by Jeff Wheeler
—I have waited for you. You are the rightful heir. Claim me!—
Over and over, Thealos saw it in his mind. The Sorian would get the Silverkin. The war would start across the land and no one in Avisahn would know what had happened. The futility of it all sickened him. It could not be happening like this. He clenched his fists and swore. No! He was too close to back away now. If he could take the Silverkin and run away, if he could...
But would that really change what would happen? The warding failed as soon as the Silverkin was taken. The Otsquare in the hall would no longer shelter him. And when Secrist attacked, the Silverkin would surge to life of its own will. Thealos doubted that he would be able to control it. It was all so clear to him. So brutally clear. He knew now why Jaerod had sought him out. The Sleepwalker had known that Thealos could get the Silverkin but would not be able to protect it. Thealos bowed his head in despair. There was no one left to protect him. Not Sturnin, not Flent. Not even Allavin Devers.
“Jaerod!”
Thealos clenched his hands, staring at the symbol on the floor. The Silverkin whispered to him and demanded he take it. His mind raced furiously. What if he waited? Surely Secrist would not stay out there forever? Surely someone would come? But how would he know when that happened? He was still hungry and had no provisions or supplies at all. How long could he afford to wait before seizing it? Then he remembered. In the morning, the Bandit army would seize Landmoor.
It would be almost impossible to get out with it then.
He knew in his heart what he needed to do. If he could get out of Landmoor that night, the fog would hide his trail and give him a chance to slip away. Back to Avisahn. Back home. The Shae had no idea what they were up against. And if they hesitated in this war, if they stood apart as they had for so many years, it would be too late. Dry sobs threatened to shake loose inside him, but he felt that he had no tears left after all he had seen in the Foretelling. Someone had to warn the Shae. He had nothing to offer as proof to Laisha or the Sunedrion. No evidence at all. Not even a tiny stub of Everoot. He stared back down at the small Otsquare etched on the floor. His fingers twitched, but he clenched his hand into a fist. If he took the Silverkin he would probably die. If he died, the Sorian would claim it. But if he went back to Avisahn, they would try him as a traitor. What were his choices then really?
A thought struck him. What if he made the Shae come to the Shoreland to get him?
Looking up, Thealos stared at the other doorway and the thin stairwell leading out of the chamber. Had the Mages of Safehome known all those centuries ago that he would need another way out of there?
Think it through, he told himself. The Foretelling had given him the information he needed to survive. He knew the past. He knew the present. He knew what would happen if he tried to claim the Silverkin now. Despite the threat of Secrist, the presence of a Sorian within the tunnels was probably enough to provoke the Silverkin’s magic. He had no idea how long the consequence of the magic would sicken him. All that Foridden magic, churning inside of him, before being captured within the stone. He could be sick and weak for days…for even longer. No – he had to abandon the tunnels. The Silverkin was still safe. The Bandits would not be able to take it if he left it there. He would need protectors. He would need an entire company of Crimson Wolfsmen. Chewing on his lip, he thought about the alternatives.
There was really only one choice to be made. If he had felt the prick of awareness on the back of his neck – the assurance that a Sleepwalker was nearby to defend him, he would never have hesitated claiming the magic. But that wasn’t an option to him. There were no Sleepwalkers waiting for him. And without food, water, or weapons, it would be difficult enough making it back across the Shadows Wood. If he delayed much longer, by morning it would be impossible to get out.
Stifling the urgent whispers of the Silverkin, Thealos left the rotunda and descended the narrow stairs.
XXXV
The Shoreland fog cloaked the moors in thick gray folds. It would take the sun hours to work through it and restore some warmth to Thealos’ body. He couldn’t remember when he had been so cold or so hungry. Or so discouraged. The wild berries and mushrooms he’d eaten left an empty feeling inside and juice stains on his fingers. He worked his way east of Landmoor along the jagged edge of the Shadows Wood. Until he was certain he was past the bulk of Tsyrke’s army, he didn’t dare try crossing the forest. One thought burned in his mind. Meet up with Allavin and Ticastasy in Castun. It kept his boots shuffling one after the other. He’d abandoned stepwalking hours earlier to cover more ground. His eyes drooped as he walked. To Castun. Just a little further, he told himself.
The small trading post was a good hike from the south fringe of the forest. He hoped to be there in two days if he could manage it, but he needed sleep. Every jackdaw jumping on the branches or fluttering by made his head jerk. Wiping his mouth, he plodded ahead. He knew enough about the forest to keep himself alive. But his hunger wasn’t getting any smaller. Without a hunting bow and dagger, he wouldn’t be able to do any real cooking. Castun – just a little further. A fresh hot stew served in a trencher bowl teased his imagination. Some cool Silvan wine for his thirst.
The Shadows Wood stretched for miles ahead of him, sparking visions of the vast forest he had seen in the Foretelling. The memory was still sharp in his mind. Had the magic really shown him the past? His heart ached at the thought. So many had died in Sol-don-Orai. Suddenly, he remembered the look on Sturnin’s face as the dagger plunged into him. The Deathbane had ripped the life from him. He bit his lip, wincing. The knight had saved his life. If he hadn’t wrestled Secrist down, the Kiran Thall might have killed him too.
Thealos folded his arms tightly to stop shuddering. He had to stop thinking about it, for that way led to madness. He made a silent vow – the knights of Owen Draw would learn about Sturnin’s courage. Thealos would see to that. His legs throbbed and he stumbled over some exposed roots and went down in a patch of witch-thorn. The witch-thorn cut up his hands and stung. Rising up, he looked around, amazed to find himself in the thick of the forest. He couldn’t remember how long he had been walking and didn’t remember when he had decided to enter the woods. Rubbing his eyes and sucking on the bleeding pricks to soothe his hands, he sat down on the log of a felled tree and looked for the sun. His stomach gave off a dull ache, reminding him again of his hunger.
“Think, Thealos,” he muttered to himself. He rubbed his forehead. The road leading to Castun would be to the west. So would the Bandit army if he wasn’t careful. He dropped down from the twisted trunk and started off again, heading north he thought. His mind swam with fatigue, blurring the trees and juniper shrubs ahead of him. He was so tired! He had dozed in the dungeon beneath Landmoor. But the truth of it was that he hadn’t slept well since Avisahn.
Clumsily, Thealos staggered on. He tried stepwalking again, but that only slowed him down. His thoughts danced like fireflies. To blot out the pain in his hands and legs he composed a letter in his mind to send to Avisahn. What could he write that would have the Shae army rushing in? To the Council Elder of Vannier—greetings. During my travels, I’ve missed the turnish pastries from the baking guilds the most and wondered if you could spare a plate of them. The Silvan wine in Castun is decent, I’m pleased to report. Haven’t tried the Spider Ale yet – sorry to disappoint you. I could use a bag of Aralonian pieces and wondered if you could ask my Correl for me. You are so very good at extortion, I’m sure he’ll listen to you. And if you could tell the Princess of Avisahn that I’m forming a rebellion against her Sovereignty down here in the Shoreland, that would also be much appreciated. I’ve found a nice abandoned Shae watchpost to get things started –and the view of the moors is quite exceptional. With fondest regards, Thealos Quickfellow.
Thealos rubbed his bleary eyes and chuckled to himself. He would send a separate message to Laisha as well – phrased differently of course. He could pay a runner to get them to Dos-Aralon and maybe to one of the mer
chants Correl worked with. He didn’t dare go back himself. If Nordain caught him first, he wouldn’t be given the chance to defend himself. The trial could drag on for months, and the Shae didn’t have months. They could no longer hide behind the Trident river. They could no longer afford to remain behind and watch. The Silverkin Crystal would not destroy the Bandit army in the Shoreland. He knew that much for certain. The Shae army would need to rise itself in war once again. It hadn’t happened since the Purge Wars. But it was going to happen again. Oh, he couldn’t wait to see the look on Nordain’s face when he was forced to admit that Thealos had been right!
Thealos kept walking. He might rouse the Shae army, but he would still need to convince them on the right course of action. And how would he do that without proof? Allavin Devers would help him. He was a Shaefellow and a tracker for Dos-Aralon. Maybe his word would help sway them. There was Ticastasy too. Yes, she’d be safer in Avisahn than remaining down in Castun. He shook his head – what was he thinking? Two humans – he doubted the Sunedrion would even let them speak. But they had both seen the Everoot. That made three witnesses, which were necessary according to the law. Thealos muttered a curse. Two humans and a Kilshae – wonderful! If only he had been able to save a little bit of Everoot. To show them that it was real. And Justin – poor Justin! Thealos felt his heart throb with regret. The Warder Shae was still back in Landmoor locked up in a cell. He didn’t even want to be in Landmoor – he had insisted on going to Avisahn instead. Thealos wished that he had. He stopped, feeling the sense of failure rise up in him like a hungry wave. Biting his lip, he shook his head and kept walking. He could not quit. He would not quit! He would make the Shae listen. Somehow, he would convince them.
His foot snagged in another twisted root and this time he went down hard. Blackness washed over him along with a queasy feeling. His ankle throbbed. Thealos breathed out slowly, trying to steady himself with the pain. He’d rest for a moment, just until the pain subsided…
He slept.
Thealos awoke with a jolt. He had been dreaming of his Wolfsman blade. The one the Sorian had destroyed. In his mind, he saw the gemstone eyes wink with power, trembling with Silvan magic. The presence was so strong, he thought he could reach out and touch it. The forest was shaded, swallowed by the shadows of dusk. Sweet Vannier, how long had he slept? Coming fully awake, he sensed the presence of the Shae all around him.
As Thealos raised his head, he saw a leaf-bladed short sword pointed at his neck.
At first he didn’t believe his eyes, that it was only the remnants of a dream, but two other Wolfsmen appeared from the thick brush clogging the path in the woods. He recognized the man standing over him, the leader. They had met in Sol.
The Crimson Wolfsman Lor studied him shrewdly. “So, you’re alive after all.”
He sounded surprised. Thealos’ ankle murmured in pain as he tried to bring himself to his knees. He was still dazed. Three Crimson Wolfsmen. His breath started to choke off in panic. Not now, he thought. Sweet Vannier, not yet! He wasn’t ready to return to Avisahn. No, it was too soon. Without any evidence, they would mock his story and imprison him.
Thealos tried to speak, but his throat was thick and his mouth too dry. He shook his head and grunted, trying to work some spit into his mouth.
The Wolfsman crouched on one knee and handed him a flask. Thealos gulped the leather-flavored water down and noticed that the Lor hadn’t lowered the short sword yet. He was still on guard, curiously watching the woods around Thealos.
“You are weary, Kil-quickfellow,” the Wolfsman said with more than a hint of disdain. “When did you escape the human army?”
Thealos stared into the man’s blue eyes. “How did you find me?”
The Wolfsman gave him a thin smile. “It was not that difficult,” he said mockingly. “I have another quaere with me. Where is the Sleepwalker you fled with from Sol?”
Thealos shook his head. Seven Crimson Wolfsmen sent to bring him back to Avisahn? Hate, I’m in more trouble than I thought! “What…what was your name?” Thealos stammered.
“I am Xenon Ironwolf, Watcher Lor of Sol.” His eyes narrowed – probably because Thealos wasn’t using Silvan. “And you are under arrest by the Shae Council of Elders for high treason. You’ve led us on a chase over half the valley. Are you tired of running yet, boy?”
Thealos shoved the flask into his hand. “I will go with you willingly, Xenon. But I need to go to Castun first. It’s a town not far from here and on the way back. If we can stop…”
The Wolfsman smirked. “I think not.”
Thealos ground his teeth, losing his temper in a snap of emotions. “You do not understand what is happening down here, Xenon. You have no comprehension of the danger. It is your duty to protect our people. For the love of Keasorn, listen to me! The humans are using Forbidden magic. They will use it against us. I have evidence of this, but it is in Castun. Please…please take me there on the way. It won’t delay us long, maybe a day.”
Xenon shook his head. “It is you who does not understand, Kil-quickfellow. You have been summoned by the Council of Elders. I arrested you in Sol, but you would not come willingly. I’ll truss you in ropes if I must. But you will come with us.”
“Please!” Thealos begged. “At least send one of your men to Castun for me!”
Xenon shook his head and stared at him coldly. “To be killed by a Sleepwalker like the Kiran Thall were? I’d go myself if I believed you were honorable. You’ve shamed your family and your people. You are Kilshae now and have lost the use of your true family name. Remember that, Kil-quickfellow.” He rose and glared down at Thealos. “Bind him.”
Thealos winced as the Wolfsmen tied his wrists behind his back. He stared at the Lor and nearly choked and he tried to speak. He used Silvan this time. “I am Thealos Quickfellow, an heir of Quicksilver. And I have not received anathema yet. I am a Shae.”
“You can call yourself the ‘king of linseed oil’ for all that I care. Until we get back to Avisahn. Until you answer for your crimes before the Shae Council of Elders and the Sunedrion.” Xenon made hand motions to start off into the woods.
* * *
Ticastasy walked with her arms folded. Allavin’s cloak draped over her shoulders, but it wasn’t enough to stop the chilling feeling in her heart. She was exhausted and more than once, the observant woodsman had to keep her from walking right into a tree. She had watched the evil dagger steal Sturnin Goff’s life. If Flent had fallen in the same manner, she would never forgive Tsyrke. Not ever. Her mind had been made up on that point.
“Watch the roots,” Allavin warned, alerting her just in time to slow and watch her step, crunching through the dried fragments of branches and debris. Allavin walked behind her, using the wide broom of a cedar branch to mask their trail as they passed. Twice during the journey they had hidden in swamp gullies as the Kiran Thall roamed the woods looking for them. But Allavin had kept them safe.
“How far do you think it is to Castun?” she mumbled. “We’ve been walking all day.”
“We’ll get there soon. I don’t know about you, but I could use a soft pillow tonight.”
“Mmmm,” she replied, barely able to speak. She paused as he approached and shared some water from his flask with her. The water was warm but it soothed her throat. She felt a pang of guilt, knowing that Quickfellow didn’t even have a dagger to use or a blanket to roll up in. She looked down at herself. The gown he had given her was mud-spattered and torn. She’d worn it to impress Tsyrke and to lie to him. To stab him in the heart as he had done to her. She wiped her eyes, her thoughts lost in a hazy cloud. What was she going to do? Where could she go? Quickfellow had said he would meet them in Castun. Was he a new path her future was going to take? A barter’s son was definitely more realistic than a Silvan prince.
“Come on, lass. Let’s keep going.”
Ticastasy nodded and started trudging through the woods again. When they came to the edge of the forest, she nearly cried with relief.
Castun would be close. As she started walking again, more confidently now, she felt Allavin catch her arm.
“What is it?”
“Smoke,” he whispered, pointing.
She squinted and realized it herself. Castun was burning.
Sagging to her knees in the dry prairie grass, she started to cry in thick choking sobs. She felt Allavin’s arm slide around her shoulders. She could barely hear him over own ragged tears.
“This happens in war,” he said and squeezed. “And it’s only going to get worse.”
* * *
Ticastasy awoke later hearing voices whispering softly in the musical language of the Shae. She didn’t know how long she’d been asleep, but it was night again and she was vaguely aware of falling asleep on Allavin’s warm cloak. As she slowly sat up, she wondered with a surge of hope if Quickfellow had caught up with them.
It was Jaerod.
“She’s awake,” the Sleepwalker said as she hurried to rise. He reached over and pulled some food out of his pack and offered it to her. She took it hungrily.
“Jaerod just finished telling me what happened,” Allavin said while she ate. He shook his head and sighed with disbelief.
“Hello, Ticastasy,” Jaerod said, his face impassive.
She nodded in welcome and pulled the cloak around her shoulders. She was relieved to see him alive, but where was Quickfellow? “Where have you been?”