Blackveil (19 page)

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Authors: Kristen Britain

Tags: #General, #Fiction, #fantasy, #Epic

BOOK: Blackveil
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She’d thought maybe his love for Karigan would fade over time. She’d sent Karigan away on errands to keep them apart, hoping he’d turn his attention to Lady Estora, perhaps even forget Karigan, but from the way he now studied her every move, it appeared Laren’s efforts had fallen short.
It was not malicious intent that caused Laren to thwart any blossoming romantic bond between the two. On the contrary, she wished only for Zachary’s happiness, but as a king, his happiness was secondary to the needs of his realm, and his realm needed him to marry Lady Estora for the stability and continuity it would bring his reign, not to mention how it would reinforce the loyalty of the eastern provinces.
Should Zachary discard Lady Estora in favor of a commoner, the breach of the betrothal contract could wreak untold turmoil, even civil war, the last thing they needed with Second Empire building up its forces. It was vital Sacoridia remain strong and united.
There was the possible threat to Karigan, too, that concerned Laren. So much was riding on the betrothal for some factions that they’d do anything to see it through.
Anything.
If Karigan was identified as a distraction that kept Zachary from fulfilling his duty to Lady Estora ... ? No, Laren couldn’t allow it.
Elgin touched her sleeve. “Look!”
Laren tore her gaze from Zachary. In the practice ring, Karigan’s opponent moved against the rhythm they’d established. He cut his sword at Karigan’s knees.
Almost faster than Laren’s eyes could perceive, Karigan hopped back and smashed his sword out of his hand.
“Hah!” Laren exclaimed, clapping.
Drent looked surprised, then pleased. “Well, well,” he said, and he left to work with another pair of trainees.
Karigan herself appeared bemused, and her opponent plainly shocked, as he gazed at his empty hand.
Zachary was already striding away, his cloak billowing behind him, a Weapon following at his heels.
“I think, perhaps, it was time I proceeded to my meeting,” Laren said. Just as she finished speaking, the bell down in the city began to peal out eleven hour. She hastened away from the practice field with Elgin hurrying beside her. “Was there something else?” she asked him.
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about the training of the young ones—”
“I think Mara and Ty would be your best help.”
“Ty is who I wanted to talk about.”
Laren halted. “Ty? What about him?”
“Too much etiquette.”
“Too much ... ?” Laren almost laughed, but Elgin’s expression was serious.
“Not enough combat and riding,” he said.
The last strike of eleven hour faded away. She was late. “Chief, please address this with Mara. I’ve got to go!”
“But—”
“I’m sorry!” She hurried toward the steps of the main castle entrance, hoping he would talk to Mara. Ty was a natural in many ways when it came to training new Riders, but she also trusted Elgin’s experience and wisdom to know when something could be improved.
Etiquette, eh?
It did have its place, but she’d rather her Riders be capable of defending themselves in a fight. Osric was very capable, but it did not help him in the end. Still, she wanted her Riders to have every chance possible.
As she entered the castle, she wished she could forget etiquette and call upon her combat skills in some of these meetings she had to sit through, but unfortunately, etiquette and her wits were the only weapons she was permitted.
A CONFRONTATION
“I
volunteer myself,” Laren declared, unable to cool the heat in her voice.
Her pronouncement was met with shocked silence.
“Absolutely not,” Zachary said seconds later, and the others at the table murmured in agreement.
“I will not command my Riders to do something I’m not willing to undertake myself. I will go in their stead. Do you not think me capable?”
Zachary looked taken aback. “Captain, I should think Blackveil would tremble to its very foundations just to imagine you crossing its borders, but I dare not risk you.”
Laren thought the heat of her anger must fairly radiate throughout the meeting chamber. “Are my Riders so much less important that you dare risk
them
in this manner?”
“Do you think I don’t know what it means to send them into Blackveil?” Zachary retorted. “They are
my
people, too, Captain, and it is no easy thing for me. I believe, however, you and your experience best serve your Riders
here.
”
“I must agree,” General Harborough said from across the table. He was a blocky, thick-necked man, and he needed to shift the whole of his body in his chair to look at her. “It is the lot of commanders to send their troops into battle.”
Laren knew they were both right, but why did half the company going into Blackveil have to consist of her Riders and not others? The company would only number six individuals to match the six Eletians going in, but still, three Riders meant half the contingent.
Of course, more than anyone else she knew why. Green Riders were most suited for this kind of mission, with their ability to work independently, and their experience as scouts. No doubt their special abilities would prove helpful in dealing with the forest. But with one of her Riders freshly dead and her grief still raw, it was a hard thing to choose others to head toward so uncertain a fate.
Lord Spane cleared his throat. “Perhaps the captain does not feel her Riders are up to the task.”
Snake!
Laren thought. From the mouth of one who had never faced an ounce of danger himself, and who would not think twice about squandering the lives of those who served him.
But it was Lady Estora who reproached him. “Richmont, you speak out of turn. The Green Riders are capable beyond your imaginings.”
If anyone should know, it was Lady Estora, and Laren bowed her head in thanks to her. The lady nodded gravely in return. Lord Spane’s mouth narrowed to a thin line but he made no retort.
“Let those who go be volunteers,” Colin said.
“They will
all
volunteer,” Laren replied.
“Then you must use your discretion.”
This was not particularly helpful advice from the man who oversaw the Weapons, whose motto was
Death is honor!
In any case, she’d known it would come down to her to decide who to send on what could very well be a suicide mission. She sighed, knowing who at least one of those Riders would be.
Old Castellan Sperren shook himself as if waking from a nap. “What of the wall, sire?” he asked. “You’ve got that book about its construction. Shouldn’t we forego this expedition and use the book to fix the breach?”
Everyone looked to the king.
“It is not so simple,” Zachary replied.
“Has the translation not yet been completed, then?”
“It is done.” Zachary pressed his hands flat against the tabletop and rose. Everyone stood with him, but he gestured that they should remain seated. He opened the chamber door, gave some quiet instructions to someone outside. He remained standing, but in silence, his hands clasped behind his back.
It was not long before a page returned bearing a manuscript tied with a leather thong. The boy placed it on the table and left.
“You see before you,” Zachary said, “the translation of the book of Theanduris Silverwood, his account of the creation of the D’Yer Wall.”
A swell of excited murmuring arose from the king’s advisors. Zachary raised his hands to quiet them.
“It is the only true account we know of that survives,” he said. “Ever since the wall was breached, we have bemoaned the loss of secrets, the loss of craft. Even the D’Yers could find little about the wall’s making in their own archives. Lord Fiori of Selium was unable to find anything useful, either. Much knowledge of the arcane was purged following the Long War, for anything, and anyone, associated with magic was despised and deemed evil. So while written records failed to survive the ages, spoken histories failed as well.”
“How did this one book survive?” Colin asked.
“Here and there oddments of our magical heritage can be found,” Zachary replied. “But the Silverwood book? It is hard to know its history, except that if you were to look at the actual volume, you would find its pages blank, and it would have appeared as nothing more than an unused journal. But despite appearances, the book does contain copious writing, and it speaks not only of magical things, but is itself an object of magic. There is only one place, for instance, where it can be seen for what it truly is and be read.”
He did not mention that the only place the book could be read was in the light of the high king’s tomb. The tomb of the
current
high king, who was Zachary. Down below, in the halls of the dead, a sarcophagus already awaited him.
“And so in this one place, our translator strove with the words of Theanduris Silverwood to draw the story out of the book. As a thing of magic, the words were often volatile, and our translator found himself in the care of menders more than once.”
Poor Agemon,
Laren thought. Agemon was the chief caretaker of the tombs and fluent in many archaic tongues, including Old Sacoridian. Since the tombs were forbidden to all but royalty, Weapons, and caretakers, the duty of translation fell to Agemon.
“I don’t understand,” Lord Spane said. “How could words injure someone?”
“It is not easy to explain,” Zachary said, “except that there are spells woven into combinations of words or letters, or in the ink, or even in the way a letter is written. Just reading a sentence can create an unpleasant reaction. And not all words are read, precisely. They are presented in a very ... visceral manner.
“A great mage of Theanduris Silverwood’s caliber might have read the book without harm, but it still would have taken a while to decode the spells. Our translator did this at great personal risk in service to his king and country. The copy he made for us—” Zachary tapped the manuscript “—retains nothing of the magic from the original, and so is safe to be read. It is ordinary paper and ink.”
It was just as well, Laren thought, that if the original was so dangerous it could not be read anywhere but in a forbidden place like the tombs.
“It is impossible to know what became of the book,” Zachary continued, “after Theanduris Silverwood died, except that it eventually made its way into the private library of a collector of arcane objects, a Professor Berry. He himself is long dead, and his estate obscure, located somewhere in the depths of the Green Cloak Forest. It was from his library that Second Empire found the book and stole it. They brought it here in hopes of translating it themselves.”
“Please, sire,” Colin said, “do not keep us in suspense any longer. Have you read the translation? What does it say?”
Zachary smiled. “Yes, I have read it. More than once. More than twice. I learned much about the construction of the D’Yer Wall.”
Laren felt the excitement building in the chamber, her own hope surging.
“I have learned from my reading,” Zachary said, “that it was perhaps a good thing that all other records of the wall were purged so such a feat could not be duplicated.”
Excitement turned to confusion.
Zachary placed his hand on the manuscript. “Not only were the words written in the book volatile to readers, but as mere language, they describe a bloody time in our history. The book corroborates what Riders Alton D’Yer and Dale Littlepage have been able to find out about the wall’s construction. Thousands upon thousands of magic users were sacrificed to the wall. Each granite block, every mortar mixture, was fed the blood of people, and their souls sealed in the wall to remain guardians of it for as long as it stood.”
This revelation was met with silence, and Laren could tell the others didn’t quite grasp the enormity of it, except maybe Lady Estora, who paled. Laren had been privy to Alton’s and Dale’s reports, but nevertheless shuddered to hear that the book confirmed all those sacrifices took place.
“It required the destruction of so many lives,” Zachary said, “during a time when the realm’s population of magic users was already hit hard by war and plague and persecution. In fact, for those opposed to the existence of magic, the building of the wall served the dual purpose of protecting the lands while ridding the world of even more magic users.

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