“And, of course, I taught my wards Ashhur’s laws, preaching about forgiveness and love and service to their fellow man.” The momentum built up inside him, and it was impossible to stop. “But if I am being honest, I never truly understood my wards. I was what I still am—a creature from a different world, very much like the humans I teach, yet completely dissimilar. On our own world, our race had lived for near thirteen thousand years when the demons severed the fabric of our universe and fell upon us. Our society was old, our ways settled. We were, in a phrase, bound to our station, sprouting from the womb seemingly already molded, the course of our lives set before we took our first breaths. My father was a farmer, and so I was to be a farmer too, until it was all ripped away in the cruelest way possible.
“When we were saved by Ashhur and Celestia, their rescue came at a price. Once more I found myself predefined: I was a Warden, one who would guide humanity through its infancy and into a prosperous adulthood. There were no other paths for me—for any of us. And though I was grateful for the second chance at life, a twinge of resentment grew nonetheless. I looked on mankind, at all the gifts and advantages they were handed, and felt…jealous.”
“Jealous?” asked Isabel, her voice animated by curiosity.
“Yes,” he replied. “Look at us, those you call Wardens. We are physically superior and far more advanced in almost every way. Each gift humanity was handed—aside from those bestowed by Ashhur—came from us. Language, arts, mathematics, agriculture—they were all gifts from we who could have been conquerors instead of nursemaids. Especially in those earliest days, humans appeared so feeble compared to us, so weak and useless. Coddled, treated as if all they had was their right rather than their privilege. When my brothers were thrown out of Neldar and the lands of House Gorgoros, they should have been free, and yet they were called back into service, once more coddling these lesser beings who had so unfairly been lifted on high.
“That was why I suggested the formation of the lordship.” He inclined his head toward the king. “It was not wholly noble, I must say. A few of us wished to embarrass Ashhur, to show him that his children were frail and undeserving. It shames me to say that I was one of them. One of my confidants stated privately that we should instruct them halfheartedly, that we should allow those chosen to fail. Yet I am a flawed creature. I am too proud, too headstrong, not to give all I do my greatest effort. So when I became young Geris Felhorn’s mentor, I pushed him toward success, and slowly my desire to see humans fail fell by the wayside.
“Still, old emotions die hard, and after my student lost his sanity, I fell back into resentment. It did not help that one of the few humans I had looked on as my equal, Jacob Eveningstar, was the grand purveyor of a nefarious scheme to overthrow our beloved deity. Suddenly I was placed in the position of taking these innocent children I had privately begrudged and trying to help them save themselves. Only this time I saw myself as a disappointment, not those under my wing. Their failures were my failures, for it was my leadership, my pride, my patience that were lacking. Once more, it was Geris who saved me.” He swallowed deeply, wondering whether he should reveal his actions. Finally, he went on. “I have been visiting the broken boy in the well, and he forgives me. He loves me. He lifted the veil from my eyes, and now, for the first time ever, I see things clearly.”
“What do you see?” asked King Benjamin.
“I see innocence. I have lived a long time, my Liege. And yet…yet I had never seen the true face of virtue in a mortal creature.” He swept his arms wide. “It is reflected in the joyous expressions worn by each man, woman, and child in Paradise. Their futures are not preordained, as I always felt mine was. They live their short lives for the moment; they love, they laugh, they comfort.…They could have been molded any way the gods chose, and Ashhur chose innocence. That was the folly of my ways.…It took me this long to understand what our Grace was trying to accomplish. He wanted to give birth to an ideal. Since the day of my awakening, I have become the teacher and mentor humanity has deserved all along. So to answer your question, my lady…yes, I have come to love my wards, and that love is very sincere.”
“Would you die for them?” she asked.
“Without hesitation,” he replied, and it did not surprise him that he truly meant it. “If any were to lash out at Ashhur’s children, I would strike them down or perish trying. And when Karak arrives on our doorstep, he will discover just how much I mean those words.”
“You will not have long to wait,” said Isabel.
Ahaesarus tilted his head forward. “What do you mean?”
The fire-haired lady lifted a sheet of parchment from the table behind her. “My daughter sent word from Drake,” she said. “Enemy forces have been attempting to cross the Gihon for some time now. Turock and his casters have held them back, and the villagers have as well, but the enemy is numerous and we are few. It is Abigail’s fear that Karak’s soldiers will overwhelm her husband’s defenses. Should that occur, the forces of our enemy will arrive south before the wall is complete.”
“I understand, my lady,” Ahaesarus said softly.
King Benjamin stood up. The folds in his neck flapped ever so slightly when he spoke. “You are to take a company of fifty of your fellow Wardens to help defend the line.”
“I will do as you command, my Liege,” replied Ahaesarus. “But may I ask why?”
“You have been visiting with Geris Felhorn,” the boy king said. “You have broken my direct decree that my competitor for the throne of Paradise, who tried to slit my throat, be left in isolation until Ashhur’s arrival. You have proven that you cannot be trusted.”
The young king turned, grinning, and mouthed to Isabel, “Was that okay?” The matriarch nodded, patted his cheek lovingly, and guided him back to his seat. The lady of the house then said, “Consider this another lesson, Master Warden. You are not the only Warden who can oversee the raising of our wall. Judarius will do just as well. And when you return, you will remember your place. Am I understood?”
Ahaesarus thought on what he’d just told them and swallowed his pride. “I understand,” he said. Though I do not like it. Thinking on the duty he had just been given, Potrel, Limmen, Martin, and Marsh then entered his mind, and he cleared his throat. “What of the four spellcasters?” he asked. “Should I return them to their home, to aid in its defense?”
Isabel looked annoyed by the question. “Of course not,” she said. “They must stay here and continue work on the wall.”
“I see. The wall is why we are being sent and they aren’t.”
She nodded. “Four talented spellcasters mean more to me here than fifty Wardens.” Those words she spoke with nary an emotion. “You will leave on the morrow. Good day to you, Master Warden.”
In the past Ahaesarus would have taken offense to both her tone and message, but he realized that she was correct, and he had nothing but respect for the fact she’d come right out and just said it. He bowed and took his leave, marching through the hall with dignity while the young king whispered behind him.
Howard Baedan, the master steward of the house, greeted him in the corridor, and Ahaesarus asked him to fetch Judarius. He needed to inform the other Warden of his impending departure, for Judarius would be in charge until he returned.
Alone once more, he realized that he might never return. He was running headlong into the heart of a war, if the letter Lady DuTaureau had received was accurate, and if there was one thing the invasion of his home world had demonstrated, it was that war had many casualties. Given that possibility, he had no choice but to settle a certain matter on his own, and in his own way, no matter what Lady Isabel or King Benjamin had decreed.
He could see the uncertainty in the girl’s eyes as they reflected the torchlight. She fiddled before him, two sacks of clothing sitting by her feet. Her gaze flicked from him to the Wardens standing to his rear and back to him again.
“This should not be happening,” said Olympus, one of his fellow Wardens.
“Yet it is,” replied Ahaesarus.
“Isabel demanded that he be kept bound,” another of his group chimed in, an unusually stunted and broad Warden named Judah.
“I know what was decreed,” Ahaesarus said calmly. “This decision I make on my own. Any repercussions, I will bear. You need not let it vex you.”
“Still…”
They stood before the old well, Geris Felhorn’s prison for nearly nine months. It was past the witching hour, and the half-moon shone down on them disinterestedly. The barns and warehouses to their rear lingered like large midnight sentinels, the structures groaning in a chill breeze.
Penelope looked down at her hands, then at the tethered logs that hid the stairs beneath. Ahaesarus had visited her in the pavilion her family called home after leaving King Benjamin and Lady Isabel. He asked her what she most desired in regards to his former pupil. “To be with him always,” had been her response.
Now she was hesitating when her desire was on the verge of becoming reality. Ahaesarus understood her fear. She had been sheltered all her life, and if she acted, she would be faced with spending untold months, perhaps years, in the wilderness with no one but a potentially insane boy for company.
“You may turn back if you wish,” he told her.
The girl bit her lip, then shook her head. “No. I want this.”
He offered her a knife of sharpened stone and gestured toward the covering. Two of his Wardens lifted it, allowing the girl to descend the hidden staircase, torch in one hand, knife in the other. He stood still and listened once her head disappearing from sight. Faint, joyous sounds filtered through the opening, followed by hushed sobs and urgent whispers. He heard sloshing, and then something snapped, a sharp crack that brought goose pimples to his flesh, but Penelope giggled, and his nerves calmed ever so slightly.
It seemed to take forever, but finally the two youths appeared. Penelope had tears in her eyes as she led Geris forward. The boy’s gait was hunched—all those months spent tied up in a cramped space had weakened his muscles and wreaked hell on his posture. Geris’s face was clean, the curls in his blond hair nearly bouncing. He wore a fresh tunic and breeches, though Penelope had not brought clean clothing down into the well. He cocked his head at her.
“I told you,” she said, chin jutting out with pride. “I’ve taken good care of him.”
“I suppose you have,” he replied with a chuckle.
At the sound of his voice, Geris stumbled. Ahaesarus reached down to help him stay steady, but the youth pulled away as he tried to keep his own footing. Penelope wrapped her arms around him, steadying him with a bear hug.
The boy’s blue eyes flicked up then, staring right into his own. The combined moon and torchlight gave them an even deeper resonance than usual. The corners narrowed, and Geris slowly lifted himself fully upright, with Penelope’s assistance. Ahaesarus cringed when he heard the pop of vertebrae slipping back into place.
For a long while they remained silent, boy staring at former master and vice versa. Expressions shifted, and those not involved in the staring match began to shuffle back and forth and murmur restlessly. Judah muttered that the boy was obviously not well and ought be returned to the pit, a statement Ahaesarus decried with a fierce look.
A pained cry escaped Geris’s throat, and he careened toward Ahaesarus at breakneck pace. His fellow Wardens rushed forward, but Ahaesarus shouted for them to back away. Geris collided with him, arms squeezing around his torso. The Warden tousled the boy’s hair as Geris pressed his cheek against his doublet and sobbed. His hands worked the fabric around Ahaesarus’s back, kneading and stretching. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” he said over and over. Eventually, the Warden gripped him tight by both shoulders and gently pulled him away. He knelt down before Geris, who, despite his gauntness and pale skin, looked just like the child he’d thought would one day be king.
“I know you are sorry,” he said. “You have told me every time I have visited for the past three months.”
Geris nodded.
“And I am sorry too,” said Ahaesarus. “For what you suffered, for placing you in that well…for everything.”
The boy chewed on his bottom lip, his cheeks glistening in the moonlight.
“Son, how do you feel?” he asked.
Geris shook his head. “Better. Not perfect,” he said with a sniffle. His lips twitched between a smile and a sorrowful frown. “Please tell…please let Ben know I never wanted to hurt him.”
Ahaesarus pulled him in close once more and rubbed the back of his head. “I will. That is all in the past, son. Tonight you begin anew.”
“But what if I’m not better?” the boy asked.
“If you were not better,” said Ahaesarus, glancing at Penelope and trying to sound confident, “you would not be leaving with her.”
He stood up then, and Penelope came forth, twining her hand with his former student’s. She handed him one of the sacks and slung the other over her own shoulder. They stood there in silence, two youths looking to the Warden for guidance.
“What will we do?” the girl asked.
Ahaesarus pointed off in the distance. “You will head away from here, away from Mordeina and humanity. Find a way to cross the river just west of here. Go to the shore, or maybe the Craghills. It is a wild land, unvisited by humans. The nearest settlement is Conch, many miles north, but you are not to go there unless as a last resort. There will be war in Paradise soon, and only after that war has ended should you consider letting your presence be known.” He cleared his throat. “Remember, distrust everyone you encounter until you learn the outcome of the war.”
“What’s that mean?” asked Geris. He sounded younger than fourteen in that moment.
“It means we do not know who will win,” Ahaesarus said gravely. “Should you emerge from the wilds, the flag of the lion may fly over the place you once called home.”
There were teary good-byes as student left teacher, wandering into the pitch-black forest through the gap in the wall and disappearing as if he’d been swallowed by nothingness. Ahaesarus shivered. He was frightened for the two youths, but he knew in his heart that he had made the right choice. All of humanity deserved its chance to thrive. Geris deserved it most of all.
“What if he is not cured?” asked Olympus. “How can you be sure?”
“I trust my own eyes,” Ahaesarus said with a shrug. “For the last eleven weeks he has shown marked signs of improvement. But even if he is still ill, that girl will guide him through it.” He slapped his hands on his knees and turned to his brothers. “But let us not think of things outside our control any longer. We have a war to fight and quite a ride to get there before we can fight it.”
“And what of the boy?” Judah asked. “Isabel will not be happy when she discovers you set him free.”
Ahaesarus shrugged. “And? This journey is already my punishment, and by the time she discovers he is missing, we will all be long gone.”
CHAPTER
15
Matthew stood at the base of a jetty, feet balanced on the slippery rocks, while he watched waves ripple across the bay. The night was overcast, the air muggy and filled with the scents of salt and decay. In the darkness, the gently undulating water became a shimmering black cloak, the surface hinting at peace and harmony while concealing a torrent of activity that raged beneath. Right now there were small fish being fed on by larger fish, which were then being devoured by larger fish still, a sharply climbing scale of predator and prey, all of which were eventually rendered helpless by the nets and harpoons of men.
Just as the might of the gods renders man helpless, he thought with a shiver.
He wrapped his cloak tight around himself and fidgeted. The sight before him was depressing. The docks of Port Lancaster had teemed with activity for all of Matthew’s thirty-six years, yet now they were virtually empty. A scant nine boats bobbed in the harbor, and only one was of the Brennan fleet, a mid-sized clipper named Harmony Rose. The res
t of his ships were away—some with the survivors from Haven in the Isles of Gold to the west, some ferrying goods up and down the northeast coast—and his free river barges had been conscripted by Karak for purposes left unsaid. A small envoy from Veldaren, led by a few red-cloaked acolytes, had arrived in the city to demand use of them, and Matthew, needing to preserve his perceived loyalty to his deity, had no choice but to give them over. At least the visitors and their battalion of armed soldiers didn’t seem to have noticed the dearth of vessels in the bay.
“Any sign yet?” asked a familiar female voice.
Matthew pivoted on his heels to see Moira approaching, lantern in hand. Her attire, a pair of velour slacks, a shawl, and strappy sandals, was suitable for negotiating the tricky footing of the coast, yet still regal. He appreciated that she was maintaining her disguise as a noblewoman. Knowing how much she despised what she referred to as “monkey garments,” it was a great sacrifice—though it was a worthwhile one, for the acolytes had not recognized her. And though her hair had grown out some, now falling just above her shoulders, she had kept on dyeing it dark, even though the dyes had the unfortunate side effect of making each strand brittle.
“Not yet,” Matthew told her.
“Are you sure tonight is the night?”
“Yes. The last evening of spring, just as Romeo said.”
“Perhaps they were held up.”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps they won’t come at all.”
He returned his eyes to the sea as Moira fell in beside him. Her lantern added a needed touch of brightness to the black, making him feel less alone. He could hear her breathing: short, pointed bursts of air that left her lips as if she were preparing to give birth. Having been around Moira for some time now, he knew it meant she was preparing for the worst, readying herself to snatch the two swords hidden beneath her overcoat and leap into action.
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