Book 4: Chapter Five

Ariadne lay on her side, staring at the canvas wall of the tent Leena had bought for her in Aencyr. Closing her eyes, she tried to force herself to fall back asleep, but it was useless, and soon she was staring at the canvas again. She didn’t like sleeping outdoors. A tent couldn’t compare to the thick stone walls of Tir Yadar. At least when they’d been camping in the remains of Old Town, there’d been a stone roof overhead and Mount Yadar itself had loomed comfortingly nearby. A thin sheet of canvas just wasn’t the same.

She’d lived in the inner city her entire life, and had only stayed outdoors overnight a few times during training exercises, always secure in the knowledge that she’d be returning to Tir Yadar soon. Now, though, she was leaving her mountain fortress home for good. What point was there in returning to a place that could only serve as a reminder of what she’d lost?

Despite the logic of that reasoning, she still had to fight the urge to run back to the mountain and hide in her family’s apartment. There was nothing left for her there, but it was hard to give up those last few links to the world she knew.

Outside the tent, the sound of the third watch making their passes around the camp finally gave way to the sound of people getting up and ready for the day.

Giving up on her attempt to sleep, Ariadne crawled out of her bedroll and put on a garment Sarette had loaned her. It was cut similarly to a soldier’s uniform, and provided some sense of normalcy. It was certainly a better option than the dress Katrin had offered.

Over the clothing, she strapped on a simple silversteel cuirass. Her mirrorsteel plate armor was packed away on one of the wagons, along with the Mage Knights’ equipment. Corec and Boktar didn’t seem to feel any need to wear heavy armor with no enemies in sight, and with the hot summer sun overhead, Ariadne had finally decided to follow their example.

After bundling up her bedroll and tent and tossing them into one of the wagons, she ate a quick meal of cold camp rations and then waited while the others hitched the mules to the wagons and loaded up the horses’ packsaddles.

Once the preparations were complete, she headed to her normal spot in the procession, joining Treya and Sarette. Treya greeted her, while Sarette just gave her a nod and a smile, not attempting to speak the Western language. The two women were the friendliest of the group, and by walking with them, Ariadne could avoid ending up in conversation with Ellerie or Bobo. The others in the party were polite, but they all seemed uncertain how to act around her, and the language barrier didn’t help.

“Will you teach me trade tongue?” she asked Treya. It was frustrating to only be able to speak to her or Sarette, and never both at the same time. When the three of them attempted to have a conversation, the other two had to translate for each other.

“Of course,” Treya replied. She’d offered to do so before, and Ariadne had turned her down.

Ariadne felt herself flushing in embarrassment. “I can’t understand anything anyone says,” she explained. Trade tongue was the only language shared by everyone in the group, so it was used for most conversations, but she couldn’t learn it from the Necklace of Tongues. It seemed that no one spoke it natively.

Treya nodded. “I understand,” she said, then turned to Sarette and spoke a quick sentence. She turned back to Ariadne. “I just told her, in trade tongue, that we’re going to teach you how to speak trade tongue. Do you remember what I said?”

“I think so.”

“Try repeating it, and I’ll tell you what each word means.”

While they practiced getting the pronunciation right, the woman called Razai walked by. She was leading her horse to the front of the line, where she would share scouting duties with Josip. Ariadne glared at her back as she passed. Razai had eyes like a snake or a demon, as well as pointed fangs that were visible when she spoke. Nobody seemed to consider her a demon, but Ariadne didn’t trust her.

“Miss Treya!” The language lesson was interrupted by the arrival of the boy Nedley, who was leading a limping mule. He stared at Ariadne for a moment, then flushed and looked away. On the first night of her bathing ritual, he’d shown up unexpectedly. She hadn’t realized he took the animals to the watering hole during the night. She’d made sure to go farther away from the camp for her later trips.

Nedley was speaking trade tongue, but Ariadne recognized the title of Miss, which the boy used when speaking to most of the women in the group.

Treya responded to him in the same language, and Ariadne rolled her eyes at being excluded from yet another conversation. Not that it seemed particularly interesting—they were obviously talking about the injured mule. Sarette joined them, running her hands down the lame leg before saying something.

Treya took her place, laying her hands on the horse. Her eyes went out of focus and she shook her head, spoke to Nedley and Sarette again, and then her hands began to glow with a white light.

Ariadne blinked in surprise. What was happening?

A moment later, the glow subsided, and Nedley led the mule away. The animal now walked normally, without a limp.

“I’m sorry about that,” Treya said. “Nedley doesn’t speak Western. He grew up in Tyrsall.”

“You’re a healing wizard?” Ariadne asked, confused. Treya, unarmed and unarmored, had managed to defeat her in combat with a single strike. She’d assumed the younger woman was some sort of war mage—which wasn’t a skill typically seen in healing wizards.

“I’ve never heard of a healing wizard. I’m a …” Treya hesitated for a moment, biting her lip. “I’m a divine mage, like a priest.”

“I do not know these words, divine and priest, but you asked about priests the other day when we were talking about Snake.”

“Priests are followers of the gods, and some are blessed with gifts of divine magic. One of my blessings is healing.”

“Like the shamans of the human tribes, you mean? But they have no magic. Where does yours come from if you’re not a wizard?”

Treya shook her head. “I’ve heard the word shaman before, but I think it means something different now. Priestly blessings are granted by the gods themselves.”

Ariadne eyed the other woman. “You think the human gods are real? Hundreds of them?”

“Hundreds?” Treya asked, giving her a puzzled look. “There are only seven. Seven new gods, I mean. Some people still worship the old gods, but they don’t have priests. Not real ones, anyway.”

These people referred to the totems as old gods, but they’d only seemed to know about three of them—Raven, Bear, and Fox. Bear had just attended Ariadne’s induction ceremony a few weeks earlier. Everyone had said it was a great honor.

No, she reminded herself. Not a few weeks. She pushed the memory aside and focused on the conversation.

“You follow one of these gods, then?” she asked.

“Not exactly,” Treya said, glancing at Sarette, who didn’t appear to understand what they were saying. “You know how wizards aren’t the only kind of arcane mage? There are other divine mages besides priests.”

“But you still think these gods of yours give people magic?” It was the same sort of silly story the human shamans had always told about their gods. Ariadne had been under the impression that Treya was better educated than that.

“Yes. That’s why Corec and I were asking you about Snake and the priests that attacked us. He’s worried they might be followers of Pallisur. We’ve had trouble with, well, not the Church exactly, but with someone in Larso, a kingdom that follows the Church.”

Ariadne drew in a sharp breath. “Pallisur?” she asked, ignoring the rest of Treya’s statement. Only that one word mattered.

“Yes, the God of War.”

It had to be a coincidence. “Who are the others?” she asked urgently. “Is one called Hera?”

“No. There’s Allosur, Arodisis, Demesis, Borrisur, Irisis, and The Lady.”

With each name, Ariadne felt her blood grow colder. Sarette had spoken of Borrisur, but Ariadne hadn’t connected the name to Boreas before. That meant Demesis could only be referring to Demea. There was no mention of Zachal or Hera—Zachalsur or Herasis as they would have been called if they followed the same pattern—but the other names, as a group, were too similar to mean anything else.

These people had taken the names of the lost wardens, added an honorific, and propped them up as gods.

Ariadne had held out some hope that the real wardens—her wardens—had somehow survived the destruction of Fortress West, but that hope faded now. The wardens would never have let themselves be used as barbarian superstitions.

“I think I’d like to walk alone today,” she said, trying to maintain her composure. She turned to head to the back of the column. Corec would be rear guard today. He was usually willing to leave her alone when she wasn’t interested in talking.

“You don’t want to learn trade tongue?” Treya asked.

“Perhaps another time.”

#

One of the biggest historical questions of our time is whether the ancient city of Tir Yadar actually existed. Enough references have been documented to say that it almost certainly must have, but if so, where could it have been located?

Muttering, Ellerie swiped her finger across the line, smearing the fresh ink to remind herself not to include the words in her next draft. She’d always assumed writing a book would be easy, but her sentences sounded pompous and amateurish to her own ears. This book—and the next, if Ariadne was willing to cooperate with her—would be how she was remembered by other historians, and now she feared it would turn out so bad that she wouldn’t be able to bring herself to publish it.

How did Bobo do it? He didn’t seem to have any problems with the sections he was writing. Was it a matter of the topics they’d chosen? He was focused on relating the facts of their discoveries, while Ellerie had taken it upon herself to frame the narrative and provide her own interpretation. In her head, that narrative flowed smoothly, but somehow that never seemed to be the case once she actually sat down with pen and paper.

Perhaps the problem was due to language. Maybe instead of Elven, she should try writing her first draft in Western, as Bobo was doing. The Elven language sometimes took longer to come to the point than it should. Writing in a human language might improve the clarity.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

She started again, but before she could finish her first sentence, a voice spoke up behind her.

“Why haven’t you told Corec what you plan to do after we return to Tyrsall?” Katrin asked.

They were still in the barrens, just four days out from Tir Yadar. Ellerie had found a spot away from the camp to cut down on distractions, hoping it would help her concentrate better. She was sitting on a big rock, her lap desk across her knees, and had been so engrossed in her work that she hadn’t heard the other woman approach.

She blinked, trying to gather her thoughts. “I haven’t told him because I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“You must have some idea.”

“Well, I suppose we have to finish things off with Varsin Senshall first, and then Bobo and I need to find a printer for our book.” If we finish writing it, she added silently. “After that, I guess I’ll go back to Matagor.”

Katrin frowned. “You know what we’re facing with Prince Rusol, and you’ve overheard us talking about our plans. You say you want to help, but you’ve never offered to come with us.”

The conversation seemed to have come out of nowhere, but Ellerie had gotten better at masking her more irritated reactions. She set her lap desk aside, careful not to spill the inkwell, and looked up at the other woman. “No one ever asked me to,” she pointed out carefully.

“We didn’t ask Sarette either, but she agreed anyway. Leena’s the only person Corec has asked outright, though that’s more for her sake than anything.”

“Leena’s going?”

“She didn’t tell you?”

“We … don’t really talk anymore.”

Katrin’s expression softened. “What happened?”

“I don’t know.”

The other woman seemed to realize Ellerie didn’t want to talk about it, and didn’t press her. Instead, she said, “She’s going because Corec’s worried she’ll draw more attacks to her family if she returns home too soon. He won’t ask you because he doesn’t want you to feel obligated. But you owe him.”

“Owe him for what?”

“Tir Yadar.”

“I would have found it without him,” Ellerie said before she could stop herself. It was true, but Corec pressuring Bobo to help had likely sped up the search by years, not to mention his and Treya’s contacts with the Senshall Trading Company.

“Probably,” Katrin agreed, “but you wouldn’t have been able to get through the wards. You wouldn’t have even known what a warden was if you hadn’t met him, so you wouldn’t have known you needed one to open the doors.”

Ellerie nodded. The scholarly aspects of the expedition might have been a success without Corec, but the treasures they’d found would still be locked away behind the warding spells. Ellerie would have found Ariadne, but how would that meeting have gone if she was the person trying to talk sense into the woman? Treya and Corec were better suited for the job.

“So you think I should come to Four Roads with you?” she asked. “I didn’t think you’d want me there.”

Katrin sighed. “I don’t dislike you, Ellerie—I just wish you’d been more truthful when we met.”

“I tried to leave my old life behind. I didn’t talk about it because I didn’t want to think about it.”

“I realized that eventually, but we shouldn’t have had to find out from the stormborn.”

“I’m sorry.”

Katrin shook her head. “It’s in the past; I didn’t mean to bring it up again. But Corec never cared about any of that to begin with. He considers you a friend, and I know you think of him the same way.”

“I do,” Ellerie said. It had taken her a while to realize it, but despite the circumstances of their first meeting, she’d eventually come to trust him. It was freeing, in a way, to know that there were others she could count on just as much as she counted on Boktar. Freeing to know that the two of them didn’t have to do everything themselves. “I’ll consider Four Roads. I hadn’t really thought about it. I suppose I’ve been thinking of Matagor as home.”

“You were only in Matagor for a few years, weren’t you? Do you have anything waiting for you there?”

It took a moment for Ellerie to decide how to answer that question. “Some friends, and I might need to visit the library. That’s it, really. Boktar and I had rooms in Duke Lorvis’s palace for our last job, so I don’t even have an apartment.” Ellerie’s friends in Matagor were more like acquaintances. Her closest friends were all here, she realized. And if Leena was going to Four Roads, perhaps there might still be time to fix whatever had gone wrong between the two of them.

Katrin shrugged. “So it’s not a problem, then.”

“I’ll talk to Boktar,” Ellerie said. It wouldn’t be as simple as Katrin was suggesting. Once the book was printed, she’d have to do some traveling—Tyrsall and Matagor at least, and perhaps farther south. And she’d have to visit home and meet with the scholars there, which meant dealing with her mother.

But if Varsin Senshall agreed to her idea of keeping the location of Tir Yadar quiet for a bit longer, there was no reason why the book had to be released immediately. She and Bobo could take the time to do it right.

#

Corec tightened the straps fastening the breastplate and backplate together, then held out his arms so Sarette could strap the vambraces on. Stretching, he tried out his range of movement.

“How is it?” Sarette asked. The two of them were standing next to the wagon where most of the armor was stored.

“I think it’ll work,” he replied. “I might remove a layer of padding, but this fellow was pretty close to my size.” He was trying on a suit of plate armor that had been worn by one of the priests who’d attacked them.

“Why are you switching?”

“It’ll work better if all the pieces come from the same suit.” During the battle, Corec had worn one of the new cuirasses from the armory, paired with the vambraces, greaves, gauntlets, and helmet from his old suit of plate. The breastplate of his old cuirass had been destroyed by a wizard’s spell, and he hadn’t been able to replace it yet.

Sarette furrowed her brow. “It looked like it all fit together well enough. And wasn’t the new cuirass supposed to be better?” Then her eyes widened and she started laughing. “Oh, you want it to match!”

Corec flushed. It wouldn’t have been so bad if the new cuirass had been made out of steel, but whatever the metal was, it was a different shade of color than the rest of his armor, almost silver.

“All right, fine, yes,” he admitted. “I’ll look like a fool if I go back to Aencyr or Tyrsall wearing mismatched armor, and none of the complete sets from the armory will fit.”

Still snickering, Sarette said, “I never thought of you as vain.”

He chuckled. “Well, it’s not just vanity. A knight’s armor says something about him, even if he’s no longer a knight.” It was more complicated than that. Corec had been a baron’s son as well as a knight trainee. How could he explain the years of expectations that had been drilled into him about his appearance and behavior? The same expectations that had caused his father to pay for four custom-built suits of armor during Corec’s six years of training. The first three, which he’d grown out of, were still in storage with his family, in case his brothers had any sons go into the knighthood.

“I’ll take your word for it,” Sarette said with a grin. “I just wore what the High Guard gave me.”

“Speaking of which, are you going to try the new mail?”

She glanced at the pile of armor in the wagon. “I suppose I should.”

Together, they managed to find a mail shirt that would fit her.

She slipped it on over her padded doublet, then twisted her shoulders back and forth to see how it felt. “This seems really light,” she said. “Are you sure it’s better?”

“We tested it. It’s stronger than steel.” Corec was wearing one of the shirts himself. It was half the weight of his old mail. When he didn’t have plate armor over it, he barely noticed it was there.

She frowned down at it, but left it on. “I’ll give it a try during the next storm, to make sure it doesn’t interfere with my magic.”

“While we’re here, I’m going to grab the hammer,” Corec said. He lifted it out from the next wagon over, where he’d left it near the side with its handle sticking up. The enchantment on the hammer was different than the one on the sword. No one else could get the hammer to budge, yet it didn’t seem to add any more weight to the wagon than it should, and whenever a wheel hit a rock, the weapon was jostled around like any other piece of cargo. He wanted to see if his horse could carry it, or if doing so would trigger the warding that made it heavier.

To Corec, the maul now seemed to weigh about fifteen pounds, which he suspected was its actual weight. The head glowed with a pale yellow light as he held it, and it emitted a faint hum. The sparks that had swirled around it the first few times he’d picked it up had gradually faded away, just as they had with the sword. The hum had grown quieter, but hadn’t gone away completely.

“Do you know how to use that?” Sarette asked.

“I’ve never practiced with one, but I don’t think there’s any trick to it,” he said. “If someone’s wearing heavy armor, you hit them with it. We just didn’t use them at Fort Hightower because warhammers are more practical.” He took an experimental swing, adjusting his grip. The balance was very different than a sword. It seemed most comfortable to slide his right hand halfway along the shaft, while leaving his left hand near the base. There was no crossguard to protect his fingers from an opponent’s blade sliding across the shaft, but he wore metal gauntlets when fighting, so that wouldn’t be a problem.

“Are you going to keep it?”

“It might come in handy if we run into any more big groups of mercenaries, but I wonder if Hildra knows of a way to end a weapon bond. If she does, we can sell this and I’ll just buy a warhammer or a bill.”

“If she knows how to end the bond, are you going to do it with the sword too, so you can send it back to Snow Crown?” Sarette asked.

Corec blinked. “Uhh, I hadn’t thought about that.”

She laughed. “It’s all right,” she said. “I won’t tell the elders if you decide to keep it.”

“I’ve gotten used to the sword. I was hoping to give the elders one of the enchanted staff-spears in exchange.”

“Not mine,” Sarette said quickly.

“Yours?”

It was her turn to look embarrassed. “The one I’ve been using. I like it more than the other one. If there’s enough left of my share after we put aside the money to hire guardsmen, I was hoping to use the rest to purchase it.”

Corec nodded. “All right. We’ll give Snow Crown the other one, then. It should be worth more to them than a sword they can’t touch.”

There was a startled gasp behind them, and then Ariadne’s voice. “Thrymmatizo!” she exclaimed. They turned to find her staring at the glowing maul, an almost frightened expression on her face. “Where did you find that?” she demanded in the Western language.

“Do you mean the hammer?” he asked. “It was in the palace. There was a large suite in the northwest section with a warded door. I was able to open it, like the other doors we told you about.”

Ariadne shook her head. “Palace? What palace? You mean Fortress Central? The king’s chambers?”

Corec realized how it would sound to her, and tried to choose his words more carefully. “Yes, we thought they might be the royal quarters. I’m sorry—I thought you knew we’d been there.”

Still staring at the hammer, Ariadne said, “It’s King Argyros’s war maul. In this language, you would call it Shatter. Why didn’t he take it with him when he fled the city? How can you hold it? I thought no one but Argyros could carry it. It was a gift from his consort Gaiana on the day of their wedding.”

“It’s a bonded weapon. It bonds to one bearer for as long as …” Corec hesitated, then pressed ahead. “For as long as they’re alive. After that, it can bond someone else. I was the first person to touch it, so I guess that was enough.”

Ariadne drew her lips together in a thin line and took one slow, unsteady breath, then another. “It’s been too long—he had to be dead by now,” she said, a slight quiver in her voice, as if she was trying to convince herself. “But why leave Shatter behind?”

“I don’t know, but we found some other things with it.”

“Show me!”

Sarette had been glancing back and forth between the two of them as they spoke, trying to follow the conversation, but she didn’t speak much Western.

“She recognized the maul,” Corec said to her in trade tongue. “I’ll tell you about it later. Could you go let Ellerie know what’s going on? I think we need to be more upfront with Ariadne about what we’ve been doing—I keep forgetting that she can’t listen in on our conversations. Maybe she’ll know more about the things we’ve found.”

“I’ll tell Ellerie,” Sarette said, and headed back to the circle of tents.

Corec set the maul down, then turned back to Ariadne, who was waiting impatiently. “I think the rest is in this wagon too,” he said. He managed to find the bundle he was looking for without having to climb up to look. The longswords were still wrapped together in a single blanket. He laid it on the ground and unrolled it, exposing the contents.

Ariadne’s eyes widened. She lifted the bejeweled sword reverently, still in its silver scabbard. “Thriamvos. Triumph. The sword of the royal family.”

“We found it with the maul in a small chamber with a warded door. It seemed like some sort of vault.”

She laid Triumph back down and picked up the other blade by its hilt. “This was with it, too?”

“Yes.”

“It must be the king’s own sword, then,” she said, gazing at the plain weapon.

“You should keep those,” Corec said. “Both of them.” Marco wouldn’t be happy—the ornate longsword was likely worth as much as an enchanted weapon—but it seemed like the right thing to do.

“I can’t,” Ariadne said, quickly setting it down by the other. “They belong to King Argyros. Belonged to King Argyros.”

“You can hold onto them for your people.” Corec privately doubted the Chosar were still around, but it was the only hope Ariadne still held onto. And maybe they really were the seaborn after all.

She stared out at the horizon, not speaking. Finally, she sighed and said, “That would be acceptable.”

“There was a suit of armor with them, made from the same stuff as the hammer. I’m not sure what sort of metal it is.”

“It doesn’t have a name. The story goes that Gaiana was experimenting with something she found, but she only ever made the two pieces. She forged the war maul for their wedding, and then she made the armor later, after the war began. If any demons tried to touch the king, the armor burned them.”

“I think it burns anyone. It burned me until I put my gauntlets on to pick it up.”

She shrugged. “Perhaps. I was still in training, so I never saw him in battle.” She was silent for a moment, and tears gathered in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Corec said. “We should have told you about this before now. We weren’t trying to hide things from you.”

“No, don’t you see?” she said. “Even if King Argyros fled Tir Yadar, he would have needed his weapons and armor. If they were left behind, that means he was already dead before the city was abandoned. And Prince Lydos along with him.”