The following day, the dwarren tore down their tents, loaded up their gaezels, and headed back into the plains, east and south.
Colin watched them from the top of the hillock while the rest of the Alvritshai gathered together their loosely scattered gear, saddled the horses, and prepared to leave. He’d managed to get close enough to verify that these dwarren were from the Thousand Springs Clan, the dwarren who had fought the humans and left such carnage on the battlefield outside the forest. He frowned as the sound of their drums faded and the group of figures vanished over a fold in the land. He could still see a thin trace of dust in the air from their passage, faint against the blue of the sky.
“You hate them.”
Colin started and turned to find Eraeth standing behind him. “Why do you say that?” Colin asked.
Eraeth grinned, not a pleasant expression. “You tensed the moment you knew the dwarren were approaching and haven’t relaxed since. And now, even as they depart, you’re gripping your staff so hard your knuckles are white.”
Colin glanced down in annoyance, tried to make his hands relax, but couldn’t.
Not able to meet Eraeth’s gaze, he watched the horizon. “They killed Karen, my mother and father, my friends.” He could hear the defensiveness in his own voice, could hear the hatred, and realized he didn’t care. He’d seen and heard the same hatred in Eraeth since the dwarren had arrived.
But he winced when Aeren spoke from behind him. “That’s not true. They didn’t kill your parents, your friends, or your beloved. The sukrael did.”
“We would never have run into the sukrael if not for them,” Colin snapped.
“True. But that was an unfortunate consequence. It was not the dwarren’s plan-”
“Not their plan?” Colin exclaimed, turning toward Aeren incredulously. “What about the wagon train before us? The dwarren found them, rounded them up, and slaughtered them. And they would have done the same to us. They trapped us against the forest, and if the sukrael didn’t get us, the dwarren did when we tried to escape into the plains. I know. I went back and watched it happen.”
Aeren frowned, his brow creasing, but he said nothing.
Colin snorted. “What did they want?”
Aeren hesitated. “It wasn’t what they wanted, it was what I wanted from them.”
“And that was?”
“Peace. As with the humans. With you. I want peace, so that the Alvritshai no longer have to fight. So that the Alvritshai no longer have to die.”
Colin stared at the Alvritshai lord intently for a long time, struggling with his hatred of the dwarren, with the emotions seeing them here had dredged up. He searched Aeren’s face, but he saw nothing familiar.
“How can you?” he finally asked. “After what the dwarren have done to the Alvritshai all these years, after what you know they’ve done to the humans. How can you approach them and ask for peace and mean it?”
Aeren shifted where he stood, and for the first time Colin saw anger in his eyes. “You do not understand how sacred the Alvritshai hold life, how precious it is in Aielan’s eyes. We live longer than the dwarren, longer even than you humans, but we are not as… prolific as you are. Children between those who bond are rare. The fact that my mother bore two healthy sons for the House was… miraculous. Most of those bonded only bear one child, if that. But now, because of this war, my father and brother are dead. I am the only living member of my House left. And I have not yet bonded. There is no heir to the Rhyssal seat.”
Behind him, Eraeth stirred, looking toward his lord, a pained expression in his stoic stance. But he said nothing as Aeren continued.
“Those deaths-my brother, my father-and the sheer number of Alvritshai lives lost since that first excursion onto the plains, since that first misunderstanding between Alvritshai and dwarren, have finally overwhelmed my hatred. I’m hoping they have overwhelmed the Tamaell and the Evant as well. I had hoped they had overwhelmed the human King, but unfortunately, King Stephan’s pain is more recent, more personal. His pain comes from a betrayal, not battle. Not so for the dwarren.”
“More dwarren died at the Escarpment than all of the Alvritshai or humans combined. They were slaughtered there.”
Aeren nodded. “Yes. The war has finally taken its toll on the dwarren, as it has for the Alvrishai. Their aggression has lessened over the past thirty years. Which is why I am hopeful that the dwarren will be willing to discuss peace.”
Behind him, one of the other Alvritshai whistled. He didn’t turn, although both he and Eraeth straightened.
“The dwarren have agreed to a meeting, here, in one month. I have little time to convince the Tamaell that peace between the Alvritshai and the dwarren is a necessity. We’re leaving, and we’ll have to travel fast.”
“He’ll have to ride,” Eraeth said to Aeren. “We can travel on foot. We’ll switch out the horses so that they can rest. It will slow us down, but…”
Colin stiffened at Eraeth’s tone. He thought about what he’d done at Portstown to catch up to the attackers and said abruptly, “I can keep up. On foot.” At Eraeth’s and Aeren’s skeptical look, he added, “ If you allow me to use the Lifeblood’s powers.” And he let himself shift, growing younger for a brief moment.
Aeren frowned, then glanced down toward the rest of the Phalanx escort.
“It will shake them,” Eraeth said in warning. “They know he has been touched by the sukrael, that he has drunk from the sarenavriell, but most don’t give the account much credence. If they see it, with their own eyes…”
Aeren thought for a long moment, glancing toward the sky, where the sun had already shifted toward midmorning. “They’ll have to adjust. If we’re to reach Caercaern and have any chance of convincing the Evant and the Tamaell to return here for the meeting, there can be no delays.” He looked Colin in the eyes. “Do whatever you have to do to keep up, Shaeveran. If you fall behind, we will leave you.”
He turned, and Eraeth whistled to the rest of the group. They formed up, all of their packs secured on the backs of the horses, only their weapons-cattans and bows-in hand. Eraeth barked orders in Alvritshai, and within the space of a few heartbeats the Phalanx scouts vanished onto the plains, the rest bringing the horses up to a trot, then a sprint behind them. Colin waited at the top of the hillock long enough to pick out the direction the Alvritshai were headed, then he reached out and pushed.
Colin cursed himself as he slipped through the grasses of the plains, staff in hand, satchel across his back. The world around him moved at an infinitesimal rate, birds barely flapped their wings in the sky, the grasses standing nearly still. The first day he’d found it disconcerting-he’d never realized how much the grass had moved before, even without a wind-but this wasn’t just the lack of wind, this was lack of movement. Any movement. At least, movement significant enough to register on the eye. Sound was dulled here as well, and smell. He could catch only the faintest of scents: a touch of broken grass stalks, the ripeness of grain heading toward decay, a whiff of the tail end of autumn, with a hint of winter to it. But he’d found he didn’t have to move as fast as he’d first thought he would. The Alvritshai were moving as fast as possible, but he could keep up with them by simply walking fast.
And that fact is what made him curse. He could have crossed the plains easily in a few days, reached Portstown in a week, if he’d known he could travel this way. But he hadn’t known. It hadn’t occurred to him. But he’d spent the last day experimenting. He couldn’t pick objects up while time was slowed, or move them-they were fixed in place once the world slowed-but he could hold them and then slow time, carrying them with him to the new location. But if he slowed time too far, if he thrust through that barrier he’d felt while traveling back to see Karen and the wagon train after the attack, then when he dropped the object, it returned to natural time. It shifted location, but he couldn’t leave it behind, in the past. As long as he stayed on this side of the barrier though…
Off to the side, he caught a ripple on the otherwise still plains, and he drew to a halt at the edge of a small stream. The plains had grown more rumpled, with higher hills and deeper flats. To the east, a forest stretched into the distance, its edge growing closer. During the last break, Eraeth had said it was the same forest that held the Faelehgre and the sukrael, although they were much farther north.
Between his position and the forest, he could see one of the distortions he called Drifters. He’d seen dozens of them since he’d left the forest, but none of the Drifters had been this close. And here, with the world slowed, the Drifter looked… different.
He glanced back to where he knew the Alvritshai were. Aeren had said they’d reach the first Alvritshai outpost that afternoon, at a rough division where the plains ended and the first few stands of forest began, marking the end of dwarren lands and the edge of Alvritshai territory. It would be another few days before they reached Caercaern and the halls of the Alvritshai.
But Colin knew he could catch up if he fell behind.
He moved closer to the Drifter, careful not to come into contact with any of its outstretched ripples. The Drifter coruscated with light, shifting though all of the various colors at its edges and through its arms but melding into an intense white as the light reached its center. The center itself was clear, and as he drew closer, he realized that he could see through it.
What he saw on the far side wasn’t what he expected. Grass, yes, as if the plains continued on through the eye of coruscating light. But this grass wasn’t lit with afternoon sunlight. Instead, it was silvered with faint moonlight, as if it were night on the far side.
One of the arms of the Drifter reached out, as if sensing him, and he pulled back. It brushed by where he’d stood a moment before and passed on, almost like the antennae on an insect.
Frowning, Colin searched the grass and found a stone, releasing his hold on time so he could pick it up. He turned, the Drifted no longer coruscating with color, merely a ripple of distortion, like heat waves, although he could still see the moonlit plains on the far side. It was moving slowly toward him. Stepping forward, he tossed the stone at the eye in the Drifter’s center. It passed through, landing with a thud and rustle of grass as it rolled into the moonlight.
“It’s a doorway,” he murmured to himself. He considered for a moment, then slowed time. The Drifter shifted from clear ripples to coruscating colors again, but stopped drifting forward.
He prodded the stone with his staff through the distortion, then shifted position, keeping track of the rippling arms of the Drifter. If he stooped over, he could step through the eye himself, but the thought made him shudder. He couldn’t see anything of significance on the far side, nothing to place where the doorway led. The features in the background-the shape of the land itself, the hills and depressions-seemed to match where he stood, although the forest appeared much closer. It was simply night there.
Then he caught the scent. A familiar scent. But here, with time slowed, the scent was strong. An earthen scent, of leaves and mulch and trees.
The Lifeblood. So strong he could taste it, as if he’d placed dried leaves in his mouth. It struck his gut hard, an ache shuddering out through his bones. Since he’d given Eraeth the vial of Lifeblood, the pull of the Well had eased and he’d had fewer and less severe seizures, but now the craving returned, harsh and powerful. He fought it back, forced himself to focus, to inhale deeply. Because there was something else as well, another scent intertwined with the Lifeblood. He concentrated, but he couldn’t place it, even though he felt he should, as if he’d smelled it before. Like roses, sweet and clean.
He stood for a long moment in deep thought. He thought about what Aeren had said, that the Drifters had swallowed entire armies. He suddenly remembered Peg vanishing during the storm as they fled the dwarren.
But it didn’t explain where the distortions were coming from. Nor why they were appearing more frequently now than when Colin’s family had first headed out onto the plains.
He shrugged, turning away from the distortion, and as he did so, he heard a faint whisper.
… Colin…
He stilled, spinning slightly, like the needle of a compass, until he faced the forest on the far side of the distortion. Osserin?
The Faelehgre didn’t respond, although Colin thought he heard.. . something.
Without looking back, Colin headed toward the far woods, slipping around the distortion and leaving it behind. A hundred paces farther on, he felt the faint edges of the Lifeblood’s influence slip through him and he hissed in response, repressing a shiver. He could taste its coolness against his tongue, could feel it filling him, tingling through his skin, worse than when he’d smelled it near the Drifter. The fine hairs on his arm and on the back of his neck stood on end, and for a brief moment he shuddered at the thought that he had ever left its embrace.
Then his stomach cramped. He gasped, found himself on his knees, one hand on his staff holding him upright, the other fisted in the grass and earth, the dried blades cutting into his palms and fingers. He focused on the slivered pain, so thin and sharp, and fought back the duller, wider ache in his gut.
Trembling, he rose and pushed on toward the forest. He hadn’t thought he’d react so strongly to the Well, now that he’d been away from it for so long. And he knew he was only at the edge of its influence. He could feel its power growing as he moved closer.
Except he was too far north to be within its influence at all.
… Colin…
I can hear you, Osserin. I’m headed toward the forest.
A wash of relief, and as if the Faelehgre had focused in on his voice he heard the reply clearly. We’ve been trying to contact you since you left. We’d given up, but then we sensed you close to the forest. We’ve been calling for you for the last day.
Colin stepped under the branches of the forest and sank into their shadows, the dulled scent of pine filling his senses. He moved deeper into the forest, feeling it close in around him, sunlight lancing down through breaks, dust caught in the shafts seemingly motionless.
Where are you?
Here, Osserin sent and Colin focused in on the direction of his voice. Here, by the Well.
And then Osserin wove out of the forest, flickering in agitation. A few other Faelehgre hovered around him, darting here and there in agitation.
“What’s wrong?” Colin asked. “What’s happened? I didn’t think the influence of the Lifeblood spread this far north.”
It doesn’t. It shouldn’t. But look.
Osserin streaked away, the others following. Colin forged after them, picking his way over tangled roots and the fallen trunks of trees, using his staff as a crutch. He reached the crest of a ridge, began making his way down the far side, then glanced up and halted in shock.
The ridge was the edge of a shallow bowl, earth sloping down toward a basin. In the center of the basin sat a ring of river stone, rounded and smooth, like the lip of the Well at the center of the Faelehgre’s ancient city.
“Another Well,” Colin murmured. Except this Well pulsed with a faint blue light.
He stumbled the last few steps and leaned forward over the lip of the Well, down into its depths, toward the blue light. He couldn’t see any of the Lifeblood-the Well appeared empty-but he could smell it, could feel it throbbing in his skin.
It’s filling slowly, Osserin whispered. We think that’s why the radius of our own Well increased, why we can travel here now. We think it has something to do with the disappearance of the Wraiths.
Colin shoved back from the Well. “Tell me what happened.”
Osserin hovered uncertainly for a moment, as if he didn’t know where to start, but then his light dimmed and he settled closer to the ground.
It began a few days after you left. Or so we think. We can’t be certain. But that was the first sign that something was different. We sent out some of the Faelehgre to scout. What they found was not that something had changed, but that something was missing. The Wraiths were no longer in the forest, were no longer anywhere within the Well’s influence.
“None of them?”
None. All six of them were gone.
Colin felt something crawl up his back, the flesh of his spine prickling, the sensation creeping up into his shoulders and spreading out along his arms.
“What about the Shadows, the sukrael? Where are they?”
Still inside the forest. They’re still trapped by the Lifeblood, as we are. But you and the Wraiths… We never considered whether or not the Wraiths could leave the forest. They never have before, so we thought they were trapped like us, like the Shadows. But they’re not. They’re like you. They’re touched by the Lifeblood, but not yet caught.
“Where did they go?”
We don’t know. We can’t follow them, and we can’t track them. We tried to contact you as soon as we realized that they’d left. We thought that perhaps they’d gone after you, especially since they left almost immediately after you did.
Which was strange. But maybe his departure hadn’t been a factor. Maybe it had been a coincidence. Or maybe his leaving the forest had forced the Wraiths to act.
“If they aren’t coming after me, then where would they go?”
Osserin flared in anger. Again, we don’t know. But a few weeks after you left, something else happened. The Well itself… flashed.
“What do you mean?”
Colin could sense the Faelehgre’s frustration. The air around the Well began to hum, to vibrate, so we gathered at the edge of the Well itself, on the amphitheater’s steps. And then the sukrael appeared in the forest on the far side, hundreds of them. They came out of the forest, as if drawn to the sound, and they were… dancing, weaving in and out among the trees, cavorting with each other. The hum escalated, and everything around the Well grew still. The Shadows halted, the trees quieted. Even we grew silent. Because we could feel the buildup of power, could feel it throbbing on the air.
And then a white light pulsed up through the water from deep below, from the Well’s source, and spread outward, rustling in the trees, shoving all of us back toward the city, the Shadows back into the trees. A few of the Shadows shrieked, and one of the nearer buildings cracked, the foundation splitting.
But that was it. We stayed at the Well. The Shadows stayed as well, for a time, and then, as if by signal, they fled into the forest again.
When we went to investigate, we found that the influence of the Well had expanded. We could travel farther in all directions, out onto the plains, to the north, south, and east as well, deeper into the forest.
The same thing has happened twice more, the Lifeblood pulsing, and each time the extent of the Well’s influence grows. We’ve only been able to reach this far north within the last few days. And then Yssero sensed you at the edge of our reach yesterday. We’ve been calling to you since then, hoping you’d hear and come to us so we could warn you.
Colin had settled back onto the stone of the Well as Osserin spoke. “Has this ever happened before?” he asked.
Not as far as any of us remember. And the Faelehgre have long memories.
He narrowed his gaze at Osserin in suspicion. “What do you think the Wraiths are doing?” When Osserin hesitated, he added, “Osserin?”
In a flash and dimming of light that was almost as audible as a sigh, Osserin said, We think the Wraiths are attempting to… free the Shadows.
That same prickling sensation coursed up Colin’s back, only this time it continued to spread, sinking into the pit of his stomach with a nauseous heat, into his lungs with a tingling cold.
“Can they do that?” he asked, almost breathless.
We’ve spent hundreds of years trying to find a way to escape the Well. We couldn’t, because we can’t move beyond the Well’s influence, and we found no way to break the Well or alter its power from within. The Shadows are in the same situation. When you came, when you drank from the Well, there was much discussion about sending you out to find a way to free us. But in the end, we decided that couldn’t be done because freeing us would also mean freeing the Shadows. And that is too much to set upon the world. Not for what was our own mistake.
We never considered that perhaps the Shadows were trying to find a way to free themselves as well. We know that they are intelligent. After all they were once an embodiment of us, were once part of us, separated from us by the Lifeblood. They are the remnants of our bodies, while we are the remnants of our souls. That is why they feed. They are searching for the life-force that their bodies once held. But we did not realize how intelligent they are.
Colin heard something in Osserin’s voice, something dark, that made his skin break out in a light sweat. “What do you think they’ve done?”
Osserin hesitated. Then: We think that when the dwarren first arrived here in the forest, the Shadows tasted true life-force for the first time in centuries. They feasted, but when the dwarren grew wary of the forest, they realized that in order to continue feeding, they needed to find a way to break the Well’s influence.
“You said that couldn’t be done.”
Osserin flared in annoyance. Exactly. When the Faelehgre realized this, we stopped searching. Our drive to be free waned. It had never been as strong as that of the Shadows in any case. But the Shadows continued searching. And after the dwarren appeared, they realized that, if they couldn’t break the Well’s influence, then perhaps they could extend it.
“How?”
Osserin dipped toward the second Well. With this. Somehow, the Shadows learned of this second Well. A dead Well, one empty of the Lifeblood. They realized that if they could reawaken it, if they could bring it back to life…
“Then their realm of influence would expand,” Colin breathed.
Osserin pulsed in agreement. Yes. But the second Well was outside their influence. They couldn’t touch it, couldn’t activate it themselves. They needed someone else, someone who could travel outside the restrictions of the Lifeblood. So they created the Wraiths.
“How?”
Osserin flickered with uncertainty. We aren’t certain, but think back to the attack on your group. You said that the Shadows attacked in a frenzy, that they gorged themselves on the people in your wagon train, feeding frantically. They had not fed in a long time, and there were so many of you.
But then you said that their attacks changed, that they began to taunt you. The frenzy died, as if they had been sated. When you remained with Karen, they did not fall on you like they did the others. You said they “tasted” you.
Colin’s mouth had gone dry and he clutched at the stone of the Well, the memory of that day still sharp. “Yes.”
We think that they were testing you. Osserin drifted closer. We think that they were trying to decide whether you could be made into a Wraith.
Colin shuddered and his fingers scraped against the rough stone of the Well as he tried to dig into it. He lowered his head. “You’re saying that all of the Wraiths are… victims of the Shadows. That they were all once people, that they have been… poisoned in some way by the Shadows.”
By the Shadows and the Lifeblood. The first Wraiths, created before the appearance of humans on the plains, were short, about the same height as “The dwarren. They were dwarren.” Colin thought about all of the Wraiths he had seen since he’d drunk from the Well. They were always cloaked in the Shadows, so that their features were never clear, but now that he knew… “They have Alvritshai and human Wraiths now.”
And the Wraiths or the Shadows figured out how to reawaken this Well.
Colin stared down into the soft blue glow beneath him. “If there was a second Well, then there must be others. The Wraiths must be searching for them.”
If they find them, if they reawaken them, then their influence and that of the Shadows will increase. Already the influence has expanded enough to intersect with dwarren lands… and Alvritshai. Osserin drifted closer. The Wraiths have to be stopped. The Shadows cannot be allowed to prey upon the world.
Colin gave Osserin a sardonic look. “And you want me to stop them. How do you expect me to do that? You don’t know where they are, and I don’t know how to find them.”
Osserin considered for a moment, then said, We think they’re moving northward.
Colin frowned. “Why?”
Because the influence of the Lifeblood isn’t expanding in all directions at the same rate. The first pulse spread it out circularly, like a widening pool, but the second and third only increased the Well’s influence to the north and east. When we explored the new region, we found this Well. When this one was reawakened, it intersected with the radius of influence from our own Well. And as it fills, its radius increases.
“And none of the Faelehgre knew of this Well?”
Osserin wavered. None. The Faelehgre traded with people to the south, east, and west. We did not reach this far north.
Colin turned to stare down into the pulsing blue light of the Well behind him. “You don’t know where any of the other Wells are either, do you?”
Osserin’s light appeared to wince. No. You have to warn the Alvritshai of the Wraiths and the Shadows. Part of their lands are within Shadow territory now. We’ll try to protect them as much as possible, but we can’t be everywhere at once. The area is simply too large now.
“You should keep searching for the Wraiths as well, and the locations of any more Wells. I’ll do the same.”
“Aielan’s Light, where is he?” Eraeth demanded. “We’re almost at the outpost.”
Aeren frowned at Eraeth. “For your supposed hatred of the humans and everything they do, you’ve certainly taken to their penchant for blasphemy.”
“I knew we couldn’t trust him,” Eraeth mumbled under his breath, ignoring Aeren’s comment completely, still scanning the horizon.
They’d reached the last of the plains, the edge of the lands the Alvritshai had claimed from the dwarren. The land rose abruptly into hills, scattered with trees and brush and dense thickets of thorn and sedge. The scattering of trees continued, the hills steadily growing steeper, then thickened into copses and eventually forest. Rearing up in the near distance were the jagged northern mountains, what the Alvritshai called the Hauttaeren and the humans called the Teeth.
“He’s followed us since Corsair,” Aeren said. “I doubt he has abandoned us now.”
Eraeth growled and turned to his lord, stiffening slightly, his tone becoming formal. “I’ve been watching for him since we left the dwarren. He isn’t invisible when he travels. There’s a shadow, a darkness, that you can catch out of the corner of your eye. I saw it numerous times those first two days, and most of this morning. He’s been keeping close now that we’re nearing the outposts. But I haven’t seen him since this afternoon. He’s gone, and I would like to know where. Especially now that I know he can bypass the Phalanx sentries whenever he feels like it.” He straightened, faced Aeren completely. “You should be concerned about that as well.”
“I am concerned,” Aeren said, “but not for the same reason. There may be others out there with this… ability. And if Colin can bypass our sentries, then so can they. Those are the men you should be worried about, not Colin.” He scanned the horizon, searching for the flicker of shadow Eraeth had mentioned. Because he’d noticed the shadow as well. Nothing tangible enough to track, to follow with the eye, but if Colin passed through his peripheral vision…
“I’m more concerned that something has happened to him,” Aeren said. “Have you noticed he isn’t keeping as old of an appearance as when we first met him in Portstown?”
Eraeth’s lips twitched into a sneer, then smoothed. “Should we wait for him?” he asked, completely formal now.
Aeren suppressed a sigh. “No. We’ll move on to the outpost, and then directly to Caercaern. If Colin can slip by our sentries, he should have no problem with the outposts.”
“We won’t be traveling to Rhyssal?”
“There isn’t time if we’re to convince the Tamaell to meet with the dwarren.”
“And have you figured out how you’re going to do that?”
Aeren didn’t answer, catching Eraeth’s gaze instead. Lines of concern appeared at the edges of the Phalanx’s eyes, but he said nothing. “Let’s move,” Aeren said, stepping away from the plains into the edge of the heavier scrub to the north.
They reached the outpost an hour later, Eraeth approaching the lone building nestled in the branches of the trees above to announce them, although Aeren knew that the Phalanx that manned the outpost had likely seen the party nearly fifteen minutes before as they climbed the lower hills and entered the verge of the higher forests. One of the Phalanx had removed the Rhyssal House banner and attached it to pole to declare themselves once they’d come within shouting distance of the outpost.
When Eraeth turned to look back, Aeren moved forward, escorted by the rest of the Phalanx in his party. The caitan of the outpost who’d been speaking to Eraeth bowed formally at the waist as he approached. “Lord Aeren,” he said, rising slowly. He wore Ionaen House colors: Peloroun’s black and orange. “Aielan’s Light upon you.”
“And you,” Aeren answered, then asked, “What news?”
The caitan shrugged. “Nothing of note here beneath the Hauttaeren.”
“And elsewhere?”
“Nothing from the plains, but there has been activity on the coast.”
“What kind of activity?”
“Lord Barak returned with news of war between the Provinces and Andover. The Andovans have attacked numerous ports along the coast. The human Governors have been able to repel all such attacks so far, although there are rumors that the Andovans have yet to bring their main fleets across the Arduon.”
“Have the attacks affected any of our own ports yet?”
“The Andovans have yet to venture that far up the coast. They seem to be relegating their attacks to the areas south of Sedaeren and the Claw.”
“It would be stupid to antagonize us by attacking Alvritshai ports,” Eraeth said.
The caitan snorted. “When have the humans ever shown such intelligence?”
Everyone in Aeren’s party stilled. Such prejudiced comments were not allowed in the Rhyssal House, by any of its members, including the Phalanx.
But this was not his House lands, and these were not his Phalanx. Each lord kept their own army, trained it and supplied it using their own House resources, its members loyal to the House’s lord and the Tamaell.
The silence held until the caitan shifted awkwardly, uncertain how he had offended Aeren. He fell back on protocol. “Will you be passing through to your own House lands?”
Aeren shook his head and answered coldly. “No. I will be traveling to Caercaern on urgent business. I have my own Phalanx. There will be no need of an escort.” The caitan nodded, glancing over the group and frowning. There were fewer of the Phalanx in attendance than most of the other lords used in their own escorts. “Are any of the lords currently seeing the Tamaell?”
“Lord Barak, Jydell, and Khalaek are in attendance.”
More than Aeren expected. “Have word sent to the remaining lords that their presence is required in Caercaern. Immediately.”
The caitan nodded, motioning to members of the Phalanx behind him.
Then they left the outpost behind and entered Ionaen House lands.
Aeren saw the flicker of shadow out of the corner of his eye a moment before Colin appeared before him.
Eraeth’s cattan snicked from its sheath, blade pointed at Colin’s chest, before Aeren had even had time to lean back.
“Where have you been?” Eraeth demanded, his voice like stone. On all sides, the rest of the Phalanx rose from their positions around the way station beside the road where they’d stopped to rest the horses and eat their midmorning meal.
Aeren glared at Eraeth in annoyance. “If he’d wanted to kill me, I’d already be dead,” he said calmly, in Alvritshai, “and there would have been nothing you could have done to stop him.”
Eraeth grimaced, his blade lowering, even as he sent Colin-standing perfectly still-an angry look. “He would make a perfect assassin,” he growled, a certain amount of respect in his voice. The rest of the Phalanx went back to their tasks.
Aeren nodded. “Thankfully, he is not.”
Then he turned to Colin and said in Andovan, “I assume something has happened.”
Relaxing slightly, Colin nodded. “Something has happened, although I don’t think it has anything to do with your plans.” He told them about the Well, the disappearance of the Wraiths, and the expansion of the sukrael’s range in Alvritshai lands. He shuddered as he spoke, and Aeren saw something dark and haunted flicker through Colin’s eyes, the same haunted look he’d seen on the ship when he’d woken from the seizure, the same desperation he’d noted at odd moments since. But that initial look had been worn, old in some way, as if it were a wound that he’d learned simply to accept. This wound was new and fresh, still bleeding. Aeren could see it in Colin’s hold on the staff, in the way he unconsciously massaged the wrist of his right hand.
Colin swallowed as he finished and met Aeren’s gaze. “If the Well’s influence is spreading northward, then the Alvritshai will be the first affected by the presence of the sukrael.”
“It will affect the dwarren as well.”
“What are the Wraiths?” Eraeth demanded.
Colin shrugged. “They were part of the forest when I arrived, there when I awoke. They must have been people who wandered into the Well’s influence.”
“Or were driven there,” Eraeth said.
Aeren nodded slowly. “If they were created to awaken the Wells, so that the sukrael would have a larger hunting ground, then in order to find the Wraiths, we need to find the Wells.” An unpleasant pit had opened in his stomach, and a dry, sour taste filled his mouth. He shifted his attention to Eraeth. “We’ll have to inform the Order.”
Eraeth winced.
“What’s the Order?” Colin asked.
“The Order of Aielan,” Aeren answered. “Its acolytes are the keepers of the Scripts, the holders of the ancient texts and their knowledge. They interpret Aielan’s will, and they lead us all to Aielan’s Light. And most of their members have certain… talents.”
“Like Diermani’s priests in the church.”
Aeren smiled, the expression taut. “Yes and no. Like your priests, the acolytes have power. Nothing like what you have shown, but power nonetheless. But unlike your churches, the Order has direct political influence. In effect, they are a ninth House, except that they have no direct role to play in the Evant. But they can control it, if they desire, simply by manipulating those among the lords who are faithful. Your church does not have that power, at least not in the Provinces, although I’ve heard your church holds tremendous power in Andover across the ocean. It was a driving force behind the Feud that has torn Andover apart for the last sixty years.” As he spoke, he motioned for Eraeth and the rest of the Phalanx to gather the horses. “I do not think this news of the sukrael will affect the main reason that we go to Caercaern, but it will complicate matters. The acolytes are the only ones who would know of the whereabouts of any of the Wells-their locations may appear in the Scripts-but if we approach them, they will become involved. In everything.”
And that was what Aeren dreaded. He’d dealt with the Order before, had been an acolyte until his father had been killed on the plains. Forced to return to the House lands and assume the role of ascension beneath his brother, Aureon, he still considered himself one of the devout followers of Aielan’s Light. But he’d never appreciated their manipulation of the members of the Evant. Lotaern, the Chosen, leader of the Order, had been disappointed when Aeren left the Order. But Aeren was wise enough to realize that his return to the Rhyssal House gave Lotaern influence over Aeren and his House in the Evant, influence the Chosen would not hesitate to use. He’d seen it in Lotaern’s eyes the last time they’d met as Chosen and acolyte.
He would have to approach Lotaern about the Shadows and the Wells as soon as possible, to warn him of the possibility of attack from the sukrael if nothing else, and the potential aid of the antruel-the Faelehgre. But perhaps he could enlist Lotaern’s aid in approaching the Evant about the dwarren. Influence was a dual-edged blade.
Eraeth signaled that the Phalanx was ready and Aeren turned to Colin. “You should stay with us, now that we’re within Alvritshai lands. Ride if necessary, although we’ll be moving more slowly than on the plains. And keep the colors of the Rhyssal House you wear visible at all times. Few humans have traveled among the Alvritshai, fewer still across our holdings. And when we reach Caercaern…”
“Don’t draw attention to myself,” Colin finished.
Aeren nodded, then heard Eraeth mutter in Alvritshai under his breath, “That’s going to be impossible.”
And they moved, swiftly, past wide, flattened valleys and farmland claimed from the dwarren decades past. The acreage was broken up by mounds of earth with low walls of stone on top for irrigation and a complex system of stone aqueducts that brought snowmelt down from the mountains to the lowlands. The fields were mostly barren, only dead vines and vegetation left after the harvest. Late winter grains were being scythed and mounded to dry in some. The air held a frigid bite, settling in the evenings and growing colder through the night, a taste of the coming winter. They passed through towns, the buildings a blend of wood and stone, tiered, with curved, wooden- shingled rooflines up to the base of the next floor, rising at least three levels in height, the largest up to six tiers high. Chimes dangled down from the apex of some, rung at intervals throughout the day. Aeren couldn’t help comparing his own homeland to that of the humans, and he found the Provinces lacking. Alvritshai towns were cleaner, the architecture richer, the structures more pleasing to the eye. Hidden gardens and gurgling fountains were everywhere, with stone bridges crossing the streams and aqueducts at regular intervals, everything integrated into the surrounding land.
As they traveled, more and more roadways met their own, all paved, all in better repair than anything the humans had constructed. Handheld carts and baskets used by those in the outlying regions yielded to wagons and the occasional horse-drawn carriage. The Alvritshai clothing became more exotic than the rough uniforms worn by those working the fields. Men wore silken shirts and tunics, the cuts severe but with loose folds; women wore blouses with slim leather vests on top, a few with skirts, but most with more practical silken pants. Some wore conical hats woven from the reeds found near most of the streams. They passed through increasingly larger towns, Colin drawing attention everywhere they went, people pausing and pointing, murmuring with heads lowered and hands covering their mouths. They were stopped on more than one occasion by Ionaen Phalanx, the House guards questioning Eraeth and Aeren extensively while frowning and keeping their eyes fixed on Colin, but none of the Phalanx dared detain a Lord of the Evant.
As they neared Caercaern, Aeren motioned for the Phalanx to mount. He stared up through the edge of the thick trees to the mountains that towered above. They blazed in the sunlight, and he tasted the snow on the air, realized his breath came in plumes before him. He shivered, the roadway mostly in shadow.
Then they cantered around a twist in the road, and Caercaern came into view. “Welcome to Caercaern,” he murmured, and heard Colin gasp.
Caercaern rose up out of the trees, a colossal work of stone, tiered like the buildings below, cascades of water running down the mountain to either side. The first tier consisted of a wall built out from the stone face of the mountain; the road leveled off at the wall’s base, running nearly its full length before reaching the gate. Each tier above it acted as another wall, with gates at various positions as they ascended, no two in a direct line. Banners snapped in the wind, and Alvritshai were visible on the walls and rooftops and the bridges and streets that they could see from this vantage.
“All the buildings that you see, the roads and courtyards, squares and temples, all of it is a facade,” Aeren said as they approached the gates. “The real Caercaern is hidden beneath the mountain. There are enough halls and fountains and pools beneath the stone to house all the Alvritshai for years if necessary.”
“What do you think?” Dharel asked.
“It’s… huge.” Aeren watched the human struggle for a moment, then shake his head. “I thought the Faelehgre city was exotic, but it’s a frail beauty, made of white stone and narrow towers. And its beauty is fading, collapsing inward. But this…”
Aeren smiled. “Look behind you.”
Colin turned and gasped again. The entire valley spread out beneath the mountain fortress, hills and trees undulating away, covered in a thin layer of mist. A few towers stood out in the distance, on hilltops and promontories, and the occasional town or city peeked up from the rumpled blanket of forest. Much farther away, the duller browns and yellows of the cultivated fields interrupted the greenery.
The group drew to a halt at the gates, Eraeth and Aeren nudging their horses forward to speak to the waiting sentries. A caitan of the Resue House Phalanx-also called the White Phalanx-stepped forward to greet them, and Aeren frowned, a shiver of dread coursing through his body. Resue was the Tamaell’s House.
The Phalanx caitan bowed formally. “Word of your arrival has already reached Tamaell Fedorem’s ears,” he said as he rose, “as well as that of your… guest.” The caitan’s eyes flicked toward Colin, conspicuous on his mount because of his shorter stature and darker skin, even though he wore the Rhyssal House colors. “He requests your presence in his private gardens.”
Aeren scanned the caitan’s accompanying Phalanx, all dressed in the white and red colors of House Resue, all standing at formal attention, faces rigid, revealing nothing. “I intended to visit my own House chambers, to wash the dust of the road from my face,” he said, “and to prepare.”
The caitan shifted, although his features did not change. “The Tamaell wishes to see you immediately. You may honor your House with your presence later.”
“Very well.” Aeren bowed his head to the caitan. “My Protector will accompany me. The rest of my Phalanx will retire to my rooms, along with my guest.”
The caitan returned the nod, then motioned to the members of the Tamaell’s Phalanx that accompanied him. They formed up around Aeren’s group, taking positions of honor, rather than a more formal escort, and Aeren relaxed slightly. A few remained with the caitan.
He shared a glance with Eraeth as the escort led the others away.
They were led through the sunlit streets of the first three tiers up into the enclosed fourth tier, the Tamaell’s public chambers. The halls were immaculate, leaves and vines threading up the stone columns set into the walls, murals and friezes around every corner, the ceiling painted to resemble the sky, pale blue, with clouds lining the horizon, the blue fading into a soft, brilliant yellow like the sun at intersecting corridors. Members of the White Phalanx, the Tamaell’s House guards, moved about among aides and couriers in House Resue colors, mingling with Phalanx bearing a few other House colors. Audience chambers, dining halls, and other rooms opened off to either side, filled with chairs and tables, plants and statues, all placed with elegant care, yet somehow ostentatious.
They ascended to the fifth tier. Aeren had only been into these upper rooms a few times. This was the Tamaell’s private tier, and it was significantly different. The walls were a flat polished white stone, the support columns rectangular but without detailed carvings. A few statues and urns and delicately pruned trees were placed in artful locations, lit by angled slants of sunlight from hidden windows. The ceilings were again painted in skyscapes, but the streaming cloud formations all swept inward, toward a central location, the outermost edges the pale white of horizon, shifting from a faint green to a deep blue, then to pale yellow-as if the clouds were tinged with the light of sunset-then deepening to pink and a burnished orange. Near the center of the array of rooms, the orange shifted into a shimmering gold, as if the central chambers were lit by the sun itself.
Spread throughout the chambers, stationed at corners and outside the Tamaell’s private doors, were pairs of White Phalanx, their gazes flickering over Aeren and Eraeth with cold appraisal, noting weapons and faces, even though they were accompanied by one of their own caitans.
They drew near the central chambers, close enough that Aeren thought the Tamaell had changed his mind and intended to meet with them in his own private rooms, but at the last moment the caitan turned into a side corridor, and within twenty paces they stepped out onto a wide, walled garden, a series of steps leading down to stone paths and a lush carpet of grass. A cascade of water from the mountain heights above splashed down from the rock face and spilled into a clear pool near the garden’s edge, a stream winding through the sculpted trees and shrubs and flowers before escaping through a hidden grate on the far side.
The Tamaell stood in a small grotto to the left, and Aeren was startled to see the Tamaea Moiran, his wife, kneeling in the grass beside him, calmly trimming one of the shrubs with careful, precise snips of a pair of pruning shears. Both were dressed in the white and red of the Resue House, but the style was casual, not the formal dress of the Evant. He frowned when he noticed Lord Khalaek sitting to one side, his attention on the Tamaell, whose gaze rested on the hazy distance.
“-what we have seen,” Lord Khalaek said, turning as the caitan led Aeren and Eraeth down the wide steps to the grass beneath, his eyes narrowing as he focused on Aeren, “what Lord Waerren has seen, I should say, is a decrease in the activity along the Province bordering his House lands. He claims that the Legion has pulled back from the border. Not completely-they’ve left a small force behind in the major cities-but for the most part the Legion has retreated to the port cities. An increase in the number of ships being built has been noted as well, although of course these new ships are not expected to be complete until next year at the earliest.”
“And Lord Waerren believes this is due to the recent attacks on the human Provinces by the Andovans?” Tamaell Fedorem asked.
The caitan halted a short distance from where the Tamaell, the Tamaea, and Lord Khalaek had gathered and waited to be recognized. Khalaek’s black eyes had not left Aeren since he entered, but Aeren ignored him, focusing on the Tamaell, who still stood with his back to him.
The Tamaea had stood as they approached, and now she dismissed the caitan with a smooth motion of her hand, then bowed toward Aeren. “It is good to see you safely returned, Lord Aeren,” she said, and as she raised her head, something flashed through her gray eyes-a flicker of caution or warning, hidden swiftly behind her vibrant smile. She stepped forward to grip both of his shoulders and formally greet him with a kiss to each cheek. Before drawing back, her face turned away so that neither Khalaek nor Fedorem could see, she breathed, “Tread lightly,” so softly that Aeren felt the words against his skin more than heard them.
Leaning back, she scanned him up and down, noting the dust and dirt on his clothes with a raised eyebrow and frown. “After Lord Barak returned and informed us of what had happened in Portstown, we were concerned. Where have you been? He said you’d traveled by land from Corsair. Whatever for?”
“That,” Tamaell Fedorem said, “is precisely the question I would like answered.”
The Tamaell had turned from his perusal of the city. He regarded Aeren with cold green eyes, his face completely expressionless, his posture at odds with the relaxed setting, shoulders stiff, hands clasped behind his back. He looked older than Aeren remembered, his skin paler, yet darkened beneath his eyes, haggard with lack of sleep.
But not dulled. Aeren could see the hardness beneath the weariness, could hear it in his voice when he spoke.
“I thought this venture to the Provinces by you and Lord Barak was to begin talks about trade agreements.”
“It was,” Aeren said, aware that Lord Khalaek sat to one side. “And we succeeded to some degree. I’m certain he’s reported that a few of the Governors have signed tentative agreements that will need to be formalized before the Evant.” The Tamaell had begun to relax, but he stiffened again as Aeren continued. “But there was another purpose to the trip as well. I went to Corsair in the hopes of opening a dialogue with King Stephan.”
“A dialogue concerning… what?”
The Tamaell’s voice was flat, without inflection.
“The possibility of an alliance between the Provinces and the Evant, between humans and Alvritshai.”
Absolute silence fell on the small garden, interrupted only by the rush of the water from the falls behind the tower. Aeren kept his eyes locked on the Tamaell; he saw irritation crease his forehead, his lips twitch, before shifting into a frown.
“And how did King Stephan react to this proposal?” the Tamaell asked softly.
“He was… enraged.”
Khalaek snorted, but Aeren noted that the Tamaell’s shoulders sagged as if he were disappointed, even as he turned slightly away.
“Did you expect anything less?” Khalaek said. “The humans are reckless, ruled by emotion, quick to anger, King Stephan the worst among them.”
“Because we slaughtered his father under the pretense of an alliance,” Aeren snapped, his anger rising sharp and unexpected at the derisive tone in Khalaek’s voice. He reined it in swiftly, his hands clenching at his sides. He felt Eraeth at his back, knew that his Protector had slid forward in mute warning in an attempt to restrain him, but the gesture wasn’t necessary. He hadn’t traveled so far to lose everything now because of his hatred of one lord, because of his hatred of that lord’s betrayal at the Escarpment.
Khalaek watched him with a cold, knowing smile, and Aeren realized the lord was trying to provoke him.
“That still does not explain why you returned by land,” the Tamaell interjected, and Aeren dragged his attention away from Khalaek, back to the Tamaell.
“When my attempt in Corsair failed,” he said, “I traveled to the plains and met with one of the dwarren chiefs, Garius of the Thousand Springs Clan. If we cannot find peace with the humans, perhaps we can with the dwarren.”
“And?”
The Tamaell had shifted forward again, all his attention focused on Aeren. Behind him, he could see the Tamaea, her hand raised, the shears poised to snip a branch from the small topiary shrub. But she’d frozen in mid-motion, her face locked in a frown.
To the side, Khalaek had stood, his stance defensive, as if he were about to be attacked.
Aeren drew a tense breath, then said, “He’s summoned the Gathering. They intend to meet with us, with the Tamaell and the Evant, in three weeks.”