Lor Mandela - Destruction from Twins (20 page)

Kahlie nodded obediently.

The second Gracielle
stepped into their room and shut the door, Jonathan began. “Will
you please tell me what is going on?” His voice was eerily calm—but
that didn't last very long. “I have been dealing with chaos . . .
and mud . . . and pain . . . and
death for
more than forty-eight hours, Gracielle, AND I am not in the mood
for guessing games!
” His voice was now a
roar.

Gracielle's instinctive reaction was to yell
back—he had no idea what she'd been through either—but she realized
that there were more important things to worry about at present.
Audril was in very real danger, and she knew it. “I think that
Darian overheard me talking about the Advantiere.”

“Talking? To who?” Jonathan was still
fuming, but at least he wasn't yelling anymore.

“Um . . . uh . . . to myself,” she
stammered. “I was thinking out loud—reading the Advantiere. I said
that Darian might have an advantage over us because he has Ryannon,
but I also said something like ‘at least he doesn't have Audril,
and that makes him powerless.’”

“You said that?” Jonathan didn't seem quite
convinced. “And what makes you so sure that he heard you?”

“Right after I said it,”
she explained, “there was a crash in the hallway. Not only that,
but I am
sure
I
closed the door when I went into that room—I never leave the door
to the Advantiere room open. Anyway, I heard the crash in the hall,
and when I went to go see what it was, the door was cracked
open.”

Jonathan thought for a moment. “I suppose
that would explain why he was rushing away.”

“Exactly,” she sighed. “We need to assign
more guards to Audril right away!” Gracielle was clearly
worried.

Jonathan nodded. “I’ll see to it,” He
replied, his tone far more comforting now. “You know I've never
trusted Darian. I don't think he'd be stupid enough to try
anything, though. If he finds out much more, however, it might be
too much of a temptation for him.” He looked into his entrusted’s
frightened eyes. “Don't worry, Graci. I'll assign our best guards.
Darian won’t be allowed within a mile of our little girl!” He stood
to leave, but stopped on his way out and kissed Gracielle's cheek.
“I'm sorry I yelled.”

Meanwhile, back at Trysta Palace, Ultara had
undergone the altering process again—to restore her appearance to
normal. She told Glaron about the fiasco of a meeting, and how he
would have to be the one that Gracielle confided in after all. They
were sitting together, wrapping up a few loose ends before she
headed back to bed, when suddenly, she stopped talking and jumped
to her feet. “Glaron,” she gasped, “do you know how the Grasping
Curse was delivered to Cristoph and Jocelynne?”

“Uh . . . no,” he answered, “no one does.
The people who received it are . . . well, they’re dead.”

“But Gracielle said something this morning!
She said that the paper the curse was on was incriminating.”

“Yeah . . . so?” Glaron didn't see where
this was going.

“What would make a piece of paper
incriminating, Glaron?” she asked.

“I dunno. I guess if it was your personal
stationery, or had your fingerprints all over it, or if it had your
seal on it, or . . . .”

“Exactly!” she
interrupted. “It would be pretty conclusive that I was the murderer
if
my
seal was on
the paper! Why didn't I realize it before?”

“Realize what?”

“Glaron, do you remember that general who we
were going to have executed for treason about two years ago? Oh . .
. what was his name? It started with an O, I think?”

“General Omer?” Glaron recalled.

“Yes! Omer . . . Blansten discovered that
he'd been spying for Brashnell . . . taking Trysta intelligence
directly to Darian.”

Glaron interjected, “Yeah, a lot of people
were disappointed when he escaped. He wasn't what you'd call a
popular fella.”

“The morning that Cristoph and Jocelynne
were murdered, I was at Mandela Palace checking on Gracielle,”
Ultara explained.

“I remember.”

“It was also the morning Nenia disappeared.
Jonathan was acting strange. I thought he and Gracielle were
fighting or something. I figured I’d give them a moment alone, so I
went to the dining room to get some food.”

“And?” Glaron still didn't know what the
point was, but it was clear that Ultara had one.

“I was returning to their chambers when I
was given the note about Nenia. Guess who delivered it to me?”

Glaron shook his head.

“It was Omer! He handed me a note . . . said
it was urgent . . . so I opened it right then and there. It was
just a blank piece of paper. He acted like it was an accident.” She
looked at Glaron, then continued, “He took the blank paper back,
handed me the note about Nenia, and then ran off. My fingerprints
would have been all over that paper. If he acted quickly, he would
have had time to apply the grasping curse and my seal to the
paper.”

“But, I thought that heiress seals had to be
pressed on by the actual . . . um . . . heiress,” Glaron
questioned.

“That’s what most people think, but in
reality, it's the fingerprint that creates the seal, not pressure
applied by a specific person. Darian knows this. He and I discussed
it.”

“So you think that Darian sent his spy to
kill Cristoph and Jocelynne and frame you for doing it?”

“Exactly.”

Glaron furrowed his brow pensively. “But,
how did he even know you were going to be there that morning?”

“I don't know.” She thought for a minute.
“Wait,” she blurted, “Omer knew. My calling was supposed to be that
day. I'd briefed all of the generals on my mother's death the night
before. I gave them all assignments to help with the transition and
told them that I would be going to Mandela Palace in the morning
and that when I returned I'd be expecting a status report from each
of them.”

“Whoa,” Glaron sighed, “but surely Darian
couldn't foresee a rynolt attack, unless . . . .”

Ultara sank down into a
chair at her side. “Unless a rynolt didn't attack my daughter . . .
but
he
did! Oh,
no,” she breathed, “he's doing it, Glaron! He's just waiting for
the perfect opportunity. He's going to . . . he knew if he divided
us . . . .”

“What Ultara? What's he doing?” Glaron asked
anxiously.

“He’s going to attack Mandela City.”

“What?” Glaron exclaimed, “What makes you
think he would do that? It would be crazy for him to go against
Mandela! Jonathan has a massive army.”

“So does he,” she replied.
“Listen, Glaron, I know Darian. As soon as he sees an opportune
moment, he
will
attack. We're just fortunate it hasn't happened
already.”

“But what makes you think so?” he tried
again.

“When Darian and I were together, we came up
with a plan. We were going to join forces after I became vritesse
and attack Mandela City. It would give us control over all of Lor
Mandela.”

“And if you never became vritesse?” Glaron
questioned.

“We had a plan for that as well. Listen, I'm
not proud of this, Glaron. It actually all started out as a joke .
. . a 'what if' kind of scenario. But then we both got wrapped up
in it. I don't think Darian's ever let go of the possibility. If he
murdered Cristoph and Jocelynne and pinned me for it, his intention
clearly was to divide the Mandelans and the Trystas. And why else
would he do that, except to divide and conquer?”

“But then why hasn't he done anything yet?”
Glaron asked. “Cristoph and Jocelynne were killed almost five years
ago.”

“I don't know. He must be waiting for
something . . . but what?” She dropped her head into her hands.
“Unless,” she looked back up at Glaron, her golden eyes as big as
he had ever seen them. “What if Jonathan did tell him about the
Advantiere? What if he knows that it has to be solved by or for
Audril, and what if he knows about the twins?” Her eyes grew wide.
“If he knew about the twins, he'd know that he needs Nenia . . .
alive.”

“What are you saying, Ultara?”

“Maybe the reason he
hasn't attacked yet is because he hasn't been able to get his hands
on Audril. And maybe he didn't actually kill Nenia, but just took
her so that
he'd
have both of the twins.”

Glaron felt a little overwhelmed. If Ultara
was right, then Darian was plotting something that would lead the
people of Lor Mandela to a world wide war.

“Hold on,” he sighed, “that still doesn't
explain what he's waiting for. I mean, if I were someone like
Darian and knew that I just needed one particular person to control
the world, I'd do everything in my power to get that person. As far
as I know, there's never been an attempt to abduct the atoh. I'm
sure her mother would have told me if there had been.”

Ultara looked away and muttered, “Surely he
understands that the planet is dying. Would he risk losing
everything just so he can wait for the right moment?” She turned
back to Glaron and shook her head. “I don't know, Glaron. But
Darian has always boasted about his patience. Maybe he's just
waiting for us to solve the Advantiere for him . . . or something
like that. You're right, though. He would do everything he could to
get her.” She ran her hand through her hair and let out an
exasperated sigh. “No, he's got to be holding out for a reason . .
. but what?”

Glaron shrugged his shoulders. “It could be
anything! At any rate, I have to warn Gracielle about Darian.”

“Yes. Tomorrow night when you meet her, and
make sure you tell her about Omer, too.”

I
t was about four o'clock the following morning when it
started, and there was not a resident of Lor Mandela who did not
hear it. At first, it was deep and quiet—coming from somewhere far,
far away. But as the day progressed, the sound grew. . . and grew.
. . and grew. By midday, the entire planet was immersed in a loud,
mournful, haunting moan that seemed to be coming from the very
center of the world. Every person—and in fact, every living thing
on Lor Mandela—was set on edge. The sound was unrelenting . . .
unceasing. . .
unnerving. Ultara knew what
it meant, as did Gracielle. They knew that the planet didn't have
much time left to live. It was groaning in pain as it struggled to
maintain the last anemic fragments of its remaining
life.

The day developed only to cold and dreary.
The sky was dull and colorless with an icy, sickly, green fog
hanging just over the dark horizon.

In Brashnell, Darian sat with his back to an
enormous, heavily carved, wooden desk, staring out the window at
the bleak scene. “Audril . . .” he mumbled to himself, “without
Audril I am . . . powerless? Why? Why would a small child be so
important to me?” He lowered his face into his hands. “Without
Audril . . . .” he moaned.

A sudden rustling outside drew his
attention. He stood and walked to the large glass door across the
room.

“Audril . . . .” he breathed again shaking
his head.

He opened the door and stepped out into a
large courtyard surrounded by tall, columnar trees. He shivered,
and pulled the dark green jacket he wore tightly around him. “Well,
where are you, you wretched animal?”

The trees directly in front of him started
to shake and sway.

“Come on!” he demanded.

The trees rustled again throwing hundreds of
tiny leaves twisting through the misty air; at the bottom of the
trees, the massive leg of an animal suddenly appeared.

The leg was charcoal grey, thick and strong
like a huge plow horse, and easily five feet high. Jutting out from
the shimmering black hoof were three, long, curved claws that
clicked noisily on the gravel ground. The trees shook violently
once more, and through them burst the rest of the enormous animal,
thrashing its head and prancing nervously.

“Syltar! Relax!” Darian commanded.

The animal approached and lowered his
dragon-like head.

Darian reached out and patted him firmly on
the neck. “Calm yourself, my pet.”

The planet moaned again and Syltar reared up
onto his muscular hind legs. The huge, black wings that normally
rested at his side like a vampire’s cloak, unfolded and slashed at
the air.

“All right, then . . . here!” Darian reached
behind a green hedge near the door and lifted out a small cage. A
little creature zipped around in the cage, screeching wildly.

Syltar reared up again, and roared with
excitement.

Darian pulled the small, furry animal from
the cage and threw it forcefully skyward.

Syltar watched with his foggy, icy, grey
eyes as his prey flew high above him. Once it began to descend, he
unfolded his enormous jagged wings, bounded upward and hung in the
air just a few inches from the ground. He snatched the little
animal in his front teeth, and shook it ferociously back and forth.
Then he tossed it back up, and caught it again. Once more, he shook
it and hurled it upward; only this time, as it came down, he opened
his strong jaws wide, and swallowed the now limp animal in one
noisy gulp.

Darian smiled. “Very good. Now, Syltar, will
you please calm down and let me think?”

Again a loud groan lifted from the depths of
the planet.

Syltar fidgeted a bit in the air but seemed
to calm fairly quickly; he lowered to the ground with a thud.

“Frolnisk blood,” Darian oozed, “works every
time.”

Syltar's eyes fluttered shut and loud blasts
of air snorted out of his nostrils. He staggered a bit, and then
collapsed into a large dark heap.