Hunted (Book 3) (35 page)

“Now, understand that the power of human blood is weak, the blood of elves stronger, and that of the Millim Eri—or Mikkik Dun—stronger still. Within you is Eldaloth’s blood, the strongest of all, more powerful than Mikkik’s, we believe. This fact alone is why we hid this section of the prophecy for centuries. We think that our common enemy is completely unaware of the nature of your blood.”

The Chalaine saw where this was going. “So you want to bathe Aldradan Mikmir’s sword in Chertanne’s blood to create a weapon to kill Mikkik?”

“Yes, though there is more to it than that. It requires Trysmagic and Mikkik’s ‘secret,’ and—thanks to Aldemar’s writings—we have it. We have kept it hidden, even from ourselves, for Eldaloth prohibited the use of blood as a source of magic. As for Aldradan’s sword, we found it fitting and appropriate for the task.”

“But first Chertanne has to survive long enough to get close to Mikkik to use the sword,” the Chalaine pointed out. “That task is the hardest.”

That was the task that her love was supposed to provide for,
she remembered bitterly. From her heart to his hand protective healing was to flow.

“Are you well, Ha’Ulrich?” Athan asked concernedly. The Chalaine turned to find her husband pale and crushing the arm rests of the chair again.

“Bathed in
my
blood?” he choked. You both seem to have wandered past that part as if it were as easy as picking daises.”

Athan smiled. “Be at ease. It is rather the easy part. Only a single bleeding is needed. With my magic you will not feel a thing, and with the Chalaine’s, you will bear no injury for it. You will perform the magic to turn the blade into a weapon when the time is close to confront Mikkik. We cannot risk a weapon of such power to fall into anyone else’s hands.”

Chertanne relaxed. “But how am I to face him? How will it all play out?”

“We simply don’t know, Milord. We have long assumed that Mikkik would, as in times past, gather an army in the east and strike at the west.”

“But, as I recall from my history lessons,” the Chalaine interjected, “Mikkik was rarely seen with his armies. He preferred to remain in Goreth Forest, conjuring up his monstrosities and sending them forth. What makes you think he won’t behave in the same fashion, especially since he knows what I carry in my belly just as well as you and I do?”

“It is true that he rarely commanded any battles personally,” Athan confirmed. “But the return of Eldaloth will not provide an incentive for him to stay hidden. He simply cannot hide from a god. We feel—though acknowledging the unpredictability of our foe—that his best chance is to kill you both so that he need not fear. The failure of the Ilch to perform his mission will, we feel, increase the likelihood of Mikkik’s personal appearance. He knows that the two of you must attend the battle by prophetic dictum. The failure of the Ilch will ensure that he must appear, as well, to personally finish you both.”

Chertanne groaned. “Which he will do! I cannot fight him! He is simply too powerful for me to stand toe to toe with!”

“Have you not heard what I said, Chertanne!” Athan exclaimed. “It is your blood, the blood of Eldaloth himself, that will lend us the victory. I do not believe you were ever meant to be as strong as Mikkik, and you will not strike out into this fray upon your own. Armies and Magicians and Churchmen will stand ready to protect and help you. You do not bear this burden alone.”

Silence prevailed as Chertanne thought things over. The Chalaine stared out the window, imagining a nice walk along a country lane, arm wrapped in Gen’s. He had a picnic basket full of apples, cheese, and wine. He smiled at her and she at him. Birds sang everywhere. . .

“Chalaine!” Chertanne called.

“Hmmm?” she replied dreamily. Only then did she realize her husband and Athan had both stood.

“We need to go, Chalaine,” Chertanne said, face still a little pale. “We must prepare for the ceremony this evening.”

“Oh, yes, of course. I am sorry. I am a little tired this morning.”

“Come on.”

“Yes, Milord. I am with you.”

Mirelle, while nervous, had rarely felt so ecstatic before addressing a crowd. Usually such occasions relied on pomp, ceremony, and stock phrases of patriotic fluff. But for this speech, she required no more than her heart, a heart which had filled to overflowing in the days since her return. Walking the halls of her own castle, sending Warlord Jarius and the Church ambassadors packing, and convening the Council of Regents again all inspired the return of the strength and security she had once felt. For the first time in months she knew what she was about, and it
felt
right.

Even better, she had Gen to share everything with. While she admitted her own bias, she had never found anyone with whom she felt such a commonality of spirit or whose knowledge and personality she respected and admired to such a high degree. He seemed freed of the dark moods that had afflicted him since his failure at Elde Luri Mora, and their mutual scheming and planning helped him feel useful to the cause of aiding the Chalaine, even if not in the way he would like.

Mirelle did not conceal her and Gen’s return in the least, letting every scullery maid, guard, and scribe get a good glimpse of them to fuel the rumors in the street. Prior to their return, everyone in Rhugoth had heard Gen was a traitorous, dead Ilch and that she was safely ensconced in Ironkeep. By letting word of Gen’s presence spread unofficially, she hoped to pique interest and render her official story more palatable when it came time to tell it. Today, Unification Day, would see it told.

She exited the maze to her quarters, a sharply dressed Cadaen behind, to find Gen waiting for her. She had wanted him to wear courtly rather than military regalia after their return, but for today’s purposes she felt it important for everyone to see him as he had looked when he marched out of Mikmir nearly a year ago as a Dark Guard. And, Mirelle had to confess, seeing him dressed in his black uniform brought back many treasured memories of their past association.

She dressed for authority, not for beauty, pulling back her hair so that the circlet of silver would stand out and wearing a deep purple dress embroidered in gold so that no one would ever forget who ruled in Rhugoth. And she meant that. She would not leave her city and her country in other hands as long as she had the means to prevent it.

She beamed at Gen, embracing him affectionately and kissing his cheek. “How do I look?”

“Like today is not the day to cross you.”

“Indeed, it is not,” she said, taking his proffered arm. “I cannot tell you how happy I am to see this done.”

“It needs doing now,” Gen said as they began their journey to the Great Hall. “I just got word back from Maewen and General Harband this morning. The city is fit to boil over, and the countryside is full of tales about Aughmerian soldiers and high ranking Church officials being marched into boats and through Portals. Everyone knows you have broken the Fidelium and are now asking why. Fortunately, your people trust you and believe that if you did it, it was for a good reason. There are exceptions, of course, but after today, I think you will have to fight harder to keep the people from storming to Ironkeep and pulling the Chalaine out.”

“Yes. I will have to be careful how I approach that, but I think I have it worked out. Did Ethris manage to take care of your little problem?”

“Yes,” Gen replied. They needed his foot to look like any other.

“How?”

“Another branding.”

“You’re sporting quite the collection of brandings now, aren’t you? You’ll have to show them to me later.”

“That would be most unseemly.” Gen smiled.

Ethris awaited them at the gate into the Great Hall proper, dressed in white as always. He greeted them both.

“This will truly be a momentous day,” he said. “The prophecy is falling apart, but I am more confident in its success than ever. I am not sure if I am a crusader or a faithless wretch.”

“The faithless, incompetent wretch is Athan,” Mirelle commented, tone angry. “We don’t have a dungeon to match that of Aughmere’s, but I might just have one built so I can throw him in it if I ever find him and can overcome my desire to throttle him on the spot.”

Ethris frowned. “You are more in danger from the Church than they are from you, at this point. I’ll put up a ward today, but please keep your words to a minimum, if you would, so we can get you safely back inside.”

“No promises.”

Ethris humphed. “Are you ready for your new title, young man?”

“Of course not,” Gen said. “Will we see Maewen and General Harband tonight after the ceremony?”

“I believe so.”

“Any word from Torbrand?” Mirelle asked.

“Not as yet. I fear that after our recent actions the Church has been watching the Portals doubly closely. It may be difficult for him to return. After today, however, there is no guarantee the Portals will work at all, though he could choose any road to get here he liked. Well, we’re here.”

They had arrived at the ornate front doors. Chamberlain Fedrick was bedecked in his finest robes and was alertly awaiting an opportunity to perform his office again. He winked at Mirelle as she entered, and she squeezed his arm as she took her place behind him. Soldiers filled in around them.

“Wait out of sight until I call you, Gen,” Mirelle ordered. “You won’t have to wait long.”

“As you wish, First Mother.”

Gen retreated to the side of the antechamber, and, once he was safely out of the way, the Chamberlain tapped of his ceremonial staff on the ground. The doors swung open, revealing a massive tumult of people in the courtyard around the steps. A huge cheer burst forth as Mirelle strode out, and she could not help but smile. Behind her, Ethris chanted to create his ward and to amplify her voice. She stood at the top of the stairs and raised her arms to silence the crowd.

“Good people of Rhugoth, you cannot imagine my pleasure at seeing you once again and hearing your welcoming voices. I wish the news I had to bear you were all good, but as with all things, that which is good rarely comes as purely as we might hope, and the dark, it seems, must always find a way to besmirch the day.

“First, I bring you word that my daughter is in good health and that the Holy Child grows within her, as prophecy has dictated. She sends you her love and her good wishes. Alas, she is not here with us as some rumors would have it, but if all goes well, I am sure you will see her ere the year is out in the company of our God. Secondly, as most of you have guessed, I have reasserted my rule over this nation and reconvened the Council of Regents.

“With this news, however, I leave what is simple and must set straight the record concerning more complex matters, one of which concerns someone I trust completely and love dearly but who has been unforgivably slandered. You know of whom I speak. For you to understand this matter, I need you to listen carefully and to accept that I, your First Mother, have never and will never lie to you.

“You have heard that Gen attempted to kill Chertanne in Elde Luri Mora after the Chalaine’s wedding. This is true.” The crowd gasped, and a wave of murmurs rippled through the courtyard. Mirelle waited patiently for it to subside. “You have also heard that Gen did this because he is the Ilch, that Chertanne then slew him, and that a leg has been paraded about the countryside as proof. All of this, my good people, is a lie. Chertanne, as he did in my very own Hall two years ago, behaved toward the Chalaine, Rhugothians, and Gen in such an infamous and insupportable manner that Gen, due to his oath, had no other choice but to confront Chertanne, who then attacked Gen and failed. The good Pontiff, now dead, protected Chertanne from Gen’s killing stroke, and from that moment on some of the Church invented the abominable and dishonorable tale which you all know, and Gen became a fugitive.

“I am here to assure you of these facts: Gen is still alive; he is not the Ilch; he is in full possession of both his legs; and he still serves the Chalaine and me. He is the same noble, courageous man you knew. I imagine most of you, to your credit, did not believe what you were told, that you could not reconcile Gen’s heroic actions in our service with the notion that he was somehow the embodiment of evil. And well you could not, for this falsehood, fomented by certain of the Church, was created merely to strengthen your faith in Chertanne’s power and help you feel more secure. But to put your minds at ease and to confirm what many of you believe, I give you Gen, once Lord Blackshire, now Lord Protector of Mikmir and my faithful counselor.”