Leaves of Flame

by Joshua Palmatier

  “And now Lotaern has the knife and is obviously using the Flame for something else throughout Alvritshai lands. Yet you insist on traveling to the dwarren with a woman who is a potential traitor and with no protection.”

  Colin smiled coldly.“You don’t think I can handle her on my own?”

  “You have to sleep at some point, Shaeveran,” Eraeth said.

  The use of his Alvritshai name cut off Colin’s bitter response. After a moment of silence, he said, “You may be correct about Siobhaen. But as Moiran has pointed out, you and Fedaureon are needed here, to protect Rhyssal House interests in Caercaern and to protect its lands. You cannot allow the incursion of the Flame through Alvritshai lands to go unchallenged. You’ll have to go to Caercaern. Which means Fedaureon will have to remain here to watch over your House and lands. There is no one else I would trust to accompany me and Siobhaen.”

  Aeren frowned at the blunt summary, at a loss for words. Fedaureon glanced toward his father, uncertain of what to say, then to Daevon.

  Then Eraeth said, “I will go.”

  Colin would have sworn he heard a gasp, even though no one made a sound. But everyone stilled, Moiran drawing in a breath and holding it. Her gaze danced back and forth between Aeren and Eraeth, neither of the two looking toward the other, and Eraeth holding himself stiffly. His stance looked uncomfortable.

  Only Fedaureon dared to speak.“But you’re my father’s Protector.”

  “That does not mean that he needs to be near me at all times,Fedaureon.He has left my side before.”Aeren shifted in his chair, twisting to look at Eraeth. “If this is what you wish, I will not forbid it.”

  Aeren’s voice was carefully controlled. Colin could not read anything from it, could not tell whether Aeren approved or disapproved, was angry or elated or even surprised.

  The silence held, everyone waiting for Eraeth’s response. He finally looked at Aeren. “It is the best solution to the current problem. One that satisfies everyone, I believe.”

  He looked at Colin questioningly, as if asking whether or not Colin trusted him. But there was no question. Eraeth had carried Colin from the battlefield at the Escarpment, had taught him Alvritshai, had done countless other things since. He trusted Eraeth as much, if not more, than Aeren himself.

  But he had not thought Eraeth would separate himself from Aeren’s side. He had before, on Aeren’s order, but never like this.Not for an extended period of time.And not at his own suggestion.

  Moiran glared in protest, although she did not speak, obviously restraining herself.

  Aeren finally nodded. “Then so be it.”

  Colin left the warmth of his rooms in the Rhyssal House manse and moved through the darkened halls toward the secluded gardens on the promontory of rock overlooking the lake. He paused outside the great room that was also Aeren’s study, heard the low murmur of voices, recognized Aeren’s and Moiran’s, their tones intense and fraught with worry and tension, so he moved on, past the kitchens where a few servants saw him but did not approach, and then through the outer doors.

  The night air was biting, but he did not turn back. He breathed it in deeply, let it scour his lungs clean, then closed the doors behind him and made his way into the gardens. They were designed for relaxation, the pathways curling in and out among rock and bush and tree, nearly all of the plants dead and denuded of leaves by winter. A few conifers, carefully sculpted into windswept layers by the gardeners under Moiran’s supervision, appeared black in the moonlight. He passed through them, over stone or wooden bridges with ponds frozen beneath, through a few drifts of snow that had piled up from the winds during the day, until he stood on the wide wooden terrace that had been built over the edge of the stone promontory. Resting his hands on the railing, the breeze gusting into his face, reddening his skin, he stared out over the black water, flecked with reflected light from the moon above.

  He tried to think of nothing. But all he could see in the black surface below was the movement of the Lifeblood underground, the pull of the current as whatever Walter had done—and he knew in his gut it had been Walter— drew it eastward.

  In the back of his mind, he heard the Wraith that had attacked them at the Well whisper, We are already moving, our armies already in motion. This is merely the removal of an . . . annoyance.

  He snorted at the insult, but frowned. What armies had the Wraith meant? Were the Shadows on the move? And what of the other Wraiths? They had never established exactly how many there were, and if Walter had found another source of the Lifeblood besides the Wells that Colin had warded, he could be creating even more.

  His hands tightened on the polished wooden railing as the old, bitter hatred filled the back of his throat with the taste of bile. It seethed inside him, as the Lifeblood did, roiling to the surface like the black marks beneath his skin.

  They had had decades without any interference from Walter or the Wraiths, but that was coming to an end. What frustrated him the most was that he couldn’t see how it was ending. He couldn’t see what Walter intended to do.

  He had sunk so far into his hatred and frustration that he did not hear the footfalls until the figure was at his back. He reacted instantly, instinctively, seizing time and slowing it nearly to a halt even as he spun. The absence of his staff made him growl in his throat—his hands were already swinging it around even though they were empty—as he slid smoothly into a low crouch, knees bent, shoulders forward, balanced on the balls of his feet.

  He let out his pent-up breath in a sigh as he saw who stood behind him, his face frozen in the first indications of surprise, eyes beginning to widen, his upper body beginning to jerk back. Fedaureon hadn’t realized his approach had gone unnoticed.

  As Colin relaxed, he fought back his own surprise. He would have expected Eraeth or Moiran to join him, perhaps even Aeren.

  He would never have foreseen Fedaureon seeking him out.

  Standing up straight and positioning himself off to one side, a step or two away so that he wouldn’t appear threatening, Colin allowed time to resume.

  Fedaureon lurched backward, a gasp escaping him even as his hand reached for the cattan strapped to his side. The blade was out before he’d found his balance, his gaze shooting frantically to either side before he caught sight of Colin standing at the railing.

  It took him another few deep, shuddering breaths before the tension bled from the Rhyssal heir’s shoulders and he stood, resheathing his blade.

  He bowed formally toward Colin. “I apologize. I didn’t intend to startle you.”

  Colin considered lying,then smiled.“I should have been aware of your approach long before you got here. It was my fault.” He turned away. “I must admit that I’m surprised to find you out here. Did you seek me out on purpose?”

  Fedaureon hesitated. Colin glanced toward him from the side, noted the angularity of his face, the eyes that came from Moiran, yet all so young. There was only a vague hint of maturity about him, something subtle in the youth’s stance.

  He wondered if the Trials had continued whether or not the signs of adulthood would have been ground deeper by this point. It had seemed so for Aeren, and Fedaureon would have returned from his own Trial by now.

  “Yes and no,” Fedaureon fi nally answered. “I came to see if you would ask Eraeth to remain. My father has always had his Protector there, not just for protection, but for advice. But I know what you will say.”

  “That your father is capable of making his own decisions? That he does not need Eraeth there to help him?”

  Fedaureon’s mouth twisted with irony. “Exactly.”

  “You came for reassurance.”When Fedaureon didn’t answer, shifting uncomfortably where he stood, still not looking toward Colin but out over the water instead, Colin added, “Your father is capable of facing Lotaern and the Evant by himself, without Eraeth at his side, Fedaureon. You forget that he will have you near at hand. He will rely on you instead of Eraeth for his strength.”

  “You mean he will
rely on my mother.”

  Colin’s eyes widened at the thread of bitterness in his tone. “He didn’t speak to your mother at all at dinner tonight. He received the report from you.”

  “He will speak to her about it later, I’m certain.” Fedaureon said the words tightly, but Colin heard the doubt that had crept into the bitterness.

  “I doubt they are arguing about you at the moment.”

  Fedaureon turned toward him and Colin’s heart lurched at the vulnerability in the youth’s gaze. He’d never seen such an expression on Aeren’s face and he had to remind himself that this was not Aeren.

  He faced the youth, straightening. “Fedaureon, do you think that I would allow Eraeth to leave your father’s side if it weren’t important? This is bigger than the Rhyssal House, bigger than the Evant and Lotaern, bigger than even theAlvritshai.You have never had to deal withWalter and the Wraiths and Shadows, never seen what they can do. We halted them before, but not until after they’d awakened the Wells and allowed their sphere of influence to expand to the entire known continent.And now they are beginning to act again . . . have already begun, if what the Wraith told us at the Well in the White Wastes is true and not a bluff. If I do not find out what is happening, then the Alvritshai, the dwarren, and the Provinces will be caught unaware. I need Eraeth’s help, no matter how much I protested having help at first.I need it more thanAeren does at the moment.Your father understands that, even if he does not like it. That’s why he agreed to let Eraeth go.”

  Fedaureon considered the information in silence for a long moment, head bowed. When he fi nally looked up, something had settled in his gaze. His eyes had hardened and his shoulders had squared. “Thank you.”

  Colin reached out and gripped Fedaureon’s shoulder, even though he knew such familiarity was not common among the Alvritshai. He was glad to see Fedaureon did not stiffen at the touch. “Relax, Fedaureon. In the morning, Eraeth and I will leave with Siobhaen for dwarren lands, and you and your father will handle whatever it is that Lotaern is planning here. We’ll halt whatever is happening, as we did before.”

  Fedaureon nodded at the reassuring words.

  But Colin heard the falseness in his own voice, felt the roil of uneasiness in his own stomach and in his skin, in the black taint of the Well there. He knew how close the Alvritshai had come to being destroyed at the Escarpment.And he knew how brutal and vicious Walter and the Wraiths could be.

  And he knew that on the plains, with the dwarren, he wouldn’t be able to protect Aeren, Fedaureon, or Moiran from whatever Lotaern or the Wraiths were planning.

  TOMSON SWORE AS HIS PLOW clanged against yet another stone, and with a yank of the traces he brought the plowhorse to a halt. The horse stamped her foot on the hard-packed earth, covered over with a thick layer of soggy grass that had been crushed to the plains by the winter snows and had only been exposed to the sunlight two days before. It was still wet with snowmelt, which made for good plowing. The earth was as soft as it was going to get. But it was riddled with stones.

  Wiping the sweat off of his brow with a handkerchief, Tomson shifted the plow to one side and exposed the rock, uttering a silent curse at its size. He knelt down and reached a hand around one edge, pulling it out of the ground. Rich black earth fell away as it came free and he gasped at a twinge in his back as he lifted it up. Carrying it with arms extended straight down, he hobbled toward the edge of the field—only a few rows away—and dropped it where a dozen other stones already littered the ground, then brushed the dirt from his hands and turned.

  The rolling hills at the far eastern edge of Temeritt Province filled the horizon, dotted with random copses of trees near streams and the occasional exposed plinth of granite. Farther to the northeast, he could see where the hills fell away to what the dwarren called the Flats—a vast expanse of dusty earth that stretched to the horizon. The sheer flatness of it sent a shudder through Tomson’s shoulders as his eyes scanned south and west. He could barely make out the beginnings of the cliffs called the Escarpment, the natural boundary between human and dwarren lands. Somewhere to the south would be the Serpent River, what most considered the edge of Temeritt lands, but it was lost among the hills. No one had settled beyond the Serpent, which was why Tomson was here. Most claimed that going beyond the Serpent placed settlers beyond the boundary of the Autumn Tree and within the reach of the Shadows.

  Tomson had rolled his eyes at the old men in the tavern at the warning three months before, scoffed and walked away with his drink to the far corner of the room.The Shad-ows.An old wives’tale,used to keep children from sneaking out into the night and getting into trouble.And theAutumn Tree was nothing but a legend as well. GreatLord Kobel used it to keep those in his Province within his grasp, to keep men like Tomson from claiming what was rightfully theirs. The threat of the Shadows was empty, nothing but a ruse to keep settlers away from the fertile plains between the Serpent and the Flats, land that GreatLord Kobel claimed belonged to the dwarren.

  Tomson had been out here for two months already and he’d seen no dwarren. Nor any Shadows. Only wide open land, ready to be taken.

  His horse snorted and tossed her head, breaking him from his contemplation of the southlands. He frowned at the animal’s fear-whitened eyes and flared nostrils. When he moved suddenly toward the bucket of water and his satchel, his horse flinched and shied away from him, drawn up short by the attached plow.

  “Steady,” he said soothingly. “Steady there, girl.”

  He knelt down and dug through his satchel, bringing out a sheathed knife and pulling the blade free. He scanned the field, searching for what had unsettled his horse, but saw nothing.

  Rising slowly, he turned full circle as he made his way to her side. The muscles beneath her smooth brown coat twitched when he touched her and she snorted again. Her legs were rigid with tension, her body trembling.

  “Hush.” He stroked her neck, but she didn’t gentle.

  His frown deepened, his gaze shooting left and right. But the plains were quiet. No breeze stirred. The sky was an empty pale blue overhead.

  And then, from the corner of his eye, Tomson caught movement.

  He spun, startling the horse forward a pace before his hand closed down on the bridle to hold her. But there was nothing there, nothing visible—

  Yet something had changed. Twenty paces away, a section of the unplowed grasses had caved in, as if a giant had poked his finger into the ground.

  He straightened, patting the horse’s neck again as he shifted forward. His grip tightened on the handle of the knife. Sweat dripped from his forehead into his eyes and he scrubbed it away hastily. More sweat slicked his shirt to his back. The mild spring day suddenly seemed too warm.

  He halted a step away from the hole. Earth fell from its edge, dangling by strands of grass a moment before breaking free. He hesitated, then knelt, leaning forward, knife held before him protectively.

  The hole had no bottom. It descended into darkness, sunlight flaring down one side, exposed roots jutting from the sides of earth like worms. He breathed in deeply, smelled loam and damp grass, and underneath that a heady scent, like that of a wet muskrat.

  Movement. Deep down in the earth.

  He leaned farther forward, eyes narrowing—

  And then his horse shrieked.

  He lurched backward, heart thudding in his chest so hard he gasped and clutched at his shirt with the hand holding the knife. Falling to the ground on his side, he shoved hard with his feet, scrambling backward even as he felt the dirt at the edge of the hole give way. He fell onto his back and rolled, his horse shrieking the entire time. She reared, still tethered to the plow, feet kicking as she shook herself in fear.When she landed,her legs sank into the ground as if it were made of mud, all the way up to her knees.

  She shrieked again, began kicking and thrashing, the plow jerking behind her as she tried to back up. Mud churned; through the flying grass and dirt Tomson saw blood streaking the animal’s forelegs, splattering h
igh enough to hit her belly. Bile rose to the back of his throat, but terror clamped down hard on his chest. He watched in horror as his horse shrieked a third time, the sound so like a woman’s scream that he cringed as it grated across his shoulders and down his spine. The horse redoubled her effort to free herself from the loose soil, but she merely sank deeper, her legs caught beneath the ground, until her belly rested against the earth.

  And then Tomson screamed. From the churned earth on either side of the animal, claws reached up and raked across the horse’s sides, flesh parting and blood spilling into the already softened soil. His horse screamed again, but the sound held no strength, her head already sagging forward as the ground continued to surge around her body. Tomson’s voice shattered the stillness of the rolling plains as completely as his horse’s had a moment before. Beneath his own ragged scream, beneath the low rumble of moving earth, he heard another sound, a soft sound, like the dry scratching of leaves. If he could only stop screaming, he thought he might be able to make out words.

  But he didn’t stop. When his horse’s head fell to the ground and the dry hiss of near conversation escalated, he rolled onto his stomach and lurched to his feet. He staggered three steps, intent on reaching the hollowed-out knoll that he’d made his home, but on the fourth step his leg sank into the soil.

  The sudden loss of stability cut his screams short as he collapsed to his hands. He clutched at the sodden grass, gasped once—

  Then felt claws sink into his calf muscles and tug sharply down.

  He hadn’t thought he could scream any louder than before, but he did.

  Jerking his leg free, hearing a frustrated hiss from beneath the ground, he scrambled forward on hands and knees, panting, tears streaking his face, sobs escaping in the hitched breath between screams. But twenty paces later the ground gave way completely and he plunged beneath the earth.

  His screams lasted another ten minutes, until they were drowned out by the soft hiss of dried leaves. Five minutes later even that faded.