The Silver Portal (Weapons of Power Book 1)

by David J Normoyle

  “Ull Axilium,” Lukin said.

  The eagle-crest with strength-mage and speed-mage powers, Mortlebee remembered. They were well and truly caught. Perhaps it was for the best.

  “You know my name,” Ull Axilium said. “How delightful. I presume, therefore, you know enough not to try to escape.” He raised his voice and directed it toward the bridge. “I’ve caught them. Come quick.”

  Mortlebee was relieved they’d been captured, but Lukin had other ideas. He kicked hard on the flanks of his horse. The horse strained forward, but Ull Axilium held firm. The horse fell, twisting sideways, neighing in distress, and Lukin was flung from the saddle.

  Mortlebee’s horse, spooked, reared back on two legs, and Mortlebee threw his arms around the horse’s neck, only just holding his seat. His horse galloped away from the riverbank and into the darkness.

  “One is getting away,” Ull Axilium shouted.

  Mortlebee clung tightly to the horse’s neck, half unseated, struggling not to fall off. He managed to get his head around enough to see that Ull Axilium had Lukin by the shoulder. Perhaps this is for the best. Get away from Lukin and avoid the confrontation with the clerics. Lukin had only been a bad influence. Mortlebee would never be able to purify his heart while traveling with him.

  But a little voice inside his head was screaming at him to turn back and help his friend. Listening to that little voice had only ever gotten him into trouble, and he knew he had to ignore it. “Fleeing confrontation is not cowardice,” the scrolls of Kale taught. “True bravery lies in ignoring base instincts that can only lead to escalation.” Mortlebee just needed to hold on and let the horse take him away.

  Even as he told himself that, he knew he couldn’t do it.

  He regained his seat and yanked on the left-hand rein. The horse resisted, but Mortlebee persisted, eventually getting enough control to force it to come around in a wide circle.

  Several men and women from the village had come out of their houses to find the cause of the commotion and were forced to jump back as Mortlebee flashed past on his horse. With darkness all around him, Mortlebee was only seeing things at the last moment. Several clerics appeared in front of him, and Mortlebee managed to direct the horse to stay to the left. Most of the clerics, faced with the out-of-control horse, retreated, but one stepped forward and tried to run alongside and grab the horse. Mortlebee kicked out, making slight contact, just enough to knock the man back.

  Then Ull Axilium and Lukin were in front of Mortlebee’s charging horse. Adrenaline roared through his body, and Mortlebee shouted, a mindless bellow. He had no plan, no idea what was going to happen next. Cold night air rushed at his face, stinging his eyes.

  Ull Axilium shifted away so quickly he seemed to disappear. Mortlebee clenched tightly with his legs, gripped the pommel of the saddle with one hand, and reached down with the other hand toward Lukin. As the horse flashed past him, Lukin jumped, reached up, and grabbed Mortlebee’s arm. The coordination was perfect, as though they had practiced it a thousand times, their arms interlinked and Lukin soaring upward.

  Or so it seemed for one heartbeat. Then Mortlebee realized he wasn’t pulling Lukin up. Rather, Lukin was pulling Mortlebee off the horse. Mortlebee braced himself for impact, then a loud splash sounded, followed by a smaller splash, then his face hit water.

  Then he was immersed in cold water, sinking downward, the current dragging at his clothes. He opened his mouth to scream and swallowed water. His mind screamed at him. He was drowning.

  Chapter 24

  As Lukin kicked against the current, surfacing with adrenaline coursing through him like wildfire, he wanted to do it all over again.

  Being captured by Ull Axilium had been disappointing. He’d been sure he was done for at that point. Then out of nowhere, and roaring like a bull in heat, Mortlebee had charged them on his horse. What a magnificent, beautiful, crazy idiot he was. Lukin had jumped up to grab Mortlebee’s arm, gone hurtling upward, only to be immediately dunked into the cold water of the river. It was awesome.

  I’m drowning, I’m drowning, I’m drowning, oh Kale, I’m drowning...

  From Mortlebee’s thoughts, he wasn’t taking things as well. Lukin kicked strongly enough to keep his head above water while he twisted around, searching the churning blackness all around him. He wasn’t the best swimmer in the world, but he’d found that as long as one didn’t panic, things tended to work out. Perhaps he should have mentioned that to Mortlebee. Though from the boy’s panic-flooded thoughts, he doubted the Tockian would be doing any clear thinking regardless of what he’d said.

  Lukin heard a series of small splashes and swam in that direction. “Mortlebee,” Lukin shouted. He could still hear a stream of panicked thoughts but couldn’t see anyone. A splash just behind. Lukin turned and, after taking a deep breath, dived under the water. He grabbed blindly with his hands in front of him but surfaced without grabbing anything. He took another breath then dived again. That time, his hand met cloth. He pulled it closer, managed to hook an arm around a body, then kicked to the surface.

  Lukin sucked in another breath then turned Mortlebee onto his back, making sure his head was above water.

  Kale take me to the place of eternal peace to rest. Kale take me to the eternal place of peace to rest.

  Lukin slapped Mortlebee across his face to remind him he was still alive. Mortlebee coughed out water, then when he realized he wasn’t quite dead, his panic returned. His arms flailed, and he hit Lukin in the face. Lukin let go, and Mortlebee sank below the water before bobbing up again. Then the current gripped him and swirled him downriver past Lukin.

  I’m drowning. Save me. I’m drowning.

  I’m renka trying, Lukin thought, but you aren’t making it easy. He swam with the current. He grabbed for Mortlebee’s clothes, but his fingers were too numb to grip. Lukin struggled to grab hold of Mortlebee, realizing how cold he was and how much energy had been drained from him. Mortlebee fought against Lukin’s help, though his struggles were just as weak. By accident, Lukin elbowed Mortlebee in the face, stunning the other boy into stillness.

  I’m drowning, came the thought but with less panic.

  Lukin maneuvered his body beneath Mortlebee’s, stroking and kicking to keep them both above the water.

  Above, the stars shone with a cold light. The river current pulled strongly, and choppy waves dashed over their heads. Lukin’s lips trembled, and each stroke became harder than the last. His clothes felt heavy, and Mortlebee was a dead weight on top of him.

  So cold, Mortlebee thought.

  Can’t argue with you there, buddy. Even thinking was becoming difficult. Lukin’s mind clouded in a cold fog. Have to get out. He bobbed below the water and swallowed water. He coughed it up, looking around and seeing nothing but darkness.

  To the left, came a thought from Mortlebee. The bank.

  Lukin turned his head. When he concentrated, he could make out treetops outlined by starlight. They weren’t too far away. He summoned all his energy reserves and kicked in that direction. An adventurer doesn’t die like this, he told himself. A famous adventurer doesn’t end up a soggy corpse at the bottom of a stupid river. An adventurer goes out in a blaze of... Thoughts came more and more slowly. He tried to kick harder, but his legs were barely responding anymore.

  Suddenly, a deeper blackness reared up in front of them, and Lukin realized the current was taking them into the bank. That was their last chance to get out before the cold sapped away every scrap of his energy. Lukin stroked with one arm, but with no strength in it, he made no headway. That didn’t matter, though. The current was propelling them straight into the bank. Lukin braced himself, but they didn’t hit. Instead, the bank deflected the water, and they were swept alongside. Lukin stretched out an arm, reaching, reaching.

  His arm hooked around a root, and the force of the water sent them spinning hard against the bank. Mortlebee crashed into it, and Lukin landed on top of him. Lukin’s breath was forced from him, and he lost h
is grip on the root. He slid off Mortlebee, who clung to the bank with both hands, and back into the water. The current grabbed him again, pulling him farther into the river. Lukin dug his fingers into the bank, coming away with handfuls of mud. One knee hit the bottom of the riverbed, for the river was only half a pace deep at that point. The water continued to claw at Lukin’s clothes, as the Hatori was still not done with him. Lukin’s hand made contact with something more solid, a stone, and he managed to stop the backward momentum with the knee and the hand.

  He strained forward, but he couldn’t pull himself any farther. The current was too strong, and he was too weak. He could just about hold himself steady, but only a tiny flame of energy remained. His fingers couldn’t hold on any longer.

  Hang on, came a thought, and Lukin looked up.

  Clumps of dirt fell as the Tockian clambered down. Careful, Lukin wanted to warn him. Mortlebee stamped one foot into the water up to his knee then bent down to wrap his arm around Lukin’s shoulder. The pressure on Lukin’s fingers eased.

  One last push.

  Lukin squeezed his eyes shut, reached deep inside himself for everything he had left, and threw himself forward. Even with Mortlebee’s help, he only made it half a step closer. With that half step, though, the pull of the current lessened, and the next step was easier. They slithered up the bank arm in arm.

  At the top, Lukin fell face down in the mud, totally spent.

  You can’t stay here.

  Lukin couldn’t do anything else. He was just too tired and too cold to move.

  Something slapped his cheek. Get up!

  Lukin wasn’t sure if thoughts could be shouted, but if so, that one was. He pushed himself to his hands and knees and crawled up a bit farther to where Mortlebee was taking off his clothes. Lukin collapsed onto his belly again.

  Get undressed.

  Lukin turned onto one side and tried to pull off his clothes. His hands shook, and his fingers wouldn’t work. He couldn’t grip the wet clothes.

  Mortlebee had to help him. Lukin even had difficulty holding his arms over his head to allow Mortlebee to pull his soggy tunic over his head.

  The cold was even worse when he was naked. The wind cut through him, burning his skin and plunging an additional chill deep inside him, like an icicle to the heart.

  Into the trees. Mortlebee helped Lukin to his feet.

  They staggered forward a few steps before Lukin fell.

  I have to keep going. Follow me.

  Mortlebee disappeared into the trees. Lukin tried to get back to his feet and failed. He lay for a few moments then crawled forward. He could barely remember where he was going or why. He just knew he needed to shift a hand forward, then a knee, then the other hand.

  Adventurers lived for moments when the darkness was greatest. When all seemed lost, did Huell give up? No. That’s why he was celebrated in songs and stories as Huell the Giant. Lukin was determined that he would be as famous one day.

  The trees crowded over Lukin, blocking out the starlight. Lukin crawled through the darkness toward a faint whirring sound.

  Mortlebee, crouched over, was rubbing two sticks together. Lukin collapsed beside him.

  Don’t stop moving. Start rubbing yourself all over. Violent shivers racked Mortlebee’s body.

  Lukin rubbed his fingers against his thighs but couldn’t feel anything. It felt as if he was rubbing ice against ice.

  He smelled a whiff of smoke, and a short time later, an orange flame sparked into life. Mortlebee leaned on his side and blew on the flame, adding kindling and nursing it into the beginnings of a fire. He added a few small twigs then turned to where Lukin rubbed slowly at his thigh and chest.

  “Get closer to the fire,” Mortlebee ordered, stopping his teeth from chattering long enough to get the few words out.

  Lukin crawled closer, but the fire supplied no heat.

  Mortlebee took Lukin’s hands and began to rub them vigorously until the icy sensation thawed a bit.

  Now rub your hands against your body again. But harder this time.

  Lukin did, and that time, he started to get some feeling in his skin.

  “Harder.” Mortlebee rubbed his hands up and down his own shivering body, then reached down to rub Lukin’s feet and toes, then returned to running his hands up and down his own legs.

  As Lukin started to rub his arms, the faintest whiff of heat from the fire touched his skin, and he knew he would live.

  Chapter 25

  Twig’s knees were higher than her head, and her shoulders faced a different direction from her hips. She was getting too big for that hiding spot. It was a favorite, though, giving her something none of the others did, a chance to eavesdrop on the private conversations of sheltered people. Perhaps Bareth would consider it her need for connection, her desire to be part of the human experience that brought her back again and again. What does he know? she thought sulkily.

  She couldn’t see anything, but as she shifted about to try to get more comfortable, she sensed charcoal dust particles swirling around her. She wished more chimneys were in such a bad state of repair that she could fit inside them.

  A grumble of noise rose up from the tavern below. The voices were coarsened and muffled by their journey up the chimney, but when she concentrated, Twig could understand what was said. She could only use that location when the weather was warm and no fire had been lit. Several times, she’d had to flee the chimney quickly, coughing up lungfuls of smoke and chased by a rising heat.

  She closed her eyes and listened to the voices coming up the chimney. The rumble of noise sorted itself into words and sentences. After a while, she recognized the voices well enough to make out which ones came from which conversation. She knew from experience that the topics could range from fantastic stories of faraway lands to complaining about a wife that wouldn’t clean the house. From her sooty perch, Twig had heard tales of romance, of whorehouse debauchery, of friends’ betrayals, of dangers faced, of trades made—a parade of endless stories from a faceless mass of taverngoers.

  Much of what she knew about sheltered people’s lives and the world around her came from listening in that spot. However, filtered through drunken exaggerations and with little experience to anchor it, the world presented to her in that way was a shadowed reflection of reality, she knew. At times, she couldn’t differentiate truth from lie, fact from embellishment. Sometimes, though, they talked about streets she knew, events she had seen, people she knew to be real. She’d even heard her recent adventures discussed. It wasn’t all false.

  She focused on the voices.

  Gravelly voice: “No one can deny that Mezziall is a god.”

  Squeaky voice: “Only idiots think he is god. He was a man, just like you or me. Except with the power to fart fireballs.”

  Gravelly, getting angry: “So every single person from Uniteia and Ziallia is an idiot.”

  Squeaky: “Most likely. Surely even idiots know he crossed the Grell Barrier.”

  Gravelly: “The Grell Barrier is just the end of the world. There’s nothing beyond it.”

  Squeaky: “You’re messing with me. You have to have heard about Halcone and Grell and how the angels and dragons and magic users were expelled from Mageles.”

  Gravelly, shouting: “Nothing but myths and legends.”

  She tuned them out. Mezziall the Uniter had been a real person, but she knew from experience that arguments about whether he was a god or just a powerful wizard who had crossed the Grell Barrier always descended into shouted arguments and fights.

  Religious discussions often ended like that. No one ever accepted the other person’s views. That was one of the reasons Twig didn’t accept everything Bareth told her. He was a truly good person, but he believed his religion true and the other ones false. Those from Uniteia and Ziallia believed that Mezziall was a god. Some from Soirbuz said that Zubrios was a god even though he was still alive. Zeeists thought everyone should help each other. Followers of Kale were said to believe in tota
l nonviolence, which was so unbelievable that it probably couldn’t be true. Pizarrians wanted the freedom to attack whomever they desired.

  Are there core truths somewhere in all the religious discussions? It had seemed right to her what she had done, taking from the Takers, saving rain people from those like Krawl. At the same time, she trusted Bareth, and he thought what she was doing, what she had become, was monstrous. She touched the leather of her scabbard, which she held tightly to her side. She didn’t want to go back to being a mouse. Should I ignore Bareth’s advice? Is there another way?

  She listened again to the voices.

  “He made me clean the whole shop floor three times. And he was the one with the muddy boots.” Someone was complaining about his boss.

  She tuned into another conversation.

  “I tell you the Lord Protector is up to something. I’ve never seen so many of Zubrios’s clerics around Blackstone.”

  “Keep your voice down, in Mezziall’s name. Be careful what you say about the Lord Protector. You never know who might be listening.”

  Their voices disappeared under the hubbub, and Twig focused on another conversation. She froze as she heard herself mentioned.

  “There’s been no reports of the cloaked phantom in the last several days. Why has it gone silent?”

  “It’s not an it. It’s a man, mark my words, and he’s gone into hiding. He’s scared. Once Rawls let people know that he was looking for this phantom, he went quiet.”

  “I’m not sure it is a man. Did you hear the stories? Made of shadows, they say, able to disappear into the darkness. Moves with unearthly speed, has a sword made of light that can cut through metal.”

  “These things are always exaggerated. It’s a man. Would an actual demon be scared of Rawls?”

  “It would if it had any sense.”

  Twig had heard enough. She had to suck in her breath and shove with all her strength to squeeze out of the hole in the side of the chimney, realizing she really needed to stop using that perch, no matter how much she liked it. What if I got jammed the next time they lit the fire? The sword wouldn’t save me then. She dusted off the charcoal and attached the scabbard to her back underneath her cloak.