She touched Rowen’s arm. He turned, alarmed, and stared at her. He seemed torn over whether or not to hate her. After all, she was a Shel’ai—one of those who had enslaved and tormented his brother. But he had El’rash’lin’s memories, plus what he’d seen with his own eyes: Silwren tending the wounded, comforting the dying. She read his mind and sensed the rage in him, the raw hurt, but he was willing to listen. That must be enough.
Slowly, she explained the irreversible Blood Thrall. Once chosen, it could not be refused. No matter Kayden’s will, at best, the Blood Thrall would have remained a dull, daily torment from which he’d finally been saved.
“How could the Shel’ai do this? How could anyone be so cruel?”
Silwren countered. “When in history has there been a war devoid of cruelty?”
Rowen touched his sword. “Did you know?”
Silwren’s eyes fell on Knightswrath. She’d not yet told the Human what he carried. She’d spoken about it with El’rash’lin, deciding to keep that secret for now—but El’rash’lin’s final request had been for her to try and help Rowen understand. But am I ready for that? Is he?
For now, she answered his question. “It happened after El’rash’lin left, while I slept. Had we been there, we would have stopped it. I can only ask that you believe me.”
Reading Rowen’s mind, she sensed him remembering passages from the Codex Lotius—statements of honor and sacrifice—and how Silwren had fought against her own kind, even the one who had nearly been her husband, for what she thought was right. Guiltily, she withdrew from his mind.
“How did Kayden end up with the Shel’ai in the first place? Aeko says they were ambushed by Sylvs. That it was arrows—not magic—that wiped out his company.”
“The Shel’ai pretended to be Sylvs,” Silwren said. “They killed the Knights, hoping to create animosity between Sylvos and the Lotus Isles. That way, the Knights wouldn’t help the Sylvs once the forests were invaded.”
“And some, they took as prisoner,” Rowen finished. “And by some curse of the gods, I’m the one who found Kayden!” He shook his head, overcome by grief and disbelief.
“Perhaps it wasn’t a curse,” Silwren said. “Perhaps it was not chance, either. Perhaps you were meant to find Kayden, to save him. Remember Namundvar’s Well,” she pressed. “You looked into the Light, Rowen. You felt it just as I have. You ache now to be apart from it, but the Light is inside you—in everything. Isn’t that what the Knights teach?”
Rowen smiled bitterly. “The Knights are armored dung. The sooner they’re wiped off the face of Ruun, the better.”
Silwren rested her hand on his sword arm. “The Knighthood needs you, just as the Shel’ai need me. The world has gone mad, Human. We must remake it.”
Rowen did not answer. She stayed with him for a long time. She did not have to pry into his thoughts to know what he would do. Together, they watched sunlight spill off the parapets, lighting the slums below.
The ceremony was held in the Dark Quarter. They might have arranged it in the Queen’s Garden—had it not been burned. The last Prince of Lyos offered the use of his palace, but the knights refused. A grim silence still hung over the palace in the wake of the king’s murder, and this was to be a joyous occasion. So, on Aeko’s suggestion, they chose the Dark Quarter instead.
For the first time in Lyos’s history, Dogbane Circle found itself cleaned, the earth scattered with white and crimson dogblossoms brought back from the Lotus Isles. A new dais was constructed from white oak. Aeko stood there in smartly polished battle-dress, her azure tabard rippling in the morning light. Bright banners billowed overhead, proudly displaying the dearest symbols of the Knighthood: the lotus, the stag, and the balancing crane.
Crowds filled the circle—not just Isle Knights, squires, nobles, and soldiers, but citizens of the Dark Quarter, too. All came to watch Aeko recite hallowed passages from the Codex Lotius then address the kneeling, white-robed figure of Rowen Locke. Ignoring Crovis Ammerhel—who simmered next to her—she spoke of honor, humility, and the legacy of Fâyu Jinn. She spoke these words to one who had been an orphan, a pickpocket, a sellsword—certainly not the pedigree the Knighthood usually looked for. Other Knights bristled with the insult but said nothing.
“Do you accept the charge granted unto you by the Light: to safeguard the weak, to honor your enemies, to uphold the laws of the Knighthood and defend them with all your blood and breath?”
Aeko had spoken these words countless times on the Lotus Isles, knighting the worthy and unworthy alike, often for reasons that were merely political. The words often seemed like meaningless dogma, the bombastic recitations demanded by formality and tradition.
But not today. For all her efforts to maintain a solemn expression, Aeko could not help smiling at her kneeling squire as Rowen looked up, overwhelmed by unashamed emotion, tears running down his cheeks. He tried to speak. His voice broke. Clearing his throat, he said, “I do.”
Aeko’s smile broadened. Standing to her right, Silwren handed her something with great reverence: Rowen’s bright, unsheathed sword. Normally, squires were given adamunes when they were knighted, but Rowen already had one. So Aeko simply moved to return it to her kneeling squire.
“Then, in the sacred name of Fâyu Jinn, by the Light and all the pantheons of the heavens, I charge you and summon you to—”
She gasped. Her eyes caught the name of the sword in her grasp, freshly visible in the morning light.
Standing next to her, Crovis Ammerhel saw it, too. The Knight of the Lotus paled. “Fel-Nâya…”
“Knightswrath,” Aeko gasped. She turned from Rowen to Silwren.
Silwren said nothing, but her violet eyes flowed with tears of pride. Aeko wondered if the Shel’ai hadn’t recognized Rowen’s sword from the beginning, even when she and the other Knights did not.
Uneasy murmurs swept through Dogbane Circle. Why had the Knights stopped? Was something wrong? Still kneeling, Rowen frowned, confused. He had been about to accept Knightswrath, thinking the ceremony nearly finished.
“That sword cannot pass to a mere Knight of the Crane!” Sir Ammerhel whispered hotly, audible only to those standing nearby. “The Codex Viticus—”
“I am aware,” Aeko answered.
“I am the commander of this battalion,” Crovis pressed, leaning so close to Aeko that she felt his spittle on her cheek. “Lady Shingawa, I should not have to remind a Knight of the Stag of her duty. Hand me the sword before this gets out of hand.”
Aeko wondered what Silwren would do if Crovis attempted to seize Rowen’s sword by force. If the wytch attacked Crovis, Aeko would be honor-bound to defend him. But what about Rowen?
Aeko’s fixed gaze fell on Rowen. He was her squire, after all. She was knighting him herself, on her honor, without first acquiring permission from Grand Marshal Bokuden, Sir Ammerhel, and the rest of the Knights’ Council. While her actions were not strictly forbidden, they were a flagrant breech of etiquette as set forth by the Codex Viticus and observed by the Isle Knights for centuries.
Then it hit her. Her actions, originally intended not just to honor Rowen but to serve as an act of defiance against Crovis, had a dual benefit: she was the presiding officer of these proceedings. Crovis could not interfere.
Aeko’s smile returned. She began again. Clear and strong, her voice echoed through Dogbane Circle and the slums beyond. “Then in the sacred name of Fâyu Jinn, by the Light and all the pantheons of the heavens, I charge you and summon you to fulfill your oath. Rise... Sir Rowen Locke, Knight of the Crane!”
She pressed Knightswrath into his hands.
Rowen rose. Aeko bowed. All the other Knights followed suit—even Sir Ammerhel. Rowen stared, dumbfounded, as those about him fidgeted.
“Bow, you dunce!” Aeko whispered with affection.
Startled, Rowen bowed to the Isle Knights then straightened. Dogbane Circle erupted into wild applause.
As soon as she was able, Aeko seized him by the arm and
pulled him aside, maintaining a strained smile until they were clear of well-wishers. Silwren followed but said nothing. Aeko stopped smiling. But before she could wring his neck, Rowen spoke.
“What did Ammerhel mean about this sword passing to a mere Knight of the Crane? I know that squires can’t carry adamunes, but you knighted me! If Ammerhel wants my sword, he can have it. That’s his right.” Rowen shrugged. “The dragonbone’s worth a lot, I know, but I’ll be happy with any adamune.”
Aeko frowned. Crovis had stomped away as soon as the ceremony ended, drawing most of the Isle Knights with him. Only a few—her supporters, the youngest and poorest knights of the battalion—remained in the Dark Quarter.
Too few... Even now, Crovis could be plotting to have her or Rowen—or both of them—arrested. They had to move quickly. But first, Rowen had to understand what was at stake here.
She tapped his sword’s hilt. “Locke, don’t you know what you have there?”
Rowen blinked. “My last employer won it in a dice game. When he gave it to me, I thought it was rusted solid, but—”
“We talked in the garden about the legend of Fâyu Jinn’s burial—how he decreed that he should be entombed in the Wytchforest as a sign of the old alliance between the Sylvs and the Lotus Isles.”
Beside her, Silwren stirred but remained silent.
Aeko continued. “Another part of the legend was kept secret, known only to the highest-ranking Knights—the name of Fâyu Jinn’s sword, supposedly entombed with him, the ancient sword made by Shel’ai in the days of the Shattering War.” She paused meaningfully. “Fel-Nâya.” Aeko couldn’t quite decide whether to embrace him or strike him. “Locke, how can somebody this lucky—or this blessed—be this dense? By the Light, you’re carrying the lost sword of Fâyu Jinn himself!”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
THE EXILE, FULL CIRCLE
Everything happened so quickly afterward that Rowen could hardly catch his breath. For two days, Aeko and her most trusted Knights kept Rowen hidden, shifting him from inn to inn, from Lyos to the Dark Quarter then back again, so that Crovis could not find him. The Knight of the Lotus might have ruined her for that, but Aeko soon found an unexpected ally.
Typherius, the last surviving son of Pelleas, returned from Phaegos to assume kingship of Lyos. The new king—tall and thin with dark, sad eyes—was no great friend to Crovis, who years ago had infamously ordered the near-sacking of Phaegos over some imagined insult. At Aeko’s suggestion, the new king suspended all Isle Knights’ authority within his city. Then, he convened a council to decide the matter. Aeko got word to Rowen. He appeared at the palace for only the second time in his life—this time flanked by Silwren and a dozen of Aeko’s most trusted Knights.
Though Crovis had not been invited, he strode into the hall almost as soon as the meeting began. “For days, this man has hidden from me.” He pointed accusingly at Rowen. “This man, this new Knight of the lowest order, has seen fit to steal a priceless relic thought lost centuries ago! That relic must be returned to the Knights’ Council at once. Likewise, this man’s honor should be investigated with the utmost prejudice—as should those who have vouched for him.” He included Aeko in his gaze.
Rowen bristled, but Aeko rose and spoke in his defense, pointing out the absurd unlikelihood that Rowen—alone—could have breached the great Wytchforest and carried off the sword right out from under Sylvan noses.
“The sword was rusted when it first appeared,” she reminded them. “Now it gleams as though newly forged. Could that not be a sign from the Light that it is to remain in Sir Locke’s possession?”
Crovis scowled, as did the Knights around him. “The sacred sword of Fâyu Jinn cannot rust. To imply otherwise is blasphemy. Besides, I remind you, there are no witnesses to any of this.”
“My former employer, Hráthbam, saw,” Rowen countered.
Crovis sneered. “Convenient that the only witness isn’t here!”
A ripple of laughter filled the chamber. Rowen blushed with rage and shame. Silwren stood and said, “I witnessed this as well. Has the Knight of the Lotus forgotten, or does he merely call me a liar?”
Crovis faced her with strained politeness. “You misunderstand me, milady. I meant no reproach. This is a matter for the Knighthood, and as such, we must make our ruling based on our own laws and precepts, as set forth by the Codex Viticus. Your credibility as the savior of Lyos is not in question. However, the sword of Fâyu Jinn is another matter.” He added in an icy tone, “I trust you will forgive any offense.”
Silwren raised one eyebrow—a simple gesture of malice—but King Typherius intervened. He rose from his chair, and all fell silent.
Rowen studied the grim expression of the man who had been a lesser prince just weeks before, who had ascended to the throne of Lyos only after the rest of his family was murdered. I wonder if I have the same look on my face.
The new king said, “We are, of course, deeply grateful to all the Knights who bled to save this city. We are also grateful, Sir Ammerhel, for the generous assistance lent by your order these past few weeks in our reconstruction efforts.”
Crovis bowed. “We are your servants, Majesty.”
Rowen fought off a grimace. While relief had come from the Isles, he had already heard rumors that the Isle Knights–under Crovis’s orders—had bled the coffers of Lyos dry as compensation for their slain brethren. The wry look on Aeko’s face told him she was thinking the same thing.
“Even with the battle ended, we face a number of troubling questions,” King Typherius continued. “What to do with the Throng prisoners, for one. Sir Ammerhel insists they should be taken back to the Lotus Isles and held there until they can be ransomed back to the sorcerers. This, in spite of the fact that their revolt against Fadarah and the sorcerers is probably the only reason all of us are standing here today.” He paused meaningfully. “Captain Epheus has already reminded us that they are prisoners of Lyos—not the Knighthood—and should be subject to our justice. I agree with him.”
Rowen glanced at the new Captain of the Red Watch, seated and scowling at the king’s right hand, then back to the king himself. Despite the king’s strained smile, he pressed his fingertips against the table so hard his knuckles turned white. He’s stalling.
“There is also the question of the sorcerers,” Typherius continued. “With the obvious exception of Silwren, they remain our enemies. Silwren tells me she has sensed the death of what we call the Nightmare, but Fadarah and many of his ilk live on.”
“You need not trouble yourself with them, Sire,” Crovis interrupted. “Without an army or their demon, they pose no serious threat.”
Same thing you said about the Throng, Rowen thought.
The king continued. “Nevertheless, Lyos must repair itself quickly and look to brace itself against whatever future storm may assail us, whether it comes from the sorcerers or the Dhargots.”
Crovis had nothing to say at the mention of the armies from the Dhargoth Peninsula which, according to reports, were sweeping eastward.
“And now,” Typherius continued, “we have the sword of a lost hero, reappeared as though out of thin air. A priceless symbol, a relic from a bygone age. And the great Isle Knights, so wise and learned, squabbling over what to do with it.”
Despite the azure tabard he now wore, Rowen smiled at the king’s thinly veiled rebuke of the Knighthood.
Crovis cleared his throat. “What are you suggesting, Sire?”
“I lack my father’s wisdom, not to mention his temperance. I never wanted to be king. That’s no secret. I would have been quite content to remain in Phaegos.” He cast a pointed look at Crovis. “But I would be a poor ruler if I did not say what should be obvious to anyone with eyes. There are powers at work here... powers I do not understand. I have never believed in fate, but even I cannot deny the impossibility of all these coincidences.”
Rowen winced. Are these the same coincidences that led to my brother being enslaved, cursed, then given
back to me just so I could free him from his misery?
The king said, “I see prudence in the advice of Sir Ammerhel: the sword of Fâyu Jinn should be taken back to the Lotus Isles for safekeeping. But my heart says otherwise.” He paused, letting the Knights bristle. “Once, thinking I would never be king, I spent my time with fairy tales instead of studies. If I recall the legends correctly, Fâyu Jinn decreed that should the Knights ever ask the Sylvs for aid, that aid would be granted. I understand from Lady Shingawa that a previous delegation to the Wytchforest was rebuffed. I wonder, though, if they would be so quick to turn away an Isle Knight carrying the sword of Fâyu Jinn.”
Crovis rose, livid. “Forgive my tone, Sire, but I most strongly disagree. To return the sword to the Sylvs would be a waste. Have you forgotten that they killed the very delegation you speak of?”
Typherius pointed to Silwren. “According to her, your Knights were not killed by Sylvs but Shel’ai disguised as such.”
“Either way, the Sylvs are a treacherous race. They might very well kill any Knights who appeared, thinking they’d stolen the sword.”
“Or perhaps they would take them seriously when they proposed an alliance,” Typherius countered.
“What alliance? What need have we to ask the Sylvs for help? The war is over!”
Many other Knights grunted their approval. The eyes of King Typherius narrowed dangerously. “It seems I can read a map better than you can, Sir Ammerhel.” He gestured at the table before them, indicating an unrolled depiction of the Simurgh Plains all the way to the Dhargoth Peninsula. “The Dhargots are marching east in droves. The sorcerers are still at large. I’ve asked you before, both privately and in open council, if the Knighthood would pledge to defend its protectorates should the Dhargots sweep this far east… the Dhargots you insisted to my father would prevent the Throng from ever reaching Lyos, I might add. You refuse to answer. In light of this, I’d say you have a rather dubious understanding of war.”
Wytchfire (Book 1) Page 36
