"You have no previous lives, being a child of chaos, so I cannot see the past to gauge the myriad possibilities of your future."
It was a better answer than he had expected.
Sasha woke up with tears drying on his cheeks, remembering loneliness, the sorrow, the deep resignation of knowing he would not return alive.
He was meant to save the land he was in, but he could not remember its name or what he was saving it from. Shoving aside his cloak, he fumbled with stiff, cold fingers at his clothes until he parted them enough to get at the mark on his chest. The black-violet spider web gleamed wetly in the morning light. He ran his fingers over it gingerly, but the sharp pain from the previous day had eased to a dull ache.
The curse had settled in.
Shaking off the ominous thought, he stood up and packed up his bedroll, then gathered the saddle and bags and trudged out of the cave. The horse stood patiently waiting for him, shaking its head and greeting him with a soft snort. Sasha petted its nose, patted its side, then saddled up and settled his belongings.
More snow had fallen in the night, enough to obscure the bodies, but not enough to impede travel. Swinging up into the saddle, Sasha urged the horse forward and rode away from the cave. He let the horse have its head, and realized he might not wind up wandering aimlessly around the mountains as he feared if the horse knew where it was going.
The smell of snow and evergreen trees was sharp on the air, the gray, hazy light indicative of morning. His head ached slightly, but nothing like it had the previous day. Sasha thought back to the men he had killed, wondering if they would be missed, and how long it would take if so.
If the fractured remains of his memories were to be trusted, the men had been there explicitly for him, which meant there were others out there searching. Hopefully the stolen clothes and the false black diamond would pass muster and he would go largely unnoticed.
Well, there was nothing he could do about it until he was somewhere it mattered, so best to tuck the problem away until it actually became a problem. He did so and let his mind simply drift, settling on nothing, giving his overtaxed head more time to recover.
He had been travelling perhaps two hours when he heard the screams: a woman and child. Kneeing the horse to a faster pace, he veered off the faint trail they'd been following and plunged up a sharp hill. At the top, he looked down on where the woman and child were huddled before an immense tree as a gigantic black serpent bore down on them.
Sasha dismounted, ordered his horse to stay with a touch to its side, and raced down the hill. He moved to stand between the snake and its prey and uncoiled his whip. He flicked it, over and over, the sharp
crack
of it throwing the serpent off, making it pause. Sasha paused just long enough in flicking the whip to throw a knife, catching the serpent between the eyes.
It hissed in fury, reared up, and he struck with the whip at the soft, vulnerable portion of its bared throat. That drove it back further, made it panic. Dropping his whip, Sasha drew his sword and ran at it, slashing up and slitting open the soft underbelly. As the serpent came down, he brought the sword down on its throat, almost entirely severing the head.
Moving several steps back, out of the range of its death throes, Sasha turned to the woman and child. "Are you all right?"
The woman shoved her child behind her, staring at him with wide, fearful eyes. She dropped to her knees in the snow, apparently unheeding of the way the snow soaked into her skirts, and bowed her head. "Lord Sorcerer—I don't know what to say—I don't understand—"
Sasha wiped his sword and sheathed it, then retrieved his whip and returned it to its place before finally replying, "I am happy that I could help and that you're both safe. Whatever is the matter?"
"It's only—I know I break the law by leaving the village barriers without permission—and years ago the Seers of Unheilvol foretold of this very demise from which you have spared me. Forgive me, Lord Sorcerer, but I do not understand why you saved me from my fate."
"I see," Sasha said and approached her slowly. He held out his hands, and when she cautiously took them, tugged her to her feet. He lightly touched her forehead with the first two fingers of his right hand. "Take your child and return home, madam."
Her mouth dropped open and tears streamed down her face. Sasha did not wait for her to reply, simply returned to his horse and rode off. Only when he was well away did he draw a deep breath and let it out slowly, calming the faint trembling of his hands.
Child of chaos … meant to bear the ring of chaos … immune to the threads of fate … stop him.
Sasha sighed. So he was meant to stop someone, stop something, free people like the woman and child he had just saved. But the men he'd killed had nearly prevented that—very nearly. Whatever had happened up in the mountains had almost cost him his life and
had
cost him his memories. If he was going to save people, he needed those memories back.
He had absolutely no idea how to do that, however, so for the present, he would simply have to push on and stubbornly wander around in the dark.
Friedrich dropped the goblet of wine he'd been holding. It crashed to the marble floor, the sound reverberating through the hall. Dark red-black wine splashed across the floor, nearly invisible against the black marble tile. All around him, priests gawked.
Karl rose from his place at one of the long benches in the dining hall and strode toward him with a poor imitation of concern. "High Seer, are you well?"
"The High Sorcerer is dead," Friedrich said flatly, rubbing at his chest, willing away the bone-deep ache there. His head throbbed from the force of the vision that had slammed into him. He rubbed his eyes with his fingertips and repeated into the stark silence, "The High Sorcerer is dead. Summon the Master Sorcerer to me at once."
Karl gestured sharply to two priests, who obediently ran off to carry out his orders.
"To my prayer room," Friedrich said, and he turned sharply on his heel. He left the dining hall without another word, Karl barely keeping pace as they headed for the opposite end of the temple where the prayer rooms were located.
Candles sparked to life with a mere thought as he stepped into his prayer room, the smell of beeswax and lingering incense soothing his disarray. He stood facing the Altar of Vision and the empty bowl that he never used, focusing on the light, the smells, the power that lingered in the very walls of Unheilvol. The power of the Seers was to foretell the future, see the fates of the children of shadows.
But when and where he must, past, present, and future were also his to see. Not without difficulty, and not without price, but he was High Seer. Hopefully he would not need the pool in the Hall of Vision; he was not quite ready to face that again, not given what had happened to him last time.
Gradually the world around him faded away, even Karl's impatient shifting. He focused on the threads that connected him to the High Sorcerer: threads of power, threads of fate, threads of the Seeing he had once performed for the man.
It had been the first Seeing he had done after being made High Seer. He'd been young, far too young, but too powerful to be anything else. His predecessor had remained close to help him learn the more mundane aspects of overseeing Unheilvol, but Friedrich had overtaken the Seeing completely.
The first had been a boy of nineteen, already marked with the diamond of sorcery, with a cruel glint to his eye and bruises on his face testifying to how he preferred to handle problems. He'd intimidated everyone around them, even the former High Seer, but all the challenge had faded from his eyes when he'd met Friedrich's.
He had, to Friedrich's surprise, met his fate with grace.
Born by power and death, you will live the same, you will die the same. On the day when the moon hides the sun, you will stand on High. Forty years to the day, you will die by the hand of your own son, made as you were made.
Friedrich could still see that future, that image, but it was cracked and faded and soon would be gone. Only his memory of it remained, the man meant to live it already dead in a place and time never foretold.
Letting the lost fate go, he reached for the vision that had struck him in the dining hall, head throbbing as it came to him.
Violet eyes. They glowed with magic. They reminded him of the beast he'd just killed, but somehow seemed much worse. He radiated power, the first real threat he'd encountered since beginning his quest. Unlike the others, his hair was pale and fell around his shoulders, thick and smooth.
"So you are the source of the chaos."
He didn't reply to the question, just struck and was met with magic that actually worried him a little bit. But he'd faced worse and would not be beaten down. He went for his whip even as he summoned his own magic, the ring on his finger flashing a hundred colors in the shreds of sunlight slipping through the heavy clouds above—
Friedrich broke away from the vision, opening his eyes and throwing out his arms to catch himself on the altar when his balance suddenly felt uncertain. Not the ring again. Not the chaos. He trembled just thinking about that moment, the way it had driven him all the way down to hide with Drache.
I won't let it harm you again, beloved. I'm braced for it. I cannot do much, but I can do this.
How?
You know better than to ask me to explain things,
Drache said, the words holding a hint of a growl and frustration.
Fine. Do it then, because I must see what happened to the High Sorcerer.
Use the pool in the Hall of Vision. It will help.
Making a face, Friedrich turned to Karl and said, "If I am to pursue this, I need the Hall of Vision again. Come, I would prefer to confine what I learn to you and me, and of course, the Master Sorcerer when he arrives. Whatever is happening in Schatten, I do not want it passed around the temple and all the rest of the country."
"Of course, High Seer," Karl said and shadowed his heels as they made their way to the Hall of Vision.
He stood in the curve of the crescent moon pool with Karl opposite him. They both slit their palms, let the blood drip, and Friedrich used his good hand to add the Essence of Moon. Closing his eyes, he reached out to Drache.
Are you certain?
I promise I will take care of you. I always do, beloved.
I suppose it would be foolish if I created an imaginary voice that was out to destroy me.
Drache's sigh brushed over his mind like a heavy summer breeze.
I'm not imaginary.
But you never tell me what—who—you are.
I cannot.
Whatever.
Shoving away pointless bitterness, Friedrich drew upon his magic and reached into the threads of fate, casting out for the High Sorcerer's threads holding fast to them, willing close those that had already gone dark and dead.
Before, he had seen the High Sorcerer from the outside. This time, he wanted to see what happened from the High Sorcerer's point of view. Steeling himself, trusting Drache, he fell into the vision of the High Sorcerer's last moments.
Violet eyes and black hair, but something about them seemed wrong. The man's skin was too fair to be a real child of shadows. He radiated magical power that seemed to burn and an aura of countless colors surrounded him. Torben finally had to close off his ability to read auras, or risk being overwhelmed by flood of colors. But he'd seen enough to confirm what he'd already strongly suspected. "So you are the source of the chaos."
The man did not reply, simply attacked. Torben hung back, let his men face him. They wouldn't live, but it would allow him to gauge and read the man, get a better idea of what he faced. He was forced to look away when a brilliant cascade of rainbow light suddenly filled the clearing, only barely noting the
crack crack
of a striking whip.
His men screamed and tried to retreat, but the intruder was too fast for them. He killed the nearest two with such ease that Torben was disgusted by the lack of skill in men he had hand-picked for the venture. He did not move to help when the man plunged a dagger into the throat of one and drew his sword to attack the second.
He slipped in the snow, dropped his guard, and the others were upon him. The fight became harder to follow after that, a wild rush of steel, magic, and cracking whips. Torben continued watching, waiting. Then all of his men were dead, and the intruder rounded on him, moving his sword to his left hand and holding aloft his right.
But that was more than enough time for Torben to summon his own magic and weave a curse that would leave the man alive, but harmless—allow them to pick through the pieces of his mind at leisure.
Rainbow light flashed again as the man summoned whatever magic it contained, throwing it at Torben at the same time he released his Web of Madness. Light exploded, and Torben felt his spell fracture and falter even as it struck. His horse spooked, threw him, and he landed on top of the bastard he was trying to kill.
They grappled in the snow, desperate and confused and angry. Then the intruder somehow got the upper hand, threw Torben off, and before he could get his bearings and recover, he saw the sword—
Friedrich broke free of the vision with a gasp, falling to his knees and bending double, sucking in deep, slow breaths and hoping fervently that he did not throw up in the vision pool. He fumbled for a kerchief and mopped sweat from his brow.
When he finally felt that he could move with retching, he stood and looked at Karl. "Were you able to follow in the pool?"
The pallor to Karl's skin was answer enough, really, but he nodded and said, "Who in the name of Lord Teufel is strong enough to counter one of the Black Curses? No one can fight the Web of Madness, but he broke it as if it was a mere candle-lighting trick."