Chasing the Prophecy
Page 109
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She stopped to wonder whether Maldor could have overheard the exchange. With mental communication she usually sensed only messages targeted at her. But Galloran sometimes picked up thoughts she didn’t mean to send.
If Maldor had sensed their conversation, there was nothing she could do about it now. If he had that ability, or if the lurkers had used their abilities on his behalf, she would just have to hope that nobody was paying attention.
There were two pitchers on the table. One gave off a strong odor. The scent triggered memories. She had wakened several times to sip that pungent solution. Her recollection of those moments was hazy—her head and shoulders propped up by pillows, a cup offered by a gnarled hand, a taste like nutty egg yolks accented by a distinctly metallic tang. Sometimes the drink had been warm, other times room temperature. Unable to resist her weariness, she had always sunk right back to sleep.
How heavily had they drugged her? The agony she had begun to experience after challenging Maldor lingered only as a vague discomfort. But she had lost two days! She had intended to find some way to help Galloran from inside Felrook before the enemy armies arrived. Instead, she had spent the time in a stupor.
She could not rest any longer. The other pitcher smelled like water. She poured some into her cupped palm and splashed the liquid against her face. Then she filled a glass. Walking to the window, she swished around a mouthful and spat it out. Then Rachel gargled another two mouthfuls. The gargling reduced the hideous taste in her mouth. The foulness went beyond the nasty flavor of oversleeping. Some of the vileness had to be a consequence of the medicine.
Slowly sipping water, Rachel tried to decide what she should do. According to Galloran, she did not need to fret about winning the war from inside Felrook. Jason had come through. He had delivered the prophecy, and Galloran had learned some secret that would let him destroy the fortress. She just needed to worry about getting out.
But how could she do that? Maldor had proven much more powerful than her. Using all her strength while he was weakened, she hadn’t managed to scratch him. Maybe she could slip out of the fortress with a series of Edomic suggestions. Working with Ferrin, she had learned how to pick locks. Was it possible that she could make it all the way out of Felrook by picking locks and nudging minds?
The prospect seemed unlikely. She would have to get past too many guards. She could distract a few temporarily with Edomic, but eventually they would catch on, and an alarm would be raised. Besides, what would prevent Maldor from sending a torivor to retrieve her?
Rachel rubbed her face with both hands. Despite her many worries, Jason had done his part. How did he keep succeeding against all odds? What would he do if he were trapped here? She had to think like him. She had to find a way.
Galloran now had the information he needed. It was terrific, surprising news, except that it meant coming here had been totally unnecessary. She should have had more faith in Jason and his mission. If she had just held on a couple days more before caving in to her fears . . .
Then again, Jason had received a specific message for her. Darian had provided a clue. Was it meant to reach her here? Could she still be within the boundaries of the prophecy? Or had that clue been meant to find her under other circumstances? Had she already blown it?
There was no rewriting history. She had made her decision with the information she’d had at the time. She had to accept her situation. Her focus needed to be on what she would do now.
If she discounted the clue from Jason, she would be adrift without a compass. She had to trust that the message pertained to her current situation. The secret of her escape must involve what Orruck had taught her. The former apprentice of Zokar had forced her to demonstrate her ability to push objects with Edomic. He had also taught her a command involving lightning and a command that could turn stone to glass.
Rachel had never attempted the lightning command. The phrasing would not allow the directive to be issued on a small scale. Galloran had warned that electric commands tended to be unstable. In ancient times, even the strongest wizards had generally avoided them.
But could that instability work to her advantage? Might Maldor struggle to counteract lightning? Or would he undermine the command as he had with fire, forcing Rachel to deal with the consequences of a failed mandate?
The electric command called for huge opposing charges that would produce the equivalent of a serious lightning strike. Such a powerful command could have been created to attack a mighty wizard. But the concept of commanding lightning had seemed familiar to Galloran, which implied that a lightning spell was not particularly unusual. Supposedly, Orruck had developed one of those commands to harm Zokar. If he had developed the command on his own, wouldn’t it be unfamiliar? Or could he have authored a specific type of lightning command?
Galloran had never mentioned seeing a command turn stone to glass. But Rachel had never discussed that command much with him. She had successfully uttered the command numerous times. It had never seemed remarkably challenging or mysterious.
Could turning stone to glass be the command Orruck had developed? How could it have harmed Zokar? How could it harm Maldor?
Maldor was not made of stone. But Felrook was a different matter. Could Zokar have had a similar fortress? Turning the walls of Felrook to glass would certainly make the stronghold more vulnerable. Of course, to accomplish the feat a wizard would either need infinitely more power than Rachel possessed, or else a very long time to transform the fortress segment by segment.
How else might Maldor be vulnerable?
Rachel wished she understood more about the relationship between Maldor and the torivors. Controlling them took a heavy toll on him, which meant that they probably weren’t willing servants.
What did she know about them? The lurkers were not native to Lyrian. They had been summoned from another world. The Myrkstone that Maldor wore was somehow involved with dominating them. Could she turn that to glass? Could she destroy it?
Was she foolish to imagine that the lurkers might help her if given the chance? When she had communicated with them, they had never felt evil. Alien, yes, but not hateful. If anything, they had seemed indifferent. They fulfilled their orders, but they did not seem to personally care about their assignments.
Folding her arms on the windowsill, Rachel rested her chin. How essential was she to all of this? Maybe she had already done her part by smashing the gate at West Keep. Did it matter if she escaped? At least if she died, it would mean Galloran had succeeded. That was better than total failure, right? Of course, living to enjoy the victory would be nice too.
If Maldor had sensed their conversation, there was nothing she could do about it now. If he had that ability, or if the lurkers had used their abilities on his behalf, she would just have to hope that nobody was paying attention.
There were two pitchers on the table. One gave off a strong odor. The scent triggered memories. She had wakened several times to sip that pungent solution. Her recollection of those moments was hazy—her head and shoulders propped up by pillows, a cup offered by a gnarled hand, a taste like nutty egg yolks accented by a distinctly metallic tang. Sometimes the drink had been warm, other times room temperature. Unable to resist her weariness, she had always sunk right back to sleep.
How heavily had they drugged her? The agony she had begun to experience after challenging Maldor lingered only as a vague discomfort. But she had lost two days! She had intended to find some way to help Galloran from inside Felrook before the enemy armies arrived. Instead, she had spent the time in a stupor.
She could not rest any longer. The other pitcher smelled like water. She poured some into her cupped palm and splashed the liquid against her face. Then she filled a glass. Walking to the window, she swished around a mouthful and spat it out. Then Rachel gargled another two mouthfuls. The gargling reduced the hideous taste in her mouth. The foulness went beyond the nasty flavor of oversleeping. Some of the vileness had to be a consequence of the medicine.
Slowly sipping water, Rachel tried to decide what she should do. According to Galloran, she did not need to fret about winning the war from inside Felrook. Jason had come through. He had delivered the prophecy, and Galloran had learned some secret that would let him destroy the fortress. She just needed to worry about getting out.
But how could she do that? Maldor had proven much more powerful than her. Using all her strength while he was weakened, she hadn’t managed to scratch him. Maybe she could slip out of the fortress with a series of Edomic suggestions. Working with Ferrin, she had learned how to pick locks. Was it possible that she could make it all the way out of Felrook by picking locks and nudging minds?
The prospect seemed unlikely. She would have to get past too many guards. She could distract a few temporarily with Edomic, but eventually they would catch on, and an alarm would be raised. Besides, what would prevent Maldor from sending a torivor to retrieve her?
Rachel rubbed her face with both hands. Despite her many worries, Jason had done his part. How did he keep succeeding against all odds? What would he do if he were trapped here? She had to think like him. She had to find a way.
Galloran now had the information he needed. It was terrific, surprising news, except that it meant coming here had been totally unnecessary. She should have had more faith in Jason and his mission. If she had just held on a couple days more before caving in to her fears . . .
Then again, Jason had received a specific message for her. Darian had provided a clue. Was it meant to reach her here? Could she still be within the boundaries of the prophecy? Or had that clue been meant to find her under other circumstances? Had she already blown it?
There was no rewriting history. She had made her decision with the information she’d had at the time. She had to accept her situation. Her focus needed to be on what she would do now.
If she discounted the clue from Jason, she would be adrift without a compass. She had to trust that the message pertained to her current situation. The secret of her escape must involve what Orruck had taught her. The former apprentice of Zokar had forced her to demonstrate her ability to push objects with Edomic. He had also taught her a command involving lightning and a command that could turn stone to glass.
Rachel had never attempted the lightning command. The phrasing would not allow the directive to be issued on a small scale. Galloran had warned that electric commands tended to be unstable. In ancient times, even the strongest wizards had generally avoided them.
But could that instability work to her advantage? Might Maldor struggle to counteract lightning? Or would he undermine the command as he had with fire, forcing Rachel to deal with the consequences of a failed mandate?
The electric command called for huge opposing charges that would produce the equivalent of a serious lightning strike. Such a powerful command could have been created to attack a mighty wizard. But the concept of commanding lightning had seemed familiar to Galloran, which implied that a lightning spell was not particularly unusual. Supposedly, Orruck had developed one of those commands to harm Zokar. If he had developed the command on his own, wouldn’t it be unfamiliar? Or could he have authored a specific type of lightning command?
Galloran had never mentioned seeing a command turn stone to glass. But Rachel had never discussed that command much with him. She had successfully uttered the command numerous times. It had never seemed remarkably challenging or mysterious.
Could turning stone to glass be the command Orruck had developed? How could it have harmed Zokar? How could it harm Maldor?
Maldor was not made of stone. But Felrook was a different matter. Could Zokar have had a similar fortress? Turning the walls of Felrook to glass would certainly make the stronghold more vulnerable. Of course, to accomplish the feat a wizard would either need infinitely more power than Rachel possessed, or else a very long time to transform the fortress segment by segment.
How else might Maldor be vulnerable?
Rachel wished she understood more about the relationship between Maldor and the torivors. Controlling them took a heavy toll on him, which meant that they probably weren’t willing servants.
What did she know about them? The lurkers were not native to Lyrian. They had been summoned from another world. The Myrkstone that Maldor wore was somehow involved with dominating them. Could she turn that to glass? Could she destroy it?
Was she foolish to imagine that the lurkers might help her if given the chance? When she had communicated with them, they had never felt evil. Alien, yes, but not hateful. If anything, they had seemed indifferent. They fulfilled their orders, but they did not seem to personally care about their assignments.
Folding her arms on the windowsill, Rachel rested her chin. How essential was she to all of this? Maybe she had already done her part by smashing the gate at West Keep. Did it matter if she escaped? At least if she died, it would mean Galloran had succeeded. That was better than total failure, right? Of course, living to enjoy the victory would be nice too.
