Silverthorn (Riftware Sage Book 2)

Martin continued laughing while Arutha said, “For which you have been paid.” The Prince was caught between outrage and amusement. “Look, you bandit, I might think about having Lyam give you a minor barony—very minor—to take charge of, when you reach your majority, which is at least three years away. For now you’ll have to settle for being named Senior Squire of the Court.”

 

 

Martin shook his head. “He’ll organize them into a street gang.”

 

“Well,” said Jimmy, “at least I’ll have the pleasure of seeing that ass Jerome’s face when you give deLacy the order.”

 

Martin stopped his laughing and said, “I just thought you’d like to know Gardan will be fine, as will Brother Micah. Dominic is up and about already.”

 

“The Abbot and Brother Anthony?”

 

“The Abbot is off somewhere doing whatever abbots do when their abbeys have been desecrated. And Brother Anthony is back looking for Silverthorn. He said to tell you he’ll be in chamber sixty-seven if you wish to speak with him.”

 

Arutha said, “I’m going to find him. I want to know what he’s discovered.” As he walked away, he said, “Jimmy, why don’t you explain to my brother why I should elevate you to the second most important dukedom in the Kingdom?”

 

Arutha walked off in search of the head archivist. Martin turned to look at Jimmy, who grinned back at him.

 

 

 

 

 

Arutha entered the vast chamber, musty with age and the faint odor of preservatives. By flickering lantern light Brother Anthony was reading an old volume. Without turning to see who entered, he said, “Just as I thought, I knew it would be here.” He sat up. “That creature was similar to one reported killed when the Temple of Tith-Onanka in Elarial was invaded three hundred years ago. It was certain, according to these sources, that Pantathian serpent priests were behind the deed.”

 

Arutha said, “What are these Pantathians, brother? I’ve only heard the stories told to frighten children.”

 

The old monk shrugged. “We know little, in truth. Most of the intelligent races of Midkemia we can, in some way, understand. Even the moredhel, the Brotherhood of the Dark Path, have some traits in common with humanity. You know, they have a rather rigid code of honor, though it is an odd sort by our standards. But these creatures . . .” He closed the book. “Where Pantathia lies, no one knows. The copies of the maps left by Macros that Kulgan of Stardock sent us show no sign of it. These priests have magics unlike any other. They are the avowed enemies of humanity, though they have dealt with some humans in the past. One thing else is clear, they are beings of undiluted evil. For them to serve this Murmandamus would mark him a foe of all that is good if nothing else did. And that they serve him also marks him a power to fear.”

 

Arutha said, “Then we know little more than what we knew by Laughing Jack’s report.”

 

“True,” said the monk, “but never discount the worth of knowing he spoke the truth. Knowing what things are not is often as important as knowing what they are.”

 

Arutha said, “In all the confusion, have you discovered anything about Silverthorn?”

 

“As a matter of fact, I have. I was going to send word as soon as I finished reading this passage. I have little help to offer, I am afraid.” Upon hearing this, Arutha’s heart sank in his chest, but he indicated the old monk should continue. “The reason I could not quickly bring to mind this Silverthorn is that the name given is a translation of the name with which I am more familiar.” He opened another book lying close by. “This is the journal of Geoffrey, son of Caradoc, a monk at the Abbey of Silban west of Yabon—the same one your brother Martin was reared at, though this was several hundred years ago. Geoffrey was a botanist of sorts and spent his idle hours in cataloging what he could of the local flora. Here I’ve found a clue. I’ll read it. “The plant, which is called Elleberry by the elves, is also known to the people of the hills as Sparkle Thorn. It is supposed to have magic properties when utilized correctly, though the proper means of distillation of the essences of the plant is not commonly known, being required of arcane ritual beyond the abilities of common folk. It is rare in the extreme, having been seen by few living today. I have never beheld the plant, but those with whom I have spoken are most reliable in their knowledge and certain of the plant’s existence.” ” He closed the book.

 

“Is that all?” asked Arutha. “I had hoped for a cure, or at least some clue as to how one might be discovered.”

 

“But there is a clue,” said the old monk with a wink. “Geoffrey, who was more of gossip than a botanist, attributed the name Elleberry to the plant, as an elven name. This is obviously a corruption of aelebera, an elven word that translates to “silverthorn’! Which means that should any know its magic properties and how to overcome them, it is the Spellweavers of Elvandar.”