The Sons of Hull (11 page)

Vancien still could not move, nor did he want to. The pain in his chest seemed to radiate into his stomach, his arms, his legs, and even his head. He lay there, eyes closed, not caring if he was alive or dead. When he finally did open his eyes, he saw the worried face of the priest staring down at him.

“This is him, Chiyo!” Telenar was saying. “Kynell be praised; we’ve found him!” Vancien did not bother to ask what he was talking about; instead, he slipped helplessly from consciousness.

But the oblivion could only claim him for a few moments.

“Vancien pa Hull!” The name, more like a command than a label, brought him immediately back to himself again.

“Vancien!” Telenar called again, gently shaking his shoulder. “That is your name, isn’t it?”

Numbly, Vancien nodded as he sat up. The cold in his chest was still there, burning and freezing at the same time. By now, though, it had at least receded from the rest of them. “My chest.”

“It’s the Destrariae.”

“Yes,” he whispered, “I know what they are. I’m beginning to hate them.”

Wondering what the young man had already been through, Telenar leaned back on his haunches. “They saved your life.”

“They have a nasty habit of doing that. Who are you?”

“Telenar pa Saauli, Patronius en medio. The other man was General Chiyo, my friend. I sent him for help.” He stopped, eying his new student. Most of him still could not believe that he had found him and in such an extraordinary fashion! To have both Advocates revealed to him at the same time was a wonderful confirmation of his work, if a little unnerving. Amarian pa Hull, for now he knew their names, had been roughly what he expected him to be: a man eaten out by evil, cunning, pale, even skeletal. But this Vancien, Kynell help him, looked like just a regular kid. He was robust, if a little on the short side, with sandy, non-descript hair that appeared chopped, rather than cut. He also appeared recently orb-burnt, since his skin was glowing with an unnatural shade of red. Still, Telenar doubted he’d ever seen a more welcome sight. “I’ve been looking for you, young man.”

As Telenar spoke, Vancien staggered to his feet. Despite this priest’s obvious joy at his arrival, he couldn’t shake the image of Amarian. “My brother. . .is he gone?”

Telenar nodded. “He came to keep you from me and from your fate. Thank Kynell he failed in both.”

Vancien rubbed his head vigorously. The cold seemed to have numbed his brain. “I don’t follow you.”

“I’m sure you don’t. But you will. You are Kynell’s Advocate. And I am here to train you.”

__________

Vancien was dumbfounded at the thought of being Kynell’s chosen, but his new life at court was sufficiently busy to keep him from contemplating his fate in much depth. He staggered from meeting to meeting with an air of a man lost at sea. Telenar seemed to want him to do everything at once. He met the king, which was awkward. He met the king’s family, which was even more awkward. In what was perhaps the most boring forty-five minutes of his life, he sat in on a session of the Square as they debated increasing import taxes on alcohol-based products. Through all of these encounters, he reeled from a mix of amazement, confusion, and grief. He had never been in a town larger than his own Win, South of the Glade. To be in Lascombe, surrounded by towering buildings and towering personalities was both overwhelming and exciting. One day, when he could catch a few moments to himself, he hid in the antechamber to the men’s garder-robe (a fancy word for a waste house, he had learned). The small room was painted bright green, with two padded benches and three water pumps for washing one’s hands—another trick he was told he had to learn. The sharp smell of the cleansing oil gave the room a medicinal feel, but still, it was the only place where Vancien could get some peace while admiring, if only for a moment, some of the clever details of the palace.

For Telenar had insisted that he stay next to himself, in the priest’s hall, which was situated on the south side of the huge building called “the palace.” Vancien learned quickly that the palace was more than just the king’s residence; it was the central bureaucratic and ecclesiastical hub of the city, followed by the Square, which was right next door. The palace housed hundreds of residences and offices and was always subject to activity, even in the dead of night.

As for the priest’s hall, it was literally a long corridor with several suites leading off from it. Vancien had first set foot in the corridor when he was following General Chiyo to meet Telenar. Though he had been worried at that point about the turn events were taking, the hall’s lighting had caught his eye. It may seem odd for Vancien to wonder about lighting, but perhaps not when all the lighting he had ever known was candles and torches. The priest's hall, though it was well lit, had neither candles nor torches. Along both walls of the corridor, which were fronted with a sort of waxed timber, stretched a tube of glass, about five inches tall. Inside the tube was a narrow line of continuous flame, burning low and gently, filling the area with cozy light. Periodically along the tube, a narrower glass tube would shoot straight up along the wall and disappear into the ceiling. Vancien guessed that this was to let out the smoke, but he had still to figure out what it was that made the flame burn in the first place. How much better it would be to talk over these things with N’vonne, who had a knack for mechanical things! How much of the palace he wanted to show her, from the triangular central courtyard filled with lush foliage and man-made water features to the “chutes,” which let in orblight to the interior offices of the palace, rooms which otherwise would have been kept in the dark throughout the day. These thoughts caused him such pain, however, that he quickly shoved them aside. Up to a few weeks ago, N’vonne had been the only person alive who was family to him, excepting Naffinar, whom he rarely saw. Now they were both gone; N’vonne, especially, would never be able to offer him guidance or comfort again. It was a gut-wrenching truth that he preferred not to think about.

Fortunately, Telenar kept the distractions coming fast and furious. If Vancien had loved books before, that love was tested under Telenar’s tutorship. Every day, it seemed, he was in the study chamber, reading histories and pouring over charts of information he never knew existed. Surely, he thought, there was more to being an Advocate than reading.
A Chronicle of Kynell’s Interventions
he could understand, but
Eighteen Ways To Cross the Trmak Desert
? If Telenar had his way, he would have to read every scroll in the scriptorium. Thank Kynell for Chiyo.

The general had insisted that an Advocate be skilled in warfare. Consequently, after his early studies, Vancien spent his mornings in the ring, learning to thrust, parry, duck, and dodge, both on foot and on a voyoté. Exhausted, he would then stumble in for a noon meal, then back to the scriptorium with an armload of Rolin’s
Commentaries on the Rhyveladian Past: From the Planting to the Third Era
. His new instructor would often meet him with penetrating, irritatingly repetitive, questions.

Today was no different.

“Good afternoon, Vance!” he hailed as Vancien entered. Vancien’s left arm was dangling limply at his side—a parting gift from Chiyo. With a grunt, he dropped into a chair. “How are you, Telenar?”

“Fine. Chiyo driving you hard, is he?”

Vancien eyed him sitting smugly across the table. The man must surely enjoy seeing him suffer. If Telenar had not been a priest, and if he didn’t wear spectacles, he would have considered inviting him into the ring for some lessons in empathy. “Hard, but not unbearable. What do you have for me today?”

Telenar leaned forward, eager to test his new pupil. “We’ll start easy. Give me a brief synopsis of the three eras, with dates and names.”

Vancien opted for the bare minimum. After all, Telenar was not N’vonne—he deserved no special obligation. “Lost: Tryun and Grens. The first cycle. Lost: Varrin and Heptar, cycle 540. Won: Nejona and Erst, cycle 1080. Won: Vancien and Amarian, cycle 1620.”

Telenar let him have his joke, then shook his head. “Overconfidence can kill. So can sarcasm. Try again.”

Vance obediently began a second time, though he kept his monotone. “One cycle after Zyreio corrupted Rhyvelad, Kynell decided upon the boundaries for this new evil, which he nevertheless did not destroy. So he established a timetable, wherein the power of one would reign for ten thousand score mornings and evenings, or 540 cycles. Brothers were chosen to fight this battle, for only in fighting his brother could a man’s faith truly be tested. The power of Advocacy was therefore never sought and often reluctantly accepted.

“Tryun and Grens were the first of combat. Tryun was the eldest and chose to serve Kynell. He did so faithfully, but Grens was evil from birth and Zyreio poured all of his might into him. Rhyvelad’s first era was dark indeed. The darkness deepened with Varrin and Heptar, for Varrin slew Heptar the morning after Dedication. At the end of the second era, the fates of Nejona and Erst were kept secret from them. They both led quiet, uneventful lives before the Dedication, though those who knew Nejona knew he could not be trusted. He chose the path of evil for himself. The opposite was true for Erst. Their Dedications were separate, and neither brother knew his enemy until Nejona was slain in a duel he instigated. The truth was not revealed to Erst until afterwards, and despite this, he took up the reins of power well. This ushered in an era of light, which produced great monarchs, such as Ruponi, Natanya, and our own Relgaré.”

“And Verial?”

“She was a captive of the first battle. Zyreio admired her beauty, so he preserved her youth and stole her freedom. It is said that she has been the unwilling mistress of every Dark Lord since.” Vancien allowed himself a laugh. “Every Prysm Advocate has made it his duty to rescue her; Erst came close, but Zyreio retreated before he could succeed.”

Telenar raised an eyebrow. “I take it from your manner that you have your doubts about Verial?”

“I haven’t given it much thought. And if Tryun couldn’t save her with his power, I don’t have a chance. My focus should be Kynell, not some girl.”

“You are right in that, although I wouldn’t underestimate this ‘girl’. Perhaps if Tryun and Heptar had focused more on the mission, they would have succeeded. So let’s move on.”

The young Advocate held up his hand to stop him. “Before we do, I have a question for you.”

“Of course, Vance. What is it?”

But Vancien had turned nervous. He held his tongue, fingering a scroll in front of him, requiring Telenar to ask again what it was that he wanted. Only then did Vancien blurt out, “I was just reading Rolin’s
Commentaries
, and he has an index of Advocacy powers.” He paused for a sheepish smile. “Listen to me. I sound like I’m citing livestock accounts.”

“You’re also avoiding the issue. What did Rolin say?”

“He said that through all three eras, Kynell’s Advocate has been given three gifts: the gift of a protected life until the battle, the gift of the Destrariae, and Grace.”

The young man stopped again and Telenar had to urge him forward. “Yes?”

“Can—can you explain again to me what a Grace is?”

Telenar took off his spectacles and began to clean them. This was an easy question. “It is nothing short of resurrection, Vance. At the final battle, the souls who served Kynell rise up and fight with the Advocate—the same, of course, is true for Zyreio’s servant. But to protect those who would help the Advocate until the Dedication, both Kynell and Zyreio have appointed their servants a Grace. If one of your comrades has fallen, he can be raised up before the battle to aid and comfort you. Obsidian’s Advocates rarely use this gift; it’s not often that they value their servants highly. But it’s different for the Prysm, and I must tell you, Graces have been used very unwisely in the past. I believe it was Heptar who raised up his father, who then turned against him. One must be very careful with this gift; people rarely die without reason.”

Vancien glared, annoyed at his instructor’s brutal honesty. “And sometimes they just die.”

Telenar’s tone immediately softened as he recalled the Sentry encounter. “You’re right, Vance. Sometimes they just die.”

An awkward moment followed as Vancien considered how to voice his thoughts and Telenar considered how to change the subject. They both spoke at once.

“I want N’vonne back.”

“Have you begun your next read—what did you say?”

Vancien stiffened, ready for a fight. “I want N’vonne back.”

Telenar tried hard to be understanding. “I know you miss her. But a Grace is very important. One must not be used unwisely or during intense grief. Your friends are at peace now, but I can see their memory still haunts you.”

“N’vonne is the only mother I’ve ever had. Not only that, she is brave and wise. If I’m really going to be an Advocate, I need her help.”

“No. It’s too early and you don’t know what will happen down the road. Once they are brought back, there is no guarantee that they will survive until the battle. I know it’s hard, but we should wait.”

With a scrape of his chair, Vancien rose abruptly. “You can wait. I’m bringing her back.” He strode to the door before adding, “I know you think I’m being foolish, but I need your help. If I’m going to do it, I want to do it right.”

“Vance—”

“Please, Telenar. Trust me on this.”

Hands up in defeat, the priest rose as well. “Then follow me to the chapel. We will need to seek Kynell’s wisdom.”

CHAPTER SIX

Inasmuch as he was capable, Amarian loved a late breach season night. The cold winds and the bitter air seemed to vent frustrations for him. Those who offended him on a late breach season night were fortunate compared to those in autore: the howling gales slaked his thirst for vengeance and softened his bite.

This dark night, he prayed to Zyreio for a stronger storm than the one that raged inside. How could he have been so stupid? What kind of a child’s trick was it to slam doors and tell lies to boys? To the Chasm with Telenar, that meddling priest. He should have executed both him and the soldier; then, at least, Vancien would be alone. Now the boy was under a Patroniite’s leadership and growing stronger by the day. He sighed. All was not lost. Zyreio had warned him not to make a move before Dedication. Now that he had done so and failed, he would merely have to settle for preparation of the battle to come.