Authors: Gail Z. Martin
Connor threw his hands into the air. “That’s what we’ve got to go on?”
“No.” Lowrey’s voice made Connor turn. “Quintrel seemed sure he had discovered clues to the place he named in his code – the place you’ve all confirmed is Valshoa. If that’s true, then that’s where he’s waiting for us to find him, the place he believes Blaine would have the best odds to bring back the magic.”
“Why Valshoa?” Connor asked. “If anything is even left of it – assuming it ever existed. Aren’t there other places of power that would be just as good?”
Lowrey shrugged. “Possibly. If McFadden tried to restore the magic at Mirdalur, it obviously failed. Maybe there’s something special about Valshoa’s location, or perhaps Quintrel has a few more secrets that he’ll only share with the people dedicated enough to follow his clues.”
“Not ‘dedicated,’ obsessed,” Connor muttered. “Isn’t he taking a huge chance with all this business of hidden clues? It was risky enough for Blaine to return to Donderath from Edgeland.”
“Perhaps by the time of the Great Fire, Quintrel realized that there were some, like Reese, who would want to stop the magic from returning,” Penhallow said. “He might have guessed it wouldn’t be wise to speak plainly.”
“We’re only weeks away from the solstice, and now we’ve got to find – and travel to – a lost, ancient city that might not even exist?” Connor questioned, running a hand back through his hair in frustration.
“Quintrel seemed to believe that was the most likely way to succeed,” Lowrey replied. “And there’s another reason to find him. Did you hear what he said? He has the thirteenth disk.”
“But we don’t have all twelve of the other disks,” Connor protested. “We’re still missing some.”
“We can hope that by now Blaine has come into possession of his father’s disk,” Penhallow said. “Until we rejoin Blaine, we don’t know what else he’s found.”
“And if the disks are essential, then Quintrel has assured that whoever is serious about reviving the magic must come to him,” Lynge summarized. “Brilliant – or incredibly reckless.”
“Oh, Vigus Quintrel was both, I assure you,” Lowrey said.
Penhallow looked to Nidhud. “You know, the Wraith Lord didn’t have the chance to explain how a small company of long-exiled Knights just happened to be in place to rescue us from Reese’s men.”
A look passed between the two
talishte
, and then Nidhud nodded. “Very well. The Wraith Lord was punished by banishment to the Unseen Realm. He lost his physical body, while his consciousness remained within the mist, as you have seen. Yet Esthrane did not desert him. She could not undo Etelscurion’s curse, but the Mother Goddess is clever, and she found a way to ease the Wraith Lord’s suffering,” Nidhud explained. “She gave him the ability to allow his consciousness to wander the Paths of the Dead and strengthened his power in the
kruvgaldur
. In that way, he was able to summon the Knights who did not go into exile in Valshoa to his aid.”
“Can he communicate with the Valshoa Knights?” Connor asked.
Nidhud shrugged. “I don’t know. He has never mentioned such a bond, but then again, the Wraith Lord keeps much to himself. No one except the Wraith Lord knows what limits – if any – hinder his spirit’s travels. And I would not advise asking him.
“The Wraith Lord has existed for a thousand years,” Nidhud said. “And in that time, he bound many people to him through the
kruvgaldur
. When Esthrane strengthened that bond, it gave the Wraith Lord a network of spies and informants that would have been the envy of any king. Through that network, he heard about your interest in the disks, and about the threat Pentreath Reese posed to restoring the magic. He knew that eventually you would come to him, either for the disk or to ask his counsel. He was a patron of the Knights before we were banished, and when the king betrayed us, the Wraith Lord did everything in his power to protect us. We are oath-bound to him. He called the Knights to him so that, if he deemed you worthy, we would assist you in your quest.”
“Yet with that network, you don’t think the Wraith Lord has connections to the Knights in Valshoa – assuming they still exist?” Penhallow asked.
Nidhud frowned. “Even among
talishte
there is politics. You, of all people, should know that. Dolan was something of a rogue, even among the Knights. He respected – and feared – the Wraith Lord. But he was careful never to make a blood bond with him, and he made every effort to keep his loyalists from bonding with the Wraith Lord. In a way, I think Dolan welcomed exile. It gave him the opportunity to follow no orders but his own.”
“How many Knights are in your company?” Lowrey asked.
“I’ve gathered twenty-five from those who were exiled and still survive,” Nidhud replied. “At our strongest, there were just two hundred Knights. King Merrill’s grandfather slew half of the Knights when he betrayed us. Twenty knights went with Dolan to search for Valshoa. Exile has taken a toll on those who remained. Some were killed when assassins discovered their hiding places. Others gave up in despair and let themselves be killed in battle. Some just disappeared. Maybe they allowed the dawn to take them.”
“What are your orders?” Penhallow’s voice was cautious.
“We are to give our assistance and protection to Blaine McFadden’s attempt to restore the magic,” Nidhud said.
“How can we stand against Reese’s army?” Connor asked.
Penhallow frowned, thinking. “Perhaps the odds are not so lopsided as they seem,” he mused. “Traher Voss and his men are yet to be accounted for. I hardly believe Reese and Pollard were able to bottle him up forever.” He clapped Connor on the shoulder. “Cheer up, Bevin. Although I sincerely hope we won’t have to do battle with Reese, if a fight comes, we won’t stand alone.”
“Without the twelve disks, it may be in vain,” Lowrey reminded them. “Don’t forget about that.”
Nidhud grinned. “I might be able to help, a little, with that. I know where we can find a disk that I’m almost positive Reese can’t get his hands on.”
“Where?” Connor asked skeptically.
Nidhud’s smile was wolfish. “The oubliette beneath the castle.” He met Connor’s gaze. “But to get it, we’ll need the Wraith Lord’s help – and he’ll need your help.”
A candlemark later, Connor, Nidhud, and Penhallow made their way through a cramped tunnel beneath the ruins of Quillarth Castle. Stagnant water ran in a trickle along the floor, and heavy cobwebs festooned the corners of the upper walls. Connor carried a lantern. In the darkness, the lantern’s dim glow bolstered Connor’s courage, as long as he did not think about where they were headed.
Once again, I’m stuck in a dark tunnel with a couple of vampires
, Connor thought.
When this is all over, assuming I survive, I’m never going belowground again.
“You’re telling me there’s a
talishte
in an oubliette who’s been down here so long that even Lynge didn’t know about it?” Connor asked in a whisper.
“I’m not even certain Merrill knew, to tell you the truth,” Nidhud replied.
“And you thought it was too dangerous for Lynge to come with us, but it’s perfectly fine to bring me?” There was no hiding the challenge in Connor’s voice.
“We’ve been over this before,” Nidhud said. “Hemming Lorens has been locked away for almost one hundred years. King Merrill’s grandfather grew to hate our kind,” he said. “Lorens certainly didn’t help our cause. He was a powerful
talishte
who enjoyed preying on mortals. In fact, he did so boldly, mocking the king’s authority.”
Penhallow’s expression showed his distaste. “I remember. There was such an outcry, it’s amazing we weren’t all hunted and burned.”
Nidhud nodded. “There were certainly those who tried.”
“So Lorens has been locked in an oubliette for one hundred years? How has he fed?” Connor asked, a new horror gradually dawning in his imagination.
“He hasn’t,” Nidhud replied.
“And he still… exists?” Connor said, aghast.
“Merrill’s grandfather was a ruthless man. He betrayed the Knights when they no longer served his purpose. Lorens’s slaughter of mortals helped the king turn public opinion against the Knights,” Nidhud said.
“Merrill’s grandfather could have destroyed Lorens,” Penhallow added. “He certainly exterminated enough of the Knights of Esthrane. It’s clear he knew how to do it. He publicly slandered the Knights, destroying any support they might have received from mortals, and made a spectacle out of their execution.”
“Once Lorens’s usefulness was over, the king decided to bolster his reputation as a fearless hunter of
talishte
even further by inflicting a punishment so severe, it drove the remaining
talishte
into hiding,” Nidhud said. “He locked him in the deepest oubliette and left him to starve.” Nidhud turned to meet Connor’s gaze, and his expression was grim. “Do you have any idea how long it takes a
talishte
of Lorens’s power to starve?”
Connor shook his head.
“Neither did the king.”
No one said anything for a few moments, and Connor wrestled with his thoughts.
We’re just going to drop by and then leave Lorens there to finish starving? On the other hand, he slaughtered mortals. Would it be a greater kindness for Penhallow or Nidhud to destroy Lorens altogether? Or is any existence better than none at all?
Connor had heard of oubliettes, but he had prayed fervently to the gods that he would never see one. His lantern was the only light as they made their way through a dank corridor. Connor was certain that, by now, the corridor had led them far beyond Quillarth Castle, but where they were, he had no idea. Rats scurried by his feet, and a faint green glow from luminescent fungi on the corridor walls gave the passageway an eerie feel.
The oubliette was a deep hole in the rock covered with a heavy iron grate. The lantern’s light did not extend far enough to see the bottom of the pit, but there was a sense of presence that made the hair stand up on the back of Connor’s neck.
“I don’t understand,” he said in a hushed voice to Penhallow. “Can’t
talishte
fly – or at least levitate? Couldn’t Lorens just come up to the top and rip off the grating?”
“The king thought of everything,” Nidhud said, a bitter note coloring his voice. “He drove a stake through Lorens’s heart. For those
talishte
who are old and strong, a stake alone is not enough to kill – beheading is necessary.” He turned to meet Connor’s gaze.
“Lorens is conscious but immobile. He can hear us, speak to us, but he cannot move. He has been that way for nearly three generations. Unless he is beheaded, he will be that way for a very long time.”
Connor felt bile rise in his stomach. “Is there no way to end his suffering?”
Nidhud’s eyes narrowed as he peered at Connor in the dim light. “Lorens slaughtered dozens of mortals. Yet you would end his suffering if you could?”
“Yes.”
Nidhud looked away. “We have a job to do. Let’s do it.” He strode up to the iron grate and rattled it with his boot. “Lorens,” he called out. “A word with you.”
“Leave me.” The voice was as brittle as dry leaves, a painful wheeze.
“Your maker requires a word with you,” Nidhud said, his tone hard.
“His maker?” Connor asked under his breath.
“The Wraith Lord,” Penhallow replied.
Connor shot a worried glance toward Penhallow. “Now wait a minute! I’m tired of being taken over by
talishte
. Am I the only one who thinks this is a bad idea?”
I cannot travel to the oubliette except through another
, the Wraith Lord’s voice spoke in Connor’s mind.
He has a key to the puzzle. There is no other way.
All right then
, Connor thought, angry but resigned.
But be quick about it.
Connor thought he heard the Wraith Lord chuckle. The now-familiar vertigo of possession made him stumble, and both Penhallow and Nidhud put out a hand to steady him. When Connor straightened, he felt the Wraith Lord come to the fore.
“Lorens. You survive.” The voice that came from Connor’s mouth was not his own, and Connor wondered how much it sounded like the disembodied
talishte
who spoke from inside his mind.
“Master? How can it be?”
“Do you have the disk?”
There was silence for a moment. “Yes. I wear it still around my neck. The king left me with it to taunt me, I suppose. Its voice keeps me company.”
Disk? Voice?
Connor questioned silently.
Lorens is a descendent of one of the original thirteen Lords of the Blood
, the Wraith Lord explained.
As madness took him, he believed that the disk itself had occult power and that it spoke to him in his mother’s voice. The voice he heard drove him to kill.
“Lorens. Do you regret your deeds?”
A chilling laugh echoed in the stone corridor. “I regret only that I did not make the rivers run with sweet, warm blood.”
“See,” Nidhud murmured. “All this time, and he repents of nothing.”
“We must take the disk. The time is come,” the Wraith Lord said with Connor’s voice.
“No, please. Master, I beg of you. In the darkness, the disk sings to me. We speak to each other, she and I. Please don’t leave me here without it.”
“There is no choice, Lorens. We need the disk.” The voice belonged to Connor, but everything about it was foreign, his tone, his phrasing, and the strange hint of an accent.
How, exactly, are we going to get the disk?
Connor asked the Wraith Lord.
We’re up here. He’s down there.
We’re going down to take it.
Damn. I knew you were going to say that.
Penhallow took hold of Connor’s arm and steered him away from the oubliette, back to the corridor from which they had come. “I don’t like this, Kierken,” Penhallow said. “We’ve already seen how hard it is on Connor for him to host you.”
Go down there? No, definitely no!
Connor argued silently.
Kierken, speaking through Connor, sighed. “There is no choice. When the king sent Lorens to the oubliette, he feared other
talishte
might try to free him. He set traps. Even without magic, those traps are potent. The chains that bind Lorens are overlaid with rope made from rowan-wood fibers to prevent unquiet dead from rising. Masterwort was burned and the ashes sprinkled on his skin and all around him. A tincture made with moonflower, prized for its ability to banish monsters, was allowed to seep into his clothing and bonds. Who knows what other spells of binding and protection were also used?” He paused. “While we no longer need fear the magic, the other traps remain dangerous.”