by Cat Bruno
“Heyo, Tomasz!” one called.
“What do you think of the news of the Tribesman?” the tallest one, Leonerd, he remembered, asked.
For a moment, Jarek said nothing, unsure what the man implied.
It was not until Daniff spoke that he began to make sense of what was said. And, again, like so many moon years before, Jarek knew that change had come.
“Word arrived that the Lightkeepers have headed to a small port city on the northern, Rexterran border. Tribesmen have been spotted there. The fight has come, Tomasz. The whole palace speaks of it!” Across his face, a smile beamed, although the other two were plain-faced.
They did not need to tell him more, for he knew.
Vesta.
“How can this be?” Jarek asked, keeping none of the surprise from his voice.
“The Queen’s healer, who traveled with her, sent word to Delwin. Or so I heard tell. Delwin has ridden for Ravenfold to speak with the healer, and the Lightkeepers should arrive in Vesta on the morrow. No more than that do any of us know, but we have been warned to be on guard,” Daniff explained.
“How is it that you did not know?” Leonerd questioned him.
There was no accusation behind his words, and his face was easy to read, open and surprised, but without a hint of suspecting more. Otieno had once taught him the skill and living in the Grand Palace had allowed him to master it.
With ease, he chuckled, “I was good and drunk last night and slept overlong this morning.”
Nodding in understanding, Leonerd added, “The King was searching for you. He departed in haste, but left instructions for you with Captain Tink.”
“I had better hurry off then,” Jarek uttered, allowing the men to detect the uneasiness, for few enjoyed time spent with the surly and demanding Army Captain.
Jarek would not visit the man, despite the orders from the King. No doubt his presence was required at Ravenfold, but he would not acquiesce. Instead, he considered his options anew as he half-ran to his room. Had King Delwin known of the role he played in recruiting Pietro, he would not still be walking free in the Grand Palace. Daniff and the others would not have addressed him with such casualness.
Yet the King would soon be with Pietro, who had betrayed both Blaidd and him. While he may not have confessed Jarek’s involvement in the plot, in time, he would. Just as he might reveal more, exposing the folly and identity of Tomasz.
I must leave at once.
Deciding to forgo visiting his room, Jarek raced from the palace, running hard back to the piers. He had neither sword nor shield, yet he figured that both could be replaced. His only possession was a small bag of coin, containing no more than a handful of silver pieces. What concerned him most was the Tribesman, for he would be undefended and unguarded as he waited for the healer to arrive. His thoughts made him hurry faster, until he was jumping onto the ship.
Azzaro had not yet returned, and Jarek disappeared below deck. He had not been followed, he knew, for he had checked several times, altering his course and doubling back to ensure no one trailed him. Pacing the tiny cabin, Jarek realized that he had to warn Blaidd of the attack. But he had never before contacted him and doing so now would be nearly impossible.
So near to the sea, his powers were strong, and Jarek kneeled, lifting his arms in calling. Closing his sky-shining eyes, he searched for Syrsha. Over and over, he looked, ready to time-walk to her with the dire warning. Yet, he could not find her, even with so much power sizzling at his fingertips and tingling up his arms. Knowing that he could not wait much longer, Jarek did what he had never done before.
He called for Conri.
The High Lord did not hear the call, but Jarek sensed that he was in the reception room of his large manse in the Tribelands. It was enough. Jarek gathered his energy as he lay upon the gently rolling floor.
Moments later, he struggled to get past the ancient shields that surrounded Conri’s home. His arms burned next to him, and his eyes threatened to flutter open. But he pushed on, absorbing the stinging pain as he threw himself against the ward. On the third attempt, he broke through, shaking and spinning, but standing in the empty hallway that led to Conri’s private chambers. With each step, Jarek felt his stomach churn. His head rang with chiming and his cheeks blazed. On he stumbled, until he came upon the iron-lined door.
For a long moment, he feared that he did not have the strength to enter. The cool, wooden planks underneath him trembled as the boat began to rock. But Jarek forced himself from the room, staring upon the slate-stone tiles of the High Lord’s home. He thought of the first time he entered, with Caryss, who had done little but walk forward under Aldric’s shield. She was no mage, yet she was with child, which had been enough. Again, Jarek thought of Syrsha, whom he had a rune-vow to protect. Upon her birth, the fennidi Gregorr had united the two, although one was a babe and the other a child.
They were allies still, despite not having seen one another since a few moons after Syrsha’s birth. With the image of the small, dark-haired babe strong in his memory, Jarek stepped through the door.
Across a fog of silvery shadows, he glanced at the High Lord. In Conri’s hand, an orb of blue-tipped fire burned. The Tribesman’s eyes darkened, until they were black and gleaming.
“It has been too long, Lord Conri, and you no longer know me,” Jarek called, raspy and weak.
Before he had finished speaking, the flame faded, until only embers remained to dirty Conri’s pale hand. Jarek smiled then, although it was more out of relief than contentment.
“Few can get beyond the wards. You will not have long before you fade so tell me why you have come.”
Just as he remembered, the High Lord was stern and commanding. Pale as Luna, the High Lord glowed bright against the shadowy smoke.
Panting with fatigue, Jarek told him, “Blaidd waits in the small port city of Vesta, aboard a ship that sails for the Healer’s Academy. The healer Pietro was supposed to join him, in order to offer assistance to Caryss’s old friend Kennet. But Pietro exposed Blaidd, and now the Lightkeepers are set to attack. He must be warned, and I could not reach him.”
Jarek spoke with haste, yet wished that he had time to explain more. Only Syrsha had contacted the young Tribesman.
Conri began to question him further, yet suddenly stopped. Instead, he bowed his head low and quieted. Jarek watched as the High Lord shifted, slowly changing from man to wolf. His hair, ebony and glass-like, thickened where it hung, turning coarse and shortening. His nose, once long and thin, widened until a muzzle appeared. His lips thinned, and his eyes looked sun-stained. Atop his head, pointed ears peaked, listening and twitching. Where his hands once gripped a stone-tiled desk, paws now balanced, sharp-clawed and scraping against the slate.
Shaking and shivering, Jarek waited, eyes wide.
The High Lord did not speak, but Jarek understood that he was no longer in the room. Time-walking did not come easy for Conri and required the shift, Jarek guessed. He did not call out or interrupt, instead conserving what energy remained to him. Jarek did not know if the High Lord would hear him if he did cry out, for he had never witnessed another time-walk. And as much as he wanted to offer aid, Jarek knew that there was little that he could do.
It was not long until the Tribesman returned, man once more.
With his smooth brow furrowed, Conri mumbled, “I could not find him.”
Panting and pained, he continued, “There is an atraglacia field around the pier. I was able to get near, but not near enough to find his ship.”
“Do you think the Lightkeepers have already arrived?” Jarek asked.
“Perhaps. Blaidd will be weakened by the presence of so much atraglacia and unable to fight. It was enough to prevent me from nearing him, even without flesh.”
The healer’s treachery was becoming worse than Jarek once feared, and, now, without being able to warn Blaidd, he would likely be captured or killed. The thought was a dark one, and Jarek ached with rage.
“
I should have known not to trust him,” he muttered.
More composed now, yet white-faced and weary, Conri asked, “Why was he needed at all?”
His question suggested that the High Lord did not know of the tallora and that Syrsha had not visited him of late. With as rapid of an explanation as he could muster, Jarek told him of Kennet’s plans and of the rumors of Delwin’s weapon. Conri’s reaction told him much.
“You know of this poison,” Jarek evenly stated, watching as Conri’s lips tightened and his eyes became starless and black.
“I should have long ago killed that man.”
Jarek knew that Conri spoke of the king, the one whom he had let live.
“Why did you not?” Jarek asked without hesitation, having never understood why the Tribesman had allowed Delwin to survive.
“I promised Syrsha that I would not.”
With the accusation unmasked, Jarek told him, “Had you killed him then, we would all have been better off.”
“I had little choice,” Conri growled. “Had I killed him then, war would have come sooner. From both Tribe and Rexterra. And, worse, I would have been acting against the command of my father.”
“So you acted out of fear, and not because of your vow to Syrsha?”
Jarek was not surprised when Conri jumped up and howled, “Had she wanted me to kill everyone on that field that day, I would have! She knows more than any of us what would have come from that. Had I killed him then, Jarek, my father would not have allowed Syrsha to leave Cordisia. He would have taken the babe, and not even I could have prevented it. Syrsha would have been used as the weapon he long desired, until even Eirrannia was destroyed.”
“She was only a few moons old,” Jarek spit through grinding teeth.
“Her age mattered little to him. She was born of flesh, and of the North. Eirrannia would defend her, and he would let it happen. Until Cordisia was his, and then the North would fall as well. Do you not see, Jarek? He will let the Tribe fight, until one of us comes out as victor, with Cordisia as the prize.”
Shaking his head, Jarek cried, “If the Crows defeat you, then they will rule!”
Jarek could feel himself being pulled back to the piers in the King’s City. It was now difficult to speak, and he could no longer move.
“What would you have me do?” he breathed to the High Lord with nearly silent words.
Conri recognized what was occurring and hurriedly stated, “Find Blaidd. Do what you can to see him free. Then come here. The fight has begun.”
He could do no more than nod. And even though he had not come for answers, one had found him. Lysandia must wait. On Azzaro’s return, he would beg the captain to see him to Vesta. With mage-skill and Azzaro’s command, they might arrive before the Lightkeepers.
After, they must travel to the Tribelands, where Jarek would honor a long-held oath. He would fight for the Wolves, and, when they won, he would claim Rexterra to rule.
Later, Azzaro found him half-sleeping where he last lay. When Jarek spoke of the plans, he was too weary and his vision too sky-swept to judge the captain’s reaction. But the man’s words tasted of sweet honey all the same.
“We must change ships. I have another anchored at the old docks, and she is swift and steady. Small, but agile. And I can sail her myself. If you can walk, we can go there now.”
Jarek doubted that he could move, but there was no time for him to rest. As he struggled to rise, Azzaro offered a rough-skinned hand. Together, they loaded a push-cart with food and water, enough to last a moon.
When Azzaro noticed Jarek eying the supplies, he said, “I have more aboard the Lexia. Hurry now. I saw uniformed guards patrolling the market.”
A quarter-hour later, they were pushing off from the rusting dock. Lexia, as Azzaro had promised, was nimble and quick and atop the Three Seas with haste.
As Jarek peered back at the towering turrets of the Grand Palace, he shook his head, but the sadness he expected would not come. He had not arrived in the King’s City by choice, but he had departed on his own. Joy was not his either. Not yet.
An hour later, when they were far enough from the coastline for any to notice, Jarek stood at the prow of the ship and lifted his arms. His shoulder stiffened, as it often did, where an arrowhead had once struck. It did not slow him as he called for a southerly wind. Ahead, the clouds parted, and the midday sun shone brightly across the sea. Trails of orange and red welcomed them, pointing them north. Behind, a lively breeze guided them forward. Azzaro said nothing, but his eyes told Jarek that he understood.
*****
14
“Something has happened,” she uttered, although there were none near enough to hear.
Behind Syrsha, the others rode, and she yanked her horse to a halt. Scanning the small group, she found Aldric, half-dazed as he rode at the rear. Kicking at the gelding, she hurried to him, circling her horse until she was at the mage’s side.
“Did you call for me?” she asked, searching the low and lush trail behind them. Trampled ferns, green and lush, marked their path.
It took him a moment to answer, for he was near to sleeping, but Aldric told her, “I have said nothing for an hour or more. What was it that you heard and what are you looking for?”
Her eyes, much the color of the rain-rich grass here, did not meet his as she said, “I thought that someone called for me. And my ward tightened, so much so that I feared we were being followed. Have you heard the sounds of pursuit behind you, Aldric?”
Suddenly, he was alert and turned to stare at the hoof-trodden trail. The others slowed their mounts, waiting, even though it was not yet time to break camp.
“No one comes that I can see, faela, but your eyes and ears both are stronger than mine. Should I call for Otieno?”
Beneath her, the gelding flitted, swinging its head from side to side, as if it now worried, too.
“I have not heard from Blaidd in days, and he should be sailing for Litusia now. But it was not he who called,” Syrsha explained as she tried to calm her horse, pulling the reins as it tried to circle. “It must have been Jarek, for I know no one else who could time-walk so far.”
“What would he want?” Aldric asked.
“I know not,” she admitted. “But I fear that the news is not good. When last we spoke, our plan was set.”
“Can you go to him now, Syrsha? If he came with dire word, then we must not wait for him to reappear,” the mage warned.
With a nod, Syrsha agreed, jumping from the mount and throwing the mage the leather straps. Of late, it had been difficult to time-walk, and she could no longer do so unless she was alone and unbothered. Aldric knew it to be so and directed the others to rest. Even Otieno did not object or approach. Yet Syrsha realized that both Otieno and Aldric would guard her as she escaped her flesh, even if they did not admit to it.
There were few trees along the Western Tian border, so she sat down in thick grass, soft as fur and smelling of dew. Her booted feet tucked under her, Syrsha closed her eyes and thought of Jarek. It did not take much, for she thought on him often these days with little else to do as they rode. She could not help but recall his eyes, blue gems staring out from a serious, sun-bronzed face. He was of sea and sky, of salt and storm. Of thunder drumming and lightning screaming. His breath was wind, fierce and hissing. Yet, each time she had visited, Jarek lived calmly rather than tempestuously, silent instead of booming.
But not this time.
He stood with arms raised on the bow of a many-sailed ship, with gray-black skies above him and steady rain falling around him. There were no others on the ship with him, yet when she looked beyond him, Syrsha noticed several yellow-cloaked men. She might have expected the six-pointed crests of the Rexterran Army. But these men, dressed as if draped in sunlight, stunned her deeply.
Lightkeepers, she suddenly realized, although he did not appear to be in the King’s City, for the docks were narrow and towering cliffs stood nearby. She nearly called for him, yet feared causi
ng alarm. Voices cried out, although it was not Jarek, who silently waited, letting the sky be his voice. As she watched, Syrsha tried to discern what occurred.
She had kept a tight ward across her, with Aldric’s aid, and only now realized how fortunate the choice had been. Without it, the Lightkeepers might sense her, or worse, see her and know who came. In truth, Syrsha knew little of the Lightkeepers, who had only grown in strength and numbers since she was a babe. But she had heard of their goal, which was to eliminate the Tribe from Cordisia.
Only then did she understand where she visited. Rapidly looking about for Blaidd, she tried to make sense of the booming sounds and crackling lights. Jarek was never meant to be with him, or with the healer, and Syrsha realized that something had gone wrong. Without flesh, she could move very little, yet searched the docks for a Covian boat. As with most ships that sailed from the Southern Cove Islands, it would be marked with an image of a shining sun. Yet she could see none that flew such a flag.
When her gaze fell upon a smoldering boat, gray smoke rising from a charred mast and hull, with no sails remaining intact, Syrsha’s eyes darkened and her hands warmed.
“Jarek!” she screamed, needing to make herself heard over the rumbling skies.
With effort, she went to him, gliding across until she stood near enough to reach out. His arms were still raised, the palms facing toward the gathered Lightkeepers. His soak tunic clung to his chest. Strong winds circled, causing the open sails to flap wildly in response. His hair, sun-tipped and falling across his face, hid his gaze. He noticed nothing, not even Syrsha.
Again she cried out for, and again he did not hear.
“Stay back!” he howled, “Or I will unleash lightning and strike the first to move!”
His words were not for her. He will kill them, she realized, as she searched for Blaidd. Just then, Syrsha eyed a gray-bearded man hovering behind a large wooden enclosure at the rear of the boat. His hands were tightly clenched around a wheel, although he leaned against the helm. Uncertain whether he was friend or foe to Jarek, Syrsha paused.
