“Could you?”
She tugged at the torque around her neck. “I probably have the power right now, but it would be suicide. No one lives long in that position, but Queen Erisial has devised a devious plan that might actually work for a while.”
A servant ducked into the tent and said, “The challenge is set for three days hence.”
Yserria looked at Malcius. “Three days.”
Chapter 15
The air in front of him shimmered like water filled with swirling colors. The colors suddenly merged into jagged lines of sharp, white light, as if it were shining from between the cracks of a broken mirror. The pieces between them began to dissolve, and then he was standing in a luminescent passage. Beyond the walls were fragments of landscapes, as if many worlds had broken apart, the remnants held aloft in smoky clouds. Between the clouds was a wash of stars and colorful dust. As he turned his head, the images shifted to reveal new worlds, each completely unlike the others.
His nerves were on edge as he trod upon the translucent path. He turned, and directly in front of him was a black void. As he stood waiting, a light erupted at its center. It wrapped around him and drew him into the darkness. Then, he was staring at a mirrored wall. Silver eyes stared back at him. The image was not his own.
Rezkin woke to the smell of horse and the ring of a hammer against an anvil. He rolled over and caught himself just before he fell out of the loft. Shaking his groggy head, he tried to remember the face he had seen in the mirror, but all he recalled were silver eyes. Although he had apparently slept deeply, he felt drained. He was also famished. After gathering his pack, he slipped out of the barn and made his way to the road without drawing notice from the farm’s few inhabitants. The land was located at the city’s edge, so he had not far to go,
Rezkin was glad to finally be alone. Rather than arguing with his companions over his decision, he had simply disappeared. They would be upset, but at least he had done them the courtesy of leaving a note. A few would attempt to follow him, he knew, but he was already far ahead. Each day of his trek, he had passed lines of slaves working in the fields and repairing or paving the roads. Most of the men and women were prisoners. Some had probably been stolen and sold illegally. More than a few were likely refugees, driven from their homes by war, disease, or famine, people like his own.
Bromivah was an old city, older than any in Ashai. The buildings reflected the architecture of a bygone age—one in which artistry and the old beliefs held supreme. Fairies, dragons, gnomes, and nymphs graced the mantles, balustrades, and rooftops. Rezkin thought they glorified the mythical creatures, even honored them, while the more modern pieces tended to idolize the knights who destroyed them. The sharp rooftops and abundance of towers gave the city a vicious appearance, as if it were a gaping maw ready to consume all who entered.
He walked through the open city gates that were manned only at night. The streets were paved, and most of the buildings were constructed of the same grey stone. Some had slate rooves, while others were thatched, but every single one of them had a pole atop bearing a glowing orb. The official reason for the orbs was to allow mages to communicate with each other from anywhere in the city. The orbs also happened to provide the authorities with a method of citywide surveillance, but most of the mundanes were oblivious to that fact.
Rezkin stopped at a stall to purchase a meal and then purchased another. By the time he reached Esyojo Castle, his head had cleared, but he felt lethargic and was still hungry. It was not the first time he had noticed the decrease in his energy since leaving Cael, but only now had it truly begun to concern him. Still, he had fought through worse, and he had a task to complete.
The guards around Esyojo Castle were alert, which was not a surprise. Bromivah was a rough city, and Ferélli officials were always wary of the Adana’Ro. Moldovan would likely be concerned about Adana’Ro stealing the sword back, so it was unlikely he told anyone else where he had stashed it. Rezkin would have to confront the king directly. Given recent revelations, it was sure to be an interesting meeting.
He did not change into the garb of Dark Tidings or the Raven. He did not don the articles of court or those of a king. Rezkin slinked through the castle in his travel disguise—a vagabond. He wore a few armor plates hidden beneath his tunic, and his pack and swords were hidden in an abandoned hovel inside the city that he had passed en route to the castle. His homespun clothes were torn or patched in multiple places, his hair hung loose, and a couple of days’ worth of stubble graced his jawline. He needed to make a good impression after all.
Three corridors led to the throne room, one to the main entrance, and two on either side with access to receiving rooms. The corridor and receiving room to the left of the throne room provided passage from the dungeon tower. Those on the right of the throne room were somewhat more comfortable since they were for guests and witnesses. Unsurprisingly, the passage from the dungeon had the least amount of security. Rezkin removed the two guards blocking his way into the receiving chamber and then the next two who were waiting within. He dragged the four unconscious men into a dark alcove beneath the tower stairs and left them gagged and bound together. Then, he proceeded through the final doorway.
Moldovan’s throne room was grandiose. Like the rest of Bromivah, it was constructed of grey stone and had no windows. It was a dark cavern, the decorative flourishes appearing as fae creatures and monsters dwelling amongst stalactites. Candles or mage lights flickered among them casting eerie shadows in every direction. The room was also devoid of life, save for the guards that stood at attention every five feet along each side of the hall. Moldovan did not hold court. No one entered his throne room without permission, which few received. In fact, most prayed to their gods that they would never see its macabre decor. The chamber’s primary function was as a place of conviction and execution, as evidenced by the star-like splay of drainage grooves that radiated from its center into narrow troughs lining the perimeter. On execution day, the outer walls of the castle were literally bathed in blood. Esyojo Castle was the only colorful building in Bromivah.
Rezkin took a moment to focus his will and then opened the door enough to permit his entrance. He moved with the shadows around the back of the hall toward the throne and then slithered into the seat. There, he entered a waking meditative state, one in which he split his focus so that his unconscious mind was cognizant of his surroundings, while his conscious mind maintained an air of nonexistence. Then, he waited. The stone around his neck heated, and his drowsiness returned, but preventing the guards in the hall from seeing him became easier. They were not aware of it, but they were becoming accustomed to his presence. He hoped Moldovan appeared before the shift change.
From where he sat, Rezkin realized that every single pair of eyes amongst the mythical creatures was directed at the throne, as if in challenge or judgment. Knowing, now, that at least some of those creatures were not mere fantasies, he felt it a heavy weight to bear. Under their watchful gazes, he had sunk into the swirling colors that suffused the recesses of his mind when the king finally came tromping into the hall. As he strode across the stones, Moldovan brooded, staring at the ground, his arms clasped behind his back, his plush, regal robe swaying around his legs. He made it halfway through the room before he finally glanced up to notice that someone was sitting in his throne. He stopped short and then spun to look at the twelve guards that lined the hall.