Dagger-Star

  “He looks a damned sight better than when Bethral bought him,” Red pointed out.

  “Better?” Vembar drew a breath.

  Bethral gave them all a glare, then rose to go to aid the couple.

  “He’s doing well, Vembar,” Josiah offered. “But remember that his voice—”

  “I do.” Vembar sat straighter. “And I will have a care for my old friend.” He stood, took a few steps forward, and called to him. “Ezren, my friend.”

  “Vembar.” Ezren’s eyes were bright under the hood. Bethral and Evie helped him to step onto the platform. “I never thought to see you again, outside the presence of the Gods.” His voice crackled as he spoke.

  “Or I, you.” Vembar stepped forward to clasp his hand warmly. He drew the man into a gentle hug, and then released him carefully. “Let me make you known to these others. We can talk later.”

  Bethral moved a chair behind him, but Ezren remained standing.

  “Sit before you fall,” Red said.

  “It is polite to remain standing during an introduction, Chosen,” Ezren replied. “Lord Auxter, I have heard of you, from your time with the King.”

  Auxter used his staff to stand. “Allow me to make you known to my wife, Arent.”

  “Lady.” Ezren nodded his head. Arent smiled and returned the gesture.

  Josiah had to admire him. The man had been through a horrific ordeal, but he was acting as if this was nothing more than a simple garden party.

  Red was standing next to Josiah, finishing her mug of kavage. The breeze came up and caught her hair, and it flared out gently. She reached out and tucked it behind her ear with a gloved hand.

  Desire stirred in Josiah’s groin, and he looked off into the distance. The platform they stood on worked well as a command tent, but it was little more than rough wooden planking, with Josiah’s old table placed in the center. Once the wool sides had been rolled up, the goats had thought it great fun to climb on until Red had chased them off.

  “And this is Gloriana.” Vembar held out his hand, and Gloriana came to stand next to him. “The Chosen Heir and my student.”

  “Lady fair.” Ezren reached out and kissed her hand.

  Amused, Josiah watched as Gloriana smiled shyly and blushed. She curtsied with grace. “Thank you, Lord Ezren.”

  “I do not hold that title,” Ezren sighed, as he eased down into the chair. “I am a storyteller, nothing more.”

  “Or less.” Arent added.

  “Gloriana, if you’d do the honors.” Vembar seated himself at the table.

  Gloriana produced a large map, vellum by the looks of it. Josiah frowned, shifting so that he could take in the whole of it. Red moved to stand next to him.

  Ezren leaned forward. “This is old. It dates from before the King’s death.”

  “It was a gift from King Everard.” Vembar’s voice trembled. “I brought it with me when I fled the castle.”

  Old and worn, it was still lovely, inked with colors that were faded, marked with the various baronies. Josiah’s gaze fell on the outline of Athelbryght, and he had to look away for a moment, the pain welling up from deep within.

  Red noticed, but he looked away, avoiding her eye.

  “Things have changed,” Ezren’s voice crackled.

  Auxter nodded. “We know, Storyteller. All too well.”

  “Tell us.” Evelyn settled herself in one of the chairs. “Tell us what you know.”

  Ezren frowned. “My knowledge is old as well. At least a year old.”

  “More current than ours, Ezren,” Vembar said.

  “But you know—” Ezren started to argue, but Red cut him off.

  “I don’t,” she said firmly. “Tell me, Storyteller. Start with the King’s death.”

  Ezren leaned back, tilting his head to see her from under the hood. “Every story has its price, Lady.”

  “So?” Red demanded.

  Vembar coughed. “It is the custom to pay a storyteller, Chosen.”

  “Like a bard?” Red asked.

  “Or a mercenary,” Josiah said under this breath.

  Red shot him an amused look.

  Ezren drew himself up under the cloak. “I am no performer, Chosen. I collect and preserve stories. If you wish to hear, you must pay the price.”

  Red gave him a narrow look. “What is the price?”

  “Answers to my questions.” Ezren’s eyes gleamed green from the depths of the hood.

  Josiah’s eyebrows went up at that.

  Red frowned at the frail man. For a long moment, there was silence, broken only when Ezren sighed and shrugged. “Except about your gloves, Chosen.”

  Red’s face cleared. “And my past, Storyteller. That’s my story, none of yours. But I’ll pay your price.”

  Ezren nodded, and reached out to smooth the map with his hand. “This is the land of Palins, in the sixteenth year of the reign of King Everard. The year that saw the death of the King, his Queen, and his heir.

  “Now, the Crown rules Palins, but the lands are held by the High Barons, under an oath of fealty. The Crown retains the lands around the capital, Edenrich.” Ezren pointed to the map with a thin finger. “There are…were…eight High Baronies: Athelbryght, Tassinic, Wyethe, Penature, Summerford, the Black Hills, Farentall, and Swift’s Port.

  “In the confusion after the deaths, the High Barons came together to determine who would rule. Iitrus, Lord of the Merchant Guild, was named as Regent.

  “A series of councils were held, all confused and contentious.” Ezren gestured with both hands. “I will not go into details, but no agreement could be reached among the High Barons, due in large part to the designs of High Baroness Elanore of the Black Hills and the Regent. They were in league, and they turned that to their advantage.

  “One dark night, they sent assassins through the castle, after the High Barons and their advisers. The castle ran red with blood, but their plans failed in that they managed to kill only Josiah’s mother and the High Baron of Farentell. The others escaped.

  “Elanore and Iitrus then sent their forces against Farentell, squeezing it between them like an olive in a press, taking its people as slaves.”

  “This cut Palins in half, leaving the other High Barons at their mercy. Or so they thought.”

  “It worked,” Auxter said. “Worked brilliantly.”

  “Except the High Baroness Elanore then made a mistake. Since Farentell fell so quickly, she also sent her forces against Summerford, hoping to subdue Athelbryght and Summerford at the same time. She led the attack on Athelbryght. Orrin Blackhart attacked Summerford.”

  Bethral leaned over. She pointed to the Black Hills, and then to its borders with Athelbryght and Summerford. “She warred on two separate borders at once?”

  “She did,” Ezren confirmed.

  Gloriana spoke softly. “How was she able to attack on two fronts?”

  “She used Odium, Lady fair.”

  RED had never seen anyone’s face go so white so fast. But Lady High Priestess Evelyn was as white as her hair and her robes.

  “No!” The woman looked like she would keel over, but she sat straight and still in her chair. “No, that can’t be. Ezren, the Church would—”

  The scarred man studied the map. “Lady High Priestess, the Church supports the Regent, who in turn supports High Baroness Elanore. An uneasy, quiet alliance, but alliance just the same. The Church turns a blind eye to slaves, since they have no rights as such. Although the people of Farentell never appeared in the slave markets.”

  Evelyn opened her mouth as if to deny it, but Ezren did not let her. “Lady, it is the truth.”

  “Odium?” Bethral asked softly.

  “The walking dead,” Ezren answered. “The bodies of men and women whose souls were drained from their flesh.”

  SEVENTEEN

  JOSIAH sat down hard, and buried his face in his hands. Red saw the muscles of his back move as he fought to control his emotions.

  Auxter gripped his staff and s
cowled. Arent stood behind him and laid a quiet hand on his shoulder. Red noticed that Auxter relaxed just a bit, the lines in his face easing. Red had a sudden impulse to do the same for Josiah, but the idea made her feel funny. He might not welcome such a gesture, and she felt awkward even thinking of it.

  “I looked for those of Athelbryght wherever I found a slave market,” Evelyn whispered. “Could they have sacrificed all the people of two Baronies?”

  “You would be in a better position than I to know, Lady High Priestess.” Ezren’s voice was gentle but firm. “I know little of magic and its ways.”

  “Lord of Light…” Evelyn still looked pale. “I know nothing of the dark ways, Ezren Storyteller.”

  Josiah lifted his head. “No one practices those arts,” he rasped.

  “High Baroness Elanore does.” Ezren’s voice was firm. “And Orrin Blackhart aids her in this. I’ve heard tales of men, women, and children herded into the Keep of the Black Hills, never to emerge.”

  “It would explain the numbers,” Auxter said gruffly.

  “What kind of person could do such a thing?” Evelyn asked. She glanced at Josiah and then looked down at her clasped hands.

  For a long moment, there was no sound but the distant pounding of hammers. Red kept her questions to herself. She’d heard of undead, but had never fought them. A quick glance at Bethral showed she was just as puzzled. She’d need to know how to fight them, but that could wait. Auxter could probably tell her what she needed to know.

  Ezren broke the silence. “Elanore’s attack went well, and Athelbryght fell. But word leaked back to Edenrich that Elanore was injured in the attack.”

  Josiah jerked his head over to stare at the green-eyed man. “She was injured?”

  Ezren focused on him. “I could find only two people who would even talk to me about it. And they’d both heard it from the friend of a friend.” He shook his head. “I’ve no idea of its truth, nor the extent of her injuries.” The green-eyed man leaned forward. “Do you?”

  Josiah looked off into the distance. “No.”

  Ezren sat back, then looked at Red. “Summerford rose to meet Blackhart and his army. But what Elanore and Blackhart did not understand was that while the High Baron of Summerford and the High Baroness of Wyethe despise one another, they each leap to the other’s defense at the slightest hint of a threat. Blackhart could not face the combined forces, and retreated.

  “So Elanore holds the Black Hills, and claims to hold Athelbryght. The Regent holds Edenrich. They split Farentell between them, although it is naught but empty land.”

  “What of the others?” Arent asked. “What did the other High Barons do?”

  “Summerford and Wyethe fell back to their bickering when the threat was removed. Tassinic, Penature, and Swift’s Port all hold to themselves, waiting to see who will prosper. Things were stalemated thus at the time I was….” Ezren’s voice trailed off. There was a pause when the only sound was the wind. “I don’t remember.”

  Red smoothed the map with her gloved hand. “So which of the High Barons do you want me to approach first?”

  “Auxter and I thought to approach the neutrals,” Vembar said, “Tassinic, Penature, and Summerford. We’d try to convince them to aid our cause. We’d hoped to gain Wyethe as well. And if Lady Helene heard that Lord Fael was involved, she might be persuaded to join.”

  Ezren frowned. “Tassinic has links to the elves of the far south, being half-elven himself. What of Swift’s Port?”

  “Lord Royle thinks only of his ships. He’ll not be pulled into this dispute.”

  Red nodded and looked out at where the men were working. “We can consider it for a while. It will take two weeks before we are ready.”

  Josiah gave her a startled look, but it was Evelyn who spoke first. “Two weeks? Why wait that long?”

  “Two weeks to familiarize myself with the men and their skills.” Red quirked her mouth. “We can work all day, and then talk all night about whom to approach and why. Ezren and Vembar know these people, as does Auxter.”

  Auxter nodded his agreement.

  “And Gloriana will sit in on these discussions,” Red added. “She needs to be ready to take my place if I fall. Two weeks should see it done, and ready.”

  TWO weeks? That fast?

  Josiah’s hand trembled, and he closed it into a tight fist. It was going to happen. A Chosen would lead an army and restore the Throne of Palins.

  Two weeks. He’d have two weeks. Two weeks until vengeance.

  Two weeks of Red Gloves in his bed. Two weeks…but what then?

  He swallowed hard, and consciously tried to relax his tight shoulders.

  Red Gloves was not Elanore. They’d a clear agreement, and Red would hold to her word. He had no doubt of that. She’d laid it out plain enough, cutting through his doubts like the dagger-star of her birthmark. Straight to the point, and all the rules clear.

  But at night, in their bed, after they’d enjoyed one another’s bodies, he’d nuzzled the soft skin beneath her breast, and traced her birthmark with his tongue as she’d shivered at his touch. Skin so soft on a woman that hard. Who’d believe—

  “More kavage?” Arent asked.

  Startled, Josiah looked down to see an offered mug. He took it, more out of habit than want. He held it tight as Arent served the others, feeling at once cold and hot.

  Two weeks.

  “So.” Ezren leaned back in his chair and the hood of the cloak fell back, revealing his head. But the bright-eyed man didn’t seem to notice or care. “You have been called.”

  Red raised her eyebrows. “Called?”

  “Called to your quest.” Ezren leaned forward. “Josiah told me.”

  “I also told you she didn’t believe me,” Josiah reminded him. “She crept away at dawn.”

  “Crept?” Red scowled.

  “Of course.” Ezren’s hand was tapping the table. “To be expected. The Chosen One, the hero in stories, often first refuses the call.”

  “I thought his wits were gone,” Red replied as she reached for a chicken leg.

  “Have you met your mentor yet?” Ezren’s eyes glittered with curiosity.

  Red talked through a full mouth. “Excuse me?”

  “A wise man or woman. One who acts as your teacher, to guide you past your fear.”

  They all look at Red as she gnawed on the bone, grease on her chin. “No.”

  “Ezren,” Vembar started, “perhaps your ideas about—”

  “It is a common enough theme.” Ezren pressed Red. “Are you sure?”

  Red growled. “Could we get to the point?”

  “You have yet to cross through the first portal of this tale, Chosen One.” Ezren leaned forward. “Where you commit to the quest, and cross the—”

  Red turned her head slightly and smirked at Josiah. “Oh, I’m committed to this little adventure.” She stood and stretched, lifting her hands over her head. Josiah caught himself admiring the shift of her breasts under her armor. Red relaxed and looked at them with a grin. “So all we have to do is go there, meet this noble, show him my tits—”

  “Breasts,” Josiah said.

  “Competence,” Evie snapped.

  Red shrugged. “Call it what you will, that will gain his support?”

  “One of the lads who makes armor has an idea for a way to show your birthmark without you having to bare all, Chosen.” Auxter said.

  Red laughed. “It doesn’t bother me, Auxter, but it will ease Evelyn’s mind. Tell him he has two weeks. The weather will have settled into spring, and we can move troops about with ease. Two weeks.” She stood, wiping her hands on her trous.

  “There is something else,” Ezren added.

  Red drew a deep breath. “What?”

  “You must decide on an archetypal role for your leadership. As a woman…”

  Red stilled. “What of that?”

  “A woman in power is typically found in one of three roles. The first is that of a virgin queen, a
ll-knowing, untouchable, willing to sacrifice all for her people.”

  There was dead silence. Josiah was starting to get a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

  “You think I’m a virgin?” Red demanded, scowling.

  Ezren seemed oblivious. “Or the role of the woman betrayed, leading her people to avenge a wrong. The best example of this is Empress Penalla of Wensosa. We are told that she and her three daughters were raped by the forces of—”

  Red’s mug crashed down on the table. Her eyes were wide and fierce.

  Ezren continued. “Or you could take on the aspect of the great whore, a woman rapacious in her appetites, sleeping with everyone and everything, including livestock. The primary model in this case was—”

  Red threw herself across the table at the man.

  EIGHTEEN

  BETHRAL had seen that white-hot temper flare in the past. She knew what was coming, and moved before anyone else could react. She met Red’s charge, grabbed her wrist, and yanked it to one side, deflecting the blow.

  Ezren came to his feet behind her, so fast that his chair fell, clattering on the platform.

  Bethral took no further action. Red snarled as she tried to pull back, as if to strike again. Bethral didn’t release her grasp.

  “Red Gloves,” Josiah said.

  Bethral didn’t look away from Red. She just watched as the sound of Josiah’s voice drew her sword-sister’s attention. Red turned to look at Josiah, and then at Bethral. She blinked, sanity flooding back into her eyes. Bethral knew the anger was still there, but Red had regained control.

  Red pulled away, and this time Bethral released her. Red came down off the table, glaring at the wrinkles she’d made in the map. She lifted her chin, as if daring anyone to challenge her. “Two weeks. Get to work.”

  With that, she stomped off and headed toward the herb beds.

  Josiah followed, with the goats trotting behind him.

  Bethral drew air into her starved lungs.

  “Some things don’t change, my friend.” Vembar spoke softly, leaning toward the startled storyteller. “You still have no sense of self-preservation.”