Prince of Swords (7 page)

Ciro did not seem concerned. “I can get the information from you, Father, one way or another.” The eyes which were sometimes that lovely pale blue went black once more.

Again Arik wished for a quick death, but death was not coming for him. Not yet. This thing had other plans for him.

Arik had been fighting death for months, and now…now he prayed for it to come. Death would be easier than watching a thing which had once been his child destroy everything he had worked for. Death would be easier than looking into those black eyes.

L
YR NARROWED HIS EYES AND STUDIED HIS CAMP.
A
LL
was not as it should be on this cool autumn night. There had been no sign of trouble from Ciro's followers thus far, and thankfully Rayne had not attempted again to draw him into friendly conversation.

But she had been speaking regularly to Til and Swaine, who now smiled at her on occasion and asked too often about her comfort and her disposition.

If they began to care about her, would they protest if she balked at being left behind?

It didn't matter. They were his soldiers, and no woman would come between Circle Warriors. Would innocent-looking Rayne be foolish enough to try to seduce one or both of the soldiers to her side? If so, she wouldn't be the first woman to use her body to bind a man to her, to make him her slave.

Circle Warriors were not easily swayed, but neither were they made of stone.

Segyn had walked the horses to a nearby stream. He could've ordered one of the other men to take care of that chore, but Lyr's first in command had always been fond of animals and had been caught speaking to them on more than one occasion. He took some comfort in the chore, so Lyr allowed him to do as he wished. Swaine and Til prepared supper for all, such as it was. The meal consisted of dried meat and hard biscuits, and until they came across a village where they might purchase fresh food, it would serve them well enough. Til gave Rayne a plate and nodded toward Lyr. Lyr was not blind to the fact that both of his men were suppressing smiles, and not doing a very good job of it. Had Rayne's seduction already begun? Were they so totally entranced by her? She was the kind of woman who could entrance a man if she wished.

Rayne walked toward him with the tin plate held steady in both hands, as if she were serving a fine meal instead of dried food that wouldn't be at all damaged if she tossed it to him from the opposite side of the camp.

When she was close, Rayne spoke. “Here's your damned supper, m'lord. I hear it tastes like shit, you cranky old bastard.” Her face turned bright pink, and her nose twitched a little.

Lyr lifted his eyebrows. “I beg your pardon?”

“I said, here's your damned—”

Lyr took the plate from her. “I don't need you to say it again.”

“Then why did you ask?”

Guffaws burst from Til and Swaine as they released their contained laughter. Til snorted, and Swaine slapped his knees in childish delight.

Rayne turned to her new friends. “How did I do?” she asked primly.

“Well,” Til said between snorts, “it was a fine start, though I think your voice could use a bit of a Tryfyn accent when you say ‘old bastard.' It should sound more like
ol' bastid
,” he said, exaggerating the inflections.

“Ol' bastid,” she repeated as she returned to her compatriots. She lifted her skirts in a ladylike manner as she stepped over a fallen tree limb dainty as you please. No matter how she tried, the vile words she spoke still sounded prim and proper.

Lyr set his plate aside and stood, and in a few long strides he had joined his men and the maddening woman they escorted. “Explain,” he said simply.

“‘M'lady wishes to know how to curse properly,” Swaine explained. “We've been giving her lessons.”

“Lessons on cursing,” Lyr repeated. “May I ask why?”

“No you may not,” Rayne said with her nose in the air. “My reasons are none of your concern.”

Til shook his head. “You missed a perfect opportunity for a natural ‘damned' in that sentence, and if you'd thrown in a—”

Lyr lifted his hand, and his man instantly went silent. All was silent, heavily so. The faces of his warriors went still as they realized the depth of his anger. Why was he angry? Passing the time teaching curse words to a lady who apparently wanted such instruction was hardly an offense. What was her reasoning? What did she have planned? He was quite certain she had some nefarious plan at play.

The first sound to break the silence was Rayne's heavy sigh. “Well, damn,” she said, and the curse sounded almost natural flowing from her tongue. “I'll be happy to tell you why I asked for such instruction. It was entirely my proposal. It certainly wasn't Swaine or Tiller's idea.”

“Tiller?”

“It's the name me mother gave me, m'lord,” Til said, “silly as it is. M'lady asked for my true name, and I saw no reason not to tell…”

Lyr took Rayne's arm and led her to the place where he'd left his supper sitting on the ground. “You two go help Segyn with the horses. You can eat when that's done.”

“Yes, m'lord,” they both said, happy to be released.

Lyr sat on a nearby fallen log and gestured for Rayne to join him. She did so, moving primly and with a propriety he had seen only in the King's court. He'd never cared for his regularly scheduled and necessary visits to the court. Advising the King in military matters was part of his duty, but as Tryfyn was at a time of peace, he had not been required in the palace often for matters of business. No, his visits there had been of the social sort, and that had left him with a distaste for those who appeared proper to one's face while plotting behind one's back. There were many women of that sort, a fact which he had already discovered.

“Why would a lady need lessons on cursing?” he asked, maintaining what he thought was a magnanimous calm.

“I told you, I need to know how to tarnish a soul. You were very uninterested and unhelpful, I might add, when I shared that concern with you days ago.”

He was confused. “You're going to tarnish someone's soul by cursing at them?”

Again there was that disgusted sigh. “I would never try to taint someone else's soul. That would be horribly wrong.”

At last, he understood. At least, he thought he did, odd as it seemed. “You're trying to tarnish your own soul.”

“Yes.”

“May I ask why?”

For a moment her lips were pursed and unfriendly, and then her mouth softened. “I suppose it won't hurt to tell you. Maybe you'll have some ideas. I find cursing horribly uncomfortable. There must be a better way.”

She looked him in the eye. “Before Jiri died, he told me that Prince Ciro wants me for my pure soul. Then he said I must be pure in heart, soul, and…and body.” She blushed, more than a little. “I don't understand why exactly, but it seemed very important. He said that's why none of the others were allowed in the basement in the months I was imprisoned there. Once the servants were…gone”—she dropped her eyes in sadness or respect—“I saw only Jiri.”

“I'm not even sure that Ciro has a soul,” Lyr confessed. “Why would he wish yours to be pure?”

Rayne lifted her chin, trying for an appearance of dignity and strength. It hurt her efforts that her chin trembled. “Ciro plans to marry me, as you know. Jiri also mentioned something about…about a child. A special baby.” Again, she blushed. “I don't want to be Ciro's bride, and I certainly don't want his child.” She shuddered. “Maybe if I'm tarnished, maybe if I don't possess the pure soul and heart he seems to be infatuated with, he'll leave me alone. I'm sure there are other women who will suit his purposes if he isn't quickly defeated.”

She did not mention tarnishing her body, which would be easy enough to accomplish, so he suspected that it was the soul Ciro concerned himself with most. That made sense, as the demon was an eater of souls.

A decided chill walked down Lyr's spine. If Rayne was telling the truth, and he suspected she was, there was more at work here than Ciro's lust or obsession with a pretty woman. Keelia had told a tale of a Caradon wizard in the Mountains of the North, a wizard who'd had dark plans to give
her
a special child. The child of man and demon, a baby who would be more powerful than anyone could imagine. More powerful and more evil, a child who would rule the dark world Ciro and the Isen Demon wished to create.

Rayne was meant to be the mother of just such a child.

If he were to do his right and proper duty, he'd kill her now. He could hold her and slit her throat, and she'd die before she knew what had happened. That would be best, for her, for the war, for the fate of the world.

And yet he couldn't do it. For the first time, he considered that Rayne might truly be an innocent in all this. Perhaps it was his task to protect her, just as it was his task to wield the crystal dagger. If that was the case, he couldn't leave her with just anyone.

Lyr also knew he couldn't take Rayne directly to Ciro—and he knew he had no choice but to face the prince.

The crystal dagger, which he'd strapped close to his thigh, hummed. He heard and felt it, but Rayne didn't seem to hear anything at all. She didn't look around for the source of the noise. Instead, she looked deeply into his eyes as if judging his reaction to her claims.

“I would not lie to you,” she said softly. “You saved me from imprisonment, and have kept your word to me. You could've taken the crystal dagger and left me in that house alone, and then what would I have done? I can't fight you, I can't force you to do anything against your will. I can only trust you, Lyr Hern.”

Lyr wished for Keelia's guidance, but Keelia was not near. He briefly placed his hand against the humming dagger, wondering if it would speak to him as it had in the past. If it spoke to him with words he did not wish to hear, would he listen? Should he attempt to ask for guidance? No, he was not a man to be incessantly guided by others. This decision was his to make, it was his alone. The solution to his dilemma was simple, and would not require him to go much out of his way. Having Rayne along would slow the journey, but if she was meant to give birth to Ciro's child, then he had two choices. He could kill her, or he could take her to Ariana and Keelia and entrust her to their hands.

And if he did not succeed in his mission to defeat Ciro, then one of them would have to kill Rayne. She and Ciro could not be allowed to come together and make that special child.

 

H
E WOULD HAVE TO MOVE VERY CAREFULLY WHEN THE
time came. Phelan knew what the Prince of Swords could do. He'd seen the displays of magic and swordplay.

Before the Isen Demon had called, Phelan had more than once seen time stop at the hands of the young man who led this party. He never felt as if time had been lost, but one moment the young man was in one position, and a moment later he was not. In the blink of an eye, the Prince of Swords might be at your very back, and you would not know he was there until it was too late.

A useful gift, one he wished he himself possessed.

He'd had no doubts about killing those of Ciro's Own who'd guarded the woman. What choice had he had? None at all. That had not been the time to reveal himself, to rise up to fight alongside those the Circle called enemy. If he'd given himself away too soon, he, too, would be dead, and then who would be left to deliver the woman to Emperor Ciro?

Yes, emperor. Another step had been taken. Another victory had been won.

Though Phelan had hidden himself for years among noble warriors, he'd always been rather fond of the killing that came with battle. There was no need to admit such to others, of course, but when in battle, he felt a rush like no other. On some occasions he had not stopped when the battle had ended, but had continued on late at night, in dark alleyways and the homes of welcoming strangers. When there was no enemy to be killed, he imagined his own enemies in the bodies of drunken bums who would not be missed, or in loose women who plied their trade in dim alleyways.

He'd often silently bemoaned the fact that there was not enough battle in Tryfyn to suit him, and yet he'd somehow known that a proper battle was coming.

When the demon had come for him, it had been no surprise at all. Phelan had welcomed the joining with the demon, and he'd gladly taken on this assignment to watch and listen and even guide. He'd been concerned when they'd confronted the Queen of the Anwyn, that powerful seer, but the demon had promised to protect him from her sight, and it had. It had protected him very well.

The demon had considerable powers, and was able to protect some of its secrets with a dark magic the Queen and those like her would never understand. In Phelan's mind he likened this secrecy to a thick black smoke which concealed many of those secrets the demon did not wish to be known.

For now, all was favorable. The party traveled in the right direction, and while they remained on constant guard, there had been no skirmishes along the way. Ciro's Own was keeping their distance until called.

Ciro's Own. One day Phelan would have his own army, and they would answer only to him. That would be his reward for delivering the woman, pure and untouched, to the emperor of Columbyana. Phelan's Own, Phelan's Legion, Phelan's Army. There was time still to decide what they might be called.

No one among them knew him as Phelan. He'd hidden his true name, as well as his true nature, for many years. Soon he would reveal himself and take his reward.

Ciro's bride was a fool if she thought a few clumsily uttered curse words would touch the brightness of her soul.