Lor Mandela - Destruction from Twins, page 15
“Yeah! I saw him coming out of this room, Graci. He seemed in an awfully big hurry, too.” Jonathan's voice sounded like he’d just caught her with another man. Indeed, Gracielle thought that he must be thinking exactly that.
“What? No, Jonathan! I didn't see . . . .” Gracielle stopped mid-sentence.
“Darian?” she breathed anxiously. “He must’ve been who kicked over the box in the hall . . . and then he rushed away. Why would he rush away, unless he'd been . . . ?” She looked Jonathan in the eyes and whispered, “. . . eavesdropping.”
A look of panic swept across her face. “Please tell me that you've never told Darian about this.” She pointed at the Advantiere, which even after almost five years, still glowed brightly on the wall.
“Graci, what is going on?”
“Please, Jonathan,” she begged, “you haven't told him about the twins have you . . . or about Audril?”
“Of course I haven't,” he answered, “but, if you didn't want him knowing about the Advantiere, this probably wasn't the best room to meet him in.” His voice was accusatory again.
“I wasn't meeting him,” she insisted. “I think he may have been spying on me!”
“Spying on you? Why would Darian be spying on you?”
At that moment, Gracielle came very close to revealing everything; how she'd been meeting with Glaron all this time on Ultara's orders, and how she'd just seen Ultara in person. She was about to begin her story when a horrifying thought entered her mind. It was what Ultara said before they heard the noise in the hall. “Without Audril . . . he is powerless.”
“Oh no,” she shrieked, “Jonathan, he’s after Audril!” She ran past him and out of the room.
“What?” Jonathan turned and chased after her. She was waving her arm towards Audril's bedroom door by the time he caught up. “What is going on?” he panted, trying to catch his breath.
The bedroom door flew open. Kahlie and Audril, who had been reading a story together, both jumped in surprise.
“Momma!” Audril beamed as Gracielle scooped her up and hugged her tightly.
Kahlie looked at Gracielle and then at Jonathan. “Is everything alright, Atoc?” she asked.
“Yes, Kahlie. It’s fine.” His response assured her that everything was not fine. He never called her by her real name, unless he was upset. “May I have a word with you, Ator?” He grimaced at Gracielle and pointed toward the door that led to their chambers.
She set Audril down and nodded like a child who was being punished. Jonathan moved toward the door and Gracielle followed, but before she left, she leaned back to Kahlie and said, “Don't answer the door for anyone! I mean it, no one! I'll explain when I get back.”
Kahlie nodded obediently.
The second Gracielle stepped into their room and shut the door, Jonathan began. “Will you please tell me what is going on?” His voice was eerily calm—but that didn't last very long. “I have been dealing with chaos . . . and mud . . . and pain . . . and death for more than forty-eight hours, Gracielle, AND I am not in the mood for guessing games!” His voice was now a roar.
Gracielle's instinctive reaction was to yell back—he had no idea what she'd been through either—but she realized that there were more important things to worry about at present. Audril was in very real danger, and she knew it. “I think that Darian overheard me talking about the Advantiere.”
“Talking? To who?” Jonathan was still fuming, but at least he wasn't yelling anymore.
“Um . . . uh . . . to myself,” she stammered. “I was thinking out loud—reading the Advantiere. I said that Darian might have an advantage over us because he has Ryannon, but I also said something like ‘at least he doesn't have Audril, and that makes him powerless.’”
“You said that?” Jonathan didn't seem quite convinced. “And what makes you so sure that he heard you?”
“Right after I said it,” she explained, “there was a crash in the hallway. Not only that, but I am sure I closed the door when I went into that room—I never leave the door to the Advantiere room open. Anyway, I heard the crash in the hall, and when I went to go see what it was, the door was cracked open.”
Jonathan thought for a moment. “I suppose that would explain why he was rushing away.”
“Exactly,” she sighed. “We need to assign more guards to Audril right away!” Gracielle was clearly worried.
Jonathan nodded. “I’ll see to it,” He replied, his tone far more comforting now. “You know I've never trusted Darian. I don't think he'd be stupid enough to try anything, though. If he finds out much more, however, it might be too much of a temptation for him.” He looked into his entrusted’s frightened eyes. “Don't worry, Graci. I'll assign our best guards. Darian won’t be allowed within a mile of our little girl!” He stood to leave, but stopped on his way out and kissed Gracielle's cheek. “I'm sorry I yelled.”
Meanwhile, back at Trysta Palace, Ultara had undergone the altering process again—to restore her appearance to normal. She told Glaron about the fiasco of a meeting, and how he would have to be the one that Gracielle confided in after all. They were sitting together, wrapping up a few loose ends before she headed back to bed, when suddenly, she stopped talking and jumped to her feet. “Glaron,” she gasped, “do you know how the Grasping Curse was delivered to Cristoph and Jocelynne?”
“Uh . . . no,” he answered, “no one does. The people who received it are . . . well, they’re dead.”
“But Gracielle said something this morning! She said that the paper the curse was on was incriminating.”
“Yeah . . . so?” Glaron didn't see where this was going.
“What would make a piece of paper incriminating, Glaron?” she asked.
“I dunno. I guess if it was your personal stationery, or had your fingerprints all over it, or if it had your seal on it, or . . . .”
“Exactly!” she interrupted. “It would be pretty conclusive that I was the murderer if my seal was on the paper! Why didn't I realize it before?”
“Realize what?”
“Glaron, do you remember that general who we were going to have executed for treason about two years ago? Oh . . . what was his name? It started with an O, I think?”
“General Omer?” Glaron recalled.
“Yes! Omer . . . Blansten discovered that he'd been spying for Brashnell . . . taking Trysta intelligence directly to Darian.”
Glaron interjected, “Yeah, a lot of people were disappointed when he escaped. He wasn't what you'd call a popular fella.”
“The morning that Cristoph and Jocelynne were murdered, I was at Mandela Palace checking on Gracielle,” Ultara explained.
“I remember.”
“It was also the morning Nenia disappeared. Jonathan was acting strange. I thought he and Gracielle were fighting or something. I figured I’d give them a moment alone, so I went to the dining room to get some food.”
“And?” Glaron still didn't know what the point was, but it was clear that Ultara had one.
“I was returning to their chambers when I was given the note about Nenia. Guess who delivered it to me?”
Glaron shook his head.
“It was Omer! He handed me a note . . . said it was urgent . . . so I opened it right then and there. It was just a blank piece of paper. He acted like it was an accident.” She looked at Glaron, then continued, “He took the blank paper back, handed me the note about Nenia, and then ran off. My fingerprints would have been all over that paper. If he acted quickly, he would have had time to apply the grasping curse and my seal to the paper.”
“But, I thought that heiress seals had to be pressed on by the actual . . . um . . . heiress,” Glaron questioned.
“That’s what most people think, but in reality, it's the fingerprint that creates the seal, not pressure applied by a specific person. Darian knows this. He and I discussed it.”
“So you think that Darian sent his spy to kill Cristoph and Jocelynne and frame you for doing it?”
“Exactly.”
Glaron furrowed his brow pensively. “But, how did he even know you were going to be there that morning?”
“I don't know.” She thought for a minute. “Wait,” she blurted, “Omer knew. My calling was supposed to be that day. I'd briefed all of the generals on my mother's death the night before. I gave them all assignments to help with the transition and told them that I would be going to Mandela Palace in the morning and that when I returned I'd be expecting a status report from each of them.”
“Whoa,” Glaron sighed, “but surely Darian couldn't foresee a rynolt attack, unless . . . .”
Ultara sank down into a chair at her side. “Unless a rynolt didn't attack my daughter . . . but he did! Oh, no,” she breathed, “he's doing it, Glaron! He's just waiting for the perfect opportunity. He's going to . . . he knew if he divided us . . . .”
“What Ultara? What's he doing?” Glaron asked anxiously.
“He’s going to attack Mandela City.”
“What?” Glaron exclaimed, “What makes you think he would do that? It would be crazy for him to go against Mandela! Jonathan has a massive army.”
“So does he,” she replied. “Listen, Glaron, I know Darian. As soon as he sees an opportune moment, he will attack. We're just fortunate it hasn't happened already.”
“But what makes you think so?” he tried again.
“When Darian and I were together, we came up with a plan. We were going to join forces after I became vritesse and attack Mandela City. It would give us control over all of Lor Mandela.”
“And if you never became vritesse?” Glaron questioned.
“We had a plan for that as well. Listen, I'm not proud of this, Glaron. It actually all started out as a joke . . . a 'what if' kind of scenario. But then we both got wrapped up in it. I don't think Darian's ever let go of the possibility. If he murdered Cristoph and Jocelynne and pinned me for it, his intention clearly was to divide the Mandelans and the Trystas. And why else would he do that, except to divide and conquer?”
“But then why hasn't he done anything yet?” Glaron asked. “Cristoph and Jocelynne were killed almost five years ago.”
“I don't know. He must be waiting for something . . . but what?” She dropped her head into her hands. “Unless,” she looked back up at Glaron, her golden eyes as big as he had ever seen them. “What if Jonathan did tell him about the Advantiere? What if he knows that it has to be solved by or for Audril, and what if he knows about the twins?” Her eyes grew wide. “If he knew about the twins, he'd know that he needs Nenia . . . alive.”
“What are you saying, Ultara?”
“Maybe the reason he hasn't attacked yet is because he hasn't been able to get his hands on Audril. And maybe he didn't actually kill Nenia, but just took her so that he'd have both of the twins.”
Glaron felt a little overwhelmed. If Ultara was right, then Darian was plotting something that would lead the people of Lor Mandela to a world wide war.
“Hold on,” he sighed, “that still doesn't explain what he's waiting for. I mean, if I were someone like Darian and knew that I just needed one particular person to control the world, I'd do everything in my power to get that person. As far as I know, there's never been an attempt to abduct the atoh. I'm sure her mother would have told me if there had been.”
Ultara looked away and muttered, “Surely he understands that the planet is dying. Would he risk losing everything just so he can wait for the right moment?” She turned back to Glaron and shook her head. “I don't know, Glaron. But Darian has always boasted about his patience. Maybe he's just waiting for us to solve the Advantiere for him . . . or something like that. You're right, though. He would do everything he could to get her.” She ran her hand through her hair and let out an exasperated sigh. “No, he's got to be holding out for a reason . . . but what?”
Glaron shrugged his shoulders. “It could be anything! At any rate, I have to warn Gracielle about Darian.”
“Yes. Tomorrow night when you meet her, and make sure you tell her about Omer, too.”
CHAPTER XV
DARIAN’S WAIT COMES TO AN END
It was about four o'clock the following morning when it started, and there was not a resident of Lor Mandela who did not hear it. At first, it was deep and quiet—coming from somewhere far, far away. But as the day progressed, the sound grew. . . and grew. . . and grew. By midday, the entire planet was immersed in a loud, mournful, haunting moan that seemed to be coming from the very center of the world. Every person—and in fact, every living thing on Lor Mandela—was set on edge. The sound was unrelenting . . . unceasing. . . unnerving. Ultara knew what it meant, as did Gracielle. They knew that the planet didn't have much time left to live. It was groaning in pain as it struggled to maintain the last anemic fragments of its remaining life.
The day developed only to cold and dreary. The sky was dull and colorless with an icy, sickly, green fog hanging just over the dark horizon.
In Brashnell, Darian sat with his back to an enormous, heavily carved, wooden desk, staring out the window at the bleak scene. “Audril . . .” he mumbled to himself, “without Audril I am . . . powerless? Why? Why would a small child be so important to me?” He lowered his face into his hands. “Without Audril . . . .” he moaned.
A sudden rustling outside drew his attention. He stood and walked to the large glass door across the room.
“Audril . . . .” he breathed again shaking his head.
He opened the door and stepped out into a large courtyard surrounded by tall, columnar trees. He shivered, and pulled the dark green jacket he wore tightly around him. “Well, where are you, you wretched animal?”
The trees directly in front of him started to shake and sway.
“Come on!” he demanded.
The trees rustled again throwing hundreds of tiny leaves twisting through the misty air; at the bottom of the trees, the massive leg of an animal suddenly appeared.
The leg was charcoal grey, thick and strong like a huge plow horse, and easily five feet high. Jutting out from the shimmering black hoof were three, long, curved claws that clicked noisily on the gravel ground. The trees shook violently once more, and through them burst the rest of the enormous animal, thrashing its head and prancing nervously.
“Syltar! Relax!” Darian commanded.
The animal approached and lowered his dragon-like head.
Darian reached out and patted him firmly on the neck. “Calm yourself, my pet.”
The planet moaned again and Syltar reared up onto his muscular hind legs. The huge, black wings that normally rested at his side like a vampire’s cloak, unfolded and slashed at the air.
“All right, then . . . here!” Darian reached behind a green hedge near the door and lifted out a small cage. A little creature zipped around in the cage, screeching wildly.
Syltar reared up again, and roared with excitement.
Darian pulled the small, furry animal from the cage and threw it forcefully skyward.
Syltar watched with his foggy, icy, grey eyes as his prey flew high above him. Once it began to descend, he unfolded his enormous jagged wings, bounded upward and hung in the air just a few inches from the ground. He snatched the little animal in his front teeth, and shook it ferociously back and forth. Then he tossed it back up, and caught it again. Once more, he shook it and hurled it upward; only this time, as it came down, he opened his strong jaws wide, and swallowed the now limp animal in one noisy gulp.
Darian smiled. “Very good. Now, Syltar, will you please calm down and let me think?”
Again a loud groan lifted from the depths of the planet.
Syltar fidgeted a bit in the air but seemed to calm fairly quickly; he lowered to the ground with a thud.
“Frolnisk blood,” Darian oozed, “works every time.”
Syltar's eyes fluttered shut and loud blasts of air snorted out of his nostrils. He staggered a bit, and then collapsed into a large dark heap.
“Oh, that's a good boy,” Darian smirked, and then turned and retreated into the warmth of the indoors. “Cursed animal,” he hissed under his breath as he walked back inside.
His thoughts instantly returned to what he'd overheard Ultara say the morning before. He went to the desk, picked up a long black stick and spoke into the end of it. “Omer, get in here!” he insisted.
A young, serious looking Trysta man entered the room almost immediately. “Yes, sir?” Omer brushed a stray strand of straight black hair away from his narrow green eyes. “How may I be of service, Milord?”
Darian couldn't help but smile smugly at the respect and loyalty being shown him. “Omer, who is Glaron?” he asked.
“Glaron?” Omer smirked. “You mean Ultara's little pet? He is her chief advisor . . . the eldest son of Malynda.”
“I want him followed. Ultara has been sending him to meet with the ator, and I want to know why,” Darian insisted.
“Of course, Milord, I shall see to it myself.” Omer was only too delighted to be involved in any plot against Ultara.
“Good.” Darian paced back and forth for a minute and then quizzed, “He and Ultara . . . they're close then?” The fires in his eyes blazed intensely.
Omer sensed the jealousy in Darian's voice. He smiled slyly and played along, “Lovers . . . or so I've heard.”
Darian's jaw set and a thick vein in his forehead became more prominent. “I see,” he fumed. “In that case, Omer, learn what you can and when you have all that you think we can use, feel free to kill him.” He turned away from Omer, struggling to control his rage. “That is all, General.”
“Yes, sir! It will be my pleasure.” Omer bowed and backed out of the room.
He immediately set off for his home to gather a few necessities; a traveling cloak to keep him warm and somewhat hidden, some food in case he was away for an extended period, and his weapon of choice, a vystoran sleeve—a simple silver tube loaded with small blood red disks called vystorans, which were virtually harmless, until they were shot from the sleeve. With a forceful impact, a vystoran would rupture, oozing a runny, slime green substance. The substance would slowly and painfully freeze the internal organs of the victim who had been shot, starting with the heart—regardless of where on the body they'd been hit. Omer checked the vystoran supply in the sleeve, packed it away into a simple black duffel bag, and left quickly for Koria in search of Glaron.
