The Reborn King (Book Six) (32 page)

Morzahn nodded and huffed a quiet laugh. “I should have expected this. But it doesn’t matter. My heart is still with you son…even if yours has abandoned me.” He looked at the High Lady. “Let’s get on with it.”

Tearing her eyes away from Orias, she stepped in front of the condemned man and secured the noose tightly around his neck. “Are you prepared to answer for your crimes?” she asked.

“Prepared?” He let out a disdainful laugh. “I’m eager.”

She turned to the crowd. “Then let justice be done.” After a brief sideways glance at Orias, she descended the stairs.

Time stood still as everyone waited. There was total silence. Orias then looked up at Dresher and nodded.

In unison, they pulled the lever.

* * * * *

Two weeks had passed since the execution of Morzahn. Though Aremiel was concerned about his friend, he seemed to be carrying on with his business as if nothing had happened. He'd tried talking to him about it on a few occasions, but Orias just laughed and slapped him on the back.

“I’m fine, you old mother hen,” he would say. “Worry about your sword practice instead.”

It was just after their evening meal when Orias was called to the High Lady’s office. When he returned to their sleeping quarters later, Aremiel could see that all the color had drained from his face and his eyes were distant, as if in a trance.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

For a moment Orias said nothing. Then he pulled a parchment from his pocket and handed it over.

Aremiel opened it apprehensively, dreading to see what was inside. After reading, he placed the parchment on the nightstand and touched Orias’ shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” he said.

“The High Lady said that they found her lying in her bed,” Orias whispered. “Her throat had been cut and her house ransacked. A robbery they said.” He looked up at Aremiel, tears flowing freely. “A bloody robbery.”

A terrible thought occurred to Aremiel. Could his mother have ordered this done? He quickly dismissed the idea. She would never do such a thing. That much he knew for a fact.

“Now I’m truly alone,” Orias sobbed.

“You’ll never be alone,” said Aremiel. “Not as long as I live. I swear it.”

Orias reached out and embraced his best friend, desperate for comfort.

As they stood there locked together, Aremiel once again swore his oath to always be there for Orias…though this time it was just as much a prayer as a promise.

The road
from the Northern Steppes – 40 years earlier

After reining in their horses to a slow trot, Aremiel looked over his shoulder. His face was twisted in anger.

Orias laughed boisterously. “Stop worrying. We lost them.”

“We would never have needed to lose them if you would just obey orders,” Aremiel snapped.

“Your mother warned you not to make me your lieutenant,” he replied, still laughing. “She said I would be nothing but trouble.”

He glared at Orias. “And she was right.”

“Anyway, I don’t know why they’re so upset,” Orias said, feigning innocence. “It was only a pair of horses.”

“We were there to negotiate with the men of the Steppes in order to
buy
horses. We were not there to
steal
them.”

“I was intending to leave some gold.”

Aremiel snorted. “That’s not the point, and you know it.”

“Well, anyway…it’s a good thing they aren’t smart as their mounts.” He gave his friend a devilish grin. “Otherwise they’d have caught us, and I might have to save your skin again.”

Just then, both men caught the sound of distant hoof beats. They halted their horses and continued listening, but the sound slowly faded away.

Orias burst into another round of laughter. In spite of himself, Aremiel could not help but join in with him.

“Next time, at least try to tell me
before
you do something stupid,” he said, shaking his head, though unable to wipe away a broad grin.

“I’ll try,” Orias replied. “But sadly, I rarely know that it’s stupid until after the deed is done.”

They rode on until reaching a small village on the borders of the Steppes. It was little more than a trading post, but Amon Dähl had agents there. And that meant decent food and a warm bed.

They both felt a tingling in their medallions telling them that a member of the order was nearby, though identifying who that was, might prove to be difficult. If it was a knight, it would have been easy. Even without the charm, they would be able to recognize him
simply by the way he moved. But agents were another matter. They were trained to blend in and pass unnoticed.

Orias spotted the village's solitary inn and spurred his horse toward it. “At least we can have a drink while we wait. The gods only know how long we’ll have to sit there. Bloody agents.”

Aremiel shared Orias’ dislike of agents. “I should have found out who was assigned here before we left. At least we would know who we’re looking for.”

“Hey! Did I just hear Captain Aremiel admit that he did something wrong?”

Aremiel smirked. “Of course not. Just like I didn’t hear
Lieutenant
Orias making fun of his commander.”

In truth, it should have been the other way around. Both of them knew that it was only Orias' propensity for making trouble that had prevented him from being made Aremiel's superior officer. His high spirits had got him into more than his fair share of scrapes. Even so, there was no denying that he was the finest swordsman in the Order. He also had a keen intellect and an uncanny sense for when danger was near. Several knights owed their lives to him…and Aremiel was one of them.

But of all Orias' virtues, his kindness was by far his greatest. And the one that held him back the most. Knights of Amon Dähl were not expected to involve themselves in local disputes or politics. But if his friend saw an injustice, he was compelled to act. Though Aremiel admired him for this trait, it frequently caused their superiors to question Orias' ability to lead.

When Aremiel was promoted to Captain, he'd insisted on having Orias as his Lieutenant. No one was pleased by this decision, least of all his mother. She feared Orias’ recklessness would eventually get him killed, and that their close friendship would have her only son lying dead beside him.

He had often pleaded with Orias to behave less impulsively, but he would only smile and say it was the will of the gods that drove him to act in such a way. At first Aremiel thought this was just a joke. But over time he realized it wasn’t. Orias truly believed he could feel their will, and that they had a special purpose for him.

After tying up their horses, they stepped inside the inn. The place was typical for a town such as this. Just a few tables
surrounding an iron stove in the center of the common room, and a small bar to the right.

“Order us a bottle of wine,” Orias said. “I’m going to check out the area.”

Before Aremiel could object, Orias was gone.
Check out the area
, he thought.
You’re going to find another shrine
. It was the same in every town they visited. Orias would very soon locate a local shrine or temple to pray at, though he tried hard to hide this fact. His cavalier attitude and lighthearted ways were a surprising contrast to his deeply held faith. He was by no means a monk or priest, but he was equally as dedicated.

Aremiel thought to join him from time to time, but knew it would likely embarrass his friend. In any case, though he loved the gods as much as anyone, he never could really see the point of prayer. Such beings were probably far more concerned with larger issues. The life of a single knight couldn’t possibly matter much to them.

The inn door opened to reveal a swarthy man in dingy clothes. He came over and sat down.

“I’m Vurin,” he said. “I’ve been expecting you. When you’re ready, my house is nearby.”

“I’m Aremiel,” he replied, nodding politely. “My friend Orias will return very soon.”

“I saw him in the street,” Vurin told him. “He’s already there.”

There was a note of urgency in the man’s voice that disturbed him. They left the inn immediately and went to a small hovel at the end of the main avenue.

The interior was far more accommodating than the dilapidated exterior suggested. Four comfortable beds were at the rear, and a hearth was burning brightly to the left. The floor was covered by a plain yet well-made rug, and the walls were lined with bookshelves filled to capacity with dozens of leather bound volumes.

Orias was sitting at a wooden dining table near the stove, a bottle of wine gripped firmly in one hand and a piece of parchment in the other.

“I see you couldn’t wait for us to return,” scolded Vurin.

Orias ignored the agent. Grinning boyishly, he tossed the parchment to Aremiel.

“Can you believe it?” he said. “We've made the list of prospects.”

Aremiel read the message carefully. Both men then simultaneously burst into laughter.

“Why are they bothering us with this nonsense?” Aremiel said. He sat down and handed the parchment to Vurin.

Orias took a drink. “I really don't know. It’s not like she would choose either one of us to guard the
sword
.”

“This is not a matter to be taken lightly,” scolded Vurin. “It is a great honor, and you should treat it as such.”

Aremiel took the bottle from Orias and turned it up. After wiping his mouth with his sleeve, he gestured for the agent to join them. “I know it is. I truly do. But I am the son of The High Lady of Valshara. My mother would cut off her arm before she would send me to a place where she could never see me again.”

“And I am the son of Morzahn,” said Orias. This caused Vurin’s eyes to widen. “Can you imagine the turmoil choosing me would cause? No, my friend. This is just a ploy to get Aremiel to come home for a while. His mother misses him.”

“That, and the fact she’s afraid if I stay away too long, you’ll get me killed,” he added.

“That too,” agreed Orias.

“Whatever the case,” said Vurin. “You should leave in the morning.”

Orias sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Then I hope you have plenty of wine for us to drink tonight.”

The next day, though they were up early. Vurin was already gone.

“Off spying on people, I suppose,” Orias said.

“So long as it’s not us, I don’t care.”

Valshara was only a week away, and the journey passed uneventfully. The two of them spent most of it talking about past exploits, both their own, and those of other knights. Aremiel loved the fraternity between the Knights of Amon Dähl. He often thought back to the days when his mother was still insisting he become a historian. It always made him laugh. He could never have been happy with such a boring life.

When they finally they arrived at the gates of Valshara, ten men stood upon the ramparts and announced their arrival with a call of golden trumpets.

“Well that’s new,” remarked Orias. “If I didn’t know better, I would begin to think they are happy to see us.”

“I wouldn’t get too used to it,” Aremiel said. “When the new guardian is chosen, they’ll go back to ignoring us again.”

The courtyard was packed with cheering people. Aremiel could feel his face flushing with embarrassment, but Orias was clearly reveling in the attention. His waved and smiled as they rode in, making sure to give each young woman he saw a playful wink. When they reached the base of the stairs leading up to the main temple building, two grooms took their horses and gear. 

Aremiel’s mother stepped out through the doors. On her left was Jylias, chief of the agents and a difficult woman at best. But the person standing to her right gave both men pause. It was Laraad. His head was held high, and he was smirking with thinly veiled contempt.

The High Lady's face was expressionless. Aremiel knew at once that something was wrong. He could think of no circumstances that would prevent her customary smile every time he returned to Valshara.

“I see her look too,” whispered Orias, sensing his friend's concern.

“Welcome, brave knights,” she said when they reached the top of the steps. “Your presence has been eagerly anticipated. Only two candidates have yet to arrive. Your rooms have been prepared and your meals will be brought to you once you’ve cleaned and changed.”

Even her speech was odd. She was never this formal with him.

Both Orias and Aremiel bowed low.

“Thank you, High Lady,” Aremiel said, mirroring her reserve. “But Orias and I would prefer to stay in the barracks.”

“That would be inappropriate under the circumstances,” Laraad told them.

Aremiel raised an eyebrow. “I was unaware of your elevation. Or do you make a habit of speaking out of turn?”

“Laraad is representing the
builders
,” the High Lady said. “His master is ill and chose him to come in his place.”

Aremiel bowed. “Then I congratulate you,
Master
Laraad.”

“And I you,” he replied, unable to hide his scorn. “Both of you. This
is
quite an honor. One well-earned if the tales I’ve heard of your exploits are true.”

“I’m afraid they may have been exaggerated,” said Aremiel. “We are simply servants of the Order.”

“Indeed,” Jylias interjected. “And yet you have been set apart by your fellow knights as the best they have to offer. Such respect coming from the bravest among us
must
be warranted.”

“Where are the representatives from the other vocations?” asked Orias.

“They are in council,” Laraad replied. “We were given the honor of greeting you. But now we must return.”

This confused Aremiel.
In council
?  Rarely did the different branches of the Order all meet at once. There was no need. Healers had little business with historians, or builders with agents.
So
w
hy would they need to be in council now
?

His mother’s eyes told him that the answer was not going to be to his liking. They were then shown to their rooms and provided with bath water and fresh clothing.

Once changed, Aremiel went immediately to his mother’s chambers. She was awaiting him at her desk. Her expression was grave and her eyes bore the lines of age and fatigue.

“What’s going on, mother?” he demanded. “Why are they in council?”

“They are discussing who is to be the next guardian,” she replied.

Aremiel nearly leapt from his chair. “What? How can this be? That choice belongs to you.”

“I’m afraid that as my son is a candidate, I was forced to defer to their judgment,” she explained.

Aremiel felt ill. He had been certain that his inclusion was incidental. Now, there was a real possibility that he might be spending the rest of his days alone.

“Don’t worry, son.” She was doing her best to force the anxiety from her voice. “There are twelve candidates. And all of them have been a knight far longer than you. Most outrank you as well. It’s likely one of these will be chosen.”

“I need to tell this to Orias.”

“Orias can wait,” she said. “I haven’t seen you in almost a year. You
will
spend time with your mother. I’ve already sent for our meal.” She got up and stepped around the desk. “For now, push everything else from your mind. There is nothing to be done.”