from the Kodex Kortexem by Sir Karble III
The sun, fully-risen, shone down into the main courtyard of the large castle that served as both school and home of the kortexi order. Young wethem clad in brown with white surcoats came forward and held their horses as Blakstar and Thal dismounted; Fregren and their escort dismounted and handed their reins to more of the young wethem, who led the horses away with a clattering of hooves on the white paving stones. Thal looked around the otherwise empty courtyard, again allowing the probing fingers of his mind to scan their surroundings. A raised platform stood in front of them, directly opposite the gate; the young wethem had led their horses to the left, while most of the horses of their escort were taken to the right, where there were large, double-doors leading into stables. On either side of the platform were doors leading into the main keep, with the main entrance at the back of the platform.
Blakstar was again looking concerned.
“What’s wrong?” Thal whispered.
“All the masters, with their wives, should be waiting to greet us on that platform,” he whispered back. “I’m supposed to report my journey to the Mountain.”
Fregren was speaking to one of the kortexem; the others had moved off to enter the keep.
Thal shook his head. “And they’ve just taken our horses away,” he noted. “We should find out where they are,” Thal suggested, noticing that Fregren was coming toward them, “in case we need to leave in a hurry.”
Fregren strode up to where they stood. “Come,” he said, “I will show you to your quarters.” He turned to lead them into the castle.
Blakstar did not move. “I thought I was supposed to make my report, at this point.”
Fregren stopped and turned, his face masked. “Normally, that would be the case. However, the Wesento is feeling ill this morning, so you will not be able to report until he feels better.”
Thal raised an eyebrow at this statement, but Fregren was focused on Blakstar so did not notice.
“If that is the case,” Blakstar said, “then you will not mind showing us where our mounts have been taken?”
Fregren chewed on this for a moment. “You know that they are well cared for,” he replied evasively.
“I do,” Blakstar said, “but that does not lessen my desire to check on them.”
“Besides,” Thal hastily added, “I need several of the things from my saddlebags, particularly my Fokortheku.”
Fregren looked from one to the other, then forced a smile. “This way,” he said, moving in the direction their horses had been taken.
He led them into the stable where they found their two mounts, tack and harness removed, idly munching grain while the two young wethem brushed both down. Thal opened and took his small backpack from his saddlebags and slung it onto his back; Blakstar did the same, and both carefully examined the stable and their mounts. Satisfied, Blakstar nodded to Fregren, who turned without a comment or sign and led them out of the stable by another door and into the citadel proper, leading them past many young wethem who stopped and gawked at Blakstar and Thal as they passed. Thal continued to scan with his mind. After many turns and many stairs, Fregren opened a door to a small room with two beds and a washbowl. They entered and hung their packs over the footboard of each bed.
“When can I see the Wesento and the other masters?” Blakstar asked before Fregren turned to leave.
“I’ll try and arrange something for this afternoon,” he replied, “if the Wesento is feeling better. Someone will be sent.” He closed the door and they heard him stalk away.
Blakstar stared at the door; Thal looked at him and shook his head. “I take it this is not part of the tradition?” Thal asked, sitting on one of the beds.
Blakstar turned and looked at his white maghi companion, then shook his head. “And these are not the quarters of visiting dignitaries,” he said, motioning to the room; he turned toward the room’s small window.
“I am in shock!” Thal said with mock surprise.
“Something is very wrong here,” Blakstar said. “No Wesento has ever been too ill to greet a kortexi returning from the Mountain, unless,” he paused and looked at Thal, “he were unconscious and unaware that one of his kortexi had returned.”
“Maybe whoever tampered with Fregren,” Thal tossed out, “also tampered with your master, and we will not be able to determine that until we see him.” He sighed and leaned back on his elbows. “Did it seem to you like Fregren was in a hurry to get somewhere?” he asked.
Blakstar nodded. “He was not happy about taking us to the stable first,” he noted.
“You mentioned that it sometimes can take most of the morning,” Thal went on, “just to travel from the main gate to the castle.”
“Depends on how well-known the kortexi is,” Blakstar replied, “it can take even longer, if he is well-known.”
Thal rubbed his chin. “And many of those at the city entrance were students and teachers from this school?” Thal asked, and when his companion nodded once, he went on. “What will happen when they return to the citadel and find those new statues around the gate where there were no statues before? And what’s more, two of them are the same two young wethem who just entered Karble? Then, when they enter the school expecting to hear your report, along with an explanation of how those statues suddenly appeared, what are they likely to do, when they find the courtyard empty?” A sudden thought rose to the surface of Thal’s mind, and he kicked himself mentally for not realizing it before. He sat up and slipped his rod from his belt. The kortexi was eyeing him curiously. He held up the rod and whispered, “Kwyeskoit,” and a gray shimmering grew from his rod expanding outward until it surrounded them both. At that point it turned nearly transparent. “I suddenly realized that someone was likely listening to us,” he said.
Blakstar sat on the bed opposite Thal. “A shield of silence?” he asked.
Thal nodded. “We don’t dare keep it up for very long,” he added, “or he will send someone. I was about to say that we should go back down and investigate discreetly, but I suspect that there are guards loyal to Fregren outside the door with orders to keep us here.”
Blakstar glanced toward the door, and his jaw clenched. He reached for his sword. “This is intolerable,” he said through gritted teeth. “I will go and call Fregren out and challenge him: he could not possibly stand against will-giver.” There was a gleam in his eyes.
Thal reached out and touched his forearm. “I did say discreetly,” he went on, “and do not forget what Klare dreamed: something as simple as a slight like this might be enough to set it off.”
Blakstar looked at the white maghi, thought for a moment, then forced himself to relax.
“Let’s first find out if there is anyone outside our door,” Thal added; after seeing his companion relax, Thal’s eyes went distant for a moment as he allowed his mental fingers to probe their surroundings. He found a pair of kortexem outside of their room, which was no surprise; he pulled back quickly, scanning the rooms on either side of them, above and below them. He pulled his mental fingers back and refocused on his companion. “Two outside the door, listeners in the rooms on either side, and a watcher above us: he really wants to watch us,” Thal added, “which means he really fears us. We have to go find out what is going on; follow my lead and complain about it being too light in the room to sleep,” Thal finished and canceled the orthek. He leaned back again, stretching and yawning expansively. “I think we were up too long last night, polishing armor and leather.”
Blakstar looked at him a moment, but then he understood. “I am a little tired,” he noted, “and since we have to wait,” he added reclining on the bed, trying to make himself more comfortable. “It is a bit bright in here, though, which will make it hard to sleep.”
Thal reclined on his own bed and looked up at the window. He pointed his rod at the window, and said, “Skuroskoit.” They were plunged into complete darkness. Thal turned toward the wall next to him and used his mental probe to
locate the listener behind that wall. Pointing his rod at him, he hummed a lullaby, then slipped in the word to put the listener to sleep, “supno,” softly singing the word of power until he saw with his mental eyes that the listener had fallen asleep. Still humming softly, he turned and found the listener behind the other wall, pointed his rod, singing the word over and over, putting the second listener to sleep. He shifted to the watcher above, probing further even as he continued to sing him to sleep, trying to see what he could without setting off any mental alarms. He saw the familiar mental thread leading away, and similar threads from the people around them. He longed to follow them to their source, but he knew that it was dangerous to attempt on his own, and that they had very little time, if they wanted to find out what Fregren was up to. When the watcher above fell asleep, he pulled back and whispered to his companion. “They are all asleep; let’s go and see what Fregren is up to.”
“Are the guards asleep?” Blakstar whispered.
“No, that would be too obvious,” Thal replied.
“How do we get past them, then?” Blakstar asked.
“We don’t; we open an archway back to the stable,” Thal answered.
“Where in the stable?” Blakstar asked, getting up.
“The hay loft.” Thal said, and he waited until Blakstar had opened the archway, then stood and stepped through; the kortexi followed.
“ . . . stable by the main gate,” a voice said, and they heard the doors below them close. They held still as they heard movement below. Thal nodded to the shutters behind them that opened onto the square, then he moved quietly toward them; one of them was blocked open, so they could see light shining in, illuminating dust motes floating lazily in the still air, and hear a babble of voices. Peering through the crack, they could see a crowd gathered in the courtyard but little could be heard for the many voices speaking at once. One voice rose clearly above the others; it was Fregren.
“You all know that the Wesento has been ill for many days,” he said, “we hope that he will be strong enough this afternoon to come out so that we can have the traditional report by Sir Blakstar.”
“Where is he?” someone shouted.
“Where did the statues come from?” another shouted.
“Is it true that the statues appeared as Sir Blakstar passed?” asked someone else.
“Why can’t we ask him?” said another.
Several others shouted agreement with this last question. Thal was only half listening to the voices, spending the time gently probing the crowd with his mental fingers.
“The effort has tired him,” Fregren said, “so he is currently resting. It does, however, point to a problem with our code: we do not permit the use of teka, and he, obviously, used teka to bring one of the statues to life.”
“Hold on, Sir Fregren,” one in the front said. “I was there; Sir Blakstar simply stuck Sir Karble’s sword into the road and the statues rose up out of the ground: I do not see that he used teka . . . ,” he said, but Fregren cut him off.
“How then did the statue come to life and kill Sir Belgrin?” Fregren asked.
“Sir Belgrin tried to take the holy sword for himself,” the speaker went on, “he was justly slain for his crime: Sir Blakstar had naught to do with it as he was speaking with his white maghi companion, who was closely examining the statues of himself and Melbarth at the time, so you cannot accuse him, either.”
“Nevertheless,” Fregren went on, unflustered, “I merely point out that there may be a problem,” he paused at this point, as the brown-robed figure standing by his side touched his arm and whispered to him. Previous to this, Thal had noticed something mentally odd about the figure standing next to Fregren, and he had moved mentally closer at the time when the speaker was telling the crowd that Thal and Blakstar had nothing to do with the statue coming to life. In that instant, Thal saw that the mind of the brown-robed figure was unlike those around him, and he saw many mental threads attached to his mind. Thal pulled his fingers back at once and erected defenses around himself and Blakstar; the figure had turned and looked right at him, then turned back to whisper to Fregren.
“Quickly!” Thal hissed, “Open a door back to our room!” Blakstar hesitated a second, then stood and started to open the archway; Thal saw Fregren glance in his direction, then nod once, and the brown-robed figure, whose face was hidden from view, turned and started walking toward the stable. Thal felt the mental attack crash against his defenses but did not respond, choosing rather to maintain and bolster his shield; a second attack stabbed at his shield, like a mental sword rammed into the fabric of his mind.
“It’s open,” Blakstar whispered.
Thal did not dare move. “Help,” he choked, “under . . . mental . . . attack,” he managed to say before the third attack came, even more powerful than the two previous, hammering on his defenses, causing them to fold and buckle.
Blakstar heard the door below open, saw Thal with his eyes closed and sweat pouring down his face, so he grabbed Thal’s leg with his free hand while holding the door open and simply dragged him through as he himself stepped through, dragging a small quantity of hay with them.
“Neki,” Thal said, canceling the shield blocking out all light. Blakstar helped him onto the bed.
“What . . . ?” Blakstar tried to ask, but Thal stopped him.
“Waters,” Thal whispered.
Blakstar nodded and handed him the special flask; Thal took a drink, then gave it back.
“The morgle is here,” he whispered, touching a symbol on his wrist.
“The brown-robed figure?” Blakstar asked in a hushed voice.
“It must be,” Thal replied, “nothing else has that kind of mental power. Do you know where your master is?” Thal asked.
“Probably, why?”
“Grab your bag and open an archway to him,” Thal said, “we have only moments before they get here.”
Blakstar nodded, picked up his pack, and opened another archway; Thal grabbed his own pack and prepared to step through. They heard footsteps and voices coming down the hall; Thal reinforced his mental defenses and grabbed the kortexi’s arm as they both stepped through and into the Wesento’s bedroom. The kortexi master lay unmoving on the bed; Blakstar went to him, and Thal erected another shield around them, guessing there were guards outside the room. Blakstar tried to give the Wesento some of the Waters.
“He is too far gone,” Blakstar said, looking back to where Thal stood watching, “I cannot get him to drink any.”
“I signaled Klaybear and Klare,” Thal replied, “they should . . . Klaybear, Klare,” he said to their heads, “we need you.”
“Everyone needs us, today,” Klare noted.
Thal went on. “Blakstar’s master is too ill to drink any of the waters, and the morgle is here.”
Both their faces looked shocked. “How do you . . . ?” Klaybear started to say, but Klare interrupted him.
“Are you sure?” Klare asked.
“Just get here before he does,” Thal said, “I’ve already had one mental battle with him.”
“Breaking contact to open a door,” Klaybear said as they winked out. The archway appeared almost immediately
Klare went through the door first, followed by Klaybear; she went straight to the bed where the Wesento lay, her hands already surrounded by green light. She moved over the unmoving form from foot to head while Blakstar watched.
“The morgle, you say?” Klaybear whispered to Thal.
Thal nodded. “Just be ready for an attack,” he noted, “I don’t know how long it will take for them to figure out where we have gone; I’ve surrounded us by a shield of silence, so the guards outside will not hear us.”
Klaybear nodded, watching his wife work; she was moving back down the Wesento’s form. “What’s happened here?” he asked.
“Exactly, we do not know,” Thal replied. “We know that the second in command, a kortexi named Fregren, has been mentally tampered with and is under some kind of compul
sion.”
Klare looked up. “He’s been poisoned,” she said, “a slow-acting type that destroys the body over time.”
“Can you heal him enough so that I can give him a drink of the Waters?” Blakstar asked sounding quite worried.
Klare smiled. “I can easily heal him of the poison without the Waters,” she said, “but they certainly will not hurt.” She looked over to where Klaybear stood next to Thal. “Time to try breath-giver, I think.”
Klaybear nodded and tossed the staff to her; she caught it easily and turned immediately back to the bed, breath-giver glowing bright green in her hands, the eye-shaped emerald as bright as a small star.
“Just a few minutes ago,” Thal went on, “I discovered the morgle was here, shape-changed to look like a wethi, but the mind was alien. As soon as I noticed, he moved to attack us, and the attacks were powerful beyond the capability of any wethem I’ve known, with few exceptions. We opened an archway back to our room, then one here, since they knew where we were . . . he’s probing!” he hissed.
“Blank us out!” Klaybear hissed back. “We have to give Klare time . . . ,” he began but stopped hearing her call.
“Klaybear!” Klare called. “This isn’t right; I’ve neutralized the poison but to no effect.”
Thal stood motionless, eyes closed and holding up his rod that was now glowing with a soft, white light.
Klaybear moved next to his wife and put his hand on the staff, concentrating for a moment. “I see what you mean,” he noted, “he looks perfectly healthy; he ought to be getting up but isn’t.” Klaybear glanced once at Thal and saw he had not moved or changed his stance. “If the morgle is here with the rod . . . ,” he began.
“Then we should check his mind,” Klare finished; Klaybear joined her, and they were both surprised to see breath-giver glowing brightly in her mental fingers. Is it supposed to do that? she asked mentally.
The Redemption, Volume 1 Page 88
