by JA Andrews
The energy slowed, then stopped. He took his finger off the flower and pulled his other hand away from the gravestone. His palm where the skin was still new from the blisters in Bone Valley was a dark, angry red, and his finger had a long line of shiny new blisters stretching from the tip to the first knuckle.
Ewan was standing perfectly still next to him. Alaric gave him a small smile and nodded. Ewan hesitated, then reached out his hand to touch the lambsbreath which looked unchanged. When he turned back to Alaric, there were tears on his cheeks. “It’s stone,” he whispered.
“She deserves to have flowers year round.” Alaric looked at the stone flower, its thin petals still a delicate pink against the tombstone. “Maybe not everything I learned from the Shade Seekers was useless, it’s just a different way of thinking of the connection between things. Of course, there aren’t many wholesome applications for turning living things to stone.”
“You’ve found one.”
The flower sat atop the grave, part of the stone. It would be there long past the time when he or Ewan would visit.
“Using the tools of a Shade Seeker doesn’t make you one, Alaric. And the one choice of walking out of the Stronghold doesn’t negate the thousands of times you chose to be a Keeper. It is only one choice of many. We aren’t defined only by our darkest choices. There is much more to us than those.
“Our pasts are complicated, what we’ve done, what has happened to us, but the beauty of life is that each day, we choose again which parts of that past we will allow to shape our actions. Most of the worst decisions in history have been motivated by love of some kind or another. The decisions you are haunted by certainly were. The path we take away from those choices is dependent on whether we let the choices compel us, or refocus on the love that motivated us in the first place.
“If you don’t want to be a Keeper today, then don’t be one. But if the only thing holding you back is choices you made in the past, well, those choices are done. Let the past inform your choices today, but don’t let it rule them.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Alaric stood before the mirror in a formal Keeper’s robe. He had found the robe hanging in the closet of his room. It was just a black robe, hooded and reaching down to the floor. Even formal robes had no decorations, only a slightly thicker material.
Still, the robe gave Alaric pause.
The Keeper’s robe he had worn when he left the palace had fallen apart almost a year ago. He had replaced it with the first black robe he could find, but it was the black of a storm cloud or a shadow. This robe was the warm black of the night, weighted with the night’s stillness.
And there were pockets. Eight pockets just on one side. Eight pockets and nothing to put in them.
His mind slid back over the past year: the library at Sidion, the caves of the southern blood doctors, the dark searches for dark things, Evangeline’s withered face always driving him on, a relentless, hollow fire.
The map hanging on the wall above the mantle was shaded in grey over the areas Mallon had controlled eight years ago. It was a looming cloud seeping in from the edges of the country toward Queenstown. If Mallon were raised, that would all begin again, the death, the fear. Something deep inside Alaric rebelled against that cloud. There could be no more ruined villages, no more plagues, no more riving of the people. It didn’t matter how far Gustav was ahead of them. Alaric would reach him and stop him.
Alaric turned back to the mirror. A Keeper blazed back at him, cloaked in black, eyes burning. He stepped back in surprise, and the fire died. A knock at his door pulled his attention away.
“The scrolls you requested from the archives, sir,” a servant at the door said, bowing.
Alaric took the two small scrolls and glanced at them. At least there was something good he could do. It was satisfying to tuck them into one of his pockets. Over the servant’s shoulder, he saw Ayda and Milly seated in some chairs outside his room.
“Did you ever meet Will?” Alaric asked, walking over to Ayda. “Saren said he had visited the elves last time she saw him.”
Ayda cocked her head to the side. “Another Keeper?” She nodded. “Two springs ago.”
“And in all of the vast Greenwood, he managed to find the one remaining elf?”
“I found him.”
“Why?”
“Because he asked the trees to find me. He was very polite to the trees.” She smiled. “He stayed with me for several weeks. The first night, he told me a tale of one of your ancient heroes. I’d never heard a human tell a story so well. We traded stories each night, besting each other. He said that the bards should sing songs of our battle.”
“Did he tell you where he was going when he left?”
“To the queen, then the Keepers.”
Why hadn’t Will gone back to the Keepers after coming to the palace? And why hadn’t he sent them a message explaining where he had gone?
Douglon and Brandson appeared, complaining about the rain. Alaric led them all through the palace to the council chamber. A long rectangular table filled the center of the room with enough chairs to accommodate a dozen people, but the chamber was empty.
At the head of the table stood Saren’s throne-like chair. To the left of it, in the position reserved for the court Keeper, sat a chair shorter than Saren’s but decidedly larger than the rest. Alaric raised an eyebrow. He’d never had a special chair before. This wasn’t set up just for a council. Saren didn’t want anyone to miss the fact that there was a Keeper back at court.
A door at the far end of the room was open, and raised voices came through it. He led the group through the door and into a smaller chamber reserved for the queen and her small council. Saren sat in a large chair, her husband’s old chair. It was too big for her, but Alaric had never been able to convince her to get a different one. It made her look like a child pretending to rule. She hadn’t taken it well when he’d told her that, though. Now Queen Saren was sitting in her too-large chair and looking troubled as Menwoth stomped back and forth in front of her, shouting.
“He’s been charged with treason against King Horgoth! He stole from the crown and is storing up wealth for the purpose of stealing the throne!”
Saren gave a little sigh of relief when Alaric and the others walked into the room.
Menwoth whirled around. “Why is that dwarf not bound?”
Douglon rolled his eyes. “Stuff it Menwoth,” he muttered.
Saren held up her hand for silence. “I’m not sure how King Horgoth runs his court, but in mine, things are run in an orderly fashion.”
Menwoth glared at Douglon but shut his mouth.
Another dwarf entered the room. His beard was streaked with grey, but his eyes were bright and he carried himself with the ease of a young man. Alaric had met few dwarves with grey beards. Nurthrum must be quite old, a fact that didn’t seem to be slowing him down.
“Nurthrum,” Saren greeted him. “Thank you for coming.”
Douglon nodded respectfully to Nurthrum.
Menwoth looked sharply at the older dwarf and shot Douglon a smug smile. “I didn’t know you had arrived, Master Nurthrum. I am so glad you are here. “
Nurthrum bowed to Saren. “Just this hour. I received a message from Her Majesty that there was an issue between some dwarves and she would appreciate as many opinions in the matter as possible.”
“We have much to do this afternoon, gentlemen,” Saren said, motioning for everyone to sit. “If someone could close the door, we can get this sorted out. Menwoth, if you could, in a clear and calm manner, explain your grievance against Douglon?”
Menwoth, with a quick glance at Nurthrum, stated his accusations again, this time, in a more subdued tone. Saren listened patiently, and Douglon, with a few snorts and shakes of his head, listened as well.
“Do you have anything to say, Douglon?” Saren asked when Menwoth had finished.
With surprising restraint, Douglon stated his own case.
“Nurthrum,” Sare
n said, “do you have an opinion on this matter?”
The older dwarf bowed. “Your Majesty, I have known both of these fine dwarves since they were knee high. I do not doubt either of their stories. Anyone who knows Douglon knows that he has no interest in the crown at all. It has been a trial to King Horgoth on many occasions that Douglon is unwilling to do anything related to the throne.”
Douglon straightened up proudly at this dubious support.
“I know that Menwoth also speaks the truth, that King Horgoth has indeed accused Douglon of treason before a full court.”
“Then what are we to do?” Saren asked.
Nurthrum turned to Douglon. “I have your word that the accusations are false?”
“Good Grayven’s Beard! Of course they’re false!”
Nurthrum nodded and turned back to Saren. “I will inform King Horgoth that the charges are disputed. If Douglon will agree to come to Duncave as soon as he can to present his case to Horgoth, I will vouch for him until then.”
Saren blinked in surprise at the easy solution. “Menwoth, are you willing to stand by Nurthrum’s decision?”
Menwoth glowered at Douglon, his mouth clamped shut. He gave a quick nod.
“Excellent,” Saren said with a relieved air. “Then we have a great many other things to discuss with the council. Thank you each for coming—”
“Excuse me, Your Majesty,” Nurthrum said, “We may have a slight problem convincing King Horgoth that this is the right decision.”
Saren leveled a gaze at the dwarf.
“Perhaps a gesture of good will to go along with the news?”
“What do you want, Nurthrum,” Saren asked tiredly.
“Kollman Pass.”
Menwoth looked quickly at Nurthrum, then a little too eagerly back at Saren.
The queen’s eyebrows rose. “Kollman Pass? You want the only western pass out of my lands? In response to this situation? The High Dwarf has been trying to get Kollman Pass since before my husband died. I’m not about to hand it over to keep one dwarf out of trouble.”
Nurthrum glanced around the room and his gaze stopped on Alaric.
“Rumors are flying about the palace, Your Majesty. They say a Keeper has returned and that he travels with elves and dwarves and that his presence here means there is great trouble on the horizon.”
Alaric watched the dwarf closely. Whatever game Nurthrum was playing, it was working. Saren’s eyes shifted apprehensively between the Nurthrum and Alaric.
“I was under the impression that it was important to you, Your Majesty, that Douglon retain his freedom in order to help the Keeper with whatever it is that is so urgent.” Nurthrum shrugged. “If it is not, then let us drop this discussion all together and arrest Douglon. King Horgoth can have the headache of sorting all this out, and we can continue about our day.”
Saren’s eyes narrowed as she considered the dwarf for a long moment. A sense of foreboding began to gnaw at Alaric. Saren hadn’t gotten any better at negotiating in the past two years. Nurthrum had cornered her. Saren couldn’t give the Pass to the dwarves. It was the only pass through the Scale Mountains. No one in Queensland ever used it, but the army had an outpost there. It was the easiest way for nomads to enter Queensland. The dwarves wouldn’t protect the pass. An army of nomads could be at Saren’s doorstep before she had any clue.
And the small castle Alaric shared with Evangeline was on Kollman Pass.
Saren gripped her hands together in her lap. “Perhaps it is time for an era of cooperation between our people to begin. There are two watchtowers along Kollman Pass. I want one company of my soldiers for each tower and guaranteed safe passage to and from them. They will be limited in their activities to the immediate area of the towers.”
Menwoth’s eyebrows rose and Nurthrum smiled widely.
Alaric opened his mouth to object. That was a terrible idea. In practical terms, if the dwarves owned the pass, there were limitless ways they could trouble and harry the soldiers. This would end with Saren losing the Pass completely. She had backed herself into a corner.
Before Alaric could speak, Saren turned to him. “There is one more condition. When you are finished with your current work, Alaric, you will return to court and remain here until I dismiss you.”
Alaric stared at her for a moment, then closed his mouth.
Nurthrum glanced at him in surprise, realizing at the same moment as Alaric that the negotiation had never been between the dwarves and Saren.
Chapter Thirty-Two
It had never been Saren who was cornered.
Alaric couldn’t let Douglon be arrested for treason just because Alaric was reluctant to come back to court. He clenched his jaw and gave Saren a short nod. “When I am done with what I need to do.”
Saren let out a breath. “Nurthrum, draft up a treaty for the Pass. We will sign it, and you can take it to Horgoth with the news that Douglon will present himself and his case in Duncave as soon as he is finished helping Alaric.”
Alaric watched Saren closely, realizing that the lines on her face looked less like exhaustion and more like experience.
“Now,” Saren said, rising and heading toward the formal council chamber, “we have a council meeting to attend.”
The dwarves filed out of the room, and Alaric set his hand on Saren’s arm to stop her as she walked past. “You gave up Kollman Pass? Just to have me back here?”
Saren’s brow snapped together. “Kollman Pass is just one of the pieces in a complicated agreement I am working on with the dwarves. I’ve been planning to trade the Pass to them for a very long time. Frankly, I never thought I would get the promise of something so valuable in return.” She stepped past Alaric, the corner of her mouth curling up in a triumphant smile. “Once you’re finally back, I’ll take the time to explain it all.”
Alaric stared after her for a long moment, holding down the irritation forming in his chest. She had trapped him. She had played into what everyone thought of her and she had trapped him. Worse, she had played into what Alaric thought of her, complete with sitting in the too-big chair. His irritation broke apart and came out as a huff that was very close to a laugh. His mouth twisted into a rueful smile. Reluctantly, he admitted she had won.
The council table was now full of soldiers in military uniforms, a small man rummaging through a pile of maps, and several others from the nobility. A woman with a large book opened on the table before her was glancing around the room and making notes. Brandson and Milly took seats at the foot of the table near the door. Douglon leaned against the back wall behind them. Ayda looked curiously at the people at the table and sat cross-legged on top of a huge chest that sat near a column close to the queen. Saren gave her a courteous smile as she took her seat, and Ayda beamed back at her.
Alaric walked over to his seat at the table and stood behind it. His black robe felt more conspicuous than before. General Marton, the stalwart leader of Saren’s forces, gave him a friendly nod. It was nice to see a familiar face. There were empty seats at the end of the table next to Milly. The woman with the book opened, who must be the current court scribe, looked at Saren questioningly.
“Duke Thornton and the southern dukes were invited to the council,” Saren said. She pursed her lips and tapped her fingers on the table. Then she glanced at Alaric. “Let’s begin, anyway.”
The woman with the book raised her eyebrow almost imperceptibly before raising her pen.
Saren cleared her throat and the room quieted. “Today, we welcome Keeper Alaric back to court after far too long without him.”
Alaric nodded to the queen.
“We also welcome his companions Brandson, Milly, Douglon, and Princess Aydalya of the Greenwood. Ayda brings us the news we have long feared. She is all that remains of the elven kingdom. The rest of her people were destroyed by Mallon.”
There was a collective gasp as the room looked quickly at Ayda and murmured to each other.
“Alaric brings us some more dire news,”
Saren continued, bringing the room to order. She turned toward him.
Alaric decided to begin with the most straightforward. “The nomads are gathering to the west.”
The mapmaker started rummaging through scrolls, and the scribe began scribbling fiercely. “Where?”
Douglon walked up to the table. “They are rumored to be gathering in the valley below Mt. Dorten.” He pulled a map closer to himself. “This map is terrible. The valley is here. You don’t have it marked.” He pointed at a blank space on the map. “It’s large and flat with good supply of water and plenty of game. There are several ravines that lead to it from the Roven Sweep. A large force could gather there and be supported by the valley for the entire summer.”
The mapmaker began to sketch the valley onto the map.
“Rumored?” General Marton asked.
Douglon nodded. “The dwarves have been finding evidence of them since early spring.”
“And they have sent no one to check it out?” Saren asked.
“No, Your Majesty,” Douglon answered, looking apologetic. “The dwarves don’t think that the actions of humans are particularly important. I’ve sent my cousin to convince the king to look into it.”
Saren considered the map for a moment, then looked at the court scribe. “Didn’t Lord Horwen arrive at court yesterday?” At the woman’s nod, Saren turned to the guard standing near the door.
“Go find Lord Horwen,” Saren told him. She turned back to the room. “Horwen is Lord of Penchen. His lands lie here along the feet of the Scale Mountains. If anyone would have knowledge of that part of the mountains it would be he.”
General Marton leaned over the map, asking Douglon questions while the mapmaker scribbled notes furiously. The general called for and then sent a half-dozen messengers out of the room on assorted errands.
A few minutes later, the door opened and the guard escorted an elderly nobleman into the room, his cane tapping on the floor as he tottered off a bow toward Queen Saren. His doublet was black velvet, emblazoned with a white hawk. She motioned him to the empty chair next to Milly. He tussled with his cane for a moment, thumping it against the chair and table, before sitting. Queen Saren introduced the lord to Alaric.