The Warlock Senator (Book 2) (3 page)

“How long will it take?” Lady Dimwater asked. She fought the urge to keep looking over her shoulder at the door as the two walked down the long hallway.

“I would wager perhaps six or seven days, no more than that.”

“What of Erik?” She watched as the slight smile on Marlin’s face vanished. “How long will Erik need to recover?” Lady Dimwater pressed.

“I’m not sure,” Marlin said gravely. “His aura is not very strong right now. That makes it more difficult for me to know.”

Lady Dimwater stopped and grabbed Marlin’s shoulders, turning him to face her. She looked into his glazed eyes earnestly, trying to search them as she would a normal person’s, but she couldn’t decipher the cloudy orbs. “Will he live?”

“I am almost certain that he will live.”

“Then tell me, Marlin, what is wrong?”

“It is very difficult to put to words.”

“Try,” she demanded.

“From what I can tell, the boy’s brain is slipping away. It isn’t as active as it used to be. I don’t know what it means, I only know that his brain is, for lack of a better word, asleep.”

“He’s unconscious, of course his brain is asleep,” she said quickly.

“No, you don’t understand. Master Lepkin is unconscious, but his brain is still active. His aura is strong, strengthening all the time, and his brain is very active. The brain does not completely shut down when a person sleeps. Think about it. Surely you’ve seen a person who is sleeping but is having an active dream.”

Lady Dimwater nodded. “So, Erik’s brain is completely dormant?”

“Not completely, but close to it. I don’t know what the effects will be when he wakes up. I have brought in the very best healers the temple has. They are working on him day and night. They come in six shifts, four hours for each shift. There isn’t a single moment when he is unattended to. I, myself, go to his room at least once a day. I can tell you that we are doing everything we can to bring him back as quickly as possible.”

“If he is lost…” Lady Dimwater let her words trail off as her eyelids fell
shut. “There is not another who can replace him. As it is we are hard pressed for the time required to train him for his role in the events to come. If you can’t save him, then all of us will suffer the consequences of that failure.”

“I know,” Marlin assured her. “I know.” Marlin again started walking through the hall and Lady Dimwater fell in step with h
im. The two walked silently along the corridor to a small dining room outside the kitchen. They could smell the stew left over from dinner that had come and gone over an hour ago.

They sat for a few minutes
on a bench along the side of the room and Marlin Leaned back against the wall. Lady Dimwater couldn’t see aura’s, that was a type of magic she didn’t have or understand, but the dark purple bags under Marlin’s eyes and his heavy, slow breathing proved how exhausted he truly was. She guessed that Marlin probably had slept fewer hours than she over the last two nights, and she hadn’t slept more than an hour or two since the nightwing had come with the wizard Erthor on its back.

Her only comfort came in watching the priests tirelessly minister to Erik and Lepkin. The sight of them coming and going, aiding them in their time of need, gave her hope
. She leaned forward and let her head sink to her waiting, upturned palms. Her hair slipped over, covering her face, and her tears.

Her tired eyes stung from the many tears she had allowed herself to shed over the last few days. Her throat was sore from sobbing and supplicating the gods to wake her Lepkin up
. Despite everything else happening around her, her mind replayed Lepkin’s promise to finally find a way for the two of them to wed. Her heart ached now, hoping that she had not been given this promise just to have something else take him away from her.

Her tears stopped falling. Not for lack of sadness, but because her body was unable to create any more. Her eyelids grew heavy as stones and she gave in to her fatigue. She breathed in deeply and began to dream in spite of her uncomfortable position.

Something tapped her shoulder. She shrugged it away with a slight grunt. She didn’t bother to look up. Sleep was not eager to release her from its grasp. The tapping came again. She came up from her hands, ready to slap the beetle or spider that she was certain to find. Instead, she saw a man offering her a bowl of stew. She thought to dismiss him, but her grumbling stomach reminded her that she could use the nourishment.

“Eat child,” Marlin coaxed. Lady Dimwater gave him a sidelong glance and saw that he also had a bowl. She nodded and took t
he bowl in front of her, whispering her thanks. Given the time since her last meal, the food should have tasted divine, but it was little more than warm sawdust. The chunks of meat and potatoes almost dissolved in her mouth. She didn’t really think about chewing. Bits of carrots and onion had long ago lost their crisp, and flavor. What did it matter? She shrugged. It all ends up in the same place anyway, crisp and tasty or not.

She finished the bowl and set it down beside her. She recalled something that Marlin had said right after the battle with Erthor. “You mentioned that you might know where to look for the Book of Light?”

“I did,” he replied through his last mouthful of stew. He unceremoniously wiped his mouth and then set his bowl down. “We will need it if we are to stand up to what is coming. I too, know a bit of the Wyrms of Khaltoun. They will be back sooner or later for Nagar’s Secret.”

“How do you know of them
?” Lady Dimwater asked. “I learned of them when I vanquished a shadowfiend that had been working with them. How is it that a group of priests and monks holed up in a remote, isolated temple would know anything about the necromancers?”

“I read the books of prophecy child, I know many things.” Marlin folded his hands in his lap and smiled slightly. “They are named in a few places.”

“They are named? But, I thought that prophecies just alluded to events and people. I didn’t think they ever named specific people and events.”

“Normally that is the case, but sometimes specific details are given. It is quite rare though.”

“So, where do we look for the book of Allun’rha?” Lady Dimwater asked.

“
The Illumination,” Marlin corrected. “I will have to go back and check a few things. The references I have found to it over the years are obscure at best. I want to clarify a couple of passages before I give you the answer.” Marlin stood up with a groan and put a hand to his forehead. “I hate it when I stand up too fast,” he said with a smile.

Lady Dimwater nodded. “I
suppose we could both use the sleep,” she said. “I will see you in the morning?”

“First thing,” Marlin promised.

*****

Al grabbed his pack and plopped it on the bed. He flipped the flap back and spread the opening with his stubby fingers. He set a loaf of bread inside, careful not to squish it under his cooking utensils and hammer.

He heard footsteps approach and turned to see Raisa standing before him in the doorway wearing a green gown.

“Lady Lokton,” he greeted with a bow of his head.

“Why do you travel with a hammer?” she asked.

Al regarded her for a moment, noting her red, watery eyes and her longing gaze. “It’s a part of me, I suppose,” he answered. He pulled the hammer and turned it over in his hand. The finish was worn off the smooth handle from heavy use. The head was engraved with a shamrock design on one side and a shield on the other. “I made this when I finished Hamalsiran.”

Lady Lokton scrunched her brow into a knot above her nose and cocked her head to the side. “What is Hamalsiran?”

Al smiled, “It’s a preparatory university. The curriculum takes thirty years to complete.”

“Thirty years?” she asked incredulously.

Al nodded, laughing a little at the anticipated reaction, “In Hamalsiran, we dwarves study the physical sciences for ten years, then metaphysical sciences for another ten years. Afterward, we study religion, philosophy, history, and language for the last decade.”

Raisa walked into the room and gently reached out for Al’s hammer. “Then, you move into a profession?” she asked.

Al allowed her to take his hammer. Her hands dipped under its weight, but she didn’t drop it. “Actually Hamalsiran only prepares us for one of the Academies.” Al took the hammer back and gripped it as if to strike an imaginary workbench. “I was destined to go into King’s College. That is where nobles are instructed.”

“But you didn’t,” Raisa asked.

“I always felt more comfortable with metal and stone than with people.” Al shrugged. “I made this hammer to show my father what I wanted. We fought for weeks.” Al slipped the hammer into his bag. “Finally my brother took my place in King’s College and I was allowed to pursue smithing. I spent the next several decades perfecting my craft. My father never accepted my choice to give up the throne. He kept hoping I would come around to the idea of ruling. It never felt right to me though. I hadn’t asked to be king. I wanted to pursue my own life. When my father passed on I left Roegudok Hall. My brother assumed the throne and the hammer has been with me ever since.”

Raisa nodded and folded her hands together. “So, if your father wished for you to be king…” her words trailed off.

Al guessed what she was getting at and nodded. “I am the
eldest, the throne is mine if I choose to challenge my brother for it.”

“Have you considered it?”

Al wrinkled his nose. “Why would I want to do that?” He looked into her eyes and immediately understood what she was digging for. “I never went to King’s College,” Al huffed. He started to close up his pack.

“Is that a requirement?” she pushed.

Al shook his head sharply. “I can’t lead my people. They no longer want to follow the old ways, and I…” his words caught in his throat.

“If the time comes that you choose to be king,” Raisa began as she laid a hand on his shoulder. “I believe they would follow you. It may tip the balance in our favor.”

Al gruffed, but said nothing. He tied the flap over his pack, and looked up to her with a warm smile. “First, I need to get Master Lepkin to Drakai Glazei. Then, I believe the best way for me to help is to stick with your son. There will be difficult days ahead.”

Raisa’s shoulders slumped and she turned her face away from him.

“We’ll get Lord Lokton back,” Al promised. “Lepkin is a living legend, and with me at his side, no one can stop us, especially not a bunch of wrinkly old high-browed senators.” He offered a smile but Lady Lokton’s tears fell over her cheeks anyway.

“I can’t get Tukai’s words out of my mind,” she whispered.

Al closed his eyes and sighed. “I haven’t known Erik as long as you have, but Tukai is wrong. Erik has nothing but love for you both. Tukai’s prophecy is a lie, nothing more.”

Raisa raised a handkerchief to her face and wiped her eyes clean. “We have prepared a horse for you,” she said after a moment. “Please remember you are always welcome here, good dwarf,” she said.

“I will protect your family to my utmost ability,” Al replied. “I may not be a king, but I will always come to House Lokton’s aid.”

The two embraced and then Al hefted his pack over his shoulder and left.

“You wanted to see me, Master Orres?”

Orres set his cold, pewter mug down on the long table and looked up to see Master Wendal. The narrow faced, thin man stood stoic, showing little emotion. The man brushed aside his black locks from his brow and folded his hands together behind his back.

“I did,” Orres said with a slight smile. “How long have we known each other, Master Wendal?”

Master Wendal scrunched his brow. “Perhaps twenty years.”

Orres nodded. He pulled a short parchment from his lap and laid it on the table next to his mug. His pointer finger twirled the paper around so that the writing faced Master Wendal and then he pushed it toward him. “I should have noticed something,” Orres said.

Master Wendal took the paper and began to read aloud. “Master Orres, it is with the deepest regret that House Lokton informs you of your brother’s passing. During open hostilities with House Cedreau—”

Orres cut in. “During open hostilities with House Cedreau, Janik turned on Erik Lokton and revealed himself to be working with the warlock Tukai and his order. Erik survived Janik’s attack with the help of
Aldehenkaru’hktanah Sit’marihu. Enclosed is the amulet Janik wore around his neck when he attacked Erik.” Orres finished repeating the note’s message and clunked a golden amulet on the table.

“Janik worked with Tukai?” Wendal asked skeptically. “That doesn’t make any sense. Perhaps House Lokton is lying, or mistaken.”

Orres shook his head. “After I received the letter with the amulet inside, I went to his private chamber. I found a letter instructing my brother to travel to a tavern to meet and discuss how to ‘deal with the boy’ and proceed with House Lokton.” Orres raised his mug and drained the contents. “I knew him a lot longer than twenty years, yet he deceived me.”

Wendal shrugged. “The letter may have been planted,” he suggested.

Orres nodded. “That is true, but my gut tells me that is not so.”

“With respect, one should be careful not to let their emotion cloud their judgment.”

Orres slid the mug away from him and rose from the table. “Come with me,” Orres said. He motioned for Wendal to turn to the northern corridor. Orres scooped up the amulet, took back the letter from House Lokton and then proceeded ahead of Master Wendal. He walked with a determined gait, forcing the tall Master Wendal to quicken his pace in order not to fall behind. They walked to a far corner of the academy that was well removed from the other offices and classrooms. They passed a few old storage rooms and then Orres stopped and pulled an old, tarnished brass key from his pocket and slid it into the lock. The tumblers clicked and the door popped open.

Inside the room stood a few barrels with labels on them. Some contained flour, others whole wheat grain, and others had labels
that had been scratched out and appeared to be empty. A couple old brooms stood in the far corner, collecting cobwebs and old flies. Otherwise the room was unremarkable in every respect.

“Why have you brought me here?” Wendal asked.

“Because I feel you are someone I can trust, and I
hope
that my intuition will not let me down.” Orres stepped up to the first barrel labeled flour and opened the lid. He placed his massive hand in the flour and pushed the white powder aside to revel an iron ring. He pulled the ring and a series of clicks and metallic
pops
echoed in the small room. A portion of the rear wall detached and swung away, revealing a passageway that led to another chamber. Orres replaced the flour and the lid before walking through the doorway.

Master Wendal looked behind him to the corridor before
following Orres into the secret passageway. The air was warm and damp, but there was plenty of light coming from a series of oil lamps hanging from the ceiling. “I never knew this place existed,” Wendal said.

“From time to time, some of us at the academy have been called upon to execute orders from the king,” Orres said. “In order to aid us in our duties, those of us with special commissions meet here to organize information, discuss orders, and strategize.”

“What kind of information?” Wendal asked.

Orres stopped walking and opened a heavy, iron door after sliding a long, hexagonal key into the lock. Orres reached up and took the nearest oil lamp from its hook on the ceiling and walked through the doorway. A moment later the room beyond was illuminated in warm, golden light. Wendal slowly walked in.

Several chests lined the left wall of the chamber. Each had bands of iron and three hefty locks holding them closed. Along the back wall stood a series of black bookshelves enclosed with iron mesh doors. A long wooden weapons rack stood along the right wall, and beside it stood a great mahogany wardrobe. Orres moved to stand at the head of an eight person table.

“Have a seat,” Orres instructed. He went to the back wall and unlocked one of the bookshelves. He pulled a long parchment out and returned to the table. He eyed Wendal curiously. “It’s alright, have a seat,” he insisted.

Wendal moved to take a seat near Orres and watched the headmaster unroll the long parchment to reveal a map of the Middle Kingdom. “What is this?” Wendal asked. “Every noble family is listed on the map with their houses and lands clearly outlined.”

Orres nodded. “Surely you are aware that there are factions conspiring to assume power when the king passes.”

Wendal nodded. “I have heard the rumors.”

Orres smiled
and nodded his head. “Kuldiga Academy was founded during a time of great need. A group of shadowfiends had conspired to assume control of a region in the kingdom.”

Wendal nodded. “And it was Master Heimdal with his mighty sword, Stormfang, who crushed the shadowfiends and established Kuldiga Academy over the ruins of their fortress. I know the legend.”

“It is no legend,” Orres countered sharply. “It is all fact.” He gestured to the room around them. “Look at the stone in this room. It does not match the rest of the academy. This room was the shadowfiends’ planning room. In this room, Master Heimdal discovered texts that revealed secret plans and plots, as well as detailed maps and records that listed the kingdom’s resources, and details various noble families and their true loyalties.”

Master Wendal frowned.

Orres held up a finger. “After discovering this chamber, Master Heimdal worked with the king to create a special team of officers who would protect the information, and use it to foil enemies of the king.”

“How did the information help them do that?”

“Not only did it indicate other potential people who threatened the kingdom’s security, but the system of records itself showed Heimdal how such information could be recorded and preserved in an effort to stay one step ahead of further developments that could harm the kingdom.” Orres tipped his chair back and kicked a leg out to the side. “Since then the task of monitoring, collecting, and acting on the information has passed from one headmaster to the next. As has the task of identifying other individuals who have the right skills and integrity to join the select group.”

“
Was Janik a part of this group?”

Orres nodded. “Ever since the battle that crippled him, he had been assigned to the group. He was a great asset, and helped us prevent several disasters.”

“Lady Dimwater is also a member, isn’t she?” Wendal guessed. “That is why she went to Kuressar.”

Orres nodded grimly. “She first went to Spiekery, to deal with a shadowfiend that was forcing human sacrifice on the small town.
Afterward she went to Kuressar to deal with Lord Hischurn. We had some information indicating that he was working with the warlocks of the Order of the All Seeing Eye as well as gathering resources for battle.”

“She told us that
the orders came from the Royal Court to arrest a suspected shadowfiend,” Wendal commented.

“And she told you
the truth,” Orres said. “We gathered the information, but only the king or Judge McTeabe of the Royal Court can authorize the actions we take. That way the king maintains control over us.”

“So, why have you brought me here?” Wendal asked.

Orres sniggered and pointed back to the map. “Several families have been making moves over the last several years to consolidate their power. While there are many that remain loyal to the king, there are others who are not only positioning themselves to take power, but they grow tired of waiting for the old king to die. I have some reason to believe that a few of the other Masters here at the Academy are aligning themselves with some of these impatient, power-hungry families.”

“You can’t be serious,” Wendal scoffed. “Who here would do such a thing? We have all sworn our allegiance to the crown.”

“But the king has not yet named an heir,” Orres pointed out.

“That doesn’t matter,” Wendal argued. “In the event the king dies without a legitimate heir or appointed replacement, the senate and the Keeper of Secrets are to rule jointly.”

Orres nodded. “I know the law, my friend. However, I also know that many of the senators grow hungry themselves. Many do not relish the thought of sharing power with Master Lepkin, and several noble families have grown very close to some of these senators.”

“What you speak of is treason,” Wendal said sharply.

“That is exactly why this special council was formed under Master Heimdal’s leadership those many years ago.” Orres stabbed the table with his index finger and locked eyes with Wendal. “Heimdal’s mighty sword, Stormfang, rests in a glass cabinet not more than fifty paces from the armory next to my office. It is there not only as a reminder of the great battle Heimdal won, but the oath that I took as Headmaster. The battle continues today.” Orres rose to his feet. “What I want to know from you, Master Wendal, is will you stand beside me and help me run these traitors down?”

*****

Lady Dimwater couldn’t sleep. She tossed back and forth on her bed. She threw the blankets off and then pulled them back over herself. Nothing worked. Her body ached for rest, but her mind was far too active to allow her to sleep. Finally she left her bed and draped a dark robe around her shoulders. She slid her feet into soft leather slippers and quietly exited her room.

She walked down the hall
way to a set of stairs. A couple of days previous, Marlin had taken her to a large archive of books and records in the basement level of the temple. Now was as good a time as any to go back and do some additional research. She saw only a few guards as she descended down the spiraling, smooth marble steps. She returned their nods and greetings, but did not slow her pace.

Once she reached the bottom she found the door to the archives already
ajar. She slipped inside to discover Marlin sitting at a table near the entrance; a slew of books and papers strewn all around him.

“I thought you w
ent to bed,” Lady Dimwater said.

“I could not sleep,” Marlin replied. “I suspect you have the same problem?” Lady Dimwater nodded and Ma
rlin gestured to a chair across from him at the table.

“Have you found anything yet?” Lady Dimwater asked.

“I have found something, actually, though I don’t know what to make of it.” Marlin directed her attention to a dusty, green tome. “This is a book of prophecies, written by an ancient mystic. I believe I have stumbled upon something to do with Erik.”

“What language is this?” Lady Dimwater asked.

“It is Taish, High Taish to be exact,” Marlin replied.

“I can read High Taish,” Lady Dimwater countered. “This doesn’t look like anything I have ever seen before.”

“True,” Marlin said with a nod. “This as a very ancient dialect; several thousand years old I believe. I would wager that you would be hard pressed to find any among the elves who can read this.”

“What does it say?”

Marlin leaned over the page and pointed to each word as he translated the passage for Lady Dimwater. “On the wings of death the champion will ride, laying waste to the seats of white. His anger ushers in the dark tide, and washes the world in the color of night.”

“And that is about Erik?” Lady Dimwater asked skeptically.

“I believe so,” Marlin nodded. “Several pages preceding this one speak of the Champion of Truth, and this passage references the champion in it. It seems to be about Erik, though I must admit it doesn’t make much sense to me.”

“How could Erik wash the world in the color of night? I thought his destiny was to save us.” Marlin si
ghed heavily. Instead of responding, he sucked in the corner of his bottom lip and chewed on it a bit. “Marlin, I can see that something weighs on your mind,” Lady Dimwater said. “What is it? What have you found?”

“There is another passage in this book here.” Marlin reached to his left and pulled a blue book close to him, opening it to a bookmark he had left in it. “This is written by
a different person, the language is the same but the strokes are made differently. Judging from the texture of the pages, it is from the same era as the other passage.”

“What does it say?”

“Believe not your eyes, for a champion in false skin shall rise.”