Son of Corse (The Raven Chronicles Book 2) (11 page)

Arwenna nodded once. She felt a bit of pressure on the small of her back as Anthones urged her forward.  Swallowing hard, she walked out into the main courtyard.

It crawled with creatures now. Delvers darted here and there, ignoring doorways and arches, melting into the rock instead. Anthones tightened his grip, tugging her towards the left.  She didn’t attempt to keep the fear off her face. She kept her eyes focused on the river that flowed not far from them.  Glancing towards the rock face where it disappeared, she noticed a change on the surface of the water. There was a passage underneath the surface.  But would it be large enough for them both to fit through?

“She isn’t supposed to be here,” a guttural voice from behind them sent chills down Arwenna’s spine. She lowered her head, hoping the Delver would take it as a sign of submission.

“My father wants his trophy to be bathed.  You have a problem with that?”  Anthones stressed the first of his speech.  They must know Bohrs was his father by now. At least, Arwenna prayed fervently that they did.

The creature grunted.  The pressure on her back told her to keep walking. “Faster, Arwenna.  We don’t want them to go checking with Bohrs,” Anthones whispered urgently in her ear. “Once we’re in the water, go under once and look for the tunnel.  Come back up, fill your lungs with air, and then swim for it.  I’ll be right behind you.”

Arwenna didn’t dare nod in agreement.  She knew they were being watched.  They’d only have one shot at this.  When they didn’t come back up, the alarm would be raised.

The shock of the cool water made her gasp.  Anthones propelled her forward.  Gritting her teeth, she waded out to the middle
. 
She inhaled deeply and dropped below the surface.

The water was murky, but she managed to spot the opening.  It was barely big enough for a human to pass through.  Coming up for air, she fumbled with the clasp at the back of her skirt, loosening it enough to allow her to step out of it.  She nodded once.  Collecting a lungful of air, she dove under the surface.

Kicking her way out of her skirt, she swam towards the tunnel.  The water rushed through the narrow opening, carrying her along with it.  Her lungs began to burn within seconds. She needed air, and soon. Using her hands, she sought out any change to the tunnel, anything where she could raise her head enough to breathe.  Her heartbeat began to accelerate, drumming loudly in her ears. 

Using her left hand to propel her along the rugged sides, she traced the ceiling of it with her right fingertips.  Spots swam before her eyes.  Her fingertips lost their connection with the rocks above her. In desperation, Arwenna used the last of her energy to push her face towards what she hoped was a pocket of air. Her forehead scraped against the broken rocks as she gasped for the fresh air.  The space wasn’t much, but it was enough.

Anthones surfaced, gulping for air much as she had.  “We keep going.  They know we’re gone now. The delvers are going to be crawling through the rocks around here. We’re safe while we’re in the water.”

Nodding, Arwenna tried to get her breathing back to normal.  “How much farther?”

“Not far.  There’s someone in the lake that we can take refuge with. She has no love for the delvers, and they fear her. We’ll be safe there for a while.”

“Who is it, Anthones?”  Arwenna’s brow furrowed.

His smile did nothing to reassure her.  “You’ll see.”  He took a deep breath and plunged back under the surface. She felt him tug on her hand and filled her lungs before he pulled her under as well.

His arm jerked Arwenna forward. She squeezed past him, the current pulling her along.  The water rushed by her, propelling her forward.  She never heard the waterfall until she fell down it.

Her body crashed against the submerged rocks.  A figure appeared above Arwenna, bathed in a translucent glow. It faded as an unyielding blackness claimed her.

Chapter Sixteen

S
ounds slowly penetrated the blackness, rousing Arwenna from the abyss.  The scratch of a quill against parchment, the turning of a page.  The creak of a loose floorboard as it was stepped on.  Someone was trying too hard to be quiet.

              Arwenna opened her eyes.  She sat up and began to survey the room. It was small, with nothing more than the cot she sat on, a washbasin on a table, and a single chest. 

              “Your friend is awake, Anthones.”  A female voice, tired with age, startled Arwenna.  Turning her head, she saw the set of screens partitioning the area off from the rest of the room.  As she rose, one of the panels moved aside to admit Anthones.

              He stared at her, a flush coming to his cheeks.  She knew she must be an interesting sight, with her torn shirt and riding breeches on.  “Stop gawking at her, Anthones.  You’ve seen women in breeches before.  She’s well aware how she looks.  It’s what she’s not aware of that matters.”

              Anthones muttered, “Yes, ma’am” and moved away from the makeshift doorway.  Curious, Arwenna stepped through.

              The other room was filled with bookshelves covered with tomes, scrolls, and all sorts of maps.  The walls were papered with an odd assortment of drawings of people, monsters, and genealogy charts.

              A dwarf, her gray hair bound together by several bronze bands, sat at a table covered with parchment, quills, and ink pots.  One elbow rested on the table, her fingers absently toying with wisps of hair near her ear.  Piercing blue eyes studied Arwenna openly.

              “You have much of your mother in you, but more of your father I think.  And I’m not talking about Hauk.”  The woman moved off her stool and headed to a ladder leading up the front of one of the bookcases.

              “Who are you?”  Arwenna asked, curiosity overcoming her caution.

              The dwarf climbed up the rungs quickly, hardly breaking stride as she spoke.  “My name’s not important.  I’m a caretaker, that’s all that you should worry about.”

              “A caretaker of what, exactly?”

              “Aha! Here it is!” The woman fairly cackled with excitement.  She tugged a large tome loose from its confinement.  Tucking it under one arm, she began to descend the ladder. “Of knowledge, of course.  History, lineage, territories, all of that nonsense that matters to those with power.  I can tell you who the Duke of Almair’s illegitimate children are, where Captain Wolfgang hides most of his contraband, what happened to the dragons.  Even where you come from, Arwenna.”  She stopped at the bottom of the ladder, giving Arwenna a calculated look. “I think I know more about where you come from than you do.  And that knowledge is something that can be used against you, if you’re not careful.”

              Arwenna studied the woman. “I remember my mother, and know who my father is. What else is there to know?”

              The dwarf sighed, her shoulders slumping.  “Are you truly so ignorant of your own past?  And that of your sister’s?” She waived towards a makeshift bench in front of a long wooden table.  “You’d better sit down, then.  Anthones, why don’t you get started on some dinner.  And bring us tea.  This may take some time.”

              Arwenna eased her bruised body onto the bench, watching as the woman cleared aside various item.  She could feel some of her magic, but the proximity to Corse’s lair was still too close for her to access it all. There was a sensation that ran through her, made her feel alive, that was almost numb from being cut off from her powers. Her very soul longed for it to reawaken. They would need it later on. Hopefully, there was enough time before then.

              The dwarf found a few more scrolls and brought them over to the table, placing them near the book. Thumbing through the pages of the leather bound tome, she found the page she was looking for. “Let’s start here.”  She slid the open book across the table towards Arwenna.

              The parchment was supple, and the ink like new. Yet the binding cracked as if it hadn’t been opened for centuries. Puzzled, Arwenna glanced up, ready to question the condition of the book.  The dwarf held up a hand, stopping the question before it left her lips.

              “History’s no good if we lose it to fading ink or rotting parchment. It’s that way because we caretakers keep it. But, make no mistake, the information there is truthful.”

              Arwenna nodded, turning her attention back to the book in front of her.  The first sentence made her inhale sharply.  “My name is Tiren of Oranji, first daughter of Koud, and this is my story.”

              Time stopped as Arwenna lost herself in the story.  When at last it was done, she gently closed the book. Her hands caressed the leather cover in awe. 

              The Caretaker thrust a bowl into her hands.  “Eat,” she commanded. “Your mind will accept things easier on a full stomach.”

              Arwenna leaned back, resting her sore body.  The aromas wafting from the bowl made her realize how hungry she really was.  Resisting the urge to wolf down the contents, she ate slowly.  It gave her time to think.

              “What happened to her children?”  Arwenna asked, her soft voice breaking the silence.

              The Caretaker sat opposite of Arwenna.  “They were brought to this side of the sea for their own safety.  Tiren did not see them after they were born. Hauk brought them over, in secret, and gave each to a family to raise.”  She reached for one of the scrolls lying on the table.  “Each of the twins looked very much like one of their parents, so Hauk put one with a human family and one with an elven one.”

              Arwenna watched, fascinated, as the dwarf unfurled one of the scrolls and laid it out on the table. A single name, K’Morna, was blazoned across the top of the parchment.

              Reverently, Arwenna traced the genealogy down from that first name. 

Each marriage produced a single child, and then one of the parents died.  Branches chronicled additional marriages and children, but a single unbroken branch continued.  Near the bottom of the page, three names drew Arwenna’s eyes.  Y’Dürkie, married to Hugh the Blacksmith, and their daughter Hala.

              “Y’Dürkie’s the daughter of Tiren?”  Arwenna’s voice was barely above a whisper.

              The dwarf didn’t respond. Instead, she unfurled the other scroll and put it on top of the one Arwenna was reading. It read much as the first scroll had.  Only the names were different.

              Arwenna’s hands shook as she read the names at the bottom of the second scroll.  In shock, she looked up at the Caretaker.

              “No, it’s not wrong.  You are a direct descendant of Lyssa, the elf twin. You and Y’Dürkie were related before the ceremony.”

              Arwenna leaned forward, graceful fingers massaging her temples as she tried to reconcile the implications of what she’d just learned. “Does Y’Dürkie know?  Tiren chose her to be Wielder, after all.”

              “I don’t know.  Tiren herself may not have known she had been picked up by her descendants when you found her in the cave.  All she knew was that she’d given birth to twin girls.  One human in appearance, the other elven. Trieste and Tiren named them just before Hauk spirited them away.”  The dwarf took a long drink from an earthenware mug. 

              “And Corse?  Did he know?”

              “No.  As she said in her telling, she didn’t tell him about the children until he came to them at the end.  By then, the line was well established and hidden.  He only knows what she told him.  On the day that she and her children fight together, he’ll know defeat.”

              “But, when Y’Dürkie and I went into Tanisal to fight Corse…”

              “You two didn’t fight together, Arwenna.  You fought Corse, your sister fought Senyan.  It was not the time of Tiren’s choosing.” She leaned across the table, her gaze holding Arwenna fast.  “Make no mistake, you are as much Tiren’s daughter as you are Hauk’s.  Hauk gave you the ability to hold the power necessary to make Lu’Thare whole again. But it will take Tiren, Y’Dürkie, and you working in unison to sever the ties Corse has with this world.  He’ll fight you.  It’s not in his nature to go quietly, never has been.  Doesn’t matter if he’s locked into the stone now.  He’s got a Wielder, same as Tiren has.  If anything, it’s the first time in centuries that the two have been on equal footing.”

              Possibilities flooded Arwenna’s mind.  “Y’Dürkie has to kill Bohrs, then? Senyan embedded that onyx into his sword.  That makes him Corse’s Wielder then, doesn’t it?” A glimmer of an idea began to form.  Leaning forward, Arwenna stabbed at the table in front of her with her finger. “Bohrs is controlling Corse now, not Senyan.  And without the connection to Corse…”

              The dwarf gave her a tight grin in response, “Lu’Thare has no more magic than he did as a novice. You’ll never be able to cut him off, not completely. Even if you destroy Corse, the capacity will remain in the man.”  Her face grew serious.  “Arwenna, don’t get caught up in the idea of being able to save Lu’Thare.  You’ll have to rebuild him from the inside.  You know what they did to him, what he blames you for.  Not simply binding him to Corse but standing by while they gutted him like a pig.”

              Glancing at the bowl of food sitting on the table near her, Arwenna began to realize the depths of hatred Senyan must have for her.  She hadn’t been there for all of it, and it didn’t matter that she’d been lied to when they needed her help.  She was the only one that he could blame, the only one who didn’t either give him power or grovel at his feet.  She stood apart in his mind.  A constant reminder of the cost he’d unknowingly paid.

              The Caretaker placed her hands on the table, pushing herself up from the bench.  “Eat, rest again.  When you wake, you and Anthones will be ready to continue downriver. I’ve got a small boat I can spare; it should get you back to the surface in relative safety. The Delvers won’t go into the water.  But I can’t promise they won’t harass you on the way out.” She moved aside a tapestry and disappeared, leaving Arwenna with her thoughts.

              She picked up the bowl, absently pushing the bits of meat and vegetables around the inside.  Much as her stomach growled for the contents, Arwenna was reluctant to eat.

              “You should eat.  It’s not going to matter if you don’t just because Lu’Thare can’t.  Your body won’t take well to a fight if it’s starved.”  Anthones kept his voice very low.

              Resolutely, Arwenna began to eat.  With who knew how many days of travel ahead of them, it might be some time before she’d have a hot meal again.  As she ate, she studied Anthones.  The determined set to his shoulders had diminished.  Instead, there was a heaviness about him. 

              Silence filled the room, broken only by the sound of their spoons scraping the sides of the bowls.  Arwenna gently placed her bowl back on the table when she finished.  She pulled her knees up to her chin, her arms encircling her leather clad legs.  Resting her chin on her knees, she glanced over the charts from a distance. Spying Lexi’s name, she smiled.  The ink color was blue, not black.  Her own name was written in the same shade of green as the sunburst on her shoulder.  She turned her head slightly to view her Mark. For whatever reason, it reassured her.  Her father wasn’t done with her yet, nor had he left her alone to fend for herself.

              “If it means anything, I’m not my father’s son.”  Anthones voice was barely above a whisper.

              Arwenna jerked her head up to look at him.  “I’ve known that for some time.”

             
Sitting on a small stool, his head lowered, Anthones focused on some imaginary dirt on the palm of one of his hands. “I didn’t. Not until I found out what kind of man he was. I always thought he’d be someone I could look up to, be proud to carry the name of.”

              “And now?”  She kept her voice even.

              He raised his head, his gaze locking onto Arwenna.  She drew back slightly from what she saw in the depths.  “Now, I’d rather go through life with the label of bastard than be known as his son.”  He paused, averting his eyes towards the fireplace.  “There’s no place in the universe for someone who can do what he did to you and my mother, Arwenna.  He showed me what his idea of ‘fun’ is when he let me see her.” His voice, thick with unshed tears, cracked slightly. “I’m never going to get that vision out of my head. Not until he’s dead, or I am.”

              She knew better than to speak.  He needed to resolve this on his own, in his own way. Nothing she could possibly say to him would make a difference. Rising, she moved towards the area she’d found herself in a few hours earlier.  But sleep was elusive. Too many questions still needed answers.