Call of Brindelier (Keepers of the Wellsprings Book 3) (44 page)

He raises my chin with a charged fingertip and kisses me, and when our lips meet the charge sparks warm and powerful, coursing through us both at once. I’m overwhelmed by the two sensations, his and mine, which clash and meld together so perfectly and completely. Light so bright there are no words for it. Love so pure it takes my breath away.

Our kiss is not just a kiss. The magic it holds manifests between us as an orb of light, of all of the colors of Dawn. I see it in the minds of the others in the room who are watching, but I don’t pull away from Rian. His lips are too soft and sweet, his arms around me and his fingers through my hair are all I ever need. The light hovers at my waist and beckons to the offering. The other two vials are drawn to it, and glide across the room to join with it. The third vial slips from the pouch at my waist and joins the others.

“That’s enough, you two,” Flitt giggles.

Her words are barely heard. Rian and I are too entwined. I slip back to myself and let the moment take me. Just us, just he and I, our kiss, our love, our bodies pressed together. His hands slide to my shoulders and then to my back, and despite my armor I feel them leaving trails of warmth and goosebumps in their wake.

“Okay, it’s getting gross now,” Flitt tugs my ear. When I reluctantly open my eyes, I see that she’s got her feet on Rian’s cheek and she’s actively trying to push him away from me. “Honestly, you two. Nobody wants to see that. I mean, Azi, you just bathed and now you have Stinky Mage smell all over you again.”

Shush chuckles through his nose, and Saesa, dutifully as ever, has suddenly found the door to the east quite interesting to look through.

“Well, anyway, that’s done,” Flitt huffs, looking a little jilted. “Azi, take the orb and let’s go.”

“What?” I whisper in confusion as I open my hands and the orb containing the three offerings drifts into them.

“Don’t be thick, Azi,” Flitt says with an air of impatience. “Light and love go hand in hand, just like darkness and hatred do. You two just fused the offerings with your love, to claim them for the Dawn. This way, even if the Dusk did get their hands on the three we have, they wouldn’t be able to use them to open the gate. Not right away, anyway. They’d have to break the bonds apart and claim them as their own, first. It’s like extra protection. And now that you can fly, we can get to the gateway outside easily. It’s a good thing, too, because you can’t get there through the Half-Realm. It has to be in person. So you couldn’t have just wished yourself there like you usually do. But you knew that part already, I think. So, ready?”

I nod slowly, still slightly confused by everything that has happened but too aware of the urgency of the situation to ask for further explanation.

“This way,” Rian says. He takes my hand and leads the way through the Academy, up stairs and down hallways until we reach the observatory where the ceiling is open to the night sky. Smoke from the king’s pyre to the north drifts up to the stars. At the base of it is a glowing dome of scattered white lights, and inside of that the king’s fire still burns.

“There,” Rian whispers, and points into the distance over the sea. Hovering high overheard, the black form silhouetted by moonlight is disturbing to look at. It’s a mass of land like the one Tib showed me in his memory of the Dusk’s fortress, but not the same mass. The formations of broken earth beneath it are different from the one he showed me. The stone is milky white like the cliffs of Cerion, not black and shale-like as the other one was.

Shush calls out something in elvish, and the wind picks up and carries his words away.

“Azi,” he whispers as he bobs at Rian’s shoulder. “You’ll have to go on your own. Rian and Saesa will follow by cygnet.”

“When I get there, what happens? What do I do?” I ask. The orb in my hands makes my fingertips tingle and pulls away from me as if desperate to get to the arch.

“Not sure,” Flitt replies. “But don’t worry. I’ll be with you and the others won’t be far behind.”

“They’re trying to go,” I say as my hands are pulled toward the sky.

“Let’s go, then,” Flitt says excitedly, and tucks herself into my pauldron.

Rian and I exchange another quick kiss and Saesa stands looking hopefully into the starry sky as I push off, soar out of the observatory, and speed to the archway. Despite the sounds of battle ringing throughout Cerion, I don’t meet with any resistance on my way to the arch. In the distance, I see the cygnets approaching. Over my shoulder, I watch them land on the rim of the observatory and I’m comforted knowing that Rian and Saesa won’t be far behind me.

The archway grows larger as I near. It’s a small piece of land covered in grass, and the arch is of carved stone. As I soar around it to assess it, I see that there is nothing else to it. It seems like I could fly straight through the arch to the other side if I wanted to. It stands on its own, the width of two men, possibly, and as tall as three. The stone is white, like the cliffs of Cerion and the broken earth beneath the island. Otherwise, the piece of land is eerily empty and unremarkable. If it wasn’t floating in the sky, I doubt it would attract interest from anyone at all.

“So are you just going to fly around it for the rest of the night, or are you going to land eventually?” Flitt asks, laughing.

“I’m just looking first,” I reply.

“It’s an archway on a floating piece of land, Azi,” Flitt chuckles. “Not much else to see. You’ve already circled it about ten times. Can we go?”

“Have I?” I ask, confused at first. Then I think back and realize she’s right. I’ve been circling and hesitating. With Flitt’s encouragement, I take a deep breath and fly closer, then land lightly on the grassy threshold of the gateway.

As soon as my feet touch the ground, everything shifts. Cerion and the surrounding area disappear. The ground spreads out from this point, ending in the distance at a thick forest. A fortified wall stretches from either side of the gate, and through the opening of the arch I catch glimpses of a fantastically built city before two solid stone doors slam shut, blocking my view. The figure of a knight emerges from the air. His silvery armor glints blue in the moonlight showing off the impressive intricate designs of strange flora and beasts etched into it. His hands rest at chest-height on top of his great shield, and his eyes are piercing as he glares unflinchingly through the slit of his helm at me.

“What is your intention, Knight?” he demands. “What reason do you have to approach this, the Gate of Brindelier?”

I stare at him, wide-eyed and tongue-tied.
Why, indeed?
I wonder to myself. The orb in my hands glows brighter, but the knight doesn’t seem to notice it.

“We’ve come to waken the city,” Flitt says. “And to revive the Great Source.”

“You bring the petty battles of your people to our doorstep,” his eyes narrow menacingly. “What right do you have?”

“Quite so! How audacious!” A high-pitched voice squeaks from inside the knight’s hood. When I squint, I can barely make out a tiny face scowling out at me from beside the barrel helm. The glint of a wing tells me this knight has a fairy companion of his own. “What right?” he squawks.

“A suitor for the prince,” Flitt pipes up proudly. “A way to claim Brindelier for the Dawn.”

“This one?” the knight huffs, eyeing me. “She is too old. Too much a warrior. Brindelier seeks a peaceful ruler. Not one such as her.”

“Not her,” Flitt scoffs and pushes me away, wrinkling her nose. “Her name is Margary Plethore, Princess of Cerion.”

“We haven’t heard of her. Go away!” the voice inside the hood yelps.

“A princess?” the knight muses. “Plethore, you say? The same Plethore who cast down the Sorcerer Diovicus at the beginning of the Age of Slumber?”

“A descendant of his. Yes, sir,” I explain.

The Knight takes a slight step forward. When he does, he seems to finally notice the offering in my hand and asks, “What is your name, Lady Knight, and what is it you have there?”

“My name is Azaeli Hammerfel, Knight of His Majesty’s Elite of Cerion. Cerion’s Ambassador to Kythshire, The Temperate, Pure of Heart, Reviver of Iren, The Great Protector, The Mentalist, The Paladin.”

“
Oh, Azi,
” Flitt pushes to me as she covers her face with one hand, obviously embarrassed.

“Well, well,” squeaks the voice inside the helmet. “Talk about presumptuous. Cocky, too, that one. Who goes around spouting off titles like that, eh? What pride! Don’t let her in, Gustaven. You’d better not!”

“I didn’t mean to—” I start, but the Knight interrupts me.

“You may pass, with proper payment,” he declares.

I raise the orb of offerings to him and he looks at it dubiously and asks, “What is that?”

“It’s…” I scowl and glance at Flitt. “It’s our offering. The Dawn’s. I was told we were supposed to bring it. Three offerings from three Wellsprings, to open the gate.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” the Knight mumbles. “To pass through the gate, that is what you need. But first you must pass through me, and in order to do so, you must offer payment.”

“What kind of payment?” Flitt asks, exasperated.

“A coin,” the voice inside of the helmet chirps.

“Gold? I have a few gold, I think,” I say, and reach to rummage through my belt pouch.

“Not gold,” says the Knight. “The Coin of Sky. If you had one in your possession, you would certainly know it, and so I will assume you do not.”

“We do,” Rian calls out from behind me. I turn to see him, Saesa, and Shush rushing toward us. He pats his robes and slumps his shoulders. “Well, not in our possession, but we can certainly get one. Tib has it,” he groans at me. “I gave it back to him.”

“Then that is what you must do,” the Knight says with a curt nod, “Harbinger of Dawn.”

“Oh! Another title for her to spout! That should please her pride!” the fairy inside the hood cackles. “Yes, go and get the coin, silly ninnies. Can’t believe you came so far without it! What a laugh!”

“Go quickly,” says the Knight, “I pray you return before the Dusk arrives with the same intent as yours. Brindelier is a great, pure city. Its people are lively, kind, and wise. They do not wish to live in Darkness, but they will have no choice. We must bend to the will of whomever comes bearing that which is required to lift the spell and wake them all.”

“I’ll go,” I say to the others. “Hold this.” I hand the orb to Rian.

“Be careful,” he says to me, and with Flitt on my shoulder I shoot up into the sky, toward the stars.

Celli

“There are three entrances to the Catacombs,” Sybel tells me as we run through the Sea Market. Everything is destroyed. Stalls on fire, wares scattered over the cobbles, groups of men fighting groups of Sorcerers while wives huddle in windows, watching. The lifts are all up and unmanned. The docks are abandoned. Nobody’s leaving the city tonight by sea. “One through the palace courtyard, one through the High Court. The third way in is via the docks. A passage used to supply the prison beneath the city.”

She pauses in the middle of her explanation and flicks her wrist lazily toward a group of six approaching soldiers. Her skeletons, which have been following us, march past and bear down on the enemies. Sybel looks almost bored as she whispers a spell and claps her hands and a jet of red light sears from her fingers and crashes into the soldiers. Three of them fall without even a chance to scream in pain. The skeletons take the remaining three, and Sybel whispers her spell and blows a kiss, and all six defeated soldiers stand up again. They mill around, looking blankly ahead, until she speaks.

“Follow and protect,” she says, and the risen soldiers fall into line behind the skeletons, ready to serve the Sorceress.

“Foul and false and wicked,” Osven’s voice echoes over us on the sea breeze. “Your ways will catch up to you, Sybel.”

“Shut it, jealous,” Sybel sneers. “Celli. As I was saying, there are two entrances.” She starts to walk toward the High Court. “I will cause the guards within to come to the surface entrances and face my legion. You will go to the third at the cliff side and make your way through the tunnels. You know what your task is, correct?”

“I do, Mistress,” I use the title with a hint of distaste. I know what she did with my master behind closed doors and I hate her for it. Still, she made me attractive to him all that time ago, and if not for her he might have overlooked me. So I show her respect, for now, but my loyalty will always be to him. My thoughts wander to him, and what he must be doing now. I wonder if he’s thinking of me, too. Quenson. Quenson. He is. I just know it. He’s thinking about me even now. Wishing for me as I’m wishing for him.

“Celli!” Sybel snaps her fingers in my face. “Pay attention! If you fail, you will never see your master again. Do you understand?”

Her threat terrifies me so much that I gasp for breath. My vision starts to close in. I feel the panic rising in me, ready to take me over. Then, Sybel’s hands are on my shoulders, shaking me.

“He still needs you,” she says, and her reassurance calms me in an instant. “Go and do what you were sent for. Down the cliff, through the passages. Number twelve.”

“I won’t fail you, or him,” I say to her, and as she leads her battalion away, I pull my hood up over my head to hide me away, and I slink down the long carved staircase to the sea.

The entrance isn’t hard to find. A thick wooden door, locked with a heavy bar and three padlocks.

“Fools,” Osven utters in my mind. “Sending a girl to do the work of a thief.”

“A girl is as good as anyone,” I mutter to him as I work the first lock with the pick Quenson gave me.  Beneath the wooden boardwalk, waves crash. My hands are steady holding his gift. I would never dream of dropping it. To lose this pick would be to lose my master’s trust.

The lock clicks open and I pull it off and toss it into the waves. Two more to go. The second one is just as easy. I discard it, same as the first. The third takes longer. I have to force it, and when it finally clicks, a thick green liquid oozes from the hole and seeps over my gloves. Right away, the leather starts to smoke and burn. I grab the lock and fling it away and pull off my gloves and toss them to the boardwalk.

“Oh, very impressive indeed,” the ghostly Sorcerer says, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

“Osven,” I whisper to him as I slide the bar from the door, “I swear if you say another word, I’ll toss this bracelet onto those gloves and enjoy watching it get eaten away.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” he hisses. “What would your master say?”

“I’d tell him how insolent you were being, and he’d agree with my decision,” I reply as I slink into the dark, damp passage. I pause and think. Leaving my gloves behind is foolish. Leave no evidence, Master told me. There’s magic that could be used to track me, to see things I’ve seen while wearing them. But I can’t carry them when they’re covered in acid. I glance at Osven’s apparition. Master hasn’t had time to give me much training in order to tap into the ghost’s powers, but he did tell me this. I can command him. Whatever I tell him to do, he must obey.

“Osven,” I say cautiously. “You know a way to restore those, don’t you? Answer me.”

“Yes,” he replies reluctantly.

“Show me,” I say.

It doesn’t take long at all for me to pick up his knowledge, to draw it through me and use it as my own. I move my hands the way he knows how to; I speak words that are foreign to me. The rush of it feels like it’ll lift me up off the ground. The power. The ecstasy. I watch the acid crackle away. Watch the gloves restore themselves. Then I call them back to me and my insides tingle with the most delicious feeling as they drift through the air and back into my hands.

The thrill is so intense that I have to lean back against the carved stone to catch my breath. My eyelids are heavy with pleasure. I can’t help but smile as I pull my repaired gloves back over my fingers. My eyes slide to Osven, who seems quite a bit dimmer after my efforts.

“You oughtn’t take it from me,” he says through a pout. “I don’t have much to begin with. Those fools, they nearly stripped me completely.”

“What happens if I do, and use you all up?” I ask. He stays silent. “Answer me, Osven.”

“Then you’ll lose me until I can come back again.”

“Where will you go?”

“The Void.”

“For how long?”

“I don’t know, girl. I haven’t been yet, have I?” his scowl is implied. I hate his tone. If he was solid, I’d punch him for daring to take that tone with me. I’m supposed to be his superior.

“If you continue to speak to me that way, you’ll find out, Osven,” I sneer.

“You’re wasting time, Celli,” he says sternly, but I sense a hint of fear in him anyway.

“Don’t say another word unless you’re spoken to,” I command, taking a page from Quenson’s book.

Osven’s right about wasting time, though, I know. I close the door and bar it behind me, then start up the slick steps toward the catacombs. Two hundred steps at least, before I reach the first passage. I know the way. I’m guided by a strange magic. I can feel the anticipation of it. The muffled sounds of battle in the distance rumble through the stone. I get a thrill every time I pass by a guard unseen, and there are several, but not as many as usual. Just like my Master anticipated, a lot of the guards have gone to join the battle. Why should they need to stay here, to guard a bunch of spell-slept criminals? Still, there are enough guards that it would have been a problem if I didn’t have my cloak. Every time I pass one, I thank Sybel for her gift. Right, left, left, right. Twelve. Twelve. Look for twelve. Eight. Ten. Twelve.

Silently, I draw out my pick again. I slip it into the keyhole without a sound, until I hear the click. My hand rests on the latch and I pause and listen. Rhythmic breathing. Sleeping men. Some snoring. I push the door open slowly, slip in, and close it behind me. There are four cots here. Four sleeping criminals. Dub is the farthest from the door, in the right corner. I slip past the other cots and stand over him, watching him sleep.

The potion my master gave me will wake him with four drops. I pluck it from my belt pouch unscrew the cap and look down at Dub. He isn’t so intimidating this way. Sound asleep. His eye patch is gone. Probably taken by guards before they brought him in there. I lean over him, curious, and push his eyelid open. What’s behind it isn’t as grisly as I thought it would be. Just an empty space. There isn’t even a scar on his eyelids. I pull my hand away and wipe it on my vest. Then, just because I can, I search him and come up with a few gold, a tiny blade the guards apparently missed in a secret pocket of his vest, and a tattered folded up piece of parchment. I open it up. It’s a drawing of a woman. She’s dressed in chain mail, and her hood shades her eyes, but they’re still piercing as they look at me from the page. She’s formidable. I can tell just by that look. A fighter. A good one. I fold up the parchment, shove my spoils into my vest, and drip the drops into Dub’s open mouth.

Nothing happens at first, then after a moment of waiting, he licks his lips and swallows and sits up. He gets his bearings quicker than I would have expected.

“You have the other potions?” he asks me without a hint of a greeting. I nod.

“Good,” he says, rubbing his eyes. “How’s it looking up there?”

“Like war,” I say.

“Right. We have work to do,” he says and pushes himself up from the cot a little stiffly. “These three were part of the plan, so you can wake them. Then we’ll work our way through the rest of the cells, explaining as we go. Instant allies. I’ll wake that one,” he says, pointing to the cot across from him. “He’s jumpy.”

We wake the four and move on to the next. Most are willing to come with us and fight. The ones who aren’t we let go anyway. Some of them look like they’re interested in stopping us, but think better of it when they see our numbers. Pretty soon, we don’t have to sneak around. We outnumber the guards. We overpower the Mages.

“Twenty-six,” Dub mutters over and over as he searches doors frantically. Finally, he finds the number he was searching for.

“Go on ahead,” he says to the group. Three of the men from his room look him over a little suspiciously. “You remember where the arms lock was, right? We’ll wake this level and meet you there.”

I look from the group to Dub, unsure. Splitting up wasn’t part of the plan. Something is off.

“Decide quick,” Dub says to me as he unlocks the door with a key from the ring he took off a fallen guard.

I look from the backs of the men I don’t know to Dub. I hate him. He’s awful. But I know him. I don’t know them.

“Master said…” I whisper, confused.

“He told you we were supposed to work together, right?” he says to me.

“Yes, but that was before…” I look at the others again. The last of them disappears around the corner.

“Get inside. You can change your mind later,” he says, and pulls me in and shuts the door. This room only has two prisoners: a woman asleep on a single cot, and a giant hulk of a man lying across three cots shoved together. I recognize the woman right away, even before Dub wakes her. She’s the one in the drawing.

Something shifts in him as he crouches at her side. He becomes gentler. Tender, even. He strokes her cheek with his thumb. Brushes the hair away from her temple.

“Stone,” he whispers. “I’m here.”

He drips the potion into her mouth and her eyes flutter open. She gets her bearings, shoves herself to her feet, and punches Dub hard.

“I deserved that,” he says as he rubs his chin and opens his mouth to test his jaw. “You always could throw a punch, woman. Ow.”

“Damn right you deserved that,” she growls, and I think she’s going to punch him again when she lunges at him, but this time she throws her arms around him and starts kissing him in the same spot she just punched him. “How long has it been?” she whispers passionately.

“Three months, two days. I had to gain their trust.”

“Did you get it?” she asks him.

“Did I get it?” he huffs in disbelief, and she whoops and kisses him again.

“Get Muster, Celli,” Dub murmurs in between Stone’s kisses and tosses his head toward the sleeping giant.

Still confused by the greeting between Dub and Stone, I cross to the larger man and drip the potion into his mouth. Nothing happens at first, so I use a few more drops. The huge man blinks sleepily, rolls over, and goes back to snoring.

“Muster!” Stone breaks away from her embrace with Dub just long enough to bark.

“Maybe I need to use more,” I say.

“Nah, he’s lazy,” Dub chuckles. “Just give him a shove.”

My heart races as I do what Dub suggests and nudge the man’s enormous shoulder.

“Wake up,” I say, “it’s time to fight.”

“Fight!” Muster leaps from the cots, sending them scattering. He looks at Dub and Stone, and then at me, panting. “Where?”

“Up in the city,” I reply. “The Dusk has released you.”

“Ducks? Fighting?” Muster scratches his head and yawns. “Where’s my club?”

“Dusk,” I say. “They’ve freed you so you can fight for them.”

“What are they payin’?” he asks me.

“Freedom,” I say.

“Well, I got that already, now, don’t I?” he smirks.

“That’s only one option,” Dub says quietly. With Stone still close in his arms, he crosses to us and keeps his voice low. “Fight for them, or get ourselves out of here. Start fresh. Hywilkin, maybe.”

“Home?” Muster says.

“What are you talking about, Dub?” I feel my nostrils flare with anger. My lips press into a tight line. I glare at him. “We’re supposed to go fight. My master—”

“Master?” Stone asks, her brow raised all the way up under her fringe of brown bangs. She looks from me to Dub. Dub doesn’t say anything. He looks at Muster and jerks his head toward the door, and Muster goes to stand in front of it.