“There are four vortices of magic,” Anneli said. “Understanding, healing, protection and destruction. They run in a curved line across the Great Forest, from east to west. The Vortex of Healing is in the east, at the fountain you’ve seen; Understanding is below us, which you’ve also seen. Near the western shore of Lake Eranith is the Vortex of Protection, and beyond it, in the West Wood, is the Vortex of Destruction. Dourok was drawn to this last one when he tried to defeat Lanioc.
“As I told you when we were down in the caverns, the four crystals amplify all magic, but especially the magic they are attuned to. The magic of understanding is strongest here because of the vortex. You can feel the magic, but try to peel back the outer layer. Try to look past the magic of understanding to see the others beneath.”
“I think I can….”
Anneli nodded. “Yes, you perceive the different types of magic. I can feel that you do.”
“Destruction—what I think is destruction—it’s the weakest.”
“That vortex is the farthest away.”
“And healing and protection are at about the same strength.”
“That is correct.”
Penny felt Anneli release her hands, and she opened her eyes. The magic flowing through her began to fade until it was again the gently hum she had felt ever since she’d touched the crystal.
“Now you know what the different kinds of magic feel like. When you wish to cast a spell drawing on one of them, you know how to look for it. That is something that it takes most people close to a year to learn.”
“Really?”
“But since you are… unique… the magic seeks you out by itself. It will know what you require and come to you rather than you having to call on it.”
Penny looked at her hands. “You said I have some magic within me… it’s always there?”
“Yes. Think of it like a glowing ember. You can make a fire by striking together flint and steel, but it is easier if you already have an ember from a previous fire. You can blow on it and raise a spark. Because of that ember of magic within you—that ever-present spark—it will take less energy and less focus when you wish to cast a spell.”
The mention of an ember made her think of the large, ash-colored lion that had appeared at her side during the battle. “Was the Ember Lion drawn to my… my spark?” she asked.
“I believe so.”
“But Owen can also speak to the formless creatures. Does this mean he has that spark as well?”
“He does not. The ability to perceive and speak to the formless creatures is a rare but unrelated gift. Formless creatures will be drawn to those with that gift, but the Ember Lion is both like and unlike those other creatures. He is considered one of them because of how he can appear and disappear at will, but he is….” Anneli looked off, past Penny’s shoulder. “I believe he has a human soul. Or at least a soul more like a human’s than an animal’s.”
Penny nodded. She didn’t know if it was because of the influence of the vortex below them, but she understood.
“It is why,” Anneli said, “Lanioc and the lion are considered by some to be one and the same. Some believe Lanioc was the physical manifestation of the lion; his name means lion, after all. That is why we refer to the things he created the way we do. His crown is the Lion’s Crown. His sword is the Lion’s Sword.”
“There’s a sword?”
“Yes.”
“Is it lost?”
Anneli shook her head. “It is not lost, but it is unreachable. At least, it was.”
Penny furrowed her brow and looked at Anneli, urging her to continue.
“You’ve been studying the maps of the Great Wood. Picture a map in your mind.” Anneli watched Penny’s eyes for a moment. “Yes. Good. Your recall is being aided by the Vortex of Understanding.
“You see Eranith, the large lake in the center of the forest. And you see the ruins of the old city, Eranion. Lanioc was buried in Eranion, in a place called the Lion’s Crypt.”
Penny’s focus returned to the queen. “Faric told me that there is no body… that Lanioc somehow became one with the magic and disappeared.”
Anneli swallowed. They were alone in the gardens, but she glanced around anyway. “That is what most believe.”
“You mean there is a body?” Penny whispered.
“It’s true that people witnessed Lanioc vanish as he was overwhelmed by magic. And it’s true that his empty suit of armor, along with his sword, were laid in his crypt. But a hundred and eighty years after his death, a king named Uriac made a pilgrimage to Eranion to visit the Lion’s Crypt. He discovered that a magical ward surrounded the entrance to the tomb, so powerful that he alone was strong enough to pass through it. Like you, he had the spark of magic within him, but it was very faint and aided him only slightly.
“He made his way down a stone staircase, into the bowels of the old city. It is said that the elders who constructed Lanioc’s crypt placed several ordeals between the entrance and the sarcophagus, but no one knows what they are. Uriac mentioned them in his account, but he did not speak of them in any great detail.
“At last he reached the marble sarcophagus where Lanioc’s armor had been laid to rest. Opening it, he saw the remains of the great king. The body was still, but he looked as though he had died but minutes before. It had not decayed despite the passage of nearly two centuries. King Uriac knew the face from portraits that had been painted during Lanioc’s life.
“He emerged from the tomb but did not tell his entourage what he had seen. He shared this secret with the man being groomed as his successor and two of the elders, but no one else. This knowledge has been closely guarded as it is passed down from one sovereign to the next, hidden from all but the current monarch and a few of the elders.”
“Why?”
“Because if Dourok ever found out, we do not know what he would be able to do with Lanioc’s body. Like you, he had a spark of magic within himself. If that could be harnessed… no, it’s unthinkable. It’s bad enough that the sword is there, unprotected except by a ward that no one knows the true strength of and a series of ordeals that we know nothing about. And there is something else to consider.”
Anneli put her arm around Penny’s waist and pulled her to her side. She put her lips next to Penny’s ear. “If Lanioc and the Ember Lion are one and the same, then that body may be what ties the lion to our world. Without it, he may not be able to come to our aid.”
Anneli kissed Penny on the cheek then released her. “Dourok has defeated wards before, but it is no easy thing. As long as it remains intact, the crypt should be safe. Still, there is the sword. If it could be retrieved….”
Penny frowned. “You mean for me to do it? Because I have the magical spark within me?”
“I believe you could do it… but in time. After you’ve learned how to control the magic. But if you could collect it—if you could wield it—it would be a weapon that Dourok himself would not be able to counter.”
They heard footsteps near the door leading out from the palace and looked up to see Owen, Sir William and Sir Stephen approaching.
“Ah, here’s where you got off to,” William said as they reached the two women. He put his hand on Penny’s lower back and eased her body toward his. She let him, glad for his closeness after what Anneli had just told her.
Anneli held her hand out to Owen. “I’m glad you’re here. Penny has just had her first lesson in magic, and it is time you had yours. Come, take off your shoes and step out onto the lawn with me.”
As Penny watched Anneli take Owen’s hands into hers, she rested her head against William’s shoulder.
“You feel cold,” he said.
“I am,” she whispered. “Hold me for a while.”
“Of course, my love.”
She felt his other arm go around her, and as she sensed the magic surge up from the ground, pass through Anneli and Owen and radiate outward toward her, a shiver ran through her body. In her mind’s eye, she could al
most picture the Lion’s Crypt; she could almost see Lanioc’s body, untouched by death or time. Other images crowded into her thoughts as they had during her test at the vortex. She tried to make sense of them, but they passed too quickly for her to see things in any great detail. She did see Faric, in a wilderness camp with some other men. And she saw her old hut back in Fenhold Village, sitting cold and empty. And then she saw George Ashberry again. He was still in darkness. This time she didn’t get the sense that she was seeing the afterlife. The place he was being kept felt tangible, but she couldn’t see anything beyond his face.
She shuddered, and William pulled her closer. She didn’t like seeing these things. She didn’t like not knowing what they meant. But more than that, she didn’t want to tell Anneli about them. The queen could read her mind if she wanted to, but for now, until Penny could make some sense of them, she wanted to keep them a secret.
Was this what it meant to have an affinity for magic? A lifetime of unease and confusion? She had repeatedly heard it referred to as a gift, but she was beginning to have her doubts.
Chapter Six
Death at Lake Dranith
General Gralock bellowed at the line of men behind him. As one, seven hundred Dourosh soldiers rushed forward, out of the forest and toward the clearing at the edge of Lake Dranith. In front of them, the small Lanosh army scrambled to organize a defense. A grin upturned the corners of Gralock’s lips. They wouldn’t be able to form their line in time. His scouts had eliminated the guard patrols before the alarm could be raised.
A few dozen arrows arced toward the Dourosh, but they had been fired blindly. The attackers reached the camp without taking any casualties and began striking down the few Lanosh who were ready for them, overwhelming them with their numbers. He lost sight of his men as they weaved among the tents, but he could tell from the noise that they had not yet been halted. The yells and screams carried through the camp until finally a cluster of around twenty half-dressed Lanosh burst out from the northeastern side of the camp in a desperate attempt to reach the forest. Gralock’s marauders were close at their heels.
Half of the Lanosh turned to make a stand as the other half continued to flee. Gralock squinted in the direction of the retreating men. He couldn’t tell by sight alone, but he felt certain the Lanosh general was among them.
As the defending Lanosh began to fall, he took a few strides toward the camp. Here and there he caught glimpses of men running or fighting as whatever remained of the Lanosh refused to surrender. He didn’t blame them; the Dourosh had never been known to be merciful to their captives. Two millennia of war had taught the Lanosh that it was better to die fighting than be taken prisoner.
Beyond the camp, the small band of Lanosh reached the forest and disappeared into the trees. His men were still busy with the rearguard, but it didn’t much matter if the enemy general and his retinue escaped. Winter was descending quickly upon the North Wood. Without supplies or equipment, they stood little chance of making it back to Lanion in time. If he didn’t manage to track them down later, they’d most likely perish during the winter. If they did survive, they would be weak and hungry come spring and would still be alone in hostile territory.
Gralock had no retinue of his own. His lieutenants led their men, and he strode freely among them all. He had no need for servants or bodyguards. Every man in his army followed his orders without question. Other commanders had to resort to punishment to keep their men in line—Dourosh soldiers were notoriously undisciplined—but Gralock’s unique magic meant that he could control any man with but a few minutes of conversation.
As he neared the edge of the camp, three Lanosh dashed out from behind a tent. They ran directly toward Gralock, and he casually drew his sword as they spotted him and made to attack.
The first Lanosh, armed with only a small hatchet, reached Gralock. The hatchet sliced through the air next to Gralock’s head, and he let the momentum of the swing pull the Lanosh off balance before spinning and biting his blade into the enemy soldier’s unarmored lower back.
As his victim fell forward, Gralock spun again and met the oncoming blade of another Lanosh. Their blades met three more times before Gralock’s superior skill drove his foe backward. The third Lanosh, though, took up the slack, attacking from Gralock’s right as his comrade regained his balance.
As he blocked the thrust of the Lanosh’s sword, he summoned up a small seed of magical power. While his skills drew chiefly on the magic of understanding, he was adept enough to be able to use all forms of magic when he needed to. Immediately, his muscles ignited with energy, and with a flurry of blows, he overwhelmed his enemy and skewered him through the stomach.
He turned to face the Lanosh he’d driven back. Of the three, he was the only one who was wearing armor, and as Gralock studied his foe, he noticed the ornamental flourishes on the chest plate that marked him as an officer.
Gralock grinned. This one would have a strong enough magical affinity to be able to offer up a more interesting fight. As this thought passed through him mind, he saw the Lanosh officer’s left hand make a few subtle gestures. He was conjuring a spell.
The magical energy that had given Gralock his burst of speed began to ebb away, and he quickly cast up a magical shield. His instincts proved correct. The Lanosh officer thrust his left hand forward, and Gralock felt his shield vibrate as a wave of force struck it. The shield, cast in haste, was not quite strong enough though, and Gralock felt the wind leave his lungs as the magical attack shattered his shield and passed through his body.
His eyes saw the next part of the assault as the Lanosh sprang forward, his sword poised to strike, but there had been something else in the magical attack; he was frozen in place, unable to bring his sword arm up to defend himself. He fought against the effect and felt it begin to fade, but unless he drew on everything he had, he would not be able to free himself in time.
Knowing that there was just as much danger in opening oneself fully to magic, he decided to take the gamble. He released the mental blocks that he had formed over the course of decades, the precautions designed to let him control the magic instead of allowing the magic to control him. He felt the energy flow up from the earth and into his body. He did not try to tease out the different kinds of magic—what he was trying to do required raw power, not careful manipulation. His entire body screamed in pain. He was on the brink of losing control of the magic, but he managed to wrangle it just in time as the Lanosh’s sword came down for the killing blow.
Gralock freed himself of the spell and brought his sword up. It blocked the attack, but he was still too overwhelmed to retaliate. Instead, he staggered backward. He stumbled over the dead Lanosh behind him, and as he fell, his left hand hit the ground near the dead man’s abandoned hatchet.
He was facing away from the still-advancing enemy officer, and he closed his fist around the handle of the hatchet as he turned and lifted his sword as a feint. The Lanosh fell for the ruse and lowered his sword to block the expected attack. Instead, Gralock swung his left arm around and released the hatchet. It struck the Lanosh squarely on his breastplate, and even though it didn’t bite through the metal, it sent him reeling.
Not wasting any time getting to his feet, Gralock scrambled toward the man on all fours and pinned the wrist of his sword arm with his free hand. He brought his own sword down and hacked into the Lanosh’s face. A single scream escaped the man’s mangled lips before Gralock swung the sword again, silencing him forever.
As soon as he knew the man was dead, he collapsed on top of the body. Letting the magic in had saved him, but he was now paying the cost. Every muscle was spent, his ears rang and his head pounded as though a legion of demons was beating war drums inside his skull. He had lost control of his bladder, but he was beyond caring about that.
He somehow managed to turn himself over and look up. The sky was blocked out by a face, and he breathed a shallow sigh of relief as he saw that it was one of his own men. The ringing faded, and he hear
d voices. His soldiers were emerging from the camp, their brutal work now done. As they lifted him up and carried him into one of the tents, he knew that for the next several hours, he would know nothing but sleep.
Chapter Seven
Vahlik’s Failure
Penny sat up and looked at William. He was turned facing away from her, sleeping soundly. She again heard the noise that had awakened her: a knock. She slid out from beneath the covers, and a chill ran across her naked body as her skin was exposed to the early morning air. Almost instinctively, she drew on the magic she could feel pulsing in the timber flooring beneath her feet. She drew the magic up, into her body, and let it warm her.
The effect sent another chill through her, but one of excitement. In the two days since Anneli had shown her how to call up the magic from the earth, she had received no instruction, but she was beginning to understand how to do certain things. Anneli had said this was rare but not unheard of; some people, once their magical affinity was awakened, simply knew how to manipulate it. Training and study would be required to hone those abilities, but they were already there, waiting for her. She almost felt like the magic wanted her to use it, to manipulate it. So it excited her… and it scared her. She hoped that once Anneli began mentoring her, the fear would subside as she began to understand the ways of magic.
The door vibrated again, and this time William stirred. He looked at her as she hastily dressed. “What is it? Trouble?”
“I don’t know yet. Let me see who it is.”
She crossed to the door and eased it open. Outside was a palace servant, one of the few who spoke the language of Emberlyn. “Her Majesty wishes to see you,” he said, forming the strange words carefully.
Penny nodded. “William as well?”
The servant shook his head. “You alone.”
Penny thanked him and asked him to wait.
The Lion's Crypt (The Emberlyn Chronicles Book 2) Page 4
