Dangerous Talents

by Frankie Robertson

  When had he begun to take Thora’s scrying seriously? When he’d seen the vision Saeun showed him? Or was it earlier than that? Ragni would be amused to learn it was unsanctioned magic that had finally convinced him of scrying’s usefulness. Or did he believe because it allowed him to do what he wanted: to go after Celia?

  Was there really any danger to Quartzholm? Celia couldn’t possibly do what generations of Finders had failed at. Even if she did succeed, her abductor would still need a priest to release the Talents.

  Or would he? It had just been made very clear to him that the skill and knowledge of ritual magic was not restricted to priests.

  Dahleven’s jaw tightened as he remembered the bruises on Celia’s breast. Whether she found the Talents or not, the danger to her was very real.

  His men moved in near silence behind him. He hadn’t explained where he was leading them, but they followed him nevertheless. Like him, they were glad to be taking action at last.

  *

  Jorund pulled Cele’s hand through the crook of his arm and Angrim frowned, apparently unhappy about being escorted by the skald rather than her lover. Cele pulled away, not wanting to be a source of trouble between the couple.

  Jorund turned to Angrim and lifted her chin with one well-manicured finger. “Lady Celia is our guest and is helping us. There’s no need to pout, my dove.” His rich, caressing voice drew a smile and a blush from Angrim. Jorund let his hand trail down her shoulder to her elbow. Then he signaled the group forward. “Proceed.” He drew Cele’s hand through his arm again, and after a nod from Angrim, this time Cele didn’t resist.

  Two warriors carrying lanterns went first, then Jorund and Cele. Eirik and Angrim followed, and the other eight men brought up the rear, packing the blankets and food. All carried swords, and none of the men looked very appealing; they reminded Cele too much of Harve. Fortunately, he wasn’t coming along, and she didn’t have to interact with the others. Jorund kept her close by his side, following the first two men. He wore his own cloak now, and Angrim wore a shorter garment that didn’t threaten to trip her.

  Jorund turned the force of his attention to Cele. “I haven’t thanked you yet, for agreeing to help me.” His deep voice rumbled softly. “The people of Nuvinland will owe you a great debt for the return of their Talents, and their freedom.”

  Cele squirmed inwardly, uncomfortable with her part in this. Returning the Talents to the people seemed like a good thing. So why did she feel so uneasy? “I didn’t do that much,” she murmured.

  “You underestimate your gifts, my lady.” Jorund smiled down at her. “And you have other contributions to make.”

  Her skin tingled as it had when Eirik spoke, only this time with an edge of pain. Cele’s unease grew. “What do you expect me to do?”

  “Nothing as yet, my lady. Merely allow me to enjoy your company while we go to where the Talents are hidden.” Jorund put his ungloved hand on hers, where it rested on his arm. “Then, I hope, you will Find the ones I need.”

  Cele shivered. He’s trying too hard. But Jorund’s hand felt warm on her own and he sounded so sincere. She wondered what his Talent was. Presence? Persuasion? But Thora had said her amulet would protect her from those Talents. And hadn’t he said his Talent had been taken when he was Outcast?

  “And then what?” Cele asked.

  “We’ll return the Talents to our people.”

  “Will you get your Talent back?” Cele hoped it wasn’t rude to ask.

  Jorund smiled unctuously. “So I hope.”

  “How will you get me get home?”

  “It’s quite complex, my lady. You needn’t concern yourself with the details.”

  Cele stiffened at his, Don’t worry your pretty little head, answer. “I’d like to know.”

  Jorund shrugged. “A nimbus of power will be freed when the Talents are released. I’ll use the Staff to focus it, say the words I spent years searching for, and invoke the magic hidden by the priests. Then the Bright Road between the Nine Worlds will open, sending you home.”

  Cele grimaced. It sounded like mumbo-jumbo, but how would she know? She’d never even heard of Talents two weeks ago, let alone magic that worked.

  Jorund looked faintly amused. “As I said, complicated.”

  They walked for a long time. On their occasional rest breaks, Eirik entertained them with stories and songs, creating a surreal, picnic atmosphere, but Jorund never allowed them to pause for long. They stopped when they reached the end of the tunnel. It was a dead end, except for the natural fissure in the face of the far wall. Rubble scattered at the base of the walls made it apparent that until recently, the fissure had been blocked, walled off. A single man stood guard there.

  “Knut!” Cele rocked back on her heels.

  Knut flicked a nervous glance at Jorund. “Yes, my lady. I am glad to find you well.”

  Cele stepped forward. The two guards ahead of her and Jorund moved aside. “You killed Lindy!”

  Knut took a step back, bumping into the rough wall. “I defended myself!”

  “You—”

  “He brought me word of your arrival, my dear,” Jorund interrupted, taking her arm again and patting her hand. “I cannot hope to prevail over Neven’s corruption without the help of good men like Knut. He understood immediately how important you are.”

  “But he cut Lindy’s throat!”

  “Sadly, such acts are sometimes necessary to achieve the greater good. Let it go now.” Jorund patted her hand then turned to the others. “We’ll stop here for the night. Tomorrow we’ll finish the last leg of our quest.”

  Cele glared at Knut but remained silent. She supposed freedom fighters did a lot of things she wouldn’t like if she saw them up close. That’s what Jorund’s men are, aren’t they? Freedom fighters? But she remembered how Dahleven had grieved over Lindy.

  Angrim eyed the dark gaping fissure nervously. “Here, Jorund? Couldn’t we go back a bit? Further from…that?” She gestured tentatively toward the end of the tunnel, not looking directly at the natural opening.

  Jorund chuckled. “I’m here, and Eirik, and these other strong men. Do you think a few hundred yards can protect you better than we can?”

  Angrim looked at the ground and shook her head.

  “Are we going in there tomorrow?” Cele asked. Dahleven’s warnings about creatures in the dark natural caverns made her shiver.

  “You aren’t fearful as well, Lady Celia? Not the woman who so bravely fought her attackers?” Eirik teased.

  Cele’s skin tingled, and she remembered something else Dahleven said. “Fear is a normal response to danger. That doesn’t mean I’m going to let it stop me from doing what I have to. Nor am I going to let it goad me into taking foolish chances.” She turned back to Jorund. “Do we have to go into the caverns?”

  Jorund’s eyes narrowed as he frowned at Eirik. “Yes, my lady, it’s the only path to where we must go. Don’t give too much credence to the old tales of the Dark Ones. The worst we’re likely to encounter are a few blind spiders. You can be assured that I, and my men, will keep you safe.”

  *

  Dahleven paused before a rough, narrow opening in the side of the tunnel and concentrated on his need for the quickest way to the crystal room of his vision. The pull of his Talent remained constant, urging him into the natural fissure.

  Seven of the eight men with him shifted uneasily or stood cautious and stiff; Fender lounged against the wall assuming an air of nonchalance. Two of the other men, seeing him, relaxed and drank from their waterskins. After his vision, Dahleven had been reluctant to include Fendrikanin, but excluding him would have given insult. The younger man had the right to seek glory and honor in battle, after all, and Dahleven refused to believe the future was fixed. The Norns might set the warp of a man’s fate, but it was up to each man to weave the design. He was glad to have Fender along to steady the others.

  They were all good men, and they’d followed him without question and with little rest, co
nfident that his Talent led them true. Now they waited for Dahleven to confirm what they must suspect: that their path led into the natural passageways they’d been warned away from since childhood. The warnings were more than tales told to frighten children into obedience. Every generation a maid or a child disappeared, and even strong men had been lost without a trace after venturing into the Darkling passageways. The Dark Elves stayed away from the places of men, but they didn’t suffer trespassers cheerfully. A man might return whole of body but wander endlessly in his mind, if he were caught by Elven magic.

  It didn’t matter. If Celia truly was being pressured or deceived into Finding the Hidden Talents, any risk was worth taking. The already contentious Jarls would erupt into open warfare with the power of the Great Talents suddenly at their command. The destruction that Fanlon had sacrificed so much to prevent would come at last—if Celia Found the Talents. If she failed, Dahleven wouldn’t bet on the length of her life.

  It was that risk that drove him on.

  Dahleven gestured into the fissure and spoke more confidently than he felt. “This is our path.” He settled his plain metal helm firmly on his head, then stepped into the rough opening.

  The uneven ground was strewn with tumbled and fallen rocks. It narrowed to cracks where the walls came together sharply, then suddenly opened deep pits beneath their feet. Some they could jump, others they had to belay across. Dahleven forced himself to ignore the sensation of being watched; he needed all his wits to navigate the cavern safely. To free his hands, Dahleven hooked the lantern to his belt; a thick leather guard shielded his leg from its heat. At times he bent nearly double to avoid a suddenly low ceiling, and he was glad more than once for his helm. The going was slow, but he trusted his Talent; this was the quickest, most direct way to the crystal room.

  After a candlemark or more of scrabbling forward, the floor grew smoother—just before a blind end. Dahleven stared, disbelieving. He held the lantern high.

  A pile of tumbled rock and rubble barred their way, yet his Talent still pulled him forward.

  Fender stood beside him and stared at the wall of boulders, hands on hips. “It will take an army of miners to move this, my lord, or a Stoneshaper Talent. Do we go back?”

  Dahleven ignored the men muttering and bunching together behind him. There was no path here, yet the pull of his Talent was strong. He closed his eyes and concentrated. The Crystal Hall was close. “No. The Path is here, Fender. We must go forward.” He reached out to lay a palm on the barrier.

  “My lord!”

  Dahleven opened his eyes and turned at Fender’s exclamation, reaching for the hilt of his sword. Fear widened the younger man’s eyes.

  “Your hand,” Fender whispered, “went through the stone.”

  Dahleven gazed at his hand, turning it over and back again, flexing his fingers. He took off his glove. His flesh looked as it should. Then he reached out again. The rock felt solid. He looked back at Fender. The low brow and nosepiece of his helmet didn’t do much to conceal Fender’s distress. Dahleven turned to examine the surrounding boulders more carefully. They were all hard and immovable, yet their texture seemed indistinct. He closed his eyes again and stretched out his arm cautiously, concentrating on the pull of his Talent so he wouldn’t think about jamming his fingers on the stones. He encountered nothing but a cool mist and he stepped forward into it.

  Suddenly he was jerked backward.

  Fender’s grasp on his wrist was rigid. White showed around his eyes. “You were in the wall almost entirely. The light from the lantern was fading.”

  “Darkling magic,” one of the men muttered.

  “Elven witchery,” another grumbled.

  Dahleven turned to his men and Fender loosed his hold. Some still gaped in horror, a couple looked sick. “This is my path. The barrier is naught but illusion and cannot harm us. Nevertheless, I will not order you into it. I must go forward. If you will come with me, hold on to the warrior in front of you and close your eyes. I will lead you through.”

  Their faces grim, to a man they linked, fingers tucked in the belt of the man before, leaving their sword hands free. Dahleven nodded. “Your courage brings you honor.” Then he chose a brace of men. “Torvald, Seig, I must ask you to remain behind. I am sorry to deny you this chance at glory, but I would have you bear word back to Quartzholm, should the rest of us dine tonight in Valhalla.”

  The two men nodded, and Dahleven took Fender’s wrist, hooding the lantern before stepping forward. He didn’t want the lantern to draw attention as they emerged. Nor did he want to imagine what might happen if one of them saw himself inside the illusory wall. Could one be entombed in the false stone? Better to avoid that ill chance by moving in the dark, even though that held its own risks. “Stay together,” he told his men, just before the mist enveloped him.

  *

  The floor of the fissure dropped down, and Jorund held Cele’s arm to steady her descent. Four of the men carried lanterns to light their way, but the hair on the back of Cele’s neck prickled as she stepped into the raw passageway. A vague feeling of being watched had plagued her all night, or what she thought of as night—it was impossible to tell underground. Now the sensation grew stronger. So did an awareness that she wasn’t welcome.

  “Watch your head,” Jorund warned.

  Cele ducked, feeling the uneven rock ceiling graze her hair. I wish I had a hard hat. She stubbed her foot and lurched forward. Jorund steadied her. Somehow it didn’t seem as reassuring as when Dahleven had done the same. Correction: I wish I were somewhere else.

  “This section is the worst, Lady Celia. A little farther on, the way becomes easier,” Jorund promised.

  Cele held on to that encouraging thought while she scrambled and climbed between the rough rocks. She clung to it when she leapt across a crevasse in the floor that breathed a warm draft of air up from its depths. It kept her moving forward when she had to crawl awkwardly up a sloping chimney on hands and knees, trying not to trip on her cloak and skirts.

  As she climbed out of the confined passage, Jorund lifted her to her feet. He’d kept his promise. She wouldn’t be bumping her head on the ceiling here; the rough, natural walls soared to a dim crack over forty feet above, twice the width of the chamber, the length of which twisted out of sight. The floor was as smooth as the halls of Quartzholm.

  “We’re here, Lady Celia.” Jorund drew her away from the chimney’s opening with an arm around her shoulders. “Safe and whole. We were given safe passage, just as I said.”

  “Given by whom?”

  Jorund ignored the question and bent close, sweeping his other arm out to encompass the long cavernous tunnel. “Have you ever seen such wealth in one place?”

  Hundreds of geodes ranging in size from six inches to over four feet in diameter protruded from the walls or lay scattered on the floor like fossilized eggs. Sparkling inclusions glittered in the lantern light, making the cavern look like the treasure room of a fairy castle. “It’s beautiful,” Cele breathed.

  “This room is a mile long and branches twice,” Jorund said, drawing Cele along with him. “It took two years for me to find it, even with the help of my friends. I feared it might take another two years of trial and error to find the Talents I need, until you came along. And thanks to you, I can now open their hiding places safely.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You Found the Staff. It was the missing piece. Without it, releasing a Great Talent is…dangerous.” He lifted his gloved hand.

  Cele looked at Jorund’s mask, remembered the sagging flesh it concealed. Is that what really happened to his face? “How did you get it out of Wirmund’s rooms? It was well guarded. I couldn’t get any closer than the floor below.”

  Jorund smiled with half his face. “The Darkling Lords have servants with many skills.”

  Darkling Lords?

  “And I am grateful for you, as well. You’re a gift from the gods, Celia. A Finder of great Talent, and beautiful as well. We s
hall do well together,” he murmured softly, bending close.

  Cele’s skin stung as if he were lashing her with nettles. The assumption in Jorund’s words disturbed her.

  “Until you send her home,” Angrim said, frowning.

  Jorund inclined his head toward Cele. “Of course. Until I send you home.”

  Cele shivered as Jorund’s warm breath caressed her ear. Again, she wondered why he was trying so hard. Why did he feel he had to use Persuasion on her?

  Jorund straightened. “Your presence has allowed me to push my plans forward more quickly. Very shortly now the parley will come under attack, and Neven’s power will be broken.”

  The news hit her like a cold rinse after a warm bath. “But Ragni’s there!” Cele blurted.

  Jorund looked surprised. “What did you expect, my lady? I’ve made it no secret that I hope to destroy the Kon’s tyranny. Did you think his sons would be untouched by that?”

  She hadn’t thought about it at all, not really. A chill realization stole her breath. He’s going to kill Dahleven, too.

  Jorund’s voice took on a soft, soothing tone. “If they see reason, I’ll spare Neven’s family. They’re not to blame for his excesses, after all.”

  His voice was as rich as honey, but no longer convincing. Dahleven will never surrender. Cele’s heart pounded as Jorund’s intention became clear to her. Jorund planned to kill him all along. And what will he do to Kaidlin and Aenid and Ingirid? Give them to men like Harve?

  Cele felt sick. How could I not have seen this?

  Various things had nagged at her. Things she’d avoided looking at too closely so she could focus on her one goal: going home. Jorund had dangled that carrot in front of her with great skill, distracting her from everything else. Each taken alone could be explained away, but together they were too much to ignore. Eirik’s lies. The poison meant for Neven. Knut. Harve’s protest that he’d followed orders. Did Jorund really save me? Or was it all a set-up? His explanation had shifted the blame smoothly onto Neven, and she’d believed him. She hadn’t had the amulet to protect her then. Was all a lie?