by C. Greenwood
That much had become clear early in their meeting. As the corpulent lord sat on his velvet cushions, sipping wine and twirling his mustache with a bored air, his lack of concern for the warnings she delivered was obvious. The seclusionary itself was insignificant for tactical purposes, he assured her, and its inhabitants were a lot of dried-up female clerics no one had any cause to disturb. Least of all some imaginary sorcerer from beyond the grave. He was skeptical of her visions and her connection with the oracle, and even unimpressed with the mark she wore to prove the First Mother’s favor.
Truly, she thought, if the lords of Asincourt had ever possessed a sense of duty toward their people or a reverence for the Mother and her adherents, that had been many generations past. Lord Karol could hardly shoo her out of his presence quickly enough so he could turn his attention to a more pressing engagement—the arrival of his clothier. Any hope Eydis had harbored for gaining local military support died at that point.
Collapsing into an empty seat, she rubbed her forehead. The reek of Karol’s perfume had given her a headache. Casting a glance over the smoke-filled room, she looked for Orrick, who ought to have been here before her, but there was no sign of him.
A freckle-cheeked serving girl appeared at her elbow, and Eydis ordered a meal, thinking it had been far too long since she’d enjoyed real food. When the aproned girl moved away, unblocking her view, Eydis finally caught sight of Orrick. Lurking in the shadows at the back of the room, he was locked deep in conversation with some stranger. At least Eydis first thought the person a stranger.
But then she realized there was something familiar about him, something that held her attention. He wasn’t a remarkable sort. Of medium height, he wore a nondescript cloak and kept the hood up, despite the warmth indoors. No weapons were visible on his person, but still there was a threatening air about him that made Eydis wonder if Orrick might be in need of her support. Before she could decide whether to join the two, she saw a coin purse change hands between them.
The scene evoked a memory. Suddenly she was back in that icy tower in the mountains, spying from behind the columns as a silver-haired stranger tossed a jingling pouch of coins to a hooded assassin. There was no doubt that assassin was the same man she was looking at now, as she watched Orrick accept the money and the pair exchange parting words. Then the hooded man left, slipping easily through the crowd and out a side door.
Mind reeling, she tried to understand what she had witnessed. She was barely conscious of the serving girl returning with her meal. Her appetite had vanished. Given her visions and what she knew of Orrick’s past, she scrambled to make sense of this new development. How could she come to any conclusion other than that her companion was somehow in league with the assassin and the person he worked for? Why Orrick should conspire with them or what any of them wanted with her remained a mystery. She knew nothing of the silver-haired man, other than that he was a mysterious force who wanted her, the mistress of masks, destroyed. And now he had drawn Orrick into the scheme.
That troubled her more than it should. Over the course of their journey she had put aside her doubts about the barbarian, had ignored even the vision of him betraying her. She had come to think of him as, if not a friend, at least an ally.
“Everything all right?”
At the unexpected intrusion, she started so badly her knee banged against the table leg.
But it was only Geveral who lowered himself to join her on the bench. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he observed. “Or the White Lady of the lake.”
She rubbed her smarting shin. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.” She couldn’t be sure whether taking action against Orrick at this point would alter the events she’d foreseen for the better or the worse. Best to keep silent until she’d mulled it over.
She realized water was dripping from Geveral’s clothing and pooling on the bench. “Where have you been to get yourself so wet? There’s been no rain today.”
“Actually there was a little cloudburst at the other end of the city,” he contradicted. “You must have missed it.” His eyes were suspiciously bright, hinting at some secret excitement, but she didn’t press for an explanation. The Mother knew she had her share of secrets too.
He changed the subject. “How did your meeting with the lord go?”
“Badly, I’m afraid. It seems we won’t be able to count on Karol for help defending the seclusionary. He made it painfully clear that as long as his hairdresser and personal tailor were safe, the rest of the world could go to rot.”
“He won’t defend his people?”
“Within the city walls I suppose he might. But he doesn’t consider the seclusionary on Asincourt’s doorstep to be his responsibility. Worse, I’m not sure he believed in my visions anyway.”
“Then it sounds like we’re lucky I found this man.”
At Orrick’s sudden arrival, Eydis started but covered her guilt quickly. Best if he didn’t know what she’d seen earlier.
“This is Torolf,” Orrick said, introducing a stranger at his side. Thank the First Mother it wasn’t the assassin with him now, but an older man, whose lined face and gray-streaked temples couldn’t hide a military bearing.
“Torolf is a former captain of the city guard,” Orrick said. “He’s heard of our dilemma and wants to help.”
“Exactly which dilemma is that?” Eydis asked. “The evil army probably marching across the countryside toward the seclusionary as we speak? Or the fact Lord Karol won’t move to defend the location?”
“Both,” put in the stranger called Torolf. “I may be retired, but I still hear the gossip from the servants at the big house. And news like this makes for a good story.”
“It’s more than a story,” Eydis said quickly. “The oracle of Silverwood Grove believes in my visions.”
“I know. That’s why I’ve sought you out. I’ve heard of the wisdom of your oracle and am inclined to believe her word and yours. And the fact is… the Head Hearer at the Asincourt seclusionary is a cousin of mine.”
“So you’ve come to measure the veracity of my claims and discover whether your kinswoman is truly in danger,” Eydis realized. “What would it take to convince you I speak the truth? That the danger is real?”
Torolf pursed his lips. “I’m not a clever man or an educated one. But even I recognize miracles when I see them.”
“So all you need is to see a little miracle? Would this do?” Eydis concentrated and, after a moment, felt a ripple pass over her face as she assumed the features of the guardsman. She could see by his stunned expression that her effort was a success.
Letting go of the mask, she resumed her usual countenance. “If that has sufficed to convince you, tell us how you think to help.”
Torolf recovered his tongue. “I know perhaps a dozen men like myself who still follow the ways of the First Couple and have connections to the seclusionary. Most have seen better years, but all are trained soldiers, if a little rusty.”
Eydis, Orrick, and Geveral exchanged glances. “I don’t want to discourage you, Torolf,” Eydis said. “But you should know the enemy coming this way has the advantage of numbers.”
Torolf set his jaw stubbornly. “Listen. I’m a baselander and you folk are—” He hesitated, glancing at Geveral’s pointed ears. “Well, I honestly can’t even guess what some of you are. But the seclusionary is the responsibility of folks in these parts, and some of us are prepared to die defending it, if need be.”
Geveral warned, “Your lord won’t give his approval.”
“Then it’s a good thing I’m retired from his employ and not in need of it. Let me speak with some old comrades and see how many I can gather to this cause.”
And that was how Eydis got her army.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The seclusionary was a cluster of single-level adobe buildings, consisting of a domed sanctuary and surrounding outbuildings that probably provided places for the adherents to work, eat, and sleep. A high wall circled the build
ings and courtyard, but Eydis was dismayed to see its poor condition. Parts of the wall were crumbling, and she couldn’t imagine it would stand up well to the flood of enemy soldiers that would soon be swarming against it.
As her little band made its way up the dusty road from Asincourt to the seclusionary, she tried to be grateful for the dozen defenders Torolf had managed to scrape together. These men were risking their lives by offering their help, and she was indebted to every one of them. But compared to the number of strong, seasoned soldiers she had hoped to gather to the seclusionary’s aid, her group seemed hopelessly small.
Luckily Torolf’s strategy was unambitious. His plan was only to convey the adherents safely to Asincourt, where they would be protected behind city walls, abandoning the seclusionary itself to the enemy. This didn’t fit Eydis’s visions, which told her one way or another there would be a terrible battle at the seclusionary and she was destined to be a part of it. But Torolf was right that the innocent adherents didn’t need to be a part of what was coming. Best if they could be smuggled to safety before the enemy arrived.
Female adherents in their familiar brown robes came outdoors to stare curiously as Eydis and her friends marched through the open gates and into the shaded courtyard. To Eydis’s concern she saw one or two children among them. From her upbringing at Shroudstone, she knew it was highly unusual for members of the male sex to be on seclusionary premises, but children were almost as unexpected. What were the little ones doing here?
Realizing the adherents were doubtless wondering the same thing about her and her band, she raised her voice, announcing to the courtyard, “My companions and I apologize for our intrusion on your privacy. But we’ve come on an urgent mission. It’s imperative we speak with the Head Hearer of this seclusionary.”
There was a brief murmuring among the gathered adherents before a petite woman with gray-streaked hair stepped to the forefront. “I am the Head Hearer,” she said, her eyes cool and her tone admonishing. “I hope you have a good reason for coming armed into our peaceful sanctuary.”
“A very good reason, my cousin,” said Torolf, making his presence known. “Forgive me, but I’ve learned of a threat to the seclusionary and had no choice but to act on the information quickly. This young woman can explain more.” Briefly he introduced Eydis to his kinswoman.
Eydis felt the other woman weighing her. “Since Torolf seems convinced of your trustworthiness, you may come into my study and I will hear you out. But I’m afraid men are not allowed on our premises, as my cousin well knows, and he and the rest of your companions must wait where they are.”
Agreeing readily, Eydis took her leave of the others and followed the Hearer into the nearest building. The interior was cool and shadowed, the rooms they passed and corridors down which they traveled devoid of comforts or decoration. Entering the Head Hearer’s small study, Eydis felt as if she was back in Shroudstone, being summoned before the old Head Hearer of that place for some foolish infraction.
But she wasn’t a child anymore and couldn’t let herself be cowed by the firm manner that seemed innate in all Hearers. She tried to appear calm and controlled as she took the offered seat opposite the Hearer’s desk. Starting from the beginning, she gave a quick account of her recent experiences, of how at Silverwood Grove she was chosen to be an instrument of the First Mother and sent by the oracle on a mission to protect the Asincourt seclusionary from a dark fate.
It was strangely comforting to be in such familiar surroundings, pouring her troubles out to someone else. For too long she had carried the burden of this knowledge alone. Orrick and Geveral had assisted her on the way, of course. But Orrick had selfish motives, some of which remained a mystery. As for Geveral, his heart was in the right place, but he didn’t always inspire confidence.
She showed the Hearer the mark of the Mother’s favor imprinted on her forehead. She demonstrated her masking ability and related all of her visions.
When she had heard all, the Head Hearer said, “If what you say is true, every soul in this place is in mortal danger.”
“I’m afraid so,” said Eydis bluntly. “How quickly can the seclusionary be evacuated?”
The Hearer pursed her lips, a mannerism that made her resemble her kinsman, Torolf. “We have called this sanctuary home for over a century. Is there no chance of defending it?”
“The loss of life would be great,” said Eydis. “I strongly advise removing everyone to Asincourt where they will be safe. Lord Karol may be stubborn, but he’s capable of defending his own city.”
The Hearer became brisk. “Very well. I shall instruct the adherents to gather only their most vital necessities and to organize the children in the courtyard. We’ll be ready to evacuate to Asincourt by late afternoon.”
“Why are there children in the seclusionary anyway?” asked Eydis. “I noticed them when I arrived.”
“We function here as more than a place for contemplation of the First Mother’s laws but also as a school for children whose parents want them to receive a Lythnian education. We’re presently boarding a half-dozen dwarven children from the Arxus Mountains. What is to be done with them in Asincourt, I do not know.”
“The important thing is keeping them alive,” suggested Eydis. “You can work out the details for returning them to their families once you and they are safely in the city.”
Secretly, she feared the latter would be the last of their concerns.
* * *
The midday sun beat down on the gathered adherents congregating in the courtyard. The robed women carried their most necessary belongings packed onto their backs while clutching the hands of frightened-looking children. Eydis suspected none of them really understood why they were being evacuated so hastily from their home, but at least there were no protests.
“Is this everyone?” she overheard Torolf asking his kinswoman. “The dormitories have been fully emptied?”
Before the Head Hearer could respond, a loud clanging noise echoed through the air. Eydis looked to the bell tower where Torolf had posted a lookout. The man was shouting something and gesturing, but it was impossible to see what he was pointing at beyond the high walls.
With Torolf on her heels, Eydis sprinted across the yard, ducked into the tower, and took the steps two at a time to the top level. From this high vantage point she could see over the seclusionary walls to where what seemed to be a dark dust cloud was rolling in. As it drew nearer, the indistinct blur resolved itself into a line of people, hundreds of them, coming their way.
“Is there any chance that is Lord Karol’s army coming to our aid?” she asked Torolf. “Maybe he’s reconsidered and decided to take us seriously.”
Torolf shook his head regretfully. “That rabble doesn’t come from Asincourt. They’re poorly outfitted and armed like peasants.”
Squinting into the distance, Eydis picked out the lead figure as the army drew nearer. A jolt shot through her as she recognized him. He was thinner and more haggard than before, but there was no mistaking the glowing medallion around his neck or the disfigured features still bearing the shape of his master’s hand burned into the side of his face.
“It’s definitely them,” she confirmed to Torolf. “The Raven King’s army of darkness, just as I envisioned them.”
The Head Hearer appeared at her elbow, panting slightly from her climb up the stairs. “Are you saying it’s too late to get out?” she asked, looking from Torolf to Eydis. “What of the evacuation?”
Eydis swallowed. “Close the gates. We’re not going anywhere.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“What’s to become of the adherents and the children?” Geveral asked, hurrying to keep pace with Eydis as she jogged across the yard.
She could already see Orrick with Torolf’s men atop the wall where the old captain was positioning them at intervals.
“The Hearer knows of an alternate escape route,” she told Geveral distractedly. “Some old tunnel leading miles from here and into the mou
ntains. No one’s used it in ages or even knows if it’s still passable, but it’s their best hope of survival—better than holing up here, waiting for the walls to fall. And they will fall. With Torolf’s men we may hold them off for a short while, but their numbers are great and we are too few.”
“Then they must take their chances in the tunnel,” he said as they reached the wall.
“Not only them.” She paused, about to mount a rickety wooden ladder leading up to the top. “You’re going with them, Geveral. Orrick and I must stay to help Torolf and the others delay the enemy. But the adherents and children will need you to lead them to safety.”
He looked stunned, then hurt. “You expect me to flee with the women and children while you stay to die? You don’t send the barbarian running for his life, but I suppose that’s because you think him more reliable than me?”
She shook her head, one foot already on the bottom rung. “This is no time to argue. I’m asking you to accompany the evacuees because there’s no one else who can do what you can. I’ve seen the escape tunnel. A giant old tree grows up against the entrance, and I’m hoping you can use your powers to collapse the thing once everyone is safely inside. That should deter the enemy from following.”
He looked ready to argue, but she cut him off. “You can do this, Geveral. I’ve seen you perform a similar feat before. Block the tunnel and protect the adherents. Do that, and all our actions up to this point won’t have been in vain.”
She could see her plea had its intended effect. “All right, I’ll do what you ask,” he conceded. “But Eydis?”
He caught her elbow as she started up the ladder.
“Yes?”
He hesitated. “The First Mother go with you.”
“Thanks Geveral. You too. Better hurry now.”
