“There is nothing in this world that would make us work for Necrovar. Which is more than I can say for you!”
“She’s got you there, Cez,” said Endred. Cezon huffed and booted Winni forward, leaving Keriya to stew in her dark thoughts alone.
They descended into the gully of a meandering stream. Its banks were crusted with ice, but water trickled slowly in its deepest parts. Cezon called a halt to let the horses drink and to offer his prisoners food. Keriya accepted a loaf of bread and tore into it ravenously. It was only when a bitter aftertaste kicked in that she realized the meal was laced with evasdrin. She wanted to warn Max not to eat, but it was too late. He’d finished his rations.
The wild countryside turned into farmlands as twilight descended. They continued along the stream, which led them to an arched bridge. They’d met the highway again. Beyond lay a town at the edge of a forest.
“Right.” Cezon brought his horse around to address the troupe. “Since we are in the presence of nobility, we’ll be providin’ proper lodgings out of the goodness of our hearts. You know the rules,” he said to Keriya. “No talkin’ to anyone, no lookin’ at anyone. You so much as breathe the wrong way and you’ll be sorry.”
“Pardon, Miss Soulstar,” said a low voice. She turned to see Endred towering behind her. He offered her a black veil—one of the face masks the riders had worn. “I’ll have to ask you to cover up. You’re a tad too recognizable.”
Keriya glanced past Endred to see that Seba had already donned a veil, hiding her distinctive nose and hair. Shrugging, Keriya accepted the cloth without complaint.
Once she was hidden, they entered the town. Although, Keriya thought, this was hardly a town—it was a cluster of ramshackle buildings tossed together without organization. Fires shivered behind the dirty glass panes of street lamps, casting deep shadows across muddy ruts in the road. The place had a most unsavory feel to it. Everyone they passed wore dark cloaks and carried at least two weapons.
They wound their way through serpentine streets until they stopped before an inn. Cezon dismounted and tossed his reins to Iako. “Stable the horses. I’ll go in and pay.” His mouth twisted around the last word. “Endred, get our esteemed guests something to eat.”
Endred helped Seba off her horse before moving to assist Max. “I ain’t got much derlei at the moment,” he told them. “Not wise to carry valuables in a place like this.”
Max nodded and tucked his amulet beneath his shirt.
Endred escorted them to a nearby tavern. Inside it was warm but dingy, lit by two crackling fires in hearths at opposite ends of the common room. Wooden pillars stretched between the warped floorboards and sagging ceiling. In the shadowed corners, dark-clothed figures nursed their drinks around log tables.
“Sit,” Endred encouraged them. “Rest while you can. I’ll order something.” He left them, approaching a bar at the back of the room.
Though she knew she was better off sticking with the large and imposing Endred in a town like this, Keriya looked for escape routes. There were two doors besides the entrance—one beyond the bar that led to the kitchens, and an archway that led to the shop next door. Through it, Keriya glimpsed the unmistakable shapes of books stacked on shelves.
“What are you doing?” Max hissed as she turned toward the bookshop.
“I’m not running away. I want to look.” It had been ages since she’d held a book. She knew she wouldn’t be able to read them—she just wanted to be around them, to open one and smell the comforting aroma of old parchment once more.
“You’ll draw attention and get us in trouble,” said Seba.
Keriya ignored her and approached the door. From the corner of her eye she saw Max start to follow, but Seba laid a hand on his arm.
“Don’t leave me alone with these vagrants. If she wants to get herself killed, let her go.”
Scowling, Keriya ducked into the store. It wasn’t a bookshop, though the far wall was lined with dusty tomes—if anything, it seemed to be a pharmacy. Potion bottles lined the shelves to her left, and two round tables were stacked with displays of dried herbs and fungi, grimy gemstones that glittered in the light of a lone firelamp stand, and vials filled with multicolored pellets.
She went to the books and rifled through them. As she’d suspected, there were none written in runes she could read, but she did feel better after cracking open one particularly ancient-looking tome and finding an inked picture of a dragon.
She turned with the book in hand and gasped. A hunchbacked man stood behind her.
“I am the apothecary. May I help you find something?” His voice was breathy and dry, like the sound of a weathered page turning. He was wrinkled and mostly bald, with a few wisps of white hair poking out above the collar of his black robe. One of his rheumy gray eyes was turned sideways. It made Keriya conscious of her own eyes. She dropped her gaze, hoping it was dark enough that he hadn’t noticed their color.
“N-no thank you,” she stammered. “I was just looking—”
“Very discerning taste you have,” he said, gesturing at the book she held. “A rare volume containing the most famous prophecies of past ages. A wonderful bargain at eighty gold derlei.”
“I have no money,” she told him. The apothecary smiled, revealing gaps in his teeth.
“That’s what they all say.” He shuffled to the nearest table and rifled through the items. “Perhaps I can interest you in a pylactria?” He held up a gemstone attached to a leather cord. “Or maybe an amalettys? You never know when you may need a well-enchanted amalettys.”
“No,” Keriya said more firmly. “My friends are waiting for me, I should go—”
“Something to aid you on your travels?” He swept to the bottle-lined shelves. “Poisons for people who find themselves in dangerous places. Antidotes for people who find themselves in even more dangerous places. Potions for love—not that you need it, young and fresh as you are—potions for truth-telling, potions for healing . . .”
The apothecary trailed off. Perhaps he’d caught the glimmer of interest that had crossed the visible part of her face. He scuttled behind his counter, rifling through hidden drawers, and returned with a crystal flask clutched in his hands.
“The rarest potion I have,” he whispered. “Laced with many potent ingredients, but also with threads of lifemagic. Enchanted with a spell to identify any impurity in the body—any poison in the world, any wound of flesh or blood—and counteract the adverse effects. It will save a man one breath away from dying.”
Keriya stared at the flask. When the royals had discussed cures for Thorion, they’d abandoned the idea of lifemagic early on. Still, she’d sworn to follow every lead. Everything she’d learned from Erasmus had centered around earthmagic—the Aerians had never conceived of a world beyond their mountains where other powers might dwell, so she was out of her depth here. What if she walked away from something that could help?
“How much is it?” she asked.
“Says the girl with no money.” Keriya’s shoulders slumped in defeat, and the apothecary’s smile became a leer.
“Don’t fret—a lady always has something of value to barter.” He raised his free hand and drew his finger down her veiled cheek. Keriya jolted away from him, unnerved.
“I know who you are,” he hissed, and a pang of alarm shot through her. It had been stupid to come in here. She’d put everyone in danger.
“I need to go—” She tried to side-step the apothecary, but he blocked her path.
“A young girl in distress, alone and desperate, on a quest to save someone she loves. A girl such as this is brave enough to do whatever she must to succeed. A girl such as this fears nothing except failure.”
He reached for her again, and this time she was frozen by his words, unable to shy away as he laid a hand on her arm.
“I know men who would pay for you,” he breathed. Keriya
frowned; from what she knew of the way money worked, people rarely paid for anything without expecting something in return. “So innocent, so humble. Men would shower you with derlei, a pretty thing like you.”
“There a problem here?”
The apothecary let go of Keriya as if he’d been stung. Endred’s vast shape was filling the archway behind them. Max stood beside him.
“I think you’ve browsed the merchandise long enough, Keriya,” the prince said quietly. Keriya ducked around the apothecary. Max put an arm around her, shielding her from the old man’s lopsided gaze.
“She was interested in my fine potions,” said the apothecary.
“We have no money,” Endred growled. He stepped aside so Max could usher Keriya into the tavern.
“That’s what they all say,” Keriya heard the apothecary wheeze.
It was only after they’d settled down, and Max and Endred had scolded her thoroughly, that Keriya realized she was still clutching the ancient book. She considered returning it to the apothecary . . . but when they finished their meal, she left the tavern with the book tucked beneath her cloak, hidden from anyone who might be looking for it.
CHAPTER THIRTY
“We fear what we do not understand.”
~ Keleth Stellarion, Seventh Age
Roxanne and Effrax descended into the valley at dawn, zig-zagging around sagebrush and rotund cacti. Effrax claimed that many Fironians made a pilgrimage to the Valaani Temple, and the little settlement was a popular crossroads for travelers—but it didn’t look popular now. The streets were deserted. What Roxanne had mistaken for merry lights last night were revealed to be watchfires. The men who stood by the flames and patrolled the houses were unmistakably military.
“Guess we should go around,” Effrax muttered, eyeing the guards.
They spotted the main road when they were halfway around the town. A large wooden cross marked the trailhead. It was holding up a sorry scarecrow that had seen better days.
Effrax froze when he saw the cross. He took Roxanne’s arm and steered her further south.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
Effrax didn’t answer. When she tried to peer past him to inspect the cross, he said sharply, “Don’t look at it.”
Roxanne scowled. As they drew level with the trail marker, she squinted at the scarecrow. It was then that she saw the thing attached to the crossbar wasn’t a scarecrow at all. It was a body, burnt and strung up.
She reeled and stumbled. Effrax was still holding her arm, and he steadied her. “I told you not to look.”
“Why?” she breathed. It was the only word she could manage.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’ve been away for a long time. Things are worse than I imagined. It’s doubly bad because people used to come to the monastery seeking sanctuary. The Valaani monks would always take them in, no matter what. This was once a place of refuge.”
Roxanne stared at her feet, willing herself not to cry. The Fironem was suffering, indeed. Would it have made a difference if Keriya and Thorion had come here? Would the corpse on the cross be living and breathing if they’d kept their promise to Effrax?
No, she thought. It’s no one’s fault but Necrovar’s.
That sentiment had once, briefly, seemed irrefutable fact; yet she couldn’t help but think that Necrovar hadn’t built that cross or burned that body.
They joined the path that led to the monastery and passed into steeper terrain. The path turned into a staircase hewn from the red stone of the mountain. It followed the shape of the land, snaking toward the house of worship.
Roxanne and Effrax rounded a clump of boulders to find their way blocked by three Fironians carrying swordstaffs.
“What brings you here?” said the lead soldier. He had coppery eyes that were eerily bright in contrast to his dark skin and beard.
“We’re traveling to the monastery,” said Effrax. “We wish to pay our respects to Valaan.”
The soldier didn’t acknowledge Effrax; he was staring at Roxanne. She matched him glare for glare. He was probably used to people being unnerved by his appearance, but she’d grown accustomed to gazes more intimidating than his—he was nothing compared to Tanthflame or Keriya.
“We’ve come a long way, sir,” Effrax prompted after a few uncomfortable moments. “Are we free to pass?”
“Certainly. Prove your citizenship, and you can be on your way.”
Roxanne was reminded of when she’d first come to Allentria. Cezon had warned her she was at risk of being deported if she didn’t have proper papers. Empress Aldelphia had once given her a signed letter detailing her mission, which would prove that she could be here. The problem was, she had long since lost it.
“Ah . . . our papers were stolen. We ran into trouble on the road—bandits east of Araxel,” Effrax said with an apologetic smile.
The soldier shrugged. “Not to worry. A wielding test will suffice.”
The barest of frowns crossed Effrax’s features. “Does one have to be an expert wielder to visit the Valaani Temple, now?” he inquired in an offhand tone.
“I don’t know so much about expert. But we can’t have shifters infiltrating our kingdom, can we?”
“Shifters?” Effrax repeated, his frown deepening. “Do we sound foreign?”
“I’m not talking about overseas migrants,” the soldier snapped. “I’m talking about outlanders—anyone who isn’t a fire-wielder.”
Roxanne’s stomach plummeted. Meanwhile, Effrax’s face had become a perfect mask as he raised both hands and ignited a small flame between them.
“There,” he said. “Happy?”
“Her next.” The bright-eyed soldier leered at Roxanne, and her hands curled into fists. If they wanted to see her wield, they’d get to see her wield.
“Of course,” Effrax said quickly. “My cousin’s a Tier Four wielder, so she can’t create fire, but she can manage simple manipulation spells. Go on, Nezara,” he added, smiling pointedly at Roxanne. “Hands up, like we’ve been practicing. Show the nice men what you can do.”
Reluctantly, Roxanne unclenched her fists and raised her arms. Effrax’s fire wafted through the air toward her. She barely avoided flinching as the tongue of flame reached her outstretched hands and weaved around her fingers. Her skin prickled unpleasantly from the heat. She forced herself to look at the lead soldier.
“That’s the best I’ve got,” she told him in a falsely sweet voice.
“Very good.” The man withdrew a flask from his belt pouch. “Now, let’s see you do it after your cousin has had a little drink.”
Effrax frowned. “We haven’t caused any trouble. We’re law-abiding citizens. You said once we proved our wielding we’d be free to pass.”
“You got something to hide?” asked the man. “It’s just water with a bit of evasdrin.”
“Why does it matter what I wield?” Roxanne blurted.
The soldier took a menacing step forward. “Because,” he hissed, “the other states have shown their true colors. They closed their borders and cut us off when we were suffering, but they thought they could still watch us with their network of spies. And if you took the road from Araxel, you’ve already seen what we do to shifter spies.” He pointed downhill toward the cross.
In a flash, Roxanne reached for her magic. She mentally grabbed a handful of earth-threads from her source and channeled them into the ground beneath the Fironians, feeding energy into the reddish dirt.
At the touch of her mind, the ground erupted upwards, knocking the guards off their feet.
“Run!” she cried, hauling Effrax past the site of her explosion. If they could reach the monastery, they could ask the monks for sanctuary.
Shouts behind her told her the men had recovered. Heat blistered her back and she knew they were wielding against her. Effrax twisted and wielded to divert t
he flames licking at their heels. Roxanne sank more threads into the stairs and raised a wall of solid rock, blocking the soldiers’ path.
Roxanne’s undernourished muscles screamed in protest as she took the stone steps two at a time. She didn’t look back to see what had become of their pursuers, but she wielded again to shake some boulders loose from the slope. They tumbled downhill, gathering more rocks as they went. She was sure that would be a sufficient distraction.
But she was wrong. A monstrous, molten fireball shot past her. She fell sideways, bringing Effrax with her, as the flaming sphere hit the ground and emitted a shockwave of sparks that tore through her clothes. She gasped and beat at a fire that had ignited on her sleeve.
“Get up,” she wheezed, turning to Effrax. He lay curled on his side, clutching his thigh where the necromagical spear had once pierced him. She reached for his arm, but he shook his head.
“You go on,” he told her through clenched teeth.
“And do what? Summon a god by myself?”
“That was always the plan.”
“We stick together,” she declared. With that, she placed her hands on the ground and, gritting her teeth, threaded strands of energy into the earth. A resounding crack echoed through the hills and a fissure opened around her and Effrax. She focused her intent, and the chunk of mountainside on which they lay rose into the air.
“Hold onto something,” Roxanne advised. She raised her fists and the stone saucer shot upwards, hovering a few hands above the ground as it zoomed toward the monastery.
Effrax grabbed her arm and set his sights on the soldiers. He shot a stream of fire downhill and diverted another fireball, which careened to the side and exploded in a cloud of flames. Heat rolled over Roxanne, making her eyes water. They were nearly there—
“Incoming,” yelled Effrax. He wielded to divert a third fireball, but this one was larger and more powerful. It hit the tail end of Roxanne’s earth chunk, sending the rock—and both its riders—flying. Roxanne pitched forward and slammed into the hill. She was knocked senseless for a moment and everything went black.
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