Call of Brindelier (Keepers of the Wellsprings Book 3) (17 page)

Rian’s tests are vastly different from my own. Rather than a path guarded by sentries, he’s faced with a single, ragged-looking old man with a long white beard.

“Circle and stone, flat and yet round, I speak with no voice, yet knowledge abounds,” the man says to him, without any formal greeting at all. “What am I?”

“You are a scroll,” Rian answers.

“I fall with a flutter, I rise with the wind, yet I can do nothing without flesh and skin,” the man watches him through narrowed eyes. “What am I?”

“You are a feather,” Rian answers.

“A golden pool, a blackened heart, a bruis-ed fool, a stolen spark,” the man tugs his beard and leans in. “What am I?”

“You are Mage Mark,” Rian answers.

They go on this way for what seems like hours, the man offering a riddle and Rian answering, until his head dips low and his eyes droop with exhaustion. Though most of the fairies watching from the palace are still engaged, several of them nod off in mid air, snoring softly. As the man recites yet another riddle, Rian dozes and stumbles to the side as he startles awake again.

“Please, sir,” he interrupts, rubbing his temples. “I have answered your riddles time and again, and I don’t think I’ve answered a single one incorrectly.”

“That is so,” the man replies.

“To what end?” Rian asks.

“What end do you seek?” the man rocks back on his heels, humming merrily. The grueling game of riddles doesn’t seem to have affected him the same way has Rian.

“I was lead to believe this was some sort of test,” Rian replies. “Have I passed it?”

“No indeed,” the man chuckles. “But almost.”

Around us in the gallery, the fairies are laughing. Some of them wake and chuckle with the others. Even Flitt grins with amusement as she watches the exchange in the portal.

“Almost?” I whisper. “How many more questions are there?”

“Just one,” Flitt replies, “but it has to be the right one.”

“I sing in the sunshine and the rain. I soothe in the summer. In winter I’m wicked again. What am I?” The man’s eyes glint with mischief.

“You are the wind,” Rian answers and pinches the bridge of his nose. His fingers spark and he yelps and shoves his balled fists into his robes.

“I follow behind you or I can lead you. My way can be washed by the sea or blown by the wind. I can remain for a year or a day. What am I?”

“You are a footprint,” Rian scowls. “Now, wait!” he holds up a hand to interrupt. “No more. I’ve answered enough of your riddles.”

“Perhaps,” the man’s laughter joins the mirth of the fairies among us in the palace. “And yet one question remains unanswered.”

Rian takes a deep breath and stares at the man for a long time. He blows it out with an exasperated sigh.

“What end do I seek?” Rian repeats the riddler’s earlier question.

“What end do you seek?” the man nods.

“I wish to gain passage to the palace,” Rian replies. His hands inside his robes crackle. A bit of smoke puffs out from the edges of his vest. “Please, I seek my companions. The Lady Knight Azaeli and the fairy Flitt. If they passed this way, will you allow me to seek them out, please?”

“Indeed they have, and in asking to pass, you have earned the passage you seek.” The man grins, steps aside, and bows.

“You mean to tell me all I had to do was ask for you to let me through?” Rian groans. “We’ve been at this for hours. How many riddles did I answer?”

“Four hundred and seventy-three,” the bearded man replies. “Impressive.”

“Impressive, but pointless,” Rian shakes his head, “unless you meant to stall me and keep me from urgent matters.”

“Not at all,” the man shakes his head apologetically. “The point, my dear Mage, was for us to see you for who you are. You have shown us your wit and knowledge, yes. Your wisdom, indeed. But also your tolerance, your resolve, your restraint. Not once did you lose patience with my riddles. Not once did you think to blast me out of the way, which is well within your power. No. Instead you were respectful. You kept your head. And when it all stopped making sense, you questioned. We have seen all of you that we needed to, and now you may proceed to the gates. Hurry. They are waiting for you.”

Rian hesitates just for a moment, slack-jawed, as the man waves him through. It isn’t until the riddler vanishes from view that Rian shakes his head in exasperation and rushes off in the direction that he was motioned.

“Fairies,” he murmurs under his breath as he jogs through a thicket of trees and is met with a wall of glass.

From our angle at the mirror, we can see the extent of the next test laid out before him: a series of walls of different make. There are glass walls, stone walls, walls made of towering trees, walls of ice and fire. Rian’s fingertips crackle as he stands before the first one: a wall of glass. I understand it right away, even as Rian rushes along the length of the wall, looking for a door in or an end to go around. It’s endless, though, just like my chasm was. He isn’t meant to go over or around. He’s meant to use his magic to make his way through.

I cling to Flitt beside me. Together we watch him grow more frantic as he stalks along the glass wall.

“He won’t cast a spell here,” I whisper to her. “He won’t risk it.”

He doesn’t, either. Not for a long time. More hours. Finally, he turns his back to the glass and slides down it until he’s sitting in the moss. He hugs his knees and presses his forehead to them. At his sides he flexes his fingers, which pulse and crackle with the magic that begs to burst forth.

“Oh, Rian,” I call out with a sigh, my heart breaking for him.

In the forest, with the glass to his back, Rian raises his head. He looks around. He jumps to his feet.

“Azi?” he calls.

“Rian?” I cry out to the mirror. “Can you hear me?”

All around us, the fairies in the great hall murmur and whisper with excitement. The dozing fae pop up and look around. Most of them drift closer to the portal, gazing with great interest at the Mage within.

“He should not be able to,” the queen says from behind us, “but true love has ways that are yet unknown, even to us. Tell him, Azaeli, that he is permitted to display his skill. I fear if you do not, we shall spend an eternity waiting.”

“Rian!” I step forward. Flitt drifts alongside me, still gripping my hand. “Rian, it’s all right. Show them your magic. They want to see.”

At first I think he’ll continue to restrain himself, but he steps forward to the glass and presses his palms to it, closing his eyes. The spell he whispers is slow and methodical, and soon the glass glows yellow and red and melts away leaving a hole just large enough for him to step through.

Next comes the stone, which he causes to quake and thunder until it cracks and crumbles to dust. He faces the wall of trees and casts another spell to guide the trunks to grow apart from each other just wide enough for him to step through. The fire he faces with water, the ice he faces with fire from the wall he’d just defeated. With each pass through a wall, the palace erupts into cheers and Rian seems to gain more confidence and control.

By the time he passes through the final wall, that of water, he is grinning from ear to ear. I don’t realize he knows for certain he has an audience until he turns to face the gates and offers a bow with a flourish of both hands.

“Don’t get show-offy,” Shush gusts as he comes to Rian’s side before the gates.

I gasp at the sight of the wind fairy, who has grown himself to Rian’s size if not a little taller. Rian seems just as surprised to see him appear in such a way. As Shush moves closer to him, Rian’s robes swirl around him in a cyclone and his hair whips into his face. He raises his hands to stop Shush’s approach.

“Could you tone it down a little?” he asks him.

“Sorry,” Shush whispers, “sure.” He shrugs his carapace-clad shoulders and the wind dies down to a breeze.

“So what now?” Rian asks.

“Just step inside,” Shush whispers as the sentries plant their spears and motion the two through.

The portal shimmers and fades, and beyond it at the far end of the endless hall I see a pinpoint of light as the gates open. He’s so far away and so tiny that I could cover him from my view with the finest point of a quill, but his form is unmistakable.

“Rian,” I gasp and take off down the stairs. At the end of the hallway I hear him running, too. Flitt’s hand is still in mine, and rather than let go or try to stop me, she squeals with delight as she floats along beside and I throw myself into Rian’s open arms in front of the audience of fairies.

“Azi,” he whispers to me with both relief and hunger. His lips are on mine before I know what’s happening, and his hands are in my hair. He kisses me urgently and gratefully, with little regard for the fairy audience that whoops and sings and cheers.

“Love, young and pure. Love at its most powerful,” the queen’s voice carries a hint of amusement over the hall. “Love, rising above all else. Love and light. To the Dawn.”

“To the Dawn,” the shouts of fairies is deafening. It rings out over us as Rian pulls me closer and deepens his kiss.

“
To the Dawn,
” we reply in unison in each other’s thoughts, refusing to let each other go. The moment is too sweet, too perfect, too filled with pleasure and relief. I could stay here locked in his embrace forever, bathed in the pink light of the palace, washed in fairy song and laughter until the end of our days.

Tib

“What do you want?” I growl at the elf as he stalks closer. I try to shuffle myself so I’m between him and Celli, but the shackles make it difficult.

The elves of Ceras’lain usually emanate peace and light. Not this one. He’s the complete opposite. Chaos. Fear. Power. Even his presence makes Celli cower and shake. I don’t feel it the way she does. I can sense it, but it doesn’t affect me.

The closer he gets, the stronger his magic presses in on us. Celli whimpers and buries her face in her hands. I square my shoulders and glare at him. Think of ways I could overcome him. They took my knives, but I have chains. He’s tall but he’s skinny. Weaker than I am, probably, physically.

“Back off,” I bark at him as he stoops closer to us both. Close enough for me to hit him. I ball my fist and swing hard. I hit him in the throat. He stumbles back, gasping.

“You filthy wretch!” he screams and thrusts his palm out toward us. Fingers bent like claws crackle. Lightning sparks from them and shoots across the room. It hits me like a soft breeze, a tingle. I start to laugh, but Celli’s screams twist my stomach as she takes the full force of the spell. She writhes on the floor in pain, her skin singed and smoking, her eyes rolled back in her head. The smell of her burning flesh is sickening

“Celli!” I scoop her up, but she doesn’t move. I shake her frantically and her head lolls back against my arm. “Please, wake up. I’m sorry!”

“Do not provoke me, Nullen,” the elf sneers, rubbing his throat. He straightens to his full height again. Tries to regain some of his dignity. “You may be immune to our powers, but we have ways of convincing you all the same. I have already provided two such examples. Perhaps you require yet another?”

He stays away from me. Out of my reach. Even though it got Celli hurt, which I regret, I know I’ve had a small triumph. Sorcerers depend on their wards to protect them. They get so used to that power they take it for granted. I bet if I could get my hands on a weapon, if I could get out of these chains, I could take this elf out before he knew what was happening.

I could go through this fortress or whatever it is, and figure out what’s going on here. So much darkness. So much power in one place. They’ve got to be planning something big. I remember what Valenor said, what Loren said, what the healer in the Conclave said. Predictions of some great threat. Darkness coming. This has to be the source of it, and now they have me. They must need me for something. If I can find out what it is, maybe I can stop them.

I look at Celli and she blinks up at me blankly and coughs. His spell could have killed her. I think of the fire at Nessa’s. If I keep refusing, they’ll just keep hurting everyone else around me. I lay her down gently onto the stone floor and push myself to my feet. I meet the eyes of the elf Sorcerer. His Mark has grown already since our first meeting in the metal room. The sight of it makes me sick with hate. I have too much of a history with Sorcerers. This could be my chance to put an end to them once and for all.

“Let Celli and those other kids go,” I tell him, “and I’ll do whatever you want.”

“The spoken word in this hall is as good as a blood pact. Do you understand?” The elf eyes me hungrily. “Once you make such a bargain, it cannot be undone. You shall be compelled to keep it under any circumstance.”

Beside me, Celli struggles to sit up. I crouch to prop her and she offers me a weak smile. I think on the Sorcerer’s words and wonder whether that sort of magic would affect me. I think of Celli and Mikken and Griff. Getting them out of here would be a small triumph, but what if these Sorcerers want me to do something awful? Like kidnapping Margy? Or sneaking into Kythshire for them, or doing something to Sunteri’s Wellspring? Or getting into the Dreaming? Or infiltrating His Majesty’s Elite to spy? They probably know about all of these connections I have. That’s why they want me.

I chew my lip thoughtfully. Are the lives of these three kids worth a promise like that? Is the chance to destroy them worth making a bargain with them? I narrow my eyes at this filth who calls himself an elf. He waits, watching me with that same hunger. That need to tame. To own.

“Show me,” I say to him. “Show me what you want me to do. I won’t agree to anything until I know.”

“
Do it.
” A hint of a voice echoes in the elf’s mind and his eyes flick to mine as if wanting to know whether I heard. I try to seem like I didn’t. That will be useful later, I bet.

“Come,” he says to me. With a snap of his fingers, the shackles on my hands and feet fall away. I rub my wrist as I jump to my feet. My heart races as he turns his back to me to lead me out. I could tackle him. Overcome him. Choke the life out of him. I don’t, though. I have a better idea.

The walls here aren’t metal like the last room. They’re stone, dark and polished. I close my eyes. I step forward through the cobwebs, into the shadows. Out of sight of the Sorcerer. He doesn’t notice at first. He waves his hand and the door opens. A pair of guards flanking the door turn to face him. One of them glances inside.

“Sir?” she asks hesitantly. I glance behind me at Celli, who lies on the floor, breathing slowly.

“What?” the elf barks.

“The boy?” the guard points her gaunted finger into the cell.

The elf spins around. His eyes search the room. I creep along the wall and glance at the door. I could slip out and explore. I could find out what’s going on here without having to risk making any pact.

Then the Sorcerer’s fingers crackle again. His eyes glint wickedly. He points at Celli. She’s still weak.

“Another spell would end this wretch, don’t you agree, Nullen? Perhaps a bolt of ice this time. Or fire.” His eyes dart around a little frantically, searching for me. “Tell me, girl. How would you like to die?”

I sigh and close my eyes. Step through the cobwebs, out of the shadows. It failed, but at least I can do it. I could use it in a pinch.

“Good lad,” the Sorcerer grins. “You will follow me,” he orders.

The passages are black stone blocks. The mortar sparkles with gold and silver. The Sorcerer leads the way and his guards march behind me. We leave the dungeons and climb a spiral staircase to the upper levels. The main levels. Here, it’s not much different from below. No windows to the outside, just carved, polished stone and thick wooden doors. Some are flanked by guards. Others stand open.

I close my eyes and use all of my senses as we walk. I sniff the air. Incense. Wood smoke. Decay. Strangely familiar smells. Like the apothecary booth. I listen. It’s quiet. Eerily quiet. I feel for the magic. The amount of it in this place is overwhelming. All different types. Elemental. Mentalist. Destructive. Necromancy.

That one I feel the strongest. Necromancy. There’s a frenzy about it. An excitement. A challenge. It’s nearby, in one of these doors we’re passing. Something fresh. Something new. Something special.

I think of Eron’s bagged head dripping crimson. I remember the fight between the Elite and the fallen prince. I have no idea why these images are dawning on me right now. I don’t realize what it means until the winged things appear all around us. Ahead, the Sorcerer stops abruptly. The creatures hover in front of him.

“What do you mean, walking him this way?”
the sharp-toothed one sends to the Sorcerer.

“Always talking when you shouldn’t, stupid! He might hear, remember?”
the round faced one hisses.

My heart races. These are the same three who were at the High Court. The one with poison breath, the small one, and the round-faced one. They knew about me. They knew, but not everything. I pretend I can’t hear them. I try to hide that I’m listening.

“
They’re right, Osven. You shouldn’t have come this way with the boy
,” the smallest one sends to the Sorcerer. Good. I know his name now. I peer around the Sorcerer at them. Try not to shiver at the sight of the wicked little things. Look away. Stay quiet. Nessa says you learn more sometimes if you don’t say anything at all. Silence draws truth.

“
Your graces,
” the elf, Osven, bows his head with deep respect.

“
Foolish thoughtlessness
,” the smallest says, and the Sorcerer winces.

“
A strip. A small one. Just for us
,” the round-faced one pushes.

“
He saw nothing. We shall take another route to the cliffs,
” Osven’s shoulders rise in a slow wince. I keep my head low, but raise my eyes to watch through black fringe of hair that covers them. The scene tells me a lot. The Sorcerer. He’s actually afraid of them. They’re in charge.

“
Too risky to keep you on this task
,” the sharp-toothed one chides.

“
We have a rapport
,” Osven argues. “
To put another in charge of the boy now would be the true risk. Do not lose your faith in me, Your Graces. I shan’t fail you.
”

“
Take a little
,” the smallest says to the round faced one. “
Remind him of the pain of failure
.”

The round-faced one licks his lips and cackles greedily. He stretches a leathery webbed hand out to Osven. Tendrils, black and blue like the Mark, swirl away from the Sorcerer into the wicked thing’s outstretched hand. Osven goes rigid. He gurgles and gasps in pain.

“
That’s enough,
” the small one says. “
Payment for your foolishness. Take another route. Do not fail us with this boy.
”

The greedy round one turns to look at me. I look away trying to seem oblivious to what’s just happened. I don’t know how convincing I am.

He drifts closer. Looks me over. He smells like blood and tar, like earth and rot. He’s close enough to touch me. He tries to look into my eyes, to breach my thoughts, but he can’t. His eyes narrow.

I think he might say something, do something, but he doesn’t. Instead the three of them vanish as quickly as they appeared. Osven turns to face me. He grabs me by the arm and roughly guides me off down a different corridor. Away from the scent of death and the powers of Necromancy. Away from thoughts of the executed prince, and what they’re likely doing with his stolen remains.

Fairies, but not like any I’ve seen. I’m sure that’s what they are. Fairies. I think of Mevyn. He was good, mostly, and still he took what he needed from me. He made me do things for him. These are obviously wicked. Cruel. Evil. The Dusk.

Why, though? What do they want from me? And why did they take Celli and the others and lock them up?

Osven’s stride grows more confident with each step. He’s back in control. Ready to be as ruthless as he needs to be. We stop in front of an open tunnel. The air from inside licks toward us, damp and musty. Osven turns to our guard escorts.

“You will remain here. If I do not return by sunset, come looking.” He waves a hand over the entrance. Whispers an incantation. The air from inside is closed off. The ward is set between the Sorcerer and me and the guards.

“Nullen,” he drawls, jerking his head toward the inside of the passage.

I raise my chin. In casting the ward between us, I know what he’s after. He wants to see me in action. Watch me go through. I oblige him. I step across it like it’s not even there. He regards me with a smirk of triumph.

“That,” he explains, flicking a bony black-Marked finger toward the space between us and the guards, “is a Master Ward. Used in Cerion by the highest ranking Mage guards of the king himself. I believe there, they would rank it forty-fifth circle. Yet you pass through it as though it is nothing at all. But how? What is the extent of your power? And how did you come by such a gift?”

He leans closer as he murmurs, his eyes wild with the need for answers. His breath is foul, like rotten teeth. I stand tall, even though he towers over me. I try to look braver than I feel. Defiant. I’m not telling him a thing. Not a word. I clear thoughts of Mevyn and Valenor from my mind as a precaution. Just in case.

He examines me like a scroll. As if my face is the page of a book that can just be read. I think about how much I hate him. I imagine wringing his skinny Marked neck. I wonder if he can read that.

On the other side of the wards, the guards watch the two of us. They couldn’t stop me if I tried it. They couldn’t do anything. I glance at them. Osven chuckles wickedly.

“Try it,” he says. “And the girl dies.” At first I think he means Celli, but then his grin twists cruelly. “What was her name? Saesa?”

I try to stay stoic but I’m sure I fail. I’m sure my concern for Saesa is plain on my face.

“Yes. The squire,” his tone is low and hateful. “I know of her. We know much about you here, Tibreseli Nullen. Curious that no one has come to your aid yet, is it not? That Sunteri fae of yours, or Valenor? Or your sister, hm? They all have the means. They must be aware that you are being held here. Why have they not come? We should very much like to meet them. Any or all of them.”

I try hard to hide my shock at his words. He’s right. Almost all of them are able to slip through the Half-Realm. Valenor, Mevyn, even Ki, my sister, though she’d need the permission of Iren, her guardian. Everyone except Saesa. I’d just have to reach out to them, probably. I won’t, though. I won’t put them in danger.