“When Gaurraenan realized he had gained no ground and that the fight was hopeless, he raised his sword high and ordered his men to stop. The battle ground down into silence, and Cortaemall walked across the bloody field toward where Gaurraenan stood. The two stared at each other for a long moment, Gaurraenan exhausted, beaten, Cortaemall’s eyes filled with rage. And then Gaurraenan gasped, ‘I concede. I surrender.’ He threw his sword to the ground at Cortaemall’s feet and collapsed to his knees, too weakened to stand.
“Cortaemall stood silently over him, breathing heavily, his face unreadable except for the rage.
“And then he raised his sword with both hands and severed Gaurraenan’s head from his body.”
Shock filled the eyes of the Flame and those in Aeren’s Phalanx.
“Gaurraenan had surrendered,” Colin said into the stunned silence. “Cortaemall should have honored that surrender, seized Gaurraenan’s House and declared it fallen. He should have banished Gaurraenan, exiled him to the glacial wastes farther north, or abandoned him in the southern lands. It was the honorable thing to do.
“But he didn’t.
“Beheading Gaurraenan might have been overlooked, but Cortaemall went even further.” He saw Siobhaen shaking her head and thought about her song, about why it had been her favorite, but he continued on. “Cortaemall ordered the hundred that had stood with Gaurraenan on the field in that pass beheaded as well. And then,” he said leaning forward, “he took his remaining Phalanx through the tunnel and into the heart of Gaurraenan’s House and he slaughtered every man, woman, and child that he found there. He rid himself of Gaurraenan and the stain the lord had made of his House completely.
“He declared Gaurraenan’s House ora-khai. He forbid any Alvritshai to speak of it, or its members, for all time.”
5
“Do you know what ora-khai means in Alvritshai?”
Colin glanced to where Aeren rode beside him. It was an hour after dawn and they were nearing the last village before the group would need to break away from the roadway and begin the ascent to the pass and the halls beneath the mountain. After he’d told the story of Gaurraenan and his House the night before, neither the members of the Flame nor the Rhyssal House had felt the need to converse any longer. They’d all turned in, wrapping themselves in blankets, most of their faces troubled. Colin had stayed awake long after the rest had fallen asleep, and none of them had slept well, tossing and turning on their stone pallets. Colin had kept the fire lit all night, throwing on a log or branch at odd intervals.
He hadn’t been able to sleep either, knowing what they would walk into the following day, knowing how it would affect him.
He shrugged his unease aside and addressed Aeren’s question instead. “It means ‘forgotten.’?”
Aeren nodded. “I have to admit that it’s not a term I’ve heard used before, because we have another word for forgotten. But ora-khai,” he shook his head grimly, lips pressedtight. “It means more than simply forgotten. Khai means banishment or exile. Adding the ora in front of it means not only banished but purged-from sight, from voice, from thought, from memory. Eradicated as completely as possible, from every facet of life.
“Cortaemall must have been truly enraged to have declared not only Gaurraenan but his entire House ora-khai.”
“Enraged,” Colin said mildly, “or insane.”
Aeren shot him a black look. “Perhaps both,” he finally said grudgingly. “The Alvritshai have been raised to believe that Cortaemall was its greatest Tamaell since the dawning of Aielan’s Light. It is hard to accept that what you say actually occurred.”
“It did,” Colin said sharply. “I know it did.”
He was hoping he could control what had happened before, that neither Aeren nor the Rhyssal or Flame members would notice anything wrong at all.
When they reached the village, they left their horses at a stable yard, Aeren paying for their keep until their return, even though the Alvritshai-older even than Aeren-nearly fell prostrate at the feet of Vaeren and the rest of the Flame, offering up his services to Aielan. The caitan managed to keep him standing, and through the heavy bowing and genuflecting and muttered prayers learned where in the village they could find clothing and footwear more suited to traveling through snow.
Once provisioned, huddled now in fur-lined jackets with additional layers packed away in their satchels, the group continued west down the road, the woman who’d provided the jackets watching them while shaking her head in consternation.
Hours later, Colin abruptly halted, a prickling sensation coursing down his back. Squinting, he stared to the north, up into the reaches of the mountains, where the jagged, snow-covered peaks gleamed white in the sunlight, the sky free of clouds. The land sloped upward at a gentle angle away from the road, but he could see where it steepened before the tree line, a fold in the land jutting up before leveling out and vanishing behind the rocky side of the mountain.
“Here,” he said to himself, his voice soft. He tensed, felt a sheen of sweat on his forehead that didn’t come from exertion or the overly-warm jacket, caught the flicker of a shadow out of the corner of his eye, an impression of a figure there and then gone.
He shuddered and turned to find that the rest of the group had halted.
He motioned with his staff. “There. The pass is up there.” They looked, faces skeptical. “You can’t see the pass itself,” he added. “It’s hidden behind the outcropping of the mountain. And the entrance to the hall is above the tree line.”
“In the snow,” Vaeren said.
“Yes. We should climb until we reach the tree line, then make camp. We can get to the hall before nightfall the following day if we leave early and aren’t held up by the weather.”
No one responded, but a moment later Vaeren motioned toward Colin to take the lead.
It was not yet dusk when they reached the edge of the tree line, although the temperature had dropped sharply. The climb had been steep, the Rhyssal House guards and the two brothers scouting ahead to find the easiest path. The ground was covered with a dense fall of needles, kept free of the worst of the snow by the hanging branches of the cedars. After the first hour, large outcroppings of rock began to cut through the earth, like bones, riddled with moss and lichen. After reaching the tree line, Vaeren and Aeren sent the others out to find game and wood for a fire, while they searched for a suitable flat section of ground for a camp. One of the plinths of stone was wide enough to serve the purpose, once they brushed it free of the nearly foot-deep snow. Eraeth and Siobhaen began collecting heavy boughs, laid down on the hard stone for use as pallets.
Colin stared up toward the pass, still hidden behind a ridge of the mountain, as the others returned with freshly killed rabbit and enough wood to last the night. As their voices rose into the falling dusk behind him, a chill pressed against Colin’s skin. He shuddered, then heard someone approaching from behind.
Aeren moved up beside him. “You’ve been apprehensive all day,” he said, looking up through the last of the trees at the heavy fields of snow. “What’s bothering you?”
“Nothing that you or the others need be concerned about.”
“But there is something?”
Colin dropped his gaze from the pass. He didn’t want Aeren or the others to worry, but clearly he hadn’t been able to hide his fears as much as he’d thought. “There was much death on these fields of snow, on this ground. That much pain, that much dark and brutal emotion, leaves… a taint, an echo.”
“I’ve passed through Aielan’s Light,” Aeren said. “Lotaern always said it was because I was more sensitive to Her powers, Her workings, than others, so the trial was easier for me. But I’ve sensed nothing here.”
Colin half grunted, half laughed. “I’ve drunk from the Well. It demands a different kind of price. But I passed through here once before, alone, and survived. I don’t expect it to be any more difficult this time.”
“Then you should return to the fire. The rabbi
t is almost done.”
“Boreaus does know how to roast a rabbit,” Colin said with a false grin.
They awoke to a bitter chill the next morning, mist rising up from the valley below in thick sheets. Colin urged everyone to bundle up against the cold and they all donned heavy boots and their fur-lined coats. As soon as they were ready, he led them to the edge of the tree line and into the drifts of snow beyond.
It took them most of the morning to reach the base of the outcropping of stone that cut off the view of the pass, everyone struggling at first, quickly learning the best way to maneuver through the waist-deep snowbanks beyond. They followed in single file behind Colin, who tried to trample as clear a path as he could to make it easier. The worst part was closest to the base of the outcropping, where the land sloped up at its steepest angle. No one spoke, except for soft curses beneath their breath or the occasional cry or grunt as they lost footing. By midmorning, the mist had burned away completely and the sun reflected harshly off the field of white. Vaeren and some of the others tied a thin cloth over their eyes to keep from being blinded.
Colin spent most of the morning darting glances left and right at the slightest movement or shadow. He could feel time pressing up against him, could feel the events of the past gathering, as if they sensed him, knew that he was susceptible to them. But every shadow, every flicker of movement, every half-caught sound turned out to be a cloud overhead, the flutter of a bird’s wing as it took flight, or his own imagination. By the time he reached the outcropping of stone and rested one hand flat against the pocked granite, he was cursing himself for creating the tension that strained in his shoulders.
And then he rounded the edge of the outcropping, the jagged plinth of rock towering above him, its peak covered in snow, and found a man waiting.
The Alvritshai stood twenty paces away, his lean face darkened by a vicious frown. Dressed in full leather battle armor emblazoned with intricate leatherwork, he stood with arms crossed, one hand hanging above the pommel of his sheathed sword. His cloak billowed in a nonexistent wind in the lee of the rock, his hair blowing back from his face. As Colin drew up short, one hand still against the frigid rock to one side, he noted that the Alvritshai was taller than those he knew, the heraldry and armor more archaic, even the bone structure of the man’s face subtly different.
But what struck him the most was the palpable anger he felt on the air and saw in the man’s eyes. He drew in a sharp breath, unconsciously brought his staff forward and across his body defensively.
They stared at each other. Distantly, Colin heard the faintest echo of swords clashing, of men screaming. Behind, he heard Eraeth and Vaeren gasping as they drew nearer. The sounds of the battle escalated, someone roaring in rage, and behind the lone figure Colin suddenly caught a shudder of movement. A thousand men surged forward. A battle cry rose into the chill winter air. Pennants snapped in a harsh wind as thousands of feet churned the snow-covered fields of the pass into mud-
“What is it?” Eraeth said at Colin’s side.
Colin blinked and the vision of the past vanished, the Alvritshai lord who had stood watching him with such anger and hatred gone. The snow where he had stood was untouched.
Colin exhaled, the sound harsh, but not as tortured as Eraeth’s own breath. Vaeren didn’t fare any better, coming up on the other side. They both stared out over the wide field of snow that had opened up before them, the mountains rising to either side, but dipping down in a shallow saddle of land between two of the peaks-a saddle that hadn’t been visible from the valley below.
“It’s the pass,” Colin said, motioning with his staff.
Eraeth frowned out at the expanse, then back at Colin. “There was something more,” he said. “You looked troubled when I approached.”
Catching the Protector’s gaze, Colin realized Aeren had told him of their conversation the night before. A part of him was irritated, but he should have known.
“I’m fine.”
Eraeth looked doubtful, the rest of the group gathering behind them. Vaeren merely said, “The weather’s held, but I’d rather be inside before the storm hits.”
“What storm?” Petraen asked.
“The one some of us can taste on the air,” Siobhaen answered.
“It’ll hit before dark,” Vaeren added, then turned to Colin. “So where’s the entrance to these halls?”
Colin pointed unerringly to where the snow drifted up the side of the peak to their left. “Up there, near the far side of the pass. I’m certain we’ll have to dig it out. The drifts there are deep.”
“If it’s on the other side of the pass, why can’t we simply descend from there rather than use the halls?”
“Because the route on the far side is too treacherous to risk in winter, or even spring. Especially with a storm coming.”
Vaeren grunted, then pushed away toward the pass. The slope here was gentler, making it easier to plow through the snowpack.
Colin watched silently as the majority of the group ranged out ahead of him, no longer single file. He waited for the figure to return, for the echoes of the battle to reassert themselves, but nothing happened. Yet he didn’t relax.
“So it’s started?” Aeren asked. He’d stayed behind with Eraeth.
“Yes. It’s not as bad as I’d feared it would be.” He caught Aeren’s gaze. “But I’m certain it will get worse before we’ve reached the other side.”
Without waiting for a response, he sank his staff into the snow ahead and stepped forward.
Clouds began to rush in overhead, heavy and black and threatening. The taste of the storm had changed into a prickling weight on the air, but Colin ignored it as he searched the edge of the pass for the telltale markings on the stone of the mountain that would indicate where the stone had been mined. In the end, it was an echo of the past that led him to the correct location, the snow high enough to cover all evidence of the tunnel’s mouth. But the snow couldn’t hide the stream of Alvritshai warriors in ancient armor as they slaughtered the last of Lord Gaurraenan’s men, then formed up in solid ranks before the opening and marched inside. Colin shuddered, a wave of sickening heat passing through him, like that of a fever. He shoved the sensation away as he pointed with the staff and said, “There. Dig there,” then spent some time regaining his composure. He waved Eraeth’s concerned look away curtly.
Snow had begun to fall-light and fine-by the time they’d dug enough to reveal the top of the tunnel’s entrance. No intricately carved mantle or steps marked it; Gaurraenan hadn’t been interested in art or architecture. The rock around the door was rough, chisel marks plain, smoothed only by the elements. Twenty feet wide, the door itself was a single stone, its face also rough, without markings, but Colin knew it was finely crafted. As soon as it was free, he stepped forward to where Vaeren inspected the crack between door and mountain, the others clustering behind him.
“How do we open it?” Vaeren asked. One hand brushed lightly across the door’s surface.
Colin smiled. “We push. It isn’t locked or warded or sealed. Gaurraenan never expected to use it more than once, and Cortaemall sealed the halls from the far side to keep the Alvritshai in the north out. He didn’t feel the need to seal this side.”
“But it will take all of us to move a door of this size!” one of Aeren’s Phalanx exclaimed.
“Gaurraenan was practical, but not stupid. The door is weighted. I would never have been able to come this way the last time if it weren’t. We only need to get it started.”
Colin set his hands to the door, Vaeren and a few others following suit, even though Colin could have done it himself, and then they shoved, hard.
With a hiss, the ice that had formed between the door and the mountain cracked, showering them with fine crystals, but then the heavy stone began to shift, grating against dust and debris on the floor on the inside as it moved. A gust of air blew past Colin’s face, smelling of cold granite, dry and ancient, and something deeper, something darker, like fr
esh blood. He glanced around to see if anyone else had noticed it, but all of the Alvritshai were leaning forward, peering into the darkness beyond. Vaeren actually stepped forward to the edge of the weak light, his hands on his hips, then turned back.
“We’ll need the torches.”
Colin stepped out of the escalating winds of the storm and stood beside Vaeren as the guardsmen scrambled to unpack the torches. The smell of fresh blood grew stronger inside the entrance and Colin swallowed against rising nausea. Vaeren watched him as he stepped out beyond the light, frowning as he vanished into the darkness. The guardsmen searched for him, shifting uncomfortably, then stilled when Colin spoke.
“I’ve been here before, remember?” Colin said, humor coloring his voice. “I know the tunnel proceeds straight for about a hundred feet, then begins to slope downward. We won’t reach the first set of stairs for another hour.”
Vaeren scowled.
Behind him, light flared as one of the torches caught, harsh yellow flame flickering in the gusts from the doorway. Two more followed, the darkness receding enough to reveal Colin.
“We’ll need to move swiftly if we want to have enough torches left for the return trip,” he said.
The halls were empty, barren, and uninteresting for the first day, the tunnel carved from the rock with no attention paid to aesthetics or elegance. It had had a single purpose: to take Lord Gaurraenan’s Phalanx to the southern edge of the mountains. That purpose could be seen in the sharp edges of the cut stone, in the crudeness of the stairs as they descended, in the abrupt change in the path as the ancient quarrymen ran into impediments and obstructions in the mountain itself. At one point the tunnel veered away sharply, curving around a wall of what appeared to be ice, but was actually some kind of crystal, veined in blues and greens that glowed in the light of the torches. Clear in places, it almost seemed as if something were moving deep within the crystal, although no one could tell if that were true or if it were simply shadows caught by the refracting light. Later, the tunnel opened up into a huge cavern, circling a wide pit on one side, the entire room smooth, as if it had been hollowed out by running water. When they reached the far side of the immense room, they found a waterfall emerging from a crack in the granite near the room’s ceiling, the snowmelt pouring down and across the floor to the open pit, where it vanished in another fall. They forded the stream, the stone on either side slick with hoarfrost and ice, and entered the tunnel on the far side.
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