Theran stepped toward her. “I will not leave here without Fawn.”
Asalda smiled—completely unfazed by Theran's unspoken threat. “I thought not, and we can help you, but we ask for something in return.”
At first Theran wanted to refuse. He was done with roundabout deals. He wanted to find Fawn and get her back to Verddra in order to free Heldon. Why couldn't things be that simple? Narrowing his eyes, he forced himself not to sigh. “What is it?”
“Nothing much.” Asalda leaned back against her desk and crossed her arms. “There has been...mention of an uprising among the Guardians—they are a humanoid like Kyra, but a Solfax edition rather than a Syheaf. Their armor is fueled by magic, and this gives each of them a single unique ability—shielding, speed, manipulation of sound, gravity, and all such things as you can imagine. They are trained into warriors the day they are activated. Now it seems a virus has somehow gotten into their systems, leading some to thoughts of revolt. We have already deactivated a few that have threatened the safety and peace of Jechorm.”
“So what do you want me to do about it?”
“I want you...” she pushed away from the desk, “to join our team of investigators. They are individuals specifically chosen because the Guardians trust them.”
“And why would they trust me?” Theran lifted his brows. “They do not know me.”
Asalda smiled—a cool, coy smile. “They like a good fight. I'm sure you are a fair match.”
Theran narrowed his eyes.
22
The castle of Serhon. Though the day had dawned, clouds still blanketed the sky over the castle made of sharp steeples and jagged towers—shadows everywhere. As Lorrek entered the city with Esdras and Bodulf, he noted how life carried on as usual. The merchants still sold goods in the streets, the peasants in their poor attire went about their business in the city and throughout the surrounding lands. Nobles did not mingle with them—did not wish to soil their fine clothing—but rather took to the walls and went around the city to their destinations or sent servants in their place.
Merchants held out silk scarves to Esdras claiming, “This would please the lady of your house greatly!” only for Esdras to sidestep them without a glance. The traffic hindered both Esdras and Lorrek, but not Bodulf—he walked in a straight line passing through whomever got in his way, and no one took notice.
Gathering a sigh, Lorrek lifted his gaze to the palace gates in the distance. Though all appeared to be as usual on the surface in Serhon, he knew once he passed through those gates everything would change.
As he walked along, he began to unravel the threads of his binding spell that gave him a solid form.
King Roskelem sat on his throne handling the daily matters of the court. Commoners used to fill his court with petitions, pleas, and requests, but after Roskelem returned from Jechorm with his newfound power, he had banished all peasants from his presence and allowed a representative to present their cases before him.
At first the courtiers loved this new change in policy, but as time went on, Roskelem felt they did not respect him. They still thought him to be a cowardly king, so he taught them a lesson by turning one of their own into stone before their eyes. This was the first statue he ever made, and he kept it off to the side of his throne as a daily reminder that no one should cross him.
Now, bored with the routine rituals, Roskelem glanced at the statue on his left hand side. The baron had been a noble and tall man with lineage too close to the throne for comfort—Roskelem's cousin. Count Eldak had challenged Roskelem's rule on more than one occasion, and the last time he did, he came right to the foot of the throne, set his hand on his sword as if ready to unsheathe it, but he preferred words as his weapon. He never did remove the sword from its sheath or finish the sentence he had been saying before Roskelem remembered an ancient spell he had learned during his many years prior to using magic, and the words sprung off his lips.
Now a solid statue, the count stood with his hand across his body reaching for his sword, mouth opened with words of rebuke, and face darkened with disapproval. He remained that way for all to see and fear.
Some days Roskelem wanted to shove the statue and watch it shatter into irretrievable pieces, but he knew he was in debt to Eldak for being an example of what would happen to the other courtiers if they upset their king. That was the only reason why he kept Eldak in one piece, but “One day I'll finish him for good,” he thought—not for the first time—and then dragged his eyes back to his high court and listened as one of his barons requested permission to dig a canal from the river in order to provide more water for his land.
“Yes, yes, of course.” Roskelem dismissed the man with a gesture then slouched back in his throne, resting an elbow on an armrest, and plopped his chin into his palm. “Now, are there any other matters of actual importance? Or shall this day be wasted with endless debates of senseless business?”
The courtiers exchanged nervous looks with each other. Though they had every right to delay the king and bring matters to his attention, none wanted to be the object of his fury. If he wanted to dismiss the court early, very well.
“Not at all, my liege.” The chancellor of the kingdom bowed. “As a matter of fact—”
“Father!”
Roskelem growled when he heard his son's confident but urgent voice. He raked his gaze over the courtiers to the door as his son, Prince Haskel, and his daughter, Princess Gremina, marched in with purpose—a purpose not apparent to the king.
“What is it?” he snapped at his grown children. “Can't you see I am in the middle of a council session?”
Haskel shared a look with his sister as both of them halted at the front of the room before their father's throne. As the oldest of the two, Haskel faced Roskelem without fear but lifted his chin, and stood with confidence as he tucked his hands behind his back. “Father, we have an unexpected guest—”
“Oh, please, let's skip all the fancy formalities and get down to business, shall we?”
That voice—Roskelem hadn't heard that voice in years. He knew who it belonged to, and he had sworn that the next time he saw him, he would kill him.
Dragging his eyes from his son, Roskelem fixed his gaze on the individual crossing the threshold with an arrogant stride. Roskelem straightened at the sight of Prince Lorrek and narrowed his eyes as he watched the sorcerer pass through the midst of his court unaffected. The king curled his fingers into fists, and a sneer upturned the corner of his lip as fury mounted within him.
At last, Lorrek stood at the front and smirked at the king. Behind him the entire court retreated from the room. Even Haskel and Gremina shared an uneasy look and fell aside. They did not want to be caught in the crossfire.
Lorrek's grin never wavered, and Roskelem's wrath rose at the irritating sight.
Gathering all his magic around him, Roskelem thrust out his hands, shouted, and shot out double blasts at Lorrek.
Yet there the sorcerer still stood—not flinching once as the blasts passed through him, or when they slammed into the guards at the door, throwing them off their feet and into the wall with a cry.
Lorrek felt the intended attack, and his grin only grew. “Good to see you too, King Roskelem.”
“You’re supposed to be dead.” Not that he had believed the rumors of Lorrek’s death for a moment—mainly because Roskelem preferred to have the chance to kill Lorrek himself.
“And yet, here I am.” Lorrek spread his hands out. “I must say, I have you to thank for taking away my solid form. It has saved me a lot of grief—worrying whether or not I would die prematurely.”
Roskelem could not stand the sight of this man. It was because of him that he had lost his eldest daughter, and when he returned to Serhon after those events, neither of his remaining children believed or trusted him. Roskelem knew that Haskel sent Gremina to their mother more often than not while Haskel stayed in the palace only out of duty to the kingdom—not out of care for his father. Roskelem tried to win
their favor by providing gifts only a sorcerer could, but his children didn't seem to care. They never judged him to his face, but he overheard their conversations, expressing worry for his wellbeing. When Roskelem tried to reassure them he was well—perfectly whole, they only stared at him with doubt.
Now the man responsible for all his grief stood before him.
Twisting his face into a sneer, Roskelem shoved himself out of his throne and stretched out his hand—open palm—blasting at Lorrek again.
Yet again, it passed through Lorrek and slammed into the back wall of the council hall—cracking it.
Lorrek smirked at him then began to pace around the room.
Roskelem tried to strike him again, but it had no effect on him.
Tsking his tongue, Lorrek shook his head. “This is a waste of energy for you, Sire. You should really manage your stress level.”
With another shout, Roskelem struck out at Lorrek, and again it passed through him—cracking the back wall further.
“Father, stop!” Haskel marched to the center of the room to stand between Lorrek and his father. “You are going to bring down the ceiling with your madness!”
“Out of my way, boy!” Roskelem gestured to fling his son aside with magic.
However, Lorrek stepped through Haskel and caught the magic within his own. Through the eyes of magic, he could see Roskelem's power in his hands—raw, spiked, and misguided. Lorrek shrugged then looked back at the king. “You could use some proper training. It's unfortunate that you have forgotten the training I gave you back in Jechorm.” He then redirected Roskelem's power and blasted it back at him.
With a cry, Roskelem slammed back into his throne, but the power of the hit knocked his throne back as well. He stared at the ceiling of the council hall, confused—and full of fury. Then he heard footsteps—confident, self-assured, and determined—and finally Lorrek's face came into view. For a moment, Roskelem saw pity in the other man's eyes, but it faded as Lorrek prepared to speak.
“I would help you up, but...” Lorrek passed his hand through a part of the toppled throne and then focused on the king once more. “I have a proposition for you.”
“I will have no dealings with you. Now out of my way!” Roskelem tried to shove Lorrek away, but his hand met no solid surface. Ignoring this, he attempted to regain his dignity and struggled to his feet.
Lorrek stepped back and watched him. He saw a man whose life he had ruined—first by interrupting the operation that had ended up giving Roskelem the gift of magic, and then by taking Atheta away from him. Yet, he couldn't explain his purposes, and he knew Roskelem would not accept an apology, so he decided to focus on his mission here.
“I was made aware that you are holding Princess Anelm of Athorim.”
Lorrek's words caused Roskelem to freeze in mid-motion as he brushed dust off his arm. Roskelem looked at Lorrek, and the prince could see the king conjuring a lie. “I know not what you mean.” He offered Lorrek a weak smile then tugged at the collar of his tunic to straighten it.
Lorrek remained unmoved. “King Caleth requests you free her at once.” When he realized that the king was about to lie again, Lorrek made his hands into fists. “Do not lie to me, Roskelem. I know she is here. Anyone with magic can sense the presence of her pure magic. That is a rare thing indeed. Now, I know you have her, so do not argue the point. As I said, I have a proposition for you.”
Roskelem set a spiteful scowl upon the prince of Cuskelom. He hated that man—loathed him with every fiber of his being. Lorrek was always more powerful than he, and that did not sit well with Roskelem. He wanted Lorrek's power—and his control—but he also wanted nothing to do with him.
However, he knew when things were out of his control, so he fought down a sigh and floundered with a gesture. “Well then, what are these terms you wish to propose? Yet, keep in mind I have no intention to heed a word you say!” Roskelem wagged a finger in Lorrek's face.
Lorrek bowed his head then hesitated. He knew there were consequences to what he was about to suggest, and if Roskelem agreed, Lorrek had no idea what the near future would hold. Nevertheless, he had to try.
Straightening his back and lifting his head, Lorrek locked eyes with the king of Serhon. “I wish to secure her freedom by taking her place as your prisoner.”
Roskelem did a double-take when he heard this then looked Lorrek up and down as if to determine if the man was ill or hid an alternative motive. When he sensed nothing, Roskelem laughed with unease. “You...” He neared the prince. “You wish to become my prisoner?”
Lorrek lifted an unimpressed brow then leaned down into Roskelem's face. “Let us understand ourselves—I wish for no such thing, yet we both know it is the only agreement from me you will even entertain.” With that, Lorrek pulled back—his face void of emotion.
Roskelem scowled at him, then turned away, and went to his throne lying on its side—the throne representing his power, which Lorrek had effortlessly discarded. Going to the chair, Roskelem attempted to set it upright, and Haskel hastened to aid him. Together, the two righted the throne, and Haskel stepped back while Roskelem resumed his place on the seat of power and finally set his gaze upon Lorrek. “This is your plan. All of this!” He wiggled his finger at Lorrek. “You're plotting something. You always have something up your sleeve.”
At this accusation, Lorrek frowned. “My plan?” Then he narrowed his eyes. “You believe I orchestrated all this?” He glanced at Haskel and Gremina and saw they too thought the same. This realization began to sink in as he turned to once more fix his gaze upon Roskelem. He kept his tone quiet and measured when he spoke. “You believe I plotted against Serhon all those years ago? Thought it was my aim to remove Princess Atheta? To what end?” Lorrek spread out his hands. “What would it achieve me? To take the throne from you?” He then laughed before motioning toward the prince and princess. “In order to do that, I would have to rid myself of them as well, but I never touched them.”
“Nothing went according to your plan!” Roskelem snapped as he began to regain his confidence, only to shrink back when Lorrek set his darkened eyes upon him once more and took a menacing step toward him.
“If I had indeed been plotting against you—against Serhon—I would have been successful, yet here I stand and there you sit.” He gestured at himself before motioning at Roskelem on the throne. However, these accusations caused things that Mordora had said to fall into place, and he began to pace as he mused aloud. “It wasn't my plan to fall into the Orb of Oblivion and wander there for ten years.” He shot Roskelem a glare but then went on—aware that no one here knew what he was saying, but he didn't care. The pieces were coming together in his mind. “It wasn't my plan to go to Nirrorm when I finally emerged from that place. No, that was where the door opened and where I found myself without the strength to return home—at least, initially.” He shook his head. “I had intended not to linger long in Nirrorm but rather return to Cuskelom once my magic had been replenished, but then Verddra came into play. I could have left them, but instead I tried to help—tried to help King Wordan find the countess, and then tried to save him from her when I saw through her trickery. I unintentionally rescued Princess Mordora from the castle before Verddra attacked.” He let out a dry-sounding laughing at this irony of how Roskelem said he had planned everything.
“I promised her then that I would retrieve her brother and protect him, so I did, and I took him to the safest place I knew for him—Athorim. I had intended to return home after that to face my brothers and see how Cuskelom would fare against Verddra, knowing Prince Moren was well cared for in the meanwhile and receiving better training in magic than anyone else on the planet. However, King Caleth required one thing of me—for me to retrieve his sister.” With this, Lorrek locked eyes on Roskelem as he continued to pace before him.
Quiet rage rose within him, mingled with hurt at all the distrust he saw in everyone's eyes. “And so, I am here.” He stopped directly in front of Roskelem and spread out
his hands. “Was it all a grand master plan of mine?” He dropped his arms and sighed. “I want to go home, but here I stand, knowing the only thing you will accept in order to secure Princess Anelm's release is my own imprisonment. Why do I stand here? Because I made a promise to Princess Mordora to protect her brother, and this is where I find myself.”
But then he shook his head. “What do I plan?” He raised his brows. “I plan for you to cast me into a deep, dark hole where I shall be forgotten. I expect you to attempt to mimic the Jechorm's method of extracting magic and try to take my own powers for yourself. I expect you to never tell my brothers I am alive, and I fully expect to die here in Serhon today, tomorrow, a fortnight from now, or years from now. Yet here I stand—facing that fate willingly because I am a man of my word, and I will do all in my power to protect those I love—Atheta included.”
The mention of his eldest daughter caused Roskelem to snap out of any sympathy he had for Lorrek upon hearing everything he said, and the king of Serhon glared at the prince. “And you loved Atheta?”
Lorrek thinned his eyes. This would not go well, but still he tried. “She was to be my sister-in-law. Of course I loved her.”
“And yet you raped her!”
Anger flared within Lorrek, and his hands curled into fists, but he measured his words. “I. Did. Not.”
Roskelem scoffed at him. “You did! I know! I heard the argument!”
Lorrek took one carefully measured step toward Roskelem. It took all of his self-control not to seize the man with magic and throw him aside senselessly. “You heard nothing. It was merely an instance of unfortunate timing on your part.”
“If that is so, then tell me this...” Roskelem leaned forward in his throne and clasped his hands together. “Why did you take her? Why did you flee with her? Only the guilty run, and you took your only witness.”
“I was protecting her—and her child.”
“From what?”
The Chronicles of Lorrek Box Set Page 20
