Stepping over the body of a boy, careful not to step in any blood, Lorrek went on and moved through the palace until he came to a closet where the trail ended. The door remained firmly shut, and there was no indication of Moren ever leaving it. Worried what he might find, Lorrek took a deep breath then pulled open the door.
He saw nothing.
After a moment, Lorrek dropped his own invisibility spell, and immediately Moren did the same and dashed out and tackled him with a hug. “Lorrek!”
“Shh!” Lorrek dropped to a knee and pressed a finger against his lips. “We're not safe here. They're still here.”
“What are we going to do?” Moren's young voice trembled with terror, but Lorrek respected how calm he was. “They killed everyone! I couldn't save them. I tried—tried everything you taught me, but I couldn't! Mordora—”
“Mordora is well. I got her out before any of this began.” Lorrek placed his hands on Moren's shoulders and locked eyes with him. “I'm sorry I didn't get you too. I didn't know this was going to happen, but I will get you out.”
“Where will we go?”
“Someplace safe.” Lorrek rose to his feet and took a look around.
It was tragic what had happened here, and he knew Moren had witnessed things that his young eyes should have never seen. He had more scars in his soul than simply the loss of his home and father—though Lorrek realized Moren didn't know about his father yet. He looked down at the boy and contemplated telling him but then shook his head, deciding against it.
“Moren.” He bent down to the boy's level and locked eyes. “I'm going to take you someplace safe—someplace where you can practice your magic without hindrance. Then, one day, you will come back here and claim what is rightfully yours and avenge all those you lost today, but for now you must come with me and trust me. Do you trust me?” He opened his hand—palm upward to the ceiling—and held it out to the boy.
Moren looked at the hand then up at Lorrek's face. A shaky smile touched his features, and he reached out and seized Lorrek's hand.
The sorcerer prince nodded then rose to his full height, released the boy’s hand, and stepped around Moren, so that he was behind him. He placed his hands on the boy's shoulders. He stared down the hall the moment Verddra—dressed in her fine royal garments and surrounded by guards—rounded the corner.
Verddra's eyes widened when she saw Lorrek, and Moren stiffened under Lorrek's hands, but the prince of Cuskelom offered Verddra a smirk then vanished.
They reappeared in the middle of a flat, cracked desert where darkness spread across the land and blended flawlessly into the horizon. Moren frowned as he glanced around, listening to the night creatures of the desert. He didn't recognize this place, so he looked up at Lorrek. “Where are we?”
Lorrek glanced around. “Athorim.” He had hoped to teleport closer to the palace, but this would have to do. Traveling outside of his body to the cabin, then to Vixen, and then teleporting Mordora and Jadkon to the cabin, then coming back to Nirrorm, and now coming here required a lot of magic. He was tired, but he refused to let Moren see that. He masked his weariness with wariness and used his magic one last time which direction the needed to go to reach the palace, and he headed that way.
Moren jogged to catch up and kept looking over his shoulder at this strange place but asked no questions.
Grateful for the silence, Lorrek kept walking—too much filled his thoughts.
9
Morning broke upon the horizon, and sunlight spilled through the trees. Vixen sat at the edge of the camp, keeping watch. She threw one of her blades into the nearby stump of a tree then went to retrieve it. She yanked it out, only to step away and throw it again. Over and over and over again she did this while contemplating Lorrek's second brief visit the night before.
Nirrorm had been attacked and King Wordan killed. She didn't know all the details, but she knew none of it could be good. Theran's current path led to Aquila—far from Nirrorm, and she couldn't think of a way to persuade him to change directions. “Your brother—the one who you've been searching for these last ten years, yes that one—he visited me last night and told me Nirrorm was under attack.” She knew that wouldn't go over well, but she needed to come up with something.
A twig snapped behind her, and she spun and threw her dagger.
“Vix!” Theran's voice boomed as he dodged the flying blade. Staring back at the tree it was embedded in, he pressed his lips together and turned back to her. “Must you?”
She shrugged. “Don't sneak up on me.”
“I wasn't...” Then he realized it was a fruitless argument, so he settled down on the log beside her. He didn't know what to say, so he said nothing at all for a long moment. Vixen was a vexing individual, who he had long ago given up trying to understand or predict. “Reminds me of the first time we met.” He cast her a look. “Do you remember?”
She nodded. “Of course. I had snuck into your palace and tried to kill Lorrek.” She remembered that night well. It was before she had her vest of blades though throwing knives were her preferred weapon. She had spent an entire year plotting out the perfect approach. She had chosen to strike first thing in the morning when she knew that Lorrek would be in the great library of the palace. The many towering shelves of books in the room made the library a silent maze—perfect for Vixen's task. No one would miss Lorrek for several hours because he was prone to stay in his studies until mid-afternoon when Honroth would finally drag him out to the kitchens to eat something. By the time they would find his body, Vixen would be out of the kingdom and halfway to Leskelmor.
However, when she came upon the prince sitting at a desk surrounded by piles of books, she never had a chance to draw a single blade. He didn't turn to her or look away from the books, but he addressed her. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Vixen. Perhaps I should be delighted by the fact that I am one of your targets.”
Her words died in her throat, but she managed to choke out, “How...?”
He dismissed her concern with a wave of his hand—still not turning to look at her. “Magic, my dear—magic. I knew who you were and where you were the moment you set foot in this palace. I must say, I have been endlessly amused by your efforts to stalk me.” Finally, he closed the huge, heavy book on the table and turned on the stool to face her—a grin she would learn to loathe was plastered on his face.
She narrowed her eyes—her hands ready to use her blades.
In a flash, Vixen threw one blade then another and another at Lorrek, but with a flick of his wrist, he deflected each one of them, then lowered his hand, and looked at her with disappointment. “Surely you knew mere blades could not harm me.”
“Not unless you weren't expecting it.” She took another blade from her person, and Lorrek conceded with a bow of his head but then lifted his gaze once more as he smiled.
“Aye, but there you stand—decked with armor and weapons while here I sit unarmed.” He lifted his hands.
“When it comes to your magic, you're never unarmed.”
“True.” He lowered his hands, and his face grew dark. “Now, tell me, who sent you?”
She gave him a look. “Do you honestly think I would tell you that?”
“No—I don't.”
Her scowl didn't lessen, but she shifted uncomfortably because she didn't like how this man used his words as weapons. “Well...” She tried to regain ground. “You're right. I'm not going to tell you.” She gave him a smirk of her own, but he merely arched his brows.
“Not because you wouldn't—not that I doubt that at all about you, but because you can't.” He steepled his hands as he revealed this, and a grin slowly crept across his face.
“What do you mean?” She balanced a blade in her hand—ready to drive it into his heart.
He shrugged. “I mean you can't tell me because you don't know who gave you this job.”
“Yes, I do.” She stood her ground and tightened her grip on her blade.
“No.” He shook his head
and rose with grace from the stool. “You do not.” He circled her like a predator and noted that she didn't move, but she was aware of his every movement. By the time he faced her again, he was an altogether different man—aged with wrinkles scarring his face, gray eyes, and silvery white hair. He wore old courtier clothing and bore an invisible weight on his hunched shoulders. He smiled a toothy grin. “Recognize me now?”
Vixen gasped. “The man in the market.” She had found it odd that someone would choose the marketplace in daylight to discuss an assassination order, but she figured this individual had a vendetta and no experience, so she had dismissed her misgivings and took the job. “You ordered me to kill you? Are you suicidal?” She finally sheathed her blades and crossed her arms. She wasn't about to kill anyone without an explanation.
Lorrek smirked as his facade faded. “Suicidal? No—you wouldn't have killed me even if you wanted too.”
“I beg to differ.” She pulled out two blades again and held them threateningly.
Lorrek tsked his tongue and shook his head. “These won't do.” At a snap of his fingers her blades flew out of her hands and into his, and he looked at them then tossed them over his shoulder into the pile of books, where they disappeared.
A sound of protest escaped Vixen's throat, and Lorrek whipped an article of clothing out of nowhere and offered it to her.
She narrowed her blazing eyes at him—furious that he had taken her blades—but then she took a closer look at the clothing.
“It's a vest,” he told her, still holding it out to her. “For you.”
She noted the silvery scaled pattern and frowned. “Sorry—I don't wear shiny clothing.”
“No?” Lorrek arched his brows but then reached for a scale of the vest and pulled it out, revealing that it was a blade. “But you do prefer wearing blades, do you not?”
Vixen forced her mouth shut to conceal her shock and admiration at the sight of this weaponized vest. But then she snapped her eyes up to the prince and glared at him. “And why would you give me that?”
He smiled at her. “Because I have a job for you—one that you will find that this vest will be your perfect weapon.”
“Sorry—not interested.” She turned away.
“Then keep the vest—consider it a gift.” He didn't give her a choice as he used magic to put it on her.
Vixen cried out when she found the strange piece of clothing wrap itself around her, but once secured, she realized it was a perfect fit—and it felt good. She ran her hands over the blades then looked back at Lorrek, stunned.
“Brother!” Theran's bellowing voice boomed as he threw open the library doors. “Lorrek, you are not to be late for noon meal this day—”
Taken by surprise, instinctively Vixen snatched three blades off her vest and threw them at the older prince, but at a wave of Lorrek's hand they missed Theran and sank into the wood of the door beside his head.
Startled, Theran went for his sword, and he stared at the woman who had almost killed him and now stood in a stance that spoke of keen awareness of every move he made. He slowly pried his eyes off the woman to his brother behind her, who grinned.
Now back in the woods, sitting beside Theran, Vixen chuckled at the memory and cast him a look. “I'll never forget that look on your face—utter surprise. Serves you right. You were the first person I used these blades on.” She indicated to the vest she was wearing.
Theran shook his head. “And I am eternally grateful that you missed.”
“I didn't miss.”
“Right.” He slowly nodded. “Lorrek threw your blades off course.” He looked at Vixen with utmost seriousness. “You see, Vix, that's how I know he's not as bad as everyone thinks. He wouldn't do what they said he did. He protects those he cares about—never harms them.” He cast his gaze back at the horizon. “That's why I can't give up on him yet.”
Vixen watched him stare at the dawning morning. The warm hues of the sun painted his face with a softness she had thought he had lost, and she ducked her head. She badly wished to tell him about Lorrek's visits, but then he would demand explanations—explanations she couldn't give and didn't have time to make up. Instead, she chose a different tactic.
“Theran.” When he looked at her, she nodded. “We need to get going. I think we should head toward Nirrorm.” With that, she rose to her feet, and Theran did the same.
“Nirrorm? Why Nirrorm?”
Other than the fact that I know Lorrek is there and that it has been overthrown by Countess Verddra? “Call it a feeling.” Vixen checked her vest to make sure that all her blades were there and then slid Theran a knowing look. “Besides, Lorrek and Mordora never got along after he cut her hair, aye? What better place to hide than at the one place no one would think of looking?”
Theran frowned as he saw the logic behind her words but nodded. He hesitated and looked back at the camp. “Care to wake the boys?” He gestured for her to take the lead, and she smirked.
“With pleasure.”
In the next several moments, shouts filled the woods. “Ow! Vixen! Why kick so hard?! I'm awake already!”
10
With his back to the morning light of his kingdom, Honroth worked in his chambers at his desk, reviewing documents requiring his signature in order to advance projects. He signed his name on one requesting his approval for a merchant to sell a lot of land that had been in his family for generations to another merchant. He reviewed the plans for a structure the church wished to build in the city, and he wrote a note for further inspection of the deed of the land before approving.
At last his hands brushed across a document stating the condition of the army and the fortresses of Cuskelom—particularly on the southeastern side closer to Jechorm. Honroth pressed his lips together as he lifted the paper and leaned back in his chair to read the details.
War with Jechorm—the most technologically advanced kingdom in the world. Honroth did not want such a war, but they had accused him of ambushing them after he handed over Theran's handblade. Despite all Honroth's attempts to negotiate with his neighbor, they wanted war. Of course, they had wanted war for generations, but now they finally had an excuse.
He sighed, lowering the document to the table and rubbing his forehead with the web of his hand. He wished Theran had come to him first to request the handblade. Honroth remembered the day that their father had presented Theran with the weapon. His older brother had just passed the Warrior Trials and was now considered a man. During the celebratory feast, Theran boasted of his accomplishments and told stories of his trials—while Heldon sat close to him and hung on every word. Their father, King Sindric, silenced everyone with a single word and called Theran to him.
He rose from the banquet table and walked past Honroth. The two older brothers shared a slightly concerned look in passing. Theran masked it with a brave smile as he approached their father, who stood at the entrance of the room dressed in regal golden clothing with his ruling staff in his hand. Theran dropped to a knee before their father and bowed his head until the king spoke his name.
Honroth watched as King Sindric spoke highly of Theran's achievements but warned him against his pride, and then the king used his magic to snatch the black bracelet from the pocket dimension. At first Theran frowned when he saw it. He was expecting a weapon once he passed his Warrior Trials, but a bracelet? However, before he could say anything, their father fixed his gaze upon him.
“I see the disappointment in your eyes, my son, but this is no mere bracelet. You have seen a similar one upon my arm.” He lifted his right arm to show Theran an identical one. “Along with the World Orbs, the handblade is unique to Cuskelom. Legends say it was given to us a hundred generations ago by an ancient race known as the Thymords. It is said they were a race that used to intergalactic travel by means of the Orbs, however, they used their power for ill and were thus punished. Part of their punishment was the scattering of the World Orbs and their handblades throughout space—limit their power. Without the h
andblade, the Orbs are useless, but we were only given a handful of them. It is said all handblades were forged from a fallen star.”
Their father took hold of Theran's arm and clasped the bracelet thereon, and Theran watched, amazed, as the metal molded around his arm so that there was no seam of the bracelet to be seen. This also meant Theran wouldn't be able to remove it, and he shot his father an alarmed look, but King Sindric merely chuckled. “Listen closely. It will whisper to you its name, and only you will know it. The only way to ever remove the handblade from your arm is to speak its name. However!” He leaned close to his son so that Theran would fully comprehend the importance of his next words. “You must never breathe a word of it to anyone—regardless of the situation. This is your constant companion, but if you continue your reckless behavior and bring shame upon this family, I will remove it from your arm, and it shall be locked away from you forever. Do you understand?” His voice was hard and eyes unrelenting, so even Honroth had to look away for fear of their father's fury.
Theran had sworn to uphold the family's honor, but over the years Theran's word proved of little worth to him. Honroth was forced to watch their father grieve over his eldest son's carelessness. However, he never took the handblade from him despite threatening many times.
And now Theran had bargained their father's gift to the kingdom of Jechorm, and this thought made Honroth clench his fists in anger. He didn't know what Theran was trying to do, but he wished his eldest brother would trust him.
Suddenly, the shutters of his windows slammed shut, causing Honroth to jolt out of his thoughts. His handblade on his wrist became a scaled gauntlet, and he sensed that the blade of the weapon was ready to emerge, but Honroth willed it back and darted his gaze around the room. The gale whipped through his chambers, snuffing out the torches and candles furthest from him, but it came closer and closer to him.
Someday I'll Be Redeemed Page 10