by C. J. Aaron
“To the end of the world and back, it seems,” Lord Eligar replied as he strode forward.
Ryl marched ahead to meet him, his hand outstretched. Their hands met for an instant before Fay pulled him into a tight embrace. The soldiers of House Eligar relaxed as the tension that had threatened to doom them all vaporized in the salty breeze from the sea to the south.
“See that this square is secure.” The young Lord Eligar barked the order over his shoulder. The curved line of his troops fell into action without a response. All seemed eager to be removed from the nearly lethal situation.
Fay took a step back. His eyes made a rapid visual inspection of Ryl, settling for a moment on the intricate designs tattooed on his arms and chest.
“I’m terribly sorry they almost shot you. There have been a few incidents with the local guards. Your disguises fooled them.” Lord Eligar winced as the severity of the words escaped his lips. “Please tell your friends that they’ll see no harm from us.”
Fay motioned to Breila and Aelin, who were peeking out from behind the pillar of the gate.
Ryl nodded as he turned to his companions. His eyes made contact with both as he casually waved them over.
Breila slid from the back of the horse, tying it to the hitching post of the gatehouse. She helped Aelin down from the mount before walking slowly toward where he stood. Aelin bounded forward. His rather carefree attitude belied the seriousness of the occurrences only moments old. The youngster slid to a stop at Ryl’s side.
Eligar let a wide grin split his face as he casually took a knee.
“Hello, my friend,” Fay announced cheerfully. He held out his hand to the young tribute.
Aelin, smiling, grabbed the proffered hand without hesitation. He gritted his teeth as he squeezed his fingers together. Fay yelped in surprise, wincing in pain. The tribute released his iron grip before the lord begged for mercy. He looked up at Ryl before glancing back at the lord.
His face was a picture of innocence, though a devilish grin tugged at the corners of his lips.
Eligar shook his hand out, squeezing it into and out of a fist, ensuring all his digits still worked.
“I suppose I deserve that on account of the arrows. I’m truly sorry,” Fay pleaded his case. “If I’d have known you were with Ryl, or not dressed as a city guard, I assure you the reception would have been benign.”
Breila strode up confidently, stopping at Ryl’s opposite side. Lord Eligar’s smile melted into a sly grin that would have melted the heart of most impressionable women.
It earned him a hearty slap from the wizened madam.
“Ok. Ok. Enough, please,” Fay begged. “Have I formally made acquaintance with all of your friends? Has the penance for my men firing arrows at you been paid in full?”
“I’ll be satisfied if that smirk never again crosses your face in my presence,” Breila huffed as she folded her arms across her chest.
At his other side, Aelin smirked as he nodded his head. Ryl snorted as he suppressed the laughter.
“On behalf of my friends, I accept.” Ryl grinned. “Breila, Aelin, this is Fay Eligar, Lord of House Eligar.”
Aelin, for all his stubborn indignities, tensed as Ryl made his introduction. Whether it was a conditioned fear of the higher echelons of power or an ingrained subservience that those without are inclined to feel to those with excess, he was unsure. The youngster pressed close to his left side.
“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintances.” Fay genuflected, the image of proper court grace. “Now let us carry on this conversation indoors. This ghost town still has far too many eyes for my liking.”
Ryl couldn’t agree with the statement more. Though the oppressive hatred was largely absent, he could feel the appraising eyes judging him wherever he travelled.
With a wave of his arm, Fay led them toward the edge of a small cafe set to the southern side of the square. Large fragrant floral arrangements hung from planters on either side of the entrance. A myriad of vibrant reds, fuchsia and purples contrasted against the white that dominated the center of each bloom. The flowers looked almost as if they had been colorless before being dipped into brilliant dyes and hung out to dry.
A small contingent of Lord Eligar’s troops, likely his personal guard, followed several meters behind. All were cloaked much like Andr had been at Ryl’s Harvest, though the deep forest greens that signified his house were reduced to an uninspiring drab grey. Though all were similarly dressed, one figure among them stood out from the rest. The soldiers moved with a feline grace. Their footsteps were muted as they stalked after the small party.
In stark contrast, the other shuffled his feet as he walked. His clumsy steps slapped with every footfall. He made no attempt to hide his limp. Though he carried a short sword strapped to his left hip, Ryl doubted if it was there for more than show. The experienced soldiers pivoted their heads side to side. Their motions, to all appearances, were slight and nonchalant. He knew their eyes maintained a careful survey of the surroundings, keen for any sign of danger. The other’s gaze remained focused. Though his eyes were hidden, Ryl could feel them bore into him.
The cheerful aromas of the decorative flowers hanging outside the door were lost immediately upon entering the small cafe. The sudden waft of the fragrant scents of cooking meat made his stomach rumble. Aelin sighed audibly as he wrapped his arms around his midsection to muffle the growl.
Lord Eligar looked over his shoulder, chuckling as he continued into the building.
The room they entered was dark, though several small lanterns graced each of the walls. The low light was more than enough to confirm that the room was devoid of other guests.
There were a half dozen tables staggered purposefully across a narrow dining room. A large hearth was built into the wall to their left. A bar dominated the wall to their right. Behind them, two sets of windows made up the balance of the exterior wall to the left of the doorway. Their horizontal shutters blotted out the clear glass, allowing only staggered streams of light in through the openings between the slats. The low angle of the final rays of the late day sun cast parallel lines of amber light across the walls. Fay motioned the party to a quaint circular table along the rear wall.
Two guards and the third cloaked individual entered the room behind them. The group stopped, fanning out on either side of the door.
“Sit, please,” Fay offered. “You must be starving. I’ll have food brought out with haste.”
With quickened steps, Fay hastened toward the wall to the west. His calculating eyes roved the modest bar as he passed. He disappeared into the open door leading to the kitchen.
Aelin looked skeptically at Ryl.
“Fear not, my friend,” he admitted as he placed his pack on the chair against the wall. “I trust Fay with my life. He was my sponsor, after all. He is the reason I’ve walked free from the moment I exited the gates. How is the food?”
Ryl looked questioningly at Breila. He unhooked the custom holster, hanging the masterwork of the late Deyalou over the back of the chair. It only took a moment to don his original shirt. He felt the sudden thrill, the jolt of energy that rushed through him as he slipped the cloak over his arms.
“The food here is of very good quality, though not exquisite,” she offered quietly. “The owner is a kind man, by all accounts, though I’ve met him only in passing.”
Ryl nodded as he completed securing the holster and the Leaves to his back. Aelin plopped his weakened frame unceremoniously into the chair to Ryl’s right.
“Exquisite fare attracts those with pretentious tastes,” came the voice from the kitchen. “I’m afraid I’ve no patience for that amount of self-importance.”
A middle-aged man moved confidently from the kitchen. His voice was kind, spoken in a singsong manner that longed for storytelling. Lord Eligar exited the kitchen a step behind though his course veered to the back of the modest bar.
“Present company excluded, of course, my lord.” He waved and twisted at
the waist, performing a mock attempt at a proper bow. The man had an uncommonly jovial look upon his face. The expression was natural to a fault. It was one that spread cheer while speaking nothing but truth, even when the brutal honesty hurt. Fay grinned as he collected four glasses before returning to the table.
“The name’s Ekard. I welcome you to my humble cafe.” He smiled ear to ear as he greeted his guests. His eyes focused on Breila for a moment. A spark of recognition seemed to flare in their depths. “The assessment about the food, I admit, is delightfully accurate. It pretends to be nothing it’s not. I’m afraid I haven’t prepared much with the current climate of the city, but when the gracious Lord Eligar comes calling, one can hardly say no. Do I need to feed the whole of your house or just this lot?”
Fay deposited the glasses around the table before stalking back to the bar. He grabbed a pitcher of water and a bottle of wine before returning to the table once again.
“Just us, Ekard.” Fay thanked him. “And as always, I judge there is less time to spare than we desire.”
Ryl nodded as his eyes met with Fay’s. The lord cracked a small forced smile. There was genuine longing there. An apparent absence of meaningful friendship that came with someone of his station.
“Aye, Fay,” Ekard agreed as he hastened back toward his kitchen.
Fay commenced with serving, pouring Aelin a glass of water before serving wine to Breila and then Ryl. He poured a healthy glass for himself before sliding comfortably into the open chair to Ryl’s left. He commenced immediately with the ritual of swirling the precious liquid in his glass, sniffing heavily of the aromas before wetting his lips with the first sip.
“Fate has an interesting way of seeing us reunited, my friend,” Fay admitted. “Just as I haven’t enjoyed the cooking and company of Ekard in cycles, until I found myself on his doorstep this afternoon. I hoped to see you, yet never thought it would be this soon.”
“Aye, Fay,” Ryl responded. “You risk too much for us. Your presence will be seen as an act of war.”
Lord Eligar gazed into his glass for a long moment before responding.
“You can imagine my surprise when I received your missive,” Fay said. “Words cannot describe the joy I felt. We sent you on a fool’s mission. We pulled you from one unthinkable life, forcing you into the next without a moment’s rest between.”
Lord Eligar’s eyes rose from his glass, travelling quickly toward the door. They hesitated for a moment there before returning to the swirling velvet red liquid in his glass. Ryl risked a casual glance in the same direction, investigating the focus of Fay’s distraction.
The peculiar, hooded man stood awkwardly to the side of the entrance. He fidgeted side to side as he fought to assume a comfortable position. The pair of soldiers he had entered with stood motionless. Statuesque.
“Think nothing of my troubles,” Fay added, breaking Ryl’s focus on the stranger. “It is the assistance you needed, whether you asked for it or not. I stand to risk but little. War has already reached my doorstep. The raids on the homesteads bordering the other houses have been increasing by the day. Outlying villages have been ransacked; the settlers murdered. They no longer attempt to disguise their aggression. War is already upon us.”
“But you leave your home unguarded?” Ryl added.
“Fear not for my lands, as there are an ample number of soldiers yet manning the defenses,” Fay lamented. “I only wish that I could have mustered a larger force. We are barely three thousand strong.”
Ryl opened his mouth to respond, yet the words stopped before they exited his lips.
“The army of the king marches on Cadsae Proper,” Fay reported somberly. “The king has grown increasingly paranoid. Rumors spread of discontent. Of rebellion. They bring the entirety of their force to bear. The other houses have all followed suit. Some are several days, others several weeks behind, yet they come with haste. So, you see, there are none left to molest my home. Royal decrees were sent out in secrecy, yet nothing remains hidden forever. Though the coming of this information can be attriuted to the most peculiar of messengers.”
Fay smiled as his eyes roved the room absently. The thoughts that temporarily overtook his mind caused a smile to form upon his lips. He laughed to himself, taking a heavy draught of the wine before continuing.
“You did well to choose the messenger to bear your letter,” Eligar acknowledged. “Seems his knack for subterfuge was underestimated by those who meant him harm.”
Ryl shot a worried glance toward the lord. They understood that Cade would be in unique danger, yet the assurances of Aldren, his father, were concrete.
“He arrived unscathed. He is a remarkable young man. You did well to entrust him with such a sensitive letter. He tells a rather unbelievable story,” Fay added, though he failed to expound further on the details. “I understand that his father makes his way to him now. I’ll let the boy deliver the fortuitous news when he arrives.”
Ekard plodded out of the kitchen with a tray of plates. Steam wafted up in a pale trail of aromas that followed as he walked.
“I’ve granted them land and a title,” Fay added as he eagerly eyed the approaching food. “They are to have a long-standing position of influence within my house. It’s not often that I come across those I can trust, and trust completely. Andr was a rare specimen. I look forward to the day that I can shake his hand again, though he has made me considerably less rich having survived the ordeal.”
Ekard interrupted the conversation as he carefully placed the first of the heavily laden plates on the table in front of Breila. He served Lord Eligar next before returning to the tray for dishes for Aelin and Ryl. The young tribute dove in with the appetite and manners of a starved wolf. Fay chuckled as he watched the boy devour the food in front of him.
“It doesn’t seem so long ago,” he said as his eyes wandered to Ryl. “It harkens memories of you during our first meal.”
Aelin stopped mid bite as the embarrassment washed over him. He raised his head, looking sheepishly at his companions.
“Never fear. I’ll not tell Sarial,” Ryl whispered, patting the youngster on the back. Aelin grinned as he dove in again, this time with slightly improved manners.
“Your hospitality precedes you, as always, Lord Eligar,” he added. “Your kindness can never truly be repaid.”
“Yet I will neither demand nor accept payment from you,” Fay replied with a sternness to his voice that broached no question. “Now eat. I can see it in your eyes that our meeting will again be brief.”
Ryl smiled a halfhearted grin as he nodded his head. Fay, though expecting the response, failed to hide his reactions. Ryl watched as the hint of remorse flashed across his face. It was quickly hidden behind a raised glass of wine.
For a moment, the conversation grew light as the consumption of the hearty food required attention. Ekard had served a dish piled high of braised meats smothered in a delightfully tangy, thin sauce. Ryl cautioned the young tribute at his side, though he himself ate quickly.
There was still much to be discussed with Lord Eligar. His arrival had been a fortuitous surprise. The addition of his troops was a boon to their hopes for survival, yet the weight of the responsibility leaned heavily on him. He was sure the Erlyn could provide for the tributes and the meager host of soldiers that had accompanied them. They needed to buy a few weeks at most.
How would they feed an army?
He feared he had little time to concern himself with logistics.
Though he ate, he found it hard to concentrate on the conversation or truly enjoy the food at hand. Ryl scanned repeatedly with his mindsight. Though the image failed to illuminate anything of interest, he couldn’t help but feel he was close. The nagging sensation that he was being drawn in, led to follow a target just out of reach, was as alluring as it was worrisome. Whether he could sense the presence of Kaep, or whether his mind imagined it, he was unclear. At a distance, all seemed clouded with a layer of darkness.
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��What is it you seek here in the city proper?” Fay inquired. The clinking of the silverware on his plate rang out through the empty room. “From what I’d heard, you’ve moved the tributes into the depths of The Stocks.”
“Aye, and there they remain,” Ryl added. “The army pursued us to the end. To the border of the woods. The Lei Guard came at night. One of ours was taken. It is her I seek.”
Fay whistled through his teeth.
“Her?” Far grinned. “Who is she?”
Ryl suppressed a twinge of annoyance at the insinuation. He worked to let the reaction not show across his face.
“She is one of those Andr and I were sent to seek in the Outlands,” he explained. “She is a friend. She is a phrenic.”
There was a shuffle of feet and a rustling of fabric as the peculiar figure from the door removed his hood, scurrying toward the table. Ryl’s hand shifted to the Leaves, yet the calm demeanor of Fay stilled his reaction.
“A phrenic? A phrenic from the Outlands is here?” The hoarse voice accentuated the aged features of the man who approached. His hair was a mass of disheveled, curly grey locks that appeared not to have been tended in cycles. His face was covered with a smattering of patches of wiry white stubble, some far longer than the others, doing little to discourage his wild appearance.
Fay rose to his feet as the man approached.
“Ryl, let me introduce you to your true benefactor,” Fay interjected. “Meet Old Man Averine.”
The uncertain posture and aloofness of the cloaked figure made sense to Ryl as the old man padded closer to the table. His focused gaze was locked squarely on Ryl as he approached. Ryl had felt the eyes on him. He doubted that the gaze had been averted since they first saw him.
It was without a doubt a disconcerting feeling. One that Ryl had grown to begrudgingly accept over the long cycles. They ran the gamut of baleful looks that ranged somewhere between apathy and hatred from the guards. The citizens of Vim looked upon him with either simple acceptance or wide-eyed stares of awe and reverence.