Mystic: A Book of Underrealm (34 page)

He seized Loren’s wrist, twisting it before she could react. His ferocity and her surprise forced the weapon from her hand. She watched it slide away across the grass.

Xain whispered. His hands on her wrist burnt like liquid metal. Her flesh sizzled, and she screamed. Her grip on his throat loosened.
 

Xain rolled away and quickly regained his feet. Grim and terrible he stood, looking down at Loren, the corners of his mouth twisting in a secret smile.
 

“The dagger. All this time—from the day we met, you carried it with you, and yet I never suspected. But how could I? ’Tis a magic I have not heard of.”

His hand rose. A ball of flame plumed inside it.
 

Loren was terrified. Frozen.
 

Xain seemed taut as a bowstring, and any provocation might cause him to unleash his magic.

“But I know it now and thus have another tool for my quest. Thank you, Loren of the family Nelda. For the final time.”

Xain raised the ball of flame, seconds from hurling it at Loren.
 

But Jordel appeared from behind. The Mystic swept Xain’s legs from beneath him and sent the wizard to the ground. His flame guttered out, and Jordel kicked him full in the face.
 

Bones broke loudly. His body jerked once, and he lay still.
 

The air was still, save for the crackling of the still-burning corpses. The fight was over.

forty-two

“IS HE DEAD?” LOREN WHISPERED. Jordel did not answer, but then she saw Xain’s chest rise and fall beneath his coat. All the fight left her, and she fell back trembling on the grass.
 
But the moment’s peace did not last long, for Jordel strode to stand above her.

“Get up,” he said, his voice like iced steel.
 

Loren trembled at his anger, but she forced herself to stand. He waited until she had risen before stepping closer, into her space. She was reminded for a terrifying moment of her father.

“What in the sky above were you thinking?” He roared loud enough to make Loren jump. “You had dealings with a wizard mad enough to use magestones? How long did he use them? How long did you know of it? Tell me,
now!”

Her knees were shaking, and she could not reply.
Would
not. She did not need to suffer such harsh words from a man who had kept a thousand secrets himself, who told Loren nothing beyond what he deemed her worthy to know.

He did not await her reply but instead turned and paced the grass. “Magestones. Magestones! Had I known, how much death would have been prevented? How many of our aims would have been met, and so much sooner? It is all so clear to me now.”

He spun abruptly and went to the wizard, still lying senseless on the ground. For a moment Loren feared he meant to murder Xain. Instead he stooped and drew the brown cloth packet from his coat. He hurled it down so that the black stones scattered across the grass, then raised his heel.

“Don’t!” cried Loren, but too late. Jordel stamped and stamped, until the black stones were crushed into a fine black powder that scattered in the wind. Loren cried out in pain, for it felt like all her hopes were blowing away.

“What madness made you help him when he fled the city? What madness made you pursue him out here, alone and unaided? Did you not know he was a wizard? Did you not know your own peril? And all these lives . . . I might have saved them. I might . . .”

His shoulders slumped, the spark went dead in his eyes, and he fell to his knees beside Xain. His head drooped, and his cowl slid forwards to cover his face. Mayhap he wept; Loren was not sure she wanted to know.
 

Still mute, Loren went for the horses. Two remained—Jordel’s fine mount and her own black mare. In the Mystic’s saddlebags she found some thin strips of white cloth. She tied a few through Xain’s mouth, knotting them tightly at the back of his head, and bound his hands behind his back. Finally, she tied both knots together with a single string so he could not move his limbs. Once done, Xain was trussed up like a hog.

Loren went to Gem and Annis, still sitting huddled off to the side. She knelt and looked them over. Neither seemed harmed beyond a bit of light singeing.
 

“Are you all right?”
 

“What kind of question is that?” said Annis in a tiny voice. “Look at what has happened.”

Loren had no answer and turned away for fear that her voice would fail her. She returned to Jordel and Xain—the Mystic and the wizard, both defeated in their own way.

Jordel rose, and Loren saw that the fury had left him. He studied her with sad eyes for a moment before he went to inspect Xain. He tugged on the knots and must have found them to his liking, for he did nothing to adjust them.

“I am sorry for my wrath. I know you had no reason to speak of the magestones. I would guess you knew little of their properties. Only that they were outside the King’s law.”

“That is near enough to the truth, yes. If I could go back, knowing what I do, I should have told you from the first—or cast them into the river when given the chance.”

He went to his horse. Loren had left one of his saddlebags open. Idly he buttoned it shut, focusing on the motion of his fingers. Then he turned back to her, his piercing blue eyes meeting hers of deep green.

“You have proved yourself to be a woman of great resourcefulness and cunning. Admirable qualities, especially when joined to a kind heart and a sense of justice.”

“I fear that if anything, my heart is too kind. I must harden it if I am to have any chance at surviving this life.”

“None survive life forever, and a heart that is too kind may balance those which are too evil. Do not fear mercy and compassion—dread only ignorance.
That
is what led you down this road of folly not any fault in your character. You have the ability to do tremendous good—but when you leap without knowing, or strike without wisdom, you may yet be led to terrible evil.”

“I aim to know all that I can. And if you mean what you say, tell me. What is the dark knowledge you shared with Xain? Give me your counsel, Mystic, that I may better prepare myself to weather the coming storm.”

“Alas, I must prove myself false,” said Jordel. “For I shared that counsel once already and dared to trust. ’Tis a mistake I cannot repeat. A great evil has awoken—but they do not yet know of my knowledge. If our enemies were aware that I am preparing to fight, my efforts might be unspooled.”

“I would never tell the secret.”
 

“I am sure you believe that,” said Jordel sadly. “Yet I have seen things . . . terrible things. Tight lips can always be pried by evil means, and I would not wish such a fate upon you. The truth is a burden, and I must bear it alone—for now.”

He turned and leaned his forehead against the saddle, seeming quite suddenly like a much smaller man. Again, Loren wondered at his age. His hair was a silvery white, but his face was free of wrinkles. His eyes shone with deep wisdom and a youthful energy. So little she knew of this man, and yet so deeply her heart yearned to follow him.

She went to Jordel, and touching his shoulder drew his eyes to hers.
 

“I made my decision in Wellmont. When we fought to save the city from burning. I will help you, Jordel of the family Adair. If you mean to prevent a war, I will aid you. In your service, I pledge to do as you ask—except take a life. Today I thought I might cross that bridge, in defense of myself and my friends. But even for that, I could not. But any other deed of me you may ask, and I will serve if I can.”

“You make that pledge too freely, and caution is a skill you must learn. You do not know me so well, and I might ask of you anything.”

“Yet I make the pledge regardless. It does not take me long to measure a man, and I am rarely wrong.” She turned her gaze sadly to Xain.

“Then I accept your service, Loren of the family Nelda.” Jordel offered his hand. They clasped wrists and shook.

“Excuse me.” Gem stood, clearly bemused. “This talk is grand, but I feel the need to mention that another army of sellswords still marches towards us.”

“You are correct, master pickpocket,” said Jordel. “Though I think they will not reach this place for hours yet.”
 

“Still, haste would serve us,” said Loren. “Let us gather our things. Now that none know where we are, nor our course, we can hide in the wilds until the sellswords have passed.”
 

“That seems best,” Jordel agreed. “Yet I would not say that none know of our presence nor where we mean to go.”

Loren looked at him, surprised. “What do you mean?”

“The wizard struck my Mystics with his fire,” said Jordel grimly, “but when the flames cleared, there were but five bodies.”

“You mean that one has escaped?” said Loren. “How?”

“I guess that Vivien escaped amidst the flames. Even terribly burnt, her magic may have saved her.”

“That is good, I suppose,” Loren said, unsure if she meant it.

“Not for me, I fear. My actions today will not sit well with many of the order’s masters. But no matter. We must be off. Gather yourselves and your possessions.”

Loren had precious few belongings. But she had her dagger and retrieved it from where it lay on the grass. She eyed it in wonder, returned the blade to its sheath, and turned to Jordel.
 

“When Xain struck at me with his magic, his spells withered. He said something when we struggled—something about my dagger.”

Jordel looked at Loren carefully. “I suppose he guessed at the truth. Daggers of that kind are powerful wards, and any mage would find it hard to strike while you bear it.”

“That is a wondrous magic.”

“It is and one that has been lost to yesteryears long and forgotten. The last of those weapons was crafted many hundreds of . . .” Looking thoughtful, his voice trailed to nowhere.

“Can it do anything else?” Gem said, looking at Loren’s dagger with renewed interest.

“It can cut tethers or spear a bite,” she said. “And that is all I require, for now.”

“A magic dagger,” said Gem. “The legend of the Nightblade grows.”

“And will grow further still,” said the Mystic, roused from his musing. “But come. If any tales are to be told of this day, we must live to recount them.”

Jordel went to Xain, grabbed the wizard by his bonds, and dragged him towards the horse.

“What are you doing?” said Annis, aghast. “Surely, you do not mean to bring the wizard with us?”

“I do. Despite it all, I still need him.”

“But how can you think to let him live?” said Annis. “He has had too many chances and has failed to prove himself at every turn. How could you—how could
any
of us trust him ever again, even with the slightest task? Removing his bonds might see us all killed. What good will he be to you in your war, trussed like a gamebird?”

“I will not trust him, nor should any of you,” said Jordel. “Not for a long while yet, at least. He has not been himself for a while. Magestones have a terrible, insidious effect upon the mind and are poison to the flesh. Xain has clearly suffered from their influence, but now he must free himself. It will be a tortuous affair, and I envy him not. But he will live. To my order, I am an outlaw. But that is as well, for in the coming months, Xain will need my aid more than the Mystics.”

With Loren’s help, he hauled Xain onto his horse and secured the wizard to the saddle’s straps. The steed would be laden enough with two grown men, so Gem joined Annis and Loren on the black mare.
 

“This is a beautiful beast,” said Gem. “Stole it from the sellswords, did you? You made a fine choice.”

“I think so.” Loren reached forwards to scratch the horse on its ears. “His name is Midnight.”

She kicked her heels into Midnight’s side, and the Mystic did the same with his steed.
 

Their horses climbed the steep northern hills and slid down the other side, striking out into the wide plains south of the Greatrocks. Into the wilderness they rode, while an army of sellswords marched on Wellmont behind them.
 

Loren looked at Jordel, whose eyes were intent on the land ahead. She knew that days of great danger lay ahead for all the nine kingdoms. But for the first time in longer than she could recall, Loren found that she felt safe, and her eyes joined the Jordel’s in looking ahead.

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