Conatus held few prisoners. Most of the sorcerers and black-magic dabblers they encountered were puffed up with pride enough to think they could best the Guard. As a result they died in the field, never having the opportunity to occupy one of these cells. At this time, the wild man from the Black Forest was the stockade’s sole inhabitant.
Eira fitted the key into the lock and opened the thick wooden door. Though it still had the bleak, shadowed aura of a dungeon, the stockade could have been much worse than it was. The stone floors were dry and clean. Care was taken to prevent vermin from making their homes in the nooks and crannies of the building. Even so, the beatific expression fixed on the prisoner’s face took Eira by surprise.
She entered the cell, locking the door behind her. The prisoner scrambled to his feet. As he gazed upon her his eyes widened; even in the dim light they took on an unsettling gleam.
“You.” His whisper slunk through the air. “Yes. Yes. You.”
“Do you think you know me, goodman?” she asked, keeping her voice pleasant. Lukasz had told her this man was mad. Perhaps if treated kindly, he would happily reveal the source of his power.
The man gibbered at her. She looked away when spittle flew from his mouth. “No. I do not presume, lady. I was only sent to find you.”
The flesh along Eira’s spine crawled. “You were sent here?”
I should summon the Guards, she thought. Perhaps this man isn’t mad but has set a trap for us.
But she didn’t call out. The silver gleam of the man’s eyes flared and she was filled with the need to know more.
“What is your name?” she asked.
Despite the intensity of their roving gaze, the man’s eyes couldn’t seem to focus. They lolled about in their sockets, wild and constantly moving.
“I am but the messenger,” he rasped. “Beloved and blessed.” His English was clear but strange, devoid of any accent by which she’d be able to place him.
“Then give me your message,” Eira said.
“You received the message. You came.” He spoke almost reverently. “You and the other. But you didn’t stay long enough. You didn’t seek the source.”
“I and the other . . .” Cold slipped along the back of Eira’s neck. “Do you mean my sister? Are you speaking of Dorusduain?”
He crooked his finger at her, leaning in conspiratorially. “The village is gone.”
Disgust twisted deep in her belly and Eira stepped back, regretting her decision to come here. She turned to leave him but was stopped by the man’s anguished cry.
“No! Please!”
Eira looked over her shoulder and saw him on his knees, swaying in despair.
“Don’t leave, great lady,” he pleaded. “You must hear me. I’ve been sent to you.”
“By whom?” Eira asked. She was unsettled but wanted to keep him talking. If she asked enough questions, surely she would garner useful information.
“My master.” He lifted his hands toward the sky in supplication. “My lord.”
“Tell me about your master.” Eira had broken into a cold sweat. “Where is he?”
“Everywhere,” the man told her as he scrambled to his feet. “Here and not here.”
“He must have great power,” she mused. “To be everywhere.”
The sorcerer’s wheezing laugh filled the room. “No one is greater. He is the harbinger of your greatest dreams and the nightmare of your enemies.”
Eira was tempted to ask if the magician’s greatest dream had been to wander the earth in dirty rags.
Before she could quip, the wild man spoke again. “He’s shown you his power—the wonders he has wrought in your world.”
Any humor kindling in Eira was snuffed out by his words. “Like making a village disappear?”
Revulsion filled her when he nodded and clapped with delight.
“He has been searching for you,” he said, offering her a grin marked by blackened and missing teeth. “And now I shall have my reward.”
“How can your master be searching for me when I know nothing of him?” Eira reached into the pocket of her skirt, fingers finding the hilt of the dagger secreted there.
“My master sees all. Knows all.” The man’s eyes rolled up into his skull. “He will reveal his secrets to you.”
“Why would he do that?” Beneath her ribs Eira’s heart jumped, reacting to the mixture of revulsion and fascination that pumped through her veins.
“You hold the answer in your hand,” he said.
At first she thought he’d somehow read her mind, referring to the dagger her right hand gripped beneath the folds of her gown. But he cackled and pointed at her left hand, from which dangled the ring of iron keys.
The man clapped. “The door will open! Master, I have served you well!”
Eira’s temper broke. “Old man, you are a prisoner and at the mercy of Conatus. You brought great evil upon this world and will be punished.”
“You don’t wish to seek him?” The man cocked his head. “He waits for you. He will honor you above all others. He has told me this.”
“And if I don’t seek him,” Eira said. “If I give the order for your execution—which you surely know is your fate—what will your master do then?”
He bowed his head, shuffling his feet. Eira could hear him muttering but was unable to make out his words. When he lifted his head, his eyes were shining with tears.
“If you do not come to him, I have failed and will have earned my death.”
“Your master won’t come to save you? He won’t seek you out here?” Eira still worried that somehow this man was only the first sign of a greater evil to come upon Tearmunn.
He shook his head. “You must go to him. He cannot cross over. The door remains shut.”
Eira lifted the key ring; the iron keys jangled against each other. “The door you wish to open?”
“Not I. Not I.” He gazed at the keys longingly. “Only you.”
“Why me?” she asked.
“Only my master knows,” he told her. “And I am not worthy of such secrets.”
“What is this door you speak of?” Eira took a step toward him. He was harmless, she’d decided. And most likely insane. And yet . . .
“The door to the other side, the other world.”