Chapter 10

Dalca waited in a dark place.

Physically, he hadn't gone far. After packing up their things into the car, they'd left Goslar behind, heading west. Mara sat on the dash, still sulking about all of the wizards she'd had to help over the last two days. She wasn't particularly excited about working with them again that night, but she'd finally calmed down after spending a good ten minutes cursing Dalca for a fool.

Once they were in the next town, Dalca had settled in with the communication stone. Jean was in the back seat getting some actual rest. She'd wanted to stay awake to discuss things, but Dalca had informed her in no uncertain terms that she needed to be ready for that night.

With the girl lightly snoring in the back, Dalca had projected his mind into the communication stone and sent a signal to the person he needed to speak to.

He was none too pleased that he had to wait a good half hour before they showed up.

After what seemed like an eternity, the dark realm of the communication stone began to brighten. As it did, Dalca found himself in a room made of stone. Or, that's what it looked like. He was still physically in the car, but his mind was elsewhere, in a fabricated terrain that had been crafted to look like a real place.

Said place began to come into focus as the light grew. Dalca looked at the rounded walls of the room, which formed a nearly perfect sphere. He stood upon a lattice of wooden planks that suspended him above the curved floor of the chamber.

At first glance, it appeared that patterns had been carved into the room. The familiar shapes of the continents could be made out, albeit it reversed, as if looking at them from the inside of the earth. If one looked closer, they'd see that the carvings were actually an illusion; if enough time was spent watching them, say a millennia or two, one might begin to notice the ongoing shifting of the tectonic plates.

A web of criss-crossing lines spread all across the chamber, hovering over the darker continental pattern. Most were straight, while some curved slightly to and fro. Each was a slightly different shade of the rainbow, as each was as unique as any thing could be in the world. Some were bright and brilliant, while others were dark and haunting, casting gloomy shadows on the wall behind them.

Combined, the two collections formed a complete map of every ley line upon the earth.

The lines crossed in front of the only other notable feature of the room, which was a slim dark doorway. It was strategically placed in the Pacific, and was only as large as it could be without concealing any landmarks.

An eerie shuffle crept from within the darkness, echoing around the odd room as something approached. Dalca resisted tapping his foot with impatience as the sound grew closer.

"About time," Dalca muttered as a shadow loomed out of the dark portal. It wavered across the glowing lines of the room, dampening their brilliance as it spread across the empty sphere. One might wonder how a shadow could be cast without a form being back-lit, but the world of the communication stone did not always obey the same physics of the real world. That the approaching creature felt the need to cast such an ominous shadow was indicative of its mood and temperament, which did not seem to be accommodating.

And then, the figure appeared, in all of its squat glory.

He stood about two feet tall, most of which was dedicated to his large head. It seemed to dominate his appearance, dwarfing his leanly muscled chest and torso with its mass. Short, thin arms and legs sprouted from the body and led to over-sized hands and feet, making him look ungainly.

Most of his form was shrouded beneath the wild white beard that graced his jaw. The wispy tip nearly reached the ground, leaving one with the impression that he didn't cut it, so much as let the bottom scrape off as he walked.

A matching bushy mustache concealed pursed lips, and whiskers ran up and down his ruddy face. His large, round ears and bulbous nose managed to peek out from the mane of hair, although each sported their own sprouts of coarse, white bristles. It seemed the only place on his head with any sparsity of hair was his scalp, which retained the barest covering of nebulous strands.

Lightning blue eyes stared out from beneath shaggy eyebrows bent into a disapproving scowl.

"It took you long enough," Dalca grumbled, his mental image of himself in the round room crossing its arms. He looked over the creature, and shook his head tiredly. "Vakhter… I thought we said you'd at least project some clothes on yourself when we spoke.

A grunt escaped the domovoi's lips as it dug at one ear with a thick digit.

"Sorry to intrude on your time," Dalca said with a roll of his eyes. "I need two items from the collection."

At those words, Vakhter's eyes narrowed further.

"Don't give me that," Dalca snapped. "It's my collection. I can do what I like with it."

The short form crossed its slim arms, the knobby fingers of each hand dwarfing his modest biceps as he gripped them. His stance and posture was one of refusal.

"I'll need WCWS246 and… WCWS083," Dalca recited from memory. He flicked his tongue over his lips as he recalled the flavor of Jonson's power. "Yes, 083 will do."

The domovoi didn't budge.

"And I'll need them A.S.A.P.," Dalca insisted. "I can meet you at our old Crossways in Brussels in a few hours."

Vakhter picked his nose, his fat fingertip doing little more than crinkling the hairs that grew from his nostril as he pressed into it.

Dalca sighed. "Vakhter, this is important. I promise I'll add something new to the collection soon."

The domovoi worked his lips as he considered that, and then turned without a word, retreating back through the dark portal. The light illuminating the chamber began to fade as he withdrew, leaving Dalca alone in a dark place once more.

With a thought, Dalca ended the connection, and found himself back in the driver's seat of the car. "What the hell was that about?"

Mara sat on the dashboard, her tiny legs dangling over the vents. "What was what?"

Dalca's conversation with the domovoi had only occurred within the stone itself, which meant Mara hadn't overheard it. "Vakhter was being difficult."

"Isn't he always?" the water vâlvă observed.

"He was being particularly so," Dalca informed her as he put the stone away.

"Well, the last time you spoke, you were removing something from the collection as well." Mara shrugged. "You know he doesn't like you removing things from his halls."

"They're my halls," Dalca grumbled. "It's my collection. He's just the keeper of the Keep. He's basically a curator."

Mara rolled her eyes. "You picked him." Dalca grunted at that. "And besides, you missed his birthday."

"I did not…" Dalca began, before trailing off as he did the math. "We said we're only celebrating centennials now."

Mara nodded. "Which is what you missed."

"When?"

"Several months ago."

Dalca frowned. "Before or after—"

"After," Mara answered.

"Why didn't you remind me?" Dalca grumbled.

"You said you didn't need to be reminded," Mara replied smartly. "You know, after the last time I had to remind you."

Dalca puffed air between his lips while casting a glance back at Jean, making sure she was still asleep. Her snores were genuine, which meant she still knew nothing of Vakhter. "Alright. I'll make it up to him."

"I have an idea on that front," Mara said as Dalca started up the car.

"Good," Dalca said. He cast a glance at the tiny fairy. "I didn't miss yours, did I?"

"Nope," Mara said. "You've got a few years before I have another."

"Good," Dalca said. Just to be clear, he added, "I knew that."

Mara snorted, and they started the long journey to Brussels.

Several hours later, Dalca stood alone in a field. It was a secluded stretch of land outside of the city. Dalca had purchased it a long time ago, and left it undeveloped, just as he'd done in countless other places around the world. It'd do him no good to have anyone building a condominium over the convergence of ley lines that Vakhter could use to create Ways to the Keep.

He sent another pulse of power into the stone, the equivalent of ringing the doorbell on Vakhter's end. He'd been waiting for half an hour, which was thirty minutes longer than he should have had to.

Finally, a thin line of opalescent light appeared on the forest floor. When it'd grown to about four feet in width, it split in two; one bar remained hovering just above the ground, while the other rose up. They remained connected at either end, forming a rectangle of light that hung in mid-air.

When the portal reached about six feet in height, it stopped growing, and the thin film of pearlescent power that had covered it slowly faded away to reveal the stone chamber beyond.

From outside, Dalca could barely make out the curving walls of the Way chamber. It was identical to the room he'd seen in the communication stone; that one had been a model of the real room, after all.

Standing inside the room was Vakhter, his squat form standing beside a long wooden crate. When the portal was open, Vakhter took hold of the handle at one end and began to drag the crate out behind him.

It was easily twice his height in length, but the deceptively small domovoi had no difficulty pulling it out into the real world.

"Vakhter, good to see you," Dalca said with a forced smile.

The domovoi grunted, and stopped pulling on the crate once it cleared the portal. His lightning blue eyes squinted up at the sun, and Dalca had to wonder when the creature had last seen daylight.

"Happy birthday, by the way," Dalca said. "Sorry I'm a little late. Been busy and all that."

Vakhter didn't even bother rolling his eyes. The domovoi simply turned and started back toward the glowing portal.

"Wait," Dalca said, retrieving a small bag from his pocket. "I've got something for Şobolan."

Vakhter turned back at that, and Dalca stepped forward to drop the bag into his hand. Broad fingers pried the bag open, and the scowl on the domovoi's face softened somewhat. It didn't fade completely, but with Vakhter, you settled for what you got. In all the years Dalca had known the creature, he couldn't recall him ever smiling.

"Crickets, dipped in yogurt," Dalca explained, gesturing toward the bag.

Vakhter looked up at him, and gave the barest of nods. Then he turned and walked back through the portal, which began to close as soon as he was through.

Dalca dragged the crate a little further, and waited until the light had completely faded away. Then he began the arduous task of scrubbing any last trace of the portal from the magical spectrum, just in case. A cascade of energy erupted from his outstretched hand, disrupting any lingering connection to the Way chamber.

Once he was sure there was no way of re-establishing the connection to his Keep, Dalca picked up the crate, and began the trek back to the vehicle.

A short time later, a knock sounded at the hotel door. Dalca rose from the chair to open it, and found the two wizards waiting in the hallway.

"Nice digs," Jonson said as he stepped inside. His eyes were wide as he looked around the expensive suite, which cost more than the young wizard could hope to afford. Perhaps after he'd lived a couple centuries, and accrued enough interest to establish himself financially, he might be able to stay in a place like that.

Wagner wasn't as impressed, and his suspicious eyes played over the room. "Where's your apprentice?"

"Getting ready," Dalca replied as he led the two in. Jean had napped during the drive, and had settled in for a bit more after they'd arrived in town. With a few hours under her belt, she'd awoken refreshed and ready to fight a powerful demi-god that had previously wiped the floor with Dalca and two White Council Wizards.

"What about this help you talked about?" Wagner asked. He looked better, and Dalca wondered if they'd only just removed the bandages. If they'd kept them on, then the magics in them would have gone a long way to healing their injuries. You could hardly tell his jaw had been broken less than two days ago.

Both wizards moved somewhat stiffly, but neither looked like they'd had a building collapse on them only a few hours prior.

"It's here," Dalca said, nodding toward the crate. As the two wizards stood back, Dalca unlatched it and opened the lid. Reaching inside, he took out the first of two objects, and tossed it to Wagner. The wizard caught it reflexively, and then stared at it in shock.

"This is…" Wagner said as he held the sheathed sword up. After a long moment, he pulled several inches of the blade from the leather scabbard. "This is my sword."

"Figured you might need it," Dalca said as he withdrew a second sword from the crate. Jonson's eyes were fixated on it as Dalca drew it from its sheath, and laid it across the crate's lid. "You ever wield a gladius before?" he asked Jonson.

"No," the young wizard replied.

"Any double-edged swords at all?" Dalca pressed.

Jonson just shook his head.

Dalca turned to Wagner, who was still fawning over his long lost blade. "What are you teaching them these days?"

The elder wizard finally glanced up and noted the gladius. "He's had some rapier training." When Dalca sighed, Wagner added. "And he wasn't very good. Which is why he doesn't have one."

"Probably shouldn't bother with this. The blade's going to be a bigger danger to him than anyone else," Dalca muttered as he cleared a space on the table for the blade. "Alright. I'm going to need some blood."

"Uh, what?" the younger wizard mumbled.

"What for?" Wagner asked, suddenly paying attention.

"Warden blades are made for the individual," Dalca explained, before amending, "or, were, as the case may be."

"We still have—" Wagner began.

"If you're referring to that crap I snapped in half the other night, then just stop talking," Dalca said shortly. "That was no proper blade and you know it."

The old wizard didn't have the inclination to argue the point, so Dalca continued. "This was made for a wizard a long time ago," he explained to Jonson. "Having tasted your power, I can tell you and the previous owner had very similar strengths. You might even be distantly related."

"Is he still around to ask?" Wagner asked sharply.

"No, she isn't," Dalca replied. "If you recall, I only take swords from those I kill." Dalca nodded at the sword Wagner had already slipped onto his belt. "Which is why you got that back."

Before the man could interrupt again, Dalca turned back to Jonson. "You'll never be a perfect match for it, but if you allow me to bond the sword to you, it will work better than anything else your forgers are turning out these days."

"I don't know," Jonson said, his tone guarded despite the eager look to his eyes.

"It's no trick," Dalca assured him. Turning toward the back, he shouted. "Sleepy head! Bring your sword!"

After a moment, Jean appeared with her sheathed sword in hand. She was almost ready for battle, but hadn't donned her hooded sweatshirt yet. That left her in a tight fitting top that Jonson's eager eyes swiveled to observe.

"Show them your blade," Dalca instructed her.

Jean drew her cavalry saber in a smooth motion, and held the blade up for their inspection. The metal glinted in the hotel suite's lighting, the pink hue clearly visible.

"That sword was the best suitable to her," Dalca explained. "I'll do the same to this one, and in time, you might just master the weapon."

"In time?" Jonson asked, his tone still suspicious.

"It'll take decades," Dalca warned him. "Centuries even, if you're as bad as Wagner says."

"You'll let him keep the blade?" Wagner asked doubtfully.

Dalca shrugged. "It seems like a suitable payment for services rendered."

Wagner's eyes narrowed. "We're not working for you—"

"Save it, Sunshine," Dalca said, waiving the old man off. Jean took the opportunity to put her own blade away and return to the bedroom to finish getting dressed. "We've got a deal to fight the demon together. I'm doing everything in my power to preserve my own life, which includes making sure those I fight with are as well-prepared as possible." Dalca gestured at the blades. "Neither of these are favorites of mine, and I'm willing to part with them in order to get this job done."

That seemed to have convinced Jonson, but Wagner still wasn't sold. Or maybe he was just offended that his blade wasn't considered good enough. "What are you getting out of this, then? As near as I can tell, the demon wasn't bothering you. And now you're willing to give up two enchanted swords — which, by all accounts, are what you take pride in collecting — for nothing in return?"

"Perhaps I'm righting past wrongs," Dalca said softly. "Perhaps I'm feeling charitable. Perhaps there's something else. But whatever it is, the two of you will benefit, if you survive."

Wagner chewed through the words, looking for the trap. But with time not on his side, and a nearly unstoppable demon to face, the wizard couldn't deny the swords would be useful.

"Very well," he said gruffly. "But you won't taste the boy's blood again," he clarified, looking up as Jean returned.

Jonson must have told him about that. "That's fine," Dalca said agreeably. "Now lets stop wasting time, and get this over with."

The wizards shared a look, and Dalca waited for them to resolve themselves to it. While they prepared to draw the blood required for the spell, Dalca prepared himself.

The bonding ritual between blade and wielder was costly in power, but Dalca figured it was worth it. He'd recuperate the loss from Jean after everything was over. And the benefit of having another enchanted blade in the field outweighed the cost.

Besides, they'd all likely be dead within a few hours anyway.