“Farewell, Cesla,” Pellin said. “May Aer grant you mercy.”
He blinked. “I hope so.” When he lifted his arm to cover his eyes, his face twisted with contempt once again. “Banish me then, before your cloying sentiment makes me retch.”
“As you wish,” Pellin said. No gestures were required, but he raised his hands. “Atol, you—”
“Stop!” I yelled. Panic brought my heartbeat to a standstill.
Pellin lowered his hands as he turned to face me. I struggled to find breath. “Oh, clever, clever snake,” I said. “Almost you succeeded.” I turned to Pellin. “There are still people in the forest.”
The Eldest’s eyes went wide as the blood drained from his face. “Dear Aer in heaven.” He turned back to the prisoner, his expression grim as iron. “You are commanded to restore all who are enslaved to you, Atol. Remove their vaults and erase their memories of gold and aurium in the Darkwater. Further, I command you to drive everyone from the forest before sunset and immediately kill any who remain when night falls.”
Atol threw back his head and howled with rage, screaming his defeat and frustration at the heavens until his breath ran out. “Eternity is on my side,” he said. “After you have returned to dust, I will be free, and I will make a mockery of Aer’s intent.”
“You are banished,” Pellin said. “Return to your prison.”
Cesla collapsed, falling to the ground, a marionette whose strings had been severed at last, but as he hit the earth his arms fell away from his eyes. His head rocked with the impact, but when he stilled, sunlight illumined him and he stared at the sun. I turned away before his gaze could capture me.
Pellin spoke to Daelan and Storan. “Is it done?”
Their gazes grew distant and they disappeared briefly before they returned. “It is. Those who sought to free Atol are leaving the forest.”
“What about the prison?” I asked. “Is it intact?”
I had no experience by which to judge their expressions, but I sensed they were troubled. “It is,” Daelan said. “Though it is damaged somewhat. Common iron is too brittle for aurium. The forest is littered with broken tools.”
“Beware of his knowledge,” Storan said. “The lure of the Darkwater will remain. The rumors of wealth within its boundaries will be hard to erase.”
Pellin nodded. “Centuries of work lie ahead,” he said, but joy blazed in his eyes that couldn’t be denied.
“What about this pleases you, Eldest?” Toria asked.
“Something new comes,” he said. “Lord Dura is cleansed of his vault. We don’t have to kill those who stumble into the forest. Like Elieve, they can be healed.”
I drew closer to the Fayit so no one else could hear me beg. “Daelan, Storan, is there any way I can talk to Ealdor again?”
“This day you will be with him where he has passed beyond the sphere of our world,” Daelan said. “Have you forgotten the price that must be paid?”
I heard Gael gasp and sensed movement, but when I turned toward her she stood frozen, her face clenched and sweating with effort. The Fayit shook their heads, their hands raised in forbidding. “The price must be paid. This too is part of the binding.”
Gael’s cry of loss shattered the morning, a needle of sound that pierced my heart. Daelan and Storan reached for me.
Chapter 71
In a futile gesture, Pellin stepped between us as though he had some power or lore that could prevent Daelan and Storan from extracting the cost of their aid. “A question, if you please,” he said.
For some reason they forbore, waiting. “You cannot use the binding to prevent us from collecting the price.”
I pulled Pellin around to face me. “Eldest, even with you the Vigil is pitifully young, and the peace will be very nearly as difficult as the war.”
He smiled. “Therefore you and Toria Deel and the rest of the Vigil will adapt to it.” He turned to the Fayit. “I will pay the price.”
Gael’s sob of relief tore at me. She didn’t see the Fayit’s expression, their refusal.
“You were not part of the circle,” they said. “Nor did you make the call.”
Pellin’s smile dropped from him. “It was I who used the knowledge of the circle to bind Atol back to his prison.”
“Indeed,” Daelan said.
Pellin nodded. “Will Aer allow me to pay for Lord Dura?”
Daelan and Storan withdrew from speech, but from the way they looked at each other, I suspected they were having an extended conversation. I tried to resign myself to their decision. In my heart I knew that Gael had always been too high and lofty a prize for me. I wondered if they would let me say good-bye.
“We consent,” the Fayit said together.
I drew a shuddering breath that provided counterpoint to Gael’s, but Pellin drew back. “A moment more, if you please.”
Storan’s expression showed almost human exasperation. “We will not tarry at your convenience, Eldest.”
“A moment,” Pellin said, “no more.” Without waiting for their permission he scanned the crowd of people outside the counting house, then pointed. “Come.”
Mark disentangled himself from Elieve’s arms and came forward until no more than a pace separated him from the Eldest.
Pellin smiled through the tears coursing down his cheeks. “The choice is upon us, it would seem.”
Mark nodded. “Too soon.”
“That is the way with change, my apprentice,” he said. “It is always too soon and often takes us unaware.”
“What should I do, Eldest?” Mark asked.
Pellin smiled. “Trust Aer, Mark, and trust your heart.” Laughter worked its way through Pellin’s grief. “It is a very good heart, indeed.”
Mark faced the Fayit. “Is there any way to know where Aer will send the gift once it goes free?”
Daelan and Storan grew quiet before answering. “No.”
Mark glanced back at Elieve, his face rent by love and doubt. “I don’t know what to do, Eldest.”
Pellin nodded. “Then simply trust that Aer does. If the gift does not come to you, then know that it has gone by Aer’s will to another.”
“And what should I do then?”
Joy filled Pellin’s expression. “Marry Elieve when the time is right and fill your house with love and children.”
Pellin placed his hand on Mark’s head, not in the rite of passage, but in simple blessing ancient beyond reckoning. “May Aer bless you and keep you, always.”
He stepped toward the Fayit. “It’s in your tradition to allow the condemned a last coda, yes?”
At their nod, Pellin turned to give us a wink and extended his arm to Daelan and Storan. “Here is mine. Will you honor it?”
They touched him and nodded to each other, sharing in his smile.
Pellin nodded. “I’m ready now, I think.”
Together the Fayit extended their hands over him. At the moment they touched each other, they disappeared. Pellin collapsed, but his body fell more slowly than it should have, some grace or waning strength working to lay him gently on the ground.
I would have married Gael that very day, fearful as I was that some other calamity would prevent me, but the rulers of the north took it into their heads that a traditional wedding in Bunard would give them the opportunity to plan for an uncertain future. We dispersed the soldiers back to their kingdoms under the command of their captains—with the exception of Rymark, who insisted on gathering those few men of Owmead still able to wield a sword and march to the forest.
“Trust, but verify,” he said. I couldn’t fault his soldier’s wisdom.
Regent Cailin and Toria Deel prevailed upon Gael to allow them to plan our wedding ceremony in Bunard. I tried to make myself scarce as we journeyed north and west through signs of war. There, I took the only stand concerning the wedding that I refused to negotiate. Custos, a priest of the Merum order, would perform the ceremony. We resigned to wait until he could be brought from Cynestol with all speed.
In the interim, Bas-solas came and went. Bunard no longer celebrated the festival, but the eclipse of the sun passed without incident. No one went mad, and most of the citizens made their way to one of the four cathedrals below the tor to pray. I think they might have actually listened to the criers this time. The Clast was nowhere to be found.
Fall had begun to give way to winter, and Custos was still a week from Bunard, when a pounding at my door startled me. Bolt and Rory seldom knocked so loud, and they rarely let others approach me. Despite our victory over Atol, they continued their vigilance, concerned that some dwimor still lived to hunt the Vigil.
I opened the door to see Jeb filling the frame, a blond-haired girl clutching his oversized hand with one of hers. The other held a charcoal pencil and a dirty piece of parchment.
I heard the pop of knuckles and checked the distance between Jeb and my guards. “Cailin refused to let me go fight at the Darkwater,” he growled. “She said she’d have Aellyn taken from me even if I survived.” He shifted, and I took a step back. “You did that.” It wasn’t a question.
I shrugged. “I did. I wanted to make sure we won the peace if we won the war.”
Gael came up to put her arm around me.
“Ha! I heard you were getting married, Dura,” Jeb said. He gave Gael a leering glance. “I’m surprised to find you unoccupied.”
Gael smiled, and her eyes lightened to a startling blue. “What a charming suggestion. Thank you, chief reeve.”
Jeb grinned. “Not anymore. The title and the headaches that go with it belong to Gareth now. I’m just a shopkeeper.” He looked down at Aellyn. “I like not having to use my fists for a living.”
I followed his gaze, preparing myself for sorrow, when Aellyn lifted her head to peer at me. “Who’s this, Poppa?”
Jeb laughed at my expression. “An old friend, little one, and a better one than he knows.”
I knelt, amazed at her focused gaze. I had no wish to intrude on the mystery of her healing, so I didn’t touch her with my bare hands. “My name is Willet.”
She smiled as she turned to bury her face into Jeb’s leg. “She’s still a little shy, especially in crowds,” Jeb said. His gaze grew intense enough that I had to look away. “But I wanted her to know you, Dura.” He shifted on his feet as though he were about to leave when his arms shot out to catch me in a hug that threatened a few of my ribs. “Thank you . . . for both of us.”
Before I could say anything, he turned to Rory. “Watch after him. He’s worth it.” Then he left.
Rory laughed. “Now there’s a miracle right enough, yah?”
The door closed behind Jeb and Aellyn. “And more than one, I think.”
Toria Deel came to see me a few days later. By happenstance or design she found me alone in my rooms. Well, not precisely alone. Bolt and Rory still kept themselves close, playing ficheall while I read The History of Errants. Gael had absented herself with the excuse that she needed time away from me to put some of the finishing touches on our wedding plans.
“It’s just as well she’s not here,” Toria Deel said.
My hackles went up, and I braced myself for a familiar argument.
“Rest easy, Lord Dura. I have no intention of talking you out of your decision, but there are matters that need to be discussed, and the fewer people involved the better.”
“Such as?”
She sighed, still showing signs of a deep fatigue that all of us would carry for months. “Where to begin? Our crisis has passed, but the Vigil’s purpose remains.”
“To guard the forest,” I said. “We know more of its nature now, but what did we accomplish?”
She cocked her head at me. “Our world was a hairsbreadth from being destroyed, Lord Dura. Atol’s prison is intact, the forest has receded to its original boundaries, and for the first time in over a year we can say that no one in the north has a vault.”
“But all we’ve done is hold,” I said. “Is there no way to achieve victory?”
“You might as well ask if you can eradicate evil from the world,” she said. “Be careful, Lord Dura. Cesla’s thoughts ran in such directions as he grew older, and you have much in common with him already.”
She turned away before I could object to the comparison. “However, I must admit,” she continued, “that there are more problems coming out of our victory than I’d hoped. There is still the matter of the missing gift we’ve yet to find, and then there’s our larger concern.”
“The Fayit,” I said.
Toria nodded. “Our newfound ability to call them will certainly awaken ambitions among the kings and queens, if not with those we have now, then certainly with their descendents. On top of that, we still have the problem of the forest itself. The rumors of gold Cesla planted made deep roots, and we have exactly one sentinel.” Where Pellin would have paced the room, Toria simply stood and faced me. “The world is changing faster than we can manage it, Lord Dura.” Her gaze became painfully direct. “How do you wish to proceed?”
My unease grew until realization hit, then it changed to horror. “You want me to be Eldest?” I couldn’t seem to stop shaking my head. “Have you lost your mind?”
She tossed her wealth of dark hair and regarded me, her stare inscrutable. “That’s an interesting question, considering the source, but no, I don’t think I have. By tradition the most experienced member of the Vigil takes the title of Eldest, but there have been exceptions. I won’t elaborate on the reasons for my decision to refuse leadership. If you accept the title, you will, of course, have the right to know them, but not change them.”
“Let someone else do it,” I said.
She laughed at me. “You would place this burden on one of the others? They’re far too young.”
I gaped. “I’m thirty.”
“You have acquired centuries of experience,” Toria said.
I shook my head. “Well, aren’t I a lucky guy?” I ignored the barks of laughter that came from the ficheall board. “I don’t want it.”
Toria Deel blinked. “That is beside the point. You never wanted any of this.”
“There’s another reason,” I said.
Her expression said plainly that she thought I was stalling.
“I went for a walk last night.”
Her eyebrows communicated the depth of her unconcern. “What of it?”
I waited until she made the connection.
“Is this true?” she asked Bolt.
My guard nodded. “I followed him. We ended up near Braben’s. A merchant had a pointed disagreement with a footpad. The point found its way into his chest. By the time we got there, the city watch was already on the way.”
Toria Deel shrugged away my objection. “Then it’s part of who you are and has nothing to do with your vault.”
“I refuse.”
Rory laughed. “Ha! Refusing won’t do you much good if people bow and scrape while they call you Eldest and stand around waiting for you to tell them what to do.”
Toria Deel allowed herself to join Rory’s amusement. “He’s right, you know.”
In the end, I was beaten, though I did manage to wring a few concessions from her—the most important of which was to order Bolt to remain in my service until he’d trained guards for each of us. He tried to refuse, but I got the impression he objected more out of form than conviction.
When Toria turned to leave, I pulled a deep breath and called her name. “Before you go, there’s something I need to show you. A promise I made to . . . a friend.” The title didn’t quite fit, but I didn’t know what else to say. I held out my arm.
Toria looked at my bare skin, suspicious. “Is this a command, Eldest?”
I nodded, but just before she touched me I spoke again. “I’m sorry.”
Her gaze narrowed, but she reached out and rested her fingers on the back of my hand. I opened the door where I’d stored Volsk’s last memories and let them flow through the delve, watching as her eyes welled with the knowledge
of what he’d done. She pulled her hand away, blinking tears.
“You called him friend,” she accused.
“He saved Custos’s life,” I said. “That’s good enough for me.”
She nodded. “Perhaps I was hasty, comparing you to Cesla. It was more in Pellin’s nature to grant mercy and forgiveness to his enemies.” She curtsied, lingering before she rose and left.
A knot of distrust I’d been carrying for months loosened and disappeared. I turned from the door and made preparations for my wedding.
Toria Deel stood next to Fess, wishing she were someplace else. According to custom, the reception would be held before the ceremony. The throne room in Bunard was filled with too many people for her taste—and too many of the insincere—but the heads of the church had accompanied the kings to Bunard. Too many of the Vigil had fallen too quickly for the rulers of the clergy to feel comfortable. They needed a familiar face in which to find comfort, and Lord Dura, while familiar, rarely made those around him comfortable. Knots of red, brown, blue, and white marked the different orders of the church where they stood in the throne room, each leader with their personal attendants.
Even the new head of the Merum had come, leaving the basilica in Cynestol in a rare gesture of humility. Archbishop Serius stood in rich red robes next to Brid Teorian of the Servants, who wore her customary brown, and Hyldu, her Grace of the Absold, resplendent in blue. Collen, the head of the Vanguard, had died during the fighting in Frayel. Per his request, his body had been buried in sight of the forest. His successor, Gaberend, broad and a head taller than anyone present, save Cailin’s guards, managed to convey even more discomfort than Toria.
Fess stood at her side as the crowd milled about, waiting for the signal to take their places. He would never again be the carefree boy Bronwyn had apprenticed. His experiences precluded it, but his eyes were less guarded and he laughed easily now. As usual, he saw too much. Toria attributed this to a temperament of observation, which she found interesting, given that his talent lay so obviously with others.
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