A murmur of agreement rose from nearly all of the dwarren gathered, although it wasn’t as hostile as the Archon’s words.
Colin sighed. “Because the Summer Tree is failing.”
A few of the dwarren cried out, one of them leaping to his feet, his figure vague in the thick smoke. Colin saw Clan Chief Asazi nodding, his eyes dour. Broken Waters had already been affected by the failure; he had likely suspected it before he had arrived.
“What do you mean the Summer Tree is failing?” the Cochen asked, a tremor behind the grave words.
“The Seasonal Trees were created to hold the urannen and the other creatures of the Turning at bay, a barrier they could not cross, but they were not intended to last forever, only long enough for us to find a defense against them.And they were not intended to withstand an assault.”
The head shamans suddenly leaned forward as the words sank in.
“What kind of assault?” Quotl asked, drawing on his pipe.
“One that I believe has been organized by the Wraiths.” He glanced around the dim, smoky keeva. “You have all witnessed the abrupt return of the unnatural storms on the plains and the resurgence of the occumaen.”
At a few confused looks,Quotl said,“The Eyes of Septimic.”
“The reason these have returned is because the Wraiths have reawakened a massive Well somewhere in the east, somewhere in the Thalloran Wastelands from what I can determine. They are using the power of this Well to assault the barrier provided by the Seasonal Trees. I touched the Summer Tree before the Gathering and I have learned that their assault has pushed the barrier within the boundaries of the dwarren plains.”
“How far into the plains?” the Cochen demanded.
“Far enough that if Corranu sends the dwarren to meet this army coming from the Thalloran Wastelands, he will not be protected by the Summer Tree. But there is more. The assault is not on the Summer Tree alone. The Wraiths have also targeted the Autumn Tree and the human Provinces to the south. They are driving a wedge between the two Trees, separating them at their weakest point, where the two merge. This threat is not strictly a dwarren threat. It encompasses all three races—dwarren, human, and Alvritshai. In fact, I believe that one of the two armies is headed toward the human Province of Temeritt, even as the other heads here.”
Arguments broke out on all sides in the rough, guttural language of the dwarren as the consequences of the Summer Tree’s failure began to take hold.As Colin settled back, Eraeth leaned closer and said forcefully,“We must get word of this to the Evant.”
“And the Order,” added Siobhaen from across Eraeth’s body. Eraeth had been translating as much as he could of the discussion.“The Chosen must know,so that he can prepare the Order if the Winter Tree fails!”
Colin nodded.“I know.I’m hoping that the dwarren will see the significance of this and abide by the Accord and send word themselves. Otherwise, I’m not certain how we will let them know.” He caught their gazes. “Unless one of you is willing to return on your own to warn them.”
Eraeth and Siobhaen cast each other heated glares. Colin knew that Eraeth would not leave him alone with Siobhaen; he still did not trust her. And he knew Eraeth would not trust Siobhaen to deliver the message. He didn’t know what kept Siobhaen at his side—a sense of duty to Lotaern, or a sense of guilt over what had happened in the White Wastes—but he doubted she would leave him now after traveling this far.
“What about you?” Eraeth said abruptly. “You could travel to Caercaern and forewarn the Evant and then return in far less time than it would take one of us to reach them ourselves.”
“I could, but it would still require days of travel and I would return exhausted. I don’t think the dwarren or the human Provinces have such time to spare.You heard Asazi. The Wraiths are moving now. If the dwarren or the humans are to have any chance of stopping them, we need to act now. And there is something that only I can do to help them.”
Before Eraeth could ask what, the Cochen stood and bellowed, “Enough!” cutting all of the arguments off. He glared around at those gathered, the scars on his face highlighted by the pulsing reddish light of the fi re pit as he spoke. He focused his attention on Colin.
“You say that the Summer Tree is failing, Shadowed One.” His voice throbbed with the weight of the Cochen. “What, then, can we do to fight these armies?”
Colin stood, barely able to fit within the keeva without hunching forward. He scanned all of the dwarren gathered. “You must fight them on the grasses of the plains.You must take your Riders and meet them head on, before the Summer Tree weakens so much that they are upon your doorstep, within your warrens or even here, at the Sacred Waters. You must battle them with ax and sword and spear, with the blood of your Riders and their gaezels, protecting the Lands that you were sworn to protect ages past. And you must honor the Accord that you signed with the Alvritshai and humans.You must call them to action to aid you against this threat, as the treaty proclaims.”
The entire group began to murmur among themselves, but the Cochen’s gaze did not waver. “And what of you? What will you do to face this threat?”
Colin smiled, his eyes fl ashing grimly. “I will fi nd this Well the Wraiths have awakened and halt the attacks on the Seasonal Trees.”
COLIN BLINKED AND RAISED a hand to shield his eyes from the glaring sunlight as he, Eraeth, and Siobhaen emerged from the tunnel opening onto the eastern plains of dwarren territory. He pulled his horse to a halt, Eraeth and Siobhaen doing the same behind him, the animal tossing its head and prancing. He released the reins to allow it to crop at the mid-spring grasses. To the east, the grassland was broken by variegated red layers of stone outcroppings and mesas, the distinguishing feature of Painted Sands land. The reddish stone would increase in frequency, until the grassland gave way to a harsh landscape of stone, scrub, and sand of every color imaginable, finally falling into the wastelands beyond.
“Aielan’s Light,” Siobhaen gasped, throwing her head and arms backtosoakin the sunlight.“I neverthoughtI’dsee the sun again. How long were we traveling underground?”
Colin smiled. “Nearly a month.”
Siobhaen reached back to loosen her long black hair from the cord that tied it away from her face. She shook her head with a scowl. “I don’t understand how they can live that way.”
“The Alvritshai used to live within the mountains beneath Caercaern and along the Hauttaeren.”
Siobhaen snorted.“Because we were driven there by the glaciers and the harsh winters in the north. We didn’t live there by choice, and we didn’t live there all year. Look at all of this land they aren’t using!”
Colin glanced around, then dismounted. “This land is what they were sworn to protect.They do use some of it—for farming and such—and they have set aside portions of it for trade, but no, they don’t use the rest of it. It’s sacred to them.”
Siobhaen shook her head. “I still don’t understand.”
“You weren’t raised with the dwarren beliefs,” Eraeth said, following Colin’s lead and dismounting, allowing his horse to graze. “Should we rest here before continuing?”
Colin grinned. “A moment to enjoy the sun would do us all good, I think.”
Eraeth pulled some dried meat from his packs and passed it around, Siobhaen lying down in the grass to soak up the sun, eyes closed. Colin took his staff and moved off to one side,scanning the southern horizon.The black clouds of a storm could be seen there, too distant to be threatening, moving away from them.
“Do you think the Cochen will send a warning to the Alvritshai and the Provinces as he said he would?” Eraeth asked as he halted next to Colin and handed him a strip of the meat.
“Yes. The dwarren take their vows seriously. Look at how long they’ve protected the Lands they were given. When they signed the Accord, they were the only ones who truly meant to keep its word to the letter. I suspect that a group of dwarren has already been dispatched to Caercaern and Corsair, sent before the gathered a
rmy headed toward the east.” He motioned toward the storm, a flare of lightning brightening the clouds for a moment. “That is what truly concerns me.”
“We’ve dealt with those storms before.”
Colin shook his head. “No, not the storm. What it portends. The Wraiths are using the Source to target both the Summer Tree and the Autumn Tree, and the Autumn Tree is in Temeritt, far from Corsair.”
“Then the dwarren should send a warning to Temeritt and whatever GreatLord rules there.”
Colin nodded. “I urged Cochen Oraju to do that, and he said he would. But I’m afraid the warning may come too late.”
“Should we try to warn them ourselves?”
“We don’t have time.The dwarren and the Provinces will have to fend for themselves.”
“What about the Winter Tree?” Siobhaen asked. When Colin turned, he found her propped up on her elbows, her dark eyes concerned.“Have they attacked theWinterTree? Is Caercaern in trouble as well?”
“The Wraiths haven’t targeted the Winter Tree yet. At least, not that I could sense through the Summer Tree. The Source doesn’t border on the Winter Tree’s influence.”
“And what about the Spring Tree?” Eraeth said, one eyebrow raised, his tone casual.
Colin shot him a hard warning look, but the Protector didn’t back down. “What makes you think there is a Spring Tree?” he asked bluntly.
“Common sense.”
Colin snorted, then noticed Siobhaen had sat up completely, her attention focused on Colin far too intently.
“Very few have asked about the Spring Tree,” Colin said guardedly.“I gave oneTree to each race,so that there would be no squabbling, no preferential treatment or sense of entitlement from anyone. But the fourth Tree. . . .”
“Where is it?” Siobhaen asked.
Colin settled a dark glare on her, frowning, then said curtly, “I have told no one where it is hidden, and there is no need for anyone to know.All you need to know is that it is safe and that it is well protected.”
When Siobhaen drew breath to press him further, he moved toward his horse and pulled himself up into the saddle, his staff set across his lap. He glowered down at both of them, noted Eraeth’s unequivocal acceptance of his assertion and Siobhaen’s blatant doubt and interest.
“We need to keep moving if we’re going to stay ahead of the dwarren army underground,” he said.
Then he kneed his horse into motion and headed out onto the empty plains, not waiting for either of them.
Moiran sat in her personal chambers in the Rhyssal House manse in Artillien, papers scattered across the small, low table before the settee where she reclined. Incense burned in a brazier of dwarren fashion on a pedestal in one corner, the fragrance sharp and spicy. The wood-paneled walls glowed in the light of a dozen candles strewn around the room on other tables of various sizes and shapes. A few held potted plants, vines hanging down to the floor, while others sported glass art from artisans across Wrath Suvane. Three additional chairs surrounded the main table at Moiran’s right, used when the ladies of the other Houses of the Evant visited,even though such occurrences were rare.The Ilvaeren—the equivalent of the Evant but run by the women, dealing with the trade agreements between the Houses— only met for a bonding of a lord, when a new lady would be introduced to the Ilvaeren, or upon the death of one of their own. There was simply no need otherwise. They could handle all of the necessary transactions through sealed letter and courier.
Moiran currently considered one such letter, tilting the parchment toward the sunlight coming in from the window and frowning. Lady Yssabo’s handwriting was elegant, her use of the quill superb, but the perfection of her letters could not blunt the refusal behind her words. She had no remaining grain to trade with Rhyssal House, she said. Vivaen, the Lady of House Licaeta, had asked for a larger than usual supply of barley and flax nearly two weeks before and she had seen no reason to refuse at the time. She sent her regrets.
Moiran lowered the letter, lips pursed, brow furrowed.
“If Father were here, and could see your face, he would apologize profusely for whatever he had done wrong.”
Moiran turned to find Fedaureon standing in the open doorway, a tight smile on his lips, a missive clutched in one hand, the paper crumpled. Daevon hovered behind him, unobstrusive. Even though Fedaureon’s words had been joking, they were tense.
Like his shoulders.
She arched an eyebrow at him.“And would he be wrong to apologize?”
Fedaureon shook his head with a small laugh.“Probably not.”
Her gaze dropped to the paper in his hand.“Is that from Aeren?”
Fedaureon stepped into the room, taking a seat across from her as she set the letter from Lady Yssabo on top of the pages on the table before her. Daevon took up a station to one side of the door.“It is.He sends word on the opening of the Evant. It isn’t good.”
He handed her the missive, ignoring her sharp glance. She smoothed the wrinkled parchment across her knee, Aeren’s smooth print soothing in its familiarity. He had departed for Caercaern with his escort of Phalanx and a covey of servants over three weeks before. He would already have spoken to many of the lords as they arrived, before the Evant was called into session. The Evant would have convened only three days ago.
As the realization struck, she looked up, eyes widening. “How can this be about the opening of the Evant? There hasn’t been enough time for a courier to arrive. Unless . . .”
“Two horses were ridden to death to bring this to us as fast as possible.”
When Fedaureon didn’t continue, she turned her attention to the letter. She read it fast, her breath quickening as the implications began to dawn on her, even as she murmured, “This isn’t possible. The Order of Aielan has always been separate from the Evant. Always. And now it is the equivalent of one of the Houses? How could Thaedoren have allowed this?”
“So it appears.” Fedaureon’s tone was serious, but Moiran couldn’t help but hear the youth in it. She didn’t think he understood what this would mean to the Evant, what it would mean to the stability of the Alvritshai.
How could he understand? He had only just begun to learn what it took to become a Lord of a House of the Evant. She had handed all of the basics of running the House to him when Aeren left for his foolhardy excursion to the White Wastes, had in effect allowed him to be the Lord of House Rhyssal, but that was nothing compared to the lord’s duties in the Evant and Caercaern.
“You don’t understand,” she snapped, more harshly than she’d intended. She tossed the parchment to the table as she stood. “The entire balance of the Evant will be disrupted. The power structure of Caercaern will shift. The Order has always had influence on the Evant, the faith of each lord affecting his decisions for that House, but this . . . this allows that same faith a position on the floor. The Chosen will be able to coerce the lords directly now. He’ll be able to introduce his own proposals, will wield the name of Aielan to sway those lords to his side, and with their votes—and his own—he will be able to push his policies through unopposed!” She began to pace, thinking aloud, Fedaureon watching her silently. She could feel his eyes on her as she moved. “Too many of the lords put their faith before their own interests. It’s too much power in the hands of one man. Why would Thaedoren allow it?”
“According to Father’s letter, the Tamaell did more than simply allow it,” Fedaureon said, retrieving the letter from the table. “He says that it was Thaedoren’s suggestion.”
“Your half brother would never do such a thing,” Moiran muttered dangerously.
“He must have had his reasons.The letter mentions Lady Reanne. Father says he can feel her influence in Caercaern already.”
Moiran shot Fedaureon a glare. She knew Fedaureon had never gotten along with Thaedoren and Daedalan, even though they were half siblings. There were too many years between them, Fedorem’s sons already full grown before Fedaureon’s birth, Thaedoren already the Tamaell of the Alvritsh
ai. There had been little interaction between them, except on a political level.
That still did not excuse the bland condescension in Fedaureon’s tone.
“TamaellThaedoren is of your blood.You will not speak of him with that tone. Nor of Lady Reanne.”
Fedaureon held her gaze for an angry moment, before a measure of shame flickered through his eyes and he lowered his head slightly. Moiran straightened where she stood, then motioned toward the letter in his hands.
“What else does your father say? What does he suggest we do?”
Fedaureon scanned the parchment, although Moiran doubted he needed to reread the words. “He says that the Evant has ruled against the presence of the Order of the Flame in House lands unless they have the express permission of the lords to enter, but he doesn’t say anything about what we should do regarding the Order becoming a House itself.”
“He’s leaving that up to us, then.” She paused, then added, “Up to you.” When Fedaureon looked up, she said, “You are the Lord of Rhyssal House in his absence, not me. So what do you suggest?”
She watched as he considered, his brow furrowed in thought.
“There isn’t an overt threat yet, although both you and Father seem to think so.We should warn the Phalanx in our House lands, especially those who are patrolling the borders.”
“Anything else?”
Fedaureon considered, glanced toward Daevon, who merely raised one unhelpful eyebrow. “Increase the Phalanx guard here in Artillien.”
“Nothing more?”
He frowned. “No. The creation of a new House within the Evant isn’t enough to warrant anything more, not until the Order of Aielan has done something more blatant.”
“What about the members of the Order of the Flame that are already within Rhyssal House lands?”
Her son glanced down at the letter in his lap. “Father says that they have been ordered to return to Caercaern, unless given permission to remain by the lord of that House. He wants those within Rhyssal to leave, but we have to give them a reasonable amount of time before we can act. I don’t think we can do anything about them at the moment.”
Leaves of Flame Page 32