WindSeeker (23 page)

"Revive him and get on with it!"

The icy water splashed over Conar’s white face and chest. He moaned, his lids fluttering open. He

turned his head, his eyes searching, but there was no recognition as they singled out Tolkan. There was

nothing in the wild blue depths but pain.

"Get on with it, I said! Push him to his very limits!"

Tolkan was curious to know what the scream would be like as the final punishment was given, the last

rod used. He tilted his head to one side and paid close attention as the punishment was administered.

He wasn’t disappointed.

The scream was like nothing he had ever heard before.

* * *

Outside, a lightning bolt streaked across the heavens and crashed into the midst of Ivor Keep. Hern

Arbra could smell the brimstone as easily as he could smell his sweat. He reached down to pat his huge

ebony stallion.

"Ready?" Belvoir asked as he mounted his black steed.

"Aye," Hern remarked, patting the horse to calm him. His steely gaze went to Sentian and his bay. Not

exactly the ideal horse for a Sentinel, but it would do for now.

"I’m ready," Sentian said, rather defensively.

"Good," Hern snapped. "Then we ride, brat!"

The gates were secured behind them as the three men left Ivor Keep for the Temple of the Winds in the

Western Zone. It would probably be close to noon of the next day before they would arrive and another

two days before they would find the informant at the Temple.

Sentian glanced at the two burly men flanking him on the road to Corinth and he shuddered. He

wouldn’t want to make an enemy of either of them. He was glad they were allies, for what they were

about was a mission that could see them dead and buried.

"Don’t worry, bratling," Belvoir joked. "It’s not the first time me and Hern have been up against the

Domination for our ladies."

Sentian tried to smile, but his lips felt frozen. It might not be their first time, but it was his, and he prayed

fervently it wouldn’t be his last!

* * *

Legion shook his head. "What you want to do is impossible! Get back in bed!"

Liza frowned, put out by his superior male posturing. She placed her hands on her hips and stared

daggers at her brother-in-law. "I don’t tell you what to do…"

Legion snorted, raising a thick salt-and-pepper gray brow.

"…Most of the time," she qualified, "but this is important to me. And to Conar."

"Absolutely not! You are not going to the dungeon to see that little…"

Liza stamped her foot, not something she ordinarily would lower herself to do, but the man’s

stubbornness became more than she could tolerate. "Damn it! Who’s the royalty here? Me or you?"

Teal grinned, covering his mouth with his hand as Legion threw him a disgusted look. "Now where do

you suppose she learned that?"

"I can’t let her go roaming around unattended!" Legion snarled at du Mer.

Teal sobered. "Of course not."

"And I can’t be dancing attendance on her all the time!"

"Naturally, not," du Mer agreed.

"She hasn’t been well."

Teal nodded. "Aye, everyone knows that."

"And she has to be watched in case Galen decides to take her again."

"That goes without saying."

"And she has a habit of getting into trouble."

Teal nodded, sagely. "I couldn’t agree more."

"She thinks everyone should stop what they’re doing and wait on her hand and foot!"

"Naturally," Teal said. "She’s royalty."

Liza’s green gaze ripped through du Mer, but the gypsy winked at her.

"And not only does she want to do something stupid, she wants
me
to accompany her!"

"So I’ve heard."

"And I am not going to do it!"

"Most assuredly not. Isn’t a good idea." Teal winked again.

"I just can’t be bothered with shit like this!"

"Without a doubt, you can not."

"Look at her! She’s grinning like a fool at me, du Mer!" Legion hissed.

"I can see that, old friend. Might as well give in to her to keep peace, eh?"

Legion flung down the book he had been reading and stalked over to Liza. "Well? Are you coming or

not, Madame?"

* * *

Jah-Ma-El shielded his eyes to the harsh light flooding his cell. He blinked, catching the lilting aroma of

lavender drifting through the opened doorway. Although he could make out three forms behind the flare

of the light, he couldn’t identify his visitors, the first he’d had since being thrown into the rat-infested

place.

"You are Jah-Ma-El?" a soft, feminine voice asked.

Jah-Ma-El knew immediately who it was. "Aye, Highness," he whispered, barely able to speak for the

terrible cold he had contracted in the freezing, drafty cell. "How may I serve you?"

Liza took Legion’s arm and raised it higher so that his lantern would cast light on the thin man chained to

the slick wall.

"They have hurt you, Jah-Ma-El?" she asked, sweeping aside her gown to squat beside him.

"For the love of the gods, Liza!" Legion protested. "Don’t get too close to that vermin!"

"He’ll not hurt me, will you, Jah-Ma-El?" she asked, smiling into the man’s filthy face.

Jah-Ma-El lowered his eyes, unable to look into the beautiful countenance of his Beloved brother’s lady.

"Nay, Highness. Never would I do such a thing."

"As if you hadn’t already!" Legion snarled, handing the lantern to Teal. "Liza, you’ve seen the bastard.

Now, come away before you catch something."

Liza looked up at her brother-in-law. "Leave us for a moment, Legion."

"What?"

"Please? Put the lantern on the ledge by the door and leave. He can not harm me." She looked back at

Jah-Ma-El. "They have him chained!"

"Liza—"

"Please!" she snapped, her chin jutting out, leaving no room for argument.

Legion’s own chin jutted out with annoyance. "I’ll be just around the corner!" he bellowed and brushed

past du Mer, who hestitated before following.

Liza stroked back a greasy fall of dirty hair from Jah-Ma-El’s forehead, surprising the man before he

could jerk away his head.

"No, lady!" he croaked. "Do not touch me. I am vile. You will soil yourself." He cringed into the corner

of his cell, cowering, his eyes lowered in shame.

"Do you love my husband, Jah-Ma-El?"

Her question startled him. He lifted his eyes to see friendship written on her lovely face. Friendship and a

comradeship that was all too obvious. "With all my heart, Highness."

"That night when I visited with him at Norus, it was you who called to me, wasn’t it?" He nodded. "And

it was you who cared for me while I was being kept in that place?"

He turned his face from her, tucking his chin into the filth of his tattered robe. "I am sorry, Highness, for

my part in that."

She felt his hurt and shame. "I know, Jah-Ma-El." She reached inside the pocket of her gown and pulled

out an object. "I have something of yours."

Cautiously, he lifted his head and looked at what she held. His eyes flared with terror and flew straight to

hers.

"It is yours. I’m returning it." She placed the object in his hand, closing his fingers around it.

Jah-Ma-El gripped the jade jar. "Do you know what this is?"

Liza nodded. Once more she touched him. This time her cool fingers caressed his bearded cheek. "I

know Galen had possession of it. I would imagine he obtained it from Tohre." A single tear crept down

her lovely cheek. "And I know that if my Sentinels are not in time, Tohre will have one similar to this with

Conar’s soul inside it."

Jah-Ma-El shook his head in denial. "They will not do that to him."

"Then, what? I must know, Jah-Ma-El. If I am to help him, I must know."

"You have not been able to see him, have you, Highness?"

"No, and I’m not sure why. They took my amulet stone, tampered with my familiar but—"

"They have something of yours, lady," Jah-Ma-El said sadly. "I once tried to steal it, but Tohre is careful

with it."

Liza’s forehead crinkled. "Tohre has something of mine? What?"

"A braid of your hair. One Conar once wore around his wrist."

Liza let out a long breath. "And I know how Tohre came by that." She angrily shook her head. "I had

forgotten about it and so had Coni. I may not be able to get it back, but I can somewhat neutralize its

power now that I know
why
I have been unable to help Conar on my own."

"I will do all I can." He held his palms out to her. "They put the Seal of Negation on me, Highness. My

powers are all but gone; but with the possession of my soul, I may be able to wield some little power of

the Blue Way that they don’t know I can utilize."

"The Blue Way?" Her voice was soft, quiet. "I am impressed, Jah-Ma-El. You are very special if you

have been given access to one of the Multitude’s powers."

Jah-Ma-El tried to smile, but his lips were so severely parched, cracked and bleeding from the fever he

had endured, he could only manage a grimace. "I was given that power to help my brother. I knew I

would need it one day."

"And that day has come." She put her hand on his and squeezed. "I will see that you are given treatment

by the Healer, Jah-Ma-El. Take heart. I have learned you will not be hanged with the others who plotted

my kidnapping. They will send you to Guilder’s Cay."

Jah-Ma-El knew better. If they had told her otherwise, it was to protect her. He might not be hanged,

but he’d be spending the last of his days in a penal colony far worse than Guilder’s Cay. "Just help

Conar, Highness. I don’t matter."

"You do to him, so therefore, you do to me," she assured him, standing. Her face was cast in shadows

as she looked down at him. "I’ll see you get better food and are unchained. I will not have you treated

so."

He lowered his head, not wanting her to see his tears. "Thank you, Highness."

"Liza. My name is Liza." She turned to go, sensing the man’s discomfort and humiliation. "One more

thing. If they will not steal his soul, what will they do to him?"

Jah-Ma-El slowly lifted his head. His tear- and dirt-streaked face paled with worry. "They call it

Transmigration, lady. They will draw out his soul and place it into another’s body."

Liza’s blood ran cold. "Whose body?" She knew, but hearing Jah-Ma-El say the name was like the

blasting torrent of freezing waters from Lake Myria.

"Kaileel Tohre’s."

Chapter 12

The heavy scent of musk lay over the darkened corridor. Fiery torches sent out a thick layer of gray

smoke that settled near the top of the stone archways leading away from the stairway, and drifted along

the corridor, sliding down the damp walls and curling about the flare of staggered torchlight. An eerie

green glow hovered about three feet off the sticky, rush-strewn walkway, swirling and blending, turning in

upon itself as it met the smoke drifting down from the ceiling, the glow shifting as unseen movement

rattled the undercurrents. Rat voices chirped among the rushes, and the winging of bats, deeper within the

corridor’s cavernous, vied with one another during a momentary lapse into utter silence. The steady drip

of unseen water trickled and plopped, echoing back like gunshots along the walls.

At the thick, iron-studded door leading into the Chamber of Ordination, unsettling whispers wafted from

under the portal. A cadence of voices oozed around the lintels and over the threshold, seeped into the

long, dark corridor to send the rodents scurrying in fright. Other sounds leaked out: the tuck of a timbrell,

the shuffling of feet, the rustling of cloth, the occasional, pitiful scream.

Behind the massive black oak doors, deep in the bowels of the secret Monastery of the Brotherhood of

the Domination, the Great Abbey of Raphian, a ceremony so vile and malefic was taking place that only a

select, elite group of men were allowed to attend. Twelve men, all of the highest rank of the Ordination

Team, moved about, their whispered chants and counter-chants echoing off the thick stone walls and

settling like an icy slab of marble on the nerves of the thirteenth man who lay bound before them.

Only a handful of men ever ventured behind these doors and survived the Rite of Passage. Even fewer

were able to go on to the next step in the initiation process: The Final Rite of Consecration. Those who

did became the Chosen Ones of the Great Supreme Entity: Raphian, the Destroyer of Souls. Those who

lost their sanity while undergoing the vile ceremonies of the ordination process were interred, alive, within

the black Sarcophagus beyond the Altar of Souls, never to be seen again.

Sitting in the center of the room was an altar slab of pure gold cast in the cruciform of an X. The

structure’s arms and legs flared wide at the intersections and thick bronze bands were embedded in the

apex of each leg. A circle of golden candelabras surrounded the Altar of Souls, their glow reflecting off

the precious metal and sending sparks of light onto the blood-red floor upon which the altar slab stood.

The Chamber of Ordination was circular, its diameter ringed with scrolled concentric circles bearing the

Blasphemous Entities of the Domination’s Pantheon. The names were scripted in gold leaf and

intertwined within the perimeters of a large, black hexagram. At each point of the hexagram, a burning

brazier, three feet wide by three feet tall, sat cupped in the valley of three criss-crossed iron legs, each

tripod standing three feet up from the marble floor. In the angles between the points of the hexagram sat

the Six Receptacles of Secretion, small pentagonal caskets of crystal that held the bodily fluids drawn