The Legend of Asahiel: Book 02 - The Obsidian Key (64 page)

A clever boy, the commander thought. In need of some hard-fought experience, sure. But he might make a decent officer one day. Provided, of course, that he lived to see it.

When he had gone, the door was shut behind him.

“What now, sir?” one of his lieutenants asked.

Indeed. A question his troops had been asking themselves for weeks, ever since squirreling themselves away—one squad at a time—in and around the city. Only the general knew for sure. But Zain had his hunches. And his feeling in this case was that the time was fast coming to emerge from the stinking hole he’d too long been hiding in.

Not that it had been all bad, he reminded himself, glancing back at the wenches still warming his bedsheets. But the time had come for some fresh air.

“Relay word to General Rogun,” he answered finally. “Let him know that our king is returned.”

“I’
VE MAINTAINED YOUR CHAMBERS PRECISELY AS YOU LEFT THEM,”
Stephan whispered as he shuffled down the corridor. “I even kept them guarded—until the army left and we no longer had the man to spare.”

Torin nodded, unconcerned by the soft echo of the other’s voice. Stephan had already made a sweep of these upper halls to ensure they were empty. Aside from that, it no longer seemed to matter should he be discovered. After his briefing with the seneschal, it appeared indeed that his intuition was mistuned, Krynwall secure. In the morning, he would meet with the Circle and announce his presence to the city. Following that, he would send messengers to Kuuria in search of Darinor, Allion, and Marisha, or else ride south himself.

As of now, the only thing at stake was a decent night’s rest.

Still, his master chamberlain seemed determined that he get it. They lit no torches, moving by way of Stephan’s solitary candle. Shadows clung to them like damp cloaks, cold and eerie. Torin could not remember a time in which he had walked this route without encountering any number of guards or servants or couriers. Rarely had he found such stillness to be so unsettling.

When they reached the door to his suite, Stephan drew a cord hung round his neck and selected from among a set of keys. Torin glanced back and forth down the hall as the chamberlain worked, feeling as if unwelcome eyes were upon him. When the door opened, he shook his head at his own paranoia, and followed his steward through.

His sitting chamber was as dark as the hall outside, its windows shuttered. As he crossed the threshold, Torin felt a pang of disappointment, rather than the thrill he had expected upon finally returning to his own room. It was like walking into a tomb, the stale air chill and oppressive. While Stephan stooped to light a second candle, Torin pushed ahead through the inky pool, searching for the far wall and the latch that would release the shutters.

“Would you care for a fire, my lord?”

“I’m liable to freeze to my sheets, otherwise,” Torin agreed, tripping over the edge of a central rug.

Dodging a table and chair, he found his way at last to the window. After fumbling for a moment, he managed to release the catch and free the shutters. An eager breeze carried fresh air into the room, following a wash of cloudy starlight. Torin took a deep breath—in an effort to force the strange knot from his stomach—before turning to assist Stephan in building a fire.

The steward had set his candle down beside the hearth. In that very moment, the candle erupted, spewing forth a stream of flame into the depths of the fireplace. Stephan yelped and stumbled backward, while Torin himself jumped nearly out the window. His hand went to the hilt of the Sword, but by then the seasoned wood set already in the hearth had caught flame. As it did, the torrent of fire from the candle withdrew, to dance once more at the tip of the wick.

Torin searched the corners of the now brightly lit room. Crouched in a high-backed chair that appeared much too small for him, sat Darinor.

When Stephan gasped, Torin knew that the seneschal had seen him too. Still seated on the floor, his robes in disarray, the wide-eyed steward struggled to respond. “My lord…my lord, I didn’t know…I didn’t know he was here.”

“Easy, Master Stephan,” Torin said, waving a placating hand while still gripping his sheathed weapon with the other. “I doubt anyone does.”

His gaze remained fixed on the not-so-unexpected intruder. The renegade Entient looked almost exactly as Torin remembered him, with his smoldering blue eyes, cadaverous skin, and craggy black beard tucked sharply against his dark robes.

“Welcome home,” the Entient rumbled. When neither of his guests responded, he asked, “Where are your retainers?”

“They do not yet know I am here,” Torin replied.

The flames in the hearth crackled.

“My lord,” Stephan managed, “shall I fetch the Shield?”

Torin considered, his eyes still locked with those of Darinor. “That won’t be necessary. I shall speak with our guest alone.”

This certainly wasn’t the way he had envisioned it. He had imagined for some reason revealing to Darinor that which he had learned before a council of others—the Circle, most likely, or at the very least, with Allion and Marisha present. But if this was what the Entient had in mind, so be it.

“But, my lord—”

“I require nothing else at this time, my friend. Please, leave me to my visitor.”

Even now, he refused to shift his gaze, trusting that his steward would do as asked. It took another moment, but finally Stephan picked himself up off the floor, straightened his robes, and reached carefully for his volatile candle.

“I shall be waiting outside, should you need me.”

“You shall return to your duties,” Torin corrected. “You’ve spent too much time with me this evening already. I do not wish to raise suspicion.” At last he risked a glance in the other’s direction. “Agreed?”

Stephan glared at Darinor, looking perfectly miserable.

“Master Stephan?” Torin snapped.

“Yes, my lord. I shall see you in the morning, then?”

“Before dawn,” Torin granted. “Please, go now.”

He did so slowly, frowning all the way. When at last he shut the door behind him, Torin’s head whipped back to Darinor.

“I heard that you were en route to Kuuria.”

“I was,” the Entient admitted.

“And the others?”

“Your friends?” Darinor asked, and there seemed a hint of cruel amusement in his tone. “They are well. At Souaris, by now. Or else tomorrow.”

Torin forced himself to release his grip on the Sword.

“And you,” the Entient pressed. “You travel alone, I see. Did you not find those I told you we must?”

His cold eyes, steeped in shadow, glinted in anticipation. All of a sudden, Torin realized just how unprepared he was to answer the questions Darinor had come to ask. He should not have returned, he recognized, not before he had better fulfilled his charge. He had told himself that he had done all he could, having learned the fate of the Vandari. But the scion of the renegade Entient Algorath had not dispatched him to Yawacor in search of hopeless truths.

“I found them,” Torin said, his throat dry.

An expression of surprise flashed across the other’s grim face, before raked brows restored to him a more demanding look. “So tell me, what did you learn?”

R
OGUN LOOKED STERNLY UPON THE OFFICER
stood before him. “This word comes direct from Commander Zain?”

“Yes, sir. From our line of palace runners, sir.”

The general reached up to scratch at the itch crawling upon his neck, but of course could not reach it, so deep beneath the skin. “Have we word of movement on any other fronts?”

“Just this one, sir. All else appears calm.”

“Appears,” Rogun snorted.

He glanced up to the trapdoor of the cellar in which he and his personal regiment were stationed, not far from Krynwall’s main gates. The waiting had been gnawing at him for some time, just as it had the rest of the men in this safe house and others throughout the city. It had taken weeks to smuggle his troops into position, but even afterward, there had been endless days left over in which to second-guess this course. Though none of his officers had dared to do so, Rogun himself had wondered constantly if this was the right move, and what the consequences might be once they executed it.

Perhaps the time had come to find out.

“Awake all eyes,” he commanded, “and send forth full alert. Whistlers and standard-bearers to their ready positions. I want all troops standing by to attack on my signal.”

His chief intelligence officer snapped a sharp salute. “Yes, sir.”

T
HE FIRE IN THE HEARTH HISSED AND CRACKLED,
its logs fast crumbling into embers.

“And that is all he would reveal?” Darinor asked, leaning forward in his chair.

“He refused to discuss with me that which you already know,” Torin admitted, still standing before the Entient.

“Then we have learned nothing.”

Torin’s gaze slipped to the fireplace, in search of an answer, in search of escape. It had taken some time to relate to Darinor the events of his journey, even though much of it, thankfully, the Entient had hurried him through. In fact, there had seemed only two items in which the mystic held any interest: his encounter with the strange, ocean-dwelling leviathan; and his discussion with the Finlorian king, Eolin, the last of the Vandari. But after poring over each in great detail, an already weary Torin had become heartsick and exhausted, lacking the will with which to defend himself against Darinor’s response.

“We’ve learned that the Vandari are no more,” the young king said finally, “and that the once-proud Finlorians are powerless. We’ve learned that we can expect no aid against the Illysp.”

The Entient’s brow knitted sternly. “You would not seek to deceive me, would you, king of Alson? There is nothing more you may have forgotten to tell me?”

Torin might have laughed. If anyone was keeping secrets, it was Darinor. “What cause would I have to do so?” he asked instead.

The mystic glared at him a moment longer, those great eyes unblinking. “Very well,” he decided, rising ominously to his feet. “Take some rest. On the morrow, we set forth for Kuuria to meet up with your comrades.”

Torin scowled. Though that was exactly what he had wished for, he hadn’t expected Darinor to grant it. “That is all you have to say?”

“You must give me time to think on this,” the Entient said while brushing past him toward the open window. “On what comes next. If we are truly alone in this, as you suggest, we may have to rethink our current strategy.”

A chill crept along Torin’s spine. For some reason, it bothered him that Darinor did not seem more angry with him. He had anticipated many things:
fury, scorn—disappointment, at the very least. But not this stoic resignation, this odd sense that in some way, the Entient was almost relieved.

A violent wind gust filled the room, causing the flames in the hearth to rip and sputter. As Torin spun reflexively toward them, a scintillating light erupted behind him, accompanied by a deafening thunderclap. He dropped to a crouch, hand on hilt, and wheeled back to find Darinor facing out the window.

“What was that?” he asked the Entient.

Darinor shook his head. “Seems our brewing storm has decided to break at last.”

Sure enough, as the peal of thunder rolled outward, rain began to fall in torrents. While Torin braced for another blast of lightning, Darinor reached up to close the room’s shutters.

When the mystic turned around, he seemed almost surprised to find Torin still standing there. “Your efforts are not unappreciated. But there is nothing more you can do this night. Sleep now, while you can. I will see to your fire.”

Torin continued to hesitate, still waiting for a reply to that initial thunderclap, before accepting that the Entient was right. He was doing himself no good by continuing to stand here, doubting everyone and everything going on around him. Perhaps the morning—and a fresh perspective—would give him something better to work with.

Suppressing the irrational urge not to, he turned toward his bedchamber. As he reached the inner doorway, however, there came a frantic pounding of footsteps from the hallway outside, a moment before the outer door burst open.

A breathless Allion came running through, dragging Marisha by the hand. Torin felt a rush of excitement. The hunter cast about, seeing Darinor first. When his eyes found Torin’s, they widened as if caught unawares. He let go of Marisha, who rushed toward the hearth without a second glance.

“Father!” she cried. “You’re alive!”

“What are you doing here?” Darinor snapped. “I told you—”

“My lord,” heaved Stephan, having chased down the new arrivals. He gripped the edge of the doorframe, bent over his candle, fighting for breath. “They asked where Master Darinor was to be found. I tried to make them wait.”

Torin’s gaze swept back and forth, struggling to take it all in. Marisha looked around and spotted him at last, gasping with surprise. Allion continued to stare, but seemed frozen in place. Stephan appeared as if he might faint from exertion.

“Allion, my friend,” Torin welcomed. “Help Stephan, would you?”

The hunter was slow to react, but when he did, seemed grateful for the distraction. Though Stephan tried feebly to brush him off, Allion helped him to the nearest chair. Torin, meanwhile, moved toward the outer door.

“Torin,” Marisha said, “no one told us you were here.”

“You didn’t give me a chance,” Stephan reminded her.

“I only recently arrived,” Torin replied. “What’s wrong?”

“Rogun,” Allion said, finding his tongue at last. “We must flee the city at once.”

“What?” Darinor asked. “Explain this madness.”

Marisha spun back to him. “He wasn’t in Kuuria, Father. The general, and Krynwall’s armies, they have broken tether.”

“We rode with all haste under Souari escort,” Allion added. “Riders have been sent in search of any sign. Until then, I think it best that we leave, lest we be trapped.”

“Trapped?” Torin asked. “You think Rogun means to invade his own city?”

“I’m surprised to find that he hasn’t already,” Allion answered. “So it may be we’re wrong. But he has defied orders and intentionally deceived the Circle. He is waging his own campaign now, and that can’t bode well for the rest of us.”

“An ambush,” Darinor stated plainly.

Marisha nodded. “Against you, and against Torin—his only voices of opposition.”

The wind outside beat against the shutters, while the flames in the hearth flared suddenly, licking hungrily at the blackened walls of their stone cage.

“But no one knows that either of us is here,” Torin argued.

“Which would make it that much easier to dispose of you,” Allion observed. “Besides, if he
has
set a trap, the man would have spies. It may be that—”

“Enough!” Darinor roared, and again the flames jumped. He seemed much more disturbed by this news than he had by Torin’s. “You do us no favor by whipping all into a panic. I will go and learn what I can. The rest of you wait here.”

“Should we not alert the Shield?” Stephan asked.

“Why?” the Entient barked, and Stephan recoiled. “To send an even clearer signal to our general that something is amiss?” He loomed over the trembling seneschal like a bird of prey threatening to descend. “Remain here,” he said. “Keep quiet until I return.”

He swooped past a pallid Stephan then, veering toward the door. As Torin opened it, Darinor glared down at him.

“Open this for no man but me,” the Entient commanded, then swept out into the darkened corridor.

Once again, Torin shut the door, this time bolting it from the inside.

As he placed his back to the portal, he looked again upon his dearest friends, Allion and Marisha. He found them glancing at each other—nervously, it seemed. When discovered, they swiftly turned their attention elsewhere. The hunter bent to check on Stephan. Marisha, after avoiding Torin’s gaze, forced herself to meet it.

“Your voyage was a success, then?” she asked him.

Torin studied her, a peculiar feeling stirring in his gut. It struck him as odd that neither of his friends had yet rushed to welcome him. Then again, he
wasn’t exactly compelled to rush toward them, either. Not quite the reunion he had envisioned.

“It might have gone better.”

“You’ve returned to us—alive. It might have gone worse.”

Torin saw no reason to argue. “Which reminds me, I believe I have something that belongs to you.”

He stepped forward, removing the Pendant of Asahiel and holding it up to her. For a moment, Marisha considered the talisman with clear hesitation. When Torin’s expression became puzzled, she offered a wan smile and bowed her head, allowing him to drape the chain around her neck.

“Thank you,” she said, tucking the heartstone down into the folds of her shirt.

Torin nodded. This was fast becoming awkward. Though his eyes were on Marisha, his heart and mind felt a thousand leagues away. The ensuing silence throbbed in his ears.

“I’m relieved to find you safe,” he offered finally. “Both of you,” he added, shifting toward Allion, who still knelt over Stephan. “You kept your oaths to each other, then.”

Stephan was breathing easier now, but regarded the three of them with a frown, as if sensing that something was wrong.

“From what our chief seneschal tells me, it could not have been easy,” Torin pressed, afraid to let the conversation die. “He claims to have received word of a journey into Vosges.”

“General Corathel got himself into a bit of an entanglement with the natives,” Marisha replied. “Allion helped to set him free.”

“Don’t,” Allion said. His head twisted back to address her, but stopped halfway, his eyes on the floor.

“Don’t what?” she asked him.

“Don’t speak of me as some kind of hero.”

Viewing the exchange, Torin felt even more uncomfortable. “Allion, is something else troubling you?”

It was a ridiculous question at this point. Clearly, there was much for the three of them to sort through. Were it left to him, they would do so at some other time, reacquainting themselves with one another when there wasn’t so much going on around them, and once all had had a chance to rest. But he couldn’t very well stand here and allow whatever wedge had come between them to deepen.

The hunter turned from Stephan to face the others at last, opening his mouth only to close it again. He shook his head, brushing aside whatever it was he’d been about to say, and asked instead, “What did you find in Yawacor?”

This time, it was Torin who was unsure how to respond. “A dead end,” he muttered after a moment’s thought.

An invisible pall thickened around them. Outside, the storm intensified, wind and rain rattling the shutters. Torin, his back to the hearth, looked mostly at Stephan, unsure what he could say to dispel this unnerving silence.

“My lord,” Stephan offered, coming to his rescue, “perhaps we should—”

The blare of a horn cut him short, somewhere outside, but close. The seneschal’s face formed an expression of shock and fright.

No one moved, listening again for the call of the horn. Just when Torin believed they must have been mistaken, it sounded again, clear and mournful. This time, the signal was taken up by others, and carried on through the palace grounds.

Torin dashed to the window, a step ahead of Allion. He threw back the shutters, and was slapped in the face by the gusting rains. From far below, in one of the royal courtyards, he heard the shouts of men and the clangor of arms.

He was still angling for a better look when the door to his chambers burst open, the cradle that held the locking bar torn from its housing. Torin spun, reaching for his weapon.

“We must go,” Darinor ordered. “Now.”

“What’s happening?” Stephan demanded.

“An uprising,” said Darinor, “here amid the palace grounds.”

“Rogun?” Marisha asked.

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask to see their colors.”

“Perhaps we should go and find out,” Torin suggested, fingering the jeweled hilt of the Sword.

“Perhaps we should do as our regent first proposed and take flight while we can,” Darinor snapped. “’Tis seldom wise to examine a loaded trap from inside its teeth.”

“Our escort awaits us,” Marisha reminded them all.

But her father shook his head. “Anyone who saw you ride in will expect us to ride out the same way. It may be that your cavalrymen are already under attack.”

“What would you suggest?” Torin asked.

“I would suggest
not
rushing out the front door and headlong into an ambush,” came the Entient’s retort. He turned to Allion. “What of the egress tunnels you spoke of in council? The ones beneath the city?”

“We’ll have to hurry,” the hunter said, “if the palace is already under siege.”

“Then let us waste no more words here,” Darinor replied, stepping out into the hall.

Marisha glanced back at Allion, who stood beside Torin at the window, before hurrying after. The hunter then passed that look on to Torin, as if deferring to his friend and king. But Torin motioned for the other to proceed, and, doing his best to shrug aside these curious interactions, peered out the window once more before shuttering it anew and giving chase to his friends.

In the hall outside, Allion finished lighting a torch. “Follow me.”

Torin, however, took only a pair of steps before realizing that Stephan was hanging back, making no move to carry on.

“Stephan!” he hissed. “What is it?”

The seneschal stood there, gripping his candle by its holder, a sour look upon his face. “Go, my lord. I’ll only slow you down.”

“You will indeed if you continue standing there,” Torin replied. “Come.”

“Better that I stay here, my lord, where I can help to throw off any pursuit.”

“Stephan—”

“Let him stay, if that is his wish,” Darinor snarled. “We have no time to argue.”

“It can’t be that I’m in any real danger, my lord. I am a steward, nothing more.”

Torin opened his mouth to protest, but Darinor cut him off.

“Go now, or give me the Sword. I’ll not have you risk it a moment longer.”

“I shall remain with the castle, my lord,” Stephan assured him, “and keep her safe until your return.”

“Whoever is coming,” Allion spat back at them, “must do so now.” The hunter reached out toward Marisha, seizing her hand as he had before. With his torch and the woman in tow, he sped off down the hall.

Torin’s gaze whipped back to his chief seneschal, only to be blocked by Darinor, whose billowing robes seemed to fill the narrow corridor like a windblown curtain. Lest he be wrapped in their folds, Torin retreated a few steps, still straining for a final glimpse of the city’s faithful steward. When finally he craned his neck at the right angle to find it, he caught sight of the other’s determined nod.