The Destined Queen Page 22

  They had almost reached the entrance, when a dark-robed figure stalked out. The green wand in his hand gave off an aura of menacing power. Maura could not stifle a gasp as she checked her stride and yanked Delyon out of the death-mage’s path.

  Perhaps he heard her or sensed her presence, for he came to an abrupt halt and looked around. Maura held her breath, clamping her lips together to stifle a whimper of terror. Though she had fought others of his kind, she knew with certain dread that they had not possessed half his power.

  A desperate litany rolled over and over in her mind—the words of the invisibility spell. Gracious Giver, hide me from the eyes of my foes. The death-mage stared straight at her, and for an instant Maura felt his icy gaze stripping away the flimsy protection of her vitcraft spell.

  Then one of the soldiers ran up to the death-mage and began jabbering in Hanish. When he turned his attention from her, Maura hauled Delyon toward the door. Long after they had found a safe hiding spot in a distant, quiet corner of the palace cellars, her heart continued to race and her hands to tremble.

  “Where are the death-mages?” Rath muttered to himself as he sheathed his blade and stared around the mining compound his army had just liberated.

  Off in the distance he could still hear scattered sounds of fighting as his army overran the last fierce pockets of resistance. Miners were emerging from the depths of the mountain, dazed and shielding their eyes against the daylight. Rath had a detail of men out scouring the mountains for freshwort to help wean them off the slag.

  “Another glorious victory!” Idrygon sucked in a great draft of the cool mountain air. “I’ll admit, I had my doubts about venturing into the mountains, but you were right to insist. Attacking the greatest symbol of Hanish domination—I hear it has inflamed the whole kingdom with a spirit of rebellion!”

  “You make it sound like a stunt staged for effect.” Rath stared out over the plain of Westborne. “It was meant to be more than that.”

  “Of course it was, Highness.” Idrygon’s agreement sounded exaggerated. “It is. We have rescued the most oppressed people in all of Umbria. It is a heroic deed. One that will be told and sung of for generations.”

  “Worthy it may be.” Rath shook his head. “But heroic?”

  When his small band of miners had risen up to gain their freedom against impossible odds, that had been the true stuff of legend. This well-planned campaign had seen some hard fighting, but the outcome had never been in question. At least not once it became clear the Echtroi had deserted their posts.

  “This has been too smooth a ride for us,” Rath warned. “I smell a trap.”

  “Perhaps the Han are hoping to lure us down to open combat in Westborne,” said Idrygon. “If so, the surprise will be on them.”

  A young Vestan soldier approached Idrygon. “My lord, some mainlanders wish to speak with His Highness.”

  Rath glanced up to see three men standing a ways off, staring at him with a look of amazement and awe he had come to know too well since his return to the mainland. It never failed to make him uneasy, for he did not deserve their homage. The success of this invasion was Idrygon’s doing, not his. His imposing appearance was nothing but a trick. There were times when he felt a stirring of King Elzaban within him, but he was not the Waiting King legends had led these men to expect.

  “Tell them the king has important matters to oversee.” Idrygon tugged on Rath’s arm to pull him away. “He cannot be disturbed. If it is urgent I will speak with the mainlanders.”

  As Rath turned away, something about the men stirred his memory. Could it be? Anulf, Odger and little Theto?

  Rath felt the first sincere smile in weeks warm his face. Shaking off Idrygon’s hand, he strode toward them.

  He only got two steps when Idrygon leaped into his path. “Highness, what are you doing?”

  “It’s all right, Idrygon. Those are my mates from the Beastmount mine. To think they came here.” His throat tightened.

  “They know you as Rath Talward?” Idrygon’s eyes widened and his nostrils flared. “Get them out of here!” he ordered the young soldier. “I will come and speak with them shortly.”

  He hauled Rath away to a distant outcropping of rock, muttering curses. “You were going to talk to them? Have you gone daft?”

  “What’s daft about it? Of course I mean to talk to them. Invite them to dine and drink with me tonight. They are good fellows—the best. If I had a whole army of their kind, we could defeat the Han with or without that Staff of Velorken.”

  “You have gone daft!” Idrygon shook his head so hard and so fast, Rath wondered he did not swoon from dizziness. “It must be this thin mountain air. You know we cannot afford to have anyone recognize you as the outlaw Rath Talward.”

  “Is that all you’re fretted about?” Rath chuckled, his humor buoyed by the unexpected appearance of his friends. “Anulf and the others will keep quiet if I ask them to. I would trust any of them with my life.”

  “That is all very well. I do not trust them with the success of this war.”

  “Are you forbidding me to speak to my friends, Idrygon?”

  “Yes! I mean no. Not forbidding, Highness—begging. Once the war is won, then you can drink all night with them or anyone else you fancy. For now, you agreed to play the legend and it is working. Do not balk at the most critical moment and put all we have worked so hard for in jeopardy.”

  Rath looked from Idrygon’s compelling stare to Anulf and the others being led away. He felt like a frayed rope in the middle of a fierce tug-of-war.

  Beyond Idrygon, he could make out the distant shape of Umbria’s capital. Was Maura down there now, risking her life to find the Staff of Velorken? What business had he to fret about delaying a drink or two with his friends?

  “Very well.” He gave a resigned nod. “Rath Talward will trouble you no more. But see those fellows are used well and treated with respect.”

  Idrygon bowed. “I knew I could depend upon your loyalty and discretion, Highness. I will make certain your friends are treated with the honor they deserve.”

  “Good.” As Idrygon strode away, looking vastly relieved, Rath called after him, “If they should ask about…Talward, tell them he is on a special mission for the king, and that he will be pleased to see them when his task is done.”

  “A politic message, Highness. I shall be pleased to convey it.”

  For some time after Idrygon had left, Rath stood on the outcropping, staring down toward Venard.

  “Giver, keep her safe and bring her back to me,” he murmured. “Do I trespass on even your generosity to ask so much?”

  Perhaps, for he had not properly cherished the gift of her presence when he’d had it. Now he swore to himself that he would never make that mistake again if he should be granted the most priceless gift of all—a second chance he did not deserve.

  “We cannot afford any more mistakes like last night,” Maura warned Delyon the next morning. “We cannot assume we will get a second chance if we do not take care.”

  Delyon looked up from the scroll, which he was studying by the light of a greenfire twig that had almost spent itself. “What I did last night was not a mistake or carelessness. I had no intention of letting this scroll out of my sight. What if it had fallen into the hands of the Echtroi? I hear they make it their business to know things.”

  “Not those kinds of things.” Maura tried to keep her mind off her empty stomach.

  “How can you be sure?” Delyon squinted at the markings on the scroll as if willing them to reveal their meaning to him. “They might have thought this was some coded message being sent to the Waiting King. I doubt they would have left such a thing lying around for us to recover easily.”

  Maura sniffed the air. The kitchens must be nearby. The aroma of roasting meat made her mouth water and her stomach rumble worse than ever. “Perhaps you are right. You might have warned me, though, so you didn’t catch me all fumble-footed.”

  The twig in Delyon’s h
and gave a final flare of pale green light then went out, plunging the cellar storeroom into darkness.

  He sighed. “I thought you would say it was only a fool piece of parchment, not worth risking our necks for.”

  “I know this scroll could be very important.” Maura groped her way toward the sound of his voice, moving carefully so as not to knock anything over. “But without you to decipher it or me to use the spell, it will not be much good to anyone, will it?”

  She sank onto the floor, wishing they had found a nice cozy larder to hide in. The first place she intended to hunt for the Staff of Velorken, tonight, would be the kitchens!

  Delyon’s voice wafted out of the darkness, edged with bitterness. “I may not be the great planner and leader my brother is, but I have worked every bit as hard to see the kingdom reclaimed and restored to its former glory.”

  “You can keep your glory.” Maura yawned. “As long as we can have peace and good harvests, I will be content. Now let us sleep while we have the chance so we will be fresh and alert for our search tonight.”

  “You sleep.” Softly, Delyon chanted the greenfire spell. A faint pale glow began to shine from a fresh twig he clutched. “I doubt we will find the staff with an ordinary search, though you are welcome to try. What I intend to look for tonight are samples of Hanish writing. I wonder if they might have one of those signs about with both Hanish and Umbrian letters.”

  “Perhaps.” Maura settled herself on the floor beside him. The rush of fear from their escape had finally ebbed. Now a warm drowsiness stole over her. “I will keep a lookout for one when I search tonight. Or perhaps we could find the engraver’s shop in the city where they were printed.”

  “Yes, of course!” cried Delyon in an excited whisper. “That would make sense. You are a very clever woman, Highness!”

  “Do not call me that?” she murmured. “We are not on Margyle anymore, needing to convince the Council of Rath’s and my claim to the throne.”

  To think this palace belonged by right to them. Maura had never felt less like a queen than she did now—curled up on the floor of a cellar storeroom.

  “Your pardon. It is a hard habit to break.” Delyon spoke in an absent tone, as if only a small part of his mind was on their conversation.

  When Maura half opened one eye, she could see he was studying the scroll so closely that his nose was almost pressed against the parchment.

  “Do try. The last thing I need is for someone who understands Umbrian to overhear you addressing me by that title.” She rolled over so she was not facing the light. “Wake me when you want to sleep and I will sit guard.”

  Delyon was too engrossed in his task to heed or reply. And Maura was too weary to bother repeating her instructions. The next thing she heard was the sound of a door closing softly. A surge of alarm brought her instantly awake, all her senses aquiver.

  Curse Delyon! He should have warned her if he heard anyone coming.

  As she fumbled in her sash for genow scales, Maura reached with her other hand to give Delyon a nudge. No doubt he had fallen asleep poring over that precious scroll of his.

  “Oh, slag!” she muttered when her finger poked empty air. Where could Delyon have gone without telling her, and why?

  She stifled a groan. Of course…he must have gone off looking for an engraver’s shop to see if he could find a copy of that sign. She should have known.

  Scrambling to her feet, she cast the invisibility spell over herself. She would have to go after him. The Giver only knew what sort of trouble he might land himself in. Her stomach gave a loud rumble to remind her that she should look for something to eat while she searched for Delyon.

  By the time she stole out into the dimly lit corridor, there was no sign of Delyon. Of course she wouldn’t be able to see him, Maura reminded herself. But she did not see any suspicious shadow flicker or hear the muted sound of invisible footsteps, either. She pictured him blundering through the palace and the city, perhaps frightening someone half to death by stopping them to ask directions.

  Plundering her still-drowsy memory to recall the route they’d taken to get here, she set off after Delyon. With every step, she promised herself she would have his hide for this latest folly. Her anger intensified when she mounted a narrow stairway and emerged in broad daylight to find a palace full of people coming and going. Why could he not have waited for nightfall, at least?

  When a pair of serving wenches passed her, talking rapidly together in Comtung, Maura pressed herself against the nearest wall, hardly daring to breathe. She brought her hand up and wiggled her fingers in front of her face, reassured when she could not see them.

  All her senses alert, she stole through the palace, trying to remember the way to the courtyard that led out into the city. She must have taken a wrong turn, though. For she suddenly found herself wandering down a wide gallery that did not look the least bit familiar.

  Do not panic, Maura told herself. Just turn around and go back the way you came until you find a spot you do recognize.

  But as she turned to go back, she saw a large party of men striding toward her. Most were high-ranking Hanish soldiers in uniform. Several death-mages walked together in silence, including the one with the green wand Maura had almost run into the night before. He was not one whit less alarming by daylight.

  The members of the party who most caught Maura’s eye were two men who appeared to be Umbrians. What were they doing here? They did not look frightened or particularly ill at ease. They must be zikary, Umbrians who curried favor with the Han. How she wished she dared stick out her foot and trip them!

  Instead, she backed away, determined to stay ahead of them until they reached wherever they were going. She got several steps down the gallery when a Hanish soldier approached from the other direction with a black hound on a leash.

  Maura froze. The hound would not need its eyes to find her.

  For an instant she considered trying to thread her way through the party of men coming toward her, but they filled the width of the gallery, walking close together. Caught between the hearth and the griddle, she dived through the nearest open doorway and found herself in a large room. A long marbletopped table occupied most of the room, with a great many wrought-iron chairs huddled around it.

  Maura had scarcely entered when the throng of soldiers and Echtroi came in behind her and spread out to take their places around the table. The only way she could avoid the press of milling bodies was to dive under the table.

  A sharp, raspy voice cut through the low rumble of conversation. It surprised Maura that she could understand the words. “We have a great deal to discuss, so let us not squander our time. Take your places, everyone, and we will begin.”

  Begin what?

  She did not want to find out, but it appeared she would have no choice as the men took their seats, blocking her escape.

  No, wait! There was still one way out from under the table. At the very end, one seat remained empty.

  Maura crept toward it as quickly as she dared. Luckily the racket of so many men taking their seats and pulling their chairs into the table drowned out the furtive sounds of her movement along the floor. She stifled a cry when the toe of a boot dealt her a glancing blow, but the owner of the boot only muttered something in Hanish. Probably an apology for kicking whoever was seated next to him.

  She was just emerging from under the table, hoping the door had been left open to aid her quick escape, when one last man strode to take his seat. He wore a rich-looking robe of silver-gray and all the others jumped to their feet when he appeared. This must be the Hanish High Governor himself.

  Maura crawled back a ways and resigned herself to being trapped beneath the table until this meeting finished. That was the best she could hope for. The worst did not bear thinking about.

  The High Governor did not take his seat at once, but stood at the head of the table and addressed those gathered. He had the firm, decisive tone of a man accustomed to making plans and having them execu
ted without question. It put Maura in mind of Lord Idrygon.

  “All the northland is in chaos.” Maura startled to hear a quiet murmur of Comtung echoing the High Governor’s Hanish speech. “Now a rebel horde overruns our mines.”

  The words were coming from nearby. One of the zikary must be translating for the other. Maura edged closer to that voice, straining her ears to catch familiar words.

  From what she could gather, the High Governor was informing everyone of recent events, the rumors they were trying so hard to discredit among the Umbrian people.

  When he finished speaking, the High Governor took his seat and the man at the other end of the table rose. Maura knew he must be a death-mage. Even if she had not been able to see the lower part of his distinctive dark robes, she would have known by the hollow rasp of his voice.

  “For some time the Echtroi have known rebellion was brewing,” murmured the translator. “Our warnings fell on deaf ears, so we took matters in hand ourselves and had some success crushing dangerous rebel agents.”

  Dangerous rebel agents? Like Langbard and Exilda. Maura jammed her mouth shut to keep from screaming her outrage.

  She almost screamed in fright when something heavy slammed down upon the tabletop. It must have been the High Governor’s hand, for he shouted in response to the death-mage’s words.

  “How can this be called success?” The zikary translated his challenge. “You claimed to be searching for a young woman. How could we take such a threat seriously?”

  The death-mage responded in a cold but dispassionate tone. “Sometimes the greatest threats take on the most harmless appearance, Excellency. It is all part of some ridiculous ancient prophesy. Often the more preposterous such rubbish, the more power it has to rouse the ignorant. I have brought someone who can tell us more about it, so we know what we are fighting.”

  The zikary translator and the man sitting beside him rose. In bald, simple terms, they recounted the legend of Elzaban and Abrielle, and how the Destined Queen would one day waken the Waiting King to rescue his kingdom in its darkest hour.