Hiroc didn't want to know what Bertram was selling, so he said goodbye and entered the dungeons.
Oswin was waiting at the bottom of the staircase, dueling with an invisible opponent. He had taken Alfric's position as porter of the spire after the tournament.
He leaned on his sword and grinned as Hiroc approached. "You see the captain of the warrior's watch? He was scared half to death. It took the poor fella nearly an hour to find the dungeons."
Normally Hiroc would have found it hilarious that the magical spire had once again managed to confuse someone, especially Bertram, but the words the tattooed man had spoken still rang in his mind.
"Have you spoken with the man Bertram brought in?" Hiroc asked.
"I'm not an idiot. I made myself a rule not to talk with the skinwalkers. Although the newest one looks like they might have made a mistake. He seems fine."
"Where is he?"
"He's in the last cell down the corridor."
Hiroc turned toward the staircase.
"Can I come?" Oswin asked.
Hiroc thrust his hand into the other man's chest. "Stay here and keep watch."
Oswin nodded like keeping watch was the most important job in the world, and sat back down.
Keeping watch wasn't really important. The skinwalkers within the dungeon's cells kept people away. But Hiroc didn't want Oswin to overhear his conversation with the prisoner. He had a feeling that whatever the man might say would be better kept for his ears alone.
Hiroc lit a torch and drudged down the steps. He could handle heights; burrowing into the earth like a mole was a different matter.
"Watch out for the other prisoners down there," Oswin's voice echoed from above. Laughter came after.
Hiroc hadn't forgotten the other prisoners—he just didn't want to think about them. If they were anything like the other skinwalkers he had seen, they would be nightmarish.
The ragged stone surrounding him was like fingers grasping down from above. He ignored the thought and continued onward. He was eager to speak with the prisoner. The wards that had shimmered in the sunlight were similar to those the Daughters wore. It was possible that he wielded the same magic that Edoma used to construct the wards.
Hiroc paused and flipped open his belt pouch. He took out the glove and fitted it to his hand. Feeling better now that he had a weapon, should he need it, he continued down the stairs.
The bottom of the staircase led to an open space, the only objects a strange iron chair and a rack. He held his breath and kept his eyes focused on the corridor at the end of the room. Thoughts of what terrible things had once occurred in the chamber came unbidden, bolstered by the backdrop of the crazed ramblings of the skinwalkers that drifted out from the corridor and into the open space.
Keeping his gaze fixed on the back wall as he walked, he battled the stench of feces and urine from filling his nose. Soon, the smell became almost unbearable as the skinwalkers cursed in a garbled form of unknown and known words.
He risked a sideward glance at one of the cells. A figure was shrouded in shadows. Intrigued, Hiroc held out the torch. A skinwalker with burned flesh hugged its knees to its chest. A scarred head looked up and grinned. It had no eyelids, so its eyes looked like sunbleached eggs.
Hiroc now realized he had stopped walking. He could do nothing except stare at the skinwalker. Its pupils were black as pits and seemed to swallow light.
"Don't you remember me, Hiroc? It's Merefin. The wraiths have told me all about your little secret. What will happen when Beorhtel's inquisitors come for you?"
Hiroc's breath caught in his throat. Could that really be Merefin? The monster inside the cell looked nothing like the fat farmer who had provided the acolytes with their sacrificial lambs. This was the first time Hiroc had heard a skinwalker speak in anything except those demonic growls.
In a blink, the skinwalker was at the cell's bars. It reached through and grabbed Hiroc by the throat. Hiroc thrust the torch into the skinwalker's face. The monster knocked the flaming beacon aside, and it clattered to the ground. Still burning, it made the skinwalker all the more terrifying, casting long shadows over teeth like daggers.
Hiroc tried to call out to Enlil, but the hand around his throat prevented anything save for a garble from coming out. As he struggled, he felt the wounds on his shoulders pull open. Pain seared through his body as he scrambled for his belt knife. Drawing it from its sheath, he hacked at the skinwalker's wrist. It reared backward into the cell.
Holding out his hand toward the skinwalker, Hiroc yelled, "Enlil, hear my prayer!" Blue fire shot forth from his arm and enveloped the skinwalker. It screamed, the black eyes glowing red as if hot coals sat behind them. It crumbled into cinders. The red mist floated from the smoky pile of ash and vanished. With the wards surrounding the spire, a wraith could not exist outside of its skinwalker host.
Hiroc's chest heaved with exhaustion. Rubbing his neck, he realized he had almost died. And not for the first time that week. He touched his chest and winced. He would need to dress the wounds again, but he couldn't leave now. Not when he was so close.
Without any desire to gaze into the other cells, he picked up the torch and moved as fast as he could to the end of the corridor. Bertram had been rightfully terrified, but Oswin had been jovial as ever. Perhaps Oswin was so aloof that the sight of the possessed hadn't caused every bone in his body to rattle. Hiroc's bones were certainly rattling.
He steeled his courage and peered into the prisoner's cell, afraid of what might be waiting there.
The prisoner sat with his legs crossed and his eyes closed as if he were enjoying a respite. Without looking at Hiroc, he smirked from the side of his mouth. "I see I've got myself a visitor. Were you the one responsible for all that noise a moment ago?"
Hiroc gaped at the man. He seemed unperturbed by his present state. Save for a swelling wound, his shaved head looked normal. Without sunlight, the wards looked like ordinary tattoos. Few people had markings on their skin in Indham, but Hiroc had seen some pilgrims from Jagged Peaks with them.
The man looked around the cell. "I like this place. It's a little cold and dark, but I could see myself staying here a while. The company isn't the best, but I've had worse. That dreaded dripping noise, however, is very close to driving me insane."
Hiroc could hear it now. The steady plop of water falling into a puddle. It was soft, barely loud enough to hear. If he were stuck in the cell, it would grow infuriating.
"What's your name?" Hiroc said.
The man jumped to his feet. "Peoh, devotee of the Guardian Mun." He bowed from the hip. "What's yours?"
Hiroc supposed that meant he was a mage. And Mun was the same god who had called Edoma. Did that mean they might have known each other? Hiroc decided against mentioning her, just in case it led to this man becoming tightlipped.
"There's no point in questions unless we are friends," Peoh said. "And I cannot be your friend until I know your name."
Hiroc sighed. "My name is Hiroc."
"Ah, that is a strong name."
"You said you knew what happened at the altar."
"Aye, Aern no longer resides there. I can feel the ebb and flow of a Guardian's protection—or lack thereof, in Aernheim's case. I feel also a god's power residing within you. You are called, aren't you? Which god has named you as his own?"
"Enlil." Hiroc wasn't sure why he had answered so quickly. He guessed that speaking with someone who might know more about magic had loosened his tongue.
"A good god. Was your father or mother Talented? It sometimes skips a generation, but it's mostly passed from parent to child."
"I don't remember my mother. She fled from the Scorched Lands eighteen years ago. She brought me and my brother here. Like all the adults who came from the Scorched Lands, she was insane. The Council deemed it better to have them die a peaceful death than live out their days with the burden of insanity."
"How very good of them to take that choice upon themselves," Peoh said,
his face hardening. "I'm not surprised the adults were driven insane. Seeing such horrors can do that to a person. You must have been too young to remember coming south?"
Hiroc nodded. "My twin brother and I were barely a few months old."
"Thank the gods for that. You said she came here eighteen years ago. I was in the Scorched Lands at that time. I helped a group of people go south. I must say, you do remind me of someone. Perhaps your mother was from that same group?" Peoh's hard demeanor softened. "I'm sorry for your loss. Wraiths killed my entire family."
Hiroc didn't have any family to lose to the wraiths. None except Alfric. And he would be in Eosorheim by now. Still, he offered the man a few words of condolences.
"That was a long time ago," Peoh said. "But now I am here. I have never been south of Babon's Pass. It is a beautiful land you live in. Enlil's Temple is a magnificent structure. I suppose he called you since you go there to pray most days?"
Hiroc shook his head. "Not really." In truth, he'd almost never prayed to Enlil. The only times had been as a child when the Daughters had forced him to kneel in a chapel for punishment.
"You have called upon him, yes?" Peoh asked.
"A few times now."
"And which of his gifts did he grant you?"
"Blue fire."
Peoh's eyes widened. "A formidable gift. You did this without a runic object?"
"No. I had a ring. And a glove." Hiroc held out the glove Wulfnoth had given him. Rather than inspect it, Peoh frowned and looked away. Embarrassed, Hiroc put the glove in his pocket. "You seem disappointed?"
"I thought perhaps you might be one of those special Talented who doesn't need runic devices."
"Are you one of those?"
Shaking his head, Peoh held out his arm and turned it over. "This tattoo was my first. I used it as a runic device." He held out his other arm. "This one was gouged into my flesh once the first no longer worked."
"So you have to get a new tattoo whenever the last one runs out of power?" The man was covered in tattoos. Hiroc couldn't imagine how painful it must have been to endure them all.
He nodded. "It's a good reminder that magic always comes with a price. I've since learned it's better to have more than one ready to use at any moment. They bleed a little to provide the lifesoul, and then the spiritsoul is traded."
Hiroc had never heard of lifesoul or spiritsoul. "Does all magic require blood?" He thought he might be able to impress Peoh, since he hadn't used blood to call the blue fire.
"That's the temporal price. Everyone must pay it if they're to use magic."
"I never used blood." Hiroc fought back a smile. If Peoh wasn't impressed by him using a runic device, then he would certainly be impressed by this.
"Impossible," Peoh said. "The first time you called blue fire, did you have an open wound?"
Hiroc furrowed his brow, wanting to prove the man wrong. There hadn't been blood when he'd fought the giant, had there? But as he recalled that moment at Tyme's Hill, he remembered otherwise. "I cut my hand on my ring just as I was calling out to Enlil."
"And the second time?"
"I cut my hand," he said, remembering the splinter that had embedded itself in his hand when he'd struck the table in the acolyte commons.
"The third?"
"A skinwalker attacked me." Hiroc sighed. He was no more special than any other Talented. "And the fourth time," he said before Peoh could. He pulled down his collar and removed the cloth dressing. The scabs had split. Blood now trickled from the wounds.
Peoh's posture tightened at seeing the wounds. "I see the skinwalker you killed earlier wasn't the first. You might find yourself a warrior-mage one day!" He grinned and clicked his fingers. "There you have it. Blood is always required."
Why hadn't Edoma told him this? Was she intentionally withholding information so that he wouldn't practice magic? "But what about spiritsoul?" Hiroc asked. "Whatever that is, I didn't trade it."
"You did. You made an unspoken bargain with Enlil when you called upon him. Thankfully, he is a just god, so he will not charge too much. One day you will visit the Bargaining Plaza to barter for your magic, as all mages do. I would advise against invoking Enlil until then. An eternity is a very long time to pay back your debts."
It was all so much to take in. Peoh was telling him more than Edoma had. But he still had so many questions. "How can I use magic without runes? I thought all magic required them."
Peoh shook his head. "They're not required to perform simple magic. Runes also prevent the runic devices from running out too quickly. The reason your ring only worked for a short while was because the devotion stored within it depleted quickly. Had you used rune circles to call the fire, it would have lasted for many invocations."
Unsure whether he was taking this all in, Hiroc rubbed his head.
With a laugh, Peoh said, "You need only remember three things. Only those Devoted or Talented can use magic. All magic requires the use of runic devices. And there is always a cost—lifesoul, and most times, spiritsoul."
The term "devoted" was foreign to Hiroc. He was about to ask Peoh what it meant, when the mage clapped his hands together, as though he were concluding a lecture.
"Now that I've given you a lesson in magic," he said, "it's time I requested something from you. Indham's Council must know about my presence if Aernheim is to be saved. There are some costs too great to pay for salvation, and I fear someone might pay them."
"What costs?"
"Best not to speak of them," Peoh said, shaking his head. "Tell your Council that I wait within these dungeons." He sat in the middle of the cell, crossed his legs, and closed his eyes. He hummed a whimsical tune while his nostrils flared with breathing.
Hiroc shook his head. Did this man truly think he could save Indham? He did know a lot about magic, but he also seemed aloof, maybe even crazy.
When Hiroc got to the top of the stairs, Oswin was no longer there. It was strange for him to abandon his post. The sound of feet dragging filtered in from outside. Hiroc put the torch back in the sconce and went to look.
Ealstan and Kipp were dragging an unconscious Oswin out from the spire. Hiroc ran after them, fumbling to fit the glove over his hand.
Laughing, Ealstan and Kipp threw Oswin onto the back of a cart and leaped onto it.
Hiroc realized he'd been fitting the glove to the wrong hand, but by the time he had it on his left hand, they were already halfway down the street.
He held out his hand, pointing at them like an archer aimed an arrow. If he called fire, it could hit the cart. What would happen then? It would go up in flames, Oswin along with Ealstan and Kipp.
Groaning, Hiroc dropped his hand and removed the glove.
Where were they taking Oswin? And why? The only reason he could think of was that they were trying to use Oswin to get to Hiroc. It was strange since Hiroc wasn't exactly close with Oswin. Sure, he'd drunk with him a couple of times at The Flaming Monkey, but little more than that. But that was the only explanation.
Hiroc glanced back at the spire. He had been given a mission. It would mean foregoing that to help Oswin. No, not foregoing, just postponing. Indham would live another night. Peoh was safe within his cell.
A soft voice whispered in his mind, telling him that going after Oswin was the right thing to do. Strangely, that voice belonged to Alfric.
32
Edoma
Edoma's room was a mess, and yet there was no dragon vial. Garments lay scattered about the floor. Dust flittered through the air before settling.
As Edoma searched her room for the dozenth time, the possibility that someone might have stolen the vial came to her. It was a stupid thought. Why would anyone want to steal it? They couldn't use it for anything. Selling it would provide some coin, but wealth was becoming increasingly useless in Indham. There was an aura of doom about the place. The people were aware that the human blood from the dead wouldn't last forever. Soon, there would be no more, and what would Mother Superior Edoma do
then?
She passed over her bed and paused. The chest seemed to call to her, begging her to open it so that she could offer more lifesoul to the scrying crystal. She knew it was merely her mind desiring the otherworld. Using her foot, she pushed against the chest until it was hidden beneath the bed's overhanging sheets. Where the chest had been was a rope bracelet. She grabbed it and slipped it onto her wrist. The knots had been sealed with wax to look like precious jewels.
Idmaer had given her the bracelet. She had refused to wear anything valuable. Ingenious as always, he had used rope and dyed candle wax to create a piece of jewelry that was simultaneously worthless and more valuable to her than anything in the world.
That moment, when he had given the bracelet to her, Edoma knew this was the man she would marry. And she did. That month, they were wed within the Basilica crypt. Later, they performed the old rites in their sacred room beneath the spire. She conceived that night, an awkward moment of bliss that she had wished would last forever.
Someone rapped on the doorframe. Edoma brushed away a stray tear and turned.
Mildryd stood within the doorway. The robes that tugged against her broad shoulders were clean, but her face still bore the wards from the night before, the symbols ebbed in crimson on her pale skin. They would remain until the magic within them was spent. She, like the other Daughters, had been helping paint the wards while Edoma spent most of the day traveling around the town to empower them.
"The wards are finished for this afternoon," Mildryd said. "There's no way for any of us Daughters to assist with the empowering?"
Edoma shook her head. "It's my burden alone." Every time she empowered a ward, Edoma considered the years of enslavement she would suffer to Mun when she passed from this life to the next.
Mildryd was one of the only people in Indham who knew that Edoma was Talented. Even Idmaer didn't know about that. Edoma hadn't drawn wards since she had come to Indham all those years ago. She had sworn never to practice magic again, but their dire situation made her break that oath. Talented were meant to register with King Beorhtel. Most didn't. And they were hunted down by the inquisitors. Edoma had thought her own secret was safe. From what the acolyte Ealstan had said, it seemed that her secret was now known to all. Of course, to think otherwise would have been to believe the people a collection of fools.
The Shattered Orb (Vagrant Souls Book 1) Page 16