The Chosen - Rise of Cithria Part 1

by Kris Kramer

  Chapter 15

  “Something moved over there.” Riordan pointed to the south, his hand shaking. Finias followed the gesture to see a patch of darkness between two small houses at the southern edge of Alvarton. He frowned, hoping Riordan’s tick was just nervous tension, and not an illness that made him spin outlandish stories.

  “I'll check it out,” Finias grumbled as he jogged away.

  The two of them had spent their evening knocking on doors, waking everyone up in the hope that someone here would know where Aiden lived, or could at least point them in the right direction. Riordan was adamant that they needed his help to save them from the trouble they were in, though he hadn't been clear about why. Finias would have been happy with just leaving the man a note here in town, warning him of some vague danger coming his way, because what good was a cowardly old soldier to them at a time like this? In fact, if Riordan hadn't been so eager to find him, Finias would have suggested they move on without him, especially since locating him had proven to be especially aggravating.

  They'd woken people at eight different houses so far, each more irritated by the intrusion than the last. One especially angry old man yelled at them for a good two minutes before Riordan calmed him by apologizing profusely. The worst part, though, was that they all knew who Aiden was – the Coward from the Silver Hills – but no one could be more specific than that in describing where he lived. They just pointed off to the west and expected that to be enough to track down one man in the hills in the middle of the night. When pressed for more information, one of the villagers told them, “He lives in the woods, you crazy buggers. It's not like they number the lots out there,” and that had been the most useful information they'd received so far.

  Finias huffed in annoyance as he approached the two houses, despite his natural instincts to stay quiet. He stepped delicately on the soft grass, keeping his keen eyes focused on the darkness, looking for any sign of movement. Finias knew what signs to look for, and despite Riordan's protestations, he’d seen none of them tonight. He reached the edge of the first house and peeked around, scanning for movement. An oak tree stood proudly in the grass behind the two houses, a few of its branches swaying in the gentle breeze. But other than the rustling leaves, nothing moved. If someone was following them, they were damn good at it. So good, in fact, that it strained credulity.

  “Nothing,” he said as he walked back. Riordan nodded while anxiously rubbing his hands together, his walking stick resting in the crook of his arm. Once Finias reached his side again, the priest took a deep breath, as if steeling himself for something, and then stalked off toward the next house. Finias rolled his eyes in disbelief and followed. They’d been here an hour since leaving Corendar, and Riordan had already sent him off four different times to check the shadows or to investigate a noise. Even worse, Finias had let him do it each and every time. It was his own fault. He’d let himself get dragged out here on nothing more than a whim, a distraction to keep him from other worries. But the novelty had worn off. And he still hadn’t determined if he was indulging a stark raving lunatic whose claims of death and danger around every corner were just delusions of an old man and his ale.

  “Is this how they got you?” Finias asked while the two of them walked slowly toward the next house. “Sneaking up on you in the middle of the night?”

  Riordan nodded. “Fadeblades. I was at an inn in Corendar. The King's Chamberlain arranged for us to stay there the night we came back from... from finding them. That night, fadeblades snuck in and took me in my sleep.”

  Finias pursed his lips. He knew fadeblades well. They were men and women trained in the art of stealth, poisons, and death. They were spies and assassins, mostly, and they were not to be trifled with if you could help it. They were also a convenient boogeyman for someone who may not be entirely sane.

  “That's why we had to stay in the city and not at the palace,” Riordan continued. “People had to see us. They had to see me go into my room there and never come out, to keep suspicion off the King's men. To everyone there, I probably just left in the middle of the night. Or I snuck away, or went mad, or whatever other rumor was spread to keep suspicion off the King's men.”

  Riordan told an incredible tale. Claiming to be taken in the night by fadeblades sounded like a story children would tell to scare each other, not a priest several years past his prime. Maybe he really did go mad and he'd just made the whole thing up. It was only a passing thought, one of several he'd had tonight about this crazy little jaunt, but this one at least jogged his memory, reminding him that he didn't know many of the details about this endeavor. Details he should have asked about much sooner.

  “What did you call that Warshield, earlier? A tenebrous?”

  Riordan nodded. “I take it you’re not Resurrectionist?”

  Finias shook his head. “My father considered religion a sign of weakness.”

  “Ah,” Riordan said, frowning. “A shame. Tenebrous are those who walk in the shadow, obscured from the light by something, or someone.”

  “Sounds appropriately ominous.”

  “Actually, it’s quite literal in this case. Those men and women, including that Warshield, don’t quite know what they’re doing. They’ve had a spell cast on them that changes their reality, like a dream that takes them over. It’s domination magic taken to a powerful extreme.”

  “So they’re being controlled by Andua?” Finias asked, trying not to laugh at Riordan’s inclusion of yet another scary enemy. Dominators were elven wizards who’d mastered a form of magic that let them attack the minds of their opponents. Like fadeblades, they were not to be trifled with.

  “Andua isn’t the only realm with domination magic. We use it, too.”

  “You mean sentinels use it. And those people are a strange lot.”

  “I can relate,” Riordan smiled. “I’m one of them.”

  Finias furrowed his brow. “You? A sentinel? You expect me to believe that?”

  “You’ve heard of the Warhounds?”

  Finias’ eyes grew wide, and he grabbed Riordan’s arm, stopping him mid-stride.

  “You’re that Riordan? The leader of the Warhounds?”

  Riordan smiled again, only this time it felt forced. “I was that Riordan. I’m not exactly the same man I was ten years ago.” He started walking again, forcing Finias to hurry up alongside him. “And I was never the leader. That would be Andreas, who would be quite upset to know that there existed a Calderan who didn’t know that.”

  Finias fell a step back, letting Riordan take the lead. He had a million questions, but he kept his mouth shut, mostly because he wasn’t sure he’d believe any of the answers. The Warhounds were considered one of the elite lance companies in Caldera, a group of twelve Sotheran soldiers under the direct command of the Earl of Sothera, who funded their efforts. The Warhounds, like only a few other companies in this war, were legendary in their exploits, having single-handedly stopped the advance of a Bergsbor army in Astrovia with their miraculous defense of an aging outpost, and forcing an Anduain army to retreat after decimating their supply lines with harrying hit-and-run attacks. This couldn’t be the same man who’d been part of that. Finias narrowed his eyes. Maybe because it wasn’t. He bit his lip in annoyance. He had to keep reminding himself that he’d met this man in a tavern.

  “Now that I think about it, you haven't told me where we're going,” he asked casually.

  “Away from here,” he said. “Away from anyone who might be coming after us.”

  Finias rolled his eyes. “That's vague. I'm sure you've considered a more specific location?”

  Riordan's gaze subtly shifted from scanning their surroundings to looking at the ground. “We need to go northwest. Past the Red Hills. They can't find us as easily out there.”

  “Ahhh. Past the Red Hills.” Finias nodded in mock agreement. “You're right. Hiding in a war zone is much safer.”

  “We'll have Aiden with us.”

  “Oh, of course. Him. That shou
ld keep the mighty armies of Bergmark and Andua at bay. One soldier.” Finias chuckled. “You know he's been branded a coward, right?”

  “Is he?”

  Finias shrugged. “The large brand on his cheek says he is.”

  “His brand says he is?” Riordan smiled at his own question, which unnerved Finias because he hadn't yet seen such a relaxed expression from him. “You fought with him, didn't you? What do you say?”

  Finias smiled back, ready to retort, but he found himself strangely silent instead. The priest was right. He'd seen Aiden in battle, fighting the Warshield, and there had been no hint of cowardice there. To be honest, if Aiden didn't have the Coward's Mark on his cheek, Finias would have never thought him one.

  Riordan glanced at Finias knowingly. “Aiden will do his best to protect us. It's who he is.” He walked on toward the next house, no doubt expecting Finias to just follow along. To his own surprise, he did, wondering again who this strange old man was. This eccentric old loon who spent one minute seeing monsters in the dark, and the other acting the wise, soothing grandfather. Maybe Riordan was crazier than Finias realized. Either that, or he was far, far smarter.