Forget Me Not, (8 page)

The gasps, the shrieks and
screams meant nothing to Balthaar as he turned and looked at Lady
Perr where she knelt beside the High Precept, hand outstretched as
if to stop him, the look in her eyes a peculiar mix of fear and
faith.

He dropped the sword from
his fingers as hands grabbed him, holding him tightly as he smiled
at her, bowing his head to his lady, now avenged.

Chapter 17

Balthaar looked up from
his place on the stone bench, circles of iron binding his wrists to
chains secured to the stone floor. Instead of being in a dungeon,
he was held in a tower with windows facing east and west so he
could always feel the sun’s rays in the small room.

“
Welcome, High Precept.
I’d offer you refreshments, but the manacles make pouring wine
difficult.”

The figure beneath the
deeply cowled cloak straightened, pushing back the hood. “I have no
doubt in your capabilities,” the High Precept said with a slight
smile. “Do you know why you’re here?”

Balthaar shrugged. “I
assume you are deciding what to do with me,” he said with an
indifferent air that shifted as he leaned forward, his hands
tightening into fists. “Tell me, is she well? Is her mind…” His jaw
clenched as he searched the High Precept’s face.

“
She is well,” the ancient
Elsyrian answered. “She has so many questions, demanding answers
that she barely has time to hear before she’s on to the next
unknown. Of course, she’s visited me three times a day, practically
camps outside my door petitioning for your release. Her arguments
in your defense are as thorough and varied as they are passionate.
I believe we have succeeded in breaking her curse.”

Balthaar frowned at him.
“We?”

The ancient sighed as he
sat down on the stone beside Balthaar, studying the sun warmed
stone beneath his feet. “You don’t think that the Emperor would
ever send you here to her, where both of your vulnerability would
be revealed and possibly undone?”

Balthaar nodded stiffly.
“How did you convince Targen, the Emperor’s high priest to release
me as general and send me here?”

“
Targen, it seems, was
planning to depose of the Emperor. He has been in the shadows
planning for a long time. Of course it’s difficult, some would say
impossible to oppose the Emperor after he’s written on your flesh.
Treason is an inevitable result for one who uses pain and fear to
subjugate. Persuading Targen to send you to your death was easy
enough to do. All I had to do was provide him with the possibility.
Once the Emperor realized that you had left for Elsyria, he came to
undo the mistake. I didn’t think he would come himself. Perhaps he
was bored ruling a people unquestioningly. Perhaps he wanted to see
Hatia for himself, to gloat at the work of his hands.” He shook his
head and frowned. “I didn’t expect you to be his actual son with
the blood of Elsyrians mixed in your veins.”

Balthaar shrugged as
though that were unimportant. “How did the Emperor do it, curse
Lady Perr?”

The High Precept sighed.
“She loved you. Elsyrians do not love easily. Without her love of
you, her weakness to one he owned, the Emperor could never have
reached her mind however he tortured her body.”

“
I am responsible,”
Balthaar answered closing his eyes while his face tightened with
restrained emotion.

“
Perhaps,” the High
Precept said in a gentle voice as he put a hand to Balthaar’s
shoulder. “But she chose to love you. She chose to die beside you
rather than returning home in Elsyria without you. Such devotion
can be twisted, unfortunately.”

“
Does she know that I’m
well? She should not worry about me. She should know that I can
easily endure any unpleasantness the Elsyrians could inflict upon
me. Tell her. Tell her that no one can hurt me, that she should not
worry about someone, something like myself.”

The High Precept smiled.
“The Barabbas army will come in the spring. How will she suffer
then, I wonder?”

Balthaar returned his
smile. “Targen wishes to be the next Emperor. Perhaps he won’t
continue the war with Elsyria.”

“
Perhaps he will not. Then
again, to not continue while Elsyria is so hard pressed would be
foolish. Targen may have been easily to manipulate to betray his
Emperor by sending his loyal general away, but is he a
fool?”

Balthaar shook his head.
“You wish me to challenge Targen’s place as the next
Emperor.”

The High Precept frowned.
“I do. It’s the best possible outcome for Elsyria, for
Hatia.”

The Barbarian general
shook his head. “How is that good for her? If she was willing to
die with me, perhaps she would also be willing to live with me far
from blood and violence.”

The High Precept nodded
his weary head. “If you can think of a more peaceful land than
Elsyria, we should all go there.”

Balthaar laughed then
sighed, running his hand over his head as he leaned back to look at
the sunset spilling gold over the stone. “They always called me son
of the Emperor, but I never knew until he said it, his words the
same as the day he branded me. I should have been bound to his
words, his defense, but I gave her my name, my heart, and she freed
me from the Emperor’s compulsion. How did you find out about me,
that I was the one who was her weakness?”

“
And her salvation,” the
High Precept said gently. “It took almost a century. It was
Hortham. He read the etchings on your sword.”

“
He knows Bashai
secrets?”

He shook his head. “Not
Bashai. There is a race of witches that inhabit the swamps. I
should say that there was. Some called them dark elves with their
heavy magics for they shared many similarities with Elsyrians. They
were skilled in matters of deception as our Thormul possessed. He
fooled us all with his presence until the very end. The witches
language, their spells were studied by Hortham, however the last
traces of their race have vanished as the Emperor’s Bashai. It took
him time, but the marks on your sword spoke of more than violence
and destruction. You had marks of devotion, remembrance, the marks
an Elsyrian would put on his sword as he defended his home, his
family. You have more inherent Elsyrian tendencies than your father
had. Your mother must have been one of these witches, your father,
Tharmul.”

“
You knew of my attachment
to Lady Perr from markings on my sword? That is
impressive.”

The High Precept smiled,
his eyes twinkling. “It took far too long, but I am pleased with
how it has ended.”

“
Ended? Your people are on
the brink of destruction.”

“
But Lady Perr is cured.
As for you, I understand your distrust, your reluctance to ally
with a race you’ve fought so long, but she will change your
mind.”

“
When will she
come?”

The High Precept’s smile
dimmed somewhat. “She’s fighting for your freedom, your rights as a
visiting dignitary who is under her care. She hasn’t shown any
signs of interest in your becoming the next Emperor. She’s afraid
that you’ll die, be harmed if she can’t protect you, keep you
close. I fear if we release you, she’ll convince you to run away
with her. First, I must instill in her some loyalty for her own
people.”

“
Her people were not kind.
They treated her like a pariah,” Balthaar said in a harsh
voice.

“
She doesn’t care about
that, only about you. Besides, not all Elsyrians took their fear
out on her. I know that she would regret her actions, abandoning
her people as time wore on. Immortality can be a heavy burden.
Perhaps you could protect her from her own regret.”

Balthaar gazed in the
distance, his thoughts far from the small cell, to a future with
Hatia at his side, laughter, children, safety and peace. Would her
eyes hold regret?

“
I wish to see her,” he
said in a low voice.

The High Precept stood,
gathering his robes around him. “You shall. Thank you for your
patience. We both know that those chains and this tower could not
hold you unwillingly.”

Balthaar grunted but felt
some tension leave his shoulders. He had not been created to trust,
but perhaps the High Precept’s interest was the same as his
own.

Chapter 18

“
You can’t keep him there
like a common prisoner,” Lady Perr said, pacing in front of the
High Precept, her former vagueness replaced with a sharp focus that
made him shift uncomfortably in his chair.

He shook his head as he
closed the narrow book of poems. “He murdered an
Elsyrian.”

“
He executed a dictator.
As general and Barabbas, surely he’s entitled to actions of such
violence however inappropriate for an Elsyrian. We all know that
barbarians would be throwing parades in his honor. The Emperor was
not loved, Balthaar was.”

“
Because he slaughtered
Elsyrians.”

“
He bested them in
battle.”

“
He killed thousands of
Elves.”

Lady Perr took a deep
breath. “You brought him here as ambassador. He is under my
protection at your behest. I will not allow you to imprison my
guest simply because he engaged with a member of his own race and
came out victor.”

The High Precept smiled at
her. “You sound well.”

“
You’re trying to change
the subject,” she said, but as she smoothed down the violet dress
knew what he meant. Ever since the celebration where Balthaar had
executed the Barbarian emperor, she’d remembered everything. The
pain but also the good memories. She recalled every conversation
and heard those around her, noticed their movements and
desires.

“
On the contrary,” he
said, rising to his feet. “I have a new assignment for you. How
difficult do you think it would be to break a Barbarian general out
of prison? I have two men you can rely on,” he added as the Rasha,
Maltha and Hortham entered the room, silver armor properly gleaming
even in the study’s dim light.

“
Break him out?” Lady Perr
repeated, frowning from the High Precept to the two men. “The only
reason he hasn’t broken himself out is that he’s not trying to
leave High City. He’s not fighting.”

“
A hundred years is a long
time to fight,” Maltha, the green-skinned Rasha said with a slight
smile. “Also, he hopes to see you again. Why would he run when he
can die gazing at your lovely face.”

Lady Perr blushed as she
folded her hands in front of her. “As I said, breaking him out of
imprisonment isn’t the problem. The problem is holding him in an
unethical manner.”

“
He injured an Elsyrian,”
Hortham said, raising his arm where you could see the white gauze
beneath the armor.

She waved it away.
“Interfering on Barbarian business, and it’s only a scratch. He
could have killed you, couldn’t he? He deserves a full pardon, not
only a pardon but an apology. We are not Barbarians. If you were
going to release that monster, Tharmul with a scolding, how can you
hold Balthaar?”

The high precept smiled.
“Well you see, my dear, he hasn’t agreed to our terms
yet.”

“
What terms,” she asked,
her mouth tightening in a thin line.

“
The terms of his
release,” the High Precept said soothingly. “The General must be
persuaded to engage in civil war, Viceroy against Viceroy. That
will end our own war with the Barbarians and be the only thing to
save us. It’s vital that the general go to war. He could be the
next emperor.”

“
That’s what you want?”
Lady Perr asked, her heart constricting painfully. She ached at the
thought of Balthaar spending another hundred years fighting, blood
and heat leaching out his heart, his soul.

“
Otherwise, we have no
guarantee that the place of Emperor won’t pass silently to one of
his viceroy’s and Elsyria becomes overrun by Barbarians come
spring,” Maltha said soothingly.

“
You’re all so soothing,
but you’re talking to me instead of him. He’s declined. He doesn’t
want to fight another war.”

“
He must be persuaded,”
the High Precept said, cocking his head at her.

Lady Perr turned and left
the room, the two Rasha falling in behind her.

Chapter 19

The escape was
ridiculously easy. The two Rasha went to get him, and marched him
to a boat instead of to the High Precept, to take the waterways to
the crumbling manse at the edge of the city where Hatia waited on
the balcony overlooking the river, a river where a ship lay at
anchor just out of sight. That night it would come close enough to
row out, to stow the General safely on board, sending him away to
safety.

“
Your country is
beautiful,” Balthaar said from behind her, his step soundless on
the stone, soundless as an Elsyrian.

“
You hated it when you
arrived,” she answered, staying in her place.

He frowned at her slightly
as he moved closer to the elven woman with pale hair, only a few
wisps escaping from the elaborate braids that circled her head like
a crown. “How suddenly things change,” he replied in a low voice as
he moved behind her, resting his hands on the stone, arms on either
side of her, untouching but holding her fast.