“Five hundred and forty-three years ago,” Logan said, “a man was captured by a Khalidoran Vürdmeister and tortured for three months. This man kept his sanity, and his courage, and at the end of those three months, he escaped. He founded an order devoted to resisting and destroying black magic—Khalidoran magic. In time, this mission expanded to encompass the destruction of all magic and all who wield it. However, his order, the Laetunariverissiknaught, the Bringers of the Freedom of the Light, still harbor an especial hatred of those who wield the vir.”
“Your Majesty displays a remarkable knowledge of—”
“Silence!” Logan roared, pointing the bloody table leg an inch from Tertulus’s nose. The man stopped. “For the last eighteen years, you Lae’knaught have been squatting on Cenarian lands. This will end. Here are your choices. First, you can pack up and leave immediately. Second, you can fight us. You recently lost five thousand men, and I have a battle-seasoned army that’s getting bored—and a Ceuran army to whom I’ve sworn a battle that will live in history. We will crush you. Or third, you can marshal your armies and march to Khalidor beside us. That way you can fight those you say you truly hate, and have a chance to defeat them. If you fight beside us, I will give you a fifteen-year grant to the lands you now occupy. But, and I can’t stress this enough, after that time, you will leave Cenarian lands forever. Regardless of your choice, my armies will march in the spring. We will head east first. If you don’t join with us, we will wipe you out, and we won’t stop at our own borders. We will notify every kingdom on whose lands you might hide that we are coming. Perhaps one of them might join you to fight against us. But then again, they might choose to join us. It depends on how much goodwill you’ve built up with your neighbors.”
Tertulus Martus laughed nervously. “Those terms are clearly not acceptable, but I’m sure our negotiators will be able to find something mutually—”
“If you don’t choose to fight beside Cenaria, you will be choosing to fight against Cenaria. I win wars in such a way that I don’t have to fight them twice.”
“You can’t come after us, not with your full strength, not with Khalidor to your north.”
“Khalidor has suffered a great defeat and there are defensible passes between our borders. Khalidor doesn’t hold any of my land. You do. I have made an oath to Lantano Garuwashi that he will have a great battle come spring. Together he and I can wipe you out. Such a victory, I dare say, would endear him greatly to the Ceurans back home. What we cannot do without you is destroy Khalidor. No matter what, the sa’ceurai will go home next summer. I have one year to destroy one or both of the greatest threats to my realm, so I’ve no reason to hold anything back, do I?”
“You’re mad,” Tertulus said, throwing away a lifetime of diplomatic training.
“I’m desperate. There’s a difference. I have no intention of giving you a good deal, ambassador. You’re overextended, weakened, surrounded by enemies, and quite frankly, you piss me off. I don’t intend to negotiate. We’ve written up a treaty in full, with details on how your forces will be integrated with ours for the length of the war with Khalidor and details of how we will be sure that you leave Cenaria after your fifteen-year grant has expired. I will give you only enough time to take this to your Overlord, give him three days to discuss it with his advisers, and get back here. Any modifications he proposes will be considered a rejection of the treaty. That’s all there is to it. On the other hand, if you truly hate Khalidor, if you hate black magic and how it has enslaved an entire country and seeks to destroy Midcyru, this is the opportunity of a lifetime. We could destroy Khalidor once and for all.” Logan gestured and a scroll in an ornate case was brought forward. “Now I advise you to get your horse. Your answer is due three weeks from today. Delinquency will be considered a declaration of war.”
57
Elene looked at the woman on the bed in the Chantry’s hospital floor. Vi’s eyes were swollen, her light freckles almost green against her pale skin. Two days ago, Vi had fallen unconscious with a cry as they’d been walking together. Elene had been surprised how well they’d been getting along, then this had happened. “Have you figured anything out?”
“It’s definitely the bond,” Sister Ariel said. That was good and bad. The only other guess they’d had was that Vi’s rapid progress with her Talent had been hiding some flaw, and all her power had rebounded on her. From her talks with Sister Ariel, Elene had learned that Vi was terrifically Talented, but completely uneven in what she learned. Her wetboy training had enabled her to use her Talent easily, but she’d missed certain basics—and the Sisters had no idea which ones, so it seemed Vi mastered some difficult things as easily as breathing, and some easy things she couldn’t get at all. When she’d collapsed, everyone had been frightened.
Of course, if it was the bond, that meant something had gone really wrong with Kylar. Elene looked at Sister Ariel.
“We’ve had pigeons from Cenaria that a treason trial was being concluded,” Sister Ariel said. “I deduce from Vi’s state that the sentence is being carried out even now. The wheel, I would imagine.” She looked up and down the corridor. “With Kylar’s special . . . gifts, it’s taking longer than it should. And Vi has been helping him heal by taking some of his suffering onto herself. It’s only making the inevitable last longer, so it’s a cruel kindness, but it is well meant.”
Kylar was dying, right now? Elene should have felt it, she should have known as Vi did. In fact, she would have, if Vi hadn’t stolen her ring. Jealousy flashed through her, and she suppressed it only with difficulty. Dammit, why couldn’t you forgive someone once and be done with it? “Why would she help him like that?” Elene asked.
“One can only guess. But then I don’t claim to know much about love.”
The word was a blow. Vi loved Kylar? This much?
Vi sat bolt upright and shrieked. Her eyes met Elene’s. She grabbed her own shins. “No, I can’t—I can’t do it. I’m not strong enough. It hurts too much.” She fell back on the bed, babbling, then shrieked again, holding her arms. “No, Kylar, no!” Then she lost consciousness, and Elene knew Kylar was dead.
Sister Ariel stepped forward immediately and grabbed Vi’s earring. She tried to pry it off, but it wouldn’t budge. “Dammit. The bond’s not broken. Not even by his . . .” she trailed off, realizing that this place was too public to admit Kylar’s immortality. “I was hoping—well, not hoping that he would . . . you know what, but that if he did, that the bond would break.” Sister Ariel grimaced and looked away. “It was my last hope for you. The bond really is forever. I’m sorry, Elene. I’m sorry.”
The walk through the golden halls of death was familiar now. Kylar glided forward, not really touching the ground. It was as if the mind constructed movement as walking, having to impose some order on a realm that existed without human analogues.
The Antechamber of the Mystery was exactly as he remembered it. The Wolf sat on his throne, yellow eyes lambent, hostility etched into his burn-scarred face. Two doors sat opposite him: the plain wood door through which Kylar would walk back to life, and the gold door leaking warm light around its edges, barred to him forever. The ghostly presence of others filled the room. They moved unseen, staring, talking about him.