Obsidian (12 page)

The man ignored him and continued talking. “I understand that you are the ones who have protected Trint and Ester for much of their lives. I can’t tell you how grateful we are for what you’ve done.” Behind him, his wife nodded her shy agreement. He continued. “Unfortunately, Kynell has not given us the means to support four children; we can only take care of two. But we know that it must be hard for you to be separated and we want you to know that you can visit Trint and Ester anytime you want.”

Lucio nodded stiffly and Teehma felt tears come to her eyes. Why couldn’t they just take Trint and Ester and leave? Why did they have to make it so emotional?

As if reading her mind, the man stood. Trint, sensing what was about to happen, ran to Lucio and hugged him fiercely. Lucio, trying to appear as grown-up as possible, patted him on the back. But Teehma could see that he was biting his lip so hard it was bleeding. Somehow the good-byes were made, then the two young ones were gone and only Sirin remained with them in the front parlor.

“Well, then,” he said briskly. “That’s two down and two to go. Not bad for a fortnight’s work, eh?”

Later that night, Lucio vented his full wrath.

“To the Chasm with Sirin! To the Chasm with those two strangers! To the Chasm with everybody!”

He would not be calmed, nor would he be diverted from cramming everything he owned (i.e., that Sirin had given him) into a canvas bag. Teehma had tried every means she could think of—even being nice—to slow him down, but he wouldn’t listen.

“Lucio, just calm down. You heard Sirin. We can go visit them tomorrow if we want.”

He stopped packing just long enough to glare at her. In his fury, his speech degenerated into its roughest form. “Why? So we can sip tea an’ talk about how we ain’t good enough to be adopted? Maybe we can tell Trint an’ Ester about our chores while they tell us about how that woman tucks ‘em in at night and sings ‘em lullabies!”

“So what’s your great plan then? Are you going to kidnap them? Is there room for them in that great big sack of yours?”

“Don’t be a
narfat
, Teehma.” He slumped onto his small cot. “Those two need a home; they ain’t strong like you an’ me. Besides, they’ve already forgotten about us.”

Teehma slugged him hard across the arm. “They’ve only been gone a day! You think they’ve got the memory of a swamprat?”

“No.” He rubbed his arm, deflated. “But they’re happy now. They’ve got to be.”

“So why are you packing? If they’re happy, maybe Sirin will find a home for us, too. Maybe we’re not too old.”

He shook his head, slipping into his characteristic fatalism that was so infuriating. “There’s nothing left for us here. Sirin won’t find us homes an’ even if he did, we wouldn’t like ‘em. Our only hope is to leave before he separates us.”

Teehma crossed her arms. “Well, I’m not going out there to starve again. We may not like it here, but at least we won’t freeze to death.”

Lucio stood up and moved to the window, where he pressed his hand against the glass. “We won’t freeze. Hiverra is almost over; autore is pretty much here.”

“So?”

The look he gave her was as resolute as all his twelve cycles could manage. “I’m leaving, Teehma.”

“Not tonight, you’re not.”

“No, maybe not tonight. But in the next few days, soon as I come up with a plan. Then I’m getting out of Lascombe, even if it kills me.”

Teehma kicked at the empty air to vent her frustration. In truth, she felt just as trapped as he did. “Let’s be sensible. Where would we go?”

“Probably east. Away from the city, that’s for sure. I could work on a farm somewhere.”

“And what would I do?”

He shrugged. “Cook. Clean. How should I know what women are supposed to do?”

She almost slugged him again, but given his depressed state of mind, she restrained herself, settling on a haughty tone. “This
woman
can do farm work just as well as you can, Lucio.”

His response was to take his clothes back out of his pack. Then, he pulled out a slate that Sirin had given him.

“So what do we do first?” he asked.

“First, you should learn how to read and write. Then you’d be able to get more jobs. But since we don’t have time for that, we’ll have to start by smuggling food out of the kitchen.”

CHAPTER
NINE

They were out of the marshes. After fording the Ergana, which formed the eastern border of the wetlands, Telenar and his company turned north toward the Duvarian foothills. In a few days, they would be at a good location for the Keroulian soldiers to return to Lascombe, if they so desired.

On the morning of the third day out, Amarian was returning from a walk with Bedge when he noticed that Telenar had drawn Vancien aside and was speaking with him quietly. As he drew closer, he saw the distress in his brother’s manner; it looked as if Telenar was conveying some unpleasant news. Not bothering about their privacy, he introduced himself to the conversation.

“A beautiful morning, isn’t it, priest? Vance, Bedge missed you on our walk today.”

As if on cue, the fennel kit said, “Bedge wanted Sir’s brother today! Bedge almost brought down small running beast, but Sir said no.”

Vancien looked distractedly at her, then at Amarian. “Good job, Bedge. ‘Ian, will you excuse Telenar and I? We’re in the middle of something.”

Amarian felt a flare of irritation. “I’ll be happy to dismiss Bedge, but I’d rather stay, if you don’t mind.”

Much to his annoyance, Vancien looked to Telenar for approval. The priest nodded. “It’s all right, Vance. This concerns him, too.”

“Now,” Amarian continued after having sent Bedge off, “what’s this all about?”

When Telenar made no effort to explain, Vancien responded. “Telenar thinks that we should return to Lascombe and help Corfe.”

“Help Corfe? Why?”

“Because he’s a young man in great need of help,” Telenar cut in. “Soon he’ll be sending innocent soldiers out to confront Zyreio’s forces and he has no idea how to fight them.”

“He can’t fight them.”

“Yes,
we
know that, but he may not. If he sends innocent Keroulians out to meet Obsidian, they’ll be massacred. So I’m hoping that maybe he’ll listen to us and proceed with caution.”

“What about going to the Eastern Lands?” Not that he was in any great hurry to go back there
again, Amarian reminded himself.

“I can’t pretend to predict the movements of Zyreio’s forces. But Lascombe is as defensible a city as any in Rhyvelad. If we’re going to make a stand against Obsidian, that’s a good place to do it. And Corfe’s troops, though not able to defeat with Zyreio’s whatever-they-are, may at least hold them off.”

“So what about Vancien and me? I don’t think Corfe is ready to see us, nor we him.”

Telenar cleared his throat, adjusted his spectacles, then cleared his throat again. “The presence of the two Advocates might cloud the issue. If Corfe believes that I am allied with you, Amarian, Kynell only knows what might happen.”

“I can’t leave him behind,” Vancien interrupted.

“I know that, Vance,” Telenar responded. “Corfe thinks you’re dead, anyway. From what Amarian told us, he may have seen your body before Amarian fled to the marshes. So I think you and your brother should lie low.”

Amarian snorted, stung by the reminder of his defeat. “And where should we do that?”

“Listen, unless you have Kynell’s faithful behind you, you are both vulnerable, to Corfe as well as to Zyreio. Vance, if indeed you are the only one who can call the faithful, then you
must
stay alive, no matter what happens to us. And Amarian,” Telenar turned an unkind eye toward the convert. “I presume Kynell spared you for a purpose. It’s best to keep you alive until we find out what it is.”

“So where should we go?” Vancien asked shortly. He did not approve of Telenar’s tone.

“That I don’t know. Somewhere close enough to be helpful but out of Corfe’s range.”

Amarian couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Where did the priest get off ordering the Advocates around?
They
were the gods’ chosen, not him. “So you expect us to go hide in a hole until you call for us?”

Telenar clenched his fists. He had meant what he said: he presumed Amarian was still alive for a reason, but how simple life would have been if Vancien had slain his brother, instead of the other way around! “All I know is that Corfe needs better guidance than what he’s getting. And that your presence in particular, Amarian, would not help the situation.”

“Have you told your pretty wife about this? How will she bear to let her pet out of her sight?”

“Enough, ‘Ian!” Vancien interrupted. “Telenar, is N’vonne all right with this?”

“I told her last night. She knows you’ll be close, so she’s fine. The plan is that we will all go through the Pass together, but once we get close to Lascombe, we will find a place for you and Amarian to stay. Still,” he hesitated, looking back towards his tent, “a word from you would encourage her.”

Vancien took the hint and left to speak with her as Amarian eyed the priest with open disdain.

“Think you can fight our battles for us, do you?”

“I mean to do the best I can, for as long as I can. One hopes that, given the grace Kynell has shown you, you would do the same.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of my baby brother.”

“Vancien can take care of himself. Just see that you don’t start relying on your own strength instead of Kynell’s.”

The same could be said of you, old man, Amarian thought but did not say. Instead, he went to find Bedge.

__________

Gair left at dawn, just as he had been ordered. During the first fortnight of his journey, the weather was as forgiving as it could be. Hiverra melted away, allowing for the first inroads of autore. The terrain was also pleasant. The road heading east out of Lascombe ambled through Keroul’s richest agricultural region. Gair’s company could see the farmers out testing the condition of the soil and preparing the fields for planting.

Despite the tranquil scenery, the company was tense. The three Gair had chosen were good men and good soldiers. This last quality was no doubt the cause of their apprehensive mood. Gair had told them about their mission when they departed, and not one man among them relished joining a losing battle, or worse, discovering a massacre. Who knew what they would find when they made it to the Kingdom of Ulan? The last days of a siege? A pile of dead Ulanese? A kingdom in ruins? One thing they did know for certain: they would be facing a supernatural enemy whom they had no idea how to fight. These considerations subdued even Ragger the munkke-trophe, who had managed only three solid days of bitter complaints before retreating into a silence.

After sixteen days of hard riding, the Wall came into sight. They had just come out of a wooded copse and rounded a bend when there it was, running from north to south like a second horizon. Gair sucked in his breath at the sight of it. Alric’s Wall, so named after the Ulanese king who built it, was a testament to the dark periods of Rhyvelad’s past. A hundred cycles after the beginning of the second Obsidian era, Keroul and the Kingdom of Ulan were immersed in a bitter war. Yet even in those dark times, some countries were less given over to evil than others. Keroul, in particular, was known for its sporadic resistance to the Obsidian despots. The remnants of Prysm followers would often try to flee there, including those among the Ulanese; King Alric therefore built the Wall not just to keep the Keroulians out, but to keep his own people in. It was a grim project promising a future of misery and captivity for those whom it affected. Despite frantic attempts to stop it, the Wall continued to rise to its present, awe-inspiring height. Such blatant containment worked for many cycles, until the Ulanese trapped in their own kingdom eventually caused so much internal dissension that Alric’s son, Osgard, had to resort to the most horrific means of subduing them. It was a massacre of catastrophic proportions. Many Keroulians had even feared that the Ulanese had died out behind the great stone edifice. When Erst defeated the Obsidian Advocate, Nejona, ushering in an age of freedom, one of his first tasks was to send a Keroulian force to break down the gates of the Wall and liberate Windrell, Ulan’s great capital city. For the past five hundred cycles, the gates to Ulan and Windrell remained open, allowing trade between the two former enemies to flourish.

As imposing a sight as Alric’s Wall could be, it was not what drew the eyes of Gair’s men. It was the smoke rising from behind it that caught their attention. And the noise. They had heard the distant clang of battle as they drew closer, but the trees had broken some of the sound. Now, as they stepped out of the thick wood, the horrible cacophony hit them in full force: inhuman screeches, howls, and shrieks piled on top of each other as if each were competing to be the first over the mighty wall. A wave of sound washed across the field, buffeting whomever it encountered. So chaotic was it that it seemed impossible to distinguish the victims’ voices from those of the victors, if the victims’ voices could be heard at all.

It took a moment for Gair to notice something else, something more immediate: the mighty gate that served as Ulan’s portal to the outside world looked different. Digging out his range glass, he tried for a closer look. Where there was once a gate, there was now a crude pile of boulders that completely covered whatever opening there may have been. King Relgaren’s concern had been well-founded. The Ulanese had been out of contact because they were trapped in their own city! Gair wondered how Farlone had made it inside; the gate must have been walled in after his arrival.