Circle of Reign (76 page)

“They do not speak this tongue,” Jayden said. “Nor is it their way to surrender. Their beliefs will not allow it. They must be offered a victory or they will die in pursuit of it.”

“They shall have no victory here, Jayden,” Hedron said. “I will not allow it. If that is their decision, then they have chosen extinction, the same they have tried to levy upon us!”

“They seek to abide by their honor, but there is a different way. Let me try.”

In a rough and staccato sounding tongue, Jayden addressed the tense Borathein masses.

“Vyath is pleased with you this day, but your Griptha is not yet fulfilled.”

The Borathein warriors stirred with amazement to be spoken to in their own language. After a few moments, the murmurs died and a young warrior with a shorter beard the color of amber stepped forward. He had only a few ornaments in his beard.

“I am Prethor, nephew to Deklar Shilkath. The Griptha stands open still, for the traitors still live.”

“Your Deklar is no more, Prethor, nephew of Shilkath. The frozen plain has him now and he awaits you to free him.”

Prethor was visibly shocked. “You speak our language, old mother. You encourage us to continue this battle against those with whom you are obviously aligned?”

“I encourage no such thing, but your Griptha has been misplaced from the beginning. I speak the will of Vyath.”

“You lie!” Prethor accused. “You know nothing of Vyath or our ways!”

“Do I not?” Jayden asked calmly. “Tell me, Prethor, when Shilkath entered into his Griptha, whom did he kneel before at the altar of ice and bone?”

The young warrior did not answer.

“A Gründaalina, no doubt? And he opened his flesh with a wound across the chest by a blade of ice and a handle of stone?”

“Who are you?” Prethor asked.

“I am one who shares your blood, young Prethor; one who stood on the other side of Vyath’s altar for many years.”

“You are a Gründaalina!” Prethor knelt before Jayden. A murmur swept through all present.

“Once yes, and I suppose still, though I have not answered to that title for centuries. I witnessed the destruction of my people, those you claim to be here to avenge.”

Prethor stood. “It’s not possible!” he protested. “That was—”

“Four hundred and sixteen years ago. I was barely thirty and had given up the ways of the Dark by then. I found the Gyldenal and came to know the Living Light. Or, actually, they found me,” she said, looking at Evrin. His eyes were grayer than she remembered. Cloudy. “The Living Light is a sustaining Influence.”

“The ways of Vyath are what we follow! I don’t know this Dark or Light you speak of! Only honorable conquest and the vanquishing of the enemy!”

“All that seeks destruction of life is of the Ancient Dark, young one. And it is that darkness that you must turn your Griptha against. There is a mist that grows thicker in the world and the Light of all will be needed.”

“I still do not know of what you speak, Gründaalina. But we will not surrender. We cannot.”

Jayden’s tone turned biting. “It is not surrender. Pay attention, boy! There is a fight that will come, much greater than you now know or have known. You can live to see that fight and add your blades to ours or be cut down here and now.”

Prethor looked away and paced. “We have people on the Ice Desert. We cannot go back to our lands. They are nothing.”

“I agree, you cannot return,” Evrin said. Surprise registered on Prethor’s face to hear another voice in his tongue, but only briefly. Evrin’s gaze was unfocused. “Nor would we have you return. At this edge of your Ice Desert lays a forest, spacious and sparsely populated. It is cold but suitable for life. The Ice Desert recedes even now with fertile soil underneath. In years to come, you will plant crops and see your people grow.”

“So that you can enslave us?” Prethor asked.

“The Arlethian people do not take slaves,” Jayden said. “The Ancient Dark is strong in the world. Your people are needed.”

Prethor pondered. His brow furrowed deeply.

“I cannot make this decision. We must choose a Deklar and discuss it.”

“You are Deklar now,” Jayden said in a loud voice for all to hear. She knew that her former position as a Gründaalina would carry weight. “You, Prethor, will make this decision and your people will follow. You still have many able warriors, many more wounded that need to see an end to this misplaced bloodshed.”

Hedron watched, uneasy. It was a long silence that filled the time. Finally, Prethor approached Hedron. He tensed as the larger man came face to face with him and the two wolf cubs growled a low warning. Prethor raised a short blade between them and Thurik barked savagely, but the Borathein man made no threatening moves. Instead, he brought the blade to his beard and cut free a lock of it. He then reached forward to Hedron and held the freed strands of his beard out in his hand. Hedron was not sure what to do.

“I think you’re supposed to take it,” Reign said.

Hesitantly, and without diverting his eyes from Prethor’s, Lord Kerr took the offered token. Prethor nodded curtly and walked away. Hedron inspected the few tokens in it and saw one that was familiar. A small wooden wreath of Triarch leaves. His anger flared.

“What just happened?” Hedron asked heatedly. “Did I just agree to something?”

“You agreed to a pact,” Jayden replied. “A peace pact. This is not given lightly by Prethor. He is now the Borathein Deklar, what they call their leader.”

“It is not accepted lightly either, Jayden! I did not knowingly agree to this.” He clutched Prethor’s shorn beard in his hand so tightly his knuckles turned white.

“But it is right,” Reign said, attempting to calm her brother.

“They invaded us! Unprovoked! Our dead litter this land. Soldiers, fathers, mothers and children alike! How can we allow a peace between us?”

“You cannot see it, boy, but you will need them,” Jayden said.

Hedron stiffened. “Jayden, you are dear to me for your protection of my sister and I in our youth and always will be. But, when you address me, it will be as a lord, not a boy.”

Aiden looked away but could not hide his smile.

Jayden stared and pursed her lips. She actually looked impressed, Hedron thought. “Very well, Lord Kerr. What is your decision, my Lord?”

Prethor had stopped midstride at hearing what was obviously an argument, though he could not understand the words. His back was to them, but he glanced over his shoulder, waiting.

Hedron struggled within himself. He could not forgive, not now. How could he even allow a peace after so much violation of his people and land? An anguished tear fell down his cheek as he looked at Seilia’s pendant. It symbolized so much to him of the sacrifices made.

“They are pawns in a greater game, brother.” His sister’s words were soft. She took his hand with her Triarch leafling between their palms and pressed. She closed her eyes and waited.

Hedron
, came the voice in his mind. It was instantly familiar. He inhaled a slow breath that caught with unexpected emotion.

“Threyil.”

Hedron, you have been all I could have ever asked of a son. You protected my daughter and put her first your entire life. And now you have put our people first, defending and taking your place among them. I know this has come with great internal turmoil inside you
.

Hedron’s jaw tightened as he stifled more emotional tears from escaping his welling eyes.

A lord must see beyond his emotions, son. He must do what is right, not what he wants. Put away the swords of our people and take up the hand of peace. The greater battle will yet come. You are a great man and I am proud to call you son
.

Reign slowly pulled her hand back, breaking the tender connection. Hedron didn’t control the tears that ran down his face but no sob escaped him. He breathed deeply and shuddered with emotion.

Lord Kerr walked over to Prethor, who still stood warily with his back to them. Coming around to his front side, Hedron faced him. His upper lip curled and his jaw quivered. He thrust his sword down into the ground between them.

“I cannot forgive you,” he said. “Nor your people. But peace is greater than either of us. Let us pray you keep it.” He extended his hand.

It was obvious Prethor did not understand Lord Kerr’s words, but slowly reached his hand up to Hedron’s. The Deklar was uncertain of the tradition but took the outstretched hand. Lord Kerr squeezed tightly and Prethor squeezed back, matching his strength. Lord Kerr nodded and released his grip.

“See to your people,” Lord Kerr admonished and Jayden translated. Prethor nodded in agreement and walked north. His soldiers, weary and bloodied, followed.

Lord Kerr turned to Reign. “Let us see to our own people.”

Reign smiled. “Yes,” she said. “Our people.”

FIFTY-THREE

Ryall

Day 6 of 2
^nd
Dimming 412 A.U.

“SOMETHING’S GOING ON,”
Holden said. It was early morning before their classes.

“Huh?” Ryall asked lamely, not bothering to look up from his scroll.

“I overheard several of the students talking about it yesterday. And the Vicars looked worried.”

“Talking about what?”

“Something in the west with the wood-dwellers. People are talking about an invasion or something.”

Ryall shrugged. “Well they did break away from the Realm, right?”

“Supposedly, yes.”

“We don’t get much outside news in the monastery, you know that. It could just all be rumors someone started as a joke.”

“But other kids are talking about an invasion from the north, as if people came from the glaciers. And the Vicars weren’t giving any answers when asked.”

Again Ryall shrugged. “Maybe. What does that one say?” he asked his best friend as he put down yet another scroll. He was too attuned to the work at hand to be bothered with gossip.

“Something about a caravan and a journey into the Schadar desert. Almost seems like it was much smaller then. More tolerable somehow, too, compared to what we know of it. Yours?”

“Explorations of the mountains and valleys in the east. Boring. We must have come across an inlet that chronicled different exploration parties.”

They had both become fairly proficient in translating the ancient Hardacheon language although it still took hours to read one small scroll. Many symbols were still unknown but due to the context of what they could read, it was possible to decipher the basic meaning of those symbols most of the time.

“It’s not that boring,” Holden said. “I think it’s actually kind of neat.”

“You would,” Ryall retorted with a yawn.

The two of them had lined up all the scrolls that matched the Archiver tablets over the past few days and read every one. Being confined to bed rest had actually aided Ryall in his nocturnal visits to the cavern. Shortly after getting his friend assigned this punishment, Holden saw the merits of it and complained of similar symptoms, earning the same prescription of bed rest. Sleeping during the day and being excused from class for several days gave them the energy they needed to sort through all the tablets and matching scrolls.

Since then the boys had desired to start visiting their discovery in the early morning instead of staying up all night. They understood now that the Archiver tablets were indeed copies of the corresponding scrolls after they found an endnote in the last scroll that was not translated to the appropriate tablet. The entry related that the Shrule had been taught the Senthary language and were requested to translate their recorded history from the scrolls they had always kept. Naturally, as the Hardacheons had been the rulers of the land, the Shrule spoke their language. Edemar Wellyn, around one hundred thirty years after unification, made the request as well as insisting that their history be recorded on obsidian tablets so as to last throughout all time. He was a significantly
boisterous and arrogant ruler according to the record, boasting that the Senthary people would never be overrun or forced from their lands again. History, the friends noted, did not favor that statement.

“I’m going to jump over a few rows,” Ryall said. “Maybe I can find something more worthwhile.”