Reckoning (The Empyrean Chronicle) (7 page)

Eithne led Ogden into her sitting room. She looked her
dearest friend in the eye. He met her gaze and nodded. Though aged, his eyes
still smoldered like the blue steel of a Marshal’s Shield. Galvanized, she
broke the seal.

Eithne Denar, Queen of all
Galacia:

I write to inform you that my father Istvan Rachman, High
King of Ittamar, is dead.

Through our history we have ever been at each other’s
throats, involved in one border conflict after another, in an antagonism that
culminated during my father’s long reign. I hope that with his passing so too
will the lingering vestiges of animosity between our nations.

It has been twenty winters since the last blood was drawn
between our peoples—one year of peace for each year of blood. I hope that this
has been sufficient time to heal our mutual wounds.

It is my hope that we may put our violent legacy aside
and begin diplomatic relations. In good faith, I wish to send an emissary, mine
own cousin Agnar Vundi, and some few kinsmen to accompany him, to initiate a
friendship between Galacia and Ittamar.

You are doubtlessly aware by now that we have engaged in
trade relations with Aradur. It is my desire that we negotiate a trade treaty
as well. The children of Ittamar are hungry and have need of your ample grain. In
turn, we have deep reservoirs of ore and precious metals in abundance.

While we can continue to acquire Galacian grain from our
dealings with Aradur, trading with you directly and cutting out the
intermediary would be beneficial to us both, for it means more grain for me at
a better price, and more coin for you.

My emissary and his party will wait at the central
standing-stone on the Sheer for your reply. Your men may approach without fear
of reprisal. On this I give my word. We ardently await your reply.

—Baruch Rachman, High King of Ittamar.

Eithne handed the letter to Ogden.
His eyes darted back and forth as he read, his brow furrowed. After he finished
with the letter Ogden sat back. He tapped a finger thoughtfully against his
lips and his bushy eyebrows drew down over his eyes like a cowl.

“So,” Eithne said, “what do you think?”

“He has a gentle hand and a cultured tone, unlike his
father.” Ogden sighed. “I don’t need to tell you how depleted our coffers are
of late, and we’re already in debt up to our eyeballs with House Oberon and
Phyra. It might be worth the risk. I can’t think what danger a single delegate
party could present.”

Eithne nodded. “Rachman must realize that his men would be
watched like hawks.”

“That, and let us not forget that his need of grain is real.
Your father often mused that the potato famine that struck Ittamar some
twenty-five years ago may have been the driving force behind their incursion
into southern lands. It is reasonable that he would seek a diplomatic way to
feed his people before resorting to another bloody conflict. If he can’t feed
his people in times of peace he will have next to no chance of doing so during
a campaign. No, I don’t think that Ittamar can risk another war with Galacia.”

Eithne snorted. “Nor can we,” she said, though Ogden knew it
as well as she. They had turned back Ittamar in the quarter-century war, but
only just.

Twenty years after the armistice Galacia still recovered
from the cost of the lengthy conflict, both in coin and the virtual loss of a
generation of men. The Galacian Regulars had yet to fully rebound, and was
almost entirely populated by youths barely out of adolescence and veterans who
should have, by rights, retired years ago.“We have to consider that this may be
a ruse,” Eithne said. “This trade delegation could be nothing more than a deft
ploy to sow dissent in our court, or to gather intelligence. A divided Galacia
is easy pickings, and if Ittamar has forged an alliance with Aradur, giving
them leave to case Peidra could be disastrous.”

Ogden offered his queen a broad smile. “Your father
instructed you well—to question everything.” Ogden spread his hands. “It could
be a cunning gambit, but it seems unlikely that Rachman would be willing to
sacrifice his cousin as he, to our knowledge, has no heir. Since the Ittamar
royal line passes only along the male bloodline, and Baruch has no living
brother, Vundi as his first cousin is heir to the throne. As a token of good
faith he sends a man who, for all intents and purposes, is a royal prince.

As for the possibility of a military alliance between
Ittamar and Aradur, such a campaign, for Aradur, would mean marching a thousand
miles across Erastes, or else up through the Spine of Agia and into the
northern climbs of Ittamar, only to march a thousand miles south again across
the Sheer and into Galacia. Again, it seems unlikely, particularly considering
the Aradur doesn’t want for wealth as it controls the eastern ports of Agia and
the spice trade.”

Eithne grunted in concession to Ogden’s reasoning and he
continued. “Istvan was a hard, merciless ruler, but perhaps his son is a
different man, as your father was a gentler ruler than your grandfather. If
Baruch intends foul play he is sending his heir on a suicide mission. At this
point the other seven nations of Agia pose a greater threat to Galacia than
Ittamar. Weakened as we are economically and militarily, how long will it be
before one of our southern neighbors decides we’re easy pickings? We could use
Ittamar gold, and iron. My advice, Eithne: proceed with the meeting, albeit
cautiously.”

Eithne looked hard at her chief counselor. She read only
candor in his sagacious countenance. She expected nothing else, but seeing it
written in the wrinkles of his face gave her strength.

She stood, slowly, and walked toward the window. Throwing
back the curtains the queen looked out upon her lands. Lush, verdant hills
rolled lazily into fields of grain that undulated and gleamed like a golden
sea.

“How will the court react to this decision?” said Eithne.

“Most of the houses will balk at first, but many will find
their outrage tempered by the promise of gold and precious ore. We have never
had an abundance of either, and Phyra and Erastes charge us a heavy price in
grain for coin. Much of the gentry have deep pockets but they know how much two
reigns of bloodshed drained our coffers and armaments. They fear a raise of
taxes more than war. If we can trade for gold bullion from Ittamar we can mint
more of our own currency, instead of relying on foreign coin and debt notes. If
you appeal to their greed, you may earn the support of the influential houses.”

“Very well, Ogden. In any case it will be an interesting
palaver come tomorrow.” Eithne Denar smiled thinly and continued to gaze out
her window. Trepidation held her heart in its icy grasp, while her stomach felt
like it contained a smoldering ball of lead. Eithne knew it essential that she
retain her tenuous control over the court. She would have to draft plans on how
to handle each House and Lord of consequence. She offered a quick prayer to the
One God and an invocation to her ancestors and father.

“Ogden, send for drink and food. I have a feeling it’s going
to be a long day.”

Strange Awakenings

Elias woke with a start, fists clenched and a scream on
his lips, as he emerged from the shadowed depths of a surreal dream-world characterized
by the ringing of steel and the dark glow of fell magic.

Lar, who sat by his friend’s side through the night, flinched.
His chair tipped as he lumbered to his feet on legs numbed from having sat too
long. He thought to fetch the doctor, but Phinneas appeared in the doorway,
alerted by Elias’s cry. The two men exchanged glances before turning their
attention to Elias, each unsure how to proceed.

Elias sucked in ragged breaths and his eyes darted back and
forth, heavy yet with the fog of sleep, before realizing he was safe at
Phinneas Crowe’s homestead. He blinked away the fleeting shreds of the
nightmare, which yet lingered—a place where someone called for him from a dark
dungeon, their voice shrill with fear, but the threads already eluded him,
dissolving in the light of day.

Elias’s face crumpled as myriad emotions tore through him. To
Phinneas and Lar his expression was one of bewilderment, and while it was true
that he felt overcome, Elias knew one sure and abiding compulsion: he had to
go, and now.

Elias surveyed his surroundings as he recovered his
equilibrium. He lay abed in one of Phinneas’s spare bedrooms. As he sat up a
twinge lanced through his shoulder. He saw that the arrow had been removed, the
wound bandaged, and his left arm placed in a sling.

Elias looked up and his eyes fell on Lar. “How are you
here?”

“The Doctor sent for me yesterday,” Lar said, feeling
somehow guilty as Elias fixed his penetrating eyes on him.

“Yesterday,” Elias said, his anxiety consumed at once by
fury. “What time is it?”

“Almost noon,” said Phinneas, taking a step into the room. “You
lost a lot of blood and needed to rest. It was touch-and-go for a while there.”

“Noon. Son-of-a-crow. Do you realize how difficult it is
going to be tracking those bastards down now?” Elias threw back the covers and
made to rise.

“Not so hasty now,” Phinneas said and placed a restraining
hand on Elias’s good shoulder. Elias shot him a dark look, black eyes bright
and hot, that would have withered a lesser man, but Phinneas, who was all too
familiar with Padraic Duana’s piercing gaze, did not so much as blink. “Boy, I
saved your life. You owe me, and Lar here, the courtesy of seeing that my handiwork
and a sleepless night were not spent in vain. Considering how long you’ve been
out, you can spare me a moment to check your stitches, son.”

“I am son to no one now,” Elias said, but tolerated the doctor’s
ministrations.

“The stitches are holding,” Phinneas said, ignoring Elias’s
cryptic comment. “The wound looks good, and you don’t have a fever. How do you
feel?”

“Fit as a fiddle.” Phinneas arched an eyebrow and frowned
down at him. “A little stiff,” Elias conceded, some of the fire going out of him,
“but considering…everything…I feel remarkably well.”

Phinneas grunted. “You’re like your father in that way. You’re
both quick healers. If I could bottle that, I’d be able to buy a dozen head of
cattle.”

“Good, then. We are in agreement. I’m ready to go.”

“Elias,” said Lar, “be reasonable.”

Elias fixed his eyes onto his friend, but when he saw how
the giant man trembled, his retort died on his lips. “I must go after them,” he
said in a soft voice. “Can’t you see that?”

Lar’s eyes brimmed with tears as he looked into the black
iron of Elias’s glare. He glanced away and studied his feet.

Phinneas sat on the edge of the bed. “You are fortunate, to
be alive, Elias. That arrow missed your heart and major arteries by a hair. It’s
a miracle, really, and the one grace we can salvage from this tragedy. Don’t
throw it away, I beg of you. Stay here until you are well.”

“If I’ve been spared, whether by grace, fortune, or fate,
then I must believe it is for a purpose. If it’s not to see justice done, then
I would have rather died with them.”

“Listen,” said Lar, “Constable Oring has been to the Manor. There’s
no sign of the men who attacked you, but he’s working on tracking them down.”

Elias snorted. “Oring couldn’t track a stampeding bull
through mud.” He took off his sling and flexed his shoulder with a wince. “Now,
hand me a shirt.”

“Oring is no Marshal, true, but he is a good man,” Phinneas
said. “He has a posse twenty men strong, and has been scouring the countryside
for the last twelve hours. Those brigands don’t know the land like these good
ol’ boys. The posse will bring them in.”

“Not likely. Those fellows don’t know what they’re going up
against. Not that it matters. They won’t find hide nor hair of them.”

“What do you mean?” asked Phinneas. “You said there were
only two men.”

“I don’t remember our conversation, but, yes, there were two—Slade
and an archer. My last memory is of driving the horses through the Lurkwood. Frankly,
I am amazed we made it.”

“As am I,” said Phinneas, “but from what I saw the horses
were the ones doing the driving. They were maddened and half dead when you
arrived. They must have sprinted the entire way.”

“My father put some kind of spell on them. I could do
nothing to turn them back. Go on.”

Phinneas shrugged. “You were still conscious, although I
don’t know how, frankly. You were screaming like a…well, quite loud, really. You
grabbed me by the collar and told me that you had been attacked at the Mayfair
Manor by two men, one a merchant you met last night, and that your father and
Danica had fallen. Then you passed out. That’s when I sent for Lar and the
constable.”

Elias swallowed, his throat thick with emotion. “Where are
they? Where have they been taken?” he asked in a small voice.

“I had Asa taken to the Chapel in Knoll,” Phinneas said.

“What of my father and Danica?”

“Elias, there is something you need know,” Lar said,
exchanging a meaningful glance with Phinneas. “We haven’t found Danica, or your
father.”

Elias blanched. “What?!”

“Although,” Phinneas said slowly, “the posse did find a
patch of scorched earth at the Manor. Elias, what happened there?”

“This means it’s possible they’re still alive,” said Elias. He
threw off his blankets, stood up, and paced the room. His heart hammered
against his ribcage. “He may be holding them hostage.”

“But to what end?” said Phinneas, not unkindly. “This ambush
had two likely purposes. One, to steal four barrels of knoll—a tidy profit for
any highwayman—or, two, to take revenge on your father. As a dispatcher of
Crown Law, your father had no shortage of enemies.”

Elias ceased pacing and grew still. He looked out the
window. “This was no robbery.”

“How can you be sure?” said Phinneas, but a sinking feeling stole
over him. His every instinct told him that something about this entire
situation was very, very wrong.

“Slade—there was something off about him. Unnatural.” Elias
shook his head. “I can’t explain it to you. It’s like there was some kind of stain
on him. He’s no highwayman. No, he’s something else all together.”

“Oh,” was all the response Phinneas could muster, for he
knew exactly what his best friend’s son meant. Elias had just summarized the
dark aura that surrounded a fell wizard better than most veteran arcanists.

“And for all that,” said Elias as he continued to gaze out
the window onto Phinneas’s land, “my gut tells me that Macallister had a part
to play in all this.”

“You’ll get no argument from me that Macallister is one
scrupleless son-of-a-bitch,” Phinneas said, “but a murderer? I don’t know,
Elias.”

“One does wonder where Macallister would find men like
that,” Elias said. “But the day before last Macallister rode out to the
distillery and made yet another offer to buy our land and whiskey recipe. We
had refused Macallister time and again, so why ride all the way out to our
homestead to make yet another offer? I’ll tell you why—guilt. He hired those
men to ambush us, but figured he’d give us one last chance to sell.”

Silence hung heavy in the spare bedroom in the wake of
Elias’s words and the red rage that radiated from him. Elias could feel both
the doctor and Lar’s eyes on his back. He took a deep breath and closed his
eyes, willing his mind to slow. He turned from the window to face them. “I must
go and find him before it’s too late. I need answers and I need to find
evidence of Macallister’s involvement, and the only way I’m going to find any
answers is to track Slade down and bring him to justice.”

“How can you think to succeed where the posse has failed?”
Phinneas said.

Elias closed his eyes. In his mind’s-eye he saw the Manor
looming at the edge of the Lurkwood. The front door opened. A narrow staircase
wound into the bowels of the earth. Elias gasped and his eyelids snapped open. The
details of his dream had returned to him with a chilling certainty.

“Slade’s waiting for me,” Elias said. “He’s at the Manor.”

“That’s ridiculous,” said Lar. “It doesn’t make a lick of
sense. The posse searched every inch of that house. There’s nothing there.”

“I told you, Slade is no normal man. He is an arcanist of
some sort. Oring and his posse don’t have the means to find him. But I can feel
him.” Elias stepped toward them and rapped his index and middle fingers on his
sternum, hard. “Here
.
He’s close, laying in wait for me. I just know it.”

Lar paled and looked to Phinneas who shook his head and
studied the floor.

Phinneas knew that look in Elias’s wild eyes. He had seen it
before. “Elias,” Phinneas said, “you sound—“

“I know, crazy, but—“

Phinneas held up a hand. “I was going to say, you sound like
your father.” Phinneas walked to the closet and produced Elias’s boots and a
fresh shirt. “During my long friendship with your father, I learned to trust
his instincts. His intuition saved my hide on more than one occasion.”

Elias took the bundle from the doctor and quickly dressed
while Lar looked on, stymied. He usually couldn’t think of anything to say
under the best of circumstances, and now his mind went blank with a nameless,
pervasive fear. A feeling of dread radiated from his stomach, like he had a
gutful of poison berries. Lar couldn’t remember feeling so terrified, even when
his father took yellow fever. So much had been lost in the bizarre
circumstances of the last day that he didn’t know how much more he could
handle. Lar was about as superstitious as the average farmer—which was to say
very—and he knew in his bones that if Elias rode off to this ranch and returned
to Mayfair Manor, something awful was going to happen.

“If you’re dead set on this, you’re not riding out alone,”
Phinneas said when Elias finished dressing. “If you ride hard or get into a
fight that wound may open and it will go poorly for you.”

Elias offered Phinneas a thin, grim smile. “My sword arm is
good. I must do this. I must do it alone. And I must do it now.”

Phinneas looked hard at him, and tugged absent mindedly at
his nose. “If your mind can’t be changed, then I may as well help see that my
doctoring doesn’t go to waste.” Elias responded with a quizzical tilt of his
head, and Phinneas felt a shiver run up his spine, for he saw so much of
Padraic in his son at that moment. “I have something that can help you. Wait
here a hot second while I go fetch it.”

“I wouldn’t want your doctoring to go to waste, would I?”
said Elias in an attempt at levity, although the gesture felt stale even to
him.

Phinneas scurried out of the room and Elias returned to the
window and looked out on the doctor’s land and tried to clear his mind. He
could feel Lar’s eyes on him but ignored him. He didn’t want to scorn his old
friend, but he could ill afford a tender moment that might threaten his
resolve.

Phinneas whisked back into the room. “Here Elias,” he said
and held up a vial of murky liquid the color of coffee.

“What is it?” asked Elias, eyeing the strange brew
suspiciously.

“Don’t worry, it’s no trick. If I gave you a sedative and
you succeed in locating Slade, it might mean your death, and I don’t want that
on my conscience. It’s a tonic made from rare herbs. I learned the recipe
during the war and it came in handy more than once. I must admit, I am
applauding my foresight in brewing a batch.”

“What will it do?”

“Take it no more than an hour before you expect trouble—otherwise
it might wear off. It will dull your pain without dulling your wits. Rather, it
is a stimulant and will focus the mind and supply you with a rush of energy. It
might give you the edge you need. Also,” he said as he produced a small, round
loaf of bread from a pocket, “Eat this barley bread. You have been fasting for
almost a day and will need your strength.”

“Thank-you, Doctor, for everything. You’ve been a good
friend to us. Please stay here so I know where to find you if I need you.” Elias
took the vial and bread, and without further ado made to walk out of the room,
but he looked up to discover Lar barring the door with his six-four frame.

Lar crossed his thick arms over his chest and said, “You
know I’m coming with you.”

“You would only slow me down,” Elias said as kindly as he could.
“I love you like a brother, but stealthy and a fighter you are not. This isn’t
a game of storm-the-castle. Lar, you don’t even own a sword.”

“I have a bow,” said Lar. “I’m sure your father or Phinneas
here has an extra sword.”

“My father only has one sword, and I’m going to need it.” Elias
put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Someone’s going to die today, and it’s
either Slade or me. This thing is between us and just us. You understand.”

“No, I don’t, and neither do you. If I was in your shoes,
would you let me ride off all alone and half-cocked?”

Elias looked up at the towering Lar, who filled the doorway
tidily, and sighed. “No, I don’t suppose I would.” He swayed on his feet and
Lar put out his hands to steady him.