Blood of Mystery (53 page)

“Sindar—you’re shining.”

He smiled. Light danced around him like a silver corona. “I’ve finally remembered, Grace. Who I am, and what I’m supposed to do. I was so tired. What I did in the water, it was too much. It made me forget everything. But I’m stronger now, and it was the runelord’s own words that helped me.”

Grace shook her head. “What do you mean? What words?”

“Blood is the key to everything.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You will. You saved me once, Grace. And for that, I loved you. Now it’s my turn to save you.”

Fellring twitched in Grace’s hands. As if it had a life of its own, the sword rose, until it was pointed directly before her. Sindar shut his eyes—green-gold, just like Grace’s own—and stepped forward.

The point of the sword slid easily into his body. The fragile blade didn’t shatter.

“No!” Grace choked, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t pull the sword back. Agony flickered across Sindar’s face, then rapture. The corona grew brighter, like diamondfire, and the silver-haired man was gone. In his place was a willowy being of light.

Horror became wonder. “You,” Grace said, gazing into large, ancient eyes. “You’re the one we found on Earth. And it was you who saved us in the sea after the shipwreck, wasn’t it? But why? Why are you doing this?”

The voice was more like the music of crystal chimes, but all the same she understood the fairy’s words.

It was not the bard Falken who took the infant from the dead
queen long ago. It was one of my kin. The baby was too small to
live, so the fairy bore it within herself until the infant was
strong enough. Then the infant was left on a stone where the
bard came upon it. But some memory of the light of the fairy
dwelled yet in the child’s blood, and it was passed from father
to daughter, from mother to son, and dwells in you still.

After you saved me from the cruel prison of iron, how could
I not love you when I saw the light of my own kind shining in
your eyes? It is bright within you, even as my own blood is
bright within your friend, the knight. And yes, my kind can love,
though to us the word does not mean what I believe it does to
your kind. To us, to love another is to know you are but two
beams from the same source of light.

So I followed you, and when your ship descended into the
sea, I saved you. But the e fort was too great, and I was yet
weakened by what had been done to me on the gray world across
the Void, and I was nearly lost. My light would have dimmed forever, but at the last I cast myself into mortal form, that my spark
might have a shell in which to heal. But that form was so limiting, I could not remember my purpose. Only now I have.

The words came to Grace in the space of an instant, along with an emotion so deep, so vast, she couldn’t possibly have expressed what it was, except to say that maybe it was like being a star: so tiny in the night sky, but so bright and pure, like all that was perfect reduced to a single, shimmering point.

“But what is it?” Grace whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks. “What is your purpose?”

Only this, Ralena. By the blood of my kind was it forged. By
my own blood it is remade anew. Keep this sword close, for if
you do, then we will always be together.

The form of the fairy grew brighter yet, so that Grace thought she must go blind if she didn’t turn her head. Only she couldn’t look away, and the light didn’t burn her eyes. Instead it shrank down, collapsing into a blazing line. Then she realized that the line was the sword in her hand.

The light vanished. Grace raised Fellring before her. All traces of the cracks that had marred it were gone. The sword was gleaming and whole, the runes tracing it from hilt to tip in an unbroken line.

There was so much to think about, so much to comprehend, but there was no time. The dark ship had drawn close to the waterspout. The column of water coiled forward like a crystal serpent. Kelephon reached out and snatched the rune of blood. He turned around, holding it in his hands.

His eyes went wide, locked on the sword in Grace’s hand. She stood three paces before him.

“But that’s impossible,” he said, his voice soft with puzzlement.

A strength welled up in Grace, not that of a witch, or a queen, or even a doctor, but simply that of a woman who knew one who loved her had given everything for her. She would not let that gift be for nothing.

“I
will
keep you close, Sindar,” she murmured. “I promise.” She stepped forward and thrust with the sword.

Perhaps her body recalled some of her training with Beltan, or perhaps Fellring understood her wishes and obeyed them without hesitation, for the point of the blade slipped through a narrow gap in Kelephon’s armor and sank easily into his right shoulder. Blood sprang forth. It fell on the bound rune in his hand, and the white stone drank the fluid, turning crimson as the ship’s sails. More blood flowed into the rune, and more, as if the fluid were being pulled into it.

Kelephon stared at the rune, horror blossoming in his eyes.
“Reth!”
he said in strangled voice. The stone disk shattered in his hand, and the broken pieces fell to the deck.

Grace withdrew the sword from his body, and Kelephon cried out again. She poised the tip at his throat. “Release them,” she said. “Now.”

The runelord twitched a finger.
“Reth,”
he said again, and the ice crumbled away from Beltan, Vani, and Falken. The three staggered, falling to their knees, but they were alive.

“Look,” Vani said, pointing with a shaking hand.

Grace glanced to one side and saw the white ship draw close, sleek and graceful as a swan. Goat-men and tree-women scurried about on the deck. A plank of silvery wood reached up toward the deck of the crimson-sailed ship. She turned her gaze back to Kelephon.

“What are you going to do with him?” Beltan said.

Falken’s expression was hard. “You should kill him, Grace. Now, while you have the chance.”

“No,” she said, amazed at her own words. “No, I want him to live. I want him to crawl back to Imbrifale, to tell the Pale King that I have Fellring, and that nothing he can do will stop me from cutting out his iron heart and melting it down.” She flicked the sword, tracing a thin red line on Kelephon’s throat. “Do you understand?”

The runelord’s cold eyes were filled with hatred. “I understand perfectly.”

Grace waited for the others to move onto the silvery plank, then she backed toward them, keeping Fellring poised before her. Kelephon didn’t move. He simply watched as the four of them made their way down the plank, onto the white ship. Grace still felt the presence of Aryn in her mind. How Aryn had managed to speak so far across the Weirding, Grace didn’t know. However, Aryn’s news would have to wait just a little longer, until they were safely away.

Figures moved to and fro on the deck around them. The plank was drawn in. Powered by neither sail nor oar, the white ship began to speed away. Kelephon’s ship shrank to a dark blot, then both it and the runelord were lost to sight.

“I think that was a mistake, Grace,” Falken said softly. The bard’s lips were still tinged blue from the ice, but it was warm on the fairy ship. He would be all right, as would Vani and Beltan. The knight placed an arm around the assassin’s shoulders, as if to help her stand; it was a strangely tender gesture.

Grace turned her gaze back to Falken. “So you think Kelephon still has the power to harm us?”

“I know he does.”

A sigh escaped her. She felt bone tired. “I suppose you’re right. But I had to do it. I want the Pale King to know Fellring is whole once more.”

Falken searched her face with his faded blue eyes. “Why, Grace?”

“Because I want him to feel every bit as afraid as I do right now.”

They said nothing more as the white ship carried them south, away from the ice and the dead lands of the north.

59.

By the time Travis got back to the boardinghouse, Sheriff Tanner was awake.

“He opened his eyes not long after you left,” Lirith said, meeting him in the hallway. She was on her way from the kitchen with a pot of hot water.

Travis drew in a breath. “Is he...?”

“He’s fine,” Lirith said, taking his hand. “Or he will be, anyway. Right now he’s still weak. It will be some days until he fully recovers.”

“But the laudanum...”

Lirith sighed. “Yes, even after this, his body will still crave it. But there are herbs I can give him that will lessen the need. With them, in time, I believe he can leave the laudanum behind. His is a strong spirit.”

And even a strong man needed help sometimes. Travis thought of the words Niles Barrett once spoke to him at the saloon.
Only a man outside the law can stop those who’ve taken
the law into their own hands. But it’s pointless to hope. Tyler
Caine was the last great civilizer to walk this part of the West.
And all the stories say he’s dead....

That was exactly what Brother Cy had said.
There’s no point
in hoping.
So you might as well do something.

“What is it, Travis?” Lirith touched his arm. “Your face looks strange. Did something happen out there?”

Travis thought of his meeting with Brother Cy, and how when it was over the preacher had shut the back door of the hearse and climbed up into the driver’s seat.

I guess I’ll be seeing you,
Travis had said.

Brother Cy had gazed at him with those black-marble eyes.
So you will, son. So you will.
Then the preacher flicked the reins, and the wagon rattled away, vanishing into an eddy of dust.

“I need to talk to the sheriff. Can I see him?”

Lirith led the way to the back bedroom. Tanner was sitting up in the bed. His skin was pallid, and his chest was sunken beneath his white undershirt, but his blue eyes were clear, if a bit too bright. Travis had never seen Tanner without his hat before; the sheriff possessed a thick shock of sandy hair, which, at present, stood out in all directions. Maudie sat next to the bed, her hand on the covers, not quite touching Tanner’s wrist. Durge stood at the foot of the bed.

“Afternoon, Mr. Wilder,” Tanner said. His voice was a bit thinner than usual, but his drawl was still slow and calm. “I understand you carried me all the way here, along with Mr. Dirk. I suppose that means I owe my life to both of you.”

Travis couldn’t suppress a grin. “No, you owe your life to Lirith. All you owe me and Durge is a drink.”

“I’m so glad you’re back,” Maudie said, looking up at Travis. “I can’t imagine it’s safe to be out there. Not with the Crusade in charge of this town. Why, they went so far as to board up the sheriff’s office. As if they owned Castle City!”

Only they probably do,
Travis thought. So that was why Durge had returned to the Bluebell.

“They cannot keep me from my duty,” the knight said, crossing his arms. “I only returned to fetch a crowbar so I can pry off the boards and reopen the sheriff’s office.”

“I’ll lend you a hand, Mr. Dirk,” Tanner said, and started to push himself up from the bed.

Lirith crossed the room in two strides and pushed him back down. “I will not have all my work undone by pride and foolishness.”

Astonishment registered in Tanner’s watery eyes. “I’m the sheriff, Miss Lily.”

“Not in this room,” she said, hands on hips. “In here, you’re my patient and nothing more. And you don’t leave until I tell you it’s time.”

“But Miss Lily, aren’t you worried about Mr. Samson? He’s trapped there in the jailhouse. We’ve got to go get to him.”

Travis looked at Durge. “He doesn’t know yet?”

“I know it was Wilson who played this trick on me,” Tanner said. “He was the one who brought me that coffee. I should have known something was up. Wilson couldn’t boil water to save his life, let alone brew a pot of coffee. He must have brought it from Mrs. Vickery’s. Only where did he get the laudanum? The Crusade has shut down China Alley.”

“Dr. Svensson,” Maudie said, her voice hard. “That’s where.” She took Tanner’s hand in her own. “Oh, Bart, I think they wanted to make it look as if you did it on purpose. What if Miss Lily and the others hadn’t found you in time?”

He squeezed her hand. “They did find me, Maude.” He looked up at Travis. “So what is it I don’t know, Mr. Wilder?”

Travis took a deep breath, wondering just how much he could say. “Sareth isn’t at the jail. He’s been kidnapped by the Crusade for Purity, and the note they left says they’re holding him hostage. You see, there’s someone with whom the Crusade is in league, and he wants something— something that I’ve got. And they’re using Sareth to get it from me.”

Tanner’s mustache drooped. “You think there’s someone behind the Crusade?”

“I know there is.”

“But what on Earth could he want from you?” Maudie said.

Travis hesitated, then slipped his hand into his pocket and drew it out. “He wants this.”

Travis opened his hand. The scarab crawled slowly across his palm, probing with slender gold legs.

“Lord above!” Maudie clasped a hand to her cheek. “What is that?”

Tanner’s expression was sharp, curious. “Is it mechanical?”

Travis stroked the spider with a finger, then slipped it back into his pocket. “I can’t explain what it is. Not just yet, anyway. But I can tell you that it’s important, and that no matter what happens, I can’t let him have it.”

Tanner stroked his mustache—a gesture that reminded Travis of Durge. “I don’t pretend to understand everything you’re saying, Mr. Wilder. Then again, it doesn’t matter. None of it changes the fact that Mr. Samson is in danger. I failed in my duty to protect him, and now I’ve got to find a way to get him back. Can I see that note you talked about?”

Lirith had it. She unfolded it and handed it to Tanner.

A grunt of surprise escaped him. “They want you to come to the Bar L Ranch?”

Travis nodded. “Do you know where it is?”

“It’s south of town,” Tanner said, “next to the Dominguez place.”

Durge swore, then glanced at Travis. “I should have known our foe was lurking nearby. It was there I saw the mauled lambs. But we didn’t know then he had followed us here. The great manor I saw must belong to his ally, the leader of the Crusade. This Lord Hale.”

“You’re right on one count, Mr. Dirk. The men of the Crusade will want to meet you in their own territory. And I suppose the Bar L does belong to the man who leads them.” Tanner lowered the note. “But it sure doesn’t belong to Mortimer Hale. Even Hale doesn’t have that much money.”

Travis tried to swallow, but his throat was clogged with dust. “Then who does own the ranch?” However, even as he asked the question, he knew the answer. The Ranch was called the Bar L. And the L could only stand for...

“Aaron Locke,” Tanner said. “Owner of the First Bank of Castle City. And the richest man in town. All Mortimer Hale owned were the clothes on his back before Locke took him in and gave him the newspaper to run.”

And in return, Hale used the
Clarion
to help Locke take over the town—and look clean the entire time. Travis thought of all the occasions Aaron Locke and his clerks from the bank had come into the saloon. Travis had been glad to see them, had served them drinks. Locke had seemed so cheerful, always a smile on his boyish face.

“Why now?” Lirith said. “If Lord Locke has gone to such trouble to deceive us, why has he now revealed in this note that he is the leader of the Crusade?”

“Pride,” Durge said. “A man who builds something of which he is proud cannot resist claiming it as his own.”

Tanner nodded. “I think you’re right in that, Mr. Dirk.”

“At least now we know whom we’re fighting,” Travis said.

Maudie wrung her hands. “But you can’t fight them, Mr. Wilder. Not all of them. Aaron Locke is a powerful man. Who knows how many men he has working for him?”

Travis made a list in his mind. Gentry. Ellis. Hale. Wilson. The thing that had once been Calvin Murray. Maudie was right, he couldn’t fight all of them. But maybe he didn’t need to. Wasn’t that the idea Brother Cy had helped give him?

“What if we don’t fight all of them, Maudie?” Travis said. “What if we fight just one of them?”

The others looked confused, all except Tanner. “You’re talking about challenging Aaron Locke to a duel.”

“He’s a prideful man, we know that. Do you think he’d accept?”

“He’d have to,” Tanner said. “The kind of men he’s got working for him only respect power. If a man challenged Locke, they’d expect him to take the challenge. But that doesn’t mean it would be a fair duel. Locke’s men wouldn’t mind a bit of low dealing. And what’s more, I’ve heard Locke is a crack shot.”

Travis was less worried about Locke’s skill with a gun than he was about the sorcerer. But Sareth had said the Scirathi wouldn’t want to dirty his hands, that he would leave the crude work to his henchman. And that meant they might have a chance, even if Locke and his men cheated.

“So it might work,” Travis said.

“No, Mr. Wilder. It won’t.” Tanner lifted his right hand. It vibrated, outline blurring. “I can’t fight a duel.”

“No, but I can.” Travis reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out the folded poster. He also pulled out his wire-rimmed spectacles and slipped them onto his face. At once everything in the room looked strange and wavering, as if viewed underwater. Coronas of light danced around everyone, but this wasn’t the time to study them. Travis unfolded the poster and held it where all could see.

Maudie stood—forgetting her cane in her surprise—and pressed both hands to her chest, her mouth wide-open. “I knew there was something curious about you, Mr. Wilder, something you were hiding. Only a man’s business is his own, so I never asked. But I knew it!”

Tanner’s expression was thoughtful. “No matter what Miss Lily says, I’m still the sheriff in this town. And last I knew, you were a wanted man in five states, Mr. Caine.”

Travis carefully folded the poster. “So are you going to arrest me, Sheriff?”

Tanner only grinned.