“Why is it that you believe Lord Marshal Otaker is dead?” Kian asked.
“The message Otaker intended to send to Bresado, and all the lords marshal along Aradan’s borders, as well as the king, was a warning about the danger facing the kingdom at Varis’s hands, not a warning about a mercenary vying for the Ivory Throne-that was the story Varis told Otaker and myself. The only way Bresado could have suspected you might be coming is if Varis told him as much … or Otaker, though not the Otaker I left behind.”
Azuri looked about at his companions, then faced Ellonlef. “Doubtless Otaker the man is dead, for it was not Bresado who was waiting for us, anymore than it was Fenahk who attacked us in the swamp. It might have been them in appearance, but demons had taken control of their flesh.”
While Kian did not personally know Lord Marshal Otaker, it was said that he was one of the last true Aradaners, cast from the mold of the kingdom’s forefathers. The idea of him becoming a creature like Bresado was disheartening. Even if true, he had larger questions that needed answering.
“I still do not understand why Varis would claim I intend to usurp the Ivory Throne.”
Ellonlef gathered her thoughts. “The short of it is this: I believe that Varis fears you. As such, he desires your death … but your death is seemingly the one thing he cannot bring about by his own hands. He claimed that you stole the powers of creation, long ago hidden by the Three within something he named the Well of Creation. He said that some part of those powers were released into the world and, consequently, into himself.
“Given his actions at Krevar-slaughtering, I believe, the people of Krevar with a strange plague and then bringing those dead back to life in order to convince all others that you are after the Ivory Throne, and are in turn supported by a cohort of corrupt highborn-it seemed more likely that the situation was reversed. Seeing you now before me, and having witnessed the very natural means by which you fought last night, I believe even more strongly that Varis is the one who stole the powers of creation for himself, and that he intends to take the Ivory Throne, as well.” She held his gaze until he grew uncomfortable, then added, “However, from your friends’ account, it must also be true that some part of the powers of creation are inside you, Kian Valara.”
Kian gazed at Ellonlef, wanting to deny her words, but unable to.
Azuri nodded to himself. “At the temple, just before Varis came out, you were struck down-”
“The same would have happened to any man unexpectedly knocked to his backside by a blast of strong wind,” Kian argued weakly.
“It was no wind that bowled you over, my friend, but a strand of blue fire. As well,” he went on, “only you, among all the others of the company, survived the direct touch of the unnatural fires Varis created. And not only did you survive, but those flames did very little to the area around you. Those same fires turned to ash anyone else they fell upon.”
“And let’s not forget that root-serpent,” Hazad said. “It had you cornered. Yet when it tried to tear you apart, it died at your touch. The same power in Varis must also lie in you,” Hazad finished in a whisper, looking distinctly ill at ease.
Before Hazad could add what Kian knew was coming next, Azuri said, “And the demon in Fenahk … only your steel was able to cause true harm. Yet, even then, it was not your sword that destroyed the creature, but your voice. And if you had not been with us in the Black Keep, Bresado’s minions would have torn Hazad and me to pieces.”
“This cannot be so,” Kian said, feeling trapped. He had been able to accept that he might have had some protection from Varis, inexplicable as it was, but that he shared something with that vile princeling revolted him. The imagined storm he had sensed before was closing, and he hastened to ward against it, futile as those efforts were. “Your steel worked as well as-”
Kian stopped before the statement was finished. The truth was clear and undeniable in his mind. To continue on, as if he were the same man he had always been, was to mark himself a fool.
“Even if true,” Kian said, abruptly changing course, “it matters nothing. With Oratz destroyed, along with any chance of refitting or giving warning that demons now haunt Aradan, I will make for Izutar. Anyone who wants to join me, can.”
“Is your heart so callous,” Ellonlef said then, “or is it fear that drives you?”
“Fear lives in all men,” Kian growled, “but I have never let it rule me. As to a callous heart, I owe nothing to this wretched kingdom. I have given them a sword and blood when needed, and they have returned that service with gold. There is no outstanding debt.”
“Perhaps not,” Ellonlef answered, “but with the gift you have received-an ability to resist Varis, and all the powers he wields-does that not obligate you to help as you can?”
“No,” Kian said promptly. He did not like the way she was looking at him, as if he were some heartless beast. Neither did he enjoy the way a part of his own mind suggested to him that he was being both a coward and a fool, and indeed, a heartless beast.
“Very well,” Ellonlef said slowly, “but know this: Varis will not stop at the Ivory Throne. In due course, Izutar will fall as well.”
“How can you know that?” Kian demanded. Some part of him knew she had the way of it, but another, more stubborn part of him, refused to accept defeat.
Ellonlef’s tone grew hard. “As with all of Varis’s lies, when he claimed that you would seek to rule all nations, doubtless he gave away his own intentions. This is not Aradan’s problem alone, but the problem of all kingdoms … all the world. Some of those kingdoms might well be Izutar’s enemies, and their falling would, for a time, even benefit Izutar. But in the end, with the power Varis has displayed, friend and foe will be subjugated together.”
“If so,” Kian said, grasping for any conceivable argument, no matter how weak, “then those kingdoms will stand together against him.”
“Alliances between friend and foe might arise against Varis, but it is unlikely they will bury old hatreds in time to save themselves.” At this she gave him a pointed, accusing look. “Varis is moving too quickly. He must never be allowed to grow his forces strong enough to attack other kingdoms, let alone the Ivory Throne. He must be stopped-and you Kian, by my estimation and the testimony of your companions, for good or ill, are the only man with even a chance to stand against him. So, while you may not owe Aradan loyalty, can you say the same for your own homelands and people?”
Kian scowled at the woman before him. “Why are you here, so far from Krevar, if you yourself did not flee a fight you wanted nothing to do with?” It was a weak, petty accusation, and he knew it straight away. More troubling still, was that he was willfully denying many truths about himself, and the world in which he lived. He had never been one to shirk responsibility, and he had never turned his back on his honor, but some unknown force within himself kept driving him to do just that.
She did not so much as flinch at his charge. “Otaker commanded me to travel north, all the way to Izutar, if that was where I would find you,” Ellonlef said flatly. “We both concluded that you may hold the key to Aradan’s survival, and the power to stand and defeat Varis.”
“And what were you to do if I denied your request for aid?”
Ellonlef looked at her hands clasped in her lap. “That possibility never entered our minds.”
“It should have,” Kian said harshly, hating himself for speaking words that seemed to pierce her heart. “I am a mercenary, after all.”
“Indeed,” Ellonlef said with no small measure of disgust in her voice, and tossed aside her blankets. Despite her wounds, she managed to get to her feet with no help. Without another word, she hobbled to the picketed horses.