Call of Brindelier (Keepers of the Wellsprings Book 3) (15 page)

The moment I make the decision to let go of it for certain, relief washes over me. I bow to the two remaining sentries.

“Thank you,” I whisper. Without a glance behind me, I turn to walk the golden path.

Leaving my sword behind is easier than I would have thought. With every step away from it, I feel lighter. The path ahead is dappled with sunlight that dances over the stones, making me feel as though I’m walking across a golden pool. It reminds me of the glimpse of Kythshire’s wellspring that I caught years ago. The familiarity of it soothes me. I don’t worry about being weaponless. For some reason, I’m at peace with that now.

The path ends at a curtain of vines bearing fragrant blooms of white and yellow. I take a deep breath and gently push them aside to step through.

The air here is much thicker with magic. Towering in the distance is the closed bud of the queen’s palace. The ever-rising sun casts a sharp shadow of it across the forest ahead and tumbles onto soft, green grass. The scene would be lovely were it not for the rocky chasm which slices the earth at my toes, barring my access to the other side.

I yelp and jump back, clinging to the vines to steady myself as vertigo sets in from being so close to the cliff’s edge.

“Flitt?” I venture, remembering her promise to meet me on the other side. My heart sinks when I’m met with silence. I’m not finished yet. I need to face this alone, too.

There is no bridge across, that I can see. Thinking I could possibly climb down the cliff face, I hold tight to the vines and lean forward. I can’t see the bottom due to a thick, swirling mist quite a way down. The rock face of the chasm is sheer, with no place to grip and climb. If there’s water beneath the mist, I think, that presents another problem.

I remember my first trip to Kythshire with Rian. When he realized anything was possible there, he was able to soar through the air.

“Always with the flying,” I murmur, my heart racing. Reluctantly, I let go of the vines and edge myself to the lip of the chasm. I close my eyes and imagine myself floating up.

“Huh,” I say with a hint of relief when nothing happens. I don’t relish the thought of flying, anyway.

I pace along the edge, looking for anything that might help me cross. It’s certainly too far to jump it, even if I had a pole for leverage. I peer across to the other side, and that’s when I see the lever. Standing beside it is a squat, round old man with shiny red cheeks and a beard that grows to his toes.

“Hello, sir!” I call across to him, but he doesn’t seem to hear me. He just stands by the lever, his hand ready to pull it. I run until I’m directly across from him, and wave my arms. His gaze is set straight ahead. He doesn’t seem to see me, either. “Good day!” I shout louder. His only reply is to rock back on his feet and whistle merrily.

“Could you pull that lever, please?” I shout.

He cocks his head to the side and cups a hand around his ear.

“I said could you pull the lever?” I yell as loud as I can.

His only reply is to shrug and start up again with the whistling. I groan in annoyance and shake my head. I know where this is going. They’ve been pushing me to it since I arrived here.

I focus on the man and reach my thoughts out to him. In my mind, I conjure the idea of golden strings. The rush of magic floods through me and bursts forth easily. The strings loop around the man’s hand. His eyes go even more vacant than they had been. He grips the lever, guided by my golden threads, and pulls it up.

The ground beneath my feet starts to rumble. I fall back against the vines and hold them tightly as a massive bridge scrapes and thunders up the chasm wall. The golden threads break. Across the way, the man shakes his head in confusion. The rush of magic fades, leaving me feeling empty and tired.

The bridge looks sturdy enough as it settles into place, but there are no rails or ropes along the side. It’s simply a slab of stone just wide enough for one person to cross over. I hesitate only for a moment before I step carefully onto its smooth, slippery surface.

I take my time in my effort to keep from slipping into the endless chasm below. I’m so busy concentrating on not falling that I don’t notice when the man across the way scowls and slams the lever down again. The bridge beneath me shifts and rumbles and starts its descent. I drop onto my stomach and try hard to cling to the stone, but there’s no place to grip the wet, smooth surface.

“Stop!” I scream. On the edge of the chasm, the man rocks casually back and forth on his heels. I reach out again with the golden strings and grasp his hand. The lever goes up. The bridge reverses. When it stops at the top again, I get to my feet. I brush my fear aside and sprint the rest of the way. The golden strings break, and the man scowls and pushes the lever down one last time. The bridge rumbles and quakes. I close my eyes, leap from several paces away, and land with a thud in the cushion of soft grass on the other side.

The bridge disappears into the mist of the chasm, and I roll onto my side, gasping for breath. Beside me, the man continues to rock and whistle as though nothing has happened. I glare up at him.

“You could have killed me,” I yell. He tilts his head just slightly and stops whistling.

“Someone there?” he asks vaguely.

“This is nonsense,” I grumble. “What kind of place has an old man who can’t see or hear guard their only means of entry?”

“Best keep your temper if you’re off to see the Queen,” the man snickers.

“Can you hear me or not?” I push myself to my feet.

“What’s that?” he asks. He looks away from me, grinning. I get the sense that he can hear just fine, he’s just being difficult.

“If you can hear me, why didn’t you push the lever when I asked you to?”

“You’ll find the gate through the trees there,” he says without bothering to acknowledge my question. “Best hurry up now, mustn’t keep them waiting. Good day,” he says merrily, and promptly vanishes.

Tib

Mold and filth. Rot. Decay. Waste. Blood.

The stench is overwhelming. My nose comes to before the rest of me. My stomach follows, churning. Next, the pain. My head is ready to split. My ears are ringing. My heart is racing. I want to jump up and run, but I don’t. I lie still. I take stock of myself, one bit at a time. Head throbbing. Shoulders sore, but working. Arms? Muscles twitching. Hands? Bound. Legs? Bound. Feet? Seem okay. I take a deep breath and something scratches my lips. A bag over my head. Rough, like burlap.

I force myself not to panic or move. Instead I try to figure out where I am.

It’s dark, but that could be the burlap.

I’m lying on something hard. The floor. It’s cold. Wet.

I’m not alone. Nearby, someone sobs. A girl.

Celli. My stomach churns again, this time with anger. He got her, too.

“He’s awake. Get him up,” a deep voice orders.

I try to fight, but the men that lift me by my arms are too strong. They set me on my feet. They pull off the burlap and my eyes sting as I blink into the sudden torch light. The first thing I notice when my eyes adjust is Celli, tied up just like me, slumped against a wall. Her head’s bagged up, too. The same type of bag the Sorcerer put Eron’s in. I shiver when I remember the blood dripping from it as he held it, watching the fight. Celli’s shivering, too. It’s cold in here.

There’s something else. A void. I can’t feel Celli or the men holding me. It’s like they don’t exist. The room is strange. A cell, with walls of dark, hammered metal. The floor is metal, too, and slick with water mixed with blood. My blood, probably. Some of Celli’s too, I’d bet.

A shift in the shadows beside me catches my eye. A man, all dressed in black. Handles of knives glint along his torso. One eye is covered with a patch. Visions of my past flash in my memory. This man, throwing knives into a post, guarding a place I needed to get into. This man, chasing me into the shack, closing in on me, screaming as Mevyn’s spear plunged into his eye. I remember him from that night. Dub.

His lip curls into a sneer as he sees the recognition cross my face. He grabs me by the front of the collar and lifts my feet from the floor.

“Been waiting to see you for some time, Tib Nullen. We’ve got a score to settle,” he growls through clenched teeth. “What’s it they say? An eye for an eye?”

I hear his knife sliding from its sheath. With his free hand, he presses its sharp point to my lower eyelid. I don’t dare fight. If it were to move even the slightest bit…

I glance at Celli as Dub bears down with his blade and the other two men tighten their hold on me. I could slip into the half-realm and grab her. I don’t have the ability to move from place to place like Azi and Rian do, but I could at least hide us both until we could figure out a way out of here.

The problem is the step. I always step into it, like Mevyn taught me to. A step through the cobwebs, into hiding. I wonder, as Dub presses harder and a bead of blood drips down my cheek, whether I could do it without actually stepping.

I squeeze my eyes shut and try, but nothing happens. No shift. No cobwebs. It’s empty. Like it doesn’t exist. I think of Mevyn in Sunteri. Of Valenor in the dreaming. I have always felt like they were nearby, like they would come if I ever needed them. Like I had their protection, somehow. If I called out to them, would they hear me? Could they help? Do I dare try it and risk them coming to this place?

“Enough,” a different voice barks from outside.

Dub lowers his blade with a grunt of annoyance and we both look toward the door.

The man there is a Sorcerer, obviously. The Mark creeping across his forehead announces that proudly. He’s very tall and thin, and his gray robes hang on his frame. His skin is white. His hair is white. When he turns his head slightly, I see the point of his ear. Elf.

I swallow the lump in my throat. All the elves I’ve met have been peaceful, gentle, and kind. They respect magic. They’re good. This Sorcerer is a walking contradiction. It’s disturbing. Confusing. My breath catches. I can’t stop staring at him. He notices. His lips curve into a graceful, terrible smile.

Through the bars of the cell he watches me with a mix of curiosity, fear, and something else. A need to own. To control. It makes me feel like an animal in a cage. Right away I know what he’s after. He wants to keep me. Tame me. I’ll die before I let him.

“Bring him,” he orders, “and the girl.”

Dub crosses and hefts Celli up. He doesn’t let her walk. Instead, he slings her over his shoulder. She doesn’t squirm or fight. She must be scared or hurt, because that’s not the Celli I know. The two holding me lift me up too, so my toes drag along the floor as they carry me into the hallway.

As soon as I cross the threshold I feel the shift. The magic assaults me so much that I can’t breathe. It seeps in from every crevice of this place, strong and powerful. Wards. Spells. Shadows. Power. Darkness. Death. Waking. Desire. Manipulation. Sorcery. I feel all of it pressing in around me, taking up the air, drowning out the sound. I’m sure nobody else notices the sudden flood of arcane power. Celli doesn’t. She just lies limp.

I try hard to catch my breath and notice the Sorcerer watching me again with that same curiosity. He sees how it affects me. I can almost hear him thinking about how he can use my abilities for his own twisted cause, whatever that might be.

It makes me furious. If my arms weren’t tied, I’d fight them all. I’d wring his skinny white neck. They try to drag me forward, but I refuse to be meek like Celli. I don’t care that my legs are tied. I squirm and kick and swing my bound hands. With my heels I bash one guy in the kneecap. With my fists clenched together I slam the other in the nose.

They both curse and throw me onto the floor. One of them presses his knee to the back of my neck.

“Try that again,” he barks into my ear, “and I’ll gut you.”

“Now, now, Jin, no need to be barbaric. Yet.” The Sorcerer laughs softly. Jin presses his knee harder into my neck. The elf steps closer. His soft boots come to rest right at the tip of my nose. I look past them, into the cell across from the one I was just dragged from. A dozen terrified faces stare back at me. Two of them I recognize. Griff. Mikken. So this is where they ended up.

“Come now,” the Sorcerer’s tone is quiet and dark, “Tib, if you will agree to come peacefully, I shall allow your bindings removed.”

“Back off,” I scream and spit on his boot. “I don’t bargain with Sorcerers!”

“Have it your way,” he laughs and walks away. Jin, or at least I assume it’s Jin, grabs me by the hair and whacks my head hard on the stone floor.

When I wake up again, I’m propped against a wall in a room like the first one. Another cell, except this one has stone walls instead of metal. It’s empty except for the mirror in the center of it, and Celli next to me. Her head rests on my shoulder. The bag’s off her now. We’re all tied up together. Her left wrist is tied to my right wrist, and my right ankle is tied to her left one. Our other arms and legs are shackled to chains that attach to a ring in the floor in front of us.

I’m not sure if she’s awake until I hear her sniffle. My shoulder is wet. I wonder how long we’ve been here. How long she’s been crying.

“Celli?” I whisper. She shakes her head slightly.

“Don’t,” she warns, “they’ll hear.”

Now that she knows I’m awake, she sits up and moves away from me as far as the ropes will allow.

“Who are they?” I ask her. She shakes her head again.

“Just do what they say,” she says wearily. “Whatever they say. Please. They said if you don’t do what they want, they’ll kill me.”

Her eyes meet mine and the fear in them makes me look away, to the mirror in the center of the room.

It’s magical. I can feel the flow of it shimmering on the surface of the glass. It feels like a portal, or a way of seeing more than what there is. As I watch it, the reflection of the stone wall across from it changes. I nudge Celli and point.

“Look,” I whisper. “It’s Nessa’s house.”

She and I crawl closer and peer in at the scene that unfolds. It’s sunset. Nearly dusk. A dark form passes by in the street. A gloved hand emerges from dark robes and conjures a ball of fire. With a flick of a wrist, the fire bursts forth. It smashes through the windowpane into the Ganvents’ dining room. The figure vanishes as the fire catches. Black smoke billows from the window. The fire spreads through the first floor quickly. The windows of the sitting room shatter into the streets.

“It’s a trick,” I whisper. “It has to be. It can’t be real.” I watch in horror. I can almost smell the smoke. That’s when I see her in the upstairs window. Saesa. She throws the shutters open and looks down into the street. Emmie is beside her, crying. Saesa shakes her head. Scoops up Emmie. Ducks back inside.

“Saesa!” I scream and fight the chains that hold me back. It’s really happening, I’m sure of it. It isn’t a spell or an illusion. I’d know it if it was. That mirror is a portal. If I can get through it, I can save them. “Help me, Celli!” I shout and yank at the chains with all of my strength. Celli does her best, but we aren’t strong enough to break the bonds.

The flames lick higher in the Ganvent manse. The fire brigade comes, but they’re close to useless with their buckets and pumps.

“Where are the Mages?” Celli grunts as we try again to pull the chain link from the loop in the floor. “They’re always there to stop a fire.”

I don’t answer. I’m too caught up in the scene in the mirror, where some of the brigade rescue emerges from the house. Two of them carry Nessa. Her dress is black and burnt, her skin covered in soot. They wrap her in blankets and run off with her. Probably to the Conclave. More of them come out. They get Ruben, Garsi… both are coughing and black as coal. Both get wrapped up and raced off to the healers. I wait and watch, but two more men come out empty-handed. One shakes his head at the other. The house crumbles into itself.

“No!” I scream again, “Saesa!”

I charge at the mirror until my wrist and ankle are bloody and raw, until Celli finally pulls me back and shakes some sense into me.

“She’s fine, she got out. I’m sure she got out, Tib. There’s a back door, right?” She forces me to look away from the mirror, to look at her instead. “Right?” she whispers again.

“Right,” I say hoarsely. “She got out. She had to.”

I look again at the mirror and see something curious. Zeze, just her face, just a flash, looking right at me. Our eyes meet, and the mirror goes black.

“Curious,” the voice of the Sorcerer hisses around us. “He is not immune to visions of what might come to pass.”

The elf Sorcerer steps through the mirror. He’s dressed the same as the figure that sent the fireball through Nessa’s window.

“No bargains with Sorcerers, you say?” he laughs. “Did my little scene convince you, perhaps, that it might be prudent to consider a slight exception to your policy, Dreamstalker Tib? Who knows what may happen, if you refuse.”