The Crown of Stones: Magic-Price (26 page)

Except, as we slept in and dried out, the people of Rella were dying.

Scrambling up the steep bank, I reached the top where our horses were tied, lazily eating their fill for the first time in days. Still, it wouldn’t take long to get them going. They were used to the routine, as was Jarryd. Up since dawn, he’d cooked breakfast, broken down the camp, and packed.

Malaq didn’t share Jarryd’s urgency. Perched on a fallen tree, with bare feet and a bare chest, he was scraping several days’ growth off his face while attempting to carve out a goatee. Apparently, the way he was holding a much too small mirror between his teeth and a much too large knife in his hand, shaving wasn’t one of Malaq’s many skills.

“Since you’re about to cut your damn throat,” I said lightly, “I’m going to take a wild guess and say someone did this for you back home.”

Malaq lifted the blade from his skin. He removed the mirror from his mouth and sighed wistfully, “Myra. And let me tell you, that girl looked fantastic in bubbles. I wonder if she would consider moving to Langor.”

Walking between us, Jarryd threw in a curt, “Not if she’s sane,” and kept going. Reaching his horse, he picked up his saddle and settled it on the animal’s back. “We’re up pretty high. I’m going to see if I can catch sight of Kael’s troops.”

“You’ll need a spyglass,” I told him.

“I borrowed Malaq’s.”

“Help yourself,” Malaq replied dryly. Pausing in his work, he looked at me sideways. “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen you regale us with your shaving prowess once since we left Kael, Troy. Don’t tell me you have a spell for grooming.”

“No,” I chuckled. “No spell,
Nef’areen
. Shinree just don’t sprout beards as quickly as the rest of you.”

“Lucky bastard. We Langorians are a decidedly hairy lot. I suppose though,” he said, regretfully, “I’ll have to let it grow some once I reach Langor.”

“Might help you blend in.”

“Blend in?” he scoffed. “It’ll keep my face from freezing off. Do you have any idea how bitterly cold those mountains can be?”

“You need to eat more,” Jarryd offered.

Malaq blinked at him. “Excuse me?”

“Add a few dozen rolls to your gut, you’ll blend
and
you won’t feel the cold.”

“I won’t see my feet either,” Malaq argued. “And what’s the point of having custom made boots if I can’t see them?”

“You got me there,” Jarryd laughed. He looked at Malaq over the back of his horse and ran a finger along his own stubbly chin. “Missed a spot.”

Frowning, Malaq went back to inspecting his face in the glass. Jarryd went back to readying his horse and his light expression gave way to a familiar look of intensity. The way he moved, with purpose and focus holding his face tight and making the red, puckered skin of his scar stand out, told me that his mind was already there. It was at the cliff’s edge, staring down over a sprawl of Kaelish colors, trying to calculate how long before they reach Rella’s shores.

I wasn’t sure if it was Neela Arcana, a sense of duty, or simply that he’d lived in that one place all his life, but every delay ate at him. For Jarryd, being away from home was like having a piece missing from him. Kabri wasn’t like that for me. No place was, and I envied him.

“Go then,” I said.

Jarryd looked skeptical. “Really? That’s it? No dire warnings? No lectures?” He swung up into the saddle. “No list of reasons why I shouldn’t ride off alone?”

“Told you not to nursemaid him,” Malaq muttered under his breath.

“Don’t be long though,” I warned Jarryd. “We leave soon.”

He gestured at Malaq. “You better tell him that.” Urging his mount up the slight incline to the trail, Jarryd rode off and I had to squash the impulse to go after him.

“Restless, isn’t he?” Malaq said behind me.

I glanced at him. “Finish up. We need to get going.”

“It’s a shame. What he’s setting himself up for. But I guess it’s to be expected. Jarryd is Kabrinian, after all. They’ve lived on hope so long it’s in their veins.”

I didn’t reply. I wasn’t interested in listening to Malaq talk around a subject. Walking past him, I went over to Kya, shook out her blanket, and draped it over her.

“If Kane finds Kael’s troops dead,” Malaq went on, “or in the hands of our friend Krillos, he isn’t going to let a thing like that go.” Tugging a cloth out of his pack, he wiped his blade and mirror clean. “He isn’t going to listen to reason either.” Putting everything away, he looked at me. “So what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.” I picked up my saddle and hoisted it onto Kya’s back. “Knock Jarryd senseless and drag him to Kabri?”

Malaq hesitated. “That wasn’t the answer I expected.”

“You want me to go after Krillos? Sorry. I’m not backtracking days out of our way to rescue some old, Kaelish general that wandered too far from home.”

“Fair enough. How about then, just for argument’s sake, Kael’s soldiers actually reach Rella alive. What happens then?” Tugging a dark green tunic from his pack, Malaq smoothed out the wrinkles and pulled it on over his head. “Even if something remains of Neela’s army, they’ll be outnumbered and overwhelmed. Considering Draken has a Shinree and…well,” he paused to flatten down his hair, “the Kaelish aren’t exactly known for their bravery in battle. But if you joined the fight and helped them…”

“Magic has no place in war.”

“That sounds like Aylagar talking.”

“Maybe. But I’m not fighting in anyone’s army. Not again. I don’t want to be made out to be a champion, or a hero. I couldn’t live up to those names last time and I certainly can’t now. But if I take back the crown maybe that will be enough to cause Draken to retreat. If not, then at least the field will be level.”

“So then what, the two sides can go about killing each other like old times?”

“I don’t need to wear a uniform to defend Rella.”

“No, you need a reason.” His stare had weight to it. “When we first met, I wasn’t sure you had one. But, you do now. In fact, I’m starting to think you’ve had one all along.”

“I’m too tired for games, Malaq. But if you’re looking for my source of inspiration…there’s only one.”

“The spell. Right. Sorry,” he sighed. “I don’t believe you.”

I eyed him as I tightened the girth. “You don’t believe me?”

“Oh, I’m not saying that whatever spell was put on you to fight for the Arcanas didn’t serve as proper motivation. Or that King Raynan didn’t set out wanting you to be some rabid, mindless cur he could sick on his enemies. But we both know you’re not that. You care about what happens to those people, Ian. You put yourself on the line for them ten years ago, and you’re doing it now. I’ve seen the way you are with Jarryd. I watched you take a beating in Kael when you could have cast to save yourself long before that. Defending a place, preserving a belief or a way of life—maybe you are compelled to do those things. But fighting
for
it…that’s something altogether different, my friend.”

Malaq fell quiet. I didn’t care for his uninvited appraisal of my life. But I was still trying to decide if he was right when he threw something else at me.

“What happened to that set of swords you used to carry?”

“I’ve had lots of swords.”

“They were spelled, I believe.”

Tying a bag onto my saddle, I paused to look up. “You weren’t in exile all these years, were you, Malaq? You know too much to have spent your life trawling for fish.”

“Of course I was in exile. Officially though, I was only exiled from Kael’s city.”

“Ever been to Langor?” I said, going back to tying.

“Not yet. I hear it’s quite cold.”

“What about Kabri?”

“Once or twice. They weren’t exactly official visits though.”

I nodded. “I see riding next to Jarryd has taught you to loosen your lips.”

“And I see you tried to change the subject.”

“Actually,” I finished my last knot and looked up, “I ended it.”

“Damn you, Troy, I know Raynan Arcana formally presented you with a collection of Shinree weapons the morning you left to join Aylagar’s forces.”

“He did. It was quite a ceremony actually. The way he talked me up, praising the results of my training, I thought myself invincible. I was sure I’d be back inside of a year with Langor’s signed surrender in my hand.” Memory darkened my tone. “But that was a private ceremony, Malaq. My tutors, his councilors, a few visiting lords. Can’t imagine how you could have learned of it.” I gave him a hard stare. “Just how many times did you go to Kabri?”

“Never mind that,” he brushed me off. “If you have special swords to protect you, why aren’t you carrying them?”

“Because they aren’t special. I could press stones into the handle of any weapon and it would work just as well. Besides,” I thought back to the day I sat my swords down in favor of the Crown of Stones. “Those blades have seen enough blood already.”

“Understood,” he conceded. “But we’re nearly halfway to Rella and you haven’t uttered a word about how you plan on actually getting your hands on the crown.”

“I thought you said men like me don’t work off plans?”

“I
may
have overstated that a bit.”

I threw him a brief grin. “I need to make Draken’s magic user vulnerable. Give him a target. Something to attack until his magic runs out. When he’s defenseless, I can kill him.”

“What’s the target?”

“Me.”

“Great. Now how about a plan that doesn’t involve you dying?” I said nothing and he moved closer. “Ian, you took out two armies with the Crown of Stones. How are you going to withstand that kind of power if he turns it on you? For that matter, what’s preventing him from unleashing it on you right now?”

“Nothing.”

“So then nothing is preventing him from crushing Kael’s troops, either. I mean, why wait until they start advancing on Kabri’s city wall? Why not wipe them out before they ever reach Rella?”

“Because two Kaelish contingents, a handful of injured Rellan soldiers and a few farmers armed with shovels, is a waste of the crown’s power. All the man
has to do is magically enhance Langor’s weapons and shielding, increase their soldier’s strength and aim, and then let sheer numbers do the rest.”

“And you’re sure of this because…?”

“Because it’s what I would do.”

Nodding thoughtfully, Malaq rubbed his newly carved goatee like it itched. “Even so, there’s no way Draken is going to let you reach Kabri alive.”

“Draken won’t kill me. Not yet.”

Malaq gave me a look. “You can’t be serious.”

“I know, it sounds crazy.”

“Crazy? Not all. Considering, a few nights ago, my brother asked me to—what was it he said? Kill the witch in his sleep?”

“Don’t ask me to explain.”

“Sorry, my friend. But I’m asking.”

“I can’t,” I said. Because no matter how hard it was getting to hide the effects of the dreams, telling him meant admitting that I was losing control. It meant confessing that I was relying on words from a nightmare. That reality and fantasy were blending so much that when Draken insisted over and over in my sleep that he had taken a vow not to kill me, I believed him.

And I could barely stand the way Malaq was looking at me now.

“I just need you to trust me on this,” I said.

“Trust you?” He smiled slightly. “All right. We all have secrets. But if I let this go, I need the same trust from you in return. I need you to leave Draken to me.”

Avoiding his stare, I reached for Kya’s bridle. I pulled it over her head, stalling, searching for a level head, a morsel of restraint; a way to give him what he wanted. It wasn’t that long ago that I’d argued with Jarryd in favor of Malaq’s plan. But since then, the dreams had altered my viewpoint. So drastically, I couldn’t imagine giving up the chance to kill the murderous bastard with my bare hands.

“No, I want Draken dead,” I said. “Not in two months, or six, or a year. I want him dead now, Malaq. Dead in a way that you can’t possibly understand. The things he’s done…the things I’ve watched him do.” My teeth clenched as I recalled the methodical way Draken cut the dress from her body. The slow, meticulous way he carved her skin. “You wouldn’t ask me this if you knew—”

The light shifted. Shadows fell.

She crawled toward me on the ground, hand outstretched, tears streaming through the cuts on her face.

I reached for her and shackles locked about my wrists.

A whip sliced through the skin on my back.

I stumbled into Kya. My throat was parched from days without water. I could feel the blood soaking through my shirt, the wrenching pain in my arms from being left to hang for hours on end.

Closing my eyes, channeling the rage into my fists, I willed the illusion away.

When I opened my eyes again, Malaq was standing on the other side of Kya, gaping at me. I didn’t know what to say.

Until I realized he wasn’t looking at me.

Head tilted back, Malaq was staring with a furrowed brow at the thick covering of foliage above my head. “Malaq…?” I said.

“I don’t want to alarm you, but…” his focus narrowed. He drew his sword.

Giving Kya a slap on the rump, I pulled my weapons and turned. I was prepared to swing, but there was nothing to swing at. “Malaq,” I said again, angry this time.

“Higher.” He put his blade under one of mine and aimed it upward at a cluster of dark, billowing clouds. “Before you say anything, just watch.”

For a full minute, nothing happened. Then, impossibly fast, the clouds dropped until they were touching the treetops.

They lifted, dropped, and lifted again.

The third time, they settled and started expanding.

Swelling and puffing, like smoke bullied by an angry wind, the dense, dark vapor stretched—as if being pulled. Fanning out, increasing in size and density, the odd, indistinct material was spreading rapidly across the web of branches overhead of our position. Obscuring the vegetation as it traveled, shrouding the canopies and mushrooming out over the empty air, it dipped swiftly, diving like a swarm of insects to blot out the lower limbs and obscure the underbrush.

Gliding farther downward, then out across the ground, the cloud-like darkness flowed smoothly over the grass, like a flood of black water. It rushed in from all sides.