“He’s good, isn’t he,” Klaybear noted with admiration.
The third assailant looked up and paused, staring up at Klaybear.
“Master?” he said, “but you haven’t spoken . . . you’re not the. . . ,” but what he was going to say was lost as he was surrounded by red light, and he began to writhe and scream in agony, as if he were being crushed by some giant, although invisible, hand. They heard the sound of crunching bones, then he went silent and limp, dropped to the floor like a life-sized, rag doll. The remaining thug, still crouched on the bed, tried to scramble to the window; the cloud of red light did not try to grab him, as it had the first: it struck him, like a naughty child, with enough force to knock out the wall of Tevvy’s small room. He nearly went out by the window, smashing through both window and wall, landing on the roof of the building next door. The red light momentarily touched the third thug, then surrounded Tevvy. The awemi braced himself for what he could not fight against; Klaybear frantically thought through the ortheks he knew, trying to think of something that would help, but the moment the red light tried to touch Tevvy, a brilliant white light erupted from Tevvy’s verghrenum, surrounding him.
The awemi looked down at his wrists, startled by what was happening, then looked up at Klaybear and Rokwolf, a surprised look on his face. Red sparks crackled around him as the red light, and the mind driving it, attempted to break his shield. This battle did not last for long; the sparks became fewer and feebler; the red light weakened, dimmed, and then finally winked out. For a moment more, the white light surrounded Tevvy, then it, too, winked out. The awemi shook his head.
“I was hoping we could question them,” Tevvy sighed, looking around at his wrecked room.
“I doubt we would have learned much from them,” Rokwolf noted. “You better move on tonight.”
Tevvy nodded. “Yes, I’m sure there are others. The innkeeper is a friend of my father’s . . . ,” he looked toward the door, “I hear him coming; I’ll have him sneak me out the back and let out that I was taken by parties unknown.”
“Right,” Rokwolf said. “We’ll contact you tomorrow and pass word on to the others.”
Klaybear lifted the staff just as the innkeeper pounded into the room.
“It would have been useful to question them,” Klaybear noted to his twin.
“As I said,” Rokwolf sighed, “I doubt that they could have told us more than they did.”
Klaybear looked up at his brother. “What do you mean?”
“Did you notice the reaction of the one who saw us floating in the air as disembodied heads?”
“He paused to look up at us,” Klaybear replied.
“Do you have any idea what a shock it is,” Rokwolf replied, “to see someone’s head floating in the air in front of you? When Blakstar did it to me the first time, I thought I had gone mad, but I had seen the sword open archways before, so I managed not to shout in fright. What would be the reaction of someone unfamiliar with the archways with which you and I are familiar?”
Klaybear laughed. “You’re right,” he said, “he probably would go mad.”
“And yet,” Rokwolf went on, “that wethi, whoever he was, not only was not surprised by it, he acted as if it had happened before.”
“Yes,” Klaybear said, catching on, “he even thought we were his ‘master.’”
“And he wondered why his master had not contacted him recently,” Rokwolf said.
“But what is recently?” Klaybear asked.
Rokwolf thought for a moment, still leaning on the back of his twin’s chair. “Maybe only a few days,” he said.
“Why?” Klaybear asked.
“The wethi Tevvy found, whose caravan had been attacked,” Rokwolf explained, “might have been gathering mercenaries for a week or two before he hired enough to guard his caravan. We can guess that he would have found enough within the last few days, then set the date for their departure. That information could have been passed on to the morgle by his agent, which was the last time that agent spoke to his master. Since then, the agent has not heard from his master, which is unusual.”
“How did they know to attack Tevvy?” Klaybear asked.
“Tevvy did say that he felt someone was watching him as he left the cellar,” Rokwolf went on. “The agent had standing instructions to capture anyone snooping around, and I would bet that the agent was probably given descriptions of each of us, in case he came across one of us.”
“How likely is that?” Klaybear asked.
“I’d bet that there is a Green Beast in every city of the realm,” Rokwolf replied.
“It makes sense,” Klaybear said, “but is rather frightening, for us.”
Rokwolf shrugged and grabbed his twin’s shoulder. “It keeps us on our toes,” he said, grinning, then turned to leave. “I won’t be long.”
Klaybear sighed and nodded once; he sat back in his chair, putting his hands together in front of his chest, thinking, tapping the tips of his fingers together with each beat of his thoughts. After a few minutes of silence, the sound of Klare returning disturbed him; he looked down and smiled, realizing that he was sitting exactly as he had seen his master sitting, every time he entered Myron’s study to speak with him. The smile slid from his face when he saw his wife, who looked paler than she had when she left the room.
“Are you all right?” Klaybear asked gently.
Klare gave a slight shrug. “Where is your twin?” she asked.
Klaybear glanced over his shoulder to their sanctuary’s exit. “He went to find a way into the school,” he replied. “He shouldn’t be long.”
Klare paused to look down the passage, then came and sat in her chair next to him. “Something’s changed in him,” she noted, nodding toward the exit. “He seems distant,” she hesitated, then added, “and angry. Has something else happened that I have forgotten? And you still haven’t explained to me who these others are, or why I have forgotten more than a year?”
Klaybear expected to see Klare’s face looking irritated at him for not explaining, but he saw instead resignation, and worst of all, defeat. He leaned toward her, reaching out to embrace her, and instead of flying into his arms as she had always done in the past, her embrace was stiff and formal, so he sat back in his chair and tried to think where he should begin. “A few days ago,” he began a few moments later, “Tevvy, the awemi you just saw, rescued us from the school dungeon. I was there, with my older brother, Delgart, a seklesa named Marilee, whom you know, Thal, the white maghi, and the kortexi, Blakstar. I was accused of treason, for supposedly desecrating the altar in the sacred glade, and for having this mark on my forehead and hand; the others also had similar marks either branded into their bodies or their minds, and so, they, too, were sentenced and condemned to die with me.”
“Where was I?” Klare asked.
“We did not know,” Klaybear said, frowning, “you had gone to our home to check on Tevvy, but you did not return to the school, and no one had seen you. We found you before we escaped from the dungeon; we heard the sounds of someone coming, and saw Ghelvon and his apprentice coming down the hall. But they did not enter the dungeon; Ghelvon opened an unknown door into a side passage and room, and he was bragging to his apprentice about how much he would enjoy . . . ,” he hesitated, looking closely at Klare, “violating you.”
“What!” Klare exclaimed with horror.
Klaybear nodded. “This talk caused Blakstar to go berserk; he smashed down the door, ran down the hall, and nearly killed Ghelvon with his bare hands when we discovered that the Master of Fighting Arts had been possessed by a kwalu, and the kwalu killed Ghelvon’s apprentice as it fled. We found you huddled in the dark room and brought you with us into the sewers. We discovered, by accident, or perhaps by design, the symbol of Karble on one of the walls in the western sewers, and the kortexi used his sword, the sword of Sir Karble, to open a door that had not been opened since the beginning, the door leading into these rooms. After we entered, we discovered that tw
o of us had our minds tampered with and were under a compulsion controlled by Gar himself, and that Gar was himself currently in Shigmar. Thal and I traveled mentally to where Gar was hiding and severed the mental connection through which Gar controlled you and Tevvy.”
“Me? I was controlled by Gar?” She looked puzzled. “But I never did any terrible things, did I?” she asked, genuinely concerned.
Klaybear shook his head. “Neither one of you did anything terrible,” he said, “Gar tampered with your minds for other reasons that were not clear. Once we severed the link, we both had to return quickly to try and tie up the loose ends before your minds unraveled. With Tevvy, Gar had only slightly altered his memory, and we think planned on using him to spy on us. With you it was not so simple. I think he anticipated that I, or we, would cut the link, and so he tied it to so many parts of the patterns of your mind, that no one could possibly repair them all before the entire pattern unwove itself. I did my best but saw immediately that I could not reconnect all the threads before it was too late.” He sighed, but then smiled. “At the moment where I thought you were lost, other mental hands appeared and began to help me,” he stopped, looking up at Klare, his eyes filling with tears.
Her face softened; she reached out and took both his hands. “Who?”
“The One,” he whispered.
Klare’s mouth fell open.
“And,” Klaybear went on, but paused again, “our Mother.”
Klare’s brow wrinkled and she closed her open mouth. “Our mother? What do you mean . . . ,” she stopped, comprehension dawning. “You mean it’s true?”
“She was there,” Klaybear said, “along with others, but only three of them ever spoke: the One, our Mother, and a third they called their son, but then they called me their son and you their daughter.”
“They helped you fix my mind?” Klare said with awe. “So how come I cannot remember?”
“I’m coming to that,” Klaybear said, “I had to start somewhere!” he said in mock protest.
A smile quivered at the corners of her mouth, and Klaybear saw some of her old looks return. She squeezed his hands once, then continued to hold them. “Go on, then.”
“While Blakstar, Thal, Tevvy, and I entered Shigmar’s tomb, which is on the north shore of Krystal Lake, you and Rokwolf waited for us in the village. Do you remember that beach where we often went during the summer and school holidays with Rokwolf and your friend?”
Klare nodded, her eyes widening slightly. “It’s there?”
“Yes, but it only appears if one has a special key that Blakstar picked up on the Mountain of Vision. Anyway, while we were retrieving breath-giver from the tomb, you and Rokwolf stayed in your village, watching over . . . ,” he paused again, wondering how much he should say, “the only survivors of an attack that destroyed the village.”
“My village was destroyed?” Klare said. “So the dreams are true: my entire family is dead?”
“I’m sorry, dear,” Klaybear replied. “We ran into the army on our way north, avoiding it by using the kortexi’s sword to open an archway directly into the village. Early the next morning, just before we returned, you and Rokwolf were captured by purem, who were going to do terrible things to you and my twin. We showed up, using Blakstar’s sword and my staff, the kortexi again went berserk, and he destroyed, by himself, all Gar’s forces that had captured you. You were unconscious, and when we checked you over, Thal and I discovered a black spot, or area of darkness, in the patterns of your mind that wasn’t there before; it was Thal who discovered that the pattern in that section of your mind had been repaired earlier in such a way that we could untie part of the pattern, where the darkness was, and preserve the whole, containing that darkness, in an empty space so that it could not consume you. It was our Mother who repaired that section; Thal and I believe she wove the pattern in anticipation of the later damage, so that we could pull one of the knots and save you. Thal believes that he could repair that area if he held Melbarth’s rod, which is the most powerful mental artifact; he also conjectures that it was the rod, wielded by the morgle, or Gar, that altered the patterns of his, Tevvy’s, yours, and, we think, Rokwolf’s minds.”
“I’m smart enough to realize,” Klare said after several long moments of thought, “that you are not telling me everything, but since you were always better at mentalics than I, I will trust you, for now.”
“You really should get something to eat,” Klaybear said, “you look too pale. When I looked like that last winter, you forced that horrible-tasting broth down my throat, but it was exactly what I needed,” he finished with a smile.
“Maybe just a dry crust of bread,” she said, looking warily at him.
He leaned over, smiling widely, and kissed her; she responded with some of her usual flair although her weakness was apparent. He stood and went around the table, scrounging a crust of bread from their supplies. “We don’t have anything from which I could make a broth, so I guess Rokwolf and I will have to go looking for some supplies while you practice your healing arts.”
“Tell me more about these others,” she asked, chewing daintily on the bread.
Klaybear did his best to recount what he knew about the others, how they had come to Shigmar, and what had happened since. He took dried meat and fruit, along with more bread, from their supplies to eat while he talked. Some of the color returned to Klare’s face, and she tried some of the dried apple. As they both finished eating, their conversation returned to the three keys.
“You said that the kortexi’s sword opened the door into this room,” Klare said and when Klaybear nodded, she asked, “how do we get in and out if he’s not here?”
“Oh, I forgot that bit,” Klaybear replied. “When we first entered and closed the door on the sewers, we found hand shaped indentations on the back of the door: we each put our hand into the space, and the door recognized us, so we can open the door with our touch.”
“Recognizes us? How is that possible?” Klare asked.
Klaybear shrugged. “You’ll have to ask Thal,” he replied. “Tevvy did, but I’m not sure I understand, and I know I could not explain how the teka works; it is beyond current ability.”
“You said they are keys to other things?” Klare asked.
“Yes, we used them to open doors in Shigmar’s tomb,” he said, “and we used them together to hear messages left for us by Shigmar, which is how we knew about communicating with the sword and staff, the way we did with Tevvy.” Klaybear looked around. “Rokwolf was right,” he said to himself, “it is impossible to tell the time in here.” He turned to go into the stable.
“Where are you going, dear?” Klare asked.
“Rokwolf said that the ceiling in the cave mirrored the sky outside, so I’m going to see if that is true.” He moved into the other room, glancing up at the ceiling, then returned. “He’s right,” he said, “it’s about two hours past sunset.”
“Why do you need to know the time?” Klare asked.
“I need to contact Blakstar and Thal, and we set the time for contact as a few hours after sunset.” He held up his arm, touching the symbol for Thal with one green-glowing finger, then touched the symbol for Blakstar. He went back to his chair and sat down.
Klare was looking at him curiously. “What did you just do?”
“Sent them a message,” he said. “Our verghrenum do more than protect our minds; they also enable us to signal each other, as well as locate each other.”
Klare sighed.
Klaybear raised an eyebrow at her. “Why the large sigh, dearest?”
“More things I have forgotten,” Klare said, “and you have neglected to explain.”
“Sorry,” Klaybear noted. “You will notice, soon, I hope, your verghrenum warming; whenever that happens, look to see which symbol is causing it, and you’ll have a good idea who wants to communicate, since there are three seklesem, and two of us, but only one symbol for each order. We also discovered, by accident, that we can locate each oth
er using our verghrenum: touch the symbol and speak the name of the person, and you will see a tiny thread going off toward the person. We used this to locate Tevvy, after we first came here; he went back out to follow a couple of soldiers who did not belong in the sewers, and he ended up getting captured by them. The connection between our verghrenum led us to the place where he was being held.”
Klare shook her head. “And you say that all these, sized for each of us, were left here by Shigmar?”
“And Melbarth and Karble,” Klaybear added, “except that yours are beautiful gold bracelets and ours are just leather bracers.”
“How did you, I mean, we, know who each pair belonged to?” Klare asked.
“The size, color, and main symbol,” he said, pointing to the large symbol of Shigmar, prominent across the forearm side of his verghrenum.
Klare looked down at her bracelets, twisted one of them so that the symbol of Shigmar faced up, holding it in place while she gazed at it. “Oh!” she exclaimed, turning the bracelet so the symbol of Melbarth, now glowing white, faced up. “It is suddenly warm,” she added, “and bright.”
“Thal,” Klaybear nodded, lifting the still glowing staff onto the table, drawing the circle and opening the small archway; Thal’s head appeared immediately, and he looked tired but was smiling. Klare put her hand on breath-giver as her husband rested it upon his shoulder.
“Good evening and well met,” Thal said, nodding to them.
“You look tired,” Klaybear replied, “busy day?”
“Only the last few hours,” Thal said.
“Where are you and what has happened?” Klaybear asked.
“Komfleu,” Thal replied, “and our reception was as predicted, although many of them have changed their opinion of us, but not openly.” Thal went on to explain how they had been treated as they arrived, what happened as they approached the inn with the blind Melnar and how Blakstar had healed him with the Waters, and how all the sick or injured from that quarter of the city arrived to be healed; he explained how the innkeeper and his sons had handled these supplicants discretely, and how, after they had eaten their supper, the inn was inundated with “guests” from the inner city, looking for places to stay. “That was the claim of these carefully shrouded nobles, but when every square inch of the inn was filled they began to demand, in no uncertain terms, that they be allowed to visit the kortexi rumored to be staying at the inn.”
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