Obsidian (9 page)

Verial bit her lip to keep from shivering. Too late, she began to wonder how he might receive her.

He was getting impatient. “In the name of the king, show yourself!”

The courtyard was well lit that night; no clouds dimmed the glow of triple lunos as she stepped into the light. “It’s Verial, Gair. Do you remember me?”

At first he showed no reaction, except to widen his eyes and loosen his grip on his dagger. Then he drew in a sharp breath and stumbled to one knee. “Lady Verial!”

Encouraged by the emotion in his voice, she hastened to his side, dropping to her knees as well. “You remember me? Truly?”

He stared at her, trying to convince himself of what he saw. Verial. . .the last time he had seen her, she had been on her way to lay a snare for that Vancien fellow. But now Vancien was dead and Amarian in hiding. What was she doing here? Now?

“How could I forget you? I think of you every. . .but never mind that. What are you doing here? Are you alone? Did you make it to Vancien’s camp?”

She saw that it pained him to ask that last question. To herself, she had to acknowledge that his fears were well founded. Amarian had originally sent her to seduce the Prysm Advocate; who was to say she had not succeeded?

“I did. But I’m all right and yes, I am alone. I escaped Amarian and. . .” She hesitated, trying to find the right words. “Vancien is no longer important. I came to find you.”

She had never seen anyone so overwhelmed. It was embarrassing. “Perhaps we should get up off the ground.”

He nodded, still speechless, but he had difficulty getting back to his feet. Only when he lurched upwards did she notice that one of his legs below the knee was nothing more than a wooden shell. Now it was her turn to gasp. “What did that monster do to you?”

He was holding her hand, which he now grasped even tighter. “It doesn’t matter. It’s over now.”

The pain shooting up her fingers told her otherwise.

“Besides,” he continued, brightening. His soft voice was a balm to her. “We have a strong champion now, you and I. You must have heard that Corfe has turned to Kynell. He’s the Prysm Advocate. Soon Amarian and Vancien will be just a bitter memory.”

She smiled weakly, not sure what to say. Should she tell him of Amarian’s conversion? She owed the Dark One nothing. Nor did she have an obligation to Vancien. And although she despised Corfe, she could not bear to see Gair’s spirit crushed by her revelation. She decided to hold her peace.

Gair noticed her hesitation, but he interpreted it incorrectly. Against all appearances, did she still harbor feelings for Amarian? He couldn’t believe it to be true, but why else would she flinch at his downfall? He looked at her. She was still as beautiful as ever—more beautiful, perhaps, since she seemed more human. Her fair hair was tangled from much traveling, her blue eyes were reddened from lack of sleep, and even her clothes were ill-fitted and dirty. Although she still carried herself like royalty, there was a fierce look about her that he had never seen before.

But she was starting to shiver, so he led her to a quiet corner in the stables.

“Verial, I. . .” he ran a hand across his forehead. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you. I was so terrified for you. But I’ve been assigned an errand for the king and I have to leave tomorrow.”

“Then I’ll come with you.”

He was already shaking his head. “No, I can’t take you back there with me. He’s sending me to the Eastern Lands.”

The name was a douse of ice water. Surely she had misheard him. “But why go back there? You’ve only just escaped.”

“I don’t have a choice. The king has ordered me to go.”

“Then disobey the king. Run away with me.” She flushed even as she said it. Now that the offer was made, however, she had no wish to take it back.

“I can’t. I have to do Kynell’s will. I have to return to that place—even if I hate it.”

She couldn’t believe her ears. She had just found him and now he was leaving her? It was hard to tell if she was more hurt or insulted. “What does Kynell have to do with it? It was following Kynell that got you into this mess in the first place.” She pointed accusingly at his leg. “Don’t be a slave to the gods.”

He clenched his jaw in response, then let go of her hand. “I am not a slave to the gods. Only to Kynell. And if he desires me to descend into the Chasm itself, I will.”

Now she stepped back, shaking with anger. He was no better than the others, all of them pandering to gods who used them like playthings. If he thought Kynell commanded it, he would probably use her, as well. “You may be willing to run back to the Chasm, but I am not. I have been a tool of those brutes long enough.”

“Verial, wait—” He tried to take her hand again, but she had lost interest.

“I have to go,” she declared. Before he could stop her, she slipped back outside.

CHAPTER
SEVEN

Amarian returned just as the rains were lifting. Some of Chiyo’s men were on duty to guard the camp that day. They eyed him with suspicion at the best of times. Now, as he approached with a small fennel bounding at his side, they had no idea what to make of him. Not knowing what else to do, they gripped their spears harder, in case the kit turned out to be a spawn of Zyreio.

Bedge thought they were funny. “Look, sir! Look at the strange men over there! Bedge thinks they don’t like you.”

He stopped while they were still several paces off. “Do you remember what I said? When we get close to camp, no jumping around. And don’t speak to anybody unless I tell you to.”

“Yes, sir. Bedge says not a word. Not a sound from her. Not a—”

“Enough. Here we are.”

The guards let them pass without challenge, but they had not taken two steps past the low timber fortifications before N’vonne noticed them. She looked almost happy to see him.

“Amarian! You’ve returned safely. Telenar will be so interested to hear what you’ve learned and…who are you, little one?”

“My name is Bedge. Bedge came along with Sir after he argued with Bedge’s pridehead.”

Seeing the sharp jerk of Amarian’s hand, she flattened her ears and looked apologetically at the ground. “Bedge is quiet now,” she whispered.

Amarian didn’t give her a chance to start up again. “I need to speak with Vancien. Where is he?”

N’vonne shook her head, shifting the basket of herbs she’d been gathering. “He’s not back yet. Will you speak with Telenar?”

Amarian looked thoughtfully down at Bedge, who returned his gaze. He and Telenar had spoken very few words since his return in late autore; he knew the priest struggled with trusting him. He would much rather have spoken with Vancien first. But if his brother had not returned, then there was no choice. His news could not wait.

“Of course. Where can I find him?”

“He’s just come back from hunting. The Cylini were teaching him how to shoot a bow. He should be in the mess hall by now. I’ll walk over with you.” She looked ruefully at the herbs. “Hopefully the cook will be able to get some use out of these.”

He doubted it. N’vonne had gathered hartroot, which was used to cure digestive problems. Its similar appearance to rosemary had fooled many a person before, but its disguise lasted only until it was boiled. Then the acrid smell could choke a voyoté. But the cooks would figure that out soon enough.

The three walked in silence until she spoke again.

“Have you seen Verial?”

“She’s missing?”

“Since the night you left. We thought that she might have followed you, perhaps to. . .” Her voice trailed off.

Anger flared up in him. Would these people ever accept that he had changed? “Well, it wouldn’t have been to make up with me.”

N’vonne grew even more flustered. Telenar’s decision to not send a search party for Verial still irritated her. “We didn’t figure she was much of a threat; she didn’t take any weapons and you are a trained fighter.”

“But a woman’s vengeance is a fearful thing. So you thought we two villains would battle it out ourselves? Not a big loss either way, was it?”

She flushed in embarrassment and he knew he was being unfair. He also knew the decision to not search for Verial was Telenar’s, not N’vonne’s. And N’vonne was not the type to undermine her husband in front of others. “No, I saw no sign of her. Perhaps she went to find her beloved Gair.”

“That was our other thought.”

They found Telenar finishing up a bowl of yemain stew and discussing hunting tactics with one of his tutors. His Cylini had improved greatly since the start of their adventures. When he saw Amarian he immediately excused himself.

“Amarian, you’ve made it back. How was your journey? Are you hungry?” When Amarian nodded, he asked the Cylini warrior to fetch another bowl of stew. Only then did he notice Bedge, who was standing excitedly by Amarian’s leg, trying not to chase down every scent that wafted from the tables.

“What is this? A fennel kit?”

Amarian sighed and gestured for her to hop up on the bench. “Her name is Bedge. It’s a long story.”

While N’vonne tried to rustle up some food appropriate for a fennel, Telenar returned to his seat. “So?”

Amarian watched the priest for any sign of suspicion or of softening. He saw neither. Apparently bringing Vancien back from the dead and returning from his first solo undertaking was not enough to garner credit with the man. No matter. Telenar could spend his whole life not trusting him for all he cared.

“It was unsuccessful. Koeb will not help us. But neither will he help Corfe.”

Telenar nodded, then gestured toward Bedge, who had been silent for an amazingly long time. “Then why…?”

“She insisted on returning with me. Her parents are dead and it turns out that she’s a bit of an explorer.”

“Does she speak?”

It was too much. “Oh yes, Bedge speaks! Bedge loves to speak Keroulian.” She lengthened out the “oo” sound until it became almost a purr. “Bedge is happy to meet a holy one of the light-god.”

Telenar nodded graciously and even smiled. “I am far from holy, but I am happy to meet you too, little one. How did you know I was a priest?”

She sniffed. “Holy ones smell the same. Like books.”

Impressed, Telenar opened his mouth to respond, when she added, “And Sir told Bedge.”

“I see. Amarian says you like to explore?”

“Yes, yes. Bedge likes to wander many places, back and forth.”

Amarian accepted a bowl of stew as N’vonne returned with a meaty bone for Bedge. “Tell the holy one what you saw in the windy place.”

It took longer than the original telling but eventually, in-between bites, Bedge related what she had seen in the Eastern Lands. When she had finished, Telenar and N’vonne sat in stunned silence.

“Bedge needs to run. Can she go?”

Amarian nodded, not taking his eyes off of the others. “You may go. Just stay away from the hunters.”

She left and Amarian returned his gaze to the other two. “Well?”

N’vonne spoke first. “I don’t understand it. How can there be a howling army of Zyreio’s dead servants without an Advocate to lead them?”

Telenar nodded agreement. The same question had occurred to him.

Amarian, on the other hand, allowed himself a moment of grim satisfaction. His new friends had no concept of Obsidian’s determination. “He doesn’t need an Advocate. He never has. I suspect that he feels victory has been snatched out of his teeth and he wants it back.” Even as he said the words, he had to fight down a shiver.

“Do the Ages say anything about this?” N’vonne asked Telenar.

“No. When Amarian defeated Vancien and then brought him back from the dead, the pattern Kynell had set was broken. We’ve moved beyond the prophecies.” He looked at Amarian. “So what do we do now?”

“Take cover. It’s all we can—”

His words were lost to a loud screech, followed by the shouts of men. All three of them jumped to their feet and ran outside with the other diners. Vancien and Chiyo had returned.

The orbs were beginning to set, casting a dramatic light for the arrival of the great Ealatrophe, who was as intimidating as ever. His fierce gaze cut through the throng of men as his dark wings, spread wide for landing, cast a chilly shadow. Satisfied that all was as it should be, he landed and allowed his charges to dismount. Poor Chiyo was shivering in starts and fits; the padded saddle and multiple layers of clothing were about as effective as medical gauze in the face of the Ealatrophe’s cold—only Vancien could stand the Destrariae
klathonus
. Everybody else who approached had to suffer heart-stopping chills.

Bren, the Ealatrophe’s self-appointed handler, hurried forward and checked it for signs of fatigue or injury. He had made himself a “cold suit,” which allowed him to come closer than most, although he looked and moved like an overstuffed scarecrow. Crooning softly, he led the Ealatrophe away from the crowd.

Vancien watched them go. “Thelámos likes him.”

But Telenar had grabbed him by the arm. “Yes, Bren is a good boy. Now come with me. We need to talk.”