Sierre picked up Simeon’s staff and thumped him in the side with it.
Simeon didn’t react but simply glared at her. He had faced worse from his tribemates, and he wasn’t going to cower before a treacherous foreigner. “Do your worst.”
“That’s worse than you could imagine. You saw what I could do to a water barrel. Don’t think that because you can take a few thumps of a stick you are immune to what I can do.” Sierre nodded down at the crystals. “Now, either draw magic from the yellow crystal or add magic to the one in the pouch.”
“I already tried.”
“I hope that half-hearted effort you gave yesterday wasn’t your best effort.” She thumped him in the side again. “You are no use if you aren’t a magic user.”
“What happens if I fail again?”
“You don’t want to know.”
Each weapon was bonded to a bearer. Sierre hadn’t said if the bond could be broken and another bearer chosen. Would my death break the bond and allow Sierre to take the weapon for herself? The five chosen to receive the weapons had gathered together in Wellan’s Hollow in southern Pizarr, and she had been chosen to be the staff bearer. Is she cold blooded enough to kill me? With the Sierre of the day before, Simeon would have said no way. He had no idea what the cold Sierre of that morning was capable of.
Punctuating that thought, Sierre hit him again, harder that time. “Do it.”
Simeon expelled a burst of air but didn’t shout. With his legs tied up above his body and only his shoulders, arms, and head touching the ground, he was helpless. His only way to escape was to do as she said.
He glared at the yellow crystal. He thought he’d tried his best the day before, but he had to hope that Sierre had been right about his effort being half-hearted. As she had instructed, he focused on the magical store of an energy core then imagined drawing from that core. He felt nothing.
After several minutes, he switched his focus to the crystal inside the pouch. With that one, he imagined an empty core and tried to fill it. If the purple crystal had a center, then it was bottomless, because Simeon focused all his rage at Sierre for deceiving him and Tarla into the heart of the crystal.
Sierre hit him again with his staff. “You’re not trying.”
“I am bloody trying,” Simeon snarled back.
“Then you have to have felt something. Some resistance, some feeling of a central point within the crystal.”
“Try this one.” Sierre took another crystal from her pocket and put it beside the other.
It was also yellow, but it looked like a piece of topaz, maybe ten shards worth. “Is that—”
“Just try,” Sierre shouted.
Simeon turned his head and stared at the second crystal. Should I pretend to feel something? “This time, I can definitely—”
“Stop lying.” Sierre thumped him again.
With all her strikes hitting roughly the same place, each one hurt a little more. The last had felt like a mule kick. Simeon gritted his teeth but managed not to shout. “Still nothing.”
“Is it exactly the same as with the other crystals? No difference?”
“Nothing is nothing is nothing.”
Sierre drew back the staff. Simeon tensed, but the blow never came.
Instead, Sierre dropped the staff and put her hands to her face. “I’m sorry.” When she dropped her hands, the coldness had disappeared. “I shouldn’t have done that. Simeon, I’m so sorry. I just feel so desperate. I should never have been chosen to be a bearer.”
“Maybe release my ankles.” Simeon’s anger had become mixed with confusion.
“Of course. What am I thinking?” Sierre raced over to where the rope was tied off. “You must think I’m a terrible person.” Her hands were shaking, and she struggled with the knot.
“Pretty much,” Simeon said. “Why?” At least he wasn’t going to be killed for his lack of magical ability.
Sierre gave up on the knot and drew her belt knife and used that to saw through the rope. Simeon’s legs fell, and he hit the ground hard.
Sierre’s hand flew to her mouth. “Mezziall. Sorry. I should have let you down gently.”
“Stop saying sorry and tell me why.”
She had gone from a tough, capable woman rescuing him to a murderous fiend torturing him and then to someone coming apart at the seams.
“The weapons of power were our only hope, and it’s all gone terribly wrong,” she said.
“Not ‘Why are you desperate?’ Why were you torturing me and threatening to kill me?”
“Torturing? I would never.” She sat down heavily and returned her head to her hands. “I guess that’s what I was doing.”
Simeon leaned forward to untie the knots around his ankles. He thought she was crying, but when she lowered her hands again and looked up, her eyes were clear. “Those who make fun of the Invisible Towers are right,” she said. “We are a mess. But it’s not our fault. Those given magical power aren’t automatically the bravest or the strongest or the cleverest. It’s just random. One of those with the most magical power is an old man with the mind of a child. Another is a woman who never leaves her room. Most of the magic users with ambition have joined Zubrios’s clerics. The remainder hide in Soylant Forest. I was the one chosen to be a weaponbearer.” She made a face. “The worthiest of a pitiful lot, I guess.”
Simeon couldn’t stay angry with her. The rope around his ankles came free, and he stood up. He was drenched with dew, and the fading yellow bruises on his torso would be replaced by a large black one. Other than that, he wasn’t in terrible shape. “How did the weapons-of-power spell go wrong?”
“We don’t know. We only had scraps of old documents to piece together how to create it. The Order brought us all the color-changing crystals they could find, and over several years, we shaped the spell inside those crystals. Just days before it was due to be cast, the spell was released, and we aren’t sure how. We didn’t even know that the weapons were actually created until I heard rumors about a boy in Medalon with a magic staff, and I found you. You’re probably sorry I ever heard of you.”
“Not at all.” Simeon rubbed his side. “This little bruise is much less than Borlan would have given me if you hadn’t rescued me.” Simeon figured he might as well make light of it—no point in adding to the blame Sierre was already putting on herself. “You still haven’t explained why, though.”
“When testing a candidate for magic, it often doesn’t manifest itself at once. Some people have gone through months or years of testing before their ability is unlocked. Often, strong emotions, particularly negative emotions, are involved when a young person first demonstrates his power. I doubt we have months or years, so I thought to jump ahead.”
“You couldn’t warn me, or the feelings wouldn’t be genuine. Is that it?”
“True hate and anger are impossible to fake.”
Knowing the reason, Simeon felt even less angry. He bent and picked up his staff. If he could learn to control magic, he could use the staff to portal to any part of Mageles—an incredible power, wasted in his hands. If Sierre’s tactic had succeeded, he would certainly have seen the blows as worth the cost. “So is it possible I can still use magic—I just haven’t figured out how to unleash it yet?”
Sierre stood and picked up the two yellow crystals. As she did so, one of them flickered as the color changed slightly. “You definitely couldn’t tell any difference between these two crystals when trying to access the magic within them?”
Simeon shook his head.
“This one is just a topaz shard.” She held up the one that hadn’t flickered and pocketed it. “Useful only for buying stuff. The other,” she covered it with her second hand until Simeon saw it change to blue, “can store magic. Those with any kind of affinity can usually detect a center to the color-changing crystals that they don’t feel with a normal crystal.” She sighed.
It was a sigh of resignation. She clearly didn’t hold out much hope that Simeon would ever fi
nd magical ability within it. Simeon remembered the morning he’d found the staff. He’d lost a tooth to a blow from Freid. When he’d hobbled down the slope toward Tarla’s house, the staff had not just supported him physically, it had given him hope. Whatever Sierre said about the spell being miscast, the staff had been meant to come to him. He knew that idea was stupid if looked at logically, but he couldn’t help but feel that the staff was a final gift from Xelinder. Despite Sierre’s doubts, Simeon would learn to use the weapon.
“You said the magic of the spell was released early,” Simeon said. “Was it accident or sabotage?”
“At first, we assumed it had to be an accident,” Sierre said. “Then a special crystal tied to the weapons went missing.”
“The Lord Protector?”
“We don’t know.” Sierre still looked lost. When Simeon took a step forward and reached for her, she shied away.
“It’s okay,” Simeon told her then gripped her forearm. “I just wanted to tell you that you did the right thing this morning. I know it was hard for you, and I’m glad you found the strength to carry through.” He felt weird thanking someone for trussing him up and beating on him as if he were one of those practice dummies that he and his tribemates beat the straw out of, but he wanted the strong and capable version of Sierre on his side even if that mask was as thin as paper. “At least we now know that unleashing the power of the staff is not as simple as getting me angry.”
Simeon’s words didn’t affect Sierre exactly as he had hoped. She looked ready to cry from gratitude rather than guilt.
“Thank you,” she said.
He’d made her happier but not stronger.
“Let’s continue to Wellan’s Hollow and the others,” Simeon said. He had been expecting his mysterious rescuer to provide him with strength and purpose, not the other way around.
Chapter 23
“Maybe we should give ourselves up.”
Lukin’s disgusted look was Mortlebee’s only answer.
Mortlebee didn’t need thought-mage power to know that the other boy thought him an idiot. And Mortlebee couldn’t defend himself, for he’d felt like an idiot since meeting Lukin. Mortlebee couldn’t ride and didn’t know how to make camp or take care of horses.
He had started to learn, but their journey might have been coming to an abrupt end already. They were sheltered in a small copse of trees overlooking the village of Fordhaven. Beyond the village lay the dark green waters of the Hatori River, wide and fast flowing, and beyond that, the lush forests of Pizarr. A small rickety wooden bridge spanned the Hatori. Everything was exactly as Lukin had said it would be except for the twenty clerics guarding the Fordhaven side of the bridge.
“We could turn back,” Mortlebee said. “The plan failed.” With two nearby crossings into Pizarr, one in Newbridge and the other in Fordhaven, Lukin had led them directly toward Newbridge then diverted toward Fordhaven in a mad dash.
“The plan hasn’t failed,” Lukin said. “Sure, there’s a few redbirds down there. They are all robin-crests, though, with perhaps one sparrow-crest or raven-crest to lead them. No sign of the eagle-crests I told you about. The main force is probably still waiting for us in Newbridge. The small troop here is just a precautionary step by the clerics.” Lukin slapped the neck of his horse, standing behind him. “So these guys didn’t build up a sweat in vain.” Both horses had started to nose at nearby tufts of grass, though their chests still rose and fell heavily and, as Lukin had mentioned, their coats were slick with sweat.
The mention of the hard ride reminded Mortlebee of the soreness in his thighs and lower back. He leaned against the side of a tree, his legs slightly apart, his knees bent. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to walk for a while, never mind whatever Lukin wanted them to do. Fly? “It might not have failed, but it didn’t exactly succeed.” Mortlebee was trying to come up with a nonconfrontational way of saying, Of course it renka failed. Already Mortlebee was picking up Lukin’s curse words. “The clerics down there might not have any magic, but they do have swords.”
“It would be handy to have an offensive magic weapon right about now,” Lukin said. “You know, maybe a bow that could shoot energy.”
“Wouldn’t matter,” Mortlebee said. “I wouldn’t use it to kill anyone. Not again.”
“Of course not.” Lukin sighed in an exaggerated manner.
“What about turning back?” Mortlebee asked even though he knew Lukin would probably dismiss the idea, likely mentioning adventurers. Lukin had done most of the talking over the past few days.
“We can’t turn back. With that crystal the clerics have, they will find us eventually if we stay north of the Hatori. We must get into Pizarr, where they won’t be able to follow. Also, there we’ll find a third weaponbearer. And we must make our move fast before the eagle-crests figure out we are intending to cross here.” He glanced to the west, where the sun was dipping toward the horizon. “When the odds are against them, adventurers find ways to succeed.” Lukin looked Mortlebee straight in the eye. “Yes, I did mention adventurers. And no, we didn’t renka fail. Nor are we going to fly.”
Stupid renka magic ring.
Lukin grinned. “This village is called Fordhaven because before the bridge, there was the ford. It’s possible to cross in the shallows here. And as soon as it gets dark, that is what we shall do.”
Mortlebee frowned. With twilight approaching, the Hatori’s waters were turning from dark green to black. The darkness didn’t hide the strength of the current. “I can’t swim.”
“Not to worry,” Lukin said. “Trust me. Only the horses’ feet will be getting wet. We won’t be doing any fighting either, so you won’t have to break any of your religion’s—what are they?—guidelines.”
“Laws,” Mortlebee said.
The scrolls of Kale became thousands of times harder to follow outside of Tockery. He didn’t want to be considered a coward as well as an idiot by Lukin, but Kale taught avoiding situations that would lead to confrontation. Mortlebee wasn’t a religious scholar, but he figured that trying to sneak past a contingent of soldiers under cover of darkness was exactly the kind of thing that Kale preached to avoid. However, Mortlebee didn’t see what else he could do. He had been lucky enough that Lukin had found him—he didn’t have any idea what he would have done or where he would have gone without the Soirbuz adventurer. Yet the further he strayed from the teachings of Kale, the harder it would be to return. He needed to start making his heart purer, not to add to its sins.
Lukin unstrapped a sword from around his waist and attached it to the saddle of his horse. “Best to tie everything heavy to the horses to be on the safe side,” he said. “Anything that might weigh you down. Including cloaks and boots.”
“I thought only the horses’ feet would be getting wet.” “Trust me,” he’d said.
“No harm in taking precautions.”
After stuffing his boots and cloak into the saddlebags, Mortlebee took advantage of the last of the daylight to stretch his legs. After a bit of walking, he could stand almost upright again, though he wasn’t looking forward to getting back in the saddle again.
The time when they had to make a move came sooner than he liked. Lukin mounted and nodded for Mortlebee to do the same. Mortlebee hesitated. Everything Father had taught him screamed for him to turn away. However, Father was with him no longer. He had sent Mortlebee into the wider world, and he had to find his own way. He stuck a bare foot into a stirrup then vaulted himself onto the horse. He winced as his chafed and bruised thighs settled back into the saddle.
Lukin’s horse left the shelter of the trees and started down the slope. Mortlebee wrenched on the reins and kicked his heels into his horse’s flanks until it got the idea that it should follow Lukin’s horse. The moon had not yet risen, and the grayness of twilight still hadn’t given way to full darkness. In the silence of the night, the horses’ hoofsteps sounded too loud. Renka. Mortlebee’s heartbeat sounded too loud.
They circled around the
far side of the village. As they passed the first house, a dog raced out and broke the night’s silence with a torrent of barking. Mortlebee’s horse shifted beneath him, snorting. Up ahead, Lukin patted the neck of his horse and made soothing sounds. Mortlebee tried to copy him. His horse, though, didn’t want to be calmed and turned toward the dog and charged it.
The dog fled, and Mortlebee regained control of his horse. Mortlebee glanced around nervously, but they were still a distance from the center of the village, and the bridge was beyond that. Most likely, they hadn’t given away their presence to the redbirds. The dog, farther back, barked a bit longer before deciding they were no longer a threat and wandering away.
Lukin turned in the saddle, and Mortlebee could just about make out his silhouette well enough to tell that he was slowly shaking his head. I’ve only had three days to learn how to ride. Mortlebee transmitted the thought then patted his horse’s neck as it resumed following Lukin’s horse at a walking pace.
Lukin changed direction slightly, leading them even wider around the village. Inside the houses of Fordhaven, fires were being lit one by one, orange squares popping into being as the light escaped the windows. Mortlebee felt a squeeze in his chest. In the darkness, Fordhaven could have been Bluegrass.
The horses’ hoofsteps changed timbre, becoming more of a sucking sound than a thudding sound as the ground became soggy. A faint glint of starlight reflected off the slick black water just paces ahead. Mortlebee swallowed hard. Are we just going to direct the horses straight into the water? How deep are these shallows?
Mortlebee’s head jerked to the left at the snap of a twig. A shadow moved impossibly quickly from the trees on the bank, stopping at the head of Lukin’s horse. The horse half reared up, but the shadow, clearly a man, grabbed it around the neck and pulled it back down to a standing position.
The Silver Portal (Weapons of Power Book 1) Page 17