A Charm for Draius: A Novel of the Broken Kaskea (The Broken Kaskea Series Book 1)

by REEVE, LAURA E.

  Before going to the evening table, Draius introduced Lornis to Lady Anja as a co-worker.

  Lornis bowed as Anja offered her hand, saying, “Draius is actually my supervisor. I have much to learn of the investigative process and she’s an excellent teacher.”

  She looked away in embarrassment.

  Anja was gracious, but her eyes missed no details. She watched Lornis with the same scrutiny she applied to Draius and, as always, kept her feelings hidden. Her eyes flickered slightly when she asked him to give his matriarch her greetings. The Kulte-Kolme and their wealth were well known in the sister cities.

  They sat down to dinner, where everyone but Draius started eating with enthusiasm. Peri was full of questions for Lornis, covering the subjects boys were most fond of: What weapons did he favor? Did he intend to go into politics or be a magistrate?

  As Lornis and Peri chatted, she tried to relax. It was a comfortable, quiet dinner, in contrast to the conflict and verbal sparring games that would occur if Jan were present. In fact, this was probably what a family dinner should be like—her throat spasmed. It could be a perfect evening, if she only felt better. Her throat was raw, and she took a small sip of water.

  “Are you well, Draius?” asked Anja. “You’re not eating.”

  “I’m fine.” She speared a piece of meat and twirled it. She popped it into her mouth, chewed it thoroughly but without interest, and started to swallow. Her eyes opened wide as she felt the meat lodge in her throat. She started gagging.

  “Ma?” Peri stood up.

  Shaking her head violently, she tried to breathe. Concerned, Lornis pounded her back sharply and the piece of meat flew out. But her chest still heaved, no air would enter.

  Lornis stood up.

  I’m not choking, I’m being strangled! She felt frantically around her throat for the cause and Lornis pounded her back again, which didn’t help. Her ears roared and her vision grayed at the edges. She clawed at her neck. She writhed and ended up on her knees on the floor, pulling at her collar. She was growing faint and rolled over on her side, her hands still scrabbling at her throat.

  She felt Lornis down on his knees beside her. He tore away her collar and his fingers caught on a string or lacing—with a sharp yank, he broke it. Something went flying and hit the floor with the sound of marbles scattering.

  She drew ragged gulps of air and her vision cleared. On her knees, curled up, she began retching. Lornis had his arms around her, supporting her. A broken pouch and its contents spilled out on the floor in front of her. Indefinable lumps were littered about, but one object was obvious in its fine detail. It was part of a human finger, still wearing a ring, a recognizable one. It was a councilman’s ring—and she suddenly remembered.

  “Arr—arr—rest the dustball,” she gasped.

  “What?” Lornis still held her securely.

  She took a deep, shuddering breath. “Have the watch arrest that cursed apothecary!”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  First Kingday, Erin Three, T.Y. 1471

  Last night I felt the charm squeeze the breath out of the City Guard officer. I’d never before designed a charm to report back to me and I couldn’t help feeling proud, as if I’d sent a child into the world to fulfill its destiny.

  The feeling was brief and I suppressed it as hubris, knowing I still have much to learn before I ever come close to the sorcerers of past eras. I felt it best to gather my important belongings and get away from my shop. The charm may no longer be obscured and if so, the Guard would figure out what killed the woman.

  Having nowhere else to go, I found my employer near the wharves. That’s when I discovered he’d tried to perform a ham-handed necromantic rite without me, taking several others of our group. I was incensed.

  “This is not license to exact your revenge,” I screamed at him. “Your pieces of flesh from the victim are worthless. Their power is weak from imprecision and ineptness.”

  Rashly, I told him how I had handled the Guard officer, how the charm had killed her. I was surprised by his intense reaction and loss of control.

  “I told you I didn’t want her hurt!” His hand moved fast and slapped me on the side of the head, sending me flying. He wouldn’t listen to my explanations, but had me locked away in a tiny room with a cot. Luckily, his men dumped my two carpetbags on the floor, leaving me with my belongings. I spent the night there, trying to get meager sleep on the makeshift bed.

  This morning I had a visit, early, from my employer. He looked somber and of logical mind.

  “I’ve just received news. The watch tore apart your shop and laboratory, of course, and two Guard officers visited late last night. One of them was Draius, so your charm was ineffective.”

  “But it triggered! And the trigger was set only for her. Are you sure she’s alive?”

  “She’s hard to miss, Taalo, believe me. Now you’ve put us all in jeopardy. If you wanted to warn her away, this was the wrong way to go about it. She’ll focus her efforts on you, and she’s got the tenacity of a hunting dog. We may now lose our source in the Guard.”

  We both knew our source was expendable, so I went to the crux of our differences. “Like it or not, my charm identified Commander Draius as an obstacle to our goals.”

  My employer pointed a beefy finger into my face, almost touching my nose. “Don’t take that school-master’s tone with me. I won’t have her hurt.”

  “That may not be possible. You’re not being rational.”

  “And you’re concentrating on the wrong problem. You’re supposed to be finding the lodestone. Otherwise, you’re of no use to me.”

  That was an interesting choice of words; I had also come to the conclusion he was of little use to me in the long term, but disentangling myself from his schemes would be thorny. I adjusted my collar before answering, needing a wash and a change of clothes. I also needed time.

  Using a cautious tone, I said, “We’ve exhausted all normal methods for finding it, but there might be one possibility left to us.”

  My employer can be patient. He sat on the cot, making it groan. While he waited, muffled sounds of normal daily business came through the walls: men moving crates, shouting orders, and the scraping of boats against the sides of canals.

  I spoke slowly, looking down at my shoes. “I’ve done some research. No one, not even the Phrenii, suspect the Kaskea can be used by more than one person.”

  “The Kaskea! I’m spending all my lineal wealth to rid us of those creatures—and you want someone to jump into rapport with them?” My employer stood up and spat out his words. “How will this avenge my family?”

  I backed into a corner, but there was no place in the room that he couldn’t reach me. He hadn’t been pleased when he learned I’d stolen the shard from the archives, but since he thought it useless, he’d let it lie. Now I had to work carefully. My employer wasn’t stupid: he knew using the Kaskea would be dangerous.

  “Don’t worry, you couldn’t ever be in rapport, because you don’t have enough Meran blood. But that pasty-faced assistant of yours could try,” I said.

  “Why don’t you take the risk yourself?” he jeered.

  Cold ran through me, causing me to shiver. He couldn’t know that I already tried, could he? While my gray-hued skin, hair, and eyes all insinuate I have Meran blood, the Kaskea still rejected me. Not once, but three times.

  “Remember, it’s broken.” I almost stuttered. “It doesn’t have the power it once did.”

  But he didn’t pay attention, even to his own mocking words, lost in his own hate and loathing for the Phrenii. “It would open up all our plans to those—” The big man sputtered, something I’d never seen.

  “That’s why we should use someone who doesn’t know much about our plans.” I was pleased that I came up with a good excuse: this was why I shouldn’t attempt to bind to the Kaskea. “Those creatures are portals; have you forgotten your nursery rhymes?”

  “Rhymes?”

  “They have basis in fact.
The Phrenii are gateways to a place that can provide a wealth of information, called the Void. Do you think the kings of Tyrra have risked madness for just a bit of elemental power?”

  I’ve always admired my employer’s flexibility. He has strong feelings and motivations, but he’s always open to new ideas. I waited while he considered the proposal, against all other possibilities. But he wasn’t ready to buy into my proposal just yet. “Why can’t we try to get information from the captain of the ship? Like we did with that sorceress, the apprentice to Cessina”

  “You’re presuming the Sareenian captain is dead, which is probably correct.” I grudgingly admired his logic. “But to force a soul away from the path requires us to be near the site where the person died. We had to figure out where Lahna left this life and when it comes to the ship’s captain, we can’t know.”

  My employer shook his head. “What risks are there in the Kaskea besides madness? We’ve come in contact with the lodestone—will they feel that?” It was obvious who they were.

  At this point, I knew that I had made myself useful again. I fingered the side of my bruised face. “I must do more research. I need to read the sorcerer’s notes, find out exactly how the Kaskea allows access to the Void.”

  So I was allowed to move about, under watchful eyes. After I washed and changed, I retired to my room to study Nherissa’s notes, as well as my own. I wasn’t stupid enough to leave these precious articles for the City Guard to find. However, I was in a bit of difficulty. I didn’t mention to my employer that Nherissa lost contact with the Void, which fueled the sorcerer’s anger and jealousy of the Tyrran King and his Kaskea, not to mention the Phrenii. I couldn’t find support in all these notes for having the Kaskea assist others to the Void. And the risks are high, because there is always some sort of madness involved with using the Kaskea or getting close to the Phrenii.

  My reason was challenged, and I met the challenge with elation. I had to piece together a useful plan for my employer while ensuring my own escape.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The Tale of the Phrenii

  When the body of King Valos came home, everyone went into mourning except the Phrenii. The creatures insisted the broken Kaskea be bound immediately to our selected heir to the throne, Valos’s younger brother and my only remaining grandson. The binding was done with only the Phrenii present. I was in agony as I waited, fearing Peri was too young and the madness would take him. Luckily, he remained sane, but he’s not my Peri any more. The Phrenii were perplexed because he became attuned to Mahri, the keystone. This had never happened. Scholars and Star Watchers rushed to their records, insisting this was a portent of conflict to come during King Perinon’s reign. Whatever happens, I hope not to see it. Watching my children and grandchildren die in the Fevers was enough torment for one life.

  —Entry in Meran-Viisi matriarchal records by Lady Nuora, T.Y. 1461

  Late on Kingday morning, Draius opened the door to the Office of Investigation and found it crowded with people. All the chairs were filled, and people leaned against the walls and sat on the floor. Many toted the identifiable bags of their trade, with papers, pens, and seals. It looked like a constellation of clerks had descended into her office.

  She’d taken her time getting to work because she’d been up late into the night. Anja had insisted on calling a physician, but after being examined and considered fit, Draius went to check the apothecary’s shop. She stayed only long enough to convince herself that Taalo had shut down his laboratory, packed up, and left. She fingered her throat and looked toward Usko, who was standing in front of his files, as if prepared to defend them against the other clerks. Usko didn’t meet her eyes.

  Ponteva opened the door to the inner office and motioned to Draius, who pushed through the bodies to get into her office.

  “Ser, we’re knee-deep in Pettaja-Kolme.” He closed the door for privacy. “Not to mention several Pettaja-Nelja and Pettaja-Viisi. They say they’re here to help and they brought those.” He gestured to her desk, where he’d laid three letters.

  “Thanks, Ponteva.” Her voice was still rough.

  He didn’t answer, but his sharp eyes flickered to her throat, then back to her face. At first, she’d tried to use powder to hide the bruises that went the entire length of her neck, but it didn’t work. Her neck still looked like it had been caught in a vise, much larger than anyone’s hands. The bruises showed clearly above her collar.

  “Where’s Lieutenant Lornis?” she asked as she skimmed through the three letters.

  “He’s taken Miina and gone back to that shop—says he’s going to tear it apart board by board, if he has to. He’s burning with purpose, and I can’t say I disagree. We can’t have attacks on the Guard, however they’re done.” Ponteva’s world consisted of solid people and things; he sounded doubtful of the circumstances of the attack, but he couldn’t deny the bruising on her neck.

  She was grateful that Lornis was searching the laboratory. Last night she’d felt such loathing for the place, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to adequately examine it for evidence. Preferring to focus elsewhere, she said, “Well, well. These letters offer the services of the Pettaja, regarding the robbery of the Royal Archives.”

  Actually, the letters offered assistance in inverse proportion to their lineal status. The Pettaja-Viisi haughtily insisted their people only be used in tracing “necromantic literature,” the Pettaja-Nelja offered assistance in searching for anything related to the robbery of the archives, while the Pettaja-Kolme enthusiastically offered labor for whatever purposes needed by the City Guard. Draius didn’t know where, or why, these offers had come her way—but she wasn’t about to turn down free labor, and she wasn’t going to bother with lineal distinctions.

  “Ponteva, have them search for Taalo and any information about who he knows, who he does business with, and where he goes. If they balk, tell them he’s the prime suspect in the robbery. Have them look through everything from meetings of the Royal Academy of Science, to the receipts at every bookbinder and bookseller. He’s also ordered specific supplies, such as fine linen paper. And it’s unlikely he owns his shop—have them search through ownership records. By the Horn, have them look everywhere for that stinking little apothecary.”

  The day disappeared quickly, lost in the grinding details of coordinating untrained investigators and evaluating all the information that flowed back to her office.

  •••

  In the twilight before dawn on Farmday, a cold breeze whistled through the remaining stones of Nherissa’s tower. The crumpled west walls now stood no higher than a child, and to the east there were no longer any walls at all.

  Draius stood with her back to the wind, her cloak whipping around and enfolding her. Her long hair was unbraided and loose, blowing forward across her shoulders and brushing against her face. Impatient, she gathered it together and stuffed it securely under her cloak. She rubbed her bruised neck and shivered, but not from the wind.

  “This is where the last two Tyrran sorcerers battled,” Mahri said. “We were witnesses.”

  She’d been surprised to find two creatures waiting for her: both Mahri and Dahni. Speaking to one creature was the same as speaking to all, so why had two come to the tower? Adult Tyrrans seldom faced more than one of the Phrenii, so she and Lornis had kept their distance, just to be safe.

  The Phrenii, glowing in the dawn light, stood at the edge of the clearing. They refused to enter the circle of stones. Draius and Lornis tied their horses at the edge and walked into the remains of the tower’s foundation.

  “There is nothing here but dirt and rocks.” She crossed the circle, her boots scuffing through fine dry dust and making it to rise like smoke.

  The Phrenii stayed where they were.

  Nherissa’s tower once stood high on this steep outcropping of the Cen Cerinas. From this point, they could see all Betarr Serin and Betarr Serasa and southward over the Angim Sea. Under the dark skies Betarr Serin looked bleak, no longer a
shining jewel. The dawn was now complete, but the sky was still dull with thick clouds. The cities below were stirring beneath the scattered showers and light winds. She could see the morning packet boat starting up the Whitewater, pulled by sturdy mules on the bank.

  She turned away from the view and back toward the creatures. She’d come for a tale, one she’d heard many times, and it was time to get on with it.

  “Show me your perspective, Phrenii. I am here, as you requested.” She leaned against the short wall behind her.

  “We tell the tale of the last days of Nherissa and Cessina, and the breaking of the Kaskea.” Mahri started, speaking in the style of old story tellers. “This story is never complete and no one knows all the pieces.

  “In that time the source of elemental power, life-light magic, was disappearing in mankind as each generation faded into history and started their journey to the Stars. The number of sorcerers waned. Even though the life-light magic lengthened their lifetimes to eras, they were dying out. Suitable apprentices could no longer be found.

  “Finally there were only two sorcerers left: Nherissa and Cessina. When the life-light magic began to leave them, they also became concerned, even frightened. Cessina withdrew from society to study, while Nherissa began to quest for different channels of power.

  “While magic drifted away from mortals, the King of Tyrra wore the complete Kaskea, fashioned by sorcerers at the beginning of the third Era. The Kaskea was a powerful item, but only useable by Minahmeran descendants: whoever wore the Kaskea had authority over the Phrenii and commanded the loyalty of his men. One had only to witness King Voima defeat the rock giants on the northern moors of Kitarra, to understand the power of the Kaskea.

  “The Kaskea was handed down over many generations to King Mielis, who had no son, only a nephew Kotiin whom the matriarchs determined would be his heir. Slowly, so slowly that no mortal noticed, King Mielis started to go mad. He became obsessed with his mortality and, unfortunately, we could not recognize this madness.