Obsidian

by Lindsey Scholl

  “Sorry, but I have a task to complete.”

  Again, An-Sung insisted. “It will only take a moment of your time.”

  Telenar growled under his breath. What could Quinia possibly want that was so urgent? In some ways, she was too much like her departed husband. And he had to obey her.

  They found her waiting patiently, resting on a low settee, dressed in a black mourning gown with her long dark hair pulled up and held tight by a silver wire net. Though no longer the acting queen, she still maintained an aura of dignity and beauty that would put many younger women to shame. And she was obviously happy to see Chiyo. With a broad smile, she rushed up to him and took his dark, scarred hands.

  “General! We feared you were dead.”

  Chiyo bowed low. “My queen. It is an honor to come back to you alive. Allow me to express my condolences for the loss of our great king, your husband.” She tipped her head graciously as he continued. “Allow me also to present Patronius en medio Telenar, whom you may remember. His lovely wife N’vonne, whom you have not met, is currently working on our evacuation efforts.”

  Her nod to Telenar was brusque. “A pleasure to see you again, Patronius. Now, about this evacuation. Isn’t it a little extreme? Relgaren has told me nothing.”

  “My queen, the threat is very dire. I suggest you depart now, while there is time.”

  She laughed, a high tinny sound that Telenar would not have expected to come from such a dignified lady. “Now, General, you and I both know that I can’t go anywhere. Where would I go?”

  “My queen, if you knew the nature of this threat…”

  She cut him off. “That’s just it, general. I don’t know the nature of this threat. What in the Chasm is going on?”

  Telenar winced at her wording, a motion she caught out of the corner of her eye. “Why do you react like that, Patronius? Has your order become so sensitive to extreme expressions that a lady cannot vent her frustration in your presence?”

  “Oh no, my queen.” He bowed low for effect. “It’s just that your wording is quite appropriate in this instance.”

  “Oh? Tell me more.”

  He glanced over his spectacles at Chiyo before proceeding. “I know that the subject of the gods is not a favorite topic with you, my lady. But in a short time, their actions will become very relevant. Zyreio has formed an army of his own followers that, even now, is less than two days away from Lascombe. You may remember in the Ages that such an army has arisen in times past.”

  The lady lost some color at his remarks but retained her distant attitude. “Corfe talks of nothing but that nonsense. But surely you know, Patronius, that these so-called followers of Zyreio—really the henchmen of that Amarian fellow—were all killed in the Battle of the Dragon, or whatever it is they’re calling it. Either killed or ‘converted’ somehow.”

  Telenar swallowed. The queen-mother would certainly not accept what he was about to say. He wished N’vonne were there. She had the gift of diplomacy that he was lacking. “The Ages speak of another type of army, my lady. An army formed from the souls condemned to the Chasm. It is that army of which we speak.”

  “Ha! Superstitious nonsense! General, do you honestly believe this?”

  Chiyo was fingering the edge of his tunic; he was about to tread on very painful ground for her. “Pardon me, my queen, for asking a personal question. I only do so because of the urgency of the situation we are in. How long ago did Prince Farlone journey to the Kingdom of Ulan?”

  She stopped laughing. “Farlone was due back weeks ago. His Majesty says that he may be performing a tour of the Ulanese hinterlands, which would explain the delay.”

  Telenar could not hide his incredulity. Had Relgaren really kept this poor lady so much in the dark? And for what purpose? He could not see any, nor did he feel any need to perpetuate a farce. “My lady, three weeks ago, Captain Gair was sent to investigate rumors of a mysterious force attacking the western region of Ulan. The fact that the king has heard nothing from his brother, nor from anybody else in that realm for some time, indicates that the Ulanese are undergoing a great danger. Indeed, our scouts say that they have already succumbed to it.”

  The words hung in the air for a moment as Quinia absorbed the news. She clasped her hands to stop their shaking, but she could not hide the tremor from her voice. “And Farlone?”

  Chiyo interposed. “Farlone is a fighter, ma’am. We both know that. If there is any resistance left in Ulan, he will be involved in it.”

  Her smile was grim. “He would fight anything to the death. And Dorylen…” Here her composure began to fade. For a few minutes there was silence as she took several short, sharp breaths.

  Chiyo looked at the ground. There was nothing he or Telenar could say. It was An-Sung who broke the silence. “My queen, I have told the general and Patronius Telenar that they would be allowed to return to their duties. May I dismiss them?”

  As abrupt an interruption as it seemed, his words offered a merciful break to the tense silence. She regained her composure enough to thank them and dismiss them. Chiyo knelt next to her before leaving.

  “My queen,” he whispered so that only she could hear. “Please leave this city. Extend your life so that you may help others. And although I know you will not listen to a priest, listen to a soldier and an old friend. Put your trust in Kynell. He is the only one who can help us now.”

  She nodded through her tears. Having made his plea, he kissed her hand and departed. When he looked back through the door, he saw that An-Sung had drawn close and was murmuring something in her ear. Whatever he said, it broke the queen’s composure. Chiyo shut the door before her cries could be heard in the hallway.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The rain started early that evening. Great sheets of it crashed onto the rooftops of the city, soaking all those attempting to maneuver through the crowded streets. Outside the city walls, some of the poorly maintained houses started leaking. This circumstance would have annoyed their inhabitants, except they had already gone off to help in the defense or else join the long evacuation lines. Only one house was inhabited. It was occupied by a man and a fennel sitting around a candle, eating the cold remains of cooked yemain.

  “Bedge sorry to see rain come. No like to fight in the rain. No like rain at all.”

  Amarian stared at the roof, listening to the barrage. “You never know, it might be helpful. Maybe those Chasmites’ll have a hard time keeping their footing.”

  “Kasim-ites don’t scare Bedge. Wet fur does.” She shook her coat for emphasis.

  Amarian smiled a little before returning to his thoughts. He felt helpless, cooped up in this little shack, waiting for somebody to come get him. At least, that was what he assumed would happen. Ever since Ming had left to evacuate with everybody else, he had sat here, waiting for Vancien or N’vonne or even Telenar to come seek him out. For what purpose, he did not know. He could offer his services in battle, but his presence might cause more harm than good. Maybe his friends had decided that it would be better for him to wait it out here, outside the city walls, the first and most worthy victim of Zyreio’s wrath. He had a hard time believing that Vancien would consent to such a plan, but he wouldn’t put it past Telenar.

  The rain began to fall even harder and a leak developed not too far from their candle. He got up, went to the corner, and pulled out a heavy pack. Inside were the clothes he had worn on the day he defeated Vancien, as well as the smoky gray armor he had had made for the occasion. He glanced at Bedge, who was watching him with interest.

  “Sir has new clothes.”

  “These are not new, Bedge. I committed a great crime in this outfit,” he said as he began to strip off his old clothes and don the dark garments. “Now I’ll do some good in it. Either way, I don’t want to go to battle in rags and this is the only suit of armor I’ve got. Come over here and pull these buckles for me.”

  She obliged and after several labored minutes, he was ready.

  “Sir going to sleep
in metal shirt?”

  “Sir’s not going to get much sleep tonight. And neither are you. Who knows when these fiends are coming?”

  Bedge sniffed the air. “Somebody’s coming.”

  Amarian had just drawn his sword when Telenar appeared at the door.

  “So you’ve heard?” were the first words out of the priest’s mouth.

  “Heard what?”

  Telenar shook the rain off his cloak carefully, so as not to put out the candle. “Scouts came in this afternoon. The army will be here tomorrow at the latest. The only reason they’re not here now is that they’ve stopped to build siege engines.”

  Amarian nodded. Even the most immortal of enemies would have to get past Lascombe’s walls somehow. “Is the evacuation almost complete?”

  Telenar tried to wipe his glasses off on his shirt, which was already damp. Bedge kindly offered her fur, which was no help at all. “I’d say about sixty-five percent. It will continue through the night. There are only twelve evacuation points scattered throughout the city, many of them through people’s cellars, leading into the network of tunnels below. The women and children will be able to hide out there if the city is sacked. From what I heard about Ulan, if the enemy is victorious, they won’t stay for long. There are cities in the West they’ll want to subdue.” He had stepped away from the candlelight, so that only his silhouette was visible.

  “So what now?”

  Telenar was quiet for a moment, which annoyed Amarian. All of this work to be done, and the priest was standing in the dark, thinking. He didn’t know that Telenar was choosing his words carefully, as well as forcing his mind to make a transition it did not want to make. Finally, he stepped back into the light.

  “Chiyo sent me to fetch you. Both he and Vancien want to speak with you. And I need to ask your forgiveness.”

  “My forgiveness? For what?”

  “You know for what. I have had no love for you, not when you were my enemy and even less when you were my ally. I haven’t had any patience for you either. Your easy manner with Vancien tells me that you have forgotten all about murdering him.”

  Amarian set his teeth. The priest was lousy at apologies.

  “Sorry. That was too far. And that’s between you and Kynell. The point is, I have not welcomed you as a brother or a son, which I should have done. I am a priest, after all, and all followers of the Prysm should be brothers or sons to me. And as Vancien’s brother, I should have welcomed you all the more. Not to mention the fact that Kynell gave you such a great salvation—”

  “Got it. You should have been more friendly.”

  “I should have loved you as Kynell loves you. Or at least as Vancien does. And I didn’t. So I’m asking for your forgiveness.”

  Amarian didn’t say anything at first. Telenar’s words were a comfort to him—a much-needed encouragement from an unexpected source. To show his gratitude and lighten the mood, he buckled on his sword belt and gave Bedge a pat on the head. “I’ve never granted forgiveness before. You shall be the first.” He nodded slightly in Telenar’s direction. “There. It’s done. Now we should go.”

  “First, put on your cloak. And for goodness’ sake, don’t show your face, especially in that dreadful outfit. Whoever recognizes you will think that Obsidian’s already here.”

  They plunged into the rain and were soon battling the crowds in the city streets. The evacuation lines had thinned a little. By morning, they would be almost gone. Amarian was careful to keep his hood well over his eyes, a natural enough task in the deluge, but he was not the one to attract attention. He could hear whispered exclamations as Bedge passed. A fennel kit was a rare sight in Lascombe and the bystanders pointed to her as one bright spot of interest in an otherwise anxious and depressing day.

  They were soon inside the palace, where Bedge shook off the rain. Amarian, however, kept his hood lowered until they were in Chiyo’s chambers and the soldiers with whom the general was conferring had been dismissed. Only then did he look up from the ground to see Vancien, Telenar, and Chiyo watching him.

  “What? Should I not have worn the outfit? It was all I had.”

  Vancien responded with a big smile and slap on the shoulder. “I’ve seen you looking more cheerful, I’ll give you that. Nice armor.”

  Amarian allowed himself a smile, as well. “You should know. It deflected your blade well enough.”

  “Hopefully my blade’s improved since then.”

  “All right,” Telenar cut in. “We need to discuss something.”

  “Many things, no doubt,” Amarian responded. “Chiyo, I see you’ve been working on some counter siege efforts. Your ballistae are misplaced, though, and will be less effective than the trebuchets and catapults, anyway. Large rocks might pin them down, at least. A big ballista bolt will only make them angry.”

  Chiyo was nodding. “You’ve got a point, Dark One. But with your help, we might be able to do more than pin them down.”

  Amarian, whose spirits had been buoyed by Telenar’s earlier comments, bent over the city plans Chiyo had spread out on a large table. “Hmm, perhaps. What did you have in mind?”

  “We were thinking you could summon our allies for us.”

  The statement took him off guard. “And which allies are those? Any support we have from the West is already here and I don’t think the Cylini are sending anymore.”

  “I meant those Kynell has provided for us. It’s time you and Vancien sought his help together.”

  Amarian gave a nervous laugh. “I think the stress is getting to you, General. Vancien is the one Kynell will listen to.”

  Telenar had been watching Vancien while Chiyo and Amarian spoke. Vancien had at first started, then flushed, then tried unsuccessfully to hide his resentment. Telenar could sympathize. He, too, resented Chiyo’s idea.

  Now all three of them were looking at the Prysm Advocate. “Did you come up with this?” Amarian asked first.

  Vancien shook his head. “I probably should have, but no, I didn’t. This is the first I’ve heard of it.”

  “And? What do you think?”

  Vancien thought for a moment, looking first at the curtains, then at the map, and then squarely at Amarian. “I don’t like it. It’s an insult. I’ve given my life to him and now he won’t hear my prayers? Why? Why would he listen to you and not me?”

  Amarian lowered his head. His own unworthiness washed over him. “I don’t know. I wouldn’t deserve it if he did.”

  Vancien, too, dropped his gaze. “That’s just it. Neither one of us deserve it, not really. But maybe with the both of us asking in his name, he’ll grant our request.”

  There was nothing else to say. Telenar and Chiyo departed, leaving the brothers to their thoughts and their prayers.

  __________

  Torches lit up the wet streets as crowds of terrified people shuffled past doorways that were closed and locked. N’vonne was standing near the entrance of a blacksmith’s shop, directing people inside and down into the cellar, where another woman pointed them down a wide tunnel lined with small, burning bundles of tar-soaked hay. The evacuees, having been told nothing, asked questions of every person they could, but the only response they received were kind reminders to keep following directions. N’vonne hated to see the fear of the unknown in their faces, but it was for the best. If all the helpers (who themselves were not informed of the whole situation) stopped to answer questions, no one would make it to safety before the attack came.

  Not long before twilight, she was accosted by a distraught woman and girl dragging a cart behind them. The woman was repeating the same thing over and over again, pointing frantically back into the street. The girl said nothing; she appeared stunned. It took some moments before N’vonne could make any sense of what was wrong.

  “Please! He took my boy! It was Gorvy, she says! I didn’t see him, but she heard him. We know it must be Gorvy!”

  Determined not to make the crowd more edgy than it already was, N’vonne pulled the woman asid
e. “Shh. You must calm down. Who took your boy? Who’s Gorvy?”

  The woman took several deep breaths. “I didn’t ever see him, but Ester here says she heard a familiar voice—Gorvy’s voice—he’s the man who used to keep the children. Then she heard Trint cry out and I looked just in time to see him over a man’s shoulders. Then he was gone. We tried to follow, but the streets are so crowded. We’ve been searching for hours. Can’t you send the guards?”

  N’vonne doubted if any guards could be spared, but she assured the woman that she would see what she could do. “Where did you see him last? How old is your boy? What does he look like? Can the girl describe what the man looked like?”

  Ester quickly found her tongue, a little pleased that the lady did not notice her handicap. “My friends told me that he’s tall, with dark, greasy hair. He wears a smelly leather vest with leather moccasins. No boots, though. I think he also has a mustache.”

  “Do you have any idea where he lives?”

  The girl shook her head. “Gorvy lives all over the place. He steals for a living, you see, and he used to make us steal for him. We never knew where he lived.”

  N’vonne looked again at the woman. “And this boy…he’s your son?”

  The woman nodded her head firmly. “He is now. And I’ve got to find him.”

  N’vonne could understand that sentiment. Pulling aside the woman who had been helping her, she told her that she would be back as soon as she could. Then she followed them into the street. On the way, she snagged a Sentry to help them search. It was just a Mholi, his eyes glazing over as he kept watch over the lines in the street, but he would strike the fear of Kynell into that villain Gorvy, if they could find him.

  The Sentry listened as Ester described the man they were pursuing, then he jogged ahead, his ears fanned wide to listen for a cry of distress over the other noises. Ester tried to describe to them where the old ‘fort’ was located, but her clues were difficult to put together: a well twenty paces left of the door, a noisy tavern forty-five paces straight ahead, a continuous wall running along to the right. This last was the best clue, since it told them that it was dug into the city wall. So they started searching that perimeter, in the hopes that Gorvy would take Trint back to his original place of captivity. Soon they were outside the old fort, now inhabited by other unfortunate children (the enterprising man had been quick to fill the shoes of his lost four). These, upon questioning, had not seen Gorvy recently. Both N’vonne and Alisha were horrified. Despite the children’s natural fear of Sentries, the women sent them packing with the Mholi with the orders that he attach them to a willing family for the time being. Then they continued their search, shouting out Trint’s name until their throats were hoarse and praying that they could somehow find him in the wet and sprawling city.