by Matt Thomas
Three thousand men with Riven to lead them. The man did not think it anything out of the ordinary, but Luc’s mouth had dropped halfway through the account. He knew it was the Furies’ work—a way to dispose of a highly mobile defense force. Normally an unassuming, plain-faced man, Riven had an air about him now. His beard was new; unlike Vandil the man kept it cropped closely. It gave him a not-so plain appearance. Luc had known the man from a young age. Today the Lord Viamar’s long years of hope and planning appeared fulfilled. He had cultivated a team of men and women capable of leading the nation through what would prove its darkest hour. Luc was not quite surprised to realize the soldier who favored the spear over the sword rivaled Imrail and the others in deadliness. His openness around Luc just hid it.
“What’s with the mute?” Urian asked in a whisper as he sauntered up to them.
“Landon? He’s someone I know,” Luc said guardedly.
“I see. So what about you, my Lord? Any brats on the way yet?”
Luc blanched and Urian flashed a grin.
Sometime later Yasrin steered him to a corner. “Your friend has a devious look, if you ask me. Are you sure we can trust him?”
“Rew?” He glanced at his friend. Odd that Rew did not appear out of place among them. He too had changed in ways that were outwardly perceptible. “You can trust him. He saved us.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Him?” She sounded doubtful. “He’s all bone.”
“You would have had to be there, Lenora.”
Within the hour the factor entered accompanied by her aid. Taking them in, she smiled. “I hope everything was satisfactory,” she said. She still looked a little white-faced.
“A splendid meal, Kalyn,” Avela thanked her. “You are a gracious host. If I may have a word with you prior to retiring, I would appreciate it.”
“I would be honored, Lady Lanspree.” She turned to Imrail. “General, everything is prepared. I have all available rooms assigned as the Lord Lars requested.”
“Good. You all go on. Riven, the reports can wait until morning. We’ll meet here an hour after sunrise. You too, my Lord Siren.”
That was surprising, though it did make sense. The evening had proven one he doubted any of them would soon forget. No sense in spoiling by poring over a mess of reports.
Rew elbowed him in the side and motioned towards the corridor. Luc quickly followed. “How about a bit of air?” his friend said. “I could use another drink. I think we might find something to pass the time, something diverting. If nothing else it will take your mind off things. You’ve been a brooding thunderhead for days. Besides . . .” He looked over his shoulder to ensure they were out of earshot before adding, “. . . there’s something I need to tell you.”
Luc thought about it, curious. “Why not?” he decided.
Waving off Landon’s offer to escort them—the man must have had sharp ears—he eluded Imrail, but caught the slight narrowing of Trian’s eyes. No way he was going to slip away from her so easily, not that he wanted to. They did not quite bolt for the door. He did not think so at least. An afterhours outing fit his mood; it might even allow him to shake off a bit of the restlessness and allow him to sleep a little longer than the few hours he was getting of late. Dreams were one thing, but the real thing was another. Best he give the woman time to come to terms with what was coming, with what he was and with what he had done. Not just that, it had been some time since he and Rew had been free to pursue their own interests. From a young age Amreal and Allard had given the two of them leave to explore Peyennar on their own. In some ways they were doing the same now, if with one notable difference that at times threatened to bring him to his knees.
The moment they exited the factor’s headquarters and were standing in the open air, he felt a sense of relief run through him. He shivered slightly, letting the awareness of the elemental fibers of existence run through him. “That was her, Luc,” Rew told him abruptly. He glanced at his friend. “The girl with the green eyes and white hair. She was the one who told me I had to make for Peyennar.” Rew waited. “Were you listening or did you stuff your shorts in your ears?” Luc blinked. Of course he recalled Rew speaking of it, nearly drinking up all of Allard’s brandy because of it. “Seems there was no need to worry after all,” Rew added hoarsely. “She looks well enough to me.”
Luc shook his head. “It was a close thing, Rew. Sometimes I’m not sure if we aren’t still there. Sometimes I think we will all end up specters or haunts of the Third Plane.” He paused. “I’ve done terrible things, Rew.”
Rew looked sorry he had brought it up. “Well, at least it’s over now. Come on.”
Luc had to hurry to keep up with his friend; Rew had always been the quicker of the two. Following him, they ducked into a narrow alley and crossed two more streets, keeping to the shadows. After a few more minutes he thought they might have actually evaded Imrail’s men. Some part of him found creeping through the backstreets exhilarating. At this hour the town was quiet, but Rew seemed to have a knack for finding his way and led them straight to the taproom they had passed some hours earlier. No need for hired guards in Edgewood. They walked right in and sat at a table in the back. It was only a quarter full, but he suddenly realized he had left his sword behind in the factor’s private dining chamber. That would lead to a heated exchange with Imrail, if the man found out.
The taproom had a clean, inviting feel. Tables were spaced out at even intervals. The hint of smoke reminded him of Gam’s place. Stretching his legs out, he clasped his hands behind his head. His muscles were tight. Images continued to lurk at the edge of his awareness, but he allowed himself to drift in a place where there was only his conscious thought. He was surprised to find himself somewhat at ease. More so than before at least. Rew dug out a coin and slapped it on the polished table, winking.
Recognizing them, a gray-haired man tending the bar wearing a stained apron filled two tankards and made his way towards them. His hands were shaking so much he spilled almost as much as he had poured.
“You h-honor me, m-my Lords,” he said. “No charge, please.”
“We don’t mind,” Rew said. “Do you have anything a little stronger, though?”
“I do, young master, I do. Just a moment.”
Luc waited until the man departed before leaning forward. “You drink too much, you know. I’m just saying,” he added.
Rew shrugged, crossing his arms. “Who asked you?”
Luc gave him a level look. “I promised your folks I’d look out for you, Rew.”
“Great. Who’s going to look out for you then?” Rew gestured at the tankard. “You going to drink that or stare at it? You need to loosen up a little. All you can think about is the Furies. I doubt they’re half as obsessed. That girl . . . I saw how she looked at you. The two of you might as well have been by yourselves. Seems she might take your mind off things if you stopped being so stiff-necked. I mean to try and have a good time if we’re to spend a month in the saddle with that lot Imrail strung together.” He sighed and shook his head. “Sometimes it sets my teeth on edge, Luc.”
He gripped the beer mug. “Sorry.” He risked a glance around them, then sipped the ale. This was a darker brew and had a nutty aftertaste. Maybe Rew was right. The men seated at the tables were engaged in various games. They noticed the two of them, of course, some nodding and crossing their fists above their hearts when they met eyes. No one intruded or moved to interrupt at least. That was something. The men of the Landing appeared a reserved sort. For the most part they gambled with copper. During his stay in the Watch he had seen silver and gold pass hands freely. A few moments later the barkeep brought Rew a snifter and did not protest when he pressed the coin on him.
Taking another drink, Luc stifled a yawn. It was late. “I’m tired, Rew. What did you want to tell me?”
“Just this.” Rew’s large eyes took on a serious light. Troubling from him. “When you and Imrail arrived I saw something. It doesn’t happen often and hasn’t sin
ce we were looking for Vandil. This time it all seemed to blur together. People. Dispossessed. Forgotten. You had a sword in one hand and a wicker basket in the other. I have no idea what it means. Wait,” he added when Luc opened his mouth to speak. “There’s more. A serpent at your girl’s throat. The one they call Ell—”
“Maien,” Luc hissed.
Rew sighed. “I told you to wait. Something snapped its throat, so you don’t need to worry. I don’t think it was killed, but it didn’t appear willing to risk a second strike. The way Denail explained it to me these are only possibilities.” He drew in a breath. “The last one was the worst, Luc. You and a host of armies that extended beyond the horizon. War. The sky was black, the air filled with fumes that made me want to gag and retch. Something came out of the darkness, Luc. It . . . it matched you. You called it Infinity’s End. Does that mean something?”
Luc sank back, feeling struck. Nothing good, he was certain. He wondered if Lenora had experienced similar visions. No. The girl had been in a celebratory mood. He realized he was getting caught in the bleakness again. He had to pull himself out of it. “That’s a long ways off yet,” he said. His throat felt raw. “A lot is yet to be decided. We’ll see when we get to Ancaida. Who would have thought it when we were younger?”
Rew snorted. “Everyone knew, Luc,” he said. “You were the only one who had no idea. Listen, I just thought you should know. That’s the end of it. I won’t tell anyone. If it means anything, I was there too. I am going to make the bastards pay, trust me.”
He meant it. His jaw was set. Whether Rew wanted it or not, it was clear the Lord Denail was getting his way, aiming Rew on a path straight for Emry and the Guardians. Luc was not sure he could stomach the thought. Rew deserved better, but he doubted there was anything he could say persuasive enough to convince him to stay behind. He decided not to try.
After that they spent the better part of an hour reminiscing. Neither of them expected to see Peyennar again. Rew asked him what it had been like to see his folks again. Luc shrugged and said his folks were just that—his folks. He did not view them as others did. He suspected the same was true for them. For Rew, leaving Peyennar meant leaving behind the isolation and innocence of the mountain village. He would miss his family and the safety of the Peaks, but was ready to see the world for himself.
“You have any idea how this is going to end?” Rew asked him suddenly.
“None.” He hated himself for not knowing, had stayed up countless nights trying to piece it together. Once it would have been a simple matter. Now he suspected some other force was at work.
“Oh well,” Rew said with an impish look. “At least things will be interesting. I was beginning to get bored.”
Despite the hour neither of them made any move for the door. The bartender kept the drinks coming and the two of them continued conversing in quiet tones no one overheard. Eventually they exchanged accounts of the Watch and the First City. Rew’s description of the capital was nothing short of extraordinary. No matter he spent almost as much time describing the serving girls as he did the city. Alingdor locked in mourning; the beacon his father had constructed to pierce the skies of Perdition. He doubted Ansifer had any idea what the man was capable of. Seeing it from the other side had been a marvel. For the residents of the First City it must have seemed the Stand at Imdre all over again, in the heart of the nation no less. Just days now until he would set eyes on it for himself. There had been another city he had prized equally as much.
That one was in ruins now.
Rubbing his eyes with a thumb and forefinger, he felt his blood run cold. That was why he was startled when a firm voice spoke.
“Master Acriel,” Trian snapped. Luc sat up sharply, cursing. The sudden movement had caused him to spill most of his tankard. “See what you’ve done? It’s hard enough keeping him in hand without you teaching him these disgusting habits.”
Rew spread his hands, standing. He backed away, knocking his chair over, face white. Trian tapped her foot, just looking. “It was his idea,” Rew protested. Luc growled. “My word,” he added hastily, almost persuading Luc it was the truth. He knew his friend could lie, but had no idea he could be so convincing.
Trian was not fooled in the least. “Somehow I doubt that,” she said, “but if that’s the case, then I trust you won’t mind me stealing a few minutes of his time.”
Rew gave her a bow in perfect imitation of those they had seen. “Not at all. I’ll just stay here and finish my—”
“Best we all get back,” Avela said with a glance around them. “It’s six or seven hours to dawn. How much did you boys”—she emphasized the word—“how much did you boys drink?”
“I wouldn’t mind a drink,” Lenora said. She was eying Rew. The Guardian’s apprentice was going to great lengths to avoid her eyes almost as much as he did Trian’s. Plainly the Val Moran made him uncomfort-able, but so did the pale-haired Companion.
“Imrail’s going to have all our heads,” Avela said. “Let’s go.”
Standing and wiping his trousers with his hands, he turned and was surprised when Trian looped her arm through his. She waited for Avela and the others to move off before following at a leisurely pace. “Did you enjoy yourselves?” she asked.
“Yes.” He had in fact, except for the few fragments of the future that gnawed at him. Emry seemed to be coming more and more into the forefront of matters. He wondered what her role would be.
“You’re doing it again,” Trian said, both arms firmly entangled through his.
“Doing what?” he asked.
“Worrying.”
Luc kept his tone even. “I’m not worried,” he said. Her gleaming eyes and composed look made him wonder why he bothered attempting to deceive her. She knew him too well, just as his mother claimed she would. He knew her too. “A few things came up is all. Nothing to worry about, I promise.” He lurched a bit and realized he was having trouble walking in a straight line. She noticed too but said nothing. Odd but he was certain something about the outing pleased her. Idly, he wondered if he would ever figure the woman out, not that it mattered. She was here.
Soaking in the warmth, and the pleasure, of her pressed against him, he lurched on, feeling a sense of quiet only Elloyn of the Highlands could bring.
* * * * *
A few hours after turning in, Imrail pulled back the covers, stood, and splashed a little water on his face, using a washcloth to wipe the residue of sleep out of his eyes. He knew he was in desperate need of a full night’s rest—uninterrupted at that—but had an aptitude for ignoring the sensation when he had need. The boy was getting better with the blade. He had months to go yet, but learned quickly. Had he been apprenticed to the Oathbound at a younger age it wouldn’t have been much of a sparring session, evidenced by Imrail favoring his sword arm. The decision to hold off had been Amreal’s, though, one he firmly believed would end in their favor.
Dressing, he left the chambers and continued down the hall a few paces. Pausing at the next door, he forced his mind blank. It was becoming increasingly difficult. Taking a moment to center himself, he knocked and spoke. “Lanspree, it’s me.”
Silence. He was about to knock again, this time harder, when he heard a scrape of movement on the other side of the door. “Imrail?” He caught the surprise in the woman’s voice. He masked his features just in time before the door slid open, enough for him to see the auburn-haired woman’s face—that and a considerable expanse of bare skin. He averted his eyes, crushing all sense of conscious thought. “Get dressed,” he said. “There’s something we need to see to.”
For once she did not argue or make him endure a derisive retort. She also did not close the door. Turning, he repositioned his sword; Viamar-Ellandor had left his back in the factor’s dining chambers. He would have throttled the boy, but they were running out of time. No one would balk at an extra day in the Landing to rest and allow the horses to recover; it was simple sense, but he had given leave of his senses the mom
ent he had witnessed what the boy was capable of. Still he knew by the end they would rue any delay, even if only a day. There were signs of a looming peril, their imminent doom no less, in the deep places where few dared to tread. Not the first time he had experience similar signs. He doubted it would be the last either.
Lanspree did not waste any time getting ready. In minutes she was back in her snug overcoat and tight-fitting breeches. The emblems of House Viamar and the Mark of Chaos stood on both collars. Master Jessip had fashioned the insignias. Fine work. Imrail had ordered each of the Companions to display the tokens openly. No sense in hiding now. They were standing on the precipice.
Choosing not to speak, they made their way through the factor’s manor, heavily guarded at key junctions, more so at the main entrance. They did not have far to go. Exiting, he surveyed the town square. Nothing out of the ordinary other than Viamar’s most renowned squad in full armor stationed openly, out of place in a town unused to visiting dignitaries. Riven’s doing. Good to have the man back—the others too—but the Third Company would have been better served by having someone of his unique abilities permanently assigned to it. The man had a head for details. Well, no sense in worrying over it now. Riven was needed elsewhere. No risks, he had told the man. Take nothing for granted, not when it came to the safety of the Lord Siren or the Spiritweaver. Imrail was content with the added safety precautions. At the moment the two were more important than the White Rose or the Warden. More important than any man or woman who had come before them.
Turning his thoughts to the task at hand, he motioned Lanspree to follow. This was going to be difficult, dangerous. Some might say needlessly reckless. Finding the right moment usually took time, but something in the imprints important events left behind usually made them stand out. This one would be weeks old, but based on every account he had heard would be distinctive.
He suspected breaking free would prove much more difficult.
Having already alerted the innkeeper, the two of them were admitted by a handful of their own men. Urian and Altaer had given him a description of the place so he did not need the waiting company to show him the way. Crossing the common room floor to a corridor that split, he took the stairs to the right. Climbing them, he mentally prepared himself for the grueling undertaking. This one might prove to be the most dangerous he had ever attempted. He was not looking forward to the toll the effort was likely going to cost him.