Fate Defied: The Silent Tempest, Book 3

by E. J. Godwin

  “What? That information is only meant for a select few ears, Caleb Stenger.”

  “I know. Soren told me. He said it was his absolution for past mistakes. And please don’t ask what they were,” he said to her questioning frown. “That’s up to him.”

  “He actually approves of a Joining between you and Telai? The Supreme Raén of Ada?”

  “Yes. He said he’d be honored to consider me his son.”

  Garda trembled where she stood, her eyes deep wells of longing. For a terrifying moment Caleb feared she might collapse.

  “My lady?”

  “I never dreamed he would—” she began in a whisper, then clamped her mouth shut and squared her shoulders. “You have my promise, Caleb Stenger. I hope to Etrenga it won’t be in vain.”

  “Thank you. Now please,” he said, spreading his shaking hands, “tell me what this message is about!”

  Garda reached inside the pocket of her robe, and brought out a soft leather bundle tied with thongs. She handed it to him at once. “I haven’t touched it, as the message asked. I still don’t know what it means.”

  Caleb laid the bundle on his lap and undid the thongs. A faint reflection caught his attention, and he unfolded the leather to reveal a thin, transparent cylinder.

  A chill settled into his heart. For the man who had risked everything to reach Graxmoar, there was no mistaking the small portal of bluish light, nor the jagged end where it had been severed from its mate.

  12

  Fulfillment of Duty

  Loyalty is what keeps love burning the longest.

  - Allera, 2nd Underseer of Spierel

  TELAI RODE the runners, her gloved hands clamped tight around the handles, her stare blank and expressionless. Every passing minute was an exercise in self-discipline, every lurch of the sled or any other minor difficulty a temptation to scream aloud. Yet she drove on, desperate to escape the oppressiveness of these woods to where she could at least face her burden in the clear light of day.

  Morning dawned pale above the towering forest. Ksoreda and his strange dwelling among the trees lay far behind them. Despite his Prophet-like creed of noninterference, after helping Fedrallo load the sleds with supplies he had instantly transported them many miles toward the edge of his domain, thus saving at least a half day’s travel. Tenlar and Telai accepted it without comment, anxious to return to Ekendoré before all hope was lost.

  They stopped for a short rest, the dogs panting heavily as they lay on the snow. Tenlar kept glancing at Telai. “Is the Lor’yentré safe?” he asked. “Ksoreda mentioned something about a foolproof way to hide it.”

  “He told me what to do,” she answered flatly.

  There was a brief pause. “I will say it again. There are many in Ada ready to accept this burden—”

  “I will not debate this,” she interrupted, her voice like steel. “This goes far beyond pity, or any heroics of the Raéni. You have no more choice about it than I do.”

  His expression hardened. “Choice? It was shoved down your throat, Telai! Besides, I have the authority to—”

  “No!” she shouted. “You think you can use your authority over me now? All other obligations mean nothing compared to this, including your precious Oath.” She bowed her head, struggling to calm herself.

  “Telai … I only want to help.”

  “Then help me! I need strength to see this through, not pointless arguments!”

  Telai rose from the sled to resume the journey, keeping her back turned while she checked the harnesses. She knew she was being unkind, but his constant pity and concern was too much. She took the lead without asking and sped directly toward the eastern edge of the forest, hoping to put the last of its influence behind before nightfall.

  Finally the trees ended, and the light of early evening revealed wide, snow-mantled meadows full of the spent brown stalks of wildflowers. They did not stop until the expanse of Lrana lay before them, its frozen waters lit pale by the rising moon. They fed their weary dogs, and after lighting a fire ate a large supper to keep up their strength, using much of their old stores.

  Though the long day’s run had exhausted them both, Telai could not sleep. She lay with her back turned, as far from her companion as possible, her terror too deep for words or even tears. To give up the life she had known was a sacrifice she might have come to accept. But the prospect of eternal isolation—made even worse by the terrible crime she would be forced to commit against the child she loved, the child she had sworn to save—stripped away her courage, leaving no refuge.

  ♦

  The sun rose brilliantly, full of the promise of good weather, yet each passing hour only increased Telai’s fears. Tenlar seemed more like a stranger to her now. Everything before her held threat: the snow-covered ice, the sparse mountains rising tall and white beyond the lake, the blue, cloud-flecked sky above. An intangible presence loomed over the eastern horizon, still unaware of her approach but ready in an instant to take form and descend with terrible power. At first she dismissed it as her imagination. But it grew stronger with each mile, until it took all her will to concentrate on the trail ahead.

  They hurried across the lake, their sleds lurching from side to side as the runners caught icy ridges hidden under the snow. By midday tears were streaming from their bloodshot eyes with the threat of snow blindness. They brought their hoods down as far as possible to shield against the glare, but it was not much help.

  Fortunately it did not last. Lrana was narrower here, and they reached the opposite shore well before evening, welcoming the gloom of tall conifers that grew on the strip of land between lake and mountain. They camped in a secluded hollow between the first few hills, and though they were far from Enilií, Telai insisted they take turns keeping watch that night.

  Within an hour of their start the next morning they began climbing the gentle approach to the mountains. The scattered peaks of the Irenseni allowed easy passage, yet the way was long, with a strong headwind slowing their efforts. By the time the endless plain of Dernetondé stretched before them, the sun was reddening the high winter clouds.

  They turned south, avoiding the inhospitable interior of the wasteland. Tenlar cast about for a well-concealed spot to halt for the night, and soon found one in the tall evergreen shrubbery so prevalent near the foothills here. They set up camp, fed the dogs, then sat outside the tent eating a cold meal. It was a relief to be out of the wind for a while.

  “Something’s coming,” Telai murmured. She turned her gaze to the eastern twilight, ignoring the plate of food on her lap.

  “Then you’ve seen some vision in the disc—the one Yoté returned.”

  She shook her head. “It’s never worked well since then. I wish I’d thought to ask Ksoreda about it.”

  “You had … other things on your mind,” Tenlar replied. She bent her head, and he added, “Troubles always seem worse at night. Don’t worry about it until you’ve had a good night’s sleep.”

  His token attempts at comfort curled her hands into fists. She wanted to shout at him, to tell him to stop coddling her like a frail child. “I’ve felt this more than ever since we passed the mountains,” Telai said at last. “It’s getting closer.” She waited for his reply, still unwilling to look upon him, then spread her arms in exasperation. “Don’t you feel anything?”

  “I’m afraid of what waits for us in Ekendoré, of course! And the farther south we go, the more we’ll have to watch for Hodyn patrols. But something getting closer? No. I’ve seldom doubted your insight, Telai. But it’s no wonder you feel this way, with the burden you’re carrying.”

  His words only fueled her panic. “I can’t make that assumption.”

  Tenlar set his plate aside and heaved a sighed. “Even if you’re right, what can we do about it?”

  She rose her head sharply. “The fate of Ada hangs in the balance, and you ask me what to do? If you can’t bring yourself to help, then why are you here? Go back to Spierel and your precious duty,” she cried, w
aving her arm to the south.

  They locked stares. Then she jumped to her feet, spilling her food, and ran off into the darkness.

  She heard Tenlar stumble and curse as he leaped up to follow. “Telai, wait!” he called out. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

  Telai was the faster runner, and soon lost him among the bushes. She had to get away from him. Every kind word or glance chipped away at her resolve.

  “Telai!” Tenlar shouted again, his voice farther behind yet echoing wide.

  Suddenly she realized the uselessness of her flight, and stopped in the middle of a large patch of open ground. Not knowing what else to do, she sat down with her arms wrapped around her knees, her stare fixed upon the brightening stars.

  Tenlar’s quick footfalls slid to a halt behind her.

  “Let me be!” she snapped.

  “Telai,” he said softly, “I’m not going to leave you out here by yourself.”

  “Why not? All this time you’ve been patting yourself on the back with your clever little mind games, leaving me to face the consequences alone!”

  “I’d do anything to help you, Telai. I just don’t know how.”

  She glanced up at him, then resumed her vigil. “Don’t you?”

  “No, unless you’re asking for courage. But how can I give that to you? You’re the bravest woman I’ve ever known!”

  Still she refused to answer. Patience, kindness, respect—they all meant nothing to her now. All that mattered was tomorrow’s sunrise.

  “Tell me what you want!” he cried, his self-possession shattered by her silence. “Love? You won’t take that from me.”

  His words set her heart pounding. A wind arose and ruffled the branches, the western light faded, and the stars blazed in the deepening blue above. But they seemed on the verge of flight, as if they, too, sensed impending evil.

  “Sit down,” she said at last.

  Tenlar hesitated, then lowered himself to her side. The last trace of his pity vanished, and he sat like granite, fixing his stare on the horizon.

  “Would you be able to look upon him again?” she asked quietly.

  He squared his shoulders, a gesture she had seen many times when he was facing a difficult decision. “A question I should ask you, Telai.”

  A moment passed, at once both brief and ages long. He leaned close, a dim silhouette against the stars. Her heart skipped at the taste of tears on his lips. A desperate little cry burgeoned in her throat, and she lifted her arms to accept him.

  All her fears vanished. The burden of the passing years melted away, and she was a young girl again, falling in love for the first, thrilling time. Then the man she kissed rose, reached out a hand, and the last of the dusk revealed a face that belonged to a friend, a comrade—but not the face of the man she longed to see again.

  Telai fixed her tear-rimmed gaze on his hand. “I’m sorry, Tenlar. It would only make it worse for me. I can’t betray him like this, not when I’m already forced to—”

  She faltered and bowed her head. The crime that lay ahead of her was like a knife in her chest.

  “Tenlar,” she whispered. “By great Orand, Tenlar, help me. I don’t know if I can do this!”

  He held her hands together and kissed them. “Telai—my beautiful scholar. If I could, I would take this burden for you. Perhaps instead, if we … if only one time … ”

  He bowed his head against hers. A glistening drop caught the starlight. His despair helped her climb out of her own, and she lifted his chin, challenging him to meet her unflinching eyes. “I said some awful things to you, Tenlar—things I didn’t mean.” She placed a hand on his cheek. “You’ve never been ashamed of your feelings for me—I can’t help but be honored.”

  She felt so close to him now—so close that she could sense the war raging in his heart. Another tear spilled down his cheek, and he touched his lips to hers again, powerless to resist.

  Telai set her hands against his shoulders. “Tenlar—no. It would only make things worse for you, too.”

  He drew away a little, stunned. Then he laughed softly, like at the inn more at himself than at her. But there was a tone of regret to it now, a bittersweet taint that Telai shared in some measure, if only for his sake.

  As they returned to the campsite with Tenlar holding her close to his side, she offered no resistance, quietly accepting the comfort of his friendship.

  ♦

  Clouds moved in from the sea during the night, and the light of the rising sun was brief. Flakes of snow drifted down. The Irenseni marched from one horizon to the other, their peaks shrouded in gray, their sparsely-grown flanks drab and cheerless. Telai and Tenlar woke early, ate, packed up camp, and in a stifling silence of land and air rode away to the south.

  They kept to the brush, staying within sight of the hills. There was no sign of the enemy, nor any other creature besides a lone hawk gliding about in search of its quarry. A strange sense of urgency compelled her, and she begged Tenlar to hurry, pushing their teams to the limit.

  The hours crept by, and the Irenseni softly dimmed with the shadows of afternoon. Suddenly Tenlar, in the lead, leaned hard to one side and capsized his sled. The dogs plowed to a halt, and Telai reacted barely in time to miss him, swerving to the right. She brought her own team to a stop with a cry.

  “Quiet,” Tenlar hissed. “Drop to the snow!”

  She obeyed instantly. “What is it?” she whispered.

  “Hodyn!” Tenlar reached inside his coat for the laser, then stopped, grimacing. After glancing about to assess the area, he drew out his Fetra, careful to keep the blade from ringing against its sheath. He pointed at the sheathed knife at Telai’s side, then began cutting the harnesses from his team.

  “Are you mad?”

  A fierce glare from the Master Raén rendered her silent. Telai understood as she hurried to obey: the dogs would run about in a frenzy, perhaps even attack the Hodyn, giving their owners a chance to escape.

  Most of the dogs merely accepted this as an odd time to end the day’s run, and lay down on the snow to rest. A few, however, including Slink, stood with their ears erect, peering through the bushes and sniffing the air. Tenlar motioned Telai to the right, and they crawled several yards from the obvious target of their sleds to hide behind one of the larger bushes.

  The Master Raén crouched low, still as stone. Telai drew her knife again, drawing a painful glance from her companion that confirmed her fears: they stood little chance against so many.

  Minutes passed like hours. Slink, who stayed close to Telai, growled low, his mane bristling. Telai, not knowing what else to do, sidled over to the animal and wrapped her arms around his quivering shoulders in an attempt to quiet him.

  An instant later all the dogs started yammering furiously. Slink leaped away, his well-conditioned muscles easily breaking free of her grasp. The force of his leap threw her to one side, and she landed against the snow with a grunt.

  The bushes near their sleds exploded with men, a score at least attacking from every direction. The fierce bedlam of shouts and angry growls after days of vast wilderness silence was deafening. But the enemy quickly realized that the owners had slipped away, and they fanned out, leaving only a handful of soldiers behind. Several painful yelps signaled the quick dispatch of their teams.

  Telai gripped her knife with both hands. Tenlar was already on his feet, standing over her with his sword held fast and his face grim as death. For there was no escape.

  She jumped up to fight at his side, but he shouldered her to the ground again. “Stay down!”

  The Hodyn bore down on him like a flood. Telai stared in horror, overwhelmed by the shouts and cries and the ringing clamor of steel on steel as the Master Raén tried so furiously to defend her. Then a gasp of pain and surprise ended the battle as quickly as it began.

  Tenlar dropped from sight. A net fell over Telai’s head and arms, seemingly out of nowhere. She slashed at it with her knife, but the cords were too thick, and her movements only en
tangled her further. She searched this way and that, hoping by some miracle that Tenlar was still alive, but saw little beyond the gathering forest of legs and the confusing mesh of ropes.

  The chaos faded at last, leaving nothing but the sound of her own hoarse breathing and the pitiful cries of wounded men. Strong arms pinned her down, and she managed to draw blood before they wrested the knife from her hand.

  “Be still!” a voice yelled in Telai’s face, but she paid no heed. Panic ruled her body. She fought like an animal, kicking wildly, trying to claw through the net at her captors’ faces.

  “Enough of this,” growled the same voice, and a ringing blow to her head ended the struggle.

  13

  The Prisoner Within

  It takes the work of two to cure the loneliness of one.

  - from an ancient letter found in Léiff

  WHEN TELAI finally came to, she had no idea how much time had passed. A blurred lattice of slender branches swam nauseatingly against the somber sky; her head throbbed, and her left cheek felt tender and swollen. The net was gone. Bound hand and foot, she lay on the trampled snow beneath a tall shrub a short distance from the battle scene. Hodyn soldiers ambled past, all their panic and urgency gone.

  “Begora! She’s waking up.”

  Being a Loremaster she was well versed in Hodynese, and she tensed, not knowing what to expect. The man who had struck her crouched down, watched her stonily, then reached forward. She flinched, but he only removed the gag from her mouth.

  She gasped as the tied cloth slid up past her bruised cheek and snagged on the snarled braid of her hair. “What do you want from me?” she yelled hoarsely, her throat dry.

  Begora tossed the gag aside. “I won’t waste time answering stupid questions. I must perform the duty assigned to me. Within those limits, I’ll treat you as well as I can.” He shook his head. “Damn those Raéni cowards. A woman!”

  She only glared at him. He rose to his feet to talk to a nearby soldier. “What did you do with the other one?”