The Amber Legacy (44 page)

The door swung open and Seer Diamond entered, shaking raindrops from his drenched blue robe. He stiffened when he saw Meg. ‘Well,’ he mumbled, and cleared his throat. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here.’

‘I didn’t expect you either,’ she replied.

Diamond wiped the moisture from his face with his damp sleeve, and crossed to the fireplace. ‘Surprised you haven’t got this going,’ he said, and he squatted to cast a fire spell. Satisfied the wood had taken, he straightened up. ‘I heard you were still here.’

‘I wanted to go home,’ she said.

‘Then why didn’t you?’

‘My son.’

Diamond rubbed his hands together and shook his head. ‘Lost cause. Truth isn’t one for compromise.’

‘I don’t believe that.’

He frowned as he looked directly at her. ‘You will, Amber.’

‘Meg,’ she said.

The Seer’s brows furrowed as he comprehended her simple reply. ‘Meg. As you wish. Amber belonged to Jarudha anyway.’

‘And I don’t.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘You don’t.’

The silence settled between them and Meg wished the rain would ease so that she could escape from the Seer’s stifling presence. Diamond stood over the fire, his hands extended. ‘You know he wants the Conduit,’ he said.

‘Yes.’

‘You could just give it to him.’ Diamond turned to look at her, waiting for her answer.

‘I can’t,’ she said.

‘Why not?’

She smiled humourlessly. ‘Then the Queen hasn’t told you?’

‘Told me what?’ he demanded irritably. She untied the cord on her black cloak and began to unlace her tunic. ‘Don’t be crass,’ Diamond protested.

Meg ignored his discomfort and exposed the amber discolouration between her breasts, saying, ‘I am the Conduit.’

Diamond seemed confused, until she saw realisation spread across his face and his eyebrows rose.
‘That’s
the Conduit?’ he asked. She nodded. He exhaled and shook his head. ‘What have you done?’

‘What I had to do,’ she said, as she closed her tunic and tightened the laces. ‘I can’t let Truth, or any of you, have this. I know the truth.’

Diamond approached her, his expression hardening. ‘What do you mean by that?’

‘Seer Newday.
The Legend of the Demon Horsemen.
I’ve read it.’

Diamond betrayed recognition of the text in his eyes, and although he tried to mask his reaction Meg had seen it. ‘Never heard of it, or anyone called Newday,’ he said abruptly.

‘“The man who lies when the truth is already known is nothing but a ghost.”’

Diamond stared at her angrily. ‘You’re always quick to throw scripture, aren’t you? Perhaps one day you might even get it right.’

‘I only quote what I learned in the temple,’ she sarcastically replied.

‘Whatever means you used to hide the Conduit inside you, you’ve made a terrible error of judgement, young woman,’ Diamond warned. ‘Truth is nothing like me. When he learns this, by Jarudha’s Holy Word, you’ll rue it. You’ll never see your son again.’

The threat against Jon angered her. She stood over the old Seer, glaring down on him with her green eyes narrowed, and said, ‘I
will
see my son again, and I promise you that Truth will be the one ruing what he’s done.’ She didn’t wait for his reply. She stormed out of the quarters, slamming the door as she strode across the veranda. No one could see her tears in the rain.

T
he Shahk rains came early and were heavy. As well drained as they were, the palace grounds struggled with the volume of water that poured incessantly for days. Meg spent her time reading in the library, walking through the palace, and exploring the Royal museum. The artefacts had fascinated her when Follower first showed her the vast Royal collection, but she had had little opportunity to study them, so their true value was unknown to her. But her reading opened an interest in searching the museum for artefacts mentioned in the texts. As she expected, she found none of the items that the writers described—but she found something far more curious. And she found it not by sight but by feeling its presence.

Wandering one afternoon through the enormous and jumbled collection of armour and weapons gathered through the ages, she felt a familiar rush along her spine as she passed a pile of rusted and broken metal implements—the tingling sensation that alerted her to the presence of magic. What surprised her was the intensity. She checked the whereabouts of her evervigilant Elite Guards and when she established that they were engrossed in looking through the weaponry,
discussing and comparing the merits of older and foreign swords and bows, she knelt and foraged through dented shields, broken swords, miscellaneous sections of armoured suits, hessian bags of assorted metal and leather pieces. She glanced up regularly to ensure that the Elite Guards didn’t surprise her, until she reached an old beige canvas sack. The instant that she touched the sack the rush of magic almost made her faint. Checking that the Guards were still entertaining themselves, she lifted the sack out of the rubbish pile and carried it to a small display cabinet.

She explored the outline of its contents with her fingers, the magic thrilling along her arm and down her spine, and established that it was probably a sword hilt. To her dismay, a rusted padlock sealed the sack. Scratches and chips suggested that someone had tried unsuccessfully to break it open. The sack was dirty but unmarked, so whoever had tried to get to the contents hadn’t resorted to ripping the sack, and that puzzled her. Why, having found the sack and not being able to break the padlock, hadn’t someone simply cut it open? But perhaps the answer was already obvious. The tingling in her fingers told her that the sack and the padlock were magical. Whatever sword hilt the sack contained, someone must have considered it extremely valuable to use a magical container and lock to protect it.

The Guards were strolling along the armoury. They looked towards her and she waved to show that she was happy and safe. After they smiled back and continued their exploration, she slipped off her vest and wrapped the sack inside. She could probably just as easily ask the Queen if she could study the sack, but she was curious because no one else would have felt the magic as she felt it. The Conduit gave her that advantage, so she wanted to explore the sack in private,
in case its contents proved useless to anyone except her. Besides, she had no desire for the Seers to know if the sack’s contents proved to be magical, and, if the Queen knew, there was a possibility that the Seers would find out.

She dismissed her servants when she returned to her chamber, and placed the sack on a table. Whisper emerged with her usual curiosity and tried to climb Meg’s trouser leg. ‘Nuisance!’ Meg growled, but she lifted the rat onto the table. Whisper sniffed the bag and leapt off.

Bad
formed in Meg’s head.

Why
? she asked.

Bad
Whisper projected again, and headed for the rug before the fireplace. Whisper’s reaction tempered Meg’s interest and enthusiasm, and gave her a dilemma. To what had the rat reacted? The sack? The magic? Or the sack’s contents? Confidence gone, she shifted the sack from the table and hid it under a cabinet near the window, deciding that it would be prudent to read more texts to see if anyone wrote about a magical sack.

Throughout dinner with Queen Sunset, she was distracted by thoughts of the sack. The Queen told her that she’d sent spies in search of Future and the Seers, and learned that Future had landed in several northern ports before taking refuge in King Ironfist’s capital, Storm. ‘I expect we’ll hear something from my son very soon,’ she said. ‘Ironfist’s grandfather was humiliated by my father forty years ago in a sea and land battle over the island of Last Land. He’d enjoy any opportunity to exact revenge on my family.’

Meg was glad to leave the Queen’s chambers early, despite Sunset’s insistence that she stay and relax with her. The sack was drawing her. In her room again, she waited patiently for the handmaidens to close the curtains and roll back her bedclothes, before she dismissed the girls.
She retrieved the sack from its hiding place and placed it on the table to examine it closely. The padlock looked ordinary. Without a padlock key, she would have to force it open, or perhaps conjure an unmaking spell, but she first needed a spell to dissipate the magic securing it. The Ashuak text,
The Dark Spells
, contained information on spells of unmaking aimed specifically at magic, but it had been burned on the island where Seer Truth abandoned her, and she had only managed to learn simple spells for unmaking physical objects like knots. No similar texts survived in the library.

She went to her chamber door and asked the Elite Guards for a dagger. Ignoring their quizzical looks as one guard offered his weapon, she took it and returned to the table. Hacking and poking at the sack was like using the blade on hardened plate armour. The canvas was impervious. She wondered how frustrated the original finders of the sack must have become when they discovered that there was no ordinary way to open it. Only magic could undo magic. And there was Whisper’s reaction to remember. The rat didn’t like the sack, and her judgement had always been accurate. Meg stared at the beige sack for a long time.

In the end she slid it under her bed for safekeeping and went to her window to gaze at the palace and city lights.

She remembered getting into bed, but not the point of falling asleep. Now she stood before the green shaft of light and there was a dark mass at its centre. Oddly, she couldn’t discern any form to the mass, but she knew it had to be the carving of a black dragon with a man brutally pinned to it by axes and bound with wire.

Get me out of here and I can give you answers, the voice whispered in her head.

I don’t know how, she said.

It’s a glyph, the voice told her. You can break it down.

I don’t understand, she pleaded.

You’re my only hope, the voice replied. If you can’t do this, no one can.

Who are you? she asked.

You know who I am.

She opened her mouth to say that she had no idea who belonged to the voice, but her words wouldn’t form. And then she felt more than saw blue light seeping into her dream, and they were both there, battleaxes in their hands, shining with their blue aura, advancing on her.

She fought to rise from sleeping, as if chains weighed her down—as if the dream was refusing to release her. She swore her eyes were open, but her chamber was pitch dark and panic swept through her. Desperate to escape, she wrenched herself over the edge and landed heavily on the bedside rug, panting with fear.

And then she really opened her eyes. Red coals glowed in the fireplace. Courtyard lantern light traced a thin line across the tiles and up the centre of the curtains. She sat up. The dream images were fading rapidly—but a word remained.
Glyph. Why that word? What is a glyph?
She wrapped her heavy black dressing-gown over her green nightdress, and went to the chamber door. In the lantern-lit corridor, two Elite Guards sat against the wall, but they scrambled to their feet in her unexpected presence. ‘I have to go to the library now,’ she informed them, and walked past, heading for the stairs. The Guards hurried after her. ‘Wait here,’ she told them when they reached the library door.

Inside, she cast a light sphere spell and let it float an arm’s length over her head as she started searching the
shelves. She dragged out five books that she knew contained word meanings and explanations, in particular a draft manuscript written by Seer Vale, and skimmed through each for references to the word ‘glyph’. She found four.

A Shessian dictionary defined a glyph as a mark or cipher used to identify a sacred place. The entry went on to explain that tribal shaman especially used glyphs to identify places of great magic. A book called
In Other Words
made a brief reference to the Shessian shaman meaning for glyph as a ‘mark’, and added that it was sometimes taken to mean ‘secret language’ or ‘magic word’. Vale’s manuscript was a chaotic attempt to list translations from various texts and languages that he’d studied. Glyph was listed twice. In the ‘Ranu Ka Shehaala’ chapter it was defined as ‘a magical ward, usually in the form of a word or symbolic letter’. In the ‘Andrakis’ chapter it was listed as ‘a powerful magical barrier or lock’. She sat back in her chair. The solitary memory from her dream was the word glyph. Why did she remember it?

Pageboy Smallone led her along the familiar corridor to the Queen’s personal chamber where the Elite Guards dutifully admitted her. Waiting in the chamber was Queen Sunset in a purple gown, her blonde hair loose. The curtains were drawn and rain-dulled morning light gave the chamber and its furniture a soft radiance. ‘I have something for you,’ Sunset announced, as she held out a document.

Curious, Meg took the paper and saw that it was a letter. She read:

Amber, I have something precious to you and you have something precious to me. I think we have a good reason to meet and make an exchange that will make us both very happy. Ask my gracious mother
the way to Whiterocks Bluff and make your way there on the day after Midshahk and I will have for you what it is you most want. Of course, if you choose to forsake this one opportunity to redeem your love I will discard it and come for what is mine anyway. Truth.

Her heart raced. Jon. She would see Jon again. Her hands began to shake. She looked up at Sunset.

‘I told you they would use your son.’

‘Where is this place?’ Meg asked.

‘Whiterocks Bluff? Four days’ ride, north of the city. You know it’s a trap.’

‘He wants the Conduit,’ Meg said, absentmindedly touching her chest.

‘Which means he wants you.
You
are the Conduit, remember? You won’t get your son back. He’s doing this to lure you to him, and then he’ll enslave you. Can’t you see that?’

Meg shook her head. ‘There has to be a way.’

‘I can’t let you go,’ Sunset said bluntly, and gave Meg a stern look to emphasise her decision.

Meg met the Queen’s gaze. ‘You don’t have a choice. I have to go.’

‘Why? I’ve told you what he’ll do.’

‘I have to do whatever I have to to save my son,’ Meg insisted. ‘You have to let me go to him.’

‘He might be your son, but I can’t let you go. The risk to my kingdom is too great.’ Sunset headed for the door.

‘What about the risk to your grandson?’

The Queen spun as if the words wrenched her body, her eyes wide with shock. ‘Grandson?’ When Meg looked away, the Queen walked up to her and demanded, ‘Would you like to explain what you just said?’ Meg wished that she hadn’t blurted the truth. She
hesitated, unable to find the words she needed. ‘I’m waiting,’ Sunset prodded.

What choice remained? ‘I think Treasure was—Jon’s father.’

‘
What
?’ Sunset gasped. She grabbed Meg’s chin and turned her face. ‘You
think
Treasure was the father?’

‘Yes.’

‘How? When? It’s not possible. Tell me.’

Meg swallowed, the dryness of fear spreading through her mouth. ‘He scouted my village before your army arrived,’ she began. And she revealed the rest of the story—how he’d found her after Nightwind had struck her down the night of the storm, how she’d been attracted to him, how he’d started to teach her to ride, his last night visit. ‘I didn’t stop him when he came to my bedroom. I didn’t want to stop him. I didn’t want to let him go either.’

‘But you
killed
him,’ Sunset said.

‘I didn’t know it was
him!
’ Meg cried softly. ‘I had all these dreams, and they were wrong. No, I mean they were right, but they were all wrong too!’ She sobbed as the memories washed back in.

‘You’ve got a lot of explaining to do,’ Sunset said, her mood softening towards the distraught figure. ‘An awful lot.’

The mounted Elite Guards waited patiently in the courtyard, their horses snorting and pawing the cobblestones. ‘Take this,’ Queen Sunset said, offering her hand. Meg looked down and saw a gold chain with a small horse-shaped pendant.

‘What is it?’ she asked.

‘It was my mother’s. My grandmother gave it to me, after my mother died, and told me I had to give it to my daughter. I don’t have a daughter, but I’d like you to keep it.’

‘I can’t—’ Meg protested, but the Queen reached forward and slid the chain over Meg’s head.

‘You don’t have a choice. It’s a gift.’ Meg embraced her. ‘May Jarudha guard you and your son,’ the Queen whispered. As they parted their eyes met, and Meg saw the love that Sunset bore for her. ‘Bring my grandson home safe,’ the Queen said, and smiled. Meg nodded, and turned to descend the steps. ‘You’ve forgotten something,’ the Queen said.

On the step beside the Queen, Whisper squatted on her rear haunches, sniffing and pawing the air. Meg knelt, calling, ‘Come on, then.’ Whisper scrambled down the steps and climbed into Meg’s hands, while the Elite Guards watched with amused smiles. ‘I thought you might wait here,’ Meg said to the bush rat. She lifted the little animal onto her shoulder, and smiled at Sunset, before she mounted her horse.

At the palace gate, Meg reined in and gazed back at the solitary blonde figure in dark blue at the top of the white marble steps. The Queen was flanked by Guards and servants in the Royal black. Away to the right, a Seer in his blue robes was approaching the steps, followed by four acolytes.
Is it Diamond
, Meg wondered,
coming to query where I am going?
Whisper shifted inside her cloak, determined to make herself more comfortable.