by A. R. Wilson
“I could barely sleep last night.” See, I can lie too. “I just kept thinking how amazing it is to know that no one can find me here.”
“Yes. We are the envy of the world.”
“Shall we get going?”
Arnya tipped her head then stood. Revel stumbled over himself to make it to the door in time to hold it open for them.
“Thank you, young sir.” Arnya patted his shoulder as she walked past him.
Outside, the village of Tretchin buzzed with dallests going about their daily tasks. Arnya led the way back to the grove. After setting up the ring of stones, Tascana pretended to meditate with the flames. She couldn’t risk losing track of time. Not today. Dellia told her to be back an hour before sunset, and she did not want to be late.
When the time felt right, she took an audibly deep breath. “I think we should head home.”
“So early?”
“I promised Dellia I would be back in time to have dinner with her. She goes on shift tonight to work in the tunnels so we won’t see each other for a couple days.”
The corner of the dallest’s mouth tugged upward. “Well, then, let’s get you home.”
They walked in silence, as usual. Tascana feared she might break into a run. With every step her ankles twitched with anticipation.
At the house, Revel and Chalance sat in front of the hearth polishing daggers.
“Is Dellia here?”
“Are you certain you can do this?” Chalance kept his eyes on his blades.
A concerned glance from Revel signaled the question was meant for her.
“Yes, are you?”
Chalance craned his neck toward her. “There is only one shot at this. I would rather wait another six months than risk dying tonight.”
Tascana noticed the lines on his face. He barely looked himself. Where was the joking, friendly guy who kept teasing Revel about liking her?
“I take as much of a risk as you. If I doubted myself, I would not agree to do this.”
He nodded, his lips turned into almost a frown. “I have no choice but to trust you.”
Revel placed a dagger next to the row of polished blades and stood. “Dellia has already gone into the tunnels. Load your pockets with whatever you need, but travel light. At midnight, we head out to join her.”
Racing up the stairs, her mind whirred with ideas. A sleeproll? A bag of food? A water jug? Then she paused, her hand on the latch to her room. A great underground lake waited for her in those tunnels. Whatever she took with her had to be something she could hold while swimming. Entering her room, she looked around for items of use. If she were planning a week-long hike she might have taken several things. But this was no vacation, no mere journey. Every minute would be a race to get as far as they could as fast as possible. One mistake and their battle for freedom would end.
She sat on the floor. What might she need?
“Trust your gut.”
Father always told her to listen to that inner voice. This time, it remained silent. Nothing came to mind. Dellia had the map. Chalance had an assortment of blades. Revel…. Well, she didn’t know any purpose he might serve to help, but he was coming nonetheless. What would they need? A bedroll would be nice but wouldn’t help to travel far. Food would help to keep up their strength, but they could just as easily forage along the way.
Rope? Father always kept lengths of rope with him when he traveled anywhere. It seemed he used it on every occasion, even the ones when he didn’t anticipate needing it.
She would bring some rope, but everything else in this house would stay.
Nightfall descended on the valley, spiking Tascana’s nerves. This was it. Chalance kept watch near a window. After a short eternity, he signaled toward the door. Revel took the lead, pausing outside a moment to listen. Nodding, he slipped into the dark. She chased after him, moving as fast as she dared.
She jogged on her toes, cutting the shortest path to the edge of the village, then followed Revel into the field beyond. The grasses here grew tall enough to cover them if they hunched down. They used the field to skirt left, coming up to a wall of rock. Chalance joined them a few minutes later, pointing at Tascana to enter the false wall. When she hesitated, Revel stepped through and held out a hand for her.
Now she had to take it or risk falling into him on the other side.
Chalance spared her the decision by grasping her arm and pulling her into darkness.
Dellia’s tense voice echoed from all directions. “Did anyone see you?”
“I don’t think so.” Chalance guided Tascana’s hand to grip a loop on his belt. “But let’s not take any chances. Lead us out.”
“Okay. Revel, hold my hand. Do you have a grip on Chalance or Tascana?”
Irritation cracked into Chalance’s voice. “I have both of them. Move!”
The loop in Tascana’s hand tugged to the right. Shuffling along, she wondered how they knew where to walk in this pitch. The farther they walked, the more she wondered.
For what seemed like hours, she followed her guide. Imaginary thorns poked at her gut, nagging her to worry she had missed something. Then it hit her: Where was the lake?
“Where —?”
An instant after the syllable formed on her lips, a hand slapped over her mouth. The gritty whisper of Chalance bit next to her ear. “Not… one… word.”
A hand gripped hers back into a belt loop and tugged her forward.
The vine in her gut sprouted a calyx at the base of her throat. What had she gotten herself into? Guided by nothing other than the sensation of a cord of fabric in her hand, she had allowed a group of practical strangers to steal her away in the night. Even if she did break free of them, where would she go? Where could she go? As far as she knew, they were leading her back to the castle.
Light crackled. Dellia smiled at her, holding a torch. “We made it around the lake.”
Tascana didn’t respond.
Chalance put a hand on Tascana’s shoulder. “Sorry about back there. We had to be silent the first leg of the journey.”
Stepping away from his touch, she moved closer to Dellia. “I like the old Chalance better.”
He frowned, eyebrows gathering.
“We’re all in this together.” Dellia reached to hold her hand. “And once we’re beyond The Master’s gaze, we can all look back and laugh.”
“How much farther?” She accepted the reach, pulling in close to Dellia’s side.
“According to the map, we’re directly under the castle now.”
Her words didn’t echo in this place. The air smelled musty and damp. A lump formed in Tascana’s throat, and she choked it down, refusing to allow the vine to spiral her into another panic attack.
“We can’t keep the torch burning.” Dellia gave the implement a wave of demonstration. “But I wanted to be sure everyone was all right.”
“I’m getting tired.” Revel worked a hand into his shoulder.
“Me too, but there’s no time to rest. Not here.” Dellia looked at Chalance. “Once we get closer to the edge of the mountain, we’ll regroup again.” With her free hand, she positioned Tascana to stand between her and Revel.
Chalance shrugged, his gaze lowering. The light sucked back into oblivion. Revel gripped a fistful of her shirt hem as he followed.
For another eternity, they walked and walked and walked.
She felt Delia pause then heard her whisper.
“This is it, Tascana. On the other side of this door is our freedom. Are you ready to cast that spell?”
“Absolutely. Let’s do this.”
EPILOGUE
Shevenor leaned back in his chair to stretch his arms high above his head. The muscles in his neck were clenched into a single knot, singing their pain as he stretched. Working his tired hands through the stiffness, he scanned through a letter from the leaders of Aplaskra. Letters from Flint Heart, Corrinor, Trayth, and Hallinger lay beneath it. Five of the eleven villages in Bondurant had responded to the wa
rnings he sent out the day Jurren left Kovarilos to return home. Shevenor was glad these letters had not taken their standard ten to fourteen day response time. The sooner they all came together on the issue, the better.
The scouts from Hess Bren were a whole other matter. Stings of worry still twisted through Shevenor since their secret meeting two nights ago. What happened to the missing messengers from Kovarilos? At least Jurren and Arkose were able to speak warning to Saimohl, not that it did any good. That incompetent bureaucrat cared more about believing in peace than keeping the peace.
A soft voice drifted in from the door. “Would you like some tea, my lord?”
The leader looked up to see a young man with neatly trimmed blond hair, dark eyes, and a confident smile.
“Hmm? Oh, Vrayken! Yes, I would love some. Come in.” Shevenor gestured for the boy.
The youth nodded, retreated out the door, then returned with a serving tray. Setting it on the floor so as not to disturb the piles on the table, he poured a cup of tea then set out a plate of biscuits and cut fruit.
Shevenor grinned at Vrayken’s efforts. Why did his son insist on being in the thick of governing affairs? Weren’t twelve-year-old boys supposed to be consumed with arm wrestling competitions and learning to shoot a bow? He had to be the only youth in all of Kovarilos, in all of Bondurant, who would rather serve tea and biscuits to officials than play with his friends.
Then again, this was the first real emergency in Vrayken’s lifetime. The boy never missed an opportunity to be in the thick of Bondurant’s affairs, and this was the thickest it had ever been.
“Thank you.” Shevenor took the cup, savoring the warmth in his hands.
“Can I help you with anything else?”
“Are there any more letters?”
“Not yet, but I’ll let you know as soon as one arrives.”
“Thank you, Son. You may go now.” Shevenor sipped at the cup, sifting through the papers to reread through Hallinger’s response.
“Father?”
“Yes?”
The boy hesitated, and Shevenor looked up from his desk. “What is it, Son?”
“Are there really goblins in Gaulden Forest?”
Shevenor let go of the paper in his hand. “Where did you hear that?”
“So it’s true?” The boy clasped his hands together at his waist as though trying not to flinch.
“Answer my question. Have you been slinking in behind Council members to eavesdrop again?” The flush of heat in the boy’s cheeks was all the answer he needed. “Vrayken, I will ground you to your mother’s side if this continues! Men of honor do not sneak up behind people to listen in on others’ conversations.”
“I am sorry, my lord.” He mumbled into his chest.
Shevenor sighed. It was difficult to discipline a child so willing to own their mistakes. “Give me your word that the next time this happens you agree to stay by your mother’s side for a month.”
“On my honor, my lord.”
“Thank you. You may go now.”
“Father?”
“Yes?”
“So it’s true then?”
Shevenor took a deep breath before answering. “We cannot be certain just yet, but it is a possibility. This is one of those things that require more than one set of eyes.”
“Have you sent word to the Fortress of Erudition?”
“Until we know more, any message sent to the Grand Wizards would simply be informing them of a rumor.”
“But it is a seven day ride to get there —”
The leader snapped his fingers in warning. How many times had Vrayken tried to find an excuse to venture there alone? At least three in the past month.
“Forget it! This is not your concern, Son. Maybe someday you too will govern this village, but that day is not today. You have had enough of meddling in the affairs of the Council. Go home to your mother until I send for you.”
“But Wraithshade is a strong horse. We’ve trained together for two years. I could just —”
“I said forget it!”
Vrayken curved at the shoulders like a whipped dog. A fist pounded on the door, and they both jumped.
The voice on the other side pushed through, jumbling the sentence into a single word. “Permission to enter, my lord!”
“Enter!” Shevenor stood from his desk.
“My lord.” A road-worn man stumbled in, breathing heavily after every word. “I bring word from Southam.”
The cup in Shevenor’s hand shattered as it hit the ground. “Vrayken, leave us.”
Vrayken moved to clean up the shards at Shevenor’s feet. The leader repeated his order. Backing up sideways, as though he hoped to catch at least one detail, Vrayken slunk toward the exit. A moment later, another pounding sounded from the door.
“Permission to enter, my lord!”
“I am in the middle of something.” Shevenor’s eyes stayed on the man now lumped in a chair by his desk.
“I bring urgent news from Hallinger.”
Shevenor lowered himself into his chair. “Enter.”
Oden, an advisor to the Council in Hallinger, walked in with an appearance to match the first man. “Something grave has happened.”
“Since my first guest is still catching his breath, I’ll let you start.”
Oden glanced at the man in the chair then back to Shevenor. “This may be a matter best spoken in private.”
Shevenor gestured to the other man. “He brings word from Southam.”
Still gasping to catch his breath, the first runner trembled with a series of coughs. “It... is... it...”
The leader of Kovarilos held up a hand. “Catch your breath, my friend. I do not want to miss a single detail. Oden, what news do you bring?”
Oden, a tall man with a slender build, pulled a chair nearer to Shevenor. “You sent us word about a disease, an infection of both the body and mind. We sent word back that we were ready and willing to assist whatever you had in mind.”
“Yes, the letter arrived yesterday evening.” Shevenor held up the parchment.
“As a precaution, we decided to send a few spies to Southam. It just didn’t make any sense. Southam is a three day journey from Hallinger, and we haven’t seen or spoken to any of them in years. It was as if a spirit of forgetfulness had fallen on the land.”
“Yes, Oden, I know all this. What news did you bring?”
“Sorry, my lord. Our spies ran into trouble before they even left the outskirts of our own village. A hermit at the south end, near the foothills of the Xanz Mountains, was seen acting strangely. When our men went to investigate...” Oden leaned forward in his chair to put his head in his hands. “By the time it was over, nine of our men were dead. Along with two half-man beast looking things with gray skin.”
Shevenor spread his hands flat along the table. So it was true. Goblins had invaded Bondurant.
“We were prepared, but we were no match for them.” Oden dropped his hands as he pulled his head up. “Three others survived the attack but were badly wounded. You do know what that means?”
Shevenor nodded his condolences.
Oden ran both hands through his shoulder-length, sandy hair. “The entire village of Hallinger is being evacuated. No one is allowed to bring possessions or any infirmed family member. They are taking the long road around Gaulden and then heading north into the Jestine Mountains. I was sent ahead to bring word to you.”
Shevenor studied the man’s face for a moment. “You stopped in Hess Bren and Flint Heart too, didn’t you?”
Oden shook his head. “The quickest route to Kovarilos doesn’t take me through those villages.”
The vice in Shevenor’s neck tightened. “You went through Gaulden Forest?”
Oden shrugged. “That hermit wasn’t in the ghostwoods when he took down that first man. I figured I was just as safe taking a direct route.”
Shevenor looked to his other visitor. The man was breathing easier, his eyes fixed on Oden. “What n
ews do you bring from Southam?”
“I was afraid I might have to convince you I’m not crazy before you’d believe my story.” He leaned forward in his chair to release a waterbag tied at his waist. “Guess I’m not the only one living a nightmare.”
“Tell me your name before you begin.” Shevenor took out a piece of parchment to take notes from Oden’s story.
“It’s me, Mucail.”
Shevenor gawked at the man. Beneath the dirt, the abrasions, the tattered clothing, and the unshaven beard, he saw a man he vaguely remembered sending to deliver correspondence to Southam.
“Mucail, I didn’t even recognize you.”
“Before I start, I did not get clawed by a goblin.”
Mucail’s eyes shifted as though to look at Oden but changed his mind. “I went to Southam, like you asked, and when I got there, no one could tell me where to find Cottesk, their leader. I must have spoken to at least ten people. No one had seen him in over a week. Not a single person knew where he was or how I could find any of the Council members to find out why this hadn’t been reported.
“Then this thing came out of nowhere. It was the ugliest creature on two legs I have ever seen in all my days. It was shaped like a man, but its skin was gray, and its legs were all hairy like a bear. My horse reared up and bolted, thankfully with me on him. And just as we sped off, I saw that thing’s face. I swear this to you, on my life, that creature had the face of Cottesk.”
“How can you be sure?”
“I will admit I have not seen him in ten years, same as everybody here in Kovarilos, but I remember that man. Whatever jumped out at me in Southam had his face.”
Shevenor wasn’t sure if he gave the man a nod of acceptance. His heart begged him to call Mucail a liar, but it was useless. Truth was as easy for him to see as any physical entity. Oden had told the truth, as had Mucail. The only issue now was what to do next.
“Gentlemen, if you will accompany me into the main chambers, I have an assembly to address.” Shevenor stepped around the broken cup of tea.
As he opened the door, a din of voices rose up to meet him. There were twice as many people milling about now than earlier that morning. Shevenor shuffled his way past curious faces to the steps leading up to the bench. By the time he reached the top, three other Council members were making their way to join him. He held up a hand to show he intended to speak alone.
