Legend of the Ravenstone (30 page)

Hawkwing motioned for him to continue.

“He said they left their people to pursue the ultimate business venture: immortality.”

“What?” Jinx asked, blinking.

“They are here to market an elixir that will extend life and health,” Othenis said.

“Who would believe such a claim?” Arcturus scoffed, producing his pipe.

“I would,” Hawkwing said. “The Jornoans have been at civil war for decades. The more radical of their factions will go through any means to divine the future, and such dogged pursuit has awarded them an arrangement with the Durangiel of the Nightwind Mountains. While I cannot give the details of their trade, I do know that the Jornoans received the crystals the Durangien slaves mined. Somehow there must be a connection between the Jornoans, the crystals, prophecy, and Durangien immortality.”

“That is purely speculation,” Arcturus argued. “And a fantastical one at that. Why not search for a unicorn in the Great Forest to grant you three wishes?”

“Why not?” Jinx asked. “I would like three wishes—and a chance to live forever.”

Othenis held up a hand. “Diemh showed me the elixir.”

“I have ‘elixir’ too,” Arcturus said. “It is made from grapes, and it is kept in a bottle.”

Othenis smiled wryly. “I understand your doubt, but you must remember that regardless of what you choose to believe, we must humor Diemh’s story. It is merely a front, but until you discover his actual plan, you must hide your skepticism.”

Hawkwing cleared his throat. “The elixir.”

“Yes,” Othenis said, reddening. “Diemh said he escaped his people with their secret elixir, and he aims to market it, but his supply is dwindling. He needs to make more, and he says that Northern Secramore is an untapped resource. His greatest obstacle is that he lacks the means to obtain this resource. Therein is his proposal for us.”

“What does he want?” Arcturus asked.

“If we can help him, he will sign a contract with the guild—but only if we can produce the legitimate means to—”

“I know what he wants,” Hawkwing said, his drawn face grave.

Othenis gave a knowing nod.

“Well?” Jinx asked, impatient.

“He wants an Ilangien.”

Othenis raised a finger. “Not exactly. He did allude to the Great Forest and the life-giving river that runs through its heart.”

“I cannot even scrounge the words to respond,” Arcturus said, removing his pipe and staring incredulously at Othenis and Hawkwing. “This is all based upon myth!”

“Like elves and dragons, right?” Jinx asked. “So there’s a magic river that makes people live forever.”

Arcturus shook his head. “This is quite the ruse. For a ‘brilliant man,’ the Priagent hides his true intentions behind some folkloric quest. How would he believe anyone with any sense could place credence in such a claim?”

“That could be his test,” Othenis said, “to see if we are truly interested, and if we show we do not believe him, we walk away and award him his privacy.”

“A rather clever tactic,” Hawkwing said, “to gauge a potential ally or threat. We must play this game and without overt skepticism.” He moved his gaze to Arcturus.

Arcturus snorted. “What do you suggest? We agree to enter the magic forest and steal from a stream?”

“It don’t sound so tough,” Jinx said, cracking his knuckles.

“Appearances are everything. We have an expert medoriate in our midst,” Hawkwing said.

“I know nothing of elves and pixies. My magic ‘trick’ is making Whitestar glow. What do you...” Arcturus trailed off at the tracker’s nod. “You cannot seriously expect—”

“Regardless of what the staff can do,” Hawkwing said, “you are the expert. Your claims will not be disputed. Whitestar—a powerful cantalere that can protect us from the magic of the Wild.”

“I will
not
tout the staff’s power to entice a power-hungry man,” Arcturus said, adamant.

“Then what is its purpose?” Hawkwing asked, his voice as even as the sea’s horizon. “Why do you have it? Undoubtedly it will be called to question. But if you are the only one capable of using it, we have that much assurance that the Priagent will not consider it for himself. In either case, we will not be reaching the river, and you may never have to do more than make the staff illuminate. We need only reach Veloria’s border, where our allies will be waiting.”

Arcturus tightened his lips. “‘Elves,’” he grumbled. “It is as though William is speaking through you. Such nonsense.”

“We gotta look like the real thing,” Jinx chimed in. “If I can do it with the sword, you can do it with the staff, Arcturus.”

The Markanturian sighed.

Othenis rested his hands on the table. “What we don’t know is what Diemh is truly after. He has a powerful stone, a prophet, and a demon at his disposal. Could he be assembling a formidable team in place of an army? And if he wanted to achieve immortality, could he use the Ravenstone to do so?”

“For all the questions we ask, we can take small comfort in knowing the Priagent will have questions of his own about us,” Hawkwing said. “Whatever we do, we have to make it to Veloria.”

“Assuming the forest is safe,” Arcturus said. “They could easily follow us there.”

“Not nearly as easily as you might think,” Hawkwing told him. “In this, you will just have to have faith.”

Arcturus set his pipe down and folded his arms. “At present, that is a weighty expectation.”

Hawkwing turned back to Othenis. “Is there more to tell of your encounter?”

“Our meeting concluded on the promise that I would extend his proposal to my superiors. Should they agree to his task, a party would be sent to execute the course of action.”

The tracker nodded and stood.

“Where’re you going?” Jinx asked.

“Out for a breath.” When Hawkwing reached the door, he looked back at them. “I will quiz you on your names when I return.”

~*~

I
t took the hawk a moment to circle and finally glide down to light on the tracker’s gloved hand. “It
is
me,” Hawkwing assured her. “And I am sorry to disorient you like this. We have been through many adventures, but this time, I promise, will be our final dangerous gamble.” He stroked the back of her neck, taking note of the varying hues of brown that now patterned her plumage.

“Once we leave here, I need you to be vigilant. Follow, but do not come close unless I need you.” He gave a slight smile when she rubbed her bill against his hand. They watched the sun descend, a red and swollen eye ready to shut.

Her feathers raised, but Hawkwing did not turn until Othenis spoke.

“I do not envy your role in this at all. You have a daunting task ahead of you.”

Hawkwing said nothing, studying the man for a moment before returning his attention to the sunset.

“You...you are somewhat of a legend, and I admit I was excited when Bill said you would be involved. He trusts you like no other, as did the Three. I’m sure you have given some thought about what you will do now—now that the Watchers are no more.”

“I have,” Hawkwing said quietly.

“Your race,” Othenis started, then changed his approach. “I know time is important to you, given your circumstances. I thought I’d have little to lose by asking... I hope to gather a group—a force, rather... There are former Watchers who do not believe we should turn our backs on our cause. They are ready to continue—to do more to oppose the Seroko. Someone has to oppose them, or they will ruin all the Watchers have created.” He took a step closer to the tracker. “It would be inspiring to have you with us.”

Hawkwing maintained his silence, and his gaze fell to his hands. “I respect your offer, and I respect your ambitions, but I must decline.” He raised his hand, and Snowfire took off, soaring to one of the scraggly trees dotting the landscape.

“Might you yet consider it? You need not give an answer now. I know you already have too much on your mind, and so much depends on this mission. You may find this would be a welcome involvement, a sort of new family that will look after you as much as you will guide them.”

The tracker met his gaze. “I’m done after this. I’m sorry. I wish you success where the Watchers have failed; I know you will keep their ideals true.” He gave a slight bow and left Othenis to the first hues of twilight.

“B
rother, your request has been seen to, and the preparations have been made.”
The broad-shouldered man known as Nesif approached the Priagent with concern.
“Are you certain you are well enough to attempt this? We can wait—”

“No. There will not be another time.”
Priagent Rashir Diemh rose from his chair and set down his book.
“And we cannot always call to question my health. I will do what must be done.”

“Very well, though do not forbid me from my concern. As your brother, it is my right to express this sentiment.”

The Priagent smiled.
“I will not begrudge you, Nesif. Take me to the creature.”

The two of them left the manor and walked through an overgrown garden. The clouds were heavy with pending rain, and the air was stagnant with mud-thick humidity.

“Will you use the stone to claim the Demon?”
Nesif asked, dabbing at his neck.

“Without knowing what manner of creature it is, I dare not take such a risk. It will be mine to control, and that should suffice.”
The Priagent stopped to pluck a flower.
“I admit that I am eager to explore its abilities. I am curious as to the strength of its magic.”
He lifted his head.
“I did not know we were to expect rain.”

“There were no clouds to be seen an hour ago,”
Nesif said.
“We can wait,”
he offered again.

The Priagent shook his head and flung the flower away.

“The others are waiting within the woods,”
Nesif continued.
“Asmat has taken great pleasure in weakening the creature’s mind. You should be able to assert your control without much resistance.”

“Amongst the lot of us, he has the hardest heart,”
the Priagent said.
“It is why I chose him to mind the Demon. We must take care, however, that he does not permanently harm the creature and negate its purpose.”

“You have not seen it since you have returned,”
Nesif said.
“I confess it is not what I expected.”

“How so?”

“It is...smaller than I envisioned.”

The Priagent gave his brother a curious look.
“Yes, but you are a mountain. Look at me, Nesif. Do I seem at all imposing?”

“I know you well enough to say yes.”

“But others do not, and they make the mistake of misjudgment. We will not err in such a way.”
They continued a fair distance beyond the garden and into the heart of a grove of trees. The shrouded creature was chained to one of them, held fast against the trunk with its head bowed. The Priagent’s six followers stood in a circle around it, Asmat the closest. When they saw their leader, they all bowed reverently.

The Priagent slowly approached the creature.
“Ah, the notorious White Demon,”
he mused.
“Its untold power bound by alethrium shackles.”
He knelt down and lifted the Demon’s head to see the cuts and bruises.
“I see you have been overly enthusiastic, Asmat.”

“
I know you need a weakened mind, brother, and despite the creature’s size, it was more than a little spirited.”

Rashir looked up at his follower in disappointment.
“And you sought to break that spirit.”

“With your best interests in mind, of course.”

“My best interests are to keep the creature in a state that will be useful to me. What is the matter with it?”
The Demon’s eyes were tightly shut, its face drawn. The rest of its body was as rigid as the tree to which it was affixed.

Asmat shook his head, and the pause in conversation was broken by a rumble of thunder.

“Clearly it is afflicted,”
the Priagent said, more to himself.
“Has it spoken?”

“I do not believe it can speak,”
Asmat said,
“or else it would have done so with its master.”

“Perhaps it has nothing to say.”
He released the creature and placed a hand on its damp forehead.
“Regardless, what I need to know is beyond words.”
He closed his eyes.
“Even now I can feel it. I can feel the energy building; it surrounds the creature without touching it.”
His hand moved from the Demon’s forehead to where its heart pounded against its shallow chest.
“And here. A similar force—concentrated—waiting to explode. It is most curious.”

“Brother, are you sure you must make use of this creature?”
Nesif asked.
“It is not like the others you have controlled. It may be too much.”

The Priagent opened his eyes.
“It pains me that you lack such faith in me.”

Nesif straightened.
“It is not a lack of faith in
you.
It is distrust in a demon. We have a sound force within our party. Do we not present a formidable entourage? Why take this risk?”

“It is part of the vision,”
the Priagent said, his voice wavering like a blade of grass in the growing wind. The trees above creaked and groaned, their leaves hissing in warning. Seemingly unmindful of the pending storm, he drew a knife and made a light, quick slice across the Demon’s cheek. Luminous violet flames darted from behind the creature’s foxlike eyes as they snapped open to glare at the offender. A line of deep red blood welled and ran from the cut.

“It bleeds,”
the Priagent said to his brothers.
“You see that it bleeds, and its blood is like ours. This is no spirit, no tangible demi-god. It is a creature of flesh—fallible, mortal. You should know, for you captured it. In spite of this frailty, there is potential here—a power our force does not have. This is my sword—a weapon, and nothing more. I will carry it, wield it, and use it at my discretion. Why should I fear what my own hand will control?”
He gave them a nod.
“You will see.”