“But there are absolute truths, Palendesh. Aren’t there? The sun rises in the morning, the moon rises in the night…”
“Yes,” the Virtue said, “until they don’t. But as you say, there are such things as absolute truths, rules by which the world is governed. Yet such truths cannot be found in a book, or taught by a tutor; instead, a man—or a boy—must find them himself. And even in finding them, he must understand that he will never see the whole truth, not as it really is, for between it and him is a great fog, one that might be dispersed in part, but never in full, for complete viewing of the world’s design is for the gods and the gods alone.”
“Then what’s the point?” Caleb demanded, suddenly angry. “Why bother learning anything at all, if we’re bound to get it wrong? Why bother, if nothing can be gained from it?”
“Is that all there is to the world then, young one?” the Virtue asked. Though his voice was little more than a whisper, Caleb heard the reprimand in it. “Seeking to gain, to hoard your knowledge, your wisdom like some miser who refuses to leave his plunters and so will die atop a pile of them? Is that why you risked yourself carrying the woman through the forest?”
“I don’t know why I did it,” Caleb said, and even he could hear the wretched desperation in his voice. “I don’t know.”
“Ah, but I think you do. You see, Caleb, the virtue, the treasure, is not in the outcome but in the quest itself, in a course set and a course followed. You did what you believed was right not because it was easy or because you stood to gain from it, and in doing so you displayed a wisdom few possess. And if the worst had come to pass, then still you would not have been wrong to do so, for it is a fool who expects to predict the world, to make of it a servant to do his bidding. A wise man does not try to master the world, but endeavors to master himself.”
Caleb frowned, thinking the Virtue’s words over, and several minutes passed before he spoke again. “So…he was wrong, then? The voice?”
“Yes,” Palendesh responded instantly. “And even had every word he spoken been true, yet still he would have been wrong. For that…one…he would make of knowledge a whip, one with which you might be bent and broken and become a cruel, twisted thing not so unlike those creatures which we fight. I have seen it before, young one. Too many times.”
The last was spoken in a haunted voice, and Caleb thought to ask the Virtue what he meant but decided against it. He thought he’d had enough of truth for one week. “They will want to know what happened at the barracks,” he said. “The others. I will have to tell them.”
Yes.
“They won’t be happy.”
“No, I suspect they will not. But, young one, unlike yourself after your own trial, they will, at least, be dry.”
Caleb sighed, rising from the bed. He didn’t want to, but he did it anyway. “Alright. Then let’s go tell them.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR
“Damn, but that is dark news,” Brandon Gant growled, rubbing wearily at his eyes. Not that Aaron could blame him—they’d all got little enough rest over the past few weeks, the random attacks of Kevlane’s creatures making sleep all but impossible.
Now, they stood in the tent that served as Aaron’s command post. General Yalleck was busily frowning at nothing and no one in particular, and to his left stood Adina and Gryle, the chamberlain obviously uncomfortable about being included in the proceedings at all. Leomin and Seline stood a short distance away from the table at which the others were gathered, so close that their shoulders touched.
The two hadn’t spoken yet, clearly feeling out of place, and that was fine, so far as Aaron was concerned. If Leomin started speaking, they’d no doubt pass another sleepless night listening to his stories of sexual conquest. Or maybe not, Aaron thought, eyeing the woman standing beside the Parnen. He’d seen, first-hand, that the woman knew how to use the knives she carried, and he didn’t doubt Leomin had learned as much too—would, Aaron suspected, learn it more than he would like, should he say the wrong thing. Aaron grinned at that.
Still, regardless of how annoying Leomin was at even the best of times, given the recent attacks and the critical roles they would play in the coming battle, Aaron had thought it best to include all of the bearers of a Virtue in their strategy meetings. Brandon Gant and Adina had both agreed readily enough, though whether that was because they thought the decision wise, or that they were beginning to believe—wrongly—that Aaron knew what he was doing, he couldn’t have said for sure.
“I’m sorry,” Caleb said, avoiding the eyes of those gathered.
Aaron grunted. “It’s not your fault, lad. Start apologizing for all the wrongs in the world now, and you’ll still be doing it when you’re gray-headed and lying on your death-bed.”
“Agreed,” the captain said. “Sorry, Caleb,” he said, turning to the youth. “I didn’t mean to imply anything by it, just worried is all.”
And rightly so, as far as Aaron could see, but he didn’t think saying so would help. Without the Akalians to open the western gate of Baresh, the army would be forced to employ more traditional siege tactics—battering rams, catapults, and more. Given that the walls would no doubt be manned by creatures that were stronger and faster than any living man, there was no telling what cruel surprises Kevlane would show them while they were stuck in the field outside the city. How many would die before they even breached the city gates? A quarter of the army? Half? All of them? It was a worrying question, but an unavoidable one, and Aaron could see in the eyes of the others gathered in the tent that they were asking it of themselves as well.
“The Akalians may yet show up,” Adina said, though her voice held little hope for it. “The Speaker and his brothers will not be easily beaten, I think.”
“But do we want them to show up?” General Yalleck asked. “I did not meet with these Akalians as you all did, but I have heard stories of them, of their…exploits.” His tone made the last a condemnation. “They are not known for their kindness.” He held up a hand to silence any objection. “Understand, I am aware of our situation, of the risk we take. Breaching the city will be no easy feat—many will die to see it accomplished. But I cannot help but wonder if it is wise to ally ourselves with these…men. After all, when a farmer finds a coyote in his henhouse, he does not invite a wolf inside as well. True, the coyote and the wolf might destroy each other, but it seems all too clear that whichever is left will feast on chicken flesh.”
Brandon Gant’s jaw clamped together, and he spun to Aaron, who held his hand up to tell the man to relax. “So what would you have us do, General?” he asked, his voice little more than a whisper, yet Yalleck flinched, as if he’d yelled the words.
The general cleared his throat, looking around at the eyes studying him, and shifting uncomfortably. “Well, I’d have us fight this Kevlane, of course. I’d have us fight him and beat him. I only argue that we don’t need those…those demons to do it.”
Aaron nodded slowly. “Tell me, General Yalleck, is a swordsman immune to the edge of his own blade? Will it, being his, refuse to turn in his hands, should he be careless, and teach him what I have heard some of the army refer to as a ‘red lesson’?”
“Of course not,” the other man said, frowning. “But I don’t see—”
“And what of an archer’s bow?” Aaron went on. “Is it impossible the string will snap in battle, or that, should another hold it, the arrow it shoots will find its owner as easily as any other target?”
“You know it would,” Yalleck said, “but what does this have to do with anything?”
“And knowing this,” Aaron went on, ignoring the man’s question, “is it wiser, then, to go into battle without sword or bow and in doing so avoid the risk of your own weapon being turned against you?”
Yalleck grunted. “Any fool knows better than that.”
“Yes,” Aaron said pointedly, meeting the man’s eyes. “Any fool does. A carpenter must have his chisel and hammer, General, a clerk his pen and p
archment, for they are the tools of his profession, and without these he can’t do his job. Just as a sword, a bow, armor and all the rest, are tools of a soldier’s profession, and only a fool, as you say, would go into battle without either.”
“I assume,” Yalleck said, “you have some point, General Envelar?”
“My point is simple. The Akalians are tools—weapons we might wield against Kevlane and his army. That is not an insult but a simple fact. All of us here are also weapons, ones we hope will be great enough to strike down this bastard and whatever monstrosities he’s created. As for the Akalians themselves, you have already heard the story, General: they saved not just my life, but the lives of a lot of people I care about, when they could have done nothing. They put themselves at great risk, sacrificed many of their own, to see that we survived Grinner’s ambush. And the truth, General?” he said, meeting the man’s eyes, “The truth is I trust them more than I trust you.”
The other man hissed in a sharp intake of breath, and Adina spoke before he could. “What General Envelar is saying, Commander Yalleck,” she said, and Aaron didn’t miss the sharp, reprimanding look she gave him, “is that the Akalians helped us when they didn’t need to, even when helping us cost them greatly. We here,” she said, gesturing to the others, “are only able to stand with you against this threat because of the Akalians and their sacrifice. No one here doubts your courage or your resolve, but I ask that, in this, you trust me, you trust us.”
Yalleck frowned, glancing between her and Aaron, then finally he sighed. “I suppose we have no other option. Still, if what the boy says is true, it may not matter in any case. If the creatures really did find the barracks—something I don’t doubt—then it’s possible whatever help they might have given us will no longer be available. What is our plan then, if they don’t show up?”
Aaron shrugged. “Then we bleed, General. We bleed, Baresh bleeds, and so does that bastard Kevlane, and we can only hope he bleeds out before us.”
Yalleck frowned, nodding slowly. “Yes. But, then, given what is at stake, should we not delay, in case your friends, the Akalians, do show?”
“Because of what is at stake, General, we can’t afford to.” He glanced around at the others, waited for them to nod their agreement before turning back to Yalleck. “We are not without weapons of our own, after all. One way or the other, we will reach Baresh the day after tomorrow, and we will end this.” A silence descended on the tent then as each of them thought of the coming days, and of what end that might be.
They are scared, Co said.
Of course they are, Firefly. And they’ve a right to be. Shit, I’d be worried, if they weren’t.
And you? she asked. Are you scared?
Me? he thought, gazing at the tent flap where, in the distance, the city of Baresh lay, ruled by the ancient mage whose twisted workings had haunted Aaron’s dreams for months as he subjected the city’s citizens to unspeakable torments to feed his lust for destruction. Scared? Not so much, Co. Me? I’m angry.
“They will come.”
They all turned, pulled from their dark thoughts, to look at Caleb, and the youth squirmed under the weight of their gazes, clearly uncomfortable being the center of attention.
“What’s that, lad?” Brandon Gant asked.
“The Akalians,” Caleb said, meeting Aaron’s eyes. “They’ll come.”
Aaron nodded slowly, watching the youth, the same boy who blanched under the attention of the others, who had traveled alone through a dark forest, through freezing rain, to carry a woman to safety. “Your Virtue has said as much?”
The youth shook his head, a small smile on his face. “Not directly. Neither Palendesh nor I has any knowledge of what happened to the Akalians.”
“Then how can you sound so certain?” Leomin asked, his voice not accusing but simply curious.
Caleb’s grin grew wider, and he looked around at all the others. “Because of hope, Leomin. When you have done all that you can do, all that can be done, all that is left is hope.”
Aaron met the eyes of the others in the tent. No one spoke, and though their worry still showed in their faces, it was not as prevalent, as noticeable, as it had been before. He studied Caleb then, the youth once more staring at his feet as if wishing he were invisible, and smiled. For all that bastard Kevlane’s power, neither he nor the Virtues were the only magic the world had to offer. “Alright then,” he said, surprised to find he was feeling better himself. “If no one else has anything, we’d best get some rest. I think we’re going to need it.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FIVE
“Good,” Darrell said, stepping back and allowing his sword to point toward the ground. “You’re getting a lot better.”
Thom scowled at his empty hand and at his sword lying on the ground a few feet away as if they’d betrayed him. “Thanks, swordmaster, but it seems to me that a fella might want to keep hold of his blade, in a fight.”
“True,” Darrell said, grinning, “but you are much improved. Only, you do not wish to hold the sword so tightly—doing so makes of your blade a stone, where you want it to be the wind. Stones, after all, can be broken.”
“And wind can dispel the stench of my shit swordplay,” Thom muttered.
Darrell laughed. “It is a common mistake, Thom. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
“Two weeks we been at this, and I’m just as terrible now as when we started.” The first mate stalked to where his sword lay and, with a growl, he hefted it once more, turning back to the swordmaster. “Let’s go again.”
And they did. Again, and again, and again. And when Thom picked himself up from the ground for the seventh time, it was all he could do to keep from throwing the sword as far as he could just for the satisfaction of watching it fly. If the thing landed in a pile of deer shit, it’d only serve it right, so far as he was concerned. “Damnit.” The swordmaster watched him with one eyebrow raised, a small smile on his face. Thom took a slow, deep breath, fighting down his anger. “Sorry, swordmaster. Tell me, is it true what they say, that you taught the general? I mean, how to use the sword and all?”
Darrell’s small smile broke into a wide grin at that. “You could say that. Though it might be more accurate to say I spent those years trying to teach Aaron how to control his anger more than anything. And, I suspect, it was a test by the gods—wishing to know the full extent of my patience, perhaps.”
Thom grunted a laugh. “You passed, I suppose?”
“Well, he’s still alive for now but...I’ll let you know.”
Thom grinned back, stretching his back in a vain effort to rid it of the ache beginning to form there. Gods, but what do you think you’re doing, old man? It’s far too late to pick up a new trade. And if you’re looking for one, why not try basket weaving? Nobody’s ever been killed by a basket. Despite the thought, he made his way back to the small practice area and raised his sword. “Again?”
“Certainly,” Darrell agreed, but he’d barely taken a step when a shout drew their attention.
“Thomas Eugene Belan!”
Thom winced as May stalked toward them with a purposeful stride that he suspected wouldn’t have been slowed in the slightest should a brick wall have been foolish enough to get in her way. Her mouth was set, her expression grim, and Thom got a suddenly wild urge to go for a run, one which he was able to resist only by the barest of margins.
“Eugene, is it?”
He risked a glance at the swordmaster—not a long one, for fear that May, like some nightmare creature, might gain speed when he wasn’t looking—and saw that the other man was grinning widely. He scowled. “It’s a strong name.”
“Of course,” the man answered, but Thom was barely listening. He was too busy watching May’s approach. He’d been a sailor for a long time, had seen all sorts of tempests and hurricanes, and had survived more than his share, truth be told, but even a blind man could see the clouds gathering around the club owner.
“Hi, May,” he
said as she drew close.
“Hi?” she demanded. “Hi? Is that all you’ve got to say to me?”
Suddenly unsure, Thom glanced at the swordmaster but saw that the man had found something interesting on the ground that demanded his full attention. Sure, he thought sourly, the man might be brave enough to take on Kevlane’s monstrosities, but not a clearly pissed-off club owner. Not that Thom could blame him. “How’s your morning, May?” he ventured.
He could see the muscles of her jaw clench, could see her taking a deep breath, no doubt in an effort to keep from strangling him, for which Thom was grateful. “I heard an interesting story,” she said. “You see, I heard tale from one of the soldiers who came to me looking for a new pair of boots. While I was preparing the writ for the quartermaster, he happened to mention he’d seen a certain old fool playing at swords. Oh, he thought it was good—and it just goes to show the world has its share of imbeciles and then some—said he’d seen this old man out here training every morning, had even been inspired to train more himself, if you can believe that.”
“May—”
“The thing is,” she went on as if he hadn’t spoken, “I know the man must surely have been lying, wouldn’t you say? No, I told him, Thom couldn’t be out playing with swords each morning because, according to what he told me, he left early each morning to check on the stores, feeling like he had to double check them despite me telling him there were others whose job it was to look after their safety.”
Thom winced. “Look, May, I knew you’d be upset and—”
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