Sacrifice (Book 4) (26 page)

Once the doors to the Great Hall swung shut, Athan stepped down from the throne and prayed, invoking the name of Eldaloth and imploring his aid. He could sense the bright light descending and opened his eyes. Eldaloth smiled upon him, as beautiful a being as any living had ever seen. How could Mirelle and the Chalaine doubt when such power and glory were before them?

“Eldaloth,” Athan said reverently. “I have dire news.”

“Rise and speak, my chosen servant.”

In a rush, Athan repeated what Padra Nolan had told him, taking strength from Eldaloth’s calm presence. Only Eldaloth’s eyes were troubled, and when Athan finished, he reached out and placed his holy hand on Athan’s shoulder.

Eldaloth’s penetrating eyes held his. “This is indeed the work of Mikkik,” he intoned. “We cannot wait any longer. We will proceed with the Procession of Glory as planned to keep them unaware, but you and Padra Nolan must leave in secrecy immediately for Elde Luri Mora and perform the ritual there as I explained it. On fast horses with a small party, you will reach it in three days. Do nothing more. I will put an end to this pretended Aldradan Mikmir.”

“We have an unexpected ally, Holiness. It is one of the Chalaine’s Protectors who has come to his senses and realized that she is being manipulated and tricked by those around her. He may be able to get to the Chalaine and pull her away from those that deceive her. He claims he can get her to Renberry Cathedral in Mikmir, one of our Church strongholds there. Do I have your permission to attempt to reclaim her?”

“Of course. I will take care of the predator if you can arrange to rescue the prey. This will show the people my power and put an end to this upstart rebellion.”

Athan was pleased. “I will see it done. In three days, the world will at last be set right. Your glory will shine through the world, and the traitors will be put down.”

Eldaloth smiled at him, Athan’s heart leaping at having brought pleasure to his glorious master.

“Is there more that you require, most Holy Eldaloth?”

“Leave me and let me meditate upon my throne for a moment,” he said. “You have done well.”

Athan bowed and left.

The pile of rocks crushed him without end. He lay mangled and smashed, left alone and buried by Ghama Dhron which had been acting under Gen’s command. Sir Torus hungered for food, the souls of sentient creatures that he so craved. Starvation had weakened him, and he could hardly think for the continual weight that could not kill him even though every part of him was pulverized. His only freedom from despair was the unconquerable need to feed that pushed aside all other ruminations that might have driven him mad.

But in the darkness, a voice came to his mind, the voice of the one who had changed him into a creature of appetite, a creature that he loathed.

The time for your freedom has come,
Mikkik said.
I have come to my power but have one enemy left. When she is dead, I will free you from your curse, and you will be free to seek death.

Anything to be free,
Sir Tornus begged.
Anything to feed!

My servant comes to your aid. Be ready. The silencing of the world is at hand.

Gen lay on his back staring at the canopy of the Chalaine’s bed, wondering if Gerand and Volney were getting suspicious that he insisted on guarding the Chalaine personally during the night, since his duties as the returned King of Rhugoth would certainly require him to get a good night’s rest. The royal chambers built into the Great Hall to await the return of Aldradan Mikmir had lain dormant and unused, a museum piece, until Gen had shocked the world by taking upon himself the title of King. While Mirelle had informed Volney of Gen’s true identity—which shocked and delighted him—no one, not even Mirelle, knew that he and the Chalaine had already wed.

He stroked the Chalaine’s hair as she slept peacefully. She rested as she had every night with her head on his shoulder, an arm across his chest, and one leg stretched across his. While he relished her unconscious embrace, he couldn’t help but think she draped herself over him to prevent him from leaving without her knowing.

Her sweet, trusting love always pushed away the intense hardships of the day, most of which were spent in court with the Chalaine receiving visitors and issuing instructions, or with Mirelle trying to firm up plans for the wedding on ridiculously short notice. Once the wedding was complete, only about half of the force they had hoped for would be ready to march on Tenswater to get to the Echo Hold Portal, and reports had already trickled in that the Church was planning to contest their entry by force of arms.

In spite of his worries and the myriad of items demanding his attention, returning to Rhugoth brought him great pleasure. While he still preferred the country lanes of Blackshire over packed city avenues, Mikmir felt like the place of his second birth. Here he had found purpose. Here he had risen in power and importance. Here he had found the woman he called wife and who loved him without reservation. Following the Chalaine through the maze their first night back came as naturally as if he had never been away, though retiring with her for the night in her chambers felt strangely inappropriate until she made it feel otherwise.

More than anything, seeing her happy every single day—bright and carefree and smiling—felt like a victory over every darkness and evil he had struggled against for two years. The most important battle had been fought and won. The Chalaine practically danced around the castle of Mikmir, shining like a second sun everywhere she went. With the Chalaine happy, Mirelle was happy, too, in spite of the immense stress of the logistics and planning that absorbed her. It was a dream. And as the Chalaine had expressed to him nearly every night as they lay together, she wished with all her heart the Mikkik would simply go away and let them live in peace and joy.

But it wasn’t to be. This morning he would be a King and hold a council with his generals. This evening he would be a King again and wed the Chalaine. Then tonight, one last time, he could be Gen and she could be the Alumira, alone together and in love. Then it was time for war and death and a desperate ride to Elde Luri Mora. He couldn’t guess what would happen if Mikkik succeeded in plunging the sword into the heart of the ancient city, but he also couldn’t fathom what would happen if the dark god failed and they won the day. Would he still go on pretending to be Aldradan Mikmir, living out his life as a lie?

He stirred and tried to gently pry the Chalaine off him, but as he did she woke enough to clamp on to him even more tightly.

“No, you don’t,” she said sleepily.

“Alumira, I have to get outside the door before Gerand arrives, or he may begin to suspect that I have behaved in an improper way toward you. Reputation is very important to Tolnorians.”

“Just go back to sleep. You need your rest for our wedding night.”

He smiled and disentangled himself from his clinging wife of nearly a week. She pouted in protest but quickly fell asleep. Gen smiled at her as he donned the regal uniform he had fashioned for himself for playing the part of Aldradan Mikmir. Both Mirelle and the Chalaine had praised the black pants and deep blue shirt with gold trim, saying it accented his features and colors nicely. They sized him up like a bull at the fair, fussing about the length of his hair and the shape of his beard, but both had separately told him that he looked every inch a king.

Belting the replica sword of Aldradan Mikmir to his waist, he opened the door quietly and stepped out, and just in time. Footsteps in the maze signaled Gerand’s approach, and Gen stood at attention, trying to look like someone who had just spent a night in solitude and boredom rather than the reverse.

“Good morning, my Lord Mikmir,” Gerand said, executing a bow. “I’ve come to relieve you.”

“Gerand, I know we need to keep up pretenses, but bow to me as little as possible. It’s hard enough to accept from complete strangers, but we are sword brothers and equals.”

“Sword brothers, yes,” Gerand said, “but equals? I think not. Aldradan Mikmir was not born a king, and neither were you, but you are both gifted leaders. The people are ecstatic and praise you highly.”

“Thank you for your kind words,” Gen replied. “But it will be a long time before I am used to this. And thank you for arriving promptly. I’ve got a council to prepare for this morning.”

Gen left and wound his way out to the antechamber of the Chalaines where Mirelle waited for him as she had every morning since their arrival. She had clearly slept little, red eyes ringed with dark circles.

“Good morning, Lord Mikmir,” she said with a teasing smile.

Gen offered her his arm. “And to you the same, First Mother. It appears you need to follow the example of your daughter and sleep a little later. You seem to be at the point of exhaustion.”

“I am tired, though I might comment that you seem a little too well rested for someone who has been performing guard duty at night and hardly has a moment to himself during the day. I would compliment you on the idea of personally guarding the Chalaine, however. The story that Aldradan Mikmir protects the Chalaine has played well with the people. I am happy that she is so
closely
protected every night.”

“And how is Volney working out?” Gen asked, changing the subject.

“It is odd to have someone so young and impressionable walking in my shadow,” she said. “I gave him the day off to visit with his wife, since you will be with me almost all day.”

The unification of the shards had not so neatly joined the tunnels between the shards where the bridge once spanned the gap. Workers had cleared a rough tunnel to the spiral walkway that led up to the Great Hall of the castle. Gen took breakfast with Mirelle on the balcony, and they talked strategy for the council meeting and final plans for the wedding.

“I only lament that it will be a simple affair,” Mirelle said. “I had wished to throw the most luxurious and expensive wedding for my daughter, especially since this is a wedding we can both wholeheartedly look forward to.”

“It is enough for us,” Gen said. “I’m surprised you’ve arranged as much as you have on such short notice. You are very efficient.”

“It is one of my better qualities.”

A weak voice below the balcony tried to rise above the din of the workers decorating the Great Hall for the wedding. “Lord Mikmir?”

Hurney Fedrick waited on the floor, his once commanding voice having crumbled during Mirelle’s absence. “My Lord, you have a visitor who wishes an audience.”

“Who is it, Chamberlain?”

“Dason Kildan.”

Gen’s eyebrows raised. “I will come down in a moment. I wish to make him wait for a while.”

“Very good, Milord.”

“So the prodigal Protector has come home,” Mirelle said, face troubled. “I confess his departure has worried me a great deal, as it was so unexpected. Do you mind if I tag along and sit on my throne one last time?”

“Not at all. Let’s finish and go down together.”

They took their time with the food and then descended, Gen dismissing the decorators and the court scribe so that they could talk with privacy. Gen took his seat on the massive throne of Aldradan Mikmir, Mirelle sitting on the smaller one just below. Gen signaled to Hurney, who went to retrieve the visitor.

“Dason Kildan,” he croaked a few moments later in a barely audible voice. The last few days of constant visits had nearly incapacitated the old man.

Dason, now dressed in the black uniform of the Dark Guard, strode in. Gen sized him up, remembering Shadan Khairn’s training on reading the details of stride and posture and expression. The Tolnorian’s steps lacked confidence and his entire demeanor was tentative, but his face was resolute, eyes full of purpose. Whatever he felt, he had a hard time meeting their eyes, and Gen couldn’t tell if he felt shame or harbored some secret anger toward them. Dason knelt and bowed his head.