CHAPTER 12
The Leavetaking
By the time he awoke, Landon's plans had been made for him. He wasn't pleased about it, accusing his father of treating him like a child and Elaina of conspiring against him and betraying him in general. He even went so far as to suggest that by sending him home they were forever forfeiting Yaldra's chance of overthrowing the Empire.
Elaina's attempts to explain went largely ignored at first, but then she delivered a scathing lecture on doing his duty. It was odd talking that way to someone her age, and a Prince besides, but it was so effective she wondered if it was a tactic to use more often. She did regret it, a little—he looked downright hurt when she told him he was sulking like a spoiled puppy—but he had agreed to go.
Thinking of it made Elaina snort—as if he had any choice! Not only was it necessary, but his father had made up his mind, and when Mathwen Ren'jedal decided something was going to happen, it generally did. Elaina had some doubt as to whether she could have stood up to him, pillars or no. He was a . . . commanding presence.
For all Landon’s reluctance, it was now the fifth day after their disastrous arrival in Holdbrine and he was on his horse—a bay charger his father had brought with the army. Beside him sat King Ren'jedal on an even larger animal, a chestnut that looked like it could kick through a wall if it had a mind to. Both men glittered in gold and rubies. Instead of his helm, the King wore the crown of Loth Daer today—a gold ring with paired red enamel lions supporting a ruby the size of a thrush's egg over his brow. Rubies dotted the band as well.
A few months ago all that gold and the stones would have made her jaw drop, Elaina knew. Now she was too tired to care and only wondered if it was awfully heavy, and if that was why the King had such a thick neck. Perhaps it just went with his bullish disposition.
Behind them rode men brandishing three banners, a large yellow one with the Red Lions supporting a crown, and two smaller ones with seven gold stars on a field of red and black. There were two trumpeters between them, but they carried odd, curled horns. Elaina wasn’t sure how those made any noise at all. After them rode the rest of the small army that was the Company, the personal guard of the King.
Off to the left of the column, Elaina and Lord Monren stood waiting. Landon gave her a look of teeth-grinding frustration from beneath his ruby-studded helm and shot Monren a warning glare.
As unhappy as he was to be leaving Elaina and the freedom and adventure of their travels—now he called it freedom and adventure, what used to be disaster and terror— he was even more displeased that Lord Monren would be staying. He refused to concede that the Drethlord had changed his allegiance, or rather expanded it to include Elaina.
Monren took all the accusations and objections calmly, whether they were direct or implied. As soon as Elaina had announced intention that Landon go and Monren stay, he had simply ignored the prince.
Despite the way he stared straight ahead, there was a small curl of a smile on his lips just now that made her doubt Landon had been totally dismissed. That was the insolent grin of the victor on any other man.
Truth, but the Drethlord is like iron most of the time! Between him and Mathwen and Landon, it’s like I have the leashes of a lion, a wolf and a wolfhound by my fingertips, and I have to keep them from tearing each other to bits!
No, that would be too simple; I also have to bring the three of them to heel, and I’m holding those leashes by my teeth. She almost laughed.
Lord Monren was staying with her to arrange a meeting with the other Drethlords, where he would convince them that she was the one they were looking for. It was a pretty little mess, and she was in the middle of it.
At King Ren'jedal's impatient gesture the trumpeters lifted the horns to their lips and sent out a brazen call that brought Elaina's mind back from its drifting. So those things do make noise! Lower than trumpets . . . I wonder if it is because they can be longer, all curled up like that.
The King gave her one impatient nod and Landon bowed in the saddle, then they heeled their horses into a high-stepping trot, wheeling east toward Loth Daer. A metallic rustle followed the trumpets as the army slowly broke into motion—greaves shifted with shuffling feet, mail slid against breastplate, and scabbards were settled on hips.
Like a river suddenly set loose from an invisible dam, the Company moved forward, gold-bordered bands of red on every arm. Behind the bannermen rode a handful of men with no red-and-gold, only black. They were an honor guard sent by Lord Monren, but were meant less for honor or guarding than to prevent them from sparking a war as they marched home. King Mathwen would not have accepted them for any other reason.
Elaina could only hope it actually worked. None of the others had seemed too confident. Even Monren had doubts, and it was his idea. Perhaps the Watchers can keep swords in scabbards long enough for them to pass by before people stopped dithering about what to do. Perhaps. The Drethlords are less likely to hail as savior someone sowing chaos across their realm. Truth, but what did Landon think he was doing, running off like that when he was a Prince? And not telling me! Honestly!
Once her view of Landon was blocked by the cavalry, Elaina turned abruptly, leaving Monren to follow her back to the only remaining structure in Holdbrine. With all the wounded Watchers either recovered enough to walk or buried, the large room of the farmhouse was now a command post of sorts. Elaina tried not to think of it as it had been those first few days—men lying about bandaged, bleeding.
She had tried her hand at Healing, but accomplished very little. Without much practice, she was not a particularly useful Healer. It didn’t make it easier that Healing required a level of immersion in the injured person’s being—the healer felt the pain as well. Trying to help Landon, she had discovered that he felt about like he’d wrestled with a cheese grater.
The Watchers had all refused her offer to Heal with odd looks. Perhaps it was some stupid male stubbornness thing. If they wanted to suffer, she wasn't going to go out of her way to feel their injuries and heal them. Still, the memories were grim.
It helped that a few rough tables had been built and now lay strewn with Lord Monren's collection of maps, they made the room look different. Between those maps and Monren's knowledge of Arith they had decided upon their plan. Riders had been sent to Hurndrith with word of Elaina, letters bearing Monren's seal, a branching oak in black wax. Those that were in the capital city would ride out to meet them. The rest of the Drethlords would be found eventually, until she met them all.
Then they would begin the negotiation for the freedom of Arith and the salvation of Asemal. At least Monren was perfectly confident that his Brethren would also acknowledge her as the Falcon and the One Foretold and all of that. She had avoided asking what happened after that on purpose. It seemed clear that she would have to go to Asemal if she was to save it properly, but she did not much like the idea. However, it was a small price to pay if that meant the Drethlords would leave Arith.
One step at a time, though, Hetarth had always cautioned her, don't get ahead of yourself. Plan too far ahead and you'll fall over the first stone while thinking about the tenth. She sighed and quickly pushed the memory of his face away, before the tears caught up with her. This was no time for that. She could not let them think her weak.
The first stone she had to keep from tripping on was meeting the other Drethlords. The location Monren had picked was a little speck on the map, a hamlet between Hurndrith and what remained of Holdbrine called Split Creek in the southern plains. Getting across the trackless expanse of Jernal would be trouble enough, regardless of what awaited them in Split Creek. Elaina sighed, staring at the map. It was a long journey, and things had a way of going wrong if a person traveled long enough. Things have a way of going wrong if a person lives long enough, travel or no.
Following Lord Monren in the door was the peculiar man that went everywhere with him. As with the other Watchers, he just wore black. Everything on all of them was black, down to the steel of their swords—t
hough she couldn't see how that was possible. They blades were black as night, but they shone like normal steel. When the Watchers practiced, they clash of the black metal was just as loud.
Elaina badly wanted to ask how they were made, or what of, but those unblinking stares kept her from actually speaking with the Watchers whenever possible . After watching them practice, she was sure she did not want to match swords with any of them—Landon's father had been absolutely right about that. Every last one was a master, even those no older than she was.
Truth, someone must have been teaching them since birth if they already have that kind of skill! The particular bodyguard of Lord Monren made her shiver especially. It did not even seem he had a name, Monren merely called him Watcher when he wanted the man's attention.
The three of them were standing around the maps, Monren pointing out routes and discussing supplies with Elaina, when a different Watcher poked his head in the door.
"My Lord, my Lady, there are people here who say they are from this place. What do you want done with them?" Elaina straightened. So. They’re back. The townspeople had fled as soon as they saw the black-cloaked men charging toward their homes on horseback. Now they came back to find those men in residence and most of the town gone. She hoped they had all gone far enough away to survive the disaster that was the Orb.
"Bring them in, please." She directed. The Watcher disappeared around the doorframe for a moment. Then about fifteen people shuffled in, all travel-stained and wide-eyed, crowding at the door only as far as the Watcher shepherded them. Likely they had been waiting for the army to move out. A few stuttered a greeting for the Lord and Lady, there were a smattering of bows and curtsies.
"You are all from Holdbrine, yes?" she asked them gently. They were probably scared out of their heads. All she got was nods in response.
"Then you have seen what has happened to your home." More mournful nods. "For that, I apologize. There was a very large web that went very badly wrong here." No sense in telling them the world almost unraveled before she could stop it. They had enough to worry about.
"I regret that it has so harmed your village, but I intend to see it fixed." At that some surprised and hopeful eyes flicked up to hers for a moment. "There is a table over there with a map of the area. If you all would be so kind as to mark out and describe the buildings that were here, we will see what we can do to go about setting things right."
The Watcher herded them toward the offered table as they murmured their thanks and wobbled a few more curtsies. Monren and his shadow were watching her closely, one as expressionless as a shadow ought to be, the other frowning sharply.
"Lady Elaina, we don't have time to be rebuilding villages!” Monren scolded, keeping his voice low. “The Brethren must meet you as soon as possible. It has been fifteen years since we left the Isles, perhaps even now the Empress is in danger! It could take us months to rebuild everything as it was, even if I send for more men. We do not have the time. If you must do something, leave them gold to rebuild and we can march for Split Creek."
"Oh, hush." She whispered back. His mouth snapped shut. Brother Monren was not used to being addressed that way. His Watcher's eyebrows rose, but he said nothing, as usual. "I'll take care of it. It will not delay us more than an hour."
Still frowning, Monren muttered something about wasting energy and over extending oneself, but he didn't argue. Elaina didn't care what he thought. For once she wanted to leave behind something more than destruction and death. Just this once. The shadow watched her still, expressionless as a stone once again. If Monren was reserved, this fellow was ice. Really, how does Monren put up with a companion like that all the time? Drethlord or no, the man has to make his skin crawl like everyone else's.
It was three days yet before they could summon up the supplies they needed to ride across the plains, along with the wagons and horses to carry them. The destruction of the Orb had not gone well for the local stocks of food and water. Much of what they needed would have to be found on the way.
As word had gotten out of the Loth Daean army's departure and Elaina's promise to rebuild, more and more townspeople had streamed in from the countryside. Now they all stood back by the only building with all the Watchers, Brother Monren, and his shadow. Elaina stood in what had been the town square. She had studied the map closely and rested up to do this.
Many of the homes had been wood and thatch, but she didn’t know enough about holding a building together to use those. Instead she intended to use Fire and Air to melt stone. If the villagers don’t like how it turns out, they can just redo it themselves. They would be doing the thatch themselves anyway—she didn't want heavy stone roofs collapsing on them three days after she was gone. She’d done enough to kill them all already. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Those thick, dark clouds are going to make the ride miserable.
Elaina took a bracing breath and raised her hands. Casting this large a web she would use her hands to help her direct the Fire and Air—just because the buildings would be stone didn’t mean she was going to try it with Earth. She pictured the first building in her mind and began to cast. In essence, it was what she had done when the little stone sparrows were made; Fire on stone, only the stone was underground and massive, and the goal was similarly vast.
There was a deep roll as the stones beneath the earth responded to her words, matching the rumble in the sky. Rocks broke through the surface like fish bursting from a lake. The stone rose, shifting and melting into red hot slabs, pouring upward into thin walls.
Dirt steamed and hissed, sloughing off the molten rock in waterfalls. It took only seconds before the skeleton of a house settled into the ground. There were openings for doors and windows and rafters across the top to fix thatch to. It was all one solid piece of dark gray stone, streaked with pale rose. Left to itself, that house would last thousands of years. Behind her gasps and murmurs rose until she could almost hear them, but there was no time to listen. Now that she knew what she was doing . . .
Molten stone rose from the ground, molding and forming itself into shops, more homes, and an inn. In a matter of minutes, dust was settling around the new town of Holdbrine. Empty windows stared like vacant eyes and doorways gaped. But with this done, it would be only days or weeks until the villagers of Holdbrine were back to their lives, instead of months.
She let her arms fall back to her sides. A few weeks ago, this would have put her on the ground, if she had been able to do it at all. The Orb had pushed her, stretched her limits. Now she was merely winded, as if she had run a league. She was certainly well enough to ride all day toward Split Creek. It wasn’t creating, after all, just a lot of casting. So there! Lord Monren can just keep his thoughts to himself.
After a few deep breaths Elaina turned her back on the town to face the small crowd of villagers and Watchers. They were silent, staring as if she were a dead spirit walking. No one spoke a word.
She couldn't believe it.
She'd argued with Monren, worn herself out before a long ride, and built their village in a few minutes instead of a few decades, and they just stared at her! Ungrateful shepherds and farmers with dirt behind their ears! Well. If they don't like it they can just relocate, there is no way I’m going to tear it all back down again!
One stout woman moved forward, walked across the square to the mayor's house. Elaina tried to keep the scowl off her face—there was no way she was going to put up with a lecture from an old woman. But the woman walked right past her.
Gingerly, she reached out a hand and ran it along the smooth wall, no thicker than fine porcelain, but sturdier than a thirty-year oak. Everyone watched as she finished and approached Elaina. For her part, Elaina struggled to keep her face straight and hold on to her temper—Guardians didn't get flustered by villagers, they didn't!
"My lady," she made a decent curtsy for a country woman, better than Elaina’s own curtsey, certainly. "I don't know much about sorcery, Lady Guardian, but if this is what thing
s were like in the old times, I'm sad I missed them. You've saved us all." The matron's chin trembled a bit with her voice, and tears filled her brown eyes.
"There's no one in Arith that has a place like this. Thank you. Thank you!" Without warning she flung her arms around Elaina in a crushing hug.
There was a sudden rush of movement behind her, and then all the townspeople rushed forward, patting Elaina on the back like their favorite niece or bowing so low they almost fell over as they tried to hurry toward their homes at the same time.
Laughter and happy chatter filled the square. Even the Watchers were peering about, clearly wanting to go examine the buildings themselves. One look at their commander stopped them, however.
Monren stood with his arms crossed, his impatience to be gone was as apparent as writing on his face. He didn't look unhappy, though, just . . . considering. His shadow was standing halfway to Elaina, sheathing his sword. Apparently he did not like anyone touching Elaina; Monren had probably told him to protect her or something equally nonsensical. Monren is the only person around who has tried to kill me!
Without a word Elaina went to join him. The groom offering her the reins of a horse was bowing so low his face was in danger of hitting his knees. She took the animal from him quickly, before he could topple. The horse must have belonged to one of the three men she'd incinerated, but Elaina didn't ask. She hoped those men were on the far shore of the Evermind, the blackened and burned afterworld that waited for any whom the Neverblind found unworthy. It was said that the two sides of Evermore, divided by the River Evermind, reflected the spirits of those that were sent to them. The near shore was supposed to be a haven, a paradise as lovely as the true spirits that walked it.
Before, Elaina had always been uncomfortable with the thought of a far shore. Could any soul be so twisted and false that it would create a such a place? Did anyone deserve that? Now, she only hoped it was worse than the fables. Men were more evil than she had believed, and she wanted their punishment to be equally severe.
Monren snatched his reins from another groom—only slightly less respectful with his shoulders parallel to the ground. Elaina didn't bother hiding her smug smile. Months to rebuild, was it? Impossibly slow? Ha! For once in her life, she left more than was there when she arrived. It was a nice feeling, and she wouldn't let Monren ruin it with his sour mood—he could be as unhappy as he wanted.
At the moment he was willing to help her. His help could mean everything, but that didn't mean she trusted him, or even that she wouldn't see him to the far shore in the end. For now, he was an ally, but he was still a murderer. He may have ordered the agents to go after her parents, and if he hadn't, he'd done it to Hetarth. So she would use him, the way he was using her, but she would never trust him.
"Ravin, mount." Monren snapped coldly to his shadow. He got a rare vexed look from the black-coated man, but no reply. Once he had given a last glance at the wall he'd been running his hand along, Ravin moved to his horse. So the special Watcher had a name after all.
"We ride now!" Monren called this second instruction in a carrying tone. Immediately, the Watchers left off gaping at the brand new town, emerging hastily from the skeletal buildings and scattering for their horses with quick glances at Monren, whose face was rapidly rivaling the storm clouds overhead. It was time to be gone, and quickly. Before those clouds broke.