Well of Sorrows (61 page)
Authors: Benjamin Tate
“—find it distasteful that you would presume to begin talks with the dwarren, let alone the humans, without first seeking the advice and counsel of the Evant,” Lord Peloroun stated. His words were civil, but the tone was bitter. “What of those of us who have lands bordering along the plains? What of our losses over the last hundred years? Do we not have a say in whether peace should be sought with them?”
Aeren didn’t respond at first, waiting to see if Peloroun’s tirade would continue, but the lord shook his head in disgust and returned to his seat. Out of the corner of his eye, Aeren could see Lord Jydell and Lord Waerren nodding slightly. None of the issues brought up against his proposal so far had been unexpected, but the resistance he felt from the Evant was greater than he’d anticipated. Yet it wasn’t the lords that bothered him.
It was the Tamaell . . . and the presence of Lotaern. Fedorem had said nothing since he’d called the session into order and handed the proceedings over to Aeren. He sat in silence, even as the lords attacked him, the Tamaea and the Tamaell Presumptive to either side. Aeren risked a quick glance at the three, not certain what the presence of the Tamaea and the Presumptive indicated, but all three were watching him, waiting for him to respond. The Tamaea frowned slightly, but otherwise there was no sign of what any of them were thinking.
As for Lotaern . . .
He shook his head and turned fully toward Lord Peloroun. “I realize that the majority of the burden placed on the Alvritshai regarding the dwarren has fallen on you and those with lands along the plains, Lord Peloroun, but what I have to offer—what the dwarren seem willing to accept—is a release of that burden from you altogether. Would it not be beneficial to all concerned if the tension along the border eased? How many resources do you and Lords Jydell, Waerren, and Khalaek expend on guarding the border, resources that could be used for something productive, such as farming or the expansion of the irrigation canals?”
“But what of our losses?” Lord Peloroun growled. “What of the destruction the dwarren have caused? What of the loss of life, of family and kin, killed during the raids?”
“You would rather risk the lives of those who remain by continuing to fight, when there is a chance to end it?” Aeren let some of his own pain color his voice. “You are not the only one who has lost family to the dwarren. Do not presume to claim a greater pain than the rest of us—”
He would have continued, but a sharp gasp interrupted him. He cut off and turned to see Colin, eyes wide, Eraeth’s hand clamped onto his shoulder. The human caught Aeren’s gaze and held it, but then waved his hand in mute frustration. As Aeren turned away, he saw Eraeth speaking to him. Aeren turned back to Peloroun, his voice hardening.
“As I was saying, we have all suffered. I, for one, am tired of it.”
“But some of us are not,” Peloroun said, leaning forward. “Some of us have lost
sons
to the dwarren and are not so ready to forgive.”
sons
to the dwarren and are not so ready to forgive.”
“Some of us have lost our entire family to the dwarren,” Aeren countered.
Peloroun rose at the challenge in Aeren’s tone but before he could say anything, Tamaell Fedorem stood and said, “Enough.”
The word sliced through the tension in the room as smoothly as a blade, and everyone’s attention turned toward the platform. Aeren noticed that Eraeth had stood and moved to the edge of the Evant’s inner circle and made his way to his Protector’s side to clear the floor. When Eraeth drew breath to speak, he waved him to silence.
Tamaell Fedorem waited until he had everyone’s attention, the room falling utterly silent, then stepped forward to the edge of the platform, his face impassive.
“As Lord Aeren has pointed out, we have all suffered from this prolonged war with the dwarren and the humans. We have all lost loved ones as well as friends. We are not here to dispute that. And we are not here to determine who has suffered more or less than the others. Such a thing cannot be determined, no matter how long we spend in this room arguing over it.
“What we are here to discuss, and what we are here to decide, is whether or not it is time to seek peace with the dwarren. Lord Aeren has provided us with . . . an opportunity.” Fedorem smiled tightly and turned to the Tamaea, who bowed her head. “We have been at odds with the dwarren for nearly two hundred years, the war fluctuating, with intense periods of battle and long years of tension and general unrest. During these years, many decisions were made, all with the good of the Alvritshai in mind, even though in retrospect not all of those decisions were . . . wise.”
A low murmur arose, although it died quickly. Aeren shot a glance at Eraeth, eyes raised in question, but his Protector shrugged. He wondered if the Tamaell’s words refered to the decisions made at the battle at the Escarpment, but there was no way to tell. If they had . . .
If they had, then perhaps there was hope after all.
And as if he were answering that hope, the Tamaell continued. “We have lived in a period of general stability in the last thirty years, since the Escarpment. Mistakes were made then that cannot be easily rectified, but Lord Aeren has given us a chance to start. I think it is time to start.” He cast his gaze out over the Evant, catching each and every lord’s eye.
“There are those who will disagree with me. There are those who feel that what the dwarren have done in the past cannot be so easily forgiven. But I am not willing to let this opportunity pass by. Because of this, I will be traveling to meet with the dwarren, accompanied by the Tamaea and the Tamaell Presumptive. In addition, I would ask that the Chosen of the Order be part of my escort, as well as Lord Aeren and any of the remaining Lords of the Evant who wish to take part. I will not require this of any of you, and those who chose to remain behind will not be censured in any way.
“But it is time for these skirmishes—these raids and this war—to come to an end. It is time that I begin to rectify the mistakes I have made in the past. If the dwarren are willing, if they are sincere in their offer, then it
will
come to an end.”
will
come to an end.”
The Tamaell let the silence that followed his announcement hang for a long moment, the lords stunned. Then he turned to Aeren.
“I assume that you will agree to accompany me, Lord Aeren?”
Aeren pulled himself out of shocked immobility and bowed formally. “Of course, Tamaell.”
Fedorem nodded once, then turned to Lotaern. “And you, Chosen?”
“Aielan has always and shall always support peace. May her Light guide us all in this.”
In the end, all protests and disagreements were set aside as all of the lords, including Khalaek, agreed to take part in the meeting on the plains.
“Then it is agreed,” Tamaell Fedorem said. “We shall meet with the dwarren and their Gathering in two weeks time. Gather your escorts. We will depart in two days.”
17
“K
HALAEK AGREED TO COME TOO EASILY,” Eraeth said in Andovan, so that Colin could understand.
HALAEK AGREED TO COME TOO EASILY,” Eraeth said in Andovan, so that Colin could understand.
“Especially considering that the Tamaell all but declared that his support of Khalaek and the others over the last thirty years has been a mistake,” Aeren said.
“He still has not answered the real question,” Lotaern muttered as he handed off orders for supplies to be gathered for the envoy to waiting acolytes, then turned his attention toward Colin, Aeren, and Eraeth. They’d gathered in his offices in the Sanctuary, the plants shoved to the side, the room bustling with activity. They were departing tomorrow at dociern, the second chiming. “He didn’t say what his mistake back at the Escarpment was. Did he plan the betrayal of King Maarten, along with Khalaek and the others? Or did he simply take advantage of the opportunity at the time and claim the betrayal as his own?”
When neither Aeren nor Eraeth answered, the silence unsettled, Lotaern grunted and continued. “But I agree. Khalaek agreed too quickly, and because he agreed Lord Peloroun and Lord Waerren agreed to come as well. And now you claim that Benedine’s actions are indeed connected to him?”
“So it would seem. The Phalanx followed Benedine to a courtyard on Brae. There, Benedine met with a man that Colin identified as one of Lord Khalaek’s aides.”
Lotaern swore. As he did, the hairs on Colin’s arms prickled, standing on end. He felt something brush past him, like a gust of wind, and he turned toward the open door to the Chosen’s office with a frown, a shiver coursing through him. He tasted dry leaves in his mouth, smelled damp earth. “What was that?” he asked sharply.
“What was what?” Aeren asked.
“I felt something, like a breeze. And I can smell leaves and earth.”
Eraeth had moved to the door, hand on his cattan, but he turned back now. “I don’t see anything.”
“It must have been a draft,” Lotaern said. “And we
are
surrounded by plants.”
are
surrounded by plants.”
Everyone looked at Colin, but the scent of leaves and earth was fading now, so he settled back into his seat. Eraeth returned to his position behind Aeren.
“I don’t understand the connection between Benedine, Khalaek, and the awakening of the sarenavriell,” Lotaern said. “It doesn’t make any sense. What is his connection to the Wells? Why does he want to know where they are located?”
“I don’t think he cares about the sarenavriell. His goal has always been control of the Evant. He wants to become the Tamaell.”
“The Wraiths.” All three Alvritshai turned to Colin, and he shifted under their scrutiny. “Khalaek may not care about the sarenavriell, but the Wraiths do. If Khalaek is looking for the locations of the remaining Wells, then he must be doing it for the Wraiths.”
“That,” Lotaern said, his voice heavy and dark, “it not a pleasant thought, and violates at least a dozen of the Order’s tenants.”
“Nevertheless.” Aeren had lowered his head in thought, then looked at Colin. “You said the antruel—the Faelehgre—thought the Wraiths were moving north.” Colin nodded and Aeren turned back to Lotaern. “Khalaek’s lands are north of the forest, to the west of Lord Vaersoom and Licaeta. It’s possible his lands were also attacked by the sukrael, and when he arrived to investigate—”
“He found the Wraiths.” Lotaern drew in a deep breath, although it did little to break the lines of anger that creased his face. “If this is true, then the Wraiths must be offering him something that will help him gain the Evant. But what?”
Aeren shrugged. “I don’t know. I can’t think of anything that would warrant the risk of releasing the sukrael.”
“Perhaps you misjudge Khalaek’s ambition,” Eraeth said bluntly.
Aeren frowned.
Lotaern stirred and rose from behind his desk, his eyes narrowed in anger. “I think it’s time we spoke to Benedine about his . . . actions. He may know why Khalaek is interested in the sarenavriell and whether he’s working with the Wraiths.”
They followed Lotaern out of his personal rooms and into the corridors of the Sanctuary. Lotaern waved acolytes away as they made their way past the common areas and into the dormitories. Most took one look at the Chosen’s face and backed off.
“I’ve had Benedine’s activities here in the Sanctuary monitored since you arrived back in Caercaern,” Lotaern said as they arrived before one of the small dormitory rooms. “He keeps to himself mostly,” Lotaern said as he knocked. When no one responded, he frowned and pushed the door open, stepping through. “His main activity is research and—”
Lotaern halted, two steps inside the small room beyond. Colin heard his voice catch, saw his hand tighten on the handle of the door—
And then the stench of blood hit Colin hard. He gagged, stumbled backward into Eraeth, heard Aeren suck in a sharp breath, hand raised to cover his mouth, and then Eraeth shoved past them all. The Chosen shook himself, then stepped back out into the hall.
“Aielan’s Light,” Aeren gasped, breathing through his mouth. “What is it?”
“Karvel!” Lotaern barked, then called something to an acolyte farther down the hall. The acolyte leaped to retrieve a lantern, rushing toward them. He began to ask something in Alvritsthai.
He didn’t finish, the stench of blood and shit hitting him as he reached the doorway. He bent over, began to retch. Lotaern snatched the lantern from him, then stepped up behind Eraeth, raising the light high, his face a stoic mask, devoid of emotion. Colin and Aeren moved in behind him.
The room contained a rough cot, a single stool, and a small table with a few sheets of parchment, a tome, and a bottle of ink. A feather quill lay broken to one side. The tome and parchment and most of the table were coated with what looked like spilled ink.
Except it wasn’t ink. It was blood.
It saturated the blanket on the cot, dripped from its edge onto the floor, had formed a pool that continued to spread along the stones. Splatters of it streaked the walls in grisly patterns. Colin had never seen so much blood, and he felt his stomach clenching at the shock of it, at its dark, viscous color, its stench, the taste of it on the air.
Then Eraeth took a step into the room, and Colin saw what had caught his attention.
Benedine’s body lay in the center of the room, mostly obscured from view by the table and stool. But what he could see of the body made Colin’s stomach turn again. He tasted bile, acidic and thick, and he swallowed, hard, trembling as it burned his throat. The acolyte’s body had been slashed open with too many cuts to count, so many his clothes were nothing but tatters, the skin beneath not much different. He lay facedown, his back lacerated, the backs of his legs, his calves, shredded. His throat had been slit, his head to one side, his eyes wide, mouth open. Blood streaked the pale contours of his face, had matted in his hair and pooled in the hollow of his back. The stone beneath him had been stained black with it.
Other books
Dead Spaces: The Big Uneasy 2.0 by Pauline Baird Jones
Monument to the Dead by Sheila Connolly
At First Touch by Tamara Sneed
Tempter by Nancy A. Collins
Son of Blood by Jack Ludlow
The Trade by Barry Hutchison
Leon Uris by O'Hara's Choice
Dead Sexy by Linda Jaivin
Middle of Nowhere by Caroline Adderson
Diary of a Mad Diva by Joan Rivers