Suddenly, the way she had attacked him seemed perfectly reasonable.
He took a deep breath. He understood what the machines—the Tributaries—that Isiliar and Meldier had been in were now. Their purpose was not torture after all, though no less unpleasant for it.
He swallowed. The needles in a Tributary caused persistent injuries; when the occupant’s body tried to heal itself with Essence, that energy was instead drained away into a storage construct called a Cyrarium. Thanks to their immortality and immense power, sealing one of the Venerate in a Tributary would provide a constant, uninterruptable flow of Essence for as long as they were in it. Millennia, if need be.
Isiliar’s and Meldier’s Tributaries, specifically, had been helping to sustain the Boundary.
Now, they weren’t.
Caeden breathed out at the terrifying thought, lying perfectly still and just listening. When he couldn’t detect any movement nearby he stirred, raising his head cautiously.
“Welcome back, Tal,” came a deep voice from off to the right.
Caeden flinched, then turned and swivelled into a seated position. A man sat atop the low wall that ran alongside the road, watching him absently.
Caeden tensed with immediate recognition.
The man he’d been friends with. The man who had set him up to be killed.
“Alaris,” he said quietly, carefully shifting into a more mobile position. The tall, muscular man didn’t look about to do him violence, but Licanius sat atop the wall at his side, within easy reach.
Alaris gave him a tired, mildly amused smile. “You’re safe. Isiliar left. Not willingly, exactly, but …” He shrugged.
Caeden didn’t relax.
“What?” Alaris stared at him blankly for a second, then rolled his eyes. “Oh. You’re not still upset over me sending you to Havran, surely.”
“You tried to have me killed.”
“You’re immortal,” pointed out Alaris, sounding more exasperated than anything else. “Even Telesthaesia wasn’t going to be enough to contain you for a journey back across the ilshara, regardless of your … limited state. If they’d succeeded in taking your head, you would have come back soon enough. I was just trying to stop you from making a mistake, before you started something that none of us could stop.” He gave the sword by his side a rueful glance. “In which, of course, I utterly failed.”
Caeden was silent for a long moment. Alaris was right—Caeden hadn’t known at the time and hadn’t really registered the fact since, but there was no way that the Blind attack in Ilin Illan could have killed him.
“What about after that—the assault on Ilin Illan, on Andarra?” he asked quietly. “Was that you?”
Alaris’s grimace was answer enough.
“We had no other way to stop you, Tal,” the other man said eventually. “I hated giving Mash’aan and his men that armor, but they were the only ones who were capable. The only ones who volunteered, too.” His eyes hardened. “But I do not apologize for trying. I was desperate but you made me desperate, and where we are now is proof that I had to do what I could. The Lyth are beyond dangerous—you’ve set in motion events that could destroy the world. Tell me you truly believe that I went too far.”
Caeden felt his jaw tighten. “Your men slaughtered innocent people, violated their bodies, just to draw out soldiers from Ilin Illan.”
“Innocent people whom your actions would have condemned regardless. Despise the methods, Tal, but not the intent. Just as you’ve always argued that what you did to Is and the others was justified.” Alaris was still speaking quietly, but there was iron in his voice now. “Do you even know why she attacked you? Do you remember what you did? Because her time in the Tributary was … not kind to her, and she blames you for that.” He looked at Caeden sadly. “Not unjustly.”
Caeden swallowed.
“I didn’t want to hurt her,” he eventually muttered.
“I know. She knows, too, somewhere deep down,” said Alaris calmly. “That’s why she didn’t use Licanius on you straight away, and it’s why we’re still here talking. For all your faults, Tal, you would never want to do that to one of your friends.”
Caeden bowed his head, brow furrowed, silent for a while. Even more than with Meldier, something didn’t feel right here. Alaris’s words were … reasonable. The words of a man hurt by a friend but desperate to forgive him—not one bent on the destruction of an enemy.
Another memory tickled at the back of his mind, then suddenly came on in a flood.
Caeden yawned, stretching as he woke.
He rolled off his bed, rubbing his face as he stared around the cell. It hadn’t changed much in the last eighty years. There was a nicer bed, a desk with material for writing, a few books, and a smokeless torch to read by … but the bigger things remained the same. No sunlight, no breeze, no way to tell whether it was day or night outside.
He looked down at his hands, still smooth despite the years they’d seen. He was glad for that. He hadn’t known that his immortality would mean a complete lack of aging, not for certain, despite Alarais’s assurances. The cell was dry and warm enough and he was always well fed, but it still wouldn’t be an easy life for someone with an older body.
There was the clanging of a door down the hallway, and Caeden straightened in anticipation. He was the only resident of these cells at the moment, and it wasn’t mealtime.
He brightened as Alarais’s form came into view. “How did it go?”
Alarais sighed, slumping into the chair he’d had brought down, the one that sat permanently on the other side of the bars facing toward Caeden. “Well enough,” he conceded after a moment. “Ulttar is more insistent than his father, but they have agreed to renew the treaty. There will be peace in the north for another generation.”
Caeden gave a wide, approving smile. “Well done,” he said sincerely. Alarais had worked hard to ensure that the hostilities between the Quar and Agrhest clans came to nothing. It was a small thing, small enough that most rulers would not have given it their attention at all. But Alarais was dedicated to peace, and even this squabble was not beneath his notice. “Why aren’t you celebrating?”
Alarais’s gloomy expression cleared, and he smiled, nodding slowly. “Ignore me. I was thinking of something else.” He held up his hands, displaying a bottle and two glasses that he’d brought with him. “I am, in fact, about to do just that.”
Caeden raised an eyebrow. “You need two glasses to celebrate?”
Alarais gave him a wry look. “I thought, perhaps, that you might join me.”
Caeden stared at his friend. “I … of course,” he said, lost for words. “What about the Law, though?”
Alarais poured wine into both glasses, then proffered one through the bars, which were spaced just far enough apart to allow the crystal to pass through.
“Just drink,” he said. He raised his glass. “To peace.”
Caeden echoed the sentiment, then took a cautious sip of the wine. It was delicious, startlingly so to taste buds that had so long been deprived of all but the most basic nourishment. He shook his head, smiling in disbelief, and took another sip. He would savor every last drop.
Alarais watched him with a smile. “Good?”
Caeden laughed, a little giddily. “Objectively? No idea. But to me, it tastes like something El himself made.”
“Probably an overestimation of the vintage,” Alarais allowed, “but it is quite good.” He sighed, setting aside his glass and leaning back, looking contemplative. “Sometimes I wonder whether all of this is worth it. These … extensions of peace.”
Caeden looked at him in surprise. “I never thought I’d hear you say that. You made the Law for a reason, Alarais—a good one. From everything I hear, and everything I saw before I came to be here, your lands are blessed by your rule.” He smirked. “Though whether my most recent source is entirely reliable …”
Alarais gave him a halfhearted smile. “Probably not.” He rubbed his forehead, then gest
ured to Caeden. “Are you sure you’re a proponent of the Law? It hasn’t done you any favors.”
Caeden leaned forward, frowning. His friend should have been delighted at the events of the day, not in a mood like this. “Alarais, I have said this to you many times before, but I need you to believe it. I have been in this cell for near eighty years, and you know something? I’m glad,” he said sincerely. “I was out of control when we met. I was a wreck. I miss freedom, true, but that doesn’t mean that I didn’t need imprisonment.”
He paused. “And ultimately, I deserved it,” he added quietly. “You could have made my time in this cell unbearable, as probably would have befit my actions. But you didn’t. You chose to befriend me. To help me. You’ve taught me politics, history, religion, mathematics, philosophy …” He shook his head. “Friendship. Morality. Trust. Belief. You are the best man I know, the best man I have ever met and the best man I am ever likely to meet. Your punishment for my evil was to change my life immeasurably for the better, Alarais. I can never repay the debt I owe you for that.”
Alarais coughed, looking embarrassed. “I helped remind you of the good man you are, Tal—nothing more. Remember that.” He sighed. “And I did not succeed in every area. You still believe that this thing you’re searching for, this being, is out there somewhere.”
Caeden nodded slowly. “I do. That night in the woods … whomever or whatever it was spoke the truth, and not just about Nethgalla. It’s more than just wishful thinking, Alarais. I felt it. I won’t pursue it as I did before—you have my word on that. But I will not give up, either.”
“I wish you would,” said Alarais softly. “When we first met, the idea had driven you almost to madness.”
“I would like to think that if eighty years of listening to you hasn’t done it, nothing will.”
Alarais allowed a grin at that, though the smile quickly faltered. “I’m serious, though. You would have a place here in the palace. I trust you; I could use someone like you to help rule. You wouldn’t need to leave.”
Caeden laughed. “Why do you persist, even after all these years? I would love to stay, my friend, but I know what I know. This is a battle you cannot win.”
Alarais smiled sadly. “Some battles are important to fight regardless.” He stood, moving forward until he was at the door to Caeden’s cell.
He motioned, and the door suddenly swung wide.
Caeden stiffened. He stared at the open door for a few seconds in stunned silence.
“What are you doing?” he whispered.
Alarais stepped to the side. “Today was the last day, Tal. Your sentence has been served, as demanded by the Law.” He gestured, a small smile on his lips as he watched Caeden’s reaction. “You are free to go.”
Caeden didn’t move. The open door, something he’d dreamed of a thousand times, was suddenly terribly intimidating. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because I know you too well,” said Alarais sadly. “If you had been counting down to your release, you would have been making plans. Looking at maps. You would have fallen back into obsessing.”
Caeden grimaced, but inclined his head. Alarais was right, and they both knew it.
He took a hesitant step forward. “Why now?” He frowned. “I didn’t think that the Law prescribed a length of imprisonment for what I’d done.”
Alarais peered at him. “And the purpose of punishment under the Law?”
“Justice. A deterrent. And, where possible, redemption,” said Caeden slowly.
Alarais nodded. “Eighty years, Tal. A lifetime down here. That is all the Law ever intended a man to lose.” He smiled. “And in my estimation, you are not the man whom I first locked in here. That man was imprisoned because he was dangerous. His incarceration was justified. Yours is not.”
Caeden’s stare moved to the half-full wineglass on his table, and he suddenly understood. Alarais wasn’t unhappy about the treaty being signed.
He took a hesitant step forward, then another, until suddenly he was across the threshold and outside. He breathed in sharply as a flood of sensations hit him, and he knew without checking that his Reserve was once again accessible to him. It felt like walking out into the snow straight after waking from a long, heavy slumber.
He turned to Alarais. “I … I don’t know what to say.” He swallowed a sudden lump in his throat. He was going to leave—he had to. He had served justice, here in this dungeon, for what he’d done. But he would not be redeemed until he could actually make things right.
Still, it wouldn’t be easy to go. Alarais was more than just a friend. He was Caeden’s savior, wrenching him back from a precipice that Caeden by himself would have plunged over. He was a mentor, the reason that Caeden now knew so much more about the world than he could ever have imagined.
He was a brother. A man like whom Caeden could only aspire to be.
Alarais saw his expression, and nodded.
“I will miss our chats, my friend,” he said softly. He smiled, though his eyes were still sad. “And beating you at Rel’vit.”
Caeden peered at him. “You’ve missed that for some time now.”
Alarais laughed. “Perhaps,” he conceded. He glanced down the hall. “Can I at least tempt you to stay the evening? For a meal?”
Caeden shook his head slowly.
“A meal turns into a night. A night turns into a week.” He gave Alarais an apologetic look. “It would be too much of a temptation.”
Alarais nodded, unsurprised.
“At least promise me this much,” he said quietly. “When you tire of your search, you will come back.”
Caeden smiled. “On that, you have my word.”
He stepped forward, and the two men embraced. Then they headed for the exit, Caeden a little unsteady, unused to walking in one direction for such an extended period of time.
When they reached the top of the stairs and Alarais opened the door, Caeden nearly fell to the ground in shock.
The sunlight seared his eyes, which had grown unhealthily accustomed to dim torchlight. He swayed, quickly supported by Alarais.
“Sorry,” his friend said, a little sheepishly. “I probably should have thought of that.”
“No. It’s all right.” Caeden steadied himself, then turned his face toward the sun. It was morning, but late enough that the sun’s rays held a good deal of warmth. He kept his eyes closed, basking in the sensation despite the pain that still seared his eyeballs. “It’s wonderful.”
He stood like that for several seconds, then forced his eyes open. It hurt for a while, but eventually the landscape began to resolve itself from pure white glare into recognizable shapes. He turned to Alarais, who was watching him silently.
“So this is it,” he said quietly. He gripped Alarais’s arm. “Don’t change, Alarais.”
Alarais returned the gesture, his expression serious. “We will see each other again, Tal’kamar. I know it.”
Caeden swallowed, then turned and headed off down the hill without another word, away from the shining palace that overlooked the surrounding countryside. He glanced over his shoulder at it one last time. It was crystal and white marble and gold, a thing of unique and remarkable beauty. His gaze switched to the retreating form of Alarais and for a moment, he wondered if he’d made the wrong decision.
Then he squared his shoulders. He didn’t have the luxury of making the choices that he wanted to. Not when there was still so much that needed to be done.
He deliberately turned away, putting the rising sun at his back.
It was time to resume his search.
“Alarais,” Caeden said quietly as the memory faded.
Alaris stared at him, clearly taken aback—though whether by the sudden switch in conversation or the name itself, Caeden wasn’t sure.
“Once,” he said eventually with a small, puzzled shake of the head. “It’s just Alaris now.” He squinted at Caeden. “Did you just remember that name?”
Caeden licked his lips indeci
sively. Alaris was on the other side of this fight, of that he was quite certain. And yet Caeden’s memory of their friendship, of the deep love and respect he’d felt for this man, was impossible to ignore.
“I remembered being in prison,” he said quietly. “When you let me out.”
Alaris cocked his head to the side. “El, I haven’t thought about that in years. I put you in there to begin with, too, you know.” He smiled at Caeden with something approaching affection, but quickly sighed and shook his head, as if suddenly recalling their current situation. “I was given the name Alar by my father. In the Shining Lands, common men ended their names with is, princes with eis, and kings with ais. I was Alareis, then Alarais.” The brief light that had been in his eyes as he spoke dimmed. “But I have not been a prince or a king for a very long time, Tal.”
Caeden nodded slowly, still trying to sort through his feelings. There was an openness to Alaris, a simple and direct honesty. And yet this was the man who had sent the Blind to Ilin Illan. The man whose actions had threatened the lives of Caeden’s friends.
Alaris sighed, oblivious to Caeden’s thoughts. “As much as I would like to reminisce, we cannot linger. If Is comes at me with a clear enough head, with anything even resembling a plan, then she’ll win. I’m stronger, but she has always been a better fighter. And you …” He gestured. “Don’t take it personally, Tal, but from what I saw earlier, you’re more or less useless right now.”
Caeden grunted, oddly feeling mildly offended. “I brought down a building.”
“The building wasn’t the one trying to kill you,” observed Alaris drily.
Caeden acceded the point with an involuntary half smile, though he hid it quickly. He glanced around at the empty city. “You think she’s coming back?”
“Do you feel like she was in the mood to let things go?” Alaris held Caeden’s gaze. “I assume that you have a plan to stop the Lyth from getting Licanius, and I assume that you’re here because of it. Is certainly seemed to think so. So out with it.”
Caeden hesitated, his gaze traveling involuntarily to the sword sitting beside the other man.
An Echo of Things to Come Page 34