The Sentient Fire (The Seven Signs)
Page 72
“Indeed,” the Mekai agreed, “I think that if you are able to obtain them, and I am still in power here, then you should return here with them in the utmost secrecy. Tell no one, and I mean no one, of your mission and for what you seek. There are already too many people that know.”
“And, what if…” Dormael began, but he couldn’t bring himself to utter the words in his mind.
“What if I am dead?” the Mekai finished for him, smiling, “If that happens, then I fear there will be no succor for you here. Victus will most likely declare you outlaws, and have other Warlocks searching for you. You will become unsanctioned operatives, and there will probably be a death coin issued for each of you.”
Dormael and D’Jenn looked to each other. D’Jenn’s eyes echoed the dread that Dormael could feel crawling into his own belly and twisting his insides. Death coins were only issued to Warlocks when there were rogue wizards in the world that the Conclave had declared too dangerous to continue living. Once a Warlock accepted a death coin, he made the pact to seek out and destroy his target, or die trying. Very few wizards in history had ever been ‘coined’ as the saying went. Morvlund the Mad was one.
And now, possibly Dormael and D’Jenn.
“ Bastard,” Allen whispered. Dormael seconded his assertion, but couldn’t bring himself to utter the words.
“You must prepare yourselves. I am sorry at the way that things have turned out. Perhaps if I’d paid more attention, I could have done something before things became this dire. I am sorry,” the Mekai said, and he seemed very old suddenly, as if that one admission had added years to his elderly frame.
“What will you do?” Dormael asked, realizing that he was worried about the Mekai. Arian had been Mekai since before Dormael had come to the Conclave, and the thought of him being assassinated was so astounding that Dormael could barely swallow the possibility. His mood grew even darker at the thought.
The Mekai’s eyes hardened and his expression became resolute, “Victus will not find me to be easy meat. If he does make an attempt on my life, then it will be the most difficult thing that he’s ever tried to accomplish, I promise you that. I will stay here until the end, however. The Conclave is my charge, and I cannot abandon her, even in the face of assassination. My place is here.”
Dormael felt a lump rise in his throat at the comment. He heard Shawna sniffle a bit and try to swallow the sobs that accompanied the tears that leaked slowly from her eyes. Allen looked to the side again, a disgusted expression on his face. D’Jenn looked to Dormael, and his gaze helped Dormael to strengthen his own emotions. He took a deep breath and pushed that lump in his throat away. There was no use in crying over the situation. They had work to do.
“Where do you suggest we begin our search?” Dormael asked.
The Mekai rose from his seat and went to the back wall of the room, bending down to unlock a small chest that sat upon the bottom shelf of one of his bookshelves, proffering a roll of parchments and bringing them to the table. They were bound with a silk ribbon that emanated a slow pulse of magic. Dormael suspected that the Mekai had Infused the ribbon for some reason, and as he packed the scrolls into a leather scroll case and handed it to D’Jenn, the Mekai explained.
“That ribbon will only open for you, D’Jenn. I’m sorry Dormael, but I only had the time to add one Infusion to the thing, and I knew D’Jenn’s song better than yours. There is sadly little information contained within those pages, but it is all that I have found over the past few days, compiled and enclosed within. It will guide you somewhat, but first you must travel to the one place that may have more information about this Nar’doroc. You may find something there, and you may not, but it is the most likely place.”
“Where?” Dormael asked, but even as he uttered the words, he knew the answer.
“Orm,” the Mekai replied, and everyone in the room made a sign to ward off evil, save Shawna.
“I knew it,” D’Jenn said again, “Didn’t I say that it would be Orm, back when you had your first dream, coz?”
“Yes,” Dormael said, taking a deep breath, “This is all well and good, but Orm is cursed unless we all have forgotten. Many priests and wizards were slaughtered there. The very air will try and repel us.”
“That is something you will have to deal with, my boys. It is possible that there may still be records there of the time when this Nar’doroc was known for what it was. The ruins have lain untouched since the place was burned. If there is one place that may have records, it is Orm. It is worth the risk of angering the spirits. I officially give you leave to enter the ruins. It just may be my last true act as Mekai.”
“We will be followed,” D’Jenn said, rising to his feet.
“I will take care of that, at least as much as I can. Perhaps I can grant you some time to escape Ishamael undetected,” the Mekai said.
“How will you do that?” Allen asked, rising as well and brushing his hands as if he were getting ready to do some especially hard work.
“I will go down to the Crux, and cast a sleeping spell over the whole of the Conclave. You all will wait one hour for the spell to take effect, and then head down to the Crux. I will show you a passage into Indalvian’s tunnels from the chamber, and show you how to navigate the tunnels to a place outside the city. Your horses have already been sent there by someone I trust. They will be there waiting on you.”
Dormael also rose to his feet, seeing that everyone was getting ready to leave, and offered his hand to the Mekai. “Thank you, Wise One. For everything you have done. I will say a prayer to Aastinor for you, for protection and retribution.”
“Thank you,” the Mekai said, taking Dormael’s hand then D’Jenn’s in turn, “Be careful out there. Remember, you are undertaking the greatest and most secret mission than any of us have known. Do not reply to or heed any correspondence from anyone in the Conclave, save myself. If you must defend yourself with magic from other Warlocks, then do so. You are now answerable only to me. I will take steps to protect your families, as there are still people here that I can trust. Above all, defend the armlet and Bethany with your lives. I suspect there is more to the girl than we currently know.”
“Bethany?” Dormael asked, blinking in surprise.
“Aye, my boy. Tell me, did you know that before you met her she’d already been having dreams about the armlet?”
That struck Dormael like a slap in the face. He looked to D’Jenn and Shawna, who looked just as surprised as he felt. Dormael looked to Bethany, who was still sleeping soundly on the bench that the Mekai had provided for her.
“I didn’t know that,” Dormael said.
“Oh, yes. She told me as much during our little talk. She is a delightful child, by the way. I suspect that her presence with the Red Sword commander in Ferolan may have been more than mere coincidence. She seems to have forgotten her entire life up to that point. I do not know if that is a result of trauma or something more…strange. There is also the matter of her strength with the magic. She seems to be possibly the most powerful magus any of us have ever seen, and I wonder if it has something to do with her exposure to the armlet. There are so many questions that I have for her, I wish that we had more time for conversation.”
“As I do,” D’Jenn said.
“Yes. Well, you all should be going, and I should get down to the Crux and begin the process of powering up the Circle. Be vigilant. I wish that I could give you more in parting, but time has caught up with us, it seems. Make haste to Orm, and from there use what you might find and the documents I have provided as a guide. The rest, I am afraid, will be up to you. May Eindor watch over you, my boys,” the Mekai said, his eyes saddened. He exchanged rough handshakes and pats on the shoulders from the men in the room, and a polite hug from Shawna, who told him that she hoped he’d be alright.
Bethany barely stirred as Dormael gathered her in his arms to carry her to his rooms. He followed his friends toward the doors to the Mekai’s outer chambers, his stomach twisting in knots w
ith dread and excitement. His world seemed to be turned upside down, and as he approached that door, he thought that as he strode through it his entire life would change.
“Oh, and Dormael?” the Mekai’s voice spoke from the table. Dormael turned, trying not to dislodge Bethany from her slumber.
“Yes, Wise One?”
“Do see to the girl’s education as best you can. I promised her that I would speak with you on the matter, and I have. And tell her…tell her that I said goodbye.”
Dormael bit back another lump in his throat. “I will. I promise.”
“Very well. Goodbye, Dormael.”
“Goodbye, Honored Mekai,” Dormael replied. He turned to the door then, and strode through.
****
Chapter Twenty Two
Echoes in the Dark
The darkness was oppressive. Dormael had never liked being underground. There was just something about having all that earth on top of him, waiting to drop, that got his hackles up. It didn’t help that his last experience in the tunnels had been more than horrific, and less than twelve hours behind him. Every time the party slipped quietly down a new tunnel, or turned a corner, he thought he caught sight of someone out of the corner of his eye, and the torture would come back to him. He hated being down here.
Everyone stayed quiet for the most part; there seemed to be a solemnity that should accompany this occasion, and it seemed that no one wanted to break the silence. The only noises were the quietly echoing footsteps, the jangling of weapons and other things hanging from their packs, and the intermittent cough, sneeze, or grumble. The silence seemed to add to the oppressive feeling, and Dormael found his hand tightening on his spear unconsciously from time to time, and forced himself to loosen his grip.
This section of the tunnels had not yet connected with the sewers under the city. The tunnel was wide and tall, and they all could have ridden their horses through them without being too careful about it, but riding horses down any tunnel was folly, and Dormael was glad that they weren’t having to drag the beasts through, either.
D’Jenn was lighting the way with his Kai, spreading soft light around them in a circle, but not bright enough to do too much damage to their night vision. As a result, the darkness seemed to press in on the companions, as if D’Jenn was holding some tangible blackness away instead of casting a simple light. Allen came up behind D’Jenn, one hand on the great curved sword at his side to keep it from swinging around, and the other hand clutched tightly in Bethany’s. Shawna and Dormael brought up the rear, eyes swinging into the darkness, searching for pursuit and jumping at every noise.
Dormael looked at Bethany, musing. Could the Mekai have been right about her, that there really was something abnormal about her? Maybe when Inera had asked him ‘where is the girl’, she hadn’t been talking about Shawna. Maybe Bethany played some role in their plans.
He didn’t like that thought; not at all. It was horrifying to think of Bethany in the hands of some Vilth, or the Emperor of Galania. If it were true, then they’d have to kill Dormael to get to her. Bethany suddenly looked back at him with sleepy eyes, and waved. Dormael smiled at her, forcing himself to look as comfortable as possible, and waved back.
“Here’s the mark,” D’Jenn said suddenly, breaking Dormael from his musings. D’Jenn held his light centered on a small glyph that was set into the stone of the wall, a circle that vaguely resembled a compass rose with two lines splitting it into quadrants. The Mekai had described to them that long ago, a passage had been outlined through the tunnels that granted the Mekai escape from the city, in case he ever needed it. Each new Mekai was made aware of it by the Mekai before him, and taught how to navigate it. Apparently, Dormael and D’Jenn were the only wizards to ever learn of it that hadn’t been elevated to the post.
When one came upon the mark, he would turn his body until the mark rested on the wall corner facing him and to his left side. The way he then faced was the way to the next mark. It was simple, but effective considering that only one person in the entire city knew how to read the marks. To anyone else, they would simply appear to be just another glyph in a tunnel system that contained many such things.
“We go left, then,” Dormael said, and D’Jenn nodded. The party set off once again, and the silence pressed in yet again. It was starting to make Dormael a little uneasy.
Everyone had pointedly refrained from talking about the road ahead of them. They all seemed to understand the import of the Mekai’s words to them, and did not want to discuss everything that had happened, or anything that was going to happen. Dormael still found it a little incredible that he and his friends were off in search of a weapon with powers that seemed too good to be true, even given the proof that the armlet had showed to them in the past. He had so many unanswered questions, and he feared that they would never be answered, even if they did manage to find all the pieces to this Nar’doroc.
They snaked down tunnels of pale grey stone silently, D’Jenn maintaining the light and everyone else maintaining a strict silence. There were cobwebs festooned in the upper corners of this ill-used passage, and dust so thick upon the floor that Dormael began to cover his nose against sneezes. They made a few turns, and eventually the sound of running water began to echo through the tunnel ahead of them.
The smell of offal and urine confirmed it – they were headed into the sewers after all. Dormael almost jumped with joy. Almost.
Why do I always seem to find myself in the most stinking, uncomfortable places imaginable? Just once, can’t a mission take me to the lavish bedroom of a wealthy and beautiful woman? He thought; but no, no beautiful women for Dormael – only human waste and moldy stones.
He hated being down here.
****
Abdiel walked wearily through the streets of Ishamael, tired from a long day at the river docks. His shoulders ached from the constant unloading of more Gods-damned crates than he’d ever wanted to see in his life. And for six bronze marks a week, no doubt. It didn’t help that the bastard Rulan screamed his fat, sweaty ass off to the men who did all the real work, while he did nothing but sit on said sweaty ass, tally numbers, and eat all day long.
And the bastard made a silver mark a week! Where was the justice in that?
Let’s move to Ishamael, Jalien had said, there is opportunity there, and we’ll live in the grandest city in the Sevenlands! The only opportunity Abdiel had found was six bronze marks per week so he could constantly listen to Rulan’s mouth screaming, chewing, and heaving with overworked breaths if he actually had to get up from his seat at any point during the day. Oh yes, he thought, the grandest city in all the Sevenlands.
Every day he came closer to kicking that fat bastard into the river.
It was all for Jalien, though. Abdiel loved her like nothing in the world, and she knew it, too. He’d give the girl whatever she wanted, so when she said ‘let’s move to Ishamael’ Abdiel packed up their meager belongings, wrapped up the baby, and off they went. At least she returned his love; there was always that to come home to at the end of the day.
Abdiel had been a smithy apprentice back in Gernholdt, in southern Farra-Jerra. He’d been sure that he would be able to find work as a journeyman here in Ishamael, especially if anyone got a look at his work with silver. His hands could work silver like they’d been made to do it, and though his master back in Gernholdt had nurtured his ability, there just wasn’t work for a silversmith in a small farming village. Abdiel would have been condemned for the rest of his life to building wagon wheels and shoeing horses. He might have been able to make one or two silver pieces in his life, and mend maybe the same number again.
So Jalien had come up with the idea of moving here, where he could surely find work. They were newly married, and with a little bit of a scandal concerning the early birth of their daughter, Serah. It had seemed like the very world was open to them, with so many opportunities. There was no way that Abdiel couldn’t become a master silversmith here in the capital, surely.
He didn’t really mind the fact that they doubted his ability; he’d expected as much. But he’d hoped that his work would speak for itself, and he’d be able to get a job on the merit of that, instead of the weight of his purse. Abdiel just didn’t have any money to give them, not after the move and the first month’s rent at a decrepit apartment building in a poor residential area north of the Conclave of Wizards. They’d given him fake smiles and condescending pats on the shoulder, and told him to come back when he’d saved the money.
So, he’d searched and searched, and landed a job on the docks, working for Rulan. He hated the man, but he was honestly thankful for the job. Six bronze marks weren’t enough to save any money to take the Guild test, but at least he could feed his wife and daughter, and pay the rent.
Jalien had dreams of setting up an apothecary, as her passion was for plants and such, and so Abdiel gave her what little money he could save so that she could buy seeds and pots, and maybe sell a few herbs and such at the East Market someday. He wanted her to be happy, and he’d save the money for the test eventually. If he worked hard enough, maybe he could even talk Rulan into giving him more coin per week.
Maybe. One could hope, after all.
The Conclave came into sight as he rounded a corner, the low towers and spires rising into the night against a full moon. Abdiel skirted these streets every night on his way home, moving north through the East Market and skirting the edge of the Conclave grounds on his way into his own district. Though some of the surrounding areas were poor, the presence of the Conclave kept crime down for the most part. Abdiel wasn’t sure if it was out of fear of the wizards, or respect for them. As long as he made it home safe every night, he didn’t really care.