Alora Read online

  Her face turned ashen. “Why didn’t you explain this before?”

  She scrambled after him, happy this time to grasp his belt.

  Reaching out with his mind, Bardamen felt for the enemy shaman.

  Did I imagine it? No, there it is. Probing for defenses. Of course there are no shields here. Had there been a shield in place, the shaman’s search would have been deflected. And I wouldn’t have detected the probing. Can I effect a protection in time?

  “Why would anyone attack us?” Mera panted as she kept pace. “We give freely to all who come. Food. Clothing. Knowledge. Even gold, if needed, though we have little. There is no prize to be gained in battle with Glaenshire, for our treasure has no cost.”

  As the tickling sensation grew to a vibration in his forehead, Bardamen quickened his pace. “I fear, Meravelle, for all your wisdom, you’re still naive. Knowledge is power, and men will kill for that power.”

  “Killing is unnecessary, for we don’t require payment. We give knowledge to any citizen of Tenavae.”

  “Then perhaps someone would like to control that knowledge and keep it for themselves. Someone like Vindrake.”

  “I believe you, though it seems senseless to me,” she huffed, struggling to keep up on her short legs. “However, the Craedenza isn’t entirely defenseless.”

  “You have warriors? Guards?”

  “No guards or warriors, but our archivists will give their lives to protect the Craedenza. We may be guileless, but we are not naive.”

  Bardamen pictured a group of elderly archivists brandishing scrolls against enemy swords and shook his head.

  Reaching a broad spot in the path, Meravelle darted past, leaving the protection of his ward.

  “Hurry!” she called. “We must warn everyone.”

  A shrill shriek rent the air, sending a ripple of fear down Bardamen’s spine.

  “What was that sound?” Meravelle froze at the top of the hill, in sight of the house.

  “That was a wendt.”

  “A wendt! I’ve read about them but never seen one,” she said with an airy rasp.

  The hair-raising cry sounded again.

  “Take cover in your house,” ordered Bardamen, setting off at a run. “I must reach high ground—your watch tower.”

  Ignoring his order, she caught up with him.

  “I’ll not cower inside while Vindrake destroys my shire and captures the Craedenza. Follow me.”

  She raced ahead on nimble feet, following the path until it divided. Bending over, she gasped for air, waving her hand to the side. “The tower is that way.”

  Without waiting, she dashed down the opposite path, heading toward the center of town where cries of alarm and confusion could be heard.

  “Meravelle, stop!”

  She halted, prancing impatiently from foot to foot. “What?”

  “You mustn’t go. You have no gifting for battle.” His chest clenched, knowing she was headed toward certain death.

  “Then I’ll fight with wisdom instead.”

  And Meravelle was gone.

  **************

  Alora couldn’t decide which was worse—the humiliation of throwing up right there in Daegreth’s bedroom in front of all of her friends or the horrendous nausea that caused it. She sat on the floor, resting her head against the bed, afraid to move lest she vomit again. Though the nauseating object was only a few feet away, she didn’t dare try to move. The last time I felt this sick I was with my father.

  Beth had dashed into the bathroom, returning with a towel, which Kaevin had used to mop up the mess, despite Alora’s weak protests that he would stain the fluffy powder-blue fabric.

  “Was it something you ate?” asked Beth, with one hand over her own mouth as if she expected to likewise lose her dinner at any moment.

  “No,” Alora answered in a feeble voice as she accepted a damp washcloth from Beth and wiped her face. “It’s right there. Markaeus’ backpack. Can somebody please move it away?”

  Daegreth grabbed the camouflage-patterned pack and tossed it out the door. And judging by the cry of protest from the hallway, he probably hit someone with it. Sure enough, Wesley appeared, followed by his mom, armed with cleaning products.

  “Don’t you worry, Alora dear, I’ll have this cleaned up in a jiffy.” She dropped onto her knees, scrubbing with so much vigor, Alora figured she’d wear a hole in the rug.

  Alora glared at Markaeus, who kicked at the floor with the toe of his shoe. “What’s in that bag, Markaeus?”

  “Nothing, really. Only something I wish you to deliver to Arista for me.”

  “I assume you speak of the scroll you stole from her.” Kaevin loomed over Markaeus. “Why would you do such a thing?”

  Markaeus shrugged, his lower lip protruding. “She bragged she was a better gressor than me, just because she’s older.” He crawled over to kneel beside Alora with pleading eyes. “I only wanted to show her I found her hiding place. I wouldn’t have kept it. I didn’t really steal it.”

  Feeling better with the backpack out of the room, Alora opened her arms to Markaeus, and he flew against her, hiding his face.

  “I missed you,” he mumbled, and the ice around her heart warmed, melting into a puddle. She knew what he meant. Even while both of them had been in Laegenshire together, she’d hardly seen Markaeus, and she really missed the troublesome squirt. She’d been trying to be a big sister to him since he lost his brother and moved into her uncle’s house, but in the end, he felt more like a son.

  “Markaeus!” Uncle Charles strode into the room, holding up the camo bag. “You shouldn’t leave your backpack lying around. Someone could trip on it.”

  “No!” Kaevin yelled, “Take it away, at once. It’s making Alora sick.”

  Alora was quite certain if she could see her face in a mirror, it would be the color of seaweed.

  “If you don’t want Mrs. Franks to have another mess to clean up, you’d better let me have that thing.” Beth held out her hands until Uncle Charles handed over the pack, despite his obvious confusion.

  As she marched out, she ordered, “Wesley, Daegreth, come with me. Let’s have a look at Arista’s scroll while they’re sorting stuff out with Alora and Markaeus.”

  “Thanks, Beth,” Alora called, lifting her hand in a feeble thumbs up when her best friend turned.

  “No worries. I got your back, girlfriend.”

  The other adults were standing in the doorway, blocking her exit, but Beth shooed them back down the hall. “Go on, go on... into the family room. I’ll explain everything.”

  Having apparently done all she could do to salvage her rug, Karen hurried out, cradling the soiled linens.

  Maybe she has some miracle stain remover. I sure hope so.

  Kaevin lifted Alora to her feet, helping her to one of the chairs lined up facing the paused video game, though she no longer needed assistance. Once it left the room, the scroll’s evil was only a faint assault to her discernment.

  After retelling Arista’s confession concerning the pilfered scroll to Uncle Charles, Kaevin sat on the edge of the bed, patting the mattress beside him and motioning for Markaeus.

  “I believe I’m not as angry with you as I ought to be.”

  “Why not?” Markaeus’ eyes, so similar in color to Alora’s, were wide and hopeful.

  Alora felt the boy’s remorse, though she suspected it was caused by getting caught rather than a real sense of wrongdoing.

  “Because Arista was in the wrong as well, keeping the scroll hidden for so long. We might have never discovered it if you hadn’t taken it.”

  Uncle Charles put his hands on his hips, glaring at Markaeus. “That doesn’t excuse you for stealing. It’s wrong to take anything that doesn’t belong to you, no matter what the end result.”

  “But I was only borrowing—”

  “Markaeus, stop!” Alora warned. “It’s a whole lot better to confess and be done with it. One time I told Uncle Charles I had only borrowed his pocket knif
e, and he made me write an entire essay about the difference between borrowing and stealing.”

  “Whatever an ess-ay is, it sounds awful,” Markaeus agreed, mouth open in horror. “I don’t even know how to write.”

  Luckily, Markaeus didn’t notice Uncle Charles holding back a grin. The fact he’d never had an education was only one factor in Markaeus’ hard life. Unlike the other clans in Tenavae, Water Clan only educated a select few of its children, as Vindrake felt ignorant people were easier to manipulate.

  “I’m sorry, Uncle Charles. I won’t ever steal again.”

  Whether or not his words were true, Uncle Charles’ tough exterior softened, and he hugged the boy, rubbing his head with his knuckles.

  “What are we going to do with the scroll?” asked Alora.

  Kaevin said, “I suppose it should go to Nordamen.”

  “According to Arista, it’s in a strange language she can’t read. Would Nordamen be able to read it?”

  “It’s rather unlikely anyone in Laegenshire could interpret the writings, but we need to know what it says. I believe this scroll might hold the key to how Vindrake accomplishes his evil.” Groaning as he stretched, Kaevin plopped into a chair beside Alora, his fatigue showing.

  Charles rubbed the five-o’clock shadow on his chin. “If Arista hid the scroll all this time, wouldn’t you say the scroll affected her, somehow? Changed her personality? She doesn’t seem like the dishonest type.”

  “That’s true,” Alora admitted, not wanting to think poorly of her friend.

  “Well, I don’t think you should mess around with this thing. Just light a match to it,” Charles declared.

  Kaevin answered, “If the scroll instructed Vindrake in doing evil, it might tell us how to undo that evil. We can’t destroy it until we know.”

  “So what we really need is to take the scroll with us to Glaenshire. Surely someone at the Craedenza could read it.”

  Kaevin sat up, as if someone had given him a shot of adrenaline. “Yes! We should transport to Raelene and Bardamen at once and leave the scroll at the archives.”

  Uncle Charles pursed his lips the way he always did when he didn’t approve of something. “I still say you should burn that thing to a crisp. What’s to keep those Craedenza people from interpreting the scroll and doing the same evil things Vindrake did?”

  “They can’t betray the Craedenza, Charles—at least the oath-bound can’t. They’re bonded to serve the Craedenza, protect the knowledge stored there, and spread peace through sharing that wisdom,” Kaevin explained. “The archivists pledge allegiance, spill their blood, and take an oath.”

  “Of course they do.” The words dripped with sarcasm as they left Charles’ mouth. “What is it with you people and bonds? Why can’t you just make a promise like normal people? Why does everything have to involve blood and magic?”

  Kaevin’s mouth opened in astonishment, but he gave no response. Uncle Charles might as well have asked him why they chose to breathe oxygen or drink water, since bonds were such an essential part of life in Tenavae.

  Charles flung his hands in the air. “Fine, then. Let’s go. Let’s take this creepy scroll to the Craedenza right now and hand it over to these oath-bound people. I wouldn’t mind an opportunity to talk with Raelene about a few things, anyway. Get her advice.” He gave a sideways glance toward Markaeus.

  “Actually, I don’t think that’s going to work,” said Alora. “I’m pretty sure I can’t transport that thing. It makes me too sick to be with it. There’s no telling where we might go if the scroll was interfering with my concentration.”

  “And you can’t just send the scroll to her?” asked Uncle Charles.

  “If I’d learned how to transport an object, I might be able to send it to her. But so far, the closest I’ve come to that was a dead wendt, which is still an animal. And I don’t dare try to send one of you that far away from me. Even my mother could only safely transport someone as far as she could see.”

  Slumping back into his chair, Kaevin said, “Then there’s no way to remove the scroll from this realm.”

  “What we really need is a portal from here to Glaenshire,” said Alora. “That would solve everything.”

  The room fell silent, except for the incessant tapping of Charles’ foot on the floor. Alora wracked her brain, trying to come up with a solution. Maybe, if she held her breath, her discernment wouldn’t be able to pick up the scroll’s scent. Or if they wrapped the scroll in plastic wrap, so it wasn’t in contact with the air...

  Charles broke the silence. “Wesley’s brother, Steven, might know someone who could read the scroll.”

  “I don’t know, Uncle Charles. To be honest, that thing feels so evil, I’m afraid for anyone here to interpret it. What if it makes them do bad things? Like in Lord of the Rings?”

  “If only you could bring someone from the Craedenza to Montana to study the scroll,” Kaevin mumbled.

  “That’s a great idea,” Alora responded. “Why couldn’t I?”

  “Because we need a bonded archivist who could never succumb to the scroll’s evil. And the oath-bound can’t leave the Craedenza.”

  “Why not?” Charles asked.

  “Once bonded, an archivist can never leave Glaenshire, or they’ll die,” Kaevin said. “Raelene explained it to me.”

  Charles shook his head, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. “Of course they will. Typical Tenavae bond. Blood and the promise of death. Such a great place to live.”

  Alora jumped when Markaeus tapped on her shoulder. “I think I can take the scroll to Raelene.”

  “How?”

  He pointed at a bookcase, crammed with a double layer of books on every shelf.

  “Through that portal I just made.”

  **************

  Clambering up the circling steps two at a time, Bardamen’s side cramped and his head swam with dizziness. But he didn’t slow until he reached the top of the stone watchtower, its rounded shape offering a complete view of Glaenshire through the eight window openings. The prickle of the enemy shaman had progressed to a sharp sting. He or she was probing to find the weaknesses in Glaenshire’s defense, of which there were too many to count. Vindrake would first allow the wendt to render terror. Then his warriors would attack, slay a large number of defenseless citizens and take control of the Craedenza.

  It’s ridiculous! What kind of town has no shamans or warriors? How could they not realize they’d be vulnerable to attack?

  He could no longer hear the wendt, which unfortunately meant the animal must have flown away with its first victim. A shiver rippled down his spine at the thought.

  To find a magick defense against Vindrake’s vile killing creatures would be a prize worth researching in the archives. If we survive this night—an unlikely occurrence—I’ll convince Raelene we should remain in Glaenshire somewhat longer than planned, to allow more time to study the manuscripts.

  From his position at the top of the tower on the tree-covered hill, Bardamen looked down on the town, expecting the streets to be deserted. To his surprise, however, a group of some twenty or thirty citizens stood near the entrance to the Craedenza, clearly visible in the waning light. A few appeared to be holding blades, but many were empty-handed, using only their bodies as barriers to the Craedenza entrance. Hopefully, the four Stone Clan warriors who’d accompanied them to Glaenshire would provide some protection for these men and women who foolishly risked their lives to guard the archives with no gifting or training as warriors.

  His stomach wrenched as a wave of magick rolled through the sky, settling over Glaenshire—terror and despair. Anguished cries arose from the Craedenza crowd, and Bardamen knew the same was happening where the citizens cowered inside their homes.

  Bardamen pushed at the dark magick with his mind and found little resistance. Closing his eyes, he blew a long, slow breath, picturing the darkness swirling away in the wind.

  “Thou hast not given us a spirit of fear.”

  The terr
or was gone, replaced by an eerie calm.

  Vindrake has brought a weak shaman. Certainly, this is not the work of his chief. I wonder why he doesn’t use his own shaman power. Perhaps, though he has many gifts, he hasn’t the energy to wield them all at once.

  A shout arose in the distance. Drums. Horns. The warriors approached on horseback, a small number—perhaps eighty or a hundred. But compared to the motley crew of Glaenshire villagers, plus the four Stone Clan warriors, it might as well have been a thousand. The group split in two, the majority riding toward the bridge that led to the Craedenza, while the other group circled to the bridge below, taking the direct path toward the town center.

  Vindrake intends to frighten the town into submission, believing they will easily capitulate.

  He almost wished Vindrake’s plan would work. But if Mera’s attitude were any indication, these people would sacrifice everything to protect Glaenshire. As much as Bardamen didn’t wish a victory for Water Clan, he also didn’t relish the idea of watching these good citizens die in a vain attempt to defend the Craedenza.

  How can I protect them? We will surely be defeated, and many innocents will die—children in their homes. If only the town had a wall...

  The idea came to him all at once.

  It would take all his power and concentration, but Bardamen could encircle Glaenshire with a magickal wall. He couldn’t create a shield strong enough to prevent physical entry, but he could stretch an invisible barrier that would strip the power from all who passed through. He had done a similar thing before, but never on such a grand scale.

  After passing through his wall, the Water Clan warriors would only be able to use their normal strength and training, rather than gifts of weapons, strength, and agility. The effect would be temporary, but Bardamen would hold the gifts in the absorptive barrier with every last ounce of his strength. At least the Glaenshire citizens would have a fighting chance to survive, and Mera might not be killed.

  Perhaps she will find a way to escape with the most valuable writings.

  A blood-curdling screech announced the return of the wendt. This terror was real, not magickal. Bardamen could do nothing to stop the vile creature. But he could weaken the approaching Water Clan warriors.