Kingdomturn

by Matthew Williams

  As they dispersed and walked to the entrance, Wyand studied the people who would travel with him for the next week. Gasric’s hatred still boiled just beneath the surface, but he seemed to be following the Voice of War’s instructions for now, even with the inclusion of Aemetta. He was an incredibly dangerous old man, Wyand could sense that, but he was also the key to finding the other Distant Watch camps. Laersi moved as all the Guided did, smooth and confident and as though each step had been planned days in advance. She smiled at Wyand as she passed, excitement shining in her eyes almost as brightly as the swirls of blue and green normally did. Aemetta disappeared so swiftly and silently through the tent flap that Wyand barely had time to see her move before she was already gone. Then he noticed Eyrie and thoughts of everyone else vanished in an instant.

  She stood in sullen silence, her dark hair reflecting the faint glow of the torchlight within the tent. As he looked at her, Wyand suddenly realized her expression wasn’t just one of frustration—there was genuine hurt in her gaze and, more surprising, worry. “Eyrie…” he began, but she stepped towards him with such unexpected resolve that Wyand’s voice fell silent. She paused a hand-length from his face and he felt his heart leap within his chest. A select set of Grigg’s memories flashed through Wyand’s thoughts, all blurred by a dizzying blend of anticipation and excitement. Before he knew what was happening, Wyand felt himself lean forward and wrap his arms around the woman standing before him. Eyrie’s head glided gracefully up towards him, and in a moment that seemed both infinitely long yet painfully fleeting, their lips at last met.

  “And that is the other reason you’re not going, girl,” Tilia called from the far end of the tent, and the moment fell to pieces at the sound of her voice. As Wyand felt Eyrie pull away, he was too stunned to speak. His lips buzzed with the memory of her touch and he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. From everything he had learned from the Thoughtcaster, Wyand knew this was a connection that most people longed to experience, and he was excited that Eyrie had granted him such a gift. It was bittersweet, though, to find something so elusive just before embarking on a week-long journey without her.

  “One week,” Eyrie cautioned him, her jaw set sternly but her eyes glittering with unspoken impatience. He nodded numbly, and she met his awkwardness with a wicked smile. Wyand watched her walk away as he searched his mind desperately for something, anything to say that would bring her back even for an instant. Trying to form a single coherent thought proved impossible for him, though, and soon she was gone. Not knowing what else to do, Wyand stumbled out of the Voice of War’s tent and made his way to the waiting scrid.

  ---

  Wyand discovered a refuge from the chaos of his thoughts in the quiet act of methodically preparing his scrid for travel. Just as he was tightening the last tusk rope, Ryna emerged from the night. “Aemetta tells me you’re leaving,” she said incredulously.

  “We’re all leaving,” Wyand replied with a laugh, attempting to avoid the pain of the truth and gesturing to the remnants of the dark Cynmeren camp as it sped through the final stages of being dismantled. Ryna’s eyelids sagged from exasperation, and Wyand then knew that his departure was about to become even more difficult than it already was.

  “You’re not coming with us, though,” she said sadly. “Or rather, we’re not going with you.”

  Wyand sighed; there was no avoiding it now. “No, not this time. Eyrie asked if you could go, but the Voice of War rejected that idea.”

  “I’m sure Eyrie won’t mind some time alone with you,” Ryna muttered glumly. Wyand was shocked—Ryna couldn’t possibly know what had happened with him and Eyrie in the Voice of War’s tent, yet she was somehow aware of a connection between the two of them.

  “She’s staying with the main group, Ryna. Tilia rejected her too,” Wyand explained hurriedly. Ryna’s reaction was a confusing mixture of surprise, disappointment, and relief that Wyand didn’t understand. Suddenly, she rushed forward and wrapped Wyand in a firm embrace. “We’ll be back in a week,” he said somewhat apologetically, uncertain how else to comfort her. As he spoke, Aemetta appeared and stood beside the two of them.

  “Just stay safe,” Ryna cautioned, then she took notice of Aemetta. “Both of you,” she added. With that, she backed away and wrapped her arms around Aemetta next. “I still have so many questions for you, but I knew it was expecting too much to think I would get answers any time soon.”

  “When I get back, you can ask me whatever you want,” Aemetta promised. At that moment, Bloodbrother Gasric approached from the southern end of the row of scrid. He sneered with disgust when he saw Ryna showing affection to one of the Smokedwellers; thankfully instead of creating more friction, he chose to focus his attention solely on Wyand.

  “The others are prepared when you’re ready,” the Watch Leader reported. He gestured over his shoulder in Aemetta’s direction. “You’re carrying that in your transport cage; we have the important things like supplies in ours.”

  “I know you don’t want her along, Gasric, but her unique knowledge could protect us if the Smokedwellers are nearby,” Wyand attempted to reason with the man, but Gasric refused to accept Aemetta as anything but the enemy.

  “I’m all the protection you’ll need, boy,” Gasric muttered darkly. Wyand thought to ask what he meant, but the long-haired Bloodbrother slipped on his Watch helmet and started for the line of scrid before Wyand could speak. “We’re mounting up now,” his garbled voice said. “Meet us at the north end of camp.”

  Wyand shook his head as he turned back to Ryna and Aemetta. They had parted and Ryna now leaned against one of the nearby scarwood roots; Wyand knew it pained her to watch the group leave, but he also knew she wouldn’t allow herself to miss their departure. Aemetta stood next to the scrid, eyeing it curiously. “Careful,” Wyand said as he quickly made his way to the scrid’s nearest tusk rope. “She doesn’t know your scent yet.”

  “Who?” Aemetta asked.

  “The scrid,” Wyand explained. “Hold out your hand so she’ll know you’re not a threat and so she can learn your smell.” Though confused, Aemetta still did as requested. A moment later, the deep-red inner mouth of the scrid extended close to Aemetta’s palm. Her eyes grew wide as the creature inhaled through its jagged jaws several times and then retracted the inner mouth once again.

  “What now?” Aemetta asked as Wyand climbed onto the creature’s back. He issued the appropriate command using An’ymb Glor, and the transport cage rotated from beneath the scrid and then dropped to the ground.

  “This is where you’ll be riding,” Wyand explained. His thoughts suddenly shifted to Halwen and a surge of sadness forced him to pause and clear the tightness from his throat. “Be sure to pull yourself against the upper slats before the cage flips,” he added solemnly. Aemetta followed his instructions, and soon they were ready to join the rest of the group destined for the Distant Watch camps.

  Wyand nodded to Ryna as the scrid scuttled past, then he spotted Eyrie watching from the shadows a few strides behind her. She was smiling at him proudly, but when she noticed him looking at her, Eyrie’s head dipped down for an instant with what appeared to be a look of embarrassment. For once, I caught her watching me, Wyand realized excitedly, but his gloating was short-lived. Eyrie glanced up at him through her eyelashes a final time, her eyes glistening with the light of the innumerable stars, and Wyand’s thoughts were once again wiped clean. An unspoken fire burned within her gaze—a fire that Wyand would be eager to kindle as soon as he returned.

  36

  With the morning sun barely visible in the western sky, Keltin breathed a sigh of relief which was not only able to be heard but seen thanks to the cold night air of the Plateau Desert. His sigh quickly turned to a laugh, which spread to the other occupants of the nysk cart when they realized what had brought it on. In the distance, less than an hour’s ride away, were the mountains that marked the entrance to Dism Slyde. The leader of the group, Deorna, offered Keltin one of her r
emaining water containers as she stood beside him at the front of the cart. “You’ve earned it,” she said with a tired grin.

  Keltin’s laughter faded as the first drops of cold water swirled against his lips. I haven’t earned anything, he thought bitterly, remembering the last image of Silax as the mass of Cynmeren closed in. Even though it had been Silax’ choice to sacrifice himself so the cart could escape, Keltin still felt guilty for abandoning him. Not for the first time nor the last, he vowed to return for Silax as soon as Cynmere’s location was delivered. Keltin drank deeply, but only so his strength would be intact as soon as he reached Dism Slyde.

  They traversed the remaining distance to Dism Slyde without incident, and as soon as the cart dipped below the permanent layer of fog, a raid horn echoed long and low throughout the narrow canyon from some unseen lookout point. It was a call to open the gates, not the frantic tones that stood out in Keltin’s memory as signaling the start of an attack. In the small openings above the Gates of Contrition, Protectors surveyed the cart as it approached. Their expressions changed from somewhat bored to excited disbelief when they noticed the faces of those the nysks were carrying home. Apparently, the task to find Cynmere was no longer a secret; raid horns now sounded joyously from one end of the canyon to the other.

  As one of the blue-cloaked Handlers met the cart and brought the nysks to a stop, Keltin stifled a laugh as he watched Garam sprint towards him from the direction of Tamer’s Canyon. The Handler was out of breath but smiling when he reached the first nysk. “Venerates preserve me! They’ll let anyone through the gates these days,” he laughed.

  “Clearly, since you’re still here,” Deorna countered with a smile. She stepped down from the cart with Keltin and the others close behind her. Before the banter could continue, however, the levity of returning to Dism Slyde was put aside as Aidlan and one of the other Vessel Guards, Tullom, lifted Ferrund out of the cart and raced toward the healing quarters. His condition had worsened over the past four days so much that Keltin hadn’t been sure if he would live long enough to reach Dism Slyde.

  “You have injured,” Handler Garam nodded solemnly.

  “Only one, thank the Kingdom, but by our own arrows, I’m afraid,” Deorna admitted. “It was a confusing and difficult journey, but the sacrifice was worth it.”

  Garam nodded in understanding but then his eyes sparked with renewed hope. “Does that…did you…?” he stammered.

  “We found it,” Deorna declared. Garam’s jaw hung slack as he stared at the sand. “Did none of the other groups have success?” Deorna asked a moment later.

  “You’re the second cart to return, and the other only had one occupant left,” Garam said blankly. “His group found nothing but death in the Eastern Hills.” He shook his head and squinted at Deorna. “You found Cynmere?”

  “We did,” she repeated.

  Handler Garam surveyed the group in a state of delighted shock, then he seemed to notice Keltin for the first time. “Sleeper? You can’t be here,” he breathed incredulously.

  Before Keltin could respond, he decided that he would have to ask Garam later where he’d learned the term ‘Sleeper’; it seemed Tir’s name for him was spreading, and that was an unsettling trend that needed to stop. “Why can’t I be here?” Keltin asked slowly.

  “Because you’re dead,” Garam answered, the confusion clear in his voice and on his tanned face. Keltin had no words to counter such a claim; instead, he stood in awkward silence waiting for Garam to offer some sort of explanation, but none was given.

  “We need to get to the High Conduit immediately,” Deorna said a moment later, and Handler Garam at last broke free of his stupor.

  “Of course, of course. Go,” Garam said, waving his arms to hurry them onward. He turned to tend to the nearest nysk, but he only made it a single stride before stopping. “We found Cynmere,” he said quietly, then he shouted loud enough for all of Dism Slyde to hear. “WE FOUND CYNMERE!” Keltin and Deorna heard the cry move with them as they sped towards the Holy Spire; at first it was a question, but it soon swelled into a triumphant chant that shook the ancient stones of the fog-filled valley as they passed.

  When Keltin and Deorna at last reached the entrance to the High Conduit’s chambers, Deorna stepped forward and knocked on the massive doors. The High Conduit’s kind voice instructed them to enter, but as they did, his expression darkened from his usual smile. “Deorna, it’s good to see you returned safely, but I am very surprised to see you, Keltin,” he said with a pensive frown. “My confusion can wait for now, though. What news do you bring?”

  “Cynmere has been found, High Conduit,” Deorna replied excitedly. The High Conduit’s grey-blue eyes grew wide and fixated on her. The old man did not smile or even appear surprised, though; if anything, he looked somewhat angry.

  “Who found it?” he asked quietly.

  “Keltin did,” Deorna replied, uncertain what to think of the High Conduit’s strange reaction. “Silax was with him as well, but he was overtaken by the Cynmeren during our escape.”

  “And you found Keltin, presumably somewhere near Cynmere, and brought him back?”

  “Yes, High Conduit. He was with two Penitent Faithful who had escaped Cynmeren captivity, though neither one of them could have ever hoped to make it back here without his help.”

  There was a long silence as the High Conduit nodded to himself in thought, then he looked up at Deorna again, this time smiling warmly. “The people of Dism Slyde owe you a great debt, then. You succeeded where every other group failed by bringing back someone who can point the way to Cynmere. You will be rewarded for your faithful service in time, but I must speak with Keltin now in private. May the Venerates forever shine their light upon your path, Deorna.”

  Deorna’s mouth rapidly opened and closed several times as she searched for a proper response, but in the end all she could say was “And you, Conduit.” After that, she turned and walked stiffly out of the room. As the great doors shut behind her, the High Conduit’s expression changed to one of startling rage.

  “Send for the Draeden,” he instructed one of the Protectors by the door. “Tell him to bring Craed to me immediately.” The Protector nodded and slipped out of the room as quickly and quietly as possible.

  “Craed’s here? He made it back?” Keltin asked.

  “Oh, yes,” the High Conduit replied with a sinister chuckle. “We will discuss that more once he joins us, though. For now, tell me the story of what led you to Cynmere.”

  Keltin struggled to find words at first, but soon he was describing the night spent in the strange canyon with the stone “trees,” the Cynmeren scout, the attack that followed, and the days of endless walking east with Silax and Aemetta. “And where is Aemetta now?” the High Conduit interjected at one point.

  “She was separated from us during a storm,” Keltin lied. It was mostly true, but he didn’t want to say anything that might incriminate Aemetta later.

  “That’s a shame,” the High Conduit said wistfully. “I never had an opportunity to share a real conversation with her.” He stared into the distance, then shook his head and went on. “Your journey east—how did you choose the route you followed?”

  “At first, we simply moved with the terrain, but then…something incredible happened to Silax that I still don’t understand. The Venerates granted him some sort of gift, an ability that allowed him to see where we should go in order to find Cynmere. He would describe in detail what the next waypoint looked like, and he always knew the way to it. Has anything like that ever happened before?”

  “Only a handful of times in the history of Dism Slyde, but they were never able to see things with such astonishing clarity,” the High Conduit said quietly, with what sounded like a note of envy in his aged voice. “So, his visions led you safely to Cynmere, even after all the adversity you endured….” The High Conduit chuckled to himself, but three sharp knocks at the chamber door shattered his gleeful mood. “Enter,” he commanded loudly, and the
doors were flung open by the remaining Protector standing guard.

  Draeden Ansund marched into the room, his eyes sunken and his mouth twisted with disgust. His right hand held an isen, while his left gripped the arm of an irritated Craed. The Legionnaire’s head still bore the signs of the deep gash he had suffered on the night he fled with the cart, but otherwise he looked perfectly healthy. Keltin was amazed—Craed’s was the only other cart to return to Dism Slyde so far, even though the last time Keltin saw it, there were more than a hundred Cynmeren close behind. The Legionnaire appeared indignant when the doors first opened, but when he saw Keltin standing with the High Conduit, a look of cold terror washed over him.

  “Ah, Craed,” the High Conduit smiled. “Thank you for coming on such short notice. Forgive me for interrupting your time of relaxation—after your harrowing escape from the Cynmeren, I’m certain you needed a rest. Please, don’t feel like you have to stand.” The High Conduit nodded sharply to the Draeden, who then flung Craed to the ground with a sharp pull on his arm. Keltin was stunned by the violent display and couldn’t understand why Craed was being treated so harshly. He didn’t dare to ask, though, given the volatility of the situation.

  “Conduit, please—” Craed began.

  “YOU DARE TO ADDRESS ME?” the High Conduit thundered, looming threateningly over Craed’s kneeling form. The Legionnaire fell silent with his bald head hanging low and his eyes fixed onto the floor beneath him. The High Conduit bared his teeth in fury for an instant, then slowly regained his composure. His deceptively-warm smile returned. “Tell me again, Craed, about what happened to your group on the night of the Cynmeren attack.”

  “We were overrun,” Craed said, out of breath. “The beasts swarmed our camp. I fought them back for as long as I could, but then I ordered everyone to retreat to the cart. I was the only one to make it there.”

  “Where was everyone else?” the High Conduit asked sweetly.