by E. J. Godwin
“Physically? What do you mean?”
“Our loss is heavy, Telai. It weighs just as much on him as it does any of us.”
“And Warren?”
Garda hesitated. “I’ll let his father handle that question. For my part, I hold no resentment toward the boy.”
“I should hope not. None of this was his doing.”
“That’s not what I mean. When they opened the doors at Gortgal, and I saw Caleb Stenger carrying you—by great Orand, Telai, I thought you were dead. You were covered in cuts and bruises, and blood was running down your arm. I hardly recognized you.”
Telai raised her right arm. There was no trace of injury. She brought her hand to her face: her skin felt as smooth and healthy as ever. Then she reached back to touch her ruined hair and groaned. It was cut so short it was barely long enough for a ponytail.
“He healed you,” Garda said. “Right there at the entrance. Many others, too, including a few Hodyn. I think it was important to him that I was there to see it.”
“I don’t remember any of that.”
“He thought it best to let you sleep. Caleb Stenger and I agreed. There’s more to healing than mending flesh, and you’re going to need your strength for … for what I’m about to tell you,” she finished, gripping her daughter’s arm.
A lump passed Telai’s throat as she stared absently at the cup in her hands. “Tell me,” she whispered.
♦
Caleb negotiated the city without pause, but slowly, like a lost and weary wanderer. His afternoon shadow meandered over cobblestones that were no longer familiar to him, no longer echoed to the sound of friendly voices. Enemy soldiers patrolled the streets now, grim men full of hate walking back and forth past the darkened windows of abandoned homes. He felt as much a stranger now as when Soren first led him through the gates of Krengliné a lifetime ago.
Two Hodyn guards escorted Caleb from Gortgal to his old room in the inn near the lake. Ferguen, leader of the Hodyn, who arrived in the city only yesterday, had approved the Overseer’s request for the wounded and sick to be housed there. Yet the bulk of Ekendoré’s citizens, as well as the Underseers, were forced to remain in the caverns. Caleb had done what he could for these people—his people. But nothing would soon cure the tragedy in their eyes. The Hodyn had captured their beloved Ekendoré.
It was all a surreal dream now—a nightmare belonging to a stranger.
He never would have gotten Telai from Krengliné to Gortgal on his own, and not just because of his lingering weakness. Any one of the many Hodyn roaming the valley and city streets would gladly have shot an enemy soldier on sight, especially a recognized friend of the Supreme Raén. Warren, still reeling from his unexpected freedom and pale with shock, used the power of his Lor’yentré to transport them directly to Gortgal—Begora as well. For they needed a spokesman. And when the Bringer of Strength appeared with a respected commander at his side ordering them to cease the attack, the Hodyn had no choice but to fall back.
The enemy assumed a position a stone’s throw from the doors to prevent escape. The bedlam of war subsided, leaving only the cries of the wounded to mingle with the mournful howl of the mountain winds. Countless bodies of fallen soldiers, friend and foe alike, littered the crest of the High Loop. Not a hundred Raéni were left standing.
Caleb threaded a careful path through this gruesome maze, Telai held firmly in his arms. The slow rise and fall of her chest, and the sight of his restored son stopping to heal those he could, were the only things that gave him the strength to endure the terrible aftermath of the Raéni’s last stand.
There was Edai, her life’s blood frozen on the stone where her arm had been severed, her laser still held fast in her stiffened hand. Several fallen guards from the armory surrounded her, having given their last to protect her. Rewba lay face down, the shards of a broken sword beside him. Wirden, one of the first to fall, lay with her dark hair matted and her stout body nearly crushed flat by scores of advancing enemy soldiers. And finally there was Soren, his red-soaked limbs sprawled and separated by the deadly weapon of an alien world.
Warren sank to his knees. He did not weep or cry out, but sat motionless, his stare fixed upon the blood-drained visage of the Master Raén of Ada. They were too late. There was no spirit to rescue, nothing left of the man Warren once brought back from death.
Caleb stood by, the wounds of his heart far too deep for words, grateful that Telai would never see this. If it were not for her, or for the child she had saved from a living hell, he would have turned and flung his life at the Hodyn in a final explosion of rage.
Now, as he endured the empty streets and windows of Ekendoré, it was all he could do to keep from releasing that same fury at the enemy guards walking at his side. Only the prospect of seeing Telai again kept it in check. With a bittersweet glance at the frozen tarn nearby where the first glimmer of their love had begun, Caleb turned onto the main thoroughfare and stopped at the entrance of the old inn.
Two Raéni guards, weaponless, stood in the shadow of the building on either side of the double doors. Across the street and all around the inn a dozen enemy archers had notched their arrows, all too eager to act upon their long-repressed desire for vengeance. Caleb did his best to ignore them. He reminded himself that not everything was lost. Spierel and Léiff remained unconquered—and the two people he loved more than life itself had survived.
It seemed to take forever to climb the steps to the top floor. Finally he trudged down the hallway and knocked on the last door on the right.
Garda opened it a moment later, wearing a tired but unexpected smile. Preoccupied, Caleb only nodded a quick greeting as he passed. Then a cry ended his distraction. Telai leaped from her bed and gripped him so tightly that it forced the air out of his lungs.
Long he drowned in her embrace, in the sound of his whispered name. Beyond this she said nothing, touching him on his shoulders or back, over and over to reassure herself that this was not a dream.
Caleb never noticed when her mother left, or how long they stood like this, lost as if time had no meaning. Eventually he helped Telai over to sit on the bed beside him, for she was still a little unsteady after her sudden dash across the room.
She made an effort to straighten the tangled locks of shortened hair that had fallen loose. To Caleb, she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
Telai scanned the walls, a slow, wistful smile on her lips. “Mother told me you asked for this room.”
Caleb tried to echo her smile, but his resentment over their loss sabotaged it. “It isn’t our home anymore, Telai. Even Wsaytchen is lost to us.”
“I know. Ferguen and his minions have occupied it. There’s no getting in without his permission.” Bitterness sharpened her eyes. “Hodyn. In the palace! And Gerentesk!”
Concern for her recovery drained his wrath. “You needn’t worry, Telai—not for the moment, at least. Garda has Ferguen’s promise that nothing will be touched until negotiations are finished.” He shrugged. “Not that we have a choice in the matter.”
“She told me.”
A silence passed between them. “Did she tell you about your fath—”
Telai placed her hand across his lips. “Caleb—did Warren get a chance to—to save—”
“His spirit? No. We didn’t get there in time.”
She sighed tremulously. “How’s Warren taking it? Is he all right?”
Caleb did not answer at once. Instead he rose and walked to the north window, where he could see Wsaytchen in all its glory, exactly as it looked on the morning of his Judgment. Yet the splendor of its silver-crowned towers was nothing more than a bittersweet dream now, a cheat to the eyes.
“Caleb?”
He glanced at her. “As I’m sure Garda already told you, Warren is no longer the Bringer of Evil. There is no more Heradnora—at least that’s what he says. I know there’s a lot he’s not telling me.”
He returned to her side. “It’s going to take him a long time to get over th
is, Telai. He still wields great power—through his own Lor’yentré now, of course—and he still has his health, thank the stars. But he’s going to need our help.”
“Where is he?”
“Across the hall. He’s kept to himself these last few days. The Hodyn have no idea where he is, and they’re getting suspicious. I don’t give a damn. He’s so torn up inside with everything he was forced to—well, with everything that’s happened. The thing he needs most is to see that you’re all right.”
“Do you think he’s ready?”
“Maybe. Do you think you’re ready?”
She shrugged, a forced smile on her lips. “I don’t know.”
“Because of what he—or rather, she did to you?”
She squirmed. “Caleb, please—do we have to talk about this right now?” He reached out to her, but she shifted away from him, arms wrapped close.
“You’ve got to, Telai, for your own sake. Warren’s, too. He needs you.”
“Don’t play games with me, Caleb!”
He inched still closer, careful not to touch her this time. She started shaking, as if her body and not just her mind resisted. Fear took hold of Caleb like a knife held to his throat, but he knew there was nothing more he could do but wait.
“Tenlar’s dead.” Her voice was flat and lifeless, yet all the more wounded for it.
Caleb sighed, grateful for even this small step. “I don’t know if your mother told you, but—you kept saying his name in your sleep.” He waited for her to respond, but the way she hunched her shoulders and tightened her arms told him she wasn’t ready yet. “He was a good man, Telai. I’m glad you had someone like that with you.”
She nodded ever so slightly.
“There was another name, too—Laivan, I think it was,” he said, desperate to draw her out. “Was he the one who sent your message?”
“Yes.”
“A Hodyn soldier?”
“Yes.” She spoke quickly, a sluice releasing a torrent. “He came into my tent that night where they held me captive. He was leader of a secret faction. He wanted to find out the secret of our quest, to help me get rid of—of—”
She froze, her pupils dark with terror.
“Great Grondolos, Telai. What did she do to him?”
Her mouth moved silently, breathlessly. When the words came at last, she nearly choked as they ripped out of her.
“Caleb, Caleb—she tore him apart!”
Telai relinquished her agony in a storm of cries and shuddering spasms, a raw purge more of poison than of grief. Caleb made no move to touch her, knowing she needed to close the door on this evil before she could accept the comfort of his arms.
In time her breathing slowed, and her limbs loosened. She reached for his hand and held it in her lap. “She tried to get the secret out of me first,” she said in a ragged voice. “But it’s nothing compared to what she did to Laivan.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Caleb. I don’t think I can face Warren, at least not yet. I can’t get the image out of my mind—that sweet boy doing those horrible things.”
Caleb gripped her by the shoulders. “You must!” She locked a defiant stare on him, but he drove on, knowing what was at stake. “Please, Telai. I can’t bear to see either of you hurting like this.”
“I don’t know what to say to him!”
He gave a friendly smirk. “Telai, daughter of Garda, at a loss for words? That’ll be the day.”
Her eyes widened; her shoulder hitched up for a moment, and Caleb stiffened.
“I just lost both my father and a good friend,” she yelled, “not to mention Gerentesk—and you’re making jokes?”
Her voice hurt more than any blow her hand could have dealt. “Here I only wanted to ease your mind, and ended up stumbling over my words again. I’m sorry.” She nodded, and he asked, “Did Laivan die knowing you were his friend?”
It took her a while to respond. “I crouched beside him right before—before he—” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I told him I would always remember him as a hero.”
Caleb brought her hands to his lips. “Then you’ll have no trouble knowing what to say to Warren.”
Telai bowed her head. “Caleb—there’s something I have to tell you first. I was meant to use the new Lor’yentré, not Warren.”
“You? Then why—”
“I’m not sure I can explain it properly. But you need to know before—before I can—”
Her words burst out in a rush. She told him about her vision in Tnestiri, about the source of the Lor’yentré’s power, and how destroying Warren was the only way to save her people. “But when the Hodyn captured me, even that choice was taken away. All I had left was the coin Rennor gave me. I finally managed to detect a presence—” she said, and her voice faltered for a moment, “—I mean, a strength inside Warren that might help him if he had a Lor’yentré of his own.”
Caleb tried to sort it out. “I don’t claim to understand everything you’ve told me,” he said, “but I’d be a fool to say you made the wrong choice. I don’t like him owning one of those things, either, but considering the alternative—”
“I couldn’t bear the thought of it! But there’s one more thing. Now that Warren has his own Lor’yentré, he must … he has to … ”
She froze, as if the words about to pass her lips might kill her.
Caleb’s stomach went cold. “Just say it, Telai.”
She tightened her grip on his hands. “Ksoreda told me that once the Lor’yentré was mine I would need to take it with me—away from our world.” She shrugged, an attempt at levity that only magnified her torment. “Forever,” she added in a whisper.
It took Caleb a minute to register this. “Are you telling me—”
“—I couldn’t think of any other way!”
“No. No, Telai! I won’t do that to him—not again!”
A fierce desperation transformed her beauty into a woman he barely recognized. “It’s all right, Caleb. I’ll go with you—with you and Warren.”
He couldn’t help it. Old habits kicked in, and he leaped away to his feet, staring.
Blood drained from her cheeks. “Caleb … please … I had no choice.”
Her voice ripped through him, leaving him defenseless. How many times these last few weeks had he nearly given up hope? How many times did their love for each other keep him from falling into the abyss?
The brief vision atop Krengliné returned: that warm, windy day when he had taken the Oath in such ignorance. He finally understood why Soren had accompanied him into exile. Loyalty must go beyond Etrenga’s sacred words, beyond the mere saving of lives. His love for Telai and for his son, and even his own quest for happiness, were not separate from the Oath. They were a part of it.
“I guess a life of exile is not so terrible a fate after all,” he said.
Telai bowed her head, gripping the blankets.
Caleb sat down and held her close. “We’ll work it out somehow, Telai.”
She turned a valiant smile. “At least I won’t need to worry about my reputation.”
Caleb chuckled. “So it’s all right for you to make jokes. Well, I could do worse than the ex-Grand Loremaster of Ada. But I think your reputation has made a big comeback.” He lost himself in those candid eyes again, windows into the heart of the woman he loved, restored by hope. “You’re my hero, Telai. Thank you for saving my son.”
She kissed him on the cheek and whispered in his ear. “Thank you for saving me.”
Caleb trembled. Telai had inherited every bit of her father’s strength and bravery, yet here she was, needing him as much as he needed her. Though the future still held many doubts, of one thing he was absolutely sure: the only force powerful enough to make him leave her again was death itself.
She sat back, smiled, and glanced at the door. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be, Caleb.”
♦
Warren was already standing in the hallway when his father opened the door. The boy paused at the threshold, his
face betraying no pain. Only his eyes hinted at something deeper. Telai did not rise to greet him, unsure of how he would react. Instead she beckoned to him from where she sat on the bed, hoping her smile was enough.
He rushed across the room and hugged her with all his boyish might. A deep calm settled over Telai’s heart. All of the nightmares were gone.
Caleb stood nearby, a tapestry of emotions mellowing his rugged features. She tilted her head toward the door, an apologetic smile on her lips. Caleb nodded. He clasped his son’s shoulder, startled Telai with a lingering kiss, and left.
She kept her arms wrapped tight around the boy, reveling in the precious, reassuring warmth of life so close to her own. A bond had formed at the Old Wall, stronger than any of her fears. And with that bond began the long, slow healing of grief for those she had lost—for her father, for so many other Raéni like him—and for Tenlar.
She released Warren, held him at arm’s length, then reached for the stand near the window by her bed. “I believe this belongs to you,” she said, and dropped the ivory carving into his hand.
The child bent his head, his ruffled, sandy locks dangling as the little whale lay entwined in a princely nest: Garda had replaced the leather thong with a necklace of fine silver. A glistening drop fell, and he glanced ever so furtively at Telai’s arm.
She held his face between her hands. “Warren Stenger, I want you to be perfectly clear about something. No matter what has happened to me, or to anyone else, the fault is not yours.”
“But I believed her! None of this would have happened if—”
“No, Warren! Even an adult couldn’t have resisted her for very long.” She gently shook him by the shoulders. “Is there anything of your tormentor left? Is Heradnora gone for good?”
His eyes changed subtly, as if a veil had dropped. “Yes,” he answered flatly.
Telai was not so easily fooled. She draped the necklace around his neck, then gestured beside her. “Sit,” she commanded. Warren obeyed, head bowed and his hands clasped between his knees.
“First I need to tell you something,” she said, determined to get it over with. “When Ksoreda gave me the Lor’yentré—“