The Sword of Ardil: The War of the Furies Book 2

by Matt Thomas

  “I have so noted it, my Lady. This is the will of House Viamar then?”

  Eldin Viamar nodded firmly. “It is my will that my grandson, Luc Viamar-Ellandor, be given all rights currently held by the Crown,” he said. “He will be the voice of the nation and the weapon to bring the Earthbound to their knees.”

  There were mild cheers. Polite for the most part. The majority of the hall seemed locked in disbelief. Perhaps they dismissed his right. He had rights they did not know, even if he was reluctant to claim them. With the First Clerk still transcribing, Luc straightened. Scanning the attendants, he caught a glimpse of Trian seated to his right. He was almost certain something in her expression conveyed the belief he had made the right decision. Absently he wondered if she was aware in some far off way that one of the Furies had appeared here. He was going to have to take steps to ensure they knew the nation of Penthar was sacrosanct.

  “My Lord?” Luc looked up. The First Clerk was eying him questioningly. “I see your name has previously been entered into the rolls of House Viamar,” he repeated. “You are Luc Viamar-Ellandor?”

  “Yes.”

  “And do you claim any other title or tie to another house or nation?”

  The question hung in the air. Glancing at his mother, he saw her purse her lips expectantly. Almost the same from his father, standing just to the rear of his left shoulder. No doubt what the Warden expected from him now. It was the slightest movement, the briefest flicker of the eyes.

  Pulling in an extended breath, he announced it. In some ways the acknowledgement felt liberating. “I am Siren.”

  The man hesitated. He appeared about to sick up. “You wish that recorded?”

  “Yes.”

  “That will be difficult to witness and attest to, my Lord.”

  Luc shrugged. “I can provide a demonstration if need be,” he said coldly.

  Looking at him steadily, the man appeared to shudder. “If there are no objections, I will so record it.” The First Clerk did not wait before proceeding. There was absolute silence in the hall now anyway. “It is so entered. Luc Viamar-Ellandor—Siren—son of the Warden of Ardil and the White Rose, and of direct decent of the Lord Eldin Viamar, do you accept the weight and obligation of this duty and promise to uphold the freedom and collective will of the people of Penthar?”

  The question made him tense. He had seen the masses—multitudes beyond depiction, but these appeared the highest ranking officials of the realm. They would hold House Viamar responsible if he failed. Staring directly into his mother’s face, he knew what he had to do. For him there had never been a choice in the matter. This was the first step to safeguard the Nations. He accepted the role because it was required of him, not because of some distinct definition of duty, but because it was inherent in him. Born once to shatter. Now to shelter. There would be no signs or demonstrations today. Just his word he would do more than try.

  “My Lord?”

  Ensuring his voice remained clear and firm, he pressed a fist to his heart. “I will do what I must to ensure Penthar is held inviolate. I will ensure there is both justice and fairness and pledge to serve the people always, preserving the dignity of House Viamar and the legacies of the Lord Viamar and the White Rose.”

  The First Clerk continued to transcribe furiously. Luc caught murmurs of approval. His mother’s eyes continued to shine.

  There was a slight pause, then, “We welcome your return, Lord Siren, and hope in your lifetime we have peace and prosperity. There are just a few more matters for the formal record. In your absence, you must name the ranking officials of state. Whom do you wish to hold such offices?”

  He did not have to consider it. “My mother, Ariel Viamar, and my grandfather, Eldin Viamar. In their absence, my father, Ivon Ellandor, Warden.”

  “And your chief of staff?”

  He knew what the man meant. “Elhador Imrail. We name him Steward with the full authority of the Crown.”

  There was a grating sound behind him and whispers of surprise that trailed through the audience. Some resentment as well, no doubt. “It is so noted,” the First Clerk stated. “And your top aides, my Lord?”

  “General Vandil and the Companions.”

  “Thank you, my Lord.” Carefully setting the quill pen aside, the clerk stood. Raising both hands, he took in the audience. This was it. No more running. No more hiding. “All rise and witness then!” the First Clerk thundered. Forever sealed to the Children. Pledged to serve, pledged to provide strength and succor. His first appearance had shocked the Powers and rocked the Betrayers. Dimly he was aware of the First Clerk leaving the dais. There had been no denying the dreadfulness of the Storm. “I give you the new master of Penthar!” The onslaught had been terrible beyond imagining. This time would not be any different. “The Lord Viamar-Ellandor! Siren, Lord of the Dread City and absolute ruler of Penthar! Kneel!”

  Suddenly faint, he exhaled and blinked repeatedly. His fool knees chose that moment to begin to buckle. Clenching his hands, he realized he was the only one standing.

  The Giver defend them, he thought distantly. He had complied with their wishes. Now they’d have only war and carnage in exchange. He hoped the nation did not pay the price and would emerge relatively intact and unscathed. A fool’s hope, he knew. But one he would have to hold to if he was ever to turn his thoughts to restoring the First Plane.

  CHAPTER 12 — LINS MALDEN

  Rew had to clamp his mouth shut to keep from gaping like a backwater mooncalf. With the stunned audience finally beginning to disperse, Luc, the Lord Viamar, and the White Rose continued to sign documents making the transition permanent. A procedural convention meant solely for display. In Penthar House Viamar’s reign was unquestioned. Right then no one would consider countering the iron will of Eldin Viamar, skin drawn and tight, or the piercing gaze of the White Rose.

  Still, it was his boyhood friend out of Peyennar—if notably unrefined, instinctively touched by some inborn power—who ruled the day.

  He felt sorry for his friend. How Luc managed to look and sound the part was beyond him. Even the Companions appeared taken aback by some parts of the declaration. Not only them, the higher ranking lords and ladies in attendance. Some eyed the newly raised Lord of Penthar speculatively, though, likely sizing him up or looking to exploit a few of his more evident points of weakness—namely knowing next to nothing about Alingdor or her inner workings. Court politics were dangerous, he had discovered. These were men and women of significant rank and standing; already more than one had attempted to corner him.

  Standing in an out of the way spot, he followed the line of nobles making their way to the dais. It seemed Luc would have to speak to each and every last one of them. He supposed that was what kings did. My friend, the king. He was hardly sure what to make of it. He suspected the Renfathers had known. Blasted, half of Peyennar must have known. Well, if the suddenness of it had not been shocking enough, the formal announcement of Luc’s other name had given rise to a series of images that had nearly sent him heaving. Rattled, he turned and made for the massive audience hall’s exit, nearly bowling over the girl with the green eyes. Shuddering a second time, he stopped hard in his tracks, guarded.

  “The Lord Denail wants a word with us,” Lenora Yasrin said, studying him, eyes like jade opals. In recent days he’d made conscious efforts to avoid her, but she had a way of turning up when least expected. She at least knew why he had been selected to join the Companions. He had been . . . surprised—not the best word to describe it, but it would do—surprised to learn she had similar talents. It seemed more a curse really, some ability linked to a people long forgotten. Well, he had a bit of time to think on that yet. Maybe there was some cure. If some questioned why a gangly northerner had been given select honors, let them wonder. Oh, he had added some bulk during the punishing rides in and out of Peyennar. He had insisted on holding his own—tending to his own horse, laundering and mending his own gear, and doing his bit even when unasked. His only
formal schooling had been sessions with Amreal and Luc when the two had been younger, sometimes with Master Renfather too, but he had paid attention. He could accept the awkwardness and even live with it. He had no choice. Do for yourself, Allard had advised him pointedly prior to setting out. Ask for nothing. And do the Acriel name proud. He needs you. The world will need you. Sound enough advice, it seemed, even if some parts seemed sorely unwarranted. He was just sorry there would be no chance to explore the streets with Luc. Whatever the man had been was quickly becoming displaced, soon only to be a memory.

  Glancing at Luc again, he pitied his friend for having to endure the lines of ranking men and women who bowed and murmured pledges of loyalty, most of whom would likely begin jostling for his favor the moment they left the audience hall. They would leave loyal—there were no turncoats in Penthar, but they might not leave pleased. Rew did not have the stomach for such matters, and having had no time to nap or steal a quick bite would have to forgo both now and explore the city by himself if he was to find what he needed. There had been no time before with the nation locked in stasis and a massive beacon of light leading off into another realm where only the darkness existed.

  Abruptly he realized the girl was still watching him. Watching him while chewing her lower lip. Straightening, another image blurred across his mind’s eye—the slight girl laid out in a lifeless slumber. He had been certain she had died that day, the day Ivon Ellandor had breached the Mirror Plane. And just as certain the memory had dogged him for weeks. Glancing around, he stifled a yawn. He tried to appear disinterested. He did try. “Tell Denail I’ll be in my quarters in a day or two,” he said finally. “He can find me then if he wants to talk.”

  “You’re insolent,” the girl snapped.

  He gave her a slight bow and a grin. “Old habits. See you later.”

  Picking his way through the crowd still hanging on the newly raised king’s every move, he managed to cleave a path to the hall’s exit but had to struggle through the honor guard stationed at the door and extending well out into the corridor. Tight quarters with everyone wanting a view. Some of the men grumbled when he forcibly made his way through, but once free of the bottleneck he stepped quickly, moving off in search of his quarters. He thought he was familiar enough with the palace’s passageways and corridors that he’d eventually find his way to the main entrance. Locating the right man and navigating the streets were going to prove the more troublesome parts.

  He had gone no more than a corridor or two when a voice stopped him dead in his tracks. “You had better stop, Rew Acriel. Where are you going?”

  He groaned. Before he could react, the girl caught his arm, pulling him around. He still had a hard time meeting her eyes directly. “To see some of the city, I suppose,” he replied carefully. “I have a few things to do.”

  Her suspicious glare turned into a knowing smile. “Perfect,” she said. “I’ll join you. I need to stop and get a few things, though.” She pulled a hand through one of her white curls. “The Lord Denail wishes us to accompany him to the Black Talon. I’ll send word he can meet up with us there.”

  Rew caught himself narrowing his eyes. “He wants us to what? Me and you? Why are you so interested in tagging along?” He finished it pointedly.

  Her arched expression made him flinch on the inside. “Hardly interested, Acriel. Just doing as I was ordered to, something you had better get used to. You coming or not?”

  He shrugged. “I need to stop by my quarters on the way.”

  “Fine. We can stop by mine first.”

  Suddenly suspicious, he looked hard at the girl. “You two didn’t cook this up between you, did you?”

  The pale-haired, green-eyed girl not a day past sixteen, if that, shrugged mysteriously. “You’ll have to find out for yourself, Acriel. Come on.”

  In the end it took them almost an hour to quit the palace. He had needed a few things. Servants had unpacked his belongings and not thought it necessary to share where they had stowed them. He found his lined coat hanging on a hook, freshly pressed. Sheathing one of the Guardian’s blades in a new belt he had purchased in the Landing, he dropped the other in a small burlap sack he had asked one of the maids to fetch and tied it shut. It took him longer to find the pair of slim daggers Urian had given him. The greasy-faced bowman had taken to him, it seemed. Either that or his father’s brandy. Stealing a last glance around the spacious quarters, he dipped a hand beneath his coat to feel for his purse. He had only been a handful of minutes. The girl on the other hand appeared in no rush. She took her time selecting a cloak a match for her button up coat. She was slight but with a lithe figure. He supposed that was why more than one man gave her second and third glances. He himself chose to ignore it.

  At least her quarters were in a nearby section of the palace. He twitched his thumbs waiting for her to finish, unused to standing in a woman’s apartments. She had keepsakes on the mantle above the fireplace that caught his eye. Not for the first time he wondered what it was about the girl that made him uncomfortable. Not like Trian or Luc’s ma, of course. He supposed it was the lack of younger folk in Peyennar; the thousands housed in Alingdor presented opportunities he would have to think over.

  In the end it was nearly nightfall by the time the two of them left the yard with passable mounts. No one challenged them at the palace gates. The girl’s rank drew curt bows from the guards. Their eyes just flickered over Rew. He supposed he was lucky she had decided to come along after all.

  The streets of Alingdor were damp and misty at this time of year. No matter. When he told her where he needed to stop first, she looked at him quizzically. “There are smiths on the palace grounds,” she said, scanning the streets while they rode. Alingdor was never lacking in activity, and she did seem alert. Best he keep his wits about him as well.

  “I need someone better.”

  She raised an eyebrow but let that pass.

  A set of knives was personal, Ingram had said when he had displayed them to the man. Ingram was a steady sort, someone he could trust. Someone all of Peyennar trusted. He did not know what to make about Denail yet.

  Lenora Yasrin was an equal enigma. All of the Companions were. At the moment she appeared to be studying him, biting her lower lip once more. He grudgingly admitted she was a competent rider, far more adept than he was. He had never had the opportunity or the training. Was that what it was about her that put him off balance? He had seen any number of young women crossing the palace halls and corridors. Well, none had hair the shade of hers. Or eyes. And just the subtle hint of curves that—

  “Why, exactly, do you need an expert smith?” Lenora asked, steering a little closer to avoid a passing wagon train headed for the palace.

  He started. He realized he was reluctant to share it. “A few reasons,” he said casually.

  “You don’t talk much, do you?” she observed.

  “My ma used to say otherwise,” he said a bit defensively.

  “I didn’t say it was a bad thing,” she added quickly. “I guess we take a little getting used to. Riven and Altaer were stationed in Peyennar the longest. Both said you used to be quite . . . undependable. I haven’t seen it myself, to be honest.”

  He drew in a breath, gripping the reins. “Some things change.” He sighed, taking in the enormous city. “Some things have to change, I guess.”

  He had seen it. The Guardian had all but pronounced it. He would die if he stayed behind. The souring part was that he did not want to stay behind.

  Lenora took a moment to ponder that before swinging her eyes back to the paved streets. “I will see if I can help, but we have to hurry. I hadn’t expected a tour of the city, you know. We’ll be moving to the Guild’s Quarter and back to the Administrator’s. That’s quite a distance. You’re going to owe me. I’m not sure we can make it back in time. Denail and Imrail are going to have our heads.”

  Rew glanced at her. “I wouldn’t mind a night out,” he said guardedly. It might do him some good to e
xplore the city on his own. Besides, he did not think anyone would miss him. Well, not exactly.

  Looking at him, he caught a sudden vacant look in her eyes. They were almost entirely white now and made him pull to a halt, glancing around them quickly. A fool thing to ride in a city, he thought. But this one required it. Seconds became a series of prolonged moments. “Yasrin,” he muttered, “you all right?”

  She did not appear to hear him.

  “Lenora,” he hissed. What was wrong with the girl? Seeing her sway, he quickly wheeled his horse and caught her with an arm coiled around her lower back. Seated on horseback in the middle of the open street the two were beginning to draw eyes. A minute or more passed with him shaking her helplessly. “Damn it, will you answer?”

  He almost winced when her eyes broke open. “I’m . . . f-fine,” she whispered, almost inaudibly. Her shaky intake was hardly convincing. He could feel her trembling. Realizing he was holding her familiarly, she quickly pulled free. He did not understand why her face was so drawn, but he was beginning to think he might have made a mistake when he’d agreed to allow her to come along. “Let’s go,” she said, drawing herself up. “We don’t have all night.”

  “I suppose not,” he said in a neutral tone. “You sure you’re up to it?”

  “I’ll be . . . fine.”

  Somehow he did not think so. Noticing the faint but perceptible flicker of her eyes, he let the matter drop but continued to watch her closely.

  Letting the girl choose their pace, they rolled along the streets of Alingdor at a trot. There was something invigorating about the First City after nightfall. Not at all like Peyennar. They cleared the central district in a little over a half hour. Noting taproom, inns, and taverns of considerable reputation, he realized he was famished. In the garb of the Companions Lenora caught the interest of those making their way on foot through the city. Some moving on horseback bowed in the saddle or tipped their hats respectfully. A few looked at her suggestively after the pair passed, but most of the men and women seemed of a decent sort. Guards and patrols gave the city an ordered feel. No longer daunted by Alingdor’s size or the structures looming overhead, some appearing to touch the sky, he found himself catching a second wind. Lenora noticed and even appeared to shed some of her restraint.