The God-Stone War m-4, Page 2

  I pushed that thought away and climbed the stairs, my long legs taking them two at a time. I was looking forward to seeing Penny. She and the children were still, and always had been, the brightest part of any day for me. Well most days… I won’t lie, she had her bad moments, but then again, so did I.

  Chapter 2

  The heavy oak door in front of me had a guard on either side of it. Neither of them were Knights of Stone. There were too few of them to spare for simple guard duty… even for my family. Instead they were among the more trusted members of my guard, men who would probably be promoted to more senior positions later. Only those who showed potential were selected for this posting. I knew both of them on sight.

  “Jerod, Douglas…,” I said, to acknowledge their presence. Both of them greeted me and nodded in return. Jerod moved to open the door for me and I stepped into the antechamber of my family’s suites, waiting for him to close the door behind me.

  Once the door was shut, I moved to the main door, the one that was supposed to lead into our private rooms. At certain times during the day we would leave it open, and any guests we invited into the antechamber could see our rooms. We would also leave the door open for cleaning staff occasionally. The rest of the time, especially in the evening, the door was kept firmly closed… and with good reason.

  I lowered my personal shields and placed my hand against the door, allowing the hidden enchantment to recognize me before I grasped the handle and pulled the door open. This was important, for if I opened the door without doing that first I would have found only our mundane and empty apartments behind it. Instead, the doorway opened onto an expansive entry hall leading into my true home, a home I had built in secret, many miles from Cameron, deep within the Elentir Mountains.

  Hidden in the doorframe were the runes of an enchantment very similar to the one that made my magical pouches and message boxes function. In this case though, the runes created a much larger portal, one that remained active whenever the door was closed and sometimes when it was opened, but only if the person opening it had been recognized. If the door was opened normally, or if it was forced when it had been locked, the portal would shut down and any would be thief or kidnapper would find only our empty apartments.

  The portal was kept active, even when the door was closed, for one express purpose… it allowed us to hear knocks at the door when the staff or a messenger needed us. Thus far I was certain none of the staff had figured out our little secret, although I wouldn’t have been surprised to learn a few of them suspected we were sleeping elsewhere.

  Stepping into the hall, I took a moment to clean my boots with the brush set there for that purpose. Unlike the castle, Penny was the only person cleaning our private home, and she got rather cross if I tracked mud in. My boots were already clean but I ran the brush over them anyway… she had a sixth sense in some regards, and if I skipped the ritual she would know. I grinned to myself at that thought.

  My arcane senses had already alerted me to a small form creeping stealthily up from behind the coat rack, in what should have been my blind spot. Rather than react, I kept to my routine, pretending that I hadn’t noticed. Several methods of escape ran through my mind, but I rapidly discarded all of them. Sometimes the simplest responses were best. I waited, seemingly oblivious to my stalker.

  After a moment, my attacker leapt upon me in a sudden rush. “Boo!” screamed my son, as he landed firmly upon my back and wrapped his arms and legs around me like some deranged primate.

  “What the… holy hell!” I screamed in alarm, as I jumped up wildly, nearly dislodging the small boy on my back. I spun around to exaggerate my surprise, while Matthew laughed and hooted at his victory.

  “I got you! You were soooo scared!” he yelled loudly.

  I pried him loose and set him on the floor, allowing me to glare imperiously down at him. “I beg your pardon!” I protested, “I am the Royal Wizard and Count di’Cameron, scared is not in my nature.” I grinned as I said the words.

  “You were scared!” he argued, but there was laughter in his voice as he said it. He knew I was playing. On impulse I snatched him back up and swung him around before planting a kiss on his cheek. He was a gangly boy, all arms and legs, with just a hint of the chubbiness he had possessed in his days as a toddler. Somehow, despite my dark hair and Penny’s soft brown tresses, his hair was merely a dark blonde shade.

  Before I could set him down another child appeared and charged toward me. “Daddy!” Moira cried, as she slammed into my waist. She began attempting to scale me and the three of us wound up doing an odd dance, as I tried to assist her with one arm while holding onto Matthew with the other. Eventually I managed to balance the load, with one child in each arm, yet even so, their combined weight almost made me stagger as I walked.

  I wonder how long I’ll be able to keep carrying two at the same time, I thought silently. I hoped it would be a lot longer, but if not I had many ways I could cheat. Magic could be handy in many ways.

  Moira kissed me soundly on the cheek, and I could feel something sticky on her face. Jam would have been my first guess. She smiled slyly, her blue eyes glittering under wild dark hair, and then she reached over to pat Matthew’s arm. “You’re it,” she declared calmly.

  “That doesn’t count!” Matthew protested. “I wasn’t hiding anymore.” His eyes went from his sister to me and back again, as if he was hoping I would rule in his favor.

  “So that’s why you were hiding behind the coats,” I said dramatically, as if a great mystery had been solved. “I’m afraid she’s right. You came out of hiding voluntarily to surprise me.” I could sense Moira sticking her tongue out at him as I made my ruling.

  “You don’t win till you find Gram too,” replied Matthew, looking past me as he spoke directly to his sister again. Gram was the name of Dorian’s six year old son, who I gathered, must be spending time with us while Rose and Dorian were enjoying their reunion. Casting out my senses, I located him quickly. I had missed him at first for he had cleverly hidden himself on top of the fireplace mantle in the nearby parlor. How he had gotten there, without knocking various knick-knacks down, was beyond my wit to understand, nor did I think Moira would ever notice him there. He obviously took his hiding seriously.

  I set them both down. “I’ll let you two get back to your business. Be careful not to break anything.” I worried about what would happen when Gram eventually tried to get down from the mantle, but I felt a duty to keep his secret. Hide and seek was serious business after all. After a bit of bargaining, the two of them split up to search for their hidden friend.

  By now I knew where Penny was, so I moved confidently through the house until I had reached her. Entering the nursery, I was immediately reminded of an old painting I had once seen. Actually, the scene that greeted my eyes was better, for this vision included the loveliest woman I had ever met and she had pulled her dress down from her shoulder to expose one side of her chest. The old painting at the Lancaster’s had certainly included nothing as risqué as that.

  “Obviously you heard me in the hall,” I said with a devilish smile, at least I hoped it was devilish. Penny made a face at me as she picked up our tiny daughter Irene and placed the babe to her breast. I responded with a look of mock disappointment, “I thought that was for me.”

  Penny stroked Irene’s soft cheek and cooed at her until she had firmly latched on before responding. Glancing up she gave me a look that held equal parts affection and exhaustion. With a small laugh she replied, “You’re going to have to learn to share.” I got the impression that particular joke was getting worn out. Given that this was our fourth child, it was impossible for me to guess how many times I had used it. “I didn’t expect you back so soon,” she added.

  “The work is moving along smoothly. Things will probably still get done without me there,” I said, giving her my most charming smile. Before I could elaborate, our third child, little Conall, emerged from behind Penny’s skirt and latched onto my leg. I gaz
ed down at him with a serious look to complement the thoughtful expression on his face as he stared up at me. After a moment his face changed and lit up with an adorable grin. “Where have you been!?” I asked him with an excited tone.

  Conall’s warm brown eyes spoke volumes but his mouth only gifted him with one word, “Dad!” The word emerged imperfectly from his lips and then he resumed smiling. Conall wasn’t very much for deep conversation yet, but I wasn’t in any hurry. Matthew and Moira were already talkative enough for the entire family. I could wait a while longer for whatever words Conall would grace me with someday.

  I went down on hands and knees while Conall began to guide me along the floor, showing me his discoveries among the nursery room toys. As often happened, my conversation with Penny was sidetracked while she fed Irene and I tried to emulate an air of serious attention for Conall. The children had enriched our lives in a multitude of ways, yet in others they contributed to a certain feeling of distance between Penny and me, as we found ourselves continually drawn in different directions by their needs and distractions.

  A loud crash roused me from my reverie with Conall. There was a distinctive tinkling in the noise as well, a sound almost exclusive to glass breaking. Penny’s head came up quickly and her eyes focused on me, “What was that!?” Her sudden movement and sharp tone disturbed the babe in her arms, and little Irene began to cry.

  My senses hadn’t noted any strangers, so my first thought was of the twins and Gram. “I’ll go check,” I told Penny calmly, but my magesight had already pinpointed the source of the commotion. Gram had fallen from the mantle. Rising rapidly I left the room and headed back to the parlor. Little Conall rambled along behind me, trying to keep up with my long strides.

  As I got closer I could hear Moira crying loudly with a panicked tone in her strident voice. Upon entering my eyes traveled over her. Though I could see she was distraught, I could find no sign of harm to her. I scooped her up, and felt as if a hand were squeezing my heart when I saw her lower lip trembling and the tears running down her red cheeks. She couldn’t quite get the words out but she was pointing at Gram, who sat quietly on the floor surrounded by the remains of the large, silvered glass mirror, that had until recently hung on the wall above the fireplace mantle.

  Matthew stood beside the younger boy, and though he wasn’t crying audibly I could see that something had frightened him badly. There were tears on his cheeks as he looked up at me. “I told him I was sorry. It was an accident! I didn’t mean for it to happen!” Matthew told me in a tone bordering on panic.

  I set Moira down and turned to my son. “Shhh… it’s ok,” I told Matthew soothingly as I stroked his hair. My eyes and other senses had already confirmed that the two of them were unhurt so I focused my attention on Dorian’s son Gram. “Are you alright, Gram?” I asked him calmly. The boy’s features were calm, but there was a certain wildness in his eyes and his face was ashen.

  Gram shook his head negatively and his eyes grew rounder, still he remained quiet. I could see that his forehead was damp with sweat and then I spotted his arm. It was bent at an odd angle, and my stomach tightened as I noted the white bones jutting from his forearm. The pain had to be excruciating, which probably explained why he was sitting so still. Even the slightest movement would be agonizing. Despite all that, I had to respect his reserve; Dorian’s son hadn’t cried out, even though he was clearly in a great deal of pain. The boy was very calm, or perhaps he was in shock, and tears were beginning to well slowly in his wide blue eyes.

  “Gram, everything will be alright. I can see you hurt your arm, but it’s nothing we can’t fix,” I said softly, trying to project an aura of reassurance. “Just sit still and I’ll try to make it stop hurting. Did any of the glass cut you?”

  His head bobbed up and down affirmatively and then he spoke in a whisper, “I want momma.”

  I nodded, “Of course, and we’ll go see her in just a minute, but first we need to make your arm feel better.” I brushed some of the glass aside and sat down next to him. He flinched when I touched his arm, but not a sound escaped his clenched teeth. Just like his father, I thought to myself, remembering a few of Dorian’s childhood injuries. Closing my eyes, I quickly sought out the nerves in his upper arm and blocked them to stop the pain. Gram relaxed visibly when I did, and a long sigh of pent up breath escaped his lips. “There. Does that feel better?” I asked him.

  “What happened?!” came Penny’s voice from the doorway. As soon as she entered Moira leapt up and ran to her. Matthew followed quickly after. The sight of their friend’s arm bones sticking through the skin had thoroughly unnerved them.

  Matt and Moira both began trying to explain at once, but it came out in a confusing rush. I interrupted, “Gram broke his arm. Let me fix this and we can sort out the rest afterward.”

  Penelope had always been quick on her feet, and she took in the situation without batting an eye. Turning, she led the twins toward the doorway. “Let’s go to the kitchen while your father takes care of Gram. I think you’ve both seen enough.” Conall toddled after them.

  As they left I could hear the children asking whether Gram might die, and I worried that he might have heard them. Sure enough, he began crying as soon as they were out of earshot. “It’s alright. You’re not going to die. I promise,” I said, stroking his hair.

  “Please don’t take my arm,” he sobbed.

  Oh hell! I thought. He’s been listening to Dorian’s battlefield stories. The pain hadn’t made him cry, but the fear of losing his arm had done the trick. “No, no, no… Gram, I don’t have to do that. It’s just a break and I can fix that very easily. No one is going to take your arm,” I said, trying to soothe him. “Let’s move over there, so we don’t get any more of this glass on you, and I’ll have your arm back in working order before you know it.” As I spoke, I eased my arms under the six year old and began to lift him. He was heavy for a boy his age. Heavier than Matthew despite a year’s difference between them. He’ll have his father’s build someday.

  I put him down carefully on the divan. Thankfully, the nerve block still seemed to be doing the trick. If Gram felt anything from the jostling, he gave no indication of it. Reaching under his shirt I drew out the pendant he wore to protect his mind from magical influences. Over the past eight years, I had put considerable effort in to making sure that every man, woman, and child had one of the enchanted necklaces. They would enable them to continue fighting, or running, if they came into contact with the shiggreth. “I’m going to put you to sleep Gram, and when you wake up your arm will be all better.”

  “You won’t tell my dad I cried will you?” he asked plaintively.

  I gave him an odd look. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “My dad’s the bravest knight in the world. If he knew I was a crybaby…,” he let the words trail off and he looked as though he might start crying again.

  “Gram Thornbear!” I exclaimed dismissively. “Do you think your father never cried?”

  He shook his head negatively.

  “Well, let me tell you something. Your father cried plenty when we were little, and even a few times after we were grown. Tears are part of life, and they don’t make any difference to a brave man. It’s what you do that’s important, whether you cry over it or not. Do you understand?”

  Gram shook his head negatively before replying, “Dad never cries when he gets hurt. I’ve seen it.”

  I took a deep breath. “That gets easier as you get older. When your dad was little, he did cry when he got hurt. Now that he’s older and tougher he just makes faces and cusses.” I twisted my face into a comical grimace and crossed my eyes.

  Dorian’s son almost smiled but then his curiosity got the better of him, “He cried after he was grown?”

  “Yes, but not over an injury,” I replied.

  “Then why?”

  I sighed and tried to compose my thoughts. Obviously Gram needed a full explanation. “Listen,” I said slowly, “People
cry over two sorts of pain. Physical pain, like the kind you just experienced when you broke your arm, and pain inside, when you are sad… emotional pain. As men get older, they often learn not to cry over physical pain, but everyone cries when their heart hurts, especially good men.”

  “Why ‘especially good men’?”

  I hadn’t expected this to lead to a deep philosophical discussion, but Dorian’s son had always had a somber and serious nature. “Because they care,” I told him.

  “But why did Dad cry… after he was grown?” Deep blue eyes bored into my own.

  It wasn’t my place to talk of such things, but Dorian was as much my family as anyone could be, and so was his son. “You know who you’re named after, right?” I asked suddenly.

  Gram nodded, “Grandfather.”

  “Well, your grandfather was your father’s dad, and your dad loved him just as much as you love your dad. Do you understand?” The memory of Dorian’s father brought made my own eyes grow misty.

  Dorian’s son nodded in understanding and a thoughtful look passed over his face.

  “Good,” I said, “Now let me put you to sleep so I can fix that arm.”

  Chapter 3

  A short while later I sought out Penny in our bedroom. She had calmed the children and set the twins the task of watching over Conall. I had left Gram sleeping after repairing his arm, and by a fortuitous stroke of luck, little Irene had fallen asleep after her feeding. My wife and I were completely alone for the first time in several days.

  I closed the bedroom door behind me, and as Penny glanced in my direction, I noted her red rimmed eyes. That was rarely a good sign. Crossing the room, I set my hands on her shoulders and began to knead the muscles there, in an effort to relieve her tension. I waited for her to speak first. The years had taught me that a little patience was often much more productive than fishing for answers.