“That is what I have been told,” said Enalyn. “You have decided that lives are not yours to take, and that if someone must die for their crimes, then that is up to the King’s law. Do I have the right of it?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Yet a moment ago you seemed to wish that Selvan had gone to war with Dorsea, and now you think that we should go to war with Dulmun. Tell me, Nightblade: what happens in war?”
Loren looked up with a frown. “Your Majesty?”
“You have seen battle. What do soldiers do to each other in battle?”
“They … they kill each other.”
Enalyn nodded. “I could say that it was the fault of my soldiers for doing so. It would be easy to blame them for cutting down my enemies upon the field. But the truth is that if I declare war, every life lost is my responsibility. I say my responsibility, and not my fault, for they are not the same. I will bear that burden if I must, but I am not eager for it. You say you will not kill, and that might be called a noble vow. But if you only wish for others to swing the sword in your place, then you do not hate death—you only want to be able to tell one and all that your hands are still clean. And that is not so noble a purpose.”
Loren wished that she could vanish from sight. None of the others at the battle would look at her, like children sitting awkwardly while their mother chastised a sibling, only wishing for the moment to pass. But then she steeled herself and raised her head, meeting the High King’s gaze.
“Again I apologize, Your Highness,” she said, keeping her tone measured but earnest. “I am unaccustomed to sitting at so high a table, where matters such as these are discussed. I vow to you that I will learn, and I beg for your patience as I do.”
Enalyn smiled, and the room’s tension evaporated at once. “That is well said, and shows a humble heart. It is a wise soul who seeks to learn instead of clinging to the belief that they are right. Now, back to the matter at hand: ending the war with Dulmun before it begins.”
“The key to such a strategy is making such a conflict appear not only futile, but hopeless,” said Eamin. “That could divide Dulmun and turn the nobility against their king.”
Loren cocked her head, confused, and Xain spoke up. “It is our hope that some in Dulmun may be convinced they cannot win. If the noble families think that war is hopeless, it may prompt them to overthrow Bodil, Dulmun’s king, and appoint a new ruler who will make peace.”
“I understand,” said Loren, though that was only half true. “How may I help?”
“In all honesty, I am not certain,” said Enalyn. “Yet something tells me that you have a role to play. You have displayed two talents in great abundance, Loren: an ability to gather information, and a strong sense of duty. These are valuable skills, and I regard them highly, but they are yet untempered. Therefore I mean to place you in the service of Kal of the family Endil, who sent you to me in the first place. I have raised him to the Grand Chancellor of Feldemar—the Lord Chancellor’s former position—and he is also my master of spies. Under his guidance, I have no doubt you will prove yourself most useful to the preservation of the nine kingdoms.”
Loren’s heart skipped a beat. Almost she blurted, You are sending me away? She looked to Xain.
“Kal was Jordel’s master also, you will remember.” He spoke quietly, and she saw pity in his eyes.
She swallowed hard. Do not be a foolish girl, she told herself. You entered the High King’s service. What sort of servant you would be if you disobeyed her command?
So she stilled her hands on the table and turned to Enalyn. “Very well, Your Majesty,” she said. “I serve at your command.”
From the corner of her eye she saw Hollen give an approving smile, while the Lord Prince nodded.
“Excellent,” said Enalyn. “I ask only that you obey Kal’s instructions, and learn from him what you can. Never forget, Loren: our task is of the utmost importance. We do not fight for peace only to keep me on the throne. That would be a limp and insipid reason to ask so much from so many. We fight instead for the preservation of Underrealm itself, and that is a greater purpose than all of us. Without the order of the nine kingdoms, all would be chaos. Can I count on your aid to preserve them?”
The Lord Prince looked solemn, and his brows drew together. Loren looked at him for a moment, wondering what must be going on inside his mind—he, the presumptive heir to the throne, and not all that much older than she was.
“You can, Your Majesty,” said Loren. “And you, Your Highness, and Lord Chancellor. I have already seen the fires of war licking at the trees of the Birchwood that I call home. I will do anything I must to douse the flames, and give my life if need be.”
Eamin met her gaze then, his eyes bright and his head held high. He nodded, and though he spoke no word, she could almost hear him thank her.
“Well-spoken,” said Enalyn. “Though I pray it does not come to that, and I hope you will not throw your life away needlessly. Serve Kal as best you know how, and I will consider your duty fulfilled. Arrangements will soon be made for you to go to him in the stronghold of Ammon, where he resides.”
“Ammon?” said Loren quickly.
“Yes,” said Enalyn. “Jordel’s home.”
Loren’s breath caught in her throat. Jordel had meant to bring her to Ammon, her and Gem and Annis all, before he had fallen in the Greatrocks. But moreover, Annis was there, and Loren’s heart leapt at the thought of seeing her friend again.
“Now we must discuss something more somber,” said Enalyn. She looked to Xain. The wizard cleared his throat and sat up, folding his hands on the table before him. Loren had felt a sense of warning before, and that had faded, but it redoubled now. Whatever “decision” Enalyn had come to, this was the heart of it.
“I cannot travel with you any longer,” said Xain.
The room fell to silence—except that at the edge of hearing, Loren thought she heard a high whine, like a gnat buzzing in her ear. The whine was soon replaced by her own pulse, thundering in her ears as she felt suddenly light-headed.
“I thought you were done trying to abandon me on the road,” she said, trying to keep her tone light.
Xain did not so much as smirk. “I was,” he said. “But now I have returned to the Seat, where I always meant to go. And I have my son. I could not come with you and bring Erin along.”
She did not answer. She could not not answer. Of course not. And you know I would not ask it.
“Moreover,” Xain went on, “the High King has asked a duty of me, and I have agreed to it.”
“No doubt you remember the Dean of the Academy,” said Enalyn. “Cyrus of the family Drayden. You met him briefly.”
“I do remember,” said Loren. She also remembered that Cyrus had not been there to defend the High King in the battle of the Seat, and rumors flew that he had abandoned his charges at the Academy as well.
“Cyrus has not been seen since the day the Seat was attacked. It may be assumed that he perished in the fighting.” Enalyn kept her tone carefully neutral, but Loren saw the disdainful sneers that twisted the faces of both Xain and Eamin. She herself wanted to laugh out loud, but she kept her composure as Enalyn went on. “Now the Academy needs another Dean, and I require an ally in that position. I cannot afford to choose based on political expediency, the way I did when I chose Cyrus.”
“You mean that it would be foolish to appoint another Drayden,” said Eamin lightly. “This is a small council, Your Majesty, and all upon it are trustworthy. You make speak freely, I think.”
Enalyn gave him a cool stare, and then went on as though he had not said anything. “In any case, I require someone I can trust to remain loyal, and I have selected Xain. I asked him, and he accepted.”
“Then it appears congratulations are in order, Dean.” Loren could not help the way her mouth twisted the word.
Enalyn must have sensed her mood. She put her hands flat on the table and said, “Very well. Those are the only matters I required
you for. Your travel to Ammon will be seen to shortly.”
The dismissal was clear. Loren stood from her chair and bowed. “Thank you, Your Majesty.” But before she turned away, she saw Xain give the High King a quick glance. Enalyn nodded in response, and Xain stood to follow Loren from the room.
“I shall see you out,” he said.
Loren shrugged. “If you wish.” In fact she did not want him anywhere near her, but thought it would be unseemly to recoil from him in front of the High King. Once they were in the hallway, however, she walked as far from his side as she could and stormed into the palace garden. Winter bit at her cheeks, and she drew her cloak close about her, thankful the first snows had not yet begun to fall.
“I am sorry,” said Xain from behind her.
“You have done nothing that requires an apology,” said Loren. “The High King commanded you.”
“She did not command me. She asked, and I accepted. And I am sorry.”
“Then take it back.” She turned to him, blinking against the sting in her eyes. “Take it back and come with me.”
“I … I cannot,” he said, fists clenching by his sides. “Loren, my son—I cannot leave Erin again, and I cannot bring—”
“I know!” cried Loren, far louder than she meant to. But it felt good, and so she kept shouting. “I know you cannot take Erin into such danger. Why do you think I am angry with you? Because I cannot be angry with you at all. Nor could I be mad at Jordel, or Albern, when they—”
She stopped short and turned away, blinking harder. That had not been a fair thing to say, and she knew it. Why, then, did she not turn and apologize? But she could not, not when Xain meant to leave her alone the way he had often enough before.
“I thought the same thing,” he said. To her shock, Loren heard the thickness of tears in his voice, and when she turned he wept openly. “The moment Enalyn asked me, I thought of how I was leaving you again, the way I had promised not to—and the way Jordel and Albern did. That thought has plagued me since. Yet I do not see another choice. Erin—I have my son, and I—”
“Be silent,” said Loren. She forced a smile. “Still your bleating tongue, wizard. You only repeat yourself, and we have said all we can say. And if there is one thing we have learned after all the leagues we have walked together, it is that you always wanted to be rid of me.”
Before he could answer, she seized the front of his coat, drawing him in for an embrace as his tears fell upon her shoulder.
three
CHET DID NOT TAKE THE news well. He sat silent with his fists clenched as Loren spoke of the council. Across from the couch, Gem sat almost sideways upon his chair, swinging his legs back and forth over one of the arms, his eyes wide and his mouth slightly open. When Loren finished, he straightened and gave a bright laugh.
“Wonderful! Helping to prevent a war will make a fine addition to the tales of you that already fly across the nine kingdoms.”
“I think you greatly overestimate how far such tales have spread,” said Loren.
“How can I? The High King herself had already heard of the Nightblade before she brought you into her service. What better bard could you wish for, than one who brings tales of your exploits to the highest of thrones?”
But Chet sat silent in his chair, picking at one fingernail with the other. Loren could feel his sullen displeasure, and it worried her. The look on his face was not unlike the look he had worn in the Birchwood when her father threatened her, or hit her, and Chet had held himself back only at Loren’s urging.
Gem, however, seemed oblivious to it. He sat forwards in his chair and slapped his knees. “And we will get to see Annis again! We have not received word from her in days. I wonder if she already knows we are coming? I should write her a letter.”
“It can hardly get there before you will,” said Loren. “It will not be long before we leave the Seat.”
“Might we speak alone, Gem?”
Chet’s voice was quiet and firm, and it cut its way into the conversation like a footman’s sword. Gem’s smile dampened, and he glanced at Loren. She nodded.
“Very well,” said Gem. “I am famished anyway, and I think one of the cooks likes me, for she hardly tries to smack me at all any more when I steal food from her. I will return shortly.”
He bounced carefree on his feet as he slipped from the room, but Loren saw him give them both a worried look. Once the door had closed again, Chet sat up on the couch and placed his elbows on his knees, folding one fist over the other before his eyes.
“Why do we not leave?” said Chet.
“I mean to,” said Loren lightly. “For Ammon.”
“Do not do that,” he said softly. “Do not pretend ignorance of my meaning. Why do we not leave this war behind?”
“We have come this far,” said Loren. “Why not see it through? And besides, I took the role of Nightblade.”
“You did, and what of it?” said Chet. “What is the Nightblade, in truth? She has given you a title without a duty. It is meaningless. There has never been a Nightblade before, and so you cannot declare with any certainty what service you are expected to perform.”
“I suppose, then, that it is for me to decide. I am able to determine the course of my life, the way I never could before.”
“Hardly. You have put that control in the hands of the High King. Enalyn has my allegiance as well as yours, but do you truly think she holds your safety as her highest concern?”
Loren looked at him sharply. “Do you think that is my highest concern?”
She thought to shock him, but he only rolled his eyes. “Have you even decided how long you mean to serve her? Will you do so for the rest of your life?”
“I had not given much thought to it. But I will not leave the nine kingdoms to their own devices while the threat of war looms over them.”
Chet stood and went to a side table that held a flagon of wine. He filled a cup for himself and arched an eyebrow at her. She nodded, and he filled a second. “And what does the High King mean for you to do?” he asked, changing tack. “Obey Kal, of course, but what does that mean? Have you wondered what they intend to do with you? For I have an idea.”
He placed the cup in her hand. Loren took a sip, but a light one, for she wished to keep her mind sharp. It felt as though they were sparring, and she did not like it. She let some of her bitterness come through in her tone. “Let us hear it, then, oh wisest of advisors, for surely I would be lost without you.”
“I think they mean to send you after Rogan.”
That gave her pause, as he must have known it would. Just the brute’s name was enough to strike fear in her, and suddenly the High King’s palace seemed as safe as a woodland shack. Loren did not often dream, but in recent days, Rogan’s dark face had plagued her sleep more than once.
Her silence had stretched long, and Chet wore a self-satisfied look that irked her. She sipped her wine again and shrugged. “Mayhap that is indeed their plan. If so, it is Rogan who should be afraid. When he found us in Northwood, he had the advantage, and we were the ones pursued. Now I walk with all the power of the High King behind me. Who does he have? The Shades? They lick their wounds in some unknown hole, likely hiding in the Birchwood and hoping we will forget about them.”
“Dulmun backs him.”
Loren snorted. “One kingdom against the other eight. And do not forget that the Mystics are on our side.”
Chet frowned into his cup. “Rogan does not seem the type of man to begin a war without some hope of victory.” But he could not put much strength in the words.
“Never would I compel you to walk a road you deem dangerous. I told you in Northwood that you were under no obligation to come with us.”
“So you did, and I said then that I do not follow you out of obligation,” said Chet. “I came because … well …” He trailed off, and his cheeks flushed with something other than the wine.
“We are no longer children, Chet,” said Loren. “Speak plainly.”
“Do so if you must,” said Loren. “Only do not forget, for both our sakes, that I will continue to ignore you and press on regardless.”
His nostrils flared. “How can I forget, when you have never done anything else?”
She bit her tongue and turned her gaze away from him. She knew well that this was futile, and Chet likely did as well. “I should like to take a walk,” she said.
“No, I am sorry,” he said, slumping back and shaking his head. “You do not have to leave.”
“It will give us both time to cool our heads—and to think upon this,” she said. “Each of us knows what the other will say. Let us, then, have the argument separately, in our own mind, so that it need not drive a wedge between us.”
She gave him a wan smile. He did not look up at her, and only put his hand to his forehead, as though he wished to say more but did not dare to. But as she passed him on her way out the door, he reached suddenly forth and took her hand, squeezing it. She returned the pressure, and at last their gazes met for a moment. She left.
four
SHE DID NOT RETURN TO the room until after nightfall, and Chet had fallen asleep already. She lay beside him, and he moved in his sleep to wrap an arm around her. His warmth soon put her to sleep—but then a dark dream seized her, dragging her mind into its depths and filling her with despair.
Loren found herself standing beneath the boughs of the Birchwood. Somehow she knew it was the day she had left. But instead of the brown cloak she had actually worn on that day, she wore the black cloak Damaris had given her. Xain was nowhere to be seen. Dark storm clouds churned in the sky.
Weremage: A Book of Underrealm (The Nightblade Epic 5) Page 2