“Apparently, questioning the former prince about leaving my men to rot had an automatic demotion attached to it.” Tolin sighed as he shut the door behind them. “I’m no longer the commander of anything, which isn’t saying much, since Dakaran has been replacing my officers with his own men anyway. All those willing to pledge fealty to Dakaran’s thugs can serve the new king, and those not willing are immediately discharged without pay or reference.”
“What about the High Guard?”
Tolin shook his head. “They were the first to go.”
“Who’s to protect the king and Queen Mother?”
“The Black Watch have been given that honor. You can’t go anywhere around the palace now without seeing white uniforms.” The commander knelt at the hearth and lit some kindling. “The worst thing that could have happened to Aldor was having both the king and the Guardian Protector killed in battle. I still can’t believe it. I didn’t think there was anything alive that could have taken Ayrion down. I guess I was wrong.”
Barthol’s temper flared. “Nothing could have . . . except, perhaps, treachery.”
“Treachery?” Tolin stood and pointed to a nearby chair. “Start from the beginning.”
“Who’s down there with you?” a woman’s voice called out from the other side of the door.
Tolin raised a hand for Barthol to remain seated. He walked to the door and stuck his head out. “Just one of the palace staff wanting to know what to do with the belongings from my office, dear. Go back to bed. I’ll be up shortly.” Tolin waited a moment, then shut the door. “Sorry. I don’t want her getting any more upset than she already is.”
Barthol nodded. He could relate. Perhaps Kensey would be up to moving as well?
Tolin slid another chair beside the fire and sat. “Now, what’s this about treachery? What happened on that rise?”
Barthol took a moment to gather his thoughts. He stared at the hearth, watching the flames dance across the wood as he tried to remember what had happened that day. They were memories he would have liked to forget, memories of loss so strong they had threatened to bury him. “As I recall, Ayrion and I were down to our last three or four men. The king was there as well, and with his help, we managed to finish off the rest of the hor’hounds. It was a tremendous victory. Rhydan raised his sword . . .” Barthol paused. “I remember thinking he was about to give another one of his long-winded speeches when everything went sideways.”
Tolin leaned forward, worry lines on his forehead growing more pronounced.
“I remember turning to say something to Ayrion, and the next thing I know, he kicks me over the rise, and I’m rolling down the back side of the slope.” Barthol rubbed his shoulder where he had slammed against rock. It hadn’t fully healed. “It’s the only reason I’m sitting here now. I ended up landing in a gully. My head hit a rock and I passed out. It must have kept me hidden, because by the time I came to and crawled back up the slope, the Black Watch were breaking down the command post.
“I can’t swear to it, but it wouldn’t take much imagining to figure out what had happened. One moment, we’re shouting victory, and the next . . .” He wrung his hands, his elbows on his knees. “The only other people on that rise were the prince, the Archchancellor, and a small contingent of those white-robed sons of faeries.”
Tolin shot to his feet. “This is high treason!” He paced in front of the fire. “I knew Dakaran lusted for the throne, but I can’t believe he would stoop so low as to murder his own father to acquire it.”
“Is everything all right, dear?” Tolin’s wife called down once more.
“Everything’s fine, Tirana. Go back to bed.”
“Who knows how far someone like Dakaran will go?” Barthol said. “I’m still in shock at his decision to dismantle the High Guard and relieve you of duty. You’d think with changes like this, it would raise eyebrows. Where’s the public outcry?”
“Everything’s been done behind closed doors,” Tolin said, retaking his seat. “Two days after his official inauguration, I was called to his study. He told me that with the death of the king as a blight on our campaign against Cylmar, the senate was demanding someone’s head. And since the Guardian was not there to take the blame, the responsibility fell on me.”
“I’d love to give them Dakaran’s head on a pike.” Barthol’s hands were practically trembling. “We need to let the people know what’s happening. That’s the reason I’m here tonight. The people trust you, Tolin. They look up to you. If you were to speak out, I’m sure they’d stand by you.”
Tolin lowered his head. “If only it were that simple.”
“It seems pretty flaming simple to me. Dakaran has committed treason, which holds an immediate sentence of death.” Barthol almost spat, but there was no place in the commander’s study to do so. “I’d love to be the one holding the axe for that ceremony.”
“I’ve heard from others, including Overcaptain Asa, that it was hinted that it would be in their best interest to leave Aramoor. Of course, Dakaran didn’t come right out and openly threaten them, but his meaning was clear.”
Barthol was speechless. Perhaps he was right. Maybe it would be best if they left. But still, it wasn’t in his nature to give up. “What do you suggest we do?”
The commander lifted his head. “We need to be extremely careful. We can’t just accuse the king of treason without proof or powerful allies willing to stand with us. I have a few contacts in the senate who’d be more than happy to get rid of Dakaran, but right now, we have nothing more than the word of a former High Guard captain who, by his own admission, was unconscious during the time of the so-called act.”
Barthol stiffened. “I know what I saw, Tolin.”
“I’m not suggesting otherwise, but what I’m trying to point out is that it would be your word against his, and right now, your word wouldn’t be worth a tankard of watered-down mead against the High King’s. Without proof, I’m not sure what we can do.”
Barthol wanted to punch something. Tolin was right. His testimony alone wouldn’t be enough, especially now that Dakaran was getting rid of all those still loyal to his father. He hated to admit it, but the young prig was turning out to be more conniving than he had thought possible.
“The first thing we need to do is get word to the Queen Mother,” Tolin said, scooting to the edge of his seat as though he were about to stand. “She needs to know. She could be in danger.”
Barthol nodded. “The queen would be a powerful ally.”
“The problem is that neither of our faces would make it through the palace gates without us being immediately arrested. We need to find someone on the inside who would be close enough to relay our message.”
Barthol’s head lifted, a smile creeping across his hardened face. “I believe I know just the person.”
Chapter 38 | Valtor
“VOYESTRA.”
As soon as the word left Valtor’s lips, torches burst to life, scattering shadows across the thirteen red-marble pillars that surrounded the center of the chamber. The floor inside the pillars was made of white stone so smooth, it mirrored the ceiling. Not a speck of dust lay on top, as though some unseen barrier stretching between the pillars kept the area beneath untouched.
Valtor leaned on his staff as he passed between the columns toward the floating basin in the center, where the Waters of A’sterith lay waiting. The rhythmic tapping on the stone left a trail of echoes in his wake, each one chasing the next across the bare walls and vaulted ceiling, leaving a hollowed-out feeling in the pit of his stomach.
He shivered as he neared, casting a wary glance upward at the Watchers. The thirteen stone gargoyles stared down in judgment from atop their lofty perches.
Valtor shifted his gaze back to the basin and the runes etched into the onyx rim. His last encounter with Aerodyne hadn’t gone so well. The memory of the pain he had endured was still fresh as he stopped in front of the bowl.
At least it was good news he was bringing, he thought. O
f course, it was good news he’d reported the last time, but that hadn’t stopped Aerodyne from leaving him kneeling in a pool of his own blood.
The Dark One’s presence permeated the room. Valtor had felt it since first opening the door. It tightened around him, threatening to crush his soul, growing with each step closer to the waters. He forced himself to breathe evenly as he stretched his hand toward the basin. “Iryseth a’ Daomon.”
The silver liquid inside stirred to life, rising from the bowl and taking shape. Valtor quickly lowered his head, waiting for the hooded figure to fully coalesce.
“Speak,” the voice boomed, causing him to tremble involuntarily.
He spared a quick glance at the basin. The silvery figure stood waiting. There was no face to look at, no hands to gesture with. Aerodyne was little more than spirit. “I have done as you have asked, my lord Aerodyne. Argon has been released.”
The figure didn’t move, which made Valtor even more nervous. Had he done something wrong?
The initial incantation for the spell had been written inside one of Aerodyne’s grimoires. Valtor would have never known what it was if Aerodyne hadn’t pointed him to it. He had been reluctant to attempt a spell so potentially dangerous, but when Aerodyne issued a command, you didn’t refuse.
The book had labeled the spell Plague of Shadows. What he hadn’t understood at the time was that he was awakening the long-imprisoned essence of Argon—one of Aerodyne’s former generals. Aerodyne must have had a reason for it, if only Valtor knew what it was. He could only guess Aerodyne was using it to forge a way to escape his prison.
“How many times did it take you to conjure the spell?”
Valtor swallowed. “Three, my lord.” His earlier attempts at releasing the enchantment around the crystal had proven ineffective. It seemed impenetrable, until he had understood that the location used was as important as the incantation itself. The spell needed hosts to infect, and without a proper supply of human bodies, the conjuring wouldn’t initiate.
Once he had realized that, Valtor had given the crystal and a written transcription of the incantation to Topin. He had instructed the bulradoer to test the effects on one of the more secluded towns in Sidara, and from the bulradoer’s initial report, the results were astonishing.
“Tell me everything,” Aerodyne said, his voice so loud it shook the stones beneath his feet. “From the beginning.”
“Yes, my lord.” Valtor started by explaining what he had done in releasing the locking spell to the crystal holding Argon’s essence. He then described the type of manifestation the ancient general had taken. He expounded on the vulraaks and the swiftness of their transformations. He didn’t leave anything of what Topin had told him out.
The figure within the basin shifted slightly, the silvery waters sliding down the folds of his cloak.
Valtor felt sweat dripping from his brow. He clutched his staff. If not for it, he would have certainly toppled over by now. He barely had the strength to stand.
“You have done well. The first step is complete.” With that, the robed figure melted back into the basin, and the water went placid once again.
Air wheezed from Valtor’s chest as he breathed out a heavy sigh of relief. First step? What was the second?
Chapter 39 | Ayrion
IT HAD BEEN A ROUGH few days since Ayrion’s showdown with Argon and their narrow escape from the vulraaks. Zynora had spent the last two days trying to heal the many cuts, gouges, lacerations, and bruises the four had sustained from their fight against the cannibalistic creatures.
The healing had been slow. Zynora was still weak from her work on Nell, not to mention the magic she had used to stop Argon. Ayrion hadn’t realized she was capable of such magic. Impulso magic, she called it—a kind of invisible blast of power. Apparently, some of the charms she wore on her headband were made of transferal crystals. Zynora said when she was younger, she had been capable of multiple bursts without it draining her completely. But now, a single volley was enough to knock her on her backside.
She had spent most of the first day in bed, while Tameel filled her with hot soup. The rest and food had perked her up, so by the following morning, Ayrion had found her mixing a pot of fresh porridge at one of the cook fires. Tameel sat beside her, patiently waiting with a bowl in his lap and spoon in hand.
Ayrion sat down across from the two and warmed his hands. “There’s something that’s been bugging me that I haven’t been able to work out.”
Zynora and Tameel stopped what they were doing and stared at him across the fire.
“And what would that be?” Zynora asked.
Ayrion looked at Tameel. “How did you know we were in trouble? And how did you know where to find us? The last thing we said was that we were heading into Belvin. We didn’t mention anything about stopping at Bek’s cabin, and we certainly didn’t tell you where it was. How in Aldor did you find us?”
Tameel shared a grin with Zynora and raised his arms. “I found you with these,” he said, pointing at the bronze cuffs on his forearm. “In the Rhivanni, when a couple bonds, they are given matching sidrix. Each of the sidrix is inscribed with runes that link the wearers to each other. They allow us to share our feelings.” He turned and smiled at his wife. “And those feelings grow stronger the closer the armbands are to each other.”
“It’s a connection unlike any you’ll ever experience,” Zynora said. “It intensifies everything. When you can share in your husband or wife’s emotions, it draws you all the closer.” She laid her hand on Tameel’s knee, and he in turn laid his over hers.
“Sounds rather passionate,” Ayrion remarked, trying to imagine what it would be like to share another’s emotions. He did seem to have a connection with his horse, but that was hardly the same.
“Passionate is a good word for it,” Tameel said with a lecherous wink at Zynora.
“Stop it,” she said, flicking his hand. She turned and went back to stirring the porridge, but her smile remained.
Ayrion left the two alone and returned to his own musings as he stared at the fire. He still wasn’t sure how they had managed to survive their encounter with Argon. A couple of times, he had woken with nightmares vivid enough to have him reaching for his swords, but then he’d feel the slight squirm of Marissa as she pressed her head against his chest, and he’d lie back down.
The little girl was like a second shadow and refused to sleep unless it was within arm’s reach of Ayrion. Under any other circumstance, he might have been annoyed by the child’s behavior, but with all they had endured, Ayrion found that he didn’t mind the extra attention. In fact, at times he preferred it, which left him wondering if perhaps there was more to him than just a killer. Did his life consist of more than war? What memories he had been able to recover didn’t lead him to believe there was. Perhaps his injury was affecting the core of who he had been.
Either way, he found solace in the little girl’s warmth. Affection from a child was love in its purest form. There was no judgment of past wrongs, no incrimination, no strings attached. A child’s love concealed no hidden agenda, no preconceived notion concerning what they expected from the relationship. Their motives lay open and bare.
Breakfast was eaten rather slowly as the small group pondered their situation, eventually realizing they couldn’t just pack up and leave. This threat was far too dangerous. Zynora described it like an untended wound. It would fester and spread, killing off whatever life it met. This infection needed to be purged, but after their last confrontation, it was pretty obvious they were going to need help, and a lot of it. Their best option was raising support from the outlying communities, since they stood the greatest chance of being affected.
As fast as it had taken over Belvin, they didn’t have time to try getting help from the Sidaran capital of Easthaven. Even if it was possible, who was going to listen to a couple of tinkers? They needed to stop Argon, and the best way to do that was to warn the surrounding communities. They only hoped the plague ha
dn’t spread beyond Belvin.
They spent the rest of the day packing supplies for two wagons, and by early the next morning, they were breaking camp and heading west out of the forest. They reached the main road where Taylis’s painted rocks marked the path toward the Nathillian campsite and headed south. Before they had ridden as far as the bridge where they had first met Taylis, they turned off on a road Bek pointed out that led back into the Sidaran Forest and west toward Saeida.
It seemed a long way around to get to the small community, but since the only other route would have taken them past Belvin, they decided it was worth the extra travel time.
By late afternoon the following day, Ayrion spotted several thin lines of smoke rising from a cluster of thatched roofs over the next rise. They were nearing their destination. They passed a few wood-sided homes on their way in, following a dirt road that led them straight through the center of town. There wasn’t much to see: a few simple shops; a smithy; and of course, what respectable town would be caught dead without at least one decent tavern? Where else were the poor souls of Saeida going to go to drown their sorrows? And looking at the dilapidated state the town was in, he doubted there was a shortage of sorrows to drown.
The buildings were old and worn—shingles missing, wood slats with cracks large enough to see through, fences missing teeth. The best-looking part of town was the road. Even the trees looked decrepit with their bare, twisted branches waving in the wind. Saeida appeared to be on the verge of collapse.
Not much here to save, Ayrion thought. The one thing he didn’t see was a proper inn. With the sun already sinking below the tree line, their small caravan was going to need a place to stay for the night, especially since they had decided on bringing only two of the wagons, and there were now seven in their company.
The wheels jostled inside deep-rutted grooves as they made their way through town. Tameel kept their wagon in the center of the road and pulled into a vacant lot after passing the last of the buildings on the right. Bek brought the second wagon alongside. The closest shop looked to be what passed for the town chandlery.
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