Son of Corse (The Raven Chronicles Book 2) (13 page)

              Barek nodded.  “Let’s get some rest, then.  Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.  Arwenna, you and Joss take the loft.  You both need the most rest.  We’ll figure out a watch schedule.”

              Arwenna sat upright, looking at Joss and then Barek.  Before she could say a word, Joss stood up and helped her stand as well.  “Thanks, Barek.  Wake us when it’s time to go.”

              She’d sensed the change between the two men, but waited until she and Joss were in the loft where none could hear them before asking him about it.

              He smiled, enfolding her in his arms.  “Let’s just say Barek and I finally came to an understanding and leave it at that.”  He leaned down and kissed her, chasing all questions out of her mind.

Chapter Nineteen

S
enyan sat in the chair, the constant throbbing in his head making it hard to concentrate.  It first appeared a few days ago, when he finally turned the table on Corse.  He was in control now, not the demon.  The creature who controlled him for so long now imprisoned in the chunk of onyx embedded in the hilt of Bohrs’ sword.

              Knowing it was futile, he still rubbed at his temple with his fingers. There was some piece to the puzzle he was still missing. Just what it was kept eluding him. 

              “The bitch is gone!” Bohrs screamed in anger as he threw the door to Senyan’s chamber open.

              Senyan looked up, trying to keep the smile off his face.  It didn’t really surprise him.  Arwenna was far more intelligent than Bohrs gave her credit for. 

              “I warned you against leaving her unguarded.  What did you expect?  That she’d roll over and beg forgiveness?”  Senyan rose, crossing the room to the stack of books on the other side. 

              He heard the man pacing, his breath coming out in snorts. Bohrs was an animal in so many ways.  And Senyan held the leash.

              “I need troops.  That bastard of mine helped her. I’m going to kill him, and drag her back screaming!” He threw an offending piece of cut crystal at the fireplace. 

              Senyan glanced down at the shards of glass that now littered the hearth. He hadn’t had the need, or the ability, to eat or drink for over a decade now.  Arwenna had seen to that.  But the memory of a good glass of wine haunted him still.

              “No, Bohrs.”  He turned to face him.  It was time to remind Bohrs who was in charge.

              The large man blinked several times. Astonishment crossed his face.  Senyan held up a hand before he could question him.

              “You’ll have your chance yet.  Before this war of mine is over, those two will either be dead or kneeling before both of us in chains.  Your choice.  But we cannot make the same mistakes twice.”  Senyan emphasized the last words.  Bohrs dropped his gaze, the anger leaving his body as he slouched against the wall.

              “She’s mine,” he said, his voice was barely above a whisper.

              Senyan contemplated him.  He’d known of Bohrs’ appetite for women for years, allowed him to indulge in them much like a master throwing his prized hound a bone.  His obsession with Arwenna, though, bordered on deadly.  In many ways, he admired her ability to stay out of Bohrs’ reach.  Without her, Senyan wouldn’t be able to control Bohrs nearly as well as he did.

              “Then, then next time you have her, make sure she can’t run away.”  Senyan sank back into his chair.  “Go finish the training with the Delvers.  We’ll need them to get the army through the mountains intact.”

              Bohrs pushed off from the wall, his jaw clenched. Senyan called out to him as his hand rested on the doorknob.  “Leave your sword.  I need to use Corse for a bit.”

              He knew Bohrs didn’t like the command, but he obeyed.  Senyan remained seated as Bohrs unsheathed his sword and placed it on a long table near the door.  “Anything else?” he growled. 

              Senyan glared at Bohrs, silencing any complaints before they could be voiced.  He needed the man to think clearly, not obsess over Arwenna.  “I’ll send for you if I need you.” He waved a dismissive hand at him, opening the book he’d selected moments earlier. 

              Once the door closed, he rose and went to the table. The onyx sat there. A palpable undercurrent of anger emanated from the stone.  Corse hadn’t anticipated Senyan’s move, which was why it’d worked.  “Next time, make sure the spells you don’t want me to learn aren’t in the same spell book as one you need me to know,” he muttered. 

              Senyan sat at the large table, the book in front of him.  Opening it, he searched for the page detailing the spell to dreamwalk through the past.  Whatever he was missing, he knew he had to chip away at his past to find it.  So much of Arwenna’s past had been hidden from her.  Could the same be said for him?

              He placed the palm of his hand against the onyx, demanding that Corse give up his power, and closed his eyes.

             
A woman sat before the makeshift altar she had prepared in front of her fireplace.  The elven features were unmistakable and somehow familiar at the same time.  Her blonde hair was tied back with a simple silver band.  A silver worked bracelet encircled her wrist, indicating her status as married or engaged. The linen dress she was wearing showed signs of wear. The soft timbre of her voice barely reached his ears, but he began to listen closer when he recognized to whom she was praying.

              “Hauk, I beg of you!  My days of giving him a son are dwindling fast.  Grant me your blessing and give me the ability to give him a son.” The woman swayed rhythmically on her knees.

              “He’s not listening, you know.  And he never has.”  A shadowed figure stepped forward, cloaked in darkness. “Hauk rarely has time for those who can’t afford to purchase his love. I’m listening, though.  And I can help you.” The voice chilled Senyan.

              The woman’s head snapped around, her tearstained face somehow familiar. Something tugged at the back of Senyan’s mind that he couldn’t quite grasp.

              She rose from the floor in a graceful motion.  One hand reached behind her for the wall, the other one clutched at the worn symbol of Hauk at the end of her belt.  The wooden symbol signified her as a minor cleric within the Church, one without many abilities. Her voice trembled despite her efforts, “Go away, demon!  Hauk will answer!  He will!”  Senyan’s ears recognized how desperate she sounded.  She was trying to convince herself as much as the figure before her.

              “Really, Laret.  Do you still believe that?  For the last ten years, you’ve been praying to a god who won’t answer you.”  The man continued, his voice wheedling its way into her.  “He’s about to leave you, you know.  There are a lot of very pretty girls in this village.  It wouldn’t take much for him to put you aside in favor of one of them.  Your family is gone; they can’t protect you any more.  The only thing that will let you keep him is a son that he thinks is his.  I can give you that.”  The figure stepped into the light.  The face wasn’t right, but Senyan recognized Corse’s eyes as they stared intently at the woman cowering in the corner.  “Let me give you what you want.”  He reached out with a hand and stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers.

              Laret shuddered against the touch, fresh tears streamed down her face. “I know you.  There is a price to be paid.  There always is.”  She refused to look at his face. The defeated slump of her shoulders spoke volumes to Senyan. Whatever Corse wanted from this woman, he was going to get it.

              “Your loyalties, of course. And your silence.  Lu’Daw need not know the child won’t be his doing.  I’ll even make sure it’s a son. With his eyes, just to make you happy. Continue saying your prayers to Hauk during the day.  At night, though, say them to me.” Corse had moved to stand in front of her, effectively blocking off any way for her to run.  Another hand reached up and slowly smoothed the hair on the top of her head. “Do we have a deal?”  Corse’s voice was quiet but insistent.

              Laret nodded her head in both defeat and agreement, no longer able to fight off the desire for a child.  The mist surrounded them again, blocking off the rest of the memory.

              Senyan started, jerking his hand off the stone.  The pounding in his head grew.  He was on to something, something Corse had hidden from him. Ignoring the pain searing in his skull, he resolutely placed his palm back onto the sword.  He would know what was hidden, no matter the cost.

             
The house was the same, with the exception of the coldness. No fire burned in the fireplace.  The chill in the room was almost tangible.  A man sat in the rocking chair, his head buried in his hands.  His shoulders shook from the heavy sobs.  He was grieving the loss of someone or something.  A small fist emerged from a small wooden cradle next to him.  Even the child’s plaintive cry couldn’t break the man free from whatever bleakness had overtaken him.

              “Master Mandurin?” a soft voice called out. The man raised his head.  With a small start, Senyan recognized the ice blue eyes as the same as his own.  The man reached down and absently tried to calm the child in the cradle. 

              From the shadows, a girl stepped forward.  She was young, barely past 15, but very beautiful.  Her black hair was hanging loose down her back.  With a grace beyond her years she knelt before the man in the chair. “Laret is dying, Master Mandurin.  Will you not go to your wife?  The head priest says there is nothing more he can do for her.”  There was an undertone to her voice that made Senyan’s brow furrow in thought.

              With a heavy sigh, Lu’Daw Mandurin leaned back in the chair.  His rough hands swiped angrily at the tears left on his weather-beaten cheeks.  “I don’t understand this, Corrise.  She has always been so devoted to Hauk.  How is it He would deny healing to her now?”  The question was asked as much to the woman in front of him as to the room itself.

              Stretching out a long, pale arm Corrise gently took one of Lu’Daw’s larger hands into hers.  She watched him intently, gauging the effects her words were having on him. “Who are we to question a God, Lu’Daw?  It may be that he felt it was enough of a blessing that she give you a son after so many years of being barren.”  A little smile played across her face as he looked towards the cradle at his side. “Perhaps her death will give you the chance to experience fatherhood again. Her passing would allow you to wed again.”  She placed his hand on the low neckline of her bodice, deliberately drawing a deep breath.

              With a look of horror, Lu’Daw jerked his hand from hers.  He stood up with such speed that the rocking chair slid across the floor, crashing into a trunk behind him. The look he gave her was beyond angry.  “Long have you chased me, Corrise.  You tried more than once to lure me to your bed while Laret was whole.  What kind of a woman are you, to continue to entice me while my wife lies dying?”

              Corrise looked up at his face, a calm and determined beauty standing before a storm.  “I did not realize, Master Mandurin, that you actually cared such for her.  With the manner in which you two were wed, it was said that there was little warmth or love between the two of you.”  She rose from the floor, taking the time to smooth the front of her skirts.  “You would not remarry, or even take a lover, when she is gone would you?”

              Lu’Daw drew himself up even straighter and leveled an even gaze at Corrise.  “Had I not loved her, Corrise, she wouldn’t have been allowed to remain here as my wife past her father’s death.  And it is that love that I will carry with me and pass along to our son.”

              Almost absently, Corrise picked up a small eating dagger carelessly left on the mantle.  “You do not wish her dead, then?” Her fingers played along the blade.

              “Why would I wish the woman I love more than my own soul dead?”  The words come out as a whisper. “There is nothing I wouldn’t do to keep her with me and Lu’Thare.”

              “There is one I know of, Lu’Daw, who would be able to keep her here for you.  For your son.  If that is truly what you want above all else.”  The cajoling tone to her voice didn’t surprise Senyan.

              “Who is this you speak of, Corrise?”

              “A man I know. Not much different than other men.  Though he has abilities that can help where Hauk will not.”  Slowly she crossed the room, her hips swaying enticingly. “I could put in a good word for you, Lu’Daw.  Talk with him about giving Laret back to you.  If you give me something in return.”  She leveled a gaze at him, almost challenging him to refuse her again.

              Swallowing hard, he tried hard to avoid looking at the ripeness of her figure. “Whatever you want, Corrise.  I just want her to live.”

              A possessive grin split her face as she looked him up and down.  “For now, just one night will suffice.  I know you to be an honorable man, Lu’Daw.  You’ll honor the deal you just made.”  With those final words, she grabbed his head with both hands and kissed him hungrily.

              The fading light of the day crept through a crack in one of the shuttered windows.  Senyan saw a few black lines pulsate briefly near her ear before the fog retook the cottage.

              The pain subsided enough for him to notice.  His eyes stared, unfocused, at the fire burning in the fireplace.  The shards of glass reflecting the light, much like the shattered pieces of his own memory.  Only, the glass would need magic to be repaired.  What would it take to make him feel whole again?

              Sighing, he reached for the onyx yet again.  He needed to know more. And he couldn’t stop until he knew it all.