“There are only two routes northward to the lands that we abandoned,” Aeren said, sitting back in his seat as the shock of Colin’s revelation slowly wore off. “We can travel through the halls beneath Caercaern, or we can travel to the coast and take a ship up around the coastline, hoping for a break in the ice that would permit landfall. I’d not recommend the ocean approach.”
“And returning to Caercaern will add another week or more to the trip,” Vaeren said with a scowl, turning on Colin. “Why did you have us travel here if you knew we were going to be turning back? We could have sent a message by courier. We could have summoned Lord Aeren to Caercaern if it were that important. Aielan’s Light, we didn’t need to come here at all!”
“There is another way,” Colin said.
Vaeren straightened. “What do you mean?”
“I spent a large amount of time reading the Scripts in search of any hint about the locations of the Wells, and during that time I read much of Alvritshai history as well. Once, the Alvritshai dominated the entire region above the Hauttaeren, from the coast to the northern arctic sea, the mountains to the glacial ice to the north. There are more halls within the mountains besides those behind Caercaern, and there are passes through the Teeth that we can use to reach them.
“One of those passes, called Gaurraenan’s Pass, is here,” he pointed to a region of the mountains beneath where he’d indicated the Well lay. “It’s secluded in the reaches above Nuant House lands, but it is still accessible. Once we reach its edge, we can travel to the far side of the Hauttaeren through the ancient halls beneath.”
Vaeren stared at the map for several moments. “How long do you think it will take?”
“It depends on the storms and the snow, of course, but we should be at the Well within two weeks.”
Vaeren met his gaze, his expression hostile. “You planned this from the beginning. Why didn’t you tell the Chosen?”
“Because he did not need to know.”
Vaeren’s face darkened, his hand tightening on the hilt of the cattan at his side. Colin thought he’d confront him there, in front of Aeren and the rest, but instead he turned to Moiran. “Lady Moiran, if you would have someone escort me to my rooms, I’d like to retire for the night. The journey from Caercaern has been long and tiring.”
Moiran stood with a slow, formal grace. “Of course. I’ll show you to your rooms myself.”
Moiran led him from the room, leaving Aeren, Colin, and the others alone. Aeren waited until he heard their bootfalls die out before he frowned. “It does not appear that you are on good terms with the Order.”
Colin laughed. “Lotaern is still angry over what happened with the Winter Tree. He feels I should have brought the seed to him first, that it was obvious the Tree’s powers fell under the Order’s mantle, not the Tamaell’s.”
“But that happened over eighty years ago,” Fedaureon protested.
“This isn’t truly about the Tree,” Aeren said.
Daevon answered Fedaureon’s confused look. “It’s about the knife,” he said, nodding toward where it still sat on the table. They all looked down at it.
“I still don’t understand.”
Aeren reached forward and, with a wave of permission from Colin, picked it up. He frowned as he held it and Colin wondered if he could feel the power of the forest pulsing through it. He’d passed through Aielan’s Light, so perhaps he could. Then Aeren handed it to Eraeth, who hefted it in one hand, testing its weight as Lotaern had done.
“Colin came to the Alvritshai with an object of power once before and he used that object without Lotaern’s foreknowledge. The Chosen does not like to be surprised. He likes to be in control. If Colin had come to him with the Winter Tree, he would have used the Tree against the Evant, to gain even more power. The fact that Colin brought it to me, and then to the Tamaell, meant that he could not use it to his immediate advantage.”
“He adapted quickly,” Eraeth muttered.
“He did,” Aeren agreed. “Even though the Tree was never initially under his control, he’s gained control of it using the lords’ fears. For all intents and purposes, the Tree is now part of the Order. He’s walled it away from the people and uses it as a symbol of the Order’s strength.”
“That was never its intent,” Colin grumbled.
“No, but that is how it’s been used. And now you bring to Lotaern another object of power. One that does not have the same visual strength as the Winter Tree, but-if you are correct-is more deadly. The Tree merely protects us from the sukrael; the knife may be able to kill them. If Lotaern can show that the Order holds the power to rid the world of the sukrael forever…”
Fedaureon nodded his head in understanding. “The Alvritshai commoners will band around him even more. They’ll see him as a savior of sorts.”
“He wants the knife. He may even need the knife,” Aeren said. “The Winter Tree has been in Caercaern for over eighty years. The awe over its creation and its power has faded. For those that live in Caercaern, it has already become commonplace. Only those outside of Resue House lands find it striking. And those that have been born since it was planted, like Fedaureon, have never known a time when the Tree was not in Caercaern, protecting them. When they begin to take their places in the Evant, Lotaern will lose even more of his power, more of his control.”
“It’s already begun,” Eraeth added. “Both Houdyll and Terroec ascended in their fathers’ places after the introduction of the Winter Tree.”
Colin stared at the knife in Eraeth’s hands and grimaced. “I should never have gone to him after forging it, should never have revealed its existence to him.”
“You worked with him in its creation. It was only natural for you to take it to him.”
But Colin knew what Aeren would not say out loud: that Colin had once again ignored the changing world around him, that if he had only looked he would have seen how Lotaern had lost power in the Evant and he would have known that sharing the creation of the knife would be a mistake.
He caught Aeren’s gaze and said, “You are too forgiving.” Then he frowned, shifted forward. “Why does Lotaern seek this power? The Order is already equivalent to a House, from what I saw in the Evant years ago. Hasn’t he achieved enough?”
Aeren sighed and shook his head. “Once, before the threat of the Wraiths and the sukrael, I believe the Chosen would have been content with what he has now, but not any longer. I think he believes that the Wraiths and the sukrael are a trial, sent by Aielan to test us, to bring us all back beneath her Light.”
“He may be right,” Eraeth said.
“Yes, but he believes our failure to eliminate the Wraiths is because we are not showing enough faith-in Aielan, in the Flame… in the Chosen. He believes the Lords of the Evant, and the Tamaell in particular, have fallen short of Aielan’s regard. He believes that it is Aielan’s will that the Order rise up and seize control, that only then can we defeat the Wraiths and the sukrael.”
“With himself as Chosen.”
Aeren nodded. “He thinks the war with the Wraiths is a religious war, and that only with the Order in power can the Alvritshai prevail.”
“I would think he would welcome my help then,” Colin muttered, “since I have brought him the Tree, and now the knife.”
“And have a human be the savior of the Alvritshai?” Eraeth scoffed. “He has reserved that role for himself.”
Moiran returned, trailing a few servants who began clearing out the remains of the food, leaving the wine. “Are the members of the Order situated?” Aeren asked.
“I have placed them in the farthest corner of the house, on the second level. They will have a spectacular view of the lake.”
Aeren smiled. “And be as far from this discussion as possible.”
Moiran sat down beside Colin. “I have no idea what you are insinuating,” she said innocently. “Now, what did I miss?”
“We were discussing Lotaern.”
“He wants the knife, to solidify and regain some of his lost power within the Evant,” Moiran said succinctly. At Fedaureon’s annoyed look, she added, “I was the Tamaea of the Evant at one point, Fedaureon. I know how power works and is wielded.” Then she turned to Colin. “But the caitan asked an important question: Why did you come here? Even using the pass and the halls beneath the mountain, you did not need to come to Artillien.”
Colin could hear in the tone of her voice that she already knew the answer and did not approve. Taking a deep breath, he caught and held Aeren’s gaze and said, “I need reinforcements. I was hoping-”
“No.” Moiran stood as her voice cut across Colin’s, so she could glare down at Aeren. “You are a Lord of the House of Evant. You will not traipse off to the White Wastes.”
“It’s winter. Anything that would require the attention of the Lord of House Rhyssal can be handled by its heir.”
Moiran crossed her arms over her chest, ignoring the way Fedaureon perked up in his seat. “It is winter, yes, which means that the White Wastes will be as dangerous and as deadly as at any other time of the year. And it is not the heir’s responsibility to care for the House.”
“But it will be.”
Moiran did not immediately respond, but she did not move either. Colin shared a glance with Eraeth, who still held the knife. Fedaureon had shifted forward and now sat on the edge of his seat, his head bowed, eyes on the ground, although Colin could see the tightness in his shoulders. Daevon regarded his charge with a slight frown of disapproval. The tension in the room was awkward and strained.
Then, in a quiet voice that throbbed with suppressed emotion, Moiran said, “I have already lost one husband to the Evant and the protection of the Alvritshai. I do not want to lose another.”
Aeren stilled, a frown darkening his face, and then he stood as well, reached forward to grip Moiran’s shoulders. She tensed, met his gaze with head tilted upward, mouth set. “Fedaureon can handle the House, especially with you and his Protector here to guide him. And I will not be venturing out alone. I will have Eraeth with me as my Protector, and members of my own Phalanx.”
Moiran pulled out of his grasp, reached down to take up the last decanter of wine, but halted before Eraeth, the Protector stiffening. “Bring him back to me.”
Then she left, the room silent except for the crackle of the fire. Slowly, the tension bled from the room, until Fedaureon finally stirred.
Before he could speak, Aeren said, “Never defy your mother like that, Fedaureon.”
“Not if you value your life,” Eraeth muttered, then he placed the knife back onto the metal mesh of the cloth. Colin folded it up and packed the knife away in his satchel.
“Do you expect trouble from the Flame?”
Colin shook his head. “Not immediately, no. The only reason I think Lotaern allowed me to leave Caercaern with the knife in my possession is that it hasn’t been tested yet, and he knew it would be nearly impossible for him to take it from me and keep it. But I’d feel better having you and Eraeth by my side, rather than only members of the Flame.” He stood, caught Aeren’s gaze. “There’s no need, though, if you’d rather respect Moiran’s wishes. I can handle it myself.”
Aeren shook his head. “I agree with you. We cannot allow Lotaern to take control of the knife. I can’t say he’d use it as we fear, not with certainty, but if there’s something I can do to keep that possibility from occurring, then I’ll do it. And what I said was true. Fedaureon is more than capable of handling the House while I’m gone.”
“Then how long do you need to prepare?”
Aeren smiled. It made him appear twenty years younger. “I can be ready to leave before midday tomorrow.”
“Shaeveran is on the move,” Khalaek reported. Around him, the other Wraiths-six in all, dwarren and Alvritshai-stirred, but Khalaek kept his eyes fixed on the human, Walter, the ostensible leader. Khalaek could barely keep his lip from twisting in derision at the thought, but without Walter-without the Lifeblood-he would have died on the battlefields of the Escarpment, a sacrifice made by Thaedoran to the human king in order to solidify the peace Accord. Khalaek’s hatred of Thaedoran overrode his contempt of Walter… at the moment. He could wait.
Walter held his gaze unflinchingly, but Khalaek did not back down. “Where is Colin headed?”
“To Lord Aeren’s estates. He has likely already arrived.”
“Lord Aeren is a friend. Are you certain Colin knows what we have started?”
“He knows. He spoke to the Chosen before departing, and is escorted by the Flame. He must know of the imbalance.”
Walter smiled, and Tuvaellis-one of the other Alvritshai Wraiths, a woman-said, “You do not seem disturbed by this.”
Walter chuckled. “I’m not. Colin was bound to notice that something was amiss eventually. I doubt he realizes exactly what, as yet.”
“Should we alter our plans?” Arturo asked. He was dwarren. The beads and feathers strewn throughout his beard, and the chains running from the rings in his ears to the one in his nose, proclaimed him a clan chief; the oily darkness swirling beneath his leathery, wrinkled skin claimed him as Wraith.
“No.” Walter moved to a chunk of crystal set to one side, part of what had once been the ceiling of the immense room where they had gathered. Other shards of crystal littered the room on all sides, surrounding an open pit in the center of the room. On top of this crystal rested a small wooden box, polished to a fine sheen. He picked up the box, turned, and handed it to Tuvaellis. She gripped the handles on both side, but Walter did not let go. “You understand the importance of this? The human forces in Andover in the old continent must not be allowed to aid the Provinces here in the new, nor the Alvritshai or dwarren. This will guarantee that they are otherwise occupied. If you fail.…”
“I will not fail.” Tuvaellis’ tone was mildly offended.
“Very well. You should depart now. Our contact in King Justinian’s Court will be waiting for you.”
Tuvaellis nodded as Walter released the box. She tucked it under her arm and blurred away. Walter turned toward Arturo and Khalaek. “Begin gathering your forces. They will need to be ready to move shortly.”
“Are you certain Shaeveran will not cause problems?” Khalaek recalled what the human had done to their plans at the Escarpment.
“By the time he figures out what our true goal is, it will be too late.” Walter caught Courranen’s gaze, Khalaek’s fellow Alvritshai straightening where he stood. “Besides, I do not intend to leave him as a loose thread. You know where he will head once he learns of the imbalance. Courranen will be waiting for him when he arrives.”
Colin, Aeren, and their entourage left the seat of the lord’s House at midday, Moiran and Fedaureon standing at the entrance to the main house surrounded by Daevon, the Rhyssal House Phalanx, and a few servants. More Phalanx held the gates open as Colin, Aeren, Eraeth, and the rest mounted their horses and situated their satchels and packs, then turned to go. Vaeren and the rest of the Order were already waiting restlessly to one side, the caitan of the Flame’s expression disgruntled and impatient. He flicked the reins of his horse as Aeren spoke to his own caitan, then the man stepped back and Aeren motioned toward the gates. The Lord of Rhyssal House turned back once to nod toward Moiran and his son, and then they were through the gates and headed down to Artillien.
“Do you want me to call them back?” Colin asked as Vaeren and the rest of the Order charged ahead, taking the lead. “I am, ostensibly, their leader, and we are on your own lands.”
Aeren smiled and shook his head. “Let them posture. I’m secure enough in my own power as Lord of House Rhyssal, even with an escort of only three Phalanx.” Eraeth coughed meaningfully and Aeren smiled, adding, “And my Protector.”
They reached the town of Artillien, and the Alvritshai on the streets stopped to stare as the Order of the Flame passed by. A few waved toward Aeren, the lord nodding in their direction. They skirted the marketplace, swept past the temple of Aielan, one of the acolytes outside pausing as he brushed snow from the stone window ledges. He genuflected toward the Flame, Siobhaen returning the gesture.
Then they passed outside the town into the fields beyond. Sunlight broke through the layer of clouds, blazing harshly on the snow, and Colin raised one hand to shade his eyes. To the left, the lake gleamed a deep blue, riddled with waves from a brisk wind from the west. As soon as they cleared the outskirts of the town, Vaeren picked up the pace, taking them west along the road as it curved around the water. The wind struck Colin full in the face, burning his skin raw, until they reached the shelter of the cedar and pine trees beyond.
After that, Colin pulled up the hood of his cloak and settled in for the ride, nearly everyone else following suit.
They rode for three days, angling northwest as soon as the roads allowed. On the fourth day, they entered Nuant House lands, the maroon-and-gold House colors supplanting the blue and red of Rhyssal. Away from Aeren’s lands, the lord received more piercing looks and second glances, but it was the Order that caught and held nearly everyone’s attention. The only connection the commoners had to the Order was through their acolytes in the local temples. Seeing the Order of the Flame passing through their village caused a stir. More than one acolyte emerged from his temple to offer the group a place to rest and refresh before continuing on their journey. Vaeren rarely accepted, except when Siobhaen caught his attention and murmured something for his ears only. On these occasions, Siobhaen spent most of her time within the temple, kneeling before the small basins that mimicked the large one in the Sanctuary back in Caercaern. The acolytes would hastily fill the basin with oil, perform a short ritual, and then light the basin so that Siobhaen and the other members of the Flame could pray before it. Always at the end of her prayers, Siobhaen would remove a pouch from her satchel and toss something into the flames, the acolytes in attendance gasping as the fires in the basin burned a harsh, brilliant white. Then she’d run her fingers through the soot beneath the basin and mark her face before rising, the others often doing the same.
“She’s solidifying their ties to the temple,” Aeren said at the third such temple, even as he genuflected while the flames were burning white.
“What do you mean?” Colin asked. He knew the ritual she performed, had studied it in the Sanctuary before being allowed to pass through Aielan’s Light beneath the mountain. It was a simple enough rite, one used to calm the observer, to center them so that the problems they faced might be made clearer. It was one of the basic rituals of the Scripts, although it did not require the basin actually be lit, and the addition of the white flames generally only occurred at significant bondings or rituals.
As the white flames died, returning to normal, the acolytes murmuring to each other in awe and excitement, Aeren turned away, his brow troubled. “She’s using the ritual and the white flames to remind the acolytes of their ties to the Order, their ties to Lotaern and the Flame. There’s no need for the theatrics otherwise. These acolytes all trained in the Sanctuary at one point. She’s reminding them of their time in Caercaern, of their loyalties.
“And these acolytes will spread that to the common people in this area.”
“But why does Lotaern want them to remember?”
Aeren shook his head. “I don’t know. But I’ve learned through the course of the years that Lotaern does nothing without a purpose. He feels he’s going to need the commoners’ support for something soon. Siobhaen did not stop at any of the temples before you reached Artillien?”
“No. Why? What are you thinking?”
They watched as Siobhaen and the others circulated among the gathered acolytes and villagers who happened to be in or near the temple when they arrived.
“I’m wondering what changed in Artillien that prompted them to begin this… little campaign,” he finally murmured.
“We need to find out,” Eraeth said.
Colin thought back to his first conversation with Siobhaen, on the road down from Caercaern, when she thought he despised the Alvritshai. “Perhaps we shouldn’t isolate ourselves anymore.” When Aeren and Eraeth looked at him, he added, “We’ve separated ourselves into two groups: the Flame and Rhyssal House. For the last few days we’ve eaten separately, traveled separately, even slept in separate rooms or sides of the outposts. We need to mingle more.”
Eraeth grimaced in distaste, while Aeren’s eyebrows rose. “They haven’t been overly friendly toward us since Artillien.”
“And we haven’t been overly friendly toward them. The distrust is mutual.”
One of Aeren’s Phalanx coughed lightly and they turned to see Vaeren approaching. The caitan nodded, the rest of the Flame preparing to depart behind him. “We are finished here.”
“Very well,” Aeren said.
Vaeren hesitated and frowned, as if he sensed something hidden in the tone of Aeren’s voice, or in the slightly awkward silence that had settled over the Rhyssal House contingent. Then he shook his head and turned, motioning the Flame outside.
They reached an outpost near dusk, the wayside stop nothing more than a stone hut a few paces from the road tucked into a niche beside a stream of snowmelt, its wooden roof covered in dark green moss beneath dangling cedar branches. Colin scanned the mountains, a hand shading his eyes, the sun a burnt orange glow to the west. He called out to where Vaeren and a few others in the group were refilling their waterskins. “We’ll stop here for the night.”
Vaeren stood, looking toward the setting sun. “We could make the next village, perhaps even the next outpost.”
Colin shook his head. “We’re close to the pass now and it’s getting dark. We’ll have to leave the road tomorrow, after leaving the horses in the village.”
Vaeren eyed him for a long moment, suspicion touching the corners of his mouth, but then he waved to the other members of the Flame, who had begun to remount. “Unpack your saddlebags. Boreaus, hunt us something decent to go with what the acolytes gifted us at the last temple. Petraen, gather some wood for a fire. Siobhaen, take care of the horses.”
All three hesitated, trading confused looks, but the two brothers shrugged and hauled their gear from their horses before handing the reins to Siobhaen. Boreaus drew a short bow from a cylindrical case, leaped the small stream, and vanished into the woods to the north. Petraen headed in the opposite direction, scrambling up a small embankment before the trees claimed him.
Aeren dismounted at Colin’s side. “Is there another reason we’re stopping early?” he muttered under his breath as he began working at the ties of his bags.
“We need to learn more about Vaeren and the Flame. I’d rather do it on this side of the mountains, where the weather is calmer and the terrain is decent, than in the White Wastes. If we reach the town, the Flame will join the acolytes in the temple and we’ll lose our opportunity.”
Aeren grunted in agreement, then passed a silent command to Eraeth.
The Protector turned immediately toward where the other three Phalanx members were unsaddling their own horses. A moment later, two were headed off after Petraen, the third stringing his own bow as he followed Boreaus. Eraeth himself drew their horses closer to where Siobhaen had already begun combing the Flames’ horses’ flanks. She gave him one hard, suspicious glance as he began pulling saddles from the Phalanx mounts’ backs, then resumed her work.
Vaeren had vanished inside the stone hut.
“I’ll go check on Vaeren,” Colin said.
Aeren nodded. “And I’ll join Eraeth and Siobhaen with the horses.” He muttered something under his breath as his own mount snorted and stamped its foot against the stone of the roadway. One hand brushed the animal’s neck in a long soothing motion.
The lord caught Colin’s look. “Why are you smiling?”
“I was just thinking about when we first met on the plains. You shied away from our horses then. You were terrified of them.”
Aeren’s eyebrows rose. “They were strange and terrifying beasts. And I was young.”
Colin shook his head, then grabbed his staff from his own mount and headed toward the hut.
As he ducked inside, Vaeren looked up from where he used a branch to clean out a fire pit sunken into the middle of the hut. “Whoever used this last left in a hurry,” he said as he pulled charred ends of sticks and thicker branches toward him. “But they did leave behind some firewood.” He pointed with the branch to one side, where wood had been stacked. His eyes never left Colin.
“That should make Petraen’s job easier.” Colin scanned the rest of the hut. The roof was steep, to keep the snow from piling up too heavily. Smoke would be funneled from the fire pit up to a hole shielded against the weather at the top. The rest of the rounded interior was mostly bare, a few stone benches that could be used as sleeping pallets against the walls. There were no windows, only the main entrance and a covered hole in the floor against the back wall for the disposal of garbage and waste. The stale smell of smoke and musty dampness cloaked the small room.
“It’s not much of a wayside,” Vaeren said.
Colin caught and held his gaze. The undertone in the caitan’s voice suggested that they could find better accommodations in the village. “It will suffice for tonight,” he said. Then he knelt down and began dragging the black, sooty remains of the previous fire from the pit.
After a moment, Vaeren helped him.
They worked in utter silence, Vaeren studiously ignoring him as they scraped the last of the dead coals from the hollow that reminded Colin of the rounded depressions in the middle of the dwarren keevas, where they held their most serious consultations. The silence became strained, itching at Colin’s back, until he finally sighed and asked, “What House are you from?”
Without looking up, Vaeren said, “I am a member of the Order of the Flame. I am associated with no House except the Order.”
The caitan said it as if by rote, and Colin grimaced. He knew that acolytes of the Order renounced their ties to their previous Houses. Their allegiance was given to Aielan and the Order, their previous House abandoned, although erasing those ties completely was impossible.
“I meant, what House were you originally from?”
Vaeren glanced up at that, his brow creased, as if he were trying to determine why Colin would ask, what his ulterior motive might be. But finally he answered, “Uslaen.”
“Lord Saetor’s House, Khalaek’s caitan before Khalaek was banished and his own House declared fallen.”
“Yes,” Vaeren said shortly. His shoulders stiffened, his soot-greased hands clenched hard on the branch he now held defensively before him. “What of it?”
Colin sat back, surprised by his reaction, by the sudden tension in the room. “Nothing. A simple question, nothing more.”
Vaeren watched him intently, then visibly forced himself to relax, letting his held breath out in a long sigh. “I… apologize,” he said, his voice rough. “I should not have reacted so… forcefully.”
Colin brushed the apology aside with one hand. “No offense was taken. But I’m surprised. Khalaek and his House were destroyed over a hundred years ago. I thought the ascension of the new House had gone smoothly, that the emotions of that time would have been laid to rest by now.”
Vaeren sneered, the expression twisting his face for a moment, then gone, replaced by a troubled brow. He busied himself with the fire pit, drawing the last of the coals close enough to be retrieved.
“Alvritshai have long memories,” he said finally. “I was part of Khalaek’s House before his betrayal, proud to be Duvoraen. I wore the black and gold of the Phalanx on the battlefield at the Escarpment, fought for Khalaek there and before.”
Colin silently adjusted his estimate of Vaeren’s age. “You must have been newly risen into the Phalanx to have been at the Escarpment.”
“Yes. I was only thirty-three, had been part of the Duvoraen Phalanx for barely a year. When the Evant announced Khalaek’s betrayal, when they declared him khai and banished him.…” Vaeren paused to stare off into the distance, his face open and easy to read. Colin could see the young Alvritshai soldier he had been, could see an echo of the shock and disbelief that young warrior had felt.
Then Vaeren’s face hardened with pain and the anger of the betrayal, and Colin again saw the warrior of the Flame he had first seen in the Sanctuary.
He turned to face Colin. “It felt as if Khalaek had betrayed me personally. I was young; I was newly risen to the Phalanx. It crushed me. And I was not the only one that felt lost and adrift after that.”
“But the Evant declared the rising of House Uslaen almost immediately, appointed Saetor as the new lord and gave all of Duvoraen’s lands and people over to him.”
An echo of the sneer returned. “You can’t declare a new lord and House and expect the people to follow so easily. I’d been part of Duvoraen for decades, had been raised to serve Lord Khalaek, been trained to protect him, to revere the black-and-gold uniform, to live under the Eagle’s Talon.” Vaeren stood abruptly, brandishing the branch, the fire pit between them. “I couldn’t do it,” he muttered, the sneer seeping into his voice. “I couldn’t shrug the Duvoraen House mantle aside so easily. I couldn’t simply vow to serve Uslaen after all that I’d done, after spilling my blood for Duvoraen on the battlefield. The Lords of the Evant should not have expected that of us.”
“Even though Khalaek had betrayed you, betrayed all of the Alvritshai?”
“That was only what the Lords of the Evant claimed,” he said sharply, but his conviction faltered even as he said it, the branch he wielded lowering. “I didn’t know what to believe. Neither did anyone else within the Phalanx. None of us understood, but we all know of the games the Lords of the Evant play.”
Colin held Vaeren’s gaze. “They needed stability. For the treaty with the humans and the dwarren.”
Vaeren’s glare hardened. “And I needed time to adjust, to come to terms with Khalaek’s betrayal.”
Colin shifted where he sat. “But you said you were part of House Uslaen when I asked.”
Vaeren snorted with derision. “I was. Duvoraen had fallen; Uslaen had risen in its stead. The Evant declared me Uslaen. No one can claim to be of House Duvoraen anymore without the risk of becoming khai themselves, of being shunned by everyone, being cursed or spat upon. Duvoraen is dead. But I couldn’t stay with Uslaen, couldn’t pretend to a vow to Saetor that I’d never made, not in my heart.”
“So you joined the Order.”
“Yes. I joined the Flame. What better way to deal with the betrayal of Khalaek and the Evant than to remove myself from them altogether? Nearly a hundred of the Duvoraen Phalanx fled to the Order after the Escarpment. Hundreds of others abandoned Uslaen completely.”
Colin frowned. “They shifted to another House?”
Vaeren shook his head with a grim smile. “They left. They vanished, departing in the night, abandoning their watches, their posts. They became khai-roen, a self-imposed exile. They could not serve under Saetor, could not serve under any lord at all.”
Colin felt a shudder pass through him. The fact that hundreds of Alvritshai had simply left their House and lands behind, had vanished, disturbed him deeply. He understood being disillusioned, understood feeling betrayed by your own people-the refugee families who’d fled Andover nearly two hundred years ago before the onset of the Feud, families like his own, had been betrayed by the Proprietors in New Andover. That betrayal had driven Colin and his family onto the plains, had ultimately killed them all.
All except for Colin and Walter, and neither of them were exactly human anymore.
He reached across with his right hand and massaged his left arm, where beneath the sleeve of his shirt his skin was mottled black with the poison of the Wells and their Lifeblood. It was an old habit, one that he’d thought he’d broken. With a disgusted wince, he snatched his hand away, glanced up to find Vaeren watching him intently.
“Where did they go?” he asked, his voice harsher than he’d intended. “Where are the Alvritshai who abandoned Uslaen now?”
Vaeren shrugged. “No one knows.”
The unease Colin felt sank deeper into his chest. He held Vaeren’s gaze a moment longer, then motioned with his soot-stained hands toward the fire pit and the wood. “We should get the fire started.”
Ten minutes later, he stepped from the hut as a thin, white smoke began to drift from beneath the small aperture in the roof. Aeren, Eraeth, and Siobhaen were still grooming the horses, Aeren talking quietly with Siobhaen, although it didn’t appear Siobhaen was participating much. Eraeth shot Colin an irritated look and shook his head slightly. At the same time, a burst of laughter echoed from the woods south of the road. Petraen and two members of Aeren’s Phalanx approached, ducking under the low-hanging branches of the trees, arms laden with firewood. All three were chatting amiably, Petraen grinning as he related some story about his brother and himself stealing apples from a neighbor’s orchard.
“-and then Boreaus took off as if Aielan Herself had lit a fire under his ass, leaving me behind with the sack of apples,” Petraen said as Colin stepped to one side, allowing the three into the hut. “I scrambled as fast as I could, but the sack got caught on the rail fence and I couldn’t get it free. The next thing I knew the overseer’s hand dug into my shoulder and jerked me back-”
The door to the hut closed, cutting off the words.
Colin looked down at his blackened hands, then moved toward the stream to one side, stepping over the smoothed rocks to the water’s edge. He shoved back the sleeves of his shirt, ignored the swirling darkness that seethed beneath the exposed skin on both arms, and plunged his hands into the water with a sudden sharp breath. The frigid water numbed his fingers immediately, but he scrubbed at the greasy soot nonetheless.
“That won’t come off with water.”
Colin drew his hands out of the water and shook them vigorously, snapping his fingers in an attempt to get the blood flowing again. “I’m used to having darkened skin,” he said, drying his hands on the cloth of his shirt, leaving black smudges behind. Eraeth’s eyebrow rose at the comment, but he said nothing. Colin motioned toward Siobhaen and Aeren, the two tying the horses up near the hut. “No luck with Siobhaen?”
Eraeth grimaced. “She responds to your questions, but she reveals nothing. She’s too guarded.”
Another bout of laughter, muted by the hut’s walls, broke through the gurgle of the stream.
“At least one of the Flame has opened up,” Colin said.
“Vaeren revealed nothing?”
“More than I expected, actually. He’s originally from House Duvoraen. He joined the Order rather than become a permanent part of Uslaen.”
“Many chose that path after the Escarpment and the banishment.”
“He also claims that many Alvritshai abandoned their House and lands altogether.”
The Protector shifted awkwardly, then said grudgingly, “It’s not something that is spoken of. No lord wants to admit that the members of his House would rather choose exile than to serve beneath him. And most Alvritshai refuse to speak of the khai-roen at all. I’m surprised Vaeren mentioned it.”
Colin began climbing the rocks back to the roadway, Eraeth reaching forward to pull him up the last stretch. “I think Vaeren nearly chose that path for himself.”
Petraen emerged from the hut and gave a shout, catching their attention as both Boreaus and the last Phalanx appeared, the Flame with a few squirrels held by the tail, Aeren’s guardsman with a rabbit and some type of fowl.
“Looks like we’ll have fresh meat tonight,” Eraeth said.
They headed toward the hut as Aeren and Siobhaen joined the returning hunters. Petraen clapped his brother on the back and took the squirrels from him, the two settling in near the stream with the rest of Aeren’s Phalanx to gut them for roasting. Siobhaen sent the two brothers a sharp look of disapproval as they bantered with the Rhyssal House men, but they pointedly ignored her. After a moment, she shook her head and entered the hut.
“They don’t act like Alvritshai,” Colin said, keeping his voice low, his eyes on the two brothers.
Eraeth grimaced. “They are more Alvritshai than you realize. You’ve dealt mostly with the Lords of the Evant and their Phalanx. The lords are more rigid and formal than the commoners, and more guarded with their emotions. And the Phalanx are trained to formality, since they will be serving their lord and representing the House. The commoners are much more… relaxed.”
Colin smiled. “I see.”
Eraeth scowled. “They’re still more respectable than you humans!”
“Who’s more respectable than humans?” Aeren asked sharply. He’d waited for them at the door of the hut as they approached and now shot Eraeth a look similar to the one Soibhaen had given the brothers earlier.
Eraeth drew himself up stiffly. “No one is more respectable than humans, Lord Aeren.”
Aeren glared at him with suspicious reproach, then nodded. “Very well.” He gave Eraeth one last look, then pushed through the hut’s door and inside.
Vaeren and Siobhaen had already split the room into two sections, the saddlebags of the Flame on one side, room for the Rhyssal House on the other. Vaeren had prepared the flames for spits, the fire crackling, embers fluttering upward as he tossed on another few branches. The smell of smoke had permeated the entire hut, the heat driving out the musty dampness of the stone.
Aeren, Eraeth, and Colin began settling in on the Rhyssal House side, laying out pallets on the stone benches, Eraeth sitting, legs crossed beneath him, and removing his cattan. He began cleaning the blade with a soft cloth, Vaeren watching from the far side of the fire. Siobhaen removed a small dagger and whetstone, the scrape of metal against stone echoing harshly in the small hut. The rest of the group returned, Petraen and Boreaus bearing dinner already on spits. They set them over the fire, Petraen retrieving the bread they’d been given and handing it out, Boreaus turning the spitted animals.
The enticing scent of roasted meat filled the room, thick and heavy, making Colin’s stomach growl. He took the bread from Petraen as he passed and bit into it. He leaned back against the stone of the wall and closed his eyes as he chewed, listening to the schick of Siobhaen’s dagger, the banter between Petraen and the rest of the Rhyssal Phalanx, the softer conversation between Aeren and Eraeth.
Then, when the sounds and smells and warmth had almost lulled Colin into a light sleep, the flutter of a pipe broke through the general noise.
Colin opened his eyes to find Petraen sitting across the fire from him, the pipe drawn to his mouth, his fingers playing lightly over the holes down its length. He ran through a series of runs, the pipe’s sound hollow and playful, lower in tone than Colin would have expected. At the spit, Boreaus shook his head and sprinkled some kind of herb onto the charring meat. The fire sizzled as grease dripped from the carcasses.
Warmed up, Petraen hesitated, then launched into something more serious, the tune vaguely familiar.
Siobhaen stopped sharpening her dagger, set it aside, and began singing.
Colin shifted forward as her voice and that of the pipe drowned out the fire and the cooking meat. The tale of how Aielan’s Light had guided a grieving young woman to her lover’s side on an ancient battlefield, only to find him still alive though gravely wounded, unfolded slowly, hauntingly.
When the last notes faded, the woman having saved her lover’s life, everyone in the hut sat motionless, staring at Siobhaen. Colin’s heart ached with the woman’s struggle, but nothing rivaled the shock he felt and saw on the others’ faces at the raw emotion that had been in Siobhaen’s voice. This was not the Siobhaen that Colin had known on the journey to Artillien, or the days since.
“That was excellently sung,” Aeren said quietly, breaking the silence.
Siobhaen tensed, as if suddenly realizing what she’d done. Colin thought she would draw the mantle of the hard-nosed Order of the Flame about her again, withdrawing herself from the group, but instead she relaxed, her shoulders dropping.
“Thank you,” she said, nodding toward Aeren with a small smile. “Alfaen’s tale has always been one of my favorites.”
“Because Aielan guided her?”
“No. Most of the songs of the battles and times before the Abandonment of the northern reaches are about death and grief and loss. This one is different. She finds Torrain alive, in time to save him.”
They considered this in silence, and then Boreaus swore, lurching forward to grab one of the spits and jerk it from the fire before one of the blackened squirrels could slide into the flames. He hissed as the heat seared his hands, shifting the hot spit from one hand to the other until it cooled enough he could tear a piece of the meat off and taste it.
He grinned. “Time to feast.”
He began slicing chunks free and handing them out, Vaeren moving to grab the second spit. Colin nearly moaned as he bit into the succulent meat, juice dribbling down his chin and through his fingers. He began sucking his fingers clean when he suddenly noticed everyone watching him, Vaeren with thinly veiled disgust, Petraen and Boreaus with grins.
They were all eating meticulously, almost formally, picking the bones clean with their fingers or the blades of small knives, even the two brothers. No juice dripped from their chins, although it did glisten in the firelight on their fingers.
Colin slurped his last finger clean noisily. “I refuse to be anything but human,” he said.
Vaeren glanced toward Aeren and Eraeth, both with studiously blank faces. “I don’t understand why you associate with him.”
Eraeth shrugged. “He has his uses.”
Aeren smiled as Colin gaped in mild affront, but then his face turned serious. “You said we were close to the pass. I have never heard of this pass, nor of this tunnel into the Alvritshai halls beneath the mountain. Caercaern was supposed to be the only path from the northern reaches to the south over the Hauttaeren Mountains.”
Everyone turned to Colin. “The Tamaells since before the time of the Abandonment have kept the secret of this one entrance well. It has a rather dark and deadly history. I found mention of it in some of the oldest records in the Sanctuary, in journals and pages that nearly crumbled apart in my hands. I’m not even certain that Tamaell Thaedoren knows of it.”
“The secret has been kept from even the Evant?” Aeren asked with a frown.
“As far as I can tell. Its purpose, and what it was used for, is not something that the Tamaell or the lords of that time would have been proud of.”
“What was it used for?” Vaeren asked bluntly.
Colin shifted where he sat, frowning as he thought back to reading those pages, sitting in the depths of the Sanctuary’s archives, surrounded by thousands upon thousands of dusty books and loose sheaves of writings. “It was carved out of the mountain in an attempt to betray Cortaemall, the Tamaell of the time.”
One of the Rhyssal Phalanx gasped. “But Cortaemall was one of the most revered Tamaells of that age!”
Aeren nodded thoughtfully. “Which is perhaps why what happened at the pass has been suppressed.”
“Tell us what happened,” Vaeren said.
Colin hesitated. Even though there were no windows, he could sense that night had fallen, that it was already late. “It’s a long story.”
“You had us stop early,” Vaeren countered.
Colin sighed. “Very well.” He leaned back against the wall and gathered his thoughts as one of the Rhyssal guardsmen rose and left to check up on the horses outside. The frigid night air gusted into the hut, set the flames of the fire flapping, but no one stirred even when the guardsman returned.
“Gaurraenan’s Pass was named after a Lord of the Evant,” he began, letting his voice lower as he shifted into a more comfortable position. “A lord with ambition and patience. He wanted his House to rise within the Evant, wanted to become Tamaell.”
“Like Khalaek,” Eraeth interjected.
Colin turned in surprise, but Eraeth wasn’t looking at him. The Protector was watching Vaeren, the caitan of the Flame gazing down at his hands where he sat against the wall across the fire with a frown.
“Yes, but Cortaemall had been Tamaell for a long time and was loved and revered by the Alvritshai. Living in the halls beneath Caercaern, Cortaemall held dominion over all of the northern reaches. The Alvritshai prospered beneath his hands, the area that we now call the White Wastes producing enough food for the hundreds of thousands of Alvritshai that lived there. The great glaciers were far to the north, and the lands abounded with streams and springs, the growing seasons were long, the plains and lakes and forests teeming with herds of deer and antelope, with rabbit and fowl, and with the shaggy beasts called bison.
“Gaurraenan saw no support within the Evant for his ambitions, but as I said, he was a patient man. He knew there was no way to convince the other lords that Cortaemall should be overthrown, knew that the only way to seize the Evant and rule was through subterfuge. He began to ingratiate himself with his fellow lords, rising slowly but surely through the ranks of the Hall of the Evant, closer and closer to the Tamaell. But he knew that no matter how high he rose, he could never become Tamaell with Cortaemall and his sons in power. That’s not how the Evant and the ascension of the Tamaell works. Cortaemall’s House must fall before a new House can ascend. And so he began the tunnel.
“Within the depths of his halls within the Hauttaeren, he discovered a warren of natural caverns that led to the southern side of the mountains. He decided to finish those tunnels, giving himself passage to the south, and so hired hundreds of masons and miners to widen the passages near his own halls and carve out an exit on the far side, all under the pretense of building a new manse on the flatlands beneath his mountain stronghold. And he built that manse, using the stone from the mines. But the real purpose was the tunnel, wide enough to carry his Phalanx and their supplies southward and up to the pass. None of the other lords would suspect him of tunneling to the south. Everything the Alvritshai needed was there in the northern reaches, and the mountains were too difficult to navigate, the tunnels beneath Caercaern-the only known routes southward-were controlled by Tamaell Cortaemall. The glaciers had not yet begun to creep into the northern reaches to force the Alvritshai off of their lands.
“So Gaurraenan carved his own path to the south, with the intent to take his Phalanx through the tunnels into the southern lands, skirt the mountains, and then back into the depths of Caercaern through the back entrance in secret. He could attack Cortaemall from behind, catch his Phalanx and his House unprepared, kill Cortaemall and his entire family-his wife, daughter, and sons-and ascend in the Evant to take his place.”
Vaeren was shaking his head. “It wouldn’t work. The southern entrance to Caercaern would have been closed and sealed from the inside. Gaurraenan would never have been able to open the doors from the south.”
“There are always those within the House who will betray it and their lord,” Eraeth said quietly. “For wealth, for position, or for simple spite.”
Everyone shifted uncomfortably, but Colin simply nodded. “Gaurraenan found a few within Cortaemall’s Phalanx who were willing to open the seal of the southern portal.”
Petraen huffed in disbelief. “Betrayed by his own Phalanx?”
“It was a different time, remember,” Aeren said. “The Houses were much larger than they are now. There were more Alvritshai then, at least ten times as many as there are now. The Phalanx of each House was larger as well. The caitans and the lords of the Houses would not have been familiar with the individual members of their own Phalanx, not as they are now. I wonder more how Gaurraenan kept his tunnel secret. Building the manse was a nice subterfuge, but what of the masons and miners who built the tunnel? One of them would have said something.”
“Gaurraenen had them killed. As soon as the tunnel was finished, his Phalanx slaughtered them beneath the mountains. Those who worked on the tunnels had lived there since the tunnel was begun. None of them saw the light of day again. Gaurraenen blamed their deaths on a collapse, and ceased construction on the manse immediately out of respect, although it was nearly finished by then.”
Petraen scowled as he reached forward to lay another chunk of wood on the fire.
“So what happened?” Siobhaen asked. “We all know Cortaemall wasn’t killed by Gaurraenan.”
“No, he wasn’t.” Colin closed his eyes. He sat in silence for a long moment, absorbing the heat from the fire, feeling the chill embedded in the stone at his back, the scent of roast meat still thick in the air. “The reason Cortaemall was so revered, and remained in power for so long, is because he wasn’t stupid.” He opened his eyes, caught Siobhaen and Vaeren watching him closely. “He knew what Gaurraenan intended, knew of his pretense with the manse, of his tunnel, of his betrayal.”
Siobhaen flinched and looked away, troubled. Vaeren’s eyes narrowed, creases appearing above the bridge of his nose.
Colin let his gaze drop. “After years upon years of gathering influence within the Evant, rising to its highest ranks, the southern tunnel now complete, Gaurraenan finally felt ready to become Tamaell. He sent word to his contacts within Cortaemall’s House, and prepared his Phalanx for the long march to the southern pass. They left at the end of autumn, after the Evant had been called to a close, but before the snows would make traveling the pass with an army at his back impossible. When they finally emerged from the dark depths into the pass, they found it free of snow, the southern lands waiting for them. Gaurraenan took this as a sign, a good omen, and so he marched east. The weather held, and emboldened, he pushed on to the southern entrance of Caercaern.
“It was nothing like the Caercaern of today. There was no city, no walls and tiers and marketplaces and halls. It was simply a tower, where the Sanctuary now sits, on a ledge of stone that jutted out from the side of the mountains behind, a ledge barely large enough to hold two thousand men. On the first day of winter, with dark clouds beginning to emerge from the west, Gaurraenan and his men scrambled up the slopes to this ledge, and found the doors to the entrance at the base of the tower firmly closed. Nailed to those stone doors with iron spikes were the men of Cortaemall’s Phalanx who’d betrayed him, the men Gaurraenan had bribed into opening the seal to let him in.
“When he saw this, Gaurraenan felt true fear in his heart for the first time. He’d planned so well, been so patient-he’d thought nothing could go wrong. But seeing the Alvritshai nailed to the doors, seeing their dried blood staining the stone, his confidence shattered. Panic gripped him. He turned to order his Phalanx back to his own halls, back to the pass and the tunnels and safety-
“But it was already too late. From the height of the ledge, from the base of the tower, he turned to find Cortaemall and his House Phalanx emerging from the dense forest below. Ten thousand strong, against Gaurraenan’s six thousand, Gaurraenan realized that Cortaemall meant for there to be no survivors.
“There was only one chance of escape: the passage he had carved beneath his own House.
“Gathering his forces, he charged Cortaemall’s men before they could completely organize on the field below, surprising the Tamaell by giving up his advantage on the heights. Cortaemall had thought Gaurraenan would keep hold of the tower and defend the ledge to the last man. He had not planned on Gaurraenan fleeing. But he met the charge and when Gaurraenan gained enough ground to retreat to the west, Cortaemall hounded him with his own men the entire length of the Hauttaeren Mountains. It was no true battle, only skirmishes as one force caught up with the other before it could break away. Thousands fell, on both sides, as Gaurraenan’s flight grew more and more desperate. But Cortaemall was relentless, outflanking his army, ambushing them in close valleys, hitting them as they forged rivers and streams, harrying them without end. Until finally Gaurraenan reached the pass that led to his tunnel. He could taste the safety of the passage, even though the pass was now choked with snow. He could smell the darkness of the stone depths of his own halls.
“But Cortaemall was waiting for him. He’d brought the remains of his army, still seven thousand strong, to the pass. And as Gaurraenan and his men broke at the sight of the tunnel entrance-so close-Cortaemall fell upon him.
“It was a vicious battle, Gaurraenan driven mad by desperation, Cortaemall murderously calm. Blood stained the snow of the pass a bright, gaudy red in the pale sunlight of that winter’s day, and then the snow and blood churned to mud, trampled as the battle surged back and forth across the narrow valley. Gaurraenan arrived at the pass with only three thousand men remaining, and a thousand of those died within the first hour. The rest were whittled down to a mere five hundred, then a hundred, until those that were left were surrounded completely by Cortaemall’s Phalanx. And they were still a thousand paces from the tunnel entrance.
“When Gaurraenan realized he had gained no ground and that the fight was hopeless, he raised his sword high and ordered his men to stop. The battle ground down into silence, and Cortaemall walked across the bloody field toward where Gaurraenan stood. The two stared at each other for a long moment, Gaurraenan exhausted, beaten, Cortaemall’s eyes filled with rage. And then Gaurraenan gasped, ‘I concede. I surrender.’ He threw his sword to the ground at Cortaemall’s feet and collapsed to his knees, too weakened to stand.
“Cortaemall stood silently over him, breathing heavily, his face unreadable except for the rage.
“And then he raised his sword with both hands and severed Gaurraenan’s head from his body.”
Shock filled the eyes of the Flame and those in Aeren’s Phalanx.
“Gaurraenan had surrendered,” Colin said into the stunned silence. “Cortaemall should have honored that surrender, seized Gaurraenan’s House and declared it fallen. He should have banished Gaurraenan, exiled him to the glacial wastes farther north, or abandoned him in the southern lands. It was the honorable thing to do.
“But he didn’t.
“Beheading Gaurraenan might have been overlooked, but Cortaemall went even further.” He saw Siobhaen shaking her head and thought about her song, about why it had been her favorite, but he continued on. “Cortaemall ordered the hundred that had stood with Gaurraenan on the field in that pass beheaded as well. And then,” he said leaning forward, “he took his remaining Phalanx through the tunnel and into the heart of Gaurraenan’s House and he slaughtered every man, woman, and child that he found there. He rid himself of Gaurraenan and the stain the lord had made of his House completely.
“He declared Gaurraenan’s House ora-khai. He forbid any Alvritshai to speak of it, or its members, for all time.”