Unleashed Fury (BloodRunes: Book 1)

by Cole, Laura R

  “That hardly seems fair, but unfortunately it sounds very likely.” Layna absorbed the information for a moment, trying to organize her thoughts. “I've always known that there are old spells around, like Lady Jezebel has the snakes that come to life and her voice enhancement, but are those something that can be done anymore or has all that knowledge been lost?”

  “A lot of it has been lost, though there are some people who have figured out how to copy them by studying how they are activated and how they work. A lot of the application of magic is imagination and creativity. Coming up with a new spell is like creating a recipe. You have to have the basic knowledge of the ingredients, and then you can try putting it together to make something new. Except with magic you have to be a lot more careful since you could end up blowing yourself up, or transporting yourself to a different plane, rather than just a bad batch of soup.”

  Layna's eyes widened in amazement. “Are you serious? You could go to another plane? What does that even mean?”

  Gryffon laughed, and shrugged noncommittally. “Supposedly it used to be possible, but it would take a whole lot more power than people normally open themselves up to on a daily basis. So it's unlikely that I would transport us to Gamoland just by trying to start a fire, for example.” As an afterthought, he added, “Though working with the elements is tricky, so you never know.”

  “What was it you said about the priests not teaching you because of....why?”

  “Because I may not have been able to wield enough power for a particular spell, or the necessary power may just not have been available. As you might imagine, it takes less magical energy to do something small,” he accentuated the point by flicking his thumb against his middle finger and starting a flame, “than to do something big, like if I were to try to set the whole forest on fire.” He waved his flaming hand outwards, as if throwing the fire which simply went out. “In order to do a spell, you have to open yourself up to the power.” He searched for the words to explain it to her. “Imagine a big barrel of wine. If you wanted to fill a cup, you would open the spout just enough to let a small flow out until your cup was full. If you were trying to fill a pitcher, you might open it a little more so it flows out more quickly and it fills faster. But if you open it too much for your container, it will fill too fast and overflow, making a big sticky mess. It's like that, only if you open yourself up to too much power the big sticky mess would be you. Some people have cup-sized talent, and others have pitcher-sized talent.”

  “So, the really powerful mages both have to have a larger amount of talent naturally and also either be really well trained or be really imaginative to have created a whole bunch of spells for themselves.”

  “Precisely.”

  “Wow. So are you cup-sized or pitcher-sized?”

  “Hard to say the exact amount I have, I was definitely better than any of those who were being taught with me, but since there aren't a lot of the more difficult spells left, I don't know that I've reached my limits in order to know what they are.”

  “I bet you're a pitcher.”

  Layna spent as many stolen afternoons with Gryffon as she could, growing more and more impressed with him each time. She approved of his acceptance of the lower class as equals, and appreciated his knowledge of the outdoors and of history. He was much more enjoyable company than most that Layna had ever talked to, and her initial fear of consorting with him wore off slowly as more and more time passed without incident. Layna found herself seeking Gryffon's presence whenever she could, and taking advantage of the escape that the rides offered her. There was still that persistent voice in the back of her mind telling her that she was getting lulled into a false sense of safety, but it was easy to ignore with Gryffon around.

  Back at the manor, Jezebel was rarely seen by any of the servants. Since the day she had been sick, she seemed preoccupied. Other than Devon's comings and goings, she seemed content to whittle away her time in her suite and in the library poring over the documents that Devon brought her.

  Layna was in the hallway one morning when a knock sounded at the front door, and she hurried to open it. She pulled the large wooden door back to reveal a stodgy little man whose balding head made him look far older than the lines in his face would suggest.

  “May I help you, sir?” Layna asked when he did not present himself right away.

  He looked at her, startled for a moment, before replying. “Oh. Yes, of course. Please inform Lady Jezebel that she has a caller. You may tell her that my name is Jonathan, and that I am a friend of a friend with some information she may find interesting.”

  Layna nodded to him, and held the door wider so that he could step inside, out of the inclement weather, while she went to relay the message to her mistress. He stepped inside with a nod of thanks, and brushed off his cloak, which was heavy with the early winter snow that had started this morning. Layna held back a cringe as the snow hit her newly scrubbed floor, and excused herself to go inform Jezebel of her visitor, raising a hand to shift her necklace which was starting to stick to her skin with sweat. She knocked at the library door and opened it just wide enough to announce the visitor at her mistress's sharp query of “What is it?”

  Jezebel put down the book that she had been reading and turned to face the door. “Very well then, what are you waiting for? Show the man in.”

  Layna curtsied, and went back to the front door to fetch the man into the library. His wet shoes squeaked on the floor, and inwardly Layna sighed. She presented him to Jezebel in the library and then hurried off to gather refreshments from the kitchen. Moments later, she returned with tea and crumpets. These she set on the table between the two.

  “You certainly have an eye for detail.” The man was complimenting Jezebel on an elaborate painting of none other than Jezebel herself that hung above the fireplace.

  “Indeed,” Jezebel replied. “I find that no matter how much I look there's always something else to find.”

  Layna glanced at Jezebel who gave her a slight dismissive nod, and she left the two of them to their discussion to mop the front hall and entryway. Again.

  CHAPTER 7

  Jonathan was pleased as he finished the spoken code. “That is the truth.” He would have hated to have had to postpone the meeting if Jezebel had made an outward sign of recognition of the code, or had forgotten it altogether. This was one of the first tests for those newly initiated into the Order, and one that many people failed on the first try. It was imperative for the secrecy of the society that outside of sanctioned activities, its members did not display any recognition of each other, or their codes. The servant girl who had showed him in closed the door behind her, and Jonathan relaxed. She was a beautiful woman, and that made him nervous.

  Jezebel was watching him expectantly now that she recognized him as a member of the Order, so he got right to the point. “As I told your maid, I am a friend of a friend, whose identity I will leave to you to infer for yourself. Suffice to say, we would like to invite you to join us in a very special mission.” By becoming a member of the Order, Jezebel had agreed to take on any assignment that they wanted to give her; Jonathan made sure that she caught this nuance of this ‘invitation’ by his tone. “Details will be sent to you shortly, and I will be in contact with you for you to report your findings. We shall have to arrange a reason for my frequent visits so that no suspicions are raised. Though I come and go through court, none will recognize me, so other than explaining to your ‘friends’,” he said the word with a silent snicker to himself, “you needn’t concern yourself. Next time I come, I will expect you to have this done.”

  Jezebel's lips tightened and Jonathan could tell that she was not used to taking orders, and she was not at all enjoying it. He smiled to himself. She'll have to get used to it. She was useful to Master for sure, but not so important that if she forgot who was in charge that she would be above reprimand. She surprised him by admirably holding her tongue, though she did answer through clenched teeth.

  “
I'll make sure that it is.”

  Jonathan rose abruptly and gave her a half-bow, “Then I will take my leave of you. I can find my way out.”

  He showed himself out of the library, and hurried past the girl who was busy cleaning the hallway, careful not to meet her eyes. He smiled to himself once he had reached the safety of his carriage. He had startled Jezebel by his swift relay of information and unexpected departure before she had been able to ask any questions. She needed to learn that questions were not something that was permitted in the Order, only obedience of commands. Master may think she was useful, but Jonathan had no intention of treating her with any undue respect because of it. He did not like the woman and planned to make that fact known. Master wouldn't care as long as he continued to gather the information that was required of him.

  He had now fulfilled the first part of his plan by introducing himself to Jezebel as her contact within the society. Jezebel would soon realize that he was the only contact, and if she wanted to remain an active member, she would have to learn to deal with him. The instructions he was sending her were worded in such a way which implied, perhaps not so subtly, that it was actually Devon who was worth something and that she was not. Jonathan hoped that she would pick up on it.

  He had arranged another little message for her as well and had no doubt that this one would hit home with her.

  *

  Jezebel was caught off guard by the man's hurried exit, and he was out of the library before she could respond. Her temper flared at his attitude of superiority and obvious assumption that she was completely in the dark about the Order. She rose from her chair to pace the room. Well, he might be surprised to find that I have quite a few secrets myself. And not all of them are pleasant. She let herself have a momentary daydream about unleashing Devon’s ‘skills’ on the horrid man. I’ll bet even when he broke he wouldn’t be able to tell me much more than I already know. I know about more of their secrets then he realizes.

  She grumbled to herself. Someday she would be the one with all the power and then she would crush all those people who had done her wrong. I wonder what kind of guise I could give him for coming to see me that would embarrass him, she wondered with a sudden inspiration. He had not presented himself with any title, so she was unsure of what his actual rank was. He acted like higher nobility and certainly thought that he was better than her. I'll prove to him how wrong he is, she thought to herself. Already she knew far more about the Order than he could possibly suspect, and she had every intention of setting Devon to the task of learning the real reason behind this assignment she was being ‘asked’ to do.

  If she had learned anything about people in power, it was that very rarely did they tell the truth of what they were doing. Not that she could blame them; it was much easier to get a task accomplished by not bothering to explain the real purpose to all of the pawns involved. If she had to get it through the servants’ thick heads the whys of all her orders, she'd never get things done. However, she was not going to sit around and let the Order pull her strings, she was not a worthless servant who should blindly accept commands without question.

  She sat back down in the chair and sipped her wine, having forgotten about her pledge to stay away from the stuff. She let the wheels in her mind turn to find that special something that would allow her to stand the man's arrogance just knowing that he had arrived here as...something. But what? She asked herself.

  The day wound down and still no brilliant ideas had hit her. Jezebel was frustrated enough to give up and go to bed when Devon entered the room through one of the secret entrances. His appearance startled her and she felt a wave of disapproval that he would enter her presence with no preamble. He looked serious, however, so she just sat silently, watching him as though she had known he was going to come through the wall at that particular time and had been waiting for him. He swiftly approached her chair and knelt next to it, a letter in his hand.

  “Apparently, the Order wants to make it clear that they have been checking up on us as well, my lady. I found this letter in the confession box where I first learned of their society.” Jezebel raised an eyebrow in a bored expression, and Devon quickly continued. “The priest whose lips uttered the secrets of the Order now lies dead, sprawled in a locked room in a pool of his own blood that spread seeping from a dozen wounds. The members of the church say that although his office was filled with rare treasures and items of value, the only ones missing are books, documents, and a few coins from a purse he carried. No one saw or heard anything, and I barely got out with this before the officials came.”

  Jezebel's expression had changed from boredom to worry and he held the letter out to her tensely. She knew that the Order protected their secrets vehemently, but it disturbed her that they had found out so quickly about the betrayal of trust, and reacted with such violence. She took the letter from Devon with slightly shaking hands, and fought hard not to show any hint of fear. Fear was an emotion she was neither familiar nor comfortable with, and not one that she cared to show any sign of. She carefully ran a nail across the wax seal to break it. ‘Consider this your warning’, it said, ‘We guard our secrets with our lives and our lives are forfeit if we fail. You would be wise to think upon this before reading further’.

  She glanced up at Devon and dismissed him with a nod, forgetting to reprimand him for his carelessness in her anxiety. He left reluctantly, obviously having hoped to be filled in on the contents of the letter, but Jezebel had no intention of sharing her secrets with anyone and ending up like the priest, her earlier confidence shaken.

  Once he had exited back through the secret passage, Jezebel dropped her gaze to the letter in front of her. ‘With that said,’ it continued, ‘we would like to invite you to use your extensive network of informants (run by your fine man) on a matter of real importance rather than waste his expertise trying to find answers to issues you don't even know the questions for’. Jezebel frowned at this jab, and she could feel her face growing hot. ‘We have learned that our eastern neighbor, Treymayne, whose borders have been closed to us for hundreds of years, has started filtering a few people across at a time. We believe these people are spies, and we'd like Devon to help us identify them. For now, we'll expect his people to gather any information on traders, nomads, or any other person that cannot give a definite place of origin inside of Gelendan and report back to us anything that you learn. We will be in touch with you again soon at which time you may relay your findings and we will fill you in on more of the details. Thank you for lending us your help in this matter. We trust that you will dispose of this letter once digesting this information’. It was unsigned and written in perfectly scribed letters which gave no clues to indicate anything to Jezebel about the author, though she knew it must be that worm Jonathan.

  She reread it several times before walking over and tossing it into the fireplace where it crackled and curled up as it burned into a blackened fragment. She stood staring at the fire for some time. Why is the Order suddenly interested in spies? A log snapped and a spark flew out towards her. I suppose that spies would pose a threat to their way of life if those spies were a prelude to conflict between the two countries. Perhaps there is already something brewing.

  Treymayne had silently been their eastern neighbor since the end of the Massacre and the erection of the barrier between them, and so far they had held on to a tentative peace with Gelendan. If the Order was suddenly paying attention to a country that had been ignored for so long, perhaps it was an indication of a future dispute.

  This led Jezebel to a happy daydream; maybe she would get the chance to increase her kingdom if Treymayne chose to attack and was defeated. She could start an empire, claiming the mysterious Treymayne to the east and taming the savage lands to the north.

  Jezebel's train of thought was punctuated by a yawn, and she decided to head to bed. Tomorrow she would think on this further. With that decision made, she headed to her suite. But it wasn't until several hours later that she actually
fell into sleep, as she was unable to stop her mind from whirling. Some of it was happy thoughts of her eventual rule. But what kept her awake most of all, was the unwelcome fear that perhaps the Order was a force to be reckoned with after all.

  CHAPTER 8

  A knock sounded at Layna's bedroom door, and she hurried to answer it with a smile. The smile faded when she saw that it was Aaron standing there, a servant who had repeatedly displayed his interest in her, and who unfortunately was also the object of Katrina’s affection.

  “Expecting someone else?” he asked.

  Layna flushed in embarrassment, but he didn’t give her time to come up with an excuse.

  “May I come in for a minute?”

  Layna wanted nothing more than to tell him that now was not a good time, but the look on his face was more serious than usual, not his normal crooked grin in his attempt to be charming. So instead, she opened the door wider and gestured for him to come in. He stepped inside, taking a moment to look around her small room, and she closed the door behind him and then simply stood, looking at him expectantly.

  “Look, Layna, I know you’re not interested in me,” Layna flushed again and wished that she had told him she was busy, “but I wanted to warn you not to get yourself hurt.” She raised her eyebrows with wide eyes, uncertain what he was talking about. He simply gave her a stern look. “There’s been talk among the servants of you spending an inordinate amount of time with the lord staying here.” He paused and waited for her to respond, but when she remained silent he sighed. “I really don’t want to see you hurt, but I know these types. He’ll tell you all sorts of silly things that girls want to hear and then he’ll end up breaking your heart once he gets what he wants from you. And worse, he’ll probably tell Lady Jezebel about you and you’ll end up fired – or worse.”