“No change. But perhaps tomorrow…” Her gloomy expression showed she no more believed the statement than he did. He said nothing.
“Are you really planning to sleep here?” she asked a moment later, speaking even more softly than before.
“Yes,” he answered, but still watching Larana. “Will it be a problem?”
The Flyer shook her head from side to side, still keeping to the shadows.
“I just wanted to know.” She turned to a table behind her then faced him once more. “I brought some blankets for you.”
Torren tried hard to give her a smile, knowing she felt uncomfortable at his intrusion.
“Thank you.” He took the blankets and laid them out on the floor beside Larana’s bed.
“I–I will leave you, then. If you need anything, tell Mar and Styn and one of them will send for me.” She didn’t look him in face.
“I’ll remember that.”
Half-bowing in his direction, Tyleen made her escape.
He slumped down onto the floor, staring after her, feeling slightly amused. Micca must carry a lot of weight with her—otherwise, he felt sure leaving him alone with the Vassal would have been the last thing Tyleen would be willing to do.
Glancing back toward the bed, he stared at what he could see of Larana’s face for a long time. He took her hand, but felt no more of her presence in the touch than he had before. Squeezing it hard for a moment, he set it gently on the bed and turned his back on her, readying himself for sleep.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Torren opened his eyes, shocked by the smell assaulting him. It was the pungent, nauseating odor of rotting flesh—the smell of death. What he saw did not make him feel any better.
Though he was no stranger to battle or the death it left behind, the sheer magnitude of what he confronted gave him pause. Dead horses, dismembered men, discarded weapons covered the ground in a blanket of death. As far as he could see was littered, trampled earth stained the deep brown of drying blood.
Looking at the corpses nearest him, he identified the livery of the emperor as well as that of the nations of the Northern Tribes. Hatred twisted their dead features. It rose in a miasma of loathing, buoyed by the shroud of death. It clung to him, seeking him, trying to lodge within him. He felt himself sway in its grip, as if it were a living thing.
Darkness flushed into the valley, making Torren spin around, a gasp escaping his lips, numbing cold shooting through him. Something hovered above him, but he couldn’t make out what it was. Triumphant, spiteful laughter trickled down to him.
The sound of wings filled the air before everything suddenly went black.
* * *
Torren awoke staring into the semi-darkness. He sat up, still gripped by the strange dream. With a shiver, he turned to check Larana and found her just as he’d left her.
Only his recurring dream had ever disturbed him in this way—had ever seemed so real. That one had followed him until he’d met Larana. Only after he’d left her behind had it ever deviated, and then only to put her in his place.
Now, since arriving here, he’d had two others as vivid. The portent in this last dream seemed clear—the destruction of thousands, tens of thousands of Landers. But why? What would there be to gain from it? Or was he misunderstanding what he had seen?
No longer the least bit sleepy, he wrapped one of the blankets about him and leaned back against the wall. He stared at what he could see of Larana, the questions spinning in his mind. By the time Tyleen returned to the room at sunrise, he’d gotten no closer to finding any answers.
The morning crawled by as Torren met Mallean for breakfast, most of the dishes remaining untouched. He didn’t tell her of his dreams; but perhaps she sensed his mood, for little passed between them.
More and more Flyers walked or flew by the Vassal’s home, some looking at them with eager anticipation. Whether they knew the truth or not, a few must have connected the capital’s return to Caeldanage to the Vassal. He knew their curiosity would only increase when she remained in seclusion.
Close to midday, the councilors, one-by-one, arrived at the Vassal’s home and gathered behind a curtained-off area in the sorium. Torren noted eyes red from lack of sleep, taut faces filled with tension. A few had hopeful visages, but even these were frayed at the edges. It was what all of them wanted most, but none, it seemed, truly believed Aen would awaken once they reached Caeldanage.
As they milled about in subdued silence, a guard in gold armor rushed in and, spotting Valerian, made his way over to him.
“Sir, we’ve reached the Lander city.”
Agitated wings fluttered throughout the room. Valerian acknowledged the information and sent him on his way. He then turned to face the others.
“The healer Ryn, myself, Tel Mallean, Tel Icos, Tel Mides, and Tel Symean will go see her now. We’ll report back to you momentarily.”
Torren, who’d been hanging out at the periphery of the room all this time, stiffened as he listened to the list. Aside from the healer, the names were the same as those who’d been with Larana when she’d first collapsed. Ducking under the curtain, he ran into the interior of the house.
Following the hallway, he stopped before the drapery and carefully lifted it aside to announce his presence. The two guards inside were not the twins, but they’d obviously been told about him because they gave him no trouble and let him through.
Not lingering, he crossed the room past the hangings dividing it. Barely sparing a glance for Larana, he continued on until he found a deeply shadowed corner to stand in. Only then did he turn to look at her in the gloom. As expected, she was exactly as he’d left her earlier that morning.
Voices were heard shortly, whispering from the other side of the curtains. Torren slunk back as close to the wall as he could as the hanging was drawn back to admit the five councilors and the healer. Quietly, the councilors flanked Ryn as he came to inspect the patient. Torren watched his every move as the healer bent over Larana.
Ryn finished his observations and turned to face the anxiously waiting councilors, his wings and shoulders drooping. “I’m sorry. I can find no change in her condition at all.”
All six stood in silence for several breaths. Valerian was the first to find the voice to speak.
“Thank you, Healer.”
Ryn bowed slightly and left.
“I suppose this is to be expected,” Valerian said once he’d gone.
“What do we do now?” Symeas sounded on the verge of despair.
A resounding thump rang in the room. “We’ll do what we have always done, of course!” Icos glared at the rest of them. “We’ll do what we can and trust El to guide us. There’s nothing else we can do.”
Mides nodded. “We’ll have to let the people know.”
“No,” Mallean said, a little forcefully, “let’s give it a little more time. It could just be that her recovery will take a while.”
“Yes! Maybe she’s right.” Symeas’s face brightened.
Valerian, on the contrary, frowned. “This isn’t like you, Mallean.”
She avoided meeting his scrutiny. “Perhaps, but it is how I feel. The disaster we will have to deal with once all are told will be bad enough. One more day of waiting should make little difference.” She glanced at the others, her face confident. “Besides, we could use the time to pray and also compose how we will break the news to the people.”
“There is sense in what she says,” Icos concurred. “Some amongst our members will not take well to our news and will need time to come to grips with the truth before they are able to pass the tidings onto others in a calm manner.”
“The main thing we should do is to get every last one of us, whether on the islands, embassy or a mountain, to pray. If we speak with one voice once this disaster is revealed, perhaps then El would see fit to guide us again.” Mides’s eyes were full of grief, as if he were trying hard to believe his own words and failing miserably.
Valerian’s stare took
in each of them in turn, his expression veiled. “That’s assuming we’re able to control the people at all.”
With this pronouncement, they left, their expressions unsure and worried. Torren waited several minutes more then followed.
He considered waiting out the coming storm once the other councilors were informed of the lack of change in Larana’s condition by going to his room; but then thought of his mother, out there with the others. He slipped back to the sorium and returned to where the councilors were gathered.
Soft murmurs slipped through the curtains, as well as stifled weeping. He heard Valerian’s composed voice speaking to them, but couldn’t make out the words. Not long after, the councilors started leaving in ones and twos. Those with tear-streaked faces walked slowly around the sorium trying to first regain their composure before stepping outside.
Once or twice, Torren caught confused or half-angry looks flashing in his direction. As he wondered what they were about, one of the councilors passing him stumbled. Without thinking, he reached for the old woman’s arm to steady her. She looked up with a grateful smile until she spotted his clothes and face.
With a hiss, she pulled away, glaring at him. “Unclean!”
He stared at her, taken aback, as with a repulsed expression the woman turned and walked away from him as fast as possible, slapping softly at the place where he’d grabbed her arm.
With a flash, he recalled the voice he had heard in the council room speaking of the possibility Larana was tainted and thought this might be the person who had spoken. How long would it be before more of them started looking at him in the same way? How long would it be before they decided to blame him for Larana’s current state?
He was still pondering these dark thoughts when he finally spotted Mallean and Zelene. His mother’s eyes were red, her wings half wrapped about herself.
“Are you all right?” he asked her, concerned.
“Yes.” She wiped at her face. “I’m sorry. It was foolish of me, but I’d truly hoped Aen would awaken when we got here.”
Mallean gave her a sympathetic smile. “You weren’t the only one.”
“What has the council decided to do now?”
“We’re going to wait, to give El and whoever he might be guiding time.” Mallean gave him a knowing look. “Sometime tomorrow, though, depending on what happens, another vote will be called for.”
Zelene clasped her hands before her, eyes filled with sadness. “I’ll pray with all my heart it won’t come to that.”
“Mother.” He waited until she looked up. It felt strange saying it, almost like a word in a foreign language. “I’ll be unable to join you today.” He studied her intently, half-afraid the light would go out of her, as it would when he truly left her. His own would never be the same either.
“Oh?” Her brows pinched inward and her face paled a little, as if she were expecting the worst.
“He’s going to be helping me with a line of inquiry a number of us are pursuing to help the Vassal,” Mallean confided.
Torren was amazed by her candor, but then understood it would be the least hurtful way to deal with the situation.
“I need him to go down with the messenger who’ll explain what we’re doing here to Dom Rux.”
A look of panic crossed Zelene’s face but was quickly hidden.
“Will you be gone long?” She tried hard to make the question sound casual.
“No more than a day, depending on what’s happening. I’ll try to send word if it’ll take longer than that.”
“All right.” She tried to smile bravely, but it crumbled. She reached for her son and hugged him, wrapping him with her arms and wings. “I love you.”
Torren’s heart gave a sudden lurch, knowing it would be much worse than this when he told her his final goodbye. His eyes burned.
After several long moments, Zelene let him go. She nodded to both of them, eyes lowered, and left.
He watched her go, his emotions in turmoil. “Thank you.”
“Her heart is pure, and she’s honorable, like her husband. I felt we could trust her with this.”
Once his mother was out of sight, he turned to face Mallean, surprising her in an intense scrutiny focused on him. “Will you be coming as well?”
She shook her head slowly. “No. Though Rux is a close friend, it would seem strange for me to go, especially at this time. Though I am sure whoever is responsible for this is aware we might be doing something, I don’t wish to show our hand any more than necessary.”
Torren nodded, concurring with her caution. “When can I go?”
“Would now be too soon?” she asked.
“Let me get my weapons, and I’ll be ready.”
“I’ll wait for you here.”
He took his time returning to his room, not wanting those still milling about to notice him. Once there, he took off his dagger, replacing it within his pack, and used one of his own blankets to wrap his sword. He eyed his backpack, tempted to take it along, but then decided against it, knowing it would give too final a look to his leave-taking. He would just have to do without.
Tucking the wrapped sword under his arm, he returned to find Mallean leaning against one of the outer pillars, watching those flying by.
“I’m ready.”
She nodded, turning to face him then leading the way down the steps. “Micca arranged for this before he left. The two who will take you down should already be waiting for us.”
She strolled down a path as if she were going no place in particular. He bristled inside with impatience but forced himself not to show it, understanding what she was doing. A couple of times Flyers descended to have a word or two with her. Every time this happened, Torren had to keep from flinching, half-expecting an attack.
Eventually, however, they crossed to the southern tip of the island without mishap. A large park took up the area there, a tall gazebo close to the edge affording an unimpeded view of the sky and the land below. It was strange seeing an edge to the land. Only a Flyer could feel comfortable looking at the drop there. Torren was glad they were not going too near it as Mallean led him straight toward the gazebo. He could make out two figures already waiting inside.
As they stepped within and the two stood up, Torren immediately recognized them—Mar and Styn, Larana’s night bodyguards.
“Did you bring it?” Mallean asked them after a brief greeting.
“Yes, we hid it over there early this morning.” One of the brothers—it was hard to tell which was which—pointed toward a hedge not far off.
Torren threw Mallean a questioning glance, not knowing what she was talking about. She gave him a small smile.
“The twins will be your transport. And to make it easier on them, I had them borrow Aen’s Wings.”
“Her wings?” Even as he asked, something about the term seemed familiar to him.
“They’ll show you, don’t worry. You’ll arrive there safely.” She reached within one of her sleeves. “Please give this to Dom Rux for me. You can send one of the twins or Micca to see me if you’re in need of anything at all.”
Torren took the wrapped scroll and tucked it into the blanket with his sword. “I’ll make sure he gets it.”
“Mar, Styn, I’m putting him and all our hopes in your care.”
Both men gave her a half-bow.
“This way,” one told Torren.
Mallean remained within the gazebo as he followed the twins out. They walked to the hedge; and behind it, he spotted something covered by a large cloth. As they carefully folded the cover from the object, he realized the meaning of “Aen’s Wings.”
Before him lay revealed a silver-framed, rounded box with large rings on the top. Part of the top was a hatch, which would open to admit the Vassal into a padded and cushioned interior. Once he or she was inside, the hatch would be closed and two or more Flyers wearing leather harnesses with strong ropes attached would hook themselves to the large rings on the top and become, in essence, the Vassal’s
wings. In this way, they would be able to transport him or her to any destination.
“Please get in.” One of the twins held out an arm for him to help him clamber up onto the box. Slipping inside, he tried to get situated in the enclosed space. Small grills cut into the circumference allowed light in and gave a restricted view of the outside. He shifted, trying to get comfortable, the soft silk feeling strange to his callused hands.
A light rap on the hatch a few moments later informed him the twins had donned their harnesses and were ready to go. Feeling more nervous at the strange arrangement than he would have thought, he waited for the box to be lifted. To his amazement, he barely felt it as they rose off the ground. The box flew forward toward the tip of the island. It wasn’t long before they traversed its shimmering protective field.
Watching the view, Torren saw the land drop away and them with it. Akin to a leaf falling off a tree, they drifted toward the bustling city below. He was able to get a glance at the city wall as they descended and saw it was packed with guards. Wary eyes turned in their direction while others looked up to see if any more Chosen would come.
As they neared the embassy, he spotted a small crowd by its front gates. He frowned as he noticed men wearing the city’s livery; but more disturbingly, the emperor’s as well, and at least one man there was in state dress. They all stared up as one of the guards pointed them out to the rest.
Not long after, Aen’s Wings gently touched down on the embassy’s roof. One of the twins opened the hatch, allowing him to stand up and stretch.
Once he got out and the other two discarded their harnesses, all three headed for a trapdoor on the northern side of the roof. Torren took the stairs beneath it two at a time. After a couple of false starts, he and the twins were finally able to find their way to the Ambassador’s reception room. They’d seen no one on their way down, which he thought unusual, but for the moment didn’t question.
The reception room was empty, but Rux’s office door stood ajar. Torren headed toward it. When he reached the open doorway, he found the ambassador pacing, a frown creasing his face, his wings drooping.
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