Merritt thought for a moment. “The Temple was supposed to be brought back to this world after the war is over and it’s safe again here.”
Magda looked up at him from under her brow. “Baraccus was a war wizard. Part of that was his ability for prophecy. Maybe he meant that it wouldn’t be safe in this world for thousands of years, and so it will have to remain banished.”
“That’s a grim thought.”
“Maybe it’s because of the other thing he said, though, that there is something seriously wrong there. Maybe it’s not because of what’s happening here in this world that it can’t return, but because of the trouble there.”
“I suppose that could be,” Merritt said, deep in thought.
“That means that those things you need are never going to be within your reach.”
Merritt’s shoulders sagged in frustration.
“That still doesn’t explain anything about what happened to the boxes of Orden. If they aren’t there, then they have to be here, in this world.”
“It would seem so,” she agreed.
“The Temple team put the boxes there, in the Temple,” he said as he reasoned it through out loud. “Lothain tried to get into the Temple to fix what the Temple team had sabotaged, but he couldn’t get in. Then, when Lothain’s attempt to enter the Temple failed, Baraccus sent some of his best men to try to get in to find out what the Temple team had done. When none of them returned, he finally went there himself. He confirmed the trouble there.”
“That’s right,” Magda said.
He gestured with the sword. “That would seem to indicate that the boxes of Orden were never actually placed in the Temple in the first place. That must have been part of the team’s treachery.”
“There has to be more to it that that.”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“If the boxes were never there, and no one else got in, then why did the Temple of the Winds turn the moon red in warning that something had gone terribly wrong there long after the Temple team had been tried and executed for treason? Something made the moon turn red in warning. Baraccus sent wizards who failed to return and then went himself to answer the Temple’s call for help and find out what was wrong. Something had to have happened that made the moon turn red.”
“I can’t imagine what. Did Baraccus give any hint?”
Magda’s gaze dropped. “He killed himself before I had a chance to really talk to him about it.” She looked back up at Merritt. “Maybe the boxes really were there in the temple all along, right where they belonged. Maybe someone else got in and took them, and that’s why the moon turned red.”
Merritt looked disturbed by the thought. “Someone else? Like who? You mean the enemy?”
Magda shrugged. “I don’t know. But maybe someone got in and stole the boxes of Orden and caused the other trouble that Baraccus spoke of. Maybe that’s why the moon turned red.”
Merritt ran a thumb along his jaw as he considered. “I suppose that’s possible.”
“Maybe it was the enemy. Someone Emperor Sulachan sent.”
Merritt looked over at her. “That’s a troubling thought.”
“Besides that troubling thought, as I told you, there are a number of troubling things going on at the Keep. I heard rumors of some of our wizards bringing the dead back to life. Do you know anything about such efforts?”
“I’ve heard that they’re working to try to learn about the weapons Sulachan has developed,” he said. “I think that Isidore was helping with just that sort of thing. She was dealing with matters from the spirit world.”
“Other strange things are going on. Enemy forces are harvesting the dead. They took all the dead from Isidore’s town of Grandengart. Reports I’ve heard say that they’ve taken bodies from other places as well, and from battlefields. Why would they do such a thing?”
Merritt heaved a sigh. “I don’t know.”
Magda went to the wicker couch and retrieved the bundle she had brought along. “Take a look at this.”
Chapter 54
Magda unfurled the wispy cloth bundle and held it up so he could see it the way it had looked when it had hung in the maze of hallways outside Isidore’s place.
Merritt set the sword back down on the red velvet and crossed the room, drawn by what he was seeing. She could make out his silhouette through the silky cloth as he ran his fingers over the spell-forms drawn on it.
“This is remarkable,” he whispered.
“I certainly think so. It saved my life.”
Merritt pulled the edge of the cloth aside to peer at her. “What do you mean?”
“The monster who killed Isidore came after me. He was no less intent on killing me than he had been on killing Isidore. He chased me through your maze. I was lost and trying my best to stay out of his reach. He finally trapped me in a dead end behind this cloth, but he couldn’t pass it to get at me. This cloth somehow stopped him.”
Merritt lifted the side of the cloth out so that he could examine all the symbols crudely painted on it.
“I can see why,” he said as he studied the symbols.
“Isidore told me that the spells she drew were derived from her work as a spiritist, and that they were both powerful and significant.”
He was still studying the drawings on the cloth. “There is no doubt of that.” He shook his head as his gaze wandered from one symbol to another. “I taught her the basics of these spell-forms, but she has added some very peculiar elements to them.”
“Isidore told me that the dead must heed them.”
Merritt glanced her way but didn’t say anything, so she did. “I can testify to the truth of what she said.” Magda joggled the cloth. “This is what stopped that monster, that dead man, from getting at me. He wouldn’t go past it. Isidore said that the dead must heed the things she drew. That’s another reason that I believe that this man who killed her and was trying to kill me was actually dead. He heeded this warning.”
Merritt glanced her way. “That might be true, but it’s not necessarily the case.” He took the cloth, draping it over an arm as he paced across the room, pulling folds aside one at a time as he considered the symbols lying across his arm.
“This is very disturbing, though,” he muttered. “These are keeper spells, meant to ward the dead.”
“Keeper spells? Merritt, why was Isidore worried about dead people? Why did she have these keeper spells drawn on hangings in the hallways around her that stopped the dead?”
He looked back at her a moment. “Perhaps because she had reason to fear them, or perhaps it was only a precaution. She was dealing with the world of the dead after all. That was her profession. Besides that, she was searching for spirits that are trapped in this world. Those spirits belong to the corpses that General Kuno took from Grandengart.”
“But those are spirits of the dead. Not the dead themselves.”
“What are you getting at?”
“What if what I’ve heard is true, and some of those wizards down there really are able to bring the dead back to life, or not really life, but, well, you know what I mean. What if they are creating monsters out of dead people? Mindless slaves to do their bidding?”
Merritt arched an eyebrow as he handed her back the silky cloth. “I have learned not to dismiss things that sound preposterous, but do you really believe that?”
She took the cloth from him and folded it back up. “I don’t know what I believe.” She lifted the bundle. “But I sleep under this.”
She thought he might laugh at her. He didn’t.
“Good girl,” he murmured as he turned away in thought.
“Merritt, there are too many things happening that make no sense. I fear that something terrible is going to happen before I can figure it out, and no one but me seems to care.”
“I care,” he said quietly.
She was momentarily caught off guard. She hadn’t expected him to say that. It was what she had hoped for, more than she had hoped for, in fact. It
was why she had come to see him in the first place. But she hadn’t expected it.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“You’re right that there are too many unexplained things happening. Not only the things you mention, but others as well. In isolation, they each might seem innocent enough, or might be able to be explained away, but when you consider the larger picture, those things together become suspect.”
“Do you know anyone who could help us get answers?”
He ran his hand back and forth along a curved iron piece of a strange, complex metal composition as he considered. It almost looked like a sculptural representation of verification webs she had seen before.
“I might,” he finally said.
Encouraged, Magda stepped closer. “I’m listening.”
He turned to face her. “Do you know about the defector?”
“Defector? No. What defector? What are you talking about?”
“Just within the last day or two, a sorceress from the Old World, a woman who it is rumored was close to Emperor Sulachan, arrived in the Keep seeking refuge. I heard that she told people she wanted to join our cause. If that’s true, she might know something about the enemy’s plans. We know precious little about what is going on under Sulachan’s rule.”
“I never heard of her,” Magda said. “You’re right, we definitely should talk to her. Do you know where we can find her?”
“In the dungeon.”
“The dungeon?” Magda frowned. “If she defected and wants to join our cause, why is she in the dungeon?”
“I heard whispers that she was tried and convicted of being a spy, and that she is going to be executed.”
Magda gaped at him. “I never heard about any such trial.”
He lifted his brow. “Why should you? You’re a nobody, remember?”
Magda’s mouth twisted. “Before Baraccus died I used to know a lot more about the goings-on at the Keep than I do now.” She folded her arms. “We need to go see her, find out if she can tell us anything.”
“I already tried. They wouldn’t let me talk to her.”
“There have to be some people around who would be willing to help.” As she considered the problem, Magda went to the table where the Sword of Truth lay, gazing down at it. “Lord Rahl told me that some of the officers had given the devotion to him.”
“Do you know which ones?”
“Officers Rendall and Morgan have,” she said. “I trust them. Either would help me.”
“They’re both with their troops, somewhere outside of Aydindril.”
“General Grundwall of the Home Guard swore the oath as well,” she said. “I know him, although not well. He often came to Baraccus with reports.”
Merritt nodded as he considered. “I’ve only met him once or twice, but commanding the Home Guard he could certainly get in to see a prisoner.” He glanced her way. “Do you know him well enough for him to get me in there to see this sorceress?”
“I think I know him well enough for him to get me in there. I might be able to convince him to let you come along.”
He smiled briefly. It quickly faded. “Let’s hope they haven’t beheaded her already, and that she would be willing to talk to us.”
“We should do that first, then. Do you know anyone else you can trust?”
Merritt rubbed his jaw as he thought it over. “I know lots of trustworthy people but most haven’t sworn the oath to Lord Rahl, so as trustworthy as they might ordinarily be, we can’t trust that a dream walker isn’t watching through their eyes. A lot of people don’t take the threat seriously. That creates an opportunity the enemy can take advantage of.”
“Then we dare not take a chance with any of them.”
“I do know one person I trust, and he has sworn the oath.”
“Who’s that?” she asked.
“He’s assigned to guard the sliph. I trust him, and I know that he’s one of the gifted who believed in Baraccus. Since he is usually with the sliph, he sees a lot of important people coming and going. He also knows a great deal about the wizards at the Keep, who’s doing what, that sort of thing.”
“You mean Quinn?”
Merritt’s brow furrowed. “You know Quinn?”
Magda smiled. “I grew up with him. When I was younger, I would sometimes go for walks with him in the forests around Aydindril out to an isolated pond that was home to loons.”
“You were sweet on him?”
Magda could feel herself blushing. “No, nothing like that. I liked him, but we were just children. He was a couple years older, though, and that alone made him seem quite impressive. But Quinn was more interested in his journals.”
“Ah yes, Quinn’s journals. You certainly do know him, then.”
“He pored through books all the time. He loved to study the past. He used to tell me that history shaped people’s beliefs, and that one day he was going to be the Keep’s historian and write about all the goings-on.”
“He seems to be well on his way,” Merritt said as he lifted the baldric off the chair and slipped it over his head. He placed it over his right shoulder with the scabbard at his left hip. “He has quite the collection of journals that he keeps down there with him as he guards the sliph.”
“It keeps him busy,” Magda said. “It’s probably pretty boring being down there most of the time.”
Merritt picked up the sword and slid it into the beautifully tooled silver and gold scabbard at his left hip.
“Let’s go see if you can convince General Grundwall to take us down to the dungeon.”
“You take the Sword of Truth with you often?”
“I never let it out of my sight. It already has certain conjured elements locked into it in preparation for the final process. I guess that’s not to be now, but even with the powers it has, it’s still a dangerous weapon. I wouldn’t want it to fall into the wrong hands.”
She supposed it made sense. Magda scooped the folded bundle off the wicker couch, tucking it under an arm.
On her way past the bookshelf, she paused, pointing at the tiny clay figures of people floating in the air just off the end of a small scroll sticking out from the shelf.
“Merritt, do you mind me asking what in the world this is?”
Merritt pulled the scroll off the shelf. The little figures floated along through the air, staying close to it.
“I call it a gravity well.”
Smiling at the little figures hovering in the air, she turned back to him. “A what?”
“If you toss something in the air, it falls to the ground. In a way, we’re all like these little figures, pulled to the ground by gravity.”
He unfurled the scroll to show her that it had a spell-form drawn on it. She was a bit alarmed to see that part of the spell-form was made up of an altered Grace.
“You created gravity in a spell?”
“Not exactly. I created a spell that attracts specific things. I guess you could say that it only mimics gravity. In this case, I had it attract these clay figures, so they always are compelled to stay near the spell-form, like we must stay on the ground because of gravity. So, I call it a gravity well.”
“What’s it for?” She puzzled at the paper and its clay people drawn to it. “What is its purpose?”
Merritt shrugged. “Nothing, really. It’s just something I came up with while I was working on something else more important. I’ve never thought of a use for it, so I guess that it’s just for my amusement.”
He folded the scroll up small enough to fit in his hand. The figures floated close. He took her hand and placed the small, folded paper in her palm.
“Here. A gift for you to make you smile.”
Magda held the folded paper out in the palm of her hand, watching the small clay figures float around it. “Really? I can have this?”
“Sure, if you promise to smile that lovely smile you have when you look at it.”
She couldn’t help smiling. “I promise,” she said as she gathered up the
figures in her hand and put it all into her pocket.
With two fingers on the cross guard, he lifted the sword a few inches and let it drop back into place, making sure it was clear in its scabbard.
“Now, shall we see if we can go talk to this defector before they behead her?”
Magda nodded and hurried to follow after him.
For the first time since Baraccus died, Magda didn’t feel totally alone. She had someone who believed her, who took her seriously, someone who was going to help her.
Chapter 55
On the stone bridge that spanned the vast chasm before the Keep, two women crossing, near the short stone wall on the opposite side, spotted Merritt and momentarily froze in their tracks. Both were in long gray dresses and both had short hair. One was a couple of years older than Magda, while the other appeared old enough to be the first woman’s mother. Magda saw blood on the younger woman’s dress. Both threaded their way through the throngs coming and going from the Keep to intercept Merritt.
“Mary, what’s the matter,” Merritt asked the younger of the two as she grabbed one of his hands. The older woman stood behind, expectantly wringing her own hands.
The younger woman’s face was tearstained and she was in obvious distress. “It’s James—he’s been hurt. Hurt bad.”
“Hurt?” Merritt asked, clearly alarmed. “How? What happened? How badly is he hurt?”
“He was working on an assignment from the council to make a sword of some sort.” She had to pause to choke back a sob. “James never talked much about the work he does, so I don’t know a great deal about it. But earlier this afternoon there was some kind of an accident down in the lower regions. Three of the men with him were killed outright by a massive explosion. Two others standing farther back were hurt but not seriously. James is in a bad way, though. He was closer and breathed in the inferno. They say it burned his lungs. He can’t breathe. He’s hurt bad, Merritt.”
As she fell against him, sobbing, she clutched his black shirt in both fists. “What will I do if he dies, Merritt? What will I do?”
“It had something to do with magic gone wrong,” the older woman added when the first succumbed to her tears, hoping that somehow the information might help him.