What Was Forgotten (28 page)

He felt hands clamp down on his arms and haul him forward. He fought to get to his feet, but the Dramandi pushed him down and kept him on his knees. Suddenly, Sera was standing in front of him. Behind him, the other Tauthri ran towards him, but a number of Dramandi with their weapons drawn encircled them. They froze.

“I gave you my trust,” Sera said. “All I wanted was your help in exchange for your life. But you took that trust and you spat on it…… threw it in the dirt.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Zayd said. How did she find out? Did she speak Tauthral? Did one of her men? Or was this a gambit meant to make him confess? Perhaps she understood that Zayd
could
manipulate the answers given by Lansdon and wanted to terrify him into utter obedience.

The slap stung his cheek. “And now you lie to my face?” Sera shouted. “I
know
of your deceit. This man does now know where the Raan Dura is!”

“We won’t know until we ask him,” Zayd said. Sera put her hands around his throat and bent over to look him in the eye.

“Lie to me again and I will finish what Cohvass started…
after
I make you watch the same happen to your sword-kin.”

Zayd wet his lips and prepared to give his men the signal. He knew the Dramandi surrounded them, but perhaps a few of them could escape. If he waited any longer, perhaps none of them would…

Sera placed her hand over his mouth and looked up at her men, then at the Tauthri. Could she have known? Something was wrong. If she knew that they planned the signal, surely she must know everything he had said the night before. She raised her other hand as she looked to the forest around them. The rest of the Dramandi tensed, waiting for an order. Zayd tried to look, tried to see what she was seeing.

A shout came from the trees. Zayd shook his head, getting Sera’s hand away from his mouth. “Everyone down!” he shouted in Tauthral, just as the arrows came. One of the Dramandi holding him toppled over with several arrows in his back. Sera pitched forward, an arrow in her back as well.

Suddenly Zayd was free, and he went for the dead Dramandi’s blade, the closest weapon he could find. He spun around in time to see Ryferian soldiers pouring out of the forest, and the Dramandi rushed to meet them. His own men had heeded his warning; none appeared to have been hit by the volley of arrows. They were all crouching, huddled together and confused. “Time to go!” Zayd shouted to them. “Let’s not become Praene’s captives now. Find a weapon if you –”

“Vahr!”
one of his men pointed past him. Zayd spun and slashed upward blindly in time to block a downward swing.

He locked eyes with Sera. They were wide, angered, and welling with tears. An arrowhead protruded from her shoulder. “You brought them down upon us,” she screamed. She swung at Zayd again, clumsily. Desperately. “You were pretending all this time… King Hunter! Broken Bow! All of it to fool me into thinking you were something other than the same monster that helped destroy our holy city!” He parried her swings easily and countered when he saw her weakening, knocking the blade from her hand. She did not seem to mind. She stood before him, breathless, bleeding, and unblinking.

“Go ahead,” Sera said as she held out her arms. “I know this is what you want. It’s what I want.” Zayd could see a Ryferian soldier approaching Sera from behind, his weapon drawn. There was something different, though… The insignia on the soldier’s armour was of the Fourth Regiment.

This was not one of Praene’s men.

Zayd pulled Sera forward, off balance, putting himself between her and the soldier. “Stop!” The soldier halted, looked around, and shouted to another. “He’s over here, sir.”

Around them the fighting had almost stopped. Some of the Dramandi had surrendered. More were dead. A knight in full plate, with Silver Sun insignias on each shoulder, came striding into view.

“You made it,” Barrett said as he took off his helmet. Zayd dropped the Dramandi blade and gave an exhausted salute. Barrett saluted back.

“Praene?” Zayd asked.

“He hardly put up a fight.” Barrett smiled.

Chapter 17

They followed from a distance, always remaining discreetly part of the crowds of the city. The Ardent, though, seemed not to check to see if he was being followed. Their story must have fooled him; why would they follow him if they wanted to be rid of the thing that was in the box?

“What did you put inside?” Osmun had asked Nasiri. “Please tell me we didn’t give the man an empty box.”

“It’s an Ivesian good luck charm,” she told him.

“Shouldn’t we have kept that?” Myron asked. “You know…… for luck?”

“I have more,” Nasiri said.

“Oh, good. That’s good. We’re going to need some luck.”

“They’re worthless,” Nasiri said. “Ivesians don’t use good luck charms. The very idea of luck is a Ryferian one, and probably one that they adopted from some other culture.”

“So why do you even have them?” Osmun asked.

“To sell them to superstitious Ryferians,” Nasiri said as she shrugged. “Credulity makes for good customers.”

The three of them, dispersed along the crowded street, separately watched as the Ardent left the market and crossed the large, open square in front of the Xidian Cathedral. He veered westward of the great monument, away from the Cathedral and down another street. Osmun, Nasiri, and Myron followed.

“Not together!” Myron hissed as Osmun sidled up to him. He pushed the priest away. “That way, that way. As if you’re going that direction. Is this your first time doing this?”

“Yes!” Osmun said as he changed direction. They came together a few moments later at the mouth of the street that the Ardent had gone down.

“I knew you should’ve stayed behind,” Myron said to Osmun.

“Why? We’re doing fine,” Osmun said defensively.

“Until we cross paths with another Ardent who recognizes you, and then all of this planning and running about will be wasted.”

“He has a point,” Nasiri said.

“Yes, and he’s made it. Now, can we continue?”

“Certainly,” Myron said, rolling his eyes. “Why don’t we just catch up with the fellow, link arms with him, and ask him? ‘Afternoon, chap! Say, where are you off to in such a hurry? And did you know that the thing in the box is totally useless? But don’t let that stop you from trying to sell it to some idiot Trueborn!’”

Nasiri jabbed him hard with an elbow. “Enough.” Myron grumbled but otherwise remained silent as they continued to trail the Ardent. It soon became apparent to Osmun where he was heading. He watched as the Ardent headed towards the huge building that loomed on the horizon. The buildings on either side of the street fell away and a wide, stone stairway ascended to an iron archway. An eight-foot stone wall extended out to the left and right, tracing the edge of the level ground where it met the steep hillside.

“The Historian’s College,” Osmun said. Though from where they stood they could not see any of the college itself save the tall, wide bell tower in the centre of the building.

“At least the Compendium isn’t behind that impenetrable door in the Cathedral,” Myron said.

“We don’t know what it’s behind.” Osmun turned back around. “We shouldn’t linger,” he said as he began to walk back down the street towards the monument.

“Haven’t you been inside?” Nasiri asked.

“Only a few times, and it was years ago. I was a child, almost. I had just begun to discover my abilities and the vicars were uncertain how best I could serve the church. Once I showed I could control my gift, they knew I would be a great asset.” A cool breeze began to blow in from the harbour, and distant thunder offered a promise of rain. Osmun walked faster. “Why do you still need me? You know where the Compendium is now. You would be much more likely to succeed with Myron’s help instead of mine. I would just be a hindrance to you.”

“He’s not wrong, Nasiri,” Myron said. “They’re still after him, and that is an ill omen for anyone keeping company with him. Which is us, I should point out. We can do this without him.”

“It’s the wise thing to do,” Osmun said. “And…… now that I’ve helped you, you should make good on our agreement and teach me what you know. About creating a rift. I still need to send that spirit back to the Beyond. I need to…”

“Pull your name off the garbage heap?” Myron interjected.

Osmun gave him a disapproving frown. “Essentially,” he muttered.

“Why bother with one solitary shade, anyway?” Myron asked. “I’ve been wondering.”

“Because it won’t stop bothering with me,” Osmun said. He thought after so many days of seeing the form from the corner of his eye that he would become used to it, but it startled him every time, and he had only managed to get real rest by drinking the tea each night. He used just enough so that he would sleep without making him forget the last hours of the day before, but he worried, too, that he was needing to use more of it each time. Even just by thinking of it, he felt an unusual hunger hidden inside thirst. “And because its very presence is blasphemous. And because it has plans on something that I will not allow it to see to the end. For all of these reasons, I need to create a rift. I need to defeat it.”

“And what about your guilt? Um, perceived guilt, rather?”

“This thing is influencing people in the church. I don’t know how exactly, but it is. Once it is gone they will be free from its influence and see clearly what has been happening.”

Myron looked at him as though Osmun had just told him he planned to ascend the Whitewing Mountains with his eyes closed. “Well… that’s the theory, at least,” Osmun muttered.

Nasiri was silent as she contemplated their new dilemma. “If we can both make it close enough,” she said to herself, “I could open a rift……”

“No!” Osmun stopped suddenly. Nasiri looked up at him, surprised. “You will
not
do that again.” Osmun stepped close to Nasiri, pointing his finger in her face. “Those men may carry the scars of that ordeal for the rest of their lives.”

“I thought we had been over this,” Nasiri said quietly, curling a lip. “They were about to
arrest
you, priest.”

“I don’t care. If it comes to that choice again, then let them arrest me. I won’t have you profane my city like that.”

“Then I suppose if you want to prevent me from doing that, you
will
get the tome after all,” Nasiri said.

“If that’s what it takes.”

“Perhaps we should have the conspicuous argument somewhere more private,” Myron said. Osmun and Nasiri each waived a hand in the air and kept walking, not looking at each other.

They arrived at the basement of the warehouse not having spoken another word between them. Osmun could only think of how to find the Compendium, how to get inside and, once there, to get back out carrying a large tome without being noticed. That was, if the tome was even there at all. He played out every different sequence of events in his head, but they all ended at its door. Where in the college was it? How secure was it? Would it be guarded? He had no answers to these questions; the truth of it could be that the location of the Compendium was hidden or unassailable and that he would be spotted before he got anywhere near it.

In the basement, Osmun went straight for the jar that contained the sleeping herb but found it was not in its usual spot. He heard an echoing, but not something heard with the ears. He
sensed
it, felt it in his heart.

Ajkah thuun…

“Myron!” Osmun shouted as he walked back to the foot of the staircase that Myron was just descending. “Where is it?”

“Where is what?”

“You know what. Where have you hidden it?”

Ajkah thuun…

“Marinus’ mother… you
emptied
the jar, do you not remember? There’s more in one of the smaller crates. Just step out of my way, I’ll get it. Just… stand there and try to keep your composure.” Myron shook his head and muttered something to himself as he walked to the other room. As Osmun exhaled he noticed his hands were shaking. Nasiri looked at him over her shoulder as she started a fire in the wood stove. A bell rang in the distance, and he knew he would need help once again.

The three of them sat in a tavern eating fresh biscuits and sipping hot cider as they waited. Outside, the streets had become busy as the morning began to wear on. A cool morning breeze carried the scents of the baking bread and smoking meat through the streets, reminding Osmun of his former routine. It had been the smells that he missed most of all, being among the first to appreciate them in the morning with the entire day, full of promise, laid ahead of him.

“Should we be concerned?” Myron asked. “It’s been more than a few hours.”

“Give him time,” Osmun said. He noticed Nasiri eying the tavern door warily and occasionally peeking out of the small window before resting her head back on the wall beside her. “He’ll come,” Osmun said. Nasiri barely acknowledged him. “Is everything alright?” Osmun asked. “Do you see someone?” He leaned in.
“Ardent?
Have they found us?”