Alora: The Maladorn Scroll (Alora 3)

Kaevin answered, “If the scroll instructed Vindrake in doing evil, it might tell us how to undo that evil. We can’t destroy it until we know.”

“So what we really need is to take the scroll with us to Glaenshire. Surely someone at the Craedenza could read it.”

Kaevin sat up, as if someone had given him a shot of adrenaline. “Yes! We should transport to Raelene and Bardamen at once and leave the scroll at the archives.”

Uncle Charles pursed his lips the way he always did when he didn’t approve of something. “I still say you should burn that thing to a crisp. What’s to keep those Craedenza people from interpreting the scroll and doing the same evil things Vindrake did?”

“They can’t betray the Craedenza, Charles—at least the oath-bound can’t. They’re bonded to serve the Craedenza, protect the knowledge stored there, and spread peace through sharing that wisdom,” Kaevin explained. “The archivists pledge allegiance, spill their blood, and take an oath.”

“Of course they do.” The words dripped with sarcasm as they left Charles’ mouth. “What is it with you people and bonds? Why can’t you just make a promise like normal people? Why does everything have to involve blood and magic?”

Kaevin’s mouth opened in astonishment, but he gave no response. Uncle Charles might as well have asked him why they chose to breathe oxygen or drink water, since bonds were such an essential part of life in Tenavae.

Charles flung his hands in the air. “Fine, then. Let’s go. Let’s take this creepy scroll to the Craedenza right now and hand it over to these oath-bound people. I wouldn’t mind an opportunity to talk with Raelene about a few things, anyway. Get her advice.” He gave a sideways glance toward Markaeus.

“Actually, I don’t think that’s going to work,” said Alora. “I’m pretty sure I can’t transport that thing. It makes me too sick to be with it. There’s no telling where we might go if the scroll was interfering with my concentration.”

“And you can’t just send the scroll to her?” asked Uncle Charles.

“If I’d learned how to transport an object, I might be able to send it to her. But so far, the closest I’ve come to that was a dead wendt, which is still an animal. And I don’t dare try to send one of you that far away from me. Even my mother could only safely transport someone as far as she could see.”

Slumping back into his chair, Kaevin said, “Then there’s no way to remove the scroll from this realm.”

“What we really need is a portal from here to Glaenshire,” said Alora. “That would solve everything.”

The room fell silent, except for the incessant tapping of Charles’ foot on the floor. Alora wracked her brain, trying to come up with a solution. Maybe, if she held her breath, her discernment wouldn’t be able to pick up the scroll’s scent. Or if they wrapped the scroll in plastic wrap, so it wasn’t in contact with the air...

Charles broke the silence. “Wesley’s brother, Steven, might know someone who could read the scroll.”

“I don’t know, Uncle Charles. To be honest, that thing feels so evil, I’m afraid for anyone here to interpret it. What if it makes them do bad things? Like in Lord of the Rings?”

“If only you could bring someone from the Craedenza to Montana to study the scroll,” Kaevin mumbled.

“That’s a great idea,” Alora responded. “Why couldn’t I?”

“Because we need a bonded archivist who could never succumb to the scroll’s evil. And the oath-bound can’t leave the Craedenza.”

“Why not?” Charles asked.

“Once bonded, an archivist can never leave Glaenshire, or they’ll die,” Kaevin said. “Raelene explained it to me.”

Charles shook his head, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. “Of course they will. Typical Tenavae bond. Blood and the promise of death. Such a great place to live.”

Alora jumped when Markaeus tapped on her shoulder. “I think I can take the scroll to Raelene.”

“How?”

He pointed at a bookcase, crammed with a double layer of books on every shelf.

“Through that portal I just made.”

**************

Clambering up the circling steps two at a time, Bardamen’s side cramped and his head swam with dizziness. But he didn’t slow until he reached the top of the stone watchtower, its rounded shape offering a complete view of Glaenshire through the eight window openings. The prickle of the enemy shaman had progressed to a sharp sting. He or she was probing to find the weaknesses in Glaenshire’s defense, of which there were too many to count. Vindrake would first allow the wendt to render terror. Then his warriors would attack, slay a large number of defenseless citizens and take control of the Craedenza.

It’s ridiculous! What kind of town has no shamans or warriors? How could they not realize they’d be vulnerable to attack?

He could no longer hear the wendt, which unfortunately meant the animal must have flown away with its first victim. A shiver rippled down his spine at the thought.