by Brandon Mull
“Hmmm,” Maldor mused. “Fascinating prophecy. I suppose there must be some minuscule chance for his survival. This is very useful information, by the way. Do you think your quests could possibly work? An attack on Felrook would be suicide for all involved. If I permit you to speak, will you be civil? Blink once for yes, twice for no.”
Angry and frustrated, Rachel blinked once.
The cushions unfolded from her mouth. “We’ll beat you.”
Maldor laughed. “She glimpsed one way, Rachel. The oracle glimpsed a single unlikely chain of coincidences that could stop me amid countless ways to fail. She neglected to offer many specifics. Now that I know what you are trying to do, it will be that much easier to stop you. Thank you, Rachel, for this priceless intelligence.”
Rachel squirmed. The sofa held her fast. She wanted to shout with frustration. Hot tears threatened.
“Don’t blame yourself,” Maldor urged. “I could have acquired this knowledge by a hundred different methods. Not that it matters. The oracle set you on a path that will require more than a miracle. It will require a prolonged series of miracles. Darian the Pyromancer is dead, Rachel. He has been dead for eons. Which Jason and his comrades will never learn, because they will perish at Windbreak Island. I won’t need to twitch a finger. The Maumet will see to their fate. And Galloran will undoubtedly die leading his foolhardy siege. There is no question.”
Maldor leaned forward. He spoke softly. “That prophecy is one of the nicest gifts anyone has ever given me. It brings me considerable peace of mind. I had worried that it might be dangerous. According to the oracle, somewhere in the future awaits some remote possibility of me coming to harm. I’ll be sure to defend against that implausible eventuality. Thanks to the prophetess, I now know where to focus my efforts.”
Maldor snapped his fingers, as if concerned Rachel’s attention might be straying. “Look at the situation with a practical eye. The prophecy will put all of my most capable enemies into extremely vulnerable positions years before I could have managed it on my own. I will win my war twenty years earlier than expected, all thanks to the dying words of a withered schemer.”
Rachel had no response. She wanted to weep. She wanted to scream.
“You’re concerned about your friends,” Maldor said tenderly. “I’m here to make an offer. I’ve thought about you in the months since you escaped my servants at the Last Inn. With the passage of time, I’ve grown increasingly certain that I wish to train you.”
“Never,” Rachel gasped.
Maldor smiled. “Don’t be so quick to deny me. At least hear the proposal, so you can understand who your refusal will be killing. Look at this through my eyes. Soon I will have subdued all of Lyrian. There will always be decisions to make, a vast empire to manage. Much of that will become tedium, and most of it can be handled by underlings. Once Lyrian is conquered, I can see myself regretting not having an adept like you to train. Edomic talent tends to be hereditary. So many gifted bloodlines have failed that you may represent my last opportunity to pass my knowledge forward to a worthy apprentice.”
“I don’t want it,” Rachel said.
“No need to play games. No need for posturing. No need to act brave or defiant. We’re alone here. You may not want to employ Edomic in all the same ways I use it, but you crave the knowledge. You’ve been working hard to attain greater knowledge ever since you discovered your talent. I can feel how you relish the power, how you exult in it. I can feel how you yearn to gain enough mastery to destroy me. I will install means to prevent you, but you’re resourceful. In time you may find a way to thwart my precautions and overthrow me. You’ll certainly have a better chance than any of your comrades.”
Rachel closed her eyes. She tried to wall her thoughts away from him, to close her intellect to his scrutiny.
“We’re in here together,” Maldor chuckled. “It’s too late to deny me admittance. Listen to my offer, and I will depart. I want you to come to me voluntarily. If you do, I will grant absolute, unconditional mercy to ten of your friends. Any you choose to name. Jason, Galloran, Corinne, even Ferrin. All are eligible. Not only will I spare them, but I will ensure that they live out their days in peace and comfort. If Jason so desires, I will even send him back to the Beyond. Perhaps he will have the good sense to stay put this time. Do not respond now. Mull it over, take a few days—weeks, even—without my presence to distract you. Think hard. You cannot imagine all you will learn, all you will achieve, all you will become. Most would offer me anything for this chance. I extend the opportunity to you freely, with generous promises attached. Respond by coming to me. Or by not coming to me. The choice is yours.”
Maldor stood. The sofa unfurled back to its normal shape. Maldor looked around. “You had a pleasant home. I can see the appeal. But your parents have moved on. So should you. Farewell, until we meet again.”
Maldor walked out of the room.
Rachel’s dream mom entered with a tray of cookies. Rachel eyed her numbly. Her dream mom set the tray in front of Rachel on the coffee table. “There we go. Peanut butter, your favorite.”
“You’re not my mom,” Rachel said.
The black eyes betrayed no emotion. “Of course not. Have a cookie.”
“I want to wake up.”
Her dream mom was walking out of the room. “Then have a cookie.”
Rachel was left alone. She selected a peanut butter cookie and held it up. The texture was as she remembered. It was still slightly warm from the oven. She sniffed it suspiciously. The cookie smelled delicious.
She took a bite. Just as the flavor started to hit her tongue, Rachel opened her eyes. She was in her room at Trensicourt, on her wide, soft bed. It had not felt like waking up. Not a bit. Her mind felt equally conscious as when she had sniffed the cookie. There had been no transition. Her eyes had been closed. Now they were open.
By the moonlight spilling through the window, Rachel could see a pair of lurkers beside her bed, like human shadows made three-dimensional. Reflecting none of the silvery glow, the figures were easily the darkest shade of black in the room, the kind of darkness found only in the most obscure reaches of space, beyond all starlight.
Her first impulse was to scream. But Tark and Io were in the next room. If she cried out, they would run in, attack the lurkers, and die. Clenching her teeth, she held the scream inside.
The lurkers were here. They had been here for some time, all during her dream, at least. As far as she understood, they would show no aggression unless provoked. She thought about her charm necklace, the one that helped keep lurkers out of her mind. It was packed away. Lurkers weren’t supposed to be a threat in a city.
She stared at the motionless duo. Jason had told her that standing up to his lurker had helped. She should show no fear. Maybe she could learn something about them. Her hands were clenched into fists, her nails biting into her palms. She tried to calm herself and focus her thoughts.
Why did you invade my dreams? Rachel asked with her mind.
The lurkers remained perfectly still. We are messengers, the lurker on the right replied.
It was a relief to perceive a coherent response. It made them seem less alien. I thought you never came into cities, Rachel conveyed.
Very seldom, the lurker responded.
Maldor insisted, Rachel guessed.
We could not refuse.
Rachel furrowed her brow. Was that really Maldor in my dream? Or just you?
Him through us, the lurker replied. We can reach one another. Even without elaboration, she clearly understood that it referred to the other lurkers. They could keep in mental contact regardless of distance. He was near one of us.
Rachel remembered conversations with Jason and the charm woman. If she wanted to know where these creatures originated, who better to ask? Are you like me? Are you Beyonders?
We are Beyonders. We are not like you.
You’re from a different Beyond. Maldor controls you?
Within limits, by treaty
.
Why come to me in a dream? Why not communicate like this? Why show me my house and my parents? Why torture me?
We do not belong in these forms. A dream is more natural to us.
Dreams are more like the place you come from? Rachel guessed.
More than the rest of this. She could feel its disdain.
Are you trying to get away? Rachel asked. Are you prisoners? Are you trying to escape and get home? Is he controlling you?
The other lurker entered the conversation for the first time, the second mind recognizably different. So many questions. Not your concern. Our assignment is complete.
The two lurkers darted across the room and sprang from the window. It was a long drop, but Rachel knew it would be no problem for the torivors. She had seen a torivor leap from the wall of a high ravine and land lightly.
The sudden absence of the torivors was almost more unsettling than their presence. Lurkers had invaded her mind, her dreams. Maldor had just spoken to her. He had spied on her thoughts, her home, her secrets. He had learned the prophecy. And he had made her an offer.
Why hadn’t she worn the charm necklace? Why had she assumed she didn’t need it while at Trensicourt?
Another question loomed, more terrible than all the others. Rachel tried to ignore it, but the sickening concern was inescapable. She wished she could bury the thought, keep it secret, even from herself. Maldor had emphasized that only one path would lead to his destruction, while billions would lead to his triumph. After learning the prophecy, he would be more prepared than ever to stop them. Rachel shivered. What if, by leaving her mind open to him tonight, she had already ruined the possibility of anyone defeating him?
CHAPTER 10
AVENGER
It’s an interceptor,” Aram said, lowering the spyglass and passing it to Jasher. Aram was short again, his voice pitched higher than at night. More than two days out from Durna, Jason, Nia, Jasher, and Aram huddled together at one side of the Valiant. Minutes before, a drinling high on the mainmast had spotted a ship on the eastern horizon.
“It’s on a course to intercept us,” Jasher said. “Of all the foul luck!”
“Don’t scold luck,” Aram said. “Word of the debacle in Durna must have traveled more swiftly than we imagined.”
“Maybe from displacer to displacer,” Jason guessed.
Aram grunted. “By displacer or eagle or gossiping fishwives, the word is out, and imperial vessels are checking the sea lanes away from Durna.”
“There are only two other interceptors in the whole Inland Sea!” Nia complained. “What are the chances?”
“Does it matter?” Aram replied. “One has found us. How do we respond?”
“How we deal with the interceptor is most vital in the short term,” Drake agreed, approaching the group alongside Farfalee. “How they found us so quickly may matter more as time goes by.”
“We razed their waterfront,” Aram said. “They started looking hard. They found us.”
“Too quickly,” Drake said.
“Weren’t you the one predicting disaster?” Nia asked Drake.
“Only because I hate being wrong,” Drake replied. “Personally, I would much rather beat the odds and live. I expected travail, but not such early detection.”
“I haven’t let my eagles fly since the day before our rendezvous,” Farfalee reminded everyone.
“Could our foes have anticipated our destination?” Jasher asked. “Doesn’t seem likely. Sailors have avoided the sight of Windbreak Island for generations. Who could have leaked our intentions?”
“Impossible to guess,” Drake said. “But whatever we do about our visible pursuers, we should be braced for more. Our enemies must have uncovered our plans. In situations like this, I’m slow to credit coincidence.”
“What do you suggest?” Farfalee asked Aram.
“The wind is from the southeast. It will benefit both ships. Given our current positions, I expect we could evade the other interceptor and win a race to Windbreak Island. But the other ship will never lose sight of us. We’ll be trapped between the abominable guardian and the oncoming interceptor.”
“What if we engage them?” Jasher asked.
“You’re familiar with our armaments,” Aram said. He was referring to the miniature catapults—three on each side—poised to launch burning pitch. “The enemy ship will be similarly equipped. Most likely we would roast each other, which would serve the emperor fine.”
Jason winced. The prospect of combat aboard flaming ships with no land in sight was not appealing.
“We don’t just need to survive this,” Drake muttered. “We need to make it through virtually unscathed, or the rest of our efforts will be hobbled.”
“What about our orantium?” Jason asked.
“It’s our biggest advantage,” Farfalee agreed.
Jasher scowled in thought. “The problem becomes how to get close enough to deliver the explosives without taking fire ourselves.”
“Would the catapults fling orantium farther than pitch?” Jason wondered.
Drake shook his head. “Probably not much farther.”
“What if we moved a catapult to the bow and went straight at them?” Farfalee asked.
Aram shrugged. “Unconventional. Might catch them off guard. We might get off a few spheres before they could adjust. Once they adjusted, the maneuver would swiftly bring us into close range.”
“Orantium impacting the deck of the other ship would cause damage,” Jasher said. “But orantium against the hull near the waterline would sink them.”
Aram chuckled. “That would require quite a shot.”
“We want to hit them before they can hit us,” Nia said. “And it would be best to strike the hull near the waterline. Would losing some dead weight help us sail faster?”
“Only a little,” Aram said.
“We should run, but let them get close,” Nia replied. “I have a plan.”
* * *
Jason stood at the stern beside Farfalee, watching the interceptor gradually gaining on them, sails billowing in the breeze. The sun would set before long.
“They don’t seem to suspect anything,” Jason said. “They’re trailing straight behind us.”
“They assume we’re incompetent sailors,” Farfalee replied. “Getting directly between us and the breeze gives them a chance to steal wind from our sails and gain even more quickly. Aram is deliberately doing nothing to counter the tactic. And he doesn’t have us rigged for maximum efficiency.”
“How is Corinne?”
Farfalee shook her head sadly. “Green as ever. I had hoped that the larger vessel and calmer water would reduce her stomach problems. Not so.”
Jason nodded. Journeying southward last year, Corinne had been seasick all the way from the Silver River to the Durnese River aboard a drinling longship. Not an hour after coming aboard the Valiant, she had fallen ill again. She was currently in a cabin belowdecks. When Jason had visited, she had been flat on the floor, perspiring and moaning, a bucket at her side. He hadn’t stayed long.
Behind the Valiant and off to one side, a school of kitefish leaped from the water, more than a dozen in total. They looked like a cross between barracuda and manta rays, long bodies sporting wide, winglike fins. The kitefish sprang into the wind, triangular fins spread wide, gliding smoothly upward, then hanging suspended before plunging back into the water.
With nets and rods, several of the drinlings worked round the clock catching kitefish and other sea life. Drake had explained that because of the high salt content, only select species of fish could survive in the Inland Sea.
“Would kitefish attack people?” Jason asked. They looked large enough.
“They mostly prey on other fish and birds,” Farfalee answered.
“You don’t have anything like them in the ocean?”
“Not really.”
“I wonder where they came from,” Jason said. “If the Inland Sea is too salty for most fish, how did they
get here in the first place?”
“Wizards,” Farfalee answered. “Anciently, this sea was lifeless. Using Edomic, wizards engineered fish that could withstand the intense salinity. Several species of bioluminescent seaweed, as well. The introduction of fish to the Inland Sea allowed for settlements to develop. Without the tampering of ancient wizards, there would be little life or industry here today.”
“It must have been hard for the wizards to create new life,” Jason said. “Rachel told me that living things resist Edomic.”
“Which is why very few wizards ever produced even simple life-forms. Only the most learned and powerful could engineer life, and only four or five ever managed to spawn what we would consider intelligent life.”
“Can Maldor do it?” Jason wondered.
“If so, we have seen little evidence. His supporters are culled from preexisting races. It required some skill to evolve a botched race into the manglers, but it was adaptation, not true creation. Maldor is both powerful and talented, but probably not yet skilled enough to truly produce his own life-forms.”
“You knew some of the great wizards of Lyrian,” Jason said. “Like Eldrin.”
“I was not close to Eldrin,” Farfalee clarified. “But in my youth I spent some time in his presence. He was not a particularly kind man. He struck me as brilliant but abrupt, much more interested in his own plans and goals than in the people around him. All of his intelligent races have reason to dislike him. After all, at the same time he brought the Amar Kabal into being, he also designed our eventual extinction.”
“He made it harder to have kids over time,” Jason recalled.
Farfalee nodded. “We’ve grown less fertile. Only six children have been born to the Amar Kabal during the past thirty years. My son, Lodan, is one of them. I could hardly believe I was going to be a mother after lifetimes of trying. I may be one of the last. As a people we will endure only as long as our seeds stay healthy and keep getting planted. Drake is not the first of us to be reborn without a functional amar. Nor will he be the last.”
