He stood and turned to Dina. “Please explain to the son of Lord Devon Drevaldon the Second who you are, so that he knows what I say is true.”
Dina flashed a shocked glance at Millet, then nodded. “I am a member of the Order of Amon Dähl. Does that name hold any meaning for you?”
“I have heard of it,” said Devon. “The faithful speak of it often.”
“Then you should know that we have people in cities in every kingdom,” Her face was stone. “If you do not do as Lord Millet says, then I will send word to all members of my order that your death is of the greatest importance. There will be nowhere to hide. Do you understand?”
Devon nodded slowly.
“Then tell me everything you know about the plans of the faithful,” said Millet. “And if anyone in town has joined your cause. And I don't mean people who owe you money. I mean those who are really with you.”
For the next hour Devon told them what he knew. But as it turned out, it wasn't much they didn't already know. Angrääl didn't seem to hold the faithful in very high regard, relegating them to petty espionage and assassinations. They received most of their orders from agents traveling up and down the Goodbranch River, and sent reports of their progress back the same way. Their orders were to take control of Sharpstone and find any information they could on Lee Starfinder and Gewey Stedding. The king had been resisting their efforts to place an ambassador in his court, but had been more than willing to accept their gold. Devon said that if the king didn't relent soon, it was likely he would be killed. When exactly this would happen, he didn't know. But he knew they already had people set up in place in Helenia.
Once Millet was satisfied, he called for Barty and Randson. They paused at the sight of the bloody corpse of Sherone. Randson smiled and nodded approvingly.
“I see you let the fat one live,” said Barty.
Millet looked down at Devon. “Load his friend's body in the wagon.” He reached in his pocket and handed Barty a small bag of gold. “Take this, and Lord Devon, away from Sharpstone. Make certain he has a shovel to dig a grave, and give him the gold when he's done. It should be enough to take him wherever he wants to go.”
“And where is that?” asked Barty.
Millet leaned down and cut Devon's bonds. “That's up to him. But I daresay, he should reconsider a return to Baltria.” A sinister grin crept on his face. “Though his father may welcome him, I doubt the rest of the faithful will be as understanding of his failure.” He shrugged. “The choice is his. I care not.”
Barty and Randson lifted the body and carried it away. Devon followed close behind. When they had gone, Millet sat in a chair close to the fireplace and bowed his head in thought. Dina sat across from him and leaned forward.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
Millet looked up and smiled weakly. “I will be.” He looked over at where Sherone's blood still stained the floor. “During my travels with Lee, I've been forced to kill. But never like this. I've never before murdered a helpless man.”
Dina reached out and placed her hand on Millet's knee. “You did what had to be done.”
Millet nodded. “I know. But I didn't want this.” He looked around the room; the walls were decorated with a lifetime of adventures. “Any of it. I was never meant to be a lord.”
“I don't know,” said Dina. “It seems to me that you are a very good lord. To do things against your own character in order to protect those you love is a very noble thing. It's what a lord should be.”
Millet rose to feet and looked at Dina. His face was filled with contempt. Not for her, but for himself. “And I may never forgive myself for it,” he said softly. “Or Lee, either.” He took out the blade that had ended the life of Sherone and stared at it. “Once I poisoned a man who was conspiring to kill a sword-master Lee was studying under in Dantory. I watched him writhe and twist on the floor until the life left his body. This was a thousand times worse.”
“Do you regret your actions?” asked Dina.
“My heart does. But my mind tells me it was foolish to even let Devon live.” He put the knife away. “I'm an old man, Dina. I've traveled far, and seen many things. But until now I've always had the luxury of viewing from the outside.” He knelt down in front of the bloodstain on the floor. “Now, I'm in the midst of it. Now, it is me who needs to hear the voice of reason. I was that voice for Lee Starfinder. Who will be that voice for me?”
Dina stood beside him. “Let me be that voice.” She gently lifted him to his feet. “Though I doubt I am as wise as you.”
“Before I was made Lord of the Nal'Thain family, that was possibly true.” He turned to her and shook his head. “But now, I am as Lee once was. The responsibility rests with me, and that responsibility can drive away the person you are, in favor of the person you need to be.” He took a long, deep breath. “And I know this is only the beginning. More blood is to come.”
“True,” said Dina. “But for now we need to wash this blood away.” She headed to the kitchen. “Get some rest,” she called back. “I will attend to this and leave for Helenia in the morning.”
Millet didn't protest. He went to his bedroom and dressed for bed. As he lay in the dark he could still see the knife sliding across Sherone's throat. He could see his victim's eyes open in terror, then close forever. The vision filled him with anger and sorrow. Millet Gristall was no more. That man had died the moment Sherone gasped his final breath. Lord Millet Nal'Thain had been left in his stead. And that man was at war. With this troubled thought in his mind, he drifted off to sleep.
The next morning, a loud banging sounded on the manor’s front door. Millet donned a robe to answer it, but could hear Dina had gotten there first. Angry voices echoed through the house from outside. When he finally arrived at the door, Dina was in the center of the doorway, her hands planted firmly on her hips.
“Who is it?” asked Millet.
“Mayor Freidly,” came a voice from just outside. “I'm here with members of the faithful. We need to speak with you.”
“Show them in, Dina,” said Millet. “I need to dress, then I will join you.” He turned and headed back to the bedroom. His heart pounded in his chest. He wondered if Barty and Randson had returned. He dressed in a casual pair of white cotton trousers and shirt, and slipped on a pair of soft leather shoes. He knew he didn't exactly look like the richest man in Sharpstone, but it would have to do.
When he arrived in the main hall, Mayor Freidly was standing at the far end of the room. His short, round features and wide-set blue eyes were just as Millet remembered. However, he was wearing a red silk waistcoat and fine linen pants and shirt, which was unusual for the mayor, being a man of modest means. Three black-cloaked men stood beside him. Their hoods were pushed back, revealing their dark hair, pale skin, and angry expressions. Millet thought they had the look of Baltrian nobles.
“Mayor Freidly,” said Millet, bowing his head ever so slightly. “It's good to see you again. To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”
The mayor looked flushed and nervous. “It's good to see you too, Millet. Though I wish it was under better circumstances.”
“I don't understand,” said Millet, feigning ignorance. “What is the trouble?”
“You know what the trouble is!” roared the faithful farthest from the mayor.
The mayor held up his hand. “Please, Master Troungo. Let me handle this.” He turned back to Millet. “These men claim that two of their brethren disappeared last night.”
“I'm sorry to hear that,” said Millet. “Still, I fail to see why you’ve come to me. I’ve only just arrived back in Sharpstone, and have had little time to get to know the newcomers.” He looked at each of the faithful in turn. “Though, I must admit, their reputation has preceded them. But why would they think to find their friends here?”
“They claim that two of their order came to this house last night to welcome you home and never returned.”
“I'm afraid I can't help you,” said Mi
llet. “I swear by the gods that no one other than myself, Dina and those that live here passed through my door last night.”
“Enough of this,” said the faithful nearest to the mayor. “You know they came here. And you know where they are.”
Millet smiled. “And to whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?”
The man glared daggers, but did not answer.
The mayor cleared his throat. “This is Toliver Hall, and the men with him are Henris Longshadow, and Alex Troungo.”
“Baltrian nobles, from the sound of them,” remarked Millet. “They are very far from home, and dressed...oddly...for nobles.”
“We are the faithful of the Reborn King,” said Toliver. “And I'll ask you again. Where are our people?”
“Yes, I know all about the faithful,” said Millet. His tone hardened. “And I already know what you've been up to here in Sharpstone. As I said, no one called on me last night.” He shrugged. “Perhaps they longed for home and returned to Baltria rather than come here. It would seem a sensible course. I hear that there are plenty of the faithful in Baltria. At least for now.”
Toliver's hand began to slip beneath his robe.
“Gentlemen,” said the mayor, stepping in front of Toliver. “Clearly, your companions are not here. We should leave.”
The front door opened and Barty and Randson entered. On seeing the three faithful, they quickly moved to Millet's side.
“Mayor Freidly, I'm sure you know Barty and his son Randson,” said Millet. “They were here last night, and can certainly attest to the fact that no one came to welcome me home.”
“Nope,” said Barty, his eyes drilling holes through the black-cloaked men. “We saw no one.”
Millet grinned at Barty. “Is all in order?”
“Indeed it is,” Barty replied.
“Then, if there is nothing further,” said Millet, stepping aside to let the men pass. “I have much to attend to.”
The mayor herded the faithful to the door, bowing as he passed.
“This isn't over,” muttered Toliver. He then turned on his heels and stormed out.
The door slammed shut.
“No, it isn't,” whispered Millet. “It’s a very long way indeed from being over.”
Chapter 6
About half an hour before Gewey, Kaylia, and Linis reached the Chamber of the Maker, the sun finally broke through the clouds. Brilliant rays of light pierced pine needles to dance across the forest floor. The sweet song of birds hidden in the treetops echoed, and the earthy scent of pine and moss carried on a gentle breeze. Kaylia insisted they slow their pace to a leisurely stroll. Holding Gewey's hand, she merrily hummed a tune that Linis recognized and soon joined in with, harmonizing in a deep baritone.
“Why the sudden cheer?” asked Gewey. He was loath to interrupt, but could no longer contain his curiosity.
Kaylia gave his hand a squeeze. “We may be at war, and darkness may swallow the world, but never forget to look around and enjoy the wonder of it.” She breathed in deeply. “And I suspect that once we reach the Chamber, these things will go unnoticed for quite some time.”
Gewey saw a squirrel darting in and out of view among the branches of a nearby pine. It made him think of the woods close to his farm in Sharpstone. As a young child, just before the Long Freeze, he had built a tree house and spent many afternoons up there, reading and having fun until the sun went down. A family of squirrels had built a nest in a nearby tree. He’d watched as the nest filled with babies, and laughed at how the mother would bristle every time he climbed up. Come autumn, the babies had grown enough to leave the nest. He remembered feeling sorry for the abandoned mother squirrel. Gewey smiled and shook his head at the silly things children do.
“That was a lovely vision,” said Kaylia.
Kaylia's words brought him back to the here and now. He still found it amazing how much of him she could see through their bond. For Gewey it was different. He felt emotions and impressions, but never visions. He wondered if that would change when their bond was completed.
“I was a boy,” said Gewey. “After the Long Freeze I went back. The tree house was crumbled and rotten, and the nest was empty.”
“All things change, my friend,” said Linis. “And sometimes, not for the better.”
Soon the trail widened and met with the main road leading to the Chamber. At the crossroads they saw three elves barring their way. Two were elf men wearing shimmering red tunics and breeches, long black coats that reached their thighs, and soft, black leather boots. At their sides hung long thin swords, the jewels on each hilt sparkling brightly in the sun. Their silver hair fell loosely over their shoulders and down their backs. Even from a distance Gewey could see their bright green elf eyes staring keenly at him.
The third was an elf woman. Half a head taller than the men, she was adorned in a blood red gown that fitted nicely around her curves. A white sash was tied about her waist, and along with a thin silver belt, a small dagger hung on each hip. Unlike the others, her hair was jet black and decorated with wisps of silver. These peeked out just enough to catch the sun and give her the illusion of possessing an aura.
“Do you know them?” asked Kaylia. Her hand released Gewey's and slid to her knife.
“No,” Linis replied. “But stay your hand. We would not want to make friends into foes from our own fears.”
Kaylia tightened her jaw and moved her hand to her side.
“Greetings,” called Linis, holding his hand high. The elves didn't move. “Who are you, and what is your business?”
The elf woman whispered into the ear of the elf on her left. He nodded slowly. She took a step forward and held up a delicate hand. “Greetings.” Her voice was gentle and calm, and though still several yards away, she sounded as if she were right in front of them. “Come and walk with us. It would seem fortune has made our paths as one.”
Gewey, Kaylia, and Linis paused for a second, then approached.
Linis bowed. “I am Linis. This is Kaylia and Gewey. Your speech and dress are unfamiliar. From where do you hail?”
The elf woman smiled brightly, and though she bowed to each in the group, her eyes never left Gewey. “I am Aaliyah,” she said. “My companions are Mohanisi and Nehrutu.” The elf men bowed in turn. Apart from Mohanisi being a shade slighter in build and maybe an inch taller, they were remarkably similar in appearance. “As for our home - that is a question best answered later.”
Kaylia stepped forward. That Aaliyah’s eyes still rested on Gewey had not escaped her notice. “I think it is a question to be answered now.”
“Fierce,” said Mohanisi. “Much as we expected.”
“Decorum my friend,” scolded Aaliyah, though not too harshly. “They know us not, and have been through much hardship and pain.”
“And what do you know of that?” asked Kaylia.
“More than I care to, I'm afraid,” Aaliyah replied. Her voice was filled with pity and sorrow. Gewey found himself wanting to weep at the sound, as if her words stirred something deep inside him. “My dear Kaylia,” she said taking a small step forward. “We are here to bring glad tidings. We have come to help you, after many lifetimes of waiting.”
“I don't understand,” said Linis. “Where have you come from?”
Aaliyah glanced at her companions, who nodded in turn. “We are from across the sea. We are of the first race of elves to traverse the Great Sureshi and settle these lands. And now we have returned. Though I fear we have returned too late.”
Linis' eyes widened in immediate disbelief. “Sureshi? I have not heard that word used since I was a boy. No one who has journeyed across the Great Abyss has ever returned, and yet you claim to be from there?”
“None of your folk who tried to reach our land would have survived,” said Nehrutu. “The Great Barrier has barred the way for thousands of years. It has only been nineteen summers since we have been able to get through ourselves. And yes, that is our home. Once, long ago, it was the home of all el
ves. But now...”
He paused, placing his hand on Aaliyah’s shoulder and nodding to her.
“Yes, quite right,” she said. “We should go. Your brothers and sisters await your return. I think they would want our tale told to all.” She met Gewey's eyes once again. “And I suspect they are especially anxious to see you again.”
“You seem to know something about me,” said Gewey. He was no longer afraid to reveal himself.
“Oh, indeed I do,” Aaliyah replied, with a hint of laughter. “There is not an elf among us that does not know of the coming of Shivis Mol. News of your arrival has caused great rejoicing. You are the herald of a new age and a new way.” She stepped forward and placed her ivory hand on Gewey's cheek. “I have dreamed of this day my entire life. As have all of my people.”
Gewey’s face felt hot at the touch of Aaliyah’s hand. He blushed and tried to look away, but her touch held him fast. A flash of rage then flowed through his bond with Kaylia, breaking the spell. He stepped back.
“I see you have bonded to Shivis Mol,” said Aaliyah. Her eyes scrutinized Kaylia for a moment. “And yet you have no connection to - what is it you call it? The flow. How unusual.” She smiled. “And how fortunate for you. To be coupled with such as he is a great honor, but requires great strength.”
“It is I who am honored,” said Gewey. He moved close to Kaylia and took hold of her hand.
Aaliyah laughed. It was like bells on the wind. “I am sure that is so. She is clearly a noble elf, if noble is the word I should use. I apologize, but certain concepts are difficult for us.”
“Being noble is a difficult concept?” remarked Kaylia, trying not to allow her anger to seep into her voice.
Nehrutu interjected. “Perhaps it is better to say we have no concept of...” He paused, searching for the right words. “We have no conflict among our people. At least, not in the way you would understand. The idea of not acting noble, in the sense you see it, is unknown to us.”
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