“You met with one of our informants near the bell tower the other night. You offered him payment if he would do away with Jurgen.”
“You seem to have all the answers already,” Forane said. “What do you need from me?”
Laedron produced the black sack and emptied the onyx stones into his hand. “For starters, you could tell me what these are for.”
She laughed and turned her head. “I’ll never tell you.”
Greathis peered at the stones. “She doesn’t have to tell. I know what they are.”
Forane gazed at Greathis with apparent surprise.
Laedron said, “We found them on one of the mages in black. What can you tell us about them?”
“A tool of Necromancers, I’m afraid. Have you ever heard the story of Vrolosh?”
Laedron exhaled heavily. “Several times.”
“Then you should know what they are.”
“They were never mentioned.”
“It would seem the Falacorans kept the story intact while some of the details fell through the cracks in more distant reaches,” Greathis said. “Long ago, Azura stood against Vrolosh, Master Necromancer and servant of Syril. Vrolosh and Syril agreed that Vrolosh would be given even greater power in exchange for new souls. A deal with a demon.
Syril imparted the knowledge of creating these stones, known as soulstones, in order to ease Vrolosh’s task. The souls would be captured in these and given to his master in darkness, presumably for eternal torment.”
Greathis paused. “The passage of the original story goes like this:
And into the stones Vrolosh cast their souls,
To trap and bind them in shards of darkest night.
For the master, always the master-Syril, the prince of hate.”
Laedron felt a little sick, realizing that the stones giving off a faint light contained the essences of dead men. “Those mages were collecting souls for Syril?”
Greathis shrugged. “Perhaps, but likely not. A lesser known part of the tale tells of how Vrolosh disobeyed Syril, instead choosing to use the power of the stones for his own ends. That, as some would believe, is what made it possible for Azura to defeat Vrolosh at the end of the Great War. Vrolosh’s arrogance and thirst for new heights of power made Syril turn his back on the Necromancer.”
“What are they used for now?” Laedron brought his hand close to Forane’s face. “Some kind of dark ritual?”
Forane licked her lips and eyed the soulstones as if the mere sight of them instilled a feeling of want. “They’re meaningless to you. You could give them to me…”
Greathis crouched beside her and shouted, “What are they for?”
“Many things,” Forane said, lowering her eyes. “If I tell you, will you give them to me?”
“I might consider it. Go on.” Greathis stood and leaned on the front of his desk, folding his arms.
“Augmentation.”
Laedron considered her simple response. He thought the effects he had suffered when he had returned Brice to life-his hair graying, the sudden appearance of wrinkles on his face. The purpose of the stones became clear to him.
“And what is that supposed to mean?” Greathis asked.
“I think I know,” Laedron said. “The harvested souls can be used for powerful spells that would normally be fueled by the essence of the conjurer.”
“Yes, young sorcerer,” Forane said, smiling as if filled with accomplishment and satisfaction. “Now, give them to me.”
“What would you use them for, Vicar?” Laedron asked.
“They have promised me immortality, and by these stones do I acquire it.”
“Witch!” Greathis slapped her across the face. “You would sate your appetite upon the souls of men-my men and any others that you can find? Why would you do such a thing?”
She spat a bit of blood onto the floor. “Andolis and Gustav told me that the teachings were a lie. They showed me the truth, and they promised that I could live forever, as they do.”
Greathis raised an eyebrow. “Live forever?”
“They’re Zyvdredi, you fool. The immortal enemies of the Uxidi, the truth seekers… the great ones.”
“I had my suspicions, and this confirms them,” Laedron said. “When I fought Gustav in Pilgrim’s Rest, he spoke the ancient language of Zyvdred.”
Marac gave Laedron a look of astonishment. “You knew, but you told no one?”
“I didn’t know at the time. I knew he was a mage by his use of the old spells, but I had no idea that he was actually Zyvdredi.”
“Do many people go around reciting ancient tongues in your presence?” Greathis asked.
“No, but it’s common amongst elder mages, and I’ll leave it at that.”
Greathis turned to Forane. “Why did the Drakars need your help?”
“They needed someone familiar with the consulship and the Grand Vicar, someone with influence. Someone who could get them close to His Holiness.”
“You mean to tell me that they killed Daris the Second?” Greathis asked. “They murdered the former Grand Vicar?”
“Of course they did. How else could they take power?”
“And Andolis and Gustav being from Darkwatch? All a farce?”
“A cover story to validate their claims. We knew no one from Darkwatch would come this far to prove otherwise. They can’t keep the undead off them long enough to do anything else but fight.”
Greathis rubbed his forehead. “How did they kill Daris?”
Forane didn’t speak, but glanced at the stones.
“They took his soul, didn’t they?” Greathis asked.
She stared at the floor.
“Why do you look away as if you’re ashamed to reveal it? You took stones like these in trade for your loyalty with full knowledge, did you not?”
“The process isn’t pleasant,” she said. “I’ve seen it performed before. Andolis has a staff, and it has soulstones throughout.”
Greathis shook his head. “Have you any idea the amount of people you’ve killed or put in harm for your avarice? No, don’t answer that. I can’t hear any more from you, traitor.”
Forane slinked across the floor toward Laedron, her chains rattling. “Can I have them now?”
“You’ll be fortunate if you live another night,” Greathis said, taking her by the throat. “Wilkans!”
The sergeant came through the door so quickly that Laedron suspected he had been eavesdropping. “Yes, Master Greathis?”
“Take this witch to the dungeon, to the depths where sunlight will never shine upon her.” Greathis looked her in the eyes, anger and hate twisting his features. “However many years you’ve gained from stealing souls will only keep you in that hole longer.”
“You promised to give them to me,” Forane pleaded as she was dragged from the room. “Give them to me!”
Greathis closed the door. “Things are much worse than I thought.”
“What can be done? Have Jurgen go to the consulship in the morning?” Laedron asked.
“No,” Greathis said, rubbing his chin. “It cannot wait that long. Every minute a Zyvdredi sits upon the throne of Azura, our people are in grave danger.”
Brice said, “But I thought you couldn’t arrest a Grand Vicar.”
“That is true, but the circumstances have changed. No, Andolis Drakar has seen his last sunrise as Tristan the Fourth. I will assemble my men, and we will go to the palace and capture him.” Greathis gave Laedron a grin. “I would appreciate your help if you would give it.”
“You have it,” Laedron said, and Marac and Brice nodded in affirmation.
“And you have my sincerest apologies.”
“What for, Master Greathis?”
“For the fact that you’ve come here despite all odds and in the face of great danger, that you’ve been falsely condemned by the church, and that you’ve proven to be my best ally even though you have every reason to be my worst enemy.”
“We only mean to end this war and return things to the way they were. Nothing more.”
“Nothing will be the same after this. It cannot be.”
12