When we are done, we step back and regard the litter, a sense of solemnity hanging in the air.
"What about Dancer?" He asks at length, pulling us out of our morose silence.
I regard Talon for a moment before realizing that he must mean Rickard's stallion. "He's long gone by now," I reply softly. "And besides, I don't think there are enough hours in the day to go after him."
Talon sighs and we mount up, getting ready to head out.
I survey the scene of our little skirmish one last time before nudging my gelding down the road leading back to the Lodge, taking it all in and committing to memory the details of the fight. Why would there be mind slaves here? I wonder, clicking my tongue to urge my horse onward. Could there be another host like Moloch's inside the Arc? The fact that there are mind slaves here does not bode well for the kingdom.
I thought that I wouldn't be seeing another demon for a long time.
Apparently, I was wrong.
Talon and I ride in silence for a while, the only sounds being our horses' hooves on the stony ground and the litter scraping behind us. Both of us ride gloomily, contemplating the events of the day and what they will mean for our futures. I think of Elias for a time, wondering where he is and what he is doing, but my thoughts inevitably turn back to Tarsys and the mage girl I had left there.
I wonder if Zara misses me, I find myself thinking, my hand straying to the wound in my side. I certainly miss her.
For all the ways we are similar, Zara and I are completely different. She is a mage who loves to read and study magic; I am a ranger who spends most of his time outdoors. Where she is contemplative, I am hard-headed; and where she is quick-witted and quick-tongued, I am quiet and reserved. But despite these differences, we complimented each other well when we were together. She always knew how to make me smile.
Light, I am an idiot. I should not have let our disagreements go so far. We should have departed on a better note.
Even with our hurried pace, nightfall comes quickly, blanketing the Ashwood in shadows and making it difficult for us to continue on. We decide to pull off the road and set up camp, tying up the horses and setting up a small fire. We make sure to keep Shaw's body a good distance away from camp, covering him with a blanket to ward away the smell.
The work is slow in the dark, but luckily this is something that we are used to because of our training.
With everything done, we each take some time to take care of ourselves.
Grimacing, I sit down next to the blaze and examine my side, opening the tear in my shirt and peeling the fabric away from my skin. The blood is sticky, and even in the low light of the fire I can see that the flesh around the wound has become an angry red. If I don't act soon, infection will set in and then I will be in real trouble.
Fetching a small pouch from my saddle bag, I sit back down and fully remove my shirt, doing my best to clean the gash by pouring my water skin on it. Next, I reach into the pouch and pull out a needle and gut, beginning the slow and excruciating process of stitching it closed.
My painful gasps cause Talon to look over at me, the area beneath his nose still crusted with blood. He blanches when he realizes what I am doing, then quickly looks away.
When I am finished, I put the needle away, literally shaking from the pain. With the last of my energy I begin to pack the wound with a crushed herb from my pouch, something that is supposed to keep infection from setting in. It stings, but soon I am done, slowly putting my shirt back on and taking a swig of water to wet my throat.
Glancing at Talon, I notice that he is still favoring his arm. "How's your arm?" I ask, gesturing at his wound with my water skin.
"It hurts," he replies evenly. "But it's nothing. Don't worry about it."
I walk over to him and bend down to inspect the wound. "Let me take a look at it."
The slice is not deep, and probably does not need stitches, but it still looks painful. I hand him the pouch.
"Clean it, then take a pinch of this and rub it in the cut. It'll sting, but it will keep your arm from getting infected."
He nods and complies, wincing painfully as he does it.
I offer to take the first watch, and Talon does not argue, climbing into his bedroll and pulling his wool blanket up to his chin.
"Owyn?" He says sheepishly before drifting off to sleep.
"Yes?"
"I want to thank you for saving me today. You took charge of the situation, and because of that we are both alive. I don't know your master, but I think that he would be proud at the way you handled yourself."
It is a surprisingly vulnerable moment for the apprentice. "You're welcome," I reply softly.
The night passes slowly, and by the time it is my turn to sleep, I am all too willing to crawl into my bedroll and let sleep take me.
My rest is dreamless, but ultimately fleeting.
IN THE MORNING, WE reluctantly get back into our saddles and begin heading back to the Grand Lodge. Both of us are recovering from wounds, and that makes riding uncomfortable.
We pass the time by talking, speaking of our past, our training and anything that can take our minds off the present situation.
It is a long journey, but by mid-afternoon, we are already close to the shaded vale that houses the home of the rangers.
"Look!" Talon says, pulling me from my thoughts as he reins in his horse to a stop.
I look up, gazing in the direction he is pointing and immediately my stomach drops. Rising from the tree line ahead, like a black column against the grey sky, is a pillar of smoke.
The Grand Lodge is burning.
Without saying another word, I spur my horse ahead, resting a hand on my belt and touching my father's hatchet. I want to be ready to pull it out at moment's notice.
It appears that the fighting is not yet over.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Zara
Heavy rain pours from the sky with renewed fury, soaking the city in icy sheets that carry the cold bite of winter. The adrenaline from my confrontation with the assassins is gone, and without the protection of my mage cloak, I am left shivering violently in the middle of the street, my shift clinging to me and offering me little warmth.
Fortunately, I am able to locate a contingent of guards without much trouble. I find them huddling in the awning of a building to avoid getting wet.
I approach them and explain the situation I find myself in, describing the ambush of the assassins and my capture of one of them just a few streets over. I do my best to maintain an authoritative demeanor, keeping my chin up and holding out my talisman as proof that I am a mage, but I cannot help but feel uncomfortable as their wandering eyes linger on my body. I suddenly feel keenly aware of my immodesty.
At length the guards comply with my request, reluctantly leaving their dry awning and following me to the place where the assassin still lay in the middle of the street, bound by my magical cords.
The assassin spits at them, and they roughly grab him, picking him up off the ground and holding him up by his arms and legs.
I direct them to escort the prisoner to the Conclave to be apprehended.
As the guards head off into the rainy evening, I tap my talisman and pull in a little source energy – not enough to further drain me, but enough to keep me from freezing to death. The magical energy feels warm as it courses through my veins, warding off the chill of the rain and giving me to willpower to return to my quarters to change.
I make my way through the deserted city streets, probably looking more like a wet dog than a mage of the Conclave. My hair is drenched and matted down my back and shoulders, and my shoes squish with every footstep. I blink away droplets of water and shiver despite the small amount of source energy I am channeling.
Those assassins were guarding something, I think, hastening toward the Azure Tower. They didn’t want me to see the symbol of the Harbingers.
The crypts beneath the Cathedral of Light are reserved for only the elite of the kingdom, the nobl
es and the mages and the scholars of society. The fact that so many of their tombs carried the symbol of the Harbingers, this ‘Emblem of the Chosen’, is troubling. But what is the connection?
Perhaps they didn’t want me to realize that this cult infects the upper crust of society, not the common folk or those on the fringes of the kingdom. That would make a lot of sense. It is well-known that power in Tarsynium is concentrated in the capital city, in the royal palace and at the Conclave. If the resurgence of this ancient religious group has corrupted those in power, that would be a troubling thought indeed.
It could even be an explanation for why the Arc of Radiance is failing.
Somehow, I'm not surprised the symbol on the tombs has gone unnoticed this far. The Harbingers are an obscure group, and it would be easy for a visitor to the tombs to not pay attention to a small image engraved in the stone. Hopefully the captured assassin will be able to tell me more about all of this.
Finally, I arrive at the Azure Tower and make my way up to my rooms, drawing more than a few shocked glances at my disheveled and unladylike appearance. I try to ignore them, though I can feel my cheeks growing hot despite the fact that they have little blood in them.
I can’t tell which is more embarrassing, my lack of modesty or the fact that I look like I fell in a river.
Soon I am pushing open the door to my apartment, closing it behind me and moving to prepare a hot bath to warm my icy appendages.
One of the great innovations of the Conclave was their ability to create artifices by infusing radiant magic with inanimate objects to create wondrous devices. The Heart of Light was one such example, the heat crystals created for bathing another.
Using a series of pipes to draw cold water into the large copper bathtub, I plop in a few of the heat crystals as well. When they interact with the water, they begin to glow a faint blue, heating the water to comfortable temperature and causing it steam.
Dipping my fingers into the water and nodding in satisfaction, I proceed to strip off my wet clothing and dip inside, sighing audibly as I ease into the hot water and settle down on the bottom.
For a time I just lie there, soaking in the hot water and letting the stress of the day seep out of my bones as I let my mind think of nothing at all. After several minutes of lounging, I reach over to the stand and retrieve a lump of soap and a brush, proceeding to scrub my body so that every inch of me is clean and immaculate.
As I scrub I think about what my next steps should be, and how I should proceed to interrogate the assassin. I know that I should first notify the High Magus and the Circle and defer to their will on what they would like me to do next, but I quickly dismiss the thought. High Magus Holdyn will no doubt be displeased that I took it upon myself to investigate the murder of Magister Halle, and may forbid me from looking into it further.
That is something I cannot allow.
Content, clean and warm, I get out of the tub, pulling the drain as I do and wrapping myself in a robe that has been set aside by the servants for the purpose of getting dry. Walking up to the wide mirror and wash basin, I wrap a towel around my head to dry my hair, and study my reflection.
Without makeup I look like a little girl, my features bland and unmemorable. My eyes look tired from the exertion of channeling and running, and I can already see dark circles beginning to form beneath them.
Still, I think with a sigh, at least the bath has brought a little more color to my cheeks.
I make my way to my bed chamber and begin getting dressed.
Before I met Owyn, I never used to care about how I looked. I used to tackle my studies with a ferocity that left little room for anything else. Now, it seems that I cannot walk by a mirror without evaluating my appearance.
That boy did something to me, I think bitterly as I pull on a new mage robe and tie the sash around my waist. I wonder if I left any sort of impression on him?
I silently berate myself for letting my thoughts turn to him. Whenever they do I become hopelessly distracted, my mind turning to mush like some stupid damsel from a storybook. Now is not a time to be smitten by some ranger boy.
This is a time to be strong.
Pulling the towel off my head and tossing it on the floor, I reach my hands up and tie my hair into a tight bun atop my head. There’s no sense in styling it when I have to go back out into the rain.
Pausing only long enough to drink some water and pop some bread and cheese into my mouth, I hurriedly leave my rooms and head over to the Tower of Recreants, the prison of the Conclave.
Sky bridges connect the towers of the Conclave, and rather than taking the lifts all the way down and slogging through the courtyard, I decide to walk across the bridge to the Pillar of Radiance and then over to the smaller Tower of Recreants.
The rain has let up somewhat since I have been inside, though it still falls in a cold drizzle from the cloudy sky. Night has fully fallen now, and I hurry my way across the narrow bridge in order to get under a roof once more.
As I enter the Pillar of Radiance, ducking onto a floor devoted entirely to lecture halls, a thought suddenly strikes me, reminding me of that first meeting I had with the High Magus. An idea starts to form in my mind, and I decide to make a quick detour, taking one of the minor lifts up to the floor containing the offices for the Circle. Fortunately, the lift guard seems rather inexperienced, and I am able to make my way up with only minimal manipulation.
Stepping off of the lift, I cast my eyes about, looking for signs of life. The entire floor appears to be deserted, so I swiftly begin making my way to the High Magus' office.
Nobody sees me as I traverse the dark halls, the only sounds being my footsteps on the marble floor and rumbling thunder in the distance. I reach the closed door to her office without any trouble.
Taking a deep breath, I reach out a hand and quietly push open the door, peeking within to make sure that it is empty. Satisfied that I am alone, I slip inside and close the door behind me, approaching her desk as my pulse begins to race.
I start pulling open drawers, searching for something that will aid me as I attempt to get information out of the assassin. And then I find it, pulling open a narrow drawer on the left-hand side.
A row of small, glass vials looks up at me, all filled with a strange, clear liquid.
"The truth serum," I whisper to myself, reaching down and picking up one of the vials. This is exactly what I need.
I drop the vial into a pocket in my robes and shut the drawer, making sure that everything is back to where it was originally before exiting the office. My heart continues to thud as I make my way back to the lift.
Is this what I am now? I think, forcing myself to take deep, measured breaths. A thief who betrays the trust of her superiors? I step into the lift and begin descending, going to the same level I had left not ten minutes before.
No, I conclude as I leave the Pillar of Radiance, going back out into the cold, wet night. I'm no petty thief. This is for the good of the Conclave... if Sylvania ever finds out, she'll understand.
I begin crossing the sky bridge, trying to ignore the icy, gusting wind as I approach the prison tower.
The Tower of Recreants is one of the smallest towers at the Conclave, though it is perhaps the most well-guarded. Armored knights and trained battle mages stand guard at all the entrances, admitting only full mages and authorized personnel, which includes city watchmen. It is a black pillar of stone, lit by red windows and capped with a sloping tower of granite-colored slate. Inside are housed the worst criminals in Tarsynium whose crimes do not warrant the fate of exile, which is reserved for only the worst offenders.
Flashing a symbol of light, the guards let me through, admitting me to the thirty-seventh level of the tower. They eye my mage robe as if wondering how one so young could be allowed to become a mage.
It is a look that I have grown accustomed to lately.
The inside of the tower looks as grim as the outside: austere, dark and devoid of any decoration. Men and
women stand guard here as well, blocking every access point imaginable with strength of arms.
I step up to one of the lifts and descend into the bowels of the prison, where the dungeons are carved into the bedrock beneath the city. Though I have never been to this area myself, the layout of all the towers is generally the same, and I have heard from my time at the Conclave that the dungeons are located on the lowest level.
When I step out of the lift, I immediately recognize the city guards in a wide, square chamber lit by magefyre braziers.
“Magus,” one of them says, stepping up to me as I enter the room. “The man we apprehended is in cell nine. Would you like us to file a report with the Circle of Magisters?”
“That won’t be necessary,” I reply coolly. “I will file the report myself. Thank you, gentlemen, for your services today.”
They nod their helmeted heads before retreating, leaving me alone in the chamber with a portly mage attendant. He walks up to me and extends a hand for me to shake.
“I’m the dungeon warden on shift today,” he says as he shakes my hand. “My name is Otis. You must be the newest member of the Conclave.”
“Zara Dennel,” I reply with a nod.
“Pleasure to meet you.” He gestures down a long, dimly-lit hall in front of us. “Those guards brought the miserable sod in a half hour ago. I had them put him in cell nine. Would you like me to take you to him now?”
I shake my head. “No, thank you, Otis. I should be fine. And please refrain from telling anyone about this visit, if you will. This is a sensitive issue that I am working on with the Circle and the High Magus.”
His eyes widen slightly at my declaration, and he bows his head in deference, taking a step back. “I’ll be right here if you need anything, Magus.”
“Thank you,” I reply before striding down the dank hallway, my talisman clutched firmly in my hand.
The thick, iron-banded doors are set into the walls at varying intervals, windowless and bearing painted red numbers, going from one all the way up to twenty. From what I have gathered, the cells are rarely full to capacity, and serve as more of a holding place until further judgment can be passed.
Bringers of Doom Page 19
