Forged in Fire (33 page)

“Good,” she said, nodding. Her attention was definitely elsewhere. “This is not a good place to be.”

“I figure if I can get to this room physically, remove the shield from the energy flow, we should be able to stop the spirits from being drawn here, and allow us a chance to bring you out of here.”

She glanced at me, her eyes stark white, reflecting the sparking ley energy of the well. “There is no hope,” she said. “All is lost.”

That was bullshit. I had to get her focused. “There has to be a way down here. Where is the entrance?”

“Blocked,” she said. “Covered with magic and hate.”

“We can beat this,” I argued. She was freaking me out.

“They test me,” she whispered. “He has guardians around the perimeter of the dome, trying with their unique skills to crack the outer defenses.”

“I met one of them,” I said. “Real charmer.”

She faded for an instant, like a poorly tuned television.

“Hey,” I shouted. “Qindra. Stay with me. We gotta beat this necromancer scumbag.”

She waved an ethereal hand at me. “I will survive awhile longer,” she said. “Though I’m not sure for how long. He has been here a few times, drawing power from the shield.”

“He has? You mean, physically?”

“Yes,” she said. “He cannot penetrate my barrier, but he knows some of the energy is being diverted, and it frustrates him.”

Justin had come out here. Recently? By her comments, she didn’t seem to have a real sense of time. Had Justin been here since Black Briar had begun patrolling? I’d have to alert Jimmy. Maybe we needed to beef up the patrols.

“If he could get here physically, I could reclaim the shield.”

“True. But he has the entrance protected. I can sense it. It will be difficult to find in the mountains, but it’s there. A narrow crack in the rock that opens to a wider cavern and eventually a path down to this room.”

“I’ll find it,” I promised.

She lost focus then, not seeing me. I had to keep her attention. Needed to distract her.

“I need to talk to you about Jai Li,” I said.

That caught her attention.

“What of the child?” she asked. Shimmering dead flowed around her like moths circling a flame.

I gave her the rundown as best I could. How she’d run away. How Nidhogg had given her over to me until such time as Qindra came home.

“My mistress is not well,” she said. “It pains me to know things have gone so far.”

“I’m doing the best I can,” I said. “We’re keeping things together, more or less.”

“Where is the child?”

“We have her at Black Briar for the moment, until I can free you and make things right with Nidhogg.”

Qindra became focused, looked more solid. I think it was the anguish that painted her face. “Nidhogg will never accept her now. Ever since Mei Hau was killed, Nidhogg has become harsher to Jai Li. The fact that she fled our home will only bring her pain. Our mistress is not the most forgiving.”

“We’ll make it right,” I promised. “I just need to get you out of here and stop Justin.”

“I cannot protect them, Sarah. She loves them and hates them. I fear she will kill them without my being there to keep them safe.”

“She’s not the most stable individual I’ve met,” I said. “I think she’s depressed. Maybe we could get her on some medication.”

Qindra studied me a moment, really seeing me, I think.

“If it would not cause the suffering of so many, I would relinquish this effort and let the eaters have me,” she said, waving at the swirling spirits. “They hunger for my life force. Perhaps it would be easier to succumb to their will.”

“No!” I drew Gram and scattered several spirits that had appeared through the wall. “We’ll find a way to solve this.”

“Protect the girl,” she said, sounding more defeated than before. “Love her, Sarah. She is worthy of love.”

But am I worthy of her? “I’ll do what I can.”

The tea must have begun to wear off, because suddenly I felt pulled. I staggered back, and the world shifted between scenes of Qindra and the dark of the tent.

“Sarah?” I heard Trisha calling to me. “Wake up.”

I sat up. Light glowed beyond Trisha—the harsh gray light of morning.

“Come on,” she said. “Katie called. She’s pissed.”

My head was swimming. “I needed to find out,” I said. “I told you.”

“Yes, yes. You told me. Now you need to get up. It’s morning. Shift change. Your family needs you. Your new foster daughter woke up screaming.”

The headache bloomed behind my eyes as I tried to stand. “What time is it?”

“Eight, come on. Skella’s here. We gotta go.”

I forced myself onto my feet, the world swaying. Benny caught me, pulled my arm over his shoulder, and helped me back to the second tent, where the mirror was kept. Faster than my brain would reconcile, I was back at Black Briar, staggering against the wall of the barracks.

“I need sleep,” I mumbled as we worked our way out of the barracks and into the house. “Lots of sleep. Maybe some aspirin.” Benny and Gary supported me on either side, half-carrying me up the ramp to the deck and into the house. They placed me on the air mattress, and I rolled over and went to sleep. I think Jai Li crawled into bed with me.

I slept eighteen hours, got up, spent some quality time throwing up, then collapsed again, sleeping for another twelve hours. By the time I was able to sit up without tossing my cookies, Katie was home. She was too worried to be pissed at me. I considered that a small blessing.

Fifty-six

F
rederick
S
awyer walked the streets of
S
eattle, letting the physical manifestation of his frustration clear the sidewalks around him. He had no real goal in mind. At first, he thought to stroll along the waterfront. The crowds had proved that effort fruitless. He did not want to be surrounded by gawking yokels. What he craved was order.

Twice he walked by the Seattle Art Museum, but he did not go inside. While the collection was reputed to be acceptable, he had no desire for the merely average either.

As he climbed the hills back toward his hotel, he noticed an old man sitting on a stoop. There was an air of hopelessness about the man—a sudden and visceral intuition of death. He paused.

“For whom do you mourn?” Frederick asked. The stench of the man was nearly overwhelming. He had to be in his sixties, perhaps older. One never knew with the wastrels, the lag-abouts.

The bum looked up at him, his face scarred, one eye socket hollow and gaping. “Nobody you’d be concerned with, all dressed in your Sears and Roebuck suit and your smug look.”

Frederick bristled. How dare this cretin talk to him this way? This was a three-thousand dollar hand-tailored suit. “You know nothing of me,” he said, suddenly concerned with this man’s opinion.
How odd
, he thought. “I, too, have tragedy in my life.”

The old man waved a hand at Frederick, his broken and filthy nails like blackened tombstones. “You reek of money and privilege,” the old man said. “What do you know of suffering?”

What indeed? Frederick found emotions inside himself that he did not recognize. He at once felt queasy and angry, anxious and forlorn. He could not stand here, not like this. There was a void in him. What he needed was a stiff drink—something to take the edge off his thoughts.

“You are a piteous wretch,” Frederick said, and turned on his heel. He’d gone no more than a dozen steps when the man’s voice rose behind him.

“My children,” the man called out.

Frederick stopped, turning his head to see the man. He stood now, thin and ragged. There was a dignity about him that surprised Frederick. He leaned on a rough-hewn staff, obviously favoring a damaged leg.

“What about your children?” he called back.

“They’re gone,” the man said, “all gone.”

The loss of his children had obviously impacted the man in negative ways. How strange to allow oneself to sink so low. But why should this be any concern of his? This man was so far beneath him as to be disposable. And yet there was something compelling in his stance, in the way he held his filthy head high, looking at Frederick with his scarred face and his single remaining eye.

“There is much suffering in the world,” he said. Suffering and chaos. “What has happened to your children?”

The old man studied him, shaking his head. “They are lost to me,” he said. Frederick found his voice to be haunting. “What do you suffer?”

Frederick considered not answering. This peon had no right to even talk to one of Frederick’s station. But still. “There is one who is lost to me as well,” he said, finally.

The old man nodded once. “The world is fickle,” he said. “We grieve and love, yet the world turns without so much as a care.”

“Indeed,” Frederick said. “We each carry our burdens.”

The old man snickered. “Some have lighter burdens and more hands to carry them.”

Frederick studied the man for a moment. Was he poking fun at him? What an absurd thought.

He made a polite farewell and left the man with a cloying feeling swelling in his chest.

Frederick realized a thing he never thought possible. He was lonely. So lonely that for the briefest of moments, he thought to turn back, to seek more of the old beggar’s time, something, anything to relieve the uncertainty and emptiness he felt at the loss of Mr. Philips.

How could that possibly be? Mr. Philips was an able servant, that was without doubt. But nothing more. If that were the case, why did he have this gaping ache inside himself?

And at that moment, he was visited by a flash of clarity. Qindra was not ignoring him. The young and oddly compelling Sarah Jane Beauhall was a stand-in, and a wild card at that. Nidhogg had reached for the nearest flotsam in turbulent waters. This Dragon Liberation Front has done something to Qindra as well.

Helplessness was not a feeling Frederick Sawyer was used to, and Nidhogg, the old sow herself, had been on this muddy ball of a planet for an eon longer than he.

What kind of madness must she be undergoing with the loss of her dearest confidant?

Fifty-seven

J
immy was scared.
I
could read it all over him.
M
y report of the trip to see Qindra had him really spooked.

“We need to walk the fence,” he said when I’d finished. “Spend a couple days working the perimeter of the farm, securing the barrier.”

Katie, Deidre, Jim, and I were sitting around the remains of breakfast. I’d found my appetite, and the headaches had faded.

“It was something Dad did,” he told Katie. “I’m not sure if the old magic is holding with the invasion in May and Odin showing up here recently.”

“Doesn’t sound very secure,” Deidre said. She scraped a good deal of scrambled eggs onto Jai Li’s plate and winked at the girl. Jai Li loved eggs, who knew?

“I’d like you to go with me,” Jimmy said to me.

“What about me?” Katie asked, hurt. “I’m not good enough?”

Deidre rolled her eyes and filled her own plate with eggs.

“Actually,” Jimmy said, putting his fork down and crossing his hands in front of him. “I’ll need you here to anchor the magic.”

“Really?” She practically squeaked. “No bull, Jim.”

“Honest,” he said. “One to hold the center. One to set the weave. Has to be blood and blood or it won’t work.”

“Not even me,” Deidre said. “It’s always been you.”

Katie looked skeptical. “When?”

“Remember when you were little? How you and I would wrap Christmas presents while Jimmy, Stuart, and Gunther would go out and repair the fence?”

“Oh, yeah,” she said, memory dawning on her. “I always thought it was better to wait for spring, but we had to wrap presents.”

It was a fond memory that I was glad that Katie could call up. She needed to feel a part of things here. As it was, I wasn’t sure how much she was over being mad at Jim and how much she just didn’t want to be out of the center of action.

“What about Jai Li?” I asked.

Katie patted me on the arm. “We’re in this together. I’ll be here. She’ll be fine.”

I watched her for a few minutes, sitting in the living room working a new needlepoint. The girl was crazy talented. She just needed things to do with her hands.

“Okay, I’ll talk to her, let her know I’ll be back.”

Katie smiled at me, and Deidre squeezed my arm as I passed her. Lots of love and support here.

We set out that afternoon. Jimmy had plenty of camping equipment, and I had enough stuff with me to survive a few days in the wilds of the farm. I took Gram with me. I practically slept with her these days. Jimmy brought along his sword, the dwarven-made one he’d used in the battle back in the spring. I hadn’t seen it since Stuart had hidden all our blades, before Qindra or any of her people could get a look at them. Better safe than sorry.

Cold was the biggest worry, but I knew to dress in layers. Just no cotton.