“We won’t be trusting any of them with that power,” Caspian answered bluntly.
“We will be trusting me, because I have been raised for this sole purpose. I have been trained on laws and government as well as the strategy of war,” Symphony answered, her smile returning at the expressions of those in the room. Victory stared in disbelief and tried to keep it from showing on his face, though he no doubt did a poor job of that. Too shocked by the words, he glanced at Havoc and found his partner sitting with a matched expression on his bronzed face. He could remember Symphony as a small child running about the Fionahold, always underfoot. She was young, no more than thirty at most. He couldn’t imagine any of the High Lords following such a green child willingly.
“As well as her Bloodlines, by tracing lineage, Symphony can show proof she has blood ties to six of the High Houses. That is more than any can claim. Beyond that, she is also neutral and will not show favoritism to any single house. None of the High Lords can claim that,” Faramir said.
“We have three High Lords on our side now. We will soon have more. That, however, is not why you are here. Leave the politics to the council. Your missions are much simpler,” Lutheron said, and the room once again grew hushed. Victory nodded in understanding. It was clear now where the missing councilors were, and he felt a knot of tension release inside at the knowledge that they were not dead.
“Victory, Havoc, the two of you are to travel to the Warrens and ensure that Graves and his mercenaries will remain neutral. You will pay them to stay out of whatever may come,” Caspian said, his eyes locked on the two of them.
Victory nodded his agreement and tried to keep his stomach from rolling. The Warrens mercenaries had a rather dark reputation and Graves was notoriously difficult to deal with. It would not be an easy assignment by any means.
“Pay them to sit on their asses. That should give them a good laugh,” Havoc said in a dry tone. Victory glanced at his partner and wondered if the council had made the right choice for this job. Havoc was Firym and Firym were proud militant people. They had little use for anyone that fought for money. In his homeland, you fought to prove yourself or to defend what was yours, not to get paid.
“Solace, Hawk, you two will travel to Kithvaryn and ensure that the good general keeps his people out of the coming troubles,” Caspian continued.
Victory glanced at the rangers, and felt a bit better about his own assignment. Theirs would be the harder of the two. General Kithvaryn and his Ten Thousand were legendary even before the barrier. He could not recall a single significant conflict in which they had not had a part in all of the histories he had been taught.
“Charm, you are here at my request,” Symphony said, her gaze set on the rafters where the rogue looked down with what appeared to be amusement on his face. “Before you joined the Fionaveir you were legendary for your stealth. You were the scourge of the powerful beyond the barrier, and it was rumored that you were never caught, no matter what you stole.”
“All true,” Charm answered simply.
“I ask you to use that stealth now but not to steal.” Symphony paused and glanced at Victory. She gave him a smile. He nodded back to her a bit confused, unsure what Charm’s stealth had to do with him.
“What would you have of me, Milady?” Charm asked.
“There is a girl that will be traveling to Sanctuary to attend the Academy there. She has been raised in a Temple and is naïve to how dangerous the world is. I wish you to keep her alive until she has come into her power. She will be very important in days to come. Her name is Jala and even now she journeys toward Sanctuary. Take whoever you deem appropriate and keep her alive and well. Keep the High Lords from destroying her,” Symphony answered.
Victory’s eyes widened at the request, and he looked to Havoc, knowing the Firym would object. As he had predicted, his partner was even now rising. He gave a sigh and wondered what punishments would follow this. No doubt their next few assignments would make the trip to the Warrens seem pleasant.
“That should be our assignment. We found the girl, and despite how many times we have asked about her fate, you’ve kept us like mushrooms.” Havoc glared at Caspian. “I’m sick of sitting in the dark and being fed shit, Milord.”
“Watch your tongue, Firym,” Lutheron warned in a voice that was more promise than threat.
“I’m done with that Lutheron, if you want me to shut up then come silence me,” Havoc shot back, his temper rising. “I want answers, and I want them now. I’m done with this ‘in good time’ crap.”
Victory gave a slight groan. This would be worse than usual. He had sworn to obey Caspian and yet he had also sworn to protect his partner. He glanced at Havoc and then to Caspian and then to Lutheron who seemed to be rising from his chair, as deadly silent as the shadows that seemed to surround him. He rose slowly from his own chair and placed a hand on the hilt of his sword. This wasn’t a fight he wanted at all, but Havoc didn’t seem inclined to give him a choice.
“Stop this at once and return to your seats! You as well, Lutheron!” Symphony’s voice cut through the room like a whip, and Victory found himself sitting once more without being aware of even moving. To his amazement, Lutheron was seated, as well. Havoc, as stubborn as always, remained standing his gaze locked on Caspian.
“I swore to obey Caspian, not you Symphony. I mean no offense, but this does not concern you,” Havoc growled.
“If you want your answers, you will bloody well sit your ass down,” she snapped back in a voice that would do any field commander proud. Her expression was deadly serious, her hand on the hilt of her own blade.
Havoc turned a glare toward her and slowly sat back down. His eyes never left her face and his expression said she had limited time to explain before this got ugly again. A Firym’s temper was never something to scoff at. Victory knew that particular lesson well. During the early part of their partnership, he had been in more fights than he could count, due to that temper. He had actually gone so far as to pray to an Aspect or two for a change of partner. Things were different now. They had been through too much together and had fought beside each other too long. If Havoc pushed this fight, he would back his partner, Aspects be damned. He had to admit that Havoc did have a point. For ten years, they had watched over Jala from a distance. In a way, she was under their protection, and they did have a right to know.
“We need her because of her Bloodlines. Since the fall of Merro, her line is extinct. We need her trained so she can access her powers to their full potential. We have kept her at the Temple to keep her pure and free of the backbiting nature of Immortals. We wanted her untainted by political ties or House wars. She must make her own judgments. Due to that lack of knowledge, we have placed her in a delicate situation, so I send Charm.” She motioned to the rogue and continued to match Havoc’s glare. “He will watch over her without her even knowing. That is why he has been chosen. You are not a subtle creature, Havoc, which you have proven quite clearly today. For now, that is all the answers you are going to get. I will not jeopardize the girl further to comfort you, no matter how loudly you whine.”
Havoc seethed at her words and started to rise again.
“Move from that chair and I’ll have your legs off at the knees,” Symphony growled.
“I believe I will take Isador with me.” Charm’s voice cut through the tension like a knife. He dropped lightly down from the rafters landing as gracefully as a cat. He wasn’t a very large man barely at the height of five ten with a build of wiry muscle. He crossed the room soundlessly, his soft boots making not even a scuff on the stone floor. He wore dark leathers all shades of grey to blend with any shadows. “I will watch her as if she were my own daughter, Havoc. If you like, I shall make reports to you and Victory so that you may be at ease for her wellbeing,” he offered.
With a sigh, Victory relaxed back in his seat. He could see the tension leaving Havoc’s shoulders. The slight Symphony had given him was not forgotten, but for the moment it wa
s set aside. “We would thank you kindly for that, Charm,” Victory said with a slight smile. He gave the rogue a look that showed he thanked him more for his intervention than the offer of reports.
Charm returned the smile easily. “Think nothing of it, tis no trouble,” Charm replied with a slight bow. He turned gracefully to face Symphony. “With Milady’s permission I would gather what I will need for the journey and make haste to Sanctuary. I would prefer to arrive before the girl.”
Symphony’s face had softened once more, and she gave him a gracious nod. “That would be most appreciated, Charm, and I think Isador is a splendid choice of a partner. Thank you.”
Charm gave her a deep bow as graceful as a dancer and stood, turning to leave. With a quick flip of his hand, he pulled his cloak up concealing his pale blond hair, blending even more with the shadows before leaving the room. Had it not been for the stubborn door guarding the room, Victory wasn’t sure he would have known when the man left the room. With a smile, he looked to Caspian. No doubt that was the true reason all doors in the Fionahold seemed to fit so poorly. It wasn’t for lack of carpenters; it was the surplus of sneaky people. He gave a slight chuckle at the revelation and rose, also. “Havoc and I should be off, as well,” he said with a slight bow of his own. It would be a minor blessing of Fortune if he could get the Firym out of the Fionahold without further incident.
Fortune was apparently smiling though because Havoc stood without objection and left the room without so much as a by-your-leave. Victory watched him go, and glanced back at Caspian. With a slight shrug, he gave the Lord Commander a smile. “Manners have never been his strong point, Milord.”
Caspian gave a slight chuckle and smiled. “Firym have very little use for etiquette, Victory. Safe journeys to you and do try to keep him from starting a brawl in the Warrens.”
“I will do my best, Milord,” Victory agreed with a sigh and followed his partner from the room.
Chapter 5
Southern Greenwild
It was late evening by the time the coach jounced its way into Brannaford. The city had grown since the last time she had been here, and she found herself looking around in dismay. She heard the driver clucking to the team of horses as he pulled the coach to a rough stop outside a gateside inn.
“An’ ‘ere ya be, M’lady.” He called back to her. His accent was so thick it was difficult to understand. He must be from one of the far Northern provinces, to have an accent such as that. She wondered briefly to herself as to what had brought him so far South to work but shrugged off the thought quickly. She had more direct things to worry about. She considered asking directions of him, but decided it wasn’t worth the trouble of deciphering his answer. Surely she could find her own way.
“Thank you, sir. Would you kindly help me with my trunks,” she called back as she gathered her belongings inside the coach. Her answer came in the form of a solid thump from outside the coach. Eyes wide, she looked through the window to see the smaller of her two trunks rocking lightly in the dirt, from its drop from the top of the coach. She glanced up in time to see the second, heavier trunk, teetering above her head, and barely pulled back inside the window as it, too, dropped to the dusty road.
“I suppose that would be a yes,” she grumbled, as she stepped down from the coach, before the driver had a chance to toss her out, as well. “Thank you, I suppose. Most kind of you.” Her tone was a bit brittle as she spoke, drifting her gaze from her battered trunks to the driver. She doubted he even noticed her words, though, let alone her tone. With his quick nod to her, the coach was pulling away. She watched him leave the gates with a bit of confusion. Why was he in such a hurry? Surely, he would take an inn until he got another passenger. It surely wasn’t worth it to him, to leave empty.
She waved her hand lightly at the dust the horses had stirred with their leaving, and coughed gently. With a sigh, she cast a glance about her in hopes she would recognize some part of Brannaford from her childhood trips to the market with her father. Her eyes drifted across the gate behind her, and she felt another sigh. Brannaford barely had a road the last time, let alone a wall and gate. This part of town didn’t look anything like what she remembered. She wasn’t even sure these buildings had been here the last time. She remembered a general store and a stone inn at the outskirts, but the buildings around her were wooden.
She turned her attention to the inn behind her, hoping for a helpful individual. Those hopes quickly died, as she took in the rundown appearance of the building, and the even more rundown appearance of the few individuals that sat quietly on the porch, watching her with mild interest. One of them, a shaggy, dirty looking fellow, was actually sharpening a knife as he watched. When her eyes locked on him, he spat something into the filthy boards before him. She blanched in disgust and turned back to the gate.
Surely there were guards posted there that could offer advice or protection for that matter. She saw no signs of guards, but saw a cart drawn by two plodding mules, moving ever so slowly toward her. She felt her hopes rise as it neared. Perhaps she could hire them to tote her trunks to the docks. She couldn’t imagine how she was going to get them there otherwise, and she knew she couldn’t drag them all the way there. She was also sure they would be stolen if she went to hire someone to carry them. Her hopes dimmed a bit as the cart creaked closer and she was able to recognize the cart’s cargo: stacks and stacks of poultry cages containing some very unhappy chickens. It was still better than nothing, she thought, as she studied the driver. He seemed a decent enough looking fellow and a typical farmer. His face was rough and deeply tanned, but he didn’t have the dangerous look such as the men behind her at the inn. He had a boy riding on the back of the wagon who looked to be just slightly younger than she. Both he and his father seemed on guard, and she didn’t miss the fact that both had stout wooden cudgels beside them. Still, she had limited choices, and they appeared to be the best of the ones she had. She cleared her throat and called out to them. “Excuse me, good sir. I wonder if I might hire your services.”
The old man stopped the cart, his expression full of suspicion as he took in the sight of her, her trunks, and the array of men behind her now paying closer attention than she would have liked. “What services would you be wanting, young miss?” he asked, his eyes more on the men now, than her.
“My coach dropped me at the gate, and I need to get to the docks. It would be a simple enough matter if not for my trunks. I wonder if you might have enough room on the back of your cart to get me a bit closer.”
The old man nodded with his focus remaining keen on the inn’s occupants. “Aye, Thomas. Get her trunks up on the cart. You girl go ahead and climb on up here.” The boy was moving before he had finished speaking and already had a trunk loaded before she could thank him. He was obviously in just as much of a hurry as her coach driver had been. She took the hint herself and climbed quickly onto the bench beside the old man. No sooner had she settled on the seat, than he was clucking to the mules once again.
He kept his eye on the inn until they were well past it and then glanced to her. “Not a good place your coach left you in. Brannaford’s not a safe place no more. Used to be one could trade without a worry here on account of Merro’s soldiers keeping a patrol across the border. But with Merro a wasteland and all the soldiers dead, ain’t no place safe.”
“I hadn’t realized it had grown so dangerous. It’s been years since I have been here,” she said, keeping a wary gaze on the town as they rolled past. It did seem rougher with most of the buildings in ruins and the meaner look about the townspeople. “You still trade here though?” She asked, doubtfully. None of the townsfolk looked as though he had the money for even the scrawniest chicken.
“Trade, that’s the truth of it. Don’t get coin no more, but I can get the things I need in barter. It’s all barter these days,” he grunted and shook his head. “Don’t stay here past dark, though, not for nothing. Used to be I’d stay at an inn, have a few pints, and listen to the tal
k fore I’d head back.” He spat in the dirt beside the cart and shook his head again in obvious disgust. “No inns worth going in no more, and got no talk I’m like to want to hear.”
She wasn’t sure how to respond so she remained silent and traveled her gaze over the town again. It would seem Merro wasn’t the only country the magic had destroyed. She simply hadn’t realized how bad this one was. Her life had been sheltered at the Temple, and while few prayed for luck, the ones that did had never mentioned how bad the rest of the country was. She felt relief as the docks came into sight. She could see several ships rocking at anchor. Soon enough, she would be safely on the Quicksilver and on her way to Sanctuary. As quietly as she could, trying hard not to draw the old man’s attention, she fished a few copper out of her purse. She was surprised no one had noticed it yet and truly didn’t want to draw attention to the weight of it. She placed the coppers on the bench beside the old man and smiled at him. “Thank you so much for the ride, sir. I’m not sure what I would have done, had you not come along.”
“Died in an alley penniless with your throat slit, no doubt.” His tone was dire, and she felt herself pale a bit. “If you were lucky that woulda been it,” he added, glancing at her. She paled further and nodded. He scooped the coppers off the bench and pulled the cart to a stop. “Thomas, get them trunks down,” he barked, not even bothering to look back at the boy who was already scrambling to obey.
With another glance around, she climbed carefully down from the cart and moved over to stand by her trunks. “Thank you so much, Thomas.” She smiled at the boy. He gave her a quick glance and shuffled his feet with an awkward nod. Silently, he clambered back onto the cart as the old man clucked again to the mules.
The docks, she noted with pleasure, actually had guards posted. No doubt hired by the merchants and not actual city guards, but still it was something. She glanced down at her trunks again and sighed before looking up to find the closest guard. She cleared her throat and called out to him. “Excuse me, Sir Guard. I wonder if I might trouble you for a moment.”
The Elder Blood Chronicles Bk 1 In Shades of Grey Page 8