by Dave Dobson
Nothing happened. At first. But then, the ball’s coolness intensified, and the beam of coolness shot out from it toward the floor behind me. Gora shifted a bit in her chair, and as the ball swayed with her robe, the spike now swung wildly around, like a beam of sunlight through leaves disturbed by a breeze, or like a drunken fencer's blade. I could feel myself tiring quickly, and my stomach twinged with pain.
Behind me, I heard a buzz of energy, and then a click. Boog’s feet scraped on the floor as he stood. I gave up my focus, opened my eyes, and turned to look. I was dizzy, and it was hard to keep my eyes open.
With one hand, he rubbed his neck. With the other, he held his collar, swung open. He looked at me, nodded, then moved over to Gora.
Gora looked up at Boog’s approach. “What—How did you…” she gasped. “Oh, that’s not good.”
Boog jammed his finger and thumb into the hollow of Gora’s neck. I winced, having been the target of that maneuver all of the many times he’d practiced it since we left Edmund. Gora gurgled and wheezed and slumped in her chair.
Boog shoved Gora roughly to the ground and fished around in the pocket of her robe. He found the object. “Nice work, Marty. Very nice. No idea what you did. Here you go,” he said, as he tossed me the object. It was the same smooth black stone we'd seen in the pool, or a similar one.
I’m sure Boog meant for me to use the stone to release myself, strike off my shackles, and join him in glorious newfound freedom. We’ve discussed it several times since then, and he’s apologized profusely. As the black stone flew at me, and my arm rose to catch it, it triggered my collar, and I lost consciousness in a flurry of sparks and pain.
50
Deleted Messages
I returned to consciousness in moderate comfort. I lay on a lumpy mattress, and for the first time in nearly two weeks I was free from the weight and hard, cold edges of the collar at my throat. My face felt damp, and as I breathed in, a slurping noise and the coolness on my cheek made me realize I had drooled a bit on the bedding.
I rolled onto my side, stretched, and opened my eyes. An angry face glared back at me, and I flinched. But it was only Gora, bound tightly to a chair with a soiled cloth stuffed in her mouth. As I wiped my cheek on my sleeve, I realized I must be in Gora’s bedchamber – it held her clothes, folded neatly on shelves, and her travel pack, books, pens, and other materials. I must be on her bed, as well. I glanced down at the small puddle of moisture I’d made on her pillow, and as I looked back at Gora, I think I saw her face darken even more.
Behind Gora, Boog was giving the room a thorough going-over. I noted with great pleasure that my warding rod lay on a table nearby, next to the collars, the collar stone, and a small scrap of tightly-rolled parchment. There was also a stack of coins and the key Gora had used to open the outer gate.
“Oh, you’re finally up,” said Boog. “Sorry about that, with the stone and the collar.”
“Sorry? All I get is ‘sorry?’” I rubbed my neck.
“All right, I’m sincerely sorry. About causing you what was obviously such great discomfort.” His tone put his sincerity into question.
I didn’t think I was going to get much better than that. “How long have I been out?”
“Maybe three hours?”
I looked at Gora. She seemed even more frail tied up in the chair.
“Did you need the gag?”
“She wouldn’t shut up. I warned her, twice. I got tired of listening to it.” He stood, and his back cracked. “I found your stuff, over there.” He pointed at the table. “Clarice’s note is there too.”
I thought the small scroll of parchment looked familiar. I glanced at Gora, and she looked away. I stood and took the scroll over closer to the oil lamp hanging from the center of the ceiling. The writing was very small, but very neat, and I felt a wave of warmth as I recognized Clarice’s script, stretched out along the narrow strip.
2nd Nemra, 844 – M and B – I am back with our side and healing well. So sorry you were captured. My fault. I will never forgive myself if you come to harm. I have sent this message with a trader to Gora, a scholar I met on the road who has some influence with the clans, and I have asked her to find you and ensure you are treated well. She is kind – you can trust her.
[Here I snorted.]
The clans sometimes trade captives with us under flag of truce. I have informed Kreune of your situation, and I hope that you will be back with us soon. You may actually be safer as their prisoner than with our side, given your difficulties.
I have heard from Gueran. The situation worsens quickly in the city, as you might expect, and our chance to act is fading. Time is shorter than we thought. When I am fully healed, I will return there to try to set things right. Please DO NOT follow – it is far too dangerous for you there now, and you've done more than your part.
Send word when you can. I miss you both. Stay out of trouble.
C.
P.S. Please keep my falcon safe – it belonged to my mother.
I read the note through several times, savoring her words and her gentle voice, which I could not help but hear in my head as I read. The pool had shown her alive, but this note was real – she had touched it, written it, rolled it up. She lived. I gripped it tightly.
“Smitten again, I see,” said Boog. “Now that she’s back from the dead.”
“Never stopped,” I whispered, too softly for him to hear. I rolled the paper up again, tightly, and opened the falcon amulet to tuck it back in. As the falcon’s head snapped back, I saw some tiny lettering set in the silver metal around the edge of the hole. I must have missed it in the gloom of the pool chamber. I squinted to read it in the soft glow of lamplight.
TO CECILE * WITH ALL MY LOVE * TREVAIN
Those names I remembered well. Cecile, who’d chosen Trevain over Marron, though with kindness and grace. Trevain and Cecile, stabbed and burned by Marron as they slept. Trevain, whose house, even after his death, had been wrongfully sullied and dishonored, then destroyed, a final blow struck from Marron’s jealousy. This was the story related to us in sorrow and regret by Edmund, Inspector of Middlemarsh, Cecile’s older brother.
But he definitely hadn’t mentioned that Cecile and Trevain had a daughter. Edmund’s niece. Clarice.
51
Reckoning
I looked at Gora. She gave a muffled grunt. I reached over and pulled out her gag. Boog gave a theatrical groan. Gora licked her lips and spat on the floor.
She studied me for a long time. I was content to return her gaze. Finally, she spoke. “What did you do to my collars?”
“I opened them. Well, Boog’s, at least.” I supposed he’d used the stone to open mine.
“How?”
“I see no need to tell you that. I have to give your future slaves a fighting chance.”
“That’s not why I want to know,” she said. “You know that. My interest is academic.”
“My interest is getting out of here, far from you.”
She frowned. “There’s only one reason I didn’t tell you she was alive.”
“I think I’ve got that one. You needed someone to help you understand your pool, and you knew the Guild has one in Frosthelm, so you thought we could teach you, especially after you saw I had a warding rod. You may even have talked about it with Clarice, if you’re friends.” I stood up. “Her note would have given us hope, and a reason to get out of here, and back to Frosthelm. Even knowing she was alive would have given us hope.”
She nodded. “But I did save your life. You heard the chief order you beheaded.”
“I’m pretty sure that was all staged,” I said. “You and he spoke in our language. No reason to do that, unless you wanted us to follow what was going on. He even ordered us beheaded in our language. I’m guessing you have enough pull that old Okhot would have done whatever you said.”
I thought I could see a hint of surprise, a hint of confirmation in her expression. “You think so? What are you basing that on?”
>
“You seem to know Ganghira very well. You were friends with Nera, who sounds important. You met Clarice on the road, so you’re free to travel, apparently, in a war zone, and confident enough to do it alone, without warriors to protect you." I paused. “That’s all assuming what you’ve said is true. Your credibility isn't exactly gleaming like the sun. But I think it’s mostly true. No reason for you to lie about those things.” I went on. “You’re also one of the most learned, well-traveled people I’ve met. You’re a powerful sorceress. And you seem very loyal to your people. They'd be fools not to hold you in high regard, and take your advice whenever offered.”
Gora stared at me, her expression blank, but her eyes intense. At last, she spoke. “You must be good at your job, Inspector.”
“Provisional Inspector, please. What I’m asking myself now, though, is whether you ordered us captured. All three of us, maybe? And hurting Clarice was an accident? Or maybe you only wanted me and Boog, because your sources, or your scouts, told you we were recently from the city. We’d have more useful information about the war, and we’d probably know a lot more about the pool. And maybe Clarice was meant to die, to make it look more real, and to break us.”
“I wouldn’t do that,” she said.
“I don’t know what you would or would not do,” I replied. “Except that I know what you did do, which was steal us away, hold us in bondage, and try to make it look like you were helping us while you did so. And that makes most other scenarios possible.”
She was quiet for a time. “I was going to let you go, you know.”
“Maybe,” I said. “No reason for you not to tell me that now.”
“No, it’s true,” she protested. “There's something I didn’t tell you about the Unity rune you were so fixated on. And about Fae-rah.” She took a deep breath. “The cult you mentioned – the power they are trying to awaken is real. There are old texts, Arunian and some even older, that tell of a store of power infused into the air, the water, the soil of your lands. Frosthelm has been there for centuries, you know. The Arunians called it Nyria, but they captured it from its previous owners and rebuilt upon the ruins. Somewhere back in time, before the Arunians, the pool was built there, to tap into the power beneath the city.”
This was confusing. I knew the pool was ancient. “What kind of power is this?”
“There is a natural confluence of aspects of order, of growth, at the site of the city. It is probably why it was settled in the first place. Crops grow well there. People build and prosper. Throughout time, they have tended to live in peace and harmony.”
Marron wasn’t exactly playing for the peace and harmony team, I thought. “But there’s plenty of violence, greed, and hunger in Frosthelm."
“Of course. That is human nature. We each have aspects of both order and chaos of magic woven into ourselves. People make their own choices, set their own goals. But those choices are often shaped by where they live, by forces beyond themselves.”
“So, all of this harmony doesn’t sound like an angry god. What does Faera have to do with any of this?”
“I am not sure, but what I’ve read suggests that Faera is a being – a force – of pure chaos magic, which rampaged through the world, leaving a wake of death and destruction behind. Long ago, this being was defeated, captured, bound, by wizards of great power. The tales of this are legends, scraps of lore that differ as much as they agree. I cannot know how much is true. But they do say that to bind Faera, to keep it from returning, these wizards needed a prison, one that would remain strong enough to hold it long after they had died."
I was beginning to see where he was headed. “And this prison is in Frosthelm?”
“Under it. I think so. The natural strength of aspects of order, of life, at Frosthelm was enough for the wizards to fashion a cell that could contain Faera and keep it weak.”
“A physical cell? Like, a room? Or a cavern or something?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it is buried in rock, or merely stored energy, not physical at all. But some stories say they left a way to open the prison again.”
“That sounds like a really stupid idea.”
“Perhaps. The key to all of this magic is balance. With too much chaos, the world is destroyed, but with too much order, too much peace, too much stillness, creativity and ambition are killed, and life stagnates and has no meaning. Maybe they feared that there might be a need for Faera’s power in the future, to restore balance.”
“Or maybe they just wanted a chance to unleash Faera on their enemies. Or to be able to threaten to do so.”
“That could be, too.”
“So, all of these objects – the Eye of Hrogar, the Crown, Mace, Nera, the Fingernails – they are the keys to this prison?"
“I don’t know, but that seems reasonable. I would imagine the builders of the prison would want to make it very difficult to open, even when – especially when –– they were long departed from the world. Gathering all those objects could be quite difficult.”
“And they need to do it at the eclipse, because the eclipse weakens the forces of order that contain Faera?”
“Sunlight gives life, promotes growth. When it is blocked, Faera’s bonds may loosen. Or maybe the moon’s power grows while overwhelming the sun, and the balance of magic is upset, allowing the release of Faera. But those are just guesses.”
Boog had come over and was listening intently. He spoke. “The cult – what do they stand to gain from releasing Faera?”
Gora turned to him, looking annoyed. “You know, this conversation would be a lot more comfortable were I not tied to a chair.”
Boog grinned. “You kept us in shackles for weeks. You can handle a little discomfort now. What do the cultists gain?”
“Some stories say Faera could grant eternal life to those who assist him. Others say fearsome power, and dominion over the world. Either of those may be true. But I think some people would assist in it just to be part of something bigger than themselves, or to follow a charismatic leader. Faera was very much like a god, and even false gods draw priests and followers."
“So, Faera, Unity. The rune means Faera?” I asked.
“No, the rune means the prison. Order and chaos combined, bound together. The moon and sun are a reference to his release, I think.”
“And you’re concerned with all of this?” I asked.
“Why would I not be? Keeping Faera from the world is good for my people as well as yours.”
“Why did you wait until now to tell me all this?”
“I was trying to figure out what part of it you played, and how far I could trust you.” She smiled. “Also, as you may have seen, I have some flaws in my character when it comes to telling the truth.” She looked pointedly down at my knee. “Plus, as you spoke that day, I came to sense the object you carry at your knee. It is the form of the rune itself, is it not? A powerful source of chaos energy. If you bore it willingly, as you seemed to, you would more likely be a follower of Faera than its enemy.”
I supposed I shouldn’t be surprised that Gora could sense the amulet. Thanks to her suggestions, I too could sense such things. Surely, she had more training than I, and she’d been able to activate the warding rod and the collars easily enough, so whatever magical affinity I held, she likely shared or exceeded it. “We’re definitely enemies of Faera,” I said. “Or, if not of Faera, then certainly of those working to free him.” I touched my knee. “What is it?”
“The stories spoke of eight master keys, one for each of the wizards who bound Faera. This might be one of those. It is powerfully enchanted.”
“Why did you let me keep it, if you knew of it? Wouldn’t you want an object of power?”
Gora laughed. “This whole place is steeped in order magic. I didn’t want to risk mixing chaos magic with order. That can have bad results. Better you suffer them than I. And if I decided I wanted it later, I could just shock you and take it at any time." That sounded honest, if off-putting. “And, I was fair
ly certain you didn’t know how to use it, or even what it was.”
I thought for a moment. “So, it sounds like I should keep it as far from Frosthelm as possible.”
Gora looked at my knee. “If that is the only key around, then yes. Without it, they probably cannot release it.”
I thought of Novara, and of the amulet I knew Marron had taken from her house. “It’s not the only one. They have another, back in Frosthelm.”
“Then your task is harder.” Gora frowned. “You could leave it with me.”
Boog laughed. “Not happening.”
Gora paused, thinking. “Then bring it back with you.”
“Why?” I asked. “We hardly want to bring them a key, even if they might already have another one.”
“Just as a key can unlock a door, it can also lock one.” Gora shifted in her bonds. “If they succeed in releasing Faera, your only hope might be to figure out how to lock it up again.”
This was sounding more hopeless by the minute. I rubbed my forehead.
“So, you were going to let us go?” said Boog.
“I was,” protested Gora. “You seemed sincere in your desire to stop the Faerans, and I was close to figuring out the pool. At the very least, you are set on promoting discord and provocation back in Frosthelm, which could only be good for the clans. At best, you might find a way to stop the Faerans. And I meant what I said about getting Nera back. That would serve as a powerful symbol to the clans, a way to stop the fighting.”
“How was that going to work? Just going to take the collars off and point us out the gate?” Boog asked.
Gora smiled. “I have a team of six warriors camped a few hours from here. If I give the signal, they’ll come. They have horses, provisions. I can give you papers that will get you to the border safely.”