The fall of skullkeep, p.6
The Fall of Skullkeep, page 6
The sound of approaching horses pulled Cyn out of her thoughts, and she lifted her eyes. The road—more like a grassy track—wound around a thick copse of trees maybe twenty-five yards ahead, and while she could hear the horses, she couldn’t see them yet. In a split-second decision, she nudged Trickster with her right knee and applied just a little pull on the left rein. He obliged by turning off the road and disappearing into the brush. She stopped him and dismounted, dashing back out with a branch to brush out fifty feet or so. Since the road was more grass than dirt, there weren’t too many actual tracks, but she didn’t want whoever was coming to see immediate signs of her passage. Then, she ducked back into the underbrush to return to Trickster.
She led him deeper into the forest, picking the deepest shadows while keeping him calm and quiet. Part of her wanted to know who it was. She was—at most—a day south of Hope’s Pass; she passed the last outer ring of army sentries a couple of days ago and hadn’t seen any true patrols for the better part of two days before that. Her gut told her it was a group from Skullkeep… or one of the less-savory mercenary groups. To hear them and have enough time to mask the trail a little bit and disappear into the forest meant there was decent number of them, and even as good as she was, any confrontation with them would not go well for her. Far better to disappear into the shadowy woods and do her best to keep them from ever realizing she passed them.
As she put more and more distance and trees between her and the road, the sound of the large group of horses faded, and she angled Trickster back toward her destination. She wasn’t sure if the forest ran past the plain where Hope’s Pass opened into Mivar Province, but she didn’t want to miss it and have to backtrack. She hated backtracking… either literally or figuratively.
Gavin leaned back against his seat as he stared at the notes and diagrams arrayed on the table in front of him. The Wraiths had never let him or Marcus down—at least, that he knew—but at the same time, he felt uneasy at relying on them to ensure the destruction of the Necromancer’s soul jar. There were too many variables, too many ways that mission could go horribly wrong. After all, they were supposed to collect general intelligence on Skullkeep and its forces while searching for the soul jar. If they were discovered without completing the necessary directive, then the Old Alliance needed a contingency.
Gavin’s mind flitted to the Middle East village he had encountered during his time back on Earth. He did not like the idea of introducing nuclear weapons to Drakmoor. People feared wizards—the world’s true arcanists—far too much for his liking, and he didn’t want to add to any fuel to that fire.
No… the Old Alliance needed a viable contingency.
Gavin heaved a sigh. There was nothing for it. He needed to visit an old friend of the family.
“Hartley!”
The Citadel’s spectral majordomo faded into existence at his elbow, saying, “You bellowed, Milord?”
“If anyone comes looking for me, I’m going to visit an old friend, and once I finish there, I’ll probably nip over to Vushaar to visit Kiri.”
Hartley nodded his translucent head once. “Of course, Milord. I shall tell anyone who asks that you have fled the Citadel for more congenial territory.”
Gavin responded with a chuckle. “You’re incorrigible, Hartley. Has anyone ever told you that?”
“I am getting on in centuries, Milord. I’m sure I have no way to know.”
A gateway delivered Gavin to the approach toward a ruined castle in central Vushaar. To his cursory examination, nothing seemed to have changed. He walked through the gateway with its inscription in an ancient—now dead—language, crossed the courtyard, and trudged up the steps of the collapsing keep.
The moment he set foot inside the keep, Gavin called out, “Ho, Othron! Have time for a visit?”
He felt a Conjuration effect wash over him, then Othron’s reply, “I always have time for friends, Kirloth. Please, join me.”
Gavin crossed to the sole remaining room of the keep that had not yet surrendered to the ravages of time, just as a section of its wall pulled back and slid to one side. He made his way down the stairs and soon arrived in the cavernous space the world’s oldest lich called home.
“It hasn’t been that long since we crossed paths, my friend,” Othron said as he greeted Gavin and ushered him into a plush armchair. “What brings you all this way?”
“I dispatched five Wraiths to investigate Skullkeep and provide general intelligence on the fortress and its garrison,” Gavin began, “but their main objective is to locate the Necromancer’s soul jar and be ready to destroy it on command. I trust he would notice its destruction?”
Othron chuckled amid a clacking of teeth and bones. “Oh, yes, my friend. He most certainly would. Now, if one of your people were a bit overzealous and destroyed it before we were ready, all is not lost. It would take him a year and a day to craft a replacement, and during that time, he would be supremely vulnerable.”
Gavin nodded his understanding. “That is certainly a boon, but I’ve always been a ‘belt and suspenders’ guy.”
“Belt and suspenders? I’m afraid I don’t understand the reference.”
“Oh, my apologies. It’s a phrase from my birth world. Back home there are two methods for holding a person’s pants up… belts and suspenders. Suspenders are elastic bands with clips or buttons that attach to the pants and go over the person’s shoulders. If someone says they’re a belt and suspenders person—”
“Then, they like the insurance of multiple methods,” Othron concluded. “Yes, I see. Very descriptive. How can I help?”
“I would like to examine you through my skathos to see if I can detect the link to your soul jar. If I can, I want to examine it and see what I can learn about it. I’m not planning anything invasive that might interfere with the link, and I won’t even try without your permission.”
Othron sat in silence for several moments. “If it were anyone else, Kirloth, I would not respond well or kindly. As the years have passed, I have noticed myself becoming increasingly reluctant to do anything that might threaten my continued existence. It’s… well… after all this time, I have no interest in learning whether an afterlife awaits me. That’s the risk to existing forever, you see; after a time, ensuring your existence continues becomes the only thought in one’s mind. Please, proceed.”
Gavin closed his eyes and concentrated on his skathos. Even here, deep within the earth, he sensed the heightened level of power Drakmoor acquired through his return from what locals termed the Refugee World. At first, he didn’t notice anything untoward or different. But… as he quieted his mind and damped down the radiance of his own power, he found it. A faint swirling thread that connected the skeletal form in front of him to something off in the distance. He concentrated on that link and decided the other terminus wasn’t more than thirty yards away.
“Your soul jar is thirty yards or less that way,” Gavin said after several moments of silence as he pointed.
Othron reacted as if slapped. “By the gods, Gavin… no one has ever discerned the link to my soul jar before. I honestly didn’t think you’d do it.”
Still submerged within his skathos, Gavin devoted his full focus to the link. He didn’t touch it or attempt to manipulate it any way, but he did everything in his power to examine it otherwise.
“Huh…that’s kind of weird,” he said after several moments of silence.
“What?” Othron asked. “What’s weird?”
“Nature’s Protector basically kidnapped Lillian and Mariana when I sent them north to visit those members of the Old Alliance, and when I went to discuss the situation with him, he turned out to be a priest or something of Milthas and called forth his god to chastise me for my arrogance. Milthas animated a statue in his ruined temple, and I severed a link to that statue that was very similar to this link to your soul jar. At the time, I thought severing the link severed Milthas’s connection to Lornithar, but what if it didn’t? What if severing that link cut Milthas’s soul off from his body and, then by destroying the statue, I killed him?”
“That is a rather scary proposition,” Othron remarked. “I don’t know how many dark elves there are on the far side of the Godswall Mountains, but if you did kill Milthas, I’d imagine they’re a bit wroth with you. That was Lornithar’s major mistake, in terms of the pantheon he raised. Unlike Valthon in the wake of the Godswar, Lornithar didn’t grant those deities he raised true, independent power. They were all… well… extensions of him, for lack of a better term. That was why Valthon asked us not to kill any of them at the time; he was concerned how that would affect the unraveling of reality that created such things as arcane magic.”
“Oh.” Someone really should have told him that he wasn’t supposed to kill any of Lornithar’s pantheon… assuming that’s actually what he did in his confrontation with Milthas in Arundel. “Uhm… I should probably investigate that. Consult with my boss or some such.”
Othron barked a laugh. “Well, it has been long enough now that I would assume someone would’ve discussed the matter with you, if you did something you shouldn’t. Did you get what you need?”
Gavin nodded. “Yes, I think so. I wish I could actually test whatever solution I develop, but I’m not about to risk you… and any other test would risk alerting the Necromancer to the idea. I don’t know that would grant him the ability to counter it, but why help him make my life difficult? I hate to chat and run, but would you forgive me if I went back to work more on this?”
“Of course, I’ll forgive you. The Necromancer is the greatest threat we shall encounter; I do not begrudge you wanting to be as prepared as possible to face him.”
“Thank you, Othron. I appreciate your help today.”
Othron stood with Gavin and walked with him to the staircase. “Think nothing of it. I would consider it a favor if you would ensure whatever notes or diagrams or thoughts you record do not survive this endeavor. I don’t know that I have any enemies after all this time, but… well…”
Gavin smiled. “No one will ever know what I’ve discovered, Othron. I give you my word on that.”
The lich clapped Gavin on his shoulder and nodded his thanks once more. Then, Gavin climbed the stairs to reach the ground floor of the ruined keep, whereupon he opened a gateway and left Othron’s keep behind. He needed to collect his thoughts before visiting Kiri.
Upon arriving in the Citadel, Gavin gathered the notes and diagrams that he’d left on the table in the sitting room. A short walk delivered him to the private study that not even Hartley dared enter. There, with fresh sheets of unblemished parchment plus his stylus and inkpot, Gavin proceeded to transcribe all his observations and thoughts regarding the link he observed between Othron and his soul jar. As soon as that was complete, he wrapped those sheets in a powerful protection that would destroy them beyond any reconstruction if anyone other than he himself ever touched them. The protection further extended to encrypting the text and drawing to prevent people from reading them from afar. He valued his friendship with Othron and Othron’s trust in him too much to risk those notes getting loose in the wild.
He leaned back in his seat, considering his thoughts. He still couldn’t escape the desire for a test of some kind, and in truth, Xartham was available. All reports pointed toward him being a rather unsavory individual, too. But no matter how much he desired a test of his plan, he couldn’t bring himself to essentially declare war on someone who had never done wrong to him or anyone he termed ‘his.’
Beyond that, he had no idea where Xartham was or whether Xartham and the Necromancer kept in contact. If they communicated often, the sudden disappearance of his mentor might put the Necromancer on his guard or otherwise make their task more difficult.
No.
For now, he would continue working up his idea and doing what he could to learn and research whether his actions in Arundel had killed Milthas in truth or simply left him as a mere mortal elf as he originally surmised. Based on the surprising similarity between the two arcane threads, Gavin felt studying that outcome might be as fruitful as his conversation and work with Othron.
Now, he just had to determine how to research an event that happened something like two years in the past…
CHAPTER 7
The Cavaliers milling about the palace courtyard no longer gave it a second thought when Gavin appeared out of nowhere. Yes, they tensed, but as soon as they recognized him for who he was, they went back to their activities.
Gavin paid them no mind, beyond waving hello, as he crossed the courtyard and took the steps into the palace two at a time. Unlike his first visit to the palace, the halls and corridors were familiar to him now, old hat even. The large anteroom where petitioners waited for Varne to announce the King’s court stood empty, and he paused a moment to consider the best option for finding his wife. Considering it was late afternoon, he didn’t think they would still be holding court, but it never hurt to check.
A short walk delivered him to the doors that allowed petitioners and guests into the throne room, but only one Cavalier stood there. If court had still been in session, Varne—the Royal Herald—and at least one more Cavalier would have occupied the area.
“Looking for Her Highness, Milord?” the Cavalier asked.
Gavin nodded. “I didn’t think they’d still be holding court, but if I hadn’t checked, they would’ve been.”
“Ain’t that always the case,” the Cavalier agreed. “No. T’weren’t too many petitioners this morning, and they wrapped it up rather quick like. But since it’s still some time a’fore the evening bell, yer best bet is their offices in the administration wing.”
“Gotcha, thanks. Have a good day,” Gavin replied.
“You as well, Milord,” the Cavalier intoned as Gavin pivoted on his heel and strode back the way he came.
Past the door where Terris held his war councils during the siege, Gavin strode deeper into that section of the palace and arrived at a door almost covered with Cavaliers. They snapped to attention at Gavin’s approach, and he smiled.
“Stand easy,” Gavin said. “So, I guess I’ve found my wife and father-in-law.”
One of the Cavaliers nodded. “Ye’d be right in that, Milord, plus a gaggle of city nobles.”
Just then, raised voices carried through what Gavin knew to be a very thick door. He held zero doubt whatsoever that Kiri could protect herself and her father after Declan’s tutelage and her near-daily practice, but the thought of someone raising his voice—for the raised voice was certainly male—to her or her father sent his mind down dark paths.
“I think I’ll step inside,” Gavin remarked, and more than one Cavalier shuddered at the cold, merciless tone his voice now held. A tone many had come to associate with Kirloth. Forming a clear image of his intent was beyond reflex now, and he invoked a Word of Transmutation, “Zyrhaek.”
A faint aura of amber shimmered across the hinges and latch just before Gavin swung open the door in utter silence.
“I’m telling you now, Your Highness, that rabid fool you call a husband won’t always be around to protect you and His Majesty, and while Fallon means well, he’s just a mage. You’d be far better off to set both aside and choose a consort who can provide you real protection.”
Gavin gestured for Kiri and Terris to remain silent and keep their seats as he entered the room behind the handful of nobles standing between their desks and the door into the office.
“Rabid fool, am I?” Gavin asked. The nobles froze, and Gavin smiled when the backs of their necks went pale. In his experience, it took a serious fright for the back of a person’s neck to pale. “It has always been the thought in my mind that ‘rabid’ implied a certain lack of control, as if one would attack anything that moved. Now, if my understanding about the term ‘rabid’ is correct, your rather unkind characterization of me certainly could not be accurate, because you still live. Would you agree with my assessment?”
Gavin watched the speaker’s jaw work, but he heard no sound.
Terris’s expression was not kind at all. “I think this latest stratagem was ill-considered on your part, and if you leave right now, I might decide not to give the Archmagister your names.”
The nobles turned almost as one, and Gavin took one step to the side, unblocking the door. In almost the blink of an eye, the nobles fled the office, sounding like a stampede of large animals as they put as much distance between them and Gavin in as short amount of time as possible.
“Are they any threat to either of you?” Gavin asked.
Terris chuckled. “They wish they were, but no. I have people watching them and their social circles, but so far, it’s all talk and bluster.”
Gavin shrugged. “As long as it remains talk and bluster, I’ll leave them be.”
Terris quirked one eyebrow upward. “You know, Gavin, my family survived for quite a few years before you arrived. You don’t need to feel as though you have to handle every threat that arises.”
Gavin smiled as Terris broke into a smile of his own, but Gavin’s mind went straight to Marcus’s journals and the numerous accounts of his mentor foiling plots against the Vushaari crown. The Vushaari king during the Godswar had saved Marcus’s life, and the old wizard never forgot that. In the end, Gavin decided it was better to let Terris enjoy his illusions.
“Of course, Terris. I’ll leave it in your capable hands.”
Now, Kiri quirked an eyebrow, and Gavin knew she’d ask him about it later. Ah, well… he had no secrets from his wife, merely topics he hadn’t discussed with her yet.
