by C. Greenwood
A slow creaking noise alerted me to someone slipping into the chamber. He must have followed me out of the great hall.
I no longer needed to access my powers through my dragon scale to sense the identity of the person hovering just inside the room. Ever since my magic had returned during the dual with the Skeltai shaman, the dragon scale had become an unnecessary piece of jewelry.
“Come in, Jarrod,” I invited, without turning. “There’s no need to lurk in the shadows.”
The boy approached carefully, as if reluctant to disturb me.
“You want something?” I asked.
He said, “Only to know why you’re so troubled when the war is over and all has come to a happy end.”
“A happy end,” I repeated. Somehow the words did not ring true.
“Is it that you’re worrying about your friend?” he asked. “The Fist captain you’ve been looking for?”
I admitted that was part of it.
The boy hesitated. “I’m not supposed to mention this yet, but I don’t think he meant for you to think him dead.”
I spun around. “What do you mean? Who didn’t mean me to think it?”
Jarrod fidgeted. “It’s only been three days since he left. When he paid me to deliver his message, he said I was to wait until he had been gone five.”
I gave him a stern look. It seemed to melt the last of his resolve.
“It was like this,” the boy hastened. “The captain thought you would try to dissuade him if you knew what he planned, so he didn’t want you to learn of it until he was already long gone. He’s given up his command and left Selbius for good. Says his arm has left him useless as a soldier, and with the end of his career and the death of his master, there’s nothing to hold him here. He wanted me to tell you he’s left to follow his destiny.”
As relieved as I was to learn Terrac was alive and well, I had trouble accepting the rest of the message. I knew he felt responsible for the sacrifice of the young Fist who had died defending him when their patrol was ambushed. But I hadn’t imagined he would resign his command over it.
“What did he mean about following his destiny?” I asked. “Where’s he going?”
Jarrod shrugged skinny shoulders. “He didn’t say.”
I paced the floor, frustration rising at this fresh abandonment. Had Terrac been here, he might have advised me on whether to accept the praetorship. But he had chosen to leave because there was, in his words, “nothing to hold him here.”
The echoing audience chamber wasn’t big enough to contain my emotions. I needed to get away. Stalking out into the corridor and then through the great doors, I escaped outside. There, underneath the open sky and evening stars, I breathed easier.
My feet took me, almost of their own volition, to the district that used to be named the Beautiful. It could no longer be called that after the battle that had taken place here. I avoided the area where the fighting had been thickest. Avoided also the nearby temple, where I knew Hadrian was making a swift and full recovery.
Instead, I sought the pure solitude of the water cemetery, with its walls of hedges and its crisscrossing walkways skimming the surface of the black waters that covered the dead. Yesterday, the Praetor had been laid to rest here. The rites were simple, lacking the usual ceremony to be expected at the funeral of a powerful man. But with the loss of so many in the recent battle, folk had little grief left to spend on a ruler who had not, after all, been known for any great benevolence.
I walked out over one of the walkways spanning the water. When I gazed into the depths, the reflection of a thousand stars obscured my view of the underwater monuments. I was reminded of a night many years ago, when I had stood in this same spot and risked everything for Terrac. Something I seemed fated to do on a regular basis.
Shoving the nagging thought aside, I looked for Praetor Tarius’s tomb. I located the spire of the newly raised monument, which broke the surface of the water to tower above every other marker.
Would my grave one day lie alongside his, as a praetor of the province?
As quickly as the thought flitted through my mind, I was seized by a premonition, as vivid as my waking vision on the day of the battle. And with it, I suddenly knew the answers to all my dilemmas, knew the purpose of so many seemingly futile events. Every path I followed had been leading me inevitably to this one destination. The end was finally clear to me.
____________________
“I need an excellent forger,” I announced, shaking Fleet awake and yanking his blankets off him.
“Wha—?” mumbled the drowsy street thief, squinting up at me in the greenish half light that filtered into his tent from the glimmer-stones outside.
The hour had grown late while I was at the water cemetery and most of the inhabitants of the under-levels were asleep. My friend being no exception.
I lit a lantern from a glowing brazier, flooding the tent with its golden glare. “C’mon, get up,” I urged. “There’s a letter I urgently need duplicated with a single, subtle change. I’m sure you know people who can do this for me.”
Rubbing his eyes, Fleet yawned. “And it couldn’t have waited until morning? Of course not. With you, it never can.”
Despite his grumbling, he must have caught onto my impatient mood, because he crawled out of his pallet.
“Where is this letter? Do you have it with you?” he asked.
Having already fetched the Praetor’s letter from my room, I produced it now.
Fleet gave a low whistle when I laid the scroll open before him. “Imitating the Praetor’s signature will require rare skill. So many folk are familiar with the real thing the copy will have to be identical to pass.”
“Are you saying it can’t be done?”
“Oh, I’ll find someone to do it. But it’s going to take the whole night.”
“This may help a little,” I said, giving him the Praetor’s signet ring.
____________________
I had two stops to make before leaving town early the next morning with the forged letter. I visited the temple to make hasty arrangements with Hadrian, who was now recovered and on his feet again. Then I stopped briefly at the keep to say a quick farewell to Jarrod.
I also obtained a horse from the castle stables. I had a good distance to cover and limited time to do it in.
____________________
Whitestone was well named. I could see the gleam of its ivory-colored walls in the distance long before I got close enough to make out the details of the abbey. The stone structure sat atop a low hill, overlooking the surrounding meadowland and the dusty lane I traveled. My indirect route wound around the hill, leading lazily up the incline before ending at the entrance of the abbey.
There was no gate letting into the courtyard. It seemed the way was open to any stranger who wished to intrude uninvited and unannounced. So that was exactly what I did, nudging my mount through the entrance and into the outer yard.
The only soul in sight was an elderly priest in traditional robes, drawing water from a nearby well. Interrupting the Honored One at his work, I inquired where I could find Terrac.
Apparently, a brooding ex-soldier with a crippled arm was not difficult to identify. The balding priest gave brief directions and sent me on my way with few questions. He appeared to feel no curiosity about what a strange young woman wearing city clothing but armed like a forest thief was doing in such an unlikely setting.
After leaving my horse tied to a post in the courtyard, I bypassed the main structure with its many smaller outbuildings and cut around to a large, walled garden out back. There I saw a dark-haired young man in a simple tunic and dusty breeches toiling under the late afternoon sun. It had been so long since I’d seen Terrac wearing something other than the Praetor’s colors or the armor of a Fist that I almost didn’t recognize him.
Still, he looked natural in these surroundings, his sleeves rolled up to the elbows, a frown of concentration on his face as he cultivated the garden rows. Dirt and
sweat streaked his clothing and skin, but I sensed he didn’t mind the work. That he enjoyed it even.
Approaching, I said, “If I didn’t know better, I’d think I was looking at a gardener and not a soldier of the Praetor’s army.”
Terrac’s back and shoulders stiffened visibly, but otherwise he betrayed no surprise at my presence.
“You forget,” he said, not looking up from his work. “I was a farm boy before I was a Fist.”
“And an outlaw during the time in between,” I offered.
He grimaced. “A prisoner of outlaws only, as I remember it.”
I said, “And now you will finish up as an Honored One, shut away in a secluded abbey for the remainder of your days. Some might call that a step backward.”
His jaw flexed in the way it did when he was annoyed. But he wouldn’t be tempted into an argument. “I’ve taken no vows yet, and I don’t know that I will,” he said. “But I’ve found peace here, whether or not I wear a gray robe. The violence and failings of my past are behind me.”
“And that’s why you ran away from Selbius? Because you didn’t have the stomach for soldiering anymore?”
His face darkened. “I gave up my command because I’m no longer physically fit for my duties and men were dying because of it. This bad arm of mine has strength enough to wield a spade but not much else.”
“And you thought I would blame you for that? That I would try and stop you from stepping down?”
“Isn’t that why you’re here?” he asked.
I shook my head. “I didn’t come to offer your old life back. I’m here to suggest a new one. A fresh start if you want it.”
He relaxed slightly, putting down his tools and standing up to straighten his back. “I appreciate that you care enough to help, Ilan. But Whitestone was the path I set out on as a boy and it’s where I should have ended up if not for the interference of outlaws. I see now that my destiny was always here.”
I didn’t contradict him. “It’s a peaceful spot,” I admitted, kneeling before the patch of earth he worked. I took up a handful of fresh-turned soil and sifted it through my fingers. A person could find comfort in working so closely with nature. In following the endless cycle of tilling, planting, and harvesting needed to feed the abbey year-round.
A hawk circled in the sapphire sky overhead, and a gentle cooling breeze kissed my skin and stirred the branches of the nearest trees. In the background towered the white stone edifice with its sturdy surrounding walls.
I told Terrac. “Take a rest from your work and come and sit with me in the shade awhile.”
He agreed, and we settled on the dirt beneath the spreading branches of an elder tree.
We talked casually for a time. I caught him up on how events had progressed in Selbius since he left. On the magickers’ return to Swiftsfell and the outlaws’ departure for the forest. On the promises of amended laws and pardons that had been made to both. On the rebuilding efforts going on throughout the city. I told him the Skeltai showed every sign of permanently honoring the peace. I confessed I missed my old bow, but I suspected it had finally wound up where it belonged—and possibly even where it had wished to be all along.
Then I told him of the arrangements I made with Hadrian just before leaving the city. Now the priest was back on his feet, I knew he couldn’t bear to remain in one place for long. Any day now, he would be off on his next journey. So I asked that, when he went, he take Jarrod with him.
It would be good for the boy to see something of the world. Anyway, I was coming to realize I was not the best mentor for a youngster. Hadrian, on the other hand, would have much to teach him. I felt this was a choice Brig would approve were he here.
“Does the boy know of these plans?” Terrac asked.
“He does. He and I have already made our farewells, in case they set out before my return.”
I didn’t mention the parting gift I had given Jarrod. My dragon scale amulet. With my magical abilities fully restored, I no longer had need of the object. Besides, I didn’t like the way it mixed with my magic. Maybe with it gone, I would stop having the increased visions that had plagued me so strangely ever since my grandmother gave it to me. Yes, best that it now serve only as a good luck charm for Brig’s boy.
Terrac pulled me back from my musings. “I heard you were with the Praetor when he died.”
“That’s true,” I admitted cautiously, wondering at the abrupt change of topic. “There were few of us present, because it was all so sudden. I don’t think anyone expected him to die as soon as he did.”
“He was taken ill right after my patrol was ambushed,” Terrac remembered. “Did he ask about me? Whether I survived?”
“I don’t think he was very aware of the situation at the end,” I said vaguely.
Terrac looked unsurprised but faintly disappointed.
So I lied a little. “He did speak well of you before he died.”
“Yet it was you he called for, not me.”
I shrugged. “He only sent for me because he had a last order, a message he didn’t trust to the usual channels. When I leave you, I’ll carry it to Dimmingwood, and from there, it will go on to the king in Lythnia.”
He looked surprised. “What secret merits such careful handling?”
I reached into my leather jerkin and pulled out the sealed forgery one of Fleet’s contacts had provided. This was the tricky part, where I had to wrap the lie up in enough to truth to make it believable.
I said, “This is a letter from the Praetor, recommending to the king a successor to the praetorship. We cannot risk it falling into the wrong hands. Counselors Branek and Delecarte have proved themselves better men than I originally suspected. But I’m not confident enough in either of them to wave temptation under their noses. It’s safest if they know nothing of the Praetor’s chosen heir until the letter is in the king’s hands and it’s too late for them to do anything about it.”
Before he could respond, a bell in the top of the abbey tower began a mournful toll.
“That’s a call to second meditation,” Terrac said. “I have to go and join the others.”
I silently cursed the poor timing. “Can’t you stay another moment?”
Rising, he dusted off his clothes. “No, and I don’t think you should either. In fact, it would probably be best if you don’t visit again.”
“What? Why not?”
He said, “Listen. It’s good that you came. I like knowing you care enough to check up on me. But I need to sever ties with the past. Seeing you again only makes that harder.”
“Rot you, Terrac. It’s you who’s supposed to get the praetorship,” I blurted. “That’s what I came here to tell you. Before Tarius sealed the letter, he showed me the name he wrote down, and it was yours.”
Terrac stared in disbelief. “That’s impossible. I’m not his kin, and by the end of his life he knew it. He’d never choose me.”
I had never been especially good at hiding things from Terrac, but this falsehood was more important than any I had ever told. “He would and he did,” I said.
Maybe my steady gaze convinced him, because his expression went from doubtful to confused. “But why? I’m not qualified for this. He never hinted he had any such plans in mind. I can’t possibly accept.”
“I can’t think of anyone better for the position,” I argued, meaning it. This was the conclusion I had come to the other night, out in the water cemetery. There was too much of Praetor Tarius in me to ever make a suitable ruler for the province. I didn’t have the compassion or the ideals needed. But there was one who possessed none of my flaws. And if my premonition was to be believed, he would be the most just ruler the province had ever known.
Because Terrac looked unconvinced, I added, “If anyone were to ask who was the single most reliable man I know, I’d say it was you. If they asked who could always—well, almost always—be depended on to do the right thing, again, it’d be you.”
Terrac raised his eyebrows. “I never
thought to hear you singing my praises. You always talk to me like I’m an ignorant lout.”
“I didn’t say you always make the smart choices, just the fair ones. As best you can.”
If he minded my hasty amendment, he didn’t show it. He was nodding, as if coming to a realization. “So all this is really your doing, isn’t it?”
I started, fearing he guessed the truth. “Of course not. What could I have to do with Tarius’s decision?”
“You persuaded him to name me his successor.”
Relaxing, I said vaguely, “I might have put in a good word for you. But that’s all.”
Putting this falsehood between us didn’t bother me. In this instance, it was for the best. Maybe someday I would tell him the truth, when he was ready to hear it.
Terrac looked around at the pleasant garden and at the white abbey tower, where the bell had finally fallen silent. “I suppose this means Whitestone is not my future after all.”
“Does that mean you’ll accept the praetorship if the king offers it?”
He smiled. “If you’re this insistent on it, I don’t think I’d better refuse.”
I hadn’t seen that carefree smile in far too long.
Struck by a sudden thought, I said, “You were wrong the other day when you told Jarrod there was nothing left for you in Selbius. You were forgetting me.”
His smile was replaced by a searching look. “I thought you made it clear some time ago you and I were done.”
“So I did,” I admitted. “But even I can make a mistake.”
I waited a breathless moment to see if he would take the opening I had offered.
But he hesitated too long, and an awkward silence stretched between us.
“All right. Fair enough,” I said. I tucked the Praetor’s letter back inside my jerkin and added briskly, “I’d best be going. I’ve a journey to Dimmingwood ahead and a letter to hand off. Goodbye Terrac.”
