The Chosen Soul (22 page)

Drake said nothing. He slid his beer back across the table and took a long pull from

its contents.

“You’re digging yourself a grave, my friend. You are who you are, but I think you

may just be underestimating the elves this time. If she’s so special you’re thinking of

holding on to her, you can bet your hide, the elf prince is thinking the same thing.”

Again, Drake said nothing and again, his friend watched him carefully. “Where is

she now?”

“By Mandarin Pond. She’s alone. And I’ve placed a shielding spell on her location.”

Grolsch was silent for several moments more. And then he asked, “By the way, why

are there sword holes in your armor?”

“I got into a fight with an elf.”

Grolsch shook his head. “Lovely. Just lovely.”

*****

Astriel did not bother to knock on the giant double doors that guarded the entrance to

the mage tower. He simply waved his hand before him and the large wooden doors began

to creak open. As soon as there was room, he strode through them and into the flickering

darkness beyond.

Torches lit with multi-colored mage fire burned, heat-less and mesmerizing, in

sconces that protruded, at intervals, along the stone walls. Bas relief carvings in the stone depicted several infamous scenes in the ancient arcane legends that all Blue Robes came

to learn during their study under the master mage.

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Astriel paid them little heed. He entered the main gathering chamber on the first

floor of the massive mage tower and scanned the interior. Blue and white banners hung

from rafters in the ceiling, and a giant hearth on one side of the room blazed and crackled cheerfully, casting dancing shadows across the tables, chairs and bookshelves in the

room.

The chamber was empty but for one man. A Blue Robe with long black hair sat at

one of the long tables, his back turned toward the chamber’s entrance.

Astriel strode toward him, his boots echoing clearly on the marble floor. The Blue

Robe did not look up at the sound of approaching footfalls and Astriel smiled at his

intentional insolence.

When Astriel finally stood directly in front of him, the Blue Robe slowly placed his

forefinger over a line in the book he’d been reading and glanced up, a slightly bored,

slightly annoyed expression on his handsome face.

The Blue Robe looked him up and down and then smiled an utterly nasty smile. “Did

you get lost, your highness, or is there something I can help you with?”

Astriel returned the smile. “I’m looking for a book. Jaren was reading it when I saw

it last. It is a book of prophecies.”

The black-haired man almost snorted. His lips twitched. “There are many books on

prophecies within these walls, your highness. I’m afraid you’ll need to be a bit more

specific.”

“I want the book on the prophecy of Cruor.”

“Oh?” The Blue Robe raised one black brow. “Taking a sudden interest in mortal

affairs, my prince?”

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“My interests are none of your business, mage. Where is the book?”

The Blue Robe slowly pushed away from the table and came to his feet. His gaze

locked on Astriel’s. “You are not among friends, Lord Astriel. You may hold sway in

your court and among the mortals, however, when you enter those doors,” he gestured to

the entrance on the other side of the room, “you enter the court of the Master Mage.” The

Blue Robe’s gaze narrowed and his smile turned positively nasty. “And his power is far

greater than yours.”

Astriel’s cruel smile never wavered. He shook his head admonishingly. “Honestly,

Azmith, these lover’s tantrums of yours are unbecoming. Have you told Gray Beard of

your true feelings for him?”

The Blue Robe opened his mouth to retort, but a sound across the room brought both

men’s attentions around before he could say anything further.

From the shadows stepped a tall man, draped in sapphire and ebony robes. The

nature of his build was hidden beneath the sheer volume of his vestments, but he moved

with quiet grace as he silently entered the room. His facial features, though not ruggedly

handsome, were engaging and very charismatic. His dark blue eyes glittered like gems in

the firelight. His hair was long, straight and black, but his chin sported a graying goatee.

A vicious scar ran the length of one side of his face, from above his eyebrow to his chin.

Its effect did nothing to mar the man’s charisma, and in fact merely intensified his

presence.

He approached the two men.

Azmith’s smile became a sneer of victory and contempt and Astriel’s face wiped

itself clean of any emotion whatsoever.

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“Lord Astriel.” Gray Beard greeted the prince with a slight nod of his head. Astriel

did the same. Neither man smiled. “Is there something you need?” the Master Mage

asked, his tone low, unspoken insinuation lacing each word.

“The book of Cruor’s prophecy. Your pupil, Jaren, had it last. And, as it goes, she

appears to be missing as well. She was not in her quarters.”

Gray Beard took a deep breath and let it out in a slow sigh. “No. She would not be.

She insisted on investigating ideas she has that Cruor is on the verge of returning.” He

spoke in a calm voice, but something dangerous rode each syllable, as if a reminder that

every breath he took was fortified with magic. “Why she would be interested in the

matters of mortals, I can not imagine. She left yesterday afternoon, taking the book and

several other items with her.”

Astriel looked from Gray Beard to Azmith. The younger Blue Robe appeared as if he

desperately wanted to say something, but was holding himself carefully in check while in

the presence of his master.

The Prince turned back to the Master Mage and the two stared at one another for

some indeterminate amount of time. And then Astriel turned on his heel. “When she

comes back, please let her know I would like a look at that book,” he said as he left the

room. There was no answer from behind him.

He had not expected one.

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The Chosen Soul – Chapter Fifteen

Malphas stormed through his palace of ice, Cainan imps and monsters of frost

scattering before his striding tirade, struggling to get out of the way of his indomitable

fury. His eyes burned a hellish red, a rare and frightening testament to a temperament that reared its ugly head only once in a blue moon. And this day, it was his daughter that

plagued his fevered mind and raged his ancient blood.

His daughter and her various hunters, far too many as they were. And one, in

particular, whose power and aspiration had allowed him to come much, much too close to

Raven.

Though her recent struggles might yet merely serve to further her father’s own dark

purpose and send her careening into her destiny, as he wished her to, he had to admit that

he did not like the invasive turn of events that had just transpired. The Death Mage was

far too impudent, playing a risky game with the devil’s sole scion. Should the Blue Robe

succeed in capturing Raven, all that Malphas had worked for would be lost.

Malphas desperately needed Raven to realize her own power – her own ability to do

that which Malphas could do, himself. The very notion that she feared even attempting

her own magic without further council from Adonides lent credence to the fact that she,

as of yet, had
no idea
what she was capable of. She could easily crush Cruor all on her own, should she merely accept who and what she was and allow herself to well and truly

become.

Malphas flung out a brief pulse of power, which sent the small devils, who had not

skittered out of his way fast enough, flying back several yards to slam into the tall glacial walls of one of the castle’s corridors. They grunted, slid to the frozen ground, and then

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wobbled, heads down, through the nearest doorway as the Dark Lord strode past them,

his attention still turned inward.

And then there was the bounty hunter. Drake of Tanith. A man who was mortal, but

possessed of a mastery of skill and an influence so intense, it rivaled that of many

immortals he had known. His immunity to certain magic, his indeterminate age, his

ability to enter into his daughter’s very thoughts, were unheard-of for a mortal, much less one who was not a mage. It left Malphas more than slightly irritated that he could not

determine what part the enigmatic man in black played in his daughter’s future. It was as

if his aura, his destiny and his past were all clouded from the powerful archfiend, and

Malphas was left wondering.

He did not like to wonder. He wanted facts.

The Dark Lord stormed into his throne room and approached his tall icy throne.

“
Adonides! I call you now
!”

Almost immediately, the handsome black-skinned devil appeared in a cloud of frost

and blue-white light. Adonides’s wings pulled in at his back, gracefully folding as he

lowered himself onto one knee, bowing reverently before his king.

“Your majesty,” he greeted softly, and then fell into silence, his eyes upon the floor,

as he waited for the Dark Lord to address him again.

“
The priest yet lives. What transpired
?”

Adonides kept his gaze downward. “He took Haledon’s axes from the wall of the

temple then attacked me with them.”

Malphas was silent for a moment. His red-burning eyes fell upon the deep furrows in

Adonides’s chest, which healed even as he watched. “
It would appear Cruor’s

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prophecy has indeed been set in motion. The Death Mage attacked my daughter

while you were attempting to rid us of her brother
.”

Adonides’s head snapped up. His yellow eyes burned. “My liege, is she-”

“
She lives. The Bounty Hunter of Tanith came to her rescue. Which brings me

to why I have called you here
.”

Adonides waited silently.

“
The Princess has drawn the attention of far too many men. Her honor, life and,

and the very soul I have given her are at risk
. Y
ou will take this to my daughter and
present it to her tonight. Inform her that it is the first of my gifts to her
.” Malphas held his hand out, palm up, and a light began to shimmer above it. The light intensified,

solidified, and then faded, leaving a smooth, shining ring of black metal in the devil’s

open hand.

Adonides glanced at the ring and his yellow eyes once again sparked to life. He

recognized it at once. It was a Ring of Halcyon, meant to allow its wearer quick access to

all of the power she possessed inside. It rendered speech and movement unnecessary for

spell casting, and the more its wearer used it, the more able to do so on her own, she

became. Eventually, the ring would fall off, useless and obsolete.

At that point, its owner would have become powerful enough to use her magic

unassisted, freely and forcefully, without voice or action.

There were only two rings of its kind in existence. One, Malphas possessed. The

other belonged to the Lord of Nisse, the Ninth Circle of Abaddon.

It was precious, indeed. And it was the perfect gift for Raven.
For Winter
.

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Adonides bowed his head once more, rose gracefully, and held out his hand,

allowing his master to deposit the ring upon his palm. He curled his fingers around the

small black ring protectively and then cocked his head to one side, as if listening.

“Your majesty, she calls.”

“
Go to her at once
.”

Adonides nodded and disappeared immediately.

Malphas sat back on his throne and gazed, unseeing, into the distance. He wondered

what the Lord of the Ninth Circle would think of what he had just done.

*****

Winter’s boots touched down in the soft sand beside the pond and she curled her

wings in behind her back. Her heart was beating hard, her blood pumping loud in her

eardrums. She was tired. She’d never actually used her wings to fly before.

It was hard work.

And she was really scared.

She turned in all directions, her tri-colored eyes searching the shadows of the

surrounding forest, her enhanced hearing listening for any sound of movement, of danger.

When nothing appeared and all remained silent for several minutes, she let out a

breath and collapsed upon the sand. She put her face in her hands and squeezed her eyes

shut.

How had this happened?

How had she become the thing she now was? Embroiled in the mess she found

herself in? She moved her hands away from her face and crawled to the pond’s edge. She

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peered down, studying her reflection carefully. The white hair and bizarrely beautiful

eyes still shocked her. She wondered whether she would ever get used to seeing them

reflected back at her.

Raven –
Winter
– sighed a very long, deep sigh.

She certainly had a knack for finding trouble, but she was fairly certain that she’d

never been in quite so much before. Some mad elf mage wanted to steal her soul. It