The Castrofax (20 page)

Tears were in Robyn’s eyes, and as she
blinked, they spilled over. “No.”

A man with golden hair rode up on a handsome
palfrey, exchanged a few words and promptly backhanded Nolen.
“Balien?” she whispered. “What is he doing here?”

“Lady Aisling must have her fingers in this.
He is her man.”

“You don’t think she would have caused—”

“No,” Calsifer snapped. “Never.”

It had been years since she last saw her
beloved brother, and even from this distance, he looked healthy and
trim. Balien rose to his feet and suddenly punched the Prince. She
blinked through her tears, astonished.

“That was bold,” Calsifer muttered. There was
a brief conversation, and Balien vaulted back into his saddle and
tore off; his palfrey hurtling the dead and dying.

Soldiers lifted Gabriel to his feet, but his
knees buckled. Two more men stepped up and hefted him to their
shoulders.

“Is he paralyzed?”

“No, he moved,” Calsifer replied. “He is
spent.”

“I must go to him,” she said as the soldiers
loaded him into a carriage.

“Is that wise?” Calsifer asked as she stalked
off. He and the destrier followed. “Remember to lie well.”

She ran down the slope, jumping the bodies
and ignoring the cries of men calling to her for help. It was a
gruesome sight. Some men lay with cauterized burns, missing parts
and limbs, while others had perfect holes cut through them. Body
parts stuck out from trees, and to her left someone crawled their
way out of the soil. Most of the men she stepped by were dead, and
the few that lay dying were burned or wept blood.

The wagon pulled away with Gabriel, and she
called for them to halt though no one heard. Nolen looked up and
smirked. She did not stop running towards the wagon, and a moment
before she reached Nolen, she deviated her path and dove straight
into him, taking him to his back. She scrambled to a seating
position and let her fists fly, striking wherever she could gain
purchase, clawing at his face and hair all the while screaming with
tears falling down her cheeks.

Nolen put his hands together and a ball of
air exploded between them, throwing her back a few feet away. As he
stood, she saw he had raw scratches down his cheeks and bled from
his nose and lip; the cut also reopened.

“You think I did not know?” he yelled at her,
not allowing her time to rise. “You were hiding his secret all
along, and you think me stupid enough not to know?”

She scrambled to her feet. “What right do you
have to take him from me?” she yelled back. “He was mine!”

“I am sure you will find another Mage to
screw in due time,” he snapped and wiped blood from his lip.

‘
He doesn’t know. He thinks we were
lovers. He doesn’t know who I am.’
“You’ve obviously never
heard the legends of Class Ten lovers, being a Class Five
yourself.”

“Is that a
challenge
, young lady?” he
snapped.

“
Watch
your tongue,” she hissed. “And
you will grant me five minutes with him when we return to Anatoly
City.”

“I do not know what is so legendary about
five minutes,” the Prince laughed and wiped a cheek. “And you
should not be making demands after attacking me.”

“You took my life from me, the least you can
do is give five minutes of it back.”

He regarded her coolly. “Fine.” He brushed
off his coat as he left to follow a healer.

She turned to leave, and saw General Calsifer
standing off a little, a mildly amused look on his face. “You are
lucky he let you keep your fingers.”

“He cannot possibly wound me deeper than he
already has.” The streaks of wet tears on her cheeks collected dust
in the scrabble, leaving tan lines down her pale skin. “Will…will
he hurt him?”

“There is no telling, my lady.”

Calsifer managed to salvage a few blankets
before the battle, and he took Robyn well outside the ring to camp
down for the night.

“How many men are here?” she asked after
passing hundreds.

Calsifer looked across the expanse. “The Air
Guard has four thousand men and two hundred Calvary Maidens in
it.”

He paused, and she prodded. “And how many are
dead?”

“Well,” he sighed, “it is easier to ask how
many are still alive.”

Balien rode his palfrey Ciblyne hard when he
reached the Cendal Road. It was a straight shot to Anatoly City
after crossing a slender bridge over the Ellonine River. Ciblyne
was tired from the two day trek, but she was well trained and kept
a steady canter. They rode through the night and were forced to
rest for a few hours the next. Balien slept fitfully, his mind
spinning from the battle. He did not know what Gabriel meant when
he said his Elements were gone, but he heard stories of fabled Mage
objects with such power. To his core he hoped the stories were
false.

They rode on until night was nearly upon them
and finally saw Anatoly City glimmering tan in the setting sun.
Kilkiny Palace stood out among the grand buildings like a beacon.
Lights already lit in her towers to guide the weary traveler.
Ciblyne seemed to sense home, and she gave one last surge of speed.
Guards at the Winged Gate stopped every passenger to inspect their
goods, but Balien pulled his standard from a saddlebag and held it
high as they approached. The triangular crimson banner trailing
behind him held a blue crossbow bolt over a gold falcon in flight.
The guards moved aside to let him pass as he thundered through.

Ciblyne took herself to a gallop at his
command, and he stood up in the stirrups as the shops and houses
flew by. He held the banner aloft again passing the Queen’s Gate
closest to the palace and kept it up as he galloped to the main
doors. Liverymen quickly ran to take his horse upon seeing his
banner, and a guard opened a door to let him pass. He moved his
weary body into a jog. The dust from the road blew off him, and he
worked his way to the Queen’s apartments.

He held his breath as he rapped on Aisling’s
door, curtailing himself to not rush in unannounced. She called for
entrance.

She turned from her place by the hearth when
he flung open the door, and her shapely brows went up. “News,” she
exclaimed.

“Gabriel’s been taken,” Balien burst. “Nolen
slaughtered most of the Air Guard to bring him down, and he has
fastened some object to his neck that is keeping his Elements back.
He had taken some serious wounds, and the Battle Mages were not
adequate enough to heal him.”

Aisling’s fingers pressed against her mouth,
and he stopped his report. “Were…were there rings around his wrists
as well as his neck?”

Balien remembered Gabriel’s harrowed stare, a
look he would not soon forget. “Yes.”

Aisling’s voice caught in her throat, and she
clenched her eyes shut. It took Balien a moment to realize she was
holding back tears. Uncertain, he straightened his spine and
averted his eyes until she lowered her hand, her passions under
control. He had never been one to understand female emotions.

“What color were they?” she asked, the
strength gone out of her voice.

“Brassy? Copper perhaps. What does that mean?
What is it?”

She shook her head. “Where is Gabriel?”

“There was a prison wagon with the army. With
the wounds he took, I should hope they are speeding here.”

“How far out was the army?”

“A two day ride. They should not be far
behind me.”

“I must write to the Head Mage.” She said
suddenly and rushed to her desk. She scratched something out,
sanded the ink, and called for a page. When the page had
instructions, he dashed off to the rookery.

“What does this mean?” Balien whispered.

Aisling suddenly looked up. “Was Robyn with
him?”

“I…I did not think to look for her.”

She pressed her fingers to her lips again and
took in a shaky breath. “It means Gabriel has been taken by a
Castrofax. He has been enslaved with no control of his Elements,
and he will never be free of the objects until his life is
claimed.”

“They do not come off?” Balien asked in
horror.

“Not until he breathes his last breath,” she
whispered, and suddenly covered her face with her hands. Her voice
broke as her shoulders shook. “All this, and Mage Ryker Slade has
escaped.”

That was a name Balien recognized. “Is
he
behind this?”

“Collaring the only Mage who could stand in
his way? Yes, I would say Ryker is very much involved.” Gripping
onto her skirts, she took a few wavering breaths as the tears
stemmed. Balien had never seen her show such emotion. “How badly
was Gabriel injured?”

Balien took a moment to describe the wounds
and how they looked when he left. She shook her head the whole
time. Anger resolved in its place. “I knew his father, you know. I
watched the boy grow up and always thought to myself ‘he is a
strong one, that boy’. That is why you and your sister were both
fostered with him. I was there when he was given his Class, and I
have never been so awed. To think a man so strong would be caught,
it makes me realize we are so vulnerable.”

“No man should be made to fight a whole army.
It is a wonder he lasted as long as he did.”

“This may be the end of us,” she
whispered.

“Think not on such things, my Lady. Remember,
Nolen is the man to blame for this.”

She stood and brushed her skirts smooth. “You
are right. Gabriel will need allies. Let us put him in the third
room,” she said. It was Robyn’s old chambers. Balien opened his
mouth to agree when the Palacekeeper, a plump woman named Elian,
ran in surprisingly quick for her size and age.

“My Lady,” she said breathlessly, her cheeks
red and her gray bun in disarray. “A carriage has just
arrived.”

Aisling and Balien stood as one. “Where did
you put him?”

“I sent the soldiers to put the wounded man
in the Sapphire Council Room.”

“Why not a salon?”

“He’s bleeding everywhere, my Lady,” Elian
replied, and Aisling ran out with Balien hot on her trail.

“Make the spare room ready!” Aisling yelled
from down the hall.

A Lady of her distinction never ran, but
tonight called for customs to be broken, and she flew down stairs
and across the halls. Night was already upon them, and the lanterns
were being lit as they tore across the long carpets of the east
wing. Pageboys with candles stopped to watch them, knowing
something terrible had happened. Gossip would be strong in the
servant’s quarters tonight.

The Sapphire Council Room was the closest of
the entertaining rooms to the main doors. Painted a deep gray-blue,
a hundred star patterns that copied the heavens decorated the
ceiling. Aisling rushed in, her twisted hair hung loosely around
her shoulders. Three stretcher-bearers, the carriage driver, and a
soldier in a tattered red coat met her. Two of the
stretcher-bearers leaned across the edge of the long table in the
center, blocking the man atop it, and the solider knelt on the
wood, holding the weight of his hands on something. Balien saw
Aisling give a small smile through her red eyes, and he thought it
was a good sign that Gabriel had regained his senses and strength
enough to fight back.

“Step aside,” Aisling commanded, and she
strode up to the table. As the stretcher-bearers parted, her mouth
fell agape. “More light.”

Gabriel lay on his back, his head turned to
the side, pale and unmoving. His eyes sank in and grayed around the
edges. His lips were ashen but for the bloody mar that cut through
the bottom half. His skin was clammy and his forehead beaded with
sweat, a sure sign of fever. His shirt had been cut from him, and
Balien saw the men were not holding him down, but rather clamped
their hands over his wounds that were poorly bandaged and still
weeping.

Aisling stood there for a moment, her eyes
going from one wound to the next until she came to the copper band
around his neck. Gingerly she reached out a hand and put a
fingernail on it. When she made contact with it, she lowered her
head and Balien saw her fight back the tears. He realized Gabriel
was still bleeding onto the table, and he quickly hopped on it to
find a tightly-bound thigh wound that must have torn open when they
moved him from the carriage. He put his palms across it, surprised
it had grown so wide when it had only been an arrow wound.

“Where is he the worst?” Aisling’s shaky
voice asked.

“Here, m’Lady,” the soldier replied motioning
to the wound over the right hip. Under his half-open coat, Balien
saw the soldier had used his own shirt for bandages.

Aisling sniffed and extended her hands to the
wound, hovering over it for a moment. “It is very deep,” she
whispered and pushed aside a chair to better look at it. “It has
torn through the gut. Did a Spirit Mage really leave this
unattended?” she asked and touched two hands to the side of it.
When she closed her eyes, Balien knew she was working a healing
pattern in through the flesh, pulling it here and there with
slightly bent fingers.

“A Battle Mage did heal him m’Lady, but the
wound tore open in travel.”

“This badly?” Aisling asked, seeming to
regain hold of her emotions.

The solider turned his right side to her and
gestured with his eyes to his head. His hair and eyebrow had been
shorn off in several areas as if a lunatic with a razor had at him.
“I was burned in the battle—my ear gone, my eye useless—but in the
carriage he healed me.”

Aisling gave him a pinched look. “When was he
collared? Before or after this?”

“Before, m’Lady.”

Her eyes snapped to the neckpiece, and her
lips thinned. “
Overturn
,” she whispered.

“What does that mean?” Balien asked.

“That is its name. It means he can feel his
Elements, but any time he tries to use them, the pattern he lays
backfires on his own body. He is constantly taunted by the touch of
his Elements but he can never use them without causing himself
serious damage.” She lifted her hands from Gabriel’s side, showing
off seamless skin. “That is why the wounds are so bad. They tore
open when he healed you.”