Mzatal gave my shoulders a squeeze. “It was my desire to be prepared for your arrival. I did not know—” He paused, and I felt him give a low sigh. “I did not know when I summoned you if you would be with me indefinitely or for a very short time.”
My amusement faded as I remembered how close he came to killing me in those first few hours after I was summoned. Though I appreciated his candor, the topic unsettled me. I shifted to sit more upright, wrapped my arms around my legs, and rested my chin on my knees.
“Rhyzkahl wanted to use me to get Szerain’s blade.” A shiver passed over me at the memory. “Why? I mean, why me? And why does he—and you for that matter—want it so goddamn badly?”
“The most likely reason he chose you as a ritual surrogate is your demonstrated ability to summon a qaztahl single-handedly using only chalk and blood. That, coupled with the similarities to Elinor’s energy signature, were compelling reasons.” Mzatal drew a deep breath and released it in a slow sigh. “Control of a single blade offers a substantial increase in potency and focus. With control of two,” he said, shaking his head, “there is an exponential increase in power.”
My eyes narrowed. “You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”
Mzatal met my gaze steadily. “Yes. Szerain, Rhyzkahl, and I stood long unchallenged and unchallengeable.”
Holy crap. I’d known they had the blades, but hadn’t put it together that they had their own little power bloc. That called for more investigation later, both on its nature and its dissolution. Those three sure as hell didn’t stand together now.
“Rhyzkahl wants it for someone else, doesn’t he?” I asked. “Jesral or Amkir, to set up a new regime.” Kadir had a hand in there too, but my gut told me he wasn’t a candidate.
Mzatal nodded. “With Rhyzkahl bearing Xhan, and Vsuhl likely destined for Jesral, they would hold much influence and be in a position to advance other plans, including designs on Earth.”
“But they can’t get Szerain’s blade without me, can they?” I asked. “Otherwise, wouldn’t they already have done it?”
Mzatal remained silent a moment, his mouth drawn in a tight line. “With you, the task would be far easier. What I do not know is if Rhyzkahl gained enough from you in the ritual to make an attempt by another means.”
“Well that sucks,” I said, hugging my knees a bit tighter as I considered everything. “Back in that fucked-up time when you tried to remove the mark,” I continued after a moment, “you told me you wanted to get the blade. Is it possible for me—us—to get it first? I mean, without it being really painful or horrible or anything like that?”
Mzatal laced his fingers over his solar plexus. “When I first said that, all I knew, based upon what I sensed from the mark, was that Rhyzkahl sought the blade. His methods proved to be brutal, though ultimately would have been effective. He sought to forge you into a tool for greater purpose, and may yet seek to finish that task. One of the uses of that tool would have been to retrieve Vsuhl.” He gave me a gentle smile. “However, based on my observation of his ritual, I do not believe he ever sensed your subtle affinity to the iliur, the essence energy that ignites the blades. I sensed it clearly in the close contact of the healing.”
I frowned in thought, considering this new tidbit. “What does that mean? That makes it easier?”
“I believe that it does. I have deep connection with all three blades. Working with that, in tandem with your unique gifts, we have an excellent chance of securing Vsuhl with minimal complications.”
I shifted to sit cross-legged and absently rubbed the scar on my left forearm with the palm of my other hand. “Okay. Well, that sounds promising,” I said. “Turek showed me the image of Szerain’s blade. Why are his and your blades so beautiful and Rhyzkahl’s so—” I grimaced. “—hideous?”
A shadow of what seemed to be grief passed over his face. “It did not always appear thus.” He lifted a hand and traced a sigil. A heartbeat later a slightly translucent image appeared of Rhyzkahl’s knife, but without the thorns on the hilt. A softly glowing blue gem adorned the pommel, and the oily blue sheen I’d seen on the blade shone here as a clear, shimmering layer of potency. “Rhyzkahl dabbled secretly with the rakkuhr for many years, bringing the taint upon himself. The corruption of Xhan is recent.” He dispelled the image with a sharp flick of his fingers, as if it pained him to see what the blade had once looked like.
“This rakkuhr,” I said. “Is it like a ‘dark side of the Force’ sort of thing?”
A flicker of question lit his eyes, but then it cleared as he no doubt read the meaning of the reference from me. He shook his head. “No. It is not ‘evil’ any more than the potency you and I use is. But, while powerful, it is insidiously disruptive.” He paused. “You have felt it. It is anathema. I do not fully understand it. Szerain knows more, and now Rhyzkahl,” he said with regret.
I let out a long, slow breath, seeing flashes of red and shadow, feeling an echo of the Wrongness. “I think I understand far more than I want to,” I murmured. With a shudder I willfully changed the subject. “How is this all going to work? Getting Szerain’s blade, I mean.”
Mzatal narrowed his eyes. “The specifics are not finalized as there is much to be determined through our work.” He regarded me as though weighing what to tell me. “However, the plan is to utilize my nexus as the seat of a beacon ritual to locate and transfix Vsuhl. When that ritual is set, it will require tending until it culminates—a matter of hours to weeks. Once it is complete, we will perform the actual retrieval of the blade at Szerain’s nexus since that has the strongest connection for Vsuhl.”
“Okay. What’s a nexus?” The rest kinda made sense—at least enough for now.
“A focal point. A link to the source potency,” he said. “Szerain’s is the columned platform in his courtyard. Mine is here, at the base of the cliff.”
“All right,” I said. “So when do we start work?” It felt good to finally have a goal and direction.
“It will coincide with your training,” he said. “It is near dawn now. Meet me in the workroom at midmorning.” He stood from the bed, clasped his hands behind his back. Chatty-time was over, and a sliver of relief went through me. I felt comfortable around this lord, and that in itself made me uncomfortable and wary. I sure as hell wasn’t ready to blindly trust any of these qaztahl. I was ready to focus on something—anything—to move this along.
“Sounds like a plan,” I said as I climbed off the bed. “I’m going to hit the bath first and spare you my dreaded Stinky Summoner power.” Mzatal gave me a slight smile and nod, then left for his table in the outer room.
I headed to the bath chamber, then peeled off my nightshirt and undies and dropped them on the marble bench by the wall. I almost never took baths at home anymore, but if I had a bath like this, I sure as hell would. It wasn’t a bathtub, but a pool cut into the natural basalt of the cliff that backed the palace. Steam rose and the surface stirred gently as though the water circulated. Steps led down into it, and a shallow shelf with a headrest for lounging beckoned invitingly.
I crouched and dabbled my fingers in the water. Perfect temp. Damn near perfect everything. Okay, great, I was trapped away from home, but I could sure as hell enjoy the luxuries.
I stood and moved to retrieve a towel from the shelves. A wave of dizziness flowed through me and was gone, but as it retreated color leached from everything as an all-encompassing grey fog rose. Heart pounding, I went still as I struggled to make sense of the sudden, surreal shift.