Part 63 (1/2)
Pure magical force threw him into the air, threw him beyond the maze, and even beyond the grounds of the Manor. Unwilling to slay, Valea sent him far away, so far he would be no trouble for months to come. It would take him that long simply to reach his own master . . . who would not be so gentle after such an abysmal failure.
As the spell waned, a garbled, horrific sound made the sorceress turn back to the first drake. To her horror, she saw him struggling futilely to free himself from a hedge that seemed determined to devour his armored form. A gauntleted hand tore uselessly at the enshrouding limbs of the tall plant while the other stretched forth in desperate plea to the figure nearest.
But Shade did nothing as the hedge inexorably pulled its victim within.
Valea charged forward, but the warlock blocked her with his arm. The drake let out one last hiss . . . then the hedge enveloped him, leaving no trace.
”The master of the Libraries delved well and deep for this treachery,” Shade uttered.
At first, Valea did not know what to make of his words, for why her parents' friend the Lord Gryphon would send drakes to attack the Manor was beyond her . . . but then she recalled that the leonine ruler of Penacles, City of Knowledge, did not yet even exist. The sorceress also recalled the colorings she had seen when the light had been strongest, a faint purple tint to the green scale.
Purple . . . the color of the Dragon Kings who had ruled Penacles until the Turning War, two hundred years prior to Valea's birth.
Shade waved one hand at the hedge that had devoured the drake. The foliage s.h.i.+mmered briefly, then resumed its normal appearance.
”But how-” Valea stammered. ”It's impossible! How can they pa.s.s through the barrier?”
The shadowed visage turned to her. ”It is said that any answer can be found in the books of Penacle's magical libraries . . . if one knows how to phrase the question.” He leaned forward, a specter that suddenly blanketed the night. ”You are well versed in power, Galani. My grat.i.tude.” He took her hand. ”One would say your power rivals even that of Arak. I am surprised. You have said your powers were minute.”
Only then did Valea realize what she had done. She controlled the elf's body again. She had made the decisions, defended them both.
She had altered the memory.
Or had she? Perhaps her actions had just been akin to those that Galani would have chosen. Surely it was not possible for her to- ”What is it? What happened out here? Galani! Where are you?”
Shade's hood lifted. ”We are here, Arak!”
A green glow rose from elsewhere in the maze and the hedges before them abruptly separated. Hand up, Galani's cousin stalked toward them, eyes surveying everything in search of a foe.
”What happened? I heard shouts and felt spellwork!” He seized Valea, practically tearing her from the warlock's grip. ”Cousin! Are you all right?”
”She is well . . . and quite capable, I might add.” Shade pointed at the ground, where the peculiar weapon used by the one drake still lay. ”A possession rod. Designed to make its captive pliable through pain. I believe it was meant for you, not me. Lord Purple planned well, but did not take in account my resilience.”
The elf was aghast. ”Penacles? There were drakes here? Within the barrier?”
”You know that of all the Dragon Kings he has the wherewithal to find a way inside. Fortunately, some sacrifices had to be made. Neither drake could shapes.h.i.+ft or else we would have been overwhelmed by dragons. The two could not cast spells, either, I believe. They must have seen your cousin run out to the hedge and a.s.sumed when I joined her that I must be you.”
”'Ran out to the hedge' . . .” Arak stared down at Valea, who chose to say nothing. A look of contrition spread over the male elf's countenance. ”Galani, I am so very sorry. If I-”
”They must be after the Wyr Stone,” Shade interjected.
All thought of apology vanished from Arak. ”You think so?”
”What other reason?”
”Then . . . my decision is made for me. Their tyranny must come to an end.”
Valea desperately wanted to ask what the Wyr Stone was and what it would do to the Dragon Kings, but suddenly her head pounded horribly. She swayed and would have fallen if not for Arak suddenly catching her.
”Galani! Galani! Gal-”
”Mistress Valea! My lady! Please awaken!”
Moaning, Valea opened her eyes. A rounded, elderly woman in brown, one of the human servants, leaned over her. The woman's face was flushed and she had obviously been trying for some time to awaken her mistress.
”Cora . . . what's . . . what's wrong?”
”Mistress Valea! 'Tis nearly dinner! You've slept all night and all day!” Cora felt the younger woman's forehead. ”And you're cold to the touch! Do you feel ill?”
Her head throbbed and Valea felt hungry, but otherwise she seemed all right. She told Cora so.
With an expression worthy of Lady Bedlam, the senior household servant shook her head. ”Well you'll still stay in that bed while I get someone to bring you some good broth. If you can down that, we'll see about hardier food. Wouldn't do for your parents to come home to find you on death's door, would it?”
Knowing better than to argue, Valea lay back on the pillow, watching as Cora fussed about for a moment before departing to find her mistress some healthy food. The young sorceress marveled for a moment that she with all her trained and natural skills still had to rely on someone without a single iota of ability when it came to magic.
Thinking of magic drew her back to her dream . . . or whatever it had been. Cora had said that she had slept through most of the day! What sort of dream would cause that? It was surely no coincidence that it had concerned the very characters out of the Manor's ghostly memory.
She bolted upright in bed. Had she somehow become tied to that memory? But why . . . and how?
And what would happen when she next went to sleep?
V.
THE NIGHT STRETCHED long. Too long, as far as Valea was concerned. Candle in hand, she strode through the high halls of her home, pa.s.sing without gazing at wall tapestries collected by her mother or vases and other decorative gifts given to both her parents over the years. As the foremost wizards of the lands, the Bedlams had as many friends as they did enemies and among the former were some of those most influential. A three-foot tall rearing steed made of onyx and reminiscent of Darkhorse stood atop a pedestal to her right, a recent present from the ruler of Zuu, Belfour. The people of Zuu had an obsession for horses and their sculptors could fas.h.i.+on the most marvelous, intricate statues of the equines, but even this, a favorite of Valea's, did not distract her.
She did not want to go to sleep. Having done so all day should have aided her in that regard, but there had been no rest in that slumber. The dream had sapped her of her strength as if she had actually expended herself physically. Valea still wanted to investigate the events behind the apparitions and the dream, but on her own terms.
Once more she stopped in the library, this time to research what history of the Manor her father had chronicled. Valea already knew that there would be no mention of an elf called Arak nor of his cousin Galani. What she did seek, however, was any mention of an artifact called the Wyr Stone. Clearly it was of great significance, if both Arak and Shade had believed it useful against the Dragon Kings.
For the next hour, she thumbed through the first journal, finding reference to other past inhabitants but not to the object in question. Discarding that tome, the crimson-tressed sorceress seized a volume related to the Dragon Masters, a band of wizards and other spellcasters of whom her great-grandfather, Nathan, had been one of the foremost . . . as had been her mother. Gwendolyn Bedlam had put down with quill all that she could recall of her days as part of the group that had attempted to oust the drakes from rule . . . even her love for her husband's grandfather.
The story made for fascinating reading and Valea had pored over it more than once in the past, but now she hunted a specific section. Somewhere there had been made mention of the artifacts that the Masters had sought for their grand purpose and Valea wondered if perhaps one of them might be the one she hunted.
The candle sank into a waxy puddle as she perused page after page, finding nothing. One pa.s.sage briefly seized her attention, for it spoke of a possession rod, but little more could Valea discern from it.
She rubbed her eyes, squinting more and more as the candle became less useful. Her father had raised her to use magic judiciously, not for every whim or minor physical activity, but Valea realized that soon she would be attempting to read in utter darkness. Raising her hand, she cast a minor light spell, one that surely her father would have seen as a very miserly use of her abilities- A face stared back at her from the other side of the desk.
”No!” Startled, Valea pushed the chair back . . . and fell with it. She caught herself at the very end, preventing a possible broken neck but promising many bruises.
Rolling away from the chair, Valea amplified the light spell, filling the library with almost blinding illumination. Ceiling-high shelves filled with book after book, scroll upon scroll-all carefully collected by not only the Bedlams but some of their predecessors-revealed themselves to her, but of her intruder there was no trace.
Rising, Valea hurried to the doorway, but saw no sign. She frowned, recalling what she could of the face-and her mouth dropped.
Arak.
Yet, there had been something else about him, some details about his elven visage that had only partly registered. He had not been as she had seen him initially-tall, handsome, foreboding. What had changed?