Chapter Five
Eld ~ Boura Fell
Vadim Maur’s left hand was trembling.
The High Mage glared at the betraying tremors, then curled his fingers in a fist until the shaking stopped. His visit to Shannisorran
v’En Celay’s cell earlier today had wearied him far more than it should have. If not for the war hammer slamming into the
Fey lord’s skull, the blast of power that had surged from him would have caught Vadim full bore rather than glancing off his
left arm. The weak shield he’d thrown up had not been enough to rob the blast of its impact, and his hand had been twitching
ever since.
He should have known better than to go to v’En Celay’s cell weary. And the last six days he’d spent claiming the Celierian
Den Brodson’s soul had wearied him. Most Mages who did not have the standard six years to claim a soul settled for a weaker hold on their umagi, but Vadim had never done things by halves. He’d taken the full power of a claiming normally spread out across six years
and concentrated it into six days.
Such a reckless expense of power was not his wisest decision, but losing Ellysetta Baristani when she’d been all but his had
driven him into a fury. He’d wanted a productive outlet for his rage, and Brodson’s screams had been a balm to his soul. He’d
also wanted complete and irrevocable control over the Celierian before using him, and since Kolis had tipped his hand in Celieria,
time was quickly becoming a luxury rather than a tool at his disposal.
A knock sounded on his office door. “Enter,” he called.
The door swung inward, revealing an umagi, who bowed and said, “Fezaiina Zebah Rael has arrived, great one.”
“Send her in.”
Moments later, his office filled with rich, warm, seductive scents as the beautiful, bronze-skinned Feraz witch swept inside
in a flurry of colorful silken veils. “Fezai Madia sends you greetings, Chazah Maur.” Zebah’s red lips curved in a sultry
smile as she approached his desk, but her sloe eyes were filled with an intelligence far sharper than the lush curves of her
enticingly clad body would lead a foolish man to believe. Those eyes were scanning everything, missing nothing. She was the
envoy of the most powerful witch in Feraz—Fezai Madia Shah, high priestess of the Blood Chalice—and Vadim knew better than
to underestimate her.
“You look weary, great one,” she murmured. The smooth, potent magic of her voice burned across his skin. Feraz women, particularly
among the witchfolk, were a dangerous combination of exotic beauty and compelling natural sexual power. Fierce and bloodthirsty
as Feraz men might be, their women held the true power.
Vadim eyed the witch coldly, ignoring the tug of her magic, and kept his still-trembling hands out of sight beneath the desk.
“I am neither weary nor weak, Fezaiina, and you are wasting your time testing your power on me. As your Fezai learned long
ago, I am immune to such persuasions, no matter how attractive the lure.” Sex, though satisfying in many ways and useful under
the right circumstances, was a distraction from the one true passion of his life: his quest for magical supremacy.
“In her last communication, the Fezai said she’d made a breakthrough that would please me,” he prompted. Vadim’s long association
with the witches of Feraz had proven mutually beneficial in many ways, most especially in the unique spells and powers they
had discovered by combining their powers, their bloodlines, and their knowledge of magic.
“Zim.” The Fezaiina left off her attempts to ensnare his senses and produced a black velvet pouch from the folds of her jiba, the wrap she wore loosely draped around her smooth curves in whispering flows of brightly colored silk. “The Fezai sends
you this great gift, Chazah Maur.” She opened the drawstring at the top of the bag and drew out a small, pearlescent stone,
which she laid upon the parchment-cluttered surface of his desk.
Vadim leaned forward and inspected the stone visually before reaching for it. White, oval, and smoothly rounded, it was roughly
the size of a peach pit and the shape of a child’s skipping stone.
“And this is . . . ?”
“Magic, Chazah. Great and powerful magic.”
“What sort of magic?” He cupped his hands around the stone and summoned a brief spell, but nothing in the stone responded
to his flare of power. “I sense none.”
“Precisely.”
He scowled at her. “Do not waste my time, witch.”
“Watch, great one.” She bent her head, parted her red lips, and whispered a Feraz witchword. A shadow flickered in the heart
of the pearly stone, like a larva wriggling in its egg. Beneath the outer layers of stone, a rune began to gleam with a brightening
glow.
Vadim’s brows drew together. He recognized the rune and knew its meaning only because of his dealings with long-forgotten
Feraz witchcraft.
“Gamorraz?” The rune was beyond ancient, hailing from a forbidden form of witchtongue used in the blackest days of the craft,
millennia ago. Gamorraz was a very powerful demon, the father of the four Guardians of the Well of Souls.
“Zim,” Zebah breathed. “An ancient and powerful name to summon an ancient and powerful magic.”
“And the purpose of this stone?”
Zebah smiled. “To open gateways, Chazah. To the Well of Souls.”
He snatched the stone up off the desk and tossed it back to her. She caught it with one swift snap of her wrist. “This is your Fezai’s great new triumph? The selkahr crystals already do as much.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You dismiss so quickly a gift whose greatness you do not begin to fathom, Chazah. Zim, the stones—which we call chemar—do what your selkahr does, but only in their purpose are chemar and selkahr similar.” Zebah opened her fist and rolled the stone between her fingers.
“Selkahr is very precious, we know. How much do you have to spare for such uses as gateways and portals?”
Vadim’s spine stiffened at the directness of her probe. “Enough,” he answered guardedly. Selkahr was made from Tairen’s Eye crystals, and those had been in exceedingly short supply of late.
She laughed, a throaty sound. “But it is not so easy to come by.” She leaned forward, her breasts pressing together invitingly,
her sloe eyes fixed on his face. “Chemar, great one, are made from the bones of those sacrificed to Gamorraz. The stones can be manufactured at will and in great
quantities. But best of all, as you have seen for yourself, the chemar have no magical properties until they are activated by the proper witchword. Fey wards will not detect it. No sacrifice is
needed to make the stones work. You can place chemar anywhere you desire a portal and open the gates at will—and without using Azrahn. You can insert your armies, without warning,
anywhere you so desire. The stones are consumed when you use them, but all you need do is simply drop another when you wish
to open a gate again.”
The High Mage leaned back in his chair. “Very well. You have piqued my interest.” He gestured to the bag dangling from Zebah’s
wrist. “How many of those chemar did you bring with you?”
The witch hefted her black pouch. “Fezai Madia sends four dozen as a gesture of her goodwill.”
Vadim rose to his feet, the hem of his purple Mage robes swirling about his ankles. “You will give me a demonstration of their
effectiveness. Then I will decide how useful they may, in fact, be.”
Zebah bowed low, but the slow, confident smile on her face when she straightened belied any implication of subservience. “As you will. It is my pleasure to serve, great one.”
“What price does the Fezai have in mind for more of these chemar?”
The Fezaiina’s smile widened, showing the pointed edges of her small, white teeth. “One of your strongest males for every
four dozen stones.”
Vadim’s glance sharpened. “That is a steep price.”
“Perhaps.” Zebah lifted her dark, arching brows. “But consider this, Chazah: Your males will be returned to you when the Fezai
is through with them.” She shook the bag of chemar stones and laughed. “Or, at least, what is left of them.”
Three bells later, the Fezaiina took her leave, stepping into the open maw of the Well of Souls. Four muscular, sel’dor-shackled men followed her, tame as sheep, their eyes downcast, their faces blank with the dazed effects of the Feraz witch’s
enchantment.
Vadim Maur watched them go with a twinge of regret. The four had been promising men from strong bloodlines, full of latent
magic. But Fezai Madia would not have been pleased if he’d sent her less than quality in payment for her latest discovery . . .
and the woman had an evil temper.
The hand holding the chemar pouch began to shake again. He bent a hard gaze upon it, trying to will the trembling muscles into obedience. Instead, the
tremors grew more pronounced and shot up the entire length of his arm. The velvet bag filled with chemar dropped from nerveless fingers.
“Master Maur.” A nearby guard started towards him until a snarled command from the High Mage sent him reeling back in fear.
Vadim bent to snatch the chemar pouch from the ground and stuffed it in the pocket of his robes.
His trembling hand he stuffed in the other pocket.
His gaze swept the room, noting which men had witnessed his moment of weakness.
Unfortunately for them, all four belonged to Primages who had apprenticed to a Mage other than Vadim Maur.
He did not have access to their souls the way he did to the umagi of his own apprentices.
“You four. Come here.”
Nervously, they came. What choice did they have, really?
“Kneel.”
Two of them swallowed and hesitated. “Master Maur?”
The fearful defiance annoyed him. “Do as I say.”
Gulping, the four men knelt. “Mast—” The guard’s voice broke off in a gurgle as Vadim’s Mage blade swept out in one clean
slice across three of the four men’s necks. The fourth man gave a cry and jerked back just in time to miss the first death
strike. He didn’t miss the second.