With one last look at Lhaurel, Khari headed for the door. She was a wetta after all, and that came with certain abilities. She would find Beryl herself. She had questions that needed answers.
She reached out, using the spring in the room behind her to fuel her search. Her range was normally limited by the water she had within herself, but with an ample source so close, she could draw upon it to increase her range. It was nothing like what Lhaurel said she could do, sensing everyone, but she could sense the other mystics around her, each type with a different feel.
Lhaurel, in the room behind her, felt different now, a darker, more shadowy feeling than the simple elusive vastness that had marked her before.
Khari continued to push outward, straining against the confines of her normal range. She had only attempted something like this once before, a long time ago when she had first been broken and was newly experiencing her powers.
She felt a half dozen others throughout the passages, but none of them felt like Beryl. Khari had been surprised at how many potential mystics had come with survivors. Most of them showed the initial signs of a breaking—how could they not after the ordeal of the Oasis—but Khari had not had the time to meet with them all or even to discuss their abilities with any of the other surviving mystics.
She knew she should have, but other priorities kept arising and there was enough tension going around concerning the ordinary Roterralar that adding to it wasn’t necessarily a good idea right now. Besides, that wasn’t Khari’s responsibility—that was the job of the head of the mystics and Khari hadn’t appointed one yet.
Well, she had let Farah know that Gavin was a relampago. As the only other surviving member of that order, Farah was the only one with the capacity to train him, and he, with the way he was acting and the drive he was showing to unite the clans, he had to learn. It wasn’t something she could let slide.
There.
Khari sensed Beryl then, deep within the bowels of the Warren, in the ancient abandoned passageways beneath the main part of the Warren.
What was he doing there?
Khari felt a small flash of annoyance. No wonder none of the people she’d sent had been able to find him.
Khari ran a hand through her short hair. It was unlike Beryl to leave his forge at all, but it had been dormant for days. Now he was down in the bowels of the Warren itself, most likely alone. If she hadn’t already been looking for him, that fact alone would have made her try and find him. He was up to something.
* * *
Lhaurel dreamed.
She was aware of the fact that she was dreaming, unlike the fitful nightmares she’d been trapped in before, but she saw it through the eyes of someone else. She was an observer in the dream only, unable to speak or act, but could only watch through eyes of another phantom woman.
In the dream, she strode through a long corridor lined with torches. The corridor sloped upward to a large set of steps which lead up to a massive stone door. She strode up, noticing then the second set of echoing footsteps along with her own.
The doorway swung open of its own accord, letting in a blazing burst of sunlight.
“Thank you, Beryl.” The voice came as if from Lhaurel’s mouth, though Lhaurel herself did not think or say the words. She felt the surprise though, which was noteworthy in itself. Though she couldn’t control what was happening, she was still herself, could still feel and think autonomously.
“I asked you not to call me that.” Lhaurel recognized the voice, though much of the gruff burr she was used to was absent. Why was she dreaming about Beryl?
“Why?” The woman’s voice asked. “It is your name, after all.” There was a note of something else in the words, more than just the statement itself. Playfulness? Humor, maybe?
Beryl snorted, though he was still not visible. They climbed up the last few stairs, stepping out onto a wide flat area covered in a cushy green something.
A shorter, thicker version of the grasses in the Oasis?
“It was the name of a nobody, a warrior slave, used for the amusement of your Sisters.”
The woman laughed softly. “Ah yes, but it was also the name of a hero among the slaves. And it’s the name of the man with whom I fell in love.”
If Lhaurel had control of her body, she would have started in surprise. Love? Was Beryl married? Lhaurel didn’t recall anyone ever mentioning Beryl’s wife, or even a lover. This was a strange dream. Yet something within her, a small voice of reason, whispered that this was not a dream at all.
“You are far above me, Elyana,” Beryl’s voice said as they strode across the green, squishy surface. “It is not meet that you should say such things about your Bondsman.”
“Your protests are hollow, Beryl,” the woman said, the fondness in her voice apparent now. “Or you wouldn’t call one of the Sisters by name. Come along then, my Bondsman. Let us go see what sport we have today.”
The woman turned her head and Lhaurel could finally see where they were headed. A group of people congregated near the edge of a sudden drop, the dull hum of conversation reaching Lhaurel’s ring of perception. Beryl and Elyana, the woman through which Lhaurel was experiencing this dream, walked toward the group, though the participants were like no one Lhaurel had ever seen. All men, they stood well over seven feet tall, sculpted muscles bulging beneath tight clothing. Half had blond, wispy hair, while the other half looked far more solid, as if they were rooted to the earth itself. But there was something slightly off about them too. Eyes slightly too large, bodies too well formed, features too similar one with another. Not that they all looked alike, but the tone of their skin, the chiseled perfection, even the color of their hair was identical.
The conversation died as Beryl and Elyana neared, the men all turning to regard them, each inclining their heads and clamping their right palm flat against their chests.
Who were these people?
“What is the status of events today?” Elyana asked. Her tone was more formal now, less playful.
One of the blond-haired men replied. “The Rhiofriar are ahead. It may be that one of them may prove themselves today and progress to the next Iteration.”
Several of the others, mostly those with darker hair, chuckled.
“And which family would claim him, when reborn?”
Reborn?
“The Avrefran.”
“They’ve been receiving a lot of new blood.” Elyana’s voice was contemplative, musing, but the assembled men reacted as if she had threatened them.
“The Sisters have smiled upon them,” one of the men said. Several others nodded and another one chimed in as well. “They must have followed their Progressions most notably, Honored Sister.”
Sisters?
Lhaurel was confused. This was the strangest dream she’d ever experienced. She willed herself to wake up, but nothing happened. She thought about pinching herself, but realized she couldn’t almost as soon as she’d considered it.
What was going on?
“What are the odds?” Beryl asked. He was still standing behind Elyana, so Lhaurel couldn’t see him.
This got the men talking again, gently ribbing one another or else shooting each other knowing looks. “Not as good as when you were one of them, Beryl.”
One of them?
Elyana raised one hand sharply, pointing a pale, white finger at the man who had spoken. The laughter died in his throat and the man swallowed and then licked his lips before Elyana spoke.
“You will show more respect to the Bondsman of one of the Sisters,” she said in a voice of steel. “Just because I have dwelt with you for a time does not give you such familiarity. Do not forget yourself unless you wish to join those below.”
The man hastened to stammer an apology.
Lhaurel studied the finger raised in front of her gaze. Pale white skin—not a pale brown, but white, like hers after the Oasis. And the nails, they were as red as the blood within her veins.
“Too late,” Elyana hissed. Red mi
st—blood itself—formed in the air around the man and shimmered toward Elyana. The men around him scattered back. Blood surged toward Elyana, crackling with a strange white energy and coalescing into a ball within her outstretched hand. Then she thrust it outward.
As it flew, the red ball seemed as flame, but when it struck the man, it struck with solidity. Blood and energy splashed across his chest, throwing him over the edge of the cliff with enough force to send him several dozen spans out from the edge and into the unknown abyss beneath.
Lhaurel woke up.
* * *
Khari strode along in the darkened passages of the Warren, more than a little irritated at the distance she’d had to walk already.
What was Beryl up to down here?
She sensed the lake before she saw it. She’d always known it was down here though she’d never had any desire to actually see it. The spring in the healing rooms was plenty for any clan’s needs. Yet when she rounded the corner of the passage and saw the light of distant lanterns reflecting off such a vast, indescribable pool of water, her heart skipped a beat. It was pure beauty.
Khari reached out to it with her powers, feeling the depth of it with perceptions better than sight. Here was a source of fuel for her magic beyond anything she’d ever encountered. Why hadn’t she ever made the time to come down and see this place? It was pure, unadulterated majesty.
Movement from the other side of the lake drew Khari’s attention away from the lake itself. Someone moved about and a low grumble of sound carried out over the water, like the distant hum of bees.
Khari strode out onto the narrow path through the center of the lake, marveling at the majesty of the room. It was clearly not a natural phenomenon and the grandeur of it left her somewhat breathless.
Khari’s sense of awe was replaced by confusion about halfway across the narrow walkway. She could see Beryl, busy working at a small metal table, scratching away on a scroll. Was he writing? Dozens of other scrolls lay scattered across the stone floor, bathed in the light of a half dozen lanterns which rested in a couple of the hundreds of cubby holes cut into the stone wall.
What were those?
“Beryl?” Khari called. The sound echoed wetly through the cavern.
Beryl jumped and Khari felt the ground shake beneath her feet. The metal lanterns shook and then flew into the air. Khari stumbled back, nearly falling into the lake. She reached out to the waters, feeling the flush of extra balance, strength, and poise that always came with her powers.
She steadied herself as the ground calmed. Beryl stood inches from her, eyes seeming to literally blaze with a strange orange light. How had he gotten there so fast?
“Leave,” Beryl growled. It was a deep, guttural sound unlike anything Khari had ever heard before. She took a step backward from that voice.
“What are you doing down here, Beryl?” Khari asked. She planted her feet. Whatever was going on, she needed answers.
Behind Beryl, the lanterns bobbed in the air, supported by nothing. Beryl took a step forward, limp hardly noticeable.
“It’s not ready, yet,” Beryl growled, though more softly this time. The strange glow was fading slowly from his eyes.
“What’s not ready?” Khari pressed.
“The records,” Beryl whispered. The lanterns dropped back to their places on the floor.
“Records?” What was Beryl talking about?
“I—” Beryl began, but then cut off sharply. For a moment, Khari thought he may be in pain, but then recognized the expression on Beryl’s face as one of concentration.
“What?”
Beryl held up a hand and cocked his head to one side. The orange glow faded from his eyes entirely. Khari heard it. A brazen blast in the distance. The warning horn.
“A sandstorm?”
Beryl shook his head. “No, that’s the signal for an escape.”
Color drained from Khari’s face. She turned and ran back the way she had come.
* * *
Khari pushed through the throng clustered in the hallway, pushing toward where they’d kept Kaiden contained. They gave way before her grudgingly, and more than one angry, scornful voice grumbled at having to move. Still, the intense expression on her face gave her some measure of leverage against them.
She broke through the crowd, nearly stumbling over a body laying sprawled in the sands. Meseck, one of the guards who had been watching Kaiden this shift. Blood stained the stone beneath him a deeper red.
No, not again.
She’d used her powers to try and locate Kaiden as she ran, but she hadn’t found him. Still, she hadn’t truly believed it until she saw it for herself.
A few steps down, the door to Kaiden’s cell stood ajar, knocked off one leather hinge. The other guard, Orna, holding a cloth to a wound on his head, slumped there with Gavin.
“What happened?” Khari demanded, carefully stepping around Meseck. There would be time for grief later. They would burn a shufari for him this evening. They’d burned so many of those in recent times.
Someone in the crowd shouted, “It was the Heltorin and Londik. They did this.”
There were murmurs of agreement. “We never should have let them come back with us.”
“Traitors.”
“Murderers.”
“Enough!” Gavin shouted, rounding on them all. “None of this is helping anyone. If you want to do something useful you can start organizing search parties. Otherwise don’t you all have jobs to do?”
The onlookers muttered to themselves, several shooting Gavin dark looks, but dispersed. Khari nodded approvingly. Gavin ignored her and turned back to Orna.
“Tell us what happened, please,” Gavin said.
Orna adjusted the cloth on his forehead so he could look up at the two of them. Blood plastered his dirty-brown hair to his head.
“Me and Meseck were standing here chatting about nothing in particular when we heard a noise down the hall here.” Orna turned his head and glanced at Meseck’s body. Orna’s mouth twisted upward into a grimace.
“Master Gavin here had just left, like he does every day.” Khari cleared her throat and Orna blinked a couple times and grimaced again. “Right. Two guys showed up in the corridor. One of them threw a knife and took Meseck in the neck. He fell, and the other bloke hit me over the head with a cudgel. When I woke up, Master Gavin was here and Kaiden was, well, you can see that for yourself.”
Gavin sighed, a deep, hissing sound that contained an entire wagon-load of frustration behind it. Khari couldn’t blame him, though she wasn’t about to show such emotions in a situation like this. A leader had to be a solid base for the people in a crisis.
“What can you tell us about the attackers?” Gavin asked. “Were they tall, short, thin? Hair color? Anything that stood out about them?”
She was impressed that Gavin had thought to ask specific questions. Maybe there was some hope for him after all. She remembered when Makin had struggled to gain the respect of those he led. True, he hadn’t been trying to unite the clans, but then again, they both had to start somewhere.
“They both wore thick robes with the hoods pulled up.” Orna grimaced again and Khari bent down and put a hand on the cloth. She pulled it away to get a look at the gash on his forehead. It wasn’t deep, but head wounds bled a lot and it was already swelling up like an egg. Gathering her powers, using the water within her own body as fuel, Khari put a light hand on the wound and pushed at the skin, forcing it back together.
The flesh knit beneath her fingers and the swelling subsided. Khari felt herself growing lightheaded and released the magic, grateful that she was already kneeling. She’d need water soon.
Orna put a hand to his head and blinked in surprised. “Thank you,” he said.
Khari grunted. She was too tired to say anything else.
“Are you sure you can’t remember anything else at all?” Gavin pressed, as if nothing had happened.
The kid didn’t miss much. Maybe he did have potential,
if he was guided correctly. He reminded her of Makin, when he was younger. She had had to help mold him along then as well. She almost smiled as she remembered her initial reluctance to do that, as well. But she’d recognized his potential back then, however reluctantly.
“Well,” Orna said, his voice stronger now, “the one that clubbed me, he got close enough for me to see his face.” He closed his eyes as if concentrating. “He had a topknot.”
“Londik?” Khari asked. Even to herself, her voice sounded sticky and slurred, as if she’d drunk a glass of goat milk.
Orna shrugged. “That’s what it looked like. Or Mornal, maybe.”
“Stay here, please,” Gavin said. Then he turned to Khari, extending a hand to help her to her feet. Khari accepted it, surprised at the strength and callouses in that grip. She looked at him questioningly.
“I thought we could take a look in his cell. There may be something worth seeing.”
Khari nodded. Yes, that was right. Why hadn’t she thought of that? Right, she’d just healed Orna. Khari hated how she felt after using her powers. She was so weak, so fragile.
Gavin held a waterskin out to her. Khari accepted it gratefully. How had he known?
Gavin stepped forward, not waiting for Khari, and pushed the broken door to one side with care. Khari took a deep draught from the leathery-tasting water, feeling strength surge through her almost immediately. It was an odd feeling, like the one time she’d had a bucket of cold spring water poured over her head. Still, as the initial shock wore off, she felt an immediate return of all her faculties.
After stoppering the waterskin, Khari followed Gavin into the cell.
“There’s not much here,” Gavin said.
Khari nodded, taking in the room. The leather bonds had been cut. They lay in the sand where Kaiden had rested. Nothing else had been disturbed. Even the lantern still hung on its peg on the wall.
“So it was the Londik, then?” Gavin said.
Khari frowned. “That doesn’t make any sense. There’s nowhere for them to go. They must know I can find them anywhere within the Warren here.”
“Have you . . .” Gavin started, but Khari was already nodding.
Sharani series Box Set Page 35
