Bannon’s head was spinning. He was sure he would have a foolish grin on his face for days, if not months. He closed his eyes, let out a long sigh, and tried to sleep, but his body was still on fire. He had heard many love poems before, minstrels singing about the yearning of romance, and had not quite understood it. Of course, Bannon remembered his foolish attraction for Nicci, his inept flirtation in giving her the deathrise flower, but he had never dreamed of anything like Audrey. Perfect, beautiful, and hungry Audrey.
He lay for an hour, wanting to sleep, but not wanting to let go of a single moment of these cherished memories. He relived in his mind her every touch, imagining the feel of her lips on his cheek, on his mouth, on his chest—everywhere.
He heard a rustle of the fabric door hanging and didn’t at first understand what it was, until he raised his head, blinking. Had Audrey come back?
Laurel stood just inside the doorway, her strawberry-blond hair brushed and shining in the faint light of the remaining candle, adorned with a single decorative braid. She responded with a seductive smile, and her green eyes sparkled. Her tongue flicked around the corner of her mouth, and she showed perfect white teeth.
“I see you’re still awake.” She glided closer to his sleeping pallet as Bannon struggled to sit up. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.” As Laurel moved toward him, her hands worked at the tie at her waist, and she slid out of her acolyte’s gown like a beautiful naked butterfly emerging from a chrysalis.
Bannon drew in a quick breath. He was alarmed, confused—and aroused again. “Audrey was just—” he said, reaching up, but instead of being pushed away, she met him, took his left hand, and placed it against her breast. It was smaller and firmer than Audrey’s. Her nipples were erect.
“Audrey has already had her turn,” Laurel said with a smile. “I hope you’re not too tired.” She reached down, ran her fingers along his belly, then farther down to stroke the corn silk there. She grinned with delight. “I see you’re not tired at all.” She started kissing him, and now that Bannon knew exactly what to do, he responded with increasing enthusiasm. Given his earlier practice, Bannon decided he might be getting good at this after all.
Laurel was slower and gentler than Audrey, but more intense. She caressed him and showed him how to caress her, wanting to enjoy his entire body, and Bannon proved to be an avid student again. When he tried to rush, feeling the passion build within him, she held him back, strung him along, teased him. Then she rolled him over, slid beneath him on the narrow pallet, drew him down on top of her, and wrapped her arms around his back.
She whispered hotly in his ear, “It’s all right. There’s no hurry. Sage won’t be here until closer to dawn.”
CHAPTER 49
After seeing the desolation of the Scar firsthand, Nicci immersed herself in the lore in the wizards’ archive, devoting every hour to the piles of old books. And although Thistle tried to help in every way, fetching books she thought looked interesting, bringing food from the kitchens, she was bored.
The girl wished she could offer some assistance, but her skills as a scholar were minimal. When she had helped her friends survive in the wilderness, she’d felt important, useful to be catching lizards, finding water. But, books … Thistle didn’t know enough about magical lore or ancient languages.
Her aunt and uncle had taught her letters, so she knew how to read some basic words. She took it upon herself to memorize certain key terms that Nicci was interested in—“life,” “energy,” “Han,” “diminish,” “drain”—and she would stand in front of the shelves in the great reading rooms, going from spine to spine, book after book, scroll after scroll. Each time she found a likely prospect, she would hurry with it over to Nicci, adding it to the sorceress’s reading stack. Nicci always took her offerings seriously, but so far no one had found any revelation about the Lifedrinker’s possible weaknesses.
Thistle had always been independent, able to take care of herself. She sensed that Nicci valued her in part because the sorceress appreciated someone who could handle her own problems. Thistle wanted to prove that she could be a valuable member of their group, but she felt left out, without a purpose to serve.
So, she explored the great stone buildings and the tunnels that ran through the heart of the plateau like the worm tracks in a rotting tree. Absorbed in their research, the Cliffwall scholars paid little attention to Thistle.
She avoided Victoria, not wanting to be indoctrinated as a memmer to memorize old books. Once, she came upon one of their rote-memorization sessions, with young men and women sitting cross-legged on the stone floor while Victoria read a paragraph aloud and then had them all repeat it word for word. Spotting her, the matronly woman gestured for Thistle to join them, but she ducked away. The older woman’s intensity made her uneasy. She didn’t want to be locked up here poring over dusty old books all her life. She wanted to stay with Nicci instead. She wanted to share in her adventures.
Thistle found a restless Bannon prowling the tunnels as well, carrying his sword. He commiserated with her. “I wish we could just do something.” He swung his sword at invisible opponents, though there was little room in the passageway for a satisfying imaginary battle.
“We should go out and fight the evil wizard together,” Thistle said.
“You’re just a girl.”
Thistle scowled. “And you’re just a boy.”
Bannon huffed. “I’m a man, and I’m a swordfighter. You should have seen how many selka I killed when they attacked the Wavewalker.”
“You saw me fight the sand panthers,” Thistle said, “and the dust people.”
With a sigh, he rested his sword on the stone floor of the tunnel. “Neither of us poses much of a threat to the Lifedrinker. We have to wait until someone learns how to destroy him.”
Thistle frowned. “The waiting is driving me crazy.”
Bannon went off down the tunnel battling imaginary foes with his sword, but when he came upon Victoria’s three beautiful acolytes, he awkwardly stumbled to a halt. As opponents, Audrey, Laurel, and Sage could have hamstrung him with a flirtatious glance. Thistle rolled her eyes.
She made her way through the tunnels to the window on the outer steep slope of the plateau. As she gazed out on the Scar, Thistle’s heart ached to see the sweeping devastation and the distant heat shimmer. She longed to know what this beautiful valley must have looked like at one time.
The scholar-archivist Simon found her standing there. “I stare out at it every day,” he said. “Each morning I watch the Lifedrinker expand his terrain and suck more and more life out of the world. If you’ve been here as long as I, you know just how much we’ve lost.”
Thistle looked up at him. “What was it like?”
Simon gestured out the opening. “From here, you could see lakes and rivers. The hills were thick with forests, and the sky was blue, not this dusty gray. There were roads from one end of the valley to the other, connecting the villages. Pastures and crops dotted the countryside.” He blew a soft whistle through his teeth. “Sometimes it seems I’m just remembering a dream. But I know it was true.”
Thistle felt a tingle of warmth and determination. “We can make it that way again. I know we can.”
Simon’s voice took on a harder edge. “It should never have happened in the first place—one of our scholars unleashing a spell he couldn’t control. Now the valley is gone, the towns dried up—including my old home. The people are all dead.” A low groan came out of his throat. “And it’s our fault. We have to find some way to fix it.”
“I want to help,” Thistle said. “There must be something I could do.”
He gave her a patronizing smile. “I’m afraid this is a problem best left to the scholars.”
Stung, Thistle turned away, muttering a quiet vow that she would help make the world right again. Even after she left, the scholar-archivist continued to stare out at the far-off wasteland.
* * *
Forgoing sleep, Nicci read the words of tom
e after tome until her eyes ached and her skull throbbed from trying to take in so much information. Although she learned a great deal, including many derivations of spells she had used in the past, she did not find the answers she sought. She set aside another volume in impatient disgust.
Now she had a greater grasp of just how dangerous, how devastating the Lifedrinker was, and if she did not stop him, then the world was indeed at stake—she did not underestimate the threat. The Scar would grow and grow, eventually drowning the Old World, then D’Hara.
Now she knew full well why she was here.