by E. J. Godwin
The brief thaw ended, and the sun’s rays came and went between drifting clouds. Determined to help and to keep his mind occupied, Caleb began the installation of the laser rifles on Krengliné, using the accompanying tripods. He also helped Soren continue his efforts to train the best Raéni in the use of the hand-held weapons. Other than the Weaponmaster, eager for any new weapon no matter how outlandish or strange, the Raéni of Ekendoré displayed the same reluctance as the others did at the ship. But neither the Supreme Raén or Edai would tolerate any compromise in the defense of their city. High in the valley they practiced day after day, and the air would tremble in the streets below when someone missed a target and sheared off a splintered crag from the mountainside.
Meanwhile the Overseer prepared her citizens for a sudden evacuation to Gortgal, a maze of deep caverns a mile above the city. Caleb realized they needed to prepare for the worst, but the sight of endless carts and wagons hauling provisions up the winding streets of Ekendoré only added to his burdens. Garda sent messengers out by night to people living in the fertile lands north and south of the Quayen, even as far as Yonené, the woods bordering the Outlands to the east. With nearly all available Raéni in the region converging on the city to bolster its defense, she had no choice but to escort these folk to safety, abandoning their ranches and farmsteads to the Hodyn.
Caleb and Soren often met at evening meals to coordinate plans with Rewba and Hené, and sometimes Edai. Yet on one occasion they ate alone. The old Raén sat at a table in a small chamber of the palace, his fatigue-lined face shadowed by the wavering light of a chandelier.
“How soon will you be finished placing the larger weapons on the Old Wall?”
Caleb rubbed his eyes. “Four are in place already—one each at the North and South Gates, two near the conduit through which the Quayen passes. That was Edai’s suggestion. She considers the river the most vulnerable point. She also suggested I install them in such a way so they can be removed quickly—like during a retreat.”
Soren grimaced, then nodded. “Wise woman.”
“Yes. But as big as Krengliné is, it’s made of soft limestone. A repeated attack by a Hodyn with a laser just might breach even that old beast of a wall. We may not have enough time to save the larger weapons. We should install two others at Sonién, or near the palace, just in case.”
Soren turned the silver goblet of yrgona with his fingers, his gaze thoughtful. “I would dearly love to save Wsaytchen. But it has no strategic value. During a retreat we’d be forced to make bitter choices on what to defend. In any case, such an attack on Krengliné as you describe would be slow, leaving the enemy vulnerable to conventional weapons.”
“Wouldn’t a long delay at the Old Wall be more dangerous for us?”
“For both sides,” Soren replied, “and a delay works to our advantage. It appears that the Bringer will not show herself unless we force her to, and there can be no victory without her defeat.” He drained his cup and set it down with a plunk. “Still, it would be prudent to place your two remaining weapons on Sonién, one at each gate.”
Caleb noticed Soren’s bloodshot eyes. “Perhaps Rewba’s not the only one who needs some rest.” Strange how easy it was now to offer the Supreme Raén a little advice.
Soren regarded him for a moment, then glanced at Caleb’s bandaged arm.
“It’s not quite healed yet,” Caleb replied to the unspoken question. “But I spend half my time directing the work, so it’s no great inconvenience.” He shrugged. “What does a little scratch on my arm matter?”
The old man grasped the pitcher of yrgona nearby and refilled Caleb’s goblet. “Drink. And take your own advice and get some sleep. Hope is not lost while any of us live, Caleb Stenger of the Raéni.” He pushed the cup into his hands and slapped him on the shoulder. Caleb emptied it in one long draught.
♦
Even the Master Raén’s words of encouragement only went so far, however, as Caleb and many others discovered the next day. News reached the Overseer that Besa, most remote of all cities in southern Ada, had fallen to the Hodyn. No lasers were reported, but the founders of Besa had seen no need for any fortifications so far south and centuries after any war, and the capture of the city had been swift and final. Boroné had dispatched a few companies of Raéni from Léiff to regain it, but he feared to send any more and weaken his own defense.
Many in Ekendoré seethed with anger at this news, for the defeat of Besa offered no military value to the Hodyn, and according to reports hundreds of citizens had perished in the attack. The Master Raén’s puzzlement gave way to grim certainty. Clearly the Bringer had bestowed the Hodyn with the power to move quickly across the land without leaving a trace. He also suspected they were planning to leave Ekendoré to the last, to destroy or capture each city one by one, wearing down Ada’s resolve and eliminating all hope of rescue. The very name Ekendoré was an offense to their ears, and their plan to recapture their ancient city seemed flawless. Like Boroné, if Soren sent out help it would weaken the city’s defense, yet to ask for help would only weaken the defense somewhere else.
But he could wait in idleness no longer. His plan was not retribution, as Rewba desired, but theft. With Corinn in the lead, a dozen soldiers rode through the North Gate under cover of darkness, hoping to enter Udan by stealth and capture as many lasers as possible, if they could find them.
Two days later, Soren regretted his decision. A message from Homim arrived reporting that much of Telené had been destroyed by fire—fire started by lasers. It was obvious now that the Hodyn were quickly transporting their weapons along with their soldiers, and the Master Raén doubted that Corinn would recover any at Udan. He was tempted to send out a force to strengthen Corinn’s party and turn the theft into an attack, but recapturing Udan while it remained vulnerable to Hodyn lasers would be a foolish waste of soldiers. Instead he sent out a message by quick sled, hoping to recall his Chief Scout in time.
♦
Soren discussed these matters with the others during the meal that evening, but fears and tempers were running high, and they soon abandoned the meeting in frustration. He left the palace to cool his anger with a walk along the main thoroughfare, Caleb at his side.
The sun had emerged at last in a sky cloudy all day, only to bid a fiery farewell between shadowed peaks. To the east, the distant line of Krengliné glowed in the slanting light, and it took little imagination to see a war raging there, to hear the faint screams of men and women falling to the deadly fire of lasers.
The city darkened with the swift valley night, and the street lanterns shone yellow above mounds of piled snow. Soren and Caleb intended to make a long hike of it, navigating the perimeter of Ekendoré, but they stopped at the sight of a man running toward them at full speed.
“Lord Soren!” he cried, waving his arms. It was Fouvé, one of the Raéni assigned to guard the armory, and he jarred to a halt in front of them. “Thank Hendra I’ve found you.”
“Indeed you have,” Soren uttered. “What is so urgent?”
Fouvé paused for breath, his sturdy features reddened by the long run in the cold. “The new weapons—they’re gone!”
Soren gaped for a moment, then stepped closer. “What do you mean, gone? Where are they?”
“No one knows. Edai went to check the armory and found every laser and power device missing. She searched every room, hoping one of the guards moved them without telling her. It’s like a ghost sneaked in and stole them right out from under our noses.”
A strange-sounding profanity cut through the bitter air, but Soren paid no heed to his companion. “Show me!” he barked, and Fouvé was compelled to break into a run again, the others following close behind.
South along the street they ran, then to the right up the steep slope of another, and so on to the armory. Several Raéni and other folk crowded its brightly-lit doors, their troubled voices echoing off the plain stone walls.
A quick silence fell at Soren’s approach. Speechless f
rom the run, he and Caleb pushed through and into the open doorway before the crowd could move aside, while Fouvé leaned against a lamp post, his hand at a stitch in his side.
Edai’s scarred face paled at the sight of the Supreme Raén, and her voice was thick with self-reproach.
“My lord Soren!”
He barged past into the chamber beyond, squinting against several free-standing torches. The chests along the wall were already open, their heavy lids flung back against the rough stone; he walked by, inspecting every one, but found nothing other than a few discarded rags and an empty holster.
He returned to the corridor. “Edai, I hope by Orand there’s been some mistake here.”
She shook her head sharply. “I have no idea how this happened.”
“If I find that the guards were lax—”
“No, my lord! I posted two guards outside the entrance in each of four shifts, and Fouvé in the second-story window of the house across the street during the night hours.” She pointed out the wide doors of the armory.
Though fraught with dread, Soren placed a reassuring grip on the woman’s shoulder. Raéni guards like Fouvé were not chosen lightly, not by Edai at any rate.
He stepped into the room again and stood over the nearest chest, trying to fathom this new mystery. Now the three lasers and the handful of power packs Caleb, Hené and himself carried were the only ones left, except for—
His eyes widened, and he sped back to where Caleb and a few other Raéni lingered at the threshold. “Send a horseman to Sonién, another to the Old Wall. Check on the larger weapons mounted there, quickly!”
As they scurried to obey, Soren returned to the silent, waiting crowd outside, Caleb following. He singled out Fouvé, and stepped close. “I must ask you to make haste one more time,” he murmured in his ear. “Tell Garda about this, but keep it to yourself otherwise—there’s no point in spreading panic. I’ll be there shortly, as soon as I hear about Sonién.” Fouvé nodded reluctantly and ran off down the street.
“I should have known,” Caleb said with a growl, and Soren stared at him. “I mean it! Something’s been bothering me ever since we left the ship. Now I know what it is.”
“Explain!”
“Didn’t you ever wonder why that damned witch didn’t get to those lasers in my ship before we did? Do you think any barrier wouldn’t eventually give way to that kind of power?”
“Why are you asking me? I don’t know anything about your strange machines.”
“You don’t understand!” Caleb shot. “She was smart enough to realize she didn’t need to go to all that trouble—just wait until she knew where to find them, to put us off our guard. And where did we decide to store them?”
Slowly, the Master Raén lowered his stare to the walkway. “Great Grondolos—what a fool I’ve been!”
“That makes two of us. Ksoreda was right about one thing: lasers or not, we’re going to have to out-think her as well as outfight her.”
The old man paused, his thoughts racing; then he turned to address what was left of the crowd, most of them ordinary citizens now. “Return to your homes. You should ready your families for an evacuation to Gortgal, if necessary. But rest assured—every last Raén will fight to protect our city.”
They drifted away in twos and threes, reluctant to leave. Soren reentered the armory to search for signs of the Hodyn, but he knew it was pointless. This was the direct work of the Bringer.
Within half an hour the first horseman returned with the news that the laser rifles on Sonién were gone. The guards were dead, cold and staring at the night sky with no visible wounds upon them. The second horsemen had ridden on to Krengliné, but Soren already knew what he would find.
The few Raéni nearby waited in stunned silence, Edai among them. “I must take counsel with Garda,” Soren said quietly to the Weaponmaster. “Keep the same guards stationed here, but add a few more on the inside, too. Our old weapons are all we have now.” She nodded once, her scars standing out in a face pale with shock.
Soren left with Caleb at his side, striding quickly over the lantern-lit cobblestones. His theatrics in Spierel seemed rash and naive now, and Olo the wisest person in Ada.
10
Forged by Madness
… for the heavens are too great to fathom;
only the fool believes it not.
- from Besir Orand’iteé
SOON AFTER Ksoreda’s departure, a young, dark-haired man appeared, introduced himself as Fedrallo, and offered to bring his guests more wine or anything else they might desire. Tenlar and Telai barely acknowledged his hospitality, preoccupied with the news of Ada’s fallen cities.
The afternoon wore on. There was no sign of their host, and they retreated into silence, keeping to themselves as if to avoid or avert the truth in each other’s eyes.
By evening Tenlar was beginning to lose patience. He paced back and forth, lacing the air now and then with a soft oath or muttered complaint. Telai sat on the opposite side of the bed with her back turned, having long given up searching for a distraction from Tenlar’s grumbling, or the cloud of despair that had fallen over her heart.
Suddenly she shrieked and leaped to her feet, covering her ears. Tenlar, his face an impish mixture of wrath and delight, had struck the gong with all his strength. The engraved stone and the walls about them throbbed in their ears.
The last reverberating echoes faded away. “Tenlar! What is wrong with you?”
“I’ve had enough of this interminable waiting!” he shot back, having just uncovered his own ears.
He faced the door, hands clasped behind his back as though preparing to dress down one of his soldiers. Fedrallo soon entered, and greeted them with only a nod.
“Tell your master we’ve waited long enough,” Tenlar said. “If dinner isn’t ready, he must forgo such amenities and speak to us at once.”
The servant nodded again and departed in silence.
“Tenlar, perhaps we shouldn’t aggravate our host. After all, we’re going to need his—”
He spun around. “You actually want to keep waiting like this?”
“No, of course not. But when we meet him again, please make an effort to restrain yourself!”
A short while later the servant returned and gestured for them to follow. To Telai he seemed vexed by Tenlar’s impatience; every creature for miles around must have heard the sound of that gong.
They trailed close, careful not to lose him. With the numerous moss-covered steps and sudden passageways, Telai soon lost all sense of direction. Each hallway and chamber they passed was like the first—filled with stout furniture or haunting images of unknown people or animals. As before, they appeared not to be made by any skilled hand but from countless years of slow growth.
At last their guide stopped before a wide set of doors. After a short pause, he pushed them open in the normal fashion to reveal a large, oval-shaped room.
Telai’s first impression was of a museum. The multitude of cabinets and shelves lining the walls were filled with small sculptures, crystals of various shapes and colors, and many strange devices that defied description. Several glowing spheres floating near the ceiling cast a soft yellow light over the room. As her sight adjusted to the surroundings and she noticed the smaller things, such as tools or fine instruments of some kind, the room seemed less like a museum than the workshop of an eccentric, reclusive craftsman or sorcerer.
A small, oblong table occupied the center, and they stopped short of colliding with the man standing in front of it.
The glistening scalp dipped once. “I hope you are well rested.”
Tenlar shrugged, but Ksoreda ignored the implied criticism. He dismissed Fedrallo, then gestured toward the table; a few loaves of bread, a small basket of fruit, and a bottle of wine stood amidst a set of crystal goblets and engraved marble plates.
“I regret I had no time to prepare a heartier meal,” he said without rancor.
Tenlar stirred restlessly. “Sir, I—�
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“Please,” Ksoreda interrupted, as if intent on being humored. “Just a bite or two.”
Though Tenlar still hesitated, at last he agreed and seated himself. Telai took the chair to his left, while Ksoreda sat across the table. Preoccupied, at first his guests took only a few casual bites. Then a sudden hunger possessed them, and they fell to, bringing a hint of satisfaction to the old man’s wrinkles.
For all its simplicity, the food was delicious after days of winter travel. Silence reigned until they were finished. Yet before either of them could speak, Ksoreda rose to a stand.
“Please wait a moment. There’s something I want to show you.”
He walked toward the back of the room to where a smaller table stood, retrieved something from its cluttered surface, and returned to his chair. A ring like from a tiny bell met their ears; two short lengths of what looked like glass lay on the table. Each had a single portal at one end, the first shining faintly blue, the other green. Telai glanced up at Ksoreda, trying her best to fathom this new puzzle.
A dark, satin luster traveled over the surface and vanished.
She gasped. “The Lor’yentré!”
“Then Ada is safe!” cried Tenlar. “You’ve defeated her!”
Ksoreda sighed. “I’m terribly sorry, I didn’t anticipate your reaction. A failing of mine: a penchant for the dramatic.” He gestured at the table. “This one has never been used.”
Telai bent closer; other than the small, rectangular ports, they were completely transparent, showing no indication of power whatsoever.
“Whose is it, then?”