that still kept Tajik and vel Serranis at odds.

"You say you discovered the Eld before they could make it past the inner gates. Was there any indication of what their mission was?

"I can think of any number of reasons a general would send such a small party into an enemy fortress, and even more reasons why the Eld would do so." Bel glanced at Ellysetta,

There's more," Lord Teleos said. "The
dahl'reisen
and the Black Guard are dead, but we managed to take one of the Primages alive. The others killed themselves so they couldn't be questioned, but we're keeping this one unconscious and restrained by a twenty-five-fold weave. If we can Truthspeak him before he has time to invoke his death spell, we might learn something."

Rain frowned. "The
shei'dalins
haven't already done so?" It was rare to capture a Mage alive, even rarer to keep him that way for any length of time.

"Once they sensed
dahl'reisen
in the city, their quintets insisted on taking them through the Mists. They won't be back until morning at the earliest."

"What about the wounded?" Ellysetta asked.

"The hearth witches have the situation well in hand
kem’falla
," Bel said. "This attack looks much worse than it really is. I suspect the whole effort is a diversion meant to hold our attention while the raiding party we intercepted snuck through our defenses."

"So you're saying the only one here to Truthspeak the Mage is me."

Aggression slammed through Rain's body. "That's out of the question!" He lunged into the space between Ellysetta and her quintet, thrusting her behind him in a Fey male's instinctive gesture of protection. "
Nei
, I forbid it," he reiterated when it looked tike Gaelen or Bel might object. "She bears Mage Marks. We have no idea what touching a Primage of Eld—let alone trying to Truthspeak him—would do to her, what doors it might open. Better we get nothing at all from this Mage than risk Ellysetta."

Bel and Gaelen looked away. Even Teleos couldn't hold his gaze. They'd really considered it. They'd really thought Ellysetta might—

"Rain, if there's a chance we can find out what the Eld are planning, isn't it worth the risk?" Ellysetta spoke in a low voice, pitched for his ears only. "Think of the lives we could save. Koderas is lit. You said yourself that means Celieria is in grave danger. If 1 can Truthspeak this Mage, I might discover something that will help us prepare our defenses."

He spun to face her and gripped her arms. "I know you want to help, but this is not the way, Ellysetta. Be sensible. You've never Truthspoken anyone before in your life. A Primage is hardly an appropriate test subject." He shook his head. "
Nei
. It's far too dangerous in every possible way. Put the idea out of your mind, because it isn't going to happen."

"We could send word to the other side of the Mists." Gillandaris vel Jendahr, Ellysetta's Air master, made the suggestion. Gil's black eyes sparkled with silvery lights like stars shining in a night sky, contrasting vividly with the alabaster paleness of his Fey skin and the even paler hair that he wore bound at his nape with a simple, unadorned tie and left to fall to his waist in a shower of snowy whiteness. His expression was serious—almost grim. He was a blade's blade, hard edged and dangerous. The kind of warrior more likely to slit throats than laugh at jokes, though with his friends he did on occasion display a wit every bit as sharp as his blades.

"The
shei'dalins
who left Orest are still in the Mists," Gil was saying, "but there are others camped just on the other side. They might be able to get here soon enough to Truthspeak this Mage before he fights off the sleep spell and suicides like the others."

"Summon them," Rain commanded.

"Already done," Bel answered. The hazy lavender glow of his Spirit weave still lit his eyes. 'Two
shei’dalins
and their quintets are on the way. They should arrive in a few bells." Revan-Oreth, the Mist-shrouded pass guarded by Kiyera's Veil, wasn't particularly long in miles, but it was a steep, winding, treacherous mountain path. Even before the Mists were raised, Revan-Oreth had been a slow road to travel.

"Which
shei'dalins
are coming?"

"Narena and Faerah vol Oros."

Rain took a breath. The women were two of the Fading Lands' most powerful
shei'dalins
, and he knew exactly why they were coming. "Call fifty of our strongest warriors. I want those two guarded at all times." The vol Oros line was one of the most powerful surviving families of the Fey. One of Faerah and Narena's two brothers—both now dead—had been a Tairen Soul, and their eldest sister, Nicolene, had been captured by the Eld during the battle of Teleon. Rain would bet every blade he owned that Faerah and Narena's offer to Truthspeak the captured Mage had more to do with their hope of discovering what had happened to their sister than any desire to find useful military intelligence.

Eld - Bowra Fell

"You're late,
umagi
." A cuff from one meaty paw accompanied the Eld guard's irritable growl.

The small, ragged, dark-haired girl who'd received both the greeting and the blow stifled a hiss of pain and skittered to one side to avoid the following kick. She was usually more adept at dodging Turog's fists, but she'd been distracted by the battered woman strapped to the table in the center of the room.

When she'd entered the mating cell and caught sight of the masses of tangled black hair and the feint silvery glow of the woman on the table, the girl had frozen in her steps. For a few, dizzying instants, she'd thought it was Shia, the pretty, black-haired, blue-eyed woman who'd loved to brush the girl's hair and sing her sweet songs. Shia, who'd given the worthless
umagi
girl the name she now called herself: Melliandra.

But Shia had been ripped apart in childbirth, her lifeless body thrown down the refuse chute to be eaten by the savage
darrokken
that lived in the den caves at the bottom of the pit. And when the woman on the table opened her eyes, Melliandra’s impossible hope faded. Black eyes, not blue. Dull and dazed from the effects of the drugs and Mage spells used to make her docile and receptive to mating. Just as well, Melliandra thought with an unexpected surge of pity. The stud set upon the woman had clearly been one of the wild ones. -. the kind who sank his teeth and nails into a woman as well as his mating organ.

"What the jaffing hells are you waiting for,
skrant
? Get to work." Turog swung his massive paw again, but this time Melliandra was quick enough to duck. She dragged her cart of cleaning supplies into the room and suppressed her unexpected surge of emotions with ruthless determination. Emotion was a sign of weakness in Boura Fell. Blank, unseeing eyes, ears deaf to the screams of the suffering, and a heart devoid of caring were the only ways to survive here.

Still, she couldn't keep from watching out of the corner of her eye as the black-garbed
umagi
attendants released the heavy leather straps binding the woman's wrists and ankles and helped her to her feet. The woman's knees gave way, and she would have tumbled to the floor if one of the attendants hadn't caught her beneath her arms and held her upright. The other
umagi
draped a blanket around her—which Melliandra knew was more to keep one of the High Mage's precious female breeders from catching a chill than any attempt to preserve her modesty—and led her out the door.

Melliandra listened to the sound of their departing footsteps, counting the steps and calculating the distance before the slight muffling indicated a turn down another corridor. The new woman was being taken to the garden, the deceptively beautiful chamber that looked like a natural paradise but was, in feet, the prison where the High Mage kept his most valuable and magically gifted female breeders.

A prickle at the back of her neck warned her that Turog was watching, and she promptly snapped her attention back to her chores, dunking a clean cloth into the bucket of warm, soapy water and attacking the mating table with it. Though Turog behaved like every other lumbering, thick-necked bully who guarded the lower levels of Boura Fell, he was more observant than most. And meaner. The High Mage chose the men who guarded his breeders very carefully.

Despite the bruises and bite marks on the woman's body, her mating hadn't been one of the most violent ones Melliandra had been summoned to clean up after. There were only a few smears of blood on the table and almost none on the floor. Within ten chimes, the room was spotless and ready for the next unfortunate participant in the Mage's breeding program.

Melliandra gathered her supplies, loaded them on the cart, and exited. As she passed the corridor leading to the garden prison, her veins hummed with the desire to make the turn. The woman who'd just been taken there was one of the new prisoners, someone whose skin shone with the same silvery luminescence as Lord Death and his mate.

Someone new enough and magical enough to perhaps still retain memory of her life outside Boura Fell, perhaps even information Melliandra could use to her advantage.

The desire to head down that corridor was so strong, she fought to keep her body from making the turn. It was as if something or someone in that room were compelling her with a power almost as strong as the one the High Mage of Eld used when he took command of her body and bent her to his will. But she knew the compulsion didn't come from someone else. It came from within.
She
wanted to go down that corridor.
She
wanted to visit the newcomer, interrogate her, discover everything she knew about the world above.

Melliandra's muscles clenched in protest as will overrode want. She couldn't go. Not now. Her earlier reaction when she'd entered the mating chamber had roused Turog's suspicions, and she could feel his gaze boring into the back of her head.

She pushed the cart a little faster, forcing herself to walk past the corridor. The High Mage was gone for at least two days, and Turog would head back to the barracks hall when his shift ended in four bells. She would come back then and sneak into the garden room to visit not just the new breeder but all the women held there. She hadn't seen them since Shia's death.

Losing the first person ever to treat her with kindness had left an ache Melliandra had never known before and couldn't seem to quell She'd shed the first tears of her life over Shia, felt the first consuming burn of rage.

Nothing had been the same since then. There was a hole in her, a yawning, painful emptiness she couldn't seem to fill.

Every night, she dreamed. Not the dull, spiritless gray dreams of an
umagi
, but dreams filled with vibrant color and emotion. Dreams that made her wake each morning with her hands curled into determined fists and the ragged square of folded cloth beneath her head soaked with her own tears.

She dreamed of Shia singing softly as she brushed Melliandra's hair... of Shia's torn, lifeless body tumbling out of the refuse cart into the pit of slavering
darrokken
... of Shia's child, the tiny, bright-eyed infant in whom a piece of Shia still lived.

Most of all, she dreamed of watching the High Mage die in torment... and of the day when she, Melliandra—with Shia's son cradled in her arms and the Mage Marks that made her a slave completely erased from her soul—would step out of the cruel, sunless gloom of Boura Fell into the glorious freedom of the world above.

"Get out of my way,
umagi."

The curt snap of a masculine voice shattered her unintended reverie, and a swirl of blue silk filled her vision. Primage! Realization splashed over her like a bucket of icy water.

Horrified to be caught daydreaming—and by a Primage, no less—Melliandra gasped. "Forgive this worthless
umagi
, master." She scuttled out of the way, dragging her cart with her. All the while her mind worked at a frantic pace to gather every fragment of dream and whisper of thought that belonged to Melliandra and shove them securely back into the tiny private space she'd somehow managed to create in her mind to hide the time she'd spent with Shia.