A Sellsword's Resolve, page 15
part #3 of Seven Virtues Series
Aaron thought of Boyce Kevlane, of the way he’d killed Mirmanon and several of the guards, had tried to kill the queen herself. He snorted, “I hate to tell you, lady, but they failed.”
“These men and women,” Tianya went on as if Aaron hadn’t spoken, “made it their duty to look after the Virtues, to try to keep them safe but, more importantly, to keep the world safe from them, and when they finally left that meeting hall, they were no longer separate men and women, orphaned by tragedy, but a family they called the Tenders. Tenders, you see, because it was they who tended to the dangers that few others even knew existed, and it was they who had carried on their weary backs or in their hands so long ago in a dank, dark tunnel that seemed to stretch on forever, the true account of what had happened with Aaron Caltriss and Boyce Kevlane.”
“As time went on, these sons and daughters grew old, and they passed on their secret purpose to their own children, and so it went through the years. Always with fewer of the children willing to take up the mantle of their forebears, to keep the trust and the oath to which their ancestors had sworn. Those of us you have seen as you entered this house and these grounds are the descendants of those men and women who stood guard over Caltriss during his life, those who have chosen to stand guard over his legacy after his death, and we, I’m afraid, are only a ghost of what we once were.”
Aaron frowned, “And what does this have to do with Darrell and the choice he made? What does this have to do with my parents’ murder?”
“Everything, Aaron,” Tianya said, and her voice was full of sadness. “You see, we are what remain of the Tenders. The choice of which Boyce Kevlane spoke is the choice that each of us faced when we were younger—that our children, should we have them, will also face. Boyce Kevlane knows of the Tenders, and it is for this reason that he wishes to see Darrell, to see all of us dead.”
“So what are you saying?” Aaron said, the anger roiling in the pit of his stomach, trying to claw its way free, “my father and mother were killed because they were Tenders? Because they—and I—are somehow descended from the people who escaped Caltriss’s castle thousands of fucking years ago?”
“No,” Tianya said, “, at least, I don’t believe so, though I suppose it is possible. After a generation denies the calling, we do not keep up with the family as perhaps we should, yet descended or not, your father was a Tender, Aaron, and your mother also.”
“I … I don’t understand,” Aaron managed, his voice tight with emotion.
Tianya sighed heavily, “You see, Mr. Envelar, as our numbers have waned over the centuries, we have been forced to turn to recruiting to bolster our ranks and even still, we are stretched thin.”
Aaron felt anger and sadness rising in him in equal measure, two serpents warring within him, “You mean that my father and mother died because one of your people decided to try to recruit them?” Adina grabbed his hand, holding it tight, but Aaron barely noticed. His thoughts were on his family home, so many years ago, on the two murdered parents lying in pools of their own blood and the orphaned child kneeling beside them, his head cradled in his hands as he wept.
“You must understand, Aaron,” Tianya said, “we approached your father for several reasons. First, he was known as a man of purpose who took seriously his duties and had a reputation for fairness as well as intelligence. Secondly, at the time we approached your father, he was serving in Prince Eladen’s army, was his general, in fact, and it became known to us that the prince possessed one of the Virtues, though we were not sure which it was even then. We went to your father and explained all that I have explained to you. He knew well the dangers, yet he agreed to help us, understanding the importance of what we asked of him.”
“You,” Aaron growled, his muscles tensing of their own accord, “you are the reason why my parents are dead. You might as well have painted a bull’s eye on their backs with your offer.”
“Mr. Envelar, please,” the woman said, and there was real pain, real grief in her voice, but it meant little to Aaron. The rage was building inside of him, pushing and shouldering its way to the fore of his mind, and he felt himself losing his grip of it, felt himself wanting to. “Please, Mr. Envelar,” she said, “Know that we took every precaution we could in contacting your father or meeting with him for information, yet, I am afraid, it was not enough. Even now, I do not know how Kevlane and his men discovered your family’s involvement. You must believe me when I tell you that I did not mean any harm to befall your parents.”
“Well,” Aaron said, “harm befell them anyway, didn’t it? Say what you want to, lady, but you’re the reason my parents died.” Before he realized what he was doing, he’d taken a step forward. The room was still completely dark, but through his bond with Co, Aaron could see the woman as clear as if they’d been standing in sunlight, could see the fear in her eyes. Saw it and was glad. He took another step and suddenly a hand fell on either of his arms. He growled, turning to see Adina and Leomin standing beside him, their expressions sad and troubled. “Mr. Envelar,” Leomin said, “this is not the way.”
“Aaron, please,” Adina said, “don’t do this.”
Aaron stared at her face, his chest heaving with the need to make the woman pay for what she’d done, and suddenly the rage wasn’t fighting to break free, but was free, roaring through him, a hurricane of fury, and he jerked his arms away, stalking toward the woman, his hand going to the hilt of the sword at his back.
Darrell moved in front of him and held his hands up, and Aaron could see the man looking around, unable to place him in the darkness. Aaron froze, a horrifying thought coming to his mind. “Tell me you didn’t know of this, Darrell.”
The swordmaster let out a heavy, ragged breath, sorrow and grief etched into his wizened features, “Aaron, it was me who spoke to your father so many years ago. I told him the importance of what we did, of our mission, and he agreed. He was my friend, Aaron.”
Aaron let out a growl of rage and his hand lashed out of its own accord, backhanding the old man across the face. Darrell stumbled but did not fall, instead remaining in Aaron’s path, and through his bond with Co, Aaron could see blood trickling from the swordmaster’s mouth. “It was you,” Aaron said, his body shaking with his rage, “you killed them.”
“Aaron, please,” the swordmaster said, “your mother … your father … they were my friends, Aaron. Do you not think I wouldn’t do anything to have died in their place? To have been there, to have happily given my life for any chance to save theirs? My guilt at what I’ve done is waiting for me each morning I awake. It is a burden I can never set down, nor would I even if I were able.”
“Oh, so you feel guilty,” Aaron said, his right hand clenched so tightly around the handle of the sword at his back that it ached. “Well, they don’t feel guilty, at least, Darrell. They don’t feel anything—the dead never do.” He laughed a humorless laugh as he realized something, “It was the reason you took me in, wasn’t it? The reason why you raised me. All out of guilt.”
“Aaron, it wasn’t like that,” Darrell said, “at least, not after a while. At first, yes, I admit I took you in because of the love I bore your parents. Understand, I had never met you—your father and mother were very particular about ensuring that you were kept apart from it.”
Aaron let out a hiss of anger, “A lot of good that did.”
“What I mean to say, Aaron, is that, initially, that is the reason for me taking you in, but I grew to care for you, to love you like my own son.”
Aaron drew his sword from its sheath, the metal ringing in the silence. “Get out of my way, Darrell. You might have been the one who spoke to my parents, but you did it under her orders. I don’t want to kill you—I’d rather you live with the guilt of what you caused—but I will if I have to. Now, get out of my way or draw your sword.”
“No,” the old man said, “I will not fight you, Aaron.”
“Then move.”
Darrell shook his head slowly, “I cannot.”
Aaron’s chest heaved, the rage bubbling up to the breaking point, and the next thing he knew, his fist was lashing out. Darrell did not try to move or dodge, only stood as the blow caught him in the jaw, and he grunted, his head whipping to the side as he stumbled and fell to one knee.
“Aaron, don’t!” Adina yelled, but her voice was a small, distant thing, and the need to hurt, to make someone else feel what he had felt for all those years was too great by far. He watched as the swordmaster slowly started to climb to his feet. “Stay down,” Aaron said, but the man ignored him, grunting as he stood in front of Aaron once more.
“This is not the way, Aaron,” Darrell said, “you’re better than this.”
“You’re wrong.” Aaron’s fist lashed out again, hitting his old mentor in the stomach, and the swordmaster’s breath exploded from him. Before he could recover, Aaron pivoted, and his fist struck the older man in the temple. Darrell let out a grunting wheeze and collapsed to the ground. Then Aaron was moving, images of his mother and father lying dead in pools of their own blood flashing through his mind in rapid succession. His mother had been wearing a blue dress—one of her favorites—but there was so much blood that it could have been any color really.
In another moment, he was standing on the opposite end of the desk from the woman, Tianya, her eyes wide as she stared at him. “Mr. Envelar, please,” she said, “I will not beg you for my own life, but our mission—”
“Fuck your mission,” Aaron said, bringing his sword up for a strike.
“Aaron, stop! If you care anything for me, stop this madness! You are not a monster!”
He spun at that, his eyes wild with fury and rage, and he could see Adina clearly, could see the fear on her face, fear that he had put there.
He froze, his breath coming in great ragged gasps, his body shaking with the fury running through it. He fought it then, the look on her face giving him strength to push against the anger, but it surged forward again, more powerful than ever, and he felt himself turning, felt his arm raise once more, and the shared screams of Leomin and Adina were distant things, of no real consequence. They rushed toward him, their footsteps thunderous in the silence, but it did not matter. They would not make it in time.
He grasped the handle of the sword in both hands, growling, his teeth gritted. “You killed them,” he hissed to the woman sitting staring at him.
He thought that she would beg or cry, argue or deny, but instead she only nodded slowly, what fear she’d shown in her surprise gone now. “Yes,” she said, “and they are not the only ones that have died because we needed their help, Aaron. This is no game that we play.”
“You deserve it,” Aaron said, “I’d be doing the world a favor to kill you now, maybe saving some other child from watching his parents murdered.”
“Perhaps,” she said, “but I am ready to die, if that is what is required, Mr. Envelar. Better me, better your parents, than the entire world.”
Aaron screamed then, a scream of rage and grief, of old pain mixed with new, and the woman covered her ears, her expression twisting with agony as her Virtue enhanced every sound of sorrow, every nuance of anger, and Aaron noticed a line of blood dripping from her nose as he brought the sword down with all his strength. The steel tore through the wooden desk, and there was a great roar of breaking wood to match Aaron’s own scream as the desk was cleaved in two and the shattered pieces tumbled to the ground in a heap.
Aaron’s chest heaved, his breathing ragged and shallow as he stared at the woman still sitting in her chair. She looked surprised but no more than that. She’d not been lying, then, when she’d said she was prepared to die for her mission. Maybe that would have made some people feel better, but not Aaron.
During his time on the streets, he’d ran into a few people like her, people who believed in something so much that they would be willing to die for it. Priests, mostly, and criminals were not exempt as most all of them believed in their pride, and many of those would be prepared to give their lives for it. In his experience, such people were the most dangerous of all, for there were no limits to what they would do to serve whatever purpose they held so highly. “You really are ready to die, aren’t you?”
“If that is what must happen,” the woman said, matter of factly, as if she hadn’t just been nearly killed, “then yes. Shame about the desk—I was quite fond of it.”
Aaron grunted, “You might think it’s noble to believe in something so much that you’d die for it, but I’ve seen it before—seen what people will do to feed such dreams, dreams that in my experience, are only nurtured on blood and pain and death. Belgarin is such a dreamer.”
The woman frowned at that, the first genuine show of emotion Aaron thought he’d seen from her. “You may kill me, if you wish, Mr. Envelar. I could not stop you, even if I wanted to, but I will not be compared to such a man as that. You have no idea of the sacrifices that I and those like me have made to keep the rest of the world safe.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Tianya. I’ve got a pretty damned good idea of what you and yours will do to get what you want. And what do you think, exactly, that Belgarin wakes up every morning smiling about how evil he thinks himself?” He shook his head, “Don’t be a fool. If we mortals hold any power over the gods, it is our ability to deceive ourselves. The murderer always thinks his actions justified, always believes himself to be good no matter how much blood is on his hands. If he thinks of it at all, that is. In my experience, such men do not like to question themselves too much. Fanatics, though, do not even believe that the question exists.”
He turned to start away but paused as the woman spoke. “Wait, please,” she said. “Mr. Envelar, I know that you do not think highly of me, and that’s okay. Hate me, if you must, but hear me now. Boyce Kevlane will not stop until he has acquired all seven of the Virtues, until he has paired with each of them in turn. If that happens, if all of the Virtues are brought together into one man, he will be as a god to us. He will be unstoppable.”
“That sounds like your problem.”
“No, Mr. Envelar,” the woman said, sounding desperate now, “it is all of our problem. It is the problem of any man or woman breathing. He has sought them for many, many years, and he is close now, closer than he has ever been. The fate of the world, of every man, woman, and child within it rests on the edge of a knife. He has the Virtue of Adaptability already, this you know, but it is worse than that. Strength, too, is within his grasp. And, what’s more, just recently, the men I had watching over the Virtue of Speed were found murdered in their hideout.”
“Could have been someone else,” Aaron said, “from what I hear, Kevlane’s not the only one looking for the Virtues.”
“No,” the woman said, shaking her head, “it was him, Mr. Envelar. None other could have done the … things that were done to my men. I do not ask for your help—it is clear you would not give it even if I did. All I ask is that you leave this place; he is here, and he will not stop until he has taken what you and the Parnen carry. Let my men take you somewhere safe—they will be able to look after you and the princess and the Parnen too, protect you, so that Kevlane cannot get his hands on you.”
“Protect us? Just like they protected my parents?”
She frowned at that, her eyes dancing with anger, “Do you think yourself the only one able to feel anger or rage? I have watched for years as men and women I cared about suffered and gave their lives because they believed in what it is that we do. What is it that you believe, Mr. Envelar?”
Aaron studied the others in the room for a second, saw that Adina and Leomin were staring at the sound of his and Tianya’s voices, their expressions worried. He saw too that Darrell had picked himself up and was standing now, though one eye was closed shut and blood ran from the corner of his mouth. Aaron felt a pang of shame at seeing the old man so abused and by his own hand. He could tell himself that Darrell had got his parents killed—and it was true, there was no question of that—but that didn’t change the fact that the man had raised him, had taken care of him. He wanted to say sorry, but the words would not come, so he turned back to Tianya, feeling more tired than anything else. “I believe I’m leaving.”
With that, he turned to walk away, heading toward the door, but the woman spoke on, “Mr. Envelar, you must listen. Adaptability, Strength, Speed, all of these he has, though he has not taken them unto himself yet. Intelligence, too, is missing, though we have not known where it is for many years, and I believe that he is in possession of it as well. He will bring them together, Aaron, the Seven, and when he does, the world will bleed and burn for your choice.”
He turned back at the threshold, his hand on the door handle. “The world is always bleeding, Tianya. I would have thought you’d have learned that by now. The world is a decrepit old man suffering from a thousand afflictions. It is not a question of if he will die, only when and which it will be that claims him first.”
“Aaron,” Darrell said, his voice sounding muffled with pain, “please, you have to—”
“No, Darrell,” Aaron said, “the time has passed when you were able to tell me what I had to do. After what I learned tonight, it will not come again. I’m done with you.” He glanced at the woman, “With you both.”
“Leomin,” Tianya said, her voice urgent, “please, listen to reason and make your friend see it. Kevlane cannot be allowed to gather all of the Seven unto himself. He will be a plague on the face of the world. Surely you see that?”
“Forgive me, ma’am,” the Parnen captain said, “I understand your words, your purpose, and I do not doubt your sincerity. The problem, though, is that in all the time that I have been with Aaron Envelar, I have learned that he is not a man accustomed to running. Not built for it, you could say. And where he goes, I go as well.”
The woman sighed, exasperated, “Princess, please—”
