The Last Steward

by Janelle Garrett

  “Will you take me to him?” Ezra asked, taking advantage of Boyd’s sudden change in expression. “Gladly,” Boyd responded. “For I have long wanted to speak to him again.”

  “When have you met him?” Ezra asked, intrigued.

  “That is story for another day. Come, let us depart before they close the gates.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Priva Car’abel

  The city was closed tight, as if a clam hiding its treasure. The road leading up to it was devoid of travelers, and the telltale glint of helmets on top of the wall was the only thing moving. From Priva’s vantage point astride the bluff, it appeared that Crowning was expecting the Jattalians. The walls were made of stone instead of wood. But just over the wall, thatched roofs practically begged to be burned. A Hooded wouldn’t have much of a problem with the gate, although it was made of iron. Or even the rock walls, perhaps. It depended on how powerful he was.

  Priva rubbed his fingers over his lips. He would probably be given safe admittance if he truly desired it. The Car’xeal clan were supporters of the Stone Throne, but in more of a cursory way. Elder Grayfin was a wise man. But would he agree to hide Priva?

  He needed to come up with a firm plan. After all, the Hooded had been aboard one of the longboats. If Callum and Nigel and Perion were brought here and used as bargaining tools, Priva might not have many options. He’d had little chance of defeating the Hooded even with their help. Without them? It was hopeless, even with his newfound way of accessing the Deep like a warlock and not just as the Sensor. But fat lot of good that had done when it really mattered. He’d almost drowned, like a child just learning to swim.

  He skirted down the bluff, sliding most of the way. One thing was sure. He wouldn’t get much done watching the city, and he couldn’t do anything on his own trying to meet the Hooded on the road. If that was how they were coming, that is. Perhaps they were planning to arrive by sea? He raised his eyes to the port, but the majority was hidden by the walls and the cliff jutting out. If Priva was leading the mission, he would beach the longships further north and attack by land. Any commander with sense would come to the same conclusion.

  There were no trenches dug landside, although archers lined the walls. Perhaps Elder Grayfin had come to the same conclusion as Priva, but that didn’t mean he shouldn’t still keep a wary eye out landside. A few archers weren’t going to stop an attack.

  Fools. If little else then he needed to tell them so, he continued toward Crowning.

  ***

  As soon as the guards at the gate saw it was him they let Priva through. It was almost too easy.

  “Take me to the Elder.” He stared at the warrior who appeared to be in charge. The gate clanged shut behind him, and he tapped into the Deep. The noises amplified. The breathing of the soldiers, the buzzing of a fly, the call of the marketplace further in the city. He sifted through and discarded anything unnecessary, shooting the Deep outside the city and toward the road. He heard nothing of import, no sounds of tramping feet or clanging of metal or creaking of leather.

  He released the Deep and continued to stare at the warrior.

  The man appraised him, sweat glistening on his brow although it was the cool of fall. “You look as if you could use a hot bath and sustenance, Maj Car’abel.”

  “I have no time! Take me to him.” Was this warrior trying to stall him? Or was he just being polite to a member of the royal clan?

  “Very well.” The warrior gestured and Priva followed, stamping down irritation. Yes, part of that irritation was related to being sticky and dirty and hungry. But this man didn’t need to know that.

  A tacked horse waited in the front of the soldier’s quarters. Priva glanced back at the wall over his head. The soldiers moved about, but they seemed to be relaxed. They talked, swapped drinks, and kept their eyes to the inside of the city as opposed to the outside.

  Something was wrong.

  Priva mounted the horse, unease rippling through him. He followed the warrior as he trotted from the wall due west, people scattering out of their way. They did not appear as if they were about to come under siege. Life went on as usual. Women scolded their children, young men laughed and loitered, old men talked in groups and eyed them as they raced past.

  Where were the patrols through the streets? The activity of forges being fired, couriers racing word from the walls, or supplies being transferred? Surely, they knew the Jattalians were coming. Or perhaps they really were that clueless.

  Urgency gripped him in its embrace. He turned his attention back to the warrior and where they were headed. He had been to Crowning a few times past, but didn’t recognize where they were except they were headed toward the port. The closer they drew to the docks, the more activity increased. But it wasn’t as if they were readying for battle, more like normal city routine.

  The warrior paused outside a large building that appeared important. The roof was made of tile and not thatch, and a huge flag hung from the edge. It bore the mark of the Car’xeal clan. Priva had been to the Elder’s home, and this was not it.

  The warrior leapt from his horse and handed it off to a stable boy. Priva did the same, the cobblestones beneath his feet unfamiliar. He hated city life. The building was right up to the street, no courtyard separating it from the rabble, and no walls for defense. A strange place for the Elder to be. Everything about this sent foreboding down his spine.

  Priva handed his horse off with a toss of the reins and then hesitated. The warrior marched to the front door and paused, turning a questioning gaze to him. “You will come, Maj Car’abel?”

  Priva embraced the Deep and sent it throughout the structure. He once again tried to sift through any extraneous noise, but it was more difficult. The sound reverberated in the house, snatches of conversation invading his mind. The warrior’s sweat was crystal-clear to his sight, the widening of his pupils, the pounding and roaring of the blood through his veins and heart –

  Something clanged down the street and Priva jumped, releasing the Deep. He turned and drew his blade in a flash, taking in the contingent of warriors who converged on him. They were Jattalian.

  He had no time to plan, only to react. Swinging his blade, he lopped off the first arm that came within range. Blood splattered the cobblestones, the man’s scream slicing the air.

  There were too many. But Creator be cursed if he was going to go down without a fight.

  Something heavy slammed over his head, and he fell forward. A net entangled his swinging arm, and he lost his blade. The net covered his whole body, and with a roar, he fought for all he was worth. His arms were grabbed and yanked to his side and something heavy sat on his legs.

  “Peace, Maj.” The warrior he had followed stepped into view, his feet at Priva’s head.

  “Traitor!” Anger hot and fierce burned up his face, turning his vision dark.

  “Leave your taunts and questions for the Elder. Bring him.” The warrior marched away.

  Hauled to his feet, Priva snarled at the Jattalians who surrounded him. They gazed back with uncaring eyes. Two of them gripped the net and dragged him to the front steps. He stumbled as the rope tripped him in its grasp. What had the Elder done? Conceded already to the Hooded?

  He was poked and prodded through the front room to the back. A door swung open. Elder Grayfin stood beside an old man at a dais, who was wrapped in a dark cloak.

  “Ah. Here he is.” Elder Grayfin marched forward, gray tunic and cloak billowing behind him. His white hair and bushy eyebrows were in direct contrast to the darkness of his skin. “Welcome, Priva.”

  “Priva?” Callum’s voice rang out before he saw her. He turned his head as best as he could toward her voice to his right. She surged forward but was restrained by chains and several Jattalians around her. The anger built inside until it burst forth. The Deep came easily, and Priva scooped up the waters and shot a surge of power toward her captors.

  It hit a shield, cast by the old man by the dais. He didn’t turn his g
aze from Priva as he wrenched the Deep from Priva’s grasp. The power disappeared behind another mental shield.

  This was the Hooded, then. All was lost already?

  “Calm yourself, Maj,” Elder Grayfin said, voice low and whispered. Rumor had it he had a throat disease that kept him from sounding like a normal man. Grayfin claimed it was how he had always spoken.

  “Traitor!” Priva surged forward in the net but was stopped by the warriors surrounding him.

  “I understand your anger. But hear me out, and then you can decide if I am worthy of your hatred.”

  Priva stopped his struggling, eyes darting back to Callum. She seemed to be unharmed, if only scared. She trembled in her chains, and he could sense she had been cut off from the Deep as well. He clawed for it, but the shield was smooth and impregnable.

  “My hatred is not misplaced.” He spat, but it didn’t reach Grayfin, instead getting caught in the net’s rope. “You owe allegiance to your king, not these invaders!”

  “I owe allegiance to no one, Maj. But calm yourself, and we will talk.” Grayfin glanced toward the old man. “I have been told you have met the Hooded on the sea.”

  So it had been him. Priva tried not to let the anger overtake him, instead taking a deep breath and blowing it out slowly. Wisdom was prudent, now. He was outmatched, overtaken, and at the mercy of his enemy. It was not to his shame to concede defeat when it was evident.

  “Very well.” He grit his teeth and glanced at the Hooded. “Let’s talk.”

  ***

  A meal was brought into a side chamber from the hall. Simple rations. Priva was released from the net, but the Deep still hung away from him, dangling like a carrot before a donkey. He ignored the tantalizing call of its waters, sitting down at a table and keeping his eyes on the Hooded. The old man was shriveled in the face, bags of skin hanging from his jowls. But he stood and walked straight, body seeming as strong as a man twice younger.

  Priva said nothing as Grayfin was joined by three members of the Car’xeal clan and the Hooded was joined by what appeared to be warriors of the Jattalian invaders. One in particular stood out, for he stretched almost seven feet tall and was made of rock-solid muscle. His manner was easy going, but he seemed like a coiled mousetrap, ready to clamp closed at a moment’s notice. His eyes were golden brown, a shade that was unlike any Priva had ever seen. Beautiful, even.

  Callum was kept in the corner of the room, chained to the wall and left there. Priva stood to his feet, gripping his rations and staring down the others as they watched. When no one moved to stop him, he went to her and fed her his food.

  She trembled, eyeing him with fear. “What will we do?” she whispered.

  “Quiet,” he soothed, placing food in her mouth.

  She gulped it down. “We must escape!”

  “Escape is useless,” the Hooded answered from across the room. A tightening enveloped Priva’s limbs and he couldn’t keep a hold on the plate. It clattered to the ground at his feet, food falling in disarray.

  “Then you have no need of her to remain chained!” Anger coursed through his blood.

  “She has proven to be more like a wild animal than a woman.” The tall warrior crossed his arms, but a large smile followed his words. Amusement? “The chains are for her benefit, not ours.”

  “I will carve your heart –” Callum lunged forward, snarling. She snapped taut, the links straining her arms backward. She stumbled and fell to her knees amid the broken pottery. Priva tried to help her, but the freezing of his limbs prevented him from being useful.

  “Come, this is nonsense.” The Hooded stood, hands clasped in front of him. “We only want to talk. Maj, Maja, we have no desire to sow discord.”

  “Too late for that, wouldn’t you think?” Priva glared at him, taking in his dark cloak and hood, eyes burning like coals. How had he escaped the Finders, after all?

  “Reasonable discourse can lead to peace.” The Hooded gazed with unfathomable regard. His food lay untouched on the table. What did he mean? Did they come to place Voltaire on the throne, or did they have some other plan?

  “Peace?” Callum crawled to her feet, blood dotting her legs where she had sliced her skin. “You speak of peace, when towns and villages burn, the smoke rising to the sky? When children are fatherless and motherless?”

  “Tell that to my people.” The tall warrior flexed his chest, jaw clenched. “Where was your outrage when my sister was slaughtered just because she was an accessor?”

  Silence greeted his words. Elder Grayfin shot his eyes to Priva and Callum. Something close to compassion threaded its way into Priva’s being, piercing through the anger and frustration. He couldn’t argue with such a claim. And neither could Callum.

  “Come. Sit. Eat.” The Hooded sat down, reaching with wrinkled fingers to grip a piece of bread and sop it into his watery soup. Priva’s limbs were released, and he sagged before regaining control of his muscles. A warrior moved to Callum, who eyed him with distrust before reaching out her manacled hands to allow him to release her.

  He paused, and she rolled her eyes. “I will behave.” He grunted and turned the key in the lock. With a clang, the chains fell from her wrists. Together they joined the others at the table.

  “You will be wondering where I stand in all this.” Grayfin didn’t waste any time. Good. Priva needed to make a decision about what to do, and fast.

  “You have sided with the enemy. What is there to discuss?” Callum’s voice was tinged with disdain. It matched the disgust rising within Priva. Grayfin was a coward. Instead of fighting, he had let them into his walls. Who could trust a man such as that?

  “To prevent bloodshed, I deemed it prudent.” Grayfin’s gravelly voice lowered even more than usual. “Can you blame me, Maj? To want to prevent violence within these walls?”

  “I blame you for committing treason against my father, and your King.” Priva kept his tone neutral, although the rage roiling in him demanded release.

  “I have done no such thing. And if you hear my guests out, you might change your mind, as well.” Grayfin grunted and turned to his meal.

  Priva eyed the Hooded. “Speak, then.”

  The old man turned back to his meal as if he hadn’t heard him.

  “It is best to show you.” The tall warrior crossed his arms. “After you are finished, I will lead you.”

  ***

  The shield was still in place as Priva was led away from the meeting and back onto the streets. Callum was pulled along, reshackled. What must she have done to warrant such treatment? He was the Bladewielder, after all. But they didn’t seem to be worried that he would try to escape. Maybe they assumed since they had Callum he would behave.

  The partition keeping him from the Deep was kept in place by the Hooded, who remained behind. Strange. He either had more important business to attend to, or he trusted the tall warrior, Clyfe, implicitly. The warrior walked with bold assurance, flanked by several other Jattalians who were armed with curvedblades, small shields of thick wood inlaid with leather, as well as numerous blades strapped about their bodies. In all, they were imposing. Even he could admit that. The streets cleared with alacrity, people rushing to get out of the way.

  The harbor came into full view as they crested a rise in the street. Jattalian warships stretched into the Passage across the horizon. His mouth went dry. So many? How had they assembled without Arinbjorn knowing? With the help of Voltaire, of course. But still, word should have been passed along with enough time for the Fortress to have heard of it. Right?

  Or was Callum right, and Father was well past his prime? So involved in matters of his family he missed the threats at his borders? Surely not.

  Yet here Priva was, staring at a massive navy.

  They stopped, and Clyfe turned to him. “Behold, the might of the Jattalian brothers.” His chest swelled outward as he took a calm step to Priva. His golden eyes burned with the light of the sun, as if it came from his core. “Behold the recompense of the thousa
nds of accessing victims of your father.” A large hand snaked out and grabbed Priva by the throat.

  He held as still as possible. It would do no good to react, for he was surrounded and with no weapon. Clyfe glared at him with eyes of hate, so close that his breath tickled Priva’s face. “Would you stop us, Maj? I think not.” He shoved Priva away, turning back to the docks.

  “We are accessors.” Callum stared the same direction as Clyfe, who turned a glance her way. “For all our father’s faults, neither Priva nor I desire for them to be hunted and killed.”

  “All the more reason to hate your King!” Clyfe turned to glare at Priva. “His hypocrisy stinks to Bara Bayan!”

  “Why don’t you just kill us?” That was something that bothered him. They knew he and Callum were of the Car’abel clan, yet it didn’t seem as if they had any intention to barter for their release.

  “If it were up to me, I would.” Clyfe crossed his arms, a petulant look crossing his face. “But fortunately for you, I take my orders, as do we all, from the Hooded. And he wills that you remain alive. For now.”

  “Then do you just intend to impress upon me that we cannot win?” Priva gestured with his chin toward the warships. “Because from where I’m standing, all I see is kindling waiting to be lit on fire.”

  “Confident speech from someone currently with his hands bound.” Clyfe turned to him, uncrossing his arms and stepping close once again. “We come not just with the might of Jattal, but the might of the Car’xeal. They cast their lot with us.” A smug look came on his face, and Priva’s heart clenched with rage. Why the sudden change for Grayfin? Was he really that easily swayed? “As we march north, more and more clans will join. For the stirrings of your Greigan neighbors is of change. Much needed change. Fear will no longer rule supreme, cast by your despicable Finders.” Clyfe spat at Priva’s feet, then turned and strode back the way they had come. Priva was forced along behind, beside Callum.

  “What do we do?” she asked, fear filling her eyes. “Could it be true?”