“Somehow I thought you’d say that,” Marcus replied. His eyes had the same half-glaze as Jack’s. He’d probably shared the information.
“S’murghit! I think we have a problem,” Lanciar muttered.
“Watch your language around the children,” Vareena hissed at him.
“We haven’t time to do all that we need to,” Marcus protested.
“Then we’ll have to improvise,” Robb replied.
“Time to make our own luck, people,” Queen Miranda insisted upon hearing the news. “Magicians, get to work on whatever spells you have to cast to lay the ghost to rest and remove the curse of the gloaming. Lanciar, you and Lord Andrall devise and direct a battle plan. I shall keep you informed of the attack from the top of the tower.”
Lanciar didn’t wait for Andrall to finish bowing to the queen. “Rovers,” he shouted, “on the ramparts with any loose rubble you can find. Start tearing the walls down yourselves if you have to. Throw it at the attackers, but watch your aim. We want to scare them off—not kill them. Ladies, boil water to pour down on the villagers. That should hurt and discourage without seriously maiming and killing.”
Everyone hopped to obey as if he were truly a general and not just a middle-rank officer.
Lanciar nodded his head to his queen. She didn’t know how run a battle, but she knew how to delegate to someone with experience. She might have been a flighty, self-absorbed teenager when she turned over the rule of her country to Simeon, but now she showed the makings of a true leader. He looked forward to negotiating with her for the free passage of Rovers through her country.
The pounding on the gate increased, followed by a shriek of shattering wood.
CHAPTER 43
Marcus pulled the book out of his tunic and stared at the plain leather cover for a moment. He bit his lip while he prayed for the strength to complete the next task.
He called to mind the passages Powwell had written about his father, Ackerly.
A memory of the night he had read Ackerly’s emotions in the stone wall of the master’s suite flashed through him. Emotions he had dismissed because he did not understand them became clear. Ackerly was proud of his son.
His son, Powwell, had not been proud of the man who sired him but had never acted the father.
“Maybe, if we do this right, we won’t have to take a dangerous trip through time,” he said. “Maybe . . .”
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Jack replied after communing with his flywacket for a moment.
“We can’t allow the greed the gold inspires to go beyond these walls. I believe it possible that once the stones are torn down the gloaming, and the spell, will spread as far as the stones are scattered.” Robb had returned to his normal lecture mode.
Marcus felt better with this one return to normal. “Then let’s do it. All of you, Zolltarn and Lanciar, Margit, Robb, anyone with a bit of magical talent, come with me.”
“My Lord Andrall, will you direct the defenses according to our plan?” Lanciar called to the lord.
Andrall saluted him and began tossing orders right and left.
Satisfied, Marcus took two firm steps toward the library.
Vareena blocked his path resolutely.
“Vareena, this could be dangerous. You’d be more help trying to soothe the villagers,” Robb said gently.
“All the ghosts within this monastery are my responsibility. All of them,” she insisted. “That includes Ackerly. I will be there to guide him into his next existence. I must.”
Marcus shrugged his shoulders and smiled. “When this is all over, may I escort you to your lands in Nunio, and perhaps call upon you upon occasion?” Stargods! He loved her strength and determination.
Vareena bit her lip, then jerked her head up and down once in assent.
Marcus suddenly felt much more confident of the outcome of this day’s work. “Come along, then, all of you. Just be prepared to duck on command and avoid that ritual knife of his. He may be a ghost, but his weapon isn’t.”
In single-file, they moved into the shadowed coolness of the library. Diffused sunlight streamed through the high windows around the gallery, highlighting the centuries of accumulated dust. Instantly, the dust motes beneath the gallery began to swirl and concentrate. Ackerly formed more quickly than usual. Marcus saw the knife first, just before the ghost sped toward him, aiming the blade for his eyes.
“Scatter,” Marcus called as he dived beneath Ackerly. A preternatural chill ran down his spine. Childhood fears of monsters beneath the bed made his teeth chatter.
He clamped his jaw shut as he read one of the final passages in the journal he carried. Still lying prone, he turned the book so that it caught some of the light from the gallery windows.
“Listen to what happened to your son, Ackerly,” he said with what little control he had left. “Listen to how you tainted everything you touched, especially the lives of your only two children—bastard children at that. ‘I shall not accept a new existence when this one passes. Life hurts too much. Love hurts more. When my sister Kalen died in the pit beneath Hanassa, a large hole ripped open in my gut and it has never healed. Her death was as filled with torment as her life. Her ghost has haunted me since. When I die, her spirit will be free, not before. I have never wanted to inflict that kind of curse upon anyone. My years of seeking the best forms of healing—even though they dipped into rogue magic—have not been enough to remove the curse laid upon us by our father. I have not truly loved anyone since Kalen died. I have not fathered any children. Ackerly’s line and his curses die with me. There will be no reincarnation for any of us.’ ”
Marcus sensed stillness throughout the library.
“By the Fire of my body, the Water of my blood, the Air that I breathe, and the Kardia of my bones, I call forth the restless one who dwells only in sadness and refuses to live!” Zolltarn shouted to each of the four corners of the room, the four cardinal directions.
Vareena repeated his chant four times facing each of the four walls.
Margit followed suit. As did Jack.
“That sounds like a coven ritual,” Robb whispered.
“Who cares, as long as it accomplishes something positive,” Marcus replied.
LIES! Ackerly’s voice boomed through Marcus’ mind.
He clamped his hands over his ears in a futile effort to block out the reverberations and the need to crawl out of the monastery in abject defeat.
“It’s just the ghost. There is nothing to fear. We can handle him,” Marcus muttered to himself over and over.
“Lies! You wish to steal my gold. All lies. Everything is lies.” Ackerly flew around the room so rapidly Marcus couldn’t separate the trail of dust from his ethereal robes from the cloud of dust around his hair. His voice had become audible to mundane senses. His emotions must be roiling and totally beyond control.
Lanciar kept the ghost from fleeing to the courtyard with wild slashes of his iron sword at the doorway.
“Your life and your death have all been lies,” Marcus announced. He noted that Ackerly stayed away from Zolltarn, Lanciar, Margit, and Vareena. The haze seemed to thicken around them, a misty veil deeper than the half existence Ackerly had created for himself and his gold.
“What good is the gold, Ackerly? What good did you accomplish by hoarding it all these centuries?” Marcus had to keep the ghost occupied until Zolltarn finished his conjure.
Gold is power. I have power as long as I have the gold.
“You have nothing. Power exists only when it involves other people. Hidden away here you have power over nothing. Not even yourself.”
I have the gold.
“Hoarding the gold makes you a failure. You won’t use it to buy land or trade with foreign countries. You can’t buy influence in politics. You can’t help the poor. You are a failure, Ackerly. A failure in your life and in your death. You can’t even get to your next existence properly. And your greed kept your son and daughter from seeking their next existence. Y
ou denied them their due. You FAILED!” Marcus taunted the ghost.
You know nothing. Without the gold I am nothing. Ackerly’s wails became shriller, more desperate.
“With the gold, you are less than nothing,” a new voice said softly.
Everyone in the room turned to look at the figure that stood at the top of the spiral iron stair. More fully formed than Ackerly, the light still shone through the man. His curly dark hair stood out around his head in a kind of halo. Old-fashioned blue robes, similar to what master magicians still wore for formal occasions, fluttered as if in a breeze. He anchored his staff against the first stair.
Vareena took a step closer, staring at the man’s tired gray eyes. Compassion, as well as inner pain, radiated from those eyes. Those eyes had seen more pain and destruction than a man three times his age. Marcus doubted he’d seen more than thirty summers. And yet he seemed ageless, timeless. He held his twisted staff in his right hand, a miniature hedgehog in his left. A familiar that had followed him into death.
The hedgehog bristled and wiggled in response to Powwell’s emotions.
A curious shadow stood behind his left shoulder, a darker, shorter, duplicate of himself.
Not too different from Jack’s double aura, or the one that Queen Rossemikka possessed.
What strange entity haunted him?
“We could not have conjured your son if his soul resided anywhere but drifting aimlessly in the void,” Marcus said quietly. He knew Ackerly heard him.
“I am Powwell, of the Commune of Magicians. You called me across time for a purpose,” the new entity announced.
“We called you to confront your father.” Marcus found the courage to speak first.
“My father is not worth the time and trouble. Your true need and purpose must be great indeed to risk calling me forth from the void.”
“Your father has also refused his next existence. He and his gold have cursed this place for nigh on three hundred years. We have called you to heal him,” Zolltarn answered the man’s plea. He had, after all initiated the spell.
“You were the greatest healer of your time,” Jack added. “And you could not heal yourself because you never had the opportunity to confront your father. I thank the Stargods that the dragons gave my father the opportunity to continue his destiny as a dragon so that I could confront him and find myself in my heritage. We give you the same chance.”
“For all of our sakes, acknowledge Ackerly and guide him to his next existence,” Vareena concluded.
“I hate to interrupt this sentimental reunion, folks, but the door around Rejiia’s tower is smoking,” Lanciar hissed from the doorway. “She’ll be drawn to the magic swirling around us all like iron to lodestone.”
“I repeat, the man who sired me is not worth the trouble and danger you face when drawing me across time and distance.” Powwell turned away.
I refute your accusation! Ackerly screamed. The cloud of dust approached the iron stairway. I dedicated my life to making Nimbulan’s life easier, more organized. I fed him when he was too exhausted to think. I made sure all of his equipment was at hand while he waged battle on the enemies of Coronnan. I supported him all our lives and he betrayed me. As you, Powwell, and your sister Kalen betrayed me. He stopped short at the bottom step.
Once before the iron in the stairway had repulsed him. He could approach no closer to his son.
Could Powwell cross the barrier iron placed between them? There were higher and thicker barriers to contend with first.
“You betrayed Nimbulan, the greatest magician of his age, perhaps of any age. You tried to kill him with an overdose of Tambootie, and then you usurped his position in the University. You sold the services of half-trained apprentices for gold. You manipulated and coerced the lords of the land for gold. You did nothing for others, only for your own selfish greed,” Powwell accused. He kept his back to his father.
The gold was to be your inheritance. I did not want either you or Kalen to be left destitute and dependent because of the wars. Ackerly held out a hand to his son in entreaty.
“Then why did you secrete the gold here where no one could find it? Why didn’t you acknowledge your two bastards and at least give them names? You did nothing for us. Kalen died barely two years after you did. She was still a child. The victim of yet another who sought to use her talent for their own gain and without regard for her soul.”
I left clues. If only you had sought them. You were both children when I departed Coronnan. If I had left the gold in an obvious place, it would have been stolen from you. You might have been murdered for it.
Powwell turned back to face his father. He took two steps forward only to stop, or be stopped by the iron stairs.
Marcus sensed something important was going on. He needed to listen and learn, perhaps heal his own hurts by their example.
The scent of woodsmoke drew his attention to the doorway. Flames shot upward across the courtyard. The door to the lesser tower exploded outward.
Rejiia stalked through the fire, free of her bonds.
CHAPTER 44
Jack watched as Rejiia, with a deceptively subtle gesture, knocked flat three determined Rover women armed with rolling pins. Black-and-red spikes of magic radiated from her aura. Everything that came in contact with those layers of energy was in danger.
How had she overcome the magical dissipation of the gloaming? Then he realized he could see her quite clearly. She had discarded the coin that trapped her between dimensions as soon as she broke the bonds he, Marcus, and Robb had wrapped around her.
And she reeked of Tambootie. The leaves of the tree of magic, which she probably kept about her person at all times, could temporarily enhance her powers. But once the effects of the drug wore off . . .
Three more women, Zolltarn’s head wife in the lead, jumped to attack the renegade witch with pots full of boiling water. Everything they threw at the determined woman bounced off her armor and back in the faces of her attackers.
The women cowered away from her, covering their eyes.
Around them, Rovers, nobles, and the others confronted the villagers with whatever weapons came to hand. Miranda stood on the observation platform of the northwest tower calling to Lord Andrall the activities of each attacker still outside the walls. The noise of that battle distracted Jack from the impending magical duel with his old enemy.
Rejiia’s eyes burned with her need for revenge. Flames nearly shot from her gaze. But her hands shook. With pent-up emotion or a side effect of the Tambootie?
Jack wanted to cower away from Rejiia and the memory of what she had done to him in the prison cell in Queen’s City. The last time he’d battled her, she’d been calm and controlled, almost mocking in her superiority.
But she’d fled in defeat when confronted by a united Commune.
The weasel statue of her father, Lord Krej, rocked on top of the bardo as she passed. The muzzle and ears had joined both front legs and the tail in becoming realistically furry. His mouth opened, and he drooled. More of the tin casing dropped away from his head. Not a trace of humanity touched his features.
Before Jack could think of a ploy to stop or delay Rejiia, the inner gate split and tumbled forward on top of the jumble of bardos. Hopefully, the maze of sledges and cabins, of milling steeds, squawking flusterhens, and bawling children would slow them down until Ackerly’s angry influence had been negated.
Where were the soldiers and Gnuls from the capital? How much time did they have? Amaranth didn’t know and didn’t care. He only wanted to hide his head under a wing and pretend all this chaos and noise would go away.
Jack sent him safely into the air to search.
He had no idea how the breach in the defenses of the monastery would affect the curse on the gold. Would it spread or dissipate? Maybe nothing at all would affect it but a true reversal of the curse. Whatever, they had to finish before the army with the Gnuls and witch-sniffers arrived.
His fellow magicians looked anxiously back
and forth between the melee at the gate and Rejiia’s advancing menace.
Jack waved them over to the gate. “Take care of Katrina for me. I’ll be with you shortly,” he said. “Rejiia is mine.”
“And mine,” Lanciar added. He took up his position shoulder to shoulder with Jack. “We may have been enemies once, but in this we are allies.”
“We forged some interesting bonds on that frigid mountain pass . . . comrade,” Jack replied.
“Friend. And kin.”
Jack needed more time to forgive Lanciar. He nodded his acceptance that one day they might walk side by side as friends. One day. Not yet.
Together they faced their foe.
“Jack, Rejiia’s element seems to be fire,” Margit said, almost breathless.
Jack raised an eyebrow at her.
“I did some research on opposing elements for Jaylor. Air and Fire are linked. Water and Kardia oppose them. Use Water and Kardia. You can negate her magic without harming the others around her. Trust me.”
Across the courtyard the other magicians joined the Rovers and nobles in shoving obstacles in front of the invading villagers. Queen Miranda moved atop Zolltarn’s large bardo with Lord Andrall for more immediate observation and direction of the defenses.
Amaranth showed Jack images of the soldiers led by Vareena’s brother on the far side of the river. They were still almost a league from the ford. Without the professionals backing the locals and urging them to battle, Jack and his companions had a chance to end this without giving or receiving serious injury.
With the transport spell, he could then evacuate all of the magicians from the place and keep them safe from Gnul persecution. Zolltarn could tend to his own people quite nicely.
Rejiia raised her hands, fingers arched, fire at her command, murder in her eyes.
“Let’s see if your research works, Margit, because I don’t have any other ideas,” Jack muttered. He took a deep breath and began his spell. “Gather together, drop by drop, seek your like, find the path,” he chanted calling upon the element of Water to oppose Fire. “Gather to a trickle, spread to a stream, climb to a wave.”
The Wizard's Treasure (The Dragon Nimbus) Page 34