by Aaron Pogue
“Yes, my lord. And the woodsman?”
Corin blinked. He hadn’t moved. He knelt there, dazed, while Aemilia’s killers casually discussed how they would deal with him.
“He is no threat to us,” Ephitel said. “Leave him to his grief.”
“Yes, my lord.” The footfalls of a dozen armored men announced their departure, and then the door fell closed behind them. Corin summoned all the strength he had just to force himself upright. He climbed to his feet. His breath came fast and hot, and his heart hammered in his chest. He fixed his eyes on the door into the outer room, just to keep them from touching Aemilia.
And then the door opened. Corin groaned softly as Ephitel himself came through. He’d sent away his soldiers. He was every bit as dismissive of the broken pirate as he had been before. He came alone and undefended into the room, and if only the sword had been waiting in its hiding place, Corin would have stabbed the monster through the heart.
But no. Instead, he watched while Ephitel casually considered the corpse upon the floor, admiring his own handiwork. For how long had Corin hated this creature? All his life he’d despised the wicked ruling family and their tyrant god. And then Corin had stepped into an ancient dream and glimpsed the fiend’s true treachery.
And still Corin hadn’t hated him. Not the way he’d hated Dave Taker. Or Ethan Blake. Ephitel had always been a distant power, a devastating force of nature. But now, as he stared down at the druid’s corpse, Ephitel became something else altogether. He became Corin’s enemy. And Corin’s enemies had a tendency to end up dead. Corin clenched his fists and struggled hard to breathe.
Oblivious to Corin’s rage, Ephitel ran a careful gaze around the outer walls, rapped his knuckles on the desktop, then stepped around the bed, closer to Corin. The elf’s eyes found the open trapdoor, and he nodded to himself in satisfaction. “My soldiers performed a thorough search indeed. I hadn’t even spotted that before.”
Corin didn’t answer. He was drowning in the open air.
Ephitel arched an eyebrow. Then he reached out to place one finger under Corin’s chin and tilted it up until the two locked gazes. Ephitel shook his head. “I am the lord, your god, Corin Hugh. I do not suffer insults lightly, but neither do I cast away that which can be redeemed. I can always find a use for a deserving man. Will you return unto the light?”
Corin showed his teeth in a parched growl, and Ephitel laughed in answer.
“Very well. Make peace with your grief, my child, and then leave this place forever. If my men find you here when they return, they may not extend my gracious mercy. You might have until sunset.”
Then he turned away, leaving Corin to his loss.
It might have been half an hour later when the door banged open in the outer room. Corin barely registered it. He did raise his head when the bedroom door gave its weary creak, but dropped it again when he saw who had come.
“Wade,” he said, his voice flat and thin even to his own ears. “You came too late.”
The druid shuffled uncertainly. “I came as quickly as I could, Corin. Aemilia. Is she . . .?”
“She’s dead. Ephitel’s handiwork.”
Wade gasped. “Here? He was here? Good lord, man, get on your feet! We have to run!”
Corin shook his head. “He found us, Wade. He knows we’re here. He didn’t seem a bit surprised.”
“You spoke with him?”
“I fought with him. But aye, he spoke with me. He told his men to post a secret watch for your companions as soon as they return from the village.”
Wade frowned. “We have some little time, then.” His eyes cut to the still form beneath the window, and he breathed a curse. “Why did you come here, Corin? If you suspected he was here—”
Corin forced a slow breath. “I came to get the sword.”
“Ah,” Wade said, and in that one word, Corin had his explanation.
The druids had the sword. They’d taken it. Or perhaps Aemilia had given it to them. They’d never wholly trusted Corin, and they knew how precious a thing it was. For the sake of all their clever plans, they’d stolen it away from him and left him empty-handed when Ephitel came to his door.
He couldn’t even find the strength to hate them for it. Not anymore. He let his head fall back against the wall and released a moan. “He killed her, Wade, because she was mine. That was all he really cared about. That, and because she was a druid. But not for any true transgression, not even some petty insult in his mind. He killed her as a chore, same as you and me out chopping wood.”
Wade rustled as he crossed the room. He didn’t answer Corin but rushed to Aemilia’s side. Corin fought against a surge of senseless hope. He heard the small sounds as Wade checked for signs of life. He felt for a pulse and listened at her breast, but what was there to find? Ephitel would not have left her alive.
Still Corin hoped. He knew that he would hate himself for leaving her there all this time if the man found the barest trace of life, but still he prayed for it. Sweet Fortune, let her be alive.
To Corin’s surprise, the druid passed no immediate judgment. While Wade was still fussing over her, Corin struggled to his feet. He had to brace himself against the wall. His ribs stabbed against his innards, and his knees threatened to give out, but he hauled himself upright and then crawled across the bed, a desperate hope burning in his veins.
“There is some sign of life?”
Wade startled at Corin’s voice. He flinched away, then sank back on his heels and shook his head sadly. “No. I’m sorry, Corin. She’s gone.”
“But you’re a druid! This is what you are for! It’s the only useful thing I’ve ever seen from your people. Heal her! Use your druid magics, your strange medicines, and make her well!”
“This is beyond our magic, Corin. She’s gone.”
“But still you were searching—”
“For her tablet,” Wade answered, patient as a stone. “She had precious artifacts that we cannot afford to lose.”
“Ephitel has them all,” Corin said. “He means to hunt the druids down like vermin, now that he has a lead.”
Wade nodded. “That might explain why he left you alive. Perhaps he hopes you’ll lead him back to us. But we have ways of hiding he cannot hope to overcome.”
Corin arched an eyebrow. “Tell me more.”
A knock at the door interrupted them. Both men reacted instantly. Corin snatched up a knife from its place beneath his pillow and slipped from the bed to take cover against the far wall. Wade spun in place, still crouching over Aemilia, and drew dartguns in both hands.
Pretty-faced Keelin gave a terrified squeak and dropped to the floor, covering her head with her hands. Aeondra and Noel didn’t flinch, but they put on equally disapproving glares for the men. The new arrivals were all druids Corin had met before, though only Aeondra ever came around the cottage. The other two he’d only seen during interrogations in his early days.
All three now crowded into the little bedroom, Noel roughly dragging Wade aside as the other two went to crouch above Aemilia. Corin flinched at the little sounds of horror they made as they saw what had been done to their companion.
“Come away,” Wade said, catching Corin’s elbow with a little tug. “Come away. Any one of these lovely girls is better suited to tend to Aemilia than I am. All three together . . . if there’s any hope, they’ll find it.”
Corin didn’t miss the look of anger Aeondra shot at Wade for that last comment. There was no hope. There’d never been any hope. He understood it, even as the women bent their heads together whispering fiercely.
“Come away,” Wade repeated, and Corin followed him into the outer room.
The room was an ungodly shambles. Corin hadn’t noticed when he’d first come to the cottage. He’d been far too distracted to consider the state of his home. And then his scuffle with Ephitel had clearly contributed its share to the damage, but as he looked now, he saw broken furniture and scattered possessions.
The curtains had b
een torn down from the window, the kitchen ransacked. Ephitel had ordered his soldiers to search the place, and they had committed fully to their task. Corin stood staring at the devastation until Wade gave another tug at his elbow to start him moving again. They crossed the living room and slipped out into the garden.
Here too Ephitel’s soldiers had done their damage. So many men coming and going, they’d torn up the flowerbeds and made a muddy mess of the lawn. Anger burned hot in Corin’s stomach at the memory, but something else sparked too. He remembered Ephitel’s warning and the conversation he’d overheard between Ephitel and the soldiers.
He looked in the direction of the village, searching the woods for some sign of the soldiers returning early. Instead, he saw two more druids trotting up, a strange steel litter slung between them. The thing was loaded with small canvas bags packed to bursting, and the two men didn’t slow as they jogged past Corin and Wade and into the stricken cottage.
Corin spun after them, then grabbed Wade by the lapels. “What are they about? I already warned you that Ephitel’s men are coming back.”
Wade nodded. “We have some time left. Time enough to offer Aemilia the end that she deserves.”
Corin nodded. “You have some means of hiding from the gods. You mentioned that before. Share it with me, and I will grant her spirit justice.”
Wade shook his head. “You misunderstood me. We hide through careful lies. Everyone believes the druids to be disbanded, scattered to the winds, and that alone has kept us safe for hundreds of years. Ephitel believes it too, though he has no way to know for sure. He must suspect. He must worry.”
Corin snorted. “You’ve given him precious little to worry about.”
“We’ve kept the world alive this long. We serve a higher calling than your quest for vengeance.”
It was not the first time they’d had this argument, and Corin couldn’t find the energy to pursue it yet again. Not when he knew how it ended. He turned his back on Wade and spoke to the encroaching forest. “He will know now, then. He had at least a dozen men, and they carried off everything of Aemilia’s they could lay their hands on. They’re looking for you.”
“They won’t find us,” Wade said. “Not yet. I’ve been in contact with Drew and Stibbons, and they’re tracking Ephitel’s men. We have enough time—just enough.”
Corin turned back. “Enough? For what? What are you scheming?”
“I am an honest man; I do not scheme. Right now, my only desire is to bring Aemilia back to the circle.”
“You said you couldn’t save her.”
Wade shook his head. “I can’t. But you are not the only one who loved her, Corin Hugh. We must say our good-byes; then we will set her soul to rest.”
“Good-byes won’t serve her, druid. And they won’t save your hide if Ephitel tracks you down. If you want to honor her, then help me grant her vengeance.”
Wade shook his head. “The strictures—”
Corin sneered. “That’s what I’ve learned to hate about you all. You’ll cling to your strictures like divine law—”
“They are divine law,” Wade interrupted.
Corin went on, right over him. “—and yet you’ll sacrifice nothing to improve the world those strictures were meant to protect.”
“That isn’t fair. We’ve sacrificed more than you can ever know. Obeying the strictures—even when it means watching someone innocent suffer for it—that is a sacrifice. The strictures are what keeps this world alive.”
“And if this world’s infected? If it suffers from a cancer your strictures cannot heal?”
Corin said it as a challenge, but Wade nodded as though Corin had just discovered some secret truth. His eyes flashed. “That task must fall to someone else. To someone native of this world. The strictures stay our hands . . .”
“But not mine,” Corin said.
“Not yours,” the druid conceded.
Corin reeled. He sank down on his heels and steadied himself with a hand on the ground. They meant for him to break their laws? They’d wind him up and turn him loose like a dwarven clockwork toy. He’d never guessed they were manipulating him so thoroughly.
There’d been a time, in Oberon’s dreams, when Corin flew into a rage at the thought of druids pulling his strings. Now he only thanked sweet Fortune that they would point him in a direction he already meant to go. For their purposes or his own—it didn’t matter. He would be glad to see Ephitel put down.
But then a question struck him, and his brow wrinkled. “If that’s what you intend, why did you steal the sword from me?”
“Not everyone believes that killing Ephitel is for the greater good. There are some who think you may pose a larger threat to Hurope.”
“Give me their names, and I will see the debate resolved.”
Wade’s eyes grew wide. He shook his head. “It’s not so severe as that. But you are opening old wounds and forcing a decision that most had thought unanswerable for . . . ages. Give them time.”
“I gave them time,” Corin said again, “and now Aemilia is dead.”
“Killing druids won’t bring her back, but bide a while and you’ll have your sword again. I’m certain of it. Then we can watch as this world resolves its own problems in accordance with the strictures.”
Corin snorted. “You’re plotting a mighty complicated course to call that accordance.”
“Another little sacrifice. We can’t abandon who we are, but protecting the sons and daughters is part of who we are.”
Corin sprang to his feet. “Then give me the sword!”
“It isn’t mine to give. It’s in the safekeeping of the Council until they reach a decision. But you can make your plans. You can set things in motion, so that when they’re ready—”
“I have made my plans,” Corin said. “All I lack is information and the weapon, and your people have withheld them both.”
Wade frowned. “What information?”
“I need to rally the elves to my cause. The loyalists from old Gesoelig who never joined with Ephitel.”
“Ah.”
That word again. Corin stepped closer. “What do you know? Why won’t the Council tell me where to find the elves?”
“It’s . . . complicated.”
“Then clear it up for me.”
Wade sighed. “The elves have all foresworn us through the ages. They will not speak with us, and they will not cooperate with us.”
Corin almost asked why, but he saw the answer before he voiced the question. The elves still loyal to Oberon had lost everything in Ephitel’s coup, and they had watched the druids hold to their strictures. For how many hundred years had they watched the druids with the same frustration Corin now endured? One by one they’d fallen away.
He’d counted on the elves. He needed them to draw out Ephitel. That was much of why he’d played the druids’ game all this time, in hopes that they would hand him an army of elves ready to be stirred up for battle. If they were already too weary of the druids’ reticence to even listen, then Corin had wasted his time here.
He growled. “Fine stewards you’ve been.”
“We’ve done what we could,” Wade snapped, defensive again. “And we were not the only ones who faced hard choices.”
“Don’t ask me for pity there,” Corin said. “Life is hard choices. Honest men don’t whine about it; they bend their backs to the task and make things right.”
Wade rolled his eyes. “Now you’ll speak to me of honest men?”
“Brave men, then,” Corin said. “Not slinking cowards. I can understand the elves’ decision. If your people have thrown away all their goodwill, let me win it back. I’m not one of you, but I’m an honorary one of them. Tell me where to find them—”
“I can’t.”
“Gods’ blood, Wade! All I’m asking—”
“I can’t,” Wade said again, losing his patience. “We don’t know. They’ve slipped our observation altogether. We have a handful of individuals who still talk to
us every decade or so, but only the high seats of the Council even know how to contact those.”
“The same Council that can’t decide if I’m a greater threat than Ephitel?”
Wade shrugged in answer.
Corin cursed. The energy he’d found drained away again, and he wilted. Corin half-expected a comforting word from Wade, but instead the druid took the opportunity to slip back into the cottage. Corin stared after him, bewildered, but the man was only gone a moment.
“She’s prepped,” he said. “They have her ready for the journey, but Stibbons says we’re out of time. We have to move her now.”
The door opened behind him, and Corin fought down an urge to turn and run. He couldn’t face the corpse upon its bier. His heart knew Aemilia as sunshine and laughter. He couldn’t trade that image for the one of the lifeless corpse they brought him, gray and still.
He would have left them on the doorstep if he could. He knew his heart would find no comfort in good-byes—not in the sort the druids were pursuing. He knew men who believed the gods’ lies about a glorious paradise awaiting the righteous in a life after this one. He knew men who believed true warriors might find an endless, glorious war on the other side of death. Men believed all sorts of things.
Corin knew there was only blackness. He had met the god who made this world, and such a creature wasn’t wise enough or strong enough to catch the slippery thread of a life extinguished. He certainly could not have fashioned any kind of paradise. No, Corin found more hope in believing that there was rest in death.
But not for him. Not yet. He still had work to do, and to see it done, he required the proper tools. He needed the sword to challenge Ephitel, and the sword was with their Council.
He had no choice. So he licked his lips, set his shoulders, and turned to face the funeral procession as it emerged from the cottage.
Aemilia, forgive me, he thought. I will remember you as you truly were. I will always remember you alive. And Ephitel will face justice. This I swear. I’ll see him dead before I come to join you.
The women brought Aemilia out of the cottage, led by the two men who had brought the litter. The druids had prepared her according to their own traditions. She looked odd to Corin, stretched out on the thin steel bed and draped all around with tubes that looked like fine-spun glass but were clearly as flexible as flax. A mask of the same material concealed her mouth, but her eyes were left uncovered.
