Anders felt lightheaded. His boots crunching over the rocky dirt road seemed impossibly loud. He would be questioned by the guards. Then he would be questioned by any scholars he met. Finally, he would be questioned by his parents. He could scarcely bear to face them. With a steadying breath, he forced his shoulders to relax. First thing first. He needed to get past the guards.
He exhaled in relief as they reached the massive gates. He knew both guards who stood there. One, an older man named Lochlan, he had known since he was a child, and the other, a youth named Barrett, was Lochlan’s son.
“Anders!” Lochlan gasped after looking him up and down. “I almost didn’t recognize you, lad. You look like you haven’t eaten since you left!”
Anders forced a smile onto his face and ruffled his cloak to hide his thinness, as well as his uniform. He’d had no opportunity to change out of the dark brown jacket with a red wolf embroidered on the breast, but Niklas had at least given him a cloak to cover it. “My journey has been an eventful one,” he explained vaguely. “I’m here to see my parents.”
Lochlan blinked at him several times, as if not truly believing he was there.
Barrett moved to his father’s side and cleared his throat. “Father,” he whispered, “the gates?”
Lochlan startled back into awareness. He met Anders waiting gaze and shook his head. “Sorry lad, I just can’t hardly believe you’re real. After no one heard from you, we all assumed you were dead. Where is Branwen?”
Anders felt his face flush.
“She’s up North,” Niklas cut in smoothly. “We wouldn’t dream of bringing the young lady on such an arduous journey, when our visit shall be short.”
Lochlan nodded, his gray mustache bristling. “And you are?”
“Lord Seastnàn,” Niklas lied, bowing his head in greeting. “From the Gray City.”
“Ah,” Lochlan began, comprehension in his eyes as he turned back to Anders. “One of the emissaries?”
Gritting his teeth, Anders nodded. All in the Archive knew Anders and Branwen had departed with an emissary from the Gray City, along with a guard. Unfortunately, both were fakes. Kai and Anna were lowly thieves, nothing more.
“Now please,” Niklas continued. “We’ve had a very long journey, and I must admit, I’m not used to waiting.”
“Of course, of course,” Lochlan muttered. He still seemed unsure, but nodded to his son, who trotted back to his post and gestured up to the gatekeepers watching from the high wall.
Seconds later, the gates swung inward.
Anders smiled in relief. Feeling slightly more at ease, he turned back to Lochlan. “By the way, who was that woman you let in just before we arrived?”
Lochlan squinted in confusion. “What woman? You’re the first to approach the gates in several days.”
Anders’ jaw dropped. He felt Niklas tug at his sleeve, hurrying him along before he could ask any more questions. He said his goodbyes and hurried through the gates, but he still felt Lochlan and Barrett’s suspicious gazes on his back.
Even once the gates closed behind them, Anders could not relax. Niklas observed the grand entrance of his home, while he stood still for a moment, suddenly close to tears. The main gates led to a wide corridor that opened out into a massive courtyard. The gardens were tended year round, filled with bright colored flowers in the warm half of the year, and waxy leafed holly and hearty snow flowers in the cold half. Right now, they were somewhere in between. The last of the bright flowers were dying, to be replaced by more muted tones.
Niklas cleared his throat, drawing Anders’ attention. “Where is the main library?”
It took him a moment to respond. Shaking his head to clear his mind, he pointed. “The left wing houses the more ancient tomes in need of preservation. The right wing,” he pointed in the other direction, “houses the transcribed volumes, available to all scholars no matter their station. The central dome,” he pointed to the large golden structure at the far end of the courtyard, “houses the volumes belonging to the Gray City, mainly histories and local lore.”
His eyes continued to dart around the courtyard, searching for his parents, though he was not sure he was ready to face them. He’d hoped to avoid the Archives all together until he had Branwen back by his side.
“The left,” Niklas said simply, then eyed Anders not-so-patiently to lead the way.
He took a steadying breath, then cut across the courtyard toward the first entrance into the left wing. He’d had access to the wing previously, but would have to speak with one of the watchers before he could enter. Niklas would likely not be allowed inside, but he decided against voicing his concerns. Niklas would not listen anyway.
Reaching the door, he held it open for Niklas to walk inside. He followed him, glancing each way down the hall, half-expecting to spot the red haired woman they’d seen at the gates.
Instead, they saw a brown-haired woman, peeking her head out one of the many book-filled rooms. “Anders!”
He sighed in relief. “Lissandra,” he greeted, approaching her. “Could you perhaps give me access to the High Wing?”
Her smile faltered as she moved fully into the hall. “Anders, where have you been? We expected at least the occasional messenger. Everyone thinks you’re dead.”
He chuckled, attempting to give off an air of calm, though he’d never been a skilled liar. “It was a long journey, and I was given few opportunities to send word. I’ll explain everything once I’ve seen my parents. I simply wanted to look over a certain tome to compare it to the information I have to share.”
“Information worth recording?” she asked slyly, her attitude quickly transitioning. “I will be your chosen scribe, won’t I?”
“Of course,” Anders replied.
“Well if that’s the case,” Lissandra replied, “I suppose I can wait to hear of your adventures until later.” Grinning, she scurried back into the room and began riffling through the drawers of a parchment scattered desk. Candles littered the desk’s surface, dripping wax onto papers yellowed with age. Anders bit his tongue before he could insult her. Lissandra had always been careless.
“Aha!” she chuckled, turning around with a golden key in her hand.
She walked past Anders into the hall, then finally took the time to observe Niklas. Her eyes narrowed. “Greetings, do I know you?”
“An emissary from the Gray City,” Anders explained.
“Ah,” she replied, nodding. She continued past them further down the hall, her shapeless burgundy scholar’s robe trailing behind her
They followed her as she chattered about what had been happening in the Archive since Anders’ departure, though he could scarcely gather his thoughts enough to listen to her. The corridor curved at the end, leading to a set of ornate wooden doors with heavy gold locks. A guard was stationed at either side of the doorway.
“Greetings,” Lissandra muttered, barely even looking at the guards as she unlocked the doors. As one of the Archive’s head scholars, her access to the secured room was a normal affair.
She led Anders and Niklas inside, then froze. The fiery-haired woman stood by one of the massive shelves, running her fingers along leather-bound book spines.
Lissandra gasped, then stepped inside the room. “You’re not supposed to be in here.”
The woman turned around casually, piercing Lissandra with her sparkling blue eyes. “You’re not supposed to be here,” the woman purred, then muttered some words under her breath.
Lissandra dropped to the ornately pattered rug.
Anders rushed to her and knelt, then exhaled in relief to find her still breathing. She just seemed to be in a heavy sleep. He looked over his shoulder toward the guards, but they both faced forward outside the door, still as statues. What in the Horned One’s name was going on?
Niklas stepped fully into the room as the woman muttered a few more words. The doors slammed shut behind him, seemingly of their own volition.
“One of the Ceàrdaman,” the wo
man observed, curling the corner of her rouged lips. “How . . . interesting.”
Anders stood, glancing at Niklas in confusion. He still had his tanned skin and normal eyes. How had she distinguished his true identity? He would have asked her, if he didn’t feel frozen as that piercing blue gaze turned to him.
“And you,” she added. Using only her eyes, she looked him up and down, seeming to recognize him.
“D-do I know you?” he stammered, straightening his cloak to make sure his uniform was covered.
She rolled her eyes. “No, but I know you. Not that you’re special. I know most everyone.” She moved her gaze back to Niklas. “Perhaps you can offer me aid. I’m looking for a particular volume.”
“Ar Marbhdhraíocht?” he questioned.
The woman widened her eyes in surprise. “Why yes.”
Humming to himself, Niklas glided across the room to a shelf far from where the woman had been looking. He pulled out a massive, black volume, then walked back to the woman, thunking it into her waiting palms.
She looked down at the book like a noblewoman examining a fine jewel. Her eyes flicked to Niklas, then to Anders, then she clutched the book against her chest protectively. “I suppose I’ll be off.”
Niklas stepped forward and placed a hand on her arm, still hugging the black book. “Not quite, my dear. You have bargained for information from one of the Ceàrdaman. Now you must grant me a boon.”
She scowled at his hand. “I’ll grant you your death if you don’t remove your paw.”
Niklas tsked at her. “You may be powerful, girl, but you do not want to incur the wrath of the Ceàrdaman. We are . . . many.”
She glared at him, stepping back out of his reach. “What do you want?”
“I want to help you,” he explained, letting his hand drop to his side. “When I come to you next, I expect to be welcomed with open arms.”
The woman sneered. “I’ll open the door. How about that?”
Niklas nodded. “Acceptable.”
With a final scowl for both of them, she marched past Niklas and muttered words at the doors. They both swung inward. She muttered more words under her breath at the guards, and they remained perfectly still, never once looking at her.
“They won’t remember her,” Niklas explained, moving to Anders’ side. “And we should escape this room while the spell still lasts.” He glanced at Lissandra, still on the plush rug covering most of the floor. “She’s not likely to remember either. I recommend we leave her where she lay.”
Anders glanced at Lissandra, still confused. “I thought you were searching for a certain tome.”
“Yes,” Niklas sighed. “To give to her.” He gestured in the direction the woman had gone. “Now let us find your family. I’m sure they’ll offer you a fine meal.”
Anders’ stomach dropped, his thoughts torn away from the red-haired woman. Ceàrdaman and strange, magic-wielding women he could handle. His mother’s disapproving eye was another matter entirely. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he followed Niklas forward, resigned to his frightening fate.
Chapter Six
Finn woke up cold and alone. At one point during the night, she’d woken to relieve Bedelia from her watch duties, then later Bedelia had gotten back up to stand watch with Ealasaid, while Kai got some rest. Now the extra bedroll beside her was empty, but she could hear voices not far off.
She sat up and watched her breath fog the air. By the gods it was cold. Steeling herself against the forthcoming discomfort, she wiggled out of her bedroll and stood, straightening her breeches and corset. As Kai had suggested, she’d slept with her boots on, leaving her feet sweaty and sore. All for nothing, obviously, since they’d needed no quick escape.
Catching the sound of voices again, she hurried toward the noise, soon spotting the source. What she found filled her with joy. Perhaps her journey would not be derailed after all.
Seeing her, Iseult ended his conversation with Kai and approached. He smiled down at her warmly. A smile that, she was beginning to realize, was reserved only for her. “We thought we’d let you rest awhile,” he explained.
Maarav and his men stood several paces back, tending their horses. She spotted Iseult and Maarav’s large warhorses, along with four new ones.
“Naoki?” she asked hopefully, searching around for the dragon.
Iseult shook his head. “Kai explained what happened, but we did not see her.”
She held a hand against her stomach, and the sudden knot that blossomed there. Had she been killed?
Iseult placed a comforting hand on her bicep, and she allowed herself a shuddering exhale.
“I was worried you wouldn’t be able to find us,” she muttered finally, then glanced at the nearby horses, “but I see you’ve not only done that, but have gone far beyond.”
Iseult frowned and withdrew his hand from her arm. “The soldiers we fought were undertrained. It was not difficult to escape with the horses. We led them on a chase for much of the night, then circled back around to find you.”
Anna approached from the nearby trees, looking tired and irritable. “You’re welcome for that,” she said snidely. “It’s fortunate you’re so . . . shiny, else we might not have found you so quickly.”
Finn sighed, knowing Anna was talking about seeing her magic. It suddenly dawned on her that if Anna could see it, others likely could too. Was that how the Ceàrdaman had found her in Migris? And the Cavari who’d stolen her away through the earth? She stifled a shiver. She should probably learn how to hide her . . . shine, but the only person she knew to ask how was Àed.
Iseult softly cleared his throat, startling her back into awareness. Reading her worries, he comforted, “Perhaps Naoki will still find you. She should be able to follow your scent from quite a distance.”
She nodded, but wasn’t hopeful. “Let’s go,” she muttered, glancing at Anna as she walked away toward the horses. She’d need to ask Anna more about her shininess, but in that moment, she didn’t have the heart. Later.
Nodding to herself, she walked with Iseult as everyone congregated around the horses. She ended up riding with Bedelia, while Ealasaid and Anna rode together. Anna had complained that it wasn’t fair that only the men should get their own horses, but she really couldn’t argue against the fact that she and Ealasaid weighed less than any of the men, except maybe Tavish, who had already graciously offered to share a horse with any of the women.
Finn, however, had not complained about riding with Bedelia. They had ridden together all the way to Migris once, and she took comfort in riding together once again. She’d formed more of a bond with Bedelia than she’d managed with either Ealasaid or Anna, and knew she could trust her. Soon enough Bedelia had managed to unsour Finn’s mood, though her heart still ached for Naoki. Still, they chatted happily as they rode through the woods, avoiding the Sand Road for fear of running across An Fiach.
It was clear that the threat of the Faie was heavy on everyone’s minds. It was not wise to travel through the woods, but they had little choice. Hopefully the next Faie they came across would be friendly, like the tree-like Trow. They seemed to like her, and could perhaps elaborate upon what the young Merrow girl had said, which she had yet to tell Iseult.
She glanced in his direction, but he was intent on watching their surroundings. Yes, she still needed to tell him what the Merrow girl had said, even though he knew better than most that all must fear the Dair.
Maarav tightened the bandage on his arm as they rode, annoyed that the young soldier had gotten through his defenses enough to cause minor damage. Still, he was glad he’d judged the situation well. The extra horses had everyone in high spirits, chattering amongst themselves rather than eyeing him suspiciously. Banding together against the soldiers had also taken some of the attention off Tavish and Rae for what happened to Anna’s men. They were all comrades in arms now.
He glanced around at his party as they rode on. Silvery clouds were forming in the sky, casting occasional shadow
s across the group. It almost seemed cold enough to snow, though given the season, the sun should have been beating down on their backs. He doubted it was just the Faie’s presence affecting the weather. There was no mention of unseasonable cold in the accounts of the Faie war. Something else was going on. It was as if the earth itself had taken notice, and was trying to freeze its inhabitants into submission. Hopefully it would freeze An Fiach first.
He hadn’t expected that additional complication. There were already too many complications. First, the Faie were highly unpredictable. It was difficult to tell if they had a leader, or just acted upon impulse. The attack on Migris had definitely been organized, but was it an isolated event, or a hint of what was to come? Then there were the Reivers. They’d heard no word of them so far, but he knew they would pop up again as the land fell further into chaos. An Fiach seemed to be the largest local faction, but the great cities had their own militaries.
At the center of it all were Finn’s people, the Cavari. Iseult had not divulged much, but if Finn was back, the others likely were too.
Maarav was yet to choose his side in it all. He knew Slàine, the woman who had cared for him like he was her own son, would want him to be on the side of the highest bidder, but he’d never been overly motivated by coin, nor was he motivated by power. While he had made a few allegiances over his lifetime, they did not drive his day to day life. What drove him was the only game he’d ever known, to come out on top of any situation thrown his way. The game had occupied most every moment of his life, a life that was nothing more than waiting to see what happened when a soulless man died.
He shook his head. It was better not to think about that. For now, he needed to focus on the most imminent threat of An Fiach, and why they now wanted Finn. Someone must have reported just who she was, else so many men would never be sent after a single girl. Kai was likely but an extra token, wanted for his associations with her.
Tree of Ages Box Set Page 60