Child of the Sword, Book 1 of The Gods Within (34 page)

She said nothing. She stood with her fists
on her hips and glared at him. He tried to pretend that she wasn’t
there, but after a long wait she finally spat, “Don’t ignore
me.”

Morgin looked into her eyes. They were red
from many tears, and sharp with anger. “That would be impossible,”
he said.

“You think you’re witty, don’t you?”

“No,” Morgin said. “I’m just tired, and in a
hurry.”

“Hurrying to leave, no doubt.”

“As a matter of fact, I am.”

“Hurrying to slip away before you’re
discovered, before you pay the price for your cowardice.”

“No,” Morgin said again. “It seems I must
always pay that price. Now what do you want?”

“You know what I want,” she hissed.

“I’m sorry. But no, I don’t.”

At that moment Brandon entered the room. His
face was pinched with concern for his mother, and his eyes had shed
a few tears of their own.

“MichaelOff is dead,” she spat.

“I know,” Morgin said. “I grieve for him
too.”

Without warning she slapped him across the
face. “Liar,” she screamed.

“Mother, please,” Brandon begged.

Morgin tasted blood in his mouth. “What do
you want?” he asked. “I can’t bring him back.”

Her lips curled into a snarl. Her eyes again
filled with tears. “Why didn’t you die instead?”

AnnaRail and Roland entered the room as
Morgin whispered, “I only wish I had.”

“Liar,” she screamed again, and again she
struck at him; the sound of her hand against his face made a clap
that echoed from the stone walls. Morgin staggered backward, blood
now running down his chin. Roland and AnnaRail both converged upon
Marjinell, uttering soothing words, trying to calm her. She
screamed something about Malka and MichaelOff, begging the
gods
to take Morgin’s life instead.

For the moment her attention was devoted to
fending off Roland and AnnaRail, so Morgin took that opportunity to
exit. He walked quickly past them toward the door. Marjinell
screamed, “Let go of me.” There came a flurry of activity behind
him and the others screamed out a warning.

Morgin turned, found Marjinell upon him with
her arm raised high, steel glinting in her hand. He raised an arm
as a shield and fire danced down his forearm as she struck. She
tried to strike again, but before she could Roland and Brandon were
upon her, each holding an arm while AnnaRail took the small dagger
from her hand. She cursed and screamed and spit, lace and
petticoats swirling in all directions.

“Marjinell,” Morgin said sharply. He was
surprised to find his voice strong and hard. The room fell silent
and they all looked at him. When he continued his voice was normal
again. “If it will give you peace, then know that grandmother has
already given me a sentence of death.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

Brandon unhappily told her of the scene in
the Hall of Wills. She smiled, threw back her head and laughed. “So
we will yet have our justice, MichaelOff and Malka and I. I hope
you die slowly and painfully, coward.”

Morgin turned his back on her and left the
bathhouse, but out in the hall he heard her scream, “I hope you
burn in the ninth hell for eternity, coward. I hope nether demons
heap pain and suffering upon you for all time. I curse you, bastard
whoreson. For eternity I curse you.”

As Avis had said a provisioned horse awaited
him in the stables. It was a coal black mare, lean and hard, a far
cry from the likes of poor, dead SarahGirl. She stood motionless as
he checked her carefully, a stillness unusual for such an animal in
the presence of an unknown rider. When he tried to examine her
teeth she nipped at him; she could have bitten him badly, but
merely clicked her teeth near his ear as if to tell him he was
irritating her.

He checked her hooves, then the saddle, then
spent some time going through the saddle bags, noting each item
included in his provisions. Satisfied that nothing important had
been missed, he closed the saddle bags, tossed them over the
horse’s back, and was about to mount up when AnnaRail’s voice
stopped him, “Wait. Please.”

He turned and she embraced him tightly. They
stood that way for a long moment.

“Do not blame Marjinell,” she said. “She is
blinded by grief for MichaelOff and Malka.”

Morgin nodded. “I understand. How is
Malka?”

AnnaRail shook her head. “Bad.”

“But he was sitting up.”

“I know,” she said. “He should rest, but he
refuses to lie down. I think because he believes he will never
again rise. And I fear he may be right.”

She fell silent, her words a death sentence
for Malka far more final than that which Morgin faced.

“Do not blame your grandmother either,”
AnnaRail said. “In her own way she is just as hysterical as
Marjinell.”

“I know,” Morgin said. “But Marjinell’s
hysteria will not be the death of me.”

AnnaRail could say nothing to that. She
merely held him tightly in what they both knew might be their final
embrace. Roland silently joined them, wrapped his arms about them
both. Morgin thought that he might like to remain there forever,
held by the two people he most loved, the two people who gave him
most freely of their own love.

He pulled away from them reluctantly, and
AnnaRail busied herself attending to the cut on his arm. There was
some blood, but Marjinell’s dagger had really done no serious
damage. AnnaRail cast a small spell and the bleeding stopped. She
cast another to clean the wound, then bandaged it carefully.
Throughout the process she and Roland and Morgin held to an
uncomfortable silence, and it was only when she was done that
Morgin noticed the deep sadness in her eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, suddenly alarmed.
“Is JohnEngine hurt? Or is it DaNoel?”

She shook her head as tears filled her eyes.
“JohnEngine is unhurt. DaNoel lies sorely wounded by a Kullish
saber. But he will heal, given time.”

“Then it’s Tulellcoe?”

She shook her head again. “Tulellcoe too is
unhurt.”

“Then who?” he demanded.

“It’s Nicki,” Roland said. “We can find no
sign of her. And Valso too is missing. We fear he’s carried her off
for his revenge. It would be so like him to seek retribution from
an innocent.”

Morgin was stunned. In all of the excitement
he’d totally forgotten tiny NickoLot. “Have you checked the
sanctum?” he asked.

Roland nodded sadly. “We found nothing but
carnage. Incredible carnage. And the Tulalane’s body. Do you know
something we don’t?”

“Perhaps,” Morgin said, reluctant to say
more. “Come with me.”

He led them to the sanctum, and they
followed without question. When they stepped into the antechamber
it was Roland who seemed the most disturbed by the butchery they
found there. AnnaRail merely looked hopefully at Morgin.

At the entrance to the sanctum itself he
could see the Tulalane’s body sprawled within. He paused there, for
he could sense the power waiting for him. As he stepped through the
portal it rushed to him and he fought for control. It was like a
child with no master, pleading to be taken up. It demanded that he
accept it, that he exercise it, that he wield it like a sword.

AnnaRail and Roland stood by waiting
silently. Morgin said nothing, but stepped past them to the
overturned table near one wall. He carefully pulled it to one side,
then bent down and passed a hand through the dark shadows that
lurked there. When he could fully sense and comprehend the spell
that lay before him, he commanded, “Shadows of magic, be gone.”

The shadows disappeared to reveal NickoLot,
curled into a tight little ball, sleeping peacefully. Morgin gently
picked her up, and with Roland and AnnaRail following, he carried
her out of the sanctum, past the carnage in the antechamber and
into the hallway beyond. There he stopped, handed her to Roland,
and began seeking the spell under which she slept. It came so
easily it surprised him, and under his touch, it just as easily
vanished.

“Morgin?” NickoLot asked groggily, barely
awake, reaching out for him, grasping his arm in a grip that was
amazingly strong. “Are the Kulls gone? Did you Kill them? Are we
both dead?”

“It’s all right, Nicki,” AnnaRail said.
“You’re safe now.”

“Mother! Father!” she cried, for the first
time realizing who held her. “Oh mother it was so horrible. There
were Kulls everywhere, and they wouldn’t let me see you. And the
Tulalane tore my dress, and Morgin killed him.”

AnnaRail spoke softly to NickoLot,
comforting her, but her eyes searched Morgin’s face knowingly. To
Morgin she said, “You can never give me a gift greater than that
which you have given me this day. Though when this business is
done, and this hate between Decouix and Elhiyne is finished, you
must come back alive and healthy.”

“I’ll try, mother.”

“Please do nothing foolish.”

Morgin shrugged. “I’ll do what must be
done.”

She leaned forward and kissed him gently on
the cheek, then lightly on the lips. “Fare you well, son. I must go
and take care of Nicki.”

“And I must go too,” Morgin said. “Though
where I’m going only the
gods
know.”

NickoLot was unhurt and able to walk, and
she left with AnnaRail comforting her. Roland stayed and said,
“Come. Let’s tell your grandmother that you are the one who killed
the Tulalane.”

“No,” Morgin shouted. He turned and started
walking to the stables with Roland following him closely. “She
wouldn’t believe me anyway. She’d say I was lying, trying to escape
her sentence of death.”

“But I’ll make her believe,” Roland
pleaded.

“Not even you can make her believe when she
refuses to listen.”

“We must try.”

“No. I’ll not give her the satisfaction of
another public condemnation.”

“Fine,” Roland shouted. “Do as you wish. But
don’t get yourself killed in some foolish attempt to regain pride
and honor that were never lost.”

“I don’t intend to get myself killed,”
Morgin said. At that moment he reached his horse. He grasped the
saddle horn and mounted up in one smooth motion.

Roland grabbed his sleeve and pleaded,
“Don’t go, son. Please. I beg you.”

Morgin started to shout again, but realized
how unfair it was to speak so to Roland. He spoke more kindly. “But
she’s left me no choice.”

“Please,” Roland begged. “You know my
intuition, and I sense that death awaits you out there.”

“Then so be it,” Morgin said flatly. “If
that must be, then that must be. I love you, father.”

“And I you, son. Fare you well.”

Morgin didn’t look back as he rode out of
the stables. He trotted the horse across the castle yard, tried not
to cringe under the derisive stares of the clansmen on the parapets
above. From somewhere JohnEngine cried out, “Morgin. Wait.”

Morgin halted the horse as JohnEngine ran up
to him breathlessly. “Don’t leave without me. I’ll ride with
you.”

“Are you sure you want to ride with a
coward?”

JohnEngine sneered at him. “Don’t insult me.
You know I don’t believe that.”

Morgin looked at the sun. It seemed hours
since he’d awakened in the ditch, but it was still just after
sunrise. Morgin reached out to his brother, shook JohnEngine’s
hand. “I have to ride alone in this.”

JohnEngine seemed to understand that. “But
where will you go?”

Morgin shrugged. “I don’t know.”

JohnEngine hesitated, trying to think of
something to say, but Morgin realized there was nothing more that
could be said. “Fare you well,” he said to JohnEngine, then spurred
his mount through the gates and away from Elhiyne.

JohnEngine called after him, “Fare you well,
brother.”

Not far from the castle gates the road
forked east and west. He could go west to Anistigh, then on to the
port city of Aud and the sea. He’d never been to the sea before,
and Aud was a city where he would apparently be free of clan law.
There was nothing for him to the east, only the Worshipers, and
Yestmark, and war. He hesitated for a moment, then turned east and
rode toward the oncoming enemy.

~~~

Valso watched the sun rise with smug
satisfaction. He’d easily outwitted the stupid Elhiyne armsmen, had
put a good deal of distance between him and them, and could now
travel with a bit less haste. Briefly he considered stealing a
horse, but that might put them back on his trail so he rejected
that idea as an unnecessary convenience. He was in good physical
condition, and not untrained in the lore of the land. It would not
harm him to travel on foot for a day or two. And he felt extremely
good, for everything had gone well, if not exactly as planned.

He decided to stop and rest through the
morning. It had been a long night evading the fool Elhiynes, and
some sleep would do him good. He scouted about and discovered an
old, abandoned mill by a large stream. One wall had partially
collapsed, but after a careful search he found a room completely
intact. It would provide good shelter, and he could relax in
relative comfort there.

He cut some leafy branches from nearby trees
to soften his bed, arranged them carefully on the stone floor, then
lay down to sleep.
Yes
, he thought. The previous night had
indeed gone well. His only regret was that he’d failed to kill the
Elhiyne whoreson.

He dozed off quickly, but in his dreams he
moved toward a goal and sought a certain presence that he knew
awaited him. It was a presence he had known for all his adult life.
It was
that other
that was the source of much of his power.
It was the existence that fed him, the magic that nourished
him.

They met, he and
that other
, and
tears of joy came to him, for in no other presence could he feel
such awe, such magnificent wonder, such power. He was Valso. He
knew power as no other mortal could. He had stood before the
greatest wizards and witches of the clans both Greater and Lesser,
and they were as nothing compared to him. And yet, standing now in
the presence of
that other
, he was as nothing compared to
it.