Rite of Exile: The Silent Tempest, Book 1 (11 page)

He turned to leave, then stopped. After a brief hesitation he faced her again, always ready to place his loyalty to Ada above his respect for the Overseer. “If I may be so bold to ask a personal question—might there be another reason behind your request?”

Garda slowly rose from her chair again, pale with fury. “You are
dismissed
, Master Raén!”

He offered another apology, and left. Her response was all the answer he needed.

♦

The sound of laughter and splashing reached Caleb’s ears: children and their accompanying adults at the Tarn enjoying a respite from the relentless heat. Swimming was definitely not his thing, however. He was more than content to sit on a park bench along the main path, enjoying his own respite in the cool shade of a large maple. But there were other reasons.

True to her promise, Telai had been spending time with Warren every week since the fateful confrontation in her office. Today she had knocked on their door well before noon and asked if she could take Warren swimming. Caleb’s answering smile didn’t appear to impress her, so he felt a bit self-conscious sitting near the beach, and decided to wait in the park instead. Besides, the last thing he needed was to watch that slender beauty in swimming clothes leaping and splashing around like a mermaid.

Caleb leaned back and closed his eyes, losing himself to the sounds around him—the faint buzz of insects, a distant hello, the rumble of cart wheels along the thoroughfare behind. He wished he could sit here like this every day, with no artifacts to find, no secrets to keep—an ordinary man doing nothing more complicated than waiting for his beautiful wife and child.

“You seem rather relaxed for someone who’s made a big decision.”

He snapped his eyes open. The Master Raén glared down at him in the dappled sunlight, gripping the hilt of his sword as if ready to charge into battle. “My lord!” Caleb blurted, jumping up. “Good day to you.”

“I certainly hope so. We have much to discuss.”

Caleb gestured behind him. “Please sit down,” he offered, knowing what was at stake. “It’s been a long time.”

Soren made no motion toward the bench. Instead he took another step toward Caleb. “Indeed. Many things have changed since then.”

“Are you here to check on my progress?”

“In a way. I find it curious that a man who has been with us for only a year aspires to our most honored profession.”

Caleb tried to keep the disappointment from his voice. “You disapprove.”

“I haven’t yet.”

“I see. What is it that unsettles you?”

“An accurate word. Some accuse me of being too suspicious. They forget that suspicion is an inherent part of my duty to Ada. I did not become a Raén to make friends. Therefore I ask you one simple question: Why?”

“You’ve spoken with the Overseer.”

“That’s none of your concern, Caleb Stenger.”

“Neither is what happened at the Judgment yours! She promised everything would be confidential.”

“A promise she’s kept, one I wish she hadn’t made,” said Soren. “Is your past so heinous you are afraid to reveal it? Or do you place so little faith in the Overseer’s integrity?”

Caleb clasped his hands behind his back. “Is your opinion of the Overseer’s discretion so low you are afraid to trust it?”

The old man smoldered. Caleb knew he had scored a point, but he kept a straight face. “I have a few questions as well—that is, if I’m allowed to ask.”

“If they’re asked respectfully, then yes.”

“If I become a Raén, how will it affect my son?” he said, nodding toward the beach. “I can’t take him into battle with me, of course, but what about my other duties?”

“Hasn’t Féitseg explained this to you?”

Caleb shook his head. “I want to hear it from you.”

“You seem to have a problem with trust as well, Falling Man—something you need to work on before your life depends on the men and women fighting at your side. But about your son: there’s no law against him journeying with you. In fact, as the child of a Raén he’d enjoy certain privileges. There’s a group called the
Frehaiani
in every city and town, people who care for our children when our duties become too difficult or dangerous.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad—”

“—I’m not finished!” he snapped. “Make no mistake, Caleb Stenger: your responsibilities as a soldier come first. Longing to see your child is less distracting than fearing for him. I’ve seen too many Raéni lose focus and endanger the lives of their fellow soldiers. If a superior orders you to send your son to a distant Adan city, you are duty-bound to obey—
whatever
the reason, as long as it’s military. Even for those who seldom wield the sword, the constant travel inherent in a Raén’s life is hard on children.”

“Warren’s used to that already. And he’s tougher than he looks—we’ve both had some wilderness training.”

“Nothing compared to what’s in store for
you
.”

“I know that. I’ll learn what I have to learn, Soren—I only ask to be treated as fairly as anyone else, and not as an outsider.”

“As long as you understand you won’t be treated
more
fairly.”

“I wouldn’t expect to be. For one thing, the primary duty of a Raén is to destroy Kseleksten. I’d like to find a way to reach Graxmoar, if anyone can help me.”

Soren raised his brows. “The Broken Lor’yentré! You aim high, newcomer. How will you succeed where so many others have failed?”

“Maybe because of my unique perspective,” Caleb answered. “Or maybe I’m too ignorant to realize it can’t be done.”

The old Raén turned a sly grin. “Of course. Such a deed would remove all doubt in Ada regarding your ability or allegiance.”

“You make it sound like a bad thing. Besides, I’m not so naive to think there aren’t any other obligations to fulfill.”

“Indeed there
are
other things.” Caleb heard the faint ring of steel, and found himself staring at a burnished, engraved sword a mere hand’s breadth from his nose. A stranger walking by paused in his stride, brows raised, then hurried along. Soren barked. “Could you take this blade and plunge it into the vitals of a man you’ve never met—not to save yourself, not to save your son, but simply for the good of Ada? Could you, stranger from the sky?”

Caleb stepped back from the fire in Soren’s eyes, nearly stumbling over the park bench, his instincts quicker than his will. “Perhaps. But if I didn’t, it would be out of simple fear or reluctance, and not from lack of loyalty.”

Soren sheathed his Fetra. “An honest answer. The first lesson of any soldier is to know where his fears lie. The second is to overcome them—and a strengthening of loyalty is one of many ways.”

“Of course. But I don’t see how I can prove my loyalty until I join the Raéni.”

“What do you mean?”

Caleb pointed at Soren’s weapon. “You seem to place a lot of emphasis on wielding a Fetra. A citizen isn’t allowed to use one, or engage in any combat other than defense.”

“And if you had the opportunity?”

Caleb shrugged. “A moot point.” Soren stood fast, and he added, “Are you saying—”

“You’re very good at clever answers. Time to put your words to the test.”

“How?”

“Follow me,” he answered, and headed down the path.

“Wait,” Caleb said. “I need to let Telai know first.”

“She already does. Follow!”

Caleb took a deep breath and obeyed.
Soren led the way out of the park at a brisk pace, heading for the side street flanking the right side of the inn. Caleb made a show of keeping up, marching alongside over the sun-baked cobblestones, his clothes soon soaked in sweat and his dark locks plastered over his brow
. Had Telai’s visit been a setup? After that scene in Gerentesk he could picture her cooperating with whatever test of loyalty Soren had in mind. But it didn’t really matter. Caleb
was determined to see it through.

Heading west through a few twists and turns they arrived at Ekendoré’s market grounds: a triangular plot bustling with a colorful myriad of tents and their merchants, bickering customers, and crates and crates of blackberries. From there Soren turned left over an arched wooden bridge, where the Quayen churned between granite walls on its way to the Tarn.

They soon arrived at a long, one-story building of plain gray stone on the right-hand side; a stranger would have passed it without a second look. Two guards snapped to attention as Soren approached. They swung the doors open at his command, casting furtive glances at Caleb as he followed. The interior was equally plain, a low-ceiling hallway and adjacent room separated by a wide arch, each dimly lit by free-standing torches. A collection of battered old chests lined the floor along the walls of the room, with an array of bows and scabbards hanging from iron hooks.

“Wait here,” Soren said with hardly a break in his stride, and disappeared through a smaller arch at the end of the hallway. Only a minute passed before he returned, accompanied by a short, middle-aged woman. Scars lined her face, and there was a rigor about her that told Caleb she was no less loyal or courageous than her superior.

“This is Edai, the Weaponmaster of Ekendoré. There’s a good chance you’ll be training under her, so mind your manners.”

Caleb bowed, half in respect, half to hide his reaction to Soren’s patronizing. “My lady.”

Edai stepped forward. “If you’re lucky enough to earn Soren’s approval, you’ll soon realize I am no lady.” She turned her back on him. “My lord, I must protest. I cannot allow anyone but a Raén to wield a Fetra, much less
this
man.”

“If I may speak—”

“You may not!”

Soren placed his hand on Edai’s shoulder. “I believe your armory holds other blades besides the Fetra—ones still sharp enough to kill.”

A shiver ran down Caleb’s back. “Sir—”

“—another word, and your hope of joining the Raéni dies!” Caleb glared at him, but nodded.

Edai headed for one of the chests along the wall, muttering. She flung the lid open, and after rummaging around for a bit straightened and returned to Soren.

A dagger with a charred hilt and a long, tarnished blade exchanged hands. “Good enough for the job. And no one will care if it goes missing,” she added with a sideways glance.

Caleb fumed as the Master Raén stuck the dagger under his belt. “Shouldn’t we bring two?” he asked, forgetting Soren’s warning, but the old soldier ignored him and headed back out into the sun.

After a few more turns they halted at another single-story building, much like the armory, standing all alone at the southernmost end of town.

A tall, iron fence surrounded a wide yard of brown, foot-worn grass; a pair of Raéni guarded the gate on each side, the first one unlocking it at Soren’s command. The second one escorted the visitors down the brick-laid path toward the doors. Caleb stopped. Two words in the common tongue were stamped above the lintel:
Military
Prison
. He wiped the sweat from his face, read the sign again to make sure, then hurried forward, his stomach in knots.

Another set of guards unlocked the door; beyond, crude lamps lit the walls of a large foyer. Several corridors branched off in different directions, iron-clad doors on either side receding into darkness. A table and two chairs stood at the back near a row of hooks and dangling keys.

An old man with a stubble of grizzled hair, presumably the turnkey, lifted his wiry, knob-jointed frame and approached. “Your visit on such a hot day honors me, my lord.”

“Your service honors us all, Fdarel,” Soren replied. “Do you still have the Hodyn prisoner we captured a while back?”

“My lord?”

“The spy we found hiding in one of the towns in the valley.”

“Ah, yes, that one. Do you wish to interrogate him?”

“No,” Soren answered. “I wish you to give me the keys to his cell, and forget about our visit after we leave.”

“I see,” Fdarel said, casting a doubtful look at Caleb. “Your command is law, my lord.”

Keys jingled, and Soren led the way down the nearest corridor, lamps along the wall throwing his shadow this way and that as Caleb followed. They stopped at the last door on the right. Soren drew his sword, then struggled with the key for a moment until it clanked into place.

Hinges squealed, and the door swung wide to reveal a room barely ten feet square. Long scratches and faded graffiti covered the walls, dimly lit from a tiny candle burning on a stone shelf. The heat was stifling, and a tall metal bucket in the corner stank of urine and feces.

A short, heavily muscled man sat hunched on a low cot of straw against the opposite wall. Chains trailed from his feet to a large iron ring in the middle of the floor. His wide face, grimed and half covered in a mop of black hair and wiry beard, looked as if it had never smiled, never known anything but the hatred so evident in his deep-set eyes.

“What an honor,” he croaked in a hoarse voice. “The Master Raén visits a lowly Hodyn prisoner.”

Soren ignored him. He faced Caleb, drew the dagger from his belt, and presented the charred hilt. “You know what needs to be done.”

“I thought this was going to be a fight to the death or something,” Caleb said. “You’re asking me to kill an unarmed man!”

“Then your profession of loyalty means nothing. This is a Hodyn spy, the worst of the lot. An enemy who directly threatens our citizens deserves to die.”

“The Supreme Raén of Ada shows his true colors,” the prisoner muttered. “Be careful what kind of friends you make, Falling Man.”

Caleb nodded. “So it would seem. Is this what justice means to your people, Soren?”

“You keep using words instead of deeds,” he answered. “Either do as I ask, or go back and look for another line of work.” He shrugged. “Your choice.”

Minutes passed as the Master Raén waited with the dagger in his outstretched hand, his cold stare fixed and unwavering. The prisoner waited too, his glance darting from face to face.

Caleb took the weapon into his hand. The vision of Warren reappeared, his intellect restored, a swiftly growing teenager with his whole life ahead of him. Yet as the years passed the slow realization that Caleb had saved his son’s life through an act of murder would poison every word between them, every chance for reconciliation for the deeds he had done on Earth, until not even a father’s love could breach the wall between.