Samsin didn’t answer for a long time. Instead he busied himself by tying the blanket down with the strips off his shirt. That done, he looked down at Nikanor with narrowed eyes.
“I don’t follow your Progression, Nikanor. I am not a man of honor, you know that. You had no reason to save me. I am not your friend.”
Nikanor grunted and shifted, but didn’t try to get up. “Every life is worth protecting. I see Honor in you, even if you don’t. No one is simply one thing. Power, Conquest, Honor, Strength—the Progressions overlap to some degree.”
“Bah!” Samsin snapped. “No preaching, Nikanor. This is all your fault. Yours and your precious honor’s.”
“Deny it if you will, but the cat did not die on its own. I am alive only because someone, in turn, saved me.”
Samsin didn’t have an answer for that. Nikanor considered him a friend? It didn’t make any sense. But then again, Samsin had saved Nikanor too. He was right, storms take it.
He shook his head and then took the rest of the wine and poured it over his bloody shoulders. Pain blossomed and flashed down his back and he almost screamed, but he held himself to a simple grunt. If Nikanor could keep it contained, so could he.
“What now, Nikanor?” Samsin asked, a trace of annoyance and cynicism creeping into his voice. “We’re a fortnight from the plantation and who knows how far from the end of your storming quest.”
“We go on,” Nikanor said, gritting his teeth and pushing himself up. Samsin would have protested, but Nikanor’s answer outweighed the admonition.
“Why in the seven hells should we?” Samsin said. “You can barely move. You need to rest and heal, not go gallivanting off through the mountains after children’s stories!”
“One might even think you care,” Nikanor said. His breath came in ragged gasps, but it steadied before he continued. “Use your head for a minute, Samsin. I know all about your scheming back in the Southern Dominion, about your family’s dealings, power, and position. You’ve got brains. Use them. I’m injured. Seriously. I’ll get gangrene or blood poisoning before we ever made it back to the plantation. You will too, I’d imagine. If we stay here, some animal will come along and kill us both. There are more rock tigers around here, I’m sure. They hunt in pairs or sets of pairs. Our only chance is to press forward and hope the Sharani Arena really is there and they have means to help us.”
“And why would they?” Samsin asked.
We’re doomed either way. Samsin licked his lips as the realization settled into him.
Nikanor shook his head. “I don’t know, but we’ll figure something out. Here, bring me your spear, I’ll use it as a crutch.”
Half an hour later, they were walking again, Samsin half supporting Nikanor as they limped along. Samsin carried Nikanor’s hammer, which was surprisingly light, and a small sack tied at his waist. Everything else was left behind.
Chapter 10: Hints of Discovery
“The two races are one and the same, just changed by the powers within them, though the Seven Sisters would not have their devotees recall such.”
—From Commentary on the Schema, Volume I
Lhaurel leaned against her cane, supporting herself in the shadows of one of the less-used passages through the Warren. She remembered a time when having to hide, having to remain in the shadows, was a question of survival, something which she’d had to do to protect herself from her clan’s rules and traditions. Lhaurel had proven her own strength, her own capacity to be more than what tradition dictated that she be. But now that same strength had made her a monster.
She gritted her teeth and started walking again, ignoring the dull ache. Lhaurel felt weak, and a constant headache throbbed behind her temples, but she wasn’t about to stay down there in that room any longer, not with Kaiden out on the sands again. Khari had been less than helpful when Lhaurel had confronted her earlier, telling her to go back to the healing chambers and rest. But Lhaurel found no more comfort there. She needed to be up and moving, doing something.
As she walked, her robes caught on a promontory of rock that stuck out from the wall. The small amount of resistance would not normally have slowed her in the slightest, but this time it nearly stopped her in her tracks. She sighed, stopped, and pulled it free with effort. Lhaurel sensed Khari approaching a moment before the sound of the woman’s steps announced her approach.
“What are you doing out of bed?” Khari demanded. Her voice was firm, which wasn’t unusual, but there was an edge to it now, something almost harsh.
“Walking.”
Khari folded her arms beneath her breasts. “You should be in bed, resting.”
“And you should be helping the clans get ready to leave,” Lhaurel retorted. “So how about we call it even?”
Khari’s frown deepened, but she didn’t dispute it.
“What are you up to, then?” Lhaurel asked. Even though she’d never admit it out loud, she was grateful for the extended rest. Even the few short steps she’d taken were enough to deplete what little energy she had left.
“I don’t see that it’s any of your concern.”
Lhaurel shrugged. “Well, you’re down this way for a reason. I’m the only one down here so unless you’re really here just to lecture me about rest, there’s something else you want.”
Khari unfolded her arms and let them drop to her sides. “You’ve gained a bit of acerbity to that tongue of yours since the Oasis.”
“I have no idea what that means.”
“Bitterness and bite,” Khari explained. “But no matter. You’re right. I need your help to find Beryl.”
Lhaurel frowned. “My help? He’s a mystic. Can’t you just find him yourself?” She didn’t mean for it to sound as bad as it did when it came out of her mouth, but it was too late to take it back.
“Usually yes, but I think he knows a way to block my search or he’s too far away for me to find him.” Khari hesitated. “I thought maybe you could locate him.”
Lhaurel swallowed and shifted her weight against her cane. She felt her pulse quicken and the headache swelled within her mind, building pressure like a water urn left out in the sun too long. She had kept a tight hold on that side of her powers since she’d healed Shallee and the baby. It was too tempting, too much of an alluring sense of omnipotence, for her to let it loose.
“What do you need him for?” Lhaurel asked to buy time.
“The clans need weapons, but Beryl has locked the door to the smithy and armory. There’s no keyhole to get in, so he must have sealed it with his magnetelorium powers. He’s the only one who can get in. I looked for him, but couldn’t sense him anywhere.”
Lhaurel didn’t speak for a long moment. In truth, she was glad the clans were leaving. She couldn’t bear their scrutiny, especially the remnants of the Sidena clan from which she had come. They’d thought her dead, they’d left her to die when the genesauri Migration had come earlier than expected. To find her not only alive but part of a hidden clan they had come to resent and possessing a power they considered to be from one of the seven hells, was more than sufficient fuel for the looks of hatred and fear she saw on their faces. Lhaurel longed for the anonymity she would be able to gain among just the Roterralar again.
“I don’t know how much I can do,” Lhaurel said. “I don’t seem to have as good a grasp on my abilities as I thought. And I’m . . . well, water doesn’t really work to help me as much as it does you.”
Lhaurel swallowed, unable to articulate the truth. She wasn’t a wetta. She was something far more sinister, far more powerful. Khari made as if to reach out a hand, then hesitated and let it drop.
“I know,” Khari said. “You’re a blood mystic.”
Lhaurel started. “How do you know?”
Khari held up her hand. Half a dozen small cuts stood out on her fingers, some half healed and others rather fresh. Lhaurel looked questioningly at Khari.
“The first time was an accident,” Khari whispered. “I cut myself while talking to Farah
. Then the blood vanished and you started looking healthier. After that it was intentional, a little at a time to ease your body back to health.”
Lhaurel brought a hand to her mouth, the fingers trembling. The room started to blacken around the edges.
Khari was at her side in an instant, supporting her. “It was my choice, Lhaurel,” Khari said more firmly. “You’re safe, you’re healing on your own now.”
Lhaurel allowed herself to sink to the ground. The cane dropped with a faint metallic click. She dropped her head into her hands against the waves of emotion.
“I’m a monster,” Lhaurel whispered.
Khari’s arms formed a firm circle around Lhaurel’s shoulders. Even in the midst of her turmoil, Lhaurel was surprised by the show of intimacy from the woman, but at the same time, she needed the stability and comfort.
“You’re not,” Khari whispered. “You saved us all, didn’t you? You saved that baby. I don’t know how you did it, but you did.”
“I killed them, Khari.” The words ripped from Lhaurel’s lips as if of their own volition, though the admission came with a wave of relief at having exposed the burdens which had plagued her.
“The genesauri?”
“All of them, but not just them. I felt the people dying. I—I died with them. Some of them died earlier than they should have. I used them to fuel my power to kill the genesauri.” Lhaurel bit her lip so hard it almost bled, but it kept her silent.
Khari’s grip shifted around Lhaurel’s shoulders and, for a moment, Lhaurel thought Khari was about to pull away. She didn’t blame her. Lhaurel was a monster, a murderer, a demon. But Khari didn’t pull away. Instead she pulled Lhaurel even closer.
“What is the test of honor?” Khari whispered in her ear. “To uphold the flame or to snuff it out?”
Lhaurel waited, unsure how to respond.
Khari continued after a momentary pause. “Sometimes, to extinguish the flame is a greater show of honor.”
Lhaurel cried and found herself hugging Khari back. After a long moment, they broke apart. Another long moment of silence followed, each woman taking a moment to wipe away tears and get their emotions under control, or at least, Lhaurel hoped that was what Khari was doing.
“Can you—” Khari began, but Lhaurel was already nodding. Khari had sacrificed for her, had provided her with blood. Lhaurel knew how dangerous that was, knew it by the way her nails still showed with a dull red luster and her hair shone a bright, vibrant hue. Khari was lucky she hadn’t become like the genesauri, a broken, empty husk. Lhaurel owed her something at least.
“I will find him,” she said.
Lhaurel took a step back and reached within herself, drawing on her powers. A chill washed over her, though she recognized it for what it was now as red mist formed around her and she felt her consciousness expand outward. It was not dread so much as her body’s reaction to sending her blood out into the air to mingle with the elements around her.
She reached out with her mind and felt Khari’s presence blossom near her. She felt the tribes scurrying about the Warren like ants in a hill. A woman in the greatroom cut herself on a rock. Lhaurel felt her pain, felt the blood. Part of her leapt at the fuel, pulling toward it, but Lhaurel screamed and ripped her mind away, her only thought to channel her mind elsewhere—anywhere but where the blood dripped into the sand.
Her mind sped downward through the rock. Her mind hit a vastness there. The lake. There within that great vastness of power, Lhaurel found something else, something equally as vast and powerful, something she had not felt before.
“Beryl,” she whispered, and released the magic. She opened her eyes and looked over at Khari, whose brow was crinkled in concern. “I’ve found him.”
* * *
By the time Lhaurel and Khari had reached the massive underground lake beneath the Roterralar Warren, Lhaurel had come to utterly despise both her cane and her weakened, useless body. Having to stop every hundred feet or so and rest, or else walk at a pace normally reserved for the aged or crippled, made Lhaurel feel like an invalid, especially since Khari waited with her instead of forging ahead.
More than once, Khari had insisted Lhaurel return to the healing chambers and rest, but Lhaurel had refused. She was done sitting on the sidelines. The longer she rested there, doing nothing, the more she dwelt on what she had done and what she was becoming. That, and she had to listen to Shallee prattle on about useless domestic things. Lhaurel liked the woman, but did she have to be so blatantly happy all the time?
Lhaurel and Khari stepped out onto the narrow walkway through the center of the lake. It was dimly lit, only a single lantern glowing like a miniature eye on the other side of the pathway.
“Beryl was down here before,” Khari whispered. “Working with some scrolls. But I sensed him then, while he was working down here. I couldn’t this time.”
Khari’s voice echoed through the chamber, the sound dampened and warped by its reverberation off the water’s surface. Lhaurel felt down into the depths, a hundred spans of clear water. There was a current to it, down in the depths, though it was slow and had centuries of mineral deposits within it making it mildly saline.
The light grew stronger, revealing Beryl seated in front of the massive cubby system cut into the far wall. A pile of scrolls rested near him, sealing in glass cylinders. He glanced around as they approached, his eyes seeming to flash with orange lantern light.
“You should have seen this place when it was made,” Beryl said, his voice soft. “There are three of them altogether. One here, one beneath the Oasis, and one that’s long since been lost to the sands unless the winds have uncovered it again. Elyana said the lakes were all connected, a part of one long water runoff. I never did understand her explanation on how that was possible.”
Lhaurel glanced over at Khari, seeing her own confusion mirrored in the woman’s expression. There was something familiar about that name though. Elyana, why was that name so familiar? She’d heard it somewhere before, recently even. Beryl started talking again before Lhaurel could figure it out.
“Now look at it. It’s been forgotten and abandoned, just like the knowledge it contains. Just like us. It is fitting, I imagine, that ignorance is banished at the same time as will be our abandonment.”
Khari approached Beryl, her step hesitant and one hand held out as if to touch him.
“Are you alright, Beryl?” she asked. “What are you doing down here?”
“What is the test of honor?” Beryl muttered as if to himself.
“Beryl?” Lhaurel asked, starting to worry. The words he was speaking, his tone, his voice, they reminded her of Kaiden, when he had stood atop the Oasis walls while the Rahuli died below him. She shuddered at the memory.
Beryl started and blinked rapidly, as if coming awake. He got to his feet, brushing aside Khari’s outstretched hand.
“What are you doing here?” he asked. The gruffness Lhaurel was accustomed to had returned to his voice.
Khari looked over at Lhaurel, brow even more furrowed than it had been before. Lhaurel silently agreed with the expression. Beryl was odd. He always had been. But this was the first time Lhaurel had ever really questioned his sanity.
“We came to find you, Beryl. The clans are leaving and they need access to the armory, but it’s sealed.”
“Leaving?”
“Yes.”
“They can’t leave,” Beryl said. “Not yet. When was this decided?”
“Days ago, Beryl. They would have been gone already if we’d known where to find you,” Khari said.
Beryl ignored the implied question. “Arms, yes, they’ll need to be armed.” Light glinted off the metal flecks embedded in his skin as he scratched at his chin. “Let’s go then.”
He started walking back the way they had entered, his limp more pronounced than it had ever been. He made it a few shuffle-steps forward, then stopped and turned around.
“Help me with these,” he said, grabbing an armload of the gla
ss cylinders.
“What are they?” Khari asked. Despite the question, she moved forward and picked up a number of the cylinders. Lhaurel walked up and grabbed the remaining ones, thankfully able to carry them in one arm and still use her cane.
“They’re what drove Kaiden to do what he did,” Beryl said, striding away at a rapid pace. “He found the scrolls and learned their secrets. You should do the same.”
Lhaurel looked over at Khari, seeing the color drain from her face.
“He did spend a lot of time down here,” Lhaurel muttered. “He showed me the lake and the scrolls once. This is where he came after that time when we lost Tieran. But, I mean, Beryl’s got to be lying, doesn’t he?”
They both stared at each other for a long moment, then hurried after Beryl.
* * *
Lhaurel sat at the stone table, reading the scroll for perhaps the dozenth time. She massaged her temples, trying and failing to banish the headache, soreness, and confusion that threatened to consume her. Each scroll she read only added to her confusion. It didn’t help that she was a slow reader, having to study each word as she read it.
She sighed and leaned back, giving up trying to understand. Khari had left with Beryl to oversee the distribution of weaponry, though she had mentioned something about a disturbance in the eyrie as well. Beryl seemed impatient, adamant, and focused on arming the clans before they left. He worked with a powerful intensity, as he always had, but there was something else behind it, something she and Khari had noted and discussed in hushed whispers behind the man’s back. Fear.
But Lhaurel didn’t understand what Beryl’s fear had to do with these scrolls. And how could discussion of magic have motivated Kaiden to murder hundreds? Granted, what was discussed in these scrolls was revelatory, even life changing. There were nine types of magic, not just the three they’d thought before. At the heart of them all were a group called the Seven Sisters, who were, according to the scrolls, the only blood mages around. The ways magic itself could be used, the power in each successive Iteration—as the text called it—it was stunning, but it wasn’t a motivation any more than a candle was as bright as the sun. And who were the Orinai?
Sharani series Box Set Page 42