The Sons of Hull (19 page)

__________

Corfe had watched Vancien leave his friends, following him as discreetly as he could; he was rather displeased to note that the Sentry was following him. The abominable Urabi were remarkably unsettling, as they were hardly ever visible. In the mountains, even the telltale click of their claws was muffled by the snow. He had tried his best to forget the unsavory creature—a strategy that worked only long enough for him to be startled anew when Ranti reappeared every few days. He sighed quietly, aching to rub his hands in the cold but wary of attracting the attention of Vancien, who was only a score paces away. Not that Vancien appeared easily distracted. The young man was staring at the stars and mumbling to himself. A prayer, no doubt. Corfe raised an eyebrow. If Kynell were paying attention, what would the god of the Prysm say to Amarian’s right-hand man witnessing this private spiritual moment?

Why would you care what Kynell thought?

The unwelcome voice boomed inside his head and for a moment Corfe wondered whether Amarian had acquired telepathic abilities. It sounded like his master, but there was something else, something even darker, if such a level of darkness could exist.

It can.

Was that his own voice? Or was Ranti speaking in his ear? He shook his head to clear it, but the words felt like they were burning into the back of his eyes. He would have cried out, if he had a voice.

Look at him. What you see is not peace. What you see is weakness. Look! He shudders at my night sky and cannot bear my biting cold.

Involuntarily, Corfe thought to himself, “
I
shudder at your sky.”

But to his relief, the voice had gone, leaving him to continue his lonely mission.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

When Vancien returned, Telenar was awake, allowing N’vonne to sleep as he sat protectively beside her. He looked up as Vancien came in, his face glowing with more than just the reflection of the fire.

“I am sorry I snapped at you, Vance. Have a seat. You must be freezing! There’s some dinner left.”

Vancien gratefully accepted the peace offering, and after biting into the meat, looked inquiringly at his chatty mentor. “Did you miss me?”

Telenar laughed nervously. “Of course. But we—I—both of us, er, that is N’vonne knew you were in Kynell’s care and I happened to agree.”

Vancien nodded thoughtfully. “How’s her shoulder?”

Telenar started. Amidst all the vistas that had opened up to him since earlier that evening, he had almost forgotten about the incident with the sheetrock. “It was a simple dislocation—it popped into place quickly enough.” His brow furrowed. “I was sorry to have caused her such pain, though.”

So vulnerable was Telenar’s demeanor that Vancien was tempted to pay him back for the past several weeks of surliness. But his better part won out, though he couldn’t resist an accusatory question. “So what went on afterwards?”

Telenar nervously poked a stick into the fire. How much did the boy know? “Nothing
‘went on,’ as you put it. We talked.”

“Uh-huh.”

Was Vancien teasing him? He looked sharply at his young charge. If Vancien had been opposed to the match, then there would have been no question: his own attachment for the lady would have had to take second place. Awkward as it may be, he had to know. “Judging from your attitude, I conclude that you are of aware of a mutual interest?”

Vancien could not stop a laugh. “How could I not be? You haven't been the same guy since she woke up!” He shook his head. “No, I saw this one coming a while back. You’re good for each other, as long as she’s okay with it. Besides, in a little while, I won’t be much company.”

“I assure you I have been completely honorable and will continue to be so.” Then Telenar quickly switched gears as he realized what Vancien had said. “‘A little while? Why do you say it like that? Do you feel something coming?”

Vancien shook his head. “No, I don’t feel anything. That’s kind of why I’m suspicious. Before, I felt bold and confident. Now, so many doubts are attacking me that it can be only one of two things: either I’ve finally realized that this is all child’s play or Zyreio is purposefully weighing heavily on me, trying to distract me.”

Telenar’s silence was thoughtful and not a little impressed. Kynell was becoming clearer in this boy every day. “Which do you think it is?”

Vancien didn’t have a straight answer, so he didn’t offer one. “I don’t know, but we’re going to pretend like it’s the second option and keep on going.”

“That could be all he’s asking of you. . .at the moment.”

“I hope so, because at the moment, I think that’s all I can give.”

__________

Travel for the next few weeks proved uneventful. Before long the small party could see the foothills with their soaring pines, broken only by small, dim clearings. The days, though growing warmer, were also getting wetter as hiverra began to give way to the early rains of autore. Despite the daily soaking, however, the three travelers were in cheery company. In front of them was freedom and warmer weather; behind them, the Duvarian Range loomed, many of its threats exposed and overcome. Perhaps the old Range welcomed the departure of such undaunted guests. Whatever the case, it did nothing to stop them as they squelched their way down to lower altitudes.

It would be dishonest to say that Vancien participated in the excitement of the season to the same extent as Telenar and N’vonne. The two lovebirds were caught up in their own world, which consisted chiefly of quiet moments, spontaneous laughter, and occasional rounds of poorly hidden angst. It was this last demonstration that Vancien found especially hard to stomach. Whenever one party registered an offense, the other would engage in a half-hearted attempt to forget the crime, all the while sulking until the offending party pleaded first for explanation, then forgiveness, then restoration. Until all three were requested and granted, the day was tense and decidedly unpleasant. As a further complication (though Vancien was ultimately grateful for it) neither Telenar nor N’vonne felt that it was appropriate to share their concerns with him. He consequently went from beloved son and student to distant outsider in a matter of minutes as they privately worked through their personal struggles. Fortunately, such brooding only lasted a few hours. The tiffs, if that is what they may be called, never extended from one day to the next.

For the rest of the time, both N’vonne and Telenar were excessively thoughtful toward each other and toward him. The love growing between them had apparently opened up channels of affection neither one of them had known existed. N’vonne now embraced Vancien openly, telling him repeatedly that she loved him as a son. Telenar, meanwhile, reiterated how grateful he was that Kynell had sent him such a smart, easy-going Advocate. Encouraging as all this fondness was, it was a little upsetting. Vancien found himself taking more and more walks by himself in order to think, pray, and give them some space.

One night, after a day’s heavy rain had lifted, the two romantics were being particularly sentimental, making Vancien the unfortunate witness of many secret glances and chaste blushes. Telenar was simply going out to collect firewood, but the way they carried on, it looked as if he was venturing forward to slay a dragon.

“Maybe there’s a reason priests often remain single!” Vancien finally groaned. “How can you serve Kynell if you can’t even focus long enough to get firewood?”

Telanar stopped mid-hug. “I’m sorry. Are you volunteering to go fetch it?”

Mildly annoyed, Vancien jumped up. “Well, sure! I did it last night and the night before, but I could use the exercise.” Ignoring Telenar’s sincere protests, he marched into the thin trees to look for fallen timber and hopefully a water supply. The wood was easy enough to find, but the search for a stream took him beyond hearing range of the camp. Soon all around him was quiet. There were no settlements around this area. In Vancien’s time, Rhyvelad was still a young and thinly populated world, much of it undiscovered or unsettled. Thus it was possible that he was treading upon tree roots that had never yet felt the foot of man. It was a strange thought.

As he went, another worry began to turn his stomach. The past few days, Vancien could feel the atmosphere getting thick with the tension of the coming Dedication. The very air seemed to take on an electric force, as if particles of sky were deliberating about whose side they should take on the day of battle. Every flower appeared to have a dark side to him, as absurd as that sounded. Though the increasing presence of evil did not scare him for his own sake—his day had not come—he knew that Obsidian would only be too happy to strike at Telenar and N’vonne. Especially if that Corfe fellow were still following them. Suddenly, finding a water supply did not seem as important; they had enough to last through the evening and into the morning, anyway. After gathering up an armful of kindling, he started to hurry back toward the camp.

Just a few resolute steps later, he heard a faint sound drift across the melting snow. He stood still, listening. It sounded like a human, possibly a woman. She was crying. He shook his head, dismissing the interruption as the beginning of Zyreio’s tricks, and resumed walking. But the crying nagged at him: the lady did not sound hurt, but she definitely sounded upset. He found himself wondering why a woman would be alone in the sparse snowy woods, crying. Had she been abandoned? Bereaved? Finally and inevitably, he departed from his path and plunged in the direction of the voice.

She was by a stream (this he noted with detached irony; good thing he had brought a bucket) and she was indeed alone. Gently setting down the bundle of wood, he took a few cautious steps toward her.

The crying was not contrived. Ever since Gair had been so unnervingly kind, Verial had been sobbing uncontrollably—in her view, at least, which amounted to a normal woman’s occasional tears. Still, her sobs intensified as he approached; she hated the trap she was about to lay and knew her tears only lured him further. But what could she do? This was the only way to save Gair, although he had told her before he left that he did not fear Amarian. But he was very naïve. Kynell’s powers of protection were uncertain and foreign to her, while Amarian’s cold ability to extinguish anything good and alive was all too familiar. Earlier the habit of detachment had helped her, but this time she knew such a safe reaction could not be relied upon: the very thought of such a fate for Gair made her tremble. It was for him that she cried as Vancien respectfully drew near.

“Excuse me?”

She heard him, but did not respond. For the ploy to work, she must not appear too eager.

“Ma’am? Er, my lady? Are you all right?”

He was now only a few feet away, looking at her with a mix of concern and impatience. He kept glancing over his shoulder as if he had to get back to something. Slowly, she pulled herself together and looked fully at him. He seemed so very young. How could such a child carry so much responsibility? “May I help you?” she finally said.

Vancien drew back, disconcerted. “No, I just thought that
you
might need some help.”

Her laugh was hollow, giving Vancien the unmistakable impression that she considered herself beyond anyone’s help. Well, he did not have time to find out. N’vonne and Telenar were waiting.

“I’m sorry to disturb you. I heard crying and thought I could be of some assistance. If you’re all right, then, I should be off.” He turned to gather his things.

Verial jumped to her feet, taken aback by his abruptness. “You’re leaving?”

Vancien did not stop, but answered over his shoulder. “If you’re okay, there’s really no point in me staying around. I must get back to—”

Her mind raced. He couldn’t leave! What would happen to Gair? And beyond that, her vanity was a little bruised. She was good enough for four Dark Lords and a few Prysm Advocates. What was this boy’s problem? The crying had obviously failed; perhaps she should change strategies.

“Don’t leave so quickly. Please. I have indeed lost my way. Perhaps an able young man like yourself could guide me?”

Blushing at the compliment, he stopped and turned. “I am sorry to hear of your trouble. Where are you going? Perhaps I can point you in the right direction.”

Where
was
she going? Not to Lascombe—he had just come from there. And there were no villages around here for leagues. She had to go in his direction, but where was he headed?

Jasimor
.

She shook her head at the sudden mental intrusion. Was that her own voice or someone else’s? “Maybe I should ask you where you are going? If it is along the way, we could walk together.”

Vancien noted the woman’s anxiety. “We’re actually not going anywhere in particular. Just out. Anywhere away from Lascombe.”

“You crossed the Duvarian Range just to go ‘out’?”

“Look, miss, it’s hard to explain. I’d better get going.”

Miss? What happened to “my lady?” This stripling could use some manners.

Jasimor!

Whose voice was that? It sounded like Amarian, but it wasn’t. Amarian was powerful, but he could not project his thoughts into people's minds. That only left—no, that couldn’t be.
He
never spoke directly to anybody. He used the Advocate as his mouthpiece. Why would he suddenly start talking to her now, after all these cycles?