Book 5: Chapter Twenty

Nedley sat down heavily on a pile of half-rotted roofing timbers he’d stacked outside his little cottage.

“But you’re sure he’s not a red-eye?” he asked. Razai had just told him his brother was under a demonic compulsion spell. Two years ago, Nedley wouldn’t have known what that meant. Now he knew too much.

“I’ve never met a red-eye, but … yes, I’m sure,” Razai said. “His eyes weren’t red, for one. He could speak to me, he knew who you were, and he asked me to wish you good luck. That doesn’t change things, though. Someone’s still controlling him.”

“Couldn’t you have tried to save him?” Nedley asked.

A flicker of annoyance crossed her face, but it faded when she saw his expression. “No, Ned. I’m sorry. I was surrounded by Rusol’s mercenaries, and your brother wasn’t the only one under the spell. Even if I could have gotten him away from the others, I didn’t have a way to free him from the compulsion. You’ll need Treya for that, and I doubt Corec will want her going to Telfort.”

“Leena …” Nedley started, then trailed off.

Razai sighed. “Ask the others if you want. Who knows? They can be stupid sometimes. But think about it—do you really want to send two women to face all of Rusol’s mercenaries? Or were you planning to ask Corec? Do you think he can stop Rusol, his bondmates, and the entire Larsonian army? There’s a reason why we’re here, and not there. What’s coming is going to be bad enough as it is. Don’t make it worse.”

Nedley didn’t reply. She was right, but if he said it out loud, he’d be admitting that his brother was lost.

“Anyway, I thought you should hear it from me before I headed out,” Razai said.

“You’re leaving?”

“Yes, finally. I’ve got my pay, and there’s nothing left to do here. I’m thinking about Deece—maybe renting a place on one of the islands for a year or two. Do me a favor, will you? When you talk to Ditte, call her Your Highness. She’ll like that.”

Nedley wrinkled his brow. “Uh, all right?”

“Maybe I’ll see you around someday,” Razai said, then strolled off, leaving Nedley alone.

He was still sitting on the wood pile when Kimi arrived.

“Hey, I found you!” she said with a grin. “I hope you weren’t waiting too long.” She paused. “What’s wrong?”

“I just got some bad news about my brother.”

“Oh no! What happened?”

He could see the concern in Kimi’s eyes, but how could he tell her the truth about Bertram without telling her the worst things about himself? That he’d chased down wild animals and eaten them raw, drinking their blood, so that he and the other red-eyes didn’t have to stop to make camp. That he’d murdered innocent people just because they were in the way.

It didn’t matter that he hadn’t been in control of his own actions, or even fully aware of them. Kimi was so innocent. Her life involved studying and doing chores, not magic spells and evil kings. If he told her the truth, she would never look at him the same way again.

“He decided to stay in Larso,” Nedley said. “I was hoping he’d come east, but he didn’t want to leave.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Kimi said. “Maybe he’ll change his mind.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

She glanced at the cottage. “Is this it?” she asked.

Nedley stood, putting a fake smile on his face. “It’s small, but it’s sturdy,” he said, patting the stone wall. “The houses were getting picked fast that first day. By the time I thought about it, there weren’t a lot of choices left, but I like it.”

“There’s no roof.”

“It collapsed, and I don’t know how to build one,” Nedley admitted. The new settlers had made good progress on rebuilding the rest of the village while he’d been away, but Nedley had grown up in the city. He’d never had to build anything before. “I’ll have to hire someone. Do you want to see inside?”

“Sure!”

He showed her into the empty building, which only had two rooms. The main living area was open to the kitchen, so the heat from the cooking fire would warm the rest of the house. The kitchen didn’t have a modern stove, of course, but it did have a chimney. The smaller room at the back of the cottage was obviously intended as a bedroom.

Kimi trailed her fingers along the wall, peering up at the open sky above. “Maybe you can add a second floor,” she said.

“What?”

She gave him a mischievous grin. “You can’t put your wife and your mistress in the same room, you know.”

Nedley blinked. “Wife?”

“Of course. That is the proper order of things. And what if you have children someday?”

“I didn’t think about that. I don’t know if I can add a second floor.” It seemed like taking a concubine might be more expensive than he’d anticipated. Was she suggesting he had to be married first?

“We should find someone and ask!” she said. “With another floor, you could fit three or four more rooms. Is there a cellar?”

“No, the ground is too rocky to dig down,” Nedley said. Corec had suggested the hill was artificial, designed to make it difficult for an opposing army to tunnel under the walls.

“Then an attic, too, for storage!”

“That seems like a lot,” Nedley said. A three-story house? He didn’t want to seem like he was putting on airs.

Kimi’s expression turned serious. “If you’re an officer, you have to show it. People will trust you more if you look the part. That includes your home.”

“Oh.”

Her smile returned. “Do you have something to draw on? Where should the stairs go?”

Kimi’s enthusiasm was contagious, and Nedley’s mood improved—just a bit—as they discussed plans for the future. She was careful to never suggest she’d be living in the house with him, but he doubted she’d be so interested if she was just humoring him. And she’d stayed even after seeing he wouldn’t be living a rich lifestyle.

Now he just had to figure out what to do about it.

She couldn’t really mean he had to get married first, could she?

#

“I must welcome you back to Sanvara City, Warden Yelena,” Empress Shereen said. “Or do you prefer the name Carise?”

Yelena stiffened and Leena tensed, preparing to Travel. She and Pavan stood behind Shereen’s chair, in the same tea room where Leena had first met the empress. If Yelena were to attack, Pavan would attempt to teleport her into a warded holding cell while Leena took Shereen to safety. Five wizards and three dozen Imperial Guards were waiting in the surrounding rooms in case they were needed, but Leena and Pavan were the first line of defense.

The moment passed and Yelena relaxed, leaning forward to pour tea into the two waiting cups. “You are well informed, Your Majesty, but Carise died a long time ago,” she said. “I am Yelena. For now.”

Shereen nodded. “Of course. How was your trip from Tyrsall?”

“Uneventful, though I forgot just how bright the sun can be this far south. But something tells me you didn’t invite me here for a polite chat about sailing ships and weather.”

“To the point, then?” the empress asked. “Very well. We’ll get the tedious bits out of the way first. I trust you won’t interfere in my government or the functioning of the empire?”

Yelena raised an eyebrow. “That’s your only request?”

“I’m pleased you’ve chosen to make your home in Sanvar once again, Lady Yelena. I won’t hold you to a different standard than any other citizen. But perhaps there’s something we can do for each other.”

“Oh?”

“A year ago, you were looking for the services of a Traveler. Are you still?”

Yelena stared at her. “I’m curious as to how you get your information, Your Majesty. I haven’t made any attempts to recruit in Sanvar—I’ve no desire to interfere with your people.”

“I appreciate that. Yet, the warden bond offers certain advantages. Perhaps those benefits can be shared.”

“What did you have in mind?” Yelena asked.

“You’ll have to forgive me,” Shereen said. “I’m not an expert on wardens or their abilities. If I understand correctly, the warden bond is best used with weaker mages, helping them to achieve much higher potential?”

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Yelena shrugged. “That’s how it works, but it’s not something I’ve ever taken into consideration. There are more important factors.”

“Such as whether the mage fits a need you have?”

“Yes.”

“And do you still have that need?”

Yelena leaned back in her chair. “That would depend on the terms.”

“I’ll help you identify a candidate with the gift but who lacks the strength to use it. This Traveler would then split his or her time between the Travelers’ Posts here in Sanvar and your own interests—with appropriate compensation and working conditions from both sides, of course.”

“I’m not sure I can agree to that,” Yelena said. “There are reasons why wardens don’t announce themselves. I’m not in the habit of giving the bond away to mages with other priorities. My friends and I have duties to take care of.”

“Duties that require travel?” Shereen asked. “You could have been in Sanvara City in the blink of an eye rather than spending weeks aboard ship. And I imagine someone with your business dealings has need for messages to be delivered around the continent.”

Yelena inclined her head. “I can’t deny that.”

“Even just a portion of a Traveler’s time is a powerful tool, and should be more than enough to meet your needs.” The empress raised a finger. “But we must have measures in place to protect the mage in question. The Zidari are not warriors.”

“What do you suggest?” Yelena asked.

“A cooperative effort. In Sanvar, Travelers have safe locations to which they can teleport. They don’t need to be concerned about being ambushed by their employer’s rivals, or by those who might be jealous of their powers. Leena, here,” the empress gestured, “has begun those efforts in the north. Help us to complete that plan and you’ll have what you want—access to the entire Travelers’ network, both north and south, as well as a contract with the Traveler you bond, to cover more immediate needs.”

Yelena considered that for a moment, then looked up. “Leena? I’ve heard that name before.”

Leena gave her a respectful nod. “Yes, Warden. Sarlo told me of your offer. I was on my way to Tyrsall to seek your help when I was pulled away by something else.” She allowed the rune on her forehead to flare.

Yelena narrowed her gaze. “Corec. That’s how you knew who I was.”

Shereen shook her head. “Leena told us of your interest in Travelers after your friend—Sarlo?—contacted her, but the imperial diplomatic service has known of you for a very long time.”

Leena wasn’t certain if the empress was lying about that last part, or if she simply meant her spies had already been aware of Yelena’s previous identity. Shereen herself hadn’t known about wardens when Leena had first spoken to her.

“I see,” Yelena said flatly. “Assuming I’m willing to negotiate, there’s another factor you haven’t considered. I won’t cast the binding spell on just any mage you suggest. I need to be sure of them first.”

“I’ll ask the senior Travelers to identify likely candidates,” Shereen said. “We can tell them as little about wardens as you wish—or nothing at all, until you decide on someone. You can interview them in whatever way you’d like.”

Yelena nodded. “I’ll consider it.”

“You are welcome to return here at any time if you’d like to discuss the details of the arrangement. I’ll issue orders to that effect. I believe we can come to an agreement that will make everyone happy.”

“I hope we can, Your Majesty,” Yelena said.

A servant came to lead her out. Shereen departed too, giving Leena and Pavan a significant look. She’d already spoken with them before Yelena arrived, and their new orders were clear enough.

Once they were alone in the room, Pavan said, “I’m glad you were able to make it back today. It would have been Rohav here otherwise, and he’s still touchy about the idea.”

“He’s touchy about everything these days, but he means well,” Leena said.

Pavan nodded. “There’s something else you should know—the wards on some of the snake cultists have started to fade. The Seekers and Seers found their encampment. They’re in the Table Lands.”

Leena could feel her heart pounding in her chest. “What are you going to do?”

“We’re going after them, with the army and wizards for support,” Pavan said. “I’m telling you because you have the right to be there—you declared blood feud—but you’re supposed to be recovering right now, and a military operation is always a lot of work. It’s going to be ugly. They’re on the run, we’ve already captured their families, and if it’s anything like last time, they’re not going to surrender.”

Declaring blood feud had been impetuous, but at the time, it was the only thing Leena could think of to give her the strength to move forward. Looking back, it seemed foolish. There were others better suited for the task, and her role was to protect her brother.

“I trust you and the others,” she said. “I don’t need to be there to see it happen.”

Pavan and his band of soldiers and Travelers could eliminate this particular band of Snake cultists, but Leena knew from her experience in Cordaea that there were others. If she was going to protect Udit, her time would be better spent trying to recuperate for real, rather than hiding how much Traveling she was still doing. She would need to be at full strength if she was going to figure out the puzzle Bobo had presented.

#

Other than a single winter in the capital, Ansel Tarwen had lived his entire life in his family’s manor house, in the village that bore his family’s name. It was a comfortable routine, varying by season but seldom changing in any significant way.

He knew the sounds of his home like he knew the back of his hand—the baker calling out the special of the day, the sweet songs of mountain birds in the summer, the clatter of a pair of oxen hauling a wagon down the main road through the village.

The sound of his sons arguing.

“I’m telling you, a four-crop rotation will work out better in the long run,” Branth insisted.

“I don’t care what it’ll do in the long run!” Toman said. “We’ve been using the same system since Grandfather’s day, and now you’ve gone behind our backs and thrown off the whole schedule!”

Ansel raised his hand to quiet them. “What are we talking about here?” he asked. “How many acres?” He hadn’t seen any changes in the planting schedule for Tarwen Valley, and he’d inspected those fields himself.

“Twelve hides, out in the Hole,” Branth said. Deserter’s Hole was a small glen branching out from the main valley.

That wasn’t nearly as bad of a problem as Toman had made it out to be, but he’d been in a foul mood ever since the newest round of rumors about Corec had begun filtering into the valley—rumors that made it sound as if Ansel’s youngest son had claimed a wide swath of the free lands, everything from Four Roads to South Corner. Branth had set the matter straight, but even the truth was well beyond what Ansel had suspected.

He forced his attention back to the matter at hand. Branth had been trying to get him to switch crop rotations for years, but it had always seemed like too much effort. Luckily the experiment was limited to a small area, but Toman was Ansel’s heir, and Branth would have to get used to his brother making the decisions.

“Tell me exactly what the impact is,” Ansel said. “We planted less wheat than normal?”

“Less wheat and less barley, in a year when prices are supposed to be higher than ever in Telfort,” Toman said.

“Prices are just a guessing game until harvest comes around,” Branth said. “And next year, we’ll be able to add a third cash crop. That’ll make up for the difference.”

“And the clover?”

“We can use the empty fields for grazing rather than having them lay fallow. That’ll let us raise more sheep and cattle, and we won’t have so much land going to waste every year.”

Ansel drummed his fingers on his desk. Branth had planned his little rebellion carefully, but Ansel had to at least appear to support his older son.

“All right, here’s what we’ll do,” he said, but then paused. A new sound had drifted through the open window of his study, this one less familiar—a large number of horses being ridden at a trot, then slowing to a walk as they drew closer. Even a natural walking gait had a mechanical rhythm to it when a dozen or more horses were traveling together.

“Who’s that?” Branth asked.

“I’m not sure,” Ansel said. It was too many horses to be one of his own mounted patrols.

“Soldiers or knights crossing through the mountains?” Toman suggested. That was possible, especially if they were trying to clear out any hillfolk refugees who hadn’t received permission to stay.

“Maybe,” Ansel said, standing up from his desk. “We’d better go greet them.” He didn’t want any incidents between the king’s men and the refugees he himself had taken under his protection.

Leaving the study, they found Mr. Melvin coming to fetch them. “Sir, a visitor for you. He says he’s with the Royal Guard.”

Ansel exchanged confused glances with his sons. Why would the Royal Guard come out to the Black Crows? They weren’t soldiers—they were the king’s own bodyguards.

They found the man in the sitting room. He was wearing an officer’s uniform and was bracketed by two more members of the Guard. The rest must have remained outside with the horses.

“Welcome to Tarwen Barony. I’m Ansel Tarwen, and these are my sons, Toman and Branth.”

The officer gave him a careful nod. “I am Captain Tark, Lord Tarwen,” he said.

Ansel frowned. He’d heard the name before—Tark was the head of the Royal Guard. What was he doing so far from the palace?

“It’s not often we get visitors from Telfort,” Ansel said. “Might I ask your destination?”

“I’ve come to speak with you, my lord.”

“Oh?”

“Your youngest son, Corec, stands accused of dark magic and treachery against the throne.”

Corec had warned of someone asking about him, but Ansel wouldn’t tolerate the slander. “My son is no traitor,” he said. “Speak plainly—what sort of treachery do you claim?”

“That’s a matter you’ll have to discuss with the king,” Tark said.

“Whatever you think Corec did, you’ve got the wrong man—he’s hardly been in the kingdom the past eight years. As for the magic, he’s already been punished for that in Hightower, and I’ve declared it to be legal within Tarwen Barony.”

Ansel wasn’t certain whether he actually had the right to issue that order. In the western cities, it was the dukes who’d proclaimed magic to be legal, after Marten’s great-grandfather had forbidden the Church from burning mages. Those dukes hadn’t followed any official process—the kings since that time had simply never revoked their edicts.

Tark’s shoulders tensed. “Is he here?” the man asked. “In the barony?”

“He doesn’t visit home often,” Ansel said. “The last I heard, he was in the free lands.” Everyone in the region knew that much, so he wasn’t giving anything away.

The captain nodded. “Then His Majesty requests that you return with me to Telfort so he can discuss the matter with you in person. He remembers fondly the conversations the two of you shared during your previous visits.”

Two of Ansel’s senior armsmen, likely attracted by the commotion in the village, entered the house and took positions to either side of the sitting room’s entrance, pretending as if that was their normal post. Tark’s men eyed them, appearing uncomfortable having armed men at their back.

“I am His Majesty’s loyal subject, but what purpose would this trip to Telfort serve?” Ansel asked. “I’ve already told you, Corec’s no traitor—this is all some sort of misunderstanding. Besides, you can hardly expect me to leave my barony in the summer.” In truth, Toman and Branth could handle things on their own for a short time, but Ansel wanted to see how Tark would react.

“The king insists,” the man said. “He would like to resolve the issue without any stain coming to the Tarwen family name.” It may have been couched in polite terms, but that could only be interpreted as a threat.

“I’ll go,” Toman offered.

Ansel turned to look at his son. “What?”

“I’ll go,” Toman said with a grin. “I haven’t been to the capital in a while, and this way, Branth can deal with the mess he made of the crop rotation.” This close, Ansel could smell a whiff of whiskey coming from his breath. It wasn’t even noon yet. Ansel had never taken Toman to task over his drinking—he only drank to excess when he was arguing with Vena.

Ansel turned back to Tark. “Give me a moment with my sons, please.” He led Branth and Toman around the corner and down the hallway so they wouldn’t be overheard.

Branth had a look of disgust on his face. “You’d stab him in the back that easily?” he asked his brother.

“I’m not doing anything of the sort,” Toman said. “You said yourself that Corec wants us to tell them everything.”

“He also said it could be dangerous,” Ansel pointed out.

“Dangerous unless we answer all their questions,” Toman said. “I know. You’ve told me a dozen times. But the king has ordered you to attend him, and we can’t ignore that. I’m your heir—he’ll accept me in your place.”

Ansel hesitated. It was his own responsibility to go, but he wasn’t certain he could control his temper if the king continued making false accusations. Would Toman be able to clear up whatever the confusion was? He seemed eager to make the trip, and the change to his routine might do him good. It would at least get him away from his wife and children until he got over whatever nonsense had set him off this time.

“All right,” Ansel said, “but promise me you’ll be careful. Make sure the king understands there’s no way Corec would have acted against him.”

“How hard could it be?” Toman said.