The Nightblade Epic Volume Two: A Book of Underrealm, page 27
Loren frowned. “Kal was Jordel’s master, and Jordel was the one who told me the truth of the blade in the first place. I had hoped to tell Kal of it, and seek his council.”
Xain leaned forwards and shook his head, speaking in a low voice. “I do not think that would be wise. He seemed a man more prone to pragmatism than to kindness. Jordel did not press you to rid yourself of the dagger, because he trusted you. Though we met him only briefly, I do not know that Kal trusts anyone. If indeed you keep the dagger in your possession, you should not tell him of it.”
She pursed her lips. “Very well. I shall keep it a secret.”
“Promise me.”
Loren rolled her eyes. “I promise you.”
He smiled. “You are too confident in yourself by half. But it is one of your endearing qualities. I hope you will send my regards to Annis, by the by, as well as my apologies. That girl will never have much affection for me, I fear.”
“Who would?” said Loren, raising her brows and drinking deep of her wine.
“Careful now,” said Xain, scowling with mock severity. “Have you not heard I am a mighty firemage? I might catch you in my flame.”
Loren chuckled. “It is good to see you happy, Xain. You have not had much occasion for joy since I have known you. And when Jordel …” She took a moment to swallow past a lump in her throat. “When Jordel told me how you used to be—before you fled the Seat, I mean—I could scarcely believe it. Now I see that he did not tell me even half of the truth.”
Xain’s eyes sparked with interest. “I never knew that. What did he tell you?”
“Do you wish to hear tales of your praise?” she teased. “He said that you were mayhap too quick to anger, but you were quick to laugh as well. He said that was how you earned yourself favor among the great, especially the Lord Prince. When I met Eamin, I could not understand why he would befriend such a dour man as yourself. But I have since seen a new part of you, and I am glad. If this is how you were before you left the Seat, then I would not take you away from it for all the gold in the nine kingdoms.”
The wizard’s eyes shone with tears for a moment. He cleared his throat, and then slapped the table abruptly. “Come. I wish to show you something.”
Loren straightened. “What? Where? It is the middle of the night.”
“All the better,” said Xain. “Come.”
She hesitated a moment more, but Xain had already stood and was making for the bar. There he spoke briefly to Canda and, after he placed a pair of coins in her palm, she handed him two more bottles of wine. One of these he placed in Loren’s hand before drawing her through the room and out into the street.
THE NIGHT WAS NO LONGER young, and the first snow had begun to fall earlier that day—not enough to cause drifts in the streets, but enough that Loren drew her cloak tighter and blew into the side of her hood to warm her face. Xain led her west in the moonslight, and before long they approached a huge black building surrounded by a wall ten paces high, all in black granite with silver trim. Loren stopped short.
“The Academy?” she said, a shiver running up her back. “Xain, where are we going?”
“Inside, of course,” he said. “Did you not know that I am the dean?”
He threw open the front door and strode in. Loren hastened to follow, looking nervously around. The front hall was wide, with two staircases leading up from it in different directions, as well as halls leading to endless rows of doors in all directions. Moonslight poured through the windows high above, though it weakened considerably before it reached the floor, and most of the illumination came from a chandelier high above.
She jumped as the doors slammed shut behind her, and turned to see that an old woman had closed them. The woman was short and wizened and had a mad look in her eye, but she ignored Loren entirely as she returned to her post by the door.
“Come,” said Xain, making for a hallway off to the left. Loren followed, not daring to trail too far behind. She knew that anyone they met would likely be a wizard. It was a curious thought, for everywhere else in the nine kingdoms, wizards were a rare thing.
She need not have worried, for they did not see anyone until Xain stopped before another thick door, this one made of thick oak. Next to the door was a chair, and in the chair was a shriveled crone who could have been the sister of the woman at the front door. This woman’s back was not so hunched, and her fingers not so gnarled, but her eyes held a mean and cruel sneer.
“What do you want?” she grated. Her nose turned up as she observed the bottle of wine Loren carried.
“I believe you meant to ask, ‘How may I help you, Dean Forredar?’” said Xain. “And my answer, Carog, is that you may stand aside.”
“Certainly,” said Carog, giving him a nasty smile.
She hobbled out of the way. Xain stepped forwards and put his hand on the latch—but it did not budge. His shoulders heaved with a sigh, and he turned.
“Open the door, Carog.”
Carog’s eyes shot wide with mock innocence. “Oh, dearie me, is it locked? Now, where would I have placed the key? It gets so hard to remember these things at my age.” She made a great show of fumbling at the pockets of her robes.
Xain glared at her. “If you have lost the key, then I have no choice but to declare you derelict in your duties and replace you. I am certain Mellie will recommend a suitable steward in your stead.”
In an instant, Carog’s face turned to a bitter grimace. Angrily she thrust a hand into her robes and withdrew a key, which she hastened to turn in the lock.
“Thank you, Carog,” said Xain graciously, as he led Loren within. After the door slammed shut behind them, he smirked. “She has hated me ever since I was a student. I would sneak in here often without her knowing. She only caught me twice, but she never forgave me.”
“She is horrid,” said Loren.
“And age has not improved her. But I am the dean, and no longer need to care about such things. Come, and let me show you one of my favorite places.”
Looking up, Loren saw that they were in a great circular tower—and then she realized that it was the Academy’s bell tower. A wide staircase ran along the wall, built into the stone itself, and there high above them was the bell, massive even from this far down. Xain started up the steps, and she followed behind. His pace soon slowed, and she heard him pant heavily. But Loren had lost none of her hardiness from a lifetime in the forest, and she chuckled as she outpaced him.
“You are as slow as the day we met, wizard,” she said. “Now that you are a man of books and learning, do not forget to leave your desk every once in a while, or I shall find you fat and lazy when I return to the Seat.”
“Some would be glad to grow fat and happy in their later years,” gasped Xain. But he quickened his pace to keep up with her.
They reached the top, and Loren marveled at the sight of it. The bell was surrounded by a wide platform, and at the edge of it was a rail. Beyond that was only open air, so that in all directions she could look out and see the city laid before her like a blanket, but shining with the light of torches and hearths. The wind was stronger here than it had been on the street, but Loren hardly noticed it, so taken aback was she at the sight before her.
“Xain,” she breathed. “This … this is …”
“It is, is it not?” he said, his smile widening.
He guided her to the edge, and there he sat, draping his arms over the railing. Loren did the same beside him, laying her cloak beneath her so she did not dirty her dress. From within his coat Xain pulled his bottle of wine and removed the rag that sealed it. Loren took that as a signal, and she opened her bottle as well.
“To the High King Enalyn,” said Xain. “Long may she reign, and her enemies be vanquished.”
“To lengthy roads traveled together,” said Loren. “May our memories of them never dim.”
They clinked the necks of the bottles against one another and drank deep. For a while after that, Loren was content to enjoy the sights and smells of the city far below, and track the slow progress of the moons across the sky as they blotted out one star after another. The wine was the finest they had had so far that night, and half of hers was gone before she realized it. The edges of her vision had begun to grow blurry. She held up the bottle.
“How much gold have you spent on me tonight, Xain?”
Xain held up his own wine. “On us, you mean. Do you think I would spend a small fortune just to please you?”
She snorted. “I should say not. I have given you no end of reasons to be annoyed with me during our time together.”
“And I have, in turn, made your life horrible upon occasion,” said Xain quietly. He drank again from his bottle.
Loren shook her head. “Even at its worst, I would not call it horrible. Frightening, yes, and sometimes painful. But horrible was the Birchwood, and my father. Whatever else you have done, you took me away from that. And that would be cause enough for thanks. But I have learned, too, just how honorable you are at your core—that is, when you are not being a colossal idiot.”
Though she spoke in jest, Xain looked at her solemnly. “And you, Loren of the family Nelda. How could I know, when first we met, the greatness in your own heart? Were you royalty, I do not doubt you would one day be the High King. Were you a merchant, your family would become the richest in the nine lands. And as things stand—well, what commoner could claim to be greater than you?” He raised his bottle in another toast, and then drank deep.
“You are drunk,” Loren proclaimed. “And I mean to join you.” She took another swig.
“Join me? You are further along than I am.”
Loren looked up at the moons, which were close to vanishing behind the roof of the bell tower. But that brought thoughts of sleep, which brought thoughts of dreams. Her good mood dampened.
“Xain,” she said carefully. “When you ate magestones …” She felt him stiffen beside her. “I am sorry. I should not have presumed to ask.”
“It is all right,” he said. “Only that is a tale I would rather not spread through the Academy. But none are near us to eavesdrop now. Go on.”
“Did you dream?” said Loren. “I remember, when we carried you through the Greatrocks, that you would lie there twitching and moaning at night.”
He arched an eyebrow at her. “What has brought you to such a question?”
Loren shrugged. “I do not know. It worried me then. There were many things I wondered during those times that I have never had the courage to ask you until now. You seem well recovered, but how can that be when you suffered so terribly?”
Xain gave a grim chuckle. “I did. But no, I did not dream, nor would I have. Magestones have other properties beyond strengthening a wizard’s power. They quell the appetite entirely, for one thing. Do you remember how Jordel almost had to force me to eat? And they purge the body of other influences. The remedies of the apothecary have little effect upon a wizard who eats magestones, and the same is true for poisons. And as I said at the first, a wizard who consumes the stone does not dream.”
“That is good …” said Loren absentmindedly. Then she realized how that sounded and hurried to correct herself. “I mean, it is a little sad, I suppose. But I am glad you do not have the nightmares I thought you did.”
“Are you worried about last night?” said Xain, his brows drawing close. “Loren, what under the stars did you dream of?”
“I told you I do not remember.” She had made a mistake, and drawn his thoughts far too close to her secret. “I was only wondering if the sickness still troubled you at all. If you should fall back into darkness, I will no longer be here to box your ears and tie you up until you come to your senses.” Pushing his shoulder, she flashed him a wide smile.
He returned it, and her fear left her. “You need not worry on that account. Those dark days are behind me, and will never return. I can hardly believe that you and I once conspired to sell those thrice-cursed stones. Do you remember?”
“Of course. It was not so long ago,” said Loren.
Xain fixed her with a look. “Now that I think of it, that is a piece of information that may yet prove useful. If you remember, I had a contact in Dorsea who I thought might buy the stones. You may have need of such a man.”
“But I no longer wish to sell magestones,” said Loren, studying him carefully.
“Of course not, not any longer. But there are other goods beyond the King’s law—and if you do not wish to sell them, or buy them, a spy should still know someone who deals in them.”
“Oh?” said Loren. “Very well then. Where might I find him?”
“His name is Wyle, and he lives in the city of Bertram. It is in Dorsea, west of the King’s road where it runs by the Greatrocks, halfway between their southern tip and the Moonslight Pass to the north.”
“Very well,” said Loren. “If I ever have occasion to visit him, I shall send him your regards.”
“He will not take kindly to that,” said Xain with a harsh laugh. “You might do better to pretend you never knew me. But now we have spoken overmuch of such things. It is a fine night. Too fine to spend it with talk of magestones and other dark matters beyond the King’s law.”
“I feel as though there are few matters these days which are not dark.”
“That is true enough. This morning I gave my first speech to the Academy students. It was in the front hall, the one we passed through. They looked so young—and so frightened. And it was my duty to convince them not to be afraid, and that I would protect them.”
“But you will,” said Loren. “Is that not part of your duty?”
“It is, and I will not abandon it like that faithless steer, Cyrus,” said Xain. “But I am one man—a wizard, and a strong one, I can say without boasting. Yet I do not know if I have it in me to keep them safe from all harm.”
To her own great surprise, Loren squeezed his shoulder. I must be more wine-addled than I thought. “No one has that power, but few could come closer to it than you. Your only fault is that you are so stupidly serious about everything. If you can only shed the idea that you bear all the world’s burdens, you will do much better.”
Xain laughed. “Wise words from one so young. And I think you may be right. Besides, now that my son is returned to me, I need not worry half so much.”
“I do not jest. You are a great wizard, Xain, and may even be a great man.”
He lowered his gaze, looking down on the city again. “Jordel was a great man,” he murmured.
For the second time that night, Loren swallowed past a tightness in her throat. “I thought you wished not to speak of dark matters.”
“Even in death, Jordel is a light. That is what you must remember, Loren. If you think me great, know that I hold you in even higher regard. But you are young, and the nine lands hold grief enough to fill the lives of all within them. No matter how dark your road may grow, you must remember Jordel. If you live by what he would do, you will rarely go far wrong.”
With another pang of guilt, she thought of the magestones. “I will remember,” she said softly. “I have entered the High King’s service because of him, after all.”
Xain’s eyes narrowed, as though that answer did not entirely satisfy him. But he gave no answer.
Another thought struck Loren. She took a deep breath. “Will we ever see each other again, you and I?”
She thought Xain might answer easily with a casual reassurance. Instead he shrugged. “Who can know? But I think we might. The answer lies more in your hands than mine. My duty will keep me on the Seat for the foreseeable future. Yet who knows what fortunes the coming war may bring?”
“I think the war will be over quickly, and easily, if it is not entirely bloodless,” said Loren.
“Already it has claimed its share of blood,” said Xain, quiet and solemn. “And I fear it has only begun. We are among the few who know the true enemy—not the kingdom of Dulmun, but the Shades’ master. The Necromancer.”
Loren shivered at the name. But she thrust out her hand to him. “A promise, then, between you and me. If we survive this war, I will return, and you and I will sit here together again, and here we will stay until all the tales of our journeys have been told.”
Xain clasped her wrist in agreement. But Loren seized his and dragged him closer, until his nose was almost touching hers, and she scowled.
“And if you break your word to me this time, I will drag you to the top of this tower and throw you off of it. We will see if you can summon a storm to carry you safely to the ground.”
The wizard burst out laughing, the longest, loudest, and clearest she had ever heard from him, and it was as if, in an instant, he had cast off all the cares that troubled him, all the way back to before the moment they had met in the Birchwood. She did not doubt that that laugh could be heard for a great distance in the city below.
“You have my word, Nightblade.”
“I will hold you to it, Dean Forredar.” Her mouth twisted. “It sounds odd upon my tongue.”
“And mine,” said Xain. “But now come. We have spent long enough up here already, and I grow cold. Besides, what would people think if they found the dean drunk at the top of his own bell tower?”
He stood and helped her up, and they stumbled down the stairs together. And for the first time in all their journey together, Loren thought that she could call Xain her true friend.
ONE DAY MORE PASSED, A day that Loren spent miserable after the wine from the night before. As the sun lowered in the sky, Xain came to sit with her in the common room between their chambers, and they discussed the road from the Seat to Ammon. The wizard looked even worse for wear than she did.
When night came and supper passed, they did not remain awake for long. Loren would have relished one more night spent together, but they would wake early the next day, and she would rather not be exhausted for the beginning of their voyage across the Great Bay.
