Alora Read online

“I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings, Blaggard.”

  “You must give me another opportunity to demonstrate the stone’s benefits. Come back this evening, and I’ll have the belt ready. Try it for a few days, and if you aren’t pleased, I’ll return your coppers, plus half again as many.”

  “Why me? Why not simply try it out for yourself?”

  “I truly believe the stone enhances agility, and I know no other more gifted than you.”

  Screeching hinges announced the opening door as a woman entered with a small child in tow. She looked familiar, though Thalaena couldn’t recall her name. Thalaena’s constant weapons training left little time for friendships outside her group of fellow warriors.

  “Remember, Thalaena.” He lowered his voice, eyeing the new arrival. “Tell no one of the stone. For I only found the one and have yet to retrieve the rest. If word spreads of the stone’s powers, I fear others will steal the un-mined stones, though they rightfully belong to me.”

  “Very well, Blaggard. I’ll return this evening and try the belted stone for a few more days.”

  His shoulders relaxed. “Thank you, Thalaena.”

  **************

  Vindrake held his temper, but only by a gossamer thread. “Have I not told you I do not wish to be contacted without consent?” Unspoken was the admission that his barrier was not strong enough to keep the voice from entering his head unbidden. Vindrake would never have abided one with a stronger gift of farsight than his own if the man were not operating as an immensely valuable spy inside the walls of Laegenshire. But the arrogant man made a habit of surprising Vindrake, intruding into his mind outside the arranged time, undoubtedly to prove the magnitude of his farsight gift. Imagining the man’s smug expression, Vindrake tamped down the urge to kill him and use his life force to create a wendt, though Vindrake’s mouth salivated in anticipation of performing the act in the future.

  I wish I were using him to create my wendt tomorrow rather than Yaeben. Though an unbonded warrior, Yaeben had done nothing to deserve his fate. No, Yaeben had simply been hit in the head too many times to consistently make intelligent decisions. A mindless killer, however, needed no intelligence.

  The farseer’s voice intruded once again on his reverie. “My sincerest apologies, Master Vindrake. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “You forget I am a judge,” Vindrake hissed, incensed at his arrogance. “Even at a distance, I know when you are lying. Do not tempt me to end your life, for I can see it done.”

  The stuttering response was satisfying. “I’m s-sorry. Truly, I am. In the f-future I will only contact you two fingers before the setting of the s-sun, as you requested.”

  “Enough! What information do you have of such importance that you interrupt my supper?”

  “I overheard another conversation between Darielle and Jireo.”

  “And you’re certain the two are unaware of your eavesdropping?”

  “No, they do not know. It cannot be detected without a farsight gift of equal strength, and no one is my equal.”

  An awkward silence followed, as Vindrake’s ire rose to a boiling point. A growl emerged from his throat.

  “M-Master Vindrake, I didn’t mean to imply—”

  “Finish your report,” Vindrake snapped, adding this insult to the tally he kept in his mind.

  “Another portal was discovered by Graely’s young gressor, Arista—this one inside her home. The council believes you are responsible for the appearance of the new portal and have set a guard at the entrance.”

  “Interesting. What else did the two speak of?”

  “That Alora had taken ill—so ill that Jireo believed she would pass within the week.”

  “This is good news, indeed.”

  “Evidently, Jireo was mistaken. For both Alora and Kaevin are here now, along with Jireo.”

  At last! I will again have opportunity to be rid of Alora and Kaevin. This time, I will dispense with them quickly, rather than toy with them and risk losing my opportunity.

  Vindrake said, “And with Jireo in Laegenshire, there will be no further conversations for you to intercept. Am I not correct?”

  The voice in his mind hesitated, probably searching for a way to secure his value to Vindrake.

  Excellent. His pride should be diminished.

  “Correct. However, I believe I will be privy to more information from the inner circle, partly because I have regained some trust from Graely, since I’ve been donating grain for the common meals.”

  “My suggestion, I believe.” Vindrake remarked, knowing his statement would further irritate his agent.

  “Yes, Master Vindrake. The plan was yours, although I added a reason for my change of heart—remorse over the loss of my wife and the child she bore.”

  “She was with child when she accidentally passed?” Vindrake believed the man was complicit in his wife’s death, though he had convinced himself of his own innocence, well enough to pass a judge’s assessment. Yet another reason to be wary of the traitor—Vindrake couldn’t detect a lie if the man could exchange it for truth in his own mind. “You didn’t mention that at our first meeting.”

  “No, the woman was barren,” he conceded. “However, I was careful to make my declaration to Graely and Morvaen, away from Chaleah’s listening ear. I even transferred enough fiery oil from my fingers to my eyes to induce some convincing tears.”

  Vindrake felt a grudging respect he had no intention of admitting. “No matter. I have other agents in Laegenshire.”

  “Others? How are they not detected?”

  Vindrake smiled at the surprise in the other man’s voice.

  “I’ve removed my bond from a few I’ve judged as fully devoted to me, allowing them to move about freely, without detection.”

  Decreasing the number of bloodbonded citizens also reduced the effort required to maintain his constant control. And proving particularly valuable was a certain loyal green-eyed warrior, a member of his honor guard who’d been taken on a raid on the outskirts of Stone Clan. Having declared his hatred for Graely, the truth in his words was recognizable, even without Vindrake’s judging gift. The man served with zealous fervor. Vindrake loathed letting him go to Laegenshire, having already lost Daegreth, his favorite, in a battle six moons prior. But he couldn’t pass on the opportunity to insert another agent in Graely’s shire.

  “We’ve always been told only death could remove the bloodbond.”

  “It does require death, and only I have the power to remove the bond I placed.” This wasn’t entirely true. Anyone who knew the correct procedure could eliminate the bond, but currently Vindrake was the only person who had read and interpreted the Maladorn Scroll containing the instructions. This was only one of many secrets hidden within the scroll’s cryptic markings.

  Stolen when Alora and Kaevin had invaded his lair, the ancient scroll was crucial to preserving his power. With unmatched gifting in language, Vindrake had been the first man in all of Tenavae to correctly interpret the scroll’s writing. Yet he worried someone else might learn to read the scroll if given the opportunity. This risk could not be tolerated, for the latter part of the writings led to the undoing of every magick he performed.

  No, the Maladorn Scroll had to be reclaimed, before his enemies even attempted its interpretation.

  The nasally voice continued, interrupting Vindrake’s thoughts again. “It’s good that you’ve broadened your resources, however you surely need my help to communicate with your other man in Laegenshire. Am I not correct?”

  Vindrake didn’t respond.

  “Or is it a woman?”

  Vindrake let him salivate before providing a tempting morsel. “We have other means of passing information.”

  “Ah... well that’s no matter to me, of course.”

  His lie amused Vindrake. In fact, a sightstone allowed the young warrior to communicate with him in Portshire through a clever ploy, as Vindrake observed through the man’s own eyes while he scratched his nightly messa
ge in the dirt, illuminated by flickering torchlight. Cumbersome, but effective.

  “You may report in two days,” Vindrake ordered. “But only if you’ve acquired information of import.”

  “I promise to learn the council’s plan. They will convene tomorrow evening, and I doubt your other resource is privy to council discussions.”

  “And you are? Have you so endeared yourself to Graely that he admits you to their council meetings?”

  “I can’t reveal my methods. But suffice it to say I know most of what is said during their clandestine talks.”

  Though Vindrake’s curiosity gnawed at him, he wouldn’t give his agent the satisfaction of knowing it. Instead, he affected nonchalance. “Then I shall expect full details.”

  “You’ll hear from me in two days’ time, Master Vindrake.”

  “Remember, Blaggard... two fingers before sunset. No earlier. No later.”

  With Blaggard’s grumbled agreement, Vindrake cemented his authority. Returning to attack his supper with relish, despite some painful indigestion, perched on a smooth rock beside the campfire.

  He would sleep well that night, for his plans were in motion. Soon he would be privy to all of Graely’s secrets and have an opportunity to kill Alora and Kaevin. But first, he would take control of the Craedenza in Glaenshire, thus assuring the scroll would return to his hands.

  Glaenshire was populated by citizens gifted in wisdom and language, as those so gifted migrated there, while those gifted in strength and weapons were encouraged to move on. Thus, Vindrake could kill a few villagers in a show of power, induce terror among the citizens, and establish his governor in Glaenshire. The Maladorn Scroll would fall back into Vindrake’s grasp when it was returned to the Craedenza, as any upstanding citizen of Tenavae would most certainly do.

  And so he and a force of warriors and personal guards were en route to Glaenshire. Unknown to any, however, Vindrake had acquired an extra level of protection.

  One of his shamans had recently made an impactful discovery in their sleeping quarters. In a room once occupied by Abaddon—one of Vindrake’s most powerful shamans, now deceased via a battle with Stone Clan—some personal notes were found wedged behind a loose stone in the wall. Among other secrets, Abaddon had learned to make his skin impervious to metal. Though Vindrake found the process long and painful, the results were impressive. Even the sharpest of blades left no mark on his skin. An arrow would simply bounce off, as if colliding with an armored plate.

  Vindrake was practically invincible, except for the fact that Graely’s warriors had still found a way to kill Abaddon. Perhaps his shaman hadn’t carried the painful process to completion.

  Yes, that must be what happened. Abaddon was a weak fool. The pain was not too great to bear, and now I’m completely protected from every blade. The Craedenza will be mine to control. And before long, the Maladorn Scroll will return to my hands.

  Where it belongs.

  ~8~

  The white stone Craedenza stood atop a rise of exposed bedrock, polished and gleaming, with sparkles of white minerals that glinted in the sunlight. The archived collection of scrolls and manuscripts was the center of scholarship and learning, aptly located at the highest point in Glaenshire.

  It was here that Raelene and Bardamen spent their time, day after day, sifting through the scrolls and manuscripts in search of some hitherto undiscovered nugget of knowledge that might aid them in their fight against Vindrake. In addition, Raelene instructed him to look for any reference to soulmates, especially a discussion of removing such a bond.

  Bardamen was happy enough to leave the Stone Clan shaman responsibilities to his father, Nordamen, and make the trip as Raelene’s protector and aid. In a few moons, he would have thirty years, and the position of chief shaman would fall to Bardamen. He found the break from his usual duties a pleasant one, enjoying the travel and the pleasant weather.

  For some inexplicable reason, he anticipated repeating the feud of words he’d encountered with the petite archivist, Meravelle, the granddaughter of the Craedenza’s chief archivist, Bastaeno. Bardamen and Mera had butted heads during his previous visit and so far, she’d proven unpersuaded by his arguments.

  He squinted at the faded writing on the ancient parchment. Though the words were legible, he simply couldn’t concentrate enough to understand the meaning. He’d recognized a soft feminine voice in the outer room almost a full hand earlier, yet Meravelle hadn’t joined them in the archives.

  Why? Surely she knows we can’t comprehend the scrolls written in other languages. Our work would be much faster if she rendered her aid. Perhaps she’s pouting over my comment at last night’s dinner and intends to punish me for my honesty. Yet this behavior only lends credence to my declaration. Indeed, as I stated, women are often slow to reach emotional maturity and are more reliable under the guidance of a strong mate. I don’t understand why my words offended her so. Or why Raelene felt compelled to apologize for what was merely a statement of fact.

  “Should we take a respite from our studies?” Bardamen asked Raelene. “After all, we only arrived at the Craedenza yesterday. It is not necessary to read every scroll in our language today. Have we not accomplished enough for one day?”

  “We have accomplished exactly half of what I hoped we would accomplish.” Raelene never lifted her nose from her parchment. “Although I have accomplished the full portion I expected to accomplish.”

  “Yes, I agree. Progress is slow when we have no archivist to render aid. Pity that Mera does not recognize the urgency of our work.”

  Raelene sent an acidic glare, for no reason whatsoever. “Meravelle knows the urgency involved, but finds the current study conditions too loathsome to tolerate.”

  “Ridiculous!” Bardamen pushed his chair away from the table, rising and stretching his stiff muscles. “I shall find Mera and convince her to tend to her obligations here at the Craedenza. Doubtless she’s engaged in some mindless and worthless distraction.”

  “You are going to explain to Meravelle that she should drop the project in which she’s engaged and attend to our needs?” Raelene’s mouth fell open. “You truly believe that is a wise choice?”

  “I believe I have no other. It seems no one else has the courage to speak plainly to her rather than pander to her every whim. Bastaeno has spoiled her, for certain. The man has no backbone, whatsoever, where his granddaughter is concerned.”

  Closing her eyes, Raelene leaned back and massaged her temples with her fingertips. “Bardamen, would you not say that because of my age, I’ve reached a level of maturity? And gained a measure of wisdom?”

  “Yes, I would venture to say you’re far more wise and mature than the younger women I’ve met.”

  “Then allow me to offer some advice.”

  “Very well.”

  “Before you open your mouth to speak to Meravelle, stop and think carefully about what you want to say. And then, think of how your words will be received. And then... wait...”

  “And how long should I wait?”

  “Until you think of something uplifting to say in place of your intended words.”

  “Bah! You are jesting, when I believed you had serious advice to render.” Bardamen stomped off, holding his tongue only out of respect for Raelene as Stone Clan’s former bearer.

  Her chasing words barely registered.

  “My advice is no jest, Bardamen.”

  **************

  Meravelle wasn’t easy to find. The small town square swarmed with a boisterous group of citizens bartering for goods in the local outdoor market, but Bardamen didn’t spot her amongst the others. With her distinctive hair—a mass of tight dark curls—she should’ve been easy to see in a crowd, despite her diminutive stature.

  He decided to search for Meravelle at her home, which lay on the outskirts of Glaenshire, near the area where the bordering river divided to run on either side of the island village. On one side, the river was broad and deep, bordered by dry, rocky fie
lds. On the other side, the river was narrow but turbulent, bordered by a steep, sloping forest and spanned by two bridges. The main road crossed one bridge, leading straight into the heart of Glaenshire and the town square and continuing up toward the shining white rock where the Craedenza stood. From there, the road broadened and wound down to cross the other bridge, turning to follow the river south.

  Trudging down the well-worn dirt path to the modest stone house where Meravelle lived with her grandfather, Bardamen noted how the thatch needed replacing in several areas.

  Perhaps, if Raelene can spare me, I might be able to make the needed repairs while we’re here.

  Sandwiched between a vegetable garden and a flower-cutting garden, the tidy dwelling had a welcoming front porch with two rocking chairs. An image passed through his mind—one of Mera relaxing beside him in a rocker—and an unbidden smile chased away his scowl.

  Schooling his face with a stern expression, he clanged the heavy metal knocker on the door, fully prepared to scold Mera for neglecting her duties at the Craedenza. But no one answered.

  Rounding to the rear, he followed a stony path winding through the trees and down along the river. The path led to a large flat rock, on which multiple freshly washed articles of clothing were stretched out to dry in the sun. But Mera wasn’t guarding her wash.

  Farther down the twisting path he spied her. Well, in truth, he spied her legs, bare from the knees down, toes dangling in the water, swinging in time to a merrily hummed tune. The rest of her was obscured by the dense vegetation. Enchanted by her sweet voice, he stood still, listening to the tune and watching her feet and forgetting altogether the reason he’d come looking for her.

  Then the song stopped. The legs disappeared. He heard a rustling of clothes behind the bushes. It occurred to him she might be removing her clothes to bathe. His heart began a relentless pounding in his chest, in worse fashion than he’d experienced in the midst of a battle up against multiple numbers of Vindrake’s shamans.

  “Eh-hem!” He cleared his throat. “Meravelle?”

  “Bardamen? What...”