Slipping the chest into one of his coat pockets, he restored the book and the drawer to their original state before leaving the suite via the same window he'd used to enter. Rather than return to street level, he climbed to the rooftop. He'd just reached the top when he heard a greeting.
"Hello, friend."
Ensel Rhe drew his khatesh. From behind the roof's access enclosure, the speaker revealed himself. Right away, Ensel Rhe saw he was not human, but something else.
"Krill," Ensel Rhe said.
Panther-dark, with whiskered face and claw-tipped fingers, he was dressed in the finery of the well-to-do: a high-collared dark jacket made of velvet over a burgundy vest, with a patterned tie around his neck. Tailored trousers covered him from the waist down, but the claws and fur on his feet remained revealed as he wore no shoes. Green cat eyes met Ensel Rhe's as the krill spoke with liquid smoothness, the words congenial and tinged with amusement.
"And you, my friend, are eslar."
Ensel Rhe noted no visible weapons on him, though any number might be concealed beneath his jacket. However, if he meant violence, he'd likely have already attempted something. Krill were masters of stealth, as well as the sword. Still, Ensel Rhe possessed heightened senses, and so he wondered at how he'd not detected the krill's presence long before he'd heard him.
"Strange," Ensel Rhe said, "that you were able to lie in wait, with me none the wiser."
"Not strange at all," the krill said, "for few amongst my people are as well-versed in the art of subterfuge as I." He hooked thumbs into his belt. "If I had wanted, I could have killed you before you'd ever known I was here."
"Is that so?" Ensel Rhe shot his sword back into its sheath. "You may excel at sneaking, but your powers of observation leave much to be desired. Turn your senses away from appreciating yourself for a moment, and instead focus them upon me. Tell me what you sense."
The krill obliged him, gaze narrowing in concentration. After a moment of such scrutiny, his cat eyes went wide and lips pulled back to reveal fangs. "What trickery is this?"
"No trickery."
"But...you are sinjee!"
"Yes."
"But... You cannot be!"
"Yet, I am."
The krill had nothing to say to that. Finally, he asked, "Who was your roshi?"
"Yuma."
A lift of the krill's chin and a sudden intake of breath signified his recognition of the master's name. "You are that eslar?"
Ensel Rhe let his silence answer for him.
Then the krill did something utterly against the character he'd demonstrated thus far: he stood straight and formal, with arms extended at his sides and chin lowered to his chest. Then he bowed. Not a halfhearted gesture, but a full bend at the waist which lasted several long seconds. When he straightened, his gaze remained pointed at Ensel Rhe's feet.
"I beg your forgiveness, sinjee-ka. I did not know."
"Never make assumptions about your enemy," Ensel Rhe said, reciting the old sinjee mantra. "Always expect the unexpected."
"Yes, sinjee-ka," the krill said with genuine sincerity.
"My name is Ensel Rhe. You may call me by it."
The krill bobbed his head in acknowledgement. His eyes rose to meet Ensel Rhe's. "I am Gerwyn."
"Just Gerwyn?"
Gerwyn sniffed. "The remainder of my name was stripped from me when I was exiled from my home." He eyed the eslar expectantly. When Ensel Rhe made no reaction, Gerwyn said, "This does not trouble you?"
"Why should it?"
"You may not be krill, but you are sinjee. Those of the caste always look upon ones such as I with scorn."
"I do not share in such prejudices." He said nothing about being an exile himself. "But I would ask... You are not sinjee, but you've something about you which I cannot quite place. Explain this."
"You are correct. I am not sinjee, for once a sinjee, always a sinjee. But I trained with them for many years. At the end, though, I refused the final test. It was, quite literally, a door I was unwilling to pass through, and the reason for my banishment."
The final test. The rite of initiation. Not everyone survived the training long enough to take it. Fewer survived the test itself. Ensel Rhe held nothing against Gerwyn for choosing a different path. The final test was not for everyone. Also, it was a road from which there was no return.
"Tell me, Gerwyn, why you loiter here. Were you waiting for me?"
Gerwyn responded without hesitation. "Yes. I watched you enter my employer's room."
"Your employer? You work for Ingrid Kane?" Too late Ensel Rhe realized his slip.
"Ah, so you do know the lady. I suspected as much."
Still, Ensel Rhe doubted he knew the nature of their connection or their history. "What will you do? Report my presence to your mistress?"
Gerwyn considered the question. "That depends entirely on the reason you give for having violated her sanctuary. Ours is a business relationship. It is my duty as master-at-arms to guard her interests. But, if your presence in her room was only common thievery and you've taken nothing of importance, then I don't see the need to—"
Ensel Rhe withdrew the chest from his coat. "I have taken this. Do you know what is inside?"
Gerwyn studied it from his current distance. "No. I've never seen it before."
"Then ignorance is your salvation, Gerwyn, for if you'd any knowledge of the diablerie Ingrid is hatching here, I'd kill you now and be done with it. Listen, and listen carefully. My connection to your employer is personal. I suggest you do not come between us. It will not go well for you if you do."
Gerwyn acknowledged the warning with a nod. "Be that as it may, I am entered into her employment and thus I am obligated to do exactly that, should the need arise. I do not wish to come to blows, sinjee-ka, but I have my honor too."
Ensel Rhe offered a nod of his own, for he found no fault with the krill's logic. He also knew there would be no hesitation on his part if and when the time came.
"I am taking the chest," Ensel Rhe said, emphasizing his intention by returning it to his jacket pocket. "I will know what is inside. If it proves harmless, I shall return it to you."
"And if it does not?"
"Then prepare to defend your employer, for I shall be coming for her."
"The conviction in your voice tells me you will be coming regardless. Still, I will grant you a consideration. When my employer discovers the chest missing...it will not go well for me. But, for now, I will tell her nothing more than a story of petty thievery."
Ensel Rhe bent at the waist in a partial bow. "You do me honor."
Gerwyn returned the gesture.
Their encounter concluded, Ensel Rhe left The Silver Fox's rooftop behind by leaping to the next building over. He did not look back, but still he felt the krill's cat eyes watching him.
3. A Funeral
SERENA STOOD NEXT TO AARON on a balcony overlooking the palace's northeastern square. Beneath them, the funerary procession began to emerge from the palace's main gate, as an octet of royal horsemen, decked out in yellow and blue livery with ivory caparison draped over their mounts and golden spears pointed heavenward, rode out in pairs. Immediately following the riders was a formation of foot soldiers dressed in similar colors, except these had golden-hilted swords at their belts and golden shields held at the ready. Both horse and foot soldiers wore silver-coned helmets tipped with purple or blue feathers, the metallic surfaces of which might have shone if not for the somberness of the clouds above. Inside the square, a silent crowd, bisected at their center by a wide, open lane, awaited the soldiers.
"The Vanguard of the Dead," Serena said in a whisper to Aaron. She leaned closer so she didn't disturb the others sharing the balcony with them. "They guide Lord Nicholas and Lady Deidre into the afterlife. The spears and swords—the golden spears and swords—are the weapons they will use to fight their way back out, for 'those of the Vanguard are still alive and so must return to the land of the living.' That's how the story goes, an
yway."
"The Saga of Syperion," Aaron whispered back, "when King Bacharia was laid to rest."
"We're the only fiefdom which continues the tradition, as far as I know."
A solitary figure followed the Vanguard. Though he wore the purple and blue of Brighton in the form of a sash hanging from one shoulder, he had it draped over a white surcoat which bore another mark too small to make out. Serena, who'd kept her ears open to the rumormongers buzzing about since leaving her room, knew it was the crest of neighboring Agratis. A buck with antlered head held high, the man who bore the proud symbol was not the Baron of Agratis, for though Lord Malcolm was Nicholas's brother and therefore Phillip's uncle, he hadn't come. A decade ago, a falling out between the two brothers had nearly embroiled their respective baronies in an all-out war. It hadn't come to that, but Malcolm had sworn afterwards to never set foot in the barony of Rulana again. Not as long as Nicholas still breathed, leastwise. But, with the earl now dead, still Lord Malcolm had declined to come, sending instead his field marshal. On the surface, Field Marshal Chandler was here to pay his respects the same as everyone. But rumor had it he'd also arrived with an ultimatum for Lord Phillip: surrender the earldom or prepare to lose it in battle. Serena had no idea if such talk was true. All three of Kettering's baronies had always had open trade with one another, and therefore amicable business relations. While the feud between brothers cast a shadow over the earldom, except for that brief period when everyone thought war was imminent, it had never been a dark enough shadow to halt lumber from coming down the Silvercross into Brighton in exchange for the city's gold. Still, by not showing for his brother's funeral, Lord Malcolm had made a statement. Trouble was coming from Agratis, sooner or later.
But, for now, Field Marshal Chandler held a place of honor in the ceremony, for he led the way for the deceased. Laid on open carriages, their flower-wreathed coffins were each drawn by a single destrier and led double-file so they might enter the afterlife together. Another group of footmen followed. They were the last of the colorful Vanguard, for the coach to emerge next was a muted display of black. This carriage, which carried the earl-in-waiting, Lord Phillip, was pulled by a team of four horses managed by a pair of wagoners dressed in dark suits and hats. The carriage moved at the slow pace set by the Vanguard. Halfway through the square, it abruptly stopped.
A collective murmur, risen up from the assembled citizenry below, was joined by a similar buzz from those on the balcony. The captains of the Vanguard, who slowed and then stopped as they noticed the delay, seemed as perplexed as everyone else. When one of the coach's doors opened, chatter ceased. Everyone watched as Lord Phillip stepped out and started to walk toward the front of the procession. He stopped along the way to touch each of the caskets. As soon as he reached the head of the first group of footmen, he initiated an exchange with one of the soldiers there. The soldier bowed to his lord before he handed over his golden sword and shield. The soldier stepped away, and Lord Phillip took his place. Silent no longer, the crowd broke out into whispered murmurs of approval at the gesture. He'd lead his parents into the Land of the Dead himself, then fight his way back out, shoulder-to-shoulder with the men he commanded.
Serena wasn't immune to this show of respect. This was her city and Lord Phillip her liege now. Aaron's too, since Taloo and Norwynne as well were both part of Kettering, though she doubted he felt the same pride. Aaron was an outlier, living at the fringes of the earldom where the earl's influence was felt the least. Most outliers—Aaron included—had never even seen their earl. But Serena had. Never face-to-face, but she'd seen the Lord and Lady of Kettering while attending at least two palace events, and Lord Phillip too, though she'd been just one of so many others she doubted he remembered greeting her. Like many others, she'd had a childhood infatuation with him. Seeing him now stirred some of those feelings. She doubted she was the only one. Phillip had always been Brighton's favorite son. Boys idolized him, girls swooned over him, and adults respected him because they fancied him cut from the same cloth as his father. Now, with just a single act, Lord Phillip might have just made this belief concrete.
As the procession got underway again, Serena's gaze wandered to the city. No repair work was happening today, though buildings, towers, and streets sorely needed it after the events of a week ago. The epicenter, where Shanna had raised her mountain and joined the Four Elements, was so far away, yet its destructive power had been felt even here. So much power, but wielded by one with so little self-control. Master sorcerers never embraced such power so quickly for a reason. Sorcery required discipline of the mind and body, controlled thought, and an ability to concentrate one's will, sometimes learned over a lifetime of study and mental exercise. There were no shortcuts. Serena had been taught this fundamental tenet early on by her first master and then by Ansanom, who'd not made the best example when he chose to throw away such considerations in his mad attempt at gaining mastery over the Elements. Two years of tutelage under him had not been what she expected. The strict regime, yes. The murdering and experimentation upon innocents, not so much. She'd never killed anyone herself, though, or assisted in any of the wizard's life-draining experiments. But she'd also not done anything to stop them. Not until Aaron had come along. But, for all the downsides, her regular studies had progressed well. She had to admit she'd learned a lot from Ansanom. Her knowledge had grown. Her discipline and control had increased. Also, as long as her daily duties had been completed and she progressed in her lessons, Ansanom had left her alone to indulge in her own experiments. She hadn't devised anything worthwhile, but that didn't matter. Sometimes it was about the journey and not the destination. She'd even enjoyed Wildemoore's quiet solitude for a time, though after a while the isolation wore at her until she found herself looking forward even to Ensel Rhe's brief visits. She'd had to do all the talking with him, of course, but at least he had been someone else to speak with. Now, however, she had an entire city of people just waiting for her to strike up a conversation. Too bad most would want nothing to do with her once they realized who she was. More likely they'd try to run her out of the city.
Serena's gaze went to the other side of the balcony where a group of girls about her age whispered to one another while they cast furtive glances her way. Serena sighed, looking away lest they catch her returning their stares. If they'd recognized her so easily, then others probably had as well. She might as well go pack her bags now and make ready to leave. She'd not really wanted to come back to Brighton anyway. But, once they'd learned Kirschnick had closed their gates to any more refugees, there'd been little choice. The Dormont's woodland villages and hamlets were not capable of accommodating all of them, and there was no other nearby city other than Brighton. If she'd seemed downtrodden at the notion of coming home, she didn't think anyone had noticed. Most people had been too preoccupied by the prospect of a roof over their heads and a hot meal. Those had sounded pretty good to Serena as well, for no one had so welcomed a hot bath and the opportunity to wash a week's worth of traveling from her hair more than she. A warm room, clean clothes, and a real bed. They were luxuries she'd almost given up hope of ever having again. Chane, true to his word, had brought many of her outfits from home. Of course, nothing had fit at first. The clothes from her wardrobe were for a girl of thirteen. Now fifteen, she was a girl no longer, but a young woman. Chane, with his usual foresightedness, had taken this into consideration, for with him came a trio of tailors. They stayed until she had enough outfits for several days, which provided more than enough time for her to go shopping and left her quite happy with the dress she now wore. Black to fit the occasion, it was simple but elegant in its own way, with embroidery running the length of the arms and around the waist. If not for her heels, its end would sweep the floor. Though Chane had wanted to have her hair done, there wasn't time, and so she wore it long and straight, which was just fine with her. Chane had made a fuss over it, but that was just his way. Dear Chane, who had always been like a father. Even though he'd come
to visit her at Wildemoore at regular intervals, she'd missed him. Growing up, when her father had been too busy with his work or her mother too engrossed in how to raise their family's stature on Brighton's social ladder, Chane had been there. When she'd fallen and scraped a knee, Chane had picked her up and held her until the pain had stopped. When she'd had trouble with her early schooling, Chane had made time to help her. When first she'd shown an aptitude for sorcery, Chane had been the one who encouraged her and finally convinced her parents to finance her apprenticeship, first to Master Persimmius here in the city and later, to Ansanom. If any of that had been left to her parents, she knew her life would have taken a completely different path, and she'd have become an entirely different person.
Serena shivered as a cool breeze swept across the balcony. The morning had started with fall's typical coolness. But where the sun had at least kept them warm while they approached the city, now, with its warming rays blocked by clouds, the day had grown chilly. Serena already had a shawl wrapped about her shoulders. It didn't help much. She moved closer to Aaron for warmth. He didn't complain, but neither did he seem to notice. He'd barely taken his eyes off the procession since it started.
The Nullification Engine (The Alchemancer: Book Two) Page 5