The Sons of Hull (12 page)

As his booted feet sounded upon the castle’s entry, the Sentries snapped to attention. Ignoring them, he made his way through the narrow corridor and into the great hall. Keroul was not the only country in Rhyvelad to be a seat of power. The Eastern Lands were Obsidian’s stronghold, protected on the west by the Trmak Desert and shielded in the east by the sea. They had become a refuge for Zyreio’s followers, driven out of Keroul over the past five hundred cycles. As was his right, Amarian had occupied Donech, the capital city of the Eastern Lands, although in truth it was really no more than a formidable castle. The “people” of Donech were no more than the troops Amarian kept, along with their clinging families, if they had any. The Eastern Lands were not like Keroul, nor like the territory of the West. They had no major cities, no hubs of commerce. Amarian preferred it that way; in the past several cycles, he had even made it a policy to raise the taxes insufferably should any town begin to rise above its neighbors. Better to keep all Eastern settlements looking to Donech for protection and wealth. For all that, the lands themselves were quite beautiful. Except for a blustery breach season, the weather was temperate, if very windy, and the soil was so rich in minerals that cultivation was easy. It did not serve Amarian’s purpose for his people to starve. He required a high level of tribute, certainly, but saw to it that his subjects were comfortable—indeed, he desired them to be so proud of their quality of life that they saw little need for improvement. Dissatisfaction only made them less accessible to him.

Two Sentries opened the massive door, announcing his entrance. They were all there: clan chieftains, prideheads, and the five Sentry princes. Pounding their spear butts, swords, and mauls, they stood to greet him with a barbaric mix of fear and devotion. The chamber walls, burdened with dark tapestries and freakish statues, provided a haunting frame for this grisly company.

The chieftains sat at the far end of the tables, as they were the weakest and most prone to failure. Like all humans, they had a propensity toward evil and these few with their clans had followed it with abandon. Still, their skin was penetrable and their minds not always sharp. They were useful, and most importantly, expendable.

The fennel prideheads came next. Of all the three
galthis
, they alone had chosen to serve Obsidian, mostly because of their desperate need to feel rebellious. So Amarian was not surprised to see that, as they rose, they glared at him. Only half as large as a voyoté, their size was not remarkable, yet Amarian knew that little else on Rhyvelad matched their feline intelligence and agility. Theirs, too, was another gift: they could withstand the Destrariae.

At the head of the table sat his most effective servants. They also surrounded the room, standing faithfully by each door to watch for treachery. Sentries: five tribes of competent, vicious, powerful reptilian beasts all committed to serving him. The Mholi were the most numerous; their strengths consisted simply of terrific physical stamina. The Urabi were night creatures and their ability to sink into any shadow (or make shadows sink into them) made them useful for gathering intelligence. The Aknat and Iu worked well together in battle: an Aknat could disappear for several breaths at a time while an Iu’s speed dispatched the bewildered enemy. Often they patrolled in pairs, one disappearing while the other attacked, or one attacking and disappearing while the other distracted the prey. Finally came the smallest and most efficient tribe, the Neptim. It was a Neptim that Amarian had sent to capture Vancien, for he trusted their intelligence and endurance. Tsare had been one of the best. Unfortunately, the attack of the Destariae was unexpected, although Amarian should have guessed that they would venture outside the Glade to protect an Advocate. If he had wanted to send a Sentry to die, he would have sent a Mholi.

All of the Sentries were armed with leathery skin, ridges of impenetrable scales, the infamous claws that tapped seconds before their attack and, most importantly, steadfast loyalty. Occasionally a human or a fennel would take it into his head to rebel and the Sentries could always be counted on to set them straight. As might be expected, such lessons were very painful.

He eyed them all with disdain until his gaze fell upon the woman sitting by his throne. She was beautiful, that one. Zyreio had certainly chosen well. Amarian had insisted that she wear a white gown for this evening’s meeting—he enjoyed the disparity. What was life without contrast? he reflected, then laughed inwardly. Contrast. That was why he was here.

She was watching him. Her blue eyes sparkled at his presence, he knew. Why wouldn’t they? He was the first Obsidian Advocate not to force himself on her. The others were fools to make her their captive; her hostility only made her a knife poised at their back. Besides, meddling in the flesh was not his concern right now.

By the time he ascended the dais and took his seat, the welcoming clamor had been replaced by an expectant hush. Even the humans, normally chatty, maintained their silence. None knew the specific instances of his failed ambush, but all knew that questions about the recent past were best left unasked.

“Lord,” the prince of the Neptim began, rising humbly to his feet. “We are all gathered here as requested.”

“Thank you, Tarl.” He gestured for everyone to be seated, then leaned over to Verial. “You look radiant.”

She nodded. “As you commanded, lord.”

“Have the humans been troubling you?”

“No more than usual.”

“I will kill any who do.”

“So you’ve said and done.”

This quiet parley was made without eye contact and none but the two heard it. The rest of the hall waited patiently while host and hostess examined the food placed before them.

“I saw my brother.”

“I guessed as much, lord.”

“I failed to bring him under my control.”

Verial wisely kept silent as he continued. “But Corfe and an Urabi are watching them now. Ranti’s not pleasant company. I wonder if Corfe will be of any use by the time they come back.”

He watched for the quick blink of her eye and was not disappointed. More than 1,600 cycles of watching death’s handiwork and she still occasionally felt pain for others. Amazing.

The company was trying its best not to fidget hungrily, so he made them wait a few moments more. Then with a nod, he ordered the food to be brought in. He was always careful to finish his meal before they began theirs. Watching the Sentries and fennels eat was an unpleasant experience, even for him.

When all had finished and the humans were scraping the last of their plates, Amarian rose. “Edgar!” he commanded, causing the eldest chieftain to stand. “What is your count of armed men and women?”

“Twenty-two thousand, lord. With another seventeen hundred ready by Dedication.”

“That is good news. And the fennels? Where is Ssarb?” he looked down the table for the familiar gray face. Another feline had risen in his place.

“Ssarb was killed today, lord,” it began, only to be cut short.

“Killed? By whom?”

Its yellow eyes narrowed as only a fennel’s could. “A gryphon, lord.”

Amarian grunted. Ssarb was not easily replaced. “And who are you?”

The creature nodded its head respectfully. “Koeb, Darkness. His firstborn.”

“You are brave, Koeb, to tell me such news as this.”

The fennel’s hackles raised imperceptibly, but his tone was even. “I
am
brave, lord. You are wise to have such a servant.”

Wretched felines. He would kill it for its arrogance, only the prides were growing slim, thanks to the gryphons. Every creature was needed for battle. Judgment for insolence could be given later.

“Your count, pridehead?”

“Seven hundred, Darkness. Another forty will be ready by Dedication.”

“Then that leaves you, Tarl.”

The Sentry’s voice was raspy at any time, but compared with the silk of the fennel’s, it was almost unbearable. “We have lost none since our last meeting, lord. Except one.”

Amarian gritted his teeth; he didn’t need the reminder. “You should all know that the Prysm Advocate has joined with the priest from Lascombe. Telenar is a threat. He knows much. Corfe and Ranti are with them now. The rest of you will continue in drills and patrols. Our time to move is not upon us. We must wait in patience until then.”

A few more commands, then Amarian gave control of the meeting to Tarl and left with Verial. Soon, they were in the quiet of his chamber and he could feel her trembling. Holding her by the hand, he leaned close. “I have a special assignment for you, my dear.”

She did not speak.

“Go to Vancien.”

Surprised, she stepped back and looked at him. Her locks shone golden in the candlelight, making the sight of her so beautiful he almost recalled his words. But dalliances would get him nowhere.

“Go to Vancien, beauty, and steal his heart. If there is anything that can distract a young man, it is you.”

“You are joking, lord.”

He admired her courage, but she was wasting time. “Have you ever known me to joke? You leave tonight. Edgar’s son, Gair, will escort you. Once you are in Lascombe, Ranti will watch you to make sure you perform well.” He began to pace as he plotted the strategy. “You will appear to Vancien as a lady-in-waiting, a seamstress, or some such lowly thing. He will, of course, instantly fall in love with you. Or lust, which would be better. But tread carefully, my dear. He will not be easily distracted from Kynell. Once his attentions are yours, you may do with him as you please. I have no doubt an innocent young fellow will provide a nice change for you.”

Her face was a stone. “Of course, my lord.”

“You are there as a distraction, Verial. Nothing more. I have spies enough, but I will check in on you from time to time. Any information you learn, particularly about his site of Dedication, I would be grateful to hear.”

“My lord flatters me, to consider his servant so useful.”

Raising her hand to his lips, he managed to catch her eye. “Tell me, Verial, do you love me or hate me?”

Her gaze was level and her answer honest. “I believe I am beyond both, lord.”

“It is just as well.”

__________

N’vonne had never slept so well in her life. Now, as she awoke, she wondered how long she had been in that wonderful dream world. Or was it a dream? If it was, it was hard to let it go. But there stood Vancien, tears glistening in his eyes. Why was he crying? Had she been ill? Had something happened to Naffinar?

“Welcome back, N’vonne.”

“Vance?” She sat up. “Vance, what happened? Where are your uncle and Revor? Why are you crying?”

“Shhh,” he soothed, gently pushing her back down. “I will tell you everything in a moment. But first,” He sat back, admiring Kynell’s power. There was not a scar on her. When they had brought her body back, he had had his doubts, for several weeks of disfiguring decay had set in. Now, she was as fresh as on the first day of their journey. He would have taken complete joy in this moment, if only he didn’t have to tarnish it with his tragic news.

“Did you sleep well?”

“I slept beautifully, but—”

He nodded, undecided about how to tell her. His nervousness must have shown, for she asked, “Vancien, what happened to Naffinar and Revor? Are they all right?”

He took her hand. “They’re dead, N’vonne. A Sentry attack.”

“Gracious Kynell!”

“And you were dead too. But not anymore.”

“I don’t understand.”

Vancien sighed, wondering how to best go about it. He had so much to tell, but where to start?

Telenar saved him the effort. Coming from the corner where he had been watching, he sat across the bed from his student and looked gently at the woman. With auburn hair encompassing her pillows and pale face fresh with new life, it was not a hard task.

“Lady N’vonne, we are pleased to have you with us. I am Telenar pa Saauli, Patronius en medio.”

His voice was calming, as was the sleep that was beginning to reclaim her. “Telenar. I have heard your name before.”

He smiled. “Naffinar may have told you about me. The old fellow knew what he was doing. Vancien has been found.”

“Yes, I remember he wanted you two to meet. What do you want with Vance?”

She very much wanted an answer, but as Telenar answered, his words became indistinct and soon she lost hearing of them altogether. Breathing softly, she descended again into sleep, only this time she dreamed dreams of the living realm instead of the dead.

When she awoke the next day, Vancien was still by her side, but Telenar was nowhere to be found. She wondered if he was merely a figment of her imagination, but when she voiced her thought, Vancien only laughed.

“He can sometimes seem that way. Telenar is very hard to nail down. At the moment, I believe he’s in the chapel, praying for guidance.”

“Guidance for what?”

He stopped smiling and his voice took on a haunted quality she had never heard before. “It’s time I tell you everything, before you fall asleep again. Are you well? Do you think you can walk?”

She nodded and he called in her attendant. Soon, instructor and student (in roles now strangely reversed) were in a garden, strolling among the redcups and blooming yarva vines, breathing in the fresh air. He told her all that had happened since she left: about the Sentry and Sirin, Lascombe and Telenar. He kept nothing back, for she must know everything. As he spoke of his Advocacy, her eyes widened, but she was not surprised.

“If an Advocate must be chosen, you are the only candidate I can see.”

He flushed, stammering on to a vivid account of Amarian’s appearance. Shuddering, she heard of Amarian’s hollowed face and his attempt at fratricide. Shuddering, he spoke of the power of the Destariae and how they had saved him again.

“They are a gift,” he replied when she asked about their aid. “One of the three gifts of Kynell’s Advocate. The second is protection from death—at least until the battle. The third has already been used.” He looked meaningfully at her.

“Me? How am I a gift?”

“You are a Grace, N’vonne. Telenar says that all faithful souls will rise to help me at the great battle. But one of them may rise up before that time. I will need your help and wisdom, so I asked Kynell to call you back. And,” he flushed again, looking hard at the ground. “I missed you. I wanted to show you Lascombe.”