by E. J. Godwin
“It would accomplish nothing to hold a grudge against you,” Caleb managed to say. “Yet a question comes to my mind: What if you’d known it was Warren?”
“My answer won’t change what happened. You are here, so I’m obligated to apologize for my error—nothing more.”
“What about Joásen? He’s the one who exiled me.”
Wirden hesitated, a look of pain or perhaps anger darkening her eyes. She faced Soren again. “Forgive me, my lord. Joásen is dead.”
Caleb’s self-righteousness vanished in an instant. He waited in nervous expectation, but Soren did not cry out or display any kind of emotion. He blinked at Wirden as if confused, then bowed his head.
The Raéni standing near shifted nervously. Caleb knew how close Soren had been to his father, and he saw the soldier in him fighting for control, hiding his grief from those under his command. In time Soren nodded, as if he had been expecting this for some time.
“My lord,” Wirden murmured, “Toár and I must hurry if we’re to find the other scouts in time.”
Soren emerged from his trance. “Of course.” Wirden and Toár returned to their horses as he addressed the company. “We ride until we reach the city.”
Caleb said nothing as they resumed their journey, knowing it was inappropriate to offer any comfort in front of his soldiers. Save for matters of necessity, Soren kept to himself for the remainder of the day as they rode forward at a swift pace, pushing their teams to the limit.
♦
Evening approached, and the inviting picture of Ekendoré appeared at last. Caleb could make out the silver spires of Wsaytchen, as well as the massive pale stones of Krengliné halfway between, all fading in the light. But as they drew closer he saw that the gates of the Old Wall were closed, and by the comments he overheard it was the first time in generations. Soren hailed the guards above, who acknowledged him and gave the sign to let them through.
The last of the day’s light faintly illuminated the snow-covered valley beyond, and shadowed the high bank of Sonién miles away. In time they passed the smaller gate there, and after nearly sixty days of exile, Caleb Stenger returned to Ekendoré. He remembered that early summer day with Telai and Warren, when he had clung to the boat like a frightened cat. Now the Tarn was frozen thick beneath a layer of snow. As they rounded the lake he sought out Gerentesk among the city lights, and beyond it the cherished home and its balcony where he had first kissed her.
The other Raéni took the teams away and went to find lodging for the night. Soren, tired as he was, would not rest until he spoke to Rewba, or at least Garda. Caleb’s feet dragged as he followed his companion up the street to the tall, engraved doors of Wsaytchen.
Soren tugged on the rope, and the clear toll from above engulfed Caleb in a wave of bitterness. For one terrible instant he saw Warren at his side, agape and full of wonder again. It wounded him to the core, and he wished now he had gone away to his quarters like the others, leaving matters of war to the Master Raén.
The doors opened, and Soren informed Derré that he needed to meet with Lord Rewba as soon as possible. After recovering from the shock of seeing them both again, Derré nodded curtly and hurried off to obey.
Another attendant stood nearby in the shadows, a young man barely out of adolescence with a Fetra at his side. At this late hour the exquisite dome beyond was lost in gloom, and Caleb wandered in and lowered himself to a bench along the wall. Soren stood close by, his dark form silhouetted against the light from the vestibule.
“I’d like to ask something rather personal,” Caleb said.
“Then perhaps you shouldn’t ask,” Soren answered. He paused. “What is it?”
“I’d like to know why you never publicly acknowledged Telai as—”
“That’s enough!” Soren barked, the lofty rotunda echoing his words. He peeked around into the vestibule, then bent forward to point at Caleb. “I want you to get one thing straight,” he whispered. “I refuse to discuss that subject even in private, let alone at the center of Wsaytchen. You are never to bring it up in my presence again—or anyone else’s!”
“I don’t give a flying ball of filth about your past, Soren,” Caleb hissed. “All I know is she’s gone off to Tnestiri, and Hendra knows where else, and I won’t be around to help her. I’ve abandoned her, you’ve abandoned her … ” He pointed a trembling finger toward the door. “You have no idea what it was like to just stand there and watch her leave, not after I lost … ”
Caleb bowed his head, clenching his fists. Warren’s name refused to pass his lips. It was as if some protective instinct had kicked in, preventing an eruption of agony that would have torn him apart.
Soren drew back, watching in silence as Caleb fought for control. “Then you’ve done her a disservice as well.”
“What are you talking about?”
“She’s stronger than you give her credit for. You must honor her commitment to duty by finding an equal strength in yourself.”
“My lord,” came a quiet voice out of the gloom. They turned to see the door attendant approaching. He stood before the Master Raén, his young face drawn with worry as he gripped the hilt of his sword. “Forgive the intrusion, but—can you tell me about this latest news hanging over the city? The Hodyn captured Udan by sorcery, or so I was told.”
“You could call it that,” Soren answered. “But my friend here comes from a place where sorcery is as common as the Fetra is to us.” He swayed wearily, and braced a hand against the wall. “What’s your name, son?”
“Onné, sir.”
“Well, Onné, sleep well tonight. We’ve brought some of that same sorcery to defend the city. Ekendoré shall stand!”
Even through the pang of his heartache, Caleb managed a smile of admiration. Hopelessness was simply not in this man’s vocabulary.
♦
Derré returned, and they followed her through an archway to the left, then up a long, straight staircase leading through a wide buttress to one of the smaller towers. At the top they crossed a circular foyer, its paneled walls warmly lit by gold-trimmed lanterns between several richly-engraved walnut doors. The one directly opposite stood slightly open, until Derré swung it wide to let them in.
Rewba, Master Raén and Underseer of Udan, stood robed before them in the midst of a small but luxuriously furnished room. Despite his brown, closely-cropped hair, a pug-nose, and standing nearly a head shorter than the others, he bore the hard-won lines of authority Caleb had come to recognize. But his eyes were full of sleep and sorrow, and one arm lay wrapped in a sling. He gestured for Soren and Caleb to enter, and Derré left, quietly shutting the door behind her.
“Thank Hendra for your safe return, Lord Soren,” he said, bowing. He turned to Caleb, his voice brightening a little. “No doubt this is the one man I’ve longed to meet, but until now in vain. Caleb Stenger, the—er—Falling Man, am I correct?”
“Yes,” Caleb answered, fighting off his resentment of the nickname. “I regret the earlier circumstances that prevented such a meeting.”
“Ah—that!” he said, raising his eyebrows. “I’ve spoken to Wirden, as well as … ” He turned to his superior. “Lord Soren—”
The old Raén waved a hand to forestall him. “No need, Rewba. We met Wirden herself, and Toár, beyond the Old Wall earlier today. She told us everything she knew.”
Rewba scrutinized him. “I see. Be seated, gentlemen. You must be tired. As for myself, I’m still recovering from my flight from Udan—despite my injury a weariness more of heart than of limb. But I’m ready to stay up through the night to discuss the matter of Ada’s defense.”
Caleb found a cushioned chair, and Soren took an oak one near the wall. “That won’t be necessary, unless more news reaches us,” the Master Raén said, his voice betraying some of the weariness Rewba mentioned. “Details can wait until we’re rested and our minds are clearer. But Wirden told me you knew of the messages we sent from Gebi and Spierel.”
“Yes—both well wri
tten, if I may say so. So there’s no need to explain the nature of this new evil, unless you’ve discovered a way to defeat it. We were helpless in Udan. It was a prudent move on your part to declare Kerraél.”
“Kerraél?” Caleb asked.
“Martial law,” Rewba explained. “Here in Ekendoré, citizen and soldier alike are involved in preparing the city for its defense—bladesmiths and bowyers and the like, all directed by Hené. I help wherever I can, but my doctor is a fussy old man who enjoys the Overseer’s blessing, unfortunately. But didn’t your letter say you were bringing this very same evil here to the city?”
“Evil does not lie in a tool, but in its use, friend,” Soren answered. “We’ve trained several of our Raéni with these new weapons.”
“You brought them here? How many?”
“Eighteen, plus six larger ones to defend the Great Wall.”
Rewba straightened in his chair. “Hope, indeed! Too bad they didn’t get here sooner.”
Caleb muttered a curse. “I should have destroyed that damned ship when I had the chance.”
Silence fell. “No, Caleb Stenger,” Rewba said at last. “If you had, we would be defenseless now against the Bringer of Evil. It’s the Lor’yentré that should have been destroyed, not your weapons.” His eyes filled with pity. “I grieve with you. No father should ever—”
“What about the defense of the city?” Caleb said. “Tell me what I need to do, and I’ll do it!”
Rewba shifted in his chair. Soren began, “If we weren’t so tired—”
The sudden click of the door handle interrupted him. Derré entered the room, her lips pressed thin and her shoulders drawn tight. Soren opened his mouth to protest the intrusion, then stiffened as Garda walked in.
“My lady,” they all murmured, rising to a stand.
The Overseer dismissed Derré with a nod, then stood in the doorway, her dark glance darting from one man to the next. “Am I to be the last person informed of your arrival, Master Raén of Ada?”
“I did not wish to disturb your sleep, my lady.”
She pointed at Rewba. “But you have no compunctions against disturbing the sleep of a wounded and weary man. Or do you think I lack concern for those who have fled a hopeless battle?”
Rewba stepped forward. “It’s been no inconvenience on my part, my lady.”
Garda ignored him, her stare drilling into Soren’s. “My apologies, Overseer,” he said, though there was a hint of irritation to his voice. “I meant no disrespect.”
Her expression shifted between hesitation and fury. “How dare you send her on such a quest,” she breathed at last. “She’s not a soldier—she’s not yours to command!”
Soren squared his shoulders, as if ready to charge into battle. “Ada is under Kerraél now. All able-bodied citizens are subject to my authority.”
“And you are subject to mine! You had no right to make that decision without my consent. And you,” she snapped, pointing at Caleb. “You have much to answer for as well. It was your idiotic fantasy of magic healing that brought this disaster upon us to begin with!”
“It was not my intention to—”
“To act foolishly, with no concern for my people? To destroy ten centuries of Adan toil and sacrifice?”
Soren took a half step forward. “Please, my lady.”
She paid no heed to him. “I should have trusted my instincts more at your Judgment last summer. May Hendra forgive me! Why did you come here with your foul devices, and your cowardice? Go back to—”
“My lady!” Soren cried, the practiced art of command sharp in his voice. She faced him, her hands tightening to fists as his words punctuated the air between them. “May I speak to you in private?”
They exchanged icy stares for a moment; then she turned briskly and walked from the room.
Soren followed, closing the door behind. They confronted each other at the center of the lobby, their expressions shadowed by the yellow lamplight.
“Overseer, I beg you to control yourself,” he whispered heatedly.
“Who are you to speak to me thus?” she snapped, making no pretense at confidentiality. “You should have brought him straight to Ekendoré the instant you saw the Yrsten Medallion—exiled or not!”
“I do not claim to be without flaw regarding my choices. But as Supreme Raén I cannot ignore our ancient traditions. And I knew the day had come to seek the Broken Lor’yentré—an opportunity no honorable Raén could refuse. Nor could I fail to help a fellow Raén when no one else would. I make no apology for that decision, regardless of the outcome. As for Caleb Stenger—”
“He is the most to blame in all this,” she interrupted.
A brief silence passed as Soren gathered his words. “Tenlar will guide and protect her, my lady. And she is quite a capable woman herself.”
“Capable of what, Soren? Of controlling the greatest power this world has ever known? Of defending herself against the Bringer of Evil? A curse on you for sending her on the most perilous quest in the history of Ada!”
He shook his head slowly. “I deemed it the safer journey.”
“Then you are as blind to the danger as that man was,” she said, pointing at the door.
“Yes, blind. None of us foresaw the danger at Graxmoar. Or at Gebi. Damn me as you please, Overseer. Perhaps I deserve it. But do not damn Caleb Stenger for the love of his child.”
A drop fell from her lashes, glinting in the lamplight. “And do not damn me for the love of mine,” she uttered flatly. After a glance of pure fury at the closed door, she turned and vanished down the stairs.
Soren watched her leave, then reentered the room. The others had sat down again, Caleb’s face a curious mixture of indignation and fear.
“You heard?” Soren asked as he resumed his seat.
“Unfortunately. I suppose I’ll be arrested shortly.”
The old man pursed his lips, considering his reply. “I don’t think so—it would serve no purpose now. She’s a woman of strong emotions, but seldom bases her decisions upon them.” He shrugged a bit. “Yet—”
“It might be a good idea to keep out of her way for a while,” Caleb finished.
Soren glanced at Rewba, and they both nodded.
5
Crooked Pass
Never make the mistake of believing nature is your friend.
It doesn’t care about you in the slightest.
- Soren, 17th Master Raén of Ada
TENLAR LED the way, his pant legs dusted with snow as he rode the runners of his sled. Telai followed, her bloodshot eyes focused on the trail, hoping to distract herself from her loneliness. The last time she saw Caleb, standing near his ship to watch her fade from his sight, seemed so long ago it felt like a dream.
At times it took all her will to resist her fears. Had Caleb and Soren reached Ekendoré? Or had they been waylaid by the Hodyn? It nearly drove her mad floundering on some wild search hundreds of miles away, not knowing whether they were dead or alive.
Soren had insisted that she and Tenlar take two teams as well as their own lasers. Not only did the urgency of their mission warrant them, but a second sled insured against disaster. She loathed the thought of using Caleb’s strange weapons, a symbol of violence if there ever was one. But the Supreme Raén of Ada tolerated no protest in this matter.
At his suggestion she had hidden Rennor’s disc in one of her boots, and she had spent every evening since trying to learn its secrets. Yet she saw no clearer vision than before, nothing that indicated where Heradnora was or what she was doing.
The rugged mountains of the Iéndrai spanned the northern horizon, their peaks veiled in winter clouds. Directly ahead, a narrow cleft twisted its way between snow-laden walls: Crooked Pass. As they stopped for a short rest, Telai cast a worried glance in its direction. The thick white caps dangling atop the cliffs had buried countless people in past years, their fates unknown until the spring thaw revealed their mangled corpses.
The dogs, a thickly furred br
eed from Enilií with large paws and heavily muscled shoulders, lay panting in the snow. Telai pulled her hood back to get a better view, and strands of hair escaping her braid tangled in the wind whistling down the gorge.
“Dangerous?”
Tenlar nodded. “No one travels this way during winter if they have a choice. Be sure the short spade we gave you is well secured and easy to find. We should be careful to keep the dogs quiet, too. Give them each a full ration before we enter the pass.”
“What! Even a barking dog can set one off?”
“It’s rare, I’ll admit. This bright sunshine is the larger threat. But why take chances?”
They fed the dogs and ate a quick meal, then started for the pass. They crossed the timberline within a few hours, the wind howling between the steep walls that rose ever higher and closer on either side. They spent half the time turning their faces away from the dangerous gale. Tenlar’s fear about the dogs proved needless; they were too busy toiling through the deep snow and against the stiff wind to waste energy barking. Yet the massive cliffs overhead looked almost entirely made of thick, featureless snow, brilliant in the sunshine, ready to plunge into the depths at the slightest disturbance. The walls drew together less than a half mile apart in some places, offering little or no escape should the worst happen.
By afternoon their noses and cheeks were beginning to suffer from frostbite. A constant flow of tears blurred their vision, and the frigid air sapped heat so fast Telai felt it in her bones. The dogs, their gray flanks coated with the frozen mist of their own breath, plodded slower and slower over drifts the drivers could barely see in the blowing snow.
They sought shelter for a while, in the lee of a massive boulder to their right near the top of a long slope. They crouched against the stone and put their hands to their faces, trying to breathe in life and warmth. Their stiffened jaws made for slow and clumsy speech; any food they tried to eat was like iron, so difficult to chew it was hardly worth it.