Sacrifice (Book 4) (18 page)

It took them a solid hour to work their way through the crowd to the other end of Tenswater where the line of people waiting for the Portal queued. The Portal to Echo Hold waited below ground. Workers had dug a vertical hole downward, a spiraling ramp descending into the pit. The line waiting to enter the hole stretched a quarter mile back and was moving slowly. The Eldephaere patrolled thickly, and Gen thought better of trying to buy his way to the front of the line again.

Thankfully, those in the line kept staring at the stained marks on the backs of their hands, done in a reddish ink. Gen used his magical gifts to discolor the skin and create the mark on his and Cadaen’s hands just before the Eldephaere came to check them when they joined the end of the line.

While they waited, Gen availed himself of the exorbitantly priced services of a hay cart offering provision and drink for the horses.

“Any news from Echo Hold?” Gen asked as the thin farmer pulled hay out of the wagon.

“Those coming back say it’s as packed as a barn on a wedding. Eldaloth’s made an open invitation to the nobles and Warlords from any country to let them pass to Erelinda like Chertanne did. Biggest rumor, though, is that they got the First Mother on trial before Eldaloth himself. They say they’ll probably execute her. Had lots of nobles show up today wanting to attend that, but I doubt any of them will make it through in time.”

Gen glanced at Cadaen, whose smoldering, far off look portended trouble. Despite the ridiculous amount he had already paid, Gen tossed the farmer a silver piece before turning back to his distressed friend.

“Once we get through the Portal, it will still be two days’ travel to Echo Hold,” Cadaen lamented. “It will be too late.”

“You don’t know that,” Gen consoled. “We’ll ride quickly, just as before. I’ve been to Echo Hold, and I know a way we can bypass the crowd and get in without scrutiny. Keep faith, Cadaen. We haven’t lost yet.”

The words calmed him, but the irritating, slow grind of the line only increased their anxiety. By the time they had descended the spiral ramp to the bottom, evening had fallen.

As in Embriss, the Portal Mage sat on a rug on the ground while another member of the Guild recorded names. A contingent of ten Eldephaere waited around the Portal, and the rumors on the street proved true. Every person passing before the Portal was forced to stick a stained hand into a bucket and have it examined by the Eldephaere. Due to the odd lighting, Gen couldn’t figure out what was happening after they dipped it in. To read the mind of the soldier performing the check would take physical contact, and without knowing what the final result of the hand-dipping needed to be, he couldn’t implant a suggestion, either.

“What do we do?” Cadaen asked.

“We ride,” Gen answered. “If we’re not fast enough, we might find ourselves riding half a horse.”

As they neared the mark-checking station, they mounted their horses, Cadaen in the lead.

“Get down off there!” one of the guards growled.

“Yah!”

Like arrows sprung from the bow, they shot into the blue field before them. Curses erupted around them, and the guards drew steel. Half a moment later they emerged into a valley north of Echo Hold, a line of camp fires and lanterns stretching before them. Their pace prevented maneuvering, and they collided with a pack of riders that had gone through just before them. Horses reared and people fell, the dust churning in the firelight as the animals bumped and collided with one another. Gen and Cadaen pulled their horses around and bolted out into the night just as the Eldephaere from the other side of the Portal burst through, yelling at anyone who would listen to detain them.

Spurs to flanks, Gen and Cadaen fled into the night without a glance back.

By the time the Chalaine awoke, the sun streamed through the shutters of the single window in her room. The night’s sleep felt luxurious and deep, her dreams vibrant and more inappropriate than ever. This morning, however, they didn’t seem quite so inappropriate. They were the promise of a closeness to come, and she smiled, half wishing the rose Gen had left on the pillow next to her was instead the man who had left it.

One day,
she thought.
One day soon.

She and the army would leave for Mikmir after lunch, though she wanted to avoid the bustle evident in the creaking and rumbling throughout the house. While in her room, she could wrap herself in a cocoon that only consisted of her and Gen. The minute she stepped out the door, Mikkik, Dason, and duty would come calling, and the world would barrel forward in the frantic haste of purpose again. She had spent the whole of her young life worried about the expansive needs of the world, but since Gen’s return her anxieties collapsed into a space that only admitted two.

But her mother’s plight revived her to a sense of purpose, although she feared that the letter she intended to write and publish to the world would harm rather than help Mirelle. The gnawing worry pulled her from the sheets and back into life, and she put her feet on the floor. The door cracked as she rose, but Gerand’s voice rather than Dason’s greeted her.

“Shall I call for the maid?”

“Yes, please.”

Fenna came instead of the maid, waddling into the room with a worn face. “This baby must come soon,” she groaned. “Do the Chalaines have any magic that might convince a baby that it is time to make the journey?”

“I’m afraid not, Fenna.”

“Does it hurt? Having the baby, I mean.”

“It is . . . intense,” the Chalaine answered, not really wishing to remember those hours of her life. “But you’ll do fine. Just don’t let Geoff be anywhere nearby in case you say something you might regret.”

“So I saw Dason at breakfast this morning,” Fenna said as she brushed the Chalaine’s hair. “He seemed quite cross and appears as if he’d been in a fist fight with a Gagon. I hope you weren’t cruel to him last night. Has he made his intentions known?”

The Chalaine sighed. “No. He is a gentleman and probably knows I would not think of courting while my mother . . . while my mother is away. We must return to Mikmir and home.”

“I am sure Mirelle will not tarry to counsel with Athan long and will join you as soon as she can,” Fenna consoled, “Although I have heard some strange rumors.”

“Such as?”

“We had food brought in through Portal Gate, and the merchant told my cook that a whole host of Church soldiers had passed through there on their way to Mikmir. I suppose, though, that they would have been looking for you.”

“Very likely,” the Chalaine answered.

“Were you very lost?”

“We were in a trackless wilderness running for our very lives.”

“Oh! But look! A rose!” Fenna said, abandoning the Chalaine’s hair and retrieving it. “So! Dason perhaps expressed his affectionate intentions after all, even if he didn’t use words! And look! It is thornless. It doesn’t even look like it grew with thorns. There are no scars where they have been cut off. I wonder where he got such a variety? Not in my gardens. I shall have to ask him.”

The Chalaine closed her eyes to settle her irritation. “He knows nothing of it. He didn’t give it to me.”

“Really!” Fenna plopped down beside her and started in on the hair again. “Then who?”

“A secret admirer. It was on my bed when I returned last night,” she lied. It was toilsome to bottle up the love she wanted to shout from the tallest tower.

Not much longer.

“Then it was likely Dason,” Fenna said. “I am so excited! I can’t wait for the wedding! Will you have it in Mikmir or in Tolnor?”

“Fenna, enough!” the Chalaine said, trying to insert a friendly tone into a plea that proceeded from frustration.

Lady Blackshire finally did relent, though at breakfast, she cornered a grumpy Dason, and the two spoke at length. By the time they finished, Dason was beaming again and the Chalaine had lost her appetite. He resumed his duties as Gerand took the opportunity to get a few hours of sleep before they departed.  Lord Kildan left with his Tolnorian soldiers first, the Duke bidding his sons farewell and promising to return to Mikmir as soon as he could to join in council.

The Chalaine pulled Maewen, Ethris, and General Harband aside after their departure and relayed Fenna’s intelligence about the Church soldiers marching on Mikmir.

“I feared as much,” Ethris said. “If Athan is looking for you, he knows you will make for Mikmir and will use every means to prevent you from getting inside. The Church is likely placing members of the Council of Padras in leadership positions, and Mikmir is key to controlling the nations. This may get very difficult, Chalaine. It may be up to you to rally your countrymen to take back Mikmir if the Church won’t quit the city.”

She said, “My mother would be better equipped. . .”

Ethris took her by the shoulders. “Your mother is a prisoner now, to save you. It falls to you now to fill her place.”

“But the people rejoice! They won’t believe me!”

“They will believe you. They worship you and will come to your aid if you can speak with conviction. You must wake them from this dream and bring them into the nightmare before Mikkik accomplishes his purpose.”

“Where do I start?” she asked.

“You start here with Lord and Lady Blackshire. Their levy of soldiers is small, but with the Tolnorians marching for their own country, we need to reinforce. The Church armies were never very big alone, and if the armies of the nations are returning home or scouring the wilderness to fight the Uyumaak, then we may be able to muster a force big enough to put the Eldephaere to flight.”

The Chalaine looked sideways at the jovial Geoff with his expectant wife, her longtime friend. Fenna placed a hand on the top of her protruding baby, waiting to feel a kick. Their happiness and celebration was a lie, or, as Ethris said, a dream. The Chalaine’s stomach clenched. No one knew better than she that a warm, comfortable dream was often much preferable to the cold, hard truth.

“Will you stand with me?” she asked Ethris. “My word alone won’t be sufficient.”

“I will, child. You may find you have more iron in you than you think.”

Heart heavy and hands clammy, the Chalaine walked to the head of the table where Lord Geoff of Blackshire waited.

Be like mother,
she told herself.

“Lord Blackshire,” she said. “Ethris and I need to have a word with you and your wife.”

“But are you sure, Lady Alumira?” Geoff said, face stunned. So far, he was the only one that had remembered to use her new name. They sat in his study, which was dusty from disuse. “I can scarce believe it! It is the most awful thing in the world!”

“It is true,” she replied, finding that telling the tale out loud actually calmed her nerves. “What his purpose is now, I cannot say, but he has deceived the entire world. He played on the prophecy and turned it to his own ends. We are in grave danger, and I must get control of Mikmir to spread the word to a world that will not want to hear it.”

“So Gen
was
the Ilch as the stories said,” Fenna said, “but he turned away from his foreordained path out of love for you! And then to be killed! How he must have suffered.”

“Yes,” the Chalaine said. “But I do not tell you this merely for your information. I need provision for the men we have and what soldiers you can spare.”

Geoff stood. “But of course you shall have what you need. I . . . I just can’t fathom it. It did all sound a bit too easily done, and this kind of nefarious trickery does fit with all the tales told of Mikkik during the Wars. Thank you, Lady Alumira, for enlightening us. And I sorrow for your loss. Gen was every inch a man to be admired.”

“Yes, he is,” the Chalaine said before she realized her mistake. “Was,” she corrected hastily. “I thank you for your support. We will travel and try to gather men from the Regents as we go, though I fear that when the Church finds out we are coming, they may send soldiers for us directly.”

“More likely they will stay fortified within Mikmir’s walls,” Ethris opined.

Maewen, who had insisted on coming, walked out of the corner. “I will go find Falael, who is no doubt enjoying the living trees near here. I will send him north to scout. I will remain with the Chalaine.”

“Very good,” Ethris said. “Let’s get General Harband and get the men moving. We should stop in Embriss to speak with Regent Feldebrinne and then on to Kitmere to visit Regent Torunne. Having his nephew Volney with us should help.”

They left the study, and the Chalaine breathed a sigh of relief.

Ethris beamed at her, eyes soft. “Well done, Lady Alumira. It will be hard for me to get used to calling you that.”

“Call me whatever you like,” she said. “You’ve earned it. Do you think the others will be as easy to convince?”

Ethris shook his head. “No. They have more at stake in angering the Church, but do not fear! You can actually be quite persuasive when you wish. And if we fail, we will move on to the next and the next until we have enough men behind us to make Athan think twice about facing us.”

In order to allow Geoff time to muster his men and gather provisions, they delayed a day. During the night, Fenna at last had her baby. The Chalaine saw her through the difficult moments of labor and rejoiced with her when a baby girl howled her first cries into the night. Geoff already had a song at the ready—he had previously prepared one for a boy and one for a girl—and father and mother both laughed and wept at the wonder of it all. By the time the Chalaine sought her room and her bed, it was late.

“I will have a son as my first child,” Dason said as they walked the hall.

“How do you know?” the Chalaine asked.

“I just know. Don’t you feel the same?” he asked, words pregnant with meaning.

“Good night, Dason,” she said as she opened the door to her room and shut it more loudly than she intended.

None of the candles in her room were lit, and the fire smoldered, extinguished in the hearth. Something about the room felt wrong, a smell or a change in the way she felt. She turned back to the door to open it, but her body would no longer move at her command. She opened her mouth to scream for help, but nothing would come. Something passed in front of the shuttered window, a dark shadow growing larger as it approached her, and then blackness enveloped her like a dark wing.