Blood of the Underworld(74)

Stephen knelt down before him. A subtle change had overcome him, that youthful innocence replaced with something more, something Nathaniel didn’t understand.

“What did you see?” he asked. “Did you see Veldaren?”

He swallowed. Melody and Stephen were on either side of him, blocking the hallway. He felt trapped, and worse: the vision was returning, dominating his sight against his will.

“I did,” he said. “At least, I think it was.”

“What of it? Did it bloom, or burn?”

“Burn.”

Like a thousand suns, he thought, but did not say it. Melody and Stephen shared a worried look, and he saw his grandmother take Stephen’s hand.

“He was so frightened,” Melody said. “I think...”

Stephen seemed to get it immediately, and he turned once more to Nathaniel.

“You saw him, didn’t you?” he asked. “His eyes like fire?”

Terror gripped his heart. He didn’t want to think of it, didn’t want to remember it. Tears ran down the sides of his face.

“I did,” he whispered.

Stephen wrapped his arms about him, pulled him close against his breast.

“Shush now,” he said, gently stroking his hair. “It’s all right. You poor child, you haven’t slept well since, have you? I’ll pray for you so that you can.”

Stephen stood, and again he and his grandmother shared a lingering moment.

“We’re almost out of time,” he said. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to save the city...”

He stopped as Alyssa came around the corner.

“Nathan?” she said, and Stephen parted so he could run to her. He wrapped his arm around her leg, felt her gently stroke his forehead. “Nathan, are you crying?”

“He felt guilty for running off,” Stephen said. “I think he feared he embarrassed you because of it, or that I might be upset, which I can assure you I am not. My home is his now, as it is yours, until everything can be made right.”

The eyes, thought Nathaniel, unable to stop the memory. The tears had been of silver and gold, his face a shadow, but the eyes...the eyes...

The eyes of fire burned, focused on Veldaren, their essence consumed with fury and craving destruction. More and more gathered under the shadow’s banner, and the silver tears fell like rain across the city. He heard a child crying, crying...

By the time the vision ended and he came to, he was laying on his back, his mother kneeling over him. All he could say was the same thing, over and over.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”





20



Haern woke to the sound of scraping steel. He bolted upward in his bed and immediately regretted it. A moment of vertigo doubled him over, and he coughed and heaved as his insides twisted. Beside him, Brug sat up in his chair, dagger and whetstone in hand.

“Easy there,” Brug said, reaching over and pushing Haern back down onto the bed. Haern lacked the strength to resist, and he slowed his breathing so his heartbeat might return to normal.

“Where’s Delysia?” Haern asked.

Brug lifted an eyebrow at him and let out a grunt.

“Forced her to take a rest,” he said. “Been at your side nearly all night. It’s midday now, in case you can’t tell. You were out all morning.”

Haern remembered the fires he’d seen, the chaos unfurling at his supposed death.

“How’d everything go?” he asked.

Brug scraped the stone across his blade.

“Well...”

He began talking, and Haern listened intently. He heard of the smaller fires, the delay, and then of the larger attack on the dungeon. Haern shook his head at this, thinking of so many he’d put away managing to escape. It seemed the guilds were not just eager to celebrate, but wanted to wipe away every shred of his accomplishments in a single night.

“It was all just a feint, though,” Brug said, putting down one dagger and grabbing the other. “The real fight was at Alyssa’s. I’d say you should have been there, but from what my eyes were seeing, you already were.”

Haern frowned, confused.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean someone dressed up as you, grabbed similar swords, and went to town killing thieves to protect the Gemcroft mansion. Saw him, or you, or whatever, fighting alongside that Zusa girl who’s always protecting Alyssa. Damn good, too. Might have fooled me if I hadn’t seen the gaping hole in your chest earlier that morning. Not even Delysia can get someone up and running just a day after that.”

Haern lay down and closed his eyes to think. Someone impersonated him, but why? The obvious reason was to convince the town he was not, in fact, dead. But who benefitted most? Who had the skill, and the physical ability, to so closely imitate him? It was a small list indeed, and none made any sense.