Silverkin, page 24
Exeres crouched in the matted grass and dabbed some paste from the ointment jar on Flent’s cut cheek. The sting made the Drugaen wince and flinch. His big fingers opened and clenched, repeatedly, his eyes burning with anger at the Crimson Wolfsmen surrounding the small camp, his lips set.
He wasn’t the only one who hated Xenon. Exeres swiped away the residue of the paste with his little finger and smoothed it back into the jar before twisting the lid tight and stuffing it all back into his supplies. Ticastasy sat near, arms folded around her drawn-up knees, and she too glared at where Xenon stood with…what was his name? Thealos! With Thealos.
“He would have knocked you down too,” he pointed out to her softly, tilting Flent’s chin and examining his throat. A nasty bruise splotched his skin beneath the mat of his beard. It looked painful.
“I know,” she replied, her eyes not leaving them. She turned away, her face screwing up like a walnut shell. “I thought the Shae were honorable. I had no idea they were such beggars. Banned…”
Exeres touched her arm and shook his head.
Her scowl deepened. “I didn’t see you try and stand up to them.”
He let his bitterness out with a chuckle and grunt. “Well, after I noticed how well they received us, even one of their own? Poor Justin. He can’t speak a word of king’s common and the Shae who speak Silvan won’t because he’s Kilshae.” It made him think about his poor mother. What Kilshae community had she taken up with eventually? He knew she would not be allowed in Avisahn. How far had she wandered in order to find a home?
“How’s Flent?”
“I’m not deaf, girl,” the Drugaen said, his voice thick.
“I doubt this was the first time Flent’s been knocked down.” Exeres clapped him soundly on the back. “He probably does enough of the knocking down, though. I imagine it’s only fair he get the brunt now and then.”
Both of them cast him angry looks.
“The secret to happiness is a sense of humor,” he told them. He watched Xenon nod to Thealos and they both started towards them. “They’re coming. Be polite, you two.”
Exeres stood and stretched, twisting his neck until he felt it pop. Ticastasy and Flent made it to their feet as well. Justin remained aloof, sitting beneath the limbs of a towering cedar tree, banished beyond the perimeter of the camp.
Thealos approached and folded his arms, showing deference to the Wolfsman by letting him speak. Exeres tried to catch his eye and nod, but the Shae glanced over their shoulders at Justin.
“We have learned much,” Xenon said, casting a narrowed glance over at Thealos. “The danger is greater than we feared. Our situation is perilous. If we delay, we risk being cut off by Ballinaire’s army as it descends from the Shadows Wood. If we must fight, we would rather it be in the open plains than against a citadel. If the human leading the rebellion in Landmoor does indeed seek a truce…which I for one doubt…then we’d best offer him terms before sunrise.” He looked straight at Exeres. “You think he will hear a message from you, Druid?” The condescending tone in his voice made Exeres’ stomach sour.
“I believe he will.”
Xenon opened his hands. “The message is simple, if you can remember it. Tell him that we’ve been warned against his treachery. If he seeks fair dealings with the Shae, he must prove his good faith. He must open the south gates of the city and hobble them open. That will be his signal to us for a truce. When we see the gates open, we will meet him half-way up the slope of the hill.” Xenon’s face hardened. “But if that black-robed old man is there, or if we catch the slightest whiff of Forbidden magic, then we will know he’s betrayed us and the city will burn. But we will discuss a truce first. He has this one chance only.”
Exeres scratched his arm. “I think I can remember that. The south gate’s to be open if he wants to talk. Are you going to be traveling that direction?”
“Yes,” Thealos said. “You’re our emissary, Exeres. I think it’s appropriate, actually. You are from the Zerite order, which are neutral politically. You are half-Shae, half-human. You will make the intercession for us all. When it’s dark, we will come around to the south so that no one will see us coming. The mist will hide many things, including the position of the Shae army. That gives both sides a need to trust each other.”
Ticastasy looked at Thealos. “I don’t think he’ll betray you.”
He smiled back. “I hope not.”
Exeres brushed his hands together. “When should I leave?”
“Now,” Thealos answered. “I hope he will accept these terms. I pray he does.”
Squatting down on the grass, Exeres placed his healing supplies back into his travel sack. Xenon and Thealos conversed a little more in Silvan. He could see the enmity in their eyes for each other, but at least they had made some sort of truce themselves. Flipping the cuff over the backpack, he cinched the straps and swung it up around his shoulders. His medallion thumped against his chest as he rose.
“Safe journey,” Thealos said to him, reaching for his hand.
“I will meet you in Landmoor. All of you.” He nodded to Ticastasy and Flent and then started at a brisk pace into the Shoreland moors.
* * *
Exeres walked hard and strong, making good time across the troughs and gentle hills. Weeds and grasses shushed against his legs. He paused repeatedly to check the position of the sun and realized he would make it to the keep just as the sun began to set. His approach brought him around to another view of the castle, and he was a little surprised to see that the gatehouse on the south face looked identical to the one on the north face of the structure. The walls were uneven in height, a jumble of small squat towers and thin tall ones. Parts of the bastion walls were cracked with speckled moss and growths of vine ivy swarming it. How many centuries had the walls stood so defiantly, gazing south into the throat of the Shoreland? The city hill was vast, and the threads of chimney smoke streaming into the air showed a variety of those who lived and died within its protective walls.
A blue jay swooped down and snatched an insect and then flapped away. The air smelled clean and fresh—a warm smell. The humidity of the moors had him soaking in his own sweat, but he did not mind it. It was purifying, and part of him still felt the filth of having associated with Miestri and Mage.
Exeres stewed his thoughts as he walked, trying to make sense of them. He did not know how Thealos had convinced the Crimson Wolfsmen to heed his plan. Those men did not seem to take advice very well. For a moment, Exeres had thought they might start beating them all, so as not to make anyone feel left out. He imagined Thealos would be stiff the next morning. Perhaps more than stiff. He had taken some hard blows to sensitive organs. He shook his head.
A blanket of darkness settled over the valley floor.
Exeres looked up, westward, and saw the sinking sun—but no clouds. He stopped in his tracks. A palpable feeling of darkness descended over everything. Even the long grasses seemed to shrink and cower. He wondered what other sort of freakish storm was due, yet the weather was not the cause of it. A chill swept through him and he chafed his arms for warmth.
A storm was coming, but not the kind that fell from thunderheads. Something cold and evil knifed through his stomach, sending needles of fear up into his mind. What was it? He took a few steps back, retreating, and the feeling withdrew. The sun’s warmth soaked through him again and the colors became more vibrant.
“What?”
He stepped forward again and plunged into that unseen darkness. He tried to draw up some Earth magic to defend himself, but it did not obey him. There was nothing to draw up.
A warding—he had crossed a warding.
Humans could not feel them, he had learned in his Druid studies. Only the Shae. But this…this phenomenon astounded him. Looking up, he anticipated that the keep was still several miles away. Did the warding blanket the entire valley floor? How could it? How could something extend that far?
Should he go back and warn the others?
He bit his lip, looking ahead and glancing back. Which way?
What if the Wolfsmen were right after all? What if Tsyrke and Mage did have a trap in store for the Shae? Would meeting on the slopes of the fortress be practical? Would the Shae even come if they felt such a strong warding ringing the city? What should he do?
Exeres sighed and plodded on, walking at an even brisker pace. There was little time to decide. If they did not try to seek a peace, then Ballinaire and the rest of his army would arrive from the north. And he had a Sorian with him too. Exeres expected the two would clash when they met outside the keep. And what, in Achrolese’s name, would happen when they did? Or perhaps that was Thealos’ plan. To bring them both together and use some Silvan magic he claimed would destroy them both.
The darkness thickened as he walked. He climbed the road leading up to the base of the fortress walls. The heaviness of the warding weighed him down, making each step a little more difficult than the one before it. He carried stones of doubt and uncertainty as well. What was he doing! A lowly Zerite from the Isherwood—come down to the Shoreland to challenge powers that had drowned empires before even the Shae had been born. What could he do?
What about Mage? Would the Sorian try and put a hold on him again? Another tether of control—one that would force him to tell them where Ticastasy would be? He thought he stood a better chance this time of breaking free of it. Part of him had to believe that because he had done it once, it would be more slippery for them to try and grasp him again. He hoped that was so.
The walls of Landmoor loomed above him, and the very skies seethed with undulations as if some black wind blew over the watchtowers. The heaviness wore on him even more. Despair. He licked his lips, putting each step in front of the other.
He reached the porter door to the side of the main gate. The heavy portcullis and strong inner doors shut away the innards of the city. What would it be like trying to rush the hill with an army? Especially a Shae army amidst such feelings of darkness?
He pounded on the porter door and a small slit opened.
“Who are you?”
“I am Exeres from the Isherwood, a Zerite. I am here to see Commander Phollen. The password is Ishtol.”
A bar slipped and thudded, followed by the groan of a crossbar. The porter door opened, revealing several Bandit soldiers heavily armored.
“Quickly! Get inside!”
Exeres ducked within the narrow archway and the soldiers slammed the door, bolting and locking it. Barrels of nails were stacked to each side of it—debris ready to be used to barricade it. He chafed his hands, feeling the congestions of the darkness throbbing in the air.
“I need to see Commander…”
“I’m here, boy.”
Tsyrke stepped from within the shadows of the barracks door, his frame towering. His eyes were smudged with little bruises, bloodshot and bleary. A hauberk rattled beneath the black and gold trim armor, offset by his tattered red cape. Pure anger seethed from his expression as he stared at Exeres.
“You didn’t bring her.”
Exeres swallowed. “No, the Shae want to talk first. They want…”
Tsyrke jerked his arm in the air, slicing his hand down like a knife. “You don’t understand anything, Priest! It’s all a lie. All a ruse! There’s no truce with the Shae! You were told to bring the girl to me.” His eyes went wild with rage. He was going to draw his huge sword. He was going to cut Exeres in half with it…
“Ban you, stupid Priest! You let her go. You let her go!” He clenched his fists and turned away. Whirling, he snarled at one of the soldiers. “I want him in the dungeons. In your hunger, remember this, Priest. Remember the consequences for failing me. Take him out of my sight!”
* * *
The fog came in from the sea like a solid wall. Thealos crouched by a cedar, deep in its shadows, and watched it come. No fires had been lit, but the heat of the day still lingered into the darkness and it did not really matter. He sensed the presence of the Crimson Wolfsmen in the surrounding area, preparing to leave. They were as quiet as ashes, but their presence swirled through the air, mingling with his Shae senses. They could sense him just as easily.
A little stab of guilt poked at him for deceiving Exeres. But he could live with that. The priest had been under the thrall of two Sorian. He had insisted that both let him go. But what more did Thealos have than his word alone? No, trust did not come easy now. Not when he had seen the results of a Sorian’s games. His family was dead because of it.
No, the difficult part would be deceiving Stasy too.
If it came to that.
Was she under a Sorian’s thrall as well? Earlier she had offered to come along, to show him a secret way into the tunnels beneath the city. How had she known about it? How could he trust that there was another way? It could very well be a trap—even if she did not intend it as such. But he had to know.
Part of him wanted to go on without any of them. It would be easier to leave all his friends behind and embrace the magic of the Stones. How he wished he had had them earlier. But wishes were coins he could not spend on anything more than dreams. He needed to know if Stasy was with the Sorian too. The one known as Mage. There was really only one way to find out.
Such risks. Had Jaerod faced decisions like this? If so, he had certainly masked them well behind his confidence. Thealos chewed his lip, wondering if he had made the right decision by sending Exeres to the southern doors, hoping to draw both Tsyrke and Mage there to negotiate. Yet how does one outfox a Sorian? Someone who knew so many tricks and deceits? The wellspring had given him the idea. But even Sleepwalkers had been killed facing them. He believed that his greatest strength lay in the fact that neither Sorian knew he had sworn the covenants of the Oath magic. No one knew it, save Jaerod.
Where are you, Jaerod? Are you near these woods?
He felt nothing in reply. No tingle of awareness down his back. He smiled inwardly, knowing how it worked. Flent lay still and snoring; Ticastasy was rolled up in her blanket as well, her breathing steady. He closed his eyes and reached out to her, feeling the gentle murmuring of her Life magic. In his mind, he touched her, reaching out with an unseen tendril of his own Life magic. He opened his eyes in time to see her shudder and come awake.
She brushed her arms vigorously then wrapped her blanket around her shoulders.
Thealos stood and came near her. He dropped low and whispered in her ear. “It’s time to go.”
She looked up at him, confused. “Already? I thought we weren’t leaving until just before dawn.”
“We’re deploying in stages,” he said. It was true…in a sense. “Some of the Wolfsmen went ahead to secure the area. Another quaere will go with us. The last quaere will go with Flent and Justin. Come on.” By leaving Flent behind, he hoped to do her a favor by saving his life. It seemed like a fair trade for this shade of dishonesty.
“I’m glad I’m going with you,” she said, rising and grabbing her travel sack.
“Go wait by the trees over there. I’ll join you.”
She nodded, and he slipped over to where Justin sat in the darkness beneath the trees. His eyes glittered in the moonlight.
“She cares for you,” he whispered in Silvan. It was a warning.
Thealos ignored the statement. “Stay with the Drugaen. We’ll send for you soon.”
Justin nodded, digging his arms deeper against his sides. “I pray to Shenalle for your success.”
Thealos smiled and gripped his shoulder. “Be ready, Warder.”
A thin smile painted Justin’s mouth. “I am.”
* * *
Ravin Kil-Silversheir smelled the Forbidden magic drift into the air and snapped fully alert. He rose silently, straining to see beyond the seething mist that shrouded the lower valley. Had he dozed? Where were the others? How long had it been since Thealos had left with the girl? Or was that a lie? Had he merely sought solitude with her in the woods, a place where their intimacy would not be intruded on? The boy was such a fool! He let himself be tempted by the human. If only he could appreciate the agony of being a Kilshae.
The smell grew more potent, more direct. It was coming towards them. He recognized it and shivered, watching the tendrils of fog creep between the tall stalks of marsh grass. The whistle of crickets trembled in the air. He shifted beneath the mossy cedar, searching the trees towards Landmoor, watching for the black-clothed Sorian to appear.
He shook Flent awake.
The Drugaen started, flailing in his blanket. He mumbled something in that incoherent language of his.
“Can you see anyone?” he asked in the Drugaen tongue.
Flent rolled over and grabbed his weapon. He searched through the mist. “Where are the others? Where’s Stasy?”
An awareness—a familiar aura preceding great power. He had felt it when he first awoke from his long sleep. He had felt it the night they had crossed the Bandit army in the woods with the Sleepwalker. He felt it again in Landmoor. And now. Creeping through the coiling shroud, she came. Fear and excitement caught fire in his blood, and he tried to swallow the knot swelling in his throat. He knew he should run, but he wanted to feel her presence again. The hunger made him weak with expectation. That was why he was a Kilshae. He longed to taste her power again.
“What’s wrong with you?” Flent asked, his brow wrinkling.
“She’s coming for us,” Ravin whispered, taking a half-step backward.
The Sorian appeared through the fog, her black robes wraith-like in the darkness.
The Drugaen swore and brought up his axe. He muttered something in another language.
“Where are they?” she asked in Silvan, her cowl fluttering, teased by the wind. “The Shae and the girl. Where are they?”
Flent snarled something at her, a warning probably. What a fool, he was going to get himself killed! He menaced her with the axe, his face ruddy with fear.
She looked at him, the magic surged, and Flent clutched his chest and sank to his knees, his veins bulging.
He wasn’t the only one who hated Xenon. Exeres swiped away the residue of the paste with his little finger and smoothed it back into the jar before twisting the lid tight and stuffing it all back into his supplies. Ticastasy sat near, arms folded around her drawn-up knees, and she too glared at where Xenon stood with…what was his name? Thealos! With Thealos.
“He would have knocked you down too,” he pointed out to her softly, tilting Flent’s chin and examining his throat. A nasty bruise splotched his skin beneath the mat of his beard. It looked painful.
“I know,” she replied, her eyes not leaving them. She turned away, her face screwing up like a walnut shell. “I thought the Shae were honorable. I had no idea they were such beggars. Banned…”
Exeres touched her arm and shook his head.
Her scowl deepened. “I didn’t see you try and stand up to them.”
He let his bitterness out with a chuckle and grunt. “Well, after I noticed how well they received us, even one of their own? Poor Justin. He can’t speak a word of king’s common and the Shae who speak Silvan won’t because he’s Kilshae.” It made him think about his poor mother. What Kilshae community had she taken up with eventually? He knew she would not be allowed in Avisahn. How far had she wandered in order to find a home?
“How’s Flent?”
“I’m not deaf, girl,” the Drugaen said, his voice thick.
“I doubt this was the first time Flent’s been knocked down.” Exeres clapped him soundly on the back. “He probably does enough of the knocking down, though. I imagine it’s only fair he get the brunt now and then.”
Both of them cast him angry looks.
“The secret to happiness is a sense of humor,” he told them. He watched Xenon nod to Thealos and they both started towards them. “They’re coming. Be polite, you two.”
Exeres stood and stretched, twisting his neck until he felt it pop. Ticastasy and Flent made it to their feet as well. Justin remained aloof, sitting beneath the limbs of a towering cedar tree, banished beyond the perimeter of the camp.
Thealos approached and folded his arms, showing deference to the Wolfsman by letting him speak. Exeres tried to catch his eye and nod, but the Shae glanced over their shoulders at Justin.
“We have learned much,” Xenon said, casting a narrowed glance over at Thealos. “The danger is greater than we feared. Our situation is perilous. If we delay, we risk being cut off by Ballinaire’s army as it descends from the Shadows Wood. If we must fight, we would rather it be in the open plains than against a citadel. If the human leading the rebellion in Landmoor does indeed seek a truce…which I for one doubt…then we’d best offer him terms before sunrise.” He looked straight at Exeres. “You think he will hear a message from you, Druid?” The condescending tone in his voice made Exeres’ stomach sour.
“I believe he will.”
Xenon opened his hands. “The message is simple, if you can remember it. Tell him that we’ve been warned against his treachery. If he seeks fair dealings with the Shae, he must prove his good faith. He must open the south gates of the city and hobble them open. That will be his signal to us for a truce. When we see the gates open, we will meet him half-way up the slope of the hill.” Xenon’s face hardened. “But if that black-robed old man is there, or if we catch the slightest whiff of Forbidden magic, then we will know he’s betrayed us and the city will burn. But we will discuss a truce first. He has this one chance only.”
Exeres scratched his arm. “I think I can remember that. The south gate’s to be open if he wants to talk. Are you going to be traveling that direction?”
“Yes,” Thealos said. “You’re our emissary, Exeres. I think it’s appropriate, actually. You are from the Zerite order, which are neutral politically. You are half-Shae, half-human. You will make the intercession for us all. When it’s dark, we will come around to the south so that no one will see us coming. The mist will hide many things, including the position of the Shae army. That gives both sides a need to trust each other.”
Ticastasy looked at Thealos. “I don’t think he’ll betray you.”
He smiled back. “I hope not.”
Exeres brushed his hands together. “When should I leave?”
“Now,” Thealos answered. “I hope he will accept these terms. I pray he does.”
Squatting down on the grass, Exeres placed his healing supplies back into his travel sack. Xenon and Thealos conversed a little more in Silvan. He could see the enmity in their eyes for each other, but at least they had made some sort of truce themselves. Flipping the cuff over the backpack, he cinched the straps and swung it up around his shoulders. His medallion thumped against his chest as he rose.
“Safe journey,” Thealos said to him, reaching for his hand.
“I will meet you in Landmoor. All of you.” He nodded to Ticastasy and Flent and then started at a brisk pace into the Shoreland moors.
* * *
Exeres walked hard and strong, making good time across the troughs and gentle hills. Weeds and grasses shushed against his legs. He paused repeatedly to check the position of the sun and realized he would make it to the keep just as the sun began to set. His approach brought him around to another view of the castle, and he was a little surprised to see that the gatehouse on the south face looked identical to the one on the north face of the structure. The walls were uneven in height, a jumble of small squat towers and thin tall ones. Parts of the bastion walls were cracked with speckled moss and growths of vine ivy swarming it. How many centuries had the walls stood so defiantly, gazing south into the throat of the Shoreland? The city hill was vast, and the threads of chimney smoke streaming into the air showed a variety of those who lived and died within its protective walls.
A blue jay swooped down and snatched an insect and then flapped away. The air smelled clean and fresh—a warm smell. The humidity of the moors had him soaking in his own sweat, but he did not mind it. It was purifying, and part of him still felt the filth of having associated with Miestri and Mage.
Exeres stewed his thoughts as he walked, trying to make sense of them. He did not know how Thealos had convinced the Crimson Wolfsmen to heed his plan. Those men did not seem to take advice very well. For a moment, Exeres had thought they might start beating them all, so as not to make anyone feel left out. He imagined Thealos would be stiff the next morning. Perhaps more than stiff. He had taken some hard blows to sensitive organs. He shook his head.
A blanket of darkness settled over the valley floor.
Exeres looked up, westward, and saw the sinking sun—but no clouds. He stopped in his tracks. A palpable feeling of darkness descended over everything. Even the long grasses seemed to shrink and cower. He wondered what other sort of freakish storm was due, yet the weather was not the cause of it. A chill swept through him and he chafed his arms for warmth.
A storm was coming, but not the kind that fell from thunderheads. Something cold and evil knifed through his stomach, sending needles of fear up into his mind. What was it? He took a few steps back, retreating, and the feeling withdrew. The sun’s warmth soaked through him again and the colors became more vibrant.
“What?”
He stepped forward again and plunged into that unseen darkness. He tried to draw up some Earth magic to defend himself, but it did not obey him. There was nothing to draw up.
A warding—he had crossed a warding.
Humans could not feel them, he had learned in his Druid studies. Only the Shae. But this…this phenomenon astounded him. Looking up, he anticipated that the keep was still several miles away. Did the warding blanket the entire valley floor? How could it? How could something extend that far?
Should he go back and warn the others?
He bit his lip, looking ahead and glancing back. Which way?
What if the Wolfsmen were right after all? What if Tsyrke and Mage did have a trap in store for the Shae? Would meeting on the slopes of the fortress be practical? Would the Shae even come if they felt such a strong warding ringing the city? What should he do?
Exeres sighed and plodded on, walking at an even brisker pace. There was little time to decide. If they did not try to seek a peace, then Ballinaire and the rest of his army would arrive from the north. And he had a Sorian with him too. Exeres expected the two would clash when they met outside the keep. And what, in Achrolese’s name, would happen when they did? Or perhaps that was Thealos’ plan. To bring them both together and use some Silvan magic he claimed would destroy them both.
The darkness thickened as he walked. He climbed the road leading up to the base of the fortress walls. The heaviness of the warding weighed him down, making each step a little more difficult than the one before it. He carried stones of doubt and uncertainty as well. What was he doing! A lowly Zerite from the Isherwood—come down to the Shoreland to challenge powers that had drowned empires before even the Shae had been born. What could he do?
What about Mage? Would the Sorian try and put a hold on him again? Another tether of control—one that would force him to tell them where Ticastasy would be? He thought he stood a better chance this time of breaking free of it. Part of him had to believe that because he had done it once, it would be more slippery for them to try and grasp him again. He hoped that was so.
The walls of Landmoor loomed above him, and the very skies seethed with undulations as if some black wind blew over the watchtowers. The heaviness wore on him even more. Despair. He licked his lips, putting each step in front of the other.
He reached the porter door to the side of the main gate. The heavy portcullis and strong inner doors shut away the innards of the city. What would it be like trying to rush the hill with an army? Especially a Shae army amidst such feelings of darkness?
He pounded on the porter door and a small slit opened.
“Who are you?”
“I am Exeres from the Isherwood, a Zerite. I am here to see Commander Phollen. The password is Ishtol.”
A bar slipped and thudded, followed by the groan of a crossbar. The porter door opened, revealing several Bandit soldiers heavily armored.
“Quickly! Get inside!”
Exeres ducked within the narrow archway and the soldiers slammed the door, bolting and locking it. Barrels of nails were stacked to each side of it—debris ready to be used to barricade it. He chafed his hands, feeling the congestions of the darkness throbbing in the air.
“I need to see Commander…”
“I’m here, boy.”
Tsyrke stepped from within the shadows of the barracks door, his frame towering. His eyes were smudged with little bruises, bloodshot and bleary. A hauberk rattled beneath the black and gold trim armor, offset by his tattered red cape. Pure anger seethed from his expression as he stared at Exeres.
“You didn’t bring her.”
Exeres swallowed. “No, the Shae want to talk first. They want…”
Tsyrke jerked his arm in the air, slicing his hand down like a knife. “You don’t understand anything, Priest! It’s all a lie. All a ruse! There’s no truce with the Shae! You were told to bring the girl to me.” His eyes went wild with rage. He was going to draw his huge sword. He was going to cut Exeres in half with it…
“Ban you, stupid Priest! You let her go. You let her go!” He clenched his fists and turned away. Whirling, he snarled at one of the soldiers. “I want him in the dungeons. In your hunger, remember this, Priest. Remember the consequences for failing me. Take him out of my sight!”
* * *
The fog came in from the sea like a solid wall. Thealos crouched by a cedar, deep in its shadows, and watched it come. No fires had been lit, but the heat of the day still lingered into the darkness and it did not really matter. He sensed the presence of the Crimson Wolfsmen in the surrounding area, preparing to leave. They were as quiet as ashes, but their presence swirled through the air, mingling with his Shae senses. They could sense him just as easily.
A little stab of guilt poked at him for deceiving Exeres. But he could live with that. The priest had been under the thrall of two Sorian. He had insisted that both let him go. But what more did Thealos have than his word alone? No, trust did not come easy now. Not when he had seen the results of a Sorian’s games. His family was dead because of it.
No, the difficult part would be deceiving Stasy too.
If it came to that.
Was she under a Sorian’s thrall as well? Earlier she had offered to come along, to show him a secret way into the tunnels beneath the city. How had she known about it? How could he trust that there was another way? It could very well be a trap—even if she did not intend it as such. But he had to know.
Part of him wanted to go on without any of them. It would be easier to leave all his friends behind and embrace the magic of the Stones. How he wished he had had them earlier. But wishes were coins he could not spend on anything more than dreams. He needed to know if Stasy was with the Sorian too. The one known as Mage. There was really only one way to find out.
Such risks. Had Jaerod faced decisions like this? If so, he had certainly masked them well behind his confidence. Thealos chewed his lip, wondering if he had made the right decision by sending Exeres to the southern doors, hoping to draw both Tsyrke and Mage there to negotiate. Yet how does one outfox a Sorian? Someone who knew so many tricks and deceits? The wellspring had given him the idea. But even Sleepwalkers had been killed facing them. He believed that his greatest strength lay in the fact that neither Sorian knew he had sworn the covenants of the Oath magic. No one knew it, save Jaerod.
Where are you, Jaerod? Are you near these woods?
He felt nothing in reply. No tingle of awareness down his back. He smiled inwardly, knowing how it worked. Flent lay still and snoring; Ticastasy was rolled up in her blanket as well, her breathing steady. He closed his eyes and reached out to her, feeling the gentle murmuring of her Life magic. In his mind, he touched her, reaching out with an unseen tendril of his own Life magic. He opened his eyes in time to see her shudder and come awake.
She brushed her arms vigorously then wrapped her blanket around her shoulders.
Thealos stood and came near her. He dropped low and whispered in her ear. “It’s time to go.”
She looked up at him, confused. “Already? I thought we weren’t leaving until just before dawn.”
“We’re deploying in stages,” he said. It was true…in a sense. “Some of the Wolfsmen went ahead to secure the area. Another quaere will go with us. The last quaere will go with Flent and Justin. Come on.” By leaving Flent behind, he hoped to do her a favor by saving his life. It seemed like a fair trade for this shade of dishonesty.
“I’m glad I’m going with you,” she said, rising and grabbing her travel sack.
“Go wait by the trees over there. I’ll join you.”
She nodded, and he slipped over to where Justin sat in the darkness beneath the trees. His eyes glittered in the moonlight.
“She cares for you,” he whispered in Silvan. It was a warning.
Thealos ignored the statement. “Stay with the Drugaen. We’ll send for you soon.”
Justin nodded, digging his arms deeper against his sides. “I pray to Shenalle for your success.”
Thealos smiled and gripped his shoulder. “Be ready, Warder.”
A thin smile painted Justin’s mouth. “I am.”
* * *
Ravin Kil-Silversheir smelled the Forbidden magic drift into the air and snapped fully alert. He rose silently, straining to see beyond the seething mist that shrouded the lower valley. Had he dozed? Where were the others? How long had it been since Thealos had left with the girl? Or was that a lie? Had he merely sought solitude with her in the woods, a place where their intimacy would not be intruded on? The boy was such a fool! He let himself be tempted by the human. If only he could appreciate the agony of being a Kilshae.
The smell grew more potent, more direct. It was coming towards them. He recognized it and shivered, watching the tendrils of fog creep between the tall stalks of marsh grass. The whistle of crickets trembled in the air. He shifted beneath the mossy cedar, searching the trees towards Landmoor, watching for the black-clothed Sorian to appear.
He shook Flent awake.
The Drugaen started, flailing in his blanket. He mumbled something in that incoherent language of his.
“Can you see anyone?” he asked in the Drugaen tongue.
Flent rolled over and grabbed his weapon. He searched through the mist. “Where are the others? Where’s Stasy?”
An awareness—a familiar aura preceding great power. He had felt it when he first awoke from his long sleep. He had felt it the night they had crossed the Bandit army in the woods with the Sleepwalker. He felt it again in Landmoor. And now. Creeping through the coiling shroud, she came. Fear and excitement caught fire in his blood, and he tried to swallow the knot swelling in his throat. He knew he should run, but he wanted to feel her presence again. The hunger made him weak with expectation. That was why he was a Kilshae. He longed to taste her power again.
“What’s wrong with you?” Flent asked, his brow wrinkling.
“She’s coming for us,” Ravin whispered, taking a half-step backward.
The Sorian appeared through the fog, her black robes wraith-like in the darkness.
The Drugaen swore and brought up his axe. He muttered something in another language.
“Where are they?” she asked in Silvan, her cowl fluttering, teased by the wind. “The Shae and the girl. Where are they?”
Flent snarled something at her, a warning probably. What a fool, he was going to get himself killed! He menaced her with the axe, his face ruddy with fear.
She looked at him, the magic surged, and Flent clutched his chest and sank to his knees, his veins bulging.
