Trion cursed and rushed to save the baby, but before he could touch her, Areava, shouting and screaming, sat up and grabbed her by the shoulders. She pulled the baby out, lifting her up to her arms, the umbilical cord dangling between her legs. Even as she did so another wound appeared in the baby’s back. Trion put his hand over the wound, but blood seeped over his hand and spilled down his arm. He was crying now, shouting in rage, but he was helpless. The baby’s head lolled back. Her eyes opened once, seemed to stare at him, and then lost focus.
Trion stood back, in shock.
Areava held her daughter to her, the baby’s blood mingling with her own. She wailed in grief and pain, and the whole palace filled with the sound.
Ager was the first to reach Lynan. The youth was huddled over Kumul, holding him in his arms, rocking back and forth on his knees. Ager stood there, not knowing what to do. Then Jenrosa was there, and she leaped from her horse and joined Lynan on the ground, held her beloved’s head, and kissed his pale, blood-flecked face.
The Red Hands and Ager’s own warriors, led by Gudon, had swept on, discarding their bows and using their swords to drive into the main body of knights. Their fury gave them each of them the strength of two men, and even the knights could not withstand them. When Korigan arrived with reinforcements and drove into the enemy’s flank, some of the knights started to turn and gallop off.
But Ager could see the reorganized Grenda Lear infantry, most of them carrying long spears, approaching from the left. They were led by a small, dark-haired woman who marched with them on foot. Soon the Chetts would be sandwiched between the infantry and the knights, and fortune would turn against them once more.
They had lost this battle. Only barely, but they had lost it.
He knelt down next to Lynan and put his hand on the prince’s shoulder. “Lynan, we have to withdraw.”
Lynan looked up at him. His face was stained with tears, and at that moment Ager once again could see the youth he had first met in the Lost Sailor Tavern all those long months ago.
“What can I do now, Ager?” Lynan cried. “What can I do without Kumul?”
“Fight again another day,” Ager said. “Fight again to revenge his death. But not here, not now.” He put a hand under Lynan’s arm and helped him stand, then pointed to the battle still raging nearby. “We have the upper hand and can retreat without much chance of pursuit, but if we wait too long, the enemy infantry will arrive and most of our forces will be trapped.”
Lynan wiped his face with the back of his hand. He looked down at Sendarus and recognized him. “She sent her lover,” he said dully, then bent down and took the Key of the Sword from around Sendarus’ bloody neck. Ager brought his horse and helped him climb into the saddle. “I will bring them back, Ager, but you must look after Kumul and Jenrosa for me.”
“They will be safe, I promise.”
Lynan nodded and rode off to save his army.
Chapter 30
Dejanus slept through the night in a drunken stupor. A sergeant found him lying in his cot, smelling of wine, and threw a jug of water over his face. Dejanus woke spluttering and angry. He grabbed the sergeant’s jerkin and pushed him against a wall.
“I’ve gutted men for less than that!” he roared.
The sergeant did not seem to care, and this confused Dejanus.
“Maybe you’re hard of hearing—”
“The queen lost her baby,” the sergeant said.
“—but I said I’ve gutted ...” His voice faded.
“Last night,” the sergeant continued. “I heard say that it was a girl, but that she was spitting blood when she came out of the womb. It was a demon child. It almost killed the queen.”
Dejanus let the sergeant go. He could not believe what he was hearing.
“And the old quarter in the city burned down. Hundreds are dead. They say the demon did that, too.”
“The old quarter? All of it?”
“Almost. I’ve just come from there. Your guards have been helping where they can, but things are a mess. We need the constable to come down and take charge.” The sergeant looked at Dejanus with sudden interest. “You are the constable, aren’t you?”
Prelate Edaytor Fanhow and many magickers were working with priests and guards to help clothe and feed all the victims of the fire. He knew it could have been worse, that if the fire had taken hold earlier in the night an untold number would have been caught in their beds, but with so many homes destroyed the city still had the problem of finding shelter for thousands of people.
He overheard two of the victims talking about the miracle worker in the inn at the north end of the old quarter who was healing the dying and badly burned, and knew immediately who they were talking about. It took him an hour to find the inn. Two weary guards were still standing outside.
“Is the prince inside?” he demanded of one.
The guard looked frightened. “He went in this morning and still hasn’t come out. He ordered us to stay here. There was a weird blue light...”
Edaytor let the guard babble on and entered. There were hundreds of people there, most injured in some way. He could not see Olio. A man was walking among the people with a large ewer tied to his back and a cup in his hand, offering water. Edaytor went to him and asked about the prince. The man nodded to a small bundle squatting in one corner, his face hidden from view.
Edaytor went to him and called out his name, but the prince did not answer. He put his hand under Olio’s chin and lifted his head.
“God, your Highness, what have you done?”
Two blank eyes stared right through him. The prince’s mouth was slack, and saliva dribbled from one corner.
“Stand up,” Edaytor said, and struggled to help Olio to his feet. When he let go, Olio was able to stand alone, but he made no further effort to move. Edaytor wiped the prince’s mouth and chin and then took his hand. “Come with me,” he said, and Olio obediently followed.
When they went outside, the guards snapped to attention, then looked agog at Olio.
“What happened?” one of them asked.
Edaytor thought he knew but saw no need to speak of it. “Take him to Doctor Trion at the palace.”
The guards each took one of the prince’s arms. “What about you, Prelate?”
“I’m going to see if I can find anyone among the theurgia to help him. Tell Trion I’ll join him as soon as I’m able. Now go.”
The guards left with their charge. Edaytor closed his eyes and shuddered. He wanted to weep, but was too tired and had seen far, far too much destruction in the last few hours. He was sure there was no magic to cure the prince. After all, what could undo the work of one of the Keys of Power?
Primate Powl was crying over the corpse of the baby girl lying in rest on the altar of the Royal Chapel. He could hear the murmured prayers of several priests in the pews behind him, but no one else shared the altar with him.
Dear God, he prayed silently, tell me why you have done this thing? Why did you pierce the flesh of this child? There is no demon in her. She is just a babe, slaughtered by some power, and aren’t you the source of all power?
He stroked the head of the baby. She had wisps of dark hair. The little body was black with blood, the skin bruised to the color of wine.
Is this your curse on Kendra for my sins? Is your vengeance that terrible? Will you murder other children in your name?
Powl stopped his crying and took deep breaths.
In your name, Lord, if we only knew what it was.
* * *
“I have posted sentries,” Galen told the new commander of the army, “but I do not think they will be back.”