CHAPTER 13
The Meeting
The storm hit three hours later, and it did not let up for two days. At least it was warmer on the plain that it had been in the mountains. Up there it would be a monumental blizzard, and she hated snow and cold more than anything. On the plain it merely froze on the ground in patches of slick ice. The weight of the horses was enough to break the thin sheet of ice, so they did not lose their footing.
Nonetheless, Elaina glowered at the sky from the protection of her web. It was a sneaky little thing that she'd watched Monren cast when the rain started falling, a simple dome of Air around the top of the body.
At first she had been too enthusiastic, encasing herself in a complete bubble that hugged tightly to her body. Soon, however, she’d been unable to breathe and grudgingly adopted Monren's version: a wider and shorter dome that stopped mid-chest. It kept the water off everything save her boots, yet the air was still fresh. He said it was simply an Air version of the oiled silk awnings the people of Ronam carried about. As strange as such a thing would be, Elaina didn't doubt him. It did not seem that Monren was aware of the concept of humor. The idea of him making up stories to trick her was laughable.
He was as jolly as a corpse.
To be fair to corpses, that wasn't true. Old Bern Luzor had looked quite cheerful after his death. A few people suggested that it was from relief at escaping his nagging daughter-in-law, but not too loudly. She was still alive, after all.
Old Bern aside, Monren was a singularly humorless man. To Elaina's astonishment, Ravin was not. At least, she thought he was joking when he remarked she was prettier than he had expected, that he would have been unhappy to kill her, and that a miner in Cavilnor would have spent half a year's wages to buy her.
She'd met a few Cavilnese men and none of those mentioned the tradition of purchasing a wife, so she thought he was joking. It was his delivery that made Elaina want to laugh: that expressionless face, absolutely blank while he made some quietly acidic comment.
Despite being the most entertaining of her new travel companions, Ravin was far from adequate at staving off anything more than a few minutes of boredom. Elaina found she missed the frantic pace of the past few weeks as well as missing Landon, with all his accompanying energy and boyish good-humor. Even at the end he had been a remarkably good companion. He just had this unending belief that things would work out, and somehow he was hardly ever wrong.
Without a friend or an impossible quest to distract her, Elaina had far too much time to think about Hetarth. In quiet moments, waves of grief threatened to overwhelm her, and she would duck her head to keep anyone from seeing her tears. She didn't think it worked very well. At times she would find Ravin watching her when she looked up. If he hadn't been a Watcher, she thought she might have befriended him. Watchers didn't have friends, though, she was fairly sure.
It was more than just missing her uncle, though that was enough to make her chest ache like she would collapse in on herself. It was everything together: losing the last of her family, her mentor, her only link to her parents, the only person who could ever understand or explain what she was and what she could do. All of it hit her at once, and so did the lonely and frightening thought that she was the very last of the Creators.
With all of this to think about, and nothing in the endless grassland to distract, the six day ride to Split Creek was torturously long. Even her mixed excitement and trepidation at meeting the rest of the Brethren could not overcome the bouts of boredom and mourning that filled the slow trip south.
In a few days, she might end the occupation and free the nations of Arith without bloodshed. Then again, the Drethlords were all murderers and usurpers, but would get everything they wanted without retribution. She shot a sideways look at Monren.
There he rides, bold as he can be, a murder and thief. And he brings me back like some fantastic beast he’s discovered. If he expects I will go along meekly, he is in for a shock. They have removed nearly everything that binds me, and now they’re going to see what happens when everyone I love is already in Evermore.
Elaina knew they didn't believe in Evermore in Asemal; Ravin had looked at her oddly when she mentioned it. When she asked, he explained shortly:
"When we die, we go to the heavens. If our spirits are bright enough, we will be seen in the darkness. The soul of the Empress is the brightest, always," he had said, gesturing to the sun, "so all others can only be seen when hers is on the other side of the world." Elaina had only nodded. So they thought spirits became stars, and their empress was the sun. She didn't ask how that worked when there had been more than one Empress, but there was only one sun.
At first, she thought that the desire to be a bright spot in the night sky couldn't be as powerful a motivation as the judgment of the Neverblind, but there was something in Ravin's voice that made her wonder. Perhaps she underestimated the desire to be remembered forever, your legacy untouchable in the night sky. The trouble was, for every hero people remembered, they also remembered a villain.
The hall was dark and close, but it was the best that could be found on this little hovel-speckled grassland. Brother Monren had always had a shockingly common view of the world. Really, to meet the girl in this little shack on the far edge of nowhere!
That this girl he wrote of was the one they needed he did not doubt. Monren would not lie to the Brethren, and he had seen this with his own eyes, felt it with his own hands. But Monren's interpretation of the prophesies were deeply flawed. This girl was needed to save the Empire—the one on this side of the ocean and the other, that much anyone could agree on.
Firstborn Keravel intended to make sure she did just that, whether she wanted to or not. A Wielder that strong could not be allowed to get the upper hand, and her simply being unrestrained in the same room as the Brethren would leave her a tremendous advantage.
First she must be controlled, then she could be commanded and the Empire would be saved, not to mention this new Empire of the East that Keravel had every intention of holding on to.
Monren and his Watcher—what was his name? They would need to be controlled closely at the critical moment, but even without A'lan and E'dan, the trustworthy Watchers and Brothers could take care of that. Those two were needed elsewhere. There was no ashendari anywhere that could match them, which made them imminently useful. Once they had been made to see the reality of the Empire, anyway.
Keravel gave a dark chuckle. Once he got them bound to this girl, nothing short of the breaking of Arith would free her. His plan was flawless. Today he would begin the story that would fill the legends of the Ages to come—the tale bards of the Fourth and Fifth Aeons would write their epic songs about. This day was the beginning of his greatest achievement, his masterpiece. He would capture the Falcon and his star would be bright enough to see even in the day, even in the light of the Empress.
It was in the Prophesies that whoever ended the Gift would save Asemal, and whoever that was must be brought to heel:
She'll send to night the ones who train
She'll kiss the hand that held the chain.
Some of the Brothers would die in this effort to train her, it said. Keravel was not troubled. Their lights were never as bright as his and never would be. This was the greatest mission in service of the Empress that had ever been tried and offered the greatest rewards. It was an honor to die in her service. And he would, many years from now, once he had built an empire as powerful as the one over the sea.
No, he would be the one who held the chain, whose hands she would kneel to kiss. She would serve him, and he would save Asemal. Firstborn Keravel considered that the Empress, may she shine forever, could even make him her consort for this—it had happened in the past for less. He could hardly contain a smile at the thought.
The fact that not all the Brothers at Split Creek knew of his scheme only made it more impressive that he would succeed. The other Brothers had been manipulated and negotiated into their present positions so carefu
lly they did not know it was happening.
Brother Gervaine was too close a friend to Monren, almost as if they were blood-brothers. He was now out on the wall with Brother Rechane, supposedly so he could be one of the first to see his great friend again. Rechane would keep him out of the way until everything was over. Brothers Segarin, Sirean, and Halyar had all been a part of the planning, and were standing with their Watchers here in the hall with him.
Brother Menkar would do anything in the name of the Empire, and Brother Losdar would follow the crowd— they waited outside the door, unaware of what was about to occur. There were enough ashendari out there to subdue them, Gervaine and Monren, if need be.
It was a dangerous plan, this, but you did not let a falcon hunt at its own accord. No, you caged it, put jesses on it, kept it with you until the hunt. Even once you'd trained it you still kept bells on the thing in case it lost itself. Menkar will come around. A bird this swift, this lethal, will need most careful training. Oh yes, now that she is mine, many things would be changing. Many, many things.
Keravel gave up his pacing the dingy hall and settled impatiently in the enormous carved chair at the head of it. It was a ridiculous thing to use as the Seat of the Firstborn, but like everything about this little village, it would just have to do.
He felt a quick jolt of relief that he had been able to get to this pathetic excuse of a town with few of those who might side with Monren. Brother Cianfar was in Cavilnor and Brother Terlum in Jernal when Monren’s news came to Hurndrith, so they were happily out of the way. Convincing Brother Dracen to head off on a fabricated mission to Vinyam just before the news broke had been a stroke of sheer brilliance on Rechane's part.
If Keravel had tried it himself they would have been immediately suspicious—Dracen in particular. That man would suspect his own shadow of stabbing him in the back. If Dracen had been here now, Keravel would have felt less certain of success. As it was, Monren might have to be destroyed and Gervaine with him. Well, perhaps that would satisfy the prophesies . After Abelmedar and Valmeran, thirteen seems a much smaller number than the fifteen we began with.