Storms (Sharani Series Book 2) (17 page)

“We came to find you, Beryl. The clans are leaving and they need access to the armory, but it’s sealed.”

“Leaving?”

“Yes.”

“They can’t leave,” Beryl said. “Not yet. When was this decided?”

“Days ago, Beryl. They would have been gone already if we’d known where to find you,” Khari said.

Beryl ignored the implied question. “Arms, yes, they’ll need to be armed.” Light glinted off the metal flecks embedded in his skin as he scratched at his chin. “Let’s go then.”

He started walking back the way they had entered, his limp more pronounced than it had ever been. He made it a few shuffle-steps forward, then stopped and turned around.

“Help me with these,” he said, grabbing an armload of the glass cylinders.

“What are they?” Khari asked. Despite the question, she moved forward and picked up a number of the cylinders. Lhaurel walked up and grabbed the remaining ones, thankfully able to carry them in one arm and still use her cane.

“They’re what drove Kaiden to do what he did,” Beryl said, striding away at a rapid pace. “He found the scrolls and learned their secrets. You should do the same.”

Lhaurel looked over at Khari, seeing the color drain from her face.

“He did spend a lot of time down here,” Lhaurel muttered. “He showed me the lake and the scrolls once. This is where he came after that time when we lost Tieran. But, I mean, Beryl’s got to be lying, doesn’t he?”

They both stared at each other for a long moment, then hurried after Beryl.

Lhaurel sat at the stone table, reading the scroll for perhaps the dozenth time. She massaged her temples, trying and failing to banish the headache, soreness, and confusion that threatened to consume her. Each scroll she read only added to her confusion. It didn’t help that she was a slow reader, having to study each word as she read it.

She sighed and leaned back, giving up trying to understand. Khari had left with Beryl to oversee the distribution of weaponry, though she had mentioned something about a disturbance in the eyrie as well. Beryl seemed impatient, adamant, and focused on arming the clans before they left. He worked with a powerful intensity, as he always had, but there was something else behind it, something she and Khari had noted and discussed in hushed whispers behind the man’s back. Fear.

But Lhaurel didn’t understand what Beryl’s fear had to do with these scrolls. And how could discussion of magic have motivated Kaiden to murder hundreds? Granted, what was discussed in these scrolls was revelatory, even life changing. There were nine types of magic, not just the three they’d thought before. At the heart of them all were a group called the Seven Sisters, who were, according to the scrolls, the only blood mages around. The ways magic itself could be used, the power in each successive Iteration—as the text called it—it was stunning, but it wasn’t a motivation any more than a candle was as bright as the sun. And who were the Orinai?

The writings referenced them as if they were their own people, not the Rahuli, but Lhaurel had never heard of them before, nor had Khari when Lhaurel had asked her about it. Beryl himself was close-lipped, instead focusing on the task of arming the clans. It was this hyper-focus which had finally driven Khari to go with him. Perhaps once that was completed he would be more forthcoming with information.

Lhaurel was so tired. She sighed and got to her feet with effort, reaching for her cane. Her hand shook and bumped the tray of roast lamb and cheese which lay half-finished on the table next to her. She cursed, and wrapped her hand around the cane, using it to steady herself. Her stomach rumbled.

“Fine then,” she said aloud, reaching for the food. She normally wasn’t very partial to lamb or cheese for that matter, preferring bread and the actual goat milk itself to the meat and cheese, but she ate anyway. She didn’t feel guilty doing so, despite the tight rations they were forced to endure. What remained was hers, left for her after Khari had finished.

The food settled Lhaurel’s stomach and stilled her shaking, but it did nothing to sate her weariness. She needed sleep for that. She left the tray on the table next to the scrolls, and left the room, locking the door behind her. Khari had the other key if she needed to get back in. Placing her key in a pocket, Lhaurel began the long, halting journey back to the healing chambers.

“The Schema is easily recognizable since it is a large square inscribed with nine smaller squares. Each column begins with the lowest specific power or Iteration and each row is an evolution in power from that.”

—From
Commentary on the
Schema, Volume I

“I’ll have that bird’s head on the end of a spear before I leave,” Maugier growled between clenched teeth. “Or by the sands there will be Roterralar blood spilt this day!”

The other clan leaders—Evrouin, Alia, and Khari—gave a collective sigh and turned to Gavin, who sat next to Farah on a stone bench across from them. They’d already recounted the story of what had happened in the eyrie twice now, but Maugier insisted that they were telling lies. The dead clansman had been a relation of his.

“It was provoked,” Farah said heatedly. “They were there trying to
steal
an aevian.”

“Says you.”

Gavin ran a hand through his hair and sighed in frustration. “This isn’t important,” he said, tone harsh. “We should be planning where the clans are going to go and how to split up the patrols in search of Kaiden and those who helped him escape. The man is dead. I’m sorry, but nothing we discuss here is going to change that.”

“Well said,” Evrouin added before Maugier could protest.

Noticing the opportunity, Khari spoke up as well. “They invaded space where they were not allowed. They’re thieves and they got what they deserved. If they weren’t leaving already, I’d hang them all myself.”

“Kaiden is the topic of discussion here, Maugier,” Evrouin said in an obvious attempt to move the conversation away from Khari’s blunt pronouncement. “The Roterralar will provide the communication we need to coordinate our efforts to find him.”

Maugier scowled. “Why should we trust you, Evrouin? Or her? You and your allies were the ones who fought against us in the Oasis. You sided with that creature to kill us all. How do we know you’re not part of the group hiding him or that you won’t shelter him as soon as you’re away from here?”

Though Alia didn’t say anything, Gavin could tell she was thinking the same thing. That right there was the main trouble with staying together. There was no trust. Not yet at least.

“Use your brain once in a while, will you?” Khari snapped. “If the Roterralar are constantly checking in, passing messages between the clans, there’s no way they could harbor Kaiden without us knowing.”

“And if
you’re
the ones helping him?” Alia asked.

Khari stood up, knocking her chair to the ground with a crash. “I give you my oath, by the blood within my veins, that neither I nor any of mine are in league with Kaiden. I swear to you, to protect and defend you and your families, openly and to the best of our abilities.” Khari brought her fist down on the stone table hard enough to make Gavin wince. “And I swear to you that we will help you find Kaiden and this time, when we do, we will kill him.”

The other clan leaders sat back, stunned into silence. Even Farah put a hand to her mouth.

Khari leaned forward, expression as intense as any Gavin had ever seen. “I will have your oaths on this. If the Roterralar are to defend you, if Beryl is to arm you, you will cooperate or try to survive on your own without us.”

No more protests came, only oaths. The plans were set, the clans set in motion to leave. Khari left with them, stating that she would assist them with getting arms from Beryl before they left. For some reason, Gavin felt deflated rather than pleased. As the clan leaders left the room, Gavin couldn’t help but feel that somehow he’d failed them.

The smithy was an eerie place when illuminated only by a single lantern. The forge lay dormant, completely cool. Beryl hadn’t rekindled that particular flame since he’d sent the message to the Orinai over a fortnight and a half ago. Yet light from his lantern glinted off the metal in the room, casting a myriad of shadows and lights dancing across the walls. The forge would remain dormant for now. The Rahuli had no need of new weapons, only those with which they could fight. Beryl already had plenty of those.

Beryl continued on through the smithy itself, passing the dormant forge and pressing on into the massive room beyond. Light glinted off metal weaponry, metal he had gathered from the sands, from the Forbiddence walls, from the Sharani Desert itself over the course of his life. Metal was a scarce resource in deserts, usually, but not here, not so far north into the mountains. For years, the crafting of these weapons had been his life. What would it be now?

One of the voices, the one who was always the most disparaging to his metalwork, laughed.
Oh, how we have fallen
, it whispered.
Fallen from greatness. Why could you never let go of your past?

Beryl pushed back that voice and the memories, which seemed to well up more and more frequently now that the genesauri were gone. They didn’t understand. Elyana had never understood why he’d maintained his smith’s work either, though she had supported him in it. The feel of metal beneath a hammer, the resistance, the bending of a stubborn will by a mightier arm, those were things that had to be experienced, had to be 
known.
There was no substitute for it. Without it, Beryl would have succumbed to the madness centuries ago.

Without really even thinking about it, Beryl reached within and lit the metals flowing within him. His power flared and he raised one hand toward the large cloth covering the opening on one side of the wall. He seized onto the thin metal wire along the edge and the spikes holding it in place and 
pulled
. The canvas sprang away from the wall and crumpled to the ground to one side of the opening, iron spikes clanging on top of it. Light spilled into the room. Pure light. Blinding light. For a moment, Beryl forced his eyes to remain open and reveled in the pain. Then they adjusted and he blinked away the minute tears which had sprung into them.

“By the seven hells.” The sudden voice made Beryl twist about, pulling at his stiff leg.

Khari stood at the entrance to the armory, back nestled against the dormant furnace. Behind her and to one side, half a dozen others stood in open-mouthed wonder at the stunning array of weaponry. Beryl felt a momentary surge of pride at the expressions. They’d never come close to seeing a collection of weapons as grand as these—no one had outside the Roterralar. Even among the Orinai on the other side of the Forbiddence, such a display was something few ever saw, but for entirely different reasons. Weapons in the hands of another magic user, another magnetelorium, were often more deadly to their owners than to those they wished to fight.

“Take what you will,” Beryl growled, breaking the thick silence. “But no more than you need. Khari, where are those glass blades that girl was making?”

Before Khari could answer, the man who had sworn by the seven hells only moments earlier spoke up instead.

“Glass?” The mockery in his tone was as thick as rust on an ancient blade.

“Glass can’t be manipulated by magic, Evrouin,” Khari said, holding up a hand to forestall the torrent getting ready to leap from Beryl’s lips. “I’ll get you a half dozen of them before you leave.”

Evrouin grunted, then gestured for his companions to go around him and start gathering weaponry. “Get swords and axes. We don’t need any of those long spears, or those metal club-things.”

The men did as instructed, though Beryl eyed them with narrowed eyes as they rummaged through his treasures.

“Be careful with that, you son of a sailfin!” Beryl shouted at one of the men, a young fellow with a scar on one cheek, who knocked over several of the long lances the aevian riders had used against the genesauri. The boy at least had the decency to look embarrassed.

After the men finished fixing the lances and started walking back out of the armory, Beryl shook his head.

“I don’t know why I’m helping these. They’re just going to die anyway,” Beryl muttered to himself.

“What was that?” Evrouin asked. The edge had come back into his voice, as if he didn’t trust Beryl at all.

Beryl met the man’s gaze and returned the look with as much disinterest as he could muster. Trust was more precious than water here in the desert. So what if this insignificant man didn’t trust him, one of the voices whispered. Any one of the voices could crush him in an instant. Beryl growled and pushed the voices back once again.

“You don’t have enough,” Beryl said, more loudly.

Evrouin’s jawline hardened, a muscle standing out in his neck. “I think we’ve got sufficient to defend ourselves.”

This time even Beryl agreed to snort in contempt. “Well, when you run into Kaiden, don’t say I didn’t give you fair warning.”

A vessel in Evrouin’s temple throbbed. “If we run into him,” Evrouin said vehemently, “he’ll die by my blade.”

Beryl grinned at him. “Well, may death’s shadow pass over you softly, then.”

Gavin entered the eyrie with determined steps. He wore his greatsword, the weapon swinging from his belt. He ignored the aevians for now, marching across the room directly to the cavernous opening on the other side of the massive chamber. Farah and Khari stood there at the edge, watching as the three groups trudged out across the sands, like water dripping down a mound after being poured from a pitcher. Aevians and their riders wheeled in the air above them, circling in patterns that followed the three divergent paths taken by the clans.

“How many decided to stay?” Gavin asked, taking up a lookout post next to Farah. She was beautiful, outlined by the sun.

Khari shook her head. “Not as many I would have hoped, but more than I expected.”

“Staying here is easier than trying to find a new home for those who have no one else left,” Farah said. She didn’t turn to look at Gavin, her gaze focused out across the sands as it had been during the rainstorm a few days before.

“How many?” Gavin asked her.

“A few score, including about a dozen that show some mystic ability. All of the outcasts stayed.”

Gavin wasn’t surprised. He’d known the outcasts wouldn’t leave. This was the best they’d ever had it in life, even with the political machinations and hatred which had been leveled against them. The number of mystics, however, was surprising.

“Will those be trained?” he asked.

Khari turned to him, an eyebrow raised. “I don’t know, will they?
You’re
the leader of the mystics, Gavin, not me.”

“I didn’t agree to that yet.”

“Consider yourself appointed to the position then.”

Gavin opened his mouth and then closed it with a snap. Khari had been in a combative mood for days now. There was no use continuing this argument.

“Fine then. Yes, they will be trained.”

“Good,” Farah said, finally turning away from the opening to face him. “I think it’s about time you learned to ride an aevian too.”

“Yes, it is about time.”

Farah whistled and Talyshan leapt from higher up the cliff face, alighting near them. There was already a harness attached to the aevian’s back, a saddle fixed into place. The creature gave a series of soft chirps and Farah smiled, walking over to him and scratching him under the chin, beak just within reach. Gavin looked a question at her.

“Talyshan is mine,” Farah said. “You’ve got to get your own if you want to come with me.” Talyshan bowed and Farah vaulted up into the saddle, pulling leads from beneath her robes and fixing them in place. Talyshan spread massive wings and leapt from the lip of the cavern’s opening. Farah whooped.