Sorcerer's Vendetta (The Secret of Zanalon) (11 page)

"All anger, all hatred, comes first from pain," she said. "I will understand." She reached out, touched lightly at his forearm. He studied her for a moment, then gave a slight nod, accepting.

"What happened? After what?" Her questions were gentle.

Hesitant, he watched her, while she listened to her own heartbeat. Then he dropped his gaze, nodded again. Only then did he pull his arms from their guarding cross. Continuing down the road, he took her hand, his pace slow. His words flowed from a different time, a younger man. A boy.

"In my youth, the wizard o' the village ran that game. I remember---mine excitement before, my pride when I showed talent and became his apprentice. Ne'er did he speak o' it but I knew my talent to be strong. Everyone knew it. Unbeknownst to me then, some blamed that strong mana within me for the death o' my mother, bearing me."

He paused, his jaw tightened; gently Rachel squeezed his hand. Zanalon's eyes flickered to her, he took a deep breath and continued.

"So, he begrudged what knowledge he gave me, yet he was generous with the other boys o' the village who came to learn as well. Most had much more interest than talent, but it made no difference to him. A good man, he was, there is no denying that. He loved to teach. But the times were changing, magick becoming evil in the eyes o' the common folk, aught to be shunned and feared."

Rachel watched his face intently. He bit his lip, guiding her off the road onto a path through the woods, unerring even as he spoke.

"No matter that they had all benefited from that same magick. The tales the boys told when they went home to their families were twisted and the people of the village turned ugly."

He came to a stop, stance tense, unaware that his grip on her hand was near bone-cracking, as he focused into that distant past. "Damn them."

Checking his grip, he turned deliberately to meet her gaze. All she could see was the honesty of the raw pain.

"They came for us."

He took another deep, cleansing breath. Through his hand she felt it, rippling through him like a wave that washed away another layer of crystalline protection, his outer self. "He bade me hide in the woods. There was naught I could do. I knew not how to help him and he refused to help himself. He had the power, he could have brushed them away like leaves before autumn's winds but he would not ... would not hurt them, would not run."

Sneering bitterly, he said, "He tried to
talk
to them."

Again, Zanalon tamed anger. Stepping back, he leaned against a tree. His eyes roamed, the eyes of a bewildered child.

"I saw. They tore him apart. Devil, they called him and ..." He drew another desperate breath, his chest so tight he shuddered. "They burned him ..."

He folded his arms around himself. Rachel reached out to him, touching lightly at his arm. He turned to look at her. In his eyes she saw the terrified hidden boy, dazed by the horror that now replayed in his mind.

"I saw my father ... burn ..."

Rachel stared, her mouth opened slowly.

"Ooohhhh."

All his bitterness, all his arrogance. Borne of that moment. She could find nothing to say that would possibly ease the pain. Of themselves, her hands touched at his chest and shoulders, hesitant. One settled at his shoulder, felt tense knots under it. The other, brave, fluttered up. Her fingers alighted moth-like at his cheek, sought and met warmth. He turned slightly into her touch, a shy response to her gentleness. She caught the glimmer of bright heat in his eyes, a glance that revealed deep pain ripping free from a lifetime of bondage. His breath, ragged and restrained, pulled from a deep place within. The knots in his shoulder, under her hand, shifted.

Suddenly, he snatched her upper arms, yanked her close. His eyes burned blue into her own, so close she saw the irises open. His mouth worked over unspoken words.

Closer.

Rachel felt her soul stripped naked before him. She wanted to ease his pain but more than that, she wanted ...

He shook his head, shoved her back and pushed past her. It took her a stunned moment to decipher his snarl.

"We must go."

At the edge of the woods they halted. Zanalon, pacing, prepared spells that could then be triggered by only a word. Rachel peeked through low brush, indulging nervous energy, but what she saw commanded her attention. In the clearing before them was a structure made of rough stone, high turrets and arched doorways cut with the care of another age. It was small, for what it was, but there was no doubt what it was.

"A castle!" Rachel said.

Zanalon glanced at her. "'Tis my keep."

She stared at him. "Your ...? That means it's about 600 years older than any medieval structure standing! And we never suspected ..."

His smile was mysterious. "Aye."

Agape, Rachel blinked.

Zanalon turned away as he continued. "The land was granted to me for service to the King ..."

Which king ...?
she thought but didn't interrupt.

"Before that I had wandered, wild, closer to beasts than humans. But this keep, 'twas formed---every stone, every mantel, every door---by the leave of the elementals. My home. I slept for nigh on a month, after. It is infused with their life. It lives, still."

Magical protection.
Rachel humphed, in awe of his era and disgust of her own, but said nothing.
I vote we go back to calling them the Dark Ages, instead of the Early Middle. Thanks to magic, we can't trust a thing we think we know.

Zanalon turned to glare at the structure, focusing on the enemy within. "It is as I suspected. Hafgan desires all that I owned. E'en now. Still I know not how long he has been here. There are two possibilities I can discern: either he jumped directly to this time, or he achieved that which he sought: immortality---and only anon moved close enough to release me from that botched spell, through proximity or possession. I pray the latter is not so, for he would be very practiced with all that he stole from me, anon. Still, either way, I doubt he is expecting my approach."

"I wonder," Rachel said. She bit her lip, eyes narrowed. "Lady Morgan, the owner, wouldn't know me, I don't think. If the police have any picture of me, it's my license, which is three years old. My hair was short then and of course I had my glasses. Doesn't look a bit like me now. Maybe I can pose as a prospective buyer, find out more."

"Aye. A good plan. But I shall be right by the door. The Book is there, Hafgan may be in there, and if he suspects anything ..." He exhaled sharply, then continued. "I can only hope he has grown lax over time if he is immortal, or is overconfident in his escape if he time-jumped here. He mustn't be allowed time to form spells."

Zanalon turned to Rachel, locking her in his gaze.

"I will only get one chance."

Rachel stood at the door. Her heart drummed in her ears like the echo of the brass lionhead clapper, while she tapped a spiked heel on the rough stone step and feigned nonchalance. She was back in the dressy clothes, thanks to Zanalon.

She glanced over at him, tossing her hair back over her shoulder to disguise her look, in case she was being observed through the peephole. He was hidden from the viewpoint of the doorway but reassuringly not from her.

The heavy door opened. Rachel looked up with a polite, businesslike smile, to meet the green eyes of a tall, elegantly beautiful redhead. The woman, smiling in return, opened her mouth to speak a polite greeting.

"Holy shit!" she said instead, her eyes wide, and slammed the door in Rachel's face.

Zanalon blurred past Rachel and smashed into the door. His glance was venom. "She wouldn't know thee, eh?"

Backing a step, he spoke a word of power and reached for the door's handle, his hand struck flame through to superheat the inner latch.

"Ouch! Bloody hot!" came from the other side.

Zanalon, having prevented the redhead from locking the door, grabbed the handle, squeezed the latch and shoved the door open. The woman threw herself against it. Too late.

He stormed through. Rachel, following, could only imagine the killer look in his cold sapphire eyes. The redhead skittered back, looked up at his face and squeaked.

"Y ... you!"

Rachel, now at his side, caught Zanalon's meaningful glance. There was no way this woman could know of him. Unless she knew Hafgan.

The woman swallowed. "You can't come in here. You can't!"

"Try to stop me," he grated. "Where is Hafgan?"

"Hafgan?" The woman looked genuinely puzzled.  She glanced at Rachel, then quickly back to Zanalon. "Not ... here. Not ... Please, you have to stop ..."

The beautiful redhead backed toward a wide stone staircase that curved up toward the second floor, her delicate arms extended behind her protectively. Her instinct betrayed her. Zanalon glanced to the upper level balcony.

"Oh, no. Don't ..." she whispered.

Zanalon strode forward boldly as the woman darted to the staircase and spun to face them. The foreign tones Rachel had heard Zanalon use poured from her mouth.

" ...tilinia astanra des ..." she intoned, hurriedly.

Zanalon, even as she began to speak, lifted his hands and spoke one strange syllable. A shimmering in the air coalesced protectively around Rachel and him, shutting out the redhead's power.

The woman hesitated, exhaled sharply.

"Oh, bloody hell, what am I doing? I can't do
that
..." she muttered.

Rachel raised an eyebrow. The woman spoke not as someone thwarted in an attack but more like she feared she might hurt someone.

Zanalon's eyes flickered. Then he plunged forward, brushing the woman aside, taking the stairs three at a time.

The woman's eyes snapped to his cloaked back, then she looked at Rachel, pleading.

"Stop him! You don't understand. I don't know what will happen, I don't want anything bad to happen ..."

Rachel stood and stared, dumfounded. The woman's strange actions were inconsistent with what she expected from a defender of Zanalon's ancient enemy. She seemed sincerely concerned---about exactly what Rachel couldn't fathom. Not, she sensed, for the fate of some cruel wizard.

"Please." The redhead moved closer to her, sidling along the rail. Then, getting no response from Rachel but a puzzled stare, she glanced back up to Zanalon, who was now at the top of the stairs, and back to stare toward another room to the left of Rachel, her eyes taking on a determined look.

"Oh, bloody hell. I've got no choice." She looked at Rachel again. "You two have got to be crazy. You've created an international incident. This property is crawling with Scotland Yard's finest and yet you march in here ..." A hand splayed outward, encompassing the keep. With a shake of her head, she leapt down the stairway toward the other room. Rachel bit her lip and headed up the stairs after Zanalon, but her eyes followed the woman. The redhead was headed for the phone.

Over her shoulder, the woman announced, "I'm calling them. You must leave. Now."

I hope what's his name really isn't here. We've got to get out of here quick.

Rachel raced to catch up with Zanalon, who followed the heat of the stone at his throat, striding quickly along the upper balcony toward another hallway. She rounded the top of the stairs, losing sight of him as he headed down the hallway, then she sprinted to the corner.

Skidding to a halt, she found Zanalon. He faced a doorway to the left, still holding the amulet at his chest, his free hand he brought up to the stone door sill. She could see the shimmer of the veil of protection thicken around him.

Straightening, he dropped his hand from the guiding stone at his throat, the other from the sill and stepped back. The glance he gave Rachel burned.

Zanalon snarled, smashed his heavy boot into the door. Though it was banded with thick strips of metal, it gave. Rachel's flinched violently at the sound and she couldn't keep her eyes from bugging ridiculously in awe and terror.

The barrier gone, he stood at the opening, raised his hands to the sills and stared with fury-slitted eyes into the darkened room before him, searching. Then his eyes narrowed into puzzled suspicion as he took a step into the doorway.

“
It's empty. This was once my own bedroom.” he said. She followed him through the doorway into a large room with tall, peaked windows in stained glass, flanking a huge four-postered antique bed.

“
But it is always wise to have an escape route. Mine was magic – a portal to my hidden spell chamber, underground.”

He strode confidently to the wall, holding his amulet with one hand, and touched a panel on the wall. With a curt nod, he stretched his hand out to her. “He should be there. Come.  Your only chance now is with me. But stay back when I find him.”

One word made the air around the two of them shimmer even more, the protective shield strengthened.
She reached out and took his hand and the air around them sparkled and swam with stars that sank into them, pulling them into beyond, into the swirl of energy. It was a quick transition, then the two of them were standing in a dark alcove before a huge set of dark wood double doors. There was a strange humming, oscillating between a low vibration and a slightly higher one, emanating from beyond the doors.