by Jeff Wheeler
“Imagine how appalling it was!” Jaerod went on in a near-whisper. “The struggle when two armies wielded Everoot and Deathbane against each other. It was murderous. It was devastating. Refugees fled Sol-don-Orai. The borders were closed, trapping those who remained inside to meet the fate of the Empire. The Sorian who had guided them and preserved them – who had built them up from a small trading nation to the greatest power on this continent – they no longer listened to him. They were trapped by their need for the magic. When war consumes a kingdom, reason and hope gutter out first. And so the Sorian who created Sol-don-Orai destroyed it.”
“Sons of fire,” Thealos whispered under his breath. He couldn’t believe all that he was hearing. His ears burned and his throat clenched tightly. They had never taught the full story in school.
“The Sorian killed them all?” Allavin asked, his brow wrinkling.
Jaerod nodded, clasping his hands together. “He stopped the rains. With the awful power they can command, the Sorian caused great winds to blow over Sol-don-Orai out into the sea. The clouds formed but were cast over the sea before the rain could nourish the land. He invoked the drought and the Everoot dried up. The healing and regeneration stopped. And while the remaining armies fought over water, the motes of dust swirled in the air and began killing everything in the path of the winds. Within a few weeks, the Empire of Sol-don-Orai was no more. And the land became uninhabitable. The greatest, richest nation, crumbled into dust.”
“The Dust Plague,” Thealos said, nodding in agreement. He looked to the others in the room. “We are taught that it was Forbidden magic that destroyed the humans there.”
“Indeed,” Jaerod replied. “Deathbane is Forbidden. And that is one Rule of Forbiddance that I would certainly agree with.”
Thealos stared at the Sleepwalker. “The rest of it then, Jaerod. Tell them why we must go on to Landmoor. Is it too late yet to stop the Bandits from controlling the Everoot?”
“It is too late to stop them from seizing it,” he answered. “But not from keeping it. The Shae witnessed the destruction of Sol-don-Orai from afar – from the safety of the trees. But even then there was fear that the war would spill over the sea and into this valley and drown the Kingdom of Avisahn in its wake. The Shae did not want to destroy the Everoot like the Sorian intended to do. It is Silvan magic – Earth magic from their home world. It has a proper place and must be used appropriately. Deathbane was Forbidden to them. That had to be destroyed. And so the Shae appealed to the Mages of Safehome for an artifact. One that would defend them from the smallest motes of Deathbane or the great evil of the Sorian. They requested this artifact to keep the struggle of the Everoot away from the valley.” Jaerod pursed his lips, silent now, pondering. “An artifact was given to them. They called it the Silverkin Crystal. It was never used. It is still in the Shoreland – still at the Shae Watchpost in Landmoor where it was intended to be the first line of defense in case the struggle came here.” The gray eyes sought Thealos’. There was more – Thealos knew there was more. The door creaked open.
“Jaerod!” Talbin warned from the doorway. “A company of Kiran Thall just rode into Castun!”
XXIII
Could be Secrist’s men,” Sturnin Goff said, looking at Jaerod. “Or maybe from the Shadows Wood. I think I’d like my sword back now.”
“They won’t be from the main regiment,” Jaerod answered, glancing back at Talbin. “There were no orders to march on Castun. It must be another company.”
Thealos stepped forward, his stomach twisting with the shock of all the news. He felt an urgency to get to Landmoor, before the Bandits could take the city. “How long should we stay?”
The Sleepwalker frowned, angry at the sudden interruption. “I don’t want to be penned in here with so much happening near Landmoor.” He scanned the faces of those around the table. “What I told you all tonight is not common knowledge in this valley. The Silverbornes of Avisahn would have records of the Everoot and the destruction of Sol-don-Orai. The older members of the Sunedrion might even recall the deal they struck with Safehome. The humans of Dos-Aralon have forgotten why they came here, or where they came from.” He crossed over and put his hand on Thealos’ shoulder. “I cannot fetch the Silverkin Crystal. Only a Shae can retrieve it. And there are those in Avisahn who will speak against getting involved, unless there is proof. The Crystal will be that proof. I am a Shaefellow, Allavin. Now you all see why Thealos and I must go to Landmoor – we would stop this kind of destruction from happening. But I can’t do that alone. And Thealos shouldn’t have to carry the burden himself.” He looked to the others. “We need you. As many as are willing.”
A hush fell over the room. Thealos felt everyone’s eyes on him – there was newfound respect and admiration for what he was doing. He liked the taste of it, though his heart hammered with fear inside his chest. An artifact of Silvan power to stop the threat in the valley. Only a Shae could get it. Again it struck him that Jaerod was using him as the focal point instead of himself. He swallowed his own nervousness.
Thealos gripped the edge of a chair and faced the others. “I would be grateful for any help you offered,” he said, looking them each in the eye.
“I fear if we don’t get to Landmoor before the army reaches it,” Jaerod said, “The destruction that happened in Sol-don-Orai will start all over again.”
Sturnin rubbed his mustache. “The fortress will hold for a few weeks, I think. Don’t underestimate the city’s defenses.”
Jaerod shook his head. “It will fall in a day, Sturnin Goff. I just pray that day is not tomorrow.”
* * *
Secrist Phollen jerked the reins of his lathered gelding, drawing a snort and a shuddering backstep from the beast. He studied the face of the inn – the hazy glass of the windows, the high roof supported by huge timbers and stonework. It was a marvelous thing – would be a pity to torch it. He chewed on the Everoot, feeling the flavor dance in his mouth. It tingled inside him, making his senses knife-keen. He saw better than he ever had. He was stronger than he ever was. Faster. Dangerous. He loved the feeling the ‘Root gave him.
Checking down the lines of the cavalry gathered next to him, he watched the puffs of steam rise from their breaths. Lantern fire splashed across the Catpaw, illuminating the crevices and stonework.
“She’s a beauty, just like they’ve said,” Bralt said with wonder after letting out a loud whistle. Secrist glanced over his shoulder at his chief lieutenant, who was admiring the inn. For men who lived in the saddle, marauding the lowlands day and night, nice inns were a luxury.
“What else do they say?” Secrist said sharply.
Bralt rubbed his black stubble and shrugged. “Only that a Sleepwalker watches over the place. Friends with the innkeeper…I think.”
“I don’t give a ban about a Sleepwalker.” Secrist snorted, feeling a rush of the ‘Root inside him. “You ever seen one?”
“Nope. Known a few fools who said they did…but they were drunk at the time.” The hardened lieutenant grinned smugly. “This is where your brother’s girl and the Shaden went. Give the orders, sir.”
“Carnten and Roth – make sure the rear is still secure. I don’t want Jhef and Brendin asleep back there. Kill anyone who tries to slip out.”
Carnten nodded and went one way, while Roth took the other, joining the few in the back. Secrist wasn’t worried. He had enough horsemen to raze the town if he wanted to.
“What about the knight?” Bralt said in a near-whisper from behind. “He’s bound to be with them if we read the tracks right.”
“I’ll hang him. We’re here for my brother’s girl and that Shaden. And if we’re lucky,” he added with a sly smile, “A Sleepwalker too.” The ‘Root made him giddy and he chuckled, not feeling the bite of the cold at all. “Let’s get in there, Bralt.”
Kicking free of the stirrups, Secrist left the gelding prancing in the street. He unsheathed the tapered blade belted on his hip. The pommel felt cool to the touc
h. He wanted that Shaden’s weapon, though. The short, leaf-bladed sword. That would fit so nicely in his hand. He’d cut the boy’s throat with it. Ear to ear.
Secrist tested the handle of the door and it opened, letting out a torrent of hot, clotted air. He inhaled the smells of the room like fire searing his lungs and scanned the tavern hall for signs of his quarry. The woodcutters and miners gathered at the tables looked up at him and then went back to the decks of Bones and dice cups. No knight. No Shaden. No Ticastasy.
Secrist felt his anger snap and flare up, surging inside him. They were supposed to be here.
“Good evening, rider,” the innkeeper said, wringing out a towel and drying another tumbler. “What can I get you tonight?”
Secrist glanced at the fine iron-work of the chandeliers. His men filed in behind him, taking measure of the place. Too pristine. Too orderly. It lacked a sticky floor and clove smoke. Not the kind of tavern Secrist liked. The innkeeper kept staring at him.
Secrist approached the bar. His boots thudded on the hardwood floor as he walked. He looked at the innkeeper’s nose, fighting off the urge to crush it against the counter top. He wanted to kill someone tonight. It itched inside him. Bralt and the others filled in the room, bringing the crossbows out to menace the bystanders.
“I’m here for the Shaden whelp,” Secrist announced, staring straight into the innkeeper’s eyes.
The innkeeper didn’t flinch. “Which one?”
Secrist scrutinized him closer, his forehead wrinkling.
“I asked which one?” the innkeeper continued, setting down the tumbler and towel. “I had two here tonight. One in robes, very sickly. The other was better-dressed. Looks like he had some money. You looking for that one?”
Secrist stared at the man. “You Talbin?” he asked.
The innkeeper nodded.
“I hear a Sleepwalker watches over your place. That true?”
Talbin stared at him, his expression guarded. “What can I do for you?”
Secrist didn’t like the innkeeper’s tone.
Grabbing a fistful of the man’s shirt, he yanked Talbin up on the counter top and pressed the naked steel of his sword against the slope of the man’s throat.
“You think a Sleepwalker’s going to save you?” Secrist seethed. He sliced into the man’s neck so that blood dribbled down from the cut and stained the table. Talbin blinked quickly, flinching, but he didn’t move.
“Never presume with a Sleepwalker,” Talbin warned, his eyes flinty and stubborn. “Not a wise thing.”
“Not a wise thing crossing a Kiran Thall either,” Secrist countered. “I thought you fools in Castun would have heard that by now.” He looked around the room, watching for anyone to challenge him. Nothing. He felt Talbin swallow, his eyes turning white with panic.
“Just a rumor then?” Secrist taunted. “A fool’s rumor?”
Talbin said nothing.
“Then it’s too bad for you,” Secrist chuckled, jerking the sword back to sweep the innkeeper’s head off.
Secrist’s arm locked behind him and he felt a rush of wind as he was thrown backward onto the floor. Shouts of surprise rang in his ears. He was stunned by the blow and waited for the ‘Root to bring him around. Crossbow strings twanged and bolts thudded into wood. Opening his eyes, Secrist saw the Sleepwalker standing over him, twisting and dodging as bolts slammed into the counter space and wall. He moved like quicksilver. Dropping down to one knee, the Sleepwalker hammered his fist into Secrist’s nose and wrenched the sword from his hand, tossing it away. Secrist felt himself being lifted and then he was in the air, crashing headfirst against the far wall where he collapsed with a thump. It should have killed him.
Secrist bit deeply into the ‘Root, sucking the juice down his throat to stave off the fits of pain from his crushed skull. Shouts and yells erupted from the Catpaw as the rest of the Kiran Thall attacked. Secrist struggled to open his eyes and then watched in horror as the Sleepwalker brought his men down, one by one. Bralt, Cremno, Dagger, and Tomn. They went down — just like that — with a whisper of death in the air. The Sleepwalker had a long, tapered blade of his own with an odd-shaped pommel, some strange design carved into it. It flashed against the glare of the lamps, spraying blood across the room. Another surprise, the knight appeared from the side hall, brandishing his double-handed blade. He struck at the Kiran Thall from the other side, slashing three before the others whirled and fled. Already the horsemen were retreating, howling in dismay, cowering before the strength of the Sleepwalker and the knight. The blades danced in the air, zigzagging here and there, leaving fallen soldiers in puddles of blood. Secrist stared at the Sleepwalker through half-lidded eyes, feeling his strength return and his thoughts cool into ice. The ‘Root healed him. His broken nose fused back together, his smashed lip stopped throbbing. His skull fused whole again. Secrist didn’t have enough ‘Root left to keep going against the Sleepwalker alone. Not yet.
It was over.
The Sleepwalker stood silently over the dead Kiran Thall, looking for any movement of life. The knight had followed the fleeing men, determined to hack down as many as he could. The craven rook! Outside, the horses were galloping away, rushing down the street into the protection of the night. They had left him to die. The banned cowards. Secrist stared at the Sleepwalker through half-lidded eyes. I’ll kill you myself, you black-robed rook.
* * *
It’s over,” Allavin Devers whispered in the blackness, appearing out of nowhere. Thealos eased the tension from his bow. The woodsman’s boots didn’t crunch in the scrub and pine needles. It was the softest stepwalking Thealos had observed in a human – except for Jaerod. He joined Thealos at the edge of their small camp nestled in the quiet of the Shadows Wood.
“Where are they?” Thealos whispered, resting the bow on the toe of his boot.
“Can’t say for sure. But they scattered the Kiran Thall to the four winds, I can tell you that much.” He clucked his tongue. “Ban, Jaerod is faster than any man I’ve seen. The knight is a howling fury himself. I’ll keep watch for them. You should try and get some sleep.”
Thealos patted Allavin’s shoulder. “Sleep? After all this?” He rose and joined the rest of the camp. The moon barely penetrated the thick net of branches and needles. But down the slope of the hill, he could see a few of the glimmering lights from Castun. Thealos moved past the towering trunks and found Flent and Ticastasy grumbling in the dark.
“Here comes Thealos,” Flent said, his sharp Drugaen eyes catching him in the shadows.
Thealos blushed, noticing that she had just finished changing into her traveling pants and boots. She shivered in a thin chemise and quickly tugged on her shirt, tucking it in. “Where’s my cloak?” she asked, rubbing her arms.
Thealos saw it crumpled nearby and unfolded it before draping it over her shoulders. “I didn’t mean to walk in on you,” he said. “The gown you were wearing was pretty, but it would have only tangled you where we’re going. Allavin is back. Talbin and the others at the Catpaw are safe.”
“Good,” she muttered, tugging the cloak about her. “But I was really looking forward to sleeping in that bed tonight. You should have seen the stuffed mattresses, Flent. Roye never would have paid for those.”
“No he wouldn’t have,” Flent chuckled, rubbing his meaty hands together for warmth. He packed the gown into her traveling sack and cinched it closed. “Haven’t had a good sleep since Sol. Hate, I sure miss the smell of the ocean.”
“I don’t mind the ocean, it’s the bird droppings and dead fish I don’t miss,” Ticastasy quipped. She cocked her head. “What about you, Quickfellow? Wish you were home instead of down in the Shoreland like this?”
Thealos sighed. “I told you I miss my sister a lot…but this is where I’m supposed to be. I’m glad you were able to hear what Jaerod had to say tonight.” He thought about the feeling of safety he had grown up with, believing that the Crimson Wolfsmen kept intruders out. But it was only illusion after al
l. Their defenses wouldn’t work against a threat like this. “It’s not easy being so far from home, is it?” He gave Flent a firm pat on the back. “You don’t have to come with us,” he said. “You could go back to Sol or head north to Dos-Aralon from here.”
“What for?” Flent muttered. “There’s nothing in Sol worth going back for. So Roye can yell at me and call me some stupid rook again?” He shook his head. “No, I don’t think I’m ever going back there.” He looked up at Thealos. “I would have died that night in Sol, if you hadn’t healed me. I owe you for that, Shae.” He paused then grinned. “What, thirty pieces or so? My life’s gotta be worth about that.”
“Ten and you’re pushing it.” Ticastasy gave the Drugaen an affectionate hug. She also looked up at Thealos, giving him a smile. “He’s my best friend in all the world. That made you my friend when you saved him.”
Thealos dropped to a low crouch, feeling his cheeks burn. “I haven’t forgotten that both of you offered to help me in my time of need. I don’t forget my friends either.” He touched his hand to theirs. “If we make it through this, I promise you won’t have to work in Sol ever again.”
“A while ago, we used to talk about opening our own place,” Ticastasy said. “What did we want to call it, Flent? The Ragged Staff? We decided to be the owners, so we’d get to keep all the Aralonian pieces. Maybe we should open it up in Dos-Aralon, what do you say? After this foolish war is over. I’m…never going back to Sol either,” she said with a hint of regret in her voice. She looked at Flent knowingly. He nodded and patted her hand.