Fate Defied: The Silent Tempest, Book 3

by E. J. Godwin

  “Remind him that there are things in Ekendoré more precious than artifacts, and the Hodyn will value them even less.” She shuddered, and forced these dark thoughts from her mind. “Are all non-military folk at the caverns by now?”

  Soren opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated.

  “You have something unpleasant to say?” Garda asked. “When has that ever stopped you?”

  Again he bowed, stubbornly deferential. “My lady, a select few remain in the city. Until they are safe inside Gortgal, I will not consider the evacuation complete.”

  Garda had expected this veiled protest. “I’ll leave at the time of my own choosing, Master Raén.”

  The old man considered his reply. “Forgive my effrontery, my lady, but you don’t have enough experience in these matters. Though you’re not subject to my authority even under Kerraél, I beg you to consider the prudence of it and accept this request.”

  The words were well-rehearsed, as if he had anticipated her protest as well. She laid the scroll on the table, her hands trembling slightly. “I can’t claim any ability to foretell disaster, Soren. But it takes no prophet or even soldier to recognize that all our past experiences in battle will be of little help to us now.”

  Soren placed his arms behind him, one hand grasping the other. “With respect, I cannot subscribe to such a hopeless forecast.”

  “I wouldn’t expect anything less, especially from the Master Raén of Ada. But I do expect him to subscribe to my authority.”

  Soren showed no surprise or offense. “Always, my lady. We’ll delay them at the Old Wall as long as possible. Dozens of our craftsmen have been working constantly to add to our store of weapons, mainly arrows, for only weapons wielded at a distance stand any chance against lasers. And we still have three of those: mine, Hené’s, and Caleb Stenger’s. But I need all the soldiers I can spare at Krengliné, and if you insist on staying here during the battle, I cannot leave you without any defense.”

  “What will that gain you? No wall can keep out an enemy who has the power to appear in an instant, anywhere they wish.”

  “Begging your pardon, my lady—but you’re assuming that the enemy’s goal is to capture the city.”

  “What are you talking about? They’ve wanted Ekendoré ever since they lost it to us over six hundred years ago. I can’t believe I need to remind you of that.”

  “Only the Hodyn, my lady. Heradnora is the far greater enemy. We could gather all our forces in the remotest part of Agrin, and still she would come after us. She will not stop until every last descendant of Urmanaya’s people are dead or enslaved.”

  Soren’s words rendered her speechless. Had the Prophets foreseen this? Would the people she swore to protect join those ancient victims of Heradnora’s cruelty? The prospect terrified her, not least because death might be preferable.

  “That may be so,” she said at last, her voice quavering, “but those who built Krengliné never anticipated an enemy like this. It’s six miles long from gate to gate. You could man the wall with every Raén in Ada, and it still wouldn’t be enough.”

  “I’ve given thought to that as well,” he replied. “I’ve assigned several hundred to defend the city proper along Sonién. Others will guard the doors at Gortgal. But Krengliné is more than a defense—it’s the strongest position from which to launch an attack. And what better way for a soldier to subscribe to your authority, as you put it, than in the last defense of his people?”

  She shivered, as if he had uttered an obscenity. “Men—always yammering about noble causes, and never the cost! Is this soldier you speak of less deserving of life than an ordinary citizen? Or do you forget that my responsibility for this soldier transcends even your own?”

  He said no word, waiting patiently as she paused to calm herself. “Soren, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. It’s just that your insistence on formality even when we’re alone like this never fails to rouse my temper!”

  A hint of warmth entered Soren’s expression. “I understand, my lady.”

  “Yes, I imagine you do, my clever Raén,” she said, eyes narrowing. “But I have an important task for you, one that far exceeds your posturing little games. The theft of Caleb Stenger’s weapons leaves me no choice.”

  His brow creased in puzzlement. “I’m at your service as always, Overseer.”

  “Your recent decisions say otherwise, Soren, regardless of how brave and noble they were. But there’s only one left for you to do, and it doesn’t lie on the battlefield.”

  He laid a hand on the hilt of his Fetra, his face a sudden storm. “My duty lies in the command of that battlefield, Garda of Wsaytchen!”

  She glared at this rash abuse of her title, then squeezed her eyes shut. When she spoke it was in a low, quivering voice. “Can you possibly know the depth of my grief these last few days? That I should live to witness the fulfillment of Yrsten, that it should enact such a sacrifice from those dearest to me?”

  She opened her eyes. The Master Raén stood rock-still. “Ekendoré may soon be lost, but not its people,” she said, her voice regaining its strength. “Not while I am Overseer, not while even the humblest citizen lives. For your purposes, I am Ada, Master Raén, and I will decide where your obligations lie!”

  “My lady,” Soren said, his voice turning hoarse with desperation. “I cannot leave now! I am not just any Master Raén, but the Supreme Raén!”

  Pity drained the last of her anger. “Soren, in the end you won’t be able to protect your people by the sword or by any weapon you possess, not even Caleb Stenger’s. We must find another way. When Caleb Stenger was exiled you abandoned your soldierly duties to fulfill a higher calling. I’m only asking the same thing of you now.”

  “There was no threat of war then! What higher calling could justify this now?”

  “One I’ve been answering for fifteen years. Before the battle in the valley is lost, you must return safely to Wsaytchen and perform one last duty—one only you can carry out.”

  A wave of exhaustion took her, and she leaned back against the edge of the table for support. “I’m well-suited to a place like this, Soren. I’m at home among the political heights, where the paths of diplomacy and social obligations are well-trodden and familiar. The leadership of survival will require a different set of skills.”

  The import of her words shocked the old Raén into a long silence. “Do you realize what you’re asking of me—to abandon my soldiers at the height of our need?”

  “Yes, Soren, I do realize what I’m asking: to fulfill the height of our need. Look at it this way: once you succeed me as Overseer, you’ll never need to follow an order from me again.”

  Whether Soren heard something in her voice or perceived something in her expression, his face cleared, as though the pain of his betrayal had somehow been assuaged.

  “If it is within my power, by the Oath of Etrenga I will obey. But I ask for a promise in return.”

  “Name it.”

  “The moment I carry out this duty, you will not hesitate to subscribe to my authority and get yourself to the caverns!”

  His commanding tone had no effect on an Overseer who had ruled Ada for many years. Yet his concern found a chink in her armor, and she nodded.

  Soren wheeled about, in another bout of impudence assuming their conversation was at an end. But at the entrance he turned to look into Garda’s eyes one last time.

  He seemed younger suddenly, like from a memory so old she had nearly forgotten it. He paled for an instant; then he strode out the door and down the hall, venting his frustration in the echoing clap of his footsteps.

  ♦

  Derré opened the doors with exaggerated flourish at his approach, but Soren was too preoccupied to notice this subtle reprimand. And he never noticed the man sitting on the bench in the darkness of the unlit foyer.

  Caleb Stenger preferred it that way. Onné had arrived at the barracks to inform him of the Overseer’s summons; now, as the doors closed on the Master Raén, the
young man motioned for Caleb to follow. Onné snapped into a brisk walk, angling to the right as he crossed the rotunda, and vanished into the dimly-lit passageway from which Soren had emerged a minute before.

  What could Garda possibly want of me? thought Caleb for the tenth time as he hurried to keep up. All sorts of unpleasant possibilities kept churning through his head. Perhaps she only needed him for some simple task to increase their chances in battle. He was still a soldier of Ada, no matter what her misgivings about him. Yet he couldn’t help wonder if she would finally exact revenge for the disasters he had unwittingly brought upon her people—including her daughter.

  The hallway narrowed, and they entered the warmer ambiance of trimmed wood and soft lanterns in what was clearly a private section of the palace. A small allowance of light was still permitted here, apparently, though Caleb assumed it was always kept subdued to help ease the Overseer’s burdens. And when the door guards stepped aside to let him through, Garda’s study felt like a refuge, a place set apart from the threats outside its windows.

  Caleb bowed low, determined to be on his best behavior. “Overseer, I am at your service.”

  She peered over his shoulder at Onné. “No one is to enter without my permission—not yourself, not even the most trusted Raén or Underseer in Ada—unless I explicitly ask for it. Do you understand?”

  The young man bowed and closed the doors. Caleb tried to keep from gaping at this unusual call for privacy.

  She gestured toward a leathered chair near the table. “Please sit down. Would you like something to drink?”

  He did, but only because his mouth had gone dry. He sat gingerly at the edge of the chair. “I’m fine, thank you.”

  Garda walked to the windows, through which the clouded morning sky was starting to brighten, and stood with her back turned. Caleb wondered if she was waiting for him to speak or merely considering her words. Her posture seemed familiar: head slightly bowed, arms folded tight, a small scroll or scrap of paper in one hand. Then a memory of his earlier days in Ekendoré flashed in his mind, when Telai had turned her back now and again to hide her frustration with her new role as teacher. The connection evoked an unexpected warmth and gratitude toward the Overseer, who had brought him perhaps the greatest gift this world could offer simply by giving birth to the woman he loved.

  Caleb bent forward, elbows on knees, fighting to clear his head and stay focused. Then he heard the subtle yet unmistakable sounds of Garda struggling to hold back an overwhelming fear or sorrow. He rose from his chair, slowly as if to preserve some delicate balance in the room, and crossed the polished oak floor with the lightest of treads.

  He stopped a few paces away, feeling helpless and absurd. “May I ask what is wrong, my lady?”

  Her weeping ended with the sound of his voice. Even from behind he could see the Overseer in her fighting for control: back and shoulders straightening, head held high. Yet when she finally turned she made no motion to wipe her tears.

  “Telai’s been captured.”

  Three words, plainly spoken. Yet the iron restraint in her voice plunged Caleb into a state of dreamlike unreality. The room receded, leaving only the inescapable truth of Garda’s haggard face and red-rimmed eyes.

  “By Heradnora?” he asked hoarsely. Just to let that name pass his lips felt like a betrayal. It laid his heart open like a raw wound.

  “I don’t know. By the Hodyn at least, of that I’m sure. And I don’t know where Tenlar is or what’s happened to him.”

  “Is it possible you’ve been misinformed? You know how devious they are!”

  She did not answer, but sat down on the narrow, upholstered bench beneath the windowsill, her gaze cast to the floor. Caleb remained standing, despite the mounting terror in his gut unable to cross the barrier of respect he still held for this woman.

  “There are a few things you should know, Caleb Stenger,” she said, interrupting his thoughts. Though her head remained bowed her voice sounded a little more like the ruler of Ada. “It’s clear now that Telai trusts you implicitly, and the time has come for me to do the same.”

  She stared up at him. “Why are you still standing?” she said, and gestured at the bench to her left.

  Caleb seated himself a carefully measured distance away. It was difficult to control his voice, to keep from giving in to his fear. “What changed your mind?”

  In answer she took the scroll and unrolled it upon her lap. After a brief hesitation, in which she seemed to struggle with a decision, she handed it over to Caleb without looking.

  It was tattered and stained, as if it had traveled many miles exposed to the weather. Words were written upon it in a hasty scrawl, and though a few letters were blurred or missing, enough remained to be legible:

  Lefatéi, Captive of Secrets, sends an empty gift to a man from the stars. Let no one else lay hands on it! Only when he remembers the moment his child was born can it be made complete.

  — the Master of Secrets

  Caleb read the scroll several times. He faced the Overseer, forcing the voice from his lungs as if his words had taken on substance and weight.

  “I don’t understand. An empty gift? And who is this Master of Secrets?”

  “It’s meant to both hide the messenger’s identity and to provide a clue to the message.” She pointed at a hastily-drawn feather just below the signature. “Here it means Telai’s been captured by the Hodyn.”

  He scanned the message again. “I don’t see her name anywhere. And this isn’t her writing.”

  “No. One of the Hodyn wrote it. But Lefatéi means lover of knowledge, a secret nickname I called her when she was a girl. No Hodyn could possibly know that.”

  He waited in silence, rendered speechless as she continued. “Caleb Stenger, before I reveal the rest of what I know about this message, you must swear an oath to me—one you’re willing to place even above the Oath of the Raéni. You must promise that nothing of what you hear in this room will ever leave it.”

  Caleb, who appreciated the Oath now more than ever, nonetheless remained unburdened by any of its nurtured taboos. “You have it.”

  Garda stood, waving him back to his seat as he rose to join her. She turned her gaze to the windows, arms folded. “He’s never revealed his true name. It would be too great a risk in the event his messages were intercepted. But I know he’s a captain in the Hodyn army. I’ve developed a secret rapport with him over the years.”

  A sudden light dawned in Caleb’s mind. “Because of the old letter Telai found!”

  “What? How do you know about that?”

  Understandable as her reaction was, it caught him off guard, and he chose his words carefully. “She told me about what she found in Léiff, and how it led her to a new interpretation of Obald’s writings.”

  Garda appraised him a while longer, as though reevaluating her trust in him. Her face softened. “I guess I shouldn’t be so shocked. I hardly need more proof of my daughter’s faith in you. But I hope you appreciate what an honor and privilege it was for her to tell you.”

  Caleb nodded. “In many ways.”

  “Then let me privilege you further by telling you that not even Telai knows about this secret movement within the Hodyn. It’s one I’ve tried to encourage these last few years. They’re stubborn—they seldom listen to my pleas for compromise, caught up as they are in the same desire for revenge they’ve been taught since childhood. But I knew it was the right course. I hoped the time would come when we could heal the breach that’s kept us hating each other for centuries.”

  “An honorable goal, my lady.” His voice rose. “But it only explains how you got the message, not what it means!”

  “Patience, Caleb Stenger. I must consider Ada first. One way or another there’s a real possibility I won’t be able to continue this secret work much longer. I’m looking for someone to take over if that happens.”

  He paused, speechless for a moment. “You’re asking me?“

  “I need someone who by n
ature of his upbringing harbors no prejudices against the Hodyn. As much as I hope otherwise, I don’t see how Ekendoré can survive this war. If our people are driven out as refugees, they will need a leader with more survival skills than political ones. I’ve asked Soren to replace me if that happens.”

  “As Overseer?” Caleb asked. Soren had nearly chopped his head off in a rage. The idea of him becoming the next Overseer was a little intimidating.

  “Yes. But he would be the absolute worst choice for a more secretive role, one that would instantly label him a traitor as soon as it was discovered. You, however—”

  “Of course,” Caleb interrupted. “Not only am I well suited for my lack of prejudices, but labeling me as a traitor wouldn’t be much of a step down.”

  Distaste overwhelmed her features. “Please understand that I’m forced into this decision for the best interests of my people. I may trust you, but a certain lack of trust from others places you in the best position to protect Soren’s role as leader.”

  “And if they did find out, it would destroy any chance I had of regaining that trust—including Soren’s!”

  “Are you refusing?”

  Caleb fixed a long stare on the Overseer, but she weathered it, as unflinching as stone. “Before I answer, you need to understand that others might end up sharing my risk,” he said.

  “How do you mean?”

  “You’ll understand in a moment. I’ll agree to your request on one condition.”

  A flash of irritation tightened her lips. “Go on.”

  “Annul the law that prevents the Joining of civilian and soldier—before Soren becomes Overseer.”

  Garda paled; apparently her daughter’s capture wasn’t the only future she dreaded. “Now? We’re at war! Besides, it’s an ancient law, one I have no authority to repeal without the approval of the Council.”

  Caleb shook his head. “Kerraél allows the Overseer as many legal workarounds as it does the Supreme Raén.”