A Dark Reckoning

by J. R. Rasmussen

  “Of course not.” Helena spoke gently, as if trying to calm an animal. “He knows—we know—that it was an accident. I’m sure it’s very difficult magic to control, and—”

  “I did not kill Odger!” Wardin roared. “How dare you? How dare either of you assume …” He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. The hounds were cowering under Helena’s arms.

  “You admitted it.” Arun pointed in Wardin’s general direction, although he was off by a bit. “When we pulled you out of the river.”

  “I said it was my fault!” Wardin stood and leaned over the table, palms pressed against the wood. “And so it was. I was the one who knew perfectly well that he was susceptible to balance problems, and had been casting spells all blasted day. I was the one who didn’t bother to see. I was the one who commanded an unbalanced fifteen-year-old boy to push back that fire!”

  He narrowed his eyes at Arun, leaning forward farther still. “And most of all, I was the idiot who listened to you when you told me to let him come.” He straightened and clapped his thigh for Rowena, then stomped to the door, quaking with anger. As much at himself as at his friends.

  Somehow Arun’s suspicions, no matter how ridiculous, no matter how false, made Wardin feel even more ashamed. As though he could have killed Odger, and it was only a matter of luck that he had not.

  Had he really become so awful that his best friend could think such a thing of him? Had he entirely lost his way?

  “Rowena!” he snapped.

  The blackhound, having no interest in leaving her comfortable spot—particularly if it meant going outside with a madman—gave him a mournful look and thumped her tail hopefully against the floor.

  “Fine,” Wardin ground out. “Stay here with the rest of the traitors.”

  He slammed the door behind him and stood outside alone for a moment, friendless and quite sorry for himself. But as he started back toward the manor, a movement off to his right caught his eye. Someone was coming through the tunnel. The gate was opening.

  The person who emerged came toward him at a run, slipping in the mud, with a call that was stolen by the wind.

  It didn’t matter that Wardin couldn’t hear her. The wind also stole the hood from her head. Dark braids fluttered sideways, hair tearing loose and covering a face he desperately longed to see.

  Erietta had come home.

  13

  Erietta

  Erietta rushed forward and gave Wardin a fierce hug, before either of them could dwell on whether it was a good idea to be seen embracing on Pendralyn’s grounds. She’d have hugged everyone there, and the buildings too, if she could.

  It had been far too long, and as she’d emerged from the tunnel, the sight of the keep, the waterfall, the whole valley that she loved filled her with such unexpected joy that she actually burst out laughing. Perhaps she wasn’t cut out for adventure, after all.

  “Where have you been?” Wardin pulled back, but kept his hands on her shoulders. “We were worried. We haven’t been able to reach Desmond in ages. Why hasn’t he answered Eldon? And why isn’t he with you?”

  Before she could decide which question to answer first, his face twisted into a fierce scowl, and he glared back at Helena’s cottage. “Never mind, I suppose all of that can wait. Your clod-headed brother will want to see you, and family should come first, even if they don’t deserve it.”

  Erietta blinked at him. He and Arun never fought. Arguing with Wardin was much more her pastime than her brother’s. Perhaps they were fighting over Helena. That would explain why Wardin was looking at the kennel mistress’s house as though he’d just come from there and not the kennels, despite it being the middle of the day.

  If they were being fools now, when there were so many other things to attend to, Erietta would have to talk some sense into them both. Or perhaps slap it into them. “Is he inside, then?”

  “He is. Feel free to knock. I’m not going back in there.” She must have looked dubious, because Wardin smiled, just a little. “Don’t worry. As Helena said to me not half an hour ago, you won’t be interrupting the scandal you’re thinking of.”

  He started to turn away, then hesitated and hugged her again. Was he trembling a bit? “I’m happier to see you than you know. I’m sorry you aren’t getting much of a greeting. You must be aching to see Arun. Go ahead, and we’ll catch up later. I’m going to see about something festive at dinner to welcome you back.”

  “Take my pack then, will you? I’ve had enough of carrying it around to last a lifetime.”

  Wardin took it with a bow and another tiny smile. Erietta watched him go, studying the slump in his shoulders before turning toward the cottage.

  Helena answered her knock with a hopeful face that fell when she saw who it was—or wasn’t. But she recovered quickly, and gave Erietta a wide smile as she stepped aside. “Archmagister! Thank Eyrdri you’re back. We could use a person of sense taking charge around here, if I’m honest. Come in, come in. Arun is just inside, although I fear you might find him a bit—”

  “Arun!” Erietta hurried to the table, where Arun was slumped over a mug. She knelt and grasped his shoulders, turning him to face her. Was he hurt?

  “Etta?” His eyes tried to focus.

  Erietta made a disgusted noise and pushed him away. “He’s drunk! He smells awful.”

  “He’s had a bit of a rough time of it.” Helena cleared her throat, her eyes drifting to the floor, but whatever she’d been about to say was drowned out by a cacophony of bays and canine claws scraping across the floor, as Hawthorn and Rowena stirred—apparently they’d been napping by the fire—and realized Erietta was there.

  It was several minutes before the best efforts of both Erietta and the kennel mistress could calm them. Arun must have been even worse off than he looked, because he buried his head in his arms and promptly fell asleep, oblivious to all of it.

  When the hounds had settled at last, Helena gestured at Arun. “Perhaps …” She cleared her throat. “If you could help me, he might as well sleep it off in my bed.”

  “In your bed?” Erietta tried—with limited success, she suspected—not to smirk. “I had no idea you two were so familiar.”

  “We’re not, but I notice you don’t seem terribly upset by the idea.” Helena raised a brow. “Perhaps because it would mean I’m not so familiar with Wardin?”

  Erietta snorted. “Or perhaps because you’re a clever, witty person, adored by every blackhound who’s ever met you—which I consider an excellent endorsement of character—and you would make a fine match for my brother.” She turned back to the table with a sigh. “Come on, you’re right. It’s better than dragging him across the grounds like this.”

  The two of them carried Arun into Helena’s small bedroom, deposited him on her even smaller bed, and pulled off his boots before closing the door on his snores and returning to the sitting room.

  “Now, then.” Helena offered Erietta a wry smile. “Some mead? Or perhaps tea?”

  “Mead, I think, though you needn’t worry I’ll make a fool of myself, like some of my kin. Shame I gave Wardin my pack already. I brought back the most marvelous drink from Dordrin.” Erietta dropped into a chair. “And you’d best tell me what in Eyrdri’s name is going on. Wardin’s fuming, Arun’s drunk.” She gestured out the window, toward the keep and the manor beyond. “I don’t want to go up there without knowing what I’m walking into.”

  “It’s a sad story. I’m sorry to be the one to tell it.” Helena set a fresh mug down, then took Arun’s away to wash it—thereby not having to look her guest in the eye, a fact that was not lost on Erietta. “You must have gotten some news, as you traveled through the kingdom?”

  “None. I traveled through Harth most of the way, and only cut down through the mountains when I was directly north of here. I saw more sheep than people, and I made quite sure nobody saw me.”

  “Then I should start by saying there was a battle at Mindoral. We were defeated. Soundly. A great many were lost,
including Odger.”

  “Oh, no!” Erietta put a hand over her mouth, heart wrenching as she thought of the scrawny, eager boy whose dearest ambition was to become as good a sage as Arun. “Why was he … what fool took a fifteen-year-old boy into battle?”

  “It seems everyone agreed he ought to be allowed to go.” Helena took a seat and bit her lip. “But I’m afraid Arun argued for it the most.”

  Well, that explained Arun’s state better than simple grief could. He hadn’t even fallen apart when their mother died, leaving them orphans at fourteen. He must feel responsible for Odger. “I see.”

  “No. That isn’t all.” Helena twisted her fingers together. “Arun’s been blaming Wardin for Odger’s death. Unbeknownst to Wardin. It all just came out, and there were some ugly words between them.”

  Erietta listened with increasing disbelief, then outrage, as Helena explained the source of the misunderstanding. And a misunderstanding it surely was. “That’s impossible! Wardin would never have hurt Odger. Arun should know that.”

  “We thought perhaps it was an accident …”

  “Arun should know that,” Erietta repeated, louder this time. “As should all of Wardin’s friends.” She paused to glare at Helena until the other woman’s eyes dropped. Good. Let her be embarrassed. She should be ashamed.

  “As for Odger,” Erietta went on, “I’ve known him—knew him—since he was a little boy. He never had an easy time with his balance. It got worse when he chose his affinity. He was so small. Weak, if that’s not too unkind. Physically, of course, not in any other way. He hated all the exercise he had to do to balance sage magic.”

  She arched a brow, her nostrils flaring. “There is absolutely no doubt in my mind that Odger lost his balance in a fervor of violence and panic and doing too much magic. Unfortunate. Tragic. Knowing Wardin, I’m sure he blames himself for being there and not seeing it before it was too late. But it’s nobody’s fault.”

  Helena swallowed and nodded. “It’s just … you haven’t seen him. Wardin, I mean. When he does conduction. That day I saw him heal himself. His face.” She shook her head, eyes wide at whatever memory was haunting her. “I didn’t know him.”

  “Well, I do know him. He would never hurt a student. To be perfectly honest, though perhaps it’s not very flattering to say, he’s probably even less likely to hurt Rowena. And had he hurt anyone by accident, he would not—ever—lie about it.”

  Erietta turned her mug in her hands, considering everything she’d just heard. Arun was wrong about this, but he was likely right to be concerned. And she’d been right to want to come home as soon as possible. She glanced back up at Helena. “None of which means he’s not being careless with his own balance. Reckless fool. I’ll have to speak to him about this conduction business.”

  “He won’t appreciate it,” Helena warned. “And he won’t be willing to stop.”

  Erietta nodded and pushed the mead away. It would put her to sleep, if she let it. Her eyes felt heavy already, and her neck ached. The thought of confronting Wardin—and her brother, when he woke—was exhausting.

  A fine welcome home this was turning out to be.

  * * *

  No, it certainly wasn’t the homecoming she’d imagined. But then, imagination could be a foolish thing. In Erietta’s daydreams, Pendralyn had been frozen in time, waiting for her and the day she would bring an army to save it. They would all be proud of her, and grateful, and Wardin … she wasn’t sure what she’d hoped of Wardin. Something more than a terse suggestion that she go see her brother.

  Instead of returning as the triumphant savior, she’d returned to find that they’d already started the war without her. And were losing it, it seemed.

  She would have preferred to see Wardin and Arun in private. Instead, Arun was still passed out in Helena’s cottage, and when Erietta walked into Wardin’s chambers, Quinn and Pate Forthwind were already there. She supposed that was what she got for insisting on a bath before anything else. In any case, they were Wardin’s commanders. They had every reason to hear her report.

  “Well, they’re delaying dinner an hour, so they can turn it into a feast instead,” Wardin said. “It will do us all some good. We’ve had little enough to celebrate. I believe Magister Conrad is composing a song in your honor.”

  “Magister Conrad is a bit sweet on the archmagister, isn’t he?” Quinn winked at Erietta.

  Wardin scoffed. “In a brotherly way, perhaps. He’s too old for her. Anyway, that ought to give us plenty of time to talk.” He crossed his arms at Erietta. “Starting with why we didn’t know to expect you. We didn’t even know you’d left Dordrin.”

  “Because I told Desmond not to tell you.” Erietta smirked. “He’s fine, by the way, and still back at Iver’s palace. Funny you didn’t start with asking after his welfare.”

  Wardin dipped his chin, though whether from embarrassment or to hide a smile, she couldn’t tell. “Yes. Good. And why the secrecy?”

  “Because despite my best intentions, I was obliged to come back through Tarnarven after all, and I didn’t want to risk a repeat of what happened on our way there. Without knowing how word got out last time, I decided it was best that there be no word at all.”

  All three men looked baffled. At least, Erietta thought that was confusion on Pate’s face. It was difficult to tell; his almost constant frowns didn’t seem to have much variation.

  “What are you talking about?” Wardin asked. “What happened on your way there?”

  “Desmond said he’d told Arun that the Harths were looking for me in Rivenmist. He sent that message right after it happened, before we even sailed.”

  Wardin shook his head, his face clouding. “If he did, the message was lost in translation.”

  Erietta chuckled. “Not surprising, I suppose.”

  But Wardin did not look the least bit amused. He clenched a fist against his trousers. “What happened?”

  “There were bounty hunters searching for a dark-haired, long-nosed magister. We tricked them away. No harm was done. My mission remains a secret, to the best of my knowledge, or we’d have been a bit more urgent with our messages. But they knew I would be in Tarnarven somehow.”

  Wardin rounded on Pate. “Heathbire. Blast him! And your son, too. I will throttle Corbin for this.”

  “Corbin is not at fault for Dain’s foolishness.” Pate glared at Erietta, as though the fault were somehow hers instead.

  “You say they were looking for you, only you?” Quinn asked. “Not Desmond as well?”

  Erietta shook her head. “They didn’t seem to know who I was traveling with, or where to.” She glanced at Wardin. “Which is why I didn’t suspect Corbin. It must have been someone who didn’t know any of the details.”

  Wardin waved this away. “Dain’s been feeding the king information, but only in bits. It’s smart, I suppose, trying to gain his trust.” He snarled back at Pate. “Funny though, Corbin didn’t mention that this was one of the half-truths your friend the baron had passed along.”

  “Because he knew perfectly well that you would have his head, and Heathbire’s too, for putting the archmagister in jeopardy.” Quinn looked ready to behead someone himself, and Erietta smiled at him, embarrassed to find she was tearing up at his protectiveness. She’d missed him. All of them. At least her homesickness had waited until she was actually home to make her act like a sentimental fool.

  Pate heaved a sigh and looked up at the ceiling, as though praying for patience. “Since the archmagister appears to be in fine health, if a bit ragged, perhaps we could move on to more important matters than her delicate wellbeing. Like the results of her mission. Are the Dords coming or not?”

  Knowing that Arun feared Pate was corrupting Wardin, Erietta had been predisposed to dislike the commander. He was doing nothing to dissuade her from that opinion. “They are,” she said coldly, before turning to deliver her news to Wardin. She did not answer to Pate Forthwind.

  “Iver will sail for Corghest wit
h seven thousand men. Perhaps more, depending on whether he decides to deploy any to the Aldarine coast instead. Desmond will come back with them, so he can send a message when they depart, though of course he can’t communicate while they’re actually at sea. It shouldn’t be long before they’re on their way. I’ve been traveling for weeks, and they were starting to muster the troops and ready the ships when I left.”

  “So many!” Quinn clapped his hands together. “Our numbers will match the enemy’s, for once!”

  Wardin’s face instantly took on an expression Erietta had begun witnessing more and more before she left: chin up, jaw set, eyes calculating. The decisive efficiency of a leader. “We’ll fortify our position here and wait until we hear from Desmond. When they set sail, we’ll coordinate our own arrival in the south, so we can come at Corghest from both land and sea. Once we take it, Narinore is vulnerable by river. And it will just so happen that we have a fleet of Dordrine ships at our disposal.” He flashed a smile at Pate. “I believe you will have your offensive strike at last, Commander.”

  It was the first time Erietta had seen Pate smile. One side of his mouth barely moved, stiff as it was with scars and whatever old wounds lay beneath the surface. She wondered if perhaps she’d judged the man too unkindly. He’d clearly suffered greatly for Eyrdon. Perhaps he could be forgiven a bit of gruffness.

  Arun came in without knocking, looking disheveled and a bit sick. “Well, sounds like you’ve got all this worked out, then.”

  “Been listening at the door, have you?” Wardin glowered at him.

  “You weren’t exactly whispering. And you’ve got my sister.” Arun pulled Erietta into a tight hug—smelling no better than he had before—and kissed her forehead. “I’m glad you’re home.”

  She patted his cheek. “As am I.”

  “I only heard the last bit, so I’m afraid you’ll have to repeat the tale of your return. And why you didn’t bother to tell us you were coming.” Arun turned back to Wardin. “But first, there’s the matter of my assignment for this strike you’re planning. Someone has to stay behind and see to the defenses here at Pendralyn. Alaide had that duty the last time. I’d like to share it with her this time.”