“It might be a valuable lesson,” said Chet.
One by one, Loren followed the landmarks that Eamin had laid out for her—sometimes they were easily found, and lay beside wide roads that were well kept. Other times they led her off into unbroken land, where there was nothing but thin goat trails to go by. But at last, after seven days, they came upon a wide plateau in the middle of a wide flat grassland, and upon that plateau was the stronghold of Ammon.
It was an impressive sight from the first, even when it was only a shape on the horizon that she could cover with her thumb. As they drew closer, they could see that it was built in three levels: first, a high wall that was halfway down the plateau, from which there was only a single gate at the top of a wide ramp leading down; second, another wall, but this one with two gates, and what looked like several structures built inside for the housing of troops; and finally, the keep itself, at the very top of the hill. It looked large enough to house half a thousand troops in comfort, and more if pressed to great need. As they neared, the plateau seemed to grow larger and larger, and the stronghold with it, so that Loren felt suddenly very small and weak.
They were spotted from leagues away, and they heard the clarion peal of horns to signal their approach. The ramp was at least a mile long, and the gate was still closed by the time they stepped upon its base. It remained closed all the long while they led their horses up it, and when they pulled to a stop before it. There, on the wall just above them, was an old man with a long white beard, wrapped in the red cloak of a Mystic.
“Who approaches the stronghold of Ammon, home of the family Adair?” said Kal of the family Endil.
“Loren of the family Nelda, Nightblade of the High King,” said Loren. “But you know that already, and it is raining, so open the gate quickly.”
Kal scowled, but he turned to the men in the gate house and gave a nod. They bent to the wheel, and the drawbridge began to lower, bridging the gap between the top of the ramp and the portcullis leading into the first level of the fortress.
“I would advise you be more careful with your manners,” muttered Weath beside her, though Loren could see that she was hiding a smile. “I have known the Chancellor for many years, and while he is not a stickler for ceremony, he places great weight in military decorum.”
“Just now I place greater weight in a warm bed,” said Loren. “I will not be kept huddling outside his fortress in the rain until I have saluted to his liking.”
When the drawbridge slammed into place, they walked their horses across it. Kal waited in the courtyard just beyond, backed by a household guard of Mystic knights. Loren dismounted before him and gave a curt bow, pulling her gloves from her hands.
“Well met, Kal of the family Endil.”
“And you, Nightblade. If you will follow me, there is much to—”
But a high-pitched squeal cut him off, and from between Kal’s mystics came a black and silver streak. It was Annis, in a dark dress that she had hitched up to run full tilt, and she flung herself into Loren’s arms with a scream. Loren shouted in joy and hoisted her up in the air, and Gem launched himself from the saddle where he had been sitting behind Chet, tackling them both so that they all fell to the ground. He covered Annis’ cheeks with kisses, and she laughed as she tried to hug him and Loren at the same time. Tears poured form the girl’s cheeks, and Loren found it hard to keep her own restrained.
“Sky above!” barked Kal. “Are you servants of the High King, or children in truth? Get up, for if you have all day to roll about in the dirt like pups, I do not.”
Loren scowled at him, but she rose to her feet, pulling Gem and Annis with her. But Annis and Gem did not let go of each other.
“Very well,” said Loren. “We are weary after our journey. If you will show us to our quarters, we will take our rest, and you may go about your business.”
“Rest must wait,” said Kal. “As I had begun to explain, you and I have much to discuss.”
Stepping aside, he waved her on with a wide sweep of his arm. Loren sighed, hoping their discussion could be limited, for indeed the trip had made her weary. But just as she stepped past Kal, she froze in her tracks.
Behind Kal, in the group of Mystics who accompanied him, there was a man who looked to be from Wadeland. His hair was black and hung to his shoulders, and a scar split his chin. He wore a red cloak now, but when last she had seen him, he had been dressed in the grey and blue of a Shade—and he had stood behind Damaris, in her dream.
“Loren?” said Chet behind her. “Is something the matter?”
The man was looking at her oddly—and did she catch a trace of fear in his eye? Loren tore her gaze away from him and looked to Chet. “No. Nothing,” she said. “Only I am tired, and my mind went far away. Though I am sure the Chancellor does not care for our weariness. Come, let us accompany him before he bursts with his impatience.”
Kal growled something inaudible, and Chet snickered as they followed the Mystic onwards. But Loren stole a brief glance behind her, and used the motion to look at the man again. Mayhap she imagined it, but she thought she saw him swallow with relief as she passed him by.
nine
KAL TOOK LITTLE NOTICE OF Loren’s hesitation, and pressed quickly on until they had reached the keep atop the plateau. But Chet took her arm and drew her back a pace, and leaned in to whisper. “What was it? You looked as though you had seen an Elf.”
Loren shook her head. “I … I am not certain. I will tell you of it later.”
But inwardly, she was not even certain what to tell him. She knew nothing of the man. They had never met, so far as she remembered. All she knew was that he had been in her dream, dressed as a Shade. Was she supposed to do anything about it at all? A part of her wanted to believe it was a coincidence—yet never before had she seen something in dreams, only to come upon it later in the waking world.
And then she thought of the rest of that dream—Damaris, and Chet’s death, and Gem’s teeth on her throat. Would those, too, come to pass?
No. No, there was some other explanation. There must be.
Kal stopped short, and Loren was so caught up in her own thoughts that she nearly ran into him. He threw open a door and drew her in to a small council room. Two Mystics took up positions of guard on either side of the door—though Loren was relived to see that neither of them was the dark-haired stranger from her dream. But when the rest of Loren’s party started to follow them in, Kal waved his hands at them like they were cats.
“Off with you—all of you except Loren. My men will see you to your lodgings, such as they are. You knights will receive your assignment in time. The rest of you may sit on the ramparts until the rain has pierced you through, for all I care. Go.”
They went, Chet giving Loren one last worried look before the door closed between them. But it was not until Loren turned to Kal in the center of the room that she noted Annis had remained. And to her great surprise, Kal acted as though it were the most normal thing in the world—in fact he hardly seemed to notice the girl. He had eyes only for Loren, and he seized his long beard in his fingers as he narrowed his eyes at her.
“You certainly took your time to get here,” he said.
Loren blinked. “I beg your pardon? I came here by the route that was shown to me.”
“Aye, and quite some weeks after the attack upon the Seat,” said Kal.
“When the High King ordered me.”
Kal snorted. “If we all waited for orders, the nine kingdoms would already have fallen to ruination. Everyone moves too slowly, too slowly by half, and even the High King is no exception.”
Unbidden, a flush of anger rose to Loren’s cheeks to hear him insult the High King. “You should not speak ill of your liege lord.”
“No one should ever be free of all criticism—kings least of all,” said Kal. “If a few more had been brave enough to speak against the Wizard Kings in their day, how many dark wars might have been avoided? But enough of this. The last reason I called yo
u here was to bandy about words of politics and philosophy. Tell me of your journey here, and what came before it upon the Seat.”
“A moment,” said Loren. “First, I saw someone in your courtyard. A young man, not much older than I, with a scar splitting his chin. Who is he?”
She was not displeased to see Kal frown in confusion, caught off guard by the question. Behind him, Annis’ eyes narrowed with interest. “Hewal? What of him?”
“He had … he looks familiar.”
Kal snorted. “That is hardly possible. I have known him since he was a boy in Wadeland, and he has been stationed here since first he joined the Mystics. He was not with me when we met in Brekkur. If you have taken a fancy to him, that is not a matter I wish to give you any counsel upon whatsoever.”
It was Loren’s turn to be caught off guard, and she hated the blood that rushed to her cheeks anew. “I told you, I only thought he had an odd look.” Kal was an argumentative and scornful enough man that she knew better than to tell him of her dream.
“Forget my soldiers and their odd looks, and tell me of the attack upon the Seat.”
She did, at least in brief. When she spoke of some of the details of the battle, Annis’ eyes went wide with shock and fear—especially when Loren told how she had brought the city gate crashing down to crush Rogan. Then Kal had her tell him of everything that had come after—when those who lived upon the Seat had fled to Selvan, and then returned, and finally when Enalyn had assigned her to Kal’s service. She told him of the journey to Ammon as well, though he seemed little interested in that, and only studied the map that was laid out on his table, running his fingers through his beard in thought.
“Very good, very good,” he muttered when she had finished. “It is good you have come, even if it took you an age. I find myself with more duties than I can easily assume, especially after the High King named me Master of Spies. Hah! A useless title if ever there was one. She grants it to me so that I may work for her in secret—yet now my name is known to more than it has ever been, and so secrecy comes scarce.”
Loren felt that they must be coming to the heart of the matter now. “If you cannot act in secret, then let me do it in your stead. What would you have me do?”
It was Annis who answered her, surprising Loren once again. “The answer to that is not entirely certain. Just now, the nine kingdoms are in a precarious position. Appearance is even more important than the next battle. We have been trying to devise ways to sway the minds of the people, rather than outmaneuver our enemy on the field. The High King’s enemies must see that she is resolved, capable, and unified—and above all, strong. None of the other kingdoms must be tempted to join with Dulmun.”
That made Loren balk. “Would any of them truly do so? The treason of one kingdom is hard enough to believe. I cannot imagine the others would break their oaths.”
Annis and Kal looked at each other, and to Loren’s great annoyance, they rolled their eyes in unison. “If that is true, why have the other kingdoms been so slow to answer Enalyn’s call?” said Annis. “Oh, Selvan is with her, and Dorsea was quick to bend the knee, for fear of her reprisal after the Battle of Wellmont. And Hedgemond has pledged their strength—an easy oath to keep, for they could not be farther away from the war itself. Yet where is Feldemar? Where are Wadeland and Idris and Wavemount? If their kings stood before us now, they would no doubt claim that the High King’s messengers had been delayed by winter storms, or that their own messengers had been slow to return. Yet the truth is that they hesitate. And if even one of them joins Dulmun, the hesitation of the rest will only increase—and then we will have a true war on our hands.”
All of this was a bit beyond Loren. In truth, she was shocked to hear Annis speaking of it all so plainly, as though it were second nature, and her gaze lingered on the younger girl. Kal saw it, and a wry smile lifted one corner of his mouth.
“She is impressive, is she not? At first, I will admit that I was dismayed to be saddled with the girl. But she has proven herself to have an uncanny mind for strategy.”
Annis’ dark cheeks turned darker still, and she lowered her gaze demurely. But Loren saw the grin she could not banish.
“Very well,” said Loren. “I will leave such lofty matters to your hands, for the two of you seem more than capable of dealing with them. Yet my question remains: what shall I do?”
“If I have my way, you will be used to set an example,” said Kal. “Those who have acted against the High King must be brought to justice—and the more powerful the enemy we can lay low, the better. Do you know of any mighty enemy who might serve such a purpose?” His eyes narrowed.
Loren felt a chill steal up her back, and her heart turned to ice. “You mean to send me after Rogan.”
“Yes,” said Kal, nodding slowly. “No one knows where he is, but we must find him. Tales have spread throughout Underrealm of this warrior, the man no one can kill, who leads the armies that march against the High King.”
“He is not the only one of his kind,” said Loren. “We defeated another in the Greatrocks, one named Trisken. I would not doubt there are more in the service of the Necroma—”
“Hist!” cried Kal, slamming his hand down on the tabletop. He looked at the door, almost fearfully. “Do not speak of such things where others may hear you.”
Loren arched an eyebrow. “I thought you trusted your soldiers, Kal.”
Kal scowled. “I trust them. And I am responsible for their safety. Some knowledge is dangerous—something I know Jordel taught you, or tried to, though you may not have heeded the lesson.”
That hurt Loren more than she wished to show him, and so she lowered her head over the map. A thought came to her, and she pursed her lips. “My purpose seems clear, then. Yet it seems to me you speak of dark deeds. I told the High King that I would not kill in her name, and she vowed never to command me to do so.”
“Are you a fool, or have you not been listening?” said Kal. “I do not wish for you to assassinate Rogan. That would accomplish nothing. Our display of the High King’s power must be as public as possible. We do not mean to kill him—yet. He must be captured, and the King’s justice brought down upon him in such a way that word of it will spread as fast as the word of his exploits in battle.”
That sounded far more palatable to Loren. And in fact, now that she thought of it, it sounded just like the stories of Mennet, the ancient thief of legend from whom Loren had drawn her first daydreams of becoming the Nightblade. Mennet had never killed, and was a large part of the reason Loren had pledged to do the same. But when a noble or great merchant was unjust and cruel to those who served them, Mennet would bring the King’s justice down upon them—though he never swung the sword himself.
“Well and good,” said Loren. “Then my oath is intact. When do I begin?”
“You are too eager by half,” Kal grumbled. “And I have told you already that I do not know. If we knew where Rogan lurked, I would have acted already. I have learned what I needed from you. Go, and find your friends, and settle into your lodgings. I will send for you again when I know our next step.”
He turned from her and bent over the map on his table. Loren turned to make for the door—but she paused upon seeing a pained look on Annis’ face. Kal noticed the room’s silence after a moment, and he looked up, frowning. He saw Annis’ anxious expression and sighed.
“Very well,” he growled. “Spend this day in greetings and reunion if you wish. But I will expect you back on duty tomorrow.”
“You shall have me,” said Annis, barely restraining the glee in her voice. She ran towards Loren, seizing her arm and drawing her out into the hallway.
ten
“COME!” SAID ANNIS, EYES BRIGHT as she clutched Loren’s hand. “I want to see the others.”
Bur Loren pulled her to a stop around the corner, where no one was around to overhear. “In a moment. Annis, when did you become so wise in strategy that a Chancellor of the Mystic Order would place you upon his council
?”
Annis looked away bashfully. “Oh, that? That is no great matter.”
“No great matter? He had you by his side the way the High King keeps the Lord Prince near her.”
The hallway grew quiet as Annis searched for the words. “Do you remember, long ago, when I told you of … of my mother, and what she would invite me to do?”
Loren’s smile died. She nodded. Damaris of the family Yerrin, Annis’ mother, was a cruel and ruthless matron. To achieve her ends, she had killed and tortured many. And when Annis was still a very little girl, Damaris had invited her to join in her violence. It was why Annis had been so desperate to escape her family when she and Loren first met.
“I remember,” said Loren, scarcely above a whisper.
“Well, she did not only draw me in to her darker activities. I was there, too, for the more ordinary business one would expect in a merchant family—supply lines, and the movement of men from kingdom to kingdom, and things of that sort. Well, after I came here to Ammon, I was bored nearly to tears. I thought I would go mad for want of something to do. Then, perhaps a week after I arrived, Kal sent for me. He drew me in to his council chamber and asked me some questions of Yerrin activities in Dorsea. I answered him, and more besides, for he was asking the wrong sorts of questions.”
Loren frowned. “What do you mean?”
Annis waved her hands, as though she were grasping for the best way to explain. “It would have been better if you were there. He wanted to know why our holdings in Selvan were so much stronger than in Dorsea, since Dorsea borders more of the nine kingdoms than Selvan. He did not understand that Selvan, though it may be farther from the other kingdoms as the bird flies, is yet more deeply connected because of its wealth and its relationship to the High King, with whom all curry favor, and that trade routes are therefore more easily—”
Quickly Loren waved her hands. “Never mind. I am sorry I asked. Go on with your story.”
“Well, I went on that way for some time, and when I paused to take a breath, I saw a strange look in Kal’s eyes. I cannot think he has had many dealings with anyone from a merchant family before, for I did not tell him any great secrets of trade or commerce, but only the simplest truths we are taught as very young children. In any case, after that, he began inviting me to many of his strategy sessions. You spoke in jest, but I suppose I am a part of his council.”
Weremage: A Book of Underrealm (The Nightblade Epic 5) Page 6