by E. J. Godwin
♦
Telai was the first to leave, anxious to escape their whispers and incriminating stares. She crossed the high, open walkway to the central tower, her arms wrapped close and her lips tight with choler. She had never dreamed of going on such a journey, especially without Caleb. Tenlar was the worst possible choice her father could have made. Now she was trapped by an obligation that forced her to abandon Caleb when he needed her the most, spending days upon days with a man she no longer loved—a constant reminder of what she might lose again.
Yet to the Master Raén of Ada, Tenlar was the best possible choice, and as she entered the tower and wound her way down the stairs she tried her best to accept it. The true threat to her happiness had nothing to do with Soren, or anyone else at the council. Her people needed her as much as Caleb did, and she had to embrace that duty with all her heart. When healed of mind and body, Caleb must do the same.
She found him fast asleep in a lower chamber of the infirmary. Eya sat quietly in a chair nearby. She smiled warmly, then rose to leave as Telai seated herself on the edge of Caleb’s bed.
His arms lay outside the blankets, with his right one, closest to her, wrapped in a clean white bandage. Though his color had improved somewhat, exhaustion still darkened the hollow of his eyes. For a long while she sat nearby, her hands restless in her lap, fighting the urge to hold him again.
In time she rose carefully and took Eya’s seat by the window. Occasionally she would turn to see if Caleb had stirred or awakened. All else was blocked from her mind, until someone clearing their throat interrupted her thoughts.
A young man stood at the door. “It’s good to see you safe and sound, my lady,” he said, bowing.
Telai sat frozen, mouth agape. “Yoté!” she cried, and rushed from her chair to hug him.
He placed a hand lightly against her back, ever self-conscious about being too familiar. Telai began weeping softly against his shoulder, then quickly stepped back and wiped her tears, wearing a self-deprecating smile. The man looked on the verge of running out the door.
“I’m sorry, Yoté. You just caught me off guard. I’ll be sure not to inflict that on you again!”
He offered another of his formal nods. “Whatever serves you best, my lady.”
“But what are you doing here? I sent you to Ekendoré with that coin—the one I used to find Caleb and Warren.”
“I’m here at the Overseer’s command.”
“My mother sent you here? To Spierel? Why?”
Yoté pulled out a small leather pouch from inside his coat and gave it to her. “The Overseer thought it might be safer here, away from the Hodyn. Lord Homim’s been keeping it since I arrived.”
“Then why did you stay? And why are you giving it back to me now?”
“I thought it likely you’d return this way once you found Caleb Stenger and Lord Soren. Lord Tenlar sent out several scouts to learn of your whereabouts.”
Telai nodded. “Spies, indeed,” she said, remembering Tenlar’s boast at Gebi. “But I never thought you’d be one of them.”
Yoté blushed a little as he gestured at the pouch. “It was the First Underseer’s decision to return the coin to you—but at my suggestion,” he added, as if hoping to recover his standing.
“Against the Overseer’s orders? Yoté!”
“No, my lady!” he blurted. “Your mother commanded Lord Homim to keep it safe until the time came to use it again. Now that you’re going on this quest I suggested you were the most in need of it. He agreed.”
Telai realized how much Homim had respected and honored her with this gesture. Yoté had done no less, despite all his flattery and histrionic concern.
She gave his arm a gentle squeeze. “Thank you, Yoté,” she said. After another bow and a promise to visit her later, he departed.
Telai resumed her seat by the window and emptied the pouch into her hand. The engraved eye and tiny figure huddled inside still sent a shiver down her back. It took no leap of imagination to guess what purpose it might serve. If Ada’s only hope lay far away in Tnestiri, they would eventually need to confront Heradnora—which meant finding Warren. The very thought of that confrontation sent a tremor through her soul.
Yet why had Rennor given the coin to her in the first place? It was unlikely he had meant it to be used against his own daughter. And why was it so attuned to Warren? Rennor must have discovered something special about the boy, a mystery that still eluded her despite her powers of clairvoyance.
Again she summoned her gift of laroné, concentrating on the disc as it rested in her palm. Though she was well practiced at it by now, a new barrier thwarted her vision. Blurry glimpses of heavy, stout forms flitted through her mind, and she had little doubt that they were Hodyn. But there was no sense of location, nothing clear or sure enough to tell her where the boy was or what he was doing. Perhaps now, she thought bitterly, Warren’s spirit was too faint, too overpowered by the thief who had robbed him of his own flesh.
The eye and its mysterious little occupant kept taunting her, and in a fit of pique she turned it over, exposing the innocuous, flat surface on the opposite side. It felt much more comforting in that position, as if she had shielded herself from its penetrating stare.
The room seemed to darken suddenly; then she shook it off and returned the coin to its pouch.
She told herself she was too tired to sort it out, that there was plenty of time to figure it out. She had enough to worry about right now.
♦
Caleb slept on, as if recovering from all the ills that had befallen him since Udan. Eya entered occasionally, and in time suggested Telai get some rest, promising to summon her when he awoke. Telai only smiled and shook her head. Toward evening Soren and Tenlar paid a visit, and the old Raén offered the same advice, but with far different results.
“Caleb Stenger is well cared for, and his wound is healing. You should be resting. We’re set to leave the morning after next. Why do you keep this useless vigil when the future of Ada lies in doubt?”
Telai’s cheeks fired. “My vigil is not useless!” she snapped. The others glanced anxiously at Caleb, but he lay quiet, undisturbed. “Duty, duty, always duty—when I’ve already given my word to honor it. My duty to Caleb is no less honorable, and I won’t put up with anyone telling me different!”
Soren bowed his head. “Forgive me. Caleb Stenger is as much a friend to me as he is a fellow Raén. But your health is just as important, Telai. A hard journey awaits you.”
“What about bringing in another cot?” Tenlar suggested, stepping forward. “That way you can honor both duties at the same time.”
Telai’s fury vanished. “By Hendra! Why didn’t I think of that? But is it allowed? House rules—”
Tenlar lifted his hand. “Consider it done. After all, everybody keeps calling me the Master Raén around here. I might as well take advantage of it.” He gave Telai a little wink; she smiled her thanks, and he left to arrange the matter.
The older man turned to leave as well. “Can you forgive me in return, Soren?”
A spark of humor brightened his expression. “No need. As your mother often reminds me, I’m only master of the Raéni, not of tact. He’ll be well cared for, Telai. Just don’t forget to take care of yourself.”
“As long as you follow your own advice! And Soren—when you fight for Ada, fight a little for Caleb, too.”
The old Raén’s eyes darkened as they shifted toward Caleb, and she wondered what grim thought had entered his head. His hand drifted to his scabbard: a new blade rested within, a gift from Tenlar.
“Caleb Stenger will be able to wield his own sword, Telai. I fight for those who can’t.” He walked out the door, leaving Warren’s name unspoken like a shadow on her heart.
Only a few minutes passed before Telai turned to see Caleb sitting up in bed, his eyes and mouth wide in silent horror. She leaped from her chair, trailing the blanket she had draped over her lap, and nearly stumbled into him as he gulped one breath
and shouted to bring down the walls.
She whispered his name, placing a hand over his mouth. His fierce grip forced the air from her lungs, and she endured it as long as she could.
“Caleb—you’re hurting me,” she gasped breathlessly.
His ragged sobs fell silent, and he loosened his grip. “I’m sorry,” he croaked.
Eya burst into the room. Telai murmured a few words to her, and after a quick nod she left to bring back a cup of wine.
Caleb drew away from Telai to accept the cup. “Thank you,” he murmured. Eya bowed her head and left.
His hands trembled as he emptied the goblet in one long draught. He blew his nose on a kerchief, then stared around at the walls. “Spierel?”
“Yes.”
He attempted a smile. “I suppose you have a lot to tell me.”
“I do. We held a council today.”
He sighed. “Let me guess: they need my help.”
She squeezed his hand. “And mine.”
4
First Strike
When war takes a loved one,
you never look at a sword the same way again.
- Etrenga, 1st Master Raén of Ada
SHARP RIDGES running across the newly-formed ice of Tnesen wrenched Caleb’s sled from side to side, much like the grim memories torturing his mind. And when the setting sun cast those ridges into high relief, it signaled the end of his brief stay from madness.
Gebi.
The first glimpse of the shattered roof of the mercantile store nearly sent him over the edge. It rose above the houses and stables beside it, a hideous, snow-cloaked testament of betrayal, striking a pain into his heart he never could have faced without Telai. She rode the sled in front of the handles, lifting her gloved hand behind her in silent acknowledgment of his pain, or perhaps expressing her own; whatever the reason he took hold of it like a man grasping for a lifeline. In any other circumstances he would have insisted that they avoid Gebi, but it was unfair to ask her or any of the Raéni who accompanied them to brave the bitter cold on his account, especially after a long, nerve-wracking day of sledding across thin ice.
They stayed at the house of the same doctor who had first administered Caleb’s wound: Jentis, who with his charming wife made them feel as welcome as possible. But neither Caleb nor Telai needed any convincing when Soren insisted they leave before dawn.
It was far worse for Caleb when they reached the ship. It was all he could do just to open the hatch. The crash, the trap laid by the Hodyn, Soren’s death and his terrifying return to life—each room harbored an evil memory, intensifying Warren’s absence.
But there was no escaping his duty. Ada was in need.
Caleb gathered all the remaining lasers, including six high-powered rifles from the cargo hold and their accompanying mounts, and enough power packs to last many a battle. Though little training was required to operate them, at least for the hand-held pistols, no Adaian had ever imagined anything like it. Overcoming their reluctance during practice taxed Caleb’s fortitude, especially as Telai could not bear to be anywhere near such brutally efficient weapons. Soren supported his efforts, both by example and by his authority, but Caleb never got used to the technology of Earth in his leathered hands. It was a bizarre, obscene sight, like a priest betraying his faith.
None of this could delay the inevitable. Caleb stood in the snow just before dawn, clasping Telai with desperate strength, unable to speak a single word of farewell. To say goodbye would be to accept the possibility of never seeing her again. When she drew away to join Tenlar, her face so beautiful yet wracked with fear and pain, it cut through his heart swifter than the keenest blade. And when she vanished over a distant rise, it was like watching the last hope for joy slip from his grasp.
He turned away, willing his limbs to perform his assigned duty. It was the only refuge he had left.
♦
Because of the importance and secrecy of their mission, Soren avoided any other town or village along the way. On the second day out from the ship they entered the wide gap of Eastgate. Distant Hendra rose like a faint cloud to their left. Telhendra stood guard closer south, and with the unseen yet massive height of Krengliné between, it seemed nothing would ever penetrate those defenses. But Soren increased the pace, fearing to arrive too late.
In truth, Caleb envied his fellow Raéni. No matter how justified their fears, at least they could be shared, if only in silence. Yet not one of them, or any citizen of Ada, had lost a child to the greatest power this world had ever known. Caleb prayed that Warren had fallen dormant or asleep somehow, oblivious to the evil deeds performed by his own body.
He adjusted his position to let Soren join him on the runners. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to say,” the old Raén said. “With Telai around I’ve kept it to myself. But it’s something you need to prepare yourself for.” He paused again, loathing written on his face. “It may well be, Caleb Stenger—and by the spirit of Etrenga I hope I’m wrong—that Ada’s salvation will come at a terrible price.”
Caleb tightened his grip on the handle bars, holding back the scream that had been building in his soul for days.
Soren clasped his shoulder. “But I speak only of the quest, my friend, and no weakness or lack of commitment on my part. The son of a Raén, a young Adaian who returned me to life and duty, has been kidnapped, though in a way no one could have foreseen. By every word in the Oath, I will not forget that.”
Caleb made no reply. Though he appreciated Soren’s promise, there was no comfort to it. Even the Supreme Raén of Ada was only one mortal man.
They crossed Eastgate, with the mountains bordering Ekendoré looming ever higher on their left. Soren sent two experienced Raéni a few miles ahead as scouts, using one of the lighter sleds. Though Tenlar, Boroné, and Hené had previously routed out all Hodyn in the area, there was no predicting what they might encounter since the advent of the Bringer. As yet they had seen no sign of the enemy, but neither had they seen any Raéni patrol or reconnaissance. The messenger they sent from Spierel should have reached Ekendoré at least three days ago, after which Hené would immediately have sent out several scouts of his own.
Early the next day they encountered a small contingent of Raéni heading south along the snow-covered road Gegré-Léiff. Their own scouts were among them, having met in Wellfené, just to the north near the source of the Telquayen. Garda had indeed received the message from Spierel, as well as one Tenlar had sent earlier from Gebi. It was good news to Soren, who had begun to fear that the Hodyn had waylaid the messengers. The two scouts returned to the main party, while the Raéni from Ekendoré departed for Léiff.
The bitter cold held, and the icy breeze stung their faces as they crossed the frozen Telquayen and rejoined the road north of Wellfené. The following dawn brought a slight change to the air, however, and as they turned west toward Ekendoré the temperature rose steadily. Around noon two Raéni on horseback approached, and though the valley beyond looked as peaceful as ever, the soldiers halted before them wearing grim faces.
Soren jumped off the runners as the others stopped to rest. “What news from Ekendoré?”
A short, sturdy woman dropped from the saddle, and Caleb’s eyebrows rose. It was Wirden, who along with Soren’s father had demanded his exile at Udan. A red-stained bandage peeked through the dark bangs under her hood, and she approached Soren with a slight limp, her companion following. She seemed not to recognize Caleb and gave her attention exclusively to the Master Raén.
“None from Ekendoré, Lord Soren,” she answered. “But if you ask what news from Udan, I must answer differently. Udan fell to the Hodyn—three days ago.”
Silent shock registered on their faces. Caleb’s insides twisted: the reality of war was beginning to hit home. Then the Raéni poured out a barrage of questions and exclamations.
Soren silenced it with a shout, then faced Wirden. “Didn’t Garda relay our messages to Rewba?”
“She did, but it wasn�
�t much help. The enemy cut our best fighters to ribbons with those ‘fire weapons,’ or whatever you call them. Caught us totally by surprise.”
“They approached the fort without being seen?” blurted one of the Raéni. “Where were your scouts?”
“That’s exactly what we can’t figure out,” she said. “We sent them out to search the entire region as soon as we got your message. They found no sign of the Hodyn. Then early in the evening—four days ago, now—we heard news that hundreds of the enemy had assembled less than five miles to the east. They were at our walls within a few hours.”
Wirden shook her head, as if in disbelief of her own words. “They only used a few of these evil weapons, but the Hodyn rallied around them. Before long we knew Udan was doomed. Lord Rewba chose six Raéni, including myself, to escape and warn Ekendoré. Only three of us reached the city.” She gestured at the young man at her side. “Toár here saw the fortress fall, and escaped with Lord Rewba and a handful of others after we did.”
“Rewba’s alive?” Soren asked. “Where is he?”
“At the palace, my lord,” Toár answered, bowing his head and speaking with the formality common of new recruits. “He already met with the Overseer, of course, and hopes for your timely return. Lord Hené sent a force north of the Quayen to bivouac along the road for our defense, and to give first warning. He sent Wirden and I to catch up to the Raéni scouts he dispatched to Léiff before he heard about Udan.”
“We met them yesterday. They knew nothing about the attack.” Soren peered beneath Wirden’s hood. “Though I don’t understand why he would send an injured Raén on such a mission.”
“I insisted,” she said quietly. “I wished to atone for my behavior in Udan.”
Soren’s eyes hardened. “For my part, you are forgiven. But I’m not the only one you owe an apology to.”
At last she turned to Caleb. He had been dreading this moment all during the conversation, but perhaps she saw things differently now. She took a few limping steps toward him. “I can only claim ignorance as an excuse. I offer the apology of a very humbled Raén.”