years?”
“In a way.”
“In a way! That’s nonsense, Krov! You either did or you didn’t, one of the two.”
The crystal remained silent. Zorc began to pace, trying desperately to surmise a rational explanation. After a few heartbeats, he faced the silver glow once more.
“In your guesses you don’t know otherwise at the time?”
“Correct.”
“So, you think they’re fact but also know they could be a guess?”
“Correct.”
“Why don’t you tell me if it’s a fact that could be a guess and not a pure fact?”
“You don’t ask.”
Zorc sighed, frustration coursing through his old veins that had been frozen at forty-one. Zorc rubbed the bridge of his nose in order to calm the headache he knew would surely come. He didn’t know who or what the thorn was, and the Chosen had already rebirthed the power. He had no time for guesses. He had no time for games.
Zorc knew his next question but hesitated, not wanting to be disappointed when the crystal claimed ignorance. “Can you see this thorn now, Krov?”
“Yes, I can see her.”
Zorc’s stared at the crystal. Krov had said “her.” The thorn was human. Panic surged inside Zorc once again. All these centuries he had thought a creature would force the Chosen to reconnect the thread and in some way cause those with magic to begin a battle for power.
Now the thorn’s definition had become human. A human with magic could cause much more disruption than a creature. A human could have already begun to seize control of the Lands.
Zorc moved closer to the crystal, eyes narrowing. “Can you name her?”
“Yes.”
“What’s her name?”
“Ista.”
Zorc closed his eyes. “May the Maker’s fates be with us. May the Maker’s chance smile upon us. May Ista’s choices condemn her soul.”
Then the rage came. It emitted from him like smoke, taking him back in time. But this time he saw it clearly. He saw how Ista had survived.
- - -
Ista stared down at her kingdom. She drew in a breath, relishing the scent – magic. It was all around her. Multiple people were milling about the courtyard, talking in excited whispers. She heard her name recited repeatedly. If it wasn’t spoken with reverence, it was spoken with awe. At last her plans were beginning. Wouldn’t Zorc be surprised to see her again?
A throaty chuckle escaped her lips. Zorc should have killed her as soon as he discovered she was a spy for Barracus. Instead, Zorc played by the rules. He had chained her in the dungeon, allowing her a week to repent of her crimes, but then Barracus had attacked the keep. When magic was destroyed, the magical chains binding her had broken, and before Christa had cast the time weave Ista had conjured a summoning weave. It was strong enough to direct some of Christa’s life away from Zorc. Wouldn’t Zorc be pleased to discover part of his beloved Christa was now joined with the woman he had condemned?
Ista’s brow furrowed as she thought of her escape. Fire was everywhere. She had run through walls of molten flame before she had broken free. A low moan escaped her lips as she dipped her hand in the washbasin and brushed her face. The cool air in the Zier castle doused the reminiscent flames just like the Yor Lake had centuries before. She had stayed in the mud for days, allowing the lake’s water to soothe her skin.
But she had survived. Oh yes, she had survived.
She longed for the mist of her former home, the ever-present drizzle of water ensuring her no fire would ever touch her again. Although the Zier region had cool breezes it lacked the mist of the Cliffs.
Her eyes flickered to the lone torch lighting the room. She dipped her hand in the washbasin once again, cooling her brow. She felt her face. She had been beautiful once. Now she was condemned to live in a hideous body … all because of Zorc.
Years ago men had shaken with need as soon as she entered the room. Many in the keep had given their life to lay with her. From the couplings she
“In a way.”
“In a way! That’s nonsense, Krov! You either did or you didn’t, one of the two.”
The crystal remained silent. Zorc began to pace, trying desperately to surmise a rational explanation. After a few heartbeats, he faced the silver glow once more.
“In your guesses you don’t know otherwise at the time?”
“Correct.”
“So, you think they’re fact but also know they could be a guess?”
“Correct.”
“Why don’t you tell me if it’s a fact that could be a guess and not a pure fact?”
“You don’t ask.”
Zorc sighed, frustration coursing through his old veins that had been frozen at forty-one. Zorc rubbed the bridge of his nose in order to calm the headache he knew would surely come. He didn’t know who or what the thorn was, and the Chosen had already rebirthed the power. He had no time for guesses. He had no time for games.
Zorc knew his next question but hesitated, not wanting to be disappointed when the crystal claimed ignorance. “Can you see this thorn now, Krov?”
“Yes, I can see her.”
Zorc’s stared at the crystal. Krov had said “her.” The thorn was human. Panic surged inside Zorc once again. All these centuries he had thought a creature would force the Chosen to reconnect the thread and in some way cause those with magic to begin a battle for power.
Now the thorn’s definition had become human. A human with magic could cause much more disruption than a creature. A human could have already begun to seize control of the Lands.
Zorc moved closer to the crystal, eyes narrowing. “Can you name her?”
“Yes.”
“What’s her name?”
“Ista.”
Zorc closed his eyes. “May the Maker’s fates be with us. May the Maker’s chance smile upon us. May Ista’s choices condemn her soul.”
Then the rage came. It emitted from him like smoke, taking him back in time. But this time he saw it clearly. He saw how Ista had survived.
- - -
Ista stared down at her kingdom. She drew in a breath, relishing the scent – magic. It was all around her. Multiple people were milling about the courtyard, talking in excited whispers. She heard her name recited repeatedly. If it wasn’t spoken with reverence, it was spoken with awe. At last her plans were beginning. Wouldn’t Zorc be surprised to see her again?
A throaty chuckle escaped her lips. Zorc should have killed her as soon as he discovered she was a spy for Barracus. Instead, Zorc played by the rules. He had chained her in the dungeon, allowing her a week to repent of her crimes, but then Barracus had attacked the keep. When magic was destroyed, the magical chains binding her had broken, and before Christa had cast the time weave Ista had conjured a summoning weave. It was strong enough to direct some of Christa’s life away from Zorc. Wouldn’t Zorc be pleased to discover part of his beloved Christa was now joined with the woman he had condemned?
Ista’s brow furrowed as she thought of her escape. Fire was everywhere. She had run through walls of molten flame before she had broken free. A low moan escaped her lips as she dipped her hand in the washbasin and brushed her face. The cool air in the Zier castle doused the reminiscent flames just like the Yor Lake had centuries before. She had stayed in the mud for days, allowing the lake’s water to soothe her skin.
But she had survived. Oh yes, she had survived.
She longed for the mist of her former home, the ever-present drizzle of water ensuring her no fire would ever touch her again. Although the Zier region had cool breezes it lacked the mist of the Cliffs.
Her eyes flickered to the lone torch lighting the room. She dipped her hand in the washbasin once again, cooling her brow. She felt her face. She had been beautiful once. Now she was condemned to live in a hideous body … all because of Zorc.
Years ago men had shaken with need as soon as she entered the room. Many in the keep had given their life to lay with her. From the couplings she
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