Three Coins for Confession

by Scott Fitzgerald Gray

  Jeradien had blood at her lip where Chriani had tagged her. “Treason,” she whispered, like it was all she could say.

  Chriani looked past it all, over Jeradien’s shoulder toward Kathlan and Dargana’s tent. He saw no sign of Kathlan, but the exile was there, escorted between Daellyn and Wilric. The expressions of the Brandishear rangers told Chriani they had no idea what was going on.

  Dargana saw it, though. She drew her axe and her dagger, launched herself toward Chriani through the crowd of rangers gathering. He wanted to shout for her, tell her to stop. Wanted to tell her to run, but he knew she wouldn’t.

  She tried to fight her way through to him, but the Aerachi were alert, ready for her. Steel on steel rang out, Chriani seeing a flash of blood where the dagger slashed a glancing blow against someone’s hand. Then Dargana was down beneath a wall of blades, arms behind her and held to the ground.

  “Hold her!” Venry’s voice sounded out as he approached at a run. He had a bow in hand, must have come in from perimeter watch. He took in the scene before him with a single glance, his expression freezing to well-controlled rage. He stepped close, knelt to inspect the mark at Chriani’s shoulder.

  A deeper fear twisted through Chriani. Kathlan’s name was part of that mark now, set down there on his long winter ride to Rheran. Chriani didn’t know who among the Aerachi could read the Ilvani, but he trusted that someone would. He forced himself to look down, his heart hammering in his chest. The four names were obscured, though, a dried crust of red-black blood shrouding them.

  Venry didn’t touch the mark. He shuddered as he stood, as if even being in its proximity was too much to bear. “Bind them and set a guard,” he said. “One Aerachi. One from the Brandishear squad, master Kathlan.”

  The lieutenant turned to look behind him. Kathlan was there, standing with the Brandishear rangers around her. She was Chriani’s second. Was in charge now.

  She wasn’t looking at Chriani. She nodded deep. “Understood, lord,” she said.

  It was good, Chriani knew. The Brandishear rangers needed to protect themselves now. Make sure the Aerachi, pushed to the edge of battle madness in a heartbeat, knew that they’d known nothing of Chriani’s secret.

  “The Ilvani tried to get to him,” Jeradien hissed. “They’re working together…”

  Venry cut her off. “I said bind and guard them. We’ll settle this in Teillai.”

  The Aerachi dragged Chriani and Dargana to their feet. The exile tried to break free, managed to strike someone, so they forced her to the ground, then bound and carried her. Two of the Brandishear rangers stepped up to help.

  Kathlan had disappeared but Chriani hadn’t seen her go. Venry was talking to Jeradien, both of them watching him coldly as he was dragged away. He made no attempt to resist.

  His hands were tied but they let him walk to the watchfire where the Uissa prisoner was still bound and on the ground. In the assassin’s dark eyes as he and Dargana were dragged up, Chriani saw no surprise. She nodded to him as he was pushed to the dirt face first. One of the rangers was looping rope around his feet.

  “Be ready,” the Uissa assassin said.

  Her voice was slight, carrying an impression of someone younger than she looked. Barely a whisper against the wind.

  The other rangers made no response, as if only Chriani had heard her. They made no response either as the hiss of the wind shifted, something faster moving within it. A sound he recognized.

  “Arrows!” Chriani shouted. “Get down!”

  A moment of confusion and cold looks. Then the space around the watchfire was shredded by a hail of grey shafts from the darkness.

  The Ilvani arrows tore up the ground where they struck, the rangers scattering with shouts of alarm as they dropped and rolled clear. Venry’s voice and Kathlan’s both rang out from somewhere far away, screaming for the rangers to get to cover, return fire. Chriani’s hands were behind him, his shoulder in agony as he rolled into the shadows, tried to get out of direct sight. But as he did, he felt his understanding shift. Sensing something beneath the frantic fear scouring his mind.

  The rangers were returning fire now, but whatever force of Ilvani was attacking stayed well out of sight in the darkness. Another flight of arrows arced in, striking across the hillside. Three of them landed within an arm’s length of Chriani, quivering with the force of impact.

  There were no bodies. The rangers had all fallen back behind cover. Dargana had twisted to her knees, trying desperately to slip her bonds. The Uissa assassin was still on her side, smiling. She hadn’t moved.

  The Ilvani were missing with every shot. Pushing the rangers to behind cover, away from the watchfire where the three prisoners had been left alone. Three arrows within easy reach.

  The pain at Chriani’s shoulder tugged him toward darkness again but he fought it off, stifling the scream that tore through him as he pulled his legs up tight, forced his arms down and under. He grabbed the closest arrow, awkwardly wrenched it from the ground. A hunting shaft, its serrated steel head gleaming in the firelight.

  He had to kneel on it to hold it, thrusting his bound hands against the blade and sawing hard. He felt his hands cut more than once, blood flowing freely as the ropes finally parted.

  The Ilvani fusillade shifted. The sound of steel on stone rang out across the hillside as shaft after shaft shattered against the tumbled foundations behind which the rangers were sniping. They were pinned down suddenly, no way to return fire.

  “To the horses!” Venry’s voice was fear and raw fury, sounding out against the wind and the endless Ilvani assault. “Torches up! On my mark, ride!”

  The order to flee. They would leave the tents and most of their gear behind, only their weapons going with them. A desperate move, but Venry had no way of knowing what was out there.

  Chriani fumbled the black ring from the pocket at his belt. He almost dropped it as he scrambled toward Dargana, grabbed another arrow from the ground. He saw her look of surprise as he vanished from sight, the view around him fading to a deeper shadow.

  “Don’t move,” he whispered as he dropped to Dargana’s side.

  “You’re full of surprises, half-blood,” she murmured back. But she stayed still and low as Chriani sliced through the bonds at her hands.

  The sound of hoofbeats rose. The rangers were mounted and moving, holding on the far side of the hill. The horses were in soft harness and unsaddled, the sign of an emergency retreat. Venry and one of the Brandishear rangers broke off, racing toward them.

  Dargana’s hands were free, but Chriani hissed in her ear to keep her down. “They’ll see you. Don’t move.” He shifted to her feet.

  Venry swung down from horseback to hack through the stake rope holding the assassin down. The ranger leaned over, grabbing the Uissa prisoner and throwing her over his saddle as if she weighed nothing. He looked around, though, frantic as Venry regained his horse.

  “He’s gone! Bastard Ilvani traitor!”

  Venry swiveled in the saddle to scan the hillside. “Leave him to his war-band, then. If it’s him they want, they’ll let us go.”

  “What about the bastard exile…”

  Venry’s face twisted to a grim smile as he turned his horse, charged toward Dargana.

  Her feet were free. Chriani grabbed her, tried to pull her with him as he rolled away, but she shrugged him off. Dargana shot to her feet, the horse balking as she sidestepped. She had the arrow in hand that Chriani had used to free her, punched it straight into Venry’s thigh as she pulled him off the horse and to the ground.

  A shout rang out from behind Chriani. Even without being able to see him, Jeradien almost accidentally rode him down. He struck at her horse by instinct as he rolled away, felt the world around him shimmer to tell him he had broken the dweomer of the ring in doing so.

  The Aerachi ranger saw him this time. She turned her horse hard, tearing up the turf as she cut around, a dagger in her hand. Moving at speed, twisting awkwardly with no saddle, she was
still good enough to catch Chriani on the run as she threw. A bright point of pain flared at the back of his leg as he went down.

  Jeradien was off her horse, sword in hand. Chriani hadn’t seen her leap off, must have blacked out. He tried to rise but his leg, his shoulder, were agony. The hatred he saw in the Aerachi warrior’s eyes was all-consuming, all-final.

  A horse came in fast from behind her, a booted foot lashing out to catch Jeradien in the side of the head. The warrior convulsed once, then slumped to the ground, the sword spilling from her hand.

  Kathlan pulled to a frantic stop, leaped from her horse and dropped to Jeradien’s side. Chriani managed to get to his feet, found a fast-bleeding wound at his leg. Kathlan was checking the blood at Jeradien’s neck as she fumbled in her jacket, pulled something out that she threw to Chriani. The healing salve.

  “Go,” she said quietly. She wouldn’t look at him. Raising her voice, she called out, “Jeradien’s down! Chriani’s headed for the trees!”

  Other horses were racing in behind her now, pushing toward Venry where he’d fallen. The lieutenant was moving, though, trying to calm his horse. The Ilvani arrows had stopped, but no one seemed to notice.

  Venry’s saddlebags had been torn open, Chriani saw. Then he saw Dargana running toward him, her bloodblade in hand. Kathlan was lifting Jeradien from the ground, the Aerachi ranger’s eyes flitting open.

  “Go,” Kathlan said again, louder this time.

  Chriani turned and ran.

  Dargana was close behind him, the hail of arrows starting up again as they cleared the firelight. A screen of bowshot fell behind them, blocking any pursuit. Chriani was limping, fighting darkness with each step as he fumbled his fingers to the jar, took the last dose of the salve as he ran. Healing magic filled him with its empty warmth, the pain at his leg and shoulder fading as he let the jar drop.

  A sharper pain was at his chest now. He ignored it as he ran.

  At the point where even Chriani’s eyes lost the last haze of light from the watchfires, he heard horses. But from ahead, not behind. Grey shapes loomed, starlight seeming to shimmer on their flanks. He was still running, felt light hands reach to grab him under the arms. Then he was in the air, frantic as he found himself dragged up and suddenly sitting a white horse, a slender figure in front of him.

  There was no saddle beneath them, Chriani’s legs struggling to lock to the horse’s lean flanks. The figure in front of him grabbed his arm, pulled it around to lock tight to a well-muscled chest, smooth skin flecked with fine scar lines.

  In the faint haze of starlight, Chriani saw the war-mark at the bare shoulder of the Ilvani he rode behind.

  Other horses shifted in the shadows around them, all running flat out. He saw Dargana astride another horse, sitting behind an Ilvani warrior at the far side of the troop, but he couldn’t count that troop’s total numbers as they moved.

  A shadow loomed. The stars flickered, then faded, then were gone. Chriani felt the change in the air, a warmth and a closeness settling in around him. The echo of the horses’ hooves was muffled, the droning of the river rising to his right.

  A burst of light came from before and behind him. He looked forward, twisted back to see two of the riders with glowing disks in hand. Magical light, something like the evenlamps of the Bastion, but these glowed a pale green that set black ground and shadowed sky into sharp contrast.

  They were in the Greatwood. The life Chriani had built was gone.

  It was all he could think of, his mind shutting to all other thought. Just like that. Kathlan and his commission, a place in the prince’s guard. All of it vanished behind him as the thunder of hoofbeats carried him into the night.

  He held on tight. Nothing else he could do as the Ilvani plunged into the darkness of the forest, leaving the world behind.

  THEY RODE THROUGH the night, but Chriani remembered little of the journey. The well of pale green hung around them like swirling mist, making their frenzied flight seem even faster. He had no idea how the Ilvani horses were holding to the twisting paths they shot along, maintaining a running pace as they did so. In the darkness and the shifting pool of light that passed within it, he had no way to even guess at the passage of time. But he became conscious at some point that the speed of the horses would have to flag eventually, the exhausted steeds needing to rest.

  The horses didn’t flag, though. The troop raced on.

  As on the Brandishear side of the Greatwood, the trails they traversed were a complex series of half-seen paths. An uncountable number of side trails split off from the main, Chriani knowing even from his minimal exploration of the forest that fully a third of those would mark false starts and dead ends. He couldn’t comprehend of the lifetime it would take to learn to navigate the wood as well as these Ilvani were doing it.

  He was riding with the carontir. The elite ranger patrols of the Valnirata. No mistaking their skill as they raced their horses through the night.

  The sound of the Hunthad came and went for what seemed a long while. Then at some point, the troop forded the river at speed, plunging in without slowing. Chriani nearly fell off, his rider needing to clasp his hand hard. Freezing-cold water washed across his legs, the horse feeling to him like it might be swimming in spots, even with two riders on its back. Then they were on the far bank and running again.

  More than once, Chriani found himself wondering how anyone would ever hope to fight a war in this endless green darkness. More than once, he remembered the Prince High Chanist’s promise to make a war against the Ilvani that would burn the Greatwood to the ground.

  When they stopped without warning, the forest was still dark. The Ilvani reined to a halt in a sheltered clearing where a small stream twisted through a tight mass of overgrowing vines, its water shimmering in the pale green of the riders’ magical light. As they slowed, Chriani felt a dull ache in the muscles of his back and shoulders, the steady rhythm of the horse’s back beneath him driving a wedge of pain up his spine.

  His Ilvani escort slipped off first, pushing up and swinging one leg over his horse’s head. He silently offered a hand to help Chriani down. Chriani needed to use it, his legs all but collapsing beneath him as he hit the ground.

  Beneath the arching roots of a great limni, the stream had etched a pool out of loam and sandstone, the horses shifting forward to drink there. They were eleven in number, the Ilvani riders and their mounts. The fleet warhorses of the Greatwood, barely winded despite having run what seemed half the night. A troop of war-marked Ilvani, half in green-grey armor, half naked to the waist except where leather protected them at the shoulder or stomach. Six female, four male, lean bodies ridged with muscle. A wide belt pack was the only gear the carontir rangers wore except for bow and blade, and the almost-empty quivers of arrows slung at their backs and hips.

  Chriani was still wearing the steel ring at his finger. No one had searched him in the chaotic aftermath of Jeradien’s attack. A sense of relief twisted through him as he turned it absently, not sure why it was important anymore. He checked his belt, felt the black ring in its pocket, the golden badge, the two talismans, his lock picks. The only things he had carried with him. The only things left to him now.

  Dargana was across the clearing, Chriani catching her gaze as she paced away from the horse she’d been carried on. Until he did, he realized that he had assumed her to be complicit in whatever had happened at the camp. Some kind of plan that she and the Laneldenari had hatched in case of trouble. But seeing her expression now, he understood that she was as shaken as he was.

  As their horses drank, the Ilvani stretched and paced but were silent. All of them were watching Chriani as he made his way to the water, crouched down to drink. He was still shirtless and barefoot, blood-crusted and in leggings as Jeradien had found him.

  He washed his shoulder carefully, the pain and the gash of the cut healed over by the salve but the black crust of blood remaining. Kathlan’s stitches were looped tight and useless now across smooth flesh.
He broke them with his fingers, pulled them painfully. He washed away a trace of new blood when he was done.

  “Are you all right?”

  Dargana’s voice came soft from beside him as she knelt at the water’s edge. She spoke low and in the Imperial tongue, no trace of an accent.

  Chriani responded in kind, noting dark looks from a few of the Ilvani close by. “I’ll live.”

  Dargana’s knowledge of that common trade tongue caught him by surprise, though he thought he understood her purpose. The Valnirata Ilvani had been bitter blood enemies of the Empire of the Lothelecan. As such, even as relatively few of the Valnirata spoke Ilmari, even fewer had any proficiency in the language that had been the Imperial standard across the Ilmar for more than a thousand years.

  “I’m hoping you know what’s going on,” Chriani said evenly. “Because I don’t.”

  “I know some of it,” Dargana said. Then, as if predicting his question, she added, “Though I don’t know what happened last night. I was told to bring you to the Greatwood by following the Hunthad. I wasn’t expecting this.”

  Chriani nodded. “Do you know where we’re going?”

  “If it’s the place I think, a city. They’ll hear the name if I say it to you.”

  “And why is that a problem?”

  “Because knowing anything of one of the hidden cities of the Valnirata can get a stranger to the Greatwood killed.”

  A ghostly whistling rose from across the clearing, the horses reacting to it with excited snorting, shaking out their manes. The signal had come from the warrior Chriani rode with, who was watching him.

  “We ride,” the warrior said. He seemed to be using the Ilvalantar that Chriani knew, or the words were the same in whatever forest tongue he was speaking. He spoke slowly either way, as if concerned for Chriani’s ability to understand him.

  “I’m sorry about Kathlan,” Dargana said as she stood, turning for the other side of the clearing. “She’ll be all right, though. She’s got strength the Ilmari will never understand.”