Gretchen stepped through the deep banks of snow. They drifted as high as her waist in some places. Even the path had not yet been properly packed. The season’s storms were not past them, and no place knew that truth more than the great mountain passes of the Northerlands.
She wasn’t here to retrace the steps of her husband and son, and the others in the search party who had tried, and failed, to bring Pieter home. She trusted their efforts had been in earnest. Returning home with the unfortunate news had weighed heavy on them.
It was Alric’s words ringing the loudest in her mind. It was entertaining, even easy, to laugh at the man’s oddities. She’d been as guilty as anyone. Now the laughter she’d spent on him felt like punishment. For where else could Pieter be? If he disappeared in the same place where Alric had, that could be no mere coincidence.
And if Alric had returned, so could Pieter.
All her life, Gretchen had been patently uninterested in all the talk of Beyond and veils, and Elsewhere. It was the stuff of myths, and what use were myths to those living in the real, provable, tangible world? It seemed to her that no matter the truth, it was irrelevant. The lure of islands beyond the waves was strong for many, but for her, it was a distraction.
Perhaps this was what made it so simple for her to shift from disdain to hope. Her contempt for Alric had been mere annoyance at his strangeness. She had no opinion either way on whether or not he’d traveled beyond the kingdom by stepping through a veil.
Gretchen closed her eyes. She tried to remember precisely where Ransom had said he last saw Pieter, and she stepped sideways until it felt right. No door appeared. No strange trembling filled her limbs, telling her something new was on the horizon. What made Alric and Pieter special? How had Holden and the other escaped what they could not?
Alric was special before he claimed to have stepped into Beyond. Pieter has always believed. Holden, Christian, the others, none of them expected to find Pieter. None of them had hope. They left it in Wulfsgate.
A low rumble sounded in the pass. She looked up with enough time only to see Silverwind bolt for high ground as an avalanche of snow came barreling down upon the tree. Seconds remained before it did.
The veil only opens for one in great need.
Chilled to the bone, heart soaring, Gretchen jumped sideways.
Her left leg was surged with unexpected warmth.
Gretchen looked down and saw that one leg disappeared into the snow of Torrin’s Pass and the other stood firmly upon the sand of a desert.
She closed her eyes. Took one last gulp of breath of the air she knew. Said a silent prayer for Silverwind’s safe return.
The roar was upon her.
Gretchen Dereham stepped into the veil.
55
Put it Behind
The James men hovered near the cluster of wagons, waiting. All their supplies and provisions were packed. The men had been fed, and there was no other unfinished business left untended. Cian and Corin Quinlanden were, together, cleaning up the messes left by The Deceiver, and the people of Whitechurch were relieved to follow them. Oakenwell had resumed command as the right hand of the lord, and though word had already been sent to the Westerlands for the Quinlanden Guard to return home, he sent it once more, and then sent riders to deliver the messages personally. Even a whisper of rebellion was to be put down with swiftness. The Westerland were to be left in peace. At the proper time, reparations would be made to those whose lands and loved ones had been assailed.
Grand Minister Tyndall had departed for the Reliquary. He’d said that he wanted none to hear the news of what happened on these lands but from one who had seen it with his own eyes.
And Joran... Joran, too, had left. He’d delivered his message to the other camp, and then disappeared.
Brandyn had some idea of where he’d gone, though.
I’ve seen your mother, Brandyn. I must go to her.
Where?
I’ll know when I know.
These were the last words Joran had said to Brandyn, the night before everything had gone to pieces.
There was now nothing keeping Brandyn now from going home.
“You look a bit better, now that you’ve had a healer tend to some of your wounds,” Storm said. “Nothing keeping you here now, is there? Your uncle is delaying because you delay.” She nodded at Khallum, who stood alone in the distance, regarding the sky with unusual scrutiny.
“Uncle Khallum? The man doesn’t know the meaning of the word. He was born with his teeth bared, sword in hand.”
“He wanted war, Brandyn. The Warwicks have been awaiting their moment to turn their frustration into bloodlust since before our parents were born. He put it aside to save your life.”
“I don’t understand where he went when you dangled Oakenwell as bait. If you did that to get him inside, where did he go?”
“He didn’t tell you?”
“We haven’t spoken since... what I did on the hill. To Mads.”
“He went looking for you, but he came to the dungeon too late. You were gone, a headless Mortain was heaped in the corner, and the guards that man, Ash, took care of, were laid out in a maze. He ran after you, but he didn’t know your aunt and uncle had taken you to that place... the perch. When he finally made it back to land, that’s when he looked up and saw you, safe.” Storm chuckled to herself. “The man cried. Don’t you tell him I told you.”
“Oh, I could never say that to him.”
“Once he knew you were safe, he seized the traitor, Waters, and bade the rest of us to spread the word of Mortain’s death. We told everyone who we could find to go tell one more, two more, ten more. You wouldn’t believe the relief in their eyes, Brandyn. None of them wanted this. The few who did, who fought against our promise of freedom, are in the dungeon. Cian and Corin can decide their fates. As for me, I’ve never been so happy to leave a place.”
Brandyn turned to her. “Storm. About your parents...”
“No, please don’t.” Storm wrapped her hands over her lone dagger. She tapped her foot against the road in tight, jerky movements. “I’ve made my peace with it, but talking about it will undo it all.”
“Come with me to Longwood Rush. I want you on my council.” Brandyn shook his head. “No, I want you at the head of it. I want you to be the right hand of the lord. I don’t trust anyone else the way I trust you.”
Storm grinned from the side. “Yeah? Me? The stabby one?”
“Who else is gonna dispatch anyone who looks at me sideways?”
“What if your mother comes back?”
Brandyn’s face clouded. “I’ve also made peace with some things, Storm. But I suppose if she does, I’d return to the Sepulchre and continue my training. I still have more to learn before I’ll ever be a decent seer.”
“They wouldn’t let me come guard you there, would they?”
“Not likely.”
Storm looped her arm through his. “Give your uncle a proper goodbye and then let’s make use of the day’s light.”
* * *
“The ravens will have reached some in the kingdom already,” Law said. “Word will be at every corner before we’ve crossed back into the Southerlands.”
“Hmm,” Khallum grunted. “I wish he’d consulted with us first.”
“You don’t agree with his decision?”
“Nay, I agree, but I wasnae prepared for it. We are allies. Allies work together. None of this would have happened without alliances.”
“He’ll be our king. Soon.”
“A truth of which I’m more than aware of seeing as it was me who sprang him from the traitor’s camp.”
“Ryan Strong sprang him,” Law answered without pause. “And the Southerlands will not forget it.”
Khallum scoffed. “I have nay forgotten. I couldnae. Hamish...”
Law nodded. “You’ll need to speak with him, my lord. Disavow him of the fault he’s laid at his own feet for the business with the Saleen. It’s false, and the man alrea
dy carries enough.”
“Aye. I know. I know it.”
“Before we depart?”
“Aye! I said I would, didn’t I?”
Law lifted both hands. “I’ll leave you with your thoughts. If we depart within soon, and keep a fair pace, we could make it to Greenfen before the men give out for the night.”
“Greenfen?” Khallum raised a bow. “I didnae know you were such an ambitious man, Law.”
Law didn’t laugh. “Just the same, my lord.”
“Aye. Aye. Go on, then. Ready the men.”
Brandyn stepped to his side when Law was gone. “We’re leaving soon, Uncle.” He held his palm to the wind, closing his eyes for a moment. “The eastward wind will give us some aid, I should hope.”
A knot formed in Khallum’s chest. “That was your father’s trick.”
“It’s served me well.”
“Aye. Aye.” Khallum nodded away the swell of emotion. “We’ll be departing soon as well. Can still make use of the day’s light.”
“That’s exactly what Storm said.”
“Wise girl. Feckin’ peculiar as all, but smarter than she looks.”
Brandyn chuckled. “I like that about her. She’s going to lead my council.”
Khallum turned a hard frown on him. “A woman? You’ll name a woman to lead your council?”
“I know weaker men, but I don’t know a stronger person.”
Khallum snorted. “Doesnae matter, nephew, who is weak and who is strong. Your men will never follow a woman. Tisn’t the way of things. Never has been, never will be.”
“My mother led the Westerlands for years, and her mother before her.”
“Aye, and now you’re restoring things to the proper way. They’ll all be mighty relieved to have a lord again, but not if ye don’t act like one.”
“Then I’ll fill my entire council with women.”
Khallum was aghast. “Ye cannae go fillin’ yer negotiating tables with bloody rags and rousing fishwife gossip.”
“I can fill it with the most loyal and capable of the Westerlands.”
Khallum turned away, scoffing. He looked toward the skies, where all the dead lived. “Oh, aye, Byrne, I’ll be making a fair few trips to Longwood Rush, don’t ye worry.”
Brandyn giggled. Khallum was reminded that his nephew was only a boy, even if he was so much more than that now.
“I will, though. To check in on ye, of course, but I’ve also some business with the Westerlands.”
“Oh?”
“Aye. My men in the Southerlands are starving. You’ve a shortage of minerals in your own lands. We can aid one another, I ken.”
Brandyn nodded. “Yeah. Let’s do that, Uncle.” He took a deep breath. “I came over to thank you. For coming to my aid in Greystone, and for riding with me to Whitechurch, even if you didn’t understand.”
Khallum dropped his hand to the boy’s shoulder. “It is nay often I’ll admit I was wrong.”
“Thank you for saying it now.”
Khallum laughed. “Boy, did I say I was wrong?”
Brandyn threw himself against Khallum so hard it knocked them both unsteady. His small arms could barely make it around, but Khallum held him there, thinking of the last time he’d embraced his own sons. Thinking of the last time he’d seen Byrne, in Termonglen, and how he’d chided him for loving so hard.
Khallum finally ended the moment. It wouldn’t do to get twisted up in pointless emotions now, or for the men to see it.
“I’ll send ye some men for yer council,” Khallum promised. “Men,” he re-emphasized.
Brandyn grinned. “Thank you, Uncle. Just don’t be surprised when the women send ’em packing back to their wives.”
* * *
Khallum found both the men he needed, together. Darrick and Hamish conversed at the side of one of the wagons. Hamish was in his emotions, flush-faced and waving his hands around. Darrick’s calm only underscored the state Hamish was in.
“Your Grace. Hamish.”
Both men paused their animated discourse to greet Khallum.
Khallum turned to Darrick. “Ride with me, Your Grace? We have much to discuss, now that the kingdom knows of your return. I’m afraid it cannae wait until we arrive in Warwicktown.”
Darrick nodded. Khallum noted that he couldn’t keep his eyes from wandering south, to where the Saleen met their gruesome end. Would he always turn his eyes in that direction? Would he ever sleep a full night again?
“Yes, Lord Warwick. I was telling Steward Strong here that as soon as we arrive I want to begin work on forming a council with representatives from every Reach. I have some names in mind, but would like other’s opinions as well.”
“To mount our offense against Duncarrow?”
“A council, Lord Warwick. Filled with men of keen minds, eager to discuss how we can unite without the need for war. Eoghan must be removed. But others do not need to die needlessly to see it done.”
“He has a sorcerer, Your Grace.”
“Yes, and there are two others out there somewhere. Have you wondered why they didn’t join forces with Mortain and Oldwin?”
“No, I—”
“I have,” Darrick said. “I’ve thought about it a great deal. And there can only be two answers that work properly enough to be true. Either they wish to live in peace and stay out of the turmoil, or they are foes of the ones who brought such harm to the kingdom. Either outcome leaves us exclusive of their intentions.”
“With respect, Your Grace, those assumptions are not without merit, but they render us vulnerable if we rely on them.”
Darrick smiled. “We’re no longer vulnerable, Lord Warwick. We are becoming, for the first time in years, a kingdom united. I don’t fear Oldwin, or Isdemus, or Lysanor. I fear discord. I fear a lack of unity. Those are the scourges that tear kingdoms apart.”
“So, you’ll just sail to Duncarrow and ask him to leave nicely?”
“Eoghan or Oldwin?”
“Does it matter?”
Darrick sighed. “That’s what the council is for. We will decide what to do next, together.”
* * *
Hamish squirmed in place. The sorrow gulping upward from his insides was too much to bear. He’d spent the intervening hours between the slaughter at the south end of Whitechurch and now poring over the details of his life, searching for the crimes he must have committed to find himself here, the arbiter of the end of a race of peoples.
Even Garrick couldn’t meet his eyes. They’d ridden together into battle, which was not how it was supposed to be. Garrick should have been leading his own men, but he’d stayed at Hamish’s side, practically shitting himself in terror. The ripe smell of death was not yet upon them, but in Garrick’s eyes was a glimpse of it, as if he was already part of a future that would come to pass faster than any of them realized.
How could they have known? The soldiers weren’t wearing armor, but it wouldn’t be the first run-in with savages for the Southerland men, and men didn’t need mail or plate to throw an axe into the center of your forehead.
The Medvedev had swarmed in, wielding their arms high and ready to strike. The Southerland men were faster—or so they thought—and the battle was over so quickly he thought there must be another word for it. He dared not call it a slaughter, for they would never have... they would never have...
When they counted their losses, they were so few, they counted again.
And again.
They started to count the losses among the Saleen, but did the number matter when it was all of them? Men, women, children. They’d all died indiscriminately.
“They just came at us.”
“There were so many. They didnae stop, or slow.”
“Did ye see the look in their eyes?”
“Barbarians. Tha’s what it reminded me of, yeah? Ye ken? Ye know, up high in the Northerlands, where the men don’t go?”
Hamish and Garrick milled through their dazed men, picking up these scattered refra
ins that all said the same thing in their own ways. The Medvedev had flown at them with unslakeable bloodlust. They had answered decisively, and as they buried their swords in bellies, or drew them across necks, the Medvedev simply stopped. Their arms dropped to their sides. Their eyes took on a glazed look. And all at once, they fell. Many bled out. Others just ceased to exist.
The prince told them it was the magic that did it. The magic that bade them come streaming in, the magic that killed them. But Hamish himself had to peel his sword from the bowels of a purple-haired woman. He met Garrick’s eyes as Garrick retrieved his from a small child.
“Hamish.”
Hamish struggled to look at his lord. Khallum had entrusted him with the whole of the Southerland Guard, and he had used it to annihilate an entire peoples.
“Look at me, mate. There’s no use in it, what you’re doing to yerself. It won’t do once we ride for home.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Feck off with that ‘my lord’ bollocks, Hamish. I’m talking to you as your mate right now, ye ken? I donnae have time for the sulkin’. It has no place here.”
Hamish forced himself to do as his lord commanded. There was no hiding the bleariness in his eyes, or the cause of it. “I’ll do better.”
Khallum grunted. His face softened. He looked conflicted about something, but before Hamish could decipher it, Khallum had him in a quick, hard embrace. “No one has ever served me better, Hamish Strong. Now, pick yerself up and be done with it. Put it behind ye. You’ve a son awaiting your return who needs a man capable of putting it behind him. Ye ken?”
Hamish sniffed. “I ken.”
“Ain’t nothing more to it. Our path is forward, not behind us.”
“Aye. Aye, Khallum.”
“We’ll already be chasing the sun. Law’s found his sense of humor, thinking we can make it to Greenfen by nightfall. You and I both know better, though, don’t we? Salt and sand.”
Hamish wiped the offensive tears from his face. “Salt and sand.”
Khallum clapped his hand down on Hamish’s shoulder, squeezed, and walked off.
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