The Catalyst

Chapter 40

They left Shadow at a stable yard in Dedrifel. Trekking across the White Mounts was better done on foot. Even Dharkan was abiding by that rule. Apparently, his demon horse wasn't too crazy about snow.

"Did he say that to you?" Noah had asked.

"That's hilarious. No, Xephos didn't say that. I just know, all right?" Dharkan had shrugged. "We have a connection."

They walked in silence now under a fragile afternoon sun, boots sinking in snow with every step, breath misting before them. The high peaks stretched north, rock faces visible through strips of shimmering snow, the sights breathtaking whenever they crested a hill.

After leaving Laethi about ten years ago, Dharkan had travelled across Fellera. Though he hadn't lingered in the mountains, and his knowledge of the region was limited.

"Still feeling that magical pull of yours?" Dharkan asked mockingly.

Noah's response was a faint grunt of acknowledgement. Dharkan lapsed into silence again. The only sounds filling the cold air were the crunch of snow under their boots and the howl of the wind sweeping through the passes.

On the last full moon, Noah and Dharkan had made it to Quickrivers and brought the white medallion to Mikael. Their cult leader had been displeased with their tardiness, and furious that it was – his words – obviously a fake. Noah had kept his thoughts to himself. If such a thing is so damn obvious to you, why not go look for the bloody thing yourself?

The next day at dawn, they'd left Quickrivers again, taking a northerly course. Not in the lord's manor, then, Mikael had instructed. The Ancients used to live in the mountains; search for it there. Which would've been a ridiculously absurd quest, if Noah hadn't felt the pull. He couldn't blame Dharkan for making fun of it, but Noah didn't know what else to call it. And it wasn't like Dharkan had a better plan, anyway.

Noah had first felt it in the morning after leaving Dedrifel, as they set out on the path that disappeared where hills became mountains. It felt like an itch he couldn't scratch, something that tugged at a sense he didn't know he had. It vanished if he tried too hard to focus on it, then came back when he was calmly open to its guidance.

The four days journey from Quickrivers to Dedrifel had been mostly uneventful, their mood rendered gloomy by how Mikael T'Sherazee had changed lately. Then they'd stopped by Lyonel Fairlocks' manor to return the fake catalyst. Not that they'd spoken to the old lord directly, that might've been awkward. Instead Dharkan had snuck in and given it to a servant.

"Why bother?" Dharkan had wondered at first.

"For Jaden," Noah had said. "He'd want us to return it."

After that, they'd found an inn on the northern edge of town, got a bit drunk, and talked about Mikael. Dharkan had even decided to open up about his past. Noah knew from Kitera that he'd been raised by the Assassins Guild in Laethi, but this was the first time he ever heard Dharkan talk about it.

"They've got this legend that they tell the kids in training so they'll strive to do better. The legend of the best assassin there ever was. This was in the year 950 of the Felleran calendar. He came from far away, had dark skin, very tall, about thirty years old. He learned the language, became the best, worked for the highest bidder – usually the king. The guild begged him to join, but he was a lone wolf.

"Didn't stop them from observing him and studying his methods. And they realized there was something supernatural going on. This man could control lightning, fire, water, wind. He could move objects with his mind. Dark magic, people said. Except he didn't have any black marks.