Tryal's Curse 19.2

The Ixister cleared his throat. ‘Five hundred years ago, lad, Blacksmith Eviryll, the first of the Blacksmiths, came to Adreitus. Back then, the land was unnamed, and the tribe that came with Eviryll was all broad-boned, muscular men and women. They knew their weapons well, and they called themselves the tribe of Orn.

‘Back then, Adreitus ran rife with unfiltered magic. Now, Ixisters choose this ability; it is one they tap into when they reach a certain age, and it is an ability that everyone possessed, once long ago, before an enchantress capped the lid on it. A wise choice, don't you think? Imagine the havoc unfiltered disturbances would create.’ The Ixister shivered. The room was completely quiet as everyone listened closely to the Ixister. He went on:

‘This tribe, the tribe of Orn, established rule in Adreitus. They defeated the Vampire King, Deir, and plundered and looted all the cities. Conditions were bad, nearly as bad as they are now, except that half the population did not live to see it.' He paused. 'If you've been reading the Blacksmith scrolls for information, then I'm afraid you have been most grievously misinformed. The Blacksmiths did rule for a hundred years. They were defeated by a vampire-human alliance, and a peace treaty was forged between the two parties. The Blacksmiths were exiled. There were occasional attacks on the kingdom, but the forces of the tribe of Orn were made to beat a retreat every time. But now...'

When he did not elaborate, Evian filled in for him. 'Now there's no one to stop him, the vampire kingdom's helping them out, and we're in for another Blacksmith Era?'

'Yes, basically.' The Ixister leaned back in his chair; it creaked under the strain of his weight. He stroked his beard and continued, 'I would evaluate my loyalties if I were you. I lost my cousin in a stampede earlier this year, in Durthnõt. He was crushed by a procession of Inspektors, all under Luin. The Inspektors are devils, but the Blacksmiths are, too. All our hope rests on restoring the king's rule.'

There was silence as Evian turned this thought over in his head. He had a lot of respect for Ixisters, and knew that they could not lie. Guilt churned in his stomach as he wondered, Had running away with the password to the Orb meant nothing after all?

'But what about the king's son?' he asked slowly, leaning forward and placing his elbows on the table. 'I mean, I heard the older prince, Noth, he ran away, didn't he? But there was another son--Edith mentioned it in one of her letters, he's kept out of the public eye a lot, but ... yeah,' he finished lamely. 'Edith is my wife,' he found it necessary to add.

'Your wife was right,' Pedra said, 'there are two heirs to the throne. And both of them have gone missing. We believe ... that is to say...' She cleared her throat. 'There is a curse that was cast on King Trent, thirty years ago, when he first came to the throne. It is not common knowledge, something that only circulates among the Ixister and Vampire councils. Have you heard of Tryal?'

Evian's hands and feet suddenly felt like blocks of ice. 'Legends,' he told Pedra. 'Only legends. Isn't she the enchantress who survives on moonlight, drinks frog liver, and guards this special stone thing? I think there's a line of enchantresses she's descended from.'

Pedra laughed, her pale eyes lighting up as she looked down the table at Evian. 'You are more well-versed in tales of yore than actual history, Mr Threshold,' she said lightly. 'But you are not far off the mark--Tryal is part of an ancient bloodline of witches, all of whom have maintained close ties with the kingdom throughout their history. Nevertheless--when King Trent came to power, they did not get along. We do not know the exact details of their argument ... but Tryal cut off all ties from the kingdom.'

'And cast a curse on Adreitus, too, while she was at it,' Aidan's voice cut through Pedra's explanation. He stood up and pushed his chair in. 'Long story short, Adreitus' been heading toward this for a long, long time, and we need Tryal to break the curse before Blacksmith Gairon usurps the throne.’

‘And why’—Evian’s throat felt dry—‘did you need me here to explain all of this?’

‘Because, Evian Threshold,’ Aidan said, and Evian thought he detected a note of anger in his voice, ‘you have—’

‘Aidan.’ Pedra, too, had gotten to her feet, and had fixed Aidan with a look of warning. A silent debate seemed to pass between the two of them, a conversation all in stares. Evian felt like the air rippled with the sound of their telepathy, but he coined it to merely being his own imagination. Then, Pedra broke the spell, and Evian felt as if the dust that danced in the lyte fixtures, too, had settled. Her gaze settled instead on Evian; when she spoke, her voice was kind and gentle, as if trying to prevent an outburst from him.

‘Evian,’ she said, and he couldn’t help but notice that this was the first time she had not used his surname, ‘the reason we asked for your presence here today is because, simply, we need your help. Among the L'amar, we tell many stories, and news of the sea travels fast. Your reputation is quite well-known to us—your feats and adventures are more common in the vampire homesteads than you think. Oh, you are no warrior—we do not require that kind of help. The assistance that we are about to request from you is ... of a different nature.’

‘Just tell him,’ Aidan said levelly. His eyes had turned dark; he tapped his hand against the back of his chair in impatience. ‘He’s of little to no use to us except for his link to the girl. The Council is already aware of how it goes—the girl’s guide, her key into Tryal’s mountain—you know. We have to send him off right now, I see no need to fill him in—’

‘On what?’ Evian raised his voice. He got to his feet, too, and was filled with a sense of satisfaction when he noted that he and Aidan were within an inch of the other’s height. ‘I don’t know what you want with Lira—’

‘Lira is the exchange. Every time witches cast a curse, there is always a prophecy alongside it. It’s like a game to them, but for us it’s a blessing if we can carry the prophecy out.’ Aidan said this quickly, moving to peek through the blinds as he did so. He looked agitated, his dark brows knitting together in a neat arch. Turning to Pedra, he said, ‘I checked his thoughts as he came in. The girl’s at his house’—here, Evian cried out in outrage—‘with his wife. They have to go,’ he said urgently. ‘To headquarters—I’ll leave with them, then take them to the Dream Reader.’

Evian expected Pedra to refuse, to disbelieve everything Aidan had said—but she simply nodded. Adjusting the shawl that was wrapped loosely around her shoulders, she opened her mouth to reply, but Evian beat her to it.

‘We’re not fulfilling any prophecies,’ he said firmly. ‘I promised Lira I’d send her home—do you have any idea what that girl has been through?’ he hissed. ‘She was a slave to Warren, and that man has a reputation for not being—not being the most—look, your majesty, I promised her. And I have objects to retrieve and things to do after I’ve fulfilled my promise to her…’

‘The Orb,’ Aidan said. ‘You want the Orb back, don’t you?’

Evian remained silent. His chair scraped against the marble floors as he pushed it back. The rest of the council watched quietly, as though he was an interesting specimen in an experiment. He ignored them and walked toward the door. Once he reached it, he turned around and spoke to the Council, clearly and evenly: ‘I owe no obligations to this country.’

‘The Orb is magical,’ Aidan persisted. ‘Once you have tapped into it, it’s hard to stop following it. But we have all the information that is stored in the Orb—I can explain it to you, the main points of the prophecy—’

‘No,’ Evian said. ‘You won’t. Everything fate does to me, it reels me from one torment to another. I’ve had enough of the waves crashing against me--hell, I had enough of that out at sea. I’m going to go home. Find another girl to do this tosh for you.’

As he turned to leave, Josiah pushed through the door. His cheeks were flushed and drooping, reminding Evian irresistibly of the waxen figures that guarded Arrowroad's gates. But more than that--his eyes were wide with fear.

‘Sirs—madams,’ he breathed. ‘They’re moving upstream. Just received a message from Dale.’

‘Who?’ a short vampire asked, from his perch on the mantelpiece.

‘Blacksmith Gairon,’ Josiah said. ‘They’ll be here by first light.’