The Sword of Ardil: The War of the Furies Book 2 (4 page)

“Father—” Luc began, beginning to stand.

Trian caught him by the wrist. She looked the Warden in the eye. He thought she trembled. She was not ready for this. Neither of them was. But something about the pair seated before them made her lift her chin. She was troubled, even afraid, but appeared to trust Ariel. Maybe there was no one else either of them could trust, a scant few others like Rew and Imrail. “I understand what you mean, my Lord Warden,” she managed. “It is difficult to explain. We have chosen not to discuss it, but if you think it best, I will defer to you. You saved my people. Your wife saved me.”

Ivon was looking at her intently—so intently his dark eyes never blinked. Some sudden awareness seemed to spark in those ancient eyes. “You will endure the darkness. And overcome it.” He was gripping the edge of the table. The light of insight was on him. And power. Something in his face suddenly changed. “You are never alone, girl. We will not forsake you. You have the word of the Warden.”

“And the nation of Penthar to back it,” Ariel added.

Trian had pressed her open palms into her lap. Slowly she nodded. Luc cleared his throat, grateful neither had pressed the issue. Suddenly aware of the heat of the Val Moran against him, he realized he was wet from the snow and a thin layer of perspiration. Beneath the table their hands tentatively touched. Lacing his fingers though hers, a sigh escaped him. If his mother and father noticed, they did not comment.

“It’s getting late,” he said, “but I would like to hear about the two of you.”

“Time enough for that later, Luc,” his mother said. “Husband, maybe you should get the fire going and send for our things.”

“I’ll do it,” Luc offered.

“Stay lad,” his father said softly. “Seems your mother wants a word with the two of you.” Ivon stood and looked between them. That look seemed almost fond. More than fond. He left with a low murmur.

The bit of air that entered off the slopes of the lower peaks was crisp and unsullied. Luc missed the days when he had imagined scaling her heights. “Forgive me,” Ariel began as the door closed behind her husband, “for the discomfort.”

“There is nothing to forgive, my Lady Viamar,” Trian said lightly. “I understand.”

“No, you don’t,” she disagreed. “My husband has been nursing his hatred for the Earthbound so long I was sometimes certain he would be consumed by it. He has, however, a tender spot where his son is concerned.”

“Not just for his son,” Trian noted.

Ariel acknowledged the point with a nod and a distant look. A touch of red colored her cheeks. “Yes, I suppose so. The two of them lived here for several years. I, unfortunately, was often absent, splitting my time between the First City and Peyennar when Luc was young.” She took in the old home. “This will be good for us.”

“For all of you,” Trian said with a glance at Luc. He felt her grip tighten.

“For
us
.” Ariel studied her. “You are not the same young woman I met in the Val Moran chapterhouse. That much is plain. Amreal and Ivon were academics before they came into their power. These are the times the wise feared would inevitably come but hoped to live to see. You must understand his caution. Does the name Damross mean anything to you?”

Trian stiffened. “We know it.”

“Then you understand why he was worried.” She held up a hand when Trian opened her mouth to speak. “No, I will honor your request. Just understand the enemy is ruthless and capable of deceit.”

“We are quite aware of it, Mother,” Luc told her grimly.

The look he gave her appeared convincing enough. “Good,” she said. “With that said, there is one thing more I would impress upon you. You have a place here in Penthar. Not only for what you have done for my father, or even our son. For . . . other . . . reasons that may not yet be apparent. Will you come to Alingdor?”  

Trian appeared at a loss. “You are quite kind, my Lady Viamar. But may I ask why?”

“Just Ariel, Trian.” She paused and appeared to hesitate. Finally, she added, “The nation must know you.”

“I don’t understand.”

Ariel shifted. “Neither do I,” she said softly. “But perhaps we do not need to. I have had rooms prepared. My old apartments. They are yours. If the need arises, I hope you will turn to Alingdor. At least consider it. You gave up a great deal when you left your people.”

“And gained more,” Trian said sincerely. “Thank you.”

Luc was uncertain how much time had passed when his father returned with split wood in one arm and a Brendar cask of ale in the other. After he had seen to the fire and the hearth was giving off a steady heat, Imrail entered with Avela and a full band of men behind them. They brought covered trays and baskets that were overflowing. By the time they had decked out the table there was hardly any room to eat. He also observed the floor was in need of a thorough wipe down.

Ivon and Ariel insisted Imrail and Avela join them. Luc did not have the stomach to eat just then, but ran his fork through his plate, choosing to stand. He had been afraid there would be spells of awkwardness. Now he could hardly believe they were here. The three women spoke in hushed tones. Their laughter eased him. Trian fit in with them. He had not worried over it precisely, but at least now he could put his mind to rest. Few questions and no demands. No need to worry over it tomorrow.

They had plenty enough to worry about as it was.  

Ivon and Imrail seemed to get on well enough, too. They knew each other, it appeared. Quite well. Luc did not attempt to listen in on their conversation. For now he just soaked in their presence. Only the occasional thought of the Furies impinged on the moment.

Sometime later, after they had eaten and tidied up, his mother and father turned their thoughts to bed.

“Best I remain, my Lord Warden,” Imrail said. “The boy and I can pull out some pallets and sleep out here.”

“That will be fine, Imrail. Sleep in peace and without fear.” The phrase seemed automatic, some expression out of the dim past. Ivon roughly embraced his son before leaving. He startled Trian—and Ariel—by taking the young woman’s hands in his. There was something uncharacteristically accepting in the gesture.

“He never ceases to amaze me,” his wife whispered. She looked more girlish than he remembered. “Good night, Luc.” She kissed him on the cheek and followed after her husband.

With the pair once again taking up residence in the room they had shared some years back, the four of them were left to themselves. Somehow it seemed fitting that Imrail and Avela were here. The captain gave him an appraising look before filling two tankards from the short cask, handing one to Luc. Neither spoke.

“That went well,” Avela said, stretching. She reached for a bottle and filled two stemmed wineglasses. “You should try this. The Acriel’s best brandy, legendary in some parts. A good thing Riven isn’t here. He prizes the stuff.”

Trian eyed her gratefully. “Yes.” She let out a breath, smoothing the creases in her coat. After a gulp she swallowed and glanced at him. “Well? How did I do?”

Luc knew he was grinning. “You were perfect.” She was always perfect. “Thank you. And I’m sorry you had to—”

She waved that aside. “No need to be. It was nothing. They’re your parents, after all. I think your mother and I will get along just fine.” She was beaming. Radiant in the dim light. After another mouthful, she stood. “Best I turn in, too. Don’t let him stay up too late, Captain Imrail.”

Luc had to grip the tankard to keep from staring as she whisked her way down the hall.

* * * * *

He was up at first light. His dreams had been maddening. Creatures of potency and dread in pursuit. He had woken twice. No, more. The first time it was to a thin sliver of moonlight filtering into the sitting room. He caught the outline of his mother wrapped in a plain robe seated on the floor beside him. He had thrown his pallet out in front of the hearth, the embers giving off just a faint glow now. No sign of Imrail. Ariel Viamar’s head was bowed, but there was no mistaking the glint of tears. She was smoothing his hair. Luc could not stand her tears. They brought him to the point of separation. That would serve little purpose here. Not knowing what else to do, he sat up and took hold of her. She made no protest. By the end he was uncertain who needed it more.

The second time he woke, what seemed minutes later, he was layered in sweat. This time it was the memories. They made his head throb. He knew what it was to be driven, to be unleashed. Some called it Unari. There had been no stopping the force. But the rift that formed, the beings that spawned, the forces compelled to fight. . . . Luc lurched up, panting. He looked around. Again there was no sign of Imrail. Luc was not sure if he truly fell asleep again.

Movement later, some buried memory perhaps, told him his father had risen. The Warden stood staring out the window as the first hint of dawn revealed itself over the snow-capped Mournful Peaks. As Luc sat up, Ivon turned. “Rest well?” the man asked.

“Yes,” he lied.

Ivon nodded. “Good. Well, I suspect it time we speak. You need some instruction. And I would like to know what occurred firsthand when you left to find your grandfather. Start at the beginning.”

Luc rubbed his eyes. “Now?” He supposed now was as good a time as any. The Warden was reputed to be a cold man. Hostile. Antagonistic. Looking at him, Luc was bitterly aware the years had changed him. One night as his father, now the Warden of Ardil fully returned. “If you wish,” he said finally.

As he began the narrative Ivon boiled water for tea. The women, likely awoken by the movement, soon joined them.

Perhaps it was easier under the light of day, which was slowly working its way in. He began with the years spent under Ingram and Master Varel at the Shoulder. They were good men who had pushed him hard. He did not spend long on the subject. He knew that was not what the man had inquired about.

The tale from beginning to end took the majority of the morning. He started with the arrivals of Vandil and Imrail and their insistence that he accompany the Companions on their quest to recover the king, abducted by the Legion of the Earthbound forces, and the Sword of Ardil, taken from the king’s vaults. About a quarter way through Imrail arrived with the Lord Viamar himself. Ariel sighed at the sight of the aged man. He had come in a plain cloak and clothing cut in a conventional fashion. “Father, you should have told me,” she whispered. “You need your rest.”

Eldin Viamar gave her a glare. “The Shoulder is a tomb. Besides, I’m old, not bedridden, girl. And if my daughter is not pleased to see me and spend the morning with me, perhaps her husband might be. Or my grandson.” The Lord Viamar squeezed Luc’s shoulder and took a seat beside Ivon. “Go on, boy. Don’t let me interrupt.”

Luc sighed. He tugged his collar open and continued. As he feared, all that had transpired from the outskirts of Aldoren’s Watch to his ascension on the tower level of the Shoulder continued to take some time. Thankfully Avela and Imrail were able to fill in certain gaps. The room seemed still. Ivon’s eyes darkened at word of the Ardan stalking them in the open streets of the Seaport city, eventually unleashing an all-out assault on one of the garrisons. Both the Warden and the White Rose tensed at the news of one of the Diem’s return from Almara. Luc held to his promise and gave them the man’s message. Neither commented. The Lord Viamar was impressed with the work of the Companions: Imrail using some hidden ability to confirm the return of the Furies; Urian and Altaer trekking to the far north; Lenora Yasrin making dire predictions; Eduin Lars in constant mourning; and Riven speeding south to warn Alingdor an Earthbound city had been found in the far north at the mouth of the Forlorn Wood.

Word of his former brothers and sisters in full possession of the Fallen made Ivon clench his fists. “I warned them,” he whispered.

Luc left Imrail to speak of their flight through Perdition. The clash with the Sypher was news to them. He was not sure what they thought of his decision to make for Peyennar instead of using his father’s gate to return to the capital. They were gripped by the tale, truly. Treating with the Fallen in Peyennar itself, refusing their offer of peace, and then passing through the shadows of the Third Plane to rescue the king. The loss of Vandil and the others hit the Lord Viamar hard, but somehow even he did not appear convinced they had seen the last of the First General.

Imrail concluded the account with the events that had occurred during the Earthbound incursion into Peyennar. Luc went cold at the man’s description of him opening the Shoulder’s gates and confronting the creature known as Razmoen. No one questioned him about the Ruling Rod. Odd, that.

“The Acriel boy?” Ariel said with a glance at Ivon.

She was referring to Rew’s role in the short siege. Luc was not sure if anyone had noticed, but it seemed certain Rew had slipped through the space of a moment, twin knives piercing the Fallen in the ribs. Then there had been a blaze of white light. Blinding light. And a plane of existence no man could reach.

“You did not mention the Land—” Trian caught herself. “You did not mention Edgewood, Luc. Ansifer passed through Edgewood.”

The Lord Viamar nodded. A flash of pain creased his face, gray now. “They had their eye on Peyennar from the start, no doubt. Foolish of me to think it would go unnoticed. The man was convinced he could force us to reveal its secrets. Either the Warden or his son. He would have settled for either, but I suspect he wanted the Warden more. I marked him, Ivon, though I do not think he knew it. It was Sevion.”