The fire sphere bypassed the town square and skirted around both the market and Theater Squares, before entering into a less affluent section. Tiny as it was, Freston—like most cities and towns, I supposed—had parts where those afflicted by poverty, vice, laziness or just monumental bad fortune subsisted. The streets turned first a little shabby, then neglected and finally derelict. We went by alleyways piled with rubbish, broken streetlamps, broken railings and missing roof tiles. And, except for the skittering of four-legged animals, the streets were completely empty, though I did notice flickers in windows and cracked doors. We were being watched, and our hands went to our swords, all easiness gone.
However, we continued unmolested and we soon came to the southeast edge of Freston. The town’s wall rose over us and we could see the different colors where the old Eastgate had been bricked up. “I noticed that when I arrived here,” Jusson said, staring up at the two-tone stones. “Why was it closed?”
“I don’t know, Your Majesty,” I said. “It was done before I came here.” I glanced at Jeff, but he shook his head—he didn’t know either. The rundown houses had given way to boarded-up shops and padlocked warehouses, and I shifted my gaze to them. “But from what everyone says, this used to be a busy place.”
Remnants of the section’s former glory remained in the broad streets and large buildings, including the old posting inn—which had smoke rising from its several chimneys and its gates open, its yard neat and clean. Startled, I turned my head to stare—the last I knew, it too had been boarded up— but at that moment the fire sphere made an abrupt turn down a smaller street, plunging us into the shadow of the town’s wall. We worked our way through the abandoned commercial district in a series of twists and turns that brought us to what looked like a derelict warehouse. The sphere darted over the gated wall and we all came to a halt.
“A strange place for lord elf to fetch up in,” Jusson said, his brow creased.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” I agreed as I eyed the cracked and crumbling wall, before lifting my gaze to the building that hulked beyond. “Very strange.”
“Well, we can stand out here and speculate or go in and find out.” Jusson reached out his hand—and as one all the guards moved in front of him. “Oh, all right.” He waved at the gate. “Open it.”
The gate opened easily. Too easily. Instead of the screech of neglected hinges, it swung silently into a still, dark yard. Someone had been busy with a grease rag.
“Bones and bloody ashes,” Jeff murmured.
Profoundly glad that Wyln’s summons hadn’t come at night, I peered beyond the gate and saw the fire sphere, a bright spot in the gloom. It must’ve seen us too, for it darted off again. A couple of King’s Own entered the courtyard first, followed by Jusson and me, Jeff and the rest of the guards on our heels. We had to step carefully—weeds sprouted up through the paving stones, hiding chunks of the wall that had fallen out, broken glass and other debris. The sphere crossed the yard to the warehouse and once more waited. That door also opened silently and we stared into a cavernous space with columns pacing down it, their tops disappearing in the murk that hid the ceiling. There were high horizontal windows, but scant light came through the grime-encrusted panes. What illumination there was came from the open door and from the fire sphere hovering just inside, which darted away again, this time into the interior. Without thought, my hand came up and formed its own fireball, and it immediately rose to hover next to the earth sphere, casting our shadows before us.
“Two Trees’son,” a voice called out.
We shifted en masse to see the first fireball, a bright spark in the middle of the warehouse, and we carefully walked towards it, our boot steps echoing. But though the outside was a study in disrepair, the inside floor was clear, free of dust and any other signs of disuse. My unease increased—if I had Laurel’s tail, it would’ve been lashing.
A slender figure emerged from the gloom as we drew nearer, his back to us as he looked down at the floor. We slowed, stopping a short distance away as we also looked. The darkness in the rest of the building seemed the usual reaction to the absence of light. However, there— I leaned forward trying to see, while my boots remained firmly planted, going no further. While both fire spheres cast enough light to see the faint cracking in the floor around us, I couldn’t see where the person stood at all. And what I could see looked ragged—as if the dark had been folded over on itself again and again, and held there until something burst out of it, leaving it lying about in tatters like a pile of ripped and torn clothes.
“Don’t worry, it’s safe.” The figure turned, both fire spheres illuminating his features. “For now.”
There wasn’t anything as dramatic as a collective gasp, but a stillness came over everyone, including Jusson, as they stared. The dark elf smiled and the stillness grew.
“I give you good day, Jusson Iver’son. I am the Enchanter Wyln.”
Chapter Twelve
Like Laurel, Wyln looked as he had when I last saw him. He did have flames leaping in his eyes, but that just denoted his aspect—fire. However, it wasn’t the flames that had the royal contingent staring in shock. As Jusson had once told me, he knew that he had elfin blood. I supposed, though, that he’d never expected to have it so emphatically confirmed. For though he and Wyln weren’t exactly twins—Wyln’s cheekbones were a shade sharper, his chin a tad pointier, and his hair much longer—they looked enough alike to be brothers.
Or, more accurately, uncle and nephew. A very much great uncle and his many-times-grandnephew, true, but still related by blood. And elves were very big on blood ties, as they proved by glomming onto me with my sixty-four lines to the throne of a dark elf king.
Jusson quickly recovered his wits, which may’ve been because royalty learned very early not to stand about slack-jawed, though I suspected it was more because of Wyln’s air of amusement. “Grace to you, Lord Wyln,” the king said. “I—” He stopped again, and for the first time ever I saw him at a loss for words.
I shifted closer to Jusson, the guards moving with me. “Sire?” I asked, worried.
Shaking his head, Jusson tore his gaze from the enchanter only to have it fall back to the floor. “What is this?”
“Remnants, Jusson Iver’son,” Wyln said, his light voice lilting. “Something was worked here. Something very dark, very wicked.”
“Something,” Jusson repeated.
“We’ll have to discover exactly what,” Wyln said. “Which is why I brought Two Trees’son here.”
At Wyln’s words, I forgot about Jusson’s fumbling and blinked at the enchanter. “Honored Cyhn?”
Wyln smiled gently at me, the flames in his eyes bright in the cavernous murk. “It is a learning opportunity, Two Trees’son. A chance for you to gain knowledge and experience.
If it meant getting close and personal with what was on the floor, I would’ve just as soon remained ignorant. I took a step back, now worrying about myself. “Maybe we should send for Laurel—”
“Good, you’ve found it,” Laurel said from behind us. “And you’ve brought Rabbit.”
We all turned to see Laurel come through the open door into the warehouse, followed by Thadro and more royal guards, including Arlis. Laurel and Thadro hurried to join us, the Lord Commander going to stand behind Jusson while the guards swelled the ranks of their fellows. Thadro glanced over Jusson’s shoulder at the raggedy dark, then shot me a glare, apparently for letting His Majesty get near it. I, though, paid little attention to the Lord Commander’s silent carping as I was fixed on Laurel heading towards me, the Faena’s rune bright enough to cast shadows.