by Cole Pain
Ramie didn’t seem to notice Michel’s hesitation. He walked over to the open wall and peered inside. Turning to Lazo, he pointed. “If Valor discovered the tunnels he could have killed Wyrick himself without anyone’s awareness.”
“No,” Michel said. “I skirted every passageway. No trail leads to Wyrick’s chambers, but one leads to Ren’s.”
Lazo rose from his seat. “From where?”
“The third room in the guest suites. Do you know who was staying there?”
A blinding fear clutched Lazo’s chest. “Manda and Chris.”
“Have you seen them since Ren’s capture?”
Lazo shook his head. “No.”
Michel’s voice lowered. “I overheard Valor talking to his chancellor. They’re sending two people away from the castle tonight. It didn’t sound favorable.”
“May the Maker have mercy,” Lazo whispered. “Valor’s own children tried to warn Ren.”
Quinton pushed back his chair, jaw clenched in worry. “I’ll send a troop after them.”
“How?” Ramie asked. “Valor isn’t letting anyone leave the grounds.”
Michel tapped the wood above the hollow. “They can leave through here. This passage moves underground, through an old, abandoned silver mine, and ends beside the orchard outside the city walls. I fettered some of my horses there. I can show them the way.”
- - -
The night was overcast and shadows lingered around every corner. Manda glanced back at Stardom, a knot of horror in her stomach. She would never see Ren again. May the Maker have mercy. She was riding to her death.
Vos rode before her, a rope linking her saddle to his. The moonlight danced on his pasty skin as if caressing a lover. His limp, black hair fluttered in the slight breeze, drawing attention to his gaunt neck. Manda shuddered. The twins’ had always unnerved her. Now she understood her aversion. They belonged to the Collective. They defied goodness and light.
Manda twisted her hands, trying to undo the ropes that bound her, but it was futile. There was little feeling in her limbs.
Beside her, Chris lay tied to his mount. He had yet to open his eyes.
The gates of the castle loomed before them, but the grounds were eerily quiet. Everyone from the highest-ranking official to the lowliest stable hand was attending a banquet honoring the new king of Zier. Even if she could scream through her gag, no one would hear her.
When they reached the gates, Manda’s hopes flared. Evann, one of Crape’s most trusted soldiers, was standing guard. She had known Evann for years, long before Ista and the twins had entered her father’s service. Surely Evann hadn’t been swayed to the order of the Collective.
Evann quietly talked with a Fest soldier who stood outside the gates. Manda had always envied Evann’s sun-bleached locks, but the Fest soldier’s white-gold hair was a beacon in the moonlight, damning the darkness surrounding him.
“I have a message for Lorlier,” the Fest soldier said as he pushed a rolled papyrus through the iron bars. His eyes drifted to the twins, then Manda. There was absolution in his gaze, and for a brief heartbeat Manda thought the Maker had sent her an angel.
Evann took the message and inspected the seal. He began raising the portcullis before he detected the twins’ slight movement behind him.
Evann lifted his hand to halt their approach, but when his eyes caught Manda, bound and gagged, his face became steel. He reached for his sword.
“Hold your weapon,” the twins said in unison. “We have orders from Valor.”
Evann drew his sword anyway. Within a heartbeat he had it pointed at Vos’s throat. Manda held her breath as Vos lifted a parchment from the folds of his robe. Her father’s seal glimmered in the torchlight. Evann took it but didn’t back away.
“You,” Evann said, holding it out to the Fest soldier, “read this.”
The soldier ducked under the half-raised portcullis and took the note. Although his face was hard, his eyes betrayed his unease. He unwrapped the parchment and skimmed it before he read, “‘I, Valor of Crape, the Supreme ruler of Newlan, do hereby order my children back to Crape. For their own protection they should be restrained at all times. Let no man speak of this for my children’s reputation. Let no man interfere with these orders lest his life become forfeit.’”
Evann’s eyes strayed to Manda. “I don’t understand,” he said. Manda tried to speak but only a muffled moan came out.
Yov shifted in his saddle. “They were found in Ren’s chambers at the time of his arrest. Valor fears his children could be implicated in the murder of the former king of Newlan. Valor ordered his children home for their own safety.”
Evann lifted an eyebrow. “Bound and gagged?”
“Manda loves Ren,” Vos said. “She’s already implicated herself to save him. And Chris would do anything for his sister.”
Manda turned away as Evann searched her face. She had never been good at masking the truth, and she wouldn’t try to do so now.
The Fest guard stepped next to Manda. Vos’s pallid gaze followed his movement, but the man didn’t seem to notice. He looked up at her, midnight eyes hardening in accusation.
“She should be tried for the crime if she confessed.”
“Indeed she will be, Korin, but not here.” The twins watched the Fest soldier with obvious distaste. They clearly knew each other. Manda studied Korin again. There was something about him she immediately trusted despite his incriminating stare. A sudden jerk of his hand caught her attention. Tucked behind his back, hidden from the twins’ sight, his hand motioned her down. At first Manda didn’t catch his meaning. Then she realized he wanted her to fall off her mount.
“She looks like a feisty one,” Korin said. “Watch yourself.”
Manda screamed through her gag and twisted her body, feigning an attack. Her feet, tied to the stirrups, acted as a counterweight as she flung her body toward the soldier. She felt the saddle spin out of control as she fell, unprotected, to the ground. Korin caught her. She immediately felt the ropes binding her hands behind her loosen.
“Fight,” Korin whispered in her ear.
Manda wrenched back and forth as her mount bucked. Vos leapt out of the saddle, shouting for Evann’s help. Manda felt another rope loosen as Korin worked at her restraints and slipped something between her palms.
“I’m sorry,” Korin whispered. “This is all I can do.”
Then her world went black.
- - -
Aidan sat beside Ren, careful not to touch her tender back to the cold stone. The torchlight framed her face in a slight glow. Whenever she looked at him, his heart gave a slight jump.
“Aidan, why haven’t the Maritium come out of hiding before this?” Ren finally asked. “Magic has been dead for almost four centuries. The people would have accepted you back long ago.”
Aidan grinned. “We never went into hiding. Everyone knew we lived on the coast of the Black Ocean.” Aidan’s eyes sparkled with mystery and her grin widened at his confusion. “My prince, the wizards told us to live alone before they destroyed magic. Although magic is dead, everything with magic did not die.
“Only living things, wizards, Barracus’ creatures, magical creatures, all of whom had the thread of the power, died when magic died.”
Ren frowned. The thread of the power connected someone’s mind and soul to the Quy. If you had the thread, you could use magic. If you didn’t, magic was forever lost to you. “Grauss the Sage has written about the thread. He claims that when the wizards destroyed magic they merely destroyed the thread, not magic itself.”
“Grauss is right,” Aidan said. “If everything magical died, my ancestors would have died because of the magical gift given to us. Although the wizards created the link with magic, the link itself isn’t magical. It’s much like the Druid ability to enter minds. It’s become part of us. We don’t have the thread of the power. We don’t have the ability to invent magic. And just like us, there are other things, mostly non-living things, that are magi
cal without using magic.
“We were the guardians of such things, things the wizards wanted to hide from society. Even though magic was destroyed, those objects were still dangerous.”
“Such as?”
“Have you seen the crystal, the one Valor’s aide carries?”
Ren nodded, recalling the red crystal Ista always twirled in her palm.
“It’s the most dangerous object ever created. It’s connected to the Plains of Desolation. It commands the dead.”
Ren shivered at Aidan’s words. The Desolation Plain was the realm between the life plain and the Abyss. The Mynher, the Watcher’s minion, lives there and is charged to catch spirits before they plunge to the Abyss. Most of the time dying souls descend too quickly to be caught, but at other times souls have a prolonged death and sink more slowly. If the Mynher succeeds in catching them before they fall, they are doomed to the desolate plain for eternity. The Mynher forever searches for a way to release them into the world to bring destruction to the living. Some in the Lands bow to the Mynher in the hopes he will ensnare them on their way to the Abyss so they might have another chance at life.
“What can it do?”
Aidan shook her head. “I don’t know. Our ancestors thought the less we knew of the magical items we possessed the safer we would be in the future. I disagree. I know just enough to be dangerous.” Aidan paused, creasing her brows in thought. “It’s made of silver dragon’s fire.”
Ren started. Although he had seen the silver dragon and looked into its blue eyes he didn’t want to admit what he had seen. Magic was an enigma, a mystery better left alone. As Aidan held his gaze, he felt their connection sharpen with his panic. The peace he always sensed with her touch flooded through him. He relaxed, focusing on her words and not the implications.
“How do you know?”
Aidan lifted her brows, drawing emphasis to her violet eyes. “When you’re sleeping by the campfire, how do you know the fire is there when your eyes are closed?”
“By the heat.”
“That’s exactly how I can sense fire in the crystal,” Aidan said.
Ren thought he understood. “But a silver dragon’s?”
Aidan drew a slow breath, thinking over his question. “The crystal’s fire is alive. It moves and breathes. A campfire, a forest fire, does not breathe. It heats, it spreads, but it doesn’t move and breathe. Dragon’s fire does. It’s poison moves, taking over whatever lies in its path.
“And there’s another quality I cannot put to words. I didn’t know what it was until I saw the silver dragon. The silver dragon has the same property, the same heat, the same movement, and the same breath.”
Ren closed his eyes. Wizards of old claimed silver dragons were the most powerful creatures in existence. Their skin, their talons, the poison of their flames, all were used to invoke powerful magic.
Although silver dragons didn’t use magic directly, in a sense, they were magic.
“Ista knows I can tell her the secret to unlock the crystal’s power.”
“I thought you said the crystal’s secret had been lost long ago.”
Aidan smiled again. “Magic is a gift from the Maker. Therefore, I understand magic. To me, its rules and laws are as simple as right and wrong. This world is governed by the threat of light versus darkness. The Maker fights for this world to be light while the Watcher fights for this world to be darkness. Each thing has the possibility of becoming good or evil. The silver dragon isn’t exempt from this universal truth. Its return heralds magic’s rebirth. Magic’s return can bring ceaseless beauty and allow light to rule, but it also brings the threat of total destruction, through the darkness.”
“Dragon’s fire,” Ren said, suddenly realizing what Aidan was trying to tell him. An ancient magical maxim claimed if you commanded the source of an object, you commanded the object itself. If the crystal was created by silver dragon’s fire then silver dragon’s fire could awaken its power.
“The dragonhunters are bringing in the silver dragon.” Aidan kneaded her hands, a look of cold apprehension in her eyes.
“She knows then.”
“I don’t think so,” Aidan said, “or she wouldn’t need me. But she knows something. I just don’t know what.”
Ren leaned his head back against the cold stone, trying to determine Ista’s plan. Ista had called him Dragon Tamer. What did she mean by that? And what, if anything, did that have to do with Aidan?
He studied Aidan’s profile in the dim light, searching for answers, but none were forthcoming. Once again he felt helpless to save her. Aidan would die to keep the crystal’s secret secure.
But now he knew the secret as well. Ren rose to his feet. “Why did you tell me this?”
Aidan lifted her gaze to his own. The scant light from the torch in the hallway lit her eyes with amethyst flame. He could feel their connection sharpen with her heightening emotions.
“You know the peace within me,” she said. “Nothing they do can hurt me. They can take nothing from me.” Her eyes bore into him, commanding him to understand. “After me, she will look to you, but you cannot yield, no matter what they do to me. Promise me, Ren, promise me you will hold fast to the light.”
“Aidan, I won’t let you die.”
Aidan studied him. “What will be will be.”
Anger welled within him. “Aidan, if you’re so convinced you’re going to die why tell me the secret when it could have died with you?”
“That’s exactly why,” Aidan said, face softening as she closed her eyes and smoothed her brow. “My ancestors were wrong. They should have handed down every ounce of knowledge they possessed. I won’t make the same mistake. To fight the darkness you have to know the darkness.”
“I myself would like to know less of it.”
Aidan leaned forward, a sad smile on her face. “Do you remember when I said the wizards didn’t destroy magic, they merely destroyed the connection?”
Ren nodded. “They severed the thread.”
“Yes, but the thread still exists. Humans differed from other magical creatures. Only some of us had the thread. We’re still breeding magic, my prince, but instead of being alive and thriving the thread lies broken, dormant. It’s only a matter of time before someone powerful, someone with great need, uses the emotions of love, hate, and pain to reunite the thread and rebirth magic. The wizards of old have sent the silver dragon as a warning to the very man who will rebirth the power.”
“That’s impossible,” Ren said. “Magic’s destruction happened four centuries ago. Surely in all that time if we still had the thread someone would have already reunited it.”
Aidan lifted an eyebrow. “Some Maritium have linked to those who have the broken thread.” Her penetrating gaze caused him to shift in discomfort. “I’m one of those.”
Ren stiffened in warning, every muscle on alert.
“You think your confinement is punishment for some deed you committed?” Aidan said, searching his face. “This,” she motioned to the walls, “is recompense for your wrongs? No. The Maker has plans for you, my prince. You just have to listen.”
- - -
Korin’s heart beat so rapidly he thought he might not live. Pressing his back against the tree, he inched around its trunk and took another look at the guard pacing in the shadows. His build was the same. His hair was the same. Everything was the same.
Korin was looking at his own reflection.
He felt his mind clearing, the presence slowly melting away. His resolve to escape deepened in the pit of his stomach until it claimed him like a disease. All he wanted was a chance to live a life of his own, a chance to be free of the pain.
The guard stopped to look up at the sky. The small golden dragon stitched to the front of his black tunic glimmered in the moonlight. Korin could hear the guard’s frantic thoughts as if they were his own. He too worried about the prince.
When the guard turned, Korin quickly concealed himself. He had no weapon, only a small shovel.
It wasn’t his intention to harm anyone, the guard especially, but he had no reason for being there, and if he was found there would be questions. The mere thought of divulging his knowledge sent revulsion to every fiber of his being. He didn’t want to reveal the things he had done. If spoken, the acts would become real, a part of his life he would have to face.
The leaves rustled as the guard moved closer. Korin pressed his body against the tree, sweat and tears raining down his face as the presence continued to dissipate. He relished it, craved it, and as the presence continued to diminish, another sensation took its place: peace, profound peace.
It had been years since he felt the peace as intensely as he felt it now, but it had always existed. It was a small ray of light in his mind that he escaped to when he was the target, or the instrument, of pain. The light had been easy to find when he was young. The older he became the more he had to fight the presence and swim through the madness to find the light. But if he found it and clutched it, no matter its size or intensity, he was able to grasp the hope of freedom and deny the presence complete control of his mind.
The guard released a sigh. Korin tensed, heartbeat pounding in his ears. The presence was now only a small pinprick. Was it because of the guard? Korin held his breath. On the way to Zier, the pressure had lessened, or at least became easier to fight. He had never been like the other Collective. They hungered for the pain, fought for survival with madness in their eyes, and were loyal to the one who commanded them. When he was given a suspicious look he became an actor, and his act had fooled everyone for over twenty years.
He closed his eyes and let the peace penetrate him. He clung to it, breathed it as if it were air. A moan escaped his lips. For the first time in his life the presence was gone.
Korin knew he needed to meet the man behind him. The man may very well be his salvation. Korin gathered his strength, relaxed his muscles, and stepped from the tree.