The massive front doors, heavily engraved with a wide assortment of runes, symbols, and sigils and made of thick timbers and steel bands, stood open. The area beyond was thirty feet across and circular. A series of old but colorful banners hung down the high walls, circling the entire chamber. In the center of the room stood an intricate, curving framework of silvery vines four feet high supporting a sphere of blue crystal the size of a human head.

  The device was very familiar to him. There was one in the king’s palace, as well as in all of the magic academies and most of the ducal palaces. Rellen stepped up to the stone, leaned in and said, “I am Rellen of Corsia. I wish to speak with the chancellor.” And then he whispered the phrase only Guardians knew, “Aegon sul vas narivum.”

  A moment later, a small yellow spark drifted out of the sphere and passed beneath a red banner with a golden phoenix at the center. It passed between the two doors on the right that were now silently opening. Rellen brushed off his armor and strode through the doors to find a wide spiral staircase that went both up and down. The spark drifted upwards, and Rellen followed behind it up four flights of stairs and down a long, glowstone-lit hallway to a pale—almost white—wooden door. Warding runes covered the door.

  The spark disappeared through the door, which remained closed, so Rellen stepped up and knocked three times.

  Several moments later, it opened silently, exposing a wide room with tall windows that let in a fair amount of daylight. Bookshelves jammed to overflowing lined two inner walls. Off to one side was a long workbench covered with books, scrolls, and all manner of spell components. At the far side of the room was a massive desk made of the same pale wood as the door, and it was covered with more books.

  Behind it sat an elderly Kapren female. Her fur was a dark gray with white showing around her eyes and her goat-like muzzle. A white patch of fur flowed from her chin, down her throat, and between her barely covered breasts. Two pairs of curled horns rose from her temples, twisting around each other and rising a foot above her head. They were pale white near her skull, faded into gray, and terminated at gleaming ebony tips. She wore a torc of bright silver, with large rubies set into the ends that almost touched each other beneath her chin. Gossamer robes of violet covered her body, with the front split down to her waist where a silver-chain belt secured it in place. A dark, metallic staff, five feet tall, topped with a large ruby and covered with runes, leaned against the desk. She stared at Rellen as he entered, with curious, yellow eyes that seemed to size him up in an instant. Her irises, flattened and rectangular like the rest of her species, narrowed when she focused on Xilly.

  Rellen approached slowly and stopped only a few paces from her desk.

  “Good morning, Guardian,” the chancellor said. Her voice was soft but with the strange gravelly vibration of her people. “I am Lady Jassym Kag’Atrall. How may I help another servant of the Crown?”

  “Good morning, Chancellor,” Rellen said, bowing his head slightly. “I have come—” he stopped short. “Did you say another?”

  “I did,” she replied. “One of your kind was here only a few days ago, seeking answers.”

  “Was it Jaquinn El Barad?” Rellen asked.

  “The very same, Rellen of Corsia.” She lifted an eyebrow, and her head tilted to the side. “You look so very much like your father,” she said gently. “I was very sorry to hear of his passing, as well as your mother’s.”

  “Thank you, Chancellor,” Rellen replied. He searched her eyes to see if there was the same disdain he received from others familiar with the court, and it was noticeably absent. “I appreciate that.”

  “Before we go too much further, I simply must ask.” The chancellor fixed her gaze upon Xilly. “Is that an actual dragonette?”

  “It is.”

  “And she’s bonded with you?”

  “She has.” Rellen stroked Xilly’s chin, eliciting a soft cooing sound.

  “How did you come upon such a creature, let alone bond with it? They’re exceptionally rare and, I believe, exceedingly mistrustful of humans.”

  “It’s a long story, but the short answer is that I got her from—I believe—the last Strakhanni. Xilly was originally bonded to him. He perished. She bonded with me.”

  “A Strakhanni?” Jassym looked stunned. “I thought they were—” She stopped short and shook her head. “Never mind. As much as I would like to hear that story, it’s obviously not why you’ve come.”

  She opened a drawer and pulled out a small, steel cylinder about two inches long, capped and sealed with wax. A small piece of vellum attached by a string bore his name.

  “This arrived yesterday by carrier bird, so I’ve been expecting you.”

  “Thank you,” Rellen said, taking it. He’d hoped Stevar would be able to provide some sort of reply. He broke the wax seal with a twist, pulled the cap off, and upended the cylinder over his palm. A slim strip of vellum, tightly rolled, fell into his palm. He handed the cylinder to the chancellor so it could be reused and then unrolled the note.

  I know nothing specific regarding the Delvers in question. Trust them as you trusted Father and as you trust me.

  ~ Stevar.

  It wasn’t what he’d hoped for, but it was enough for him to proceed with the plan he had. He uttered a single incantation and the vellum caught fire in his hand, burning up in moments.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “Good news?” Lady Kag’Atrall asked.

  “Useful,” Rellen replied.

  She nodded, another curious expression on her face. She took a long breath and let it out slowly, focusing her attention once again on him. “So, what is it I can do for you?”

  “Before I get into that, can you tell me what Jaquinn came here for?”

  “He had questions about possession.”

  “Let me guess…” Rellen said a bit uneasily. “Nissra’s possession of her minions.”

  “Very good.” Jassym looked a bit surprised. “That is precisely so.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “What I know.” Her voice took on that of a scholar giving a lesson. “It is written in the scrolls of Mannesh the Unsleeping. The demon goddess Nissra and her cult employ several types or degrees of possession. Each one is more insidious than the last. The first and most basic is a simple sublimation of a person’s higher will, whereby they will act in Nissra’s interest and be loyal but would not overtly contradict his or her own personal ethic.

  “Those inclined to serve Nissra and her interests would simply be more inclined to do so, with their loyalty running very deep. This can be achieved by the application of either ermajea or, in rare instances, zomajea through a rather lengthy spell that can be cast while the subject is awake or asleep. However, the one casting the spell, in addition to being a kurios, must have been directly influenced by an individual afflicted with the second degree of possession. An individual possessed in this manner is an active and willing participant of Nissra’s designs, regardless of what their ethical inclinations might have been previously. They are committed—devoted to the point of taking the lives of others or themselves—in the service of their mistress.

  “The third is altogether a different matter. One of Nissra’s demons actually possesses the subject, subverting their will completely and assuming total control. Mannesh speculated that the demon within maintained some sort of contact with Nissra herself, but this was never proven or disproven. In the few instances where one was encountered, the subject had to be killed in order to release the demon, which subsequently also perished. This sort of possession is extremely rare, at least according to Mannesh, and involves a particularly complex spell requiring thirteen murders, the participation of twelve separate individuals who may or may not be kurioi, and a single symkurios who requires an entire month to cast the spell. The whole thing culminates on the eve of a new moon nearest a solstice.”

  With every word, Rellen’s heart sank a little further.

  “Did Jaquinn say why he was asking about Nissran possession?”

  “No,” Jassym looked somewhat perplexed. “In fact, he was quite emphatic on not conveying that information.” She gazed into his eyes. “Is that why you are here? The Nissrans? I’ve heard rumors that after centuries, they’re beginning to make somewhat of a resurgence.”

  Rellen hesitated for just a moment. Under normal circumstances, he—like the other Guardians—didn’t relate what were considered state secrets involving the security of Pelinon, unless they had no choice. The situation, however, was rapidly growing out of hand. Everywhere he went, it seemed, Nissra and her wretched cultists were cropping up. The whole of Pelinon needed to be warned, as far as he was concerned, although that wasn’t up to him. It would be up to his brother.

  “All I can tell you is that I came here for a different reason, but it’s at least related to the Nissrans. I will also say that you should be on the lookout for any signs of their presence here in Jabono and notify the baron immediately, if you find any. Speak of it to no one else, however. If everyone were to start seeing Nissrans in every alley, it would be that much harder to track them down.”

  “I understand. That being the case, then my initial question still stands. What can I do for you?”

  “Do you have vellum and something to write with?” Rellen asked.

  “Of course,” she replied, making it clear it was a rather foolish question. She opened a drawer to her desk and pulled out a sheet of vellum, a slim blue quill, and an engraved ink and blotting set made of slightly tarnished silver. She placed them on the desk in front of him.

  Rellen took the quill, dipped it, and quickly sketched out the artifact. He made it as accurate as possible, getting the symbols around the outer edge as close as he could, but there was no doubt they were, at best, rough approximations. He’d only seen it at night, and at a distance.

  As he worked, the chancellor looked increasingly interested.

  When Rellen was finished, he turned the sheet of vellum around. “This artifact is about ten inches across, and I’m pretty sure it’s made with at least some Mavric iron. The fellow carrying it showed all the signs of Mavric poisoning, including the red skin and blisters.”

  “Someone is carrying it?” Jassym blurted. “If it’s Mavric, it would most certainly kill him.”

  “I thought it was going to. It’s now in a bag lined with, I suspect, lead.”

  “That would probably be the case,” Jassym said, thoughtfully.

  “He’s with a zokurios who was doing his best to keep him alive. He still seems to be ailing, although it’s slowed now that they have it in the lined satchel.”

  The chancellor opened a desk drawer and pulled out a metal ring. Rellen’s eyes went wide. It looked very much like Javyk’s artifact, except that it was dark metal and only about six inches across. The cutouts inside the ring were in different positions, and there weren’t as many symbols on its surface, but there was no mistaking the similarities.

  “What are these things?” Rellen asked

  “They’re called plunnokoi, or lesser keys,” she said simply. “The two I’ve seen were different sizes, both smaller than the one you’ve described. They were made from different materials, one plunnokum was of marble, and this one is simple steel. They had different symbols on them, both in the same lost language. They all have the similar grooves and notches along the interior edge, but not in the same positions.”

  “A key for what?”

  “I’ve been told they’re used to secure structures, passages, rooms, even compartments…” She gave Rellen a warning look. “All within nuraghis.”

  Rellen’s eyes went wide.

  “An old friend of mine discovered this one recently and let me borrow it for a time to see if I could identify where it came from and where it might be used. He knows much more about plunnokoi than I do.”

  “I don’t suppose you could arrange for me to meet your friend?”

  “He’d been away for some time, but you’re in luck. He returned to Jabono this morning aboard a dewkalve transport. Thorfyll,” she called out, “would you come in here please?”

  Dewkalve, Rellen thought. He must be ridiculously wealthy.

  Heavy, booted feet approached the door, and a moment later, it opened. A short, stocky figure in dark plate mail stepped in. He was less than five feet tall and nearly as wide. His muscular physique seemed to be crammed into the armor. He wore no helm, and his hair was a fiery mix of red, orange, and streaks of gray that spread out from his scalp in a wiry mane. Two thick braids came down from his beard, while the rest stuck out with a life of its own. Etched into the neck ring of his plate was the symbol of the Klymrukaar.

  It was the Delver who had saluted Rellen back in Sylverwynd. His fierce, dark eyes met Rellen’s, filled with recognition, and narrowed suspiciously.

  Rellen grabbed the hilt of a falchion, ready for a fight.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Answers and Questions

  “Gentlemen!” Jassym shouted as she rose out of her chair. She grabbed her staff. “Aztukahm!” she snapped and pounded the base of the it into the floor. A curtain of pale light sprang up between Rellen and the Delver, shimmering with magical force. “Calm yourselves!” she snapped as she came around the desk. “I’ll not have any fighting on academy grounds.”

  Xilly let out an angry screech, flapping her wings with the commotion.

  “You won’t need those with me, boy,” the Delver said, holding up his hands, a wary look on his face.

  Rellen froze, his eyes shifting between the chancellor and the Delver. What was he doing here?

  “It’s alright,” the chancellor soothed. “Thorfyll is an old friend of mine, and an ally to the Crown.”

  “I know he’s a Klymrukaar,” Rellen said. “I recognized the symbol, but the last time I saw him, he and his friends were trying to kill me.”

  “Not you, exactly,” Thorfyll said, eying Rellen, “So. You know about us, do you? There’s not many humans that do. Is that why you pulled that last punch?” Thorfyll took several cautious steps into the room and lowered his hands. “You could have gassed the lot of us, but you didn’t on purpose, I think.”

  “That’s right,” Rellen said.

  “Then you have my thanks,” Thorfyll said with a slight bow.

  Rellen relaxed and pulled his hand away from his blade.

  “So, can I assume you two won’t try and kill one another,” Jassym asked, eying Rellen suspiciously.

  “You have my word,” Rellen replied.

  “And I wasn’t going to,” Thorfyll added.

  “Very well then.” Jassym double-tapped the floor with her staff, and the curtain of light faded from view.

  “How is the one I wounded?” Rellen asked.

  “Magradol is on the mend,” Thorfyll replied, a curious expression on his face. “You have my thanks for that… and my respect. There’s not many can get inside Magradol’s guard once he has a blade in his hands.”

  “Perhaps some introductions are in order,” the chancellor said, moving back around her desk.

  “Agreed,” the Delver said heartily. “My name is Thorfyll, Warmaster to the Duke of Draksymsur, and I give you my oath, there is no fight between us, kurios, unless you bring it. In fact, I suspect we have much to discuss, particularly considering the company you keep.”

  “I’m Rellen of Corsia, and—”

  “Are you, now?” Thorfyll said, interrupting him. His expression softened, and a strange look of recognition filled his face, as if he were happy to hear Rellen’s name. He cocked his head to the side, examining Rellen’s face closely. “You have your father’s jaw, lad, and your mother’s eyes.”

  A shock of surprise hit Rellen like a hammer. “You knew my parents?”

  “I did. I know you too, although I suspect you were too young to remember me.”

  “I only remember one Delver ever coming to the palace, and that was Thymvaar Dunkminschakt, the Duke of Draksymsur. I don’t remember you.”

  “I know Thymvaar well. He and I share a father but not a mother.” Thorfyll eyed Rellen. “There was a war council. The uprising in Kapren’Maji when the new Kapren duke wanted to break away and join the Freehold of Kapren’Zuur. Your father had asked my brother and I to lend our wits and our blades, as well as guide them under the mountains. You and your brother—you were just boys at the time—came running in, asking to join the fight.”

  A vague recollection bubbled up in Rellen’s memories. The revolt of Kapren’Maji had taken his father away from the palace for several months. The king had returned with a bandaged arm and a victory.

  “There were four of you there,” Rellen said slowly, “and my father was furious that Stevar and I had interrupted the council. He ordered us to leave, and we ran out.” He tried to remember the faces of the Delvers that had been there. One had most certainly been Duke Dunkminschakt. Rellen tried to see his face, and he realized that this Delver did, in fact, look similar to the duke. The memory was distant, fuzzy. He finally shook his head, giving up. It didn’t matter. What mattered was Thorfyll had obviously been there with his father and the Duke of Draksymsur. He was also Klymrukaar.

  “That’s right,” Thorfyll said. “So, we can talk, or I can go get my sword and we can step outside?” He gave Rellen an amused smile.

  “I think I would much rather speak with you,” Rellen said.

  “I’m glad you feel that way, because there is much we must discuss, considering the circumstances.”

  “I am obviously missing something,” the chancellor said. “Would one of you care to enlighten me?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t, Jassym,” Thorfyll said. “I beg your forgiveness, but I must speak with young Rellen alone. It has to do with something of vital importance to the Klymrukaar… and perhaps Pelinon, but the fewer who know about it, the better.”

  “As you wish,” Jassym said, clearly disappointed. “Feel free to talk out on the balcony. I have other matters to attend to in the meantime.”