The Warlord's legacy

Chapter Thirteen

SALIA MAVERE SAT in her office and fumed, her smoldering temper threatening to ignite the parchments scattered across the massive desk. How could things possibly have gone so wrong, so quickly? If she'd only known, only taken the proper precautions, just maybe they-

She practically leapt from her chair (and her skin) as the door slammed open, her hand dropping to the hammer at her waist. So powerful was the blow that the brass knob gouged a small chip from the wall. Powdered stone cascaded in a gentle shower to the carpet.

She'd heard muffled conversation in the hallway beyond, but the guards were under strict orders to admit absolutely nobody.

Kaleb stomped through the doorway, his body rigid, radiating a violent fury held at bay by only the thinnest emotional leash. Nenavar followed a step or two behind, muttering, and Salia wondered if the older wizard's presence was all that kept Kaleb in line.

The guards in the hall still stood their posts, motionless as sculptures, staring at what must have been a particularly fascinating vista of absolutely nothing.

"What in the name of Maukra's searing arsehole is wrong with you?"

She'd never seen Kaleb like this, so near losing control. Her widening eyes flickered to Nenavar, who could only shrug a silent protest.

I'm trying!

Kaleb checked his advance only when the desk intruded itself between them, and even then he leaned forward as though ready to leap the obstacle or casually toss it aside. "Have you totally lost what passes for your mind, Mavere? You had him, and you let him go!"

"Kaleb, that's enough," the old wizard ordered, perhaps less forcefully than he'd have hoped. "You'll show some respect!"

"I'll show some respect when someone earns it, Master. So far, that's not looking likely."

Her own temper heating steadily, not unlike the forge over which she so loved to labor, Salia rose, matching Kaleb's stare. "What the hell are you two doing here?" she hissed. "If anyone sees you here-"

"Nobody will know we were here, Lady Mavere," Nenavar protested. "Few locals even know who we are, and once I release the spell on your guards, they won't remember a thing."

"Right," Kaleb added. "It's astonishing how weak everyone's mind is in this building."

Salia very deliberately took two deep breaths, struggling for control. Then, "Sit," she offered-or perhaps ordered-doing the same herself. First Nenavar, after closing the door, and then finally Kaleb complied.

"If you'd had the old man-sorry, Master Nenavar-summon me immediately, I could have dealt with him," Kaleb growled. "This could have all been over."

"I contacted Nenavar as soon as we learned it was Rebaine," the Guildmistress protested, trying hard not to sound as though she was whining. Just the thought that he'd been here, right here, had been enough to give her genuine nightmares. I'm not sure how much longer I can stand not knowing… "By then, it was too late."

"You didn't know?"

"All I knew, Kaleb, was that Baroness Irrial was accompanied by a servant cloaked in an illusion."

"And that didn't ring any alarm bells, Mavere? Do you keep your brains in that damn hammer?"

"Kaleb…," Nenavar warned. "I won't tell you again to behave yourself."

"Oh, good. Because frankly, I'm getting a little sick of hearing it. If I-"

The sorcerer's jaw continued to work, but nothing emerged save a rasping sigh. Sweat broke out across his brow, down his arms; a line of spittle dangled from the corner of his mouth. His body quivered, every muscle tensing and pulling against every other.

"And I," Nenavar said, rising to his feet, "am more than a little sick of your disobedience. You call me 'Master' as though it were a joke, Kaleb, and I tolerate it. But do not ever forget that it is true."

Salia watched her guests engaged in a battle of-what? Power? Will? For all her studies into the ways of magic, she didn't really understand the dynamic, the relationship, between them. At that moment, she knew only that she regretted involving herself with either.

Nenavar unclenched his fist and Kaleb doubled over with a pained gasp, breathing heavily. When he finally straightened, his pallid face wore a subdued expression, though he couldn't quite keep the resentment from his voice. "My apologies," he offered breathlessly-whether to her, to Nenavar, or both, Salia couldn't tell.

She decided, however, to accept it, if only to keep the fragile peace. "Of course I suspected something was wrong," she said. "But why in Verelian's name would I have assumed Lady Irrial would be keeping company with Corvis Rebaine? I figured that either she'd been turned and the man with her was a Cephiran spy-"

"Lady Mavere," Kaleb protested, "you know very well the Cephirans don't need to spy on us."

"I know that General Rhykus is aware of that," she said, again choosing to take no offense at the interruption. "But most of his officers are ignorant of the true situation, just as most of ours are. Any of them could have put something like this in motion."

Kaleb nodded, conceding the point.

"Or," she continued, "it might have been some move against the Guilds by the nobility. A House spy, a hired assassin… Those are the threats I've reason to anticipate here. It wasn't until I heard the details of their escape that I realized who we were dealing with, and by the time I was able to get word to Nenavar, they were long gone."

"I thought," the old wizard said, "that I heard none of the guards survived."

"They didn't. But a few folk in the hall had the courage to stick their heads out of their offices to see what the fuss was about. Some of them saw the axe, and we all know its description by heart, don't we?"

"I could try divining for them," Kaleb offered thoughtfully.

Nenavar shook his head. "I tried that before coming to fetch you. They moved fast-unnaturally fast-and Rebaine has a great many defensive spells in place." He frowned irritably. "The man's not much of a sorcerer, but he's made a pretty thorough study of such spells."

"I can't imagine why."

"It doesn't help," Nenavar continued, "that nobody here saw him without his illusory disguise. If they had-or if I myself knew more of this Lady Irrial, whom Lady Mavere did see clearly-I might use that familiarity as the basis for more potent divinations. But as it stands, we'll have to continue with our search the hard way."

"By which you mean, I'll have to continue with it," Kaleb said. "Then may I ask," he continued, far more politely than before, "precisely what I'm doing here? Jassion and Mellorin won't be waking up anytime soon-I saw to that-but still, the longer I'm gone…"

"You're here," Mavere told him neutrally, "because our witnesses also identified several of Corvis's helpers among the aristocracy, some of whom I hadn't realized he had under his influence. So we're going to feather two bucks with one arrow by having 'the Terror of the East' do something hideous to them."

"Why, my dear Lady Mavere, I'm always happy to oblige."

She couldn't help but recoil from his crocodilian grin, and once more cursed herself, wondering if she was irrevocably damned for consorting with the likes of these warlocks.

Not for the first time since that horrible day, Mellorin awoke, screaming, in the dark of night. The sheets were twisted around her, soaked with sweat, and she'd thrown her pillow clear to the window.

Almost before the echo faded, a figure filled the open doorway. To the girl's terrified imaginings, her mother, hair and nightshift illuminated from behind, appeared an angel of the gods. From behind the folds of that thin fabric, little Lilander peered with frightened eyes.

Tyannon swept into the room, wrapping her weeping daughter in an embrace as tight as the womb. "Oh, my baby," she cooed, gently rocking the girl, one hand caressing her hair.

"Mommy…" It was barely audible, amid Mellorin's sobs. She'd not called Tyannon anything but "Mother" for several years now.

As though scaling the highest peak, Lilander hauled himself up the side of the bed and put his head on his sister's knee. "Don't be sad, Mel." He couldn't have understood, then, why she only burst into fresh tears.

Mellorin knew her mother was worried, knew she wanted her to speak of the dream. But how could she? She had to stifle a scream just thinking of it!

Again she lay sprawled in the wood, head aching from that awful blow. She felt the crunch of leaves and the skittering of insects in the dirt, the sticky patch of drying blood on her scalp. Again she heard those vile men with their harsh voices and cruel laughter, debating her fate like she was nothing, like she wasn't even there. And again she heard and understood enough, just enough, to know that those who argued for murdering her outright were offering the kinder option.

She waited, the part of her that knew she was dreaming, for what was to come next. She waited for the bushes to part, for the sound of that gods-sent voice, for her father to save her. That was, after all, how it had happened.

But in the dream, the men closed around her, filling her nose and mouth and lungs with the tang of sour sweat, and her father never came. SUMMER WAS FINALLY PACKING UP to depart, a guest who'd only belatedly gotten the hint, while autumn stood behind, arms crossed and foot tapping. Through most of Imphallion, the breeze assumed just a tiny hint of the cool scents to come. Most of Imphallion, but not here. At the periphery of the great swamp, the heat lingered, conducted and spread by the oppressive humidity, transforming the world into a simmering stew. Mosquitoes flew, or perhaps swam, through that syrupy air in such quantities that inhaling squirming mouthfuls of the damn things was as great a hazard as contracting some horrible pestilence from their bites. Kaleb had prepared an herbal paste, bolstered by a touch of magic, to repel them, and the constant buzz had taken on an angry, almost frustrated tone.

Some few dozen yards from the shallowest reaches of the marsh, Mellorin sat cross-legged within the shade of scraggly, sun-blasted trees. She studiously watched the thick grasses at her feet so she needn't look into the face of her companion.

"Mother told me, over and over," she said to the ground, "that he'd gone to make sure the 'bad men' never hurt me again. She never-neither of them ever understood. I was only a child, Kaleb. It didn't matter to me if there were bad guys out there. There were bad guys here-well, you know what I mean, at home-and that's where I needed him." Her voice shook; with pain, yes, of course, but also with a smoldering rage that threatened to set her alight from within.

He blotted the light from her vision as he knelt in the grass beside her. She said nothing, refused to look up, but a shiver ran through her skin as his hand-hot and clammy in the heat, but no less welcome-took hers. "I'm so sorry, Mellorin."

Then she did look up at him, for something in his tone rang ever so faintly false. Not that she thought his sympathy a lie, for the softness in his face looked genuine enough. Rather, he seemed not entirely to understand.

Over his shoulder, way out in the swamp, a few sporadic and leafless trees formed tiny cracks crawling up from the western horizon. The marsh might have marked the edge of the world, its filthy waters leaking out through that broken sky.

Despite herself, she smiled. "You've never really been afraid of anything, have you?"

Kaleb shifted so he was sitting, rather than kneeling, beside her. "I-not really," he admitted. "Anyone with the patience and the will can learn some magic, but some people are just born to it more than others."

She nodded.

"I was born to it. I've had more power than I've really known what to do with for my entire life. When you have that, it's hard to take fear seriously."

"You're not even afraid of my father? Not even a little bit?"

"Hm." Kaleb frowned thoughtfully. "I respect what he's capable of. I acknowledge that he's dangerous. But fear, like you're talking about? I certainly don't think so. But maybe I wouldn't know it if I were."

"And here," she told him, her smile growing, "I thought you knew everything."

"Not yet," he said pompously. Then he, too, grinned.

"Kaleb," she asked, partially out of a sudden need to say something, "why are you here?"

"Well, when a mommy wizard and a daddy wizard love each other very much-"

"Stop that," she ordered, punching him in the arm even as she battled a case of the giggles. "I mean it," she said, regaining control. "I've told you why I had to come along. And we both know why Uncle Jassion hates my father."

"Anyone with ears who's ever been within ten miles of Jassion knows that."

"And maybe a few without them. But why are you here? And don't try to tell me it's just a job you were hired for, either."

"Well, that's partly what it is," he answered.

"Yes. Partly."

"Just because I've never really been afraid," Kaleb told her seriously, "doesn't mean I can't be hurt. Your father's hurt a lot of people." Her face went stony, her teeth grinding, and she nodded. "He wouldn't know me to look at me," the sorcerer continued, "but I was one of them. Maybe, when we find him, I'll remind him of it."

She wanted to ask, to know, but she wouldn't push him. Not on this, not now. Her free hand rose, seemingly of its own accord, to his face. "I'm sorry, Kaleb. I'm sorry he did that to you. I don't know who he is, anymore. I guess I never did."

She felt his other hand on her shoulder. "It's not your fault, Mellorin."

"I know, but I-"

"Shhh." He was leaning forward, now. She felt the heat of his breath on her lips, could all but taste it on her tongue, and she was certain he must be able to hear her heart pounding. Closer, almost touching…

"Kaleb!"

Mellorin could not have jumped any faster had she been manacled to a catapult. She gawked at Jassion, who stood with arms crossed at the edge of the copse, and nearly choked as a whole battlefield of warring emotions squeezed through her chest, leaving little room for breath. Cheeks flaming, she rose and fled beyond the trees. KALEB WATCHED MELLORIN GO, chewing on the inside of his lip. Languidly he stood, and the expression he directed at the newcomer was utterly bland. "What's your problem, old boy?"

Three steps forward, and Jassion stood as close as Mellorin had been. "I've warned you before about hurting her. Don't think I'm not on to you."

"Damn," the sorcerer said. "You've seen through my clever attempt to not hide anything. I haven't tried to deceive you, Jassion. Does it look like I've any interest in hurting her?"

"There are many kinds of injury, Kaleb, and I'm not choosy. You hurt her, and I'll-"

"Kill me, yes. Possibly by boring me to death by repeating the same threat over and over. Was there a reason you came back? Other than to embarrass me and your niece, I mean."

"There was, actually," the baron said, apparently having decided he'd made his point. "I've found one of them." WHILE THE VOICE IN HER HEAD that warned of pending danger had faded after the battle with Losalis's men, Mellorin's own natural talent allowed her to retain much of the instinct Kaleb's spell had imparted. She'd been hoping, once Jassion returned from his scouting efforts, for the opportunity to practice them. (Had anyone actually used the phrase showing off, she'd have been mortally insulted.) So the young woman was rather disappointed when Kaleb informed her that she and Jassion would serve primarily as a diversion.

That was, until she finally got a good look at her first ogre.

For some time they'd slunk through the edges of the marsh, following Jassion's lead, and every step was an endeavor. So far as Mellorin could tell, the swamp had no true "bottom," just a point at which the filthy mix of mud and water coagulated enough to support their weight. It clung to her ankles like a terrified child, seeped through the seams in her leather boots to caress her skin with sticky, lukewarm tendrils. Kaleb swore that his herbal paste would survive immersion long enough for them to finish what they were doing, but still she flinched, fearing some terrible sting or venomous fangs each time something hidden in the murk brushed against her legs.

Cypresses and other gnarled, bony trees protruded now and again from the swamp. Mellorin's imagination transformed them into the desperate fingers of drowning giants, their bodies sunken in the muck. The stench of slow decay scratched at her lungs with dirty, ragged nails, and she struggled to remind herself that what she smelled was the natural odor of the bog, and not the remnants of those lost titans.

And so it went in all directions, save back the way they'd come: an endless expanse of stagnant water, creeping mildew, and the rotting, ravenous earth that lurked below. Were this truly the edge of the world, it couldn't have been any more disturbing, any more oppressive.

So caught up was Mellorin in her surroundings, it required a quick "Hsst!" from Jassion before she spotted the distant figure. A sentry, no doubt, watching the borders of ogre territory.

Though little more than a distant silhouette, he showed arms and legs-or at least, portions of those legs above the waterline-blatantly corded with muscle. His proportions were just a bit skewed from human, and she could clearly make out the single horn protruding from his skull. Fearsome, certainly, but at this first glimpse he didn't seem all that impressive; dangerous, but not some nightmarish legend.

Then he leaned back against a trunk of a jagged cypress that Mellorin had thought was much farther away into the swamp, and her cheeks went pale. "My gods…"

Kaleb's lips curved in a faint smile. "He's a big boy, isn't he?"

"If that tree's anywhere near as high as… Kaleb, he's got to be ten feet tall!"

"Probably closer to twelve," the sorcerer said speculatively, as though he were looking to buy the damn ogre. "Plus the horn, of course."

"Oh, of course." Mellorin was trying to wrap her mind around the notion of a creature twice Jassion's height. "We wouldn't want to forget that. Wouldn't be polite."

"If you two are quite through," Jassion growled, "I'd very much like to get this done before he spots us skulking out here, thanks. Do you remember the plan?"

"Yes, old boy." Kaleb sighed. "Some of us aren't complete idiots." Mellorin, for her part, rolled her eyes in perfect imitation of Kaleb's traditional expression.

The sorcerer hunkered down in the muck, practically vanishing, while the others advanced on their target, spreading out slowly as they walked. The hilts of her sword and dagger felt somehow sticky and slippery at the same time. Mellorin chose to attribute it to the humidity of the swamp, and not to the fearful sweating of her palms.

With a deliberate calm, the creature turned toward them as they neared, its single eye darting from one to the other. Rather than move to meet them, it remained where it stood, dropping into a shallow crouch with the cypress at its back. At the ogre's waist, positioned for a one-handed draw, hung a sword longer even than Jassion's demon-forged flamberge, and the beast clutched a leaf-bladed spear that could have spitted a warhorse lengthwise, with plenty of room to spare.

Despite the humidity, Mellorin felt her lips go dry, her tongue swell to fill her mouth. She felt like a child wielding toy blades against a very angry parent. Her legs ached as she slogged through the mud, and she knew that any fancy footwork would accomplish little more than to drive her even deeper into the sludge. If it actually came to fighting this monster, the only question was whether she or Jassion would die first.

She could see the ogre's leather armor, now, cut from alligator hide. Opposite his sword hung an iron-banded horn on a leather thong, but he'd made no effort to lift it to his lips. No sense alarming the whole tribe, Mellorin assumed, when it was just a couple of humans either too stupid or suicidal to live.

That, of course, had been the entire point of this little charade, but the warlord's daughter was beginning to question the wisdom of "the plan."

And her own, for that matter.

Nearer still, and the beast sidled to one side, keeping its back to the tree. It could watch Mellorin's approach from the corner of its eye, but clearly it had determined Jassion to be the greater threat. Mellorin, despite her recent "influx" of skill and the days of practice since, had to admit it was probably right, and she couldn't keep a sigh of relief pent up in her chest as it turned its attention away.

A few more steps, and Jassion would come within range of that impossibly long spear. Mellorin felt a flutter of panic. Kaleb, now would be a really good time!

She didn't actually believe the sorcerer was listening in on her thoughts, but at that moment he might as well have been.

Her hair blew across her face as something passed with impossible speed overhead. She glimpsed nothing more than a ripple in the air itself, the faintest wisp of steam or mist, wadded into a ball like so much discarded parchment. Had she not been looking right at it, indeed expecting something very much like it, she'd never have known it was there.

The swamp erupted. The murky water was the blood of the earth, gushing from the wound inflicted by Kaleb's invisible hammer. A ferocious tide slammed into her, threatening to knock her from her feet, and for the first time she was actually grateful for the tight grip of the muck below. Mud, bits of plant matter-even a smattering of dead frogs and snakes-rained across the bog, blinding Mellorin to anything, everything, else. Her ears rang with a deafening crack, followed by a second enormous splash. Spray spattered her face, the surface of the swamp roiled against her legs, and even without sight she knew the cypress had fallen.

Mellorin finally managed to wipe the worst of the gunk from her face-remembering, first, to sheathe the dagger she'd held in that hand-and gawped at the carnage Kaleb had wrought.

The tree was indeed gone, snapped unevenly just above the waterline. Only that jagged stump, and a few branches long enough to break the surface where it had fallen, suggested it had ever existed. The ogre lay facedown, limbs sprawled every which way-including a few in which they weren't at all supposed to bend-and the sorcerer himself was struggling to flip the fallen giant onto its back before it drowned.

Jassion, who'd been closer than Mellorin, was only now picking himself up out of the swamp. Water sluiced through the rings in his hauberk, matted his short hair into stubby clumps, and dribbled from his lips as he emptied his lungs with a racking, body-shaking cough. Filth streaked his face, clinging stubbornly despite the sudden bath, and Mellorin thought some of it might be blood.

They reached Kaleb's side at roughly the same time, helped him in flipping the ogre. Jassion, wincing with pain, dug into his pack and removed a coil of waterlogged rope, but the sorcerer shook his head.

"Not necessary. Now that he's out, I can keep him unconscious as long as we need." With a grunt, he manhandled the ogre to slump against the broken stump, ensuring that he'd neither float away nor sink beneath the swamp.

Only once that was done did Jassion give Kaleb a fearsome shove. It wasn't quite enough to send the sorcerer splashing back into the water, but his awkward flailing was satisfaction enough.

"What?" Kaleb demanded, struggling to recapture some measure of dignity.

"What the hell was that, Kaleb?" Bits of swamp water from the baron's hair splashed Kaleb's face as he shouted. "By the gods, were you trying to kill us?"

"Certainly not Mellorin," Kaleb answered calmly. Then, as Jassion's face reddened, "Oh, calm down. I had to hit him hard enough to make sure he was out. If I was trying to kill anyone, I'd have hit him-or you-with the spell directly, rather than casting it nearby."

"You mean to tell me that was a miss?" Mellorin gasped, horrified.

"Well, not really. I hit what I was trying to hit, didn't I?"

"I…," Mellorin began.

"You…," was Jassion's contribution.

"Nobody's dead," the sorcerer insisted. "I'm sorry if I scared you-"

"I wasn't-" the baron protested, but Kaleb wasn't about to let him finish.

"-but you had to be close. I had to make sure he was too distracted to see the blast coming. It's not entirely invisible-" Here Mellorin nodded. "-and if he'd dodged it, if he'd realized he was facing a wizard, he'd probably have sounded that damn horn, and we'd be dealing with the entire tribe.

"So," he continued, driving a finger into Jassion's sternum, "why don't you assume that I know what I'm doing, try something brand new just for a change, and quit flapping your lips for half a bloody minute!"

Jassion's face couldn't actually go any redder, but it certainly made its best effort. Mellorin was a bit surprised that she couldn't actually feel the breeze from his twitching eyelid.

"I, uh, don't want you to think that I assume you don't know what you're doing," she said hesitantly, "but couldn't you have just put the ogre to sleep or something? Was it really necessary to drop a phantom anvil on him?"

Kaleb chuckled. "Poetic. No, I'm afraid I couldn't. Keeping someone asleep is easy. Putting them out in the first place? That's rather more like mesmerism. It requires a few moments of contact, and a relatively unwary mind. You think the ogre would've been willing to sit down for a nice long chat with us? I'd say it's about as likely as your uncle over there founding the Braetlyn chapter of the Corvis Rebaine Appreciation Society and Knitting Circle."

"Kaleb…," Jassion warned darkly.

"You're right," the sorcerer said apologetically. "I should have just had the ogre talk to you. You'd have put him to sleep in a minute flat."

"Can we just get on with this?" Jassion sounded almost plaintive. "You dragged us all the way out to this hellish place just so we could find an ogre. Great, we've found one. So let's be done with it, shall we?"

"Fine." Kaleb knelt in the muck beside the cyclopean giant, placed a hand on the creature's neck, and began to chant.

Unwilling to interrupt, Mellorin sidled over to her glowering uncle. "You want to tell me what we're doing, exactly? When Kaleb first talked about coming to this wretched swamp, he said tracking down an ogre would help us, but he didn't tell me how."

Jassion shrugged. "Not much to it. Kaleb can use the blood of someone's relative to find that person, as long as they're not protected. One of your father's old lieutenants was an ogre. They're all an extended tribe, so pretty much any ogre can lead us to him. Or that's the hope, anyway."

"Kavro?" Mellorin offered, wracking her memories for half-heard tales of the wars.

"Davro, but yes, him."

They watched, both standing with arms crossed.

"Is that why you let me come?" she demanded eventually. "To use my blood to find my father?"

"At first," Kaleb admitted, rising from his crouch. "Corvis is protected, but the spell might prove useful anyway.

"But," he added, voice and features softening, "that's not the only reason anymore."

Her expression remained unreadable.

"Have we got it?" Jassion asked him.

"Yes. As long as he doesn't decide to go sightseeing before we get there, I can take us right to him."

"Good. Then we don't need this any longer."

Mellorin gasped and started forward, hand outstretched, but there was nothing she could do. Jassion whipped Talon over his shoulder and down in a brutal stroke. The waters reddened, and the ogre's head bounced once off the stump before floating gently away across the swamp.

The baron stepped back from his somber duty and promptly toppled once more into the waters as his niece violently shoved him. He stared upward, spitting and gasping, too shocked even to be angry.

"You didn't have to do that!" she screamed down at him. "He wasn't any danger to us! We could have just walked away."

"Mellorin-"

"My father's not the only monster I've got to deal with, is he?"

"Mellorin, it was an ogre." And then, apparently bewildered that his explanation wasn't sufficient, he could only blink as she unleashed a low growl and stalked away as rigidly as the marsh would allow.

Kaleb, too, watched her go, brow furrowed in thought, and made no move to aid Jassion out of the muck.