“Home looks very different from this,” Tarak said. “Let’s hurry. I don’t want to leave those two alone for too long.” The brothers had left Raven to watch over the Dragonblood girl while they investigated their surroundings in the bright light of morning.
The temple was an impressive structure, built to withstand the ages with thick dark timber and heavy, cut-stone blocks. What was more impressive was that the materials needed to build it needed to be transported up a narrow, twisting staircase Tarak found hidden away on the side of the mountain. He suspected magic had been involved in its construction.
The two men made their way down the steep steps that were cut into the rock and resembled the craftsmanship of the staircase within the temple that delved down into the hidden chamber within the mountain itself. The stairs went on and on, spiraling down, with switchbacks wherever the trail could not continue.
After half an hour of steady descent, they came to another plateau that was hidden from the view of the temple. A small grassy yard surrounded a simple structure that matched the temple’s style, if not its size. A stone well had been carefully boarded up leading Tarak to believe the house had been abandoned intentionally.
“This might do as a short-term solution,” Tarak said as they inspected the dusty house.
Solid, practical design had left the place livable, once it got a good cleaning. There was evidence of four people living in the house at a time; four small, identical bedchambers extended off the main room; four simple wooden chairs sat around a large, carved table. The house was not luxurious by any stretch of the imagination but Tarak had laid his head in worse places.
“Check the well while I scout around.”
Santaal nodded his reply and went to work removing the thick boards covering the three-foot wide mouth of the water hole. With the obstruction gone he lowered a bucket attached to a sturdy rope into the hole to test the water below.
“It’s good,” he shouted to Tarak, who had just found the next staircase. It was just as steep and narrow as the one they had just descended but was not as carefully tended. Weeds and tufts of grass had pushed their way through some sections, desperately searching for the sun and rain.
Tarak resolved to explore the route later in the afternoon when he would have to scout the area for potential food sources. He quickly crossed the yard, noting how odd it was that such perfect lawn could exist on the wild, rocky shelf, and dipped his cupped hand in the offered bucket.
“It must be from the same source as the underground cavern,” Tarak said as he wiped his face after taking a drink. “It has the same sweet taste.”
“That taste could just be a creation of your thirsty mind,” Santaal said, laughing.
Tarak was always impressed with how adaptable his brother was when it came to changing situations. Most men would have given up hope or be throwing a tantrum. But not Santaal. Here he was, just hours after being thrown across the world, a smile on his face, cracking jokes. What was really amusing about his personality was how staunch and unmovable he was when dealing with the other brothers of their order back home at Castle Pornoux on Partha, some would say he was cruel. As Second to the High Priest, it was Santaal’s duty to manage the day to day operations of the Sacred Blood’s most sacred temple. He performed the role exceptionally well and with brutal efficiency. New recruits learned quickly to follow procedures to the letter lest they be called to suffer the scowl of the Mad Badger, a name that suited his ferret-like features.
“Anyone I hear using that name, or anyone I hear of using that name, will be flayed by my hand while their heart still beats in their chest.”
Tarak knew the threat was not just an idle whisper but not all possessed his sensibilities. A particularly brave, unruly mageling decided he had to find out the hard way. The boy, for the Brother was a tender twenty years of age, had taken exception to being given latrine duty for the third week in a row and spoke out against the Second to a pair of trusted friends. The next morning, those three Brothers hung above the main training yard of Castle Pornoux, suspended prostrate by their wrists and ankles, and wearing less than their birthday suits. No explanation was given but all the other Brothers understood the message and who delivered it.
One would think such a rigid man would be distraught or frazzled by being displaced to the other side of the world but Santaal was calm and collected, a gift from their youth growing up in a street gang from the shady docks of North Port. He almost seemed like he was enjoying himself.
“So, why did you ask me last night if I could spellcast?” Santaal asked as he replaced the cover on the well.
“I seem to have lost any power I once had to fuel my spellcraft,” Tarak said mournfully.
“Are you sure?” Santaal said with a surprised inflection in his tone.
Tarak nodded grimly.
“I remember you had the filthblood girl trapped with the enchanted armor you bought in the east …” Santaal said, his voice trailing off at the end as he recalled the last moments before they were trapped by a magical portal and whisked across the world to a temple on a mountain in the foreign land of Solotine. “Was it the portal?”
“It must have been,” Tarak said, his head bobbing in agreement. “When I awoke, I lacked any feeling of mana flowing through my veins. I cannot even conjure a simple orb of light. It would seem I am magically impotent.”
Santaal shook his head sympathetically. “I have never had even a fraction of your abilities but I don’t know how I could cope without the little I do have.”
“There was a time I had no notion of what magic even was. I was a warrior long before I was a cleric. I survived without it then, and I will survive without it now,” Tarak said with resolution in his voice. If Santaal could be adaptable, then so could he.
Santaal nodded as he took to heart what his younger, but much larger brother was saying. He took a moment and inspected Tarak from head to foot. “Well, it is a treat to see your real face outside of the Castle walls,” he said with a chuckle. “I am assuming the Face is impotent as well?” He was referring to the black leather mask Tarak had discarded the previous evening.
Tarak nodded remorsefully. The Face of Garron had been a consistent fixture of his appearance in the outside world for the last fifteen years. Without it he felt exposed and vulnerable but he knew the feeling was just his mind compensating for the loss of his magical abilities
“And your bracers?”
“They were lost before the portal.” Tarak realized that this was the first opportunity since the attack on the Tower of Mara that the brothers had been together and could discuss the events of that fateful morning.
“Ah, now it makes sense why you seemed helpless while you were holding the girl,” Santaal said with a nod as he sat himself down on the ledge of the well. “I was wondering why you went with the Shadow Forms spell in lieu of any other? You couldn’t maintain two.”
Tarak nodded in agreement. The bracers in question were an ancient relic he had plundered from the stores of a powerful mage who decided he was much too powerful to pay his debt to the Builders of the Sacred Blood. With a down payment of eight gold bricks and the promise of four times that when the job was completed, the Builders had designed and manufactured an incredible collection of mechanical traps and locks into the mage’s tower. However, when it came time to settle the bill, the Brotherhood had their handiwork turned against them. Even the battle-hardened Brothers of the Legion, the military sect of the Sacred Blood, were repelled by the mage-tower’s newly installed defenses. The Church and its ranks of spellcasters was called upon for assistance. Tarak Kader, High Priest of the Church, was not normally concerned with such trivial matters but the debt was substantial and he was strongly urged by his fellow council members to intervene.
Perhaps it was because he was a bitter and angry that he had be torn away from his own pursuits to play debt collector that Tarak descended on the mage’s tower with a terrible vengeance. The mage was no coward, the wards wer
e to protect the treasures he kept within the impenetrable walls, and met Tarak in the courtyard for the inevitable battle. The mage had not done his homework on his opponent so was caught off guard when suddenly he was attacked by an enemy that rose from the shadows. One, then two, then two more, and so on. The procession of inky creatures startled him greatly. The screaming, ghastly forms caused him no harm as they dissipated upon hitting him but it was the initial shock that did the most harm. The mage quickly realized they were merely a distraction and began to weave a spell but it was already too late. The High Priest had his twin black-steel daggers dug into the mage’s chest within the blink of an eye.
“It’s going to be hard to get used to, having no magic,” Tarak said as he pulled his prized daggers from their sheath at the back of this belt. He began to move in a pattern that he so often performed soon after waking to loosen his muscles in preparation for the day. The black-steel razors cut through the air, vicious predators desperate to sink their deadly fangs. “It has been a long time since I’ve fought without using enhancements.”
“Your form looks good. You never really needed to use those spells anyway,” Santaal said with a chuckle. “You were just showboating.”
“The High Priest of the Order of the Sacred Blood is not a showboat,” Tarak said as he twisted himself into a pose that looked as if he were holding large melons above his head and screaming at the sun.
Both men broke into hearty laughter. When it died out, a serious expression returned to Tarak’s face. “Seriously though, this is just a minor delay in the plan. We will need to keep the filthblood girl alive and in chains until I can figure out how to capture her power in the amulet. I’m sure the Brides would not be pleased to learn I squandered that precious source of power.”
Santaal nodded in agreement and looked back at the house. “We could convert one of the rooms into a cell,” he said.
“That’s what I was thinking. You work on that while I scout the area. How long will the mind-control hold on the barbarian wench?”
“Another couple of days, maybe? I dosed her again so we are good for the time being. She can build the cell but there is no use for her after that, anyway.”
Tarak agreed. As beautiful as she was, it would be dangerous to keep her alive once the control they had on her began to wane. I wonder if she could be converted? It was a fleeting, selfish, inappropriate thought but it was there and it was not going away. He resolved to make an attempt once the time came but for now they had much to do.
…
The pain pulsating through Raven’s head was amplified by the dank stench of the dark cavern. She tried to move her arm so she could gain leverage to push herself over but it took her four attempts before her body responded to her command.
Raven had never experienced a sensation even close to what she had been feeling since she had been poisoned by a man she thought was her lover but turned out to be a Sacred Blood infiltrator. He had her fooled but the shame was not the worst of it. She was made into a puppet, compelled to answer the twists and jerks of her magical strings, controlled by the evil men who had her and Shayla bound and helpless.
The one hope she had to cling to was that she recognized their prison. The image of the cavern was so ingrained in her mind she could see every detail when she brought the image of it to the forefront of her memories. The Hope Spring was a sacred place for her people, buried deep beneath the temple called Rellarock. As a child, her family would make yearly pilgrimages to the temple to give thanks to the gods and pray for another year of good, food-producing weather. They would finish by drinking from the Spring to represent their bond with the land. Memories of playing on the steep climb and pretending to fall off the side of the cliff to scare her mother flooded her mind.
She had to find a way to break free from the control the two Brothers had over her. She knew she had to be patient because their control was going to fade soon enough, she had heard them talk worriedly about such an occurrence. She had a plan but the problem was she could not be certain she would live long enough to be released from the magical bond.
Resigned to her current situation, she lay back and let her mind drift through memories of days that seemed to be a lifetime ago. In her mind, she was eight years old again, joyfully running from the temple, ignoring the shouts of warning from her parents about the dangers of the steep, narrow Steps to Heaven. She barreled down the rough staircase, eager to reach the bottom and the waiting ox-drawn carts that would shuttle them to the huge celebration feast hosted by her uncle’s village, just four miles away.
7
“Only those who know how to get there can find the Gervy House,” Oshri said as he dismounted his horses at the main gates of North Port.
“Is it hidden by magic?” Kai asked as he stroked the nose of the white stallion he had been riding for the last three days. “When we arrived, I followed the exact path I’m sure we took to get there but it just led to dead ends and empty alleyways.”
“Something like that,” Oshri said, laughing.
Kai, Jaime, and Oshri arrived at the northern city shortly after noon on the third day of their journey. The return trip to the port was quick and uneventful thanks to the three white stallions that had called the hidden beach home for the last few months. Oshri had assured Kai the horses had been well taken care of.
“Betsy would kill me if I let anything happen to them,” the old wizard had said. He had borrowed the three white stallions from Betsy, the matron of the Gervy House, when he, Adina, and Kai had first traveled to find the witches’ coven.
Kai had tried to find the Gervy House when he and Jaime arrived in North Port but, even though he followed the same route Oshri led them on the first time, he couldn’t locate the large compound. He had hopes that he could secure transportation for their trip south, especially after the hostile response he received from every other stable and horse trader they had tried.
The three men soon entered the bustling city after passing through the registry at the main gate. Kai attempted to keep a mental list of landmarks en route to the compound but with the twists and turns through streets tightly packed, and stacked, with shops and shanties, he was soon lost. My tracking skills must be fading, he thought. After what seemed like hours, they finally came to a wide alleyway where Kai recognized the low, white fence and the large gray house marked with a painstakingly carved sign hanging in the front yard that read ‘Gervy Brothers.’
“That’s it,” he said, suddenly more excited than he thought he would be.
Oshri burst into laughter at the unfamiliar behavior Kai was displaying. He began to hop around, knocking his heels together, causing the horse he was leading to snort and become unruly. The white stallion began pulling at his reins which spooked the other two horses. Kai and Jaime tried to calm their steeds which was difficult since the old man thought the whole scene was hilarious and continued to goad the horses.
“What the …” Jaime shouted suddenly and released the reins of his horse. The white stallion immediately ran down the road and disappeared into the yard of the Gervy House.
Kai looked over to see Jaime shaking excrement from his hair and clothing. One of the horses relieved itself during the confusion and it somehow ended up all over Jaime. Kai suspected from Oshri’s response that the old man was responsible.
“Did you see that?” The old man howled with laughter, tears beginning to stream down his wrinkled face. He alternated between pointing at Jaime and slapping his knee.
Jaime’s face turned a dark red and he ran at the old man, fists raised, only to be caught by Kai.
“Just let it go,” Kai said as he held his friend back. “We’re almost there. They have the most amazing baths there. Trust me. After a rest in the steam room you’ll forget all about this.”
“I won’t forget this,” Jaime said with a growl. His resistance to Kai’s grasp was fading but his anger remained. “I’ll let bandits take him or push him off the boat.”
Kai ch
uckled. “Don’t let him get you all riled up. He knows to take advantage of you while you’re angry so he tries to provoke you. Like poking a wild animal with a stick.”
“Well, he picked the wrong wild animal to mess with,” Jaime said as he stared down the old man who had run after the escaped horses.
That was too much for Kai and he burst into outright laughter. He threw his arm around his friend’s shoulders and pulled him along as he followed Oshri toward the compound. “Oh, you are such a fierce animal. Let me hear you roar, beast.” Kai delighted in chiding his friend before continuing to laugh uncontrollably.
They walked through the gates of the massive gated yard to find a large woman with her arms enveloping Oshri, squeezing the life out of him. When she saw Kai, she picked up the old wizard and hobbled to meet him.
“Oh, Kai, you beautiful man. I should have known you would be traveling with this old coot again,” the large woman said as she threw her arm around Kai for a strong hug, all the while keeping Oshri held uncomfortably close.
“Hello, Betsy,” Kai said as he returned her welcoming embrace. “This is Jaime. He is travelworn and needs to freshen up before he can be properly received. There was an incident.” He gave her a knowing look.
Betsy released Kai and leaned forward to sniff at Jaime. She wrinkled her nose and began to laugh, “Is that what you’re in stitches about? Did you do that to him?” she asked Oshri, playfully trying to shake the answer out of him.
The old wizard tried to respond but Betsy had him wrapped up so tightly with one arm that his response was muffled by the woman’s extremely ample bosom. She evidently understood what he had said because she responded with a renewed burst of laughter.
Dragon Flight: Sisera's Gift 3 (Dragonblood Sagas Book 5) Page 5
