Thinblade (Sovereign of the Seven Isles: Book One) Page 6

Chapter 5

  Alexander’s mind kept skipping from one catastrophe to the next as he burst out of the room and past the guard at the door. He didn’t think about where he was going, he just went.

  Darius was dead. His big brother. His best friend. His protector. His confidant. His captain. It just didn’t make sense. How could he be dead? They were shooting at wolves just this morning.

  Phane was loose. Until an hour ago Phane was just a story about a long-dead and unspeakable evil, but the warning spell had changed all that. Now Alexander had a firm picture in his mind’s eye of the Reishi Prince and understood the dark nature of his character with a clarity that he frankly didn’t want. Alexander could only imagine the suffering Phane might cause. He was an arch mage from the time of the Reishi War. There was no one in all the Seven Isles as powerful as Prince Phane Reishi.

  Alexander could still feel the dull ache of the brand on his neck. He was marked by a curse. He’d been chosen by another long-dead arch mage to lead the Seven Isles against Phane … and Prince Phane, the only living arch mage in the whole world, knew it.

  Alexander couldn’t make his mind settle on any one of the three. The enormity of each was just too much to bear. He pushed it all away and focused on quieting his mind. He cleared it the way Lucky had taught him, this time not to explore or develop his limited understanding of magic but to keep his mind from considering the matters pressing in on him.

  He found himself standing on the turret of the watchtower. Alexander had always liked high places and often came here to think. This time he’d made his way here without even knowing where he was going. He stood resting his hands flat on the low stone wall of the turret.

  He stared up at the stars and let the cold air wash over him as he took slow deep breaths. Winter was half over. It would be time to start early planting in a few months. Alexander wondered if his world would ever be the same again.

  “I knew I should have come here first,” Abigail said softly as she silently glided up beside him. His sister was his best friend. She was a couple of years younger than him but she had enough self-assurance to hold her own with anyone. Abigail was also strikingly beautiful, a fact that worried Alexander when he saw how the ranch hands looked at her. She was tall, only a few inches shorter than him, had long silvery blond hair and pale blue eyes that seemed to see right through people. She wore a cloak to ward against the cold and looked sidelong at his shivering. “Come inside, you’ve got to be freezing.”

  He didn’t move.

  “Fine, I’ll just go get you a cloak then.” Abigail punctuated her statement with a look that said “I’ll show you,” then turned and strode off without so much as a rustle.

  Alexander stood there for a while just breathing and staring at the stars. When he felt a hand on his shoulder, he assumed it was Abigail. No one else was likely to sneak up on him and he hadn’t heard anything.

  “I guess I am a little cold,” Alexander said as he turned to face his sister. What he saw was something else altogether.

  It was the silhouette of a man traced against the night in a faint silvery light. He could see right through him. Alexander was so startled that he stumbled back against the turret wall, lost his balance, and started to topple over. The silhouette lunged forward and the silver lines that defined him became brighter. He grabbed Alexander by the shirt and pulled him back from the brink of a four-story fall, then abruptly disappeared. Alexander felt the air around him go colder still. He could suddenly see his breath as he sat on the floor with his back to the turret wall trying to make sense of the experience.

  Abigail came up the stairs a few moments later. Seeing Alexander sitting on the ground, she quickly looked for a threat. When she didn’t see one, she walked to Alexander and offered him her empty hand. She held a heavy, fur-lined, leather cloak in the other.

  He took her hand and stood. He wasn’t sure what to make of the ghostlike man. He didn’t want to add more stress to the family, so he decided to keep the encounter to himself for the moment. He took the cloak from his sister and threw it over his shoulders.

  “Mom and Dad are taking us to Glen Morillian in the morning. You need to pack your things,” Abigail said in a small voice.

  Alexander was suddenly struck by the pain and fear in her voice. He put his arm around her. They stood silently for a moment, taking comfort in each other.

  They heard Lucky huffing and puffing as he came up the stairs behind them. “Ah … there you are … I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Lucky stopped to catch his breath when he reached the top of the stairs. Lucky was slightly rotund, not terribly overweight but certainly not fit and trim. He loved his food far too much and he spent his days in his workshop whenever possible.

  He looked at the two of them as if carefully searching for the right words. With a resolute nod, he found his voice. “Alexander, your life will be more difficult now. You have an obligation that cannot be ignored.”

  He looked to Alexander’s sister. “Abigail, you must stand by your brother, now more than ever.”

  He stopped as a tear slipped from his eye. “I miss him, too,” he said, hugging them both. He stepped back. “Both of you go pack and then get some sleep. You’ll need it. We’ll be off at dawn.” He turned and made his way down the stairs.

  Alexander decided to ignore everything until after he’d gotten some sleep. Maybe it would all be less insane in the morning. He followed his sister down the tower stairs and said goodnight as they each went to their rooms.

  He fell into his bed and managed to get his boots off before rolling over and falling asleep still fully dressed. His dreams were fitful. Everything that had happened collided into an improbable collage of events, distorted and filled with dread. At one point he woke with a start at the clear and vivid image of an arrow driving through his brother’s chest.

  He sat up gasping. The lamp had burned out and the room was dark. Alexander sat on the edge of his bed, breathing deeply in an effort to slow his racing heart. He’d just calmed himself when the silvery outline of a man abruptly materialized not three steps in front of him.

  He sat bolt upright, staring at the apparition. It wavered slightly and the temperature of the room suddenly fell by ten degrees as the ghost came into clear and sharp focus.

  Alexander was nearly paralyzed with fear. Surely Phane couldn’t have sent another assassin so quickly. Panicked thoughts flooded through his mind. Of course, Phane would know where he was; Phane was an arch mage and Alexander was the one marked to kill him.

  Then the apparition spoke. “I am the ghost of Nicolai Atherton. I will not harm you, Alexander.” He faded almost totally out of sight, then game back just as suddenly. The temperature in the room fell noticeably again.

  “You are in great danger.” His image sputtered and crackled, flaring brightly before dimming to the point of invisibility.

  Alexander stood. “What danger?” He could see his breath. He felt his heart racing. Goose bumps erupted all over his body and a chill raced up his spine. The temperature fell yet again. Ice began to crystallize on the mirror. Alexander’s fingers hurt from the sudden cold.

  This time there wasn’t even a ghost, just a disembodied voice yelling from far away. “Find the Thinblade,” he said and then he was gone.

  Alexander slapped his hands together and rubbed them back and forth. The cold was soaking into him so he threw his top blanket over his shoulders before pulling on his boots.

  He pushed open the shutters to the cool night air, which felt almost balmy next to the freezing air in his chambers. It was still the dead of night. There was no hint of light on the horizon.

  Alexander could see from the light in Lucky’s workshop that the old alchemist was up and about, no doubt packing his laboratory away for safekeeping. Lucky was never happier than when his was conducting some experiment or other, except maybe when he was cooking a meal for someone. He loved to tinker and always said: “Trial and error is the path to discovery.”

 
Alexander decided he’d had enough sleep. His pack was mostly ready since he hadn’t taken the time to unpack from the wolf-hunting trip. He opened it and replaced a few items with their clean counterparts, cinched it down tight and set it next to the door. Next, he went to his weapons cabinet and selected his favorite set.

  Alexander was the son of a minor noble. House Valentine had considerable land holdings, so Alexander had access to money. He didn’t take it for granted but he wasn’t afraid to spend it to get what he wanted. In this case, Alexander had always been a student of military history. He loved weapons and stories of war.

  When he was five he started practicing next to his brother, with Anatoly as their master-at-arms. Alexander was skilled with a sword, a spear, and a bow. He wasn’t a seasoned warrior by any means but he was well trained in the use of his weapons.

  He chose his favorite long sword. The blade was thin but strong, light, and well balanced. It was a fine piece of craftsmanship and Alexander was more familiar with it than any of his other swords. He slipped a small knife inside each boot and clipped them in place, then slid his throwing knife into its sheath on the back of his belt.

  He picked up his heavy long knife and looked at it. Its oak handle was well worn and smooth, the brass pommel was polished to a shine, and the blade was old steel but sharp and well cared for. His father had given him this knife on his seventh birthday. He’d carried it every time he’d left the manor house since then. He took a set of three extra throwing knives and then he checked his short bow, found a few extra bowstrings, and filled his quiver with broad-point hunting arrows.

  Alexander was suited up a few minutes later in his leather breastplate, greaves, and bracers. His finely crafted long sword hung on his left hip; his long knife on his right. He hoisted his pack on one shoulder and a set of saddlebags on the other, gathered his bow and quiver, and left his room. He stood for a moment looking at the door to his bedroom, took a deep breath, turned abruptly and headed for Lucky’s workshop.