Sacrifice (Book 4) (23 page)

Gen laughed. “It’s a long tale, but. . .”

She leaned down and smothered him in kisses until some thought struck her. “But if you’re alive . . . does my daughter know?”

“Yes,” Gen said.

Mirelle rolled off of him and onto the floor, staring up at the ceiling. “Curse it all. No, I don’t mean that. But you must marry her, Gen. You must love her and make love to her and make her smile. She wants it so desperately. Oh, why couldn’t I have conned you into marrying me before all this happened? I worked so hard at being persuasive and seductive and charming. Tell me I was good at it.”

“You were unnaturally good at it.”

“Not good enough, apparently. Damn it all! You must marry her—and quickly. We need to the put the world under your leadership as soon as possible.”

Gen reached over and took her hand. “Ki’Hal needs to be under your rule, Mirelle. You are gifted in ways I don’t think I ever will be. Remember that I’m a villain to the whole world. I can’t marry anyone, much less lead anything. I look different, but not different enough to fool anyone for long.”

“Maybe,” she said. “But I need all the details of what happened to you and between you and the Chalaine. Just leave out the romantic bits—if there are any—so I don’t get jealous. Are there any? Romantic bits, I mean?”

“Mirelle. . .”

“But who is a better kisser? Be honest.”

Gen chuckled. “Do you have any idea how bizarre this conversation is? You look very young, but to think I’ve kissed a mother and her daughter in a romantic way is a little . . . uncomfortable.”

“So you have kissed her!” Mirelle exclaimed, and then frowned and changed her tone. “So you have kissed her. You are right; this is tending toward the bizarre. Being in love with your future son-in-law is terribly low class. On with the story, then.”

Gen related the tale of his awakening and their flight through the Black Forest, the Chalaine’s illness and sudden recovery, and his brief stay in Blackshire. When he related leaving Blackshire in company with Cadaen, her hand went to her mouth as she predicted the truth behind his absence. Gen held her as she cried softly, telling her of Cadaen’s concern for her and his fight to keep the Eldephaere at bay.

“He bought me the time I needed to get to you,” Gen said. “He died bravely and was an excellent soldier and a dedicated man.”

Mirelle wiped her eyes. “Well, he got what he wanted in the end. Ever since he lost control and tried to take me for his own, he has been searching for a way to die for me. I guess he found it. I will miss him. It will be like turning around and finding your shadow gone. Oh, Gen, this last week has been so dark and comfortless in that cell. I had lost you. I thought I might lose my daughter to an Uyumaak horde. I bandied words with Mikkik and saw his dark heart. By the time they dragged me out of that cell this morning, I was almost glad to die.” She reached out and touched his face. “But now that you are here, and here with power, there is light again in the world.”

Gen took her hand, “I still can’t see what I can do, although I will fight for any good cause.”

“I have some ideas,” she returned, “but how long must we hide, do you think?”

“We’ll just need to wait for the patrols to die down,” Gen said. “At some point they’ll think we’ve already escaped. I know a few tricks to get us away safely, even if they don’t, so if it takes longer than a day or two, we’ll risk it.”

“Then would you mind conjuring up a mattress or a pillow? I assume you can do that with Trysmagic,” she said.

“Yes. The plainer, the less power is required, so forgive something simple.”

“Well it doesn’t need to be big,” she said. “You and I can be cozy for as long as it takes.”

He grinned at her. “You’re doing it again.”

“What?”

“Flirting.”

“Well, I can’t help it,” she said. “The Chalaine doesn’t have to know
everything
that happens here. Thank you for the dress, by the way. Not quite my style, but it will do.”

Gen created a thin mattress big enough for them to sit comfortably on. As she sat cross-legged, she noticed the burn scars on her legs and sighed. “It is a shame,” she said, rubbing her hand over the uneven skin. “They were quite lovely, I would have you know.”

“I can restore the skin with Trysmagic,” he said. “You will have your legs back. I will . . . I will need to see them to do the work required.”

She smiled teasingly. “Who is being forward now?”

After a day of resting and hiding, Gen decided they should risk leaving, as much as for the frustration they both felt over their confinement as the need to keep his relationship with Mirelle from barreling headlong into the inappropriate. She clearly found it difficult to bridle her affections. Mirelle was ever intoxicating, and she sorely tested his control with her copious affection.

Thankfully, the patrols had died down and the city had returned to its natural hum and flow, and he judged it was time to move. By way of disguise, Gen conjured up some drab, dirty peasant attire, and he used Duammagic to lengthen his beard and his hair until he appeared almost wild. Gen stared over at Mirelle, who had just finished laughing at his disguise.

“The clothes might say peasant woman,” Gen said, stroking his beard, “but you still look like a beautiful noblewoman wearing a costume. Isn’t there something you can do to look more ignorant and unattractive?”

“Now that is a rare request,” she said. “I’ll let you give me a bad haircut, and we can smear some filth on my face. Maybe you can expand the dress, and we can stuff something in it to make me look pregnant. Then we can pretend you’re some wild beast of a man who just travels into town to father children. Like Chertanne.”

“Sounds awful, but it might work,” he said.

“Just promise me that you can use your magic to put me back to normal before we see anyone I know. Do you need to check my body anywhere else for burn scars before we go?”

“You’ve got to stop. . .”

“I’m serious!”

“No. If you find any more, then you can let me know.”

“I’m sorry, Gen,” she said, eyes that had been playful for the last day finally turning melancholy. “I am such a wretched contradiction of emotions that I think I might just tear myself in half. When we leave, it will be time to get to work, and that will help.”

“I understand, and I want you to know. . .”

“But,” she interrupted, stepping close, “a man who saves an aristocrat’s life must be rewarded.”

“There is no need,” he replied, smiling at the memory of their conversation after the attempt on her life on the streets of Mikmir.

“Yes there is,” she replied. And then she kissed him deeply with tender emotion and sincere love. Gen could feel his knees buckling.

“There,” she said, putting her hand on his cheek. “Something to remember me by.”

Gen swallowed. “Mirelle. . .”

“Come on, Gen,” she ordered. “You’ve cooped me up long enough. I want to see my daughter as soon as I can. We need to have you sitting on the throne of Mikmir with my daughter by your side as soon as we can arrange it.”

“The people won’t accept me!”

“No, but they will accept the return of Aldradan Mikmir.”

“You can’t be serious!”

She smiled one of the devious, plotting smiles that he loved. “I am. Mikkik likes a good ruse, and so do I. We’ve a long way to go. Hear me out. You might like this little plot of mine.”

“She isn’t in town,” Gen informed Mirelle once they arrived in Embriss on horses Gen had paid for with conjured money. “She’s just north of here a couple of miles. We’re almost there.”

Dusk had fallen on the dirty, noisy town packed with pilgrims. Gen thought the chaos was worse than when he and Cadaen had traveled through just days before. He figured that every merchant from any town within reasonable distance had come to take advantage of the mob, and the overworked Eldephaere had lost the war against the drunken rowdy.

Gen and Mirelle’s path led out of the city and toward the manor house of Regent Feldebrinne, who lived down a country lane walled by trees. Even here, many of the pilgrims waiting for their chance to pass through the Portal had set up crude camps among the tree boles, small fires weaving their smoke through the forest and across the lane.

“This is a mess,” Mirelle commented. “I wonder that Feldebrinne has let it spiral so far out of control.”

“The Church appears to be in control—or not in control,” Gen observed. “Since this is the closest Portal to Echo Hold, I’m guessing Athan wanted a stranglehold on it. I haven’t seen any soldiers dressed in the colors of the Regent.”

“We’ll need to change that,” Mirelle said. “I’ve been wondering who has been in charge since Eldaloth’s supposed return. I hunger for news. My mind needs something to work on besides you. Can you put me back to normal now, please? I miss my hair.”

“I thought the Chalaine might enjoy seeing how well I cut hair with a knife,” he said.

“And I might enjoy giving you another kiss you can’t forget,” she returned.

“You win.”

“I really haven’t.”

The pilgrims lining the road thinned as they proceeded farther along the curved, forested road. The lighted windows of the manor house perched on a low hill winked in and out between the trees as they dismounted and walked the horses to rest them. A cool breeze in the twilight brought relief from a hot day of hard travel that had exhausted both them and the animals. Once they were sure that there were no prying eyes, Gen restored Mirelle’s long hair and used Trysmagic to create a more regal riding dress that befitted her station. He changed himself back to Amos, complete with his wide brimmed hat.

“I hate that hat,” Mirelle commented.

“So does the Chalaine,” Gen replied, “but it is necessary.”

“Not for long.”

The call of the Silver Loon greeted them, and Gen stopped. “Maewen is here. Let’s tie the horses and find her.”

“How do you know that?” Mirelle asked.

“The bird trill we just heard. That bird does not frequent this area of Ki’Hal. It’s a signal we’ve used before.”

They secured the horses to a tree branch and walked into the dimming woods. Unlike the Black Forest, the woods around Embriss were cleared of fallen branches and brush, and instead of densely packed pines, majestic oaks and maples rose into the air. Maewen stood on the stump of a recently sawed tree, leaning on her longbow and regarding them both with pleasure.

“Well met,” she said. “I feared to tell the Chalaine that Gen neared until I was sure he had you with him, Mirelle. But I see it was not without trouble. Cadaen has fallen, then?”

“Yes,” Mirelle confirmed.

“I feel for you,” Maewen said, placing her hand on Mirelle’s arm. “But I rejoice that you have come. You and Gen are needed, and the time is short. Gen, I do not think you can maintain your disguise. Events of a serious nature have occurred in your absence, and your knowledge and power are needed now.”

“Gen and I have a scheme ready,” Mirelle said, “but tell us what has happened.”

The more Maewen talked, the more alarmed Gen became. Ethris was dead. Mikkik had bled the Chalaine and created a weapon of immense power, and the dark god only needed to dupe someone not of his creation to walk into Elde Luri Mora and use it. Time was, indeed, short.

“To add to our difficulties,” Maewen continued, “the Church has spies and soldiers all over. They are well aware that the Chalaine is visiting with Regent Feldebrinne and are probably aware of why. I’ve killed two spies who came onto the Regent’s land, which I doubt will foster good will. Falael returned yesterday from scouting to Mikmir. Mikkik has set a Padra on each of the thrones of the three nations, and each stronghold is held by a sizable force. Mikmir is no exception.”

Mirelle shook her head. “Mikkik has run this little ploy of his expertly. This is dire news.”

“It gets worse,” Maewen continued. “Lord Kildan returned to his homeland and was immediately arrested by the Eldephaere and killed as a traitor.”

“No!” Gen and Mirelle said in unison.

“His sons found out about three hours ago and are eager for some kind of revenge. But the most intriguing news to come this evening was of your escape and an invitation from Eldaloth, well, Mikkik. He has invited anyone who formerly claimed right of leadership or nobility in any of the nations to join him on a Procession of Glory led by the new Pontiff, Athan.”

“Procession of Glory?” Mirelle asked. “Sounds overly dramatic and pretentious. What is it?”

She reached into her pouch and pulled out a piece of parchment. “Read it for yourself.”

To the Esteemed Lord Feldebrinne,

To celebrate the healing of Eldaloth from the wound cruelly inflicted upon him by the Ilch, you, in view of your past service to the prophecy, are invited to join a Procession of Glory. Eldaloth and Pontiff Athan will lead to Elde Luri Mora those whose leadership during the hard months before the rebirth proved critical in defeating Mikkik and his allies.

With his power fully restored, Eldaloth will march to Elde Luri Mora and restore Ki’Hal to a wholeness that has not been since Mikkik struck him down. You are privileged to be called up to join the company to witness these events firsthand and join in a celebration the likes of which you will never forget.

All those wishing to join this Procession of Glory to see Ki’Hal restored should report to Echo Hold on the Seventh Day following the next. Food and provisions will be provided for you, but you should provide your own horses and raiment. May Eldaloth continue to bless us with his glorious return.

“This is outrageous!” Mirelle said. “The Regents and nobles and Warlords cannot be stupid enough to fall for this! He’ll kill them all, and the world will be leaderless!” Mirelle exclaimed.

“Mirelle,” Gen said gently, “remember that you have seen nothing but hardship since the fraudulent return. You have spoken with Mikkik himself and nearly been killed. Most of the people have been rejoicing and feasting for days. This is just more good news to fuel their celebration. We need a way to awaken them. I’m not sure our little plan will be enough.”

“What is it that you propose?” Maewen asked.

“The return of Aldradan Mikmir,” Mirelle said.

“He’s dead, Mirelle,” Maewen replied, face skeptical. “I buried him.”

“That is true, but if Mikkik can assume someone else’s identity to lead people around like sheep, then we can do the same. The legend of Aldradan Mikmir runs through all the peoples of Ki’Hal. He was a warrior, he was a Magician, and he came at a time of dire need.” Mirelle pointed a finger at Gen. “Sound familiar?”

Maewen’s eyebrows raised, and a smile slowly formed on her lips. “That is the most ridiculous and wonderful thing I have heard in a long while. But there isn’t a lot of time. Even with Gen’s power, he just can’t cleanse Mikmir of Eldephaere and Church soldiers by himself. Even the company of soldiers we have brought out of Blackshire would be insufficient. We have six days before this Procession of Glory moves out of Echo Hold. In four days’ march they can be on the shores of Elde Luri Mora.”

“It begins here,” Gen said. “Tomorrow, Aldradan Mikmir will come to Embriss and speak of Mikkik’s treachery to all the pilgrims lining up for Echo Hold. They will carry the story to Tenswater. Using the Portals we can get fast riders to send the word to all of Rhugoth and most of Ki’Hal within two days and tell them to bring soldiers to Mikmir. It will be war from the start. The Church will block the use of the Portals as soon as they find out, but we hope to make it difficult for them.”

“How?” Maewen asked.

Mirelle grinned. “By announcing an irresistible wedding and inviting everyone in Ki’Hal to attend.”

“And whose wedding will that be?”

“Aldradan Mikmir and my daughter. She has taken the name Alumira, then?”

“Yes,” Maewen answered.

“We have to get her consent, of course,” Gen said. “I won’t have her marry against her will again.”

“I think gaining the Chalaine’s consent will be the easiest part of this plan of yours,” Maewen said. “Dason’s been quite forward with his intentions concerning her. This will be a cruel blow to him.”

“He’ll recover,” Mirelle said. “But we do need to talk to my daughter about all of this before tomorrow.”

“Come within the outer walls of the manor,” Maewen said. “There are too many threats that lurk out here in the dark. There is one complication; Mirelle, you are a fugitive. Few know it as yet, but Regent Feldebrinne is still divided about what Lady Alumira has told him. If he sways in another direction, he could try to detain her.”

“Try would be all he would do before Gen leveled his manor,” Mirelle answered confidently. “Part of our ruse is that Aldradan Mikmir rescued me from Echo Hold. I think my presence will only sway the Regent to our side.”

Maewen nodded. “The manor is surrounded by pleasant little wilderness. On the northern side there is a low hill with a pavilion. I will bring her there. Gerand is on duty, but don’t be surprised if Dason comes looking for her when she wanders away. He is more like her pet than a Protector.”

Together they walked back to the road, and Gen offered Mirelle his arm as they traveled the short distance to the manor gate. A wall of mortared stones two times as high as a man surrounded the entire estate, encompassing several outbuildings and the forest for a mile in every direction. The soldiers of the Regent still held power on the Regent’s property, and the swelling numbers of strangers in the town had required a similar increase of soldiers to patrol the Regent’s lands.

Two lanterns hung from the walls by the arched entry, four soldiers standing at the ready by the closed gate. Maewen approached first.

“These are two more members of Lady Alumira’s party,” Maewen explained. “I have been waiting for them. We are ready to enter.”

“Who are they?” one of the guards asked.

“This is Amos and the Lady Alumira’s mother, the former First Mother of Rhugoth.”

Mirelle flashed them a smile, and the soldiers looked on in astonishment.

“We heard you were burned as a traitor and then that you escaped!”

“I was rescued,” she replied, “by someone greater than us all. You will know more soon. Thank you for your watchful diligence. May we enter, please?”

The power of her pleasant, feminine beauty unlocked the gate and they passed through, the road inside the wall paved in cobble. They passed low barracks ensconced in trees where soldiers were quartered. Other buildings waited down wide forest tracks, lanterns casting lights among the trees. The road led steadily upward, night birds favoring them with their song. As they cleared a bend, they could make out the steeply sloped gables of the manor above the trees. Gen could sense the Chalaine there, and his heart rejoiced to see her again.

“Take the side path here northward,” Maewen instructed them. “Follow it until you reach the pavilion. I will come with the Chalaine as soon as I can.”

Maewen continued on toward the house while Gen led Mirelle down the dark path between the trees. She leaned into him, and an odd sorrow rose within him. He stopped and faced her, and she regarded him questioningly. He took her hands.

“Mirelle,” he said, “I need you to know something before we rush headlong into the whirlwind of trouble you and I have concocted together. You have been so kind and generous and loving to me that I could never repay you everything I owe you. You have cared for me, defended me, and rewarded me with every good thing you could. How you knew me well enough to know that I would love to spend my days in Blackshire, I can only guess. That you are willing to give me your best gift, your beloved daughter, stirs me with feelings I cannot give words to.