He started forward the moment the door swung wide. The squire returned with someone Rylin briefly mistook for a fellow alten. He wasn’t, though. The tall, thin man with wheat-colored hair wore a well-fitted khalat, rendered blue by the lengthy curing process to interlock the fibers. But the decorations on the metallic shoulder guards were red, as was the piping along his pants, and a ruby shown on his finger. This, then, was one of the auxiliary’s officers, supposedly of equivalent stature to Altenerai. They didn’t often wear uniforms.
“Alten Rylin?” The fellow smiled without using his eyes. “I’m Exalt Verin. I’m afraid Tesra’s indisposed at the moment, but I’ll be happy to take a message.”
Of course he was. “When will she be free?”
“I’m not really sure.”
He returned that cold smile with a very warm one. “That’s a shame. I’ve a personal matter I need to speak to her about. A rather urgent one. Here.”
Verin blinked and took the basket as Rylin pushed it into his chest.
“Why don’t you carry that in to her, and I’ll come with you.” He walked toward the door.
“I’m really not sure that’s—”
“She won’t mind. And if she’s still too busy, I’m sure she’ll let me know herself.”
Rylin opened the door and walked through, holding it after for Verin, still carrying the basket and looking irresolute. Rylin took in the high stone walls, found them brighter than those in the Altenerai corridors, though he didn’t see why immediately. There were many doors, and ahead were branching halls. Missing were the numerous plaques and cases of mementos to be found in Altenerai corridors. The auxiliary corps had no heroic moments to immortalize.
He knew that his command of the situation was tenuous. And there wasn’t time to look around.
“Tesra will be glad I’ve come,” he insisted. “This is more important than I’ve let on, believe me. Now which way is she?” Rylin started forward.
Verin hurried to match his stride. “It’s really not a good time, Alten. And I’m not sure—”
“How long has the Mage Auxiliary been routinely wearing khalats? I’ve only seen you in them on special occasions.”
“After Alten Kyrkenall killed M’lahna and Kerst it seemed like a good idea.” His eyes held a challenge, as if he expected argument.
“It is,” Rylin agreed. They were coming to an intersection. “Although Cargen’s khalat didn’t seem to do him much good. Which way?”
Verin looked a little off-balance still. Good. “She’s in the Great Hall.” Almost against his will Verin nodded toward a set of oak doors on the right. “But you really shouldn’t interrupt, Alten. I’ve let you come too far already.”
Rylin lifted the basket from his hand. “I’ll take it from here. Thanks.” He glanced briefly at the door as he pushed it, noting it was cut approximately like that on the Altenerai meeting room. Carved into its central panel was a slender feminine figure in a flowing gown, arms upraised, and what appeared to be a fiery sun suspended between her hands. A goddess, then, and from her long hair, perhaps Vedessa, though Rylin knew no story of her carrying the sun.
Inside was a vaster space than he would have guessed. This portion of the hall stretched all the way to the vaulted ceiling four stories above. High, wide windows along what would have been the third and fourth floors cast long rectangles of light down upon rows of tables where men and women crouched over glowing, beautiful crystalline things he guessed must be hearthstones while others beside them scribbled on parchment paper. Yet more watched the pendulums of small clocks set beside them.
Beyond the tables stretched row after row of high shelves, and Rylin realized with a start that hearthstones sat upon them all. How many, he could not tell. Certainly more than the dozens he had guessed in existence. There were hundreds, possibly approaching a thousand, each sitting a few feet from its neighbor, and organized on the shelves by color. He’d had no idea that there was a rainbow’s variety of them, from pure white to ebony. And he had no idea how dazzlingly attractive they were, especially the ones under active study.
“Stay here.” This time Verin’s voice held a warning note. He motioned Rylin to a brown flagstone to the left of the door before he walked forward.
At the sound of his footfalls some of the clock watchers and note takers looked up. One fixed him with a long, disapproving stare and he recognized her for the commander of the Mage Auxiliary, Synahla. Her eyes were some of the most striking Rylin had ever seen, their vibrant violet obvious from forty paces out.
Rylin nodded politely, even as he knew what all were thinking. Not only was he uninvited, he was about as welcome as a roach in a flour jar.
And so he fixed a smile on his face, as if he were simply happy to be here and only mildly curious, and watched Verin bend over to consult with one of the women jotting notes.
Tesra.
She had always been pretty. Her black hair, now grown past her shoulders, was pulled away from her forehead by a silver band set with a small ruby. It suited her. He considered that hollow in her neck where he’d liked to kiss her and his smile grew a little more wistful. She seemed softer now. Probably she didn’t have to run drills every day here in the auxiliary.
Her eyes found his. She didn’t return his smile, nor did she look especially pleased when the violet-eyed woman strode over to consult with her. They spoke briefly, and then Synahla took Tesra’s place as Rylin’s old lover walked toward him, motioning Verin to stay behind.
Yes, still fit but a bit curvier, obvious even in the dark gown with the red sash. Red was the Mage Auxiliary’s answer to the sapphire. He wondered if their rings were endowed with the same powers, or if they were somehow different.
Tesra stopped before him, her reaction not the least bit warmed by his welcoming smile. Her voice was hushed. “Rylin, you’re not supposed to be here.”
He lifted the basket. “That’s no way to greet an old friend bearing gifts. My apologies for staying away so long.” He searched her eyes in vain for like feeling.
She took him by the arm and walked him to the door and out. Then she pulled the door shut with her free hand and looked up at him. “We’re in the midst of some delicate studies.”
“I can be delicate,” Rylin quipped. “And studious.”
She sighed, unable to suppress a slight smile. “It’s always nice to see you, of course,” she said, “but not here. And this isn’t a good time.”
He slowly put a hand to her shoulder and considered her with sad gravity. “This is important or I wouldn’t have barged in.”
For the first time, she seemed to be actually looking at him as her old friend. “Nothing’s happened to your brother, has it?”
He remembered how much she’d taken to his brother when he’d visited. “He’s fine. This is about me. I need your help.”
The warmth was still there, but more guarded.
“I want … I need…” He looked away, as if he were embarrassed. He spoke softly. “I’m thinking about leaving the Altenerai.”
She was very lovely indeed as she watched him with widened eyes. “But why?”
He shook his head, and spoke to her about all of his true misgivings. “It’s just not what I expected. Half the officers don’t even turn up for meetings. The veterans barely talk to us. And Kyrkenall … Well. It feels like the Altenerai are fading. I want to be part of something greater.”
What did that look of hers mean? She was debating.
He spoke on. “Remember what you told me when you left? That the Mage Auxiliary would tremendously improve our understanding of sorcery. Has it? Have you gotten better?”
She nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, yes. Rylin, it’s been amazing—” She fell silent, for the door to the Great Hall opened behind her and violet-eyed Synahla swept out. She had at least ten years on Tesra, but carried it well, and he admired the cut of dark pants against wide hips, and the white blouse tucked tight into the band to better accentuate her small waist. Those beautiful eyes appraised
him with little warmth, but she presented her ruby-ringed hand as she stepped forward.
“Alten Rylin, isn’t it? I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”
He enjoyed the pressure of slim fingers against his wrist, and returned her greeting clasp.
“I hope Tesra has explained to you that we’re on a schedule?”
“A schedule for what?” Rylin asked innocently.
“I was going to, Commander,” Tesra said quickly, “but Rylin has come to see us about joining the auxiliary.”
“You have?” The commander arched an eyebrow at him.
“I’ve been considering it for a long time. Ever since I got the ring, actually.” As Rylin wasn’t entirely convinced that the Mage Auxiliary was an enemy of Darassus, he was attempting to tread a narrow path and say few if any outright lies. There was, in fact, a fair bit of truth to his words, for he really had been disappointed by the lack of chances to do anything meaningful. The promise of greater magical training if he’d transitioned to the auxiliary had been a tempting lure during his squire days, and he’d often wondered afterward about the path not taken. “The Altenerai Corps’s not what I expected.”
Still she stared. He’d always thought he’d know if someone were reading or mazing him, and was unsettled by the sudden notion he might be entirely wrong. The people within this building had spent years doing little but honing their craft and working with the hearthstones, which were said to enhance any magical gifts. Could the commander skim his surface thoughts without detection? Would it matter that his ring would alert him if the warning came after she learned the truth?
“I’ve grown more and more frustrated,” he admitted, which was entirely true. “And I’ve been thinking about the offer I was extended as a fourth ranker. When Tesra herself stepped over.”
Synahla’s response was cool. “Coming over now is a different matter, Alten. There would be … repercussions.”
“I know.”
“Have you spoken with Denaven?”
“I’d rather this be kept quiet for a time,” he said. “I hadn’t wished to inform you yet, either, Commander.” He gave her his best apologetic look, but she wasn’t having any of that.
Her tone grew biting. “Were you planning to tell me after you joined?”
“I assumed we’d talk eventually.”
“Of course. You’re aware that no one’s permitted within the auxiliary’s Great Hall without express permission? That includes Altenerai.”
“I had no idea. Verin should have mentioned it.”
“Verin was ill-equipped for your forceful personality. I see you’re a man who’s used to getting his way. Either through inclination or accumulated arrogance you think you can simply charm your way past any challenge. It’s not that easy, Alten. You were a minor magical worker, at best, five years ago.”
Minor?
“My ranks are full with talented mages who never hesitated to join. Why should I welcome you? The only reason you could be coming, now, is that you’re embarrassed by your own corps. As you should be. Its days are over, and if you’d shown Tesra’s wisdom when you were a squire you’d have seen that circumstances like these were inevitable.”
Tesra alternated looking between her commander and Rylin, clearly troubled. He understood how she felt. Unless he changed the tenor of this conversation, and quickly, his assignment was a failure. A wink and a smile might have worked with Tesra, but it wasn’t going to get him past Commander Synahla.
“You must think very little of me, Commander.” He passed his gift basket off to Tesra. “Maybe I am used to getting what I want. That doesn’t mean I haven’t worked hard to earn it. I admit I crave glory. Who doesn’t? But if you think I became Altenerai solely because of misplaced loyalty to the corps, or some failure of foresight, you’re wrong. I swore to my father I’d never give up until I had earned the sapphire. And I held to that oath. Tesra can confirm the truth of it.”
Tesra finally rejoined the conversation. “It’s true, Commander. Rylin was torn, but he felt honor-bound to keep his word.”
“Your dead father, I suppose?” Synahla asked.
He was tempted to play up the dramatic potential of the situation, or to act affronted, but he merely held open, empty palms. “I’m a man of my word, Commander.” He didn’t mention that he had emphasized that oath when talking with Tesra all those years ago because he’d long since decided to remain with the Altenerai. The tragedy of lovers torn apart by circumstance had been immensely appealing to her at the time.
Synahla’s voice wasn’t quite as cold as she spoke on. “What of your Altenerai oath, Alten? Didn’t you swear to hold to it until your death?”
“‘If this be my numbered day, I will meet it smiling. For I’ll have held this oath.’ I’ve mulled it over quite carefully.” Indeed he had, especially the portions about keeping the truth. “I’ll still be working for the realms if I serve in the auxiliary. I can live up to every part of that oath.”
“You may make enemies who were once your friends.”
“Something that’s held me back. Until now.”
The commander brushed hair away from her forehead. “Tell me, then. If you hadn’t run into me so quickly, what had you hoped to do?”
He glanced at Tesra. “Renew a friendship. Apologize for keeping too distant.” He was pleased when his nod was greeted by a tentative smile from his old friend. “And then I hoped to see what I might be getting myself into before I switched horses. So to speak. The auxiliary’s closemouthed. I’m not really sure how you serve the realms. I gather you sometimes head out on expeditions for hearthstones, but it seems like most of you just stay here.”
“And you’d want the former more than the latter, I suppose.” Synahla paused for a moment, but Rylin decided to say nothing that might imperil the conclusion she seemed likely to make. “Well, Rylin, if I do take you, that’s exactly the sort of thing I’d have in mind. I imagine you have other uses as well, but, to be frank, our martial prowess is not as pronounced as that of the Altenerai. We do have a few skilled enough to train our division to defend themselves physically, and some of your colleagues occasionally drop by to assist. Pardon me. Your late colleagues used to come by.”
Good. That seemed to suggest that only Cargen and K’narr had been directly involved.
Synahla continued. “To have someone more soldierly on staff full-time would be a tremendous asset.”
“I would have access to the hearthstones, though?”
“Eventually.” Her eyes held his. “Have you ever used one? Or have you simply read accounts?”
“Accounts only.”
“I see.” She looked mildly disappointed. “Some Altenerai may still hold shards or even full stones, though Denaven’s never gotten any to admit it.”
“I’ve never seen one until today,” Rylin averred. “I would have liked to have viewed them through the inner world. But that seemed rude.”
“Did it. Unlike your presumptuous entry into a restricted area?”
“I don’t argue I was presumptuous. But no one told me I was in a place Altenerai were forbidden.” So far as he knew, there was no such place in all Erymyr, including its capital, or any of the Allied Realms.
“Indeed.” A smile quirked at the corner of her mouth. “Tesra, I’ll have Verin finish your work today. Show the alten our training facilities. Let him see where he’d be working.”
“Yes, Commander.”
She started to turn away; then, as though it were only an afterthought, she paused. “And check out a shard for him so he can have his curiosity satisfied. If you like what you experience, Rylin, speak to me tomorrow and we’ll work out what to say to Denaven.”
“So I’ve a formal invite, then?”
“So long as you behave more tactfully from here on out.” Synahla looked at him once more as she opened the door, then passed confidently through before closing it after.
Tesra seemed oblivious to her commanding officer’s subtle flirtation. She
all but beamed at Rylin. “You won her over! She’s a tough one, too.”
“She doesn’t seem so bad.”
“Then you weren’t paying attention! I thought she was going to have you formally reprimanded before the queen.”
Rylin had thought so, too, but he only smiled and shook his head.
“And this basket you brought is very sweet. I do love cherries: these look perfectly ripe.”
“They are.”
“I’m glad you came. We’re working on so many exciting projects. You’re going to love it here.”
She turned the basket over to him, promising that she’d be right back. Before the door closed, Rylin looked past her swaying figure to the long desk she approached, just visible beyond the field of tables. And directly behind it sat a rack of leather-bound tomes. He imagined Varama would give a lot to know what they held. She might even be more curious about them than the shelves of hearthstones beyond. He hoped he wouldn’t actually have to pretend to resign from the Altenerai to find out.
Tesra returned after a few moments, adjusting a lock of hair that escaped her silver band. She showed him the bright lavender shard she’d brought, but didn’t hand it over, promising to orient him properly after a tour.
“Tell me about these projects that are so exciting.”
She laughed. “You’re always so keen. But I really shouldn’t talk about them yet. Not until you’re full-fledged auxiliary.”
“Don’t you trust me?”
“It’s not that. I’m sworn to keep these matters secret from all the uninitiated. And,” she admitted as they started up a side stair, “even some in my division aren’t permitted to know what I do.”
“So you’re saying you’re special.”
“I thought you knew that.”
She shifted the conversation to small talk about friends and family in between pointing out various functional aspects of the building. The living quarters were airier than those in the Altenerai wing, but the walls didn’t seem as thick. There were quite a number more rooms than Rylin expected, but many appeared unoccupied. The recovery wards were well stocked—usually for magical injuries rather than physical ones, Tesra told him. The conference room doors were decorated with more of those female figures who weren’t quite Vedessa or Darassa.
For the Killing of Kings Page 15