Sacrifice (Book 4) (36 page)

She put her hand on his shoulder. “My offer still stands. You only need ask. But you are right. Let us finish this. Then we will rest. I’ll get atop the walls and see what the Uyumaak are up to.”

General Harband, beaten and bloody, arrived and leaned on his heavy war club. “We could have used you sooner, Milord,” he said with a slight tone of accusation. “We lost a lot of men tonight.”

“We lost more than that, General,” Gen returned with emotion. “I have restored Elde Luri Mora, but at a great cost. Where are the other Dukes and Generals?”

“I believe I’m the only one who can stand. Two were killed, and the rest are gravely wounded.”

“Take me to them, and I will heal them. I have a story they must hear so they can know that this sacrifice was not a vain one.”

“Lord Mikmir!” Maewen shouted from the battlements.

“What is it?”

“They’ve come!”

“Who?”

“The Aughmerians!”

General Harband rolled his eyes up into his head and he straightened, hefting his club. “Oh, no they don’t! They’ll fight off what’s left and then take credit for saving the city! Heal me, Lord Mikmir, and let me gather what men are. . .”

“General Harband!” Gen barked loud enough to break the man from his frenzy. “General. Let the Aughmerians have their turn to bleed.”

The meeting with the army’s leadership was short, and Gen was gratified to see that General Torunne was not among those who had died, even though he had led the charge against Khrona Dhron to buy Gerand time to get Mirelle to safety. When Gen revealed that the person they thought was Lady Alumira was instead her mother, the Dukes and Generals were shocked and angry that Mirelle and the city had been used as bait, but when Gen related the events of Elde Luri Mora, they nodded soberly and seemed to accept the necessity of the ruse.

“You have all won the freedom of this world,” Gen said, “and much honor and glory besides. It has been an honor to serve and fight with you. I will see the Uyumaak dead, but I must leave you again soon. There is a task that I must complete before I can rest again and before the world can be at peace.”

“What about Mikkik?” Gerand asked. “You just can’t leave him imprisoned in the middle of the courtyard.”

“I have to for now. When I return I will bring a weapon that will end him forever. Look for me before the summer ends. Do not let anyone approach him or give him anything, but let the people see him and know that he is, at last, beaten.”

Emotionally spent, Gen left the pavilion, not wanting to field questions or make decisions. He walked into the courtyard as the light of dawn tried to scratch through the haze to lighten the sky. Mikkik glared at him from his cage, and Gen approached, pushing through a circle of gawking soldiers edging in for a look at the dark god of legend. While extraordinary to them, Mikkik no longer held any fascination for Gen.

Gen regarded him coldly and spoke to him in the ancient tongue. “I will come to release you from your suffering soon. You will suffer the same fate you designed for Eldaloth. I do not know if this brings you comfort, but to the world it will bring release.”

“You will have to bleed many to have enough power to end me!” Mikkik sneered. “I have servants still. One will free me, and I will begin again and bleed thousands of the weak-blooded until my purpose is done!”

“The blood of the Millim Eri runs in my veins,” Gen returned. “I will bleed forty-nine times with a smile on my face and
my
servant will come for you and rid the world of your treachery.”

“Who are you?” Mikkik asked. “Where do you get your power from when there are no moons in the sky?”

Gen stepped closer and whispered, “You mean you do not recognize your creation?”

Mikkik’s eyes went wide. “No! I stripped you of your power, and the Uyumaak destroyed you! Only Millim Eri could have restored you with blood magic, and they would never use it! Who are you?”

“I am Aldradan Mikmir!” Gen said loudly for the soldiers’ sake before turning away. “And I have defeated you.”

“Where does your power come from?!” Mikkik raged.

The soldiers parted and bowed as Gen passed through, searching the courtyard until he found Maewen standing on the wall watching the sun rise over the wounded city. Gen leaned on the battlements next to her, wondering what her eyes could see that his could not. The dawn cast an angry red glow where it prepared to rise into the haze of dust and smoke.

“Can you see to the plain?” Gen asked.

“The Aughmerians are bleeding now, I believe,” she answered, “at least from the sound of it.”

They watched in silence for several moments before Gen turned toward her. “I want to thank you for everything you have done,” he said. “You have proved yourself invaluable, risked your life, done your duty, and helped me so many times I could never say thank you enough. For one such as you, I’m not sure what I could do to reward you or make plain my gratitude.”

“Killing Uyumaak is pleasure enough for me. What do you intend to do?”

“I need to enlist your aid one last time, if you are willing.”

“Are you ready to see the secret places the world?”

“Not just yet. My blood must be used to end Mikkik for good, and I’ll need Athan’s help to do it. I must return to Elde Luri Mora to find him. When that is done and Mikkik is finished, then we will walk the world until my heart is at peace. I must mourn with Mirelle and bid her farewell, but after that I have a task to put you to while I see to the creation of the weapon.”

“I am ready.”

Mirelle had never watched the sky with such earnestness in her entire life. Over one year had passed since she had been visited by Athan, cowled and bearded in disguise. She hated him and would have cast him from her sight, but he had come with an extraordinary mission—to hand her a sword that would kill Mikkik in his cage.

It was the sword that would avenge the blood of her daughter, a sword of power formed by the virtue of Gen’s blood. Along with it came the Training Stones Gen had gifted to her daughter with instructions to wear them so that Samian might give her the basic skill with the blade that she would need to make the killing stroke.

“Gen will come for you next year,” Athan had told her, “when the first snow falls.”

She wore the Training Stones for two weeks until she could manage a solid thrust and then announced to the world the date of Mikkik’s execution. On a golden fall day over a year before, all who could fit in the courtyard watched her stride from the Chapel at dawn, face solemn. Mikkik flinched when he saw the blade, his cruel features twisted in the agony of his torment.

“For the Chalaine,” was all Mirelle had heart to say. Extending her arm as she had been taught, she plunged the blade into Mikkik’s gut. The dark god had closed his eyes and sneered before disintegrating in an explosion of light. The crowd had cheered and would have pressed her into some speech, but she had no more words to speak that day. She had returned to her chambers to mourn afresh while the rest of the world feasted for a week. 

And so began the longest year of her life, and the most agonizing autumn. While she waited for Gen’s return, she had acquiesced to the aristocracy and agreed to stay on as Regent to be an anchor in Aldradan Mikmir’s absence. There were funerals to attend, a city to rebuild, and alliances to renew. She knew her familiar face and familiar ways were needed, and to dull her own pain she used work to bury her grief.

The spring took her to Tolnor for the coronation of Gerand Kildan. He and his lovely Mena were striking in their royal garb of deep red and gold. While it was a joyous affair—free of demons and dark gods—Mirelle felt empty and alone without the people she loved best in the world, and she left a few days early under the pretense of needing to address Rhugoth’s pressing concerns.

After she returned home, the Regency of Rhugoth tried to press her into service as the First Mother of Rhugoth, but without Gen and without her daughter, she simply had no taste for it. Only one desire burned in her heart—to fulfill her lifelong ambition to be a proper wife and to relive the joy of motherhood again. And there was only one man she would accept to walk with her in those desires, a man she pined for on some days and was furious with on others. How dare he leave her for a year! How dare he leave Rhugoth without his steadying presence! How dare he not come to see the end of Mikkik!

While she understood Gen’s reasons for staying away and more than understood his grief, she had desperately needed him. She still did. She had cried her tears for her daughter, she had done her duty for her nation, and she had waited long enough without any word.

The loss of the Chalaine had carved a hole in her heart to add to the loneliness that already gaped open wide there. It needed filling, and while Gen had promised to come for her, he hadn’t promised to love her or to wed her. The mystery and uncertainty nearly drove her mad as she willed Ki’Hal to hurtle forward, for the warm summer winds to cool and leech the green out of the leaves. Now she watched the leaves jostling in the wind and begged them to dry and fall, pulling one from every branch she passed to hasten the process.

Now with the branches mostly bare, she leaned on the balcony of the Great Hall in the late afternoon, shawl wrapped around her shoulders as a thick mass of dark clouds crawled toward the sun, bringing a biting chill that kicked up and rustled her hair and cooled her face. Sweet coldness it was to her. She dressed her best every day since the breezes began to cool, ready for that familiar voice and that familiar step. How he would come, she didn’t know or care. Where they would go, she could guess, for she longed to see the place where her daughter had died, or perhaps still lived but in a way she couldn’t now understand.

“Shall I fetch your cloak, Milady?” Volney asked.

“No,” she said, turning to regard him. He had been faithful to Gen’s charge to protect her, even though Mirelle no longer saw the necessity of his protection. Her only enemies now lived inside her, the doubt and fear she had to beat away with every sunrise and sunset.

The dark hours in her bed were the worst, and she nearly despised her bed chambers for the hopeful longings and dreadful imaginings they provoked within her, tearing her apart. The worst was the feeling of age that she had never felt. While the virtue of the breeding of the Chalaines blessed her with a youthful appearance, she knew it would not last. Gen would never age, eternally a man in his youth. One day she would wake up and look like his mother, and she wondered how he or she would deal with the disparity.

Another blast of chill wind squinted her eyes, this one truly numbing. The clouds spilled over the sun, ending whatever warmth was left in the air.
It is here,
she thought.
He had best keep his promise, or I will hunt him down and make him regret it.

Volney let out an audible gasp as the frigid air washed over him. Mirelle smiled. He was such a contrast to Gen. With no wars to fight and with home and hearth putting good food in his mouth, Volney’s uniform had tightened and his face had filled out. Family life suited him, and Mirelle hoped he would take what rewards and treasure were his and be with his wife and son. They couldn’t ask for a kinder father.

Something cold touched her face and she looked up, finding the swirling flakes descending upon them, driven by the wind. She lifted a hand before her, and a flake fell upon it and melted under her heat. It had come. Winter with its first snow was upon them. He would come now. He had promised he would, and she would not let him break this promise.

Reasserting her more confident nature she turned away from the balustrade just as a brilliant shimmering field of blue appeared behind Volney, who jumped back and drew his sword. Mirelle crossed her arms in front of her and waited, a thrill building inside her. Quickly she loosened her hair the way Gen liked it and smoothed red her dress over her curves.

“Were you expecting this?” Volney asked, noting her distinct lack of anxiety.

“Yes. Be at ease.”

He didn’t sheathe his sword, but his body relaxed.

And finally he came. He dressed not as a King or a soldier, but as someone who wandered the wild. Mirelle hardly cared, taking in his clean shaven face and intelligent, sober eyes. But his smile was all she needed, and she fell into his extended arms, forgetting all the bouts of ill will she had suffered over his neglect. He kissed her hair and then took her hand, turning toward Volney.

“Your work is done, my friend,” Gen said. “Put your sword away, go home, and never take it up again. Thank you for all you have done.”

“It has been an honor, Gen, Lady Mirelle. I will always think of you.” He bowed and left.

Gen turned her toward the Portal. “Are you ready?”

“I’ve been ready for a long time, Gen,” she said, choking on the words and stifling tears. “I am ready.”

He led her forward through the shimmering Portal, and in an instant they stepped out on into warmer air and clearer skies upon the bridge across the lake of Elde Luri Mora. The Portal shut behind them, and Mirelle gazed in wonder at the splendor of the city, now even more vibrant and alive than when the bedraggled survivors of the caravan had set foot upon it. The light of the afternoon sun painted warmth and health on every building and hillside, the blossoms of the city open wide to its light. It felt vibrant and whole, and, while she could not explain it, it felt intimately familiar.

“She is here, isn’t she?” Mirelle asked reverently.

“She is,” Gen said. “I hope this can bring you some comfort. If you want to feel close to your daughter, she is always here, and always will be.”

Mirelle nodded, unsure of how to feel. The whole notion was so odd, but beautiful in its way. She grabbed Gen’s arm and pulled in close. “Thank you for coming for me. I have missed you terribly.”

“And I you. I am sorry to have been gone during such a hard time. It was hard for me, too. I regret it if I caused you pain, but I haven’t been idle, and I haven’t been avoiding you. I just needed to think. I needed to sort out what good I could do with the rest of a long life ahead of me. Maewen tells me I need to return as a King, but that isn’t what is in my heart.”

Mirelle nodded in understanding, not wanting to pry or force him to explain everything. Being near him and being in Elde Luri Mora were enough for now. As they neared the opposite shore, the rich scent of the blossoms greeted her, invigorating and refreshing her spirit. The chirp of a bird or the soft stirring of the trees were the only noises besides theirs, the blessed silence of the place washing away her cares. Whatever would come would come, and she would be content.

“I have some explaining to do,” Gen said. “I need to show you something.”

Gen guided her toward the Hall of Three Moons, and Mirelle tried to push away her unpleasant memories of the place. Watching the Chalaine wed Chertanne had hurt, and leaving Gen behind, bound to the floor by magic, had filled her with fury. But even as these thoughts sought to overwhelm her, something soothed her. It was as if no dark thought could prevail in Elde Luri Mora, the city casting out every care. Something was stronger about the city than it had been the first time she came, and Mirelle wondered why.

But what she saw at the center of the floor turned her attention outward. Three piles of blackened rocks sat in the beautiful chamber illuminated by the sunlight from the circular dome in the ceiling.

“Have you been collecting rocks?” Mirelle asked.

“Yes. Maewen and I have brought as many as we could find to this place.”

“Why?”

“They are rocks from Duam, Myn, and Trys, chunks that fell to the ground at the death of Elde Luri Mora. They possess great magic.”

Mirelle understood. “So this is what you used to fight Mikkik in Mikmir.”

“Yes. I only had a Duamstone then, but the results were powerful.”

“Why horde them?”

Gen shook his head. “Not horde them. Hide them. If anyone figures out what they can do with these stones, there will be wars fought to get them. Elde Luri Mora is hidden to most, so they will be safe here.”

“And if I looked in that bag of yours, I don’t suppose I would find a few stashed away?”

He smiled. “Well, I thought it would be prudent to have a few around—for emergencies.”

“I see.”

Mirelle walked farther inside, standing on the map of unified Ki’Hal. “Is this where she died?”

“It is,” Gen replied, turning to stand in front of Mirelle and placing his hands on her arms. “She did it to save me. I wish it would have been me instead, Mirelle. You must believe me. I hope you can forgive me for failing her in the end. I was stupid and naive to think that Joranne and Sir Tornus could serve any other need besides their own. Not a day goes by that I don’t regret my part in her death, even if the world was saved. I was terrified to tell you what happened. I wouldn’t blame you if you hated me.”

Mirelle wrapped her arms around him and laid her head on his shoulder. “I never blamed you. I know you loved her, and in a way it seems she was led to this end. She was forced by expectations and prophecy to marry Chertanne. The sacrifice here she chose, and in this place she chose her path out of love for you. Perhaps it was only that kind of sacrifice that could save Ki’Hal. And you should know that I could never hate you, although I will admit to some unkind thoughts over your absence for the last year.”

Gen led her out of the Hall of Three Moons and they meandered through the scented streets of Elde Luri Mora in silence. Mirelle glanced at his face, finding it sober and thoughtful. She leaned into him, wondering how badly his heart hurt and what questions troubled his mind.

“So, is Athan still here?” she asked as they approached a small pavilion by the lake.

“He left on an errand. He wanted to return his staff of office before coming back. I thought it best he not be here when you arrived. For all his penance and piety, I still cannot look on him without anger.”