Akmael clenched his jaw. “What, precisely, is the nature of your relationship with Mage Corey?”
“What?” Her eyes snapped back to him. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“And the Syrnte man who greeted you at the castle gates? Who is he to you?”
“Is that what this is about, Akmael?” Her anger flared anew. “Do you think by seducing me you can win me over to your side? Those people are my friends! They took me in when I had no place to go, no one to turn to. Their leader is my brother.”
Akmael drew a sharp breath. “Your brother? You said he was dead!”
“I thought he was. I have only learned since Bel-Aethne that he lives. A forester rescued him the day our village was destroyed, a man trained as a knight under your grandfather. He taught my brother everything he could, and when Ernan was of age, he traveled to distant lands to learn more about the arts of war. My brother’s entire life has been driven by a single purpose: to confront and kill the Mage King of Moisehén. Now that your father is gone, his obsession turns to you.”
Akmael considered her words in silence. “I have a formidable rival, then. With access to the secrets of the Knights of Vortingen, and a High Maga at his side.”
Eolyn averted her gaze.
“Is this what you want, Eolyn? To make war upon me?”
She shifted on her feet and looked up at him. “You know very well Ghemena left me ill-disposed toward this bloody sport, but I understand what they will face in you, in your army, and in Tzeremond’s mages. I will not leave them alone. I will stand with them, even if the only service I can provide, in the end, is to ease their passing into the Afterlife.”
Akmael clenched his fists. It was not possible she would refuse him for a band of common rebels. Her destiny was greater than that. “I am bound by the blood in my veins and the vows I made to my fathers to defend the Crown of Vortingen. I will show no mercy to those who try to wrest it from my stewardship, not to your friends, not even to your brother.”
Eolyn’s voice turned bitter. “You must, of course, defend the Crown as you deem best.”
In a matter of moments, the few paces that separated them had expanded into an impassable chasm.
She will not come with me tonight
, he realized.
At least, not willingly.
A shadow rose inside of him, dark and foreboding.
All I need do is reach out and take her.
This game would end, and his hunger would be satiated. Eolyn’s magic would be his forever. But she would be gone.
“Akmael.” Her hand touched his, tentative and warm. “It does not have to come to war. If you would only—”
“Go,” he commanded, all his will focused on subduing his appetite. “Leave me before I take you by force.”
Eolyn hesitated, but only for a moment. In a flash of white light she assumed the shape of Owl, fleeing from him on silent wings.
C
hapter Thirty-One
Eolyn told no one
of her encounter with Akmael. After all, what would she say? That the Mage King could find her whenever he pleased. That he toyed with her like a cat with its prey, capturing her, seducing her, setting her free on the threat of trapping her again.
That his kiss lingered on her lips, taking her into her dreams at night and bringing her back to sensual awareness with the dawn.
That she longed and feared for his return.
Why did he let her go? Why did he not empty her of her magic and end this torture?
She bore her doubt and confusion, her desire and dread, in agonized solitude, for if Ernan or anyone else knew, they might cast her aside as a traitor. Who among them would understand this insidious flaw of her heart, this debilitating need to see in Akmael the man she had hoped Achim would become?
In the weeks before Summer Solstice, Ernan’s and Khelia’s army emerged from the forests of East Selen. Their march reverberated through the earth, making the very trees tremble.
As the rebels muddied rivers and trampled fields, the trepidation of the peasant farmers floated toward them like thin smoke, sharp and compelling. When Eolyn inhaled their fear, it settled at her core, fueling the fire of her heart with a disconcerting power. For the first time, she understood the temptation of that dark wine, imbibed all too often by Tzeremond and his mages. The realization she shared something of their thirst did nothing to soothe her troubled heart.
Winning Selen was expected. The province had never pardoned Kedehen for annihilating the Clan of the East and demolishing the magical stronghold of Berlingen. The leading nobles recognized in the rebellion an opportunity to recapture the glory lost so bitterly during the war. For years, they had cooperated with the movement, concealing its growing army in their dense forests and managing multiple supply lines.
When Ernan’s troops arrived at the Town of Selen, the gates were thrown open to the rebels. The ruling families greeted them with much ceremony, their patriarchs embracing Corey and Ernan, their youngest daughters filling Eolyn’s arms with fragrant wildflowers.
The overlord, Meryth Baramon, approached Eolyn with reverence, taking her hands in his with a deep bow. He was a tall man whose chestnut beard had begun to gray. His hazel eyes were somber yet kind. Eolyn noticed a certain resemblance to Corey in the length of his nose and the set of his jaw, although the mage had insisted he held no blood ties to the surviving nobles of Selen.
“We bid you a most joyous welcome, Maga Eolyn,” he said. “May you always find home and hearth in Selen.”
“Thank you, Lord Baramon.” Eolyn bowed in return. “I am honored by your kindness.”
“Baramon,” Corey appeared at her side and greeted him with a hearty embrace. “It is good to see you again.”
“And you, my friend. We have a special gift for you and the maga.”
“I hope it involves much food and wine,” Corey said.
Baramon laughed. “Yes, much food and wine, and the detained mages of Selen.”
Corey lifted his brow. “You have all of them?”
“A few slipped through our grasp, but those who did not flee west were easy enough to round up. There weren’t many here, as you know, and they are Middle Mages all, but students of Tzeremond nonetheless. We can watch them burn on the morrow, if you like.”
“Burn?” Eolyn frowned. “What do you mean, ‘burn’?”
They looked at her, Baramon’s expression one of puzzled surprise, Corey’s predictably unreadable.
“Surely you are jesting?” she prompted.
“Maga Eolyn,” Baramon replied, “these are the same men who burned your sisters. They would see you on the pyre given the opportunity.”
“They are sons of Caradoc just as I am a daughter of Aithne,” Eolyn countered. “To kill them would accomplish nothing except to bleed Moisehén further of her magic. We cannot take what little is left of our heritage and simply convert it into ashes.” She looked to Corey. “Surely you cannot agree with this proposal. You must know these men.”
“Yes, I do. For that reason, I’m inclined to agree with Baramon.”
“If they are Middle Mages, it means Tzeremond judged them unworthy to study High Magic,” Eolyn pointed out. “He would not have judged them unworthy had they accepted his doctrine in full.”
“That is a dangerous assumption to make,” Corey replied. “Many were turned away from High Magic because Tzeremond judged their indoctrination incomplete, but many more simply did not have the skill, whether they accepted his teachings or not.”
“Then we must at least make an effort to distinguish between the two. We cannot simply burn the innocent with the guilty.”
Corey considered her words. “Well we could, in fact. It’s been done before.”
She drew an angry breath at his tactless humor, but Corey raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture.
“Perhaps she has a point, Baramon,” the mage said. “Those who are not a threat could be useful allies if we spare them.”
The lord glanced uncertainly at Eolyn. He stepped close to the mage, his voice low and strained. “Ernan will not delay his campaign while we hold trials for these men, and keeping them imprisoned with their magic unbound is no small matter. Already I’ve tripled the guard. I cannot sustain this situation indefinitely.”
Corey frowned and met Eolyn’s gaze. “Perhaps the maga would be willing to accompany me to the dungeons this afternoon. Together we can bind their magic, rendering them no different from any other prisoner.”
Eolyn could imagine a hundred ways she would rather spend her afternoon, but if it meant saving the lives of some of these mages, then descend into the dungeons she would. “Of course, Mage Corey.”
“How long would the binding last?” Baramon asked.
“On a Middle Mage?” Corey shrugged. “Until Maga Eolyn or I choose to release them.”
Baramon studied them both and gave a curt nod. “Very well. We will do as Maga Eolyn suggests.”
He took his leave to speak with Ernan.
Corey drew close and murmured, “How does it feel, Maga Eolyn, to hold the power of life and death in your hands?”
Eolyn recoiled. “You know those men don’t deserve to die without a trial.”
“Do I? You’ll find, in times of political turmoil, that what one deserves and what one gets are often very different. Trials do little to change that.”
“You object to sparing their lives?”
“No.” A percipient smile invaded his expression. “Quite the contrary. This is a welcome omen of things to come. They’ll call you Queen before this all ends, Eolyn. And I daresay, you will rise to the title.”
She paled at the disturbing prophecy, but Corey did not seem to notice. With a subtle wink he left her alone to join Baramon and her brother.
The day after their entry into the Town of Selen, Ernan called his war council. They met in a room set aside by Baramon. Wine, ale, dark bread, and cold meats were laid out in generous portions. Khelia, Mage Corey, and Rishona sat with Ernan and Lord Baramon. Tahmir did not join them, as he had taken a more discrete route through the southern forests, accompanied by a small retinue of Syrnte cavalry.
Eolyn, averse to the confines of stone walls, took a place next to a large window overlooking the tile roofs of the town below. It was a bright day, and the streets were full of activity. Summer flowers adorned amber colored homes. Over the fields just beyond the city wall, she spotted a hawk in flight. The fear of peasant farmers could not be felt here, and Eolyn was glad for it.
“I say we march on the King’s City.” Ernan’s passionate declaration reminded Eolyn of their mother. “Draw him out of his fortress, and vanquish him on the plains below the Stone Foundation of his fathers.”
“We aren’t ready, Ernan,” Khelia objected. “We must reinforce our army before meeting him. Our first step should be to seal our alliance with Moehn. Then we must negotiate with Selkynsen.”
“Moehn is a province of farmers,” Ernan said. His disdain surprised Eolyn. Moehn had been their home, after all. “They have no military tradition. Even if we drag them out of their reluctance toward warfare, training their peasantry would take too much time.”
“It was a knight from Moehn who killed Kedehen,” Corey pointed out.
Ernan scowled and waved away the comment.
“It’s not the skill of their fighters that would help us,” Khelia insisted. “Moehn is the source of food for the entire kingdom. All we have to do is cut off the pass of Aerunden, and Moisehén will be brought to its knees.”
“If we wish to move this war to a rapid conclusion, we should leave Moehn to its farming and secure the support of Selkynsen,” Corey said. “Selkynsen controls the kingdom’s supply lines, and it has the largest military force next to the King’s.”
“The Lords of Selkynsen will not be easily swayed,” Baramon cautioned. “They prospered under Kedehen. They were the first to bow to Tzeremond, purging magas and all other dissidents. Indeed, the most successful merchants of the province built their fortunes on the ashes of the purges. They have no reason to rebel.”
“Their submission to Tzeremond was driven by practical concerns,” Mage Corey said. “They would have followed any mage—or maga—who happened to have the King’s ear at the time.”
“Well, we can’t offer Selkynsen the King’s ear.” Khelia flashed a clever smile. “Except perhaps on a silver platter, when it’s all over.”
“If persuasion is not an option then we could try to invade the province,” Ernan said. “Conquer the lords and bring their levies into our service.”
“The price of invading Selkynsen would be too high,” Khelia countered. “We’d lose more than we could ever gain.”
“Have you so little faith in our people, Khelia?” Ernan said.
“All I’m saying is that we have one chance to make this work. We must play our strengths with utmost care. Time our strike with the patience of a lynx.”
“There is no need to invade.” Mage Corey folded his hands on the table and leaned forward. “We laid a strong foundation in Selkynsen during our years with the Circle. Their conversion may not be as difficult as you think.”
“You can’t possibly believe they would risk open rebellion?” Baramon’s doubt showed in his frown.
“A broader vision has been visited upon Selkynsen since we began our work there. They are no longer driven solely by their pocketbooks, or even by the security of the existing order.” Corey made eye contact with each of them as he spoke. “With a few more seasons, we might have converted the entire province. But even now we have powerful friends. We have Lord Herensen, who governs nearly half the province and holds considerable sway over the rest. It would be prudent to talk to them before we invest our efforts in anything else.”
“You are thinking to undertake this task yourself?” Ernan said.
Corey nodded. “I am.”
“No.” Eolyn’s interjection brought all eyes to her. “It’s too great a risk, Corey. If something should happen to you…”
Corey gave her a warm smile. “I am moved by your concern, Maga Eolyn, but there is no need. I will contact Lord Herensen directly. He knows who can be trusted and will arrange the appropriate meetings.”
Biting her lip in doubt, Eolyn turned back to the view of the city.
Something’s not right
.
Shadows lurked behind Corey’s words, a troubling premonition just beyond her grasp.
“How many of our people do you need?” Khelia asked.
“Two companions,” Corey replied. “No more. We must travel with discretion.”
“Even if we cannot sway all the Lords of Selkynsen, dividing them would make a difference.” Khelia nodded, thoughtful. “It would make a very great difference, indeed.”
“Camron and Sael will accompany you.” Ernan stood as if preparing to close the meeting. “They will be ready at the first light of dawn.”
“I will accept these escorts, Ernan,” Corey said graciously, “but we will not leave until after Summer Solstice.”
“But that is days away! We’ve no time to waste, Corey.”
“The observance of our High Holidays is not a waste.” Eolyn felt Corey’s silver-green eyes settle upon her, though she kept her back to the company. “Nearly a generation has passed since I’ve seen a High Maga at Summer Solstice, and I am not about to pass up this opportunity now.”