For an instant, the scene exactly mirrored Maryn’s memory of Edrich’s tapestry. King Froethych stood, hands upraised, at the heart of a raging sorcerous maelstrom, looking just like the ancestor whose magic had cured the plague for hundreds of miles around. But that spell had run out of control, and sucked all the blood from Lord Hoenech’s body to feed its insatiable appetite…
Froethych staggered, falling to one knee, but his arms never stopped waving. It was as if some outside force had seized control of them, and they moved without his volition. His eyes remained fixed on Carlich and Voerell. Carlich fell back and dropped his arms, watching in horror as more and more of his father’s blood gushed forth to blossom into flame. Voerell sank into a huddle between Whirter’s body and Marolan’s. Writhing blue eddies of light swirled around them both before rushing away to the farthest corners of the hall and beyond.
Froethych slumped toward the ground, but struggled to push himself erect. For a moment he wrenched his hands into a different gesture, and his face twisted into a grimace as he forced a portion of the magic momentarily into a new path. “You are no longer my son, my heir…”
Above Carlich’s head a phantom crown appeared. It burst into blue flames and disappeared. Carlich cried out and groped futilely at the place where it had been.
His last strength spent, Froethych fell once again under the power of the spell he’d begun, which rampaged now beyond his control. His arms returned to their possessed waving, and a ragged chant tore from his throat, barely more than a whisper. “Not harm…your kin…no more…no one…never…”
His face was white as bleached linen, white as wool, white as snow;-;blanketed hills. The last sputtering drops shot from the gash in his hand and exploded into sparks. The buzz reached an unbearable crescendo and died. Froethych’s great body crashed to the ground.
Carlich lunged toward Voerell, stabbing at her with his knife, but it was deflected just as his magic had been. His head whipped back and forth, searching for any path of escape. Guards converged on him from every side, wary of his magic but determined.
Maryn hunched over the wailing Barilan, shielding him with her body. A bright blue glow in the shape of a crown appeared over his head, then faded.
For an instant everything else fell silent. The baby’s cries were the only sound, cutting harsh and shrill across the huge hall.
Carlich whirled and plunged straight at Maryn.
Ten
B
efore Maryn could react, Carlich grabbed her and slammed an arm around her throat, choking off her cry of terror. His knife waved wildly, sending blue sparks shooting around them. Servants yelled and scrambled for safety; guards backed hastily away. Maryn fought to keep her grip on Barilan, though she desperately needed to breathe. The baby’s howls pierced her ears.
“Barilan!” Voerell screamed. She lurched toward them, her hands still wet with Whirter’s blood. She made a flinging gesture, and blue lightning flashed out. Maryn flinched, but the magic splashed harmlessly well away from Carlich, just as his had failed to reach Voerell.
Voerell shrieked as the sorcery consumed the last of her husband’s blood and died away. She reached impotently toward her son. Carlich lowered his knife to menace the baby.
No!
Maryn’s lips formed the word, but she couldn’t force the sound past Carlich’s grip.
“Stay back or I’ll—I’ll—” Carlich seemed to be having trouble speaking. His arm around Maryn’s throat loosened and she gasped for breath. The knife shook, hovering inches away from the thrashing Barilan as Carlich strained against some unseen force.
To Maryn’s shock, Voerell laughed, high and wild. “Father’s spell!” she cried. “You can’t harm him. Guards, seize Carlich! Barilan is in no danger. He cannot harm his blood kin!”
Hesitant despite Voerell’s words, the guards approached. Carlich waved his knife at them, but little blood remained on its blade, and it emitted only a weak sputter of flame. He gripped Maryn with renewed force, dragged her a few steps to the edge of the dais, and wrenched her around. Terror flooded her limbs, weakening them when she most needed strength, for now Barilan hung suspended over the drop, at least ten feet above the hard flagstones below. She closed her eyes and poured all her effort into clutching the baby tight to her body.
“I can harm her!” Carlich’s knife pressed cold into Maryn’s throat above his strangling arm. Blood rushed in her ears and black clouds gathered at the edges of her vision. “If I kill her, she’ll drop him. Are you willing to risk that?”
Voerell threw out her arms to stop the guards’ advance. “Wait!” Her face was torn with indecision.
Carlich used the moment of reprieve to slash the back of his hand. His breath rasped hot and loud in Maryn’s ear as he wiped the blade in the oozing blood. Then with a shout he whirled, a gesture of his knife sending renewed lightning against the guards, felling many of them, scattering the rest. He dragged her the length of the dais. She nearly fell as he hauled her down the steps, but he jerked her to her feet and propelled her ahead of him toward the door in the back corner of the hall. Servants and nobles alike scattered before the sorcerous power radiating from the bloody knife.
“After him!” Voerell cried. The few guards still standing bunched together and began a cautious pursuit.
Carlich thrust Maryn through the door and shouldered it shut behind them just as the last of the blood on his knife burned up and his magic waned. He released her, and she fell to her knees, gasping for breath. Carlich waved his knife, cursed when nothing happened, and slashed his palm. The newly shed blood burst into sparks that enveloped the door, fusing the thick oak into the surrounding stone.
Maryn clutched Barilan to her chest, scrambled to her feet, and ran. She only made it a few steps before Carlich caught up and snatched the fabric at the back of her neck, jerking her to a halt. She fought to free herself, but he was far stronger than she, wild with anger and fear, and crackling with the power of the blood that dripped from his hand.
“Be still! Do exactly as I say, or I’ll cut your throat and use your blood to bring down death on them all!” Carlich stared at the wailing Barilan in Maryn’s arms for a long instant before setting off down the corridor, propelling her before him. “Curse Voerell! She ruined everything. She made Father disinherit me, may the Vulture eat his soul! And that spell—”
Carlich halted, so suddenly Maryn nearly fell. He yanked her around and swung his hand hard toward Barilan’s head. It jerked to a halt before it struck the baby. “Gallows!”
He pulled his hand back and slapped Maryn’s face. She reeled, her cheek stinging. “Good,” Carlich spat. “I am not entirely powerless.” He grabbed her upper arm and resumed shoving her down the corridor.
“Please! Please, Prince Carlich,” Maryn gasped. “Don’t hurt me. I’ll do whatever you say. Just please, don’t—” Tears blurred her vision and her throat closed with terror. Barilan’s cries grated in her ears.
He didn’t answer. She stumbled along beside him. His grip cut into her arm, so strong she knew she could never break it. Her thoughts raced in dizzy circles. She had never imagined Carlich capable of such violence. Had he gone mad? Or had his pleasantly affable demeanor been only a ruse all along, a facade concealing a scheming, murderous heart?
The knowledge that she and Barilan were now completely at Carlich’s mercy sent her heart racing so wildly she feared she might faint. But she must not allow that to happen, for Barilan was even more helpless than she, and she couldn’t leave him without what meager protection she could offer. She sucked in deep breaths and tried to pay attention to where they were going. Maybe the palace guards would yet stop Carlich’s flight. He couldn’t hope to escape capture for long within the bounds of the palace.
He seemed to have some destination in mind, for he steered her with rapid certainty, choosing their way without hesitation whenever the corridor branched. These were the passages the servants used to bring food up from the kitchen and carry dirty dishes away. Once they came face to face with a group of servants carrying steaming platters of meat. Carlich blasted them with a stream of sparks from his knife; they yelled and scattered back the way they had come, dropping the food. The rich beefy smell enveloped them as Carlich dragged Maryn through the wreckage of broken porcelain and splattered juices.
When they neared the kitchen, Carlich paused at a nondescript door. It was locked, but a quick gesture of his knife and jet of sparks opened it. Inside was a narrow dim corridor, floor thick with dust. Carlich shoved Maryn within and turned to seal the doorway behind them.
Barilan screamed and thrashed in Maryn’s arms. Carlich rounded on her. “Shut him up! If he keeps up that racket, they’ll be sure to find us.”
“Yes, your Highness. Whatever you want.” Maryn fumbled blindly with the tie of her shift.
Carlich slapped her again. “Don’t call me that! Didn’t you hear? My father cast me out of his house! I’m no longer heir, nor prince, nor…” He trailed off, panting.
Maryn cowered away and shifted Barilan into position. It took her a moment of murmuring, her voice strained nearly to breaking, until she could calm him enough to have any interest in her breast. But once she did, he latched on with frantic need, sucking fiercely until her milk let down with a warm rush and he relaxed in her arms. The silence echoed in her ears.
Carlich took a deep breath. “That’s better.” He stared at Barilan. “You, my nephew, are king now. And your mother is regent, with all the power of the Kingship. Curse her! Everyone believed me until she opened her mouth.”
He breathed hard for a few moments. Slowly, his face took on a calculating expression. “Voerell would do anything to get you back, wouldn’t she? I can make her pardon me, make her give me safe passage out of Milecha. Or…if I can get rid of her somehow, I can make them give the Kingship to me. Kiellan wouldn’t do it, but Vinhor would; he’s wanted to be Prelate for years…Father had no right to disinherit me. I should be king now! I am a Sompirla, descended from Lord Hoenech and King Fridollan. The throne of Milecha is my birthright!”
He stepped menacingly toward Maryn. She backed away, terrified of the unreasoning passion in his face, and came up short against the wall of the passage. Carlich loomed over her, putting his hands against the wall on either side of her body, trapping her. “Girl, you will come with me. I need you to take care of Barilan, feed him, keep him quiet. You will do whatever I say. If I catch you disobeying me, or trying to betray me in any way, I’ll kill you and find some other nurse for Barilan. Do you understand?”
Maryn gulped and nodded, far too frightened to make any protest. Only Barilan at her breast kept her from collapsing into a weeping huddle.
“Follow me.” Carlich set off at a rapid pace. Maryn stumbled after him.
The corridor ended at a tightly spiraling staircase that wound down into the bowels of the palace, lit only by an occasional narrow slit window. Carlich plunged down it; when Maryn hesitated he turned back to her, half raising his hand. She cowered before the threat and set her foot on the first wedge;-;shaped step. The stone was slick, and only the outermost edge was wide enough that her toes didn’t hang off. She had to free a hand to brace herself and support Barilan with only one arm. Even so, she feared she would lose her footing. But Carlich pressed onward, and she had no choice but to follow.
They came to a point where the light from the last window failed and no other appeared. Blackness yawned beneath them like the shaft of a well. Maryn wondered if they had passed underground. Carlich flicked his hand; blue light glowed, illuminating the next turn of the spiral. He rubbed his palm against the shoulder of his elegant jerkin. A smear of light rubbed off and lingered there. “That’s enough blood to last a while, I think. If not, between the three of us we have plenty.” He gave a little edgy laugh.
Maryn fought to keep from losing control and breaking into sobs. She followed Carlich as he set off again down the stairs. He seemed to feel they had escaped the immediate danger of pursuit, for he slowed to a steady plod. Maryn’s fear dulled enough to allow her to realize she was hungry and thirsty and footsore. Barilan had fallen asleep; her arm ached with his weight.
Finally they reached the base of the stair. An arched opening led into a long barrel;-;shaped vault. Notched shelves lined both walls, empty except for a scattered handful of dark bottles lying on their sides. The air was cool and damp. It looked to Maryn like a wine cellar, but it must have been abandoned long ago, to judge by the thick layer of dust that coated everything.
Carlich headed for the far end, where a portion of the roof and one wall had collapsed inwards. He called up light in his hand and directed it into the corner, where it glinted on shards of broken glass amid the tumbled debris. “Ha! It’s still here. Just like I left it.” He scrabbled among the stones, dragging several large chunks aside to reveal a long vertical sliver of darkness. He stepped back and pointed into the crack. “You first.”
“What?” Maryn couldn’t believe he expected her to enter that black crevice. She began to back away, but Carlich raised a threatening hand, blue sparks dancing around his fingers, and she stopped. “You can’t be serious. I can’t fit in there. Not holding Barilan.”
“It opens up after a few feet. I’ll be right behind you with the light. You might have to duck, but I could always make it through, and you’re not much taller than I was as a page.” Carlich gestured again, with the imperious certainty of one who was used to being obeyed. “Now, girl. Unless you want me to kill you after all.”
Death seemed almost preferable to that inky nothingness. But Carlich seemed confident, and surely he wouldn’t be taking them that way unless he knew it led somewhere. Maryn stroked Barilan’s spiky hair for courage, steeled herself, and squeezed sideways into the crack. Cold stone embraced her front and back, but there was just enough room for her to edge deeper. By the time the roof lowered, the walls had widened a bit so she could crouch over Barilan and keep sidling through.