“My wife spread rumors about me, telling all of Laegenshire I lost my temper and beat her without reason…. a completely false allegation. I never laid a hand on her in anger. I only disciplined her when I deemed it necessary to maintain a proper attitude of respect. Then when she accidentally fell and broke her neck, I was falsely accused of murder. Though Chaleah found I told no lie, Graely still treats me as if I were guilty.”
Vindrake steepled his fingers, tapping them together in a slow, thoughtful rhythm. Interesting… he believes every word to be absolute truth, though I perceive he had a hand in her death. I see why Chaleah could not convict him. “And you’re prepared to take the oath of fealty, immediately? To submit to my leadership without question?”
“In you, I see a leader who will do whatever is necessary to reach a goal, without regard for simpering sentimentality. Unlike Graely BarManasae, you have my respect, and I see no reason I’d ever question your authority.” He held out his hand. “I’m ready to take the bloodbond.”
Yawning, Vindrake feigned indifference. “I don’t believe I wish to give you the bloodbond.”
The traitor’s face flushed. “What must I do to prove myself worthy?”
“You misunderstand my intent. I’ve recently begun to differentiate between those who would only follow me with the bloodbond and those who would do so without the compulsion. You fall into the latter category. And I find myself in need of a spy in Graely’s circle. With your gift, we could communicate with ease.”
“A spy? You wish me to return to Laegenshire and report to you concerning the council’s plans?”
“Are you willing?”
His lips pulled back in a sneer. “It would be my pleasure.”
“And perhaps you may earn a position on my council through your actions.”
“That would be an added reward, Master Vindrake.” Bobbing his head, the Stone Clansman gave a slight bow. “However, merely having a role in Graely’s destruction will be a great prize.”
“Do you have some latent protective attitudes about young girls? For I will have my revenge on Alora and Kaevin, as well as Graely.”
“No, indeed. I’d be happy to participate in Alora’s death, and I have no qualms about any aspect, including torture.” The anticipation shining in his eyes reminded Vindrake of a hound salivating over its food.
Vindrake bestowed what he hoped was a benevolent smile. Of course you will never be on my council, for I cannot long abide someone with gifting that exceeds my own. Still, when the need arises, you will make an awe-inspiring wendt.
Tilting his chair back, he propped his feet on the table. “Then you should be very happy with your assignment. Very happy, indeed.”
A huge crash echoed in the cavernous chamber as the table cracked beneath Vindrake’s feet. Startled, Vindrake lost his balance, tumbling backward to the stone floor and striking his head.
“Let me help you up, Master Vindrake.” While he extended his hand to Vindrake, the Stone Clansman’s eyes darted back toward the demolished table. “What is that thing?”
Vindrake struggled to his feet, staring at the enormous decaying mass covering the remains of the table. His hand rose to his mouth as he gagged at the noxious stench. A wendt… Alora…
“My wards have failed! Guard! I need a new shaman—bring me Leethielle!”
*****
Arista climbed into the sleeping loft, shoving the mattress aside to pry up the loose board. Groping in the dark space, her hand located the treasure. With a glance over her shoulder to ensure her parents had not yet returned, she withdrew the scroll. Hands trembling, she spread the parchment and smoothed out the wrinkles. Though it had been stuffed without care into her clothes pocket, dunked in the water on two different occasions, and hastily crammed into its dusty hiding place, the parchment remained clearly legible. Except I can’t read a word of it. What language is this?
As her fingers traced the letters, a tingle ran up her arm and down her spine. The beautiful script was a feast for her eyes, and she longed to read the words. What might it say? What could make this parchment so important that Vindrake would keep it locked within his trunk? Surely the scroll must be wicked… but perhaps not. Perhaps the evil lies within the user. Perhaps in someone else’s hands, the scroll’s knowledge could be utilized for good.
For two moons she’d debated the best course of action, finally deciding to give the scroll to Nordamen. As she retied the binding sash around the rolled parchment, Arista hesitated. What if he destroys it, without attempting to glean its valuable knowledge? He might not recognize its beauty and potential. Perhaps, for now, I should keep it safe in its hiding place.
Lifting the creaky board to tuck it away, Arista had another thought. The most secure place for the parchment is with me. Donning her freshly-laundered green cloak, she tucked the scroll deep within the pocket fold, as her body hummed its approval.
“I’ll only keep it for a few more days. Then I’ll allow Nordamen to have it.” Saying the words aloud made her believe it was true.
Almost.