Hunted (Book 3)

by Brian Fuller

  Out of the corner of her eye, the Chalaine caught Dason staring at her and she stood and crossed to the back of the wagon to escape his scrutiny. While appropriately noble and caring, the Chalaine noticed another emotion in his eyes—a hope and anticipation—that frightened her. So many emotions and confused thoughts strove within her that she wished Dason as dull and expressionless as Gen had been in his early days in her service. Her love for Gen easily eclipsed her girlish infatuation with the Prince of Tolnor, though she dreaded the thought of telling Dason outright that she felt nothing for him, at best. At the worst, her association with Gen had—in her own mind—transformed her handsome Protector into a babbling, fawning nuisance.

  But gazing upon the snow-washed track behind her and the other dark wagon trailing theirs shoved these thoughts away, for within the other wagon lurked the instigator of all her twisted confusion. Chertanne was dead. After Jaron had killed him, Padra Athan had the Eldephaere immediately remove the new King from the festivities under the pretext of ministering to him. A while later the Padra had returned and told the mass of squelched revelers that their King lived but had sustained a serious wound that the Chalaine had healed to the best of her ability. For security’s sake, the entire party left at once despite the late hour. The Eldephaere had executed Jaron by fire just before the caravan got underway, and the Chalaine could not bear to watch.

  Once underway, Athan told them that his brethren had cast spells to maintain Chertanne’s body fresh, hinting that there were still options, though the Chalaine saw none save choices between modes of interment. But Athan kept up the farce. Servants delivered three meals a day to the dead man, Church leaders consulted with him regularly, and the Chalaine had been permitted to visit her husband every other day to spend time to heal and condole her ‘beloved’ Lord. For her part, sitting with his corpse only agitated her. Never before had horror and absolute relief had such intimate intercourse in a human heart, though she chastised herself for the relief. Relief to be rid of Chertanne sprung from a selfish, short-sighted root; the horror, more justly, grew from the consequences of his demise that now stared the unsuspecting world in the face.

  While no one, including Gen, thought Chertanne would have fared well against Mikkik, no one had any clue as to how the prophecy would get along without him, either. Even more confusing was the question of leadership. How long would Athan pretend that Chertanne still drew breath? Cynically, she realized that Chertanne’s death bestowed a great deal of power upon Athan, for in the King’s absence, the Padra commandeered all of his responsibilities, all under the guise of his being spokesman. Of course, Chertanne had acted as little more than the Padra’s puppet when alive, and of the two, Athan was the stronger leader.

  A shout rose, and the caravan stopped to rest and feed the horses at midday. The Chalaine hoped Dason was accurate in his assessment that the end of their trip approached. The long journey through Aughmere wearied her, and she hated the thought that innocent men perished in the cold to protect a dead man. While she had learned that Aughmere consisted mostly of dense wood, she was not prepared for the boxed in, blind feeling of traveling down a road so thick with trunk and branch that only a formidable, choked darkness waited beyond the edges of the road. In places, the trees hunched over the road for long stretches, creating dark sylvan tunnels as cold and forbidding as caves of stone.

  While the original plans for the caravan had them passing through major cities and towns on their way back to Chertanne’s stronghold in Ironkeep, Padra Athan ordered that Gen’s leg and the accompanying narrative of the events in Elde Luri Mora travel the circuit instead. To the Churchman’s consternation, General Khairn and Ethris had turned up missing the second night from the Portal gate, and no one had seen Maewen since before Chertanne’s death. The Chalaine quizzed her mother about it, but Mirelle simply returned one of her smiles that told her it was safer not to inquire.

  Athan passed nearby with two Puremen to deliver lunch to the corpse. She figured the Puremen who served it also ate it, perhaps using Chertanne’s shroud as a napkin. She suspected those in the robes of servile Puremen walked a little too much like soldiers to be holy men, crediting her ability to perceive such a detail to Samian, who continued to instruct her in the ways of the sword in her sleep.

  The Chalaine felt awkward about the training at first. Strutting around a dream Cathedral, sparring with a teacher she could rarely understand, and using a weapon she had only seen in the hands of men brought a blush of embarrassment to her face every night until her steps and strokes fell with more surety. As her confidence and skill grew—with an alacrity she found startling—she found her nightly instructions a great release, especially since in dream her stomach was not sour or expanding.

  Once the horses were fed, the caravan proceeded forward, heavy flakes swirling in a whistling wind. Cuddling up to her mother, she fell into a deep sleep until Dason woke them all with a shout.

  “We’ve arrived!”

  They crowded around the bars to stare out, finding nothing but a white plain surrounding them. The lack of trees allowed the bitter wind to ply its full biting power, and soldiers around them wrapped raw faces with whatever cloth they could find and walked with arms folded and faces to the ground.

  “How can you tell we are there?” the Chalaine asked. Dason cocked his head to reply, but Cadaen butted in before him.

  “The land around Ironkeep is kept free of trees for at least two miles in every direction, though I have heard they have extended that area under Shadan Khairn. With all that wood you could bring an army in from any direction, though it would be difficult going if the forest is as dense as it appears. It shouldn’t be long now, Chalaine.”

  The Chalaine remained at the bars, surveying what she could in the obscuring snow. Before long, a regiment of horse soldiers added to their numbers. Inside an hour, people started to line the road, cheering the return of their King and undoubtedly wondering where he and his father were. The weather and the lack of anyone important to see likely rendered the event a little less festive than it was intended to be, and before long the caravan rolled through an immense gate and into Ironkeep proper.

  “But there was no city! Is the entire city inside the wall?” Dason asked, astonished.

  “There is no city, inside or out,” Cadaen explained. “This place was chosen as the location to build Ironkeep because there are several Portals that converge in this general area. This is purely a military complex with some areas dedicated to Portal pass-through for trading purposes. The Shadan lives on the Ellenais shard, though I doubt Athan will let us winter there. There will be few creature comforts here, though we are the first non-Aughmerians to come within these walls in at least a hundred years. Not even ambassadors are permitted to enter here.”

  “Well, if I were to attack it, I would simply bring along torches,” Dason commented. “I thought Ironkeep would be primarily iron, but it appears mostly wood banded with iron. A good blaze would fell this place in a day.”

  “Each spring they treat every inch of every beam and plank with some substance so it won’t burn,” Cadaen explained, clearly fascinated by what he was seeing. “I hope they give us a chance to wander about when the weather clears up. We could use some good intelligence about this place.”

  But Cadaen’s wish was not to be granted. To the Chalaine’s dismay, Athan’s graciousness ended as soon as they disembarked from the carriage and entered the dour, formidable hall. The Chalaine barely had time to gaze at the cavernous room before Cadaen and Dason collapsed to the floor as a result of some spell from any one of the multitudinous Churchmen thronged about them.

  “Athan!” Mirelle barked. “Just what do you think you are doing?” The Eldephaere wasted no time dragging the unconscious men from the room.

  “I am removing potential threats to the prophecy. While I do not have direct evidence that any of them have done anything that merits detention, the Dark Guard do not hold a high place in my trust at the moment. Capt
ain Tolbrook and the others will join them as soon as they arrive, as well, and the rest of Rhugothian soldiers will be sent home as quickly as possible. Fear not, however. Your guards will be unharmed, though I’m sure I have affronted their honor rather gravely.” The Chalaine gritted her teeth and bit back an acerbic accusation as Athan continued. “As for you, Mirelle, I am afraid that you, too, have garnered my mistrust, and therefore you will be confined to your quarters, under guard, for the duration of your stay.”

  “Word of this will get out, Athan, and there will be a price,” Mirelle warned him.

  “I am only doing this for your protection, of course. The road, as I recall, was particularly inhospitable to you, and your new King could hardly stand by and see his mother-in-law put in peril.”

  “And what of me,” the Chalaine jumped in. “Are you going to lock me up, as well?”

  “For now. At least until we can deal with the issue of Chertanne.”

  “Deal with the issue? He is dead!”

  “Keep your voice down, Highness. There is hope yet.”

  The Chalaine couldn’t fathom what trickery Athan possessed that could revive her dead husband, but she hugged her mother before soldiers escorted Mirelle out a side door, and the bulk of the Churchmen left to attend to other duties. Only Padra Athan and two Eldephaere remained behind. The Church soldiers were both tall, blond, grim, and exactly identical in their appearance.

  “These two,” Padra Athan announced, indicating the two stiffly bowing soldiers, “will be your new Protectors. They are loyal to the prophecy first and then to you, unlike some of your previous guards. Their names are Adrenne and Bradden, twin brothers of a devout woman who lost her husband recently in one of Joranne’s explosions in Mikmir. They are your countrymen, so I thought them a good match for you. I have also arranged for a new handmaiden for you. She should be . . . Ah, yes, there she is.”

  The Chalaine turned toward the rear of the hall. An unveiled woman with raven black hair and dark eyes approached them, escorted by two veiled girls in plain brown dresses. The unveiled girl was confident in her bearing, though she approached the Padra tentatively after bowing to the Chalaine. Her eyes darted about quickly as if searching for someone.

  “Lady Khairn, this is Mena, one of Torbrand’s daughters. Where is your veil, Mena?” Padra Athan asked.

  “I thought my father would be here. He commands me never to wear it in his presence. Is he nearby, your Grace?”

  “I am afraid your father turned up missing a couple of weeks ago. You will wear your veil as is custom among your people.”

  Mena curtseyed. “Thank you, your Grace.”

  “Show the Chalaine to her chambers. She will be kept there for her safety for the next several days as we work out all the details to guarantee her security and that of the Ha’Ulrich.”

  Mena curtsied again. “This way, Highness. You will have my room, and I will take the one next to yours.”

  “I don’t want to displace you,” the Chalaine said as they left the entryway of the hall and proceeded down a dark hallway, the twins following at a discreet distance. “Whatever I am given after the last several months will be a luxury. A comfortable bed and a warm fire are all I will insist upon. If you’ll forgive me, you seem a bit anxious. Is something wrong?”

  “There are some people I was expecting . . . hoping . . . to see. They were a part of your Dark Guard, I believe. To own the truth, I wanted to see my husband.”

  “You have a husband among the Dark Guard?” the Chalaine asked incredulously.

  “It was a particular arrangement of my father’s.” Mena blushed. “After he conquered Tolnor, I was given to Gerand Kildan as wife. Did he never mention it?”

  “I am afraid not, though I had little conversation with him, as he wasn’t one of my Protectors.”

  The tears welled up in Mena’s eyes, and she turned away until she could force down the emotion. “Then Gen was right,” she finally said. “Gerand must despise me as a matter of honor.”

  “And you’ve spoken to Gen?” This woman is full of surprises.

  “He never mentioned me? I assumed since he is your Protector that he might have brought up his visit to the Ellenais shard.”

  “He didn’t. He was very miserly with details about his past.”

  “And where is he, and the rest of your Dark Guard? I should think, from the stories, that Mikkik himself couldn’t drag that man from your side. And where is your husband? He so coveted Torbrand’s throne that I expected him to sleep in it for at least a week after returning.”

  The Chalaine smiled wanly and checked the animon in her pocket. “I have much to share with you, Mena, but perhaps when we are alone. I am afraid, however, that most of what I have to say is not pleasant or hopeful.”

  Mena nodded, face glum, and they proceeded through the hallways in silence.

  While the Chalaine was grateful to be indoors, Ironkeep presented a sharp contrast to her home in Mikmir. Her mother’s Hall reflected art, refinement, and beauty, whereas Ironkeep’s theme centered around trophies and strength. The entirety of the structure was wood, and it felt like a sprawling lodge. Weapons of all varieties hung from the walls, intermixed with animal heads and various appendages of defeated enemies. Red carpets covered the floors in the public areas, while the natural wood of the floor was left bare in the living quarters save for a few plain rugs.

  During the following week, the Chalaine found herself in company with her new handmaiden almost constantly, and she decided that she liked the young woman. Her feelings for Gerand revealed a tender, romantic heart, while her conversation demonstrated a maturity, intelligence, and self-command. The Chalaine told her what had happened during the journey to Elde Luri Mora, hiding her own feelings for Gen and his identity as the Ilch. In turn, Mena related Gen’s visit to Ellenais to her, providing more insight into a time Gen rarely spoke of.

  Mena told her a few days later that Padra Athan had spread the word about Gen in the immediate environs around Ironkeep, and the Chalaine vehemently denounced his actions as the most vile and baseless slander. Mena took her side of the story without question. Aughmerians, it seemed, held the Church and its leaders in low esteem and had long suspected them of all manner of trickery and political maneuvering.

  True to his word, Athan, faking commands from Chertanne, ordered the Chalaine into seclusion. Only Mena was allowed traffic in and out of the Chalaine’s chambers to serve her needs, though she proved adept at teasing information from guards and other servants about the keep and delivering it to the Chalaine. From what Mena could gather, Athan had ordered the entire Council of Padras to haste to Ironkeep, though bad weather and distance would delay their arrival for some time. Athan kept Mirelle under the same restrictions as her daughter, again, for the ostensible reason of keeping her safe.

  But while the Chalaine at first found Athan’s measures to be punitive, she realized that her own seclusion was part of a larger plan to keep the secret of Chertanne’s death, for if the Chalaine were allowed to wander the halls of Ironkeep, then why wouldn’t Chertanne be afforded the same privilege? And from what Mena told her, speculation about the absence of the High King mounted daily, while the nature of Aughmerian culture provided the Chalaine the cover of unimportance.

  As the days rolled slowly by, the Chalaine busied herself with reading and playing games with Mena. Against all odds and deepening snow, the Padras trickled into the keep by ones and twos, and at the end of three weeks Mena reported that the entire Council had arrived and had met in seclusion for two days straight. The Chalaine could only imagine their consternation and bewilderment. What does one do with a dead Ha’Ulrich? The Chalaine could only think of two possible options. They could have faith that the baby growing in her slowly expanding belly would redeem them without the Ha’Ulrich’s help, or they could find a suitable lookalike for Chertanne and let the charade begin in earnest.

  The next day, one of her guards—Adrenne or Bradden, she couldn’t tell which�
��knocked on the door and informed her that Athan had summoned her to meet with the Council in an hour.

  So they have come to some decision, have they? she thought. While inwardly disdainful, excitement welled up within her at the prospect of knowing anything about how the next months would play out.

  Athan had seen to it that properly noble attire was delivered to her shortly after her arrival, though to her dismay it was all white. She found the most ostentatious outfit of the lot and donned it quickly. Once ready, she followed between her two Protectors as one led the way and the other brought up the rear. Serving women, veiled and young, ogled her as she strode by, whispers blooming behind her.

  Adrenne and Bradden led her back into the Great Hall and then up a flight of stairs to a large assembly area accessed through a pair of enormous doors that creaked wildly as they were opened. The room itself was unpleasant enough. Ironkeep had no glass for windows, so most of the shutters in the room were shut, the only light emanating from a roaring fire at one end of the room and a set of braziers glowing orange. A slight haze hovered about the room as she entered and walked steadily toward a long table on a plum-colored rug in the center of the room.

  The Council rose at her approach, regarding her with curiosity. I wonder if Athan has poisoned them against me or told them of our little ‘bargain.’ Athan signaled for her to sit next to him at a finely appointed chair set at the corner of the head of the table where he presided. Books littered the table, along with parchment and quills, although from a quick glance it appeared they had all turned whatever notes they had been writing upside down to not attract her scrutiny. Once she had seated herself, the screeching doors boomed shut, leaving her alone with the Council.