Legacy of Kings (48 page)

“No,” Colivar whispered. “You’re not wrong.”

“We have played by human rules for a very long time, you and I,” Ramirus told him. “But now that game is falling to pieces, and we must fall back upon more ancient rules. The alternative is chaos.” He drew in a deep breath. “So you tell me if I’m wrong about what all that means, Colivar. You tell me if I am wrong about what is required of us now.”

For a long moment the black-haired Magister just stared at him. Powerful emotions blazed in the depths of his eyes: Indignation. Defiance. Hatred. The energy between the two men was so charged that Kamala could feel it raise hairs along her skin. She stepped back from them, fearing what might happen if any of that energy were channeled into sorcery.

Then a terrible exhaustion seemed to come over Colivar; the worst of his emotion seemed to dissipate. “No,” he whispered. “You’re right.”

And to Kamala’s amazement he lowered himself to one knee before his rival. And then lowered his eyes as well, in a gesture of formal submission.

Ramirus gazed down at him in silence. There was no sense of triumph in him, she observed. No pleasure in finally besting his rival. The very necessity of this whole scene seemed to repel him. But that didn’t mean he was any less determined to get the answers he sought, and his voice was harsh as he demanded, “Who was it that first crossed the Wrath? The traitor you spoke of, who brought us this power, and with it the curse of ikati madness. Who was it, Colivar?”

Kamala held her breath. For a moment it seemed that time itself was suspended, as Colivar considered the question. Under normal circumstances he would never have answered it, she knew that. But these were no longer normal circumstances.

“I am the one who flew through the clouds of ash and poison,” he said at last, “hunting my rivals. I tasted the bite of the arctic wind against my face and felt their hot blood bathe my consort’s talons. I battled them in the wake of a queen’s flight and claimed my reward over the corpses of my conquests. And in the end I lay on a bier of bloodied snow, with all the ghosts of the Wrath screaming inside my head, and begged the gods for death.” Slowly he raised up his eyes to look at Ramirus; his gaze was hollow and terrible. “Is that the confession you wanted?” he demanded. “Yes, I sought obliteration, and I returned to this world instead. Now you know. For what good it may do you. May the gods curse you to the vilest of hells for awakening those memories in me.”

“Who is Nyuku?” Ramirus demanded.

Colivar shut his eyes. “He’s the one responsible for my exile,” he said. “Though he didn’t think he was doing that at the time. He just thought he was leaving me for dead.” He paused, then whispered, “The gods can be cruel in their hunger for amusement.”

“An enemy, then.”

“We were all enemies,” Colivar said. “No other relationship is possible when one is bound to an ikati.”

“And now?” Ramirus pressed.

Slowly, Colivar stood. It was obvious as he did so just how weak he was. It was also obvious how hard he was trying not to let that weakness show.

“Now he’s in
my
world.” His voice was hard and cold. “The advantage is mine.”

“How so?”

“He’s a Kannoket upstart by birth. Not a witch. And once he claimed his consort, he had no reason to become a witch. The ikati are concerned with eating, killing, and mating. Nothing else matters to them. And there’s very little power to spare in that wasteland. One doesn’t expend precious resources just for sport. So while he always had the potential for great power, he never learned how to channel it properly. He may be many things, but he is not a Magister.”

“Much time has passed since you left,” Ramirus pointed out. “You changed. Siderea Aminestas changed. Perhaps he did also.”

“Perhaps,” he whispered.

“What is she to you, Colivar?” But the man did not answer. After a moment Ramirus asked, “Why did you come to Tefilat alone?”

“I’ve always walked alone,” he said quietly. The walls were back up.

“It was foolish.”

“Perhaps.”

“Maybe the fact that there’s a queen involved has something to do with it? You’re closer to the ikati than any of us. Maybe Siderea’s situation speaks to you in a way it doesn’t to the rest of us. Maybe you hunger for her in ways we can’t understand.”

A muscle along his jawline tensed. “I’m human now, Ramirus.”

“But you were once something else, were you not? Let’s not pretend those memories have no power.” He paused. “The best way for you to get back at Nyuku would be to claim the Souleater queen for yourself. Would it not?”

Colivar’s expression darkened; a dangerous edge entered his voice. “I know what the Souleaters mean to do to this world, Ramirus. Unlike you, I
saw
what they did to it the first time. Do you think I would allow that to happen again?”

“You allowed it to happen the first time,” Ramirus said bluntly.

Colivar stiffened. Fury blazed in his eyes—and then transformed itself into sorcery, a whirlwind of raw, unfettered emotion that poured forth from him in waves, red-hot in Kamala’s Sight. For a moment she wondered whether he was going to strike out at Ramirus. But he turned away, took a few steps away from them, and directed his rage at the mesa instead. The ground in front of him exploded with a roar, sending huge chunks of rocks flying out over the mesa’s edge. For a moment the air was so thick with dust that she could not make anything out; then, as it cleared, she saw that a whole section of the mesa had been blown away, leaving Colivar on the edge of a newborn escarpment, open air lapping at his feet.

“Things were different then,” he growled.

“You were human back then,” Ramirus pointed out. “Since then, you’ve been other things. And the madness in you was always stronger than in the rest of us. It’s probably what gave you the strength to cross the Wrath and to find a way to survive in this world once you returned, but it’s also what makes you vulnerable. The spirit of the ikati speaks more powerfully to you than it does to the rest of us. The ancient instincts have a firmer grasp upon your psyche. That may have been your strength once, but it is a weakness now. Your judgment is compromised. You must trust to others to lead the way.” He paused. “And to invoke our ikati heritage when they must, in order to establish their authority. Or was I wrong about that heritage, Colivar? Did I mistake what was required in order for us to work together?”

A hot wind blew across the mesa. It left a film of dust on Kamala’s lips.

“No,” Colivar whispered. A terrible emptiness had come into his voice. “You were not wrong.” He paused. “Will you tell the others?”

Ramirus shrugged. “Lazaroth is dead. Sulah is a fool. Whom else would I trust with such knowledge?” He looked at Kamala. “This witch, however . . . .” His mouth twitched slightly. “This
Magister
is your problem. Though clearly she knows how to keep secrets when she needs to.”

“And will you keep my secrets?” Kamala demanded “Or will you tell the others about me?”

Ramirus walked a few steps toward her. Though her first instinct was to back away, she stood her ground. The fact that Colivar had offered him submission didn’t mean that she had to.

“An interesting question,” he mused. “Any Magister who learns what you are—and
who
you are—must then bear the burden of either killing you or violating the Law himself. Which weakens the Law even further. Considering how important it is that we all remain human,” he said, glancing back meaningfully at Colivar, “I think that would be a bad idea.”

His expression was grave as he turned back to her. “I am bound by my Oath, which is also part of the Law. It would defy the spirit of that Oath for me to pay it off by saving your life and then take that life myself a few minutes later. So you’ve put me in an awkward position, where no matter what I do, I will wind up offending against our compact. Given that . . . .” He paused. “You seem to be useful.
He
thinks you are useful.” He nodded toward Colivar. “And in that, I do trust his judgment.”

He took a step back from her. “Sometime in the future we must have a chat about how you became what you are. Assuming you survive this war, of course. And the wrath of the other Magisters. Though the fact that you killed a man they all despised will certainly play in your favor.”

He bowed his head ever so slightly in formal leave-taking. A shadow of a dry smile played upon his lips. “Until we meet again . . .
Magister
Kamala.”

Then a dust cloud gathered around him, and she had to shut her eyes to protect them from the flying grit. When she finally opened them again, he was gone.

She and Colivar were alone.

She walked to where he stood by the mesa’s edge—the mesa’s new edge—and took up a place beside him. Sharing his exhaustion and his silence. Were he morati, she might have offered some words of comfort. But neither of them were morati, and she knew it was not appropriate. That same part of her that recognized the necessity of what had just taken place also understood the part she must play in it. Offering her support to Colivar right now would compromise his submission. Among ikati—and therefore Magisters—such things were sacrosanct.

But she was also human, and so she stayed by his side until the sun set, and the first moon rose, and then they began the long flight home.

Chapter 27

“W

HAT DO you mean,
He escaped?!!!
”

“As I said.” Nyuku’s voice was steady, but frustration echoed in its depths. “He was not in Tefilat. Not bound, not free, not even dead.”

Siderea wanted to break something. Or perhaps someone. For a moment she looked around her to see if there was something suitably fragile at hand other than Nyuku himself . . . and then she took a deep breath, trying to still the pounding of her heart so that she could think clearly again. The queen’s rage was a fire in her soul, hard to overcome. And she was not all that sure she wanted to overcome it.

He failed you!
The ikati thought to her.

“Tell me,” she ordered Nyuku.

“Tefilat has been destroyed. The canyon was filled with rubble when I arrived, the dust still rising. I used the talisman you gave me to try to locate him. Nothing. You said that it would find him if he was alive or dead, so . . .” The words trailed off into eloquent silence.

“You searched carefully?”

Anger sparked in his eyes, but only for a moment. He dared not express any emotion that might displease her. She could see a muscle along the line of his jaw twitch as he fought for enough self-control to keep his voice steady, and not voice his own frustration at the current state of affairs. “I made several circuits, flying in as close as I could. The land itself was still unstable, so I couldn’t enter the canyon. But that shouldn’t have mattered to your talisman.”

“No,” she muttered. “It should not have.”

Colivar had escaped. By all the devils in all the hells! She had invested her greatest treasure in this enterprise, molding his hair into an anchor for her trap, and now that was gone. And the loss was Nyuku’s fault. He knew it and she knew it. If not for his request to deal with Colivar, she could have had the man killed in Tefilat and ended the whole affair then and there. One Magister down, a few dozen more to go. Clean, neat, and efficient.

But would she really have done it that way? she wondered. Or was Nyuku just a convenient excuse? Death was too merciful an ending for Colivar. She wanted him to suffer as
she
had suffered, dying by inches while others stood by and watched. Alone and abandoned, fearing death, betrayed by those he had once loved. The way
she
had been meant to die.

Why do you hate him more than the others?
the queen asked.
They’re all equally guilty.

But the other Magisters had merely been callous bastards. Colivar had actually pretended to care about Siderea, and that was far worse. Yes, she hated them all, and in time she would see that they all suffered for abandoning her, but Colivar’s offense exceeded theirs a hundredfold. And so would his punishment.

“What of Lazaroth?” she asked.

“He failed to meet me as arranged, and there was no message at the drop point. I remained in the area for a day, rather visibly, so that he would have a chance to contact me by other means if he was there. Nothing.” He paused. “If he was true to his word, and remained in Tefilat . . . no man could have survived what happened there, Lady Consort.”

“Well,” she murmured, “at least he died quickly. If he’d come to Jezalya as planned . . . .” She chuckled darkly. “It would not have been pleasant.”

Surprised, Nyuku said, “I thought he was your ally.”

Yes. Lazaroth thought that, too.

What a fool that Magister had been! She’d thought because she had been born a woman, there would be a natural confluence of interest between her and Siderea. After all, she’d argued, it was different with her than with the other Magisters.
They
had used Siderea like a cheap whore, then abandoned her when she needed them most. Lazaroth could understand why Siderea would hate them for that. It was the kind of indignation only a woman could understand.

But the other Magisters didn’t think there was a way to save me,
Siderea mused.
I hate them for not even trying—and for denying me comfort in my final days—but only for that. Whereas Lazaroth knew with utter certainty that I could become a Magister in my own right and knew how to make it happen. And instead she chose to let me die. I was not her lover, so I was not her concern.

I hope she died painfully.

“Lazaroth was useful,” she said shortly. “And I would have kept him around for as long as he remained useful.”

Nyuku’s mouth twitched in a smile. He had clearly perceived the Magister as a rival and was pleased to hear him so roundly rejected. “So what comes next, Madame Consort? What do you require of me?”

She did not miss the hidden message in his words. For a brief moment she considered sending him away, if not as punishment for his failure, then simply to make sure that he understood his place. Humiliation could be a powerful tool when ikati instincts were in play. But he, too, was useful. Perhaps more useful by her side, seething with anticipatory energy, than at a distance, nursing his wounded pride.