Morticai's Luck (28 page)

Well,
Coryden thought
, at least it
sounds
plausible.

“I see,” Lord Seabrook replied. “And where is the proof that this Droken ‘army’ exists?”

“I am sorry to report that it has been taken from us, my lord. Maps were found which showed the movement of the army, but before we could secure them, they were stolen.”

Seabrook’s eyes narrowed. “And how could this army be north of us? I think it unlikely that they could have passed us. We would have noticed.”

“The army has not come from the south, my lord, but from the north, from someplace far northeast of our kingdoms. If you do not believe us, then I would suggest you send scouts north to search for the army. I was very concerned that they would come upon you, unprepared.”

“What of Morticai?” Kirwin asked.

Coryden took a deep breath. “We rescued him, Commander.”

“And destroyed the Droken temple in Watchaven,” Dualas added.

Kirwin’s eyebrows rose.

“I see,” Seabrook replied. “Commander McFerrin, take this letter to Commander Jarviel for him to read, and give orders for a patrol to scout to the north.”

“Yes, sir,” Kirwin replied.

“Your commander is very unhappy with you, Captain,” Seabrook continued once Kirwin had left.

“Yes sir, I know,” Coryden replied softly.

“Do you have anything to say regarding this?”

Coryden shook his head. “I am afraid that I cannot blame him. If I were in his position, I would also be upset. We just didn’t have time to apprise him of the
situation. He knew that Morticai was working with the Inquisition, and that we were spending a bit of our off duty time with him. When Morticai disappeared, the Commander was informed that we were searching the city for him. I am at fault for not keeping Commander McFerrin informed, but at the time he was very involved maintaining order at Northgate, and I was very concerned regarding the fate of my man.”

Lord Seabrook nodded, slowly. “What else can you tell me of this army?”

“Although we do not know beyond all doubt, we have very strong suspicions that it is being led by a Droken Prince named Luthekar.”

After a moment, Seabrook replied, “Indeed? And have you seen this Droken Prince? I have always thought him to be just a bardic fantasy.”

Coryden glanced at Dualas. “Yes sir, we have.”

Another pause ensued. “Pardon?” Seabrook finally asked.

“Yes sir, we have seen Prince Luthekar,” Coryden clarified. “In fact, Sir Dualas, Morticai, and I fought against him in Watchaven, and he wounded Morticai. Commander McFerrin filed a complete report on the incident, I believe.”

“I see,” Lord Seabrook replied, obviously surprised.

Kirwin returned with Commander Jarviel. Jarviel, who was a full corryn, glanced briefly at Coryden and Dualas and then did a double take. Dualas nodded politely, and Coryden tried not to smile.

I guess he wasn’t expecting to find corryn standing here
, Coryden thought.

Jarviel addressed Seabrook. “Do you believe this, sir?” Jarviel obviously didn’t.

“I do not yet know,” Lord Seabrook replied. “If there is an army to the north, our scouts will find it. The Grand Patriarch of Watchaven would not sign such a document if he did not, himself, believe it to be true. Captain, Sir Dualas, would you please wait outside a moment?”

“Yes, sir,” Coryden replied, and they stepped out.

“Well?” Berret asked anxiously. “What now?”

“We don’t know yet,” Coryden replied, “so we wait.”

The rest of the patrol had shown up. They sat in small groups with members of Berret’s squad, swapping news. Finally, Commander Jarviel emerged from the command tent.

“Come back inside, please,” Jarviel said, then disappeared back into the tent. The thought that the three officers could act as a tribunal flashed through Coryden’s mind as he stepped back inside.

“Captain,” Seabrook said, “we have discussed what type of punishment you and your men should suffer for your desertion. That you deserted cannot be denied, although the Faith obviously was a factor. At the same time, the Faith should have sent word to Commander McFerrin that they were pressing you into service. The situation would have been greatly eased if the Grand Patriarch had sent a letter
before
Commander McFerrin left Watchaven.

“I do not fault you for being concerned for your man’s safety,” he continued, “but you have lost men before and should be aware that at times such a sacrifice must be made. From what Commander McFerrin tells me, this Morticai got himself into this mess while off duty, and though good may come of it, it does not mean that disobedience of orders can be tolerated.

“The fact that you have voluntarily returned is in your favor. And if this Droken army truly exists, your return with this information is to be commended. Those factors do much to help your situation. We have decided to place you and your men on heavy duty until it is determined whether or not this army exists. Once that has been determined, we shall make a final judgment.

“You are dismissed,” Seabrook finished.

“Thank you sir,” Coryden said, though he hardly felt thankful at the moment.

* * *

King Almgren reread the note. Before him, the corryn messenger waited nervously between the guards. The tent was crowded with the king’s advisors, who were trying to read the message, and by guards who surrounded the messenger to deter any thoughts of assassination, and by his five sons, who were there out of … curiosity, he supposed.

“I want everyone out,” Almgren announced, “except for Lord Jendall and Lord Hildric.” He passed the note to his two top advisors as the room cleared.

“So,” Lord Jendall remarked, “the Dynolvans have marched all this way only to propose a parley?”

Almgren shrugged. “Perhaps. I have never fully understood King Riamel.

“It could be a trap,” Lord Hildric noted.

Almgren snorted. “I do understand Riamel that much, Hildric—it’s not his style.”

“Do you want to talk with him?” Jendall asked.

Almgren sat back and gazed abstractedly at the closed tent flap.

“Hmm. I can see no damage in it. It is true that much of this disagreement between our kingdoms has transpired through ambassadors and counsels—perhaps we should meet face to face. What do you think of our tactical position, Lord Jendall, if we should parley and the talks fail?”

Lord Jendall tilted his head, allowing his shoulder-length hair to fall forward. “We have the advantage of higher ground here, although this can hardly be called a hill.”

“It’s the closest thing to a hill for miles,” Hildric interjected.

“True. And it would give us a slight advantage. The Dynolvans have better cavalry than we—”

“How can you say such a thing!” Hildric exclaimed.

Jendall glanced at the king, who was, indeed, giving him a dark stare.

“I am sorry, your majesty,” Jendall explained, “but it would be unfair, even unwise of me to say that it was not so. It is not that the Dynolvans are better warriors, but I fear they have better horses.”

“Why?” the king asked flatly.

“They have better pasture land than we do.”

Hildric snickered. Jendall looked at the fair-haired noble and raised an eyebrow.

“That makes sense,” King Almgren said, nodding.

The smile faded from Hildric’s face.

“Well, I suppose we shouldn’t keep Riamel’s messenger waiting in fear all afternoon,” Almgren said, shuffling through a pile of papers on a small table beside him. He finally produced a quill, turned the note from Riamel over and began penning a reply. “How far away have the Dynolvans camped?”

“About half a day’s march,” Hildric replied.

“Hmm. There will be quite a few details to work out before we can meet. Jendall, I want you to handle the pre-meeting negotiations. I do not agree with Riamel’s proposal of meeting without guards, and I will not meet out on that god-forsaken plain. Also, I will not be ready to meet with him tomorrow. I want to give our scouts plenty of time to estimate his force’s strength. Besides, it might be best to let him sweat a little—say, two or three days. You can start by telling them that we will meet inside Mid-Keep. At least there I need not fear a cavalry charge.”

* * *

“Well?” Prince Edris said in a hissing whisper. “What did the old geezer decide?”

Hildric dropped the flap of his tent, sealing the narrow gap he had been peering through. “Begging your pardon, my prince,” he said through clenched teeth, “but you should not have come here.”

Edris lifted his chin, defiantly. “And how else am I supposed to find out anything? Certainly not through my father’s generous sharing of knowledge!”

“I would have contacted you, to be sure, my Prince,” Hildric replied. He walked over to a campaign trunk and dug through it. The noble soon produced a bottle and two glasses, and set about pouring them drinks.

Prince Edris drummed his fingers on top of another chest, but said nothing. Hildric handed him the drink.

“We are in luck,” Hildric said, “and I propose a toast.”

Edris slowly raised his glass.

“I toast Prince Luthekar’s imminent victory. And I toast your imminent coronation—very imminent.”

“Don’t play games with me,” Edris snapped.

Hildric lowered the glass. “Then I shan’t. Your father is going to meet with King Riamel in about three days’ time. It should be a perfect opportunity to complete our assignment. If we can manage it properly, I believe that not only can we kill your father and your brothers, we can lay the blame on the Dynolvans. And if I have correctly estimated my counterpart in the Dynolvan camp, I would not be surprised to find that he, too, is laying such a plan.”

* * *

Shouting echoed through the torch-lit camp, announcing the return of the patrol Lord Seabrook had sent north. The Northmarch High Commander looked up from his work—they should not have returned this quickly.

Captain Nishan, who was covered from head to toe in mud, entered the pavilion. Seabrook raised his eyebrows.

“My lord,” the captain began, “ there is, indeed, an army to the north of us! It-it,” the captain faltered.

“Yes?”
Seabrook demanded.

“My lord,” the captain continued, “I-I have never seen anything like this army. Sir, it must be sixty thousand men strong!”

“Impossible!”

“Nay, my lord! It is true, though I wish it were not so. It lies just under a day’s march away!” The captain’s voice held a hint of panic.

“Captain Nishan!” Seabrook snapped. “You will calm down and deliver an orderly report! Did they spot your patrol?”

Nishan made a visible effort to regain his composure. “No, sir. We rode until dark yesterday. Early this morning, when we’d not been long on the trail, we came upon them. We skirted a small marsh to avoid being spotted by their scouts, but we are certain we were not seen.”

Midway through Nishan’s reply, Commanders McFerrin and Jarviel entered the pavilion. Lord Seabrook hesitated only long enough to be certain they had heard enough to know what had been found. “Give the order to break camp,” he said. “Now!”

“Yes, sir,” they answered in unison.

Lord Seabrook grabbed his quill and sat down at the large table. It would take the scouts several days to reach the armies of Watchaven and Dynolva, but that was the only warning he would be able to give them.

Chapter Twenty

Rylan Glaedwin surveyed the dimly lit room. Mother Edana sat by the bed, holding Morticai’s hand. The Matriarch had sent him a message requesting he come immediately. Rylan noted that she had not brought her salve with her.

The Lady Adrianas, whom Morticai called Heather, sat on the far side of the bed. She had taken down her long hair, and though she was obviously weary, she was one of the most beautiful women, corryn or human, that the Inquisitor had ever seen. Rylan still wasn’t certain how this lady of court had come to be so close to Morticai. He wondered if she had been the one who had sent the dove to Morticai during his previous convalescence at the Sanctorum.

“So,” Mother Edana said, “your itching has stopped?”

“At last!” Morticai replied. “I was beginning to think it would continue forever!”

Mother Edana smiled at the Inquisitor. “For one of deep faith, Morticai,” she said, “you have so little trust. Did I not tell you that the itching would stop?”

“Yes,” Morticai admitted. “You did. And I believed you. Truly. But it’s been days!”

“Oh, Dyluth,” Heather interjected, “all that matters is that it has stopped.”

Mother Edana glanced at Rylan. “Shall we see how Morticai has healed, Brother Glaedwin?”

Rylan inhaled deeply. “Dear Matriarch, do you think it time? It has only been nine days.”

“Aye, that is true,” she replied, as she began to unwind the bandages about Morticai’s head. “But, the discomfort has ceased—and that, I believe, means that the healing is complete. We shall see.”

“Mother?” Heather asked cautiously.

“Yes, child.”

“You are going to let me stay?”

“Yes, child. You have come here every day to sit with him, and for that, you deserve to be here for him now.”

Heather seemed confused, but she said nothing.

Morticai began to fidget with the wrappings on his wrists.

“What is wrong, Morticai?” Mother Edana asked him.

“I don’t know,” he replied. “I guess I’m nervous. Ah … Mother Edana?”

“Yes?”

“You said that the healing is complete?”

“Yes, I believe it is, but we will not know until I remove the rest of this bandage and rinse off the ointment.”

Morticai swallowed, but asked no further questions.

Heather’s hand crept up to her mouth, and she appeared to be close to tears. Rylan moved to her side and took her hand. Mother Edana removed the last bit of bandage. This time, the healer did not ask for Rylan’s help, and he noted that she seemed not to need it.

All Rylan could see beneath the bandage was a thick layer of ointment. Heather looked away—Mother Edana might have thought her ready to be here, but Heather obviously did not share her conviction. The Matriarch rinsed the ointment away, but this time, she used a cloth as she rinsed.

Rylan suddenly realized that, as the extent of Morticai’s healing became apparent to him, he had tightened his grip on Heather’s hand. He consciously relaxed his hand before speaking. He whispered, unable to keep a tremor out of his voice. “Heather,’ he said, “look!”

She did look, reluctantly, and then with an audible gasp, she tore her hand from his grip and clasped both hands over her mouth.

Beneath the ointment lay what appeared to be a spongy layer of skin. Mother Edana carefully cleaned it away, exposing fully formed, unscarred eyelids. Eyelashes, although they were still very short, had even begun to return. With the realization that he had been holding his breath, Rylan forced himself to exhale.

Mother Edana took both of Morticai’s hands.

“Morticai,” she said firmly, “I want you to try to open your eyes.”

“Mother Edana,” Morticai complained, “please don’t say such things! You know what they did to me.”

The Matriarch took his left hand and guided it up to his eyes.

“Feel that, child?” she asked.

Morticai began to shake.

“Now,” she said, “obey me and open your eyes!”

It obviously took a good deal of effort, but open them he did—first one eye, then the other.

“Great Levani,” Mother Edana whispered.

Heather gasped and reeled as if she might faint. Rylan swallowed and tried to look at Heather, but couldn’t bring himself to look away from Morticai. Morticai’s
eyes
had
been blue. They were no longer. The color had changed, and it was something that even Mother Edana found astonishing. His new eyes were …
purple
—not the pale lilac shade that was common to some corryn, but a deep, vibrant purple, such as that found on the robes of kings … and in sanctums dedicated to Glawres.

The light must have been too much for Morticai’s new eyes, for he immediately squeezed his lids into a painful squint. Then, he began to shout and laugh and cry all at once.

“I-I, my eyes! My eyes are back!”

Mother Edana let go of Morticai’s hands and moved her supporting grip to his upper arms. Rylan understood why she did so, for Morticai bounced up and down on the bed like a child, squinting and shouting and crying.

Rylan swallowed again, and this time managed to look at Heather. She was obviously in shock, as he himself was to some extent, but she appeared frightened as well. Rylan wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

“Calm thyself!” Mother Edana shouted at Morticai. “You must calm down!”

Eventually, he complied, though his giddiness threatened to break out again at any moment.

“Morticai,” Mother Edana commanded, “you must calm down and speak with me!”

“Y-yes?”

“
Can
you see?”

He tried to relax the squint, but was unsuccessful. “Well,” his excitement seemed to die down, “not, not really.”

“That’s all right,” Mother Edana said in a soothing voice. “Do you see anything at all? You apparently can see light. Can you see color? Tell me exactly what you can see.”

Heather began to cry, softly.

“I … I do see light,” Morticai said slowly. “It’s too bright.”

“I am sorry, but that is as low as the lamp will go,” she replied.

“I see shapes,” he continued, “but they’re fuzzy. I can’t tell what anything is.” He took his hand up and then slowly moved it toward his face, stopping it about two inches from his eyes. “I-I can see my hand!” he exclaimed, as his excitement began to return.

Suddenly, he dropped his hand, shut his new eyes, and turned his head, listening. “Heather? Heather, are you crying?”

“Yes,” she sobbed. “I’m, I’m sorry. I can’t help it.”

She spun toward Rylan and buried her face against his shoulder.

“Shhh,” Rylan whispered to her. “She’ll be all right, Morticai,” he said. “She was not prepared for a miracle. It will take a little time for her to get over the shock.”

Morticai sighed. “Yeah. I …” he swallowed, “I wasn’t really expecting a miracle, either. I guess I should have known Mother Edana wouldn’t lie.”

“You need not apologize, child,” Mother Edana replied. She placed her hand under his chin and moved his head back toward her. “I want you to try again to open your eyes. Do it very slowly—try not to squint. That’s it,” she said, coaxing him, “you do not need to open them all the way. I want to look at the color of your eyes.”

“The color?”

“Yes,” she said. “Ah, that is enough.” She shook her head slowly. “It is just like the Levani of the sea,” she said. “Glawres, the unpredictable—and one who loves surprise. He surprised even me.”

“Uh? What are you talking about?” Morticai asked, and squinted again, apparently trying to focus on Mother Edana’s face.

“Child, your eyes have changed color. Or rather, you have new eyes in place of the ones that were destroyed.”

Silence.

“Changed color?” he finally asked.

“Yes, child. Were they not blue, before?”

“Y-yes. What color are they now?”

“Violet.”

Morticai smiled weakly. “I’ve always wanted violet eyes,” he said sheepishly.

“You mean the light shade that some corryn have?” Rylan asked.

“Yes.”

“They are not quite that shade,” Mother Edana replied.

“Huh? What shade are they?”

“You will see, child,” she replied. “For now, you should lie back and close your eyes to let them rest. It shall probably take a little time for your muscles to regain their strength. We are not yet finished. We must unwrap the rest of your bandages.”

* * *

Rylan gently led Heather, who was still crying, from the room. They went into the Sanctorium itself, and he led her to a deserted bench near the back of one of the upper balconies. She did not seem to mind being led there.

“Dear lady,” he began cautiously, “this should be a time for rejoicing, not mourning.”

She dabbed at her eyes with her kerchief. “I-I know … I suppose.”

“Then, what troubles you?”

She brought her emerald eyes up to meet Rylan’s, and he found himself thinking that many battles had doubtless been fought for the favor of her regard.

“I am not unhappy that Glawres has given Dyluth back his sight,” she began.

Rylan was momentarily puzzled until he remembered that Dyluth was the name by which Morticai was known on the streets and to his Arluthian brethren.

“And, I do not wish to be ungrateful,” Heather continued, “but, it will never be the same. Glawres has
claimed
him—isn’t that so?”

“That certainly may be,” Rylan agreed.

“Things will never be the way they were. I have sometimes dreamed of going away with him, of having a life away from court—but now those dreams are forever dashed! He can never belong to me now, for he belongs to Glawres.”

“But, Lady Adrianas,” Rylan cautioned, “there is no greater honor than to be so claimed. Indeed, it appears that Morticai has belonged to Glawres for a long time. Can you not share your love with Glawres?”

“It would never be that simple!” she replied, shaking her silver tresses. “How easy will it be now for the Droken to find him?”

Rylan blinked, realizing the import of what she was saying. Morticai’s new eyes would be impossible to disguise. He was forever marked by the favor of the god.

She continued, “You seem to know little of his love of freedom, nor his love of danger. He will not hide from the Droken, as he should—it is not his way. He will live openly. And what will come of it, if not his death? Do I not have a reason to grieve, Father?”

Rylan clasped her hands gently in his own. “Dear Lady,” he replied, “I feel in the depths of my soul that Glawres would not give Dyluth such a blessing if it were only to lead to his death. Please, be patient and allow Glawres to fully unveil his purpose in bestowing this gift. It is too early to know what changes Glawres has wrought within Morticai—Dyluth—that we may not be able to see. Please, let this be something which strengthens your faith, not something which weakens it.”

“I-I will try, Father,” she replied, taking a deep breath. “I will try.”

* * *

The light knock was obviously meant not to waken Morticai, should he be asleep. Getting up from the bed, Morticai walked to the door, a broad smile already on his face—he had strong suspicions who might be visiting in the predawn hours.

“Hi!” Morticai said as he opened the door.

Nelerek stood in the hallway, and for a moment, he did nothing but stare. Then, a grin matching Morticai’s lit up his face as he strode into the room, grabbed Morticai by the shoulders, and spun him around.

“It’s true!” he cried, and hugged Morticai to him.

Morticai laughed. “Yes!”

“By the gods, Dyluth!” Nelerek exclaimed, holding him back at arm’s length again. “Or, perhaps I should say, by
your
god.” He shook his head. “I cannot tell you how I feel.”

“You should try being on this side of it,” Morticai replied.

“Gods, Dyluth,” he whispered, “who would have thought?”

“I know,” Morticai said. He turned suddenly solemn. “I still don’t know how I should feel.”

“Can we turn the lamp up a bit? If you can stand it, that is. Heather said—”

“About the color?”

“Uh, yes.”