Book 5: Chapter Twenty-Three

Corec reached the top of the ladder and stepped out onto the wooden platform the builders had constructed above the partly collapsed lookout tower. The structure seemed sturdy enough to hold him.

Facing in the direction of Sarette’s warden bond to the southwest, he summoned a mage light and held it in place for a moment before dismissing it, then called two more in close succession, allowing them each to flicker out after a brief flash. Then one final light, lasting as long as the first. He waited half a minute, then repeated the same pattern.

Sarette had just started teaching him stormborn message signals, and the only signal he’d memorized so far that seemed to fit the situation was return.

He had no way to know if she or her troopers had seen the message. She’d taken the new soldiers out for an overnight patrol, but Corec hadn’t thought to ask her to watch for signal code. Neither of them had anticipated needing it so soon.

He planned to send Sargo out at first light to search for the patrol, but it would take the scout a while to reach them. With Leena away, the stormborn signals had seemed like the next best option.

Corec flashed the code three more times before returning to the tavern. The common room was quieter now, the remaining patrons having finally returned to their homes after he’d spoken with each of them.

The tied-up assailants were laid out in a row—those who still lived, at least. Thirteen of the mercenaries had died, either during the battle or before Treya could heal them of their injuries. That included nearly all of those who’d been inside the tavern. Of the fifteen who’d lived, most had been setting up a secondary ambush in the fortress’s courtyard. Razai had managed to slip past them unnoticed, taking the two right outside the tavern door by surprise.

With the healing done, Treya was now attending to each of the sleeping mercenaries in turn, cleaning the demonic compulsion from their minds.

Nedley saw Corec enter the room and shuffled over, staring at his feet. “I should have told you about Bertram. Razai told me he was a red-eye, but I thought if I said anything … I don’t know.”

It took Corec a moment to consider his response. His head was still fuzzy from the ale. “Do you think I would have recognized your brother if I’d known?” He’d never met Bertram.

“Oh,” Nedley said, looking up. “I guess not?”

“Razai warned us that Rusol had more compelled troops, mercenaries and others, and she told us that they’re harder to detect than the red-eyes. Knowing your brother was one of them wouldn’t have changed anything.”

Nedley nodded.

“But Ned?” Corec said.

“Yes?”

“Next time you want to make a point, just tell me, all right? Don’t knock me over during a fight. If I hadn’t realized who you were, I could have killed you by accident.”

Nedley ducked his head down again. “I’m sorry.”

Treya had approached while they were speaking. “I’m ready,” she said. “Do you want me to wake them up?”

“One at a time,” Corec said. At Nedley’s sudden, intense look, he added, “Fine, Ned. Bertram first.”

Boktar and Ral dragged the man in question over to the wall and propped him up against it in a sitting position. Treya knelt to lay her hand across his forehead, then stepped back.

Bertram opened his eyes and struggled in his bonds, looking like a wild animal trying to get free of a trap. Then he settled down, still breathing heavily.

“What’s going on?” he asked, squinting. “Ned? Is that you?”

“Yes, I—”

Corec held up his hand to cut Nedley off. “You’ve been under a demon’s spell,” he told Bertram. “Do you know what I mean?”

The man’s lip curled into a snarl. “You’re Corec Tarwen. I’m supposed to—” He stopped talking, then struggled to free himself again. “Let me go!”

“What were you supposed to do? Kill me?”

Bertram froze. “The voice… Nothing! I wasn’t supposed to do anything!”

“The voice was King Rusol!” Nedley exclaimed. “He was controlling you with magic!”

“Ned!” Corec snapped, then reconsidered. To Bertram, he said, “He’s right. It was Rusol who had you in that demon spell. Do you remember what you and your men did here?”

“Tell him, Bert!” Nedley said.

“I …” Bertram looked away and noticed his compatriots for the first time.

“They’re alive,” Corec said. “The ones here, anyway. The rest are dead. We didn’t have a choice—they tried to kill us. They did kill two of my men. The only reason we spared the rest of you is because you weren’t in control of your own minds. So talk. Tell me what I want to know and I’ll let you go free.”

There was a gleam of anger in Bertram’s eyes, but he answered the question. “We were supposed to sneak in, find out who your mage friends are, then catch you alone and kill you. But you stayed here, so we had to wait. I don’t know what happened after that—I was outside until I heard the fighting.”

“Who told you to kill me?” Corec asked.

“The king.”

“The new king, right? Rusol?” Best to make sure.

Bertram nodded.

“When did he give you the order?”

Nedley’s brother furrowed his brow. “A few weeks ago? Three? It’s hard to remember. Before we left Telfort.”

“Three weeks from Telfort?” Corec asked. That would require fast horses.

“We came straight through the mountains. It’s summer—the weather’s good. We didn’t sleep much.”

There were roads throughout the Black Crow Mountains, but there was no direct east-west route all the way across.

“Are you saying you were on foot?” Corec asked.

Nedley spoke up suddenly. “We ran,” he said, his voice haunted. “It wouldn’t let us stop. We were so tired! So hungry!” He started sobbing, and Katrin and Treya gathered him up between them.

Bertram stared wide-eyed at his brother. “What’s wrong with him?”

“The same thing that happened to you,” Corec told him. “Rusol sent him to kill me. We saved him from the spell, just like we did for you.”

“He’s just a kid! Why would anyone …”

“That’s a good question,” Corec said. “Did Rusol tell you why he wants to kill me?”

“No. The voice … as soon as we got our orders, we had to leave.”

“Are there more of you out there?” Boktar put in. “A camp?”

“We camped three miles west. No one’s there—we just left our gear and armor so we could sneak in.”

The old red-eyes weren’t capable of that sort of planning, but even if this new group had retained their minds, they hadn’t been able to ignore the orders they’d been given. A few small tweaks to their plan would have offered a much greater chance of success. A few men could have wandered into the village during the day and learned who the mages were, then the entire group could have returned late at night—with armor and heavier weapons—and done far more damage. By following their orders verbatim, they’d doomed themselves to failure.

“What about the rest of Rusol’s mercenaries?” Corec asked. “Was this the only group he sent out?”

“We all got our orders at the same time, but the rest went somewhere else. I don’t know where. There were only seven hundred of us left in the capital by then. The rest are at Fort Northtower.”

Seven hundred mercenaries deployed to an unknown location for an unknown reason. Were they all under the same spell? Razai had thought that only a small number of them were, but maybe that didn’t matter. Mercenaries were mercenaries—they’d go wherever they were paid to go.

It came down to the question of how serious Rusol was about killing Corec. Twenty-eight soldiers sent in secret was an assassination attempt, but seven hundred was an army. If Rusol sent that army outside his borders, Corec would have to decide how to respond. He could have negotiated with the knights, or retreated from the army, but mercenaries didn’t operate under the same rules of conduct.

For now, he had to deal with the problem in front of him. The solution he’d used with the last batch of red-eyes at Jol’s Brook seemed like the best choice.

“I’ll let you go as long as you pledge not to return to Larso,” Corec said, kneeling down to untie the knots around the man’s wrists. “You’re from Tyrsall. Go east. If I see you around here again, we’ll have a problem.”

“No!” Nedley said. “Why can’t he stay?”

“They killed Graeme and Ludlo,” Boktar said. “We can’t hide that.”

Corec nodded. “I’m not going to hang them—not when they couldn’t control what they were doing—but the people here aren’t going to accept a story about demonic compulsion. As it is, we’re going to have to say that the ones responsible for the murders all died in the battle.”

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“What about them?” Bertram asked, nodding toward his companions as he rubbed the feeling back into his wrists.

“We’ll wake them up one at a time and let them go, separately, in different directions,” Corec said. “You can stay until the end to let them know I’m telling the truth, but I’d better not find out they’re causing trouble in the free lands, or trying to return to Larso. Help me convince them that they shouldn’t try to meet up with each other. Ral, take a squad and a wagon out to find where they camped. Load up all their gear and wait. If any of them show up there, kill them.”

Ral saluted and left the tavern. Corec nodded to Boktar, then tilted his head to the side. The dwarven man followed Ral out. Boktar would enhance the plan with the details they couldn’t let Bertram overhear, to make sure the squad wasn’t ambushed.

“You want me to quit working for Larso?” Bertram asked. “Fine. But Ned’s coming home with me.”

Corec had to keep a tight grip on his temper. “That’s not my decision. Ned? I’d like you to stay, but it’s up to you.” Nedley wasn’t just a friend, but also a trusted ally. If he left, there would be a big gap in the middle of Corec’s command structure. Ral was trustworthy, but he wasn’t Nedley.

“I … I don’t know,” the young man said.

“You don’t have to decide yet. Help me finish untying your brother, then Treya can wake up the next one.”

#

The fatigue and whiskey had finally gotten to Nedley. He’d fallen asleep at one of the tables while Corec and Treya dealt with the formerly demon-compelled troops. Just before dawn, Corec had woken him and asked him to put on his armor to help reassure people as the news spread throughout the village.

That meant Nedley was standing guard at the gatehouse when his brother came through, a canvas bag of food slung over his shoulder. Each of the exiled mercenaries had been given enough provisions to reach the next town, the amount depending on which direction they were heading.

“He won’t give me back my sword,” Bertram said with a scowl.

“You don’t need a sword around here,” Nedley told him. “Just buy one when you get to Dalewood. Do you have enough money to make it to Tyrsall?”

“Larso paid well, at least,” Bertram muttered, then seemed to realize what Nedley had said. “You’re not coming with me.” It wasn’t a question.

“No. I’ve got a good job here, I’ve got my own house. I can’t go.” There was more to it than that, but Nedley didn’t want to put it into words.

Bertram grunted, eyeing Nedley’s armor. “With that getup, you look like one of those knights. They were always peering down their noses at us in Telfort.”

Nedley shrugged uncomfortably. “I’m just a soldier. The armor was a gift.”

A pair of village women gave Bertram suspicious glares as they walked past. They couldn’t know who he was by sight, but everyone was on edge after the attack.

“I guess I should get going,” Bertram said. He gripped Nedley’s shoulder, then turned to leave.

“Wait,” Nedley said.

Bert turned back, a hopeful look on his face. “Yes?”

“Do you understand what Rusol did to you?” Nedley asked. “The spell you were under?” Most of the others had been grateful for their release from the compulsion, but Bertram had tried to avoid the topic.

“Yes, damn it! I know! The voice … just stop talking about it, will you?”

“You crossed the Black Crows and hillfolk territory to get here,” Nedley said. “Did you kill anyone along the way?” He hadn’t wanted to ask the question in front of his friends. They didn’t know what it was like to have their minds taken from them.

“No. Why would we? We were just supposed to kill him.”

If Bertram was telling the truth, perhaps he wouldn’t be plagued by the nightmares. These new troops didn’t seem to lose as much of themselves as the red-eyes did.

“Promise me you’ll head straight back to Tyrsall,” Nedley said. “Don’t try to meet up with the others; don’t go back to Larso. Corec’s a mage—he has ways of checking up on what you’re doing.” Those ways involved Leena and Sarette, but Nedley didn’t want to give away any more names than Bertram had already learned.

His brother glared. “You sound like one of them.”

“I want you to be safe. Have you decided what you’re going to do in Tyrsall?”

“I haven’t had a chance to think about it.”

“Caravan guard isn’t a bad job. Talk to a man named Marco at Senshall Holdings—tell him you’re my brother. Just stick to the eastern routes, at least until Corec changes his mind.”

“I’m the one who’s supposed to be looking out for the family, Ned, not you.”

Bertram’s idea of looking out for the family had involved taking a fifteen-year-old Nedley to Larso to sign on as a mercenary. Nedley had missed his brother, but he hadn’t realized how angry he’d been at him until he’d seen him again.

“We have to watch out for each other,” he said, not wanting to end their reunion on a sour note. “I’ll come visit you when I get a chance.”

Bertram had just taken a step back when Kimi came rushing up.

“Nedley!” she said, throwing her arms around him. She’d never done that before. “Are you all right? Sister Berit said she heard shouting in the middle of the night, but she didn’t wake me up. And then this morning, everyone’s saying we were attacked!”

Bert’s eyes had gone wide in surprise, but then he started grinning. He gave Nedley a wink before turning and heading for the road.

Nedley patted Kimi’s back. “We were, but we took care of it. They were mercenaries from Larso.”

“Why would Larso send soldiers here?” she asked. “Will it happen again?”

“I don’t know. I—”

“Ned!” Boktar called through the gatehouse tunnel. “Hurry up! Sarette just flew in. Corec wants us in the great hall.”

“I’ve got to go,” Nedley told Kimi. “I’ll find you later and tell you what’s going on.”

#

Shavala had always wanted to visit Terevas, but this wasn’t how she’d envisioned it. Instead of exploring the lands, she’d Traveled there in the blink of an eye. Instead of taking time to see the city, she’d spent the past three days as an honored guest of the Glass Palace.

Presiding over Queen Revana’s death certainly hadn’t been part of the plan either, even if it had seemed to bring the woman a bit of comfort before the end.

Perhaps someday Shavala could convince Corec and Katrin to accompany her back to the nilvasta kingdom, so they could do the journey the right way.

For now, though, she had a task to perform. She stroked the bark of the lone tershaya that stood in front of the Glass Palace, checking its health. Somehow the massive tree had managed to grow to full height on its own, living for centuries without being root-bonded to any others of its kind.

“Are you really ready for this?” Ellerie asked from beside her.

“My part isn’t difficult,” Shavala said. “The staff provides most of the power—this is what it was made for. But are they ready?” Nearly a hundred officials and sentinels had spread out across the wide plaza in front of the palace, waiting in groups of three or four.

“I told them what it was like,” Ellerie said. “Vilisa told them. They still volunteered. You don’t know what it means to be nilvasta, Shavala. We’ve never known the bond, but we always remember that we lost it.”

Shavala nodded. She wasn’t opposed to the plan, but it had to be done for the right reasons.

Vilisa and her retinue approached. “The plaza has been cleared of all but our own people,” she announced. “We’ve placed barricades and sentinels at each of the entrances.”

Her eyes were still red and puffy. She’d had a hard time coming to terms with Revana’s death, and in the two and a half days since, she’d had to set aside her mourning to prepare for the upcoming vote to name the new monarch.

Vilisa was a puzzle—wary of those around her, and cold and calculating in a way Shavala had never seen in Ellerie. Yet Ellerie trusted her sister without reservation, and in the three days since Vilisa had become part of the tree bond, some of those hard edges had already begun to fade.

Shavala suspected that was why the old gods had given the elven people the bond in the first place. Without it, they would have been more akin to the nilvasta—living with human customs and trappings, but with minds that had never been meant for that life. The tree bond had allowed the old vasta to hold onto their place in the world even as that world changed around them.

Modern-day elves should be allowed that same opportunity.

“I don’t like this,” Melithar said. He’d remained with Vilisa rather than joining the other palace officials in the plaza.

“You don’t have to be part of it,” she told him.

“That’s not the point. You have no way to predict what’s going to happen if you go through with this right before the vote. You could very well be giving Avaro di’Taris and the other traditionalists exactly what they want.”

Vilisa was quiet for a moment, staring into the distance. “Mother became queen before I was born,” she said. “How much of the scheming and betrayal within the High Council is down to her influence? How much is due to the loss of the tree bond? How much is simply our own weakness? For the first time in a long time, I feel like the nilvasta could be something better than we are now.”

Melithar gave her a look of surprise, then a respectful nod. But he made no move to join the others in the plaza.

A bell tolled, and Vilisa turned to Shavala.

“The vote begins in one hour,” she said. “The Councilors will be making their way here soon.”

Shavala took the staff from where she’d left it leaning against the tree. “I’m ready,” she said.

Vilisa touched her arm. “Thank you for what you’re doing for our people.”

While helping Revana join the tree bond, Shavala had come to a realization. There was no way the first druids could have used such a slow process to spread the bond out to all the vasta. The only reason they’d used natural-born seedlings was because that was all they had available, at least until they’d mastered the full power of the staff. Unlike Shavala, they hadn’t been aided by visions showing them what was possible. Instead, those visions had been formed of their own memories as they’d learned their craft.

The staff had responded to Shavala’s thoughts by passing along a single image—a view from atop a plateau, with a massive tershaya forest spreading out in all directions. It was a repeat of one of the first visions it had ever given her. Now, she realized its import.

She took her place at the edge of the palace grounds, far enough away from the plaza’s paving stones to give herself room to work. Grasping the staff in both hands, she planted it against the earth, encouraging its root tendrils to take hold and grow outward.

The ground began to tremble, and thirty feet away, the first tree erupted upward, pushing paving stones to the side. The three palace functionaries standing nearby quickly drew knives and cut their palms, placing them against the trunk.

More trees sprouted up, and other groups did the same.

This time, Shavala didn’t stop the growth while the trees were still small. Like she’d done in Tir Yadar, as the trees grew larger, she called the roots up to the surface to grab the paving stones and pull them underground, crushing them to dust or pushing them out of the way.

Now with more room to grow, the roots dove back down beneath the earth, stretching toward their neighbors to join together in a root-bond. The nearest trees stretched far enough to bring the formerly lone tershaya into the bond. Suddenly connected to it, Shavala realized how it had managed to survive on its own.

Despite the name, only the outer walls of the Glass Palace were made of glass, providing a view of the palace’s indoor gardens and main corridors. Farther in was the Stone Wall, which marked the section of the palace that included most of the residential apartments and administrative areas. And at the very center of the structure stood the Heart Wall, constructed of tershaya heartwood and marking the royal family’s residence.

Tershaya wood, if properly prepared, could remain alive in a sense even after it was harvested. It would still dry out—it had no roots to drink fluids, and no pine needles to attract the sun’s attention—but it retained the memory of life. It could still feel and be felt through the tree bond.

The lone tree, with no others of its kind nearby, had attempted to join with the Heart Wall. It was a precarious balance, since the harvested wood had no roots of its own, but it had provided just enough of a connection to keep the tree alive.

The staff hummed in joy as it served its true purpose, the tershaya in the plaza growing to full height while more and more of the palace’s residents and workers joined the bond.

In the center of the plaza, a tree burst up through an ornamental fountain, fracturing it and spilling the water. With a gesture, Shavala reshaped the earth around it, pulling water from the underground stream that had fed the fountain and redirecting it into a new creek bed that now meandered through the trees. At the edge of the plaza, the water dipped back down to rejoin the larger stream from which it had come. Earth magic had always been the most difficult for Shavala to control, but the staff didn’t have the same limitation.

The freshly churned soil between the trees suddenly sprouted young grasses and flowers, and as the spell came to an end, the plaza was gone. In its place stood a forest.

Vilisa had originally wanted to connect all the scattered groves of tershaya around the city, but after looking at a map, they’d realized it wouldn’t be possible. Doing so would destroy too many buildings and major thoroughfares. Tree bond or not, the nilvasta were not dorvasta. They wouldn’t want to give up their city.

The plaza was a compromise. While the palace still had a separate access road for deliveries, anyone approaching from the front would now have to walk through a tershaya forest to get there. It would serve as a reminder of who they were.

Today’s work was done, and now they would have to wait for the High Council’s vote. Tomorrow, Shavala would take up the staff once more. She planned to complete a circle of trees around the palace, connecting the plaza forest in the front to the nursery grove around the back.

And in the process, she would offer the tree bond to any of the councilors who wished to join.