Spells of Undeath Read online

  She held her back straight, though, and her chin defiant.

  Was it wrong that Cavan found her even more attractive like that, than he had while she danced with him at the festival?

  “I could ask you many questions,” Ehren continued. “Why you misled my friend tonight. If you knew the full truth of my friend’s identity before you took him to your bedchamber. If you sought to trap my friend in a political dispute.”

  Ehren shook his head. “None of those questions, though, matter so much as the one question I do ask. And I wish to know the answer. What is it you want?”

  “I never wanted my mother’s life. Running a noble household. Arranging parties and playing politics.” She turned to her father. “Let Ansa and Dula live that life. I crave the open road. Adventure. There is so much to see and do out in this world. I don’t want to live and die here in this tiny kingdom. Our borders aren’t more than a week’s journey from the Wailing Woods, but I’ve never even seen an elf!”

  Fury thundered in Draig’s eyes as Reesa continued.

  She turned her attention to Cavan, urgency in her soft gray eyes. “Those stories you told. They’re all true, aren’t they?”

  “If I know Cavan,” Amra said before Cavan could answer, “he didn’t exaggerate a word of whatever he told you.”

  “If anything,” Qalas added, “he probably played down his own role in events.”

  “It’s true,” Ehren said, giving Cavan a smile. “Cavan has many faults, but braggadocio isn’t one of them.”

  “Then take me with you. I’m good with a bow, and—”

  “Enough!” Drien bellowed. “That will be quite enough of this foolishness. Priest, I have granted your request. Your question, asked and answered. But my fidelity to Zatafa does not mean I must forsake generations of tradition and the needs of my own family by sending my eldest daughter out to die in the wilderness because of a few stories and a pair of brown eyes.”

  “Father!” Reesa objected.

  “No,” He said, his voice as final as the grave. “Well, Cavan Oltblood? Marry her and you may take her on all the adventures you wish. Refuse, and face trial for espionage.”

  “I never agreed to marry anyone!” Reesa said, but it was rage in her words and eyes, not pleading. “He couldn’t have known what you’d arranged.”

  “Couldn’t he?” Draig said. “I’d say a trial could determine what a resourceful man like Cavan Oltblood knew and what he did not when he sought you out at the festival.”

  “Oh, enough,” Amra said. “No more politics. It gives me a headache. You seem to know Cavan and Ehren. Do you know who I am?”

  “Your reputation as both a warrior and a commander precedes you, Amra,” Draig said, his tone more careful now. “And I know your fourth as Qalas, former hunter for Duke Falstaff of Nolarr, in the kingdom of Oltoss.”

  Qalas looked surprised to be recognized, but said nothing.

  Amra, however, continued.

  “Good. Then hear this. I’m not of a mind to let anyone be forced into marriage. Certainly not my friend Cavan, and not this spirited girl in front of me. So let’s just drop that pretense, all right?”

  The mounted guards all turned their lances toward Amra.

  She smiled and twirled her sword.

  “Oh, do make this night interesting,” she said.

  “Send for a truthspeaker,” Ehren said, clearly desperate to keep the situation from descending into violence. “The surest way to prove the truth of both Reesa’s words, and Cavan’s.”

  “There are no priests of Zisan near Oinos,” Reesa said, frowning as though her words tasted bad. “They’re never allowed to pass through during the harvest. The merchants guild won’t stand for it.”

  “Hard to respect the judgment of a place that fears truth,” Amra taunted.

  But Cavan had an idea.

  “Sergeant.” Cavan waited until he had the man’s attention.

  Cavan looked beyond the mace in the sergeant’s hand. Saw the attentiveness and caution in his eyes. This was a man who was weighing his men’s chances, if this came to a fight. And he was clever enough not to assume numbers alone would win the night.

  Yes. Cavan could trust this man’s honesty.

  “Sergeant,” Cavan said again, to emphasize the man’s rank before he continued, “I assume the Council Speaker has the right of town justice. Does he have the right of king’s justice?”

  “Of course not,” Draig answered, “but—”

  “I am asking the sergeant.”

  “And he will answer what I allow.” Draig raised an eyebrow. But before he could say whatever he next intended, Reesa spoke.

  “Father has the right of town justice only. Not king’s justice, nor county justice, nor baronial justice.”

  Draig’s mouth tightened into a line and his eyes promised pain, but he did not deny his daughter’s words.

  “I thought as much,” Cavan said with a slow smile and his eyes on Draig. “You don’t possess the authority to charge me with espionage against Oinos. Much less try me for it. The best you could do would be to petition—”

  “Very well,” Draig said, dropping from his saddle.

  “Hah!” Amra said. “Outmaneuvered him on his own battlefield. My headache is fading.”

  But Draig focused all of his rage on Cavan.

  “You, Cavan Oltblood, have seduced my daughter, ruined the match I arranged for her, and dishonored my family. I demand satisfaction, and you cannot deny that I have the standing I need for that.”

  “Now we’re talking,” Amra said. She had more to say, but Qalas hushed her.

  “Oh, very well,” Cavan said, though his heart wasn’t in it. “I assume first blood will be sufficient?”

  “No,” Draig said. “the duel shall last until one withdraws.”

  Technically, that could mean a duel to the death, if neither would withdraw, but Cavan didn’t believe it would come to that.

  A man like Draig put too high a value on his life to lose it in a duel.

  “Fine.” Cavan shrugged, drawing his licha sword and ensuring its reddish-yellow coloring showed in the torchlight. Long, that weapon was. Light. The dune elf forged blade had sharpness beyond anything Cavan had wielded before. Might have even rivaled Amra’s sword.

  “Shall we get this over with?”

  “Oh, no,” Draig said with an evil smile. “You shall face my champion in the town square at first light.”

  “And your champion shall face his,” Reesa thundered, turning to face her father. “It was I who seduced him, Father. And I shall defend my actions myself.”

  Draig paled, but looked past her at Cavan. “Surely you need not hide behind the skirts of a girl.”

  “Watch that,” Amra said in a warning tone, but Cavan was looking at Reesa, who pleaded silently for his agreement.

  “I’m sorry,” Cavan said, then turned his eyes to Draig and sheathed his blade as he finished, “but it seems I’m having trouble refusing your daughter tonight. I guess your champion shall face mine.”

  Cavan didn’t sleep that night.

  He had a big feather bed in his private room in the inn, as well as a private bathtub. He’d paid extra for such amenities, as he always did when he had the coin.

  But that soft bed still carried the apples-and-honey scent of Reesa.

  Reesa, who would be fighting Cavan’s duel come morning.

  Well…

  Was it really fair for Cavan to call it his duel? One way to look at the situation might be to suggest that Reesa had gone to the feast that night looking for a way out of the engagement she hadn’t wanted. She’d even lied, when Cavan had asked if she was promised to anyone.

  From that point of view, she had dragged Cavan into this duel.

  Still. Cavan had been quick enough to enjoy the company of a beauty like Reesa. He hadn’t needed much seducing. What was more, Cavan had been the one challenged. And he didn’t like letting anyone fight in his stead.

  For his own part, Ca
van had certainly told Reesa nothing of his own parentage and future. The gods knew he didn’t like to think about those things, much less talk about them, though it seemed he had less and less choice in the matter as time had gone on.

  It was not so long ago he’d managed to all but forget about the barony he’d stood to inherit — and at the time, Juno was a barony — until his uncle, Duke Falstaff of Nolarr, had sent hunters to kill Cavan as part of an attempt to usurp Juno and the mines that produced gemstones of powerful magic.

  Cavan even fought a duel against his uncle to stop the man’s ambitions, but Falstaff had found a way around his loss and an excuse to send his armies to try to claim the mines.

  Cavan had gotten to the mines first and foiled Falstaff a second time, ruining the magic of those gemstones in the process. And that time King Draven made Falstaff pay for his misdeeds — in land. Enough land to turn Juno from a barony to a county.

  Hells, that was half the reason Cavan and his friends were on the road now.

  Yes, they were heading north to the Dragon Spike Mountains, to find a dwarven smith Cavan knew who could forge a better weapon for Qalas than the halberd he carried.

  But really, Cavan wanted to set his mind on adventure once more. Leave politics for his later years, when King Draven finally passed from this world, and Cavan had no choice but to assume his duties as Count Juno.

  That thought brought Cavan as close to a smile as he came that night, tossing and turning in his bed. “May he live a thousand years” was the common Oltoss way of praising the king.

  In Cavan’s case, he would have been only too happy to see the king live a thousand years.

  Of course, the possibility existed that the king might force stewardship on Cavan if the current steward, Kent the Jeweler, the man who fostered Cavan, were to pass from this world.

  So Cavan hoped Kent lived a thousand years as well. Though that wish was as much out of Cavan’s love for Kent as it was out of Cavan’s love for adventure.

  Adventure.

  Reesa had spoken of adventures. Of wishing to see the wider world. Of wishing to ride with Cavan and his friends.

  If she won the duel, could Cavan refuse her? Should he?

  Certainly he would owe his champion something. Still, the roads Cavan and his friends rode were dangerous. Each of them had been near death more times than Cavan liked to think about.

  Reesa looked comfortable on horseback. She claimed to be good with a bow.

  But would that be enough?

  Was it even a question worth worrying about?

  After all, if she lost the duel, she wouldn’t be in a position to…

  No.

  Cavan sat up in his bed.

  If Reesa lost her duel, Cavan could not just leave her here at the mercies of a man like Draig. Taking her on the road might not be a good option, but Cavan could at least see her safely to another town. Perhaps to relatives of her choosing.

  But what if she won?

  What would that mean?

  Cavan gave up his attempts to sleep then. He dressed — his older, brown tunic replacing the missing good, red one — left a note for his friends that probably wasn’t necessary, and spent the rest of the hours of darkness wandering the cobbled streets of Drien.

  Walking was always a good way for Cavan to deal with an excess of thoughts. And besides, whatever happened in the morning, Cavan had the feeling that he’d be happy he knew the fastest ways out of town.

  2

  When dawn finally crested the titanic trees of the Wailing Woods to the east, Cavan was already at the town square. A wide area, that Cavan suspected had once been the market square. The construction in the area here looked older. Mostly fine older houses, several of them even two stories tall, unlike much of the town. And among the houses, a selection of higher end merchants such as the most fashionable tailors and jewelers in Drien.

  Anchoring the town square was an impressive, three story manse that likely housed the Speaker of the Council.

  Of course, considering the size of the place, it could have housed the whole of the Council of Drien, and their families. As well as whatever town business might need a great hall.

  A small crowd had begun to gather, likely because the town watch had formed a large ring where the duel would take place.

  Or perhaps the town watch had gossiped in the early hours of the morning. Certainly Draig hadn’t sent the town criers to spread word of the duel. Most of the town would have been here by now.

  Instead, Amra, Ehren and Qalas had no trouble approaching where Cavan stood, at the edge of the ring of watchmen on the far side from the manse.

  Approaching on foot.

  “Where are the horses?” Cavan asked.

  “What did I say last night?” Amra replied, smirking at Cavan. “Not until Caramel is reshod.”

  “But—”

  “Peace,” Ehren said, offering Cavan a hunk of sausage, still warm from the inn. “If your Reesa wins this duel, we won’t need to spirit her away. She’ll have at least some self-determination.”

  “I’m not sure about that,” Qalas muttered.

  “And she might still need some healing that would preclude whatever quick getaway you imagine,” Ehren continued, ignoring Qalas’ point. “And if she loses, she’ll definitely need healing. Depending on how much, she might not be able to ride before the morrow.”

  Ehren was the most accomplished healer Cavan knew, thanks to the blessings of Zatafa, but there were wounds that even Ehren could only heal by the first rays of a new day.

  First rays that were already spending themselves when Draig and his entourage arrived.

  It seemed the entire Council of Drien would bear witness to this duel, though Draig looked displeased about it. He stared daggers at Cavan, with a sour turn to his mouth and bags under his eyes that made Cavan doubt Draig had slept either.

  The Council included a dozen more men and women, all human, pale skinned, and old enough for their shares of wrinkles and gray hair. A few looked to have been warriors in their youth, but most had the look of merchants, tradesmen, and farmers.

  The Council had an honor guard that looked more dangerous than the town watch in general. They looked like men and women who could have chased Cavan through the streets last night without puffing for breath.

  Reesa arrived with the entourage, but walked separately, and refused to even look at her father or his fellows on the Council. The crowd began buzzing at the sight of her, dressed to fight.

  For good reason. Reesa this morning almost looked a warrior. She wore a long, leather jerkin, sewn throughout with rings of metal. The same kind the town watch wore.

  The jerkin looked too long, and too broad on her. No doubt she’d borrowed it. She wore good leather boots, though, that covered her to the knee. They’d provide at least some protection from a low strike.

  Her lovely blond hair was bound at the base of her skull so she could wear a simple steel helm that protected most of her head. Not her face, though, save for a small nose guard.

  She wore a pair of short swords at her belt, and kept her hands on their pommels as she walked.

  The sword belt looked well-worn, and fit properly. Cavan suspected it might have been hers. She might even have had some training with those twin short swords.

  But her walk gave away her inexperience. She did not show any of last night’s grace now. Her steps were slow. Cautious. Worried, perhaps. But worst of all, she was too much in her thoughts and not enough in her body. That could prove fatal in a fight.

  “Reesa,” Cavan called above the rising noise of the crowd. “Over here.”

  She shot Cavan a smile somewhere between grateful and nervous, but sped her steps to join him at the foot of the ring.

  The head of the ring, of course, was where Draig and his Council stood.

  And the venom in Draig’s eyes turned downright poisonous. Cavan found himself glad that the man showed no talent for magic.

  Of course, the township did ha
ve a wizard, somewhere. Certainly no one on or near the Council had a practitioner’s aura of power…

  “Lovely morning, isn’t it?” Reesa asked, her voice high and tight.

  “Hush,” Amra said, and immediately began adjusting Reesa’s armor. Tightening where she could, in ways that would make it less likely to interfere with her movement. “Have you ever used those kitchen knives before?”

  “They’re proper swords,” Reesa said, affronted. “And I’ve trained with them in secret since I was a girl.”

  “If you think those are swords,” Amra said wryly, “then you must think Cavan’s packing a—”

  “Have you ever used them in earnest?” Cavan asked. “Ever fought for your life?”

  Reesa swallowed and shook her head.

  “Keep moving,” Amra said, her voice serious now. “Once the duel begins, don’t stop moving. You’re light and quick. I saw you dancing. Think of this as a dance too.”

  “Look there,” Cavan said, pointing to a spot where the cobblestones were larger. “Most of the cobbles around here are fairly even, but not there. They dip smaller. If you’re careful, you might get your foe to miss a step. Create an opening.”

  Reesa bit her lip, but noted the spot Cavan mentioned while Amra ran her through a quick drill of technique: grip, footwork, common openings and parries.

  “Do you know who your opponent will be?” Ehren asked.

  “Kolsach, the town champion. By law, he’s the only one who can serve as my father’s champion.”

  Drums. Cavan didn’t see them, but he heard them.

  “That would be him now,” Reesa said, and she paled.

  Cavan could understand why.

  Kolsach was a name Cavan recognized. The man had been a mercenary captain for two or three different companies over the course of about two decades.

  Rumor had it that he was still every bit as tough and strong as he’d ever been.

  He certainly looked it, now that Cavan could see him.

  The man stood tall. Even taller than Cavan, by about a handspan. Well-muscled, though much of the leanness of youth seemed to have fled him now. His belly had grown beyond that of the man the stories portrayed.