First Comes The One Who Wanders (52 page)

Sinking onto the cot, he tried not to worry about what might happen to him. He had no idea what Mandrak had done in that temple, but obviously from the reaction, it hadn’t been good. Fretting over the fact that he’d omitted telling them about Gidron Frey, he strained to hear what was going on outside the door. But for now, everything seemed quiet.

Seeing Mandrak’s condition, he had a feeling it was going to prove important that the crafter had been there. He was also fairly certain that if he said anything about it now, it would sound like he was making it up to protect himself from the council.

He just couldn’t die here in Stillmont, or worse yet, end up in their dungeons. What would Vanya do with both her brothers dead or gone? Their father was a hard man and would expect more of her than she could give. She was a gifted healer, not a slave.

Jakob scowled at the thought of their father. It didn’t seem to make a difference to their father that Vanya was special, gifted. He needed a servant, not a healer and since he and Michael had been away, Vanya had had to bear the brunt of their father’s heavy hand.

He tried to get home as often as he could to help his sister. But lately, his visits had been infrequent. Adrian Cheran had kept him busy carrying messages to and from all the cities of Solea that were standing against the Dredracians and spying on the enemy when the need arose. Each time he did make it home, Vanya seemed smaller and more distant. Jakob was afraid if he didn’t get her away from their father soon, he would have lost a sister as well as a brother.

He'd been planning to take her away from their father and move her to Kyris, but he didn’t have the means right now to take care of her. He lived in the messenger’s bunkhouse. Where would he put her? Unless he could find her an apprenticeship with a healer, who would take her in, and he hadn’t been able to do that yet, she would have no place to live.

There was just no choice, he told himself, jumping to his feet and pacing the small room where he was being held. He would have to convince the council that he had nothing to do with any of this so he could get out of here and do his best to get Vanya to Kyris.

But how did he do that? he asked himself, running his fingers through his thick, dark hair. After all, he'd been following Mandrak. He wasn’t in Stillmont as a messenger. He was here as a spy. Even if he wasn’t spying on Stillmont, that fact wouldn’t go over well with the council. The fact that he'd turned Mandrak in to the protectorate would count for something. But the fact that he didn’t mention Gidron Frey would go against him. What could he come up with to turn the odds in his favor? Jakob ran his hand through his hair again. He'd never been good at lying or scheming.

The door to the protectorate building opened and closed, then the door to the room next to his opened and closed. Listening to the muffled voices in the next room, Jakob wondered if it would be better or worse for him if Mandrak died. It would be better for Preterlandis, he was sure of that much. The voices continued to talk quietly in the next room for a very long time. Then Jakob heard the cell door open again and he pressed his ear against his door.

"I’ve done all I can. He was a fool to try and wear the amulet," said a voice Jakob hadn’t heard before.

"I’m surprised it didn’t kill him. He certainly looked dead when they brought him back to the prison," said the voice of the officer.

"He’s still close to death and who knows what his mental state will be if he does survive."

"What do you think he did with the amulet? He couldn’t have gone far in his condition." said the officer.

"Thorston’s back in the temple looking for it now. We’ll know more when he returns."

"What about the other one? Do you think he’s involved?" The voices grew quieter and Jakob couldn’t hear what was being said.

He thought about the black bag that Gidron Frey was carrying when he left the temple. What had he been carrying? The amulet they were hunting this very minute? If Gidron did have the amulet, he was getting away because he hadn’t said anything.

Pacing a few more times while he made his decision, Jakob began banging on the door and calling for the officer. "I have something important to tell you," he yelled through the wooden planks.

"Save it for the council. I’m not interested in any of your lies."

"It concerns the amulet," added Jakob.

"I would have bet money that was what you were going to say. Save it for the council."

"If the thief gets away, it will be your responsibility."

"We have the thieves right here, so I’m not worried about them getting away."

"There was a third man, a crafter who's gone bad. Perhaps you’ve heard of him? Gidron Frey?"

"Nope, never heard of him."

"Perhaps one of the council might be interested in the information?" Jakob tried again.

"I’ll be sure to bring it up if I see any of them."

Jakob wanted to shake some sense into the dwarf, but had to be content with the answer. The officer wasn’t going to believe his story. He paced around the small room again, wishing now that he’d decided not to raise the alarm that Mandrak was in the temple. He would be free to go after Master Frey, or go back to Kyris and report. Of course, if he hadn’t reported Mandrak, he wouldn’t know that there was a reason to go after Gidron Frey. He wouldn’t know anything about the amulet. But now that he knew, he had to figure out some way to get out of Stillmont and find Gidron Frey or at the very least, report what he knew to Adrian Cheran.

What was this amulet Mandrak had come to steal? It must be fairly important if the scribe came for it himself and considering the fuss the dwarves were raising. Jakob tried to remember any stories he’d heard about special amulets. But other than some stories about elvish talisman, he couldn’t think of any.

Pressing his ear against the door, he tried to hear what was happening in the other room, but only muffled sounds came through. Sighing, he sat on the cot and tried to relax. It could be quite a while before the council gathered to talk to him. In the meantime, Gidron Frey was putting more distance between himself and Stillmont. He would be lost before the council even knew about him.

Stopping in Glorian only long enough to slake his thirst in the city fountain, Gidron headed north. He wasn’t going to waste his time trying to find a ship to take him back to Crogmanland. There was only the Strait of Solein between Sylphia and Crogmanland and he had a small vessel waiting there for him.

He touched the velvet bag hanging at his side. The power to be the ruler of all Preterlandis lay so close and yet it was still out of his reach, but perhaps not irretrievably. He also had the Book of Rengailai. Somewhere in that book was the key to this amulet. Then all that remained was to wield its powers and bring Preterlandis under his rule.

Gidron thought of Leilas and the quest she’d undertaken. Could those pieces of stone she was collecting make this amulet less deadly? Rengailai had hinted that they could. But he’d also told him he would have to discover the secret for himself. He'd assumed Rengailai meant that the answer was in the book. He wouldn’t know until he got back to his stronghold within the darklings’ territory and had a chance to study more of the book. He shuddered. Studying the book always left him weak and nauseous. The dark magic was strong and compelling, but it took a great effort to control it. He paid a high price each time he used the magic in the book.

But, the pull of the magic was more than he could resist, as was the promise of power Rengailai had made to him. He'd spent many years preparing for this moment. While the masters of the School of Sky sat and argued about the balance, the mists and what was the true course of destiny, he would be busy conquering Preterlandis and bringing it under his control. Rengailai had promised him this in return for not training the Chidra properly. It had been too easy.

The masters of Sky in their wisdom had given their Chosen One into his hands. They'd been naive and innocent in their belief that this was the prophesied path. Gidron frowned as he walked. Despite his plans, Leilas had become an accomplished crafter. He’d withheld knowledge and sent her into situations she wasn’t strong enough to handle. Yet, invariably, she’d survived and her power had grown.

When Rengailai met her he was satisfied Gidron had done his job. Gidron wasn’t as sure. Leilas’ gifts could be deceiving. One minute, it appeared she was an imbecile, the next she was accomplishing amazing feats of magic. But who was he to argue with the Dark Lord’s crafter, especially when he was given the book as a reward?

He covered the miles quickly. He could have already arrived if he’d changed into a wolf or an owl. But he didn’t know what would happen with the amulet in his possession. It was a risk he wasn’t willing to take. Instead, he strode briskly toward the Strait of Solein.

He needed to get back to check on Leilas’ progress in her search for the Temple of Crog. It would also be helpful if he knew where she was going next. The darklings were more than capable of handling that simple task. They simply lacked the discipline to not go beyond what he asked. He needed the Staff of Power to complete his set of tools that would ensure his absolute control of Preterlandis, second only to Rengailai.

Once she did find all the pieces and assemble the staff, then he would confront Leilas and remove her from the picture forever. Lord Dredrak had promised him that pleasure. He wasn't sure why Rengailai had been passed over and he hadn't risked the Dark Lord's wrath by asking.

Night fell, but he didn’t stop moving. The newly acquired power running through him didn’t let him rest very often. It burned in his veins, driving him. He'd traveled far enough that he stopped worrying about being pursued. Either the dwarves hadn’t discovered their loss yet, or they were assuming that scribe was responsible. One way or the other, they weren’t following him.

He moved quickly and quietly, never stopping to rest or to eat. He made the coast late on the morning of the third day. The strait was choppy and the salt water stuck to his face and made it feel tight, but the day was clear. He could see the coast of Crogmanland from where his vessel was waiting. Stepping inside the boat, he pushed out and set the sail. He would reach the other shore in a few hours and be back to his job of watching Leilas by the day’s end.

He could watch her struggle to fulfill her destiny, all the while knowing he held one of the vital pieces to ensure the Creator didn’t succeed. It gave him a twisted satisfaction to know that he held that much power in his hand. It crossed his mind to flaunt his prize in front of Leilas. Surely, Rengailai and the other crafters knew he'd won the game. So why were they still playing it out?

The council had never included him in their voyages into the mists. Some of what they'd seen was known only to them. Perhaps they knew something he hadn’t discovered yet. The thought crossed his mind that perhaps he lost the amulet in the future. Tapping the bag that held his treasure, he dismissed that idea. There was no chance he was going to leave the amulet anywhere it could be lost or stolen.

When he reached the other shore, he dragged the boat to the bushes and secured it. Then he started for the last spot he’d seen Leilas and Erion. From there, he easily followed the trail the darklings were leaving him. He caught up to his men to find them embroiled in a battle with the crafter and the elf. Cursing, he quickly called his men back. Hearing his signal, the darklings retreated and joined him in the forest.

"I told you to follow them, not to kill them." He grabbed the leader and shook him. "We need her to find all the pieces of the Crafter’s Staff. Only she can find them all."

"They are in our forest," replied the darkling haughtily. "If we want them dead, we will kill them."

Gidron’s eyes narrowed. Raising his hand, he spoke several words of magic quickly. The leader of the darklings screamed in pain then went limp and fell to the ground, dead. "Do any of you share Derrik’s feelings?" Gidron asked the remaining darklings.

The darklings muttered, but no one spoke. "Good," he said, satisfied. "I want them alive. All I want you to do is follow them. Can you manage that simple task?" The darklings muttered, but nodded in the affirmative. "Then go, follow them, leave them alone. When they stop, let me know. Darrok, you're now the leader." Following Gidron’s instructions quickly, the darklings bolted down the road after the fleeing elf and crafter.

Gidron kicked the body at his feet, then stepped over the dead darkling and continued through the forest to the abandoned darkling stronghold he’d taken over as his home. The walls rose suddenly out of the forest and enclosed the dark castle. The fortress was made from the stones spewed from the volcanoes, its exterior rough and forbidding. The magic here suited him more than the light magic of the School of Sky. He’d endured the irritation of the light magic for more years than he cared to remember, although he’d been able to pass as a light crafter. He’d never quite understood how he’d accomplished fooling all the light crafters, but it had served him well.

Entering the fortress, Gidron made his way down into the lower rooms, intent on his goal. Reaching the last room off the main hallway, he spoke a word that was as old as the fortress. The door opened and he stepped into the empty room. Stepping to the center of the room, he knelt and spoke another ancient word. Then he pried a stone from the floor and deposited the amulet in the recess he found there. He replaced the stone and spoke the ancient word again. Leaving the room, he sealed the door. Then smiling to himself, he went in search of food.