Blood Of Kings: The Shadow Mage (33 page)

“You say magic is being used to cloak what is really here,” Tomas said. Aliss nodded in response. “So what I’m looking at is not real?”

Aliss shrugged. “I don’t know anymore. I thought I saw something in the scrying bowl, a shifting image of what we see now and a temple in perfect repair. I was sure I was seeing through a magical screen… but now we are here it looks real enough.”

Tomas frowned. “If you are right then there are most likely eyes upon us right now.” He glanced at the three men, waiting, weapons in hand, and then to the body of the girl lying just beyond the enclosing wall. “We can leave here now. We don’t have to do this.”

Aliss’ back stiffened; her eyes became more alert. “She knows we’re here,” she said.

“So this is the place?”

She nodded and pointed towards the dark doorway. “In there.” Tomas’s eyes followed to where she was pointing, his feeling of unease growing even stronger. “When we leave this place life will have changed,” she said, turning her grey shifting eyes on him.

He looked into the swirling clouds gathered there. “Life has already changed.” He drew his sword then and joined Duke Normand’s warriors.

Once he stepped into the darkness he felt as if a curtain had been drawn. No longer was the temple an ancient, dusty ruin. A long stone-flagged passageway yawned before him. Flickering torches bathed the corridor in an orange glow. The walls were covered in drawings depicting images of animals and people supplicating to a female deity. The two warriors, Ronwald and Horald, led the way, placing each step cautiously in front of the next.

“How is this even possible?” Tomas whispered, as he gawked in awe at the artwork illuminated by the glowing torches.

“Magic,” Aliss answered back.

“How can I tell what is real and what his not?”

“Trust nothing,” she said.

Even though the passageway was clearly still in use Tomas could detect an underlying mustiness to the place—the thought of a tomb springing an unwelcome image to mind.

“The passage widens,” Horald said.

Up ahead, the corridor widened into a circular chamber, at its centre a large statue, not unlike the one Tomas had seen outside, only this one was not in disrepair. With sapphires for eyes and ringlets of gold through its hair, the idol was worth a fortune. Other precious stones were used as decorative buttons on her carved garments. Horace could not contain himself and ran to the base of the statue, where he immediately began prying loose a ruby decorating the goddess’s foot.

“This place is more crypt than temple,” Horald voiced Tomas’s concern. The blacksmith and the two warriors circled the statue seeking another passageway or door.

“Look at the walls,” Aliss said, her words coming out in a whispered croak.

The chamber was a circle only broken by the passage they had entered by. The walls, illuminated by the flickering glow of torches, were covered from floor to high ceiling with a painting of a vast mountain range. The closer Tomas inspected the mural the more detailed he realised it was.

“Mountains,” Aliss said.

“There is some script here,” Horald said from the far side of the chamber, forcing Tomas to peer around the statue. “The lettering is in gold.”

“Gold?” Horace looked up from his excavation work.

“What does it say?” Tomas asked.

“I cannot tell. It is in no language I know how to read,” the man-at-arms answered.

“The return of the Dragon Lord shall herald the dawn of a new era for man. Only when the world is plunged into darkness will the light of Eor shine bright again.”
A female voice intoned. Tomas whirled around. Standing just beyond him, between he and Aliss was a woman, who could only be Elandrial High Priestess of Eor.
‘Only the purifying flames of the dragon can cleanse the world and bring about a new beginning,”
she continued. Tomas raised his sword two-handed before him. The three warriors formed a semi-circle behind him, all with their weapons drawn.
“When the Dragon Lord ignites the fire, he shall call forth the servants of Eor, summon them even from death to purge the world.”

“Don’t move,” Tomas said.

Elandrial parted red lips in a smile. Hair so black to be almost blue hung over pale shoulders, exposed by a low cut gown of sky blue silk, green eyes sparkling in a face of almost impossibly white skin. The very sight of her was mesmerising to the blacksmith, none more than the incredibly lifelike tattoo of a third eye printed onto her forehead.

“Welcome, Tomas,” she said, continuing to smile warmly, as if she were hosting old friends for dinner. She turned full around to face Aliss. “And welcome, Aliss… sister.” She turned back around then. “These three are not so welcome,” she added, her smile falling from her lips as she turned her eyes on Duke Normand’s men.

They had spent long months hunting their quarry, travelling hundreds of leagues from home in their quest. Now that they’d found her, Tomas did not know what to do.

Horace raised his bow and drew back the string. The arrow shot forward towards the priestess, an easy target from such a short distance for the experienced tracker. For an instant her eyes appeared to glow, an emerald radiance in the dull light of the chamber. The arrow turned to shadow and passed through her before clattering against the wall.

The grating sound of shifting stone filled the air around them as black-robed men suddenly appeared from the walls, surrounding them. Aliss quickly slipped past the priestess to join Tomas, while their three companions formed a small circle, back to back as they eyed the robed men warily.

“We have been waiting on you, Tomas,” the priestess said, the smile returning to her lips.

“You knew we were coming?” An uneasy thought that the mission had been doomed from the start began to gnaw at him.

She simply smiled warmly and opened her arms as if to invite him into an embrace.

“I don’t understand.”

“Don’t trust her,” Aliss whispered in his ear. The priestess turned her gaze on the young witch.

“And you, dear one, I know what it is that you crave.” She took a step closer. Tomas raised his sword in warning. “I can help you.” The sound of a babe crying in the distance drifted across the chamber.

“No…” Tomas gasped.

“The old witch in the woods cursed you when she brought you back from the dead.”

“I…” Aliss began, but then trailed off, her brow wrinkling in confusion.

“Haera healed her. She was sorely wounded, but Haera concocted an elixir to repair her hurts,” Tomas insisted.

“I know what the witch did.” Elandrial took another step closer, and turned her gaze on Aliss. “The blood of an innocent is what you desire. You can feel it deep inside you. You will always lust after it… even if you don’t understand why.”

“No,” Tomas said without conviction.

“What does she mean, Tomas? What did the witch do?”

Tomas turned towards his woman, but he could not meet her eyes. “The babe, the missing babe…”

“Marjeri’s child? The infant you searched for in the woods? You said it was snatched by wolves.”

Tomas didn’t answer, as his mind returned to that night in the Great Wood.
A life for a life.

“She never told you it wouldn’t end there, that it would never end. Dark, dark magic brought you back into this world, and without it you will return to the realm of night.” The sound of the baby crying became louder. Tomas could see the strain and despair in Aliss’ eyes. Her hands were balled into tight fists as she faced the reality of the life she was gifted when she ought to have died. He knew she would consider the price paid to be too high. That she would sacrifice herself that the babe would breathe life once again.
Too late.

“And you, Tomas, you find yourself in league with the murderers of your mentor and long time friend.” Tomas’s eyes narrowed. “The priest,” she added, noting his confusion.

“Josh?”

“They killed him when they searched for you.”

Tomas turned towards the three duke’s men. He could see the fear in their eyes. “You killed Joshan?” he asked, his voice low and even.

“It were the mage, Djangra Row what killed the priest,” Horace said, his voice edged with hysteria.

“Joshan is dead?” He turned back towards the priestess. She nodded sombrely.

“He took on the role of father when your own passed,” she said.

“I…” Tomas stumbled over his words as confusion clouded his mind.

“He was a good man. Men call me the dream-witch. They say I can turn their nightmares on them and kill with a thought.”

“That is why we are here. Duke Normand…”

“Duke Normand is a fool!” Elandrial’s emerald eyes flared. “He and that pet mage he thinks can protect him. He thinks he defies me with his tricks and wards… yet he cannot see who it is who guides his hand. Where did the thought come from that he needed a witch to hunt me down? Why would he seek out a blacksmith and the woman he walked into the flames for?”

“You?” Tomas asked hesitantly.

“Yes,” she simply answered.

“But why?”

Once again Elandrial smiled her enigmatic smile “Look at them,” Elandrial said, pointing at the duke’s men. “Read the guilt in their faces. Kill Joshan’s murderers, join me and together we will redesign your destiny. Yours and that of your love.”

Tomas looked again at the three men. He saw Horace as a twisted, craven thing, always looking to see how he could best profit from any situation. He remembered how Ronwald had coldly rammed his sword through the back of the courtesan, a life taken without a second thought… and Horald, was he the one who struck down Joshan?

The black-robed disciples of Elandrial produced scimitars with wickedly curved blades, from beneath their robes. Only their eyes were visible beneath the head scarves they wore.

“Kill her, kill the bitch!” Horace bellowed an instruction at Tomas.

The blacksmith blinked, and suddenly the priestess was inches away from him, close enough for him to inhale her scent of exotic fruits. She placed a hand on his chest. He felt his heart beating rapidly. Just one push and he could skewer her with his blade; end it all there and then.

“They are not your friends,” she said, leaning in closer. He could feel her breath caressing his cheek.

“Tomas…” Aliss called a warning. He ignored her as he focused on the cherry-red lips of the priestess.

“They killed the priest simply because he would not give up your whereabouts. Join with me now. We belong together.” She turned towards Aliss. “All of us.”

“Let the Hag’s Pit take you then!” Ronwald suddenly roared and ran at the priestess, swinging his sword in an arc towards her head.

Tomas’s own blade came up to meet the blow. Sparks flew as the swords met. Ronwald glared at him with wide open eyes, his jaw dropping in surprise. Horald let out a roar and hefted his weapon, but before he had time to move he was assaulted from all sides by the black-robed disciples. Curved blades flashed in the orange light of the chamber, slashing down and coming up red, the duke’s man-at-arms cried out sharply as he was forced down by the relentless attack of multiple whirring blades. In moments he was silent.

“No!” Horace cried and turned to flee. He was grabbed and dragged back, screaming.

“I can remove the curse afflicting your woman,” Elandrial purred into Tomas’s ear. “Or would you rather feed her the blood of innocent babes that she may continue to live?”

“Who killed Joshan?” Tomas asked Ronwald, his stare cold and hard as he regarded the warrior.

“Like he says.” He nodded towards Horace. “It were the mage.”

“And you were with him,” Tomas spat. Ronwald flinched but had no more time to react as Tomas drove his sword into his chest, memories of the old priest burning into his mind. Ronwald dropped to his knees, his eyes wide. He tried to raise a hand towards Tomas, but failed and slumped forward onto the ground, blood seeped into the flagstones as he lay still.

“The All Father protect me,” Horace whimpered.

“You will make Aliss well again?” He turned towards the priestess. She nodded as her lips curled into a smile. “The mage… Djangra Roe?”

“I will take you to him, and you can do as you will.”

Tomas nodded and flicked his wrist. The tip of his sword drew a thin red line across the throat of Horace. The tracker gasped and then made a choking sound, bringing his hands up to his throat, a spray of blood drenched those closest to him.

“Stay true to your word and we will have no quarrel,” Tomas said, turning back to the priestess. Beside him Aliss coughed and swayed. He caught her before she fell.

“Oh I will keep my promises, Tomas, I will fulfil your every desire.” Emerald eyes sparkled in the torch light.

Aknell: The house of Lorian

A
knell raised the hood of his robe, and bade Rolfgot do the same with a slight inclination of his head as he approached the wider, quieter streets of the nobles and merchants quarter of the city. The road rose gently as the houses became steadily bigger and grander until he reached the final tier. Even the air was cleaner higher up, none of the constant cloud of choking dust, along with the sounds and smells of so many people living closely together. Nothing of the palatial homes of the richest men in the city was visible beyond a solid wall fronting the street. Aknell was well aware of the type of residents hidden behind those dour facades; these were the homes of men to whom money was no object, no luxury too fine. Stout wooden doors were all that marked them as homes, until one stepped across the threshold. Only then was the fabulous wealth of these most powerful of men put on display. Spy holes, where suspicious eyes kept a constant vigil on the street below, dotted each wall.
They’re a cautious lot, the nobles of Alcraz,
Aknell thought to himself.
And why wouldn’t they guard their riches jealously?

“This way,” he said to the giant Nortman, pointing at an ornately carved oak door. “The house of Lorian Olmet.” He read aloud the script etched into the wall in gold leaf.