Chasing the Prophecy (Beyonders)

by Brandon Mull

  Rachel sat on the sofa beside her hat. Had she done that voluntarily, or had there been a suggestion buried in his request?

  “Normally, I would not let anyone see me in this state,” Maldor said. “As I mentioned a moment ago, image is important. But you are not just anyone. We must have an honest relationship. I want you as my pupil, Rachel. I want you as my apprentice, perhaps even one day as my friend. I want to witness the heights to which you will rise. I chose to let you see me like this so that you could behold the price I was willing to pay to bring you here.”

  “You’re not sick,” Rachel realized. “Sending the lurkers did this to you.”

  “Correct,” Maldor said, one hand straying to the dark jewel in the pendant around his neck. “I am already recovering. I was in much worse condition scant hours ago. I summoned you as soon as I felt I could hold a conversation. All of this will heal.” He gestured at his face. “The numbness is temporary. I almost overreached. I do not intend to send out five torivors bearing swords ever again. You understand why I did it?”

  “To make sure nobody stopped me from coming?”

  “Exactly. To ensure you reached me. This conflict is over. I do not need to slay you or Galloran or Ferrin to win this war. The war ended the day Galloran marched his army through the pass. But with my armies poised to descend, I had to get you out of that keep before the opportunity vanished. You almost waited too long to make your choice. I do not relish injuring myself. I do not delight in straining my relationship with the torivors. I do not enjoy freeing five of my finest servants from their obligations with only one of them having claimed a life.”

  “They’re all free?” Rachel asked.

  “All five. That is the price for sending them out with swords. And they needed swords. Had they been unarmed, Galloran might have cut down all of them. Had they failed in their mission, it would be one thing. I can accept losing a torivor if it is defeated. But I commanded them to stand down if you agreed to come here. I harmed my health and lost five of my elite to bring you to me. And I would have done more.”

  “Why do you care so much?” Rachel asked. “You can’t possibly trust me.”

  “Indeed?” he chuckled. “Trust has never been my habit. I have seen too many great wizards fall because they trusted apprentices.”

  “Then why do you want me? As a slave?”

  Maldor chuckled again. It grew into a cough. “I need no more servants. I have plenty. All of Lyrian. I will install safeguards much more reliable than trust. You will be my apprentice. I only ask that you learn from me.”

  “What if I don’t want to learn from you?”

  He smiled with the side of his lips that worked. “I realize that you do not wish to become like me. But I know you want to learn more about Edomic. You do recall that I visited your mind. I am the last wizard in Lyrian, Rachel. None remain who can teach you the secrets of our order. You cannot begin to imagine the possibilities.”

  “If I work hard, maybe someday I can cough up blood too.”

  “I understand your hostility. I am not a pleasant adversary. Unfortunately, when you came to this world, you became involved with the losing cause.”

  “We haven’t lost yet,” Rachel said.

  Maldor chortled. “Of course not. The prophecy! I had almost forgotten. Surely you realize that the prophecy allowed me to plan the perfect trap. I knew where my enemies were going, and I strategized accordingly. The prophecy only hastened their demise.”

  “We haven’t lost yet,” Rachel repeated.

  “They have. Not all of them are dead yet, but they have lost. You haven’t. You earned one last chance. Rachel, at this point hope becomes salt in the wound. You would be wiser to let go. I dispatched my finest servant to stop Jason and his friends. There will be no quarter given. They will all be killed. The tactic lacks subtlety, but at this juncture it is the prudent course. This servant never fails, Rachel. He is the same individual who brought me Galloran. In all probability Jason and those who accompanied him are already dead.”

  “But you’re not sure,” Rachel said.

  “Not yet. I will be soon. Obviously, Galloran and the others will perish at my leisure.”

  “Don’t I get to spare ten of them?” Rachel asked.

  Maldor paused. “That was the initial agreement. I never canceled the bargain. Very well. Prepare a list, and I will honor it to the best of my abilities. You understand that the blame for any of your comrades who are already dead because you took so long cannot be placed on me.”

  “I’ll blame you as much as I want,” Rachel said. “You killed Drake.”

  He held up a finger. “I meant to kill Jason. Drake died because he intervened.”

  “You disgust me.”

  “Do not test me, Rachel,” Maldor warned. “I find your raw Edomic talent intriguing. Partly through my doing, it has become a scarce commodity. But you are far from essential. I have been lenient today because I am aware that this transition will be difficult for you. You need to remember that the apprentice does not disparage the master.”

  Fuming silently, Rachel held her tongue. If she seemed too defiant, it might be even more obvious that she had come here hoping to open Felrook to an attack.

  “I’m glad to see you have some restraint,” Maldor said. “A little is better than none.”

  “How will this work?” Rachel asked.

  “Our arrangement? Do not fret about that until after your friends fall. I assume you came here still hoping to aid Galloran in some way. Foolish, but predictable given your history.”

  Rachel frowned. Had he read her mind? Or was it really so obvious? “Why would you be here alone with me if you thought that?”

  Maldor smirked lopsidedly. “You ask as if you could possibly pose a threat to me while I am conscious. Are you really that arrogant? Or perhaps just ignorant?”

  Rachel felt her cheeks growing hot.

  “Rachel, I don’t worry about the threat you pose today. I don’t worry about the threat you will pose next year. You have talent, but you are barely a sapling. One day, after decades of training, if you reach your full potential, you could pose a threat, which is why safeguards will be installed at the outset. If you were a threat to me now, I would have little right to take you as an apprentice.”

  Rachel nodded woodenly. Was he really so superior? Or was he trying to con her? Maybe he underestimated her. She couldn’t wait years to challenge him. Galloran had less than three days. Would she get another chance like this? One on one, with Maldor weakened from sending out torivors? Here he sat, leering crookedly and coughing like a weak old man. If she meant to take action against him, this could be her best and only chance.

  Maldor wiped his lips. “You really are a stranger here in this world. You do not appreciate who I am. Perhaps that is for the best. Insulting to a degree, but also strangely refreshing. As our relationship progresses, I will share with you some of my abilities, to establish primacy. You should not have to serve as my apprentice while doubting my prowess.”

  Rachel looked around the room. Her attention focused on a sheathed dagger resting on an end table. They were alone, Maldor seemed totally off his guard, and she would probably never find him in a weaker state. Speaking a command, Rachel unsheathed the blade; then, pouring all her fear and frustration into the directive, she drove it toward the form bundled on the chair.

  Maldor mumbled words, and the dagger curved away from him, stopping with the point less than an inch from Rachel’s throat. How had he done that? She had pushed hard enough to send that knife through Maldor and the chair behind him, yet it had completely slipped from her mental grasp. Motionless, she stared at it, sweat beading on her brow. Speaking in silence, Rachel tried to grab the knife with her mind, but it felt more slippery than a living thing.

  “It will take more than that,” Maldor said, letting the dagger fall. “However inept, that was unwise.”

  Angry and embarrassed, Rachel ordered his chair ablaze, throwing everything she
had into the effort. Flames would erupt all around him. Both chair and occupant would swiftly be reduced to cinders. Maldor muttered a brief phrase, canceling her command. The gathering heat dispersed, and Rachel fell to the floor, her body shuddering uncontrollably. As the seizure subsided, Rachel was left with a queasy stomach and a blinding pain behind her eyes. She knew that Maldor had not directly afflicted her with any of the symptoms. They were the consequences of her failed Edomic mandate.

  “Fire is more easily quenched than summoned,” Maldor instructed. “You leave yourself extremely vulnerable if you try to call fire in the presence of another wizard. Would you care to attempt another attack? You are looking unwell, Rachel. As much as my misery would enjoy the company, perhaps you should yield.”

  Rachel fought to her feet. Her head was pounding. Her good judgment warned that he was clearly her superior. To attack again would only give him another opportunity to harm her. But she could not surrender. Her friends were counting on her to be strong.

  In Edomic she suggested that Maldor fall to the floor. He flinched forward and then tensed for a moment, lips trembling, bloodshot eyes furious. After an instant he relaxed and began growling suggestions of his own. Rachel found herself picking up the fallen dagger and holding the tip to her throat. He kept talking. Rachel tried to resist his suggestions, but the words were making her hazy. She found herself sitting down on the sofa and pricking both of her thighs with the dagger and then plunging it into a cushion beside her. None of the actions had been her decision. Nobody at Mianamon had ever been able to make her feel this helpless. She was little more than a puppet. Maldor stopped talking, and she sagged back against the sofa, breathing hard, dizzy. Her skull felt fragmented. Her ears ached deep inside.

  “How dare you seek to control a will such as mine?” Maldor spat, real anger coloring his tone for the first time. “Attempt it again, and I will open your throat for such insolence.”

  Rachel heard him as if from far away. It was almost impossible to focus on anything but the pain flashing through her skull and raking the backs of her eyes. Dimly she grasped that Maldor was so outraged because her suggestion had momentarily worked. For one tiny instant, a period no longer than the space between heartbeats, he had almost obeyed. Only with real effort had he resisted. And he had not liked that at all.

  “I can see that you are in no condition for further conversation,” Maldor continued. “Allow me to briefly explain the terms of your apprenticeship. Whether to test me or to flaunt your inability, you have shown yourself capable of treason. As insurance against further treachery, I will give you the eye and the ear of trusted displacers and bind a key word to you that will enable me to destroy you at my leisure. I believe you are familiar with the concept. By coming here you have already accepted this apprenticeship and the attending safeguards.

  “At present you require rest. I want you healthy in time to watch my armies crush the pitiful allies you brought into my valley. I may deem that the pain incidental to your failed assassination is punishment enough. Or I may decide otherwise. Either way I will have my servants prepare a concoction that will hasten your recovery. For now you have my permission to sleep.”

  Maldor uttered a brief Edomic suggestion, and consciousness fled.

  CHAPTER 29

  DESTINY

  Staring from the window of his room at East Keep, Tark contemplated the virtues of a singlehanded assault against Felrook. Beneath a sickle moon, pale highlights gleamed on the black stone of the fortress, making it appear only half-substantial in the darkness, a ghostly blend of light and shadow.

  Tark gripped the windowsill. His hands were large and strong for his stature. He felt the edges of the masonry digging into his calloused fingers. How would he mount his solitary assault? Paddle across the lake, cloaked in darkness? Quietly scale the cliffs and then the wall? Or would it be more honest to charge up the path in broad daylight? After all, the point was to die.

  He bowed his head, reliving Rachel’s abduction in his mind. Lord Jason had charged him to protect her. Io had fallen defending her. Even the displacer had risked his life. But at a word from the girl Tark had stood aside and let the lurker bear her away. She had protected him! It was supposed to be the other way around!

  Shame curdled in his gut. It was a disturbingly familiar sensation. He didn’t deserve a clean death. He could have had one many times. Plenty had been offered. He might have had a good death if he had gone off the waterfall with his companions. He would have earned a noble death if he had continued to fight Maldor rather than accept an invitation to Harthenham. It would have been a worthwhile death to go back for Lord Jason at Harthenham. And it would have been a gallant death to perish defending Rachel as his lord had requested.

  Tark had found reasons for running away every time. The waterfall had seemed pointless, as had his private war against Maldor. Dying alone at Harthenham had struck him as a more fitting end for a craven. But Jason had come. After Harthenham, Tark had needed to protect Jasher’s seed. And then earlier today Rachel had ordered him to stand down. He would have had no chance of stopping the lurkers. Giving his life would have made no difference. Tark supposed that every coward had his reasons.

  Back at Mianamon the oracle had assured him that he would have a role to play before this war was over. She had told him he would know when the time came. Well, the time had come, and he had let the opportunity pass him by. Maldor had claimed Rachel, and there was nothing he could do to change it, except perhaps to surrender his life in a hopeless attack.

  Tark scowled. Would a hopeless assault against Felrook be a penitent act of courage or a wasteful display of self-pity? He would not be attacking. Not really. He would be abandoning his duty yet again. His duty to Galloran. Maldor’s armies were coming. Jason had not only charged Tark to protect Rachel—he had also directed him to serve the king. Rachel had charged him with the same mission. If he had no hope of rescuing Rachel, he would be a better servant if he stayed and died beside Galloran.

  A knock at his door startled Tark from his brooding. Who would be calling at this hour of the night? He heard no commotion outside the keep, no evidence of a sneak attack. Curious, Tark went to the door and opened it.

  Ferrin stood there, looking dazed. “I thought you might be awake.”

  “What is it?” Tark wondered.

  Ferrin gave half a smile and tapped the spot on the side of his head where his ear was missing. “I have news. I was on my way to Galloran, but I thought you might want to hear as well.”

  “News of Lord Jason?”

  “He did it,” Ferrin said simply. “He learned the prophecy. I had myself convinced that there was no way some words could repair this debacle, but Galloran was right. The information is everything that we were promised. It could enable us to destroy Felrook.”

  “What did Lord Jason learn?” Tark exclaimed.

  Ferrin shook his head. “Galloran has earned the right to know first. But you deserve to be there.”

  Tark’s mind whirled as he followed Ferrin toward Galloran’s quarters. What could the information be? It must refer to a secret way into Felrook. If they could sneak their forces into the castle discreetly, the battle might be quick and decisive. They might rescue Rachel! When Maldor’s armies arrived, they would find their leader dead or captured, with Galloran safely behind unassailable walls. Jason had learned of a secret entrance. What else could it be? What else would leave Ferrin proclaiming a possible victory?

  Two seedmen, two drinlings, and two men of Trensicourt guarded the doors to Galloran’s quarters.

  “I have urgent tidings for the king,” Ferrin said with certainty.

  The lead guard turned and knocked. Lodan answered, having replaced Io as Galloran’s assistant and bodyguard.

  “Rouse the king,” Ferrin said. “We bear urgent tidings.”

  “The king has not yet slept,” Lodan said. “He seems to have lost the knack. But he excels at pacing and at consulting maps. Come inside.”


  “Not for a moment,” Ferrin replied. “Have the king put on his blindfold. My presence at this hour could provide hints.”

  “As you will.” Lodan stepped away. A moment later he returned. “All right.”

  Tark followed Ferrin through the open door. Lodan closed it, then followed Tark. Galloran faced them from across the room, still fully clothed, standing beside a table buried in maps. He had his blindfold in place.

  “You are toying with my hopes,” Galloran said.

  “Not toying,” Ferrin replied. “He did it. Jason told me the prophecy.”

  “Will it help us?”

  “It is a precious secret. We should limit those who hear it. If the secret becomes known, Maldor could counter us.”

  “Yet you brought it to me,” Galloran said. “Thank you for your integrity. Who is with you? I heard another enter. Tark?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” Tark said. “I could wait outside.”

  “Nonsense. But not a word leaves this room. For now we keep it between the four of us. Let me be the judge of who else should know.”

  “Two messages,” Ferrin said. “One is for you. It is the key to fixing all of this. Apparently, the other message could help Rachel. The message for you is that Felrook is built atop Mount Allowat.”

  Galloran froze. Then he raised a hand to his lips, covering an irresistible smile. “The mountain where orantium was mined anciently.”

  Ferrin nodded. “The mining was abandoned because they encountered a vein too large to extract. They sealed off the mine and kept the location a secret.”

  “And millennia later,” Galloran murmured, “Maldor unwittingly built his fortress on top of it. Esmira saw true. Indeed, our hope is white, like a flash of orantium.”

  “They must have sealed the mine with the lake,” Ferrin said. “Who knows what other precautions they took. Accessing the vein could be difficult.”