Jayne Castle [Jayne Ann Krentz] (50 page)

that the mist was not going to be able to turn him into an enemy.

"I said don't touch her!" Quintel's command echoed through the room and instantly the tendrils of black

cold tightened around Kalena.

Helplessly, Ridge released her and stepped back. He whirled to confront Quintel. "Let her go. This is

between you and me. It has nothing to do with her."

"It has everything to do with her. She is the reason you were unable to complete the task for which I had

prepared you all these years."

"Blame yourself, then. You found her. You signed the trade marriage contract. You brought about your

own disaster," Ridge snarled. "It was your fate to be the source of your own destruction."

"I am the source of his destruction," Olara intoned.

Kalena could no longer see the men or her aunt clearly. Even their voices were growing dim. The

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swirling mist was shrouding her more and more tightly. It coiled around her, imprisoning her in a darkness

that was growing colder by the second. She caught a last glimpse of the flames on the hearth, and

somehow the sight of the fire got through to her.

Fire. Fire to release the power of the Sand, a power that came from the Light Key.

She fumbled with the small pouch at her belt, almost dropping it. Grasping the tiny brazierin one hand,

she moved the little switch that released the catalyst into the firegel. At once she felt a reassuring warmth

beneath her fingers.

The mist seemed to writhe with a new, more restless energy as Kalena sprinkled the first pinch of Sand

onto the heated firegel. When the white smoke wafted upward she held the brazier' aloft. She had no

intention of inhaling Sand smoke. She hoped that tonight it would be useful in other ways.

"Kalena!"

Ridge's voice was clearer now. Kalena heard his desperation and tried to respond. "I'm all right, Ridge.

I'm burning Sand. The mist is receding. It can't touch me."

For a frantic few seconds she was afraid it was only her imagination that detected the faint withdrawal of

the black fog, but soon she realized her senses weren't deceiving her. The mist was retreating. She tossed

another pinch of Sand on the small brazier and watched the thin plume of white smoke swirl into the thick

fog that surrounded it. Everywhere it came in contact with the darkness, the mist thinned. Kalena held the

brazier in front of her, and a few seconds later the mist had cleared enough to allow her to see Ridge,

Olara and Quintel.

Ridge was holding the sintar as he stood halfway between Kalena and the trade baron. The steel of

Countervail was glowing as fiercely as the flames in its owner's eyes. Olara stood poised with the large

packet in her hand. She stared at Kalena. Kalena realized it was the first her aunt knew of her niece

having discovered the Talent within herself. Olara looked stricken as she took in the significance of

Kalena's ability to burn Sand.

"You're all right?" Ridge's voice was as brutal as the blade in his hand.

"I can control the mist with Sand." There was no point mentioning how little Sand there was in the pouch

and how short a time it would last.

"Damn you!" Quintel raged, leaping to his feet. The fury in him filled the whole room. "Damn all Healers

to the far end of the Spectrum." He stretched out his arms as if he would reach into the thinning mist to

grab Kalena. "I will kill you with my own hands, little whore!"

Ridge stepped into his path, the glowing sintar in his fist. He said nothing, merely waited.

Quintel snarled and launched himself at the sintar, instead of Kalena. "It should have been mine! I can

control the steel. I'll prove I can control it."

Kalena saw the tendrils of mist begin to alter their course as Quintel threw himself toward Ridge. The

darkness flickered outward, as if attracted to a new target.

"No!" Olara screamed, hurling the contents of her packet into the flames on the hearth. "Leave him,

bastard. He is mine to take."

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At once great quantities of white smoke began to billow out into the room. Kalena remembered what the

High Healers of the Valley had once said about Sand smoke being dangerous in large amounts. Already

there was an acrid taste in her throat and her head was swirling with a sick, dizzy sensation. She knew

suddenly that this much of the smoke could kill.

The black fog reacted violently to the white smoke, roiling toward it in great, seething whorls. Dimly,

through the gathering black and white haze, Kalena saw the glow of the steel of Countervail. Both smoke

and fog were circling toward it as if it were a focus of some sort.

"Ridge, let go of the steel! Let Quintel have it!"

Ridge never did understand why he obeyed Kalena's urgent command. All his instincts and training

directed him to stand his ground and use the sintar as it had been designed to be used. Instead, he

loosened his grip on the handle just as Quintel's fingers touched the glowing steel.

In that same instant Olara screamed as if in agony and leaped to clutch at the blade.

"The steel is mine!" Quintel shouted, trying to shake off Olara's clinging hands. "I will prove I can hold it

when it glows. I am its master. I was born to master it."

"You were born to pay with your life for what you did to my House! You killed my brother." Olara

clawed at his wrists even as the smoke and fog whirled toward them in tighter and tighter eddies.

Within seconds both Quintel and Olara were lost inside the tightening vortex. Ridge and Kalena fell

back, staring at the writhing energy and listening to the anguished cries from the center of the mingled

smoke and fog.

Quintel's scream of agony and rage was enough to make Kalena's blood run cold. But it was her aunt's

choked cry that made Kalena start forward. Ridge held her arm, forcing her to stay beside him. She

shuddered, the brazier still clutched in her hand as the trade baron and her aunt both fell to the floor. The

smoke and fog flowed around them as if seeking to feed. Through a brief break in the mist she could see

that Quintel still held the flame-hot weapon in his fists, struggling to control the fire in it.

"Olara, let go of him," Kalena pleaded. There was no response. Olara and Quintel were locked in a

death struggle from which there would be no escape.

Ridge stood grimly, holding on to Kalena so that she could not throw herself into the lethal fog in a vain

effort to rescue her aunt.

There would be no rescue for either Olara or Quintel. Ridge was certain of that. He could only imagine

the pain Quintel must be experiencing as the older man continued to clutch the steel of Countervail. No

one but Ridge had ever been able to hold the sintar when it was reflecting its owner's fury. In those brief

moments when he had grasped the glowing steel himself, all Ridge had ever been aware of was a curious

warmth that seemed to match the heat in his blood. But it was clear the fire Quintel was trying to contain

was unbearable. Ridge didn't understand why the steel continued to glow. He was no longer holding it.

But perhaps it still held the fire of his fury. Or perhaps the forces alive within the room tonight kept it on

fire.

"The mist and the smoke are both attracted to the sintar," Kalena whispered helplessly.

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She stared at the horrifying sight in front of them. The white smoke and the black fog were writhing more

tightly than ever around the two on the floor. And then, without any warning, the mists slowly began to

dissipate. It was as if there was nothing left for either the smoke or the fog to feed upon.

As the tendrils began to fade, Kalena saw that neither Olara nor Quintel was moving. The room slowly

cleared of smoke and fog and Kalena saw the frozen rictus of a painful death on Quintel's face. Her aunt

lay rigid, her eyes mercifully closed. The sintar lay on the floor where it had fallen. It no longer glowed

red.

Ridge's free hand was on the doorknob behind him. "Come on, we don't know what the damned stuff is

going to do next. We've got to get out of here."

Kalena shook her head. "No," she said softly. "The mist and the fog have run out of energy. It will all

soon disappear."

Ridge eyed the wispy mist uncertainly. It seemed to be fading like normal morning mist in the heat of the

sun, leaving its unmoving victims behind.

Warily, Ridge went forward. Kalena followed. She didn't need to inhale any of the last of the brazier

smoke to know that Quintel and Olara's stillness was the stillness of death.

"I don't understand exactly how they died." Ridge picked up the sintar.

"Look at Quintel's hands," Kalena said. His palms and fingers where Quintel had clutched the blade

were badly burned. She knelt beside the prone figure of her aunt and sniffed delicately at the remnants of

smoke that came from her small brazier. Closing her eyes she looked into the bodies of both the victims.

"Their hearts," she murmured. "Their hearts failed them. The strain was too great."

"The strain of what? The sintar and the smoke and the fog?"

"Fire and ice," she whispered. "The sintar is a catalyst in some way I don't understand. Quintel thought

he could control it, but he was wrong. In the end he was killed by that which he sought to control."

"And your aunt?"

Kalena got slowly to her feet, aware of tears burning behind her eyes. "Healers are not meant to kill,"

she said simply.

The last of the mist had vanished. Ridge resheathed the sintar and got to his feet. He reached out to

touch Kalena in silent comfort. "Call the servants," he ordered quietly.

Without a word, she left the room to do his bidding.

Her new knowledge of the Healing craft told her that when a proper investigation had taken place, the

professional Healer's verdict would be death from heart failure. The burns on Quintel's hands would be

explained away as having been caused by the fire on the hearth when Quintel pitched forward in his death

throes.

In a way, the Healer would be right.

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Two eightdays later, Kalena crouched on the narrow rainstone path that wound through her newly

planted herb garden and gently patted rich soil over the last of the seeds. She straightened, brushing the

dirt from her hands and glancing around the small, elegantly proportioned courtyard with deep pleasure.

The household had settled down well. The villa was easy enough to manage. The two people she had

hired to cook, clean and garden were proving to be reliable and well trained. Kalena had ample time to

study her books on the Healer's art and tend to her medicinal garden.

Ridge awoke in the mornings to yant tea made by his wife's hand and came home at night to a warm

welcome and a smoothly functioning household. He had taken to the domesticated life of a husband and

father-to-be with the enthusiasm of a man who knew exactly what he wanted, had found it, and intended

to keep it at all costs.

Kalena was pleased with herself and her new life. Occasionally, when she stopped and talked to Arrisa

or Vertina in the street, she felt a distant pang of curiosity about what her life would have been like if she

had chosen to follow their path. They, on the other hand, were quite pleased with their lives. The fortunes

of women involved in trading were on the rise, thanks to certain changes that were being introduced by

the Fire Whip. The fact that such changes were being instigated by Ridge's wife was common

knowledge.

But Kalena didn't have any regrets. Her work as a talented Healer-in-training was already filling the

strange void she had always sensed in herself. She knew instinctively she was at last doing what she had

been born to do.

"There you are, Kalena."

She glanced up to see her husband step away from the shaded walk that surrounded the garden and

move out into the sunlight. He strode toward her along the path, a small book in his hand. He wasn't

smiling as he frequently did when he came across her in the garden. Instead, his golden eyes were

serious.

"You're home early, Ridge." Kalena stood and lifted her face for his kiss while keeping her dirt stained

hands away from his embroidered shirt. "I thought today was the day you had to attend the meeting of

the Town Council."

"It was. That's over and done. I came home to show you this. I found it when I went through a chest of

books in Quintel's study this morning."

She took the small, leatherbound volume without glancing at it. "What happened in the council meeting?"

"What I expected would happen. They gave me full control of the Sand trade route."

"Ah," Kalena said with a knowing smile. "The next thing you will get is a seat on the council. Mark my

words. After that there will be no stopping you, my lord. You will have the financial resources and the

political clout to forge a recognized Great House."

"Possibly" Ridge didn't seem interested in her forecast of their future. "Kalena, this book is a record

Quintel kept. It goes back for years. Long before I met him. Everything is in there. It tells how he first