Obsidian (15 page)

Their concern was unnecessary. Once Corfe heard of their presence, he showed himself just as eager to meet with them as they were to speak with him. They were not in the room twenty minutes before a respectful knock sounded at the door, followed by the presence of a very well dressed, very polite servant.

“I’m so sorry for the intrusion,” he began, staring at the floor. “Please allow me to show you to some more appropriate chambers, where the Lord High Advocate will see you.”

Telenar flinched at the exalted appellation, but the three of them followed the servant, who never once dared to raise his eyes, down a maze of hallways. After what seemed like an endless walk, they found themselves in familiar territory: the king’s antechambers.

Telenar gave a low whistle. “I guess what we heard was true. Corfe is in it up to his ears.”

“In what, may I ask?”

They turned to see the young man himself. He had been sitting in a chair just inside the entrance. Now he strolled over to them, obviously comfortable in his royal surroundings.

Telenar could not hide his distaste. “You shaved your head. Do you think that makes you more spiritual?”

Corfe spread his hands expansively. “So good to see old friends. . .or old enemies, whichever the case may be. What brings you under my roof?”

“Your roof? I think you mean the roof of the house of Anisllyr.”

Corfe acknowledged the rebuke with grace. “Well said, Patronius. I serve Keroul and all Kynell’s people now.”

Telenar bit his tongue. He had not planned to open with hostilities, but as usual, the words just came flying out of his mouth. Corfe, meanwhile, invited them to sit and ordered an attendant to bring in some refreshments. “You look as if you’ve come straight from the marshes.”

N’vonne smiled, hoping to inject some sort of geniality into the conversation. “Almost. It’s been a long journey. We’re thankful that you’re willing to see us.”

Surprised and grateful for her tone, Corfe directed his full attention toward her. Despite his polished appearance, it was easy enough to tell that he had lost several hours of sleep recently. “And how have you been, Lady N’vonne? The last I saw you and your company was in the foothills of the Range. I believe that you
did
proceed from there into Cylini territory?”

N’vonne hesitated before she answered. They had agreed beforehand not to pretend to acknowledge Corfe’s advocacy, yet they were walking a fine diplomatic line. How much could they say about Vancien and Amarian before they lost Corfe’s ear? She opted for a subtle digression.

“We did have the privilege of meeting the Cylini. They are a good people; King Relgaré, may he rest well, might not have given them their due.”

Corfe laughed out loud. “I agree with you. I have learned many things since Kynell touched me and one of those is that he created all living beings with strengths and weaknesses. Even the Sentries,” he waved a hand toward the windows and the courtyard beyond, “have their place.”

Chiyo had been quiet up to this point. Now his curiosity got the better of him. During his time in Lascombe with Vancien, he had noticed that some Sentries had indeed changed for the better. “We had heard that the Sentries were employed in your service. How is that working out?”

Corfe relaxed even further. The conversion of the Sentries was one of his favorite topics. “Kynell’s service, General, not my own. For the most part it has been a success. The key has been to know the limits of the men. They have a lot of understandable prejudice against the Sentries. Kynell knows that
I
spent enough time with them while under Amarian. But as long as we content ourselves with gradual integration, things go along just fine.”

He leaned back in his plush chair and watched them. He was very curious as to why they had come; surely the priest Telenar would blurt out the reason soon enough. The man seemed to be sitting on pins and needles.

He did not have to wait long. With an irritable wave of his hand, Telenar cut off Chiyo’s next question. “We are all curious about how you’ve been managing your affairs, Corfe, but we don’t have time for digressions. Do you know why we are here?”

“You came to acknowledge my advocacy?”

N’vonne and Chiyo glanced at each other but Telenar gave a short bark of laughter. “Hardly. We are grateful to Kynell for your healing, but you surely know that we do not consider you the Prysm Advocate.”

Corfe nodded. He had expected as much. “Then what brings you here?”

“Your scouts have informed you of the Eastern army?”

“Yes. They are from the Chasm. Amarian must have called them out.”

Telenar shook his head. Corfe would never believe that Amarian was not the enemy until he saw it with his own eyes. Better to focus on what he
would
believe. “Amarian did not raise them. Zyreio must have done it.”

Corfe paled, though he tried to appear unmoved. “Zyreio? What makes you say that?”

“Because Amarian is. . .” Telenar fiddled with his sleeve, uncertain how to proceed. “Amarian thought that Vancien was the Advocate. We saw him several months after your battle. He was still in the marshes. Your scouts must have told you that the army is already in the east and potentially moving west. Why wouldn’t Amarian have called the army to himself and struck at you from west of the city?” He paused, waiting for an objection but hearing none. “Having slain Vancien, Amarian considers his job done. But for some reason, Zyreio is not satisfied. We believe that his forces will strike at Lascombe, since it has always represented Kynell’s presence on Rhyvelad.” He stopped. That was close enough to the truth.

Corfe was silent. Telenar’s report confused him. Had Amarian been so convinced of Vancien’s advocacy? And if so, believing that he was victorious, why was he not setting up his rule? Was the priest telling lies? He couldn’t fathom any reason for Telenar to come into what he might consider enemy territory to spin such a story, unless Telenar had somehow allied with Amarian. But even if that were the case (which he doubted, even of the priest), the presence of the Eastern Army was indisputable. What would Amarian, through Telenar, gain by helping Corfe defeat Keroul’s most serious threat? Surely preparing for a Chasmite army without a head would equip him to fight Amarian, whenever that situation might arise. In the end, he had to shrug. No matter what Obsidian force was coming his way, he wanted to be ready.

“I owe you gratitude for this new piece of information. It seems Amarian may not be the immediate threat that I thought him to be.” Then he nodded graciously toward N’vonne. “And my belated condolences. Vancien was a fine young man. I’m sure you’re still grieving for your loss.”

Telenar responded before Corfe could notice N’vonne’s startled expression. “There’s more. We’ve come to help you fend off the Easterners, but you should know that, without Kynell’s risen forces, you’ll only be able to stave off the inevitable for so long.”

Corfe winced. He hated to expose his weakness, especially to Telenar. “Kynell will grant me success in due time, I’m sure. Even you must admit,” he continued with a grim smile, “that, with Vancien gone, I’m your best chance for an Advocate.”

Ignoring the theological absurdity of the comment, Telenar looked at Chiyo, who shrugged, and then at N’vonne, who raised her eyebrows as if to say, “Let’s get this over with.” With the small encouragement those two reactions provided, he cleared his throat.

“Vancien is alive.”

“Excuse me?”

“Vancien is alive. He’s camped close to here, where we can communicate with him.”

Corfe shook his head. “That is impossible. I saw his body. And I know what dead bodies look like.”

“You did see his body. He
was
dead. But now he’s alive and willing to meet with you, if you desire.”

“How can he be both dead and alive? You’re not making any sense, Patronius.”

The look Telenar gave him was not unkind. After all, it had not been that long ago when the same young man had sat in his office. He had tried to pass himself off as an Advocate then, as well. “I fear that your education in the Ages has been scattered and rushed. You know just enough to get you past the current situation, but have never taken the time to delve deeper into their mysteries. If you had, you would know that every Advocate is granted a Grace—the power to bring someone back from the dead. That is what happened to Vancien. He
was
dead. But he’s been restored to life.”

Corfe could not believe what he was hearing. “And who brought him back?”

“I think you know the answer to that question. Who’s the only one who could?”

“No. No, no, no. I don’t believe it.” He rose, mystified and offended. “Even if such a thing could be done, Amarian would never do it.”

“He did do it. And we have proof. Amarian killed his brother, then raised him up from the dead.”

Corfe was pacing now, still shaking his head. “You don’t understand. Amarian would never do something like that. Never. He hated Vancien, hated him so much that he talked about him all the time. The man was obsessed.”

N’vonne whispered something in her husband’s ear. When he nodded and whispered back, both she and Chiyo quietly excused themselves and stepped outside. This was an issue better handled one-on-one. Her intuition was confirmed when Corfe did not notice them leave.

When they were alone, Telenar leaned forward, trying to catch Corfe’s eye. What would it be like to have a cruel master follow you into redemption? How could you believe that the same god who forgave you would forgive him also?

“Corfe, you must listen to me. The fate of Rhyvelad depends on it. Kynell did a great thing when he healed you. A miraculous thing. And I have no doubt that he is still working through you. But there was a reason Amarian was obsessed with Vancien.
They
were the brothers destined to fight. They did
fight. Vancien lost. And that’s just the first marvelous thing you’re going to have to accept.”

Corfe sat down. “How can I, when it’s so clear that Kynell chose me to lead these armies?”

“Unless you do accept it, those armies of yours will be devastated. And you will have to answer to Kynell for the life of every man, woman, Sentry, and fennel among them.”

But Telenar’s warnings were falling on rocky ground. Corfe returned to his moral pedestal. “What you don’t understand, Patronius, is Amarian’s true nature. Even if, for argument’s sake, he brought Vancien back from the dead, so what? Have you considered that he may have done so with an ulterior motive? Perhaps something that served Amarian and not Vancien?”

The idea had not occurred to Telenar; he shook his head to clear the troublesome thought. “Corfe, he is a follower of the Prysm now, just like you.”

“Ha! Now
that’s
impossible.” Corfe rose again and moved toward the door, as if relieved of a great burden. “Amarian a follower of Kynell? Now I know that you’re more confused than I could ever be. I’d like to stay and talk hypotheticals with you a little longer, Patronius, but I need to be going.”

Telenar rose, as well. “Believe what you want about Amarian, then. You’ll see the truth soon enough. But at least agree to meet with Vancien.”

Corfe had slipped into his earlier, imperious attitude. “You and your party are welcome to join me at dinner tonight. And if you can somehow conjure up Vancien, as well, so be it.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Vancien was twenty cycles old. He had been an orphan. He had lived in a palace. He had kept extended company with a munkke-trophe, traveled
over
the Duvarian Range, lived among the Cylini, battled with a man older than himself, died, and been brought back to life. And still he felt like an amateur.

“Look, Vance, you’re doing it wrong. Didn’t Papa ever teach you to skin a yemain?”

Vancien gripped the knife tighter. “No. He died, remember?”

Amarian ignored the bait. “When you were twelve. Plenty of time to teach you before that.
I
knew by the time I was twelve.”

“Yeah, well, Papa never was quite the same after you left, ‘Ian.”

It was a low but true blow and Amarian could say nothing in response to it. Vancien, meanwhile, wiped the sweat from his eyes and the blood from his hands. He had not meant for it to come out quite like that.

“Sorry. I guess part of me envies your time with him.”

“Well it’s a pity he didn’t teach you how to skin an animal. Here, give me the knife.” He took the bloody implement out of Vancien’s hands and proceeded to divest the woodland creature of its skin. They had been hunting in a thin line of trees not too far from their hideout, which was nothing more than a one-room house outside the city walls. Their hostess, Ming, was an elderly widow who barely had enough food for herself, let alone two healthy men. So in gratitude for her taking them in, the brothers had decided to supplement her diet with some good red meat. Normally, Amarian would have put Bedge on the task but the fennel had disappeared several days before they had arrived in Lascombe, presumably to hunt for herself or perhaps out of wanderlust. Amarian had known her to do this sort of thing, although not for so long. He was beginning to get worried.

As they finished dressing the carcass of the dead yemain, Amarian tried to ignore the unnatural cold over his left shoulder. The Ealatrophe was watching them with idle curiosity. Thinking that Thelámos would attract too much negative attention, Vancien had directed his mount to stay among the trees; the beast had joined them not long after they had brought down the yemain. Though Amarian figured he wanted a piece of the kill, Vancien insisted that he was merely bored. Either way, Amarian didn’t like it. The sacred nature of the creature always made him feel as unworthy as he knew he was.