The Sons of Hull

by Lindsey Scholl

  Verial’s plight was the furthest thing from Telanar’s mind at the moment, but she was right. Something would have to be done. She was probably in with Vancien right now, casting her spell. The thought irritated him so much that he forgot about the romantic mood he was had been attempting to create.

  But N’vonne did not. Leaning into his shoulder, she gazed at the fire as she spoke. “Maybe she’ll just leave and not come back. Would that be so bad? I feel sorry for that Gair fellow she keeps mentioning, but Kynell will take good care of him. And if she doesn’t go on her own accord, maybe we could leave her with the Cylini. That old man might like her hair better than mine.”

  Telenar chuckled low in his throat. The deep sound made her even more relaxed. “I doubt that, my love. Besides, she found us once and she could find us again. And Vancien wouldn’t understand. As you said before, it’s better to keep an eye on them both than to alienate Vancien because of her.”

  She looked up at him. “I said that? How very clever of me.”

  Her face was very close to his; he could smell her breath, which, despite all they had been through, still a had a touch of mint. He had to fight hard to keep the jovial mood. This was neither the time nor the setting for anything more serious. But he couldn’t keep from stroking her hair.

  “Of course it was clever, dear one.” He hesitated, painfully aware of how rare moments like this were. “You’re very precious to me, N’vonne. You know that.”

  She nodded and began to stare into the fire. “I know.”

  But he tilted her head upward, marveling at what he was about to say. “I mean, when all of this is over, I don’t want you to leave me.”

  She sat up slowly, watching him. He couldn’t tell if it was a good look or not, but he pressed forward anyway. “I mean, I don’t want you to ever leave me. I want you to be my wife.”

  “You’re asking me to marry you?”

  “When this is over, yes.”

  So this was it. She had thought about this moment often enough, but now she had difficulty believing it was finally happening. She looked harder at him, not wanting to make him wait but wanting to be sure of her decision. Hull was still a part of her, but he would never come back—not for her, at any rate. And Telenar was here, in front of her, alive. She loved him like a brother. No, more than a brother. Much more. In truth, she had known how she should respond for a long time now. When all of this was over, she still wanted to be able to spend every day with him.

  “Yes, Telenar. I would love to marry you.”

  His gray eyes lit up. “Really? You would? Then can I. . .” he flushed, remembering his first awkward attempt. .” . .may I kiss you?”

  She nodded. His second kiss, though still unpracticed, was encouraging. The third was better still. He was just about to try a fourth time when the door banged open and Verial entered. She didn’t say a word, but crept into the corner to sleep. Her presence was nevertheless an effective safeguard against further attempts. They sat there for a moment, smiling foolishly. Then Telenar, needing to do something with his elation, commented that it was time to check on Vancien. N’vonnne decided to stay with Verial, so he left her to her hopefully pleasant thoughts.

  Stepping out into the cool night air, Telenar caught the elbow of the first person he saw. “Uche go brunert ‘nthro?”

  The young lady stared at him for a moment, then pointed to the next hut over.

  “Pratsa twy, ‘elai.” He let her go, then moved quietly to the next door and opened it a crack. “Vance? You awake?”

  An inarticulate noise assured him that his student was somewhat conscious. He stepped inside and saw Vancien laid out on fur-covered table, his shoulder thickly bandaged and his arm in a splint. Although that was the worst of his wounds, his left leg was also gashed and his face was still swollen from his underwater beating. Telenar’s heart ached for him. What right had he to propose to N’vonne when the Advocate was suffering the next door down?

  Vancien read his tutor’s guilty expression and tried to smile. “Don’t worry, Telenar,” he croaked. “I deserved it.”

  The comment brought Telenar back to his old self. “Of course you did. What right did you have to go plunging around after her? You may not get killed, but you can do a lot of damage in the meantime.”

  “She came by, you know.”

  Telenar pulled up a stool and sat. “I figured. Did you talk?”

  Vancien shook his head, then winced at the effort. “No. She thought I was asleep. So I just kept quiet and let her talk.”

  “What did she say?”

  Vancien thought about keeping some of her comments in reserve, but decided against it. She may be a creature of Kynell, but Telenar was his mentor and close friend; the man’s loyalty to the Prysm was complete. “She sounded out of sorts, as if she had just come from a fight. What did you say to her?”

  Telenar looked away, recalling his words. “I was too hard on her. Let’s leave it at that. Did she mention the Ages?”

  “Yes, quite a bit. But she was ranting as if she’d never read them, swearing that Kynell had no business to intrude on her life, cursing you, and calling the wrath of Obsidian down on everybody. If she’s trying to seduce me, she’s doing a poor job of it.”

  Telenar swallowed his sarcastic reply. “She thought you were asleep. But I don’t think she knows what she’s trying to do. One minute she’s crying over Gair and asking about Kynell, the next she’s acting cool or invoking Zyreio’s name. Obsidian still has a strong hold on her, Vance. Don’t forget that.”

  “I won’t, Telenar. I promise. And I’m sorry for ignoring your warnings. Very sorry. I should never have. . .” his voice trailed off.

  Telenar could tell he was remembering that kiss by the Ergana. “It’s done, Vance. We will start anew with her. Cautiously.”

  “But with love.”

  The admission was more difficult than Telenar expected. It was a long moment before he spoke. “Cautious, very cautious, non-romantic, guided-by-Kynell sort of love, yes. I won’t lie: in my mind, she’s just a tool of the enemy. But,” He paused, staring at the floor. “it might be possible to love our enemies.”

  Vancien nodded. Telenar turned to leave, then stopped at the door.

  “I thought you should know that I just asked N’vonne to be my wife. And she said yes.”

  Vancien grinned as widely as his bruised face allowed. “Congratulations, my friend! May Kynell bless you!”

  Telenar let himself a smile, as well. “Pretty amazing, isn’t it? I mean, she’s so—well, anyway.”

  “You two are a good match. I’ve already said so. Give her a hug for me.” He paused, then wagged one of his good fingers at him. “But behave yourself.”

  “Of course! I wouldn’t do anything inappropriate. The Ages say with no uncertainty that a man and a woman are to—”

  Vancien dismissed his objections as well as he could. “I know, Telenar. I was just teasing. Now I think I’m going to get some more sleep. But could you keep Verial away for a bit? She’s not exactly restful.”

  “Absolutely.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Amarian’s distaste for his new army was obvious. After the victory at the bridge and the death of their king, the Keroulian troops had become fidgety. Many a high-ranking soldier had come to him with petitions from their battalion to return to the capital. The king, they insisted, deserved a proper burial attended by his wife and children. Now the generals were here again with the same monotonous demands.

  “I’m sorry, General, what did you say?”

  Tengar, the senior officer of the delegation, impatiently repeated his statement. “King Relgaren has already been crowned in Lascombe. But the troops won’t budge until prince Farlone arrives. And even then, they have no enthusiasm for chasing the Cylini into the marshes. If you won’t let them return home, then they at least want to see their king and bury him in a proper manner.”

  Amarian tried to adopt a conciliatory tone. “I told you, my men cou
ld not recover his body.” This was not entirely true. The Sentries had done their job a little too well; no one who had seen Relgaré’s corpse would think that it was the work of the Cylini. “It’s those barbarians; they’ve butchered your king and burned his remains.”

  Tengar shook his head. “Some of the troops are saying the barbarians are not in the marshes, but fighting beside us. And what should I tell them? That the Sentries and fennels they’ve been raised to hate are suddenly allies? That they’re trustworthy? You’ve seen the fights between your troops and ours, Commander Hull; one of your Sentries tore a man in half last week. How am I supposed to convince my men that the Cylini, not your hordes, are the enemy?”

  The other officers nodded their agreement. Amarian’s patience began to wear thin. He rose, planted his hands on the camp desk, and looked sternly at his insubordinates. “Do you think I’ve brought my army halfway across Rhyvelad to destroy my own allies? Do you think I don’t have a stake in annihilating the Cylini? They sit there, plotting their raids against civilization in that infested swamp of theirs. They’re a knife lodged against our back and now they’ve murdered your king. If we don’t wipe them out now, they’ll think us weak, that we’re loyal to only one man instead of to a kingdom, to a civilization. I know that our men do not see eye to eye, and that Sentries can get out of hand—trust me, those who have acted inappropriately have been punished. Hate them all you want, but we have to finish this. Once the Cylini have been wiped out, once every last woman and child of them has been shown what real civilization, real strength looks like, they’ll either submit or die.”

  Tengar shifted uncomfortably. “You’re talking genocide.”

  “I’m talking preservation. I’m talking about a life free of border wars and niggling little conflicts. You know as well as I do, general, that any Cylini man, woman, or child left alive will only stir up trouble for our children and grandchildren. The only way is to uproot them completely. To do that, we must fight together.”

  One of the younger officers cleared his throat. “The king never—”

  “The king is dead. Obviously his policies weren’t thorough enough. Gentlemen, we do not have a choice here. If we turn tail and go home, then all of our battles have been for naught. Please, consider other options. You may go.”

  Tengar grimaced at being dismissed so lightly. He turned to the officers behind him. “Gentlemen, please allow me a word with the commander.”

  They obediently went out, murmering, and he redirected his attention to Commander Hull. “I would like to remind you, Commander, that until the prince arrives, I am in command of the Keroulian army and I do not answer to you. And when the prince arrives, he will be in command of our men. You may exercise complete control over those monsters you call soldiers, but our troops do not budge until I tell them to. And I will not send them into the marshes until I hear the command from Prince Farlone himself. Is that clear?”

  Amarian thought about killing the man then and there, but decided it would be wiser to bide his time. It would be better to win Keroul, not destroy it. “General, you mistake my intentions. I have no desire to usurp your authority or the prince’s. I ask only for your aid. Forgive me for dismissing the officers so abruptly. I meant no offense. But I’m glad you sent them out, because I need to tell you something.”

  Although not appeased, Tengar’s curiosity checked his anger. “What do you have to tell me that you could not tell the others?”

  Amarian eyed the man, wondering how familiar he was with the Ages. It was a chance he’d have to take. “There is going to come a time, probably in the middle of our marsh campaign, when I’m going to have to leave for a while. It will only be for a week or so, but I want you to know that I’m not abandoning you. I have some reinforcements that I won’t be able to muster until breach season.”

  “Why are you telling me this now?”

  “Because I trust you, Tengar. I know that while I’m gone, you will be able to persuade Farlone that I’m not deserting him. Plus, I wanted to give you plenty of warning.”

  Tengar nodded, still wary. “And these reinforcements? Who are they? Why can’t they come sooner?”

  Amarian rose and walked over to the map of Rhyvelad hanging on the tent wall. It was marked with various red slashes, indicating battles, and blue lines, indicating troop movements. “They’re in preparation already, but it will take a while for them to get here, since they’re coming from beyond General Chiyo’s homeland.”

  “The Far West? I thought it was pretty desolate out there. And why would these troops care about our problems? What do they want from us?”

  “Nothing really. They are in my debt and I’m simply requesting repayment.”

  “Well, that sounds all right. Just let me know closer to the time. And remember what I said about the prince.”

  “Of course, general. Now it’s getting late and there’s much to do tomorrow.”

  Tengar nodded and exited the tent without another word. As he left, Amarian shook his head. Now that the man felt himself in Hull’s confidence, he would be less likely to stir up trouble. Still, he held up his hand and an Urabi emerged from the shadows.

  “Keep on eye on him. And send somebody to find General Chiyo. Tell them to stay alive this time.”

  The Urabi nodded and slunk off into the darkness as Amarian turned his thoughts to Verial. Corfe had returned with Ranti several days ago to report that the group was entering the marshes. The young man was now making himself known to the generals, in preparation for Amarian’s imminent departure. Unfortunately, only one of the Sentries he had sent after Vancien and Verial had returned; the rest had managed to get themselves eaten by some brainless swamp creature. The last he knew, the same creature that had taken out his scouts had attacked Vancien’s party, as well, only to be killed by some Cylini warriors. This night, he imagined that Verial slept among the Cylini, wet, tired, and probably hungry. He closed his eyes and pictured her frustration at being trapped with such shabby company. Frigid as she was, Verial was nevertheless accustomed to deference. One day, her arrogance would undo her—whatever was left to be undone, that is. Meanwhile, she had managed to capture young Vancien’s attention and get him wounded in the process. Well done, lady, well done.

  __________

  The following days passed quickly and pleasantly for the four travelers. Although she could not speak the language of the Cylini, N’vonne was enjoying getting to know their customs, leaving Telenar to both practice his Cylinic and inquire into their spiritual traditions. Verial remained in their hut for much of the time, surfacing occasionally to visit with Vancien or to shadow N’vonne. Vancien, meanwhile, still had very limited use of his sword arm, but at least he was up and on his feet. He often joined Telenar in his discussions with the Cylini priests, many of whom had a working knowledge of the Keroulian tongue.

  One evening, as Vancien seated himself around the fire, Telenar was deep in conversation about Cylinic history. He looked up as Vancien drew near. “Have a seat. We were just discussing the Ages.” He waved his arm in the direction of the aged priest, who was perched like an old, withered bird on the edge of his mat. “Did you know that these people only have one copy to share among their tribes? One copy! I’ve got copies in five different languages back home, one of them Cylinic. I should send it out to them when I get back.”

  Vancien nodded respectfully to the holy man. “How do you know the accounts, then? How do you teach your children?”

  “We know many things without pages or scrolls, young man. We know your language. We know Kynell’s.”

  Telenar was so stirred by this pronouncement that he actually wriggled in his seat. “That’s what they call the accounts: Kynell’s speech! It’s fitting, if you think about it. But then that raises question of other types of divine communication. Tell me, brother, do you call all of Kynell’s work his speech?”

  The man nodded. “Yes, all of it. There is no difference between words on paper and words on the heart.” />
  Vancien couldn’t help jumping in, painfully adjusting his wrapped shoulder as he did so. “But the Ages are written with ink: they have not changed since the time of their writing. Surely the heart can be deceived.”

  Again, the man nodded. “Certainly. The Dark One’s tongue infects us all. But Kynell knows the right and wrong of it, and that is all we ask.”

  “Do you—” Vancien was uncertain of how much he should reveal but could not see any reason to hide it. “Do you know who I am?”

  The priest gazed thoughtfully at him before rising and stepping into the darkness. Telenar was just about to reprimand Vancien for being so forward when he returned with a small leather bag, out of which he removed a cut piece of polished clearstone. As its sharp angles caught the firelight, his weathered face turned intense. “This is only a stone, but it captures light very well. That is what prisms do, no?” He looked directly at Vancien. “Kynell has shone his light upon you. And he will shine through you in the dark times to come.” Now he turned to Telenar. “We, too, have counted the days. We know what is coming. Yet our chiefs have foolishly sought war, as have yours. We are killing our brothers when we need them most. Kynell is displeased.”

  Telenar had to agree, but he felt some compulsion to defend Relgaré. “I do not think the king knew of your faith. He would not quickly attack known followers of Kynell”

  The priest shook his head. “No, but he was quick to fight alongside Obsidian.” Out of the same bag, he pulled a chunk of the unpolished black rock, holding it up to the firelight. “Look. It allows no light to pass and takes for itself whatever light it receives. It is a nothingness that swallows all good that comes upon it. It has swallowed your king. If thing continue as they are, it will swallow our chiefs.”

  “But our hope does not lie in kings and chiefs,” Vancien reminded him. “Our hope lies in Kynell.”

  There was a silent moment as the man gazed at him. The mature wisdom that had characterized his appearance up to that point was beginning to fade, until soon he looked simply tired, old, and wrinkled. “Yes, young man, you are right.” He sighed, dumped the rocks back into the bag, and rose. “You are right, you are right. But how many souls will Kynell lose to the Chasm before he answers our prayers?” He did not wait for an answer but bade them good night and left.