Hunted (Book 3) Read online

  “Yes, but what do I do with them?”

  “Sneak them back through the portal in a supply wagon as secretly as you can. Take them somewhere in the woods, and when I return I will explain everything. Keep the Eldephaere near them at all times.”

  “As you wish, your Grace. What if they do not come?”

  “They will, eventually. If I know Gen, he will follow the Chalaine wherever she goes. For now, however, get the barges moving and make the preparations I have asked.”

  “It will be done, Padra.”

  Athan relaxed his concentration and the mirror resolved to a reflection of his face. After carefully concealing the Assassin’s Glass in his pack, he started his hike back to the beach. Everything hinged on catching Gen. With that one feat he could protect Chertanne and control the First Mother. Best of all, he could eliminate the Ilch and foil Mikkik before the babe was ever born.

  Volney breathed easily for the first time in days. Ghama Dhron’s serpent-animated dwarven host turned away from them and marched toward a nearby wood. From their vantage point within a stand of scrub oak on the cliff, Volney, Gen, and Gerand spied the Ha’Ulrich’s party resting on the beach.

  Gerand regarded the Chalaine's party, face a mixture of emotions. Volney thought he understood, for he felt the same. He wished he could return to them and share in the relief of deliverance from a shard he hoped never to see again. The idea that they would return to Rhugoth as fugitives rather than heroes nearly crushed them both, and by Gen’s somber looks, Volney thought him the worst afflicted.

  Of course, Gen had risen higher and fallen further than either of them, and for that Volney could sympathize. The journey through the Shroud Lake shard had changed the complexion of prophecy, and they all wondered if the mistakes and missteps had somehow ruined the future events they had all worked and sacrificed for. For his part, Volney still placed the blame on Chertanne. Once he saw Maewen broiling fish on the beach, however, he wondered if he could beg the Ha’Ulrich’s forgiveness.

  Gen returned shortly after Ghama Dhron disappeared from sight. “It will make us a raft we can use to get us over the Lake,” Gen reported, voice gruff and drained. “It will be ready soon, and Ghama Dhron will lower it and us to the lake. I’ve commanded it to kill any Uyumaak it finds after that.”

  “Do I even want to know how it will ‘lower us down?’” Volney asked.

  “Probably not,” Gen replied.

  Gerand turned away from his vigil of the beach and faced Gen. “How is it you can speak to that monstrosity?”

  “I wish I knew,” Gen answered. “It uses the same black speech as the demon used during the betrothal, only it speaks to the mind.”

  “And where does one learn the black speech in Tolnor?” Gerand pressed.

  “I never learned it. At least not that I remember. I cannot account for it.”

  Conversation died as they lay on the ground and slept soundly. Ghama Dhron returned in the afternoon with a rickety raft roughly hewn by dwarven battle axes. It was little better than what peasant boys would lash together in an afternoon.

  “Nice,” Volney commented sarcastically. “And I thought the barges were bad. Here’s hoping they believe us when we get to the Portal, if we don’t drown first.”

  Chapter 58 - The Bargain

  The Chalaine stared out across the still, glassy lake. Compared to the days behind, the broiled fish and ragged lean-tos felt luxurious, even when a cold winter squall blasted in off the lake and lashed the wooden wall while they squatted shuddering around a weak fire on the lee side. Padra Athan promised rescue would arrive in a few days, though he fretted over how the recently constructed watercraft would fare in the brief but violent storm.

  At last the conversation of their bedraggled group turned hopeful, full of home, familiar places, and beloved people. The Chalaine had long since abandoned any hope of spotting Gen before returning to Rhugoth, and she turned her attentions to praying for his safe return. As much as she wanted to see him, she hoped that he would forsake her and hide to save his own life. Her mind resolved to see her divine task done, for only its completion would bring to fruition the pleasant future scenes that occupied her thoughts.

  Her mother persisted in as gloomy a state as the Chalaine could ever remember seeing her in. After nearly dying at Three Willows Inn, Mirelle had been fearful and even vulnerable, but after her visit with Gen two nights before, an abiding hopelessness held her captive. While perhaps a trick of months of hard travel, the former First Mother had aged, her empty eyes only doubling the effect of its appearance.

  The Chalaine guessed her pain. The last few weeks had stripped one of the most powerful figures on Ki’Hal of her title, her throne, and her love, and while the Chalaine knew her mother yet had plans and work she wanted done, these provided no fire in her heart or animation to her features.

  Not even the barges emerging from the mist in the late afternoon and the arrival of fresh food and warm blankets could jar Mirelle from her stupor. Only the arrival of Ethris, Captain Tolbrook, and Shadan Khairn a few minutes later stirred her from her shelter, and before Athan could trap the Mage, Mirelle had corralled him into a private area behind the wall to explain everything. The Chalaine noted the Shadan’s questioning glances as he scanned the beach for his pupil. To the Chalaine’s surprise, Torbrand ignored his own son and Athan and approached her, executing an uncharacteristic bow while Captain Tolbrook, Jaron, and Dason watched.

  “Forgive my lack of niceties, Lady Khairn, but has Gen been killed?”

  “No, Shadan,” the Chalaine answered. “It is rather more complicated than that.”

  At first the Chalaine hesitated, wondering what and how much to tell him, but in the end decided that the unpredictable man was an ally where Gen was concerned. She told him of her former Protector’s attack on Chertanne, his entrapment, and his eventual rescuing of their party and disappearance. Torbrand grinned as she finished.

  “Thank you for your report, Highness.” He smiled. “So he is a fugitive for trying to kill that fool son of mine. Running from Chertanne certainly sounds more appealing than running with him at the moment, so perhaps I shall try to kill him myself later on. Don’t worry too much for Gen. He is a clever one. Good day, Highness. Oh, and since Chertanne is now High King, I am no longer Shadan. You may address me as Warlord, now, or General, if you prefer.”

  “I will,” she replied. “Thank you, General.”

  Mirelle and Ethris returned some time later, Ethris clearly shaken. He threw a weak smile her way before walking over to consult with Athan. Her mother sat beside her and quizzed her about Torbrand’s visit.

  “He is a strange ally,” Mirelle said, “but we will take him.”

  The Chalain leaned into her, wishing she could infuse her mother’s heart with some liveliness or hope. “How did Ethris and Torbrand Khairn escape the battle?”

  Mirelle indicated the Chalaine should follow her along the shore of the lake. “After felling the giant at Dunnach Falls, Ethris had completely exhausted himself. Captain Tolbrook hid himself and the Mage within the creature’s mangled armor throughout the night and the next day until the army had moved on in pursuit of the main party.

  “Torbrand and the Aughmerians held the road against the Uyumaak for nearly an hour until he and about twenty of his men fled into the hills. The Uyumaak pursued them and killed all but Torbrand and four others. The night provided enough cover for them to evade the rest. Ethris met up with them as they searched for any of the scattered mounts that might have survived.

  “Fortunately, three of the animals still lived. Knowing the way to Elde Luri Mora would be unattainable with their small numbers, they resolved on returning immediately to the Portal gate to summon reinforcements. They rode hard to the beach landing. A few days from the lake, they found an army of Uyumaak marching in the same direction just ahead of them, apparently dispatched to secure the fortifications. They obviously succeeded, but not before Ethris, owing to his craft, overtook and p
assed the marchers, galloping the last two miles at great peril.

  “They secured a raft just as the Uyumaak fell in fury upon the wall. Ethris and Torbrand nearly worked the rowers to death, so you can imagine the disappointment to their urgency when they found that only an honor guard had been stationed at the Portal, the main body of soldiers quartered some miles away. But even worse, the lack of barges precluded shuttling any great numbers across the Lake anyway. In the interim, Ethris and the Shadan returned to the shard beachhead to learn the outcome of the battle, finding what we found a few days ago, an unapproachable beachhead swarming with Uyumaak archers that could cut them down before they rowed within fifty yards of the shore.

  “They returned to oversee preparations and to plan. I certainly wouldn’t have wanted to trade places with any of the craftsman set to constructing more barges. I’m sure Ethris and Torbrand were rather intense with their supervision. Of course, the Church of the One disgorged every member of its fighting orders and sent them to the gate, leveling all manner of accusations of incompetency at Rhugoth just as they did after the attack at the betrothal.”

  “Considering recent events,” the Chalaine said, “they certainly have a case. We were too arrogant.”

  “True. We did not feel our danger then as we should have, or perhaps failed to perceive its nature.”

  “I am sorry about Gen, Mother,” the Chalaine continued in a low voice after a brief pause. “I do not know what he told you, but it has apparently destroyed you.”

  Mirelle smiled bitterly. “You know, while I always loved him, I had intended him for you once Chertanne met his fate, which, by my calculations, will be several seconds into his encounter with Mikkik. Somewhere I lost sight of the altruistic blessing for my daughter and thought of myself instead. I nearly fell apart when he announced his ridiculous betrothal to Fenna.” Here she sighed and lifted her eyes to the lake. “It is no matter to you, dear. At least you have his love. I think I could have won it, too, if he could have mastered his apparent fear of me.”

  “You were brutally forward.”

  Mirelle smiled again, eyes softening. “That I was. You can only imagine how vexing it is to find that you can easily procure any man in the world except the one you want. Do you think I appeared a bit desperate? I was aiming for playful and passionate. ”

  “Desperate? Hardly. Playful, yes, and to him probably not serious until you declared it with a rather frank kiss, which—from his reticence to talk about it—I infer that he enjoyed immensely.”

  “I’ve been meaning to ask you what occasioned him to tell you about that.”

  “I don’t recall,” the Chalaine lied, not wanting to recount the particulars of that conversation with anyone.

  “I enjoyed that kiss as well, so please don’t begrudge me a few weeks of sullen misery. In any case, do not worry over much for me. If any of us survive the next year, then I am sure I can find just as miserable a mate as you, and we can invite Gen over for tea and take turns at discomfiting our husbands by flirting wildly with him.”

  “Gen and Chertanne drinking tea together. Eldaloth will truly have transformed the world if that meeting ever takes place.”

  Their conversation ended after Padra Athan goaded Chertanne into a leadership role that consisted of telling everyone to embark for immediate departure.

  The Chalaine swatted the sand off of her tattered dress. “I must attend to my husband. It is time to pretend again.”

  The oarsmen knelt as Chertanne perfunctorily extended his hand and guided her onto the barge. Athan and Torbrand boarded next, followed by Ethris, Jaron, Mirelle, and Cadaen.

  “And so you thought of everything but clothes, then?” Athan complained to Torbrand.

  “Believe it or not, your Grace,” Torbrand said, “there are clothes for you all awaiting on the other side of the Portal. You can thank Padra Nolan for that kindness. In our hasty departure, we neglected to load them. We forgot the toilet buckets, too, so you will have to settle for a leather sack or the lake. Mikkik’s beard, but we forgot the dancing women and the kegs of wine, too. I hope you can struggle by without them for a few more days.”

  “That’s enough, Torbrand,” Athan growled.

  Two days of knocking elbows and stepping on feet while they slipped across the foggy lake on cramped barges failed to ameliorate anyone’s mood. During the slow journey, Ethris used his magic to confirm the Chalaine’s pregnancy. To hear Ethris say it somehow surprised her despite the sour stomach she had felt for weeks. A life not her own thrived within her, and before another year passed she would bear the title of mother. With all that had attended her conception and the anticipation of a glorious birth, she wondered at how it could all seem so unreal and, in her thoughts, secondary to more pressing concerns.

  Their third night out, the floating dock resolved into view, and a great shout rose. A mass of cheering soldiers, torches and lanterns haloed in the dark, ushered the disheveled party through the Portal. At last Rhugothian soil greeted their weary feet. The afternoon sky, every bit as dank and gray as the lake’s had been, provided nothing of cheer for the Chalaine despite the jubilation of the people—mostly soldiers—who rejoiced at their narrow escape from danger and ruin.

  The boots of thousands of men had churned the snow into mud, turning the frozen ground around the smoky bonfires into slippery quagmires. Athan eagerly jumped at every opportunity to herald the story of Chertanne’s usage of magic to slay the Uyumaak that had threatened them in the mountains, promising that this was only one of many noble deeds to be told in the days ahead.

  While the Chalaine could understand the need to bolster the people’s confidence in their new King, she wondered just how many lies a Churchman could tell in good conscience to accomplish the task. No doubt by the time they arrived in Mikmir, Chertanne’s single dead foe would multiply fivefold. Wickedly she thought she might just coax her own creativity out of hiding to fabricate some stories of her own bravery for everyone to believe, but decided she would just leave it to Athan, who appeared to have some skill in such things.

  Dason, Jaron, Cadaen, and her mother all kept close by her, and from her mother’s biting of her lower lip, the Chalaine divined that the same crisis that filled her mind filled her mother’s. Already, several of the leaders and generals had posed questions about Gen’s fate, and for some reason, Athan declined to comment. He and Padra Nolan gravitated from one brief meeting to the next, heads low and together, perhaps arriving at some consensus as how to handle the situation. Geoff appeared nervous as he performed a song for the revelers, Fenna behind him with her hands on his shoulders. Maewen had disappeared almost as soon as she had crossed through the Portal.

  Most disturbing, however, was the continual presence of the Eldephaere, the emasculated soldiers of the Church who, anciently, had seen to the protection of the Chalaine before an indiscretion with the tenth Chalaine had thrown them into disgrace and out of the castle. They followed the new Queen’s party wherever it moved, sable cloaks swirling around tall thin frames in the light wind. Their dark clothing contrasted with pale faces, haughty eyes regarding all with disdain, especially the retinue of Rhugothian soldiers that surrounded what was left of the Dark Guard. Of course, all now wore the colors of King Chertanne, a red field with a golden hawk clutching a fully waxed Trys in its talons.

  Chertanne had barely set one foot through the Portal before Athan had shepherded him off to clad his charge in the kingly garb, though it hung loosely about the wearer. The royal tailor had stitched the clothing based on measurements taken before Chertanne had suffered weeks of privation, though as for that, the thinner features and weathered face aided the new King’s appearance, subtracting some of the spoiled, soft aspect of his demeanor that had presented itself so plainly on first acquaintance. The Chalaine even thought he could pass for handsome should the trend continue, but from the way he thrust his fingers into every passing platter stacked with meat and bread, she thought his shirts would find themselves inflated
with his girth soon enough.

  Her own stomach could not chance anything so heavy as what was served. Whether from anxiety about Gen or the recurring nausea from her pregnancy, she felt she could take nothing more than the mulled cider she clutched in cold hands. As yet, no one had indicated she should wear anything other than the ragged black dress she had donned after tumbling with Gen over the falls, and the memory of those pleasant days served to distract her until a grave Padra Athan started toward her and her mother.

  Athan said, “Your Ladyship, Mirelle, I would ask for a word with you apart from the camp. I have a tent set up in a little clearing away from the here so that we can talk with some privacy. You may bring whatever retinue you wish, but I would ask that we speak alone in the tent.”

  “We are not inclined to speak with you at the moment, Padra. No disrespect, intended, of course,” Mirelle answered.

  “It concerns a certain common acquaintance of ours. I think you know the one I mean. There are questions about him that must be answered, and I thought I would extend you the courtesy of providing some of what must be said before I bring it to light in a more public arena.”

  “Lead on, then,” Mirelle agreed, face severe.

  The Chalaine took her hand, wishing to give strength while seeking it herself. Athan led them away at a brisk pace, several of the Eldephaere flanking him. Nearly fifteen soldiers accompanied the Queen and her retinue down a rutted track of frozen mud that led much farther into the woods than the Chalaine had envisioned when Athan described it. After they had covered at least a half a mile, a bright circular tent glowing with an orange light beckoned to them in the darkening evening.

  As they approached, several things caught the Chalaine’s eye. A bald, plump man in a bloody apron stood to the side of the tent pounding nails into a small oblong box, and as they came nearer, he seemed shifty and nervous, increasing the rhythm of the hammer strokes. Two large sacks sat on the ground nearby, each guarded by a pair of Eldephaere. As they approached, the Chalaine thought she saw something move inside one of the sacks, and her heart started to pound as a horrible idea took root in her mind.