by Liam Reese
“Come now, I’ve come to know you better than that over the time you’ve been with us. You value your independence, I understand. But your independence could be a danger to us at the moment. That you must understand.”
“I do,” Croenin whispered. “I really do. I just feel—”
“Trapped.”
“Yes!”
“You want to go, take these,” he patted the pouch strapped to his side. “Find your sister and fulfill this ‘prophecy.’” He sat up. “If you wish to do that, know that you are alone.”
Croenin frowned. “If I left right now, even if I didn’t take the sícharae, you and the others wouldn’t help me?”
“Of course not, even if the prophecy is true, this is your fight. I’d lose too many men, now that I know the type of power that Eudys must have after seeing Gallys’ influence.”
Croenin gaped. “You don’t care about the future of mankind?”
“Of course, I do. But your prophecy said nothing about the Faero Ursi, only you and your sister.”
“Would you let me go right now?”
Captio frowned. “Even without us, you’d be willing to go and search for her. You don’t even know where Eudys’ castle is.”
“No,” Croenin replied. “But the longer I leave her there, the more time she has to plan.”
Captio nodded silently. “Try to sleep. We head back to the keep in the morning.”
“But—” Croenin started, wondering if he could convince Captio to let him go.
“Sleep.” Captio said, lying down and facing away.
Croenin sighed. Captio had seemed to be toying with the idea of letting him go. Even if he had to make the journey on his own, Croenin would have been willing to do so. The longer he went without fulfilling the prophecy, the more the doubts and fear of death crept in. He feared that waiting too long would make him lose his nerve to find his sister, and the thoughts about his death and that of his sister were growing harder and harder to ignore. He briefly thought about the moonstone dagger, bloodstained now, but wrapped in cloth and tucked into his boot once more. He had heard the whispers again when he stabbed the guard, just like when he first held it in his grandmother’s cottage. He still couldn’t make out what they were saying, but this time, they seemed closer. The thought scared him. He wondered if the whispers would grow louder as he came closer to fulfilling the prophecy, that they would be the last thing he heard as he and his sister died together. He closed his eyes, willing those thoughts to leave his head. He didn’t want to think about that now. He had to figure out how to convince Captio to let him go first.
6
The next morning, Croenin and Captio set off alone for the headquarters of the Faero Ursi, Aulys, Carus, and Saed remaining behind to begin the mission of finding those with Aes Sidhe blood. Croenin raised a hand as he and Captio rode off, but none of the brothers acknowledged his farewell. He sighed and followed Captio, though he had no choice, as Mordyre was connected to the slender man’s horse with a rope to keep him from galloping off. Croenin was wary as they entered the woods once more, realizing that should they face attackers again, he would be forced to rely on Captio for protection, his own weapon still confiscated. They were fortunate, though, as the days-long journey back to the keep saw no ambushes from bandits or highwaymen. The danger only came as they arrived back at the keep.
Croenin recognized the brothers who came to greet them as two that often hung around Clythair. The first, a weaselly looking man named Meryvec, was from Rassement like Clythair, though lacked a branding mark like his mentor. The second, a short, stout man named Taeber, was often seen trailing behind Clythair like a lost puppy. Croenin glanced at Captio, who seemed confused by their presence, and gasped as the two men lunged forward, dragging Captio from his horse and taking his sword before he could react. If he could have, Croenin would have galloped away, but a third man emerged, Clythair himself, and grasped the rope holding the two horses together, taking Croenin by the cape and throwing him to the ground. Croenin lay there, stunned, for a moment before jumping up, only to be backhanded roughly and knocked to the ground once more. Right ear ringing, he stared up at Clythair then glanced behind him to where Captio was held by his cronies.
“What are you going to do, boy?” Clythair sneered. “Are you going to fight me to try to save him, or are you going to do as I tell you to and listen to the rightful master?”
Croenin thought for a moment, staring at Captio, who looked at him grimly. He remained on the ground, weighing his options. Clythair had waited for this moment for a while, obviously, when Captio would leave for long enough for him to intimidate the other brothers into obedience. Clythair always had a large number of menacing looking men around him. Had Captio been so blind to the danger of mutiny that he had not seen the danger lying there? Perhaps Captio had thought the brothers would respect tradition, grudgingly falling into line after seeing Jovius’ directions for after his death. Clythair would be easier to sway than Captio. Now that Croenin had been out on a mission, he was officially a brother of the Faero Ursi, and would likely be sent on more missions. He could make his escape then, heading south to Rassement where Eudys’ castle lay. And leave Captio to be killed? Came the voice from the back of his head. Does he really deserve that?
No, Croenin knew that he didn’t. The man was merely doing what he thought was right in taking him back to the keep to be placed under watch. But if I can gain Clythair’s trust… He sighed, before standing warily, meeting Clythair’s mocking gaze. He hated putting off finding Ayne even longer, but he couldn’t let the Faero Ursi fall to ruin. They were a line of defense for humanity should he not fulfill the prophecy.
“I side with you,” he said quietly, ignoring the stony look Captio gave him.
Clythair chuckled. “I thought you might. You’re a smart one, after all.” He turned to his men. “You know what to do.”
Croenin watched as Captio was dragged away, his struggling ended when he was elbowed in the face by Taeber. Clythair nodded to him, raising an arm and escorting Croenin inside. Croenin walked into the keep, hair on the back of his neck standing up as he took in the eerie silence. Usually the keep was alive with conversation and laughter, but now, the few men he saw sat in silence, eyes downcast as he and Clythair passed.
“What will you do with Captio?” Croenin asked softly.
“For now, he’ll be confined to his room until I form a tribunal to try him for the murder of Jovius and forgery of his will.” Clythair smirked.
“What?” Croenin was taken aback.
“The man’s limbs were rotting from the juice of hyssia berries. It was obvious to any man from the southern regions, even those from the south of Toque Staetym. Yet Captio played ignorant as the blackness spread, pretending to be busy with tinctures and salves. Do you really think that Captio, with all his knowledge of medicine and all his learning was ignorant of hyssia berries and their properties? The man could name every plant in Toque Staetym.”
Croenin was silent. Clythair had a point, and even he was somewhat surprised that Captio hadn’t recognized the symptoms of Jovius’ illness. Yet, it was hard for him to believe that Captio would poison the former master. The brotherhood was his life, and he valued the safety of his brothers more than his own. He was always worried about the direction the Faero Ursi was taking. He had told Croenin one day, when Croenin had finished his reading for that day, that the Faero Ursi had once had outposts in the farthest regions of Toque Staetym, that he wanted to return the brotherhood to this level of organization. Maybe he saw Jovius as a necessary evil for the greater good, he thought, but it seemed wrong. Clythair was most likely trying to turn him from Captio, projecting his own guilt onto the slender man. Croenin set his jaw. Even if a small part of him doubted Captio, he would not leave him to be killed by Clythair.
He followed the large man to Captio’s former office, where Clythair moved to behind the claw-foot desk, roughly grabbing a handful of parchments.
“Read thes
e to me.” He ordered.
Croenin frowned. “You can’t read decryti?”
The branded man shook his head. “I was never taught. You must read them to me. If I am to be the master, as Jovius intended, I must be informed of all that happens in Toque Staetym.”
Croenin hid his surprise. How easily Clythair gave himself away. If Jovius had meant for Clythair to be the master, no doubt he would have taught him the writing system used by the highest levels of the brotherhood. He nodded, taking the stack from Clythair and began to read. Any mention of Eudys and the odd happenings in the castle in Rassement, he omitted, knowing that Clythair would not notice. He read mundane reports instead, telling him of a brother injured in the Western region of Toque Staetym by a pack of wolves, a village in need of aid due to failing crops, and a brother in need of backup in a southern settlement plagued by a serial thief. Clythair seemed bored with all this, but gave his orders, and Croenin was sent to his room until his skills were needed further. The only good thing that came of his new position as Clythair’s reader was that, as a full-fledged brother, he was given his flail once more.
His days continued like this, reading messages for Clythair, wandering the keep eavesdropping on information on Captio, and earning Clythair’s trust. The man ran a tight ship, he had to admit. Most brothers cowered in fear of him and his favored men. No doubt they’d heard the same whispers Croenin was hearing, that Clythair was sending some of his own men to hunt down those Faero Ursi who, still out in the field, had refused to swear their allegiance to their new master. Croenin hoped that Saed and the others were safe. At the back of his mind too, was his worry about Ayne and her plans, but he felt that his duty to his former master would not allow him to leave. He briefly wondered if Clythair’s coup was Ayne stalling him, but he put that thought from his mind, as it was of no help. He felt lost, wandering the keep with no more information than when he had arrived over a week before, until he heard a familiar voice call to him from behind a closed door.
“Croenin,” Captio’s muffled voice came from behind a door to his left as he walked down one of the narrow hallways of the keep.
Croenin stopped. “Captio? How did you know it was me?”
“I know the pattern of your footfalls. I know the patterns of most of the brothers’. I suspect there is no one around, since you answered me?”
“No,” Croenin said in a low voice. “No one.”
“I’m sure you’ve realized now as I have that Clythair poisoned Jovius.”
“I know,” Croenin said. “I knew as soon as he said he couldn’t read. I’m sorry, but I doubted you until then,” he confessed.
“Understandably. I should have known Jovius had been poisoned by hyssia as soon as I saw his blackened fingertips. It’s so rare here that someone would get their hands on such a plant, it hadn’t even crossed my mind. No doubt he told you that I played dumb and poisoned him myself.”
“He did.” Croenin heard footsteps approaching. “I don’t have much time. I’m thinking of a way to help you escape”
“There is already a plan in place. All I need is you and your eyes. If all is well do not come back to me. Should all be clear, get to the stables when the moon is high in the sky. Take nothing and say nothing to anyone. All will be ready.”
Croenin whispered his farewell and made his way back to his room, passing through the eerily quiet dining hall to grab his evening meal. The men seated at the tables looked at him warily, no doubt wondering if he was spying on them for Clythair. His behavior the past week hadn’t helped, always hanging in doorways hoping to catch some snatch of conversation regarding Captio. Everyone in the keep was uneasy, Clythair being quick to anger and harsh in his punishments of anyone he felt was out of line. He was cruel and paranoid, and he reminded Croenin of Gallys, eyes glinting with the same obsessive mistrust of all around him. The only reason he had lasted this long as the new master was due to his goons, those brothers he had trained who saw him as their teacher and guide once they entered the Faero Ursi. All had joined the brotherhood unwillingly, petty criminals and murderers like him, except for Meryvec, Clythair’s wiry and crafty right-hand man, who was taken into the Faero Ursi as a child. Ignored by other brothers for his repugnant personality, he had taken fast to the large, chestnut-haired man, who saw how useful he could be. Clythair must have planned this for years, since before he poisoned Jovius. He had been smart enough to attract enough support to silence the other brothers, and now he ruled the Faero Ursi with an iron fist.
Yet, Croenin knew, there must be some who would be willing to defy him. No doubt Captio’s escape would come with the aid of those who hated Clythair more than they feared for their lives. The new, brutish master wouldn’t last long. He can only stay master until the others start to hate him more than they fear him, Croenin thought as he lay on his bed, preparing himself to see beyond himself for the first time since Gallys’ castle. He understood what Captio had meant in needing his eyes. He needed to ensure that there was no suspicion, that no one would betray the former master in his plans to escape. Croenin was glad to do this, as it meant Captio was trusting him once more, even if he only did so because he had no other choice.
He closed his eyes, taking a few breaths to calm himself, before mouthing show me Clythair. The pull that came was harsh, and Croenin could only watch as he tore through the stone walls of the keep and through what was now Clythair’s office door. There, the branded man stood, his back to Croenin. He was facing the weapons cabinet at the back of the room, surveying its contents. Taeber stood beside him, holding what looked like a new battle-axe. He weighed it in his hands, the marbled pattern of the metal glinting in the light from the roaring fire on the other side of the room. Croenin worried as he watched Clythair select a heavier flail than the one he currently owned, its head a large ball of spiked oryn. He wondered why the men would need new weapons. What are they planning? He asked himself, as his consciousness floated just behind them.
“You’ll tell the men the new rule,” Clythair spoke suddenly.
“M-me?” Taeber stuttered, face turning pale. “I thought you would tell them.”
“You’ll do it. I’ll not have a mutiny on my hands. Only those going on mission shall carry weapons around this keep.” He placed a heavy hand on the fat man’s shoulder. “Except for those I say, of course.”
“Of course,” Taeber repeated quietly.
“Go now, you’ll make the announcement in the morning. All weapons shall be turned into me by the following morning. They’ll get them back when it’s their turn to go out into the field.”
Taeber nodded, shuffling out of the office. It was Croenin’s time to leave as well, and he felt the familiar tug as he was pulled backward to his room and into his body. He had been right. Clythair’s paranoia was going to turn him into a tyrant. Not being able to have their weapons on them was going to cause an uproar. Maybe that’s what they need to make them do something about all this, Croenin thought. The men were warriors, after all, trained to protect and kill. Taking away their weapons, those they chose for themselves and trained with often, would likely cause the very mutiny. How did he expect them to train? He wondered, frowning as he stared at the ceiling. No doubt the large man hadn’t thought this through, letting fear alone guide him. He took another deep breath, preparing his consciousness to travel again.
Show me those who are loyal to Captio. He wondered if this was too vague, as before he had a specific thing or person in mind when he tried to see beyond himself, but then came the pull, and he was hurtling through the walls of the keep once more. He stopped just outside the stables, where two brothers were talking in hushed voices. He knew their faces, but couldn’t remember their names at the moment. New recruits, they had been taken under Captio’s wing, much like he had been, and taught decryti. Though, unlike Croenin, they were only given snatches of messages from brothers in the field, not entrusted yet with longer messages and more information on the brotherhood’s scouts. Croenin moved in c
loser, so that he could hear.
“And the key?” The first one, a lad large, with wide-set eyes asked the second.
“I have the key, no worries. Snatched it when I served Clythair his midday meal. I’ll slip it to Captio when I bring him his meal this evening.”
“Did he say where he was going?”
“South was all he said when I asked. I’ll have the horses ready when he comes. I’ve been sleeping overnight in the stable like he told me to, so as not to arouse suspicion when I stay tonight. Do you think Clythair suspects?”
“Of course not. We’d know by now if he did.”
At that, Croenin felt himself being pulled back. He had gained all he needed to know for the time being. Captio was heading south, he had told the young brothers. And I’m going with him, he thought. Croenin wondered if he was taking him to Eudys’ castle in Rassement. Why there? Why now? He wondered. He asked himself why Captio wouldn’t ride north, where Saed and the others were staying at the inn, but then he realized that Clythair, though hot-tempered and paranoid, wasn’t stupid. He no doubt knew where he and Captio had arrived from and would have those brothers loyal to him searching for them in the north of Toque Staetym. Rassement would be safer for Captio. He could get rid of his uniform and pretend to be a regular settler from the middle region.
And me? Croenin asked himself. If he’s not taking me to Ayne why would he take me with him? Captio had said he wanted Croenin’s eyes. Perhaps he was merely using him as a tool to evade Clythair. Or both, he thought. Maybe once he’s safe he’ll let me go. Croenin turned to face the small fire in his room, wondering if this could finally be the last step in his journey. On a whim he rolled back over, knowing he had time until he would meet Captio in the stable. Show me my mother, he mouthed, and let himself be pulled.
After a time spent soaring over treetops, settlements, and fields, he found himself back at the cottage he grew up in, where his mother, Aesma, was kneeling in front of a blazing fire. She quickly glanced over her shoulder, and Croenin feared for a moment that she too, like Ayne, could sense his presence. When she returned to fiddling with something on the floor in front of her, however, his fears abated. He moved closer to her side so that he could see what she was doing, and he watched as she opened a small wooden box, taking out a silver necklace with a teardrop of moonstone hanging from it. A sícharae, he realized. She placed the pendant over her head, clasping the stone with one hand and throwing her head back. She began to chant in a language Croenin didn’t recognize, and her eyes rolled back into her head. The fire in front of her began to change, then, parting as a tall, pale figure stepped out of the fire.
