by Brian Fuller
Their road would lead them northwest to the town of Embriss where a Portal to Tenswater would put them near the Portal that opened close to Echo Hold. Gen calculated a journey of three days to get to Echo Hold, worried they would not arrive soon enough. Gen knew enough of Athan’s drive and temper to fear him, and with his own magic and the mandates of Mikkik, he was a force to be reckoned with.
At the worst, Athan would kill Mirelle outright, though Cadaen’s brand only registered her physical discomfort for the moment. How long would Athan delay her death? Gen thought the man had enough theatricality to stage something public and brutal to act as a reminder to everyone not to cross the Church. That Athan thought Eldaloth would actually condone the actions he had taken to protect Chertanne and would likely take to punish Mirelle made Gen wonder if Athan thought of Eldaloth at all or only his own pride.
Gen and Cadaen galloped out of the manor on horses generously provided by Geoff. The morning skies were high and gray, but by midday they cleared. Gen feared that Cadaen would recognize him on closer acquaintance, but the old faithful soldier was completely absorbed in his own thoughts and the mission at hand. Gen rode behind him at a discrete distance anyway. As Cadaen promised, they rode hard, the animals laboring and frothing under the haste of their passing. This gave Gen the chance to use another trick of Mynmagic that the Millim Eri had bestowed upon him: speaking with animals. The animals expectedly had little to say, but he found he could implant simple ideas such as urgency and need. Combined with the restorative touch of Duammagic to revive the horses’ flagging energy, they crossed through the beautiful, winding hills and valleys with such speed that they arrived in Embriss just before midday, hours before they had intended.
Their satisfaction at an early arrival was immediately crushed. A column of people stretched out of the town, a mismatched array of the young and old, rich and poor. The poor carried bags, while others rode in simple farm carts laden with their equipage. The rich leaned out of carriages to see how far back they were from the city gates. The Eldephaere—not Rhugothian soldiers—patrolled the line, keeping order.
What are they doing in Rhugoth? he wondered.
“Excuse me,” Cadaen asked a plump man with similarly sized wife and children, “is there a festival?”
“No, my good man!” he answered brightly. “We all make for the Portal and Tenswater! We travel to see Echo Hold and the place where the last battle was fought!”
Cadaen swore. “It will take hours to get to the Portal!”
“Here, yes,” the merchant replied. “In Tenswater they say it can take a couple of days. Are you well, friend?”
Cadaen didn’t answer, angry face staring at the line as if deciding whether or not to kill them all. “I cannot delay!”
“We’ve all got to wait our turn!” the merchant said, voice more subdued as Cadaen’s emotion rose. “The Guild doesn’t play favorites.”
“We’ll see about that!”
Cadaen rode off at a fair clip toward the town, mood souring as they entered within the gates and found Embriss a chaotic, packed mess of Rhugothians trying to reach the Portal or make money off of those who did. Gen thought the town had probably been pleasant once, but the reek of smoke and beer and sweat and garbage, combined with the constant roar of street hawkers and crying children, turned Embriss into something like the Damned Quarter, only with nicer buildings.
The long line of travelers disappeared into the wide, arched entry of a tall domed building in the middle of town, the blue glow of the Portal illuminating the faces of those relieved to at least be close. Those selling drink and food were doubly thick along the line, and Cadaen’s face took on a determined expression that Gen figured meant that violence was about to ensue.
“Cadaen!” Gen yelled to pull him out of his dark scheming.
He turned toward Gen, face really considering him for the first time. Gen eased his horse closer so they could talk above the din.
“Before you start threatening people, let me see if I can pay someone to take their place at the front,” he said.
“Do you have money?” he asked. “I have none.”
“I think I’ve got enough. Wait here.”
They dismounted, and Gen scanned the line for a likely prospect for his scheme. An impoverished farmer and his dirty brood seemed just the sort he needed. Gen approached and doffed his hat.
“Good day, sir,” he said.
“Don’t want nothin’,” the farmer replied curtly.
“I’m not selling. I’m buying. I’ll give you three gold pieces for your place in line.”
Suspicious, disbelieving eyes regarded him, measuring him up. “You ain’t got it.”
Gen reached inside his jacket and formed the money in his hand using Trysmagic, extending it outward for the farmer to examine. “Think what you could do with it! Shoes, food, tools. A nice bonnet for the missus.”
The farmer extended his hand and Gen pulled the money back.
“Gotta see if it’s real!”
Gen took a piece and handed it to him. The farmer bit into the soft metal to test it and then examined it by closing one eye and squinting at it with the other.
“Deal.”
Gen motioned Cadaen over, and, after relinquishing the money, they found themselves twelfth in line behind an old farm cart crawling with cats and children.
“You got enough to do the same in Tenswater?” asked a considerably more relaxed Cadaen.
“It’ll cost more, I’m sure,” Gen answered. “But I’m pretty good at persuading people when I wish. Oh no.”
Looking down the line, Gen caught the farmer and his family chatting with a brace of Eldephaere and pointing in their direction. Cadaen followed his gaze and shook his head at the Church soldiers.
“Creepy little emasculated buggers!”
“Be calm or they’ll get nervous,” Gen counseled. “Just let me do the talking.”
The two Church soldiers regarded them warily, and Gen figured they couldn’t miss Cadaen’s impressive physique and the sword strapped to his horse. And, while Gen’s outfit didn’t scream soldier, a trained eye would no doubt pick out the posture and musculature of a man familiar with a fight. The soldiers, both of them tall and thin, wore the conical helmets and blue cloaks of their order, hands on the hilts of their swords.
“It is illegal to buy a place in line,” one of the soldiers said. “You’ll need to head to the rear of the line or depart the town entirely.”
Gen decided to see just how much of a hassle the two were willing to go through to pursue justice for a petty crime.
“We didn’t buy a place in line,” Gen said, acting offended.
“The farmer says you did,” the Eldephaere returned.
“I did no such thing,” Gen lied.
“He showed me the gold you paid him,” the Eldephaere retorted. “No farmer would have that much gold!”
“Do either of us look like someone who would have that much gold?”
The soldier opened his mouth and shut it. A point won.
He took another tack. “And I don’t remember seeing you at this point of the line, either.”
Gen shrugged. “I can hardly be responsible for what you remember. But look, the farmer there can clear up this entire matter. Just go fetch him, and we’ll have this resolved in no time.”
The farmer was fifty yards away, and they were now seventh in line, nearly to the opening of the Portal building. The guard, a little flustered, finally managed to gather enough sense to do what Gen feared he would.
“Well, we’ll just ask the people behind you, then!”
The person directly behind them was an old, bureaucratic-looking fellow who just wanted to be left alone. Gen caught his eye.
“Excuse me sir,” the guard said, voice exuding confidence now that he had finally found the trump card. “Have these two men been in front of you the whole time?”
Gen created a gold piece and flashed it at the man surreptitiously. The fellow’s eyebrows raised
.
“Yes,” he said. “The whole time.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positively.”
The guards looked back at Gen and he folded his arms. “There. What further evidence do you need? If you hurry, you might catch that farmer. . .”
The two guards scowled and left, grumbling under their breath. Gen waited until they disappeared into the crowd before flipping the gold piece to their benefactor. “Thank you, sir.”
The Portal enclosure had no windows save for a circular opening in the very top. The brilliant blue of the shimmering Portal provided ample illumination, the Portal Mage sitting cross-legged on a decorative rug in meditative concentration to keep the Portal open for long periods of time. Another man in the robes of Portal Guild sat at a table, recording the names of everyone who passed through in a ledger, and two Eldephaere were at attention on the edges of the Portal. Gen and Cadaen both lied about their names and their purpose, but if there were any suspicions, the frantic, busy pace of the day kept anyone from acting on them.
They led the horses through the Portal, emerging into a dry, warm day in Tenswater.
“Unbelievable,” Cadaen said, stunned by what he saw.
While Embriss teemed with people, Tenswater choked on them. The press of traffic along the streets almost prevented movement. Eldephaere walked among the throng in large numbers, trying to keep the irritated crowd from brawling and stampeding. As it was, shoves and curses abounded. As in Embriss, merchants took advantage of the influx of patrons by accosting passers-by and inflating their prices, and every inn or tavern seemed fit to burst. Some people encamped in alleys and parks, and from what Gen could overhear, the entire mass of humanity was bound for Echo Hold.
While they had expected a single column making for the Portal entry, instead the ebb and flow of the crowd went in every direction. After some inquiries they found that the Church had instituted a system to control the numbers making for the Portal. Every pilgrim had a mark stained on the back of his hand, a different mark for each day. The current mark was for four days out.
“Can we forge them?” Cadaen asked.
“I made some discreet inquiries,” Gen answered. “They apparently have a way to separate the fakes when you get to the Portal. No one knows exactly how they do it.”
“We’ve got to try. I am not waiting four days.”
“Agreed. As you may have heard, I have some talent with Duammagic. I may be able to use it to aid us here, but first we need to get a look at what we need to mimic.”
It took them a solid hour to work their way through the crowd to the other end of Tenswater where the line of people waiting for the Portal queued. The Portal to Echo Hold waited below ground. Workers had dug a vertical hole downward, a spiraling ramp descending into the pit. The line waiting to enter the hole stretched a quarter mile back and was moving slowly. The Eldephaere patrolled thickly, and Gen thought better of trying to buy his way to the front of the line again.
Thankfully, those in the line kept staring at the stained marks on the backs of their hands, done in a reddish ink. Gen used his magical gifts to discolor the skin and create the mark on his and Cadaen’s hands just before the Eldephaere came to check them when they joined the end of the line.
While they waited, Gen availed himself of the exorbitantly priced services of a hay cart offering provision and drink for the horses.
“Any news from Echo Hold?” Gen asked as the thin farmer pulled hay out of the wagon.
“Those coming back say it’s as packed as a barn on a wedding. Eldaloth’s made an open invitation to the nobles and Warlords from any country to let them pass to Erelinda like Chertanne did. Biggest rumor, though, is that they got the First Mother on trial before Eldaloth himself. They say they’ll probably execute her. Had lots of nobles show up today wanting to attend that, but I doubt any of them will make it through in time.”
Gen glanced at Cadaen, whose smoldering, far off look portended trouble. Despite the ridiculous amount he had already paid, Gen tossed the farmer a silver piece before turning back to his distressed friend.
“Once we get through the Portal, it will still be two days’ travel to Echo Hold,” Cadaen lamented. “It will be too late.”
“You don’t know that,” Gen consoled. “We’ll ride quickly, just as before. I’ve been to Echo Hold, and I know a way we can bypass the crowd and get in without scrutiny. Keep faith, Cadaen. We haven’t lost yet.”
The words calmed him, but the irritating, slow grind of the line only increased their anxiety. By the time they had descended the spiral ramp to the bottom, evening had fallen.
As in Embriss, the Portal Mage sat on a rug on the ground while another member of the Guild recorded names. A contingent of ten Eldephaere waited around the Portal, and the rumors on the street proved true. Every person passing before the Portal was forced to stick a stained hand into a bucket and have it examined by the Eldephaere. Due to the odd lighting, Gen couldn’t figure out what was happening after they dipped it in. To read the mind of the soldier performing the check would take physical contact, and without knowing what the final result of the hand-dipping needed to be, he couldn’t implant a suggestion, either.
“What do we do?” Cadaen asked.
“We ride,” Gen answered. “If we’re not fast enough, we might find ourselves riding half a horse.”
As they neared the mark-checking station, they mounted their horses, Cadaen in the lead.
“Get down off there!” one of the guards growled.
“Yah!”
Like arrows sprung from the bow, they shot into the blue field before them. Curses erupted around them, and the guards drew steel. Half a moment later they emerged into a valley north of Echo Hold, a line of camp fires and lanterns stretching before them. Their pace prevented maneuvering, and they collided with a pack of riders that had gone through just before them. Horses reared and people fell, the dust churning in the firelight as the animals bumped and collided with one another. Gen and Cadaen pulled their horses around and bolted out into the night just as the Eldephaere from the other side of the Portal burst through, yelling at anyone who would listen to detain them.
Spurs to flanks, Gen and Cadaen fled into the night without a glance back.
CHAPTER 79 - A SMALL BEGINNING
By the time the Chalaine awoke, the sun streamed through the shutters of the single window in her room. The night’s sleep felt luxurious and deep, her dreams vibrant and more inappropriate than ever. This morning, however, they didn’t seem quite so inappropriate. They were the promise of a closeness to come, and she smiled, half wishing the rose Gen had left on the pillow next to her was instead the man who had left it.
One day, she thought. One day soon.
She and the army would leave for Mikmir after lunch, though she wanted to avoid the bustle evident in the creaking and rumbling throughout the house. While in her room, she could wrap herself in a cocoon that only consisted of her and Gen. The minute she stepped out the door, Mikkik, Dason, and duty would come calling, and the world would barrel forward in the frantic haste of purpose again. She had spent the whole of her young life worried about the expansive needs of the world, but since Gen’s return her anxieties collapsed into a space that only admitted two.
But her mother’s plight revived her to a sense of purpose, although she feared that the letter she intended to write and publish to the world would harm rather than help Mirelle. The gnawing worry pulled her from the sheets and back into life, and she put her feet on the floor. The door cracked as she rose, but Gerand’s voice rather than Dason’s greeted her.
“Shall I call for the maid?”
“Yes, please.”
Fenna came instead of the maid, waddling into the room with a worn face. “This baby must come soon,” she groaned. “Do the Chalaines have any magic that might convince a baby that it is time to make the journey?”
“I’m afraid not, Fenna.”
“Does it hurt? Having the baby
, I mean.”
“It is . . . intense,” the Chalaine answered, not really wishing to remember those hours of her life. “But you’ll do fine. Just don’t let Geoff be anywhere nearby in case you say something you might regret.”
“So I saw Dason at breakfast this morning,” Fenna said as she brushed the Chalaine’s hair. “He seemed quite cross and appears as if he’d been in a fist fight with a Gagon. I hope you weren’t cruel to him last night. Has he made his intentions known?”
The Chalaine sighed. “No. He is a gentleman and probably knows I would not think of courting while my mother . . . while my mother is away. We must return to Mikmir and home.”
“I am sure Mirelle will not tarry to counsel with Athan long and will join you as soon as she can,” Fenna consoled, “Although I have heard some strange rumors.”
“Such as?”
“We had food brought in through Portal Gate, and the merchant told my cook that a whole host of Church soldiers had passed through there on their way to Mikmir. I suppose, though, that they would have been looking for you.”
“Very likely,” the Chalaine answered.
“Were you very lost?”
“We were in a trackless wilderness running for our very lives.”
“Oh! But look! A rose!” Fenna said, abandoning the Chalaine’s hair and retrieving it. “So! Dason perhaps expressed his affectionate intentions after all, even if he didn’t use words! And look! It is thornless. It doesn’t even look like it grew with thorns. There are no scars where they have been cut off. I wonder where he got such a variety? Not in my gardens. I shall have to ask him.”
The Chalaine closed her eyes to settle her irritation. “He knows nothing of it. He didn’t give it to me.”
“Really!” Fenna plopped down beside her and started in on the hair again. “Then who?”
“A secret admirer. It was on my bed when I returned last night,” she lied. It was toilsome to bottle up the love she wanted to shout from the tallest tower.
Not much longer.
“Then it was likely Dason,” Fenna said. “I am so excited! I can’t wait for the wedding! Will you have it in Mikmir or in Tolnor?”
