Reign of Shadows - Deborah Chester [8]
The wind blew stronger now, whipping his clothing and lashing his hair into his eyes. It cut straight through him, driving him into a corner of the wall. Gusting and shrieking around the eaves of the buildings, it seemed to sob and wail. For a moment he thought he saw a blurry shape forming in the air itself, long talons reaching out to rend him.
“No!” he shouted, and shoved himself out into the open again.
He wasn’t going to give up, and he wasn’t going to beg for forgiveness. There had to be another way, one he’d wanted for a long time.
He limped toward the main gates. It took four men to lift the stout crossbeam that lay across the brackets of the gates. But there was a smaller pass gate, also bolted from inside and guarded by a softly glowing warding key.
By day the key was only a crude triangle of hand-hammered bronze. But at night its powers awakened to guard against all creatures of the shadows, including wind spirits and the unnameable things that crept the earth in increasing numbers. Spell-forged by the mysterious, nomadic Choven, warding keys could be found on the gates of the largest holds in Trau, or on the doors of the humblest daub and wattle cottages.
Warding gloves were required to handle the keys, but those were locked away in the gatehouse along with the gatekeeper, who was probably spooning his supper and refusing to listen to any knocking on his door.
The glimmer of pale blue light in the distance made Caelan look up. He saw a proctor gliding along the upper ramparts of the wall.
Caelan shouted and waved, but the proctor did not glance in his direction. When it reached the corner of the wall, it descended the steps and vanished from sight among the working sheds.
Desperation had many sides. Caelan’s resolution hardened. He’d rather be cursed now than to chase down a proctor and beg for mercy. He’d rather lose a hand from touching a warding key than endure another beating. Everyone in Rieschelhold could go to Beloth, for all he cared.
He looked around, but as usual no tools had been left lying about. There was nothing he could use to pry the warding key off the gate.
Every time Caelan stepped too near, the key’s glow brightened to a dazzling intensity, and the metal hummed with a force that vibrated through his skull.
He stepped back and scowled with growing determination. Beyond the gate lay freedom and hope. He could join the soldiers and shake the dust of Trau once and for all off his shoes.
Although most of the time Caelan daydreamed through his lessons, he had received some training in severance at home from his father. And the extra drills from Master Mygar had not all been worthless.
Caelan squared his shoulders and shut his eyes, forcing himself to concentrate. All his anger had to be gathered first. He visualized a chest with a lock. Placing his anger inside, he slammed shut the lid. He visualized another chest. Into it he shoved doubts, fear, cold, hunger, and thought.
It was harder to do out here in the brutal cold than in the classroom under Master Mygar’s cynical eye. Caelan could feel himself wavering. A trickle of sweat beaded along his temples, and he gasped with the effort.
Focus, he told himself. Focus hard.
Then, for a wavering instant, he felt a surge of icy coldness go through him, a coldness that burned inside and cleared away everything. He seemed to stand in a frozen place of pure isolation. For a second he could see ...
Now.
His hand reached out and plucked off the warding key. Heat blazed into his palm, but the pain was far away.
He tossed the key aside, and it clattered and spun on the cobblestones before going black.
Exultation roared through Caelan. He heard himself shout; then the world rushed back around him at its normal speed. He half stumbled forward, hit the gate with his shoulder, and shoved up the bar.
The gate swung open with a frozen creak of its hinges, and he went staggering through.
His hand ached intensely, but when he checked it there was no burn.
A feeling of wonder spread through him, but he had no time to think about what he’d done.