“Escaping what? What could possibly…”
His voice trailed off as the dark spot at the base of a tree grew into the form of a man. He didn’t look like much—just a short fellow with a bit of a paunch and thinning hair—but something about him made Gair’s stomach turn. It reminded him of Amarian, only more careless.
The three stood in silence for a moment. The short man obviously enjoyed watching the other two squirm. The orbs were just beginning to rise; the cool dawn placed in stark colors the thick underbrush and sparse trees. The man was a few paces away from them, across a meager little path that before this day had seen more animal traffic than human. He leaned casually against a thin trunk, content to let them speak first.
Gair had no desire to open his mouth. It was Verial who started the conversation
“Aren’t you supposed to be with them?” Though her words were bold, Gair could hear a quiver in her voice.
The man shrugged, rubbing a dirty finger across his nose. “Oh, I don’t know. They seem to be doing all right just now.” He pulled out a bit of churr-root and set about lighting it. When he was done, it dangled from his lips, burning a dull green. The rank smell of the root was so pungent that they could almost taste it.
“So what are you doing here? Surely Lascombe is about to fall.” The quiver in her voice was growing stronger.
The man puffed at his makeshift cigar. “I think the more pertinent question,” he responded, turning his gaze to Gair, “is what are you doing here?”
Gair stiffened. “I’m here to protect the lady.” If he had been honest with himself, he thought, he would have known that that was his mission ever since he first stepped foot out of the Eastern Lands. The realization gave him strength, but he doubted it would be enough to face whoever it was that was speaking with them.
The man nodded. “Yes, I figured that’s what you would say.”
Verial looked from Gair to the man. “We must be on our way.”
“Your ‘protector’ here is free to leave. Sadly, he’s beyond my grasp. You and I, however, have a debt to settle.”
Verial narrowed her eyes. “Haven’t you already taken enough of me? What else is there to take?”
The man stepped forward, but Gair pushed himself between them. “Listen, I don’t know who or what you are, but as I said, I’m here to protect the lady.”
The man stopped, shaking his greasy head. His voice gurgled in his throat. “Oh, I know what sort of protector you are. First, you allow her to go off and cause trouble for the Prysm. Then you allow her to be manipulated by Obsidian. And the first chance you get, you go off to live in a big city, abandoning her to her enemies. That,” he pointed at Gair with his glowing churr-root, “is the type of protector you are. Now I will tell you again. Leave the lady and go back to the city that you enjoy so much.” He laughed—a crude, liquid sound that mutated quickly into a fit of coughing.
Gair was confused. How could he know all of that? Who was this character? This guy knew more about his time with Verial than even Amarian did. He looked at Verial again. He had never seen her look so afraid. This wasn’t a Chasmite. He didn’t twitch, and he knew too much. But he wasn’t a man, either. It took a moment for the awful realization to come.
“Zyreio.”
The man looked at him disdainfully. “That name sounds so foul on your lips. Now leave, Gair. Or you’ll deal with me directly.”
“I thought you said I was beyond your grasp,” Gair managed to respond.
The man wiped the phlegm off of his chin with a dirty sleeve. “I may have lied about that.”
Verial had watched the exchange with a mixture of pride and terror. Zyreio’s presence was suffocating—she couldn’t conceive how Gair could stay of his own free will. As for her, her legs were immobilized just as surely as if they had turned to stone. Her mouth, however, was not.
“Gair, you should go. I’ll be fine,” she lied.
Though his face had gone white with fear, he gave her a sharp look. “Verial, you’ve been lying your whole life. Now, in the presence of him, you lie again?”
She did not respond. How could he know? How could he have any clue what she had been through. What she was about to go through? She almost wished he would leave so she could get on with it.
He caught the hostility in her gaze but it did not change his resolve. Zyreio, on the other hand, was growing impatient. “Gair, son of Edgar, did you know that your father walks with me? He fights in that army, against the Prysm. He is a true soldier who will be faithful to the end. You, however, prefer to choose the path of greatest comfort. You did not make your colors known until after you had left the Eastern Lands. You suffered prettily for your lady love here, but when the time came to follow a new hero, you left her. You are nothing. The Prysm does not need you. I do not want you. Even she will not follow you.” He gestured toward Verial.
The words hit Gair’s resolve like a flight of arrows, each one finding its mark. He knew Zyreio was a liar, but this time he spoke truth. It had been no sacrifice to follow Corfe back to Lascombe. It had only led him into more luxury than he had ever known. He recalled that first night Verial had sought him out. He had been living in comfort while she had traveled the greater part of Rhyvelad, killing for food, shivering in the cold, tearing at her hair in misery. And when she found him, he had offered her a way out of her agony. He had offered her the Prysm. But she had scorned that, just as she had scorned everything else. So little was his influence on her that she mocked the thing dearest to him. Further, when she followed him to Ulan, she did so only to mock him further, suggesting that the precious life of that poor baby was more of a hindrance than a blessing. Now, in the face of Obsidian himself, she was sending him away. What was the point of protecting a woman like that?
He exhaled, thinking how hungry he was. When was the last time he had eaten? It was time for this interview to end. He took several steps backward and was about to leave altogether when he caught a glimpse of Verial’s face. She was watching him. And she was crying.
The sight stung his conscience and struck at his heart. Without thinking, he drew his sword and advanced toward Zyreio.
“In the mighty name of Kynell and all that the Prysm sheds light upon, I will send you back to the pit from which you came.”
Zyreio held up his hands in mock surrender. “Oh my! So you do have a little spring of courage in you. How inspiring!” He grinned, displaying a row of brown and crumbly teeth.
“Leave!” Gair barked.
“Like I said,” Zyreio continued, “You’re beyond my grasp. But she is not.” He moved forward, brushing aside Gair’s sword as if it were a sewing needle.
“Verial!” Gair shouted, “come to me! Come to Kynell!”
But Verial only stood there, allowing Zyreio to reach out a grimy hand and catch her by the waist. “I can’t, Gair,” she said, her blue eyes still moist. “I’m not like you. And I’m so tired of fighting.”
She allowed Zyreio to lead her through the trees, toward the field filled with his children. Gair stood there, helpless. And when she disappeared from sight, he sat down, dazed. He shouted after her once, but there was no response. She had gone. There could be no redemption for her now. He had failed again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Sirin kept watch at the camp for most of the night. Knowing they had such a guardian, the children slept better than they had in weeks. It was only toward dawn that their guardian drifted off into a well-deserved sleep.
A sharp, pungent odor woke him awhile later, as the orbs were rising. A munkke-trophe’s sense of smell was always reliable, even at absurd distances. In this instance, he smelled what was coming long before he saw it.
It was another munkke-trophe, riding a voyoté. The sharp smell had been a blend of fear and canine lather. As the pair drew closer, the munkke-trophe saw Sirin and started furiously waving his paws. Sirin jumped up and hurried to meet him, eager not to wake the children before it was necessary.
Th
e other munkke-trophe was dressed like a soldier. Seeing Sirin coming his direction, he jumped off his mount and bent over double. Sirin could see that he was panting. Where could he have come from? Before he could ask, the other munkke-trophe gasped out his message.
“Sir,” he spat, “I knew I was right to come this way. My captain needs your help. Please come.”
“Who’s your captain?”
“Captain Gair, sir, of Lascombe. He serves as a scout for Lord Corfe.”
“And where is he now?”
The munkke-trophe pointed back from the direction he had come. “In the trees south of the valley, sir. Please. It’s probably too late, but we must hurry.”
Sirin nodded, then persuaded the soldier to come back to camp and at least get some water before making the return journey. The soldier complied and soon Lucio and Teehma had been shaken awake, told to gather their things, and make haste. They did so without complaint.
The journey back took most of the early morning. They left the road, veering south, away from the army. They spotted Gair as soon as they came close to the tree line. He must have been watching for them, for once they came within sight, he stepped out of the trees only long enough to catch their attention—a pale dot against the dark wood—then disappeared again to wait.
When they arrived, he met them with a despairing smile. “Lieutenant Ragger, I was wondering where you had gone.”
“To get help, sir. It is good to see you survived. Where is the lady?”
Gair’s expression turned stony. “She has gone where we cannot follow her.”
Ragger bowed his head. “I am sorry, Captain.”
Gair did not respond immediately. Instead, he turned toward Lucio and Teehma. “I did not think to see you two again so soon.”
Teehma had the presence of mind to curtsy. “We want to thank you again for your help, Captain. Your food kept us alive.”
“You came all this way to thank me?”
“No, sir. We came with Sirin.”
A few more introductions were made, then Gair suggested they move deeper into the trees, closer to the mountains. “The Easterners,” he said, “will not be kind to children.” No one felt any need to disagree with him. He looked so haunted that even Lucio was content to give him some berth.
“What’s the matter with him?” Lucio asked as he and Teehma trailed behind. “He looks as if he’s seen a ghost.”
Teehma rolled her eyes. “We’ve all seen ghosts now, if that’s what you want to call them. He must’ve seen something much worse.”
Lucio snorted. “What can be worse than a Chasmite?”
Teehma just looked at him. It was not a conversation she wanted to pursue further.
But Lucio was undeterred. “Have you noticed how he limps? Wonder what caused that? Just look at his scars!”
“You seem pretty enamored with him. Why don’t you go ask him yourself?”
Lucio’s response was to hit her arm. It was a playful tap, with no trace of anger. The transformation that Sirin had wrought the day before was still in effect. Much of Lucio’s hardness had evaporated.
Gair did not prove to be very talkative. He was too absorbed with his own thoughts, allowing Sirin and Ragger to lead the way to a safe camp. The children, to their delight, took turns riding the voyoté. Only toward lunch time did they find a location all the adults felt comfortable with. It was a sort of dug-out, caused by the recent rains. The soil had eroded from a steep hill, leaving a sheltered, fairly dry location where they could see anybody coming for at least thirty yards. While Ragger went out hunting, the children helped Sirin gather wood for the fire. Yet Gair still seemed lost in his thoughts. One of his legs seemed to be hurting him—he flexed it compulsively—but other than that, he did not move. He just sat on the ground, staring into the trees.
Lucio and Teehma were too intimidated to disturb him, but after a few hours of Gair’s grim meditation, Sirin decided enough was enough. Leaving the children to tend the fire, he loped over to where Gair sat silent and cross-legged.
“I say, young man, you’re rather sober this evening.”
Gair did not move.
“I said,” Sirin persisted, “you look like you’ve been through the mill, as it were. What troubles you?”
After a few seconds, Gair turned his head to look at the munkke-trophe as if he’d never seen one before. “What do you want?”
Sirin stamped his cane down on the ground. “I want you to come out of your shell. You’re scaring the children.”
Gair shook his head, his long, dirty hair falling down around his face. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude. I just—” He stopped, giving Sirin an evaluating look. “I have failed to take care of the one thing I was supposed to protect.”
The munkke-trophe’s eyes narrowed. “There are many assumptions behind that statement, young man. But we’ll let it go. Was it a woman?”
“Of a sort.”
“Of a sort! What sort of response is that? Well, I suppose I’d grieve for her—have a mourning party or two—then move on.”
“But she’s not dead. She just made a horrible mistake. So horrible that I can’t even begin to describe it. And she won’t let me help her—she never has let me help her.”
The man’s frustration was so raw that Sirin softened his tone. “It is hard to watch others make poor choices. But Kynell will help her.”
“But it’s Kynell whom she’s rejected.”
Sirin harrumphed. “Usually the first of many bad decisions.”
Gair was shaking his head again. His voice cracked as he voiced the bitter truth that had been cycling around and around in his head. “And now she’s gone. She wouldn’t listen to me and now there’s no way of saving her. I was supposed to protect her.”
“Now, now,” Sirin soothed. “If she is still alive, there’s still hope. Though she has rejected Kynell, the Prysm may not have given up on her. Perhaps she’ll come around.”
Gair gave him a hard look. “You don’t understand. She’s with Zyreio. Right now. In his physical presence.”
Sirin considered. He was not surprised by much, although the woman’s plight was unusual. Still, there was an answer for everything, and he usually knew it. “And how long do you think it will be before she realizes her mistake? When she does, who will be there to offer her a way out? Who will be there to point her to Kynell?”
He watched as his words sunk in. Gair shook his head again, then clinched his fists, rubbed his leg, stood up, sat back down again, then jumped to his feet. “You think I should go after her?”
“I think you’d be a fool not to be there when she needs you. And it sounds like that could be at any time.”
Gair was pacing with renewed energy. “Yes, you’re right. I can do that, at least, though Kynell knows how. But I should leave soon. Immediately. Who knows what she’s been through already?” He stopped and turned to Sirin. “I hate to do this, but I need the voyoté. Can you spare it?”
Sirin agreed. By the time Ragger returned from hunting, Gair was gone, and Sirin was left wondering who the woman was who had tormented him so much. When he asked Ragger, the lieutenant replied that it was Verial.
“Verial? That old witch from the Ages?”
“Yes, sir.”
“But that’s impossible! She’s pure evil! She’s no good! Of all the lame-brained, love-struck young men…” Sirin sputtered. “If I had known who she was, I would never have told him to go after her.”
Ragger nodded respectfully. “But you didn’t know, sir, so you did. Perhaps it was for the best.”
Sirin scowled at the ground. “Hmph. All the same, it seems like such a waste to upset oneself over her.”
“Yes, sir.”
__________
Amarian was the first one to spot Vancien’s return in the dim morning light. He had been standing on the battlements, scanning the horizon for any sign of his brother. Bedge was with him. When Thelámos’s silhouette appeared through the haze, they both gave a
loud whoop and jogged to the place where the Ealatrophe touched down.
“You did it, Vance! The assault is a fraction of what it was. Well done!”
“Whoo-hoo! Sir’s brother is alive!”
Amarian’s face was so flushed with joy that Vancien scarcely recognized him. For a second, he forgot the unpleasant report he had to give and simply enjoyed his praise.
“Thanks, ‘Ian. Thelámos was fantastic. You should have seen him! He toppled those towers like they were toys. I saw Relgaré, and I talked with Kynell.” He waved a hand toward the battle scene. Yet as he looked back in that direction, he remembered what was coming.
“We have to find Chiyo,” he said, interrupting Amarian’s question about Kynell. “Quickly! The Sentries and fennels have broken through the barrier walls.”
Amarian swallowed his comment and nodded. “I figured it was just a matter of time. Chiyo is down at the base of that tower—it’s where he’s set up headquarters. Fly Thelámos down. I’ll meet you there.”
Vancien did as he was told. He soon found Chiyo in conference with Tengar. They were arguing over how to use one of the Risen battalions. Tengar wanted to reassign them to repair the siege engines, Chiyo insisted on keeping them near the gate to which they were already assigned.
“But they’re not doing anything there!” Tengar protested. “At least we could put them to work for a while.”
“General Chiyo!” Vancien called as Thelámos landed. He jumped to the ground as both men came out to greet him.
“Welcome back, Vancien!” Chiyo said, shaking him by the hand. “It’s good to see you alive and whole. Well done!”
“Generals,” Vancien nodded toward Tengar. “I have bad news. The Sentries and fennels have broken through the outer wall. It won’t be long before they either tear it down completely or come to the base of the city wall itself.”
Chiyo turned toward Tengar. “The battalion stays at the gate. Lady Jana and Captain Hunoi are commanding them; they’ll know what to do. Go tell the engine teams to change their trajectory and be on the lookout. Fennels are smart climbers, but the casing tar should hold them for a while.”
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