Silverkin, page 6
“What about your father?”
The look she gave him was sad. She shook her head.
“Your Correl was alive during the time of Sol-don-Orai, Laisha. He might remember…”
“You don’t understand. My Correl hasn’t known anyone for years. He lost his son during the Purge Wars. He lost Sorrel after Lucyanna was born. There are uncles and aunts and cousins—more than I could ever want. But he stopped ruling Avisahn long ago.”
Thealos felt a sharpness inside him. She had shouldered the burden of the kingdom before even coming of age. No wonder calling her naïve had stung her so much. The pressure of it—he could not even imagine what she had gone through.
“Do you need help reading the records? I’m not really doing anything right now.”
“Well, that will change. That’s another reason I asked to see you. Your trial begins tomorrow morning.”
Thealos’ heart lurched. “What?”
“It’s what I meant earlier about the illusion of this tranquility. That peace was only possible behind a layer of stone. I come here every day because I need that moment to gather my breath, to summon my wits, to prepare for the troubles awaiting me. You are one of those troubles. Elder Nordain has charged you with treason.” She looked him right in the eye. “It’s time to face his charges.”
Chapter VI
The Iron Point Road cut through the denseness of the Shadows Wood. It was worn over with wagon ruts and riddled with patches of witchthorn. Exeres found it interesting how the hulking cedar trees muted the sunlight. The road itself was not in a straight line, leading him to wonder what waited around the furthest bend ahead as he kept a strong pace. Sounds echoed from strange places, coming to him from all around. The tops of the cedars gently undulated, causing a shushing murmur throughout the woods. Dried out branches clacked and clattered as they crashed down to the ground. Insects chirped and ticked. A forest always carried its own set of rich smells. But the dark tangle of the Shadows Wood smelled bitter compared to the Isherwood.
Allavin Devers and Ticastasy had both tried talking him out of his journey to Landmoor. Both had been shocked by his revelation that he had spoken with Jaerod. He found it strange that the Sleepwalker had only chosen to speak with him. Yet the experience had left him frustrated and confused. Why such an enigmatic request? Why not speak to the heart of the matter to ensure that his message was delivered well? He had no idea what Jaerod had meant that a message would come to him after meeting with the Bandit commander. It made no sense at all.
Three sharp whistles sounded in the woods. He knew the different kinds of woodland owls that lived in a forest of that size, but they were asleep this time of day. Closing his eye, he kept his pace and felt outwards to sense the different forms of Life magic nearby. He felt the Kiran Thall instantly and a wave of dread passed through him.
Exeres stopped and waited, eyes closed, opening his other senses. The weight of his traveling pack pulled on his shoulders. The flask of water that thumped and swayed before settling against his hip. He carried no weapons, not even a walking staff. But the very earth itself could be a weapon for a Druid priest.
He kept his head slightly bowed. “I sense you all,” he said in a carrying voice. “Four of you are hiding behind me and four in front. I am a Zerite from the Isherwood sent to aid the injured of Landmoor. May I pass?”
A voice murmured something on his right. He could not make out the words.
“We don’t need the Druids any more, but Ballinaire might have you care for our prisoners. You were wise not carrying a weapon, Zerite.”
Exeres shrugged and raised his head. He looked to the source of the voice. “I can walk very well on my own. Or do I need an escort?”
“You’ll get an escort.” The Kiran Thall rose from his position behind a fallen tree. His face was painted black and his clothes blended well in the woodlands. He carried a crossbow but did not point it at Exeres. “Whether or not you want one. Mahlon—ride him to the city.”
Exeres nodded to the Kiran Thall and followed the soldier deeper into the woods where they had tethered their horses.
“You’ll ride behind me,” Mahlon said, releasing the tether and then hoisting himself up onto the saddle. He held out his arm for Exeres and pulled him up behind him.
It was an uncomfortable ride down the Iron Point Road. Exeres was not used to saddles and his legs chafed against it before an hour was done. The bounce and sense of balance unnerved him, but he clenched his thighs and managed to keep himself from falling. If they rode hard, the Kiran Thall told him, they would reach Landmoor after nightfall. That meant saddle blisters but Exeres had some ointment that would help soothe the rawness.
They changed horses once at the center of the Shadows Wood where a vanguard of Kiran Thall had gathered. The signs of a recent army encampment scarred the forest like dead flesh around a festering wound. Humid air and mugginess thickened each breath and the gnats and horseflies hovered in small clouds.
“Are there any prisoners here?” Exeres asked Mahlon, unable to believe that half the army wasn’t fighting off tide fever.
“They were all taken into the city after it fell. We’ll be there soon enough, Zerite.”
A foul odor stung his senses, rancid and decaying. He tried to find the source of the vast stink, but he could not see it. It could have been a field full of carcasses. Why couldn’t he see it?
“Was a battle fought here?” Exeres strained his neck, trying to look through the ranks. The mud beneath the horse’s hooves seemed mixed with blood.
“No, Zerite. They are just beginning.”
Nightfall came sooner than Exeres would have liked. The darkness brought a feeling of foulness that only got worse the further south they rode. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. The feeling brewed as they left the confines of the Shadows Wood. A cool sealand breeze cut through the mugginess at last and Exeres felt like he could breathe again. Then he saw Landmoor.
The fortress stood on a hill in a sea of fog. Rings of light illuminated the walls, making the city glow like lamps in the night. The mist gave it a wraithlike quality—a city in the clouds almost. Memories of a dream flickered in his mind and he closed his eyes, trying to capture it. A city in the clouds? Why did that seem so familiar? Had he dreamed of Landmoor before? His thoughts were like tiny shards that cut his fingers as he tried to snatch them. Sleepwalkers…the city in the clouds was the home of the Sleepwalkers. An impression of thought stabbed his heart. It was Exeres’ home.
“Careful, priest, don’t fall off,” Mahlon said, steadying him. “We’re almost there.”
Exeres stared back up at the city as a shudder coiled in him.
* * *
"What’s your name, priest?” the Bandit officer asked. Exeres could tell he was an officer because of his black armor fringed with gold. The officer was in his mid-forties, with a receding hairline and a slack face. He wore his sword high on his hip.
“Exeres from Isherwood.”
“I’m Captain Brade, Shoreland regiment. Have you had anything to eat today? The kitchens are just up ahead.”
Exeres shook his head and the captain led him down the hall and marched down a wide stairwell. The flavors of the kitchens greeted him. Fumes from the bread ovens and cheese vats combined with the sour smell of wines and sauces. The kitchen doors were open, the interior crowded with soldiers, many of them officers and Kiran Thall.
“This is the governor’s mansion. The kitchens are going all day and night, and so is every inn throughout the city. If you’re hungry, this is where you’ll come to eat. I don’t have any beds left, priest. You’ll have to stay with your own. If you need to leave the city, come to me for a pass to see Lord Ballinaire. Only he can grant a request to leave. There’s enough wounded down here in the dungeons to keep you busy for a month.”
“Thank you, Captain. What was your name again?”
“Brade. So food is in the kitchens. Let me take you down to the dungeons so I can introduce you to the prison master. It’s getting late so you might want to start in the morning.”
“I’m not tired. Just bring me to the prison master. I’ll get started tonight.”
“It’s your choice, Zerite. This way.”
Captain Brade took Exeres down a steep inlet. The smell from the dungeons overshadowed the kitchens. Rankness beyond belief. How many were hunched over with tide fever, cramping and miserable? It would take a dozen Zerites or more to cure so many.
“The reek of this place,” Brade said, his face twisting. “One can hardly stand it. Over there. That’s the prison master. His name is Nool.” The captain waved over the prison master, a Bandit soldier with a huge belly. He was tall, a giant of a man, with long dark hair, a mustache that shaped his face in a frown, and eyes that seemed small for his head.
“Nool, this is Exeres, a Zerite. He’s here to tend to the sick. Druids sent him from Isherwood.”
“Isherwood? Good enough. Welcome lad. You really blind?”
“That wasn’t very kind, Nool,” Brade said. “Banned Inlander. You’re in the Shoreland now. Cut your hair.”
Nool puffed out his gut. “I’m an Inlander, Captain. N’ain’t no man tells me to cut it. There’s enough sloshy trope to deal with in here, priest. Might have you shoveling out trope. We can hardly keep up with it in here.”
“They have tide fever,” Exeres said, rubbing his cheek. “If you’d spend a moment curing some of them, then you wouldn’t have to shovel.”
He smirked. “We don’t shovel no Dos-Aralon trope, priest. I make ‘em that can stand shovel it. Need all my men to keep the feisty ones from rioting. Killed fourteen already, and the captains keep bringing me more. They’ll be sleepin’ on top o’ the other before long. I’ll take the priest, captain. This n’ain’t the place for officers.”
Captain Brade nodded and took Exeres’ arm. “Call for me if you need to see Ballinaire. I’ll see what I can do. These sorry ones will thank you for coming. They’ll be Lord Ballinaire’s subjects ere too much longer. But we need to get the fight out of some of them first.”
Exeres nodded and followed Nool into the foul-smelling corridor. He saw several prisoners with shovels and barrows and the sound of scraping sewage grated right down his spine. The fevers would only spread in a place like this. More than half would die if they didn’t clean up quickly.
“What we got here, priest, is a prison full of breathing flaming rebels. Nearly every banned lot of ‘em. The merchants we caught in the Shadows Wood were set free in the city, but they can’t leave. No one can leave. Not even you. It’s the soldiers we’ve had to lock up down here. Heard we had a knight earlier but he’s dead. Banned missed it. I would have loved to have a knight as a prisoner.” He waved his meaty hand down the corridor. “More men than we know what to do with. I want you to start in that little corner cell right there. Got a Drugaen in there. I’d love it if you could bring him around so he could help shovel the trope.”
“A Drugaen?” Exeres said. He looked up at Nool.
“Caught him in the tunnels fightin’. Thought he was one of the banned Krag at first, but they all left weeks ago and this one blustered like a Ilvaren pirate. He’s very ill, or at least pretendin’ to be.”
Exeres went to the small cell and waited for Nool to unlock the door.
“Give me a holler when you need to be let out. Can’t risk one of ‘em running free in the tunnels.”
Exeres nodded and loosed his travel pack from his weary shoulders. The torchlight from the corridor wasn’t bright enough to see very deep into the cell. He only saw the scuffed bottoms of the Drugaen’s boots. Exeres grabbed a torch from the hall. A single hoop was nailed to the wall near the door, and he inserted the torch into it. Nool shut the door and the lock clicked.
The Drugaen was filthy, his shirt, vest, and pants stained with blood. He had a short beard that glinted with autumn highlights. The Life magic gushed from him as Exeres looked into his feverish eyes. A huge walnut-sized bump stood out on his forehead. His mouth was clenched in an angry frown but his shoulders were slack, his hands lying placidly on his lap. He was a big fellow, but he looked like he was wasting away.
“You a Zerite?” The Drugaen’s voice was as raspy as a sack full of leaves.
Exeres nodded and knelt by the Drugaen. Gripping his wrist, he felt for the throb of his pulse. “My name is Exeres. It’s strange meeting a Drugaen down here. What’s your name, friend?”
The Drugaen scowled and looked at the wall. “Flent.”
Another shudder went through Exeres. A premonition. His heart beat faster and faster. He waited until he heard Nool’s bootsteps echo further down the noisy corridor.
“Where does it hurt, Flent?”
“My guts. I’ve had tide fever before…once. It hurts like Pitan, Zerite. Can’t even stand up anymore.”
“You’re real sick. But I can cure the tide fever.” He leaned closer. “You wouldn’t have a friend, would you? A girl?”
Flent’s eyes widened. “What?”
“Ticastasy. That’s her name.” The look in Flent’s eyes told him that he knew her. “By my soul, this is strange.” He opened his pack and began rummaging for his juttleberry. “Just last night, she was helping me tend the wounded in Castun. She thinks you’re dead.” Exeres wiped his mouth. “I wish there was a way I could tell her I found you.”
“You came…from Castun?” He tried sitting up and winced.
“You know Allavin Devers as well? Of course you do.”
“Did they send you?” Flent whispered.
“No. Jaerod did.”
The strength of the Drugaen’s grip on his arm surprised Exeres. Not many dead men could squeeze that hard. Unable to help it, he smiled.
* * *
"What are you feeding them?” Exeres asked Nool, wiping his hands on a soiled rag.
“Not much. Don’t want ‘em to be strong.”
“Put a little squeeze of juttleberry in with their drink. It will help cure some of the tide fever. Your own men will start getting sick if you don’t purge this place.”
Nool smirked. “None of ‘em have gotten sick. N’ain’t one. A little juttleberry we have, so we’ll give a few some of it. Bitter stuff. Stings too. It’s past midnight, priest. Go sleep in the kitchen if you want. Come back in the morning.”
“I will.”
Exeres left the dungeon ward and went back up the steps. Entering the kitchen near the point of exhaustion, he settled onto a bench after grabbing a small trencher before it had been slopped with stew. He tore nibbles from the bread, drank from his flask, and when he had finished it, he went to the cook and asked for some raw peapods, beans, and a small round of pale cheese. Eating slowly, he wondered if he should curl up on the floor after all. There weren’t any roaches or rats that he could see.
“A platter for Commander Phollen. Be quick about it. He’s hungry.”
The name pricked Exeres’ attention, like another book sliding into place on a bookshelf. Commander Phollen? Tsyrke Phollen? Reaching up, he stretched long and slow. Grabbing his chin, he gave his neck a little tug until it popped. He did not look at the man who had asked for the food. Even with his eyes closed, he could feel the man’s position in the room. Exeres rose from the table and brushed off his hands. He started for the door at the same moment the other man did, steadying a heavy tray in one arm.
Exeres walked slowly, letting the man gain ground ahead of him. Up the stairs and down the hallway. There was a sharp turn and a solitary door with only two guards. He let the man go ahead of him, but he lingered just out of view. His heart thumped in his chest. Too many coincidences. Should he wait until morning? Part of him cringed at the thought.
Before he could think better of it, Exeres started down the hall leading to the door. The two men at post saw him coming.
“What do you want?” one of them asked.
He licked his lips. “I need to speak with Tsyrke Phollen.”
Chapter VII
With a burr of nervousness in his stomach, Exeres entered the room beyond the massive oak door. Upon entering, the smell of strong mead overwhelmed him. It was a cloying smell. As a Zerite, he did not drink wine, mead, or ale. The strongest thing he had tasted was a watered-down apple cider, and the act had not been intentional. A few candles burned in the room along with several oil lamps, creating rich shadows in the seams and corners.
The man he had been sent to find emerged from behind a wooden screen. He paused a moment to stare at Exeres and then finished by hanging a sword and belt over the top corner of the screen. A red cape lay folded on a big chest on the floor. Exeres had to look up to see the whole of him. He was tall, sinewy, and had an angry scowl and bleary eyes. His hauberk made a chinking noise as he walked.
“What is it, Zerite?” the man asked, his voice a little hoarse. “I’ve been in the saddle all day. What do you want?”
The voice reminded him of a leather bellows. He had sandy brown hair that was shorn like a soldier. When Exeres looked at him, through the medium of his blind eye, he noticed another man in the room as well.
Turning, Exeres glanced at the corner where an ageless man in black robes sat, regarding him with cool green eyes. It was frightening looking at someone who would never die. Exeres had a different impression looking at the ageless man than he had when first meeting the Sleepwalker. There was no sign of aging in him, no Life magic that seeped from his pores, but it seemed as if the very earth poured its Life magic into him. He knew, somehow, that he was in the presence of a man who was older than the world.
“Zerite!”
Exeres turned back, broken from his thoughts by the Bandit commander’s voice.
“I’m sorry,” Exeres said. The soldier in front of him leeched life like a normal human would. But the older man in the corner was a wall—not even a mote of Life magic fell away from him. “I…I was sent here with a message for you.”
