No-one spoke.
Abruptly, Hannan Mosag reached out and gripped Fear’s shoulder, gaze sharpening on Trull’s older brother. ‘The four sons of Tomad Sengar shall journey to that place. To retrieve this gift. You may take two others – I saw the tracks of six in my vision, leading towards that spire of ice.’
Fear spoke. ‘Theradas and Midik Buhn.’
The Warlock King nodded. ‘Well chosen, yes. Fear Sengar, I charge you as leader of this expedition. You are my will and shall not be disobeyed. Neither you nor any other in your party must touch the gift. Your flesh must not make contact with it, is that understood? Retrieve it from the spire, wrap it in hides if that is possible, and return here.’
Fear nodded. ‘It will be as you command, sire.’
‘Good.’ He scanned the three brothers. ‘It is the belief of many – perhaps even you – that the unification of the tribes was my singular goal as leader of the Hiroth. Sons of Tomad, know that it is but the beginning.’
All of a sudden a new presence was in the room, sensed simultaneously by the king and the brothers, and they turned as one to the entrance.
A K’risnan stood in the threshold.
Hannan Mosag nodded. ‘The slaves,’ he muttered, ‘have been busy this night. Come, all of you.’
Shadow wraiths had gathered round his soul, for soul was all he was, motionless and vulnerable, seeing without eyes, feeling without flesh as the vague, bestial things closed in, plucking at him, circling like dogs around a turtle.
They were hungry, those shadow spirits. Yet something held them back, some deep-set prohibition. They poked and prodded, but did nothing more.
They scattered – reluctantly – at the approach of something, someone, and Udinaas felt a warm, protective presence settle at his side.
Feather Witch. She was whole, her face luminous, her grey eyes quizzical as she studied him. ‘Son of Debt,’ she said, then sighed. ‘They say you cut me free. Even as the Wyval tore into you. You cared nothing for that .’ She studied him for a moment longer, then said, ‘Your love burns my eyes, Udinaas. What am I to do about this truth?’
He found he could speak. ‘Do nothing, Feather Witch. I know what is not to be. I would not surrender this burden.’
‘No. I see that.’
‘What has happened? Am I dying?’
‘You were. Uruth, wife to Tomad Sengar, came in answer to our… distress. She drew upon Kurald Emurlahn, and has driven the Wyval away. And now she works healing upon us both. We lie side by side, Udinaas, on the blood-soaked earth. Unconscious. She wonders at our reluctance to return.’
‘Reluctance?’
‘She finds she struggles to heal our wounds – I am resisting her, for us both.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I am troubled. Uruth senses nothing. Her power feels pure to her. Yet it is… stained.’
‘I do not understand. You said Kurald Emurlahn-’
‘Aye. But it has lost its purity. I do not know how, or what, but it has changed. Among all the Edur, it is changed .’
‘What are we to do?’
She sighed. ‘Return, now. Yield to her command. Offer our gratitude for her intervention, for the healing of our torn flesh. And in answer to the many questions she has, we can say little. It was confused. Battle with an unknown demon. Chaos. And of this conversation, Udinaas, we will say nothing. Do you understand?’
‘I do.’
She reached down and he felt her hand close about his – suddenly he was whole once more – and its warmth flowed through him.
He could hear his heart now, thundering in answer to that touch. And another heart, distant yet quickly closing, beating in time. But it was not hers, and Udinaas knew terror.
His mother stepped back, the knot of her brow beginning to unclench. ‘They approach,’ she said.
Trull stared down at the two slaves. Udinaas, from his own household. And the other, one of Mayen’s servants, the one they knew as Feather Witch for her divinatory powers. The blood still stained the puncture holes in their shirts, but the wounds themselves had closed. Another kind of blood was spilled across Udinaas’s chest, gold and glistening still.
‘I should outlaw these castings,’ Hannan Mosag growled. ‘Permitting Letherii sorcery in our midst is a dangerous indulgence.’
‘Yet there is value, High King,’ Uruth said, and Trull could see that she was still troubled.
‘And that is, wife of Tomad?’
‘A clarion call, High King, which we would do well to heed.’