The Keep of Fire (48 page)

She stiffened, knowing she should push him away, should examine his legs to determine how severely they were burned so she could prescribe the proper treatment. But she let herself melt against him instead. This was a kind of healing as well.

A murmur rose from the gathering of runespeakers, and both Grace and Travis looked up.

Oragien stared at the broken stone. “This is impossible.…”

“No, All-master, it is not.”

Another runespeaker approached, thin scars gleaming in the light of the moon.

“Master Larad,” Travis said.

Larad cast a feral grin at him, then looked back at Oragien. “Too often we have called something impossible when what we really meant was we were afraid to try.”

Another runespeaker approached: a plump little man with small, blurry eyes. He clasped and unclasped his hands. “But what does this mean for Master Wilder’s punishment?”

Master Larad let out a chuckle. “Do not fear, Master Eriaun.” Now he raised his voice so all could hear. “The null stone has cracked. The old laws speak clearly on this: The judgment is void, and Master Wilder is free. Go back to the tower and think on what has happened until we meet again for chorus!”

The runespeakers muttered among themselves, then several of them turned and walked slowly back to the tower. More followed, and more, disappearing through the tower gate, until the plateau was nearly empty.

“You understood my message, Grace.” Travis lifted an object he had been holding: the stone hand. “You realized this would help me break the null stone.”

“Actually, I didn’t.” She glanced at Master Larad.

Travis frowned. “But I don’t understand.”

Oragien leaned on his staff. “Nor do I.”

“I knew the statue of Olrig was as ancient as the null stone,” Larad said, “that both were forged by the Runelords of Malachor. And I suspected that the rune of runes bound into the hand would counter the rune of silence bound into the null stone. For the Allrune is supreme above all other runes. That is why I had Sky give the hand to your friend.”

“But why?” Travis said. Gently, he disentangled himself from Grace. “I thought you wanted me dead. Why did you help me?”

“For the same reason I did my best to convince you to break the runestone—to wake my brethren, to show them that nothing is impossible if we haven’t tried it, to make them give up the shadows of the past so that we can learn anew for ourselves. That is how the Runespeakers will regain their place in Falengarth—not by one runelord’s hand, but by the hands of all of us.”

Oragien’s face was grim as wind-worn stone. “You might have spoken to me, Master Larad.”

The harshness crept back into Larad’s voice. “Yes? And what would you have said, All-master?”

Oragien clenched the staff. “You mentioned the old laws, Master Larad. They speak clearly on this matter as well. I do not know if what you have wrought is for good or for ill. I will hazard that likely it will be for both. But either way you will be punished for these acts.”

Now the sharpness fled Larad’s face. “I know,” he said.

Grace stepped toward Larad, but before she could ask him more—why he had given her the stone hand, and why Larad had not used it himself—several figures appeared in the tower’s gate, then ran across the plateau.

“Travis!” a bright voice called.

Travis looked up, then laughed. “Beltan!”

The blond knight was the first to reach them, followed closely by Durge, Aryn, and Lirith leading Tira. Behind them came a crooked figure in a brown robe.

“I knew you’d return to us,” Beltan said. He threw his arms around Travis. “I knew it.”

The two men embraced as the others laid their hands on Travis’s shoulders. Finally, Travis stepped back and cast a smile toward the mute young man.

“Sky—I should have known you had a part in all this.”

The young man bowed low.
You’re welcome, Master Travis
.

Durge eyed the smoldering pile of sticks and the broken standing stone. “What has happened here?”

“That is a question I would very much like to hear the answer to,” a shimmering voice spoke.

All looked up to see two figures step out of a shadow and into the moon-drenched twilight. Grace’s heart fluttered in her chest, but it was wonder and not fear that filled her.

Oragien made a stiff bow in the direction of the regal, amber-eyed lady in blue and the man with silver-shot hair and one black glove. “Lady Melia, Master Falken. It is good you have returned.”

Grace searched but found she had no words that could possibly express her feelings. By the looks—and silence—of the others, they were in a similar predicament.

Melia glided forward, her blue kirtle whispering. “Well, I see you’re causing trouble as usual, Travis.”

Grace could see Travis’s wince. Falken’s low, musical laugh rose on the evening air.

“By the gods,” the bard said, “it’s good to see all of you again.”

Now Melia smiled, her amber eyes glowing. “Oh, Travis.”

She pressed her cheek against his chest. He blinked, then sighed and folded his arms around her. Finally, she pulled away and moved to Grace.

“My dear one, you’re more beautiful than ever.”

Grace didn’t know what she could possibly say, so she hugged Melia tightly instead.

“All right, dear. You mustn’t break me.”

“Sorry,” Grace murmured, releasing the small woman. Grace seemed to have only two modes for expressing affection: off and maximum power.

“Of course, dear.” Melia smoothed her kirtle, then she paused and moved toward Lirith and Tira. She knelt before the girl. “And who is this?”

“Her name is Tira,” Grace said, but before she could say anything more, the girl flung her arms around Melia’s neck and pressed her lips against the coppery skin of the lady’s cheek.

“Yes, dear, I love you, too,” Melia murmured.

Apparently satisfied by these words, Tira let go and pressed her small body against Lirith’s skirts once more.

Grace marveled at the girl’s unusual display, but she could wonder about it later. “Melia, Falken,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

Melia gestured to them all. “Why, we’ve been waiting for you, of course.”

“That’s right,” Falken said. “And it’s about time you’re all here. We have to go find Krondisar.”

At dawn, two days after the full of the moon, the companions gathered beneath the Gray Tower of the Runespeakers to continue their journey east. Travis was amazed at how quickly they fell into their old traveling routines.

“I’ll get the horses ready,” Beltan said.

“Of course you will, dear,” Melia said, her coppery skin glowing in the warm morning light.

Falken glanced at Melia with faded blue eyes. “So, are you sure you know how to find this place?”

“Don’t you trust me?”

“Not entirely. Why?”

The amber-eyed lady folded her arms across the bodice of her blue kirtle. “I’m sure I’ll manage.”

Travis pushed his spectacles higher on his nose. “So, where is it that you want to go?”

Both the bard and the lady turned looks of displeasure on him. “Please don’t interrupt us while we’re having a discussion, Travis.”

He sighed as the two bent their heads together to speak in low voices. “Here we go again.”

However, his sigh phased into a laugh as he caught Grace’s brilliant green-gold eyes. She laughed as well, and at their combined mirth Falken and Melia halted their conversation and looked up.

“What’s so funny?” Falken said with a frown.

“Oh, you wouldn’t understand,” Travis said, then he linked arms with Grace, and the two strode after Beltan to the stable.

“Someone’s getting just a trifle pert, isn’t he?” Melia said behind them.

Falken’s only answer was a snort. Travis leaned his head against Grace’s, and she clutched his elbow as she shook with glee.

“I’ve missed you, Grace.”

“I know.”

Besides his laughter, there were other differences between this journey and the trek Travis had made once with Falken, Melia, and Beltan from the Winter Wood to Calavere. For one, Durge moved to help Beltan with the horses, the Embarran knight’s chain mail absorbing the sunlight while the Calavaner’s reflected it. For another, Aryn stood near Melia and Falken, and while the baroness seemed both paler and quieter than Travis remembered, her sapphire eyes were even brighter.

With Grace and Aryn had come two Travis didn’t know. In some ways Lirith reminded him of Melia. Both had black hair and mysterious smiles. However, Lirith’s tresses fell in tight coils about her shoulders, unlike Melia’s smooth, midnight wave, and Melia’s skin was copper, while Lirith’s reminded Travis of dark, polished wood. And while Melia’s mysteries were as distant as stars in the night sky, Lirith’s were shadowed and inviting, like a cool, deep cave beckoning in a blazing desert.

Then there was the other Travis did not know. He searched with his eyes, then found her perched on a rock apart from the others, cradling a small object in
her arms. Yesterday, Travis had listened as Grace told the harrowing story of their journey to the Gray Tower, including the events in Falanor. Several times Travis tried to introduce himself to Tira, but on each occasion the girl turned from him, circled her arms around Grace’s or Lirith’s neck, and hid her half-scarred face behind a cascade of fiery red hair.

Now Tira looked up, and Travis caught her eyes—one perfectly formed, the other drooping in the melted ruin that was the right side of her face. He froze. For a second, as had happened once before in the ruins of Kelcior, it seemed an aura of light shone around each of his companions.

The aura about Grace was as green-gold as her eyes, although muted, and dimmer than he would have thought. In turn, Aryn’s aura was sapphire blue and so bright he could hardly look in her direction, while Lirith’s was as warm as honey in sunlight. Durge had appeared from the stable, leading a trio of horses, and while Travis would have guessed the knight’s aura to be as gray and somber as mist, instead it was blue steel. Then his eyes moved again to Tira. For a moment he saw it flickering around her thin body: a corona of hot fire.

“Travis?”

He adjusted his spectacles, and the auras were gone. He looked at Grace and managed a grin that was nearly all genuine. “Let’s help with the horses.”

Grace nodded and followed after.

Travis recognized the three horses Durge had led from the stable. One was Melia’s pale, slender-legged mare, and another Falken’s proud jet stallion. Travis laughed as he saw the third: It was the same shaggy, sand-colored gelding he had ridden all the way from Kelcior to Calavere.

“I haven’t seen you in a while, old friend,” he said, as the horse nuzzled his hand. Upon finding no carrots the beast let out a disgruntled snort, and Travis
laughed. “I suppose I’m going to have to name you now.” He reached up and stroked the white spot on the horse’s flat face. “How about Patch?”

The gelding rolled its eyes, but since it didn’t suggest anything better, Travis made a command decision.

“Patch it is.”

Durge and Beltan had already lashed Travis’s things to the gelding—a bedroll, a pack of food, and a saddlebag containing his gray robe. Travis had traded the garment for the green tunic and brown hose he wore now—clothes Falken had produced, and which looked so similar to those the bard had once obtained for him that Travis wondered if Falken had stolen these from some peasant farm as well. They were certainly ragged enough, but they were clean and would serve well for riding.

He checked the saddlebag, making sure his mistcloak and Malachorian dagger were safe inside. Then his fingers brushed one more object tied to the saddle. It was long and slender, wrapped in felt. Once again he heard the words Oragien had spoken to him last night.

This runestaff was forged by the Runelords long ago. As their heir, it is only right that it should be yours
.

It was not the ending Travis had expected to his stay in the Gray Tower of the Runespeakers. Yesterday, the runespeakers had gathered for chorus at dawn, and they had not left the domed chamber until sunset. What they spoke of Travis didn’t know. However, Falken and Melia took part in the chorus, and from time to time, standing outside the chamber, Travis heard the ceaseless whispering rise into more heated debate.

As evening approached, Melia and Falken left the chamber to let the runespeakers deliberate. Travis swallowed hard when he saw them. The lady’s
cheeks were flushed, and Falken’s black-gloved hand was clenched in a fist.

“I told you we shouldn’t have left while he was still recovering from the fever,” Falken said.

Melia’s eyes flashed. “Well, how was I supposed to know how much trouble he could cause in such a short time?”

“You’d think we’d have learned by now, wouldn’t you?”

Understanding hit Travis like a rock on the head. “It was you! You were the two that helped summon me to the Gray Tower.”

Melia sighed. “And what other completely obvious things did you wish to tell me, dear?”

“But I don’t understand. How did you call me here?”

Melia shrugged. “I have connections.”

“And quite a lot of luck,” Falken said.