The Chronicles of Lorrek Box Set

by Kelly Blanchard

  Yet Mordora pulled her hands out of his grasp and rose to her feet as shook her head. “But Nirrorm—I cannot leave my father’s kingdom in the control of Countess Verddra.”

  His eyes hardened. He could blame Verddra for so many troubles in his life. “I wouldn’t mind assisting you—and the good King Caleth—in that matter if you agree to stay here so that I may teach you.”

  Mordora observed him, trying to find his motive. “Why would you do that? Why would you be so willing to teach me all that you know?”

  “Because!” He threw his hands in the air then dropped them with shoulders slouched. “Because what else am I to do? People think me mad—unstable. They say I seek my own power, but perhaps...” He turned back to her, hands clasped together. “Perhaps if they see I am trying to help others, if they realize I have the well-being of others in mind, then maybe—just maybe—I won’t be such a bad person in their eyes.” He set his gaze upon her only for his hope to fade and his shoulders to slouch more. “Yet you think ill of me too, do you not, Princess? You believe the rumors—believe what you know not.”

  Tired of being told what to believe, what to think, and what to do, Mordora stepped up to Roskelem and placed her hands on his shoulders and forced him to make eye contact. When he met her gaze, she spoke firmly, “I don’t know what to believe anymore, but if you speak the truth, and if you will help me defeat Verddra and win back Nirrorm, then I will be honored to prove whosoever we must wrong of their interpretation of you.” She offered him a smile. “I think we may work well together.”

  Reaching up to her hand on his shoulders, he touched her soft skin then squeezed and returned the smile. “Indeed, we may.”

  A whirlwind whipped through the room, causing Roskelem and Mordora to step back, and Caleth, Skelton, and Adonis reappeared with Sidra and the two thieves, Aradin and Dustal, as well as two commoners Roskelem didn’t recognize.

  As soon as the wind died, he realized Skelton was talking, “King Roskelem! It appears a prisoner of yours has escaped. You are familiar with Lord Sirros of the House Rodden, are you not? His wife snuck in here, and they magicked away. I was apt to follow them myself, yet I informed my brother of the situation, and he insisted we inform Caleth, but then we had to move immediately so as not to lose the magic trail, which led to a cave, and you’d never guess who we found there...” Skelton trailed off when he realized Roskelem wasn’t listening to him.

  Instead, the king of Serhon glared at his wife, and she returned the sentiment.

  “Roskelem.” She nodded at him then straightened. The regality of a queen draped upon her shoulders as she noted the close proximity of Mordora and Roskelem. “Step away from the princess of Nirrorm.”

  Fury flared within him, and he clenched his fists. “You have no right to command me!”

  “I have every right. You are my husband—”

  “I am your king!” His sharp voice resounded in the room, and he began to pace. “Not to mention, I am the most powerful person in this room, and I can turn you into stone with a mere thought.” Then he spun around to her, snapping his fingers. “Come to think of it, I don’t know why I didn’t do that sooner!” He gathered the spell around himself ready to turn Sidra into stone, but Caleth hit him with a blast of magic.

  The blast knocked Roskelem off his feet and sent him flying across the floor.

  Mordora gasped and looked between the different sorcerers then went to help Roskelem to his feet and scowled at Caleth. “What is wrong with you?”

  “Oh, don’t tell me you actually believe him!” Skelton reached out to her, only to withdraw when her glare settled on him.

  “It is because of people like you that he is the person he is. You’ve judged him, called him a coward, and no one ever truly cared about how deeply their words might hurt. If one person cared at all, if one person showed any kindness, perhaps he would not be the man he is today.”

  Sidra shook her head at Mordora’s words. “Princess Mordora, you don’t understand—”

  “I don’t care.” Mordora’s dark green eyes flashed with fury, and she straightened, standing half a step in front of the hunched over Roskelem. She crossed her arms. “Now go—all of you.”

  “What of Nirrorm?” Adonis gestured as if toward her kingdom, and she set her glare on him.

  “Roskelem has agreed to rise up against Countess Verddra.” She then landed her gaze on the king of Athorim and nodded. “Your task here has been accomplished. Now leave.”

  “Princess—” Skelton tried to reach out to her.

  “Leave!”

  Without further argument, Caleth turned to the others of his group. Then before anyone could blink, they were back in Athorim.

  Dustal and Aradin panicked with a shout at the sudden change of location and loaded arrows in their bows—ready to shoot anything that moved in this desert, but Skelton still stared with his hands still partly stretched out to Mordora. Seeing her gone, and their location altogether different, he sighed and lowered his arms.

  Adonis clasped his hand on his brother’s shoulder then looked to where Caleth conversed quietly with Sidra.

  Feeling the hand on his shoulder, Skelton sighed and looked up at his brother. “Now what?”

  Adonis shook his head. “Now we wait.”

  No one knew what they were waiting for, but they knew it could not be anything good.

  13

  Therth stood outside the room Verddra had given to Heldon. Though Therth had been in the kingdom of Nirrorm for over a day, this was the first chance he had to see his cousin, and he was nervous. He recalled how Honroth had said that something terrible had happened to Heldon, and after working with Verddra for the last several years, Therth knew exactly what she was capable of. He was surprised the Countess gave no argument when he showed up and demanded to see Heldon.

  Taking a deep breath, Therth knocked on the door then listened closely for an answer. As expected, he heard nothing, so he reached for the handle and pushed it open. “Heldon, it is I—Therth.” When he still received no response, he pushed the door further open and glimpsed around, noting the traditional setup of a Nirrorian guest suite with warm colors of dark red, blue, green, and black to offset the natural cold climate of this mountainous kingdom. Thick rugs covered the stone floor, and a fire burned in the hearth, and Therth noticed a silhouette huddled in front of the fire with a cloak on his shoulder. “Heldon.”

  Hearing his name, Heldon sighed but finally lifted his gaze—dark bags under his bloodshot eyes. The dancing shadows from the fire gave him a hollow and pale appearance. “Therth.” His voice sounded heavy as if he had not spoken for several days.

  With a frown, Therth stepped toward him. “I went to Cuskelom.” Mention of his homeland made a spark appear in Heldon’s eyes, but Heldon soon ducked his head and glanced back to the fire, so Therth went on. “Erita managed to slip through Verddra’s spells, and she told us you were in trouble.”

  Heldon chuckled but said nothing. Therth drew closer. He sensed a wounded spirit within his cousin, but he didn’t understand why or what might have happened. Heldon was strong, sly, and clever. His only flaw was being too honest, but it had often served him well in the past. Therth wondered if that had something to do with what was wrong now.

  “What happened?” Therth moved closer, as if approach-ing a skittish animal.

  Without saying a word, Heldon lifted his right hand for his cousin to see.

  Therth noted the thick bandages wrapped around the arm and the wrist, but his eyes widened when he realized only a stump remained where the hand had been. “What happened?” He marched up to Heldon and reached to grab his arm but hesitated.

  Heldon withdrew his hand and held it close to his stomach. “The handblade—I wouldn’t take it off.” He cast his gaze to the flickering flames of fire. “They thought I was going to escape.” He gave a dry chuckle. “And I almost did, but they cut off my hand.”

  “Verddra.” Therth narrowed his eyes as he drew back his shou
lders and crossed his arms, but Heldon shook his head.

  “It was done without her consent or command. She almost killed the guard who did it.”

  “You mean she didn’t kill him or command it?” With his arms crossed, Therth braced himself, forcing himself not to turn and storm out of the room to seek Verddra and claim vengeance. “Which guard did it?”

  “No, Therth.” Heldon wagged his head then looked up at his cousin. Exhaustion—heaviness of the soul—stirred within his hazel eyes as if he had had much time to think and reflect on his circumstances. Then his brows furrowed, and he frowned as he considered Therth. “Wait—why are you here? Erita said you were in Cuskelom.”

  Therth nodded his head then rubbed the back of his neck as he began to pace in front of the fire. “I was, but Honroth asked me to check on you. Apparently Erita told Inecha that you were in trouble. I never thought...” Unable to verbalize the condition of Heldon’s hand, Therth simply gestured to it then dropped his hand and sighed. “I’m going to talk with Verddra. Maybe she can...heal your hand or give you a new one.”

  Before Therth finished speaking, Heldon was shaking his head then leaned back in his chair, tugging the cloak around his shoulders closer to himself. He looked up at his cousin. “She healed my hand—stopped the bleeding immediately after she discovered what had happened, but she cannot give me a new hand.”

  Therth grimaced. “Surely there is something that can be done—technology from Jechorm or something.”

  Heldon nodded. “There is one thing.” Looking over his shoulder to make sure that no one else was eavesdropping, he scooted to the edge of his chair and leaned closer to Therth and spoke with a low voice. “The handblade—Father used to tell us of its different uses and abilities. It’s not merely a means of travel or a powerful sword. You know the gauntlet it forms before the sword emerges?” When Therth nodded, Heldon went on, “I hear it can form whether or not there is a hand, and it responds to mental commands just like a real hand. If you can get my handblade back, maybe it will replace my hand.” He lifted the stump of his hand to make his point.

  This sounded good and logical, so Therth nodded. “Very well. Where is your handblade now?”

  Heldon drew his hand back to himself again and lowered his gaze to the fire once more. “Verddra has it.”

  “Verddra.” Therth’s eyes hardened as he said the bitter name. He had no loyalty to that woman now—only contempt. Spinning around, he stalked away, but Heldon lifted his head, startled by Therth’s abrupt departure.

  “Where are you going?”

  Therth didn’t look back or stop. “To get your handblade back!”

  The library of the palace offered warmth with its grand corridors lined by shelves and shelves filled with books and scrolls, but Therth felt the empty, cold Nirrorian wind when he stepped into the massive room. His gaze went up to the high ceiling, and he saw that books lined every inch of the walls on the multiple levels of the library, but he also noticed how crowded the library was today.

  A boy reached toward a shelf and summoned a book—far from his reach—into his hand. A woman walked between the bookcases with a huge pile of books levitating behind her and following her as she meandered through the library, but then she paused, found another book, and added it to the stack. A man sat amidst a mountain of books and waved his hand over the opened book before him, turning the pages too quickly for anyone to read.

  “When King Wordan restricted magic in Nirrorm, he gathered all books containing knowledge of magic, and sealed it within this library.” Verddra’s voice came from behind him, and he turned to see the woman, who looked around, pleased with her handiwork. Then she looked at Therth and smiled. “Now I have reopened it to the public and allow all magic users to come and learn what they will.”

  “Without care of the spells the books may contain?” He gave those around them a sharp look then stepped closer to Verddra and spoke in a quiet voice. “I know enough about magic to know some spells can be detrimental.”

  Her smile shifted from genuine to amused, and then she gestured for him to join her as she led him through the labyrinth of books and knowledge, up the stairs to another level, then out to a covered balcony in the night air. With a muttered spell, a fur cloak appeared on Verddra’s shoulders, and she pulled it close for warmth against the wintery weather of Nirrorm, and then she locked eyes with Therth. “You are troubled, my friend. Why? Have you not found what you are looking for?”

  Therth wanted to snap at her and tell her he still hadn’t found Loroth, but after some thought, he realized she had led him to the forest where Vixen beat him up, which allowed him to switch places with Theran and thus learn from Vixen what had happened to his brother. In that roundabout way he supposed he had Verddra to thank for discovering the truth of Loroth’s demise, but that did not excuse what had happened to Heldon.

  “Heldon—his handblade, you have it.” He set his eyes on her. “I want it back.” He held his hand out to her.

  She looked at the hand then up at Therth’s face. She nodded but then turned to face the capitol of Nirrorm, which now teemed with sparks and flares, laughter and music in the streets with liberated magic. “Look at this place.” She gestured toward the city below. Men and women gifted with magic had been slow to come to the palace since she overtook rule from Wordan, but she greeted each one that came with open arms and a welcoming feast. Nothing was held back from them, and word spread fast. “All these users of magic have found a safe haven here.”

  “At what cost? You killed King Wordan and did not even give him the honor of warrior’s death.”

  “Dynasties fall all the time.” She dismissed his words with a flick of her hand over her shoulder, but Therth refused to back down.

  “You killed innocent people.”

  Finally, she turned to him to face him head on. “And you were at my side the entire time.”

  Therth stiffened when he heard this. As much as he wished otherwise, he knew it was true. “But I have changed now. I see the folly of your ways, and I demand you restore Nirrorm to its rightful rulers.”

  A puff of mist formed in the cold air in front of her mouth when Verddra sighed, and she hugged her cloak closer to herself and nestled in the warm fur as she stared over the city walls to the black horizon. “You just came from Cuskelom, did you not?” She needed no answer to confirm what she already knew. “Yet you did not come straight to me or to Heldon, and I suppose your own guilt made you meander through the streets before you finally came to the palace, did you not?” This time she looked at him. “During the time in which you sulked in your thoughts, did you know Cuskelom was attacked by an entire Jechorian force?”

  Careful to keep his face neutral, Therth couldn’t help but narrow his eyes. “Yes, a Rakessat attacked again. I was there. I saw Inecha die.”

  At the mention of Inecha’s death, Verddra grew very still. She hesitated then searched his face. “Inecha...is dead?”

  “You didn’t know.” Therth folded his arms against the bitter, biting wind and drew in a sigh. “The Rakessat killed her. Is that not the attack you meant?”

  Verddra shook her head. “No—no, it is not.” She turned to face him fully. “Jechorm attacked again—this time with a full force of warriors and machines. They attack strategically, aiming where it would spread Honroth’s men very thin—both in the East and in the North. It is men and magic against machines.”

  Therth bowed his head. “And my cousin Honroth—is he well?”

  “Exhausted from the constant fighting, but he lives.”

  Now Therth wanted to return to Cuskelom as quickly as possible to aid his cousin, but he would not leave Heldon this time. “The handblade.” He snapped his glare up at Verddra. “I need it. Now.”

  She dismissed his demand with a sharp gesture. “It’s a simple bracelet.”

  His eyes hardened, and he made a fist of his outstretched hand. “You know it is more than that.”

  Turning her back to the railing an
d the darkness of the night, she focused on Therth’s face. “I know exactly what it is and what it does, and that is why I was so disappointed that Prince Heldon refused to cooperate. I was most upset with the turn of events regarding his hand. You have my utmost apologies regarding that. It is unfortunate and had not been my intention at all.”

  “Wait.” Therth cut her off by lifting his hand, and he gave her a hard look. “You wanted Heldon to cooperate?”

  She gave him a chiding look. With a quick movement, she reached out and phased her hand through his then locked eyes with him again and smirked. “Do you really think I could not have gotten the handblade off at anytime I desired?” She shook her head and pulled back. “I wanted his help—”

  “You should have asked for it.”

  “There is a time and place for everything, Therth.” She slid him a patient look. “Even the best laid plans of men can be disrupted.”

  Therth did not like any of this. This was the Verddra he knew—the one who had a purpose for everything and offered reasonable explanations and consolations for past griefs. As much as Vixen and Honroth wished to view her as purely evil, Therth knew after years of working with her that it was not that simple. He had seen glimpses of her softer side—well-intended and good—but then he had seen her cold, calculated motives and actions. She helped those who helped her, but when they outlived their usefulness, she did away with them, and Therth had the feeling Heldon and himself were reaching the end of their usefulness for Verddra.

  He had to tread with care.