Abet again—”
“I am not. There is nothing I would like more than to see my father your prisoner, especially after he wed me to Parker, the most brutish of all the Northmen, in exchange for their support. I wished to ask you if there is news of Deo.”
Israel couldn’t help but raise his eyebrows at the woman who once, for a few weeks, had been his wife…in name only, he couldn’t help but remember, fighting the urge to smile. Deo had yet to forgive him for the political marriage meant to calm Jalas and bring him into the Council of Four Armies, although he had resolved his differences with Idril during the voyage from Eris. “Your father wed you off for political reasons? Again?”
Idril’s nostrils flared at the emphasis on the last word, but she waved away the question with an impatient gesture. “It is of no matter. I am betrothed to Deo, as my father well knows.”
“You’re going to have a hard time marrying him if your husband objects,” Israel pointed out, feeling the corners of his mouth twitch. He steeled his lips into composure.
A martyred expression was visible on her face for a few seconds before it melted into her usual one of polite disinterest. “It is, as I said, of no account. Have you heard from Deo? Did he reach Genora? Has he found his missing Banesmen?”
“I have not heard from him directly, no, but Deo and the others should be in Genora by now. The Queen sent word that she was going straight to her kinfolk to seek the aid of the water talkers, and I expect she will communicate once she comes to an accord with them. Now, I must leave you. Since you just escaped from the city, perhaps you might prefer to stay here while I take advantage of your father’s folly in leaving Abet so under-guarded. You could…er…avail yourself of my tub.”
Idril’s eyes narrowed into the meanest look he’d ever seen, aimed directly at him, and he had a suspicion that if she’d been given the ability to smite him where he stood, she would have done so. Instead, she inclined her head, causing a small snail to cascade off her hair, bounce off her left breast, and fly forward to land on the back of Israel’s hand.
He removed it without a word.
Idril sent a scathing look at her three handmaidens, all of whom schooled their expressions into ones of humility when she marched into his tent to bathe.
It wasn’t until dawn that Israel and his company, now armed with as many weapons as they could gather, approached the gate and demanded an audience with Jalas.
“Lord Jalas is not to be disturbed,” the tribesman who guarded the gate called down from where he stood on the rampart. “Go back to the rotten log whence you slunk, Fireborn.”
“My lord,” Sandor said softly, touching Israel’s arm. “There is something here…a sense of futility that disturbs me greatly. Perhaps this attack would be better left for another time, one when Kiriah is present to bless us.”
Israel considered her for a moment. There were lines of strain around her mouth that he hadn’t recalled being there before. “Futility regarding what, exactly?” he asked, loath to abandon the chance to take back the city that was by rights his. He respected Sandor and her ability to commune with the goddess, but he doubted if another opportunity so perfect as this would present itself again. He had to take advantage of it before more troops reinforced Jalas’s contingent.
She hesitated a moment, one hand going to her throat. “I cannot see clearly the threat. I only know it is present. It leeches up from the ground like a poisonous vine, tainting everything around it.”
Worry was evident in her eyes, and for a moment, Israel considered withdrawing. But just then, the guard on the rampart, evidently feeling himself in a position of power, shot an arrow that missed Israel’s horse by a foot. “Stay to the rear,” he ordered Sandor, pulling the splintered rocks, bones, and roots from a small leather pouch that was embossed with silver stars and moons at the same time he gestured to Marston.
The latter let loose with a war cry while Israel, focusing his attention on the Grace of Alba with which Kiriah had blessed all Fireborn, drew upon the living things around them. With his eyes on the guardsman, who had turned to call for reinforcements, he unleashed the power of the Fireborn, causing a flurry of feathers to swell up around the man, lifting him from the rampart and dropping him to the cobblestones below. Grappling hooks were thrown at the stone wall, and in a matter of two minutes, Israel and half his company had scaled the walls and swarmed the three guards who raced toward them.
A sense of rightness filled him as the company swept through the town, heading for the keep that towered over Abet proper. He was surprised for a moment at just how still the town was, for the residents of Abet were not known for their quiet lives. It occurred to him as he reached the central square, passing the well and a small fountain that had been put up to mark the birth of Deo, that Jalas had sent all the citizens north with their country relations.
It was just as he started up the steps to the keep that he realized why Lady Sandor had been so hesitant. He stopped midway up the steps when three men moved out of the shadows of the great double doors and stopped, their figures as black as the crows that wheeled overhead.
“Banes,” Marston said in a gasp at the same time that Lady Sandor drew in a deep breath, the whisper of a prayer to Kiriah following immediately.
Israel held up his hand at the sight of the Banes of Eris, halting the company behind him. “Keep them back,” he said quietly to Marston, knowing that the Banes would slaughter the men and women prepared to fight for him.
“Aye, my lord.” Marston slipped away, herding the company back across the square with him.
Israel took a moment to study the face of each of the three Banesmen, not recognizing them. “You are part of my son’s company?” he asked the three men, adding before they could answer, “You must be the men that Lord Hallow spirited away after the battle at Starfall. What do you here in Abet?”
“We seek revenge for our liege lord,” the middle man snarled, his skin, a dusky blue, turning a darker hue while his eyes positively snapped with anger.
“For Deo?” Israel frowned. “Then you would do better to sail to Genora, for he is not on Aryia.”
“We do not seek his grave, wherever you had him buried,” the leftmost man said, making an abrupt gesture toward him. “But we will avenge his death, you may be sure of that.”
“His death?” Israel shook his head, realizing that the men believed the scene that had played out in Starfall. He thought of explaining to them what had really happened, but knew instinctively that they would not believe him.
In their eyes, he was guilty of killing his own son, and little but Deo’s presence before them would shake them of that conviction. No, the only way he’d get past them into the keep was by removing them from the picture. He wondered if he had the strength to defeat the three Banes on his own. One, perhaps, but three? He gave another little shake of the head.
“Jalas told us how you had planned to destroy Lord Deo the minute you realized that he had done what no one else could—he had mastered chaos power. Jalas said you feared the power Lord Deo held, that you wed the woman to whom he was betrothed, and that above all else, you sought a reason to have him removed from Alba, and when that chance presented itself, you took it. We are here to avenge Lord Deo’s death upon you. We, who believed in him when you did not, will see to it that all know the truth.”
A light touch on his arm had Israel turning his head to where
