♦
Soren discussed these matters with the others during the meal that evening, but fears and tempers were running high, and they soon abandoned the meeting in frustration. He left the palace to cool his anger with a walk along the main thoroughfare, Caleb at his side.
The sun had emerged at last in a sky cloudy all day, only to bid a fiery farewell between shadowed peaks. To the east, the distant line of Krengliné glowed in the slanting light, and it took little imagination to see a war raging there, to hear the faint screams of men and women falling to the deadly fire of lasers.
The city darkened with the swift valley night, and the street lanterns shone yellow above mounds of piled snow. Soren and Caleb intended to make a long hike of it, navigating the perimeter of Ekendoré, but they stopped at the sight of a man running toward them at full speed.
“Lord Soren!” he cried, waving his arms. It was Fouvé, one of the Raéni assigned to guard the armory, and he jarred to a halt in front of them. “Thank Hendra I’ve found you.”
“Indeed you have,” Soren uttered. “What is so urgent?”
Fouvé paused for breath, his sturdy features reddened by the long run in the cold. “The new weapons—they’re gone!”
Soren gaped for a moment, then stepped closer. “What do you mean,
gone
? Where are they?”
“No one knows. Edai went to check the armory and found every laser and power device missing. She searched every room, hoping one of the guards moved them without telling her. It’s like a ghost sneaked in and stole them right out from under our noses.”
A strange-sounding profanity cut through the bitter air, but Soren paid no heed to his companion. “Show me!” he barked, and Fouvé was compelled to break into a run again, the others following close behind.
South along the street they ran, then to the right up the steep slope of another, and so on to the armory. Several Raéni and other folk crowded its brightly-lit doors, their troubled voices echoing off the plain stone walls.
A quick silence fell at Soren’s approach. Speechless from the run, he and Caleb pushed through and into the open doorway before the crowd could move aside, while Fouvé leaned against a lamp post, his hand at a stitch in his side.
Edai’s scarred face paled at the sight of the Supreme Raén, and her voice was thick with self-reproach.
“My lord Soren!”
He barged past into the chamber beyond, squinting against several free-standing torches. The chests along the wall were already open, their heavy lids flung back against the rough stone; he walked by, inspecting every one, but found nothing other than a few discarded rags and an empty holster.
He returned to the corridor. “Edai, I hope by Orand there’s been some mistake here.”
She shook her head sharply. “I have no idea how this happened.”
“If I find that the guards were lax—”
“No, my lord! I posted two guards outside the entrance in each of four shifts, and Fouvé in the second-story window of the house across the street during the night hours.” She pointed out the wide doors of the armory.
Though fraught with dread, Soren placed a reassuring grip on the woman’s shoulder. Raéni guards like Fouvé were not chosen lightly, not by Edai at any rate.
He stepped into the room again and stood over the nearest chest, trying to fathom this new mystery. Now the three lasers and the handful of power packs Caleb, Hené and himself carried were the only ones left, except for—
His eyes widened, and he sped back to where Caleb and a few other Raéni lingered at the threshold. “Send a horseman to Sonién, another to the Old Wall. Check on the larger weapons mounted there, quickly!”
As they scurried to obey, Soren returned to the silent, waiting crowd outside, Caleb following. He singled out Fouvé, and stepped close. “I must ask you to make haste one more time,” he murmured in his ear. “Tell Garda about this, but keep it to yourself otherwise—there’s no point in spreading panic. I’ll be there shortly, as soon as I hear about Sonién.” Fouvé nodded reluctantly and ran off down the street.
“I should have known,” Caleb said with a growl, and Soren stared at him. “I mean it! Something’s been bothering me ever since we left the ship. Now I know what it is.”
“Explain!”
“Didn’t you ever wonder why that damned witch didn’t get to those lasers in my ship before we did? Do you think any barrier wouldn’t eventually give way to that kind of power?”
“Why are you asking me? I don’t know anything about your strange machines.”
“You don’t understand!” Caleb shot. “She was smart enough to realize she didn’t need to go to all that trouble—just wait until she knew where to find them, to put us off our guard. And where did we decide to store them?”
Slowly, the Master Raén lowered his stare to the walkway. “Great Grondolos—what a fool I’ve been!”
“That makes two of us. Ksoreda was right about one thing: lasers or not, we’re going to have to out-think her as well as outfight her.”
The old man paused, his thoughts racing; then he turned to address what was left of the crowd, most of them ordinary citizens now. “Return to your homes. You should ready your families for an evacuation to Gortgal, if necessary. But rest assured—every last Raén will fight to protect our city.”
They drifted away in twos and threes, reluctant to leave. Soren reentered the armory to search for signs of the Hodyn, but he knew it was pointless. This was the direct work of the Bringer.
Within half an hour the first horseman returned with the news that the laser rifles on Sonién were gone. The guards were dead, cold and staring at the night sky with no visible wounds upon them. The second horsemen had ridden on to Krengliné, but Soren already knew what he would find.
The few Raéni nearby waited in stunned silence, Edai among them. “I must take counsel with Garda,” Soren said quietly to the Weaponmaster. “Keep the same guards stationed here, but add a few more on the inside, too. Our old weapons are all we have now.” She nodded once, her scars standing out in a face pale with shock.
Soren left with Caleb at his side, striding quickly over the lantern-lit cobblestones. His theatrics in Spierel seemed rash and naive now, and Olo the wisest person in Ada.
10
Forged by Madness
… for the heavens are too great to fathom;
only the fool believes it not.
- from
Besir Orand’iteé
SOON AFTER
Ksoreda’s departure, a young, dark-haired man appeared, introduced himself as Fedrallo, and offered to bring his guests more wine or anything else they might desire. Tenlar and Telai barely acknowledged his hospitality, preoccupied with the news of Ada’s fallen cities.
The afternoon wore on. There was no sign of their host, and they retreated into silence, keeping to themselves as if to avoid or avert the truth in each other’s eyes.
By evening Tenlar was beginning to lose patience. He paced back and forth, lacing the air now and then with a soft oath or muttered complaint. Telai sat on the opposite side of the bed with her back turned, having long given up searching for a distraction from Tenlar’s grumbling, or the cloud of despair that had fallen over her heart.
Suddenly she shrieked and leaped to her feet, covering her ears. Tenlar, his face an impish mixture of wrath and delight, had struck the gong with all his strength. The engraved stone and the walls about them throbbed in their ears.
The last reverberating echoes faded away. “Tenlar! What is
wrong
with you?”
“I’ve had enough of this interminable waiting!” he shot back, having just uncovered his own ears.
He faced the door, hands clasped behind his back as though preparing to dress down one of his soldiers. Fedrallo soon entered, and greeted them with only a nod.
“Tell your master we’ve waited long enough,” Tenlar said. “If dinner isn’t ready, he must forgo such amenities and speak to us at once.”
The servant nodded again and departed in silence.
“Tenlar, perhaps we shouldn’t aggravate our host. After all, we’re going to need his—”
He spun around. “You actually
want
to keep waiting like this?”
“No, of course not. But when we meet him again, please make an effort to restrain yourself!”
A short while later the servant returned and gestured for them to follow. To Telai he seemed vexed by Tenlar’s impatience; every creature for miles around must have heard the sound of that gong.
They trailed close, careful not to lose him. With the numerous moss-covered steps and sudden passageways, Telai soon lost all sense of direction. Each hallway and chamber they passed was like the first—filled with stout furniture or haunting images of unknown people or animals. As before, they appeared not to be made by any skilled hand but from countless years of slow growth.
At last their guide stopped before a wide set of doors. After a short pause, he pushed them open in the normal fashion to reveal a large, oval-shaped room.
Telai’s first impression was of a museum. The multitude of cabinets and shelves lining the walls were filled with small sculptures, crystals of various shapes and colors, and many strange devices that defied description. Several glowing spheres floating near the ceiling cast a soft yellow light over the room. As her sight adjusted to the surroundings and she noticed the smaller things, such as tools or fine instruments of some kind, the room seemed less like a museum than the workshop of an eccentric, reclusive craftsman or sorcerer.
A small, oblong table occupied the center, and they stopped short of colliding with the man standing in front of it.
The glistening scalp dipped once. “I hope you are well rested.”
Tenlar shrugged, but Ksoreda ignored the implied criticism. He dismissed Fedrallo, then gestured toward the table; a few loaves of bread, a small basket of fruit, and a bottle of wine stood amidst a set of crystal goblets and engraved marble plates.
“I regret I had no time to prepare a heartier meal,” he said without rancor.
Tenlar stirred restlessly. “Sir, I—”
“Please,” Ksoreda interrupted, as if intent on being humored. “Just a bite or two.”
Though Tenlar still hesitated, at last he agreed and seated himself. Telai took the chair to his left, while Ksoreda sat across the table. Preoccupied, at first his guests took only a few casual bites. Then a sudden hunger possessed them, and they fell to, bringing a hint of satisfaction to the old man’s wrinkles.
For all its simplicity, the food was delicious after days of winter travel. Silence reigned until they were finished. Yet before either of them could speak, Ksoreda rose to a stand.
“Please wait a moment. There’s something I want to show you.”
He walked toward the back of the room to where a smaller table stood, retrieved something from its cluttered surface, and returned to his chair. A ring like from a tiny bell met their ears; two short lengths of what looked like glass lay on the table. Each had a single portal at one end, the first shining faintly blue, the other green. Telai glanced up at Ksoreda, trying her best to fathom this new puzzle.
A dark, satin luster traveled over the surface and vanished.
She gasped. “The Lor’yentré!”
“Then Ada is safe!” cried Tenlar. “You’ve defeated her!”
Ksoreda sighed. “I’m terribly sorry, I didn’t anticipate your reaction. A failing of mine: a penchant for the dramatic.” He gestured at the table. “This one has never been used.”
Telai bent closer; other than the small, rectangular ports, they were completely transparent, showing no indication of power whatsoever.
“Whose is it, then?”
“No one’s,” he answered. "It’s never been occupied.”
“Occupied? What do you mean?”
“First let me ask you a question. Do you have any children?”
“No,” she answered. “Why do you ask?”
“Take the halves into your hand, Loremaster,” was his response. At her widening stare he added, “I assure you, it is quite harmless in its present state.”
Doubt fenced with determination. Then she reached forward.
“Telai!” Tenlar blurted, grasping her arm.
She placed her other hand on his. “We have no choice but to trust him. Please, Tenlar—promise me you won’t interfere.”
After a brief pause he withdrew, his expression still darkened by doubt. She gave him a nervous little smile, and took the Lor’yentré into her hand.
Both halves lay cold and inert in her palm. “Kseleksten? The First Lor’yentré? I don’t see how if it’s brand new.”
“To be honest, I don’t understand why your Prophets used that name, or even how they knew there was more than one,” Ksoreda answered. “If another existed on this world I would have detected it by now. Perhaps he meant Rennor’s.”
She shook her head. “Perhaps he meant Rennor’s
wife
.”
“His wife? I don’t understand.”
“That dream I told you about. It was of Heradnora when she was a young girl. She killed her mother to keep her from taking her away from—from this place.”
“You saw this?” Ksoreda asked, and she nodded. He stood and walked a few paces away, hand on his brow. “So
that’s
what happened,” he muttered. After a brief paused he resumed his seat. “These spirits—they told you this directly?”
“Not exactly. It was more like giving them permission to use my eyes and ears. It wasn’t a pleasant experience.”
“Incredible. You may be more gifted than you realize, Mistress Telai.”
“Are you telling me you can’t do the same?”
“We can only communicate by sharing our bodies. But it’s far too great a risk, even with one spirit. To my knowledge no one’s ever contacted them the way you did.”
“I imagine those Prophets could,” said Tenlar. “Unfortunately they were too stubborn about their secrets, or so I was told.”
“This Géihtser fellow was no different. But I managed to fill in the gaps, so to speak, which led me to contact you.” He sighed. “The truth is, none of this matters now. What’s done is done. To overcome this power you will need to understand its nature, and why the Lor’yentré is such a curse to us.”