Mickey Zucker Reichert - Shadows Realm (42 page)

Larson struggled for awareness. Deep inside, he knew he held an answer, but he could not quite grasp the question.
Sorcerer. Mind. Ripped.
Abruptly, everything fell together. “Astryd. I think I may know where Bolverkr is.”

Astryd whirled toward Larson.

Painfully, word by word, Larson described the presence that had assailed his mind in the seventh-story tower of the baron’s keep. “I think it’s still there.”

Gently, Astryd knelt at Larson’s side. She stroked his hair, brushing tangled strands from his face. Stripped of sensation, Larson could not feel Astryd’s touch nor the caring she intended to convey. “Allerum, I don’t think you trapped Bolverkr, but I do believe we may have found Silme. With your permission, I’m going to enter your mind and check.”

Anything for Silme.
Larson nodded his consent, but Astryd braced her hand against his head to stop the movement.

“I want you to understand what you’re agreeing to. It could be a trap. It may not be Silme. If I encounter Bolverkr, he’ll certainly kill us both.”

Death no longer frightened Larson. “Try.”

This time, it was Taziar who looked stricken.

If you love your friends, you must hate the enemies who seek to destroy them.

—Captain Taziar Medakan, senior

Trusting Asril and Taziar to control Harriman, Astryd thrust her consciousness into Larson’s mind. She entered a world as gray as tarnished silver. Dull and mostly spent, her life aura supplied no illumination. Eyes squinted, she stumbled through patterns of thought, tripped over a stray loop, and crashed into a tangled tapestry of memory. Astryd winced, awaiting the inevitable wild flashes of reaction.

But Larson’s mind lay still as a sea becalmed. Astryd disentangled, glad her clumsiness had not cost him the pain of sins or fears remembered. Abruptly, she realized his lack of response could only stem from the severity of his injuries, and relief gave way to a sorrow that warred with guilt.
Maybe if I’d used magic in the prison, I might have spared Allerum some of that beating.
She reviewed her reasoning, picking her way deeper into Larson’s mind.
Weakened by two transports, I doubt I could have cast any spell strong enough to influence the fight. And I was so certain rescuing Silme would require magic, I didn’t dare waste it.

Astryd caught a glimpse of a faint glow in the distance and steered toward it. Despite her rationalization, she still felt responsible for Larson’s infirmity.
I tried to heal him.
The memory surfaced. She had channeled most of her remaining life energy into a spell to mend his injuries, but that had scarcely gained him the strength to open his eyes and verbally challenge Harriman.
It wasn’t enough. And, now, I’m afraid Allerum is going to die.
A lump filled her throat and tears burned her eyes. She banished them with resolve.
If I’m not careful now, we’ll both die.

As Astryd approached, the illumination assumed the shape of walls, paper thin and translucent, unlike the unyielding steel of natural, mental barriers. The radiance shone from beyond them. Tentatively, Astryd extended a finger and poked Larson’s defenses. The substance yielded to her touch, fine as silk, then crumbled to dust. Light blazed through, its source a hovering speck.

Astryd sprang back in surprise. This went beyond the realm of her experience. The shimmering fragment seemed harmless, easily dismissed if not for the overwhelming gloom of Larson’s mind. “Silme?” Astryd tried.

“Allerum?” The reply touched Astryd’s ears, more like a presence than a sound. Despite the strangeness of its sending, the voice belonged, unmistakably, to Silme.

Astryd exhaled in relief, and only then realized she had been holding her breath. “Astryd,” she corrected. “Silme, I don’t understand. Are you here or not?”

“It’s a probe,” Silme explained. “A thought extension of me.”

Astryd shook her head to indicate ignorance.

Apparently, Silme misinterpreted Astryd’s silence. “Astryd, are you still there?” The odd form of communication relayed Silme’s concern as well as her words.

“You can’t see me?”

“No. Through a probe I can only read Allerum’s current concentration and send or receive mental messages. Nothing more.”

Many questions came to Astryd’s mind, but she knew most could wait. For now, she needed to know how to bring Silme back to the whorehouse. “You can’t leave with me?”

“No.” Sorrow touched Silme’s reply. “Unlike you, my actual presence is elsewhere. I would need to use a transport escape.”

Astryd considered. Realizing Silme could not read her silences, she explained, “I’m thinking.” Unable to suppress curiosity, she questioned. “While you were here, why didn’t you communicate with Allerum? It would have saved us all grief wondering where to look for you.”

“I tried. He walled me in. Usually, he can’t detect probes, but I was desperate. I brought all my life energy with me and the baby’s. I think I hit Allerum too fast and hard.”

“Walled you in?” Astryd stared at the scattered powder remaining from Larson’s conjured barriers. “That thing you call a wall fell apart when I touched it.”

“A probe has no physical form,” Silme reminded.

Larson’s mind dimmed as he slipped farther from awareness.
If Allerum dies, I’ll lose contact with Silme.
A more desperate thought gripped her.
I’m in his mind. If he dies, I go with him. And Silme, too.
Aware Silme could not know about Larson’s injuries, Astryd tried to keep alarm from her voice. “Silme, how do we get to you? Where do we find you?”

Apparently, Astryd’s distress trickled through, because Silme’s reply betrayed suspicion. “Is something wrong?”

“Yes.” Astryd did not want to burden Silme with additional concerns. If nothing else, urgency would increase the cost in life energy of any spell she might need to cast. “You’re in trouble, and I want to help. How do we get to you?”

“You can’t. Bolverkr created an isolated location in Harriman’s memories and transported me to it. I’m displaced in space and time. You can’t transport somewhere you’ve never seen. Even if you could, you would have no way to get me out.” The dejection that slipped through Silme’s contact unnerved Astryd. She had never known Silme to surrender to a dilemma. “I’ll just have to cast a transport of my own.”

Raw fear edged Astryd’s voice. “That would kill the baby!”

“What choice do I have?” Silme’s grief and desperation wafted clearly to Astryd. “I’ve given this baby every chance I can, but it apparently wasn’t meant to be born. Allerum and I will just have to make another. It might be fun,” Silme quipped, but the probe betrayed her attempt at humor as false bravado.

Allerum.
Terror crushed in on Astryd, and she had to fight for every breath.
By the time Silme returns, that unborn baby may be the only thing left of the man she loves. I can’t let her destroy it.
A million possible replies came to Astryd at once, but she forced herself to remain unspeaking until she had full control over her emotions. “Silme,” she said with admirable composure, “we’ll find another way.”

“What?” Silme said with surprise, rather than as a challenge.

Larson’s mind went black as he faded into unconsciousness. Astryd stiffened, and desperation jarred loose a memory of her own. The conversation had occurred only a day earlier, but it seemed like months ago. “Silme, I have an idea! Do you remember when we tried to figure out why a Dragonrank mage would want to kill Taziar, and we talked about spell mergers?”

“Vaguely.” Silme sounded guarded. “What are you thinking?”

Astryd was excited now. “Could you tap my life energy through your probe?”

A pause followed. Though short, it seemed interminable to Astryd. “Possibly,” Silme said. “I’ve never tried before. You’d have to be at full strength for me to risk it.”

Astryd cringed. The transports and Allerum’s healing had tapped her so low she did not hold enough power to transport herself.
But Silme must use less life force than I do for a transport. I have enough for her, I think.

Silme continued. “There’s no way for me to feel how much life energy you have nor for you to guess how much I might tap. Once I start the spell, it’ll claim as much life force as it needs. If I tap you to nothing, you’ll die as surely as if you miscalculated yourself.”

Astryd realized that, soon enough, all three of them might die. She had moments to free Silme and less time to make her decision. Urgency made her curt. “I know that.”

“Your life is more important to me than any unborn baby. Even my own.”

Astryd hesitated. She could not afford to tell Silme about Larson; nervous energy would increase the amount of life force needed for any spell, and Astryd had little enough to spare.
The decision is mine alone.
“I’m at full strength.” The lie came with surprising ease. “Tap as much as you need, and come to Harriman’s bedroom.”

“Astryd ... ?” Silme started.

“Just do it!” Astryd snapped, aware they could not waste time for platitudes or good-byes. “Please,” she softened the command as if in afterthought.

To Astryd’s relief, Silme fell silent.

A moment later, Astryd’s strength drained from her, and her awareness plunged into nothingness.

Bolverkr awakened pinned beneath the shattered remnants of a fortress turret. Bruises hammered and throbbed through his body. He tensed to shift, but the blocks and chips of stone held him in place. Agony flashed along his spine, and he gritted his teeth against the pain. He sank back into place, his ragged, gray aura flickering over the granite, like a living thing.

Bolverkr had long ago drained his own life force battling the very Chaos that kept feeding him the energy to continue a fight he could never hope to win. The cycle had seemed like endless nightmare to Bolverkr. Unwilling to surrender, he had had no choice but to draw on Chaos to battle Chaos until his citadel toppled into ruin, taking his consciousness and his identity with it. Then, the Chaos-force had done its job, battering the last of Bolverkr’s sense of self into oblivion, destroying even the deepest bindings of morality, leaving only a great and ancient intellect to direct its evil.

Now, Bolverkr channeled energy to himself, directing it into a spell that sent boulders sliding down his person and tumbling down the hilltop. Gingerly, aching, he rose to a sitting position, tapping a shred of Chaos to counter the pain of every injury. Chunks of stone, wood, and fabric littered the hilltop. A few jagged columns of wall clung stubbornly to existence, devoid of their protecting magics, the last remains of Bolverkr’s mighty fortress.

Not again!
No sorrow accompanied Bolverkr’s thought, only a savage, crimson fury that sapped life force like a vortex. He sprang to his feet, clutching the remains of the Chaos-force to him, feeling the weakness of it and knowing its vast potential would return only with time and rest. A cry strangled in his throat, and he quenched rage with vengeful promises against the man, elf, and woman who had ruined him.
To attack in anger is simply stupid. I’m too weak to deal with them now. I need to rebuild. Then I’ll lure them to me, force them to fight on my home ground.