The Chronicles of Lorrek Box Set

by Kelly Blanchard

  Ceras shrugged. “Not sure.” She folded her arms. “It’s not like I planned to run into her. I just saw her around a bit and remembered what Asalda said about her last visit here and how she interrupted an operation. I decided to knock out the security officers before they had a chance to see her on their monitors. I had no idea she was going to the control center.”

  Still—Vixen was here somewhere. Even if she was not part of this ragtag group determined to eliminate the Crucibles, Drathan knew not to underestimate Vixen. He had seen her work during her time as an assassin, and she was one of the very few who had ever stolen his own target from him. He respected her for that but preferred not to cross paths with her for the time being.

  He locked eyes with Ceras. “I’m going to have to inform Operations of this development.”

  “You mean like how you’re going to tell them of that agreement you and all the other Hunters just made?” Ceras flashed him a smirk. “Now, as much as I would love to stick around and chat, and how I would love to remain on the same side as you and all the others in the Crucibles, I really must go. My daughter is out there, and I’m not going to be on the side opposing her.”

  Drathan frowned as he watched her head for the door. “Your daughter?”

  Turning around, she continued to walk backward toward the door and spread her arms out. “Why do you think I came here in the first place?” She shook her head then turned back around but paused at the door and looked over her shoulder. “The Guardians are real people, Drathan. My daughter was one of them.”

  She left Drathan to his thoughts and smiled as she headed toward this new group of thieves and assassins. They watched her warily as she approached with confidence and a smirk, but she waved away their uncertainty. “I’m joining you because you,” she pointed at Ardenn, “and I have a lot to discuss.” Then she smiled at Mel’Nath. “Hello, Mel’Nath—good to see you again.”

  Mel’Nath greeted her with an awkward smile but then saw the way Ardenn stared at him in disbelief. “Listen, it’s not what you think—” He was cut off when Fawn magicked them out of the old gothic building into a newer, though abandoned and incomplete, skyscraper on the edge of the main city.

  “We’ll be safe here.” Fawn watched while everyone took in their surroundings, checking the views and the sights for any who could target them from different angles. They inspected the insecure catwalks spanning from one side of the building to the other with massive drops and the series of other catwalks crisscrossing each other below.

  Plastic sheets hung across the empty windows, and Haskel pushed it aside with his finger and looked down—down, down, and he swallowed hard. It was a long drop, and there were no safety measures to ensure no one accidentally walked out of the window. Though it was a danger, he supposed it could also be a measure of security in and of itself, so he let the plastic fall back into place and turned back as everyone returned to where Fawn stood watching them.

  She nodded to them again. “We’re safe here.”

  11

  After Fawn briefed everyone on their assignments, they all went their separate ways to try and find a place to sleep for the night. Tomorrow their work would begin. In a few days the Guardian Games would begin. The Hunters had some time before the Crucible began.

  There was no need to keep watch, Fawn reassured them. No one came to this section of Jechorm since a plague swept through. Haskel and Gremina finally retired, giving Lorrek some peace at last. Mel’Nath tried to sleep, but Ardenn spent hours talking quietly with her mother, Ceras. Both exchanged stories of their lives as thieves and assassins. Aden, Tobias, and Lyston slept, but Kilroth sat awake, carving marks into his staff. Nyvera crouched beside him and watched his work before quietly inquiring, “What do those mean?”

  “My brother and I have had frequent encounters—few were pleasant, but I record each one on this staff as a reminder.” He held it up to the faint moonlight for Nyvera to see the many small markings.

  She reached out and touched them. “Beautiful.”

  While their conversation shifted from Drathan to Vixen, Sirros walked past them to Wol’van, who sat on the edge of a ledge, sharpening his knives and keeping a look out. Sirros lowered himself to sit near him but with an eye toward the activity within the room—Lorrek more specifically.

  While the two men spoke, Fawn focused on Lorrek, who knelt in the center of the room, weaving through the realm of magic. She reached out to his mind. “I’m sorry.” When he opened his eyes and locked gazes with her, she looked to the floor for a moment but then rose to her feet and approached him, still communicating through magic. “I know you don’t understand any of this. I know you have questions, and I wish I could help you find those answers.”

  Lorrek sat back on his heels and looked up at her. “Answer me this: why are the Guardians so important to you?”

  “They are only one piece of the puzzle.” She sank to her knees in front of him. “This is much bigger than simply the Guardians, than Jechorm, or any of us. Together it makes sense. The plan is perfect.”

  Lorrek narrowed his eyes, not liking the sound of this. “What plan?”

  Fawn sighed. “My mother and I disagree on much, but we agree on one thing—freedom. She believes those born with magic have the right to use their magic regardless of their place or station in life. I believe any human being has the right to live as a human—whether a magic user or not. My opinion, of course, clashes with my mother’s, since mine involves non-magic users as well as magic users, so we came to a truce. She will free as many magic users as possible, and I shall free as many Guardians as possible, and in the end, they shall come together to fight. We will step back and let all things unfold.”

  “You will save the Guardians from the Games and the Crucible only to place them in a larger arena?” Lorrek’s blue eyes flashed with anger, and he straightened his shoulders but did not rise to his feet. He leaned close to Fawn and spoke to her in a low tone, so only she would hear. “Have you no conscience?”

  She glanced around to make sure none were listening and then whispered back, “This is for the best.”

  Shaking his head, Lorrek leaned back. “You play god. You should not meddle with such things as fate and others’ lives. And what of the non-magic users and the non-Guardians? In this fight of yours, where will they stand? What will become of them?”

  “Why does that concern you?” Fawn searched his face. “Your memory was taken by a man who was wrongly given magic. If that had never happened, you would have been spared such grief.”

  For a long moment, Lorrek stared at her and then decided. “I may remember nothing of my life, but this one thing resonates in my mind, so it must be true...” He leaned forward again and used his voice, “Life is never fair. All that has happened and will happen has been predestined. We cannot change it.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Actually, Milady,” he smiled at her, “I do.” Then he tilted his head, as if considering her. “Tell me, are you not so powerful that you cannot be taken by surprise?” He saw the slightest narrowing of her eyes that confirmed his question, so he nodded. He opened his palm, conjuring an orb, and marveled at it. “Even with all this mystic power, we are still powerless in life. I have heard the prince and his sister’s thoughts.” He glimpsed at the sleeping forms of Haskel and Gremina. “They fear me—think that I am powerful, yet I could not prevent the loss of my memory or restrain myself from committing the hideous crime that earned me such a sentence.” Closing his fist, he extinguished the orb and locked eyes with Fawn. “So do not think you can play god with those less gifted than you, for it will all come to naught.”

  Fawn half expected Lorrek to rise to his feet and magick away altogether, yet there he remained where he knelt. She gave him a curious look. “Yet here you stay.”

  He nodded, as if surrendering. “I seek the assassin, Vixen, but there are those here who wish to hinder me.” He shifted his gaze to Sirros and Wol’van then to Nyvera and the
thieves with Aden. “Therefore I will go along with this...side assignment in order to find my target, but once I locate her, do not expect me to linger and aid you any longer.”

  Fawn rose to her feet and looked down at him. “We are not that different, Lorrek.”

  “Perhaps not, Milady.” His gaze followed her as she stared down at him then repeated more to himself than to her, “Perhaps not.” With that, he stood, bowed to her, then walked away.

  She watched him go. A strange heaviness lingered on her heart. Ever since waking from her long sleep, she felt as if she was a stranger in this life. The only familiar thing to her was Lorrek, and she assumed that was due to their few conversations in the magic realm before she woke. Yet he did not remember that. He did not understand.

  She felt as if she were a player in a massive game of chess with much to lose against an equally powerful foe.

  She had hoped Lorrek would understand, but now she was utterly alone.

  12

  Caleth stared at Roskelem as they stood in the throne room of Serhon. “You should be held accountable for your actions against Athorim.”

  Roskelem rolled his eyes as he lounged on his throne. “I freed your sister, did I not? I didn’t turn her to stone.” He motioned to the statue of his cousin, Count Eldak, on the side of the room. “And I did not harm her.”

  Caleth clenched his fists but willed himself to remain where he stood. “You wrongfully imprisoned her.”

  “And I let her go!” Then Roskelem added under his breath, “As soon as that fool, Lorrek, showed his face.”

  Mordora’s attention sharpened when she heard Lorrek’s name, and she straightened. “Lorrek...he’s alive?” She knew he was alive, but she still couldn’t say anything regarding it because of Lorrek’s spell on her, but now she wasn’t the only who knew?

  However, before Roskelem could respond, a gust of wind whipped through the room, and Adonis appeared. Adonis paused to take in the situation, and then he set his gaze upon Caleth and marched up to him. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but we need to talk.”

  Caleth narrowed his eyes and clenched his fists even tighter. He said nothing to Adonis but merely stared at him, as if daring him to cross him.

  Adonis knew Caleth was powerful, and he knew he should be afraid, but he also knew Caleth would want to hear what he had to say. Adonis stepped closer and lowered his voice. “There is more going on than we realized, and I think you would want to know exactly what Roskelem did to your sister before you pass judgment.”

  “Tell me,” Caleth commanded with a dangerously quiet voice, yet Adonis shook his head.

  “Not here. Come.” He offered Caleth his hand to magick him away.

  Caleth stared at the hand, pressed his lips together, and then magicked himself away.

  Adonis watched him go then looked at Mordora. “Princess...”

  She lifted her chin. “I will stay.”

  He stared at her a moment longer then shook his head and vanished after Caleth.

  Mordora saw him leave, and she hesitated then looked at Roskelem.

  The king of Serhon sat on his throne, staring at her. He had no desire for Caleth’s presence, but Princess Mordora was a different matter. He sensed the magic in her—dark and tainted, a sharp contrast from Caleth’s brilliant and bright magical presence. Previously, when Roskelem had dealings with Nirrorm, he had never noticed the princess, but now he saw how beautiful she was and how she was just coming to grasp her true potential of power, and she had much power.

  Scooting to the edge of his throne in order to appear less regal and more ordinary, Roskelem gestured for Mordora to draw near. “Come, come, Princess. We are equals here. I must only put up a tough aura for Caleth’s sake. He thinks himself all powerful, but you...” He snapped his fingers and smiled, “You don’t, and I appreciate that.”

  He rose to his feet and stepped down from the dais. “Are you hungry? Thirsty? Being magicked here and there can be draining.” He reached into a different dimension and pulled out a pitcher of wine, a goblet, and a tray of fresh fruit and presented it to her with a pleased smile. “Ah, here you go. With magic, who needs servants?” At a gesture of his hand, a table and chairs appeared, and Roskelem set the refreshments on the table then he sat down as well. “Come, please sit.”

  When he saw her hesitate, he leaned forward, setting his forearms on the table, and gave her an understanding look. “You’ve heard many horrible things about me, haven’t you? They say I’m greedy, power hungry, and absolutely self-centered, don’t they? But the truth is everything that I do is for Serhon. You would do the same for Nirrorm, wouldn’t you?”

  The mention of her kingdom yanked her out of all her doubts, and Mordora straightened and approached the table where he sat at the head. However, she did not sit down but braced her fingers on the table as she considered this man. “They say you are responsible for those statues in the field—that they were all magic users who had defied you.” Her gaze shot to the single statue in the throne room, who looked to have prepared to fight for his life but had no way to defend himself against magic.

  She returned her gaze—now softened—back to Roskelem. “I want to understand. I do not think you are evil, but I do not understand.” She lowered herself to the chair. “Why do you do this?”

  With a sigh, Roskelem drew back. He popped a green grape into his mouth, but it tasted bitter, like magic. Still, he kept his face straight as he chewed it and contemplated Mordora’s questions. No one had taken the time to question his motives, to discover his true intentions, so he rarely gave it thought. He did what he had to do to keep the peace, but now she had asked him why, and that made him think.

  “It started off incredibly simple. When I was...younger, I was not half as ruthless as I am today. Some even called me a coward—my wife was one of those people.”

  “That’s terrible.” Mordora shook her head.

  Roskelem nodded. “It pained me greatly, so I sought out ways to build my courage. I visited sorcerers, enchantresses, witches, priests, monks, healers, and did all I could, but I always returned empty. My search for courage damaged our treasury, so when we were attacked, we did not have the resources to fight back. My wife reprimanded me in front of the whole High Court for my carelessness, and she said she would find a way to defend Serhon without me, so she left.” He motioned toward the door then shook his head and drew his arm back to himself. “And she hasn’t been back since.”

  “But you’ve changed.” Mordora snatched an apple off the tray the looked around for a knife to slice it with.

  Noticing her search, Roskelem conjured a small knife. “Yes.” He slid it—handle first—down the table to her. “I have. Jechorm presented me the opportunity I needed to change.”

  “Magic.”

  “Exactly.” Roskelem nodded then watched her begin to peel the apple. “Yet it took more than six months for a magical infusion to be successful, and it was abruptly cut short.” With his hand resting on the table, he curled his fingers into a fist as he thought back upon Vixen’s sudden interruption of the procedure. “If she hadn’t moved, hadn’t woken, I would have even more magic, and then no one would ever doubt me.” However, knowing he could not go back for another magical infusion, and that he had done what he could to get rid of Vixen, Roskelem shifted his attention to the princess, who seemed preoccupied.

  Though she slowly and jaggedly peeled the skin of the apple with the knife, her thoughts drifted elsewhere. Touching her mind with magic, Roskelem heard slight echoes of her thoughts, “He wasn’t even born with magic, but he controls it so well. How does he do that?” She shot him a glance. “How can I do that?”

  At a snap of his finger, he peeled the apple completely, causing Mordora to gasp and drop it, but Roskelem deftly caught it with magic and tsked his tongue as he shook his head. “No need to ruin a perfectly good apple, my dear.” At his gesture, the fruit floated toward her, and Mordora hesitated but then plucked it out of the air.

  �
�How...” She turned the apple around in her hands and saw its flawlessness. She shifted her gaze back to Roskelem. “How did you do that?”

  “Would you like to know?” He smiled. “I could teach you. It’s all very simple.” Opening his hand, palm up, he floated all the apple peelings to himself and pieced together the appearance of an apple with just the peelings. “Just a few directions of your thoughts and use of your imagination, and you can create something just as beautiful.” Once all pieced together, he directed it back to her.

  She reached out, expecting for the peelings to crumble at her touch, but she looked at him, startled, when her fingers touched a real apple.

  He chuckled. “Don’t tell me you are surprised, my dear. That is simply what I do, and I am capable of much—much more. So what do you say? Care to learn magic under my tutelage?”

  Mordora opened her mouth to respond but found she knew not what to say. The red apple was too perfect in her hand—too whole, almost unbelievable. Closing her eyes, she took a cleansing breath then dipped into the realm of magic and opened her eyes. In her hand the apple glowed green—entirely fused with magic.

  She looked up at him and saw grave disappointment in his eyes, and at the gesture of his hand, the apple vanished, and the peelings crumbled to the table. “Illusions, illusions, my dear, they are everywhere.”

  “Are you an illusion?” Her question startled him, and he looked at her, taken aback. She sat straight in her chair and nodded. “You—all this cowardice and greedy and powerful facade...is that all an illusion? I think it is. I think you are masterful in hiding your true intentions, and you allow others to think you are weak because they will always underestimate you. When they least expect it, you can strike at them with one blow and conquer them.”

  The more she spoke, the more a cunning smile lifted Roskelem’s lips. She worded it perfectly. All his lack of courage had merely been a show, and here was someone who truly understood. He couldn’t stop grinning. “My dear, you understand me better than anyone I have ever encountered!” He rose to his feet and motioned at the table, causing it to vanish then approached her and took her hands into his. “Will you stay? They think me so unstable and cruel, but if you are here, perhaps they will see my softer side and realize that what I do is only ever for the good of Serhon. If you do this for me, I will teach you all you ever wanted to learn about magic!”