The Council members' presence quieted the crowd. The sense of foreboding was almost palpable. It was clear that the crowd, even though they didn't know the real reason for the quest, could gather that it was one of supreme importance.
Idmaer blessed the crowd by tracing a six-pointed star in the air. "Greetings, people of Indham. As many of you have already gathered, this weather is most unusual. Do not be afraid. Aern is weak, yes, but the Council will do what we must. Sigebert and Cenred will journey to Eosorheim to beseech Hurn in our time of need."
"What happened to Aern?" someone yelled from deep within the crowd.
Idmaer smiled, an expression that seemed to pain him. "The Council wishes to keep your homes and shops from flooding, that is all. They will set out this afternoon."
The town crier blew his horn to conclude Idmaer's announcements. Everyone began talking among themselves about the real reason the warriors were going to Eosorheim. It appeared no one had believed Idmaer's lie. Despite the number of conversations Hiroc could overhear, none involved a theory that matched the truth.
"Ready?" Alfric said.
Fryda leaped down from the cart in a most unladylike fashion, splashing mud over the hem of Hiroc's robes. "I'll come with you."
"I don't think so," Hiroc said, brushing at the mud.
"Just stay here, okay?" Alfric said to her as he brushed her arm. "I'll tell you what they say afterward."
Alfric went to kiss her, but she pulled back. Hiroc stifled a snicker, and she glared at him. The rain had frizzled her hair, curls fighting free of her hairpin. Glowering, she looked like a petulant child who hadn't gotten her way.
Leaving Fryda behind, Hiroc and Alfric weaved their way to the front of the crowd where Idmaer was speaking to others from the Council.
Saega the augur was clad in a washed-out habit, a hood obscuring his face. He seemed to be hunching more than usual over his fox-head staff. It was hard to believe that this decrepit old man had fought off the giant with the same staff he now used to prop himself up.
The two warriors, Sigebert and Cenred, were wrapped in tattered fur cloaks, nothing like the fine garment Alfric was wearing.
"You're only taking two?" Saega said to Idmaer. "What if the road is dangerous? Surely more warriors would serve our purposes better."
"There'll be no danger," Idmaer replied. The medallion on his neck reflected what little light the sun offered. "There's been no sign of nomads for three years, and there haven't been bandits for twice as long as that. There are only villages and the like from here to Eosorheim."
"Besides," Cenred said gruffly, "we can handle ourselves."
"So be it," Saega said. "I hope you're happy placing our fate in the hands of these fools, Idmaer. I don't need to remind you what's at stake."
When Idmaer saw Alfric, his expression turned jubilant. "And what are you doing arrayed in such splendor? It looks like you've robbed my collection of exotic clothing before leaving my employ." He laughed while the warriors smirked. The way Saega had been looking at Idmaer was nothing compared to the glare he now gave Alfric.
"We have something to request of you," Alfric said boldly.
Cenred raised an eyebrow. He'd probably seen Alfric about, training with the other warriors, but it would be unusual for one of the trainees to address them in a public place like this.
"Wait here," Hiroc said to Alfric. "I'll speak with them first."
Alfric begrudgingly agreed.
Hiroc approached Idmaer and spoke softly so that Alfric wouldn't overhear. "Good morning, your grace. This Fatherless wishes to accompany the warriors on this quest."
Idmaer looked confused. "Is that so?"
Hiroc nodded. "I believe it will do much good for the Fatherless if one of them returns from Eosorheim having completed the quest. He's been admitted into the warriors, so it wouldn't be against tradition."
"I've seen him fight," Sigebert the warrior said. "He's decent with a sword. I'd wager Hurn might even listen to a Fatherless more than he'd listen to us. Let the lad come along."
Although Cenred didn't speak, his scowl suggested he didn't agree.
"Sounds like a reasonable idea," said Saega.
"It would certainly improve public perception." Idmaer scratched his beard. "It will be done."
Hiroc returned to stand beside Alfric.
Idmaer raised two fingers into the air. The town crier sounded the horn again.
"Idmaer, High Priest of Aern," the crier announced.
"It seems it won't be two seeking out Hurn," Idmaer said, "but three. Alfric, warrior and Fatherless, will set out with Sigebert and Cenred."
There was a moment of silence before the crowd gave a half-hearted applause.
"Why didn't Idmaer say you were coming on the quest?" Alfric said to Hiroc once the noise had died down.
"Because I didn't tell him I was going."
"What?" Alfric's face contorted with confusion, his scars bunching up, giving him the appearance of a man three times his age.
"I'm staying in Indham," Hiroc said, staying firm despite Alfric's deepening scowl. "Idmaer might need me." It was a lie, and not a very good one at that. The truth was, Hiroc wanted to stay in Indham because he needed to know more about that strange lightning.
"What could be more important than getting Hurn's help? Indham needs you."
"Not anymore. It needs you, little brother." The words were hardly out of his mouth before Alfric stormed off.
12
Edoma
Trying not to think about what Mun might have her do after she died, Edoma tapped power into the ward. Magical energy raced along the bloodlines until both half-circles of the ward glowed crimson.
Despite not knowing how much spiritsoul empowering the wards had cost, Edoma was pleased. Finally, she had the means of protecting Indham—at least for a while. Mundos had had two years before the wraiths got through the wards. Those had been formed by mages much more powerful than her, with years of experience. Indham wouldn't have two years. But all they needed was sufficient time for the warriors to journey to Eosorheim and back.
The sound of a galloping horse drew Edoma's attention away from her wards. Outside the gates, Idmaer dismounted and walked through the entrance courtyard. His presence shocked Edoma—he hadn't been to the temple since their marriage had dissolved—until she realized that she had forgotten the time. She had spent the morning perfecting the wards. The warriors must be ready to leave for Eosorheim.
But why had Idmaer come and not Saega? The reason came to her suddenly. Saega had probably told Idmaer to retrieve her, especially after the conversation they'd had. It was just like Saega to meddle in the affairs of others.
"Have the warriors left?" Edoma asked, trying not to appear surprised at Idmaer's presence.
"Not yet," Idmaer replied. Oils darkened his graying beard and braided hair. His purple robes glistened like dew in the morning light. His eyes widened at the wards as if only noticing them. "You were once my wife, yet I know so little about you."
His expression was a history of their relationship exemplified in one hard look. He had always complained that she was too reserved, but she had every right to be. She had seen the destruction of her entire homeland and never wanted to speak of it again.
"Where did you learn to create them?" he asked.
"We were without a Guardian for two years in Mundos before we had to flee. We learned how to live during that time. These wards were responsible for those two years of safety." She had said it all before. But never this plainly. "I don't know for certain that they will work. I can only hope." Edoma didn't like to admit it, but it was true. Her memory of them had faded too much to recall their exact construction. The wards on the ground were still glowing, and they certainly seemed to hold their magic, but it still might not be enough. But it was all she had. She pointed at her best attempt. "I'll paint each of the warriors with this one."
Idmaer, like everyone except Mildryd and Saega, didn't know she was a mage
. Surely he was suspicious at the moment with all the wards painted in the courtyard, but he knew so little about magic that it was doubtful.
"You seem to know a lot about wards," he said.
"Librarians tend to know things."
"An apprentice librarian," Idmaer corrected her.
"Even the period of apprenticeship involves much learning." Edoma didn't want to remain long on the subject. Even though she had spun many tales about being an apprentice librarian in Mundos, they had all been false. She had been an apprentice mage. But she had kept that a secret from Idmaer all this time. During their marriage, she had come to trust Idmaer enough to tell him the truth, but there'd never seemed a proper time. She certainly wasn't going to tell him now. All territories allied with Wostreheim had their Talented taken by Beorhtel's inquisitors, and there was too great a risk that he might tell someone. If word reached the ears of a do-gooder, she would be carted off to Lamworth. It might mean safety from the wraiths, but she wasn't going to leave her adopted people behind, defenseless.
"I'm sure it does." His sly smile made her want to punch him.
"What are you doing here, Idmaer?"
"Saega said you were making wards, so I thought I'd see for myself. When you weren't at the gates, I wondered where you were. At the Council meeting, you seemed . . . distraught. Saega also told me you know the truth. About Aern," he added, as though she might be confused.
Edoma's stomach tightened. She had thought she wouldn't have to address the lies he had spoken at the Council meeting. But hearing him bring up the subject ignited her anger. "And no one else does," she said.
"I thought you would understand why . . . Saega told me what happened in Mundos."
She rolled her eyes. What hadn't Saega told him?
"There is one other thing," Idmaer said. His expression became sheepish, and Edoma clenched her jaw. Whatever he was about to say was something she wouldn't like. "Alfric is going with Sigebert and Cenred."
Edoma ground her teeth. "Why would you allow such a thing?"
"I doubt he'd be much safer here. Besides, it will be good for a Fatherless to help the town. People despise them almost as much as me."
"He's not a Fatherless," Edoma said, trying in earnest not to raise her voice. It wasn't that she didn't like the Fatherless. After all, she had seen them refused at the gates of Winhurst and then led them into Indham herself. The people had blamed Idmaer for allowing them in, and not her. The Fatherless were hated, despite how much she had tried to make the town see them as she saw them. They had been children without the care of a mother or father. She had tried to fill that void, but it had been difficult.
"I have saved Hiroc from the plight of the Fatherless," Idmaer said. "This would do the same for Alfric. He's a warrior now. Let him be one." Speaking with Idmaer alone for the first time in years had put Edoma off-guard. Past grievances suggested she should refuse. But Alfric wasn't hers to command, and he would do as he pleased. He was a man now.
"I will ward him," Edoma finally said. It was strange seeing Idmaer apparently care for Alfric now.
She went inside the temple and gathered her staff, bone necklace, and ram-horned cap. The staff was truly magical, endowed with wards of protection. The necklace and cap, however, were simply for appearances.
"I thought it would be nice for us to go to the gates together." Idmaer smiled and offered his hand. Edoma begrudgingly took it, feeling the warmth of his touch for the first time in years. He nodded at her cap and the staff in her other hand. "The wards require all of that?"
Edoma smirked. "Not at all. The process itself is rather mundane, but the people will be more assured with the pomp." Despite her levity, she couldn't help thinking that warding stone was much different from warding living people.
13
Alfric
Alfric waited in front of the blazing fire. Raindrops pelted the flames, yet the fire burned on. He felt out of place, squeezed between Cenred and Sigebert, two warriors who had defended Indham since before he was born. It didn't help that he was a head taller and half as wide as them both, wrapped in a cloak befitting a lord in a snow kingdom with a fancy sword at his hip. The people watching probably thought he looked like an overgrown child playing dress-up.
Countless pairs of eyes were enduring the pouring rain so that they could wish the warriors well on their quest. He scanned the crowd for Fryda but couldn't find her.
He watched Edoma pace around the clearing. She wore a cap with ram horns and a wolf pelt cloak. Her face was painted white and black, circles ringing her eyes. The heavy rain had made the paint run, soaking her robes enough to make her bow over from the weight. A collection of animal bones jingled around her neck as she started to skip around the circle with the grace of a woman half her age. More bones dangled from the skull-topped staff she was spinning through the air.
A choir of Daughters of Enlil, arrayed in deep blue robes, was chanting the Ode to Enlil. The solemn tune silenced the crowd.
One of the Daughters brought a lamb into the circle. Edoma drew a curved knife from her belt, the blade as long as her forearm, and slashed the lamb's gullet. With the other hand, she grabbed the lamb by the scruff of the neck and hung it over the flames. The fire spat and crackled as the blood fell upon it. The wind howled through the courtyard, making the tongues of flame dance across the air. Though the wind-touched flames tickled Edoma's arm, she did not waver until the Daughters had finished chanting the Ode.
Seeing the old woman made Alfric think of his mother, who would have been around the same age as Edoma had she lived. He couldn't remember a thing about her, but that was usual for the Fatherless. Despite his mother's fear of the dark things in the Scorched Lands, she had kept Alfric and Hiroc safe. She had fled to Indham so that they could both survive. She died soon after. Alfric tried his hardest to picture her in his head. A murky image came and went. It was like trying to capture a sugar crystal before it melted on his tongue.
Edoma approached him and smeared a blood-soaked palm over his face. Her fingers traced lines in the blood. When she held her runestone and whispered something under her breath, Alfric's face became hot, almost burning. When he reached to pull her hands away, she knocked him in the stomach with the knife's hilt.
"Don't," she said. "The magic won't work unless you endure the pain."
He grimaced until she took her hands away and the pain ceased. He bowed and offered a small prayer to Aern. It seemed appropriate, even if he was dead. He hoped the old gods would hear his prayers where Aern could not and grant them a safe return from Eosorheim.
Through the smoke rising from the sacrifice, Alfric caught eyes with Hiroc for a moment, and looked away. He would forgive his brother's cowardice eventually, but not right now.
The ceremony concluded in a puff of smoke as the Daughters used long branches to fan the flames.
Sigebert and Cenred embraced their families before venturing outside Indham's gate. Alfric followed after them. He lingered a few paces back as a dozen or so other warriors, wearing no weapons or armor, wished Sigebert and Cenred well. None of them spoke to Alfric, though a few scoffed as they went back inside the walls.
Indham's gates lurched closed. Alfric shuffled over to the two warriors who were preparing their horses.
Sigebert clapped Alfric on the back and smiled broadly. He was the younger of the two warriors. His arms were thicker than most men's legs. Coarse hair grew on his shoulders. "It's good to have another warrior along for the journey."
Cenred sneered as he fixed a large battle-axe to his horse. Dozens of slash marks were engraved into his leather armor. "He's not a warrior. Not until he makes his first kill. Right now, he's barely a man."
"I know how to use a sword," Alfric said, deepening his voice an octave. He knew the way warriors acted. He'd spent a few evenings drinking in The Flaming Monkey with those who didn't mind the Fatherless. You acted as manly as possible, which, Alfric figured, included speaking like you'd swallowed a frog.
&nb
sp; Most times Cenred didn't look happy, but today he looked positively furious. It didn't help that his gray hair had dreaded, giving him the look of an aged barbarian. "You might know how to dance around with a weapon so women fawn over you, but you've never spilled blood."
Sigebert chuckled. "I've seen him fight. He can do more than dance."
When Alfric had gone to the barracks for the first time after he'd won the tournament, Sigebert had greeted him with a few words of advice. "Become the best warrior, the best tracker, and the best swordsman, and no one will be able to refuse you, even if your father is Loric." Alfric intended to follow that advice, but it had only been training with the warriors, so he'd had little practice with bows and tracking. He was a long way from becoming the best at any of those things, let alone all three of them.
Cenred grunted. "This quest isn't a stroll through the forest. We're on important business." He spat on the ground and glared at Sigebert. "This is on you if things go badly. I don't want him complaining about a sore back and wanting to return home before we even get to Eosorheim."
Alfric was growing tired of them speaking as if he weren't there. "I won't get sore. And I can fire an arrow truer than most." His face went hot when he realized that he didn't have a bow.
From the disgust on Cenred's face, he didn't seem like he cared to put Alfric's claim to the test. "Perhaps you can twirl your pretty blond hair for Hurn. You any good at flirting, boy?" He laughed dryly.
"Leave him be," Sigebert said. "It'll do good for one of the Fatherless to succeed in something other than theft or drunkenness."
Cenred narrowed his eyes at Alfric. He was among those who thought the Fatherless a curse upon Indham. High Priest Idmaer did as much as he could to help by employing Fatherless in the spire, but there was only so much work.
The Shattered Orb (Vagrant Souls Book 1) Page 6