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Stolen when Alora and Kaevin had invaded his lair, the ancient scroll was crucial to preserving his power. With unmatched gifting in language, Vindrake had been the first man in all of Tenavae to correctly interpret the scroll’s writing. Yet he worried someone else might learn to read the scroll if given the opportunity. This risk could not be tolerated, for the latter part of the writings led to the undoing of every magick he performed.
No, the Maladorn Scroll had to be reclaimed, before his enemies even attempted its interpretation.
The nasally voice continued, interrupting Vindrake’s thoughts again. “It’s good that you’ve broadened your resources, however you surely need my help to communicate with your other man in Laegenshire. Am I not correct?”
Vindrake didn’t respond.
“Or is it a woman?”
Vindrake let him salivate before providing a tempting morsel. “We have other means of passing information.”
“Ah... well that’s no matter to me, of course.”
His lie amused Vindrake. In fact, a sightstone allowed the young warrior to communicate with him in Portshire through a clever ploy, as Vindrake observed through the man’s own eyes while he scratched his nightly messa
ge in the dirt, illuminated by flickering torchlight. Cumbersome, but effective.
“You may report in two days,” Vindrake ordered. “But only if you’ve acquired information of import.”
“I promise to learn the council’s plan. They will convene tomorrow evening, and I doubt your other resource is privy to council discussions.”
“And you are? Have you so endeared yourself to Graely that he admits you to their council meetings?”
“I can’t reveal my methods. But suffice it to say I know most of what is said during their clandestine talks.”
Though Vindrake’s curiosity gnawed at him, he wouldn’t give his agent the satisfaction of knowing it. Instead, he affected nonchalance. “Then I shall expect full details.”
“You’ll hear from me in two days’ time, Master Vindrake.”
“Remember, Blaggard... two fingers before sunset. No earlier. No later.”
With Blaggard’s grumbled agreement, Vindrake cemented his authority. Returning to attack his supper with relish, despite some painful indigestion, perched on a smooth rock beside the campfire.
He would sleep well that night, for his plans were in motion. Soon he would be privy to all of Graely’s secrets and have an opportunity to kill Alora and Kaevin. But first, he would take control of the Craedenza in Glaenshire, thus assuring the scroll would return to his hands.
Glaenshire was populated by citizens gifted in wisdom and language, as those so gifted migrated there, while those gifted in strength and weapons were encouraged to move on. Thus, Vindrake could kill a few villagers in a show of power, induce terror among the citizens, and establish his governor in Glaenshire. The Maladorn Scroll would fall back into Vindrake’s grasp when it was returned to the Craedenza, as any upstanding citizen of Tenavae would most certainly do.
And so he and a force of warriors and personal guards were en route to Glaenshire. Unknown to any, however, Vindrake had acquired an extra level of protection.
One of his shamans had recently made an impactful discovery in their sleeping quarters. In a room once occupied by Abaddon—one of Vindrake’s most powerful shamans, now deceased via a battle with Stone Clan—some personal notes were found wedged behind a loose stone in the wall. Among other secrets, Abaddon had learned to make his skin impervious to metal. Though Vindrake found the process long and painful, the results were impressive. Even the sharpest of blades left no mark on his skin. An arrow would simply bounce off, as if colliding with an armored plate.
Vindrake was practically invincible, except for the fact that Graely’s warriors had still found a way to kill Abaddon. Perhaps his shaman hadn’t carried the painful process to completion.
Yes, that must be what happened. Abaddon was a weak fool. The pain was not too great to bear, and now I’m completely protected from every blade. The Craedenza will be mine to control. And before long, the Maladorn Scroll will return to my hands.
Where it belongs.
~8~
The white stone Craedenza stood atop a rise of exposed bedrock, polished and gleaming, with sparkles of white minerals that glinted in the sunlight. The archived collection of scrolls and manuscripts was the center of scholarship and learning, aptly located at the highest point in Glaenshire.
It was here that Raelene and Bardamen spent their time, day after day, sifting through the scrolls and manuscripts in search of some hitherto undiscovered nugget of knowledge that might aid them in their fight against Vindrake. In addition, Raelene instructed him to look for any reference to soulmates, especially a discussion of removing such a bond.
Bardamen was happy enough to leave the Stone Clan shaman responsibilities to his father, Nordamen, and make the trip as Raelene’s protector and aid. In a few moons, he would have thirty years, and the position of chief shaman would fall to Bardamen. He found the break from his usual duties a pleasant one, enjoying the travel and the pleasant weather.
For some inexplicable reason, he anticipated repeating the feud of words he’d encountered with the petite archivist, Meravelle, the granddaughter of the Craedenza’s chief archivist, Bastaeno. Bardamen and Mera had butted heads during his previous visit and so far, she’d proven unpersuaded by his arguments.
He squinted at the faded writing on the ancient parchment. Though the words were legible, he simply couldn’t concentrate enough to understand the meaning. He’d recognized a soft feminine voice in the outer room almost a full hand earlier, yet Meravelle hadn’t joined them in the archives.
