Curse Breaker Omnibus

by Melinda Kucsera

  She shook her head. “Oh no, there’s only one monster incarcerated there. You can’t possibly need to speak to him.”

  “If there were any other, I’d take it. Do you have a key to that place?”

  Her hand dropped from her throat to the chain around her neck. Through the violet of her dress, she gripped a slender object. “If I don’t have this key, what then?”

  “Then I’ll wait, but I’d rather not. This issue is important. It affects Lord Joranth’s personal property. An object he’d be quite angered to find damaged if you catch my meaning.” Jerlo threw in a wink because his bald statement demanded it.

  She nodded, though her face remained bloodless. “I know something about the object you referenced. How does talking to that monster safeguard it?”

  “By helping me eliminate a threat that’s long been festering. One this monster played a role in unleashing.” Jerlo’s lips twisted in disgust at the thought of Hadrovel being helpful.

  She took that all in with a couple of startled blinks then nodded. “I don’t like this, but I can’t refuse your request either. If talking to that monster will safeguard that object, then I must help you. But I warn you. He’s been incarcerated for almost five years. Being so long in solitary confinement does strange things to the mind. Don’t expect to get much from him.”

  “Thanks for the warning. I’ll keep that in mind. Shall we go?” Jerlo gestured to the deserted hallway behind him. He felt the crystalline glares of the statues parked there.

  She debated for a moment then darted inside, leaving the door cracked open. “Let me just grab a light. It’s best we go in daylight when the tide’s out.”

  “And why is that?”

  “You’ll see.”

  Her ominous promise echoed in the sudden quiet.

  Jerlo patted his pockets for his chunk of lumir. He had a feeling he’d need its light where he was going. What have you gotten yourself into? Trouble most likely, but he pushed that thought away.

  She reappeared before he could brood overmuch and slipped past him into the corridor.

  Jerlo rushed to catch up. She had a long stride accentuated by her divided skirt flaring behind her. “You could just give me the key. I’m not going to release him, just talk to him.”

  “Do you even know where the oubliette is?” She didn’t bother to look at him. Her long legs kept churning despite her impractical garb as she entered a stairwell and descended without a backward glance.

  “It’s not in the dungeon, is it?”

  She paused and leaned against the enclosing wall. The staircase wound around a central pillar that had been left undecorated by the Litherians. Maybe they’d missed it during their last decorating spree. The bluish glow of the lumir stick in her hand emphasized that nakedness. As she studied him, the play of light and shadows on her sharp features rendered her into a caricature. No doubt she was trying to figure him out. Plenty of women had tried, but none had ever succeeded.

  Jerlo folded his arms over his chest. “What’s your name? I told you mine. It’s only fair you return the favor.”

  “No.” She turned on her heel and passed around a bend taking the cold light streaming from her hand with her. Only her light footsteps signaled she was still on the staircase.

  “Wonderful, I’m heading to the oubliette to talk to a madman guided by a bitch called ‘No.’ You have no sense of irony.” Jerlo cast his eyes heavenwards at the darkness falling over him. He withdrew a yellow pebble from his pocket. For a moment, he held the sun in his hands. Its cool, polished globe nestled between his thumb and forefinger.

  Opening his hand, he released the lumir crystal’s glow. Concentric rings of brilliance pushed the darkness away, but it wasn’t the sun. This magic light was as cold as the damp stairwell.

  “Someone needs to interview Hadrovel. Must that someone be you?”

  Jerlo started. Who had whispered that? The voice was pitched low like a man’s, but its softness could have masked a woman’s voice. “Who goes there?”

  The woman called ‘No’ had either left the stairwell or descended too far to hear his shout.

  “You tried to kill him. What makes you think he’ll speak to you?”

  “Who said that? Show yourself.” Jerlo pivoted, scanning the smooth stones for signs of his mysterious interlocutor. He held the lumir crystal at eye level as the old rhyme recommended. But its light didn’t reveal anything but naked stone, gray as a storm cloud.

  “Jer-lo, who are you doing this for?”

  “Who are you? How did you know my name or my plan?”

  Jerlo whirled, but there was still nothing but lumir-lit stone and shadows above and below him. How did this creep know about Sarn? That boy was a secret he and his Rangers had kept for five years.

  “How do you know about him? Answer me.”

  “You’re not doing this for Sarn. No, you’re still waiting for him to become someone else’s problem.”

  ‘Someone else’s problem’—the phrase trapped Jerlo and its truth hammered him. He tried to shake it off. He had to get a fix on that voice, but it was bouncing around and seemed to come from everywhere at once. Then it faded out leaving Jerlo alone on the stairs. Was the lumir light he clutched dimmed by this exchange? Were the shadows sharper edged below? Jerlo rubbed tired eyes with his free hand dispelling the fantasy.

  A moan startled Jerlo. He’d forgotten about his guide. Jerlo hurried, but his short legs curtailed him to one step at a time.

  Around the sixth bend, he found her. Her lumir stick had fallen several steps below, and its pitiless light illuminated a crumpled body wrapped in purple crepe. Jerlo peeled the thin silky garment away from her skin and felt for a pulse. Finding it, he probed for broken bones as he turned her onto her back. No screams meant she likely hadn’t broken anything. She blinked dark eyes up at him from a face that remained beautiful despite the new bruises. She was a pretty complication, nothing more. He reminded himself.

  “What happened?”

  “I thought I heard something. When I glanced behind me, I must have stepped on my skirt or caught it on something because the next thing I know, I’m falling face first into darkness.”

  “What did you hear?”

  She shook her head and winced. “I thought I heard a whisper, but it might have been an echo. It was too soft to hear.”

  So there had been someone on the stairs. Relieved, Jerlo squatted on the stair nearest her. “Could someone have pushed you?”

  “No, I fell on my own and reinforced the stereotype of a helpless female.” She twisted her lips in disgust then pushed away from him, so she could sit up unaided.

  Jerlo barked a mirthless laugh at her self-pity.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Lady, I don’t know who you’ve been hanging out with, but all the women I know are strong and brave in their own ways.”

  “You’re lucky to know such women.”

  “Luck has nothing to do with it. Now, what’s your name? I don’t want to shout, ‘hey you’ next time I lose track of you.”

  Her face reddened, but she held out a hand. “I’m Vanya, and by all that’s holy, I hurt.”

  “Well Vanya, it’s nice to meet you. I think we should sit here for a spell until you’re less sore unless of course, you want to hand over that key. I can find the oubliette on my own.” Jerlo eyed her ample bosom and the silver chain dipping between the tops of her exposed breasts.

  “No, I have to take you.” Vanya gripped the key through the thin material of her dress. “I have to make sure that monster stays locked up.”

  “Why would anyone release him?”

  “I don’t know, and if you didn’t have express permission from the Lord of the Mountain himself, I wouldn’t take you.”

  “Good to know he’s in a high-security ward.”

  “Quite secure. There’s no escape for that villain, not so long as I hold the key.” Vanya lifted the key from between her shapely breasts and regarded it as if it held the sec
rets of the universe in its dips and folds.

  “You were one of his victims.” Jerlo nodded as a great many troubling things fell into place.

  But Vanya was so lost in her contemplation, nothing external registered. “A man set apart, a child caught between—in these troubled times, the twice-dead still breathes,” she said as she turned the key in her calloused fingers.

  “What was that?”

  Vanya shook herself. “Just something Lord Joranth—I mean the Lord of the Mountain often says. Every time I hear it, I remember that horrible day.” Vanya dropped the key into her blouse and gave her corset a push sealing it between her pale breasts. Those perfect globes had escaped bruising during her fall. But her hand hovered over them as her chest swelled with mounting anxiety. “Do you ever think of That Day?”

  That Day—the day when Hadrovel should have met his end. Oh, Jerlo recalled that day with startling clarity.

  “Why didn’t he die?” Vanya asked. Her plaintive question was a thread that snapped and twisted in the currents stirring the air.

  Someone Else’s Problem

  Five Years Ago

  Soon the kid will be someone else’s problem. Soon, oh God let it be soon. I can’t take much more of this. Jerlo pushed the door open. Guilt entered with him darkening the sunlit bedroom-turned-infirmary.

  A boy of fifteen sat on a cot with one knee drawn up and his chin resting on it. His other leg was swathed in a soft cast up to his thigh, and the opposite arm sported a matching cast. More bandages peeked out of the low neck of his oversized tunic. He had long limbs emphasized by his pose—too long for a boy who was not quite sixteen yet.

  At his side, another boy sat close but not touching. He was about nine years old and, at first glance, looked nothing like his troubled half-brother. But that was a good thing because it meant they had only one mage-ling to manage, and that was more than enough for any sane man.

  Soon he’ll be someone else’s problem, soon, Jerlo reminded himself as he caught sight of the burning green eyes of the older boy. But not soon enough.

  Miren halted mid-sentence. The lad had been trying to coax his elder brother to do something, but Sarn just sat there staring off, ignoring everyone. At least he wasn’t comatose anymore. A vicious scar traced the left side of his face thanks to a knife-happy psychopath. But even it couldn’t mar his perfect, chiseled features. That angelic face arrested Nolo and his second in command stumbled to a halt. Shock pinned the tall Ranger to the spot as he groped after his boss.

  Jerlo suppressed a sigh. He knew what his second wanted to ask, and he had no answer for the question buzzing around them. Sarn was an enigma, but one owned by the Lord of the Mountain. Soon said Lord would hand the Kid off to someone more qualified to deal with an abused magically-gifted boy. Any day now that transfer of custody would happen. Any day now. Why God, not today?

  God didn’t answer. It was an uncharitable question anyway, and the Almighty had better things to do right now, like smite a psychopath. Jerlo ran a hand over his afro, and its kinky curls resisted his attempt to flatten it. He let his hand fall to his belt and rest on its pouches just in case the Kid’s magic got uppity. Thank God, his magic hated water.

  Nolo remained rooted to the spot, staring at the Kid. A black curve flickered in his left hand. Uh-oh, Death’s Marksman was fighting to break out—not a good sign. What about the lantern-jawed Kid was drawing out the Black Ranger?

  Death’s Ranger would be a more appropriate title. The ancient hero who first won that mantle of power likely had no idea the title might be culturally insensitive to a later bearer. Jerlo opened his mouth intending to say something to snap Nolo out of whatever had gripped him, but before he could, the Black Ranger receded. Nolo blinked, and his hand was once again empty. Death’s bow had gone wherever magical items went when not in use.

  “I can take care of this on my own if you can’t handle it,” Jerlo said to Nolo in an undertone, not that it mattered.

  Sarn wasn’t listening and hadn’t moved a muscle since they’d entered. His luminous green eyes stared into the middle distance, seeing nothing. Sunlight falling through the room’s three windows gilded the Kid, making him seem more than human. Sitting in his shadow, Miren watched them with narrowed eyes. He was listening, but he was just a normal kid and of no consequence.

  “I can handle it,” Nolo bit out then gestured for a surprised Jerlo to proceed.

  His second must be nuts, but whatever. Jerlo straightened his forest green tunic and approached the two kids. As he neared, the glow of Sarn’s eyes differentiated into two wheels of green flame revolving in place of the usual irises. Those magnificent eyes broadcasted his pain. Soon it would be soothed by the Hand of Justice—if all went well at the execution.

  Guilt rested a cold hand on Jerlo’s shoulder as it whispered in his ear. “Your negligence put that pain there. Your lack of care broke him. If you had only looked, but you didn’t. What was more important than saving an innocent life?”

  Paperwork, whispered his conscience, digging a knife into his heart and twisting it. Pain shot through Jerlo, but he ignored it. He was having an attack of regret, not a heart attack. Judging by the hollow look in Nolo’s black eyes, he was experiencing a similar attack. Jerlo struggled to shake it off and pull himself together. Jerlo was here on a mission, one confounded by the accusation standing next to him, waiting for an apology that would never come.

  The damage was done. The Kid was almost healed. An apology tendered now would be an insult. Sarn deserved better than that, better than the reluctant Rangers-turned-babysitters protecting him from discovery until his owner found more qualified caregivers. Oh God, let that be soon. Take this mistake off my hands and give it to someone who can fix it because I can’t.

  A chill breeze fluttered the curtains, and Jerlo shivered. Outside, the sun dipped behind a cloud, casting the room and its miserable occupant in shadow as Nature herself extended a finger and shook it at Jerlo, adding her accusation to the pile crushing him into the stone floor.

  The Kid survived, Jerlo reminded the guilt and accusations crowding him. Before they could tie his vocal chords into a mute knot, Jerlo cleared his throat. A mosaic depicting Shayari’s sylvan Queen spread out from his scuffed boots. Her silver boughs pointed to the Kid he’d come to talk to.

  The Kid still hadn’t looked at him, but that was fine. Sarn had earned his anger bone by broken bone. And soon the Kid would be someone else’s problem, so let him stew in that anger. It incentivized him to heal up.

  A door creaked open behind Jerlo. He turned and nodded to Su, the Ranger’s medic, and his wife, Mariska. They were good solid folk who’d stepped up and offered a place for Sarn to stay when the healers had rejected him. Mariska’s knowing eyes met his. She knew what grisly errand had brought him here today. The matronly woman with a kind smile and a button nose beckoned to Miren.

  “Come with me lad. These men need to talk to your brother.”

  “No, whatever they have to say to him they can say to me.” Miren crossed his arms over his chest and gave his elder brother a pleading look. Sarn stirred like a dreamer only just awakening, but he held his peace.

  “Not this time lad, it’s not something for young ears.”

  Mariska dried her hands on her apron as she approached. She must have been in her stillroom decocting something medicinal, if the astringent smell accompanying her was any indication.

  The ‘not for young ears’ part caught Sarn’s attention. He laid a hand on Miren’s shoulder to quell any further outbursts.

  “Go with her,” he said forcing the words out. His voice was raspy from disuse.

  Judging by Miren’s gobsmacked expression, Sarn hadn’t spoken in a long while.

  “I’ll be alright,” Sarn added when Miren looked ready to argue the point.

  Miren nodded then hopped off the cot and followed Mariska out. Before she closed the door, she gave her husband a glance.

  Su had remained in the background like a good Ra
nger should. He was a familiar fixture in this makeshift infirmary and likely a comfort for the strange boy still ignoring them.

  “Look, you don’t have to worry about Hadrovel anymore,” Jerlo began when Nolo didn’t take the reins of the conversation.

  At the mere mention of the former Orphan Master, Sarn cringed. Jerlo wished he’d found a better opener.

  “Yeah well, he was arrested, tried and convicted of his crimes against you and the other orphans.”

  Of course, they had vanished instead of becoming yet another problem for Jerlo to solve. Neither had the Guards looked very hard for them. Certain people should be allowed to slip through the cracks.

  “You don’t have to testify—do you understand me? Nod so I know I’m getting through.”

  Sarn just stared at the wall behind them.

  “What he means,” Nolo began, entering the disastrous conversation at last, “is that we had enough evidence to convict Hadrovel without your testimony.”

  “He’s been found guilty of attempted murder, torture and abuse of the minors placed in his care,” Jerlo added. “Each of those crimes carries the death penalty. Too bad you can only kill a man once.”

  Nolo glared at Jerlo for that last comment then shook his head.

  It was the truth, so Jerlo didn’t retract it. He lifted an eyebrow at his second inviting him to continue this farce.

  “The execution is today in about an hour. Normally we don’t allow any person under the age of sixteen to witness it—”

  “But since you’ll turn sixteen in three months anyhow, we’re bending the rules for you but not for the boy. He’s too young, and death is a grisly business.” Jerlo’s lips twisted in disgust at the idea of a nine-year-old watching the Lord of the Mountain wring enough pain out of the convicted to discourage copycats.

  Nolo gave Jerlo the ‘I’ll take it from here look,’ and Jerlo nodded.

  “We thought you might need closure—the kind you can only get from seeing justice meted out to the one who hurt you.”