The Rival (49 page)

She used the Hervish design as a point in her argument.

Nicholas had always disagreed.  He thought the palace design made sense to any warrior peoples.  And he knew that his people had fought some kind of battle in their early years just from the clues in the Words Written and Unwritten.  The Roca had been fighting the Soldiers of the Enemy.  The Islanders had developed weapons, like swords, that had only military uses.  The religious uses came later.

A lot of good it did him now.  Until the Fey arrived, Blue Isle had been at peace throughout its recorded history.  Even though he had insisted on training his people to fight after their first victory over the Fey, very few had done serious, diligent work.

They had expected holy water to save them.

And, from his vantage, it didn't appear to be working.

He and Sebastian were in the Uprising room.  The room was square and took up the entire top of the North Tower.  For centuries, it had no glass, but his great-great grandfather had glassed in the room during the Peasant Uprising.  He had said he wanted to watch his armies defeat the Uprising and not get cold.

The old man had been nothing if not pragmatic.

Nicholas could use some of that now.

There were chairs on all the stone walls, and a square stone table built into the center of the room.  It was a larger version of the war room, and one he needed at the moment. 

Sebastian was standing in the center of the room, as still as one of the pillars.  He had his hands clasped behind his back, his chin out.  He was watching Nicholas as if he were afraid his father would disappear.  Given the loss of Gift, and Arianna's flight, Sebastian had reason for the fear.

Assets.  Sebastian was one.  He looked like Gift.  He might stall the Black King if necessary, although Nicholas didn't see how.  There were few others.

The birds still surrounded the palace.  They were in all shapes and sizes, watching from the gate, from trees and from the ground.  The tiny Fey on their backs, male and female, were nude.  Nicholas had looked at them through a crude spyglass.  The hair on their heads was feathered.  They were part bird.

None of the Fey had ventured onto the palace itself, even though they had been staring at it all morning.

But they didn't interest him as much any more.  What interested him was the smoke cluttering the horizon, smoke all over the city of Jahn.  Black tendrils climbing from the southwest, another from the southeast.  Jewel had told him that the Fey never laid waste to useful land.

Perhaps they didn't think these parts of the Isle useful.

New smoke was rising, thick and oily, from the other side of the Cardidas river.

And it looked as if the smoke were coming from the Tabernacle.

Arianna would tell him what was burning.

If she returned.

He whirled, unable to bear the thought.  Sebastian's eyes tracked him.  Nicholas went over to his son, touched him, found reassurance in the stony flesh. 

"How … long … till … she … comes … back?" he whispered.

"I wish I knew," Nicholas said.  She was on her own, more alone than she had ever been.  If only he had sent them down to the dungeons when he had had the chance.

If only she had gone.

The dungeons. 

They were his other asset.

If he used them right.

He patted Sebastian's shoulder, then turned and went to the door.  He pulled the door open.  Five guards stood on the stairwell, arms crossed. They were his hand-picked bodyguards, men he recognized.  Still, before he spoke to them, he looked closely at their eyes.  Jewel had taught him that Fey Doppelgängers, who literally took over a victim's body, were recognizable only through the gold flecks in their eyes.

His guards were clear.  No Fey had made it up these stairs.

Yet.

All five of the guards looked at him expectantly. They were young men, in their early twenties at the most, and muscular.  He had picked them because of their proficiency in swordplay and at hand-to-hand combat.

"Trey," he said to the young blond at his immediate left.  "Find Monte. Bring him to me.  Quickly."

Trey nodded, then hurried down the steps.  Nicholas watched him disappear into the bowels of the palace, then he closed the door.  They both knew where Monte was.  He was on the lower level, making certain the doorways and windows were secure.  He was the only one of Nicholas's trusted advisors that had been in the palace when the Fey appeared.  So far as Nicholas could reconstruct, the Fey arrived at the same time, a great horde of them darkening the early dawn sky.  The kitchen crew had seen them, and had thought it odd, so many birds arriving all at once.  But they hadn't realized they were Fey sent until it was too late.

Sebastian still stood, stiff and unnatural, in the center of the room.  He had an uncanny ability to blend in, to look like nearby stone structures.  He had had that ability since babyhood, and it had been that ability that had saved both him and Arianna from her grandfather's wrath all those years ago.

Nicholas put his arm around Sebastian and led him to a chair.  Sebastian shook his head slowly.  "Want … to … see … Ari … when …  she … comes."

"She'll come back to me," Nicholas said.  "You'll see her."

"Wish … she … were … here," Sebastian said.

"Me, too," Nicholas said.  He eased his son into the chair, and noted with satisfaction that it was near one of the pillars.  Sebastian looked like a carving built into the wall.

Sunlight was streaming in the windows, highlighting the embroidery on the chairs.  There were no tapestries on these windows.  They were open all the time.  The windows in the East and West towers were the same, but didn't quite give him as good a view of the city.  The towers got in each other's way, which was not a problem here.  There was no South tower. 

The smoke was thicker.  He hoped Arianna hadn't gotten caught in it. 

He hoped she still lived.

He didn't know what he would do without her.

Then he closed his eyes.  He had once thought that way about Jewel.  What he had done without her was go on.  One day at a time.  Every morning he somehow got up, faced the day, and thought about Jewel.  Then, over time, rising became easier.  But he never stopped thinking about her.  Even now, especially now, she was in his thoughts.

He should have foreseen the attack on the Tabernacle.  She had warned him.  He had once asked Jewel what she should have done if she had known about Blue Isle's holy water before she attacked, instead of learning about it later.

Destroy all the Black Robes,
she said.

Apparently she had thought like her grandfather.

Nicholas would have to do that too.  He would have to think like the Fey's Black King.

What had Jewel told him?  She had explained strategy to him more than once.  She had felt that he was deficient in that area. 
There's more to a soldier than good swordsmanship, she had said.  Strategy is the most important.  A good strategist turns his opponent's expectations to his own advantage.

What did the Black King expect? 

He expected Nicholas to wait for a meeting.

He also expected Nicholas to attempt an escape.

Maybe he even expected Nicholas to mount an attack from within the palace.

There were fires all over the city.  And Fey soldiers on the streets.  The Black King wasn't going to negotiate.  He was going to take Blue Isle and his great-grandchildren.

He's ruthless,
Jewel had said.  The Shaman had said the same.  Even Rugar, Jewel's father, had mentioned it.

Ruthless.

He wouldn't expect Nicholas to be ruthless too.

Nicholas swallowed.  He could be ruthless.  He hadn't been ruthless in a long long time, but it wasn't something a man could forget.

Matthias had taught him how, all those years ago.  By killing Jewel.

By trying to destroy everything Nicholas cared about.

There was a triple knock on the door.  Sebastian started.  Nicholas turned. 

"It is Trey, Sire."  The voice, speaking through the door, sounded like Trey.  Nicholas hoped it was.

Nicholas crossed the room.  His heart was beating, hard.  He had no protection against the Fey in this place. If they sent a Doppelgänger, who would know the codes, Nicholas had no recourse.  He could only trust that they weren't going to attack him first, not without word from the Black King.

He pulled the door open.  His guards remained.  Trey stood there, his blue eyes clear, and Monte stood beside him.  His eyes had no gold in them either, although they were shot with red.  Monte was getting too old for this sort of thing.

But he had to make it through this last battle.

They all did.

"Thank you," Nicholas said to Trey.  Monte came in, and Nicholas closed the door.

Monte glanced around the room, his gaze skimming right over Sebastian as if the boy weren't there.  Nicholas decided not to draw the Captain of the Guard's attention to the boy.

"Are you familiar with the tunnels beyond the dungeons?" Nicholas asked. 

Monte snapped to attention.  He clearly hadn't expected the question.  "Yes, Sire.  But I haven't been in them since your father was alive."

"Where do they come out?"

"All over the city, Sire. 

"Any near the palace?"

"No, Sire, not outside the walls.  Inside, they come up through the barracks."

"And the birds are blocking the barracks right now, aren't they?" Nicholas asked.

"They're blocking everything."  Monte sounded resigned.  "There's thousands of them, Sire.  And only a few hundred of us."

Nicholas nodded.  "But they're birds, Monte."

"With Fey riders."

"Still," Nicholas said, "Jewel told me that Beast Riders still have the instincts of the creatures they share.  We can use that."

"I don't see how, Sire.  The numbers  — "

"Are overwhelming."  Nicholas crossed the room and leaned out the windows.  The birds hadn't moved.  The Fey on their backs held the neck feathers as if they were reins.  The Fey were holding them in, keeping them in check.

Birds were violent, but they startled easily.

"All right," Nicholas said.  "Here's what I want you to do."  He pushed away from the window, turned and faced Monte.  "It's a gamble, but I think we have no choice.  If we don't act now, we'll never get another chance."

"Do you think we have a chance now?" Monte asked, looking over Nicholas's shoulder.

"Yes," Nicholas said.  "I think we do."

FIFTY-FOUR

Coulter took two steps after Gift, then stopped.  Coulter's shoulders fell, and his mouth was slightly open.  The corn surrounded him, embraced him, held him as if he were a part of it. 

This was the Coulter who had lived in Shadowlands.  The one the Fey had rejected.  The one that had spent his entire life as a pariah.

Adrian walked over to him and put his hand on Coulter's arm.  Coulter started.  He was rigid.  The boy who wouldn't take affection  —  who couldn't take affection because it was never given  —  was back.

"Why didn't you just open the Link?" Adrian asked, trying to give Coulter a way to solve the problem, a way out, a way to get his best  —  and oldest  —  friend back.

Coulter turned slowly.  He licked his lips, blinked once, and frowned.  The adult mask fell over his face, but the little wounded boy still peeked through his eyes. 

"I couldn't," he said.

"Because you were jealous?" Adrian asked.

Coulter shook his head.  He sighed, and as he did, his eyes filled with tears.  He brushed at them angrily.  "If I were so jealous, I would have cut the Link a long time ago, without Gift knowing."

"Why didn't you tell him that?"

"I tried."  Coulter's voice rose, a little boy sound.  He cleared his throat and repeated in a softer, more controlled way, "I tried."

He swallowed, glanced after Gift, then leaned against Adrian.  Not quite a hug  —  they were too adult for that now  —  but a reassuring touch. 

"It's the Black King," he said quietly.  "I felt the Black King."

Adrian waited.  He had been with Coulter a long time now, and had raised the boy as his own.  He had learned to give Coulter time, and then Coulter would give back.  Coulter always did.  Despite what Gift said, Coulter was a good man.

"I'd never felt anything like him before, Adrian."  Coulter's voice became even lower, as if he were afraid the Black King would overhear.  "He's evil."

"Evil?" Adrian hadn't heard Coulter use that word.  He wasn't even sure it was in Coulter's vocabulary.

Until now.

Coulter nodded.  He was still staring at the road, at the path Gift had taken.  "I felt him when he found Gift.  He's strong, Adrian, and ruthless.  He's old and smart, and he has twenty times, maybe a hundred times, the power of Rugar.  The only reason I was able to force him out of Gift was because I surprised him.  He didn't know what I was."

Coulter was trembling, small thin shudders that ran through all of his muscles.  He hadn't been this frightened since his first day outside of Shadowlands, when he didn't know what smells or colors were.

"What makes you think he would have harmed Gift?  Gift is his family, after all."

Coulter shook his head.  "He doesn't understand family.  Not like you do.  Gift is a tool, and the Black King would have used that tool right from the start.  He would have changed Gift."

"Through the Link?"

"Just touching him, letting his mind brush Gift's, changed him."

"You think that was it?  Or do you think it might have been the shock?  Gift has never really experienced this kind of loss before."

Coulter brought a hand to his face.  "He shut me out, Adrian.  He's never done that.  If he had made a mistake and severed the Link, he might have died."

"But he didn't."

"Not yet," Coulter said.

"I think Gift knows better than to do that.  He loves that stone boy, though.  Can't you hook them back up?"

Coulter shook his head.  "Sebastian is the perfect Link.  When the Black King finds him, and all that nothingness, he'll invade him, and Sebastian will be gone.  And if that had happened when Gift's Link was open, Gift would have been conquered next."