Gnaud took a deep breath and winced. “Oh, my.”
“Pace yourself, little fellow.” Wrik leaned back on the balls of his feet. “You suffered quite the nasty wounds. I’m sure it’ll take some time before you’re feeling normal again.”
Gnaud squinted up at Wrik, his bushy white eyebrows hunched over the bridge of his thin, elongated nose. “And who are you?”
“My name is Wizard Wrik, but you can call me Wrik.”
“Thank you for saving my life, Wrik. I’m Gnaudius L’Dorak, but you can call me Gnaud.” He touched his stomach and groaned. “How did you find me in the Great Library?”
“I did, Gnaud.”
“Nardus, is that you?” Gnaud felt his own face. “Can’t see a thing without my spectacles.”
“It is indeed me, my furry little friend,” said Nardus. “You gave me quite the scare.”
Gnaud patted the couch aimlessly. “Are my spectacles lying about? Perhaps on the desk?”
“Not sure where your spectacles are at the moment.” Nardus touched Gnaud’s shoulder but thought better of squeezing it. “I’m sure we’ll find them once we return to the library.”
Gnaud gasped and peered in Nardus’s direction, his orange eyes wide. “You’ve taken me from Nasduron?”
Wrik cocked his head. “The Nasduron?”
Nardus waved Wrik off. “Yes, but not now,” he grumbled. “Gnaud, your wounds gave me no choice. If I’d left you there, you’d be dead right now.”
“You don’t understand.” Gnaud tried to sit up but grimaced after just a slight movement. “I need to get back. Nasduron won’t survive without me for long.”
Nardus and Wrik shared a concerned glance and then leaned closer. “What do you mean?” they both asked.
“The Great Library and Nasduron are tied to me in ways you cannot fathom. They are as much a part of me as I am of them. The books, maps, and resources contained within the walls of the Great Library cannot exist outside of it. Think of them as memories. My memories. If I die, all of that knowledge dies too. Do you understand now? We must return before it’s too late.”
“Are you saying—”
Gnaud cried out, cutting Nardus off. Fresh blood surfaced over Gnaud’s wounds and clumped his fur. “Oh… my.”
Nardus glared at Wrik. “What in Ef Demd Dhä is going on? I thought you healed him.”
“I did.” Wrik tilted his head. “What did you say caused these wounds?”
Nardus rubbed his left bicep again, a ritual he’d come to rely on when dealing with painful memories and difficult or awkward situations. “Wasn’t there when it happened, but I’m certain the wounds were created by the claws of a…” Theyn’s beautiful, furry face filled his mind. “…large cat.”
Wrik nodded knowingly. “Many nasty bacteria thrive underneath claws and fingernails. I believe Gnaud’s wound is infected with one such strain called kəlläƨʈridäm. It prevents the wound from ever fully healing and causes it to easily reopen. If I’m right, and it’s rare I’m not, then mezhik will only prolong the inevitable—Gnaud will eventually die from his wounds if they aren’t properly treated. He’ll require a regimen of zíerōfūʈär, a special plant known to kill the bacteria. You’ll need to get your hands on the entire plant to make a salve. Nothing else will work.”
Nardus thrust his hands in the air. “And where am I supposed to find whatever that is?”
“Zíerōfūʈär is a rare and expensive plant. It grows exclusively at the bottom of Alcedonia Lake.”
The bottom of a lake? Nardus shook his head. This just keeps getting better.
Nardus returned the candle holder to its pedestal. “Fine, but first I must go check on Theyn. She forgets herself when I’m not with her. I won’t be gone more than a few minutes. When I return, you can tell me what I need to do to retrieve the plant. In the meantime, make sure you keep Gnaud alive.”
“I’m guessing this Theyn is the one who inflicted the wound?” asked Wrik.
Nardus nodded. He focused his mind on the Great Library and stepped forward, but nothing happened. He stepped forward again with more determination. The Great Library didn’t even phase in and out like it did when he’d had the stone in his chest. His palms dampened, his pulse rose, and his stomach lurched.
Theyn? Have I lost you for good this time? The thought unsettled him and gave rise to his anger.
“No, Ƨäʈūr!”
“Is there a problem?” asked Wrik.
Nardus growled, “I can’t go back to Nasduron.”
They both looked down at Gnaud.
“He’s still alive,” said Wrik.
Nardus leaned over the back of the couch. “Gnaud? Can you tell if the library still exists?”
Gnaud didn’t open his eyes, but his lips moved. Nardus missed what he said though.
Nardus moved around the couch and knelt next to Gnaud. “Please, Gnaud. Tell me Nasduron is still there. Tell me Theyn is still alive.”
“You left her there?” asked Wrik.
Nardus rubbed his left bicep. “I’m not sure what happened. She was with us when we left the Great Library, but she didn’t arrive here with us.”
Gnaud talked through gritted teeth, his voice barely audible. “Did she arrive there with you to begin with?”
“No. Why?”
“As you know, traveling to and from Nasduron is special.” Gnaud’s eyelids fluttered and cracked open. “You must come from and go to the exact same location. Where did she come from?”
Nardus recalled the morning Berggren delivered him to Pravus. The sewers of East Hotah. He’d thought Theyn had died that day. His heart ached thinking about it. She must’ve returned there.
“I need to get to East Hotah as fast as I can.” Nardus stood. “Wrik, can you take me to the mirror?”
Wrik folded his arms. “I can, but your friend here will die while you’re gone. Is Theyn’s wellbeing more important than Gnaud’s? Are you willing to live with his death?”
Nardus nearly exploded, his face flushed with heat and his hands balled at his sides, trembling. “We don’t have time to argue about this! I must get back to Theyn before she kills everyone she comes into contact with. Or, worse yet, before they kill her. How can you not understand that?”
“Oh, I understand your dilemma, but I have my own affairs to attend to,” said Wrik.
“Name your price, and I’ll find a way to pay it. Just keep Gnaud alive and retrieve that plant for me while I go find Theyn.”
Wrik’s eyes narrowed, and the left corner of his mouth rose. “I believe I have the perfect solution. It will serve us both well. You show me how to get to Nasduron, and I’ll do what needs to be done to save your friend.”
Gnaud reached toward Nardus. “No,” he whispered.
Nardus brooded. “We’ve no other choice.”
Gnaud grimaced and clutched his stomach. “Let. Me. Die.”
Daggers of guilt plunged into Nardus’s chest. “I brought this upon you. I cannot allow you to die for it. I won’t.” He shot a glare toward Wrik as he stood and then offered his hand. “We have an accord.”
Wrik clasped Nardus’s hand and shook it. “Perfect.”
Nardus retracted his hand and stepped back. “There’s no time to spare. Take me to the mirror.”
Wrik nodded. “Certainly, but first I must heal Gnaud’s wounds again before they consume him.”
Nardus moved out of Wrik’s way. “Yes, yes, just make it quick.”
Twenty minutes later, Wrik and Nardus stood in front of a full-length mirror at the end of a long corridor. Nardus’s gaze fell not upon the mirror but through it—back to the past. His stomach twisted and his throat tightened as Berggren raged at him for killing Theyn.
“How is it that you’re able to use the mirrors if you’re not a wizard?” Wrik’s voice pulled him from the past.
Nardus eyed Wrik through the mirror. “Don’t know and don’t care. I just know it works.”
Wrik smiled. “Yes, but only with mezhik.”
Nardus spat on the floor. “Mezhik be damned.”
Wrik nodded and chuckled. “As you say.” He pushed his spectacles up his broad nose. “Use the mirror to get to East Hotah. Come back when you’ve found Theyn, and we’ll complete the final task of our accord.”
“Agreed.” Nardus cocked his head and frowned. “So how do I use the mirror? I’ve never traveled through one by myself before. Or at least I didn’t set its destination.”
“Ah, it’s simple. All you need to do is think of the place you want to go and then touch the mirror’s surface. So, think of East Hotah.”
Nardus’s gaze met Wrik’s. “I can think of anywhere and it will take me there?”
“Not anywhere. There must be a mirror close to where you’re trying to go, and some mirrors have wards upon them to prevent unwanted travelers from using them. They can be quite deadly if you’re not careful.”
Nardus spat. I hate mezhik.
He sighed. “And how will I find you when I come back?”
“Return to the room where we left Gnaud.” Wrik reached into the folds of his robes and produced a silver chain. A black key hung on the chain. He handed the chain to Nardus. “I’ve placed a ward on the door—not a deadly one. I’ll know if anyone enters or leaves the room.”
“Good.” Nardus pulled the chain over his head and tucked the key into his shirt.
He looked back at Wrik. “If I get back and find Gnaud dead, I’ll kill you. Am I clear?”
“Perfectly.” Wrik folded his arms behind his back. “I will retrieve the plant from the elves and heal Gnaud, but from the sounds of it, you’d better hurry. We don’t want Nasduron destroyed. Items are located there that I’m certain I need.”
Nardus thought about Gnaud’s reaction to the accord. And I’m sure the world doesn’t need you to have them.
As he had with the stone, he’d deal with the consequences of his decision at a later time. Theyn and Gnaud both needed him, and he’d rather be damned than let either of them down.
Nardus set his mind on East Hotah, took a deep breath, and then reached out and touched the mirror. Its surface changed from neutral and solid to cold and wet. His and Wrik’s reflections faded, the mirror’s surface rippled, and then a small, rectangular room phased into view through the mirror. He remembered it well—a hidden room deep within the sewers of East Hotah.
Where I thought Theyn had died.
Nardus stepped through the mirror and into the small room in East Hotah. He didn’t look back but headed straight for the door and into the sewers beyond it. The smells of rancid water, feces, and death hit him hard as he stepped through the mezhik barrier, gagging him. He spat into the center channel of water and cursed the foul place.
He shook off the nausea as best he could and set his mind on the task at hand: a rescue mission of sorts, but he wasn’t sure of whom. In the end, no matter the situation or how many bodies she’d left in her wake, he wouldn’t give up on Theyn. No harm would come to her.
Unless it already has.
The thought gutted him and drove him through the sewers.
Hold on, Theyn. I’m coming for you.
† † †
After Nardus disappeared through the mirror, Wrik returned to check on Gnaud before heading up to the northern ramparts of Galondu Castle. The little gordak slept, every breath a wheeze through parted lips. Four red lines wet the fur across his abdomen once more. Wrik healed them again and prayed that the gods kept Gnaud alive during his absence.
Wrik turned and teleported down to the ice room in the lower kitchen. Dozens of shelves lined the walls of the small room, each holding many packages of various colors and sizes. He grabbed a white, paper-wrapped package and stuffed it inside his robes. He’d need it soon enough.
From the ice room, he teleported up to the easternmost stairway, one of several that led up to the northern ramparts of Galondu Castle. He would’ve teleported all the way to the ramparts, but the aquatic elves were fierce and unpredictable in their moods, especially Forlin, their king. He’d need to preserve as much of his mezhik as possible just in case things went sideways. They had before, but he didn’t have time to reflect on it.
At the top of the stairs, Wrik headed west along the southern edge of the northern ramparts. These ramparts spanned the length of the castle’s northern wall, their breadth thrice that of the southern, eastern, and western ramparts combined.
Red canvas tarps stretched across the tops of fifteen-foot-tall poles and hung down the northern edges of the ramparts, creating a windbreak from the vicious northern winds. The edges of the tarps snapped in the wind, a barrage of fireworks on a cold, blustery day. From the tops of the poles, the tarps stretched southward, across about half of the ramparts themselves, forming what they called “open-air stables” for the níʈfinzh.
Wrik halted about two-thirds of the way across the rampart, right in front of a stall that housed one of the most beautiful creatures he’d ever laid his eyes upon. Underneath the flapping, snapping, red tarp, Blackwind lay on a bed of straw.
Thin but sturdy, dark-purple membranes folded against Blackwind’s sides, powerful wings that could carry her to the heavens. Black skin, smooth as obsidian, stretched over bony vertebrae and thick muscles. A long, thick tail wrapped around the side of her slender body, and its trident-tipped end thumped the ground. Razor-sharp claws protruded from long, bony toes and fingers, splayed like fans. She kneaded the air.
Wrik loathed waking Blackwind from a good dream, but time was precious—more so than usual. He knew of only one way to rouse her without risk of getting the business end of her claws through his gut.
From within his robes, Wrik pulled out the package he’d retrieved from the ice room. Blackwind faced away from him, but her head rose from the straw, and her nose probed the air before he’d unwrapped the package.
Bright yellow eyes, wide and short and split vertically by lightning bolt-shaped, black irises, shone from a face so dark, they seemed to float in shadows. Sharp, white teeth gleamed underneath raised lips all along her elongated snout. Two short horns, dark-purple like her wings, rose from the front of her skull.
She snorted at the package.
Wrik chuckled as he continued to struggle with the twine that bound the package. “I should’ve come more prepared.” Finally, he undid the last knot. The white paper fell open, revealing a platter-sized chunk of pink flesh. Blackwind favored salmon above all other fish. Wrik offered it to her and she snatched it off the paper in a flash. One gulp, and the fish disappeared. She nudged Wrik’s shoulder, looking for more.
“Take me to Alcedonia, and then we’ll talk about more food.”
Blackwind snorted but bobbed her head. Wrik saddled and mounted her. She rose up on all four limbs and crawled from underneath the tarp. In two swoops of her wings, she had them skyborne.
Wrik directed Blackwind toward the west with his mind. She banked that way and then she darted through the sky. He hadn’t ridden her in so long that he’d forgotten the sensation of it. Exhilaration left him feeling giddy, and the wind on his bald scalp felt glorious, despite its frigidness. He must get out more often instead of staying cooped up within his bedchamber and secret room.
Blackwind was among the fastest of the níʈfinzh. By horseback, it would’ve been a good six day’s ride to get from Galondu Castle to the Alcedonia Forest, but on Blackwind it would consume just two hours.
Wrik hunkered down in the saddle, leaned forward, and stroked her slender neck.
Make haste, my black beauty.
Chapter Thirteen
“One stupid tree,” exclaimed Rayah. “How hard can it be to find one stupid felled tree?”
She couldn’t recall any distinct markers, and all the trees and underbrush looked the same to her. Considering that she’d lived in the forest her entire life, she should’ve been more adapt at tracking and remembering locations,
but it just wasn’t the case. She’d never been good at it. In her defense, as weak of an excuse as it was, she hadn’t grown up in this particular forest.
She’d searched for the tree half the day and passed the point of giving up more than an hour ago, but her gut told her that it lay just beyond the next ridge. Several times before, her gut had told her the same thing. Odds are she’d eventually be right, but her gut proved it couldn’t be trusted. She had nothing else to go on, so she let her pride and deep-seeded stubbornness rule her mind and drive her forward.
Her wings gave out long ago, so she trudged through the forest on her feet. She crested a small ridge, certain she’d finally found the correct spot, but the felled tree wasn’t there. She kicked the leaves, frustrated.
“Alderan would’ve walked right to the tree without even blinking,” she huffed.
Rayah turned to leave, but something dark and sinister flashed in the corner of her eye. She gasped and jerked around, her arms raised to cover her face from an attack, but one never came. What she’d caught sight of turned out to be nothing more than some sort of black ash or dust underneath the bed of leaves.
Bending down to investigate further, Rayah brushed a section of leaves away with her hand. The band of black looked to be about three feet wide. She swept more leaves away in both directions, and the black streak continued. With a moment’s thought, realization widened Rayah’s eyes.
“The tree… How could it have rotted and disintegrated so quickly?”
She followed the black streak back to the point where the tree’s base had lain. Leaves and other debris filled the shallow hole where the venomous vines had grown. She knelt close, but fear kept her hand from brushing the leaves away. The area smelled of death and wrinkled her nose.
What if the vines are still here, hiding underneath the debris, just waiting for someone like me to disturb them?
The last thing she wanted was to become infected and walk off to who knows where. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and just listened to the sounds of the forest. Birds chirped and sang high in the trees as they prepared nests for the coming spring. Squirrels chattered far in the distance, most likely arguing about the discovery of some sort of acorn or nut. The trees creaked and the dead leaves rustled as a light breeze swept through the forest.
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