Reckoning (The Empyrean Chronicle) (27 page)

Eithne frowned. “Nor I. Uncle, I would like it if you used
the entirety of your resources to look further into House Oberon and Ogressa’s
maneuverings. I will give you a withdrawal note for the treasury. Spread coin
around as you see fit to get the answers we need.”

“If the two snakes are up to anything I’ll find them out,”
Josua said.

“Danica, how have you and Lar fared in your assignment?”

“If any of the courtiers know anything about what happened
in the banquet hall, then they are master thespians,” Danica said with a
crooked half-smile. “Although everyone has a theory, each more hair-brained
than the last.”

Eithne smiled at the brazen young woman. “And what is the
climate of the court like?”

Danica’s expression turned serious. “Everyone is quite nervous,
although you wouldn’t know at first glance, seeing how they carry on with their
teas, luncheons, and soirees, but when they’re in their cups most let their
guard slip and their tongues loosen. They’re in fear of another war and what it
might mean for their coin purses, but also their hides. No one is inclined to
trust in the innocence of the Ittamar, but most actually want them to be
innocent because few can stomach a genuine threat of war. They like to
perseverate about it, wear their bravado like a cape, but when the chips are
down another conflict with Ittamar frightens everyone, save the Mycrum
contigent.”

“Huh.” The queen arched an eyebrow and leaned back in her chair.
“I did not know that.” It seemed she had been wise in choosing Danica for her
current assignment. She had chiefly made the decision to keep her occupied and
out of trouble, but the cunning White Habit had easily earned the trust of the
court where so many of her other informants had failed. “You have done well,
Danica.”

Danica beamed her crooked smile in response to the queen’s
praise. “The problem,” she said, sobering, “is that they require proof that the
Ittamar are innocent. Otherwise no one will openly come out in support of our
position for fear of ridicule.”

Eithne shook her head in disbelief. “Amazing—half the court
wants to believe that the Ittamar innocent, but they won’t accept it publicly
even though they have the testimony of Arcalum that the pawns that attacked us
were under an enchantment. We’re lucky the Scarlet Hand’s minions failed in
their attempt on my life, for if they succeeded you would be in the midst of a
war that no one really wants but that would destroy two nations.”

“We’ve been involved in the sordid political arena of Agia
long enough to see how much evil can be done by this one’s slighted honor, or
that ones ego-driven fear of losing face or being branded a coward,” Ogden
said. “History has seen nations’ swords fall over a woman’s hand in marriage. Need
I remind you of Antilla and Aquis of Erasteses?”

“Your point, Ogden,” the queen said dryly, “is well taken. It
seems that I’m not the only one that has found Danica’s report illuminating.”

“I don’t know why people always think Elias is the smart
one,” Danica said with an exaggerated sigh.

Elias exchanged a smile with Danica, but his heart wasn’t in
it as his thoughts cycloned. He couldn’t help but feel that he was missing
something, something right under his nose. “We still don’t know how it was that
King Mathias banished the seventh house, and how they plan on breaking the
spell that has endured so long. Ogden, surely Sentinel Lore must have something
to say on the subject?”

Ogden opened his hands in a gesture that Elias had become
familiar with as an expression of conciliation. “The Sentinel record of the day
Mathias cast the geas has this to say:

Mathias King bound them in iron

and bound them in gold,

bound them in the heart’s own blood,

that shadowed seventh house,

never to Agian soil return.

“The account does not recount the spell or magic by which he
cast the geas. It is generally assumed that the information was deemed too
sensitive to keep written record of, for fear it might fall into the wrong
hands.”

Elias produced a pad of paper from his breast pocket and
wrote down the bit of verse. Danica snorted. “He’s always written things down,
ever since he was in knickers,” she said.

Elias ignored her with practiced nonchalance. “Is that
exactly what it says?”

“Yes,” said Ogden, “although that is the translation from
the old Aradurian, which was the language used by wizards of that time. But why
such interest in that old yarn?”

“Sometimes it’s the smallest of crumbs that may lead one to
the granary, as my father used to say. There may be a hidden clue or cipher in
the lines.”

Ogden’s creased face wrinkled in a smile. “If there is a
hidden clue, the son of Padraic can find it, but I would be remiss if I didn’t
tell you that some of the greatest minds in Agia have poured over those records
looking for clues, and have found nothing of consequence.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Elias said, grim-faced, “but we are
running out of leads, and time. Agnar is growing restless, as I imagine will
his King if he doesn’t receive word of his cousin soon.”

“Our hands are tied, Elias,” the queen said. “We cannot
release Agnar and his men. Our only choice is to hold them and delay until we
can produce evidence or convince the court that the danger issues from a source
other than Ittamar. You’re perfectly right—we are running out of time. Blame
must be assigned, and quickly.”

Elias again had that nagging feeling in the back of his head
that he was missing something. “That is why I am thinking that perhaps we
should try a different tact.” He leaned forward. “We’ve no leads other than a
necromancer’s sigil on some rotting corpses, and our two encounters with
assassins from the Scarlet Hand. We’ve combed Lucerne and Peidra for clues or
conspirators but uncovered neither.”

“What are you suggesting?” Ogden asked.

“We must discover how the Hand plans to break the curse that
keeps their masters from our lands. That must be why they are here. If we can
discover that, we may be able to head them off.”

Ogden exchanged a look with Phinneas. “Long has that been the
ultimate goal of the Sentinels, for generations,” Ogden said, “but we simply
don’t have any leads, though many have dedicated their very lives to answering
the same questions that plague you.”

“Of course,” said Elias. “I didn’t mean to speak out of turn,
I just have the strangest feeling that we’ve overlooked something, that there’s
an answer hiding before us, in plain sight.”

“I tell you what,” Ogden said, “I’ll lend you what copies of
Sentinel record I have. Perhaps a fresh set of eyes will see something I’ve
missed.”

“Has anyone anything else to report or add?” Eithne asked.

“Only this,” Ogden said as he drew a folded map from out of
his coat. “In case the worst befalls us, and the Hand strikes for our heart, I
want us to be prepared. I have drawn up an emergency plan.”

Reassuming his role as the queen’s Steward, Ogden explained
his plan in detail until he was satisfied that everyone knew their part.

With that matter settled, Eithne brought the meeting to a
close. “Very well, then,” she said, “Ogden, Phinneas, and Elias you handle the
arcane sleuthing. Danica and Lar, I want you to continue your assignment as my
eyes and ears in court. Bryn, utilize your contacts in the Red and Blackshields
to keep us appraised of any unusual happenings in the palace and capital.”

With that the company dispersed and went about their
business.

As the queen left her private audience chamber, she found
herself possessed of a curious happiness that slept with sadness. She feared
for her kingdom and her rule, yet for the first time since her father died she
had allies other than Ogden, Bryn, and Josua—scant confederates for a queen. More
than that, she realized, she had friends.

Calm Before the Storm

“Elias, are you listening to me?”

Elias blinked away his reverie and offered Ogden an
apologetic smile. The wizard had been instructing him in the art of spellforms,
but amidst studying the myriad geometric figures his mind had begun to wander,
and it was no small wonder.

“Are you thinking about your sister?” Ogden asked.

Elias walked to the window. Far below horses raced along the
outer courtyard, and guardsmen and courtiers, reduced to faceless whirs of
color by the vantage, fenced idly and strolled along the granite causeways
respectively, enjoying the temperate late summer afternoon. Elias wondered if
Seven Winters was down there running Brand or Comet.

“Yes,” Elias said. “Danica, and The Hand, and Agnar…and
there hasn’t been any word of Bryn’s father who was due home almost a week ago
from the consulate in Phyra. And I’ve poured through all the Sentinel records
and haven’t discovered a single clue.”

“Son, you can’t fight all the battles of the realm yourself,
and especially not all at once,” Ogden said, not unkindly. “You must focus on
the task at hand. One thing at a time.” The aged wizard laid a gentle hand on
his shoulder.

“I know. I am trying,” Elias said without turning from the
window. Ogden, of course, had struck the heart of the matter: Despite everything
else he had to consume his attentions, Danica occupied the foremost of his
thoughts. Her night terrors—if that’s what one could call them—had only grown
worse. To all appearances she was capable of making it through the day without
ill effect, save for some fatigue, but one glance at Lar’s face after his
encounter with her while in the grip of one of these terrors had been enough to
give Elias pause and keep him awake at night. Phinneas had been working with
Danica extensively, both as her physician, using hypnotherapy to help her cope
with her repressed memories of the torments she endured under Slade, and as her
mentor teaching her how to use her intuitive gifts and skills as a healer in
tandem. After the midnight battle at the Inn in Abbington, however, Elias knew
that Danica’s arcane gifts had ample application beyond that of a healer.

Then, there was the matter of the Ittamar. Agnar and his
companions remained in the palace as household prisoners, although they had
been afforded more liberty. Court and Council wanted justice and were more than
happy to hold onto Agnar and his men until Elias could offer up other suspects,
which left the queen with the unenviable task of writing King Rachman and explaining
why she held his cousin and heir.

Elias had begun to lose hope of ever exposing the true conspirators
and rooting out the necromancer responsible for the assassination attempt. They
couldn’t very well name the culprits to be a centuries-old secret brotherhood,
steeped in shadow, enigma, and fell magic.

“Why don’t we take a break from your exercises,” Ogden
suggested. “I have some exciting news. It’s about your sword, which is of Eurinthian
design, and is called a
Dashin
in their tongue.”

Elias turned from the window, his interest piqued. “What
have you discovered?”

Ogden produced a small leather book from a sleeve in his
voluminous robes. The wizard normally garbed himself in the courtier fashion of
the day—a doublet and a linen or silk shirt with barrel-sleeves, and close
fitted breeches of spun wool or cotton—but in the privacy of his own rooms
Ogden donned the garb of his order, the simple robes that seemed synonymous
with his vocation. “I borrowed this book from a colleague at Arcalum. It is a
treatise on Eurinthian magic and forging techniques. It has been difficult to
translate for it is an old volume penned in archaic Erastean. I have not been
able to determine the precise meaning of the runes branded into your arm and
etched on your sword, but I am reasonably sure, based on comparison to similar
symbols, that they are indicative of warding magic.”

Elias glanced at his forearm. “Warding, eh?”

“Any protective magic falls into the warding school. The Eurinthian
crafters of old folded their steel hundreds of times and they cast spells
directly into the molten metal. They also added a mystic powder of unspecified
origin to the ore that was said to lighten and increase the durability of the
steel, which also gives the blades their unique blue tint. It was their usual
habit to etch characters onto the base of the blade either as an identifying
mark or inscription. Sometimes though, these runes were arcane symbols
containing additional enchantments. These runes, I believe, indicate a special
kind of warding magic that protects the wielder by absorbing magical energy
directed at him.”

“I was right!”

“Indeed. However, the brand on your arm is where we depart
from conventional knowledge of Eurinthian crafting technique. This book
contains no such precedent, and my colleague, who is something of an Eurinthian
historian, has never heard of such a thing either.”

“Well, what’s your best guess?”

Ogden closed the book. “For one it means that sword is no run-of-the-mill
magical weapon, but we knew that. What I think is that in some way we don’t yet
comprehend you and this sword have been linked. This may mean that the warding
magic bound to the sword has been bound to you as well and will protect you
even if you are not wielding the weapon. Or it could mean that you have the
ability to unlock this artifact’s true potential.”

“Artifact?”

“I say artifact, because this sword may very well have
functions beyond that of a weapon—magnificent a weapon though it is. I’ve been
thinking a lot since thumbing through this book. I thought about how you told
me that you believe Slade’s primary reason for ambushing your family was to get
his hands on that sword. Why would he go through such trouble and risk exposing
himself and his sect for a sword, even an enchanted one? The sword that your
father carried was worth all that, which must mean it has qualities we haven’t
even guessed at.”

“You know, I never really stopped to think how Slade tracked
the sword to my father. I figured that Slade meeting Macallister like he did
was a coincidence for the greedy bastard, but maybe it wasn’t a coincidence at
all.”

Ogden shrugged his eyebrows. “Perhaps Slade’s quest for the
sword led him to believe it fell into the hands of a Marshal and he used
Macallister to confirm the fact before setting out to Knoll Creek.”

“Come to think of it,” Elias said slowly, “my mother used to
keep my dad’s coat and sword on a rack in the den, like some people put antique
suits of armor on display. When I was a child Macallister was visiting and
offered to buy the sword as a decorative piece. My father refused and that very
night locked the sword and his coat in a footlocker where they had remained all
these years until I opened it.”

“Curious. Your father may have suspected the blade’s true
potential after all, but he didn’t have brands on his arm like you do. Now your
father knew more about the arcane and enchanted items than you did, but the
sword activated for you, not him. The question is why. I believe that it’s
because your father was not an Innate, but you are.”

“Is that even possible?”

Ogden let out a sigh. “I don’t really know as there is no
official documentation of anything like this in our libraries, but it makes
sense to me. History suggests that there was a greater percentage of Innates in
antiquity and this sword is very, very old. This artifact may have been
designed to respond to an Innate. The magic bound to it recognized that you are
an Innate and thus in turn bound its magic to your own.”

Elias grew a bit alarmed. He rested his hand on the pommel
of his sword. “Are you saying this thing is alive?”

Ogden snorted. “Not hardly, son—but in a way the magic bound
to it is. Energy in some sense is alive, and the law of attraction, which
states like attracts like, is one of the ultimate laws of science and of magic.
The Eurinthian, for one, believe that the human consciousness is itself a form
of energy, which leaves the body when we die. Considering their views on the
arcane and the cosmos, it makes sense that they would use magic in this way.”

Elias looked at his blade with a newfound respect. “What
does this mean for me?”

“If my deductions are correct, it means that a kind of
energetic loop exists between you and the sword. Thus, you may be able to use
the sword to augment your own power, or vice versa. Since this sword is capable
of absorbing and storing magical energy you may be able to siphon off that
magical energy and use it to your own ends, or even store a spell of your own
in it to utilize at a later time.”

“When I used it against the assassins though, I cast the
same spell Macallister used on me.”

“Yes,” replied Ogden, waving his hands animatedly, “but
perhaps that is because it was what you thought would happen. You expected that
result, and so you got it. Using your powers as an Innate you shaped the magic
to fit your will.”

Elias smiled at the erratic old man that he had grown to
love dearly in his few weeks at the palace. “You’re making it sound like this
is the discovery of the century.”

“It may very well be! At this point we have my conjecture
and more questions than answers, but who knows of what this sword is capable.”

Elias eyed his blade and wondered. Since taking it up it had
come to feel a part of him, an extension of arm and will, and not once had he
taken it for granted, but Ogden’s research indicated that this
Dashin
may not be just a formidable sword but a potent magical artifact as well. “In
that case,” Elias said with a shrug, “perhaps we should try it out.”

Ogden offered him a wolfish grin. “My sentiments exactly.”

For their first experiment Ogden flourished his hands and
spoke a handful of vowel laden words. Bolts of yellow energy lanced from his
fingertips and struck the blue-tinted steel of the
Dashin’s
blade. Elias
felt the sword push against him as it recoiled slightly from the bolts, but he
was able to maintain his hold on it with relative ease. Ripples of energy
coursed along the length of the blade and took on the color of the steel. Elias
hazarded a touch to the blade after the undulating currents of energy ceased. “It
feels warm to the touch,” he observed.

“Now,” said the wizard, “do whatever it was you did in the great
hall to summon the magic, but envision a different spell than the one I have
just used. And be careful. The spell I used was a rather weak one, designed to
stun, but I have no desire to have its power turned on my books or shelves.” Ogden
pointed at the wall behind his laboratory apparatus on the far side of the
sizeable chamber that served as his study. “Direct it over there—the wall is
warded against explosions and resistant to magic.”

Elias turned back to Ogden. “No one has ever thought it
strange that a Steward has a laboratory in his rooms and so many books?”

Ogden shrugged his eyebrows. “It is well-known that I
studied alchemy and history at university, and I have something of a reputation
as an eccentric, though no one has expected me a wizard. Sometimes the best
place to hide is plain sight. Now, no more stalling. Get to it.”

“Just do what I did in the great hall.” Elias took a deep
breath, leveled his blade at the wall, focused his will along its length and cried,
“
Feora!
”

The surface of the steel roiled with waves of energy. The
hairs on Elias’s arm stood on end and he felt a faint tugging at the center of
his chest. A jet of silver-blue flame lanced from the sword, issuing from the
point of the single-edged blade, while tongues of pale flame licked along the
entire length of the steel. The hilt of the sword pushed against his hands,
like a prolonged recoil of a crossbow.

After nigh a quarter-minute (which felt a good deal longer
to Elias) the outpour of fire ceased, leaving a sooty scorch mark on an
otherwise unharmed granite wall. Tongues of bluish flame continued to roll
along the sword from guard to point. Elias turned to Ogden and brandished the
blade, face flush with excitement. “It worked!”

“I can see that. Now, put that thing away!” After Elias
complied, Ogden mused aloud as he rubbed at his chin. “Yes, Yes, it would appear
that my hunch is correct—the blade does not merely store the spell it absorbs,
but rather raw magical energy which it can then convert to a different medium. More
than that, the spell cast from the blade was more powerful that the one it
absorbed, which means one of two things. One, that the blade’s enchantment
serves also to magnify the magic it absorbs, or, two, that there is an
energetic loop between you and the
Dashin
and you bolstered the effect
with your own power.”

“Which do you think it is?”

“My guess is the second. When a wizard turns or reflects a
spell back, a significant portion of the energy of the turned spell is consumed
in the process. Never have I heard of a spell that can reflect another and magnify
its power. Think of a rock that is thrown against the wall. It may bounce off
but not with near as much force as the original throw, because much of the
kinetic energy is transferred into the wall. Actually, in truth, reflecting a
spell back at the caster is magic of the highest order, and only wizards of
great skill can manage the task at all.”

“Huh,” Elias mused. “Although, even you cannot guess at this
blades origin, and it may function outside of the parameters of magic as we
understand them.”

“Point taken, but don’t sell yourself short. By whatever
arcane science this weapon is ruled, you have awoken in it a power that has
gone unutilized for perhaps centuries. God alone knows how long that thing sat
in the treasury with no one guessing its true potential. I notice that you cast
the same spell as you did the night you fought the assassins. Was it your
intent?”