Ean knew that was his cue. He emerged from the thicket on the opposite side of the road from Alyneri, threw open the coach door and ducked inside with his bags. At the same time, Fynn climbed aboard with the driver, and the coach lurched into motion without warning, tossing Alyneri quite indelicately backwards into her seat.
“You!” She glared at Ean as she grabbed for a handhold in the swaying coach. “So that’s what this is about! You’re still perpetuating Morin d’Hain’s drivel, trying to pretend we’re in some kind of lover’s tryst? Well, I won’t be part of it, Ean! When we get to Fersthaven, you shall continue on without me. I will simply tell His Majesty that I cannot countenance this charade any longer—”
“Alyneri,” Ean quieted her with a steady look, amazed by his own sense of calm.
She seemed equally surprised, at least enough to close her mouth.
Ean looked over at Tanis, who was somewhat crunched into the corner on the seat beside him. “Hi, Tanis.”
The boy flashed a smile. “Hello, Your Highness.”
Ean looked back to Alyneri and told her firmly, “Alyneri, this is not about perpetuating any gossip—though I am relieved to know that you acknowledge the terribly offensive rumor was Morin’s doing instead of mine. This is about the future of my father’s kingdom, and much more besides.”
When she only glared at him, he became suspicious and asked, “What were you told?”
“What does it matter?” She turned and stared out the window.
“We were told this was about the future of the kingdom and more besides,” Tanis supplied.
Ean suppressed a smile. “Thank you, Tanis.”
“And Her Grace jumped at the chance to travel,” the lad went on, “and they told me…” he flushed and dropped his gaze, nearly whispering, “They said I’m to be your Truthreader if…if you’ll have me—not being trained much at all.”
“I would have you in any capacity, Tanis,” Ean confessed the heartfelt truth.
Tanis beamed.
Alyneri sat amid a black cloud on the opposite seat staring out the window.
“I don’t mind your coming on your own terms, Alyneri,” Ean told her. “I’m just glad you came.”
She spun him a querulous look. “Why? Why do you care? Just so you can have a Healer along to patch you up after every ridiculous, foolhardy risk you take with your life?”
“That would be nice,” he admitted, grinning, “but no. That’s not why, not even close.”
His honesty cooled her ire. She held his gaze finally, her dark eyes so serious, so fragile beneath the prickly shell. “Then…why?”
Ean leaned elbows on knees. “Alyneri,” he breathed, giving her a somewhat incredulous look, “my brothers are dead. All three of them. Outside of Fynnlar, you’re my oldest friend. Who can I trust on such a dangerous journey if not yourself? Who else can I count on for support, for encouragement, to defend me and question my decisions and remind me who I am when all looks grim? Who else can play that role, if not you?”
Alyneri turned her face away to stare out the window again, but not before she brusquely wiped a tear from her cheek. She murmured something Ean didn’t catch.
“I’m sorry, what was that?”
She spun him an injured glare. “I said ‘no one.’”
Ean smiled and took her hand. He plant a kiss upon her fingers. “That makes me happy. Thank you.”
“I will too, Your Highness,” Tanis chimed in, “for what it’s worth.”
“Thank you, Tanis.” Ean gave the lad a grin and ruffled his hair. “I know I can count on you. On both of you.”
“Just don’t count on Her Grace to do the cooking,” Tanis said.
“Tanis, don’t be rude,” Alyneri grumbled, but a smile had come back into her eyes.
Just then the coach door opened and Fynn swung inside, forcing a shrieking Alyneri to slide to the far end of the cushion or get pounced on.
“Well, we’re off!” Fynn announced cheerfully. “And what luck your destination is the Cairs. Ah, to enjoy a real Volga again.” He rubbed his hands together lustily, oblivious to Alyneri’s affronted glare from the corner.
“Is there anything you wouldn’t do for a good bottle of wine, cousin?” Ean asked.
“Nothing. If a good wine is life, a good life is a Volga.”
“You are a dissolute man of dubious morals, Lord Fynnlar,” Alyneri remarked.
“Why thank you, Your Grace.” Fynn seemed genuinely pleased to be so complimented.
“And thus do the fools play out their roles upon the stage of life,” Ean quoted the bard Drake DiMatteo with a thoughtful expression, “and the Gods sit among the heavens and laugh at the farce.”
Thirty-one
‘A love that can end has never been real.’
– Jayachándranáptra, Rival of the Sun
First light arrived far too quickly for Trell, who awoke in darkness to find Sayid standing over him wearing a toothy grin. Trell thought the man wasn’t quite as unnerving as Balaji, but he had his moments. Seeing Trell awake, the Khurd turned without a word and headed off again into the grey dawn.
Trell sat up and rubbed his neck and shoulder. He was becoming keenly aware of parts of his body he’d forgotten he had. Battles like the one last night left their card of calling even when one escaped relatively unscathed.
Trell took a moment to stretch aching muscles and then scratched at the fuzz shadowing his jaw. His scruff was getting long enough to warrant the title of a beard, though a little extra insulation would no doubt serve him well as he headed across the high passes between Sakkalaah and Xanthe.
They headed out into a chill morning where frost cloaked the earth and a prevalent wind stirred the high clouds into wisps of gauze. The trail led up and away from the river, but they still caught glimpses of the Cry, twisting and frothing, as they slowly climbed out of the canyon.
By midday, they’d left the Haden Gorge behind them, trading ravine for mountains and arid dirt for grassy hills. Sakkalaah lay in a high valley of the Assifiyah range, where the mountains formed a broad plateau before shooting up into the cresting, snow-capped peaks that comprised Cair Palea’andes and Cair Thessalonia’s impressive backdrop.
To get to Sakkalaah’s valley, however, entailed navigating several dangerous passes, the first of which opened onto the Cry over a thousand paces below. The opposite side of the chasm was gained by way of a hanging bridge, which could only be crossed in the best of weather, and even then, success depended greatly on first receiving the blessings of Angharad and Thalma, the goddesses the Northmen called Fortune and Luck.
Much evidence remained of those who’d tried to gain such favor; the trail on both sides of the Cry was littered with offerings—food, prayer beads, broken idols, and spattered wax not the least of them. As Trell and the others called a halt on the east side of the bridge, he thought he could still smell the incense permeating the air, as if the rocks had absorbed its musk.
All four Khurds dismounted and walked to the edge of the chasm to peer down, while Trell sat on Gendaia regarding the bridge with a pensive frown. Lily reined in beside him and rested her hands on the pommel of her saddle. “The Ashafani Bridge,” she said with a hint of awe. When Trell turned her a surprised look, she commented, “It’s quite famous, you know.”
“Infamous, I’d say,” Trell returned quietly.
“Yes. Infamous,” Lily agreed with a frown.
The sisters had dismounted behind them, and they walked to the cliff’s edge and peered down with the Khurds. “Bless me, will you look at all of that?” Aishlinn exclaimed.
Testimony to the fools who’d attempted to cross the Ashafani bridge without gaining Fortune’s graces were the shattered remains of crates and wagons—not to mention half-clothed skeletons picked clean by ravens—which lined the jagged cliffs like flotsam in a choppy sea. Gold, silver and precious gemstones glittered and gleamed among the wreckage, a tantalizing decoration for the ashen cliffs.
Fhio
nna turned her sister an impish grin. “Now we know where Caoilfhinn gets all of her jewelry.”
Aishlinn grinned in return.
“Why doesn’t someone go down and retrieve some of it?” Lily asked. “It’s sure to be a fortune. You’d think at least the bandits would claim it.”
Sayid turned to her, his dark eyes intense beneath his dun-hued ghoutra, the protective face flap left to dangle at his ear. “’Tis forbidden.”
“Forbidden?” she replied. “Forbidden by whom?”
Trell said, “That treasure belongs to Angharad and Thalma. These offerings are for them as well,” and he extended an arm to include the surrounding jumble of tokens, “left here by the prudent. Those offerings,” he nodded toward the chasm, “were taken as toll by the goddesses from those who were not so wise.”
“Do you mean to tell me,” Lily returned skeptically, “that the only ones who’ve successfully crossed that bridge made an offering first?”
“If by ‘successfully’ you mean gaining the other side without losing precious cargo, then yes.”
Lily frowned down at the chasm again.
“The Khurds and I will make an offering for the group,” Trell said. “If you’d like to participate, Lily, a simple coin tossed into the chasm will suffice.”
“You mean like…like a wishing well?”
“Yes, my lady, it is much the same.” He dismounted and walked to the cliff’s edge. He tossed eight pieces of Agasi silver into the chasm, watching them until they vanished out of sight. The Khurds all did the same, albeit with Akkadian denar. Then Aishlinn made her offering and Fhionna as well. Finally Lily dismounted and walked to the edge. She closed her eyes and tossed her coin, her lips moving soundlessly. Regarding her with a half-smile, Trell wondered what she wished for.
Their offerings thus made, Trell motioned everyone to gather their horses, and Kamil led the way across the bridge, leading his horse on foot. The others followed one by one.
Trell crossed after Sayid and before Lily, but as he reached the midway point of the bridge, he paused. The bridge swayed gently in the wind, the weather-hardened wood firm beneath his feet. He looked down at the river far below. He wasn’t sure why the moment seemed significant, but it felt as though he was crossing more than just a rushing river; rather, this crossing represented some part of him that he was leaving behind, though he was hard-pressed to say which part that was.
Gendaia nudged him with her nose, and he turned away from the deep chasm. Feeling as if the moment would be indelibly imprinted in memory, he took that next fateful step toward his future and his past.
Once they had safely gained the far side, Lily brought her mount alongside his. “May I ride with you a while, Trell of the Tides?”
“I would be honored, Lily.” She gave him a pleased smile, and he asked her, “Are you excited to see your betrothed?”
She brightened considerably, though he saw a shadow linger in her dark eyes. “I am,” Lily answered. “Very. Only…” she dropped her gaze. “I wonder if he will…want me still.”
“He would be a fool not to.”
She gave him a grateful look. Then she pressed her lips together and regarded him hesitantly. “Trell…?”
He knew that look; it was one shared by women around the world. What now? “Yes, Lily?”
She pulled her braid over her shoulder and played with the loose end, rubbing the tassle beneath her chin and not looking at him. “I know you said your journey was as important as your destination, but…”
He gave her a tolerant look. “But…?”
“But I think I know who you are—I mean, who your parents are.”
As much as he tried, he couldn’t contain his shock at this news.
“If I did know,” she said nervously, noting his dismayed expression, “would you want me to tell you?”
Trell stared at her. “I…don’t know.”
She gazed at him worriedly. “I won’t tell you if you don’t want me to. I promise. I won’t even hint at it.”
He turned his eyes away, for they were suddenly burning. “If you were wrong,” he said in a low voice, his throat and chest tight with emotion, “if I was given hope, and then it was taken away…Lily, this is too important to me. I…don’t know how I would handle that.”
“I’m not wrong, Trell. I’m certain.”
He shook his head and looked away.
After a moment, she said, “You have your reasons, which seem almost like—like a religion to you—but if not for yourself, think of those who love you still. Couldn’t you find compassion enough for them? To know that you lived…?”
“If they have thought me dead for five years, Lily,” he said quietly, “is it a mercy to come back into their lives? If they’ve moved on, if they’ve grieved and named me and forgotten?”
Lily looked at him strangely. “What do you mean by that?”
“By what?”
“You said if they’ve ‘named you and forgotten.’ What does that mean?”
Even knowing he’d said it, Trell couldn’t explain its meaning. “I don’t know. The phrase just came to me.” He turned his gaze back to the trail ahead, the muscles of his jaw working.
After a long silence, Lily leaned across the distance between their horses and placed her hand on his. “Why does it matter so much?”
He gave her a tormented look.
“Trell, I’m…grateful to leave behind my name. My father is a vicious, vindictive man. He claims nobility, but what nobility lies in him is only in his bloodright. I have never met a man more noble than you, Trell, blood or no blood. Why should it matter so much from whence you came?”
He respected her enough to consider her question honestly. After a moment’s thought, he replied, “I’m not sure, but it does.”
“But I don’t want people to know—”
“I know,” he said, interrupting her gently, “but it’s easier to give up a name when you have one. You’re not the first person who’s asked this of me, Lily.” He sighed and shook his head. “I’ve lived and fought with hundreds of men who’ve given up their names for a variety of reasons. Many of them thought as you do. All I can say is it’s not the same. But I have questions for you, also.”
She eyed him warily. “You do?”
“Indeed, my lady. Why Duan’Bai? Why aren’t you and Korin returning to the Cairs?”
She cast him troubled look. “It’s a long story. Oh, Trell, there is so much happening in the world. So much you can’t understand.”
“Try me,” he murmured.
“It’s not that you can’t,” she hastened to correct, noting his slightly dangerous change of tone, “but that there is too much to tell. My father is involved in…evil things. I won’t be a part of them. I can’t be. It’s just…” She wet her lips nervously and added in a whisper, “I daren’t tell anyone of the things I’ve seen. I dare not!”
Trell cast her a narrow look. “Why Duan’Bai, Lily?”
She noted the suspicion in his tone and replied in frustration, “You really are too perceptive for your own good!”
His lips twitched in a smile. “You mean to expatriate.”
She sighed. “Yes.”
“And because you’re headed to Duan’Bai instead of Raku, you must feel the information you harbor is best heard by al Basreh.”
She drew back in surprise. “You know him?”
“Lily,” he said with admirable patience, “I lived in the palace of Duan’Bai as the adoptive son of the Emir. How exactly could I not know Rajiid al Basreh?”
Her face flooded with hope. It was the first time he saw the shadow truly retreat from her gaze. “Would you…could you…is there any way—”
“It would be my pleasure to write a letter of introduction on your behalf. But Lily…”
Her elated expression sobered at his tone.
“Prime Minister Rajiid bin Yemen al Basreh is a dangerous man. To bring yourself to his notice means putting your life in his hands. If he think
s you duplicitous—if he suspects you in any way, regardless of the truth of things—you will die.”
A determined look overcame her. “I would rather die than do nothing to stop my father.”
Trell shook his head. “Then I will write you a letter of introduction.”
“Oh, thank you, Trell!” Lily clapped her hands together beneath her chin. “You are a most precious gift!”
As if to make the dramatic finish complete, they reached the top of the ridge they’d been climbing and came in view of Sakkalaah.
The valley that spread before them seemed a lake of flaxen gold interspersed with evergreen. The River Cry cut a swath through the fields, its basin deep and walls sheer. Ten miles across the valley, the Assifiyah Mountains reared, forbidding and vast, with huge craggy peaks blanketed by snow. At the center of the valley on the palisades of the river and framed on either end by forbidding mountains, lay Sakkalaah.
It was a great walled limestone city, designed in a perfect circle around two towering jade pillars that stood higher than any other structure inside the walls, dwarfing even the glittering gold dome of the Sultan’s palace.
“Sakkalaah,” Kamil said as he brought his horse to a halt beside Trell’s. “We shall eat well tonight.”
Trell cast him a wry grin. If his friend Krystos had room at his inn, they would eat well indeed, and more besides. Casting a still beaming Lily a quiet look, Trell clicked his tongue, and Gendaia led away down into the valley and its jewel of a city.
Trell’s friend Krystos was an Agasi nobleman from the province of Solvayre, and he did a fine business importing his family’s famous wines through Sakkalaah to Duan’Bai and beyond. He ran an inn near the Pillars, which also did a fine business overcharging the tourists coming in to see the old Cyrenaic ruins—for Sakkalaah was built atop the remains of a much older civilization that had thrived in the days when the Cry was still navigable by ship to Cair Thessalonia, in those times known as the kingdom of Thessalos. The cataclysm that had destroyed Thessalos also altered the Cry’s path, dooming half a dozen ports to eventual obscurity and ruin. The Emir was said to be a direct descendant of the old Cyrene kings, a claim that had helped him unite the warring tribes of the Akkad into the Emirates he now governed.
Cephrael's Hand: A Pattern of Shadow & Light Book One Page 50
