A Deliverer Comes Page 2

  “Yes, lady?” Hinck said, eager to hear her answer.

  “Arman will always help his faithful, Hinckdan Faluk, but he is not a man who can be scheduled into our plans or a weapon to be wielded against his own children. All creation belongs to him. Though it is never wise to trust those who consort with shadir.”

  “Is there no way to stand against a shadir?”

  “I didn’t say that,” Onika said. “Arman has recently shown me how to send shadir back to the Lowerworld.”

  Hinck’s heart leapt at the idea. “Can you teach me?”

  “In time, perhaps. It must be done in the Veil.”

  In the Veil? “I don’t understand.”

  “I have learned to enter the Veil by leaving my physical body behind. When I encounter a shadir, I can banish it in Arman’s name to the Lowerworld where it can no longer harm us.”

  “That sounds perfect,” Hinck said. “Without her shadir, Rosârah Laviel would have no one to power her spells. How do I do it?”

  “There is no time to train you at present, so Arman has asked me to do this for you.”

  “How is that possible? You’re not on board the Greenore.”

  “In the Veil, those with the mind-speak magic can travel at a thought.”

  Trevn had told Hinck that Grayson moved in such a way. “Like Master Grayson?”

  “Only partly. Because Grayson is a root child, he can move corporally through the Veil and the physical realm. Those with the mind-speak magic can move only their spirits in the Veil. Therefore, my body will remain in this camp until I am rescued.”

  “I see. So your spirit will come to this ship?”

  “That is correct.”

  Hinck wanted to laugh—he felt so light now that things were falling into place. Maybe he wouldn’t have to kill anyone after all. “If you can banish Laviel’s shadir, I could find a way to apprehend her and take command of the ship.”

  “To you, Hinckdan Faluk, this is what Holy Arman says: ‘Go and attack Laviel Nafni. Destroy her and all of her evenroot. Do not harbor pity toward her. I am the Lord All-Powerful, and I delight in the obedience of my people.’”

  Hinck reeled at the power of Miss Onika’s voice, which had changed in tone and pulsed though his nerves with some sort of mesmerizing, tingling heat.

  “Did you hear me?” she asked, voice normal again.

  Hinck made the sign of the Hand over his heart. “Yes, lady,” he said, still shaken.

  “She must not live,” Miss Onika said, “and you will be the one to kill her.”

  Grayson

  How could Grayson find his grandmother when he didn’t even know what she looked like? He figured she must be somewhere in Rogedoth’s camp, and since Onika was also there, he concentrated on the prophetess and popped through the Veil.

  He’d never seen so many tents. Hundreds. Maybe a thousand. Most had flags perched on their pinnacles, red and gold with an image of Barthos’s head. Would Grayson have to pop in and out of every one until he found Lady Islah?

  The tents had been set up in circles, one inside the next. The large tents on the outer ring housed soldiers—many Puru, which surprised Grayson. He’d forgotten that Rogedoth had compelled so many natives. There were compelled Kinsman soldiers too, though plenty had full control of their minds and were perfectly happy to be a part of this group of traitors.

  Grayson figured an important prisoner would be kept near Rogedoth, so he moved toward the center of the camp, looking for a royal tent. The closer he got to the middle, the more shadir he saw. Grayson hated shadir. If any looked closely at him, they’d see he was in the Veil—that he was different from the other humans. So he started walking instead of popping. This took much longer, and by the time he found Rogedoth’s tent, the sun was low in the sky.

  He didn’t see any shadir at the moment, so he risked a peek through the canvas wall. There were plenty of shadir inside the tent—so many that none noticed Grayson—including the great who look like a tree. Grayson saw no humans, thankfully, so he moved on.

  Directly behind the pavilion, he discovered a tiny tent that didn’t fit in. A gray-haired man in a tattered red cloak was sitting on a stump of wood at the back of the royal tent. Standing guard? Grayson drifted toward the little tent and looked through the dingy brown canvas. It was too dark inside. Smelled bad too. Maybe it was for Rogedoth’s dirty laundry?

  He slipped inside, let his hand enter the physical realm, and concentrated on the magic that so unnerved him. He grimaced as a kernel of green light gleamed on the tip of his finger. Before his eyes could focus, a woman spoke.

  “Who’s there?”

  Grayson’s heart leapt at the idea that he might have found his grandmother. He lifted his arm above his head and focused until the kernel of light bloomed larger on his palm and brightened the inside of the tent. A center pole was all that held up the roof. At the bottom of the pole, an old woman sat on a thin mattress. A thick iron chain ran out from the end of her blankets to where it was attached to the center pole with a metal ring.

  The woman had a flat nose, large lips, wrinkly dark skin, and long grayish-black hair twists that were tangled with bits of dirt and leaves. Her eyes were yellow and stared at the light as if it were dangerous and might burn her.

  Grayson let the rest of his body enter the physical realm. He lowered his arm and shrank the light some. “Are you Lady Islah?”

  Those yellow eyes narrowed. “You’re a mantic.”

  “Not exactly. My name is Grayson, son of Jhorn. But the first name I ever had was Merek Nafni.”

  It got very quiet then. He could barely hear the woman breathing.

  Grayson tried again. “I’m looking for Lady Islah. A man called Hinckdan Faluk said I might find her here.”

  The woman hummed. “The slave met him once. Knew his grandparents on his father’s side. His mother was a friend to my Laviel for a time.”

  This sounded right! Grayson had found her, though she sure did talk funny. “My mother was named Darlis. She died giving birth to me.”

  This time the old woman scowled. “Not my Darlis. She and her baby died together.”

  “Is that what your husband told you?”

  “Yes.” She said this softly, like she was just now realizing it might have been a lie all along and that made her sad. “You’re far too old to be that child.”

  “Your husband and my mother were playing with magic back then, trying to make someone like me. I grow faster than normal people. I can travel at a thought and make light from nothing. They call me a root child.”

  “Holy Arman, no,” she whispered.

  That sounded like a curse. “Are you scared of me?”

  “No, young man. You seem kind. The slave is only disappointed. He lied to me again.”

  “You mean Master Rogedoth? I hear he does a lot of that,” Grayson said.

  “He’s had a lot of practice.”

  A knock came in Grayson’s mind—“Trevn Hadar”—and made him jump.

  He lowered his shields like Duke Canden had taught him. “Yes, Your Highness?”

  “I need you in my office at once. I have a task for you.”

  “But, sir, I’ve just found Lady Islah. Could I talk with her for a moment? Please?”

  “That’s wonderful, Grayson! Well done. Yes, talk with the lady for a bit, then come straight to my office. There is a situation I need your help with.”

  “Yes, Your Highness. I’ll be back soon.” What could have happened?

  The whole time Grayson had been voicing with the king, Lady Islah had been staring. He sank cross-legged on the ground by her bed and tipped the ball of light off his hand and onto the trampled earth. It hovered there, softly blowing away bits of dead grass. “I can’t stay long today,” he said, “but I’m glad I found you.”

  “How did Mergest manage to hide you? Does he know you’re here?”

  “No,” Grayson said. “Please don’t tell him either. He lost me when I was a baby. Really, my fathe
r stole me away.” And Grayson went on to tell Lady Islah Jhorn’s story.

  “Why are you chained to that pole?” he asked when he was finished.

  She sighed. “Mergest wanted more from magic than the slave. After his father banished him, all he could think about was marrying off one of our girls to the Armanian king. If he could not rule Sarikar, he would find a way to rule Armania. He infiltrated the Chokmah Rôb priesthood but knew that no compulsion would ever convince King Echad to marry the daughter of a priest. So he devised a plan to have our girls secretly adopted by noble friends. When the girls came of age, the family would bring them to court and introduce them as their own. No one would know they were false. The only problem was the slave.”

  “You?”

  “They were my babies! I forbade Mergest to do it. Told him it was too much. So he locked the slave away.”

  “And told everyone you died.”

  “The risk that I might tell someone the truth was too great. His plans would be ruined.”

  “Why not kill you?” Grayson asked, then added, “Sorry. It seems like something he would do.”

  She smiled. “It’s a fair question, young man. I—”

  The tent shook. “Who you talking to, woman?” A man’s voice.

  “It’s Perchard with the slave’s dinner,” Lady Islah whispered. “You should go.”

  Grayson didn’t want to stop talking, but King Trevn needed him. “I’ll visit again.”

  “I’d like that. Thank you for coming to see me, Grayson.”

  The tent flap opened, allowing a shaft of twilight inside. Grayson put out his magical light and popped back to King Trevn’s office.

  The king was sitting at his desk, arms crossed as he looked at Sir Cadoc, who was standing on the other side. Grayson entered the physical realm, startling both men.

  “Sorry,” he said, bowing to the king.

  “You have a report for me?” King Trevn asked.

  “Yes, Your Highness.” Grayson told the king all that had happened with Lady Islah.

  “Excellent work,” Trevn said. “It’s clear she has more secrets to uncover. You must visit her again. Take your time as you question her. Don’t push, or she’ll think you’ve only come for information.”

  “I like her.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. She sounds like a kind woman who has suffered greatly. I wonder if she would leave if we could rescue her.”

  “I could ask.”

  “Not just yet. We must proceed slowly. Understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Now, about this other task. Hinckdan Faluk is currently on board a ship headed this way. He needs your help with something dangerous, if you’re willing.”

  Grayson couldn’t help but smile. Two tasks in one day! “Yes, sir. Whatever you need.”

  Trevn

  I have spoken with Lord Dacre and Miss Onika, and we have a plan to stop Rosârah Laviel,” Trevn said.

  He stood at the head of the council table, trying to ignore the wave of frustration from those he’d kept waiting this morning. He’d been reading Wilek’s journals lately, and while his brother had experienced some negativity from the nobles, it was nothing like the animosity Trevn dealt with every day.

  He went on to explain how Hinck would attack the former queen with his bow while Lady Eudora and her parents kept the deck clear of soldiers and Master Grayson and Miss Onika fought shadir in the Veil.

  The frustrated mood shifted to contempt. Trevn had expected it, but the magnitude of such disdain was hard to ignore.

  Barek Hadar was, unsurprisingly, the first to speak. “That is your plan?”

  “Not merely a plan, Your Grace,” Trevn said. “It’s the offensive action that will occur sometime today. Any moment, perhaps. I have already given the order.”

  A heavy moment of silence. “Without asking our opinion first?” Barek asked.

  Trevn fought to keep hold of his own temper. “I do not need to consult the council on all matters,” he said, annoyed that Barek would dare scold him in public. “A decision needed to be made. I made it.”

  “It’s not a very good—”

  Trevn lifted his hand. “If you have a better idea to stop Rosârah Laviel, Your Grace, I would love to hear it.”

  “I could come up with one,” Barek said. “Given time.”

  “Feel free to think on it,” Trevn said. “But while you are thinking, Lord Dacre and Miss Onika will stop the threat before it reaches us.”

  “It’s not a bad strategy, Your Highness,” Lord Idez said tentatively, though Trevn could sense the man’s doubt. “But there’s a lot of margin for error.”

  “Especially when sending an untrained assassin to kill the spider at sea.” This from Oli Agoros, who was leaning back in his chair as if disgusted with the entire proceeding.

  Danek Faluk shot Oli a dirty look. “My son has been working with the bow almost daily for nearly a year now. He is vastly improved.”

  “So Hinckdan tells you,” Oli said. “But we have no one to corroborate his assertion. And furthermore, does he have any practice shooting on the water? Can he compensate for the motion of the ship over the waves?”

  “If Hinckdan says he can do this, I believe him,” Trevn said. “He is not a man to exaggerate.”

  “Nor is he a soldier,” Oli said. “He has not been trained to handle an assassination.”

  Trevn had not expected so much hostility toward his choice of bowman—as if there had been a host to choose from. “I will hear no more against Hinckdan’s qualifications. Is that clear?” He looked from face to face, and every man, with the exception of Danek Faluk and Captain Veralla, averted his gaze. Thankfully no one spoke, and Trevn continued. “Any other questions?”

  “What about Barthel Rogedoth?” Captain Veralla asked.

  “Miss Onika confirmed he is still camped outside New Rurekau,” Trevn said. “Rosârah Laviel is acting on her own in this.”

  “I don’t understand how the prophetess can know that. Or how she can fight shadir in the Veil,” Lord Idez said.

  “Does anyone?” Barek asked, lifting his hands and falling back in his chair.

  This Trevn was ready for. “Arman has gifted Miss Onika with a new ability.” He told the council how Miss Onika had entered the Veil, and while she had been there, Arman had taught her to banish shadir. “I’ve assigned Master Grayson to help her.”

  “Did Master Grayson witness Miss Onika banish shadir?” Barek asked.

  “Not that I know of,” Trevn said. “He is with her now. Taking her to Laviel’s ship. They will wait with Hinck until it is time to attack.”

  “How can you be certain Miss Onika can do what she says?” Oli asked. “She has been a captive for months. She might be delirious.”

  “She is not,” Trevn said. “You have my word on that. I put her through a test to determine her sanity. She also prophesied that Hinck would be the one to kill Rosârah Laviel.”

  “That is a relief,” Danek said. “Did she say whether Hinckdan would survive?”

  The question sobered Trevn. “She made her prophecy directly to Hinck, so I don’t know the exact words. I only know that Hinck is fully invested in the mission.”

  “You’ve been going on and on about all that you’ve learned in the ancient scrolls,” Barek said. “Didn’t you discover some other methods of defense against mantics?”

  Trevn heaved a dramatic sigh, wanting to make it clear how very tiring he found his council’s lack of trust. “Most generals did all they could to kill mantics from afar with bows,” he said, “which is why I suggested it to Hinck. Some sent in a squadron of men to do the job, knowing that none would likely return. The Earl of Blackpool during King Nathek’s reign abandoned his fortress and gave the servants instructions to poison any food served to the usurping mantics. The mantics didn’t get wise to what had happened in time to heal themselves, and they all died. Then there was a young general who got it in his head that if he gave his soul to a shadir, th
at shadir would help him overpower the enemy. It did not. Instead it compelled the general to give himself over to the mother realms. The man did so and turned against his own. Forgive my haste in dismissing such options without consulting all of you, but I didn’t think them feasible or worth the risk.”

  Again there was silence, though this time the men were throwing off a mix of disgruntled shame, embarrassment, or annoyance—all but Danek, who seemed all around pleased, if not a little worried for his son.

  “Well then,” Trevn said, “if there is nothing else, I’ll release you until I hear word from Hinck. In the meantime, I ask you all to pray and make offerings to Arman on behalf of this mission. Father Mathal will be in the Temple Arman. He will also join me at the midday meal in the great hall to lead a corporate offering and prayer. I expect to see you all there. Dismissed.”

  Trevn didn’t wait for everyone to leave. He retreated to the servants’ antechamber, which had been converted to a haven, since the secret passage would soon let out there. He fell into the longchair Hawley had brought in. Mielle’s concern pressed against him, and he connected his mind to hers. “The meeting has ended,” he voiced.

  “How did it go?”

  “My council has no faith in me. I see it in their eyes—worse, I sense their emotions. It’s difficult to lead confidently when I feel disdain from those who are supposed to support me.”

  “Who disdains you?”

  “I don’t know. All of them, likely. Barek for certain. Oli too, I think. They disliked my plan. They don’t think Hinck is qualified. They don’t believe Onika can banish shadir.” He sighed. “Oli should rule. He’s better suited. He’s a warrior, like Wilek. Groomed to be a general. Everyone respects him.”

  “Being a fighting man didn’t help Wilek succeed,” Mielle said.

  “I can’t take any more of their animosity. It’s maddening.”

  “This task Arman has put before you is no small thing. But he put it before you. Not Oli. Not Hinckdan. Not Barek. You. So you will do your best. Renegades keep going when things get difficult. They prove everyone wrong. You’re a good king, and soon enough Barek Hadar and Oli and whoever else might doubt you today will owe you an apology. Just you wait and see.”