Touch of Power (19 page)

“Perhaps we should douse the hinges?” Loren asked.

Before Quain could move, I said, “Wait.” The door’s hinges were visible. “Belen, try pulling on the handle.”

He grasped the heavy latch. With a screech of metal, the door opened, revealing a staircase that descended into blackness. A musty odor with a hint of decay wafted from below followed by a faint rustling sound. Rats? Or the wind?

We all peered into the darkness.

“We’re going to need torches,” Belen said.

“Maybe there are some hanging just inside,” I said.

Quain walked down the first few steps. “Hooks are here, but no torches.”

Loren and Belen went in search of materials, while Quain and I waited. The winds died. Soon after, fat flakes of snow drifted down.

“I thought you said it would be a howler,” I said.

“It will. First the storm dumps piles of snow, and then the winds come, blowing all that white stuff into drifts and creating more problems. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be fun for the storm if the winds came first. Nothing for it to swirl around.”

“I don’t think the storm cares.”

“Probably not a normal storm.”

I searched Quain’s face to see if he teased. “Aren’t they all normal?”

“No. Some are influenced by air magicians to do more damage than they would on their own.”

“Do you think Jael sent this storm?”

“She killed Flea and tried to kill us. This could be another attempt.”

I shivered at the memory.

Quain focused on me. “We need to talk about what happened with Flea.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve been replaying Jael’s attack and the aftermath in my mind, thinking of nothing else. Why did you yell for Kerrick to help you with healing him? And how did Kerrick know the exact location of a Death Lily?” Quain started making more connections. “In fact, all those months we hiked through the woods, we’ve never encountered a single Lily. Except for that village. What’s going on, Avry?”

His questions were inevitable. “You’ll have to ask Kerrick.”

“Why?”

“It’s not my story to tell.” I used Belen’s line.

Loren and Belen returned in time to see Quain scowling at me.

“What’s the problem?” Loren asked.

I answered before Quain could. “We can discuss it when we’re stuck in some cave for days because of the storm.”

Belen brushed the snow from his hair. “We’d better hurry.” He handed out torches and Loren lit them with his flint.

We descended the dust-covered steps. It spiraled down for two, maybe three stories before the walls opened up, revealing a storage room. Rows of shelves lined the floor. The shelves had been filled with wooden crates. A list of each box’s contents had been burned into the outside wood.

I read the titles as we walked between them.

Dissection notes on twenty-two-year-old female
—
cause of death: childbirth.

Dune grass seeds from Bavly Realm.

Results of Apgull Poison test.

Maps of known Red Tiger trees.

As we continued, it became apparent that the room was huge. We hadn’t reached another wall, and the shelves disappeared into the darkness.

“We found the secret record room. Now what?” Belen asked.

“I was hoping to find some information that could be useful,” I said.

“You don’t think the ‘contents of an ufa’s stomach’ is useful?” Loren asked.

“Only if the report lists what killed the ufa.” As we neared the foothills, ufa packs would become another danger.

“We could split up,” Belen suggested. “Cover more ground. What would be useful, Avry?”

“Anything that mentions medicinal plants or herbs.” I hesitated, but decided to throw it out there. “Or mentions the plague.”

Silence, then Belen said, “Okay, everyone take a row.”

After a few minutes, I realized we would need days to go through the entire room. And it might take that long just to find valuable information. Perhaps after the storm we could come back. If the door wasn’t buried beneath a snowdrift.

I scanned crates until my vision blurred. My torch sputtered a warning. It wouldn’t last long. Besides, it seemed we had been down here a long time and Kerrick still hadn’t returned. Worry swirled as I followed my trail of dusty footsteps back to the entrance.

No one else had returned. With a hiss and pop, the flames, and therefore my light, died. Then the distinct tap of boots on the stairs sounded. Kerrick? Or one of the others? Or someone new? Pressing up against a shelf with my knife in hand, I waited as the taps grew louder and a black silhouette appeared. Kerrick.

Relief rushed through me. I slid my knife back into its sheath, stepped away from the shelf and surprised him without meaning to. He knocked me to the ground and sat on me, pinning my arms until he recognized me. I hadn’t realized my eyes had adjusted to the dark, but his hadn’t.

“Don’t surprise me like that,” he said.

“Already figured that out,” I said. “Can you get off me now?”

He stood and pulled me to my feet. “Where are the others?”

I rubbed the back of my head. “Searching for something useful. My torch died.” I peered into the darkness, hoping to find a sign of one of the others.

Kerrick cupped his hands around his mouth and called, “Gentlemen, time to go.”

Rustlings and footsteps approached. Quain and Loren appeared. Only Loren’s torch still burned.

Quain carried a crate. “It’s really creepy in here when the lights go out.”

“What did you find?” I asked.

“Notes on all the failed remedies for the plague. I wasn’t sure if it would be useful, but it was the only one I saw.”

“It’s a start.”

Kerrick gave me his care-to-explain look, but I ignored him as we waited for Belen.

“Why can’t we shelter in here?” I asked Kerrick.

“No back door.”

“There could be one,” I said.

“Without more torches, we won’t be able to find it. Belen’s probably stumbling around in the dark by now.” Kerrick called to him.

No reply. Loren offered to search, but Kerrick said no. Another fretful ten minutes passed, then Kerrick emitted a high-pitched and painfully sharp whistle.

“Over here,” Belen called back. “I’ve found something!”

We followed his voice. He stood at the far end of a row of shelves. The torchlight made a yellow puddle around his feet. When we drew closer, he moved the light, revealing a desiccated body on the ground.

Dried-out flesh clung to the bones. The man, I think, lay on his side. I bent closer to examine the corpse. Quain made a disgusted sound. As part of my healer training, I had assisted in autopsies and dissections in order to learn about the internal parts and organs of a body.

However, it didn’t take a healer to figure out what killed this man. A sword had been shoved between his ribs, piercing his heart. He had been murdered. I sat back on my heels, mulling it over. If the grieving public had gotten in here, they would have burned all the records. The door had been locked. Someone who had a key perhaps, or knew of this room’s existence. Too many unknowns at this point to determine why he had been murdered.

“There’s a broken crate underneath him,” Belen said. “Maybe he was protecting the contents.” He rolled the man onto his back.

I swept out the pieces and connected the ones marked with letters. There weren’t many. The crate had held Death Lily seeds.

Chapter 16

“Why would anyone want Death Lily seeds?” Quain asked.

“Or more important, why would the Healer’s Guild have these seeds in the first place?” Loren asked.

“To study them,” I said.

“Or to find a way to kill them,” Kerrick added.

Belen moved the dead body and the last bits of the broken crate to the side as if searching for something. “I don’t see the seeds anywhere. They’re gone.”

“How do you know what they look like?” Quain asked him.

“When that Death Lily had us in its grip, I had an up close and personal view of its seedpods.”

Loren cocked his head, staring at the body. “So, public sentiment turns on the healers, and it’s the last days of the Guild. Again, why are those seeds worth protecting? Do you think they might have something to do with the plague?”

Belen shrugged. “Possible.”

“Are there any records?” I asked, scanning the crates stacked on the shelves nearby. Nothing.

“This puzzle will have to wait,” Kerrick said. “The snow is piling up outside.”

“What about the body?” Quain asked, hefting the crate he had found. “Should we feed another Death Lily? Or don’t they like the crunchy ones?” No one was amused by his sarcasm.

We retraced our steps and climbed the stairs. Belen closed the door, and leaned a large piece of stone against it. “That should keep the snow and wind out.”

About four inches of snow had fallen since we entered the record room. Following Kerrick, I noticed the quiet stillness of the forest. I was glad for my fur-lined boots, but worried about our tracks. They would be visible until the winds swept them away.

Quain saw me glance back and said, “If Kerrick’s not fussing about our tracks, that means no one is close enough to us.” He gazed at his leader. “He always knows where the mercs are hiding in the woods. Do you know anything about that, Avry? Or is it his story to tell?” He shook the crate in his hands. “What other secrets are you hiding from us?”

I didn’t want to increase his agitation so I didn’t answer. Instead, I wondered if he would have the courage to question Kerrick directly or just make sarcastic comments until I or Kerrick told him.

No one was surprised when Kerrick led us to a cave. I watched Quain add another uncanny skill to Kerrick’s list. The snow made it difficult to find firewood. All our piles, except Kerrick’s, were meager.

Dinner was a quiet affair, more so because we were tired from uncovering the records room than because of an all-consuming grief for Flea. The grief would never go away completely, but it would fade into a background ache. Being survivors of the plague, these men had so many people to grieve for; it had to be numbing. Me, too, but I couldn’t claim to be a survivor of the plague since, in another odd quirk of the disease, healers were immune to it.

Why hadn’t the healers caught the plague, too? We sickened with other ailments like everyone else; we just recovered faster. But there had been no reports of a healer contracting the plague unless they’d assumed it from a victim. At least once we sickened, we were never contagious to others.

Quain started his questions soon after we had finished cleaning the stew pot. Loren gave him a warning look until he realized that Quain was determined. Then his focus shifted to Kerrick. Belen, too, kept his gaze on Kerrick. I couldn’t read Belen’s expression, which was unusual, or Kerrick’s, which wasn’t.

“You
are
going to explain what’s going on,” Quain said. It was a statement not a question.

Kerrick looked at me.

“Don’t blame Avry. She didn’t say a word,” Quain said. “I just started putting things together.”

“What do you think is going on, then, Quain?” Kerrick asked.

“Don’t you pull that stunt on me. I’m not Flea.”

“How can you be so smart and so dumb at the same time?” Loren asked him.

Quain hopped to his feet and loomed over Loren as if he wanted to punch him. Unfazed, Loren peered up at him in amusement.

Belen chuckled. “He found all the pieces, but can’t put them together.”

Quain whirled on him, clearly upset.

“Avry isn’t the only one here gifted with magic,” Belen said.

Understanding dawned. The furrows in Quain’s brow and bald head smoothed. “I’m such an idiot.”

“Can I quote you?” Loren asked.

Quain tackled him and they wrestled, rolling on the ground.

Kerrick peered at his friend. “How long?”

“Since you were sixteen. Loren and Flea didn’t figure it out until Avry came along and made things…interesting.”

“Hey,” I said, pretending to be affronted. “If you don’t want interesting, I can leave,” I teased.

However, his response was dead serious. “But would you? If I sat on Kerrick and let you go, would you?”

“I gave my word.”

“Under duress. I’m offering you the chance to walk away. Would you take it?”

The monkeys stopped wrestling. Everyone’s attention focused on me, burning into my skin.

Belen wouldn’t shut up. “I watched them arrest you back in Jaxton. You didn’t resist or try to get away. Not the Avry I’ve come to know.”

“What do want me to say?” I whispered.

“Do you want to leave?” Belen asked.

Don’t do this to me.

“Do you want to leave?” he asked again.

Conflicted emotions knotted in my throat. I wished to go back and make amends with my sister, but I didn’t want to leave the guys, either. They had become my family.

“The truth, Avry.”

“No. Pathetic, isn’t it?” Unable to meet anyone’s gaze, I stumbled out into the snow.

Breathing in deep lungfuls of damp air, I kept close to the cave’s entrance. Storm clouds blocked the moon, and a silent blackness surrounded the area. Snowflakes struck my face with tiny pricks of cold. While I wished to put distance between me and the others, I knew I’d just get lost in the darkness.

Although, I already felt lost. Perhaps
confused
was a better word. Belen forced me to admit I had a reason for living. Since I’d been with them, I’d healed people, found my sister and made a friend. As I gained more incentives to live, I also learned more about the uncertain future of our world. It would be so much easier to agree to heal Ryne if I had nothing to lose.

Belen’s heart was in the right place. He didn’t know the consequences if I healed Ryne. If he had, it would tear him apart. I was sure that’s why Kerrick hadn’t told him, and I wouldn’t, either. However, I’d made the mistake of getting too attached to them. I needed to keep my distance. To stay uninvolved.

No one said a word when I returned to the cave. I brushed the snow from my hair and cloak, then set up my bedroll. Pulling my blanket up to my chin, I vowed to keep my emotions in check. To keep my distance from everyone. To gather as much information about Ryne as I could to make an informed and logical decision regarding him. I would also learn more about the plague, if possible. My confusion was replaced by determination.

After another full day of snow, the winds came. The fire pulsed, and the cave echoed with the shrill keen of the wind. I passed the time by sorting through the crate Quain had found in the records room.

The Guild healers had listed all the remedies, medicines and techniques that had failed to heal the plague. Scanning the list, I was impressed by the sheer number of different things they had tried. Each trial had exhaustive notes about the patient’s response. Nothing cured the disease. Although crushed ginger root mixed with white birch sap helped ease the horrible stomach pains—a small concession.

I created my own list of what I had learned about the plague. It hadn’t discriminated as far as age or gender. No one survived. Those living now never had any symptoms at all. The last known case had been over two years ago. I wondered about the magicians who had survived. Did the plague strike only certain types of magicians?

“I don’t know,” Kerrick said when I asked him. “A few are in hiding, although I’ve no idea who they are. The others have either joined up with Estrid or Tohon.” He sat next to the fire, repairing the leather tie on his boot.

“Do you know what their specialties are?”

He paused, frowning. “Tohon has one earth mage, one rock hound and one fire. Estrid has Jael, a water mage and a moon mage.”

“What’s a rock hound?” Quain asked between gulps of water. He was taking a break from his practice bout with Belen.

“They’re magicians whose power is a gift from rocks, gemstones, ore, coal or any hard substance found in the ground or mountains. They can also cause earthquakes if they’re strong enough.”

“Wouldn’t they be called earth mages?” I asked.

“No. Earth mages are linked to the soil and the creatures that live in the soil.”

“I’d rather be a hound,” Quain said.

“You certainly smell like one,” Loren teased. He stirred the stew.

After more than a week on the road without being able to do more than splash a few handfuls of water on us, I suspected we all did.

“Why the nickname?” I asked Kerrick.

“They’re called hounds because they’re good at finding precious metals and stones. Ryne lost… Three rock hounds died in the Vyg copper mine cave-in. They had helped direct operations.” He glanced at me as if to gauge my mood. “Ryne suspected the cave-in had been caused by sabotage, but then the plague arrived and turned all our other problems into trivialities.”

Sabotage? That was a little too convenient. “How many magicians are loyal to Ryne?”

“One.”

“What about the death mage?”

“Sepp was on my father’s staff before. He’s loyal to me now,” Kerrick said.

Ah. Time to ask the big questions. The ones I had been avoiding all along. “You met Ryne in boarding school and would have killed him except for Jael. Now you’re his champion. Why? And what about your own Realm,
Prince
Kerrick? Why can’t
you
stop Tohon?”

Loren and Quain exchanged a surprised glance. They hadn’t known Kerrick’s royal background.

Kerrick didn’t react. He studied me for a moment, then looked at Belen.

“Perfect time for you to convince her Ryne’s worth saving,” Belen said.

With a slight sigh, Kerrick shifted his gaze to the fire. Just when I thought he wouldn’t answer my questions, he said, “We called it boarding school for brats, but calling the students brats was being kind. Everyone starts when they’re fifteen years old. The school was supposed to be a neutral ground for the future leaders of the Realms, but all the students brought along their prejudices and grudges. Pranks were aimed to hurt. Alliances, double crosses and fights marked a typical school day.” He quirked a smile at Belen. “Belen and I tried to stay out of it, but it was impossible to avoid it altogether. Jael, Tohon and I became close friends, since we had special classes—”

Belen coughed.

“Since we had magic classes together for all six years. We were the only ones in our year gifted with power, but we hadn’t been allowed to tell anyone or use it when we were with the other students. I avoided Ryne. Our fathers didn’t get along, and had been fighting about the location of the border between our Realms for years. Plus it seemed Ryne was always in the middle of all the intrigue.”

“He was,” Belen said. “But not for the reasons you had thought.”

“At the time I didn’t know that Ryne was always one step ahead of the various plots and schemes, and he ruined most of them. He has a unique talent for strategy and tactics. He tried to keep the peace, but everyone hated him, anyway. Even me.”

“What changed your mind?” I asked.

Kerrick stared at the fire. “During the final year of school, the instructors give the senior students a challenge to crown a king of the school. Basically, a few people try to convince, bribe or intimidate their peers to pledge allegiance to them until they have the majority. Ryne, Tohon, Stanslov and Cellina of Lyady all campaigned to be king. I didn’t care who won. By that time, Jael and I were engaged. We pledged our support to Tohon early in the year and I planned to stay uninvolved with the whole king nonsense.” He added another log to the fire, sending sparks flying. His movements were stiff with tension.

I sensed he wouldn’t finish the story. “Then what happened?”

“Stanslov happened.” Kerrick growled the words.

“Stanslov’s king campaign,” Belen said. “About midyear, Tohon told Kerrick that Ryne had bet Stanslov three supporters that Stanslov couldn’t get Jael to break off the engagement. Stanslov was supposed to leave her after the contest, but he fell for her. Hard.”

“And when Kerrick found out about Ryne’s bet, he lost his temper and tried to kill him,” I said, guessing how the rest of the story played out.

“Almost succeeded, too,” Kerrick said with a tight voice. “Jael stopped me. She told me Ryne hadn’t made the bet with Stanslov. Tohon had, after
he
failed to lure her away from me.”

Double betrayal. No wonder he kept his distance.

“Tohon wanted me to go after Ryne since he was Tohon’s strongest competition for king. Too bad I couldn’t kill Tohon.”