Astriel returned to the library’s vaults the next morning. He wanted the book that Jaren had been reading. He hadn’t thought to ask for it when he’d cornered her in one of the reading rooms, and besides, it would have aroused the blue robe’s suspicion if he had. However, the truth was, it was the only book he’d been able to find that spoke at all of the Chosen Soul, and Astriel’s curiosity was beyond piqued.
Since he’d first laid eyes on the raven-haired woman in that ridiculous little tavern, he had been able think of little else. Astriel normally dealt with such frustrations by visiting the courtesan’s quarters. However lately, such visits had done little to ease his tension. Much to his vexation, and the resentment of his father’s concubines, none of them seemed… appealing any longer. He desired no one but the one who had escaped him. He was his father’s son to the last. Oberon was the leader of The Hunt. He chased what ran from him.
Astriel was the same. And the one who ran from him went by the name Raven; the daughter of Malphas – the Chosen Soul.
He had learned much about her. Astriel had lived a very many years and his connections ran deep. He’d managed to obtain information about the woman that he doubted even she knew. He knew where she had been born, who her parents were, what had caused her to leave her little village, Aster Hollow. He smiled at the thought of her realizing her powers for the first time on that quiet village street only days ago. And then his demeanor once again darkened at the thought of the men who had attacked her.
They’d learned the hard way that she was Dark Royalty.
The morning was calm and silent. The prince of the elves moved quietly through the underground halls and entered the familiar reading room that he had encountered Jaren in the day before.
The book, of course, was not on the table as it had been then. Astriel moved around the room, his eyes roaming over the titles written on the spines of books on the shelves. When he did not find what he wanted there, he began to search the shadows beneath the chairs and desks.
Finally, he had to admit that the book was no longer in the room. He wasn’t surprised, only disappointed. The blue robe must have taken it with her. Astriel’s gaze narrowed. He would have to pay her another visit.
*****
Loki clutched the crumpled note in his fist. He closed his eyes and shook his head. He and the other acolytes had been searching all morning. She wasn’t in the field where she said she’d be. It had only taken a few minutes to run to the location and check. Other than a lot of hoof-trampled blades of grass, there was no indication of what might have happened to her.
Loki put his hands over his face and bowed his head. Never before in his life had he felt so helpless. Or so angry. At that moment, he both loved and hated his sister. He’d never known her to be so stubborn. So stupid. She hadn’t listened to him. He’d known Adonides could not be trusted. She’d said it herself – something bad was going to happen – and yet, she was too short sighted to consider even for a moment that whatever it was that was going to happen might be avoided by not acting rashly.
She’d gone off on her own and trouble had followed closely behind her.
She could be anywhere. The horrific possibilities were virtually endless.
He opened his eyes and looked up to find himself gazing at the giant bronze sun at the front of the temple. He was alone in the prayer room. The acolytes had gone into the city to search for Raven. Loki had not gone with them, as he was not yet certain what would happen if one of the elves caught site of either him or his sister.
So, he was left alone at the temple.
He sat in the silence and stared up at the shining bronze symbol of Haledon’s power.
An idea presented itself. He could try the search spell on his own. Loki glanced down at the note in his hand and then stood from where he’d been kneeling in the aisle. Maelix hadn’t been able to perform another one so soon after the first and he insisted that Loki wasn’t yet ready to do so on his own.
But what did Loki have to lose?
He took a deep breath and moved to the front of the temple where the viewing pool was located. Viewing pools were nothing more than large stone bowls filled with clear water. They were the central component in many forms of magic and various spells. No temple or tower where mages resided would be without one.
Loki shrugged off his cloak and rolled up the cuffs of his white traveling shirt. He searched his recollection for the exact words Maelix had uttered. Then he closed his eyes, repeating the words in his head until he was certain he had them correct.
He opened his eyes, held his hands over the bowl, and dropped Raven’s note into its depths. It floated there for a moment, leaking black quill ink into the water. When it began to sink, he spoke, “Comperio expiscor invenio reperio sector”.
“She is none of your concern, priest.”
Loki jolted at the intrusion of the deep voice and spun to face the temple’s entrance. His eyes widened. There, just inside the temple doors, stood a tall male devil, his skin the color of coal, his eyes burning yellow as two suns, his giant bat-like wings spread to their full, massive breadth.
“It’s fortunate for you that you’re here,” the devil said as he came forward, gesturing to the building around them. “At least you’ll be with your god when you die.” The fiend smiled, bright white fangs contrasting deeply with his ebony skin. He moved slowly, steadily toward the altar.
Loki took a step back. There was no time to ponder who this devil was or why he was here. There was barely time enough for comprehension. The fiend was going to kill him. Loki was alone and without a weapon. He had to defend himself somehow.
He tried stalling. “Who are you?” he asked, his voice much more steady than he expected it to be.
The fiend shook his head. “Names hold power, priest. Why would I give you such over me?”
“I’m not a priest.”
“You’re more of a priest than are most of Haledon’s acolytes,” the devil replied coolly. He continued to advance toward the altar.
Loki took another tentative step back. He quickly searched his surroundings for something he could use. He kept talking. “Is that why you want to kill me? Because you think I serve Haledon?”
The devil shrugged, all nonchalance. “It’s reason enough.”
Loki shook his head, almost admonishingly. In the corner of his eye, he spotted something promising. “No. This has something to do with Raven.”
The devil laughed. “All right, I’ll admit as much. But then, doesn’t everything these days?” He chuckled again and beat his wings once to rise into the air.
Loki immediately shot to his right and turned toward the back wall where Haledon’s axes hung, crossed over one another below the giant bronze sun.
Just as the devil swooped down on him from above, Loki pulled the weapons from their metal mounts. He’d done this once before; he had pulled the axes from Haledon’s temple in Aster Hollow when the council had come for Raven.
But this time, it felt different. There was an odd sucking sound as they were removed from their hooks. They felt very warm, nearly hot, in Loki’s hands. He ignored all of this, spinning around and swinging the axes in an expert arc. Axes were not his weapon of choice; he’d always practiced with a bow. But he moved now as if he’d been using the razored weapons for years.
The blades hit their mark, slicing into the devil’s broad chest in a long, clean line. The devil’s massive wings beat heavily in the warm air and he wailed in pain, shooting back away from Loki. The deep furrows in his flesh dripped thick, dark red blood that baptized the temple’s pews in splatters of darkness.
The winged devil glanced down at his wounds and then looked back up at Loki. He roared in anger and agony and then lunged forward once more, his wings angling behind him as he dove. This time, he attacked with claws fully extended and fangs elongated. His eyes flashed yellow, burning fury.
Loki dropped and rolled just as the devil’s claws made mad swipes at his face. The axes felt as if they were humming in his grip. He experienced a surge of energy lift him off of the ground and spin him around to once again face his attacker.
The fiend turned, eyed him carefully, and landed softly. He then began to chant, and the archaic words filled the temple with blasphemous magic. A cold blast shot out from the devil’s outstretched hands, barreling through the air toward Loki’s stock-still form.
Loki did not know what else to do but duck his head, close his eyes and raise his arms before his face. He never saw that the axes in his hands formed a perfect circle in front of him with their blades. A sun.
As the devil’s cold blast slammed into them, the axes forcefully repelled the dark magic and it bounced away from Loki to instead coat everything within a ten foot radius in a thick coating of crackling ice.
Loki opened his eyes and peered around his raised arms. The benches and altar were buried beneath several inches of rime. But he was untouched. The axes had deflected the spell. Loki stared down at them. They hummed with energy, and their blades shimmered impossibly bright in the light that streamed through the windows.
Across the room, the tall wounded devil stood still, watching Loki carefully. The look on his face was one of keen interest, and some other emotion that was much, much darker. As he folded his massive wings gracefully behind his back, an icon of absolute evil standing amidst an ice flow of his creation, it dawned on Loki who he was.
“You’re Adonides,” he whispered softly.
The devil smiled a terrible smile and bowed his head. “One and the same.”
At that moment, the doors to the temple once again flew open and in ran several acolytes, including Maelix. They skidded to a gradual halt at the scene that laid out before them, their momentum aided by the ice beneath their boots. Once they took in the presence of the devil, the wounds across his chest, and the frozen destruction that was the rest of the temple, they looked up at Loki and stared, wide-eyed at the shining, sharp axes in his hands.
Loki turned his attention back to the devil. His heart was racing as he waited for the Abaddonian to make another move.
Adonides eyed the acolytes with brief interest, then settled his gaze upon Loki once more. He cocked his head to one side and raised his hands before him. “We will meet again soon, priest. Until then.” He opened his wings and beat them once to rise into the air. He spoke a single arcane word, and in a flash of blue-white light, he was gone.
The ice in the temple began to melt. It withdrew from its original span with scraping, popping noises and water began to drip from the bottoms of the benches.
Maelix continued to stare at Loki and the axes in his grip.
Loki looked down at the weapons. He had the horrible sinking feeling that he’d done something terribly wrong. These were sacred axes, after all. Perhaps they were not supposed to be removed from their place beneath Haledon’s sun. He spied the blood that marred the perfection of one of the blades – a devil’s blood – and he swallowed hard, his stomach knotting. “I’m sorry, Maelix….” he began, not knowing what else to say.
Maelix slowly shook his head. He came forward, walking down the long aisle alone, the other acolytes remaining by the open doors. “Loki, this temple is made of nothing more than wood and stone. Yet, it has stood for thousands of years. The reason for its in-destruction is resting in the palms of your hands.”
Loki looked down at the axes and then back up again. His brow furrowed. He blanched a little, feeling incredibly self conscious and more than a little worried.
Maelix continued, taking slow steps toward him. “In every temple of Haledon across the Terran realm, there exists weapons much like these. Alike in every way but one. The others are mere decoration. These are not.” He approached Loki and stood directly before him. He glanced down at the axes, which Loki hurriedly held out to him.
Again, Maelix shook his head. “No. They are not mine, Loki. Twenty years ago, I tried, as does every acolyte of Haledon who comes to this temple, to pull them from the wall. And I failed. These are the weapons that Haledon’s avatar used against the Death Mage so many, many years ago.” He paused, and Loki knew with absolute certainty, in his gut and in his soul, what he was going to say next. “No one has been able to remove them but you. They are therefore yours.” Maelix smiled, and it was a smile both warm and awe-struck. “Loki, you are Haledon’s champion.”
*****
Drake of Tanith walked through the small dark tavern, his eyes focused on a figure that sat at the very last table against the wall, his face hidden in shadow. He approached the table and stared down at the solemn figure. “I thought the elves banned scum like you from Kriver long ago.”
The figure finished swallowing whatever he was drinking and set down his mug softly. “Did they?” he asked in a wry, gravelly voice. “Must have slipped my mind.”
Drake looked once over his shoulder toward the door and then proceeded to remove his sword from his back and lower himself gracefully into the one other chair at the table.
“What are you doing here? I thought you had a quarry to catch,” the figure in shadows said.
“I did. The plan has changed.”
“Oh?” The shadowy form straightened and leaned forward, his face coming into the light. His skin held a strange greenish hue and his brown eyes were hooded by a heavy scruff of a brow. His canines were sharp and pronounced and met with elongated tusk-like teeth on his lower jaw. His thick ears were bluntly pointed and his dark brown hair was long. It was braided on either side and held with bone beads.
“Already turned them in, did you?” he asked.
“No.”
The green-skinned man’s eyes narrowed. “What are you about, Tanith?”
“I need a favor.”
The huge green man snorted and picked up his tankard of ale. “What else is new?”
“Don’t go martyr on me, Grolsch. You owe me more favors than I can count.”
His green-skinned companion laughed at that and shrugged. “That’s what you bought into when you decided to become my friend. Besides,” he added and then took another swig of his drink. “I keep you on your toes.”
Drake sighed heavily. He leaned back as a serving wench set a new mug of ale in front of him.
“Can I get you anything else, handsome?” she asked as his molten metal eyes locked with hers. He shook his head. Once.
Her smile disappeared and she spun on her heel and left.
Grolsch laughed again and finished off his drink. “You made her leave before I could get another mug of ale, you son of a bitch. Why the hell do you always have to be so scary, anyway?”
“It’s in my blood.”
“Boy, you’re not kidding.”
Drake picked up his drink and took a long pull. He normally did not imbibe. But something inside of him was on edge, off, nervous. It wasn’t like him to lose any control whatsoever over his emotions. He had been doing his job for a very long time. He was good at what he did. The best. He’d never failed to bring in a quarry. Not once. He had a reputation to uphold.
And Raven Grey was about to blow it all to Hell.
“Grolsch, I need you to take her from me.”
Grolsch stared at him. “Who?”
“The woman I’ve been paid to bring in.”
“Ummm… what?” Grolsch’s brow furrowed and his head cocked to one side, his eyes squinting as if he truly did not understand.
“You heard me. I need you to take her out of my hands. I can’t turn her in.”
Grolsch’s eyes widened. “You’re joking, aren’t you?”
“No.”
The green-skinned man leaned forward again and his voice softened. He looked nervous. “Drake, you’ve been doing this a very, very long time. You’ve never had a problem with your mark. What’s going on?”
Drake did not answer right away. He wasn’t sure what to say. What did he tell his friend? That he’d never seen a woman like Raven in all his long life? That, from the moment he’d laid eyes on her in the prince’s viewing pool, he had been capable of thinking of nothing else? That, as he was researching his quarry, he’d learned she was the daughter of Malphas, Dark Royalty, and that she was also The Chosen Soul? Did he tell his companion that who and what Raven was made her more precious – especially where he was concerned – than Grolsch could possibly imagine?
“I have my reasons, Grolsch. Not the least of which is the prince. He’s the one paying me, and he can not be allowed to get his hands on her.”
Grolsch’s large brow lifted in renewed interest. “Oh?” He leaned back again and eyed his friend carefully. “I’ve known you for a long time, Tanith. You’ve never behaved like this before. There’s something about her you’re not telling me. What is she, your sister or something?”
Drake looked up from his mug to meet his friend’s inquisitive gaze. “No. We are not related in any way whatsoever.” It was true. However, if Grolsch had known Raven was an Abaddonian princess, he would have choked.
Grolsch nodded slowly. “I agree with you that the prince doesn’t deserve much of anything at all, much less a warm woman. But what makes this mortal so different?”
“For one thing, she isn’t mortal. And she attacked him,” Drake quickly added, hoping his friend’s attention would glide over the mortal thing and head straight into the topic of her attack, as he did so love to fight.
“She attacked him? A woman attacked the elf prince?” Grolsch threw back his head and barked out laughter. “By the gods, I wish I’d been there to see that!”
Drake sat silently watching his companion.
Grolsch stopped laughing and settled down again. “Aye, she’ll be lucky if she isn’t executed for such a thing. If she’s fortunate, she’s pretty and the prince’ll just keep her.”
Drake’s jaw tensed. He’d been worried already, but Grolsch’s talk of execution set his nerves even more on edge. He’d been certain Lord Astriel only wanted to punish the woman, but now he wasn’t so sure. The subject of her attack aside, if the elf prince – or his father – learned that Raven Grey was the Chosen Soul, they might decide to have her killed to prevent her from being claimed by Cruor. Assuming they knew about the prophecy.
And now Drake wondered about that as well. Did they know? The elves seemed to know everything. Was that Astriel’s plan after all? To kill the Chosen Soul?
Drake swore internally, took another hasty pull on his beer, and set it back down with an agitated thunk. Now that he considered it, Drake had no doubt that the prince was well aware Raven Grey she was both the daughter of Malphas and The Chosen Soul.
Astriel was a smart man. He was a very old, very powerful elf. There were a myriad of routes the prince could take with the black-haired princess. He could barter her to her father. He could kill her and be rid of the threat her ancient soul posed.
Or he could keep her for himself.
Grolsch quieted down and watched the bounty hunter in silence. Several more moments passed before the large man shook his head. “You look bent on something evil, Tanith.”
Drake glanced up from where he’d been gazing at nothing, lost in the darkness of his thoughts.
“Your eyes are glowing,” Grolsch warned softly.
Drake glanced down again, reined himself in, and finished off the last of the ale in his mug.
Grolsch sighed and shrugged. “Very well. I’ll take her. But no one in their right mind is going to believe that an ork was able to take quarry away from Drake of Tanith.”
“I’ll take care of that part.”
Grolsch made a derisive sound and leaned over the table to take Drake’s mug from him. He glanced down into the cup and blinked. “You finished it. You never finish it.” He looked both bewildered and highly disappointed.
Drake could only look slightly repentant. The truth was, he could have downed another.
Grolsch pursed his fat lips. “Just what did you want me to do with the lass once I’ve got her?”
“Take her to the Draca Desert.”
Again the ork barked with laughter and shook his head. “Right! Now I know you’ve lost your ever-loving mind. No mortal can survive in that desert.” He eyed Drake carefully. “Why would I take her into that place? If she doesn’t die, I damn well will!”
“You’re smart, Grolsch. Find a way around that. It’s the only place the elves can’t go looking for her.” Drake glanced over his shoulder, searched into the shadows of the tavern, and then turned back to face his large, green companion once more. “I’ll catch up with you in a week’s time.”
Grolsch’s eyes got very large. “Oh my.”
Drake stilled.
“You’re having me save her so you can keep her.”
Drake said nothing. His steely gaze was steady.
“You’re digging yourself a grave, my friend,” Grolsch said softly. “You are who you are, and it’s impressive and all that. But I think you may just be underestimating the elves this time. If she’s so special you’re thinking of holding on to her, you can bet your devil’s hide the elf prince is thinking the same thing.”
Again, Drake said nothing and again, his friend watched him carefully. “Where is she now?” Grolsch asked.
“By Mandarin Pond. She’s alone, and I’ve placed a shielding spell on her location.” Drake had located her shortly after she’d flown from the clearing during his battle with Cruor and his two minions. He had let her be – for now.
Grolsch was silent for several moments more. And then he asked, “By the by, why are there sword holes in your armor?”
“I got into a fight with an elf.”
Grolsch shook his head. “Lovely.”
*****
Astriel did not bother to knock on the giant double doors that guarded the entrance to the mage tower. He simply waved his hand before him and the large wooden doors began to creak open. As soon as there was room, he strode through them and into the flickering darkness beyond.
Torches lit with multi-colored mage fire burned in sconces that protruded at intervals along the stone walls. Bas relief carvings in the stone depicted several infamous scenes in the ancient arcane legends that all blue robes came to learn during their study under the master mage.
Astriel paid them little heed. He entered the main gathering chamber on the first floor of the massive mage tower and scanned the interior. Blue and white banners hung from rafters in the ceiling. A giant hearth on one side of the room blazed and crackled cheerfully, casting dancing shadows across the tables, chairs and bookshelves in the room.
The chamber was empty but for one man. A blue robe with long black hair sat at one of the long tables, his back turned toward the chamber’s entrance.
Astriel strode toward him, his boots echoing clearly on the marble floor. The blue robe did not look up at the sound of approaching footfalls and Astriel smiled at his intentional insolence.
When the prince finally stood directly in front of him, the blue robe slowly placed his forefinger over a line in the book he’d been reading and glanced up, a slightly bored, slightly annoyed expression on his face.
Astriel waited.
The blue robe looked him up and down and then smiled an utterly nasty smile. “Did you get lost, your highness, or is there something I can help you with?”
Astriel returned the smile. “I’m looking for a book. Jaren was reading it when I saw it last. It is a book of prophecies.”
The black-haired man almost snorted. His lips twitched. “There are many books on prophecies within these walls, your highness. I’m afraid you’ll need to be a bit more specific.”
“I want the book on the prophecy of Cruor.”
“Oh?” The blue robe raised one black brow. “Taking a sudden interest in mortal affairs, my prince?”
“My interests are none of your business, mage. Where is the book?”
The blue robe slowly pushed away from the table and came to his feet. His gaze locked on Astriel’s. “You are not among friends here, Lord Astriel. You may hold sway in your court and among the mortals, however, when you enter those doors,” he gestured to the entrance on the other side of the room, “you enter the court of the master mage.” The blue robe’s gaze narrowed. “And his power is far greater than yours.”
Astriel’s cruel smile never wavered. He shook his head admonishingly. “Honestly, Azmith, these lover’s tantrums of yours are unbecoming. Have you told Gray Beard of your true feelings for him?”
The blue robe opened his mouth to retort, but a sound across the room brought both men’s attentions around before he could say anything further.
From the shadows stepped a tall man, draped in sapphire and ebony robes. The nature of his build was hidden beneath the sheer volume of his vestments, but he moved with quiet grace as he silently entered the room. His facial features, though not ruggedly handsome, were engaging and very charismatic. His dark blue, cat-like eyes glittered like gems in the firelight. His hair was long, straight and black, but his chin sported a graying goatee. A vicious scar ran the length of one side of his face from above his eyebrow to his chin. Its effect did nothing to mar the man’s charisma, and in fact merely intensified his presence.
He approached the two men.
Azmith’s smile became a sneer of victory and contempt and Astriel’s face wiped itself clean of any emotion whatsoever.
“Lord Astriel.” Gray Beard greeted the prince with a slight nod of his head. Astriel did the same. Neither man smiled. “Is there something you need?” the master mage asked, unspoken insinuation lacing each word.
“The book of Cruor’s prophecy. Your pupil Jaren had it last. And as it goes, she appears to be missing as well. She was not in her quarters.”
Gray Beard took a deep breath and let it out in a slow sigh. “No. She would not be. She insisted on investigating ideas she has that Cruor is on the verge of returning.” He spoke in a calm voice, but something dangerous rode each syllable, as if a reminder that every breath he took was fortified with magic. “Why she would be interested in the matters of mortals, I can not imagine.” He waved the thought away as if it were insignificant. “She left yesterday afternoon, taking the book with her.”
Astriel looked from Gray Beard to Azmith. The younger blue robe appeared as if he desperately wanted to say something, but was holding himself carefully in check while in the presence of his master.
The prince turned back to the master mage and the two stared at one another for some indeterminate amount of time. And then Astriel turned away and calmly strode to the doors. “When she comes back, please let her know I would like a look at that book,” he said as he left the room. There was no answer from behind him.
He hadn’t expected one.
*****
Loki stared at Maelix for a long time. Haledon’s champion? Loki’s mind tipped and wavered. He blinked, almost dizzy. Then, as if someone had suddenly lit a match beneath his feet, he jumped.
The spell!
It may already be too late! If the search spell he’d performed had worked, his sister’s location, or a clue to as much, would have appeared within the watery depths of the viewing bowl. Normally, it was written in scrolling black ink. However, after performing the spell, Loki had been rather distracted with attacking devils and such and hadn’t been able to check.
Loki ran to the bowl’s edge and looked down, the axes still held tightly in his hands. The message was just fading and was already illegible. Within a few short seconds, all that had once been written disappeared entirely and the pool was again clear but for the thin, tiny streams of black ink that still lifted from the note that lay at the bottom of the water.
Loki issued a vulgar string of curses and nearly threw the axes against the wall in a fit of frustration. He caught himself in time though, and turned to see all of Haledon’s acolytes begin to fidget nervously.
All right, he thought, and even as he did, he marveled at how easy this transition was for him. If Haledon wants me as his champion, then he’s got me.
“Listen carefully, everyone,” he said, motioning for the priests just inside the doorway to come all the way inside. They moved slowly toward him, as did Maelix. “This is what we are going to do,” he began.