by Brandon Mull
“Rod,” Cole said.
“What is the nature of the message my wife commissioned you to deliver?”
The blunt nature of the question left Cole momentarily at a loss. So much for small talk!
“Don’t make up a lie,” Stafford demanded. “I am your king. Tell me the nature of the message!”
“I don’t know, Your Majesty,” Cole said, not needing to pretend to sound scared.
“You know something,” Stafford said, eyes narrowing.
“I think it has to do with some of Owandell’s followers,” Cole said, which was true, if not the whole truth.
“Has she placed a spy among his people?” Stafford asked, his voice softer and a little hopeful.
“I guess so,” Cole said. “This is my first time working for her.”
Stafford squinted suspiciously. “And why would that be? How did she recruit you?”
Cole thought it would be best to stay as close to the truth as possible. “I was delivering a message from the chamberlain to Queen Harmony.”
“How long have you been an errand boy?”
“It was my first delivery,” Cole said.
Stafford stroked his chin, rings glittering. “She saw something in you. Some hint of promise. Something she liked. She does that at times.”
“She told me she could trust me,” Cole said.
“Which I expect is true,” Stafford said. “She has genuine ability in discerning such matters. But why? You must be an honest lad. Are you honest?”
“I do my best,” Cole said.
“That was not a straight answer,” Stafford said. “Maybe not so honest. Maybe adept at avoiding lies.”
“I’m honest.”
“Do not engage in wordplay with your king, boy. I prefer straight talk.”
“Okay.”
“She probably liked that you were new to the job. No allegiances anywhere. You’ve had no opportunity to be corrupted. Have you ever consorted with Owandell or his folk?”
“No, sire,” Cole said.
“I believe you,” Stafford said. “You don’t seem dull. A dim-witted errand boy can be useful in some cases. Have you a family?”
“Nobody,” Cole said. The answer felt painfully close to the truth these days.
“Expendable,” Stafford said. “A very useful trait. Too many royal errand boys have one connection or another. Very well. Deliver your message. Do not inform my wife that we spoke. After your message has been delivered, return to me. Harold will see to it.”
“All right,” Cole said.
Stafford licked his lips. “These are treacherous times. When things seem out of place, pay attention. Dismiss no suspicions. Trust slowly. Bring me good information and you will be rewarded.”
“Is that fair to the queen?” Cole asked.
Stafford began to repeatedly tap his forefinger against each finger of the opposite hand. “Do not read her message. Do not betray your trust. But do not forget who is your king, and king of every person you know. My wife is free to conduct her intrigues. She has served our interests well over the years. I want the information you gain with your own eyes and ears as you conduct the delivery. I am, after all, husband to the queen and High King of the Outskirts.”
“I’ll do my best,” Cole said.
The king pressed his fingertips together. “Very well.” He started coughing, softly at first, but it got louder, until he was doubled over making choking sounds.
For a terrible instant Cole thought the king might drop dead in front of him. Had he been poisoned or something?
The coughing fit finally subsided, and the king spat into a handkerchief. As he wiped a tear from his cheek, his hand trembled a little.
“Are you all right?” Cole asked.
“A minor agitation,” Stafford said. “No words about that to anyone, understand?”
“Yes, sire.”
“That was not the hacking of an ill man,” Stafford explained. “It was the reaction of a robust man with too much dust in his chamber.”
“Sure,” Cole said.
Stafford narrowed his gaze. “Are you staring at me?”
“I’m just looking at you,” Cole said, feeling off-balance.
“Looking at what?” the king asked. “Looking on whose behalf?”
“You called me here and I came,” Cole said.
“So you did,” Stafford said, seeming calmer. “Are you ever lonely, boy?”
“Sometimes,” Cole said.
“Try wearing a crown. The nights are long. Forget the pulmonary insubordination. I did not cough. There are enough stories circulating about me. I will see you tomorrow, after your delivery. Serve me well and the possibilities are endless.”
“Thank you, sire.”
“Off with you,” Stafford said. “Go rap on the door.”
The guard opened the door and escorted Cole back to Harold. As Cole walked back to the errand-boy quarters, he wondered if he would manage to leave Junction before Stafford sought a report from him. Why did everything have to be so complicated?
CHAPTER
27
GATHERING
Cole slipped out the side door of the errand-boy quarters five and a half hours after sundown. He wore a brown robe with the hood up and a strip of black fabric wound around his face just below the eyes. The material made his breathing stuffy, but air was getting through, so it felt like a small price to pay to become unrecognizable.
The costume had been delivered by Harmony’s elderly servant Sophie late in the afternoon, along with written instructions and a carved ivory rose meant to prove he had been invited. Everything was bundled inside of a leather messenger bag that had earned envious stares from some of the other boys.
Cole had left the bag in his room. It would go to whoever claimed it. After the gathering, the instructions called for Cole to report directly to Harmony’s tower, regardless of the hour. He would share his information and hopefully be smuggled away before sunrise.
All of that assuming Owandell didn’t catch him.
As Cole walked away from the errand-boy quarters, he felt confident that nobody had seen him leave. Each boy had their own small bedroom, and the common area had been empty.
The castle halls were quiet and shadowy. Dim globes on the walls provided enough light to see. Cole wondered what type of shaping powered the globes.
At the next intersection Cole glanced down at the directions in his hands. He needed to make his way to Owandell’s tower, which involved a few stairways and lots of turns. Around the next corner Cole saw a guard. He kept walking, trying to act comfortable, although he felt very conspicuous sneaking around in the night with his face hidden by a hooded robe. But his instructions had assured him that if he stuck to the specified route, the guards he met would let him pass.
Although Cole walked right past the guard in an otherwise empty hall, he received no special attention. He continued onward, and the silent guard remained at his post.
After some time Cole reached a guard not wearing the First Castle uniform. He was dressed like an Enforcer. The guard gave him a nod but made no attempt to engage him. All of the guards from that point on were Enforcers.
As Cole neared Owandell’s tower, he met another person in a monk’s robe with his face covered. The stranger walked a few steps behind Cole, going the same direction. The new presence made Cole tense, heightening the feeling of being an imposter and a trespasser. The stranger’s robes matched the style he had seen Owandell wearing at the Lost Palace. The disguised person was considerably taller than Cole but otherwise could be anyone, including a shapecrafter, a spy, or Owandell himself.
After Cole took a couple of turns, it became clear that he and the stranger were heading for the same destination. He tried to stay calm as he neared an iron door at the base of a tower flanked by six Enfor
cers. They admitted two other robed figures before Cole arrived.
“Your token?” one of the Enforcers asked.
Cole held out the rose.
“Yours?” the guard asked looking behind Cole.
The man behind Cole displayed an ivory rose of his own. One of the Enforcers opened the door and waved Cole and the other man through.
On the other side of the door, a short woman clad in black took Cole’s hand and led him to a corner of the room. She had expressive eyes, but a veil hid the rest of her face. A bald man in a porcelain mask pulled aside the person who had followed Cole, directing him to another corner.
The woman held up a hand, palm outward. “May I?”
Cole had no idea what she intended but decided he had better play along. He gave a nod.
The woman pressed her palm to his chest. For a moment Cole’s vision darkened, and all of the energy inside of him was pulled toward her hand. His internal regions folded and shrank as a bizarre suction drew his thoughts, his power, and maybe even his soul toward her touch.
She yanked her palm away, and the disorienting rush ended. Everything inside of him snapped back into place, and his vision cleared.
The woman stared at him with wide eyes. “Thank you for your service. You are heavily scarred for one so young.”
Cole nodded.
“Show me the token,” she invited.
Cole held out the ivory rose. The woman placed both of her hands over his, and the rose turned black.
The woman leaned close. “I’m not supposed to be curious tonight, but I can’t help myself. Your power is interesting. Was the extreme mutilation necessary to produce it?”
“Partly,” Cole murmured, trying to be vague.
“So many fascinating people have gathered tonight,” she said. “This way.”
She escorted Cole out of the room and to the top of a staircase. An Enforcer handed her a small torch, which she passed to Cole.
“Enjoy the service,” she said.
Black rose in one hand, torch in the other, Cole started down the curving stairs. Maybe it was the torchlight, or the new chill in the air, but this part of the castle looked more ancient than the rest. The stones of the walls and floors were larger and rougher, jammed together without visible mortar. The deeper he went, the less even the stairs became. The stairway began to meander, sometimes curving to the left, other times to the right. The steps unpredictably became steeper or shallower. Moisture glistened on the walls, and the temperature plunged.
Cole slowed, taking care as the stone stairs became more craggy and damaged. He kept expecting to reach the bottom, and that kept not happening. His torch began to burn greener, first subtly, then unmistakably. The air felt thicker, almost liquid, as if a different type of atmosphere had pooled down here in the darkness. He could still breathe fine, but his lungs needed to squeeze a little harder.
At last he reached the bottom, and a short hall led through a malformed archway into a cavernous room. More than a hundred robed figures had congregated there, each holding a greenish torch. Several of them were short enough to be kids. Emerald bonfires blazed in cauldrons, and against the fractured walls, drippy candles burned in contorted candelabras.
The robed figures stood apart from one another. Nobody conversed. Cole found an empty place to stand. The others all faced a large stone block in the center of the room, gray and smooth with slightly rounded corners. Cole stared at it as well. Was it just that everyone was gazing at it, or did the block have an unusual presence?
As time passed, other robed figures trickled into the room. Cole held the torch closer to his face to ward off the chill. Eventually new people stopped arriving.
One of the robed figures mounted the stone block. Casting back his hood, he unwrapped his face.
It was Owandell. Greenish firelight reflected off his hairless scalp. His fleshy, ageless face looked just how Cole remembered him from the Lost Palace, though his build now looked a little more rotund.
Owandell raised both hands as if to quiet the crowd, even though nobody was making any noise. Then a voice penetrated Cole’s mind. Owandell’s lips weren’t moving, but the words came across loud and clear.
Welcome, fellow servants of Nazeem. I am honored by your presence. We gather together as the true believers, the living heart of our movement, excusing those on assignment abroad. I thank you for attending.
Cole glanced around. The other robed people near him gazed raptly at Owandell. Cole assumed they all heard him as well.
How appropriate that we gather at the Founding Stone. He stomped one foot to show he meant the block on which he stood. Most believe the name refers to this being the first stone of the First Castle. The actual meaning reaches back further. This is in fact the first stone of the Outskirts, and marks the original junction between the five kingdoms. This stone set the pattern. The material of this world expanded outward from this point, enabling mortals to dwell here.
Owandell raised both of his hands high. It remains a nexus of great power. He closed his eyes. As Nazeem teaches, all shaping power is one, and that power abounds near this historic cornerstone.
“Nazeem!” cried one of the robed onlookers.
The flames in the room leaped higher and burned greener, including the fire of the torch Cole held. The unexpected flare up nearly startled him into dropping it.
“Nazeem! Nazeem!” called several voices.
Cole didn’t take up the cry. He wasn’t always the best at sensing shaping power, but he could feel wave after wave pulsing from the Founding Stone.
Owandell lowered his hands, and the flames returned to normal. I bring you word from the Fallen Temple. Nazeem sees progress in our shapecraft. He knows of our failures as well. We must improve our techniques and hasten our efforts. The hour of his return draws nigh.
The robed crowd cheered, waving their black roses above their heads. Cole waved his as well.
Ours is an ancient brotherhood, Owandell continued. Long have we nurtured our craft. Long have we bided our time. We have dwelt in the shadows, practicing our art in secret, forbidden to utter our master’s name. While other shapers skimmed the surface, we dove deep, and will plunge deeper still. Our exile will soon end. Nazeem’s return is at hand. All will revere his name and bow to those who serve him.
A greater cheer went up from the hooded assemblage. Some fell to their knees. Others beat their chests. Wondering what he had gotten himself into, Cole waved his rose and cheered, trying to blend in with the frenzy. Owandell paused until the excitement died down. As the room became more silent, Cole could hear a few people sobbing. This was more than people plotting. Was it some kind of cult? It was definitely weirder and more unsettling than he had expected.
Even now, in this noble company, some doubt this promise. Even after mastering aspects of the art. Even after all the signs and marvels in recent years. Those who have visited the Fallen Temple do not doubt, but there is no longer time for all to make the pilgrimage before the appointed hour. As a reward for the faithful, and as a warning to the rest, with our help, Nazeem will extend his power beyond the Fallen Temple for the first time.
No cheers accompanied this announcement, but there were many gasps. Cole had never heard of Nazeem, but he had a feeling he didn’t want to meet him. He glanced at the archway through which he had entered. Could he slip out without being noticed? It didn’t seem likely.
Owandell sprang down from the Founding Stone, took a torch from one of the other robed figures, and touched it to the ancient block. Green flames flickered across the surface until the entire block was ablaze.
Crouching down beside the block, Owandell laid a hand against the burning stone. Cole winced in sympathy, but the fire didn’t spread to Owandell’s robes, nor did he appear to be in pain.
The flames atop the Founding Stone stretched higher and began to spin. As the whir
lwind of fire increased in size and intensity, the other flames in the room dimmed. Cole’s torch looked like it had spent its fuel and was about to expire.
A face took shape in the heart of the green whirlwind of fire, crude in form, like a simple mask. Startled and afraid, Cole watched the fiery visage with morbid fascination. The eyes burned brightly.
Greetings, my loyal ones, bellowed a much stronger voice. Cole not only heard the rumbling words in his mind, but felt them in his chest. The black rose vibrated in his grasp. I am Nazeem. The time has come to set our final plans in motion. Before long I will walk among you, and we will remake this world to our liking. The best of you are still infants in shapecraft, but the day approaches when you will be empowered beyond your wildest fantasies.
Cole closed his eyes. The raw power radiating from the Founding Stone was overwhelming. It called out to him on a fundamental level. Everything inside of him felt tugged toward it. Cole realized that he could perceive his own power for the first time since Morgassa had raised her barriers. He tried to use it and found he couldn’t draw from it. But at least he could sense it.
I congratulate you on your progress, Nazeem went on. Now is the time to stand tall and finish what we started generations ago. Who is with me?
All around Cole, robed figures raised their roses high. Cole didn’t want to join in. He didn’t like Nazeem or the hate behind his words. He wanted to slip out and run for his life. But he raised his rose as well to avoid standing out.
The face inside the whirlwind scowled. Cole would have sworn those blazing eyes glared right at him. What is this? A spy in our midst? His power is obscured by skillful shapecraft, but he is not one of us. A sheep in wolf’s clothing. Tonight is not for the uninitiated. Speak your name, boy.
Frozen with fear, Cole stared back at Nazeem’s brilliant eyes. The robed figures around him twisted and turned, trying to identify the imposter. For the moment, only Cole had no doubt who Nazeem meant.
His options were limited. There was no running away. Enforcers guarded the top of the stairway, and at least a dozen robed figures stood between himself and the exit. His cover was blown. He was caught. What would they do with him? This was a nightmare.
