by Brandon Barr
“The answer shouldn’t take you this long,” snapped Savarah. “Isolaug, the enemy you’ve all but forgotten. The very one Meluscia, your ignorant daughter, is concerned most with. Do you think Isolaug is so dumb a Beast that he would forget you?”
“He sends his Nightmares to our lands—”
“A distraction,” interrupted Savarah. “Answer in your mind these two questions. Is there anything King Feaor gains by poisoning you? The wrath of the Hold—that is all! On the other hand, is there anything a power lusting spirit gains by pitting his two neighboring kingdoms against each other?”
Trigon closed his eyes, his rasping breaths passing through cracked lips. “Why on my deathbed do you come up with these far-fetched theories?”
Savarah bent closer, placing her hand stiffly on Trigon’s shoulder. “Your daughter does not share the bad blood you or Valcere have with the Verdlands. Send Meluscia to King Feaor as your delegate. Appoint her as Luminess Imminent. You have always respected my instincts, do so now. Bring peace to your people with this one last act of your life.”
Trigon looked at her arm where it stretched up from its resting place on his shoulder. “What if you are wrong? What if I am sending my daughter to a murderer?”
“The skirmishes between your woodcutters and King Feaor’s farmers kill ten or twenty every week. You would deny your daughter the chance to bring peace? She is willing to die for her people. Are you willing to let her?”
Trigon stared at the pile of blankets. Silence thickened the room but for his wheezing. Savarah waited, irritated, but knowing patience was what Trigon needed as her words of warning made growing sense; he stumbled over them now in his mind.
“Take my hand,” he finally said.
When she did, he rasped, “I have just received a letter from King Feaor asking that I send one last peace delegation before I pass. He has asked that I send Meluscia. With all my heart, I loathe even the slightest chance that he should act treacherously against me.” Trigon glared darkly up at the ceiling. “Promise me this. If I do decide to send my daughter, you must go with her and see that she is kept safe.”
Savarah smirked. “Gladly. I would give my blood to the ground before I allowed a drop of Meluscia’s to leave her veins. That is my promise to you, Father.”
She stood and left Trigon without another glance. She had squeezed out the smallest minutia of emotion. She felt weak. Foolish. The promise she had given Trigon was not an entirely empty one. She would protect Meluscia as far as she could, but only to the point where it served her purposes. She would not delay her revenge against Isolaug.
There was much killing yet to do, and her thoughts turned to Osiiun. Her heartbeat quickened.
She felt fear, and she hated him for it.
CHAPTER 21
MELUSCIA
Meluscia stood on the upper plateau, arms folded across her chest, watching the sun slip behind the horizon at Black Thorn Peak. The hem of her dress blew in a relentless east wind that carried a breath of ice from the glacial peaks to the west.
Her thoughts wavered between searching for something she could do to sway her stubborn father’s heart, and between the ominous conclusions that she had failed, and that everything she’d hoped to accomplish as Luminess would go unchanged. The safety of her people would continue to be jeopardized by Valcere’s bitter animosity toward the Verdlands.
The possibility of friendship between the two kingdoms would be a lost hope. The forces of her kingdom would continue to focus on the wrong borders.
The memory of skeletonized bodies heaped around a cooking pit arose like a phantom from the past. Bones, both small and large, ravens hopping about, picking them clean.
Her hands curled into fists as tears fell freely down her face.
Anger rose within her, pure and focused, and it traveled beyond her father, beyond Valcere, out over the distant mountains, toward Praelothia, where merciless cruelty sprang from the hand of that vile Beast, Isolaug.
Betrayer of man and Maker.
A clamor arose behind her and she turned.
A pair of soldiers accompanied four familiar faces. Heulan, the falconer called Dolostone, and on his heels were Mica, and Tanaclast.
Meluscia wiped her wet eyes with the sleeve of her dress and awaited, frozen, unable to move as a cacophony of emotions tugged within.
“My Lady,” called Heulan. “A letter from Regent Adulyyn’s Falcon. It has the seal of urgency.”
Mica stopped before her, concern lining his eyes, which shone bluish-grey. Clearly, he and everyone else noticed her flushed cheeks and the marks of tears.
“A letter for you, My Lady,” came Dolostone’s wind-bitten, voice. He held out a small rolled letter.
She took it from his hand, and squeezed the letter tight as if it held a verdict of either life or death.
“Tanaclast,” Meluscia called out, her eyes on the young woman. Meluscia’s fingers ached to open the letter, but first, she had to know. “Have you just come back from your journey?”
“I arrived at noon today. Went straight to your father and gave him the return letter. Mica and I searched for you, to inform you that I had completed the errand, but we were unable to find you until now.”
Meluscia stared in disbelief. Tanaclast had given her father the letter at noon? He had said nothing of it.
She swallowed, the significance of those facts gripping her like fingers constricting her throat.
Her eyes turned down to the letter in her hand. She broke the seal and unrolled the tiny parchment. Her eyes devoured the short note quickly.
The paper crinkled as she crushed the letter in her hand. She looked up, at the blurred faces before her, the wind whipping the loose strands of her hair into her wet eyes.
Dizziness hit her like an earthquake and she nearly collapsed.
Mica caught her as she fell and held her in his arms, but she was consumed by the voice in her mind. It read the letter again, and again, as if she could not grasp the words.
Dear Meluscia. I feel I have failed you. The council majority was not swayed by my enthusiastic appeals for you. I couldn’t convince a single undecided Regent to vote in your favor. The final count was eleven to three.
My sincere regrets,
Adulyyn
LOAM
The inner suffering of questions and doubt are sustenance to the soul tuned to eternity. Bring before me a man or woman whose mind is free of such contemplative troubles, and I will wipe their dumb smiles away with a word from the Makers that hits like a horse hoof to the head. But, bring before me one plagued by questions and doubts, and I will reach out my feeble hand and take their shoulder in my grip and give them a word of hope. That is my calling. To bring doubt to the undisturbed, and comfort to those whose minds are a sea athrash.
-Fragment from Rheum the Heretic: Speaker for the Gods, Library of the Royal Quorums, Anantium
“. . . Farmer or not, the girl is of the highest priority. Break protocol. Throw the procedure books into the sea. Whatever it takes. Acquire the farm girl, quickly, as if your job depends on it.
-Higelion, Magnus Empyrean of Sector 54 (Archived transmission to Karience, Empyrean of Loam)
CHAPTER 22
WINTER
Winter woke early and wriggled further down into the warmth of soft sheets and heavy blankets. The fabric had a sweet spice scent that pleasantly singed her nose. Such a smell she could never have imagined. It was strange. The luxuriously warm blankets, the lavish red and white velvet of the room décor, the rich aromas. All of it.
She brought Whisper’s jar out from under the pillow where she’d hidden it for the night. She’d successfully managed to keep her tiny companion close without anyone seeing it. Tenderly she fingered the jar, but didn’t dare let Whisper out.
Her thoughts turned toward all that the day held. If the Baron wasn’t deceiving her and her brother, she would be leaving her farm hovel behind today for something else just as unimaginable as this lush bedroom. So
mething stranger, more exotic. The thought brought her upright in bed. The possibility of it all made her grin.
Suddenly she laughed aloud to herself, a giddiness washing over her.
A heap of items beside the door drew her out of bed. She padded over to them and knelt in her silk sleeping gown, the lush material tingled warmly against her skin, just as it had when she donned it last night before slipping into the oversized bed. The items on the floor were hers. It appeared everything she owned had been taken from her room in her and Aven’s hovel and placed at the door. Beside her belongings were several empty bags.
Was it possible the Baron had really arranged for her and Aven to join the Guardians? It seemed incredible that they would acquire farmers who knew nothing of the wider world, and had no skills outside their trade. There must be a lie embedded somewhere in what the Baron said. Perhaps he would make it appear to the farmers as if she and Aven were leaving on a Guardian starship, when really they would be taken someplace else. To another land baron. Or simply cast out on the road to fend for themselves. The latter option would suit her just fine.
She found her sling pack among her belongings as well as her collection of feathers. One she placed in her hair, the others she wrapped in cloth and placed in the pack.
A noisy bird’s call sounded from the open window beside her. She was reminded of the garden just outside. She’d looked out upon it before she’d slipped into the warmth of the bed last night. Torches had lit its path, illuminating the foliage and fronds with their warm fire. If it were not the Baron’s fortress, she would have liked to have gone out and explored the garden. It was a shame.
The bird call sounded loudly again, and Winter turned suddenly. At the window, Rabbit’s head and shoulders hung down from the roof, her hair, tied in a ponytail, swayed like a leaf viper hanging from a branch.
Winter rushed to the window.
“Quick!” whispered Rabbit. “Have you any word for us?”
The sight of her friend jumbled her thoughts. She stilled them as best she could, and tried to recall what she’d heard. “The Baron told me and Aven he was going to amend the farm contracts in some fashion. Something about removing the harshest parts.”
“Did he say anything about disbanding the Watch?”
“No. Nothing.” Winter glanced beyond Rabbit, past the garden path where there loomed the large grey wall. “How did you get in here?”
“Easy enough. Only the gate is guarded, so I use a hook and rope to scale the wall. This isn’t the first time I’ve come to visit the Baron’s guestrooms.” Rabbit glanced nervously past Winter. “Is that all I should know?”
“The Baron, he knows about you and Grey Bear. He knows about the rebellion.”
Rabbit nodded. “Did he say—”
The door to her room opened suddenly.
Winter spun around, her heart leaping in her chest.
Zamlah and Rose entered, followed by Aven, who wore a clean white tunic.
The faintest patter sounded on the roof above.
“Are you packed?” asked Rose.
“I just woke,” said Winter, her heart pounding frantically.
Aven scooped up a blanket and came over and wrapped it around her. It was then she realized he had mistaken the look on her face for one of embarrassment.
She had been standing there, almost naked in her silk bed attire. Awkwardly, she covered herself with the blanket as Aven took her hand.
Her breathing calmed. No one had seen Rabbit. Thank the Makers!
“Alright?” tapped Aven.
“Yes. Slept like a queen…You look handsome.”
Rose looked at the pile at Winter’s feet. “I’ll be back with girls from the Baron’s harem. I want you packed up before they get here to dress you. Breakfast will arrive soon. We’ll be leaving for the marketplace in half past an hour.”
Rose left, and Zamlah stepped forward.
“I’m here to make sure you understand the Baron’s expectations for the day.”
“Expectations?” said Winter. “How do we know his offer is real?”
Zamlah’s white jowls flushed red. “You cannot fathom how fortunate you are, farm girl. The Guardians will come. But the Baron can change his mind at anytime, so do exactly as you are told and you’ll go from being pitiable to being respected here on Loam.”
“And the farmers,” said Winter. “The Baron will do all that he promised last night?”
“The same applies to them as to you. If they cooperate, they’ll receive everything the Baron discussed in your hearing. However, if they make further demands, if they are not satisfied, then there will be blood. As to the two of you—keep your mouths shut, do exactly as you’re told and all will go well.”
He turned with a flourish and left the room.
“Pack,” said Aven. “I want to be ahead of their schedule.”
“I’m worried for Grey Bear and Rabbit,” said Winter. “I’m not sure what to expect—how will the farmers react to the amendments?”
“Don’t feel sorry for Grey Bear. We warned him. He’s the cause of all this.”
Winter frowned at him. “The Baron is the cause of this. Don’t twist that around. He’s not our friend. Grey Bear is.”
Aven glared at her. “I know that. But Grey Bear is too willing to go to war against the Baron. He may get good people killed, and that includes himself.”
Winter bent down and began to pack. “I’m afraid of the part we might play today. I don’t like the idea of being one of the Baron’s game pieces.”
Aven stood, watching her shuffling through her bedroom’s contents. “We have to do it. Just for today. If his words are true, we’ll finally be free of him. The Guardians can’t be as bad as the Baron. Maybe they will let us go.”
“I want it to be real but, if it is, I don’t want it to cost us our souls.” She stopped, annoyed at the pleading tone of her voice. “And as to the Guardians, I can’t think of a stranger, more wonderful people to be sent to. I hope that part is true.”
If it was, surely it was part of the destiny that Leaf had given her. Leaf, the Maker who’d wrapped her in arms so strong. She wasn’t sure why, but she felt Whisper’s spirit pulling on her now, drawing her to lean on the memory of Leaf. To trust her calling, no matter what happened in the hours to come.
“We’ll find out together,” said Aven.
Winter stood, her clothing and her most treasured items packed in bags.
It was a strange moment. As if she and Aven were on a precipice.
They stared at each other in silence for a time, until Rose and the Baron’s harem arrived, interrupting their short refuge of quiet.
CHAPTER 23
AVEN
Aven thought it strange at first when he counted only sixty soldiers protecting the Baron and his entire party as they made their way to the marketplace where the assembled farmers would be waiting. It was the whole of the Baron’s soldiers and his watch. Considering Rhaudius knew the hostilities the farmers held and the chance of rebellion, Aven was certain the Baron had hired contract soldiers from Anantium. Likely they were somewhere out of sight. Would the farmers suspect this? If at any point they thought they had a clear upper hand, anything might happen.
The horse beneath him snorted. He reached down and stroked the side of its muscular neck. Winter rode beside him, her packs secured behind her. There was an elegance and a power riding such a strong animal. An animal of royalty and wealth.
Aven passed his eyes over the tall grasses and through the trees. No sign of movement anywhere. It was eerie—the sound of the horse hooves clopping on rock and dirt, the stillness of the woods. Were Grey Bear and Rabbit where they should be, waiting in the main street of the marketplace? Were the rest of his fellow farmers there? It was a disturbing sensation, feeling like a member of the Baron’s party, hoping all was well.
The market’s flags rose over the small hillock that hid the buildings from sight. As the party crested the rise, Aven felt sick. He glance
d at Winter. Her face was like stone as she watched the backs of the riders in front of her.
In the basin below stood the two rows of small shabby buildings. The blacksmith’s was the largest structure, but it was without fire today, for no smoke rose into the sky. A rather disturbing sight, seeing its furnaces without billows of smoke. It was always a sign of trouble in the valley, and without exception, a beheading was always portended by a smokeless sky. There was the slanted candlemaker’s cottage, the carpenter’s stone house, the cordwainer’s booth across from the potter’s kiln and a handful of traveling cottars’ tents with their odd specialties for sale.
And between these buildings was the patchy grass street filled with farmers. This was the only community Aven knew, having never traveled outside the boundaries of the farmland. As he looked at the sight of more than one thousand farmers crowded together, he found his chest grow tight. The farmers made no more than a faint murmur, as they watched him and his sister approach along with the Baron’s party. The stillness concerned him. As did the Baron’s display of apparent boldness, marching into such a place with such a weak show of force. Would he and Winter be given over to the Guardians if war broke out?
The Baron led his mounted force on top of a raised pavilion built for the farmers to have weddings and new moon dances. But the farmers never used the platform, for the Baron consistently tainted it with his executions.
Aven looked at the faces closest to the platform’s edge. Foxjoy, the old picker from Plot 7, scowled at him. Others did the same. Most simply looked up at him with confusion, wrinkling their brows.
Didn’t they know? Hadn’t Grey Bear spread the word about his and Winter’s alternative summons? Perhaps it hadn’t gotten to every ear? Or maybe it was the sight of them in fancy dress, seated upon the Baron’s horses.
A horrible question entered Aven’s mind. If the farmers went to war against the Baron, would they know which side he and Winter were on?
The Baron dismounted, as did Zamlah. Aven wanted to take his sister’s hand, but two mounted soldiers were between them.