Emergence (Book 2) (3 page)

Bolin obliged, and Grumnlin took advantage to dart away. He gave a strangled yelp as Bolin snagged him by the collar and hoisted him off his feet. Grumnlin flailed his legs in the air, and swung his arm around, the knife aimed at Bolin's chest. The fingers of Bolin's free hand snapped around Grumnlin's wrist, nails digging into flesh until the knife fell useless to the ground.

"That wasn't very polite," Bolin said, teeth clenched.

Grumnlin kicked at him. "Put me down! You don't hold me."

"It appears I do." Bolin glanced around. "Where's your mistress, Grumnlin?"

"Dead!" He aimed a fist at Bolin, and missed. "You kill Lady."

"You're not a very good liar." The hair on Bolin's arm stood on end. The same vague magic sense he had gotten in the ruins trickled off Grumnlin. "You found someone to help her, didn't you?"

Grumnlin folded his arms across his barrel of a chest and stopped squirming. "Put down."

"Why shouldn't I just kill you?"

Grumnlin's eyes went wide and he swallowed, hard, taking the threat to heart. "Not run. Lord not kill. Not run."

Bolin contemplated his options. Grumnlin had been known to carry out tasks for the crone, to stretch her reach beyond the confines of her prison, reason enough to leave him for the worms. Still, he could lead Bolin to her if she lived.

He lowered Grumnlin back onto the rock,
and released his hold. Even standing to his full height on his perch, the creature came no higher than Bolin's chest. He met Bolin's hard stare, thumbs stuck through his belt and his chest puffed out.

"Some day, I kill you," he said, matter of fact, as though telling Bolin the swamp stunk.

"Possibly. But not today. It's admirable to be so loyal to your mistress. I hope she rewards you well."

"Lady make me."

"I'm aware of your origins, little man. Tell me, who did you find to help your mistress?" Grumnlin pursed his lips and glared defiantly. Bolin resisted the urge to back-hand him into the nearest tree. "You can die here, or you can tell me what I want to know."

"You no kill." Grumnlin squeaked when the tip of Bolin's dagger pricked his throat. It didn't quite break the skin. Yet. "No do!"

"I've no more patience for you, or your mistress. It will mean less than nothing to me to give you back to the swamp that bore you. Who did you find?"

"He found me."

Bolin whipped around, flipping his dagger into his left hand as he drew his sword and faced the woman who had come silently up on them. She spread her arms to the sides and surveyed him coolly with eyes of deep lavender. Grumnlin shifted on his rock, but thought better of it when Bolin's dagger reclaimed its position against his throat.

"And you would be?" Bolin asked, not even glancing at Grumnlin.

"A friend of Grumnlin's," she said. "Tell me, what has he done to deserve threats of death from one such as you?"

"That is no business of yours."

"Hmm." The woman studied him, her head tilted. "It may be."

She lowered her arms
, and Bolin brought the point of his sword up a fraction. The elusive magic he'd felt belonged to her, but even this close he couldn't get a true sense of it. It had a foulness that made his skin crawl. Most magic began neutral in its conception and turned whichever way the possessor guided it. Bolin curled a lip. This magic had never been anything other than evil.

"Where is she, witch?" he asked.

The woman smiled. "Safely away from you, bastard son of a motherless whore."

"Pleasant."

Bolin lowered the dagger and Grumnlin bolted to hide behind the woman's skirts. She gazed lovingly at him, and reached down a hand to stroke his head as though he were some wayward pup.

"Do you have them both, then?" Bolin said.

"Are you going to try and take them from me?" She slid her gaze back to Bolin, challenge glittering in her eyes. "It should be fun. I've never met one of your kind."

She spread the fingers of her left hand, outstretched at her side. A black blob rested in her
open palm as she raised it up. Slime oozed between her fingers, hissing when it hit the ground.

Bolin sheathed both his weapons. They'd do him little good against this one. His skin warmed where Ciara's pendant rested at his throat. The woman raised her hand and pinched off some of the blob, rolling it between her fingertips. With a sudden flick she sent it spinning toward Bolin. He twisted out of the way a breath too late, hissing at the searing pain that lashed across his arm. Before he could retaliate, the woman tossed the remainder of the blob straight up in the air. As it streamed down over her and Grumnlin they literally disappeared. Bolin made a desperate grab for the magic before it totally dissipated. He shuddered, immediately regretting his decision. The magic had a slick, oily feel and burned where it nestled inside him. He'd never felt anything like it, and he'd channeled more magic than he could name. He closed his eyes, and concentrated on isolating the sticky, black glob
, but did not attempt to alter it. He needed to keep it only until he reached Galys Auld. There, the elders would hopefully be able to determine its origin and nature.

He looked down at his arm, lifting the tatters of his sleeve to reveal a jagged red welt just below his shoulder. The wound stung like something much worse. There'd be nothing in this place he'd trust to make into a poultice, so he tied the ends of the fabric around it and returned to where Sandeen stood, dozing.

He roused the horse and swung into the saddle. No sense lingering. His foray into the swamp hadn't been totally for naught. He hadn't found his quarry, but it seemed they had found themselves a new ally. Bad news all the way around.

Bolin turned Sandeen south, toward the Greensward, the bit of black magic roiling inside him like something he had eaten that wanted, instead, to eat him.

CHAPTER THREE

Bolin felt the Greensward's wards tremble as he approached, and Sandeen balked and tossed his head. The witch's black magic he carried hissed as the wards slid over it, and Bolin winced at the sharp stinging sensation it sent through him. He urged Sandeen forward, the wards crackling around them. They allowed him to pass but their presence followed. Bolin got the distinct impression had he not immediately made for Nialyne's chambers in the sprawling manor, they would have forced him there.

She met him in the doorway, the wind playing with the loose strands of her golden hair, her smooth brow furrowed as she watched him dismount. Eyes the deep green of lush summer leaves swept over him, and
Nialyne shuddered. Without a word she turned and made for her private study. Bolin followed her in, closing the door behind them.

"The wards have never announced you in such a manner," Nialyne said. "Not even when you brought Danyala Ciara here. What is it you carry?"

"I'm hoping you can tell me."

"Do I dare ask where you came by it?"

Bolin wet his lips. The witch's magic made him sick. He'd barely eaten in the three days since leaving the swamp, and the wound on his arm burned like hell's own fire. "It seems the crone has herself a new ally. I don't know that I've come across her kind before."

"And so you took some of her magic? Without knowing what it is?"

"We need to find the nature of it to know our enemy."

Nialyne frowned. "Are you always so careless in what magic you hold?"

"Not normally," Bolin replied.

"Can you alter it?"

He grimaced. "I'd rather not. It's...I need a crystal."

Nialyne's brows hit her hairline. "Are you serious?"

"When have you known me not to be?"

"Bolin--"

His knees gave way suddenly and he sat down, hard, relieved to land in a chair and not on the floor. He closed his eyes. Bile rose in his throat, and he forced it down, looking up at Nialyne from under his brows. "I can't keep this much longer."

The door opened without preamble and two men and a woman rushed in, elders all, expressions showing concern and confusion. The oldest of the men, Maurar, confronted Nialyne, taking no notice of Bolin.
"The wards are screaming." The other man touched his arm before he could continue, and tipped his head to indicate Bolin seated in the chair before the fire. Maurar's irritated frown turned to surprise, and he bowed from the waist. "Danya Sciath, I did not realize."

The other two bowed as well
, and Bolin scowled at the pretense. "I set off the wards." The words came out close to a growl. The witch's magic clawed at him to be released, its touch inside his soul burning like liquid fire. "It was unintentional."

The woman elder--her name escaped Bolin, though he should have known it as well as his own--studied him with a clear, level gaze. She shuddered just as Nialyne had. "You carry darkness, Danya."

"Elders," Bolin slipped into Galysian, out of respect, though speech came through clenched teeth. "A crystal would be most beneficial."

Maurar exchanged a look with Nialyne, but it was the other woman who responded. "You wish to entrap it."

"We need to discover its nature." Bolin's muscles convulsed and he gripped the arms of the chair until his knuckles went white. "I would rather not debate the issue."

He didn't miss the immediate stiffening in Maurar's posture. Few had the audacity to order an elder, and there were fewer still this particular elder would acquiesce to. "This is a most unexpected request."

Bolin shoved out of the chair. "It is not a request."

Maurar flinched, and the elder behind him blanched. Nialyne stepped smoothly in front of Bolin and pushed him back into the chair with a hand on his shoulder
.

"
Blyth," she said, without looking away from Bolin, "there is a crystal in the box on the mantle. If you would, please."

A tremor started in Bolin's arms and worked its way through his entire body. Ciara's pendant flared against his skin, a different type of heat to what currently threatened to rip him apart from the inside out. He gri
tted his teeth to keep them from chattering. Someone handed Nialyne a milky white, multi-faceted stone about half the size of her fist. She cradled it in her palm and covered it with her other hand.

"You are sure of the wisdom of this?" she asked, for Bolin's ears alone.

He shook his head. "Not in the least."

Her expression hardened. "We will discuss this later, if we are still able."

"As you will." He held out his hand, palm up, unable to keep it from shaking. "The crystal."

Nialyne placed the stone carefully in Bolin's hand and he flinched, almost dropping it when the witch's magic flared as though recognizing the trap. Nialyne cupped his hand with hers to steady him. Bolin sucked in a ragged breath. He could take magic into himself--any magic--alter it, strengthen it, use it, or hold it for use at some later time. Rarely did he hold it without changing its original essence. He had never given the reasoning behind that much thought. He did so now. Altering the magic made it his and gave him control over it. Not altering it was like bringing an unchained and armed enemy into your camp
.

He took anther breath, and turned his focus inward toward the oily, black blob. The weight of the crystal in his hand, and Nialyne's soft touch, were his anchors. The witch's magic resonated with violence and hatred, and though there were four people in the room with the natural magic of the Greensward strong in their veins, Bolin had no desire to find out what would happen should he fail to entrap it within the crystal.

His awareness narrowed to the magic and the crystal. For the moment, nothing else existed. Pain ripped through him, and he cursed. Loudly. Searing hot knives tore through flesh and bone as he pulled the magic out. It fought him with all it had; substantial even in such a small bit. Ciara's pendant blazed in response to the threat, but Bolin couldn't spare even a thought to quiet it. He became aware of Nialyne speaking in ancient Galysian, opening the crystal so he didn't need to. The closer to the crystal the magic got, the more it fought him, and for a moment he doubted he would succeed.

It gave a last, pain laden surge and Bolin's vision went black. Then the crystal snapped shut.

Bolin huffed out a breath, blinking sweat from his eyes. Nialyne took the crystal from his hand and someone else replaced it with a glass of herb wine, which he nearly spilled on the way to his mouth. Unholy mothers, he never wanted to go through that again. He wiped a shaking hand across his face. Nialyne set the crystal in the center of the table and the four elders gathered around it. Maurar opened his mouth to say something when the door flew inward and Ciara blew into the room.

Her eyes skimmed over the elders, landed on Bolin and went wide with surprise before flooding with relief, followed just as quickly with concern. She offered no deference to Nialyne or the others; they could have just as easily been pieces of furniture. She went directly to Bolin and dropped to her knees next to the chair, resting her hand on his arm.

"Are you all right?"

He directed his gaze pointedly at Nialyne. Ciara's brow furrowed. She gave a quick glance over her shoulder and scrambled to her feet.

"I'm sorry, Danya Nialyne," she said, and bobbed a quick curtsy. "I didn't mean to barge in. I just--"

"There is little excuse for rudeness," Maurar interjected, and his dark eyes slid past Ciara as Bolin shoved unsteadily to his feet. "No matter the source."

Bolin dipped his head respectfully. "My apologies, Danya Maurar."

It didn't suffice. Maurar's expression remained pinched, his shoulders back. The crystal probably didn't help his mood any. It had gone from milky white to sludge colored, and every now and again it vibrated against the table top, the witch's magic roiling in its once pure center.

"What," Maurar spoke in Galysian, and gestured at the crystal, "do you intend to do with that?"

"I had hoped you could discover its nature," Bolin replied evenly, also in Galysian. Ciara scowled, her gaze flicking between the speakers in a conversation she couldn't understand.

"You cannot leave that here. Even encased in the crystal it is making the wards chatter." Maurar rolled his shoulders back and folded his arms across his chest. "I will not allow it."

"Would you rather the source of this magic be allowed free rein in the lands at your border?"

The elder's chin rose. "We can protect our own borders, Sciath."

"And to the unholies with the rest of the empire?"

"Danyas," Nialyne said, voice sharp. Bolin's shoulders snapped back, and Maurar's mouth clamped shut on whatever ill-advised retort had formed there. "I will retain the crystal. For now. Danya Blyth, if you could fetch the rest of the elders, we shall discuss our further course of action." She turned her gaze to Bolin. "You and I shall talk later."

Bolin narrowed a look Maurar's way, but bowed his head to Nialyne and the other elders. "As you will, Danya." He turned, caught Ciara by the elbow and escorted her from Nialyne's study.

***

Ciara found herself trotting to keep up with Bolin as he pulled her along. She rubbed her elbow when he finally released his grip, which didn't happen until they were nearly to the fountain in the center of the square. "Did I do something wrong?"

Bolin slid a reproving look her way. "Outside of barging in on a roomful of elders?"

"I didn't know."

"Which is why most people would knock when confronted with a closed door."

So much for Bolin being happy to see her again. "I thought something was wrong. I felt the wards, I think, and then
…something else."

That got her a sidelong, frowning glance. Ciara had imagined this moment so differently. She had hoped some of what she felt before Bolin left would have carried over. Instead, she got the cold, inscrutable Bolin.

She sighed. "I'm sorry."

Bolin shook his head. "It wasn't you." He studied the side of her face as they walked. "You look well."

Ciara failed at containing a snort.

"Ciara?"

When she didn't respond he stopped and turned her to face him. Ciara stared at his chest, unable to make herself meet his eyes. Something glinted silver through the laces of his tunic. She reached up to slide a finger under the chain around Bolin's neck, drawing out what should have been her pendant from beneath his shirt. It warmed to her touch as she traced the intertwining sigils with the tip of her finger; her mother's, her aunt's, the Goddess's, and now...

Ciara looked up, her brow furrowed. "It's different."

"I believe the fourth is yours," he said, his voice soft.

"Mine?" Ciara studied the intricate design. The pendant had been such a simple, elegant thing before. Though still beautiful, the roundness had gone out of it. There were more angles and sharp lines now, and the silver had a dark edge. "How?"

"I'm not sure."

Bolin's pulse beat in the hollow at the base of his throat, and Ciara's quickly caught pace. She let the pendant slip from her fingers
, and took a step back.

"Would you like it back, then?" he asked, an odd, husky tone to his voice.

She backed another step, and shook her head. "No."

"You've only to ask if you do. It is yours after all."

Her lips parted to say yes, but the word made it no further. She had nothing else of her aunt save memories, but she had enough magic issues to deal with these days. She hardly needed another. Even something as simple as the pendant.

Bolin cleared his throat. "It's no doubt what you felt."

"What I felt?" Ciara blinked. "Oh. Why?"

"Like the wards, it didn't agree with what I did."

"Is that why Maurar was arguing with you?"

"
Danya
Maurar." Bolin stressed the title. "He and I have never seen eye to eye."