Around the room they spun, attacking, retreating, and never pausing. Ryna was mesmerized by the speed and synchronization shared between Wyand and Eyrie—each move had a response, every action a counter. In one final flurry of spinning staves, Wyand leapt directly into the path of Eyrie’s attack and used his practice staff to sweep her feet off of the floor. He threw aside his staff and instead lunged forward to seize hers as she fell. They landed together on the floor of the Wargarden, Wyand kneeling on Eyrie’s chest with the end of her own staff less than a hand-length from her face.
Blood and sweat dripped from Wyand’s chin as he and Eyrie stared at one another in silence, then something happened that took Ryna completely by surprise: Eyrie closed her eyes and began laughing. Exhausted yet clearly exhilarated, Wyand began laughing too. The Wargarden shook with cheers and laughter as Wyand let the practice staff fall away and extended a hand to help Eyrie to her feet. They stood and embraced, shaking from laughter, fatigue, and pain as the Voice of War stepped back into the center of the room and raised her hands for quiet.
“The blood of our Order once again flows into the ground of this sacred place, just as it has since the founding of Cynmere itself,” the Voice of War proclaimed. “By enduring the trials of combat in the Wargarden, the last test is passed. Stand now and join us, Bloodbrother Wyand, for the blood of our Order now flows through you as well.” Ryna felt elated shouts surround her as the rest of the crowd celebrated Wyand’s acceptance, but she didn’t join in their rejoicing. Seeing Wyand standing with Eyrie, watching him smile as these people cheered for his injuries, inspired feelings in Ryna of both disgust and—to her surprise—jealousy. Though she knew Stora was right about the violent ways of the Cynmeren being evil, a part of Ryna longed to feel the kind of acceptance she knew Wyand was experiencing now.
Realizing that her silence could make her stand out, Ryna turned once again to her cup of Melsca. She resolved that its small comfort would carry her through the rest of this night, no matter what other emotions might assail her. To her relief, the other workers rushed Wyand to offer praise and welcome an instant later, and he was immediately obscured from Ryna’s view. From the Wargarden entrance, the sound of music drifted in as members of the Order of Song began playing in the clearing outside.
“Let’s dance!” Halwen shouted as she emerged from the crowd and once again seized Ryna’s hand. Melsca sloshed over the rim of Halwen’s cup, which had clearly been refilled at least once since Ryna last saw her. As she was led away, Ryna glanced back over her shoulder to the group that surrounded Wyand. For an instant the crowd parted, allowing her a glimpse of Cynmere’s newest Bloodbrother. He seemed to be searching for something, then a look of sudden relief washed over his face when he spotted Ryna. Wyand smiled through his injuries and started to walk towards her, but the onlookers closed in again and blocked his progress.
Once outside, Halwen quickly led the way to the musicians from the Order of Song. Many people swayed to the rhythm of the music, while others stood at the edges of the clearing, drinking and laughing together as they watched those who chose to dance. Ryna stood beside Halwen for a few beats of the song, but once it was clear that her friend was distracted, Ryna quietly made her way to one of the fires burning along the edge of the clearing. Dancing looked fun, but Ryna was much more interested in escaping the cold wind and finishing her last few sips of Melsca before returning to the Order of Hands for the night. Wyand saw that I was here, that’s the important part, she thought.
Thinking of Wyand caused Ryna to unconsciously scan the crowd for him; she found him on the far side of the clearing, sitting by one of the other fires with a group from the Order of Blood. She watched as one of the Bloodsisters put on the Thoughtcaster and took hold of the mysterious and dangerous stone. It flashed, and an instant later the woman smiled in wonder. She flung her arms around Wyand, no doubt expressing how grateful she was to have been given the “gift” of witnessing the Thoughtcaster.
Seeing the Thoughtcaster in use made Ryna uneasy, but an idea suddenly formed as she studied the scene in front of her with Stora’s plans in mind. The Melsca flowed, the music soothed, and the Thoughtcaster passed freely from hand to hand. If I wait long enough, I could take the stone and the Thoughtcaster tonight, Ryna realized. Everyone else would be too busy celebrating or drinking to notice the relics were missing before she had plenty of time to escape with them. It was a dishonorable idea, but Ryna knew it would work. Then she realized her plan’s only flaw: Stora hadn’t yet told her it was time to act.
Frustrated and sickened by the lies that comprised every aspect of her existence in Cynmere, Ryna backed away from the clearing and started down the path to the Hand dwellings. Warm light from the fires and the sounds of celebration faded as Ryna walked until she was finally alone in the darkness. She lifted the Melsca to her lips again, then shook her head in fury and flung the cup deep into the forest. The comfort wasn’t real anyway, she thought disgustedly, instead embracing the cold night air as it seeped into her robes.
Something moved in the distance through the trees to her right; there was no sound, just a quick shifting of colors in the dim moonlight. In that brief instant, Ryna thought she saw Mainwright Stora creeping swiftly through the darkened woodlands. Then the figure disappeared, leaving Ryna to wonder if what she had seen was real or an illusion. Ultimately, she decided it had been a wise choice to throw aside the Melsca when she did.
After reaching her quarters, Ryna lay in bed staring at the rafters for many restless minutes. Finally, too irritated with herself to continue doing nothing, she put her outer robes on again and made her way over to the sick rooms in the primary Hand dwelling. She peered through the darkness into Stora’s room and was relieved to find the Mainwright sleeping in the bed exactly where Ryna had left her. Satisfied that her earlier experience in the forest had been nothing more than a hallucination, Ryna returned to her quarters for another night of sleep in relative comfort. The journey back to Locboran would begin soon, and she knew that the Deadlands had no comfort to offer.
27
“There!” Craed shouted over the howling headwind, pointing to a narrow break in the rocks to the right. Tir shifted the cart and sped towards the opening with as much speed as the nysks could muster in the face of such resistance. Keltin squinted above his veil into the setting sun, expecting to find an immense storm looming along the eastern horizon that could explain the relentless gusts, but instead he found only clear skies. He had learned over the course of the past day and a half that the Eastern Hills was a strange place, but nothing had prepared him for staggering windstorms that could form without warning. Based on the frowns worn by Tir, Craed, and the others, Keltin knew he wasn’t the only one disturbed by this sudden and violent change in the weather.
Nothing about their journey thus far had been easy; then again, no one had said that trying to do the impossible would be anything but difficult. Every plan that Craed posed was instantly dashed by a host of factors working against him, ranging from unexpected Cynmeren camps to inaccuracies in the map he was using. Now even the weather seemed determined to push the Penitent Faithful back into the Plateau Desert. Though every member of the group was frustrated, their united determination kept them moving east regardless of what stood in the way.
The left side of the cart lifted slightly as another gust slammed against it. “That was a good one!” Tir laughed darkly as he corrected the nysks to face into the storm once again. Though the small fissure was only a few hundred strides away now, progress was slow since the nysks were forced to move almost sideways to counter the wind. Keltin and the rest of the group watched anxiously as the hope of refuge drew closer until the cart at last entered the narrow canyon. The wind still whistled past the stones in this fissure, but its force had diminished greatly compared to the gusts that surged across the hills beyond.
Tir slowed the cart and spun the light directors forward to gain a better view of what lay in front of them in the dark canyon
. Enormous boulders loomed along the edges of the path, each balanced atop an impossibly narrow stone pillar. “They look like trees,” Silax whispered as the edge of the light directors slid past several of the peculiar formations. Keltin nodded as he stared at the bizarre scene, mesmerized by the smooth striations that lined the walls of the canyon and repeated their pattern up each stone pillar.
“There was water here once,” Craed declared. “Venerates willing, there’s some left that the haugaeldr haven’t yet claimed.” Tir deftly guided the cart between the stone trees, sometimes coming so close that the nysks’ tentacles were forced to slide up the pillars just to make it past. Ignoring all else, Tir focused intently on the way forward; he knew how important it was for them to find water soon. With none of the known resupply points being accessible due to the presence of the Cynmeren, the group needed to find water within the next day or they would be forced to turn back to Dism Slyde.
Hope vanished as the cart rounded a curve in the path and the light directors revealed two massive piles of rubble that spilled down from both edges of the canyon. The clear space between them was less than five strides across, clearly not wide enough for the nysks to pass. Tir brought the cart to a stop with a quiet sigh. “We camp here tonight, then continue east in the morning,” Craed announced. “At least here we have some protection from the wind. Plus, I can see that the canyon continues beyond this barricade, so tonight we’ll send out scouts from the Legion to search for water farther along the path.”
Everyone agreed to Craed’s plan, although for some that agreement came in the form of nothing more than a very tired and disappointed nod. As Tir tended to the nysks, Craed spoke with the other Legionnaires while Keltin and Silax set up the thuribles for the night. With the last rays of sunlight disappearing over the top of the canyon, Keltin spotted Aemetta peering through the collapsed wall of rocks that had ended the group’s progress. “What do you see?” Keltin called.
“More of the same,” she replied flatly, walking over to Keltin to assist with securing his thurible. She held the massive sconce upright as Keltin used a rock to drive it into the floor of the canyon. As an added precaution against the wind, they surrounded the post with several layers of stones. Seeing that Keltin’s thurible was set, Aemetta moved on to help Silax. Keltin loaded five of the smoke blocks into the basket of the thurible and lit the last one with a flint striker Craed had given him. The smoke blocks were usually easy to start, but the incessant wind made the task far more challenging than it had been in the previous two nights.
After many failed attempts and angry mutters from Keltin, the thurible at last produced a steady, albeit thin, wisp of smoke. Keltin stretched as he prepared for another long night; thankfully, he’d been allowed to sleep for the majority of the day’s journey, but his body had not yet fully adapted to the shift in schedule. He yawned, then stopped abruptly. Your work is just getting started for the day, Keltin scolded himself, forcing his eyes to open wider. Knowing there was nothing else to do but wait for the next few hours to pass, he wandered idly to one of the stone trees that stood within a few strides of his thurible. Standing close to the rock offered a surprisingly effective respite from the windstorm, and as such, Keltin decided this would make a fine place to spend the majority of the night.
Leaning against the stone pillar, Keltin pulled his hood farther forward to preserve heat and watched as Craed dispatched three of the five Legionnaires deeper into the canyon to search for water. After seeing that the nysks were burrowed comfortably, Tir settled into his usual seat against the wall of the cart’s upper level while Craed disappeared into the lower level. The two remaining Legionnaires spoke quietly with Aemetta at the opening between the two piles of rubble, and Silax stared out into the night just as Keltin did. Smoke from the thuribles was less than impressive given the wind, but it did offer a small amount of concealment as it drifted through the makeshift camp.
“I think we’ll find it tomorrow,” Silax said as he came to stand beside Keltin a few minutes later.
“You said that yesterday,” Keltin replied with a tired laugh. “We’re just now beyond the edges of Craed’s map—Cynmere could be another ten days from here for all we know.”
“We’re close, Keltin. Can’t you feel that?” Silax asked.
“I pray that you’re right, but no, I don’t feel anything,” Keltin replied. “…anything other than cold, that is,” he added. Silax ignored Keltin’s attempt at humor completely and instead nodded in Aemetta’s direction.
“What do you suppose they’re talking about?” Silax wondered.
“Probably tactics,” Keltin reasoned. “They know she’ll be a part of the Legion soon, so they’re probably explaining how the others are searching for water.” Silax frowned but offered no reply. A few minutes later, the two Legionnaires departed towards the mouth of the canyon and Aemetta joined Keltin and Silax in the shelter of the stone tree.
“Learn anything?” Silax asked, trying to sound sarcastic, but clearly jealous of Aemetta’s progress with the Shroud Legion.
“No,” Aemetta said simply, looking up at the stars in the clear sky.
There was a moment of tense silence as Silax waited for more of an answer. “So…what did they say?” he pressed.
“They asked if I’m having any issues looking after the two of you,” she replied quietly. “I told them I’m not.”
“You’re not having any issues, or you’re not looking after us?” Keltin asked slowly, staring at Aemetta carefully.
“Not having any issues.”
“When did that become your task?” Silax exploded.
“Who told you to do that?” Keltin asked in the same instant.
“Craed,” Aemetta explained. “It’s been part of my task since the journey started: learn what I can through observation and keep the two of you out of trouble.”
“Were you ever going to tell us about this?” Silax demanded.
“Not unless you asked.”
Keltin and Silax exchanged a look of pure disbelief as they shook their heads. “Sorry to be a burden,” Keltin said finally, too stunned to think of anything else to say.
“Thank you for keeping us out of trouble,” Silax added with considerable disdain.
“The High Conduit himself ordered that someone from our group had to look after both of you. I volunteered, since I knew the others could contribute much more to our primary task,” Aemetta explained. “Don’t mistake this as a personal insult from me; I trust your abilities. I’m just doing my part to carry out the will of the Venerates.” She walked back to the cart, leaving Keltin and Silax speechless as they thought through all that they had just learned. After a few minutes, Silax wandered back to his thurible to think alone.
Without a sound, the three Legionnaires returned suddenly through the gap in the fallen rocks. Before Keltin knew what was happening, one of them stood within a stride. “Where is Craed?” the man rasped through his veil in a breathless whisper.
“In the cart,” Keltin replied, confused as to what was happening but certain that it couldn’t be good. The Legionnaires merged with the swirling smoke as they flowed across the valley towards the nysk cart in a silent grey blur. Craed emerged an instant later, shaking Tir awake. As they stepped down from the cart, Craed pointed sharply to the mouth of the canyon and one of the members of the Legion dashed off in that direction.
“…can’t afford this right now,” Tir was saying as the group approached the rubble piles.
“If they send a scout this way, what choice do we have?” Craed demanded quietly.
“What’s happening?” Silax asked.
“Quiet, boy,” Craed snapped, crouching behind a boulder and peering into the canyon beyond. He had his bow drawn and an arrow knocked. Keltin noticed with alarm that the two Legionnaires had taken up positions higher in the rubble piles with bows drawn as well.
Tir motioned for Keltin and Silax to come over to where he stood with Aemetta. Keltin darted across the canyo
n, his heart pounding with apprehension. “The Legion found a small Cynmeren camp up ahead,” Tir said quietly. “Normally, this wouldn’t be a major issue—we would just retreat in the morning and go around them, completely undetected. The problem is that the Legionnaires think a scout was dispatched in our direction. That’s why they came back here in such a rush.”
“So what does that mean?” Keltin asked.
“One of two things will happen: the scout will turn around before it reaches this part of the canyon and I will go back to sleep, or the beast will get too close and we’ll be forced to kill it and its entire Hunting Watch.”
“The entire Watch?” Keltin asked incredulously. “Can’t we just kill their scout?”
Tir shook his head. “The Hunting Watch will know something happened in this direction if one of its members goes missing for too long, so they will come prepared for a fight. If we’re forced to kill their scout, we will have to move forward immediately to finish off the Watch before they are even aware of our presence.”
“Why can’t we just retreat now?” Keltin countered. “Everyone is here; we could be in the cart and gone within minutes.”
“No time, and no way to run at the moment,” Tir replied sadly. “That would be my preferred solution as well, but by the time we roused the nysks and got the light directors burning, the entire Hunting Watch could be on top of us.” Keltin stared into the darkness worriedly, praying the scout would turn back long before nearing the group of Penitent Faithful. His anxiety increased when the other three Legionnaires returned from the mouth of the canyon and joined their brethren with arrows of their own at the ready.
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