by Alex Lang
Sylmae didn’t reply, and he wondered why he felt so impertinent.
“Very well. I will get to the matter at hand. You need to release Lord Governor Velledon immediately.”
Caldir scowled at the phrasing. “You mean… hand him over to you?”
“No. He needs to be freed before those within the Imperium discover he is gone.”
“They don’t know yet?”
“No, they do not.”
Caldir wanted to know how she knew this. There were limits to what seers could glean and pry. Of course, it had been Sylmae who’d told him those limits. “Why?”
“There are schemes in the works, and those schemes require that Velledon be free. Is it not enough that I ask it?”
“No, that this time. I have need of the lord governor.” Caldir felt a prick of dread at defying her.
“Yes, a trade.”
“Enough,” he said, just shy of a shout. “I grow weary of speaking from the dark. If you wish me to consider this, then tell me why. Tell me what scheme I’m entangled in.”
Her gold coins shone in the lantern-light and jingled as she shook her head. “You speak as though I’m the only one keeping secrets. Your new friend, the one with the unique ability… Do you know what he truly is?”
“You know?” His curiosity spoke before he could rein it in.
“I have my suspicions, and the methods with which to verify.”
He burned to know, but he would not be distracted or diverted now. “Tell me why you wish the lord governor’s release.”
Sylmae sighed as though disappointed. “Very well, I anticipated as much. Given the unusual nature of this situation, I am willing to make an exception. Please do not do anything rash, Caldir.”
At an unspoken cue, Kelv, that statue of a man, moved into one of the side tunnels. A moment later he returned with another figure in tow. Gilvys of House Lasterri, Lord Governor Velledon’s scribe and assistant, stood within the chamber.
Caldir managed to catch himself before he stood. He clenched his jaw, suppressing all the varied questions and outbursts he had until one question that could not be restrained. “The Lord Governor is one of yours?”
Sylmae laughed, one of genuine mirth, the sound intermingling with the tinkling of her veil.
“Oh, if only that were so. That would prove so much easier. But I suppose we have the next best thing. Gilvys is the agent, the one whispering in the ears of the powerful.”
Caldir looked upon the man again. He had spent considerable time and resources learning everything there was to know about Gilvys of House Lasterri. His entire life had been examined and accounted for, searching for some vulnerability to exploit. How this unassuming man could be Sylmae’s creature, he could not fathom. As Caldir studied the scribe under new eyes, Gilvys shuddered. His rounded shoulders straightened, and he stood taller, his body seeming to have lengthened. A twitching movement started under the skin of his forehead, moving down his cheeks and over his chin like a wave. His always-distressed expression melted away to reveal a countenance more apathetic, more aloof, though the hint of a smug smile played at the corner of his lips.
“Your man was fortunate on the bridge. I would have gutted him if I didn’t have to feign this.” Gilvys, or rather the Yuwon wearing his face gestured to its own body.
“Ahsheef,” Sylmae hissed. It sounded like a reprimand, and Caldir didn’t know if that was their true name or a word in another language.
Gilvys blinked once slowly, then bowed his head deference.
The revelation and exchange had clouded his mind, and only now was Caldir piecing together the implications. The raid upon his warehouse three years past, the seizure of the relics, the death of his men and the capture of Grunul. He had often thought someone betrayed him, informed the city watch, but he’d never suspected that it was Sylmae.
“You betrayed me.”
“Do not be dramatic. I gave the information to Gilvys, so he could prove his worth, gain the lord governor’s trust, and raise in position within the Artificers of Falduin. You, my dear Caldir, were never in any danger.”
“My people—” he growled.
“Mean nothing!” Sylmae jabbed a finger at him, then, seeming to recompose herself, folded her hands within her robes again. “They were necessary sacrifices for the greater good. Your sentimentality for your people has brought us here.”
Sentimentality. It took him a moment to realize that Velledon had said the same of him. “I strike at our enemy, only to learn he is a puppet of yours and I am somehow to blame.”
“You strike at the enemy to reclaim your lover, to settle a grudge. This is not a matter of fault. We are here to resolve things before they spiral further out of control.”
Caldir wasn’t willing to dismiss the matter so easily. “I was cut open and kneaded back together for two days. I do not think I would have survived a third. During that time, my one conviction was to not betray you or the cause. To use the techniques you’ve taught me to keep the seer from glimpsing my true secrets. Now, you’re telling me,” he glared at Gilvys in disgust, “a compatriot was the cause?”
“You are confounding the issue. You stole from the lord governor. Your own actions brought about the consequences. Gilvys was not the cause of your apprehension. He didn’t know your true allegiance any more than you knew his. I’ve never questioned your loyalty, Caldir. However, in order to achieve our lofty objective, our conviction to it cannot be secondary to anything else. Not family or friends.”
Caldir closed his eyes and dug his thumbs into his temples, massaging. “You have yet to tell me what purpose Velledon serves.”
Sylmae told him then of the grand plan, and Caldir had to admit, it was audacious, and if successful, would change everything.
“I see… but how does my request hinder this plan any? As I’ve told…” Caldir hesitated, unsure what to call the impostor, “Gilvys, I’m willing to release Velledon in exchange for my companions. Their release would not interfere with your scheme. Why summon me here at all? Why not let me continue playing the fool and go through with the trade?”
Gilvys looked to Sylmae and, at a nod from her, his demeanor and posture changed, back to that of the demure, slouched scribe. “My deepest apologies, butI cannot honor the deal. The Marlander and one other, a man by the name of Rollim, were killed while trying to escape. I was only made aware of this after our encounter.”
Caldir wanted to laugh at the absurd claim, but the way Sylmae turned to Gilvys as if the man had broken some established script gave him pause. He looked between the two, expecting for one to counter the statement or elaborate further, to clarify the misunderstanding. Both remained silent, as if they waited on him.
It couldn’t be true. When they’d surrendered in the arena, he had told Grunul to trust him, to not throw away his life needlessly, that he would somehow see them free. Grunul had listened and laid down his axes.
“You lie,” he finally managed. This was false, a deception or some punishment. Another ploy of the grand schemer in order to manipulate him, but he couldn’t see the reason behind it.
“Caldir, this is an unfortunate turn—”
“Shut up,” Caldir commanded. A rage welled up in him, and he did not want to hear more from her. If he had Kyris’s talent or Ellse’s speed and ferocity, he could get the truth out of them. Acts of brutality flashed across his mind.
Sylmae flinched, and Kelv reached behind his back, but she raised a hand to stay the bodyguard. “Calm. There is no need for violence. We will reach an accord.” She reached up and unfastened her veil, then set it aside. She threw back her hood, and they looked at each other for the first time.
She was a beautiful woman, younger than he’d imagined with only the hint of wrinkles around her eyes and mouth. Perhaps in her late forties, but one could never tell among those with the means to combat the ravages of age. Although her beauty seemed a natural thing; present were the flaws and slight mis-proportions that fleshmenders were so w
ont to eliminate. Her hair was black with a streak of gray-white down the right side. Her bright blue eyes, those that he’d thought to have glimpsed once or twice before, ensnared him with their intensity.
“Do not indulge your anger,” she said, and it was an odd feeling to put a voice he’d known for so long to a stranger’s face. “It is shortsighted. Or, at the very least, put it aside for now. You can hate me, but act upon it a different day. We are so close to our goal.”
Caldir’s world closed in around him, but he would not show them his sorrow. He recognized Sylmae’s gesture for what it was, another calculated move. He steeled his mind, as he had during the torture. He buried deep his true thoughts, set aside his emotions, and proceeded with what this was from the beginning—a negotiation.
Now that he understood what was at stake, he also knew that he had the leverage. They would accept his terms and make the necessary concessions. Sylmae was right, there would be time later for grief… and a reckoning.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Enticed by the aroma of what smelled like meat stew, Kyris dragged himself from bed, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders over his loose fitting nightshirt and pants. He shuffled down a short flight of stairs, out of the loft sleeping area; his world for the last few days. They were staying at a farmhouse in the Dales, east of Vigil, or so he’d been told. He didn’t remember arriving. He had simply woken up there. Everything after killing Rexam was a disjointed mess. Bits and pieces had come back to him over time. He’d been carried by Ellse, he thought, or perhaps that was a dream. He remembered seeing Jahna and Tasi looming over him, the latter crying. Then there was Sandamar, and the pain and the screaming. Kyris had again been convinced the pitiless man had been trying to kill him, no doubt still holding a grudge from their fight in the warehouse. But the others were adamant that the Ormossan outcast had saved his life. He had to admit, though he ached terribly everywhere, his bones were intact. Not the condition Rexam’s crushing blows had left them in. Tasi spoke of being on a boat, but he remembered none of it. Since waking, his sisters had confined him to bed. Except for trips to the chamber pot, he hadn’t left his bed, let alone the room.
His wardens were absent, so he took the opportunity to move about, to explore the building, and investigate the source of the mouth-watering smell.
The house was a small and simple thing. His sisters slept on cots beneath his loft. The only other space was the central room which acted as the kitchen and dining area. It reminded him of his family home, though even that had been grander.
Some men he did not know but who were in Caldir’s employ were there, as well, but they slept out in the barn.
Kalib, one of the men, had said they were there to protect and guard, though Kyris couldn’t help but to wonder if that was the whole truth. Perhaps Caldir wanted to make sure he didn’t go anywhere. Regardless, he was in no condition to run, and he needed answers before he left.
Kyris had been eager for news when he woke. Kalib had been the one to tell him of Caldir’s plan to exchange the lord governor for Grunul and the rest, but there had been no update for three days.
The door to the cottage opened as Kyris was peeking into the pot that simmered over the hearth. Tasi and Jahna entered, each carrying an armload of small branches.
“What are you doing out of bed?” Tasi asked, her tone heavy with disapproval. “Get back right now.”
“I’ll die of doldrums. Besides, I feel much better.” Kyris demonstrated by swinging an arm and kicking up a leg. He had to fight hard to hold in his grimace. “And I’m hungry.”
“All right, but don’t over do it. Sit, and I’ll see if the stew is ready.”
Jahna made her way to a chair at the table as Tasi deposited the wood in the corner and went to check on the stew. She pulled some leaves from her apron, crushed them, then dropped them into the pot.
“You had us worried, brother,” Jahna said.
“I’m sorry, Jahna. Things got out of control.”
“It doesn’t matter. We’re just glad you’re safe, and it’s all over.”
He reached out a hand to hers and gave it a squeeze. Was it over, though?
“All right, it’ll be awhile yet before the stew is done,” Tasi announced after some stirring. She joined Jahna at the table. “This is good timing, Kyris. I was just about to start on the second book.”
“Oh, what happened to the other one?”
“We’ve already finished it. You wouldn’t have liked it.”
There was something strained in Tasi’s voice, a forced cheerfulness, he thought. They’d all been through so much, but it was finally over. Once they received the good word from Caldir, they would leave Vigil forever. Adar’s death had upset her greatly, and perhaps she was mourning what could have been.
Kyris settled in a chair as Tasi read the title, “The Misadventures of Mogis Mythe.”
A whistle sounded outside, and Tasi went to the window. She watched for a moment, then announced, “Someone’s coming up the road. I think it’s Caldir.”
As Kyris stood, Jahna clasped his arm, holding him back. They froze like that for a few heartbeats, neither speaking, then she let him go.
“Don’t worry, we’re just going to talk.” He placed a hand on her shoulder for reassurance, then headed out.
It was nearing sundown. Kyris pulled the blanket tight around himself, surprised that it had gotten so much colder seemingly overnight.
Two riders came to a stop in front of the barn. One was Caldir, and the other was a man Kyris didn’t recognize, much to his disappointment. He had both hoped and dreaded that it might be Ellse.
Kalib met the men as they dismounted. They exchanged words, then Kalib took the horses and the unknown man towards the barn.
Caldir, holding a canvas-wrapped bundle, approached him. As he drew near, Kyris noted the man looked haggard, as if he hadn’t slept in days. His eyes seemed haunted and the skin beneath them sagged.
“Are you well?” Kyris asked.
Caldir gave a cheerless smile. “Shouldn’t that be my question to you?”
“It’s just…”
“I’m fine, Kyris.”
It was obvious that the man was not, but he didn’t press further.
Then it occurred to him that something had gone wrong. A dread filled him and he asked, “The exchange with the Lord Governor Velledon?
When Caldir hesitated as if considering the answer, Kyris was certain the plan had failed, but the man said, “Yes. It’s done. The exchange was made.”
Kyris let out the breath he’d been holding. All was resolved then, he thought, the tension within his chest easing. But it was telling that Ellse was not here. He supposed that was asking for too much.
“We need to talk. Do you feel well enough for a walk?” Caldir asked.
Kyris had known this was coming. He nodded again, and the two started up a narrow path that led behind the house and up a small hill. Despite the stated purpose, neither spoke as they trudged along, Caldir keeping with Kyris’ slower pace.
When they reached the top, Kyris took in his surroundings. Vigil sat in the distance to the west. In the failing light, the Bluff and the Old City was a dark mound, a foundation from which the Spire rose and shined. He hadn’t seen Vigil from afar since first arriving those many months ago. It was a different world from their current environment of rolling hills, the start of the Dale lands. Other farms and homesteads dotted the landscape. A light dusting of snow started to float to the ground.
“Kyris, let us speak plainly. I find I don’t have the spirit for much else. My interest in you, from the beginning when I only suspected you to be a scion, was to take the measure of you, to see if you would be suitable for recruitment to my cause… That of rebellion. There is a hidden army throughout countryside. A small one, to be sure, but one ready for the call to arms. I smuggle slaves from the quarry to swell their ranks. I acquire relics for them when I can.”
Kyris was surprised to hear this, and y
et, it seemed fitting. He had learned that there was more to Caldir, that the man was not the typical scoundrel he was accustomed to. Nevertheless, he shook his head, understanding where this was going and wanting to save Caldir breath and effort.
“Please, let me continue. I’ve thought long on what I could say to convince you that such a course was worthy. I could speak of the oppression of the Path and their keepers, of their lies. How they twisted the past to suit them, perverted the lore of the old gods, and labeled those who opposed them, and their children to come, nightspawn.
Kyris frowned and shook his head lightly as Caldir talked. He’d heard denouncement of the Path before, and though he believed keepers and acolytes to be bastards all, his firsthand experience of the Gloom and wraiths lent much to what was preached.
Caldir continued. “I can tell you about other realms and kingdoms. The Ar’Razi realms, where the Imperium hold no sway. Or the islands of the so-called ‘Betrayers’."
Here Kyris had to cut in. He’d never heard of anyone leaving the borders of the Imperium, other than those serving on the Frontier. “You’ve left the empire?”
“Yes. In my youth, I was part of an expedition to other realms in an effort to retrieve relics. The experience has given me a perspective not many Tesrini have. The world beyond the empire’s border is not as the Imperium have told it. It is not populated only by primitives and savages. There are great cities in their own right. There are realms that do not believe the old gods were slain and still hold true to them. There are people who know nothing of our gods, new or old, and have their own strange deities.
“But I understand that perhaps these things are too broad and abstract. Too distant. If so, I would entreat you to examine your personal experience, what the inquisitor did to your family. Kathmor was but one inquisitor among hundreds. Countless families have suffered the same fate as yours through the Imperium’s long reign. And not very many are in your position. None, I would dare say, with your gift.”
Kyris gave a derisive huff. That word again. “Gift? You know nothing of it. Because of this gift, my family was burned alive.”