Heirs of the Demon King: Uprising (18 page)

But this man, this kind, selfless man, had come to her in desperation. She had rarely met anybody so deserving. She would do what he asked and she would explain to him the price. Sadly, she knew before she even spoke that he would willingly pay it.

‘Brynjolf,’ she said, in that same hypnotic tone. His eyes did not open and she knew he was caught in the moment. ‘Brynjolf, the fates played out the skein of your life long ago, and if it were to remain unaltered, then your son would not live. No, do not grieve for him, not yet.’ She stroked a hand down his arm gently. ‘Listen to me. He can be spared. What you desperately yearn for can be yours, dear Brynjolf, but it must come at a cost.’

‘I would give all that I have,’ he whispered dreamily, echoing his words from earlier. The Seer sighed gently and wiped away the tears that glistened in her eyes.

‘Are you sure of that, Brynjolf? It is... a high price to pay.’

‘Tell me, Seer.’

She told him. And he accepted, just as she had known he would.

Genoa

Italy

M
ATHIAS BOBBED TO
the surface, gasping for air, and floundered across to the unmoving body of Tagan, floating ominously face-down a few feet away. He put his arms around her carefully and turned her over.

‘No, no, no,’ he said and his tone was filled with a desperation a young man should never have to give voice to. He touched a hand to her face, his expression contorted with a terrible grief. ‘This isn’t happening. She can’t be dead.’

A moment later, Warin spluttered to the surface. Water streamed from his hair and beard, and his expression was thunderous. The Pirate King emerged more gracefully until he stood easily on the surface of the sea. His gaze went immediately to Mathias and Tagan, and then to the prow of the ship bearing down on them.

‘Are you trying to drown us? Where are we?’ The Shapeshifter’s rage was a terrifying thing. Then his eyes fell upon Tagan and his protests died instantly, snuffed out by concern.

‘Welcome to the Mediterranean,’ Giraldo said grimly. He stepped lightly across the waves and crouched beside the two young people, his expression grave. He gently prised Mathias’s hands off Tagan and gathered her up in his arms.

‘Get on board,’ he said. ‘We can do nothing for her here. I have her, lad. Don’t fear what we don’t yet know for sure.’ He nodded towards the rope ladder that the crew had lowered down the side of the boat, and Warin propelled himself towards it, climbing up with wobbly hesitation. Mathias paused for a few moments, then nodded and swam to join his mentor, climbing the ladder with no more grace.

Giraldo came last, holding Tagan in his arms. He shifted the young woman’s weight to his shoulder as he swung easily up the ladder, then set her down on the deck of the ship, lying on her side. She lay there, unmoving, and as Mathias looked over her anxiously, it appeared she was also completely unharmed.

‘No wound,’ he said, bafflement evident in his tone. ‘But she took that shot that was meant for me. She...’

Tagan coughed weakly, and a mouthful of water gushed up from her lungs onto the deck. She coughed again and opened her eyes, blinking slowly. Her gaze sought out Mathias immediately, and when she saw him, standing close by, only then did she start to cry. Her betrothed knelt by her side and helped her to sit up; she threw her arms around him and buried her face in his shoulder.

‘Tohias, fetch brandy for our guests. Quickly, now,’ Giraldo ordered his first mate calmly. ‘Dry clothing, too. We can find something for them all. Get to it.’ He turned his attention back to the tableau before him, as did most of the crew of his vessel. Warin simply stood, dripping sea water onto the deck, his face grim.

‘Why did you do that?’ Mathias’s voice was choked with tears of his own. ‘You stupid woman!’ He wasn’t angry at her; in truth, he wasn’t angry at all, but still reeling from the horror of seeing her fling herself in the path of the Inquisitor’s shot.

‘All I could see was that I was going to lose you,’ she choked out between sobs. ‘All I wanted to do was stop it from happening. I just did what felt right.’

‘You could have died!’

‘So could you!’

They went on in this vein for a little while until Giraldo knelt down beside them, taking one of Tagan’s hands in his own. Her tears continued to flow, but she stopped sobbing as she looked up at him, then down at her hand. The palm was covered with silvery spots.

‘You could have died,’ the Pirate King said, ‘but you did not. Look, Tagan. Look at your hands.’

She unhooked her arms from around Mathias’s neck and did as Giraldo said. Both were the same; flecked with a silvery metal. She stared at her hands in confusion and uncertainty.

‘What exactly did you do when you threw yourself in front of Mathias?’ Giraldo’s tone was gentle, filled with quiet wonder.

‘I just wanted to save him,’ came the artless reply. ‘I stepped in front of him. I put my hands up...’

All eyes fixed on her hands and Giraldo gave her a half smile. ‘You certainly saved him,’ he said.

Warin spoke up, his voice gruff and carrying a tinge of respect that had not been there before. ‘You melted the bullet before it could strike. Your magic is a lot more powerful than I felt it to be, Tagan.’ He looked over at Giraldo and the two exchanged nods. Mathias didn’t understand the gesture, but sensed that something important had passed between them.

‘Come,’ said Giraldo. ‘She can use my cabin while she is here. There will be brandy and warm clothes. Then hot food, hmm?’ His voice was soft, coaxing and decidedly hypnotic. The more Mathias thought about it, the more he agreed. He helped the sniffling Tagan to her feet and followed Giraldo to the captain’s cabin.

The Island of the Seer

Denmark

A
FTER
B
RYNJOLF LEFT
, Eyja stood atop the highest cliff, watching the tiny boat as its sailor pulled back towards the mainland. Brynjolf’s acceptance of what was necessary to ensure his son’s survival was easier to bear than most. He would have a few years, enough to see the child grow a little. It was more than most received. Her last two visitors had drowned in the course of their journey home, caught in sudden squalls that blew up out of nowhere. Those for whom they had petitioned had lived, for what little comfort that may have brought.

With eyes as sharp as a raptor’s, she watched the distant figure pull the boat up onto the shore and run joyfully towards the village. He would soon be celebrating the birth of his new son. There would be a great feast in celebration. Much mead would be passed around, and in his happiness, he would forget to invite Eyja. She would remain as she ever was; apart from the people, shunned until the next time they needed a boon. She felt no bitterness at this, it had ever been thus.

Isolation was her refuge, her protection from the world and its infinite possibilities. When she walked among the people, robed and hooded, she saw their lives stretched out before them, the decisions they would make and the consequences of those decisions. Every possible future mapped out again and again and again, an impossibly complex weave, as changing as the winds. She insulated herself against it, but the temptation was constant.

A twitch to help a starving child, a nudge to spare a loving mother on her sick bed. It was so easy to do, and it made her heart ache to have the power to change everything, but have to force herself not to.

Every night she stood on the cliffs, her perfect face upturned to the heavens, allowing the winds of the Danish coast to chill her blood, and every night she peered into the tangled knot of possibility that surrounded her future. Always it was in flux, countless threads of possibility branching into ever more threads... and so on until they extended far beyond her reach.

Tonight however, one of those threads shone brightly. She carefully followed its path to where it joined many others and became bound, a pendulum cord upon which one future hung. She sighed softly as she withdrew her vision, her path chosen.

The breezes around her lifted her long blonde hair around her exquisite face and, drawing the cloak tightly around her body, she allowed her whole being to become one with the wind.

The Desert

Morocco

A
FLAME FLARED
brightly in the cool dark of the tent.

Outside, he could see the moon beginning to rise over the dunes, bringing a smile to his face. It would not be long now. He could feel it in his bones. The little fire flickered and danced, scattering weird shadows around the expansive pavilion. It illuminated the piles of rugs and cushions, shone from polished gold and reflected in the goblet of dark wine beside him.

The old man rolled the fire around his hand and then pressed it into the bowl of tobacco. Thick, heady smoke immediately began to rise from it, and he put the stem between his teeth. He took a long draw on the pipe and leaned back, his eyes closed, and breathed the night air of the desert.

He could wait. He had already waited a long time.

Genoa

Italy

T
HEY HAD RETREATED
to Giraldo’s cabin and dried off, and were now gratefully sipping on the brandy he had insisted that they sample for what he called ‘medicinal purposes.’

‘That man was an Inquisitor,’ Mathias said, coughing a little as the fiery liquid burned a trail down his throat.

‘Strange, though,’ pondered Giraldo, ‘that he should try to kill you and not me.’

Warin made a noise and grumbled softly. ‘Everything in this world is not always about you, despite what you may believe.’

Giraldo’s expression was one of exaggerated hurt, but he continued, unperturbed. ‘As hard as it may be for you to believe, Red, I do expect the sun to rise even if I am not there to see it. No. I mean why would he shoot for Mathias and not your hairy, obvious self... or me? We were the ones attacking, after all.’ He put the question to Mathias. ‘What do
you
think? What’s your secret? What’s the
attraction
?’

Mathias felt the faintest of smiles tug at the sides of his mouth. It was hard not to be caught up in Giraldo’s energy. He considered his answer for a moment. ‘I can’t be entirely sure, but it could have been the same man I saw in Wales. He could have been hunting us since then. It’s... the kind of thing they do.’

Giraldo frowned. ‘This Inquisitor is a very determined man, to chase you all the way from England. Those men he had with him wore the livery of English knights. They looked half dead, and so did their animals. How did he know where to look?’

Mathias shrugged and shook his head. ‘He is good at his job. They hunt down those they consider their quarry. They are very good at finding people. To be perfectly honest, I’m still not sure how we got away. I remember falling into the lake, and then it felt like a current was tugging me along, as if I was in a river. Then... then we were here.’ Giving the thought voice did not make it seem any less ludicrous.

Giraldo sketched a bow, sweeping the floor with his featherplumed hat. ‘I am not just a pretty face, lad. I have many tricks up my sleeves.’ He winked at Tagan, who coloured again and suppressed a smile.

‘If one of your Inquisitors and his knights can track us through the forest and over the mountains, then that can only mean that they came across France.’ Warin had clearly been giving the matter some thought, and he made the pronouncement in a dark voice. ‘That can only mean one thing.’ There was a grim pause as he allowed the information to sink in.

‘War,’ Giraldo said quietly.

Warin nodded and gulped some of the brandy.

‘Then what, precisely, are we supposed to do now?’ Mathias looked from one to the other. ‘Is this what Wyn was afraid of? Isn’t war precisely what Melusine was trying to achieve?’

Giraldo hissed between his teeth at the mention of the demon’s name. ‘Please don’t use that name on my ship.
Hermione
is a gentle lady and I would not want her soiled.’ He sipped his own drink and gave a small sigh of appreciation. He swirled the liquid around in the beautiful crystal-stemmed glass and then spoke carefully. ‘I think we need to talk to... her.’

Warin glared daggers at him, and pointedly looked the other way.

‘You mean She Who Sees?’ Tagan replied, reading Warin’s reaction.

‘That is one of her names, though she has many. She lives alone, far in the north, a long way from here. We will be many weeks at sea.’ Giraldo looked thoughtful.

‘
Can’t you just... do what you did before? Take us there quickly, like you did in the lake?’ Mathias asked.

‘
Sadly, no. I cannot do that,’ Giraldo replied apologetically.

‘Why not?’

‘Because I have never been there. I would not know where to go. No. If we wish to find her we must look for her. In this, we will be no different from the others who seek her.’

‘And how, exactly, will we do that?’ Warin turned back to the conversation, his expression controlled, but unreadable. ‘If England has gone to war, the Channel will be thick with their navy. Your boat will not be so lovely when she is full of holes, eh?’

‘“Ship,” please,’ Giraldo corrected, his voice pained. ‘She is a
ship
. And my delightful lady of the sea will see us safely through. The English will never catch her.’

He said the words with a great deal more confidence than he felt.

Lake Geneva

Switzerland

C
HARLES
W
EAVER STARED
at the still surface of the lake for several long minutes before he finally holstered his pistol. He was certain that at least one of the targets had eluded him. Despite his best efforts here, the hunt would have to continue. He steered his horse away from the shore and back to where Sir Anthony was helping one of the fallen knights to his feet.

The three men who had been unhorsed by the man in the ridiculous hat were only wounded. Two sported lumps the size of eggs on their skulls, but apart from an appalling headache they would live. The third, however, had been left blind. Blood seeped from a deep gash that split his face from ear to ear. It was to this man that Sir Anthony attended.