“My name is Xantherus,” the brown-robed man said, turning to them. “Baron Wallace has enlisted my services to benefit his people. And as such, I am not for hire…unlike some.” Xantherus looked pointedly at the captain whose clenched jaw prevented any retort.
“I am,” Xantherus continued, “wholly uninterested in any personal vendetta against others of my kind. The politics of the Far Isles are incredibly complicated. You simple folk could never comprehend the danger of a single misstep. The wrong choice can cost a sorcerer more than his life.” The sorcerer’s eyes focused on each of them in turn, pausing when he got to Falin.
His regard sent another chill through her.
“We don’t want to ‘hire’ you, as you put it,” Khoury said. His contemptuous glance lingered with curiosity on a tome that rested open near his hand. “What we need is information about who or what we’re dealing with.”
Xantherus crossed to where Khoury stood and snapped the book closed. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said.
“Sidonius,” the captain said.
“In the alley it seemed you knew him,” Falin added.
Xantherus frowned. “Indeed I do,” he acknowledged with a rueful sigh. “Or did. Still, I cannot help you. I have already jeopardized my position by assisting you as much as I have.”
The wizard’s eyes returned to Falin and when he took a step closer, her hand instinctively went to her sword. He stopped, hands raised in a peaceful gesture, and smiled. “I will not harm you, child.”
Falin spat on the ground. “I am a Huntress of Foresthaven. Not a child.” She glared at the old man, feeling her upper lip tighten into a snarl.
He paused, then chuckled and bowed his head. “My mistake. Tell me, Huntress, what did my compatriot say to you?”
Khoury’s head whipped around as if struck. “You spoke with him?”
Falin shuddered at the thought that Khoury might think she’d betrayed Cara. “He asked if we’d met. Then he said that I…solved a puzzle.” She shook her head in confusion. Nothing he had said made sense other than the comment about being unwanted, and she wasn’t about to share that. Then she remembered something else. “But he did call me ‘Daughter.’”
Archer and Khoury looked at each other in surprise, but Xantherus was unaffected.
“Is it true, sorcerer?” Falin asked the Islander. “Am I his—” She was so disgusted she couldn’t say the word.
“Don’t you know?” Archer asked.
“No,” she admitted, rubbing her face with sooty hands. “I was a foundling. Sorchia never told me my parentage. Always thought it was because she didn’t know, but perhaps she was trying to spare me.”
“Bah!” Xantherus scoffed. “I am quite positive Sidonius could not be your father.” He grabbed the flask from the desk by its slender neck and poured red liquid into a cup. Dark as blood, the faint odor of berries tickled Falin’s nose.
“He called Cara his daughter, too,” Archer said.
“You mean the girl he took?” The wind wizard took a sip of the wine. “Impossible.”
“But she lived with him in the Black Keep,” Bradan said.
“The Black Keep, you say?” Xantherus rubbed his chin. “That is interesting. However, it is quite impossible for either girl to be his daughter.”
Seeing nothing but skeptical looks, Xantherus continued with exasperation. “A sorcerer’s power is greatly diminished by relations with women.” He gestured at Falin’s lower half, averting his eyes as he did so. He sat at the desk, placing the cup next to the flask, unconsciously straightening the parchments in front of him. “I find it hard to believe he has kept a woman at his side for so many years since they are known to sap a man’s power, even at a distance. But Sidonius is certainly celibate, like all practicing members of the Elemental Arts.”
For a moment, no one spoke.
“He said he’d be back,” Falin said, feeling hot and sick. She looked up at Archer, unable to hide her desperation. “He said I’m next.” Suddenly, she couldn’t breathe. Her thoughts went fuzzy and the stuffy room felt even smaller. She wobbled to the desk and plunked herself down in a spare chair facing Xantherus, closing her eyes against a wave of vertigo.
“Here, drink this.” The sorcerer’s voice startled her. When she opened her eyes, he was standing next to her pouring a second drink from the flask. “A bit of wine will set you right.” He handed her the ceramic cup, and she stared for a moment at the blood-red liquid inside. Her stomach churned, but she drained the cup in one gulp. The wine burned her throat as it coursed down. It had a wonderful warming effect, and she breathed a bit easier. She closed her eyes again and opened them to find…
She was in a sparsely furnished room with dusty black walls. Blinking bleary eyes, she found herself on a disturbingly familiar pallet, plain wood, no mattress, and the blanket thrown over her was threadbare and gray. Pain pounded in her head. She rose and went to the door. It was locked, not exactly unexpected. Going to the high window, she stretched on tiptoes and looked out. Her heart sank at the endless vista of green tundra to the west and black peaks in the north.
It was like she’d never left. The bolts slid home behind her, and she turned to see the door open. The man from the alley stood there.
“Welcome home, Daughter. I’ve missed you,” he said almost gently.
This wasn’t her usual nightmare. This wasn’t how it went. And somehow that made it all the more frightening. Her heart raced. As he moved toward her, she retreated until her back pressed to the wall.
Noting her hesitance, he shook his head. “Don’t worry. It’s not yet time to die. But soon, soon I will have everything I need.” He smiled then, a hungry satisfied smile. “And then this farce can finally end.”
Falin gasped and jerked to her feet. The cup in her hand tumbled forgotten to the floor and broke with the sharp crack of shattered porcelain. She still saw the cell and the sorcerer smiling at her. But there was also the ghostly image of the cluttered room. Was someone calling her name? Her breath came in gulps as she swayed on her feet, unbalanced, divided.
Unfamiliar panic inundated her reason. All she could think of was escape. “Help me.” Her voice was little more than a strangled cough. “Get me out!” She stumbled toward the door and bumped into the ghostly desk, which was substantial enough to stop her. Unable to distinguish between the visions and reality, she turned in a circle.
“Falin! Snap out of it!” Khoury’s familiar growl snagged her attention; she could see him now though his form wasn’t quite clear.
“We have to get out,” she said, her arms flailing for a door that wasn’t there. She felt him grab her arm, turning her to look at him.
“Calm down,” he said, giving her a small shake. “You’re okay.”
But she could feel the weight of the black stones pressing down on her. She smelled the dust and magic and heat. Trembling in his firm grasp, her eyes darted wildly. “He’s coming for me!” Her voice sounded weak to her ears, just like Cara. “Why did I run?” The whining tone grated on her nerves, but she couldn’t seem to stop the cascade of emotions.
“Falin, you’re safe. I’ve got you,” the captain said.
But she thrashed in his grip. She had to flee. She clenched her hands tightly; her nails driving crescent-moons into her palms and the panic receded a little at the pain. Xantherus’s room gained substance, and she could see the cluster of men staring at her. But the other castle threatened to pull her back.
“Hit me,” she whispered in a voice that still didn’t sound like her own.
“What?” Khoury froze, startled.
She gathered her courage, trying to center herself. “Hit me. Hard,” she said firmly, finally sounding like herself again. When she looked at him, she felt the tears on her lashes and hoped he would understand.
In the next instant, he struck her with a sharp slap, whipping her head around. A snarl erupted from her lips as her world narrowed to the spot of pain on her cheek but the anger severed her
connection to whatever insanity had sought to claim her.
The captain stood poised to strike again. She held up her hand to stop him. “I’m better now. Thanks.”
She didn’t notice Xantherus coming up behind her until a gentle breeze caressed her cheek. He muttered in low tones and placed a hand on her forehead. Blessed calm cloaked her frayed nerves.
“A simple protection spell,” he said, withdrawing his hand.
“Thank you.” Falin took a deep breath and straightened her clothes to cover her embarrassment.
“I don’t usually cast on people directly, mind you. Nasty business.” The sorcerer shook his head and wiped his hand on his robes in disgust.
“What happened?” Khoury asked, taking a step back as Falin gently rubbed her sore cheek.
“I don’t know. One minute I was sitting in that chair and the next, I was somewhere else.”
“But you didn’t leave,” Archer said, his face full of concern.
“I couldn’t see you though. I was in a castle, but not this one,” she said.
“Did you recognize it?” Bradan asked.
“Yes, I’ve dreamt of it. Not dreams really—nightmares.” She sank back down in the chair, exhausted.
Bradan squatted down in front of her. “You have nightmares?” he asked.
It was shameful that a Huntress would have nightmares. Only children feared their dreams. “Just one. The same one I’ve had since I was little.”
But this one hadn’t been exactly that. This one had been different.
“And just now you went there?” he continued. “In your head?”
Falin nodded.
Xantherus watched the interchange with interest and then poured her another cup of wine. She took it with gratitude.
“What are you getting at, Bradan?” Archer dragged another chair over and sat down heavily. Khoury leaned against the desk.
“Cara’s back at the Keep,” Bradan said.
“What are you talking about?” Khoury’s asked, his patience thinner than usual. “By horse it would take more than three days to get there.”
“But he didn’t go by horse, did he, Xantherus?” There was a note of accusation in Bradan’s voice.
“What?” The wind wizard was taken aback.
Bradan stood, took the piece of rubble from his shirt and tossed it on the desk. It wasn’t a bit of broken brick as Falin had thought. It was a hunk of crystal, burnt and cracked, inside a setting of iron inscribed with markings.
Xantherus picked up the stone cautiously and rubbed soot from the ruined setting. “Gerta,” he read, squinting. “Kaluzrega gerta.”
“What does that mean?” Bradan asked.
“This is a gate crystal.” The sorcerer’s voice held obvious awe. “But that can’t be.”
“So, Sidonius found a way to go straight from that alley to his Keep?” Archer asked, incredulous.
“No,” Xantherus answered quickly. “I know of no magic that could travel so far. It takes three priests of the Dark Guild working together to breach a single wall to access their hidden temple with these. Whatever Sidonius did, he did alone. To think anyone could travel that far in a single spell is—”
“Impossible?” Falin offered.
“Preposterous,” Xantherus said hotly, then hesitated. “But, in theory…” He held the blackened crystal to the light, turning it, examining carefully.
“This isn’t quartz,” he murmured, “which is what the Dark Guild uses so it can’t be one of theirs.”
He licked his thumb and rubbed soot from the markings. “And see here.” He pointed to the markings. “This enchantment shouldn’t work. These runes are a melding of two ancient languages from half a world apart.”
He inspected the broken crystal so intensely Falin wondered if he’d forgotten the four of them altogether. He finally straightened and looked at the chieftain. “This gate crystal wasn’t found or stolen. This was made for a specific purpose.” The awe returned to the wizard’s voice. “Whoever crafted this was brilliant. And very powerful.”
“Then, he could be back at the Keep now,” Bradan said.
“Perhaps,” Xantherus relented, frowning at the prospect. “With enough magic. But no one has ever wielded that much power.”
Falin’s stomach churned. “Even if she is there,” she said with exasperation, “why would I see her castle?”
“You two are connected,” Bradan said.
Displeasure twisted Falin’s lips. Sorchia had said something similar to her but Falin hadn’t wanted to listen. “No. We can’t be connected. I’d never met her before you came to Foresthaven.”
“Cara dreamed of a forest and you had nightmares of a deserted castle,” Bradan said. “And you recognized Sidonius, didn’t you?”
Falin felt the chill hand of fear again. “That still doesn’t explain how I got involved.” Her voice came out in a squeak.
Now is not the time for weakness, Huntress.
“It would be easy to settle this. Describe this castle,” Khoury said, his eyes as steely as the first time she saw them.
“Black. Cold. Dusty. Empty.” The two mercenaries nodded as she ticked off her impressions. “Through the window all I can see are black mountains and scrubby plains.”
The captain and Archer smiled at each other. “It has to be the same castle.” Khoury’s face was suddenly eager. He leaned down to the Huntress, his eyes bright. “Can you talk to Cara?”
Was that all he cared about? Falin shoved him angrily away. “I don’t see her,” Falin groused. “I’m alone with him. Trapped.”
“Like Cara was before she rescued us,” Archer said.
“Rescued you?” Xantherus asked.
“You didn’t know?” Khoury stood up and moved to the wizard, his tone deceptively light. “It seems he has been kidnapping and sacrificing people for some years now.”
Xantherus bristled. “What exactly do you mean by that?”
Archer stepped in front of Khoury to forestall any violence. “The captain and I met Cara when we were kidnapped and taken to the Black Keep. She told me we were to be sacrificed in some ritual. Apparently, Sidonius used it to restore his…energy, his magic. I don’t know exactly.”
“A ritual to absorb another’s power isn’t unheard of,” Xantherus admitted, “though it would be an extremely rare find.”
“Cara helped us escape,” Khoury added, “and he’s been trying to get her back ever since.”
“Her or all of you?” Xantherus asked. “Perhaps he simply is trying to preserve his anonymity.”
“Oh, it’s not us he’s after,” Khoury assured him. “Archer and I are little more than cattle. But Cara, she was special enough to collar and track. He came after us with more than the usual assortment of weapons.”
“Giants, assassins, fires,” Bradan said. “He’s very determined.”
Xantherus looked shocked though this time he didn’t doubt their words. “But why?”
“That is the real question,” Bradan said.
“The only thing different about her was that she could survive the ritual,” Archer said.
The wind wizard turned to look at him. “She survived this ritual that would have killed you? This draining?”
Archer nodded. “That’s what she told me. She would survive but I wouldn’t.”
This was all new to Falin, and she felt some sympathy for the white-haired woman.
Xantherus eyed the blackened crystal in his hand before tossing it back on the desk. “This is much more serious than I thought,” he said.
He murmured to himself as if arguing, then came to a decision.
“Very well,” Xantherus said. “It is true, Sidonius and I were once…close, but that was ages ago before his exile.”
“Exile?” Khoury asked, grabbing a stool from under a table.
“Patience,” the wind wizard admonished. “When Sidonius first came to the Isles, he was young in mind if not years. We roomed together and became fast friends. After a few y
ears, I was apprenticed to Magus Tamiru, in the Court of Air, and he to Magus Urchek of the Court of Fire. Urchek was a truly gentle master considering the other fire sorcerers. He was a traveler and a scholar, fascinated by new magics and ancient legends. Things like temple gate crystals.” Xantherus gestured at the blackened crystal.
“He took Sidonius across the sea to lands you’ve never heard of. Places where gods play and evil things hunt men’s souls. Places whose magic Urchek should have left well enough alone.”
“You sound like you didn’t approve,” the captain said.
Xantherus shook his head. “It’s not that I didn’t approve. But Urchek was a dabbler. Never going deep enough to really understand what he was playing with. As a Magus, his raw power was mediocre at best. Therefore, his failures were disappointing but not really dangerous.
“Sidonius, however, always had a deep well of magic. Add to that the ambition that comes from starting life weak. He should have been taught to be more rigorous. I fear that whatever happened to him in those faraway places was in part Urchek’s fault.
“I didn’t see him for almost ten years,” Xantherus continued. “When he finally did return, he returned alone. Magus Urchek had died. Taken by some foreign disease, or so Sidonius said.”
“You didn’t believe him?” Bradan asked.
Xantherus shrugged. “Truth or not, who could argue. But Sidon was different after that, haunted almost. He had become nervous, paranoid. He spent all his time poring over tomes and sorting through the chests of relics they had collected. He had no time for anything else. He finally withdrew from the Academy completely and purchased an estate on a small, secluded isle. More stronghold than manor, really. I rarely saw him after that.” Xantherus fell silent, staring at the desk and fiddling with whatever his fingers found: a writing quill, the ink jar, a few brown bottles.
“And then what?” the captain asked, startling Xantherus from his musings.
“A few years after he left, ugly rumors began circulating about him. Stories that he had been selling other sorcerers certain commodities. Tame things,” he said.
Quest of the Dreamwalker (The Corthan Legacy Book 1) Page 31
