The Oracle's Queen

  Not knowing if Cal was alive or dead, she whirled and caught the blade of a tall warrior. As she held him, Ki lunged under the man’s guard and stabbed him in the throat.

  Ki pressed his back to hers, panting raggedly and clutching his sword in both hands. “Are you hurt?”

  “Not yet.” She put weight on her knee where Moriel had kicked her to make sure it wouldn’t fail her. “Where’s Korin?”

  “I don’t see him.”

  This way, Sister, Brother hissed in her ear. She turned and caught a glimpse of Korin’s banner near the edge of the clearing.

  A spearman thrust at her, only to fall dead where he stood, with Brother gloating over him.

  “This is my fight!” Tamír shouted at him, even as she rushed to take advantage of the opening he’d made for her.

  Shoulder to shoulder, she and Ki fought their way toward the banner.

  Korin saw Caliel fall under Nikides’ blade.

  “Traitor! I’ll kill you!” Before he could reach him, however, a young squire wearing Tobin’s baldric lunged out of the press and blocked his way. He knocked the boy’s sword from his hands with a single swing, then ran him through. Nikides screamed and flew at him, but Porion stepped in and drove him back.

  Korin was about to help when he saw a crowned helm above the fray mere yards away.

  “Tobin’s mine!” Korin shouted. Ki tried to intervene but Porion threw himself between them, catching Ki’s blade with his own.

  Korin lunged at Tobin with all his might, fueled by his rekindled sense of betrayal. Face-to-face with her at last, he saw what looked like genuine sorrow in her eyes, but she did not hesitate.

  Ki tried to keep Tamír in sight out of the corner of his eye as he faced Master Porion. “I don’t want to fight you,” he blurted out, keeping his guard up.

  “Nor I you, lad, but here we are,” Porion replied. “Come on, and let’s see how well you learned your lessons.”

  * * *

  Tamír had fought against Korin only once before, that day he’d let her fight out her anger at having to flog Ki. Older and stronger, he’d been more than a match for her then. She’d grown stronger since, but he was still a dangerous opponent. The ferocity of his attack was stunning.

  He rained down blow upon blow, forcing her to parry and retreat. They whirled around each other, striking and grappling, until they were almost in the trees. He drove her back again into a stand of tall ferns. The green smell of them rose around them as they crushed them underfoot, and she could hear the sound of flowing water close behind her.

  “Tamír!” Ki shouted, farther away.

  “Here—” she began, but Korin pushed her back again and she missed her footing, catching her heel on something and falling backward.

  The ground was not where she’d expected it to be. She tumbled over the edge of a small gully behind the ferns and rolled down a rocky slope, dashing her left elbow painfully against a rock as she fell and losing her sword somewhere along the way. She came to rest in cold mud at the edge of a stream. It must be the same stream that ran across the battlefield, she realized, getting her bearings.

  She staggered up, cradling her bruised arm and looking around for her sword. It was halfway up the steep bank, caught on an exposed tree root. She started up after it, then froze as she took in her surroundings. It looked almost exactly like the place in her vision.

  The banner? Where is the banner?

  Instead, Korin came bounding over the edge after her with murder in his eyes. Her sword was too far away to reach before he was on her.

  “Illior!” she cried, drawing her knife and bracing to meet him.

  “Tamír!” Ki leaped into view, white-faced and covered in blood. He sprang down the slope and tackled Korin before he could reach her. They tumbled together, landing in the mud a few yards away with Ki on the bottom.

  “Get your sword!” Ki yelled, wrestling with Korin.

  Tamír scrambled up the gully and grabbed her blade. As she turned back, she was horrified to see Korin rise suddenly and strike at Ki as he struggled on the ground. It was a shameful act.

  “You coward!” she screamed. She had to reach Ki, help him, but it was like being trapped in a nightmare. She slipped and slid over the rocks, making straight for them, but she just couldn’t seem to move fast enough.

  Korin brought his sword down on Ki’s arm as he tried to raise his blade to fend him off. She heard the sickening snap of bone and Ki’s snarl of pain. He tried to roll out from under Korin but the prince lunged after him and brought his sword down against the side of Ki’s helmet. Ki collapsed on his side in the mud and Korin grasped his sword in both hands and thrust it down into Ki’s side through the gap in his cuirass.

  “Bastard!” Tamír shrieked. Grief and fury propelled her the last few yards to close with Korin. She struck him hard across the shoulders, driving him back from Ki’s body. He leaped away and whirled to face her. There was fresh blood on his blade, mingling with the rain.

  Ki’s blood.

  With a scream of rage, she flew at Korin, driving him back with savage swings, away from Ki’s motionless body.

  They splashed across the stream, and onto higher ground. Korin fought hard, cursing her as he parried every swing. Their two blades clashed and rang, echoing loudly in the gully. She struck him in the side, denting his steel cuirass. He answered her with a glancing blow to the head that knocked her helmet off. There’d been no time to fasten the strap.

  She fell back, hoping to retrieve it. Korin laughed and pressed the advantage, driving her back to the stream, where Ki lay clawing weakly at the ground.

  She turned and jumped back, hoping to draw Korin away from him again. “Get up, Ki! Get your sword!”

  With a sneer, Korin left off his attack and turned to Ki, raising his blade again for the killing blow.

  She sprang at him with a despairing cry and felt Brother’s dead chill close in around her.

  It felt as if the demon crawled inside her own skin, filling her with the strength of his own unimaginable hatred. It drew her lips back from her teeth in a snarl and tore an unearthly cry from her throat. With the clarity of the demon’s rage, she spotted the gap in the hauberk under Korin’s raised arm and made a long, unerring lunge.

  The tip of her blade found its mark. Korin’s blood soaked like a blossoming red flower through shirt and mail.

  He twisted away before she could plunge it in deeply enough, and whirled to attack her again, both of them stumbling over Ki. Korin was coughing blood as he lashed out at her, and his swings grew wilder as he kept up a staggering fight.

  From the Usurper’s hand you will wrest the Sword.

  “Yield!” she cried, catching his blade on her own and holding him, hilt to hilt.

  “Never!” Korin gasped, spewing blood.

  They pulled free of each other and she felt another surge of Brother’s cold hatred rush through her as she caught sight of Ki again. He lay very still now, and the mud around him was stained red.

  This time she welcomed Brother’s strength. It joined with her own pent-up rage over all they’d lost or been denied: Ki, her mother’s love, a living brother, her father’s kindness, her very identity—all sacrificed to bring her to this moment.

  “Damn you!” she screamed, flying at Korin again, battering him down, pushing him back. A red haze filled her eyes. “Damn all of you for stealing our lives!”

  Korin struck her on the left shoulder, blade catching on the leather strap of her cuirass. She barely felt it as she used the force of the blow to duck and whirl around, catching Korin behind the knees with her foot.

  Korin staggered, dropping his guard as he fought to keep his balance. Still bent low, Tamír swung her sword up with all her might and felt Brother’s hand on hers, gripping her sword’s hilt as she caught Korin across the throat, just under the chin, burying the edge of her blade there.

  Korin gave a strangled cry, and hot blood spurted out, nearly blinding her. She pulled the blade fr
ee and quickly wiped a hand across her eyes.

  Korin stood very still, staring at her in disbelief. He tried to speak, but only bloody foam found its way past his lips. His breath made a horrible wet wheezing sound through the gaping wound across his throat. His chest heaved again and he collapsed backward among the rocks. Blood still pulsed from the wound in slow spurts and ran down between the stones.

  A river of blood.

  Tamír strode over to him, blade poised for the final stroke.

  Korin stared up at her. His rage was gone, replaced by an expression of terrible sorrow. Still clutching his sword, he mouthed a single silent word: Cousin.

  Tamír’s own sword slipped unnoticed from her fingers as she watched the life fade from those dark eyes. A last, strangled breath and he was gone, hand still locked around the hilt of the great sword.

  Brother had deserted her, and the horror of the battle rolled over her. “Oh hell. Oh, Korin!” In death, he looked again like the boy she’d played and sparred and gotten drunk with, lying there broken and bloody in the mud.

  The sounds of battle were still raging beyond the gully, and she could hear her friends frantically calling for her and Ki.

  Ki!

  “Here!” she tried to tell them, but it came out a choked whisper. Weeping, she stumbled back to where Ki lay and fell to her knees beside him. His tabard was soaked with blood and his broken arm was twisted awkwardly under his body. She found the buckle of his dented helm and pulled it free, then felt vainly for signs of a heartbeat. His soft brown hair was sodden with blood on the side Korin had struck.

  She gently lifted his limp body into her arms, clasping his good hand and cradling his head against her chest. “Oh no. No, please, not him too!”

  His blood soaked through her tabard and gummed her fingers to his. So much blood.

  “Is this what you wanted?” she cried out to Illior. “Is this what it takes to give Skala a queen?”

  Something struck her shoulder and splashed into the water beside her. Looking down, she let out a strangled cry.

  It was Korin’s head.

  Brother loomed over her, looking stronger and more solid than he ever had. He held the bloody Sword of Ghërilain in his right hand, and as she watched, he raised his left and licked the blood that covered his fingers like it was honey.

  He tossed the sword down beside her, then with a chilling smile, stroked her cheeks, painting them with more of Korin’s blood. Thank you, Sister.

  She shrank from his icy touch, clutching Ki closer. “It’s over. You’ve had your vengeance. I don’t ever want to see you again! Never!”

  Brother was still smiling as he reached toward Ki.

  “Don’t you touch him!” she cried, shielding him from the demon with her own body.

  Save your tears, Sister. He still lives.

  “What?” She pressed a finger to the side of Ki’s neck, searching frantically for a pulse again. She found the faintest flutter just under his jaw.

  “Tamír, where are you?” That was Lynx, sounding frantic.

  “Here!” she shouted back, finding her voice.

  “Tamír!” Arkoniel appeared at the top of the bank. He took in the scene at a glance and plunged down to join her.

  “He’s alive,” Tamír cried. “Find a healer!”

  Arkoniel touched Ki’s forehead and frowned. “I will, but you must go and end this battle.”

  It was like tearing out her own heart to relinquish Ki into Arkoniel’s arms but somehow she did it.

  Staggering to her feet, she picked up Ghërilain’s sword. The hilt was sticky with gore, but it fit her hand as if it had been made for her.

  She’d held it once before, the night of her first feast with her uncle. The worn gold dragons set in raised relief on the sides of the curved quillons were crusted in blood now, and so were the gold-wrapped ivory hilt and the carved ruby seal on the pommel. The Royal Seal. Her seal now—a dragon bearing Sakor’s Flame in a crescent moon on its back. Sakor and Illior united.

  You are Skala.

  She bent and grasped Korin’s head by the hair and picked it up, too, feeling the lingering warmth of his scalp against the backs of her fingers.

  “Care for Ki, Arkoniel. Don’t let him die.”

  Bearing her grisly trophies, she gave Ki one last anguished look, then climbed up the bank to carry out the Lightbearer’s will.

  Chapter 53

  Daylight was nearly gone and the rain was pelting down in earnest when Tamír emerged from the gully. The fighting was nearly over here. Porion lay dead in the trampled ferns. A little way off Moriel sprawled in a pool of blood, with Lutha’s poniard in his neck.

  She found Cal by his hair. He was lying facedown where he’d fallen and Nikides was sitting beside him, clutching a shoulder wound and weeping. Una was holding Hylia, whose arm appeared to be broken.

  Companion against Companion. Skalan against Skalan.

  Lynx, as usual, was still on his feet, and Tyrien, too. They were the first to see her and what she carried.

  “Korin is dead!” Lynx shouted.

  Everything seemed to stop completely for a moment. The last of Korin’s men fell back and stared at her, then ran away into the trees, leaving their fallen comrades behind.

  Nikides staggered up to meet her. His eyes went wide as he saw what she carried.

  “I killed him. The blood is on my hands.” Her voice sounded distant in her ears, like someone else speaking. She felt numb all over, too exhausted to grieve or feel victory. She set off in the direction of the battlefield, dimly aware of others falling in behind them.

  “Are you wounded?” Nikides asked, concerned.

  “No, but Ki’s—” No, don’t think of that now. “Arkoniel’s with him. How are the rest?”

  “Lorin’s dead.” Nikides swallowed hard, collecting himself. “Hylia has a broken arm. The rest of us have only minor wounds.”

  “And the others? Caliel?”

  “He’s alive. I—I turned my blade at the last moment. I’m sorry, I just couldn’t—”

  “It’s all right, Nik. You did well. Make sure he and any others are brought to the camp.”

  But still he stayed by her side, looking at her very oddly. “Are you certain you’re not hurt?”

  “Do as I say!” It took all her concentration to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Nikides fell back, presumably to follow her order; but Lynx, Tyrien, and Una closed around her as she reached the edge of the trees.

  The battlefield was a scene of carnage. Dead warriors and horses lay everywhere, the bodies piled on top of one another three deep in places. So many had fallen at the stream that the water was pooling red behind them, dammed with corpses.

  There were still scattered groups fighting on. Some of Korin’s forces had withdrawn up the hill. Others were wandering among the dead.

  Tamír looked around in dismay, still clutching the head.

  Malkanus was suddenly at her side, though she hadn’t noticed the wizard’s approach. “Allow me, Majesty.” He walked a little way apart from the others and raised his wand. A terrific roar like thunder rolled across the field with such force that men fell to their knees and covered their heads.

  In a voice that seemed as loud as the thunder, Malkanus cried, “Attend Queen Tamír!”

  It worked. Suddenly hundreds of faces turned her way. Tamír strode farther out from the trees and held up the Sword and Korin’s head. “Prince Korin is dead!” she shouted, her voice thin by comparison. “Let the fighting cease!”

  The cry was passed across the field. The last of Korin’s warriors made a disorderly retreat to the base of the hill beyond the stream. The only banner still visible among their disordered ranks was Wethring’s.

  “Lynx, take some men and bring out Korin’s body,” she ordered. “I want it treated with respect. Make a litter and cover the body, then bring it back to our camp. Tell the drysians I need it prepared for burning. Nik, you see to Lorin’s remains. We must take him back t
o his father. And someone find me a herald!”

  “Here, Majesty.”

  She held out Korin’s head. “Show this to Lord Wethring and declare that the day is ours, then bring it back to my camp. I require all nobles to present themselves to me at once or be declared traitors.”

  The herald wrapped the head in a corner of his cloak and hurried away.

  Freed of that burden, Tamír wiped the Sword of Ghërilain on the hem of her filthy tabard and slid it into her scabbard, then walked back to the clearing.

  Ki had been carried up from the gully. Arkoniel sat on the ground under a large tree, holding the younger man’s head in his lap as Caliel tried to staunch the wound in his side.

  She was amazed to see Cal conscious. His hands shook as he held the cloth, and tears were streaming down his cheeks.

  Tamír knelt beside them and reached out hesitantly to touch Ki’s muddy face. “Will he live?”

  “I don’t know,” Arkoniel told her.

  The wizard’s quiet words struck harder than any blow Korin had dealt her.

  If he dies—

  She bit her lip, unable to finish such a thought. Leaning down, she kissed Ki on the forehead and whispered, “You gave me your word.”

  “Majesty?” Caliel said softly.

  Unable to look at him yet, she asked, “Where is Tanil?”

  “In the trees, just over there. Alive, I think.”

  “You should go to him. Give him the news.”

  “Thank you.” He rose to go.

  Looking up, she searched his face, but still found only sorrow there. “You’re both welcome in my camp.”

  More tears slid slowly down Caliel’s cheeks, carving pale trails through the blood and grime as he made her an unsteady bow.

  “For what it’s worth, Cal, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to fight him.”

  “I know that.” He stumbled off toward the trees.

  She turned to find Arkoniel watching her, looking sadder than she’d ever seen.

  Litters for the dead and wounded were hastily made up from saplings and cloaks. Korin’s body was carried out first, with Ki’s litter just behind. Tamír walked beside Ki, stealing glances down at him to see the labored rise and fall of his chest all the way back to camp. She wanted to sob and scream and hold Ki tight to keep him from leaving her. Instead, she had to hold her head high and return the salutes of the men and women they passed.