With a shove, she pushed the glass pieces back into their brass frame and fired them to the melting point. The metal glowed with the heat she pumped into it, the molded images along the edges beginning to melt, but she didn’t care. She put the glass back into one piece that again reflected her naked and scarred body, and looking at it then, she felt only one thing.
Empty. Like a wine sack that had been dumped in the dirt, she was deflated, overused, and full of holes. Completely and thoroughly empty.
“Mistress?” a deep voice echoed through her head. Grateful for the distraction, C’Tan banished the mirror, replaced her robe, and tied the sash.
“Yes, Drake?” she answered her dragon. He never disturbed her unless the news was urgent. C’Tan had learned early on she could trust her dragon mount more than any other being. He had always been true to her.
“I have heard from our spies at Javak. The girl you want, the one named Shandae, was attacked this morning and nearly killed.” Drake was silent after that, knowing her well.
C’Tan went from empty to livid in an instant. “Do you know who was responsible? Was it Kardon?”
“I know not, Mistress. It was a group I’ve not heard of before. They move like shadows, flickering in and out of the light, much like your daughter, but different. Here one moment, there the next. If it is Kardon, I do not know where he made his connections, though I have heard it whispered he plans to overthrow you and become the master once again.” Drake was quiet for a moment before continuing. “I would much prefer that you remain the mistress. Kardon is . . . painful.”
C’Tan understood what he meant. Kardon’s treatment of the dragons was the final thing that had made her rise up against her master, but when it came time to kill him, she just couldn’t find the strength to do it, despite S’Kotos’ urging. She’d killed her father with hardly a thought. He was vermin. But Kardon? She couldn’t, and she worried that another battle now would destroy her. She was too fragmented, too distracted by so many things. The search for the keystones, the search for Ember, the search for Kayla, and now this attack on Ember as well? She couldn’t juggle it all and keep things quiet at home too.
Well, forewarned is forearmed, or so they say. If Kardon was responsible for the attack on Ember, C’Tan would take care of the problem once and for all.
She stormed to the door and threw it open, surprising the guard who stood just outside. “Summon Kardon. I wish to speak with him immediately.” She didn’t wait for an answer, just slammed the door shut, then turned to her wardrobe and decided what to wear for the day. She thought her red riding leathers would do nicely. Yes, after she took care of Kardon, she believed a ride would calm her nerves.
The old master-turned-servant came quickly at her summons. She made him wait outside her door while she finished dressing and selected several knives to accentuate her outfit. One at the hip. One for her boot. One for each thigh. And one hung behind her, just at shoulder height.
With the last knife tucked away, she opened the door and let her servant in. She didn’t give him time to think, just took the knife from her right hip and thrust it into his stomach. It wouldn’t kill him. The man could heal himself faster than she could do much damage, but it would hurt. Oh yes, it would hurt.
He doubled over in pain and surprise, but C’Tan did not let go of the knife. She shoved it deeper and twisted. “We seem to have a problem, Kardon, and I remember telling you once that the next time you betrayed me, I would have your heart.”
Kardon looked up at her, hate and confusion battling in his eyes. His mouth grimaced with the pain. “I’ve done nothing to betray you, Mistress.”
C’Tan twisted the knife again and he cried out. “Please, Mistress, I do not know what you mean! Tell me what I have done to deserve this punishment.”
Unsure now, C’Tan withdrew the knife. Kardon gasped, the blood splattering her obsidian floor. “The girl. Ember Shandae. She was attacked this morning at Javak by a group of shadow people. They meant to kill her. Have you gone against my wishes, Kardon? Are you trying to kill Ember and seek the reward our master will give you?”
Kardon placed his right hand over the hole in his stomach, power and heat flowing through his hand to heal the damage. He stood up straight with a grunt. “I have heard of the attack, yes, but I give you my word I had nothing to do with it. I’ve already got agents searching out the attackers. It’s a group we’ve neither seen nor heard of before. Something entirely new. How is it you came by this knowledge before me?”
C’Tan waved away his question and wiped her knife on the hem of his shirt. “That, my dear, is for me to know and you never to find out. I have my agents too.”
Kardon grimaced. “Of that I am sure, Mistress. What would you like me to do about the matter? I know what the master wants, and the soulstone still plays a heavy part in that act.” He glanced across C’Tan’s room to the altar that sat beneath her window. C’Tan kept it there to remind her of her goal and why she continued to follow S’Kotos when her love for him was long dead.
“Ember must join us or be bound to the stone, Kardon. There are no other options in S’Kotos’ eyes, do you understand?” C’Tan said, walking over to the soulstone but never touching it.
“I understand completely, Mistress. And for what it’s worth, I’m in full agreement. There are no other choices,” Kardon said as he bowed from the room, his hand still covering the bloody hole in his tunic.
You’ve got that right, C’Tan thought. There are no other options when S’Kotos is in charge.
Chapter Six
The cold, foggy mist conjured by the magi to cover their exit from Javak set Ember to shivering, despite the warm-spelled cloak Aldarin had retrieved for her. It wasn’t so much the clammy cold as that she couldn’t see anything coming at her from the darkness. She’d learned not to trust anything that eluded her eye as of late, and in this fog she could barely glimpse DeMunth marching in front of her, let alone Ezeker or Marda before them. She could feel the warmth of Aldarin behind her and could hear the muffled steps of her co-inductees into the Academy of Magi, but beyond that, the city was silent.
Ember’s thoughts went back to her experience in healing her attacker and what had happened at the end. Had she really stepped outside her body? What was that white cord that had sailed off into the distance? And why was she connected to DeMunth, of all people? Ezeker she understood, but DeMunth? Her mind boggled at the thought, and she wished she’d talked to Ezeker about it while she could. There’d been no time since the afternoon meeting. They’d been busy packing and gathering everyone together. Then the magi had called up the fog and told the students to march toward some indeterminate spot that no one could see. She hoped Ezeker knew where they were going, because in her eyes, they marched toward a solid wall of rock.
After what seemed an hour of walking, but was probably half that, the group came to a silent halt and Ezeker called her forward. He stood next to a strange outcropping of rock and had his hand on a nubby protuberance. Ember looked at him expectantly, but he still said nothing, just handed her an ordinary-looking stone and pointed at the knobby rock, then pointed at her. Ember took the hint and pressed the rock against the knob.
For a long moment, nothing happened and Ember began to feel silly, but then a dim light scanned her hand and the rock she held against the stone. She was astonished when the wall of the rock melted into itself, like a river bank after a storm. It collapsed and opened a pathway into the mountain.
Ember had to stop herself from exclaiming with awe. Obviously the mage academy wanted to keep this a secret, but what a secret it was. Each of the candidates was brought forward, handed a rock, and asked to touch the knobby stone, and one by one the cave seemed to accept them, the entrance growing larger and larger with each child who approached until the last of the mage recruits had been introduced to the stone and Ezeker led the way inside.
It was a whole new world in the cave. Ember felt like she should have been afraid—claustrophob
ic—but she didn’t. The cave spoke to her in ways little else ever had, like it knew her somehow. The walls lit up around her and reacted to the presence of magic. It was eerily fascinating—but very strange. In the distance, she could see the tunnel still opening up, as if she were walking through the inside of a giant balloon one of the village entertainers blew up to charm the children. Ember couldn’t take it all in. There was so much to see.
In some places, the walls were black obsidian, shiny, like glass. In others, they were clear as quartz, and she could see figures in the depth that never really materialized. Those figures made her shiver and gave her an ill feeling that crept up and down her spine.
The light cast from the walls was an odd color. Just like the stone itself, in some places it cast light of bright sunlight yellow, and in others it was a mossy green or sapphire blue. It was the strangest thing, and yet Ember felt at home here, despite the figures in the stone.
The sound of the group’s footsteps echoed off the walls, sounding louder than they really were. Every scuff and stomp was accentuated and cast back on the group. Ember jumped when Ezeker started talking.
“Lessons begin now, my dears. This mountain, as I’m sure you can tell, is not your average stone and dirt. It is alive, and is the origin of all the keystones the Guardians use to bind magic to our world. It is a special place, and one that has gained a sentience of its own. It welcomes the members of the Academy of Magi as it would its own children, and protects them just as strongly. The Academy is actually housed within the depths of this mountain, all the rooms created for us by the manipulation of the mountain’s stone.” Ezeker’s words echoed back to the group just like the footsteps, but different than the shuffle of feet, his words came back clear and undistorted.
“Many people have tried to break into the mage school through some means or another. None have succeeded. The mountain envelops them—eats them, I guess you could say. The stone you used to gain access to the mountain is your keystone—not to be confused with the keystones created by the Guardians.” He waited for the chuckles to stop before he continued. “These innocent-looking black rocks are your passport into the mage academy. Do not lose them or you may end up like those the mountain has found trespassing against her.”
Just as he said that, a section of quartz to the left of the group lit up. Several of the children screamed. All of them backed quickly away from the wall, but it wasn’t until they were behind her that Ember saw what it was that had frightened them.
Encased in the quartz was a man. He stood frozen in the glass like stone as if in solid ice, preserved perfectly. One hand stretched out toward them, the other had a sword raised as if to strike, his mouth open in a scream, but only his eyes told that it was in terror and not fury that he struck. He was dressed in armor that could have come from any of the kingdoms across the continent during the last two hundred years. Things had not changed that much. Ember took a step closer to better see the man, feeling neither fear nor revulsion.
A snarl sounded from behind her and a figure rushed forward, pushing her aside and to the ground as he struck at the crystal wall with his glowing sword again and again. Ember looked up in shock as DeMunth, now covered from head to knee in glowing yellow armor, a sword seeming an extension of his right hand, swung at the man embedded in stone as if he were one of Ember’s attackers from that morning. His sword struck deep gouges in the crystal, sparks flying from the wall as he hacked at the face of the stone.
The mountain shook around them. The children screamed in terror and clung to each other. One of them started to cry. Ezeker finally found his voice, and what a voice it was. It shook the earth around them and nearly burst Ember’s eardrums.
“DeMunth DiCartier, what in the name of all that’s holy do you think you’re doing? I demand you halt this instant!” Ember glanced up at her old friend to find him nearly glowing with power. He might not be strong in magic, but he had his own kind of power.
DeMunth jabbed at the frozen man one more time before turning to the master of the academy. He tried to answer with his mouth, but all that came out was a collective series of yowls and snarls. Ember knew something was seriously wrong.
She scrambled to her feet, raced the few steps to DeMunth, and spun him around. Rivulets of sweat ran down his face to collect in his collar, and the armor of light was flickering on and off. Worst of all were his eyes. They were blank, unusually bright, and kept wandering back to the man caught in the crystal, DeMunth’s lip curling upward in a snarl.
Ember reached up, turned his turned his head until his eyes met hers, and spoke to him in mindspeech. “DeMunth. What’s wrong? You’re going to hurt yourself or somebody else. You need to stop attacking the man in the crystal. He is no threat to you.” When his eyes still wandered to the frozen man, Ember added, “He’s no threat to me.” At that, his eyes snapped on Ember’s, locked on as if they were the only place of safety in the chaos of his mind.
Finally he croaked in his normally melodic mindspeech. “Help me, Ember. I . . . I’m . . . I’m not sure what’s real anymore.”
Ember turned to Ezeker. “Did you hear him?”
Ezeker shook his head, nibbling at his mustache while gripping his hands together so tightly, his knuckles turned white.
“He says he’s not sure what’s real anymore. I think something’s going on with the armor. Every time he fights for me, the Armor of Light covers more of his body, and he seems to get feverish. It’s affecting him somehow. He needs help, or restraints—something until whatever this is passes.”
Ezeker nodded slowly. “I would wholeheartedly agree. Marda, help me with him, would you?” Ember’s mother stepped forward and tucked herself under DeMunth’s arm while Ezeker took the other side. He turned a head over his shoulder and spoke to the initiates.
“Children, we must hurry. DeMunth is ill, as you can see, and we need to get him to the healers as quickly as possible. If you don’t mind, I’ll give you the rest of the lecture later. We’ll go as quickly as we can toward the first portal, and from there we’ll hop through a few more before reaching the academy. Students, are you ready? We’ll be moving fast—keep up.”
A few teary sounds of agreement came from behind Ember. Ezeker and Marda moved forward quickly. Some of the younger kids had to run to keep up, which started the tears flowing again. “I want me mum,” the youngest boy said, sniffing.
Ember fell back to put an arm around him and squeezed. “It’s going to be fine. I’ll help you. This first part’s going to be a little harder because we have to go so fast, but once we get to the school, it will all be okay. You’ll see.”
The boy still cried, though he nodded at Ember and clung tightly to her.
“What’s your name?” she asked, trying to distract him.
“Markis.” He ran his hand across his snotty nose, then wiped it on his tunic. Ember tried not to cringe.
“Markis, huh? Where are you from? Tell me about home.” All the while, Ember pulled the boy along, almost picking him up and carrying him over one patch of rough ground where it looked like there’d been a cave in. Perhaps it was from the light earthquake that had shaken them when DeMunth attacked the crystal.
“I’m from Peldane. Do you know where that is?” the boy asked, looking up at her with brimming eyes.
Ember did, but she shook her head no.
“It’s three weeks to travel there overland. My mum and da both serve in Duke Domanta’s home. It’s called Dragonmeer, though I don’t know why, since I haven’t ever seen any dragons there. My mum serves in the kitchens and my da is a horseman. Even my big brother Joyson serves as one of Master Brant’s fetchers.” The boy seemed to find his voice as he described home, as Ember hoped he would.
“I’ve never heard of a fetcher,” she said. “What’s that?”
“Oh, he runs errands for the Domantas, but mostly for Master Brant. He fetches things. You know, a fetcher.” The boy seemed exasperated that she didn’t know what he was talking about.
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“Oh, a fetcher! Around here, they call them gofers. You know—go fer this, go fer that . . .”
The boy giggled, the last of his tears gone. “Hey, you’re pretty nice,” he said. “Thanks for helping me.”
Ember was surprised he would thank her. Most kids weren’t that considerate. “Well, you’re welcome, Markis. So, what color of magic are you?” She could have looked, but she felt like he still needed some distraction, especially as they came up on the first portal.
“Yellow, orange, and red. They said three is pretty rare.” He puffed out his chest and grinned.
“Wow—three colors is really amazing. You’re going to do great at the school. I can feel it,” Ember said, her focus elsewhere. Ezeker and Marda had reached the portal with DeMunth and he was fighting them, pulling back and thrashing about as if determined to keep from passing through. “Hey, Markis, are you going to be okay now? I’d really like to go and help my sick friend.”
Markis looked up at her, his eyes worried for a second, but when he looked at DeMunth, he pulled his shoulders up. “Yes, miss, you can go help him. Thanks again for helping me.”
“Any time, Markis. You ever need anything you just ask for Ember, okay?”
Markis grinned and nodded emphatically. “Oh, yeah. Ember. I heard about you! You’re the one who can turn into a wolf and can do white magic.” Ember groaned inwardly. The rumors were spreadying already. The boy continued, oblivious to her thoughts. “You bet, Miss Ember! I’ll see you around!”
The Armor of Light Page 5