Kingdomturn

by Matthew Williams

  “You’re going the wrong way,” Silax called after them, and the two Vessel Guards slowed their retreat to the west. Keltin stared at him incredulously.

  “What way do you think we should go? Back to the east?” Ferrund demanded. “In case you haven’t figured it out yet, that valley up there is Cynmere itself. I have seen it. There are hundreds, thousands of those beasts that have one thing in mind, and that is to find us before we can return to Dism Slyde. We need to go, right now!”

  “You need to go north, to a small clearing just on the other side of that hill,” Silax replied, pointing to a tree-covered mound several thousand strides away. “The Penitent Faithful will be there.” He blinked, and the swirling hues of blue and green shimmered against the inside of his hood. Aidlan and Ferrund both gasped.

  “He’s one of them!” Aidlan shouted, raising his climbing hatchet threateningly and charging forward. Keltin leapt in front of him with both isen drawn.

  “Wait, please!” Keltin begged as he desperately struggled to lower Aidlan’s hatchet with his crossed isen. “Silax has a gift, a wonderful blessing from the Venerates themselves, that has carried us safely through incredible peril all the way to Cynmere.”

  “His eyes glow like the ones they call ‘Guided,’” Ferrund growled. “How do we know this isn’t another one of their illusions? Aidlan and I witnessed the Cynmeren take on the forms of people while they held us captive; why couldn’t they appear as members of the Shroud Legion?” Ferrund crept slowly around Silax in a wide defensive circle, his features tense from both fear and focus.

  “It’s no illusion,” Silax reassured them. “If we go north right now we will find another group from Dism Slyde.”

  “Lies,” Aidlan spat, knocking Keltin’s isen away and stepping closer to Silax.

  “If you think so, then leave us here and continue in whatever direction you want,” Silax said with a shrug, seeming to ignore the climbing hatchet pointed directly at his head. “Just be ready for the two Hunting Watches that are coming this way from beyond that ridge.” He pointed absently to one of the darkened cliffs to the west, then turned to stare into the flames once more.

  Ferrund lowered his climbing hatchet and came to stand beside Aidlan. “He’s mad,” Ferrund laughed, and the other Vessel Guard nodded in agreement. Keltin, however, remained fixated on the ridge to the west.

  “Look again,” Keltin said quietly a moment later, and the two men followed his eyes once more. From the top of the ridge—the exact spot that Silax had indicated—a glowing mass of Cynmeren appeared briefly before vanishing beneath the trees. They were only a few hundred strides away, much closer than the main force approaching from Cynmere.

  “That…that can’t be!” Ferrund stammered.

  “And yet it is,” Silax said over his shoulder.

  “We go south,” Aidlan commanded.

  “Sheer drop, then a river filled with haugaeldr,” Silax replied with a hint of laughter in his voice.

  “He’s right,” Ferrund whispered. “I saw the river’s course when we were running down from Cynmere.” Aidlan’s bearded face was twisted with panic; precious seconds were slipping away and the Cynmeren would find their escaped captives soon. As the Vessel Guards searched frantically for an escape route, Silax appeared suddenly by Keltin’s side, offering both of his isen to the Vessel Guards.

  “Your only choice is north,” Silax said with a faint smile. “I can understand why you don’t trust us—I wouldn’t trust us, if I was in your position. That is why Keltin and I are giving you our weapons as a sign of sincerity. Take us as your captives for now, just please take us north.” Keltin gawked at Silax’ statements, then reluctantly flipped his isen so the handles were within Aidlan’s reach. The Vessel Guards hesitated for a moment, then sheathed their hatchets quickly and snatched the isen from Keltin and Silax. They nodded, clearly relieved to feel such familiar weapons in their hands again. Keltin felt helpless and prayed that Silax knew what he was doing.

  “Lead the way,” Ferrund ordered, and Silax bowed his head graciously.

  Keltin ran beside Silax as they wove their way north through the seemingly-endless forest. Any time Keltin could see more than ten strides to the left or right, he was certain he would find the glow of the Cynmeren charging towards him from the darkness. Somehow, though, the glow never appeared and the small group of Penitent Faithful continued to evade capture. His Visions have brought us this far, maybe he really has seen a clear path back to Dism Slyde, Keltin reassured himself.

  Subconsciously still fearing capture, a question suddenly took control of Keltin’s thoughts. He’d traveled in silence since surrendering his isen to the two Vessel Guards, but the question dug itself deeper and deeper into his thoughts the more he tried to avoid asking it. Finally, he gave in. “How did you escape from Cynmere?” Keltin blurted out, surprising the Vessel Guards and himself with the unexpected sound of his voice.

  “We found a true believer who had managed to gain the Cynmeren’s trust. She freed us from our cages,” Ferrund replied. To Keltin, it was a half-answer, at best.

  “What about the Cynmeren? You said there were thousands up there. How did you sneak past them?” Keltin asked.

  “Don’t answer that,” Aidlan cautioned the other Vessel Guard, but Ferrund chuckled under his breath.

  “What are they going to do? Steal their weapons back, kill us, and leave? Unlikely,” Ferrund laughed, then he called to Keltin. “Almost all of the beasts were taking part in some filthy gathering in another section of Cynmere. While they were distracted, we killed their two lookouts with these climbing hatchets, lit fires all around the entrance, and then ran.” He reached forward suddenly and pulled Keltin and Silax to a halt. “We’ll do the same thing to both of you if this is some kind of trick. I pray for your sake this ‘gift from the Venerates’ proves to be true.” Keltin decided to return to his earlier silence for the remainder of the hurried trek through the forest. Not having his isen was terrifying, but he took comfort when he felt the dark scrid spike still hanging by his side. Thankfully, neither of the Vessel Guards had noticed it.

  A gradual upward slope in the ground to his left let Keltin know they had at last reached the base of Silax’ chosen hill. With so little of the light from the fires in Cynmere reaching this deep into the woods, Keltin strained to see and stumbled every few steps. Silax moved forward effortlessly, appearing to see the way ahead clearly despite the low light and numerous obstructions. At last, a patch of orange clouds appeared through an opening in the canopy—Keltin smiled, knowing it had to be the clearing Silax saw in his vision.

  They crept to the edge of the forest, scanning the clearing ahead from the safety of the shadows. “It’s a clearing,” Aidlan whispered, “but I don’t see any Penitent Faithful.”

  “Just wait,” Silax said calmly.

  “There is no time to wait!” Aidlan hissed. “The Cynmeren will be upon us in minutes if we don’t—” He stopped abruptly when something moved in the brush to the left of the clearing. A moment later, four robed figures walked very slowly into the clearing and stopped to peer at the strange clouds. They whispered to one another briefly, then turned and raced back to the west.

  “As I told you,” Silax said proudly after they were gone.

  “I’m not convinced yet,” Aidlan snapped. “We follow them at a distance. They could be Cynmeren in disguise, too.” He eyed Silax dangerously as he spoke. “Move.” Keltin was happy to let Silax lead the group from the shelter of one tree to the next as they traced the movements of the four people from the clearing. Within a few hundred strides, the land curved downhill rapidly and the terrain shifted into a mixture of exposed boulders and short, gnarled spineleaf. Cover was scarce, but the four figures were much easier to see and follow than they had been in the forest. Just as Keltin was beginning to wonder how far down this slope extended, he spotted the rocky floor of a valley. Then he suddenly noticed a small ravine on the far side of the valley that harbored something fami
liar.

  “Vessel Cart!” Keltin whispered excitedly, and stunned smiles from Aidlan and Ferrund confirmed that they had seen it too. “Silax, you did it!”

  “It seems I misjudged you both,” Aidlan said breathlessly. “I pray you will forgive me for that later. For now, onward to Dism Slyde!” The Vessel Guards sprinted eagerly down the hillside with Keltin and Silax close behind. At the sound of small rocks clattering into the valley, the four Penitent Faithful they’d been following turned to stare fearfully up at Keltin’s group. Without warning, Keltin heard something whizz past his head with terrifying speed.

  “They’re firing at us!” Keltin screamed.

  Ferrund waved the isen over his head as he ran. “Peace! Venerates’ peace to you all!” He cried out suddenly and toppled forward onto the dirt and rocks before rolling the rest of the way down the hill. The light directors from the cart suddenly burst into life, blinding Keltin and the others, and briefly obscuring Ferrund from view.

  “In the name of the Kingdom, hold your fire!” Aidlan bellowed with his arms across his eyes, and Keltin prayed the Penitent Faithful would listen.

  “Hold!” a woman’s voice shouted from somewhere near the cart, and Keltin skidded to a stop, still unable to see. “Cast it all! What have you done?”

  “We thought they were Cynmeren!” a man replied apologetically, then a series of footsteps rushed over to where Keltin stood. As his sight slowly returned, he was relieved to see Ferrund moving, even if the Vessel Guard appeared to be writhing in pain on the floor of the valley. In front of the light directors, the silhouettes of three people now stood between Keltin and the Vessel Cart.

  The woman’s head turned from side to side as she surveyed Keltin’s group. “Are any of you injured?”

  “No,” Aidlan replied angrily, then Keltin and Silax answered the same.

  “Please, forgive the members of my group,” the woman began. “This journey has been fraught with—” A long, low howl in the distance cut her words short.

  “There’s no time!” Aidlan shouted, rubbing his eyes furiously and stomping over to Ferrund’s side. “We found Cynmere, and its fighters are swarming after us. Help me get Ferrund into your cart and then get us all moving back to Dism Slyde. Now!”

  The woman’s head tilted to the side for an instant. “You…found it?” she asked in a confused whisper, then her composure returned. “Everyone to the cart!” she shouted.

  “That is Ferrund!” one of the men gasped, and Keltin noted the splash of red fabric on the man’s shoulder that marked him as a Vessel Guard as well. The man ran over to Ferrund, then lifted his upper half and began dragging him over to the cart. Keltin rushed forward to lift Ferrund’s legs, and it was only then that he got a clear view of the Vessel Guard’s injuries. Not one, but two arrows had struck him at the same instant—one piercing cleanly through his left arm, the other still embedded in his right side.

  “All of you, get into the lower level,” the woman instructed as they hurried to the small ravine. With the light directors no longer blinding him, Keltin recognized this woman as a member of the Shroud Legion, though he did not know her name. Her eyes glittered with excitement as they turned to him. “You possess the most valuable information Dism Slyde has ever obtained, so we need to keep you safe.” Keltin couldn’t argue with her logic, so he scrambled into the back of the cart as soon as he had finished loading the injured Vessel Guard into it. “Where’s he going?” the woman demanded, and Keltin’s eyes suddenly snapped to where she was pointing.

  Several strides away, Silax stood in the main valley, staring east intently. Everyone else was in the cart and prepared to leave. “Silax!” Keltin shouted. “What are you doing?” The terrible clicks and hoots of hundreds of approaching Cynmeren grew louder and louder until at last their glow washed over the surrounding hills.

  Silax regarded Keltin with a look of pure joy and excitement. “I’m doing what I do best,” he called back as his eyes pulsed with light. He had covertly reclaimed his isen from Ferrund sometime after the Vessel Guard had fallen, and now he crouched low with both weapons at the ready. “As the Venerates will, let it be so!” Silax laughed. Then he lifted his veil and charged into the darkness to face the Cynmeren alone.

  The nysks lurched into motion and gained speed quickly. “No!” Keltin screamed, but a firm grip from Aidlan kept him from leaping after Silax.

  “We’ll come back for him, Keltin,” the Vessel Guard promised, but Keltin brushed his hand aside and stared out the back of the cart as it sped west towards the safety of Dism Slyde. From the shadows of seemingly every rock and tree, a horde of Cynmeren plunged into the valley behind him. Silax raced defiantly towards the horrible glow until he merged with it amid sounds of striking metal and screaming fury. Then he was gone.

  31

  The oars felt heavy in Wyand’s tired hands as he propelled one of the small boats across Cynmere’s central lake towards the Council House. Not just any boat, he realized. This is the boat Fadian tried to use. Thinking about the fallen Stormbrother conjured images of the destruction and death that Wyand had seen and that still filled a large portion of Cynmere. Whispered names of the dead were mostly unfamiliar to him, but those that he knew carried a weight that was nearly unbearable. Holt. Fadian. Stora.

  It was still difficult for him to imagine the injured Mainwright as anything more than a helpless patient of the Handsisters, but everything he had learned from Ryna and Eyrie revealed Stora to be anything but helpless. Proof of her hatred shone in every glowing ember, swirled in every wisp of smoke as the Orders continued to burn, and her legacy was quickly being established as the person responsible for the first attack on Cynmere since its founding. Wyand despised Stora on a personal level for killing both Fadian and Holt, but although horrible, at least that damage was already complete. What remained unknown that troubled Wyand deeply was wondering what punishment Ryna would face for helping the woman and somehow being a part of this attack. He tried to suppress his thoughts through the rhythmic motion of the oars, but no relief would come.

  Even with the infestation of haugaeldr eliminated and the rampaging scrid silenced, the fires still raged across the northern shoreline and were far from contained. At least the entrance is clear now, Wyand thought as he looked west, and his weary muscles reminded him that he had helped achieve that feat. But the fires were not Cynmere’s main concern any longer—the escaped Smokedwellers posed a much greater threat. Tense eyes glanced towards the entrance as each worker hoped to see one of the Watches returning with the two Penitent Faithful safely recaptured. So far, though, the shared prayers of the Cynmeren had gone unanswered.

  A hand on Wyand’s knee suddenly pulled his thoughts back into the boat. “It’s time to turn,” Eyrie said softly, and Wyand noticed he had let the vessel drift well past the mooring posts. Before the boat could move any closer to the sheer drop of the waterfall, Wyand thrust his right oar into the lake and pressed forward on it sharply. The boat spun back on course and he and Eyrie were soon slogging through the wet sand towards the path that led to the Council House.

  Guards from the Order of Stone stood their usual posts, but Wyand noticed a detail that sent a chill across his skin. Every one of their green sashes was fixed to the ground with a small dagger, just as the Stonebrother’s had been in the horrifying illusion Wyand witnessed before the festival. He tried not to stare at the guards too intently as he walked past with Eyrie, but as soon as they reached a spot where it was safe to talk, he leaned in close to her. “Why did they stab daggers through their sashes?”

  “It’s a mark of how dire this situation truly is,” Eyrie replied, shaking her head as she glanced at the flames to the north. “They call it ‘rooting the sash,’ and I’ve never seen it done before. When a Stonebrother does this, it means he has committed himself to defending a specific location to the death if necessary. If there are no threats present, he will not move, he will not eat, he will not sleep, until a member of the Elder Council rem
oves the dagger and returns the sash to him. Only the Council can command this level of defense, and only they can end it.”

  Wyand avoided looking at the Stone guards for the rest of the walk to the Council House entrance. Now he understood the pensive expressions that were almost always found on their faces—knowing that you could be called to defend something to the death at any time was a hefty burden for anyone to bear. Even with all the fighting and danger he knew the Order of Blood faced any time they went beyond Cynmere, Wyand was thankful he had not been chosen to be a Stonebrother. He and Eyrie reached the entrance to the main hall and hurried inside.

  Everything in the hall remained as it had been when the festival abruptly ended—unfinished cups of Melsca either waited atop tables or lay empty on the floor, the contents of the latter having long-since been absorbed into the dirt below. The instruments used by the Order of Song appeared ready for the next dance to begin, their restless silence rivaled only by the stillness of the hollow chamber itself where so many had gathered to celebrate only a few hours earlier. As Wyand walked past the gloom of the main hall, he thought back to the hundreds of smiling faces he’d encountered there the day before. None of them expected to die that night, he realized, his mind still struggling to come to terms with all that had transpired since the fires started.

  No one else walked the corridors of the Council House as Wyand and Eyrie made their way to the clearing above; every worker had somehow shaken away the effects of the Melsca and gone to help stop the attack in whatever ways they could. The dim glow of morning illuminated the western side of the overcast sky, while the fires created their own patch of light that blanketed the clouds directly overhead. Seeing evidence of the fires still burning made Wyand feel guilty at first for not being there to help contain them, but then he remembered why he had been called to the Council House. Ryna would face the Council soon, and Wyand needed to be present to defend her innocence, if any could be found. Since she had been able to lie so effectively in order to study the Cynmeren, Wyand secretly wondered if her interactions with him had been nothing more than fabrications too. He shook away the worrying thoughts, certain that her friendship was genuine, but a lingering doubt still remained in the recesses of his mind.