Vayjun and his advisors had taken seats around the raised stone table in the great hall. Lord Lyatt Kern, seated nearest the king, was addressing Vayjun, laying out pressing business that the council saw as urgent.
“And then there is the matter of High Court.”
Vayjun looked at his chief elder narrowly. “What of it?”
“We must appoint a successor to the deceased Prichard Hennis, who took an unfortunate fall on the day of the siege.”
“You say that as though he would have joined us had he lived,” Vayjun said.
“I can offer no opinion on that matter, your grace,” Lord Kern replied. “I only know that the office needs to be filled.”
“Then choose a man and fill it, Kern,” Vayjun said with a shrug.
“He will have to meet with your approval, your grace,” said Lord Kern.
“Then choose carefully,” Vayjun said with a mirthless smile.
“I will select a few candidates and have them brought before you. As to the High Vassor’s widow, Lady Vyla, the council moves that she be exiled forthwith so that order in the ranks be maintained.”
Vayjun didn’t try to disguise his boredom over these matters. “Had I known that these trifles would fall at my feet upon sitting the throne I might have remained primus in the East.”
Lord Kern sighed, and he nodded sympathetically. “Would that I could pass these matters to another, your grace, but it needs be that you hear them.”
“Yes, yes, carry on, Lord Kern, do what you must, and then let us be done. You have my ear, do you not?”
“Yes, your grace, thank you, your grace. The council has also moved to form a smaller war council, given the present circumstances. It can, of course, be disbanded following a decisive victory—”
“We have already won our decisive victory, chief elder,” Vayjun retorted. “Mind your words.”
“I only mean that a patchwork of rebels may yet form to challenge the new king and harry the realm, as we’ve seen with these troublesome knights the Dread Riders reported.”
“Yes, yes, go on,” Vayjun said, stifling a yawn.
“And there are neighboring lands we may need to contend with, should they make bold and decide to test you. We would do well to have a body in place to decide on matters of strategy, tactics, and all the rest.”
The king pressed the top of his fist to his lips and considerd Lord Kern’s counsel. “Who would you appoint?”
“I have a few men in mind, your grace. Men who have seen battle.”
“Men you can trust?” asked the king.
“Yes.”
Vayjun leaned back in the stone chair. “Then see to it. What harm can come of this new council?”
“Indeed, your grace,” said Lord Kern.
Footsteps sounded, and the steward of Storms Reach entered the Great Hall, standing stiffly in the entrance as he waited for the king to acknowledge him.
“Yes, Kennison,” said Vayjun.
Kennison nodded and said, “A pryor hound has arrived with a message that bears the blood seal of the Dread Lord of the Prybbian Realm, Drucephus Farisin. It demands the latest news on the state of the Eastern realm. The Dread Lord wishes to take his throne here at Storms Reach once you’ve assured him that the Glyssian Realm has been truly won and is indeed his to command. He wishes to unite the realms and proclaim his rule over the sole empire once you send word of your victory in the East. Shall I prepare a report for the pryor hound to return to the castle in Aklon?”
When Kennison was finished speaking, a profound silence filled the air. The seated counselors stared at their hands as they awaited Vayjun’s response. The king stood to his feet. “There will be no report for Aklon. Bring me the hound.”
Kennison bowed and left the room.
The members of the council and the few sapients in attendance waited in silence, mulling over this revelation of the Dread Lord’s true intentions, which Vayjun had failed to reveal. Finally, Lord Lyatt Kern looked up at the king and cleared his throat. “Your grace—”
“Silence!” Vayjun commanded, as he smashed a fist against the stone tabletop. “In time you’ll see what punishment I mete out to my enemies. Do not have your names counted among them.”
“We are in your service, my king,” said Lord Kern, and the others quickly murmured their assent.
Kennison returned with the hound, and the king gestured for him to come forward with it before turning to his chief elder. “Lord Kern, your dagger, if you please.”
Lord Kern hesitated for a fraction of a second and then reached into his sleeve for his ivory-handled weapon. He drew it forth, and it gleamed in the light of the sun that shone through the window above them. He nodded to Vayjun and handed him the dagger.
The moment Vayjun had it in hand, he hurled it at the dog before the animal could react. As it struck the hound in its flank, the creature cried out in pain and collapsed, bleeding. It whimpered a short while before it finally grew silent, while everyone in the room looked on in astonishment.
When the hound had gone still, Vayjun turned to Kennison. “Steward, does the senior scout of the Outer Guard still occupy his station?”
“Yes, your grace. Kastor Monsig is his name. Shall I fetch him?”
“No. But I want you to prepare a message that will be signed with my new seal and have Monsig deliver it to the bastard tyrant in the west who dares to lay claim to my kingdom.”
“What shall the message say, your grace?”
“It shall read thus: ‘Come out of my throne and relinquish your rule, or I shall descend upon you with the force of a thousand suns.’ And below my seal, write, ‘King Vayjun, Lord of Urthe.’ ”
Two horses cantered side by side along the dirt road, their four riders glancing about cautiously. They had been riding for hours and encountered no other people along the way. Princess Redora, who sat behind Sir Jerreb, finally broke the silence. “Is it not odd that we’ve seen no one else?”
“In normal times, it would be,” Jerreb said. “But with all that’s happened, the villagers are wise to stay off these roads. Militia are swarming these parts.”
“Begging your pardon, Sir Jerreb, but wouldn’t we then also be wise to stay off the road?”
Jerreb gave a brief, bitter laugh. “Yes, and we’d also be wise to make ourselves invisible or give these steeds wings. As it is, we must make the best of a bad situation and hope the militia men stay fixed inside the towns and villages, which we’ll continue to skirt around.”
“You know best,” Redora said. “Is it much farther to your friends?”
Jerreb sighed. “Ah, yes, our friends. I suppose these days one must count as friends anyone who isn’t an enemy, though I haven’t so far counted these two as such. Be that as it may, it should be only a little farther until we come to them.”
The conversation ended, and all was quiet save for the steady clip clop of the horses and the sound of leaves rustling in the breeze. Not long after, they caught sight of the spice wagon moving slowly down the road ahead of them, Seyalinn at the reins, Quarvik strapped to her back.
“This is them now,” Sendin said.
The four riders caught up to the wagon, and Seyalinn reined in her draft horses and brought the wagon to a stop. “I see your little company has grown, sir knight,” she said to Jerreb.
Jerreb smiled in spite of himself and gestured toward Redora. “I present to you Princess Redora, the younger princess of the realm. And her grand tutor, Sapient Breen, who rides with Sendin.”
Seyalinn raised an eyebrow, but otherwise her face betrayed no emotion. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. I be Seyalinn Grun. The lad strapped behind me is mi boy, Quarvik. But don’t try to speak your words to him in the usual manner.”
“I’ve explained the situation to them,” Jerreb said.
“You should have been a third of the way to the Freelands by now,” Seyalinn said to him.
A corner of Jerreb’s mouth curled into a smile. “I suppose my steed le
d me to the business of the realm after all.”
Seyalinn’s expression was still impassive, but there was a hint of softness in her eyes as she listened to Jerreb.
“We’ve returned to speak to the boy,” Jerreb said.
“I know,” Seyalinn replied. “He told me an hour ago that we’d meet you on this very road.”
“Is he awake?”
“He’s napping, but he told me to lead you to a clearing where we might talk. He said it’s just beyond that bend in the road up ahead.”
Jerreb nodded, and Seyalinn pulled the spice wagon forward. When she came to a break in the woods, she pulled off the road and followed a path that wound to the left and sloped downward at a slight grade. After a short distance they came to a clearing and stopped in the middle of it. A few weathered cuts of timber were strewn about, along with a pair of rusty axes and an old hammer partly covered by leaves.
“Someone meant to build here,” Sendin said quietly.
Jerreb looked around at the scene of someone’s dashed hopes but made no reply. The only thing that mattered just then was that the road was no longer visible, which meant they had adequate cover.
Seyalinn clambered down from the wagon, and the four riders dismounted and joined her in the middle of the clearing. No words passed between them as they sat down together in a tight circle. Seyalinn unstrapped Quarvik and cradled him in her arms, and then she closed her eyes. The others followed suit.
Sapient Breen stared into the blackness, waiting and listening. A pinprick of light appeared at the center of his vision and began to grow. The light expanded and filled his mental field and then faded, revealing a bright, open meadow in which they were standing—all but Quarvik. Breen looked around at verdant fields in the distance and gazed up at a high golden sky untouched by clouds. He felt a gentle breeze that carried the sounds of birds warbling their pleasure and insects filling the air with mating songs, heard it sigh through flower-filled bushes that teemed with orange and yellow butterflies. And then he heard a voice, and he knew it was the voice of the unseen Quarvik.
Welcome. I am honored to be in the presence of the Restorer.
Breen felt a chill run down his spine. Jerreb had told him the boy possessed the gift of aka’tii, but Breen sensed that Quarvik’s gift far exceeded that. What Quarvik said next sent another chill shivering through him.
Jayvin Breen, it is you who will restore the realm and bring peace and order back to this Urthe, but you must be made ready.
Breen knew better than to speak his question aloud, so he asked it in his mind. If I accept this task, how will I be made ready?
You must learn to hear and sense what others feel and think. And you must relinquish your physical form. Only after you have learned to master the forms of both the outer and inner world will you be prepared to face the tyrant who must rise.
Who is this tyrant? Is it Drucephus Farisin?
There is another, who rises even now. The primus in the East.
Nerus Vayjun?
He already sits the throne but has not yet revealed his true power. That time is fast approaching, and the Restorer must be made ready.
And I am this Restorer? You are sure?
There is no other. The Ancients have decreed it.
Breen felt another chill, but it was less intense than before. He realized that he had begun to accept his fate, as if it were something he had somehow known about all along.
Another voice entered everyone’s consciousness, Redora’s. Please, sir, if the primus sits the throne, can you tell me what became of my father?
Princess, it grieves me to tell you that your honorable father, the king, is dead. The crime came at the hand of Vayjun. But your mother and sister yet live.
Breen wanted to reach out to her, but he realized then that the princess had known all along that her father must be gone, and he knew that this revelation from Quarvik would be less a blow than an end to her doubt and worry, sad though it made her, and he hoped fervently that the news about her mother and sister would give her some consolation. But she had another question to ask Quarvik, one concerning him.
Am I to lose Sapient Breen now as well?
It is the only way to restore the realm that your good father so admirably ruled. Your friend and teacher must begin his quest as soon as we are finished. From here, all of our journeys diverge.
They were seized by the knowledge that something profound and irrevocable was taking place, and that each of them had a role to play in a drama that was about to unfold and change the world forever. They waited for Quarvik to continue. His next words were for his mother.
Mother, I have loved you my life entire, and I have flourished in your love and care for me, and for that I thank you. But you must now entrust that care to Sapient Breen, for where we go none can follow. Your care must now be devoted to Princess Redora, who will go with you and accompany you back to Pembrick Hollow. There she will be safe until the work of the Restorer is completed. But she must not reveal her true lineage.
A tear slipped from Seyalinn’s eye, and she almost cried aloud. This is a hard thing, Quarvik. I’ve always heeded your visions, son, but I don’t know if I can let you go off without me.
Princess Redora will take my place until I return to you. You will fill each other’s void for a time and help each other cope with your losses. As for you, Sir Jerreb, your instinct was correct. I know now that your wife was taken to the Freelands and is in the Plain of Dremsa, set to become a concubine of Mer Truvah.
Jerreb clenched his jaws. Where will I find her?
In the tent of the mer himself. But you and your loyal friend cannot enter those lands with the hearts of knights. You must enter as savages or die.
A vision flashed before Jerreb, revealing his path, and he knew instantly what he must do. I thank you, Quarvik.
Thank me when you have saved her. And now we must go. I will return you all to the outer world.
A bright light once again filled the landscape of their minds and then faded away. They opened their eyes to see the warm glow of the sun shining into the clearing and the horses quietly grazing nearby.
Seyalinn sighed and returned to the spice wagon, accompanied by Princess Redora and Sapient Breen, who both climbed into the back. As Seyalinn hitched up the draft horses, Jerreb and Sendin mounted their coursers and headed back to the road to make sure it was clear. A few minutes later, the wagon entered the road and began to make its slow way toward Pembrick Hollow, the two knights once again flanking it.
When they reached the edge of Eastern Plain, Quarvik spoke to his mother. This is where we part company, Mother. You will take the princess from here.
Seyalinn reluctantly reined in the horses, and the spice wagon squeaked to a halt. She heaved a great sigh and addressed her son. How will you travel, boy? You’ll need a horse.
When we have finished, the Restorer and I will have no need of horses. For now we will walk.
Seyalinn wanted to argue, wanted to plead with her son to stay with her, but the feeling that she and the others were each destined to have a part in deciding the fate of the realm came back to her, and she kept her peace. Sapient Breen had emerged from the back of the wagon and walked around to the front, where he stood quietly waiting. Seyalinn unstrapped Quarvik from her back, set him down gently, and passed the harness to Breen. She showed him how the harness worked, and together they strapped Quarvik to Breen’s back. Seyalinn kissed her son one last time and then climbed back onto the seat of the spice wagon, where Princess Redora was waiting.
“Wait for us just beyond the mouth of the forest,” Jerreb said to Seyalinn. “We’ll ride with you as far as the other side.”
Seyalinn nodded and started off toward Bokrh Forest, tears slipping down her ruddy cheeks. Princess Redora turned and waved goodbye to her tutor and wiped away a tear of her own.
When the wagon had disappeared, Sapient Breen turned to Jerreb and Sendin. “Thank you both for what you did for the princess and me, an
d fare you well on your journey.”
“And you on yours,” Jerreb said.
“Where will you go?” Sendin asked, his voice unexpectedly heavy.
Breen pointed toward the dense woods that led south. “The boy says that way, so that way it must be.”
He began walking, and Jerreb and Sendin sat on their horses and gazed at the two until they were swallowed up by the greenery.
“Shall we then?” Jerreb said as he looked at his friend and fellow knight.
“What’s the plan?” Sendin asked.
Jerreb looked out at the plain and raked his eyes across the dead Dremsans that dotted it in the distance, where their skirmish had taken place. A few of the savages’ horses still roamed the plain far beyond. “First we become savages. Then we switch our mounts and ride west.”
They rode to the fallen Dremsans and dismounted, moving among the bodies until they found clothing that fit them. They stripped off their own clothes and donned animal skins and hooded furs that the savages had no doubt stolen from weaker men.
“Look there,” Jerreb said, pointing at a dead savage whose skin was caked with mud.
“Protection against the sun, I’d wager,” Sendin replied.
“We’d better keep our own swords,” Jerreb said. “These crude weapons of theirs are fit only for a scrap heap.”
They remounted their coursers and rode off toward the field horses in the distance. They chose two, reluctantly abandoning their own mounts, and then headed toward the forest. Before they reached it, a mass of winged tyvoki lizards came screaming high overhead, flying in two tight formations, one headed south, the other southeasterly. The Dread Riders saddled to their backs ignored the two horsemen. Jerreb took a chance and glanced up to spy a lone winged lizard flying east.
Before shoving off from the Port of Ryseland, Captain Zellis had hired five more men eager to join his crew. The now-full crew ate their fill of fresh food and then set sail by light of moon, pushed by gentle winds coming off the Nelms Sea. Ghendris threw himself into the work during the first watch, helping to move sails, man the bilge pump as the ship took on water, and do whatever else was asked of him.
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