Opening his hand, he conjured a glowing orb that hovered just above his open palm. On its whitish-blue surface, patterns formed into the likeness of a map, and Lorrek found himself staring at the land of Serhon as if from above. All those with magic in the land glowed with a special signature on the sphere in his hand. His own bright presence lit up the forest of Serhon. In the palace, he saw the splendid white glow of Anelm, but also a twisted, darker shadow, which he knew represented King Roskelem. There were other magic signatures in the area, yet one thing captured his attention. Beyond the forest where he now stood, he saw a cluster of dim, very still, and almost dead glows in the black plains between the forest and the castle of Serhon.
At a twist of his wrist, the view in the orb zoomed through the land, over the forest, and focused on the strange occurrence beyond the woods. On the screen in the sphere, Lorrek saw a land blackened from past fires. Few trees remained standing, but they were altogether white—like bones of standing skeletons. Ash, dust, and black sand mixed in the ground, and dark tainted magic stained the air.
Lorrek almost pulled back at the bitter taste of ash in his mouth, but then something caught his eye, and he directed the sphere toward it so he could view it better.
It was a statue—one of a man caught in an obvious struggle for his life. His eyes were wide and forever staring at a specific spot in front of him. His lips parted—in a plea for mercy or a gasp, Lorrek did not know. His hands opened wide—one semi-out stretched and the other pulled back.
Lorrek frowned. He recognized that stance. It was the defensive posture for any magic user. That was when he shifted his gaze back to the distraught face of this man and looked upon him through the eyes of magic.
There—in his eyes—the faintest glow of a spirit, and one of magic.
However, something behind the man's head caught Lorrek's attention, and he saw another statue—a woman this time, on her knees pleading, hands clasped together, reaching out to someone above her while behind her a stone child hid. Then, still viewing through the eye of the sphere he had conjured, Lorrek looked behind the child and saw more and more statues—rows and rows of them, as if they were stone army. As he viewed them through the eyes of magic, he realized they were—or at least had been at one time—alive.
All these statues were real people, and each one had possessed magic.
Lorrek clenched his fist and extinguished the viewing orb. No longer did he see the black fields lined with rows stone statues, but he knew it lay between him and his destination. True, he could magick to the palace where he now knew Princess Anelm was being held, but he preferred to walk and think.
He had much to think upon, and he hoped by the time he reached the palace his fury toward King Roskelem would be abated.
So he started walking.
14
Once again, Heldon tugged at the chains in the wall that were holding his arms spread out while he sat on the floor in the dungeon cell, and again the chains didn't budge. He sighed and ducked his head. At times like this, he wished he had magic like Lorrek because all he would have to do was think a thought, and the chains would loosen. He had seen Lorrek do it enough times when all four brothers were placed in dungeons when negotiations had failed. Lorrek would wait until the guards turned their backs, and then he phased his hand through the metal. Heldon and Theran always tried to persuade Lorrek to free them as well, but that often earned them a glare as he sat on the floor, pulled a book out of a different dimension, and began reading, much to the annoyance of his brothers.
Looking back now, Heldon found Lorrek's manner of handling the situation humorous, and he chuckled.
“You actually find something funny in this entire situation, Heldon?” Erita's voice filled the cold darkness of the dungeon, and Heldon lifted his gaze to the cell across the corridor. She wasn't chained to the wall like him, but now that Heldon thought about it, he never saw one of the guards bind her—probably due to the fact that none of them wanted to get close to her in case she struck them with magic.
However, he didn't see anything keeping her in her own cell, but still she didn't venture past it. “Why don't you phase through those bars and get us out of here? I've seen Lorrek do it before.”
Her eyes hardened as she stood in front of the bars, and she crossed her arms. “Well, Prince Heldon,” when she said his title, Heldon knew he had said something wrong, “I am not Lorrek, but I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that you can't see it.”
Heldon furrowed his brows. “See what?” He looked around only to hear her exasperated sigh.
“Exactly.” She moved away from the front and sat on the bench in her cell then motioned to the bars. “Verddra has a holding spell on the entire cell. It dampens my magical abilities, and if I tried anything, she would know immediately.” She sighed again and stared at the floor. “If I were Lorrek, I'd probably have a counter spell for this, but I'm not that powerful.”
“Sorry to compare,” but Heldon knew his words fell flat as soon as he had spoken. He sighed then let silence consume them. If only he could reach his left hand over to his right, he could return to Cuskelom, warn Honroth, and then come back and free Erita. Yet, as he turned his head to his right and saw the bracelet just out of reach, he grimaced.
“How do you know Therth?” Erita's sudden question yanked Heldon's head back around, and he saw her still sitting on the bench but watching him.
Sighing, Heldon tore his gaze off her and tilted his head back against the wall. “Did Therth look familiar to you?”
For a moment Erita was silent, but then she replied, “Theran—he looked a bit like Theran though his hair is more blond.”
Heldon nodded then tilted his head from side to side to try and crack his neck and relieve the pressure off his shoulders. “He had a brother named Loroth who looked a lot like Lorrek. Therth and Loroth are my cousins, and we grew up in the palace together. Most people never saw Therth with Theran or Loroth with Lorrek. Only a few handmaidens and teachers knew of Therth and Loroth’s existence—including Verddra because she trained Lorrek in magic for a time. Due to their physical similarities, Father assigned them as doubles for my brothers—just like I could be a double for Honroth. At times when Theran couldn't make a meeting due to his carelessness, Therth stepped in. When Lorrek's training in magic left him too drained to stand, Loroth appeared as him.” He chuckled at the memories and shook his head. “Sometimes I didn't even know the difference.”
“But Loroth—did he have magic?”
“Just enough to pass as Lorrek for a little while.” He remembered watching Loroth pass through solid objects unhindered, heal an injury, and in extreme cases shoot lightning from his person, but he never conjured fiery orbs to throw at people, erected an invisible shield, or reached into people's minds to communicate as Lorrek did. However, he had enough power to convince people that he was Lorrek.
“What happened?” Erita's gentle voice directed his mind to the time when everything had started going wrong.
Heldon sighed. “I don't know the details. Loroth was always ill, and Lorrek did everything he could to save him. Then one day he took Loroth to Jechorm. Therth and Vixen went as well. That was the last time I saw Loroth.”
“That's right.” Erita nodded, recalling a memory from long ago. “I knew I recognized those names. I remember them when I was in Jechorm. I was there with Inecha at the time.”
Now it was Heldon's turn to raise his brows. Erita never spoke of her visit to Jechorm, but that was before he knew her, so he never pressed her. However, he remembered one important fact about her arrival in Cuskelom. “You were the one who brought Vixen back.” When Erita nodded, Heldon went on, “She never told us any details. It wasn't until much later that Therth returned. I think you were elsewhere at the time. He could never forgive Lorrek for allowing something to happen to Loroth, so he left. That's why I'm surprised to see him here—and working for Verddra no less.” He cast a glance to the door and frowned. “I just hope he's finding th
e answers he's looking for.”
Before Erita could reply, the door groaned open, and Therth marched in with several other guards. They went first to Erita's cell and secured her in enchanted bonds, and then Therth stepped into Heldon's cell and worked to unfasten his hands from the chains.
Heldon took the moment to observe the man he had looked up to while growing up. Therth looked sharp in the Chief Guard uniform for Verddra's forces. His arms were massive with muscle, and his broad shoulders spoke of physical power. His features had aged, but to Heldon's surprise he still looked like Theran, with his face hardened from harsh conditions and terrible decisions, “Perhaps they look this way because they have lost and are looking for their brothers—and for answers.” Heldon had no time to reflect on the irony as Therth yanked his right arm up behind his back and pushed him forward to get him walking.
“Where are you taking us?” Erita was the first to find her voice, and she spoke with confidence.
“Countess Verddra wishes to have a word with you.” Therth's voice sounded rougher than Heldon recalled, but he knew better than to strike up a friendly conversation and prompt the man who had been his friend to remember the past; the last thing Heldon wanted was to experience Therth's fist through his head.
Keeping his mouth shut and walking awkwardly, since Therth refused to allow Heldon's left hand anywhere near his right one because he could vanish at the touch of his handblade, Heldon shuffled his way through the corridors in silence. He noted how clean the palace was and void of any remnants of a takeover. At first he wondered if the palace had willingly opened its doors to Verddra, but then he remembered what Lorrek used to say about Verddra, “She uses illusion spells as easily as she breathes. Things are not what they seem.”
Heldon had expected to be taken to the throne room where he imagined Verddra lounged on the brass throne of Nirrorm—without a care in the world for what others thought or what happened to anyone but herself. As long as things were going according to her plan, she was pleased.
However, Therth led them past the throne room—and Heldon got a glimpse inside, only to find it barren—and they went up a spiraling staircase of a tower. Higher and higher they walked up the narrow stairs. Erita tripped once on her skirt, but Therth's hand on the small of her back kept her from falling. At last at the top of the stairs, a guard pushed open a wooden door, and Heldon and Erita stumbled inside.
Heldon caught himself before he hit the floor and took a look around. It was a small circular room with narrow windows, allowing the only source of natural light into the room, and the dying light of the day shone onto the lone wooden desk at the center of the room. Behind the desk sat Verddra—her eyes staring at a parchment on the table while her fingertips traced the markings on a map.
At last, she lifted her gaze to her prisoners, and Heldon stiffened, expecting a cold stare, but he was taken back by the humane look in her eyes. She looked tired, but she knew she had to keep up appearances. With a tight smile, she leaned back into her chair and braced her fingers before her in a steeple. “Prince Heldon. Sorceress Erita.” She nodded to them. “I trust you have had proper time to consider your situation.”
In the corner of his eye something shifted, and Heldon looked and saw Erita stand up straight with shoulders pulled back, chin level, and eyes firm. She wasn't facing a queen or a conqueror—she faced an equal. “Verddra, you hold us here unjustly.”
Verddra's eyes flashed, but she kept her temper in check. “You entered Nirrorm without permission.”
“Last time we checked, we didn't need permission to enter Nirrorm because it hadn't been overthrown. Why are you doing this? You are a sorceress—not a queen!” Erita moved to take a step forward, but Therth placed a strong hand on her shoulder, holding her back.
Heldon stared at Erita, hoping that she would look at him and see the message in his eyes, “Don't—just stop. She will kill you.”
However, Erita never looked Heldon's way. Her gaze remained fixed on Verddra, and her lips curled in disgust. “You do your craft dishonor.”
Heldon sighed and lifted his gaze to the ceiling. This couldn't end well.
Verddra scowled at Erita. It took every ounce of her will not to grip the arm of her chair or flick her wrist in Erita's direction to send her flying out the door and down the stairs. She forced herself to remain calm and kept her face unreadable. She knew Erita from the week that her father had insisted Erita should train with her. Though her father was also a sorcerer, he had wanted his daughter to learn from a pure magic user from Athorim, so he came to Verddra. However, the girl was too stubborn to learn anything—insisted she knew everything there was to know, despite the numerous times when Verddra had put her knowledge to the test, which she had failed every time.
Erita was no threat to Verddra. Her power—though impressive alone—was like a mere candle when stacked against the power of someone like Lorrek or Verddra herself. If Erita could recognize this and learn to live within her boundaries, she could become very resourceful. However, because she insisted she was more than she really was, Verddra looked down at her.
“I do not expect you to understand, little Erita.” A cunning smile cut across Verddra's cold lips. “However, I have a proposition to make—for both of you.” She shifted her gaze to Heldon, who looked as though he hoped he had managed to match Lorrek's skill at becoming invisible, but failed. “Prince Heldon, if you remove the handblade from your wrist—and Erita, if you allow me to bind your magic, I will release you both from the dungeons, so you may wander the palace freely. Perhaps you will be of assistance to me since you are both well-versed in the political culture of the surrounding lands.”
Heldon opened his mouth, but Erita responded first, lunging forward but held back by guards. “No! You will never bind my magic!”
Verddra arched an impressed brow and then leaned forward to rest her chin on her steepled hands. “My dear, if I so wanted, I could snap my fingers and bind your magic in an instant.” She curled her fingers, ready to prove her point, but then Heldon stepped in front of Erita.
“Don't. I know enough about magic to know how important it is to a user, and if you take that from her, you will have more madness on your hands than you need.”
Verddra lifted her brows at his bravery, then smiled sweetly, and lowered her hand. “Are you offering to remove your handblade?” She motioned to the bracelet on his wrist.
Heldon looked down at it and remembered his father's words, “Never lose your handblade. Never give it to another.” He wasn't sure of the consequences, but he knew it couldn't be good. He knew a refusal would not sit well with Verddra, but he had no other choice. “You know I cannot.”
Verddra nodded. “Ah yes—once put on, it can no longer come off.”
Heldon knew this wasn't altogether true, but if Verddra didn't know that, he saw no reason to correct her. Instead, he changed the subject. “Honroth mentioned rumors of Lorrek’s appearance here in Nirrorm. We came to see if those rumors were true.” He watched her body language carefully for a response.
The conquering queen stilled, and her eyes narrowed at the thought of Lorrek. Then she looked at Heldon. “And if they are?”
“I am not here to question your victory over Nirrorm.” Heldon shook his head. “You mentioned Lorrek, and my brother, Theran, has been searching for him all these years. We thought him dead, but now we have reason to believe he might actually be alive. With your permission, I would like Erita to track down his signature and try to catch his trail.”
Verddra sat back and drummed her fingers as she considered Heldon. He had grown into a wise young man, who knew how to work various angles of a situation. However, she preferred to maintain absolute control. “And why would I allow you to do that?”
Heldon shared a glance with Erita and then looked back at Verddra. “If he is indeed alive, wouldn't you prefer to know?” He tilted his head.
Verddra pressed her lips into a thin line—her fingers still drumming a slow, methodica
l beat. “Perhaps.” She inclined her head then leaned forward, placing her elbows on the table and steepling her hands once more. “Very well, Prince Heldon, you make a reasonable request which benefits us both. I will allow Erita to search for your brother's signature, but you must remain here—in the dungeon since you refuse to remove your handblade.” Heldon bowed his head, accepting these demands, but Verddra shifted her gaze to the man still locking Heldon's arm behind his back so he couldn't escape. “Therth, you will accompany Erita.”
Heldon shot Therth a quick glance over his shoulder and saw Therth ready to protest, but the man silenced himself and bowed his head to the queen. He nodded for another guard to come and hold Heldon’s arm, and then he stepped beside Erita. “Where would you have us go, Your Majesty?” He fixed his gaze on Verddra.
She considered this query for a moment then nodded, and a sly smile touched her lips. “I will send you where your imperfect magic should pick up a trace of him because it is the first place I sensed him prior to seeing him in the corridors of this palace.” She set a cold glare upon Erita. “You will have until this evening to return. If you do not, I will kill Prince Heldon. Therth, make sure she does nothing stupid—like try to magick to Cuskelom to tell Honroth what has befallen his brother.” Therth nodded and placed a hand on Erita's shoulder, and before Erita could voice a question or a protest, they vanished at a wave of Verddra's hand.
Now alone with Verddra, Heldon didn't know what to expect, but Verddra didn't spare him a second glance as she turned her focus once more upon the map on the table. She dismissed Heldon and the guards with a flick of her hand. “Take him to the dungeon. I do not wish to be disturbed.”
Someday I'll Be Redeemed Page 14