The Dragonists slowly stood, Ganbatar with a bewildered stare at Valdemar. "We are giving up on tracking Marcellus Admorran? Even without the dogs, we can clearly see where he has—"
Valdemar locked gazes with his General. "Does the blade question whether it is to be sheathed or unsheathed? Have you forgotten what it means to serve blindfolded?"
"No. Forgive me, Lord Commander." Ganbatar bowed deeply.
"Then fall silent and obey." Valdemar spurred his horse and began the long, treacherous descent back down the mountainside. Wrapped in silence and quiet rage, he scarcely noticed where his horse led them. Every thought was of Marcellus Admorran, his imagination inventing a thousand tortures for when their paths crossed again. He knew it would happen. No matter what the High Lady desired, no matter what Valdemar's orders were, the time would come when he would see Marcellus again. It was inevitable.
The world was not large enough for both of their legends.
Chapter 17: Alaric
"Nyori Sharlin is not here, milord." Captain Sithe's face was expressionless, though his eyes betrayed his wariness. It did not bode well to report failure of a mission of such magnitude, a fact of which he was well aware.
Alaric felt a surge of heat swell in his veins. It took all of his self-discipline to retain his composure, despite the urge to tear apart everything in the chamber. I never should have let them talk me out of going. I was a fool to believe I could entrust something of this magnitude to anyone else.
But of course he was still in Aceldama, while Captain Sithe was appointed the task of recovering Eymunder. The ghostly image of Sithe's head and shoulders hung above Alaric's open hand using the kamset secured to his palm. The apparatus was a rare relic from the Age of Dawn when the Aelon were the students, not the masters. The kamsets were equipped with Aetheric and Elemental fusorbs, allowing the device to operate as an artificial 'eye' that sent a visual representation of whatever was in its line of sight. The kamsets could link so that the images relayed from one to the next.
In the past, there was a way to connect the kamsets to countless wedjas, the specifically designed eye carvings that transmitted images. Every important structure once was ornamented with at least one wedja, but the talent of their design was lost in the aftermath of the Age of Chaos. Many older structures still displayed them, but the ability to connect them to the kamsets was a secret that the Aelon took with them when they left the world of men. Alaric shook his head sadly. So much has been lost, yet we remain.
Flame and smoke danced across the reflective alloy of Sithe's sleek, snug fitting helmet. Like the rest of his armor, the light yet highly protective silvery plate was chased in crimson, forged to be tougher than iron yet light and flexible as leather.
Alaric peered closely at Sithe's nearly translucent image. "I can see some damage behind you, Captain. Did the Sha oppose your soldiers?"
"There was very little fighting, milord. The Sha knew that they were overmatched and most surrendered with little resistance. They did not expect or even seem to know that the Blueshift Rings could be used to traverse distances, and were caught off guard by our emergence. Three of the Ios Shi guarded the Rings, but they chose to flee instead of fight." Captain Sithe sounded puzzled at that.
"They are bound by the restrictions of their pact, Captain. They will not take part in any violent conflict." Alaric was surprised that any of the Ios Shi remained on Erseta. Once they had been the godlike caretakers of the world and the instructors of the Aelon, but their kind had long departed for the Upper Worlds. Alaric couldn't fathom why the three seen in Halladen were still there, but that concern was minor when compared to the purpose of the mission.
"If Nyori Sharlin is not there, then where is she?"
"We questioned several of the Sha, milord. None of them is certain. She was spirited away in secret, and only a select few were privy to where she went. Those few had already fled the city before we arrived, leaving none who could say where they were going. The name that came up the most was a woman named Ayna, a Shama who mentored Nyori. She is one of those who fled."
"You are certain there is no one there who can tell you more?"
"My questioning was rigorous, milord." Sithe's face betrayed nothing of the implications of the statement. More than likely those questioned did not survive the intensity of their inquisition, yet Alaric did not feel any regret. The brutality was a necessary evil to quickly ascertain the truth.
Sithe continued his report. "We also have several Thralls in their midst, of which you're surely aware. They only confirmed what we had already determined. I am certain that we have learned all that we can from the Sha."
Alaric pondered the situation, taking time to consider all the angles. "Very well, Captain. You are to return to Aceldama. There is no need to do any more damage to Halladen or its occupants. Warn the Sha not to harbor those who fled, commission our Thralls to make periodic reports, and then take your leave. This will require a more subtle touch."
Sithe saluted. "There is something more, milord."
"What is it?"
"We found other Thralls in their midst as well. Not commissioned by the Blood, but by those in the Sects."
Alaric nearly cursed. "So whoever holds their leash knows as much as we do. Were you able to ascertain who their holders are?"
"No, milord. Their brains boiled the moment they were detected, killing them instantly."
Alaric shook his head. "A gruesome, but effective tactic. Very well, Captain. I will take that into account and question the Speakers of the Sects at the first opportunity. That will be all."
Sithe bowed respectfully. "As you command, milord."
Sithe's image dissipated when Alaric closed his hand, shutting down the kamset. The fusorbs in the gauntlet ceased to glow, the light dying within their multicolored surfaces. He carefully removed the device and placed it on a nearby pedestal. A protective glass dome immediately encircled it, sealing it from anyone's touch but his.
His private chamber was purposely small enough to feel comfortable, the structure less stately and more comfortable than many of the other chambers of the palace. Blue and gold mosaics adorned the ceiling, while the floor was polished wood centered by a large, intricately woven carpet that was older than Alaric was. Polished furniture of differentiating styles lined the walls: towering bookcases and shelves overflowing with thick tomes bound with leather, heavy tables overlain with artifacts dating back several Ages. Diffused light glimmered through the glass walls from an underwater vivarium where multihued fish and water creatures of all sorts and sizes swam through coral, kelp, and other aquatic plants. Silvery fish scattered as a large shark bullied through, a predator's grin across its elongated snout as it cut across the water. Shadows and light played across Alaric's face as he tried to summon the serenity that usually came with the observation of his liquid surroundings.
But the focus would not come, contaminated as it was by the inky cloud of thoughts that rippled across his mind. He strode to the corner of the room, where a large mirror was affixed to an ornately designed pedestal. The mirror's gilded frame was just as elaborate, engraved with Glyphs that pulsed softly upon Alaric's approach. Next to the mirror was a smaller pedestal, topped by a spherical stone that had been cut in half, displaying a glassy, multicolored surface covering the glimmering crystals inside. The crystals alit when Alaric placed his hand on the stone's smooth face, creating a barely audible hum. Alaric's reflection gazed at him from the mirror's surface, silver-haired yet without a sign of age, his delicate facial features contrasting with his sagacious gaze and imperial bearing.
"Caretaker of the Blood," Alaric said.
His mirrored reflection distorted, warping until it became an unrecognizable blur of colors. When the image slowly coalesced, it was no longer his reflection. He gazed into the severe stare of Jacquelis Morandal. Her high-necked gown was of brocaded black velvet, causing her ivory skin and fiery hair to stand out even more than usual. She gazed at him through a simil
ar mirror, or oculos as it was called, its liquid crystal properties aligned to the systematic veins that ran through the infrastructure of every segment in the palace. Like the kamsets, the oculos were used to transfer voice and image back and forth between the devices, saving the time and effort of trying to personally locate another person in a structure as large as Aceldama. Privacy was another advantage of the oculos. When sensitive information needed to pass on to only a select few, there was no better way of communication.
"I thought that you might contact me." Jacquelis' calm was legendary. Alaric had never seen her visibly upset, despite her near fanatical dedication to preserving the Co'nane. Whether delivering a pleasant greeting or slaughtering a hapless fool that thought to cross her, she remained equally composed.
"I am in need of your counsel," Alaric said. "You have received the report?"
"That girl has fled or been hidden away? I was surprised, actually. The Sha may be mere children, but they are more resourceful than anticipated." She eyed him appraisingly. "You appear less disturbed than I would have imagined."
Alaric smiled. "It is good to know that I can still surprise you, Jacquelis. The fact that Nyori Sharlin is missing is only a temporary setback." He crossed his arms behind his back and slowly paced in front of the oculos. "There is nowhere she can go for permanent safety, nowhere to hide where I cannot find her. I have waited for nearly an Age. The waiting at present is child's play, only a minute delay of the inevitable."
Jacquelis allowed a small smile to touch her lips. Of pride, Alaric knew. She approved of putting emotion in check; approved of rational, deliberate thinking. It was something she had drilled into him long before he assumed the mantle of leadership. She had bred him for the role, denying herself the position because she claimed to believe in him.
He gave her an accusing glance. "I noted no trap awaited for the Legion. It appears I should have led them personally after all."
"Or perhaps no trap was sprung because you did not appear," she said pointedly. "In any case, the result would have been the same. The girl is gone, and Eymunder with her. What are your plans now, milord?"
Alaric ceased his pacing as he contemplated his next words. "My concern is more for Nyori's safety than anything else. In their haste to remove her from Halladen, the Sha no doubt placed her in harm's way. There is much out in the world that would gladly harm her if they even had an inkling of what she possessed."
Jacquelis arched a wry eyebrow. "And you would not?"
"I would not harm her any more than I have to," Alaric said softly. "I would prefer not to harm her at all. The Geods are attuned to their bearers; it would not due to try to coerce her into surrendering Eymunder. The fusorb must be passed freely from one bearer to the next. I would rather convince her instead."
"And if she does not wish to be convinced?"
Alaric shrugged. "I have all the time in the world to alter her opinion. The vital task is to corral her into the open so that our agents can bring her to me. It would not do for her or Eymunder to fall into the wrong hands, whether from outside or within our ranks."
"You mean the Sects." Jacquelis' face was decidedly neutral.
"You heard that they had employed their Thralls in Halladen. Did they seek our permission first?" Alaric threw up his hands. "You already know the answer. They flaunt their defiance in our faces, refusing to acknowledge our position of rulership. We should have never Gifted human stock. It was always a terrible notion."
"It was necessary," Jacquelis said. "Leilavin was determined to destroy us, and the Reavers were decimating our forces. The Blood was in danger of extinction. Human stock was necessary to serve as fodder against the Reavers until a solution presented itself."
"You do not have to remind me of the Scourge of Leilavin," Alaric said. "I was the one who put an end to it. Perhaps the Gifting was necessary, but we should have found a way to assure ourselves of complete control. The Sects are reckless and foolhardy. We spend much of our time cleaning up their disasters instead of concentrating on our own operations."
"Their ability to pass on their Gifts was unexpected." The words dragged out reluctantly. Jacquelis rarely made mistakes, but it was her voice that finally persuaded the Council to agree to Gifting the most talented of their Thralls. "But they are not beyond control. You must desist from thinking they will dwindle away if you ignore them long enough. The Speakers feel that you regard them as unimportant to the Blood. Small wonder they direct their Sects to pursue their own agendas."
Alaric nodded dismissively. "Perhaps you are right, Jacquelis. But what is the damaged pride of the Sects in light of Eymunder's emergence in the world?"
"Perhaps everything." Jacquelis' jade eyes glimmered. "The Sects have thrived, expanding their influence upon the world of men. You will need their resources. It may be that they willingly give you the aid you require or hinder you in every way they can."
Alaric frowned. "You think too highly of those children. They may have some of our abilities, but they are far from the Blood. We do not need them."
Jacquelis met his gaze with her usual calm. "And you do not take the Sects seriously enough, Alaric. You think of them as domesticated pets, although all the while they grow more feral and untamed. Ignore them too long, and they will look to tear you to pieces."
Alaric knew when Jacquelis would not be swayed, so he let the topic rest. "I hear your voice, Jacquelis. I will think upon the matter. For now, we have more pressing issues at hand."
"As you wish, milord." She dipped her head respectfully. "I have sent one of the domestics to your chambers. They tell me that you are again going days without proper nourishment. It will not do for the lord of the Co'nane to appear as weak before his people."
Alaric smiled. "As you say, Jacquelis."
She peered around as if trying to see his surroundings. "And where is your solestra?"
"Serona is no doubt in her chambers being spoiled by her domestics. Nothing to concern yourself with."
"I remember a time when the two of you did not have separate quarters. How will you repair what was damaged if you do not spend time with the one you gave your soul to?"
Alaric felt a stab of guilt, then a flush of anger for feeling the guilt. "Things...changed after I destroyed the Reavers. You know this. I prefer my solitude from time to time. Serona understands. She is patient with me."
Jacquelis continued to scold him as if he were the child that she tended to so long ago. "Too patient. You spend more than enough time in solitude. The world changes, but you have not noticed in your self-imposed exile. Your people barely know you anymore. It is not fit for a ruler to behave so."
"That will all change now that Eymunder is nearly in my grasp. I promise, Jacquelis. I will make amends. But for now, I must consider what is most important." He placed his hand on the oculos control. "We will speak again later." The mirror obscured Jacquelis' image when he slid his hand over the control's surface, the shimmering surface once again reforming to display his mirrored reflection. He shook his head.
Yet Jacquelis was correct, as usual. He did have many amends to make, starting with Serona. She was the one who suffered the most grievous wounds, though to her credit she bore them in silence. He had to cease avoiding her and acknowledge that the severance of their bond damaged him as much as it did her. If only he knew where to start...
He gave a tiny shake of his head. A matter for after he acquired Eymunder. Everything could wait until after the Geod was in his grasp. He had to visit the Gestalt, where the Ministers of Information arranged the network of Thralls and processed the tangled web of information they delivered. It was vital to have the Ministers fully involved in locating Nyori Sharlin as swiftly as possible. After that she would be brought before Alaric, and then...then he would decide how best to convince her to surrender Eymunder.
A chime sounded, alerting him to a visitor at the door. He expanded his senses, determining whom it was that had arrived. He smelled the clean scent of freshly scrubbe
d skin, heard the telltale beat of a submissive heart.
"Enter."
The domestic that came through the door was a diminutive young girl, perhaps at the start of her between years. Like all of the domestic girls, she wore a filmy white dress banded at the waist by a wide sash. Her skin was flawless, her hair inky black waves that tumbled past her shoulders. She kept her eyes downcast as she crept forward and dropped to her knees at his feet.
"This one has the honor of serving her master," she said in a tone that sounded of soft sighs.
"Yes." Alaric felt the stirring of hunger that betrayed his resolve, the curse that afflicted his people and drove them to perform monstrous deeds to survive. "Yes, of course you do."
He reached out, gently cupping her head in his hands. The domestic did not tremble at his touch. She was raised to serve, taught from birth how to surrender her precious pran to her masters.
Alaric focused, opening his Other Eye to properly part the barriers that protected her life energies. So close to Vitalis, the Craft of healing, but the result was so different. The domestic stiffened in his grasp as her pran fled from her body and entered his, filling him with the sweetest, most exhilarating sensation he ever experienced. Every follicle of hair was the wind; lightning pulsed in his veins as he fed upon the domestic's essence.
Yet Alaric did not lose himself in the sensation. He fought the ecstasy, focusing instead on the way the young domestic's body jerked spasmodically, watching as the veins in her body and face distended near to bursting as her body fought to save itself from destruction. He severed the link before that could happen, lowering her to the floor where she lay spent, limbs quivering and chest heaving from the exertion and agony. It would be some time before she could be used again.
The Eye of Everfell Page 18
