Cloud Rebel (R-D #3)(67)

I was hoping to already be out of it, if truth be told. I had no idea why Father would leave me in such a way—unless something prevented him from knowing I'd been captured. I attempted to sort out that conundrum. After all, my father was the one person who could find just about anything, if he put his mind and talent to it.

"Your breakfast," one of our captors walked into the room, set a plate of food on the floor and slid it toward us. They'd started this tactic the day before, when Norian almost gained the strength to change.

Until this mission, I'd never guessed he was a shapeshifter.

Many things made sense, now, but I couldn't dwell on those unraveled mysteries—I had to form a plan of escape, knowing that Norian would be able to escape with me. With a hand still chained to the wall, I gripped the edge of the plate and drew it toward me.

I'd studied shapeshifters when I was young—my father had seen to that. I understood their elevated metabolism. Norian needed most of what they'd given us; I intended to see that he got it.

*

It had become Morrett's duty to empty the slop bucket. He understood that going in after meals was the proper time to do so—he felt less afraid, then.

Only one of the men used the bucket; the one his masters had shot and beaten after he'd become a large snake and bitten two, killing them quickly. Morrett had no words to explain to Fisk that the other man—the one with deeper eyes and paler hair—didn't need the bucket.

Immortal whispered in Morrett's mind. He only knew that because he'd read it somewhere—his mother certainly hadn't taught him anything. His captors weren't immortal, however. Yes, they resembled what he could become when enraged, but the resemblance stopped there. Somewhere in the timeline, they may have been related.

Morrett wanted to claim no kinship with them. To him, they were cruel—as his mother had been cruel. He couldn't deny that when they changed to their other form, however, they greatly resembled his race, which could also change.

Morrett seldom changed—his mother had laid compulsion to never attack his masters; therefore, it wasn't worth the beating he'd receive if he did so. He had no idea where his mother was, but wherever she was, he cursed her.

Again.

*

Geethe Cheriss, Prime Potentate of Lyristolys

To: Outland Commander Fisk Boralus

Subject: Wymarr Belancour

There is no need to send the wizard back and forth; keep him there with you until this is finished. I have no immediate need of his services and your successful mission is now of utmost importance. I have had word that Deonus Wyyld is quietly searching for Keef; therefore, we must eliminate him very soon. Have Wymarr transport you and any equipment you need—send him back to me when this is finished.

*

Corinne

"This is where they were captured." Val's gaze settled on the wrecked duplex in Toronto. At first, I'd wondered why the owner hadn't bothered to check on the rental, but discovered he lived in the unit next door.

It was obvious he'd come to check on his renters when the noise started. He was now decidedly dead, his bloated corpse lying in a pile of rubble nearby.

That's where we stood, inside the rented side of the duplex, surveying the damage.

"Six days ago," Val surmised. "I have determined the level of decomposition in the body and translated it into local time."

"If Auggie didn't have his hands full already, I'd ask him to pass this on," I sighed. The landlord, a man in his early fifties, had been fit and in good health before the horde of Lyristolyi descended.

He'd died quickly, from a single weapon discharge.

"Ranos technology—in its infancy," Val explained. "There wouldn't have been anything left of the body with a pistol from current times. This weapon was quite old."

"Keef and Schaff put up a fight," I said. "They were better armed, at least."

"Yet outnumbered, unless I err in my guess," Val nodded. "I detect two deaths—from poisoning—Keef turned at the last. They must have wounded him badly to take him after that. I fear you were right, dearest; I also detect the interference of a wizard."

"So not all those holes in the wall were from a ranos pistol?" I asked.

"Here—see this one—Look, you will find no ranos burn—the residue it leaves behind. No, this blast was from a wizard's hands."

"And not a warlock?"

"Different methods," Val shrugged. "If we had time, I would return you to the places where the Elemaiya leveled blasts, then take you to the room where Ilya practiced, then allow you to compare both to these. We have not the time. I fear Keef's time is dwindling rapidly, and with a Sirenali to hide them and a wizard to transport the Lyristolyi from place to place, we may not find him soon enough."

I wanted to curse the Sirenali again, for keeping us in the dark as to where a rogue wizard could have transported the ones from this room. At least they'd taken their dead with them; I could barely look at the body on the floor without feeling ill.

"Do you think they're still in Canada?" I asked. "That they may have established a base here, since they can hide easily and get in and out with the wizard's help?"

"I believe Keef and Schaff thought they were getting close; why would they lease a temporary home otherwise?"