Hope Betrayed: The Silent Tempest, Book 2

by E. J. Godwin

  A stinging flood gathered in his eyes. “Telai—”

  She placed a gloved hand over his lips. “I didn’t say I was leaving you. But if we’re to be together, you have to understand what that means.”

  “I know. We’ll be breaking the law. And I’ll probably get kicked out of the Raéni for it. But I’ll pay that price. I couldn’t live with myself if you changed who you are.” He bowed his head, trembling. “So I need to know for sure that—that you feel the same way about—”

  His voice refused to say the words. It had to come from her, or it meant nothing.

  “Look at me, Caleb,” she whispered.

  Slowly, he obeyed. The silent plea in her eyes conquered him—a plea for salvation equally as desperate as his own. They drew close. Her lips pressed against his. Down, down he fell into a joy almost painful in its intensity, locking his heart in a prison of gold.

  In time she pulled away and slapped him on the chest with the back of her hand. “You’re not keeping very good watch.”

  He chuckled. His smile faded as she traced the path of a tear on his face. “I’d never want to lose you, Telai. But if my exile becomes permanent—”

  “Caleb! I can accept what you did for Warren. What I won’t abide is your making decisions for me only to ease your conscience.”

  He blinked at her in awe. She never failed to see through his defenses.

  “Anyway, the damage is done already,” she added. “The other Loremasters aren’t very happy with me.”

  “Because you left Ekendoré?”

  “Partly,” she said, and glanced back at the trees. “There’s something else I’ve been meaning to tell you.” She let out a little laugh. “Here I am criticizing you for your secrets, when I’ve been keeping one of my own before I even met you. But you mustn’t speak of this to anyone, especially Soren.”

  Caleb, both fascinated and a little fearful, agreed with a slow nod.

  Telai brought her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. “The first command of the Oath is to subdue all the enemies of Ada to the uttermost parts of the world. What is not so well known is who first said those words.”

  “I thought it was Etrenga. Ressolc certainly drilled that into me!”

  “No. She only wrote those words—or at least most of them. I’m fairly sure the part about Kseleksten is her invention. About five years ago, I found an ancient letter in an old prison chamber deep under Léiff, our first fortified dwelling. It was faded almost beyond recognition. But we’ve developed certain arts to restore old documents, which I use on occasion when something like this shows up.”

  “You were able to read it, then?”

  “Nearly all of it,” she answered, “which is remarkable for anything left to rot for eight hundred years. The perpetual cold of a dungeon at high altitude had a lot to do with it, I think.”

  “What was it about?”

  “Just a love letter. It was written by a man who had been a guard at the fortress. Apparently he was a prisoner when he wrote it, so it was never sent. And though the letter doesn’t mention his crime, I can make a pretty good guess: treason.”

  Caleb felt an irreverent urge to laugh. “What could a prisoner’s love letter possibly have to do with the Oath?”

  The look she gave him!—not with the eyes of the woman he loved, but of a scholar at someone’s ignorance. It triggered not only his admiration, but an inexplicable wave of passion.

  “Personal documents are often the most valuable, Caleb. Sacred books and honored scrolls only skim the surface of history. Even a glimpse into a condemned man’s life can open up a whole new line of thought.”

  “Such as?”

  “Her name was Algien.”

  Caleb paused. “Isn’t that—”

  “—Yes,” she said. “A Hodyn name.”

  His jaw dropped. “A Raén in love with a Hodyn woman?”

  “The Raéni hadn’t been established yet, at least not formally. But I think you know now why I’ve been so reluctant to come out with this.”

  “Yes! But I still don’t understand how it relates to the Oath. After all, this is only one man’s perversion, as some might call it.”

  “I thought so, too, at first. And it would have stopped there, if the letter hadn’t ended in a little phrase I almost missed.

  “Most of it was a bit too flowery for my tastes,” she continued. “But he finished it with this: If only we could roll back the years to when our love would have flourished in the open sun.”

  Caleb digested this. “A little hard to explain, considering what I know about early Adan history.”

  “Yes. And for a long time I tried to dismiss it, thinking I had misread it. The language was a little archaic. Maybe he was only saying how things would be if they had met before the Adaiani arrived. But it kept nagging me. So I started digging deeper, both at Léiff and at Spierel—its sister fortress, if you remember.”

  “I do, believe it or not. A lousy student doesn’t mean a lousy instructor.”

  “An ornery one sometimes—maybe because of what I was obliged to teach you. In any case, I searched for months for any kind of clue that might help. I even went abroad a few times. But I found nothing.”

  “Sometimes I think you’re teasing me, Telai. Remember, I wasn’t raised here. You don’t need all this preamble.”

  “All right. What I had been searching for was right under my nose.”

  Caleb smiled. “Right there at Gerentesk. And you didn’t even realize it.”

  “What! You think I’ve memorized every book and parchment?” Caleb held out his hands in tacit apology, and she shrugged. “I guess I’m a little upset with myself for having missed it all these years. Anyway, you may remember Obald, the last Prophet in Ada. He was never considered to be of much consequence, since a lot of his writing wasn’t even his own—just copied from each generation of scribes from the first days of Ada.”

  Caleb nodded emphatically. “You discovered that the Hodyn and the Adaiani weren’t enemies at the start.”

  “Yes! It was late in the year when our people first settled the fertile lands to the south along the Quayen. We nearly starved to death the following winter. If Obald’s words are to be trusted, the only way we survived was with the help of the Hodyn. Afterward they formed an alliance, and swore to defend each other against any threat of war or famine.”

  She rose and took a few steps toward the rolling grassland, then faced him. “Caleb, the Oath was first sworn by the Adaiani and the Hodyn together—a vow to protect each other.”

  “Incredible. And you’re sure about this?”

  “My own doubts aren’t the problem. I’m going to need a lot more than a few obscure passages to support my case. This is Etrenga we’re talking about! Can you imagine the reaction?”

  “Vividly. I’m glad Soren didn’t run across anything like this when he raided the Prophets’ archives.”

  She nodded, eyes widening.

  “Does anyone else know?”

  “Only Yoté at first. Then I went straight to the top.”

  “Garda? You told her?”

  “What else could I do? I can’t shoulder a secret like this by myself.”

  “True. And the Overseer being your mother smoothed the way a little, I think.”

  She seemed on the verge of another retort. Then she relaxed. “You’re right, of course. I knew I could trust her to keep it quiet.”

  “Obviously she has, up until now. But does she intend to reveal it someday? Or is that up to you if you become Overseer?”

  “What? Me?”

  “Um—I just assumed that being her daughter—”

  “No. Ancient law prevents her from choosing a close family member as successor. But it wouldn’t matter. If my mother came out with all this it would end her rule. Or if I revealed it, it would end my career, such as it is. Or soon will be.” He cringed slightly, and Telai placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

  Caleb cou
ldn’t resist. “Tripping over your words—at least we have something in common.” He stood and held her close. “You can count on my help, Telai, for whatever it’s worth.”

  She gave him a quick kiss. “It’s worth a lot to me. I do love you—just in case you’re still unclear about that,” she added, staring.

  “I thought you hated sappy words.”

  She rapped her knuckles on his head. “What I hate is having to use them to get through that thick skull of yours!”

  Caleb rubbed his scalp, wincing. “Message received and understood.”

  They walked back to the campsite. Knowing how persistent Soren could be, Caleb feared he might perceive some subtle change and discover Telai’s secret. But Soren abruptly dismissed his worries.

  “Such wonderful dedication to duty—offering to keep watch, when all you wanted to watch was her,” he said, jabbing his finger at Telai.

  She burst out laughing. Caleb’s cheeks flamed, and Soren walked over and slapped him on the shoulder, grinning.

  10

  Sires and Swords

  I woke up one morning

  to see my father’s eyes in the mirror.

  - from a letter believed written by Grondolos.

  THE SIGHT OF Warren’s empty blankets the next morning cleared Caleb’s grogginess in an instant. He scanned the campsite, the memory of an unoccupied chair on the bridge driving his panic like a lingering nightmare.

  Soren sat cooking their breakfast, while Telai rolled up her blankets, unperturbed. Caleb shook his head at his paranoia, then sat up, groaning at his stiff back.

  “Where’s Warren?”

  “Somewhere out by the edge of the forest,” Soren answered. “Get him, will you? We have a long way to go, and there’s a look of snow in the sky.”

  Caleb started to rise, but halted at a soft touch on his arm.

  “You should talk to him,” Telai murmured.

  “Why? What’s wrong?”

  She kept her head lowered as she finished packing. “You need to talk to him about us.”

  “He didn’t say anything … rude to you, did he?”

  “For Orand’s sake, no! Go, while you still have time.”

  “A little time,” Soren corrected.

  Caleb started toward the forest edge, kicking up cloud of leaves now and then to work off a lingering resentment. Strange how forgiving he was of the Master Raén’s impatience now.

  He found Warren on the same stone, his knees drawn up like Telai had done. But when Caleb drew near he straightened to a more formal posture, his eyes fixed on the stone beneath. Caleb stood to his right, hands shoved in his pockets, struggling to purge the ache from his heart as he cast his sight to the gray horizon.

  “Soren wants us back at the campsite as soon as possible,” he said. Warren started to get up, but Caleb added, “He’s going to have to wait.”

  The boy settled back again. “He’s a lot like Grandpa.”

  “A little. One difference, though: your Grandpa wasn’t so calm about it when he found out I was going to be his son-in-law.”

  “Are you saying—”

  “Yes,” Caleb answered. “Soren’s her father. She told me last night, while you were sleeping and he was out keeping watch. But you’re not to mention this to anyone, not even him.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know yet. She said she’ll tell me when the time is right.” He paused a moment, and Warren resumed his study of the rock. “But that’s not why I came out here. I’m worried that you’ll hate her because … well, because she and I— ”

  “I don’t hate her.”

  “Well, um … that’s good. At least there’ll be somebody around to get you to clean your room.”

  His clumsy attempt at humor only earned a shrug. It stung, but he kept himself under tight control. “At least try to remember this: no matter how much I love Telai, I’ll never forget the woman who brought you into my life.”

  Caleb waited, but there was no response. “I’ll see you at camp,” he said, and trudged his way back to the woods, stumbling as he went. He would rather suffer another bout of Warren’s blows than his silence.

  Soren said nothing about wasting time. Telai sat transfixed by the fire, her face blotched and eyes swollen from crying. A plate of food lay unfinished on her lap. Caleb froze, then sat beside her to eat his breakfast. He knew better than to ask about it.

  Warren joined them shortly after, keeping his head lowered for a while before offering Telai a hesitant smile. She returned it, but it was forced and short-lived. After a moment she flung the rest of her meal into the flames and rose to finish packing.

  ♦

  The gray skies brightened, and Soren led the way out from the forest, riding along the lower parts of the terrain or in the shadows of small groves. Caleb didn’t need to ask the reason for his caution: they were approaching Gegré-Enilií, a well-traveled road out of Sintel from the south. But when the road finally appeared it lay empty from horizon to horizon, and they hurried across without incident.

  For most of the day they made good progress, riding east across the high plain of Agrin while Illvent loomed ever higher on their right. In the late afternoon a light snow began blowing in from the northeast, and it soon intensified, driving needle-like flakes into the exposed skin of their faces. They took shelter in a cheerless knot of ragged pines; though it protected them well enough, Soren’s brow lined with worry at a darkening sky above the snow-plastered trees.

  The morning proved his fears well-founded. They woke to only a thin layer of snow on their blankets, but it was much deeper out in the open. Though the storm showed no signs of abating they started as soon as it was light enough, hoping to travel as far as possible while they could.

  Caleb rode alongside Soren for a moment, the others following in single file. “Isn’t it a bit early for this?” he shouted, enduring the full brunt of the wind.

  “A little. But it’s nothing like how it gets later on, especially up by Enilií. Travel by horse is impossible. It’s no accident that sledding was invented there.”

  “Dog sledding?”

  “Yes. Normally I would have seen to it that you were trained in such things by now.”

  The long hours passed. The storm finally tapered off; the clouds thinned, and the landscape brightened to a featureless white. At times they had no choice but to plow through the deeper drifts to get to the next stretch of higher ground. Telai had secured a large supply of grain for their horses, for it was foolish to venture out this time of year without it. But it only increased the already wearisome burden of the snow.

  The sun broke through, transforming the rolling hills into a gleaming white panorama. There were no roads, no ranches, no farms. Even those who scoffed at superstition knew better than to try to sell any crops or livestock raised near Illvent. It rose directly to the south now, a great white cone floating above the haze like a cloud, a dramatic change from what Caleb had seen from the edge of Tratirené.

  Once their horses began stumbling through the drifts, the Master Raén called a halt. They camped in a dense grove along the banks of the Upper Lent, not far from where Telai had first seen Caleb’s ship streak across the sky.

  Stars emerged in the latticed canopy above; Caleb, his bloodshot eyes still watering from the day’s brilliance, stirred a pot of gytorgva, a spiced stew of lentils and salted pork. “Sure is nice to have a hot meal after a ride like that.”

  “We’ve got another tough ride ahead of us,” said Soren, who sat on a log opposite the fire, sharpening his sword. “Eat your fill tonight, and feed the horses well.”

  “Shouldn’t we let them rest tomorrow?” Telai asked as she dug packed snow out of Eiveya’s hooves. “Caleb’s is drooping, and the other two aren’t exactly chipper.”

  “We’ll manage,” Soren answered. “Caleb Stenger can swap horses with Warren to give his own a break, and if mine is too tired, Eiveya can carry both you and the boy. I’m not about to linger around this close to
Illvent.”

  Telai let Eiveya’s hoof fall and straightened with a groan, hand pressed against her back. “Either you’re getting bigger, or I’m getting too old for this.”

  “Dad, is that stew ready? I’m starving.”

  “We talked about this, Warren. It’s not polite to speak English around the others. Besides, you need the practice.”

  Warren concentrated for a moment. “I ask for food be done. Now is time?”

  Caleb fought down a smirk. “Almost.”

  “Warren!” Soren barked. “The child of a Raén is never idle.”

  “He’s right,” Caleb said. “You should be learning more than their language.”

  Soren waved the boy over, and Warren approached, his steps cautious. “You teach?”

  “How to sharpen a knife. No different than a sword,” Soren answered, speaking in slow, short sentences. He dipped a large whetstone into a pan of water at his feet, then returned it to a flat section of log he had chiseled away. The boy sat close, his fascination growing as Soren drew the blade’s edge across the stone in long, never-varying strokes. “Move the sword, never the stone. Keep it wet. Don’t press hard.”

  “How long?”

  “It’s not about how long. It’s the way it moves across the stone. You’ll feel when it’s sharp enough.”

  Warren scanned the length of the sword. “Cool,” he whispered.

  “What?”

  Warren scrunched his face. “Um, sorry. Wonder saying of marks.”

  Soren paused between strokes. “I still don’t understand.”

  Warren ran his fingers over the engraved runes, careful not to touch the polished surface. “What say?”

  The old man nodded. “A few words in Urmanayan, nothing more.” The boy hunched his shoulders and clasped his hands between his knees.

  “Can’t you translate?” Caleb asked, Warren’s disappointment stoking his anger. “Or is it too personal?”

  Soren fired a cold stare at him, then at his son. Suddenly he presented the hilt of his sword. “Take to father.”

  Warren’s mouth fell. “It’s all right,” said Caleb in English, making sure he understood. “Just be careful—that edge will slice your fingers off before you know it.”