“I don’t know.”
CHAPTER 2
“Come on, pumpkin,” Mother cooed. “I have a little project for you.”
She took Nat's hand and led him towards the town where the other children had laughed at him and thrown rocks, saying that he was a “dirty gypsy”. She guided him behind the row of houses and whispered something inaudible as she passed her hand over her mouth. A tiny flame lit in her palm, and she looked around before stretching it towards the thatching of the roof that overhung low in the back. It was slow to catch on fire, but as Nathair watched with fascination, flames starting licking the underside of the carefully woven roof, licking upwards greedily.
Small crackles and pops could be heard as the fire took hold. His mother's lips curved into the smile he knew so well and her eyes seemed to light up with fire as well as she watched it spread over the flammable roofing. She blinked and seemed to have to tear herself away from the sight to quickly drag him away from the scene.
They strolled nonchalantly onto the street, and upon Mother's instruction Nat set up their cup to collect the money that was thrown to them. He skillfully tuned his instrument and started plucking out a lively beat to which his mother started dancing. She threw her hips out suggestively and clapped her hands while kicking out her feet daintily. Nat got so lost in the music that any thoughts of the fire completely left his mind.
He jumped as someone in the crowd suddenly shouted.
“Fire!”
Nat jerked to his feet and looked wildly around, expecting someone to be running towards them to apprehend the two of them for starting the blaze. He cringed as they approached, but they ran past, ignoring them on their way to the house.
The villagers tried to set up a water line, handing buckets across it and throwing it on the house, but the roofing had caught well and was engulfed in the orange flames. They hissed and steamed as the water hit, but did not go out.
A woman came screaming up the street, and though it was difficult to make out the words in her frantic babbling, Nat got the gist that her little girl was inside. Nat looked to his mother in horror, wondering if she had known that the little girl was there. She once again had that smile playing upon her lips and Nat paled.
She glanced down at him, amused, and commented, “Well, aren't you going to get in there and play hero?” Nat simply stared at her, dumbfounded. Her expression darkened. “You had better get in there and drag her out if you know what's good for you,” she threatened.
“But,” Nat started, but the daggers in her eyes made him clamp his mouth shut again, and he sprinted for the door to the house.
“Oh Nattie. No!” his mother cried in false horror. The sickeningly sweet voice was so unlike his mother that Nat knew better than to stop.
He burst through the now flaming door, and coughed as the smoke filled his lungs. He took a step back to inhale some cleaner air and hold his breath, before forging into the fire. A young girl's cries alerted him to her presence and he found her, weeping uncontrollably underneath the bed.
As she turned her tear-streaked face to him he felt a momentary pang as he realized it was the girl who had been making fun of him. He quickly covered his embarrassment and reached in a hand to pull her out, slightly rougher than he had been planning to moments ago. A sharp intake of breath told him that he had caused the pain he had desired. He felt a small rush which gave him the strength to throw her over his shoulder and make his way carefully back out towards the door.
He was almost to the threshold when a large flaming rafter dislodged itself from the ceiling and came tumbling towards them, landing with a thunderous bang and blocking their exit.
He scrambled out of the way and looked around the room to assess the situation. There was a small window towards the back of the house that the fire had not yet reached and he ran for it, dodging the flaming debris that clattered to the floor all around them. He wasn't quite fast enough to dodge one.
A sharp intake of breath and a low groan were all he allowed to escape as a falling beam scraped against his arm, tearing out a large gouge of flesh. He tossed the girl aside and flung the window open. He grabbed her arm and urged her through before squeezing out himself.
They landed in a pile of flailing limbs on the outside, and he gasped in the clean air while panting with exertion. The girl gave him a wide-eyed stare and then ran to her mother who could be heard still screaming from around the front of the house.
Nat pulled himself up and looked at his arm, which throbbed with every heartbeat. It was oozing blood and was torn open enough that he could see muscle. He ripped away the rest of the sleeve that had been ruined anyway and tied it tightly around the wound, holding it with his other hand for pressure.
He made his way around to the front of the house where the woman had finally stopped screaming and was now sobbing uncontrollably. She was showering the little girl with kisses and hugging her so tightly that the girl was wincing. The girl seemed eager to get her mother's attention off of her, and she pointed to Nat as he emerged saying, “That's the boy,” Nat groaned inwardly. Now what am I going to get in trouble for? “That's the boy who saved me.”
Nat froze, he wasn't sure what the correct reaction would be and he glanced at his mother. She gave no indication of recognizing his pleading glance, and simply stood watching with an amused smile playing on her lips.
The woman carefully let go of the girl and ran to him, Nat reflexively put up his hands to defend himself, but was overwhelmed by the woman who swallowed him up in a smothering hug.
“Thank you, dear boy,” she exclaimed giving him a squeeze, “I don't know how I can ever thank you for saving my Gwyneth.”
Nathair shook his head to clear it of the memory. He stood abruptly from the armchair in which he had been resting, causing the legs to scrape against the floor as he did so. He strode out of the room and onto the terrace to gaze out over the landscape. She's out there somewhere. He extended magical probes in all directions and searched with all his formidable talent, but she remained hidden from him. He threw his hands in the air in a gesture of futility. Why am I torturing myself like this? He asked himself, annoyed, but he already knew the answer. He began to pace.
When he had first lost her it had seemed a simple inconvenience, a temporary set-back. Now, however, he knew that he needed her, nay in fact must possess her in order to be whole. None of the others could even come close to satisfying him, even his little pet project. And just as he realized her importance, she had seemingly disappeared off of the face of the world.
He slammed his fist into the railing in vexation.
Forcing himself to take several calming breaths, he returned to the room and picked up the latest report which he had been reading before losing himself in memories.
The report was the same as all the others. The border between him and Treymayne remained in full force. His personal guard had been somewhat more informative, but without complete answers their reports were almost as frustrating as no answers at all. His mages indicated that there was a change within the structure of the border magics, and that they appeared to be commanding more energy than they had in the past, but because they were unfamiliar with the process that had made the wall they could give him no clue as to why or what was happening. Nathair had no doubt that the Treymayne people, despite their paranoid isolation, had become aware of his plans to invade - so perhaps this was their reaction to it. But was it a simple strengthening of their defensive spells, or in preparation for a counter attack? The answer would make all the difference.
His operatives inside Treymayne had fallen silent at the outset of the border activity and Nathair had no way of finding out if they had been unmasked, or simply were now unable to communicate as a result of the fortified defense.
His head was starting to pound.
Once again he rose from the chair, this time making his way out into the hall. As soon as he emerged from his private rooms, a servant fell into step behind him. Nathair gave it
a cautionary glance to make sure it was one whose face he'd memorized as valid. Once satisfied that it was indeed one meant to be here, he addressed it. “Cancel my dinner meeting tonight,” he barked, “and make sure that I am not disturbed. I'll be in my quarters for the rest of the evening.”
He didn't bother glancing at the servant this time to make sure he was understood, but rather swished his cloak around him as he turned the corner to climb the steep spiral stairway up into his personal suite. The two guards at the door nodded to him and moved their spears aside for him to enter. They were part of his hand-picked elite guard and would die before betraying him. He had made sure of it. If even a traitorous thought entered their heads, the spell interwoven into their heartbeat would suddenly cause them to have a fatal heart-attack.
He idly wondered if they realized this as he strode past.
He didn't stop moving inside the room, but mentally waited for the click of the door shutting before he reached up to unclasp his cloak. He let it fall to the floor, relieving his shoulders of its massive weight of gold trim and embroidery. He stopped at the opposite wall, and placed a hand on it while using the other to rub his tired eyes.
After a moment in this position, he sighed and traced a pattern on the wall with his finger. A rune appeared for a moment, shining briefly, before it faded out as the wall began to move.
He had been delighted to find this hidden room so similar to the one that his great lord had in his own grand fortress all those years ago. Apparently one of the kings before Nathair had a liking for young boys, a practice that was frowned upon in cultured society. So he had built this secret lair to keep them. Nathair had refortified its meek defenses and made sure that everyone who had known about it was either permanently silenced or in a position where their knowledge would make no difference. Nathair was not about to take chances with his destiny. His great lord had left him with a legacy to fulfill and it was his duty to do all in his power to make sure that he did so. He had shaped the hidden lair to his own purposes, ridding it of its sordid past and sterilizing it for his experiment.
Nathair stepped through the opening in the wall and lights burst into being one by one as he descended the steep steps, the light from the room growing smaller as the door shut behind him. At the bottom Nathair smiled.
The room was diffused with energy, a glow of warmth that engulfed him and melted away his fatigue. The table in the center of the room held his masterpiece. It was a work in progress and the material was not of the quality that he would have preferred starting with...But it is no matter, it is a learning process and the practice will make the final one that much better.
He gathered power into his hands and molded it with his being, drawing just enough so that it was a challenge to control and delighted for a moment at the burning sensation before utilizing the power in picking up where he had left off.
As he worked, he was able to think through some of the issues that had been agitating him. He had been contemplating a suitable punishment for Jezebel's father, but now that she was - indisposed - he halted his action. Karl may be of some use to him. He had recognized his voice as the speaker in one of the Order ceremonies, and Nathair hoped that he could use information from Jezebel to use Karl. Unfortunately, Jezebel had been lacking in patience and had already ordered Devon to start plotting against the man, so he was currently too preoccupied in his own misfortunes to be of any use at the moment.
Since Jezebel's accident the rest of the council was getting rather annoying. Jezebel had gone and announced his appointment of her as his First Advisor, and then been unable to cement her leadership before losing control of her hounds and being torn apart. It had the unhappy aftermath of having made the rest of the council members rush around to try and solidify the council's power over his kingship. Most annoying, indeed. Even when they weren't concentrating on undermining his rule, they were bickering amongst themselves and slowing down progress. Nothing would ever get done at this rate. He would have to come up with some way to get rid of them all, without making it connect to him in any way.
There was always the back-alley killer, he smiled to himself, but no. Even with this persona, the deaths of all the council members would still look like assassinations and he may still be implicated in having orchestrated them. Perhaps there is some way that I could use Karl to this end. If I could just distract him from his own ordeals for long enough.
He was a ball of sweat when he finished, but he beamed with pride at the progress that he had made tonight. He carefully gathered up the last of the energy bouncing around the room, and stored it away in his focus stones for future use. The power was nowhere near as potent when it was stored then when it was first extracted. But depending on the quality of the stone used to store it, it was worth not wasting any energy gained from his exertions.
He climbed the stairs to his suite happily, and in his elated state was slow to recognize the alert that his hyper senses gave him until it was too late. He felt a cold, sharp blade bite into his neck, and his arm was forced behind him most uncomfortably.
Nathair was about to blow the would-be assassin into oblivion when the man spoke, forestalling the ball of power Nathair had been about to unleash upon him.
“Where is she?” the man demanded.
Nathair relaxed and smiled slowly in recognition. “How nice of you to stop by,” he answered, pointedly ignoring the question, and was rewarded by a blunt pain in the back of his head before blackness swam before him and he fell to his knees, still smiling.
*
Gryffon stood along the glowing wall before them, and looked up at its vast expanse. He turned his head to follow its path as far as the eye could see in either direction.
“What do we do now?” Layna asked, breaking the silence that had fallen over their little group after Gryffon had made several more attempts to send his message to no avail.
Gryffon rubbed his chin where thin stubble had begun to grow where he had shaved it once they no longer needed their disguise. “It's never been this difficult to send a probe through before, something must have changed.”
“Might your people have decided that they should make it so that nothing at all could get through because of all the rumors of invasion?”
Gryffon looked uncomfortable and he shifted his weight before answering, “We don't really know how to do anything with the border spell anymore, the mages who set it up didn't leave instructions or anything and after it went up a lot of the stronger talents moved away saying that it was too disruptive to their own magics.”
Layna raised an eyebrow but didn't comment on this interesting new piece of information. “So how would it have changed?” Gryffon simply shrugged. “Alright, back to my original question then: What do we do now?”
“We could always be askin’ for help,” Charles chimed in softly.
As Layna looked back at him, she followed his gaze and let out a gasp as part of the forest detached itself to shimmer into the shape of a woman.
“Hello, child,” the old woman said crinkling her wrinkled face into a smile.
“Mila?” Layna asked incredulously. She looked closer at the woman, but as the woman's features sharpened, they turned into someone Layna didn't know, despite the initial resemblance.
“Mila?” the woman repeated slowly. She looked off into space a moment, and Layna could have sworn that the withered lips formed a small smile. “No, no not Mila. My name is Aileen. Come.”
She turned back towards the woods and started down a path Layna had not noticed earlier. She stopped a few paces in and looked back at them expectantly. “Come,” she repeated nodding and she held out her hand to beckon them.
Layna looked from Charles to Gryffon who both shrugged and started after the woman so Layna followed. Despite her age, the woman was quite spry and she led them briskly through the woods. She eventually pushed aside a curtain of vines to reveal a beautiful clearing which held a small cottage. Flowers of every color filled the clearing, with the st
one walkway that led to the front door the only section of ground without vegetation. A wonderful smell filled Layna's senses as they made their way towards the house.
The woman opened the door and led them in, indicating that they take seats around the table. They sat and watched her curiously while she hummed and bustled around, setting bowls in front of them which she proceeded to fill with a delicious smelling soup. When they were all served, she took her own seat and started eating. After a few spoonfuls she looked up at them, seeming surprised to suddenly find people at the table with her.
“Oh my, where was I?” She bit her lip and tapped her spoon on the table in concentration. “Well, don't let your dinners get cold, I'll sort myself out presently.”
They all picked up their spoons and Layna saw Gryffon whisper something inaudible over the soup, nodding to her and lifting the spoon to his mouth, letting Layna know that it was safe to eat. She lifted her spoon as well.
“Ah,” Aileen said. “Now I've got it. You are trying to get across the border to escape from the King and warn Treymayne of the growing threat.”
Three spoons simultaneously stopped short their motion and the people holding them sat tensely, waiting for her to go on. She paused again. “You must excuse me, this is all very new and it's hard to keep it all organized.” She narrowed her eyes as if listening to something hard to make out and then said, “Let's start at the beginning. My name is Aileen, I am part of a very old group who we call the Hyrdraeden. We’ve been watching the game unfold and have decided that it is time that we play a more direct role in the proceedings. Since the beginning of your time there has been an evil slumbering at our feet which we - the Hyrdraeden - are sworn to prevent from rising forth. Once already it has come perilously close, and we are afraid that this time it has gotten too far already to simply put back to sleep.”
“What kind of evil?”
Those Who Fear the Darkness (BloodRunes: Book 2) Page 3
