The Voice of Prophecy (Dual Magics Book 2) (18 page)

Silence. The voice appeared to have said all it was going to
and Vatar was no wiser, and a lot less comfortable than he had been. This just
kept getting scarier and scarier. A cold lump formed in Vatar’s gut. He was
going to have to talk to Trev again. He might have no choice but to submit to
the exorcism after all. He wasn’t sure which frightened him more, the voice or
the idea of an exorcism. He was going to have to decide, though. One way or the
other. Soon. What else could he do?

~

Vatar moved his horseman and looked across at Cestus. “You
know, my so-called lessons with Montibeus are nowhere near as informative as
yours were. He mostly keeps trying to persuade me to stay and help with your
Festival next summer.”

Cestus smiled wryly as he studied the board. “You could
garner some goodwill with the High Council that way, but I don’t think he fully
appreciates what he’s asking of you.”

Vatar nodded agreement. “In fact, I’m thinking of leaving
early this year.” There were things he could talk to Cestus about that he would
never consider mentioning to Montibeus. Some things he really wanted to talk to
someone about. Still, the questions stuck in his throat. Maybe if he had more
information to start with he could phrase his questions more intelligently.

“I miss our lessons. Why don’t you bring me a scroll to read
and we can discuss it over our next game. History perhaps. Something about
Tabeus.”

Cestus moved one of his towers to guard his commander.
“Getting interested in family history, Vatar?”

Vatar moved a walker. “Something like that. I’m curious
about what kind of man he was. I’d like to read whatever you can find about
him.”

Cestus shrugged. “I happen to have a couple of scrolls over
in the guest house, now. I’ll bring one over tomorrow.”

Vatar breathed out. “Thank you.” The idea that he might be
Tabeus reborn was about the only one he could pursue until he could get back to
the Dardani and talk to Trev. It’d be some comfort, perhaps, to find a lot of
similarities to his distant ancestor. Something that he could cling to if that
voice turned up again.

Cestus stopped dead as he approached his old home. Lancera
had always stayed away when he came in the mornings to visit their children.
Until now. Jana and Arus were nowhere in sight—inside the house, presumably.
Instead, Lancera stood in the middle of the small yard, waiting for him. And
obviously no longer pregnant.

He blew out his breath and squared his shoulders. Whatever
she wanted now, he clearly wasn’t going to see his children until he’d talked
to her. “Lancera?”

Lancera shifted her feet and cleared her throat. “I . . . I
need to talk to you. You said that you still love me. Did you mean it?”

Cestus sighed. “Yes. But I can’t live with you and raise
another man’s child. I’ve tried to find it in my heart, but I just can’t.”

Lancera took several hurried steps toward him. “You don’t
have to. I . . .” She paused and swallowed hard, looking away. “The child died
at birth. There is no child to raise.”

“I’m sorry, Lancera. I didn’t know.” Cestus had to hold
himself back. Even now, part of him wanted to reach out to comfort her, hold
her while she cried. Her pain was going to overwhelm his common sense. He
turned away. He’d come back to see Jana and Arus later.

Lancera gasped in almost physical pain. She rushed forward
and put a hand on his arm to stop him. “I’ve lost the child, Cestus. I don’t
want to lose you, too.” Lancera blinked, trying vainly to stop her tears. “I’ve
been punished for my mistake. Can’t you forgive me?”

Cestus fought to hold himself still. Part of his brain
screamed at him to leave before he weakened. Forgive? Yes, he could forgive.
But how could he ever trust her again? And, without that trust, what would
their relationship be worth? It couldn’t possibly ever be the same again.
Wouldn’t it be better, in the long run, to just find a way to end it and move
forward—separately?

“Please, Cestus!” Lancera wailed.

Almost by themselves, Cestus’s hands lifted to draw her in.
He hugged her, rocking slightly as he used to do with Jana when she was a baby
and colicky. As he hugged Lancera and let her cry on his shoulder, his
resistance melted. His last shred of good sense. He’d known he shouldn’t stay,
but now he couldn’t bring himself to leave Lancera alone with her grief. This
was probably doomed. It might be a huge mistake, but there was nothing else he
could do right now. He let out a long sigh. “We can at least try. I can’t
pretend it will be easy, but we can try.”

~

When he got back to the farm late that afternoon Cestus drew
in a deep breath scented with apples and horses. He took a moment to look
around the courtyard that now extended between the two houses. This place—and
the family he had here—had been a godsend for him when he needed it. He’d be
sorry to go.

Seeing Vatar closing down his forge for the day and talking
to Arcas, he strode forward. Might as well talk to them sooner than later.
“Vatar, Arcas. I appreciate all you’ve done for me, letting me stay here. But
it’s time I move back home, to Lancera and our children.”

“Back to Lancera?” Vatar asked incredulously.

Cestus nodded. “She . . . The baby died. I don’t know if we
can work it out, but . . . she needs me right now. I think we have to try.”

Arcas clapped him on the shoulder. “I hope things work out
for you and Lancera.”

Vatar nodded. “Yes. Whatever makes you happy, Cestus.”
Vatar’s eyes narrowed in thought. “But do you have to go back there?”

“Where else?”

Vatar’s gesture took in the farm. “Here. Why not bring
Lancera and your children here? A new, clean start away from whatever
influences might make things more difficult for both of you.”

Cestus shook his head. “I appreciate that, Vatar, but we
couldn’t impose that way.”

“You wouldn’t be,” Vatar said. “Listen. Orleus will be going
back to Tysoe soon. And Arcas and I will be heading out for Zeda not long
after. Thekila, Theklan, and Quetza will be going with us, leaving Elaria alone
here with little Caslar. I’m sure she’d be glad of the company. And I bet Arcas
would be glad to know there was someone here looking after them.”

“I surely would,” Arcas said.

Cestus paused, looking around the familiar courtyard. A
fresh start, indeed. And maybe enough work to keep Lancera from getting bored
again. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. And the privacy to continue
his researches into that prophecy and what part he might have in it. “I’d like
that. I’ll talk to Lancera about it.”

Orleus sighed as he finished his evening lesson with Quetza.
Against all expectation, he’d actually learned quite a lot. He’d be able to use
Far Speech to talk to her even across the distance from Tysoe without strain,
but that wouldn’t be the same as sitting next to her. He’d put it off almost as
long as he could. The time when he’d have to return to his duty as Captain of
the Tysoean guard and bring his new recruits back with him was not far off.

“What are you thinking?” Quetza asked.

“That I’ll have to go back to Tysoe soon. I find that I’ll
miss these evenings with you much more than I ever would have thought.”

Quetza smiled. “At least we’ll still be able to talk.”

Orleus shook his head. “It won’t be the same. I wish I could
show you Tysoe. I think you’d like it there.”

“Isn’t Tysoe very much like Caere?”

“It’s nothing at all like Caere. That’s why I love it there.
There’s a real forest surrounding Tysoe—our main export to Kausalya and Caere
is timber and wood products, after all. Though it’s nothing like as huge and
dense as the Forest between the Dardani and your Valley. And Tysoe’s not all
that far from the Kragehul Mountains. Really good hunting up close to those
mountains. Good fishing in Narycea Lake, too. Tysoe’s right on the shore of the
lake.”

Quetza’s eyes took on a faraway look. “Sounds wonderful.”

Orleus swallowed. “Why don’t you come with me? Just for a
little while. A visit to some real trees and a glimpse of mountains would do
you good. And I could get you back to Zeda to rejoin Vatar and Thekila.”

“I don’t know . . .”

Orleus reached out to brush her hand with his. “Surely after
all this time you’re not afraid to be alone with me.”

Quetza snorted. “Of course not. But I can’t abandon Thekila,
yet. Not while there’s still some question about what’s happening to Vatar.
That incident with the archery . . .”

“It’ll only be for a short time. Less than a month.”

Quetza didn’t answer immediately, but her eyes betrayed how
tempted she was.

“The hunting’s excellent this time of year.” Orleus held his
breath. Would that enticement be enough to change her mind? Apparently so.

Quetza smiled. “Now it’s you who knows me too well.”

“Then you’ll come?”

She nodded. “Yes. I’d like that.”

~

Now that he had no more reason to delay, Orleus went down to
the docks the next day to arrange passage for himself and Quetza, as well as
his nearly two dozen recruits. He passed up the ship that would be leaving
first after discovering that Andreus would be on it. He’d heard from Boreala
that the Healers’ Hall had discovered that Lancera wasn’t the only patient the
Healer had seduced. They’d decided to punish Andreus by sending him to Tysoe,
specifically to work in the new settlements in the Land between the Rivers,
where there would be almost no women. He had to appreciate the irony of the
punishment, but he had no desire to travel the distance to Tysoe with the man
who’d caused so much trouble for Cestus.

The next ship actually suited better. He could get nearly
private cabins for both himself and Quetza and there was still room for all of
his recruits. Quetza would never have traveled by sea before, so it was
important to make this part of the journey as comfortable for her as possible.
He finished his negotiations with the ship’s master and started back up the
wharf toward town.

“Orleus? Is that you?”

Orleus blinked. Now who would know him in this part of
Caere? He turned. Everyone was rushing about their own business except a young
Fasallon man, perhaps five or six years younger than himself. Not one of the
men he’d passed up in recruiting. He’d remember that. This one was a little old
for a recruit, anyway. Orleus looked closer. This young man looked strikingly
like . . . himself. “Who are you? Do I know you?”

The man’s shoulders sagged. “Don’t you r-recognize me? I’m
M-Miceus. Your b-brother.”

Orleus stifled a gasp. “Miceus?” He strode forward rapidly,
a broad smile spreading across his face. “How could I recognize you? I haven’t
seen you in more than twenty years! The last time I saw you, you were only this
high, still clinging to Mother’s skirts.” He held his hand at about hip height.

Miceus returned the smile. “That’d be about r-right. Where
have you b-been hiding?”

Orleus didn’t remember the stammer. He decided not to
mention it. Catching up with his long-lost brother was more important. “I live
in Tysoe for the most part. I’m just here on business. Recruiting. And I’ve
been having some blades and points made by the best smith I know. One of our
brothers, as a matter of fact. He’s just finished my new sword.”

“Have you b-been here all winter? And you n-never came to
v-visit?” Miceus asked.

Orleus shrugged. “I didn’t know where to find you. At least
when you weren’t in the shadow of our mother.”

Miceus took a step back, his smile fading. “What k-kind of
lies did F-Father t-tell you about her?”

Orleus paused with his hands out. Looking at him now, it was
too easy to forget how young Miceus had been at the time. How much did he
remember? How much had he even understood of that last break between their
parents? And, knowing Mother, how many lies had he swallowed down whole in the
meantime? Diplomacy had never been Orleus’s strong suit, but he’d better find a
way to handle this delicately. “Father has never told me a lie. And he’s never
said anything against Mother in my presence. He didn’t have to. I was old
enough to remember what happened between them. And with Boreala.”

“How c-can you defend him? He sent you away. He sent you to
T-Tysoe all alone.”

Orleus shook his head. “He sent me away to protect me from
Mother. She’d already almost destroyed Boreala. Father wasn’t about to let her
have a chance to do the same to me. And I was never really alone. Father had
friends there who took care of me. And Father spoke to me every night with Far
Speech. He brought me back most summers to spend at least a month with him. It
was Mother who abandoned me when she realized I was beyond her control.”

“F-Father t-took you away from her. You and B-Boreala.”

Orleus drew in a deep breath. “Miceus, there’s nothing wrong
with Mother’s Talent that I know of. She could have used Far Speech to keep in
contact with me—or Boreala—as easily as Father did. She didn’t even have to
know where I was. She never made the effort. Not once. Father
always
did. He never missed a day during that first year I was in Tysoe. And rarely
after that until I was grown and had started to take on my responsibilities in
the Tysoean Guard. Even then, he’s always contacted me with Far Speech at least
once a seven-day. Didn’t Father ever try to speak to you when you got old
enough for Far Speech?”

“He d-did,” Miceus said slowly. “But M-Mother said not t-to
answer him.”

Orleus felt a twinge of guilt. He’d never attempted Far
Speech with either Miceus or Selena. It was a poor excuse that he’d lacked the
concentration needed to use his Talents effectively and rarely initiated Far
Speech even with his father or Boreala. If Orleus had made an effort, Miceus
might have answered
him
. He might not have been left with only Mother’s
twisted side of things. “Let’s not waste our time arguing about our parents.
I’ve only heard third-hand reports about you for twenty years. And I doubt
you’ve heard even that much about me. Let’s catch up. Not down here. I know a
good tavern up in the north end of town, nearer the guildhalls. What brought
you down here in the first place?”

“M-Mother asked me t-to see t-to something. She ordered some
g-gems specifically from Ch-Chrysaor last summer. What the m-merchant b-brought
was not what she asked f-for. She wanted me t-to m-make sure he understood
exactly what she wants this t-time.”

“Well, for once Mother’s pickiness is more than just annoying.
It gave us an opportunity to meet again, at least. I heard you had married and
already have several children.”

“Three,” Miceus answered with pride. “It’s our d-duty as
T-Talented F-Fasallon. How many ch-children do you have?”

“None. I’ve resisted the Council’s pressure to marry. In
fact, I resist practically everything the Council wants out of habit, unless it
has to do with my duty to the Guard. But I may change my mind, soon. The idea
of marriage is starting to sound more interesting—if I can marry the right
woman.”

~

Orleus looked up as the lengthening shadows crossed their
table at the tavern. He’d nursed a single tankard of ale through the afternoon.
“I was supposed to meet Vatar at the guildhall about now, if I was still in the
city this late. Why don’t you come along?”

“Who’s Vatar?” Miceus asked, slurring the words slightly.
He’d drunk more than Orleus and obviously didn’t handle it as well.

Orleus noticed that his stammer had disappeared as he drank,
though. He wasn’t sure what that meant. “One of our brothers. I told you about
him. He’s a smith.”

“One of Father’s bastards, you mean?”

Orleus set his tankard down hard. “Don’t use that language,
Miceus! That’s Mother talking through you. We have quite a few brothers who
don’t happen to share the same mothers. But most of them are good men and good
friends. So mind how you speak of them to me.”

Miceus almost seemed to shrink, like a whipped cur. “Sorry.
Didn’t mean to offend. That’s the only way Mother ever talks about them.”

“Well, you’re a grown man, now, Miceus. It’s time to stop
parroting Mother’s opinion about everything and have one or two of your own.”
Orleus blew out his breath and tried for patience. Maybe if Miceus had ever met
any of their half-brothers, he wouldn’t talk like that. “Walk along with me to
the guildhall. It’s on the way to the Temple and the boat that’ll take you back
to the Palace anyway.”

Vatar was just coming out of the gate of the Smiths’ Guild
carrying a long, wrapped bundle when they arrived, so Orleus hailed him.

“Orleus!” Vatar waved the bundle. “Good news. The sword
master approved your blade.” He held out the bundle.

Orleus took the sword. “I never doubted it.”

Vatar grinned. “Then why did you hang around to find out?
You must have been done down at the wharves hours ago.”

Orleus put his free hand on Miceus’s shoulder. “I was. I met
someone and stayed to talk. Vatar, this is my brother, Miceus. Miceus, this is
our brother Vatar.”

Vatar nodded to Miceus. “Pleased to meet you.”

Miceus hesitated just a moment. “Pleased to meet you, too.”
His brow furrowed. “You look like somebody. But I can’t think who.”

Orleus laughed. “He looks a lot like Father. If you hadn’t
let Mother keep you away from Father all these years, you’d have seen that
right off. He looked between Vatar and Miceus. “I have an idea. Vatar, would it
be all right if Miceus came to the farm for seventh-day dinner?” He wasn’t sure
whether he should mention to Miceus that their father would be there too, but
Vatar would likely catch the implication. “It’ll be a chance for him to reunite
with the other half of his family.”

“Of course.” Vatar shrugged. “Family is always welcome.”

“I don’t know,” Miceus said. “I . . . I’ll think about it.”

“Boreala will likely be there. I know she’d want to see you again,”
Orleus said, hoping that would influence Miceus to agree.

“I . . . I don’t know. Maybe.” He turned into the Temple.

After watching him go, Orleus and Vatar continued on their
way.

As they passed through the Temple Gate and started up the
hill, Vatar said, “Orleus, I noticed that you didn’t mention that Father will
be at the farm for seventh-day dinner, too.”

“Miceus might not have come. Mother’s filled his head with
lies about Father. He and Selena are my younger sister and brother—Boreala’s
and mine. Full siblings. When Father left Mother, he took Boreala and me with
him. He made sure we both had the kind of family and support that we needed.
But Miceus and Selena were much younger—Selena was only five and Miceus was
barely three. Father left them with Mother. He intended to take them, too, when
they were old enough. But Mother poisoned them against him. Neither one of them
has spoken to Father—or to Boreala or me, either—for more than twenty years.

“I know Father regrets leaving them behind, now. He thought
he was doing it for the right reasons. But the estrangement has hurt him.
Which, of course, is why Mother turned them against Father in the first place.
I hope Miceus comes. Father is sure to, since we’ll both be leaving Caere soon.
I know how much it would mean to Father to see Miceus again. I don’t think I’ll
mention it to Father, though, just in case Miceus changes his mind. He seems
awfully uncertain. More than he should be.”