“Impossible.”
“… only a small delay in this pernicious war. You tell yourself you’ve committed so many sins; allow yourself this one more. One that might make a difference.”
“The war - ”
“ - can proceed without you for three days. So… first, we’ll need a little blood…”
I raged and threatened, but he sighed and promised I would never see Seri again if I did not follow his direction. I spat and cursed, and he smiled and said mad fury was exactly what I needed. And he told me what I had to do…
Trust him. When he would tell me nothing of importance. I was truly a madman.
“Burn this damnable place!” I yelled. “I want fire to break the stones, to scorch this patch of earth until it looks like the Wastes. Fail to do my will and you add your blood to that already on my hands.”
I did not believe Ven’Dar about Men’Thor and Radele, but I left nothing to chance. As I emerged from the tower stair, I held my bloody sword and dripping dagger where they would shield the most vital parts of my anatomy. Yet, even if Men’Thor or his son meant me harm, I guessed that the agonized cries still lingering in the glade might distract them.
“My lord Prince, what’s happened? Those screams… ” Men’Thor stood at the bottom of the stair, complexion gray, eyes flicking from me to the tower and back again, weapons drawn but aimed in no particular direction. Radele moved in on my left quarter.
“Do not question me!” I spun around just enough to keep both men in front of me.
Mindless rage was all too easy. No contrivance made my hands grip the hilts of my weapons so firmly the mark of their engraving was etched into my flesh. “Burn this tower. I don’t care how much power it requires. Everything of the traitor is to be destroyed along with him. It will be her pyre… ah, gods, if I could but kill him again! Every day remaining in this blighted life I would slay him again for my pleasure.”
“My lord, tell us what’s come about… the Preceptor… your wife… When we heard the shouts, we tried to come to your aid, but the villain had set impossible barriers on the stair.” Radele was exceptionally pale, his speech halting… uncertain. It is no small thing to lose your sovereign’s wife whom you were set to guard with your life, and to have your undefeatable prowess so easily dismissed by a quiet, gentle man older than your father. And I didn’t know what else was making the young man so anxious, but I was going to find out.
“The Preceptor - Ven’Dar the traitor, the murderer - is dead. He tried to tell me some tale of enchantments and how he’d tried to bring Seri back to me by playing with words. He danced and dallied and promised to reveal secrets and betrayers. But when I forced him to still his prattling and give me my wife, he could show me only her corpse. Ah, cursed be his name forever! The traitorous servant of the Zhid has killed her.”
I shoved my bloody hands in Men’Thor’s face, and he stepped back, his mouth hanging open, his eyes aghast. “I opened his belly for it… slowly, a finger’s breadth at a time, so he would feel it. Now I want him to burn.”
“Perhaps I should go up… to stand witness for you, confirm his death and that of your lady… ”
“You will not touch Seri. No one will lay eyes on her. If you have no wish to burn with her, then let my will be done this instant.” I dropped to my knees, wrapped my blood-soaked arms about my belly, and groaned. “Help me, Men’Thor. I cannot grieve. I cannot follow the Way until it’s done.” My weapons remained securely in my grip.
Men’Thor’s worried glance focused on the tower. A faint trace of enchantment slithered through the noonday - he would find no life remaining in P’Clor’s Tower - and then he nodded to Radele. The young man touched his finger to every stone that formed the base of Ven’Dar’s tower and to the laurel and blueberry shrubs that crowded close. Was the bastard an Effector like his misbegotten sire? I realized I didn’t even know.
The heat grew quickly as Men’Thor hovered at my shoulder. He crouched in front of me and laid a hand on my arm. “My lord, this is grievous news. We have differed on many things, but never would I wish - Please, allow me to aid you in whatever wise possible, grieve with you until the Way leads you past this sorrow. But time and danger press… and I didn’t understand about the prisoner. Is he dead, too, then, or must I send someone in pursuit?”
I spat. “The prisoner is a nobody, a stable boy, a messenger. Ven’Dar sent him back to his master - but I extracted his message from Ven’Dar before he died.”
If I’d not been waiting for it, I might not have felt Men’Thor hold his breath. “Then you know the location of the Destroyer.”
“Paulo was to arrange a meeting between my wife and my son three days from this. Ven’Dar, in his arrogance of power, promised Seri would be there. But I’ll take her place. The Destroyer’s neck will meet my sword, and his black heart will do no more murder.”
With that, Men’Thor was satisfied. He offered again to stand vigil and grieve with me as was our custom. His hand was relaxed and kind as he lifted me to my feet and led me to a grassy hummock, making me sit down. He offered me water to clean my face and wine to soothe my thirst. In his vibrant baritone, he sang a chant of memory and acceptance, words so deep and heartfelt I could almost feel them myself.
But I pushed his hand away, and his cloth and his flask and his song. “Not yet, Men’Thor. I cannot. Not yet.”
Ven’Dar had sworn to me that Seri yet breathed. I could not judge his truth, and, as I had witnessed for four months, breathing had little to do with life. To share a death chant might help me let go of her, but I could not accept her physical death yet, not even in sham.
We watched Ven’Dar’s tower burn until nothing but a blackened ring of charred stones remained in the middle of the forest. The sun hung bloated and bloody on the western horizon as we rode down the Vale, past the smoldering rubble of Nentao, and on toward Avonar. I carried the image with me - the charred ugliness of something that had once existed in harmony with the world - and I believed it a reflection of myself. Ven’Dar had told me that I could rebuild what had been, that he would show me the way, but I could imagine no revelation that could change anything. I would go to the mysterious rendezvous he planned, but I would not listen to the voice of the Destroyer. Instead, I would kill my son, and I would be D’Natheil forever.
CHAPTER 25
“But, my lord Prince, how can we afford two more days of delay? What if another of the Vales is attacked? Only your presence rallied our warriors; only your power and your sword enabled us to take on so many.”
“I have taken the life of a Dar’Nethi, N’Tien. I held Ven’Dar’s bowels in my hand - an act of madness and revenge - and it matters not in the least that his execution was justified. The law is clear. I must be purified before I can act again as the Heir of D’Arnath. And on the day I confront the Destroyer, I must have all my rightful powers.”
The slender Dar’Nethi chewed the end of his drooping moustache like a nervous schoolmaster. “But, my lord - ”
“You will sit here and deploy our warriors as you see fit. You have a better head for it than anyone in Avonar, including me. Ce’Aret will govern in my stead. Ustele will hold the desert portals and Men’Thor the temporary command, as I’ve instructed him. Mem’Tara is new to the Preceptorate, but her experience in combat over the past fifteen years speaks for itself. With Ce’Aret’s advisement, she will lead the defense of Avonar. I’ve charged Radele with the safety of the Vales.”
The wizened old woman who sat behind the long table nodded and wagged a bony finger at N’Tien. “The Prince is correct. If the fiend Ziddari himself sat in this chamber or Parven or Notole had taken up residence in the Prince’s palace, it would make no difference. The Heir cannot lead with Dar’Nethi blood on his hands. I would stick my knife in him myself before I would permit it.”