Gail Martin - The Sworn

“We stop here,” Talwyn said, and the others slowed beside her.

“Is it safe?” Jair asked warily.

Talwyn smiled and raised a hand. On the upper doorpost, a rune suddenly began to glow, fading again into invisibility. “One of our people marked this place. It’s safe.”

The inn was quiet, empty of the usual travelers. Jair had no doubt that plague had dampened business, and if the locals suspected that the road ahead held horrors, then it was no surprise that few ventured this way in the dark. The innkeeper’s eyes widened as he saw the company of Sworn enter, but he gestured them upstairs at the sight of the injured men, and he promised to send up food and ale. Jair took a deep breath to steady himself as he climbed the stairs. His fever had worsened during the ride, and his head had grown light. He stumbled near the top, and one of the warriors caught him by the shoulder. Talwyn glanced sharply toward him, but Jair shook his head.

“Emil’s worse, and Mihei’s completely spent. I’ll be all right.” As he spoke, his voice seemed distant, and the upstairs corridor of the inn tilted as he fell, and blackness took him.

Don’t let go of the life threads. I’ve nearly got him.” King’s Healer Esme shifted her position at the bottom of the birthing bed, while Queen’s Healer Cerise took her place beside Queen Kiara, holding one hand on the queen’s forehead to ease her pain. Martris Drayke, the Summoner King of Margolan, sat on a high stool beside the bed, focusing all of his spirit magic to anchor Kiara’s life force and to strengthen the wildly fluctuating blue thread that was the life of his son.

Blood drenched the sheets. Kiara was pale from the loss of it, alternating between fever and chills. Nearly everything that could go wrong with a birth had gone wrong, and as candlemarks of labor slowly passed, the pain had worn through Kiara’s warrior resolve until her cries echoed from the stone walls.

Sister Fallon had come to attend the birth, aiding the healers and sustaining Tris’s magic through the long night. Rune-seer Beyral waited in the shadows to read the portents for the new prince. Tris knew the other reason the mages had come. Birth, like death, was a time when the veil between the world of the living and the world of the dead was at its thinnest. Drawn by the light, ghosts were the least dangerous of the beings that clustered at the threshold. And though the child had been ensouled since the time of quickening, neither Tris nor the mages were taking any chances. Now, Tris was glad for the mages’ presence, and they helped to maintain a warding around the room. It was taking all of his power to keep two fragile life threads glowing brightly. Behind the bed, Tris could see the shimmering outline of a ghost. Viata, Kiara’s mother, had also come to watch over the birth.

“Hang on,” Tris murmured as Kiara groaned with another contraction. Tris had already bound her life force to his own, magic made easier by the ritual wedding bond they’d made. But the baby’s thread was slippery, evasive. Whether or not the boy would become his mage heir remained to be seen: Magic was almost never unlocked so early. Most mages became aware of their abilities as they approached puberty. And yet, as Tris struggled to keep a grip on the pulsing blue life thread, there was something very different about this energy. To his mage sight, it was almost translucent, instead of burning with a clear blue light. And it was damn difficult to anchor.

Cerise pushed a wad of leaves between Kiara’s lips and murmured a litany against pain as Kiara cried out with the strength of another contraction. To ease her labor, every knot in the room had been loosened and every closed drawer opened. Around the room candles burned to light the child’s way. Still, nothing helped. Tris winced, sharing her pain through the bond. Kiara’s strength, while formidable, was fading quickly. And despite precautions-including placing his sword Nexus beneath her bed to cut the pain-nothing had eased this birth.

“He’s crowning. One more strong push should do it. Please, Kiara, push him out to me,” Esme urged. Tris could hear exhaustion and determination in Esme’s voice.

With a final push and Kiara’s anguished cry, the baby eased into Esme’s waiting hands. Kiara fell back, utterly spent. Tris reinforced Esme’s healing magic to ease Kiara’s pain, but his attention was riveted on the child. The baby’s skin was tinged blue and he did not cry out. Gently, Esme loosened the cord from around him as Tris laid a hand on the small form still slick with blood. He sent a desperate surge of magic to strengthen the baby’s life force. The baby jerked in Esme’s arms and began to cry, drawing a ragged breath. Tris reinforced his hold on the babe’s life thread as Esme took a knife with an obsidian blade and cut the cord, knotting off both ends securely.

“Sweet Chenne, look!”

Esme pointed beneath the bed. Nexus’s runes had burst into flame. Tris watched as the runes realigned themselves, magically shifting to form a new message. He read the runes apprehensively. “Light sustains,” he murmured, and looked to Beyral and Fallon, whose expressions revealed them to be as baffled as he was.

“What is his name?” Esme’s question drew Tris back to the moment, to the child Esme gently placed in his arms. Thin strands of white-blond hair covered the top of the baby’s head in a fine fuzz. The child stretched and opened his eyes. They were a brilliant green.

“Cwynn. His name is Cwynn.” Tris could only hope that the spirit of the ancient warrior whose tales of magic and bravery were legend would smile on this fragile infant who shared his name. Carefully, Esme gathered up the bloody remains of the birth and brought them in a wooden bowl for Beyral to read the omens.

Tris moved to show the baby to Kiara, gently setting him against her chest so that Cwynn could nurse. Although Kiara was exhausted, Tris could see the pride and affection in her eyes as she watched the baby suckle. “He’s beautiful,” Tris said, bending down to kiss Kiara’s forehead. “Like his mother.”

“Will he be all right?” Tris met Kiara’s eyes, and he could guess what she was really asking. For months, they had worried over the possible effects that the wormroot on the assassin’s blade might have had on the baby.

“His thread is strong,” Tris replied. “That’s a good beginning.” But even now, as he stretched out his mage sense toward the baby Kiara cradled in her arms, the strange translucency made that thread shift in his sight.

Beyral’s chanting drew his attention. The bone and ivory runes were smeared with birth blood, a powerful and ancient magic. Beyral lifted the runes in her hands, and then let them fall. Her eyes grew wide. Every rune and bone had landed with the blank side up.

“What do you read?” Tris asked, hesitant to hear the answer.

Beyral stared at the runes in surprise. “The afterbirth portends great power. But the runes are silent. There is no omen, no reading at all. I’ve never seen this.”

Tris looked to Esme. “What of the wormroot? Did it affect him?”

The healer shrugged. “There’s something different about the child. I can feel it in my magic, but I don’t know what it is. Everything appears as it should be. We won’t know about other effects, or whether or not he inherited your power, for quite a while.” She lowered her voice and turned so that her back was to Kiara. “He might be fine. But if not… if there is real damage… he may not be able to take the throne.”

Tris felt a wave of cold fear sweep through him, and he struggled to keep his composure. “I won’t give up on him without a fight. You know that.”

Esme nodded, and laid a hand on his arm. “Protect him. I don’t know what the difference means, but whatever it is, he’ll need you. Both of you.”