Legend of the Ravenstone (34 page)

“I don’t think he’s gotta worry, Haw—er—Mr. Hale,” Rourke said. “He looks the same size to me.”

Argamus sighed.

“Remember, you are a thug,” Hale said, poking Rourke in the chest. “You’re not supposed to think, not supposed to jest or be overly friendly. Err on the side of silence, for you are a seasoned fighter, and little will crack your exterior.”

“Crack my what?” Rourke asked, rubbing where the finger had poked a little too hard.

“You’re a tough guy,” Hale said. “If you think you are about to smile or laugh, then you should think about something that makes you feel more serious or angry.” He turned on Argamus. “Mind your intake of wine.”

“Your pardon?” Argamus said, offended. “It was offered to me, and I have not assumed the role of a rude medoriate.”

“Moderation,” Hale said. “For any of us to consume too much—to cross the line into drunkenness—will inevitably shatter our guise. We must keep our minds and our wits about us.” He tapped his head. “I know there is a lot to remember, but try to immerse yourself in your character.”

Rourke stifled a yawn, which infected Argamus. “At this moment, I should like to immerse myself in much-needed sleep,” the medoriate said, rubbing his eyes.

Hale moved to the door. “Tomorrow will bring more challenges. Do your best to rest so that you can focus.”

“Good night, Mr. Hale,” Rourke said, following Argamus out the door.

“Try again,” Hale said.

The brute paused. “I...would say....”

Hale waited, and when it became clear Rourke needed a hint, he grunted.

“Uh... Oh!” The brute smiled as he caught on. He grunted in return, and delighted by the gruffness of his sound, did another.

Hale granted him a wry smile before shutting the door to his room.

~*~

K
ariayla could see the brightness of the sun through her eyelids, though she could not remember having fallen asleep. She tried to recall what had happened before she opened her eyes, and when her thoughts returned to the beast, her frozen body, and the summoning of lightning, her heart raced anew. Fully conscious now, she blinked, gaping at the sight before her.

She faced a massive, glowing tree. It was three times as wide as an average man was tall, and it stretched up to the canopy with long and graceful arching limbs that seemed to bear the sky in addition to its gleaming leaves. She could not see the top—could barely perceive the fragments of blue amidst the golden halo of foliage. From where she sat, she could feel the warmth radiating from the enchanted arbor. It was not actual heat, but an inner sensation of energy—vibrancy that tingled in her veins and beneath her skin.

Kariayla did not want to wrest her eyes from it, but her dazzled thoughts slowly shifted back to her situation and the memories hinting at the night before. But other than her reluctant recollection, there was no trace of the mishap—no beast, no scent of char, and no... She looked frantically around her. No Ruby. Her entire location had changed, but who had brought her here? What had happened to Ruby?

A breeze through the trees stirred the boughs, and the leaves fluttered like birds. The trees shifted—or was it her imagination? Kariayla rubbed her eyes, but nothing had changed. Or had it?

“Trespasser, explain yourself.”

It was a male voice—strong and clear, with an accent—but it did not come from anywhere around her.

“I...don’t understand,” she said softly, feeling silly for having spoken aloud to no visible person.

“Why have you come here?”
The voice was more insistent, and Kariayla realized it resounded inside her mind—like someone whispering a secret, but more akin to the volume of her own personal thoughts.

“This is Veloria, isn’t it?” she asked. “William tried to send me to Veloria.”

For a while there was no response, and Kariayla tried to interject her own questions in the silence. “Are you one of the Ilangiel? Or are you one of the Great Spirits here to guide me?” She stared desperately into the trees. “Please, I need your help.”

“Or is it William who needs our assistance? One spirit should know another. State your business here, Stormbringer, or you will be banished from our forest.”

“No, please.” Kariayla took a breath. “William sent me to warn you. The Priagent of Lornabaez has found the Ravenstone. My friends have gone to retrieve it, and they hope to bring it here, where it will be safe.”

“We have no use for the Ravenstone. Its darkness can remain beyond our home.”

She blinked. “You won’t help us?”

“Yours is not a warning. William should not concern himself with mortal conflicts. We cannot help you.”

“But...” William had said the Ilangiel would not be happy to be involved, but he never would have sent her if he had known they would refuse to help. These could not be the benevolent beings steeped in folklore—the same beings that had shaped their world and gave life to all within it. William had been wrong, and now she was lost in a forest, her friends were still in peril, and there would be no deliverance once their role was through. Worst of all, she had failed yet again. Her one, minor role was useless now. But there was more. The horror of the attack last night, knowing that something was wrong with her, having lost Ruby... The tears were quick to well. Nothing was going right, and in fact, the situation had just worsened. Would the immortals come and drag her from the forest, or would they send some other creature to come and devour her? Her head throbbed, and her heart was empty. Kariayla did not try to restrain herself; crying was the only sensible thing to do.

She drew her knees to her chest and gasped when her wing grazed something solid behind her. She froze and blinked, trying to clear the tears from her eyes so that she could see.

“I mean you no harm,” said a gentle voice.

Kariayla twisted to see Light—Light in the shape of a man. He was radiant and flawless—Jinx’s age by appearance. He was fair-skinned, with golden hair braided over his shoulder, and his eyes... Blue-green and sparkling, holding her own regard like flame in the night. She could see beyond their color to the forest they reflected. No, it was more than a reflection, for she was not present amongst the trees. This was like a window to another world, and in that world were shifting colors and auras surrounding the trees and the earth, and....

“Gaze not too closely, lest you become entranced by the
Ilán
,” he warned. His voice was not the one that had been in her mind. It was softer, his accent thicker. He took hold of her hand, and warmth traveled up her arm, flooded her body and eased the pain in her head. She could feel her breathing slow, her heart calm.

“I know naught of weeping, but I know sorrow,” he said. “I am Atrion of Celaedrion.” He let her fingers slowly slide from his. “You are Nemelorean? I have never seen your kind before, but I know of them.”

Kariayla nodded, and she heard her name fall from her lips. Her senses were slowly returning to her, but her awe had not diminished in the slightest.

“Forgive me, Lady Kariayla, but I had intended to be present when you woke. I brought you here from the edge of the forest, where there was no protection from the Wild. You are safe now.”

She believed him, all her doubt now vanished, like rain chased away by the sun. But there was still one pressing thought. “I had a friend—Ruby.” Kariayla raised her hand to the imp’s height and blushed at her loss of words.

“Aye,” Atrion said, lifting his gaze to their surroundings. “She followed willingly but has since chosen to remain hidden.” He nodded toward the thick trunk of a nearby tree. “Now that you are awake, I am certain she will grow braver.”

“This place is beautiful,” Kariayla marveled.

Atrion smiled. “This is Veloria.” His smile faded as he lifted an object from the ground. He turned the stone in his hand and offered it to her. “Where have you encountered such an item?”

Kariayla took it, feeling its warmth in her hand, though it no longer emitted any light. The color had shifted to a pale blue with white, wispy swirls of clouds. She thought of her companions, and her forgotten grief returned. “A friend gave it to me. He said it would bring me light when I needed it, and it did. I can’t help him the way he has helped me.” Her fingers closed around the stone, and she tucked it away. “I was sent here to help them, and I failed.”

“Tell me your tale, Lady Kariayla. What brings you such sorrow? Who are your friends who depend upon your presence here?”

She took a breath. “Arcturus, Jinx, and Hawkwing. William—I suppose he is a wizard of sorts—”

“I know William,” Atrion said. “And Master Hawkwing.”

“He sent them to retrieve the Ravenstone. The Priagent of Lornabaez uncovered it, and William is afraid of what he will do with it. He asked the others to bring it here for safekeeping.” Her tone hardened. “But the voice told me you cannot help us; you won’t take the stone.” She looked at him. “Why?”

Atrion seemed surprised by her pointed question, and Kariayla surprised herself at her boldness.

“A voice spoke to you,” he said. “But I am speaking with you now. I will help you and your companions as best I may. You must understand that we know little beyond Veloria. My people have relinquished their role in your world, and what is of significance to you may have no bearing upon us.”

“I admit that I don’t truly understand all of what William said,” Kariayla told him, “but if William is worried, then I think that gives us all cause to worry.”

“That is a fair assessment.” Atrion stood and offered his hand. “See now that your small companion has ventured beyond her sanctuary.”

Kariayla turned to the tree to find the imp standing sheepishly before it. “We’re safe now,” she urged. “Come and meet Atrion. He is one of the Ilangiel William sent us to find.”

Ruby padded toward them and came to stand behind Kariayla, her little face rosy as she peered at the glowing immortal.

Atrion bowed. “I would imagine you are in need of sustenance. Allow me to tend to this small matter before we speak of magic stones and intrusive spirits. Come.”

Kariayla and Ruby exchanged a glance as they followed behind their host. The emerald curtains of the forest parted as they trod upon an earthy path that had not been present before. The light of the vast and radiant tree rode upon their backs until they were beyond sight of it, and though this part of the forest felt safe and inviting, Kariayla still sensed the presence of the Unseen. “It’s like the trees are watching us,” she murmured to Ruby.

“Aye, they do,” Atrion said. “Veloria is alive.”

Kariayla paused and reached toward a low branch with glistening leaves, her fingers just shy of grazing them. Were not all forests alive? A passing breeze must have nudged the branch in her direction, for the leaves slid along her skin, tentative and feathery, and
breathing
....

Her own breath caught in her throat as she quickened her pace to match the longer strides of her tall host.

R
ourke had tried his best to sleep. He had been tired—right until the moment he lay down and closed his eyes. The old manor had its share of creaks and groans, and he had slept in his fair share of hovels without a nice bed or a solid roof, but it was the idea of the company he kept that staved off his slumber. Somewhere in that same manor was a demon—
the
Demon—and perhaps the most infamous thief alive, the Prophet. He could recite the stories from the streets—with a little embellishment, of course—by heart. Each tale was a testament to their greatness, another victory in the war of true justice between impoverished thief and greedy merchant.

There were thieves, and there were
thieves.
Some were poor like him, without a home or family, stealing to survive. Others were rotten scoundrels as greedy as the rich from whom they stole. The truly great ones, however, stole because it was right. They evened the odds between those with everything and those with nothing, and they made life a little fairer. And they did so with style.

Great thieves had great names, and great thieves were clever, mysterious, and had special powers. The Prophet could see the future, and he had summoned a magical demon to serve him. They were like gods—maybe even servants of Jedinom himself—untouchable and infallible. It bothered Rourke to no end that both the Prophet and his White Demon had been apprehended. There was a decided flaw to this story, and he felt personally responsible for learning the truth. Did the Priagent have magic of his own that he used to catch them? Was it some sort of spell or special trap that caught his heroes by surprise?

He turned over in his bed, his eyes wide. What if they needed him to help them escape? Of course, he would have to be careful not to jeopardize the mission to retrieve the Ravenstone. The idea was so wonderfully incredible, that
he
—Jameson Tyegus, the jinxed thief—could rescue the Prophet and the White Demon and help save Secramore from the Priagent. His old thieving buddies would never believe him, but then again, why would he return to the streets? His reward would be riches, and he would buy himself a big stretch of land in the Freelands, build a huge barn and his own private manor, and he would have the best farm for miles around. He would find himself a pretty girl, and they would get married and have lots of children.

Rourke sat up and looked out the window. Dawn’s sleepy eyes had paled the horizon; there was no point in lying in bed awake. He hastily dressed and thought he might go for a walk before anyone else stirred. He might even find a clue or two as to where the Prophet and the Demon were being kept. And what if he did find them? What would he say? Could the Demon speak? Maybe the Prophet knew he was coming, and they were waiting for him now.

Excited by the thought, Rourke pulled his cloak over his shoulders and did a quick check in the mirror. He straightened his broad shoulders and donned his best serious frown. He was far more impressive under this illusion: huge muscles, thick beard, fierce eyes. He was a true warrior. A warrior about to leave without his sword.