Beyond the Shadows - Brent Weeks [139]
The look on Durzo’s face made it clear that Kylar’s question was far too specific for him to dismiss as theoretical. “Boy, you have no idea what Curoch is like—”
“Yes I do, I threw it into Ezra’s Wood.”
“You what?!”
“I made a deal with the Wolf. I didn’t get your note until afterward.”
Durzo rubbed his temples. “And what did he give you in return for the most powerful artifact in the world?”
“He brought me back to life faster—and gave me my arm back, which I kind of cut off.”
Durzo’s flat stare was all too familiar, despite that it was coming through almond-shaped eyes. It suggested he was seeing previously undredged depths of stupidity. “And between assassinating a Godking and a Cenarian queen and rescuing a man from the Hole and making a king of him, when did you squeeze in the time to find and lose the world’s most coveted magical sword?” Durzo asked.
“It only took me a week. Lantano Garuwashi had it. I dueled him for it.”
“Is he as good as they say?”
“Better. And he’s not even Talented.”
“Then how’d you win?” Durzo asked.
“Hey!” Kylar protested.
“Kylar, I trained you. You’re not the best. Someday, maybe. So either he’s not as good as they say, or you got lucky, or you cheated.”
“I got lucky,” Kylar admitted. “Is it so bad though? I mean throwing Curoch in the Wood?”
“Do you know who the Wolf is?” Durzo asked.
“That was the next question.”
“The better question is who the Wolf was. No one knows what he is now.”
“I’ll bite. Who was the Wolf?” Kylar asked.
“In Jorsin Alkestes’ court, there was a mage with golden eyes. He was slightly less Talented than Jorsin himself in terms of raw power, but whereas Jorsin had to learn the arts of war and leadership and diplomacy in addition to magecraft, the golden-eyed mage had only magecraft to study, and he was the kind of genius of magic born once in a thousand years. He had few graces and fewer friends, but Jorsin meant the world to him. In the war, he lost everything: Jorsin, all his tomes of magic, his only other friend, Oren Razin, and his fiancée. He lost his sanity, too, and no one knows if he ever really regained it. He hid in a forest where he could work out his hatred. The forest, of course, took his name.”
“Ezra’s Wood,” Kylar whispered. “The Wolf is Ezra?”
“Jorsin had a close friend who betrayed him, a man named Roygaris Ursuul.”
“Oh God.”
“During the war, Roygaris Made something—out of himself. We called it the Reaver. It was impervious to magic, faster than thought. It killed thousands of us.” Durzo touched his cheek. “I was the first person to even wound it. My pockmarks are from where its blood sprayed me. Magic couldn’t heal me. After the last battle, the Reaver was badly wounded. Instead of killing it, Ezra took it to the Wood. Fifty years later, there was a power struggle of some sort, and every living thing in that wood died—and dies to this day, whether animal, krul, mage, or the purest virgin. Armies from both north and south have perished there. Whatever it is, the Wolf has been collecting artifacts for seven centuries, and he gets the best of every deal.”
Kylar felt suddenly cold. “What did you give him?”
“A couple of the ka’kari. He wants them all—and Curoch and Iures.”
“Iures?”
“The companion to Curoch. The Sword of Power and the Staff of Law. Jorsin died the day Iures was finished, before he could use it. No one knows what happened to it.”
“But what’s the Wolf trying to accomplish?”
“I don’t know. Kylar, we’ve held one ka’kari, and its power is awesome. Imagine what an archmagus could do with seven ka’kari and Curoch and Iures. Even if the Wolf is Ezra, would you trust a madman with that much power? Would you even trust yourself? What if the Wolf isn’t Ezra, what if it’s Roygaris?”
“So you’ve opposed him,” Kylar said.
“After I gave him the brown ka’kari, I thought better of it. Since then, I’ve scattered ka’kari to the ends of the earth. This is no short-term ambition. It has taken the Wolf seven hundred years to get a few ka’kari and now Curoch, and perhaps Iures. He doesn