by Jeff Wheeler
Thealos recognized the presence. He had felt it during the night in the Bandit camp. The awareness that he was there, that he was a Shae. Thealos froze. It was a Sorian.
The Sorian stood before the stone pillars, cold and aloof. He was medium-sized for a human, with jade green eyes. His black robes seemed to smother the blue light shrieking behind him past the portal. Thealos couldn’t move. Fear guttered out any resolve to run.
The Warder Shae raised his hands, but his thin arms were trembling.
The Sorian stepped forward, his green eyes locked on them both.
”Go,” Justin whispered to Thealos.
Thealos couldn’t move.
“Go!”
Magic exploded from Justin’s hands, rushing to close the gap between them and the Sorian. The blast had destroyed the Kiran Thall one by one, but the Sorian held up his hand, revealing an orb the color of fire. The orb simply swallowed Justin’s attack. He continued forward.
Justin sent a stronger wave of magic, trying to stall the advance. The magic hammered at the Sorian, but the orb deflected it, sending it spraying away from the green-eyed man, shattering rock and sending shudders through the tunnels. The orb flared once and the Warder Shae’s magic winked out, tamed and controlled. Justin’s face twisted with horror. The Sorian gave him a small glance, and Justin slammed into the rock wall before crumpling to the floor.
Thealos’ breath came in quick gasps. Fear weighed on him like a heavy mantle. He was going to die. His legs were still rooted to the floor. He slid the Wolfsman blade out of his belt and felt the cool tingle of Earth magic swell in his arm.
The Sorian gave him an amused smile. The orb flared once and suddenly the blade was white-hot. Thealos gasped with pain and dropped it, soothing his burned hand. The blade clattered to the floor, twisted and warping as the magic destroyed it.
Glancing down at Justin’s still body on the floor, the Sorian looked up and gave Thealos an arch look. “You can walk or I can drag you,” he said in perfect Silvan, his voice soft and subdued. “But either way, you are coming with me.”
XXX
The hall torches hissed and sputtered, making Thealos squint as he passed them and turned the corner. He was flanked by a dozen Bandit soldiers, each one wearing a sword at their belts and tunics of black and gold. Ahead walked the Sorian with his green-fringed robes whispering across the paving stones. The Bandits said nothing, neither to Thealos nor to the Sorian. He wondered whether he was quick enough to slip past the guards behind him. He wondered, but he didn’t dare. Two soldiers followed, dragging Justin’s limp body.
The tunnel rose in a steep slope that ended at a large iron door, its hinges embedded into the rock. It creaked and Thealos was ushered into a cell block. A few sallow faces stared at them from the shadowed corners. Rats peeked down from the rafters while roaches skittered across the floor, only to be crushed underfoot by the guards. The corridor ended at a sharp stairwell leading up. Thealos kept going, but he retraced the steps in his mind as to how they had reached that point. They were far from the whispering magic of the Silverkin Crystal. The soldiers dragging Justin didn’t follow him up the stairs. Instead, they took him towards another passageway deeper within the tunnels.
Entering the waiting chamber at the top of the steps, Thealos saw a row of low-hanging iron chandeliers. They were as wide as wagon wheels with thick black chains suspending them from the web of arches above. The air held the aroma of kitchen smoke coupled with the smells of bread, cheeses, and salted meats. Deeper into the hall, they passed the kitchens, and Thealos spied large hearth fires with roasts twisting on the skewers. Bread ovens were open, revealing oval loaves of golden bread. The cook slid them out with a long wooden paddle. Further down the hall, two well-fed dogs skirted away from the advancing guards and then watched them take Thealos away.
The guards stopped at a lacquered oak door bound with iron hinges and decorated with fluted gold work. It was certainly Silvan in design, reminding Thealos of Elder Nordain’s private chamber in Avisahn. The Sorian faced the guards. “Go to the kitchens for something to eat. You’ll be called when you are needed.”
Thealos watched them nod in respect before retreating back down the corridor. The Sorian motioned for Thealos to enter first and then followed, shutting the heavy oak door behind him. The smell of Forbidden magic clung to the Sorian’s skin like smoke, but the overwhelming feeling of terror was not as strong as it was near the Silverkin. Perhaps the Sorian had to invoke the dark power to protect him while being so near the ancient talisman. But just because Thealos wasn’t gagging with terror, he was not all that relieved. He had no idea who he was about to meet. Lord Ballinaire perhaps? The governor of Landmoor?
Entering the room, Thealos stood face to face with Secrist and stopped suddenly. But it wasn’t. He frowned, instantly wary, and felt fear bloom in his stomach. The man who sat in the large chair had the facial features of the Kiran Thall, but his cheekbones weren’t as high and his forehead a bit broader. The resemblance was unmistakable though. Who was this man? Seeing Thealos enter, the man rose from the chair and planted his hands on the fat table in front of him. He was taller than even Sturnin Goff and his shoulders were broad and strong. A thick red cape hung over his rich tunic, but Thealos could see the glint of a hauberk beneath it. The cape was smoke-stained and tattered along the fringe.
“He was alone?”
The Sorian walked past Thealos, his arms folded. “She is still outside the city, but should be reaching the gatehouse within the hour. The guards are waiting for her.” The Bandit leader nodded slowly. “This one,” the Sorian continued, “was with a Warder Shae near the forbidden section of the tunnels. Apparently they separated after slipping through the regiment last night. His identity is no longer concealed by the Silvan magic. His protector failed in the Shadows Wood.”
Thealos watched the exchange, not sure what to think. He thought they might be talking about Ticastasy and Jaerod, but he wasn’t sure of the context. “And what about the Warder I came with. Is he still alive?” Thealos asked.
The Sorian smiled with amusement. “Oh, he’ll recover. But I’m having him secured in a special cell. Old dungeon bars would not hold him very long.”
Thealos nodded, relieved that Justin would survive. His worry for Ticastasy and the others chafed at him. “Who are you?” he asked the man standing behind the table.
“You crossed my army last night,” the man replied with a grim tone. “And a dead Sleepwalker is hardly an even trade, if he is truly dead.” He gave Thealos a narrow look. “I’m Tsyrke Phollen.”
“You have a brother,” Thealos said, trying to keep the loathing from his voice.
The Bandit leader’s expression didn’t change. “I understand you met him in Sol.”
Thealos nodded. He felt sick to his stomach with fear but was determined to hide it from the other man. He prayed that his negotiation skills would help him. “We were…introduced. I understand you wanted to see me?”
The Bandit straightened and paced away from the table, clutching his hands behind his back. Thealos nearly flinched when he moved, but he kept himself steady. The man stared at a tapestry hanging from the wall of the study, but his eyes weren’t fixed on it. “We’ll start with the simple questions and go from there. Do not bother lying to me, Shae, as hard as that may be to resist. My friend over there will know if you do. If you try to conceal the truth, he will compel it from you. Believe me – he can. The first question – why did you take her?” Turning his head, he gave Thealos a hard look. “The girl from Sol. Why?”
Thealos felt a bite of panic inside his chest. His mouth went dry. “Ah, you’re still looking for ‘Stasy, aren’t you?” It was a guess, but it felt right. This was the man she had fallen in love with. By all the gods…
Tsyrke’s eyes were cold and angry. “It’s an easy enough question, lad. And you’d banned well better answer it. I’ve dealt with the Shae before. Evading comments won’t work with me.”
“
I wasn’t intending to evade you, sir,” Thealos apologized. His mind worked furiously. “We brought her with us to protect her from your brother.” He did his best to keep his face calm and untroubled. He knew he was at the disadvantage, just as he was when Nordain had summoned him before the Council Elders. This time, he would guard his tongue. For although Nordain might want Thealos in prison, this man would probably not flinch to see him dead. “Did you send your…brother to the Foxtale to bring her to you or to hang the knight? Or both?”
“Fury, no!” Tsyrke barked, his brown eyes sharp and glaring. “I arrived in Sol just after you left. Secrist was acting on his own, as he usually does. I haven’t seen him in weeks.”
Thealos steadied himself. He was trying to piece it all together. He remembered from the Foxtale that Ticastasy had known Secrist. Or known about him. She had told him once that she was waiting for someone – someone who was special to her. He had given her a pendant that she had worn after leaving Sol. Thealos felt his heart clench. He doubted she knew who he really was. Not this man. Not a Bandit leader.
“You arrived just after we left?” Thealos asked. “What a deplorable sense of timing then. She told me she was waiting for…someone. But he never came. I’m assuming now that she meant you.”
“Oh, I came. Only to hear that she’d run off with a Sleepwalker, her Drugaen friend, and a pampered whelp from Avisahn. You – I’m assuming.” He faced Thealos. “She wasn’t in any danger from the Kiran Thall and she knew it. Why did she go with you?”
Thealos shook his head. “You expect me to understand how a woman thinks? My people are noted for our wisdom, but not even we have solved that riddle. Let me clarify something. We didn’t take her from Sol. She chose to come with us. I believe she doubted that you were coming back. When have sailors or Shae barters been men of their word? She doesn’t know the truth about you, does she?”
The Bandit glared at him. “And how much do you think you really know?”
Thealos gave the Bandit a level look. “It might surprise you how much I know. I know that the Bandit Rebellion is massing down here in the Shoreland. I know that you are using Shae magic for purposes that are clearly Forbidden. Digging up the Everoot and hoarding it is not how it is supposed to be used.”
“Spare us your speech on morality,” the Sorian interrupted. “Tell me, how do the Shae feel about murdering their own kind? Some of us know about the Kinslayer wars. About Ravindranath.”
Thealos ignored the deliberate insult. If Tsyrke were not tainted with Forbidden magic, there might be a chance to reason with him. “Consider this, Tsyrke. If I am here and I know about the Everoot, then doesn’t it stand to reason that so does Avisahn? I know what the Everoot can do and what it has done in the past.” He gave the Sorian a hard look. “At least there were survivors of Ravindranath. More than Sol-don-Orai.”
“But if the whole banned Shae kingdom knew about this,” Tsyrke said, “then why are you here and not the Wolfsmen? Were you sent to negotiate a Pax?”
Thealos rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “Why indeed?”
“You are here because there is a Silvan artifact locked behind a Shae warding,” the Sorian answered. Thealos felt a tickle of magic in the air and the brief smell of smoke. “Your Warder companion was not strong enough to cross it. What makes you think you can?”
Thealos looked at the Sorian with distrust. “I am not the only one who can cross it,” he replied. “There will be others. The Shae will not sit back in Avisahn while you destroy the land with Forbidden magic.”
Tsyrke stepped forward. “And what happens if you get this artifact, Shae?”
“The Rebellion will end.”
Tsyrke seemed to consider his words carefully. “How?”
“If I told you that, there would be no need to keep me alive. Would there?”
“Your death is hardly of any consequence to me.”
Thealos shrugged meaningfully. He was gambling with his life, just as he had with Tannon’s band. It took every bit of composure he possessed to keep his knees from trembling. “Of no consequence, you think? But you know how the Shae are,” he said. “If I die here, they will send in the Shae legions. Of no consequence? Are you ready to engage the Shae army, commander? Kiran Phollen could not stand against them. Are you ready for the Crimson Wolfsmen in the city? You do know what a Ravinjon is?”
The Bandit commander looked at him coldly. “Maybe I’m counting on that.”
* * *
The old man had let her bring her knapsack and cloak. As they left the Wee Kirke together that night, it felt to Ticastasy as if none of the patrons could even see them. She didn’t trust herself to speak. But she’d managed to give her initial warning to Blain earlier that day. She’d done the best she could. For in her mind, Ticastasy knew that the old man was bringing her to Tsyrke. And she wasn’t ready to face him. Not like this. They crossed the fog-shrouded city in silence and reached the governor’s mansion before midnight. The manor guards never saw them.
“You’re not going in?” Ticastasy asked as they stood before a large door in the south wing. She shivered just being in his presence and especially as his green eyes studied her. He smelled like cinders and clove smoke. He reminded her of a Sleepwalker.
“He will speak with you alone.”
The enormous door opened smoothly on its gold and iron hinges. It was well oiled. She paused on the threshold and then entered. The smell of honeyed mead and tray wafers greeted her in the entryway. Mead – an unusual drink. She only knew one man who truly craved it. A single lamp burned on a polished wooden table across the room. Various rugs and tapestries hung from the wall and there was even a tall wooden dressing screen in one corner near a wardrobe.
Her eyes were still adjusting to the shadows before she smelled him.
“Tsyrke,” she whispered as the door shut gently behind her.
“Sparrow.”
The way he said it sent chills down her arms. He was a full head taller than she. In fact, she barely measured up to his shoulders. His hair was shorter than she remembered, freshly cut. The scent of the sea greeted her. He always smelled like seawater and mead. She shook her head, still not believing her eyes. In one corner of her heart, she longed to rush and hug him. In another corner, she wanted to reach for her knife.
“What in Hate’s name are you doing here?” she whispered.
He gave her a crooked smile and drank deeply from a goblet. “I could ask you the same question. Landmoor is an odd place for a reunion. But there is something else I want to know even more.” He eyed her seriously. “Why didn’t you wait for me in Sol?”
She bit her lip and folded her arms, aware of how disheveled she looked. Her shirt was torn, her hair tangled. She was exhausted physically and emotionally. And this – meeting him in Landmoor was a kick in the ribs. Anger came easily.
“When sailors start keeping their promises, I’ll have grown old,” she said, walking in closer. She was intimidated by his size, but that only made her more resolved to stand up to him. Her fear glazed over with the sparks of anger. He had lied to her. He had said he was a wealthy seafarer, not a banned Bandit general!
“Do you still have the pendant I gave you?”
She stared at him.
“You still have it…don’t you.”
She nodded. Why was he doing this? The pendant was a promise based on deception. She wanted to cry, but she knew that she alone had the opportunity to rescue her friends.
Tsyrke set down the goblet and walked over to the table. He looked at her torn clothes and winced. “Did any of my men hurt you?”
Again, she bit her lip, cutting off the urge to curse at him. He seemed to be expecting it. No, she needed to poke at his guilt instead. She replied softly, “Not as much as you did.”
He slammed his fist on the table. The look he gave her was full of anger and anguish. “Bloody Hate, I came for you, Sparrow! I landed in Sol after you had already gone!” He breathed out deeply and relaxed his hand, contro
lling his temper. She could see his eyes twitching towards the goblet of mead. He wanted it badly. “I came for you only to learn you had run off with a Shaden and a Sleepwalker.”
She took another step closer, seizing the opportunity. “Quickfellow’s here?”
He smirked. “A princely name isn’t it.”
“Ban it, stop using me!” she said. “You used me for companionship in Sol, and now you’re using me here. Quickfellow is my friend and I’m worried about him.” She already knew that Sturnin was locked down below. Where were the others?
“He took you away from me,” Tsyrke pointed out bitterly. “He’s your friend? That’s a rich slice. When did the Shae start keeping their word?”
She shook her head. “No, Tsyrke. No, don’t blame him for your grandfather’s death. Kiran Phollen brought trouble to himself. You told me that you had a brother in the Rebellion. You told me about Secrist – that he would never hurt me.” She laughed and covered her cheek. “He hit me in the mouth. He knew who I was and he hit me. His men destroyed the Foxtale. If you truly did come, then you saw the ruin he caused. The Shaden…” She stopped, calming herself. “Quickfellow took me with him to Castun to protect me from them. But I still trusted you. I still believed what you had told me.” She shook her head in amazement. “You lied to me. You said you were a ship captain. You had money and contacts. You said you cared for me. I warned you never to lie to me, Tsyrke. If I can’t trust you, I can’t be with you. I said that. I meant it.”
He gave her a hard look, wrestling to control his emotions. The look on his face was haunted with some twisted irony she could not see as he took a step closer to her. His voice was husky and raw. “And what was I supposed to do, Sparrow? Tell you I was going to betray Ballinaire to the king and end this war? Tell a bloody serving girl in Sol? Do you know how ridiculous that sounds? The risk?” His frown was hard, intense – honest. “The promises I made you…I meant every one of them. I still mean them. I’m bone weary of this army. I’m bone weary of this Rebellion.” His voice was so soft she barely heard it. “You are right. My grandfather wasted his life fighting Dos-Aralon and when the Shae joined in, it finished him. He wasted his whole life over his ambitions.” He paused and studied her. “I’m not going to do that. I was the one who called for the knights. I was the one he was supposed to meet in Sol, not my brother.” His look softened. He shook his head as if suddenly aware of how close he was standing to her. “Sweet Achrolese, I feel bad enough. Look at you. Let me fetch you some fresh clothes. You look bone weary as well. Are you hungry?”