“This is my place,” she said, each word resonating and echoing through the air. “And you are not welcome here.” She raised her hands above her head and, as she did, the light that suffused her seemed to travel out from her into the world itself, pushing back the darkness. The shadows shrank away even farther, as if somehow they might avoid their fate, but shadows have no place in the world of light. “Be gone,” she said, and brilliant white light erupted from her in a wave, rushing in all directions. Many of the creatures turned, tried to flee, but there was no escaping it. When the light touched them they wailed and vanished until it was only Aaron and the woman and the tree, standing tall and proud now, majestic and beautiful.
“Well,” Aaron said, wavering drunkenly. “That’s a fancy trick.” He wasn’t aware he was falling until he was down on one knee. Now that the fight was over, his wounds dragged at him, great weights that he could not shrug off.
“You’re weary,” Tianya said, coming to stand in front of him, and to Aaron’s amazement the shadow world that had surrounded them was changing. A pale sun shone in the sky, weak now but growing brighter with every second. All around him, the unidentifiable ground of darkness was quickly giving way to lush, green grass that spread out in a ring with the woman its center. He even thought he heard the distant sound of a bird calling and another answering.
Still, whatever changes were being wrought on the world were not being worked on him, and now that the immediate danger had passed, he felt every scrape, every blow, and it was all he could do to keep from shouting in pain. “Weary?” he said, giving a breathless laugh. “Nah. I’d say I passed weary a lifetime ago.”
The woman gave a laugh of her own, a mellifluous laugh that was at once comforting and somehow fey. Aaron raised his head with an effort, studying her. “You’ve changed,” he said. Not much of a compliment, maybe, but his breath was a short rasp in his lungs, and he didn’t trust himself to manage anything more.
She smiled, and though she was a woman now, he could still see traces of the girl she’d once been in the expression. “So have you.”
Aaron grunted. “Sure. I’d say it’s safe to say I’ve got a few more scars anyway.”
“That’s not what I meant,” she said, her smile still well in place, “and I think you know it.”
“I don’t know what you’re—”
“Oh shut up, Aaron,” a voice said as the magenta ball of light materialized beside him. “You know good and well what she means. You can play the tough asshole when you’re out drinking with your soldiers, if you want, but here, we know better.”
Aaron stared back at where the battle had taken place. Now, bushes and trees shot out of the ground, though none matched the might of the one tree, Tianya’s tree, that loomed over all, not a menace now, but a savior. A protector. Still, his memories were not so easily erased as the darkness, and he sighed. “Not tough?” he asked. “I thought I did alright.”
“Gods, but if I had feet I’d kick you in the shin,” the Virtue snapped. “And save that scowl for someone who’ll be impressed by it—I’m not.”
“Fine,” Aaron growled. “I’ve changed, so what? What difference does that make right now?”
Tianya cocked her head at him, studying him strangely. She waited for him to meet her eyes, then she gestured expansively to the world that was growing rapidly around them. “I cannot speak for anyone else, Aaron Envelar, but for me, it has made all the difference in the world. It has been the difference between light and darkness, life and death.” She knelt before him, bowing her head. “And I want you to know that I am eternally grateful for what you have done. I know well what it cost you—what risks you took—and I know better still that I deserved none of them. I do not know how I could ever repay you for the kindness you’ve shown me.”
Aaron winced, suddenly uncomfortable, and he thought it said something about him—probably nothing good—that he felt more at home with people trying to kill him than trying to thank him. “You can start by standing up. I’m no god or king. Just about as far from it as anyone could be, in fact.”
She smiled, but he was grateful to see that she did stand. “Perhaps, Aaron Envelar. Perhaps. But I know of no one else who would do for me what you have done.”
Aaron started to say that it had seemed like a good idea at the time. The problem, of course, was that it hadn’t. It had been a shit idea with a shit plan, and he could not explain—even to himself—why he had done it. A thought struck him, and he frowned. “What of the horse?”
A troubled expression flickered across Tianya’s face, but it was gone in another moment. “A piece of me, Aaron Envelar, my mind, perhaps, or what the priests call my soul.”
Aaron nodded slowly. “I liked him.”
She smiled, and there was something sad about it. “So did I. Or, at least, I think I did—I cannot be sure for even as I stand here speaking with you my memory of it fades. Still, you should know that, in other circumstances, I might have something to say about your assumption that it was a he.”
Aaron shook his head, confused. “But I saw it die. If that was a piece of you…”
“Yes,” she said, nodding. “The road to change is never easy, and few battles are won without casualties. I fear that piece of me is gone forever, but do not mourn it too terribly. Such creatures are born all the time in our hearts, fighting those most terrible of foes for us—grief, anger, fear, hatred. And my Sugar is not the first to be conquered by the enemies she faced, nor will she be the last.”
That gave Aaron several questions, but he asked the one that bothered him the most. “Sugar?”
She smiled, and once again he was reminded of the little girl who’d sat by the tree. “I had a dog once, as a child. The sweetest animal I had ever met before or since with a coat of pure white. My mother said, when she saw her, that she looked as if she had been dipped in sugar.”
Aaron grunted. “Right.”
“But enough of my past,” the woman said. “We need now look to our future, to the future of Telrear itself. I fear time is running out.”
He didn’t like the sound of that. “Time? Why do you say that?”
The woman frowned, gazing at the sky as if searching for some answer. “Say, simply, that the real world has not paused to wait on us while we tarried in this one. I fear, Aaron, that you may have risked more than you know in saving me. More than just your own life.”
A sinking feeling came to the sellsword’s stomach, and his first thought went to Adina, some unknown fear rising within him. But that was ridiculous, of course, for Adina was safely sleeping. He had checked on her only…but he had no way to finish that thought, for he realized that he could not have even begun to guess how long he’d been here, fighting Tianya’s demons, her fears. He would have been no more surprised to hear that it had been ten minutes as he would have been had someone told him a year had passed while he battled. He started to rise, not sure where he would go or what he intended, only that he couldn’t stay here doing nothing. But, as was so often the case, the body had demands of its own, no matter how much the mind and the heart might yearn for something different. His weary legs refused to take his weight, and he sank back down, sweating and gasping from the simple act of trying to stand.
“Fields take it,” he swore.
“Your wounds steal your strength,” the woman observed, compassion filling her voice as she stepped closer.
Aaron stared at her as she moved near him, and despite the fact that she had clearly changed, he couldn’t help feeling uneasy at being so vulnerable at her feet, a woman who had, not so very long ago, tried to kill him and his friends to get what she wanted.
She seemed to see the content of his thoughts, for a hurt look crossed her features, but only for a moment. “I am no healer, Aaron Envelar. Once, I thought I was, one great enough to heal the world, but I was shown the truth when Kevlane’s monstrosity slaughtered my men before my eyes, when I fled into the darkness, thinking only of my own safety. I denied
the truth then, refused it, but you have made me see it clearly enough. My life has been one of hurting, not healing, yet in this place I can be something more, something better.”
She reached out, taking Aaron’s hand. An unnatural, but not unpleasant warmth radiated from her touch, suffusing him and traveling through his body. And where it went the pain vanished. “Thank you, Aaron Envelar,” she said, and as she spoke a haze seemed to come over his eyes, the world of green and light all around him blurring and becoming indistinct. “Not just for my life, but for giving me the chance to do good.”
Each word was quieter than the last, as if she spoke to him over some great distance. Though she did not move, and the grip of her hand in his remained. Aaron’s eyes felt heavy, and he found them closing of their own accord as she continued to speak. “There are many shadows in the world, Aaron Envelar…much darkness. But you have shown me that the light can still win…Thank…”
***
“…you…” she finished, and Aaron’s eyes snapped open. For a moment, he had a terrible sense of disorientation as he realized he no longer knelt in a field of green grass, but beside a bed. He still felt the pressure of the woman’s hand in his and looked to see her lying in the bed as she had been. His gaze traveled to her face, and she smiled, an expression that was at once both weary and content. “Now…go,” she said aloud. “There is…little time.”
Aaron rose from where he knelt, his body stiff from the time he’d crouched there. Stiff, but no more than that, for the pain of the wounds he’d suffered had vanished as if they had never been, and he found his muscles practically surging with energy as if he’d awoken from a long, restful sleep.
“The gods, it seems, can be kind, after all.”
The sellsword spun at the sound of the voice to see the Speaker of the Akalians standing by the door of the small bedroom. “Welcome back, Aaron Envelar,” the man said, bowing his head. “I must admit that I feared you might never awaken.”
“How long have I been…gone?”
“I cannot say for certain,” the Speaker said, apologetically. “I can only say that, since I found you, you have spent nearly twenty hours here, without moving.”
Twenty hours, Aaron thought wildly. Nearly a full day gone. Another thought struck him, and his heart sped up in his chest. “Where are Adina and the others?”
The Speaker winced. “She stayed with you as long as she could, Aaron. It was no easy thing, I assure you, for her to leave you in—”
“Where are they?”
The Speaker sighed. “News reached us from Perennia. I’m afraid it isn’t good. It seems Councilman Grinner has, for all intents and purposes, taken over rule of the city, the queen now turned into little more than his pawn. Lady May Tanarest and Councilman Hale have been taken prisoner, and an execution has been scheduled for them both.”
“An execution?” Aaron asked, stunned. He couldn’t believe it. How could everything have gone so wrong in such a short time? “How is that possible?”
The Speaker shook his head. “I do not know, Aaron Envelar. It seems that Councilman Grinner had been planning the coup for some time, and once you and the others were away from the city, he moved quickly. One of my brothers brought me news, only a few hours gone, that apparently Councilman Grinner saved the queen from an assassination attempt by two of Hale’s men and, since then, she has grown increasingly reliant on his counsel.”
Once you and the others were away from the city. Aaron thought back to the men that had attacked him in Perennia what felt like a lifetime ago. He’d been so busy since then that he’d given it little consideration, but he remembered one of them calling him “Silent.” Had they been men from Perennia itself, they would not have done so, for here he was known as General Envelar, the Leader of the Ghosts, and savior of the city—gods help him. There were few enough who still called him by the name he’d been known as in Avarest. May, of course, Hale, and Grinner. That meant that one of them was involved in the assassination attempt, and given recent events, it seemed clear it had been the old crime boss. He had lured the others out of the city into an ambush, had tried to have Aaron killed. Fueled with rage, Aaron had done exactly what the man wanted, abandoning the city to Grinner’s designs as he went into the forest in search of blood and death.
“Gods, I’ve been a fool.”
“You did what you believed best, Aaron Envelar,” the Speaker said.
Aaron shook his head, angry with himself. “That’s no excuse, Speaker. I think you’ve lived long enough to know that thousands of corpses, rotting in their graves, were put there because of one man doing what he thought was best. The fact that he thought he was doing what was right is little consolation to the living and none at all to the dead.”
His frantic thoughts raced, turning the situation over, and he grunted as he realized it was even worse than that. Grinner had known Kevlane’s creatures would be waiting in the forest, and that meant that he’d been in contact with the mage, had formed some alliance with him. Taking the thought a step further meant that anything they’d discussed in the council, their plans and strategy, had no doubt all been told to the magi, handed up to him on a silver platter.
“We have all been fools,” he said, and it was no more than the truth. They had brought a wolf into their midst, had dressed him in fine clothes and treated him as they might a man, but he was a wolf just the same, and what right did they have to act surprised when he behaved according to his nature?
It was necessary, Aaron, Co thought back. Without Grinner, we could never have held off Belgarin’s first attack. You had no choice.
That was logical, inarguable, but it did nothing to dispel the guilt that he felt, that the others—Adina especially—would feel. And with the thought he realized where Adina had gone, where she must have gone. “She left, didn’t she?”
The Speaker did not ask who he was talking about, only nodded. “Yes. Queen Adina and the others left for the city several hours ago. Saving for Caleb, who has elected to stay and assist with planning the assault on Baresh.”
If there even is an assault, Aaron thought. He bared his teeth, fear for Adina and the others making him angry. “And you let her go?”
The Speaker cocked his head at him as if he’d just spoken a different language, one which he did not understand. “She did not ask for my permission, Aaron Envelar, and I am not sure I could have stopped her, even if I wanted to. And even if I could, I would not, for Queen Adina made her choice. Who am I, then, to tell her she is wrong?”
Aaron started to speak, a scathing comment on the tip of his tongue, but he hesitated. The Speaker was right—even past his fear, his worry for Adina and the others, he could see that. Of course, she would have gone to the city, would have been intent on doing what she could to save it and never mind the risk to her own safety. “And the execution?” he asked. “When is it meant to take place?”
“At dawn,” the Speaker said. “One hour hence.”
One hour. Nowhere near enough time to make it to the city, and Aaron knew it. Gods, May, I’m so sorry. He felt a wave of despair threaten to overwhelm him, but he forced it down. He might not be able to make it to the city in time, might not be able to save May and the others, but he could only do what he could and hope to the gods for some miracle. Good men try. “I’ll need my sword.”
“Of course,” the Speaker said. “This way.”
They started to leave, but Aaron turned back at the threshold, looking to the woman in the bed. She gave him a weak, exhausted smile. “Go,” she said. “I will…catch up. When I can.”
“Okay,” Aaron said. “And do me a favor. If you fall asleep…maybe dream about rainbows and bunny rabbits, huh?”
She grinned. “I’ll try.”
The sellsword nodded and followed the Speaker out of the room.
Minutes later, sword in hand, Aaron stepped out of the barracks and into the morning light, shielding his dark-accustomed eyes. The Speaker faced him, an Akalian on either side. �
�Most of our brothers are out patrolling the area in case the Lifeless should find their way here,” the Speaker said for at least the third time since they’d left Tianya’s room. “Will you not give me but a few minutes’ time to call them back?”
Aaron was shaking his head before the man had finished. “Thank you, Speaker, but no. These two here will do, and I thank you for it. I don’t think half a dozen more will make much difference one way or the other.” But that wasn’t the only reason he refused to wait. The truth was, he didn’t’ think they had minutes to spare. It was all too likely that they were out of time already.
The Speaker clearly wanted to argue, but only nodded. “I will look after Tianya and the boy. We will follow as quickly as we may. Go with the gods, Aaron Envelar, and be careful. This fight, dangerous though it may be, is not the true one, and it will do the world no good to be saved from the snake’s bite only to find itself in the lion’s mouth.”
Aaron gave the man a grim smile, the anger he felt at Grinner and his men roiling within him. But it was his anger, his to control, and he nodded tightly. “Thank you, Speaker,” he said, staring into the forest. “But careful is just about the last thing I intend on being.” Then he was off and running, the wind whipping at his face, the two Akalians following after him, twin shadows in the early morning light.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
When it came, the day inside the dungeon cell was like any other. Outside, the weather might have been hot or cold, the sun shining brightly or the clouds blocking it from view. The wind—if wind there was—might have carried buoyed on its breath some whisper of the secret the coming day held. But if the air held a spark, some heady premonition of what was to come, it never made its way down into the dungeon. Here, the air was as it always was—thick and cloying, somehow greasy, smelling of dirt, despair, and worse. And if there was any sound, any omen to announce what awaited the day then it came in the always-present moaning of those poor lost souls who shared the dungeon with her.
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