by D. T. Kane
And yet, he needed to speak with someone possessing at least a modicum of intelligence, and without any Aldur left the pickings were slim. In the past he’d always had Stephan and Val. But now one was dead, and the other might as well be, and talking to himself was getting old. He needed some fresh perspective.
He sighed, looking up to the ramparts above the gate before him. Better to just get this over with.
“You there,” he hollered at the sentinel. “Tell Raldon the companion of Stephan Falconwing demands an audience.”
“Stephan Falcon...What? Demand?” It was a wonder the man’s tongue remained in his mouth with how he tripped over the words.
“It’s the middle of the night, traveler. I can’t grant you admittance until morning. Come back then.”
What was it with gate guards? Devan folded his arms, trying to emit his most charming tone.
“Friend, I don’t want to come in. Bring Raldon my message and tell him to meet me out here.”
“Out...there? Master Raldon?”
Devan wiped a hand over his face.
“Did I stammer, sentinel? Raldon. Get. Him. Give. Him. Message. Meet. Me. Out. Here.” He bobbed his head back and forth, punctuating each word.
The guard blubbered. “Are you quite alright in the head, sir?”
He didn’t have time for this. Drawing a trickle of earth from Stephan’s chronometre, he conjured up some wind.
“TAKE MY MESSAGE TO HIM. NOW.” The unnatural gale caused his words to carry the weight of mountains, rattling the wooden posts of Ral Mok’s walls.
It was a cheap trick, but effective. The guard nearly fell from his perch as he scurried away.
After much too long, a hooded figure carrying a staff emerged from a small, wicket door set into Ral Mok’s main gate. A pale-faced sentinel hesitated behind the threshold for a moment, staring out at him, then hurriedly shut the door. Devan was mildly surprised to see the hooded man check a chronometre of his own before striding up to him.
“Master Raldon Everbright, once Light Master Keeper,” Devan greeted the man, giving him the respect of his titles, but not bothering to hide his impatience. “Thank you for taking the time to see me.”
Devan had only met Raldon once before, and then only briefly, but Stephan had always spoken highly of him. Raldon was oft mentioned in the histories as well, though Devan had always found the lack of material about the man’s life prior to becoming a Keeper somewhat peculiar.
“How can I help you, sir?” Raldon studied him with brown eyes that Devan supposed some Linears might say reflected whole libraries’ worth of wisdom. “All I could get from the guard was something about a man with a voice like thunder demanding I meet him beyond the walls.”
“Blasted fool sentinel,” Devan muttered. He was mildly annoyed that Raldon didn’t recognize him. But his now-shaved head and unadorned face were a far cry from the traditional spiked hair and face markings the man would expect of an Aldur.
“I know you’ve been exiled, Master Raldon, but surely you can find better help than that?” He waved at the now closed door.
Raldon folded his arms.
“Oh, never mind. Here.” He retrieved the timepiece from the recesses of his robe, gripped its chain, and swung it before the man’s bold eyes.
Raldon’s reaction wasn’t nearly as overt as Devan would have expected, but the man did now regard him with raised eyebrows.
“Stephan’s chronometre?”
“Yes. Yes.” Devan slid the timepiece away. The man had better not start blubbering like the dwarfs at Glofar or the men at Second Symposium when he came around. “He’s letting me borrow it.” Now hardly seemed the time to inform the man of the Aldur’s fate.
Raldon studied him for a time as if he intended to challenge that assertion. Devan crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes.
“Master Horologer Devan, then?” Raldon said after letting his challenging stare linger far longer than was polite. He frowned as he spoke, as if recalling a secret he meant to keep. This brought a frown to Devan’s face as well.
“Let’s skip the introductions,” Devan replied, happy to have at least avoided further talk of Stephan. “I’ve something you need to see and my time is short.”
“Certainly,” Raldon nodded, frown not entirely leaving his face. “However I can be of service to the Aldur.” Raldon gave a small bow. “It’s just that I’m surprised to be receiving another visit so soon.”
What was the man talking about? Another visit? It had been centuries since Devan had met the man, and even on Raldon’s local time, perhaps 30 years had passed—certainly not a time frame a Linear would consider short. Perhaps the man was just getting over the surprise of seeing what he thought of as one of his gods, though the look on his face was hardly one Devan would call ardor. At least he hadn’t referred to him as Angel.
“We must go to Falume.”
Raldon furrowed his brow. “That’s quite a walk.”
Devan smiled. “I don’t walk.” He grabbed Raldon by the wrist.
And peregrinated.
They materialized a moment later in a clearing surrounded by tall trees. Raldon fell to his hands and knees, gasping.
Devan glanced down at him.
“Ah. Yes. Stephan did always tell me to warn Linears of the effects of peregrination.” He squared his shoulders and cleared his throat. “You may experience dizziness, temporary loss of breath, mmmmm, other symptoms.” Devan smiled down at Raldon, absently waving a hand. “You’ll be fine.”
Coughing, Raldon slowly rose, pointedly not looking at him. Devan was surprised to see him already steady on his feet.
“This is Falume?” Raldon’s eyes traced their surroundings. “I’m not familiar with this glade.”
The man seemed almost too calm. Generally, Linears could barely move after peregrinating for the first time. And yet, if anything, Raldon seemed embarrassed to have allowed the trip to affect him as little as it had.
“Yes. Falume.” Devan motioned towards the house at the clearing’s center. “Though you won’t find this glade on any of your maps. Come, there’s someone you need to see.”
Raldon bristled at his commanding tone, but followed nonetheless. The dwelling was satisfactorily inconspicuous—beige brick, a small garden to one side of the door, a smoking chimney. A tall tree stood to one side, flanked by a new sapling, the only trees in the clearing. The trunks of each gave off a violet glow in the night’s darkness. A common enough house for a common man, even if he was a Constant. For some reason, the time loop’s other inhabitant had never used it, though Devan had his suspicions as to why. Likely for reasons similar to why he rarely returned, though once he’d spent much time here.
“What kind of trees are those?” Raldon asked.
Devan half turned his head back toward the man, arching an eyebrow. Once more, Raldon’s possession of knowledge he ought not know raised questions Devan wished he had time to explore.
Devan opened the house’s door without answering Raldon’s question and strode in, not bothering to knock or announce himself. It was his house, after all. He was just loaning it out for a time. The Grand Master Keeper stood before the fire and spun to face him, ebon blade glowing in his hand. He still wore those inconceivably idiotic solar spectacles. Bladesorrow discarded the sword onto a nearby table when he saw Devan, but kept the angry glare.
“You promised me answers, Angel. Bringing me back to the South. What is the meaning of this?”
“I thought I told you to stop calling me—”
Raldon shoved past Devan so quickly Devan had to channel some earth to keep from toppling over.
“Taul? Grand Master Keeper? It cannot be.” His voice was a mixture of elation and quiet anger, all riding on an undercurrent of great loss.
“Raldon.” Bladesorrow looked away, turning back to the fire.
“Light, you’re alive.” Raldon’s voice was suddenly hoarse. “I’d heard the rumors, but—”
“What rumors?” Deva
n snapped.
“About the Grand Father, sending agents to Trimale City in secret. Seeking a man matching Taul’s description.”
So Val did know Bladesorrow survived. Or at least he suspected. Devan’s decision to move the Grand Master Keeper hadn’t been a moment too soon. He’d have to warn the dwarf of these so-called agents of whom Raldon spoke.
“It has been difficult without you, Taul.” Raldon’s words were steady but carried the weight of judgment all the same. Silence prevailed, Raldon seemingly torn between relief and anger, Bladesorrow keeping his back to them both, toying with the ring Devan had given him just before departing to bring Raldon.
“Well, it’s quite the tale,” Devan finally interceded. “I’ll give you the—”
“Jenzara. How is she?” the Grand Master cut in.
Raldon’s expression didn’t change, but some of the hurt left his eyes.
“She is well. A happy child. About to turn four next full moon.”
“Four?” Bladesorrow whispered into the flames. “Good. Good. And her mother?” he asked, voice hopeful.
Raldon’s forehead creased as he shook his head. “I’m afraid not. No one save the Grand Father survived the Dales.” Raldon paused before adding, “And you, apparently.”
A horrible silence. Then the Grand Master pounded a fist on the mantle. Raldon stepped back from the man’s outburst.
“I should have fallen there with the rest.”
“Now, now,” Devan said. “Don’t be ungrateful. I could have let you do just that, after all.” He turned to Raldon before Bladesorrow could respond.
“Master Raldon, as much as I’d love to let this reunion drag on, I must discuss a matter of grave import with you. Why don’t you have a seat?”
He motioned for Raldon to sit at the table where Taul had discarded the ebon blade. Ral Mok’s master gave the Grand Master’s back an apprising stare for another long moment, then eyed the weapon laying upon the table. He cocked an eyebrow but didn’t comment and slid into the chair Devan had indicated. For his part, Devan settled into a comfortable armchair before the hearth. Bladesorrow remained standing by the fire as Devan proceeded to fill Raldon in on what had happened—the Lesser Terror at Riverdale; the Grand Master’s transformation to a shadow attuned; Val’s usurpation of the Temple.
This last bit riled even Raldon.
“Conclave above! I always thought there was something about Valdin that reminded me of...” Raldon’s voice trailed off for a moment, as if lost in thought. Then he looked to Devan with downturned brows. “You mean to tell me the Disbanding was instigated by an Aldur? One of your own people? Taul, did you know this?”
The Grand Master didn’t bother to look up. “Not until the Angel told me.”
“Valdin’s not exactly one of my people anymore,” Devan responded curtly.
“What do you mean, not anymore?”
Devan scratched at the puckered scarring on one of his arms. “Let’s just say he had a falling out with the rest of the Conclave, and now he can no longer peregrinate.”
This stunned Raldon to silence for a time.
“A schism in the Conclave?” he finally said.
“Schism?” Devan couldn’t keep the contempt from his voice. “Hardly. Just a lone rotten egg. He got what he deserved.”
Raldon frowned as if he’d just swallowed spoiled milk. “You can’t just disclaim responsibility for one of your own, Aldur Devan. No matter what you claim he’s done. You know very well we—” he emphasized the word to make clear he meant all common men “—can’t defeat an Aldur. What does Virtuo Falconwing have to say about this?”
Devan flinched. Hearing Stephan’s title spoken in the old tongue brought with it a stream of emotions he’d no desire to face.
“It’s being dealt with.” Raldon was a devotee of the Church, after all. It wouldn’t do to tell him all his gods were dead.
“Dealt with? Forgive me, but it would seem not. Have you seen what the Temple has done under Valdin’s ebon fist?”
Devan knew perfectly well what Val had been doing. He’d spent more than a little time keeping an eye on his old friend since Nellis’s revelation that he was posing as the Grand Father. Little of it made sense. From what Devan had observed, he seemed content to carry on his masquerade as Grand Father indefinitely. Odd indeed, considering Val had never been one to take interest in the daily lives of Linears.
What really puzzled him was the cruelty to which Val subjected Tragnè City’s shadow attuneds. Imprisoning them in isolated camps away from the rest of the City. Executing them for petty crimes, or even no crimes at all. Devan understood Val had to bow somewhat to the Temple’s disdain for the shadow to maintain his position. But surely it didn’t require such a crusade. Had his sense died along with his love?
“I know very well what’s occurring, Master Raldon,” Devan finally responded, taking on a tone of affronted annoyance. “You’d do well to remember that my position requires me to worry over more than the oppression of a few people at one specific point in time.”
Raldon opened and closed a fist, breathing deep. “I shouldn’t be surprised to hear you say that. Such dispassion is precisely the reason I was never able to see eye-to-eye with Stephan. What is it you want from me, then?”
Devan met Raldon’s irritated gaze with detached levity, but inside he grimaced. Once again, he’d realized too late that perhaps annoying someone wasn’t the best way to go about seeking their assistance.
“I need to, well, consult with someone about my investigation into a matter involving the Grand Master.”
“Consult?” Raldon asked.
Bladesorrow laughed, though the sound carried about as much joy as a mourning father’s sobs.
“He’s asking for help.”
Path help him, that man could be irritating.
“Some assistance, yes,” Devan grated out before quickly continuing. He’d already decided that explaining to Raldon that Taul had died, but then hadn’t, would be too time consuming to explain. So he supplied a simplified version of events to get the man up to speed.
“When the Lesser Terror attacked the Grand Master at Riverdale, it created a paradox. Stephan spoke of those to you I presume?”
Raldon nodded, all trace of irritation gone from his face, replaced by a solemn turn of his brow. He propped chin on hand, focusing on Devan. Good. The man knew when to set aside disagreement for true problems, at least.
“The man we know, the one here, is the remnant half. But I’ve been unable to locate the anti-self, the Andstaed. That’s one of several reasons I’ve mandated he remain hidden. If something were to happen to him while the paradox remains unresolved, well...” He shrugged. Sometimes imagination was more powerful than words.
“This is an ill tiding,” Raldon said. Devan surmised the man knew that was an understatement. Raldon glanced at Bladesorrow, who hadn’t moved from his position staring into the fire.
“Wouldn’t one of your own people be far more qualified to address your questions than I?”
Devan waved his hand, as if that would erase Raldon’s question. “I’m looking for the input of a commo....” Devan caught himself before using the no-so-flattering term. “Er, linear being. And I know you’ve studied The Lessons. Stephan spoke highly of you to me in the past.”
Raldon didn’t look convinced, but Devan thought he saw a hint of appreciation at that last remark. Val would have been proud of such subtle manipulation.
“Very well. Let’s see...” Raldon tapped a finger against his lips. “You said you’ve already been through Taul’s timeline without finding the source?
Devan nodded. Obviously.
“All through his childhood? Youth? There was the terrible incident in the arena before he was admitted to the Symposium.”
“Yes. Yes.” Devan rolled his index fingers around one another, indicating for Raldon to move on.
“Very well. If the issue isn’t on Taul’s own personal timeline, then your issue must li
e somewhere beyond it, yes?”
“Clearly,” Devan said, suppressing a yawn with the back of his hand.
“Yes. I assumed you’d thought of that already. You’ve far more ability in this matter than I do, Master Horologer.” Raldon paused, tapping his finger some more. “Although perhaps there is a place, or time, your abilities do not penetrate?”
Devan released an exasperated sigh. This was going nowhere. A place his abilities couldn’t reach? Please. That was like asking the sun if there was ever a time is wasn’t hot. Impossi...
Devan snapped his eyes shut, despising the thought he’d just had. Perhaps if he squeezed his eyelids hard enough it would go away.
“What is it, Angel?” Bladesorrow gruffed from his place at the fire.
Devan squeezed until his forehead hurt. No luck.
“Ral Falar,” he muttered. A place even Aldur feared to tread.
“The ancient ruin?” Raldon asked slowly, as if it touched something in his memory. “What about it?”
“I should have seen it before,” Devan said. He exhaled and opened his eyes. “It hasn’t always been a ruin. Well, it has. But it hasn’t. Bah! There’s no word for it in your tongue. In the old speech we’d have said samtimis.”
“A word with dark implications, Master Horologer,” Raldon said. Of course he’d know the old speech.
“You know of the banishment of the Seven, Master Raldon?”
“Of course. There’s a mosaic of it in Ral Mok’s own chapel.”
Devan nodded. “Well, Ral Falar is where it occurred. Stephan ripped open a hole in time itself there, casting the Seven off the Path into the Elsewhere.”
“Ha,” Raldon interrupted.
Devan frowned at him. By all accounts Raldon was a dedicated follower of the Church. He didn’t seem the type to be skeptical of Stephan’s defeat of the Seven. Before Devan could ask, Raldon held up his hands in apology and motioned for him to go on. Devan considered him a moment more, but there was no time to probe further into the enigma that Raldon was proving to be.
“It was a great victory,” Devan continued. “But it had... unexpected repercussions.”