Satisfied, she cast her gaze to Honroth. “Are you sure about this? I can stay.”
Honroth shook his head. “Go. You might be the only one able to stop any future attacks. I will stay here to protect Cuskelom myself.”
Seeing no point in arguing, Vixen touched the handblade then vanished.
Once she was gone, Honroth shifted his gaze to Therth. “Heldon is in danger. I want you to return to Verddra and try to secure his release—along with Lady Erita.”
This command took Therth by surprise, and he furrowed his brows as he looked at his cousin. He glanced around at the mess from the fight then back at Honroth. “You need my help—here.”
Honroth only gave him a dull stare then approached him with heavy feet. Staring straight into the eyes so similar and yet so different from Theran’s, Honroth remained unmoved in his decision. “Inecha,” he said her name softly, “used her last breath to tell me Heldon was in trouble. He is expecting me to rescue him, but I cannot leave Cuskelom. Now, you will go Nirrorm, pick up whatever understanding you have with Countess Verddra, and you will secure my brother’s freedom.” He leaned in close but kept voice icy calm. “Do you understand—cousin?”
Recognizing that Honroth had been pushed further than ever, Therth knew to back down. He stepped back and bowed low to the king. “Yes, Your Majesty. I shall go to Nirrorm at once.” He paused then straightened slightly from his bow to meet Honroth’s eyes. “Shall I travel through the Orb of Nirrorm?”
Honroth shook his head. For now, he wanted to keep the Porta Cosmica completely sealed in case another Rakessat broke into the palace. He heard commotion and saw a tall, dark-haired man, wearing black robes pass through the midst of the soldiers—dark brown eyes scanning the faces of the men until he locked onto Honroth, nodded, then headed toward the king. Honroth noted the woman beside him—her eyes wandering across her surroundings in an awestruck and untrained way, and Honroth realized though her hair was dark, it was brown and not black, “Not a magic user.” He frowned at this and wondered who she was and why she was with Gershom, but he shifted his gaze back to the sorcerer as he came to stand beside him.
Recalling his conversation with Therth and the question of his means of transportation, Honroth smiled and clamped his hand on his cousin’s shoulder. He steered him toward the sorcerer. “Gershom will magick you to Nirrorm.” Gershom narrowed his dark eyes, and his bearded features only deepened the frown, but Honroth did not give him a chance to argue. “Take him to Nirrorm—now. Then return here.” Honroth didn’t wait to see if the sorcerer would obey, but he turned to his constable and warlords to discuss the best defense.
Gershom glanced at the woman he had brought along, signaled for her to wait here, then placed a hand on Therth’s shoulder. “Let us be off.” He magicked him into an empty alley of the capital nearby the palace of Nirrorm then nodded to him. “Good luck.” With that, he vanished and returned to Cuskelom.
Honroth heard the familiar sound of magicking’s swirling wind behind him as he listened to Constable Zhirak list how many troops were located at different parts of the city as well as the fortresses throughout the kingdom. He nodded when Zhirak finished speaking, and he glanced at the older warrior. “Gather the war council. Go to the war hall. We will discuss strategies when we have all gathered.” When the constable bowed and left to carry out the command, Honroth crossed his arms and turned to Gershom, still noting the woman off to the side of the room, who had accompanied the sorcerer here.
Honroth nodded toward her. “Who is she?”
Gershom glanced over his shoulder to where she squatted beside the Rakessat and picked up a piece of its armor, holding it up to the light for inspection. “My niece—Caletta.” He turned back to Honroth. “I promised my brother, Esdras, I would watch over her.”
“She has no magic.” Honroth’s statement required no answer, but Gershom nodded nonetheless.
“And she is sensitive to magic. That is why I was unable to magick here immediately. She cannot handle such long jumps. It makes her faint. I had to perform several smaller jumps to compensate before finally arriving here—hence my lateness and thus my apologies, Sire.” He bowed his head.
Honroth sighed. He wanted to blame Gershom’s carelessness for the demise of Inecha, but the sorcerer had come as quickly as he could. He looked at Caletta, who had set down the piece of armor and rose to her feet and circled the Rakessat until she found something of interest again and knelt for a closer look. “Does she have a useful skill?” He arched his brows as he looked back at Gershom. “You may be her guardian, but if she is not of use, she will simply be in the way.”
Gershom shook his head. “She has a sharp eye for detail and a deeper understanding of technology than I could ever grasp. She will be most useful on the war council.”
Pleased that he did not have to force his friend away from his duties as a guardian, Honroth nodded. “Very well then. Bring her along. We have much to discuss.” With that, he turned and headed for the war hall.
6
There were many things about Serhon which Skelton did not like, but for the moment the one that topped the list was the non-stop babble of Bodulf. “...because I figure if we use some angelica herbs, some coriander, juniper, and some laurel, we can recreate the solidifying spell. Not only that, but it will prevent King Roskelem from harming any of us, which would make him feel powerless. It would make him feel weak and make him unhappy, and when you’re unhappy, you can’t perform powerful spells, so he will be exactly where we need him.”
Skelton lifted his cup of ale and swung it back toward his mouth to gulp down the bitter, thick liquid, only to discover he had finished it off several minutes ago. Groaning, he set the empty cup back on the table and gave his brother a pleading look from across the room.
When they had arrived in the castle, Roskelem’s men escorted them in, saying the king of Serhon had been expecting Caleth’s arrival. “The rest of you will simply have to wait in a guest chamber,” the man had said.
However, Mordora chose to argue. “I have come to speak with King Roskelem, and I will not allow him to simply push me aside as if I am a mere child.”
Her stubbornness caused the steward to reconsider, and he nodded. “Very well, yet the two of you will wait until the king summons you—if he ever does.” He motioned for the guards to take them away, and though Skelton and Adonis had protested, they were ushered away into this chamber.
They had yet to leave.
However, before they could become bored, Bodulf had phased through a wall and introduced himself. “Greetings, I am Bodulf the great! I must say, we have been having more and more guests. This is a wonderful thing indeed! Are you friends with the fellow named Lorrek?”
As soon as he opened his mouth, the sorcerer brothers were ready to dismiss him, yet when he mentioned Lorrek, they paused.
Adonis had frowned. “How do you know Lorrek?”
Bodulf smiled and spread his hands out. “Because he came here, of course! He sought to free Princess Anelm, offering himself as a prisoner in her stead. He even went so far as to allow Anelm to take his memories to prove he is a man of his word.”
When Skelton heard this, he frowned. “Wait—why would Anelm take his memories?”
Bodulf dropped his arms and gave Skelton a look as though he should know better. “Because King Roskelem commanded her to do so, of course!”
Bodulf went on talking, yet Adonis stopped listening to him. Instead, he stood and began to pace while pondering two things: how furious Caleth would be when he found out what Roskelem had made Anelm do, and he wondered whether or not Mordora was truly safe here.
Since Adonis paid Bodulf no mind, and Skelton was bored, Skelton asked about life here in Serhon. He soon learned of Bodulf’s incorporeal condition, and the fellow sorcerer had yet to fall silent.
Annoyed with the constant chatter and the endless pacing of his brother, Skelton shoved himself away from the table and rose to his feet, finally silencin
g Bodulf and causing Adonis to pause. Skelton grabbed his black trench coat from the back of his chair and put it on. “Keep waiting if you want. I’m going for a walk.”
“Well then, I’ll come along to show you—”
Skelton sent Bodulf a glare. “Alone.” He magicked out of the room before the other man could argue, and he reappeared in a narrow and enclosed catwalk. Looking around, he realized it was a hall for the servants to bustle to and from activities within the palace without being seen. Something about this corridor seemed high, so he went to the wall on his right and looked out through the glassless windows along the wall. Then he looked down into the long and spacious ballroom that had been converted into the council chambers.
Upon closer inspection, he saw Roskelem—so small, Skelton felt as if he could squish him between his fingers. Roskelem sat on the edge of his throne with palms pressed flat together and barely contained excitement in his smile. Skelton narrowed his eyes at this. He didn’t like any of this but shifted his gaze to where Caleth stood, regal and in absolute control of the situation. Half a step behind him in his shadow stood Mordora. Though she did not have the same commanding presence as the king of Athorim, her posture—shoulders pulled back, chin held high, face fixed with determination, and eyes narrowed upon Roskelem—spoke of her personal control and power.
“Love that in a girl.” Skelton smirked to himself, but movement along the walls directly across from him caught his attention. Narrowing his eyes, he focused on the movement until he realized it was Nyvera. “What is she doing here?” But she vanished quickly from sight.
Relieved to have something interesting happening, Skelton muttered a spell of invisibility then magicked to the other corridor. Once there, he trailed the assassin, careful to keep his steps silent. He had a phasing spell ready to cast in case she spun around and flung a weapon at him.
However, Nyvera stalked through the corridors of the palace with confidence and purpose. When guards confronted her, she dodged their attempts to grab her and slipped back behind them. When they spun around, she disarmed them swiftly and threw them to the floor then kept walking. Another guard came at her, but this time she lowered her stance, and once the man was close enough, she dove for him, swinging her body around his, choking him with her legs. Using the momentum, she threw him to the ground.
Something about the way she fought reminded Skelton of someone he knew, but no matter how hard he tried to recall the name, it slipped from his memory.
Landing on her feet, she rose to her full height, straightened her black tunic, then resumed her walk.
Muttering an unheard apology to the unconscious guards, Skelton continued after Nyvera but remained very careful to stay out of her reach.
Skelton frowned as she led him deeper and deeper into the palace—further and further below ground. As the halls became narrower and darker, Skelton slipped into the shadows. He froze whenever Nyvera looked over her shoulder to see if anyone was following, but his invisibility spell held, so she never saw him. Satisfied, Nyvera turned left into another hall down stairs into the dungeon.
“Why is she coming here? If she wanted to be in the dungeon, all she had to do was interrupt Roskelem once. That’d do the trick.” Puzzled but not about to let that trouble him, Skelton paused outside the dungeon, watching as Nyvera effortlessly disarmed the guards and then scooped up the ring of keys. She stepped over the unconscious men and headed down the dark corridor where torches burned low in the heavy air of this place. The dim light cast a weak glow on the walls—just enough to make the dampness on the walls glitter, but then Nyvera’s shadow passed over it.
Skelton stayed near the entrance of the dungeon. Whoever she was retrieving, they would have to come back this way to leave, and Skelton did not want to get cornered by the assassin and whomever her friend might be. So he crossed his arms, leaned against the doorframe, and listened while he waited.
“Let me out,” one prisoner pleaded as she walked past, but she didn’t even glance his way.
“Please, I beg you,” said another one, reaching through the bars. “I did nothing wrong.”
Still she walked on—her gaze fixed on the door at the back of the dungeon where it was said Roskelem had cast a spell to cut off the magic from all the users who were his prisoners.
As she strolled through the prison toward the door with grace and confidence, she lifted the ring of keys and began flipping through them. By the time she reached the door, she settled on one key, slipped it into the lock, and smiled when it turned the lock. Grabbing the handle, she pulled it open. “Sirros?” She called into the uttermost dungeon as she stepped into the darkness.
“Ah, my dear, you’ve come at last.” Sirros’ smiling voice replied. “Come—this way. I’m down a little further. My two companions have left, and there is no one else to converse with. I do miss an intelligent conversation.”
As he spoke, Nyvera located him then unlocked the door and yanked it open. With one hand on the door and the other on her hip, she tilted her head. “Miss me?”
He emerged from the darkness of his cell with a smile on his face. Despite his time in prison, he had worked magic to keep his face clean shaven except for his goatee. He drew near to her and wrapped a hand around her waist, pulling her close. “Of course, my dear.” He kissed her soundly then pulled back with a smirk. “I’ve missed you greatly. Now, shall we be off?”
Slipping her hand into his, Nyvera led the way. “All the Houses and even band of thieves have been summoned to meet.” She pulled a folded letter out of her tunic and handed it to him as they headed out of the dungeon.
Sirros accepted it and opened it. “Hmm, this should prove to be interesting. Sounds like an ambush.”
“Exactly, and I wouldn’t want to mess up their poor planning.”
Sirros stared at his wife with admiration then shook his head with a grin. Folding the letter again, they came to the door blocking his magic, and he gestured for Nyvera to step through first, and then he followed her. Feeling his magic rush back, Sirros tucked the letter into another dimension then tugged on his tunic, straightening it. He offered her his hand. “No need to keep them waiting.”
She shared a smile with him, and hand-in-hand in the middle of the dungeon, he magicked them away.
Still at the entrance to the dungeon, Skelton let the invisibility spell drop as he gawked at what he had witnessed. Magicking back to his chambers, he ignored Bodulf and went straight to Adonis. “Sirros is here.”
Hearing the name of the lord of Rodden, Adonis straightened from leaning against a pillar. “Here—now?”
Skelton shook his head. “Was. That was why Nyvera came here. She came to free him.”
A bemused smile lifted the corner of Adonis’ lips, but he kept his arms crossed. “And did she succeed?”
“You obviously haven’t seen her fight yet.”
Adonis shrugged, and then both brothers turned to Bodulf. If anyone had answers as to what was happening around here, it would be him.
Bodulf noticed the stares then frowned. He suddenly didn’t want to talk anymore.
7
Aradin and Dustal led Lorrek, Haskel, and Gremina toward the huge gaping mouth of a cave outside the border of the woods and within the side of a rocky hill. As they approached, Aradin gave them several warnings, “As I said, representatives of all the Houses are in there as well as every band of thieves—even those who are solo thieves. Magic users and non-magic users, thieves and assassins—they’re all in here. And with all of you,” he gestured to them, “and your mother, we have royals and commoners...”
“...all in the same place.” Dustal shook his head as he gripped the sword at his side and climbed over another huge boulder to get to the cave, ignoring the pain in his shoulder from the dagger earlier. “Sounds like the beginning of a very bad joke, or the setting of a terrible ambush.”
“And I’m sure you would rather not miss either one,” Gremina said in a dry voice as she narrowed her eyes upon
the thief and then made her way around piles of jagged rocks.
Dustal smirked at the princess and opened his mouth to confirm what she had said, but Aradin cut him off by lifting his hand as a signal for them to stop.
Tilting his head, Aradin listened. Then he lowered his stance closer to the rocks to stay out of sight of anyone coming from the cave. “Someone’s coming.”
“Well, we did trip a magical alarm several paces back.” Lorrek motioned to where they had just come from.
Dustal twisted around to glare at Lorrek, only to wince and bring his hand to his wound. “And you’re just telling us this now?”
Lorrek shrugged. “I saw no need to say anything earlier. They can’t kill me, and I most certainly wouldn’t mind them killing the lot of you.”
“Shut up and sit down.” Haskel went to shove Lorrek to the rocky ground, but his hand passed through him. Lorrek arched a brow at his attempt, tsked his tongue, but sat down anyway.
Ignoring the prince of Cuskelom, Haskel caught his sister’s gaze then nodded. “I’m going on ahead. I’ll alert Mother that we have come—”
“In peace, I hope,” a new voice joined the conversation, and all eyes turned to the couple standing above them on the hill. One was a man who wore a brown trench coat and a fedora on his head. In his hand, he carried a black slender staff.
At his side stood a woman in black clothes with no apparent weapon at her side, but the way the man stood half a step behind this woman alerted Lorrek that she was more dangerous than the man. Lorrek stowed away this information for another time but watched as Haskel looked at them unimpressed.
“Tradek.” Haskel nodded at the man then looked at the woman. “Radim. We’ve come to meet with our mother.”
“We know why you’re here, Prince Haskel, but why is he here?” Radim snapped her dark green eyes at Lorrek.
“Long story,” Dustal muttered under his breath then rubbed the back of his neck, feeling that this situation was about to get out of hand.
The Chronicles of Lorrek Box Set Page 47
