Spark of Chaos (Spark of Chaos #1)

Prologue (Part 4)

"Are we going in there, Oen?" a timid little voice whispered from his rucksack. He twisted his neck around to study the freckled face poking from beneath the flap.

"Keep your head down, Sprite," he growled for the hundredth time since arriving on the Isle of Wise Ones.

"It's very scary." The nymphling shivered before she ducked back into his rucksack, pulling the flap closed like a turtle hiding in its shell.

"This tower is the Spine. This is where the Archlord of the Isle lives." Oenghus squeezed his bulk between the shrubbery and scanned the strange stone.

"There's no door," Isiilde pointed out from her concealment.

"It's a secret one. Now hush," Oenghus said.

It wasn't just any secret door. It was an invisible rune. He placed his palm on the stone and slid it over the general area, where he vaguely remembered the door being hidden. A slight tremor in the stone brought him up short. He spread his fingers and murmured words that would awaken the stone's dormant power.

A cold, ancient weight embraced him, sucking him through the teleportation rune before spitting him out a heartbeat later.

A gasp rose from his rucksack, but he thought it more excitement than fear. Shaking the chill from his bones, he stepped into a thick sheet of cobwebs that stretched from one end of an empty alcove to the next.

"You have to be on your best behavior, Sprite," Oenghus instructed as he emerged from the alcove into an equally deserted hallway.

The nymphling poked her head from the rucksack with a curious tilt of her ears. "I'm always good," she said.

"Aye, that's what I'm afraid of."

Oenghus walked straight to an identical alcove at the far end of the corridor, and touched another mundane bit of stone. He summoned the Lore and a familiar chill tugged him through the stone.

Another empty corridor greeted him. But this passage was slightly different—there was a large, ornate door waiting at the end. A sign, he thought, that his former master and friend hadn't taken him off the guest list.

Oenghus stopped in front of the door and squared his shoulders. The next minutes were critical. He had to convince the Archlord to let Isiilde remain on the Isle. But the Archlord was immune to intimidation and threat. It was infuriating. And since Oenghus' powers of persuasion were sorely lacking, blunt honesty would have to do.

"Keep quiet," Oenghus murmured over his shoulder.

Obedient silence answered. He took a deep breath and pounded his fist against the wood. At his persistent knock, the door flew open. Isek Beirnuckle, advisor to the Archlord, stood at the threshold. Isek reminded him of a bald weasel that was always on the verge of running.

Isek jumped back in surprise. But his shock didn't last long. "By the Pits o' Mourn, I didn't expect to see you here," he said, offering a hand.

"Me either," Oenghus grunted, ducking through the doorway. "Looks like I'm still welcome." There was a question in his words, directed at the back of a tall, graceful man with pointed ears standing in front of a crystal window. Moonlight streamed through the crystal, illuminating his long white hair and a collection of artifacts, each a power in its own right.

The Archlord did not immediately stir. Instead, he continued his silent vigil, gaze fixed on the oval window that filled an entire wall. The window glowered down at the Isle and the ocean beyond like some monstrous, multi-faceted eye watching its surroundings.

Oenghus stepped into the center of the study, eyeing his former master. The Archlord had not changed over the centuries—he was in the prime of his life, as timeless as the crystal window. And he never quite seemed to be of this world. He was too graceful, too perfect and angular. From the point of his ears to his high cheekbones and tall, slender body.