The Silver Portal (Weapons of Power Book 1)

by David J Normoyle

  Without her sword, she felt lost. Around her, the battle swirled, everyone moving faster than she. She couldn’t even flee, certain she would be instantly run down. She backed away as a cleric approached.

  Lukin swept between her and the cleric and drove him back. “Your sword,” he shouted to her. He kicked at the cloak of the fallen cleric to reveal the gleaming silver handle of her weapon.

  Lukin created the space that allowed Twig the chance to get to her sword. She dived to the ground and scrambled on all fours toward it. Her fingers curled around the blade, and her power returned. The sword came free of the body quickly and smoothly, and she rose to her feet in time to help Lukin fight off his opponents. They rapidly retreated.

  “Help Suma,” Lukin told her.

  Twig glanced across to where the girl was still being held. The strength- and speed-mage was rising to his feet, but he was still unsteady and disoriented. Twenty paces and around a dozen clerics separated Suma from the rest of the bearers, meaning that Twig was the only one who could help her.

  She pressed forward against her nearest opponent, driving the cleric back with swift strikes to either side of his torso, most of them glancing off his armor. His retreat gave Twig the chance to back away, and she used her speed to circle around at a distance. The two clerics holding Suma were aware of her, and one of them held the point of his sword to the girl’s throat. “Stay back,” he ordered, and Twig slowed, uncertain.

  An arrow sprouted in the side of the cleric’s throat. The man’s mouth hinged open in shock, and the sword fell from his hand. Twig glanced back up to the tavern to where Mortlebee stood with a bow in his hand. The shot had been impressive, and Mortlebee looked as shocked as the cleric.

  Twig charged the cleric who still held Suma by the other side, and he retreated rapidly, releasing the girl. Twig changed direction, attacking the cleric who held Suma’s axe. The cleric raised his axe to block, and Twig dashed to one side to get around his guard, aiming diagonally upward. Her sword entered through his armpit, and he screamed, releasing the axe and falling backward. Twig yanked back quickly on her sword, making sure it didn’t get entangled in her opponent’s body that time.

  Suma picked up the axe in one hand then immediately picked up the body of the cleric who had held her. She spun him around and threw him at the mass of clerics between the two girls and the other bearers. The body knocked down two clerics, and two others backed away. Suma picked up another body and swung him back and forth in front of her like a giant club as she walked forward. Spouts of blood sprayed from the body in a wide arc.

  The gap Suma created allowed Twig and Suma to rejoin the other three, and Mortlebee jumped down from the second floor. The remaining clerics joined ranks to face them though they were wary of attacking. The blond mage, still unsteady on his feet, didn’t make any move to join the fight. The fall must have injured him enough that he wasn’t ready to use his magic.

  The pause in fighting gave everyone a moment to catch their breath. A distant clatter of boots on cobblestones told of the approach of more clerics. If the odds had suddenly shifted in their favor, that wouldn’t last long—the mage would recover, and reinforcements would arrive.

  Twig turned to the others. “Go. I’ll hold the rear.”

  Simeon shook his head. “We aren’t leaving you.”

  She raised her sword. “I can catch up.” Twig still wasn’t sure about them. They had fought well together, though, feeding off each other’s strengths, and they needed her speed to escape. It was what Bareth would have wanted her to do.

  For an instant, Simeon seemed about to argue, then he changed his mind. “She’s right. We have to get out of here.” He touched Twig’s arm. “Thank you.”

  He backed down the street, holding his staff in front of him. The others joined him in the retreat. Twig gripped her sword and dashed in front of any group of clerics that tried to follow, her fast strikes designed to force them back rather than injure them.

  She stepped back to give herself a bit of time and space and glanced behind. Four of her new companions had already turned to sprint away. Simeon was retreating rapidly but continued to face her.

  Twig started another dash forward, then a blinding pain stabbed up through her left temple. She fell to one knee, touching a hand to the side of her head.

  “Keep going,” someone shouted behind her.

  She heard the clerics approach, and she stumbled to her feet, but she wasn’t able to remain upright, falling to the side. Her shoulder crashed against a cobblestone, and the sword fell from her grasp.

  The pain in her head was too great to bear, as if her head had shattered into a thousand pieces. She saw the clerics coming in still frames. One moment they were far away, the next they were close. In the next, a sword was held over her, about to be plunged into her back.

  I should have gone when I had the chance, she thought at the last. Coming back had been a mistake. Rain people stood alone. She was paying for that mistake with her life.

  Cold metal scoured across her back—across but not in. A staff whirled in front of her, flicking the sword away from her. The staff crashed down on the hand of another swordsman.

  “Stop,” Simeon said. “We surrender.”

  The pain in Twig’s head faded. She looked around. She and Simeon were surrounded by clerics. Her sword was at her feet. She remembered the last time she’d been captured, and she dived down at her sword. With that, she still had a chance.

  “No.” Simeon grabbed her around her shoulders, holding her firmly.

  Twig struggled to free herself, but he wouldn’t let go.

  “It’ll be okay. We’re in this together,” he said. “It’ll be okay.”

  Twig stopped fighting. Tears fell from her eyes, though she didn’t know why.

  Chapter 41

  I am Carew Hokeland. I am Carew, third son of the baron of Hokeland, having traveled to Blackstone seeking purpose because a third son was just underfoot at Hokeland.

  Carew repeated the mantra in his head, ignoring the strange look from Lukin. It was important to remember who he was.

  “You really don’t have to come,” Lukin told him.

  “It’s true.” Suma touched his arm. “You’ve already gone beyond what anyone would expect in helping me.”

  “This is why I am here,” Carew said. “I didn’t know what I was searching for when I left Hokeland, but I knew when I found it. What would be the point in coming all this way to leave now?”

  They were all sheltered in the shadow of a building within a stone’s throw of the city walls. The sun had just set, and a chill had settled on their small company of four: the bowbearer, the axebearer, the ringbearer, and Carew.

  “I know I wouldn’t walk into a trap if I didn’t have to,” Mortlebee said. “We are forced into it because of the tracking crystal. If we run or hide, the clerics will find us.”

  “Not you,” Carew said. “You don’t have your weapon. You go to rescue your friends.”

  Mortlebee shrugged. “And recover my bow if I can.”

  “The silver portal must be stopped. That affects all of Mageles,” Carew said. “The Grell Barrier was created so that non–magic users such as myself would no longer be seen as useless.”

  They had already talked through their plan, but that was the last chance for one of them to change their mind and back out.

  “In that case, let’s do this thing.” Lukin stretched out his hand. Mortlebee gripped it, then Suma wrapped her hand around both of theirs, and Carew added his hand to the bunch. They all smiled at each other, seeing a frisson of excitement reflected in the others’ faces.

  The surge of camaraderie kept the smile on Carew’s face as Lukin walked the fifty paces to the door of the temple.

  When the ringbearer was fifty paces away, Carew’s smile faded. He no longer needed to keep an iron rein on his thoughts, and he no longer had to be Carew of Hokeland.

  Werac allowed himself to relax.

  Lukin knock
ed on the front door. A cleric came to the door, a frown on his face. Werac was sure he was going to be refused entry, but a few moments later, Lukin had the other man laughing, and they went inside arm in arm.

  “We wait a count of fifty,” Mortlebee said.

  Suma and Werac nodded.

  Lukin already knew the location of all three missing weapons—and presumably the two captured bearers were with the weapons. They were being kept in the tombs of ancient kings, dug into a hillock just outside Blackstone. Werac knew Zubrios had ordered the excavation of that hillock, intending to search for color-changing crystals in the tombs of the kings. He hadn’t known that Zubrios was using the tomb to create his portal to the other side of the Grell Barrier.

  The temple Lukin had entered was just an ordinary building, a place where a small merchant might live with his family. Zubrios always said the trappings of the religion would come later and the important thing was finding new recruits and training them. So any building that the clerics found suitable to move into became the temples of Zubrios’s religion.

  Lukin had pretended to want to be recruited to get inside. The plan was to get uniforms and information from the small temple then dress up as clerics and enter the tomb to free Twig and Simeon. It wasn’t much of a plan, but that didn’t matter to Werac since he didn’t want it to succeed. At least, he wasn’t supposed to want it to succeed.

  His venture hadn’t gone the way he had expected. Meeting Suma and becoming a confidante of the bearers had gone perfectly, of course. But he hadn’t managed to guide them toward joining his father instead of opposing him. The bearers weren’t particularly opposed to Zubrios. They wanted to stop his plan to create a silver portal that would breach the Grell Barrier. Werac hadn’t known about his father’s plan to do that, and he had trouble coming up with any reasons it would be a good thing. Werac had read many histories about Mageles and even some accounts of life before the barrier. Scholars almost universally accepted that the Grell Barrier had been a great thing—a necessary thing.

  So Werac had agreed that the portal must be stopped if at all possible. Which meant that his role, instead of being a friend to guide Suma and the others away from the influence of the Soylant Wizards and Armentells, was instead to be a false friend and traitor.

  Suma reached across and squeezed Werac’s hand. “Are you absolutely certain you want to come with us?” She had obviously been watching him and misinterpreted his misgivings as fear.

  Werac’s smile was more of a twist of his lips. “Just a touch of nerves. When we spring into action, I’ll be fine.” He found it easier to deceive her when he was fully in the role of Carew. He smiled at her in the full knowledge that he planned to betray her.

  She smiled softly. “My shining prince.”

  Werac, unable to hold her gaze anymore, looked away. Her attempt at comfort made him feel even more wretched. She had been wonderful to him, adopting him as her prince, though she seemed to think that meant she protected him rather than the other way around. Werac had never had much in the way of friends his own age. As the Lord Protector’s son, he’d always stood apart from everyone else. Carew, his alter ego, had gained friends, and it was Werac’s job to betray them.

  He didn’t know if he was capable of it. But what other choice do I have? His first loyalty had to be to his father. Gromley was also his friend, and he wouldn’t understand Werac’s doubts. Werac could only hope that the bearers’ plan failed in some way that didn’t require his direct betrayal.

  “It’s time,” Mortlebee said.

  Werac drew his sword. The other two already had their weapons ready. The three of them kept to the shadows as they crept toward the temple.

  I am Carew, third son of the baron of Hokeland. His deeper doubts and misgivings sank deep within him. His concerns reverted to whether they’d succeed in storming the small temple. The turmoil inside him became a small knot of fear. I am Carew Hokeland.

  At the door of the temple, Carew paused and listened. Suma stood ready behind him, and Mortlebee continued on toward the window, an arrow nocked in his bow.

  Carew pressed his ear against the door. In the mumble of voices, he could make out that Lukin was talking, though not the exact words. They all seemed to be laughing and joking.

  Then Lukin spoke more loudly and clearly. “Now would be a good time.”

  Obviously a signal. Carew stepped to one side and nodded at Suma. She kicked the door, and it exploded inward, flying across the room.

  Carew jumped in front of Suma, his sword at the ready, but he had nothing to do. It was over before it had begun. The door had crashed into one cleric, an arrow from Mortlebee at the window took a second in the chest, and Lukin got a knife to the throat of the third before he had a chance to draw his sword.

  “Take your hand off your sword, Ballic,” Lukin told the cleric, touching his blade to the other man’s throat.

  Ballic’s gaze traveled across the room, weighing his options.

  “Don’t be stupid,” Lukin said.

  Ballic released the hilt of the sword and moved his hand away from it. “You won’t get away with this, attacking one of the Lord Protector’s temples.”

  “We are just getting started,” Lukin said. He nodded to Carew, who pulled the sword from the man’s scabbard and threw it clattering against a far wall.

  Mortlebee entered, and Suma picked up the door and jammed it against the doorway. The casual way Suma lifted the door with one hand still disconcerted Carew despite the number of times he’d seen her use her power.

  Mortlebee stood over the man he’d shot. The cleric hadn’t been wearing his armor. The white tunic displayed only a small circle of blood around the arrow—he had died quickly. Mortlebee’s mouth twisted as he gazed down, and a darkness passed across his eyes.

  The cleric who had been hit by the door hadn’t stirred, but Carew thought he still lived. Lukin finished tying Ballic’s hands and shoved him against the wall.

  “Are you going to tell us what we want to know?” Lukin asked him.

  “I’m going to dig up your mother’s grave and shove her bones up your ass one by one.”

  “There’s no call for that.” Lukin turned around to Carew. “There was no call for that kind of talk, was there?”

  Carew shook his head.

  “You killed my friend.” Ballic glanced across at the cleric whom Mortlebee had shot. “And you complain about talk! If you are going to torture me, you had better make it bloody. Do you have the stomach for that?”

  “Mezziall, no,” Lukin said. “The smell of blood brings me out in hives. I have a very important question for you: Where’s my mother’s grave?”

  “Huh?”

  “You don’t know either. Good.” Lukin smiled. “Then I don’t fear her bones up my—”

  Ballic snarled at him. Carew couldn’t believe Lukin was still making attempts at jokes.

  “What’s the best time to go up to the tombs if we don’t want to get noticed?” Lukin asked.

  “Shove your face into a furnace and watch your eyeballs burn,” Ballic spat out.

  “Guard change at midnight,” Lukin said. “Who generally orders you to go up there?”

  Ballic’s face turned purple with rage, and he charged forward. Lukin sidestepped and stuck out a leg. Ballic, with his hands unable to support him, crashed face first into the floor.

  “I see.” Lukin said. “Drey is the raven-crest in charge of the temples in this part of Blackstone. I must say, Ballic, you are being awfully cooperative. Thank you for that.”

  Ballic lifted his head and smashed it repeatedly against the floor. He obviously was willing to knock himself out simply to avoid his thoughts being read any more. Carew had to admire the man’s dedication.

  “It’s okay. I already have enough from you.” Lukin knelt down by the man’s head. “Let me help you with that.” He took the knife from his belt and slammed the hilt against the man’s temple. Ballic’s head fell against the floor, and his body stilled.r />
  “So?” Mortlebee asked.

  “We should be able to sneak into the tombs as clerics.” Lukin stood, wiping dust off his breeches at the knees. “Providing we can find enough uniforms for all of us.”

  “I’ll check.” Suma pushed open a door and walked through, exploring further.

  “What about getting out again?” Mortlebee asked.

  “You know I don’t like to plan too far ahead,” Lukin said.

  “To my cost.”

  Lukin slapped Mortlebee on the back and grinned. “That’s the adventuring spirit. We’ll spring their trap and leave with the cheese.”

  “There’s spare uniforms back here,” Suma called out. “Breastplates. Helms. Weapons.”

  “This is going to be almost too easy,” Lukin said, though his grin faltered. Even he didn’t believe his words.

  Chapter 42

  Simeon was shoved into a sitting position against a rock. His arms cried out in pain as they were wrenched awkwardly as ropes tightened. Beside him, another cleric tied up Twig. Dust hung heavy in the air, and darkness pressed in from all sides.

  A raised platform of some type had been built in the center of the tomb. Ull Axilium placed both of their weapons on the corner of the platform on top of what looked like a bow, obviously Mortlebee’s weapon of power.

  The two clerics who had been tying them up stepped back, and Ull Axilium double-checked the bonds before grunting in satisfaction. He led the clerics back out of the small chamber. Rock scraped against rock as Ull Axilium pushed the large boulder back across the entrance. Only a person with magical strength would be able to open it again.

  With the boulder fully in place, the last remnants of light disappeared, leaving them in absolute darkness.

  “You okay?” Simeon asked Twig. She’d been quiet since they’d been captured.

  “You should have left me,” Twig said. “Now we are both caught.”