The first thing Kyel noticed was a wide hearth in front of him that had two neatly-made pallets to either side. A blazing fire seemed to be doing a fair job of warming the place, despite the stir of cold air coming in through the arrow slits. Kyel found himself transfixed by the stark emptiness of the room. The chamber was conspicuously lacking almost any kind of fixture or decoration. There were only four chairs pulled up to a dilapidated table with what looked like a wide assortment of maps rolled out on its surface, held down at the ends by stones and iron broadheads. Except for the maps and the two pallets by the hearth, the room would have seemed utterly derelict and uninhabited. So intent was he on the barrenness of the chamber that Kyel almost missed the shadowy figure standing against the wall to his right.
He didn’t know who he had been expecting to find waiting for him at the top of the tower. Perhaps Captain Craig or even the Force Commander himself. Somehow Kyel wasn’t surprised that it was the darkly-clad Sentinel who had requested his presence. The man was standing with his back to him, by all appearances intent on the smudged lines of a large map that hung on the wall in front of him. He was slowly tracing a finger down the worn-looking parchment, giving no sign that he was even aware of their presence. But then he paused, hand dropping to his side.
A shiver ran down Kyel’s spine as the man turned toward him, fixing him with that same look of quiet appraisal that was becoming almost familiar. The mage nodded his head, dismissing Ulric without a word. The old soldier departed immediately, the sound of his footsteps fading slowly away as he climbed back down the stair to the tower’s base. Kyel shuddered as he realized that he was alone in the tower with an Eighth Tier Sentinel of Aerysius.
The man extended his hand, bidding Kyel to sit. Kyel moved toward the table, scooting a chair out with a shriek that made him flinch. He sat down slowly, leaning his bow against the table by his side. He expected the man to take one of the empty seats, but the mage remained standing, regarding him silently for a long moment before speaking.
“I was watching you down in the yard,” he said at last. The sound of his voice was not harsh. The words were soft and low, perhaps even gentle. “Have you ever held a bow before?”
Kyel found himself feeling a bit embarrassed as he shook his head, admitting, “No. That was my first time.”
The mage nodded slightly, but the look in his eyes didn’t change. It was as if he had already known the answer. Finally, he strode forward and slid into the seat opposite Kyel, spreading his hands out on the wood.
“My name is Darien Lauchlin.”
Kyel was a little surprised that he hadn’t offered his title, the long and imposing chain of words he had heard the man confessing to the previous night. Kyel found himself feeling a bit relieved; by just offering his name, the man was making an attempt at lessoning the distance between them. But something was bothering him; the name Lauchlin sounded vaguely familiar, though he couldn’t place it. And there was no reason why it should. His father had been dismissed from Aerysius long before this man could have ever passed Consideration. Surely there were no Lauchlins mentioned in The Mysteries of Aerysius; the text Kyel had read was over four hundred years old.
He realized with alarm that he’d let the silence in the room stretch too long. He gave his own name quickly, “Kyel Archer, of Coventry Township,” once again feeling the heat of embarrassment flush his cheeks. To his amazement, he found the mage grinning at him.
“Archer the archer. Now, that will go over well with the men.”
His smile was so honest and reassuring that Kyel found himself grinning, too. The irony of his surname had not been lost on the members of his company; the others had taken turns ribbing him about it all day.
Lauchlin let his smile slip, but his eyes remained temperate as he asked, “Do you mind telling me what you did for a trade back in Coventry?”
“I was apprenticed to a merchant,” Kyel answered him, remembering to add the honorific “Great Master” only as an afterthought. His nerves tensed, hoping that the mage wouldn’t take offense at his hesitation.
But the man only waved his hand over the table, saying, “My friends call me Darien.”
Kyel was struck speechless; a Sentinel of Aerysius had just told him to call him by his given name. And Lauchlin had, whether he’d meant it or not, just dubbed him a friend. Of course he knew it, Kyel berated himself. That kind never did anything that was not deliberate. He wondered what the mage was really after.
Lauchlin stated, “I would have taken you for a craftsman.”
Kyel blinked, amazed at the accuracy of the guess; he was a craftsman, in a way. Kyel described his hobby of working wood, all the while wondering how the man could be so perceptive. Lauchlin was a puzzle, somehow managing to seem genuine and mysterious at the same time.
“A merchant’s apprentice,” he said thoughtfully. “That would make you good with numbers. And you know your letters, as well, I take it?”
Kyel was astounded. How had he guessed that? It was uncanny, almost frightening. Overwhelmed, it took Kyel a moment to answer him. At last he admitted, “My father was an acolyte of Aerysius, but only for a time. He taught me my letters.”
He watched Lauchlin’s eyes widen at his words, feeling again that cold shiver of chill down his back. Slowly, the mage drew himself up out of his chair and paced away from the table, head lowered and hands clasped behind his back. Kyel watched his floor-length cloak swaying with the motion of his pace. He drew up beside the hearth, leaning with one hand against the gray stone wall, staring down pensively into the flames. With his back still to him, Lauchlin confessed softly, “I noticed you last night when I arrived. I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve had my eye on you throughout the day.”
Kyel fingered his bowstring absently, thinking of the times he had seen the man’s eyes on him, always with that same look of quiet assessment he found so unnerving. As Kyel’s gaze traveled down to the waxed and expertly tied bowstring in his fingers, a thought suddenly occurred to him. “You strung my bow! And you switched out Traver’s sword. Why?”
Without looking away from the fire, the mage nodded slightly. “I did him a favor. The bastard blade he’d picked was too much of a weapon for him. The sword I gave him will serve him much better.”
Kyel had figured that. Even though Traver had been irate when he’d awakened to find that monstrosity of a sword gone from his side, he had seemed rather grateful after swinging the lighter blade around all day in the yard. The last Kyel had seen of Traver, his friend had been massaging his sword arm avidly.
Summoning his courage, Kyel asked directly, “Why have you been watching me?”
The Sentinel looked up at him, finally shifting his gaze away from the flames. “Have you ever been tested for Consideration?”
Kyel felt stunned. No wonder the man kept staring at him that way; Lauchlin was hoping to find an apprentice, probably someone to follow after him. Kyel knew the gift was transferred upon death from one Master to the next in an unbroken line of inheritance, the way it had been since the beginning of time. But not just anyone could receive it; only someone who had the governance of mind to be capable of overcoming the terrible strength of the magic field itself. The ability was rare, and Kyel knew for a fact he didn’t have it. Lauchlin was going to be disappointed.
Kyel answered woodenly, “I’ve been tested. Twice. I never passed.”
“Yet your father did.”
“Aye,” Kyel allowed. “But he didn’t last long as an acolyte; only two years. I don’t understand. Are you thinking I could be a mage?”
Darien Lauchlin leveled his eyes at him, stating candidly, “I can see the potential in you, but I’ve no idea how strong it is. I’m rather surprised you’re not aware of it yourself. Your father must have told you that those with the ability are special, and in many ways different from most.”
Kyel shook his head glumly. “There’s never been anything special or different about me.”
“Truly?” A sly smil
e grew on Lauchlin’s face. Striding forward, he threw himself back down in his seat, lacing his fingers on the tabletop. “Let me tell you about yourself. Listen, then let me know if I have it right.”
Kyel nodded slightly, fearing what the man would say after the clever accuracy of his previous guesses.
“As a child you walked and spoke at a very early age,” he asserted confidently, without any hesitation or trace of doubt in his voice. “You were different as a boy, not much liked by other children, though you’ve always identified well with adults. You think critically and logically. You took your apprenticeship because you can calculate numbers quickly and accurately in your head. You can concentrate on one task for hours, even if it’s tedious, and yet you have no problem dividing your attention. Once you begin an undertaking, you finish it, no matter what it takes, or how daunting the task. You seldom give up, or give in. New skills come to you quickly, almost without effort.”
Darien nodded to indicate the longbow that lay resting against the table. He was referring to what he had seen in the practice yard.
Kyel felt at once stunned and horrified as he whispered, “How do you know all this?”
Lauchlin spread his hands, shrugging. “I simply described myself.”
Kyel could only shake his head, mind spinning at what the mage was implying. “I don’t understand. I failed the test.”
Lauchlin just shrugged dismissively. “If you were tested once again, you might pass this time. Sometimes people come into their potential later in life. It’s possible, at least. I’d like to try.”
“It’s too late,” Kyel sighed and shook his head. “I have a family...I did, at least.”
Lauchlin dropped his gaze with a deep, lingering sigh. To Kyel, it seemed he was struggling with something that was difficult for him, like a dark secret he was afraid, or even ashamed, of admitting. When he looked back up again, his eyes had lost most of their striking green intensity. Quietly, he said, “You heard what I said last night. Aerysius has been destroyed. I am the only Sentinel left alive. I can scarcely provide an adequate defense for this keep, let alone the entire Rhen.”
He paused then, shifting uncomfortably and staring down at the chain on his wrist. “And I have another problem. There is too much of the gift in me; no one was ever meant to take on this much. Eventually it’s going to be more than I can live with. I need someone to pass on my gift to...so that the legacy of Aerysius doesn’t die with me.”
Kyel looked away. He hardly knew this man, but for some reason he felt moved by Lauchlin’s plight. He truly wanted to help him, but he didn’t think there was anything he could do. He was not a mage. And, even if he were, Kyel just wasn’t sure he had it in him to give what the man was asking.
Kyel wondered, “Wouldn’t it just kill me, too?”
“Not necessarily. If I can find another with the ability, I can divide the conduit between you. It’s been done before. Then there would be two of you. And if you both go out and find two others within your lifetime....”
Kyel nodded, seeing exactly where he was going with this. Where there was now just one mage, in time there could be two...and then eventually as many as eight. But that’s all there ever could be, no more.
Kyel grimaced. “But all of this hardly matters if I don’t pass the test.”
“That’s right.”
Kyel understood. He nodded slowly, drawing in a shuddering breath. He realized he was trembling as Lauchlin stood and walked toward him, lowering himself down beside his chair until the mage was at a level with his eyes. It was all Kyel could do to force himself not to look away, to stare directly into the Sentinel’s gaze.
The last thing Kyel remembered was thinking that he had never seen such depths of pain as were reflected back at him from those turbulent green eyes. And then the world around him dimmed, diminishing to a distant point of light.
Chapter Ten
A Chunk of Quartz
THE NEXT TWO WEEKS went by in a blur of hectic training schedules interspersed with tedious hours of boredom. Kyel found himself growing used to the routine, though he soon discovered that he enjoyed the hours of practice with his bow far more than the time spent sitting around doing nothing. For most of the other recruits, it was just the opposite. Traver had made friends with a group of boisterous swordsmen who spent their time tossing dice and playing endless games of cards. Traver had managed to garner a place of respect for himself amongst that rough lot, probably because of his near-virtuosity when it came to gambling. If Traver had a genius, it was cards. Of course, exercising that talent was exactly what had ended them up at the front in the first place.
He wondered what Amelia was going to do when he never came back. Would she think he was dead or simply vanished, abandoning their family for the prospects of life in a city? Perhaps she would think he had found someone else, though he pleaded every day with the gods that she had at least that much faith in him. He wondered if she would find another husband, in time. Part of him hoped that she would; she deserved a life of happiness and, besides, the world was no place for a young woman all alone with a child. But another part of him suffered a pang of jealousy so intense that the very thought of her with another man brought tears to his eyes.
Kyel stood up from where he had been sitting by a lively fire and wandered through the press of bodies toward where Traver and his group were entertaining themselves over a worn deck of playing cards. Some of the men looked up from their hands as Kyel lowered himself down at Traver’s side, setting his bow on the floor behind him. Traver barely glanced up, just flipped his head a bit by way of greeting, intent on the arrangement of cards in his hand. As Kyel watched, he tossed a smooth stone into a pile of other odd rocks and pieces of metal. None of them had any money or possessions left to gamble with, so the recruits had resorted to using fancy stones, buttons, arrowheads, or any other type of odd materials they could find lying around on the ground of the practice yard. Kyel frowned down at the pile, wondering how it was possible for grown men to keep themselves entertained the way they did.
Reaching his hand into a pocket, Kyel pulled out the only item he had of any note, a small piece of quartz he had found in the soft and powdery soil near the yard. The stone had stuck out at him, a lone glimpse of white shining amidst the endless dark soils that were the trademark of the Pass of Lor-Gamorth. For some reason, it reminded him of home.
He waited until the current game was played out. Traver raked the pile toward himself, a sideways smirk on his face. Turning to Kyel, he noticed the chunk of quartz in his hand. “That’s a good one, Archer. Give it here.”
Kyel handed him the rock and waited as Traver examined it, nudging it around in his palm with the index finger of his other hand. “Oh, this one’s a beauty. This is worth...four arrowheads, I’d say. What do you say, Nevon?”
“I’d give it five,” said a greasy-haired man with a scraggly beard, who looked down at the rock appreciatively as he plucked it from Traver’s hand.
“I overheard Craig saying they’ll be starting us on sentry duty next week,” commented a man Kyel knew only by his surname, Crawley. Crawley had killed the wife of a Rothscard magistrate, not an overly bright thing to do. But then, Crawley didn’t seem overly bright. He was staring down at his cards with a vacant expression on his face, as if there was little going on behind his dull brown eyes.
“Now there’s a crock of horsepiss,” said a big, rough-looking man Kyel had never met. He had seen the man enough on the long trek up from Rothscard, but there had been little opportunity to get to know any of his fellow convicts very well, even if he’d wanted to.
“It’s not horsepiss,” Crawley growled, tossing out a card and obtaining a fresh one in exchange, licking his lips as he rearranged his hand. “I heard him saying so to Royce.”
“We’re too green yet,” Nevon argued. “They’d not risk us as sentries. Half of us’d be just as likely to skip out as do a proper job of watching anything.”
Kyel doubted that
. He had seen the example the officers had made of the only man who had tried to escape. He’d bet more than that quartz rock there wouldn’t be another one.
“And I heard that darkmage telling Craig to pull Henley from training. Says he’s ready.”
Kyel grimaced. Darkmage was one of the names that some of the men had taken to calling Darien Lauchlin, along with various other choice terms. It incensed the Valemen who had come up from Amberlie with the mage, and the Rothscard conscripts used it increasingly to goad them. Over the last few days, it seemed that the recruits had been forming two opposing factions. The Valemen were fiercely loyal to the mage, and a few had almost come to blows with some of the conscripts from Rothscard. Those men were all in stocks now out in front of the keep, shivering in the cold. Even the Valemen. It seemed that the discipline of Greystone Keep was uniform for everyone, and it didn’t matter if you supported the establishment or went against it. And Lauchlin was definitely part of the establishment.
Kyel shivered as he remembered his interview with him. He hadn’t told Traver about it, or there would be no end to the jibes and the ribbing. That, or Traver would be utterly convinced that the man was out to get him. Traver was a staunch and loyal member of the group that thought Lauchlin was some kind of dark and evil demon. Kyel had heard some of the men referring to him as the New Renquist. There was even speculation that the man had probably brought down Aerysius all by himself, or how else could he have managed to be the only survivor?
But Kyel knew better. Those men had never looked close enough into Darien Lauchlin’s eyes to see what Kyel had glimpsed there.
He remembered nothing of what happened after he had stared into those shadowy green depths. He only remembered wakening as if from sleep to find the mage backing away from him, head bowed. Kyel had felt horrible at the time; he’d known how much Lauchlin had at stake.
I’m sorry, Kyel had told him.
But when the Sentinel raised his head, his expression was one of wonder.
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