Rules of Ascension: Book One of Winds of the Forelands

by DAVID B. COE

  As he drew nearer, she held a finger to her lips, then slipped quietly into the shrine. Grinsa followed.

  She had stopped just inside the door and was looking toward the far end of the temple. Following her gaze, he saw someone lying on the floor just before the altar.

  “Is that Tavis?” he asked, taking a step forward.

  She placed a hand on his arm, stopping him. “He’s fine,” she said. “He’s just sleeping.”

  “How long has he been there?”

  “Since before the midnight bells.”

  “Did Brienne come to him? Did you see her?”

  The prioress looked at him. “I never see someone else’s dead. None of us do. It’s not the Deceiver’s way. But she did come to him. I heard what he said to her.”

  “And?”

  She faced the boy again. “I believe he is innocent. He shed tears for her and spoke to her of his love and his sorrow. He’s no murderer.”

  Grinsa closed his eyes, knowing a moment of profound relief. Since leaving the Revel for Kentigern he had had his doubts about the boy. Usually he trusted his visions and the images he brought forth from the Qiran, but in this instance there had been so much else to consider.

  “You weren’t certain,” Meriel said.

  He opened his eyes and saw her grinning at him.

  “The way you spoke to me the night you came here, I wouldn’t have guessed.”

  Grinsa smiled as well. “I’m glad I was so convincing.”

  “His innocence does nothing to change the fact that he’s rude, inconsiderate, and spoiled. You’ll have a difficult time caring for him, if that’s your intention.”

  The Qirsi nodded. “I know. But our lives are linked for some reason. I don’t know why yet, but I think it must be important. I have no choice but to remain with him, at least for now.”

  “Then there’s something more you should know,” the prioress said. “From what I heard of their conversation, it seems that Brienne was able to show the boy an image of her killer.”

  “What? Is that possible?”

  “I’ve never heard of such a thing, but then again I’ve never had one of the dead who was murdered so recently appear to someone in my shrine.” She shrugged. “After all these years of serving the Deceiver nothing surprises me anymore.”

  “Extraordinary,” Grinsa said softly. “Do you know what the killer looks like?”

  “No, but the boy recognized him. It seems he was a singer in the Revel.”

  The Qirsi nodded, drawing a puzzled look from Meriel.

  “You expected this?” she asked.

  “I suppose in a way I did. The assassin I killed in Kentigern Wood also sang in the Revel. They must have been working together.”

  “So you might know this man as well.”

  “Possibly.”

  He stood staring at Tavis for several moments. After his silent encounter with Fotir in the tavern the night before, Grinsa had resolved to leave Kentigern as soon as possible. He had heard talk in the city—in the wake of the boy’s escape, it was said, the duke of Curgh and his entourage had been imprisoned in the castle. Seeing Fotir with Aindreas’s first minister, Grinsa had thought he had reason to doubt the stories. But then he saw how the minister from Kentigern pushed Javan’s man through the tavern, and he knew that it must be true. No doubt the men of Kentigern were still searching for Tavis, and at this point, it was impossible to say what they’d do if they recaptured him. After leaving the Silver Bear he had even gone so far as to make arrangements with a Qirsi merchant he knew. The man was willing to offer passage to Tremain for both Grinsa and the boy. They could be out of the city before sundown.

  Now, however, he had something new to consider.

  He faced the prioress, fixing his eyes on hers. “Would you be willing to tell the duke of Kentigern what you’ve told me?”

  “About the assassin?”

  “Yes, that,” he said. “But also your belief in Tavis’s innocence, what you heard of his conversation with Brienne. All of it.”

  She held his gaze, pressing her lips into a thin line. “By telling him these things, I admit to harboring the man he believes murdered his daughter. There’s no telling what he might do to me or the sanctuary.”

  “Two nights ago you said that the sanctuary can’t be violated, that even Aindreas understood that.”

  “Yes, I did,” she said. “And then the boy reminded me that Aindreas had already risked war with the future king over this matter. To be honest, I don’t know anymore what the duke would do. But there are few things as dangerous as a man bent on vengeance.”

  “Tavis is innocent, Meriel. You know that now. Aindreas needs to be convinced of it as well. He’s holding Javan in the castle, and he’s hunting for Tavis as if the boy were an animal. With each day that passes Eibithar moves closer to civil war. And the more I think about it, the more I think that’s just what Brienne’s killer wants.” He looked around the shrine before facing her again. “I don’t want to see anything happen to this sanctuary, and I certainly don’t want you to be harmed. But there’s too much at stake here for you to keep silent.”

  She looked away, the muscles in her jaw tightening. “Even if I were to go to him, it might not do you any good. Like his father before him, Aindreas has little use for the sanctuaries. He belongs to the cloisters. In matters of faith, he listens to Barret, his prelate. And Barret will tell him I’m a demon worshiper and an enchantress.”

  She was right. As a member of the Revel he had seen how the courts of the kingdom looked upon the sanctuaries. Worship of the older gods was referred to as the Qirsi faith, and like so many things tied to his people, it was scorned. Meriel’s word would carry no more weight with Aindreas than his own. Once more, Grinsa found himself thinking of Keziah’s duke and hoping that she could prevail upon him to ride to Kentigern. Of all the dukes in Eibithar’s major houses, he maintained the closest ties to the Old Faith. His best hope was to wait for Glyndwr’s duke, and to do so as far from Aindreas as possible.

  “You may be right,” Grinsa told her. “This may not be the time to approach Aindreas with what you know. But when that time comes, can I count on your help?”

  She managed a small smile. “Of course. Bian allowed the girl to show Tavis her killer. He must have had a purpose in doing so. Who am I to defy the god?”

  He made no attempt to mask his relief. “Thank you.”

  They fell silent, watching the boy sleep.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t here last night,” Grinsa said at last.

  “You needn’t apologize to me,” the prioress said. A moment later she added, “Or to Pheba, for that matter.”

  “Was it a difficult night?”

  “I think it was for the boy.”

  He looked at her sidelong. “What about for you?”

  She smiled wanly. “I’ve lived in this sanctuary for more than ten years, facing my dead at the end of every turn, and each night during Bian’s Moon. I sometimes wonder if I’m more comfortable with them than I am with the living.”

  “Did you tell Pheba I was here?”

  “I told her I had seen you, and that you looked well. I didn’t tell her that you were in Kentigern now.” She paused, leaning forward so that he had to look at her. “Even if I had, I don’t think she would have found fault with you for leaving the sanctuary. She knows how you loved her, Grinsa. And she knows how you still grieve.”

  He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

  “You have enough to concern you right now. Don’t trouble yourself about last night any more. It serves nothing.”

  He took a deep breath. She was right about this as well. “All right,” he managed.

  They fell back into silence, though Meriel didn’t allow it to last very long. “So you’re not ready yet to confront Aindreas. Does that mean you’ll be staying with us for a time?”

  Grinsa looked at Tavis once more. “No. I think it’s time we left Kentigern.”

  “Are you certain
? I believe the sanctuary is safe for now, and you’re welcome to stay here as long as you like.”

  “Again, my thanks. But under the circumstances, the risks of keeping him here are too great. A friend of mine has offered to take us to Tremain. We’ll be leaving late in the day.”

  “Tremain?” Meriel repeated. “I know the prioress there. A woman named Janae. Her sanctuary is devoted to Adriel, so this will be a difficult turn for her, but she might be willing to give you refuge if you mention my name.”

  The Qirsi smiled and shook his head. “How many times can a man say thank you? Maybe I need to offer blood again.”

  But Meriel shook her head. “I’d wait if I were you. If I remember correctly, Janae wields a thirsty knife.”

  His first thought, waking to find himself on a cold stone floor, was that he was back in Kentigern’s dungeon. He sat bolt upright, wincing at the stiffness in his neck and shoulders.

  “It’s all right,” came a voice from behind him. “You’re in the sanctuary.”

  Tavis turned his head gingerly and found the gleaner sitting on the wooden bench nearest to him.

  “You’re back,” he said. “I guess that means Pitch Night is over.”

  The Qirsi stiffened for just an instant. “It’s morning, yes.” He paused briefly, as if willing himself to relax. “The prioress tells me you had quite a night.”

  Tavis closed his eyes and rubbed a hand over his brow. “Yes, I did.” He opened his eyes suddenly, grasping the full import of Grinsa’s comment. “She saw Brienne, too? She knows what happened?”

  “She knows you didn’t kill her, and that you know who did.”

  “Ean be praised!” he whispered.

  “Actually, you ought to thank Bian, don’t you think?”

  The boy grinned. “I’ll thank any god you want me to.” He climbed to his feet, moving slowly and flexing his muscles with care. “So when do we go back to the castle?”

  “You mean Kentigern?” Grinsa asked with a frown.

  “Yes. My father’s still there, as is Xaver. They’ll want to know. And we need to tell Aindreas as well.”

  “I’m afraid it’s not that easy, Tavis. Aindreas has even less use for the Old Faith than your father does. All we can tell them right now is that the prioress and I believe you to be innocent. That won’t carry much weight with Brienne’s father.”

  “But Brienne said I was innocent. She showed me her murderer.”

  “So you claim.”

  “You said the prioress—”

  “I said she knows that you didn’t kill Brienne. But that’s all.” The gleaner exhaled heavily. “I don’t understand the ways of the god as Meriel does. But from what she told me it seems she could only hear what you said to Brienne. She couldn’t see or hear the spirit, nor did she see the image of Brienne’s killer. What she heard from you was enough to convince her that someone else killed the girl. Beyond that, though, it does us little good. Aindreas won’t believe her any more than he did you.”

  Tavis felt like someone had kicked him in the stomach. “So it was all for nothing,” he said bitterly. “I’m no better off than I was before I saw her.”

  “That’s not true. Meeting one’s dead is never easy. If nothing else you can take from last night the knowledge that you acted courageously. But even more—”

  “Pardon me, gleaner,” Tavis broke in, unwilling to listen to such things just now, “but I don’t need lectures from you on the courage needed to face the dead.”

  Grinsa stood abruptly, his cheeks reddening. “How dare you! I have risked my life for you every day since leaving the Revel! And now you presume to judge me for something you couldn’t possibly understand?” He turned on his heel and started toward the shrine’s door. “Find your own way back into the Order of Ascension!” the man said, not bothering to look back. “I’m through with you!”

  Tavis stood utterly still, baffled by the vehemence of the Qirsi’s reaction. Just as Grinsa reached the door, however, he called the man’s name.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t … I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

  Grinsa just stood there, his hand on the door handle, his back still to the boy.

  “Please. I need you. I … I can’t convince any of them alone.”

  “No,” Grinsa said, turning to face him. “You can’t. The sooner you realize that, the sooner you’ll stop acting like a spoiled child.”

  Tavis had to bite back a retort. He wasn’t accustomed to being spoken to in this way. But then again, he had been forced to endure much that was new recently, and compared with most of it, this was a trifle.

  “You’re right. This has been a difficult time for me. I’m not used to depending on someone the way I have to depend on you right now. I don’t particularly like it.”

  The Qirsi pursed his lips for a moment, then nodded. “I can understand that.”

  “You were telling me what I gained from facing Brienne,” Tavis said, trying to coax Grinsa back into the shrine. “I think I need to hear that. It would do me some good.”

  “No more of your abuse?”

  “I promise.”

  Grinsa stood at the door for another moment, as if he still wished to leave. Finally he released the door handle and walked slowly back toward the altar. “I was going to say that though your encounter with Brienne may not have given you enough proof to change Aindreas’s mind, it did give you something. For one thing, I know you’re innocent now, as does the prioress.” He hesitated, eyeing Tavis closely. “And now you’re sure of it as well, which is more than you could say yesterday, isn’t it?”

  The young lord felt his mouth drop open. How could the gleaner have known?

  “Am I right?” the man asked.

  Tavis nodded.

  “I thought so. Even if we can’t go to Aindreas right now,” the Qirsi went on, “we’re better off than we were before. You need to be patient, my lord, difficult as that may seem.”

  “But if you and the prioress can’t convince the duke, who will?”

  “A good question,” the Qirsi said, his concern written on his pale features.

  But in that moment Tavis knew the answer to his own question. Perhaps seeing Brienne had given him what he needed after all.

  “The murderer,” he said, the word echoing loudly off the shrine’s ceiling.

  Grinsa looked at him with surprise. “What?”

  “If we can find the murderer, Aindreas will have to believe us.”

  “Will he?” the gleaner asked, raising an eyebrow. “Do you plan to bring the man to him alive? Because a corpse will prove nothing. And even if he is alive, how do you plan to wring a confession from him?”

  “But I know who killed her!” Tavis said, feeling hope slip away again. “I saw his face! I recognized him! That has to count for something.”

  “In the end I’m sure it will. But again, this may not be the time. Patience, Tavis. That’s what will get you through this.”

  He shook his head. “No! Not with this. She showed me his face. She told me to find him. ‘Prove your innocence and save the kingdom.’ That’s what she said.”

  “And that’s what we’ll do. But right now we don’t even know where he is. He must have left Kentigern days ago.”

  “So we’ll find him!”

  “How, Tavis? As far as everyone else in the Forelands is concerned, he’s a musician. No one knows to look for him. You, on the other hand, are a fugitive.”

  Tavis shook his head again, though not so violently this time. “He planned this very well, didn’t he?”

  “He didn’t plan it alone. I know that offers little comfort, but it’s true. You weren’t undone by one man, but rather by a vast conspiracy. Defeating it will take time.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “I don’t for certain, but it makes sense. Far more sense than the idea of Brienne’s murderer working alone. I believe the night we took you from the dungeon you heard me tell the first minister that I had killed
a man in Kentigern Wood. I’m fairly certain that he was an associate of Brienne’s murderer. And before I killed him, he told me he had been hired by a Qirsi woman I knew from the Revel.”

  Something he heard in Grinsa’s voice as the Qirsi spoke of this woman made Tavis think that there was more to her than he was saying.

  “Was she a Weaver, too?” he asked.

  The man looked at him sharply, but his answer, when it came, was surprisingly subdued. “No, she wasn’t a Weaver.”

  Tavis considered asking more, but quickly thought better of it.

  “We can talk about this another time,” the Qirsi said. “Right now I need to make some arrangements.”

  “What for?”

  “Our departure. We’re leaving Kentigern later today. I have to speak with the merchant who’ll be helping us.”

  “What should I do?”

  Grinsa shrugged. “Get something to eat. Rest. Whatever you choose. Just be ready to leave by the ringing of the prior’s bells.”

  The boy nodded, then watched as the gleaner turned from him a second time and left the shrine. He had never had much use for the Qirsi. In that way, as in so many others, he was his father’s son. But he found some comfort in the knowledge that Grinsa would be with him for a time, and he felt certain that he had never before met a Qirsi like this man.

  Grinsa’s friend, it turned out, was Qirsi as well, a cloth merchant headed for Tremain. His cart, which he steered to the sanctuary’s rear entrance, was piled several fourspans high with large, folded sheets of broadcloth and buckram. Two large farm horses were harnessed to the wagon, one of them white, the other grey and black.

  “You’re to hide among the sheets,” Grinsa explained, somewhat unnecessarily. “Hewson says you’ll be better off under the broadcloth. The buckram is too stiff; the gate guards will be more likely to spot you.”

  “Seems to me they’re going to anyway,” Tavis said, eyeing the cart doubtfully.

  “I’ve done this before, young master,” the merchant said from atop his seat. He spoke with a thick Wethy accent, and with his pipe held tight between his teeth, Tavis could barely make out what he was saying. “Curl yourself up on your side and keep still, and I promise you’ll have no trouble.”