“This fight is finished.” He brought her face closer to his visor. “Do you yield?”
“You might want to yield,” Skelton offered advice from the other side of the ring where he leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. Beside him, Erita gave him an incredulous look then shook her head and glanced back at the fight.
Skelton's words did get Vixen's attention, and she shot him a glare as best she could without turning her head as if to say, “Seriously?” Then she shifted her gaze back to the visor of the Guardian. Since he was crushing her vocal cords, she couldn't speak, so she let her actions speak for her.
Releasing his hand at her throat, she grabbed his helmeted head and swung her body up and around until she sat on his shoulders. Using her momentum, she tightened her thighs around his throat and swung herself down to the floor, sending him crashing on his face while she twisted and landed on her feet in a defensive stance with blades already in her hands.
<~>~<~>~<~>
Loroth allowed himself to exhale when he finally sensed Vixen free herself from the chokehold. “Love, try not to get killed,” he told her through their magical bond, and amusement floated back to him.
“I try, Handsome,” she responded.
Loroth then focused once more on Roskelem, who had finally finished the tale of his miserable marriage. Loroth pitied the man because he obviously loved his wife but had no clue how to win her back—or what exactly went wrong in the first place. Loroth knew if he did something stupid, Vixen would deal with the threat herself and then turn to him and not say a word except for a very thorough and very final glare, unless she was already in the killing mood and needed to vent her frustration somehow.
Clearing his mind before he chuckled out loud, Loroth schooled his features to appear calm and collected as he concentrated on the conversation. “King Roskelem, magic is not the answer to your problems. If anything, it will more than likely enhance your problems.” When Roskelem only glared at him, Loroth rose from his seat to pace in a very princely and Lorrek-like manner—hands tucked behind his back as he strolled to and fro across the floor in front of the desk. “Magic is...” he lifted his open hand as if to find the word in the air. “Complicated.” He dropped his hand—'complicated', not exactly the word he was looking for, but he went on. “It is a part of the soul—like understanding, the memory, the conscience. It can neither be infused nor extracted—despite what so many others here believe.” He motioned to the room indicating to the entire operation here in Jechorm. “Everyone has it—even if just a little.” He pinched his fingers together to illustrate his point then lowered his hand.
“But I have seen others gain magic!” Roskelem rose to his feet behind the desk. “Those...those lifeless Guardians! They're absolutely nothing without magic. How do you explain that?”
And Loroth couldn't explain it. He had sensed Lorrek's findings about the Guardians and knew what Roskelem had said was true, but he had no explanation, so he stuck with what he knew. “Your Majesty,” he neared the table and braced his fingers on the surface. “What you want cannot be done—not because it is not possible because I am sure the brilliant minds behind all this technology can discover a way to manipulate magic. However,” he lifted a hand to halt any words from Roskelem. “It will not bring you happiness, and magic will not bring your wife back to you.”
“Of course it will!” Roskelem slammed his fist on the desk. “It must! If magic is so powerful, it will bring her back to me.”
“It doesn't work that way.” Loroth shook his head and pulled back to cross his arms as he sensed that Roskelem was becoming more and more irrational. “Magic is not merely a tool you can use to fulfill whatsoever your wishes may be. It is not something you can summon at will or dismiss as you wish. It is a part of who you are. It will save you, and it will kill you. It is a blessing and a curse, but it will not change what people think of you. Only you can do that.”
“I. Don't. Care.” Roskelem leaned forward, baring his teeth as he braced his hands on the table. “I don't care what you believe or what you think you know. You don't understand what it is like to be powerless. You are Prince Lorrek—one of the world’s most powerful sorcerers! Of course you wouldn't want another to gain any sort of power because that might threaten your position in the magic realm. What if a non-magic user gains magic and then becomes more powerful than you?” Roskelem sneered as he moved around the desk. “Oh yes, how humiliating that would be—to be less powerful than an 'engineered' user. Of course you would disallow that, and that is why I will not listen to a word you have to say.” He leaned close to Loroth and jabbed him in the chest with his finger. “Now leave.”
For a long moment Loroth stared down into the determined eyes of the king of Serhon, and all he saw were pools of deep lust for power. Loroth stepped back and bowed his head to the king. “Very well, Your Majesty.” With that, he went to the door then stepped out into the hall.
Lifting his gaze to the lit ceiling, Loroth released a heavy sigh then reached through magic to Lorrek. “Cousin—things have just become more complicated.” He then walked away—opposite of the direction of Therth and Atheta in the gardens.
<~>~<~>~<~>
In the garden, Atheta still stood with her arms crossed, expecting an answer from Therth, and Therth rubbed the back of his neck after several failed attempts to give her a reasonable answer that wasn't the truth. He tried not to fidget under her unrelenting glare.
She wanted to understand how she could possibly know who Theran really was when half of the time she spent with the man she thought was Theran wasn’t even Theran. How could she marry such a man? Did she love him? Did it even matter?
“Atheta, you misunderstand. Theran loves you—greatly. He wants nothing more than to spend the rest of his life with you by his side.” Therth stalled when he saw that Atheta's glare still did not lessen. He sighed and clenched his fist. He blamed Lorrek for giving him permission to reveal his identity to her in the first place; it would have been much simpler if he had continued to pretend to be Theran and never divulge the secret of his very existence. However, Lorrek was not here to smooth out this situation, and Therth had to think quickly—as himself and not as Theran—but he still didn't know what to say.
He knew what he wanted to say—how he himself cared for her, how he hated when Theran couldn't live up to the expectations of being royalty, and how he both loved and loathed the times he had to double for his cousin. In the past, he had never worried about how he felt regarding Atheta because he knew his personal feelings were irrelevant. However, now that she knew the difference between the prince and his double, the delicate balance was almost too perilous to tread.
He found himself wishing to return to Cuskelom so that he could hunt down his cousin and dunk his drunk self into a pool of water and keep dunking him until Theran came to his senses. Then Therth would reproach him for all his wasted years of carelessness and tell him, “You don’t deserve her.”
“Excuse me?” Atheta lifted her brows, surprised by Therth's random statement.
Realizing he had spoken aloud, Therth widened his eyes, but he quickly clamped his mouth shut, tucked his hands behind his back, and bowed his head—anything to avoid Atheta's stare. “Theran...he doesn't deserve you. You deserve far better. However, you are betrothed to him, and that must be honored.”
He wanted to say something more—she could see that, but his honor and loyalty to his cousin kept him silent. However, Atheta wanted to know more. She walked up to him and situated her face in his line of vision. When they locked eyes, she did not back down. “There is something you're not saying. What is it?”
Therth locked his jaw in an effort not to speak. She was a princess—higher ranking than he—and when she requested or demanded something, he was bound by duty to obey. “Curse my own sense of duty!” He curled his hands into fists then drew in a deep breath.
Exhaling, he placed a firm hand on both of her shoulders and looked down into her eyes. “You
wish to know the truth, Your Highness?” When she nodded her head, the words choked in Therth's throat. For years now acting as Theran, he had wanted to speak three little words to Atheta—and he had said them, but only as Theran and not as himself. Now was his chance, but he also knew once spoken, the words could not be taken back.
He swallowed then shook his head. “I do not think that is a wise idea, Milady.” He gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze. “Some things are best left unspoken. I respect you too much to risk ruining your life.” With that, he pressed a kiss on her forehead then pulled back.
He didn't dare smile at her, didn't dare look into her eyes. He simply stepped back and walked away.
Atheta watched him leave.
She didn't know what to think. In one way she was furious that he would not confide in her the complete truth of the situation regarding Theran, Therth, and herself, but then again, she sensed it was his way to protect her from further harm and heartbreak; this Atheta appreciated, but still—she knew what he didn't say, what he refused to say. She saw it in his eyes, knew it by his actions, but she wanted to hear it. “Why? Why did I want him to say it?” She wandered through the clearing of the garden, sorting through her thoughts. “I am engaged to Theran. How Therth feels doesn't matter...” but even as she thought this, she knew it wasn't true. If Theran was the drunken coward she had grown up knowing, and Therth was the noble prince she had imagined Theran to be, then, “Do I truly love Therth instead of Theran? How can I marry Theran knowing that? I would hate him for what he cannot be. I would hate him for not being Therth. That's not right.”
She sat on the low tree branch and dropped her head into her hands. As a princess, she was bound to marry a prince to strengthen alliances between kingdoms, and she had been relieved that her arranged marriage was with someone she knew and cared about rather than a complete stranger. Now, she wasn't so sure, and she had no idea how to begin unraveling this riddle. “Lorrek...” The name came to mind. He was a man of puzzles and riddles. “Maybe Lorrek can help me understand—or at the very least he can cast a spell upon me to make me forget Therth.”
Pleased yet unhappy with this solution, Atheta pushed herself off the branch and left the garden, heading toward Lorrek's chambers where all of them had agreed to reunite after their appointed tasks.
Though Therth and Atheta hadn't remained with Loroth and her father, Atheta figured that Loroth had finished by now, and she looked forward to hearing what he had to report. “Hopefully, he talked some sense into Papa...” She paused at the door and looked back at the garden in the now waning light of the day. Shadows darkened the sanctuary now, and Atheta couldn't help but sense the similarities between the approaching darkness and the events that had yet to unfold.
She stepped out of the garden room—her silhouette still standing in the doorway, and the door shut behind her, sealing out the light from the garden.
<~>~<~>~<~>
In the operation chamber containing Inecha and Radella, Verddra stood behind the glass in the neighboring observation room and frowned. She viewed the current events through the eyes of magic. A brilliant, steady flow of light bound the two, but while Inecha's magical presence was growing weaker, Radella's remained unchanged. Verddra had tried communicating with her daughter telepathically but had only caught glimpses of Roskelem, of Vixen, and even herself. None of this made sense.
“All this magic is truly not enough to wake Radella,” Verddra observed as she brought a thoughtful hand to her chin. She shot Kyra a sharp look. “What are the readings?” Though she could see the unseen through the view of magic, small details eluded her, but she knew technology caught it.
Kyra looked at the tablet in her hand. “There is a steady climb of brain activity...” She trailed off as she typed in a few key words, but Verddra noticed the slightest of frowns on the advanced technological-humanoid's face.
“What is it?” Verddra grounded her teeth.
Kyra shifted her unnaturally bright blue eyes to the window. “It appears she is about to wake.”
Verddra gasped then rushed to the window, staring at her daughter's face.
For a long time, Radella appeared to be asleep. Nothing changed.
Verddra slid a glare over her shoulder to Kyra. “I thought you said—”
The sound of a steady beep caused by a flat heart rate snapped Verddra's eyes back to the room. She saw that the monitor hooked up to Inecha flashed with warnings—her heart had stopped. While Kyra left the observation room and stepped into the operation chamber to shock Inecha's heart back into beating, Verddra stood back—her eyes fixed on Radella.
Inhaling, Radella's eyes snapped open, and she stared unblinking at the ceiling.
Overwhelming joy burst in Verddra's heart, and she magicked into the operation room. “Radella, my little fawn! You're awake!” She moved to go to Radella's side, but Kyra stepped in front of her, holding a hand up to stop her. Verddra narrowed her eyes—and noticed in the background the rhythmic sound of Inecha's heart beating again. “What do you think you are doing? Let me pass. I wish to see my daughter.”
“But she will not see you.” Kyra moved aside and gestured back to Radella—who still stared unblinkingly at the ceiling. While Verddra stepped around her to go to her daughter, Kyra listed the statistics. “The power donated by Princess Inecha was enough to piece together some of the fragments of Radella's brain and to bring her to a sense of consciousness, but she does not display any further brain activity.” She lowered the tablet and looked at Verddra. “Your daughter is still not awake.”
Radella's unblinking eyes continued to stare at the ceiling.
<~>~<~>~<~>
Still in the realm of magic, Lorrek stood in the center of activity while scientists worked here and there comparing notes and calling out numbers and equations. Holographic designs, plans, and readings filled the air all around him, but he stood rooted to one spot, staring at the place where all the magic ultimately flowed.
He didn't like what he saw.
<~>~<~>~<~>
In the fighting arena, Vixen shouted as she knocked the Guardian to the floor. Fed up with it constantly getting back up again to fight, she decided to put an end to it and grabbed the helmeted head. Knowing it couldn't function without a head, she yanked, but it came off more easily than she had expected, throwing her off balance. She stumbled back, then looked at what she held in her hand—a helmet, not a head. Confused, she looked at the Guardian on the floor and was surprised to see a human face staring back at her.
She threw aside the helmet and climbed to her feet. With cautious steps she approached the Guardian.
“Vix, knock him out!” Skelton shouted from the sidelines. “We need a solid win to settle the bet!'
Sending him a glare, Vixen shook her head then looked back at the face of the Guardian. He looked younger than Skelton, Lorrek or Loroth. By his pale features and dull hair, she figured he rarely took off his helmet, and she didn't want to think of why that was.
“Vixen!” Skelton nagged, only to earn another glare.
Turning back to the Guardian, Vixen took off her bladed knuckles and handed them to the Guardian. “Here. Hold these.” When he took them from her, confused, Vixen slammed her fist into his face, knocking him out.
Taking the bladed knuckles from his now limp hands, she sheathed them on her vest then looked at Skelton and Erita. “How's that?” While they went to settle the bet, Vixen rose to her feet and placed her hands on her hips as she looked down at the unconscious Guardian. “Lorrek,” she reached through the magical bond, “We have a problem.”
“I know,” came Lorrek's response. “And I'm looking right at it.” His gaze looked up at the tall, armored humanoid machine that he had heard the scientists refer to as the Rakessat.
Segment 12
Shadows had congregated in Lorrek's chambers by the time he sent all the others away after hearing their reports. After he had returned to his body, Pelham and Asalda sent him to his chambers. They were
puzzled by the failure of the operation, but, of course, they hadn’t realized he had taken Loroth’s place. They hadn’t mapped his own magic, so they had no way to tap into it.
Now he sat in the center of his room directly across from the Guardian whom Vixen had knocked out. Erita had magicked him here from the fighting arena, and they ignored the other Guardians frantically searching for their missing comrade. Lorrek kept the Guardian unconscious with a spell, and he draped a simple invisibility spell over him—and everyone else in the room except for himself—when the Guardians came knocking on his door, asking where the missing Guardian might have gone. “You all look alike,” Lorrek had said, “But perhaps you should try the lowest level of this building.” He closed the door in their faces before they had the chance to reply.
He listened to everyone's account on the day's activities. Loroth's report on Roskelem's need for power was confirmed by Atheta's previous observations, and this disturbed Lorrek.
Vixen refused to stop pacing throughout the briefing, and she kept shooting the Guardian glares. When Adonis tried to calm her by reminding her how thoroughly she had knocked him out, Loroth dropped his face in his hands then listened while his wife went off on a rant about how none of this made sense and that it was unsafe to have the Guardian here because he might have a tracking device on him or even a listening device.
After reassuring her that the four magic users in this room had enough power to block any such signals, Lorrek noted how Therth and Atheta had added nothing to the conversation; in fact, they sat on the same couch but far from each other. He narrowed his eyes, wondering what had transpired between them, but knew that was not his concern right now.
The Chronicles of Lorrek Box Set Page 33
