Shiden rose from his seat. He and the captain were in the dining hall of Hahnir's palace again, after yet another meeting. Ever so often, the spellcaster watched Aurien's eyes as they looked over the guards. Aurien would not tell him what he was concerned about. The tale of his mother's death was still on Shiden's mind, but he was suspicious of these newcomers as well. There were new guards in the dining hall at each of the entrances. Most of them were older, and experienced in battle. It had been a month and three weeks since the siege of Etirran. Shiden wanted to bring up the monastery again, but said nothing. His thoughts wandered; the spellcaster remembered the pendant he was wearing under his shirt, and the scepter before him on the table. Twice, Shiden moved to pick it up, but something kept him from doing so, some foreboding pressing on him so severely he wondered if he'd somehow been given a foresight, of whatever task he was supposed to accomplish next.
Aurien waited until the guests closest to them left before speaking and moved to a closer seat at the table. “You are really staying, then?”
Shiden recalled his last adventure, and the morning before the attack on the villa. He took the pendant from around his neck and examined it. “I must. Do you know, I do not fear for my life, even now.”
“Neither do I,” replied the knight. “Yet the safety of others is always on my mind. Often the others who remain by my side, but also those I had to leave behind. I was always afraid of being killed and leaving those I cared for alive, to suffer. The dead do not.”
“Don't they, Captain? What of those who make others suffer?”
The captain looked at the pendant Shiden was holding. He closed his eyes a moment. “Not yet, it is said, though that may come in the future. What is your plan, then?”
“I have no intention of dying for anyone but those I left behind. My plan is simple: kill the heralds, one after another, as my mother – as Lady Aliin wanted us to do.”
Aurien nodded. “If you only want to protect those you care about, then why stay? Leave with the rest of the Company and myself, and go abroad.”
Shiden lowered his voice; he watched as a sentry man passed by them and went to Hahnir. The sentry man put a folded note by Hahnir's plate of food, bowed and left the way he came. “Because I can forestall the enemy. I know what I am doing. I have studied the rites of the fourth rank of spells. Will you go north again?”
Aurien whispered a quiet 'yes', and picked at the food on a tray in front of him. “I will not stay now. I've secured our passage out of this land. If you have resolved to stay, I will not argue. You are brooding on something, lad.”
Shiden sighed. “Yes. You know my greatest secret, now, and I am honored your grandchild will be of my own bloodline. He – or she – is going to be such a beloved person, and blessed. I think you understand my will in this matter. Still, there is another secret I have told to your daughter in private, and she told me she'd keep it quiet from any other. It haunts me, and because of my secret, dear Asarien – dearest Saiya – is in danger as long as the enemy command structure remains intact. Even now, there is something else I wonder about – because of the foes we encountered. I heard them mutter in their death throes, about. . .well, about a 'Master'.”
Aurien went pale. He looked up toward the head of the table, where Hahnir was, raising a goblet as he did so, and drank from it before speaking. He took the time to gather more of the food off the communal trays, some leftover venison and a local green plant of some sort, which he saw was drenched in some kind of golden liquid. The captain spoke at last, gazing at the scarf draped over Shiden's shoulders.
“He was called Cerras. Some evil rat who could see into the future. We defeated him, and most of his people. Hm. You should eat more, lightweight. This is not too bad. But. . .yes, I think there is one more stirring up the remnants of the enemy. Take the runners, for instance. Two states: controlled, or behaving like feral beasts. I know what they do to people they capture. Do not think on it.
“The person we both care about most is far away to the east, and her precious brother, the valiant farmhand. I say again, you should go to her. Go abroad, stay wherever the ships take you, and never return. Raise a family. You owe the rest of us nothing. Go, and live in peace!”
With his last words, Aurien scowled, and Shiden blushed a deep shade of red bolder than the color of the sauces in his dipping bowl. Almost instantly, Aurien changed tack, and smiled, possibly faked, but he did chortle, thinking Shiden needed a lighter subject.
“She did tell me, you know. Before we left the barracks on that day. . .You have beaten it, lad. Hm. Good news. I do not expect the honor of having one of your children bear a name derived from my own family, but if you would. . . .”
'Our blessing', dear lady? You both come to mind so often, these days, You, and our child. He will not be easily consoled or convinced as long as he thinks he is keeping her safe. . . very well, then.
“Captain?”
Aurien ate the last of his food and reached for more of the meat, taking several portions to himself. “I was thinking of someone I loved once. You are not going to reconsider, are you?”
Shiden laughed joyfully. “No, Captain. But we have indeed beaten it. I do know the eastern waters. I have been across the sea. So, you know our most precious secret – my greatest desire, something I wanted for so long and feared I would never gain. I thought you'd be angry that she'd choose such a broken, grim wanderer like me.”
“Mended. Indeed. Poetical, as I said before.”
The spellcaster grunted. “Mister Hiro's fault. Got me reading those books he likes, his favorite tales.”
Shiden passed the pendant across the table, and took the last remaining slices of the locally made bread and most of the venison as well. “Give this pendant back to Master Faryn, will you? It only reminds me of my failings.”
Aurien took it up in his hand. The necklace weighed almost nothing; the stone in it gleamed in the light. He put it on and tucked it into the collar of his tunic beneath his armor. “You don't have to be so stubborn, boy. I cannot send reinforcements here, you understand?”
Shiden rose after scarfing most of his food down and almost completely emptying a full, clear jug of water. He picked up his scepter and his rucksack, and went out of the dining hall with Aurien following close behind him.
“Look at the state of them.”
Most of Hahnir's family had already turned in for the evening, but some of the children were in the outer part of the court, watched by guards.
“They cannot withstand this enemy alone. Even Etirranen has fallen – and it had been in its place since the Shroud were only a cult led by a power-mad priest! Ah, what are they now? I might be more skilled than their best champions, even.”
Aurien caught up to the spellcaster. He was winded, for the stairs were not easy to climb in full armor. “You think you are a match for them, and more skilled than they are? Can you outmatch their sorcery? Even with their age as a disadvantage to them?”
“There are only three left, Captain.”
Those last words Shiden wondered about for the final few hours of the night. Aurien followed him to his own private quarters for a time, before departing. Shiden took off the rucksack he carried everywhere, when he reached his chambers. It was as tattered as his own clothing often became after a journey. He made sure no one was around before putting his scepter inside, and as though the idea came to him just then, Shiden also took off his scarf, and folded it carefully, and the spellcaster placed it on top of the other things inside, which included his notebooks and drawing supplies, and even his last bit of provisions. Shiden whispered a few words in his native tongue. His soothing voice ceased, and he closed the rucksack, tightening the drawstring. At last he covered it with the flap, and he buckled the leather straps. Aurien watched, shocked, wondering exactly why he'd put his scarf inside as well.
“Tell them something for me, will you?”
Aurien wandered through the halls, towards his own quarters, after Shiden spoke his final words to him. Aurien had no rucksack, only a saddle bag, and a leather belt with glyphs scratched in it to mark it as his own, covered in pouches and a few loops for his knives and a quiver for bolts and arrows. He slammed a fist against the table in his room and snarled, but knew he'd never convince Shiden to return to the place where he'd been raised by the oracle and her husband.
“Damn it, spellcaster!”
Aurien did not wait for dawn. He went silently to the other room where the rest of the company was resting. He and Saga went together, and to half the company, he gave orders to stay in wait for Shiden. The others followed him down the dimly lit halls.
For a few hours, Shiden perused the tomes in his quarters again, and began stuffing a new rucksack with notes on the so-called 'Rank 4' spells, a theoretical field of study, one which had little documented regarding it. Frustrated by his lack of progress, he vented his anger upon the jug on the floor. He knew what it was filled with, and he wondered if, somehow, the assigned servant knew of his aversion to intoxicating drinks. The wine was expensive. The servant watched, smirking, as he saw Shiden kick the jug aside, and he went to clean the substance spilling from it, when the jug made contact with the wall and broke apart.
“Never again,” whispered Shiden. He thought the servant heard his words, for there was a slight twitch of his lips as the man wiped up the liquid from the tiled floor with a rag. Shiden dismissed the servant and gave him a stack of golden coins, apologizing for his 'mistake' in spilling the drink, in case he was wrong, and bowed. The servant bowed also, and left Shiden's quarters very quickly. The spellcaster locked his chamber door and went over to a small, but comfortable bed he'd grown used to over the past few weeks. He grunted and dragged the only other large furnishing in the room – a plush lounge seat – closer to the window. Whenever he woke up or returned to his private quarters, it had been put back in its original place, but Shiden dragged it away once more, back to the windowed side of the room and laid himself down on it. He fell asleep after spending most of the night watching the star-strewn sky, as he'd loved doing since he and Saiya met as young teenagers.
Several hours later
The servant stared blankly at the mirror of his home's washbasin. His journey was over. The old man ignored the muffled screaming he could hear, for only a moment. He punched the mirror; it broke, and bloodied his right hand. The servant gazed at the pieces in the basin until he found the largest shard. He turned to face a bound and gagged scout lying on his stone floor, and lunged. His shard of glass eviscerated the scout's flesh.
Once the scout was dead, the servant went out of the bath chamber and left his house. He threw himself over the rim of the mountain after walking through a narrow passage to get there.
Ceras stood up. He looked around his dark, stone hut; it was nothing like the land he'd been viewing; his home was a terrible dwelling on the edge of Ha'lais Etir, an enclave in the territory of Niriu's indigenous race. He was thirsty, almost desperate for sustenance. Ceras walked down the steps of the platform at the center of the hut, and went stumbling over to his bed. He almost dropped to his knees, but recovered, and picked up a canteen from a side-table. He drank all of the water in it, and fought off the nausea and dizziness he felt. He laid down on the bed next to his wife. He trembled, afraid, wondering if she'd be punished again if his actions were discovered.
The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
So, Lanith, Runners can still be controlled. You were right. But, how did you learn it, I wonder? You held back a few of the pages you found, didn't you?
'Ceras. . .you fool. They can hear our words!'
I do not fear the Overseers, Lanith. You are probably right, though.
Lanith did not use the Order's secret techniques to speak again. Ceras turned onto his side. The woman sleeping next to him had a terrible cut on the side of her bruised face. He grimaced and stroked her hair.
Better to leave the tools on the platform than wake her and have to answer the Questioners again. I cannot risk anyone overhearing another argument. If she wakes up before I do, she will put them in the storage shed. If I am discovered, it would lead to another beating for the both of us.
Lanith. She does not deserve the Master's punishment. I must rest. Our experimentation is still a secret for now. You should have reached their abode – you got your closest friend - your best student - whipped by our own torturers. Go find what we sought!
'Do not speak to me again in this way, pup. I have seen him. I have signaled him twice. Have patience!'
Three Days Later . . .
Aurien knew how dangerous the region was. He paced along the floor of the great hall again. He spoke to the scouts twice, but dismissed them, and sent a message with them for Hahnir. Three men had been found dead already. Shiden had made up his mind. The captain slung the rucksack over his shoulder.
This was my child's old rucksack – the second one they issued her after the last war quest event she won! Idiot. Idiot, caster. Can't you see, something is not right? Very well. But I have the champion, and our remaining companions to think of. And, of course, my only child, who wants and needs you by her side.
Aurien went out of the main doors and onto the street. His trip into the north would last the rest of the day before he reached his destination. He growled as he walked up the dusty lane, gripping the rail tightly as he went. Aurien finally reached the city's burial grounds at mid-day, his foul mood already getting to the captain. A wide bridge spanned the distance between the edge of the caldera and the halls of the dead on the other side. Aurien crossed it and climbed another set of stone stairs to a tunnel passage, which snaked through the rock and led to the outside of the dead volcano. He knew there were terraces out there, where the locals held funerary services.
Aurien had to pass all of them to get to his destination. His destination was a stable in the northernmost part of Hahnir's domain, and the place where his company was waiting for him. He went on, only occasionally looking through each opening to the terraces beyond them. Each one faced east. At last, he passed one with a burning mound and a body atop it, and there was already smoke rising toward the opening at the top. On the covered terrace were only two mourners, and the five local men of the cloth who administered final rites.
Aurien waited, though he did not know who the dead man was. One of the mourners, a man who looked to be around the same age as his own child, looked up and bowed. Aurien returned the gesture. He saw the dull armor the young man was wearing. The man knelt, and tugged the sleeve of the other mourner, a woman, very great in age, whispering something in their own language. Aurien could not understand their speech. Her hair was barely visible; her head was covered, but he could tell how old she was, and saw her gray braid. Aurien bowed again, longer the second time. The woman inclined her head a moment, then the two went back to their mourning. Aurien backed out of the passage and kept walking. He recalled the ancient Raiiya byword, derived from words engraved on a slab above the founder's tomb west of Baron's Respite.
“'War seldom makes sense to its victims',” muttered Aurien. 'Why did you translate it that way, Eliydara? – damn it, Woman. Even your daughter fouled up her own translation.'
The captain walked faster, recalling how the western lands did their ceremonies, both of life and death. He saw many villages far off when he reached the end of the row, and went down into the valley towards one of the many residences in the north fields. There were many passing travelers on the fenced road: foreign visitors on pilgrimage to the center of the caldera, and others who were locals going about their usual routines. Their happy chatter angered Aurien; he reached the stables at last, at dusk.
Saga was staring at the main gate north of the stables. He leapt up as the captain entered, and bowed as the Blue Company's captain came up to him.
“What now, Master knight?”
“We're leaving. Get on your horse, champion. Nothing to worry about.”
Aurien signalled the others, and went by them, passing the stall where Toldar was, and smiled. He stopped and stroked the horse's neck, and went on, leaving him behind, knowing the spellcaster would need him more and had become attached to the beast. Aurien searched his own saddle bag and took a pouch out of it. The captain shook it; he knew the last of his money was in it, but he prepared his steed for the coming journey and climbed up. Aurien nodded and tossed the coin pouch to the stableboy. He yelled and raced out into the darkening valley, being followed swiftly by the rest of the company.
In his quarters high up on the ridge, Shiden waited. He couldn't shake the feeling of being watched from afar. Aurien had told him his own fears and his experiences with the same feeling; Shiden could not blame the captain for his fear. Lanith Aliin was alive. Shiden wondered if it was her, trying to communicate with him. The memory of the verses he heard came to mind. Two were dead.
The bandit Cinar Raiya was dead – Shiden could hardly believe it, but if his captain and father-in-law said he was dead, then he was. The native's herald was dead, also; he'd been a scourge and an embarrassment to his people. There were two more. Rivelas, and another. Shiden knew the last would be a dangerous foe: Araiga he was called – it was his surname. Shiden remained silent, but his breathing was heavy. The sky was getting dark; he thought he might be able to watch the stars again. Then, he heard the door open. A scout came in, dressed in formal wear, and light armor of the type Hahnir's sons wore during the meetings he'd been to. The scout was holding a collapsible baton in his hand and shackles.
“Master Muiras. I cannot apologize enough for bursting into your private quarters. Things have changed. The enemy forces have come. Our King needs your presence. Our Master, Hahnir is weary. So, you will come with me?”
Shiden was puzzled. He nodded, and put the last book in its place on its shelf, and picked up a spare cloak from his bed upon rolling it up, and tied it to his rucksack. “Of course, young one. Have courage.”
The spellcaster smiled, and went over to drink the rest of the water on his table. He barely saw the reflection of the scout in the mirror on the wall, and did not react in time. The scout slammed his baton against Shiden's back, the spellcaster falling where he was, grabbing the table but not managing to stay upright. The scout bound his hands; he was well-trained.
“Courage I have, Master Araiga – but you, I was told, are scared. One of our heralds wants a word, first.”
Shiden gasped as the scout said his true surname. The scout's face was blank, inexpressive, but he smirked ever so slightly, and Shiden recalled how the servant who'd been assigned to him had also done so, and he knew he'd been spied on by someone. “The herald from Muirasann, then. My kinsman.”
“Yes. I think you should know – the knight was overcome. His forces were ambushed on the road. You, however, are wanted alive – for now. Well. Here he is.”
Indeed, at last, one of his enemies entered Shiden's private room, a man he'd never met, dressed in the outer wear of the people called the Watchers: a dark red, shimmering, hooded robe, adorned with golden chains; the buttons fastening the coat were gold also. Araiga's face was scarred on the right side; a line of flesh paler than the rest of his face went from the right side of his mouth, diagonally, all the way to his forehead, through his right eyebrow. It was from a claw wound, Shiden realized. The right eye was a milky white. Shiden blanched, and stayed silent. He was dragged to his feet by the scout, who lifted him and kept a tight grip on the iron-cord between the shackle cuffs, and bowed as the herald entered. The scout left quickly after shoving Shiden onto the sofa.
“At long last. You look well,” said the herald. “It has been a long time since I've been in the presence of someone of my bloodline. So. I heard you are studying the ancient lore on the Rank 4 spells?”
Shiden only looked on, incredulous, as the enemy herald came up closer towards him.
“My Master's son has been watching you for a few weeks now – you must forgive his erratic and disturbing behavior. He has been warned.”
Araiga moved even closer, taking in the sight of Shiden's clothing. He looked at Shiden curiously before speaking again. “You do not wear my pendant? I gave it to my granddaughter – I thought she would have passed it on to her own child, at the very least! Did it not come into your possession?”
Shiden nodded. His face was grim as it usually was. “It did, funnily enough.”
Araiga took out his watch from one of the pockets on his coat, and after checking it, he let it drop back in. “Where is it, then?”
Shiden looked at the man, marveling at the ostentatious cothing. “I was never taught how to cast spells, formally. I was able to use them instinctively from a young age – even killed a man when I lost control of one in anger. I was only nine at the time. Such a difference from the usual methods of learning.”
Araiga sighed and went to examine a painting on one of the walls. “There is a great deal of difference in how we are treated, as well – at best neutrality, in certain places, I find.”
“Certainly. Being spat upon was always more disturbing than lack of aid or service, Watchman, and I lived in the north, where we are usually welcomed. I know what you seek – I sent it away; my weapon is long gone, and I do not need the scepter to cast spells.”
The watcher said nothing in response, but checked his timepiece again before turning his gaze back to the painting.
“As for the pendant, I did not get it from my mother, but it came into my possession anyway – a gift, or token if you like, from a friend. Ten years, ten years ago now, the day he found it. I sent it away, back to the young man who gave it to me. Annara – my mother's name, and my grandmother's, I believe, assuming she kept the old custom of giving her own name to her firstborn child? Her child did not raise me. She was slain in a bandit raid, I found out recently. Their leader was well-known to you at one point, I think. Perturbed, are you? At least that?”
Araiga spoke at last, his words punctuated by an occasional pause. “Our king has warned young Ceras not to interfere – several times – and he will be. . .punished. I only came here to retrieve you, so I might keep you safe, to teach you more about your natural ability. If the idiotic bandit had done what he was supposed to, I would have raised you myself. I was only captured thirty years ago.”
“Then, you sent him into the monastery?”
Araiga shook his head and, surprisingly, he laughed a bit. “No, boy. Another one did that – the Relic, they call him. You should not have been among the commoners from my old home. Wretched, seditious degenerates they were. So you know of Annara, then – my only son's line continues! No. No. No, we must retain a calm demeanor – focus determines the success of our endeavors, not emotion.”
Shiden fingered the throwing knife in his pocket, wondering if he could cast a spell quickly enough. He said nothing to the herald, but waited.
“Forgive me, dear boy. I was betrayed as well, you see. I had to agree to aid the elders, or they would have slain me, and her. You must aid us!”
“What are you – other than a cheap, easily tricked vessel of other soulless men?” asked Shiden, jeering at his kinsman's words. “You had better not mistake my silence and despair for acquiescence. Do you think I might accept your lies as an attempt to help me? I, also, have been afflicted by the vile plague your master released upon the Storm Country – the country you also betrayed to death for your own gain!”
Araiga rushed to Shiden, grasping his tunic with an extended hand. His face was pale; he seemed to change his mind about speaking, and went suddenly back to the door, pausing a moment to say one last thing.
“Now come,” he said, “we should go, and see! If you think I am here to make some request or other, let this sink in: I am not, you petulant little brat.”
Araiga's demeanor changed in an instant. He strode out on his long legs and snatched a dark stave from his waiting messenger. Shiden followed, his hand still clenched on the end of the weapon in his pocket. There were others out in the hall, including several heavily armored guardsmen with dark armor on them. One tried to seize Shiden immediately, but the spellcaster drew out his throwing knife, and the guardsman was thrown back; Shiden's blast caused his head to be thrown back and the guardsman slammed to the floor, blood gurgling in his throat. The next enemy flung back his cloak and tried to shoot the spellcaster with his crossbow, missing because Araiga shoved him against the wall.
Much too late, the herald realized there was another guardsman approaching, who attacked Shiden from behind, punching the lightly-attired spellcaster in the ribs, and shoving him to the floor on the other side of the hall. Shiden dropped the smoking throwing knife and gasped in pain. Tears began to flow down his face at last; he lay there with his older, nearly healed wounds causing him severe pain, agitated by the strike he received. Araiga yelled in protest, but was ignored by the enemy captain; he avoided his kinsman's gaze and walked on towards his next destination.
Thralls of Araiga's unknown 'master' hauled away the dead guardsman. Others forced Shiden to his feet after bringing up more prisoners-of-war, and one with a spear thrust his weapon in the direction of the hallway's entrance, the meaning of his gesture clear. Shiden made eye contact with Arukan, Hahnir's son, but he did not speak – blood was on Arukan's mouth and chest. There was a second knife in Shiden's boot. He'd also seen a figure dart into one of the other rooms of Hahnir's manor house, someone with red hair and a black-and-blue shawl covering her head. He did not know it, but there were tears in her green eyes.
