Deborah Hale (33 page)

“How are you hanging on there?” asked Delyon.

“I’m not sure.” Maura reached up with one hand and pressed it into the bark.

Slowly it shrank from the gentle, steady pressure of her fingers, forming a shallow cavity for her to grip. The same thing happened when she lifted her right foot and pressed her bare toes against the bark. She could not move quickly—only one arm or leg at a time—because she needed the other three to cling. But at least she could move. Moreover, the baffling enchantment that allowed her to climb was like a nod of approval from the Giver.

She made steady progress for some time, until she made the mistake of glancing down. Her head spun and her breath stuck in her throat. It was no Raynor’s Rift, perhaps, but the hard floor of the chamber still seemed perilously far beneath her. Especially given her tenuous grip on the pillar. What was to stop the bark that had yielded to her touch from springing back out again, hurling her down?

For a moment she stopped, pressing her body to the pillar and squeezing her eyes as tight as they would shut. She struggled to slow her breathing. Then she opened her eyes, fixing them on bark in front of her, as if the force of her gaze might provide some extra grip. With grim resolve, she began to climb again.

A while later she startled and almost fell when Delyon gave a cry of alarm. “Please don’t do that!” she called down to him. “What’s the matter?”

“Y-your hand. It’s disappeared into the ceiling!”

Maura glanced up. Sure enough, her arm looked as if it had been neatly severed just below the elbow. But she could feel her fingers burrowed into something above the solid-looking ceiling.

When she let go and lowered her arm, the rest of it appeared again, looking none the worse. “The ceiling must be an illusion.”

A little more cautiously, now that she could see what she was doing, Maura thrust her hand back up and felt around for her grip. After bringing her feet each a step higher, she poked her head through the ceiling. A gentle breeze whispered through
her hair and the high vault of the sky stretched above her, glowing with the soft pearly hue of dawn.

All around her, the tall trees that had grown from the floor of the chamber now stretched thick, leafy boughs that wove together, creating a lush green carpet. Grabbing one of the branches, she hauled herself up and gazed around in wonder.

“This isn’t possible,” she whispered. The chamber below was far underground. Even if she had climbed to ground level, she should be in some part of the castle. “But that doesn’t matter, I suppose. As long as I find the staff.”

No sooner had the thought formed in her mind than she could see a spot where some of the trees grew even taller than the others, creating an arbor like the Oracle of Margyle’s.

Maura crawled toward it, groping to make certain her hands and knees had a solid spot to rest on before moving forward. She did not want to fall through the canopy onto one of those rusted ax heads. Somehow, the delicate weft of leaves and branches always felt solid beneath her.

Her need for haste overcame her caution. Staggering to her feet, she began walking toward the arbor. Her first few steps were hesitant, but soon she gained confidence. By the time she reached the arbor, she was beginning to wonder if she would be able to climb back down through the canopy again.

“Surely if the Giver has brought me this far,” she whispered to herself, “I will be able to get the rest of the way.”

This arbor was a little different than the Oracle’s, Maura realized. Instead of being open at the sides, it had living draperies of vines falling from the roof to create walls. Gently pushing aside one bank of vines, she entered the structure.

In the center of it, resting on a low platform, lay the Staff of Velorken, just as she had seen it in her memory vision. Maura marveled at its beauty and at the aura of power and enchantment that surrounded it. Most of its length was a rich ruddy wood carved with long swirling tendrils of leaves. The top of the staff was a great hawk’s head carved from dark ivory.
A pair of tawny gemstones gleamed as its eyes. The bird looked so real, Maura half expected it to open its beak and give a loud, shrill cry.

“I’m sorry to disturb you.” She lifted the staff from its resting place, surprised to find it much lighter than she expected. “But our need is great.”

She made her way back to the spot through which she had climbed. Holding tight to a branch, she dipped her head through the canopy and called Delyon. “Can you reach this if I pass it down to you?”

She began to lower the staff.

Delyon dashed to the base of the pillar and extended his arm. “I will try, Highness. If it is long enough.”

Maura doubted it would reach all that distance, but before her fingers came in contact with the ivory hawk’s head, she felt a tug at the bottom and heard Delyon say, “I’ve got it! I cannot believe this. I am touching the Staff of Velorken.”

Her sense of urgency swamped her sense of wonder. Maura let the staff drop into Delyon’s reverent hands, then she descended the pillar, half climbing, half sliding. Grabbing the staff back from him, she set off through the dim maze of passageways beneath the castle. Hope and confidence radiated through her with every breath and every pulse of her heart.

As she burst up to ground level, a ruddy glow in the east warned her dawn had come. A more ominous sound also heralded the sunrise. From beyond the edge of forest came the roar of combat.

Where was Rath? As Maura’s gaze swept the courtyard, Songrid raced toward her.

Before the Hanish woman could speak, Maura asked, “How long has the battle been going on?”

“Not long. Just since first light.”

“My husband—where can I find him?”

Songrid pointed toward the great hall. “That way. He and Lord Idrygon were—”

Maura did not stay to hear the rest. She raced to the great hall and found it deserted except for Rath and Idrygon.

“You see?” Idrygon cried when he saw the staff in her hand. “I told you not to risk joining in the fray while there was any hope of the staff coming to us.”

Something compelled Maura to drop to one knee as she held out the staff to Rath. He stared at it with a look of aversion, as if she were offering him a death-mage’s wand. After an instant’s hesitation he reached out and took it from her.

“Quickly,” urged Idrygon. “Make our wish. Wish death on the Han! Not only the ones on our shores, mind—
all
of them. That is the only way we can insure our freedom.”

A cry of protest rose to Maura’s lips, but Rath beat her to it. “Are you mad? How can I bring about the destruction of a whole race?”

“If it is your wife you are worried about,” said Idrygon with the air of one granting a great concession, “then make it clear you wish death only on full-blooded Han.”

Behind her, Maura heard Delyon cry, “What about Songrid and others like her?”

“Aye,” said Rath. “Women, elders, infants? I cannot have that kind of slaughter on my conscience!”

“Weren’t you once an outlaw?” Idrygon demanded. “Have you never had blood on your hands before?”

“Of course I have—too much of it.”

“Surely this will be easier. You need not put your own life at risk. You need not watch them die. At this very moment, the Han are slaying our men. You
must
stop it!”

Rath shook his head. “Not that way.”

For a moment, Idrygon looked as if he meant to fly at Rath in a rage. But he managed to control his temper before it burst out. When he spoke again, it was in a tone of persuasive reason. “Do this and I will grant
your
dearest wish, sire.”

Rath gave a weary sigh. “Even if I would make such a bargain, you have no idea of my dearest wish.”

“I have watched you close enough these past weeks to guess,” said Idrygon. “Once this rebellion is over, you do not want the burden of ruling this troubled kingdom. You do not feel equal to the responsibility. You would rather settle down to a simple, peaceful life in some quiet village. Am I right?”

Rath did not answer. He did not need to. The longing in his eyes and the set of his rugged features ached with his true feelings.

“Rid our land of this menace,” pleaded Idrygon, “and you need be king in name only. Sign a few documents, make the odd ceremonial appearance. For the rest, you may live as quietly as you please with your family, while I tend to the practical cares of running the kingdom on your behalf.”

Rath’s gaze sought Maura’s. “
Aira,
convince me what I must do. I fear I have not the strength of will.”

She knew how this offer must tempt him, for she felt the pull of it on her own will. Idrygon was a born leader, under whose rule the Vestan Islands were a haven of peace and prosperity. More than once since meeting him, Maura had wondered why destiny had not chosen
him
as the Waiting King.

But she had seen another side of Lord Idrygon, also—like the other face of this enticing bargain—ruthless and hungry for power.

“What do you expect her to say?” Idrygon’s question crackled with scorn. “Do not forget, she is one of
them.
”

“Mind your tongue!” cried Rath, shaking the staff at him. “Do not goad me to waste my wish on you!”

Idrygon paled and jammed his lips shut, shooting a blistering glare at Maura.

What counsel could she give Rath? Maura asked herself. Idrygon’s bargain tempted her as fiercely as it did him, yet the price of it chilled her heart. Her travels had taught her that many Han bore no guilt for the evil their leaders had inflicted upon her people. But if she urged Rath to show mercy, would it be a betrayal of her Umbrian heritage?

“Do not fear to embrace your destiny,
aira.
” She ignored Idrygon’s murderous scowl. “You may be a better king because of your flawed past. When I fought the Echtroi at Beastmount, I learned that I have the capacity to be a better queen because I do not crave power. I believe the same is true of you. The best leaders are those who would
serve
their people, not dominate them.”

“Sire…” Idrygon protested.

“Silence!” cried Rath. “Let her speak.”

Perhaps she’d already said too much. Too often since their destinies entwined she had compelled him to follow her lead. But this was no longer her destiny alone. She had no right to take the responsibility and freedom of decision from Rath. Even for the sake of all that hung in the balance, she could not deny him the choice and the chance to be a hero of his own making.

Her next words were some of the most difficult she had ever spoken to him. “The choice must be yours,
aira.
I have faith you will take the right course. Whatever you decide, I promise you my love and support.”

“My lords!” One of Vang’s men burst into the great hall. “I am bidden to fetch you, now. The Han are trying to set Aldwood ablaze!”

Maura’s gaze flew to Rath. She saw his hand tighten around the staff, and she prayed the Giver would guide him.

Idrygon moved so fast, she was not even aware of it until he pulled her toward him, a short blade flashing in his hand. Clearly he did not trust the power of his bribe alone to sway Rath. He must add a threat, as well.

“Do not cross me, outlaw! Or you will be one king without a queen!”

Though Maura knew Idrygon was quite capable of doing what he threatened, a flare of righteous anger seared away her fear. Having struggled with her decision to give Rath a free choice, she would not let anyone take it from him.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Delyon rush forward. “Don’t do this, brother!”

“Stay out of this, you pious fool!” cried Idrygon, his attention diverted for the instant Maura needed.

“I’ve made better men than you sorry they grabbed me.” She leaped up, driving the crown of her head hard against Idrygon’s chin.

He gave a muffled bellow of pain and his grip on her slackened. Maura spun out of his reach while Delyon knocked the blade from his brother’s hand.

“Now, Rath!” Maura cried. “Use the staff!”

So much hung on his decision. So many lives on both sides. And he had run out of time to weigh his choice. The only thing Rath knew for certain was that he had neither the ability nor the right to wield such fearful power. Did any man?

Clutching the Staff of Velorken, he made the only wish he could trust, though he could not guess what would come of it. “Giver, let
your
will prevail. That is my wish.”

Maura threw her arms around his neck. “I’m so glad I did not sway you. I would never have thought of that. But when I heard you speak, I knew it was right!”

If only he could feel so certain. If only he had felt
something.
A surge of magical power from the staff, perhaps, or some inkling of what his wish had wrought. But Rath knew nothing, felt nothing.

Had he wasted a wish that might have saved his people? Or had the Staff of Velorken been only a hollow myth, luring them to venture the impossible?

“Traitor!” cried Idrygon, diving to recover his fallen blade.

Rath thrust Maura behind him and raised the staff to defend them both.

The instant Idrygon grasped the knife, he let out a scream the likes of which Rath had only heard from victims of the death-mages. He had no time to puzzle what it meant.

He turned to Maura. “Go! As quickly as you can. Take Songrid and make your way out of the forest. Then go south to Prum. Folks there will take care of you.”

One last time he kissed her. “I must go to my men and do what I can.”

“So must I.” Maura clung to his hand with a grip he had not the heart to break. “Let us not waste time arguing.”

Fiercely as he yearned to protect her, Rath knew this choice must be
hers.
He acknowledged her words with a grim nod, then they ran from the hall together with Idrygon’s howls and curses ringing in their ears.

A deafening chorus of such sounds greeted them when they reached the fringe of Aldwood. Vang Spear of Heaven came striding toward them with a dazed look, as if someone had hit him very hard on the head with something solid.

“What is all that?” Rath hollered to be heard above the din coming from beyond the forest.