Severed Destinies (39 page)

“
What does that mean?” asked Arlath.

“
I don’t know,” replied Kithia. “However, this power only appeared after he had read the first scroll. Varayan was the only other person with him when he found them but I assume he will not be telling us much.”

“
It is a miracle that Varayan has managed to survive this long,” Jolas stated. “His wounds are too severe to recover from though. He will pass very soon I fear.”

“
When Rynn read the first scroll, he was not unconscious long,” said Kithia, thinking back to when she saw the acolyte lying prone on the floor of the barracks at Turambar. “I would like to see him and stay with him until he awakens.”

“
How do you know that this second scroll has not done serious damage to his mind?”

Kithia looked at Arlath and shrugged. “I don’t have any answers. You understand that I need to be there for him this time?”

Arlath felt all eyes turn on him. “Of course. Will you at least allow me to stay here while you see him?”

Kithia stepped close to him and, leaning forward, kissed his cheek. She had grown more than fond of Arlath during the time they had spent together and her hopes were that their relationship would continue to flourish. She had enjoyed watching his frustration as she kept him at arm’s length and, as his advances were becoming more frequent, she had found amusement in offering him the reward he sought only to snatch it away at the last moment. Now though, she looked into his crystal blue eyes and longed for the next time they were alone together.

Gorric cleared his throat, hoping to break the sudden silence. “We will accompany you upstairs.”

“
No,” Kithia said softly. “I still want to see him alone first. You can keep Arlath company for the time being.”

“
I’ll show you where his room is,” offered Jolas, leading her away from the three recruits. As they climbed the stairs, the councilor gripped her arm and leant in close. “I heard what you were saying before I entered the room downstairs. If Rynn displays further random
talents
, it will not be long before others learn of what is happening. There are people in Vylandor who believe magic to be evil.”

“
Most Rotians do not even believe in it,” Kithia remarked. “If Rynn were to master the power to heal, as he did with Ilkar, then he would be sought after no doubt by many in the city. I can understand that it may be perceived as evil though.”

“
Until we know more, I plan to keep this only between us. Gorric, Khir and Arlath must not talk about this with anybody else. What did you tell Karrid and his daughter?”

“
That Arlath was rushing across heroically after hearing Rynn and I argue but that he tripped in the garden and hit his head.” She smirked at Jolas. “I haven’t told Arlath that yet.”

“
Best not to. His pride has already taken enough punishment.”

They continued up onto the landing and Jolas pointed across at two doors. “Rynn’s is the first and Varayan is in the second. If you need anything, just call.”

As Jolas headed back down the staircase, Kithia approached the first door. She hesitated momentarily then opened it quietly and stepped inside. Much to her surprise, Rynn was nowhere to be seen. The vacant bed both filled her with joy and apprehension.

She backed out of the room and made her way along to the second door. However, as she reached out for the handle, it swung inwards and she could not help but emit a soft gasp as she found herself looking at a familiar but unexpected face.

“
Good morning,” Varayan grinned, leaning against the door frame.

She looked him up and down, her mouth open in sheer disbelief. Varayan’s hazel eyes were bright and, despite being unshaven, he looked healthier than the last time she had seen him. There were no dressings on his head and no visible scars to indicate the
fatal
wound he had sustained. The only difference in his appearance was a tussled patch of dark grey hair above his right ear.

“
I…I don’t…” Kithia simply could not find the words.

“
Understand?” smirked Varayan. “I’m not sure any of us do.”

“
They told us you were dying.”

Varayan shrugged. “They were wrong.” He glanced back into the room and, when he turned back to face her, his smile had faded. “I’m afraid I can’t remember much of what happened but I do know that our friend has done something quite impulsive.”

Kithia peered over his shoulder to see Rynn standing facing the window, hands clasped behind his back. “He healed you?”

“
I’d appreciate it if you didn’t talk about me like I am not in the room.” Rynn turned and, upon seeing Kithia, sighed deeply. “I am sorry…for everything.”

Varayan stepped back to allow Kithia into the room.

“
What have you done?” she asked the acolyte, sounding like a mother scolding her child.

“
I had to do it,” he replied. “I didn’t have the power to save Varayan.”

“
So you read the second scroll.” Kithia moved closer to him and could already see a noteable change in his demeanor.

He regarded her with confidence, staring deep into her eyes. “Would you rather I let him die?”

“
Now you’re talking like
I’m
not in the room,” muttered Varayan, sitting down on the edge of the bed to pull his boots on.

Kithia reached out and caressed Rynn’s face. “Forget about what has happened before. We can’t change the past. How do you feel?”

“
I feel…different. When I read the scroll, the same thing happened as with the first. However, now I can feel it within me, Kithia. The magic contained in the second scroll was more powerful.”

“
You sound happy about it,” she stated, frowning.

“
I don’t feel so scared now. I believe I can control it.”

“
You
believe
?” came Varayan’s doubting voice. “Like I
believed
I could run across rooftops in the rain?”

“
Should I have let you die?” Rynn’s tone was harsh and his eyes grew darker. “I don’t pretend to understand the extent of this magic or even how to work it yet. All I know is that I have saved a friend. Is that not a power worth having?”

“
Your intentions are not in question,” Kithia said. “We are just concerned.”

As Rynn looked once more into her eyes, his expression softened. “I know. By the way, how is Arlath?”

“
Sulking and confused, but he was not hurt. He is downstairs with Gorric and Khir.”

“
Then I should apologize to him.” Rynn straightened his clothes and began heading for the door.

Varayan stood, reaching out to grasp his arm. “Leave it for now. Let me go first.”

“
Why?” The acolyte looked puzzled.

Varayan flashed a mischievous smile. “Its not every day they come face to face with the walking dead.”

Rynn and Kithia watched him leave the room with a renewed bounce in his step.

“
Is he fully healed?” she asked.

“
Yes, although his memory has been affected. The last thing he remembers is walking the city streets and relieving some people of their purses.” Rynn turned to face her and, for a moment, he watched her standing before the window. The daylight gave her a glowing aura. “I told him about the fall.”

“
Will his memory return?”

“
Perhaps. Perhaps not. He is just happy to be alive.”

“
I can see that. Does Jolas know about his stealing?”

Rynn nodded. “The council and even the king know he was stealing. Afaron left Jolas to deal with it but I’m not sure anyone expected Varayan to be walking around again. Jolas will have to decide whether or not to have him arrested.”

Kithia ran both hands through her hair, closing her eyes as she did so. “So much is happening, Rynn. It frightens me. My mind is full of concerns for you, for Gorric and Khir, for Arlath, for Varayan and for the entire kingdom. It is overwhelming.”

Rynn smiled. “You do not need to worry about me. I plan on studying this magic and not living in fear of it.”

“
Are you not concerned what others will think?”

“
They will have to open their minds and accept this. Whether I planned for it or not, this is now a part of me.”

They heard a shout of surprise downstairs.

“
We should be down there to help explain,” said Kithia, walking towards the door. As she passed the acolyte, she quickly kissed him on the cheek before vanishing out onto the landing.

Left on his own, Rynn reached up and touched his cheek where her lips had touched his flesh. His heart pounded hard in his chest and he could feel the pangs of desire stabbing wildly at it. For a moment, he allowed his emotions to rise but the room suddenly began spinning. Rynn staggered and fell to the floor as a searing pain coarsed through his veins.

It will pass.

He listened to the voice and tried to remain calm. As quickly as it had arrived, he felt the pain diminish and the room slowly stopped its nauseating spiral. A moment later, he stood and wiped the back of his hand across his perspirating forehead.

It will happen again. It will be more painful. Do not resist it.

Rynn took a deep breath then walked out onto the landing, anxious to join his friends downstairs. He did not even stop to reflect on the sudden agony he had experienced or on the voice that had resounded in his mind.

Chapter 32

Ilkar looked up into the overcast sky and wondered whether the ominous clouds gathering overhead knew of their morose journey back to Vylandor, waiting for the right moment to release the freezing rain onto them. It was bitterly cold and he knew that the first snow would soon fall on the kingdom.

The corporal desperately wanted to sleep but he could not. Looking over his shoulder, his eyes first fell on the covered wagon that rolled slowly behind. Within it lay the body of King Afaron.

Ilkar thought back to the disturbing events that had transpired during the previous night. He had fled the house after seeing the king slain by Saroth, forced to break through one of the rear windows to escape the approaching Turambar traitors. Outside, the rest of the king’s entourage were surrounding the house. The most powerful men were trying to smash through the front door whilst others battered at the back. The wood refused to give and would not even splinter.

After Ilkar had reported what had happened to the officer who had originally entered the house with them, he watched as they lay siege to the humble dwelling. Several minutes later, the lights in the house were all extinguished at the same time and the chilling sound that Ilkar had heard Daen make could be heard within. As soon as that noise died away, the front door had given way and the soldiers charged in.

Ilkar entered soon after, his split ribs throbbing with a dull ache that he tried to ignore. The king lay where he had fallen, sprawled on the cold wooden floor which itself was red with Rotian blood. Afaron’s eyes were closed and he looked peaceful, as if he had died of natural causes.

Ilkar recalled seeing the bodies of the remaining five Turambar men, all lying next to one another in the same bedroom where he had been forced to kill Daen. Two of the men had minor wounds but no fatal injury was found upon any of them. They had seemingly just dropped dead.

Saroth was nowhere to be found. The assassin had somehow escaped the house, despite there being nearly two hundred soldiers in the settlement. Ilkar had now witnessed the foreigner murder both Sarin and Afaron. Both images haunted him, accompanied by rage, regret and guilt.

A raindrop landed on his face, snapping him from his thoughts. He looked from the wagon to the line of soldiers following him along the road. Their heads were bowed and shoulders sagged. They had not intended to be a part of the king’s impromptu funeral entourage.

Ilkar had ordered that a handful of men, along with three scouts, be sent to the Vylandor army who had continued their march to the bridge. The orders were simply to return to the capital. Word had also been sent to the commanding officers at Ashgar, telling them the grave news and issuing orders to set up defenses on the roads.

There was still no clue as to where the invading army would strike next but they would need to push south and Ashgar was an obvious target. Naskador was the nearest city to the Ulmerien on the southern banks and word would be sent to them also but, for all Ilkar knew, the Thieve’s Capital had already been seized or burnt.

Back along the road to the north, Ilkar could still make out the forest and he longed to be away from it as quickly as possible. However, the daunting task of delivering the news of the king’s death to those within the walls of Vylandor now fell upon his shoulders.

As the corporal began imagining the effect his news would have on both the city and the kingdom itself, the clouds decided that the time had come and rain began falling heavily on the grim procession.

Draliak ran the Rotian soldier through, watching the man’s terrified realization that he was going to die. As the body fell back, he pulled his sword clear and turned to take in the scene unfolding around him.