Lichgates: Book One of the Grimoire Saga (an Epic Fantasy Adventure) (39 page)

“Please forgive me.”

“That’s all right.”

“And what is your name, brother of Losse? How did you come to travel with—” The duke paused, shifting his large, disbelieving eyes back to Kara. “With the Vagabond?”

“I am Asealo, my liege,” Braeden lied, arching his back to bow. His voice was twisted with a slight accent that hadn’t existed until the Duke spoke. He pulled a small blue orb from his pocket—the Lossian key Adele had given him—and offered it to Trin as proof of who he claimed to be. Trin nodded, apparently satisfied, and Braeden put the orb away as he continued speaking.

“I live in the bordering village of Atao and came to see the Vagabond safely into the mighty Losse.”

Wow
, Kara thought.
Lossians talk a lot.

The Duke smiled. “You have done well, then. You may return to Atao.”

“I asked—um—Asealo to join me in Losse,” Kara said, interjecting in an effort to get them both to stop with the pleasantries. She just wanted to get this over with, but the Duke snapped his wary eyes to her. His squint made her fidget.

“I shall need proof of who you claim to be before I show you our home,” he commanded. “You’ll understand, of course.”

“What do you need me to do?”

“I should very much like to see the Grimoire.” He sneered, his kind smile suddenly gone, and huffed as if it only an idiot couldn’t have guessed that much. “I’ve seen the drawings and will know it when, or if, I lay mine eyes upon it.”

She nodded, trying to ignore his tone, and wished the book forward. The cloud of blue dust swarmed around her, and the heavy red cover materialized in her hands. A chorus of bubbles rose from the lake as more heads popped up to witness the Vagabond and her book, but she wished it back into its hiding place after Duke Trin was satisfied.

“Anything else?” she asked with a smirk.

“No. Thank you, Vagabond.” He pursed his lips. “But you must understand if you’re still not permitted to see the path which we take to the kingdom.” He pulled out a thin strip of black cloth and a great, pink starfish from the pack on his belt.

“What—?”

“You must wear these,” the Duke said.

The starfish wriggled in his palm, its limbs twitching, and he lifted it to her mouth before she could refuse. It wrapped around her jaw and nose, its suckers clinging to her chin and cheeks. She gasped for air, but found that breathing came naturally despite the slippery suckers bruising her face. The Duke tied the sash around her eyes. All was dark.

A small cracking sound came from behind her, as if Braeden had dropped a pebble and stepped on it.

“I will guide her, Asealo,” the Duke said. A wet hand grabbed Kara’s arm and quickly ushered her through the thin streams. Water splashed over her boots.

The floor sloped. The lake seeped through the seams in her shoes. Water lapped on the shore nearby as ripples broke across each other. Another distant whisper echoed somewhere in the recesses of the cavern. She walked forward, inch by inch, but the panic didn’t hit her until the water came up to her waist and the slope grew steeper. It was up to her chest, now. Her neck. She held her breath as the surface licked her ears and covered her head.

The grip on her arm steered her when the ground disappeared. Her throat burned with the breath she’d trapped there. She couldn’t hold it any longer.

Air pumped from her lungs, and she inhaled out of instinct, expecting a flood of water and the panic of drowning. But instead of terror, she breathed in relief. Oxygen filled her lungs, though it tasted like salt. She took deep breaths until her pulse slowed.

The fingers holding her arm pushed and tugged, directing her around the obstacles she wasn’t allowed to see. They could have travelled for minutes or hours; she had no idea. She lost all track of time. Eventually, there was a sharp tug at the sash on her head, and it fell away.

She gasped through her starfish.

They swam through an open ocean, long gone from the submerged tunnels of the Villing Caves. The city of Losse was built into a string of reefs and sediment only a few hundred feet away. A tall and massive dome of golden light sprawled over it, running for miles over the ocean floor. A swarm of sharks circled the outskirts of the light, swimming just beyond the radiance so that its warm glow barely illuminated their underbellies.

The Duke’s grip on her arm tightened as they entered the swarm. The sharks rolled their eyes to watch her pass, swimming closer. One brushed her with its fin, leaving the numb trail of its touch on her forearm. Another stalked her, matching her pace with the slow flicks of its tail. Trin’s grip on her arm tightened even more.
No sudden movements,
it said.

She peered over her shoulder. The army swam just behind the Duke, blocking out the view of wherever they’d come from. Braeden was with them, but she couldn’t catch his eye. His gaze flitted from shark to shark as he brushed their noses, pushing them away with his palm if they came too close. The other soldiers did the same, though without the nervous expression.

The Duke descended toward the base of the glowing arch, which gave Kara the chance to peer through the golden light to see the buildings within as they passed the city. Tall houses and shops, maybe a dozen or so stories high, lined the many streets. Rivers and small waterfalls pummeled over grass-covered hills and miniature cliffs in the distance. In the center of the city, stretching almost to the top of the vaulting light, was a glimmering palace built from the brilliant blue and red reef coral.

Duke Trin drifted on the cold current and settled onto the ocean floor, pulling her down with him. Thin puffs of sand billowed from beneath their feet as they landed. A paved road began on the other side of the dome. The Duke walked through the wall of light without hesitation, dragging her through behind him.

There was a draft of wind and, as it passed over her, the water clinging to her hair and clothes dissolved in a hot steam. The air inside the dome was perfect: cool, damp, and still. The Duke removed the starfish from her mouth, and Kara touched her face tenderly until her cheeks regained their feeling.

A twitter of voices rushed around her as she entered. Dozens of Lossians lined the streets, all staring at her with their wide, green eyes as Trin marched her through the city. Those who had baskets set them on their hips as they gawked, while others tapped their neighbors’ shoulders, whispering as they stared at her. Nerves fluttered in Kara’s stomach, and she wanted to wave and laugh and leave all at the same time.

Trin released his hold on her arm, guiding her now with a light pressure on her back, and escorted her along a road paved with polished shells and lined with buildings constructed from pointed bricks of coral. More blue heads crowded the windows as she passed, pushing each other for the better view.

It was at least a half hour’s walk to the palace, though she could easily see its turrets after her first step on the shell road. The endless avenue was lined with yakona, all of whom muttered in hushed tones as Kara and the Lossian army passed by. She began to ignore them after a while, her eyes locked on the castle instead.

What a welcome.

Finally, the front doors of the palace came into view. A massive flight of stairs led from them, glistening in the tawny dome’s warm glow, and thick railings curled away from the large, open doors in sloping arches.

The main entrance led to a throne room with walls that glinted like mother of pearl and a ceiling that rounded out several stories above. Four pillars made of brightly-colored coral branched from the corners of the room and arched to meet in the center of the roof. They glowed in greens and reds and blues, casting a kaleidoscope of light across the walls and yakona below.

There were three polished thrones raised on three separate platforms in the center of the room, each with a set of stairs leading to them.

Three thrones, same as every other kingdom I’ve seen so far.
For a race of creatures that claimed to be so different from each other, there were plenty of striking similarities in their cultures.

A Lossian sat in the center throne, too tall for his chair—the nape of his neck rested against the throne’s high back. This had to be Blood Frine. His coal-black eyes accented his bald head, and his blue skin was wrinkled and dull. The yakona to his right was younger and almost identical, with the same dark eyes. They were so dark that she couldn’t see them move. Her skin crawled.

A Lossian woman sat to the Blood’s left, her dress flowing over the steps at her feet in white trails of silk that looked like foam on an ocean wave. She smiled at Kara and nodded her head once in welcome. Kara smiled back, relieved at the kingdom’s first sign of kindness.

The pressure on her back disappeared as the Duke and Braeden both sank to one knee, bowing their heads so low that she couldn’t see their faces.

“Welcome, Vagabond!” the Lossian in the center throne said. “I am Blood Frine, king of Losse.”

She bowed. Her eyes stung. The adrenaline from breathing through a starfish and swimming through a hoard of sharks was fading. All she wanted was sleep.

The Blood stood and walked down the steps to his throne. “I know you must be exhausted, but before you may sleep, I must know that you are who you claim to be. I assume that you showed Duke Trin the Grimoire. Show me as well.”

Kara hesitated at the order, but wished the Grimoire forward anyway. Its weight fell once more in her hands. It was then, in the silence, that she realized there was no crowd to murmur and gape—only the Duke, the royal family, and Braeden. The doors were even closed. She must have been more exhausted than she realized if they could close those massive gates without her hearing.

“That it is,” Blood Frine said, more to himself. He continued walking toward her.

“Is that all you needed?” She wished the book away once more.

“Seeing the book is a start, but it isn’t enough. Since I heard of your return, I’ve dwelt on how I would make you prove yourself to me.”

She didn’t like the sound of that.

“When the first Vagabond visited my ancestors, he proved his own power by wielding my grandfather’s Sartori. Have you heard of the Sartori blades?”

Her mind flickered to the Queen’s death. Braeden’s blood-curdling scream had scared birds from the trees when his connection to his father made him feel the sting of Queen Lorraine’s blade.

“I have,” she answered.

Frine stopped only a few feet in front of her and unsheathed a sword at his waist. The dark blue blade glinted in the dazzling blue and green light, and its silver handle twisted in thin curves that covered the Blood’s hand. Illegible white runes ran down the blade, such that it looked as much like a scroll as it did a weapon. There was a small, sharp breath from behind her, but she didn’t dare turn around.

“If any but the Vagabond, my son, or I touch this sword, his hands will burn beyond healing. He will never again be able to use his fingers.” Frine held out the hilt to her. “Prove yourself.”

She reached for the handle and hovered over it. This could be a trick. She listened for Braeden, waiting for a clue, a hint—anything—but he was quiet. There were few choices here, so she took a deep breath and wrapped her hands around the hilt.

The weight of the sword shifted into her hand. Her shoulders tensed and complained as she tried to hold the unnaturally heavy weapon. The cool metal tickled the bones in her knuckles with a rhythm like a pulse, but there was no fire, no burning, and no pain. She let out a small, shaky breath. Frine took back his Sartori and slid the poisoned blade back into its scabbard.

“You are indeed the Vagabond, then,” he said, but she wasn’t certain he was pleased by the fact. He turned back to his throne and continued to speak as he walked. There was something sinister in his voice.

“I must ask, dear girl, how went your stay in Kirelm? In Hillside?”

“If you haven’t heard, there was an attack on Hillside,” she said. “Carden killed the Queen and now her son, Gavin, is the Blood. He wants to negotiate a peace treaty between the other kingdoms, so that we can stop Carden before he finds the rest of you.”

“No,” the Blood said, sitting back in his seat. “He wants revenge and is too weak to do it himself.”

She scoffed, but didn’t answer.

“Tell me, has the Vagabond been reduced to a messenger between the kingdoms? Or are you just a pawn?”

“Don’t insult me.”

He raised his eyebrows. “And why shouldn’t I?”

“If you know anything about the first Vagabond, you’ll recall his purpose was always to promote peace. I’m just trying to do the same.”

“That did turn out so well for him,” the Blood observed with a sarcastic smirk. His lip twitched and his eyes never left hers.

“It’s a different era. I’d hoped you all have grown a little wiser after a thousand years.”

He chuckled and rested his head on his fist. “Well spoken, but I won’t decide our place in this matter yet. I pray that you’ll stay with us as I debate the consequences of such an alliance.”

Kara bit her lip. Her eyes drooped. Sleep would help her think of a better argument, since uniting for his own safety apparently wasn’t doing it for him.

“If that’s what you need,” she said.