The Nightblade Epic Volume Two: A Book of Underrealm, page 18
“The Lord Prince just left,” he said. “Never have I met such a man as he. Always quick with a joke, yet courteous to the border of fault. And Loren, you will not believe this—when I told him of the swordplay Jordel taught me, he promised to join me in practice. I will practice with the Lord Prince! I could never have dreamed of this when I was a starving little boy scuttling along the rooftops and gutters of Cabrus.”
Loren smiled at him, and he fawned like a puppy whose ears had been scratched. He ran to the railing and drank deeply of the scent of flowers wafting up from below. But then Loren saw his gaze drift upwards, just as hers had, until he too was looking out across the Great Bay. He turned to them, seeming somewhat deflated.
“I wish I could tell Annis of this. I miss her.”
She felt a pang of sorrow at the look upon his face, and rose from her chair to stand beside him. With one arm around his shoulder, she tried to mask her own worry with an encouraging tone. “I miss her as well. But mayhap we could write her a letter. Not to Annis herself, you understand. But we could write to Kal to tell him of the success of our mission, and include a secret message for her.”
Gem perked up at once. “That is a fine idea. I can write it, since I know you have not learned your letters. But where will we find a quill and parchment?”
“Ask the guards at our door,” she said. “I think they are under orders to provide us with anything we may require.”
“Be quick about it, and remain cheerful,” said Chet with a smile. “We will soon see her again, for with the Lord Prince at our backs I am certain this will be sorted out in no time.”
THEY SOON DISCOVERED THAT CHET’S optimism was, if not foolish, at least misplaced. Day after day passed, and they received neither word nor summons from the High King. Nor could they leave their quarters, and spacious as those rooms were, Loren felt chafed by them before a week had passed. There were only so many chairs to sit in, so many soft cushions upon which to rest, before she felt she would rather fling herself from the balcony than spend one more day idle within her room. Their pleas to the guards outside their door fell on deaf ears, and even the Lord Prince Eamin grew frustrated. He visited often, and told them that he spoke to the High King every day on their behalf, but to no avail.
“I am on her council,” he said, “yet she pays me no more heed than one of the guards standing in the corner. Everyone seems intent on doing nothing more than dragging their feet. Though the dean only learned of the Shades’ existence less than a week ago, he acts as if he were the greatest authority in all of Underrealm when it comes to their motives and intentions. When he is not pontificating as to their next probable course of action, he claims that this is all a ruse on Xain’s part to distract my mother while he destroys all the nine lands. Meanwhile, the lord chancellor counsels only caution—except that my version of caution would entail investigating the Shades’ whereabouts, whereas his version means that we should do nothing.”
If the rest of them were anxious for action, Xain was nearly beside himself with impatience. “What of the High King?” he asked, for what seemed to Loren to be the thousandth time. “In which direction does she seem inclined?”
“She withholds her judgement,” said Eamin with a sigh. “She is not so shy as the lord chancellor, but neither does she wish to rush into a rash decision.”
“There is wise prudence, and then there is indecisiveness,” said Chet. “I would call this the latter.”
“When your decisions can change the lives of many thousands, you yourself may find much reason for being indecisive,” said Eamin. But though he spoke in defense of his mother, Loren could hear the frustration beneath his words. Xain only snorted and stared out the window with a dark expression.
After nine days had passed, the Lord Prince brought them different news altogether. This time he spoke to them in a low voice, leaning across the table with a sidelong glance at the door. “I thought I should tell you that the family Yerrin has been trying desperately to see you—or, I should say, to see Loren in particular.”
Loren’s throat went dry. Sweat sprang out upon her palms. “What do they want?”
“What do you think?” said Eamin, arching an eyebrow. “They seek the girl Annis. But the High King has forbidden them from obtaining an audience with you. Their representatives grew so insistent that finally she banished them from the palace grounds while you remain here.”
“Well, at least that is one worry sorted,” said Gem hopefully.
“I would not be so optimistic as to call that the end of it,” said Xain.
“Nor I,” said Eamin.
“Was it Damaris who was asking after us? Or servants of hers?”
Eamin blinked at her. “I am sorry, I thought you would know—no one has heard from Damaris or her caravan in weeks. Not since the time that you saw her last in the Greatrocks. When you arrived here and told the High King that part of your tale, all the palace chatter about her ceased at once. Either she has fled, knowing the High King would seek justice against her for siding with the Shades, or something else has happened to her that we do not know.”
That gave Loren some relief. And at the same time, she found herself wondering after the caravan’s fate. She doubted she was so fortunate that she would never hear from Damaris again. But then, she had assumed the merchant was alive. Now that she thought further, it seemed entirely possible that the Shades, or mayhap the Necromancer himself, had taken revenge on Damaris for the disaster in the Greatrocks.
It was a chilling thing to think that Damaris might be dead, and to her surprise she was not entirely certain how she felt about it. Moreover, she did not look forward to telling Annis the news. That would be no matter for a letter; it would have to be done in person, once they left the Seat.
If indeed we ever do leave the Seat, she thought to herself.
It was twelve days since they had arrived at the palace, and evening was working its way towards night. The dying red of sunset filled the sky through the window, and servants had already come to light lanterns throughout the room. The Lord Prince sat with them at their table for supper, and he and Xain were deep in their wine. Loren and Chet had poured themselves each a cup, but Loren found the palace wines too strong for her, and had only sipped gingerly.
Nightfall was the worst time for their mood, for it meant another day had passed without anything happening. Gem was slumped so far down in his chair that he looked like he might fall out of it at any moment. Though the Lord Prince tried to engage Xain in conversation, the wizard stared silently at his plate and hardly moved. Chet tried to smile each time Loren looked at him, but she could see it was forced. She felt, as she had for so many days now, the deep lethargy of their confinement.
There was a sharp sound outside their door. In her distraction, Loren almost did not recognize it, but deep instinct prickled the hairs on the back of her neck. Half a moment later, she placed it: the hiss of drawn steel.
They heard a great crash, and then the screams of people being killed. The door crashed open, and in rushed many figures holding daggers.
Loren shouted and leaped to her feet, and together the rest of them rose from the table. At once she dove for their weapons; the High King had ordered they be returned, but they had sat useless in a corner for the last twelve days. Now Loren snatched up her staff and turned to face their attackers. Chet was only a heartbeat behind her.
The figures struck, two of them coming for Loren with their knives bared. She backed up, forced away from Chet in the fight, and swung her staff wide to keep them at bay. They wore hoods and black masks that kept her from seeing their faces. She could only see their eyes, glittering in the light of the lanterns, and the flash of their daggers as they swung.
Though they had caught her off balance, she swiftly recovered. One of them fell to a heavy blow from her staff. As the other backed off a step, Loren struck the one who had fallen once more across the temple.
Behind her foe, she was scarcely aware of Chet facing another of the attackers. Farther off, the Lord Prince used his chair to fend two of them away from a weakened Xain. Gem battled another with swings of his sword. The boy showed far more grace than Loren had come to expect from him. It seemed his training had paid off at last.
All this she took in at a glance, and then the masked figure came for her. Her staff batted his dagger away, but he kept his grip. A smaller knife appeared in his other hand. This thrust towards Loren’s stomach, but she sidestepped—almost too slow. The blade grazed her side, and she winced with the pain. But her attacker had stepped in close and was off balance. Loren brought her fist crashing into his nose. In surprise he dropped his blades, and Loren drove her fist into his gut. As he doubled over, she brought her staff down upon the back of his head with all her might. He fell to the floor and lay still.
Chet and Gem were still fighting. The Lord Prince had managed to down one of his opponents, and had found a sword to deal with the other, who was being forced slowly backwards. Chet was holding his own, but Gem had his back to the wall. Loren could see the terror in his eyes.
She ran for him. He saw her coming and with a scream swung wildly at his opponent. The man leaped back, arms wide—and Loren drove the butt of her staff into his lower back. He clutched at where she had struck him, until she brought her staff about to knock him senseless.
Wincing at the pain in her side, she turned to Chet.
She was just in time to see his opponent drive a dagger into his chest.
The world seemed to freeze. All she could see was the shocked look in Chet’s eye, and the silver hilt of the dagger that protruded from near his heart. The blood that poured from her side, and the glowing pain that came with it, vanished. There was only Chet’s face, which even now grew pale before her sight.
Someone was screaming, and with some surprise Loren realized it was her. She tackled Chet’s foe from behind, bearing him to the ground. With both hands she gripped his head, then slammed it into the floor twice in quick succession, until the man lay unmoving beneath her.
But above her, Chet was still on his feet, and his eyes had moved past her. She looked back to see the last attacker had disarmed the Lord Prince, and sat atop him trying to press the blade into his throat. Chet rushed past her and threw himself at the attacker, knocking him to the ground. The Lord Prince rose up and took the knife, using it to slit the man’s throat.
Chet rolled off and away, falling to his back on the stone floor. He shivered, clutching with both hands at the hilt that stuck straight up from his breast. His teeth were gritted, lips peeled back in a grimace of pain. Loren was kneeling by his side, holding his hands, trying to stop him from pulling the knife out, for surely that would send his lifeblood streaming out of the open wound.
She was shouting, Gem was shouting, both of them screaming for help. Finally, far, far too late, guards came running through the door. They tried to pull Loren away from Chet, but she fought them off. Dimly she was aware of Eamin ordering one of the men away, away to find a healer, but she did not look up to see him go. She was looking at Chet, holding his gaze, willing him to keep his eyes open.
But she failed, and his eyes slid shut, while she screamed at him to open them again.
THE HEALERS WORKED THEIR CRAFTS upon Chet through the rest of that night, and through the following day, and still they were there the morning after. All the while, Loren sat by his bedside and held his hand. Again and again Xain told her to try and rest, until at last Gem shouted at him to leave. Someone, probably Eamin, told her that the healers were the High King’s own, and the best in all the nine lands. She did not listen. It did not matter. All that mattered was seeing Chet’s eyes open again, yet hours turned to days and still they remained shut. Only the rise and fall of his chest, and the ragged breaths that scraped their way from his throat, told her he had not left her forever.
Gem stayed with her, sitting on the other side of the bed, and Xain was there during all the daylight hours. The Lord Prince was there nearly as often, now always escorted by members of the royal guard, and when he came Gem would give up his chair to sit at the foot of the bed, like a dog hovering near an ailing child. Eamin only left for the most vital duties from which he could not excuse himself, and always with deep and regretful apologies. The words fell empty on Loren’s ears, but Gem would thank him, and greet him warmly whenever he returned.
On the second day, with Chet’s eyes still closed, Eamin told them in muted tones of all that had transpired in the palace since the attack. “I owe you all a life debt now, and that is not the sort of thing I take lightly. We know the attackers were Shades, of course, and so I have been speaking strongly to the High King on your behalf. It is clear now that their threat is altogether too real. If they are confident enough to strike even here, then they must be wiped out before their power grows any greater.”
“And is Her Majesty heeding your advice at last?” said Xain.
“Oh, indeed,” said the Lord Prince. “She may not show it often in courtly settings, but as it turns out, my mother is actually quite fond of me. I can tell she is leaning towards our way of thinking, and now the dean and the lord chancellor fear to speak against me. When the dean tried, the High King nearly tore his head off.”
It all passed like water over Loren, and when the words did register in the back of her mind, they came with a great wave of guilt. Chet had urged her often to turn from this course. He had come here only out of loyalty to her, and mayhap out of love, but not because he believed in their cause. And now he was the one with the gaping wound in his chest, clinging to life with his chances stacked against him.
Finally, on the fourth day, he opened his eyes—but only to shoot up in bed with a cry, fingers grasping at the bandages that covered his chest. Thankfully one of the healers was present. She commanded Gem and Loren to hold Chet’s arms down while she gave him dreamwine. This soon calmed Chet, and he drifted back into slumber nestled in the thick pillows of the bed.
Thus came the second stage of his healing, and it was far, far more terrible for Loren than the first. Now Chet would awaken, but only to groan in great pain, and mayhap to weep into his pillows. Always she was ready with the dreamwine, and after a few swallows he would drift back to sleep, senseless. His eyes never seemed to fix upon her, nor did he recognize her voice. He existed in two states: the numb oblivion of sleep, and the unthinking agony of wakefulness. It tore at her very soul, and whenever she was alone she whispered her fervent prayers to the sky that it would end—but then, too, she was aware it might yet end in his death.
And then, on the eighth day, he opened his eyes and looked at her, and he smiled.
“Chet?” she said, taking his hand gently. “Can you hear me?”
“Scarcely,” he said, the word coming slurred. “I feel as if my head is stuffed with wool.”
“That is the wine,” she said, voice cracking as tears came to her eyes. “You are likely as drunk as anyone I have ever seen.”
“So I am,” he murmured, lips barely moving. “Only I wish I were drunker still, for my chest hurts terribly.”
“Do you remember what happened?” she said.
“Yes,” he said, his voice grim for a moment. But it soon lightened again. “I am some sort of hero, I suppose.”
“Some sort, mayhap,” she said, laughing.
The healer came in just then, and when she saw Chet was awake she rushed to his side. She asked him many questions, of his pain and his breath and if there was any feeling in his hands, and so many other things that Loren lost track. In the midst of the questions Chet drifted back off to slumber.
“That is very good,” said the healer, and Loren could hear the stark relief in her voice. “It means the worst is over. It will get easier from now on.”
“When will he awaken in earnest?” said Loren.
“It will be several days yet. Such things take time. But he will gain more and more strength, and by tomorrow he should be able to talk for a while.”
She left then, and Xain entered a moment later, accompanied by Gem, who had been off to relieve himself.
“He awoke?” said Gem. “What did he say?”
“Drunken ramblings,” said Loren. “He has had more wine these last few days than I have in my entire life.”
Gem clutched Chet’s other hand, giddy, and even Xain gripped the foot of the bed, as though relief had made him suddenly weak.
Chet’s eyes opened once more that night, and then again the next morning. Loren gave him more of the dreamwine, and fed him some breakfast when he asked for it, at the healer’s instructions. But as she was spooning eggs into his mouth, the door of the chamber swung open, and High King Enalyn strode in, surrounded by members of the royal guard.
Gem fell to his knee before her, and Xain lowered himself more slowly. Loren did not move, though she did put the plate down upon the bedside table. The royal guards fixed her with an ugly look, but she stared right back at them in defiance, for nothing in the nine lands would make her move even that far from the bedside.
For her part, Enalyn did not seem bothered. All of her attention was for Chet. She went to his side at once, and lifted the bandages on his chest. He winced slightly, and she quickly replaced them.
“I am sorry,” she said. “I only wished to see for myself that you were being well tended to.”
“It is no trouble, Your Majesty. Only a mild stinging,” he said weakly.
Enalyn sat in Gem’s chair, which he had left empty, and scooted it closer to the bed. She graced Loren with a brief but warm smile, and then turned back to Chet.
“I have instructed my healers to give you the very best of care. Do you want for anything? Anything at all?”
“No, Your Majesty. They have been most satisfactory. The wine they provide, in particular, is very pleasing.”
