Aaron blinked, surprised by the sadness welling up inside him. “Co—Evelyn, I…”
“I know, Aaron,” she said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I know. You will do well, and you will finish what you have started. The people will be safe, and it will be because of you. It has truly been a pleasure to know you, sellsword. I will miss you.”
Aaron cleared his throat. “And I you, Firefly. But…how? How do I do it?”
“It’s easy,” she said, a small smile on her face. “Resting is easy, Aaron. You just have to close your eyes.”
He looked around once more to the other mages studying him with naked hope and nodded slowly, surprised by the depths of sadness he felt. “Goodbye, Evelyn.”
“Goodbye, Aaron.”
“Do you regret it?” he asked, the words coming from him without him realizing they would. “Choosing me?”
She smiled widely this time. “Of course not. After all, you made me laugh.”
Aaron swallowed past the lump in his throat, giving her a smile in return.
Then he closed his eyes.
***
The mage stood before him, his face a mask of fear and anger. “What have you done?” he hissed.
They were gone, all of them. Aaron knew it, felt it, an absence where Co had been, where all the others had been. For better or worse, he was only himself now, he and no other. “I did what I had to do,” he said, walking toward Kevlane, “what Aaron Caltriss tried to do thousands of years ago. The Virtues should not exist, Kevlane. They should never have existed.”
“Y-you fool!” Kevlane screamed. “Y-you could have been a god.”
“I’m a man, Kevlane,” Aaron said, suddenly very tired. “And that’s more than enough.”
The blade plunged into the mage’s chest, questing for his heart and finding it, and Kevlane gasped, staring down at the steel impaling him, at his death, in disbelief. “Now rest, mage,” Aaron said, and there was no anger in his voice, no fury, only an abiding sadness. “It’s easy, you know. All you have to do is close your eyes.”
Kevlane opened his mouth as if he would speak, but no words came, and a moment later he stumbled off the blade, collapsing to the ground. Aaron watched him, watched his body twitch feebly as it learned the truth. Then, the mage let out one final breath. His eyes closed for the last time. And he rested.
***
Those stationed at the western gate would speak of that battle in years to come. Sailors would regale their shipmates with the tale, soldiers would speak of it in the barracks in hushed tones, and even hardened criminals would whisper of it, as if to speak any louder would somehow sully the past, would strip the moment of its grandeur.
As the body of Kevlane fell to the ground in Baresh’s castle, so, too, did the abominations he had created. For they had been invested with his Art, his will, and when the mage breathed his final breath, they collapsed. They had made it through the gates, and the last half hour had been one of bloody struggle. Men and women slowly rose from where they’d been, seconds from death, to look at the bodies of their attackers scattered about the ground like so many puppets with their strings cut.
No longer supported by their eerie allies, the remaining army of Baresh found itself vastly outnumbered. A surrender was negotiated, overseen by Captain Brandon Gant. And then it was over. The cheers began slowly at first, tentative, uncertain. But soon they rose, higher and higher, and for all their losses, for all their suffering, the wounded and the well cheered alike. For it was over. The sun shone high in the sky, chasing away the shadows. The night had gone, and the day had begun in truth.
CHAPTER
FIFTY-ONE
It was slow going as Aaron and his remaining companions left the castle. Bastion and Seline had finally roused, but their feet were uncertain beneath them, and the others had to help them along. Here and there, castle guards watched them pass, but they said nothing, nor did they move to block their way. They only watched the procession: a young boy; a Parnen over whose shoulder was draped the arm of a dazed woman; an overweight chamberlain on whose face swam a thousand different emotions, none of them fear, helping a young giant. And behind them all, a sellsword, a man who once had cared only for the coin in his pocket. A man who had once held the incorrect belief that surviving was the same thing as living.
They made their way through the castle, heading toward the entrance, a silence following them. But this silence was not one of regret but of understanding, and if there was sadness then it was a knowing kind, the same one might feel watching the leaves turn orange and brown in autumn, knowing that a new season was upon them. And in their silence they each, in their own way, said goodbye to the season that had passed and, together, shared the knowledge of its passing.
Someone shouted his name, and Aaron looked up to see Nathan running toward him, accompanied by his nephew, Janum. “Aaron,” the innkeeper panted, coming to stand in front of him and the others, his hands resting on his knees as he gathered his breath. “You’re okay. But,” he added, looking around, “not all of you.”
“No,” Aaron agreed. “Not all of us.”
Nathan nodded somberly. “I’m sorry for that, truly. And…Kevlane?”
“Dead.”
The innkeeper breathed a heavy sigh of relief. “Well, that’s good at least. I had thought as much, of course from what’s happened, but—”
“What’s happened?”
The big man waved a hand. “I’ll explain everything soon but…Aaron, they’re waiting for you. For all of you.”
The sellsword frowned at that. “Who’s waiting?”
The innkeeper raised his eyebrows as if surprised by the question. “Well…everyone.”
Aaron and the others shared a troubled glance then followed Nathan out of the front gate of the castle. They blinked in the sunlight, shading their eyes like men and women who had spent months in darkness. And, in so many ways, Aaron thought, we have.
Soon, his eyes grew accustomed to the brightness. He heard someone—he believed Caleb—gasp, and the once Virtue-bearers froze together on the castle steps as they saw what waited for them.
Thousands of people crowded the castle courtyard, spilling out into the street, so many that Aaron could not see, even from his place on the top of the steps, where the crowd ended. It was as if it stretched on into eternity, as if every person not just in the city, but in the world had gathered together.
“Aaron,” Gryle said from beside him, “what…what do we do?”
Aaron was just about to say that he didn’t know when, suddenly, there was movement among the crowd. At first, it was hard, staring at that mass, to figure out what was happening. Then a shock of surprise ran through him as each and every one of those gathered fell to a knee, bowing their heads. At a loss for words, Aaron looked at the others beside him, saw his own disbelief mirrored in their expressions.
Suddenly, part of the crowd began to separate, forming an avenue, through which several figures approached. Aaron felt a relief greater than any he’d felt before when he saw Adina there. And not just her, but Captain Gant, and May. Darrell and Balen, Thom and Wendell, and all the rest. Even Urek and his band of criminals. They were bruised, battered, and clearly exhausted. But they were alive.
It was in that moment that Aaron realized he’d resigned himself to never seeing them again, any of them.
Thank you, Co, he thought, for everything.
Adina and the others approached, all of them smiling and laughing, and Aaron felt as if he were in a dream, one he might wake from at any second.
But then Adina was there, pulling him into an embrace. Her lips were on his, and it was no dream after all. “Oh, Aaron,” she said, “thank the gods that you’re okay.” She took in the others with her gaze. “That you’re all okay.”
She stepped away then, and Aaron surveyed the crowd once more, feeling as if something was expected of him. “Adina…why are all these people here? What do they want from me?”
She smiled,
holding his hand in hers, and turned to study the crowd with him. “They don’t want anything from you, Aaron. You’ve already given it to them.”
“What?”
She laughed. “Don’t you know? You—all of you—you’ve given them the best gift anybody can have. Hope, Aaron. You’ve given them hope.”
And despite his exhaustion, despite all he had been through in the last few hours, he found himself smiling. “Hope,” he repeated, glancing to either side to see that the others were also smiling. “Now, that’s a fine thing.”
CHAPTER
FIFTY-TWO
Aaron fought back a yawn as he walked down the castle corridor. At the end of the hall, two guards waited. When he approached, the smaller of the two dropped down onto one knee, bowing his head.
“Oh, get up, you bastard.”
Wendell rose, grinning widely. “Forgive me for sayin’ so, Sire, but I ain’t sure that’s the way a king ought to talk.”
Aaron grunted, glancing at the other guard, Bastion. The giant soldier’s wide grin vanished when he did, and he pointedly avoided Aaron’s gaze. “Tell me, Bastion, if I asked you to throw this bastard out of a window, what would you say?”
Bastion laughed. “I’d say that Sergea—forgive me, Captain Wendell still owes me some coin from last night’s card game. It’d be a shame if something happened to him before he was able to pay me back.” His smile widened, and he met Aaron’s eyes. “Majesty.”
Aaron sighed, shaking his head. “Gods, but I’ve got to look into finding some guards who are mute. At least then, I wouldn’t have to listen to all of this ‘Majesty’ and ‘Sire’ shit all the time.”
Wendell snorted. “Yeah, must be tough, being a king. You’ve our sympathies, Sire.”
Aaron’s scowl seemed to have little effect, so he sighed instead. “And Queen Adina?”
“Waiting for you, Majesty.”
“Alright, I’ll see you bastards at the dinner tonight. And Wendell?”
“Majesty?”
“No waving your boot at people this time, alright?”
The scarred man finally looked chastised at that. “Of course, Sire.”
Aaron grinned and walked on. He paused to glance in a room he passed to see Gryle standing beside an easel on which had been placed a large parchment. The chamberlain—now a tutor—was in the middle of a lecture on proper etiquette during a formal dinner while his two pupils—Beth’s grandson Michael, and Caleb—moved toy soldiers around on the table where they sat. After so much had happened, it felt good to Aaron that some things, at least, were back to normal.
Gryle, noticing his pupils’ distraction, cleared his throat. “Caleb, what are your thoughts on the conflict in the western reaches under the reign of King Altes and its causes?”
The boy glanced up from where he’d been placing a toy soldier to attack one of Michael’s. “Forgive me, Gryle, do you refer to Altes or Altes the Second, his son? Mostly, the original conflict was due to economic concerns, primarily revolving around a lack of taxes being collected from the nobles of the western reach, but it was resolved, at least for a time, before King Altes the Second took control after his father’s passing. The second rising of the conflict was due more to—”
“Very good,” Gryle interrupted, and Aaron couldn’t help but laugh at the mixture of exasperation and pleasure in the chamberlain’s eyes. Gryle let out a squeak of surprise when he noticed Aaron for the first time, dropping the quill he held. It rolled under the desk beside the easel, but the chamberlain didn’t seem to notice. “Majesty, forgive me, I didn’t see you there.”
“No problem at all, Gryle,” Aaron said. “And we’ve been over this—call me Aaron. We nearly died together a dozen times; I’m pretty sure it’s acceptable.”
The chamberlain frowned in thought. “Forgive me, Majesty, but I would have to check the proper precedents. Though, if I’m being honest, I’m not quite sure…perhaps Elastra’s Treatise on Decorum and Propriety.” He rubbed at his chin. “I think, perhaps, there’s something there.”
Aaron sighed. “Never mind, Gryle. Carry on.”
“Of course, Sire.” The chamberlain looked around on the floor, trying to find the quill he’d dropped, and distractedly grabbed the solid oak desk, lifting it with one hand before retrieving the quill and setting the massive desk back down again. He resumed his lecture, apparently unaware of the impossible feat of strength he’d just performed.
Well, Aaron thought, at least some things are back to normal. The Virtues may have been gone for months now, but some of the effects they’d had on their bearers still lingered. The exact extent of the changes was unknown, but that he—and those others—had changed, was not in doubt. After all, what but the Virtue of Strength’s insanity would have convinced him to accept the position as King of Telrear? But, of course, he knew. The reason—his reason—waited for him even now, so he gave the two grinning youths a wink and walked on.
He found her standing in the doorway, as he’d known she would be, staring into the small room. She turned at his approach and gave him a smile as he walked up to her, taking her hand. “Wife,” he said.
“Husband.”
“Remind me to have Captain Wendell flogged,” he said quietly. “The man’s been even more insufferable than usual since he became captain of the castle guard.”
“Of course,” she said, grinning and speaking in a low whisper. “This time, let’s hope something won’t come up to keep the captain from getting his just punishment. You know, like it has the last dozen times you were going to have him flogged.”
Aaron gave her a smile of his own, unable to help himself. “The others are still coming for the dinner?”
“May and Thom for sure,” she said, “and if his letters are any indication, I expect Festa will be glad to have the two of them off his ship for a time.” Her eyes danced with amusement. “Apparently, Thom has become quite the lay about since May started sailing with them.”
Aaron grinned. “It’ll be good to see them both. And the others?”
“Balen will be here,” she said, “as will General Gant, of course, and Urek and his crew. As for Leomin and Seline…” She rolled her eyes. “Who knows.”
“They haven’t responded to the letter?”
“Oh, they responded,” Adina said. “After a fashion. A boy from the inn where they’re staying brought the letter—apparently, they couldn’t be bothered to leave their rooms.”
Aaron laughed quietly, then followed his wife’s gaze as she looked into the room once more, at the slatted crib, and the small bundle asleep within it. “She’s sleeping better,” Adina said.
“Thank the gods for that,” he replied. “Maybe that means we’ll be able to get some sleep ourselves. I seem to remember enjoying it.”
She grinned and, as if his words had been a cue, suddenly the baby stirred, her eyes opening slowly to stare at her parents standing in the doorway. She grinned, cooing, and crawled toward them, frowning when she fetched up against the wooden slats of the crib. Then, an intense look of concentration on her face, she reached out one pudgy hand and with what seemed to be no effort at all, tore off several of the oak slats. In another moment, she was crawling across the floor to them, and Aaron and Adina shared a sigh. After all, it wasn’t the first crib they had gone through, and he didn’t imagine it would be the last. Adina hurried into the room, scooping the now-smiling baby up from the ground.
Aaron leaned against the door frame, watching as Adina spun the baby in circles, her laughter and the little girl’s filling the room. Soon, they were both on the floor, the queen of Telrear making frightened noises as she crawled across the room, fleeing from the giggling baby chasing her. It didn’t take long for the baby to catch her mother—it never did—and soon she was climbing on top of her, pulling her hair.
Adina turned to look at Aaron, raising an eyebrow. “What sort of king are you, that you’ll let your wife suffer in battle with this, this tyrant?” she said, pausing as a very familiar
—and largely unwelcome—sound came from the baby, and Adina and Aaron stared at her with wide eyes. Finally, when it was finished, Adina cleared her throat. “I seem to recall it being your turn.”
Aaron winced, doing his best not to breathe through his nose. “I’d love to, of course,” he said, “but the thing is, I’ve been talking to Gryle and Wendell, and since I’m the king I’m not sure that it would be proper to…” He trailed off at Adina’s scowl and sighed.
Then, taking a deep breath, Aaron Envelar, once sellsword and now king, ventured into his daughter’s room to do battle. And, this time, at least, his sword was nowhere to be seen, and his opponent waited for him with outstretched arms, her large, child’s eyes dancing with laughter.
“Come on then, Evelyn,” he said, taking his daughter from his wife. “Let’s go see Uncle Wendell.”
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And now, Dear Reader, we have come to the end of The Seven Virtues. It was a long journey, I know, but one I hope you enjoyed.
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A Sellsword's Hope Page 39