Kingdomturn

by Matthew Williams

  Ryna suddenly remembered the strange encounter she had in the forest the night Wyand was accepted as a Bloodbrother. It wasn’t an illusion or a trick of the Melsca, she thought. Stora was who I saw, and she was coming back from talking with the Smokedwellers in their cages. “He’s right,” Ryna exclaimed. You did this, her mind added.

  Eyrie’s mouth hung agape, then she stared down at the ground, her eyes darting back and forth with each thought. “We need to find a member of the Elder Council—any of them—right now. Come on!” Eyrie shouted as she sprinted in the direction of the blaze. Ryna and Wyand were close behind.

  “Eyrie, what is it? What’s happening?” Wyand called to her.

  “It wasn’t just an attack, it was a diversion!” the Bloodsister replied. “We never even noticed the real threat.” Ryna and Wyand exchanged confused frowns, but they followed her all the same. As the roar of the fire grew louder, Ryna’s feelings of guilt were amplified once more. Bitter sorrow filled her heart when she noticed dozens of smoldering stone foundations, each covered in ash that had once been someone’s home. The destruction had spread all the way through the Order of Stone, but it had stopped sharply at a cleared section of the forest. The steady wind from the east was forcing the fire to collapse in on itself, starving it of any new sources of fuel.

  “The firebreak worked!” Wyand shouted, then his excitement faded. “Holt knew it would work.” They ran on in silence, passing areas of little more than glowing coals as well as sections of the forest where the charred remnants of great trees still stood, sending their flames soaring into the night sky. One water team after another shuttled buckets to and from the lake, and Ryna saw evidence that ground was actually being reclaimed from the blaze. She prayed that Halwen was still safe.

  “Tilia!” Eyrie shouted suddenly, and Ryna’s attention shifted to the path ahead. The Voice of War stood in her full set of Sreathan plate, and she was in the midst of addressing at least forty members of the Order of Blood. Tilia paused, clearly concerned by the disruption, but not yet certain whether she should be irritated by it or not.

  “Eyrie, it is good to see you survived this cowardly attack,” the Voice of War said with a nod. “Come, you and Wyand can join one of the search teams. Before dawn, we will cleanse Cynmere of any remaining threats, be they human or haugaeldr.” Tilia studied Ryna briefly. “The other girl looks to need healing and rest more than a night without sleep.”

  “These teams need to be sent into the Eastern Hills immediately, Bloodsister,” Eyrie countered with breathless urgency.

  Tilia raised an eyebrow, her expression teetering dangerously close to annoyance. “And why is that?” she asked calmly.

  “Because the true threat is no longer in Cynmere,” Eyrie replied.

  There was silence for an instant as the Voice of War considered Eyrie’s words, then she turned to address the group once more. “All of you, assist with the injured for now. Stay nearby,” Tilia commanded, and the group of Bloodbrothers and Bloodsisters dispersed. “Now, explain yourself, Eyrie.”

  “The fire and the haugaeldr are part of the same attack; you already know that,” Eyrie began.

  “Of course. No amount of coincidence could explain those two events happening simultaneously,” Tilia said with a wave of her hand. “Get to the point.”

  “We found one of the attackers already, and I believe she brought the haugaeldr into Cynmere through some means I do not yet understand,” Eyrie said hurriedly.

  “And where is she now?”

  “Dead by her own blade.”

  “A fitting punishment for such a betrayal. Still, the information she could have provided about how this attack was carried out would have been invaluable. Captured is always more useful than dead. Who was she?”

  “One of the recent arrivals from Locboran: Stora, the injured Mainwright who rejected our ways. She presumably left Cynmere early yesterday morning. By the advanced state of her infestation before death, she was stung by the haugaeldr soon after her departure.”

  “Which made it easy for her to capture and transport the haugaeldr. I can believe that. If she is dead, though, what threat remains?” Tilia asked.

  “She didn’t act alone,” Eyrie continued, her face grim with worry. “Before he was killed, Holt said that the Smokedwellers had somehow escaped their cages. I believe Stora set them free.”

  “That makes sense as well—she would have seen them as allies if they still professed faith in the Cultivators. But wait, you said Axebrother Holt is dead?” the Voice of War asked incredulously.

  “He is. One of the scrid claimed him,” Eyrie answered quietly.

  Tilia shook her head but said nothing more about Holt. “Continue,” she said with a tired sigh.

  “I believe the Smokedwellers lit the fire while Stora infested the scrid,” Eyrie said. “The two events seem to have occurred simultaneously. As close as Stora was to death already, it would have been impossible for her to run that quickly from the entrance of Cynmere to the Order of Blood. But here is my real point: I don’t think the intent was for this one attack to successfully destroy Cynmere; I believe this was an elaborate diversion. The fire that blocks the entrance even now was not just to trap us all with the haugaeldr, it was to prevent us from following the Smokedwellers for as long as possible.”

  Tilia stared at the ground in silent contemplation for several tense seconds. “In all the turnings since the founding, in every dark moment throughout our history, nothing can compare to the damage witnessed here tonight,” she said quietly. “They know Cynmere’s location.” The Voice of War shook her head as she paced back and forth before finally coming to a stop and seizing a young Handbrother who was running past. “Send word that every Bloodbrother and Bloodsister is to report to me for assignment immediately,” she instructed, and the startled Handbrother nodded before sprinting away.

  “There is a related matter, Tilia, though it is less pressing,” Eyrie continued.

  “I certainly hope so. What is it?” the Bloodsister asked.

  “Ryna believes this attack is somehow her fault,” Eyrie said bluntly, and Ryna felt her heart sink. “She worked for the Mainwright in Locboran, and until very recently, she followed Stora’s commands without question. She may be able to reveal more details about the events that unfolded here tonight.”

  The Voice of War squinted at Ryna, appearing to truly notice her for the first time. “Well? Did you know of this attack, Ryna?” Tilia asked as she stepped closer. Though the woman was shorter than Ryna by nearly a hand, her presence was disproportionately intimidating.

  “No, Bloodsister,” Ryna answered quickly, bowing her head in deference. “I knew that Stora disliked Cynmere and wanted to return to Locboran, but I never thought she would do something like this.”

  “Your Mainwright was badly injured when she arrived, if I remember correctly. If that’s the case, how did she come to hate Cynmere? She never even experienced it,” Tilia exclaimed.

  “She used me instead,” Ryna replied numbly. “She told me I had to pretend that I wanted to become a part of your society. I studied your people, your customs, your habits, and I reported it all back to her. She said we would use the information to escape to Locboran one day, but I see now that was never her true intention. That’s why I feel responsible for all of this: without even knowing it, I helped Stora plan an attack against you.” Stating the truth of her concealed observation of the Cynmeren was painful, but seeing disappointment, shock, and hurt in Wyand’s eyes made Ryna want to scream with shame. Eyrie frowned sympathetically; she already knew of Ryna's secret task to study Cynmere.

  “How was she able to pass our Sentinels undetected?” Tilia demanded, a note of disgust slipping into her voice.

  “I don’t know, Bloodsister,” Ryna admitted quietly.

  “How did she bring the haugaeldr here?”

  “I don’t know that either.”

  “Did you do anything to directly help her with this attack?”

&n
bsp; “I…don’t know. I’m afraid I did, though.”

  “Explain.”

  “She made an odd request a few days ago,” Ryna continued. “I stole two climbing hatchets for her, but I never learned why she wanted them.”

  Tilia seemed puzzled by this piece of information, but with no apparent explanation for the strange request, she dismissed the line of thought a moment later. The Voice of War closed her eyes and exhaled slowly, then she regarded Ryna with a stern frown. “As soon as all current emergencies are handled, you will stand before the Elder Council, Ryna. You will be punished for the crimes you committed, though I cannot say what form that punishment will take.”

  Ryna had expected this from the moment she knew Stora was responsible for carrying out such heinous acts against the people of Cynmere. You did this! Stora’s voice shouted in Ryna’s mind yet again. “I understand, Bloodsister,” she nodded sadly.

  Tilia stepped forward, then suddenly put her hand onto Ryna’s shoulder. “What you did—observing us in secret—was very deceptive, but I can understand why you did it,” she said gently. “You trusted that woman, you believed in her, and she abused that aspect of you. I see no indication, though, that you willfully or knowingly helped her bring death into Cynmere. It wasn’t your fault, girl, and I am confident the Council will reach the same conclusion. Yes, you helped her, but you couldn’t have known what she was going to do. No one could have expected that.”

  Ryna was stunned by the woman’s kindness. “Thank you,” she finally managed to say, and the Voice of War nodded once before lifting her hand from Ryna’s shoulder and resuming her usual demeanor of authority.

  “Now, unless there are any other urgent matters to discuss, Eyrie and Wyand, you go support the water teams working to clear Cynmere’s entrance,” Tilia commanded. “Members of the Order of Blood will be there shortly to join you. Work quickly—the farther those captives travel from Cynmere, the more difficult it will be to find them. Once the way into the Eastern Hills is clear, both of you are to report to the Council House immediately.” Wyand glanced at Ryna with uncertainty, then he and Eyrie both ran off.

  There was a moment of awkward silence. “And me?” Ryna asked hesitantly.

  “You’re going to the Order of Hands. Once they dress your wounds, you and I will go to the Council House and find a place for you to rest. You are in no condition to help with the fire, and I want you present the instant the Council is gathered,” Tilia replied.

  Ryna hesitated at first, but it was clear that the Voice of War was not interested in a discussion. The pain in Ryna’s left arm seemed to increase with every passing second; her pulse throbbed all around the massive cut. “It will be done,” she said with a respectful bow of her head, knowing that there was no other option for now. I’ll find you soon, Halwen, she promised silently.

  30

  Keltin pushed through another tangle of unseen branches as he struggled to keep up with Silax amid the darkness of the forest. For the first time since Aemetta left, he had slept for a few hours without experiencing any of the terrifying dreams that felt too detailed to be anything but memories. The comfort of sleep still pulled at Keltin’s consciousness, but it was rapidly giving way to frustration. Why am I doing this right now? he asked himself each time his steps faltered or another cold gust from the east brought a stinging chill to his lungs. As his senses regained their function, Keltin realized that the cold wasn’t the only factor that made breathing painful—the thick smell of wood smoke had drifted in overnight and now seemed to fill this section of the Eastern Hills. He lifted his veil, but the acrid smoke was inescapable.

  A pair of eyes swirling with blue and green appeared farther up the dark hillside before gliding to where Keltin stood. “Come on, we’re almost there!” Silax whispered loudly, the excitement in his voice impossible to hide. Keltin still felt uneasy whenever Silax stared at him with those glowing eyes, but over the past two days, the Feller had proven that his gift from the Venerates was incredibly useful. On three separate occasions, Silax had accurately predicted the approach of Cynmeren patrols, and each time after they had passed, he explained that the visions were what had guided him. Now Silax’ new gift had revealed something that warranted awakening Keltin in the middle of the night, though the details of his latest revelation remained vague.

  As he trudged on, Keltin began to notice an odd but welcome change—he could see more and more details of the forest around him. When he looked through the canopy, he found faint patches of orange and yellow light shining on the underside of the clouds to the east. Dawn? he wondered, but that didn’t seem right for some reason. His level of exhaustion suggested that less than half of the night had passed, but something else made the lights seem out of place. Then the revelation struck his weary mind with chilling clarity. Dawn begins in the west. The crest of the hill was only a few strides away, and as Keltin watched the lights grow brighter, he was filled with both apprehension and awe.

  “This is it!” Silax said quietly as he came to the edge of the tree line. Keltin walked to the summit and stood beside him, then they both stared in wonder at what lay to the east. Beyond a deep ravine several hundred strides away, a cluster of mountains extended high into the overcast night sky; a steep cliff covered in falling water marked the edge of a raised valley between the peaks. At the top of that cliff, flames engulfed a dense forest and cast their eerie glow onto the bank of clouds overhead.

  “What is it?” Keltin asked as he watched the fire in fascination.

  “Cynmere,” Silax replied, and although he, too, wore a veil, Keltin knew the Feller was smiling with delight. The image of the flames reflected in Silax’ crazed eyes, then the fire’s glow merged with the unnatural swirls of blue and green. “This was the place the visions showed me.” Keltin’s mind spun with questions, but before he could speak, the sound of heavy footfalls speeding towards their overlook forced him and Silax to retreat into the shadows offered by two nearby spineleaf trees.

  Keltin’s heartbeat pounded in his ears as he strained to listen while quietly drawing both of his isen. Two runners, he determined, and a nod from Silax confirmed that he had reached the same conclusion. Keltin held his breath as the steps grew louder, then he readied himself to fight in the event he or Silax was spotted. As the two runners sped past, Keltin was startled by an unexpected sight. Tattered red cloaks streamed from the shoulders of two men whose simple robes of tan and grey clearly belonged in Dism Slyde. Vessel Guards? Keltin almost said aloud in his confusion.

  Silax stepped out from behind his tree. “Venerates protect you,” he called after the men, and they spun to face him with looks of pure terror. Keltin was even more baffled when he realized the men were holding weapons that appeared very similar to the climbing hatchets used by the Woodsmen in Aldhagen. The nearest Vessel Guard peered into the shadows until he smiled broadly.

  “Aidlan, it’s the Shroud Legion! Thank the Kingdom!” the man said in a loud whisper, and the other Vessel Guard crept forward cautiously. Keltin emerged from his hiding place, isen still at the ready in case this was some sort of Cynmeren trick. Silax sheathed his isen, then lowered his veil before motioning for Keltin to do the same. Keltin reluctantly complied, though he still kept his hands close to his sides as the men moved closer. “The Venerates have truly smiled upon us today! It’s a miracle that we found each other!” the Vessel Guard exclaimed, then he rushed forward with his arms outstretched and embraced Silax firmly.

  The other man—Aidlan—squinted as he approached Keltin in the darkness. “Sleeper?” Aidlan whispered in disbelief.

  Another surge of confusion washed across Keltin’s mind. “Where did you hear that name? How do you know who I am?” he asked.

  “It is you!” Aidlan laughed. “I was the one who found you in that tangle of branches after you’d been cast out of Aldhagen. I helped Tir load you into his cart, but I assumed you died with the others when the Cynmeren attacked. Ferrund and I should’ve died that night, but the Venerat
es had other plans. Never mind all that for now, why are you dressed like one of the Legionnaires?”

  “We’re members of the Shroud Legion,” Silax answered quickly. Both Vessel Guards eyed him suspiciously, their doubt only increasing when they shifted their attention to Keltin.

  “If you say so,” Aidlan replied slowly, then he shook his head. “Please, we must return to Dism Slyde immediately. Where are the rest of your forces?”

  “Forces?” Keltin repeated. “We are all that’s left of a group of ten.”

  Aidlan’s eyes grew wide with disbelief and worry. “What happened to the others?” he asked.

  “They were overrun by the Cynmeren,” Silax said with a disgusted sneer.

  The two Vessel Guards exchanged worried looks before Aidlan at last shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. We will find a way back to Dism Slyde. We must. The Venerates have led us this far, they won’t abandon us now,” Aidlan said. As the Vessel Guard spoke, a shift in the light from the fire caught Keltin’s attention. When he turned to determine the cause, he spotted a significant gap in what had previously been a solid wall of flames. The others followed his gaze to watch a stream of glowing yellow pour down the side of the cliff with alarming speed.

  “Cast me twice! They made it through!” Aidlan hissed. “Let’s go, Ferrund!” Aidlan took hold of the other Vessel Guard’s arm and tugged him away from the stunning view of the Cynmeren. Keltin watched in horror as the yellow glow spread farther and farther towards him; the Cynmeren knew these woods, and they were gaining ground quickly.