Burning Bright
Aug. 22nd, 2006 06:02 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrAlmost done, whee!
Chapter Seventeen
Ivan gave up struggling against his chains, the blood slicking his wrists all the warning he needed that he was doing himself more harm than good. All around him in the cart his men slept, covered in grime and blood and who knew what else. Fire and ash, how had they gone from planning a new life away from Pozhar to being carted off like goods bound for market? The sweltering heat was the final touch; he’d be swimming in his own sweat soon.
He struggled to sit up properly, unable to take the pain in his lower back from his hunched position, and glared back at the men who eyed him.
A sound reached his ears as he finally began to focus more on his surroundings, and he was so surprised by the sound he felt for sure hew as imagining it. But one look confirmed that he wasn’t.
Shio and Shinju were crying.
Why that surprised him, he didn’t know. Of course they were crying. Even girls as tough as these two wouldn’t be able to take losing two friends, one right after the other.
Which reawakened his own pain, but Ivan refused to believe for one second that Ailill was actually dead. That Raz was dead. They just couldn’t be.
No. He refused. Ailill and Raz weren’t dead. It wasn’t allowed. Ailill…Ivan drew a breath and forced himself to calm. There was nothing he could do about it at the moment. “Why the tears, beauties?” he asked quietly. “Come on, there’s no reason to cry. Everything will work out.”
Shinju wiped the tears from her cheeks and just shook her head. “We messed up,” she said, voice raw from tears. “Because of us, everything’s been ruined. Now our sisters—“ she dissolved into tears again, curling up against her sister.
“Now we’ll never be forgiven,” Shio continued, her own tears a bit more under control. “We were supposed to keep him safe until it was time, and now he’s dead. Our fathers will never forgive us.”
Ivan stared, completely lost. “I’m not following you, beauties. Perhaps you should explain everything to me. What do you mean failed? Keep who safe? I find it hard to believe there’s a man alive who can resist forgiving you anything.” Something Ailill had said came to mind. “Ailill said you were mermaids.”
Shio nodded, tucking a strand of pale lavender hair behind one ear. “Yes, we’re mermaids. Our behavior over the past several centuries has angered our fathers, recently returned to the world.”
“Fathers…you mean the Storm Bringers.”
“Yes,” Shinju said, sniffling. “They’re mad at us, though all we did was miss them all the years they were gone.” She wiped her tears away. “They sent us here to keep the Candidate safe.”
“Which Candidate? There’s been hundreds. Pechal?”
Shio shook her head. “No. Pechal was a Candidate, but he wasn’t the Candidate. The final and most important one.”
A cold feeling began to spread through Ivan’s body. “You mean Raz. How could you know that? Why didn’t you say anything? How could you do that to him! He trusted you! This whole time you were keeping him alive until he could be burned by the High Priest?” He stared at them in disgust. “I would certainly not forgive that.”
Shio and Shinju began to cry again, clinging to each other. “We-we didn’t want to, once we met him. And Pechal. We didn’t want them to be burned.” The words were ragged, hard to understand, as the tears turned into racking sobs. “But now he’s dead, but not burned, and everything has gone completely wrong. If we’d just taken him to the High Priest…”
“You don’t know he’s dead,” Ivan said. “These scorchers could be lying.” He hoped. Fire and ash he hoped he was right. “Why does it matter, anyway?” Ivan asked coolly, anger returned. “You were just going to send him to die anyway.”
“It’s what we were told to do!” Shio half-shouted, drawing the looks of the nearby guards. “As penance for our wrongs, our fathers bid us protect the Candidate until such time as he could burn. Now we’ve failed completely, and our fathers will hate us forever, and we will never be forgiven.” They tried to say more, but the tears overtook them and the sisters huddled together, sobbing into one another’s arms.
Ivan sighed, unable to bring himself to yell at them further. They were obviously as miserable as two people could be.
Raz was the last Candidate. Once Raz burned, the sacrifices would cease and Pozhar would finally be safe, be at peace. No longer would they live in fear of an angry god descending to raze the land, killing everyone and everything.
Somehow he didn’t really care. He also wondered when he’d started caring about a damnable thief who liked to overcharge for his services. But there was something about Raz that just made him want to help.
Ivan sighed and tried to force his thoughts elsewhere. Anywhere but the crying girls, Raz, and the possibility that Raz and Ailill were dead. Which they weren’t. He refused to believe it. He’d waited his entire scorching life for Ailill. Fire and ash his lover was not dead.
He looked up as the temperature suddenly dropped, a breeze springing up to cool the sweat dripping down his face and soaking his clothes.
Clouds. Dark clouds.
Thunder rumbled, and Ivan heard the twins gasp as they heard it, finally noticed the change in the weather. Then the thunder roared, clapped hard enough to shake the world, and lightning lit the suddenly dark world before rain poured down like the sky was falling.
Ivan laughed as his men woke up, sputtering and struggling, cursing and shouting. All around them the soldiers scrambled to find shelter – but they were in an empty valley, not more than a few scrubs of trees anywhere in sight.
The sisters were still crying, Ivan thought, though it was hard to really see or hear anything in the fierce downpour, but it was obvious this time the tears were of joy. He heard them cry out, saw them point, clinging to each other, and followed the direction of their pointing fingers.
Narrowed his eyes.
There was something in the clouds, though how he could see anything he didn’t know. Rain should be getting into his eyes, blinding him, but he definitely see there was something in the clouds.
It was blindingly white, long and sinuous, like a massive snake winding in and around the clouds.
Ivan drew a sharp breath, and immediately began coughing and choking on rainwater. When he looked back up, the white thing was gone. What? There was no way…
Thunder roared again, and everything seemed to go still, as if recovering from the sheer force of it. It roared again, the power of the thunder this time matched by lightning so brilliant that for a moment the world was lit more brightly than even the sun could manage.
Then the rain stopped, and the clouds vanished. Nothing but a cool breeze and the water that soaked everything, half flooding the cart they were in, remained to give evidence to the storm that had consumed the sky.
“What was that?” Luka asked, voice full of awe.
“Never seen a storm like that,” Gleb said. “Did you see that thing?”
Ivan nodded, barely hearing as his men began to talk.. He looked at Shio and Shinju, who were smiling and looked happier than he’d ever seen anyone look. “What just happened?”
“We’re forgiven,” Shio said, tears streaming down her face, mingling with the beads of water still clinging to her skin.
Skin which shimmered oddly, and as Ivan looked he realized there was something different about it. Mermaids…scales, he realized suddenly. Their skin looked like the scales of the fish he saw at the market, slick with water, shining where the sun caught it.
This was all too much for him.
“Stupid dragons try to drown us and that means you’re not in trouble?”
Shinju laughed. “That was to help us. If we’d gone much longer without water, we would have died.”
“Fish out of water?” Ivan asked.
“Yes,” Shio replied. “But it also meant we’re forgiven. For everything. Our fathers are no longer angry with their daughters. It also means that Raz is alive.”
Ivan nodded and began to feel the stirrings of real hope. “I don’t suppose your gods said anything about Ailill?”
“If a White Beast of Verde had been slain, you would know it, mercenary.” Shio laughed softly. “If this stupid Earl of yours had any brains about him, he would never have told his men to try and kill Ailill.”
Ivan frowned. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“It is not our place to tell you about Ailill, but suffice to say that if the Earl had known who Ailill was, he would not have let these idiot soldiers try to kill him.”
“Why did I have to wind up with a lover who’s so obviously important?” Ivan sighed and slumped back in the carriage, grimacing at the water that was rapidly turning warm and even more uncomfortable than it already was. “Hey!” he shouted, drawing the attention of the soldiers. “Are you going to make us swim around in this? Empty the water out, you scorching idiots.”
“Shut up,” the nearest soldier said. “You’re lucky to be alive, and if you don’t shut it I may just have to tell the Earl that a few of you drowned in your own piss on the journey back.”
Ivan rolled his eyes, but subsided. Just wait until he was able to get loose. Then they’d see who died in their own filth. Zholty was on the top of his list.
“You’re looking far from well, my dear Vanya.”
Ivan looked around the room, face confused. He looked back at Zholty. “Who are you talking to? Because I doubt anyone in here wants to be thought of as ‘dear’ to you. I doubt your own mother liked you.” He grunted as a guard punched him, reeling back, but gave no other indication the blow had hurt. “What do you want, you scorching bastard? Was all this really necessary?”
“Oh, yes,” Zholty said polishing his monocle and looking over them all slowly as he replaced it over his right eye. He grimaced. “Though perhaps I should have ordered you all bathed first; you reek.”
“Just for you,” Ivan said with a cold smile. “I always look forward to these little meetings. Fire and ash, Zholty, what do you want?”
Zholty leaned against a large table, arms braced on either side of him. They were in what looked like a small meeting hall, a large table spread with papers obviously serving as Zholty’s desk. The room was well appointed in green, yellow and gold, far too gaudy for Ivan’s tastes but no doubt the height of fashion. Two large windows spilled in what remained of the daylight, and servants were slipping quietly through to light various lamps before slipping out again, leaving Ivan and the others alone with Zholty and two guards. “Dear, dear Vanya, certain little annoyances have cropped up and I’ve decided that you’re the perfect person to take the blame.”
Ivan mulled over that. “Someone else figure out you’ve been casting curses?”
“Don’t be absurd.”
Not so absurd. Ivan knew Raz had told the whole story to the High Priest. If the Earl hadn’t been accused of anything, either the High Priest was a comrade or he couldn’t yet accuse the Earl of anything. Or it could be something else altogether. There was no way for Ivan to know.
“But a large number of fire feathers has gone missing, and I rather think you stole them, Vanya.”
“Why would I steal fire feathers? I can’t use them, don’t even know how.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Zholty replied calmly. “All Pozharians can use magic, it’s just most never waken that ability in themselves. We only burn it from those that dare to. But if you’ve managed to hide your magical ability all these years, then of course you’d seek out fire feathers to increase your power. My men, of course, followed reports of your odd abilities, hunted you down and caught you in the act of trying to use the feathers.”
“That’s the dumbest story I’ve ever heard,” Gleb said from behind Ivan. “How would we have even gotten into the palace? Never mind into wherever you keep those stupid feathers. Noble are so stupid.” Like Ivan, he took the punch a guard gave him in almost complete silence, doing nothing more than hunching over a bit.
Zholty sniffed. “Not nearly as stupid as you scum. Of course you stole the key from me when you stole the other items from my house.”
Ivan rolled his eyes, and almost laughed at the sheer irony of it all. “We’re mercs, not thieves. Do I look like a sneak thief to you?”
“So long as someone is blamed, the details hardly matter,” Zholty replied.
“Fire and ash!” Ivan struggled to stand, shoving away the guard that came after him, kicking the other one in the groin. He strode toward Zholty, shoving against the man, pinning him against the table. “What’s your problem, Earl? Huh? Are things falling apart all around you, is that why you’re doing this? We worked hard for you that first time, did the job nice and tight just as you asked. Then you backstab us by cursing me, now this? That’s a poor way to do business. If you think I’ll let you get away with this, you’re sorely mistaken. I don’t know how or when, my dearest Earl, but one day I’ll slit that throat of yours and watch you choke on your own blood.”
Zholty chuckled and shoved Ivan back, then kicked out, sending Ivan crashing hard to the floor. “Don’t make me laugh, you pathetic little criminal.” He reached inside his plum-colored velvet jacket and pulled out a fire feather, holding it out and murmuring too quietly for Ivan to hear the words. Then the feather flared, vanished—
—Ivan felt warmth wash over him, like waves of heat from a fire that was just close enough to warm without overheating. The same thing that had happened before, backing in the inn. It was gentle, comforting. Zholty stared at Ivan in disbelief that quickly turned into a horrific rage. “How did you do that?” He yanked Ivan up by the scruff of his neck. “Fire and ash, you pathetic little worm, how did you do that? Even I can’t cast protective spells like that, and I am the best magician in this palace. Such powerful magic should no longer exist!” He shook Ivan hard, then dropped him and placed a booted foot on his chest, pressing hard. “Where did you learn that spell?”
“No idea,” Ivan said once Zholty removed enough weight to let him speak. “I didn’t know I had a spell on me. I guess when we got rid of the curse, we did something a little extra.” Fire and ash, what exactly had Raz left out of his story? If the man was still alive, and Ivan hoped he was, he was going to kill the scorching bastard.
Zholty pressed down harder on Ivan’s chest. “You lie.”
“I speak the truth!” Ivan snapped. “There was another man, a friend, who managed to break the curse.”
“The Highlander?”
“He helped,” Ivan lied. “But your guards killed them both – for having magic. So whatever they did, I can’t tell you. You want to get angry at someone, find that scorching Sergeant and stomp on his chest.”
Zholty grunted and with a last kick to Ivan’s side, moved to his seat behind the table. “That will be all for now,” he said. “Lock them, put each one in a different cell, make sure they’re far enough apart that communication is impossible. Make sure they’re fed and all, I don’t want them dead quite yet.” He dropped his eyes to the papers in front of him, dismissing them entirely.
“Earl,” Shinju said, her voice oddly sweet – but Ivan could hear the venom behind it. “I can tell you something about the Highlander, and how he managed to help.”
“What?” Zholty snapped, signaling a guard to shut her up. “I have no time for your games, woman.”
“No game,” Shinju replied, voice still sticky-sweet. “I just thought you might like to know that the Highlander your men killed was a White Beast. That’s why he was able to help.”
“You lie!” Zholty shouted, slamming his hands down. “There is no way my men could have killed a Beast of Verde. Guards, take them away.”
Shinju and Shio laughed, the sound cold and chilling, as they were dragged away. When a guard moved to backhand them into silence, he faltered and finally lowered his hand. The sisters’ laughter ceased only when they were well away from Zholty’s office.
Ivan shook his head at the looks from his men, indicating they should just go along and stay down for now. If they fought back now, things would not go well at all. An opportunity would present itself. “I don’t suppose we could get those baths first?” he asked the guard manhandling him. “I’m starting to offend myself, sadly.”
“Shut up,” the guard said curtly.
“Fine, fine,” Ivan said, and subsided. They were dragged down beneath the palace to cells that were dank, damp, and so filthy Ivan cringed. At least there were a few torches. He grunted as his chains were finally removed, and walked into his cell before he could be shoved. One by one he watched as his men and the girls were locked in various cells, keeping them all apart, preventing whatever mischief they might otherwise cause.
Ivan snorted and waited until the guards finally left, then waited another hour before moving to the bars of his cage and rapping on one with his knuckles in a pattern of short and long knocks. Somewhere else, one of his men heard it and passed it along. Several minutes later Ivan heard a new pattern, and sat back with a smile.
Raz was a master thief, but Ivan would have made a poor merc if he didn’t keep a lock-picker of his own on hand. Gleb could have them all out in a few minutes, as soon as Ivan gave the order. Rapping out a command to wait, Ivan then laid down to try and get some sleep.
Chapter Eighteen
Dym paused as he saw that Sonya was not at her desk, but a turn of his head showed her to be sitting in a window seat, morning sunlight spilling through the glass and across her face and pale pink gown. Her hands were folded neatly in her lap, expression blank as she stared out the window, though there were lines in her face that hadn’t been there a few weeks, or even a few days, ago. “Blessing of the morning, Queen.”
“I liked it better when you called me Princess,” Sonya said, and finally turned from the window to smile sadly at Dym. “How are you, Dym? I am so busy these days, I hardly have time to sit and think, never mind see those persons I would like to see.”
“I am well. You look in need of rest, Queen.”
Sonya waved the words away. “A cup of tea and I will be fine. Has Zholty spoken with you, yet?”
“He sent me a message saying he has located the culprits responsible for the theft of the fire feathers,” Dym answered, a trace of annoyance slipping into his level voice. “I find it hard to believe. No mere mercenaries could simply go in and take a box of fire feathers.”
“What do you suspect, Dym?”
Dym did not immediately reply, pondering his words. “I suspect Earl Zholty and Duke Krasny. Both are permitted to have what they require, up to a certain amount. They are both close to that limit. I do not know why they would require more, yet I sense at least one of them is behind the thefts.” He bowed his head. “Not to malign your Majesty’s cousin.”
“Malign all you like,” Sonya said. “I intend to do much worse than that to both of them the very moment I figure out what they’re up to – and why my scorching cousin has vanished! Where could he have possibly gone? Where? I don’t suppose you have some idea? What manner of advisor vanishes without even a note? I will skin that man alive, I vow it.”
Dym smiled faintly. “I am certain the Duke is well aware that his disappearance has incurred your wrath.” He fell silent a moment. “The Duke and I do not get along, but it is my opinion, Queen, that he would not simply vanish as he has without very good reason. Such drastic behavior speaks of importance, at least to my mind.”
“Yes, but are those very good reasons the kind with which I will agree? Or will I be forced to remove my advisor from his post?”
“I doubt you will be forced to such drastic measure, Queen.”
“Let us hope I am not,” Sonya said with a sigh. “Speaking of things I do not like, we will soon be able to begin the search for the last Candidate.” She sighed again. “We have been doing this for so long, Dym, I wonder what Pozhar will do when it is finally free of the miserable duty.”
“Perhaps with the prophecy fulfilled, Pozhar will being to move out of the shadows and into the sunlight,” Dym answered. “The Land of Fire is not meant to be so weighed down by dark things.”
“Hmm…” Sonya murmured noncommittally, lost to her own thoughts. “I will be glad when it is all finally over. Are you going to speak with Zholty’s prisoners yourself?”
Dym bowed his head. “Yes, Queen. I have arranged to do so later this morning, after Zholty finishes his morning duties.”
“Let me know your opinion, then, after your meeting. I do not trust him in regards to this, though I cannot say why.” She sighed, a long, tired sound. “Perhaps I am merely still on edge from my brother’s death. He died from illness, but there are moments where I am certain he was poisoned…yet it took him months to die. Would someone really kill a man that slowly?” Sonya shook her head. “My brother was harmless. No one had good reason to kill him. He was making no radical changes, no drastic arrangements with foreign nations other than the strict prohibition on magic…” She rubbed her forehead wearily. “Who knows? Illness or murder, knowing for certain will not bring him back.” She started to say more, but a knock at the door interrupted, and Sonya called for the knocker to enter. A handful of advisors and stewards spilled into the room, and barely hiding a grimace Sonya set to work, dismissing Dym with an apologetic smile.
Bowing low, murmuring a farewell he did not think she heard, Dym turned and slowly made his way back to the Cathedral. Inside the Cathedral, his priests weren’t bent over their tables, working diligently at drawings and painting of the latest Candidate. Dym murmured words of praise and encouragement, but did not linger long enough that he had to see the sketches.
His only concern now was if Raz would choose to return – because force would not bring the last piece back. Only choice
Will you come back?
Why should I?
Had nothing changed? Would things still be the same? Just thinking it made Dym feel so weary he could barely stand it. He touched fingers to his chest, feeling the heat of the greater fire feather hidden within. The warmth was comforting and troubling all at once, blessed relief tainted by the method of obtainment. Life and death were inextricably bound, that had been his first lesson.
Even after all these years, it was a hard and painful one.
Dym sat down behind his desk and stared unseeing at the paperwork before him, mind wandering to the continuing dilemma of the missing fire feathers and the Earl Zholty.
Whatever the man said, the prisoners he had were not responsible for the stolen fire feathers. More than ever, he was convinced Zholty had stolen them or at least knew who had. He only lacked proof, and he would need unquestionable evidence to stand against the Earl and Duke, who would challenge him simply because they disliked him.
But why would the Earl need so many fire feathers? It would not take more than he could obtain legally to cast the curse of which Raz had spoken. Why would anyone need so many fire feathers?
To give them to others, perhaps. Like the men Pechal had accidentally killed. Men with the ability to use fire feathers would fall under command of the Duke and Earl, though if they were teaching magic to men not approved to have it, all sorts of problems arose.
Magic seemed to be at the center of this. Dym frowned in thought. What, precisely, did he know?
Zholty had hired men to kill a Candidate. He had gone so far as to curse one man in order to see that goal accomplished.
Someone had given mercenaries fire feathers, and taught them to use magic, in order to kidnap the Candidate.
Zholty? But why would he curse one man and then give magic to another? That seemed to imply two different parties were at work here.
An entire box of fire feathers was missing.
There was no reason to think the missing feathers had anything to do with attempts to kill the Candidate, yet Dym couldn’t help but sense the two things had something in common. Perhaps it was only that fire feathers could only be obtained through the death of the Candidates that made him connect them.
Of course, it likely wouldn’t matter at all before too long. With the death of the last Candidate, there would be no more fire feathers. He bet that had those few who could use magic in a frenzy.
Cold sliced up Dym’s spine as he completed the thought.
Was that what was going on? Did those who could use magic fear losing it? The death of the Firebird would put an end to all magic in Pozhar. While its use had been declared illegal except by those who used it to enforce that very law, there were several – like the Earl – who highly prized their ability to use magic.
And it put them on equal standing with the authorities of the other nations. In Verde and Piedre, all people could use magic. In Kundou only royalty could use magic. In Pozhar, only royalty and certain nobles and other approved officials could use it. If the Firebird were to die, no one in Pozhar would be able to use magic. That would, in the eyes of many, put them a grade below the leaders of other nations. It would lower Pozhar’s standing.
Except the King had never thought so. He’d never had any love of magic, and forbade it as much as possible. The Queen was slightly more tolerant, but she too would not miss magic were it to vanish forever from Pozhar.
Was that the answer to the riddle? Something so painfully obvious? Standing right before him the entire time? Had he been so caught up in his own selfish ambition he had missed it? Dym stroked the wood of his desk as he continued to ponder, oblivious to all the activity around him, the noise and soft chatter, the sunlight warming his back.
If he were a greedy fool desperate not to lose his magic, how would he go about ensuring it was not lost?
Two obstacles would stand in his way: the King, who was staunchly against magic, and the sacrifice of the Candidates.
In the past few months two Candidates had died, and there was only one left. No one but Dym knew the last Candidate might very well find a way to avoid his fate – in this lifetime and perhaps others. So a greedy, panicked fool would seek to kill the Candidates before the High Priest could. That would secure magic use for years, if not decades.
But what was the point of having magic if you must always use as little as possible? Especially in the face of all other nations having much stronger magic and the ability to use it as they pleased? Pozhar, by comparison, was notably lacking. On more than one occasion it had caused tension between Pozhar and her neighbors. To that end, getting rid of the primary obstacle would be the obvious thing to do. Kill the King.
Why had it taken them so long to do so?
Of course. Sonya. No point in killing the King when the heir to the throne was married to a mere baron who had become fast friends with his wife’s brother. Killing the King would have only moved his greatest supporter into the position of power.
Things were perfect now. All anyone aching for power need do was either win Sonya’s support or simply marry her, which many would be pushing her to do despite her age and the love she still held for her deceased husband.
It was fortunate for him that no one seemed to know Sonya had offered Dym the place at her side. Though the Duke and Earl both considered him a threat of that nature.
Foolish, of course.
Dym’s shoulders sagged. If his suppositions were correct, then he and everyone else had completely missed the slow poisoning of the Bright King. Had he been that consumed with his own plans? So selfish he had watched as a good man died?
One more stain on his bloody hands.
There was some comfort, though it tasted foul and bitter, in the fact that everyone, including the King himself, had not realized he was being poisoned. Still, Dym, more than anyone, should have been able to tell there was something amiss. Of late, though, he’d been too consumed with his own plans and ambitions. So close, so very, very close.
In the distance, bells tolled the hour and Dym realized it was time for his appointment with the Earl and his prisoners. He stood, feeling heavy and weary, achy and tired. Someday, he reminded himself, it would all be over. Hopefully that day was close.
Dym regarded the assembled prisoners in surprise. Specifically, the man who, even bound in chains and covered in filth and grime, seemed to radiate leadership. Beneath the dirt was a stern, handsome, face, the short goatee adding a somewhat menacing air. His eyes were steel blue, as sharp and piercing as a sword as the man stared back at him.
That wasn’t what caught Dym by surprise, however. What startled him was that the man was the one Raz had mentioned, the one who had been cursed. Dym had placed the counter spell in a fire feather…he’d also added a spell of protection. Something he probably shouldn’t have done, but he’d rather risk exposure than see a pathetic excuse for a sorcerer kill a man with spells that had been forbidden for very good reasons. Never would he tolerate such a thing.
“These are the thieves who stole the fire feathers?” he asked, keeping his voice level, calm. He looked at Zholty, gratified by the way the man seemed to lose his thoughts for a moment, startled by the anger Dym knew was in his eyes. “How did they do it?”
Zholty recovered, assuming his usual cold, condescending manner. “I suspect they were the ones who broke into my home. Obviously they stole the jewels to try and distract from the fact they were after my key.”
“Why did you not point out the theft of the key earlier.”
“I did not want to admit I’d been foolish enough to leave it out,” Zholty said, shifting restlessly with embarrassment. “How was I to know they had any idea what the key really was? At first I merely thought they grabbed it randomly.”
Dym kept his face blank, wondering how Zholty expected anyone to believe his story.
Then again, if not for his own knowledge, the story would not be wholly implausible.
“What have the prisoners to say?” Dym asked, but did not wait for Zholty to reply. He turned to the one who bore Dym’s protection spell. “Explain your reasons for stealing the fire feathers.”
“You’re awfully pretty to be a priest,” the man said instead, steel blue eyes flashing in amusement, as if his current situation did not bother him at all.
Dym almost smiled. “I hear that a lot.”
“I bet,” the man said. “Though I guess I don’t really know what make a good priest. It’s not like Pozhar has much use for them.”
“No, it does not,” Dym said softly. “What is your name?”
“Ivan.”
Zholty stepped forward. “I warned you about watching what you say, prisoner. The High Priest has better things to do than listen to your idiotic ramblings.”
“On the contrary,” Dym said, staring calmly at Zholty, who started to recoil before he caught himself. “I came to hear whatever they might have to say, or what they may not say. That reminds me of a question I have not put to you – how did you find them?”
“They were stupid enough to play with magic where others could see, and responsible citizens of Pozhar reported them.”
Dym flicked his eyes over the assembled group, which was quite a diverse collection. A mercenary group, Zholty had said, and they certainly seemed to be, despite their filthy, bedraggled state. “Yet I sense no magical ability on them.” A blatant lie. Every last one of them had latent ability, Ivan especially – and any fool with real ability would be able to sense the protection spell cast on him. It was a mark against Zholty’s ability, of which the Earl was inordinately proud, that he could not sense it. If he could, he would have mentioned it, for such a strong spell would scorch Ivan completely.
“Because they no longer have fire feathers. Obviously they are worthless without the feathers, as any ignorant, magic-hungry peasant would be.”
“Indeed,” Dym murmured. These men might be guilty of a great many crimes, but they were nothing more than victims at present. Zholty was pathetic. Dym remained still and silent until he was certain his temper was under control. Nothing had tested his patience like this man in a long time. Would that he could just put Zholty in his place once and for all. “Another question, Earl.”
Zholty motioned impatiently. “Of course, High Priest, by all means.”
“Your initial report said that you had captured nine people. I see only seven here.”
“The other two are being held back so that these seven do not try to do something stupid.”
Ivan sneered. “Yes, how very clever and capable of you to hold two women prisoner. When we are finally free, my dear, dear Earl, I will laugh when they tear your throat out. I admit I was hoping to do that myself, but I think I will more enjoy seeing your body torn apart by mermaids.”
Dym hissed, taken completely by surprise. “Mermaids? What are mermaids doing in Pozhar?”
No one answered his question.
“You are holding the daughters of the Storm Bringers captive?” Dym pressed. “That is a dangerous thing to do, Earl Zholty. If you are not careful, they will do to you what they have been doing to men in the centuries since the Storm Bringers were killed. What they have probably stopped only at the bidding of their Sacred Fathers.”
Zholty looked bored. “What is that? Kill me slowly? Flay me alive?”
“Oh, yes, they will kill you slowly – and they’ll let you watch while they eat you.”
The room fell into a startled silence.
“What?” Ivan croaked. “They wouldn’t do that.”
“Mermaids eat those they hate, those they kill,” Dym said quietly. “When humans killed the Storm Bringers, they joined the list of those mermaids considered prey. If they have stopped, it is only because the Sacred Storm Bringers have made them. But I do not think even that will be enough to stop them if they are pressed too far…”
Zholty backed away from Dym, dropping his gaze. “Absurdity,” he declared.
Dym started to speak, but he was interrupted as the door was thrown open. He faltered.
Duke Nikolai Krasny strode into the room as though he owned it, as severe and arrogant as he always was despite the travel dust covering him and the exhaustion apparent in his face. “Zholty, I’ve some friends I’d like you to meet.”
It wasn’t the Duke that caught Dym’s eye however, and the sputtering of Zholty and Krasny’s smug replies faded into the distance as he stared at who walked in with him.
“You came back,” he said softly, green eyes locking with gray.
“I didn’t have a choice,” Raz replied, drawing close but stopping short of touching distance.
Dym nodded, ending the conversation for the time being, and forced his attention to the last figure who had entered with the Duke. His brows lifted in surprise. “What an interesting day this is becoming,” he said. “Mercenaries who purportedly know how to use fire feathers, mermaids in the dungeon, the last Candidate arrives, and he is accompanied by a White Beast of Verde.”
“I should be surprised you realized that immediately, yet somehow I am not. There’s an air about you…I am Marquis Ailill le Blanc, White Panther of her Majesty the Queen of Verde.”
“I am Dym, High Priest of Pozhar.”
“Ailill. You’re alive.”
“Ivan,” Ailill said, striding over and dropping to his knees, embracing the blue-eyed mercenary, seemingly oblivious to the grime and stench that covered him. “I was worried you might already be dead.”
“What in the world is going on here?” A voice demanded sharply from the still-open doorway. As one, every last man jerked his head up or around, and all cowered at the look of blazing fury on the Queen’s face.
Chapter Seventeen
Ivan gave up struggling against his chains, the blood slicking his wrists all the warning he needed that he was doing himself more harm than good. All around him in the cart his men slept, covered in grime and blood and who knew what else. Fire and ash, how had they gone from planning a new life away from Pozhar to being carted off like goods bound for market? The sweltering heat was the final touch; he’d be swimming in his own sweat soon.
He struggled to sit up properly, unable to take the pain in his lower back from his hunched position, and glared back at the men who eyed him.
A sound reached his ears as he finally began to focus more on his surroundings, and he was so surprised by the sound he felt for sure hew as imagining it. But one look confirmed that he wasn’t.
Shio and Shinju were crying.
Why that surprised him, he didn’t know. Of course they were crying. Even girls as tough as these two wouldn’t be able to take losing two friends, one right after the other.
Which reawakened his own pain, but Ivan refused to believe for one second that Ailill was actually dead. That Raz was dead. They just couldn’t be.
No. He refused. Ailill and Raz weren’t dead. It wasn’t allowed. Ailill…Ivan drew a breath and forced himself to calm. There was nothing he could do about it at the moment. “Why the tears, beauties?” he asked quietly. “Come on, there’s no reason to cry. Everything will work out.”
Shinju wiped the tears from her cheeks and just shook her head. “We messed up,” she said, voice raw from tears. “Because of us, everything’s been ruined. Now our sisters—“ she dissolved into tears again, curling up against her sister.
“Now we’ll never be forgiven,” Shio continued, her own tears a bit more under control. “We were supposed to keep him safe until it was time, and now he’s dead. Our fathers will never forgive us.”
Ivan stared, completely lost. “I’m not following you, beauties. Perhaps you should explain everything to me. What do you mean failed? Keep who safe? I find it hard to believe there’s a man alive who can resist forgiving you anything.” Something Ailill had said came to mind. “Ailill said you were mermaids.”
Shio nodded, tucking a strand of pale lavender hair behind one ear. “Yes, we’re mermaids. Our behavior over the past several centuries has angered our fathers, recently returned to the world.”
“Fathers…you mean the Storm Bringers.”
“Yes,” Shinju said, sniffling. “They’re mad at us, though all we did was miss them all the years they were gone.” She wiped her tears away. “They sent us here to keep the Candidate safe.”
“Which Candidate? There’s been hundreds. Pechal?”
Shio shook her head. “No. Pechal was a Candidate, but he wasn’t the Candidate. The final and most important one.”
A cold feeling began to spread through Ivan’s body. “You mean Raz. How could you know that? Why didn’t you say anything? How could you do that to him! He trusted you! This whole time you were keeping him alive until he could be burned by the High Priest?” He stared at them in disgust. “I would certainly not forgive that.”
Shio and Shinju began to cry again, clinging to each other. “We-we didn’t want to, once we met him. And Pechal. We didn’t want them to be burned.” The words were ragged, hard to understand, as the tears turned into racking sobs. “But now he’s dead, but not burned, and everything has gone completely wrong. If we’d just taken him to the High Priest…”
“You don’t know he’s dead,” Ivan said. “These scorchers could be lying.” He hoped. Fire and ash he hoped he was right. “Why does it matter, anyway?” Ivan asked coolly, anger returned. “You were just going to send him to die anyway.”
“It’s what we were told to do!” Shio half-shouted, drawing the looks of the nearby guards. “As penance for our wrongs, our fathers bid us protect the Candidate until such time as he could burn. Now we’ve failed completely, and our fathers will hate us forever, and we will never be forgiven.” They tried to say more, but the tears overtook them and the sisters huddled together, sobbing into one another’s arms.
Ivan sighed, unable to bring himself to yell at them further. They were obviously as miserable as two people could be.
Raz was the last Candidate. Once Raz burned, the sacrifices would cease and Pozhar would finally be safe, be at peace. No longer would they live in fear of an angry god descending to raze the land, killing everyone and everything.
Somehow he didn’t really care. He also wondered when he’d started caring about a damnable thief who liked to overcharge for his services. But there was something about Raz that just made him want to help.
Ivan sighed and tried to force his thoughts elsewhere. Anywhere but the crying girls, Raz, and the possibility that Raz and Ailill were dead. Which they weren’t. He refused to believe it. He’d waited his entire scorching life for Ailill. Fire and ash his lover was not dead.
He looked up as the temperature suddenly dropped, a breeze springing up to cool the sweat dripping down his face and soaking his clothes.
Clouds. Dark clouds.
Thunder rumbled, and Ivan heard the twins gasp as they heard it, finally noticed the change in the weather. Then the thunder roared, clapped hard enough to shake the world, and lightning lit the suddenly dark world before rain poured down like the sky was falling.
Ivan laughed as his men woke up, sputtering and struggling, cursing and shouting. All around them the soldiers scrambled to find shelter – but they were in an empty valley, not more than a few scrubs of trees anywhere in sight.
The sisters were still crying, Ivan thought, though it was hard to really see or hear anything in the fierce downpour, but it was obvious this time the tears were of joy. He heard them cry out, saw them point, clinging to each other, and followed the direction of their pointing fingers.
Narrowed his eyes.
There was something in the clouds, though how he could see anything he didn’t know. Rain should be getting into his eyes, blinding him, but he definitely see there was something in the clouds.
It was blindingly white, long and sinuous, like a massive snake winding in and around the clouds.
Ivan drew a sharp breath, and immediately began coughing and choking on rainwater. When he looked back up, the white thing was gone. What? There was no way…
Thunder roared again, and everything seemed to go still, as if recovering from the sheer force of it. It roared again, the power of the thunder this time matched by lightning so brilliant that for a moment the world was lit more brightly than even the sun could manage.
Then the rain stopped, and the clouds vanished. Nothing but a cool breeze and the water that soaked everything, half flooding the cart they were in, remained to give evidence to the storm that had consumed the sky.
“What was that?” Luka asked, voice full of awe.
“Never seen a storm like that,” Gleb said. “Did you see that thing?”
Ivan nodded, barely hearing as his men began to talk.. He looked at Shio and Shinju, who were smiling and looked happier than he’d ever seen anyone look. “What just happened?”
“We’re forgiven,” Shio said, tears streaming down her face, mingling with the beads of water still clinging to her skin.
Skin which shimmered oddly, and as Ivan looked he realized there was something different about it. Mermaids…scales, he realized suddenly. Their skin looked like the scales of the fish he saw at the market, slick with water, shining where the sun caught it.
This was all too much for him.
“Stupid dragons try to drown us and that means you’re not in trouble?”
Shinju laughed. “That was to help us. If we’d gone much longer without water, we would have died.”
“Fish out of water?” Ivan asked.
“Yes,” Shio replied. “But it also meant we’re forgiven. For everything. Our fathers are no longer angry with their daughters. It also means that Raz is alive.”
Ivan nodded and began to feel the stirrings of real hope. “I don’t suppose your gods said anything about Ailill?”
“If a White Beast of Verde had been slain, you would know it, mercenary.” Shio laughed softly. “If this stupid Earl of yours had any brains about him, he would never have told his men to try and kill Ailill.”
Ivan frowned. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“It is not our place to tell you about Ailill, but suffice to say that if the Earl had known who Ailill was, he would not have let these idiot soldiers try to kill him.”
“Why did I have to wind up with a lover who’s so obviously important?” Ivan sighed and slumped back in the carriage, grimacing at the water that was rapidly turning warm and even more uncomfortable than it already was. “Hey!” he shouted, drawing the attention of the soldiers. “Are you going to make us swim around in this? Empty the water out, you scorching idiots.”
“Shut up,” the nearest soldier said. “You’re lucky to be alive, and if you don’t shut it I may just have to tell the Earl that a few of you drowned in your own piss on the journey back.”
Ivan rolled his eyes, but subsided. Just wait until he was able to get loose. Then they’d see who died in their own filth. Zholty was on the top of his list.
“You’re looking far from well, my dear Vanya.”
Ivan looked around the room, face confused. He looked back at Zholty. “Who are you talking to? Because I doubt anyone in here wants to be thought of as ‘dear’ to you. I doubt your own mother liked you.” He grunted as a guard punched him, reeling back, but gave no other indication the blow had hurt. “What do you want, you scorching bastard? Was all this really necessary?”
“Oh, yes,” Zholty said polishing his monocle and looking over them all slowly as he replaced it over his right eye. He grimaced. “Though perhaps I should have ordered you all bathed first; you reek.”
“Just for you,” Ivan said with a cold smile. “I always look forward to these little meetings. Fire and ash, Zholty, what do you want?”
Zholty leaned against a large table, arms braced on either side of him. They were in what looked like a small meeting hall, a large table spread with papers obviously serving as Zholty’s desk. The room was well appointed in green, yellow and gold, far too gaudy for Ivan’s tastes but no doubt the height of fashion. Two large windows spilled in what remained of the daylight, and servants were slipping quietly through to light various lamps before slipping out again, leaving Ivan and the others alone with Zholty and two guards. “Dear, dear Vanya, certain little annoyances have cropped up and I’ve decided that you’re the perfect person to take the blame.”
Ivan mulled over that. “Someone else figure out you’ve been casting curses?”
“Don’t be absurd.”
Not so absurd. Ivan knew Raz had told the whole story to the High Priest. If the Earl hadn’t been accused of anything, either the High Priest was a comrade or he couldn’t yet accuse the Earl of anything. Or it could be something else altogether. There was no way for Ivan to know.
“But a large number of fire feathers has gone missing, and I rather think you stole them, Vanya.”
“Why would I steal fire feathers? I can’t use them, don’t even know how.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Zholty replied calmly. “All Pozharians can use magic, it’s just most never waken that ability in themselves. We only burn it from those that dare to. But if you’ve managed to hide your magical ability all these years, then of course you’d seek out fire feathers to increase your power. My men, of course, followed reports of your odd abilities, hunted you down and caught you in the act of trying to use the feathers.”
“That’s the dumbest story I’ve ever heard,” Gleb said from behind Ivan. “How would we have even gotten into the palace? Never mind into wherever you keep those stupid feathers. Noble are so stupid.” Like Ivan, he took the punch a guard gave him in almost complete silence, doing nothing more than hunching over a bit.
Zholty sniffed. “Not nearly as stupid as you scum. Of course you stole the key from me when you stole the other items from my house.”
Ivan rolled his eyes, and almost laughed at the sheer irony of it all. “We’re mercs, not thieves. Do I look like a sneak thief to you?”
“So long as someone is blamed, the details hardly matter,” Zholty replied.
“Fire and ash!” Ivan struggled to stand, shoving away the guard that came after him, kicking the other one in the groin. He strode toward Zholty, shoving against the man, pinning him against the table. “What’s your problem, Earl? Huh? Are things falling apart all around you, is that why you’re doing this? We worked hard for you that first time, did the job nice and tight just as you asked. Then you backstab us by cursing me, now this? That’s a poor way to do business. If you think I’ll let you get away with this, you’re sorely mistaken. I don’t know how or when, my dearest Earl, but one day I’ll slit that throat of yours and watch you choke on your own blood.”
Zholty chuckled and shoved Ivan back, then kicked out, sending Ivan crashing hard to the floor. “Don’t make me laugh, you pathetic little criminal.” He reached inside his plum-colored velvet jacket and pulled out a fire feather, holding it out and murmuring too quietly for Ivan to hear the words. Then the feather flared, vanished—
—Ivan felt warmth wash over him, like waves of heat from a fire that was just close enough to warm without overheating. The same thing that had happened before, backing in the inn. It was gentle, comforting. Zholty stared at Ivan in disbelief that quickly turned into a horrific rage. “How did you do that?” He yanked Ivan up by the scruff of his neck. “Fire and ash, you pathetic little worm, how did you do that? Even I can’t cast protective spells like that, and I am the best magician in this palace. Such powerful magic should no longer exist!” He shook Ivan hard, then dropped him and placed a booted foot on his chest, pressing hard. “Where did you learn that spell?”
“No idea,” Ivan said once Zholty removed enough weight to let him speak. “I didn’t know I had a spell on me. I guess when we got rid of the curse, we did something a little extra.” Fire and ash, what exactly had Raz left out of his story? If the man was still alive, and Ivan hoped he was, he was going to kill the scorching bastard.
Zholty pressed down harder on Ivan’s chest. “You lie.”
“I speak the truth!” Ivan snapped. “There was another man, a friend, who managed to break the curse.”
“The Highlander?”
“He helped,” Ivan lied. “But your guards killed them both – for having magic. So whatever they did, I can’t tell you. You want to get angry at someone, find that scorching Sergeant and stomp on his chest.”
Zholty grunted and with a last kick to Ivan’s side, moved to his seat behind the table. “That will be all for now,” he said. “Lock them, put each one in a different cell, make sure they’re far enough apart that communication is impossible. Make sure they’re fed and all, I don’t want them dead quite yet.” He dropped his eyes to the papers in front of him, dismissing them entirely.
“Earl,” Shinju said, her voice oddly sweet – but Ivan could hear the venom behind it. “I can tell you something about the Highlander, and how he managed to help.”
“What?” Zholty snapped, signaling a guard to shut her up. “I have no time for your games, woman.”
“No game,” Shinju replied, voice still sticky-sweet. “I just thought you might like to know that the Highlander your men killed was a White Beast. That’s why he was able to help.”
“You lie!” Zholty shouted, slamming his hands down. “There is no way my men could have killed a Beast of Verde. Guards, take them away.”
Shinju and Shio laughed, the sound cold and chilling, as they were dragged away. When a guard moved to backhand them into silence, he faltered and finally lowered his hand. The sisters’ laughter ceased only when they were well away from Zholty’s office.
Ivan shook his head at the looks from his men, indicating they should just go along and stay down for now. If they fought back now, things would not go well at all. An opportunity would present itself. “I don’t suppose we could get those baths first?” he asked the guard manhandling him. “I’m starting to offend myself, sadly.”
“Shut up,” the guard said curtly.
“Fine, fine,” Ivan said, and subsided. They were dragged down beneath the palace to cells that were dank, damp, and so filthy Ivan cringed. At least there were a few torches. He grunted as his chains were finally removed, and walked into his cell before he could be shoved. One by one he watched as his men and the girls were locked in various cells, keeping them all apart, preventing whatever mischief they might otherwise cause.
Ivan snorted and waited until the guards finally left, then waited another hour before moving to the bars of his cage and rapping on one with his knuckles in a pattern of short and long knocks. Somewhere else, one of his men heard it and passed it along. Several minutes later Ivan heard a new pattern, and sat back with a smile.
Raz was a master thief, but Ivan would have made a poor merc if he didn’t keep a lock-picker of his own on hand. Gleb could have them all out in a few minutes, as soon as Ivan gave the order. Rapping out a command to wait, Ivan then laid down to try and get some sleep.
Chapter Eighteen
Dym paused as he saw that Sonya was not at her desk, but a turn of his head showed her to be sitting in a window seat, morning sunlight spilling through the glass and across her face and pale pink gown. Her hands were folded neatly in her lap, expression blank as she stared out the window, though there were lines in her face that hadn’t been there a few weeks, or even a few days, ago. “Blessing of the morning, Queen.”
“I liked it better when you called me Princess,” Sonya said, and finally turned from the window to smile sadly at Dym. “How are you, Dym? I am so busy these days, I hardly have time to sit and think, never mind see those persons I would like to see.”
“I am well. You look in need of rest, Queen.”
Sonya waved the words away. “A cup of tea and I will be fine. Has Zholty spoken with you, yet?”
“He sent me a message saying he has located the culprits responsible for the theft of the fire feathers,” Dym answered, a trace of annoyance slipping into his level voice. “I find it hard to believe. No mere mercenaries could simply go in and take a box of fire feathers.”
“What do you suspect, Dym?”
Dym did not immediately reply, pondering his words. “I suspect Earl Zholty and Duke Krasny. Both are permitted to have what they require, up to a certain amount. They are both close to that limit. I do not know why they would require more, yet I sense at least one of them is behind the thefts.” He bowed his head. “Not to malign your Majesty’s cousin.”
“Malign all you like,” Sonya said. “I intend to do much worse than that to both of them the very moment I figure out what they’re up to – and why my scorching cousin has vanished! Where could he have possibly gone? Where? I don’t suppose you have some idea? What manner of advisor vanishes without even a note? I will skin that man alive, I vow it.”
Dym smiled faintly. “I am certain the Duke is well aware that his disappearance has incurred your wrath.” He fell silent a moment. “The Duke and I do not get along, but it is my opinion, Queen, that he would not simply vanish as he has without very good reason. Such drastic behavior speaks of importance, at least to my mind.”
“Yes, but are those very good reasons the kind with which I will agree? Or will I be forced to remove my advisor from his post?”
“I doubt you will be forced to such drastic measure, Queen.”
“Let us hope I am not,” Sonya said with a sigh. “Speaking of things I do not like, we will soon be able to begin the search for the last Candidate.” She sighed again. “We have been doing this for so long, Dym, I wonder what Pozhar will do when it is finally free of the miserable duty.”
“Perhaps with the prophecy fulfilled, Pozhar will being to move out of the shadows and into the sunlight,” Dym answered. “The Land of Fire is not meant to be so weighed down by dark things.”
“Hmm…” Sonya murmured noncommittally, lost to her own thoughts. “I will be glad when it is all finally over. Are you going to speak with Zholty’s prisoners yourself?”
Dym bowed his head. “Yes, Queen. I have arranged to do so later this morning, after Zholty finishes his morning duties.”
“Let me know your opinion, then, after your meeting. I do not trust him in regards to this, though I cannot say why.” She sighed, a long, tired sound. “Perhaps I am merely still on edge from my brother’s death. He died from illness, but there are moments where I am certain he was poisoned…yet it took him months to die. Would someone really kill a man that slowly?” Sonya shook her head. “My brother was harmless. No one had good reason to kill him. He was making no radical changes, no drastic arrangements with foreign nations other than the strict prohibition on magic…” She rubbed her forehead wearily. “Who knows? Illness or murder, knowing for certain will not bring him back.” She started to say more, but a knock at the door interrupted, and Sonya called for the knocker to enter. A handful of advisors and stewards spilled into the room, and barely hiding a grimace Sonya set to work, dismissing Dym with an apologetic smile.
Bowing low, murmuring a farewell he did not think she heard, Dym turned and slowly made his way back to the Cathedral. Inside the Cathedral, his priests weren’t bent over their tables, working diligently at drawings and painting of the latest Candidate. Dym murmured words of praise and encouragement, but did not linger long enough that he had to see the sketches.
His only concern now was if Raz would choose to return – because force would not bring the last piece back. Only choice
Will you come back?
Why should I?
Had nothing changed? Would things still be the same? Just thinking it made Dym feel so weary he could barely stand it. He touched fingers to his chest, feeling the heat of the greater fire feather hidden within. The warmth was comforting and troubling all at once, blessed relief tainted by the method of obtainment. Life and death were inextricably bound, that had been his first lesson.
Even after all these years, it was a hard and painful one.
Dym sat down behind his desk and stared unseeing at the paperwork before him, mind wandering to the continuing dilemma of the missing fire feathers and the Earl Zholty.
Whatever the man said, the prisoners he had were not responsible for the stolen fire feathers. More than ever, he was convinced Zholty had stolen them or at least knew who had. He only lacked proof, and he would need unquestionable evidence to stand against the Earl and Duke, who would challenge him simply because they disliked him.
But why would the Earl need so many fire feathers? It would not take more than he could obtain legally to cast the curse of which Raz had spoken. Why would anyone need so many fire feathers?
To give them to others, perhaps. Like the men Pechal had accidentally killed. Men with the ability to use fire feathers would fall under command of the Duke and Earl, though if they were teaching magic to men not approved to have it, all sorts of problems arose.
Magic seemed to be at the center of this. Dym frowned in thought. What, precisely, did he know?
Zholty had hired men to kill a Candidate. He had gone so far as to curse one man in order to see that goal accomplished.
Someone had given mercenaries fire feathers, and taught them to use magic, in order to kidnap the Candidate.
Zholty? But why would he curse one man and then give magic to another? That seemed to imply two different parties were at work here.
An entire box of fire feathers was missing.
There was no reason to think the missing feathers had anything to do with attempts to kill the Candidate, yet Dym couldn’t help but sense the two things had something in common. Perhaps it was only that fire feathers could only be obtained through the death of the Candidates that made him connect them.
Of course, it likely wouldn’t matter at all before too long. With the death of the last Candidate, there would be no more fire feathers. He bet that had those few who could use magic in a frenzy.
Cold sliced up Dym’s spine as he completed the thought.
Was that what was going on? Did those who could use magic fear losing it? The death of the Firebird would put an end to all magic in Pozhar. While its use had been declared illegal except by those who used it to enforce that very law, there were several – like the Earl – who highly prized their ability to use magic.
And it put them on equal standing with the authorities of the other nations. In Verde and Piedre, all people could use magic. In Kundou only royalty could use magic. In Pozhar, only royalty and certain nobles and other approved officials could use it. If the Firebird were to die, no one in Pozhar would be able to use magic. That would, in the eyes of many, put them a grade below the leaders of other nations. It would lower Pozhar’s standing.
Except the King had never thought so. He’d never had any love of magic, and forbade it as much as possible. The Queen was slightly more tolerant, but she too would not miss magic were it to vanish forever from Pozhar.
Was that the answer to the riddle? Something so painfully obvious? Standing right before him the entire time? Had he been so caught up in his own selfish ambition he had missed it? Dym stroked the wood of his desk as he continued to ponder, oblivious to all the activity around him, the noise and soft chatter, the sunlight warming his back.
If he were a greedy fool desperate not to lose his magic, how would he go about ensuring it was not lost?
Two obstacles would stand in his way: the King, who was staunchly against magic, and the sacrifice of the Candidates.
In the past few months two Candidates had died, and there was only one left. No one but Dym knew the last Candidate might very well find a way to avoid his fate – in this lifetime and perhaps others. So a greedy, panicked fool would seek to kill the Candidates before the High Priest could. That would secure magic use for years, if not decades.
But what was the point of having magic if you must always use as little as possible? Especially in the face of all other nations having much stronger magic and the ability to use it as they pleased? Pozhar, by comparison, was notably lacking. On more than one occasion it had caused tension between Pozhar and her neighbors. To that end, getting rid of the primary obstacle would be the obvious thing to do. Kill the King.
Why had it taken them so long to do so?
Of course. Sonya. No point in killing the King when the heir to the throne was married to a mere baron who had become fast friends with his wife’s brother. Killing the King would have only moved his greatest supporter into the position of power.
Things were perfect now. All anyone aching for power need do was either win Sonya’s support or simply marry her, which many would be pushing her to do despite her age and the love she still held for her deceased husband.
It was fortunate for him that no one seemed to know Sonya had offered Dym the place at her side. Though the Duke and Earl both considered him a threat of that nature.
Foolish, of course.
Dym’s shoulders sagged. If his suppositions were correct, then he and everyone else had completely missed the slow poisoning of the Bright King. Had he been that consumed with his own plans? So selfish he had watched as a good man died?
One more stain on his bloody hands.
There was some comfort, though it tasted foul and bitter, in the fact that everyone, including the King himself, had not realized he was being poisoned. Still, Dym, more than anyone, should have been able to tell there was something amiss. Of late, though, he’d been too consumed with his own plans and ambitions. So close, so very, very close.
In the distance, bells tolled the hour and Dym realized it was time for his appointment with the Earl and his prisoners. He stood, feeling heavy and weary, achy and tired. Someday, he reminded himself, it would all be over. Hopefully that day was close.
Dym regarded the assembled prisoners in surprise. Specifically, the man who, even bound in chains and covered in filth and grime, seemed to radiate leadership. Beneath the dirt was a stern, handsome, face, the short goatee adding a somewhat menacing air. His eyes were steel blue, as sharp and piercing as a sword as the man stared back at him.
That wasn’t what caught Dym by surprise, however. What startled him was that the man was the one Raz had mentioned, the one who had been cursed. Dym had placed the counter spell in a fire feather…he’d also added a spell of protection. Something he probably shouldn’t have done, but he’d rather risk exposure than see a pathetic excuse for a sorcerer kill a man with spells that had been forbidden for very good reasons. Never would he tolerate such a thing.
“These are the thieves who stole the fire feathers?” he asked, keeping his voice level, calm. He looked at Zholty, gratified by the way the man seemed to lose his thoughts for a moment, startled by the anger Dym knew was in his eyes. “How did they do it?”
Zholty recovered, assuming his usual cold, condescending manner. “I suspect they were the ones who broke into my home. Obviously they stole the jewels to try and distract from the fact they were after my key.”
“Why did you not point out the theft of the key earlier.”
“I did not want to admit I’d been foolish enough to leave it out,” Zholty said, shifting restlessly with embarrassment. “How was I to know they had any idea what the key really was? At first I merely thought they grabbed it randomly.”
Dym kept his face blank, wondering how Zholty expected anyone to believe his story.
Then again, if not for his own knowledge, the story would not be wholly implausible.
“What have the prisoners to say?” Dym asked, but did not wait for Zholty to reply. He turned to the one who bore Dym’s protection spell. “Explain your reasons for stealing the fire feathers.”
“You’re awfully pretty to be a priest,” the man said instead, steel blue eyes flashing in amusement, as if his current situation did not bother him at all.
Dym almost smiled. “I hear that a lot.”
“I bet,” the man said. “Though I guess I don’t really know what make a good priest. It’s not like Pozhar has much use for them.”
“No, it does not,” Dym said softly. “What is your name?”
“Ivan.”
Zholty stepped forward. “I warned you about watching what you say, prisoner. The High Priest has better things to do than listen to your idiotic ramblings.”
“On the contrary,” Dym said, staring calmly at Zholty, who started to recoil before he caught himself. “I came to hear whatever they might have to say, or what they may not say. That reminds me of a question I have not put to you – how did you find them?”
“They were stupid enough to play with magic where others could see, and responsible citizens of Pozhar reported them.”
Dym flicked his eyes over the assembled group, which was quite a diverse collection. A mercenary group, Zholty had said, and they certainly seemed to be, despite their filthy, bedraggled state. “Yet I sense no magical ability on them.” A blatant lie. Every last one of them had latent ability, Ivan especially – and any fool with real ability would be able to sense the protection spell cast on him. It was a mark against Zholty’s ability, of which the Earl was inordinately proud, that he could not sense it. If he could, he would have mentioned it, for such a strong spell would scorch Ivan completely.
“Because they no longer have fire feathers. Obviously they are worthless without the feathers, as any ignorant, magic-hungry peasant would be.”
“Indeed,” Dym murmured. These men might be guilty of a great many crimes, but they were nothing more than victims at present. Zholty was pathetic. Dym remained still and silent until he was certain his temper was under control. Nothing had tested his patience like this man in a long time. Would that he could just put Zholty in his place once and for all. “Another question, Earl.”
Zholty motioned impatiently. “Of course, High Priest, by all means.”
“Your initial report said that you had captured nine people. I see only seven here.”
“The other two are being held back so that these seven do not try to do something stupid.”
Ivan sneered. “Yes, how very clever and capable of you to hold two women prisoner. When we are finally free, my dear, dear Earl, I will laugh when they tear your throat out. I admit I was hoping to do that myself, but I think I will more enjoy seeing your body torn apart by mermaids.”
Dym hissed, taken completely by surprise. “Mermaids? What are mermaids doing in Pozhar?”
No one answered his question.
“You are holding the daughters of the Storm Bringers captive?” Dym pressed. “That is a dangerous thing to do, Earl Zholty. If you are not careful, they will do to you what they have been doing to men in the centuries since the Storm Bringers were killed. What they have probably stopped only at the bidding of their Sacred Fathers.”
Zholty looked bored. “What is that? Kill me slowly? Flay me alive?”
“Oh, yes, they will kill you slowly – and they’ll let you watch while they eat you.”
The room fell into a startled silence.
“What?” Ivan croaked. “They wouldn’t do that.”
“Mermaids eat those they hate, those they kill,” Dym said quietly. “When humans killed the Storm Bringers, they joined the list of those mermaids considered prey. If they have stopped, it is only because the Sacred Storm Bringers have made them. But I do not think even that will be enough to stop them if they are pressed too far…”
Zholty backed away from Dym, dropping his gaze. “Absurdity,” he declared.
Dym started to speak, but he was interrupted as the door was thrown open. He faltered.
Duke Nikolai Krasny strode into the room as though he owned it, as severe and arrogant as he always was despite the travel dust covering him and the exhaustion apparent in his face. “Zholty, I’ve some friends I’d like you to meet.”
It wasn’t the Duke that caught Dym’s eye however, and the sputtering of Zholty and Krasny’s smug replies faded into the distance as he stared at who walked in with him.
“You came back,” he said softly, green eyes locking with gray.
“I didn’t have a choice,” Raz replied, drawing close but stopping short of touching distance.
Dym nodded, ending the conversation for the time being, and forced his attention to the last figure who had entered with the Duke. His brows lifted in surprise. “What an interesting day this is becoming,” he said. “Mercenaries who purportedly know how to use fire feathers, mermaids in the dungeon, the last Candidate arrives, and he is accompanied by a White Beast of Verde.”
“I should be surprised you realized that immediately, yet somehow I am not. There’s an air about you…I am Marquis Ailill le Blanc, White Panther of her Majesty the Queen of Verde.”
“I am Dym, High Priest of Pozhar.”
“Ailill. You’re alive.”
“Ivan,” Ailill said, striding over and dropping to his knees, embracing the blue-eyed mercenary, seemingly oblivious to the grime and stench that covered him. “I was worried you might already be dead.”
“What in the world is going on here?” A voice demanded sharply from the still-open doorway. As one, every last man jerked his head up or around, and all cowered at the look of blazing fury on the Queen’s face.
Re: So amusing...and I'm still not bothering to give an alias
Date: 2006-08-23 05:12 pm (UTC)Gushing praise nothing, you'd be suprised the hits I take behind the scenes. And I have duly considered everything you've said. What bothers me is that you take issue with my stuff but are too lazy to even type properly. If you're too lazy to make the effort to check your own spelling, why should I listen to you?
I never mind observations to my story, I'll never improve otherwise. As I said, you don't see half of what's said to me so don't assume all I hear is "gushing praise."
Nothing you said offended me, but when you type as you do and remain anon, I'm inclined to treat you as a troll and not someone worth listening to.