Stone of Tears

“Well, the ones who placed the rest of the magic of the palace, the wizards of old…”

“Who you said had Subtractive Magic. That shield is the only one placed by them. It’s the only one I can’t go through. It’s the only one my Subtractive Magic, if I truly have it, wouldn’t counter. See what I mean?”

Warren sat back on his heels. “Yes…” He rubbed his chin as he thought. “Well, that would make sense. It might fit with some of the prophecies about you. If you really are a war wizard, and are the one born true.”

“And do these prophecies say I will prevail?”

Warren hesitated. He glanced over at the Sword of Truth lying on the floor nearby. “If I said “white blade,” would that mean anything to you?”

Richard let out a heavy breath at the memory. “I can turn the blade of my sword white, through magic.”

Warren wiped his hand over his face. Then I think we might be in trouble. There is a prophecy that says, “should the forces of forfeit be loosed, the world will be shadowed yet by darker lust through what has been rent. Salvations hope, then, will be as slim as the white blade of the one born true.’”

Through what has been rent. The open gateway,” Richard said.

That would make “the darker lust” be the Keeper.”

“Warren, I have to do something about the prophecy. The one about the one in white. It’s important. Do you have any ideas?”

Warren watched him, as if trying to decide something. “I do. I don’t know if it will help.” He put weight on his hands as he rubbed them on his thighs. They have a prophet here, at the palace. I’ve never seen him. I want to, but they won’t let me. They say it’s too dangerous for me to talk to him until I learn more. They promised that when I learn enough, they will let me talk with him.”

“Here in the palace? Where?”

Warren pulled a fold of his robes from under his knees. “I don’t know. It would have to be one of the restricted areas, but I don’t know which one, and I don’t know how we can find out.”

Richard stood. “I do.”

Richard knew he had gone to the right guard when Swordsman Kevin Andellmere turned white as a spirit at the mention of the Prophet. He was reluctant, feigning ignorance at first, but when Richard gently reminded him of all the favors, Kevin whispered the location.

The compound Kevin had divulged was one of the most heavily guarded. Richard knew where all the guards were stationed because he had gathered white roses there, and had been up on the wall, to “look out at the sea.” He also knew all the guards. They were frequent visitors to the prostitutes he provided.

He didn’t slow at the outer gate, but simply gave a nod to the wink the guards gave him. The guards at the rampart were considerably more reticent, stammering and holding out a hand to halt him. He shook the hand, pretending that he thought that was what was meant by it. They finally sighed and resumed their post as he marched away, his mris-with cape billowing open.

At the end of the rampart was a small colonnade, and at the end of that, winding stairs that led down to the Prophet’s quarters. The guards at the door he wanted were the two he had had trouble winning over at first, and the first to receive his gift of female company. They stiffened when they saw him.

Richard casually made for the door between them. “Walsh, Bollesdun, how you doing?”

They crossed their pikes over the door. “Richard, what are you doing down here? The roses grow up top.”

“Look, Walsh, I have to go see the Prophet.”

“Richard, don’t put us in this spot. You know we can’t let you in. The Sisters would skin us alive.”

Richard shrugged. “I won’t tell them you let me in. I’ll say I tricked you. If anyone finds out, which they won’t, just tell them I snuck by, and you didn’t know until I was on my way out. I’ll back your story.”

“Richard, you’re really…”

“Have I ever done anything to cause trouble? Have I ever done anything but help all you men? I buy you drinks, I loan you money when you need it, I let you have free access to the girls, and it never costs you a copper. Have I ever asked for anything in return?”

Richard had his hand on the hilt of the sword. One way, or another, he was going through that door.

Walsh pushed a stone chip with his boot. With a heavy sigh, first one, and then the other, pulled their pikes up. “Bollesdun, go make your rounds. I’m going to the privy for a sit.”

Richard took his hand from his sword and gave the man a pat on the shoulder. “Thanks, Walsh. I appreciate it.”

Halfway down the inner hall, Richard felt layers of resistance, shields, like the ones that were outside the Prelate’s door, but they only slowed him a bit. The room inside was as spacious as his own, but perhaps more elegantly appointed. One wall held large tapestries, and another expansive bookshelves. Most of the books, though, seemed to be scattered about the room, on chairs and couches and covering the blue-and-yellow carpets on the floor.

Richard could see the back of a man in the chair beside the cold hearth.