Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Mirari and Ashira sat across from one another once more.

“I saw how Zagalis came to be here. However, I am intrigued by this other woman you met in the alley in Barath,” Mirari said. “I have not seen her before. Judging by her magic, I'd say she is Chaelestan.”

“She gave me a fortune,” Ashira said. Her eyes were still red, but she had stopped crying. “She said I'd find two gifts while I'm here. I don't know what it means, though.”

“I'm sorry, I don't do divination.”

“So can you teach me anything about magic?” Ashira asked the maestro. “I came to you to ask whether you could help me learn how to use my magic.”

Mirari considered the question for a moment.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I have never taught a Celfsteinian. In fact, the only Celfsteinian I had met before you was Verat.”

His face showed sudden concern.

“Speaking of which, he was supposed to meet me after the symphony concluded. That was nearly an hour ago. Where is he?”

Ashira remembered what she had overheard.

“He's in trouble!” she exclaimed. “I overheard two people saying something about him being a target. You don't think they plan on killing him for deserting?”

Mirari nodded gravely.

“It would seem like it.”

“Then we must find him! I want to ask him about Celfstein, about my parents, about Zagalis,” she said hurriedly, standing quickly.

“You're right. I will call the soldiers to start a search for him.”

“I'm going to look for him on my own,” Ashira said with determination.

“Then take this,” Mirari said, picking up a smaller looking glass from a bench behind his chair. “I have a matching one. If you find him, say my name three times and I'll be able to see and speak with you. I'll do the same.”

“Thank you, Mirari. You've helped, just by writing my story.”

“Yes, yes. Verat could be in trouble. Now go!”

Ashira left the room and ran to the exit of the coliseum. There were a few people still milling about, but not enough to be in her way. She left through the main exit and paused, unsure of where to go. The forest around the coliseum was not vast, but enough that somebody could be attacked without it being noticed. She ran to the nearest path that led through the trees, calling Verat's name.

It took twenty minutes. She began to lose hope and planned on leaving to search through the city when she heard a faint reply to her right, behind a hedge.

“Verat?!” she called again, louder.

“Help!” came the weak voice again.

Ashira ran along the hedge, searching for a way through. Not finding one, she decided to crawl through the bottom. Branches tore and tugged, scratched her skin and caught her hair. She reached the other side and ran back to where she had heard the voice.

Verat lay on the ground, holding his side. Blood was seeping from between his fingers and had created a puddle on the grass.

“Help,” he said again, seeing her.

“Verat!” she rushed over to him. She was not sure what to do, but decided to wrap the wound as best as she could.

“Don't worry, I'll get help,” she said. She used one of the tears on her tunic and made it longer, ripping off a long piece with which she bandaged the knife wound.

“Who. . .you?” he whispered.

“My name is Ashira,” she said, working to tie the cloth. “I am the steward of Celfstein.”

“No!” he croaked. “You must . . leave. . . . Not safe!”

“I will not leave you alone to die!” she said with emotion. She wanted to cry, but her tears were spent.

“Zagalis. . . looks for. . . you.” Verat managed. She rested his head on her lap, keeping one hand on the wound to help staunch the bleeding. His face was bruised, his arm lay broken beside him.

“He has found me,” she said. “He traded me for my friend, Salam.”

“No. He. . . would never. . . give you up.”

“What? But he did. He wanted my friend, the son of a senator, to use against the king and those who are aligned with him.”

“He would never. . . give up the. . . steward. He . . . must not have. . . known.”

His breathing was becoming more labored.

“You mean, he didn't know he had captured the stewardess when he caught me?”

Verat shook his head slightly.

A voice came from behind her.

“But now I've caught you again,” Mirari said. Ashira turned her head to look at the maestro.

“What?”

“Idiot girl,” said the man, stepping forward. He took out a knife from his belt and stabbed Verat again, this time in the chest.

“No!” Ashira screamed. Verat coughed, then lay still in her lap.

“Gets rid of that traitorous vermin,” Mirari said, wiping his blade off on Verat's cloak.

“You killed him! You evil-”

“Save your breath, whelp,” Mirari said, backhanding her across the cheek. “Now I've found you, Kaias will have me as his right hand man once the king is finally dead.”

Ashira held her cheek. Now she realized why Mirari had wanted her memories. The man was working with Kaias Celsis and Zagalis to capture her and throw Camena into turmoil.

“The king will see you hang,” she said softly. “If I don't kill you first.”

“Kill me? The few times you've killed have been by pure luck,” he said with a chuckle, standing up. He grasped her hair and pulled upward. She screamed and followed his hand up. “You know no more magic than you do how to play the flute.”

Ashira looked around for any stone she could use against him. The cobblestone path was on the other side of the hedge, and she could not see it.

Mirari threw her against a tree and pinned her there. He put his face right next to hers.

“But you are pretty, girl. I could sell you for a lot of money.”

Ashira felt the heat of his breath and scrunched her nose.

“Boy, you need to wash your mouth,” she said, infuriating him further. He backhanded her again.

“Just wait until I take you to Zagalis!” he screamed. He pulled her away from the trunk and she fell, her knee falling on a fallen branch.

“Get up!” he yelled. She looked up slowly into his eyes, defiance shining in them. Her hand grasped the branch beneath her and she stood quickly, bringing it up between his legs. He howled as the wood made contact and released her hair.

Ashira made a break for it, running into the trees.

“Don't think you can lose me in here, Ashira! I know this forest. I grew this forest!” he called from behind her.

Ashira grasped her dagger hilt. Perhaps she could throw it at him? But then she'd be without a weapon. She dodged around trees and bushes. Ahead, she saw the solid stone of the coliseum.

Trapped, she thought. Then an idea came to her.

She raced ahead toward the stone. Placing her hand on the wall, she spoke softly to it.

“Split apart. Let me through to the other side.”

The wall obeyed, splitting open just wide enough for her to slide through sideways. She looked back into the forest and saw Mirari chasing her with a slight limp. She reached the other side and held her hand to the wall again.

“Now close and do not let him through.” The wall obeyed again, closing the gap before Mirari could reach it.

Ashira observed her surroundings. She seemed to in a backstage area, where props and stage items were kept. She wound her way through the maze of various objects, looking for a door. She could hardly see, the only light coming from a small skylight near the ceiling.

She tried to calm her breathing and get her mind wrapped around what had just happened. Mirari was a traitor to Camena! He was in cahoots with Kaias and Zagalis and the Chaelestan witch to overthrow the Camenian government. But why would they take Salam? Surely a simple senator's son would not be enough to ransom the king?

She found a door and opened it cautiously. It led to the hall of the coliseum. She saw the large circular stone slabs that had created the tiers for the performers to sit on. They were lowered now, leaving the entire arena flat. The hall was deserted, though a light still shone from the ceiling. She ran across the large open area, heading toward another door. She would exit the way she came in, by commanding the stones to move.

She had just reached it when she felt something hit the back of her head. She went down on one knee, dazed.

“Think you could escape?” Mirari said, his voice sounding distant. “Perhaps you forgot that I could see you through that glass on your hip. Again, idiot girl.”

She felt strong hands binding her arms behind her back and taking away her dagger. Mirari led her back to his quarters, where he locked her up in the dark. She sat on the red chair, trying to regain her focus.

Things were happening so fast. She tried to sort through the information in her mind. Zagalis and the Chaelestan witch had met her in Barath, but had not known she was the stewardess. Then Zagalis's men had captured her to use as bait to draw Salam into a trap, which had worked. Zagalis let her go, not knowing who she really was. But what about the men who had attacked her just outside of Premoi. They had known she was special, and surely they were Zagalis's men.

She pondered why the men would have known how she was the steward, but Zagalis would not have. Perhaps the men were on assignment and had not had the opportunity to tell him? Perhaps they were not his men. But no, the dying one had said his name.

“Ivarus,” Ashira cried into the darkness. “Salam. Malimu. Anyone, please. Surely somebody is looking for me.” Her head ached from the attack, and scratches covered her arms and legs where the branches had scraped her.

Now Zagalis had Salam to use against the king. And the usher had said a Celfsteinian man had been welcomed with an old woman in some sort of parade. Why would they make pretense of being ambassadors? Zagalis and Kaias were working together; Salam's suspicions about the senator were correct. Mirari was working with them, and she had walked right into his hands. Why had she been so trusting?

She sat in darkness for what felt like hours. Her thoughts turned to the symphony. Mirari had shown her the past, her past, accompanied by beautiful music. Now she knew what her father and mother looked like. Then he had brought back memories that she never have remembered otherwise. She would cherish those for as long as she lived, however long that may be. Although he had betrayed her trust, he had still given her something else, something dangerous. He had given her hope.

The door opened. In walked a man in a green toga with medium length brown hair that fell straight past his ears. A patch of white hair could be seen as well on one side. He was broad and muscled, but not tall, standing only an inch taller than Ashira. His hose was hooked, his chin was chiseled. Had Ashira seen him any other time, she would have thought him handsome. Now all she saw was evil incarnate before her, hatred burning in his eyes. Mirari followed behind, lighting a lantern on the wall.

“She has brown hair,” the man said, his voice a husky bass. “You said she is blonde.”

“She is,” Mirari said, hurrying over to her. He grabbed her by the hair and forced her to turn. The man saw her blonde strands at the back of her neck.

“I see. And her skin?”

“Dyed,” the maestro replied. “I saw it all in her memories.” He let go of Ashira, who stood tall, her hands still tied behind her back.

The man walked around her like a wolf circling its prey.

“You sure gave her a beating,” he said, looking at her black eye.

“She resisted.”

Ashira spoke.

“Who are you?” she asked softly. She wanted to know who the man was, for he surely was not Zagalis. She had seen Zagalis once before; this man was Camenian.

“Do not speak!” Mirari yelled in her face.

“Mirari, calm yourself,” the man said smoothly. “I am Kaias Celsis, Senator from Aetheris.”

Ashira's suspicions were confirmed.

“I have something to tell you, Kaias,” she said, getting up her courage. “Come closer so I can whisper it. Mirari cannot know.”

Kaias was interested, and gave in to the temptation. He leaned toward her.

“Screw you,” she whispered, bring up her knee as hard as she could. She made contact with his groin.

Kaias grunted and fell to his knees, holding himself.

“You'll pay for that, whelp!” Mirari shrieked, approaching her. Kaias held up one hand to stop him.

“She's fine,” he managed through clenched teeth.

“Curse you!” she raged at Mirari. “I trusted you! I thought you would help me! You traitor! You deserve to die.”

Kaias crawled into one of the chairs. Mirari folded his arms and looked at her.

“That reminds me,” he said, looking at Kaias. “Who is the Chaelestan witch?”

“What witch?”

“There was an old Chaelestan witch with Zagalis in Ashira's memories.”

“I'm not party to that information, it would seem,” Kaias said, his hand still holding his injured parts.

“Hm.”

Ashira looked between them.

“What do you plan to do with me?” she asked the men.

“Well, once we turn you over to Zagalis, he will rule both the Celfsteinian and the Camenian relics. He will conquer Acustia and Kadencia and set me us as king over all Amrahn. Mirari here will be my adviser.”

“How?”

“How what, whelp?” Mirari said.

“How will he have the Camenian relic?” she asked.

“He has the prince held captive, and he is the steward over Camena's relic. Once he has you, he'll be able to access Celfstein's relic. He has waited a long time to have you, Ashira,” Kaias explained.

“Enough questions. She doesn't need to know this. She'll find everything out eventually,” Mirari said.

“Fine. We'll take her to Zagalis. He should be at my residence now,” Kaias said. “Make her follow.”

Mirari took out Ashira's own dagger and held the point against her back, forcing her to walk forward. They left the coliseum and headed into the streets. Ashira tried to remember the roads and landmarks, but the turns confused her, and she lost her sense of direction. She thought about what Kaias had said. Zagalis had the prince, as well as Salam. The prince was the steward over the relic. If Camena's prince was a steward, was Celfstein's stewardess a princess? She dismissed the fanciful idea. But if Kaias held the prince captive, why did he need Salam? Surely holding the prince ransom was enough.

And then a thought occurred to her that had not before.

“What is the prince's name?” she asked Kaias, thinking that he was more likely to respond civilly than Mirari was.

“Kirdan,” he said.

Realization came over her. That was the same name Ivarus had called Salam while she was at Iudes's house.

“Salam is the prince?” she said aloud.

“Salam? No, Kirdan,” Kaias corrected her.

“Right.”

Ashira was in shock. The only thing that kept her moving was the dagger point at her back, which was carefully being concealed by Mirari from the eyes of passerby.

The whole time she had been traveling with the prince of Camena, and he had not told her. She had not known. Salam was the steward of the Camenian relic, just as she was stewardess of Celfstein's. She almost laughed at the strange coincidence that had brought them together in the first place, but held it back for fear of retribution.

They reached a tall, seven story building with marble facade. Two soldiers standing as sentries saluted Kaias as he approached the large double doors and entered, followed by Ashira and Mirari.

They entered a great hall, also made of marble, and ascended broad steps to a corridor. Kaias led them into a grand study, with books lining the walls for two stories up. Forest green rugs covered the floor, and a great stone slab formed the desk at the back of the room. Large stained-glass windows were on either side. Emerald green couches sat around a fireplace not far from the desk.

Zagalis sat next to the old woman on one of the couches. Salam sat on a chair near the old woman, his arms bound, a collarium on his neck to prevent him from singing.

“Zagalis,” Kaias said, smiling broadly and spreading his arms. “Welcome to my home. I hope you have been served well while I was away?”

“Indeed, Kaias,” the usurper replied. “Tell me, why have you brought this girl to me? I already rid myself once of her.”

“Zagalis, may I present Ashira,” Mirari said, stepping forward and bowing slightly, gesturing to her with the dagger. He stood erect. “She is the stewardess of Celfstein.”

Ashira watched Zagalis's eyes grow big. Salam's reaction was much the same. The old lady only smiled and nodded knowingly.

“This girl. . . “ Zagalis started. He had lost track of her so many years ago, and now here she was before him. Not just that, but he had actually captured her and let her go once before.

“I assume this changes plans a bit?” Kaias inquired.

“Indeed,” said the witch, standing now. “We can use her just as we are using the prince here.”

“Pardon, but who are you?” Kaias asked her.

The witch smiled again, this time showing her yellow teeth.

“I am Seren Tuwil, of Chaelesta,” she said, bowing slightly in greeting.

“Seren will aid me in acquiring the Camenian relic's magic,” Zagalis explained.

“I see. Let us take seats and we can discuss this,” Kaias said. He led them back to the couches to sit and called a servant over to him. A young Celfsteinian man hurried over from a dark corner, his face showing his nervousness.

“Take the prisoners to the tower. Place a collarium on the girl's neck,” the senator instructed.

The young man bowed, then took Ashira's dagger that Mirari offered him. He held Ashira and Salam at the point, forcing them to walk out of the room and down another corridor. They went up a winding staircase into a small tower room. Taking a ring from the wall, he placed it around Ashira's neck and held his hand on it.

“Seal,” he commanded, and it did so.

He left, locking the door behind him.

Ashira looked at Salam with eyes full of sorrow. He smiled sadly at her and shrugged. They sat on the stone floor and leaned against each other for comfort, their backs against the stone wall.