Wielder: Adept: Book 2 of Lady Shey's Story (The Wielder Cycle)

by Mark E. Tyson

  The unnatural storm weakened as a fog rolled across the rushing river. As it neared their position, a figure emerged out of it, floating on the mist. His skull face was accented by wisps of hair from the top of his head. His torso, below his shoulders, which were adorned with pointy spikes from his clothing, was as a corpse, gaunt and emaciated but still covered with drawn, leathery skin. The strips of cloth below his waist were adorned with sinewy ropes tied to bones of various sizes.

  “At last.” His voice was a raspy gurgle, barely recognizable as speech. “At last I have you. Return it to me.”

  “Return what?” Gondrial blurted out.

  “The amulet you took with the inscription, Daethel Rast. That is my name. You have it; I need it returned. Return it or join me in death forever.” He raised his hands, and men began to pop up out of the water and saunter toward them.

  Shey was horrified as she realized the men were the dead crewmen from the riverboat. “We do not have your amulet!”

  “Impetuous fools! Do you not believe I can sense my own possession! The men ambled closer. Shey glanced over at Rikard. He was standing now, staring at the Lich. Undead were nearly on him.

  “Rikard, look out!” Shey shouted to him. He was facing the dead men. He gave Shey a mournful gaze, as if he was about to do something stupid, and then he began to glow and the men shied away from his body, which was soon completely bathed in light.

  Shey let out a happy sniff. “He’s a cleric,” she said to the others, immediately feeling silly for stating the obvious.

  Rikard began to speak. “My holy goddess, I pray you come to me on this shore and turn this unlife from your disciple.” Rikard closed his eyes. His glow became brighter and brighter. As the light touched the unlife, the corpses sizzled and burned. As the light neared the Lich, it screamed and retreated. Shey looked away; the light was too bright. Rikard was a cleric of the goddess of life, she assumed. Nothing dead could withstand the power of the goddess of life.

  A few moments more and Rikard’s light dissipated. Shey ran to him and gave him a hardy hug.

  “It will be back,” Rikard said. “We need to get as far away from here as possible. Now that it knows what I am, it will return with a counter spell. I won’t be able to ward it off as well next time.”

  Shey looked back at the wreckage they had caused, and a tear rolled down her face. Gondrial caught the tear with his finger. “It wasn’t our fault,” he said. “The Lich destroyed that boat.”

  “I know, but if we had not joined them aboard, they wouldn’t have died.”

  Rikard put his hand on her shoulder. “Perhaps when this is over, we can return here and I will pray for them and pray for our absolution.”

  “I would like that,” Shey said.

  Marella grabbed Shey’s arm, and they all started to move upshore. Rikard stayed behind a moment. Shey thought that maybe he wanted to say a short prayer.

  Rikard looked upon the wreckage. Slowly, he reached into his jacket and then under his shirt. He fingered the jewel at the center of the amulet and then ran his finger over the inscription. It read Daethel Rast in old elvish.

  “You coming, Rikard?” he heard Shey call to him. He let go of the amulet and began to walk toward his friends. “Aye, I am following. I wanted to say a little prayer,” he lied. He didn’t pray for the dead, and that made him feel good somehow. He liked the feeling the lie afforded him; he gave into it and then quickened his pace to catch up.

  Chapter 9: The Sun and Moon

  The bottom of the canyon, on the side of the river Shey and her companions landed on, was much farther away from the roadway leading up to the eastern rim and out onto the plains known as the Obsidian Steppes. Sanmir said there was an inn and trading post at the bottom of the eastern rim roadway. They should make their way there and stay the night. There would not be such a place, other than to set up a camp, to bed down on the steppes before they reached Shezuris. Shey was thankful the inn existed. She welcomed the thought of a hot bath and a warm bed.

  “Do they have bathing facilities there?” Marella asked.

  “You must have been reading my mind, Marella,” Shey said.

  Sanmir thought for a moment before answering. “Aye, I believe they do, but this inn isn’t what you two are probably used to. It’s a trading post for the rough men of the scar and surrounding areas. Rugged outdoorsmen go there to trade their catch, their pelts, their hides, anything of value where they can make a few silver.” He grimaced. “We should each take turns escorting Shey and Marella everywhere within the trading post, especially in the baths, if they choose to still get one after we arrive.”

  “You most certainly will not!” Shey said, and Marella agreed.

  “I can take a bath by myself, thank you!” Marella said.

  “I don’t think he is suggesting we bathe with you!” Gondrial said, amused. “He is suggesting we need to be nearby in case there is trouble with the riffraff.”

  “Aye,” Sanmir agreed. “These men do not see women such as you two often.”

  Shey scoffed. “Ha! From the little I know of you, Gondrial, you will be one of those riffraff shortly after we arrive and you find the ale.”

  “That’s uncalled for, Shey,” Sanmir scolded.

  “No, she’s probably right.” Gondrial nodded.

  “Oh,” Sanmir said with trepidation. “Well, Rikard, Ramzi, and I can keep our fairer friends safe, then, I’m sure.”

  “There is no need, Sanmir. Both of us are wielders and not strangers to fighting. You have seen how we fight. I think we can handle a few amorous menfolk,” Marella said. There was a tone of offense in her voice.

  “Marella’s correct,” Shey said, and then leaned toward Marella’s ear to whisper. “We will probably be protecting them from danger before we leave the inn. Menfolk!”

  Marella giggled, and Sanmir shot them a grim face. “I think he heard you.”

  Shey blushed and glanced at Rikard by happenstance. Rikard was holding his right hand wrapped in strips of cloth. She suddenly realized that Rikard was keeping to himself more than usual after the encounter at the river. She decided to go to him.

  “Rikard, is your hand injured?”

  “I think I must have burned it when I cast that spell to turn away the unlife.”

  “Let me see it. I might be able to help.”

  “It’s nothing. Just a little uncomfortable. It will pass.”

  Shey called to Sanmir. “Stop for a rest, Sanmir. Rikard’s hand is wounded.”

  “Oh, how so?” Sanmir inquired, making his way back to where Shey was attempting to get Rikard to remove the cloth strips.

  “Burned by the spell he cast.”

  “I have some burn salve in my pack. I always carry a store of apothecary salves if I can.”

  “Can’t we do this when we reach the inn?” Ramzi asked, irritated by having to stop and render aid for such a trivial wound. “His injury is not so urgent to justify stopping, is it?”

  “What if it was you who needed aid?” Marella snapped. “I bet you would want to stop for a few moments then.”

  “Not likely. I would suffer through it.”

  Marella huffed. “Care to test that?”

  “What are you suggesting, my lady?” He bowed mockingly. “A duel? If that is your wish, I will gladly grant it.”

  Shey cringed. She could feel Marella’s temper flare.

  With shocking speed, Marella wacked Ramzi upside the head with her wooden quarterstaff. It was a glancing blow. She was not really trying to hurt him, just let him know she would not be mocked. When he recovered, Ramzi automatically went for his curved sword and Sanmir poised himself to intervene, but Marella had the end of her quarterstaff already aimed at Ramzi’s forehead. “Try it!” she said. “The first one was just a warning. You won’t soon recover from my second strike!”

  “All right, I think everyone needs to just be calm,” Sanmir suggested. “Shey, let me get that salve and we will treat Rikard’s hand and be on our way.�
�� He glared at his tribesman, and Ramzi released his sword hilt.

  Marella slowly put away her quarterstaff.

  Gondrial took a breath to say something, no doubt inappropriate, but he was promptly shut down by Shey’s stern, expressive big blue eyes. He frowned and shrank back.

  When Shey unwrapped Rikard’s hand, she was a bit surprised at the burn. It appeared round in his palm, as if he had tried to pick up a hot, flat stone with his bare hands out of a fire. She rubbed the salve Sanmir gave her on the burn and rewrapped it with fresh strips of cloth.

  “There.” She smiled at him, and he smiled back. “All taken care of.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You are welcome.” Shey impulsively gave Rikard a quick, friendly kiss on the check. Gondrial stiffened, his jaw dropping slightly.

  Shey was surprised by Gondrial’s reaction. “You need to relax,” she said to him. Gondrial closed his mouth but remained rigid, staring at Rikard, who was preparing his pack to resume the trek to the inn.

  “We have a ways to go yet. Is everyone ready?” Sanmir asked.

  Shey gathered up her belongings. “Remind me to never stay up all night again. When we get to the inn, I shall find a nice soft spot to collapse in.”

  “Before or after your nice, semi-private, relaxing bath?” Ramzi asked.

  Marella reached for her staff, and Shey stayed her hand. “Just let it go.”

  Chapter 10: A Night at the Pit

  It was about midday when Shey first laid eyes on the rickety shack Sanmir had, obviously mistakenly, called an inn. It looked like a strong wind might blow it down at any moment. The wood and stone that comprised the one-story inn was misaligned and stuck together and sealed with tar. Out to the left side of the structure, barely obscured by a rock outcropping, was a waterfall running over a wooden tub with a man scrubbing his back with a brush.

  “There’s your bath,” Ramzi said, sneering. “It does appear refreshing, does it not?”

  There was a makeshift stable with one horse visible in it and another structure adjacent that Shey assumed must be the trading post.

  “It doesn’t look big enough to be an inn,” Marella observed.

  “The rooms are carved back into the rock of the canyon behind it. I hope you don’t mind darkness and the absence of windows,” Sanmir said.

  “Lovely,” Shey said. “At least it’s only for the one night.”

  The inn keeper greeted them at the door. “Welcome, ye all, to the Pit.”

  “Inviting,” Shey whispered to Marella.

  The innkeeper was very thin with a bald head and a dirty apron. He was missing his two front teeth, and many of his words whistled through the gap.

  Sanmir did the talking. “We need two rooms for the night.”

  “Ye have gold, do ye?” he asked.

  “Gold! I think you mean silver, friend. I will sleep out beneath the stars before I will part with a gold for this place.”

  The bald man sighed. “Aye, silver, then. Two apiece.” He whistled the final word.

  “One apiece and you will move a tub with hot water into a private room for the women to bathe undisturbed,” Sanmir countered.

  “One silver apiece and your womenfolk can bathe like the rest of ye, in the waterfall outdoors.”

  Sanmir breathed in, his eyes intense. “Two silver apiece and you move the tub in.”

  “Deal!” He pointed to two men sitting at the dirty bar. “You two, go get out there and move the tub into the back room.” The men hurried out. Sanmir paid the man, and led them all to their rooms. A few moments later, they heard the loud protests of the man the innkeeper’s men dumped out of the tub beneath the waterfall.

  By the time Shey and Marella were ready to bathe, the men had the tub moved into the back room. Marella watched the only door while Shey bathed, and vice versa. The water brought in was not hot, but Shey fixed that little problem with a quick draw of essence and a fire spell. Afterward, Shey and Marella insisted that the men were next. Sanmir was the easiest to convince. Shey had the water changed after each bath. When it came time for Ramzi to bathe, Shey took note, somewhat interestingly, that Marella seemed very keen on seeing the sand elf naked, or so it seemed. When confronted, Marella denied she was trying to sneak a peek at him, and Shey let her get away with the lie. There was something in Marella’s eyes Shey had mistaken for contempt before. Apparently, she had misread her friend.

  After the relaxing bath, Shey and her companions found something palatable to eat, and then the day without sleep caught up to them. Even though it was still early evening, everyone but Gondrial turned in to their rooms for sleep. Gondrial claimed he was staying up to keep an eye out for his sleeping friends. Shey suspected otherwise. Before she retired to her room, she checked on Rikard one last time to rewrap his bandage. There was something different about Rikard. He seemed . . . calm and at peace. She liked the feeling she got when she was around him.

  Finally alone, Rikard took the amulet out from under his vest and shirt and let it fall flat. He ran his finger over the lettering and then the stone at its center. He could feel the power surging from it. He was not sure why it had burned his hand in the desert. When he moved his finger from the gem, he peered into it. The face of the fallen warrior Asad appeared, silently screaming and fighting. Rikard began to rummage through his pack. He produced the detailed small jade statuette he found of a creature that appeared to be a cross between a dog and a lizard or dragon. It had three horns on the top of an exoskeleton head. Appendages similar to tentacles surrounded its mouth and head. Scales covered its body and tail; the former came to a sharpened point. The little statue was remarkably detailed.

  “There, there, Asad. I saved you. I rescued you. Sorry that I couldn’t find a more suitable vessel for your essence, but at least you are saved.” He chuckled. “Well, maybe not your body, but your essence, at least.” He cast his dark spell, and purple wisps of essence surrounded the phylactery, briefly changing color to green and then back to purple. The wisps of essence carried over to the jade statuette and disappeared within it. Rikard put the statuette containing Asad’s essence back into his pack and gazed into the amulet. The skull-like visage of Daethel Rast stared back at him. The lich’s face turned black and hideous.

  “Oh, not so angry!” he said to the face in the amulet. “Don’t look at this like I have captured you and your essence, Daethel Rast,” he said. “You are my teacher, my mentor, my master! I am your humble apprentice.” Rikard rubbed his chin, his expression thoughtful as he contemplated. “No, not apprentice. An apprentice could not hold your immense power at bay so easily. I am your acolyte, your adept!” Rikard grinned wickedly and returned the amulet beneath his vest and shirt. He began to get ready for bed, humming to himself and then singing, “Deeper down, deeper down, deeper down, your soul goes deeper down. Deeper down, deeper down, deeper down, where your essence cannot be found. Deeper down, deeper down, deeper down, where you will never be found!”

  The moonlight danced on the waterfall as Gondrial stalked close to it. Something had caught his eye while he was enjoying an ale with some ruffians outside the inn. Without the tub, the waterfall spilled out over something he couldn’t quite make out. Now, surveying the ground around the edge of the water, Gondrial could make out several large paw prints in the mud. With his sharp elvish vision, he could see the trail led to the inn but also in the opposite direction. He couldn’t be sure which way the creature had gone, but he knew exactly what had made the tracks—the Unseen. He found his way back down to the inn. The only logical conclusion was that the Lich had sent out scouts to find them. Carefully, he examined the grounds around the inn. Even in the dark, he could still see the oversized paw prints. They overlapped, so he knew there were more than one stalking around the inn. As far as he could tell, they refrained from actually entering the inn. Maybe Unseen didn’t like to be underground. The innkeeper must have noticed him snooping around, because he began to watch Gondrial and he finally walked up to him.
Gondrial took a drink of his ale as if he didn’t notice.

  “Did ye find what ye were lookin’ fer?”

  Gondrial smacked his lips. “I don’t know what you are referring to. I am trying to enjoy my ale.”

  The innkeeper drew in close, and Gondrial tried not to inhale his foul scent. “I saw them. Don’t worry about them. I have a spell about this place. No Unseen will be entering here anytime soon.” Gondrial noticed his uneducated accent was gone.

  “Who are you, Innkeeper?”

  “My name’s Palanon. I’m a friend of Ianthill. I wasn’t supposed to tell you who I was, just to make sure you all were safe when you paused here for the night.”

  “I see. So, Ianthill planned for us to stop over here?”

  “Aye, where else would you stay?”

  “He knows about the Unseen?”

  “Naw, I’m sure he doesn’t know about that. I will send him word so he can keep a lookout for you from Shezuris. I was supposed to set up an ambush here for you to work your way out of, but I heard about the trouble at the river and I decided you had already had enough excitement.”

  “I thank you for that.” Gondrial took another drink of ale. “You’re certain the Unseen can’t get in at us?”

  “They won’t get past me and my kin, I promise you. Why don’t you go and get you some rest. You are almost done with this trial, and when you reach Ianthill tomorrow, you can get his help to end all this trouble.”

  “What do you know about it? Have you even seen a Lich?”

  “Sorry, lad, I can’t help you there. All I know is that they don’t give up. From what my men say, the beastie is looking for something. You will need Ianthill’s help. When you leave here in the morning, I will cast a few spells to keep you safe for a bit, but they will wear off. You and your brethren had better make haste as soon as you leave the canyon.”