The Lumatere Chronicles: The Complete Trilogy

  “I think you need to find yourselves wives,” Finnikin said.

  The men chuckled.

  “Well, here is our dilemma,” Moss began. “There are those who refuse to betray their bonding vows and consider themselves still joined to their women in Lumatere, and those who are free to come and go as they please. Except the first rule of Pietrodore is that their young women are off-limits.”

  “Tomas and I are bonded to each other,” Bosco said from a lower step.

  “Which we are forced to be reminded of each night.”

  “While the rest of us go with nothing,” Aldron sulked.

  “You’re most welcome to join us any time, Aldron,” Tomas joked.

  The others laughed.

  “Anyway, each month we enjoy a day or two in Bilson,” Moss said with a grin. His face instantly reddened when he found Sir Topher’s gaze on him.

  “And what is it you do there, Moss?” Sir Topher asked politely.

  Finnikin exchanged a look with his mentor, who was trying to hide a smile.

  “Ah, of course,” Sir Topher said, as if a thought had just occurred to him. “With such diverse places of worship and the tastiest delicacies, it would be hard to keep away.”

  “Not to mention the reading rooms,” Finnikin said, catching Sir Topher’s grin. “I once spent a whole week there reading about the sixth-century fighting techniques of the Leticians. I can understand what drew you to the town, Moss.”

  Aldron snorted. “What an exciting life you lead, Finnikin.”

  “Thank you, Aldron. I do enjoy the philosophical discussions I have with Evanjalin. Reading and languages are her passion. Yours?”

  “Oh yes, Aldron and Moss are great readers,” Perri said dryly. “And as for languages, I do believe they know how to curse in at least six.”

  After dinner that evening, they sat hunched over maps of Skuldenore, combining their knowledge of the past ten years. Perri pointed to a landmass on his map in Yutlind Nord near the Sendecane border. “Exile camp. Forty-seven men, women, and children. Mostly from the Flatlands.”

  Sir Topher shook his head. “We thought we knew them all.”

  “They stayed hidden in the north. If there is one kingdom where they do not care if you’re Lumateran, it’s Yutlind. The Yuts have enough of their own misery.”

  “How do our exiles survive in these parts?” Finnikin asked.

  “We send a guard each week. Lexor is with them at the moment. But we struggle to keep them fed. Thankfully some have found work on the land over the years, yet they refuse to become part of the village, which would have made life easier for them. They are firm in their belief that if they stray too far from the other Lumaterans, they will be left behind.”

  “A problem with most Lumateran exiles,” Sir Topher said softly.

  Finnikin finished the work on his own map, and the men whistled in surprise when they saw the markings.

  “So many camps,” Perri said with regret.

  “Have you seen my father and mother in your travels, Sir Topher?” Ced of the Flatlands asked. There was a hopeful look on his face. “They escaped up the River to Sarnak during the five days of the unspeakable, but I have not come across them since or met anyone who has.”

  Trevanion did not speak. Finnikin knew his father had recruited the young Ced from his own river town. There was no doubt about the fate of his parents.

  “I fear they may have perished in Sarnak or the fever camps,” Ced continued in a quiet voice. “We have seen many die from famine over the years.”

  Trevanion’s eyes were downcast.

  “As have we,” Sir Topher said, clearing his throat. “Finnikin’s Book of Lumatere is full of the names of the dead.”

  “Yet we could do little,” Perri said. “Each time we made our presence known, lo and behold, there was an attack on our inn or camp.”

  “Charynites?” Trevanion asked.

  Perri nodded. “It is what you have always suspected, Trevanion.”

  Finnikin looked from one to the other in confusion. “How do you know of my father’s suspicions, Perri?”

  “We spoke about them during the early days of my imprisonment in Belegonia,” Trevanion said.

  “You were there?” Sir Topher asked Perri in surprise.

  Perri looked quickly at Trevanion, who nodded.

  “For the first three years of my captivity in Belegonia, they managed to get themselves arrested at different intervals to join me,” Trevanion said flatly.

  “You would have done the same. You would never have left any of us to rot in a foreign prison,” Perri muttered.

  “We almost broke him out once or twice,” Moss said.

  Trevanion looked at them, his expression softening. “It did help,” he admitted. “During those early days, nothing except your news that my son was being taken care of by one of the noblest men in our kingdom made things bearable.”

  Sir Topher smiled humbly.

  “In Belegonia we received a warning that Trevanion was to be transferred and we followed him south and then six months later to the mines,” Perri said.

  “Did any of you manage to get yourselves arrested in Sorel?” Finnikin asked.

  The men fell silent.

  “We thought it would be as easy as Belegonia,” Perri said finally, a pained look on his face. “Disorderly behavior. Sent to the mines. Released within a week. Except we underestimated the prison mines and lost two men in the first two weeks. Then Trevanion forbade it. Made us promise. The hardest decision I have ever made was to honor that promise. Your father must have stopped breathing from fear when he saw you there, Finnikin.”

  “Who were the men?” Finnikin asked quietly. “The two you lost?”

  No one spoke for a moment.

  “Angas and Dorling,” Kintosh of the Rock answered.

  Finnikin paled. The brothers from the Rock Village. The two lads had been inseparable. They were among the youngest of the Guard, and the girls of the Rock would swoon when speaking of them. Some even said that the princesses blushed in their presence. They would have been only a few years older than Finnikin now. So similar to him in coloring. As children, when they were not pretending to be king and captain of the Guard, he and Balthazar would pretend to be Angas and Dorling of the Rock.

  “We were talking about the Charynites,” Perri said quietly.

  Finnikin nodded, needing a moment to find his voice again. “The impostor king is weak, has always been weak, especially in his capacity as captain of the King’s Guard before my father. There was no possible way that he could mastermind such a well-executed plan as the takeover of Lumatere. Just deliver it.”

  “But that was all we knew until Evanjalin,” Sir Topher said.

  “Is she friend or foe?” Moss asked. “Because she is a beast at cards, and at times I feel as if the power of the mightiest of gods is in her eyes.”

  “Or the darkest of spirits,” Perri said.

  Finnikin glanced at him. Perri knew darkness. “Evanjalin is a survivor of the Sarnak massacre.”

  “Sweet precious child,” Moss sighed.

  “And she can walk through the sleep of those trapped inside Lumatere,” Finnikin added.

  “And that of our heir,” Sir Topher said.

  Moss whistled, and Aldron squeezed in next to them, a look of disbelief on his face. “She’s a mystic? A Forest Dweller?”

  Trevanion shook his head. “A Mont.”

  “She was with me when I visited Lord August in Belegonia,” Finnikin said. “And she confirmed our theory that the Charynites were involved in the deaths of our beloveds. But she had an explanation. Lumatere was just a way for the Charynites to invade Belegonia.”

  “She claims to have known this through Balthazar,” Trevanion said.

  “And you believe her?” Perri asked incredulously.

  Trevanion sighed. “I think I do.”

  “It makes sense,” Sir Topher said. “Place a puppet king in Lumatere and you get a clear path into B
elegonia, the most powerful kingdom in the land.”

  “They could have used Osteria for that,” Aldron said.

  “Osteria has Sorel as an ally. Not even the Charynites would be that stupid.”

  “I’m not questioning her theory,” Perri said. “I’m questioning her delusion that she can walk through the sleep of our heir.”

  “Then let’s focus on her theory and not her delusion,” Trevanion said. “The Charynites fear us. If we free Lumatere, we will have the impostor king and his men as political prisoners, weak bastards who can easily be broken to reveal the truth behind the palace murders, which will implicate the king of Charyn. The Belegonians will be eager for the evidence.”

  “And instigate a war between two of the most powerful nations of Skuldenore?” Sir Topher said bleakly. “A war that could affect every kingdom surrounding Lumatere?”

  There was an uneasy silence.

  “A war of the land?”

  The men swung around to where Evanjalin stood.

  “Is that what we achieve by returning? The annihilation of the whole land of Skuldenore?”

  Most of the Guard seemed suddenly wary of her. Finnikin made room on the bench, and she squeezed in beside him.

  “We’ve just been told the most fascinating story, Evanjalin,” Perri said, his tone cool.

  “Do you believe in the gods, sir?” she asked.

  “I believe in him,” he said, pointing to Trevanion. “And where he goes, the Guard follows. Don’t ask me to believe in anything else.”

  She stared at him for a moment, understanding in her eyes. “Your family lived close to some of the Forest Dwellers, did they not?” she asked.

  Finnikin could tell Perri was surprised by her knowledge, but he revealed little.

  “I prefer not to refer to them as family.”

  “But you witnessed the gifts of some of the Forest Dwellers?”

  His stare was cold. “I knew little of their mystic practices. Whatever contact I had with the Forest Dwellers had less to do with sharing our skills than with shedding blood. Theirs.”

  “Then it will be hard for me to explain what I can do in the sleep,” she said.

  “Try,” Trevanion urged, giving Evanjalin a quick nod of encouragement.

  “It’s a blood spell,” Finnikin said.

  “Ah, I see. Now everything makes sense.” Perri’s tone was dry.

  “And Seranonna’s spell was a blood curse,” Sir Topher continued.

  “And the young girls of Lumatere are protected because the impostor’s men think they have a blood disease,” Trevanion added.

  “Can you explain the blood spell that has given you this . . . gift, Evanjalin?” Moss asked.

  Evanjalin looked at Sir Topher, as if seeking his permission.

  “Maybe without so much detail, Evanjalin,” he said, a flush in his cheeks. “I will explain the rest later if necessary.”

  She nodded. “I was twelve years old. I remember it clearly because a wondrous feeling came over me. As if I was melting into the souls of others, and I felt a wave of such peace that I truly believed I was in the heavens with our goddess. That night, I walked my first sleep with a bundle in my arms. A baby.”

  “The baby spoke to you?” one of the men asked.

  Evanjalin looked confused. “How can a baby speak?”

  “The same way someone can walk through another’s sleep. With very little credibility,” Perri said.

  “I would have preferred if the goddess had given me a more credible gift, sir. Perhaps the ability to heal or talk to the animals or hold a sword the way a man would like his sword to be held, but alas I am stuck with walking through the sleep of others.”

  Perri had the good grace to look apologetic, and Finnikin heard a few chuckles around them. By now every member of the Guard had surrounded their table.

  “Do you walk through the child’s sleep?” Moss asked.

  Evanjalin shook her head. “Yet I know every single time when we walk through the sleep of the child’s mother, although we never walk the sleep of the other who sometimes joins us.”

  “The other?” Perri asked.

  “How do you know where to go?” This came from Ced.

  “I don’t know. It is as if we are both lost in this dreamscape together and then suddenly we are in someone’s sleep thoughts. At times it is wonderful, and other times . . . I cannot begin to tell you of the demons that visit humans as they sleep. Guilt is the greatest monster. Remorse, a killer. But the worst are the memories. Yet sometimes, they are the only things that keep our people alive.”

  “You must dread sleep,” Aldron said.

  “Not at all. When the sleep first began, it was beautiful. I felt pure joy. I think I was experiencing the euphoria of a woman of great courage holding her newborn.” She looked meaningfully at Trevanion. “A woman whose sleep I had walked before.”

  “It was Beatriss?” he asked quietly. “Beatriss gave birth to a child five years ago?”

  “Beatriss?” There were murmurs around them. “Trevanion, what are you saying?” Moss asked. “That Lady Beatriss is . . . she’s . . .”

  “Perhaps alive. Perhaps helping those responsible for the weakening of Seranonna’s spell,” Trevanion said firmly.

  “Who would that be?” one of the older guards asked. “Very few of those who worshipped the goddess Sagrami were spared during the five days of the unspeakable.”

  “The cloister of Sagrami,” Perri said quietly. “It can only be the novices.”

  “The novices would have been put to death with the rest,” Moss insisted.

  Evanjalin’s gaze returned to Perri. “The other who walks the sleep with us is very strong in her power. The child is drawn to her as she is drawn to her own mother. I believe she has both light and dark in her.”

  “Tesadora,” Perri said under his breath.

  “You seem certain that Tesadora and the novices lived, sir,” Evanjalin said.

  Perri did not respond.

  “Is that good or bad?” another of the guards asked. “That this Tesadora takes charge within Lumatere?”

  “Her mother was Seranonna,” Trevanion said.

  Finnikin saw the looks pass among the guards at the mention of Seranonna’s name.

  “Tesadora was as mistrusted among her own people as she was by the rest of Lumatere, so let’s just say that she was not raised in the bosom of her people. She is cunning and has a very dark soul,” Perri said.

  “Just the person we need to break the very dark spell cast by her mother,” Evanjalin said.

  “But you must be wrong about Lady Beatriss aiding her,” Perri argued. “One would have been a novice of Lagrami, the other Sagrami. There is no way that Tesadora of the Forest Dwellers and Beatriss of the Flatlands would be acquainted. No possible way that Beatriss would trust her child with someone so dark of spirit. Do not underestimate Tesadora’s hatred of the world.”

  “You trust your children with those who have the power to protect them,” Trevanion said.

  “The other . . . I mean, Tesadora walks the sleep with us only sometimes,” Evanjalin said. “But I do not sense her evil. Just a forceful will. I know she is there for the child. It is when the sleep is dark and fearful that she is there. Last night we walked the sleep and there was much grief, but Tesadora’s powers ensure the child sees or hears nothing that will damage her. The child has been kept innocent. I cannot begin to think of the effect that has on Tesadora.”

  “And you?” Finnikin asked. “Who protects you?”

  “Faith in my goddess, of course.”

  There was a mixture of intrigue and skepticism on the faces of the guards around her.

  Perri turned to Trevanion. “So what is our plan?”

  “We split up, each group traveling to a different kingdom to collect our exiles. We meet in the Valley of Tranquillity as soon as possible. Moss and Aldron, I want you to leave for Lastaria tonight. The priest-king is there.”

  There was an intake of
breath from the guards. “Blessed Barakah?” one said in a hushed tone.

  Trevanion nodded. “He travels with a large number of exiles. Take them to the Valley of Tranquillity. The rest of you will travel in groups of four or five. If you come across any exiles, do your best to convince them to join you, but under no circumstances do you stay with them in their camps or tent cities. Too many of them are plagued by fever or fear. The moment you reach the Valley, I want every strong man and woman trained to use a longbow. The attack on the impostor and his men needs to be fast and accurate, or else we will never take the palace.”

  There were murmurs among the Guard.

  “How many of them do you believe there are?”

  “The impostor king rode into Lumatere with six hundred men. Our own people could have been recruited as part of his army. Who can say?”

  “But how do we get in?” one of the guards asked. They were all looking at Evanjalin.

  “We need to find the Monts,” Trevanion said. “They may hold the key.”

  Perri shook his head. “Not a sighting in ten years. I return to the Valley with Moss each year at the time of the harvest moon, and we have not seen hide nor hair of them.”

  Evanjalin stood, and the men instantly rose with her. She acknowledged them with a nod. “Our king will get us through the main gate,” she said. “That has been promised in the curse.”

  And then she left and all Finnikin could hear was the name Balthazar whispered around the room.

  Three days later, the King’s Guard separated for the first time in ten years. Trevanion ordered that along with Perri the original party would stay together until Belegonia. They had acquired more horses, which would ensure that the journey along the coastal road was swift. As he mounted his horse, Finnikin sensed the mood of excitement and uncertainty among the Guard. He saw the look of hope on their faces. And doubt. But they had enough faith in their captain to trust his decision. And his decision was to allow this strange girl to lead them home to Lumatere.

  They rode for the better part of the day, until they reached the coastal road, where the gulf divided Belegonia from Sorel. As the ill-fated captain of the Myrinhall had suggested, it would have been the quicker route between Sorel and Yutlind. Yet piracy in the Gulf of Skuldenore had claimed many lives, and despite their perilous journey up the Yack, Finnikin knew they had taken the right course.