She let go of his thread. Then, with a start, she realized he was watching her.
“Satisfied, Your Majesty? I’m every bit as alive as you and your friends are. But if you touch me again with your witch magic—” He twitched a finger, whispering a word, and Vani moaned as the ice crept a few inches farther up her legs. “—the
T’gol
will find out what it’s like to try to breathe through solid ice.”
“Let her go,” Beltan said.
“Or what?” Kelephon said, gazing down his nose in disdain. “You’ll leave a damp stain on my armor?”
Beltan clenched his fists. Vani was trapped, Sindar still wasn’t moving, and Falken seemed stunned. Grace knew she had to do something. She laid a hand on Beltan’s shoulder, touching his life thread, speaking calming words in his mind.
Don’t, Beltan. He’s a runelord. I don’t know what that
means, not entirely. But I do know he can bind and break runes
as well as speak them. You’ve seen what Travis can do, and
Kelephon has seven hundred years more experience. We can’t
stop him with force. We have to talk to him, to find out what it is
he really wants with us. It’s our only hope.
Grace wasn’t certain those last words were true; she wasn’t certain they had any hope at all. But Falken was right— Kelephon must want something; otherwise, they would already be dead. She released Beltan, and he let out a grunt of assent.
Kelephon’s eyes narrowed. “What did you just say to him, witch?”
Despite her fear, Grace felt a small note of satisfaction. So Kelephon couldn’t listen to words spoken across the Weirding. Perhaps that was something that could work to their advantage. She affected what she could only hope was a royal air and moved between Beltan and the runelord. “It’s chilly standing out here, Lord Kelephon. Are you going to tell us what you want with us or not?”
“Do you mean to say you don’t already know, Your Majesty?”
Some of Grace’s fear transmuted into frustration. “No, I don’t. It doesn’t make any sense. We learned in Embarr that the Pale King wants to capture me alive for some reason. But it’s clear your Onyx Knights want me dead. Then there’s the fact that your men obviously have no love for the Pale King’s
feydrim
; they killed a band of the creatures in Seawatch. It all makes it look like the Onyx Knights are the enemies of the Pale King. Only now we learn you’re in league with him.”
Kelephon’s eyes flickered up and down her figure. “You of all people should know that appearances can deceive, Your Majesty. After all, one would hardly think just by looking at you that you are the true heir to Malachor.”
Maybe it was something in the way he said these words, or something in his eyes. Or maybe it was some feeling communicated unintentionally to her over the vibrating threads of the Weirding. Either way, at that moment, Grace understood.
“It’s all a lie,” she said, breathless. With a shaking hand, she pointed to the men lined up on the pier below. “You’ve been lying to them for centuries. They think they’re fighting the Pale King, don’t they? That they’re fighting evil. They think they’re going to restore the kingdom of Malachor, that the light of its glory will shine again. But you’re just using them. That’s why you’re up here alone. You didn’t want your men to see you speak runes. They think only heretics work magic, but their own leader is a runelord.”
Falken, Vani, and Beltan all stared. Kelephon laughed.
“Very good, Your Majesty. I don’t think the bard would have gotten that even if he had another seven centuries. Which he doesn’t, by the way.” His boots ground against stone as he moved closer to her. “You’re clever, Ralena. The members of the royal house of Malachor always were, blast them all. That cleverness nearly cost me everything. But I won’t make that mistake again.”
Renewed fear flooded through Grace. The man before her was ancient, powerful, and cruel beyond imagining. There was nothing he couldn’t do. To her. To anyone.
“Why?” she croaked. “Why have you done all this?”
At last Falken spoke, his voice weary, haggard. “He wants your sword, Grace. That way he can set himself up as the new king of Malachor.”
“Once again the bard misspeaks. I don’t want just your sword, Your Majesty.” Kelephon lifted a gauntlet and gently caressed Grace’s cheek. “I want your blood as well.”
A roar ripped itself from Beltan. “Don’t touch her, you dog!”
The blond man lunged for the runelord. Grace tried to shout, to tell him to stop, but it was no use.
“Shen,”
Kelephon whispered, and the silver half-coin in Grace’s pocket worked its magic, so that she heard not just the rune, but its meaning as well.
Sleep.
As if through a gray veil, she saw Beltan slump to his knees, then fall to the ground next to Falken. Vani wavered, held up by the ice that gripped her legs. Of them all, only Sindar remained standing. However, before Grace could wonder about it, the sky fell over, and the ground leaped up to strike her.
PART FOUR
SHOWDOWN
51.
It was verging on midnight, and Castle City was dark and silent by the time Travis guided Jack up the front steps of the Bluebell.
Travis let out a relieved sigh when he saw the warm light shining though the parlor window. Nothing had accosted them on the walk from the Silver Palace Hotel, but that fact could only be attributed to luck, for Jack had chattered loudly and constantly as they went, mostly complaining about the train trip and the coach ride from the depot into town.
“Denver isn’t a city, I tell you,” Jack said, waving his arms, “it’s a barbarian encampment. When I disembarked the train from Kansas City, I was forced to carry my own bag all the way across the platform. And when I asked a porter if he might be so kind as to help, he ignored me. Can you imagine the rudeness?”
“I think I’ve got an inkling,” Travis said, gritting his teeth and shifting the lumpy satchel in his arms to get a better grip. He wasn’t entirely certain how it happened, but somewhere along the way he had found himself carrying Jack’s luggage. Travis didn’t know what the bag contained, but right then he was guessing lead ingots. Lots of them.
“And the coachman did nothing to raise my opinion of the general character of the populace in this state,” Jack went on blithely. “He couldn’t speak two words without stopping to spit tobacco juice between. I fairly had to dance a jig to keep my boots clean. Prometheus grant me perseverance, but I don’t know how I’m going to manage in a land where people have such little regard for their fellowman.” He stood next to the front door, waiting for Travis to open it.
Travis reached for the doorknob, but the satchel started to slip through his arms. He cocked a knee, catching the bag, then pressed it between his body and the door to hold it up. He fumbled with blind fingers, found the knob, and managed to twist it. The door opened, immediately removing the support for the satchel. Travis stumbled forward, barely catching himself from falling facefirst atop the bag.
“For shame, Mr. Wilder,” Jack scolded, strolling into the front hall after him. “Don’t you know it’s proper manners to let your elders go first? I do hope the coarseness of the American West isn’t rubbing off on you.”
The only thing rubbing off was the skin on Travis’s palms from trying to hold on to the satchel. He set it down, letting it fall to the floor with a
thud
.
“Do be careful with that,” Jack said, glowering. “Its contents are quite delicate.”
Evidently not so delicate as Travis’s back, which made a crunching noise as he straightened. A path of lamplight spilled into the hall. They followed it to the parlor and found Maudie sipping a cup of tea, Miss Guenivere on her lap.
“Maudie, I’m glad you’re still up. This is Jack Graystone. He’s going to need a place to stay for a while.”
Maudie looked up. “Is this the old friend you’ve been waiting for, Mr. Wilder?”
How had she known that? Maudie must have heard more than he thought in their time there.
“No, madam, Mr. Wilder and I have only just met. At least, I think that’s the case.” Jack cast a curious glance at Travis.
“Well, you’re welcome all the same.” Maudie’s eyes twinkled. “As long as you can pay a dollar a day, that is. I hope you don’t mind if I don’t get up to say hello.” She gestured to the kitten asleep on her lap. However, Travis saw the handkerchief she had wadded in her hand; a corner stuck out, stained crimson.
She’s getting weaker. Liza is doing most of the work around
the boardinghouse these days.
Travis’s heart ached, but he couldn’t think of that at the moment. Jack was finally there. He should head back to the saloon to get Lirith; it wasn’t safe for her to walk to the boardinghouse alone at night. However, even as he had the thought, the witch walked through the front door, her arm coiled around Durge’s.
Maudie smiled. “Miss Lily, Mr. Dirk, I’m so glad you’re back, along with Mr. Wilder. I hate to think of any of you being out after dark these days.”
“Is there something amiss in this town?” Jack said, shaggy eyebrows rising.
“I’ll let these three fill you in. I’m too tired for talk about such things tonight. Miss Lily, could do me the favor of showing Mr. Graystone to his room? I think we’ll put him in the blue room, on the second floor.”
“Of course,” Lirith said.
Maudie started to rise from the couch, and Durge hurried to help her. She gave his arm a grateful pat, then shuffled from the parlor, leaning on her cane. A few days ago, she had taken a room on the first floor near the back of the house; Travis and Durge had moved her things down from the second floor. They heard the sound of coughing, muffled as a door shut.
After making introductions, they sat, and Lirith and Durge fetched tea for them all from the kitchen.
“I must thank you for bringing me here, Mr. Wilder,” Jack said, blowing on his tea. “This establishment seems a good deal more convivial than a standard hotel. And, I confess, the rate will be easier for my much-reduced wallet to bear. You see, a mishap befell my business in London, where I had made my home for quite some time. I fear I lost so much.”
“You mean in the fire,” Travis said.
Jack set down his teacup, his blue eyes sharp. “How did you know it was a fire that took my shop?”
There was no use waiting. Travis reached into his pocket and pulled out Sinfathisar. The Stone shimmered gray-green in the lamplight.
“Oh,” Jack said in a surprised voice. And then again, this time in a deeper and far more knowing way, “Oh.”
Jack reached into the pocket of his green waistcoat and pulled out a small iron box covered with runes. Travis recognized it; once he had used the very same box to keep Sinfathisar safe. Jack opened the lid. Inside the box glimmered a Stone that was the mirror image of the one on Travis’s palm.
They don’t just look the same, Travis. They are the same.
They’re both Sinfathisar. Only mine is from the future.
He remembered late-night movies about time travel he had seen as a kid. If the hero met himself, all sorts of terrible things happened, mostly involving accidentally killing his father so he’d never be born. However, the two Stones were quiescent, dull. Curious, Travis leaned forward, bringing his Sinfathisar close to the one in the box. They touched.
He felt it rather than heard it, like the vibration of a dynamite blast from a mine deep beneath the earth.
Jack snatched the iron box back and clamped the lid down. “Oh dear. This isn’t good at all.”
“What is it?” Travis said, throat dry.
Jack shook his head. “Something just...changed. I’m not certain what, but I don’t think we should let the Stones come in contact again. Or the Stone, I suppose, in the singular. For they’re both one and the same.” He cast a piercing look at Travis, Durge, and Lirith. “You’re from the future, aren’t you?”
“We are,” Travis said, fighting to keep his voice steady. “Our time is more than a hundred years from now.”
“And where will you get that Stone?”
“From you.”
“And I suppose you’ll knock me over the head when I’m not looking and steal it from me,” Jack said, scowling. “Of course, now I’ll be on my guard. Come a hundred years from now, I’ll be watching for you. You won’t find me so easily duped this time, young man!”
Travis clenched his fingers around the Stone. “No, you don’t understand. You gave it me. Or
will
give it to me.”
“Nonsense,” Jack huffed. “I shouldn’t think I’d be handing out Great Stones to any Tom, Dick, or Harry.”
Travis had forgotten how frustrating talking to Jack could be. “I’m not Tom, Dick, or Harry. I’m Travis, and we’re best friends. Or we will be, anyway. And you had a very good reason to give me the Stone.”
“Yes,” Jack said, his voice quiet now. “It seems I did.”
His eyes were on Travis’s hand, the one which clutched the Stone. Travis looked down. Silvery light welled from between his fingers. Hastily, he shoved Sinfathisar back into his pocket. He rubbed his right hand, and the rune on his palm faded.
Jack leaned back in the sofa. He looked haggard, and older than Travis remembered. But Jack was a century younger now than the last time Travis had seen him.
Lirith touched Jack’s hand. “Are you well, my lord?”
He gave a weak smile. “I am when I look at you, my dear lady. You’re from Eldh, aren’t you? From the south, no? And you, good sir, are surely a knight.”
Durge nodded. “I am the twelfth earl of Stonebreak.”
Jack smiled. “Then I find myself in far better company than I could ever have imagined encountering in these barbarian lands. A daughter of Sia, a knight, and”—his eyes locked on Travis—“a runelord.”
Travis’s throat grew tight. “I’ve missed you, Jack. There were so many times I wanted to talk to you, times when I didn’t know what to do.”
Except he
had
talked to Jack. In his mind, at least, for Jack had given part of himself to Travis that terrible night beneath the antique shop.
And maybe that’s why Jack is so weak. He’s
just like the hero in those time-travel movies. If part of Jack is
in me, then he’s existing in this time in two di ferent forms.
Jack patted his shoulder. “There, there, young man... Travis, did you say? We’re all here now, so it seems everything has turned out fine.”
Except you’re dead in my time, Travis wanted to say. However, he only nodded.
“Now,” Jack said briskly, “it’s late, but with the aches imparted by my rough journey, I imagine there’s no sleep for me tonight, and I have the feeling from your grim looks there’s much you wish to tell me. So if one of you would be kind enough to fill my teacup again, we can begin.”
Lirith started to get up, but Durge bid her sit and volunteered to fetch more tea himself.
“And perhaps a scone or biscuit to nibble on, good sir,” Jack called after him.
It was one of the stranger sights Travis had witnessed over the course of the past year: Durge walking gingerly into the parlor, carrying a tray laden with a steaming teapot, milk, lemon, honey, and a plate of shortbread cookies arranged in regimented formation. The knight set down the tray, and Travis imagined he wasn’t supposed to notice as Durge surreptitiously placed a saucer of milk on the floor for Miss Guenivere.
“I confess,” Jack said over his tea, “things are already becoming clearer to me. I thought it mere whimsy that caused me to settle on the frontier of Colorado as my destination, but I can see now it wasn’t chance at all that brought me here. It was you and your Stone that pulled me, Travis, whether I knew it or not.”
“There’s more you need to know, Jack.” Travis glanced at Durge and Lirith. “Much more. About how we got here, to Castle City. And about what else—who else—came with us.”
Jack set down his cup, his face solemn. “I think it’s time you told me your story.”
Travis drew in a deep breath. He wasn’t certain what he should and shouldn’t tell Jack. After all, couldn’t giving Jack too much knowledge change the future? However, once Travis began, the words gushed out of him. He told Jack everything, starting with that late-October night when Brother Cy blew into Castle City, and everything changed. Finally, he told about what had happened to them since arriving in Castle City, and how they now knew that one of the Scirathi had followed them through the gate.
Jack sat bolt upright, eyes wide, and his teacup—which had been balanced on his knee—would have gone flying if Lirith hadn’t deftly snatched it away.
“By Hades Himself!” Jack pounded a fist on the arm of his chair. “So that’s who attacked my shop—a sorcerer. I wasn’t able to catch a glimpse of him—I only had time to flee—but I should have known the noisome odor of his blood magic. Only I never expected I would encounter one of his kind, not here, so far from Eldh.”
Travis leaned forward. “Tell us, Jack. Tell us what happened to you in London.”
“I fear it caught me—he caught me—by surprise.” Jack slumped back into the chair, his eyes haunted. “But I had been ill, you see. Not that I’ve been ill in seven centuries, mind you, not since taking up the burden of the Stone. All the same, perhaps a month and a half ago, I felt a terrible weakness come upon me, as if half my life had suddenly drained away.”
Lirith’s dark eyes were concerned as she glanced at Travis. “That would have been the same time we arrived here.”
“I think it’s me, Jack,” Travis said. “I think I’m the reason you feel so weak. You gave me so much of what you were, and now—”
“And now here you are,” Jack said softly. “Of course—my magic can’t be in two places at once.”
Durge cleared his throat. “How did the Scirathi make his attack, Lord Graystone?”
“It was a fortnight ago,” Jack said. “I was in my bookshop. It was the dead of the night, and I was working on a small volume I’ve been writing on and off for centuries. It’s a treatise concerning the magics of Falengarth. I’ve got it in my satchel—it’s one of the few things I managed to save from the shop. Would you like to see it, Lord Stonebreak?”
Durge nodded. “But not now. You were saying...”
“Ah, yes. The attack. It was quite sudden, completely out of nowhere.” Jack’s eyes grew bright, and he sat back up, as if now that it was all over it seemed more like an adventure. “The windows shattered, and glass went everywhere. Then a swarm of bats flew in, swirling all around me, and by their odor I knew they were quite dead for all their fluttering and scratching. That should have been my first clue that it was a sorcerer. But really, there was no time to think. Usually I would have spoken a rune and”—he gestured with his fists—“those creatures would have been nothing but dust. Only then I felt...” The light in his eyes faded, his hands fell into his lap.
Lirith touched his arm. “What did you feel?”
“Death.” He sighed. “I felt a presence—dark and full of hate—and it was as if a hand gripped my heart, squeezing it, forcing it to cease beating. I was too feeble—I couldn’t fight. It was all I could do to whisper the rune of fire. That was enough to break the spell of my attacker for a moment. I managed to flee into the night as my bookshop went up in flames. After that, I knew I couldn’t stay in London, that my attacker would only find me again. So I boarded a ship, then a train, and now I find myself here. No doubt exactly where the sorcerer intended for me to come.”