“It is not the demon-cursed scourge that impels the prophecy, but the might of the Maker’s cleansing power. Oh, I have spoken with the purifiers. I know that the scourge fire cannot be embedded in a blade, and the afflicted cannot brace the fire to the blade long enough to satisfy the remainder of the prophecy. It is proof that the Maker’s grace and the blood of a mighty ruler of Gendishen is that which will bring forth the glory foretold in the prophecy.”
“What is the remainder of the prophecy?” Rezkin asked. Although the beginning was common knowledge, a story told in legends, the final passages of the prophecy had been kept secret for so long, most believed them forever lost.
The king’s gaze cleared as if night had abruptly turned to day. “It is none of your concern.” He shook a finger at Rezkin and said, “Do not think I am unaware of what happened to my men. You came up from the coast where three purifiers and a double patrol disappeared, ten of them turned to stone! As soon as I was told of your arrival, I knew it was you! You and that demon cursed!”
Rezkin shrugged with nonchalance and said, “We were on a peaceful, diplomatic mission, during which we were unjustly detained and assaulted on our way to meet with you, the king. We had every right to defend ourselves.”
“I do not need your excuses. It is because of this that I think you might have a chance at succeeding. If you fail, a thorn will have been plucked from my side, and I will have lost nothing. Bring to me the Sword of Eyre, and Cael is yours. I think you will not be so eager once you learn of its taker.”
Indeed, the news was grim. Rezkin had no desire to contend with Privoth’s problem, but it was the price he had to pay to acquire Cael and maintain peaceful relations with both Gendishen and Channería. Privoth dismissed the court; and, at Kessa’s assurance that the guards and purifiers would be ineffective, he begrudgingly instructed them to go as well. Only the king’s personal guard and the old woman remained for the revelation. Rezkin later regretted that he could not have dismissed his own entourage for this particular news.
Once Privoth revealed who had stolen the sword, he turned away to instruct his guards to gather an escort. Kessa stepped closer and brushed her frail fingers across Rezkin’s hand. She held his gaze, her focus so intent he thought she might have been trying to communicate with him through her mind, and he was disappointed that he could not hear her. She said, “I wish for your success and hope that you return safely with the prize so that you may help your people—all of your people.”
The king called the old reader away, and she departed without another glance. The armed escort led Rezkin and his party to a guesthouse where they were to stay the night. The place was barely a step above servants’ quarters with only two small rooms besides the common room and a single hearth to heat the entire structure. The furnishings were functional, and by the layer of dust that had accumulated, it appeared the place had not seen company in quite some time. It also had no cistern or running water, so Farson stepped out to search for the well. Since Wesson’s status had been exposed, he was free to ward the residence against eavesdroppers and uninvited guests.
“This is an insult!” Malcius grumbled.
“It is meant to be,” Kai said as he piled a few logs onto the hearth.
Malcius slapped dust from the seat of a chair with an equally dusty rag he had found in a cupboard. “You are a king, Rez. You should not put up with this.”
“To react would be to let him win,” Rezkin said. “He is a military man. To complain about these lodgings, which are luxurious compared to an army camp, would be to admit weakness.”
“How did they get so many readers?” Wesson said to no one in particular. “They are so rare!
Rezkin found a cauldron in a cabinet beside the hearth and began wiping it clean.
“What are you doing?” said Malcius.
“Is it not obvious? I am cleaning the pot so that we can make dinner.”
Sergeant Millins gingerly walked over, offering to perform the task, and Rezkin acquiesced only because he had other concerns.
Wesson mumbled, “Perhaps it is unlike other talents and breeds more strongly in the blood.”
“Why would you need to make dinner?” Malcius said. “We are on palace grounds. We are guests, even if they do not care to have us here. I am sure they will prepare a meal for us.”
“We will not be eating anything they serve,” Rezkin said. “You should know better.”
“So, lame travelers’ stew again?”
Rezkin glanced up from inspecting the underside of the table. “Lame? I thought you liked my stew.”
Yserria sat down in the chair Malcius had just finished dusting, much to his chagrin, and said, “Ignore him. He is a spoiled noble who doesn’t appreciate what others do for him.”
Malcius’s eyes widened in fury. “I could lash you for such insolence!”
Yserria laughed. “You think you could? I’d like to see you try.”
“So would I,” said Brandt with a snicker.
Malcius blurted, “Rez, this woman is insufferable.”
Yserria batted her lashes and said, “Oh, Lord Malcius, do you always go running to daddy for help?”
Malcius spun around and growled in frustration. When he turned back, he waved a hand at the woman and said, “You look stupid made up like that, by the way.”
Yserria stood and narrowed her eyes at Malcius, a retort hanging on her lips.
Rezkin could not see what Malcius found offensive in her attire. He went back to examining the contents of the trunk beside the divan and said, “I think she looks powerful and sensuous—a goddess of war.”
His senses went on alert as the room suddenly became still and silent. He glanced up to see everyone staring at him. Yserria’s face flamed nearly as red as her hair. Malcius gave her an uncomfortable glance and then stomped into the adjacent room, slamming the door behind him.
“What?” Rezkin said.
No one said anything, but Farson stood in the doorway with a smirk, shaking his head.
He thought for a moment and then looked at Wesson. “I think they are stealing them.”
Wesson blinked several times as his brain worked to catch up. “Um, what?”
“The readers. You said they are extremely rare in all the other kingdoms. Master Reader Kessa did not join Privoth willingly. I think they may be hunting and kidnapping them.”
Wesson nodded. “Yes, that would make sense. It would be even easier considering readers are apparently born with ability to see the talent. It does not activate in them later in life, like other mages, although their other powers will if they have any. Not all readers can perform spells. When I first met Master Reader Kessa, she explained that the more powerful the reader, the smaller the chance of his or her having any other affinities. It also would make them easier to capture and control. Plus, if they take them very young, they can raise them to believe in their twisted doctrine.”
Brandt said, “If they hate magic so much, why do they want the sword? What good is it if they do not believe in the prophecy?”
Kai sat in the chair Yserria had vacated and said, “Oh, they believe in magic. They believe in the prophecy, strongly, I might add. They just hate power they cannot control, and the prophecy is a favorable one for the king.”
“I thought prophecies were myth,” Brandt said. “I have never heard of any prophets. Not real ones, anyway.”
Rezkin said, “According to ancient Adianaik texts, prophecy is reserved for the Blessed of Mikayal, the God of the soul and knowledge—also sometimes referred to as the God of war. Mages are the Blessed of Rheina, the Goddess of the firmament and the Realm of the Living, and thus they do not possess the power of prophecy. I have not heard or read of any Blessed of Mikayal since the prophecy of the sword was foretold. That prophecy was recorded twelve hundred years ago by a Knight of Mikayal, although he noted that he was not the prophet. He was merely one of the Graced.”
“Graced? Blessed? What does that all mean?” Brandt said.