Heavy, so heavy. Hemlock screamed as his spine split open with the force of a cracking tree. It wrenched him head to toe, arching his back, curling him in the wrong directions, splaying out, diving down and bleeding everywhere. The bones in his face shattered, opening his head to sounds and impressions he had never known. Something slammed the food tray across the room and splattered it over the floor; feathers exploded from the pallet and drifted about in tiny spiraling patterns.
As he screamed again, his voice lowered in octave and deepened in complexity. The images of his life, a tidal bore of distant, dancing pictures in dull colors, receded into the sea in search of sanctuary. But the sea held no shelter.
With a faint, motherly smile, she reached out and took the last drop of his humanity.
The Master of Wychmouth
Shade of Fault: Confidence escapes notice.
The sun rose beneath the heavy drapes of wind and rain. Irritable, wet and splattered with mud, Lorth, Samolan and Eadred rode in a heavy pace down a long road scattered with branches, woodland debris, and the fresh tracks of a large mounted company. Trees swayed on either side, moved by high winds. In the distance stood Wychmouth Keep, an iron gray, forbidding place perched high above the sea on the end of the peninsula that divided the Bays of Ascarion and Light. The bottom half of the Waeltower glinted dully through the clouds.
Lorth turned to Eadred. “We have to go in here clean. Are you sure none of these wizards knows who you are?”
“Not unless someone told them.”
Lorth drew an uneasy breath as he released his cloaking spells into the sodden earth. “You had better be right about this.”
The siomothct shot him a surly look. “I told you, I saw Hemlock make a run for it. He went down with an arrow in his thigh.”
“That doesn’t mean they got him,” Lorth grumbled. “He’s slipperier than a snake in a garden wall.”
“Do you think I want to do this?”
“You won’t be the one dealing with it.”
Eadred rolled his eyes. “Your training as a Raven didn’t involve social skills, I take it.”
Samolan laughed like a drunk.
“I’m no diplomat,” Lorth admitted. “But we aren’t exactly coming in here with a formal agenda. I wasn’t planning on making myself known to Sedarius. I don’t know how he found out about Hemlock, but if Dirala told him the whole story, I’ll be faced with a political mess we don’t have time for.”
Eadred shrugged. “You could try sneaking in.”
Lorth surprised himself by briefly considering that. “Sedarius has an affinity for energy patterns. He could find a cockroach in there. I’ll just have to convince him that we know things about this his informant doesn’t.”
“Maybe Sedarius spotted Hemlock on his own,” Samolan offered. “If the lad was as far into the change as you said, one of his men might have noticed him and reported it.”
Lorth studied the stormy sky. “They wouldn’t have sent an armed company after him. I think Sedarius knows something. If we’re lucky, it’s the same thing we know.”
The woodland thinned to a windswept field dotted like a soaked tapestry with wildflowers and outcroppings. Wind pummeled their backs. They slowed their mounts to a less threatening but still urgent pace as they entered the towering aura of the keep. A shimmering watch-web passed through Lorth’s chest.
“They know we’re here,” he announced.
The gates opened ahead of them as they clopped onto a road. Light shone from narrow towers on either side. In the tall arch hung a painted wooden carving of the Wychmouth standard: a hexagram woven with wych elm leaves and slender fishes. In the center, on a twilit sky shimmering with the constellation of Eala, the Eye gazed silently in question.
“I still think you should pull rank,” Samolan said. “You’re an Initiate to the Aenlisarfon. That should account for something.”
Eadred’s horse sidestepped as he barked a raspy laugh. “Initiate to the Aenlisarfon? If you tell Sedarius that, you better make sure the Council doesn’t find out.”
Samolan leaned forward to catch the assassin’s gaze. “It’s the truth, you fool.”
Lorth settled into himself like a hound into a bath as Eadred skewered him with an incredulous stare. “What in Maern’s name would you want to toss in with that lot for?”
“If you must know,” Lorth replied evenly, “I was asked by Ealiron himself, to bring balance to the Council.”
“A wolf in a stuffy throne room,” Samolan quipped. To Lorth he said, “Even if Sedarius lets you see Hemlock, what will you do?”
“I don’t know yet. But I still have the turtle charm.”
“The what?” Eadred asked.
“Something Hemlock’s woman gave me before I left Urd. I think it’s important.”
“He has a woman?”
“Apparently.”
Eadred straightened his back in his saddle as they rode up to the gates. One of the tower guards leaned out. Lorth held up his hand and made the sign of a wizard. “Silin en Maern tali,” he called up. The man nodded and waved them through.
As Lorth passed beneath the arch, a subtle air of power illuminated his forehead like a seed. After a moment, it grew into a mighty tree with the presence of an age.
No trifling wizard watched over Wychmouth.
They rode into a bailey containing stables and soldiers’ quarters. Ivy covered the walls. Lorth breathed deeply as he dismounted and began to remove his things from the saddle. His companions followed suit.
A man in cerulean blue emerged from a corridor and strode purposefully in their direction. He had black hair and blue eyes, and a bearing laden with questions. His mind swept over Lorth and his companions like a silken net. He tilted his head forward. “Master.” He acknowledged Samolan and Eadred with a glance. “Welcome. Please, come out of the rain.” He led them into the keep, through a labyrinth of halls and into a spacious chamber with skins on the floor, old chairs, bookshelves, and a granite hearth. A fire burned there.
After the men had set down their things and removed their wet cloaks, he said, “I am Olaf, Order of Osprey. What brings you to Wychmouth?”
Lorth nodded respectfully. “I am Lorth, Raven of Ostarin, Order of Raptor, Initiate to the Aenlisarfon and Siomothct of the First Regard.” After making a point to throw in the last title without hesitation, he ignored the silence that filled the room like a plague and continued, “This is Samolan, Order of Raptor, First Rank”—he gestured—“and Eadred, our traveling companion. We are here concerning a young man named Hemlock.”
Pale as a hunter’s prey, Olaf ventured, “Is he marked?”
“No.” He shared a glance with Eadred. If Hemlock had been marked, no siomothct would reveal his trade and then say so. “I am here on Council business. I must speak with Master Sedarius.”
“Aye, you must.” He smiled nervously. “Make yourselves comfortable. I shall return shortly.”
Once Olaf had closed the door behind him, Lorth lowered himself into a chair. Eadred did the same, after dragging it closer to the fire.
Samolan paced a bit, his arms folded over his chest. “Right rogue, you are,” he said to Lorth. “Did you make up that last one? Hunter for the Eye?”
“It’s the truth, you fool,” Eadred echoed.
“I keep it close,” Lorth said. “High wizards are bound by Code to do the same.”
Samolan lowered himself by the hearth. “So you knew,” he said to Eadred.
The white-haired wizard stared into the fire. “I am also siomothct. I don’t lose that distinction under a blackring.”
“Hunters are kin,” Lorth added. “We know each other.”
“Kin?” Samolan laughed. “He tried to drown you!”
“Only because I missed with the knife,” Eadred said matter-of-factly.
Lorth smiled, appreciating the assassin’s humor. He had known by the strike and force of Eadred’s attack that he had not intended to kill. Only to escape.
; Eadred said, “I’d be interested to hear what ‘council business’ you’ve invented to explain your interest in Hemlock. And why did you tell them you are siomothct?”
“It may help to quell questions. The Aenlisarfon wouldn’t send such a one for just anything. Sedarius doesn’t have to know what my business was originally. Now, I can point to the fact that the Council can’t see into this realm. They wouldn’t want it destroyed by a loerfalos if I could prevent it.”
A smile touched Eadred’s mouth. “Trying to score points towards your initiation?”
“I didn’t come to these isles knowing about the loerfalos—no thanks to you,” Lorth returned crisply. “And so you know, hauling your self-pitying ass out of that cave will score me points aplenty.”
Eadred moved in his chair as if it made him uncomfortable. “Well said,” he conceded. “I am grateful.” He regarded Lorth thoughtfully. “Let’s hope your instincts are enough to save us all from drowning.”
*
A short time later, after declining breakfast and rest—comforts their horses had presumably received—Lorth and his companions stood in a stately council room. Lorth surveyed the tall windows, heavy drapes, and ostentatious furniture with the barren regard of a grackle. He had to work not to make any assumptions about their host based on it.
A herald entered the room and stood by the door. When the Master of Wychmouth arrived, wearing his ancient lineage like a raft of peacock feathers, Lorth had begun to reconsider his refusal of Eadred’s earlier suggestion. Sneaking in would’ve been easier than this promised to be. Not for the first time, he chafed under the straps of his titles, which put him in the position of having to abide respectful protocols.
“Sedarius, Master of Wychmouth, Guardian of the Gray Isles,” the herald announced loudly.
Tall, with graying black hair and the craggy features of his northern ancestors, Sedarius’s dark brown gaze swept over his guests. He wore a large silver seal with the Wychmouth standard on it. Fortunately, having been informed of Lorth’s rank and purpose, he dispensed with further formalities. “I’m afraid the one you call Hemlock is not available for questioning,” he said in the voice of a high wizard, its vibration both unsettling and decisive.
“Why not?” Lorth asked. He saw no point in being polite.
Sedarius looked him up and down with subtle care, as if to notice and then disregard Lorth’s weapons and the blood-red border on his cloak. “If he thinks you’re hunting him, he’ll put these walls into the sea.” He glanced around the room.
“I’m not the one who came after him with an armed force and hauled him in here against his will,” Lorth pointed out. “I let him go, such as it was. He’ll trust me before he trusts you.”
The Raven’s eyes narrowed. “Do you believe your stature gives you jurisdiction here? I am well aware of your reputation, Lorth of Ostarin. You’re not on the Council yet, and the Aenlisarfon is not focused on these events, or even familiar with them, if your treatment of this situation is any indication. I know these seas. And I know what Hemlock is.”
Eadred cleared his throat. “If I may speak, Master,” he said to Lorth with specious subservience.
Lorth nodded. Make it good, he thought sourly.
With the patient bearing of a diplomat, Eadred began, “Once every five to seven ages of Ealiron, when the heart of Eala, the Swan, aligns with the holy galactic center of the Aerosin spiral, an eamoire is born to the world with the power to bridge earth and sea. Mortals in these isles write tales to carry their knowledge beyond annihilation by the Mistress as she grieves the tears of her child staining the earth. Hemlock was hidden as a mortal these twenty-one years by his father, the solar entity Ciron, to protect him and the people of the Gray Isles from the Mistress’s wrath.
“If you don’t release Hemlock so he can shed his mortal shell, the Destroyer will unleash a deluge that will consume your realm.”
The room smoked under the glare of the siomothct’s dissertation. Flushed and gaping at Eadred as if to question his sanity, Sedarius breathed, “Indeed?” He brought his attention to Lorth like a swinging fist. “Who is this man?” A quick, nasty glance. “I wasn’t told you had such company in your keeping.”
A smile touched Lorth’s lips as he spotted a way to work loose the rattly grate of this tiresome interchange. “Told by whom? My business here is private. By Regard, it’s within my jurisdiction to call out anyone who compromises it.”
“You dare threaten me!” the wizard boomed. “Do you think I don’t know what’s happening here?”
“That does not answer my question,” Lorth said with predatory calm.
Samolan turned to Lorth with a lifted brow and a name on his lips. Lorth shook his head. While the most obvious explanation for this involved Dirala, Lorth wasn’t ready to make that assumption. He couldn’t imagine that proud, beautiful priestess standing aside to Sedarius’s arrogance, no matter what rank or lineage he waved over her.
Still ignoring the question, Sedarius continued, “The loerfalos followed Hemlock here from Urd. I’m well aware of the threat to this isle because of his presence. I brought him here to keep him safe.”
Eadred’s wild laugh reminded Lorth of their encounter in the cave. “Safe from what? She is protecting him! Holding him here will bring her wrath, likely as not.”
“Eadred,” Lorth said quietly, quieting him. To Sedarius he said, “He’s right.”
Sedarius stepped towards Eadred with a cold expression of challenge. “Who are you?”
Eadred started to speak, but Lorth interrupted. “I told you who he is, Sedarius. That’s all you need to know. I suggest you release Hemlock at once.”
The Raven turned to him. “I have it on unquestionable authority that a mighty wave will hit this isle. I was also told Hemlock is in danger. I believe the two things are connected.”
“‘Unquestionable authority?’” Lorth mocked.
“A vision like that would require insight,” Eadred said. He caught Lorth’s gaze and held it just long enough to convey understanding.
Vision. Insight. “Faena,” Lorth said with a tired exhale. Sodding hell. On impulse, he decided to toss a fat, wriggling worm into the pond. “I’d advise you not to accept that claim without examination, Sedarius.”
Taking the bait, Sedarius retorted, “Do you think I would risk my realm on a mere claim? She has a folciel sphere! She used it to come here and warn me.”
“What’s a folciel sphere?” Eadred asked, pronouncing the word badly.
Samolan covered his mouth with his hand and coughed.
To Sedarius, Lorth said, “The folciel sphere is Old One’s domain. It shows only what it wants its owner to see. Faena isn’t trained to use it, or to discern where in time the vision is happening. It could’ve happened three thousand years ago.”
Sedarius leveled a stiff finger at the windows, splattered with rain. “Wychmouth wasn’t here then. Faena saw the keep in the path of the wave.”
“You know what I mean,” Lorth said. Beneath his bluster, this wizard was hiding something. “Just because she saw it in a folciel sphere doesn’t guarantee the future. Such objects are tricky.”
“Such objects don’t find an owner out of hand,” Sedarius countered. “If it came to her, then it belongs to her. She found me well enough. That gives me a chance to change the course of things.”
Eadred snorted. “I suggest you read a history book on cataclysms in Ealiron’s northern seas. What makes you think the Destroyer cares about you and your isle? This isn’t about Mimir. It’s about Hemlock.”
“Your knowledge doesn’t exceed the scope of a folciel sphere,” Sedarius said with lofty disdain. “Perhaps you could take your own advice and study up on the nature of intuition and synchronicity. Maybe Eyrie would take you on as an apprentice.”
What came next fled past even Lorth’s reflexes. With magnificent speed and precision, Eadred delivered a blurred series of blows that splayed the Master of Wychmouth on the floor like a kitch
en accident. He didn’t move.
“Nice,” Lorth dropped into the aftermath. “What am I supposed to do with that?”
“I didn’t kill him,” Eadred returned, as if it should’ve been obvious.
Samolan knelt beside Sedarius and pressed his fingers against his neck. He looked up at Lorth and nodded with an audible sigh of relief.
Lorth glanced at the door and uttered a command that draped the room in a daunting air of the forbidden, to keep anyone from wandering in. Then he turned to Eadred with a scowl. “I own Sedarius had that coming.” He pointed to the black-cloaked heap of Wychmouth’s ancestral ruler on the floor. “But when that son of a bitch wakes up...”
“I’ll take full credit,” Eadred sang. “What will they do, blackring me?” He gestured to the far end of the room. “Let’s get him out of sight.”
They dragged Sedarius into the shadows of an alcove. Lorth knelt and spoke words to make the wizard’s form look like another feature of the room. Samolan reached around his neck and removed his seal.
“What’s that, a souvenir?” Lorth asked dryly.
“We can use it to get through the keep.” He tossed the seal from one hand to the other.
“A sword would be more effective,” Eadred suggested.
Lorth lowered his face in his hand. “Bloody wolves. I won’t be scoring any points with the Aenlisarfon after this.” He stood up. “Let’s go.”
As they strode for the door, Lorth said, “Eadred, how long will he be out?”
“Hour,” the hunter replied calmly. “Do you know where we’re going?”
Once in the hall, Lorth directed them to the first descending stairwell. “I’m guessing they put him below, to keep him from escaping.”
“That can’t have made him happy,” Samolan remarked.
“I can only imagine how they got him in there.”
“The earth has weakened him,” Eadred said. “When I saw him, he had trouble walking. He was losing his strength.”
Lorth grimaced. “I was afraid of that. I don’t understand why we’re all still here. Surely, the loerfalos would’ve thrown this by now.”
The Gray Isles Page 15