Pawn Of The Planewalker (Book 5) (8 page)

A woman cursed.

A man screamed.

And, as Garrick breathed their energy in, he stood strong in his chains, pulling lives from their shells, grabbing power and funneling it into the limitless pit of his hunger. He pulled on his chains and ripped the cleats from their moorings, the shackles hanging from his wrists and ankles to clang on the rough stone floor as he strode forward.

Karasacti cowered now, his robe pulsing crimson in tandem with the rise of Garrick’s hunger.

Garrick felt the robe as it fought to clamp his power, and suddenly he realized this robe was what gave Karasacti control of all magic across the plane.

“Who are you?” Karasacti said, holding his hand up against Garrick’s progress.

“Braxidane placed me here.”

“I should have known.”

The robe flared with a prismatic river of colors that whirled as if they had been suddenly freed.

Garrick’s hunger became a thing of its own then, drinking more lives and flowing their power into his being. Karasacti groaned, seeing his doom. Garrick nearly broke, then. He nearly pulled back to spare this man who may well have done nothing wrong beyond becoming corrupted by a power born for the sole purpose of corruption itself.

And he could have done it, too.

He had controlled this magic before.

But the voice of the woman came to him, whimpering. She was still alive. The baby inside her still grew. Garrick saw the charred hole glistening from high up in her chest and he felt the need for justice stronger than he felt Karasacti’s pain.

His hunger rose with self-righteous conviction. He reached out a hand, and Karasacti’s body disintegrated into a pile of blackened mire, only his robe remaining behind, lying in a mound of the dead man’s ash. With a final breath, Garrick added the mage’s life force to those that already filled him, then he braced himself and brought his hunger into control.

He had succeeded.

Karasacti’s magic was his to own.

Garrick watched the bedlam that reigned before him. Men and women screamed and raced to get out of the hall. Powerful smells of magic mixed themselves into the sickening mass. The people here would revolt soon. They would learn Karasacti was dead, and then things would change in ways he could not predict.

His gaze finally took in the woman, lying on her back, her eyes wide, her breathing coming in panicked gasps. Her skin was clammy and slick with sweat.

“My baby,” she whispered to no one. “My baby.”

Life force roiled within him, and Garrick smiled.

“It’s going to be all right,” he said as he put his hand on her shoulder. “It’s going to be all right.”

Chapter 12

“With all due respect, Lord Ellesadil,” Darien said. “Garrick has gone missing and you’re seriously considering the idea of granting a conference to the High Superior of the Koradictine order?”

Ellesadil, Lord of Dorfort, looked up from his desk with his quill in mid-air. The letter he had been composing—a response to the Koradictine proposal received earlier that morning—was unfinished on the desk top. A large opal gleamed from one finger, and a gold ring with the seal of the city embossed upon it glittered from another. Ellesadil was just past the midpoint of his life, yet his body was still trim, his hair just now streaking gray, and his eyes still full of youthful energy. He wore a white silk shirt from the southern marshlands that made his skin appear even more hale.

“How is your father, Darien?”

“Sir?”

Ellesadil put the quill down.

“Your father. I asked how he’s doing.”

Darien paused. “He won’t eat. I fear we’re seeing his last, Lord. The physician is with him daily, though.”

“I’ll stop by to see him.”

“I’m sure he would honored, sir.”

Ellesadil nodded.

“Again, though, Lord. You can’t think that the appearance of the Koradictine request coming at this most inopportune of moments is pure coincidence.”

“You suspect they are linked?”

Darien knit his brow and leaned forward, both palms on Ellesadil’s desk. “Ettril Dor-Entfar is our enemy. Certainly the timing of this smells of deceit. I can’t believe the two are mere coincidence.”

“And, yet, I see no reason to believe they are linked. Garrick is not known for his stability, after all,” Ellesadil said in an even voice. “I have every reason to believe he left of his own accord. And, let’s be clear of one more thing. The Koradictine order is an enemy of the Torean Freeborn, not the people of Dorfort. We fought alongside you because it was the right thing to do, but now that your skirmish has been settled, I have no specific qualm with Ettril, nor do I consider what’s left of the Koradictine order to be a threat.”

“I understand your position, Lord,” Darien said. “But I think you’re being too simplistic. Many of our families lost members during the mage war. Meeting with Ettril will provide them the wrong message.”

“That depends on what is said.”

Darien straightened with a bit too much flash. Papers flew from the desk in his wake as he turned toward the window.

“What are you trying to accomplish?” he said.

“Before I answer that, Darien, I suggest you take a moment to calm yourself.”

Darien flushed, glancing out the window and down to the city. He remembered when the manor was built—a time when he was just a boy. Ellesadil had ordered the designers to change the direction of the window away from a view of the bay, as they had originally designed, and into a view of the city.

“Better to understand the people than the lake,” the lord had said at the time.

Darien had admired that about Ellesadil.

Even Ellesadil’s simplistic naming of his manor as the government center spoke of his role as a manager rather than a king, or other maker of absolute law. Ellesadil’s rule had always been one of even-handedness.

Darien took one of the padded seats beside the desk.

“I apologize for my rashness, sir.”

“It is all right. I’ve had several such conversations with your father over the years. Good men are often overzealous at times.”

“Thank you. It’s just … I’m worried about this.”

“How so?”

“Garrick’s been gone for more than a week, sir.”

“Yes,” Ellesadil said. “I know that. And I also know the Freeborn are finding it difficult to come to agreements. Now, Ettril shows up at our doorstep, wanting to beg forgiveness. I can see why everyone involved with the Torean House would be anxious.”

Darien sighed.

“I’m glad you understand,” he said. “I just can’t bring myself to trust the Koradictines. The whole thing smells strange, doesn’t it?”

“Times today are always strange.”

“May I ask what you’re trying to accomplish by agreeing to this meeting?”

“Certainly,” Ellesadil said. “That would be a natural question for the leader of the Freeborn to ask.”

“And your answer?”

“I want to understand what Ettril is thinking. I want to know what his goals are.”

“As well as to assess whether this man is trustworthy, I hope?”

“Of course.”

“And what will such action say to the people of this land?”

“It will say we’re willing to move forward,” Ellesadil replied. “If the conversation goes well, it will say forgiveness is possible.”

Darien chewed his lip. “I understand.”

“That’s good.” Ellesadil intertwined his fingers and put them together before him. “Now, maybe you can tell me more about Garrick.”

“I don’t know anything new. He disappeared before our eyes with no sign of a scuffle. Didn’t take anything with him. Didn’t leave a warning or a message. Our mages have searched and scried. We’ve scoured his room. Nothing. No remnants of magic beyond that in the hall itself.”

Ellesadil sighed. “I have to admit that Garrick scares me in ways I can’t begin to explain.”

“I can’t say as I really understand him that well, myself, Lord” Darien replied. “But I know he’s a good man.”

“You miss him.”

Darien nodded. “It’s especially hard with the boy.”

“They are close, aren’t they?”

“They are quite similar—so quiet. Will thinks Garrick left him, and that hurts him to his core.”

“Do your best, Darien. It will work out. Your father raised you well.”

“Thank you, Lord.”

“Now, if you would, I have things to attend to before the day is out. If I’m forced to stay here too late, I’ll miss the lady of state’s dinner table.”

Darien grinned. “Never a wise mistake to make.”

“But one I fear has become too much of a habit.”

Darien went to the door.

“Darien?” Ellesadil said before Darien could leave.

“Yes.”

“I will want you to attend my discussion with the Koradictine leadership if you would.”

Darien nodded. “Reynard should be there, also.”

“Yes,” Ellesadil said. “Well played.”

“And Garrick. If he returns in time.”

“Of course. If he returns in time.”

Chapter 13

Neuma flicked a bit of dead leaf from her sleeve as she prepared for their ride into Dorfort. Deciding to remain as nondescript as possible, she chose no jewelry and wore the brown tunic and heavy shirt of thick weave that Kathery had given her before the mage war. Her pants were black wool. It was nearing winter, and already the heavy smell of thick undergrowth had left the forest. She cut the chill by slipping a riding cloak over her shoulders.

Outside her tent came the sounds of gathering. Horses nickered and their hooves clopped randomly as the boys made them ready.

The trip from de’Mayer island had been difficult. The weather crossing the ocean had been bad to start with, and hadn’t gotten much better until they managed the entirety of Badwall Pass, the long road that was the surest way of traversing the northwestern portion of the plane. Ettril had chosen to travel south from there, closer to the Wizardpeak ranges, rather than taking the eastern route along the Vapor Peaks. The Superior said he liked the southern pass due to its more plentiful game and the ease of its passage. But it was the longer way, and it required crossing a large river, so Neuma knew the choice had as much to do with the fact that the Lectodinian stronghold was somewhere in the Vapor Peaks as for any other reason.

It was, likely, a wise choice, though. The Koradictine order could probably not survive a conflict with the Lectodinians now.

To add to the hardship, Ettril was no longer a young man. The superior did not travel well. He was cranky and short-tempered on the best of days, downright spiteful the rest.

Hirl-enat was not much better.

A boy’s voice came through the tent.

“Commanderess Neuma?”

“Yes,” she replied, feeling a smirk cross her lips.

Hirl-enat had demanded titles for their trip, so Ettril had given them all the rank of Commander. That, she thought, would be the first thing to go.

“Lord Superior Ettril would like a word.”

“On my way,” she said.

She slipped a stiletto into a sheath at her wrist, then rolled the sleeve of her shirt over it. Pulling her cloak tighter around her, Neuma stepped out of the tent.

Quin Sar was just emerging from his own shelter.

Hirl-enat had left camp yesterday to prepare for his role.

Fil joined them, running his hands over his finest robes as they waited by the covered shelter Ettril demanded for himself.

Neuma smiled at them.

Her plan was coming to fruition.

Chapter 14