by Brandon Mull
Rachel tried to calm herself. For the moment she was free. The moment would not last. How best could she use this opportunity? She could not imagine successfully using Edomic to bluff her way all the way out of Felrook. There would be too many guarded checkpoints. With Galloran’s army outside, the whole fortress would be on high alert. But the lurkers were not far.
Lowering her head, Rachel reached out with her mind for the torivors. All she could sense was a direction, not the halls she needed to travel to get there. She began making her best guesses. She walked down a hall, turned a corner, and then quickstepped down another. She was up too high. More and more the torivors seemed directly beneath her. She needed stairs.
She passed a pair of soldiers who paid her no mind. Apparently, mysterious cowled figures were not an uncommon sight.
Eventually Rachel had to backtrack. A locked wooden door blocked the new way she wanted to go. She knelt and peered at the keyhole, then spoke a quiet Edomic command. She willed a twisting movement from the moving parts inside the lock. It had worked on 90 percent of the locks Ferrin had provided. It worked on this one.
The door clicked open, revealing a short hall. Behind an unlocked door she found a stairwell. Upon reaching the bottom of the stairs, she felt much nearer to the torivors. They were still lower than her, and off to the side. Her path toward them led her around a corner and into the view of two armed guards flanking an iron door. They wore the armor of conscriptors, and they clutched poleaxes. Swords and daggers hung ready at their waists.
Rachel knew that if she turned around, she would attract more attention than if she proceeded. Beyond the iron door the hall continued and then rounded a corner. If she walked past the guards and around the corner, she could regroup and figure out how to deal with them.
“Who goes there?” one of the conscriptors inquired before Rachel reached them.
Keeping her face down, Rachel stopped walking and shook her head, hinting that they shouldn’t question her identity. She waited in silence.
“We have to ask your business down here,” the other conscriptor apologized, obviously concerned about who he might be addressing.
Maybe she could fake her way through this. Rachel did not try to disguise her voice, but she made it cold. “Maldor should have warned you I was coming. I am here to inspect the torivors.”
“Inspect the torivors?” the first conscriptor exclaimed. “Who are you?”
“That is none of your affair,” Rachel replied harshly.
“I’m afraid it is,” the other guard said, starting to sound rankled.
Switching to Edomic, Rachel suggested they flop to the ground. Both complied, their dropped weapons clattering. Rachel suggested that they keep still; then with a command and an effort of will she levitated both poleaxes and held the blades to their throats.
The combination of suggestions and commands left her feeling taxed, but she tried not to show it. She stood with her head bowed and her hands behind her back. The men were no longer pinned by her will, but the weapons at their throats seemed sufficient to keep them still. “Will you open the door, or do you mean to delay me further?”
“We don’t have the key,” the first conscriptor said, no defiance in his tone. “Only the emperor comes here, and never often.”
“I know,” Rachel lied, showing the keys she had taken from the guard upstairs, perfectly aware that none of them would open this door. “I am asking whether you intend to keep wasting my time.”
“If Maldor sent you,” the second guard responded, “and if you have the key, you are welcome to enter.”
With a word and a gesture, Rachel sent the poleaxes sliding down the stone floor of the hall. “Stay on the ground until I am gone, worms. See that I am not disturbed.”
The guards remained motionless on the floor. Rachel stepped past them and scraped a random key against the keyhole. She uttered a quiet command and felt the workings of the lock stir, but not enough to grant her access.
Despite her increasing heart rate, Rachel tried to stay calm. The mechanisms of some of the trickier locks at East Keep had to be turned left first, and then right. While she continued to rattle the key against the keyhole, Rachel uttered a pair of commands, first twisting the innards of the lock one way, then coaxing other moving parts in the opposite direction.
The lock disengaged, and Rachel opened the door. Deciding that it would be most convincing to offer no additional comment, Rachel stepped through and closed the door. She was left in total darkness.
For a panicky moment she envisioned lurkers all around her. No, they were in the vicinity, but she still could not sense them clearly. Some barrier still intervened.
Starting at the doorway, Rachel felt her way along the wall to a corner three paces from the door. Following the next wall, after several small paces, she discovered a step down. She was on a landing at the top of a stairway. The stairs descended directly toward where she sensed the torivors.
Feeling higher along the wall, Rachel found a sconce holding a torch. She lit the torch with a word and removed it from the sconce. The trembling flame revealed a long stairway, probably forty steps. Unsure how long she had before the guards she had bluffed would initiate an angry pursuit, Rachel rushed down the stairs.
At the bottom of the stairs, a short hall ended at a large mirror. Closer inspection revealed that the mirror was a polished metal door perforated by a grid of tiny holes. Eight pegs resided in the centermost holes of the top row. It was a lock like the ones Jason had described at the Repository of Learning and at the lorevault of Trensicourt. She had no idea how Edomic might help her open it. Inserting the pegs by trial and error would take weeks or months or years. Maybe longer.
Rachel could perceive the torivors behind the door. Can you sense me? she wondered, projecting the thought with all of the energy she could muster. I need to speak with you. Can you answer?
Although she could discern their collective presence, she recognized no individual thoughts. She was on her own opening the door. If she failed, this entire excursion would be for nothing. More likely than not, the day would dawn with her chained in the dungeon.
Rachel studied the door. It looked as though it had been fashioned from the same metal as the torivorian swords. The door itself was not going anywhere. But the door was anchored into the stone of the wall.
As soon as her thoughts turned to the message from Darian, Rachel knew what to do. Summoning her inner strength, she spoke a command to turn all the stone around the perimeter of the door to glass. She felt the directive succeed. The stone took on a glossy sheen and gained a hint of smoky translucence.
Raising her voice and extending one hand, Rachel mentally rammed the door with everything she had. For an instant the door shuddered. Tiny fractures zigzagged across the surrounding glass. Dropping to one knee, Rachel kept up the pressure. The effort made her teeth ache down to the roots. Responding to a final surge of willpower, the door exploded inward, tearing free as its glass moorings shattered in a shower of shards.
Rachel dropped forward to her hands and knees, her torch clacking against the floor and rolling in a semicircle. She felt the cool stone beneath her palms. She could taste blood in her mouth. Her headache was returning. Her teeth ached and tingled. Her tongue felt numb. But her mind remained clear. She retrieved the torch and stood.
The room beyond the empty doorway was black. Her torchlight did not penetrate the darkness.
She could feel the lurkers beyond the threshold, their presence no longer muted or indistinct. There were dozens.
I need to speak to a representative, Rachel conveyed.
You, a torivor replied with recognition. We are seldom visited.
I may not have much time, Rachel emphasized. I need to understand your relationship to Maldor. I may not be exactly like you, but I am a Beyonder as well. I want to free you.
Others have tried, the lurker conveyed. When Maldor sends us on assignments, we are not at liberty to communicate. But here we ar
e, not operating under active instructions. Ask your questions.
Do you want to serve Maldor? Rachel asked.
We want one thing, the torivor replied, the slow words carrying heavy emphasis. Our freedom. We yearn for home. We can earn our freedom through service, according to the covenant.
Maldor bargained with you? Rachel asked.
Zokar instituted the covenant. He summoned us to this world and then subdued us. Where we come from, we need not die. Life is always. Here we are more vulnerable. We had to agree to the covenant or perish. Some of us chose oblivion. Most compromised.
If the agreement was with Zokar, how does Maldor control you? Rachel wondered.
The Myrkstone, the torivor replied. Truth is a principle of our existence. We cannot lie. We cannot break our oaths. Our oaths were bound to Zokar and the jewel. Maldor used the Myrkstone to secure our cooperation. We are under no other obligation to serve him. Our allegiance was to Zokar. Yet while the jewel survives, we remain bound to this world. Restricted by our vows, we are powerless to harm it. Only by fulfilling our covenants can we escape its power. We often resist the will of Maldor. We do not relish servitude. But as we fulfill our promises as established by the covenant, we can escape the Myrkstone and return home. In the end, when he asks, we comply.
Rachel thought about the command that had let her force open the burnished door. What if I destroy the Myrkstone?
Then we would be free.
What if you agree to a new treaty with me? A treaty that goes into force after I destroy the stone? A treaty with simpler terms. A treaty that will free you sooner than your other arrangement.
Our interest would depend on your terms.
How many of you remain?
Seventy and one.
Rachel tried not to grin. She looked over her shoulder. Nobody was coming for her yet. I’m not sure how long I have. We had better start negotiating.
CHAPTER 32
TELEPATHY
Someone was calling to her. It was not the first attempt. He sounded far away. It was hard to focus on the words. The meaning escaped her. She would respond later. Right now she was too tired.
The petitioner persisted. Not loudly, but earnestly. The plea for her attention blended with her disjointed dreams, gaining and losing prominence. The voice was familiar. Some instinct insisted that she concentrate.
Rachel, are you there? I know you can sense me. Rachel, you must heed me! Rachel, can you respond? Wake up, Rachel! Wake up!
Rachel opened her eyes. It was Galloran, his mind calling to hers. Her room was dark. She was in bed. She sat up. She felt disoriented. Her mouth was dry and tasted horrible. She was at Felrook! She had tried to attack Maldor and failed! The vicious headache she had expected was almost nonexistent.
Rachel. Respond to me, Rachel! I have vital news! Rachel?
The fervent words tickled at the edge of her awareness, faint as the last bounce of an echo.
Galloran? she replied, putting some effort behind it.
Rachel! I have sought to reach you for two days.
Two days? Where are you?
On the lake. I could perceive your mind, but you were not lucid.
She was already feeling much more alert. I’m so sorry about how I left! I thought I might be able to help from inside Felrook. I had no idea it could be dangerous for you guys.
I understand what you were attempting, Galloran replied. We were almost out of options. You were doing your best. Io was an unfortunate tragedy. You must not blame yourself. He chose to attack. Wartime decisions inevitably lead to casualties.
I tried to attack Maldor, Rachel confessed. He was sick from sending the lurkers, and I hoped to surprise him. I never stood a chance. I tried my best and overexerted myself. I’ve been unconscious. Two days?
Yes. We have little time. Jason shared the prophecy with us.
Really?
The eastern armies are on schedule. They should arrive by midday tomorrow. Rachel, you must flee Felrook before then. You must get well away. If not you will die with . . . minions.
What? I missed part of that! The communication was growing even less distinct. She got out of bed, her legs wobbly. Her mouth tasted disgusting. She padded to the window and opened it, gazing out at the calm evening. The last of the light was fading in the west.
You must escape Felrook by tomorrow morning, Galloran repeated. Otherwise you will die beside Maldor and his minions. We have found a way to stop him. I cannot be more specific than that.
I’m not sure I can escape.
Darian the Seer had a message specifically for you. I think it is meant to help you survive. He wanted you to know that Orruck taught you—
The voice in her head was gone. Rachel leaned out the window and exerted her will. What? Galloran? I lost you again! What about Orruck?
The words returned to her mind so faintly that she bowed her head, eyes closed, not daring to breathe. Orruck taught you what you need to know. One of the commands Orruck imparted was developed by him to harm Zokar. The seer felt . . . useful.
Orruck taught me to call lightning, Rachel replied, unsure whether he could hear her. A massive burst of lightning. I’ve never tried it. And he taught me words to turn stone into glass. Do you think I need lightning?
Rachel?
I’m here! Do you think I need lightning?
The voice in her mind grew stronger. Lightning or the other command. Lightning is volatile. Plan an escape. Take any risk necessary. You must be gone by midday. Your life depends on it. Figure out how Orruck’s commands might prove useful. Otherwise you die tomorrow. Come to me if you can. I will be in the western hills. I cannot sustain this communication. I apologize.
She could feel the strain behind his words. I heard. I’ll do my best. Good luck.
Be brave. You can do this. I am counting on you to escape.
Is Jason all right?
He lives. The words were so weak, she wondered if she might have imagined them. Escape. I’ll watch for you.
The distant communication had evidently taxed Galloran to his limits. He would need his strength for whatever was happening tomorrow. I got the message. Go rest. Thank you.
Rachel backed away from the window. She lit candles and lamps with Edomic. Her gentle headache felt like the result of sleeping too long rather than the punishing backlash of failed Edomic commands. The effort of will to ignite the candles did not seem to enhance the pain. Neither had the conversation with Galloran.
She stopped to wonder whether Maldor could have overheard the exchange. With mental communication she usually sensed only messages targeted at her. But Galloran sometimes picked up thoughts she didn’t mean to send.
If Maldor had sensed their conversation, there was nothing she could do about it now. If he had that ability, or if the lurkers had used their abilities on his behalf, she would just have to hope that nobody was paying attention.
There were two pitchers on the table. One gave off a strong odor. The scent triggered memories. She had wakened several times to sip that pungent solution. Her recollection of those moments was hazy—her head and shoulders propped up by pillows, a cup offered by a gnarled hand, a taste like nutty egg yolks accented by a distinctly metallic tang. Sometimes the drink had been warm, other times room temperature. Unable to resist her weariness, she had always sunk right back to sleep.
How heavily had they drugged her? The agony she had begun to experience after challenging Maldor lingered only as a vague discomfort. But she had lost two days! She had intended to find some way to help Galloran from inside Felrook before the enemy armies arrived. Instead, she had spent the time in a stupor.
She could not rest any longer. The other pitcher smelled like water. She poured some into her cupped palm and splashed the liquid against her face. Then she filled a glass. Walking to the window, she swished around a mouthful and spat it out. Then Rachel gargled another two mouthfuls. The gargling reduced the hideous taste in her mouth. The foulness went beyond the nasty flavor of
oversleeping. Some of the vileness had to be a consequence of the medicine.
Slowly sipping water, Rachel tried to decide what she should do. According to Galloran, she did not need to fret about winning the war from inside Felrook. Jason had come through. He had delivered the prophecy, and Galloran had learned some secret that would let him destroy the fortress. She just needed to worry about getting out.
But how could she do that? Maldor had proven much more powerful than her. Using all her strength while he was weakened, she hadn’t managed to scratch him. Maybe she could slip out of the fortress with a series of Edomic suggestions. Working with Ferrin, she had learned how to pick locks. Was it possible that she could make it all the way out of Felrook by picking locks and nudging minds?
The prospect seemed unlikely. She would have to get past too many guards. She could distract a few temporarily with Edomic, but eventually they would catch on, and an alarm would be raised. Besides, what would prevent Maldor from sending a torivor to retrieve her?
Rachel rubbed her face with both hands. Despite her many worries, Jason had done his part. How did he keep succeeding against all odds? What would he do if he were trapped here? She had to think like him. She had to find a way.
Galloran now had the information he needed. It was terrific, surprising news, except that it meant coming here had been totally unnecessary. She should have had more faith in Jason and his mission. If she had just held on a couple days more before caving in to her fears . . .
Then again, Jason had received a specific message for her. Darian had provided a clue. Was it meant to reach her here? Could she still be within the boundaries of the prophecy? Or had that clue been meant to find her under other circumstances? Had she already blown it?
There was no rewriting history. She had made her decision with the information she’d had at the time. She had to accept her situation. Her focus needed to be on what she would do now.
If she discounted the clue from Jason, she would be adrift without a compass. She had to trust that the message pertained to her current situation. The secret of her escape must involve what Orruck had taught her. The former apprentice of Zokar had forced her to demonstrate her ability to push objects with Edomic. He had also taught her a command involving lightning and a command that could turn stone to glass.
