by Devri Walls
There were three things in life that bothered him. One, why was Deasroc never paid for their never ending supply barges? Two, the people of Eriroc had suffered beyond what was right—there was little he could do about that, so he did his best to ignore it. And three, how did those cursed thieves evade him at every turn? Where could they be hiding? It was the strangest thing. They always seemed to appear and disappear at the most convenient times. He would be chasing one, and then he would disappear like they were the ghosts of the forest instead of common thieves.
Whispers drifted up from below, and Asher listened in—his other favorite part of sitting on the roofs was that he overheard so much. It was like being a fly on the wall.
“Rose, I brought what I could, but the scrapes were few this week.”
“Thank you, Griffon, but give it to someone else in need.”
Griffon had his hand in so much. That man snuck around most the night, and Asher didn’t know the half of what he did.
“I told you before, Rose, it’s not charity.”
“It is charity, but that’s not the point. Tybolt overpaid my boy considerably for his services. I can afford food for a while.”
“Bless that boy. He’s going to kill himself trying to save all of us.”
Asher leaned his head back against the chimney as the voices floated away. He’d tried to hate Tybolt, back when he’d listened to every word out of Terric’s mouth. But he’d grown up. And unlike most of the Hunters, he wasn’t blind. Tybolt practically oozed goodness. He tried to cover it up with wit and sarcasm at court, but Asher had spent too much time on rooftops. He knew the truth. He’d been tempted to offer Tybolt help, but his pride held him back. The annoying nudging that perhaps the people had suffered enough wasn’t so annoying that he was ready to help those who’d done so much harm to him and his own.
A sound of metal on stone rang through the air, and Asher peered around. “What’s he doing working at this time of night?” Asher muttered to himself. Of course, none of the villagers would dare complain about the noise. They would rather endure it than risk drawing the attention of the king.
A flash of movement in the dark caught his eye. From over the wall, Asher saw something emerge from the trees, a horse, running towards the gates at full speed. Asher got up and leapt from one rooftop to the next, silently working his way closer to the gate. He could make out the rider now. Tybolt. What was he up to this time?
The moment the horse rode through the gate, Tybolt slumped over like a broken doll. The stonecutter started shouts of “wizard” and Asher froze, unable to fully wrap his mind around what was happening. Wizard?
Asher knew he should leap down and at least hold Tybolt captive until they could figure out what was going on—but something held him back. He looked around. No one would know he’d been here.
He scampered down the opposite side of the roof and dropped into the graveyard, silent as death. He snuck around the side of the house but pulled up short. Someone was standing in the alley, watching the action at the gate unfold. Asher slid back into the shadows.
The figure pulled a pendant from beneath his cloak and began whispering incantations. Another wizard. Asher nearly leapt from his hiding place to snatch this one. Then the pendant the wizard held started to give off a faint glow, just enough to illuminate the owner. King Rowan.
Rowan hissed incantations more intensely, and a roll of thunder came from the west, then a crack of lightning. Asher’s heart pounded and pieces started to fall together.
A heavy wind rolled through the village, and Rowan slumped against the wall, letting go of the pendant. As he did so, the wind collapsed in on itself, sinking to the ground in a puff of air. The thunder stopped and everything returned to what it had been. Rowan pulled the hood back up and adopted a strange hunch before hurrying out into the street.
Asher slid down the wall, trying to slow his breathing and calm his mind. He rested his arms over his knees and sorted through what had just happened. Rowan could control weather. Rowan was a wizard. Rowan. But what about Tybolt? A Hunter and a wizard? How…his mind wandered again, this time into places he’d never dreamed of, and he had an idea. A crazy idea.
Rowan ripped open the doors to his balcony. If he could kill Tybolt, the power would revert back to Aja, and thus to him. He eyed the wooden chest in which he kept the book. It held the incantation he’d used to amplify the powers he’d stolen the first time. It offered him much less control than Aja’s magic, but another Fracture was exactly what he needed—out of control was a benefit now.
Rowan pulled out the pendant and steadied himself against the rail. He began with the incantations to control weather. He felt the tug at his very soul as he begged for more power than he was pulling from the Hold.
Asher casually strolled through the gates into the castle keep. The guards paid him no mind—they were accustomed to his nightly escapades. He waited until he was out of the guards’ sight line before he adjusted his course and headed for the Hold. The young Hunter on guard was nodding off and jolted half off his chair when Asher kicked the leg. “I need to see one of the prisoners. He might have information we need.”
The young Hunter looked at him with weary eyes. “But they can’t speak.”
“Oh really? I wasn’t aware. I am here on order of the king. Would you like to bring up your concerns with him?”
“No, sir.” The young Hunter leapt to his feet and opened the door.
“I won’t be long, so don’t fall asleep while I’m in there.”
“I’m not allowed to sleep on duty.”
“So I’m told.” He stepped inside and waited until the first door closed before opening the second one. Rowan had specifically ordered that no guards be on the inside of the Hold at night, which left no one to witness what Asher was about to do.
He grabbed one of the torches and turned the corner, striding down the hall of wizards. The light washed into the cages, and many of them stirred. He heard them moving to the bars, watching him as he walked.
He was nearly halfway down the hall when groans and cries filled the Hold. Asher turned and held up the torch. Some of the wizards slumped lifeless in their cells, while others wrapped their fingers around the bars, clenching them desperately as they hung like marionettes on strings. A few tossed and writhed, gritting their teeth as if in immense pain.
It looked familiar…it was exactly what had happened when Tybolt crossed into the city.
“What is going on?” he whispered. He ran to the end cell. “Aja!” He shoved the light to the bars. “Aja!”
The most defiant of wizards was slumped in the back of his cell, something he never did.
“I need your help.”
Aja didn’t even acknowledge his presence. Why would he? Asher crouched down. “Listen, I know you have no reason to believe a word I’m about to say, but I need to ask you something. I just saw…I saw…” He set his jaw and blurted the words he was loath to say. “Rowan’s a wizard.”
Aja grunted and fell to the side. He partially crawled, mostly slid, across the floor. Aja wrapped one hand around the bottom bars and painfully pulled himself into sitting position. He leaned his back against the wall. His head flopped to the side, and he moaned again.
“Is Tybolt your son?” Asher asked thickly.
Aja wouldn’t look at him. He gave no indication he’d even heard what was said. That in itself was more answer than he’d expected.
“All right, let’s try something easier. Did you cause the Fracture?”
Aja’s head raised as the sound of lightning cracked somewhere outside the coast. He met Asher’s eyes and gave a firm, deliberate head shake to the negative.
Asher noticed the glowing purple inscriptions below the cells. He ran his finger over it. “What is this?” Was this the symbol the stonecutter had been carving on the walls of the city? Asher gripped the bars and leaned in. “The Fracture, was it Rowan?”
Aja’s face registered shock and surprise, and he pulled hi
mself to his knees, searching Asher’s eyes. He slowly nodded yes.
Asher stood and took two unsteady steps backwards. He had no reason to trust Aja, none. But the story had never made sense. Rowan, an ordinary man, was able to somehow disarm the land’s most powerful wizard in the midst of wielding so much power that he nearly destroyed the entire island? That he was able to subdue Aja and cut out his tongue was crazy. But if Rowan was strong enough to cause the Fracture, he would’ve been strong enough to defeat Aja. This story fit, but why would Rowan destroy everything?
It didn’t matter why.
He’d seen the way Aja watched Tybolt. The other Hunters mocked Tybolt for it, but Asher had simply logged it in his list of questions that never had answers. Aja watched Tybolt not as an enemy but as a, well—a son.
“I understand why you don’t want to confirm my suspicions, but if Tybolt’s your son, then he’s heir to the throne.” Asher ground his teeth. This was harder than he thought. He’d always sworn he’d never bow to a wizard, but Tybolt…Tybolt was different. The people needed someone—they needed him. The thunder and lightning grew closer, closer than he’d heard in recent memory. Rowan was bringing in a storm, and a nasty one by the sounds of it.
“They know Tybolt’s a wizard. I don’t know how, but he came through the gates and something happened. He could barely stand, and the stonecutter started shouting about him being a wizard. I was right there—I could’ve brought him to the Hold, but I let him go. Do you hear me? I let him go! He’s in the forest now, but it’s only a matter of time before Rowan sends us out after him. I’m going to ask you one more time. Is Tybolt your son? I need to know.”
Aja grunted and tried to pull himself up to standing. Asher reached in and helped him to his feet. The former king straightened as tall as he could before bringing his eyes up to meet Asher’s. He seemed to be evaluating him, searching his intentions. Then Aja gave a deliberate nod.
Tybolt was the heir to Eriroc. This was insane—more than insane. Rowan would have his head.
Asher ran across the courtyard with his arm over his face. The storm had hit land, and the precursor winds buffeted him with pounds of parched dirt and old hay that had been only too willing to jump into the wind’s embrace. He headed for the kitchen entrance, where no one would ask any questions. He stumbled in, slamming the door behind him. Even still, the wind blew every herb and spice off the counters. The few cooks in the kitchen shot him nasty looks, but Asher ignored them and ran past.
He shook his cloak out the best he could, but it was coated so heavily with dirt and debris there was little he could do. He would need help, but there was only one person he thought he could talk to. Luckily for him, he knew exactly where to find her.
Terric had a large mouth and couldn’t help but boast about locking Auriella up on the king’s orders. Asher had been concerned about getting down into the secret dungeon without being seen. As luck would have it, everyone in the castle was plastered to the windows to witness the storm. Small pings sounded against glass, and even Asher pulled up short for a second.
Rain!
Those at the windows gasped and cheered. Asher forced himself to return to the task at hand. He padded down the hall as lightly as he could. He quickly pulled back the tapestry that hid the door and slid inside, grabbing a torch from the wall as he went. He made his way down the stairs and held out the torch at the base to find the correct cell. Aurelia was curled up in the corner of the cell to his right.
She didn’t look up. “Go away, Terric.”
“It’s not Terric.”
She turned her head, blinking furiously as her eyes adjusted to the light. Her hair was a mass of snarls, and her face was smeared with dirt and old tear trails. She frowned. “Asher?”
“We need to talk.”
Tybolt tore through the forest on Widow Maker, putting as much distance between him and the city as possible. Out of nowhere, Alistair stepped from behind a tree and straight into his path.
Tybolt yanked back Widow Maker to avoid trampling the old man. The horse reared, screaming in irritation. “What is the matter with you?” Tybolt yelled. “You don’t step in front of a running horse.”
“What is the matter with me?” Alistair shouted back. “What’s the matter with you? You went back to the city, didn’t you?”
Widow Maker spun to the left and then to the right, stamping his feet and snorting despite Tybolt’s pull on the reins.
“Didn’t you?”
“I couldn’t just leave her there.”
Alistair gave a sound somewhere between a growl and yell. “You’re just like your father,” Alistair said, pointing. “Just like him! All you care about is what you want, and the rest of us be damned.” He gripped his head and walking in a circle, taking deep breaths. He faced Tybolt. “Were you seen?”
Tybolt dismounted, unwilling to answer.
“I can’t believe this,” Alistair said. “You were seen. Who was it? Did they follow you?”
“They know I’m a wizard.”
“What?”
Tybolt bent over and grabbed a broken stick.
“I know whittling relaxes you, but now is not the time! I need you to tell me everything.”
A crack of thunder sounded in the distance, and Tybolt glanced up before drawing a symbol in the dirt. “Have you ever seen this?”
Alistair peered at the two interlocking circles. “Yes,” he drawled. “Why?”
“I was hoping you could tell me what it was. I’ve seen it before in the Hold, and today the stonecutter was carving this around the entrance to the city. The moment I passed through the gate I…” He tried to figure out how to put into words what he’d experienced. “I lost all my strength. It felt like every bit of energy and magic was being pulled out of me.”
Alistair’s eyes were focused on the symbol in the dirt. “You say this mark is in the Hold too. Are you sure?”
“Yes, everywhere. Entrances, doors, floors. I’d never noticed them before, but during Festival when we pulled Aja from his cell, they flickered purple for a few moments. I probably would’ve forgotten all about it, but when we opened the door, Aja could barely stand. We had to carry him out of the Hold. It was odd. Aja prides himself on looking us straight in the eyes. It’s his way of defying us.”
“Sounds like my brother.”
“He was so weak we dragged him down the hall, but the moment we left the Hold, his strength returned. That is exactly what happened when I passed through the gate.”
“You said this symbol flickered purple?”
“Yes.”
The wind was picking up rapidly, and dry pine needles pelted them. “Come with me.” Alistair stood and brushed off his cloak, still not looking away from the circles. He finally turned and walked away.
Tybolt shook his head and shouted. “The horn was sounded. I expect Rowan will be sending Hunters out soon.” He pulled himself up on Widow Maker. “Shall we go the fast way, or will you insist on walking?”
“Walking. That horse hates me.”
“True. But he hates everyone.” Widow Maker snorted in response. “If you sit behind me, I guarantee you’re far enough away from his teeth.”
Alistair scowled at the horse, but he came around and gave Tybolt his hand.
The storm grew stronger, and Tybolt could smell ocean salt on the wind. He had a bad feeling about this one. “Hold on.”
He kicked Widow Maker and the horse took off. By the time they arrived at the wizards’ tree village, the wind was strong enough to turn the pelting dirt, pebbles, and leaves into weapons. Something slashed across the back of Tybolt’s hand, drawing blood.
Alistair leapt from the horse and pounded on the trunk with the rock. The ladder rolled down, bouncing against the tree and flying up with the wind. Tybolt leapt up and snatched it, pulling it down so Alistair could start climbing.
Once on the walkway between trees, Tybolt grabbed the nearest branch and began scaling higher.
“Where are you g
oing?” Alistair hollered over the wind.
“I need to look at the clouds.” He pushed his way through the top of a canopy. The leaves moved and thrashed like the waves of the sea. The wind berated him, and he peered out through slit lids to find purple-rimmed storm clouds stacked columns high. The cloud formations ran in a solid line across the entire southern side of the island.
Tybolt hurriedly dropped back to the deck. “Wizard made,” he announced. “And it’s already past the boundary that normally stops it.”
Alistair’s eyes widened. “Rowan got word you’re a wizard. I told you not to go back to the city, you foolish boy.”
He hadn’t meant to be stupid, but his intentions were of little good now. “You can yell at me later. Right now show me what we came for.”
The trees bowed under the assault of the wind. Alistair turned and jogged across the bridge to his room, Tybolt on his heels. The shutters banged open and shut, and the wood beneath their feet creaked in protest. A flash of lightning cracked too close for comfort.
Inside Tybolt, a frightened little boy reared his head. This scene looked all too familiar.
Alistair pulled a metal chest from beneath his bed and ran his hand over the top. The lid slowly opened.
“What is it?”
“Something I can’t read.” Alistair pulled out a tattered book. He sat on the edge of the bed and struggled to flip the pages while the wind hindered his efforts. “There,” Alistair said. “Is this what you saw?”
“Yes, exactly,” Tybolt said. “What does it mean?”
“I don’t know. I told you I can’t read it.”
Tybolt looked at him in disbelief.
“This book originated from Deasroc. It’s written in their ancient language, not ours. There are only two copies that I know of. Rowan was in possession of both. We stole one, but it doesn’t do me a bit of good.”