by Sanan Kolva
“Maybe he’s warding it,” Lyan responded, still tired and not quite paying attention.
“I think you’re right,” Kithr said.
“Huh?” Lyan blinked.
“I said, I think it’s quite possible your mercenary is establishing some manner of protective wards around our camps. And once again, I wonder who and what he is.”
“Then ask him yourself,” Lyan said. “Because next time you start wondering about him, I’d rather you get his answer.”
Kithr gave Lyan a questioning look.
“Your first suspicion came up when I spoke with him on our way to free Nylas. And when I question someone about your suspicion that they are an assassin, I really don’t like getting an answer of ‘not anymore’.”
Kithr stiffened. “He said that?”
“Not in quite those words. He said he’d put aside his former life, but some of the skills from it are still of use to him now. Or something to that effect.”
If Kithr intended to say more, he held silent as the Tathrens stirred. Shiolto and Dalrian passed around dried jerky for a meal while Torqual saddled the horses.
Cailean took the lead when they rode. Shiolto cast a look over his shoulder and shivered. “Glad to be seeing the last of this forest. I wasn’t sure we were ever going to make it out.”
“Especially after whatever our ever-helpful guide said last night when he declined to follow the path,” Aikan said.
“If I’d followed the path when it turned, we would still be in Malgor Forest, Aikan,” Lyan said sharply.
“As we would if the half-Tathren girl hadn’t opened the path,” Aikan retorted. “What did you say to close our way?”
“I called Nylas a bloodlord,” Lyan said. The earring didn’t translate the last word from Elven, and Aikan clearly didn’t understand its meaning.
“The closest equivalent in Tathren is ‘master of blood’,” Kithr said. “Our name for one of the Mad God’s demons—one said to torture and kill its victims, then bathe in their blood to gain strength and life. Lords of winterborn blooddrinkers. Another demon, one that does exactly what its name suggests. To call an elf either is a deadly insult. To call Nylas either is no less than he deserves.”
Aikan’s eyes narrowed. “And worth possibly trapping us?”
“If Patch hadn’t opened the path, Equinox would have,” Lyan said. “I had no intention of staying there.”
Dalrian looked over his shoulder to assure himself that no elves of Malgor Forest lurked at his back. “I’m surprised none of the elves bothered us in the camp when Nylas went to find Kithr, or after you did, Lyan.”
“When we freed them, Nylas agreed that for purposes of both debt and targets, none of you exist to them,” Lyan said. “He said it again before he went to find Kithr—they all heard.”
“I know, but when he wasn’t there to enforce it?” Dalrian said.
“Nylas has been captain of that band for longer than any of you have been alive,” Kithr said. “He’s never been known for lenience. When he gives an order, he expects it to be obeyed completely. Anything less, and his punishments are immediate, decisive, and brutal. That should be explanation enough for his minions fearing to disobey him even when faced with Tathrens.”
He wasn’t always like that. Lyan didn’t say anything as they rode, though he looked back over his shoulder even after the forest had disappeared from sight. He is my last living family, and Nylas is Lost.
He caught himself. No, Nylas isn’t the last family I have. Blood kin or not, I have another cousin: Patch. She doesn’t know many of the ways of Eilidh Wood, but she’s not Lost.
“Cailean, how far are we from your home?” Lyan asked.
“About eight days’ ride north.” Cailean’s expression darkened. “Where Ewart has been doing as he pleases in my absence.”
“Are you going to find the men who remained to fight?” Lyan asked.
“If we can,” Cailean answered. “I have an idea where to look for them.”
While they rode, Lyan wrapped a bandana around his head, covering his ears, and noticed Kithr doing the same. Here, in this land especially, anyone who recognized them as elves would consider them enemies.
Close to midday, as they started looking for a place to pause, they encountered a boy herding sheep. The boy saw the riders and immediately drove his flock away from them. Cailean tried to show they meant no harm and changed direction.
“Must be a town near,” Cailean said. “Let’s keep moving. We can take a break later.”
Lyan suppressed a groan. Much as he wanted to get out of the saddle and stretch his legs, he didn’t want to face a village of suspicious Tathrens. His ankle ached, but he tried to ignore that along with the rest of his discomfort.
The boy watched them ride past, not relenting in his suspicious guard until they were far enough away to not be a threat. Lyan silently wished him well and hoped he could protect his flock from whatever dangers might threaten.
Kithr studied the land. His expression was difficult to read, but Lyan could guess he was remembering the last time he’d been in Tather. Lyan saw Kithr’s lips move as he whispered something, but the words were too soft to hear.
“Kithr.”
Both Kithr and Lyan turned when Torqual spoke his name. Kithr eyed the soldier. “What?”
“Willing to spar when we camp tonight?”
Kithr considered, then nodded. “I’ll take the practice at fighting Tathrens again.” He looked to Cailean. “This Ewart. His men are Tathrens, aren’t they?”
Yion answered before Cailean. “The majority are, and mainly untrained as soldiers. They are mercenaries with loyalty to coin only.”
“Interesting description, coming from a mercenary,” Kithr said coolly.
“My loyalty is not to coin, but to my god, Kithr. I accept the title of mercenary because a foreigner in any land must name some trade, and it suits my skills.” Yion smiled, unperturbed.
“Who’s your god, and why are you here?” Kithr demanded.
“When my god wishes himself known, he will reveal himself. As to my reasons, my answer has not changed since Lyan asked the same question. If you did not believe my words then, you have little reason to believe them now.”
Cailean cleared his throat. “Ewart’s forces?”
“Your pardon, Lord Cailean,” Yion apologized. “The bulk of his forces are desperate men willing to take any work for pay. Those in command keep order by force and fear, but are effective and knowledgeable of tactics. Ewart’s information on your fortifications and strengths was surprisingly thorough.”
Cailean stiffened, reminded of the diagrams found in Ewart’s keep. “I see.”
o0o
They rode through the day with only a brief stop to rest. When they made camp, Lyan ached through and through. As he helped, he noticed what Kithr had mentioned—Yion walked the camp’s perimeter in the guise of performing other tasks. It brought to mind something Venycia had said when she visited their camp in the form of a bear to heal him after he escaped Vynzen. “The protections on this camp are meant only to keep out those who would enter with harmful intent.”
He also recalled the brief exchange between Venycia and Yion as they left the Shrine. Yion had passed on greetings from her uncle.
Could that mean Venycia’s uncle is Yion’s god? She never told me who her father is.
“Hey, Lyan, want to give me a hand with dinner?” Shiolto asked.
“Huh? Oh, sorry. Of course. What can I do?” The more immediate need for food distracted Lyan from his wandering thoughts.
Kithr and Torqual began sparring. Lyan watched briefly. Kithr quickly fell into old habits, and Torqual could predict him more often than not. That didn’t always help Torqual, though. Kithr was fast.
Lyan dumped the last handful of chopped roots into the stew pot. “Anything else, Shiolto?”
“Just need some spices.” Shiolto opened his pack and sorted through it. As he pulled out the spice bag, a folded shee
t of parchment fell from the bag. Shiolto frowned, giving the parchment a puzzled look. “What’s this?”
He set aside the spices and picked up the parchment. When he unfolded it, his expression remained bewildered. Shiolto held it to Lyan. “Is this yours?”
Shiolto held the parchment upside down. It looked like a missive. Lyan didn’t try to decipher the unfamiliar Tathren words. He shook his head. “It isn’t mine.”
Shiolto folded it again. “Must be Lord Cailean’s, then. I guess it got mixed up and fell out of a bag when we shifted things off the horses. Add a handful of spice to the stew, would you? I’ll give this back to Lord Cailean.”
“You don’t read, Shiolto?” Lyan asked. In Eilidh Wood, every child learned to read and write.
Shiolto laughed. “What for? That’s stuff for lords, not the likes of me and Dalrian. I’ll be right back.”
Lyan stirred the spices into the stew while Shiolto waited for Cailean to finish studying the map. Kithr and Torqual finished their sparring match in relative good humor. Aikan sorted through his bags in search of something.
The older man went through his bags a second time, still not finding whatever he sought. Aikan pushed stiffly to his feet and walked to Lyan, scowling.
Lyan gave him a questioning look. “What is it, Aikan?”
“You were the last person aside from me to have my bags. What did you take, and where is it?”
Lyan blinked, surprised. “I didn’t take anything—I never opened the bag you had Shadowstar carry.”
Aikan’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t lie to me, elf.”
“I’m not lying,” Lyan said. “What are you missing?”
“A letter, perhaps?” Cailean asked. His voice was colder than Lyan had ever heard.
Aikan stiffened and turned to face Cailean. Cailean’s expression was a mask of thinly restrained rage. In one hand he held Solstice, in the other, the parchment Shiolto had found. Cailean held the parchment toward Aikan like an accusation.
“This letter, perhaps?”
Color drained from Aikan’s face and his eyes widened in fear and guilt. He stood rooted to the spot. When he opened his mouth, no words came out but a whispered, horrified, “No.”
Chapter Nine
The past comes to light
For wrong or for right
And secrets wake
For faith to shake
All eyes fixed on Cailean. He closed the distance between himself and the unmoving Aikan. Lyan stood and scrambled back several steps. Shaking with anger, Cailean leveled Solstice at Aikan.
Aikan found his voice. “M… my lord?”
“Am I?” Cailean demanded, voice cold and hard. His hand crumpled the parchment. “This says otherwise.”
“Lord… Cailean?” Shiolto asked uncertainly behind Cailean, eyes darting between the two men as he wondered how a piece of parchment could inspire such rage.
“Lord Cailean, it’s not…” Aikan began faintly.
“It’s not what, Aikan? It’s not an invitation from my enemy? It’s not a promise of reward? It’s not a betrayal?” Solstice didn’t waver, pointing at Aikan’s throat.
Aikan swallowed hard. “My lord, I…”
“You what? You can explain? Then do. By all means, do explain how this doesn’t prove you a traitor and oath-breaker. How loyal you are. Explain, Aikan, why you carry words of thanks and praise from my enemy—a message Solstice says reeks of magic.” Cailean’s eyes never wavered. His voice dropped dangerously low. “A message by which he can follow our every move.”
Lyan hadn’t thought Aikan could grow paler. The man proved him wrong. Aikan shook his head as if to deny Cailean’s words, stumbling back a step.
“Answer me!” Cailean shouted. He hurled the crumpled parchment at Aikan’s feet.
No one else moved, watching in silence as Aikan sank to his knees, head bowed. Slowly, he picked up the parchment and unfolded it, spreading it open on the ground before him. Aikan stared at the missive and spoke.
“Two nights before Ewart’s final strike, when I retired to my room for the night, I found a sealed letter tucked under my door. It addressed me by my full name, using the titles my family once held. Opening it, I found a missive I thought could only be a perverted joke. The author claimed to be Ewart, and he claimed he could restore my family to their original status with our former titles and lands, in exchange for my loyalty. If I were interested, he bid me come to the west gate at the third mark of the night.” Aikan let out a shaking breath. “I thought it a cruel jest, and I determined to find the one responsible and see them punished. I thought about bringing the letter to you, Lord Cailean, but the hour was already late, and you slept little enough as it was. I decided not to disturb you over someone’s idea of amusement. I know well enough that I’m not the most well-liked with your men, my lord.”
Cailean’s cold eyes narrowed. “And no one questioned you going out in the middle of the night?”
“It wasn’t the first time I’d done so since the siege began, my lord. I often chose unexpected times to check posts and be sure those on watch remained alert. The guards were attentive, and I checked the west gate thoroughly. I decided this joke’s inventor had done so simply to deny me some sleep, and prepared to retire to my room, when mist surrounded me. Everything grew silent, and I couldn’t see anything, not even the keep. I called to the guards, but no one answered until Ewart appeared.”
“In my keep,” Cailean said tightly.
“I don’t know, my lord. I can’t say for sure whether I was still in your keep,” Aikan said. “I could see nothing through the mist until I saw Ewart. He thanked me for accepting his invitation, and I couldn’t say anything. I certainly couldn’t say I had thought his letter a trick. I found enough words to ask what he wanted from me.
“‘Your loyalty,’ he said. ‘I’ll take this place and everyone in it, with or without your help. But it need not cost unnecessary lives. I will gladly spare those who I can, and I will generously reward all those who pledge themselves to me. Think on it, Aikan. The lands unjustly stripped from your family. The honors stolen from you. All the elves destroyed can be restored to you, and with it, riches enough to fulfill your dreams. I know what you long for, and I know how to grant it to you.’
“I told him my loyalty lay with you, Lord Cailean. He laughed. ‘The Dev’gilla family holds a sacred gift, the very source of their power and influence. They could have used it to restore your family to their rightful place, yet they have not. They have been content to use you as servants, vassals, far less than your noble birthright. With that power, I will change all that. I will correct their neglect. You have but to serve me.’”
Aikan closed his eyes. “He didn’t demand an answer from me. All he asked was that I return his invitation. I did, thinking myself glad to be rid of it, not sure why I’d brought it with me. When it left my hand, the mist vanished and Ewart with it. The guards acted as if nothing had happened.
“I returned to my room and tried to sleep, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Ewart’s words. At one point I rose and dressed, intending to tell you what happened, my lord, but…” Aikan didn’t look up. “Without the letter, I had no proof, and I was less and less certain of what I’d seen. If Ewart had magic available to him, he might have known if I’d gone to you, my lord. I thought… if he remained determined to win me to his side, I had a chance to learn his plans, deceive him…” Aikan trailed off.
“Entertaining the enemy’s offer in secret for my sake?” Cailean said with scorn. “So his promises of riches and reward had no consideration in your decision?”
Aikan didn’t answer.
Cailean sneered. “Instead, you pretended nothing happened, and went on with your business. What token of good faith did Ewart give you when you returned his invitation?”
Aikan started. “My lord?”
“Don’t treat me like a fool, Aikan. He gave you something as a pledge so you couldn’t dismiss the meeting as a dream,” Cailean sai
d. “You had proof.”
“I…” Aikan’s shoulders slumped. “A gold coin, my lord. I found it in my hand when the mist vanished.”
“Gold?” Both Shiolto and Dalrian sat up straighter.
“And you kept it with you,” Cailean said, a statement rather than a question.
“I couldn’t leave it in my room, my lord. It bore Ewart’s mark. And… I hesitated to show you for the same reason, Lord Cailean. A gold coin bearing the mark of the enemy besieging our walls…”
“So, instead, you knowingly carried a token given you by my enemy as you walked my walls, showing him every step of my defenses. Every gap. Every barricade, every point of supply.”
Aikan’s expression was stricken. “No! My lord, I didn’t...”
“Didn’t you?” Cailean spat. “I won’t ask why you kept the coin. I don’t have to. A gold coin… is that the price of your loyalty, Aikan?”
Aikan shook his head in silent answer.
“Just where were you when the fog rolled in and Ewart’s men took my walls?” Cailean demanded.
“In my room, Lord Cailean. I heard the alarm and was about to find you when Ewart entered. Not in fog and mist, but in the flesh, inside your keep, into my room. The guards in the hall lay dead. Any alarm I called would have gone unheard.” Aikan paused a moment, then continued. “Ewart asked if I’d considered his offer, and if I was ready to swear into his service. He reminded me what he had to offer me. Lands and titles, riches… I was tempted, my lord. I… I cannot deny that. I’d been tempted since he first spoke of it. But then Ewart said he would restore my family’s honor.” Aikan drew a deep breath and finally raised his eyes to Cailean’s. “Ewart might promise to restore lands and wealth to me, but he could never restore the honor I would sacrifice if I accepted him as my lord. When my grandfather was destitute, only your grandfather, Lord Cailean, spoke for him before the rest of the lords, to give him more time. When our family still could not pay the war taxes from a land ravaged, the fields stripped and burned by the elves, the men dead or conscripted, the women and children starving, our family stripped of land and title, our name made a mockery, your grandfather intervened once again. He gave shelter and made a place for a dispossessed lord in the midst of war when most struggled to feed those already in their service. I could not dishonor my ancestors or my daughter by betraying that legacy and turning my back on the debt of life my family owes to yours, my lord.” Aikan didn’t look away. “I refused Ewart, my lord.”