King's Folly (Book 2)
Read King's Folly (Book 2) Online
Authors: Sabrina Flynn
KING
’
S
FOLLY
is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s overactive imagination or are chimerical delusions of a tired mind. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely due to the reader’s wild imagination (that’s you).
Copyright © 2014 by Sabrina Flynn
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover art and design by Nele Diel © 2014
Fyrsta World Map by Sabrina Flynn © 2014
Acknowledgements for map brushes and images:
bohemianresources.deviantart.com
to the survivors with scars unseen
“Often times, one must start at the end to find a beginning.”
—Galvier Longstride
KNOWLEDGE
IS
POWER
. The hoarding of rumor was an addicting sort of habit that made Isek Beirnuckle hum with ecstasy. Tiny morsels of information kept him alive, barely surviving, until the blissful moment when all the pieces fell into place, clicking together with a rush of glorious revelation.
Occasionally, he happened upon a rarity of illumination that was simply too tempting to resist, one where a more active role was required.
Isek had acquired precisely such a treasure, when earlier this morning, he had pressed his ear to a door and listened to two ancients speaking of matters never before spoken. The reward was limitless; the risk disastrous. But life had always been a game to one such as Isek, and he played it with a ruthless flourish.
In one indistinguishable corridor from the next, Isek led his four fellow Wise Ones behind a dusty tapestry that mirrored a thousand others.
A dark-skinned Kilnish Lord, a slant-eyed Rahuatl, a leather-garbed gnome, and a young power hungry Xaionian crowded behind the tattered tapestry with Isek.
Eiji growled, jostling for a better position as the four men threatened to squeeze the gnome from the cramped alcove. Isek suppressed a chuckle, imagining the tapestry from without, bulging and moving as five Wise Ones stuffed themselves into the space.
“Grant me access to the Archlord’s Runic Eye,” Tharios ordered, and although he wore a smooth, imperious mask of control, his eyes shone with hunger.
“I can’t—” Isek stammered. “Not until the Circle of Nine names you as Archlord. Until that’s done, Marsais is the only one who can grant you access to the rune.” Isek shuffled from foot to foot. But his uneasiness was insincere.
The Spine defied logic, it resisted reason, and anyone daring to ponder its design would be left with a truly puzzling conclusion. However, Isek knew the tower like the back of his teeth, and he
recognized that he had the advantage over the power hungry fool. He intended to keep it that way.
Tharios’ cool eyes pierced Isek. For a moment Tharios’ mask slipped, revealing the depth of lunacy beneath, but before Isek could take a step back, the mask returned, leaving him good and truly unsettled. He ran a nervous hand over his smooth head.
“You’re right of course.” Tharios dipped his chin. “Uphold your end of our bargain, and I’ll uphold mine.”
“As agreed.” Isek pressed his palm over a bare spot of stone. The invisible rune activated with a faint tremor. He motioned the four into the teleportation weave. When they had all disappeared, he stepped through, feeling the familiar tug of stone. He emerged in an alcove that was perpetually plagued by cobwebs. The four Wise Ones stood staring at the long corridor that was void of decoration save a row of doors on either side.
Their footsteps echoed in the emptiness.
“What’s behind these doors?” The gnome peered curiously at each in turn.
“Libraries, storage rooms, and
the
vault,” explained Isek, pointing to one of the rune-etched doors that looked no different from the rest.
“Would you look at that Ward.” Eiji gave a low whistle, but he strode past without pause, leading them into the Archlord’s circular study. The room was exactly how Marsais had left it this morning before the duel—utterly chaotic.
“The bed and bathing chambers are through there.” Isek pointed down the short hallway to the connecting doors.
“Impressive,” Shimei said, admiring the massive crystal window. “Although as disorderly as it is, I feel as if I’ve walked into the lunatic’s mind.”
The only uncluttered surface in the study was a table top covered with a swirling cycle of rune stones. Isek eyed the abandoned game of King’s Folly. Marsais and his nymph were fond of the lord’s game, and so was Isek; only he liked to play with lives.
While Shimei and Eiji poked curiously around the study, N’Jalss searched for the purported flask that Marsais had reluctantly told them about in the dungeon. Isek followed Tharios and the Rahuatl into the bedchambers. When the two spotted the charred bedclothes, they drew up short.
“Marsais has odd tastes,” Isek explained, vaguely.
“Have you ever seen the flask Marsais claimed was here?” Tharios folded his hands behind his back, scanning the room while N’Jalss began a systematic search of the area, flicking things aside with his clawed finger caps.
“Not in his bedchamber, aside from the Primrose wine I gave him. However, there were two flagons in his vault,” Isek said. “Isiilde opened one of them, and accidentally released the Imp that has been plaguing the castle. The second flagon is still in his vault.”
“Keep searching his bedchamber, N’Jalss,” Tharios ordered, before sweeping out of the room with a rustle of fabric. He gestured to the gnome and Kiln. “Eiji, Shimei, with me.”
Isek followed, threading a gold crown over his knuckles; back and forth, up and over, in a steady, uninterrupted motion. The coin was his only bad habit—his only physical tell to an otherwise flawless act.
Three of the most talented Wise Ones in the Order stood in front of the vault. Each wore an identical frown. Marsais’ wards were as legendary as his madness.
“Open it, Isek.” Shimei gestured at the vault.
“I think not,” Isek smiled blandly. “I’d sooner ride an Auroch than touch one of Marsais’ wards. The man may be mad, but he has a cruel sense of humor when it comes to runes. In the past, when he’s needed something from his vault, he always opens the door himself.”
“You’re not in a place to negotiate,” Shimei sneered.
“Actually, he is,” Tharios interjected with the smoothness of a diplomat. “Isek, as I’m sure he knows, is the only one who can safely transport us out of the Archlord’s inner sanctum. In short, Shimei, if something were to happen to our guide, we would be trapped here.” The Kiln bristled and, raising his chin, turned his back on Isek to study the warded vault.
“How did the nymph unravel this ward?”
“Isiilde has a talent for them. She thinks it’s a game. After she unraveled this one, she rifled through his vault.”
Tharios pursed his lips in thought. And Isek kept his breath even. It was apparent, even then, that there was more to the nymph than met the eye—
talent
was an understatement.
Eiji gave a dispassionate shrug. “We can use Marsais as leverage and have the nymph open it.”
“And risk her dying in the process?” Isek snapped. It wouldn’t do for Tharios to take an interest in the nymph. If the man Stievin, who had raped the nymph, had had any sense beyond his cock, he would have realized just what he possessed. The power hungry Xaionian would not be nearly so foolish.
Tharios held up a hand. “I honor my arrangements. I swore to Isek that he would have her. Besides, I wouldn’t trust the nymph to open this any further than I’d trust Marsais—who knows what those two might purposefully unleash.” Tharios turned to Shimei and smiled. “It’s time our Kilnish friend proved his dedication.”
Shimei spat. “What do you call my participation in this usurpation thus far?”
“You were the one who approached me. After all, if a nymph can unravel this ward, then surely it’s not too difficult for a Kiln.”
Tharios had pricked Shimei’s pride. The lord could hardly back down now; however, he was rescued by a soft murmuring breeze. An urgent chorus of whispers settled on Tharios’ ears—all vying for attention. The messages were the same:
The prisoners have escaped
.
