by Brandon Mull
Rachel took off the entire hat, setting it on a dark-red sofa. Maldor leaned forward into the candlelight. She gasped. His features were the same as in her dream, but he looked ill. His skin was pale with a clammy sheen, his hair greasy, his face deeply lined, his eyes bloodshot, one more than the other. Pink drool leaked from one side of his mouth. Half of his face sagged limply, as if paralyzed.
“You find me alarming,” Maldor said. Not all of his mouth moved when he spoke.
“You look sick.”
“I suppose I must. Thank you for coming, Rachel.”
“It seemed to be my only choice,” she replied.
Maldor coughed several times into his fist. He held up a finger to indicate he would respond in a moment. After the fit ended, he dabbed his lips with a handkerchief. It came away bloody. He cleared his throat. “It was your only reasonable choice. You could have elected to die with your friends.”
“Your lurkers killed one of my friends,” Rachel accused.
“How unfortunate,” Maldor said without conviction. “You asked for safe passage to Felrook. Your message was received by my torivors and relayed to me. I assessed the situation and dispatched an appropriate escort. It required no small effort, but I knew that there might be some who would intervene, regardless of what you desired. Please, sit down.”
Rachel sat on the sofa beside her hat. Had she done that voluntarily, or had there been a suggestion buried in his request?
“Normally, I would not let anyone see me in this state,” Maldor said. “As I mentioned a moment ago, image is important. But you are not just anyone. We must have an honest relationship. I want you as my pupil, Rachel. I want you as my apprentice, perhaps even one day as my friend. I want to witness the heights to which you will rise. I chose to let you see me like this so that you could behold the price I was willing to pay to bring you here.”
“You’re not sick,” Rachel realized. “Sending the lurkers did this to you.”
“Correct,” Maldor said, one hand straying to the dark jewel in the pendant around his neck. “I am already recovering. I was in much worse condition scant hours ago. I summoned you as soon as I felt I could hold a conversation. All of this will heal.” He gestured at his face. “The numbness is temporary. I almost overreached. I do not intend to send out five torivors bearing swords ever again. You understand why I did it?”
“To make sure nobody stopped me from coming?”
“Exactly. To ensure you reached me. This conflict is over. I do not need to slay you or Galloran or Ferrin to win this war. The war ended the day Galloran marched his army through the pass. But with my armies poised to descend, I had to get you out of that keep before the opportunity vanished. You almost waited too long to make your choice. I do not relish injuring myself. I do not delight in straining my relationship with the torivors. I do not enjoy freeing five of my finest servants from their obligations with only one of them having claimed a life.”
“They’re all free?” Rachel asked.
“All five. That is the price for sending them out with swords. And they needed swords. Had they been unarmed, Galloran might have cut down all of them. Had they failed in their mission, it would be one thing. I can accept losing a torivor if it is defeated. But I commanded them to stand down if you agreed to come here. I harmed my health and lost five of my elite to bring you to me. And I would have done more.”
“Why do you care so much?” Rachel asked. “You can’t possibly trust me.”
“Indeed?” he chuckled. “Trust has never been my habit. I have seen too many great wizards fall because they trusted apprentices.”
“Then why do you want me? As a slave?”
Maldor chuckled again. It grew into a cough. “I need no more servants. I have plenty. All of Lyrian. I will install safeguards much more reliable than trust. You will be my apprentice. I only ask that you learn from me.”
“What if I don’t want to learn from you?”
He smiled with the side of his lips that worked. “I realize that you do not wish to become like me. But I know you want to learn more about Edomic. You do recall that I visited your mind. I am the last wizard in Lyrian, Rachel. None remain who can teach you the secrets of our order. You cannot begin to imagine the possibilities.”
“If I work hard, maybe someday I can cough up blood too.”
“I understand your hostility. I am not a pleasant adversary. Unfortunately, when you came to this world, you became involved with the losing cause.”
“We haven’t lost yet,” Rachel said.
Maldor chortled. “Of course not. The prophecy! I had almost forgotten. Surely you realize that the prophecy allowed me to plan the perfect trap. I knew where my enemies were going, and I strategized accordingly. The prophecy only hastened their demise.”
“We haven’t lost yet,” Rachel repeated.
“They have. Not all of them are dead yet, but they have lost. You haven’t. You earned one last chance. Rachel, at this point hope becomes salt in the wound. You would be wiser to let go. I dispatched my finest servant to stop Jason and his friends. There will be no quarter given. They will all be killed. The tactic lacks subtlety, but at this juncture it is the prudent course. This servant never fails, Rachel. He is the same individual who brought me Galloran. In all probability Jason and those who accompanied him are already dead.”
“But you’re not sure,” Rachel said.
“Not yet. I will be soon. Obviously, Galloran and the others will perish at my leisure.”
“Don’t I get to spare ten of them?” Rachel asked.
Maldor paused. “That was the initial agreement. I never canceled the bargain. Very well. Prepare a list, and I will honor it to the best of my abilities. You understand that the blame for any of your comrades who are already dead because you took so long cannot be placed on me.”
“I’ll blame you as much as I want,” Rachel said. “You killed Drake.”
He held up a finger. “I meant to kill Jason. Drake died because he intervened.”
“You disgust me.”
“Do not test me, Rachel,” Maldor warned. “I find your raw Edomic talent intriguing. Partly through my doing, it has become a scarce commodity. But you are far from essential. I have been lenient today because I am aware that this transition will be difficult for you. You need to remember that the apprentice does not disparage the master.”
Fuming silently, Rachel held her tongue. If she seemed too defiant, it might be even more obvious that she had come here hoping to open Felrook to an attack.
“I’m glad to see you have some restraint,” Maldor said. “A little is better than none.”
“How will this work?” Rachel asked.
“Our arrangement? Do not fret about that until after your friends fall. I assume you came here still hoping to aid Galloran in some way. Foolish, but predictable given your history.”
Rachel frowned. Had he read her mind? Or was it really so obvious? “Why would you be here alone with me if you thought that?”
Maldor smirked lopsidedly. “You ask as if you could possibly pose a threat to me while I am conscious. Are you really that arrogant? Or perhaps just ignorant?”
Rachel felt her cheeks growing hot.
“Rachel, I don’t worry about the threat you pose today. I don’t worry about the threat you will pose next year. You have talent, but you are barely a sapling. One day, after decades of training, if you reach your full potential, you could pose a threat, which is why safeguards will be installed at the outset. If you were a threat to me now, I would have little right to take you as an apprentice.”
Rachel nodded woodenly. Was he really so superior? Or was he trying to con her? Maybe he underestimated her. She couldn’t wait years to challenge him. Galloran had less than three days. Would she get another chance like this? One on one, with Maldor weakened from sending out torivors? Here he sat, leering crookedly and coughing like a weak old man. If she meant to take action against him, this could be her best and only cha
nce.
Maldor wiped his lips. “You really are a stranger here in this world. You do not appreciate who I am. Perhaps that is for the best. Insulting to a degree, but also strangely refreshing. As our relationship progresses, I will share with you some of my abilities, to establish primacy. You should not have to serve as my apprentice while doubting my prowess.”
Rachel looked around the room. Her attention focused on a sheathed dagger resting on an end table. They were alone, Maldor seemed totally off his guard, and she would probably never find him in a weaker state. Speaking a command, Rachel unsheathed the blade; then, pouring all her fear and frustration into the directive, she drove it toward the form bundled on the chair.
Maldor mumbled words, and the dagger curved away from him, stopping with the point less than an inch from Rachel’s throat. How had he done that? She had pushed hard enough to send that knife through Maldor and the chair behind him, yet it had completely slipped from her mental grasp. Motionless, she stared at it, sweat beading on her brow. Speaking in silence, Rachel tried to grab the knife with her mind, but it felt more slippery than a living thing.
“It will take more than that,” Maldor said, letting the dagger fall. “However inept, that was unwise.”
Angry and embarrassed, Rachel ordered his chair ablaze, throwing everything she had into the effort. Flames would erupt all around him. Both chair and occupant would swiftly be reduced to cinders. Maldor muttered a brief phrase, canceling her command. The gathering heat dispersed, and Rachel fell to the floor, her body shuddering uncontrollably. As the seizure subsided, Rachel was left with a queasy stomach and a blinding pain behind her eyes. She knew that Maldor had not directly afflicted her with any of the symptoms. They were the consequences of her failed Edomic mandate.
“Fire is more easily quenched than summoned,” Maldor instructed. “You leave yourself extremely vulnerable if you try to call fire in the presence of another wizard. Would you care to attempt another attack? You are looking unwell, Rachel. As much as my misery would enjoy the company, perhaps you should yield.”
Rachel fought to her feet. Her head was pounding. Her good judgment warned that he was clearly her superior. To attack again would only give him another opportunity to harm her. But she could not surrender. Her friends were counting on her to be strong.
In Edomic she suggested that Maldor fall to the floor. He flinched forward and then tensed for a moment, lips trembling, bloodshot eyes furious. After an instant he relaxed and began growling suggestions of his own. Rachel found herself picking up the fallen dagger and holding the tip to her throat. He kept talking. Rachel tried to resist his suggestions, but the words were making her hazy. She found herself sitting down on the sofa and pricking both of her thighs with the dagger and then plunging it into a cushion beside her. None of the actions had been her decision. Nobody at Mianamon had ever been able to make her feel this helpless. She was little more than a puppet. Maldor stopped talking, and she sagged back against the sofa, breathing hard, dizzy. Her skull felt fragmented. Her ears ached deep inside.
“How dare you seek to control a will such as mine?” Maldor spat, real anger coloring his tone for the first time. “Attempt it again, and I will open your throat for such insolence.”
Rachel heard him as if from far away. It was almost impossible to focus on anything but the pain flashing through her skull and raking the backs of her eyes. Dimly she grasped that Maldor was so outraged because her suggestion had momentarily worked. For one tiny instant, a period no longer than the space between heartbeats, he had almost obeyed. Only with real effort had he resisted. And he had not liked that at all.
“I can see that you are in no condition for further conversation,” Maldor continued. “Allow me to briefly explain the terms of your apprenticeship. Whether to test me or to flaunt your inability, you have shown yourself capable of treason. As insurance against further treachery, I will give you the eye and the ear of trusted displacers and bind a key word to you that will enable me to destroy you at my leisure. I believe you are familiar with the concept. By coming here you have already accepted this apprenticeship and the attending safeguards.
“At present you require rest. I want you healthy in time to watch my armies crush the pitiful allies you brought into my valley. I may deem that the pain incidental to your failed assassination is punishment enough. Or I may decide otherwise. Either way I will have my servants prepare a concoction that will hasten your recovery. For now you have my permission to sleep.”
Maldor uttered a brief Edomic suggestion, and consciousness fled.
CHAPTER 28
THE LAST WIZARD
Rachel waited for hours in the room where the torivor had left her. The lurker had delivered her through the window after scaling a high wall. She had been braced for a swift introduction to Maldor, but instead she had been admitted to Felrook without any formal greeting.
The room was comfortable, with a generous bed, rich carpets, an impressive desk, multiple chairs, a wardrobe, a bookshelf, and a table in the corner complete with a covered tray of food. There was a separate room for bathing, and beyond that a water closet. But the locked door was solid iron, and the window had no ledge. No matter how comfortable, the room was a prison.
After nightfall Rachel had used Edomic to light some of the candles and lamps around the room. She ate all of the food on the table and was especially grateful for the fresh fruit. Opening her window, she looked out at the night. The view felt like she was gazing from a mountaintop, easily the highest point in the valley. Cool air swished into her room. She was in no mood to sleep.
Io was dead. The pain and guilt of it stewed deep inside. Not only had she probably made a massive mistake by accepting the invitation to train with Maldor, but she had gotten Io killed in the process. She had not known Maldor would send armed lurkers. And she hadn’t known Io would leap immediately to her defense against unbeatable foes. But even so, his death had been a direct result of her choice.
Rachel tried to shift the awful blame from herself to Maldor. The emperor had made her choice necessary in the first place. Without him none of this would be happening. He had sent the lurkers while she was with others instead of when she was alone. After what had happened to Drake, Rachel could not have imagined how she could hate Maldor any more, but somehow she was finding a way.
When the iron door opened, Rachel started, almost dropping her glass as she filled it with water from a pitcher. She had heard no footsteps to announce the visitor. Steadying herself, she took a sip and set the glass down.
A tall, spare man with close-set eyes and a narrow face waited in the doorway. He wore black robes overtopped by a gray mantle. Several guards stood behind him. “Good, you’re awake. His Excellency will see you now.”
“Is that an invitation or an order?” Rachel asked.
The man gave a faint shrug. “An invitation first.”
Mustering her will, Rachel wanted to order the officious man onto the floor. She could do it. Then she could give the guards distracting commands and race past them. But race where? She would be wiser to form a plan before she revealed all she could do with Edomic.
“Fine,” Rachel said, putting on her hat. She had held it tightly while riding the torivor. Now she arranged the veil to hide her face.
“Come with me,” the man invited.
“Who are you?” Rachel asked as she stepped out into the hall.
“A servant of little import,” the stranger replied. “An administrator of sorts. I am called Damak.”
“I know your name,” Rachel said. “You questioned Jason. You’re Copernum’s grandfather.”
“I serve Maldor according to my talents,” Damak replied. “Perhaps one day I will serve you as well. But not today.”
He led her down some steps, through guarded doors, along a hall, through another set of guarded doors, and around a couple of corners. Then they reached an iron door at the end of a hall. Damak used a key to open it.
“I have the
girl,” he announced.
“Send her in,” a voice replied. Rachel recognized the voice from her dream, although it sounded a bit more ragged. “Alone. Wait without.”
“As you wish,” Damak replied. He motioned Rachel through the door, then closed it behind her.
Sumptuously furnished, the spacious apartment was gloomy. All the curtains were drawn. Scattered candles provided pockets of light. Her veil further darkened everything, but she kept it in place. A figure stirred in a cushioned chair across the room. Blankets covered the slumped form.
“Come closer,” Maldor beckoned. “Let me have a look at you.”
Rachel stepped toward the speaker.
“Close enough,” he said as she drew near his chair. “Turn around.”
She obeyed, rotating once.
“I approve of your apparel,” Maldor said. “Image matters more than many appreciate. I will have similar outfits tailored. Remove the veil.”
Rachel took off the entire hat, setting it on a dark-red sofa. Maldor leaned forward into the candlelight. She gasped. His features were the same as in her dream, but he looked ill. His skin was pale with a clammy sheen, his hair greasy, his face deeply lined, his eyes bloodshot, one more than the other. Pink drool leaked from one side of his mouth. Half of his face sagged limply, as if paralyzed.
“You find me alarming,” Maldor said. Not all of his mouth moved when he spoke.
“You look sick.”
“I suppose I must. Thank you for coming, Rachel.”
“It seemed to be my only choice,” she replied.
Maldor coughed several times into his fist. He held up a finger to indicate he would respond in a moment. After the fit ended, he dabbed his lips with a handkerchief. It came away bloody. He cleared his throat. “It was your only reasonable choice. You could have elected to die with your friends.”
“Your lurkers killed one of my friends,” Rachel accused.
“How unfortunate,” Maldor said without conviction. “You asked for safe passage to Felrook. Your message was received by my torivors and relayed to me. I assessed the situation and dispatched an appropriate escort. It required no small effort, but I knew that there might be some who would intervene, regardless of what you desired. Please, sit down.”