Faith Of The Dragon Tamer (Book 2) (41 page)

Manda touched the snood encircling her head. Lazo had seen some women wearing the coverings to hide their baldness before he left the castle. It was the perfect disguise.

In front of her, the queen took a passage to her right. Manda brushed her hand against the cold stone of the tunnels. They had finally reached the walls of the castle. Every so often hollow laughter or soft voices wafted to them. But the sounds were sparse. Ista seemed to be using every able body in the keep to work her magic.

They had agreed to use the entrance in Ren’s closet because Manda had used it once before. It was also near the servant’s staircase, allowing them quick access to the other floors.

For the thousandth time, Manda recalled Presario’s words. The weaver would be a man, in a state of confusion, almost unconscious from the strain, but conscious enough to speak. His eyes may be clouded, and his hands may be hot. Look for one who appears near death, Presario had said, and kill him.

They would separate and search the castle: Manda the lower reaches, Renee the middle, and Marva the upper. After each had swept her floor, they were to regroup, and if nothing had been found try again.

Renee stopped. Manda bumped into her and mumbled a quick apology. She could hear Marva’s quick breaths right behind her. Manda worried Marva would give them away. Marva had the temper of a wet cat in heat, and if something went awry, Manda was sure Marva would kill first and ask questions later.

Ramie had warned Marva to keep calm, but Manda knew Marva listened to the king of Yor about as much as she did. Ramie was the epitome of a king: pompous, arrogant, and demanding. Manda deemed him completely unsalvageable.

Renee pointed to the wall beside her and lifted her eyebrows. Manda looked down the passage to get her bearings. Looking back into the queen’s eyes, Manda nodded.

Renee put her hand in a small indention that formed a handle and placed her cheek against the wood. After a brief pause, Renee shook her head.

“Nothing,” she whispered. “I hear nothing.”

A sudden snore ripped through the air. They each exchanged glances. A soft ‘click’ echoed in the corridor as Renee snapped the passage door open and stepped into the narrow closet.

Another snore echoed around them. Beside her, Marva mumbled something about Quinton. Manda motioned for her to keep silent.

Renee moved to the cracked closet door. Manda held her breath as Renee pushed the door open and ducked inside.

The room was a mess. Dirty dishes were scattered on the floor, curtains were stained and ripped from greedy hands, and the large red couch standing in the far corner was covered with dirt and grime.

The rotund man reclining on the couch was naked and uncovered. His mop of dark hair marked him as a mere servant and not one of the Collective. When they saw the empty whiskey bottle at his feet none of them gave the man a second glance. He would be unconscious for a long time. They passed him quickly, stepping over that night’s dinner, and paused at the door. After listening for voices, they stepped into the hall.

Renee’s eyes flashed between them. It was a queen’s order to hurry. Manda and Marva nodded, well aware time was of the essence. Renee pointed them down the hall to the servant’s staircase before trotting in the opposite direction. Manda and Marva hurried down the hall, eager to reach the stairs that would lead them to the upper and lower reaches of the keep. Before they made it to the stairs, two guards rounded the corner.

They were in a hurry, sure to be on a mission for Ista. When the men saw them they paused and glanced at each other. A silent exchange passed between them. Manda could sense Marva tense beside her. She mumbled for Marva to remain calm.

The men stopped, waiting for them to approach. The dark one put his hands on his hips and narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “Haven’t you heard Ista’s orders,” he said. “All Collective women are to meet her by the New Alcazar. Why are you still here?”

“We’re going to meet her now,” Marva said. “But it’s hard when two oafs are blocking your passage.”

Manda silently praised Marva’s quick mind. She would have only managed a choppy apology.

The dark one grinned. His teeth were crooked, a few of them rotten. “Well, if that’s true you’re walking in the wrong direction.” His grin faltered. “Don’t I know you?”

Marva stiffened, but her voice didn’t betray her unease. “I don’t think you’ve had the pleasure of my acquaintance.”

The guard perused Marva’s build. When his eyes flickered back to her face, they were glittering dangerously. “Yes I do,” he said, reaching out and grabbing Marva’s arm. “You’re the woman from the cell block, the one who escaped with the crown prince.”

Before Manda could reach for her concealed sword the other guard had pinned her against the wall. The guard with the rotten teeth laughed. Manda panicked. It couldn’t be over so soon. She tried to reach for her power, but her panic had drowned her rage. She was at their mercy.

The guard rubbed places that brought back memories of Bort. A low moan escaped her lips as the terror of the hands came back in a maddening rush. The man forced her to her knees as his snickers escalated. When he leaned into her, she tried to fight, but with the way he had her pinned she only succeeded in hurting herself.

Just as she thought the terror of her memories might overwhelm her, the guard heaved a grunt and collapsed on the ground. The snickers were suddenly silenced.

When Manda turned, Marva stood above her, long dagger in hand, blue eyes glowing with molten fury. Both guards lay on the floor, blood pooling by their sides. Manda stood and nodded her thanks. But now they had to hurry. The men’s bodies would be discovered soon enough. The woman exchanged glances before they turned and went their separate ways.

When Manda reached the halls of the lower reaches she had to blink in shock. The once glistening Razon castle had been plundered. Dirt and grime coated the black floor. Golden statures and ornaments were few and far between, and when they did appear they were tarnished and broken. Clothes and packs lined the halls. A few children wandered aimlessly around their possessions, but no one else could be seen.

Manda quickly made her way down the hall. The children eyed her with wide-eyed stares. Their bald heads froze her blood. She almost felt Ista peering through the children’s eyes, watching her progress down the desecrated hall.

Shaking that thought off she concentrated on the task at hand. But everywhere she walked she saw no sign of life. All the men were in the conglomerate. All the women were meeting with Ista. The castle was deserted.

After skirting the main portion of the floor, Manda turned down a side corridor. A large iron door appeared a few cubits down the hall. Manda froze. They had forgotten about the dungeon when they had assigned floors. Manda paused. Surely Ista wouldn’t use anyone in the dungeon as the weaver. Then again, if Ista wanted to hide someone what better way to keep him out of harm’s way than by placing him in the dungeon? Manda pried open the heavy door and made her way down the stairs.

Torches lined the stairwell every ten paces. Because of their distance there were times Manda couldn’t see the stairs beneath her. Keeping her hands on the damp wall, she descended slowly, listening for any sound. She heard nothing, and the deeper she went the more foolish her idea seemed to become.

When the stairs ended the empty cells to her right whispered of her folly, and the stench warned her that if she did find someone it would only be a dead man. She jumped back as a large rat scampered past, unafraid of her approach. A few soft scrapings told her more awaited her in the distance.

Sure the only things living in the dungeon were creatures of the four-legged kind, Manda quickly walked by empty cell after empty cell, but as she approached the last cellblock a shimmer of gold caught her eye. She stepped back into the shadows, but there was no need. The man who lay near the bars of the last cell was as still as death. His golden hair shimmered in the torchlight as if a halo were stationed above him. It appeared as if he had been sent from the Elysium only to land in the gates of the Abyss.

A few rats sat by his feet, feasting on the tender flesh at his ankles. Manda clenched her jaw. The man before her was an enemy of Ista. That made him her friend.

“Shoo!” she said, clapping her hands. The two rats glanced up but quickly went back to their task. She stepped forward. “Shoo!” This time the rats scampered a few paces from the man. Manda’s determination deepened and she strode forward. The rates scurried away, but she could see their eyes shinning in the dim torchlight patiently waiting her departure.

The man hadn’t stirred. Manda crouched before him and reached through the bars to feel for a pulse.

It was racing. And his skin was hot to the touch.

Manda drew a deep breath as Presario’s words came back to her. The weaver would appear near death, in a state of confusion. His eyes may be clouded and his skin may be hot as his mind burned under the strain of the conglomerate weaving.

Manda recoiled. The heat the man radiated repulsed her. She shifted so the torchlight could play on the man’s features. She had to see his eyes. She had to be sure. When the light hit his face, Manda froze.

His eyes were a deep, midnight blue. And although they were unfocused, clouded, clearly the eyes of the weaver, the emotions they held took every breath from her lungs. They were filled with repulsion and horror. This man hated what he now did. And he hated himself.

But Manda did not. Manda knew him and loved him.

Manda released a soft cry, remembering the weaver’s eyes at another time, boring into her, imploring her to fight, entreating her for forgiveness for only being able to do so much.

It was Korin. The man had been her salvation when her father had betrayed her. He had given her the dagger that ultimately set her free. With the dagger, Manda had broken free just in time to save her brother. With the dagger, she had taken Yov’s life.

Somehow Korin had denied Ista, but he had been discovered, locked in the dungeon, and forced to weave the magic Ista now used to keep the armies at bay.

Manda couldn’t kill him. There had to be another way. Manda’s resolve deepened as she reached in and grabbed his hand. This time she didn’t recoil.

“Please, I want to help you,” she said. “Speak to me.”

Korin’s eyes wavered. They were filled with a pain Manda knew well: the pain of rape, to be stripped of pride and forced to do something against your will. He had been raped his entire life, and his eyes held the horror … and the guilt.

“No.” Manda placed a hand on his feverish cheek. “You’re not to blame.”

Korin forced a small smile. “You’re safe, my lady. I hoped it would be so.”

His voice was soft, but filled with so much caring it echoed in her heart like a chiming bell. He closed his eyes and tightened his grip on her hand. His pulse raced faster. He couldn’t hold his concentration much longer.

“Tell me how to break the conglomerate.”

“My lady, to break the conglomerate you must kill me.”

Manda shook her head. “No. Tell me who the link is. Quickly.”

“No time,” he said softly. “You have to kill me. It’s the only way.”

Manda lowered her voice, taking a chance. “Then Ista has won, because I refuse to kill you.”

Korin closed his eyes. A small bead of sweat trickled down his cheek. “Please, my lady.”

“It’s my turn to help you, as you helped me. Tell me who the link is. Quickly.”

A small hope flickered in Korin’s eyes, but it quickly blinked out as the magnitude of her request settled over him. “The link stands near the gate, the fourth from the entrance. He’s taller than the others, with dark eyes and a red beard.” Korin paused and forced another small grin. “Ista controlled the magic through me, but she couldn’t control whom I chose as the link. I chose someone close to the gate so your armies would have a chance.” He closed his eyes again, muscles straining.

“And his weakness?”

Manda thought Korin would be unable to answer. His face contorted as the magic once again took control. “The little finger on his left hand is slightly twisted. The air pocket is a pinprick up and to the right of the flaw.”

They sat around the camp, each asking Zorc questions. The wizard didn’t seem to mind. Now that Ren had mastered the Quy’s emotions, the lines in Zorc’s brow had smoothed from their constant concentration, and he chuckled more often even though Ren could still sense worry underneath his exterior façade.

When no one was watching, Zorc turned toward Zier, as did they all. Though the conversation was light, there was an undercurrent of tension, and all eyes held a hint of fear.

Ren expected Zorc to insist on leaving for Zier immediately, but instead Zorc had settled down for the night. Rest, Ren suspected, was what the wizard thought they all needed. They would leave the following morning, though none spoke of it, not even Zorc.

“Silver dust is a conduit, correct?” Neki asked. “But what about the other sands?”

Zorc plopped another piece of roasted deer into his mouth before he replied. “Everyone besides a mage should use silver dust when using their emotions to create magic. Although some magic can be evoked by habit and training, and some magic is simple enough for a lowly apprentice to weave on his own, silver dust not only conducts the wizard’s emotions, it intensifies them, thus allowing you to save your strength.”

“Why not a mage?” Ren asked.

“A mage?” Zorc said, pausing to tap his chin and focus his keening gaze on Ren. “Well, let’s just say you never should.”

Ren frowned.

“Too powerful,” Neki said. “Imagine if you had used the dust when you imploded the castle wall. You would have hemorrhaged the entire castle.”

The group chuckled, but Ren did not. His eyes were fixed on Zorc. The wizard was peering at Neki in a strange fashion. Ren realized Zorc was using wizard’s eyes. “Neki, don’t use any more of the dust. It’s too early to tell, but you may be another mage.”

Neki’s face flushed as the entire camp quieted, but before the silence could linger Zorc continued.