“I'm no lady, and I wander where I please.”
The man chuckled. “You're all alike, you know.”
“I'm afraid you're confusing me for someone else, lumping me in with a group to whom I don't belong.”
“Oh?” The man sat back and swished ale in his cheeks, then swallowed and smacked his lips. “You hear many speaking that way around these parts?”
“It's not a crime to speak well.”
“No, no it's not.” He took another sip, less emphatically this time. “Yet so few do.”
“I guess I'm one in a million.”
“I'd say more like one in five.” His eyes remained solid brown and she could not read him at all, yet she sensed he knew exactly who she was. He chuckled again, finishing his ale and placing it on the table to the side. Then he leaned forward and rested his hands on his thighs. She caught a glimpse of a sword hilt, a smooth handle made of light-colored wood, almost white, with a pommel shaped like a rising sun.
“You've nothing to fear from me, Lady Ferai. Tell me, why didn't you speak with me in the wharf? I was sorry to hear of your family.” His words trailed off, then he mumbled something and looked skyward.
Did he just speak to himself?
“You saw me?” She’d been so careful since departing the seminary, masking her identity as best possible and keeping to herself, but in retrospect both the faithful and Veydun had recognized her. And that blasted moonlight woman. Perhaps she had not been as clever as she had thought.
“I did. You are an Astral.”
It had never occurred to her that the Arbiters sensed her starlight, that her channel attracted the Dawnmen like moths to a flame. “You're right. I was going to seek a bond, but became distracted.” It was simple enough, no reason to circle around the point.
He nodded. “The moonlight woman.”
“I don't suppose I should be surprised to know you were watching. Were you listening, too?”
“I was.”
She sighed. “Well, what do you think I should do?”
The Arbiter pulled his hands close and sat straighter. “You should not take Sotma Rayn's offer.”
Ahryn's jaw dropped. “How do you know about that?”
“Whispers on the wind.”
“No, you tell me right now.” The alehouse, unlike many others, sported multiple windows in the ceiling, providing clean sight to the stars, though gray vapors from the mysterious fog clouded them slightly. She could call to Ferai easily enough, though she was concerned about the defiance of the man who sat across from her.
“Thank your friends in blue robes.”
Bah!
“Why would they tell you about that?” she asked. “Who are you?”
The man's face darkened, the hint of a smile fading and his eyes turning back to stone. “I am no one.”
“I don't believe you. Fine, Arbiter, if you will not tell me, I will simply seek my bond now.”
“I take no more bonds.”
“My family was murdered,” she said, raising her voice. “My father, my defenseless mother, my sweet brother, killed in their own home by a shadow, for no reason I understand. I deserve vengeance!” She remained conscious of her surroundings but was barely able to control her fury.
“You do at that, Lady Ferai, but you won't get any from me.”
“You are an Arbiter, and I am invoking a bond,” she pleaded. “You cannot refuse me!” The memories of recent days left her, the call to the faith abandoned. Her life, her entire meaning, spiraled inward into a narrow pinprick of focus. Justice for her family consumed her mind. So many weeks of sorrow and mourning coalesced into this single, weak moment.
“I can refuse you,” he said, “and not only because the tenets prohibit personal invocation. You see, I've been forsaken.” His words were softer now, and he gripped his hands together. Her eyes glanced at his chest, looking for a sigil, but finding none. The crest of the Orange Dawn was nowhere to be seen, only stains of dirt on a grey tunic.
Another pang of realization hit her in the face. “You are the Arbiter bonded to Sotma?!”
It was his turn to be surprised. “Something you learned from Veydun?”
“Yes. He told me you were excommunicated. Is that true?”
“It is.” The man looked pained. “The Order cast me out, severed ties. I am longer a disciple, no longer an arm of the Order's justice. The Lion was kind enough to leave me with the bonds I had, though he forbade me from taking any more. I am sorry, Lady Ferai, I cannot give you the justice you seek.”
“Is that why you've been creeping through the outer rows, drowning yourself in ale?” She sought to injure the man with scorn he did not deserve.
My family's honor depends on me!
He did not rise to the bait, instead staring blankly over her head. She turned and saw nothing, then frowned. The Arbiter become despondent, as if his entire identity had changed at the mention of the Order and his bonds. What had happened to cause this man to be cast out from the sacrosanct Order of the Orange Dawn? They were the firstborn warriors of justice, resolute and unyielding, principled and noble. But he'd been forsaken—why? It didn't matter. She needed him.
Guilt riddled her. Despite his daunting physical presence and hardened appearance, the man radiated kindness and a purity she did not understand.
“Veydun also said you were a great man, once.” He lifted his eyes to her, but said nothing. “He said you would not rest until you found justice for Sotma Rayn, until you completed your bond.”
The Arbiter's response was unexpected. He stood from the table and his hulking mass cast a shadow from candlelight, eclipsing her much smaller frame. “I'm sorry for your loss, Lady Ferai, and that I cannot help you. Light knows I want to. But I can tell you this: Veydun is not an honorable man, and his existence threatens the peace kept by the Order for generations. But this thing he's told you is not wrong. I will not rest until my bonds are complete and Sotma Rayn has his retribution. When he does, when the killer is brought to his knees, your family be avenged. Until then, Lady Ferai, there is information to seek.”
The Arbiter marched past her to the alehouse door. She pushed back from her chair and raced after him, following him out the door and striding next to him along cobblestone streets. He said nothing and seemed unconcerned at her decision to join him. Perhaps he'd expected it.
They walked together for a while. If the Arbiter had a direction, he did not share it—and she did not ask. She didn’t know where else to go: Sanctus Mount was a graveyard, and the Ferai estate was in flux. She’d abandoned Hecta and the seminary to instead chase an assassin. And the city-home was destitute, likely looted with no one to oversee the trade and function. There was the faith, of course, full with worshipers who opened doors and begged her to take the holy seat. She had said she would but not when. The drive for vengeance, led by this monolithic Arbiter, offered her the chance to see it through.
In time, they reached Celaena's main waterway, the busiest and quickest artery of transport throughout the city. The Arbiter began to prepare a boat, readying the seats and removing the rope mooring from the dock's anchor. Ahryn stepped into the boat when it was ready. As she did, she recalled the last time she'd seen her father. Now she sat in the presence of another man of strength, of honor, and he stood tall above the water, armor gleaming in the twilight.
The Arbiter dropped the rope so it coiled on the bottom of the boat, then kicked off from the dock. The pair drifted into the channel, a faint western breeze at the sail. “The road to righteousness is dangerous, Lady Ferai. You don't know what I know.”
“Then you'll tell me,” she said, “and we'll know the same. And while you're at it, you can show me how to use one of those.” She pointed at the hilt of his sword. The Arbiter looked at the hilt for a long time and again seemed to whisper to himself, as if talking to someone unseen. Then he raised his head, met her eyes, and replied.
“So be it, Lady Ferai. We make for the southern coast.”
&n
bsp; “The southern coast?”
“That's right. I must speak with the cloudwatchers.”
“The cloudwatchers? Whatever for?”
“There have been strange tidings. This fog enveloping the city is not natural—they will have answers. Come, help me row. There is one other stop we must make. It's along the way.”
“Where are we going first?”
“To the seminary, Lady Ferai.”
She panicked. The thought of the seminary brought back painful memories.
“You never told me your name, Dawnman.” She grabbed an oar, then helped turn the boat around to begin their long ride south.
He didn't look around, but kept his eyes forward as he rowed and spoke back to her with the same deep, calm voice.
“Ezai. My name is Ezai.”
Chapter Fifteen
“We must look to each other, just as the apostles looked into all of us and said, ‘Lo! You are the world!’”
The High Prophet at the Sundered Valley
Veydun stood with Uriyeh in the Arcanum, a many-ringed room with high ceilings and stained-glass windows, a jeweled counterpoint to the dark, cold stone of the citadel. Many times, he’d lounged in the Arcanum, stuffing his belly with delicacies and gazing at the refraction from orange sunlight of the morning dawn.
The Order filled the Arcanum with lost treasures and hidden wisdom. Here, they stored collected knowledge, housed the foundations and development of the tenets, and began the path with every firstborn to instill an unshakable call to justice. Rife with tradition, the Arcanum represented the pinnacle of the Order's self-importance and delusions of virtue and nobility.
Noble, hah.
There was nothing noble about the Order—not anymore. Once, they'd been strong, fierce, and Veydun had believed in their cause. He’d lost faith a long time ago. Now the Lion looked old and weak, despite his height and breadth. And the forebearers remained a collection of old men and women who deserved to be up on the shelves as faded pages of forgotten books. A new age had fallen upon the Dominion, and it was now the time for men like Veydun to seize opportunity and become what his Brothers and Sisters never could.
“Do you have news of Ezai, Brother? I worry for him.” Uriyeh leaned on his cane, palm gripped around a lion's head, and used his other hand to hold open the page of a book laid flat on a lectern.
“Why?” Veydun reclined in a chair, then flipped a ball of ribbum in the air and caught it. “He brought shame to the Order, and thus he is responsible for his own fate.”
“Still, he is Nesher's son.” Uriyeh flipped a page. “I do not think we will ever recover from the loss of his bloodline.”
Veydun scrunched his nose as if he'd smelled spoiled milk. “It's a shame Ezai was the last of his family, with no seconds or thirds to take his place and carry on the Eagle's name. If only Yella hadn’t fallen. His wife was strong.”
“Light be with her,” the Lion murmured as he read.
“Light be with her,” Veydun completed the respects. He missed her. She'd been the strongest of a generation, stronger than many of the firstborn sons, her lineage old and pure.
“You should have taken his bastard sword, Uriyeh; Dawnbreak belongs in the Keep, with us. Even if only to hang it on the walls next to your greatsword, it should be here, not with honorless Ezai.”
“I could do no such thing, Veydun.” The Lion's voice remained calm, and he kept his words simple, as old men tended to do. Veydun reached for more.
“Out of pity?”
Uriyeh finally rose from his study, arched his back to stretch, then stood tall on his cane. Even in his old age, and despite his wrinkles and muscles that sometimes shook, the Lion's strength showed in his eyes, stern and focused.
“No,” he said, resolute. “Out of respect. Dawnbreak belonged to the Eagle, and to his father before him, and so on. That sword has lived in Ezai's family for years upon years, and it was the Eagle's to give to his son. No one objected when he passed Dawnbreak to Ezai, because all understood. The sword is theirs, Veydun, not ours.”
Veydun tossed the ball again. “But the sword is perhaps the greatest artifact of the Order.”
“No doubt, Veydun, no doubt.”
The Lion said no more on the subject, but Veydun’s task required him to press further. The lunar celebrations approached, and there was little time to tame the Lion before returning to Sotma.
“It would be useful to retrieve the sword, Uriyeh, given what comes.” Veydun caught the ball, then stood to approach the Lion, who loomed larger and more fearsome with every step. “I bring word from the East, from the Expanse.”
Uriyeh's face firmed. “What information do you bring?”
“Marcinian Lokka calls for aid. The expeditions have finally yielded a result, though it appears not a pleasant one. The last scouts returned in tatters, all but vanquished by some unknown force—a force headed for the Dominion, they say. Reports indicate many crude barbarians bearing metal clubs and spiked staves. Pillars of smoke rise on the horizon, campfires growing closer every day.”
Uriyeh did not move or reveal any emotion. “How reliable is your information?”
“Firsthand. Upon receiving these reports, I visited the Sundered Valley. I saw for myself the wreckage of the expeditions, the fear residing in the faces of the survivors, and the campfire smoke. There can be no doubt; an evil comes to the Dominion, and the Order must answer. We cannot leave the Lokka to stand alone. The Valley cannot fall; it is the gateway to the rest of our world. If the Lokka fail and the Valley falls, the islands will be open to a new enemy.”
“How long until this blight arrives?”
Veydun made a show of hemming and hawing. “If the reported numbers are accurate, and given the distance of the smoke, I'd say a week—two, maybe.”
Uriyeh refused to bite. “What else has Marcinian done? An enemy from the Expanse is unprecedented, a significant event, no doubt. Why have I not heard of this?”
He shrugged, pulling strands of red hair back behind his ears. “Perhaps it has been discussed among the Astral as something they thought they could handle, but now realize they cannot.”
The Lion shut his book, one Veydun didn't recognize—one with a star on the cover. “I must speak with the forebearers. Ezai is gone; to send a host east would leave many starless undefended, and many wrongs committed in the city would go unheard and unavenged.”
Now for the hard part.
“I believe more than a host is needed, Uriyeh.”
“What are you proposing?”
“Send the entire might of the Order, all of our Brothers and Sisters, united in a charge to the east in the defense of the world and the starless within.”
The Lion bellowed a laugh. “Empty the Keep and abandon everyone and everything to confront a whisper on the wind?”
“It is not a whisper! Dark things move in the east, never before seen or recorded. Isn't it our duty to protect? Don't the tenets call for us to act?” Veydun pleaded. Of course, it was all a lie, a clever ploy to draw the Arbiters to the farthest reaches of the Dominion, far away from the coming battle, because even with Ezai gone there were many firstborn Brothers and Sisters left who would come to the aid of the starless. It would be a resurgence of the war.
Uriyeh sighed. “I will consider this, but it will require a full conclave to decide. And there must be justice at all times, Veydun; even if the forebearers agree, who will look out for the helpless when we are gone?”
“I will remain behind.”
Uriyeh smiled, then clapped a large hand on his shoulder. “How noble. But you are not Ezai, for all your strength and finesse. I am not sure you are equipped to maintain the balance yourself. If the Orders chooses to go east, more than you must be left behind.”
Veydun did not like the idea of Arbiters remaining in Celaena to be left for slaughter at the hands of the united Astral and their Kriv soldiers. But so be it. War always demanded a heavy price. He squeezed the ball of ribbum until it dug into h
is hand and caused pain to shoot up his arm.
“As you say, Uriyeh. On a clear night, even just a handful of us are enough to defy the Astral's starlight—these days, with this fog everywhere, who's to say the Astral can even channel? Reports say they walk the streets at night less and less.”
“Perhaps, but don't underestimate them—especially not Sotma Rayn and his blade. The Eagle made that mistake a decade ago.”
Veydun almost choked on the irony. If only the foolish Lion smelled what conspired under his nose. Old men, old days. Their end time drew close.
“Of course not, Uriyeh. I will leave you, then, to speak with the forbearers. But I urge that you not take long. Who knows what darkness from the east will come.”
Sotma Rayn stood with Marcinian Lokka on a raised platform on the porch of a long, flat teywood building. The build had no roof, only thin walls between large, empty rooms. He raised his hand to his eyes, shielding them from the rays of an afternoon sun burning bright high overhead; a gentle breeze blew across his skin, the air ripe with sweetness from golden fields of wheat stretched in every direction. Almost a perfect day. He frowned at the strange fog settling over the stalks.
The harvest approached, an important event for House Lokka. He'd learned all about it on his way to the plains from his escorts, who had prattled on with an arrogance familiar to the starlords of the eastern islands. Upon his arrival, he saw starless servants bustling through preparatory chores. Soon, he envisioned the hundreds more who would walk the fields with scythe and sickle, hacking at wheat and filling their bags. He tracked them in his mind's eye as they continued as far as the fields took them, all the way to the Sundered Valley and through the meadows, until they reached the very edge of the Expanse—the uncharted and dangerous land extending east from the Valley—but no farther. He followed them as they returned to fill the empty rooms of the building with their take, bundled wheat awaiting transport to Celaena to be milled into flour, baked into bread, and peddled for tokens.
Remember the Dawn Page 24