The Sword of Ardil: The War of the Furies Book 2 (32 page)

“They saw you,” Lenora said. “Earlier today, just as you set out from the palace. Seems they may be willing to abandon the Guild and negotiate on our behalf. Something Acriel said seems to have stuck.” Pausing, she glanced at Rew. Imrail was leading Avela out by the hand. “One moment,” she said. “There were other messages, Imrail. This one was for Luc.”

His head already spinning, he forced himself to sit, hand on his belt knife. He was cautious about any other news this night would bring. “We met a man who called himself Lins Malden,” Rew said slowly. “He had a message. . . .”

Luc just stared. By the end of the account he was heartbeats away from shattering something. One of the Powers. It had to be. And still loyal.
Not ready?
If the Furies found out he was not alone, they would soil themselves. He did not want them to exercise caution or restraint, though. He meant to find them and face them at their most arrogant. 

 “Maybe we should get ready to turn in,” Trian said carefully. “I doubt there is much more we can accomplish tonight.”

Luc nodded and stood. Perhaps she was right. He had to let go before he found himself becoming wild and unglued. Amreal would have told him so in no uncertain terms. Now whatever he was made even the Warden and White Rose wary. Retrieving his sword, he followed Riven back into the corridor. He was going to have to do something to make it clear he would not be baited. First Eridian. Now Naeleis and news the Powers had answered the call. He suddenly recalled words that at the time had hardly made sense or caught his notice.
Make war, not peace. Bring harm and not only healing.
Back then he had yet to come to terms with who he was, with what he was, and with what he had to do. Now he knew. The time was coming.

After eons of waiting it was long overdue.

A cursory glance into his billet told him Riven
had anticipated virtually all of their needs. Trian’s stood directly across from Luc’s. Her luggage and personal effects appeared to have been attentively stowed and bundled. Taking a longer look into his own billet, he found everything in place and in order. They would need a set of packhorses for the extra clothes the palace servants had delivered, though. Serviceable garments, but hardly necessary and a touch overdone. He seriously considered leaving them behind.

Riven assured him the streets were under close surveillance and that no one would expect them to spend the night here. He had also ensured messages had been sent to the companies making for Ancaida with word they should expect Imrail and Luc’s arrival no later than nightfall the next day. By now scouts were already in place in anticipation of their imminent departure.

“One thing,” the Companion added. Of a height with Imrail, he never quite matched the man’s dominance, but something about him seemed to be changing by the day. It was hard to pinpoint, but the man appeared more decisive; he held himself like a nocked arrow, controlled, on the point of release. “It’s been suggested I consider a permanent posting in the Watch,” he said, glancing at the two of them. “Were you aware of it, my Lord?”

Luc, still on edge, shook his head. “No one said anything to me,” he confessed. “Who offered it?” Riven was one of the few fixtures in his life he was reluctant to part with. He was also one of the most deserving.

Riven crossed his arms, exhaling. “Your mother and Imrail. Both feel the port city will be imperative in the coming months. There are signs it may be time to put down the Lawless as well.”

Something in Trian’s expression made Luc stiffen, something that had nothing to do with Riven. “Harridan, it seems a great honor,” she said. “But no less dangerous than the alternative— coming with us. From what I remember, it’s clear the port city could use the stability. I can think of no one more capable. I can also think of no one we need more. You’ve known Luc the longest. That means something. But . . .” She glanced at Luc. “It’s a task of more than minor importance. If she had the Foresight . . .”

“I’m still obliged to serve alongside the Companions,” Riven said stiffly, looking torn. “Imrail’s going to need me. You will both need me.”

Luc considered it, ice still in the veins. Taking a seat on the edge of the stiff bed, he stifled a sudden surge of annoyance. The Furies knew what Imrail meant to their efforts, perhaps even what the man was coming to mean to him. Unwilling to provoke him directly, they appeared to have moved on to intimidating the few he could rely on. Just what he feared. Just what he would do in their position. He knew he was going to have to take preventative steps. He also knew Imrail was right.

He was not ready.

Realizing Riven was still waiting, he swallowed to rid himself of the acid discharge in his mouth. He could find nothing rational to refute the need. The stability of the realm was no less important than their move south. “The nation needs you,” he said finally. “I’d at least consider it.” The shipyards in Aldoren’s Watch were irreplaceable. A posting in the Watch would have the added bonus of keeping the man within arm’s reach of Alingdor and his mother and father should they need him. After they cleared up matters in Ancaida, he had every intention of sending Imrail home. Until then, one of them remaining behind made sense.

“I’ll think about it,” Riven said after some time. Nodding and moving off with a promise to return, he closed the door behind him. That left Luc and Trian alone for the first time that day. Perhaps in two days. He was not sure. The weeks were beginning to blur together. His mother had seen her off to bed the night before. He remembered that distinctly. Avoiding her eyes, he tried to center himself. The mental exercises his father had taught him may have helped some, but he doubted it. The woman was just too disarming. No wonder Rew and a few of the others appeared noticeably uncomfortable around her. Some part of him was still too accustomed to the isolated regions around the Mournful Peaks where young women were scarce. She at least was used to cities and knew some about relations between men and women. He did not have much to draw on, but knew it was a dangerous thing to appear negligent. A woman noticed what you noticed. And what you did not.

“Help me with this,” she told him, breaking the silence while crossing the room. Unbuttoning her coat, she extending an arm out so he could free her of one of her coat-sleeves. After removing it, she sat on the edge of the bed and unlaced her knee-high boots. Again she signaled him to assist. Watching the pale-skinned Val Moran move was so fascinating he almost forgot he had reason to be angry. He had every reason to be angry. But the days had taken a toll on her, too. Setting her boots aside, he did not anticipate her slipping her arms around his shoulders.

Looking into her dark eyes, feeling drawn into them, he hardly breathed. Even with uncounted leagues behind them, they had leagues to go yet. He should have given some thought to leaving her behind, but knew there was just no way.

“You need to let go,” she told him, faces inches apart.

He dug his head into her shoulder. “I know.”

“If you don’t it will consume you as it consumes
him.
We have every assurance the thought of facing you—facing us—terrifies them. Now we know there is another. I . . .” She hesitated. “. . . I believe there is another.” He froze. He felt her quiver. “I was not entirely honest, but I could not be sure. Now I’m sure.”

Pulling back, he looked at her. It was difficult to focus. He thought he mouthed, “Who?”

She made a face. “I told myself to be honest. Now I have been.” Her lips upturned slightly. “The only thing we can do is wait. You might end up choosing another and leave me a Blade Orphan still in search of someone willing to take my sword.” She said it half-heartedly, still with her arms around him. She inhaled deeply for a moment, then buried her head into his chest. “For now, you should look to your friends. You’ve hardly spoken to them in days.”

Growing more intent, he gripped her arms. “It will never happen.” Maybe whatever was going on with Imrail and Avela was weighing on her. “You sure there isn’t something else?” He felt certain by the slight hitch to her tone there was something else.

He was grateful she did not show any indication of doubt. “I know. As I said, sometimes it’s nice to hear, but we both know this will not soon be over.” She paused. There was an indication of movement outside the door. “First the Warden’s son. Now a king. Don’t let it get to your head. And don’t forget. They will do everything they can to provoke you. Be patient. Events will play out as they were meant to. And I will be with you. Outside of that, there is nothing else. Just one or two things a chaste Val Moran must work through for herself.”

Crushing her to him, he felt a sudden sense of urgency in her return grip, in her heartbeat. A knock at the door made the moment short-lived, though. Grimacing when she pushed herself away, she swayed to the door. Riven looked in indicating the evening meal was ready. Standing, Luc gave the young woman a long look and tried to put down the searing forces churning through him.

Hardly tasting the food, they did not bother to discuss the news that Naeleis had finally revealed himself. Or that Amreal was apparently still out there. Something about Imrail’s sudden decision to seek Avela’s hand made the moment one that left Urian and Altaer in good spirits. Both men had tankards of cool ale that went well with a rich stew. Rew stretched his feet out when he finished. Neither Avela nor Imrail joined them. The small band spoke briefly of the move south but for the most part took in their last night in the First City with some sense of reflection. Urian suggested a hike up to the battlements. Thinking the air would do him some good, he agreed. Trian, seated across from Lenora, gestured for him to go on without her.

Alingdor viewed from the heights of the city wall, by nightfall no less, was a sight he did not think he would soon forget. The hike up to the ramparts took some time. The wind gusted in the heights. To the west Seafarer’s Way made the port city accessible. Alingdor herself was shining under the light of a half moon. The city by starlight was fascinating, the palace compound just visible in the distance, while the Merchant’s Quarter appeared the most active, bathed by the light of open inns and taverns. It was a moment worthy of memorializing their departure. To see Riven, Urian, and Altaer, one would have thought it their first time scaling the walls. Perhaps the magnitude of the city was no less gripping no matter how many times one viewed it. The three men—the five of them really—all having some connection to Peyennar made it a memory of more than minor significance. Urian congratulated him on managing to make it through the last few days. No way to make that grin of his appear anything less than evil. He did not stop with that, though. He issued oaths. Oaths that made Luc grow numb. Riven and Altaer, knifelike in the darkness, echoed the man. Rew for once looked speechless.

They were up on the walls at least a half hour before someone signaled to them from below. “That would be the Warden and the White Rose,” Riven said. Exchanging a quick look with the others, he led them back to the lengthy descent. There was no quick way down, and no support or handgrip to fall back on. Rew swallowed and grimaced but followed directly after Luc. His breathing was noticeably shaky during the descent until they were back on solid ground. The troops hanging at the entrance were a sizable company. It made him wonder if his mother and father had decided to accompany them despite his objections.

Re-entering the post, Imrail stood when he saw them. Avela still not had reappeared and Lenora was nowhere in sight. Kirran waited out in the hall. “Lad,” his father said with a nod. Looking at the others, he still appeared to elicit a tangible aura of power. No wonder the others were a little reluctant to remain. Tonight he wore a dark cloak that appeared to consume the light. Nodding at each of them in turn, the Warden’s eye stayed on Rew a hair longer. Each of them greeted Ivon and Ariel in turn, and no one stayed a moment longer than was necessary.

Luc acknowledged the ancient-eyed man’s look with an expression he knew was just as tormented as it likely had been so many years prior. It was evident they did not mean to stay long. He did not see the others file down the hall to their rooms, but in moments it was just the four of them. No denying the look on his mother’s face. He had seen it before as well.     

“You won’t change your mind?” Ariel asked softly.

In her customary white, she seemed some image out of memory.

Shaking his head, he did not speak.

“He refuses to risk it,” Trian said, hands folded. “You warned us. Now we must warn you. The plans you have made may give you a few weeks of safety, but not much after that. The two of you have been bold. Penthar the most bold. The Stand is still very much in their minds, the remnants of Ardil as well. The will blame you. My advice is to see to the stability of the north and make preparations to protect the city. Do not act needlessly. There will be a time, but this is not it.”

Ariel looked long at Trian, a queen considering the advice of an outlander and a woman some might still look on as a girl. Well, she was nothing near that now. He did not find it even the slightest bit odd that the Val Moran matched the pair’s dignity, and decisiveness. “We will see what counsel the day brings,” was all Ariel said. “We wish you both well, my dear. We will not be staying long. Best not to risk it.”

His father looked at him. His look was not stern, and it was not the look of the Warden. “You’ve done well, lad.” The words came out roughly. Strange with the powerful edge to them. “It appears the time has come. Word is some parts out of the south have heard the news and rumors. Dreams and visions of a menace and a Mark meant to save them. The city is ripe with it. Before the Stand I would have turned away the numbers of men and women trying to enlist. Your grandfather is pleased. You will have thirty thousand more before the end of the year. All the inns are already bursting. I have no advice except to say we are pleased. Amreal would be pleased. Just remember there are some things worth hanging on to, worth holding on to. Your humanity is one of them.”

Ariel stood and crossed to her husband. Joining hands and exchanging a long look, the two eventually turned to face him. He was shocked to see Ivon Ellandor unmasked. Almost broken. His father had finished it in a low, throaty tone. Suddenly alerted, he realized what was coming.
They’re letting me go
.
Again.
Likely the hardest thing either had ever done. “You don’t know why you’re here,” his mother said. “For good or ill, most see it as something straightforward. Defeat the Furies. Face the gathering darkness. Then deal with what comes. Neither of us believes it is that simple. Maybe not even possible. Were Ardil still whole the subject would be one of tireless debate. It would have torn us asunder a second time. A good thing there will be no such discussion.

“Your father and I chose to believe your coming is not just to bring war, but to live, to love, and to learn to lose. These are qualities our enemies would consider weak and wasted, but in the end may prove more valuable than even regaining the Sword. Do you understand? Does
Sirien
understand?”

He sagged. “Mother—”

“You must listen,” she said insistently, stepping forward. “Amreal will not be the first. Your father and I may soon follow. Others undoubtedly will. There is goodness in loss, too. That is part of the beauty your kind cannot perceive. We exist. We persist. This is my one and only command to you, if I have any right to hold such a claim. Will you obey me? Will you remember these things?”