The Keep of Fire (47 page)

“Well, here goes nothing,” she said.

Travis strained against the hands that held him, but it was no use. His boots scraped against hard slate as they dragged him toward the heap of wood waiting beneath the standing stone.

Next time you’re sentenced to death, Travis, remember to ask what method they’re going to use. That way you can avoid these nasty little execution-day surprises
.

Amidst the crowd of gray robes, Travis glimpsed a pair of myopic brown eyes. Eriaun. The stout master wrung plump hands as Travis stumbled past. Then he
was lost to sight as the runespeakers closed the half circle behind Travis.

His captors thrust him toward the null stone, and all sounds receded, becoming muffled and indistinct, as if heard in a dream. His right hand itched, and he knew that if he tried to speak a rune, his tongue would cleave to the roof of his mouth.

He slipped on the sticks as his captors grabbed his shoulders and pressed him hard against the stone. Air rushed from his lungs in a sickening
whoosh
. Before he could move, they had bound him to the stone with thick lengths of braided cord. One of them jerked the gag away from his mouth. There was no danger of his speaking a rune now.

The runespeakers retreated, their gray robes melding with the others, and a queer peace stole over Travis. At least he didn’t need to decide what to do anymore.

Just a little while longer, Max. Then I’m going to burn, just like you did
.

“It is sunset. Let us be done with this.”

The voice was strong and carried even past the dullness surrounding the null stone, but the sound of it was weary all the same. Travis raised his head and saw two runespeakers standing in front of the others. One was Oragien, his white hair and beard fluttering on the listless breeze. The other was Master Larad. The shattered fragments of his face were arranged in an expression as lifeless as that of a statue.

Travis looked past Larad, searching for one kind, homely face—but there was no sign of Sky. However, he did see one who stood slightly apart from the others, as if reluctant to be close to them as they did this thing. Travis couldn’t see who it was—the hood of his gray robe was drawn up over his face—but maybe not all the runespeakers thought like Master Larad did.

Oragien leaned on his staff. “Do you understand
the crime for which you are to be punished, Master Wilder?”

Before Travis could speak another, harsher voice answered.

“He has defiled the runestone,” Larad said with a sneer. “The runestone, which is the heart of our tower and the source of all we are. His punishment has been decided.”

Oragien kept his gaze fixed on Travis. “Have you any words to speak before the end?”

Again Larad answered first. “He’s spoken enough lies already.”

This time the master’s words won a sharp glance from the All-master. The scar-faced man fell silent, but his eyes did not move from Travis. Somehow, Travis drew a scant breath of air into his lungs. He forced his voice to carry past the stillness that weighed over the stone.

“I’ve only told you the truth, Oragien.”

He could see the All-master’s frail hands grow white as they tightened around his staff. Oragien pressed his eyes shut but said nothing. Larad made a sharp motion with his hand. Two runespeakers moved forward, each holding a burning torch. They plunged the brands into the pile of sticks beneath Travis.

Instinct forced Travis’s body against the ropes that bound him, but they were far too strong to break. His mind screamed the rune
Sharn
. Water. But when his lips tried to form the word, the presence of the null stone pressed down on him like an iron weight. A curl of smoke wafted against his face, stinging his nose and throat. He turned his head away—

—and saw Grace Beckett standing beside the null stone.

Wonder replaced fear. How could Grace be there?

She looked just as he remembered her, clad in a
violet gown, her green-gold eyes as brilliant as summer gems. Except her hair was longer now, framing the fine, regal features of her face. But she seemed so pale, as if ill, and her expression was stricken. Why didn’t she speak to him?

“Grace!” he said, barely able to utter the word.

Still she did not speak. His first thought was that he was already dying, that this was one final hallucination brought on by smoke and pain. But the fire was still crackling its way upward through the wood, and when he blinked she was still there, standing just a few feet away.

No, not standing. He saw now that her form drifted above the ground, and while all things cast long shadows in the setting sun, she did not. Only then did he realize that he could see the faint outlines of rocks through her translucent body.

The heat was rising now, growing uncomfortable against his legs. More smoke drifted past his face, choking him. A few more seconds, then he would die. Was Grace dead as well? Was this her ghost coming to welcome him?

Not her ghost, Travis. Her spirit
.

In that second he understood everything. It was just like the circle of standing stones outside Calavere, when Grace had cast a spell on the conspirator’s knife, and had flown from her body to see the two would-be murderers speaking there. How he could see her vision-self he didn’t know. But once, in the petty kingdom of Kelcior, it had seemed as if his gunslinger’s spectacles had helped him see auras of light around Melia, Falken, and Beltan. Wasn’t a spirit like an aura?

There wasn’t time to think about it. All that mattered was that Grace had seen him here. And if it was anything like the last time, then she had glimpsed all of this days ago. Maybe even weeks. This was her future. Which meant …

You could be here, Grace. If you saw this happen, if you cared enough, you could be here
.

It was beyond desperate: a dying man’s fantasy. But if there was even one shard of possibility left for his existence, however small, he had to reach for it. Wasn’t that what Brother Cy had showed him?

But what do you do, Travis? Even if she saw you, even if she’s here, how do you help her help you?

His mind was blank. The heat rose to the threshold of pain—and moved beyond it. Smoke filled his eyes with tears, obscuring the ghostly vision of Grace. Then, like a whisper, words echoed in his brain.

The hand of Olrig will aid you.…

So that was what Jack had meant. He had to tell Grace—both then and now. A roaring filled Travis’s skull. There was no more time.

The fire leaped up, and he threw his head back to scream.

Grace stumbled after the young man in the brown robe, following him down a twisting staircase, nearly biting her tongue with each jarring step. She was tall, but the gray robe was still too large, and it caught around her ankles, threatening to trip her and send her tumbling down the steps.

There were so many questions she wanted to ask the other. What was his name? Why had he come to the cell? And what did he want? But even a single word had been nearly beyond him. Nor was there time to stop and chat. The young man was helping her try to save Travis—that was all she really needed to know.

The staircase ended, and they stood before a triangular opening as tall as three men. Hot crimson light
poured through, infusing the air like plasma. Grace stepped forward, then realized she was by herself. She looked back over her shoulder. The young man stood on the other side of the line between light and shadow.

“Aren’t you coming?”

He pointed to the ceiling, then brought his wrists together and snapped them apart.
I must help the others free the knights, my lady
.

Grace froze. Alone. How could she do this alone? Those men out there meant to murder Travis.

Get a grip on yourself, Doctor. Just change the gray robes to white coats and you’ve got a bunch of attending physicians who made a bad diagnosis. All you have to do is tell them the procedure they’re about to attempt is wrong. It’s not as if it’s something you haven’t done a hundred times
.

Grace sucked in a breath like a woman just taken off a respirator: alive, for the moment. She nodded to the young man, and he smiled. He moved his hands from his collar to the top of his head.
Pull your hood up, my lady
.

Grace did this, then looked up to see he was already gone. She turned and stepped into the light.

It took several blinks for her eyes to adjust to the full glare of sunset. The sharp summits of the Fal Erenn stabbed at the sky like black knives, and red light rained down. When she regained full vision, she saw that the last few runespeakers were falling into place in a semicircle thirty yards away. Grace picked up the hem of the robe and hastened after them. She fell in behind the last man just as he was stepping into place. There seemed no more room for her in the formation, so she stood a pace to one side and a pace back. Her heart thudded against her ribs, and she knew at any moment one of the runespeakers would turn toward her, point a finger, and shout the word
impostor
.

Instead, all faced forward as a weary voice spoke.

“It is sunset. Let us be done with this.”

Grace pushed her hood back an inch—just enough to get a clear view. Two runespeakers stood near the stone. One was Oragien. The other was the man she had seen at the gate last night, the one whose face had been rendered a broken mosaic by countless white scars.

Oragien’s voice drifted thinly over the plateau. “Do you understand the crime for which you are to be punished, Master Wilder?”

It was the scarred one who answered, his words like the lashes of a whip. “He has defiled the runestone. The runestone, which is the heart of our tower and the source of all we are. His punishment has been decided.”

Grace licked her lips. She had to do something. But what? Inside the sleeve of her robe she clutched the stone hand of Olrig. It had to be important—why else would the young man have given it to her? However, Grace had no idea what she was supposed to do with it, and time was running out. On the farside of the standing stone, two men stood ready with torches.

You’ve got to say something, Grace. Anything. It doesn’t matter—just so it makes them stop what they’re doing
.

Grace opened her mouth, but Oragien beat her.

“Have you any words to speak before the end?”

Again the scarred man answered for Travis. “He’s spoken enough lies already.”

This time a glare from Oragien silenced the scarred one.

“I’ve only told you the truth, Oragien,” a quiet voice said.

Travis gazed at the All-master. His face was ashen, his sandy hair dark and damp with sweat, but his gray eyes were calm behind his wire-rimmed spectacles. The hot wind snatched a whisper from Grace’s lips.

“Oh, Travis …”

Oragien hung his head, and the scarred man made a sharp gesture. The men with torches approached the standing stone. As they did, the scarred one moved back, his gray robe melding with those of the other runespeakers, and Grace lost sight of him. She looked back at Travis. Torches contacted dry wood. In seconds thick smoke rose upward.

Now, Grace. Just scream. Scream for them to stop
.

But this wasn’t a trauma room in the ED. Nor was this Castle Calavere. She was neither doctor nor duchess. Her commands would not be obeyed here.

Travis had turned his head away from the smoke, and now he seemed frozen. What was he doing? Then she saw his lips form a word, and she knew what it was.

Grace!

Shock coursed through her. So he
had
seen her—not her true self, but her vision-self.

Which means you weren’t supposed to be there, Grace
.

This thought filled her with sudden hope. She had not failed her destiny after all. Instead, she could still shape it. But she had only seconds now. Travis’s body went rigid with pain. He threw his head back, and just as had happened in the vision, a scream ripped itself from him.

“Olrig’s hand will save me!”

Grace started to step forward, to throw herself on the heap and beat the flames back with her body if she had to. Hard fingers gripped her arm, halting her.

“The hand!” a dagger-sharp voice hissed in her ear.

She turned and stared into a pair of dark eyes set deep in a shattered face.

“What are you waiting for?” the scarred man spat. “The hand of Olrig—throw it to him! The rune of runes bound into it will counter the power of the null stone.”

For a frozen moment Grace stared in mute confusion. Then, like a needle, understanding pierced the dull membrane that shrouded her mind.
Olrig’s hand will save me
. It was not a plea to a god for help. It was a set of instructions. She stepped forward, drew the stone hand from her sleeve, and threw it toward the flames at Travis’s feet.

Grace had never been the athletic type; this time her aim was perfect. The runespeakers stared as sparks flew up where the hand landed on the burning wood. Travis looked down, a fierce grin added to the pain upon his face, then he spoke a word just as the sun dipped beneath the western mountains.

“Reth.”

The fire was snuffed out, and a crash like thunder rolled across the plateau. Then the arc of the rising full moon cleared an escarpment, and by its cool light Grace saw a scene that made her gasp as one with the runespeakers.

Travis stepped away from the pile of half-burnt sticks, trailing the ropes that had bound him, his face smudged with soot. Behind him, the standing stone lurched at an odd angle. A deep crack ran through its center; the stone was broken.

“Yes!” a voice whispered behind Grace. “By Olrig, yes!”

Grace cast a stunned glance back at the scarred man. The shattered fragments of his face had rearranged themselves into an expression of triumph. Grace didn’t try to understand. Instead she ran toward Travis. He stared at her, his gray eyes confused. Then she laughed and threw back her hood. Now his eyes went wide behind his spectacles, and he staggered toward her.

“Grace?”

“I’m here, Travis. I’m really here.”

Tears made tracks down his fire-darkened cheeks.
“Grace,” he said, and threw his arms around her. “You came.”