Mindbender (29 page)

Still the enemy came.

Jack flickered into view as he stabbed a soldier coming up behind Alexander and then fell just as quickly from the crossbow bolt of another soldier. Isabel could see the wild loss and desperate need in Alexander’s eyes. She struggled to reach out to him, to enter the battle at his side, if only to die in the struggle with him. But she had no power. She was a helpless observer without form or substance.

One by one his protectors died trying to save him. Nameless soldiers sworn to the Old Law mounted a valiant struggle to preserve their King, but hack by thrust they were felled in a growing ring of carnage.

And still the enemy came.

Isabel watched as the last of the soldiers loyal to her husband died, leaving him to fend for himself against impossible numbers. He fought on with renewed fury. All was lost but he didn’t give in. He fought on. An arrow found his left arm, rendering it useless, but still Alexander lashed out at the enemy soldiers. The ground was slick with bloody mud and the air was thick with the stench of death.

Then Isabel noticed Phane off in the distance, standing on a rock to get a better view of Alexander’s death. He wore a smile of triumph. Isabel felt the despair threaten to claim her. Only moments later, Alexander was driven to his knee by an arrow through his leg. He struggled in vain to regain his footing but his leg was too badly injured to bear his weight. Even on his knees, Alexander killed three more soldiers before a big man with a blunt mace stepped up behind him and clubbed him in the back of the head.

The wet thud was sickening. Isabel felt an overwhelming flood of loss fill her to overflowing as she watched her best reason for living die right before her eyes. Her sanity threatened to dissolve under the onslaught of loss that filled her with despair.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew this was a test. But the things she had witnessed were too real and too vibrant to be denied. Alexander was gone. Her love had been killed.

She floated for a time and watched the enemy mutilate his dead body for their amusement while the despair overcame her and pushed everything else out of her awareness until there was only loss.

Then time sped up and she saw Phane standing before the Nether Gate chanting a spell. She almost didn’t care anymore until she saw the Gate come alive and the darkness of the netherworld slowly spill out into the world of time and substance.

Phane panicked and fled—the creatures he had unleashed were beyond even his power to control. They ran him down and devoured him, leaving the world naked before the onslaught of the darkness. And still Isabel was powerless to act, trapped in a place of helpless observation. She watched as the world died.

The darkness devoured and consumed everything good in all of the Seven Isles and left only broken, twisted, and corrupted remains. The whole of the world descended into a pit of torment and despair until even the sun itself began to dim.

Isabel felt lost and helpless as the despair threatened to consume her. She could feel nothing but the hollow ache of loss until she simply wanted to cease to exist. Deep within her psyche, a part of her revolted at the spark of hope she felt at the thought of her own dissolution. Somewhere, she knew this was the test of despair. But she no longer cared. She just wanted the endless loss to end. She was ready to let go and release her will into the firmament just to make it stop.

But she couldn’t let go. Alexander would want her to keep fighting no matter what. He’d done just that. Even when all of his allies had fallen, he had fought on. When he was alone, surrounded by a horde of enemy soldiers, he struggled with his last breath for the cause he had vowed to protect. She could do no less.

She struggled to find a place within herself where the despair couldn’t find her. But there was nowhere to hide. The feelings of loss were so real and so pervasive that she couldn’t escape them. With an effort of sheer will, she focused on her memory of her wedding. At first it seemed distant and unreal but the more she focused on it, the more tangible the feelings became until she reached a tipping point and the love she had for Alexander filled her and drove out the despair.

She woke with a start. It was just after dawn. The spot of sunlight was high on the wall and the room was chill with the morning air. She sat up on her bed and breathed deeply, trying to gain some composure and reconnect with reality. She shuddered when she thought of the terrible images of Alexander’s death. She remembered how much she’d worried for him when he had undertaken the trials. If she’d known what he was actually facing, she would have done nearly anything to protect him from the horrors he had endured.

The forth, fifth, and sixth days of the trials passed quietly. Her hunger had faded and she learned to accept the solitude. She spent the days meditating and practicing her exercises, drinking another vial each day at the appointed time and waiting with trepidation for the trial of pain to begin.

On the morning of the seventh day, she had just swallowed the seventh and final vial when a stabbing pain shot through her stomach like a spear had been driven into her. The pain was so intense, it froze her in place. She couldn’t breathe or even scream. With a shudder she toppled off the bed and landed hard against the cold stone floor. The pain flowed into her from the center of her gut and spread out like tentacles of molten agony. They bored into her and ignited her nerves everywhere they went. Just when she thought the pain couldn’t be any worse, another jolt of agony would pulse through her.

She gasped for breath and screamed with an effort of wild panic. As her scream trailed off, she realized she had made a potentially fatal mistake. She was out of breath and the wracking torment was so great that she couldn’t draw another. She closed her eyes and focused on her lungs, commanding them to fill with air but the convulsions shuddering through her prevented her from inhaling. She struggled as the world started to go dark. Her lungs burned with their searing need for air but still she couldn’t make them work.

As her consciousness faded, she made one final effort to draw breath and managed to gasp a small gulp of air. It wasn’t nearly enough but it did stave off the darkness of unconsciousness and oblivion for a few more moments. Each small gulp of air was a struggle. She didn’t know how long she lay there on the cold stone floor struggling to breathe. Each little bit of air took a monumental effort but didn’t lessen the pain.

She began to feel exhausted from the convulsions of agony that tore through her body and her psyche. She had spent so much of her energy trying to take the next breath that she had failed to remember that each trial must be faced and endured. She felt her grip on her identity start to loosen as the pain worked to pry her will to live away from her soul. Darkness closed in around her and her consciousness faded.

Some time later, she found herself floating in the small room looking down at her corpse.

Isabel was dead.

Chapter 18

Alexander scanned the horizon. It was evening of the third day since they’d separated from Conner’s honor guard and headed south toward Bradfield Province, which was adjacent to Grafton. They were being followed. Alexander had noticed their pursuers earlier in the day and was becoming concerned that his ruse might not work. Much hung in the balance. His father was defending against an invading army and needed all the time he could get to prepare his defenses and evacuate New Ruatha and Northport before either city was overrun by the Reishi Army Regency. The life of Abel’s daughter was also at stake. She was being held prisoner in Grafton Province by Phane’s agents. If they learned that Abel had no intention of negotiating with them, they might kill her.

The men following him could only be enemy spies. Abel had no reason to send men after him. They had agreed on their course of action, and Alexander trusted the King of Ithilian. He’d looked at his colors and found him to be a good and honest man. More than that, Abel knew that Alexander’s mission would succeed only if kept secret. He wouldn’t risk exposing their plan. Too much depended on secrecy.

The men following them had to be enemy. The only questions Alexander had were who sent them and why. Cassius was the only player on Ithilian that he was aware of who might have dispatched them. But Alexander wasn’t about to rule out the possibility of other forces at work. He’d learned through bitter experience that there was often more to a given situation than met the eye—even eyes as penetrating as his.

From his vantage point on the little hillock, he could just make out the smudge of color in the distance that gave away the enemy’s position. They were easily a league behind and didn’t look like they were trying to close the distance. That concerned him even more. If they were hunters, they would be making best speed to close with them but they were deliberately keeping their distance.

Their purpose was apparently more strategic, so it stood to reason that they were working with others who had unknown resources at their disposal. Alexander knew as well as anyone that magic could be used to communicate across great distances in the blink of an eye. If they warned the enemy in Grafton, Alexander might arrive to find the princess dead and a trap waiting for him.

Yet again, he wished that Isabel was with him. She would be able to tell him more about the enemy. And he missed her terribly. As he rode through the fertile and well-cared-for countryside of Ithilian, he’d been trying, unsuccessfully, to keep his worry for her and his sister to a manageable level. Both were more than capable of taking care of themselves but they were also in a dangerous place, surrounded by potential enemies. Add to that the fact that Isabel was going to undergo the mana fast and Alexander felt yet another thrill of fear in the pit of his gut. He refocused his attention on the enemy following them and tried to decide if there was anything he could, or should, do about it.

Anatoly nudged his big mare alongside Alexander but remained silent.

“They’re still there,” Alexander said. “I just wish I knew what they’re planning.”

“It’s a good bet they’re planning trouble,” Anatoly said. “Maybe we should circle around at night and catch them off guard. If we take one of them alive, we might learn something.”

Alexander nodded, “Maybe, but I’m concerned they might have some means of getting a message to Grafton before we get there. Speed seems like our best plan for the moment.”

“If they can send a message, they probably have already,” Anatoly mused. “We may be walking into a trap.”

“I know, but what else can we do?” Alexander said. “Abel’s daughter is in danger and I gave him my word that I’d do everything I could to save her. Not to mention that Phane is landing more forces by the day in Grafton. Our chances in the long run will be much better if Ithilian is spared the disruption of all-out war. Next winter Ruatha is going to need food and it’s a good bet that we won’t have a very productive harvest this year. We have to stop the enemy before any more make landfall, and we can’t do that as long as Grafton is run by people sympathetic to Phane.”

Anatoly nodded silently.

***

After dinner that evening, Alexander drew a magic circle in the dirt and sat cross-legged in the protection of the magical barrier. He closed his eyes and quieted his mind. The process of reaching the firmament was becoming familiar, even routine. After a few minutes of meditation, he reached the state of empty-mindedness that led to the source of creation and then he was floating on the endless ocean of potential.

He brought his awareness into focus just above his campground. Anatoly was sharpening his axe, Boaberous was already snoring, as was Lucky. Jack was writing in his little notebook by the light of the fire and Jataan was standing, hands clasped easily behind his back, just outside of the firelight. Alexander turned his attention to the enemy in the distance and brought his point of focus high into the sky with impossible speed. In moments, he was hovering thousands of feet overhead looking down on Ithilian. He could see the mountains to the distant west and the coastline to the east but he focused on the dim smudge of color almost three leagues from his camp. With a flick of his mind, he was there looking at the enemy.

There were three men, half a dozen dogs and as many horses. He could tell at a glance that one of the men was a wizard. The other two looked experienced and formidable, and their colors revealed a corrupt character. These men were for sale.

Mercenaries.

One was clearly the master of the tracking dogs that were, no doubt, responsible for the unerring path they were taking in pursuit of Alexander and his companions. The other man wasn’t a wizard but there was a slight aura of magic around him that was hard to see, let alone understand. It almost reminded Alexander of the slightly brighter colors that Isabel had because of Slyder, but different.

Alexander floated there for several minutes but didn’t hear the men discuss their mission or even talk to one another at all. They were busy with the mundane tasks of making dinner and setting up camp. Timing really was everything, he thought to himself.

He faded back into the firmament and returned to his body, then joined Anatoly by the fire.