The Eighth Warden Bk. 02 Ch. 17-18

Luckily, he didn't wait for a response. "I have some ideas on how to improve them," he said. "It'll take time, though. I need to experiment."

"More hunters, Your Highness?" she asked, not bothering to hide her distaste. This latest attempt had been a disaster. The hunters had killed half the village before she'd realized what was happening and got Rusol to stop them. He'd shown some remorse at first, but then decided to take advantage of the opportunity. He'd ordered the men to chase the remaining villagers out of town, and then had most of them hide so he could spring his trap.

"If it works, the new ones will be different," he said. "Able to think for themselves, but completely loyal and obedient—just like you. It'll be easier to hide them amongst the other men, too. Magnus and I have been discussing it. Maybe the new warden will remain in the north long enough for us to make another attempt."

Yassi frowned. She despised Magnus. Of all of Rusol's bondmates, the priest of The Lady was the only one happy to be in the position he was in, claiming that a vision from his goddess had sent him to Telfort. He was willing to do anything Rusol asked in exchange for the chance to strike at the Church of Pallisur. He'd been trying to convince Rusol and Marten that their plan to corrupt the Church didn't go far enough. Instead of just sending Pallisur's true priests away from the capital and using demonic influence over the unblessed priests that remained, Magnus wanted to destroy the Church entirely.

Yassi didn't like the priests of Pallisur any better than Magnus did—she'd spent her life in fear that they'd learn of her magic—but Marten had pointed out that Larso's military might was backed by the Church. The knights answered directly to the priests, and half of the soldiers in the army were followers of Pallisur, as were half of the kingdom's citizens. A direct attack on the Church would cause a civil war. Rusol had reluctantly conceded his father's point, but Magnus still pressed.

"I still don't understand why you want to kill the new warden," Yassi said. "He couldn't have been responsible for the attack here." She didn't mention Rikard's name, since that sometimes sent Rusol into a rage.

"They're all responsible! I'll find the one that killed Rikard, but we need to eliminate the rest to ensure our safety. Mages with that sort of power can't be allowed to hide among the people. Who knows what they'll do?"

She didn't bother to argue with him. He sounded like a priest of Pallisur himself, railing against mages, but she didn't mention that out loud again, not wanting another black eye.

There was a knock on the door to the study and Jasper stuck his head in. The skinny, elderly wizard had been Rusol's second bondmate, after only Yassi herself. He'd been living in Westport rather than Telfort, plying his trade openly in a city where it wasn't technically against the law, though he was sometimes pelted with eggs or tomatoes. He'd been both pleased and honored when the prince himself had offered him a position...right up until he'd discovered what that truly meant. Yassi still couldn't forget the look of betrayal the old man had given her as the bond had taken hold.

"Your Highness," Jasper said, "Samir has returned and wishes to speak with you."

"That was fast," Rusol said. "Send him in."

Yassi glared at her brother while he and the prince greeted each other. She might not be able to tell him the truth about Rusol's warden bond, but how could he not have figured it out on his own yet? Whenever they spoke, he just listened to the simple answers she was allowed to give him, and he never once questioned how little she said, or how much she'd changed. Why couldn't he figure out she needed his help?

"Did you reach Blue Vale?" Rusol asked.

"I did," Samir replied. "I took three horses and switched off, made good time."

"And?"

"I thought Leonis was about to kill me when I called him a warden, but he got interested when I said you wanted to speak to him."

"You told him I was a warden?"

"Yes. He was almost friendly after that. He wants to meet you. He suggested Fort Northtower as a middle ground."

"Northtower? He's willing to meet in my territory?"

Samir hesitated. "I'm not sure he considers Fort Northtower to be your territory, Rus. He calls himself the High Priest of Pallisur. He sounded very familiar with the fort."

Rusol began pacing. "High Priest? What about Cardinal Aldrich?"

"I didn't ask, but I got the idea he doesn't think very highly of the priests here."

"Neither do I, but Larso has been the home of the Church ever since Telfort was founded. I don't like the thought of another branch believing they take precedence."

Yassi spoke up. "Cardinal Aldrich isn't blessed by Pallisur, is he?"

Rusol's eyes narrowed. "You think the blessed priests are gathering together under Leonis's banner? Could they have realized what Father's doing to the Church here?"

"I didn't get that impression from him," Samir said. "He introduced me to a few other priests, but only a few. There are five or six normal-sized church buildings scattered around the city, but no grand temples."

"No, of course," Rusol said. "And we haven't received any reports of the blessed priests abandoning their posts. They grumble about being sent away from Telfort, but they're still doing their duty. It's got to just be a separate branch up north—one that doesn't take direction from the cardinal. I almost want to tell Aldrich that, just to see his face. Well, High Priest or not, Fort Northtower is still part of Larso, and Leonis would do well to remember that. When is the meeting supposed to take place?"

"He was planning to leave Blue Vale a week after I did. If he travels light, he might be at Northtower already."

Rusol frowned. "It'll take my carriage at least a week to get there, and that's if fresh horses are available at every stop. You'll come with me. Yassi, you too, so go pack. And one more. It can't be Magnus, so maybe Kolvi. But we'll leave her outside the town—she's not good at hiding who she is. I don't know how Leonis squares being both a warden and a follower of Pallisur, so I'm not sure how he'll react to other mages."

Dismissed, Yassi left the room to find Jasper in the corridor.

"You're going with them?" the old wizard asked as he fell in beside her.

"Yes."

"And Samir?"

"He's going, too."

"Can you talk to him?"

Even when they were speaking with each other, the bond limited what they could say.

"I've tried!" she said. "For years. I don't know what else I can say to him."

Jasper sighed. "Then maybe talking isn't the answer. Show him."

"What do you mean?"

"You haven't spent any length of time with him since you were bonded, right?"

"No, I've lived in the palace since then."

"This trip will give you weeks together, and you'll be away from the guards. Show him what your life is like now. Show him..." Jasper grunted, unable to complete the sentence.

Yassi nodded, understanding his intent. "I'll try."

They turned a corner and almost ran into Queen Merise, who stood in the middle of the hall, still wearing a dressing gown. She was staring at a portrait of Prince Rikard.

"Your Majesty?" Yassi said.

"Oh, hello there, dear," the queen said with a smile. "Have you seen my son? He hasn't been around all day."

Yassi shot a worried glance toward Jasper, but he just shrugged. The queen had been unwell ever since Rikard died, but lately, she'd been growing worse.

"No, I haven't seen him, Your Majesty. Has Shara given you your medicine yet?"

"I don't like that medicine. It makes me so tired."

"Come with me, Your Majesty. I know where she keeps it." Yassi took the queen's elbow.

"But I wanted to talk to Rikard first." Merice pointed to the portrait. "Look, there he is now. Through the window."

"That's a painting, Your Majesty. Let's go take your medicine, and you'll feel better."

"Oh, very well, if you insist," the queen said. "You know, I was so happy to see you and Rusol get together." Yassi had to hide a shudder of revulsion. "I wish Rikard would meet a nice girl. You don't have a sister, do you?"

"No, Your Majesty, I'm afraid I don't."

###

Chapter 18

"It's done," said Cenric, a bulky, brown-haired man who'd become the spokesman for the former red-eyes. He spoke in a dull, tired tone. He and his remaining men had spent the entire morning building two massive funeral pyres, one for the red-eyes who'd died and another, larger one for the villagers.

Corec looked up from where he'd been conferring with Sarette. "Then line everyone up. I want to speak to them."

Cenric trudged back to where the others were standing in a dispirited group, with Boktar keeping a close watch over them. Shavala leaned unobtrusively against a nearby building, her bow close at hand in case anyone tried running.

Cenric had held the rank of sergeant in the mercenary army, and was the only squad leader to have survived the previous day's attack. Of the twenty-eight red-eyes who'd come after them, only eight still lived. Treya had used the last of her strength the previous night banishing whatever magic had been controlling the ten men who'd made it through the fight, but she'd passed out before she could heal the four who'd been wounded. Two had died of their injuries overnight, and she'd healed the other two once she'd woken up.

While Corec waited for them, he turned back to Sarette. "How bad is the storm tomorrow going to be? Will we be able to keep traveling?"

"At least for the next day or two. I'm not sure what will happen after that."

"When will it start?"

"Around noon, I think. I'll know better tomorrow."

The former red-eyes gathered in a rough semblance of a line, Cenric at one end, and Des and Arnol at the other. Nobody had told the other red-eyes what the scars burned into the two men's foreheads meant, but they gave them a wide berth anyway.

"We're setting you loose," Corec told them, channeling the gruff tone that Armsmaster Javin had always used back at Fort Hightower. "We'll give you two days of food, and you can have your armor back—it's got enough padding that you won't freeze to death. But we want you gone immediately. You can keep your own coin pouches; you've all got enough money to get wherever you're going."

"What about our weapons?" one man asked.

"You're not getting your weapons back after what you did here. You can have your belt knives, I suppose."

"We didn't mean to do it!" another man protested. "The voice made us!" They'd all given the same story as Des, about a voice forcing them to do things.

"Which is why I'm letting you live, and why I'm letting you go. Don't push your luck or you'll end up like the rest of your friends." Corec had no way of knowing what sort of men they were, other than what Treya had told him about Des and Arnol, but he had no intention of arming a full squad of mercenaries and setting them loose to prey on the small villages that lined the foothills.

He waited for the men to quiet down, then continued talking. "How many of you are from around here? From anywhere in the plains?" He knew Des and Arnol were. Two other men raised their hands as well.

Corec doubted Treya would want to say farewell to the men she knew, so he said, "You four, get going. Head west and don't come back. There's a storm coming in tomorrow, so you'll want to be well clear of this place." He pointed to Katrin and Ellerie, who were standing nearby with a pile of equipment. "These two women have the armor and food we're allowing you to take. Don't give them any trouble or you'll regret it."

"What about them?" Arnol asked, pointing to the remaining men.

"They're not your concern. Go."

Corec waited while the four plainsmen gathered up their belongings and started out northwest, arguing about heading to some larger town they were familiar with. Before they were even out of earshot, one man had split away from the others to head due west instead.

Once they were gone, Corec turned back to the others. "Where are the rest of you from?"

It turned out Cenric was Larsonian, two of the others were hillfolk, and the last was from Tyrsall.

"All right," Corec said. "You four, head south along the foothills. You'll eventually reach the Mountain Road, and that leads straight to Tyrsall. Or, after you're south of the mountains, the snow won't be so bad and you can cut southwest across the countryside to the Trade Road, and go west from there."

There was no guarantee the men wouldn't meet up together once they were out of sight, but by not giving the second group a chance to discuss it with the first, Corec hoped it wouldn't occur to them. Even without weapons, eight men together could be dangerous. He'd divided them up and left them their own coin pouches on purpose—if they could buy supplies, hopefully they wouldn't turn to theft or violence.

"Please don't make me go with them!" the man from Tyrsall protested, his voice cracking. He was barely a man, Corec realized. Underneath the wispy whiskers, he couldn't have been older than sixteen.

"Why not?" Corec asked. "You've got the easiest trip, right back to Tyrsall."

"I can't! Not after what we... I never wanted to join up in the first place, but my brother said we had to after Pa died. Please, don't make me go with them!"

The two hillfolk looked at the boy with disdain.

Corec sighed. One of the solutions he'd discussed with Ellerie, Sarette, and Boktar during the night had been to hold the former red-eyes as prisoners until they could find some sort of authority to turn them over to, but they'd decided it was too dangerous to keep that many men around.

Still, one person was easier to watch over than eight. "What's your name?" Corec asked.

"Nedley."

"Nedley, you can stay for now, as long as you make yourself useful. You do what Boktar tells you, and I don't want to hear any complaining."

"Yes, sir!" the boy said, making an awkward salute as he tried to face Corec and Boktar at the same time.

"I guess you're my problem to deal with now," Boktar told the boy. "Let's go light those pyres so we can head out." He strode off, and Nedley hurried to catch up.

Corec shrugged at Cenric. "I guess there'll be three of you. We'll take care of him. You know where you're going?"

"I've seen a map of these parts before. I should be able to find the Mountain Road."

"If you go back to Larso, stay away from Telfort. Treya thinks you'll be safe from the magic—the voice—as long as you don't get too close to whoever cast the spell in the first place."

"I don't plan to go anywhere near that bastard prince after what he did to me," Cenric said coldly. "My wife and sister are in Highfell. I'll get them and then turn right around and head back to the free lands."

Corec nodded. "Good luck."

The three former red-eyes stalked off, leaving Corec alone with Sarette.

"That still leaves enough food for us to get to the ruins and back, right?" he asked.

She was quiet for the moment as she did the math in her head. "Yes. Enough to get there, spend some time, then get back to Elmsford to restock, plus a few extra days as a buffer." She changed the subject. "Do you think it'll work, splitting them up like that?"

"It's the best I can think of to make sure they don't cause any trouble, without dragging them back to the High Guard as prisoners. Would your people even take them?"

"I don't know. They didn't commit their crimes in the Heights."

"I'm not sure what sort of crime they committed at all if the spell forced them to do it. I couldn't bring myself to kill them for that—they're victims, too. But I hope Treya's right, and that it can't take control of them again."

The men had all professed remorse over the things they'd done, but Corec had no way to tell if any of them were lying. He'd made them build the funeral pyres to reinforce any regret they felt.

"I wasn't much help yesterday," Sarette said.

"You mean during the fight? You did fine. It wasn't your fault you got hurt."

"Yes, it was. I froze, and I got hit."

"You must have taken out, what, three of them by yourself?"

"Two. You helped me with the third. I could do better if you bonded me."

Corec finally realized where she'd been leading the conversation. "Even now that you know someone is trying to kill me?"

"You won the fight."

"With a lot of help, including you."

"I could help more if I was a stormrunner."

"I can't promise that it'll help you with that."

"I know, but I'm willing to take the risk."

"And remember our deal—you'd need to stay with us until we figure out what we're doing. After that, we'll have a better idea of how much time you'll need to spend with us. It'll depend on what sort of jobs we look for."

"Even if I can only be here part of the time, I'd still be of more use than I am now. And I've been talking to the girls—I think I'd like to travel, and see other places besides the mountains." She waited, staring at him with an earnest look on her face, but before he could respond, Gregor returned, and everyone gathered around.

"I followed the path the villagers took up into the mountains," the scout said. "It's like those red-eyed soldiers told us—a lot of the people escaped."

"Can we send them a messenger?" Ellerie asked. "To let them know it's safe to come back?"

The few buildings that remained in the burned-out village weren't much to come back to, but they'd be better than wandering around the mountains in the winter.

"They're following the same path we'll be taking," Gregor said. "The snow's deep and there are children with them, so we'll likely catch up."

Corec breathed a sigh of relief knowing that some of the village's children had survived. That was the other reason he'd made the former red-eyes build the funeral pyres—he couldn't bring himself to look at the bodies any more than he had to.

"Then as soon as we're sure the pyres have burned down, we'll head out," he said.

Gregor scowled when he saw Boktar and Nedley return from their task. "We've picked up a new recruit? I thought you were going to send them away."

"He's just a boy," Corec said. "We'll keep him under control, or send him on his way."

The scout shook his head and sighed. "I'll help them pack the sleds."

He intercepted Boktar and the former red-eye, and the three men went into the building where the group had spent the night. Bobo was already inside, continuing his work on Ellerie's book, so Corec was left alone with the women.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked Sarette. "Whatever happens, it'll take time. It won't do anything right away."

"I've talked to Treya about what it was like for her. But I trained as a stormrunner for years—I know what to do, I'm just not strong enough to do it."

Corec looked around at the others, but no one raised any objections. Katrin and Shavala shrugged, leaving the decision up to him, while Ellerie and Treya gave him slight nods.

"Then let me see if I can figure this out," he said, closing his eyes and concentrating. He'd never actually tried to cast the spell on purpose before, but Yelena had made him practice it over and over again. His other spells seemed to happen almost on their own, without any thought put into them, but this one required effort. It was something like tying together intricate knots using thread that only existed in his imagination. He followed the steps in his mind, and felt the familiar shifting that suggested he'd finished casting a spell, but his arm didn't start itching. He thought he'd failed, but when he opened his eyes, there were faint blue lights moving around on Sarette's brow, under the skin. They gradually took on the shape of three jagged, diagonal lines running parallel to each other.

"It's done," he said.