Shoreseeker

by Brandon M. Lindsay

  Yarid was shocked to realize that it was a prison. He had never thought of it that way. Yet the fact that he could change his mind so suddenly set all the alarms in his head clanging. New truths, obvious in retrospect, can sometimes be very appealing. Yarid knew when he was being manipulated.

  But to what end? He hoped his comrades were as wise to it as he was.

  The sheggam continued. “Your Governor and fellow Councilor is correct. War is a way of life for you. One that you yourselves may not have chosen, but it is one that you have also left unchallenged. How many border disputes have you officiated today? Three, four? And the southern land, Naruvieth. They are open in their hatred for the unification of all peoples. They seek to weaken and divide you, using your integrity and sense of justice against you.

  “That is how the enemy works. They take what is best about you and turn it against you. You trust in your fellow man, believe him to be righteous and good unless he proves himself otherwise. Yet it is this very trust that has betrayed you. You believe that mankind is all but extinct, that you are the only ones that are left? That is a lie. Humans are more numerous north of Andrin’s Wall than here in the Accord. And there, in the land of Sheggamur, they have found peace. There is no conflict and no war. They live in coexistence with my people and with each other.”

  “Let’s assume,” said Frandera, “that we believed you. We could either be correct in doing so, and gain a friendly relation with you. Or we could be wrong, and you destroy us. You see, the risks greatly outweigh any potential gain.”

  “I assure you,” said the monster, “that there is no risk. We aren't asking you to tear down the Wall. We don’t even begin to know how.”

  “So? What do you want then?”

  “We haven’t earned your trust. We understand that.” Again, it spread its arms wide, though it was about as comforting as a bear on its hind legs. “All we would like is the opportunity to earn it. We had hoped that some measure of trust had already been made with all that we have shared.”

  “Shared?” asked Sherin Firnaleos. “Governor, what have you not told us?”

  The sheggam turned to Shad briefly, who suddenly looked somewhat modest. As much as someone dressed like that could. “I confess,” she said, “that I have not been entirely honest. I assure you, however, that no lies have been told. I said that Twelve Towers would provide the techniques necessary to build the Runeway. What I did not mention, was that they did not originate there.” She took a step back as a storm of protest erupted through the Hall, bowing her head humbly to weather it.

  Even Pembo Sint was aghast. “You mean one of the greatest monuments mankind has ever built is a sheggam invention?”

  “I, for one,” said Sherin, “am glad that the Runeway’s construction has been halted. And if hadn’t been, I would have made sure of it myself, knowing what I know now.”

  Sint, ever quick on his feet, shot a slimy grin at her. “You and what army?”

  Gorun, in the grandfatherly manner he adopted when it suited him, calmed the Council down. “Patterner Gherao.”

  The man’s bald head popped up. “Yes?”

  “How extensively has the Academy studied the Runeway?”

  Gherao tapped his chin as he pondered the question. “It’s impossible to know everything about it, especially in its unfinished state. But we have good reason to suspect that it is totally benign, and that it will only do what it was intended to do.”

  “So you do not believe that is, in some way, a weapon? Even knowing its source?”

  “Well, ah …” He pulled on his collar. “I admit to some suspicion. But I believe that to be rooted in my own personal prejudice. No one has seen any indication that the Runeway would act differently to how we expect.”

  “You’re sure?” asked Sherin. “What about what the Naruvian said, the danger he mentioned?”

  “No. At least not intentionally. The very same power that prevents the sheggam from crossing Andrin’s Wall prevents their Patterners from seeing beyond it.”

  “Which raises an interesting question.” Councilor Frandera cocked her head as she regarded the sheggam. “How is it you are standing here before us?”

  Utter silence, broken only by the sound of Yarid blinking. It was incredible to him that no one had thought to ask this until now. Though he thought he understood why; when a near-mythical beast, one of a breed that slaughtered nearly all of mankind, steps up to greet you, you don’t think about introductions.

  You run like the Abyss is snapping at your heels.

  That instinct was alive and well in Yarid.

  The sheggam didn’t answer right away. “The Restless Ocean.”

  “Impossible!” someone shouted. “No one has crossed the Restless Ocean since Andrin’s Wall was built!”

  “Not impossible,” Shad Belgrith said. She gestured to her companion. “Obviously. He’s here, isn’t he? Unless somehow the Wall’s power has somehow been defeated. And we would know it if it had.” True, as far as Yarid had heard the Patterners describe it in the past. The Wall had been built to show, in rather dramatic fashion, if its Pattern had been compromised. Its brilliant white color would fade to yellow, and the whole thing would come crumbling down, leaving all of the Accord and Naruvieth naked to the sheggam horde doubtless waiting beyond. No one could mistake it if they tried.

  “What the Councilor says is true,” said the sheggam. “None have crossed the Restless Ocean since Andrin’s Wall, another way in which Andrin sought to trap you on this tiny peninsula. But it was not from a lack of trying. Every five years for the past two hundred, Sheggamur has sent an emissary skilled in Patterning to offer a gift to set right any past misunderstandings. I am the first to survive, it seems.”

  “And not without great personal cost,” said Shad. “When Orthkalu washed up near the docks of Twelve Towers, his craft was broken in half and he was half-drowned. Both of his feet were swollen and needed to be bled. It was weeks before he could walk or eat on his own.”

  “And your first thought was to see a sheggam walking and eating in the halls of Twelve Towers,” said Councilor Jacobs, his tone thick with skepticism.

  “Yes, of course. Twelve Towers is a civilized place. We don’t simply go about slaughtering every stranger we see.”

  No one thought it worth pointing out that most strangers weren’t sheggam.

  Yarid turned to Tirfaun and said softly, “I don’t suppose you can corroborate any of this.”

  Tirfaun shook his head. “No easier than you can.”

  Yarid nodded. He didn’t believe in Shad’s magnanimity any more than he did the sheggam’s. But more important than any of that was the fact that Shad’s soldiers were still at every door. And with the Sentinels up and leaving, the Council of the Wall was completely at her mercy.

  The Sentinels. Though they recognized no such official role, they had always kept some semblance of order in Garoshmir, acting in particular to protect the members of the Council. Everyone, Yarid included, had thought this would never change. All it took was one man from Naruvieth to take them away, making the Council of the Wall vulnerable … right when they needed protection the most.

  The Naruvian.

  Yarid clenched his fist, flexed his knuckles. “All right,” he said. “You can kill Tharadis. So long as you make it discreet.” There was no telling if Tirfaun was right, but it was better to be safe than sorry. The matter of getting revenge on those who threatened Yarid would have to wait. And when it came down to it, he might just do what they wanted him to anyway.

  Tirfaun owl-eyed him. “I wasn’t asking your permission, you buffoon. I was merely giving you the courtesy of a warning.”

  Yarid chuckled softly. “Good old Tirfaun.”

  Tirfaun grumbled at this and, without so much as a simple farewell, snuck out between the two guards.

  That still left the problem of Shad Belgrith. There was no doubt in Yarid’s mind that, if provoked, she would use the force of her troops against the Council of the
Wall to get her wishes. And weren’t they ultimately the same wishes as those of the Council anyway? While he suspected there were enough on the Council who would continue to quash the Runeway’s further construction, now that the “legalists” were on board with those who merely have a selfish interest in seeing it stopped, there might still be a way to finish the Runeway without compromising the Council’s claims to legitimacy.

  Only one question remained.

  Yarid tucked his arms against his chest and rubbed his cheek as he studied the monster down in the Pit.

  Would granting this creature what it wanted be worse than death by Shad’s soldiers?

  Yarid thought. And considered. And smiled. And stood.

  “Ladies and gentlemen of the Council,” he said, projecting his voice, “and our esteemed guests from near and far. We have been hard at work this day trying to resolve the differences that have come between us. But I think that the emissary spoke true; we should continue striving to work together, no matter how impossible it may seem.”

  All eyes were on him. “As it just so happens, I believe there is a solution that will satisfy all of us gathered here.”

  Chapter 50: To Conquer Fear

  Tell me,” Tharadis asked as he walked down the curving hallway outside the Council Chambers, “why you just made enemies with the whole Accord.”

  The man at his side, Rannald Firnaleos, was large, nearly half a head taller than Tharadis. He wore no expression that Tharadis could discern, but there was a certain world-weariness that shaped his features. He walked in silent consideration before answering.

  “We didn’t. We aren’t enemies with the people of the Accord. I don’t even think we are enemies of the Council.” He frowned slightly. “We might at least be instrumental to what saves them. And if we are enemies now, we were always enemies. The mission of the Sentinels hasn’t changed; the Council simply never cared to figure out what our mission is.”

  Pairs of Sentinels flanked the two of them as they walked, and more of them were in front and back. He was completely surrounded by Sentinels. Yet Tharadis got the distinct impression that he wasn’t a captive. They were acting more like his honor guard, their attention focused on the people walking past them rather than on Tharadis.

  “And what is the Sentinels’ mission?”

  “Ah.” A small smile broke on Rannald’s face. “Already you prove yourself to be wiser than them.”

  “I’d hoped you’d have figured that out earlier.”

  Rannald chuckled, shaking his head. “Everything you say only makes me realize I made the right decision. A man without unearned guilt or shame is hard to find.” The smile fell from his face. “We who lead can’t afford humility. It makes us look indecisive before our followers, who depend upon our strength. It makes us look weak before our enemies, who thrive on such weakness.”

  “True,” said Tharadis, “but a false show of weakness can lead your enemies to make a fatal mistake.”

  Rannald nodded. “As we just proved back there, in the duel. They had believed you capable of failure when I had ensured your success.”

  “Yes. But why did you do it?”

  They walked down a short flight of steps and out of the Dome and Spire. The sun shone through a break in the clouds, but it did little to dispel the constant chill in the air. Tharadis was glad to finally be done with all this.

  Home was waiting for him.

  They walked along the edge of the roundabout, where a number of carriages waited, as well as a massive wagon. Tharadis guessed it belonged to Shad Belgrith, though what such a huge wagon could possibly contain, he couldn’t imagine.

  “Our mission,” Rannald said, eyes fixed on the ground a few paces ahead of him, “is to conquer fear. Not to destroy it or ignore it or any other such stupidity. But to truly master it. In the Ritual of Joining, the Sentinel rite of initiation, we face our worst fear. That is it. We merely face it, like looking into a mirror. But how we act from that point on determines the kind of life that we lead. If we choose to lead one at all.”

  Tharadis turned to look at him. “You don’t fear the fear.”

  Rannald briefly met his eyes, that slight smile returning. “If fear is a river, one must learn to swim. One must accept the river for what it is before one can cross it.”

  “If fear is a river, then what am I?”

  “A rope,” Rannald said, “thrown to a drowning man.” He pulled Tharadis to a stop. “Perhaps you don’t even see it in yourself. But the mere existence of a man possessing the slightest shred of honor can be enough to sustain another man. Just knowing that he is alive, that he breathes and is real. That salute. You know the name of it?”

  Salute? But then Tharadis remembered: holding the sword above his head, the same way he had when he faced Owan all those years ago. “My brother called it the Fool’s Salute.”

  “It was Andrin’s own salute. They say he charged into a horde of sheggam holding this salute, screaming with the wrath of a hundred apoth. The sheggam broke ranks and fled, and Andrin and the people he led were able to ride to safety.” Anger flashed across Rannald’s face. “Your brother is no man if he thinks Andrin was ever a fool.”

  “You don’t need to worry about my brother.” He didn’t want to think about Owan anymore. But of course, the harder he tried not to, the more vibrantly Owan’s spilled blood bloomed in his mind’s eye. Tharadis shook his head to clear it of the memory. “Listen, Rannald. I’m not sure what you think I can do for you. I appreciate that you think I’m a good man.” He meant that; Tharadis imagined not many people in the Accord would right now. “But I just don’t see how our interests align.”

  Rannald shrugged. “What is just for one is just for all.”

  Tharadis scrubbed a hand over his jaw in exasperation. I wonder if I sound like that, Tharadis thought, remembering his speech to the Council. “Fair enough, but I meant that on a more practical level.”

  “And I’ve told you our mission. The entirety of it. Our aim is simply to conquer fear. We have no other charge than that, and it is up to the Captain of the Sentinels to determine how best to fulfill our mission.” Rannald tapped his breastplate, as if Tharadis could have possibly forgotten who the Captain was. “For years, we have merely been the de facto protectors of the Council of the Wall, though in truth we were adrift. Waiting for a flag to rally behind, a flag worthy of the effort. We are not a religious order, but even we have our beliefs. We believe that one day someone would come charging into the midst of monsters, a sword held high in defense of what he believed was good and true, ready to face the forces that would destroy him.”

  Tharadis felt the bare skin of his arms prickle. “It almost sounds like a prophecy.”

  Rannald shook his head. “I’ve been told it’s nothing of the sort. Merely a hope, a dream passed down from Sentinel to Sentinel. Much like a person knowing that the Pattern of the World guarantees no soul mate, but still he dreams of finding her.” He smiled somewhat sadly, his gaze briefly abstracted before returning to the here and now. “And while the monsters we face are different these days, the fear remains the same.”

  Tharadis sighed. “Since the way to fulfill the Sentinels’ mission is determined solely by the Captain, I suppose I have no say in the matter.”

  Rannald grinned. “How could you? You aren’t even a Sentinel.”

  “All right.” Tharadis gripped the hilt of Shoreseeker tightly, stared dead into Rannald’s face until all mirth had fled. “Then consider my advice. If I believe you or any of your men are getting in my way, I will remove you by any means necessary.”

  Rannald locked eyes with him and nodded sharply. “I knew that before you said it.”

  “Good.” Tharadis let go of Shoreseeker, relieved. He hoped he was done threatening people for a while.

  “What will you do now?” Rannald asked.

  “Head home. This trip has taken longer than I’d planned. I’m sure my second is pulling his hair out right now. He always tells me he’s not
fit for command.”

  “The Sentinels keep a few horses. You can take one. I can send a detachment with you.” Rannald nodded to the west. “Just outside the city is the caravan heading down to Naruvieth. They were supposed to leave today, but the arrival of Shad’s army put a kink in their plans, so they’ll be heading out tomorrow. It might add a few days to the trip, but the rest of the Sentinels and I will leave with the caravan.”

  Tharadis frowned. “You … plan on coming to Naruvieth? You would just pack up and leave Garoshmir behind?”

  That same faintly sad smile returned to Rannald’s lips. “My wife might take some convincing, but perhaps the Council could use an ambassador in Naruvieth interested in keeping the peace.”

  Tharadis nodded. Truth be told, he would like an ally like Sherin Firnaleos. After a long moment, Tharadis extended his hand. “Then I hope you’re able to convince her.”

  Grinning, Rannald seized his hand and shook it. “As do I.”

  Chapter 51: Minister of Relief

  Minister Aelor, in charge of the Ministry of Disaster Relief, which was arguably the most important branch of the Accord government, waited patiently as the doormen pushed open the dual doors to the Council Hall. Or at least as patiently as could be expected. He was a very busy man, after all. The doormen made a very big show of their task, and Aelor had to forcibly will his fingers not to comb through his beard. Yes, it was impatience that made him want to do that. Not nerves. Definitely not nerves.

  It wasn’t every day that the Council sought his wisdom in affairs of state. In fact, they hadn’t called on him much at all. It was likely a testament to his ability to run his Ministry so well that they gave him full autonomy. It was his job to save the Accord lands from disasters, not mundane things like the Council dealt with on a daily level, like shop licenses and missing chickens. Aelor’s job was essentially the savior of mankind. He was as important as Andrin’s Wall, if not so long lived.