Bear Knight, page 12
But he told me he thought you were dead.
For a time, he did. Until Avner settled an arrangement with a few key leaders in the Assembly.
A few key leaders in the Assembly. The Prime Council, or perhaps an even smaller, more exclusive group. Had a young Boreas held that much sway all those years ago? Or had these secrets been handed down to him—little gems of power passed from the older councilors to their favorite disciples.
“Easy, Cadet.” Boreas held out a steadying hand. “I meant no offense.”
Connor did not believe that for an instant, and he felt compelled to say so.
Lee intervened before he could. “How much do you know of the dagger’s fate?” the scribe asked.
“Too much. Not near enough. Faelin’s raid party set out to find an ancient Rapha key that would enable them to enter Ras Pyras unnoticed. The key to the bread gate. They were to start at the ruins of Ras Heval, the Hill of Grace, an Aropha temple much like Ras Pyras and Ras Telesar in that age.” Boreas signaled one of his companions, and the young man drew a rolled map from a leather cylinder slung over his shoulder. He unrolled it on the table.
The assemblyman placed a finger near a mountain range at the eastern extent of Tanelethar. “The mission started here at Graywater Bay, named for its perpetual fog. The whole region is steeped in a thick haze flowing up from a canyon bog. They had almost reached a nearby temple ruin when the party stumbled into a dragon flanked by granogs and ore creatures of all kinds. A hard battle separated Faelin and the wolf from the other three. Lef Amunrel was lost with his companions.”
“And Faelin searched for them, I presume,” Lee said.
Boreas nodded. “For nigh on a full year, Faelin scoured the battleground and the whole region. He found his friends, or what was left of them, but no sign of the Red Dagger.”
A year. But Faelin had remained in Tanelethar for decades, letting most of the Keledan believe he’d died. “If he’d given up finding the dagger, why did he stay?” Connor asked. “Why not come home?”
“He and the wolf spent the following decades traveling the land, building what the Order calls sanctuaries, until he took an interest in the girl, Kara Orso, and settled next to Trader’s Knoll.”
Faelin had said little of Kara when Connor questioned him about his choice to stay. Then again, Connor’s greater interest had been in why no one had told him that his patehpa still lived. Faelin offered barely half an answer before their mission ended the conversation.
You are young, and my work here must remain secret. There are still some from Keledev who enter Tanelethar and might betray me to the dragons. Not all who are born there choose the gift. You know this.
Connor had understood the reference. The ships, he’d answered—meaning the faithless few who choose to take the ships from Sky Harbor and sail into the Storm Mists. It was the darkest day of each cycle in Keledev. But Faelin had said nothing about Kara. “Why did my patehpa take an interest in one young woman over all the Aladoth in Tanelethar?”
“An excellent question, Cadet. I’d hoped to get the answer when I pushed my friends in the Prime Council to request a visit from her.”
“You pushed for Kara to come.” Connor had suspected as much in the way the councilor had called him and Lee a disappointment. “So the raven sent to Stradok was a lie?”
Boreas shrugged one of his broad shoulders. “Not a lie. All the Prime Council said in their letter was true. But I personally had other reasons for pushing the request. We need to know more—where she comes from, Faelin’s interest, and the like.” He gestured at the codex. “I’d also intended this celestium discussion for her. No offense, but I’d hoped to avoid trusting the search for Lef Amunrel to another Enarian.”
Connor’s fists tightened at his sides. “Speak that way once more about my family, and I’ll—”
“Father!” A young woman entered the chamber, green shirt and gray trousers half hidden by her cloak.
Lee slapped the table. “Zel?”
Connor forgot his anger and stared at him. “That’s Zel? She’s the one who followed us.”
Zel ignored them, walking straight to Boreas. “Father, an Assembly raven arrived at the guest house with a message for the lightraiders.”
“They are cadets, Zel.” Boreas turned away from Connor to face his behlna. “Lightraider cadets, and barely so. They’ve not even entered the spheres.”
Lee coughed. “Yet we’ve faced one more dragon than you, I’ll wager.”
This earned no response from the councilor. He kept his attention on Zel. “A raven is no reason for you to interrupt. I’d say you were looking for an excuse to involve yourself in this meeting.”
“I was looking to do your bidding, Father. If you insist on using me for your intrigues and politicking, you must allow me the freedom to do it right.”
Connor raised a hand. “I hate to interrupt these proceedings, but I’ve two questions. First, did you truly send your behlna to spy on us?”
“I’ve been reporting, not spying,” Zel said, leaning to look past her tehpa and meet his eye. “And steering. I got you and Lee down here for his little ambush, didn’t I?” She shifted her gaze to Lee. “I see you found the tunic I left for you. Good work. Too bad your friend missed the clue. He would have blended better in the yellow silk of a city-dweller. I thought you said in your letters that he was clever.”
Connor matched her flat look and continued. “And second, Councilor Boreas, do you think the guardians will take the news lightly when I tell them you had your spy”—he narrowed his eyes at Zel—“intercept a raven meant for us?”
Again, it was Zel, not Boreas, who answered. “I didn’t intercept anything. I received the raven as a help to the housekeep. And when I removed the message from the bird’s leg, I saw the last two words by accident.” She handed him the little roll of parchment. “Those words alone told me you should see this immediately.”
“Two words, huh?” Connor passed the message to Lee, whose spectacles allowed him to read the tiny script of a raven’s parchment better.
The scribe unfurled the parchment and dropped a lens in front of his eye, then blinked and dropped a second lens into place. His hands trembled.
“Lee,” Connor said. “What’s wrong? What does it say?”
The scribe’s voice caught in his throat. “Teegan writes to us from the Apple Barrel at the Windhold. ‘Found Barnabas dead in the highlands. Tortured and murdered.’” He looked up from the parchment and swallowed hard. “Her last two words are ‘They’re back.’”
22
BOREAS RESIDENCE
SKY HARBOR
Councilor Boreas reacted to the news from Teegan with speed and purpose. His two men returned the codex to its hidden shelf while he, Zel, and the cadets left the Archive. He insisted that they continue this discussion at the Boreas family home.
The smallness of the wattle house, with its ground-floor apothecary, surprised Connor. The councilor’s rich robes and all his maneuvering had reminded him of the counts and magistrates he’d witnessed in Tanelethar—dragon lackeys and sorcerers. He’d expected Boreas to live in some grand house overlooking the harbor, not an old shop home tucked behind a high-road arch.
The councilor had an abrasive manner, but he was not the enemy. Far from it. Boreas was Keledan, driven by service to the Rescuer and his people, even if Connor didn’t agree with all his methods.
“Go on upstairs,” Boreas said, leading them through his shop of herbs and salts. He stopped at the bottom step and motioned them onward. “Our common room is comfortable enough. Light a fire. Rest. Zel and I will be up in a moment.” As Connor walked past, the councilor caught his sleeve. “Cadet, I am sorry about your friend.”
Connor waited for the but or the I told you so—some proclamation that Barnabas’s death justified the Airguard’s fears. Boreas offered none. Connor gave him a thankful nod and continued up the steps with Lee.
“I can’t believe he’s gone,” Lee said moments later, standing over Connor, who was building a fire in the hearth. “I have no heart to speak with the Assembly now. And if I did, what would we say?”
Connor said nothing, glaring at the growing flames.
“I know you don’t want to discuss our duties, but we must.”
“He died because of me.”
“What?” Lee turned Connor from the fire by the shoulder and took the poker from his hand. “How can you say that? Barnabas died at the hands of evil—an evil you did not bring into our land.”
“He died at the hands of an evil he’d never have faced had I not interfered. I asked him to delay at our farm, to collect a silly cake for Kara. If I hadn’t, he’d have passed through the highlands several ticks earlier, probably made it safely to the Windhold outpost.”
Lee led him to a cushioned bench and sat him down. “I don’t believe that. Whatever he encountered may have been waiting there for a long time. You asked for a friend’s help in a kindness, and out of kindness, he obliged. Do not shame yourself for that or any of the Nine Core Strengths of the Keledan. That is a tactic of a dragon, a liar and an accuser, not a lightraider.”
Connor nodded, though he could not stop the tears.
Lee shed tears with him. “We may mourn him, you especially, who knew and loved him most, but we may also take heart because Barnabas now walks untiring along the rivers of Elamhavar.”
The effort to compose himself took Connor quite a while. Councilor Boreas and Zel did not appear from the staircase until his eyes were dry and his voice under control. But once they entered the common room, with Zel carrying a tray of cider and biscuits, the assemblyman wasted no time. “We must determine the best message for the Assembly—decide our strategy.”
Connor accepted one of the mugs from Zel with a nod of thanks, then turned a hard look on her tehpa. He pointed to Lee and himself. “Our strategy is to return to Ras Telesar at once. What you say to the Assembly after we’re gone is none of our concern.”
Lee lifted a finger in protest, but Connor stopped him before he could speak. “Don’t. The Assembly had their chance to hear from us, and they turned us away. Our duty is to Rescuer and the Order. We belong at Ras Telesar. We never should have left in the first place.”
Boreas took a sip of his cider and set the mug on the mantle above the fire. “I agree.”
This turned Connor’s and Lee’s heads. Zel’s too. “You do?” she asked.
“Are you so shocked? My purposes for voting to summon Miss Orso have been served”—Boreas glanced at Connor—“as much as possible, given the circumstances. As for the Prime Council and the rest of the Assembly, they expected the Order’s representatives to bring words of reassurance. What word will you bring now?”
“I asked the same question,” Lee said in a dry tone. “And all I can think is, ‘Oops. The portal must not be as closed as we thought.’”
“Or the dark creatures have found another way in,” Connor added. “Neither is reassuring, and both demand our presence at the academy.” He set his mug aside. “Thank you for your hospitality, but we must go. We have an eight-day journey ahead at the fastest, even if we ride through the nights between stables.”
“Ride?” Zel stood at the same time Connor did. “What if you could—”
“Zelacia.” Her tehpa shot her a warning frown. “Not now.”
Zel marched up to Boreas. “If not now, then when, Father? Did you and the guilds not build the Airguard for such a moment as this? It doesn’t matter whether the threat comes from the mountains or the mists. We can help.”
Connor stepped closer to the two of them. “How can you help, exactly? Are you saying you have a way to get us home to Ras Telesar that’s faster than a horse?”
Boreas tried to speak, but his behlna spoke over him. “Father’s airships have far more potential than serving as floating watchtowers. We’ve been . . . testing other capabilities.”
“Zel!” The councilor’s expression would have hushed even Connor. But not Zel, perhaps the only person in all Keledev immune to his charisma.
“There’s no need for you to ride hard all the way to Ras Telesar,” she said, “not if you can fly.”
THE PRISONER
TANELETHAR
Upstairs. Downstairs. My stumbling does nothing to impede the sureness of the orcs’ gargoyle feet.
They dragged me up a set of steps to enter this place. Now they drag me down. Down, down, we descend, tick after tick, on a forever staircase with no walls and no end in sight.
No. I see the bottom. Red fire. Iron torch stands burn with it like the dragon-talon pillars on that hill. And like those pillars, these torches fill me with dread.
The orcs reach the bottom and stand me up. For the first time in what seems an age, I have control of my legs.
“Walk, human. Move.”
I walk ahead of their poking halberds down a road formed by more iron stands. More red fire. I walk for another two ticks, at least, until the path opens into a giant circle of torches. At the center of the circle—on a throne of pyranium and black silk, suspended by chains from the emptiness above—rests fear.
“Come closer, child.”
I am no child. Yet to him I am an infant. Less than an infant. I feel the echoes of antiquity in his voice. His name reverberates in my head, and it slips from my lips as I approach. “Lord Valshadox the Devastation.”
“Good. Your mind is open.” His tail uncurls from around his talons, and with one beat of his mighty wings, he leaves the throne. He lands with a stone-quaking crunch before me. His long neck bends and curves to the side until the tendrils of flesh hanging from his chin brush the floor. Boiling breath that reeks of sulfur and rot threatens to set my whole body ablaze. “Kneel!”
The torches flare in concert with the command.
Trembling, I obey. I’m not sure my legs could hold me much longer anyway, not in the presence of a dragon lord.
The air cools as the dragon suddenly sniffs my form. Then his great head retreats into the dark heights. Laughter reverberates within my skull. “Can it be? Have you been taking walks in my woods, child?”
I cannot lie. I see all my lives at once, all the failed paths through the fog. He sees them too.
“Yes. You are the one who came to my hill. Interesting. You have courage. But are you teachable? Are you trainable?” The voice turns away from my thoughts, addressing the orcs at my back. I hear it only in my head.
Begin.
One orc hauls me up and steadies me, while another presses a knife hilt into my hand, forcing me to grip it. This is no blunted training blade. It is sharp. Deadly. What do they want of me?
I hear a terrible squeaking—iron wheels with no grease.
At the edge of my vision, two more orcs enter the circle of torches, dragging an iron rack. Another prisoner hangs from its shackles, toes scraping the floor.
Though I do not turn my gaze, I remember this was a man the orcs dragged into the hut days ago. What have they done to him? The remains of his clothes hang from an emaciated body. Cuts and charred flesh speak of unimaginable pain. Why bring him near me? My downcast eyes settle on the knife in my hand.
“Go to him.”
I cannot resist. I walk to my fellow prisoner—my brehna.
“See him.”
The dragon wants me to look this man in the eyes. I do, and behind them I see a despair like none I’ve ever known. Dead faces formed from green mist. Ghouls in the night. Creepers. All are trifles compared to this.
“He is your enemy. One of you must die.”
An orc halberd presses against my spine. The message is clear. Either I kill my fellow prisoner, or the orcs will kill me, all for the dragon’s sport. Is this the whole purpose of the camps?
The mind inside my mind answers the question. No, child. That is not the purpose. And do not kill him yet. Start with a cut. Just a nick. He must suffer first.
Hasn’t he suffered enough?
By the resignation in this brehna’s eyes, I know he hears the dragon too. He blinks. A slow blink that says, Go ahead. What difference will it make?
“I can’t.”
The halberd point digs in, making me wince. The dragon’s voice crushes all other thoughts. “Cut him!”
I do. A slash across the arm, drawing fresh blood. I match the drops with tears.
“Good. Now end him. Slash his throat.”
My brehna’s gaze pleads with me to obey. End it. End my suffering before he changes his mind. But a cut was one thing, prolonging both our lives. To kill him?
“Please don’t make me do this.”
“Kill him, I said. Now!”
I am numb, so numb I’m not sure the weapon still sits in my hand, and I must check. The blade reflects the torches. Red flames mingle with the blood on its edge. I raise the knife to my brehna’s neck—and stop.
Motion in the dark. The dragon’s neck snakes down again. His breath is beside me, red eyes burning through me. “Free yourself. A sacrifice is required to buy your salvation. Kill him that you might live!”
Like a shield against his fury, I see her face—our mother’s face. With it comes a melody I can’t quite grasp. The knife drops from my fingers. The dragon rears up, ejected from my mind. The halberd at my back presses in. Pierces me.
“Wait!” Lord Valshadox’s voice is a cackling roar. “I know you. I know you! The tang in my woods. Your blood. Guards, hold him back!”
They pull me away, and fire streams down until the stone floor and the rack glow red. When it subsides, my brehna is gone, naught but lingering ash, and the orcs shackle me into the smoldering irons in his place.
23
CONNOR
NEAR VAL PERA
Zel returned the airship to the ground in a wheat field east of Val Pera, the first farming town north of the White Ridge Mountains on the Central Plain. She called this haphazard descent landing.
Connor called it terrifying.
The ground rushed up at the airship, and Zel hurried them all to the back of its wicker boat so that the rear curves of its steel runners would dig into the dirt first. This worked for only an instant before the bow slammed down and threw them all to the floor.
