Darkfire: A Book of Underrealm

by Garrett Robinson

  She turned to Jordel. “What do you say, Mystic? It is by your order that we have brought Xain so far.”

  Jordel continued to stare into their small fire. Flames danced in his eyes and Loren was reminded of Xain’s magic, the terrible light in his face when he conjured his spells. For a moment she feared the Mystic had been swayed by the others yet again.

  “I knew Xain upon the High King’s seat,” he said in a slow voice. “Or rather, I knew of him, for everyone there had heard of his deeds, this powerful young wizard from the Academy. Often I would observe him at balls and the endless courts held by the nobility who live upon that island — for they have little to do with their time, beyond spending it in games of intrigue and politics that would bore young Gem here to death.

  “Xain was always quick-witted and happy. His mind was as sharp with a barb as it was with his studies, and his words could sway others as easily as his magic could blast them. He did not enter into the Seat’s intrigues, which held little personal interest. But he loved to toy with the nobles, upsetting their plans and turning their schemes awry. There was no reason, other than that he loved to watch their faces fall as their petty machinations were undone.”

  “You speak of this wizard here?” Gem pointed at Xain. “Hardly have I ever heard him speak so much as a word of wit. He is a sour man, not prone to laughter.”

  “Much has changed since those days. Not the least was what happened when he had passed his nineteenth year — the year our Lord Prince was attacked upon the king’s road, kidnapped by bandits who wished to hold him for ransom.”

  Loren and the children gasped. Even Albern’s eyes flashed as they eyed Jordel with fresh interest. Tales of the Lord Prince were told across the nine lands, of his fair hair and a smile that made women weep, his light and easy heart, his kindness, his compassion.

  The High King Enalyn was beloved throughout the nine lands, more so because her rule followed that of High King Trenter, who had embroiled many kingdoms in war. The throne had no heir by law, but most hoped the Lord Prince would be chosen to take the High King’s place upon Enalyn’s passing. Even Loren, raised in a small village in the Birchwood, had grown up with that hope in her heart. She had never heard of the Lord Prince in mortal danger, and from the looks on their faces, neither had Annis or Gem.

  “The news was as grievous then as it is to you now,” Jordel continued. “All upon the Seat despaired of rescuing the Lord Prince. Yet on the morning after the bandits sent their ransom, Xain entered into the High King’s hall. I say entered — he stormed in, throwing the doors wide with a great gust of wind. The guards leapt forth with weapons drawn, but Enalyn bade them stay, for the wizard had long had Her Grace’s favor.

  “Xain went to the throne and knelt at its foot. There he vowed to go forth and rescue the Lord Prince himself. He was a new student at the Academy, untried and untested, though as I said many had heard of his prowess. Immediately the Dean rushed forward, calling Xain’s boast unacceptable. The Academy could not allow such a young student to go off alone on such a mad scheme. If wizards were needed, he would select his own from the Academy’s disciples.

  “I was young myself, then, and not well versed in the ways of the High King’s court. Yet the Dean’s words troubled me. All knew he bore no great love for Her Grace, who did not heed his counsel and often thwarted his attempts to secure more power and coin for the Academy. And there were rumors — hand hidden whispers only — that mayhap the Dean himself had arranged the kidnapping, as an excuse to remove the Lord Prince from the Seat and distract the High King, leaving her with less attention to counter his efforts.”

  “That would be a treason most high, if true,” said Albern. “And I would not envy the Dean his fate.”

  “As I said, we knew it only for a rumor,” said Jordel. “But when the Dean spoke, Enalyn ignored him as she so often did. She bade Xain to rise, then gave him her blessing upon the quest. She promised Xain that if he should succeed, the nine lands’ favor would be upon him through his years, and he would be wed to whichever royal daughter he found suitable, if they would have his hand. Xain shook his head and said, ‘I thank you for your blessing and gift, but I would save the Lord Prince without them. For once he and I shared a skin of wine, and he told me a joke. Still I want to smile whenever I think of it. So I owe him a debt, you see, for years of laughter, and that is an obligation not easily cast aside.’”

  The Mystic swallowed and seemed to reset.

  “While the High King and the rest of the Court sat there stunned, Xain turned on his heel and strode from the throne room. He took a horse from the stable and left the island. No one heard from him for many days. We all thought he was lost. Ladies in the court wept anew, and many wore black veils of mourning. The High King wore a dark look throughout her days. But Xain did not die, as you might have guessed. On the fourteenth day after he had left the court, someone found him by the side of the King’s road in Selvan, a few miles west of Garsec. The Lord Prince was with him, covered in his blood and trying to staunch the wound, for the wizard had taken a knife in his belly.”

  The party gasped. Jordel continued.

  “They fetched him back to the High King’s seat in haste, and she bade her greatest surgeons to see his recovery. He drifted in and out of life for days, and the Lord Prince never left his bedside.

  “The Lord Prince told us that he had been brought into the woods not far from the Seat, or the Birchwood as it turns out, and held there by bandits, including two Academy wizards acting under the Dean’s orders. He had fled the Seat upon hearing of the Lord Prince’s recovery, though the Mystics soon found him trying to secure passage to Dolmun. We brought him back to die a traitor’s death in the High King’s dungeons.

  “But in the bandit’s camp, the Lord Prince thought himself lost. Until Xain arrived. The Lord Prince said the wizard’s coming was swift and terrible. Scores of men were at that fort, but it was made of wood. Xain burned it to the ground and all within it, bursting through the flames to rescue the Lord Prince from his cell. When he could not fend off the bandits with his magic, he took up a sword. In the fighting he took the knife in his gut, then severed the head of his attacker. By then he had freed the Lord Prince from his bonds, and together they fought for their freedom. No bandit left that fort alive. The Lord Prince had to drag Xain to the road, expecting at any moment that he would fall dead upon the ground.

  “When the wizard finally woke upon the Seat, he was not the man who had left to rescue the Lord Prince. I came to visit him then, for I was young and curious, and got him alone when all others had left. There was a darkness in his eyes I had never seen, though as I said I did not know him well. When I asked Xain if his wounds pained him, he shook his head and said, ‘Well, yes, of course. But more painful is the memory of their faces.’ When I asked him who he meant, he shook his head and refused to answer.”

  Jordel’s eyes turned to Xain, but the wizard still stared back with his eyes full of hate, as if he had heard nothing the Mystic had said, or hated him more for spilling the truth.

  “That is the man I am trying to save,” said Jordel. “The man who risked his life for the life of a friend — and to whom the nine lands owe a debt. It may not be my place to judge — yet I do not believe that debt is outweighed by the misdeeds that made him flee the Seat, nor his actions since. In fact, I think all the kingdoms will still owe, if the Lord Prince claims the thrones as we hope.”

  Jordel’s voice rang with conviction as he turned to Annis. “So there is the tale you requested. And that is the man I place my faith in. The man I hope to recover from the magestones curse. There are many powerful wizards in the nine lands, some more powerful than Xain. Many would work for me more easily, if I promised them some of the coin that is plentiful to my order. But I do not seek their services. I will need more than power in the coming times. I need good hearts, and stout minds not easily swayed by gold. Xain is one such, even if you cannot see it. And though he stands on death’s door n
ow, if I can pull him back from the threshold, I will.”

  He turned from the fire and stood at the edge of darkness, claiming first watch. The rest of them sat quietly, staring into the flames. Even Annis was silent, and when her eyes flicked to Xain, Loren saw that they were full of wonder, rather than anger or fear.

  Loren hardly knew what to think. Only that, for whatever reason, she believed Jordel without doubt. She had always seen something in the wizard, some spark of spirit, a hint of nobility that showed itself only rarely, like a gleam of red glimpsed in the cracks of coal. Though she could hardly have guessed that Xain had done such a great deed in his youth, only to break the King’s law and find himself pursued across Selvan by constables.

  Something had happened to twist the wizard from the hero who rescued the Lord Prince into the bitter man who had abandoned Loren upon the King’s road. And as she stared at his withered body lying by the fire, soon asleep after a wearying day, she could only wonder at what that had been.

  seventeen

  LOREN WOKE TO ALBERN’S GENTLE shaking, rousing her to take watch. She snapped awake, went to the edge of their little camp, and readied for her vigil. But instead of going to his bedroll, Albern came and sat beside her.

  “I have had a question for you since we chased Xain through the valley.”

  Her cheeks burned. “You wonder why Jordel trusted my guidance over yours when the wizard’s trail turned west.”

  “Just so. Granted, I am older than I was when … well, when I was your age. And I can see you have no small skill in woodcraft. Yet the marks on the trail seemed clear. Tell me, how did you know they were wrong?”

  “I … it was a feeling.” Loren stared at her feet.

  “A feeling,” said Albern, drawing the word out. He looked up at the moons as though nothing were amiss. “I see. Is it, mayhap, some sort of magic in you? I would understand, then, your reluctance to speak of it.”

  “I am no wizard,” she scoffed. “Though often it seems my life would be much easier if I were. Perhaps if Jordel had a firemage in me, he would not go to such great lengths to preserve Xain.”

  “You heard his tale,” said Albern softly. “You know it is not only the wizard’s powers he holds in esteem.”

  “You are right. An ill jest, and I am still tired.”

  To Loren’s relief, Albern stood. “As are we all, oh great master of woodcraft,” he said over his shoulder, halfway to his bedroll. “But fear not. No road runs forever, and one day they all reach their end.”

  As the camp settled back into silence, Loren’s thoughts returned to the wizard and what must have befallen him. It gnawed at her, working at her mind like a dog with its bone. She drew Jordel away from camp moments after he woke.

  “What happened to Xain upon the High King’s seat? When I met him in the Birchwood he was fleeing from constables, a fugitive from the King’s law. He told me little of why, and I think he might have given me false reason besides. After last night’s tale, the question burns in my mind. I can hardly believe he is the same man as the one you spoke of.”

  Jordel’s mouth twisted, and he looked at Loren askance.

  “Tis not my place to speak of the misdeeds that made Xain flee the Seat. But his heart had turned to bitterness long before, and anger warred with mirth in his heart. A spark ignited, and he lashed out in his rage, much as you have seen him do since you met.”

  “If you cannot tell me what he did, then tell me what happened before. I want to know how a man can turn from a hero into … Xain.”

  Jordel chuckled. “He has done many things on the road since Cabrus that some would call heroic. Still, you are right that he is not the man he was. I told you that the High King promised him a royal daughter. But he took no wife afterward.”

  “I thought not. Why?”

  “Xain loved a woman well, even before he rescued the Lord Prince. Her name was Trill, a daughter of a noble house.”

  “Trill?” Loren laughed. “That is a sound, not a name.”

  Jordel shrugged and gave her a small, secretive smile. “Her family hails from Hedgemond, an outland kingdom where customs are strange. But regardless, she was a kindly woman, and her heart belonged to Xain. But her father spurned their love, for he was a cousin of the Dean whom Xain condemned to death by rescuing the Lord Prince. He forbade them to marry, arranging instead for her to wed one from the family of Yerrin, who offered a mighty dowry.”

  Loren thought back to her mother and father, who had sought a suitor who they hoped would bring coin of plenty. “That is an awful fate.”

  “Indeed. Made more so by the fact that she was already with child. The bastard boy was given to Xain at birth, and forbidden from seeing his mother ever again. High King Enalyn gave him a wetnurse to care for the boy, but the child never had a mother.”

  Loren raised a hand to her mouth. “You cannot tell me the High King permitted this. Bastards were rare enough in my village, but never were they taken from a mother who wanted them.”

  He frowned, his face dark and solemn. “As I said, in Hedgemond customs are strange. Trill’s father is a spiteful man, and he sent her home to be wed and live in her home kingdom. Though the High King might have helped them upon the Seat, where her word is law, she cannot cast aside every decree across the nine lands at her whim. And you need not worry that the boy was unloved, for Xain treasured him above all else. I think he saw the boy as a reminder of the woman he loved, and so treated his son like a prince. The High King herself would entertain him on occasion. Even now with Xain a criminal, one of her guards is with his son at all times.”

  “But then why do Xain’s eyes turn so easily to sadness and melancholy? If a parent loves their child, can that not temper even the hardest heart?”

  “Yet now that child has been taken away. And he might never see him again.”

  At last Loren saw it: the bitter fate that had befallen Xain and set him upon the King’s road also stole that which he held most dear. She imagined herself with a child taken away. Or worse, meeting her end in some far off corner of the nine lands while they awaited her return, forever staring down the road in vain hope of seeing their mother again. It made her want to weep.

  She looked at Jordel curiously, for in his tales she had seen a thread that needed pulling. “Are you kin to the High King, Jordel?”

  The Mystic seemed at a loss for words. Then he found a smile and slowly shook his head.

  “You surprise me, Loren of the family Nelda, and that makes me a fool. From the start you have seen and known much more than most, for your wits are sharp. Tis why I enjoy you beside me.”

  Loren smiled. “I could tell by the way you spoke of the Lord Prince, and the High King herself. It is clear you revere them, as do all good men, yet you speak with familiarity. Moreso than could be expected even from one who frequents their courts.”

  “You are correct,” Jordel nodded. “My family of Adair has close ties to many in the royal family. I am third cousin to the Lord Prince on my mother’s side, and often we spent time together in our youth. Though he is my lord, and we cannot go riding or climbing as we once did, I love him dearly. My heart broke with his capture, and sang with his rescue. But there is more you have not guessed. Can you tell me what it is?”

  Loren thought hard, her brow furrowed. She could think of nothing more, no clue in the Mystic’s words now or before. “I cannot.”

  Jordel gave her a sad little smile. “You do not think it is only the Lord Prince’s rescue that endears me to Xain, do you? I did not tell you the Trill family name, the woman he loved. Did you not wonder?”

  “She is a daughter of Adair?”

  “My sister,” said Jordel sadly. “And his son my nephew by blood.”

  “But … but this cannot be! You told me you only knew of Xain. And the wizard said the same of you, when first he learned of your pursuit upon the King’s road.”

  “And neither of us lied,” said Jordel. “I was a Mystic when Xain courted my sister, long
before their son was born. He did not know me for Trill’s brother when we met after he rescued the Lord Prince. We cast off all ties to family and king in our order, ruled as we are by our masters alone. Often seeing our kin is not encouraged.”

  “Yet you traipse across the nine lands to rescue your sister’s beloved. How do your masters feel about that, I wonder?”

  “I have told you often: I am odd amongst my brothers. No doubt they would look down upon my actions, if they had not already cast me from their company.”

  The Mystic turned toward camp, but Loren put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

  “I think your actions are honorable, Jordel of the family Adair. My thoughts might not count for much, certainly not against your former masters. Yet that is how I feel.”

  “I thank you,” said Jordel, bowing his head. “Words of honor mean more coming from another who possesses so much.”

  They headed for camp together. Loren thought of a final question as they came upon the others. “If you are third cousin to the Lord Prince, where does that put you in line of succession?”

  Jordel laughed out loud, the sound ringing clear in the mountain air. “Worry not about that, for I am nearly as far removed from the throne as you are. And Mystics do not become kings.”

  They reached the others, who had already readied themselves for the day’s journey. Loren found her mind occupied by Jordel’s stories, and looking at Xain lying bound, she could not help but see him in a new light. When Jordel moved the wizard atop his charger, Loren went to help him. Together they lifted Xain and laid him across the horse, gentler than Jordel had done before. The Mystic nodded in silent thanks. Loren smiled, then climbed atop Midnight, ready for another long day’s ride.

  eighteen

  EVEN WITH HER MIND OCCUPIED, Loren eventually noticed something to distract her. Albern would stop every once in a while, letting the others pass on the road while he stood looking behind him. Then he would ride back to the front, and guide them around the next bend. He did this twice an hour or more, seeming more troubled with every pass.