by Jacob Cooper
“Oh that’s right, the girl,” he said. “Well, you won’t find her here. Or anywhere, I’m sorry to report. Not for what will feel like ages to you in your torment, I’m sure. This level of defeat has never been known by your kind, I take it? It will be interesting to witness what becomes of you.”
Rembbran stood in shock, unable to answer. He knows. Impossible!
“You were surprised, no doubt, to find this tree as it is,” the old man continued. “It was a weakened portion of Influence used, meant only for a temporary show, I surmise. The forest easily reversed it with little help from me, though its usage is disturbing.”
“And who, then, are you?”
“Not who, what.”
“I have no patience for these word games!” the Helsyan growled.
“That was always the way of it for your clan, even before the Turning Away.”
“What are you, then?”
“Let us say I am a Shepherd of Light, just as you are a Purveyor of Night, apostate.”
“Stop calling me that!” Rembbran growled. “I could draw and quarter you with my bare hands!”
“I thought we discussed hollow threats, no? But no matter, my time here is done. It is unlikely you will see me again.”
Without another word, the old man scaled the nearest tree with an agility that belied his elderly frame. In less than two blinks, Rembbran lost sight of him as he disappeared above the thick frondescent canopy.
Endless Night! Who was that?
Half a span and three days later the nearly incessant cold of the Northern Province embraced him like a cloak of daggers, welcoming him home. He desperately sought and needed the relief the Kail would offer in order to stem the madness he felt building within him.
As he entered Iskele, a stiff wind shot up from the chasm below the city, rustling the near barren trees growing out of the rocky cliff side. Two chilled rivers, diverted from their natural courses, ran through the city in open aquifers and poured down the chasm, two slender streams whose spray and mist obscured any from seeing them hit the bottom. Rembbran was surprised they hadn’t yet frozen, but would before many span more turn to stalactites of ice that would constantly change shape as the rivers’ runoff exited the city and froze over the existing ice falls. On rare moments, when the sun would prevail against the normal gray pallor of the northern sky, the ginormous icicles would sparkle and produce rainbows of intricate create, perhaps the only natural beauty of the otherwise austere province.
Rembbran noted the entourages of each of the Realm’s provincial lords positioned outside one of High Duke Wellyn’s meeting chambers as he passed by on his way to the Kail, holding his hood tight against the breeze, ensuring his concealment from those among the streets.
Not all provincial lords, actually, he corrected himself. Hoyt, Gonfrey and Orion were represented, but the banners of House Kerr were absent. Horses and attendants alike were clad in thick blankets and garments while they awaited the conclusion of whatever was taking place within the walls of the meeting chamber.
Maynard met him at the entrance to the Kail, a circular nondescript building of stone that was many times wider than it was tall and whose main levels were underground. The Helsyan leader’s visage bespoke his intent to question Rembbran before allowing him entrance.
“You did find her.” His words were not a question.
“Her scent is gone,” Rembbran answered. “I cannot make sense of it. Something of ill create besets me.”
Maynard stood unmoved.
“Let me enter! I need the Kail’s succor!”
“The Urlenthi will not be mocked, Rembbran. Your Dahlrak is incomplete. Return and finish it!”
Rembbran growled, but Maynard showed no sign of concern. “Use discretion in where you channel your aggression, brother.”
Maynard was the most skilled Helsyan assassin in ages. Though he did not contain the viciousness or brute strength of Rembbran—he was a more refined and eloquent killer—Maynard’s dexterity was unsurpassed. But Rembbran’s strength and speed were at heightened levels as he still labored under a Charge. Maynard had no such current advantage and yet he stood nonchalantly blocking Rembbran’s way to desperate relief.
Rembbran charged the Helsyan leader, hitting him with a force that would have broken stone as the two of them rolled through the opening into the Kail. The savage instinct that fueled all Helsyans exploded as Rembbran’s fists pounded Maynard’s body with a speed and fury only a Dahlrak could bring out. He envisioned the Kerr youngling, smashing her face and crushing her small body over and over, laughing sadistically in his mental revelry.
Accepting the punishment, Maynard did not retaliate. He blocked most blows but others landed home. After a short few moments, the explosion within Rembbran died down as the soothing Influence of the Kail overtook him, dulling the pain he suffered to a manageable level. It still throbbed within him, but sanity was partially restored as he was pulled back from the mental cliff over which agony had dangled him.
“Did that help, brother?” Maynard asked.
Rembbran breathed heavily, becoming more tired as the surge of the Dahlrak waned. “Maynard, I’m—”
Before he could finish, Maynard stepped forward with a velocity too fast to block, grabbing Rembbran by the ears and bringing his head down against his upward thrusted knee. Blood spurted from Rembbran’s mouth and nose as he wailed. Maynard did not release him.
“You have forgotten!” He slammed Rembbran’s face again to his knee. “You have forgotten your place amongst us, brother!” A third knee thrust came and Rembbran collapsed to the floor. The taste in his mouth was a new one, totally foreign to him. His own blood. It pooled around him as he lay defeated on the cold floor.
“See to him,” Maynard said and motioned others to come forward. There was hesitation.
“Our brother suffers from something none of us have experienced. His penance for his ill-advised actions spreads around him now,” Maynard said, pointing to the blood that puddled around Rembbran’s face. “Come forward and tend to him.”
Rembbran felt himself lifted by two strong sets of arms while a third inspected his wounds and dammed the flow of blood from his nose.
Brother, he calls me. One day, he will beg my forgiveness.
SIX
High Duke Emeron Wellyn
Day 5 of 1st Low 406 A.U.
“YOU HAVE ALL EXAMINED THE EVIDENCE, I believe?” asked High Duke Emeron Wellyn, ruler of all Senthara. “Let us move to ratify the motion.”
The meeting chamber was silent as the four men sat at the long stone table. The fifth chair, made from a heavy wood, was empty. Its ornate carvings of trees and shrubbery with a round stone in the middle of the back rest chiseled with the Triarch-leaf emblem, the sigil of House Kerr, was exquisite but almost seemed profane now that it was vacant. Never had the Council of Senthara had only four participants, not since the unification of the Realm. No Archivers were present either, an odd occurrence for a meeting with such notable members present.
The fire in the large stone hearth at the other side of the chamber offered no noticeable relief against the cold, even inside the chamber. Cold drafts invaded the chamber, tickling the flames of the torches that hung from crude sconces and caused long inconsistent shadows to dance on the floor and walls. A stone moth flirted with the torches, attempting to land as close to the flame as possible before being evicted from its perch by the heat. It seemed mesmerized with the danger, though the hard encrustations on its wings, from whence its name was derived, no doubt gave the insect a certain resilience to the fire’s temperature. Distorted winged shadows were cast by the moth’s flight and the wind’s tickling of the torches. The effect was somewhat unsettling.
It was freezing in the Northern Province, but not just due to the season. Being bordered by glaciers that were rumored to be larger than the Realm itself did not help in tempering the bite of the constant chill in the north. Wellyn often wondered why his ancestors had chosen to settle in s
uch a place when they had the whole Realm to choose from. They had, after all, won the right to rule after the defeat of House Kearon more than four centuries earlier. Events recently set in motion, however, would change where he called home not many years hence.
Present with High Duke Wellyn at this emergency session was Lord Calder Hoyt of the Southern Province, Lord Grady Orion of the Eastern Province and Lord Erik Gonfrey of the Northern Province. Two Khansian Guards stood at the entry way still as the walls themselves.
“I have reviewed the evidence, and am satisfied,” Lord Gonfrey proclaimed. His snowy beard shook when he spoke.
No one else spoke for several moments. Wellyn looked to Orion and Hoyt.
“I as well,” Lord Orion said. The vapor from his breath reminded them all of the chill. They were anxious to be done and start their journeys back to their own holds where warmth awaited them.
“Lord Hoyt?” Wellyn inquired.
The Provincial Lord of the South sighed. “It just doesn’t feel right. I knew Lord Kerr, we all did. Surely there is something we’re missing.”
“No one finds this harder to accept than me, Calder,” Wellyn stated. “He was my friend. From childhood, even. I have fond memories of him, but I cannot ignore the evidence. I am the High Duke, and that duty rises above my friendship. The Archivers’ records are explicit, not to mention the physical evidence uncovered. There is no room for doubt.”
Calder Hoyt lifted his eyes to once again stare at the obsidian tablet in the middle of the stone table. The Archiver tablet was inscribed with the evidence they had all reflected on. A sizeable weapons cache was said to have been recovered near Hold Kerr, though none of those present except Wellyn had been allowed to examine it.
“But a traitor, my Liege? Surely there is some other explanation,” Lord Hoyt pleaded. “What of his wife? His family? What will become of them?”
Wellyn sat back in his chair. “The girl is likely dead.” Or soon will be, if Rembbran finally succeeds, he thought. “Moira was not implicated in the evidence, but we must watch her carefully. Perhaps there are things that will come to light that will show her to be a culprit.”
“No, I meant to ask after their welfare. Will a pension be granted? Some kind of support?” Lord Hoyt inquired.
“What do you care?” Grady Orion blurted. “They are not really even part of us. Wood-dwellers, Arlethians, whatever you call them.” He crossed his arms as he looked down at Lord Hoyt. Grady was a man of some girth, as were most of his house.
“They are indeed part of us!” Calder Hoyt retorted. “Four hundred years is long enough for anyone to become part of a people. This will be a serious slight to the noblest house of the Arlethians. The reason the Realm exists, the reason our people call Senthara home is because of the wood-dwellers! Their people have long been in the West, for centuries before the Senthary arrived. We owe them everything! The only reason our ancestors succeeded in exterminating the Hardacheons was by their—”
“Yes, thank you for the history lesson,” High Duke Wellyn interrupted condescendingly. “However, that was over four centuries ago. This is now. Great houses come and go throughout history. This is House Kerr’s destiny, it would seem. We’re not talking about their race, Calder, just one house.” He told this lie effortlessly. Nor did Wellyn bother to correct the Southern Lord of the reason the Hardacheons were defeated, knowing darker forces than the Arlethians had secured their victory.
“At least let me care for them. Let me take them into my hold,” Lord Hoyt requested. He was noticeably perplexed by the council’s seeming indifference toward the matter.
Wellyn brought his elbows to the table and put his head in his hands.
“The boy and my daughter are promised and—”
“Are they, now?” Wellyn asked icily. His tone was dangerous. Lord Hoyt fell silent.
“Cursed Heavens, man! Just ratify the motion and let us be done!” Lord Orion snapped. Erik Gonfrey had remained silent during this interchange, looking extremely bored and agitated. He was a man who seldom spoke and generally appeared to be in pain when he did.
“I will not take lightly what we are doing!” Calder shot back at Grady Orion. “This is a noble family we are talking about, one that is loved and admired. They’ve lost their father and daughter in some mysterious manner less than two span ago and whilst they are yet grieving we are going to make them destitute and without recourse? Shameful, I tell you.” Lord Hoyt looked back to Emeron Wellyn, who still had his head in his hands. “Let my house look after them, please, my Duke.”
“No, I’m sorry. We cannot have a traitor’s family taken in by another lord. The appearance alone would call your house into question, I’m afraid.”
“Is this your final word on my request?” Calder Hoyt asked.
“It is,” the High Duke replied. “The Granite Throne has spoken on this matter.”
Lord Hoyt looked defeated.
“Who will take Thannuel’s position?” Lord Gonfrey’s inquiry moved the meeting forward.
“Banner Therrium, Kerr’s cousin,” Wellyn said.
Grady Orion chuckled with scorn. “The head of the academy? It will be amazing if the whole West does not crumble by this move. Therrium is a weak man.”
No one responded and Wellyn did his best to conceal a look that would have displayed his agreement with Lord Orion.
“It has only been seventeen days. Why are we rushing this?” Lord Hoyt asked, bringing the conversation back to the motion that was placed before them all, to declare Thannuel Kerr a traitor to the Realm. “The man is dead. Isn’t this enough?”
In response, the High Duke lifted his head, peering over his hands and asked, “About your daughter, who was to marry Thannuel’s son—Kaitlyn?”
“Kathryn,” Calder Hoyt corrected.
“Yes, Kathryn, that’s right. I trust she is…well?” Wellyn casually rubbed a milky-white stone embedded in the back of his gold amulet that hung around his neck, the same amulet that bore the sigil of House Wellyn, a four-pointed star flare cast over a round shield. Calder Hoyt went cold.
After a moment of tension, Lord Hoyt capitulated. “I agree with the motion,” he said in a low, tight voice.
“So decreed. I, Emeron Wellyn, the first of my name, High Duke and Protector of the Realm, and ruler of all Senthara by noble birthright and decree of the Ancient Heavens, do hereby strip House Kerr of all rights, privileges, and lands save for their ancestral hold, as well as all income and support of the Granite Throne. I denounce the traitor Thannuel Kerr and cast shame on his descendants that shall last as long as the world shall stand. Be it published throughout the Realm. So decreed.”
“So decreed,” the three Lords answered in unison. Calder Hoyt rose from his chair and spun around, taking his leave in haste. He did not bid farewell to the others.
“It is done?” Tyjil asked his Duke. They had retreated to Wellyn’s private chambers after the council had concluded and the provincial lords departed.
“It is done,” Wellyn confirmed. “The decree is being published as we speak. The provincial lords have already taken their leave.”
“And…the others?”
The High Duke felt a ball of ice in his gut. “They have agreed as well. They have been convinced. We are safe.” Emeron hoped this was true. “As you know, the planning over the past span and a half has been extensive. Deklar Shilkath will leave tomorrow to return to Borath.” Wellyn could not wait to get the savage and his flying mount out of his palace. It was a nightmare keeping that beast hidden from the general populace.
“Their preparations will take several years. It will not be easy to uproot such an ancient people. The plan will need to unfold precisely as laid out. But, you are to be commended, Tyjil. The demonstration in the Western Province went just as you said it would. Shilkath was amazed. I myself could barely believe my eyes.”
Tyjil did not respond to his Duke as he interlocked and released his fingers repeatedly. The High Duke opened his mouth
to ask wherever did Tyjil come across such an Influence, but he already knew. Instead, he asked, “And your end? How are things progressing there?”
“I believe we have identified the correct vessel, my Duke. I am certain he will… ” After a small reflective pause, the High Duke’s advisor continued. “Yes, I am confident he will be willing to assist.”
“Time is not yet critical, but we cannot delay. The lands are starting to cycle.”
“Not in the West,” Tyjil observed. He too had read the reports from the Ministry of Terran Studies.
“I know.” The High Duke turned pensive. “Are you certain, absolutely certain, why the West is not following the cycle?”
“We do not know if it has ever cycled, my Duke. Our people were not in these lands during the last period of death and renewal. In fact, I doubt the lands of Arlethia have ever cycled. Is this not more evidence to what I claim? What I am certain of is what I saw when I was there among them, yes?”
“These fabled people and their Light. Yes, you keep reminding me.”
“The power!” Tyjil corrected. “We need time in the land to find it, time to harness it. But it is there. It is worth… ” he paused again as he opened his hands in a wide gesture, “…everything.”
“If it means our people will never have to leave for another home again, then yes, it is worth more than anything we possess,” the High Duke agreed. “But, our subterfuge will undoubtedly be noticed within a few years after the plan is complete. These northern barbarians will not take kindly to being played.”
“By then, my Liege, it will not matter. We will have the power of the Ancients to wield! None will be able to stand before us.”
“What happened, Tyjil? Why turn against those that took you in?”
“Oh, no, my Duke. I have not turned. I am who I have always been.”
“Not always,” Wellyn corrected.
Tyjil spat. “Names are of little consequence, Emeron. Tyjil suits me better. Besides, this name was given to me by their leader. He will know it was me that caused their selfish hoarding of the Lumenatis to end!”