Aemetta had moved to the railing and was staring out at the endless body of water to the north when Keltin joined her. Far beyond the layer of clouds that was permanently suspended above Dism Slyde, sunlight reflected on countless waves as they rippled across the water’s surface. “This view is…amazing,” Keltin breathed.
“It is,” Aemetta agreed. They stood in silence, staring at the beauty that waited at the edge of the horizon.
“Why did the High Conduit summon us here?” Keltin asked quietly.
“We’ll find out the details soon, but the answer is because it is a part of the Venerates’ plan for us,” Aemetta replied. She looked down at the ever-present fog that hung over the marsh at the mouth of the river. “I envy them sometimes,” she sighed.
“The Venerates?” Keltin asked uncertainly.
“No, no, not the Venerates,” Aemetta laughed. “Them.” She pointed to the bank of fog and Keltin searched it curiously, seeing nothing at first. Then, as the breeze stirred a section of the fog, he saw grey-clad figures standing up to their knees in the water of the marsh. The people carried harvest baskets just as Keltin had when he was a Fieldsman, and they appeared to be filling the baskets with something white that they retrieved from the water. Keltin was fascinated—he had never noticed this group, even though they worked within a few dozen strides from the spot where the Shroud Legion trained.
“Who are they?” Keltin wondered.
“They are called the Silent.”
An apt name, Keltin thought as he nodded. “And what is it they’re collecting?” he asked.
“I’ve heard it called ‘cofa,’ but it’s not something that is discussed openly,” Aemetta said in a whisper. “It must be important, though, because the Silent stay in that water from before sunrise until after sunset. They even bring food in with them at the beginning of the day so they don’t have to stop for the Callings. They just harvest cofa, all day. Supposedly, it’s a gift from the Venerates that allows the High Conduit to communicate with them directly. Whatever it’s called, whatever it does, that plant is sacred and the Silent are uniquely blessed with the task of gathering it. I would love to see the plant up close, but no one else can enter that marsh without suffering severe punishment.” The fog rolled back across the Silent, obscuring them from view.
“You said you envy them. Why?” Keltin asked.
“Simplicity,” Aemetta sighed. “My task in Locboran was similar to theirs; I would spend hours alone in the Scullery Gardens gathering parts from different plants. The work made sense, it was quiet, and it didn’t involve violence. Now…well, I suppose causing violence is just part of my penance.”
“Whether it’s just a part of your penance or not, you are incredibly gifted in the art of stealth. Even the Draeden is impressed, and you’ve only been working with the Legion for a week!” Keltin exclaimed.
“What better punishment than to be talented at something I detest so much,” Aemetta said sadly. Keltin wanted to reply, to tell her that he understood how she felt completely, but before he could speak, a familiar voice called to him.
“Sleeper!” Tir shouted as he entered the balcony from the narrow passage. The Vessel Guard laughed as he rushed over and wrapped an arm around Keltin’s back. “It’s good to see you, brother. How’s the hole in your side healing?”
“Still sore, but it’s not slowing me down anymore,” Keltin replied. “What about the hole in your shoulder from that Cynmeren arrow?”
Tir grinned and stretched the neck of his robes until most of his right shoulder was exposed. “I’m told it should leave a respectable scar,” the Vessel Guard replied. “A reminder of a very interesting journey. Ah, speaking of reminders, I see you kept the piece from that scrid’s leg.” He pointed to the jagged black spike resting against Keltin’s left hip, and Keltin’s hand moved towards it instinctively, just to confirm that the spike was still where it should be.
“I did,” Keltin said with a nod.
“What do you plan to do with it?” Tir asked, eyeing the piece curiously.
“I…I hadn’t really thought about it,” Keltin admitted. “Just having it close by was what felt most important.”
“With a little carving and some leather to cover the handle, you could turn that into a fine dagger,” Tir suggested. “A dagger would be a perfect weapon for you. The Legionnaires are all about getting close to the enemy and inflicting as much damage as possible, right Craed?”
“You’re correct, but he’s not a member of the Legion yet,” Craed said pointedly. Keltin lowered his head a fraction from the shame he suddenly felt.
“True,” Tir conceded, looking at Keltin with an apologetic frown. “It was just an idea. Perhaps something for another time.” There was an awkward silence that followed as Tir stared at the spike again before shaking his head and looking away.
“Tir, did I hear you call this one ‘Sleeper’?” Craed asked a moment later with a quizzical raise of his eyebrow as he nodded towards Keltin.
“That I did,” Tir said, his laughter returning. “Let me tell you about the start of our journey back from Aldhagen—”
“Food is prepared!” the High Conduit announced from the entrance of the passage, and all conversations on the balcony instantly ceased. Keltin was just glad the interruption came when it did; if Tir had told the full story of his most recent journey to Dism Slyde, there would be no end to the list of things Craed would then have to taunt Keltin about. With a relieved sigh, Keltin followed Tir back into the main part of the High Conduit’s chambers. When the passageway ended, Keltin’s breath caught.
On the large stone table, a feast of unimaginable proportions awaited those that the High Conduit had summoned. Steaming bowls of soup were set in front of baked whiteroot, with three loaves of sliced sweet bread spaced along the length of the table. Vegetables, greens, spices, herbs, every food Keltin had ever known and more covered the slab of stone. A profound hunger suddenly gnawed at his core, and he was quick to obey the command when the High Conduit told them all to sit and eat.
Looking around the table as he ate, Keltin realized just how small this group was. Besides himself and the Conduit, there were five people enjoying the incredible meal: Ansund, Silax, Aemetta, Craed, and Tir. Silax and Aemetta sat to Keltin’s right, Craed and Tir to his left, with the Draeden and the High Conduit sitting across from them all. Keltin didn’t know what was expected of those who shared a meal with the High Conduit, but since no one else spoke, Keltin decided to refrain from conversation as well. After the first few minutes spent in relative silence, the High Conduit glanced around at his guests, then stood. Everyone besides Draeden Ansund began hurriedly rising from the table as well, but the High Conduit motioned them back into their seats.
“Please, continue eating. This is meant to be a relaxing and joyous event, so feel free to talk, ask questions, share whatever thoughts you may have,” the High Conduit said with a warm smile. He glanced at each person, but everyone was apparently waiting for someone else to speak first. Keltin’s eyes darted nervously around the table, but everyone other than the Draeden looked just as hesitant to speak as Keltin.
“I’ll ask the question we’re all wondering,” Tir sighed at last. “Why were we permitted the honor of sharing a meal with the High Conduit himself?”
“Always direct,” the High Conduit chuckled. “I admire that about you, Tir. It is a trait that summarizes what a Vessel Guard should be: concise, bold, and constantly searching for the fastest route to the destination.” He walked over to the enormous map that hung a few strides from the end of the table, retrieved a long staff from the corner of the room, then pointed to a location Keltin knew well.
“What is this?” the High Conduit asked. Confused looks filled the room and no one replied at first.
“Aldhagen,” Craed declared.
“Good!” the High Conduit said, then pointed to a valley along the northern edge of the Plateau Desert. “And this?”
“Dism Slyde,” several v
oices said in unison.
“Very good. Now tell me this: what is missing?” the High Conduit asked.
Keltin studied the map carefully with everyone else, but no answers were readily apparent. The map showed the high mountain that was topped by the joined, yet divided cities of Aldhagen and Locboran. The Plateau Desert was easy to find, as were the mountains that lined either side of the valley that marked Dism Slyde. Known Cynmeren camps were labeled throughout the desert, as well as any locations where the wist reed—and, in very small quantities, water—could be found. The map showed everything, down to the finest detail. Except for one thing, Keltin suddenly realized.
“Cynmere,” Keltin said quietly. “It doesn’t show Cynmere.” The High Conduit pointed the staff at him and nodded emphatically.
“That’s it. Cynmere is missing,” the High Conduit proclaimed with an excited look in his grey-blue eyes. “Do you know why it’s missing, Keltin?”
“I…no, I don’t,” Keltin stammered.
“Because no one has ever found it,” the Draeden answered. “Or, if they have, they’ve never made it back to Dism Slyde.” Keltin stared at him incredulously.
“He speaks the truth, I’m afraid,” the High Conduit said sadly. “We’ve sent various scouting groups throughout the history of Dism Slyde, and not one has returned with the location of Cynmere. We know it lies somewhere far beyond the Eastern Hills, but exactly where or how far is a mystery.
“And that is where your role begins. It is the will of the Venerates that we cleanse the Cynmeren filth from these lands forever. In order to complete that task, the first and most crucial step of our Holy Purge is to locate the enemy’s primary refuge. Each of you at this table, other than Ansund and myself, will take part in the search for Cynmere.” Everyone was at a loss for words, then the questions began all at once.
“Where will we begin this search?” Tir wondered.
“When do we leave?” Silax smiled eagerly.
“Are we the only ones assigned to this task?” Craed asked, glancing worriedly at the three newcomers.
The Draeden stood and joined the High Conduit at the base of the linwyrt map. “Please, I will explain the task in more detail,” Ansund began, raising his hands for silence. “There will be other groups similar in size to this one that are dispatched from Dism Slyde at roughly the same time you leave. The groups will begin searching at different points throughout the Eastern Hills, but you must keep the details of your specific route secret from the other scout groups. This prevents anyone who is captured from revealing the true size or location of our forces within the Eastern Hills.
“The central element of this effort is to remain undetected. To reduce visibility, each group will set out in a single cart with enough supplies for eight days—four days out, four days back. Tir will guide your group’s cart as you progress east; whether you find Cynmere or not, it is his task to bring that cart back to Dism Slyde by the end of the eighth day. Craed, you will lead this group. As the representative from the Shroud Legion, you will be responsible for determining the route to follow each day that will best conceal your movements. You may recruit whomever else you deem worthy of this task, but your group must be composed of no more than ten individuals.” Ansund paused then, as Craed sighed to himself in frustration. “What is it, Craed?” the Draeden asked.
“Forgive my disrespect, but why would I waste three of my ten positions on newcomers? For a task this important, shouldn’t I seek to fill my group with the most experienced fighters I can find?” Craed demanded.
“Normally you would be correct,” the High Conduit responded, “but these are not normal circumstances.”
“Circumstances aside, Conduit, these three represent a significant liability to the safety and success of the group as a whole,” Craed explained. Although his voice was calm, his eyes shouted with frustration. “With a few more weeks of training, I am confident that Aemetta will become a valuable addition to any effort taken on by the Legion. She is not ready, though, and the other two have yet to prove any skill whatsoever.” Keltin tried to shrink down into his seat, while Silax just smiled darkly to himself.
“They have proven themselves to me,” the High Conduit said with certainty as he walked to the edge of the table. He leaned forward ominously. “Do you question my judgement? Or perhaps it is the Venerates’ will that you question?”
Craed’s mouth hung open at the accusation. “No…no, High Conduit. I just don’t—I can’t comprehend sending newcomers on a task this dangerous and important,” Craed stammered, looking away as he spoke.
The High Conduit’s smile suddenly returned to his face. “It is not yours to understand,” the High Conduit said dismissively as he returned to the map. “Now, Ansund, please continue.” Craed stared blankly down at the table, either too stunned or too angry to speak.
“Your group will begin at this valley here,” the Draeden said, pointing the long stick to a line between two of the hills to the east of the Plateau Desert. The details of the map ended abruptly on the eastern edge of the valley; it made Keltin incredibly nervous to imagine venturing to lands even farther beyond Aldhagen than those known by the Penitent Faithful. “You will depart Dism Slyde tomorrow at dawn,” Ansund continued. “Remember—stealth is your goal. If you encounter resistance from the Cynmeren beasts, however, you must make certain to wipe them out so none can report our presence in the Eastern Hills. Craed, it is your task to select the remaining members of your group. When we are done here, you must move quickly.” Craed nodded his bald head, but said nothing.
“Everyone, please, enjoy the remainder of this meal,” the High Conduit proclaimed from the base of the map. “Laugh, grow to know one another, because for the next eight days you will only have each other to rely upon. Tomorrow, we begin the Holy Purge.” The meal was finished soon thereafter, but there was no laughter. If everyone else’s thoughts were similar to Keltin’s, then there was no capacity for levity. Anxiety, excitement, and fear swirled through his mind due to a singular idea: others may have found Cynmere before, but if they did, they never returned.
---
As Tir departed in the direction of Tamer’s Canyon, Keltin, Silax, and Aemetta followed Craed back to the Shroud Legion’s training area along the fringes of the marsh. There would be time for two if not three more training sessions before sunset, much to the dismay of Keltin’s weary muscles and torn skin. Keltin peered into the fog that covered the marsh, but there was no sign of the Silent anywhere that he could see. Craed stopped abruptly before he and the newcomers reached the main force of the Legion.
“In case I didn’t express myself clearly in the High Conduit’s chambers, I detest the idea of taking you on this scout mission,” Craed spat. “I won’t question the will of the Venerates, though; if they want a group of novices to accompany Dism Slyde’s most highly trained fighters on an incredibly dangerous task, who am I to oppose? Understand this—in the eyes of the Shroud Legion, you are nothing more than potential points of weakness and failure, even you Aemetta. You are not prepared for this task, but since I am forced to take you, I will find a use for each of you.” He paused in thought, pacing from one person to the next.
“Aemetta, you will study the movements of the other Legionnaires if we encounter the enemy, but you are not to attack. Evade and observe,” Craed continued. “Silax, Keltin, you will carry the thuribles that provide the cleansing smoke to conceal our group. Make certain they are burning any time the cart stops. I don’t think you’re even ready for that task, but it is the simplest I have and someone must do it. Now, back to training before the others grow suspicious. Do not mention anything about tomorrow’s task to the rest of the Legion. Oh, and one final thing.” Craed reached into his waist pocket and offered three finger-sized containers made from overlapping sections of wist reed.
“What is it?” Keltin asked carefully as he, Silax, and Aemetta each took a sealed container.
“This is something every member of the Penitent F
aithful keeps with them once they journey beyond Dism Slyde,” Craed said. “Inside that vial is a small portion of the sacred cofa, given to me by the High Conduit himself as we departed from the Third Calling meal. It is only to be used in times of direst emergency, because upon consumption the cofa will grant you a direct linkage to the Venerates and their protection. Do not open it unless I tell you to do so.”
Keltin stared down at the vial, fascinated by the magic and power of the substance it contained. Silax and Aemetta exchanged a look of sudden and painful understanding, followed instantly by tearful disbelief. “I didn’t know,” Silax stammered. “I thought it was just water.”
“That’s why we survived the attack and Eredun didn’t,” Aemetta whispered.
“What are you two talking about?” Craed demanded. “You’ve used the cofa before?” Silax and Aemetta both nodded sadly. “Explain,” Craed ordered.
“Eredun gave us his vial before we attacked a Cynmeren camp,” Aemetta began.
“You attacked a Cynmeren camp?” Eredun practically shouted under his breath.
“They had attacked Eredun’s convoy several days before,” Silax said. “Eredun found both of us in the relative safety of the smoke beneath Wracandyr the day after he was attacked. He was already wounded by that point and had come back to the lake in desperation. We knew we couldn’t stay near the water, but then he explained the Cynmeren beasts that stood between us and the safety of Dism Slyde. He said the only option was to wipe them out, and thankfully he knew where they were hiding.”
“He showed us the isen, taught us how to use them effectively,” Aemetta continued. “We ran out of food and water from his cart by the end of the second day, so he told us it was time to strike. As we rode towards the camp before dawn the next day, he told us to share the vial of liquid. He said it was his last few drops of water, and we graciously accepted it. I should have thanked him so much more….” Aemetta’s eyes grew distant again as she undoubtedly thought back to the battle that followed.
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