sensation, knowing it would cost him in the end, in the darkness of the mark on his arm, in the claiming of his soul by the Well, but he didn’t care.
The price was small. Nearly infinitesimal.
With the battlefield wrapped around him, he focused, picked out the banners of the Tamaell Presumptive, the pennants of the King of the Provinces, and then he reached out And halted time.
Picking his way down from the slope, he crossed the stilled battlefield, slid past individuals fighting to the death, around groups no more organized than a brawl, past horses in mid- rear, men falling, hands outstretched to catch themselves, unaware that they were already dead. He wound through splashes of blood frozen in midair, ducked beneath swords in full swing. He made his way through it all.
Until he stood before a single individual, the man he’d come to speak to, the man he’d come to convince:
King Stephan.
He peered into the King’s face, into his gray-green eyes, locked on his opponent, expression fierce as he prepared to drive his sword through an Alvritshai’s heart. He could feel the man beneath, could feel the vibrant energy of his life, even though everything was still, motionless.
Then he caught sight of another man, the King’s commander, Tanner Dain. The Legion commander fought beside the King, was in the act of stepping back, an Alvritshai’s body falling away from his blade.
Colin hesitated, then drew the mantle of the Lifeblood’s power around himself, like a cloak. He positioned himself so that Tanner Dain would see him the moment time resumed, but close enough so he could touch Stephan.
Then he let his grasp on time fall away.
Stephan roared as his blade plunged into the Alvritshai’s chest, blood flying as he drew back, half turned Then halted as he caught sight of Colin, dressed in an Alvritshai shirt, open at the front to keep it from getting soaked in the blood seeping through the bandages across his chest. As a frown creased his brow, as recognition began to flare in Tanner Dain’s eyes and he began to lurch forward, Colin turned to the commander of the King’s guard and said, “I’ll return him in a moment.”
Then he reached out and snagged the King by the arm, gathering the Well’s power around himself and Stephan And Traveled.
23
“Don’t let go,” Colin said.
The tenor of Colin’s voice brought Stephan to a halt, his instinctive response to pull away from the hand that held him in a viselike grip, even as the world around them shuddered, slowed, then halted. Colin watched Stephan’s face intently, saw the man lurch as he enveloped him with the Lifeblood. It was easier to pull Stephan back with the Lifeblood flowing so cleanly, so recently, through his body. There was no wrench as there had been with Moiran as they fled the occumaen, no anchor trying to hold him in place, as with Aeren and Thaedoren in the parley tent.
But the transition wasn’t completely smooth either. Stephan gasped, his eyes going wild, darting around, seeing the entire battle in mid-motion, a battle he’d been part of only a moment before, adrenaline racing through his blood.
His gaze fell on Tanner Dain, his commander already leaning forward, foot poised to take a step in Colin’s direction, expression caught in transition, hardening into rage.
He turned to Colin. His terror had died. He’d already begun collecting himself. “What have you done?”
“I’ve halted time.”
“Why?”
“Because there’s something you need to see.”
“And what if I don’t want to see it?”
Colin shrugged. “I can’t force you to go, can’t force you to watch. All you have to do is break contact with me, free yourself from my grip, and you’ll return.”
Stephan’s mouth twitched into a sneer. “What is it that you think I need to see?”
Colin looked into his eyes, into the derision he saw reflected there, and said, “Your father.”
The sneer faltered, a look of horror, of hope filling the void that it left. For a startling moment that felt like eternity, Stephan lay exposed, the mask of rage and hatred and despair that he’d worn for the past thirty years gone, torn away, the man beneath-the boy who’d been transformed on these fields, who’d been murdered by Khalaek and the Alvritshai just as his father had been-peering through, vulnerable and young.
But then the mask slammed back into place, rage twisting Stephan’s face. “My father is dead,” he growled, then tensed to break free.
“He’s dead, but you can still see him. You can see how he died. You can see what really happened, who really killed him.”
“I’ve already seen how he died. I was there! I saw it with my own eyes!” He began pulling away from Colin, struggling, although half-heartedly. Perhaps he’d grown weary from the fight. He made no move to shift his sword to his free hand, to threaten Colin with it when it was obvious Colin himself held no weapon.
“But you saw it at a distance,” Colin said. “You don’t know what really happened. You’ve lived the last thirty years not knowing the truth, told one thing and another, until not even those who were there know what they saw and what they’ve learned to see, what they came to see based on rumor, not on fact.” Colin’s voice had deepened as Stephan’s struggles increased, his teeth clamped together. But Stephan suddenly let out a harsh cry and stopped trying to shake his arm free.
They glared at each other, both breathing hard.
“I can show you what truly happened,” Colin said, voice hoarse. “I can show you who turned against your father first, who followed and who didn’t.”
Stephan still didn’t believe him. Colin could see it in his tortured expression, as he squeezed his eyes shut and bent his head, his shoulders.
He remained in that bowed position a long moment, mostly still, jaw clenched.
When he lifted his head, he’d calmed himself, although his eyes shone with hatred. “How? I’ve been told a hundred stories, heard a thousand songs. How can you show me the truth?”
Something deep inside Colin relaxed. “I can take you there.”
He reached out with the Lifeblood, still pulsing through him, still strong, and then he pushed. Pushed against time. Not halting it, not slowing it. No. Those were simpler tasks. Instead-as he’d done so many times before on the outskirts of the forest, where his mother and father and the rest of the wagon train had stood and faced the Shadows-he pushed back, pushed through the barrier and against the force trying to shove him into his proper place in time’s flow.
Stephan sucked in a sharp breath as the figures around him began to move, edging backward, swords pulling out of punctured chests, unslicing throats, uncutting arms and legs. Colin saw the image of Stephan himself, howling in reverse, but before the real Stephan could turn and see himself Colin concentrated and shoved, the reversal picking up speed, until all motion was smeared, then blurred, and yet still he pushed harder. Sweat broke out on his forehead, and Stephan took an unconscious step closer to him as time slid back even faster. The armies retreated, the sun set in the east, rose in the west, the field suddenly enveloped again in warfare, until they retreated again, the parley tent popping up from its collapse. Colin saw his body being carried in Eraeth’s arms as the Protector raced backward into the tent, caught a glimpse of Eraeth’s stricken face a moment before he vanished back inside. He staggered, surprised by that glimpse And in that moment, as the reversal of time lurched and slowed, he saw how the Wraith-how Walter-had gotten into the tent without being seen.
Khalaek’s men had held the tent flaps aside.
In a flash, he recalled seeing Khalaek’s aide standing beside the inside flap. A second had stood outside, guarding the tent with the others.
It would only have taken a simple signal-a whistle, a hummed refrain. Both men could lift the flap at the same moment, keep it open only a moment. With time slowed, or halted, Walter wouldn’t even need a single
