WINDKEEPER (16 page)

Having been warned by Kaileel Tohre not to mention Conar McGregor or what had happened at the Great Abbey under penalty of a horrible death, Jah-Ma-El would be circumspect in questioning the men of the Order about his brother’s whereabouts. It wasn’t until the day he left the Abbey to be sent as the Domination’s representative at Norus Keep, that he learned his brother had left the Great Abbey five years earlier without being initiated into the Brotherhood. Conar had been there seven years.

Elation had filled Jah-Ma-El’s soul, for he knew the little brother he had grown to love so fiercely would never have survived the initiation he, himself, had endured. He knew Conar would have made no pacts with the men of the Domination. He would have suffered the terrible tortures that Jah-Ma-El had experienced, but he would have died rather than sign away his soul to such men. Jah-Ma-El had wanted to die during the process, but his promise, his desire to live for Conar’s sake, had kept him alive through the most vile of punishments, the most degrading rituals.

* * *

Sitting now in the Conjuring Room of Norus Keep, a wide, circular room with blood-red walls and ebony floor with a crimson pentagram drawn upon its shining surface, Galen McGregor gnashed his teeth and glared at Jah-Ma-El. "How the hell could you not have known she was a sorceress?" he shouted, turning a hateful stare to the tall man kneeling beside his chair.

"She is most powerful, Your Grace," the man whined. "She hid her power well." He flinched as Galen drew back a hand to hit him.

"Cur! You are trained to sense these things! Did the Master waste his time with you at the Great Abbey?"

The Prince’s palm connected with his unshaven jaw, slamming him sideways into the thick stone. Putting up a shaky hand to wipe away the blood from his torn lip, the thin man cowered before his half-brother. "I did not sense anything, Your Grace. Not even the Master realized—"

"Do not speak of the Master to me, you sniveling bastard! If it were not for your bumbling, he would have known who and what she was!" Galen shifted in the throne-like gilt chair in which he sat. "You have made matters worse. Conar will know we tried to steal his blasted soul this eve."

Jah-Ma-El lowered his eyes so his half-brother would not see the anger and rebellion written there. Despite his trembling body and wildly beating heart, the sorcerer did not fear Galen McGregor nearly as much as he feared what Galen had tried to do this night. That the Prince had failed, and failed dismally, lessened somewhat the quickening terror in Jah-Ma-El’s weak heart.

"So," Galen sneered, "what can you do to correct this oversight?"

Jah-Ma-El eased himself from the floor and stood before his half-brother, his body trembling.

"I can try to neutralize her, Your Grace. I can try, but I can make no promises where the Daughters of the Multitude are concerned."

"I want no promises from you, Jah-Ma-El! I want results!" Galen leaned forward in the chair. "I want her unable to help him again. Do you understand?"

"I can try to kill her…" Jah-Ma-El jerked away as Galen leapt to his feet in rage. Crossing his thin arms over his face to avoid another hard slap, the sorcerer whimpered with terror.

"Fool!" Galen bellowed, grabbing Jah-Ma-El’s robe in his fists, shaking him hard. "I would as much allow you to do that as I would allow Conar to be killed!"

Jah-Ma-El spoke before he thought, his own safety nothing compared to Conar’s well-being. "My brother is in greater danger from you than from any other source."

Galen shoved the thinner man away, then wiped his hands down his own robe to erase the touch of Jah-Ma-El’s clothing from his flesh. His lip curled in disgust. "I would be careful if I were you, Jah-Ma-El," he whispered. "Don’t forget to whom it is you speak."

"You know They would murder him if the Master but gave the word," Jah-Ma-El cried, his black eyes brimming with tears. "And there may come a day when the Master can not stop Them and Conar will die horribly."

Galen sneered. "I will not allow that to happen. The Master will not allow that to happen."

Jah-Ma-El shook his head, trembling, sick to his stomach. "What would you care if my brother did die? You want his crown. What do you care about the man?"

A wild stab of fury shot through Galen. "Aye, I want the crown, and I will have it; but I will have Conar where I want him, too. My revenge on him will best be savored with the man alive and knowing it is I who wields the power in this land!"

"He has never done anything to you," Jah-Ma-El protested, gathering courage from his devotion to Conar.

"He came first into this world! That is a sin I can not and will not forgive!"

Chancing a furtive look at his half-brother, Jah-Ma-El was struck again with the certainty that Galen McGregor was quite mad. "What would happen if I did nothing, Your Grace? Would it be so bad to let our brother live in peace?"

Galen’s face turned as hard as flint. He reached into his robe and withdrew a black jade vial. Holding out the vial to Jah-Ma-El, he smiled and the smile was as evil as the slime beneath the pits of hell. "I have a guarantee here that you will do exactly as I order, you filthy bastard."

Jah-Ma-El made a feeble grab for the vial, but Galen snatched it out of his reach. He cringed as Galen walked to a burning cauldron of coals that sat in the center of the room and held the vial over it.

"Give me reason to deposit this in the fire, you cur, and I will do it!" Galen lowered the black cylinder closer to the burning coals and watched as Jah-Ma-El’s face broke out in a sudden sweat, his skin turning red as though he, himself, were being held over the coals.

"Please, Your Grace," Jah-Ma-El begged, his body burning. He was suffocating, unable to breathe. His hair felt as though it were singeing. "I will do what I can!"

"You will do as I say!" Galen replaced the vial inside his ceremonial robe. "I can promise you that, Jah-Ma-El!"

Mournfully, the sorcerer watched his hated brother leave the room. Jah-Ma-El’s very soul was housed inside that jade vial and he would never have it returned to him. It was the hold the Domination had over him, and every unwilling fool, who served Them. It was a guarantee that Their wishes would be carried out despite the conjurer’s own desires.

Jah-Ma-El looked around the Conjuring Room with its black marble floor adorned with the seven-sided star of the god Raphian, the Bringer of Storms, the Destroyer of Men’s Souls. His gaze went to the huge wrought iron cauldron on criss-crossed tripod legs before the low jade green altar. The hissing coals within the cauldron gave off the only light in the room, sending shadows over the dripping, moist walls. He didn’t look at the altar, with its lifeless victim staring with sightless eyes at the horrors that had been done here this eve.

He groaned, sliding in a crumpled heap to the cold floor. He covered his face with his hands and wept bitterly, his thin shoulders shaking beneath the voluminous folds of his green robe.

His magic was impotent against a Daughter of the Multitude; as impotent as Galen’s claim to the throne. There would be little he could do to neutralize this woman’s great power. Had she not summoned forth Bastus’ playthings? Those cat-like entities that had sprang up from the very cracks in the floor? Only a powerful conjuress could accomplish such a feat.

Jah-Ma-El was fair at his own craft but his heart had never been in the Conjuring of the Red. His strength was not in the black magic that traveled the darker paths and he knew it. What magic he possessed came from a lighter realm. His was the power of the Blue Way, but he, alone, knew that, and Jah-Ma-El used what power he did possess to keep the Brotherhood of the Domination from suspecting. His life depended upon Them never finding out.

He lay on the slick floor and curled into a fetal ball. He wedged his hands between his knees and stared into the blackness of the Conjuring Room. What could he do? Was there some magic he could spread over Conar that would assure his brother’s protection? Some talisman he could use to ward away evil?

If there was, Jah-Ma-El had not found it. Search as hard as he could, the only item that had worked so far against the Domination’s incessant demand to weaken Conar had been the appearance of this girl, this sorceress who had come to his brother’s aid. He had spent many a sleepless night conjuring, begging help from the gods. His pleas had at last worked and help had come from an unexpected source. He was stunned that help had sprang from the Multitude, but that was the gods’ choice, not his.

But had he made matters worse? Had his calling forth a protection for his brother brought further harm upon Conar? If so, Jah-Ma-El could not live with it. All he had ever wanted was to protect Conar, to have his love and respect, and now he may have caused his beloved brother irreparable harm. If that were the case, Jah-Ma-El knew he could not live knowing he had brought more pain into Conar’s life.

A year after leaving the Monastery, Jah-Ma-El was expected to help in the Domination’s plan to destroy Conar McGregor. Ensconced as Chief Sorcerer at Norus, Jah-Ma-El was to carry out Prince Galen’s plan. He never considered the man to be his brother, none of Galen’s kin readily admitted their relation to him; but with Galen in possession of the vial that housed Jah-Ma-El’s soul, the older man had little choice in the things he was forced to do at Norus Keep.

Galen took great delight in using Jah-Ma-El against Conar. He knew how the older man felt about the younger. Keeping them apart each time Conar came to Norus immensely pleased Galen, for he could see the wistful expression on Jah-Ma-El’s thin face each time Conar’s appearance was announced.

"You’ll never set eyes on him in the flesh again," Galen had promised and had kept that promise.

But Jah-Ma-El smiled as he stared across the Conjuring Room at the burning brazier. The Chosen Child of the Sea had come now and things would begin to change.

His smile faded.

He hoped for Conar’s sake that the change was for the better.

* * *

Liza lay awake in her bed. She could feel the influence of another magic-sayer in the keep. She was lost in concentration, fingering the rune stone around her slim neck. The man meant her no harm, she was sure of it. He meant Conar no harm, either. But someone at Norus Keep surely had meant the Prince Regent harm this night.

Her eyes opened wide as the unknown sorcerer’s thoughts lightly touched hers. "Who are you?" she whispered into the dark room.

"A friend, milady," came the soft, gentle reply.

Liza relaxed. There had been truth and reassurance in that soft sigh.

She turned over and gripped her pillow to her. Somewhere Conar McGregor had a powerful and deadly enemy, else the man would not have been taken to the vile dungeon. She meant to find out who he was and just how powerful he could be.

"He is called Kaileel Tohre," spoke the gently invading voice.

"How dangerous is he?" she asked, her lips never moving.

"He is an evil beyond knowing."

Try as she might, she could not get the disembodied voice to speak to her again. Finally, she swept her thoughts into Conar’s room, assured that he slept soundly, peacefully. She could hear his even breathing.

Content that he was safe, she closed her eyes and slept.

* * *

Galen was not sleeping.

He sat staring into the fire. A full glass of brandy sat untouched where it had been placed on the table beside him. He had ignored it then and ignored it now, even though the strong vapors of the peach liquor wafted gently under his nose, beckoning.

For the first time in his life, Galen McGregor did not need alcohol, drugs or voyeurism to excite him. He leaned back in his chair, crossed one bare ankle over the other and stretched his legs toward the fire.

Tonight, everything had changed.

His thoughts confused him. Bewildered him. He wanted something he had never thought he would ever want in his lifetime—a woman. He felt something he thought to never feel—desire for a woman.

And not just any woman, he thought with wonder. This woman was special, unique. She was a powerful sorceress who he knew could rival the Master, himself. Had not the man left, an unaccustomed fear glazing his pale eyes?

Her name was Liza and she was not only powerful, she was beautiful.

Beautiful and should be left alone to be dealt with by the Brotherhood, he thought fleetingly.

Galen shuddered.

The thought of Liza at the mercy of his own kind sent a spasm of pain through a heart he thought was long dead to love.

He wanted her out of harm’s way, unable to help Conar, but he wanted her unmarked by the same vengeance the Domination had planned for his twin.

He knew only one way to accomplish that.

A hard shudder ran through him and he grabbed for the brandy, gulping it down in one harsh swallow. The fiery brew scorched his dry throat, but he hardly noticed.

Yelling for his servant, he called for his horse to be saddled.

Liza woke early the next morning. She stretched, turned over, and snuggled into the fleecy softness of the down comforter. A teasing smile spread over her lips as she listened to Gezelle’s soft snores.

Liza sighed and thought of the man sleeping across the hall.

He had been a most pleasant surprise at the Hound and Stag. His strength and agility with the sword had impressed her. His handsome face had certainly gained her immediate attention. His reluctance to marry, sight unseen, the Princess Anya of Oceania had amused her. His devotion to his duty had also impressed her. His avowal to carry out that duty despite grave misgivings and true unhappiness concerned her. She had looked at him with something akin to awe as he told her it was his honor at stake. Few men let honor get in the way of their personal happiness; especially so members of the royalty.

Honor was something Liza understood. And admired in a man.

Thinking of him as she had first seen him made Liza grin. His blue eyes had been sparkling with some devilish humor and the corners of his sensual mouth were lifted in the most wicked grin she had ever seen. He looked like a little boy hiding, playing a prank on someone who was not going to like it.