The Wandering War

by Cindy Dees

  CHAPTER

  8

  Eben was disappointed to see a lamp burning in Leland’s office when he and Rynn entered Hyland House. He’d assumed the guildmaster would be long gone by now, returned to his guild house for the night.

  “There you are, Eben. A word, if you please,” Aurelius said upon spying him.

  Rynn murmured something about a midnight snack and slipped out of the office silently.

  “Yes, Guildmaster?”

  “I would speak to you more of your birth father.”

  Eben sighed. He’d been trying hard to avoid thinking about the revelation that General Tarses might, in fact, be his father. “What of him? We are not even sure he is my father.”

  Aurelius shook his head. “It all makes sense. Even your sister’s extreme affinity for ice and your total lack of it fit.”

  “Why, if my father was some great ice lord, would it make sense that I got none of his ability with water and ice magic at all?”

  “The skill did not come to your father naturally. He attempted to absorb the essence of a great ice elemental and nearly died in the process. Only my intervention and use of my ability to capture and store magic saved both of us.”

  “You saved Tarses’s life?” Eben blurted.

  Aurelius shrugged modestly. “My point is that Dikenn’s ice magic was not his to grant to you. For some reason, the ice lord within him attached to your sister, but not to you. Perhaps your spirit was too stubborn and strong for it to fight.”

  Eben smiled halfheartedly at the lame explanation. Personally, he had no great desire to hold part of some elemental lord within him. He’d watched Will struggle with the tree lord inside him, and it had all but killed Will. He could do without such drama, thank you.

  “What is it you wish to discuss about my … father?” The word felt strange upon his tongue applied to a stranger he knew only from bardic tales of heroism.

  “Selea did not overstate the danger to you if word of your parentage were to get out. The Emperor’s credibility is at stake. He has declared his general dead, and dead he must stay. Maximillian will go to whatever lengths are necessary to wipe out any knowledge of Tarses’s existence from tainting the common acceptance of his demise.”

  “I get it. I’m dead if anyone finds out.”

  “Oh, it’s a fair sight worse than that, my boy. Everyone you’ve ever met will die. Your sister, your friends. Me, for that matter.”

  “You exaggerate. I’ve met hundreds of people in my lifetime. Thousands, maybe.”

  Aurelius said with quiet gravity, “Maximillian will kill every single person in Dupree, down to the last newborn babe, if necessary, to protect this secret.”

  Eben stared, shocked to his core to realize that Aurelius was serious.

  The elf continued, “More is at stake than merely a lie told by the Emperor. Maximillian cannot afford for anyone to question his version of truth as he presents it. In that direction lies disaster. I have come to believe that the Empire is less substantial than Maximillian would have anyone know. I do not know the extent of his deception, but I am convinced that deception lies at the heart of his throne.”

  Eben frowned. Aurelius was alluding obliquely to something that lay just beyond his comprehension. He didn’t like these mind games and layers of subtlety within subtlety. They were more Raina’s delight than his.

  The one fact he could latch on to was that, if he revealed who his father was, a lot of people could die. People he cared about. “All right, then,” he declared. “I will never say anything to anybody about who you believe my father to be.”

  “I’m not wrong about him.”

  “Fine. I will not say anything to anybody about who my father is.”

  “Everything depends upon it, Eben.”

  “My lips are sealed!”

  “Thank you.” Aurelius’s tone was conciliatory. “The good news is your father was able to have children at all. If the Hand of Winter did not stop your father from having children, then maybe he did not do the same to me.”

  Eben frowned. “I thought I heard something once of some curse upon solinari that makes them not have many children.”

  “It’s called the Culling. As far as we can tell, a great wave of magic passed over the land, and in its wake, exceptionally long-lived races like the solinari and nulvari found reproducing to be much more difficult.”

  “Huh. That’s too bad. Although on the other hand, if it were not so, we’d all be overrun with elves.”

  Aurelius’s mouth twitched with humor. “You say that as if it’s a bad thing.”

  Eben grinned. “No offense meant.”

  “None taken.”

  He stood up with the idea of going to bed.

  But Aurelius forestalled him, saying, “I have one more thing for you before the bunch of you go haring off into the wilds again on your next adventure.”

  Eben replied, “We don’t get into trouble intentionally, you know. It just has a way of coming to us.”

  “And it will keep doing so until you have completed your quest to wake the Sleeping King,” Aurelius retorted. He rose from the desk and moved over to one of Leland’s chests under a wall of bookshelves.

  Eben watched him curiously as he opened a chest and rummaged around in it for a moment.

  Aurelius straightened, and in his hands was a familiar suit of boiled leather armor, with a shirt of the finest chain mail sewn to it. The familiar White Stag of Hyland rose on its hind legs on a field of dark green. Leland’s armor.

  “We’ve been over this before!” Eben burst out. “It’s his suit. I will not—”

  “He would want you to have it. This armor isn’t doing anyone any good gathering dust in a chest. He’s gone, Eben. You would honor him by wearing his colors and letting his armor protect you.”

  For the first time since his foster father’s death, he was able to seriously consider the idea of accepting Leland’s armor. Still, he stared at the suit doubtfully.

  “Wear it for Kendrick. You can give the suit to him once you rescue him, if you want. But you need the protection, and your friends need your protection. The further you go with this quest, the greater the danger you will face.”

  Eben hesitated one more second and then reached out to take the suit. It was lighter than he’d expected. But then, Leland would have worn only the very best armor.

  “Put it on. I’ll help you adjust it.”

  Eben was surprised to discover that his chest was larger around than Leland’s. As a child, he’d always thought of his foster father as such a big, imposing man. He might fill the man’s armor, but he doubted he would ever fill Leland’s shoes.

  * * *

  Rynn smiled, his heart heavy, as Eben left the office wearing Leland Hyland’s armor. “It looks good on you,” he said gamely to his friend. The passing on of a person’s weapons and armor was one of the most irrevocable and final symbols of death among his kind.

  He stepped into the office in Eben’s wake, bowing his head respectfully to Aurelius. The Oneiri had long believed the Mage’s Guildmaster was one of the most intelligent and dangerous men in all of Haelos, and Rynn was coming to agree with the group of paxan scholars regarding him.

  “There you are, Rynn. I have your new headband.” Aurelius stood up and moved over to a chest under the window, emerging with a square, flattish box. “Of course, it is not nearly so finely made as your original one. Unfortunately, I do not have the resources of a paxan prince at hand to call upon the finest paxan artisans to make a replacement for you.”

  Rynn pursed his lips. He’d left that life far behind a long time ago and had no wish to resurrect it. “I’m sure this will be fine. Anything is better than roaming abroad with my eye totally uncovered for any chance passerby to see.” He took the box and opened it. “This is an excellent facsimile. Thank you. What do I owe you for it?”

  “Nothing. Consider it my way of thanking you for looking out for my young friends.”

  “It has been
my honor. And honestly, they’ve looked out for me as much as I’ve looked out for them.”

  “They’ve accepted you as one of their company, then?”

  “Yes.”

  “I have a favor to ask of you, Rynn.”

  “Anything, Guildmaster.”

  “Have you, in your dream travels, seen the child we believe to be Vesper and her guard, the Gaged Man, whom Eben speaks of?”

  “I have.”

  “My request is this: Would you share with me a memory of what those two look like?”

  “Of course. But … if I might ask … why?”

  “I believe the day is coming sooner rather than later when one or both of them will figure out how to manifest themselves on this plane once more. If I do not miss my guess, we may have only a matter of seconds to react to them before they attack. I need to recognize them when I see them.” He paused for a moment and then added, “Also, I would like you to share the images with Selea Rouge.”

  That made him pull back sharply. “I would not presume to enter his mind unless Master Selea wished it.”

  A small commotion in the hallway outside announced the arrival of some late visitor. Aurelius commented, “That would be Selea now. You may ask him his wishes in the matter directly.”

  “My wishes in what matter?” the nulvari asked as he entered the chamber.

  “Whether or not you want me to insert a memory of what Vesper and her Gaged Man look like,” Rynn answered.

  “That would be acceptable,” Selea replied. “Has he already done so for you, Aurelius?”

  “He was about to.”

  “Carry on.”

  Rynn got the impression Selea wanted Aurelius to go first and make sure the paxan didn’t blow up his brain or indulge in any other shenanigans. Privately amused, he moved over to Aurelius and reached for the elf’s temple. “This won’t hurt.”

  Rynn really did try to just insert the memory and get out, but Aurelius’s thoughts were so vivid and moving so quickly that Rynn was not able to block them all. The elf’s mind was all abuzz over the fact that General Tarses had children and what it might mean for his own ability to have a family. He caught a glimpse of Aurelius’s raw worry over his … ah, grandson! He’d had no idea that Will was the guildmaster’s adopted offspring. Interesting.

  “You have the images?” Rynn murmured aloud.

  “Clear as a sunny day.”

  Rynn turned to Selea. Stars only knew what chaff he would pick up in this one’s mind. “Ready?” he asked.

  Selea exhaled slowly, and his entire body went preternaturally still. “Go ahead.”

  Rynn touched Selea’s temple, and the elf’s mind was as still and silent as Aurelius’s was bustling and loud. Shocked, Rynn summoned the memory to his own mind and offered it to the cold and dark that was the mind of Selea Rouge. The memory disappeared. He assumed it had been absorbed, but he had no way of telling. The man’s mind was a dark, blank canvas.

  Rynn jerked his hand away from the elf’s warm skin. How a mind so cold could exist within living flesh, he could not fathom.

  “Are you all right?” Aurelius asked in quick concern.

  “Um, yes. I’m fine. Do you have the image, Master Selea?”

  “Aye.” A short half bow.

  He bowed back out of long habit. In all the centuries he’d been doing mind touches, he had never experienced a presence so utterly still, not even in the greatest meditators of his kind. So. That was the mind of a master assassin, was it? No wonder Selea was so very good at what he did. No emotion whatsoever had rippled across that mental surface to disturb its glassy calm.

  Selea turned to Aurelius. “How did your young protégés take the news that they must leave Dupree immediately?”

  “Better than you might think.”

  “Speaking of which,” Rynn offered up, “did Eben tell you that he and I were attacked by a half dozen bandits on our way back from the pub earlier?”

  Both elves spun to face him. “How did you fare? Were either of you injured?”

  Rynn pulled a face. “Surely you jest. Six common bandits stood no chance against myself and Eben. You should be inquiring after their injuries.”

  “But were they, indeed, common bandits?” Selea asked.

  “I had to erase a few memories of the fight because my hood came off and revealed my third eye.” Rynn grinned sheepishly. “I might have poked around a bit while I was inside their noggins.”

  “And?” Aurelius demanded.

  “They were hired by a man I did not recognize. He had a distinctive tattoo on his right forearm, however. A serpent wrapped around it, terminating with its head upon the back of his hand. It was singularly ugly.”

  “Coil,” Aurelius stated in disgust.

  “Anton’s thugs?” Rynn asked.

  “One and the same,” Selea answered dryly. “They all wear snake tattoos of one kind or another.”

  “You did warn us that Anton would come at us with more force after we made our escape. You were not wrong, Guildmaster.”

  “And now he will come at you with even more men and skilled fighters,” Aurelius grumbled.

  “We will handle the threats as they come,” Rynn answered calmly. “We have yet to be tested to the limits of our ability.”

  “Take back those words!” Aurelius exclaimed. “You will jinx yourself and the party!”

  Aurelius had a right to be nervous, he supposed. Will was his only living heir, and the sun elves took family legacies more seriously than most.

  “Can they do it, Rynn?” Aurelius asked without warning.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Can Will and Raina and the rest of you wake the Sleeping King?”

  Rynn hesitated, unsure of how to answer.

  Selea stepped into the pause, commenting, “The forces lining up against them are formidable. We cannot put all our hopes upon them alone.”

  Rynn frowned, bringing all his many years of strategic and tactical training to bear upon the question. “Undoubtedly, the quest will become more difficult the closer they get to the goal. However, I think they may pull it off. After all, they have the greatest advantage on their side: they dare to try.”

  * * *

  The First slipped into the room, content to stand in the shadows by the door and study the other seven conspirators gathered in the room. They were all powerful nobles in their own rights, sons and daughters of the Kothite archdukes and duchesses. Each of them had inherited immortality from their parents. However, due to the immortality of those same parents, none of these conspirators would ever inherit a throne or title. He, of course, was in the same predicament.

  Not that lust for power motivated him. Not by a long shot. Abhorrence of what Maximillian did to the common people of Urth, grinding them slowly and inexorably into dust beneath his all-powerful heel, was his true motivator.

  That, and maybe a little boredom.

  After all, not only was he immortal, but through a strange quirk of great magics cast long ago, none who saw him or spoke with him had any capacity to remember him at all, except in the presence of a rare gem called octavium. The green stone protected the minds of its wearers from magical effects that erased memory.

  “Ah, good. You are come,” one of his co-conspirators said, spying him at last. “We have news from the east.”

  “You speak of the stormcopper rokken statue, I assume?”

  “Can you imagine it? One of the Dwarven King’s own guards captured for all time in metal? The things we could learn if only it could speak.”

  The First smiled broadly. “Funny you should say that. As it turns out, he can speak.”

  A minor furor erupted around the table. He waited for it to subside and then announced, “I have received word from a reliable source that the statue was successfully unmade. The Dwarven King’s man lives and breathes once more. As we speak, he is being brought to us with all possible haste.”

  “To us?” one of the others exclaimed. “It is folly to b
ring him here so close to court!”

  The First replied, “Where else would you hide such a man? Where is the very last place anyone will search for this ancient guard?” When no one ventured an answer to his questions, he supplied the entirely obvious answer. “Right here. Underneath the nose of the Emperor himself.”

  “Still. It’s dangerous.”

  “I never said it wasn’t. I merely said it was least dangerous here.”

  “What do you suppose he will tell us?” someone speculated.

  The First answered grimly, “I hope he will tell us where to find the final resting place of the Dwarven King. Perchance we can find the body of the king and prove that he did, indeed, exist once upon a time. If we’re lucky, the guard will also fill in some gaps in our knowledge of the rise of the Kothite Empire.”

  “And if we’re very lucky, he’ll hold the key to toppling the almighty Maximillian from his Black Throne once and for all,” one of the younger members of the Eight, a hothead prone to grand statements, declared.

  The First managed not to roll his eyes. The existence of a single key that could take down Maximillian was much to ask for. His own private hope was more modest: that the wakened rokken would help break down the great curse of forgetting that had held the people of Urth in its thrall for all these centuries.

  He’d spent thousands of years researching the Great Forgetting, as he’d dubbed it, and as best he could tell, if enough irrefutable facts came to light that proved the Great Forgetting to be a lie, the curse itself would begin to break down. As that happened, Maximillian’s creatures for erasing memories—the oblivi—would be overwhelmed by the sheer number of people beginning to remember the real history of their planet. Gradually, memory would win out over oblivion. And with memory he hoped would come anger. Enough anger to topple the eternal Empire.

  It was as good a goal as any to a man with no dreams, no home, and no name.

  “How soon will this rokken get here?” one of the others asked eagerly.

  It could not be soon enough for him. He’d been patient for longer than any one person should have to be—lifetimes stacked upon lifetimes he’d waited for this.