“What now?” Bertus asked uncertainly from behind Kevon.
“I’m not sure how well this will work,” Kevon admitted. “Just wait, and watch. You’ll know as soon as I do.”
Kevon crouched in the center of the cleared slab, hands pressing against the still cool stone. The Earth rune formed easily, and Kevon could feel the latent magic lurking below, trickling slowly upward toward his spell. He willed the stone downward.
With a low grinding noise, the cleared area began sinking slowly, freed from the rock surrounding it. As Kevon descended further into the stone cylinder, he could feel the Earth magic pressing in on him. Twenty feet below the surface, he stopped, and shifted focus. Stone and earth rippled, protesting, forming a staircase that led away from Kevon, back up to the surface near Bertus. The larger opening to the sky and remaining daylight seemed to ease the crush of Earth magic, and Kevon severed the rune from the inflowing power.
“You can come down now,” he called up to Bertus, “Or you can wait a few minutes.”
Bertus started down the rough stone steps as Kevon began the next phase of his spell that pressed the cylindrical walls outward. The earth groaned from the strain, and Bertus hurried back up the trembling staircase. “I’ll wait!” He shouted back down to Kevon.
Lost in the Earth magic, Kevon heard nothing but the cries of the stones as he turned their magic against them, squeezing them into places they didn’t belong. The smooth walls surrounding Kevon crumpled outward, groaning in protest. Kevon gripped the cascading power tighter, and the walls and floor rippled and smoothed. Already the area he’d carved out was larger than the inside of his mother’s house. Kevon gasped and pushed mentally, as hard as he would have to cast a spell when he was an Apprentice. This time, however, he was pushing against power that flowed into him against his will. Kevon tried again, and this time, severed the influx of magic. The Earth rune faded, but would not dissolve completely from his mind.
“Is it over?” Bertus called, poking his head over the edge to peer down the stairwell at Kevon.
“I’ve done as much as I can, until you get down here.”
Bertus took two trips to bring their belongings down to the bottom of the chamber. Carrying bags in one hand, he trailed his other along the wall, more for comfort than support. “So now you’re going to…”
The Mage didn’t even let Bertus finish before he grasped the Earth magic again, and the walls and ceiling flowed and shifted to close the gap above them. The rumbling of the sculpted earth above them subsided, but still the magic pressed in on Kevon. Uncomfortable with the total darkness of the sealed chamber, he directed small pulses of power to open thin shafts to the surface, letting in air and a small amount of light.
The magic continued to weigh on Kevon, the pressure on his mind clouding his senses, threatening to use itself through him.
Thinking only of a way to make it stop, Kevon reached for his sword hilt.
The Seeker’s magical resources, nearly full because of the borrowed power he’d used, drained into the blade. The pressure from the surrounding magic trying to squeeze into him recoiled. His sword arm burned for an instant before the backlash of Earth power knocked him unconscious.
* * *
Kevon woke in a cold sweat, wrapped in a blanket, head propped up on one of the supply bags. His right arm tingled as if half asleep, and ached sharply when he tried to move it. His head throbbed, waves of pain washed over him with every pulse beat. Kevon groaned, and the room brightened. A face swam into his blurred vision, and resolved as he forced himself to focus.
Mirsa smirked. “Good,” she chuckled. “You’re awake.”
Chapter 10
Kevon startled into a sitting position, gathering the Earth magic that surrounded him, readying it to strike out at Mirsa.
“Well, now,” Waine said, stepping into view. “He is alive.”
The Journeyman gritted his teeth and fought to stifle the magic raging through him.
Mirsa’s smirk softened into a smile, rather than the concern Kevon expected, considering the Earth power he’d nearly unleashed on her.
“What’s she…” Kevon stammered, wresting the Earth magic back to its silent waiting in his mind’s eye. “How?” he asked, sighing.
“I wanted to handle this on my own,” Mirsa began, “But the Prince simply wouldn’t allow it.” Her lips curled into a more familiar sneer. “As if he could have stopped me.”
The Adept reached over and lay his hand on the curve of Mirsa’s shoulder by her neck, and rubbed gently. Her eyes narrowed and the smile returned.
“Well,” she continued, “I could have traveled like this, in safety the entire way, if not for the military escort. I couldn’t abandon them, either, knowing what I did about the Portal. When you three left, and the company turned back, I took my leave of them.
“And followed us?” Kevon asked.
Mirsa shook her head. “I assumed you were dead,” she answered. “Had I thought otherwise, the steel you bore would have made finding you nearly impossible.”
Kevon scratched his head with his left hand. “But you found Waine, right?”
Mirsa and Waine both laughed, and exchanged glances.
“The day you last saw me, I went looking for food. I found orcs.” Waine moved closer, eyes dancing in the Mage-light as he eased into the storytelling. “Two scouts raised the alarm. I missed spotting them in the high grass, but killed them both before they could bend their bows. Three bulls burst from a nearby copse, followed by two more scouts. I wounded two of the bulls, slowing them so that I could circle wide and draw them off to the northeast. I ran, stopping only to fire an arrow at the nearest orc when I could afford the delay.”
Waine paused and accepted a stone mug from Mirsa, and drank deeply. “I felled the last scout with only two arrows left. The two smaller bulls had slowed considerably, but the larger one was steadily gaining ground. Between its hide and armor, I’d been unable to damage it.”
“I ran until the other orcs were no longer visible in the distance, then turned to wait for the bull. I fired an arrow as it charged into range, but it struck the thick leather on the beast’s chest, only to be slapped aside as a nuisance. Then, I nocked my last arrow, and waited.”
Bertus was wholly entranced by Waine’s story, straining silently forward, eager to hear more. Kevon’s mind listened to only fragments of the tale, focusing instead on the way Waine and Mirsa were behaving toward each other, and trying to guess the events that had unfolded leading up to the present situation.
“I waited until I knew I couldn’t miss,” Waine continued. “The arrow sank up to the fletching in the bull’s neck, but it didn’t miss a step. I cast aside my bow and drew my sword, hoping for a sign of weakness in the next few steps before it reached me. I saw none. It charged at me, swinging a club the size of Bertus like it was a willow switch. I ducked the attack and sprang in close, to try and hamstring it. I slashed out as we passed each other, striking at an exposed part of its leg.” Waine sighed. “It was like chopping at a walnut tree. The blade stuck. The next step the bull took wrenched the blade free, but not before yanking me far enough with it to lose my footing, and fall flat on my back. I recovered before the orc turned, and that’s when I saw the arrow had done more than it appeared to at first. Blood oozed out from around the buried shaft, and the orc coughed once before charging at me again. I slid around to the side as it attacked, and once I was clear of the weapon, I started running again, knowing the orc couldn’t last too much longer with that wound. It chased me another quarter mile before stopping. It turned to look for the other two bulls before squaring off against me again. I spotted one of the other bulls approaching in the distance. I knew I could outlast the big one, if he was by himself. But now he was waiting for help, and that made him far more dangerous. I knew then that I had to…”
“Waine…” Mirsa whispered.
“Then I killed all three orcs, and wound up sleeping under their piled corpses because I w
as too tired to do anything else,” Waine summarized with a glare of mild annoyance.
“I came upon the remains the next morning, and followed in the direction the tracks indicated,” Mirsa added. “He wasn’t going very fast… It was easy to catch up with him.”
“I told her most of what we knew, and she confirmed our suspicions, and more.” Waine continued. “Then I got cleaned up, and we needed to escape the midday heat, so we spent a few hours… talking.”
Mirsa grimaced, jabbing at Waine with an elbow. She focused on Kevon. “One of the things we eventually discussed was you. Waine seems convinced of your virtue, but in light of all that has happened, I have doubts about many… myself included.”
“What do you need to know?” Kevon asked.
“Tell me everything, beginning with Holten.”
Kevon told Mirsa of his Apprenticeship in Laston, how he had progressed, how Holten had trained him. He recounted the incident in the woods, where the then nameless Warrior had been killed by the bear, and how he himself had been spared. When the tale reached the revelation that Kevon’s Master had betrayed him, sending him to his death, Mirsa’s demeanor softened. Her eyes darted about the room from time to time, as though she sought answers in the far corners.
Mirsa’s gaze locked on Kevon when he told of meeting Pholos ‘ap Tarska along with Waine on their first journey to Gurlin’s tower. She sat quietly, rarely even blinking, as the story drew inevitably toward Gurlin’s assassination at Kevon’s hand, and the subsequent destruction of her former classmates.
The Warsmith continued, detailing their travel afterward, through Navlia, West and East Thaddington, and finally south to the mines on the frontier.
The Master Mage’s eyes were glassy, and she seemed to not hear what Kevon said, but he kept talking, unsure of how she would react when he stopped.
He spoke of Waine’s visit to the smithy, and the beginning of their trek north. When Kevon told of the news he’d received of the deaths of Marelle and Rhulcan, Mirsa gasped softly, and seemed to return to herself.
Tears welled up in her eyes, and she clasped Waine’s hand. “Such a power should only be entrusted to one like him.”
The Adept nodded, and brushed a tear from Mirsa’s eye.
Mirsa sniffed. “There is so much you need to know before we attack the ruins tomorrow. I thought that I was…” She breathed deeply for a few moments before resuming. “The source of my pride, what made me feel so self-important, the secret good we were all doing… Was all a lie. Pholos and the brothers, they knew nothing of our ‘duty’. Only Shofud and I, though he may have known the whole truth.”
“About the portal?” Kevon asked.
“The portal is only half of the problem,” Mirsa whispered. “The Orclord is the other.”
“Orclord?” Bertus asked, eyes widening in fear. “They’re just legends, aren’t they? How could there be one…”
“The caverns beneath the tower are vast, and had been partially created with Earth magic.” Mirsa answered. “The portal lies across a great chamber where most magic will not work. The only thing that held the creatures of darkness back was a magical barrier at the edge of the chamber, a shield of Enchantment woven with Light and Air. We Keepers…” Mirsa paused as though the word left a bad taste in her mouth. “We were charged with renewing the Enchantment regularly, to keep all of the creatures, especially the Orclord, at bay.” Mirsa sighed. “It must have been Gurlin’s intent to unleash it at some point, and if we can’t contain or destroy it, not even death will have stopped him.”
No one spoke for a time.
“I’m sorry about your classmates,” Kevon offered. “If there had been any other way…”
“I did not care enough for them when they were alive,” Mirsa whispered. “I’m not sure if I should mourn them more, or less, because of that. I… Don’t…”
Waine took Mirsa by the shoulder and pulled her to him. She wept softly into his chest. After a moment, he spoke.
“Enough talk for today. This is a dismal end to an onerous quest, and I for one could use some rest. We can plan in the morning.” Waine led Mirsa to the far end of the underground chamber, and without sound, the walls flowed inward from the sides and divided the halves completely.
Bertus exhaled deeply. “Glad that’s over,” he said, grinning. His eyes widened as he continued. “When she tore into this place, she was ready to kill you. Seeing you holding your sword didn’t help much either. She and Waine argued for almost a half hour, like old married folk. Then, I had to drag you the whole time we walked. This floor is not easy on the feet. I see now why she didn’t take the whole company underground with her. I trust magic more than most, but the last few days have been trying.”
Kevon frowned. He tried to recall how many times he’d almost been killed in the last few weeks, but events had blurred together in his mind. He knew the road ahead held no less danger, but he found he was eager to face it so that he could move beyond it. Just like last time, two years ago, he thought. We’re all that’s left of those that were there when the tower fell, come back to finish the job. Kevon looked at Bertus, thinking how alike he and Pholos were, excepting magical aptitude. He fervently hoped Bertus would fare better.
“We’d better get some rest, too.” Kevon said, rearranging his things.
The boy grinned in the direction of the wall that had closed between them and the others, but nodded and settled in for the night.
* * *
“Excuse me,” Kevon said, peering at the eye behind the barely opened door. “I was wondering if you know…”
“I don’t know anything.” came the gruff answer, and the door started to close.
“But they told me…”
“They told you wrong!” the man growled louder, slamming the door.
Kevon pounded on the door in frustration. He’d come so far, following any clue he and the others could find. Five Guildhalls, countless taverns, and half a season later, he’d been led here. “They said he might have been your son,” Kevon groaned in exasperation.
The door creaked back open, and the eye returned, studying Kevon more intently this time.
“What did you say?” the man asked Kevon after a short silence.
“Your son,” Kevon answered. “I’ve come halfway across the Realm searching for anyone who knows about the bearer of this sword.” He drew the weapon from its scabbard and rested it on his left arm, presenting it for inspection.
The man inside had to open the door further to get a good look, as Kevon had intended. Strands of unkempt hair hung across half the man’s face, partially concealing his scraggly facial hair.
Despite the man’s haggard appearance, Kevon recognized the resemblance immediately. The fallen Warrior’s face was etched forever in his mind. Nearly a year ago, Kevon had stood over the Novice Warrior and watched him die, unable to do anything for his terrible wounds.
“How did he die, then?” the man asked sullenly.
“He was killed by a bear,” Kevon replied. “I managed to frighten it away, and spoke with him before…”
The Warrior’s father nodded, and gestured for Kevon to enter. Kevon sheathed the sword and followed the man inside.
The room was sparsely furnished, even more so than Kevon was used to since he’d joined the Warrior’s Guild. A table and two roughly-hewn chairs sat near the center of the small chamber, offset toward the fireplace. A single plate with knife and fork sat, still needing to be cleared from the last meal. Other than that, the room’s only other contents were a suit of hardened leather armor and a scabbarded sword, piled haphazardly in the corner, thick with dust.
The man grunted and pushed the plate to the side of the table and sat down. “How far did he get?” he asked. “Where did you find him?”
“In the North Valley, near Laston.”
The man sat forward, and for the first time Kevon could see, appeared interested. “And how did you come to be there?” he asked, almost urgently.
“It is… rather, was… my home. I grew up there.”
“He must have been close…” the man whispered, eyes darting back and forth, as if remembering things long forgotten. “You! You lived there for years before…had anyone suspicious arrived in the year you met my son?”
Kevon’s jaw tensed. “A Wizard,” he began, “The only newcomer I can remember. Holten Magus.”
“I don’t know the name,” the man said, pushing back from the table and rising to his feet. “Wait here a moment.” He stepped into the other room for a minute, and returned with a rolled parchment. The Warrior’s father held the scroll out to Kevon. “Is this him?”
The hair on the back of Kevon’s neck stood on end. Had the Warrior been seeking Kevon’s former Master? It would explain the Wizard’s sudden departure, his odd behavior when he learned of the Warrior’s death.
Kevon carefully unrolled the parchment, studying it for a minute before sighing.
“What do you want with him?”
Chapter 11
Kevon woke drenched in sweat, despite the chill air of the underground chamber. Besides his dream of the meeting with Delmer, father of the slain Warrior Melwin, other memories and twisted visions had crowded his sleep. Rosy remembrances of his time with Marelle had given way to nightmarish scenes of burning caravans circled over by carrion birds. Lectures and lessons with Holten spun about, winding up on high walls above a raging battlefield, blinking back crimson light from a rift in the sky.
He sat upright, taking a deep breath. The movement stirred dust motes that swirled in two shafts of light, brightening the darkness by a shade. He stood and moved into one of the beams, feeling its miniscule warmth play on his skin before forming a Light rune to illuminate the room.
Journeyman Warsmith Page 8
