The Silent Guide, page 22
“Activate them,” Ellie said. “I understand what you’re getting at.”
“Yes, I suppose you do. And you can use that. More than activating them, your Kindling might augment them.”
She nodded. She couldn’t say that she understood it. In fact, she was quite certain that she didn’t. How could two powers that seemed so different exist inside of her? Still, if it worked, then she could use that.
“What about Jerath?” Tabitha asked, glancing toward the hatch that led to the hold where their prisoner was secured.
“He stays locked up,” Ellie said firmly. “I don’t trust him, even injured and bound.”
“Wise,” Karishel agreed. “We should post two guards.”
“We need everyone who can fight,” Ellie countered. “Seal the hatch from the outside with a fabrication lock.”
Twenty minutes later, they were silently rowing toward shore, the longboat’s oars wrapped in cloth to muffle their sound against the oarlocks. The night air carried strange scents—not just the expected brine and fish, but something sweeter and more cloying that reminded Ellie uncomfortably of the corruption flowing beneath her skin.
They beached the longboat in a narrow cove sheltered from view by a jutting rock face. The sand beneath their feet sparkled faintly in the moonlight, revealing fragments of metal and crystal mixed with the normal grains—remnants of ancient fabrications, perhaps, worn down by centuries of tides.
Karishel crouched and scooped a handful, letting it run through his fingers. “Sacharinst,” he murmured. “And something else. This entire coastline is saturated with power.”
“Is that why they built here?” Tabitha asked. “The Servants, I mean.”
“I’m not so sure they built here as they have just taken over. There’s old power here,” Ellie said. “I can feel it. I don’t know what it is, but there is something significant here. Something that seems like…” She didn’t know, and until she had a better idea about what she was feeling, she wasn’t sure she could know.
They followed a narrow path that wound between weathered buildings. The architecture was disconcerting—structures built without apparent plan or pattern, some leaning at impossible angles against their neighbors, others seemingly balanced on stilts that appeared too fragile to support their weight. Materials changed abruptly, sometimes within the same wall: stone giving way to metal, metal to wood, wood to something crystalline that hummed faintly when they passed.
Most disturbing was the absolute silence. Despite the size of the settlement visible from the ship, they encountered no one. No voices drifted from open windows, no footsteps echoed on the worn cobblestones, not even the sounds of animals broke the unnatural quiet.
“It’s like Greyshore,” Tabitha whispered, her voice carrying farther than intended in the stillness. “Everyone’s gone.”
“Not gone,” Ralen said, his hand moving to his weapon. “Hiding.”
As if his words had summoned them, a figure stepped from the shadows of a narrow alley ahead. A woman with gaunt features and eyes that reflected the moonlight like a cat’s. She wore simple clothing—a tunic and trousers that might once have been fine but now showed signs of hard wear. Her only ornamentation was a thin silver chain around her neck, from which hung a small crystal that pulsed with a faint amber light.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she said without preamble. Her voice carried the distinctive accent of the northern territories, vowels clipped and consonants emphasized. “The streets belong to them after dark.”
“Them?” Ellie questioned, her hand resting on her blade hilt.
The woman’s gaze flicked to the sky briefly, then back to their group. “The Watchers. They come with the night and take those who don’t shelter.” She studied them more carefully, her stare lingering on Ellie. “You carry their mark but fight against them. Interesting.”
Ellie stiffened, realizing the woman could somehow see the corruption marks beneath her clothing. “We’re looking for someone,” she said, deciding directness was their best approach. “A Blade user. Tall, powerfully built, with extensive training.”
Recognition flickered across the woman’s features. “The giant,” she said, her voice tight with concern. “He passed through here days ago. The Servants took him after a fierce battle. They dragged him to the old tower.”
“He’s alive, though,” Ellie said.
“He’s alive. But it’s dangerous. Dawn is hours away, and they have Watchers.” She flicked her gaze up again.
“What exactly are these Watchers?” Karishel asked, scanning their surroundings as he spoke.
“They came after the disappearances began,” the woman explained. “Birds, at first glance—ravens or crows, perhaps. But wrong somehow. Their eyes… They see more than they should. And they report to the ones who now control the tower.” She touched the crystal at her neck, which flared briefly in response. “This offers some protection, but it weakens with each passing night.”
“Protection from what?” Tabitha asked, curiosity overriding her evident fear.
The woman’s voice dropped to a whisper. “From being taken.”
“Where can we shelter until morning?” Ellie asked.
“My inn lies two streets east,” the woman said, gesturing down a narrow lane. “The River’s Edge. The Watchers avoid it since the protections there run deeper than most.” She hesitated, then added, “I’m Lyria. I know what’s happening here. About the tower.”
“We’d appreciate any information,” Karishel said with the formal politeness that marked his Arbiter training.
Lyria nodded once, then turned and led them through the twisted streets. Ellie noticed how the woman moved, fluid but alert, each step carefully placed as if navigating invisible hazards. She carried no weapons that Ellie could see, yet there was something about her that suggested she was far from defenseless.
The inn materialized suddenly around a sharp bend—a three-story structure of dark wood and stone that seemed to huddle against the cliff face behind it. Unlike the other buildings they’d passed, this one showed signs of meticulous maintenance. The windows were shuttered tight, but thin lines of amber light leaked around their edges. Symbols had been carved into the doorframe and windowsills in patterns that Ellie recognized as protective wards, similar to those used by the Arbiters but with subtle differences.
Lyria led them to a side entrance, where she pressed her palm against a metal plate embedded in the wood. The door swung open silently to reveal a dimly lit corridor.
“Quickly,” she urged, ushering them inside.
The interior of the inn was surprisingly warm and well-appointed. The common room, where Lyria directed them, featured a central hearth with a low-burning fire, comfortable seating arranged in discrete groupings, and walls lined with shelves containing books, artifacts, and bottles of various sizes and colors. Despite the quality of the furnishings, the room was empty of other patrons.
“Where is everyone?” Tabitha asked, voicing what they all wondered.
“Gone or hiding,” Lyria replied, moving behind a polished wooden bar. “This place has always attracted those seeking freedom from kingdom restrictions, but now it’s become a prison of sorts. Few arrive anymore, and fewer leave.” She set out five glasses and filled them with a clear amber liquid from a crystal decanter. “Local brew. It will clear your mind and steady your nerves.”
Ellie accepted the glass but didn’t drink immediately. “You mentioned the tower. What is it?”
The woman’s expression shifted, looking more guarded. “Something like a lighthouse, or at least it seems that way. Perhaps centuries ago, or even longer, that was what it was. Who is to say? It is powerful. And it’s been maintained by a succession of those who understand that power, or it had. The last left months ago.”
“And the Servants moved in,” Ralen concluded.
Lyria nodded. “They came with fabrications I’ve never seen before—devices that twist the mind rather than merely manipulating matter or energy.” Her hand moved unconsciously to the crystal at her neck. “They began taking people. At first it was those with abilities, then anyone who resisted. Now, most who remain either serve them willingly or pretend to while hiding their true thoughts.”
“How have you remained free?” Karishel asked, his eyes narrowed slightly in suspicion or curiosity—or both.
Lyria smiled thinly. “The inn has old protections, laid down by those who understood boundaries and how to strengthen them. And I have… certain resources.” She gestured to the crystal she wore. “Gifts from someone who understands the dangers.”
“Could you take us to the tower?” Ellie asked. “Or at least show us the way?”
Lyria hesitated, fear briefly visible beneath her composed exterior. “It is heavily guarded, both by Servants and by those they’ve emptied. And the Watchers circle it constantly, day and night.”
“We need to reach him,” Ellie insisted. “Before they break him, or worse.”
Lyria studied her for a long moment, her gaze seeming to look beyond Ellie’s physical form to something deeper. “You care for him greatly.”
“He was my teacher,” Ellie said simply. “And he may be the only one who can help us stop what’s coming.”
After a moment’s consideration, Lyria nodded. “There’s a network of tunnels beneath the Coast—old smuggling routes that connect many of the major buildings, including a passage that leads near the lighthouse. It won’t get you inside, but it will avoid most of the Servants’ patrols.”
“That’s a start,” Karishel said. “When can we leave?”
“Not until morning,” Lyria replied firmly. “The tunnels are dangerous enough in daylight. At night, with the Watchers active, it would be suicide.”
“We might not have that much time,” Ellie argued.
“If your friend has been held for three days and still lives, a few more hours won’t make the difference,” Lyria countered. “Rest. Prepare. I’ll show you to rooms where you can sleep safely.”
Ellie wanted to protest further, but the rational part of her knew Lyria was right. They needed information, preparation, and rest if they were to have any chance of successfully infiltrating the lighthouse and rescuing Zaren.
“Very well,” she conceded. “But we leave at first light.”
Chapter
Twenty-Three
Lyria showed them to adjoining rooms on the inn’s second floor. The chambers were small but comfortable, with clean bedding, wash basins, and windows that, though shuttered, offered potential escape routes if necessary. The walls bore the same protective symbols they’d seen at the entrance, etched into the wood paneling in precise patterns.
“These will shield you from most influences,” Lyria explained as she lit oil lamps in each room. “But keep the doors locked and the shutters barred. Do not look outside, no matter what you hear.”
After she left, they gathered in the largest room to plan their approach. Tabitha spread her maps and documents across the bed, including the notes they’d taken from Jerath’s quarters.
“According to these,” she said, pointing to notations along the coastline, “the tower sits on a minor seal point—one of the sixty lesser seals in the network. Not a Crown Gate, but still significant.”
“That explains why the Servants would want to control it,” Karishel said, studying the map. “If they can manipulate even a minor seal, they could potentially use it to influence the others.”
“But they need Garridan’s mandolin to do it properly,” Ralen reminded them. “That’s why they took Zaren—to get the instrument from him.”
“Or to force him to use it,” Tabitha suggested. “If only certain people can play it effectively…”
“Then we need to find it before they do,” Ellie said with finality. She could still feel the power of the stone, and more than that, it seemed as if it connected her to something distant, different. It had not grown more potent, not yet, but she feared that it would. If so, she wasn’t sure what she would be able to do about it.
“This is connected to the Apex Gate. I’ve felt it growing warmer as we’ve approached, and especially when we mention the seals or the mandolin.”
Karishel leaned forward, studying the stone with narrowed eyes. “It’s resonating with the seal network,” he said. “Responding to disturbances in the pattern.”
“Could we use it to locate Zaren more precisely?” Ralen asked. “Or the mandolin?”
“Possibly,” Ellie said. “If I can attune it to Zaren’s energy signature…”
She closed her eyes, cupping the stone between her palms. The warmth intensified as she focused, drawing on the Blade techniques Zaren had taught her years before. She cycled through different frequencies, seeking the particular pattern that would connect to his energy signature.
The stone grew hotter, almost painfully so, but she maintained her grip. There—a faint pulse, distant yet unmistakable. Zaren’s unique Blade signature, weakened but present.
As she focused on the power, she could feel some part of Zaren’s energy, the potency that existed, and more than that, she could feel some part of what he had left behind. It was almost as if she just had to concentrate, and that power would be there for her. But even as she cycled that energy, she could feel him, though she could not tell much else. “He’s out there, just don’t know where.”
Ralen moved to the shuttered window, careful not to disturb the wooden slats as he positioned himself to listen. “We should try to sleep,” he said practically. “If we’re entering the tunnels at dawn, we’ll need to be alert.”
They agreed to set watches through the night, with her father taking the first shift. As the others settled in their respective rooms, Ellie found herself alone with Ralen.
“You should rest,” he said, leaning against the window frame. The dim light caught the angles of his face, highlighting the concern in his eyes.
Ellie sat on the edge of the bed, suddenly aware of how exhausted she was. The weight of their mission—finding Zaren, retrieving the mandolin, stopping the Servants—pressed down on her like a physical force.
“Do you think we’ll find him in time?” she asked, voicing the fear she’d been holding back.
Ralen moved from the window and sat beside her on the bed. The mattress dipped slightly under his weight, bringing them closer together than either had intended. Neither moved away.
“Zaren is strong,” he said softly. “From everything you’ve told me about him, he’s not someone who breaks easily.”
“But everyone has limits,” Ellie replied, her voice barely audible.
“True.” His hand found hers in the dimness, his fingers warm against her skin. “But he has something to fight for. Something worth enduring for.”
Ellie looked up, finding him watching her with an intensity that made her breath catch. “What do you know about him that I don’t?”
“I wish I could tell you that I know some grand secret about him, but I don’t. I only know stories, but even those are probably not much more than what you know.”
“Seeing as how I haven’t heard any stories about what happened to him after he left, everything you know is more than I do.”
Ralen nodded. “He was always searching. Always. And he had this aura about him, or others claimed he did. A seriousness. I didn’t know he was tied to the Guild. And I knew he wasn’t connected to the Arbiters. He was always on his own.”
“He wasn’t on his own,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
“When he left, he wasn’t on his own. He had another Blade with him.”
“Well, if he did, I don’t know what happened to them.”
That surprised Ellie. Zaren had gone with Asi, another of the Blades, and one who had trained her when she was younger. They were friends, nothing more, and she had understood that the two of them would be safer together.
“I wish he wouldn’t have gone,” she said softly.
“Well, perhaps he felt like he did what he needed to do.”
She wasn’t sure what to say to that. She wasn’t sure there was much else to say, but she appreciated him trying.
“You should sleep,” he said, his voice slightly rougher than before. “Tomorrow won’t be easy.”
He moved to the door, maintaining a careful distance that felt both necessary and hurtful. Ellie lay back on the bed, her skin still tingling where his hand had held hers, trying to focus on the mission ahead rather than the complicated emotions that had surfaced in that brief moment.
Outside, a strange cry echoed in the distance—not quite bird, not quite human. The Watchers, perhaps, circling over their domain. Ellie closed her eyes, trying to block out the sound and the thoughts that swirled through her mind like storm-tossed debris.
Sleep came eventually, but it brought no relief. Her dreams were filled with fragments of memory and premonition: Zaren demonstrating Blade forms in the palace courtyard; Harwick dying on the deck of his ship; a mandolin playing notes that bent reality around them; and always, at the edges of her awareness, the sensation of corruption spreading through her body, changing her from within.
Dawn arrived as a subtle lightening of the room rather than direct sunlight. Ellie woke to find Ralen sitting near the window, eyes alert despite the shadows beneath them that spoke of little rest.
“The others are preparing,” he said when he noticed she was awake. “Lyria brought food and has agreed to guide us to the tunnel entrance.”
Ellie nodded, stretching muscles stiff from tension even in sleep. The corruption marks burned faintly beneath her skin, a constant reminder of what was at stake.
They assembled in the inn’s back room twenty minutes later, where Lyria provided a simple but substantial breakfast of bread, dried meat, and a strong herbal tea that seemed to sharpen the senses.
“The tunnels extend for miles beneath the Coast,” she explained as they ate, unrolling a crude map on the table. “They were originally created by the Inarak as part of a complex drainage system, then expanded over centuries by smugglers and those seeking to move through the settlement undetected.”
