by Matt Thomas
So much for anonymity. It appeared the word was out.
Their last stop prior to nightfall was a ride through the Guild’s Quarter, the hub of industry and innovation in the nation. With night coming on, Imrail appeared increasingly anxious. They passed craftsmen of every kind imaginable, foundries, masons, carpenters, metal smiths, tanners, jewelers, and more. Large warehouses were owned and separately operated. Most goods were shipped directly to the Merchant’s Quarters. The especially industrious regularly sought foreign markets and shipped them to the Sunstreet Markets in Tolmar or even further by way of Aldoren’s Watch. He had to admit the experience was riveting.
The day concluded with Imrail calling a halt just prior to sundown. Glancing at Luc, he looked, perhaps for the first time, a touch apprehensive. “I think it’s time,” he whispered, looking pale.
“What is it?” Luc demanded, tensing. Wheeling Lightfoot, he nearly unsheathed his sword. The movement made the escort under Kirran’s command instantly come to attention.
“Something I’ve been avoiding,” the man muttered. “Something your arrival appears to have forced me to consider. You are many things, but not what any of us expected. Will you stand with me, Anaris?”
“Imrail—”
“Yes or no, boy.”
Luc sighed. “Of course.”
Imrail nodded, still in no way relieved. “Let’s go then. It isn’t far.”
Hitching forward, Imrail continued to lead their party. Running a hand through his short-cropped light brown hair, he held the reins with the other. He did not appear to be keeping as close an eye out for trouble as he normally would have. With no idea what was troubling the man, Luc dropped back and exchanged a glance with Avela.
“I think he’s sick or something,” he confessed. “He hasn’t seemed himself the last day or two.”
The woman raised an eyebrow. “I hadn’t noticed, my Lord,” she said pleasantly. “He hasn’t spoken to me of it. In fact, he hardly says anything at all. Perhaps you should ask him if he needs to be relieved of his duties.”
He chose, rather wisely on his part, not to respond. He thought they were nearing the western gate, Seafarers Way. Aldoren’s Watch stood within a two day march. The street, still not empty—likely never truly empty in Alingdor—continued in a westerly direction. Not towards the heart of the city then. They walls were close. Perilously close. What was going on?
As they neared the gate, Imrail made a motion towards Protector Kirran and Altaer who dismounted and sought entry into an attached gatehouse, more an extended compound hugging the city wall for several streets. Leaving the saddle, Imrail indicated they should emulate him. Once they were all standing in a semi-circle around him he momentarily squeezed his eyes shut. When he reopened them a dogged light of determination rippled across his square features. “We have a problem,” he admitted.
No one responded.
“I had every intention of staying another day or two and complying with the Lady Viamar’s wishes. Making your presence visible and known to the nation. Night before last I had a visit.” He paused. “It was Naeleis.” Luc froze, blood becoming ice. “Warning me what would come. Warning me about what I intended. It seems I have gained his interest and attention.” Imrail caught the sudden intensity in his return look, the hate the mere mention of the name evoked.
Nodding soberly, Imrail turned to glance at Avela. “I have a message ready to send to your father,” he told her. “I’ve indicated it was my intention to call on him before we left. After our guest made himself known to me, it occurred they would only become targets. My hope was to ask for your hand in person. I will still do so, but have delayed the delivery. You may answer as you will. But I will not risk the lives of your folks.”
Shocked, instant tears spilled down her cheeks. “Elhador . . .”
“I will be dead soon,” he told her, openly taking in the image of the full-figured woman, “but I will die whole. I have written testaments witnessing the transfer of my estates and holdings. I have little else to offer.
“As for you,” he said, turning to Luc, “a predetermined timetable has been set. We are well behind. If we do not leave quickly, I doubt we will arrive in time.”
“Who told you this?” Trian asked carefully. “Surely not Naeleis.”
Imrail glanced at the young woman. Something in her tone told him she already knew. Imrail let out a breath, still looking at Luc steadily. “It was a shade of the Fury, not a form of flesh. The most accurate description is a veiled presence. The force of his will . . . I am not telling you this to frighten—”
“Naeleis doesn’t frighten me, Imrail,” Luc said flatly, flexing his hands. “That makes two of them in Alingdor in the last day. Damn it, I warned you. I warned you!”
“Calm yourself,” Imrail snapped, looking around quickly. “Better you know the truth now and not wonder later. You will have to find some way to . . . impress upon them your intent to destroy them. I have no doubt they are in awe of your arising. The Annals make mention of the terrible War of the Furies. You are named, if only in fragments and passages. Several have been lost. But Unari is mentioned. You are Unari. The Storm. The Furies are no doubt unwilling to confront you directly, but they have tools. Be warned.”
“I have had enough warnings,” he snapped. His mother and father had already lectured him to no end. “Who told you we’re running out of time?”
“Amreal.”
Stunned and horrified at the same time, Luc swore.
Urian, Altaer, and Kirran chose that moment to approach. Scanning their faces, the two bowmen waited some distance off. “Might as well get inside,” Imrail muttered. Glancing at Luc, he added, “We’ll discuss it later. We’re going to be spending the night here. Your folks will be by after nightfall. Come on.”
Head reeling, Luc would have shaken off Trian’s hand had it been anyone else. Amreal. And Naeleis. That one would pay for his crimes. Soon if he had his way.
* * * * *
Alingdor’s walls were no less imposing by nightfall. With four gates and manned posts stationed at key junctions throughout the First City, the battlements appeared fairly accessible. From what he could see they were staffed at all times. Tireless work and thankless. Kirran led them down a shadowy street directly into a structure that buttressed the wall. Ducking inside, the post appeared in good repair. Several Protectors were already there. Their gear, while formal, was hardly for show. These were clearly capable men, grim-faced, steely-eyed. Hard to say how much Viamar’s abduction had impacted them. The king’s unlooked for return, however, along with the Lady Viamar and a son and heir, had no doubt bolstered their faith in House Viamar. One could hope so at least.
Acknowledging their curt bows and salutes, he kept his mouth clamped shut until they came to a corridor separated by adjoining quarters, cramped and narrow, and a slightly larger common area. As they entered Rew and Lenora stood. Riven was with them.
“Wait,” Imrail said warningly when the Companion opened his mouth to speak.
Luc unbuckled his sword belt, slamming it down on scuffed table leaning directly against what appeared to be a section of the city’s walls. He was not sure what infuriated him more, Amreal or Naeleis making their first appearance to the general. Or both. “When?” he demanded.
“Amreal last night,” Imrail told him. “Naeleis the night before.”
“How . . . ?”
“He didn’t say.” Imrail knew he was not referring to the self-proclaimed Lord of the Legion of the Earthbound. “You should be glad some part of him is still out there actively looking out for us. Your parents were when I told them. Now you can choose either to stay fixated on his memory or move forward. I believe you know what he would have you do. As for Edenthror Isar—this Naeleis—I would be wary. His enmity knows no limits. He means to make you suffer, as you made him suffer. I have no doubt whatever’s going on in Ancaida is his handiwork. I tell you again. Be careful. They are not going to just hand you the Sword of Ardil. Y
ou will have to wrestle it away from them, and will only regain it at great cost. If anything, they intend to use it against you.”
Still looking at him, Imrail held up a hand. That look was direct enough. “You aren’t ready to face him yet. Trust me, I know.”
Not ready. He shot the man a dark look. “Did you tell my folks? About Naeleis?” he demanded.
“I’m telling you,” Imrail said, crossing his arms. “What you decide to tell them is up to you.”
Luc glanced at Kirran. “You’re to wait until I’m gone.”
“Understood, my Lord.”
“Eridian was here, too,” Luc admitted. “That just leaves Maien.” He would have paced had there been more room. The post was more than a little confining with its low ceiling and narrow breadth. “She won’t wait to weigh in. She’ll plot and plan in secret. But she’s bold. Bolder than the others. She’ll have her eye on us the entire way south.”
“Perhaps,” Imrail said somewhat patiently, “but there isn’t much we can do now. Everything’s been set in motion almost exactly as you had designed. In some ways, things have come out far better than any of us expected. We may not be winning, but we’re certainly not losing. Take some comfort in that.”
Exhaling, Luc felt his ire begin to cool. Slightly. From rage to an anger that knew no bounds. Imrail seized the opportunity to go on. “I expect your folks will be here after nightfall. They will be moving out for the King’s Watch to install Kalyn Tanaran. My recommendation is that we set out well in advance of dawn. We’ll have to swing around the city before joining up with our forces. I’m undecided about moving south with all speed. For now, we can at least choose the more unlikely route.”
Luc, looking at Trian, barely contained a flood of emotions at the word that Amreal was somehow still out there. Avela was similarly overwhelmed at Imrail’s sudden declaration. Reaching him, the woman looked about to embrace him. Seeing the tears in her eyes, he let the matter drop and left the two to a moment likely years in the making.
Glancing at Rew, he looked at his friend curiously. “Where have you two been?”
Rew rubbed his face, looking cautious. Riven stepped in politely. “Young Acriel here has somehow taken the first step in cementing relations with the Smith’s Guild,” he said. “We have two master craftsmen willing to work directly for the Crown and oversee the requisition and forging of arms to outfit the Nations. They were hoping to meet you.”
“They saw you,” Lenora said. “Earlier today, just as you set out from the palace. Seems they may be willing to abandon the Guild and negotiate on our behalf. Something Acriel said seems to have stuck.” Pausing, she glanced at Rew. Imrail was leading Avela out by the hand. “One moment,” she said. “There were other messages, Imrail. This one was for Luc.”
His head already spinning, he forced himself to sit, hand on his belt knife. He was cautious about any other news this night would bring. “We met a man who called himself Lins Malden,” Rew said slowly. “He had a message. . . .”
Luc just stared. By the end of the account he was heartbeats away from shattering something. One of the Powers. It had to be. And still loyal. Not ready? If the Furies found out he was not alone, they would soil themselves. He did not want them to exercise caution or restraint, though. He meant to find them and face them at their most arrogant.
“Maybe we should get ready to turn in,” Trian said carefully. “I doubt there is much more we can accomplish tonight.”
Luc nodded and stood. Perhaps she was right. He had to let go before he found himself becoming wild and unglued. Amreal would have told him so in no uncertain terms. Now whatever he was made even the Warden and White Rose wary. Retrieving his sword, he followed Riven back into the corridor. He was going to have to do something to make it clear he would not be baited. First Eridian. Now Naeleis and news the Powers had answered the call. He suddenly recalled words that at the time had hardly made sense or caught his notice. Make war, not peace. Bring harm and not only healing. Back then he had yet to come to terms with who he was, with what he was, and with what he had to do. Now he knew. The time was coming.
After eons of waiting it was long overdue.
CHAPTER 14 — WHAT FOLLOWS AFTER
A cursory glance into his billet told him Riven had anticipated virtually all of their needs. Trian’s stood directly across from Luc’s. Her luggage and personal effects appeared to have been attentively stowed and bundled. Taking a longer look into his own billet, he found everything in place and in order. They would need a set of packhorses for the extra clothes the palace servants had delivered, though. Serviceable garments, but hardly necessary and a touch overdone. He seriously considered leaving them behind.
Riven assured him the streets were under close surveillance and that no one would expect them to spend the night here. He had also ensured messages had been sent to the companies making for Ancaida with word they should expect Imrail and Luc’s arrival no later than nightfall the next day. By now scouts were already in place in anticipation of their imminent departure.
“One thing,” the Companion added. Of a height with Imrail, he never quite matched the man’s dominance, but something about him seemed to be changing by the day. It was hard to pinpoint, but the man appeared more decisive; he held himself like a nocked arrow, controlled, on the point of release. “It’s been suggested I consider a permanent posting in the Watch,” he said, glancing at the two of them. “Were you aware of it, my Lord?”
Luc, still on edge, shook his head. “No one said anything to me,” he confessed. “Who offered it?” Riven was one of the few fixtures in his life he was reluctant to part with. He was also one of the most deserving.
Riven crossed his arms, exhaling. “Your mother and Imrail. Both feel the port city will be imperative in the coming months. There are signs it may be time to put down the Lawless as well.”
Something in Trian’s expression made Luc stiffen, something that had nothing to do with Riven. “Harridan, it seems a great honor,” she said. “But no less dangerous than the alternative— coming with us. From what I remember, it’s clear the port city could use the stability. I can think of no one more capable. I can also think of no one we need more. You’ve known Luc the longest. That means something. But . . .” She glanced at Luc. “It’s a task of more than minor importance. If she had the Foresight . . .”
“I’m still obliged to serve alongside the Companions,” Riven said stiffly, looking torn. “Imrail’s going to need me. You will both need me.”
Luc considered it, ice still in the veins. Taking a seat on the edge of the stiff bed, he stifled a sudden surge of annoyance. The Furies knew what Imrail meant to their efforts, perhaps even what the man was coming to mean to him. Unwilling to provoke him directly, they appeared to have moved on to intimidating the few he could rely on. Just what he feared. Just what he would do in their position. He knew he was going to have to take preventative steps. He also knew Imrail was right.
He was not ready.
Realizing Riven was still waiting, he swallowed to rid himself of the acid discharge in his mouth. He could find nothing rational to refute the need. The stability of the realm was no less important than their move south. “The nation needs you,” he said finally. “I’d at least consider it.” The shipyards in Aldoren’s Watch were irreplaceable. A posting in the Watch would have the added bonus of keeping the man within arm’s reach of Alingdor and his mother and father should they need him. After they cleared up matters in Ancaida, he had every intention of sending Imrail home. Until then, one of them remaining behind made sense.
“I’ll think about it,” Riven said after some time. Nodding and moving off with a promise to return, he closed the door behind him. That left Luc and Trian alone for the first time that day. Perhaps in two days. He was not sure. The weeks were beginning to blur together. His mother had seen her off to bed the night before. He remembered that distinctly. Avoiding her eyes, he tried to center himself. The mental exercises his father had
taught him may have helped some, but he doubted it. The woman was just too disarming. No wonder Rew and a few of the others appeared noticeably uncomfortable around her. Some part of him was still too accustomed to the isolated regions around the Mournful Peaks where young women were scarce. She at least was used to cities and knew some about relations between men and women. He did not have much to draw on, but knew it was a dangerous thing to appear negligent. A woman noticed what you noticed. And what you did not.
“Help me with this,” she told him, breaking the silence while crossing the room. Unbuttoning her coat, she extending an arm out so he could free her of one of her coat-sleeves. After removing it, she sat on the edge of the bed and unlaced her knee-high boots. Again she signaled him to assist. Watching the pale-skinned Val Moran move was so fascinating he almost forgot he had reason to be angry. He had every reason to be angry. But the days had taken a toll on her, too. Setting her boots aside, he did not anticipate her slipping her arms around his shoulders.
Looking into her dark eyes, feeling drawn into them, he hardly breathed. Even with uncounted leagues behind them, they had leagues to go yet. He should have given some thought to leaving her behind, but knew there was just no way.
“You need to let go,” she told him, faces inches apart.
He dug his head into her shoulder. “I know.”
“If you don’t it will consume you as it consumes him. We have every assurance the thought of facing you—facing us—terrifies them. Now we know there is another. I . . .” She hesitated. “. . . I believe there is another.” He froze. He felt her quiver. “I was not entirely honest, but I could not be sure. Now I’m sure.”
Pulling back, he looked at her. It was difficult to focus. He thought he mouthed, “Who?”
She made a face. “I told myself to be honest. Now I have been.” Her lips upturned slightly. “The only thing we can do is wait. You might end up choosing another and leave me a Blade Orphan still in search of someone willing to take my sword.” She said it half-heartedly, still with her arms around him. She inhaled deeply for a moment, then buried her head into his chest. “For now, you should look to your friends. You’ve hardly spoken to them in days.”
