The Legend of Asahiel: Book 02 - The Obsidian Key (19 page)

Hung around the hilt was the Pendant.

Soric smiled. “Well done, my assassin. Well done indeed.” He turned to Raven, who swallowed thickly. “So, my good captain. It would seem you have nothing else with which to barter.”

The pirate looked to his own crossbow, leveled before him, aimed now at the wizard. But the air went out of him, as even he seemed to realize how pointless was his stance. His arm tightened protectively around Autumn’s shoulders.

“No?” Soric asked. “Then perhaps you and your men would be good enough to remain as my guests, until you have had such time as to reconsider my previous offer.”

The wizard raised a finger, and his soldiers took action, quickly disarming both Pike and Flambard and pinning their arms behind them. Madrach himself took Raven’s crossbow with a laugh.

“The box,” Soric said.

Spar glared as if to tear the wizard asunder, but closed the hinged lid and latched it shut. He posed no struggle as Soric stepped forward and slid the container from his grasp.

“Madrach.”

“Yes, my lord?”

“The lady, I’m sure, will be more comfortable in my tower. Find quarter for the rest within our dungeon.”

“Yes, my lord.”

There was a jostling from Flambard, and another growl from Black Spar, as the soldiers closed ranks. Raven tightened his grip on Autumn.

“My brother is to remain unharmed,” Soric clarified. “As to the others, gut whoever resists.”

That ended the lingering protests. Even Raven remained still as Autumn was jerked from his embrace.

“Welcome, all of you.” The wizard smiled, clapping Talyzar on the shoulder.

“My lord,” said Madrach, when all had been gathered. “Permission to sack the
Squall
?”

Soric considered. “To what end?”

Madrach blinked as if confused. “To safeguard against a rescue, my lord. We would gain additional prisoners, and loot. There might be treasures—”

“I see no reason to risk the lives of my guardsmen for the price of a few trinkets,” the wizard replied, waving the request aside. “Let those who remain keep their plunder. There will be no rescue. My guess is they will not wait long before hoisting anchor and setting forth like whipped pups.”

“Indeed,” Talyzar whispered, turning a heated stare in the mercenary’s direction. “They have done so already. The moment I brought these others ashore.”

“There, you see?” Soric snickered. “Such is the valor of thieves. Away now, Captain. See to my orders.”

Madrach cast a wary eye in Talyzar’s direction, trying hard to appear neither cowed nor crestfallen. His flagging spirits lifted when he turned to find Raven his captive. “Carry out,” he barked, and the procession started forward, back into the wizard’s keep.

Though he received a rough shove for doing so, Torin twice glanced back at those just behind him. One was for Autumn, who met his look with a faint smile devoid of concern—a simpleton, perhaps, lacking the capacity to understand. The other was for a stooped Raven, and the headstrong pirate’s masterful plan.

S
ORIC’S GAZE SWEPT THE STONE TABLET,
marking carefully each dusty rune, though he had all but committed its verse to memory. Too long had he waited for this. This very night, he meant to finish it. He would not risk that anything should go awry.

Twenty-one years had he prepared, through exploration and study. Closer now to twenty-two. For this was merely a continuation of what had begun decades ago, when he had been escorted from the court of his father like a common brigand. Once Torin was gone, he might finally lay to rest the demons that plagued him, and give thought to the renewal of his rightful conquest.

It would be easy enough to assemble another army and to repeat the strategy and troop movement that had met with such success the last time he had invaded Alson’s shores. This time, there would be no upstart rivals—no secret heirs, no army of dragonborn, no demon avatars—with which to contend for his throne. Not only would his resistance be weakened, but his own powers would be even more formidable, given these added months during which he had honed his craft—and that he would soon be adding a Sword of Asahiel to his arsenal. And the pirate, Red Raven, should he be properly persuaded, might make a noteworthy ally, capable of rallying a fleet of ships to plunder the coastline and pave the way for a more direct landing.

But all of that remained open to planning and debate. Eggs before fowl, the wizard thought with a shake of his head. Banish his usurper. Torment him with isolation and exile. Serve unto him a dose of the bitter loneliness and unimaginable suffering that had shaped his own life. Should he never lay claim to his birthright, this alone might bring him peace.

Strange it was: the depth of his feelings, the strength of his resentment. He had thought himself evolved beyond such pettiness. But returning to his homeland, seeing how life had progressed without him, had stirred emotions long since buried. And there was nothing petty about survival. Let others label him evil, should they so choose. Nature did not distinguish between right and wrong, good and evil—only strong from weak, predator from prey. With the perception of evil came fear. With fear, respect. That was all he demanded from his fellow man.

He eased away from the tablet and closed his eyes. His victories this day
had made him heady, sapping his focus. He would have to settle his churning thoughts and emotions if he meant to do this. What he intended was no simple cantrip or dweomer, but a channeling of mental energies through all ten sephiroth, clear to the ascending plane of the Carafix of Life. To do so was well within the range of his abilities, but not an exercise to be taken lightly. The slightest misstep or uncertainty could wreak havoc upon him, both mentally and physically. He would have to be ready.

He stepped back, seating himself upon an altar of granite, carved from the floor of the chamber. Discipline. It had served him so well—saved him, really. He would not let it desert him now.

Before he could begin a deeper meditation, there came a tug at one of the lines of magic with which he warded his keep. Moments later, Xarius Talyzar stepped through the open portal to this subterranean chamber, and bowed his head in greeting.

“I pray I’m not interrupting,” the assassin remarked with unusual courtesy.

Soric sighed. “I welcome the diversion. Come,” he said, waving the other forward.

Talyzar strode to within a pace before stopping and bowing again. He glanced down at the tablet on its broken, lichen-covered pedestal. “An incantation?”

“Which I’m preparing especially for our guests,” the wizard confirmed. “One of them, anyway.”

“Do I even wish to know?”

“Why ruin the surprise?” Soric smiled. When the assassin smiled with him, concealed as he was within the shadow of his cowl, the wizard knew for certain something was amiss. “What can I do for you, Talyzar?”

“My actions. They have met with your approval?”

“You know they have. Since when does that concern you?”

“I was thinking of our arrangement.”

“Ah yes,” the wizard said. He should have known at once. “The Kronus boy. Your young rival.”

Talyzar tensed. “The whelp you requested is yours. His blade as well.”

“And so you seek your leave to hunt down this rogue and repay his insult.”

“For a time only,” the assassin assured him.

“But how much time, Talyzar? That is my concern.”

“If you would allow me to question your brother—”

“You believe he can tell you something our spies did not already uncover? As I recall, there was no great secret to the youth’s departure. None knew his destination because he himself did not.”

The assassin clenched his teeth. “I will find him.”

“Of that I’ve no doubt, my raptorial nightbird. But at what profit to me? Should you find the youth, will you be able to defeat him this time? Either death—his or yours—merits me nothing.”

“It would assure you a faithful servant,” Talyzar hissed.

“I have that already, do I not?” Soric glared into the other’s hood, daring contradiction.

“I’ve done all you asked, and more.”

“Indeed you have. But the time is not yet right. After this night, we resume measures for our return to the east. I may have need of you.”

“A man such as you thrives on making enemies. Until that changes, there will always be a need for me.”

Soric chuckled. “That may be. Though let us not confuse
use
with necessity. Bear with me, Talyzar, awhile longer. Your vagabond pup is most likely to show up once he learns of the fate we shall bring to his friend’s kingdom. You need not waste your time—and mine—giving chase.”

The assassin did not respond, but stood there simmering. Soric hoped he had not pushed the other too far. He would hate to have to destroy him.

Still, it would not do to have one of his dogs testing its leash, lest the rest follow. His vaults—those of this ancient stronghold he had discovered—were filled with more wealth than he might spend in a lifetime. But coin went only so far toward keeping men like Talyzar and Madrach in check. As with all men, it was more important that they know and accept their place.

“Have you another task in mind then?” the assassin asked finally.

“Yes. Take some rest. Seek comfort, whatever you may find within these walls. You have earned it.”

Talyzar bowed once more, his deepest yet, before gliding from the room like the wraith for which he was named.

When the other had gone, Soric took a deep breath of the stale air here in the bowels of his keep. Time was wasting. After all this, he would not risk that anything should go wrong. To make certain, he intended to lay forth the entire procedure ahead of time, so that he would have only to trigger it later. It was the best way, he assured himself, yet it meant he had that many more preparations to make.

Sharpening his focus, he took to his feet and set about his tasks.

T
HE DOOR TO THEIR PRISON SLAMMED SHUT
with a resounding thud that sent shivers through the cavern stone. When it faded, all that could be heard was the scrape and clank of men dangling in their metal cuffs. Six of them, all told. From the corner of his eye, Torin watched the others huff and grunt, twisting uncomfortably. Raven and Black Spar, Pike and Flambard, and a battered Keel Haul—all swaying like suspended candle holders in a storm-wracked house.

The reverberations of their guards’ departure had barely expired when Raven broke the near-silence. “Why didn’t you tell me this wizard was your brother?”

Torin lifted his head. “Why didn’t you tell me Madrach was yours?”

Raven’s features soured, then broke in a snorting laugh. “I suppose that’s only fair.”

Nothing about this was fair, Torin thought, but offered instead, “It makes no difference now, does it?”

The cast of their surroundings was gray and damp, permeated like all else by the chill of the sea that cradled this mountain rock. Once inside the wizard’s stronghold, they had been led through a series of tunnels that bur
rowed downward through the isle’s heart. They had ended up in this mostly natural cavern, a rugged hollow shaped with clefts and ridges and broken bits of crumbling stone.

“Perhaps not,” Raven agreed, glancing up into darkness, to where his chains were anchored to the cavern ceiling. “Though perhaps we should share our stories now, just in case.”

Before he could object, Torin coughed, his lungs rejecting the oily black smoke that drifted from a loose array of pole-mounted cressets sheltering them from absolute darkness. By the time he’d overcome his fit, he lacked the will to deny the pirate his meaningless request.

“I’ve nothing more to reveal,” he sighed. “He was exiled before my birth, sold into slavery at the age of twelve for attempting to poison his father the king. I don’t know how he escaped, or how he learned the craft he now wields. I never knew him at all until our paths crossed during his invasion of Alson.”

“Where he found you sitting his throne.”

“In a manner of speaking,” Torin allowed, having no desire to delve further simply to explain the truth of things.

Raven was quiet for a moment before responding. “Madrach is my younger. We used to sail together, up until four years ago, when he led a failed mutiny against me. Because he’s my brother, I would not have him killed, but turned him out to fend for himself.”

For some reason, the pirate captain was swaying a great deal more than the others as he squirmed against his restraints, though Torin paid this little heed.

“Since then,” Raven continued, panting from his efforts, “I’d heard only rumors of his dealings. Most had him roaming the coastal lands of Yawacor as the leader of his own mercenary band. I’m assuming that’s how your wizard found him.”

And why, Torin realized, when the wizard needed someone to carry out his abduction, Madrach had gone to Raven. He scoffed at the irony. In effect, they were both here because of grudges held against them by their siblings. “Perhaps
they
should have been brothers, and left us out of it.”

“Perhaps.” Raven laughed. “It’s been my experience that siblings make for the closest companions, or the fiercest rivals.” As he twisted around on his chain, he fixed Torin with a knowing stare. “I suspected there was something more to your relationship, to have fostered in the wizard such a deep feeling of insult.”

“Yes, well, now you know.”

“Then let us strike a bargain, here and now,” Raven proposed. “Whatever else happens, we will trust in one another to see the other delivered from his brother’s menace.”

Torin bit his lip to keep from laughing aloud. Just what was the man thinking? They were trapped, strung up like sides of beef in a butcher’s salt-house. Buried in a hive of rock in the middle of the ocean, secluded from the outside world. Even if they could escape their bonds, even if they could fight
their way past Madrach’s soldiers and the wizard himself, their ship had fled, leaving them no way off this reef.

No, their only hope was for Darinor to come for them, to follow the emanations of the Pendant’s chain to these misbegotten shores. Which, as he’d already decided, could only happen too late.

Still, the very idea of an angry Darinor showing up on Soric’s doorstep was cause for a grim smile, such that, for a moment, he forgot his predicament altogether.

He came to at the sound of a sharp click, followed by the quick and sudden descent of Raven dropping free to the floor.

For the span of several heartbeats, Torin merely gaped, while the captain rubbed his wrists and got to his feet. Only when he moved away did Torin begin to stammer, glancing back and forth between the pirate and his empty manacles. “How…how did you—”

“A minor talent,” Raven assured him, brushing his escape aside as casually as he had the matter of his phantom ships. He fetched the stool used moments ago to hang each of them in place from the ceiling chains. “Do we have our bargain?”

Torin checked the reactions of the other pirates. Pike and Kell were shaking their heads in wonderment, more relieved than surprised, as if they should never have doubted their captain. Flambard flashed Torin a cruel grin. Black Spar, to whom Raven went first with a pair of lock picks, grunted for the other to hurry.

“I apologize,” Raven said, more to his men than to Torin, “for not taking each of you into my confidence. I felt where the wizard was concerned, it was best to keep things quiet. A man can’t reveal what he doesn’t know.”

Torin did not bother trying to hide his astonishment. “You planned this?”

“Me and my relief captains—Black Spar and Mackerel,” Raven admitted. Spar’s cuffs came free, and together the pair moved stool and lock picks over to Pike. “Of course, I hadn’t counted on the wizard shredding two of my skiffs and leaving me eight men short. Nor did I foresee our stowaway. Sneaky one, that. But old Spar was to come ashore with your blade anyway, under pretense of selling it—and me—out to the wizard.”

Torin’s mind worked frantically. “But why? Once you turned me over, the Sword was your only leverage.”

“Even had we made it back to our ship,” Raven replied, working ceaselessly, “the wizard wasn’t going to let us off this isle. We’re inside, lad. We’d never have gotten this far had we tried to force our way.”

A scrape, and Pike joined the ranks of the free. The whole operation shifted to Flambard, gaining momentum, like a snowball rolling downhill.

Could it be? Torin wondered, hesitant to take anything from this group at face value. He had supposed the pirate’s latest overtures to be those of a desperate man forced into collusion with any possible ally. Since Raven’s plan had failed, he was perhaps hoping Torin would have another. But if it was true that all of this had been but a ruse intended to help infiltrate the wizard’s keep…

“So what now?” Torin snickered. “We fight our way free? We’re weaponless, outnumbered, and with no way off this rock, thanks to your shipmates having deserted us.”

This brought scowls and snarls from both Black Spar and Flambard as the group worked now on Kell.

But Raven would not be troubled. “The wizard holds all the advantages, right? Good. That’s what I want him to think. The numbers I didn’t count on, but we’ll have to make do. And we’ve not been deserted. As for weapons, that was why we smuggled your blade inside—not quite as planned, but I won’t argue results.”