“There is a mage in my company,” Rhys said; truthful, but not the answer the captain wanted. It nearly amounted to a confession but the words could not be held against him.
“Are you aware of the penalties for practicing mage craft outside of a royally sanctioned mage guild?”
“Yes.” At the very least it would be a period of imprisonment, during which his secret would without question be found out, which would result in his death. If the authorities decided to be spiteful, they could try to strip him of his powers, which would fail and result in deeper inquiries, which would result in his death.
Rhys leaned forward, this time adding the barest touch of compulsion to his words. “Why are we being treated as prisoners?”
The answer rolled off of the captain’s tongue almost too easily. “Anyone found in this area must be considered potential conspirators in the Princess Maelyn’s abduction.” Either he did not consider the answer important, or his mind was more malleable than Rhys thought. Rhys knew it to be the former.
“I can assure you we had nothing to do with Princess Maelyn’s abduction,” Rhys said.
Meryl’s eyes narrowed, not quite believing despite his truth spell. “Yet you refuse to state your business here.”
Rhys remained silent. Of the answers he could give, most were false. He did not care to share the truth.
“I will say it one last time. State your business in the Northern Reaches.”
Rhys did not break from the captain’s gaze, and did not answer.
***
Charlie heard the tent flap open and looked up, watching the play of a silhouette on the canvas “walls” of her cubicle. Before, the people coming in and out of the main part of the tent simply went about their business, but this time someone pushed through the curtain “door” to Charlie’s little space.
The young woman wore deep burgundy robes and a large bronze medallion on a thick chain. Those seemed to be the marks of a Healer – burgundy robes (probably so blood wouldn’t show), and the medallion engraved with a rank symbol. This woman was different from the Healer that Charlie half remembered treating her wounds. This Healer was younger, with frizzy brown hair that hid her (presumably pointed) ears. She also carried a clay mug.
“Ah, you’re awake. Drink this,” the Healer said, pressing the warm mug into Charlie’s hands. Charlie noted gratefully that she could hold it steady herself. “It will help with any lingering pain. That was quite a scare you had.”
“Thank you,” Charlie said. The mug contained a translucent beige tea that smelled like steamed paper, peppered with fine, pale floating bits. She took a cautious sip. It tasted like paper too, with a hint of bitterness and a gritty texture.
“Your contract,” the young Healer said, her eyes on Charlie’s wrist. “You aren’t here against your will, are you?”
“Oh, no,” Charlie quickly assured her. “It’s my contract. He’s contracted to me, that is. Not the other way around.”
Puzzlement replaced the concern. “But what in the worlds are you doing in the Northern Reaches? Surely you knew how dangerous it is.”
Charlie grimaced over the tea. “I do now. But come to that, what are you doing here? Not that I’m ungrateful for the rescue, but I thought this part of the world was uninhabited.”
The young woman paled. “I am not authorized to give that information.” She turned to go.
“No, wait, please!” Charlie reached out and caught the woman’s wrist, the hot tea sloshing over Charlie’s other hand. Charlie flinched but didn’t let go of the clay mug or the Healer’s wrist. “Just one question, please.”
The woman hesitated, looking nervous.
Charlie pressed ahead before the Healer could make a break for it. “What do you people want with us? Where are my friends?” Ok, so that was technically two questions. But she hadn’t asked the bigger question: friend or foe? She didn’t think anything could be taken for granted anymore.
The Healer’s eyes flicked around, either looking for rescue or to see if they’d been overheard. The tent was quiet and still.
“I should not be speaking to you,” the Healer said in a low whisper.
“Please,” Charlie said, hearing the edge of pleading in her voice but not caring. She had to know what was going on with the guys. She hadn’t seen so much as a flicker of the pixies either.
The Healer scraped her lower lip between her teeth. “Briefly then.” Clutching her medallion, she leaned toward Charlie to ensure they would not be overheard. “Your men are well. They are being questioned. We’re searching the Reaches on High King Edouard’s orders to investigate the princess’s disappearance. If your business here is innocent, you will be gated to Iomara, where you will be released.” Her eyes begged understanding.
Charlie’s stomach flipped. No way was she being sent all the way back to the middle of Seinne Sonne after coming this far.
The Healer tugged on her captured wrist. “Please understand this is all I can tell you.”
Charlie released her. “Thank you,” she said as the woman fled.
She had to make an escape of her own. Charlie swung her legs down and cautiously pushed to her feet. Her shin ached, but considering what it looked like mere hours ago, it was a miracle she could stand. She cautiously did some stretches and took a few easy paces around her square, not wanting to push the new muscle too far before she knew her limits.
She hoped the guys wouldn’t be too hard to find.
***
Thunder rumbled as the tent flap opened, admitting a man in mage robes who was perfectly dry despite the pouring rain.
Rhys felt cold prickle down his spine, the predator within him awakening to a renewed sense of danger.
The master mage’s smile barely thinned his lips. He looked down at Rhys with sharp, dark eyes. His hair was a receded ring around the back of his head, barely clearing his short imperial elf ears, his bald top polished and shining. One hand rested on his symbol of rank – a three tiered gold medallion – and the other clasped a staff topped with a gold sunburst. If ornamentation were anything to go by – for mages it usually was – this man was half a step from becoming a Grand Master, the highest rank attainable below the Archmage.
His cheeks were flushed with the evidence of a recent feeding.
Adrenaline shot through Rhys’ veins. He recognized this man’s face from years ago. In fact, he knew it very well. In those days he had not been a master mage, he had been one of Rhys’ failed tutors. This man suggested more than once that Rhys be locked away for the safety of others, believing that Rhys would never fully control his magic.
Master Mage Dragus must have been bitten after attaining his status or else he was very, very careful. Especially since he didn’t look very old for his age. How Dragus remained unnoticed and well fed, Rhys did not care to guess, but the presence of a vampire in the midst of an expedition hand chosen by Edouard to find Mae did not bode well. It was possible, given his rank, that this man was even the leader of the expedition.
Captain Meryl offered Dragus a bow fitting his rank. “Master Dragus. Thank you for attending to this matter promptly.” His eyes fell on Rhys. “It should be simple enough to ascertain the truth of this.”
“Indeed.” Master Mage Dragus’ lips stretched thin. Rhys refused to meet his measuring eyes, focusing instead on the flashing medallion on his chest. Did Dragus recognize him in return? That was the burning question.
Master Dragus lifted his staff, intoning a chant of seeking. It was all a performance for the captain’s benefit. Rhys felt no searching spells nor magical prodding of any kind. The vampire mage slowly circled around Rhys, continuing to chant.
Quashing his instincts, Rhys feigned disinterest, though the proximity of another vampire called his blood to action.
Master Dragus chuckled, breaking off his chant. “Captain Meryl, this man is no more mage than you are,” he lied smoothly, and Rhys knew he was the one who set the truth spell. Otherwise Meryl would have felt it. “If yo
u will permit me, I believe he will answer to my methods.”
The captain’s eyes narrowed and his jaw tensed, but a master mage outranked him. Meryl left the tent, the guards following behind, but not without a final disapproving glance at Rhys.
Rhys’ upper lip curled into a snarl. With Meryl gone he need not hide that he knew what Dragus was.
Dragus’ smile did not touch his eyes. “Aren’t you an interesting individual? I must say that I am astonished that our guild recruiters never found such a powerful native talent. Or did you decide to… hm, ‘free lance’ after you joined the ranks of the Night People?”
Powerful vampiric mind magic wrapped around Rhys, prodding to elicit an answer. Far more powerful than it should have been, given how well fed Dragus was. He felt more like a natural born than one bitten, but Rhys knew that to be impossible.
Rhys pushed back and clamped down on his tongue, drawing blood. Rhys felt a measure of personal satisfaction that he was able to do so.
Dragus’ nostrils flared. “You have had a modicum of training, I see,” Dragus said, greed mingling with something darker.
Rhys’ snarl deepened. No thanks to you. He considered a reply, but with the pressure of the other vampire’s mind pushing for answers, silence was best.
“We have a place for talents such as yourself,” Dragus said.
Rhys chanced speech. “The good captain might have words to say about welcoming a mercenary to his ranks.”
All traces of Dragus’ faint smile vanished. “A place among those who hunt the night. Our brethren. In these very mountains there is one who has great ambitions for the future of Seinne Sonne. A future in which we may live openly as rulers of the night.”
These very mountains, where Mae’s guards were found slaughtered. Coincidence? Doubtful.
“Would these ambitions,” Rhys gritted out, pushing harder against the mind magic with his own, “include the fate of Princess Maelyn?”
Dragus smirked. Rhys felt a white hot ball of anger flare in his chest. This man betrayed Mae and her guards to a massacre.
“Are you the one who stole the Keystone from its vault?” The vault that could only be accessed through a door in the great hall of the palace in Iomara. The heart of Seinne Sonne, mere feet from High King Edouard’s throne.
“Steal it? Oh, no. I am no thief.” Dragus flashed his fangs. “I merely found a way to slip past its defenses.”
Did he expect Rhys to be impressed?
An even worse thought struck Rhys through the heart. Dragus had been moving within circles of power for decades. How long had is loyalties been for sale? Had his efforts to have Rhys locked away been more than simply personal conviction? Could Dragus have gone so far as to arrange Rhys’ “accidental” encounter with a pack of natural born vampires?
“Tell me,” Rhys said, his voice flat calm despite the building heat of his molten anger. “Are you the one whose ambitions would change the fate of Seinne Sonne?” He needed information before he could exact revenge. Not for his own sake. Not even for the princess. This man’s actions threatened the safety of every man, woman and child in the kingdom of Seinne Sonne. Rhys did not know if the damage could be repaired, but he must try.
Rhys saw something flicker behind Dragus’ expression. “No. Not I.” Dragus leaned close to Rhys’ face, and he had to fight not to snap his teeth at the man. “The man who should be our sovereign.”
Rhys felt a prickling along his spine. “Of whom do you speak?”
Dragus bared his fangs. “The Blood Prince, once called William of Seinne Sonne. Not dead, merely transformed into a more powerful creature.”
Rhys bit back a snarl. “Crown Prince William of Seinne Sonne is dead. You are deceived.”
A dark smirk twisted Dragus’ mouth. “Believe as you wish. You will soon see the truth of it, and you will come to be one of us.”
Rhys’ eyes flicked up to meet Dragus’ in full challenge. He would kill this man.
***
Icy rain slashed down over the search expedition’s encampment, turning the thin mountain soil to mud. Very little movement was to be seen throughout the camp, all but the guards on duty and the sentries at the perimeter seeking shelter in the tents. Lightning flickered across the sky.
Very little movement was to be seen among those silently surrounding the camp. Rain dripped from blue skin, soaking into cloth that muffled the metallic clank of armor. Grease darkened the blades that slipped across throats and slid between ribs, the sentries lowered silently one by one to the cold, muddy ground.
***
The flap of the Healer’s tent rustled once again, this time resulting in a brusque exchange of murmured voices. One was the Healer girl who brought Charlie the mug, sounding anxious and eager to please, the other was a male voice, clipped and tense.
“Oh! Wait!” the Healer girl called, and Charlie’s “door” started to swing aside.
Charlie flung herself back onto the cot, not wanting to be caught at her clandestine exercise. Her momentum carried her off the other side, taking the cot down with her in a painful jumble. Tangled in the cot, she could hardly pull off dignified innocence. Dang it.
The cot lifted off of her, and she found herself staring upward at a square, chiseled face carved with a scowl and dripping with rain. Oh, look. Another elf.
“Hi,” Charlie said, holding up two fingers in a “peace” sign. Hopefully it didn’t mean something rude on this world.
He extended her a hand and pulled her to her feet. The way he eyed her gave her crawlies down her spine.
“Sit,” he said.
She sat on the righted cot.
There was a wet bundle by the “doorway” where he’d dropped it to help her up. With a start, Charlie recognized her own bow and quiver, as well as Jack’s bag. But not Rhys’. What was he planning with that?
The man didn’t sit. He stood at attention. “I understand you go by ‘Charlie.’”
Charlie hesitated. She had no reason to lie, or so she thought, but then she didn’t know anything about these people. “Why? Who wants to know?”
“I am Captain Meryl of His Majesty’s royal guard. You were found in lands outside Seinne Sonne’s borders. Explain yourself.”
“Why should I explain myself when I haven’t gotten any explanations?” Charlie raised her chin. “For all I know you could be lying about being in the royal guard.”
“What business do you have here?” he demanded again. “Why are you in the Reaches?”
Her belligerent and stubborn streak decided to come out. Charlie made a show of sealing her lips and crossing her arms.
“Master Mage Dragus will soon have the truth out of your men,” Captain Meryl said, “but I want to hear it from you.
“Ok, you got me,” Charlie said. “I’m part of a secret rebel alliance dedicated to restore peace to the galaxy by bringing down the evil Empire.”
Captain Meryl’s thick eyebrows snapped downward. “You seek to destroy our kingdom?”
“What? No! That was sarcasm! You wanted an answer, so I gave you one!”
His hard stare bore into her. Charlie felt her mouth go dry. She’d almost gotten herself in serious trouble with her glib reply.
“Look,” Charlie said. “I’m a Gatewalker. I don’t belong here to begin with and I’m just trying to get home. Satisfied?”
He regarded her silently for a long moment. “I don’t believe we were sent here to find Princess Maelyn,” Captain Meryl said, his gaze unrelenting. “You, a Gatewalker; your mercenary and your mage. I think we were sent to find you three.”
“Us?” Charlie said, startled.
“You,” he asserted. “I have orders regarding you and I want to know why.”
“Orders? What orders?” Who could possibly know that Charlie, Jack, and Rhys were in the Northern Reaches? But there was also no mention of the pixies. Knew about the three of them, but not the pixies…. Charlie came up blank.
Where were the pixies?
Capt
ain Meryl retrieved the bundle from the doorway. He even had her bloodstained sneakers. “These are yours.”
“Yeah,” Charlie said slowly. What was he getting at?
He tossed the sneakers to her. “Put them on.”
***
Rhys felt his muscles loosening, readying for combat. A very familiar feeling. Rhys, seated and thus far dormant, would not seem like a strong threat to Dragus, lording over him with his show of knowledge. Rhys also had the advantage of knowing his enemy. Dragus knew combat magic but his experience lay on the practice field and his open distain for melee would work to Rhys’ advantage. Dragus would be hampered by his robes, but Rhys had to remember that Dragus was a vampire now and would still possess raw strength and speed.
Rhys had to strike swiftly and decisively.
Rhys slid bonelessly to the floor, his left hand reached behind him to grasp the leg of the chair, and as Dragus’ eyes followed the movement of his body toward the floor, Rhys snapped the chair around into the back of the mage’s knees. Dragus tumbled backward, sprawling in a tangle of robes and staff. Like a striking snake, Rhys’ hand caught the mage by his ornamental medallion and twisted it to his neck, intending to drive his other hand - sparking with lightning - into the other man’s heart.
With a snarled word, Dragus slammed his staff across his face, turning him instantly numb.
Rhys held his grip on the medallion, the links digging into his flesh, but he could no longer feel it. He grabbed for the staff with his other hand, but his unfeeling hand did not know when to grip.
Dragus slammed the staff into his face again, levering him off with a strength closer to a natural vampire’s, and the links of the chain snapped. Recovering more quickly than Rhys would have given credit, Dragus writhed away and scrambled back to his feet.
“A dor suuf!” Dragus snapped, and Rhys felt a solid ball of magic slam into his gut, knocking the air from his lungs. Rhys curled over his assaulted center, his lungs refusing to draw air.
Keystone (Gatewalkers) Page 16
