by Andrew Rowe
She shoved the Heartlance into the stone, reaching down to offer Taelien a hand to stand.
For now.
***
Velas helped Taelien walk out of the arena, her heart still pounding with every step. “How long have you known?”
Taelien gave her a pained smile. “The prison test. Seeing you without a shirt attracted my eyes to certain areas. Meaning the scar on the inside of your elbow, of course.”
She laughed, but her blood still boiled. “Of course.”
“I had suspicions earlier, of course. Both because of your own behavior and because I knew the first ‘Myros’ that Edon introduced me to was clearly a fake.”
“Why didn’t you fight me?”
Taelien straightened, pulling away from her support and cradling his injured arm against his chest. “I did fight you. I wasn’t going easy on you, not in the slightest.”
Velas let out a low hiss. “You never intended to draw that sword.”
He paused in his step, turning to face her directly. “That sword is a curse, Velas. It’s not meant to be used against people I care for.”
She took a deep breath, holding the Heartlance to her side. “Even if I meant to harm you?”
He raised his injured hand. “I’d say you did a pretty good job at that. Congratulations, Velas. You beat me.”
She turned her head away. “I almost killed you.”
Taelien nodded. “I know.”
***
On the parade grounds, eleven applicants stood in a single line, no longer divided by their former platoons. Velas stood between Asphodel and Landen, unwilling to be near Taelien, unable to even meet his eyes.
Terras, Lysen, and Keldyn were all that remained of Platoon 1. In spite of Velas’ lack of knowledge about Platoon 4’s members, four of them had made it to this point.
Of Sterling’s former platoon, there was no sign. Their absence was a wound as fresh in Velas’ mind as the one she had left on Taelien’s hand.
Colonel Wyndam stood with Lieutenant Morris and Second Lieutenant Banks, just as she had when they had first begun their examinations. Her expression was somber.
“At ease, applicants.”
Though she shifted her stance, she did not feel at ease. She suspected the others felt the same.
“Of the four hundred and eighty six applicants in this cycle, you alone have shown the courage, wisdom, and determination necessary to survive each of the trials set before you. Though tradition ascribes that each Arbiter choose a single candidate, I am pleased that this is one of many traditions we often choose to ignore. Every one of you who remains has passed our tests and has been selected to be a Paladin of Tae’os.”
Velas sighed in relief, and she heard others beside her do the same.
“You can cheer.”
The lancer smiled in spite of herself as her comrades broke into celebratory cheering, and the lieutenants made polite clapping.
The colonel applauded politely, and then spoke again. “This is but the first step in a long journey. More trials and dangers will face you on the road ahead, but I am confident in your abilities. The Arbiters have evaluated each of your tests and determined which branch you are best suited for. Candidates Terras and Landen, step forward.”
Landen gave Velas a wink and stepped out of the line. Terras followed a moment later, giving her brother a look of confusion as she moved.
“You both displayed strong interpersonal skills and strategic acumen, qualities that are greatly needed in the service of Eratar. As Paladins of Eratar, you will serve as our scouts, messengers, and military advisors. Congratulations.”
The other applicants applauded while Lieutenant Morris walked forward, presenting them each with a new pin signifying their branch.
“Wisdom, analytical ability, and –”
Asphodel stepped forward.
“Of course you already knew.” The colonel laughed, and the applicants echoed her. “Applicant Asphodel, you have been selected for Sytira’s service.”
The Delaren woman nodded politely as Morris offered her the symbol of her new order.
“Vigilance. Perseverance. Fortitude. These are the qualities of a Paladin of Koranir, the front line in our battle against any who would threaten the innocent. Applicant Dalen Carter, Applicant Mora Aldwyn, you have been honored with this role.”
Velas didn’t recognize either of them, but she clapped and cheered with the others nonetheless.
They’re going to pin me with Lissari, aren’t they? Such irony that would be.
“Honesty, purity, and rational judgment are key qualities in the followers of Xerasilis. Lysen, you have proven to be clear of mind and sound of judgment in even the most difficult of circumstances. For this, you have been chosen for the service of Xerasilis.”
More cheering, but Velas was no longer paying attention.
Three options left.
“Of all our applicants, one has consistently proven that she is a mender of wounds, both physical and of the spirit.”
I –
“Applicant Alia Karis, your remarkable initiative and presence of mind have made you an ideal candidate for the Paladins of Lissari. Congratulations.”
“Two of you have consistently shown the independence, tactical thinking, and combat prowess necessary to qualify for the Paladins of Aendaryn.”
Two of us. Velas breathed a sigh of relief. Of course.
“Applicant Salaris and Applicant Keldyn, step forward.”
She watched as Salaris stepped forward, no pride in his expression, only resignation.
And she saw how his left hand, still covered in bandages, curled slightly into a fist.
“Finally, those of you who have shown the greatest willingness to sacrifice for others, and the greatest leadership potential, have been selected for the final branch – the Paladins of Lysandri. Applicants Edwin Freemont and Velas Jaldin, congratulations.”
Velas almost failed to step forward, but Landen smiled and nudged her into place. She accepted the cheering and stood silently as Lieutenant Morris pressed the seal of her new life into her palm.
Sacrifice.
I suppose that’s one way to find forgiveness. Perhaps even redemption.
***
The following days flowed swiftly, as she moved out of the applicant barracks and into permanent housing allocated for full paladins. Her success felt joyless and hollow in the face of the loss of friends.
Garrick Torrent’s funeral was a small affair, attended only by a few members of his family and officers he had served with. She was not invited.
Instead, she simply paid her respects at his grave. She knelt silently, inspecting the inscription.
Garrick Torrent
Passed in the line of duty
May Eratar shepherd his spirit to a life beyond
Born 3098 VF, Deceased 3122 VF
The lancer shook her head. That made him, what, twenty four? I suppose it depends on what month he was born.
Barely older than me.
Too young. Too young to be gone.
She laid a broken piece of wood against his grave – the remains of the marker she had used to call for his help.
The weapon she had used to take his life.
Never again.
I will never cost another life.
She sat by that grave marker, surrounded by so many others, and prayed for the resolve to hold true to the words in her mind.
Chapter XXVIII – Jonan VII – The Bonds of Family
Jonan sat across from Aladir Ta’thyriel, a Crowns board on the table between them.
The scribe was losing badly, which he attributed mostly to his humorous choice to play controlling the Paladins of Tae’os. Aladir contributed to the irony by playing the Thornguard – who, with their superior mobility and battlefield control, held a tremendous advantage in that particular match up.
Nakane Theas sat silently nearby, leaning forward, an expression of wry amusement on her features. She had just c
oncluded a game of her own against her cousin, but Jonan hadn’t seen who had won. Landen had headed back inside the manor after his game to get something to eat.
“It’s your turn,” Aladir pointed out, dispelling the haze from Jonan’s mind.
“Oh, right.” He stared back at the board.
No good moves.
He evaluated his options, found the worst one he could think of, and took it.
Aladir narrowed his eyes at the move, saying nothing.
Probably thinks I’m luring him into a trap.
Aladir moved one of his sorcerers and attacked Jonan’s recently-moved lieutenant, removing it from the board.
Or not.
Jonan chuckled softly, hoping it sounded as if that was all part of the plan.
Nakane shook her head. “Really, Jonan, you should have played more defensively. You don’t have any chance now.”
He glanced at her. “Your confidence, is, as always, appreciated.”
It was good to see her in a better mood, at least. She had been sulking for weeks – quite understandably, in Jonan’s opinion – after her mother had died.
Jonan looked back to the board, only to have his train of thought interrupted by a tapping sound nearby. He turned in unison with Aladir and Nakane.
An older man was approaching from the road, tapping his walking stick against the cobblestones of the path. Bald save for a slim crest of grey at the back of his skull, he was dressed in a red tunic embroidered with golden thread and matching trousers. More notably, he wore a circlet of thin golden wire, woven into a Rethri design resembling a crown. In spite of the obvious marks of age upon his skin, the man walked with his back straight, his eyes still bright with knowledge.
Nakane rose from her chair immediately, and then fell into a kneeling position. Uncertainly, Jonan rose as well, mirroring her gesture.
Aladir waited several moments before doing the same.
“Father,” Nakane said softly, lowering her head.
Edrick Theas paused at his daughter’s side, looking down at where she knelt, and then walked past her without saying a word.
Right to Jonan. Shit.
“Jonan Kestrian, is it?” The immortal sorcerer’s voice was still strong in spite of his obviously advanced age. “Stand up, boy.”
The scribe rose awkwardly, folding his hand in front of him. “Baron Theas, sir, it’s an honor to meet you.”
The older man grasped his left arm, leaning in close. “I understand that you nearly lost this in the defense of my house.”
Jonan nodded weakly.
Edrick released his grip, giving the slightest of nods. “You have my gratitude. That debt will be repaid.”
Wordlessly, the sorcerer moved to Aladir. “Stand up, Ta’thyriel.”
Aladir rose, standing taller than Edrick. “Sir. I’m terribly sorry for your losses.”
Oh, right, I really should have said something like that.
Edrick made a scoffing noise. “Please. No platitudes for me, boy. I did not approve of your relations with Kae, but at least you loved him, even if you failed him in the end.”
Aladir took a deep breath. “Sir, I –”
“I don’t blame you for his death. They were prepared for you, that much is certain from what I’ve already heard. But his killers are alive. And for that, I am disappointed in you. You will share with me what you have learned and we will see to it this is properly resolved.”
The Rethri paladin nodded, his eyes full of pain. “Of course, sir.”
Edrick walked back to his daughter last. “Get up, girl.”
Nakane straightened her dress, standing. “Welcome home, father.”
He turned his head, scanning the compound, and then looked back to her. “Welcome home, indeed.”
***
After Jonan extracted himself from the family reunion to return to Southway Manor, he checked his mirrors, finding a message from Aayara.
Scribe,
It’s long past time for your report.
So, report.
Grimacing, he retrieved a quill, ink, and paper.
“Writing to Symphony?”
Jonan stood up from his chair, startled by the sudden noise. Rialla laughed behind him as he turned.
“Gods, you’re so easy to startle. I’m sorry.”
Jonan set his quill back down on the table. “It’s fine. You should probably be here for this.”
She quirked an eyebrow. “What are you planning to say?”
“Uh, still in progress, not much to go on.”
She folded her arms. “You should have asked me first, at least. I found our target.”
He blinked. “You did?”
“Cassius Morn is currently going as Susan Crimson. ‘She’ was one of the paladin applicants. I actually don’t know if Susan or Cassius is the real name – but either way, he or she is working with Sterling.”
Jonan sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Of course the former Thornguard is working with Sterling. That’s… I bet she knew.”
Rialla nodded, bringing a finger to her chin. “She’s Symphony. Of course she knew.”
“So, she deliberately sent us after an agent of another one of the Vae’kes, with the knowledge we could end up in conflict with him.”
“Sounds like.”
“Fuck that. I’m going to tell her to –”
Rialla folded her arms. “Don’t be stupid, Jonan.”
He shook his hands in the air in impotent anger. “I know. I know. I’m just – gods, it’s tiresome being jerked around on puppet strings.”
“It’s the price we pay for the benefits of a Vae’kes mentor. You know that.”
Benefits. I suppose being alive constitutes a sort of benefit, although it might be a shorter term one than I had hoped.
Jonan lowered his hands. “Fine. I’ll write her a nice letter. You can help.”
“Can I?” She wandered over, giving him a playful grin.
I shouldn’t have said anything. Still, at least she’s smiling. That’s a pleasant change of pace.
“Pull up a seat.”
After several minutes of discussion – and Jonan fighting Rialla for his quill – they composed a reply.
Symphony,
We have determined that our target was under the guise of an applicant to the Paladins of Tae’os, Susan Crimson, and working in conjunction with Vae’kes Sterling. The pair was involved in an assassination mission, after which they retreated. We have not yet followed their trail.
Please advise how to proceed.
-Shiver and Scribe
Rialla had insisted on signing her name first, which Jonan quickly conceded.
The reply came almost immediately.
My adorable children,
Your orders have changed.
Kill Susan Crimson and retrieve the artifact in her possession.
Love,
-Symphony
Jonan and Rialla looked at each other.
Rialla frowned.
Jonan spoke first. “Well, fuck.”
***
Later that night, Jonan awoke to find a shadow hovering by the side of his bed. He jolted into sudden consciousness, sitting up abruptly and raising his arms into a defensive position before his mind fully processed his visitor.
“It’s just me, Jonan.” Rialla sounded like she was making an effort at a soothing tone, but it came across like she was speaking down to a child.
“You really need to learn to knock.” He groaned, sitting up and reaching for his glasses case. After a moment of fumbling, he found and put on the pair specifically designed for meetings with his partner.
“We need to go. Now.”
Jonan scratched at his head. “Go?”
Rialla leaned forward, catching his eyes in his. If she was attempting to compel him, he felt no indication of it. “My father has been released to house arrest, given the ‘lack of evidence’ against him. There will be a brief opportunity to question him before he is brought back to t
rial.”
The scribe groaned, massaging feeling into his aching left arm. “Let me get dressed.”
Rialla didn’t bother leaving the room while he changed out of his night clothes and into something resembling traveling gear. At his gesturing, she did turn around, but if she had any concern about his clothing or lack thereof, she never displayed it.
Jonan sighed as he tightened his belt into place, the final piece of his garb. Given that it was late within the hours of the Nightfrost’s reign, he wished he had a cloak, but he didn’t have one on-hand.
“Let’s go.”
They had danced this dance before.
Rialla led the way toward House Dianis, her childhood home. Jonan followed close behind, self-consciously straightening his hair, still tangled from an evening plagued with nightmares.
“I take it you want me to hide us?”
Rialla nodded. “Your technique is more effective than mine. I will bring us through the walls and into my father’s room. There will be defensive sorcery in some areas, but I know how to avoid it.”
When they reached the outer gates, Jonan waved a hand sleepily, creating a shimmering effect on their skin to enable Rialla to see that he had made them invisible to others.
“Good,” she whispered. “Take my hand.”
He turned to extend his left arm at first, then thought better of it, and gave her the right hand.
She pulled him forward, and he moved through the metallic front gate without feeling resistance.
I’ll never get used to that. Travel sorcery should be ten kinds of illegal. Mostly because it bothers me. I suppose the ease that it enables criminal acts is also relevant, if somewhat less so.
I suppose what we’re doing is a criminal act. Well, that’s awkward.
Rialla urged him on, walking swiftly, taking sharp breaths. He followed, feeling her grip tighten around his hand as she pulled them through the front doors to the manor.
The interior was too dark for Jonan to make out much detail. Much like House Theas, he could see lavish furnishings and paintings on the walls, as well as some statues he suspected might serve as defenses when animated by sorcerers.
Rialla dragged him on, taking him up a flight of stairs. His eyes traveled to the nearest portraits, the only ones he could discern.
