The Hollow Crown: A Novel of Crosspointe (43 page)

Suddenly Ellyn squatted beside him, rubbing his back soothingly as he continued to cough. Blood spattered his trousers and its coppery taste filled his mouth. Not good. He needed healing.

She seemed to think so too. She settled her hands on his shoulders and he felt her reaching inside him. It was a hot, sticky feeling and by no means comfortable. If he’d had the strength, he’d have wriggled out of her grip. But he didn’t have the strength.

He clenched his teeth against his agonized moans as tentacles of power slithered through him. They brushed his ribs and the bones felt spongy, even to Keros. He flinched and sucked in a sharp breath, then coughed again, pain wrapping his chest in bands of molten steel. Ellyn’s hands tightened and the tentacles prodded and wriggled into his flesh and bones and began to pull them right, smoothing out bruised muscles and piecing back together the shattered bone.

When that was done, she went further, searching out every little hurt. When she was done, the tentacles pulled out reluctantly. They groped and grabbed, trying to remain. Keros couldn’t help himself. He had sat rigidly through the rest of the healing, his entire body drenched in sweat. He clutched handfuls of his cloak to keep from trying to strike out at Ellyn, and his jaw clenched so tight he thought his teeth might crack. But he could take no more.

Without thinking, he reached for the thistle. It throbbed with power. He grabbed the raw majick and slapped at the tentacles. He felt them and Ellyn recoil. Her grip loosened and fell away.

Instantly he turned, horrified. What had he done? But she just rubbed her head ruefully, looking tired. There was blood on her face along with a few scrapes and bruises, but otherwise she seemed none the worse for wear.

“That’s going to give me a headache,” she said and then yawned widely. She narrowed her gaze at him. “Just what in the four realms
was
that?”

Keros shook his head. “I have no idea. But it came from the direction of Sylmont. I think we should get there as soon as we can.”

She nodded and stood slowly, reaching out a hand to help him up. He took it, though he felt almost spry. His exhaustion was gone with his wounds. He rolled his head on his shoulders and stretched his arms high above his head. He felt good, though he was so filthy he doubted he’d ever be clean again.
If
he ever got another blessed opportunity for a bath again before he died, which he thought might be very unlikely at the rate things were going.

“Thank you,” he said to Ellyn. “How did you know what to do?” He wiggled his fingers in a semblance of the tentacles.

She shrugged. “Healing has always been a strength for me. Using blood majick is different, but my mind is very focused. When the Decardi—the school of majick that was established for training the new majicars—discovered my ability for healing, they made me learn anatomy thoroughly. So with you, I could see what was wrong and saw how it should be. Keeping the images sharp in my mind worked a little like chanting.” She paused. “I’ve never been so strong.” Both repugnance and wonder colored her voice. “I could feel your pain and it fed the majick—Is there any limit to the power of Jutras majick if there is enough blood and suffering to fuel it?”

The question struck Keros like a hammer to the gut. Was this the reason behind the violence and brutality of the Jutras invasions? The idea sent a chill sliding down his spine. Now he and Ellyn could draw on that same majick. Not only that, but the pleasure of it would be . . . He didn’t want to think about it.

He spat on the ground and bit his lower lip hard, tasting blood. The thistle inside him twitched and sweet delight swirled through him. He swallowed the bile that rose in his throat. “I don’t know,” he said hoarsely. “But there’s no point to worrying about it now. First we have to get to Sylmont and find Margaret and Weverton.”

“If they survived that blast,” Ellyn said.

“Don’t borrow trouble.”

“What’s another spoonful in the cauldron?” she asked with a sardonic grin.

“I’d rather not find out,” Keros said. “We’d better get going. That blast was enough to knock down buildings.”

No longer fettered by exhaustion, he found himself driven by the urgency of what the majick storm might have done to Margaret and Weverton. Keros snorted at himself. Who would have ever thought he’d give a damn what happened to Nicholas Weverton? He trotted up the hills and ran down the slopes. Ellyn kept up, despite the fact that she had not benefited from any healing—in fact, she ought to be more worn out than before.

Her expression was dogged and he had a feeling she’d stop only when she dropped dead. Her body was graceful and loose despite her fatigue, and her hands hovered near her weapons.

It wasn’t until that moment that he really understood what she was—that he really
saw
her, not through the lens of the past, but as she was now. In every way possible, the girl he’d known as a boy was gone. This woman was cunning and strong; she was lethal and relentless. What she set her mind to, she went after with every part of her being—nothing held back in reserve and no concern for her own safety. She was hard—like tempered steel. She didn’t give up and she didn’t run away. She watched more than she spoke and she saw a great deal. Her mind was as quick as her wit, and she had the ability to fade into her surroundings like a chameleon. He had no doubt her lessons in anatomy had taught her to kill as efficiently as she healed. He was glad to have her at his side as they headed into whatever dangers were waiting in Sylmont. He was glad she was Ellyn and not Sperray.

At midnight they paused to sleep and at dawn they began again. As dusk fell, they crested a ridge above Sylmont and Keros dug to a halt. They were north of the Maida of Chayos and just west of the city center. A pall of dust and smoke hung over the city and it was difficult to see anything at all. Many of the fires had burned out or been smothered by the majick wave. He could see a gauzy green glow where he thought the Maida ought to be.

He pointed to it. “Over there.”

They walked along. An unsettling quiet surrounded them, made more eerie by the fact that it wasn’t a true silence. Keros could hear cries, moans, shouts, and whimpers, but nothing of the normal bustling city noises. He hurried his steps.

As they drew closer to the Maida, they began to hear more voices and frequent ragged coughing. The dust was so thick that it clogged their eyes and noses and made it hard to breathe. Ellyn tied a strip of cloth over her nose and mouth and Keros tore a strip from his tunic and followed suit.

Keros narrowly missed stumbling over the first body they came to. It was a man with graying hair and weathered skin. He lay on his back, his eyes wide and staring. Blood stained his upper lip where it had trickled from his nose. Likely he’d been thrown in the air by the blast and the fall had killed him.

More bodies littered the ground. Men, women, children. The majickal explosion had been indiscriminate in its choice of victims. They were scattered in and under a maze of wreckage—huge chunks of masonry, parts of roofs, doors, a stove, furniture of all sorts, cobblestones and bricks, a wood wagon, dead animals, and so much more.

“This one’s alive,” Ellyn said, leaning over an unconscious woman.

Keros didn’t hesitate. “Leave her. You’re already tired and we may need your healing abilities for Margaret or Weverton.”

She straightened. “Or Weverton?” she repeated, her brows rising.

“We may need him. He’s got power and resources to help fight the Jutras.”

They continued on, approaching the Maida. Now people milled in the dusty mist.

“How’re we s’posed to find ’em in this soup?” a male voice called out ahead.

“They’re supposed to be coming here,” a woman answered, her voice rough with the dust. “Names are Keros and Ellyn. They’re majicars, but they’re supposed to be all right. Not like the others.” Fear laced her words tightly.

“Aye. The cracking bastards. I’d as soon cut ’em down where they stand.”

“But the princess and Mister Weverton said it wasn’t the majicars’ fault—the Jutras poisoned them. Anyway, they said these two have been healed and can be trusted. After what those two did for us, I’m not going to argue. Comes to the Crown vote, Princess Margaret has mine.”

Keros stopped cold. Margaret was alive. Relief made him nearly giddy. But then the next words shredded that relief to bits.

“Still can’t hardly believe it. Never saw nothing like it. We was all on the ground pissing in our pants and those two was facing down that beast alone. Thought she was nothin’ but a bit of fluff and then she stood up on its foot and drove the lance through that cracking beast’s head like it was made of cheese. That’s a queen I could follow into the black depths,” the man said.

“Might have to if what she said was true and the Jutras are already here. That is,
if
she survives. Those majicars better hurry if they’re coming. I saw her after. She needs a healer but quick.”

The words goaded Keros. He started to step forward and then caught himself as an idea stirred to life. It wasn’t a new idea, by any means, but one he’d never entertained seriously. But now . . . everything was different and there might be no better time. Besides, he was tired of living a lie.

Ellyn nudged him hard. “What’s wrong? Didn’t you hear? We have to hurry.”

He looked at her. Then deliberately he let the illusion fall from his eyes. “Yes. It’s time they found us.”

He waited, his head tipped to the side. Her eyes narrowed and then with a quirk of her lips, she let her illusion dissolve. Like him, her eyes were white. A slight veining of gold ran through them.

“Let’s go,” she said.

He turned back toward the voices. “Hello? Is there someone there?”

The dust stirred and two delats emerged from the gloom. The woman was tall with broad shoulders and black hair pulled back in a severe braid. The man was shorter and stocky with a shock of short blond hair. They both carried lowered lances, the blades made of a translucent green material that shimmered in Keros’s modified sight. He could feel the power of the majick radiating off them like a cold winter wind. He held very still. He would not like to get cut by one of them. Both of the brown-robed delats were braced for attack, eyeing Keros and Ellyn suspiciously.

“Who are you?” the woman demanded through tight lips, her gaze running over first him and then Ellyn, and then returning to stare him in the eyes. The lance in her hand shook.

“I am called Keros and she is Ellyn. We are majicars. We need to see Princess Margaret.”

“What’s wrong with your eyes?” the stocky delat asked.

“Nothing,” Keros said. “I see quite well.”

Beside him Ellyn snorted. The delat tossed her a fierce look and his spear lifted so it was aimed at the center of Keros’s chest.

“Why are they white like that?”

He smiled slightly, his head tipping to the side. “Because they are. Why are yours blue?”

“Ain’t natural.” His lance twitched forward.

But before he could drive the weapon forward as his trembling hand suggested he wanted to, Ellyn interrupted. “Did we hear you say that the princess needed healing? Take us to her.”

They exchanged a look and then lifted their lances out of the way. “This way,” the woman said and started off. Keros fell in beside her with Ellyn behind. The other delat brought up the rear.

“What happened?” Keros asked, waving his hand through the dusty air.

The delat gave him a sidelong look, then switched her weapon to her other hand, away from Keros. “Majicars went crazy in the city and started attacking each other, none of them minding who or what might get hurt in the crossfire. Chayos raised a barrier to protect the Maida and people came running to take shelter. A lot of the fighting had died down when Princess Margaret and Nicholas Weverton showed up. They said the regent was a traitor and the Jutras have invaded.”

“That’s true,” Keros said, hearing the doubt in her voice. “And the Jutras have found a way to poison the majicars and drive them insane. That’s why they were attacking each other.”

“So how come you’re all right?”

“It wasn’t easy,” he said softly. “And that’s why our eyes are white. But that’s a story for another time. I’d like to hear the rest of yours.”

“After they arrived, there came a howling down in the city. It sounded like it came from all the way down by the harbor south of the Riddles.”

“Howling? Like a dog?”

She shook her head. “Like something from the other side of Chayos’s altar,” she said and he could see goose pimples that spread over her skin at the memory. “It scared everybody. It wasn’t until it howled a second time—a lot closer—that I realized the fear was majickal. It was sending it out. I wanted to run . . .” She trailed off, swallowing hard.

“Forcan,” Keros said.

She looked at him sharply. “That’s what they called it. But she wasn’t scared—Princess Margaret. She asked for a lance and so did Weverton. Then that
thing
came. It was big—bigger than the horses they were riding. Its teeth were longer than my arm and its claws were bigger than my legs. By then the fear had us all on the ground. It was hard to breathe even. Then the princess started across the plaza to have room to fight. It followed her, like it had come just to find her. Then it pounced. Weverton cut it—stabbed a lance into its side.” The delat shook her head. “You should have seen her. She ran right up to it and drove her lance up under its jaw into its head. Then it made a noise like the world was ripping in half. It tossed her aside and then there was a light—as bright as the sun—and then the majick exploded. It leveled buildings. If we hadn’t been inside Chayos’s barrier, I don’t know that we’d have survived.

“When it was over, we found her and Weverton lying in the plaza. They were both unconscious, but he woke up soon enough. But her—when she woke up, she couldn’t move. We found a place to take her to wait for you. It’s just up there.”