A Magic King (31 page)

She shoved him away and brought up her mother's symbol. She pictured a brilliant white cross shining in the darkness of her mind, spilling forth its power into her. In her mind's eye, she gathered the cross' power and aimed it at Daken, screaming for him to notice her, to hear her desperation in his mind.

Nothing. It didn't work.

Jane felt helplessness well up within her, a sobbing panic mixed with the cold certainty that she had lost. Her mind was no longer under her own control. She felt its barriers weaken, her consciousness slipping away like a pile of leaves in a stiff wind. Soon she would lose her ability to think at all, and in that relaxed state, Kyree would press forward. He would invade her as she never thought possible, pillaging her mind, then running away, leaving her to die alone.

She struggled as long as she could, cleaving to her sanity, but feeling her grip weaken with each passing moment. She had lost to Kyree.

His glee hovered at the edge of her mind, jeering at her even as she struggled. But the worst part was that no one would ever know what happened. Kyree would continue spreading his net of evil over the world, using her knowledge and the computer's information to become the most powerful force in the world. She would become a footnote in history. She would be the one who failed to stop him.

Her last thoughts turned away from such global concerns. As the reality of her death crept upon her, she mourned her failures on a personal level. She grieved for the children she would never have, the people she could never say good-bye to. Most of all, she grieved for Daken. He would never know her last thoughts were of him.

Gathering the tattered remains of her strength, she brought back her image of Daken. She also pulled up the cross, holding it with her because she was dying, and she couldn't think of a better symbol to accompany her into eternity.

With the last of her sanity, she sent a message of love and sorrow to Daken. This time her efforts were rewarded. She felt a flicker of awareness in him. For an instant, she shared his thoughts.

I love you,
she whispered. It was all she could manage before her consciousness slipped away.

As death spun toward her, Kyree took over and began the slow rape of her mind.

Chapter 12

Daken was drinking. Not a lot. Truth was, he was hiding more than imbibing.

He couldn't shake the sight of Jane as a Council Member. His little fool looked as regal and capable as any queen in any land. She had her own special beauty. Her face was pale, almost drawn, but that only enhanced the fierce light shining through her amber eyes.

She'd done well in the meetings. He'd listened to the talk. More than any of the petitioners, she was the one tried that day. Every one agreed. She'd done very, very well. Her few comments were well-spoken, well-timed, and well-received. She was a success.

Daken was so very proud of her.

He drained his tankard of ale.

He was also very, very depressed. A small part of him had prayed for her failure, begged the Father for her to fall flat. Because then Kyree wouldn't have wanted her. He couldn't risk marriage to a political liability.

Then she would be free for Daken. He would marry her no matter what her political inclinations were. Then she would keep his castle for him while he saved his people. He would come back after exterminating the Tarveen, after he demonstrated his devotion by making his lands safe for her and their children. And she would welcome home her triumphant husband, her face glowing in the sunset, her hair shimmering like dark silk. She would take him in her arms, and he would take her to bed.

Daken ordered another tankard.

His dream would never come true. She was the Oracle in all ways now, and she was Kyree's intended bride. He was nothing more than a petitioner for her aid.

The inn door banged open, letting in a gust of wind that set up a wave of grumbling among the patrons. The weather was damp and uncertain, the wind alternately gusty, then dead—the certain harbinger of a coming storm. No one here this night, including Daken, appreciated the reminder of what the future held.

Daken happened to glance up as the barmaid brought his next tankard. He'd meant to ogle her ample charms that spilled out in front of her like foaming ale. Instead he saw a small boy slipping through the crowds to him.

He swore under his breath. The last person he wanted to see right now was Jane's little pet, Steve. The boy symbolized the end of his hopes of getting Jane as his queen. If it weren't for Steve, Daken would have been Jane's only friend. She would have continued to cling to her King or her Knight Errant, as she sometimes called him. Instead, she got her companionship from the safe services of a boy while she took on the whole Council and won.

By the Father, he was proud of his fierce little beauty. And he was also very, very depressed.

Daken scowled as Steve came up to the table. The boy looked winded and tired, but his eyes were wide with fear. Daken turned to his ale, not wanting to know, but the boy's steady presence and his hauntingly clear blue eyes continued to plague his thoughts even after he'd shut out the sight.

With a sigh, Daken pushed away his ale untouched.

"What is it, boy?"

Steve made a gesture for Daken to follow him.

"Is it Jane?"

A nod.

"Is she ill?"

A vehement nod.

"How ill?" He could barely push the words past the tightening in his chest. "Is she wounded?"

He shook his head, no.

"Sick, then. Dying?"

A grave nod and a silent plea that echoed the agony in Daken's heart. Jane was dying.

It was at that moment he felt something. The vague sense of unease that had been eating at him for the last half hour suddenly crystallized into a brilliant image: Jane, in a cave, gasping out her last breath.

I love you
whispered through the empty chambers of his heart, and then it was gone. She was gone, and he knew he'd heard her last words.

When his vision cleared, he saw Steve, his expression intense and focused. In that instant, Daken understood what Jane saw in the boy. Steve was a lot more than just a mute servant.

Gripping the child's sleeve, Daken spoke, his voice hoarse and urgent. "She's in a cave. And there's smoke."

Steve's eyes widened in fear.

"Do you know where it is?"

The boy moved in a flash. Daken charged after the nimble-footed youth, loosening his sword in its scabbard as he went. Fear beat like a warrior's drum in Daken's bloodstream. As he pounded after Steve, Daken felt his body respond to the call of war. He didn't know who was killing Jane, but he hoped it was Kyree. It would give him great pleasure to slice the wizard from neck to groin in one swift stroke.

He spared a brief thought for Steve. A mortal fight with a wizard was bad business. Daken had no spells, so his only hope was to surprise the bastard. That was easy enough to do if the wizard concentrated on something else. But if he happened to be in between spells or worse yet, waiting in ambush, then Daken didn't want an innocent boy in the middle of a doomed contest.

Without magic, Daken wouldn't stand a chance in a face to face combat.

They sped through the streets, and Daken soon noticed the shadow of the black pantar sliding through the darkness with them. They made it to Ginsen's Palace in scant minutes, and Daken nearly ground his teeth in frustration. He grabbed Steve's arm, spinning the boy around.

"She was in a cave, Steviens. There aren't any caves here."

The boy nodded vigorously and started running again, skirting the edge of the student dormitories until he came to the small grove of trees.

Daken tore after him, pushing himself to keep up with the boy's lightning fast pace. Then he had to stop himself from running over both the boy and the pantar as he skidded to a stop, clutching on to the largest tree trunk to steady himself.

The pantar nosed him aside, pawing at the base of the tree trunk. Steve appeared immobile, his face passive as he waited patiently for Daken to catch his breath.

"Venzi, boy! I said, a cave. Didn't you hear me? A cave!"

Then Daken felt his anger slip away, if only for a moment. Surprise beat a counterpoint to his pounding heart as he realized Steve wasn't passively waiting, he was doing something. The boy closed his eyes, held onto his belt buckle, then touched the very tree Daken still clung to for support, the same tree the pantar still pawed.

To Daken's astonishment, the trunk slid silently open. He jumped away to avoid getting hit in the face by what he now saw as the door. Extending below the earth was a rough hewn stair leading down into a black nothingness.

"All right, boy," he said, drawing his sword. "Stay here." Daken cut off his words as Steve crossed into the passageway first. Then Daken scrambled inside before the door sealed shut, leaving the pantar outside to howl her frustration to the moon.

Once again, Daken reached out for Steve, trying to shove him back to the door, but in the pitch black of the stairway, the boy evaded his grasp. Daken couldn't speak for fear of alerting Kyree, or whoever it was down there, so he settled for a long, silent series of curses. It would be hard enough moving blind down a narrow stair without worrying about one witless boy.

But then suddenly a light flared bright above them, before dimming to a gentle glowing ball. It floated over their heads, illuminating just enough to dampen the oppressive blackness. It was a magelight. Daken looked with new respect at the small boy nimbly sliding down the stairs.

Could it be possible that this boy was indeed a wizard? All the mages he knew spoke, but that didn't mean words were necessary. Daken resolved to keep a much closer eye on Jane's young protégé. In the meantime, there was a maniac to kill.

Every cell in Daken's body strained ahead, demanding he tear forward and release the fury pounding in his head. With every breath he took, he wondered if Jane had already breathed her last. The greatest healer on the planet couldn't bring back life once the spirit fled. But he wouldn't do Jane any good if he got himself killed in an ambush before he could get to her. He steeled himself to silence and stealth as he and Steve moved down the twisting stairs.

At least they were picking up speed. The walls were changing. Instead of the treacherous shifting dirt mixed with tree roots near the door, they now walked down a stair cut through stone. Unfortunately, that also made it harder to remain silent.

Ahead, Steve continued to slip from shadow to shadow, like a flickering ghost. Daken would have pushed the boy behind him, but Steve was adamant he go first, brushing his hands over the faint symbols carved into the rock walls.

Daken hadn't noticed them at first. They were skillfully hidden in the cracks and veins of the stone. It wasn't until he saw the faint blue burn of magic beneath Steve's hand that he looked closer. He could only hope the boy knew what he was doing. If the boy wasn't truly mage-born, then the fitful, half-magic of witches and dabblers could be more dangerous than whatever traps lurked along the stair.

Still they moved on. Daken strained to hear sounds, voices, anything ahead, but there was only a deathly silence more ominous than noise.

Finally they rounded a corner and saw the flickering light of a torch reflected on the wall. This time, Daken was firm as he pushed Steve behind him. Then, together, they peered around the corner.

Kyree sat in the middle of a chalk symbol. His back was to them, but even from this angle, he seemed relaxed—as if he were asleep or in deep meditation. Beside him was a brazier, burning something that, as far as he could tell, produced no smoke. Beyond Kyree was a table and then a huge dome of black air, thick and ugly as it roiled within its contained space.

Daken scanned the room again, looking for any sign of Jane. And in that moment of inattention, he lost Steve. The boy shot past him, flying across the room, he grabbed the brazier by Kyree and shoved it toward the dome.

Daken sprung after him, cursing the boy as they lost the element of surprise. Already Kyree roused from his trance and pointed one long, thin finger at Steve. Daken screamed a war charge, relieved when his yell distracted Kyree from whatever spell the wizard had intended to throw at the boy.