She wasn’t certain which sensation stole her breath more completely, but just this once, she didn’t feel compelled to sort it out.
It lasted all of five seconds, maybe ten, and then reality came smashing back against hers, hard as the rushing wind.
Kate.
Her belly clenched with the knowledge that they were sailing high over Dyn Brailing, so high the air was near to ice itself, to avoid the threat of arrow shots or detection by soldiers who might be fighting battles beneath them. They were heading out from Triune, into the woods between the stronghold and the formidable walls of Can Rune. Dyn Brailing first—and if they didn’t find Kate as the search progressed, they would move farther north, to Dyn Altar.
If she’s in the lair of the enemy, we have to extract her with haste, Stormbreaker had said as they marked the maps. It was the first time he had stated so bold a position in the conflict between Eyrie’s dynast rulers. Guilds were supposed to remain neutral in all political dealings, always a balance, a control set against the political powers that rose and fell in Eyrie. Nevertheless, Dari knew Lord Brailing’s actions had forever destroyed loyalties and darkened the name of his family line, perhaps forever, even in the eyes of Eyrie’s professional killers.
The enemy. Yes, that’s how Dari saw the rulers of Dyn Brailing and Dyn Altar, and she rued the thought of Kate being captured or harmed by the lords or forces of either dynast.
But what if Kate had journeyed east, into Dyn Vagrat, or all the heavens forbid, farther north, past Dyn Cobb into Dyn Mab? Those flights would take much longer. Several days of journeying, even with Blath’s powerful flying.
Stormbreaker tensed behind her as if the man could read her thoughts, or maybe her growing anxiety.
I’ve got to find you, Kate. Dari pulled hard against Blath’s thick, rough mane as Blath began her first descent of the evening. Please, let it be this night.
CHAPTE RTWENTY-SEVEN
ARON
Aron lay wide-awake in his bed, feeling alternately chilled near to death and warm from the fire in the hearth and the blankets he had pulled up to cover himself.
In his own bed, Zed was chattering away, though Aron rarely answered. “Wait until you see a Judgment Day. It’ll be a few cycles before you’re allowed to witness combat, but there’s a fair lot of work to do just to get ready for the reading of charges and sentencing. You’ll be able to help with that right away; then later you’ll manage weapons during the combats.”
Aron remained silent, trying to imagine what would happen at the Stone Guild each cycle, on the day following full moons. There would be wagons of the Judged arriving from local jails, already found guilty and sentenced in their towns or cities. Spectators were permitted, representatives from the dynasts, and families and friends of victims of violence, to see justice served and find peace from the fair dealings.
How many would it be?
And would the war change anything with respect to the sentences meted out by the Stone Guild?
“Master Windblown should have his chain by now.” Zed shifted in his bed, making the wooden slats creak. “They don’t mark Seventh High Masters, not until they move up, except by a thick silver chain and medallion. That’s the only position a regular Stone Brother or Sister can be elevated to, you know. Usually when High Masters die, their oldest apprentice takes over, unless the Lord Provost thinks the apprentice isn’t up to the task.”
“Oldest apprentice?” Aron moved in his own bed until he could see Zed. “I thought Stone Brothers and Sisters chose only one apprentice.”
“They only select one, yes, but if a guild member dies, whoever takes their position usually takes on the orphaned apprentice, if no one else speaks for them.” Zed kept his eyes on the ceiling. “It happens a lot. Life at Stone isn’t easy. Most apprentices dread the night of their trial in the Ruined Keep, but they come out ready for independent duties in the guild. If they survive, of course.”
Aron didn’t want to think about “trials” or the Ruined Keep, whatever that was. He mentally counted the boys and girls in the crowd that had gathered in the hall earlier, to witness his humiliation outside Dari’s door. He was fairly certain he had seen nine in all, and he and Zed would make eleven. That meant four of the apprentices had been “orphaned” in the past, assuming there weren’t more he didn’t see.
He swallowed, feeling a strange lump in his throat. “Do High Masters die often, Zed?”
“No more often than any other guild member.” Zed yawned, then picked back up as if he had never paused. “Sick people come here for Mercy, and sometimes guild members become ill from transferred infections. We lost one High Master to illness about three years ago—that’s when Stormbreaker took his position. Then there’s the poisons and weapons—mistakes claim a lot of apprentices and even full Brothers and Sisters. There’s Judgment Day combat and pursuit, and now the war and battles, too. Who knows how many Brothers and Sisters might not even make it back from Harvest?”
Aron’s mind moved quickly to Dari and Stormbreaker, flying with Blath over the darkened countryside, searching for Dari’s sister.
What if some stray arrow knocked Stormbreaker from the sky?
Then Aron would wake in the morning to learn he served some new master or mistress, who might be kind or cruel or anything in between. Aron shivered beneath his blankets. He had barely grown accustomed to the idea of answering to Stormbreaker. The thought of plunging back to uncertainty and total aloneness gave him a bitter taste in his mouth. Whatever his issues with Stormbreaker, Aron wanted the High Master to return safely.
That he wanted Dari to return unscathed went without saying.
He had been angry with them for leaving him behind, yes, and angry with them for reasons he couldn’t put into words—but he didn’t wish them harm. His mind knew that, but when he searched inside his heart for some emotion, some feeling of worry, he felt little beyond a blaze of pain for his lost family. The rest was only a queer numbness, as if part of his spirit had been torn away from and discarded, or maybe walled away forever.
Aron squeezed his eyes shut and tried to ignore Zed, who was now prattling about the other apprentices. “Master Windblown will have Galvin Herder as an older apprentice now. We’ll have to watch out for him. He came up hard—one of the incorrigibles who chose to take vows. I think he’s ill with Lord Baldric for not promoting him to Seventh High Master, even though he hasn’t finished his training.”
When Aron didn’t respond, Zed continued with, “The Third High Master, Tiamat, Stormbreaker’s sister—if she doesn’t come back, she has a female apprentice who is through with training and ready to step into her position. The Second High Master, he’s got two apprentices, and the Fifth High Master and the Sixth, too, and those boys and the one girl are nice enough. The Fourth High Master has only one apprentice, but he’s friends with Galvin, so likely no friend to us.”
Trying to keep track of so many new people was too much for Aron, rather like the vastness of the stronghold’s grounds and this new “family” of his, though he couldn’t yet see any of them in that light. “How many apprentices are there in Triune altogether, do you think?
“Hundreds.” Zed yawned again, twice this time, and Aron couldn’t help yawning with him, even though his eyes remained wide-open. “And that’s not counting sheltered children, who can train with us if they choose, or the incorrigibles and child-criminals, who have to train with us until they come of age. Some of them will end up taking vows, but I don’t know many who are older or younger than me.”
Aron turned more fully to Zed, suddenly curious about something else. “Where did you live before Windblown was elevated?”
“For the first few cycles, I stayed in the initiate quarters with Master Windblown and all the other Harvest prizes and their masters. Once Master Windblown was certain I wouldn’t bolt or hurt myself or make a fool of him, we moved to a tower like all regular apprentices and masters.” The always-pleasant expression on Zed’s tanned face falte
red for a moment. “We were in the eighth tower, near the quarters for the sheltered. I’ll miss some of them, the men in the eighth tower. There weren’t any women. All the Stone Sisters who aren’t High Masters or apprentices to High Masters live next to the Den, in the Sisters’ Tower.”
The sadness in Zed’s expression made Aron frown, even if it didn’t erase the numbness in his chest. “But you’ll see the people from the eighth tower every day in training, right?”
“No.” Zed let out a slow breath. “Well, maybe from a distance, or in passing. But we’re apprentices to the High Masters now. We’ll train separately.”
Aron’s thoughts niggled at him, and he realized Stormbreaker had told him something like that, that he would mix only with the other apprentices who lived in the Den. “Why?”
This time when Zed spoke, he sounded more tired and still a bit sad. “I suppose because we have to learn to get along with one another and work together. But also it’s like any army, I guess. It’s hard to give orders to people who share your table and toilet, so officers usually stay apart from other soldiers.”
This made some sense to Aron, and he thought he might have heard something similar from his father, when his father talked about his Guard service. Still, it made him uneasy that he would be kept away from so many and given different treatment. He might end up with a great many enemies, other boys resenting him when he didn’t have any say about what living quarters he received or what training schedule he had to follow.
“Don’t think they’ll take it soft on us,” Zed said as he rolled away from Aron and pulled up his blanket. “All the training masters are worse on apprentices from the Den. We don’t even get two days off in the week. Only one. And really just part of that one, if you count Den cleaning chores.”
Aron didn’t think he wanted to hear any more. Not tonight, at least. It all seemed so much larger than him, and he had no idea how he would face any of it. Were it not for his resolve to avenge his murdered family, he might have planned an escape, tried to run from Triune and see how far he could get. But as it was, he wanted to check to see if Dari and Stormbreaker had returned. If they hadn’t, he wanted to look from Dari’s window to see if he might catch a glimpse of the Shrine of the Mother.
He closed his eyes and made his breathing even and regular, as if he had drifted off to sleep. Soon enough, Zed’s breathing matched his own, and when Aron peeked at the other boy, he saw that Zed’s cover rose and fell in a predictable rhythm. Zed turned to his back again, and his face had relaxed, returning to a semblance of a smile.
Relief at the silence spread through Aron. He settled deeper into his own bed, and once more let his own eyes close.
The image of his mother’s face danced through his mind.
Pain stabbed at his chest and throat, and Aron jerked his eyes open again. He blinked in the low light of the fire, using most of his strength and focus not to cry out, or burst into sobs. His teeth clamped together as his mind fled back to his earlier realizations about his father’s plans to rescue him, and about how his family died. His fists doubled, yanking at the soft covers of his bed.
Where is the Brailing Guard now?
The voice in his mind sounded much like his own, yet also different, in ways he couldn’t describe. He slowed his breathing, tried to find his center, find some focus, at least enough to slip through the Veil. He could just check for the Guard. Search the nearby countryside, no farther than the fringes of Triune and Dyn Brailing.
No. If I see them, I’ll kill them all.
He was panting now. The fire seemed far too hot.
And if I kill them all, Stormbreaker and Lord Baldric will kill me.
“Maybe death would be better,” he whispered, directing his words at the high stone ceiling.
Where would the Brailing Guard be now? With the ranks mixed with soldiers from Dyn Altar, could he even tell them apart if he found a group of them on the other side of the Veil?
Stop this.
But he didn’t think he could stop it. His mind felt like a bull talon out of control, lowering its head and charging in whatever direction it pleased. Light blazed through his consciousness, not real, yet incredibly real, and this time his thoughts spoke to him in a voice that sounded like his mother, or maybe his dead sisters, grown to the womanhood they would never know.
Find the Guard. Find your own power. Show everyone what you can do. Aron pressed his fists into his ears to block the sound, but still it came, this time in Seth’s voice, and his father’s. Who could blame you? Who could stand against you?
He wanted to do it. No matter his promises to Stormbreaker and Dari, no matter Lord Baldric’s warning, Aron wanted to find those guardsmen and watch them all plunge to their deaths from the side of some cliff, or tear one another apart, or run mad into the woods, screaming until rock cats hunted each one for prey. He wanted it so much that he could almost see the Veil. He hungered for the enhanced perception he’d know on the other side, reached for it, almost moved through to that un-time, that un-place—
No! Leave me alone!
Sounds fractured.
Light splintered.
The totality of his bedchamber seemed to slam into his eyes, and his ears roared against the sudden silence.
Aron threw back his blankets and leaped from the bed.
The sudden shock of hard stone against his bare feet brought him a few paces back toward reality and the force of his beliefs and promises. His hands shook. His legs shook. He could hear himself gasping like an old man who had run too far, too fast. But he was still in his new room at Triune, all of him, body and consciousness as well. Flickers of light and whispers seemed to hover at the edges of his awareness, as if to draw him straight back into temptation.
Zed’s expression remained placid as Aron gathered himself and shoved away the fringes of the Veil, then pulled on his tunic and breeches. Still barefoot, he padded across the fire-warmed stone floor to the doorway, eased back the handle, and let the heavy wood swing open just enough to allow him to slip into the hallway.
Chilly air brushed against his hands and face as he settled the door behind him—and found himself standing shoulder to shoulder with the big, muscled Sabor Zed believed to be Aron’s new—what? Guard? Chaperone?
Aron stood very still, staring straight ahead into the stone hallway, which was lit by clusters of candles in sconces. He took a deep breath of dusty rock and tallow, and caught a whiff of some spice, exotic, not at all unpleasant, but different. He thought it might be clove, maybe with a touch of cinnamon.
He glanced at Iko, who kept his arms at his sides and his dark gaze on the hallway.
In the low candlelight, the boy’s skin seemed an even darker, richer blue than it had before, and the furry golden blaze across his face, traveling down his neck into his brown tunic, seemed to catch the dancing golds and yellows of each little flame.
“Dari and Stormbreaker have not returned,” Iko said in a low voice. “Nor has my mother.”
Surprised, Aron spoke before he thought better of it. “Will you know when they do come back?”
Iko’s response was immediate. “Yes.”
Aron considered this and didn’t find it strange. Perhaps the Sabor had mental connections with family members, if Fury races really had the powerful graal Dari claimed they did. Fine. Fortunate, in fact. “And if there’s trouble?”
“I will know,” Iko said without ever changing positions. “Are you well? A moment ago, I sensed… energy. I was close to entering the bedchamber when it ceased.”
“I’m fine. A bad dream.” Aron tried to sound confident, even though he was fairly certain he had almost lost his sanity a few short minutes ago.
Iko didn’t challenge him, and for a time, Aron continued to stand in front of the closed door, battling between anger at the interruption of his plans and curiosity about Iko’s presence. He didn’t think he was afraid of the boy, but then, he could feel so little at the moment, it was hard to tell.
&nbs
p; “Do you know of any rules to prevent me from walking about at night?” he asked, more to test his own nerves than to receive an answer.
“I do not,” Iko said with no hint of irritation. “But I have been here even less time than you.”
Aron waited, but the boy didn’t add anything more helpful to his response. When it became clear that Iko would be content to stand as they were, perhaps until morning, Aron tried again. “If I go walking about, do you plan to raise any alarms?”
Iko’s jaw clenched, then relaxed. “It is not for me to judge your actions. Do as you wish.”
“And you’ll follow.” Aron watched Iko’s expression, though he wasn’t sure why, since it never seemed to change.
Except for his jaw. It was clenching again. “Yes. If you go walking, I will follow you.”
Zed’s earlier words drifted through Aron’s mind, about fate and the will of the gods, and people … and Sabor … who might feel like they have a duty to those fate has chosen. He still thought that was ridiculous, at least the aspect of Zed’s belief that made Aron one of those people—yet here he was, in the High Masters’ Den of the Stone Guild at Triune, in the middle of the night, trying to have a conversation with a Sabor who seemed to be standing guard outside his bedchamber.
Aron forced himself to select a better question this time, and decided upon, “Why are you here, Iko?”
Iko seemed to consider his inquiry seriously, but when he spoke again, he said only, “I am here because I should be here.”
This time, it was Aron who clenched his jaw, and his fists, too, but he made himself calm down and proceed further. “Do you really believe I’m important to Eyrie somehow, that my actions could shift the winds in one direction or the other?”
Iko finally moved enough to look at Aron, and he lifted an eyebrow at him.
That was the extent of his response. He didn’t answer more directly.
Resisting an urge to pull the boy’s long black hair, Aron grumbled, “So are you going to swear to protect me or something?”
Iko kept up his steady regard, and once more, he seemed to consider Aron’s question seriously and carefully. “I have sworn to do so already, but the oath was not to you.”
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