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EXCERPT 1
For three
suns they had probed the defenses of the bridge and island, sneaking
around the men who were gathered on the surrounding islands. The closer
they got to Dalebrect’s Keep, the weaker their powers had become.
Tonight was their last chance to carry out Draegon’s order before the
allotted time for their mission was up.
Besides,
they were almost out of food. It was just supposed to be a short
mission.
Now they had
to get past the guard at the end of this bridge without using magery,
without being seen and without causing suspicion.
Easy.
Zonal shifted the helmet on his head. The
archaic armor
that Dalebrect’s guard wore was uncomfortable to say the
least but the faceplate did offer some anonymity. Hopefully it would get
them close enough
to make their move.
“Are you
ready?” Todd asked and Zonal nodded inside the cold iron mask and helm.
He had slipped the tiny tube into his mouth and held the end of it with
his tongue. Only the tiniest point of it stuck out of his mouthpiece. He
would not be able to talk until he had discharged the tube's
contents. Until then Todd would be doing all the speaking for them.
As he bit
down nervously on the slender tube, Zonal could see a disaster in the
making.
The two
stepped down the bridge as if they belonged there all along. The clank
of Zonal’s armor was a din. It would be a matter of moments before they
were challenged and hopefully they had planned for every contingency.
Both men could feel the guard’s eyes upon them before his voice called
out.
“Hold! Who
goeth there?”
Todd
suppressed a smile. ‘Who goeth there?’ What kind of talk was that?
Dalebrect had assembled a strange cult of people beneath him, people who
were a reflection of their leader no doubt. Their language was
positively archaic. The Creaces had created some isolated pocket
cultures and the ways of those people were often odd.
Resisting
the desire to say ‘We goeth there,’ Todd kept to the script that they
had worked out earlier.
“Good sir,
we needs make haste.” He slapped the heaviest accent he could muster
across his tongue. “We have forgotten our water packs and the troops
will not wait for us long. May we reenter?” Neither Todd or Zonal had
stopped
walking during the conversation so
they had almost reached the guard station
and the
soldier who waited there.
The single
man was wearing a get up much like their own and he held his polished
sword out and ready. He obviously took his job seriously, one could tell
by the demeanor of his stance. He held up a hand, indicating that they
should come no further.
“Speak thy
pass code.”
Pass code?
Todd turned
to Zonal for some idea of what to say, only to see him looking blankly
back at him from behind the grill of his mask. They had known there was
a password but Todd had expected to get closer in before being asked to
speak it.
They did not
know the code.
“Speak the
code!” the sentry bellowed, angry at their hesitation to a common
protocol.
Todd turned
to Zonal, flipped off his mask and threw it to the ground at Zonal’s
feet with a clunk.
“What’s the pass code you idiot?” Todd
glared at Zonal
in irritation, asking him to answer a question that he
knew Zonal could not answer. Not only did Zonal not know
any pass code,
his mouth was
full. The tube he cradled
on his tongue prevented him from talking at all. Zonal
looked at Todd as if he were mad. What was he doing?!
“You forgot
the pass code again didn’t you!” He raised his hands and shook them to
the heavens in frustration. “WHY!” he shouted as loudly as he could,
“why do I get stuck with you on every patrol?!”
Before Zonal
could respond he heard Todd whisper.
“Get
ready."
Then he
smashed his mailed fist right on top of Zonal’s
helmet.
The
resounding din of metal against metal rang heavily in Zonal’s ears as he
fell to the ground in shock,
almost
swallowing
the tube as he choked.
“Halt this unseemly behavior!” The guard stepped onto the bridge, his
sword down and a look of concern on his face. He quickly pushed Todd
away from Zonal, making sure to use his sword point in Todd’s direction.
“Stand away from that man!”
EXCERPT 2
Zane flipped
absently through the stack of reports on his desk, searching for the
third time. It wasn’t there.
“Chamberlain!” he barked, feeling his ire build. Just how long would he
have to wait for that report?
“Liege?” the
Chamberlain slipped his head through the doorway.
“I thought I
asked you for the reports on Wanderer Zonal’s progress.”
“That is
what I gave you.”
“This?” Zane
tossed the stack of papers on the floor. “This is nothing but garbage
related reports that tell me nothing. I don’t care about the bandage
count and how many times they changed his toilet service.”
“What would
you like to know?”
“Oh I don’t
know…” the Liege Prince worded with heavy sarcasm. “Where he is? How he
is? Trivial stuff like that.”
“I
misunderstood you Sire, forgive me.”
“Misunderstood my ass. What is going on!”
“Nothing
Sire. Wanderer Zonal is recovering at a Healer Shelter in the
northeast.”
“Northeast?”
Zonal prompted, wondering why he had to pull information out of the man
like this. “How far northeast? Perhaps you could give me say… the name
of a town, district, region or a damned landmark!”
“He is
recuperating at Convalesce.”
“That
Sanctity separatist group in the InnerKingdom? Why?”
“Because
that is what he requested. They had the facilities to deal with his
particular injuries.”
“A Wanderer
with ties to a fanatical sect of the Sanctity Mother Church?” Draegon
dismissed in disbelief. “Dravin!” Zane yelled out and a page appeared as
if by magic. “Go fetch Master Healer Wasnal.”
The page was
gone in an instant to do the Price’s bidding. The Chamberlain realized
what Draegon was doing and he had to act fast to fend him off. The work
with Zonal was nearly complete. All they needed now were a few more
suns.
“Master
Healer Wasnal will tell you the same thing I did Sire. I don’t
understand why you seem so upset.”
“Perhaps you
think me a fool but I do seem to recall a conversation we had about
Wanderer Todd and his partner.”
“Partner?”
“Zonal!” the
Liege reminded him. “Do you recall that conversation?” Zane’s voice was
a bellows and the Chamberlain’s fingers were clamped into the wood of
the chair he stood behind, braced against the incredible anger that
emanated from the Liege.
“Yes, I
remember,” he answered dryly.
“Good! So
you know that the last place Wanderer Zonal would want to go is an
intolerant, close minded cloister of bigots while the man he loves is
trapped behind enemy lines.”
“Perhaps he
wished to recant his… affection.”
Zane stopped
for a moment, eyeing the Chamberlain with a curious expression.
“This is a
wonderful new side to you that I have never known Ducat.”
“What would
that side be sire?”
“The bigot
side. Get out of my office. Report directly to Visor Allec. Tell him
that he has your job now.”
The
Chamberlain faltered. Surely the Prince did not mean…
“Sire?”
Zane looked at the man as if he were incredibly stupid.
“What part
of ‘get out’ did you have difficulty following?”
“I think
perhaps there has been a misunderstanding.” Grasping desperately, this
was exactly what the Chamberlain had been trying to avoid.
“I agree,”
Zane retorted harshly. “When I failed to see you for what you are.”
EXCERPT 3
The dinner
table was silent as the clang of silver against china was the only sound
to be heard. Todd sat at the far end near his mother. His father and two
brothers had not said a single word since dinner began and Todd refused
to be the one who started. His younger sister sat across from him,
Chaise’s usually infectious smile ineffective in the dense emotions that
hung across the room. Too young to be an ally, she was still a friendly
face in the den of the enemy. But this time there was a change. His
mother supported him. They had spent an entire afternoon together. The
first half of the candle had been in silence as Todd was hardly in any
condition to speak with any coherency. Then, after he had calmed, he
began to talk. About nothing really, just things and eventually it
worked around to Zonal. To his surprise, his mother listened, really
listened, as he spoke of what had happened and not just about the
torture at Dalebrect's Keep. Todd talked about Zonal, about his laugh,
the color of his eyes, about how terrible he looked in blue shirts. He
laughed out stories and cried others and through it all she just
listened, something he never thought she would do.
He should
have done it sooner.
How could
she come to understand her son unless he showed her what he was? Now she
sat next to him at dinner and occasionally he found her hand holding
his, offering comfort and a friend in a room where the next battle was
about to commence. She would be his strength now.
“What brings
you home?” his father finally managed after the dishes had been taken
away. Chatri had made a spectacular meal for them, celebrating Todd’s
return to the fold but the fabulous meal had been wasted as none of them
tasted a thing, their minds bent on other tracks.
“I needed a
place to think for a while.”
“Yes, the
Rook of MistDrake informed us that you were… released from duty.” Olin
frowned, not sure how to address Todd’s ‘problem’. As always he
bludgeoned right into the matter. The silence would not last much
longer. His father was only getting started. “I thought I’d taught you
better. Can you be kicked out of the Legion for this?” His voice was
brusque, the timbre of his words deep and strong. To Todd he sounded
ignorant and afraid.
“No.” Todd
looked up at the man he called father and could not help but be pissed
off. When had his father changed from being the center of his world to a
simple man filled with flaws. Olin ate with his mouth open. He combed
his hair in a circle to hide a growing bald spot. He knew nothing of the
Legion, despite the fact that Todd had read volumes to him about
PorterDock and Citadel.
But that was
at a time when his father had been proud of him.
“This
teammate of yours, this fellow Wanderer who has been hurt, is he the
cause of this?”
Yalla
gripped Todd’s hand tightly when she saw his face grow dangerous. She
had tried to warn Olin, telling him to be careful about how he broached
the subject of Wanderer Zonal. Apparently, he had chosen to ignore that
warning.
“Does the fact that my lover is nearly
dead affect my current mental state?” Todd worded to the table in front
of him before he slowly turned to face his father’s shocked gaze. “Is
that the question?”
His brothers looked around the table
nervously, not sure what to do now that the unmentionable had been
mentioned.
Todd let his mother’s hand go as he rose
from his chair, pushing it back on two legs until it fell to the floor
behind him. He stood there, face dead and emotionless yet behind that
façade a very dangerous fire was building.
“Olin, you
promised,” Yalla hissed, trying to beak the explosive situation before
it grew beyond her control. Her husband had no idea what kind of emotion
he was facing. He had no idea what Todd was going through, none of them
did. That ignorance was a spark in a vat of sulfur oil.
“No mother,
it’s all right. I won’t hurt him,” Todd said in arrogance, knowing such
words would only taunt his father further.
“Hurt me?”
Olin uttered, putting his knuckled fists upon the table and rising above
Todd. Olin Rasayne was a large man. He had little to fear from anyone,
much less his second eldest son. “You have hurt me in the only way that
matters, boy!” He was shaking now, as livid as Todd was deadly calm. “Do
you know what shame I feel when I must read such a letter as this?!”
Olin had been holding the Rook’s letter all through dinner and now he
shook it in front of Todd’s face. “My son is having a bit of a cry over
a deviant pervert who got what he deserved!”
Yalla did
not even have time to scream before the blast hit Olin. Todd’s brothers
dove to the floor beneath the side-table as the room exploded. A blue
fist of mage fire pushed Olin up against the far wall, smashing the
chair behind his father’s back and completely destroyed that end of the
table. Protected from the flying shards of wood, his mother and sister
were pulling at Todd’s outstretched arm, an arm wrapped in a mage fire
lance that pinned his father to the wall. Servants ran from the room in
a rush of terror, ducking beneath the flame and debris
Dangling
like a trapped insect, Olin could feel the cold flames flicker around
him, the physical strength of it viselike against his entire body yet he
did not burn. Completely unharmed, his eyes still held fear in them,
something the family had never seen before. But then none of them had
ever seen what Todd was truly capable of. Other than the simple parlor
tricks that he displayed at parties, none of his family had seen a mage
display the full force of his talents.
“If you ever
speak like that about Zonal it will be the last word you utter. Do you
understand?” Slamming his fist to the broken table, the remainder
exploded, smashing into a thousand splinters and angry mage fire as he
released his father from his grip. The sound was horrendous, as if the
entire home would come down upon them but even in rage Todd had
controlled himself carefully. No one would be hurt by this display
unless he chose it. Everyone in the chamber, including his father was
protected by mage shields. Though destructive, his display would harm no
one. Looking at Olin, fallen to the floor, Todd swallowed any show of
emotion.
“I see much
in your eyes father. You are ashamed of me but after your spiteful
words, I feel nothing but disgust for you. After tonight, you no longer
need to feel any shame. You are no longer my father. You no longer have
me as a son.”
“Todd…” his
mother said slowly. “You don’t mean that. Tell him you don’t mean that.”
Watching his
father lay out of breath in the torn destruction of the dining room,
Todd wondered if he didn’t. Gesturing to his chair on the floor, his
Ebon Cloak slid from beneath it and the soft folds of its ebony touch
wrapped about Todd’s shoulders, hooding his face in dark shadow. Without
a word, he rifted away from the room, from the mansion entirely, not
sure where he was going, not having anywhere to go.
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