Krin opened his mouth to speak, then quickly closed it. What could he say? What do you say to a revelation like that? He had known the man his entire life, and never imagined…
“Three hundred and…” He couldn’t finish the sentence.
“…and sixty-seven, yes!” The old man exploded in a fit of laughter. “Haha! I know, Lord, I know. But the look on his face is priceless.”
Nicholas was having one of his one-way conversations with God, and Krin didn’t like it one bit. He had been lied to his entire life. Lied to about who, or what his adoptive father was. Lied to about his own nature…his own heritage. Lied to about the world around him. For a second, he pondered all the other lies he might not be yet aware of, and felt the gnawing scrape of irritation building at the base of his neck.
“Stop laughing!” He shouted. “This is…this is…”
“Big, I know.” Nicholas’ laughter trickled to a sprinkle of quiet chuckles, then he cleared his throat, and became somber once more. “I’m sorry. That was insensitive of me. But we haven’t much time to get caught up on the deceit and misdirection I’ve been forced to employ on you through the years. I promise…there will be time for that later. But for now, we have pressing matters to discuss. Time is running short, and we need your help most grievously.” He squeezed at Krin’s hand again. “And the best way to begin is to explain your injuries, and what exactly happened to the jinni you were battling downstairs.”
Velvet rustled from somewhere to Krin’s right as someone new moved closer to the bed.
“And so you know, we are currently investigating the attack.” Calibus’ voice carried with it a hint of mortified apology. “As yet, we have not been able to determine who brought the jinn into the Keep, nor who ordered the guards to leave you, but we soon will have the answers.” Krin felt the man’s hand grip his shoulder and squeeze. “I am, however, very pleased to announce that Quinton, our most gifted healer, has managed to ease the burns you sustained. You will be fine in another day or so, and will suffer no scarring. At least…physically, anyway. I’m truly sorry that this happened to you while under our hospitality, but…”
“I get it. Look, it’s alright. We vanquished the villains and won the day.” Krin was annoyed by the Magus Prime’s intrusion. The only person he wanted to speak with at that moment was Nicholas, and Calibus’ presence was an unwelcome invasion.
“What I really want to know is…what happened? When I killed the last jinn, it felt exactly like when I rift, but this time, instead of ice and cold, there was nothing but an inferno.” Krin thought about his next words carefully.
“Look, I’ve seen Wyndter. Been several hundred feet above it, as a matter of fact. It’s nothing but snow, cold, and icy nightmares from what I could tell. So, if my rifting is me tapping into Wyndter, then where did all the heat come from?”
“Do you wish to answer that one, or shall I?” Calibus directed his question to Nicholas.
“I’ll take it. Seems fitting somehow. I’ve lied to the boy long enough. It’s time I come clean about a few things.” He paused. “Can we get Quinton in here to remove the bandages, at least from his face? If we’re going to have this talk, I want him to see me.”
“Please!” Krin said, his voice cracking with frustration. “Just tell me.”
He heard the rustling fabric and soft, retreating footfalls and a sigh from Nicholas.
“I heard that Garhetnor Bliix has given you a bit of an education during your travels.”
“He has. Thought it best I knew at least some of this stuff before we arrived in Thana Pel.”
“A wise decision on his part. Very wise. Unfortunately, the dwarves only know so much about the world around them. Even less about the others that exist beyond.”
“Others? I thought the Great Divide just separated the Fae from our world. Thanaheim and Dhunarheme, or Wyndter as the magi call it.”
“And you would be right...at least, in part,” Nicholas said. His voice sounded heavy. Thick with worry. “But the truth is, there are four worlds, all occupying the same space in which we live, but tangibly inaccessible to each other. These worlds have always been separate. Wyndter didn’t come about because of the Great Divide. God simply relocated the Fae into Wyndter, where they could thrive, yet do the least damage to our world.”
“Four worlds? And you think I can rift into…”
“Any of them, yes. Your power isn’t limited to Wyndter; although you do have a natural predilection to it because of your ancestry.” There was another brief pause. “I’m sorry I kept that from you too, by the way. Believe me when I say, we felt it was absolutely necessary to keep your lineage a secret. Even now, you cannot fully understand the true enormity of it. But you will very soon, I promise. More than likely, you’ll grasp it within the next few minutes. But I digress. The four worlds. Earth. Air—that’s Wyndter, by the way. Water. And…”
“Fire,” Krin said. “The four elements.”
“Exactly!”
“So, when I killed the jinn, I…”
“You actually didn’t kill it. Certainly, the other two were killed, thanks to the sword, Glalbrirer. I suspect, it’s the only object on earth that could have killed such creatures. It was crafted by your father.”
“Kraen-Lil?”
“That was one of the names he went by, yes. He had crafted it here in our world, using material—minerals, ore, and I suspect a few magical enchantments—he had collected from all four worlds. The sword itself is part of the entire macrocosm, I suspect, and therefore capable of being wielded against creatures from anywhere.” He let out a delighted chuckle. “And from nowhere, too, I would imagine.”
Krin ignored the cryptic comment. “But the third jinni…if I didn’t kill it, then what happened?”
“Oh, that’s easy. You sent it back to where it belonged. To its own world. Jinn are not from earth, nor are they from Wyndter. They are beings composed of fire and smoke and heat. So, when you decided to get rid of the nasty fiend, you opened a portal to its own world, and sent it back. And just as it frosts over when you rift into Wyndter, you experienced the intense heat of what Magus Glarok calls Pyronon.” The bishop chuckled at this. “It really is a rather dreadful name, is it not? We’ll have to come up with a better one, I think.”
There was movement at the door, a few hushed words exchanged, then more movement. Someone touched the bandages on Krin’s face, causing him to flinch. “Shhh, now,” said a high-pitched male voice he didn’t recognize. “My name is Quinton, and I’m only here to remove these bandages. Never mind me. It will only take a second.” Cold metal then brushed against his skin, and Krin heard the familiar sound of linen being cut by scissors. A few seconds later, he could feel the bandages being unwrapped from around his face.
“The bandages, of course, were only a precaution. Your burns were certainly serious, there doesn't seem to be any permanent damage—at least none that a good old mangoria root balm couldn’t cure. A few of the others thought a trip to the Grove might be necessary, but I assured them the balm would suffice.”
Krin tapped his fingers against side of his mattress. Though he was glad to be free of the wrappings, it was keeping him from the answers he had been dreaming of since childhood.
Somehow he knew, all of what had transpired was tied inexorably to his past. The four worlds. His ability to rift. The Magi. And his true, biological father. Somehow they were all connected, and he was finally on the verge of discovering the secrets that had alluded him for so long, and that knowledge was being thwarted by the shaking, wizened hands of this lisping magus. Krin knew he should be eternally thankful for the man’s skill—not to mention whatever a mangoria root balm was—for healing his burns. But at the moment, he didn't want to wait one more moment for promised treasure of answers.
After the last bandage was pulled away from his eyes, he opened his lids with great care. The world around him seemed dark. Hazy, like a veil of gauze was still stretched over his face.
“Now, for your hands,” Quinton said, taking Krin’s right hand, and snipping away at the linen. Krin hadn’t even been aware they had been bandaged as well. But he relented, allowing the old healer to do his job, while he allowed his eyes to regain their focus. After several moments, things appeared much clearer than before.
Slowly, he turned his head to the left to see Nicholas’ beaming face looking down at him.
“Now,” the old man said. “Just as soon as good Quinton is finished with you, and you take a bite to eat to regain some of your strength, what say you, Calibus, and I take a little walk while we continue this conversation. I have a few things to show you before your journey.”
“Journ…ow!” He jerked his hand out from the healer’s reach, after he had nicked his index finger with the infernal scissors.
“Sorry about that,” Quinton said. “Fortunately, there’s only a small amount of blood, and a pinch of gastonion berry should take care of it, as well as ensure there’s no infect…”
Krin ignored the magus’s ramblings, and turned back to Nicholas. “Journey? What journey? I just got here.”
“That, dear boy, is something that the Magus Prime must explain. But as I’ve already mentioned, time is rapidly diminishing. We’ve very little to spare.” He stroked at his beard for a moment, as if in thought, then continued. “I’m afraid you must be on your way before the break of dawn…and there’s so much still left to tell. A story, I suppose, that will change your life forever.”
THIRTY-ONE
Krin’s legs ached as he, Nicholas, and the Magus Prime ascended the winding stone staircase up the northern tower. In fact, almost every square inch of his skin, bones, and muscles burned with one mild pain or another. But he had to hand it to Quinton, and the amazing medical ministrations he had used on his burns—as well as the arrow wounds he had received in recent days. Garhet’s healing skills were far superior to anything Krin had witnessed in his short life, but the magus healer’s far surpassed that of even the dwarf’s. Still, as they trudged their way up the narrow staircase, he couldn’t help noticing those small, subtle reminders of the injuries from which his body was still recovering.
“Krin, I’m going to dispense with the pleasantries at the moment, and just explain to you what is happening, and why you are needed for these troubling times, more than anyone else in the world,” Calibus said, leaning against his staff as he clambered up the next step.
“That would be a nice change.”
Nicholas smacked Krin gently across the back of his head for the sarcasm, which resulted in his offer of a sheepish shrug of apology.
“No, no…I completely understand his frustration,” Calibus said. “As you’ve told me on a number of occasions, Niklaus, we had no right to keep these things from the boy all these years. In hindsight, we should have heeded your input, old friend. Perhaps if we had nurtured Krin’s heritage—his amazing gifts—many of the troubles looming over us at present, would probably be less…alarming.” He stopped, and turned to Krin. “Perhaps had we encouraged you to embrace your ability to move between the Four Worlds, these things might not even be happening at all.
“For that, I’m truly sorry. Niklaus, from the very beginning, has proposed that very course of action, but the Magi Order wouldn’t hear of it.”
“Which is also why I was thrown in prison…and why Alexandrius was after you as well, my boy,” Nicholas explained. “The council believed that your gifts were just too dangerous. They forbade me from discussing them with you; from teaching you how to use them—as if I could have!—and ordered me to withhold your ancestry from you.”
Calibus picked up the story at that point. “Then, when rumors of the return of Sair’n Kryl began to surface, we began an investigation into possible suspects. Keep in mind, the real Sair’n Kryl is dead. Was killed twenty-seven years ago. By your own birth father, Krin, I might add.
“The truth—as embarrassing as it is to admit—is that the rumors of Sair’n Kryl’s return set many within the council into a panic. Sair’n Kryl’s dragon cult survived his death, and has been struggling ever since to see his dreams fulfilled. Fortunately, the cult has always been disorganized. If you'll pardon the unfortunate metaphor, it’s been like a snake with its head cut off.
“Until recent days, that is. Though he is most definitely dead, there was a movement organized well-enough, from within his former stronghold—a place near the southern-most border of the valley called Kor Shani—that we knew someone must have resumed his mantle of leadership.”
“And only another of the Magi Order could even hope to assume the mantle of the ‘Mad Magus’ as I called him,” added Nicholas.
“So you guys, what? Thought Nicholas was the one behind it all?” Krin felt his teeth grind as he uttered the words. Even though Nicholas apparently harbored no ill-will toward the Order, it didn’t mean Krin had to like it. “You suspected that he was the one who betrayed you, is that it?”
They reached a landing midway up the seemingly endless spiral staircase, and Nicholas held up a hand as he leaned against the wall to catch his breath. “I am certainly not as agile as I used to be. I need a bit of a rest.” Then he looked over at Calibus, and shrugged. “Would you like to answer the question, or would you prefer it came from me?”
The Magus Prime leaned against the stairway rail, and nodded. “I suppose I should own up to it. After all, I let it happen.”
Krin tensed, stifling the urge to berate the man until he said his piece. “Yes,” he said instead. “Please do. I would love to hear what you have to say about being responsible for having an old—” He glanced at Nicholas, suddenly feeling foolish over just how much of an understatement the term was. “—man thrown in prison.”
“I can certainly understand your ire, Master Krin.” Calibus nodded. “I most certainly can. Of course, I could attempt to placate you with the usual excuses. Claim that it was never my intention, or that it was for the greater good, but those would simply be platitudes that mean very little. But there were two very good reasons for it, despite how harsh it might seem to you.
“First, after careful deliberation, the majority of the council determined that Nicholas was the most likely candidate for the simple reason that he had adopted you.”
Krin was stunned. “What? Me? Why on earth would taking me in, feeding me…raising me, to be a good and decent man make the Magi think Nicholas was this…this Sair’n Kryl guy?”
“Simple,” Nicholas said. “Because I had cut off all communication with any of them since the day I adopted you.”
“And because the power you have—the ability to rift—is precisely the thing the enemy needs to fulfill his plans,” added Calibus. “You see, only half-breeds—children of both Wyndter and our world—have the ability to move between them. Or, more specifically, open portals between the worlds. As you can well imagine, because of the Divide, you are a rather rare commodity. Sair’n Kryl had aligned himself with a creature of Wyndter the dwarves call the Winterking, but is universally known as the Krampus. The creature had searched the two worlds over until he had discovered one such half-breed before. Once he found her, he stole her from her parents; nurtured her talents; conditioned her to be full of rage and hate, and had planned to use her for his coup in our world.”
“You’re talking about Finleara.”
The Magus Prime nodded. “Fortunately, she managed to escape. When she came into our world, she was little more than a feral child, with an appetite for violence like none I’ve ever seen. It was, of course, all because of the Krampus’ influence on her.
“The point is, in our world today, there are only two of you…that we know of. Since Finleara had been raised by me, in full view of the Order, the suspicion naturally fell in your direction, and unfortunately, upon Nicholas’ shoulders.
“After all, the council knew very little about you. They knew nothing in regards to your ability for rifting, or how much power you had amassed. Thankfully, none of them guessed you were able t
o rift without the use of the Rifting Stones. That bit of news nearly sent the others into a frenzy. And Heaven help us had they suspected that you could transcend the worlds of earth and air, as well as move into the others—something I’m not quite ready to make public knowledge of even now.
“But the point is, Nicholas had broken all ties to the Magi from the day he brought you home. Surely, you must see why the others would suspect him.”
Krin mulled it over, and silently agreed that it made a certain kind of sense. But something in the Magus Prime’s last sentence troubled him. “You said ‘why the others would suspect him’. You mean, you didn’t?”
At this both men laughed, which echoed boisterously down the tight confines of the tower staircase. “Heavens no!” Calibus exclaimed, leaning against his staff.
“Why not?” Krin found himself more than a little irritated with their amusement at his question. He had thought it to be an excellent one to ask. Astute, as Nicholas would have called it had he not been wiping tears from his eyes from his laughter.
“If it was all so logical, then why wouldn’t you agree with them? And if you didn’t, why agree to let Nicholas be imprisoned in the first place?”
Nicholas pushed away from the wall, and gestured to the steps. “Let’s get moving. We need to move this along. We have so little time, and we still must show you the Vault.” As the trio resumed their ascent, Nicholas answered Krin’s questions on Calibus’ behalf.
The Legend of the Winterking: The Crown of Nandur Page 23
