Paladin's Prize (Age of Heroes, Book 1) (41 page)

“Finally!”

When the Great Library of Veraidel opened its massive, carved doors later that morning, Wrynne and her unlikely band of armor-clad research assistants rushed in.

The old librarian watched them pass in surprise.

Wrynne led the way, her staff in hand, her cloak flowing out behind her. Jonty strode confidently beside her, followed by the knights. Bearded Berold, scar-faced Sagard, and Humphrey, with the long, gold, Norse-style braids, could no doubt kill anything that came at her, but somehow she got the feeling they had never set foot in the library before.

She flicked a glance over her shoulder at them. Prowling along behind her, they scanned in all directions as if they were walking into hostile territory. Fortunately, it appeared they had the place to themselves today.

And no wonder. Most of the populace was swept up in the great matters of the day—either weeping over a queen they had not cared about till now or seeking a good spot from which to watch King Baynard’s execution.

The one that wasn’t going to happen.

Meanwhile, in the back of their party, the three young squires were still mumbling complaints about the unfairness of having just completed their studies, only to have to return here again.

“Pardon.” Jonty stepped toward the clerk’s desk. “Could you point us to your section on matters botanical?”

“It’s all right. I already know exactly where it is,” Wrynne interrupted. “Follow me.”

The men obeyed, hurrying deeper into the library.

The morning sun lit the vast atrium from on high, shining through windows six lofty stories above them. Mighty stone pillars spanned the length of the place on all sides, from the marble floor up to the vaulted ceiling. Lacy iron railings ran between the pillars, and behind those lay endless rows of shelves packed with priceless books and scrolls on all realms of earthly knowledge—and a good deal on unearthly realms, as well.

“This way.” She led bard and bodyguards into the stairwell, where they hurried up the zigzag stairs to the third floor.

From there, she wove through the labyrinth of bookshelves until she reached the aisle filled with all the classic tomes on botany that she had studied day and night as a student.

“Here we are.” Stopping midway down the aisle, she began busily pulling reference texts off the shelves and handing them to her helpers before it occurred to her that perhaps not all of them could read.

But it turned out they could, so she put the head-loppers to work, too. Berold got
The Compendium of Plant Life, Beneficent and Baneful
. Sagard took
The Herbal Arcana
. Jonty helped himself to
Fey Wisdom of the Flowers
, while the boys perused
Secrets from an Apothecary’s Garden
.

For herself, Wrynne reserved
Botanical Brews for Witches & Healers
. She quickly opened the thick book. “What we’re looking for is probably in the same family as thistles and artichokes,” she told them.

They all started flipping through pages to find that section in their various tomes.

Jonty soon rattled off some choices. “Milk thistle, musk thistle, star thistle, sow thistle, blessed thistle, common thistle, globe thistle, cotton thistle— Hold on! What’s this? Fire thistle. Also known as a firechoke.”

“Let me see that.” Wrynne exchanged books with him. “Hmm. Hmm,” she repeated in a lower tone as she scanned the page. “Well, that’s not good,” she mumbled.

“What is it?” Kai asked, staring at her.

“It says the fire thistle falls into the dread category of the
fleurs du mal
.”

“Flowers of evil?” Jonty asked in surprise.

She nodded. “Also known as flowers of hell.”

“Fonja’s knees,” Petra murmured.

She read to them from the tome. “‘The fire thistle is occasionally found in the lonely places of this world, but it is not of this earth. It blows in from the Infernal Plane—’”

“What?” Sagard exclaimed.

“‘Blows in’?” Jonty echoed.

“‘Carried on the solar winds,’” she continued reading. “‘Its seeds are known to be a great delicacy to rocs—’”

“We saw them! At Silvermount. That
must
be what it is!” Jonty said.

“Shh! Rocs are the least of the dangers associated with the fire thistle, according to this,” Wrynne reported. “‘As one of the commonest flowers of the lower planes,’ it says here that ‘the prickles of this sentient plant bear a venomous poison’— Ha! I knew that thing was staring at me!”

Jonty squinted at her. “Did you say
sentient
plant?”

She pored over the page. “It has a base form of consciousness, so yes, according to this. Well, many plants do,” she added, glancing at him. “That’s why they grow better when we talk to them. But this one is unique.”

She read on. “‘The firechoke seeks a higher level of consciousness by taking over human beings in something akin to demonic possession.’”

“Are you saying Lord Eudo’s possessed by an evil flower?” Sagard asked slowly with a frown.

“Possibly?” At a loss, Wrynne looked down at the book again. “‘The fire thistle seeks to infect people with a seed of evil through the dispersion of its thistledown.’”

“You mean like dandelion fluff?” Jeremy suggested.

“Somewhat similar. But larger and sharper, judging by the sketch.” She studied the article herself for another couple of minutes and then summarized for them. “It seems that if a human being is hit with one of the bits of thistledown, the seed penetrates through the skin. The evil stored in the seed dissolves into the person, corrupting him or her. The victim is slowly taken over by the consciousness of the fleur du mal.”

She winced. “There is no known cure. It says the more innocent the individual who becomes infected, the faster and more potently the poison works. ‘As a sentient organism, the fleur du mal is an agent of darkness, after a fashion. The base consciousness of the fire thistle
hates
all that belongs to the Light. It wants to dominate and destroy the good, and to extend its control as far as possible through the ones it infects.’”

“Well, that could explain why Lord Eudo would’ve sought to target someone like Thaydor…if it especially hates the good,” Jonty said in a guarded tone. “And to get control of the king.”

“According to this, having once been infected, Eudo’s evil will only grow and intensify until the firechoke venom ultimately kills him.” She looked around at them anxiously. “He might not be the only one who was struck by a piece of this nasty thistledown, though. We need to find and burn this thing before it infects anybody else.”

“You stay here,” the bard said. “I’ll see to it.”

“But Jonty, I’m the one who knows where it is!”

“If anything happens to you, Thaydor will have our heads on pikes.”

“Nothing’s going to happen to me. Let’s go together. We need to destroy it—”

“You can’t,” a new voice broke in abruptly.

They all looked over.

A tall, broad-shouldered silhouette loomed at the end of the aisle, blocking the exit. The mysterious man standing before them had a sculpted face, long black hair, and brooding silver eyes faintly lined with kohl. The midnight cloak dripping from his shoulders bore the fiery crest of Okteus, Lord of Shadows.

“If you have truly seen a fire thistle in our world,” the stranger said, “the only way to get rid of it is to open a portal to the Infernal Plane and push it back into Hell.”

Wrynne stared dubiously at him. “And you are?”

“Stand back, my lady,” Berold said. “Look there, on his cloak. He’s obviously a sorcerer.”

The boys gasped and quickly backed away, making hand signs against the evil eye.

“He was spying on us!” Kai uttered.

“No,” the stranger retorted, while Wrynne noted the wand tucked into a black leather sheath by the dagger at his lean hip. “I was sitting right over there, grading papers,” he informed them, and her eyebrows arched high at this response.

He’s a teacher?
It seemed so unlikely that it nearly made her laugh. It was easier to imagine this exotic wizard fellow summoning dragons and roasting cities from astride one’s back than grading tests.

He frowned at them in annoyance, then returned his gaze to Wrynne. “Your friends make enough noise, lady, to be heard in the Bronze Mountains. I couldn’t help but overhear your discussion, and it’s fortunate I did. Obviously, none of you have any notion what you’re dealing with. Where did you see a fire thistle?” he demanded.

“How do you open a portal to the Infernal Plane?” she countered.

“
You
don’t,” he clipped out. “But I can.”

Jonty grasped her arm. “Wrynne, if this man is truly a disciple of the Dark One, he can’t be trusted.”

“We might not have a choice. Sir, what is your name?”

He eyed her as warily, as she did him. She watched his gaze land on her necklace, identifying her as a follower of the Light. He gazed deeply into her eyes for a second, as though trying either to read or hypnotize her.

“I am called Novus Blacktwist,” he finally admitted, but then Wrynne remembered that sorcerers never revealed their true names. “Now tell me where you saw the firechoke.”

“Tell him nothing, mistress! He probably wants it for an ingredient in some vile potion,” Berold warned.

Novus let out a weary sigh. “I’m trying to help you here. This is a very serious situation.”

“We’re aware of that.” Wrynne held him in a penetrating stare, trying to gauge how strongly she sensed evil from the man. It was always hard to be certain, especially since Oktean mages could cloak their true intents from Ilian magic.

But given his dark expertise, Novus Blacktwist undoubtedly knew what they were dealing with better than she did.

“Well?” he prompted.

She concluded on the spot that he did not give off any stronger presence of wickedness than Reynulf. Definitely dangerous, but a little less than sinister.

“’Twas at the Harmonists’ retreat of Silvermount,” she conceded. “There were rocs there. We couldn’t understand why at the time, but this makes sense. It would also help explain Lord Eudo’s behavior for the past year. If he was infected—”

“Shh!” Novus hushed her, moving closer with an impatient wave of his hand. “Don’t keep mentioning that name! He has spies everywhere. Do you want them to hear you?”

“He does?” she asked, wide-eyed.

The handsome wizard scowled at her.

Wrynne tried not to stare at him, for he was quite a novelty—not just because she had never dreamed a sorcerer could possess such striking good looks, but mostly because this was the closest she had ever stood to a follower of the Dark god. According to the pagans, Okteus was the god of night and magic, evil brother to Ilios, and the wicked uncle of Xoltheus, the war god.

“I don’t understand,” Sagard muttered. “How could this fire thistle thing just ‘blow in’ from the Infernal Plane, like the book says? Portals between dimensions don’t just open by themselves.”

“Well, er,” Novus said, discreetly dropping his gaze and folding his arms across his chest, “I
may
know something about that.”

“
You
did it?” Wrynne exclaimed.

“Hardly,” he said with disdain. “But I recall hearing a rumor about a year ago or so concerning a few of my students. I tutor a small number of gifted young adepts at the Wizards’ Spire.”

“I see,” Wrynne said, barely able to fathom what subjects he taught.

“Nobody confessed, but I heard that a few of my wee geniuses got into a spat with a group of young Efrenists,” he said with a long-suffering air. “The Silver Sage’s disciples enraged my adepts by claiming there was no real difference between good and evil, as they are wont to do. I only became aware of the prank when I overheard one of my students boasting of how they had set out to show the Efrenist students there was a large difference, indeed. I believe they might’ve opened up a portal at Silvermount to give their foes a firsthand view of Hades.”

“How incredibly stupid,” Wrynne said.

“Try teaching them.” He sighed and shook his head. “Well, it’s not wise to enrage a wizard. Not even a spotty-faced apprentice.”

“I’ll remember that,” Jonty mumbled.

“Well, Professor Blacktwist—”

“Novus, please,” he said.

“If you’re the one who taught them how to do this little trick, then I think you should be the one to fix it.”

“Why else would I be standing here?” he asked.

“Mind your tone in speaking to milady,” Humphrey warned the prickly fellow. “And don’t try turnin’ anyone into a newt.”

Novus looked askance him. “Honestly.”

“I propose we go to Silvermount immediately. The sooner we get rid of the fire thistle, the sooner Lord Eudo might return to normal, call off the Urms, and stop this madness.”

Novus shrugged. “Getting rid of it won’t cure him, as I said. But it might loosen its hold over him. Anything is possible.”

“How do we know we can trust you?” Jonty asked.

“Do you think I want Urms in the city, master bard? I have to live here, too.”

Wrynne gave her friend a glance.
Satisfied?

Jonty shrugged.

“Knights, how do you feel about battling rocs?” she asked her big, gruff bodyguards.

They exchanged wry glances, looking intrigued at the prospect of such sport, especially the young squires.

“Good. You’ll keep the rocs at bay long enough for Novus to open the portal, then Jonty and I will carefully shove the fire thistle through it and send the awful thing home.”

“But my lady,” Petra spoke up, “shouldn’t we ask Sir Thaydor first if it’s all right for you to go?”

Wrynne looked quizzically at the boy. “He’s a bit busy at the moment, don’t you think?”

* * *

Indeed, he was.

As Thaydor stood on the platform in the square, the morning light glinting on the axe in his hands, he couldn’t help wondering what manner of man set out to make his living as an executioner.