by Cole Pain
Ren drew a deep breath. If Grauss was right any wizard who went to the lower Plains could rise again and fulfill Ista’s commands. She already had vessels awaiting them, vessels under her control. If she used the Red Eye she could have an army at her command almost immediately.
“Holy Maker,” Ren whispered, turning to start the descent to the floor. He had to return to Zier and find the crystal.
Grauss put a hand on his shoulder. “You can’t go back for it, my prince. It’s far too dangerous. She’s already bonded the Eye. Sorceresses can do such – bond things to them in a way that will cause your death if you physically touch it. And if you kill her before the bond has been broken … the Eye will be locked open or locked closed for eternity.”
“But don’t we want it locked closed?”
Grauss shook his head, white hair flying in every direction. “No, never do such. To lock something closed would be disastrous. I told you, the Silver Eye is the Quy’s love, so the Red Eye is the Quy’s hate. Both can be used for good and evil. We don’t know why the Eyes were created, but without hate magic would be binary, not trilateral. I don’t know the repercussions of such, but they can’t be good. If you closed one Eye what would happen to its twin? Just as a human twin can’t live without the other twin, could an Eye live without the other Eye?”
“But the Silver Eye can be used for ill as well. Why not destroy them both?”
Grauss leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “You’d want to risk closing not only hate but love? What if closing the Eyes takes love and hate from the world, leaving only pain?”
Ren’s hackles stood on end. Grauss was right. He didn’t know enough about the Eyes to destroy them. The silver dragon was the same notion. Just because a prophecy said to destroy the silver form didn’t justify destroying the dragon without reason.
Grauss wet his fingers and smoothed back his hair. “There’s only one way to stifle the threat of the Red Eye and that’s to neutralize what Ista’s begun. The only way you can neutralize the Red Eye is with the Silver Eye.”
The prophecy echoed in his mind: And if the Dragon Tamer will not search to find the One, the world will drown in blood.
Ren’s heartbeat quickened as he realized the importance of the quest before him. The darkness was bringing death to life. The darkness was bringing the wizards of old back from the dead and merging them with vessels. He had to find the One, for the One would have the Silver Eye, and the Silver Eye was their only hope.
“Grauss, there’s someone I’m supposed to look for. Do you know where I could find him? Have you read anything in the stars?”
Grauss’ brow crinkled in thought. The sage mumbled something under his breath and ran back to the other window.
Grauss looked over at him, blue eyes reflecting profound intelligence and depth. Ren had a feeling Grauss knew far more than what he revealed. Ren was about to voice his concern when Grauss pointed to the sky. “Look there, beside the synergy.”
Ren peered into the dark expanse of sky, trying to discern what Grauss wanted him to see. Just when he was about to give up he saw it. A hazy white light, almost invisible to the naked eye, twinkled on and off as it moved slowly and steadily toward the triangular constellation.
“Do you have a current plan?” Grauss asked, still staring out the window.
“Yes, though I don’t know – ”
Grauss held up a hand for silence. “Follow it. That light means one of two things: either you’re moving in the right direction or the One you seek will find you no matter where you go.”
They were silent for a time as both of them watched the misty light. Ren could scarcely believe his life was in the stars for all to see. He wondered if Ista knew about the constellation or what it meant.
“Grauss, thank you, and rest assured I’ll tell no one of your home. Your grandson meant no disrespect.”
Grauss eyes softened with regret. “I know. He’s special. I’ve always known that.”
“He has the Quy, Grauss,” Ren said, watching he old man’s reaction. At first Ren’s comment didn’t seem to register, but then Grauss’ face lit with fatherly pride.
Grauss spun, Ren forgotten, and ran down the path. Ren watched him go, and after deciding the path was better than the hanging chair, followed at a much slower pace.
“Neki! Neki!” Grauss shouted, waving his arms in the air.
Neki ambled over from where he had been talking to Galvin, brows furrowing in confusion. Ren reached the ground just as Grauss flung his arms around his grandson.
Grauss stepped back and put his finger in the air, indicating for Neki to wait, and scurried to a trunk at the far side of the cavern. Heartbeats later Grauss came back holding a long, sheathed saber. He handed his grandson the blade. Neki’s eyes widened as he unsheathed it.
It was the finest blade Ren had ever seen. The thick, silver arc was decorated with ancient runes. Embedded on the hilt and surrounded by golden braiding were three large stones: a ruby, an emerald, and a sardonyx. The stones winked in the firelight, as if awakening from a deep sleep. Ren wondered if they truly had.
“This sword was used in the Dark Ages by your ancestor, Taurus,” Grauss said, “one of the greatest wizards of his time. Taurus enchanted each stone to protect the one who wielded the weapon. The ruby is for luck in battle, the emerald wards off evil doings, and the sardonyx wards off things not of this world.” Ren thought about the spirits Ista could bring through the Red Eye. The sardonyx may come in more helpful than any of them knew. Dark as midnight, brilliant red striations cut the stone. Ren could feel its power emanating within.
“Grandfather,” Neki said, “Ren should have it.”
Before Ren could object, Grauss held up his hand. “No, only an descendant of Taurus can wield it. Its power would be useless to your prince, but you can guard him well with it. The stones will glow when they’re working and will be able to warn you if trouble is near.
“And remember,” Grauss said, turning fierce blue eyes to Ren. “Watch the stars. They can help guide you and they can warn you of danger. Watch the Raven. Its darkness will grow larger, and it will begin devouring everything around it. You need to crush it before it hides the synergy from the sky. Once it hides your star from view, you’ll have no guidance, no power, and no hope.”
Chapter 9
Once word of Ren’s escape had reached Fraul’s ears he purchased a fast mare and left without so much as packing his things. He wanted out of Zier, and he wanted out yesterday.
He couldn’t look at Ista without a thousand prickles of warning rippling across his skin, but it appeared as if everyone else was welcoming her with open arms. At least everyone except the Zier people. The Zier citizens he had passed on the road to Port Les were a little less than enthusiastic. Many were in tears. Fraul’s lips twisted into a pensive smile. The Zier people still believed in Ren, but what they could do about the charges against him was a different matter altogether. Ista had magic, and magic was something no one understood.
Fraul squinted into the morning’s light, hoping Ramie had made it to the docks with all his pieces. Surely Ista couldn’t hinder the king of Oldan from leaving Zier, or so he hoped. How much power could she force inside the mind of another? Fraul shivered at the thought of the needles. He had told Lazo of their discovery and urged the triplets to leave, but Lazo had refused, insisting Ista would follow. Fraul discerned the truth in Lazo’s terrified gaze. The triplets had lived in luxury their entire lives. Fleeing into the wilderness would be worse than death. Still, Fraul worried about his new friends.
As Fraul topped the final hill overlooking the small port city, his heart jumped. The outline of Ramie’s ship could be seen in the distance, but it was already too far out to reach. Ramie had waited for him for as long as he dared. Fraul cursed, for now not only was Ramie unreachable, but his king was also steering the massive ship into the ten winds to make up for lost time.
“Damnedable cocky-ass king,” Fraul said. “Just don’t get yours
elf killed.”
Fraul reined in his dappled mare and watched the distant ship. He let the chill breeze cool him as he patted his mare’s side. She hadn’t protested when he had pushed her to her limits, and now that he had missed the ship she deserved some pampering. Fraul rubbed his goatee and mulled over his options. He desperately wanted to reach his king, but there was no fast solution.
If he tried to obtain passage on the next boat to Oldan it would be on a merchant ship that would make frequent stops, delaying his homecoming for over a month. If he rode on land it would take him almost as long, but he would be moving, doing something. Just the thought of sailing for weeks on end nauseated him. He was a man of action. Sitting to him meant sitting in the saddle and going somewhere. Besides, if he traveled by land he might be able to detect Ren’s trail, and if he had to bet, Ren would begin his search at the ruins of the Alcazar. The ruins of the Alcazar were near Yor.
With the decision made, Fraul turned the mare toward the small port town. He would need supplies. Patting the large bag of gold in his pocket, Fraul muttered small curses when he realized he would have to wait a degree or two of the sun before market activities commenced. Although he hadn’t slept, he was far from tired and itched to get started. A trek across country would be an adventure. Although his old bones were rickety, they weren’t buried yet.
When he reached the main road he scanned the town for any sign of life. It was a typical port city, the largest buildings being inns and bars. Most were well tended, and some were painted in bright, cheerful colors. The streets were clean and lanterns lit the area in a soft orange glow. Heavy flat stones were placed at intervals beside the shops so patrons could keep their ankles free of mud and debris on rainy days. Peddlers were beginning to set up their booths for the day’s market. A few stopped long enough to nod as he passed.
People were just beginning to emerge from the inns and outlying houses as Fraul rode down the street, stealing quick glances into the shops, mentally keeping tally of where he would return. First, he needed a tailor. Traveling clothes could be fitted to his specific measurements while he purchased other supplies. He didn’t want to travel in uniform; he wanted to be inconspicuous, and his uniform was far from that.
At the end of the street Fraul surveyed an inn and an adjoining bar called The Crown Prince. A few of its boards appeared recently replaced. The light pink of the new wood stood out from the old, grayish structure like two war wounds. He liked places with character, and by the look of it, The Crown Prince was a favorite among the rougher crowd. He chuckled. In his younger days he had seen the insides of even rougher places.
A stout whiskey suddenly sounded good to him. His mouth began to water.
Fraul dismounted and tied the mare to the railing outside, pausing to scratch the animal behind the ears in silent thanks for the quick journey. As he walked inside the smell of malt ale emanated from the floorboards. At first he didn’t see anyone in the small room, but after a few heartbeats a young woman popped up from behind the bar, washrag in hand.
Fraul inclined his head. “I’ve had a long night. Would you be able to supply me with a stout whiskey?”
The barmaid looked as run-down as the place. Some of her dull brown hair fell out of her cap and a few dirt smudges graced her left cheek. She surveyed him with a quick glance before reaching behind her for a whiskey bottle.
Fraul sat at one of the tables and stretched his legs. He had been right about the bar being raucous. Two fallen tables and a broken chair from the previous night’s fray lay in the far corner. The chair next to him had a battle-scarred arm, reattached with heavy burlap and wire. Testing the arm for strength, he was pleasantly surprised to find it sturdy if not altogether comfortable.
The barmaid set down a glass and poured the whiskey. “These days, not many people ask for a whiskey that way,” she said. Her voice was soft but slightly rough, like silk across granite. Fraul liked a coarse texture to a woman’s voice. It gave her character. He let her question linger to ingrain her voice to memory.
“How do they ask for a whiskey then?” he asked, taking a sip of the liquid, relishing the trail of fire it left as it slid down his throat. It wasn’t as strong as he would have liked, but most of the rougher places watered down their whiskey in the hopes of keeping the patrons restrained for as long as possible.
“They usually just demand it.” The barmaid tucked a strand of hair back inside her cap and surveyed him again. Finding what she saw acceptable, she nodded. “Just holler if you want another. I’ll be in back.”
Fraul lifted his glass in thanks and watched the woman disappear though a back door. He was glad she didn’t want to make small talk. He felt like being alone with his thoughts. He took another sip, tallying everything he would need for the trek cross-country. The supplies would be tricky. He didn’t like the idea of venturing into another city to restock. He needed to estimate future needs to precision. Chaos was sure to break loose now that Ista had declared the training of the Collective. People would be mad to learn the Quy.
He rose, draining the last of his whiskey. Although another would be to his satisfaction, the stores were sure to be open. As he threw down a gold piece and turned to leave, a shrill scream came from the back. Fraul spun, unsheathing his sword in one swift motion, and darted toward the sound, all the while wondering how he always landed right in the middle of trouble.
As he rushed through the back door he looked around for a disturbance, but saw none. The barmaid stood before an open door that led to the outside alley, a large bag of garbage dropped at her feet. The bag, bursting at the seams, was beginning to leak a thin trail of liquid, smelling of stale ale and day-old meat. The girl put a quivering hand to her face and slowly backed away. When her dress moved out of the doorframe, Fraul’s eyes went wide.
A man, shaking and slightly damp from the morning’s mist, crouched in the doorway without garments or covering. Wavy black hair reached just below his shoulders, and his forehead rested against the hilt of a golden sword. As Fraul watched in stupefaction the man raised his head and looked at the woman. His hazel eyes, so light they appeared golden, held no malice or evil intent, much less any recollection.
Fraul’s looked from the golden eyes to the hilt of the sword. Etched on its surface was a woman, bound in shackles and bleeding from the heart: the sign of one betrayed. Without a doubt, Fraul knew what was on the other side of the hilt. A portrait of a man with a handful of money, dying as a golden blade drank the lifeblood from his heart, the very golden blade now before Fraul: the sign of the Avenger.
Fraul glanced back to the man’s eyes. There could be no mistaking their power.
The Avenger had been born again.
- - -
Lorlier glanced back toward Stardom and chewed his lower lip. “May the Maker have mercy,” he said for the thousandth time as he mounted his warhorse. When Ista had suggested everyone with the Quy remain behind, he had ordered his men to return to camp. He wasn’t about to release his soldiers, not until he had done a great deal of thinking.
After magic’s rebirth, he craved the long ride. He needed the wind in his hair, the smell of horses, solid ground, something he understood, not all of this humbuggery of magic.
But the Quy was something he had to face sooner or later. He was no fool. He knew many of his men wanted to train under the sorceress. Could he blame them? Magic was enticing.
The Quy, it was something he thought he would never have to deal with in his lifetime.
Turning, he scanned the troops for Marianne and Alise. Alise was talking to a of group high-ranking soldiers, batting her eyelashes with newfound confidence, not that she had lacked any before. Lorlier sighed. Alise was a boiling pot of trouble. Now she would be downright incorrigible. When the power had been reborn Alise’s scream had scared the holy dragon’s dung out of him, but the Maker had blessed the right child with the gift. Alise was the strongest of his children, and if he could have his pick would be the child who inherited th
e throne. Not even Davis matched her fire. But she was the youngest, and a daughter besides.
He scanned the throng for Marianne. As normal, Mari was off by herself, well away from the soldiers. Praise the Fates his Mari had nothing of the Quy, but even without the burden of the gift he still worried about her. Since leaving Zier a haunted look had lingered in her eyes. He had disregarded it at first, thinking it was just her nervousness about the ball. Marianne was extremely shy, like her mother Desra, and always grew nervous at such events, but now Lorlier thought her frightened look may be related to the Quy.
Lorlier heaved a sigh. Marianne was over twenty-one, past due for a husband, but he couldn’t bring himself to agree to any proposals for her hand. Marianne needed someone special, someone who loved her completely. If Marianne were Alise he would have accepted a proposal long ago, for some of Mari’s suitors held a spark in their eye when they looked at her. But he knew there was no love in those looks, only attraction. Alise would have nabbed the first attractive, powerful man she could find, but Mari shied away from everyone.
Well, everyone except Korin. Lorlier sought the white-gold hair of Korin. As usual, Korin was off by himself, and every so often his tender eyes sought Mari, making sure she was out of harm’s way. Despite Korin’s quiet manner he was extremely popular among the men, and one of the first sought for fun or sport. When Korin put his all into a job it was more like ten men than one. At times Korin wouldn’t stop working until Lorlier himself ordered him away. It was as if Korin were trying to work off a debt or punish himself for some past deed.
If it was Korin’s persistence that had first caught Lorlier’s eye it wasn’t what had won his heart. Korin loved Mari with everything he had. Mari didn’t know of course, but Lorlier did. A father could always spot a man who would lay down his life for a daughter, and Lorlier was convinced Korin would lay down his life if it would save Mari a broken finger.
Although Lorlier couldn’t be certain, he thought Mari loved Korin as well. Mari was an enigma, even more so than her mother. Lorlier had never understood how one could be so shy, so scared, and be a daughter of a king, and beautiful besides. Lorlier decided to talk to Mari soon. If his daughter loved Korin she would be the first heir to marry someone without title. He glanced at Korin, an idea forming in his mind. Korin had the gift, and Lorlier may be able to create a position that would guarantee Korin even greater respect among the guard. If Korin did well Lorlier could grant him land and a knighthood. Yes, that was exactly what he would do. Korin would become a lord, a knight of Lorlier of Fest, and he would wed Mari and love her completely.