he couldn’t touch the boy’s mind, maybe he could at least reach him with words. “Poor child. Between us, my cousin and I have used you cruelly. But you’re safe now, little one. And the Lady Aydris will see that you remember nothing of this.”
His voice faltered. The woman quickly took the boy from him, and the small human fell helplessly against her, still shaking convulsively. Hauberin, feeling the onset of shock, fought his own shivers, straightening slowly, biting his lip at the movement.
“Now you will let me see the wound,” Alliar ordered grimly, parting the slash in the gray tunic with gentle hands. Hauberin glanced down in time to see the iron-scorched fabric crumbling away into little black flakes, and hastily looked away, stomach protesting. “Winds be praised,” he heard the being murmur after a time. “Not the slightest break in the skin.”
“I knew it.” When I didn’t start to die, Hauberin added silently in dark humor. “An iron-burn, no more.”
It was enough. It was beginning to hurt sickeningly, as though someone had pressed a fiery brand against his skin, and the pain was making him dizzy. But he waved off his solicitous friend, mind racing.
“He’s finally done it. Finally declared himself.”
“Serein?”
“Of course.” Hauberin closed his eyes for a moment, struggling to will his shaken body under control. “Oh, monstrous, to use a child as assassin!”
“And I am witness,” Alliar said sharply. “That’s why you had us link minds.”
“Exactly! Serein, Serein, I have you at—”
But Aydris’ scream of sheer horror slashed across his words. As Hauberin and Alliar turned to stare, the woman, white-faced, backed away, arms falling to her sides. The boy’s body sagged briefly against her, then slid slowly, bonelessly, to the floor.
“Winds protect,” Alliar gasped. “What . . . ?”
Hauberin reached out with his will, searching frantically for any sign of life. There has to be something, anything, he can’t be . . .
But then he knew the truth. The prince staggered back, this time glad of Alliar’s supporting arms.
“Nothing,” he murmured to the being, shuddering helplessly. “Alliar, there was nothing, not even a fading essence, nothing but that . . . shell.” The prince wanted to do something, cover the body, comfort poor, weeping Aydris, but his legs refused to obey him. Limp within Alliar’s support, Hauberin heard himself chattering feverishly, “I should have guessed. There was shadow in the boy’s mind before, I mean, when I touched him, shadow where there should have been—should have been life, but I never suspected, I—”
He broke off abruptly, struggling for self-control. “Oh, Li,” the prince said softly. “Serein’s magics ruined the child’s mind, tore it apart. When my cousin fled me, he destroyed what little essence-spark remained. There was nothing left, nothing that could cling to life for more than the few short moments we saw. “My cousin is a murderer. Serein has murdered a child!”
IV
“WHO WAS YOUR MOTHER’S FATHER?”
Hauberin, clad in light, supple Faerie mail, astride a sleek white Faerie stallion, glanced back over his shoulder at the grim-faced royal war troop following him. As was to be expected from his independent people, none of them wore anything that could have been interpreted as livery—their armor was covered by cloaks and tunics in a wild range of color, from subtle pastels to flaming yellows and reds—but they had answered his summons quickly enough. The prince wasn’t vain enough to think it had all been for love of him or concern about treason against him; no, they had been as shocked as he by that most horrifying murder.
The troop rode in silence, the only sounds the thrumming of hoofs against the ground, the flapping of a cloak or clink of a sword hilt against mail, or a snort or whicker from a nervously prancing horse. Hauberin ran over in his mind yet again the complex spells of
His voice faltered. The woman quickly took the boy from him, and the small human fell helplessly against her, still shaking convulsively. Hauberin, feeling the onset of shock, fought his own shivers, straightening slowly, biting his lip at the movement.
“Now you will let me see the wound,” Alliar ordered grimly, parting the slash in the gray tunic with gentle hands. Hauberin glanced down in time to see the iron-scorched fabric crumbling away into little black flakes, and hastily looked away, stomach protesting. “Winds be praised,” he heard the being murmur after a time. “Not the slightest break in the skin.”
“I knew it.” When I didn’t start to die, Hauberin added silently in dark humor. “An iron-burn, no more.”
It was enough. It was beginning to hurt sickeningly, as though someone had pressed a fiery brand against his skin, and the pain was making him dizzy. But he waved off his solicitous friend, mind racing.
“He’s finally done it. Finally declared himself.”
“Serein?”
“Of course.” Hauberin closed his eyes for a moment, struggling to will his shaken body under control. “Oh, monstrous, to use a child as assassin!”
“And I am witness,” Alliar said sharply. “That’s why you had us link minds.”
“Exactly! Serein, Serein, I have you at—”
But Aydris’ scream of sheer horror slashed across his words. As Hauberin and Alliar turned to stare, the woman, white-faced, backed away, arms falling to her sides. The boy’s body sagged briefly against her, then slid slowly, bonelessly, to the floor.
“Winds protect,” Alliar gasped. “What . . . ?”
Hauberin reached out with his will, searching frantically for any sign of life. There has to be something, anything, he can’t be . . .
But then he knew the truth. The prince staggered back, this time glad of Alliar’s supporting arms.
“Nothing,” he murmured to the being, shuddering helplessly. “Alliar, there was nothing, not even a fading essence, nothing but that . . . shell.” The prince wanted to do something, cover the body, comfort poor, weeping Aydris, but his legs refused to obey him. Limp within Alliar’s support, Hauberin heard himself chattering feverishly, “I should have guessed. There was shadow in the boy’s mind before, I mean, when I touched him, shadow where there should have been—should have been life, but I never suspected, I—”
He broke off abruptly, struggling for self-control. “Oh, Li,” the prince said softly. “Serein’s magics ruined the child’s mind, tore it apart. When my cousin fled me, he destroyed what little essence-spark remained. There was nothing left, nothing that could cling to life for more than the few short moments we saw. “My cousin is a murderer. Serein has murdered a child!”
IV
“WHO WAS YOUR MOTHER’S FATHER?”
Hauberin, clad in light, supple Faerie mail, astride a sleek white Faerie stallion, glanced back over his shoulder at the grim-faced royal war troop following him. As was to be expected from his independent people, none of them wore anything that could have been interpreted as livery—their armor was covered by cloaks and tunics in a wild range of color, from subtle pastels to flaming yellows and reds—but they had answered his summons quickly enough. The prince wasn’t vain enough to think it had all been for love of him or concern about treason against him; no, they had been as shocked as he by that most horrifying murder.
The troop rode in silence, the only sounds the thrumming of hoofs against the ground, the flapping of a cloak or clink of a sword hilt against mail, or a snort or whicker from a nervously prancing horse. Hauberin ran over in his mind yet again the complex spells of
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