by Cat Bruno
Turning his back to the now silent Louissia and the still dozing Talia, Pietro scolded, “Louissia, this shall be your last chance to get me what I need. Now I must find Kennet and try to fix this mess that you have created. Clean this up and tell Talia that I had urgent work to finish at the Academy.”
And with that, he left, striding quickly over the thick sand, leaving deep boot marks in his wake.
29
Conri had never been a patient man, and, as the intruder stuttered and rubbed his hands in front of him, Conri clenched his jaw, ready to strike the fool into silence. Perhaps sensing how near to death he was, the young man with the crimson vest, dirtied with days of travel, finally swallowed, silenced for a moment.
Embarrassed that the man was Tribe, Conri shook his head in clear disgust. Is this how far we have fallen?
Before Shivan could continue blathering on, Conri raised a hand to silence him. “Enough of this. I do not have time for such nonsense, unless there is something else that I need to know, report to your commander.”
Shivan gripped his hands, squeezing them until his pale skin turned even whiter. He hesitated, and Conri raised an eyebrow, waiting for the scout to continue.
“Lord Teck sent me here after hearing my report. I am not to return until I have delivered the full report to you, sir.”
Conri had little patience remaining, knowing how his energy was needed elsewhere, yet he, as calmly as the High Lord of the Wolf Tribe can be, stated, “Be done with it then.”
“Yes, of course. Sir, there is one more thing that occurred on our last night as we crossed the Falk, heading west into Ageria. There were four of us, sir, with myself being the lead. Our travels had been mostly uneventful, having stayed away from any humans we sensed in the area, as you have so ordered. However, a short ride from the river’s edge, we stumbled upon an encampment. At first, we believed it to be abandoned, and, all of us hungry, we tied off the horses and made a small fire. Once we were settled, a crippled man came walking toward us. He was heavily warded, no doubt the reason why none of us had known him to be there. Yet, he continued to walk straight toward us, even as it became clear who we were. And before I could strike, the man addressed me, sir, but not by my name, and not in a language that I could recognize. I heard him say ‘blood of the wolf’ before he took to the sky.”
Conri’s eyes narrowed in concentration, “Shivan, where are the other men that were with you? Bring them to me at once.”
“High Lord Conri, those men are dead!”
Conri grabbed the man by the shoulders, “What happened to them?”
His eyes wide, Shivan mumbled, “He was a Raven, sir. As he soared in circles above us, he no longer appeared as an old man, and I saw his face. His hair remained white, but now it glistened as if snow-covered, and his eyes turned from cloudy to yellow. And in his hand, I noticed he held a small blade, unremarkable except, when he neared me, it glimmered. I raised my wards, instructing the others to do the same.”
Shivan’s voice thickened, at once both screeching and heavy, but he continued, under the penetrating gaze of his lord, “I do not know what happened next, but I watched as the man’s clawed hand lifted Timon off of the ground, then I saw him slice the blade across his neck. He dropped him back down before moving on to Colloto. I raced over to where he was standing, my lord, and grabbed for his ankles as he too was lifted. I threw fire at the man with one hand and tried to hold onto Colloto with the other, but I failed, sir, and witnessed the same death again. Then there were just the two of us remaining, and Luka seemed ready to fight, having his shields fully engaged, and fire at his command. He, too, tried to strike at the man, but his wards were much stronger than ours, and our attempts seemed to bounce off him. Luka was clasped in those talons before I had a chance to strengthen my ward, and then dumped beside me. Blood-soaked, he was, sir. His neck sliced open, his head nearly dislodged from the rest of his body.”
“I thought that I would be next and braced myself, knowing that the man was no ordinary Raven. But, he only circled me a few times, then departed.”
Conri interrupted, “Where is Teck? Why has he not accompanied you here?”
“He has gone to reclaim the bodies, High Lord, as I summoned an Epidiius and hurried back here to report what had occurred. Lord Teck ordered me here, and he took the animal back to where I had been.”
“Yes, he was right to do so. Shivan, is there anything more that you can tell me about this man? Think hard.”
Shivan was young, thought Conri, maybe just out of childhood. Conri was taller than him by nearly a full head and broader too. And while Conri was disappointed with the fear that he smelled in the boy, he tried hard not to blame him, especially as it was possible that Shivan had never encountered a Raven before, as the Tribe had lived in relative peace over the course of the young man’s life. However, it seemed clear now that the moon had shifted.
He had almost forgotten that the boy still stood in front of him, until Shivan yelled, “Sir, I remember something about the man! His wings were as dark as night, black to the point of almost blue. As he circled me the final time, when I was certain that he would grab me, I watched his wings. There was a large white streak across one of his wings. Like a bit of lightning across a stormy sky.”
Conri smiled, his face as hard as stone, his eyes as cold as the glacial lakes that bordered the North.
He asked, “Like a scar?”
“A scar? Yes, sir, like a giant scar across his wing.”
Conri knew, then, who had killed three of his men, breaking the long-held truce among the three Tribes of the Dark. And he remembered causing that same scar long ago, regretting now that he had not just killed the man.
“Shivan, you have done well. Find Lord Cuan immediately and send him to me.”
“Right away, sir,” the shaking man replied before hurrying off.
This time I will not hesitate to kill you, Vega, Conri promised as he strode quickly away from the training yard where he had been when Shivan had found him. With black eyes, he headed toward the sprawling castle that loomed high across the field. There was much to be done, and Conri was running out of time, much to his surprise.
30
Tucked away in her rooms after a tiring day at the clinic, Bronwen undressed swiftly, throwing the pale-purple shift, another gift of Lord Willem’s, to the floor, uncaring how dirty the fine dress would become. It had been nearly half a moon since the night she had spent with him, and her bruises were nearly invisible now. On the morrow, she would return to wearing her healer’s robe, as she was growing agitated by all the stares and comments regarding her appearance. Even Kennet had questioned her decision to don such extravagant clothing, though he knew its necessity. Master Ammon, when she encountered him at the clinic, which was rare lately, was rather distant toward her, and Bronwen wondered more than once if he had regretted revealing so much to her. Twice now, she had asked him whether he had found Conri, and both times, he scolded her like a child, leaving Bronwen hurt and embarrassed, and more determined to find him on her own.
Standing naked before her looking glass, Bronwen inspected her neck, pleased that the color had returned to normal. A slight scar ran jagged under her eye, but it was small enough to go unnoticed. Having finished her self-examination, she hurriedly grabbed a pair of soft deerskin leggings, much finer than she had ever owned before her night with Willem, and slid them up her long legs. Donning an undershirt and flowing gray blouse of the sort favored in Rexterra, Bronwen exited her rooms and headed toward the library.
After the second rebuff from Willem, she had decided to head back to the archives where she had started her search, only this time she intended to bring Kennet, despite his renewed requests for her to stay far from the library, with her. As she ran, her sandal became untied, flapping against the shelled path, forcing her to stop to retie it. Just as she was about to begin her slow jog across the campus, a robed man blocked her path, gleaming bright under the evening sky.
“Where are you hurrying to, Bronwen? And I see that you’ve replaced your Northern gowns with Rexterran attire, reminding me of home. I can’t decide which I prefer you in.”
Raising her eyes to meet his confident gaze, Bronwen replied, “Pietro, I do not need your approval for what I choose to wear. If you will excuse me, I must be going.”
Pietro smiled and stepped to his side, commenting, “Bronwen, perhaps I should walk with you. A beautiful woman like yourself should not be walking alone. You never know what might happen.”
Bronwen stopped, her mouth suddenly dry and her vision foggy. When she looked up at him, he stood in a haze, yet his eyes, clear, bright, and golden-edged, laughed. There was a smugness that suggested he knew her secrets, and Bronwen was nervous, nearly shaking.
“You know nothing, Pietro. I am only off to see Kennet, and if you would like to join me, then fine,” she bluffed.
She pushed around him, forcing herself to walk slowly, not wanting him to know how unsettled she was.
From behind, he called out, “I have no desire to go the library, but, if you have need or want to go to the beach later, come find me. I know the perfect spot to watch the waves crash.”
When Bronwen paused without turning around, Pietro knew that his parry had struck. Something had happened to her, of that he no longer had any doubt, especially after talking to Louissia, who had spent the last half-moon with Kennet. And he was closer to finding the answers that he sought. Bronwen herself had just confirmed it. Soon, he might have them all, and he wondered if the dark stranger would be pleased with his success.
*****
Kennet’s spectacles were teetering on the edge of his nose, his head leaning forward, lodged between the pages of a massive book spread across his desk. When Bronwen burst through the door to his office, his spectacles fell onto the opened book. He picked them up and pushed them further along the high arch of his long nose. With the glasses in place, Kennet had a clear view of Bronwen as she stood flustered in front of him, wearing what appeared to be men’s hunting garb.
“Bronwen, for the love of the light, what are you wearing now?” he asked, not bothering to hide his staring eyes as he looked from the snug pants to the loose shirt that swallowed Bronwen’s upper body.
She huffed, “Why is everyone so damned concerned with what I wear lately? You’re the one who lectured me about the gowns, Kenny.”
“You have gone from Queen of the North to a Rexterran huntsman, Bronwen!”
“Yes, I suppose I have, but I only wanted to be comfortable this evening, as I have much to do. Actually, I was hoping that you would have time to come with me to the archives,” she answered.
Again, Kennet wished that he had never introduced her to the warded room buried in the library’s basement, and he was disappointed that he had not persuaded her to end her search. After the conversation that he had overheard, he had explained to Bronwen how dangerous her relationship with Conri was. Yet, she vowed that Conri had never visited her on the Academy’s grounds. Still, he had tried to get her to forget about the Tribesman, which had no effect on Bronwen or her mission to find him. Any effect his warnings did had lasted only a half-moon, and now, she was back, again seeking answers.
Kennet could not understand the change that had overcome Bronwen throughout the last two moons. Of late, he could hardly recognize her, and it had little to do with her new wardrobe. As she had explained it to him, she was no longer mind-locked by the Wolf Lord, and had regained many early memories, causing Kennet to wonder if her recent actions could be blamed on the reversal.
After she had confessed what had occurred and what she now could recall of her life before arriving in Tretoria, Kennet had spent many nights researching the Tribe. What he had discovered in a dusty, archaic manuscript caused prickles all over his skin and darkened the mage-lit room. As a precaution, he had taken the small, tattered book written centuries ago with him, carrying it beneath the folds of his robe until he was safely back in his office, which later proved to be wise as Bronwen could now enter the rooms without him, which he still couldn’t understand, considering it had taken him many moons to unlock the wards that had bound the door.
With all the current rumors spinning around the Academy concerning Bronwen, Kennet wanted her to be as far from Conri as possible.
“I don’t have time now, Bronwen. I’m meeting Louissia soon for an ale, but you are welcome to join us, as she has been asking for a chance to meet you.”
Bronwen’s face dropped, a flash of anger crossing her lightly freckled face before she responded, “Meeting her again, Kenny? Fine, then I will head down myself. Can you at least suggest which section I should search?”
Kennet gravely replied, “No, Bronwen, I will not help you. I have told you what a foolish idea this is! You do not seek out a Lord of the Dark! Especially not now when suspicion runs high and your name near it. You are asking for trouble at a time when you can least afford it. Just because you can enter does not mean that you should.”
“What does that mean?” she asked, confused.
And even though he knew that he should not respond, Kennet did, adding, “Do you have any idea what is being said about you, Bronwen, or how the other healers talk when they see you strutting through campus in expensive gowns? You have gone from orphan to healer to Healer’s Apprentice and now to, what, some sort of princess? It does not seem right. That is all.”
Staring at him with squinting eyes, Bronwen nearly gasped at his words.
“Kennet, what in the hells are you talking about? You saw my damned neck with your own eyes! What would you have had me do? Walk about with those black hands around my neck for all of Litusia to see? Tell everyone who asked how I was attacked on the beach? Should I tell them how I vomited into my own hair afterward? Should I tell them that if I ever see the man again, I will kill him myself, healer’s oath be damned?”
“What would you have me do?” she screamed, her voice raspy with emotion, tears at the edges of her gray eyes.
Before he could apologize, Bronwen stumbled from the room, heading to the only place that offered solitude, with Kennet trailing behind her.
He shouted, unaware that a few healers were staring, “Bronwen, please, wait, let me explain!”
Bronwen raced toward the back staircase, rarely used, but the only way to reach the lower levels of the library. As she ran, thankful with each step of the clothing that she wore, she could hear Kennet stammering behind her, yet she never slowed her pace, no matter how many times she heard him call her name.
When she reached the landing where the stairs began to narrow, Bronwen finally relaxed, wiping the tears from her cheeks. She wasn’t sure why she was so upset with Kennet, but she was so damn tired of the strange looks and whispers that had been following her since being named Master Apprentice. None could question her talent or dedication, yet she knew the rumors, including how her Northern blood was black, and it would not be long before she turned her skills to the Dark Arts.
Once, as a child during her second year at the Academy, Bronwen, bothered by the teasing remarks of her peers regarding her Northern looks, grabbed a small dagger from her herb pouch and sliced it across the palm of her hand, letting the blood drip over the small wooden desk. A few of her classmates screamed, and then the Master had appeared beside her, wrapping her hand in a piece of clean linen, all the while admonishing her for her stupidity. But, she had never heard his words, as she was too busy looking at the puddle of blood staining her desk, silky and rich, flowing a dark, magnificent red, without a trace of black in it, much to her relief.
Yet, over the last moon, she had felt like that same girl, frightened that perhaps there was truth to the doubts. Even Master Rova had seemed to look on her with a strange curiosity of late, uncertainty set in his deep, brown eyes. More than once she had considered following Willem home to seek his counsel and support, but his coolness toward her dissuaded those thoughts. He would not speak about Conri, he had warned, and ne
ither should she. And now Kennet, too, seemed to be against her. Hearing his footsteps behind her, Bronwen carefully picked her way down the narrow stone steps, aware that he was gaining ground and speeding up her own steps.
Bronwen had forgotten how dark the passageway down was, cursing herself for not being prepared with a tinderbox. To keep her balance, she braced one arm against the wall, rubbing her hand against the cool sandstones as she made her way further into the underside of the library. Finally, she felt her feet leveling off and took one final step into the hallway, trying to determine how far she was from the warded room.
As Bronwen ran her hand along the uneven walls trying to locate the first stone of the opening sequence, a sudden burst of light appeared behind her, illuminating the wall in a shower of white.
“You shouldn’t have come here, Bronwen,” Kennet called out, his breathing heavy and his chest heaving with the exertion.
Ignoring him, Bronwen continued with what she had set out to do, thankful at least for the mage-light, as now it would be much easier to find the center stone. Kennet watched as Bronwen tapped on the stones, and stepped back, waiting for the hidden door to slide open. When nothing happened, she repeated the same movements, only this time she nearly pounded on the stones. Again, nothing moved.
She turned and hissed, “What have you done, Kennet?”