“For all the build up, I think it’s quite ugly,” Mellinda said. Arcon couldn’t help but agree. He found the end result underwhelming.
“Strange, isn’t it?” Aloysius asked. “Such a small thing and yet it creates so much energy.”
“It seems rather unprotected, Scholar,” Arcon remarked, looking around. “There are no guards here. What if someone were to scale the tower on the outside?”
“Impossible,” said Evan. The red-sashed steward was peering over the tower’s edge, looking at the smooth stonework below.
“To obtain an item this powerful, people would find a way,” Arcon replied. “Can you imagine what a dark wizard could do if he stole the artifact? He could hold the entire country hostage.”
“He’s right, Evan,” Aloysius said. “But the barrier is not as unprotected as you think. Look at the statue that holds the scepter.”
“Yes?” Steward Evan said, eyeing the onyx sculpture.
“That is a golem,” the gnome said. “A living construct of magic. It rests now, but if anyone save the king himself were to try to remove the artifact, they would not make it down alive.”
Arcon looked at the statue and swallowed, thinking of the plant golem he and his friends had made at the Mage School and how easily it had destroyed half the grounds. How much more deadly would it have been made from solid rock?
“Oh, but I could wreak so much havoc here, dear Arcon.” Mellinda giggled and Arcon caught the brief image of this enormous golem punching its way through the palace.
Aloysius let out a great sigh. “Every time I see this I shake my head in shame. All of this power, yet when all is said and done, Abernathy, one of the greatest scholars of our day, left us with very little. Do you know why Abernathy’s work fell short?”
“In part, I would say it’s because you killed him,” Arcon replied.
“Silence, you idiot!” Mellinda warned. “You go too far.”
He likes boldness, Arcon reminded her.
“Boldness, yes. But that was just a guess on my part. If we’re wrong, you made an even larger mistake.”
Scholar Aloysius turned, giving Arcon a tight glare. One hand was tucked into the pocket of his robes, clutching the handle of the sword Arcon knew was hidden within. It was an oddity that neither he nor Mellinda yet understood. Scholars didn’t wear swords. Only the guards and the house warriors were allowed them.
Arcon kept his eyes averted, his expression respectful. “I’m sure it was a necessary step, Scholar. Otherwise his research would have remained sealed. This way you could take up his research and you have the knowledge necessary to recreate his feat.”
“Student Arcon, sometimes I think your perception is far too dangerous,” said the gnome. He withdrew his hand from his pocket. “Was this your epiphany or Mellinda’s?”
“Hers, Scholar. It’s what she would have done in your place,” Arcon replied.
“Hmm . . . well, she wouldn’t be wrong, but that was not the answer I was looking for,” Aloysius said. “The reason Scholar Abernathy fell shy of true greatness was that he was short-sighted. He discovered a way to make an item of such immense power and decided to use it to keep a city dry.” He shook his head. “Ridiculous, isn’t it, wasting such a marvelous power to fix something that, as you pointed out earlier, was a minor inconvenience. An inconvenience, by the way, that we gnomes had worked around for thousands of years.”
“I agree,” Arcon said. “Truly a waste.”
Aloysius sat on the edge of the stone golem’s fist and smiled. “You must be wondering why I went through all this trouble to bring you up here.”
“The question had crossed my mind, Scholar,” Arcon replied.
“Because I wanted you to see what it is that you are going to help me create,” Aloysius said.
“Me, Scholar?”
“Of course,” the gnome replied. “You see, the secret to the creation of this item, the secret that I had to kill Abernathy to get, is the soul of a rogue horse.”
“Of course!” Mellinda said. “This makes so much sense now.”
“Scholar Abernathy had powerful binding abilities,” Aloysius explained. “He had already created a small personal rain barrier for himself using the soul of a large beast, but it fizzled out after awhile. He needed a more powerful soul to achieve a greater effect.”
“And a rogue horse was a perfect choice,” said Mellinda. “Their souls are not only extremely powerful, they are also docile, eager to serve.”
“So you want me to create rogue horses just so you can kill them?” Arcon said.
Aloysius laughed. “You have such a blunt way of putting things. I wouldn’t kill all of them. After all what leader doesn’t need an impressive steed. However, can you imagine what I could do with multiple artifacts of power of this magnitude?”
“By the gods, he really would rule the world,” Mellinda gasped.
Arcon’s face went pale. “It is an honor to serve you, Scholar.”
“I received word this morning that my man succeeded in the task I sent him on. I already have one rogue horse on the way,” Aloysius said.
“Might I inspect it before you put it to use, Scholar?” Arcon asked. “With Mellinda’s help I might be able to discover what Stardeon did to make them stable.”
The scholar frowned. “Could you ‘inspect’ it without destroying the beast?”
Can I? he asked Mellinda. The majority of rogue horse deaths through the years were caused by wizards trying to understand how they were made. Magic tampering tended to cause them to melt down.
“If you’re wearing the rings you might be able to,” she said. “Though other men have tried to use the rings to discover the Stardeon’s secret and failed.”
“Mellinda says I can, Scholar,” he said.
“Good. Then prepare yourself. It will take a few months for the beast to arrive,” Aloysius said. He stood and began to descend the stairs. “I will be expecting results from you and the Troll Queen.”
Arcon tarried by the artifact for a moment. He gazed at it, inspecting the workmanship. The scepter had been carved into a rictus of joy, but its expression was a lie. He looked into its hollow brass eyes and winced, unsettled. The only thing he felt from that face was sadness.
Chapter Twenty Two
Tarah rode Esmine and it was glorious.
Riding horses wasn’t her best skill. She preferred the feel of her own two feet on the ground. But her papa had taught her and she rode when necessary for particular jobs. Tarah had just never enjoyed it. Until now.
She rode without a saddle, sitting further forward on the horse than she was used to. Tarah held on with two fistfuls of her red mane and let Esmine do the work. The rogue knew what to do. Esmine was made for this. It was exhilarating. Tarah moved with the horse, the wind blowing through her hair, the sun warm on her back as they glided over verdant green plains.
Suddenly, bursting out of the side of the hill before them was the head of the enormous giant. His eyes were intense and his mouth wide open, but instead of teeth he had spinning blades. Tarah was riding right towards him.
Tarah cried out. She pulled back on Esmine’s mane, but her inexperience as a rider confused the rogue horse. Esmine increased her speed, continuing to run towards the open jaws of the giant as if she didn’t see that it was there.
They rode closer and closer until there was nothing else Tarah could do. She jumped off at the last second and watched in horror as Esmine rode right into the whirring blades of the giant’s mouth.
Tarah’s eyes opened. She winced, her eyes stinging from the brightness of the sunlight that streamed in through uncovered windows. She was lying on something soft. She was in a narrow bed, covered with blankets. What was she doing here? She needed to help Esmine.
Tarah sat up and groaned. Her shoulder throbbed with the pain of a recent wound. She was wearing a long white sleeping gown. She had been recently bathed and her shoulder was covered in fresh bandages.
She look
ed around to find that she was in a long room with stone walls. The whole place had been painted white. Where was she? There were several other beds but all of them were unoccupied but one. It took a moment for Tarah to realize who the occupant was because one arm was wrapped over his face, covering his eyes to keep the sun out.
Her heart thumped. It was Djeri. She knew it even though the dwarf wasn’t wearing his armor. Nor did he have a shirt on. She had never seen him bare-chested before. His wide arms were heavily muscled and he was covered in hair. Two large bandages were wrapped around his chest.
Tarah smiled. She didn’t know where she was, but she knew she was safe and if she was safe, she knew that it was because of him. Somehow Djeri had found her and taken her here, she was sure of it.
She swung her legs out of the bed. Her vision swam as she stood and she took a moment to steady herself before walking over to him. Tarah sat down next to him on the little amount of the bed his body didn’t take up. He was deep in sleep.
Gently, Tarah reached out and touched his arm. “Djeri! Djeri, wake up,” she whispered. He shifted a little, but didn’t wake. She raised her voice and nudged him harder. “Djeri!”
He swung his arm away from his face, his nose wrinkled in irritation. One eye was blackened, but his neck had been shaved and his beard neatly trimmed.
“What in the dag-gum turds, waking me up afte-!” His eyes widened and he wrapped her up in a big hug. “Tarah, you’re awake! They said you’d be fine, but I didn’t know what to believe.”
Tarah froze in surprise for a moment, then she joined in, hugging him right back. Her shoulder twinged with pain, but she didn’t care. The hug felt good. It felt really good. She hadn’t been held this tightly since her papa died. At that thought, Tarah began to cry.
“Are you alright?” Djeri said and tried to pull back, but she just held on tighter. He rested one heavy arm on her back and reached up with the other to stroke her hair. “Hey. Hey, it’s okay.”
“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” she said, not letting go. She buried her face in his neck. He smelled like soap and cleansing alcohol, but under that was just a hint of steel and the masculine scent she remembered from the day she’d kissed him. Her face colored a little but she didn’t let go. “I’m so sorry for what I said. I didn’t mean it like that. I didn’t. You don’t make me sick. You make me . . .”
“I-I’m sorry too,” he said, his voice thick. “I shouldn’t have doubted you and I sure as hellfire shouldn’t have let you doubt yourself,”
Tarah finally broke her grip on him and leaned back, looking into his tear-filled eyes. “What do you mean?”
“You are Tarah Woodblade,” he said with conviction. “Girl, I thought about it over and over after you left. I realized that I was letting my thoughts be clouded because the woman you described to me wasn’t the woman I knew. Then I understood that you had described yourself that way because you didn’t know that you really were the woman I knew. Do you understand?”
Tarah pursed her lips, but decided to let go of the fact that he’d called her ‘girl’. “I have no idea what you just said.”
He grimaced. “Okay, let me put it a different way. You spent your whole life believing that you weren’t what you were. Your grandfather told you who to act like, but you never believed that was who you’d become. Then you let other people tell you bad things about yourself and you believed them instead. What I’m trying to say is that your actions make you who you are. You are Tarah Woodblade!”
Tarah squinted at him, totally lost. “Djeri, I don’t know what you’re trying to say, but I’m not Tarah Woodblade,” she said. “I realize that now. I’m just Tarah Beraldi. I’m a good tracker, but I’m not all those other things and I can’t keep lying to everyone.”
“Just, dang it, girl! Just . . . Here!” He picked up the pillow from his bed and shoved it over his face with both hands.
Tarah leaned back in concern. Had he struck his head at some point? He seemed all jumbled. “Djeri? What’re you doing?”
He held the pillow there for a moment longer, then pulled it down, his face strained as if he had been concentrating very hard. “There,” he said breathlessly, holding the pillow out to her. “That’s all I could put into it. Touch that and understand me because I haven’t been good at saying it.”
Tarah frowned, but she reached out and touched the pillow like he asked. She gasped as a clear set of thoughts entered her mind. She saw herself through Djeri’s mind, watched through his eyes as he met the fierce-eyed woman, brave and stern. She watched herself save him in the icy river. Then a few images of her standing naked before him flashed by. Tarah saw her bravery as she faced down the goblinoids that had invaded her home. She felt his admiration for her as she told him of her powers, then as he watched her burn her childhood home down.
She felt his worry for her as they were captured by the smugglers. She saw how impressed he was with the way she had handled herself that night, the way she overcame the pain. She experienced his emotions as she had been forced to kiss him in order to save his life. Then a couple images of her naked flashed by again. Tarah felt his admiration for her grow as they spent that month together as prisoners.
Then came that morning after the gnome had saved their lives. She felt his pain at her harsh words, his confusion, then watched as Djeri saw the rogue horse and the Prophet gave him her staff. Finally, she experienced his revelation about who she really was.
When Tarah withdrew her hand from the pillow, her fingers were shaking. She cocked her head at him. That was really how he saw her?
“Now do you understand?” he asked, his expression earnest.
“I do,” she said, numbly.
“Good. And another thing. I-I shouldn’t have told you I cared for you. Not the way I did. That was going too far,” he babbled. “Especially since I’m a dwarf and you’re. . . You’re . . .” he paused, confused by the expression on her face. “What?”
Tarah was gazing at him intently as if she were memorizing his face. “I think I’d like to kiss you again,” she said.
Djeri swallowed. “You would?”
Tarah nodded and leaned towards him, wrapping her arms around his neck. This time as her lips met his there was no fear about having to perform, no worries about hurting him, no concerns about it being done against her will. There was just the moment. And it was a good one.
Tarah didn’t know how long the kiss lasted, but when they pulled apart, both of them were breathing heavily, their faces flushed. Neither of them said anything for a few seconds, just searching each other’s eyes. Then Djeri cleared his throat.
“That was nice,” he said.
“Very,” Tarah replied. She swallowed. “Thank you. Thank you for believing in me when I couldn’t. Thank you for bringing me here, however you did it. I . . . where are we, anyway?”
“We’re at the Eastern Razbeck Battle Academy Outpost,” he said. “As for how I got you here, well it’s a long story.” Djeri told her about how the prophet had told him to go after her and how he had fought and killed Mel and Leroy.
“I’m relieved that they’re gone,” she said.
“After that, I bandaged you up as good as I could and put you on Neddy’s back. It took us almost a full day to get here,” he explained. “When we came in, Healer Anaria took over. She’s a local woman and takes care of all the wounded here at the outpost.”
“How long have we been here?” Tarah asked in concern.
“A day and a half,” Djeri said. “Anna said you were lucky that the amount of poison in your wound didn’t kill you. She said that it might take you another day to flush all of it out of your system.”
“And you have my staff?” she asked, standing up.
“All of your gear is over there in the corner,” he said, pointing to the back of the room. “Your clothes and armor are in the wardrobe.”
Tarah walked to the corner and picked up her staff. She sighed in relief as she held it in her hand. Now
she felt more like herself. She pulled open the wardrobe and smiled as she pulled out her underclothes. They had been cleaned and folded.
“Get up,” she said, looking at Djeri. “we need to go.”
He was still sitting in the bed, the blankets pulled up around his waist as he watched her. He looked embarrassed. “Uh, I kind of don’t have anything on under here. I don’t know why it is that healers put clothes on the wounded women, but the men get stripped bare.”
Tarah rolled her eyes. “Oh come on!” She tossed him the large shirt and pair of pants that she found in the wardrobe. “I think these are for you.”
She pulled the sleeping gown off over her head, wincing at the pain in her shoulder, and started putting on her own underclothes. Then she grabbed her shirt and pants. “That’s enough, Djeri the ‘Looker’,” she said. “Avert your eyes and get dressed.”
Djeri cleared his throat and pulled on the pants she had given him. They didn’t fit him quite right. It looked as if they were made for a tall guard and the legs had just been cut short to fit him. The shirt fit him better. Though as he buttoned it up, she saw that it strained to fit him. She felt that he filled it out quite well.
“Where’s your armor?” she asked as she pulled on her boots.
“It was too badly damaged for repair,” he said looking disgusted. “The captain here said he’d try to procure me some dwarven armor, but he couldn’t promise anything.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Djeri,” she said, knowing how awkward he felt without his platemail.
“They wanted to throw your armor away too, but I wouldn’t let them,” he said.
“Thank you.” Tarah pulled her armor out of the wardrobe and lifted it up.
She could see why they would want to trash it. She’d had it for years and moonrat leather didn’t hold up all that well. There were multiple scratches and tears and it was cracking and splitting in wide patches. The only thing holding it all together was the cloth treated with Grampa Rolf’s resin. Tarah shrugged and put it on anyway, knowing she would have to replace it sooner or later, but not wanting to think about it.
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