Her grip tightened. Celestine's bones creaked under the pressure; a soft gasp escaped her lips as her eyes squeezed shut.
Alaric raised his hand. "Enough, Serona."
"Do you hear, Celestine? Your master has spoken for your life." Serona abruptly dropped her hand. Celestine's knees betrayed her, and she fell forward to her knees as if in prostration. Serona smiled at her handiwork.
"You are generous, my Mistress." Celestine kept her face to the floor to conceal the tears that stained her cheeks.
"You are a dog, Celestine, and a good dog has its uses. So long as you remember who your masters are." Serona wiped her hands in a dismissive gesture and turned away.
The situation was out of Alaric's mind when they turned the corner. Celestine was the least of his worries. The woman was loyal, bound to the Blood tighter than any of the other Speakers. Killian, on the other hand…the man reeked of rebelliousness and reckless ambition. Could he be behind the Guelph? Alaric shook his head. Killian was cunning, but not a mastermind. If he was a traitor, another hand still manipulated him. It might be best to keep him alive in order to trace the corruption to its source.
Alaric shook his head. So many angles.
Serona broke away, turning down another corridor. "I will be leaving now, Alaric. I promise I will tell you all about it when I return." She smiled, lovely as a vision when she strode away.
Alaric watched her saunter out of sight. He had to do something about her. It was his fault that their bond had dissipated over the ages. They had been beyond close once, had been one in every sense of the word. Now, she was a stranger. He could no longer read the emotions that once had been as sure as his own.
"That is one you need to watch." Jacquelis joined him, her narrow-eyed glance burning in Serona's direction. The Caretaker's hair shimmered, as fiery as her disposition. "You allow her too much leeway to do as she pleases. You are Lord over all, including her."
Jacquelis wore him weary with the same conversation. She was older than any of the Co'nane, and the only reason she did not rule them was that she deferred to Alaric. He drew a deep breath and met her severe stare. "Serona is my solestra, and I am hers. I trust her with my life."
Jacquelis gave him a tolerant smile. "Perhaps your life is safer in your own hands."
Alaric ignored the statement as he gazed beyond the walls of the palace. "She is here, Jacquelis. I can feel her."
Her expression quickly altered to a worried frown. "Serona? She just left, Alaric."
"No. She is here. The Staff Bearer. She draws ever closer. Soon she will find her way to me."
Jacquelis' eyes narrowed. "The Shama has evaded our Thralls in Kaerleon and has since vanished. Small wonder, considering the debacle the Guelph allowed to occur. Are you certain, or is this—"
"It is no fancy, Jacquelis. I know it." Alaric's fist tightened as though he held the Shama in his grasp. "She is being hunted. Pursued."
Jacquelis folded her arms, frowning. "You have agents on her trail? Why would you trust others to secure her when you so desperately—?"
"I am not the one who pursues her. It is my enemies. Those that sow discord and topple kingdoms to spite me."
"The Guelph." Jacquelis' lip curled, exposing her clenched teeth. If it were up to her, the Blood Legion would already be dispatched, tearing Bruallia and Leodia to pieces in the hunt for the rebels. She was not one for subtleties.
"Yes."
"Then you must secure her immediately, before someone kills her."
"I am not ignorant of that fact. I am close. Closer than anyone realizes." He broke off. Best not to share too much. Not even with her. "The Guelph think me idle. Impotent. They will learn that I have not become who I am by being ineffective. I will use their own efforts against them. The girl will be driven to me. And when that occurs, I will take back what is mine."
Her mouth became a firm line. "You seem to conveniently forget that Eymunder is bonded. Even should you slay her, it will be useless to you."
Alaric smiled. "What is done can be undone, Jacquelis. There is always an alternative."
Jacquelis left the unspoken question hanging. Instead, she dropped her next statement as though it were of no consequence.
"Leilavin has been captured."
Alaric restrained himself from staring in surprise. Instead, he steeled his emotions and replied in the same offhand manner.
"How?"
"It was as you anticipated. She left Everfell, but could not return when she tripped the barrier and activated your failsafe. I dispatched a full band of Blood Legionnaires as you ordered. She nearly killed them all."
Alaric's jaw tightened. His fingers flexed automatically. "Where is she?"
A SHORT TIME LATER, Alaric and two Co'nane attendants met Lord Drowan in front of an ancient tomb in a fog-enshrouded necropolis at the foothills of the Norland Alpens. He did not like to use Shadowmelds, but to travel any other way would have taken far too long. Shadowmelds were useful, but not without risk. Some never emerged from the darkness and others saw…things. Things that left them forever altered, scarred by something beyond terror.
He dismissed those thoughts. After all, fear did not affect him. Not after what he had seen when he secured the sword Mothros. Nothing compared to those horrors. He was the master of fear now. Leilavin learned the truth of that fact only moments earlier. Her screams still rang in Alaric's ears, though he took no pleasure in her torment. She only reaped what had she had sown for so long. And Krolo was especially willing to serve it to her. The Dhamphir leader took great delight in inflicting pain and seemed to consider it an honor to torture Leilavin, a being so high above his station.
Leilavin had not revealed much other than to taunt him with her creation of a new Reaver. Alaric was not surprised. It would take much to break her, possibly more than even Krolo could deliver. It would be like her to hold out until her body could take no more punishment. Her secrets would die with her, one last spiteful victory before she left the mortal world.
But that time would not arrive swiftly. Alaric turned to the Speaker for the Obdura. "It is time."
Lord Drowan bowed. His face may well have been carved from stone, displaying nothing. "Your presence honors me, your Majesty."
Alaric gave a curt nod. "I am past the point where I can leave orders unsupervised, Lord Drowan. This task is yours, but I will see that you complete it."
Drowan's lips compressed, but he made no reply. He turned to the necropolis.
The burial ground was a crumbling heap, long abandoned by ancestors of the Norlanders. An enormous stone blocked the mouth of the tomb. Drowan focused Transference as he raised his hand. A rumble shook the ground as the stone pulled away from the tomb's mouth in a cloud of dust and crumbling mortar and hung in the air as though weightless. Drowan motioned, setting it to the side.
A sigh emitted from the darkness, crawling up the walls like a wave of spiders. The attendants stepped back involuntarily, but Alaric stood unflappable. He glanced at Lord Drowan, who stood beside him with the same lack of fear. It was only fitting, considering who Drowan was.
The Obdura Sect was naturally gifted in Vizardry, but Drowan took the Craft of altering one's form and appearance another direction: altering the shapes of others. He studied the physical form over the ages until he could break it down to the minute level. In the past, he used that knowledge to engineer the bestial Gorian and the reptilian Fandredd, creatures that had tormented humanity in the Age of Despair.
Yanus was another abomination, a perfect killing machine as uncontrollable as he was lethal. Drowan kept the madman pacified for some time, contained so his dark and twisted desires could not flare out of control as had happened in the past. Alaric had nearly ordered Drowan to destroy Yanus then. But the beast could be useful in special circumstances, and for that he lived.