At once he felt fingers pinching his nose shut. Another hand forced open his mouth, poured a liquid into it. He had to swallow or choke to death.
This time it was bitter, harsh and acidic, and burned his throat as he gulped it down. There was a sudden ache as the evil that had flooded him receded. He blinked, coughed, then slowly sat up.
Pedric had scooted away, rubbing his throat. Vervain, too, had stepped out of immediate reach. Both were eying him warily. Hot shame rushed over Deveren as he recalled what had just happened. What to say? What to do? How could he possibly apologize? And the one thing that lingered, that frightened him the most, was that somehow he was aware that what had just washed over him was not insanity. He had merely become the Deveren that might have been, had there been no love, no goodness, no light to brush his life in the previous thirty-four years.
There was a beast within everyone, and Deveren had looked it in the face. His expression of horror and contrition must have reassured them, for they relaxed as they watched him. Pedric smiled shakily. 'Welcome back,' he said quietly.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
And Parin took the Sword of Vengeance, and for seven days and seven nights, the river ran red with blood.
Castyll had been able to sleep only for a few hours; a short nap in a whore's scented bed. Both he and Damir knew that speed was of the essence. By the time midmorning came, Bhakir would have already put word out about Castyll's disappearance. He would be closing roads, searching ships, and it would be increasingly dangerous to be en route to Jarmair. But only in Jarmair would Castyll be able to gather armed men to fight for him; and only with armed men could he hope to defeat Bhakir.
So Castyll, Damir, and his loyal men were on their way as dawn lightened the horizon. With relatively little effort-or so it seemed to the young king-Damir had put an illusion on Castyll that disguised his features so that he would not be recognized. At one point, traveling along a little-used road that led out of Ilantha, Castyll had glanced down at the major road and seen a large group of armed men heading for the port city. He'd shuddered, and thanked whatever god was responsible for sending Damir to Mhar.
They talked of magic, to pass the long hours on horseback over difficult terrain. Damir seemed certain that Castyll had indeed inherited the ability to use magic, and that the only thing stopping Castyll was his own trepidation. That night, when they made a camp devoid of fire for warmth or cooking meat-Damir had deemed it too dangerous-the older man had gently probed the young king's mind, seeking confirmation of what he expected.
He smiled as his fingers left Castyll's temples. 'It is there, locked away, as a miser might hoard his treasure. I fear it is far too deeply rooted in your mind for you to locate it on your own. It might take weeks of searching, but I could guide you.'
'Will you, Damir? Will you be my tutor?'
Damir chuckled. His face was dim in the starlight. 'Let us recapture your kingdom first, Your Majesty. Then we will be free to contemplate tutoring and other such happy activities.'
They moved on before dawn of the following morning. Castyll ached from such long hours in the saddle, but reminded himself that had he been forced to walk the distance, he'd have long since been captured.
He had desperately wanted to ride into the capital city openly, with his royal standard snapping in the breeze, waving to the people he was certain were still loyal. Damir had immediately quashed the idea. 'Assassins,' he had said simply. 'The humblest peasant could be one of Bhakir's men in disguise. We will proceed carefully. There is always the chance that my plan might not have worked.'
'Do your plans have a history of not working, Damir?'
'Not often.'
'They call you the Problem Solver. Did you know that?'
Damir laughed. 'So I have heard. Your Majesty.'
By the end of that long day, Castyll's royal bottom was aching and his legs screamed for rest. But Jarmair was within sight, and even from this place up in the hills he could see the castle that had been his home since the day he was born.
'Castle Derlian,' he said softly. 'Oh, Damir. We're almost there.'
On Damir's instructions, they waited for full night. Then, after all the men, including Castyll, had armored up and checked their weapons, they rode slowly into the quiet farmlands that surrounded Castle Derlian, keeping well away from the darkened houses. Damir's men closed ranks about the king, while Damir rode, sometimes scouting ahead, sometimes circling behind. Castyll guessed that Byrn's finest ambassador was using his formidable mind magic, trying to sense danger. It was all very reassuring.
At last, they came within sight of the mammoth gates of Castle Derlian. Damir kneed his horse and approached Castyll and the circle of men. 'We go no further without reassurance that we're not walking into a trap,' he stated bluntly.
'What do you suggest?' queried Castyll.
'We send in a decoy.' Damir's bright eyes roamed over the faces of his men, and it was to them that he addressed his next words. 'I'll cast an illusion on one of you. You will go forward and demand entrance. You will appear to be the king-alone, unarmed. If they attack the decoy, then the rest of us flee. If they take the false king inside, we wait till we hear a report and if not, then-'
'What?' cried Castyll, aghast. 'You'd send a man to walk into a trap?'
'With His Majesty's pardon,' spoke up one of the men, 'we have all faced death many times before. That is our duty. Any one of us would consider it an honor to die protecting you and obeying our own king's orders.'
'No.' Castyll shook his dark head. 'I won't allow it.'
Damir sighed in exasperation. 'Majesty-'
'You are under orders to obey me as if I were your own king, yes?' asked Castyll, knowing the answer.
'Aye, but it would behoove you to listen to someone with my experience.'
'I have, Damir, and I know you know what you're doing. But — this is my kingship we're talking about. I should be the one walking into a trap, if there is one. Let us compromise. I will agree to send a man up as a decoy. But if they attack him-me-then we fight. And if they want to take him into the castle, we ride up and reveal the deception.'
'Your Majesty,' replied Damir with more than a touch of exasperation, 'what if I'm right and you are walking willingly to your death?'
Castyll weighed his words carefully before he spoke. 'It is my firm belief that this castle is manned with people loyal to me. That they have no idea of the evil Bhakir has been perpetrating. If that's true, and if your plan has worked, then we are walking toward the final victory, the restoration of my kingdom. If it's not true-if there is no one inside those stone walls who remains loyal to me- then there is no one within these borders whom I can trust. And the kingdom is lost beyond recapture. The Derlian line will have come to an end, and I will go down fighting to uphold the honor of those who have died before me.'
He turned in the saddle to look at the men who had risked so much for him already. 'I'm not your king. This is not your fight. If need be I will go forward alone, and take my chances. Come with me of your own will, if you choose. But I will not order you forward, nor will I allow Damir to do so.'
Damir frowned terribly. Castyll knew he was angry, but he didn't care. He knew in his heart that was making the right decision.
'Very well,' said Damir. 'I will go with you, Your Majesty.'
'And I,' said the man to Damir's right. 'And I,' said another. In swift succession, Castyll faced six men who had pledged to fight or die with him. Tears stung his eyes; he blinked them away. 'We shall not fail,' he said.
