The Redemption, Volume 1

by Clyde B Northrup

  “Where is Blakstar?” Klaybear interrupted.

  “Asleep,” Thal replied, “he was completely exhausted, having to make several trips to the Mountain to refill his flask.” Thal stopped, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “You know, that is one of the strangest things about all that has happened,” he said, mostly to himself.

  “What do you mean?” Klaybear asked; Klare remained silent.

  Thal jerked. “What? Oh, sorry, forgot what I was doing. When we were helping the first group, all of them poor, and there were many more of them than of the nobility, the Waters never ran out, but with the later group, the more demanding group, the flask seemed always empty,” he stopped again, tapping his chin with one finger.

  “That is not why I contacted you,” Klaybear noted.

  “Of course not,” Thal said, pulling himself back to the present, “I’ll have time to think about that later.”

  Klaybear nodded, then related to Thal what Tevvy had reported to them, and what they had witnessed. “We will contact him again tomorrow,” he added, “to make sure that he managed to escape. However, Rokwolf thinks, and I agree, that the two of you might be in equal danger, especially considering the reputation of that particular city.”

  Thal smiled and nodded. “Master William, the innkeeper, speaks the same way, and he has doubled his normal overnight watch; he fears that word of Blakstar’s aid will reach, if it hasn’t already, the ears of those who run this city.”

  “And what does Master William believe they will do?” Klaybear asked.

  “Send an entire legion to arrest us,” Thal replied with a shrug.

  Klaybear laughed wryly. “Then why are you still there?”

  “The kortexi was dead on his feet,” Thal replied, “and had to rest before he could move anywhere. They will not send their troops to arrest us until morning, which has always been their practice, according to our good innkeeper,” Thal went on and held up his hand to forestall Klaybear’s protest. “Nevertheless, we are prepared to leave at any moment, if need be, and he assures us that there are ways to leave the city after dark, ways that are not known.”

  Klaybear nodded. “Be cautious,” he said.

  Thal nodded, then looked at Klare. “You have been unusually silent, milady.”

  Klare nodded. “I have nothing to add,” she said.

  Thal raised an eyebrow and shot a glance at Klaybear.

  How much has she forgotten? Thal’s voice spoke in Klaybear’s mind.

  The last year. Klaybear thought back to Thal. “She has not felt well since she woke up a few hours ago,” he said.

  Weren’t you married during the last year? Oh dear! Thal thought back. “Well, my mother always made me chicken and vegetable soup when I was feeling unwell . . . ,” he started to say, then his face fell suddenly. “Someone is at the door,” he said, and the area around his head moved as he stood up.

  Klaybear lifted the staff from the table, closing the small door.

  “Nobody was at the door,” Klare noted.

  Klaybear looked at her for a moment before speaking, then shook his head slowly. “No,” he said, “but in my haste to give you the large picture of what has happened recently, I neglected to add that his parents, probably the two most powerful and highly respected white maghem of our day, were killed by agents of Gar shortly after he and Blakstar were sent to Shigmar.”

  Klare’s face had gone blotchy. “I could have comforted him!” she shouted, but then her voice quieted and her face cleared. “Maybe, we could have comforted one another,” she went on, but then she collapsed into herself, pulling her knees up to her chin, wrapping her arms around her knees, letting her chin fall to her knees; tears flowed freely onto her knees; sobs shook her entire frame.

  Klaybear reached out and placed his free hand gently upon her shoulder, hoping that she would move into his arms, but she did not move or even notice, and he let his arm fall from her shoulder in resignation, watching her suffer and unable to think of a way to help her. He slumped in his chair, angered by what had happened, angered at the purem who had raped her, causing the darkness within her mind that had erased part of her memory, but that was a sterile thought, since those purem had paid with their lives, destroyed by the kortexi. Then his rage flared against Blakstar, who had not given him the opportunity to take vengeance himself. This thought made him laugh as he realized how foolish it was, since Blakstar’s righteous anger had enabled him to destroy all the purem by himself; you could not have done that, came a thought into his mind, and you couldn’t even fix her mind; you let someone else do that! It was Gar: he was the one to blame.

  Stop! came another voice that sounded familiar. She needs you, and this line of thought will not help her!

  Into his mind came an image of what he needed to do, and so he laid breath-giver carefully onto the table. He turned in his chair toward Klare, who still sat curled up on her chair, sobbing. He slipped his arms around her shoulders and slid her forward onto his lap; she did not resist but did not uncurl. He wrapped his left arm around her and used his free right hand to gently rub her neck, the muscles as hard and tense as stone. For a long time, she seemed unaware that he held her, and she continued to sob uncontrollably into her knees. He continued to massage her neck, although his hand ached, thinking that she would tire and then relax, and at the point when he had decided to give up, he noticed that her sobbing had slowed and the shaking of her body ceased. This change gave him a glimmer of hope and renewed energy, so he rubbed harder, noticing the muscles had relaxed, if only slightly.

  Another image came into his mind, and in the moment he recognized what he needed to do now, she shifted on his lap and put her arms around his neck, laying her head upon his shoulder, but only her head, shoulders, and arms had moved: the rest of her body remained curled up as it had been. This move freed his left hand and enabled him to do what the image had shown him; both his hands moved to her shoulders, which were as solid as a statue’s, so he began the process again, gently rubbing with both hands, trying to ease the tension. Her sobs had eased somewhat, becoming sharp intakes of breath followed by short, jerky sobs. The time between these sobs increased with the aching in his hands, but the softening of her shoulder muscles, although slow, came more quickly than had the relaxing of her neck. He suddenly realized where his actions were heading, and his hands faltered.

  Don’t stop now! came the same voice in his mind, more commanding than the Mistress of Novices, and his hands obeyed automatically.

  But. . . . he tried to protest, but he could not even form the thought.

  You do not know, you cannot know, how vitally important this is to her well-being.

  She doesn’t remember being married. He felt, rather than heard, the snort of laughter.

  Oh, yes she does! I made sure of that when I wove that part of her mind back together. You are wrong; if you look again, more carefully, you will see that only parts of that area ‘unraveled,’ and the main structure is still there; what you are about to do will help restore some small parts of it. Do not argue with me, Klaybear! I formed both of you, have watched over you for all time, and I know what is best for both of you! Oh, and by the way, if you ever even think again of running off to face Elker on your own, I might just put you over my knee!

  “Dear,” Klare said dreamily, “shouldn’t you be carrying me off to our bed? I thought I had you trained in this respect,” she grinned up at him. “If I weren’t so tired, I might have to put you over my knee,” she finished, kissing his cheek.

  It suddenly dawned on him why the voice had sounded familiar to him.

  A bit slow, isn’t he? the thought came into his mind.

  “Some days,” Klare replied, “and on others, like today, he doesn’t move at all.” The look of mischief was again on her face. “Close your mouth a little, dear,” she said, “you want to kiss me, not catch flies.”

  Chapter 6

  It is unfortunate that too many take the offenses of others as excuses for their own
poor choices. . . .

  Saying attributed to Shigmar

  “There is a way,” Rokwolf said, walking in several hours later, clothes wet from his waist down, “but not through the dungeon.”

  “The passage has not been cleared?” Klaybear asked his twin.

  Rokwolf shrugged. “It might have been,” he noted, “but that area was touched by the wave that destroyed the rest of the city, so everything above it has collapsed. I could get into the barracks and office, but that is as far as I could go in that direction.”

  “You said there is a way,” Klare said.

  He nodded. “Through the south guard tower and over the wall around the school,” Rokwolf replied, barely glancing at his sister-in-law. “The main gate and the main entrance to the school have collapsed, but the side entrance, along with the west end, and most of the south side of the building are still standing.”

  “What about the Infirmary?” Klare asked.

  Rokwolf shook his head. “From what I could tell, it was completely destroyed,” he replied.

  “Karasun!” Klare cursed; both wethem stared at her in shock. “That was where all the healing supplies were stored,” she noted to herself, then saw them staring at her. “Is there some problem?”

  Klaybear was so surprised that he could not respond, so Rokwolf voiced their thought. “We have never heard you . . . ,” he started to say but stopped when he saw her eyes flashing dangerously. “Nothing, my mistake,” he finished, turning to his twin. “Let’s go and get this over with, before I dry anymore, since we are going to get wet.”

  Klare’s eyes narrowed and she folded her arms over her chest. “Dear,” she began in her sweetest voice, and Klaybear knew instantly he was in trouble. “You know how I feel about getting wet?”

  Klaybear nodded mutely. “You don’t like it.”

  “I hate it!” Klare shouted, then her voice went sweet again. “So unless you two can carry me through the sewers without getting a single drop of water anywhere on my person, find another way!” she shouted the last phrase, making the two wethem stagger back in surprise at her vehemence.

  “But, dear,” Klaybear stuttered, “there is no. . . .”

  Klare cut him off. “No other way? The most powerful kailu, with the most powerful staff ever created, breath-giver, and you want your beloved wife, who hates getting wet, to slog through the sewers and get soaking wet, simply because you haven’t stopped to think of some other way? Mother was right: you are slow, but then she says the same thing about Father.”

  Klaybear stood stunned, his mouth hanging open; Rokwolf looked at them both: his twin standing flustered, looking down at his diminutive wife, who looked up at her husband, eyes still flashing. Rokwolf doubled up with laughter. Klare shot an irritated glance at her brother-in-law then snatched breath-giver from her husband’s limp fingers. She turned without another word and used the staff to open an archway; she stepped through. Rokwolf continued to laugh.

  “I ought to just lift the staff,” Klare’s voice came back through the gray shimmering arch, “and let you slog through the sewers,” she added, letting her words hang in the air.

  Rokwolf mastered his laughter long enough to grab his still stunned twin and drag him through the archway.

  “Where are we?” Rokwolf asked after stepping through the gray archway.

  Klare spoke the word and magluku around the room flared to life. “It is . . . ,” then she stopped, “was, I should say.”

  “Master Avril’s room,” Klaybear supplied.

  “You haven’t lost your tongue,” Klare quipped, trying to cover the catch in her voice. She turned away from them quickly. “My master always kept a store of healing supplies in his room.” She paused, mastering her emotions. “When you said that the Infirmary had been destroyed, but the south part of the school had not, I thought we might come here first for supplies. Besides,” she added, “I thought this room would be a safe place for us to appear.”

  Rokwolf shook his head and looked around warily. “I’m not sure how safe it is,” he said. “Since the front of the building has collapsed, I fear the entire structure has become unstable.” He looked back at his twin; Klare had moved toward a cabinet opposite the bed and door into the hallway; the room had another door that connected it to the next room, which was the Headmaster’s room. “Where are we, precisely, in the building?” Rokwolf asked.

  Klare had reached the cabinet, opened it, and removed a pair of worn, brown leather shoulder bags. “My master’s traveling bags,” she whispered to herself, handling both bags with great care; both were filled with healing supplies.

  Klaybear glanced at Klare once before answering his twin. “Southwest corner of the second level above ground level; the master’s quarters,” he intoned softly. He pointed to the door by the bed, to the south, “that door opens into a hallway that runs the length of the school, a stairway in the southwest corner going down to level one and the main level; the novices are housed in the front two-thirds of this floor, where the master and mistress of novices could keep a close watch over them. The apprentices are housed above, on the third level above ground.”

  Rokwolf nodded. “I visited your room upstairs,” he noted, a grin twitching at the corners of his mouth.

  Klaybear flushed and touched his twin’s arm; he spoke in a low, soft voice. “Better not mention that, considering . . . ,” and he rolled his eyes toward Klare, who was inspecting the contents of one of the bags.

  Rokwolf nodded slightly. “I recall stairways at either end of the school,” he went on, “I’m betting the east stairway, and the northeast levels of the school have fallen.” He pointed to the other door. “What about that door?”

  “It goes into my master’s room,” he replied sadly.

  Rokwolf raised one eyebrow. “That’s strange.”

  Klaybear shook his head. “Not really,” he answered. “They did a lot of work together after their spouses died, so it was easier than always trooping back and forth between here and the infirmary, where Master Avril had his quarters. It was quite convenient for all the apprentices,” he added, “then the farthest we had to walk was down to the sub-levels where Master Ghelvon had us train and practice with weapons.”

  “Is there anything you want from the Headmaster’s quarters?” Rokwolf asked. “Now would be a good time to retrieve anything of value, before the looting starts.”

  Klaybear shook his head. “No looters will get inside these quarters,” he noted, “only someone very powerful could break or circumvent the wards sealing the doors.”

  Rokwolf snorted. “Then how did we get in?”

  “Klare could enter Master Avril’s chamber,” Klaybear replied, “as I can enter my master’s quarters.” He pointed to the door. “Try and open that door.”

  Rokwolf snorted, then he held up his hands. “Do you take me for a fool?”

  Klaybear smiled. “You are wise,” he said and walked over to the door, opening it. As his hand touched the latch, there was a flash of green light before the door opened; he turned and smiled back at his twin.

  Rokwolf nodded but did not move to follow him; rather, his eyes shot toward Klare, then back to his brother.

  Klaybear understood and stepped into his master’s room; at his word, the magluku flared to life. A pang wrenched his chest at seeing the room empty but for a single sheet of parchment on the table where he had spent many hours taking notes, making mistakes, and trying to understand the complexities of the kailu art under his master’s gentle hand. Slowly, not wishing to disturb the peace and quiet filling the room, he moved toward the table and the single piece of parchment, seeing the familiar handwriting and signature at the end of the short message: “I’ve left your new assignments in the usual place; one should be put away right now, secretly and safely for later; you will know what to do with the second. M.” Klaybear folded the parchment and slipped it into one of his inside pockets; he looked over toward the door, and the small, ugly little painting of a robed figure s
tanding over a second robed figure, who was kneeling in abject humility before the first, standing figure. This small, rectangular painting hung on the wall just to the right of the door into the hallway. Klaybear walked over to the door and painting, looked around to make sure no one was watching, took out his kailu symbol, held it to the kneeling figure, and softly whispered, “To learn I come.” His symbol glowed briefly, and the painting swung open, uncovering a niche the same size as the painting; two bags were stuffed inside. Klaybear pulled them out; the first contained several unmarked books and scrolls, and the second, healing supplies, a book on advanced healing, and another note. The painting closed; Klaybear carried the bags back to Master Avril’s room.

  Rokwolf stood with Avril’s bags slung over his shoulders; Klare stood at the table in Avril’s room, holding a bag of books, and she looked up as her husband entered.

  “What took you so long?” Klare asked.

  Klaybear looked surprised. “Long? I don’t think I’ve been out of the room more than . . . ,” he stopped, seeing the green eyes flash. “Uh, sorry, dear,” he went on, “my master stuffed more into his assignment box than would really fit, which included some healing supplies; I did not want to break any of the potion bottles,” he noted, holding up the bag as evidence, then continued before Klare could respond. “He also left some books that he suggested I put immediately into a safe place,” he said, holding up the second bag and then pointing to a similar bag on Avril’s table. “Did your master leave you some books, too, books that you want me to take back to our sanctuary for you?” he asked.