The Cycle of Arawn: The Complete Epic Fantasy Trilogy

by Edward W. Robertson

  "So we won't be able to get inside. Or talk to them. Yet besides the king himself, they're the only ones who'll know about his plans toward Cellen. I hate to cast doubt before we've tried to lift the stone, but how are we supposed to get this done?"

  "This is exactly why I continue to run short on ideas."

  Minn bit her lip. "I could join them."

  "Except that would be crazy."

  "I'm not the Pocket's biggest whale, but I bet I'd be the most promising student to come here in years. They won't be able to turn me down. Once I'm embedded with them, who knows what I'll see?"

  It was kind of an incredible idea. Much less roundabout and more effective than anything he was liable to come up with. He couldn't volunteer himself—too much of a chance he'd be recognized—but Minn would be an irresistible talent. It was a scheme right out of the old days.

  But that was the problem. Back then, they'd always been so eager to get what they wanted they'd given no regard to the cost.

  "You can't," he said. "Once you're in, they won't let you back out."

  "Who's going to stop me?"

  "The staff!" he blurted.

  Minn muffled her laughter. "What are they going to do, cross their rakes in front of me? When I decide to leave, they won't even be able to see me."

  "In any institution, the staff always knows more about what's going on than its own leaders. This makes the help bitter. And that makes them susceptible to bribes. Sometimes they'll spill their guts out of sheer spite!"

  She looked down on the grounds. "Do the staff get to leave?"

  "They work in shifts. Two weeks here, two weeks home with their families. Something like that. I talked to one at a ball once."

  "Do you really think the servants are going to know—what, exactly? The precise curve in the king's intestines where he's pocketed the Golden Key?"

  "Well, we won't know that until we kidnap and torture them." He couldn't stop his smile. "We will inquire discreetly, misrepresenting our interests. If that doesn't work, we'll try your plan to voluntarily imprison yourself."

  Getting a line on the Endless Pillars' servants proved harder than he would have believed. The first time Minn asked a man if he knew any of them—Blays was trying to keep his direct contact with people to a minimum—the man behind the bar asked why she wanted to know, and when she hesitated, he showed her straight to the door.

  "New approach," Blays said. "You're looking for employment at the Pillars. You yearn to be part of such a glorious institution. You know they're beyond selective with their employment, so you're looking for someone who can grease the skids by providing you with an introduction."

  "We can sweeten the deal by claiming that if I'm hired due to their introduction, I'll pay them ten percent of my first year's wages."

  "That is devious business," Blays laughed.

  "That's why it will get results."

  An hour and three pubs later, her bait caught a strike. One of the runners had a friend whose sister worked at the Pillars. Better yet, she was currently on leave with her family. After exchanging a few notes and settling on a sum for the woman's time, the runner arranged a meet in the pub for that same night.

  "Ever done something like this before?" Blays said once they'd returned to their apartment.

  "What?" Minn held at arm's length the long-sleeved shirt they'd bought to make her look the part. "Lied to someone about my intentions in order to learn whether the ancient order of sorcerers that employs them is on the verge of capturing an item of unspeakable power?"

  "Asking about something you don't care about while trying to extract information about the thing you do care about. I suppose that's a daft question, isn't it? We all do that every day."

  "I've never done it professionally, though. You'll be there to chaperone me, won't you?"

  That was the upside of a city where women weren't supposed to meet strangers on their own, yet still had to contend with annoyances like "feeding themselves" and "not freezing in the street": Blays had a ready-made reason to accompany her (and to go armed). When the hour came, they walked down the dark streets to the public house and went upstairs to the appointed room on the third floor. Blays made sure the shutters were cracked open, wishing they'd done this on the second floor instead. Much easier to land a jump without breaking a leg from ten feet up instead of twenty. There wasn't even any good garbage below them. Major oversight on his part.

  Minn wasn't exactly helpless, though. And he'd added a few tricks to his own repertoire. Kept forgetting that.

  Footsteps carried down the hall. A bearded man opened the door a hands-width, glanced at Blays and Minn, and opened the door the rest of the way. A thin woman entered. Her brown hair was unusually short. She had the worn look of someone whose life is spent at the behest of others, scuffed and chipped about her edges like an old table. But there was nothing dull in her eyes. She turned to the man and nodded.

  "I'll be right outside." Reluctantly, he exited, leaving the door slightly ajar.

  Minn clinked a small pouch on the table. "Thank you for coming to see me."

  "You can't buy your way into the Pillars." The woman stared at the pouch, then swept it up. "If you're worthy, they'll see it." She seated herself with a short glance at Blays.

  Minn scooted her chair forward. "What do they consider worthy?"

  "Foremost? Trust."

  "As in a letter of recommendation?"

  The woman laughed. "Candidates spend three months in a barracks in the hills before they're even allowed into the Pillars. There, you will be taught to obey without question. To anticipate your master's wants before he has them. To serve the servants of the heavens, you must learn to work in harmony."

  "I've heard even the heavens aren't so harmonious these days."

  "I doubt it's as dire as you've been told," she said dryly.

  "So it is out of balance?" Minn said. "Would it be a poor time to approach the Endless Pillars?"

  "That matter will be resolved before you're out of the barracks."

  "Then they're near a solution?"

  At his place at the wall, Blays held his breath. The woman turned down the corners of her mouth. "The Pillars are a foundry of wonders. Those who cannot set down their curiosity have no place there."

  Smartly, Minn backed off, asking what the application process was like. It sounded very involved and might have been fascinating under different circumstances, but Blays had the distinct impression they'd already gotten as close to their answers as they were going to in this conversation. Still, they'd paid their money; it was possible that the woman (who'd refused to give her name) might drop something they could follow up on elsewhere. Besides, quitting early would only draw suspicion.

  After close to an hour, Minn nodded to herself, appearing to absorb the woman's last response. She gazed at her hands. "This has been extremely helpful. Do you know anyone else who might be willing to talk?"

  "This isn't the sort of thing we're supposed to do. I'm only here because of my boy."

  "I understand. But I have the impression I'll only have one chance to get this right."

  "We'll see about that," the woman said. She went to the door and exited. The bearded man glanced inside, then followed her down the hall.

  "I'm sorry," Minn said quietly.

  "She wasn't the type to feed us what we wanted on a platter," Blays said. "Anyway, we learned a few things. Such as the fact you shouldn't actually try to join the staff. The hunt for Cellen will be over before you even graduate to the Pillars."

  "I feel like I should have gotten more."

  "You were the one talking about how silly this is and the king's intestines and so forth. Come on, what else did we learn?"

  "That even the servants know something is happening." She rested her chin on her fists. "What if all they've found is knowledge? How do we take that away from them?"

  "We could try removing their heads."

  "We need an inside source. I don't see any way around it."
>
  He didn't, either. About the only way to get one of those was to kidnap and torture a wizard (a sticky endeavor) or bribe their way up the staff. Right now, his single connection to that staff was an unnamed woman who might or might not have one of her friends talk to them later.

  He didn't like that. But he didn't have any other resources to pursue. They were starting from scratch. You can only build so quickly without the walls falling in on you.

  During the next few days of waiting, he thought about going to Taya and seeing what she could turn up. He knew she'd be happy to help, but that was the problem. He didn't want to drag her into this. Investigating the Endless Pillars was like poking a hornet's nest. One where the hornets could summon invisible spears and kill you twice before you had the chance to think Oh dear, this was an error in judgment.

  Taya had no business with that. He'd already exposed her to an unnecessary dimension of danger when Dante had come calling. Blays didn't intend to repeat his mistakes.

  So he and Minn took the slow route. She made the rounds of the pubs, spreading the word that she'd pay well to be able to talk with any of the Pillars' servants. One time, they went back to the hills to gaze on the grounds and brainstorm a way to break in, but the core problem remained the same: even if they got inside, they wouldn't know what they were looking for.

  It did, however, give him one idea. Spy on the place from afar, and when one of the big fish emerged to take a trip to the palace, Minn could shadowalk in behind them to eavesdrop on whatever conversation the king had summoned them for. It was a little on the crazy side, but if nothing panned out on the servant front, he thought it could work.

  They didn't turn up any more servants, but five days after Minn's interview with the woman, they checked in at the inn where they'd met with her and found a note waiting. She had a friend who was willing to talk. A person who had been with the Pillars for almost two decades. Through notes, Blays scheduled another late-night meet, this time at an inn within spitting distance of the Street of Kings.

  They arrived early and headed up to the room. Fourth floor, this time; everything lower had been sold out. Blays pried open the shutters and took a look at the side of the building. No fire ladders or anything like that, but decorative iron rails hung above the windows. Would make climbing down a little bit easier.

  Below, a coin jingled across the flagstones. A man walked over to pick it up. As he crouched down, a sword angled from his belt. His cloak swung open, revealing a flash of red.

  In the window, Blays went still. The man walked back into the shadows of the buildings across from the inn. Blays picked out two more men hidden in the gloom.

  He touched the hilts of his swords. "We have to get out of here."

  Minn glanced over her shoulder. "What's wrong? He'll be here any minute."

  "I doubt that. I think the only attendees of this soiree will be a dozen armed guards."

  She was about to say something, but rustling noises sounded from the hall. She popped up and slipped the door's bolt into its lock. She had no sooner removed her hand from it when the door rattled softly.

  Someone banged on the other side. "Open up and lay down your arms!"

  Blays peered around the edge of the window. The guards in the alley were staring up at the room. If he and Minn tried to climb down, they'd be hacked to ribbons.

  From the hall, a guard slammed into the door, splintering the frame. Blays' heart hammered. One more bash would knock it wide open.

  Before he could reach for his swords—and to his great surprise—he disappeared.

  27

  "The stories from the Cycle of Jeren are more than stories," Dante said. "They're a history. Of a land that was changed forever."

  "You're talking about Weslee?" Lew said.

  "Long ago, there was a flood. One beyond our comprehension. Maybe it began as a thunderstorm—I don't know. I only know that the people in Morrive tried to wait it out in the basement. And all were drowned. Except a few who made it to the roof. I don't know what happened to them. They left one message: Arawn's Mill has fallen, and the waters of heaven fell to earth with it."

  Dante gestured into the gorge he'd carved into the ground. "Those trees down there weren't washed here by the flood. They grew here. This land used to be a forest."

  "How do you know that?" Cee said. "Talking to the ghosts in the basement, were you?"

  "Because Ellan used to be a desert. The Echoes are full of sand. Something caused it to stop raining here and start raining there." He paused, then spat it out. "I believe that something is the Woduns."

  Lew's brow crinkled. "I don't get it. They're mountains. Proverbial for being eternal."

  "I think that someone—maybe Arawn himself—created the Woduns to separate Gask from Weslee. That's why everything here is so strange. In an instant, everything was changed. Not just the people, but the lands themselves. If you know how to listen, you can still hear the echoes of the way it used to be."

  "Gask seems to have survived just fine. And if this is true, why don't we have any accounts of the giant mountain range Arawn erected to stop the children from fighting?"

  "I don't know," Dante said. "Maybe there are marks on Gask. We've never known to look."

  Somburr laughed the laugh of a man who's seen through a card trick. "This is why the Minister means to invade Narashtovik. He blames us for the devastation of Weslee."

  "That's insane. We didn't rain cataclysm on this place. Even if we had, it's been centuries since then."

  "And memory lives no longer than people? Then why do we dress in Arawn's colors and devote our lives to a book written a thousand years before we were born?"

  Dante was about to protest they didn't go to war over such things, then remembered Samarand had done just that. In response to another set of ancient beliefs. "All fires need fuel. Even if he thinks Narashtovik is to blame, we haven't had regular contact with Weslee since before the Cycle of Jeren was written."

  Somburr smiled. "They're reminded of our crime every day. Do you think they lived in those trees before the mountains existed? What do you think caused them to fear the ground in the first place?"

  "That sounds...impossible. But there's an unsettling consistency to it."

  Cee tucked her thumbs into her belt. "Then unless you want Narashtovik to get relocated twenty thousand feet straight up, it sounds like we better go kill the Minister."

  "So one of his subordinates can grab Cellen instead?" Dante said. "The only way to ensure our safety is to take the Black Star for ourselves."

  "Which we still have no idea how to do."

  "We'll head back to Ellan. See what else Horace wasn't telling us. Then return to Corl to find out how the Minister intends to find Cellen."

  Lew raised his hand. "Should we tell Horace his people are gearing up to fight the wrong war?"

  "We owe them nothing," Somburr said. "Let them remain a needle in the Minister's mattress."

  Dante glanced up at the afternoon sun. "There's no reason to linger. We have to get back to Corl as fast as we can."

  They packed up their camp and were on their way north in minutes. Going back to Ellan and then to Corl would take them on an L-shaped trip, and Dante was tempted to skip Ellan altogether and cut straight from Morrive to Corl. But they had no map nor road to show them the way. For all he knew, the desert persisted two hundred miles to the west. They could easily get lost. Die of thirst. Now wasn't the time to take unnecessary chances.

  With no roots or stones to trip over, they continued walking after nightfall, stopping once they grew tired. The next day, they reached the village and stopped to refresh their water and exchange greetings. The people tried to rope them into another feast, but Dante no longer had the luxury of luxuries.

  As he walked away, he looked back over his shoulder. Perhaps the Council should give up its politicking and prestige and wander the lands healing the sick. It felt better than most of what Dante had been involved in since leaving Mallon. There were no ha
rd choices in it. No Liras. No one could accuse you of causing harm.

  But he and the Council of Narashtovik were responsible for the freedom of the norren. The revitalization of the city and, at long last, its independence. None of that could have happened if they'd retired from the world.

  "Somburr's right about the Minister," Ast said once the village was a mile behind them. "He blames Narashtovik for what happened."

  Everyone turned to him. Cee spoke first. "You're from Corl, aren't you?"

  He shook his head. "I'm from the lands that used to be the Woduns."

  "You knew this all along?" Dante said. "Why didn't you tell us?"

  "I didn't know the Minister's plans. And I intended to betray you. To take some small measure of vengeance for what your people did to mine."

  Wind swept through the stunted yellow grass. Lew looked around for help. "Uh, I assume you've changed your mind?"

  "I don't know if Narashtovik is responsible for the disaster." Ast gestured behind them toward the village by the lake. "If so, you're different from your ancestors who slaughtered mine."

  "Where does that leave you?" Dante said.

  "If the Minister means to cause a second cataclysm—to repeat the event that ruined the Elsen—then as a descendant of the Elsen, I am sworn to stop him." The tall man met Dante's eyes. "Don't make me regret it."

  They pushed themselves hard on the road back to Ellan. Dante gave some thought to stealing horses, but they would somehow have to steal saddles as well. Additionally, he didn't want to spoil Ast's respect for him and the city he represented. Perhaps it was foolish to delay themselves over one man's opinion when an entire city hung in the balance, but Dante didn't have the heart—or lack of it—to do different.

  He looned Nak to explain what they'd found. Nak and Olivander were flabbergasted.

  "You know we have no records of any such events," Olivander said.

  Dante flapped his arms at the patchy desert. "Maybe it predates us."

  "And the Cycle?"

  "All I know is what I saw. Anyway, it doesn't matter what the truth is. It matters what the Minister believes."