The UnFolding Collection Three

by S. K. Randolph

  Nomed sank to his knees and touched the pallid, waxy skin. He bowed his head and let the tears come. Around him, his friends formed a circle of support. He felt the tingle of wards and knew he could let down his guard. Rising, he faced Relevart. The question in his heart was answered by the expression on the VarTerel’s ageless face.

  “We must be more circumspect than any of us have ever been in our lives. Even here within these four walls and these wards, take care what you say or think. Please gather closer and listen.”

  Allynae, Henrietta, Stebben, and One Man slid their arms around each other’s waists. Relevart held his rowan staff at the center of their tight group, tapped the crystal’s cocooned tip, and whispered:

  “No one hears from other places,

  Dimensions, worlds, or outer spaces

  What I am about to share

  With those who must be most aware.”

  The air in room crackled. Light streamed around them from the crystal tip of the staff, creating a soft oval on the floor. At a sign from Relevart, they all placed a hand on the rowan shaft and waited.

  Relevart’s body seemed to empty, and then refill. “We are safe, but only for a short time. Listen with care to what I have to tell you. Wolloh rests within a state of near death. Only Efillaeh can save him. The sacred knife must be wielded by the energy and magic of raven. Corvus is the only one who can save Wolloh.”

  Nomed started to speak. Relevart frowned. Nomed nodded his understanding.

  Relevart continued, “I must take him to a safe and secret place. Act as though he is dead and buried. Nissasa and the Mocendi League must believe it, or they will find and destroy him.” He bowed his head. When he looked up, he frowned and tapped his staff on the floor. “It is done. Beware your thoughts and your words. There are many who follow our story—many who can affect the course of The Unfolding.”

  The oval of light faded, and the crystal dimmed. Relevart laid a hand on Wolloh’s forehead and lifted the staff. Before the third tap, they vanished, leaving Nomed and his companions in a silence heavy with questions.

  Nissasa Rattori wiped the sweat from his brow and leaned back in his chair. Fatigue held him in its grasp. Sleep-weighted eyelids fought to stay open. Slumber took him.

  Coldness creeping over his body snatched him into wakefulness. Dread left him shaking. His eyes flew open. He jerked upright, searching his tent with a sense of panic. A breeze rustled the tent flap. Night. It’s only the desert cold.

  Pulling the black pouch containing Souvitrico from under his kcalo, he tipped the crystal onto his palm. Fire orange with a tinge of blue infused its depths with color. A fanatical gleam brightened his eyes. “No one is going to take you away from me. You are mine. You do my bidding. Together, we have ended the life of Wolloh Espyro.” He threw back his head and chortled in delight. “Not even a High DiMensioner can withstand my power.”

  He savored the memory of Wolloh crumbling to a heap of mindless matter in his room at Shu Chenaro, of life fleeing his body, of the sudden void where his energy had been. Stebben’s blistered palm flashed into view and faded. An image of Almiralyn’s gray cat dead in that dreadful shoppe, Antiques by Q, made him hug himself.

  “My reach is endless. I have neutralized a crystal in The Borderlands. I know the position of Elcaro’s Eye.” He pressed the crystal to his lips and held it up to the light. “With your help, I will destroy the wards that protect it. The twins’ mother has felt the potency of our united strength. She will never forget my power. Most important of all, I know who guards Evolsefil.”

  He curled his fingers around Souvitrico and frowned. Frustration replaced his delight. He opened his hand and glowered at the crystal. “Why don’t you tell me everything I want to know? Where is Evolsefil? Why is Stebben still alive? And where is that da’am raven, Karrew? I am your master now, not WoNadahem Mardree.”

  Flouncing from the chair, he made a circuit of the tent. “Where is that Sebborran pig, Dahe Terah? I didn’t give him permission to run home and play leader. Soon I will take his place. He will be subservient to me. When he learns I have brought about Wolloh’s demise, he will cement himself to my side and my cause. No more vague promises. No more sending his son to meetings as though his time is too precious to waste on a RewFaaran.” He grew thoughtful. “I must discover why the Mocendi are interested in NeTols Terah. Who is he if not the blood-born son of Dahe?”

  Blistering heat from the crystal scorched his palm. Within its depths, flames blazed around searching, hood-shaded eyes. Pain buckled his knees. A snarl of rage sent chills hurtling over his skin. A hand reached toward him, index finger extended, accusing—damning. The realization that he was in danger paralyzed him. He could not release the stone.

  His mother’s voice screamed in his mind. “Throw it away. Nissasa, throw the crystal away.” A supreme effort sent Souvitrico sailing across the tent and into a pile of clothing.

  He stared at his palm. Imprinted, where the lines of his life had been, the telltale impression of Souvitrico blazed. “I’ve been branded—branded by whom?” The answer came to him with a clarity that left him curled into a ball of sheer terror. “The MasTer.” It is only a matter of time before the Mocendi League come for me . A sob shook his prone body.

  The memory of his mother’s warning sent him crawling on hands and knees to where smoke had begun to rise from smoldering cloth. Fumbling in the silky folds, he found Souvitrico still glowing and shoved it into its drango-protected pouch. I have to see my mother. She’ll know what to do . He marched from the tent and raised his arms above his head.

  The DerTahan bearded buzzard lifted into flight. Wings blazing, it flew south, its only thought—to find Roween Rattori at the home of the Dreelas TheLise in Trinuge.

  Vygel Vintrusie stood on the stoop of the cliffside cottage on ZaltRaca. The MasTer had teleported him to this location with strict instructions to bring Coala Renn Whalend to him unharmed. He shoved aside a touch of annoyance at being summarily removed from Rattori’s camp. He thought back to his encounter with the RewFaaran. The name Rattori suited him. He was a rat; a traitor; a conniving, nasty little rodent with no scruples. Loyalty was something Rattori would never understand—something Vintrusie valued above all else.

  Even though he would like to have twisted the knife deeper into Rattori’s nest of lies, his loyalty to The MasTer came first. The Mocendi’s supreme leader had saved his life and restored him to the full rank of DiMensioner. He shot a grim look around the cottage and thought about the turning many sun cycles ago when Wolloh Espyro had sent him back to TreBlaya, a broken man stripped of power. The MasTer’s orders rang a clear and insistent bell in his head. Rattori would have to wait.

  He traversed the rough ground between the empty cottage and the cliff. Wind whipped around his bald head and tore at his cape. He pulled it tighter around his gaunt body and paced the cliff edge. Letting his senses roam, he searched for a sign of the woman he sought. Bulging eyes squinted against flying debris, he stepped back from the precipice. If I am to find her, I need something baring her scent .

  Impatience carried him back to the cottage. A quick search of the lower rooms, including one he felt sure was her bedroom, provided him little of value. He scanned the small room a second time. I need something personal, something that carries her imprint . His restless gaze paused on a feather pillow. Barring that— He stripped the pillowcase from it and held it to his heart. Eyes closed, he let her essence seep into his consciousness. With a sigh, he tossed the case on the bed and left the room. What a lovely woman. It will be too bad if there is nothing left once The MasTer has used her to his purpose.

  At the cliff edge, he allowed his instincts to direct his path. Just as he suspected, a break in the rocks led him to a partially concealed trail. The rough track led him to an overlook, a dead end. Everything indicated that Coala had come this way in the company of another woman. Where did you go from here, pretty lady?

  Gazing over the frothing sea, he allowed himself a m
oment to be awed by the power of water. He stepped closer to the cliff’s rugged lip and observed the waves crashing against its base. The sky, which had been laden with clouds earlier, now churned with the angry gray of an incoming storm. Large rain drops began to fall. They sprinkled around him in a sparse pattern. Then as though the sky had opened, the rain began to fall in torrents. The wind increased, and lightning tore clouds asunder in preparation for the thundering roar of their rejoining. The overlook was no place to weather a storm.

  Bending into the wind, he hurried up the trail and fought his way to the cottage. The front door would not budge. Nothing he did would open it. He tried the back door to no avail. Drenched, angry, and frustrated, he ducked into a battered shed, sank to the ground in a soggy corner, and formed a tent around his cold frame with his cape.

  Something or someone was working against him. He could feel a subtle use of power—power stronger than any he had ever encountered, even The MasTer’s. This realization left him shaken. Whoever it was didn’t want him to find the woman. He pressed his lips together in stubborn resolve. Nothing was going to keep him from finding Coala Renn Whalend and taking her to TreBlaya.

  11

  Master’s Reach

  Myrrh & Thera

  J ordett closed the parking area door and threw the lock. After a quick scan of the hall, he slipped from the stairwell and darted to a double set of doors. The touchpad indicated that the drop car was only two floors down. Hope it’s empty . He touched the up icon and ducked around the corner. Inside his shirt pocket, he could feel the rigid form of the Nyti Matrés. Kieel had picked a tough way to be introduced to life in a city.

  The doors slid open. The car was empty. Three long strides put him inside. Double doors whooshed shut. The arrival at Platform II took only seconds.

  The sudden descent brought a pea-green Kieel scrambling from his pocket. “What was that?” He clutched his stomach and proceeded to deposit his lunch on the floor. He grimaced, produced a spotless, white hanky, and wiped his mouth. “So sorry. Most unexpected.” He hiccuped. “I gather this is a Drop Car.”

  Jordett tapped his pocket. “It is. Let’s go.” He surveyed the corridor. When Kieel had settled, he made his way to the parking area entrance. The narrow window provided a view of an empty plaza. No soldier or civilians. “I don’t like it, Kieel,” he whispered. “It’s the wrong time of the afternoon for no one to be around. This is a government building and a healing center. There is always activity here. I’m beginning to wonder if the sub-level tunnel isn’t a better idea.”

  “It could be a trap, Major, especially since they believe you are in the building.”

  “You’re right. But I have a secret weapon. You can explore the tunnel and report. That way I won’t be going in blind.” He dodged away from the window and into the stairwell. A short time later, he positioned himself in a dark recess across from the sub-level tunnel.

  The door was closed. Nothing alerted him to danger. Slipping from shadow to shadow and Ria-T to Ria-T, he traversed the plaza and pressed his back against the wall next to it.

  Kieel exited his pocket and hovered on the opposite side. Jordett inched the door open. The Nyti darted away through the gloomy darkness.

  Kieel didn’t like the feeling of being trapped underground. Rancid un-Myrrh-like smells assailed his nostrils. His nose wrinkled in disgust. The desire to be home almost overcame him. He scolded himself in a stern whisper. “Gotta concentrate. You made the choice to be here.”

  Flitting a serpentine pattern from one side of the man-made tunnel to the other, he found nothing that alerted him to danger. Midway down, he discovered a recessed door that stood ajar. Peering down from its top edge, he scanned the interior. Nothing moved. On soundless wings, he explored. It contained what he thought might be cleaning devices, an array of buckets, and several extra large trash cans. In the far corner, he discovered a grate in the ceiling big enough for a grown Human to enter. Filing this away for future reference, he continued his reconnaissance of the tunnel. When he reached the far end, he listened at the windowless metal door, the door that would take them outside. He shook the handle with all his strength, then waited well back in the tunnel in the event it flew open. Nothing happened to cause him alarm.

  Darting back the way he had come, he reversed his search. If this were a trap, he could see no sign of the trigger. At the plaza end, he tapped the door with the tip of his walking stick. A brief second later, he tapped again—the prearranged sign he and Jordett had discussed.

  The door opened and the Major stepped into the dark passageway. “Any trouble?”

  Kieel landed on his shoulder. “None. It doesn’t feel exactly right, but I couldn’t find anything to indicate an ambush.”

  Jordett crept forward. The only sound Kieel could detect was the Major’s soft breathing. Tension kept him quiet and poised for flight.

  The click of a lock pierced the darkness. Jordett flattened against the wall. Kieel hovered above him, eyes darting from one end of the tunnel to the other.

  A feeble light at the far end and the indistinct shuffle of boots on stone alerted them to company.

  Kieel floated next to Jordett’s ear. “Room halfway down. Ceiling grate.”

  The Major inched along the wall. The plaza door creaked open. A silhouetted figure slipped inside. The door closed.

  Jordett dropped to his knee. Kieel shot into the recess across the way. Nothing moved—not the Major, not the men at either end of the tunnel.

  Every muscle in Kieel’s body tensed. A distraction was needed. Was this what Henri had anticipated? Not allowing himself to analyze the situation for more than an instant, he gasped his walking stick, shot down the tunnel, and whacked a squatting soldier on the ear. The man swore and grabbed the side of his head.

  Kieel zipped to the other side and swatted him a second time. The soldier straightened and pivoted to face the door. Two silent strides carried Jordett into the recess. Kieel shot in after him. The door’s quiet click was drowned out by booted feet racing down the tunnel.

  Jordett wedged it shut with a trash can. He pulled a small light from his pocket. A quick search showed a panel between two shelves. Buttons on the panel were labeled. Kieel could not read the words. Jordett pushed a green one. The grate moved. He inched it open until it spanned the width of his hand. Voices outside the door warned of immediate danger. Jordett pulled the lid off a trash can. Too full. The next one was almost empty. He climbed inside, beckoned, and closed the lid as Kieel whizzed in and the can by the door toppled with a resounding crash.

  Confusion reigned. The tumbled trash can was tossed against the one in which Jordett squatted as low as his height and breadth would allow. Kieel fluttered between his chest and his knees. The ceiling grate opened with a faint scrape.

  “I’m betting he went out through this grate. Give me a leg up, and I’ll see what I can find.”

  The sound of shuffling, the grunt of effort. Metal scrapping the floor. A second voice. “Give me a hand up. You can go one way. I’ll go the other.”

  Knees hitting metal made a hollow sound that faded into a muted hush.

  Jordett lifted the lid just far enough to let Kieel flutter from the trash can. A quick investigation of the space and a peek into the tunnel and he tapped on the lid. Soundlessly, the Major clambered out, replaced the lid, headed toward the outside door. The hollow sound of knees on metal sent Kieel streaking after him.

  At the RewFaaran camp on Myrrh, Tinpaca Mondago paced his tent like a caged cat. Wonder how Jordett is making out. Wish we could communicate. What’s happening on DerTah? I’m blinded by the distances we are from the action .

  He marched to the tent entrance and stepped into the brightness of the Myrrhinian morning. The refreshing coolness of mid-autumn made him long for RewFaar. Sighing, he searched the brilliant blue sky. A silhouetted shape soared above the Terces Wood. Mondago shaded his eyes with a hand. A vulture and rider. A Pentharian. But who does it carry?

  It
reached the camp and landed near his tent. A beautiful woman dismounted. He noted the RewFaaran uniform, the grace with which she moved, the intelligence in the green eyes that studied him. Stee’s emerald scales gleamed in the sunlight as he materialized beside her. His lizard-like tail flicked back and forth. Unblinking gold eyes scanned the camp, missing nothing.

  Sure glad Voer and his Pentharian team are on my side.

  Stee escorted the woman to the tent. “Tinpaca Mondago, may I present Gerolyn AsTar, aunt of the twins, Ari and Brie, and Lorsedi’s communications liaison. She has a message from the Largeen Joram.”

  Lorsedi allowed a woman to carry a message? Tinpaca Mondago stifled his surprise.

  Gerolyn flashed a brief and very professional smile. “I am pleased to meet you, Tinpaca. Can we speak in private?”

  He led the way inside, offered her a chair at the table, and took a seat on the opposite side. Stee remained by the entrance. His gold eyes held a spark of curiosity.

  Mondago maintained a mask of military formality. Gerolyn remained relaxed and at ease. “What is the message, Liaison AsTar?”

  Her gracious smile made another appearance. “I’m a civilian, Tinpaca. Please call me Gerolyn.” Her expression became serious. “The Largeen Joram has asked me to inform you that Nissasa has left the RewFaaran camp at the border between the desert and Shu Chenaro. Something happened that sent him into his bearded buzzard form. When last seen, he was winging his way toward Trinuge. His men are leaderless. In less than two chron circles, the wards protecting Shu Chenaro will drop, and the Largeen Joram and his men will take Rattori’s Brigade by surprise. The Brigade will capitulate. Lorsedi would like you to take possession of the desert end of Demrach Gateway at the same time. One of the Pentharian is to return to DerTah with me. He will be our go between.”