Dark Fate: The Gathering (The Dark Fate Chronicles Book 1) (26 page)

Slipping the key back into his inner pocket, Banlor shut the door softly behind him and crossed to the avian enclosure. Sliding the screen back into a pocket fashioned into the wall, Banlor regarded the bird, which ceased its poking through its feathers and calmly eyed him back. One leg was held slightly up with a small, bronze tube affixed to the horny flesh.

A small pot of prepared seed balls sat on a stand just by the door of the cage, and Banlor fished one out for the bird. Though this particular variety of bird preferred meat, it had an omnivorous appetite and was not shy about taking what was offered. The bird had been through the process of message binding and retrieval many times and did not struggle or avoid Banlor’s reach as he extracted the tube from its leg.

Banlor settled into his chair to open the note. The cramped text was filled with writing in a cypher that Banlor could read without tools.

Duo in hand, travel rough but steady.

Wildmen attacked beyond Cyster’s Glade,

but all is well.

Riverwood at half moon promises

reunion with old acquaintance.

Satisfaction tingled Banlor’s fingertips as he read the note, and it did not ebb as he folded the delicate paper and placed it in a small but thick bronze dish on his desk. Picking up a set of tongs with fine scrollwork along each side, he used them to extract a glowing coal from the small brazier next to his bureau. He placed the glowing ember on top of the note and watched as the paper began to blacken and twist under the smoking lump and the pair burst into a brief flame. The smell of burning parchment permeated the small chamber but seeped out of his open windows quickly.

Pushing his chair back from the smoldering dish, he steepled his fingers and contemplated the information he had gathered over the past several weeks.

The Wildmen’s presence on the return trip was not a surprise, since he had been informed of the events surrounding the envoy’s progress to Pelos. What was surprising was that the group was large enough, or bold enough, to attack a Pelosian column. Savages the Pelosian’s might be, but they did have a formidable presence on any field. A small band of the tribesmen could readily be explained away; some small presence of the wild tribes always roamed the borders. For them to be so far north, however, and in sufficient numbers to even consider attacking armed, prepared soldiers—well, it would provoke questions he needed to consider the answers to. At least the “duo” had not fallen. That had to be handled in a particular way.

The last rays of daylight faded from the windows, leaving his study in gathering darkness except for the glowing piece of coal.

He extended his hand to retrieve the tongs and then the dimming ember. Cupping his hand behind the wick of a nearby oil lamp, he gently touched the ember to it and blew softly to reveal its heart of fire. The wick caught and he set down the tongs to consider the dancing flame.

The darkness did not retreat, and invisible tendrils of cold crawled across his skin.

Recognition flooded his mind and he leapt to his feet, swiveling his head in vain for the source of the darkness.

Chilled fingers gripped his heart as a voice cut into his mind with razors of agony.

Banlor Graves
, a rotting, crumbling, yet somehow feminine voice began,
will you accept the offer I have lain before you, and reap the rewards only I can offer, or must I find another?

Banlor threw himself to the ground. It seemed an eternity before the pain in his mind subsided, and when it did, small whorls of pleasure replaced them. A soft moan escaped his lips: “My Lady!”

Choose
, the voice commanded.

Pain and pleasure assaulted his mind once more, but the delay before he could speak was shorter this time. Banlor looked up from his position on the subjective floor. No furniture of any sort could be seen. The desk was gone, the chair was gone, even the floor and the air around him seemed to exist only by the will of the dread voice that now appeared to emanate from the floating flame before him. His answer came out as a drunken slur: “I wish only to serve.”

A pleased-sounding laugh tickled Banlor’s mind.
That is good, my pet
.

He reeled from the pleasure that washed over his shaking body and sprawled on the floor once the spasms had settled. He lay useless, unknowing and uncaring of the time.

You may have heard rumors of the tribes traveling farther north than you expected. That is my hand at work. The task I put before you now is to find access to Stone Mountain, so my forces may lay siege to their unbreakable walls and find victory. Once the Pelosian dogs have fallen, you will be my chosen. You will pick up the pieces and rule in my name over all that remain in both kingdoms. Absolute power, save for my word alone, shall be yours.

Banlor shuddered again under the weight of these many words and all they implied. A short gasp issued when he opened his mouth to reply, and it took several attempts to get breath enough to speak. “As you will it, Mistress, so shall it be.” He licked his lips. “I swear.”

The voice laughed in delight, raking fire and sweet pleasure across his raw mind.
Prepare, my pet... and attend to your visitors
.

Light and physical pain hammered back into his head. He could feel the grain of the wood and the edges of the carpet beneath his fingers from where he lay on the floor. The chair rested on its back behind him and a pool of saliva mixed with blood was on the floor below his face. Trails of the mixture flowed from his mouth and nose as strong hands lifted him from his prostrate position.

“My Lord!” Alicia’s voice nearly screeched as she clutched at him. “My Lord Graves! What has happened to you? Are you... Are you all right?” Her chest was heaving and she used her formerly spotless apron to mop at his streaming face. He hadn’t realized that he had been crying as well.

Banlor swayed on his feet when the hands of his guard released his coat, but he managed to maintain his balance, if only by a fingernail. The chair was turned back on its feet and between Alicia and his own shaking limbs, he lowered himself into it.

“Enough,” Banlor said.

Alicia persisted in her hovering.

He raised his voice and nearly shouted, “Enough, I said!” He batted at her hands irritably, knocking them away from his face. “Leave your ministrations, you great sow!”

Alicia snapped back her hands as if he were suddenly covered in flames. “Yes, I’m, well, I’m sorry, M’lord, but you wouldn’t wake up,” she stammered as he looked up, “and I-I thought, but you were breathing and moaning, and then I called for Lamberth and he couldn’t wake you either, but you kept mumbling, My Lord, mumbling and moaning, you were...” Alicia’s voice trailed off as he stared at her coldly.

“As you can see, I am fine now,” he said.

The darkness outside was complete. He looked about the room and took note of the clock, one of his most prized possessions. Almost two full hours had passed since last he had been aware. He passed a hand over his face with a shudder and realized he was still covered with the remnants of his fit. He held his hand out to Alicia. “Your apron. I might as well finish the job you began.”

The woman twisted her hands behind her back and untied the strings so rapidly, it seemed like a twitch instead of a deliberate motion.

“Why have you come to my study?” Banlor asked. It would never do to admit he may have needed help. An apology to her would do nothing but undermine his authority. It was truly unfortunate that Alicia had had sufficient cause to open the door and find him like that. She would be difficult to replace.

“The girl.” Alicia resumed her usual pose. “She’s here, and awaiting you in her new quarters.” Her eyes flicked up briefly to touch his own and then darted back down.

Memories of the recent fiery pain and pleasure danced in Banlor’s mind when he considered the young woman in her form-hugging silks, and his smile was hungry. “Excellent.” Motivated by need, he sat abruptly forward, snatched a piece of paper from a drawer, and began to scribble. If Alicia were to read the words, she wouldn’t know what they meant—only one man would. Hastily lighting a candle to melt impressing wax, he said as he worked, “I need you to deliver this to Micount Wartel, immediately. Take Lamberth with you; it is imperative that he receive this tonight.”

“Tonight? But M’lord, I—”

“Tonight. At once. Now!”

“But, your dinner, M’lord, I—”

Banlor rode over her words with his own: “Walina will be seeing to my needs tonight.” He thrust the paper at the stammering woman. “You must see this delivered. Micount may have a return message for me, so see that neither of you leaves him until he has given you
everything
that is required.”

Alicia’s protestations melted away in the fierce heat of his glowering eyes, and she took the proffered paper with a small, “Yes, M’lord. I shall see it done.” Drawing herself up, she called to the guard, still inside the room. “Lamberth, let us see to it, and be done.”

Banlor watched the two of them leave with hooded eyes. Then, with a last swipe at his face, he quenched the lamp and went to see about his new assistant.

Sunlight streamed through the winewood branches and painted the grass in the glade with golden edges. A soft wind sighed before the coming evening, stirring the long blades gently. A small sound joined the trilling birdsongs and hum of insects drifting through the air. It sounded like a distant chorus of voices, screaming in anger. The noise swelled suddenly as a rent in the air surged open.

Teacher stumbled backward through the opening, both hands lifted and surrounded by blazing silver fire.

A pair of twisted tentacles shot through the gaping hole, reaching and grabbing for the robed man, ichor dripping from the saw-edged suckers that coated every surface of the bonelessly flailing arms.

Teacher’s hands thrust forward, first left, then right, moving like pistons. Intermittent jets of the silver fire leapt from his stretched fingers as each hand took its position to the fore.

The fire splashed like water over the surface of the tentacles, and where it touched, the skin convulsed and twisted the rest of the arm into useless flailing, but more arms came through following the first pair. First two, then four, then a dozen, crowding into the opening that hung in the air. Quickly, the opening was filled with tentacles, although all of them were careful to maintain a short distance between themselves and the edges of the rend.

Grimacing, Teacher thrust both hands forward and gave a great shout, “
Sha-to-Han!
” A focus word, one he had not used in many years. The current strain he was under precipitated its use—demanded it.

A great gout of glittering fire gathered about his hands and lanced away into the seething mass. Loud keening sounded from the other side of the portal and the body of tentacles writhed in agony.

Teacher’s eyes widened as he watched the gathering rush beyond the opening. Spreading both arms wide, his fingers reached out as if to hold the edges of the rend, although the hole was a dozen feet away. Sweeping his arms together, he brought his hands forcefully to each other in a physical representation of his will. The clapping sound was echoed thunderously as the gap in the air closed in time with the motion of his hands, and the booming roar that sounded rolled out into the surrounding forest.

A dozen or more tentacles lay twitching on the ground, and even as Teacher sank wearily to his knees, they began to dissolve, surrendering their cohesion to the world about them that was surely as alien to them as they were to it.

For long moments, Teacher could only kneel. Yielding to the weariness, he lay down in the grass and turned his face to the sun, relishing the way it warmed his flesh and confirmed his life. The spirit world had chilled him to the bone, and beyond. The cold of that place extended to the spirit. And Rylan was still there. Somewhere.

The trail had led him for what seemed days, although time had no relevance there. At least, time did not have the same relationship with what counted for reality in that world. It could have been days on this side of the veil, or it could have been minutes.