by E. J. Godwin
“Not really. Other than Larai way down in Besa, they’re all at least thirty years older. And there’s no Loremaster at Enilií.”
“Enilií! Is that where this Falling Man went?”
She didn’t answer at once, a little needled by his use of the nickname. “It’s only a guess. Last I heard, they were heading into Blood Valley. Soren went with them.”
“Then Enilií must be where the messenger was headed.”
“Perhaps. It still doesn’t explain why the message was sent in the first place. But I know one thing: I don’t trust whoever did.” She stared absently for a moment, her mind awhirl with fearful predictions. “I can only stay for one day, Anidrin. I have to find out what’s happening.”
“What? You can’t go chasing around in the wild all by yourself, girl!”
“Why not? I’ve done it plenty of times. Besides, I can’t stand the thought of Caleb and that sweet boy of his exiled again—by our own people, no less!”
His stare slowly widened. “By Hendra, it’s true—you’ve fallen in love with him!”
“What do you mean, it’s true? Don’t tell me the messenger said that.”
“I guessed it long before then. What did you expect, Telai? You spent almost an entire winter alone with this man in his room, then gave him the Gift of Farewell at his Oath ceremony.” Anidrin shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “And I won’t tell you what I heard about that stunt you pulled on top of Sonién.”
Telai’s cheeks fired, from embarrassment as well as wrath. “Who I may or may not be attracted to is nobody’s business but my own!”
“But the Falling Man! Any other fellow would jump at the chance to court the Overseer’s daughter. Why in great thundering Grondolos did you pick him?”
“I don’t want any other fellow. And don’t start on me like that. If you want someone to blame, go right to the top. She’s the one who let the Council sic this teaching duty on me. The last thing I need to hear is another one of my mother’s speeches!” Tears started in her eyes, and she swiped them away with a curse.
Anidrin scratched the back of his head, lips curled in chagrin. “Telai, you know you’re like a daughter to me. So forgive this old mule for letting his fears get the better of him. But there’s been talk these last few months. Some consider your recent behavior as inappropriate for the Grand Loremaster. They think your attraction to this man is clouding your judgment.”
Telai stared at him, speechless. “Who’s been talking?” she finally asked, her voice shaking with indignation. He gave no answer, reluctance tightening his wrinkles. “Damn it, Anidrin! I have a right to know.”
He sighed. “Werten and Tenra at Ekendoré, and—well, maybe a few at Spierel.”
“Spierel? What does Acallor have to say about that?” Again he hesitated, and her jaw dropped. “No! I won’t believe it. He would never think that about me.”
“He doesn’t mean any harm, Telai. It’s just—well, you know how some people feel about the Falling Man—”
“—his name is Caleb, Anidrin!”
He fell silent for a moment. “Telai, Acallor wouldn’t be so worried if you were interested in an ordinary man. Though my brother can be a little reclusive, as Loremaster of Spierel he’s well respected, and has the confidence of the Underseers. He’s heard enough talk to know your reputation is beginning to suffer.”
It was all Telai could do to keep from flying into a rage. “What right do they have to dictate who I’m attracted to? Ugh! It’s the same old story—letting their fears turn their heads into mush.”
“Telai, I’m on your side. I don’t think it’s appropriate for them to be talking that way about you in public. Not until you’ve had a chance to defend yourself, at least. But you know as well as I do there are times when duty comes first.”
“Yes, yes, always duty. What the best curriculum is, how many scribes to appoint—or what research somebody else should be focusing on. For once I’d like to do something irrational without some stuffed shirt throwing a fit.”
Anidrin grinned broadly. “That’s my girl—thumbing your nose at conformity and tradition. I suppose I can’t expect you to change now, even if I wanted you to. Just promise me you’ll give at least some thought to your reputation.”
His praise doused her anger like a wave on hot coals. It was so like him—letting the lightning strike, yet smiling in the rain. “I will, don’t worry.”
His expression turned wistful. “I still think Tenlar was a fool for joining the Raéni.”
“You would have to bring that up. Maybe I was as much a fool for not following him.”
“You don’t believe that any more than I do, unless—” He peered at her closely for a moment. “Don’t tell me this Caleb fellow has fallen in love with you, too!” She nodded, and Anidrin snorted in disgust. “I swear, youth is wasted on the young.”
“No, Anidrin. I didn’t leave Ekendoré just for Caleb. It’s his son, too—Warren. I feel sort of, well, connected to him, like I’m responsible for him in some way.” She shrugged. “I don’t know how else to explain it.”
“Don’t try. You’re just tired. Two days’ rest would do you a world of good.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re not going talk me out of this, Anidrin.”
“Don’t get sassy on me. You need time to sort your head out before you go running off again. And that four-footed friend of yours deserves a little rest, too.”
“Always the conniver. One more day, then. No more.” She yawned. “You still have that old mattress pad?”
“A little moth-eaten, but serviceable. Nothing a few blankets won’t cure. Sit tight, and I’ll fetch it from the other room.”
Telai felt a trace of guilt about letting her elderly host do all the work. Yet she knew any offer to help would be futile, even insulting. Anidrin had never married or had children, and he delighted at any opportunity to fuss over her. If a few aches and stiff joints was a price he was willing to pay, who was she to rob him of a little joy?
Her brows contracted in sudden foreboding. A price to be paid. Deep down she knew her mother was right—there will be a price to pay, one far greater than she might be ready for or could even afford.
She looked at her upturned hands. They were blistered and sore from riding, turned soft by the administrative duties thrust upon her these last several months. Now, not only her happiness was at stake, but her reputation and authority as well.
Telai clenched her fists, defying the pain. A life to call my own. I’ve earned that, too.
16
Spies and Suspicions
Keep one eye on your enemy.
The other on your ally.
- Soren, 17th Master Raén of Ada
CALEB WOKE late next morning to the bustle of city streets drifting down the alley outside their window. Even Soren had risen only within the last hour, waiting patiently while the others slept. Warren was stirring; Rennor kept snoring away until Caleb tired of it and joggled him awake.
Rennor flexed his arms and shoulders, still suffering from his long trek without a horse. After putting up with his groans for a while, Soren testily agreed to let them all visit the bathhouse, for the innkeeper had mentioned it was usually empty this time of day. The stone walls echoed with sighs and gasps of relief as they sank into the hot water, and Warren, his boyish laughter music to Caleb’s ears, splashed about with delight. With their limbs clean and limber once more and their spirits reborn, their hunger reached predatory levels, and after returning to their room they ordered all the food they could eat.
Caleb hoped that with a full stomach and a long sleep, Soren was in a better mood to be approached. “I can’t speak for Rennor, but more than one day of rest here would do us good.”
Soren wrinkled his brow. “It would do our horses more good than us. I only agreed to the bath to speed our own recovery. But we can’t risk staying. Not only does the threat of this search hang over us, but the approach of winter, too. I’ve traveled in snow, of course, but we’re not equipp
ed for it.” He sat near the window, and reached over to draw the curtains aside. “Looks like we’re in for a spell of good weather. We’ve already wasted hours of it. We can get a bit more sleep tonight, but we should be gone long before sunrise.”
Rennor asked, “What about me? Can you trust me enough to get your supplies, as Caleb suggested?” Caleb frowned in vague misgiving, then shrugged it off.
“It seems we have little choice,” Soren answered. “Maybe you were too tired last night to try anything. Right now I’m choosing the smaller risk—at least I hope so.”
Rennor’s gray eyes steadied. “There’s no point in arguing with you. I’m more than willing to go out and secure provisions—that is, if you tell me what to buy, and give me the means. I’m not a wealthy man.”
Soren hesitated, then reached into a deep pocket of his coat nearby and handed over a small pouch of money. He wrote a list on a scrap of paper using a quill and well of ink left on a table, and gave it to Rennor.
“Make sure you get everything I’ve written down. Don’t mention our names, or even the name of the inn. Choose from the lesser-known stores this side of town—if possible a general mercantile so you can get it all in one place. And don’t worry about the price. You have enough there to buy everything the first place you walk into. Return immediately. If you see any Raéni, don’t sneak around or hide like a criminal—it’ll only draw attention.”
Rennor fought a smile, then grabbed his coat and left.
♦
Great was the puzzlement on the Master Raén’s face when he opened the door an hour later to reveal an empty-handed Rennor. When he followed him to the stable yard for an explanation, his expression darkened to anger.
Next to an old mule laden with packages stood a huge hulk of a man wearing a toothy, uneven grin beneath a dark shock of hair. Rennor had accepted the grocer’s offer to haul all his supplies to the inn in one trip. Soren brooded but kept his peace, and helped stow away the supplies near their horses. Only when the grocer departed and they returned to the room did he vent his wrath.
“The next time just blow a horn and shout our names up and down the street!”
“Blast you, Soren!” Caleb shot, fed up with his criticisms. “The man did us a favor. The least you can do is thank him. Do you think we could have done any better—with our faces?”
“The more people see us, the greater the risk,” he said. “There was no reason for him to meet us in the yard like that.”
Rennor winced. “I’m sorry, he was so insistent. But it might have been worth it: he told me about the Raéni search.”
That caught their attention, and they scooted their chairs together and sat down. “What did he say?” Caleb asked.
“I’m fairly unknown this end of town, so I saw no harm in asking the grocer if he’d heard about Raéni from out east being in the area. Indeed there are, he said. Searching for the Master Raén of Ada, no less. The Overseer has issued a warrant for his arrest, and they’re to bring him back to Ekendoré. I didn’t want to draw attention to myself, like you said, so I didn’t ask further. I don’t think he knew much more about it, anyway. He kept fussing about how the Raéni don’t pay any heed to us common folk. He couldn’t possibly have recognized you, Soren.”
“Even so, he knows a Raén when he sees one, by Orand, and now he might realize you weren’t so innocently curious as your questions suggested!”
“But he was so grateful for everything I bought from him,” Rennor explained, his voice rising. “I don’t think he gets much business. I couldn’t refuse his help without sounding like I was hiding something—which of course I was! In any case it was impossible to carry it all here in one trip.”
Soren glared at Rennor a moment longer, then relaxed. “You did as well as could be expected, I suppose.”
“Thank you.”
Caleb shook his head. “Garda wants you arrested? Why?”
“It’s only a rumor,” Soren muttered.
“I don’t know. The grocer’s story has too much in common with what the innkeeper said.”
A long, doubt-filled silence followed. Rennor leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
“I’m already halfway in,” he said. “You might as well tell me the rest.” Soren blinked at him, apparently caught off guard by this realization.
Caleb nodded, a cynical grin on his face. “Actually, it ties directly in with your profession.” After a glance at Soren to make sure he approved, or at least voiced no objection, Caleb took Warren’s coat from the hook by the door, fished through his pockets, and placed the Medallion in Rennor’s outstretched hand.
Rennor inspected it closely, then gave it back. “Perhaps it would’ve been better if I had walked.”
Caleb grunted in reply. “You’re not the only one with regrets.”
A hollow, clunking sound distracted them: Warren sat on the table, kicking his feet back and forth in his boredom as he gazed out the window. An inexplicable look of puzzlement creased Rennor’s brow. “I assume you’re here by no choice of your own?”
“We left in a hurry, you might say,” Caleb replied. He followed with a quick recount of events at Udan.
“It would seem to lend weight to the rumors,” Rennor said afterward. He turned to Soren. “You’re sure the warrant isn’t from the Overseer?”
“And in any case isn’t it your responsibility to investigate and find the truth about this?” Caleb added.
The old Raén shifted his icy stare between them. “There is no truth to this. Not even Garda has the authority to arrest the Master Raén of Ada, not without the approval of the Council. Féitseg alone would never agree to such a thing. Let me see the warrant with my own eyes, stamped with their seal and delivered by a trusted messenger, then I’ll believe it. Besides, the search for Kseleksten outweighs all other duties.”
“Even your duty to the Overseer?”
“Enough! First you accuse me of evasiveness, then try to trap me with clever logic. Kseleksten calls, through the Broken Lor’yentré. As I already explained, I am bound to thwart any evil to the best of my ability. I can’t do that in Ekendoré.” Suspicion entered his eyes, and he asked, “Why are you questioning me like this? I thought you wanted a chance to clear your name.”
Caleb turned toward the fire. “Sorry,” he murmured.
Soren kept staring at him. Caleb braced himself for an interrogation, but Rennor saved him the ordeal. “The Second Lor’yentré!” he cried, and they turned their heads. “You’re headed for Graxmoar!”
Caleb shrugged. “That’s the plan, anyway.”
“This is too much of a coincidence,” said Rennor.
The door shook with a vigorous knock before the others could demand an explanation. They all glanced at each other in alarm. Caleb crept to the door, cracked it opened enough to peek through, then relaxed and swung it wide. It was the innkeeper.
“It’s two o’clock. Either pay for another night, or get out!”
Soren rose, frowning darkly, and produced the night’s rent. As she turned to go he halted her with a question.
“Why are you so unfriendly to us? We’ve caused you no great inconvenience.”
She stood glancing from face to face. “Because I know who you are—I guessed it even before this fellow here blurted out your name,” she said, jabbing a thumb at Caleb. “I don’t like harboring fugitives, especially well-known ones.”
“Then why are you letting us stay?” Caleb asked.
“I said I didn’t like it,” she answered, closing the door behind. “That doesn’t mean I’m going to hand you over like traitors. That sort of thing could get around and ruin business.”
“And harboring Raéni fugitives won’t?”
“My inn does well because the customers trust me not to ask questions. A habit you might want to consider adopting,” she said, pointing at Rennor. “That grocer is known for his big mouth.”
“Are you saying we’re in danger here?” Soren asked.
“I’m not sure. I’ve spoken to a few soldiers here and there. There’s some bickering going on among the local Raéni—other soldiers horning in on their jurisdiction, that kind of thing. It might be why they haven’t found you yet.”
“What else have you heard?” Caleb asked.
“Bits and pieces. Some drivel about Orand—the usual gloom and doom that crops up every now and then. I’ve never understood all that fuss about prophecies.”
“Is that so?” piped Soren.
Her lips twisted in scorn. “Only fools believe in prophecies. And since they usually mope and sit around doing nothing, they’re the ones most likely to make it happen.” She scrutinized Caleb. “You’re that Falling Man, aren’t you? I heard you got your name because you fell out of the sky.”
Caleb tried to reduce the significance of the event with a shrug. “In a manner of speaking.”
“Do you believe any of this prophecy stuff?”
He hesitated, but Soren had already heard his doubts. “I’m not sure. I agree with what you said, in general at least.”
“Then we’ll be safe here tonight?” the Master Raén queried. The innkeeper nodded reluctantly, and he added, “We’ll need to be out before sunrise.”
“I’ll have your horses ready,” she said. “Though I can’t promise anything, I’ll do what I can to keep the Raéni off your scent.”
Soren thanked her. After she left, he crouched by the hearth to stir the coals with a poker, his face troubled.
“A woman to be trusted, I would think,” Rennor said. “And I’m sorry if I risked blowing your cover. But I was wondering—how were you planning to get through the barrier?”
The others stared blankly at him. “Barrier?” they asked at once.
“Gur’alyreiv, of course.”
Caleb, crestfallen at the reminder, sighed into his chair and waved his hand toward Soren. “You’ll have to get that answer from the Master Raén.”
Soren returned his gaze to the fire. “We might find a way through,” he murmured.
“But I was about to explain earlier,” Rennor said. “I know of something that might help.”
