Shield of Winter Page 8
“Betran!” he shouted as he rode up. “Kellian would like to speak with you!”
The young Trolan raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
“Didn’t ask, sonny. But I’m all out of coin, so if you want your pay you’d best get down there quick.”
Betran nodded, a smile on his face despite Devon’s sardonic words. “He get sick of your company, big man?”
Devon laughed. “I may be broke, sonny, but I can still give you a thrashing. Now get out of here, before I pull you off that horse and teach you some manners!”
Chuckling, the Trolan tugged on the reins, turning his horse to the side of the trail to wait for Kellian to catch up. The others rode on, Godrin in the lead. Devon pulled his horse alongside the crime lord.
“So how’s that plan coming along, Godrin?”
“None of your business,” he snapped.
A strained silence fell across the group as they continued up the mountain trail. The sky was growing darker with each passing minute, the air colder, yet no one suggested they stop and set up camp. The men stared straight ahead, their eyes steadfastly fixed to the distant peaks. With a sigh, Devon turned his gaze to the path, and let the silence deepen.
Well, maybe not these enemies.
Chapter 10
Pain dragged Alana back from the darkness. Opening her eyes, she clenched her fists and moaned, feeling the burning of her muscles in every inch of her body. It was as though she’d swum the length of Lake Ardath and returned without rest. A tremor shook her as she tried to sit up. Cramp tore into her forearms, and she collapsed back to the sheets, a scream on her lips.
Movement came from nearby and the curtains around her bed were pulled back. She flinched as the Tsar appeared at her bedside. Her stomach turned to ice, before an image flickered into her mind—of a man standing before her, glowing sword in hand, calling her back from…
Alana cried out as she sensed her magic stirring. Clutching her arms around her, she fell back on the bed, her heart thudding hard against her chest. She shook her head, feeling the glowing green beast as it slowly lifted from its slumber.
No, no, no!
“Alana!” the cool voice of the Tsar sliced through her panic. His eyes trapped her gaze as he gripped her arm. “Take a deep breath. Calm yourself!”
Still struggling for breath, Alana found herself obeying his orders without question. Exhaling, her lips quivered as she sensed the magic roiling inside her. Tears welled in her eyes, but she took another breath, seeking to calm her racing heart.
“It cannot harm you unless you touch it,” the Tsar said softly, seating himself on the bed beside her. “It wants you to panic.”
Alana shook her head, her fear rising once more. “It took control…”
“But you took it back!” The Tsar growled. “Even without your memories, you are my daughter still.”
For the first time, she noticed the crinkles around his eyes, the warmth in his smile. Impulsively, she reached out and gripped his hand. “Thank you for saving me.”
“I am your father,” he said simply.
His words shook her, but this time she did not look away. “It’s really true?”
He nodded, and she closed her eyes, the last of her doubt crumbling away. A fresh resolve rose within her, a need to discover the rest of the truth. But she knew now she could never do it alone—the magic would destroy her. It was like a caged animal, waiting for its moment to strike.
She looked up into the face of the Tsar—of her father. “Will you help me find myself?” she asked. “I…I can’t do it alone.”
The Tsar watched her for a long while, his face impassive, eyes unreadable. Finally, he nodded. “I will do what I can.”
“Thank you,” Alana whispered. She hesitated, still feeling the power swirling in her chest, the awful ache of her body. “Can it be now?” she added. “I can…feel it, seeking a way back. I’m afraid…”
The Tsar squeezed her fingers. “Of course. Come, let us sit on the sofa. It will be more comfortable—and more seemly.”
Alana nodded and pulled herself from the bed. As her legs took her weight, the muscles knotted and screaming, she fell against the Tsar. His powerful arms went around her waist, lifting her back up, and with his help she made it to the couch. He lowered her down and sat beside her, his eyes touched with concern.
“You are sure you wish to do this now?”
“Yes,” she insisted, biting back a moan. Her hands were locked in claws, her forearms aflame. “It has to be now.”
“Very well.” He held out his palms. “Take my hands, and we will face the beast together.”
A shudder ran down Alana’s spine as the image of the green Feline formed in her mind. “I…I don’t know if I can!” The words tumbled from her in a rush. Tears formed in her eyes, but she blinked them back.
“I will be beside you.” The Tsar’s voice was calm, powerful, and she found herself drawing strength from it.
Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Alana nodded. “Okay.”
Before she could lose her nerve, she closed her eyes and began to breathe rhythmically. As she meditated, the Tsar took her hands in his own. Warmth spread from her fingertips and along her arms, expanding to wrap around her chest. At its touch, the fear left her. Anger rose to replace it, a rage at her own weakness, at her failing to master the power within her.
She was Alana, and she feared nothing!
The tangled threads of emotion were gone now, torn asunder by her meddling. Without the cage to bind it, her magic was free, its green fire flicking amidst the void. It rose before her, the Feline taking shape as an awful roar shook her consciousness, sending cracks through her newfound courage.
Fire burning in her heart, Alana faced the beast. It padded towards her, its claws spread, extending to grasp her. But now she felt no fear, no terror of approaching death. Only anger that this creature should think her prey.
As the beast approached, it started to shrink, each step seeming to take from its power. When it finally reached her, the Feline was no longer a monster, but a kitten, tiny and impotent. Smiling at its weakness, Alana reached down and lifted it into her arms…
In a blinding flash, the word around Alana exploded. She found herself hurtled back, her consciousness sent tumbling through the void. Images flashed amidst the darkness, and she perceived a thousand, thousand memories in the blink of an eye, each at once familiar and strange to her.
Alana saw herself, standing on the banks of the lake and hurling herself into the freezing waters, her strong strokes as she swam the circumference of the island Ardath. Then she became a young girl, sitting in a courtyard with Quinn, seeking the pathways to her magic. The images changed again, and she found herself watching the familiar dream as she fought her father, the clash of steel blades, then the pain as the Tsar’s sword flashed down, slicing through the flesh and bone of her arm. Her consciousness had fled, only to return hours later, her severed limb whole once more.
The memories continued, becoming a flood that threatened to wash her away. She saw herself with the Magicker children, shouting orders, batting at them with cane and magic, sending them sprinting through the gardens until they collapsed from exhaustion. She took a cold delight from their pain, remembering the years she’d suffered at the hands of her father.
Dark emotions assailed her, and Alana felt herself sinking, her sense of self overwhelmed. Within, another consciousness was stirring, a woman at once her, and yet wholly different. Alana cried out as the woman rose, fed by the memories. Desperately, she sought something, anything that might anchor her to the person she knew herself to be.
A moonlit image flickered into view, of the night she had spent with Devon in the pools beneath Fort Fall. She clung to it, to the feel of his hands around her wrists, the desire in his eyes, the rush of blood to her head.
Then the image of a woman flashed into view, red-haired and brown-eyed. She stroked Alana’s cheek.
I love you, my daughter.
Grief and love swirled through Alana, and her grip on the memory of Devon faltered—then was swept away. With a cry, Alana found herself sinking, falling, drowning in the memories of another life.
Yet still they continued, each flickering recollection filling in another piece of the jigsaw. Bit by bit, the true Alana reasserted herself, taking form from the darkness, restored by her power. The green light of her magic began to rise, but almost by instinct, she reached out and crushed it down. The magic was not her master, but a slave to be used as she saw fit.
Finally, the rush of memories slowed, and as the last of them snapped back into place, she was complete.
When Alana opened her eyes again, she was no longer the renegade who had fled the capital with Devon and Kellian, but the Daughter of the Tsar, the warrior, the Magicker. A smile spread across her face as she found her father seated beside her.
“Father,” Alana said, pulling herself up on the sofa. “Thank you for your help.”
His face remained impassive. “Has my daughter returned to me?”
Alana’s smile faded, and brow creasing, she turned her eyes inwards. For a moment there was nothing—then with a jagged flash of images, she felt that other self. The girl’s cries echoed blindly in the darkness of her consciousness, desperate, despairing. Disgust welled in Alana as she studied the pitiful creature she had become without her memories. Shivering, she tried to recall how her power had been set free but to her surprise, she found that memory still lost to her.
Devon? Kellian? Help me!
Laughter came to Alana’s lips as the girl’s voice carried up from the void. Summoning her magic, its power still weakened by the girl’s stupidity, Alana sent bands of fire down to wrap around her counterpart. A single scream echoed through her mind, followed by a deathly silence as the girl succumbed to her imprisonment.
Opening her eyes, she looked at the Tsar. “I am here, father.”
Jaw clenched, the Tsar nodded. “I am glad,” he said softly, “for we have much to discuss.”
Alana nodded, the girl’s memories of the last few weeks surfacing. “We have a new enemy. The woman, Tillie. Who is she, truly?”
“An old enemy, from before your time,” the Tsar replied.
Reaching out a hand, he drew her to her feet. Alana swore as pain shot through her legs, and again she cursed the foolish girl who had taken control of her body. Pushing aside her father’s hand, she straightened, embracing the pain, becoming one with it.
“I thought all your enemies were dead.”
“So did I,” her father said, “but I should have known she would not go quietly to her death. I fear her hand is behind much of the strife we have suffered this last decade. You know her true name.”
Alana eyed her father, thinking quickly, running over the list of those who’d stood against her father through the years. He had told her of them all: Caelin and May, Nikola and Darien, Eric and…
Realisation came to her in a rush. There was one woman whose end her father had never spoken of, though she should have been long dead by now. Frowning, she thought back to the woman she’d known as Tillie. The old woman had spoken of times, of people that she could not possibly have known.
Not unless…
“It was Enala,” she said, looking into her father’s eyes.
“Yes,” her father replied, “somehow, she has returned from the dead to defy me.”
A third voice echoed from across the room. “Then we will find a way to make her pay.”
Chapter 11
“Then we will find a way to make her pay,” Quinn heard himself say.
On the sofa, Alana and the Tsar looked up, their eyes widening as he entered the room. Their surprise was short-lived though, and smiling, Alana rose to greet him.
Quinn had been across the lake checking on preparations for the army, and had only heard of Alana’s attack on his return to the city. Fearing the worst, he’d headed straight for her residence, and had overheard the end of their conversation while he’d approached the open door.
“Teacher,” Alana said, laughter in her eyes as she placed a hand on his chest. “Thank you for rescuing me.”
A lump lodged Quinn’s throat as he felt the warmth of her fingers through his woollen shirt. He stared down at her in stunned silence, and she laughed out loud. Lowering herself down on the sofa opposite her father, she gestured for Quinn to sit.
“You…have returned?” he said, finally finding his words as he sat alongside her.
“I have, thanks to you, teacher.” She said the last word playfully, even as her hand drifted down to rest on his thigh.
Quinn shifted on the couch, suddenly uncomfortable. He did his best to ignore Alana’s close proximity, the sweet cinnamon scent of her hair, the warmth of her hand…
“You said it was Enala?” he all but shouted. “How can that be? She must be well over a century old by now.”
“The woman worked with the Gods to destroy Archon,” the Tsar replied. “Who knows what secrets she discovered? She disappeared when I was first coming to power. I always thought she would return to defy me, but even I had long thought her dead. Her reappearance is concerning, though it may also prove to be an opportunity.”
“How so, father?” Alana asked, sitting up.
“Her knowledge after a century of life must be vast. She may hold the key to unlock the final secrets of magic.”
Quinn’s chest tightened as he remembered facing off against the ancient priest. “She bided her time well,” he mused. “I sensed no magic from her in Sitton Forest, nor on the docks of Lon. Not until she attacked my men at Fort Fall. By then, my own magic was too weak to fight her.” He cursed. “I should have saved my strength…”
“Nonsense,” the Tsar growled. Quinn looked up at the man’s tone. “Had you not used your magic to power the sails of your ship, you would never have reached Fort Fall in time to save my daughter. Besides, if you’d fought Enala, she would have destroyed you, magic or no.”
“I have bested fire Magickers before,” Quinn argued.
“Not this fire Magicker,” the Tsar said. “You think you have the knowledge to outsmart a woman who has lived for over one hundred years? Especially after she spent most of them fighting demons and dragons and Magickers far more dangerous than yourself!”
His mouth dry, Quinn shook his head. Alana laughed, and her hand trailed lightly over the fabric of his leggings. “Do not look so sad, teacher,” she said. “You saved my life, after all.”
“Yes, Quinn, you did well, despite the odds. Enala must have known I’d have sensed her if she’d used her magic sooner—and indeed I did. Sadly, even Fishibe and her kin could not reach you in time to save my son from their clutches.”
“Does he truly still live?” Alana asked quickly.
Quinn saw the concern in her eyes. Her teasing momentarily forgotten, he reached out an arm and hugged her to him. “He lives,” he replied. “We received word from our spies Erachill—he was healed at an Earth Temple not long after our…fight.”
He felt Alana relax, the worry falling from her face. “That is a relief.” Her eyes hardened. “Did the Stalker who shot him survive the battle?”
A chill spread through Quinn’s stomach at the look on her face. In the chaos, he had shouted an order without thinking, and one of his men had loosed a crossbow bolt at the boy. Fortunately though…
“No,” he said quickly. “Enala…killed them all.”
“A shame,” Alana said with a sigh. “I would have liked to hear his screams as he died. I hope the witch took her time with him.”
“I…” Quinn began, then decided it was best to remain silent.
“Yes, if it comes to moving against the Queen to get him back,
your Stalkers had best retain their discipline this time. I won’t see my children harmed.” Quinn gritted his teeth at the man’s hypocrisy after ordering Fishibe and her kin after Alana. Smiling, the Tsar went on. “And what of you, my daughter? Do you remember…why your magic took your memories?”
Beside him, Alana sighed. “No,” she said, “I have searched my mind, but there is still a mist over the months before I woke in the stepwell. I cannot remember how it happened, or what Braidon and I did in the first few weeks after we vanished.”
The Tsar waved a hand. “No matter. They will return, or they won’t. What matters is you are yourself again. We will need all our strength in the coming months.”
“What of Devon and Kellian?” Quinn asked. He felt Alana tense at the mention of her former companions and glanced sidelong at her, but she was staring at the Tsar and he couldn’t tell what she might be thinking.
“They have left Northland and flown to Trola on the Gold Dragon. Enala only followed them as far as our northern shores before returning to Erachill. The two are entirely untalented, however, and I was unable to track them from there. But I believe they are heading here, to rescue you, Alana.”
“It seems my…other self, worked quite the spell on the hammerman,” Alana said, smirking. “More fool on him. I take it appropriate measures have been put in place to stop them?”
“Even better. My magic may have lost them, but I received word last night they have encountered one of our agents in Trola. A team of Stalkers has been sent to welcome them back to the Three Nations.”
Quinn’s head jerked up at that. “They have? Why was I not told?” he said, a little too sharply.
The Tsar held Quinn’s gaze for a long moment, the sapphire eyes boring into him. Finally, he swallowed and looked away. A dry chuckle came from the Tsar. “After your…recent battles with the hammerman, I thought it best to send Darnell’s pack.”