The Sorcerer's Equal (The Telepath and the Sorcerer Book 3) Page 4

  “Do you know anything about shape-shifting?” she asked.

  “I know something about magic. I certainly might be more amenable to help you if you tell me an interesting story.”

  “I was in the navy and I killed an officer who tried to take advantage of me. Kalan’s men told me they wouldn’t keep me in prison if I agreed to become a shape-shifter. But their spell didn’t quite work. I’m stuck with the spirit of a bird inside me, and I can’t shift back and forth.”

  “Did you come here to see me about a body, or about a bird spirit?”

  “The body, mostly,” Kessily said. “But—a little of both.”

  “Why were you in the Wodrenarune’s navy? I didn’t think they allowed women in the military. I thought Daramon ladies down there are fragile creatures.”

  “Some of ‘em are, but not traders. I just wanted to see parts of the world I hadn’t seen, have a little adventure.”

  “Adventure is overrated, isn’t it?” he said. “Well. Let me show you what I have. Do you have a blood sample?”

  Velsa handed him the jar.

  He pointed them toward the doorway with his stick, lifting the lantern.

  Whatever test he put visitors through, it seemed they had passed at least one of them.

  He led the way through dark rooms. The lantern’s glow gave them glimpses of dour portraits on the wall, painted fireplace mantles and simple but finely made wooden furniture. The sun had now gone down entirely, but windows were left open to spring breezes. The air, at least, smelled sweet.

  The fresh air was short-lived. He descended steep stairs, clammy stone walls pressing close around them, to a basement in which it was impossible not to imagine being murdered. A number of bodies were covered with shrouds. Tomato flew into a dark corner, and a rat screeched.

  “Oh gods,” Kessily breathed, as the Keeper waved the lantern around.

  “Damn rats,” he muttered.

  Kessily brushed a wing against Velsa’s hand like she needed something to clutch. Maybe she’d even forgotten she didn’t have fingers. Velsa sensed that she was frightened of death, in a general sense. But she never let on to the Keeper.

  The Keeper picked out the bandage soaked with Grau’s blood, and rubbed it between his fingers. He gently lifted the edge of one of the shrouds with his walking stick, tapping the body beneath. Shaking his head, he moved to the next, repeating the same ritual. Velsa clutched her hands at her sides, trying not to show her nerves.

  If none of them were a match…

  But then he stopped, and uncovered one of the bodies. “This one should work,” he said. “Ryrilan Samar. He is missing both arms, but I don’t suppose you need those. His death was a clean ascension to the spirit world.”

  Velsa shuddered. Ascension was just another word for suicide, and suicide rattled her where skeletons did not, particularly after the experience at the patrol camp where the cruel concubine Flower tried to force her to ascend. Ascension or violent means: those were the only ways a Fanarlem could die. “Please—we don’t need to know the hows and whys.”

  “I thought you would like to know that his soul departed his body voluntarily, no poison needed. All of the internal organs are healthy and clean.” He lifted his lantern toward her. “We’ll discuss payment over a bit of dinner.”

  “I don’t want dinner,” Kessily said. “Well, maybe a bit of bread.”

  The Keeper considered her wings.

  “How about a bowl of soup?” he offered. He went back up the stairs, and Kessily and Velsa were quick to follow him. A maid was waiting in the shadows.

  “Luzan, can you shred the chicken into a corn chowder?”

  “Yes, m’lord.”

  The maid seemed just like the other servant, dull and pale, like they had both crawled out of a grave. Velsa ran her fingers over Grau’s crystal and saw swirls of magic wafting off of them, like dark purple smoke flecked with stars.

  “Is everyone here undead but you, sir?” Velsa asked him.

  He looked at her sharply. “I’ll ask the questions.”

  He kept walking, but Kessily made a face at Velsa that plainly asked what is his problem?

  Perhaps the Keeper sensed that he had been a tiny bit rude, because as they walked into the dining room, he said, “You must understand, there is nothing people fear more than death, and no greater power in all the world than to conquer it. No person can control or understand death entirely, but I am closer than anyone else—and my reputation is legend in these parts. If I granted favors lightly and was a benevolent host, I would have a line outside my castle. When the summer weather is fine, I’ve been known to turn away five visitors a day. I can’t take my own powers lightly. Just because I can save someone from death doesn’t mean I should. So, you might think I’m rude. Well, that is by design. Have a seat.”

  “And with an introduction like that, how can we say no?” Kessily said.

  He gave her the slightest smirk in return. “I wouldn’t advise it.”

  The dining room was not an especially comfortable place either. The Keeper struck a match and carefully lit a candelabra, with a slow ritual grace that seemed designed to make them feel as if they were in the presence of an important person, then sat at the head of the table. Velsa and Kessily flanked him, sitting in the muted glow of candlelight which flickered on the stone walls. The table had room for twenty more guests, the ceilings were vaulted, and most of the vast room was swallowed by shadows. Velsa had never considered before how important it was for the size of the room to match the amount of people at a gathering.

  The maid put heavy goblets in front of them and poured some wine, although Velsa shook her head in refusal. “I can’t absorb any alcohol, so really it’s just a waste.”

  Kessily was busy trying to keep Tomato from walking around on the table. He peered in Velsa’s empty goblet and tipped it over.

  “Tomato!” Kessily stood and smacked him with her feathers, her cheeks flushed. Tomato ran down to the empty end of the table and sat, swishing his tail grumpily.

  “I’m sorry about him,” Kessily said. “I just got him this morning.”

  “He seems useful for killing rats,” the Keeper said. “So, dear ladies, I have not even asked your names.”

  “Velsa Thanneau.”

  “Kessily.”

  “No family name for you?”

  “Oh, I have one, I just prefer to keep it to myself. We don’t have yours either.”

  He paused like he was going to refuse, and took a sip of wine, but then he said, “It’s nearly the same as my title. Dormongara.” Dormon a gara—The Keeper of the Dead. “Dormongara Alamont the third.”

  “Goodness,” Kessily said.

  “What is it you do, exactly? How do you ‘keep’ the dead?” Velsa asked.

  “A spell was cast upon the great crystal Dor-Irin by all the necromancers in the realm that allowed it to sense when and where every person dies, in this entire world. This was a very important spell for necromancers because in the past, say an important sorcerer went missing on the battlefield, and the king wanted to pay to have him resurrected, or even just to speak to him one last time to ask important questions. Sometimes we couldn’t find the body until it was too late for a resurrection. Or we would attempt to speak to him only to find out he was still alive somewhere. My ancestors were charged with the keeping of the crystal and the burden of sensing the channel.”

  “How does that work?” Kessily asked. “Could you tell me if my parents were dead? I mean, gods forbid.”

  “If I had met them in the past, I’d be able to tell you this very moment. Otherwise, you would have to give me a sense of them. My robe is enchanted with the crystal’s magic so I carry it with me. Now that we have met, if you died, I would sense it even from far away. I could teleport to your location and bring you back, for the right price.”

  “I see. And you inherited this, like a king?” Velsa asked.

  He put down his goblet. “As I said, I’m not in the habit of ta
lking about myself with visitors. ‘Honesty will earn you love, but mystery will earn you respect’—Kalan understands that principle too.” He laced his fingers. “And like a king, I must produce an heir or two, but I have no desire to take up with a Miralem girl who will sense my emotions. The Ven-Diri, meanwhile, we are all terribly inbred at this point…”

  Kessily’s expression registered horror. “Stop right there,” Kessily said. “No way.”

  “Why don’t you listen to my offer first?”

  Kessily glared.

  “Kalan made something rather compelling and horrifying out of you. I won’t be able to get it out of my mind for some time.”

  She went pale. “And I take it you like things that are horrifying.”

  “Sometimes.” He raised his eyebrows at her. “You seem like a woman in need of some magical help, but you aren’t shy in the least. And I’m sure you know that the secret of shape-shifting is sought all around the world, except in those precious corners where they know it and guard their secret.”

  “I can’t help you with that either,” Kessily said. “Clearly, I don’t know how to shape-shifting, or I would be either a bird, or a woman. Not something ‘compelling and horrifying’. That is the entire reason I came to see you.”

  “I would take you to Otare, present you the queen, and confer with the court sorcerers. We will learn the secret of this magic if we can.”

  “If we can’t?”

  “Well, you make a intriguing consort. Perhaps if I come with a lady everyone will stop hassling me to take up with Grusa the Gray Witch…”

  “I don’t want to be your consort. I want to be fixed. And—I mean—you do realize I don’t have hands? I need a maidservant.”

  “I’ll take Luzan with us. It’ll be good for her to get out.”

  Kessily flushed. “Why Otare? That’s a long way from here. The king and queen of Laionesse couldn’t help me?”

  He rubbed his temple. “Don’t get me started on the king and queen of Laionesse. Sweet people, but they make a compelling case for electing officials instead of hereditary rule. That little queen doesn’t have a substantial thought in her fair head. No, trust me—you want to see Queen Azure.”

  Kessily looked very uncomfortable. It was hard to tell if Dormongara was dangerous or merely eccentric—he was being reasonable enough so far, but Velsa sensed some darkness lurking. And she couldn’t blame Kessily for not trusting men.

  “And if I am able to cure you of this affliction, in exchange, you will agree to be my bride. If I can’t fulfill this promise to you, I won’t hold Velsa to any debt.”

  Kessily sputtered. “No way am I going to be anyone’s bride.”

  “Kessily only came with me for moral support,” Velsa said. “She isn’t up for trade.”

  “She came to inquire about a bird spirit, didn’t she? What do you have to offer?” he asked her.

  “I have—a crystal…” She stumbled a little.

  “I have plenty of use for Kessily. Her magic is interesting, her appearance is pleasing, and her sharp tongue would fit in well among the wits and wags of court. If you hadn’t brought her, you wouldn’t have made it this far. Crystals? I have hundreds of those.”

  Hundreds? Velsa thought. Of course he does…

  “Come on!” Kessily stood up. “You really wouldn’t help Velsa if I wasn’t here?”

  “No. I thought I made my reasons clear already.”

  “You’re—” Kessily made a visible effort to cut herself off from what was definitely going to be an insult. “I can’t go with you.”

  “You wouldn’t be spending all your time with me,” Dormongara said. “The Queen of Otare is very amenable.”

  Kessily’s mouth pulled into a troubled frown. “I’m not putting myself at the mercy of powerful people. Who knows how long you and the queen and all the court sorcerers will want to treat me like an experiment? That’s how I got into this mess.”

  “The whole world is at the mercy of powerful people,” he said. “Haven’t you always been?”

  One of the maids came out with a tureen of soup, giving Velsa a moment to think. She could feel Grau’s only hope slipping away. They had to get out of here with that body. She couldn’t bear it if he had to become a Fanarlem, knowing that there was a way he could have been saved, and she had failed.

  If only Kessily hadn’t come! He was fixated on making use of her now.

  Alone, her chances of appealing to his conscience might have been better.

  If he had one.

  Velsa gripped the table. “Kessily is not going with you. It’s not an option. I refuse to let her be tangled in this and beholden to a stranger. Surely—there is something I can do. Grau—”

  “Velsa, wait…” Kessily said.

  “Kessily, I’m not letting you make a bad bargain,” Velsa said.

  Dormongara ladled out some chicken and corn soup for himself and started to calmly eat as she spoke. He added a little salt. She felt like she had no hope of reaching him.

  “I am accustomed to saying no,” he said. “I have to say it all the time.”

  “We came all this way,” Velsa said, but her words sounded more feeble by the moment. “We’ve been through so much! I understand that the price has to be high to defy death, but—don’t ask me to give over a friend.”

  “I’ll go,” Kessily snapped. “If it’s the only way to save Grau, I’ll go. As long as I don’t have to tell the queen my family name. I don’t want word getting out and any shame coming to my parents because of this.”

  “We don’t need your name,” Dormongara said. “It seems you are not in the habit of giving it anyway.”

  The nerve of this guy, Velsa thought. Kessily looked miserable, and he didn’t seem to have the slightest qualm. She knew he wasn’t a telepath, but as she finally took a spoonful of soup, she probed her mind out toward the rest of the house to see if he had any telepaths lurking in his castle for protection.

  She brushed the minds of half a dozen or so servants, all of them sharing the same bland, obedient thoughts.

  She didn’t sense a single telepath in the castle.

  Which meant that either he was unprotected from telepathic intrusion, or he had a telepath who was so talented that they were entirely shielded against Velsa’s senses.

  Surely he wouldn’t leave himself open like that.

  Sometimes she hated that she even had this power, the option to break into the minds of Daramons and bend their will. This was the reason her powers had been bound throughout her youth. Daramons were afraid of her, and they had reason to be—they were relatively defenseless.

  But she was also eternally aware that most Fanarlem weren’t born with telepathic powers at all; most Fanarlem had nothing. Sorla had a little bit of ability, but nowhere close to Velsa’s. It was only fair to use every weapon at their disposal. He was certainly using the power of his reputation and his intimidating castle. He had warned them that everyone was at the mercy of powerful people.

  She probed his mind, testing him—

  And bumped a wall.

  A protection spell. Of course.

  The spell felt different from natural telepathic resistance. It had no finesse but plenty of raw strength. She had no doubt it could be broken, but she wondered if she would be able to do it. She had manipulated Parsons and Irik before, but she’d done a poor job—Parsons ended up remembering the incident Velsa tried to erase. And that was when she didn’t have to go around a protection spell.

  “So, do we have a deal?” Dormongara asked.

  “I just have one stipulation,” Kessily said.

  “They always do.” He spoke toward the wall.

  “We need some new moon dust.”

  “New moon dust?”

  “Dalaran told us about you on the stipulation that we bring him some, and I don’t want him giving Velsa any trouble.”

  “Why would I give him any of that? What a fool,” Dormongara said.

  “Are we fools to trust y
ou, too?” Kessily retorted.

  “You seem to have no other options. Not quite the same,” he said, which was not exactly reassuring. “I will speak to Dalaran in town and make it clear that he is not to get involved.”

  “Thank you,” Kessily said. “Velsa—it’s all right.”

  Kessily’s voice was firm, but Velsa still sensed the rolling waves of anxiety under the surface. She didn’t want to be left here with this man and his skeletons and undead servants, and Velsa didn’t blame her.

  “It’s all right,” Kessily repeated.

  “We need to hurry back with the body,” Velsa said. “The dragon who brought us up here is waiting for us.”

  “You can’t walk down the rocks in the dark,” Dormongara said. “And there are wolves in these woods. Tell your dragon I’m taking care of it. I’ll bring you to town in my carriage first thing in the morning.”

  Velsa and Kessily exchanged a nervous glance. I don’t like this one bit, Velsa thought. But tumbling off the rocks in the dark was a valid concern.

  She sent a message to the dragon and found him awake this time.

  You’re sure? Morgnar asked.

  Not exactly, but I don’t see any way around it. I assume Dormongara keeps his promises, at least.

  Stay well, Velsa. We will meet again someday, in more peaceful times.

  They finished their soup—or tried to, anyway. Velsa could sense Morgnar flying away. If she ever had an appetite, it was gone now. Dormongara ruined most attempts to make polite conversation by refusing to answer questions. Velsa didn’t know how to make polite conversation without asking questions; she had always been told this was precisely what men liked. Soon enough, she gave up. Why be polite to him, anyway? Sometimes she still had to remind herself that she was under no obligation to please anyone.

  One of the female servants showed them to a guest bedroom with two canopy beds. Velsa passed a mirror and didn’t turn away quickly enough. Back in Nalim Ima, she had to exchange faces with another concubine in order to escape, and although the other girl was so similar that most people didn’t even notice, Velsa shied away from her own reflection. She was already starting to forget the nuances that separated her old face from the new one. She didn’t need such an uneasy feeling in a moment like this.