What the hell?
I took another step back, this time away from Laurel. That, however, took me closer to Wyln, and a slender hand with a grip of steel closed over my arm. I jerked my head around to meet the enchanter’s gaze, the flames in his eyes even more intense. I stared, fascinated for a moment, then drew my head back, shaking it. At that moment, Laurel’s paw closed over my other arm, his claws pressing through my clothes into flesh. My staff was taken from me and given to a startled Jeff, and they lifted me up. I started to fight in earnest, reaching for the wind, water, anything to stop them. But all the aspects slid through my fingers like sand, even the fire and earth spheres drifting away, as if they were watching me from a distance. Desperate, I even tried for more mundane weapons, but I couldn’t get to my sword or dagger.
Others could, though. I heard the sound of steel against leather as swords were drawn. “You will put him down, now,” Jusson said, his voice soft as he held the edge of his sword against Wyln’s neck.
Wyln ignored both king and sword as he and Laurel deposited me on the ragged edge of the dark; however, Laurel looked over at Jusson. “Dauthiwaesp was worked here, honored king, involving the killing of the unfortunate jailer.”
“So you’ve told us all about it last night. What has it to do with our cousin?”
Keeping one paw clamped on me, Laurel shoved his staff into the crook of his arm. “The how was answered last night with the finding of the unfortunate’s body, the where was answered this morning with the finding of this place. The questions now are what and why?”
“I don’t care if you have the question to the answer of life,” Jusson said. “You will release Rabbit—Holy God and His saints!”
There was a clatter of dropped swords falling on the stone floor as Laurel lifted his paw, the rune on his middle pad brighter than the noon sun, my own rune growing hot in response. Laurel touched the rune against my forehead and I was blinded by a white flash. Crying out, I closed my eyes against the excruciating light, hanging suspended between two breaths. Then the pain eased and I cracked open my eyes, blinking away tears.
The warehouse was gone. I stood in the middle of grassland, stretching out in every direction as far as I could see. It was spring, the grass not yet having the height and sturdiness of summer, nor the rich, rustling gold of fall. The sun shone overhead in a cloudless blue sky that went forever, the wind a soft movement over the plains that reminded me of waves over the sea. A hint of a memory arose of another sea, angry and dark, and I frowned trying to recall.
“It is a metaphor, Rabbit,” Laurel said. “Not a true seeing.”
I spun around, my hand going to my sword—or at least where my sword should’ve been. I glanced down and saw I wore a hodgepodge of clothing: soldier’s boots and trousers, and a farmer’s smock with the device of Chause on one sleeve cuff and Flavan’s on the other. Over that was a mage’s robe that bore the king’s device, and a silver chain and medallion hung on my chest with the crescent moon and three stars of the Fyrst’s line. The wind blew gently around me and I felt the feather flutter against my cheek.
“What is a metaphor?” I asked, looking back up at Laurel.
“This,” Laurel said. “Here.” He parted the grass with his staff to reveal the ground. He then shaded his eyes with his paw, and I could see his rune, still white, but in the sunshine its brightness was bearable. As I was barehanded, I could see that my rune was also white, but its heat had calmed down into a warmth that echoed the sun across my shoulders.
“And where is here?” I asked.
Laurel, with his eyes still shaded, slowly circled, looking in every direction. “Depending upon the school of thought, your soul, your spirit, your heart”—a brief smile swept back his whiskers—“or your liver.”
‘This is my soul?” I asked.
Laurel faced me once more and dropped his paw. “As I said, a metaphor. Next time, it could be perceived differently.”
“Next time!” My brows snapped together. “What do you mean, next time?”
“Is it well, Laurel Faena?”
My head jerked around to see Wyln standing opposite Laurel. But while the mountain cat was solidly present, the elf enchanter was somewhat translucent. Beyond him, looking even less solid, was King Jusson with his sword drawn—apparently he hadn’t dropped it when Laurel lifted the rune. Next to the king was Thadro, which was no surprise, but on the other side of Jusson was a dim outline of what looked like his majordomo, Cais. And beyond them all was a very pale shadow of Jeff, still holding my ash staff. Jeff stared at me, his eyes wide. Then again, Jusson and Thadro looked astonished too, Jusson’s eyes round.
“It is well,” Laurel said. “See for yourself.”
Wyln stooped down and also prodded at the grass. He then stood and also did a slow circle, searching. Jusson watched the elf a moment before scanning the horizon himself. “What are you looking for?” Though the king’s presence was weak, his voice was strong, resonating in me.
“Something was worked with the unfortunate jailer’s death, honored king,” Laurel said. “We just want to make sure that the working did not make its way here.”
“Here?” I asked. “In me?” A gust of wind ripped across the grass.
“You’ve already been attacked once,” Laurel said, watching the grass, his ears pressed forward.
“But that was before Menck’s death.”
‘There is no law that says that you can’t be attacked again.”
That was true. Another memory arose and I frowned at Laurel. “Is that why you had your paws all over me last night? You were looking for evidence of sorcery?”
“Wyln and I felt the working, and after your telling last night I was concerned that—something—might have attached itself to you in spite of your efforts.”
The gusts became stronger. “Did you find this something?” I asked.
“No, but these workings can be extremely crafty,” Laurel said. “We had to make sure that I didn’t miss anything.”
“And you did that by jumping me?” The gusts became steady, the wind whistling over the plains.
“By surprise, Rabbit, without giving whatever it may be a chance to hide, at the place where it had been worked, to see if you had any affinity to the remnants left behind.”
I glanced at the tossing grass. “You thought that you’d find the same muck that’s on the floor in here? In me?”
“We had to make sure,” Laurel said again, his feathers blowing about his head, his beads swinging in the rising wind. “Whatever was done was big, Rabbit. More powerful than anything I’d ever known.”
“I had once experienced something that strong,” Wyln said, still searching. “A summoning of a Damned One. It took five adepts a week of preparation and they still lost control of it. It killed them, destroyed their temple and laid waste to their city.”
“And where were you when you experienced this demon, Lord Wyln?” Jusson asked, his eyes narrowing.
“With the High King of Morendyll and his army, ready to lay waste to the city ourselves,” Wyln replied. “It took ten enchanters working two days and nights to banish the Damned One again, Iver’son. By then it had expanded beyond what was left of the city. We called it Ujan’s bane, Ujan being the prince we were warring against.”