The Rival (68 page)

Scavenger shook his head.  "He might be dead.  Your most recent Vision showed that much. But the other Visions you described show him alive.  And he's survived serious wounds before.  He's not a man to underestimate."

"What if he is dead?" Gift said.  He wrapped his arms around his chest.

"Then we return you to Jahn as soon as we get the news."

"And if he isn't?"

"We hide you until we make you his equal."

Gift turned and looked down. The Cap was staring into the valley as well, as if it gave him answers.  "Do you think I can be?"

"There's a chance.  You have his blood.  You come from good stock.  And they say he's here to find you.  So he must have believed you could."

"A chance," Gift repeated.  "That doesn't sound real positive."

"I've done the impossible before," Scavenger said.  "No reason why I can't do it again."

He raised his gaze to Gift's face. Scavenger's eyes were dark and unreadable.  Gift felt the scrutiny in them, and the concern.  The problem was that Gift didn't want to be head of the Fey Empire.  He didn't want to be his great-grandfather's equal.  It meant making choices like the one Coulter made in the field. 

Choices Gift didn't have the stomach for.

Scavenger seemed to see the doubt.  He frowned, and waved a hand in dismissal. "Get your Enchanter friend on his feet.  We still have a lot to do and a long way to go."  Then he walked away.

Gift sighed.  His adoptive parents were gone. Sebastian was dead.  He didn't know the fate of his real father and sister.  And now he had to make choices about his own future. 

His heritage had always left him no choice.

It left him none now.

He was born to rule the Fey.

It was time he learned how.

EIGHTY-FIVE

They had been walking since they reached the foothills of the Eyes of Roca.  The countryside was rough here, full of rocks and broken terrain.  The greenery was lush, though, something Nicholas wouldn't have expected.  Pink flowers bloomed in the center of green leafy plants that Nicholas had never seen before.  The air was cooler than it had been in the city, and he suspected it would get colder as they went higher.

There was snow on the mountain peaks.

He had read about villages at the edge of the Eyes of Roca.  He would go there first, regroup, and think about his next plan.  He knew they only had one hope, and he wasn't certain how to achieve it. 

If the Black King was dead, Arianna had to take his place.  But Nicholas had to wait until the Black King's troops had calmed down.  He didn't want Arianna to die in some crazed revenge plot.

She was walking beside Nicholas.  She wore a man's breeches and a coat too long for her.  Her face was gaunt.  All that Shifting, two days hard gallop, and the last day's walk had exhausted her.  She had Shifted one more time, from horse to dog, and had stolen the clothes.

She had also taken some for him.  A blousy shirt that tied at the wrists, tight breeches, and a cloak that he carried over his arm.  He didn't have the heart to tell her this was the same sort of outfit he had been wearing when he met her mother.  Besides, he needed the clothes.

Nicholas had destroyed his blood-covered robe.  He didn't want anyone to find it.

Their plan, once they reached the next village, was simple.  Arianna would Shift again.  She said she could look like one of the grooms (Nicholas hadn't asked why she had learned that), and they would go in as two men, looking for lodging and work.  They would eat, rest, and wait for news.  And while they did, Nicholas would make a plan to either regain his own throne, or give Arianna her place among the Fey.

Both made him uneasy.  There was a large part of him that wanted simply to disappear among these foothills, to become a nobody.  The Eyes of Roca were the most inaccessible part of Blue Isle.  Between the Cliffs of Blood and the Slides of Death, there was the Cardidas and little else.  The eastern part of Blue Isle was the emptiest part, and the most mysterious.

But hiding wasn't fair to his daughter, and it certainly wasn't fair to his people.

They needed him now more than ever.

Arianna had said little as they traveled, and when she had spoken, it had been of Sebastian.  Nicholas recognized those hollow stages of the first deep grief.  He was grieving too, but it lacked the intensity he had felt when Jewel died.  The boy had chosen his own end, and he had chosen well.

But oh, Nicholas would miss him.  He would miss Sebastian's sweet smile and his halting voice.  He would miss Sebastian's gentleness and his unusual wisdom.  And he would miss the times they spent together as father and son.

But Nicholas had Arianna.  He had to think of her now.

"Daddy," she said.  She grabbed his sleeve.  "There's someone ahead.  Should I Shift?"

Nicholas squinted.  There was someone walking toward them.  The person was still too far away to make out. 

"No," he said as he handed her the cloak.  "Just hide yourself well."

He worried about her Shifting too much, particularly in her exhausted state.  Solanda had once warned him that too much Shifting could lead to accidents like those Shifter children had.  Nicholas remembered those days too well, the days when Arianna got stuck between shapes or Shifted to shapes that did not hold.  He didn't have magick.  He couldn't help her get out of it.

They had met a few other travelers on this road before.  The cloak had hidden her enough to get by.

She put the cloak on, pulled its hood up, and bowed her head.  Nicholas slipped his hand through her arm, so that the passing traveler could draw his own conclusions. 

But the closer they got, the more uncomfortable Nicholas grew.  He recognized the stride as belonging to someone familiar.  The approaching traveler also wore a robe, and was taller than most Islanders. 

Then Nicholas's mouth went dry.  The hair, rising around the traveler's head like a nimbus, was white.

The Shaman.

Nicholas couldn't hide from her.  And it was her duty to report to the Fey.

She stopped as though she had known that he recognized her.  He kept walking, unwilling as yet to tell Arianna that the flight had been for nothing.  When he reached the Shaman, he dipped his head once in acknowledgment.  This woman had helped him whenever she could, but she had always placed her Feyness first. 

As he would have done in her place.

She seemed thinner than she had before, and somehow younger.  Color touched her cheeks, and her nut-brown eyes sparkled with warmth and intelligence.

"I've been waiting a long time for you," she said, and brushed her hand along his cheek. 

"I thought you said we wouldn't see each other again."

She smiled.  Her eyes were clear.  No Doppelgänger had found her and killed her.  It was the Shaman.

"You changed the future.  It is unclear now."

He wondered at that, wasn't sure he wanted to know exactly what he had done. 

He would ask later.

"Arianna," he said.  "You don't have to hide."

She brought the hood of her cloak down.  Her mouth worked when she saw the Shaman, but no sound came out.  Then, unexpectedly, she burst into tears.

Nicholas folded her in his arms, and pressed her face against his shoulder.  She was sobbing so hard that she shook.  She had never cried like this before.  In fact, she rarely cried.  And she hadn't cried at all since Sebastian's death.

"What happens now?" Nicholas asked, his chin resting against his daughter's hair.  She was shuddering in his arms.

"You come with me," the Shaman said.  She was smiling.

Nicholas stroked his daughter's hair, and pulled her close.  "We can't do that," he said.  "I killed the Black King."

The Shaman's smile faded.  "Would that you had, my son," she said.  "Our lives would be so much easier.  But he lives.  And because he lives, you need protection."

"You're not going to take us to him?"

The Shaman shook her head.  "Why should I?" she said.  "To him, I am a Failure.  He would kill me, then you, and make your daughter into a creature neither of us would recognize.  No, Nicholas.  I have come to help you."

He smoothed Arianna's hair away from her face, and then detached her from him.  Her skin was blotchy, her eyes red. 

"She lies," Arianna whispered.

Nicholas shook his head.  "She never has before.  She wouldn't take your life, Ari.  She's the one who gave it to you."

"No," the Shaman said.  "I merely followed my Vision and my heart.  And now you both must do the same.  We have a hundred futures ahead of us.  We must choose the right one."

Arianna wiped her face with the back of her hand.  "All those Visions?  They mean we have choices?"

"A lot of choices," the Shaman said.  "Your father did that for us by fighting back, by not going willingly into the Fey Empire."

"Why are you against the Black King?" Arianna asked.

"I am not against the Black King," the Shaman said.  "I am for you, and your brother, and a future that brings us peace."

"Do you think we can do that?" Nicholas asked.  "We didn't manage it before."

"There is power in Blue Isle," the Shaman said.  "We must learn to tap it."

"How?" Nicholas said. "We don't have much time."

"On the contrary, young Nicholas.  We have to take the time.  The Black King will make no moves until he has his great-grandchildren.  We must make certain he will not find them.  And then we will look for ways to defeat him."

"I don't know where Gift is," Nicholas said.

"I do," the Shaman said.  "He is safe for now.  Rugad will not take him.  We have time."

"Time for what?" Arianna asked. 

"Time to find the future that will change the Fey, child."  The Shaman held out her hand.  "Come with me.  We will find that future together."

Nicholas looked at his daughter.  He trusted the Shaman.  He knew that she would do what she considered best.  But Arianna was the unpredictable one, and she was the one they all needed.

Her gaze met her father's.  Exhaustion and sadness poured out of her.  She had no fight left.  She needed the rest even more than he did. 

Slowly she extended her hand until she took the Shaman's.  The Shaman smiled.  Then she extended her other hand to Nicholas.  He took it.  Her skin was tough as tanned leather, her fingers warm.

She had been beside him whenever he needed her, ever since he married Jewel.  Someday he would find out why.

But for now he was willing to put his future and his daughter's in the Shaman's hands.  She Saw everything clearly.  She would guide them in the right direction.

For the first time in days, he felt hope.

EIGHTY-SIX

Rugad leaned against a pile of pillows in the largest bedroom in the palace.  He was told that it had been the King's  —  not Nicholas's, but his father's.  The room overlooked a large garden, and had bubbled glass built into the shutters.  He was grateful for the ability to block the air from outside.

The entire city still smelled of smoke.

It had taken two days for the troops to put out the fires.  According to Wisdom's most recent reports, half the city was gone.  The Tabernacle was a shell, contents burned or destroyed.  Wisdom said there were no reports of survivors.

Rugad needed to see for himself.  He cursed the wound that left him imprisoned in this bed.  If his guards hadn't thought quickly and left the sword in place, he would have died from blood loss.

One Vision had come true.

He remembered, vividly, wondering how long it would take for Nicholas to chop off his head.

Rugad had never expected the attack.  He cursed himself for that too, albeit silently.  The wound had penetrated his voice box.  The Healers promised that he would regain his powers of speech, but not soon. They were consulting with the Warders for a spell to repair the damage.  Until then, he had to write his orders or use hand signals.

His loss of speech was demeaning and frustrating.  The weakness was even more so.  He couldn't get out of bed.  His legs wouldn't support him.

The Healers said that a person of any age could have died from that wound.  A person of his age should have.  Only his stubbornness kept him alive.

His stubbornness and his concern.

He didn't have a successor yet.

His capture of the Isle meant nothing without that.

Blue Isle was a small oasis in the middle of a vast sea.  He had known for decades that he could conquer this place.  His son, Rugar, had never had his intelligence or his ability.  His losses here meant nothing in Rugad's quest for success.

But Rugad hadn't come here just to conquer the Isle.  He had conquered much bigger places, and would do so again.

He had come here for Jewel's children, and so far, he had neither of them.  The girl was promising.  Her fire and spirit were reminiscent of her mother.  Her ruthlessness, though, reminded Rugad of himself.  She must have gotten some of her courage from her father.

Rugad touched his neck.  The man's attack had been swift and elegant.  No other ruler, in all of Rugad's experience, had ever attempted an attack on him.  No other ruler would have dared. Rugad suspected that young Nicholas had been more than a match for Jewel, a match reflected in their children.

He had no idea where his great-grandson was.

And even more worrisome, the Golem, whom Rugad had thought destroyed, reassembled himself with the help of one of the religious.  The guard who had witnessed it all through the listening booth had gotten out too late to prevent their escape.

Rugad might physically own the Isle itself, but he did not own its heart.  He wouldn't until the King was captured  —  and very publicly put to death.

A knock on the door made him sigh in frustration.  He couldn't call come in or tell someone to stay out.  He wished they would stop knocking.  It didn't prevent them from entering anyway.

And, true to Rugad's expectation, Wisdom entered without waiting for a response.  He grabbed a chair, pulled it in front of the bed, and swung a leg over the seat.  He had been Rugad's voice during these last few days, something which made Rugad uneasy.  He would have to triple check everything once he was on his feet again.