Deep-Spire
Page 14
Belythna walked down the last stretch to Lady Serina’s chambers. She breathed in the smell of damp, of ancient stone, and her breath clouded before her. Winter was always a miserable season in Deep-Spire. The fortress, cheerless even in mid-summer, was a freezing tomb for three months of the year.
It was an icy night, and she had been loath to leave the hearth in her bed chamber. It was especially cold in the corridors, away from the roaring fires that lit Deep-Spire’s common areas and bed chambers. Yet, the leader of the Sentorân had summoned her, and she was obliged to do her bidding.
Belythna pulled her heavy woollen cloak close about her and covered the last space before the door to Lady Serina’s chambers. Stopping before it, Belythna knocked briskly.
It was but five nights till Riadamor’s arrival at Deep-Spire. Ever since Marin’s delivery of her leader’s ultimatum, the Sentorân order had been in upheaval. Lady Serina had sent a small patrol of Sentorân after her, to track Marin’s steps, in the hope of finding Riadamor’s lair. However, the girl was cunning. Her tracks had disappeared, suddenly, just a league from Deep-Spire; and they had not been able to pick up her trail once more.
Although, Lady Serina had flatly refused Riadamor’s terms, Deep-Spire was preparing for war. They had recalled all the Sentorân in service throughout Palâdnith, for they were needed at Deep-Spire. Whatever happened, their role as protectors and advisors was coming to an end. No one knew what the future held for the order – but whatever happened there would be no going back to the way things were.
Deep-Spire was readying itself for war. It had been bitterly cold over the past few weeks, but the senior Sentorân had brought them outside onto the frozen training ground inside the fortress walls nevertheless. They had made them run, made them spar against each other, and kept them outdoors until their faces hurt from the cold and their feet went numb.
Belythna’s limbs ached tonight, after spending the afternoon sparring against Floriana and Jedin. She did not care though – it took her mind off what was coming.
No sound came from beyond the door and Belythna was raising her hand to knock once more when she heard a voice from within.
“Enter.”
Belythna did as she had been bid, stepping out of the freezing corridor into a warm room. Lady Serina stood by the fire place, dressed in a plain dark woollen tunic that brushed the floor. Her dark, greying hair was tied back at her nape. Her face looked severe, even in the soft fire light. She watched Belythna silently, waiting till she had closed the door behind her and taken a few steps towards her before speaking.
“Good evening, Belythna. Thank you for coming to see me.”
Belythna stopped, surprised by the humility in Serina’s tone.
“You called,” she replied, deliberately keeping her tone guarded. She had rarely spent time alone with Lady Serina. The woman’s penetrating gaze and cool manner had never put her at ease.
Lady Serina must have sensed Belythna’s reserve towards her, for she smiled – a strained expression tinged with sadness.
“I did,” she replied. “Please sit down, Belythna.”
Belythna moved closer to the fire and took a seat on a wing-backed, leather armchair. She sighed as the heat suffused her chilled limbs. Her toes were still numb from spending hours outside, and they tingled when the heat began to penetrate her leather boots.
Moments passed, and silence stretched between them. Belythna watched Lady Serina, waiting for her to speak, but still her leader said nothing. Eventually, Lady Serina got to her feet and began to pace the flagstone floor of her chamber. It was a wide space, furnished elegantly, yet simply, with a large bookcase against one wall, a huge woven mat in the centre of the floor and well-made leather arm-chairs around the fire place. An engraved wooden mantelpiece sat above the fire, where a row of candles burned. This was the space where Lady Serina occasionally received guests. A door at the far end of the chamber led into her private quarters.
“I did not want it to come to this,” Serina began, her voice low and strained. Regret laced every word. “After everything Palâdnith has suffered over the centuries, I didn’t want there to be yet another war – especially between sorcerers.”
“Surely, conflict is sometimes necessary,” Belythna replied. “We have fought them before, we will do so again.”
“There is no strength in taking another’s life,” Serina shot back. “All the ages of this world and we have learnt nothing. The warlocks, the chieftains, the kings, the realmlords – and now us. Only the dead have seen the end to war.”
Lady Serina ceased her pacing and turned back to Belythna, her face fierce. “For the first time in Sentorân history, we will fight against our own kind. The realmlords must be laughing at us now. They will be thinking that if they wait long enough, we shall finish each other off.”
Silence fell between the two women, once more. Both retreated into their own, private, thoughts.
“I will lead us to war because I must, not because it is my will,” Serina said eventually, before crossing to the mantelpiece. “However, there are preparations to be made first.”
She picked up a small wooden box that sat at the end of the row of flickering candles. Then she whispered a few words, a charm in Ancient Goranthian. The ‘clunk’ of a lock releasing followed. Serina opened the box and retrieved an object.
She turned to Belythna then. “This is why I summoned you here – I want to give you this.”
Belythna’s breath caught in her throat when she saw what lay inside the box.
A beautiful pendant hung from a gold chain. It was a red diamond-shaped stone with a black heart. Its surface rippled in the firelight, as if alive. Belythna recognised it immediately; these stones were legend amongst the Sentorân.
“I thought Kern gave our last Blood Stone to the Guardian of the Citadel of Lies?” she asked, her gaze never leaving the stone’s flickering surface. It was entrancing in its beauty.
“If he had, I would have sent him back to retrieve it,” Serina replied. “As it was, he was a great fool to give one of our greatest, and most dangerous, treasures away. This is the last of the Blood Stones – and I’m giving it to you.”
“Me?” Belythna recoiled slightly, suddenly loath to touch the glittering gem before her. She knew what the Blood Stone was capable of, and was fearful of touching it. “Surely, you want to keep it – especially since we are about to face the Esquill.”
Lady Serina shook her head. “Riadamor must never know about this stone. If the battle goes against us, and she takes Deep-Spire for her own, she must never get her hands on it. If I fall, she will search me for any talismans of power.”
“But you could use it against her.”
“I considered that, but it’s too dangerous. Opening a portal to Moden in the middle of a battle could be the end of us all,” Serina replied. “I cannot keep the Blood Stone. I am giving it to you. Please take it.”
Belythna reluctantly reached out and took hold of the chain. The talisman was strangely heavy, far more so than it appeared.
“Why me?” she asked, her gaze studying its inky depths. “Surely there are others you trust more.”
Lady Serina smiled at that. “I am giving this to you because you are the best among us. Your powers are strong, and grow with every passing year. Whatever happens when we face Riadamor, you must survive. You must keep the Blood Stone safe and only use it in the direst of need.”
Belythna nodded, unsure of how to respond. “I’m no stronger than the others,” she finally replied, embarrassed.
“This is no time for false modesty,” Lady Serina admonished her.
Belythna stared at her leader. Serina’s admission shocked, and discomforted her. She had not denied Serina’s claim out of false modesty; she really did not think that she was any stronger than the others. However, her leader obviously saw something that she did not.
“Keep it hidden from the others,” Lady Serina advised, before placing the empty box back on the mantelpiece and
returning to her arm chair in front of the fire. She sank back into its recesses, her face weary and showing her years for the first time. “For the Blood Stone has a way of corrupting the hearts and minds of folk.”
Belythna nodded and tucked the talisman away in her robes. She noticed, as she did so, that the stone was warm to the touch. Like a living thing. She understood Serina’s warning. The Blood Stone had an enchanting effect on those who looked upon it; Belythna had felt its pull and it had been an effort to drag her gaze away.
“I will,” she promised solemnly. “I promise.”