Call of Brindelier (Keepers of the Wellsprings Book 3)

by Missy Sheldrake

  “You can stay,” Mya says as Mum and Da return. “We’ll need you to tell us everything you remember.” Da looks a little sleepy-eyed, but much calmer than he had been. He looks at me, shakes his head, and offers me a one-armed hug.

  “We’ll get through it,” he says. His tone is gruff, but his words are a small comfort. As he goes to take a seat at the table with the others, I look to the door expecting to see Rian. Mum notices.

  “Rian’s going to see if he can convince Gaethon to come,” she explains.

  “Good luck with that,” Bryse grumbles. “Haven’t seen hide or hair of him for the better part of a week.”

  “He’s doing what he must, Bryse,” Mya says. “These are trying times. His priorities are the Academy, and Mage relations with the Palace. We accept that. What about Donal?” she looks to Mum.

  “He offered to bring the horses back,” Mum replies. “We were just past the Forest Wall and he wanted to take a moment with the White Line.”

  “Inquiring about Dacva, I imagine,” Mya shakes her head.

  “What about Dacva?” I ask with a shiver.

  “He disappeared after the attack,” Elliot explains as he curls up in his armchair by the fire and yawns. “Just like you did.”

  “What do you mean, disappeared?” I ask.

  “Donal sent him out to Redstone to offer healing,” Mya explains. “He never returned. Donal’s been inquiring about him since then. Elliot even took some time to search.”

  “Suspicious if you ask me,” Bryse grunts and pours himself a tankard of wine. “Never did fit in, that one.” He looks at me seeking support for his sentiment. Bryse knows Dacva and I have a history, and he’s always been abrasive toward Dacva because of it. Dacva used to be my rival, and spent the better part of our growing years tormenting me. When his guild, Redemption, betrayed the King, he became a healer under Donal and made an effort to join us. Mya is the one to make membership decisions, and she has continued to hold Dacva at arm’s length. He isn’t even permitted in the guild hall like Saesa is, even though her seniority is lower than his.

  “So he just disappeared?” Tib asks with a scowl. “From Redstone?”

  "At the risk of sounding callous,” Mya sighs, “his whereabouts is the least of our worries right now. The Conclave has assured us they’re doing their best to search for him. In the meantime, we have bigger fish in the net.”

  When everyone nods their agreement with varying degrees of reluctance, Mya continues.

  “We’ll have to make do with those of you who are here, for now.” Her gaze lingers across the room at her lute before it comes to rest on the stack of papers spread across the table. She gestures to the benches, and everyone takes a seat.

  “As those of us who have been in Cerion know well,” she begins thoughtfully, “His Majesty is grieving. He is fighting with his conscience over the loss of his son. Justice was served by the courts, indeed, and the king is pleased, but the father is stricken with grief,” she sighs, “and fear.” She glances toward the door to make sure no one is eavesdropping.

  “In the wake of the attacks and the horrific nature of them, he is enraged. He seeks to blame and to avenge. He looks everywhere he can for some inkling of explanation, for some relief for what’s happened. These are dangerous emotions for a king. It’s trying enough to rule a kingdom fairly in times of peace. The greater challenge is presented when times are difficult. When emotions are raw.”

  The room is silent save for the crackling of the fire as Mya goes on. Even Bryse and Da, who are usually rather vocal, sip from their tankards quietly as they listen.

  “We must remember who we are in such times. Each of us joined this group as a trusted friend of the man, Tirnon. His Majesty’s Elite is not just an honorable title bestowed upon us. It is the meat of our existence. The essence of who we are. We stand beside our king in easy times and in difficult times. We are not soldiers who unflinchingly follow his orders. His Majesty has his generals and his fleets and armies. He has his city guard. We are not those. We are a trusted fellowship with the responsibility to Tirnon, the man. He is our king first, and very closely behind that, he is our friend. We cannot forget Tirnon the man in these difficult times. It is to him that we owe our fealty.”

  “None of us argues against that, Mya,” Mum says. “But when he accuses our daughter—”

  “We aren’t getting into that again,” Mya raises her hand and interrupts Mum. “We all agree that we trust Azi and there’s no basis for him to be suspicious of her. Some new information has come to light that complicates things, but we need to organize ourselves before we go to His Majesty with it. Thankfully, I think Tib here has some knowledge that will help. He’s been in the attackers’ stronghold, apparently, so His Majesty will have a proper focus.”

  “What? Why didn’t you say so sooner?” Bryse slaps his hands on the table. “How’d you manage that? What did you see, boy?”

  “Where is it?” Elliot asks.

  “How many are in there?” Da leans toward Tib.

  “I don’t know how many, or where it is,” he replies. “I know there are at least a few Sorcerers, and some guards. The Sorcerers aren’t the ones in charge, though. I don’t think so, anyway. They answered to creatures. Like fairies, only black. With black skin and wings. They could talk in the Sorcerers’ minds, but I could hear them. They’re the ones who took the prince. I could feel him.”

  “Feel him?” Mya leans across the table to Tib. “What do you mean?”

  “The magic was thick there,” Tib explains. “It was all over. Heavy and strong. Cruel. I felt an excitement around the prince. Like they were doing something to his remains. Planning something. The Sorcerer that held me got yelled at for bringing me too close to that place.”

  “Necromancy,” a deep voice in the doorway makes us all jump. Uncle Gaethon shakes his head darkly as he ushers Rian in and whispers stronger wards across the door. “They mean to raise him.”

  The two Mages, Master and Mentor, cross the room together. Rian takes a seat beside me, but Uncle chooses to pace while thoughtfully stroking his beard.

  “Just before the attack,” he explains, “we noticed that several transcribed titles from our libraries had gone missing. Tomes which had been copied to send to Sunteri, to replenish their libraries. They shared a common theme: that of the afterlife. Necromancy. Restoring that which has perished. These tomes were highly protected, deeply secret, and only permitted for study by the highest ranking Mages of the Academy. Within our walls, they were never to be practiced. Their knowledge was only meant to be gleaned in order to educate those who might seek to fight against it.

  “There were many arguments against transcribing these tomes for Sunteri’s library. In the end, those who argued for them were the winning voice.” He stops behind Rian and squeezes his shoulder reassuringly.

  “My most trusted student was given the task of copying those tomes,” he says, and Rian pales a little. “Several wards of protection were placed upon them before they were taken to the binder, and yet they still managed to escape our watchful eyes.”

  He turns and for the first time faces me. When he does, his brow rises so high that it nearly gets lost in his arched hairline.

  “Niece,” he says, and when he speaks, I’m surprised his voice is filled with relief rather than scolding. “Rian has explained to me the manner of your recent travels. It did not take long to conclude that your journeys have been orchestrated in an effort to balance out this recent darkness. This threat.”

  He turns to the others, who are listening with rapt attention.

  “I urge us all to rally behind our new Paladin in the quest which has been bestowed upon her. The balance of all things is in jeopardy, and I believe she and Rian and their relations with Kythshire will be the only hope of restoring order and peace to our great city, and comfort to our king. We at the Academy have been watching the approach of a great convergence for some time now. That event is growing near, and we must do what we
can to guide it to the Light.”

  “Azi,” Mya says in a hushed tone, “perhaps you ought to read the letter again, now that we’re all here.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five: Sons of the Prince

  Tib

  Everything’s quiet while Azi reads the letter aloud. As soon as she finishes, Saesa gasps and clings to my arm. Azi looks up at her. Everyone else does, too.

  “Errie,” Saesa whispers and glances at me. She looks back at the table of Elite. “Sorry,” she says, “it’s just…”

  “You know of a son other than the young prince?” Master Gaethon asks Saesa. He’s been pacing all this time, but he stops in front of her and his jaw clenches. “Other than Amei’s child?”

  “We never spoke of it, sir, but a palace maid came to live with us in the manse nearly three years ago,” Saesa explains. “She was forced to leave her position due to her condition.” She whispers the last. “Her name is Maisie. She named her son Errie.”

  “Bold of her,” Cort smirks.

  “Where is she now?” Master Gaethon asks.

  “She married a kind old merchant,” Saesa replies. “They live on Ansten Row, near the center market.”

  “Rian,” Master Gaethon leans over his student. Rian doesn’t hear at first. He’s busy writing something down. He slides it to Azi. I don’t bother looking. Someday I’ll get around to learning to read.

  “You’ll find the answer you seek in Orivosak,” Rian says, like a quote of something only the two of them know.

  “Orivosak,” Azi murmurs. “Kaso Viro.” She looks a little relieved at the discovery, but the rest of us are puzzled.

  “When we were away,” Rian pauses like he’s trying to find the right words, “we were given a quest. To find a hidden city and claim it for the Dawn, to keep the Dusk from doing so. If we succeed, the city will belong to Cerion. We were told to look for instructions on how to reach it in Orivosak. I thought it was a place.” He takes a book from the folds of his robes and puts it on the table. “It’s not, though. It’s a person. Orivosak is Kaso Viro, backwards.”

  “Indeed,” Master Gaethon says. “But the letter explicitly lists that which must be done before you seek Kaso Viro.”

  “Right,” Mya says, “the first of which is ensuring the safety of the sons of the prince.”

  “If they get their hands on a relative of Eron,” Rian says with fear, “especially a descendant, they’ll succeed. They’ll raise him, and he’ll be theirs to command.”

  “It’s unthinkable,” Mya shivers. “Imagine what His Majesty would do at the sight of it.”

  “Precisely,” Gaethon agrees. “Amei’s son is safe enough. He’s quite well protected by the wards of the palace, and in addition he has come into possession of a powerful item gifted by the princess’s homeland. It seems they had the foresight to bestow extra protections on the lad.”

  “The vest,” I nod, remembering Loren’s satchel. “Loren brought it.” I explain to Saesa.

  “Loren?” Master Gaethon asks.

  “He’s an apprentice,” I explain. “From Stepstone. His master sent him with it, for the prince.” I explain to them about the fight with Celli in the alley, and how when Loren delivered the vest to Finn, I was suspicious.

  “Interesting,” Gaethon says. “I should like to meet this apprentice.”

  “Where is he now?” Azi asks as her eyes scan the page again.

  “Sleeping,” Saesa whispers, “At Nessa’s. We weren’t sure whether he was trustworthy, but Nessa didn’t want to turn him out.” She avoids Master Gaethon’s gaze as she explains. “Lilen put a sleep spell on him. He’s been resting in the spare room ever since.”

  “Lilen,” Master Gaethon mutters, “is that so?”

  “Yes, sir,” Saesa whispers, a little pale.

  “Remarkable,” is all he says. He scratches his beard and turns back to the others.

  “One son protected,” Mya says with a satisfied nod. “And another located. We’ll offer them wards for now until we can break the news to Tirnon.”

  “What if there are more?” Azi asks. “More than two sons?”

  “There is a way to find out,” Gaethon sighs, “though it means dabbling further than our reach permits.”

  “What do you mean, Gaethon?” Mya asks.

  “Blood magic,” he answers darkly. “A drop of blood from any of the royal family would guide us to others of their line.”

  I think of Quenson standing on the dais at the front of the High Court, holding a dripping burlap bag.

  “How long does it take?” I ask. “That spell?”

  Gaethon turns to me.

  “It is fairly immediate,” he says.

  “They already know about Errie, then,” I scowl.

  “Most likely,” Gaethon nods.

  “So why are we standing here?” I start for the door. Rian gets up, too. Azi joins him, but Mya shakes her head.

  “Azi, we need you here. Rian and Tib, go ahead,” she says. “Outfit yourself first, Tib.” She points to a door that’s unfamiliar to me. “Hurry. Offer them a place here, if they need it.”

  “Wait,” Saesa calls. At first I think she’s going to want to come, too, but instead she holds out the wand to Rian. “This is why I came here tonight. Loren had it on him. I think it was meant for you.”

  Gaethon cranes his neck to watch as Rian takes the wand from Saesa. As soon as it touches his fingertips, I feel a change. A charge. A melding. It binds to Rian. He rolls the ivory between his fingers. The room goes silent.

  “Greetings, Rian,” a woman’s voice echoes in his mind. One that only he and I can hear. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I am Aster. I belong to Kaso Viro. I’m here to help, but you must return me when our work is finished.”

  “Thanks, Saesa,” Rian nods to her. He tucks the wand into his pocket and bends to kiss Azi.

  “Wait,” Mya says just as we’re about to leave. “Tib, before you go, tell us about the keep. Could you tell where it was?”

  “Not really,” I say with a shake of my head. I’m too concerned about Maisie and Errie to focus on her question, but I try to. “I was only outside for a short time, and I could only see it from a cliff below. It was a stout keep. Short. It had colored glass windows. The south wall looked crumbled. Like ruins. The rest of it was all right, though. There were flags flapping from some of the towers. Red and orange and all torn up.”

  If it was quiet before, it’s even quieter now.

  “Impossible,” Bryse growls eventually.

  “It’s a coincidence. It has to be,” Mya whispers. “Elliot.”

  “I’m halfway there already,” Elliot murmurs in his sleep.

  “What?” I look from them to Saesa, who seems just as shocked as the rest of them.

  “Orange and red,” she whispers, “are Redemption’s colors.”

  “Don’t,” Mya scowls. “We’ve got enough on our plate already. We have to go with the facts.”

  “It’d make sense,” Lisabella ventures. “They were always close with the prince. When was the last report from the Outlands?”

  “Go, you two,” Mya says with a little more urgency. “Quickly.”

  With a gesture to me, Rian leads the way through the door Mya gestured to. He closes it behind us and whispers a spell for light. It glints off of rows and rows of weapons that hang on the walls of an otherwise empty room. The training square. I’ve never been allowed in here.

  “Take what you need,” Rian says with a hushed tone.

  “What’s with the orange and red?” I ask him as I walk along the racks. There are lots of different knives and sheathes available. I take five of them. Wish I had my bandolier, but the straps and belts they have work well enough.

  “They’re Redemption’s colors. That’s right, you’re fairly new to Cerion,” he explains as he helps me into a shoulder harness that holds three knives. “They were our rival guild for many years. Favorites of the prince. They betrayed the throne the year Azi became a squire. They worked with
Viala before…”

  “Before she became Ki,” I whisper.

  “Mm,” Rian says. “They were officially disbanded after that, and most of them were banished to the Outlands. Forgotten, or so we thought.”

  “The Outlands?” I ask as I tuck a sheath into my boot.

  “They’re part of Cerion, but separated by mountains. It’s a harsh land, and difficult to survive. The only way in is a keep heavily guarded by His Majesty’s forces. The rest of the borders are natural. Cliffs and sea, and mountains too high to climb.”

  “So they betrayed the king, and he sent them off to live together instead of executing them?” I shake my head.

  “His Majesty tries to be merciful when he can, but I think his leniency with them is what made it so easy for the courts to convince him to do otherwise with Eron in the end.” He looks me over. “Ready?” he asks. I nod.

  “From your description, it sounds as though the keep was breached again,” Rian whispers as he slips into the Half-Realm and nods to me to do the same. I close my eyes and let the cobwebs brush my face.

  “Lead the way, Tib,” he says, “but be careful.”

  “How can you be sure it’s the same keep?” I whisper as we make our way through the darkness of the streets. “And why haven’t there been any reports of a breach? They seemed like they had been there for a while.”

  “It doesn’t take long for Sorcerers to make themselves at home,” Rian whispers. “And it’s easy enough to forge communications, especially if Necromancy is involved.”

  We make our way safely hidden in the Half-realm. After a while, Rian pushes his thoughts to the wand.

  “So, Aster, what’s your purpose? And why all the secrecy?” he asks.

  “Communication, mostly,” the wand replies.

  “So I can talk to Kaso Viro through you?” Rian asks.

  “Not precisely.”

  “What, then?”

  “I know what needs to be done, and I can give you guidance. You and only you. And Tib, I guess, apparently. He can hear us, you know. He’s an odd boy.”

  Rian glances at me as we creep past a small troop of city guard that marches past. He takes his hand out of his pocket, which breaks his connection with the talking wand, thankfully.