A Threat of Shadows (19 page)

She turned away from him and continued walking. Alaric cast out toward the flame to see if he could detect any energy, but it was completely dormant. He let the flame fall back down onto his chest, hoping he wasn’t carrying around some sort of bomb.

“What do you want Kordan’s treasure for?” Ayda motioned to the pouch hanging beneath Alaric’s robe. “It has to do with Evangeline, doesn’t it? Can it raise the dead?”

Alaric grabbed the pouch, protecting it against his chest. “Evangeline’s not dead!”

Ayda raised an eyebrow. “She’s not really alive, though, is she?”

Alaric pulled the pouch out of his shirt and loosened it. He dropped the warm, swirling ruby out into his hand. “Still alive,” he answered, “but still sick.”

Ayda’s eyes widened. She leaned toward the Reservoir Stone but made no move to touch it. The light filled his palm, casting red light over his hand and Ayda’s face. There was a pulse to the swirling, like a heartbeat. Alaric let his eyes follow the currents diving and dancing from one irregular surface to another for a moment. It was several breaths before the dark line surfaced. It stretched out longer than before. Alaric clenched the ruby in his hand before returning it to his pouch.

“Kordan’s treasure is a Wellstone that holds the antidote I need to heal her.”

“What will you do with the ruby?” Ayda asked.

“Wake her up.” He shook his head.

“Do you know how?”

“I understand the process.”

Ayda let out a short laugh. “That worked out well for you last time. Maybe I should be there in case you almost die again.”

Alaric scowled and walked faster.

“The real question is,” Ayda continued, “why did the wizard steal the Wellstone? I doubt he has a wife in a crystal box.”

“Stay out of my head!” Alaric snapped.

She skipped a little to keep up. “You think about Evangeline constantly.”

Alaric stopped.

Ayda stopped, too. “I don’t try to listen, you know, but sometimes you shout your thoughts at me. And your thoughts of Evangeline are usually so sad. Although sometimes they’re sweet. Like this.” Ayda reached out and touched Alaric’s arm.

Alaric stood in the Napon market. The southern sun poured down on the awnings slung between booths, lighting the stalls in hues of reds and yellows. It was still too deep in summer, too stiflingly hot, for there to be many shoppers. The few vendors that bothered to open booths today called out lazily in deep, southern accents.

Alaric set down another bottle of ink. Just a dark bluish black, like the others. The vendor called after him, dropping the price as he walked away, but Alaric gave him a smile and moved on. In the corner of the next booth sat a mismatched collection of little glass bottles filled with inks. Alaric held several up to the light to see their color. Behind him, he heard Evangeline ask a question.

“Six coppers,” the vendor said. “Six coppers for the pretty flower bowl.”

“Six?” Evangeline laughed. “Two coppers for the pretty flower bowl.”

She was holding a small, clay bowl. The red clay formed an almost round bowl with a blue and yellow flower painted on the inside. It was a happy bowl, if not a high quality one. Two coppers was generous.

The vendor shook his head. “Six coppers. Flower bowls are six coppers.”

Alaric turned back to the inks, hoping to find a red.

“Four coppers?” Evangeline’s voice was less certain now.

“Six.” The vendor’s voice was firm.

The last bottle Alaric held up to the light was dark blue. Red ink was too rare to find in a naponese tourist market, but it never hurt to check.

He turned to find Evangeline behind him, smiling and holding the bowl. The pottery vendor flashed him a big smile, and Alaric put his arm around Evangeline’s shoulder as they walked away. Her shoulders quivered with little laughs.

“You bought it?” The bowl was not even close to being round.

She looked up at him ruefully. “He wouldn’t change his price.”

Alaric laughed. “He didn’t need to.”

“I know,” she laughed, “but shouldn’t he have at least pretended to bargain with me?”

“He bargained very well.” Alaric held his hand out for the bowl. “I think you’re the one who didn’t really bargain.”

She laughed and gave it to him. “It didn’t quite go as I had planned.”

“Why didn’t you walk away?”

“Because I like the bowl,” she said, considering the colors painted on it. “The flower reminds me of the sky and sunshine.”

Alaric held the bowl out in front of them and squinted at it. “Well, I do see blue and yellow. What exactly does the brownish red clay remind you of?”

“Someday,” she said, taking it back and admiring it, “it will remind me of a naponese market I visited with you. It will remind me how great Keepers are always rummaging through the things around them, looking for what they need—whether it’s knowledge or red ink. And it will remind me that maybe sometimes, it is better to stop rummaging and just ask someone.” With a flourish, she produced a small glass bottle.

Alaric reached for it in astonishment. He held it up toward a ray of sunlight trickling through the fabric above them. The ink inside glowed like dark red wine. “This is perfect!”

“You can repay me at dinner tonight. When they request a story from you, tell Tomkin and the Dragon. I love that one.”

“I will.” Alaric kissed the top of her head. “I have the best wife.”

“Yes, you do.”

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “Do I want to know how much you paid for this?”

She grinned. “No, you do not.”

“I like that memory,” Ayda said. “You two are so happy.”

Alaric yanked his hand away from Ayda. “Stay out of my head!”

Ayda resumed walking. “Keep your thoughts to yourself.”

Alaric followed her, off guard. It was his own memory she had shown him. He was partly furious that she knew it, partly heartbroken because he and Evangeline had been happy. He watched Ayda walk ahead of him, settling on an emotion somewhere near irritation. “Can you read everyone’s mind as easily as you read mine?”

Ayda crinkled her brow. “No, yours is the clearest. Maybe because it’s more… open? You could read my mind if you wanted, couldn’t you?”

“I could try.”

“Maybe that’s why, then. You’ve trained your mind to reach outside of itself, so to me, it’s open.”

“Wasn’t Gustav’s mind open?”

Ayda cringed. “No.” She paused. “Maybe that’s why I never thought he was a wizard. Even Brandson and Douglon occasionally shout their thoughts when they’re excited, but Gustav was always shut tight. I assumed he was just incredibly boring.”

Alaric wished he knew how Gustav had done that. Add that to the list of questions he had for the wizard.

“Maybe he wants the Wellstone for a different reason than you do.” Ayda said. “What else is in it?”

“Records of Kordan’s work. He worked with seeds and…” Alaric reached for the ruby again, “he created a stone like this one. An emerald.”

“Maybe the wizard is after that knowledge. Maybe he needs to bring someone back from the brink of death, like you do.”

“Who would a Shade Seeker want to wake?”

Ayda stopped walking and spun toward Alaric.

Her eyes burned and her hair darkened until it was the deep red of a glowing coal. Waves of heat radiated from her, pushing Alaric back a step.

Her hair lifted, blown by a wind Alaric couldn’t feel, and sparks whipped out from the ends. She clenched her fists, and Alaric took another step back.

When she spoke, it was in a deadly whisper that shook the ground beneath his feet.

“He’s going to wake Mallon.”

Chapter 21

Alaric stared at Ayda and took yet another step back. She seethed with fury, her eyes glinting with cold light.

Wake Mallon?

Mallon was dead.

Ayda reached down, picked up a stick, and stared hard at it. She muttered angrily and began stalking up the hill.

Alaric followed behind her, a fear stealing over him that he hadn’t felt in years. Was it possible that Mallon was still alive? He had disappeared and all signs of his power had ended. What could cause that aside from death?

He opened his mouth twice to ask her a question, any of the questions he had, but each time, she shot him such a glare that he shut his mouth again.

The stick in her hand shifted until it was a perfect likeness of Gustav’s face and pointy hat, with a distinctly idiotic expression.

She hissed a vicious-sounding word and crushed the visage into her palm sending an explosion of splinters out from her tiny white hand.

Alaric hung back a moment, letting her move up the hill away from him. He stared at the settling shards of wood then watched the elf warily as she continued toward the Stronghold.

Ayda stopped and turned to wait for Alaric. He approached her with every sense alert, waiting for something terrifying to happen, but her hair was golden again and the fury had settled to the back of her eyes.

“I’m going to kill him.”

“Oh.” Gustav or Mallon?

Ayda looked straight into Alaric’s eyes, and he braced himself for… something. But she just smiled a humorless smile.

“I like you, Alaric.” She gave an elfish lilt to his name that caught his attention. It was the first time she had ever spoken his name. With that word, something changed. The glow that surrounded Ayda faded slightly, and she looked more concrete, more solid.

“I’m going to kill that idiot wizard before he can wake Mallon. You can come with me, if you’d like.” Ayda turned and headed toward the Stronghold. “Bring whomever you’d like along,” she tossed over her shoulder.

When they reached the others, the smell of roasting meat drifted out of the Stronghold along with echoes of laughter.

“So much for killing each other,” Alaric said as they walked in.

“She dragged King Horgoth out,” Patlon was saying, sitting next to the others by the fire, “by his beard!”

Douglon howled with laughter and pounded on the floor. Brandson was doubled over, and Milly wiped her eyes.

“Did he marry her?” Milly asked.

Patlon nodded. “That evening.”

Alaric cleared his throat, and Douglon waved him over.

“Patlon, this is Keeper Alaric. He’s been traveling with us.”

Patlon nodded his head in greeting.

“And the elf is Ayda.”

Patlon smiled at her. “My axe was blessed by an elf,” Patlon said, lifting up his purple-shafted axe for Ayda to see. “Do you know any purple-haired elves?”

“Pella’s hair was purple once,” Ayda said, walking over to run her fingers along the purple wood. “It changed with the seasons.”

“Her blessing did something to the wood, and it’s near unbreakable. Do you—” Patlon paused. “Do you think she’d remember me? It was many years ago.”

Ayda looked at the axe for a long moment. “She remembers you. Elves don’t forget.”

Patlon sat up straighter, throwing a smug look at Douglon.

Ayda turned back to Douglon. “Speaking of not forgetting, aren’t we very angry with Patlon? I vividly remember a burned smithy.”

“He’s offered to rebuild it,” Brandson said. “Twice as big and closer to the river.” The blacksmith grinned. “And he’s going to give me enough dwarfish rock steel to make five knives.”

“One of which I get back,” Patlon added. “I didn’t mean to burn it down. I’ve been here for several weeks, hunting about near these rocks, but I just recently learned that Douglon was here. I went to confront him at the smithy, but I upended a bucket of ashes, and before I knew it, the whole place was ablaze.”

“And so you stopped to carve a threatening symbol on a rock for us to find?” Alaric said.

“I had made it already,” Patlon hedged, “and the damage was done. I figured I could at least make Douglon mad.”

Douglon waved off the apologetic look from his cousin. “The rockslide has settled, cousin. No worries.”

“You haven’t told me if you’ve had any luck with the treasure, though,” Patlon said.

Douglon leaned forward. “We found it.”

Patlon looked eagerly at the others for confirmation.

“We almost found it,” Brandson said. “But it was stolen by someone we were searching with.”

“You found the treasure, then someone you trusted stole it?” Patlon asked Douglon, deadpan. “How dreadful for you.”

Douglon glared at him. “It was stolen by a powerful wizard.”

Alaric raised his eyebrow. That was more credit than Douglon had ever given Gustav.

“Then let’s go find him!” Patlon rose and hefted his purple axe. “Where would he go to sell it around here?”