Silverkin, page 13
“Just bring it over. Hurry, this headache is torturing me.”
“Here we are. Heavy thing. Need any help? I got healed by a Zerite before. Saved my life, he did.”
Exeres rummaged through his travel sack and found the dried alcaciea leaves he was looking for. He put one in his mouth and sucked on it. After he’d softened it up a bit in his mouth, he chewed it up and swallowed it, stem and all. It tasted bitter. Like mandrake…
“Sweet Achrolese,” Exeres gasped as the pain shot even harder. His body trembled in response to the stabbing in his brain, and he wondered for a moment if he’d be sick.
“I wish I could give you some of the Root, boy. It would sure help you feel better. I’ll go ask again. Maybe they’ll change their mind.”
“No, I’m feeling better,” Exeres said, stalling him. “It’s starting to go down. Tell me—I was tending the wounded in the dungeons. There was a Drugaen with tide fever. Is he all right? Did he recover?”
The soldier snorted. “Oh him. He escaped, the rook. Split Nool’s head open with a shovel. Managed to spring someone else too before disappearing into the banned tunnels. A Shae, I think. It’s a maze down here. The Kiran Thall have been hunting them both, but I hadn’t heard what happened. Probably killed them, I’m guessing.”
That didn’t make sense. “Who did he spring from a cell? A Shae?”
The man shrugged. “Some Shae that was locked up down here. I didn’t even know there were any banned Shae or Drugaen down in Landmoor. Makes no sense to me. Well, if you’re feeling better, I’ll let you be. Report back to Nool when you’re ready to keep working the dungeons. Plenty more sick in there.” He wiped his gaunt mouth with a dirty hand.
Exeres shook his head. “I thought you said Nool was dead.”
The soldier laughed, his stick-thin shoulders trembling like willow branches. “You’re forgetting about the Root, priest! Luck to you, boy.” He left the room while Exeres finished eating the soup.
So Flent had escaped without his help. Well, with it, actually—since Exeres had cured his fever. He felt a little pang of jealousy, but it was only a little pang. Would he make it past the Bandit Rebellion’s army and rejoin that girl in Castun? What was her name? Ticastasy.
A tremor of worry went through him when he remembered her face. But that was strange. Why worry about her? She was safe on the other side of the Shadows Wood. Allavin Devers was a confident man. Good at looking after people. Exeres did not believe that Allavin would let any harm befall her. Unless…
Pain again.
Exeres fumbled the empty soup bowl on the floor and knuckled his temples. Something was wrong. Piercing headaches were not symptoms of tide fever, or victims recovering from it. He inhaled through his nose. There was no stench either, except that he hadn’t bathed in a while. His body was fatigued, as if he had swam across a huge lake for three days. But that was fatigue, not a wasting sickness. Biting his lip, he tried to remember what symptoms he had started to feel before getting sick. He could not remember any of it.
The more he thought about it, the sharper the pains in his skull.
The pain brought feelings of guilt and shame with it.
What have I done?
A feeling of awful blackness settled into his soul. He shrank from it, terrified from the weight of its memories. In a dark room with only a single candle, he felt alone in the world. The loneliness and abandonment rose up inside him in a wall of grief. He was forsaken by the Druids of Isherwood. Forsaken by both of his heritages, human and Shae. No one would have cared if he had died down in a dungeon below Landmoor. No one would remember his name.
Just like the woman in his…
Exeres groaned in pain and flopped on the pallet, gasping for breath. Blisters popped in his mind, wringing sobs from his chest. Nothing had ever hurt so much in his life. But he was a Druid priest! A Zerite! He pinched the flesh between his thumb and first finger, digging it hard until he felt the pressure point buried there come alive and start screaming. He focused on the pain in his hand, letting the excruciating headache subside.
Something blocked his memories. Something terrible gripped his mind and refused to let it go.
But Exeres refused to let go either.
“Where have I been?” he whispered, face down in the sweaty blanket. “What have I done?”
Warnings from the memories thundered inside his head. They would hurt too much. They would drive him mad. He had done terrible things. Forbidden things.
Prodding his memory was like picking a scab. The crust began to give way, and with it, a ripping of flesh. His whole body shuddered as he tried to remove the scab from his mind.
A woman in black robes, ancient as the sun and timeless as the moon.
The scab resisted him, but he could not let go of the fight. It hurt … like driving a nail through his own flesh. He remembered words, fragments of words in a language he did not understand. It sounded like Silvan, the tongue of the Shae. Why did she speak in Silvan? But he knew what the words meant. He knew because he was part of her now. He could understand Silvan because she understood it.
They were the last words he had heard before blacking out. Spoken in Silvan to a man…a Shae in dark blue robes. His eyes had glowed in the candlelight.
Go with the Drugaen and find the girl, the one Commander Phollen dotes on so much. She will trust him, not you. When you’ve found her, bring her to me.
Exeres rose from the bed and staggered to the door.
* * *
"He gave orders not to disturb him,” the Bandit soldier said, folding his arms. “I’ll tell him that you want to see him, Zerite, but later.”
Exeres leaned against the wall, trying to keep his brains from spilling out his ears. Sweat dripped down his face. He’d vomited twice making it down the hall and around the corner.
“I must see him. Now.”
The soldier shook his head. “You’re delirious. Go find a bed and sleep it off, or I’ll have you clapped up in irons. This is the last time I’m going to tell you.”
“You heard him,” said another soldier. “This corridor is not to be disturbed save by Ballinaire only. You are banned well not him!”
Exeres closed his eye and opened it again, drawing in Earth magic to steady himself as he brought in a deep breath. Power filled his body, adding strength and resolve. He looked at the first soldier.
And punched him in the nose.
“Guards! Guards!” the other soldier shouted, reaching for his weapon.
Exeres clamped his hand over the man’s wrist and squeezed until he felt the bones snap. He struck the man in the chin with his other hand and shoved him into the door with all his might. The sound of soldiers charging from the halls boomed like thunder. The first soldier clamped a hand over Exeres’ mouth and blood spurted from between his fingers. He tried to grab his tunic, but the Zerite kicked him in the ribs, just hard enough to break two or three. If they had so much Everoot, he would be banned before feeling guilty about hurting them!
As more soldiers and Kiran Thall rounded the corner at the head of the corridor, Exeres stepped up and grabbed the handles and broke the lock as he yanked the doors open. Wood splintered and gave way in his hands.
The reek of dead things pummeled into him and stamped down on the Earth magic, snuffing it out like a wet wick. Exeres did not care. He swallowed against the choking fear and stormed inside anyway.
He saw Tsyrke Phollen at his desk, looking up at him without concern. The other one, the man with black robes, stood with an orb the color of flames. All the magic in the room was drawn into it. Exeres remembered seeing one just like it. He remembered the tortured faces leering from the glass sphere.
“Tsyrke!” Exeres said, striding forward and slamming his hands on the desk. “She’s in danger. She’s…”
Blackness slammed against him again, a pallet full of bricks, and this time he went down to the floor, dropped as if he weighed nothing at all. Buzzing in his ears, but he could still hear the voices in the room as the soldiers stormed in.
“It’s all right,” Tsyrke said. “It takes more than a little Zerite to hurt me. The boy’s gone mad, and I can see why. What’s your name, sergeant?”
“Grant, sir.”
“Take my two doormen to the Everoot and see that they are healed. Do as I say! They’re in a lot of pain, can’t you see that? Go!”
“But what about the priest, sir? Can we kill him?”
“No. He’s mine.”
The soldiers left, carrying the two men Exeres had wounded with them. In the smothering darkness, he thought about how good it had felt to do that. Perhaps it was a sin that would require some absolution, but he did not feel any contrition. Anger sparked and flamed inside him. He was tired of being a pawn, angry that others felt compelled to use him. The Druids of Isherwood. Jaerod from Castun. Tsyrke Phollen. And that black-robed wench. No more. Never again.
The weight lifted from his body. Exeres’ vision cleared and he saw the double doors closed again, infused with Earth magic to make them stronger than stone. The ageless man in the robes watched him with curiosity in his eyes. As if he were studying the way roaches squirm. Exeres climbed to his feet and turned to Tsyrke.
“You nearly got yourself killed, boy. What news was worth risking your life over?”
“Tell your robed friend over there not to stamp on me like that with his magic again. I can still hear you when you speak. I heard you the last time he did it too.”
Tsyrke rubbed his mouth, the gravelly sound of day-old whispers breaking the stillness. “You’ve got some bite in you, priest. What’s troubling you?”
“I need to leave Landmoor. Right now. Today.”
The Bandit Commander gave him a weary smile. “I was expecting you would have come sooner. But I will let you go if you take a message for me to Castun.”
Exeres slammed his fist on the table again. “You don’t understand. She can hear you as well as I can. The other one…like him!” He pointed back at the robed man. “She’s taken me. She’s controlled me. She sent two people to hurt her. I don’t know how far they are ahead of me, but they’re going to reach Castun first if I don’t hurry. She wants Ticastasy! She knows that you will do anything she says in order to keep her safe.”
For a moment, Exeres thought the man would unsheathe his sword and split him in half with it.
“Tsyrke, I’ve been fighting to remember where I’ve been the last three days. I was with her. With…with a woman who had a sphere of fire like he does.”
“Miestri?”
The name stung Exeres like salt in his eyes. “Yes! That was her name! Sweet Achrolese, she’s done something to me. I can only remember bits of it. But I know she can hear what I’m saying. That she can see you now through my eyes.”
The man in robes spoke, his voice soft and compelling. “You’re right. She is here.”
Exeres turned to face him. “You’re one of them.”
The man had green eyes. It was the last thing Exeres noticed before his long, thin arm raised up, holding the tortured orb.
Before the wreaths of fire struck him.
Chapter XIV
It was nearly dusk when the barge thumped against the dock pilings in the city of Sol. Thealos parted the flap of the canvas and recognized the wharves dedicated to the kingdom of Avisahn. One of the two quaeres converged near the docking ramp, Xenon at the forefront. He looked at the canvas flap and scowled at Thealos.
“Stay inside. We’re going to ask the harbormaster for a larger ship to bring us the rest of the way to Jan Lee. We won’t be long.”
Thealos stared at him, gritting his teeth. “It would be faster to cut straight through the valley to the Shadows Wood from here. You know that.”
Xenon snorted and climbed the dock ramp. He turned to the other Wolfsman Lor. “If that thing comes, shove back off into the waters. If it attacked in Avisahn, it will attack here as well.”
“As you say,” the other Lor said with a curt nod and resumed pacing the foredeck of the barge.
Thealos swore just loud enough for them to hear and let the flap fall. He went back to the cot and sat down on it. But he had no intention of staying captive.
Pulling out the small bag that Lucyanna had given him, he opened the drawstrings and emptied the stones into his hand. After fingering them a moment, he found the three he was looking for and put the other two back into the bag and stuffed it in his pocket. The stones were warm in his palm and grew warmer as he thought about them. One for sight, one for sound, and one for smell. Gripping them, he closed his eyes and summoned their magic. Warmth settled through him, but no smell of Earth magic came from the stones. Rising from the cot caused no creaking or stretching. His boots were as soft as pillows on the floor.
He could still see himself. If Lucyanna was right, no one else would be able to though. No better time to test it.
Thealos grabbed his pack and slung it over his shoulder. He then secured the bow and the scabbard next and listened for the Wolfsmen prowling around the barge, alert and vigilant. He took a small hunting knife and went to the corner of the canvas, behind the crates of provisions. Listening for the footfalls of the next Wolfsman, he waited until the man had passed around the corner before slicing open the canvas. Nothing—not even a whisper.
After ducking outside, Thealos followed the man around the next corner to the dock ladder. The Lor stood right by it, his eyes on the planks above. His jaw was tense, as if he expected the creature to attack from nothingness. Thealos felt odd walking to the ladder and starting up the rungs. No one saw him go.
With a smile, he hurried down the dock to the main street and joined the crowds as the trading for the day came to a close. Someone bumped into him and he nearly fell.
“So sorry…” The Shae barter who had done so looked confused and startled, since he obviously didn’t see what or who he had stumbled into.
Thealos bit his lip and hurried through the crowd, running because it did not matter—no one could hear him or see him. Was it truly magic like this that the Sleepwalkers used to disappear? He could not help but wonder. It was a heady feeling—a powerful feeling. How easy it would be to slip a small knife over and lift someone’s coin pouch. Or to overhear a conversation without being invited.
Or to kill a man in his sleep.
Thealos brushed the thoughts from his mind. Why would he care to do something like that? He was not a thief…or a killer. He could understand a little better why people distrusted the Sleepwalkers in general. Jaerod’s abilities had unnerved him from the start.
He walked and jogged through Sol, remembering a way out of the city from when he had left with Jaerod, Ticastasy, and Flent so many weeks ago. There was a porter door on the south wall of the city. For a few Aralonian pieces, the porters would open it at any hour. To his left, he saw the Sheven-Ingen wharves and was pricked by memories. So much had happened there. Though he was tempted to stop by the Foxtale and see, he did not. He had gathered enough provisions to make it all the way to Landmoor. Hunger would not be his enemy this time.
The sun finished setting when he arrived at the south doors. He released control of the stones as he emerged from the alley so that the doormen would see him. The magic drained out of him, leaving a feeling of sadness in its wake.
“Hold there, friend,” a doorman said, raising a lantern. “I said hold there!”
“Sweet Achrolese, a Shae. Banned glowing eyes startled me.”
“I am a Shae,” Thealos said, stepping forward, “a barter out of Avisahn. I’d like to use the porter doors tonight.”
“You know the cost?” one of the men said, rubbing some gritty growth on his face. The man’s paunch reminded him of Tannon. But the face was different. Even after being with humans so long, they did all start to look alike.
Thealos opened his money pouch and let it jingle as he dumped the pieces into his hand. “That should be enough.”
The doorman with the lantern looked at the pieces and grinned. He scooped them up, bit one on the edge to be sure, and nodded cheerily. “A fine night it’s turning into, my bartering friend. Plenty of coins to be made in the Shoreland, that’s certain. You here because of the war that’s starting?”
Thealos looked at the man, stung at the irony of it, and nodded with a sad smile.
“Very well, very well. Let’s get the keys.”
The downrush of the stones’ magic was still leaving Thealos’ body. That was probably why he hadn’t smelled it before.
Forbidden magic.
He stiffened as the scent became an overwhelming reek. It came from the door itself, thickening in the air and freezing him down to his boots. From something on the other side.
“Don’t unlock it!”
“What’s wrong, lad? This way is safe. Let me show you…” The key jiggled in the lock.
“No!” Thealos shoved the man aside and the key clattered to the floor.
“What’s all this?” one of the other doormen said, angered. “You can’t go shoving Bront like that.”
“Don’t open the door!” Thealos warned, backing away. They were human. They couldn’t feel the sickening tendrils of rot and filth exuding from the outside. The thing had been waiting for him in Castun. How could it know about the porter door?
“You sick-hearted Shaden,” the other doorman said and spat on the ground. “I ain’t giving you your banned pieces back. Treating me like that…I ought to call the garrison, I should. Stupid Shaden.”
Thealos retreated towards the alley.
Something heavy slammed against the door.
The doormen all looked startled.
“What in the Druids did that?”
“Something shuddered the door!”
The door jolted again and little patters of crumbling stone fell from the archway above.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know, fool! Ring the bell! Call the garrison! This Shaden has something to do with…where’d he go?”
Thealos clenched the stones again, wrapped himself in their magic, and ran. This thing was more cunning than he had imagined. Not some mindless incarnation of magic, but a creature with a will—a drive. It wanted to kill him. Just as it had killed his family. Just as it would kill all the heirs of Quicksilver. Of course the Sorian would have sent it. They did not play by the rules of mortals.
“Here we are. Heavy thing. Need any help? I got healed by a Zerite before. Saved my life, he did.”
Exeres rummaged through his travel sack and found the dried alcaciea leaves he was looking for. He put one in his mouth and sucked on it. After he’d softened it up a bit in his mouth, he chewed it up and swallowed it, stem and all. It tasted bitter. Like mandrake…
“Sweet Achrolese,” Exeres gasped as the pain shot even harder. His body trembled in response to the stabbing in his brain, and he wondered for a moment if he’d be sick.
“I wish I could give you some of the Root, boy. It would sure help you feel better. I’ll go ask again. Maybe they’ll change their mind.”
“No, I’m feeling better,” Exeres said, stalling him. “It’s starting to go down. Tell me—I was tending the wounded in the dungeons. There was a Drugaen with tide fever. Is he all right? Did he recover?”
The soldier snorted. “Oh him. He escaped, the rook. Split Nool’s head open with a shovel. Managed to spring someone else too before disappearing into the banned tunnels. A Shae, I think. It’s a maze down here. The Kiran Thall have been hunting them both, but I hadn’t heard what happened. Probably killed them, I’m guessing.”
That didn’t make sense. “Who did he spring from a cell? A Shae?”
The man shrugged. “Some Shae that was locked up down here. I didn’t even know there were any banned Shae or Drugaen down in Landmoor. Makes no sense to me. Well, if you’re feeling better, I’ll let you be. Report back to Nool when you’re ready to keep working the dungeons. Plenty more sick in there.” He wiped his gaunt mouth with a dirty hand.
Exeres shook his head. “I thought you said Nool was dead.”
The soldier laughed, his stick-thin shoulders trembling like willow branches. “You’re forgetting about the Root, priest! Luck to you, boy.” He left the room while Exeres finished eating the soup.
So Flent had escaped without his help. Well, with it, actually—since Exeres had cured his fever. He felt a little pang of jealousy, but it was only a little pang. Would he make it past the Bandit Rebellion’s army and rejoin that girl in Castun? What was her name? Ticastasy.
A tremor of worry went through him when he remembered her face. But that was strange. Why worry about her? She was safe on the other side of the Shadows Wood. Allavin Devers was a confident man. Good at looking after people. Exeres did not believe that Allavin would let any harm befall her. Unless…
Pain again.
Exeres fumbled the empty soup bowl on the floor and knuckled his temples. Something was wrong. Piercing headaches were not symptoms of tide fever, or victims recovering from it. He inhaled through his nose. There was no stench either, except that he hadn’t bathed in a while. His body was fatigued, as if he had swam across a huge lake for three days. But that was fatigue, not a wasting sickness. Biting his lip, he tried to remember what symptoms he had started to feel before getting sick. He could not remember any of it.
The more he thought about it, the sharper the pains in his skull.
The pain brought feelings of guilt and shame with it.
What have I done?
A feeling of awful blackness settled into his soul. He shrank from it, terrified from the weight of its memories. In a dark room with only a single candle, he felt alone in the world. The loneliness and abandonment rose up inside him in a wall of grief. He was forsaken by the Druids of Isherwood. Forsaken by both of his heritages, human and Shae. No one would have cared if he had died down in a dungeon below Landmoor. No one would remember his name.
Just like the woman in his…
Exeres groaned in pain and flopped on the pallet, gasping for breath. Blisters popped in his mind, wringing sobs from his chest. Nothing had ever hurt so much in his life. But he was a Druid priest! A Zerite! He pinched the flesh between his thumb and first finger, digging it hard until he felt the pressure point buried there come alive and start screaming. He focused on the pain in his hand, letting the excruciating headache subside.
Something blocked his memories. Something terrible gripped his mind and refused to let it go.
But Exeres refused to let go either.
“Where have I been?” he whispered, face down in the sweaty blanket. “What have I done?”
Warnings from the memories thundered inside his head. They would hurt too much. They would drive him mad. He had done terrible things. Forbidden things.
Prodding his memory was like picking a scab. The crust began to give way, and with it, a ripping of flesh. His whole body shuddered as he tried to remove the scab from his mind.
A woman in black robes, ancient as the sun and timeless as the moon.
The scab resisted him, but he could not let go of the fight. It hurt … like driving a nail through his own flesh. He remembered words, fragments of words in a language he did not understand. It sounded like Silvan, the tongue of the Shae. Why did she speak in Silvan? But he knew what the words meant. He knew because he was part of her now. He could understand Silvan because she understood it.
They were the last words he had heard before blacking out. Spoken in Silvan to a man…a Shae in dark blue robes. His eyes had glowed in the candlelight.
Go with the Drugaen and find the girl, the one Commander Phollen dotes on so much. She will trust him, not you. When you’ve found her, bring her to me.
Exeres rose from the bed and staggered to the door.
* * *
"He gave orders not to disturb him,” the Bandit soldier said, folding his arms. “I’ll tell him that you want to see him, Zerite, but later.”
Exeres leaned against the wall, trying to keep his brains from spilling out his ears. Sweat dripped down his face. He’d vomited twice making it down the hall and around the corner.
“I must see him. Now.”
The soldier shook his head. “You’re delirious. Go find a bed and sleep it off, or I’ll have you clapped up in irons. This is the last time I’m going to tell you.”
“You heard him,” said another soldier. “This corridor is not to be disturbed save by Ballinaire only. You are banned well not him!”
Exeres closed his eye and opened it again, drawing in Earth magic to steady himself as he brought in a deep breath. Power filled his body, adding strength and resolve. He looked at the first soldier.
And punched him in the nose.
“Guards! Guards!” the other soldier shouted, reaching for his weapon.
Exeres clamped his hand over the man’s wrist and squeezed until he felt the bones snap. He struck the man in the chin with his other hand and shoved him into the door with all his might. The sound of soldiers charging from the halls boomed like thunder. The first soldier clamped a hand over Exeres’ mouth and blood spurted from between his fingers. He tried to grab his tunic, but the Zerite kicked him in the ribs, just hard enough to break two or three. If they had so much Everoot, he would be banned before feeling guilty about hurting them!
As more soldiers and Kiran Thall rounded the corner at the head of the corridor, Exeres stepped up and grabbed the handles and broke the lock as he yanked the doors open. Wood splintered and gave way in his hands.
The reek of dead things pummeled into him and stamped down on the Earth magic, snuffing it out like a wet wick. Exeres did not care. He swallowed against the choking fear and stormed inside anyway.
He saw Tsyrke Phollen at his desk, looking up at him without concern. The other one, the man with black robes, stood with an orb the color of flames. All the magic in the room was drawn into it. Exeres remembered seeing one just like it. He remembered the tortured faces leering from the glass sphere.
“Tsyrke!” Exeres said, striding forward and slamming his hands on the desk. “She’s in danger. She’s…”
Blackness slammed against him again, a pallet full of bricks, and this time he went down to the floor, dropped as if he weighed nothing at all. Buzzing in his ears, but he could still hear the voices in the room as the soldiers stormed in.
“It’s all right,” Tsyrke said. “It takes more than a little Zerite to hurt me. The boy’s gone mad, and I can see why. What’s your name, sergeant?”
“Grant, sir.”
“Take my two doormen to the Everoot and see that they are healed. Do as I say! They’re in a lot of pain, can’t you see that? Go!”
“But what about the priest, sir? Can we kill him?”
“No. He’s mine.”
The soldiers left, carrying the two men Exeres had wounded with them. In the smothering darkness, he thought about how good it had felt to do that. Perhaps it was a sin that would require some absolution, but he did not feel any contrition. Anger sparked and flamed inside him. He was tired of being a pawn, angry that others felt compelled to use him. The Druids of Isherwood. Jaerod from Castun. Tsyrke Phollen. And that black-robed wench. No more. Never again.
The weight lifted from his body. Exeres’ vision cleared and he saw the double doors closed again, infused with Earth magic to make them stronger than stone. The ageless man in the robes watched him with curiosity in his eyes. As if he were studying the way roaches squirm. Exeres climbed to his feet and turned to Tsyrke.
“You nearly got yourself killed, boy. What news was worth risking your life over?”
“Tell your robed friend over there not to stamp on me like that with his magic again. I can still hear you when you speak. I heard you the last time he did it too.”
Tsyrke rubbed his mouth, the gravelly sound of day-old whispers breaking the stillness. “You’ve got some bite in you, priest. What’s troubling you?”
“I need to leave Landmoor. Right now. Today.”
The Bandit Commander gave him a weary smile. “I was expecting you would have come sooner. But I will let you go if you take a message for me to Castun.”
Exeres slammed his fist on the table again. “You don’t understand. She can hear you as well as I can. The other one…like him!” He pointed back at the robed man. “She’s taken me. She’s controlled me. She sent two people to hurt her. I don’t know how far they are ahead of me, but they’re going to reach Castun first if I don’t hurry. She wants Ticastasy! She knows that you will do anything she says in order to keep her safe.”
For a moment, Exeres thought the man would unsheathe his sword and split him in half with it.
“Tsyrke, I’ve been fighting to remember where I’ve been the last three days. I was with her. With…with a woman who had a sphere of fire like he does.”
“Miestri?”
The name stung Exeres like salt in his eyes. “Yes! That was her name! Sweet Achrolese, she’s done something to me. I can only remember bits of it. But I know she can hear what I’m saying. That she can see you now through my eyes.”
The man in robes spoke, his voice soft and compelling. “You’re right. She is here.”
Exeres turned to face him. “You’re one of them.”
The man had green eyes. It was the last thing Exeres noticed before his long, thin arm raised up, holding the tortured orb.
Before the wreaths of fire struck him.
Chapter XIV
It was nearly dusk when the barge thumped against the dock pilings in the city of Sol. Thealos parted the flap of the canvas and recognized the wharves dedicated to the kingdom of Avisahn. One of the two quaeres converged near the docking ramp, Xenon at the forefront. He looked at the canvas flap and scowled at Thealos.
“Stay inside. We’re going to ask the harbormaster for a larger ship to bring us the rest of the way to Jan Lee. We won’t be long.”
Thealos stared at him, gritting his teeth. “It would be faster to cut straight through the valley to the Shadows Wood from here. You know that.”
Xenon snorted and climbed the dock ramp. He turned to the other Wolfsman Lor. “If that thing comes, shove back off into the waters. If it attacked in Avisahn, it will attack here as well.”
“As you say,” the other Lor said with a curt nod and resumed pacing the foredeck of the barge.
Thealos swore just loud enough for them to hear and let the flap fall. He went back to the cot and sat down on it. But he had no intention of staying captive.
Pulling out the small bag that Lucyanna had given him, he opened the drawstrings and emptied the stones into his hand. After fingering them a moment, he found the three he was looking for and put the other two back into the bag and stuffed it in his pocket. The stones were warm in his palm and grew warmer as he thought about them. One for sight, one for sound, and one for smell. Gripping them, he closed his eyes and summoned their magic. Warmth settled through him, but no smell of Earth magic came from the stones. Rising from the cot caused no creaking or stretching. His boots were as soft as pillows on the floor.
He could still see himself. If Lucyanna was right, no one else would be able to though. No better time to test it.
Thealos grabbed his pack and slung it over his shoulder. He then secured the bow and the scabbard next and listened for the Wolfsmen prowling around the barge, alert and vigilant. He took a small hunting knife and went to the corner of the canvas, behind the crates of provisions. Listening for the footfalls of the next Wolfsman, he waited until the man had passed around the corner before slicing open the canvas. Nothing—not even a whisper.
After ducking outside, Thealos followed the man around the next corner to the dock ladder. The Lor stood right by it, his eyes on the planks above. His jaw was tense, as if he expected the creature to attack from nothingness. Thealos felt odd walking to the ladder and starting up the rungs. No one saw him go.
With a smile, he hurried down the dock to the main street and joined the crowds as the trading for the day came to a close. Someone bumped into him and he nearly fell.
“So sorry…” The Shae barter who had done so looked confused and startled, since he obviously didn’t see what or who he had stumbled into.
Thealos bit his lip and hurried through the crowd, running because it did not matter—no one could hear him or see him. Was it truly magic like this that the Sleepwalkers used to disappear? He could not help but wonder. It was a heady feeling—a powerful feeling. How easy it would be to slip a small knife over and lift someone’s coin pouch. Or to overhear a conversation without being invited.
Or to kill a man in his sleep.
Thealos brushed the thoughts from his mind. Why would he care to do something like that? He was not a thief…or a killer. He could understand a little better why people distrusted the Sleepwalkers in general. Jaerod’s abilities had unnerved him from the start.
He walked and jogged through Sol, remembering a way out of the city from when he had left with Jaerod, Ticastasy, and Flent so many weeks ago. There was a porter door on the south wall of the city. For a few Aralonian pieces, the porters would open it at any hour. To his left, he saw the Sheven-Ingen wharves and was pricked by memories. So much had happened there. Though he was tempted to stop by the Foxtale and see, he did not. He had gathered enough provisions to make it all the way to Landmoor. Hunger would not be his enemy this time.
The sun finished setting when he arrived at the south doors. He released control of the stones as he emerged from the alley so that the doormen would see him. The magic drained out of him, leaving a feeling of sadness in its wake.
“Hold there, friend,” a doorman said, raising a lantern. “I said hold there!”
“Sweet Achrolese, a Shae. Banned glowing eyes startled me.”
“I am a Shae,” Thealos said, stepping forward, “a barter out of Avisahn. I’d like to use the porter doors tonight.”
“You know the cost?” one of the men said, rubbing some gritty growth on his face. The man’s paunch reminded him of Tannon. But the face was different. Even after being with humans so long, they did all start to look alike.
Thealos opened his money pouch and let it jingle as he dumped the pieces into his hand. “That should be enough.”
The doorman with the lantern looked at the pieces and grinned. He scooped them up, bit one on the edge to be sure, and nodded cheerily. “A fine night it’s turning into, my bartering friend. Plenty of coins to be made in the Shoreland, that’s certain. You here because of the war that’s starting?”
Thealos looked at the man, stung at the irony of it, and nodded with a sad smile.
“Very well, very well. Let’s get the keys.”
The downrush of the stones’ magic was still leaving Thealos’ body. That was probably why he hadn’t smelled it before.
Forbidden magic.
He stiffened as the scent became an overwhelming reek. It came from the door itself, thickening in the air and freezing him down to his boots. From something on the other side.
“Don’t unlock it!”
“What’s wrong, lad? This way is safe. Let me show you…” The key jiggled in the lock.
“No!” Thealos shoved the man aside and the key clattered to the floor.
“What’s all this?” one of the other doormen said, angered. “You can’t go shoving Bront like that.”
“Don’t open the door!” Thealos warned, backing away. They were human. They couldn’t feel the sickening tendrils of rot and filth exuding from the outside. The thing had been waiting for him in Castun. How could it know about the porter door?
“You sick-hearted Shaden,” the other doorman said and spat on the ground. “I ain’t giving you your banned pieces back. Treating me like that…I ought to call the garrison, I should. Stupid Shaden.”
Thealos retreated towards the alley.
Something heavy slammed against the door.
The doormen all looked startled.
“What in the Druids did that?”
“Something shuddered the door!”
The door jolted again and little patters of crumbling stone fell from the archway above.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know, fool! Ring the bell! Call the garrison! This Shaden has something to do with…where’d he go?”
Thealos clenched the stones again, wrapped himself in their magic, and ran. This thing was more cunning than he had imagined. Not some mindless incarnation of magic, but a creature with a will—a drive. It wanted to kill him. Just as it had killed his family. Just as it would kill all the heirs of Quicksilver. Of course the Sorian would have sent it. They did not play by the rules of mortals.
