Her gaze faltered, but when she looked at him again, his eyes glistened.
“You’re very kind,” Novan murmured, though she knew he would still carry a burden. One couldn’t just cast off such things in a moment or with simple words.
Before either of them spoke again, footsteps signaled the return of the men. Kyrin looked up and locked eyes with Jace. Concern filled his, but she gave him a brief smile of assurance.
The men gathered at the bottom of the stairs, and Novan invited them to make themselves comfortable. Talas and Glynn struck up a conversation with Novan right away, not allowing for any awkward silence. The other men soon joined in, and the atmosphere became much more comfortable. Enjoyable even. Kyrin did notice that Jace watched her often, likely looking for clues that something was amiss. She smiled at him again. Aside from the intense emotions from before, she found nothing to lead her to believe they weren’t safe here. She trusted what Novan had told her.
Just before it grew dark outside, the door opened and a male crete walked in. The young man was around Talas’s age, though a bit older, and clearly resembled Novan and Falcor. His expression lifted at the sight of the group filling the living room, but his gaze focused on one member in particular.
“Tal, when did you get here?”
Talas grinned. “About an hour ago.” He met the man with a quick hug and slap on the back. “Good to see you. It’s been a while.”
“Darq says you’ve been busy.”
“Oh, yes. Things are really growing in Landale.”
“I’ve been thinking about joining you there.”
Talas’s grin resurfaced. “Well, now’s the perfect opportunity to discuss it.”
He turned back to the group, and Novan motioned the young man into their midst. With a hand on his shoulder, he said, “Everyone, this is my oldest son, Naeth.”
He introduced him to each member of the group. Naeth was very stoic and quiet as Falcor had been, yet Kyrin detected none of Falcor’s disgust in his eyes, and sadness lurked behind his subdued manner. Kyrin understood how difficult it was to have a brother on the opposing side of the fight.
“You’re here to speak to Lord Vallan and the clan leaders?” Naeth asked Balen.
“I am.”
“I hope you can reason with them.” Naeth glanced at his father. “They don’t seem to want to listen to us.”
Before they could discuss it further, Sonah appeared to announce that supper would be ready shortly. Novan and his son set as many extra chairs around the table as they could fit. He then directed the group to take seats. Talas, Glynn, Aaron, and Timothy offered to sit on the benches at the edges of the dining room.
Sonah and Leetra brought out the food a few moments later—a platter of thick meat steaks drizzled in a red sauce, a mountainous bowl of salad, and two pans of cooked vegetables that appeared to be carrots and a pink-tinted potato-like vegetable.
“I hope there’s enough,” she said.
Balen gave her a gracious look. “I apologize for showing up on such short notice.”
“Oh no, don’t. It’s all right.” She broke into her first soft smile. “Leetra was very helpful. I just wish I had more to offer.”
“Trust me, this looks delicious.”
Her smile strengthened.
They had all settled into their spots when Darq arrived and took the open seat saved for him. With everyone present, Novan offered a sincere prayer of thanks that further comforted Kyrin. His close relationship with Elôm was evident in his words and the ease with which he spoke them. Once he concluded, they passed the food around and attention turned to Darq.
“Did you see Lord Vallan?” Novan asked.
“Yes, he will meet with us and send for the clan leaders in the morning.”
Though this was exactly what they wanted, Darq frowned as he spoke.
“Does he not wish to meet with Lord Balen?” Novan questioned.
“He does, but he’s not optimistic that it will change anything.” Darq set his gaze on Balen. “And, regardless of your presence, he will not change his stance without the majority of the clans in support of it. He made that quite clear when I left.”
“How can half the crete people not see Daican as a threat we must all fight together?” Kaden asked.
Kyrin glanced at her twin. She would never have the guts to speak so boldly or directly. He’d clearly spent a lot of time with Talas and the other cretes in Landale, but then, he always had been that way.
Novan appeared amused by it. “As you can see, we have lived very secluded from Arcacia for years. Many of us have never even had contact with anyone outside of the Dorlanders. I’m afraid our isolated lifestyle has led to a deceptive sense of security.”
“But why won’t they listen to anyone like Darq and Glynn who saw in Samara what Daican is capable of?”
“Because we cretes can be very stubborn and set in our ways.” Novan smirked. “You may have noticed.”
Kyrin almost laughed. Kaden knew a thing or two about stubbornness himself.
“Let’s hope we can redirect that stubbornness to stand up to Daican,” Darq said, and everyone agreed.
When Jace finished dressing the next morning, he left the guest room while the others were still getting ready. He had slept surprisingly well last night, considering. At times, he almost forgot how high they were from the ground. Following the winding staircase, he passed the closed door to the room Kyrin shared with Leetra. He had no idea if she was up yet, but he didn’t want to leave her alone like last evening. Though they had all settled in comfortably, staying with Falcor’s family couldn’t help but stir up many emotions. Jace had his own unpleasant memories of Falcor.
Down in the living room, he found only Talas talking with Naeth—clearly old friends. He hesitated to join them, but Talas bid him good morning, and the other crete acknowledged him with a nod. Jace responded, and his attention caught on the animal carvings he had noticed last night. He approached them to have a closer look. Expertly crafted, they reminded him of the pieces Aldor had made. There was quite a variety of animals, including impressive dragon carvings, but most were of wolves. When he came to one that reminded him of Tyra, he glanced at Naeth.
“May I?”
The crete nodded.
Jace picked up the wolf to inspect. “Who makes them?”
“My father and I, when we have time.” Naeth’s voice lowered. “Falcor used to, once in a while.” He rose from his chair and stepped up onto another to reach for a wolf carving high up on a branch near the ceiling. “My grandfather made this one. He was a real master at it.”
He handed it to Jace. It was indeed a fine and impressive piece of art. The details were incredibly precise. He couldn’t imagine how much work had gone into it.
Talas joined them and told Naeth, “Jace is pretty good at carving too.”
Naeth looked at him with interest, but Jace shook his head. “Not this good.” He handed the carving back. “I don’t get around to doing it much.”
“You’ll have to show them the new staff you made for Kyrin,” Talas said. “She brought it with her, didn’t she?”
“Yes.”
“I’d like to see it,” Naeth told him.
“I’ll ask her to bring it down later.”
They talked for a while longer about carving and the pieces in the Tarn’s collection until the rest of the group joined them. A short time later, Sonah served a filling breakfast of eggs and flat cakes with a chunky apple syrup that Kyrin’s brothers practically inhaled.
When their plates were empty, Darq called for everyone’s attention. “I’d better get you all to the citadel. The clan leaders will gather soon, if they haven’t already.”
He and Balen led the way. Novan and his son joined them. At the door, Jace paused to take a deep breath. Time to face the bridges once again. A bright world of greenery met him when he stepped outside. In full daylight, it was even more stunning and teeming with life, though not only cretes. An abundanc
e of blue and gray jays and other birds flitted among the branches in perfect harmony with their crete neighbors. It was a captivating place to live if one could get used to the heights.
The group set off across one of the bridges. Jace’s legs and chest stiffened up, but he followed before he could think on it too much, which earned him a smile from Kyrin. He focused on her and on keeping each breath even, but curiosity did tug his gaze to the scenery. The deeper they went into the city, the more closely grouped the dwellings became. He saw shops now, instead of just homes, with wares strung out on the branches. Many tanning racks sat outside where women worked on hides while children shrieked, played, and climbed nearby.
“There’s the citadel,” Darq announced.
Jace looked up. A hundred yards ahead rose the most magnificent tree he had ever seen—almost twice as wide as those in the surrounding area. Its massive boughs split off in all directions and cradled an impressive wooden structure resembling a castle, palace, and giant cabin all in one.
The bridge they traveled converged with a wider one that led directly to the entrance of the citadel. Two heavily armed cretes stood guard at the wide, arched doorway.
“I bring King Balen of Samara to see Lord Vallan,” Darq told them.
The guards let them pass, and Darq guided them inside. Jace shifted his gaze upward, but he could not see any ceiling high above them—only an abundance of balconies and staircases winding amongst towering support beams. Branches from the main boughs flourished inside, covered with dark green leaves. It was as if a small forest grew right within the citadel. For being a smaller people, the cretes had certainly built a grand center for their government and defense.
Darq led them down what appeared to be the main bridge-like hall to the center of the citadel. More than fifty yards in, they entered a massive room. The wide plank floor was stained and polished to a golden brown. Large branches stood at regular intervals along the length of each side of the hall, rising up and entwining in the middle to form an arched ceiling.
At the far end of the hall sat an empty chair with twisted vines for armrests—a throne, yet lacking the splendor of one such as Emperor Daican’s. In a semi-circle around the throne sat twelve less decorative chairs—six on each side. Behind them, at the perimeter of the room, were rows of benches where other council members must sit.
As impressive as the sight was, Jace’s attention focused on the small group of cretes standing in front of the throne. One in particular stood out amongst the others. A dark blue cape was pinned at his right shoulder, and Jace guessed him to be about the same age as Captain Darq. The man stood tall and straight as he watched them approach, exuding the legendary pride of the cretes, however in a more dignified manner than many.
“Captain,” he said as he stepped away from his group.
“My lord.” Darq brought them to a halt before the crete lord and turned to motion to Balen. “Let me introduce you to Lord Balen, exiled yet rightful king of Samara.”
Balen bowed respectfully, and Lord Vallan dipped his head.
“King Balen, welcome to Arvael. I do not know the last time my people entertained the royalty of one of our neighboring countries.”
“Thank you for agreeing to speak with me.”
“I’m not sure it will bring any change or settlement, but I am willing to talk.” Vallan spoke without malice, simply with the factual bluntness of the cretes.
“I pray that it is Elôm’s will that we can reach some sort of agreement.” Balen matched his honesty.
Vallan eyed him a moment as if sizing him up. Though the crete fell far short of Balen’s height, his presence was just as commanding. The slightest upturn of his lips seemed to indicate he liked Balen’s reply. “So do I.”
His gaze fell on the rest of the group, and Darq introduced them each in turn. The crete lord nodded his acknowledgement and offered another kind welcome.
Just as he finished, voices echoed from the other end of the hall, where a group of cretes entered.
“The clan leaders,” Vallan told Balen. He motioned to the benches at the edge of the room. “The rest of your group may sit if they wish.”
Darq led everyone but Balen to the benches as the clan leaders approached. Glancing at them, Darq lowered his voice.
“Crete or not, anyone invited into this hall is permitted to speak. So, if you have anything to add, feel free to step in and say it.”
Kyrin studied each of the clan leaders as they approached the throne and found their seats among the twelve empty chairs. Most were Novan’s age or older, and each wore an amulet in the shape of the animal representing their clan. She could tell immediately which half were opposed to their cause. While the others looked on them with interest and, perhaps, a hint of hope, these particular six peered with all the suspicion and stubbornness of the crete race. Kyrin did not envy Balen’s task.
Captain Darq, Glynn, and Novan stood near one of the columns, their arms crossed over their chests. Darq traded nods with a couple of the sympathetic leaders, and then set his intense eyes on Vallan as the crete lord introduced Balen. Six of the leaders voiced their welcomes while the others regarded him silently.
With a gesture from Lord Vallan, Balen stepped forward to state their case, and Kyrin whispered a prayer for him.
“I have come to speak on behalf of my people held captive in Samara, as well as those under threat in Arcacia who have sheltered me during my exile.”
He paused, and the leader of the Owl Clan cut in before he could continue. “I think we are all well aware of the situation in Samara and Arcacia. Captain Darq speaks of little else when he is here.”
Darq shot the sharp-featured man a glare and refrained from replying, though it must have taken effort.
Balen faced the man, unruffled. “Then, no doubt, you are aware of my purpose here.” He held the man’s gaze for a moment before turning to address the rest. “I humbly request your aid, as allies, in driving Daican out of Samara and ceasing his conquest.”
A heavy silence fell before the leader of the Hawk Clan rose to his feet. Kyrin looked between him and Darq. Surely, they must be related, judging by their similarities.
“I know I speak for half of us”—he cast a rather disgusted glance at the leaders on the opposite side of the throne—“in saying that we desire to offer you the aid you seek. The emperor must be stopped.”
Directly across from him, another clan leader stood, this time from the Wolf Clan, and Kyrin caught Novan grimacing.
“And I speak for the other half in saying we should remain out of this. What’s between Arcacia and Samara is none of our concern. We’ve already risked inciting the emperor’s wrath by allowing some of our force to go to Samara last summer. I think we’ve suffered enough casualties already.”
With these words, Darq received yet another scathing glance, and this time he joined in. From here, the back and forth arguing went into full swing. Balen stood his ground and presented his case as best he could when not interrupted. The opposing clan leaders seemed bent on distancing themselves from the struggle and blaming Captain Darq for trying to draw them into it.
After a while, Lord Vallan sat down on his throne and listened to the heated debate in silence. If only he would just choose a side. Around Kyrin, the others murmured to each other, their whispers growing sharper and more aggravated. Even Talas’s good humor wore thin, and Leetra’s scowl grew darker with every spoken opposition, especially against Darq. It was surely just a matter of time before she inserted herself into the argument. Did any of these debates ever turn violent? Kyrin slid a little closer to Jace. Beside her, Kaden shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. He probably wasn’t far behind Leetra.
In the end, Marcus took the initiative and rose to join the dispute. Silence fell as he stood next to Balen. Though Kyrin could read the subtle hints of the same frustration they all shared, he spoke with his usual calmness.
“I am Captain Marcus Altair of the Landale Militia and formerly
of Arcacia’s army. There’s one thing that seems to be forgotten in all this.” He set his gaze on the opposing leaders. “You seem to believe Daican is no threat to you as long as you don’t provoke him. If that’s true, why has he created an army of firedrakes? If all he planned was to take Samara, his army was more than capable of accomplishing that without the trouble of breeding and training the drakes and their riders. You may have felt safe all these years because your people were the only ones with an airborne force, but that is no longer true. It won’t be long before he possesses a force to match yours, and it will be every bit as strong as Arcacia’s ground forces.”
Kyrin was proud of her brother for standing up, but the Wolf Clan leader shook his head, apparently in dismissal.
“Perhaps he will match our numbers, but Arcacians will never match our skills or our dragons. We’re faster and better trained.”
“Perhaps,” Marcus acknowledged, “but does your pride and superiority justify the damage that is inevitable? Firedrakes are destroyers. Against your dragons, they may ultimately fail, but you can be sure the damage they leave behind will be catastrophic. Do you want to see your women and children dead and this city in flames? Because that’s what Daican is capable of accomplishing. Why wait until all your potential allies have fallen and you’re next in the emperor’s conquest? Why not stop him while he still has weaknesses and you still have allies to fight with you?”
The clan leaders all looked at each other, and Balen gave Marcus an affirming nod. The first to respond was the leader of the Deer Clan—an opposing clan, though one more reasonable than the others.
“You speak as though an attack on Arvael is imminent while there is no proof of such an event. Traitor or not, Falcor has said the emperor will not attack us.”
“And you believe him and Daican?” Darq asked. “We can’t trust either of them. Why would Daican stop at Samara if he could easily take the rest of Ilyon while her inhabitants are too foolish to stop him?”
Exiles (Ilyon Chronicles Book 4) Page 10
