The Well of Fates
CHAPTER 20
The Calm
Elaina came to on the back of a horse. Everything ached, and every cut Keravel had inflicted burned with sweat. She itched. It was the wool coat she was wearing. There only a camisole underneath, and it had ridden up quite high as she straddled the horse. Truth, but her legs itched!
They were approaching a village, its little buildings just barely visible through the darkness, windows casting bright rectangles of light onto the road. A'lan seemed familiar with the place, riding straight to an inn by the name of the Merry Maiden with a picture to match painted on the sign in crisp paint. Light and the sound of laughter and music spilled through the door. Merry indeed.
It seemed utterly foreign. Outside the wind whipped about, changing direction in little eddies down every street. Elaina was only awake enough to notice it was strange, not to care why. She felt if Death came for her now he'd take one look and refuse to accept anything so pathetic.
Without a word A'lan went into the inn alone, saddlebags over his shoulder, leaving Elaina on one of the three sorry-looking horses in the dark street by herself. Elaina was fairly sure they had begun with more and felt sorry for the poor creatures that had run themselves to death.
Painfully, she managed to slide to the ground. Only the thought of dismounting in only a coat in front of someone had motivated her enough to do it. Her feet were freezing on the dirty cobbles of the street, and the wool coat rubbing against her flesh was agony.
Shadows and night noises made her jump. Every footstep on the cobblestones was a Drethlord coming for her. Every twitch of a gate on its hinges sounded like the click of Bloodstone chains. When A'lan came back with a stable boy she was relieved beyond words. She still could not focus well enough to cast, and her body hurt. At this point, Elaina did not think she was fit to overpower a puppy.
She leaned against A'lan as they entered the inn, his arm around her waist. For whatever reason, she trusted him. He had been her jailer, she'd been chained to his wrist like a pet, he had seen her stripped and beaten and abused and not lifted a finger. But then he reached forward with his own hands and taken that collar off. That is enough. For now.
“Keep your eyes down." He murmured as they stepped over the threshold. True and a wise order—she couldn't manage to hide her eyes and the Changing would give her away—but it smarted that he still issued orders and expected to be obeyed. He is not the leash-holder anymore! But now is not the time to argue.
Apparently, he doubted her good sense, because he cast a sharp look at her and briefly tightened his grip in warning. Well, he needn't worry. I am not about to give myself away just to spite him. He had just better watch himself, is all.
"Merlo took care of your horses, good master?" The solicitous innkeeper bustled up to inquire. No one else seemed to have noticed their entrance in the dimly-lit alcove by the door, as far as she could tell. For that she was thankful, aware she was quite a sight, not something anyone would forget. And she most definitely wanted their passing to be made with as little attention as possible. She didn't catch anyone staring, but it was hard to look about and keep her grey eyes out of sight at the same time.
The innkeeper was a skinny man with an overlarge nose and bugged out eyes that made him look like a potato. She supposed she was in no position to be judging anyone else's appearance. The innkeeper's small frown and sidelong glances at her proved that.
"Yes, thank you. My wife is not well, we had trouble with bandits on the ride, is there a healer in town?" A'lan murmured, holding her tight to him like a concerned husband might. She was grateful for the excuse to lean into him, with her knees bending like broken reeds.
"Well, there's Mistress Devlin, I suppose." The man offered, eyeing them cautiously. A'lan waited. With a conspiring air, the innkeeper leaned in, glancing about as he muttered,
"Then there's Master Zulor. He's . . . he's the sort you go to if you've a real serious problem, see? The sort of problem . . . well, the sort you know when you've got it, eh? But you didn't hear it from me, good sir?" A'lan nodded.
"My thanks, Master Balgor, for your understanding," He pressed a few coins into his palm, "and for your discretion about my wife, of course." The coins disappeared in a flash.
With a low bow, Balgor assured them both that he could be very discreet, very discreet indeed. And would they like to send for Master Zulor? He could come in the back way, and nobody'd be the wiser if the lady couldn't be moved. A'lan declined, getting directions instead. Elaina kept her head down, chin tucked into the high collar, grateful that his story let her act just as she felt—unwell.
The night did not seem so threatening with A'lan at her side as they walked as quickly as she could manage. Still, she did not want to be out here any longer than they had to be. Every shadow seemed to be watching them, hunters in the night. But Truth, it feels so good to be free of that weight around my neck!
Without doubt, if anyone came after her with a collar again she would kill them in a blink. And if that didn't work, she would kill herself before she was chained. No one would put a collar on her ever again. No one! It was a bold claim, considering she barely had the strength to walk, let alone defend herself.
When she stumbled for the fifth or sixth time, catching her toe on an uneven bit of road with a sharp cry, A'lan gave up all pretenses and scooped her up in his arms. How he had the energy for it she couldn't fathom. There were many things she couldn't fathom. Like why the stars were sliding about so oddly just then, with little halos and bright trails behind them.
They passed beyond of the relative clutter that was the village, following the road into the countryside. Houses were scattered the blackness, lights in windows shining from hillsides. When a path forked off to the left into a grove of ash, they took it. In a few minutes a tidy little building appeared in the moonlight, whitewashed walls a faint blue in the darkness. To Elaina it looked slightly blurry. She wondered if there was something wrong with her eyes.
A single candle stood on a windowsill, lighting the face that looked out at them. It was an old man, very old, with wild white hair and a hunched back and baggy eyes that almost disappeared under his bushy eyebrows. That face was clear enough, but she couldn't sit up to look any longer and let her head tip back over A'lan's arm.
A'lan walked steadily to the door, holding the Wielder tight to his chest. Her head was lolling about—she wouldn't be awake much longer if she was at all. The old man in the window didn't seem troubled by them, beaming and hobbling to the door to let them in. A'lan wasted no time with formalities, just walked right in with her as soon as the door swung open.
"Great stars above, young Master, young Mistress! Truth and the true spirits! What have we done?" He hobbled over and laid a hand on Elaina's forehead. After a moment, he frowned sharply, etching the lines in his face even deeper than before and grimacing at A'lan.
"You may set her on the chair there, I don't mind the mess." He ushered his guest toward the only substantial piece of furniture in the room then bustled about gathering bottles from the walls—dried herbs, bits and pieces of things floating in jars, and piles of bones and dust lined the shelves from floor to ceiling. As he did, he talked without ceasing.
"Travelers, I suppose? Yes, yes. Of course you are! I know everyone in little old Beradon, I do. So you've just got in and the Lady's feeling the ride, is it? Yes, yes, we can take care of that in a jiffy."
As soon as he assured himself that the girl was ensconced in the large padded chair, he motioned for his other guest to take one of the small three-legged stools that dotted the room. Taking one himself, he laid his hand on the Wielder's forehead again. It made A'lan wary, having anyone touch her, but he was close enough to stop the man if he tried anything with the Elements. Or to end him if he succeeds.
"So! Let's get to it and I can send you both back to Master Balgor all nice and well, again, yes?" A'lan blinked. How did he know who sent us? It may have been a lucky guess, but it wasn't a wheedling tone, and he had not
looked up from the girl to try and read a reaction.
This fellow was very odd. But then, he looked to be quite ancient, and he was a caster. Explanation enough, right there. Harmless or not, A'lan watched him closely. He'd not brought her this far to lose her now, but without this caster’s help they would not make it far enough fast enough to escape.
"She is weak," Mastor Zulor said after a while, no longer smiling. "If she weren’t so powerfully connected to the pillars of the earth, she'd likely be dead already and I wouldn't be able to help if she was not. Since she is, she’ll make it. Without it, there is not enough left in her to heal all of this. She's not been eating." A'lan met his accusing glance grimly. That is certainly not my fault.
"I've seen strong men die of less than this, and die quickly." The old man muttered. A'lan moved closer.
"Do not touch me, lost one, I need to focus." He muttered. A'lan scowled. The man had not been able to feel the girl's problems or her powers when he had been carrying her—the nape of her neck had been touching his arm.
"I suppose the Drethlords did this, boy?" Apparently the need to focus did not rule out speech. A'lan did not take offense at being called boy—to this man, that was exactly what he was. Master Zulor looked older than the trees.
"Yes." Was all he said in reply.
"So you've freed her, have you? Fallen in love with her, then? She's very pretty, or she was when she had some meat on her bones." A'lan was not troubled by the question—he was glad the man finally got something wrong. How he knows what he does is troubling enough.
"No. They lost their hold on my brother and myself, and we were her guards and her Watchers. Freeing her seemed right and the best way to harm them in one."
"Your brother. You're Antralian by the cut of your clothes and those eyes. She isn't though, no matter the coat and the Changing."
"You are correct." A'lan watched the old fellow unbutton the coat far enough to lay a palm in the center of the Wielder's chest, exposed by the split camisole. Ignoring the wounds he was covering with that hand and the other, which remained firmly on her forehead, the caster frowned in deep concentration. A'lan frowned to see the him so calmly settle his hand between her breasts. I am just suspicious, that is all. And I don’t want that burn to get infected.
"So. You and your Antralian brother were her minders, you did not enjoy serving the Drethlords, and you are one of the Forgotten Ones. And your brother is not here, but being Antralian you would never have left him behind if he lived. She is so deeply bound to the pillars, I'd say she must be the Guardian I heard rumors of. Well, Prince Gidedrian, what will you and the last of the Guardians do now?" Zulor asked, glancing over one shoulder at him.
Before he could blink, A'lan's hand was hovering around his throat. True spirits, who is this man? Only the girl's need kept him alive. How does he know? Who is this man?
"Do not push me, caster. I have little patience left." He warned softly. The old man searched his eyes and nodded. It did not take any special power to see a man balanced on the edge of a knife. A'lan was close to the breaking point, and it would only take him closing his fist to end the old man's life. They both knew he could do it.
"Does she know who you are? And which are you, anyway?" A'lan let his hand fall back to his side and shook his head. They both knew he would not kill the old caster. Not just now, anyway. The need is too great.
"She does not know. I am A'lan. Cade, you would say. Or I was—that boy died a long time ago.”
"Oh, I am not so sure." Zulor clucked.
"I am." He said coldly. "Antral is dead. My people are gone, my family is gone, and my land sown with salt. The Border Forts are broken, the cities of the cliffs are burned to ash. I am heir only to death. Once I get her to the others, I will end this."
His voice was harsh, he knew, but he did not care. Everything had been taken from him by Keravel and his vipers. I will take their prize, take their hope, and then I will take their lives. Once she is safe, I can rest. Rest as my people, as my nation, as my family rests. Forever.
But not yet. He raised his head to watch Master Zulor again. He his hands did not move, but the girl's face was no longer blank. She looked like a person having a pleasant dream, a soft smile on her lips. Still, she is far too thin. Slowly, Zulor lifted his hands.
"Give her a few moments and she'll wake." He said. "Perhaps a minute or two."
"Can you destroy these?" Cade asked, pulling the collar and its chains from the bag he had slung over his shoulder. Zulor scowled darkly,
"Bloodstone and ashendari, so that is how they did it. I'll melt them gladly." He growled, taking them. “It must have taken them years to find such a large piece—I doubt they will find another, once I destroy this. At any rate, she will never allow herself to be trapped like that again.”
Crouching down on the dirt floor, he muttered a few words and a shallow pit opened up before him. He set the shackles in it, and with a few more words, the stone began to glow, then melt. The pool of molten rock trickled deeper into the hole, burying itself in the dirt.
The caster made a motion like he was smoothing a bolt of cloth, and the pit filled in, leaving the dirt floor looking exactly the same. Cade held back a sigh of relief. That damned thing was gone. Zulor turned about quickly to stare at the girl. Grey eyes fluttered open.
"How do you feel, Lady Guardian?" Zulor asked with a smile. She shot a startled and accusing look at A'lan and sat straight up, wide awake and wary.
"What did you call me? I'm just Elaina."
"Very well, if that is how you wish it." Zulor bowed his head, "How do you feel, my lady?" She watched him suspiciously and began doing up the buttons of the coat she wore until the stiff, high collar brushed her jaw again.
"I am well. As well as I have ever been. But I think I will sleep well tonight." She replied, still watching him carefully and glaring at her companion every so often. It was a fierce look, the sort that promised trouble later.
That sort of look on a woman means trouble for any man. A'lan suspected they learned it in the cradle, which was about where men learned to flinch when they saw it.
"Yes, I daresay you will, my lady." Zulor said with a chuckle. "But you can stop shredding your companion with your lovely grey eyes, my dear. He told me nothing. As if I could touch you and not know what you are!" The old man shook his head with a grin. Elaina's startled look was a relief to A'lan.
"Of course. I thank you for your help, sir. I do not think things would have ended well for us if you had not been here. Is there anything we can do for you? I fear gold is not enough."
"Gold is both too much and too little." He said, waving away the purse A'lan was unstringing from his belt. "The Donath a'Anciri are sworn to such service, and it is gladly given. I'd ask something else, though, if I may." Elaina nodded. So she knows of the Friends of the Guardians? Perhaps if she knows how to find them, they could help us. There must be some signal, some mark on the doorframe or symbol in the window . . .
"Anything we can give, Master Zulor." She agreed.
"Yes. Well, from you Cade," A'lan tensed as the caster turned to him. If he gives anything away to Elaina— "I want a promise. I want you to promise not to try to follow them. They've gone somewhere you've no business getting to by yourself." A'lan ignored both his sad smile and Elaina's confusion, keeping his expression flat. There was a long pause. It does not really matter if I swear not to open my veins myself. Plenty of opportunities could be found to let someone else do that for me. It is not much of a promise.
"I swear." A'lan said at last. Master Zulor nodded.
"And you my dear," he turned to Elaina, "from you I would like the privilege of a teacher. I would like to show you a web."
"I'd be happy to learn anything you wish to teach." She replied. A'lan could tell she was surprised and a little embarrassed at the idea of so ancient and practiced a man seeking the honor of teaching her. Master Zulor's calm words could not hide his excitement.
"V
ery well. It is called Scattering the Winds. I can't do it properly, but enough to show you." He held out his hands as if cupping an invisible goblet. A'lan couldn't see it, but Elaina studied whatever it was closely, no doubt seeing the currents of Water, the eddies of Air, and the streamers of Fire that shifted through it. From her frown, it was not a simple form at all.
"You cast this, just like this only larger, as high into the sky as you can make it go. For me, this is it, just to the rafters. For you, it’s probably halfway to the moon. The higher you send it, the wider it spreads at the end, yes?" Zulor explained. "So when you are ready, you put underneath the column whatever it is you want to be untrackable—in this case, you." Elaina nodded. "Once you do that, you let the form do this . . .” his hands moved down and out until his palms faced the floor.
Watching Elaina's eyes, A'lan knew the web moved with him, each element sliding out and around in a lacework of power, spidering across the floor. That was how he imagined it, at least. The Wielder was impressed, if her wide eyes were any indication.
"So, the taller it goes, the wider it spreads in the end, and the larger the area they cannot track you. Then they cannot follow your trail on the winds anymore. Fly fast, fly hard, and you will be free, Elaina." He smiled warmly.
"Now I am for bed, children, so off you go. Use that web soon, mind! On your way back tonight, I'd say. Someone is going to get a death of a headache when they Search the Winds for you, my dear! Fare you well, you two. Look after each other, eh? There's no one else to do it, and old Zulor can't be going with you, now. Fare you well!"