A Deliverer Comes (The Kinsman Chronicles): Part 8

grandson

Hinck

Hinck sat at the desk in his cabin aboard the newly repaired Greenore, carving a new bow and wondering if he could really commit murder.

Truth be told, he’d rather not kill anyone, certainly not a woman, and especially not a woman as vengeful as Rosârah Laviel. If he should fail, the scars on his face would be mere scratches compared to how she would torture him.

Master Nesos had finished the repairs on the ship three days ago. At Rosârah Laviel’s command, they had set sail for Armania the next morning. If Hinck hadn’t lived through it, he would have thought packing up an entire village in one day impossible. His back ached from his short stint at slave labor. Hunching over his carving was no way to loosen stiff muscles either.

His old bow worked fine, but he needed an occupation now that Nellie was gone. In all his hours on the practice range, giving poor instructions to the compelled Puru archers, his own skill had improved a great deal. He could do this. If he could restrain Sârah Jemesha and Eudora so that neither could heal the rosârah.

May I come in? a woman asked.

Hinck jumped at the sound of Eudora’s voice. She was standing just inside the doorway; he hadn’t even heard it open. You already have, he said.

She closed the door and leaned against it. I don’t want to marry you.

Hinck almost laughed. Then tell Rosârah Laviel you refuse.

You know I can’t do that.

Hinck went back to his bow. Well then. Thanks for visiting. Come anytime.

Eudora walked to his side. We made a good team once.

Hinck set down the bow and pushed back from the desk. You used me to get revenge on Sâr Janek. For us to have been a team, you would have had to inform me of your plan in advance. Which you did not.

She folded her arms. I didn’t take you for the type to hold a grudge.

Hinck snatched up his bow and scraped off an uneven patch. I’m not holding a grudge, but that doesn’t mean I want to marry you.

So we are agreed. We both don’t want to marry the other.

Apparently not. He wished she’d say what she had come to say. He had no desire to invade her thoughts and suffer through that self-absorbed mind of hers.

She fingered the curls of shaved wood on the desktop. I never wanted to rule.

You told me this long ago, yet you married Rogedoth, so perhaps you don’t know yourself as well as you think you do.

You weren’t there. You didn’t see what he did. How they—her voice fell to a whisper—forced me.

Hinck smoothed out a lump in the wood.

I wed the Pontiff against my will, she voiced. Laviel compelled me to obey him.

Her sudden switch to mind-speak made Hinck look around for shadir. He saw none.

I don’t support this enterprise, she said. I expect you will deny it, but I don’t believe you support this either. I think you are loyal to House Hadar.

Was she trying to trap him? I proved otherwise by drinking the root juice.

I know you, Hinckdan. Your heart is pure. Nothing but duty and honor could possibly compel you to join King Barthel in this madness.

What do you want? he asked aloud.

To show you.

He lowered the bow to his lap and met her glistening amber eyes. Show me what?

She slid her fingers over his cheek and hooked them around the back of his neck. He shrugged his shoulder in an attempt to throw off her touch.

Please, she whispered. Close your eyes and unshield your mind.

Though he felt ridiculous, her odd behavior had piqued his interest. He lowered his shields and let his eyes fall shut.

Memories flooded his mind. Eudora and her parents entered Seacrest, found Laviel, Rogedoth, and Zithel Lau waiting in the small throne room. Laviel told Eudora she would marry Rogedoth. She and her parents protested. Tried to leave. A struggle ensued. Laviel used magic against them. General Agoros fell to the floor. Sârah Jemesha and Eudora raised their hands in defense, but before their magic could manifest, Laviel captured them in an invisible vise. Zithel Lau performed a wedding ceremony.

Her memories continued to zip through Hinck’s mind. A forced consummation to match the forced ceremony. Attempt after attempt to conceive a child. Eudora continually tried to use her magic to escape, but not only did the compulsion prevent it, her shadir abandoned her to serve Rogedoth’s great, leaving Eudora with no means to defend herself from the trap into which she’d fallen victim.

Eudora removed her hand, and the memories stopped.

Hinck opened his eyes, dumbfounded by the overwhelming compassion she had stirred within him. How did you do that? he managed to ask.

It’s part of my new magic. I learned it by accident.

Hinck hadn’t heard of anyone else doing such a thing. Why show me?

So you would believe me when I say I’m not one of Rogedoth’s minions. Nor is my mother or father. We are his prisoners.

So it seemed from what she had shown Hinck. I’m sorry, lady, he said, and found that the words were true. What you have suffered is reprehensible.

Tears welled in her eyes. Thank you for saying that. You are right that I took advantage of you once, Lord Dacre. I know now that such a thing is abominable, so I apologize and beg your forgiveness.

Hinck had never seen Lady Eudora Agoros so humbled. Words with any profound meaning failed, so he simply said, You have it, though what he’d experienced with Eudora and what she’d suffered at the hands of Barthel Rogedoth were in no way similar.

I had hoped you would forgive me. She smiled. And I wonder if you might find it in your wholesome heart to help a lady in distress.

Hinck’s suspicions rose. Help you do what?

Help us—help me and my parents kill Rosârah Laviel.

Hinck again looked for shadir, certain that Rosârah Laviel’s common, Iamos, might drift out from the wall at any moment and catch them talking treason. But they were alone.

Are you all insane? Despite what Eudora had shown him, he wasn’t quite ready to confess that his own premeditation of murder matched hers.

Mother says this is our only chance, Eudora said. We must act before Rosârah Laviel takes Castle Armanguard and compels herself a loyal army.

Her shadir is too powerful, Hinck said.

Surely your shadir is stronger, lord. It healed you from the root juice.

That was no shadir, lady. That was Arman.

Eudora’s face crumpled in confusion. A god healed you? How is that possible?

As I lay dying, the prophetess Onika voiced me. She told me to submit to Arman and he would vouch for me at the gates of Shamayim. I did, and he healed me.

She considered this. Then surely with the help of your god we can defeat Laviel.

I don’t know that Arman works that way, but I will voice Miss Onika to ask her advice.

Then might we make a plan?

Hinck thought it over. If Eudora could be trusted, and if she and her mother refused to heal Laviel once Hinck shot her down, his plan would have a much greater chance of success than it did at present. If Miss Onika thinks it wise, I will consider it, he said.

Oh, thank you, Lord Dacre! She kissed his cheek, and he stiffened, annoyed.

Eudora left, and Hinck went back to his bow, the adrenaline racing through him slowly subsiding as he worked. The thought of joining with Eudora on anything made him uneasy. Was this a trick to trap him once and for all as a traitor? Was there any way he could know?

But of course there was! He climbed into bed and shadowed Eudora’s mind, surprised to find her motivations sincere. He spent some time in Sârah Jemesha’s mind as well, then monitored General Agoros. While the sârah had ambitions of her own about putting her son Oli on the throne instead of Eudora, and the general saw himself as king, the threesome really did intend to kill Rosârah Laviel before they reached land.

Hinck could not overcome his astonishment. He voiced Trevn and told him all that had taken place. Trevn didn’t see how Eudora’s involvement changed anything and agreed that Hinck should ask Miss Onika’s advice. When Hinck voiced the prophetess, however, she needed time to consult Arman.

So Hinck waited. And waited.

A servant called him to the midday meal, but he sent the man away, claiming an upset stomach. Finally, as the sun began its descent toward the horizon, Miss Onika knocked.

Yes, lady? Hinck said, eager to hear her answer.

Arman will always help his faithful, Hinckdan Faluk, but he is not a man who can be scheduled into our plans or a weapon to be wielded against his own children. All creation belongs to him. Though it is never wise to trust those who consort with shadir.

Is there no way to stand against a shadir?

I didn’t say that, Onika said. Arman has recently shown me how to send shadir back to the Lowerworld.

Hinck’s heart leapt at the idea. Can you teach me?

In time, perhaps. It must be done in the Veil.

In the Veil? I don’t understand.

I have learned to enter the Veil by leaving my physical body behind. When I encounter a shadir, I can banish it in Arman’s name to the Lowerworld where it can no longer harm us.

That sounds perfect, Hinck said. Without her shadir, Rosârah Laviel would have no one to power her spells. How do I do it?

There is no time to train you at present, so Arman has asked me to do this for you.

"How is that possible? You’re not on board the Greenore."

In the Veil, those with the mind-speak magic can travel at a thought.

Trevn had told Hinck that Grayson moved in such a way. Like Master Grayson?

"Only partly. Because Grayson is a root child, he can move corporally through the Veil and the physical realm. Those with the mind-speak magic can move only their spirits in the Veil. Therefore, my body will remain in this camp until I am rescued."

I see. So your spirit will come to this ship?

That is correct.

Hinck wanted to laugh—he felt so light now that things were falling into place. Maybe he wouldn’t have to kill anyone after all. If you can banish Laviel’s shadir, I could find a way to apprehend her and take command of the ship.

To you, Hinckdan Faluk, this is what Holy Arman says: ‘Go and attack Laviel Nafni. Destroy her and all of her evenroot. Do not harbor pity toward her. I am the Lord All-Powerful, and I delight in the obedience of my people.’

Hinck reeled at the power of Miss Onika’s voice, which had changed in tone and pulsed though his nerves with some sort of mesmerizing, tingling heat.

Did you hear me? she asked, voice normal again.

Hinck made the sign of the Hand over his heart. Yes, lady, he said, still shaken.

She must not live, Miss Onika said, and you will be the one to kill her.

Grayson

How could Grayson find his grandmother when he didn’t even know what she looked like? He figured she must be somewhere in Rogedoth’s camp, and since Onika was also there, he concentrated on the prophetess and popped through the Veil.

He’d never seen so many tents. Hundreds. Maybe a thousand. Most had flags perched on their pinnacles, red and gold with an image of Barthos’s head. Would Grayson have to pop in and out of every one until he found Lady Islah?

The tents had been set up in circles, one inside the next. The large tents on the outer ring housed soldiers—many Puru, which surprised Grayson. He’d forgotten that Rogedoth had compelled so many natives. There were compelled Kinsman soldiers too, though plenty had full control of their minds and were perfectly happy to be a part of this group of traitors.

Grayson figured an important prisoner would be kept near Rogedoth, so he moved toward the center of the camp, looking for a royal tent. The closer he got to the middle, the more shadir he saw. Grayson hated shadir. If any looked closely at him, they’d see he was in the Veil—that he was different from the other humans. So he started walking instead of popping. This took much longer, and by the time he found Rogedoth’s tent, the sun was low in the sky.

He didn’t see any shadir at the moment, so he risked a peek through the canvas wall. There were plenty of shadir inside the tent—so many that none noticed Grayson—including the great who look like a tree. Grayson saw no humans, thankfully, so he moved on.

Directly behind the pavilion, he discovered a tiny tent that didn’t fit in. A gray-haired man in a tattered red cloak was sitting on a stump of wood at the back of the royal tent. Standing guard? Grayson drifted toward the little tent and looked through the dingy brown canvas. It was too dark inside. Smelled bad too. Maybe it was for Rogedoth’s dirty laundry?

He slipped inside, let his hand enter the physical realm, and concentrated on the magic that so unnerved him. He grimaced as a kernel of green light gleamed on the tip of his finger. Before his eyes could focus, a woman spoke.

Who’s there?

Grayson’s heart leapt at the idea that he might have found his grandmother. He lifted his arm above his head and focused until the kernel of light bloomed larger on his palm and brightened the inside of the tent. A center pole was all that held up the roof. At the bottom of the pole, an old woman sat on a thin mattress. A thick iron chain ran out from the end of her blankets to where it was attached to the center pole with a metal ring.

The woman had a flat nose, large lips, wrinkly dark skin, and long grayish-black hair twists that were tangled with bits of dirt and leaves. Her eyes were yellow and stared at the light as if it were dangerous and might burn her.

Grayson let the rest of his body enter the physical realm. He lowered his arm and shrank the light some. Are you Lady Islah?

Those yellow eyes narrowed. You’re a mantic.

Not exactly. My name is Grayson, son of Jhorn. But the first name I ever had was Merek Nafni.

It got very quiet then. He could barely hear the woman breathing.

Grayson tried again. I’m looking for Lady Islah. A man called Hinckdan Faluk said I might find her here.

The woman hummed. The slave met him once. Knew his grandparents on his father’s side. His mother was a friend to my Laviel for a time.

This sounded right! Grayson had found her, though she sure did talk funny. My mother was named Darlis. She died giving birth to me.

This time the old woman scowled. Not my Darlis. She and her baby died together.

Is that what your husband told you?

Yes. She said this softly, like she was just now realizing it might have been a lie all along and that made her sad. You’re far too old to be that child.

Your husband and my mother were playing with magic back then, trying to make someone like me. I grow faster than normal people. I can travel at a thought and make light from nothing. They call me a root child.

Holy Arman, no, she whispered.

That sounded like a curse. Are you scared of me?

No, young man. You seem kind. The slave is only disappointed. He lied to me again.

You mean Master Rogedoth? I hear he does a lot of that, Grayson said.

He’s had a lot of practice.

A knock came in Grayson’s mind—Trevn Hadar—and made him jump.

He lowered his shields like Duke Canden had taught him. Yes, Your Highness?

I need you in my office at once. I have a task for you.

But, sir, I’ve just found Lady Islah. Could I talk with her for a moment? Please?

That’s wonderful, Grayson! Well done. Yes, talk with the lady for a bit, then come straight to my office. There is a situation I need your help with.

Yes, Your Highness. I’ll be back soon. What could have happened?

The whole time Grayson had been voicing with the king, Lady Islah had been staring. He sank cross-legged on the ground by her bed and tipped the ball of light off his hand and onto the trampled earth. It hovered there, softly blowing away bits of dead grass. I can’t stay long today, he said, but I’m glad I found you.

How did Mergest manage to hide you? Does he know you’re here?

No, Grayson said. Please don’t tell him either. He lost me when I was a baby. Really, my father stole me away. And Grayson went on to tell Lady Islah Jhorn’s story.

Why are you chained to that pole? he asked when he was finished.

She sighed. Mergest wanted more from magic than the slave. After his father banished him, all he could think about was marrying off one of our girls to the Armanian king. If he could not rule Sarikar, he would find a way to rule Armania. He infiltrated the Chokmah Rôb priesthood but knew that no compulsion would ever convince King Echad to marry the daughter of a priest. So he devised a plan to have our girls secretly adopted by noble friends. When the girls came of age, the family would bring them to court and introduce them as their own. No one would know they were false. The only problem was the slave.

You?

They were my babies! I forbade Mergest to do it. Told him it was too much. So he locked the slave away.

And told everyone you died.

The risk that I might tell someone the truth was too great. His plans would be ruined.

Why not kill you? Grayson asked, then added, Sorry. It seems like something he would do.

She smiled. It’s a fair question, young man. I—

The tent shook. Who you talking to, woman? A man’s voice.

It’s Perchard with the slave’s dinner, Lady Islah whispered. You should go.

Grayson didn’t want to stop talking, but King Trevn needed him. I’ll visit again.

I’d like that. Thank you for coming to see me, Grayson.

The tent flap opened, allowing a shaft of twilight inside. Grayson put out his magical light and popped back to King Trevn’s office.

The king was sitting at his desk, arms crossed as he looked at Sir Cadoc, who was standing on the other side. Grayson entered the physical realm, startling both men.

Sorry, he said, bowing to the king.

You have a report for me? King Trevn asked.

Yes, Your Highness. Grayson told the king all that had happened with Lady Islah.

Excellent work, Trevn said. It’s clear she has more secrets to uncover. You must visit her again. Take your time as you question her. Don’t push, or she’ll think you’ve only come for information.

I like her.

I’m glad to hear that. She sounds like a kind woman who has suffered greatly. I wonder if she would leave if we could rescue her.

I could ask.

Not just yet. We must proceed slowly. Understand?

Yes, sir.

Now, about this other task. Hinckdan Faluk is currently on board a ship headed this way. He needs your help with something dangerous, if you’re willing.

Grayson couldn’t help but smile. Two tasks in one day! Yes, sir. Whatever you need.

Trevn

I have spoken with Lord Dacre and Miss Onika, and we have a plan to stop Rosârah Laviel," Trevn said.

He stood at the head of the council table, trying to ignore the wave of frustration from those he’d kept waiting this morning. He’d been reading Wilek’s journals lately, and while his brother had experienced some negativity from the nobles, it was nothing like the animosity Trevn dealt with every day.

He went on to explain how Hinck would attack the former queen with his bow while Lady Eudora and her parents kept the deck clear of soldiers and Master Grayson and Miss Onika fought shadir in the Veil.

The frustrated mood shifted to contempt. Trevn had expected it, but the magnitude of such disdain was hard to ignore.

Barek Hadar was, unsurprisingly, the first to speak. "That is your plan?"

Not merely a plan, Your Grace, Trevn said. It’s the offensive action that will occur sometime today. Any moment, perhaps. I have already given the order.

A heavy moment of silence. Without asking our opinion first? Barek asked.

Trevn fought to keep hold of his own temper. I do not need to consult the council on all matters, he said, annoyed that Barek would dare scold him in public. A decision needed to be made. I made it.

It’s not a very good—

Trevn lifted his hand. If you have a better idea to stop Rosârah Laviel, Your Grace, I would love to hear it.

I could come up with one, Barek said. Given time.

Feel free to think on it, Trevn said. But while you are thinking, Lord Dacre and Miss Onika will stop the threat before it reaches us.

It’s not a bad strategy, Your Highness, Lord Idez said tentatively, though Trevn could sense the man’s doubt. But there’s a lot of margin for error.

Especially when sending an untrained assassin to kill the spider at sea. This from Oli Agoros, who was leaning back in his chair as if disgusted with the entire proceeding.

Danek Faluk shot Oli a dirty look. My son has been working with the bow almost daily for nearly a year now. He is vastly improved.

So Hinckdan tells you, Oli said. But we have no one to corroborate his assertion. And furthermore, does he have any practice shooting on the water? Can he compensate for the motion of the ship over the waves?

If Hinckdan says he can do this, I believe him, Trevn said. He is not a man to exaggerate.

Nor is he a soldier, Oli said. He has not been trained to handle an assassination.

Trevn had not expected so much hostility toward his choice of bowman—as if there had been a host to choose from. I will hear no more against Hinckdan’s qualifications. Is that clear? He looked from face to face, and every man, with the exception of Danek Faluk and Captain Veralla, averted his gaze. Thankfully no one spoke, and Trevn continued. Any other questions?

What about Barthel Rogedoth? Captain Veralla asked.

Miss Onika confirmed he is still camped outside New Rurekau, Trevn said. Rosârah Laviel is acting on her own in this.

I don’t understand how the prophetess can know that. Or how she can fight shadir in the Veil, Lord Idez said.

Does anyone? Barek asked, lifting his hands and falling back in his chair.

This Trevn was ready for. Arman has gifted Miss Onika with a new ability. He told the council how Miss Onika had entered the Veil, and while she had been there, Arman had taught her to banish shadir. I’ve assigned Master Grayson to help her.

Did Master Grayson witness Miss Onika banish shadir? Barek asked.

Not that I know of, Trevn said. He is with her now. Taking her to Laviel’s ship. They will wait with Hinck until it is time to attack.

How can you be certain Miss Onika can do what she says? Oli asked. She has been a captive for months. She might be delirious.

She is not, Trevn said. You have my word on that. I put her through a test to determine her sanity. She also prophesied that Hinck would be the one to kill Rosârah Laviel.

That is a relief, Danek said. Did she say whether Hinckdan would survive?

The question sobered Trevn. She made her prophecy directly to Hinck, so I don’t know the exact words. I only know that Hinck is fully invested in the mission.

You’ve been going on and on about all that you’ve learned in the ancient scrolls, Barek said. Didn’t you discover some other methods of defense against mantics?

Trevn heaved a dramatic sigh, wanting to make it clear how very tiring he found his council’s lack of trust. Most generals did all they could to kill mantics from afar with bows, he said, which is why I suggested it to Hinck. Some sent in a squadron of men to do the job, knowing that none would likely return. The Earl of Blackpool during King Nathek’s reign abandoned his fortress and gave the servants instructions to poison any food served to the usurping mantics. The mantics didn’t get wise to what had happened in time to heal themselves, and they all died. Then there was a young general who got it in his head that if he gave his soul to a shadir, that shadir would help him overpower the enemy. It did not. Instead it compelled the general to give himself over to the mother realms. The man did so and turned against his own. Forgive my haste in dismissing such options without consulting all of you, but I didn’t think them feasible or worth the risk.

Again there was silence, though this time the men were throwing off a mix of disgruntled shame, embarrassment, or annoyance—all but Danek, who seemed all around pleased, if not a little worried for his son.

Well then, Trevn said, if there is nothing else, I’ll release you until I hear word from Hinck. In the meantime, I ask you all to pray and make offerings to Arman on behalf of this mission. Father Mathal will be in the Temple Arman. He will also join me at the midday meal in the great hall to lead a corporate offering and prayer. I expect to see you all there. Dismissed.

Trevn didn’t wait for everyone to leave. He retreated to the servants’ antechamber, which had been converted to a haven, since the secret passage would soon let out there. He fell into the longchair Hawley had brought in. Mielle’s concern pressed against him, and he connected his mind to hers. The meeting has ended, he voiced.

How did it go?

My council has no faith in me. I see it in their eyes—worse, I sense their emotions. It’s difficult to lead confidently when I feel disdain from those who are supposed to support me.

Who disdains you?

I don’t know. All of them, likely. Barek for certain. Oli too, I think. They disliked my plan. They don’t think Hinck is qualified. They don’t believe Onika can banish shadir. He sighed. Oli should rule. He’s better suited. He’s a warrior, like Wilek. Groomed to be a general. Everyone respects him.