Wytchfire (Book 1) (38 page)

Aeko frowned. Crovis had stomped away as soon as the ceremony ended, drawing most of the Isle Knights with him. Only a few—
her
supporters, the youngest and poorest knights of the battalion—remained in the Dark Quarter.

Too few...
Even now, Crovis could be plotting to have her or Rowen—or both of them—arrested. They had to move quickly. But first, Rowen had to understand what was at stake here.

She tapped his sword’s hilt. “Locke, don’t you know what you have there?”

Rowen blinked. “My last employer won it in a dice game. When he gave it to me, I thought it was rusted solid, but—”

“We talked in the garden about the legend of Fâyu Jinn’s burial—how he decreed that he should be entombed in the Wytchforest as a sign of the old alliance between the Sylvs and the Lotus Isles.”

Beside her, Silwren stirred but remained silent.

Aeko continued. “Another part of the legend was kept secret, known only to the highest-ranking Knights—the
name
of Fâyu Jinn’s sword, supposedly entombed with him, the ancient sword made by Shel’ai in the days of the Shattering War.” She paused meaningfully. “Fel-Nâya.” Aeko couldn’t quite decide whether to embrace him or strike him. “Locke, how can somebody this lucky—or this blessed—be this dense? By the Light, you’re carrying the lost sword of Fâyu Jinn himself!”

Chapter Thirty-Two

The Exile, Full Circle

E
verything happened so quickly afterward that Rowen could hardly catch his breath. For two days, Aeko and her most trusted Knights kept Rowen hidden, shifting him from inn to inn, from Lyos to the Dark Quarter then back again, so that Crovis could not find him. The Knight of the Lotus might have ruined her for that, but Aeko soon found an unexpected ally.

Typherius, the last surviving son of Pelleas, returned from Phaegos to assume kingship of Lyos. The new king—tall and thin with dark, sad eyes—was no great friend to Crovis, who years ago had infamously ordered the near-sacking of Phaegos over some imagined insult. At Aeko’s suggestion, the new king suspended all Isle Knights’ authority within his city. Then, he convened a council to decide the matter. Aeko got word to Rowen. He appeared at the palace for only the second time in his life—this time flanked by Silwren and a dozen of Aeko’s most trusted Knights.

Though Crovis had not been invited, he strode into the hall almost as soon as the meeting began. “For days, this man has hidden from me.” He pointed accusingly at Rowen. “This man, this new Knight of the lowest order, has seen fit to steal a priceless relic thought lost centuries ago! That relic must be returned to the Knights’ Council at once. Likewise, this man’s honor should be investigated with the utmost prejudice—as should those who have vouched for him.” He included Aeko in his gaze.

Rowen bristled, but Aeko rose and spoke in his defense, pointing out the absurd unlikelihood that Rowen—alone—could have breached the great Wytchforest and carried off the sword right out from under Sylvan noses.

“The sword was rusted when it first appeared,” she reminded them. “Now it gleams as though newly forged. Could that not be a sign from the Light that it is to remain in Sir Locke’s possession?”

Crovis scowled, as did the Knights around him. “The sacred sword of Fâyu Jinn cannot rust. To imply otherwise is blasphemy. Besides, I remind you, there are no witnesses to any of this.”

“My former employer, Hráthbam, saw,” Rowen countered.

Crovis sneered. “Convenient that the only witness isn’t here!”

A ripple of laughter filled the chamber. Rowen blushed with rage and shame. Silwren stood and said, “I witnessed this as well. Has the Knight of the Lotus forgotten, or does he merely call me a liar?”

Crovis faced her with strained politeness. “You misunderstand me, milady. I meant no reproach. This is a matter for the Knighthood, and as such, we must make our ruling based on our own laws and precepts, as set forth by the Codex Viticus. Your credibility as the savior of Lyos is not in question. However, the sword of Fâyu Jinn is another matter.” He added in an icy tone, “I trust you will forgive any offense.”

Silwren raised one eyebrow—a simple gesture of malice—but King Typherius intervened. He rose from his chair, and all fell silent.

Rowen studied the grim expression of the man who had been a lesser prince just weeks before, who had ascended to the throne of Lyos only after the rest of his family was murdered.
I wonder if I have the same look on my face.

The new king said, “We are, of course, deeply grateful to all the Knights who bled to save this city. We are also grateful, Sir Ammerhel, for the generous assistance lent by your order these past few weeks in our reconstruction efforts.”

Crovis bowed. “We are your servants, Majesty.”

Rowen fought off a grimace. While relief had come from the Isles, he had already heard rumors that the Isle Knights–under Crovis’s orders—had bled the coffers of Lyos dry as compensation for their slain brethren. The wry look on Aeko’s face told him she was thinking the same thing.

“Even with the battle ended, we face a number of troubling questions,” King Typherius continued. “What to do with the Throng prisoners, for one. Sir Ammerhel insists they should be taken back to the Lotus Isles and held there until they can be ransomed back to the sorcerers. This, in spite of the fact that their revolt against Fadarah and the sorcerers is probably the only reason all of us are standing here today.” He paused meaningfully. “Captain Epheus has already reminded us that they are prisoners of Lyos—not the Knighthood—and should be subject to
our
justice. I agree with him.”

Rowen glanced at the new Captain of the Red Watch, seated and scowling at the king’s right hand, then back to the king himself. Despite the king’s strained smile, he pressed his fingertips against the table so hard his knuckles turned white.
He’s stalling
.

“There is also the question of the sorcerers,” Typherius continued. “With the obvious exception of Silwren, they remain our enemies. Silwren tells me she has sensed the death of what we call the Nightmare, but Fadarah and many of his ilk live on.”

“You need not trouble yourself with them, Sire,” Crovis interrupted. “Without an army or their demon, they pose no serious threat.”

Same thing you said about the Throng,
Rowen thought.

The king continued. “Nevertheless, Lyos must repair itself quickly
and
look to brace itself against whatever future storm may assail us, whether it comes from the sorcerers or the Dhargots.”

Crovis had nothing to say at the mention of the armies from the Dhargoth Peninsula which, according to reports, were sweeping eastward.

“And now,” Typherius continued, “we have the sword of a lost hero, reappeared as though out of thin air. A priceless symbol, a relic from a bygone age. And the great Isle Knights, so wise and learned, squabbling over what to do with it.”

Despite the azure tabard he now wore, Rowen smiled at the king’s thinly veiled rebuke of the Knighthood.

Crovis cleared his throat. “What are you suggesting, Sire?”

“I lack my father’s wisdom, not to mention his temperance. I never wanted to be king. That’s no secret. I would have been quite content to remain in Phaegos.” He cast a pointed look at Crovis. “But I would be a poor ruler if I did not say what should be obvious to anyone with eyes. There are powers at work here... powers I do not understand. I have never believed in fate, but even I cannot deny the impossibility of all these coincidences.”

Rowen winced.
Are these the same coincidences that led to my brother being enslaved, cursed, then given back to me just so I could free him from his misery?

The king said, “I see prudence in the advice of Sir Ammerhel: the sword of Fâyu Jinn should be taken back to the Lotus Isles for safekeeping. But my heart says otherwise.” He paused, letting the Knights bristle. “Once, thinking I would never be king, I spent my time with fairy tales instead of studies. If I recall the legends correctly, Fâyu Jinn decreed that should the Knights ever ask the Sylvs for aid, that aid would be granted. I understand from Lady Shingawa that a previous delegation to the Wytchforest was rebuffed. I wonder, though, if they would be so quick to turn away an Isle Knight carrying the sword of Fâyu Jinn.”

Crovis rose, livid. “Forgive my tone, Sire, but I most strongly disagree. To return the sword to the Sylvs would be a waste. Have you forgotten that they killed the very delegation you speak of?”

Typherius pointed to Silwren. “According to her, your Knights were not killed by Sylvs but Shel’ai disguised as such.”

“Either way, the Sylvs are a treacherous race. They might very well kill any Knights who appeared, thinking they’d
stolen
the sword.”

“Or perhaps they would take them seriously when they proposed an alliance,” Typherius countered.

“
What
alliance? What need have we to ask the Sylvs for help? The war is over!”

Many other Knights grunted their approval. The eyes of King Typherius narrowed dangerously. “It seems I can read a map better than you can, Sir Ammerhel.” He gestured at the table before them, indicating an unrolled depiction of the Simurgh Plains all the way to the Dhargoth Peninsula. “The Dhargots are marching east in droves. The sorcerers are still at large. I’ve asked you before, both privately and in open council, if the Knighthood would pledge to defend its protectorates should the Dhargots sweep this far east… the Dhargots you insisted to my father would prevent the Throng from ever reaching Lyos, I might add. You refuse to answer. In light of this, I’d say you have a rather dubious understanding of war.”

Angry murmurs swept through the chamber. Rowen almost laughed. Then Aeko stood. “With reluctance, I must concur with his majesty. The Dhargots are the true threat now—perhaps more than the Throng ever was. I remind this council that according to Silwren, Fadarah’s plan is and always has been to prevent the Isle Knights from allying with the Sylvs and to use the Dhargots to stir up a war that might sweep across the whole continent until we destroy ourselves. It’s reasonable to question such claims. But to utterly ignore them is foolish.” She hesitated. “Though perhaps I should not be surprised, given who I am addressing.”

The Knight of the Lotus rose to his feet. Some of his fellow Knights started to draw their swords, but Crovis shouted for them to stop. Sir Ammerhel fixed Aeko with a withering stare. “Battle has a way of eroding the senses, even after it’s concluded. Perhaps you do not realize what you are saying. I offer you the opportunity to withdraw your words without reprisal.”

Rowen rested his hand on Knightswrath’s hilt. Silwren touched his arm.

But Aeko met Crovis’s stare with a smile. “Thank you, Captain. I respectfully decline.”

Crovis’s eyes widened. His face flushed, and he sputtered. He took an angry step toward Aeko, one hand on his sword’s hilt, but several of his fellow Knights stopped him. Crovis stomped out of the council chamber, shouting in Shao. Many Knights followed. In their wake, Typherius drew his advisors aside for a hushed, heated discussion.

Rowen rose, leaned toward Aeko, and whispered, “I think you just made a powerful enemy.”

“But I angered him long enough to make him forget you for a moment,” Aeko answered, deadly serious. “By the Light, if you don’t give Crovis the sword, he’ll see that it’s taken from you as soon as you set foot on the Lotus Isles. He might even risk rankling Typherius and taking it from you while you’re still in Lyos.” She squeezed his arm. “You are not my squire anymore. Crovis is your commanding officer. If he demands the sword and you refuse, he’ll arrest you. I am not strong enough to prevent that. Do you understand?”

Rowen looked down at the sword girded at his waist. He looked, too, at his new armor and tabard. “What will happen if I give Crovis the sword?”

Aeko flinched. “He will declare that it passed into his hands by divine providence. Coupled with his capture of what remained of the Throng, his supporters will see him made a hero. Bokuden will not be able to stop him. Crovis will be made Grand Marshal before year’s end.”

“And the Dhargots?”

Aeko hesitated. “I can’t say. But Crovis isn’t so foolish as to commit the Knighthood to a war it can’t win. And he certainly has no interest in an alliance with Sylvs!”

Rowen felt his stomach drop. He thought of how vainly Crovis had ridden from the gates to capture the already-deserting Throng after the Nightmare fell, the demonic figure sorely wounded—thanks to El’rash’lin. Crovis’ decision had left the city ill-equipped to repel the Unseen and Shel’ai attacking it from within, but it had given Crovis an excuse for glory. He thought of Phaegos, which Crovis had pillaged to fill his coffers. What would happen to the Knighthood if a man like Crovis were placed in charge?

Rowen shook his head. “Crovis cannot have the sword. We both know that.”

Aeko eyed him carefully. “Then you must never return to the Lotus Isles.”

Rowen leaned on the table with one hand, trying to clear his thoughts. In the distance, King Typherius and his advisors were arguing. Silwren stood nearby, her expression sympathetic. Around them were those few who sided with Aeko: all Knights of the Crane, veterans of the battle on the streets of Lyos.

“The Knighthood is divided,” Aeko whispered. “We are the weaker side. But I’ll do what I can to make them see reason. You have my word on that.”

“And if they don’t?”

“Then,” Aeko said, “your Knighthood will be stripped from you. You’ll be called an enemy of the order, and all Knights will be honor-bound to capture or kill you, given the chance.”

Rowen eyed the balancing crane on his tabard again. “What if I challenge Crovis to a duel? He’ll have to accept, won’t he? If I kill him...” Aeko’s skeptical look made him trail off.

I wouldn’t last five seconds against Ammerhel.
He clenched his eyes shut, steadied himself, then opened them. “Fine, then. The sword can’t go to Crovis. So I’ll leave Lyos at once. Knightswrath goes with me.”

Aeko touched his arm, sadness in her eyes. “Where will you go?”

Rowen felt his gaze drawn to Silwren. “Where Typherius suggested,” he said without thinking. “The Wytchforest. If Crovis wants to follow me
there,
he’s welcome to try.”

Aeko stared at him. Then she smiled and embraced him. She whispered, “You’re a damn fool. But you’re still the closest thing in this chamber to a real Knight.” When they parted, she waved for her Knights to follow her. As one, they strode out of the hall after Crovis.

Rowen watched them go. He felt incredibly alone.

Silwren moved closer. “I will go with you,” she whispered. Her violet eyes reminded him of El’rash’lin. He imagined how traumatic it would be for any Shel’ai to return to the homeland from which they had been exiled, to say nothing of the risk.

Touched, Rowen was about to respond when the king joined them. Rowen started to fall to one knee, but the king stopped him. “No time for that, I’m afraid. If you’re interested in avoiding bloodshed, I suggest you leave through the rear gates, the sooner the better. Captain Epheus will take the Throng prisoners to the front gates and release them. That should prove a suitable distraction for Sir Ammerhel.” The king wished him luck, but Rowen was too stunned to reply. Typherius left, his advisors in tow—all save Captain Epheus.

The former sergeant faced Silwren uncomfortably. “I have forgiveness to ask of you.”

Silwren smiled. She squeezed his hand. Epheus jumped at her touch but did not recoil. Then the captain said to Rowen, “I almost forgot to tell you. One of the prisoners wants to talk to you. A Dwarr. The one who led the revolt, I think. He says he knows you.”

Rowen stared. He had not dared to hope. “What’s his name?”

“Hugh,” Epheus said. “No, Hewn. I think that’s it.”

“Jalist?”

“You know him?”