The Shattered Vigil

by Patrick W. Carr

  I gaped at her as the pieces of what she’d just said fell into place. “Are you telling me I’m the last member of the Vigil?”

  She stumped her way to the door as though I hadn’t spoken before she turned to answer. “No, Lord Dura. I’m only telling you, you might be. If that is the case, be assured I will surrender to you your proper address when next we meet.”

  She kept leaving me behind in the conversation. “Proper address?”

  Brid Teorian nodded. “Eldest.”

  “If we meet,” I said.

  She nodded. “Yes, it does seem more than a little likely that at least one of us will die soon.” She stabbed a finger as skinny as a splinter toward my chest. “It may be in your power to save or doom us all, Lord Dura. Try to remember that.”

  After the Chief of Servants left with her contingent to make her way across the square back to the House of Servants, the sound echoed more and the room felt empty at their departure. We stood there, staring at each other as if none of us knew what to do next. The idea of a night spent in relative security without the sleepless vigilance we’d practiced in the forest seemed strange.

  “To bed,” Bolt said. “If we’re going to attempt this insanity, we ought to be well rested for it.”

  Chapter 43

  We walked the length of the Merum cathedral, but I let Bolt and Rory move ahead of me while I strode beside Gael, letting the distance between us grow until the space offered some semblance of privacy.

  “The brothers here in the cathedral have some interesting traditions,” Gael mused beside me as we made our way toward the guest quarters.

  I nodded. “I’m familiar with almost all of them, though I spent much of my time as an acolyte down in the city.” I knew her well enough to know that she never engaged in idle banter. Spirited banter? Yes. She and her sister had made a sport of it until they could wield words the way Vigil guards could swing swords, but speech without purpose was unknown to her. I wanted to reach out and take her hand, feel the warmth of it against my own, but I was unwilling to drop into a delve. “Did you have a specific tradition in mind?”

  She had a way of nodding, a single slow dip of her head that I had always thought regal, and it displayed the graceful lines of her neck to good advantage. “In their chapel, the small sanctuary reserved for the use of the brothers and sisters who live here, they always have a priest available to take confession or administer the rite of haeling if any desire it.”

  I snuck a sidelong glance at her. “You wish to partake of the rite before bed, milady?”

  Her lips turned up at the corners just enough to convey amusement before she answered. “No, Lord Dura.” In the months I’d spent at court, no one had ever managed to imbue a single utterance of my title with so many hints and suggestions as Gael. I think she did it on purpose to see if she could make me stammer. Most of the time she succeeded.

  My voice dipped. “Is there something you wish to confess?”

  She laughed a deep, throaty sound at odds with the stern hallways we traversed. “No, Willet. If I ever feel the need to confess, I will tell you.”

  “I’m not a priest,” I said.

  “I’m just as happy about that,” she quipped. “Merum celibacy would be such a waste.” She sobered slightly. “But you were almost a priest, so you can tell me if my presumption is correct. Am I right in assuming that any brother or sister of the Merum order who has been ordained to officiate in the rite of haeling may also consecrate the bond of marriage?”

  Everything stopped.

  I stopped walking, blinking, breathing, thinking. It all came to a halt as I faced Gael and her intention became clear.

  I stalled for time while I tried to find enough air to breathe. “You’re serious, milady?”

  She drew closer until she filled my sight, paused, then tilted her head and made the Merum cathedral and its halls disappear. I became dimly aware of her hands knotted in my hair as though I might pull away before she wished. In the back of my mind I became aware of unaccustomed strength in her embrace, and her kiss left me reeling.

  She stepped back.

  I hadn’t delved her, knew I couldn’t have since my gloves still covered my hands, but the hallway reeled anyway and I put out a hand against the nearest wall. Fire flowed across my skin.

  “I am in earnest, Willet,” she said, breathing deeply. “The ceremony need not be protracted with grand statements or stately walks, and I have no wish for a crowd of witnesses who will require pleasantries as they wish us a long and happy union.” She shook her head. “I know that is not possible. My family is dead, the Vigil is shattered, and it is unlikely both of us—either of us—will survive.” She moved close and again managed to pull the air from my lungs. “Twelve hours of darkness are not enough time for me to express my love for you.” Her head dipped until her chin almost touched her chest, and she gave me an unblinking smolder through her lashes. “But it would be a start.”

  Conflicting sensations covered me, the cool air in the hallway and the fire flowing across my skin, the aching need for Gael that felt like a grand emptiness and the way she filled my arms, the spin of a million thoughts in my head and the focused white-hot desire of wanting union with her with every facet of who I was.

  I stood on the edge of paradise, the promise of heaven every order recited or interpreted from the liturgy, and my eyes drank in the sight of its fulfillment: the raven hair, the rich blue eyes and full lips, and the lithe curves that her clothing couldn’t hide. Refusal was impossible. Ecstasy had called me by name.

  I took a step away—then another. The cool air washed a bit of the heat from my skin, enough for me to realize what I was about to do and regret it.

  “If I marry, bond with you, I can’t do this,” I said. “This thing I need to do—finding the man who slaughtered your household, who wants to turn everyone into the raving animals we fought during Bas-solas—I can’t do that. I might try to fool myself into thinking it would give me something more to fight for, but that would be a lie.

  “If I marry you tonight, Lady Gael, and spend the next twelve hours in your arms, I’m undone.”

  She didn’t cry, but I could hear her breath shudder as she inhaled. “Must it be so?”

  I mustered enough control over my body to force my head down and back in a nod. “I’ve seen—a few times—how union consumes the newly married who earnestly and truly love and desire each other. What would it do to us, milady?”

  Aer bless her, she took a moment to let disappointment and anger run loose behind her eyes, but no more than that. Then she stifled those emotions, throttled them until no hint of them showed in her gaze or posture, and gave me a smile that went with the coy inclination of her head.

  “You’re a wise man, Willet Dura, and you know me well. Once we are married and I take you to my bed, I will do everything to make sure you never wish to leave the room.” She gave me an arch lift of her brows. “I’m given to understand those with a physical gift and the talents for space and motion are quite . . . dangerous,” she said, finding the bantering tone I’d first heard over a year ago.

  “My own gift, Lady Gael, will not be without benefit. With a touch, I will know what you think and feel . . . and desire.” Her eyes widened, and a split second later, we laughed and resumed the journey to our separate quarters. I would have kissed her again on the threshold of her door but stopped just short. The tension between us allowed me to pick up my task and continue with what I had to do. Heaven would have to wait.

  Her door closed, and I sagged against the wall for support. “Aer, help me find a way to keep us both alive.” It wasn’t elegant and I had no idea if He would choose to answer it.

  I woke the next morning when a nearly horizontal beam of sunlight hit my eyes as it came through the window. A rasping sound rolled me over and through the door that led to the sitting room, where I saw Bolt in a chair, running his sword over a whetstone, first along one edge and then the other. He could have shaved with it.
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  “How long have you been here?”

  “I stood in the hallway until you’d finished your conversation with Gael and then waited until I was reasonably sure you were asleep.” He gave a soft chuckle. “I remember, dimly, being a young man who could sleep until noon. The onset of age puts so many different things we desire beyond our reach. I can’t sleep past dawn anymore—haven’t been able to for years.”

  I was still in my small clothes. That meant I hadn’t night-walked and no one had died last night. The realization of that fact settled into my heart with a soft, delicate warmth, but it didn’t last. “We’re going hunting. How do we win?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know. If I were a betting man, I’d put a lot of money on us to lose. We’re outmatched here, Willet, and not just in physical terms. ‘When your victories are short-lived and your defeats aren’t, you’re beaten.’”

  I nodded approvingly. “Is that yours?”

  He shook his head. “It’s from one of the captains who chronicled his campaigns during the Gift Wars. I think his name was Lawton.”

  A bit of the Chief’s conversation slipped through my mind. “If we fall, Custos may be the last hope of the north.” I shook my head. “Even if we don’t, the heads of the orders don’t exactly hold me in high esteem.” I shook my head. “It’s like being back in court.”

  “Heh,” Bolt laughed, “those people really don’t like you.”

  “I’m glad I can offer you some amusement,” I said. “I hope Custos can provide some insight into our enemy. You know what they say . . . ”

  “‘Knowledge is sorrow, but wisdom is power.’”

  Less than an hour later we were mounted and making for the east side of the city. Bunard stretched south in an arc from the east of the tor around to the southwest with the broad flow of the Rinwash bordering the city to the north and continuing toward the west. Wag, almost completely healed, rode behind Rory.

  Gael snuck sidelong glances at the sentinel when she thought no one would notice. We were trying not to attract attention. The fifth time I saw her find an excuse to put her gaze on our hairy companion, I tugged her sleeve from the opposite side.

  “Startling, isn’t he?”

  She shook her head and gave a nervous little laugh. “It’s actually not that much bigger than a hunting dog, and I’ve seen plenty of those around court. I think what’s bothering me is that I can see it’s still just a puppy. How big is it going to get?”

  The object of our discussion lifted his head from his vantage point atop Rory’s horse and gave us a low growl. “His name is Wag,” Rory said. “He doesn’t like to be called it, and whatever you do don’t refer to him as a dog.”

  I could see this startled her. “Isn’t he?” she whispered.

  Another growl, a bit louder, came from the back of Rory’s horse. “You do know his hearing is better than ours, don’t you?”

  I took a breath, debating how to frame what I meant to say next. “The sentinels don’t really see themselves as dogs. It’s similar to the difference between someone who has a pure gift along with a lot of talent and someone else who has neither.”

  Gael’s brows drew together and she shook her head at me. “See themselves? What do you mean by similar?” On her other side I saw Bolt smirking at me in obvious enjoyment.

  I sighed. “I mean exactly.”

  “Don’t be silly, Willet. That’s not . . .” She stopped. I wasn’t smiling.

  “Wag is gifted. I don’t know how much he can understand about what we’re saying, but his mind is growing and along with it, his grasp of language. If we live long enough, I think you’ll be able to talk to Wag the same as you would to me.”

  “And you’ll probably get a more intelligent response,” Bolt said.

  We came to the easternmost part of the city, a jut of land up against the first of the branches of the Rinwash River that comprised Bunard’s defense. I whistled to Wag, who jumped lightly from the back of Rory’s horse and came padding over to me. I took off my gloves, unwilling to leave anything to chance misunderstanding.

  “Why did we come here?” Gael asked.

  “The wind is blowing west to east,” Bolt said. “Wag knows the scent of our enemy, as well as his littermate. From here he’ll be able to pick up the trail and location of every place they’ve been.”

  Gael laughed. “That’s im—”

  “Think about the impact a pure physical gift would have on a dog’s sense of smell,” Bolt said.

  Whatever Gael said next was lost in the swirl of sensations that swept me away when I put my hands onto the thick fur covering Wag’s head. As it had before, the world shifted, turning without transition from sight-dominated to scent-dominated. I sneezed as Gael’s perfume overpowered me. I pulled my thoughts from Wag’s long enough to motion her behind me.

  Wag’s tongue found my cheek. Master. Master. Master. Do we hunt?

  I must have jerked in surprise because I came out of the delve long enough to find myself staring down into Wag’s eyes for a heartbeat or two. “We do hunt,” I said out loud. “The man-thing that stole your littermate has been here.” I put my hands on him again.

  Wag growled in agreement. Within his mind I shared a fierce anger, a rage that desired flesh to tear and bones to crack. The memory of his littermate came forward in my mind, a canine scent as unique to him as a person’s face would be to me. With it came the scent of those who’d killed his family.

  I could have tried putting my thoughts directly into his head but chose instead to speak. The others would need to know how much Wag understood. I straightened with my hands at my side. “Wag, can you find the most recent scents of your littermate and the men who took her?”

  His tongue came out and for a moment I thought he would bark.

  “He understands you?” Gael asked.

  I nodded. “His language skills have grown since the last time I delved him. It’s a little startling, actually.”

  “Good,” Bolt said. “He can lead us right to them.”

  “Maybe not right to them,” Rory said. “Wouldn’t we want to stop a little short to give ourselves time to plan?”

  I pictured what would happen if we blundered headlong into someone with Laewan’s power without preparation and shuddered. We’d be slaughtered. “Wag, don’t bring us any closer than a hundred paces of your littermate. Stop first.”

  He looked at me with his head cocked to one side.

  “Hmmm. Evidently sentinels don’t measure distance the way we do.”

  I put my hands back on his head and lost myself in the scents of the city wafting past us for a moment before I immersed myself in the memories he’d accumulated since his mother had awakened his mind.

  Within his memories, I found and partook of his concept of space, discovering that sentinels held within their minds two different means of determining distance. I came out of the delve, turning to my companions, vaguely surprised to see my own two-legged form matched theirs. “Interesting,” I said. “He uses his sense of smell to gauge far distances and his sense of sight for close ones. There’s a point at which the scent of some animal or person becomes strong enough that he expects to be able to see them.”

  “How close is that?” Bolt asked.

  “About two hundred paces,” I said.

  “That would work,” Bolt said. “As long as we don’t try hunting him down at night.”

  I nodded. “There’s more. His sense of sight isn’t as good as ours in the daylight, but when I sifted through his memories, he could see quite a bit better at night than any of us.”

  “That’s nice, but I wouldn’t mind having an army at my back,” Rory said.

  I pulled the misty air coming off the river into my lungs, remembering. “You’d think that would make things better, but then you find the people you’re fighting gathered an army to back them up as well. Then the swords and pikes come out and there’s nothing but dying and screaming until someone retreats. It takes days or weeks someti
mes, and even if you come out of it alive you come home to find your family dead from fever. It’s only a bit later you notice there are calluses on your compassion and you discover you’ve lost your humanity somewhere on the battlefield.”

  I started, realizing I’d spoken aloud. Gael and Bolt gazed at me, their faces so different but both of them wrapped in expressions of pity. Rory gaped at me, his eyes wide, but not in shock or surprise. He understood all too well.

  “My apologies,” I mumbled as I busied myself with my gloves. “Sometimes they . . . the memories . . . come at me out of nowhere.”

  Chapter 44

  Directed by Wag’s vocabulary of growls, yips, and barks, we came back to the nobles’ section, where we stood looking over the blackened stone of Gael’s estate. “We could have saved ourselves some time and come here first,” Bolt said.

  “No, we needed to be downwind to be sure,” I said, but my eyes were on Gael. She sat mounted atop her horse, devouring the signs of fire that had destroyed her uncle’s wealth.

  “For all his clutching avarice, it all went up in flames and he with it,” she said.

  The sentiment surprised me. Gael’s uncle had been one of the most ambitious, grasping nobles I’d met in my short time at court, and that was saying something. Still, he represented the last of her family. I reached over to squeeze her hand. The gesture lost something through the thin leather of my gloves. “Aer willing, we’ll find the man who murdered him.”

  “I have a better idea,” she said. “Let’s find the man who killed the servants, the men and women who returned Uncle’s arrogance and disdain with kindness. If my uncle were here, he wouldn’t spare a thought for them; he’d be crying and screaming over the possessions that went up in flames.”

  “He was all that was left of your family,” I said.

  She nodded. “And he was more than willing to drug me and marry me off to someone I didn’t love so that he could acquire more wealth. I’m not going to weep for a man who held the lives of others in such low esteem just because we share bloodlines. I might shed a few tears for the man he should have been.”