Blood of Mystery (51 page)

But what if her power over this second
Runebreaker is not so perfect as she believes? Even
now, if our secret sources are correct, she has sent
him on an errand to the Black Tower that was once
the dwelling of all the Runebreakers. Do not fell
magics yet remain in that spire which might aid him
if his intent were to cause strife? I fear for us, dear
sister. I fear for all the world.

I must close this hasty note now. It is time to discharge my final duty to the king by presenting his son
to be married. Yet I suppose it is not truly my final
duty after all, is it? Perhaps to the father, but not to
the son.
I loathe speaking to you this way, dear T, but it is
the only way to be certain our words will not be overheard. If all goes well, and I travel as swiftly as my
courier does, then I will see you but a day after you
read these lines.

Your Sister,
I

Mirda lifted her gaze and folded the paper. In three strides she moved to the fireplace and tossed in the parchment. In a puff of flame it was gone.

“This is grave news,” the elder witch said, turning around. “Do you know who it is the queen spoke of in this missive?”

Aryn gulped, then nodded. The queen had signed herself I, and Sister T was no doubt Tressa. Which meant Sister L could only be...

“Liendra,” she whispered. “Somehow Liendra has found a second Runebreaker. I didn’t know there could be more than one, but there is, and she’s trying to control him. Only he’s going to betray her and get something in the Black Tower, something he could use to harm Eldh.”

Mirda nodded, her expression grim. “I fear it is as you say. It seems that I and my sisters in secret have much work before us.” She tilted her head, her brown eyes locked on Aryn. “That is, unless you have decided to reveal the presence of our shadow coven.”

Aryn no longer needed to think about what to do. Liendra was authoring a perilous scheme, and even though she was not Matron, it was she—not Ivalaine—who controlled the threads of most of the Witches. Aryn felt a jolt of fear, replaced by determination, as well as a thrill of excitement.

“I want to join you,” she said, stepping forward. “I want to be part of what you’re doing.”

“This is no small thing you do, sister. Are you certain?”

Aryn had never been more certain of anything in her life. “Yes.”

Mirda’s gaze remained solemn, but it seemed a smile briefly touched her lips. “Then when the queen leaves on the morrow, I will remain in Calavere as your teacher. There are others in Ar-tolor who can do my work there.”

Aryn’s heart soared at the news—she could imagine no better teacher than Mirda—then descended again as a new fear filled her. “The Black Tower!” she gasped as two thoughts connected in her mind.

Mirda gave her a questioning look, and Aryn hastily explained how Grace and the others had set out for the Black Tower in the hopes of finding Travis Wilder.

Aryn was trembling now. “But this other Runebreaker, the one loyal to Liendra, he could be at the Black Tower as well. Maybe he’s already there.”

“Then I fear your sister Grace and her friends are in terrible danger,” Mirda said.

“I have to warn them.” Aryn paced back and forth. “Only that’s impossible, isn’t it? The Black Tower is in the wilderness leagues and leagues from here. I could never get a courier to go that far.”

“Then why not go there yourself, sister?”

She gaped at the witch. “I can’t travel to the Black Tower.”

“Not in body, perhaps. But in mind?”

At last Aryn realized what Mirda was saying. Trepidation welled up within her, but she had to try, for Grace’s sake. For Eldh’s.

Use your power, Aryn. Use it for good.

“Help me,” she said aloud.

Mirda pointed to a chair by the fire. “Sit down. Now shut your eyes.”

Aryn did as she was told. She felt Mirda’s light touch on both of her temples.

“Now reach out to the Weirding. Follow the threads, and at each crossing ask them which is the way to your friend. Remember, life cannot lie to you. Not when you are true to yourself.”

Aryn hesitated, holding her breath. Then she reached out with the Touch, seeing the shimmering web of life all around her. She followed her strand outward and quickly came to a crossing of threads. She tested it.
This way,
one of the threads hummed. She hurried on, then came to another crossing.
Follow me.

Again and again she tested the threads, following them onward, and only dimly did she realize that she was not stuck in the garden, that the castle was far behind her, and that her mind seemed to fly through deep forests and over lonely, starlit mountains.

I’m coming, Grace!
she called out with all her being.

And Aryn followed the glowing strands as the leagues spun away behind her.

57.

A voice was calling to her.

Grace strained, trying to listen. She felt she should recognize the voice, but it was so faint, so distant, she couldn’t be certain she heard it at all. The world was dark and empty, and she was all alone. Except that wasn’t true, was it? Somehow she wasn’t alone.

Grace...the voice said, and she woke up.

The first thing she knew was that she was still clutching Fellring, holding the fragile sword against her chest. The second thing was that the ground was heaving up and down beneath her. Was it an earthquake? Then cold spray moistened her face, and she knew it wasn’t.

Grace sat up. The gray spires of Ur-Torin were already shrinking in the distance as the black ship sped out of the bay, crimson sails billowing in the force of a bitter wind. Grace’s heart leaped as she caught a glimmer of white—the fey ship?— but no, it was only an iceberg, far off to starboard.

She and the others were near the front of the ship. Beltan and Vani had been lashed to the foremast, their backs toward one another. Their arms and legs were clamped down by thick coils of rope, and their heads nodded forward; they were still asleep. Falken sprawled on the deck nearby, eyes shut.

Grace swiped her tangled hair from her face. Why had she awakened when the others were still caught under the magic of the rune spell? Then she thought of the voice she had heard. Maybe she hadn’t been dreaming; maybe the voice really had spoken to her and had helped her wake up. But who was it?

Before she could think of an answer, she realized she wasn’t the only one who was awake. A few paces away, Sindar sat on the deck, knees to his chest, arms wrapped around his legs, gazing at the sea with green-gold eyes.

Grace cast a furtive look around. Three of the dark knights stood in a triangle formation around the mast. Their backs were toward the prisoners, but Grace didn’t think for a moment that the guards were unaware of what she was doing. More knights scattered the deck of the ship. Some barked orders at ragged slaves who worked the ropes and climbed into the rigging to attend to the sails. There was no sign of Kelephon.

Cradling Fellring against her chest, Grace crept toward the silver-haired man. “Sindar.” He didn’t move.
“Sindar.”

He turned, his eyes meeting hers, and smiled, only it was one of the saddest expressions Grace had ever seen.

“Something’s happening to me, Grace.”

“What do you mean? Are you hurt?” He did seem paler than before. Had the dark knights done something to him?

He shook his head, still smiling. “I think...I think I’m starting to remember, that’s all. I first noticed it in the throne room, in Ur-Torin. Things have been coming back to me. Just flashes, that’s all. Like shards. But they’re coming faster now.”

Grace pressed her lips together. She had worked with amnesiacs at the hospital; she knew the havoc a head injury could cause to the brain, and how desperate the injured could be to recover his or her identity. She lifted her free hand to his cheek; it was cool to the touch.

He laid his hand over hers. “I do know you, Grace. I don’t know how, but I was certain of it right from the start. That has to be the reason why the Little People chose me to help find you. It’s our eyes. They’re the same. That’s how I knew. Maybe we share the same blood.”

Grace found herself smiling. “Maybe we do.”

Before she realized what was happening, Sindar bent close to her, and his lips brushed against hers. He smelled like sun-warmed grass.

A groan sounded behind her; it was Beltan. Grace leaned back, feeling amazement rather than shock. “I have to wake the others.” Sindar only nodded.

She shut her eyes and reached out with the Touch. The threads of the others were clear to her immediately, glowing with familiar light. She could see the threads of the Onyx Knights and the slaves as well, and one brilliant strand near the stern of the ship: Kelephon.

Grace worked quickly, touching Beltan’s, Vani’s, and Falken’s threads in turn, whispering to each of them.
Wake up.
It was hard. The lingering rune magic seemed to pull at her hands, making it almost impossible to grasp the threads of the Weirding, but she clenched her jaw, concentrating.

It worked. Falken sat up. Beltan gave his head a groggy shake, and Vani blinked gold eyes. In moments they were all fully awake.

“I didn’t know witchcraft could counteract rune magic,” Beltan said after Grace explained what she had done.

“Neither did I,” Grace admitted. She was conscious of Falken’s curious gaze upon her. “So where do you think they’re taking us?”

Falken flexed his silver hand. “I’m not sure. To one of their fortresses, I suppose. He needs a safe place where he can work the rune of blood on you.”

“Is that what he meant? When he said he wanted my blood?”

“I’m sure of it,” Falken said, his face grim. “Kelephon is a powerful wizard. He can speak the rune of blood to steal your very essence from your veins, then he can bind it into something, some object—say a gauntlet. With that gauntlet, he’ll be able to wield Fellring, and the sword won’t resist his touch.”

Bile rose in Grace’s throat. “And what will happen to me after he steals my blood?”

“You’ll die.”

She tightened her hand around the hilt of the sword. So that was why she still had Fellring. Kelephon didn’t dare touch it; he couldn’t take it from her until he worked the rune of blood. But he couldn’t just work rune magic in plain sight of all of his men. Grace looked up and saw Sindar gazing at her. No, not at
her.
He was gazing at the sword in her hands.

“We need to break free,” Beltan said, straining against the ropes.

“Stop it!” Vani hissed. “Unless it is your particular wish to crush me.”

The ropes were tied in such a way that when one of the warriors pulled, it tightened the bonds on the other.

“Can’t you just do your little vanishing act?” Beltan snapped.

Vani’s gold eyes were molten. “If you could suck in your girth, I might have a little room to work, but you seem unwilling. Or unable. Besides, aren’t you supposed to be the strong one, warrior? Why don’t you simply break the bonds?”

“Maybe I could if you didn’t whine about getting bruised every time I tug on the ropes. I didn’t know assassins were so delicate.”

“Stop it,” Grace said. She stood up, wobbled a moment while she got her sea legs underneath her, then moved to the mast. She gave Beltan and Vani the same icy glare she gave to patients who weren’t cooperating. “I don’t know what happened between you two back on the white ship. But whatever it is, it will have to wait. Right now I need you both.”

The knight and the assassin gazed at her a moment, then hung their heads.

“It doesn’t matter if we get free anyway,” Beltan said, his voice gruff. “There have to be a hundred knights on this ship.”

“And do not forget the magic of the wizard,” Vani said. “He defeated us easily all on his own.”

Her cheeks glowed, and Grace realized the
T’gol
was ashamed; Beltan, too. Grace hadn’t wanted to chastise the warriors for their failure, only to say that they all needed to stand together, now more than ever. She opened her mouth to try to explain these things, but words failed to come out.

What does it matter, Grace? They’re right. Kelephon will
take us somewhere, he’ll work the rune of blood on you, and
he’ll kill the others. There’s nothing we can do.

Except she didn’t believe that. She didn’t know exactly what it was; perhaps it was that same pride that kept her from giving up on a patient when any other sane doctor would have called time of death. She wasn’t just going to sit there and let Kelephon have his way with her, not without a fight.

Grace’s legs were steadier now. Before Falken could stop her, she approached one of the three knights that were guarding them.

“I want to talk to Kelephon,” she said, trying to ignore how huge the man looked inside his black armor.

His voice rumbled out of his helm. “There is no one on this ship by that name, prisoner.”

“Gorandon,” she said. “That’s the name you call him. I want to talk to him. Now.”

“Sit down. You have no right to make such demands.”

Anger shot through her, like a jolt from the charged paddles of a defibrillator. “What do you mean I have no right to make demands? I’m the bloody queen of Malachor, you tin can full of dung. That means you serve
me.
”

She heard the sharp intake of breath behind his visor. “I would strike you down for those words, usurper. However, the general is far more merciful than I. He says that before you are executed, you will be allowed to beg forgiveness for the terrible deeds committed by you and your ancestors. And then, when the blessed sword of Lord Ulther is freed from the curse your forebears placed upon it, Gorandon will take up the blade, as is his holy birthright, and the Light of Malachor will shine forth once more.”

Grace could hear the mindless fervor in his voice. So that was what Kelephon had told the knights. No wonder they had tried to wipe out her family. Even the fact that she wielded the sword was not enough to convince them of the truth. Kelephon had accounted for everything with his lies.

The knight snapped around, clamping a fist to his breastplate in salute. Kelephon strode toward them, head still bare, his white hair and black cloak fluttering in the wind.

“Leave us,” Kelephon said to the knight.

Without a word, the guard and his two companions marched away. No doubt Kelephon didn’t want his men to overhear anything that might undermine his authority with them. Then again, given the fanaticism with which the knight had spoken, Grace wasn’t sure that was possible. He could have worn pajamas embroidered with runes, and his men would not have questioned the action.

Only maybe that’s not true, Grace. You heard what happened
in Eredane—how the Onyx Knights killed all of the runespeakers and witches. Kelephon has taught the knights to hate anyone
who works magic. And with good reason, as they’re the only
ones who might have stood against the knights. But Kelephon
might have taught his men too well. If they learned about his
true nature, they would strike him down. No doubt they would
think it was the only way to save him from heresy.

Fear crept into Grace’s throat, but she swallowed it down. She was already a prisoner; she had nothing to lose by taking the offensive. “Have you come to steal my blood with your magic now?” she said, raising her voice. However, not even the closest knights reacted to her words.

Kelephon let out a chuckle. “Shout all you want, Your Majesty. They won’t hear you.”

“The rune of silence,” Falken said, gaining his feet and moving close to Grace. “He’s bound it here somewhere.”

“Indeed,” the runelord said to the bard. He glanced at Grace. “Not that it was truly necessary. Even if my men could hear you, they would hardly be inclined to believe you. After all, you’re a heretic and a usurper—hardly the most trustworthy sort. Even worse, you traffic with workers of magic.”

Grace crossed her arms, hoping to hide her trembling. “You seem to know an awful lot about me.”

“Oh, I do, Your Majesty. You see, I’ve been watching you ever since you were an infant.”

“So you could kill me?”

“On the contrary, so I could take you and raise you as my own daughter.”

Grace had been prepared for any words but these. “What?”

Kelephon leaned close to her; his breath smelled of stones. “Yes, Ralena. Your parents were beyond hope—I would have killed them no matter what that day. But I would have taken you. I would have nurtured you as my own child.”

“You would have poisoned her, you mean,” Falken spat. “You would have stolen Ralena, fed her lies to make her your slave, and when she was older you would have bid her retrieve Fellring. Then you would have commanded her to give up her blood for you, and she would have done so willingly.”

Kelephon shrugged. “You have to admit, it was rather elegant. Only you ruined it all with your interference, Falken, you and that tart Melindora. Granting you immortality was yet another example of Dakarreth’s idiocy. You hid Ralena somewhere beyond my reach. Only now she’s back. And while things have been more difficult than if my initial plan had succeeded, it’s of no great matter.” He turned his cold eyes on Grace. “Whether you are my willing slave or not, Ralena, your blood—and your sword—will be mine.”

He’s come to gloat,
Grace realized.
He didn’t come here to
tell us anything in particular—he just wants to show us how
much power he has over us. That’s why we’re out here in plain
view instead of in a cell belowdecks.
A hard feeling rose within Grace, and it took her a moment to understand that it was disdain.

“How did you find us, Kelephon?” Falken said. “As far as you knew, Grace wasn’t even on Eldh anymore.”

The bard’s voice was gruff, his posture dejected, but Grace caught a gleam in his eyes, and she was certain Falken had come to the same conclusion about Kelephon she had. This was their chance to get information out of the runelord.

“It was a stroke of good fortune,” Kelephon said, his voice edging into a croon. “You see, I happened upon an old friend of yours and Melindora’s. What was his name? It was something about a book. Yes, that was it—his name was Tome.”

Falken’s eyes went wide. “No!”

“Your friend was most helpful.” Kelephon’s thin lips pulled back in a smile. “Before I met him, I had begun to despair that I would ever make Fellring my own, that I would have to find a way to work my plans without the sword. Then I came upon your friend Tome in the Winter Wood. Don’t you think it was reckless for a frail old man to be walking there alone? And do you know, I think he was looking for you, Falken? After a bit of encouragement, Tome revealed that Ralena was once again on Eldh. After that, it was trivial. The Pale King has spies everywhere, and they were given a description of what to look for. Soon, I learned that Ralena had been seen in the town of Galspeth.”

Grace pressed a hand to her forehead; she felt feverish. “Esolda,” she said. “The tailor’s daughter. She saw my necklace. She must have reported it to a local leader of the Raven Cult. That’s how the Onyx Knights knew to pursue us.”