Auguries of Dawn

“Angus asleep, she came to see him

  From her knew the sweetest tune

  Then, when he begged her to take his hand

  She spread away from his dream”

  Two days had now passed since the confrontation which had seen Nathon stabbed, Taleb bruised and bloodied, and the mage’s successful escape from the vineyard. It was nearing dusk, and Oliveah soon had to prepare for supper, but she was presently in the infirmary with Nathon. At his request, she was entertaining him with her voice and lyre, performing the song of his choice, Angus and the Swan. The song was one of her personal favorites as well, centuries old and originally made famous by a band of musicians still considered to be the best the world had ever seen.

  “Seeking the truth in his dreams,

  They tell him to love only her

  Where did she fly?

  Where did she fly?

  Where does she hide?”

  Oliveah finished the song, strumming the last few notes on her lyre as her voice faded to silence, looking up and catching the soft smile Nathon was giving her.

  “I will never tire of listening to you sing that song,” he told her.

  She returned his look, shifting slightly on the stool she’d pulled up next to his cot. “A fair statement, for I will ever tire of singing it to you. Now, you need to get some rest before Master Zac returns and has my hide for keeping you awake.”

  “I’m not tired. You can stay,” he told her.

  She frowned, but with feigned severity. “I won’t be a party to delaying your recovery. Besides, I still need to make myself presentable for supper. Despite the fact that Sabian Reif’s talents are no longer in need, he and Lord Guerin accepted my father’s invitation and should be arriving at any moment.”

  Nathon looked at her curiously. “Do you truly believe Sabian can do what is said of him?”

  Oliveah paused. She hadn’t relayed to Nathon the truth of Deakin’s rescue that night in Tyrell, and apparently Taleb hadn’t either; most likely because he found the matter as unsettling as she did.

  “Actually,” she finally replied, “I do.”

  Nathon took in her answer and shrugged. “I suppose it is possible. But certainly not a talent I envy.”

  “Nor do I,” she replied with a faint shudder. Curling her fingers securely about her lyre, she got to her feet and looked down at him. “Now get some rest. My father needs you in the vineyard, not lounging about in bed, so you’d best mind the healer’s instructions to get yourself back on your feet as quickly as possible.”

  There, she thought as she turned to go. If anything could keep him compliant, surely it was those words. It simply wasn’t in Nathon’s nature to be lazy, and staying bed-ridden the past two days wasn’t agreeing with him at all, but hopefully she’d just put matters into perspective for him. It was a nasty wound his leg had taken, and required strict care.

  She was nearly at the door when he spoke again.

  “Oliveah, wait a moment.”

  She turned back, eyebrows raised in query.

  He was now propped up on his elbows, regarding her rather intently. “Will you return? Later, after supper?”

  Oliveah stared back at him, saying nothing for a long moment. She knew precisely what he was alluding to with this request, although he’d been gentleman enough not to have asked outright. Tomorrow, she would be departing to rejoin her troupe, and that meant her time to reach a decision had now run out. Unfortunately, she was still no more clear on which direction her heart was leaning, but knew she had precious few hours left to discern this deeper truth. She could not leave the vineyard without giving them her answer.

  “I’ll return before I retire for the night,” she promised, fighting to keep all inner turmoil from her face and voice.

  He simply nodded, but was still watching her carefully. She figured he was most likely trying to discern some clue from her countenance, but since even she did not know the answer he sought, he was most likely seeing nothing but confusion. Withholding a sigh, she turned and left the infirmary.

  She stormed her way upstairs to her suite, her mind racing furiously as she began washing and dressing for supper. How could she possibly do this with both of them presently injured? But how could she not?

  All right, she finally commanded herself sternly as she began making her way downstairs to the dining hall. You are making this decision tonight, with no more excuses. Just get through supper and then follow where your feet lead you.

  Her father and Lord Guerin were rehashing the harrowing events of a couple nights ago when she arrived at the table. She took her seat between Sabian and Navalee, greeting both Reifs with a polite smile. Glancing down the table, she was relieved to see Taleb wasn’t present, much as she’d been fearing; the Patrons knew it would be difficult enough getting through this meal without having to make small talk with one whose heart she might possibly be breaking later that night.

  She stared down at her food with little appetite.

  “So, how is the condition of Tyrell coming along?” her mother was now asking Lord Guerin. “We’ve heard terrible tales of the ruin it’s been reduced to.”

  Lord Guerin began nodding as he reached for a bread roll. “Complete reconstruction is still a fair time away, with most still just working at cleaning up the damage done,” he said. “I’m afraid it will take a few seasons before Tyrell is restored to all its previous splendor.”

  “And the blame for this lies entirely on the Thieves?” Lord Ean asked, frowning. “They seem to have become quite the problem in the area, haven’t they?”

  “I say hang them all,” Navalee cut in angrily, spearing a wedge of apple with her fork.

  Oliveah saw her mother wince at this. Navalee could, at times, be a tad more forthright than what was entirely proper for a young lady.

  “Well,” Lord Guerin began in response, glancing at Navalee before turning back to Ean, “the Legion certainly believes the whole mess to be the work of the Thieves, but Sabian here has a different theory.”

  Oliveah was not the only one to now cast a curious glance to the younger Reif. He noted the sudden scrutiny and gently replaced his wine goblet back onto the table before him.

  “Magic,” he then said to them simply.

  Lord Ean was frowning. “You believe this catastrophe to be the work of some spell?” he asked, looking worried.

  Sabian shrugged. “All I know for certain is that Magic was at the root of this trouble. Of the specifics, I know nothing.”

  Navalee leaned forward to look past Oliveah. “You know?” she repeated to Sabian. “How so?”

  “It is not polite to question our guests, Navalee,” Lord Ean cut in quickly, clearly wanting to keep the likeliest answer to that from being spoken. “Has this theory been presented to the Legion?” he went on, looking back to Lord Guerin.

  “It has,” he replied, “but I’m afraid it was given little attention. I truly don’t think the Justice officers want to hold anyone but the Thieves accountable.”

  “Very troubling, this matter,” Lady Lyllyn murmured, sipping from her own goblet.

  Oliveah agreed. She was still experiencing the occasional nightmare over what she’d witnessed in the streets of Tyrell that final night of Ardin’s Pride. But could Sabian be right? Was Magic truly responsible for all that had happened? She glanced over at him now, momentarily startled to find him looking back at her.

  “Tell the diviner I will see her in Aralexia,” he then said, in a voice very quiet. “No matter which way matters fall, she will soon be in need of me.”

  Oliveah blinked quickly in surprise. She opened her mouth to reply, closed it, and then found her tongue and said, “I will, Sabian. But your words hold an ominous tone. Do I have reason to worry?”

  He nodded slowly, and continued in a voice too low for anyone but her to hear. “We all have reason to worry. But your concerns now lie in Aralexia.”

  She really wasn’t liking the sound
of this. “If Aralexia presents a danger, it would not be a difficult task for me to avoid it,” she told him.

  “That is always your choice,” he came back, still speaking in the same steady, low tone. “However, should you decide upon that path, the diviner will die. Should you choose otherwise, you’ll still need all your wits about you to save her.”

  Oliveah stared at him, wordless and horrorstruck. “What are you saying?” she finally demanded in a harsh whisper.

  He looked away, shaking his head slightly as he answered. “Only what I am told, friend Oliveah. Only what I am told.”

  She did not ask specifically who had given him this information, finding the answer irrelevant at this point. Madi’s life was soon to be in danger, and that was all that mattered. But from what, or whom? How could she help to protect her?

  Taleb and Nathon, she then thought. Both would be free men before the final week of summer, and she was certain she could convince both to journey to Aralexia to witness the King’s Challenge. But could she do this without telling them why she needed them there? For neither would let her anywhere near to Justice’s home city if they thought serious danger was lying in wait. And how could she request the both of them, if she planned on choosing one over the other this very night?

  She dropped her head into her hands and heard herself moan.

  “Oliveah? Are you feeling all right, dear?” she then heard her mother ask from across the table.

  Quickly she raised her head, forcing a smile. “Fine. My mind just wandered to all the packing I still have yet to do tonight.”

  Lady Lyllyn didn’t believe it, but she nodded back in silence. No doubt she figured Oliveah was simply feeling the effects of her still-unspoken decision. Well, her mother wasn’t entirely wrong—except this was now only part of the problem.

  Oliveah somehow got through the remainder of the meal, eating almost nothing, before asking her father for a quick word in private before he and Lord Guerin retired to his study to continue their discussion.

  Lord Ean took in her expression wordlessly, then looked to his guest. “Would you mind, Guerin? No doubt she has some lingering concerns over her travel plans for the morning.”

  Lord Guerin waved a hand good-naturedly. “Not at all. I certainly won’t begrudge the extra minutes with your lovely wife.”

  Ean smiled and nodded, then turned to Oliveah with a gesture. “My office, then?” he said.

  Oliveah hurried from the room, leading the way, and began pacing once within her father’s office. She waited impatiently until he’d closed the door and taken a seat at his desk before speaking.

  “I would ask for your permission to have Taleb and Nathon meet me in Aralexia for the week of the King’s Challenge,” she said.

  Her words appeared to greatly confuse him, and he sat staring at her for a long moment, wearing a frown. “It appears they haven’t yet spoken to you about this,” he murmured finally.

  She stopped, now her turn to be puzzled. “What do you mean?” she asked.

  He regarded her. “First, why don’t you tell me why you’re making this request.”

  Oliveah stared at him, her mind racing frantically. She’d become so distressed by Sabian’s words that she’d not even considered the possibility of her father asking her this. Finally she grasped the only reasonable excuse that came to mind.

  “I need a bit more time,” she told him. “I figure a week or so away from them should clear my head enough to make obvious my decision.” Convenient, another part of her mind hissed, and she fought off a wince.

  Her father frowned. “You can’t keep dragging this out, Oliveah,” he said. “They both deserve better.”

  She sighed. “I know.”

  “However,” he went on, “this may not be such a terrible idea, given as how they both aim to be in Aralexia during summer’s final week anyway. The conclusion of that week would be a fine time for your answer—so you can either return here with Nathon, or carry on with Taleb.”

  “Why are they planning to be in Aralexia? And why have I not been told of this?”

  Lord Ean held up a hand. “They’re going to Aralexia to confront Flynn Fajen. Little doubt he’ll be there to oversee the gambling on the event, and they’re both still determined to get to the bottom of the mage’s presence here.”

  Oliveah’s eyes widened. “But Fajen will be surrounded by hundreds of his Thieves! They’ll be putting themselves in an incredible amount of danger!”

  “They won’t be in any danger,” he countered, “at least, not from the Thieves. As participants in the King’s Challenge, no one outside the contest can touch them, upon pain of death. Not even Thieves would dare it, not in the home city of Justice.”

  Oliveah was now staring at her father blankly, replaying his words over in her head and trying to convince herself she’d heard him wrong.

  “Participants…?” she finally managed, feeling her entire body stiffening with fear.

  Lord Ean took her in, looked away with a sigh, and then said, “Yes, participants. I’m not happy about it either, but they’ve made up their minds. Both will be a part of the games this year.”

  Rather than panic, Oliveah instead felt herself go entirely numb. Her eyes gazed unseeingly down at the floor, unblinking and glazed. They couldn’t really be doing this. They simply couldn’t.

  “Oliveah!”

  She distantly became aware of the fact that her father was calling to her, and she slowly raised her eyes back up to meet his, blinking. He was on his feet now, and regarding her worriedly.

  “Why don’t you have a seat,” he suggested, eyeing her. “Take a minute to let this settle in.”

  She felt herself shaking her head. “They can’t do this,” she insisted. “They can’t.”

  Her father was now guiding her to the small sofa in the corner, pressing on her shoulders so that she sat.

  “They can and they are, I’m afraid,” he told her. “You will have to accept this.”

  She turned her head woodenly to him, and then felt her shock break—only to be replaced by a savage wave of fury.

  “They can die in those games!” she screamed at him. “Order them not to go! I will beg you if I must, but you have to forbid them!”

  He closed his eyes briefly at her cry, but was shaking his head. “Both will be free men by the time of the Challenge. I have no power to stop either of them.”

  “They won’t do if it you ask them not to! Please, talk to them!”

  “Oliveah, I’ve already tried. Do you think I wish to see either of them put their life at risk for this? The Patrons know, I think of them as my own sons! But they are going to do this, and I would advise that you show them your support, rather than distract them with your worry.”

  She gaped at him, incredulous. “Support? For this? Never!” She shot to her feet, now visibly vibrating with anger. “If you refuse to put a halt to this, than I will do so myself!” she bellowed, storming toward the door.

  “You won’t be successful,” he called after her. “As much as they both may love you, this is not something you have any power over. Men are men, no matter their feelings. Trust me on this, or you will only make the situation that much worse.”

  “We shall see!” she turned back to scream at him before slamming the door behind her with all her might.

  Nearly blind with rage, she pounded her way through the castle, heading for the ground-floor infirmary. Since she had no idea where upon the grounds Taleb was, Nathon was going to be the first recipient of her wrath, and, not caring that he was injured, or possibly sleeping, she barged through his door so violently that its wood cracked as it bounced off the wall behind it.

  Nathon wasn’t sleeping. The mystery of Taleb’s whereabouts was now also clear. He was seated upon the stool she’d occupied herself not long ago, the two looking to be engaged in a serious discussion—or had been, prior to her tumultuous entrance. They were now staring over a
t her in surprise.

  “Everything all right, Oliveah?” Nathon asked, taking her in.

  “Be quiet!” she snapped, approaching to stand at the foot of his bed.

  Taleb’s look now turned to one of foreboding. “You’ve spoken with your father, haven’t you?”

  She glared at him.

  Nathon sighed. “We’ve been meaning to speak to you about this prior to your departure,” he began. “I’m afraid we’ve been procrastinating, unsure of . . . your reaction.”

  “Unsure of my reaction?” she repeated savagely, taking a step nearer. “Have you both completely lost your minds? Do you not know how dangerous the games of the King’s Challenge are?”

  “We’ve heard—” Taleb started.

  “Heard?” she cut him off. “Well, I’ve seen. Every year for the past seven, I have seen. Every year for the past seven, I have watched men in those games die. Do you not realize that you’ll be completely at the mercy of your opponents?”

  “Only if they manage to gain the upper hand,” Nathon said.

  Oliveah’s eyes blazed at him. “And you believe you’ll be fighting farmers, boys, and merchants? Do you not realize the sorts of men who enter the Challenge? I know the two of you are very well skilled, but you have no idea what you will be up against.”

  “Why don’t you tell us, then,” Taleb invited, slight annoyance beginning to creep into his tone.

  “Very well,” she said. “First, there are the king’s knights; generally several of them will enter. And there are always many Justice officers. Then you have the rogues, mostly criminals, who swarm in not only from the farthest reaches of Dhanen’Mar, but also from many other countries, since the Challenge is open to all. Finally,” she went on, still glaring at both, “you have the warlords. It is not every year one will enter, but they tend to utterly annihilate all opponents when they do.” She paused to take them both in. “Now, do these sound like men you truly wish to cross blades with? Men you’d trust to the mercy of?”

  Nathon frowned at her. “No doubt these men are extremely proficient at swordplay,” he said. “But do not discount our own skills and talents in this area. We are War-born, Oliveah.”

  “And both trained by a vineyard’s master-at-arms, not by knights, or warlords, or anyone who could give a fair assessment as to what you’re both actually capable of!” she threw back at them furiously. She then watched as they exchanged a look at this.

  “Clearly, the lady is in serious doubt of our abilities,” Taleb commented lightly.

  Nathon nodded. “Apparently we have much to prove lest we disappoint or embarrass her,” he agreed.

  Oliveah stared back at them, only now realizing the severity of her error. Insulting a man’s pride, even if done in an attempt to save his life, was never a wise idea, and she realized she’d just made the situation much, much worse.

  “That’s not what I meant!” she insisted quickly. “I know you are both more than adequate—”

  “Adequate?” Nathon repeated. He looked to Taleb. “It appears we do indeed have our work cut out for us.”

  Oliveah winced. She could see no way out of this now.

  “But—what if you have to fight each other?” she suddenly exclaimed, desperate. “Could you truly lift a blade against one another?”

  They both shrugged.

  “Should it happen, I guess we’ll finally then know which of us is more . . . adequate,” Taleb said.

  Oliveah grimaced, grabbing at the roots of her hair in utter frustration as she stared at them. She had only one play left to make, and as much as she didn’t want to do it this way, there appeared no other options.

  “I will marry the first of you to withdraw from this!” she blurted, hating herself for the words but not quite able to regret them. If they both entered the King’s Challenge, she might very well lose them both. This way, she was hoping to save at least one.

  But a very deep silence had followed her proclamation, and she could only stare back at them, her heart pounding while she waited for a response. She could read nothing from their expressions, but her instincts were telling her neither was pleased.

  Finally Nathon said, “That’s hardly fair, Oliveah.”

  “Seems to me you should be making that offer to whichever of us wins,” Taleb added flippantly.

  “Of course she should,” Nathon agreed, his tone mockingly light. “For how else could we prove our worthiness of her?”

  She stared at them in disbelieving horror.

  How did this happen?

  She didn’t know, but there would be no repairing the damage now.

  Feeling herself about to weep, she turned and raced from the room just before her tears began to fall.

  Chapter 22