The Eighth Warden Bk. 02 Ch. 13-14

"Any problems?" Corec asked, scrambling for a towel to wipe off the sweat, then looking around for his shirt. He hadn't expected Sarette to show up in the yard. She stared at the runes on his arms.

"Prices are higher here," the dwarf replied. "About half again as much. I'll need some more coin from everyone."

"That shouldn't be a problem."

"We found a stable too, with room for all the animals for the next two months."

Corec nodded. They couldn't take the horses and mules on the trails they'd be following, at least not in the winter. "I hope it doesn't take that long."

"We'll be on snowshoes for much of the trip," Sarette said. "It's slow going, and we'll have to pull sleds in case we can't find any food for sale. There's a reason why we don't let outsiders travel the mountains in the winter—they're never prepared for it."

"I wonder if we should come back in the summer," Corec said. "This sounds like it could get complicated."

Boktar shrugged. "We're here now, and it took a while to get here. The other mountain ranges we need to look at are mostly well to the south. By the time we got down there, we'd have to turn around and come back. If this place can give us a clue on where to go next, I'd say it's worth it."

"All right. Snowshoes and sleds, then." Corec turned to Sarette. "Are the shoes like the ones you had on our way in?"

"Yes. We've got someone coming by tomorrow to fit you for them."

"What about the other thing the councilor mentioned? Skis?"

She laughed. "The scout will have skis, and I may bring mine, but you don't want to try learning them on the trails we'll be following. You should stick with the snowshoes."

He nodded. "Oh, I had a question for you..."

"Yes?"

"That coat you're wearing—is it padded like a gambeson?" The coats were popular all around the city, not just with the High Guard. The High Guard's coats were a dark gray, but the citizenry wore a variety of colors.

"There are different styles. In the winter, everyone wears the padded kind, mostly because it's warmer. In the spring and fall, they switch to coats without padding. The High Guard always wear the padded armor or the chainmail, or both. There's also a coat with armor plates, like brigandine, except the plates are sewn into the inside."

"How long would it take to get one of the gambesons for Katrin?"

"And anyone else who wants one?" Boktar said. "Maybe I can convince Ellerie to try it."

"We could get them quickly if you don't need a specific color or fabric for the outer layer. It only takes an hour to re-fit them."

"Great," Corec said. "Shavala, do you want one?"

"My coat is warm enough."

"I was thinking more for the armor padding."

She bit her lip, then made a motion as if she was drawing back a bowstring. "No, I don't think so. They're too tight. It was hard enough to find this one."

Corec figured Treya would say the same thing. "All right," he said. "Sarette, could you help with that tomorrow while I speak to the historians?"

"Sure."

"Thank you. Boktar, will we be ready to go after that?"

"Yes, if the snowshoes can be done that soon."

"I think they will be," Sarette said. "They're already made. You just need to be measured for the bindings."

"Then let's plan on leaving the day after tomorrow," Corec said, then shook his head, irritated at himself. "I mean, if Ellerie will be ready by then."

"She should be," Boktar said. "She and Bobo were going to visit that museum today, to see the things the stormborn have found in the ruins."

"I found an arrowhead there once," Sarette said. "Four-bladed broadhead. It must have been buried there for thousands of years, but it was still sharp and hadn't rusted at all."

"I didn't realize you'd been there."

"I was just a kid. My father took me with a big group. It was just for fun—all the important parts had been mapped and explored years ago. I've never been there in the winter."

"Still," Corec said, "it's good to know the scout won't be the only person on the trip who's been there before."

She nodded, then looked at him nervously. "Have you thought about what I asked you earlier?"

"I spoke to the others and we made a few decisions. Let's go talk."

#

"Exalted," Melithar said with a deep bow, after sneaking into Queen Revana's chambers through the secret passage she'd tuned to him many years earlier.

She sat propped up in her bed, looking thinner than the last time he'd seen her. Her eyes were closed, but she opened them when he spoke.

"What do you think you're doing here?" she asked, her voice as strong as ever. "You're supposed to be watching over Ellerie!"

"She doesn't need me. Between her stoneborn friend and that new group I wrote to you about, she has more than enough protection."

The queen's eyes narrowed. "Did you annoy her enough that she sent you away? I thought you were trying to track down the assassins."

"Circle Bay was a dead end. She killed the nilvasta, and nobody knew who'd hired him."

"Where is my daughter now?"

Melithar sighed. He'd been hoping she wouldn't ask any questions he couldn't answer. "I don't know. Some demonborn woman got the drop on me when I caught her spying."

Revana sat up straighter. "You think Ellerie's safe because you lost track of her after another assassination attempt?" she exclaimed.

"An assassin who bandaged my injuries and dragged me to a temple? No. She wasn't a hired killer, and I don't think she was looking for Ellerie. Maybe for someone in the new group."

Unfortunately, there hadn't been a real healer at the temple, and the gash in Melithar's side had become infected. It had been a week before he'd been able to sit a saddle for even part of a day. He'd tracked Ellerie back to Circle Bay, and discovered she'd gone north from there, but he'd been too far behind to catch up.

"I didn't give you permission to use her name!"

"Fine," Melithar said, his jaw clenched. "Her Exalted Highness, then." He wasn't sure what'd he'd ever seen in Revana. The woman had been beautiful once, but she'd spent her life immersed in the backbiting politics of Terevas. It had turned her ruthless and spiteful, and as her illness progressed, she'd grown almost cruel.

And now Vilisa, who he'd always had high hopes for, would be stuck taking over. It should have been Ellerie, but the queen's eldest daughter had abandoned her responsibilities, and Melithar had never been given permission to drag her back.

"You didn't stay long enough to find out where she'd gone?" Revana asked, glaring at him.

"I suspect she's on her way to the Storm Heights. She should be safe enough there—the High Councilors' influence doesn't stretch that far. Her Exalted Highness is still convinced she's a historian...or a treasure hunter."

"She's supposed to be helping to track down the assassins! That was the price I offered for her abdication!"

"Since when has she ever cared about what she's supposed to be doing? I admit, she helped me out in Circle Bay, but she wasn't happy about it, and I'd rather work alone. Besides, I don't think we're going to find the trail on that end—the people who knew anything are all dead. We need to focus on this end. Have you had any luck?"

Revana frowned. "There haven't been any attacks since Vilisa...killed the last group. I made the councilors aware of the aftermath. In detail. That seems to have quelled any further direct attempts, but the sentinels discovered the body of a maid who was about to start working here. They think someone was going to try to take her place inside the palace, but abandoned the plan when the body was found. All of the councilors already have spies here, though, so I don't know who the replacement would have been working for."

"A spy who's willing to pass along tidbits of information isn't the same as a spy who's willing to commit murder," Melithar said. "Did you hire another maid after the first one died?"

"Jorel recruited his own niece," the queen said. Jorel was in charge of the royal family's security. "He's also limited movement between the inner and outer palace. Only two dozen servants are allowed in the inner palace, and they've all been with us for years, other than his niece."

Melithar nodded. "Jorel can't be the one responsible; he's had too many opportunities in the past. The councilors are still the most likely suspects. We just need to figure out who'll gain the throne if something happens to you and...Their Exalted Highnesses."

"There's no clear frontrunner. If the vote took place tomorrow, it could be anyone."

"Publicly, perhaps, but in private, they must have started making deals by now. Are you attending the council meetings?"

"I can hardly walk anymore. Vilisa attends in my place."

"I'll start going with her. If I can watch the councilors interact, I might be able to figure out who's positioning themselves to take over."

"Jorel's been watching them, and Vilisa's secretary is one of my own agents."

"They're not as good as I am."

"If I find out this is a ploy to tell her who her father is..."

"I know better than that," Melithar replied. Vilisa was conscientious enough that if she discovered her father wasn't of noble blood, she'd abdicate, and then there'd be a race to get Ellerie back to Terevas before the High Council elected a new ruler. If Ellerie really was in the Storm Heights, she'd lose that race, and that was if she was even willing to return. It was better for Vilisa to remain ignorant of her parentage. With an unknown father, only her mother's bloodline would be considered.

###

Interlude

Four years earlier...

Winter came early to the Storm Heights, especially this high up. Sarette buckled her coat tightly, the cold winds at the summit whipping around her. When she reached the sheer cliff, she stopped and looked down at the clouds below—storm clouds, with the telltale flashes of lightning strikes. She stopped to take in the scent, then she sighed. She could feel the storm, but she couldn't call it. Not yet.

A voice came from behind her. "I hope you're not thinking of jumping."

She turned to face the older man. "Isn't that how you did it, Vartus?"

"I had full command of my powers before I jumped off this cliff for the first time." He waited expectantly. He knew why she'd come—and why she'd come alone. It was the first time she'd climbed Runner's Summit without her parents, but she couldn't expect them to hold her hand any longer.

"By right of blood, I submit myself to the stormrunners," she said. It was difficult to keep her voice from wavering.

"The training is difficult, Sarette."

"You've told me about it before, Uncle."

"You haven't shown much skill."

"You refused to teach me until I was older, and Mother never learned."

"Still, you should have shown something by now."

"I can sense it! Always. Even when I'm not trying to. You allowed Sascha to complete the training, and he can only fly someone else's storm."

Vartus sighed. "You realize you may fail."

"I know." She didn't truly believe that, but she had to tell him what he wanted to hear. "You know you need me. There are only four stormrunners left."

"If it is the will of Borrisur for the line to end, then so be it. Perhaps you or your cousin will bear a child with a stronger gift. There would be honor in that."

Sarette wrinkled her nose in distaste. Being married off to a boy from another stormrunner family and pushing out child after child in the hopes of reigniting the line wasn't her idea of a real life. She'd wanted to fly the storms ever since she was six years old and her parents had taken her to see an aerial display put on by the order. It was one of the last public displays ever given—in the ten years since, two stormrunners had died and another had grown too old for acrobatics—but Sarette still remembered it vividly. She'd felt the storm for the first time that day as she watched Vartus and the others swoop through the clouds.

"I don't believe Borrisur wants the line to end," she replied. "I wish to undertake the training."

"Then let's begin."

#

Rusol woke with a start, trying to process what had just happened. It hadn't quite been a dream, but instead image after image of people and places he didn't know. None of it meant anything to him, but it felt like the images had been trying to tell him something.

He sat up in bed and swung his legs over the side, but as he got to his feet, the visions returned, flashing through his mind faster than he could process them. He fell to his knees and closed his eyes but it didn't help—it was all in his head.

The images gradually slowed, leaving him gasping for breath, and with new knowledge in his head. What just happened? he asked himself. What's a warden? Chief among the things he'd seen was a spell, one more subtle than any elder spell he'd ever learned. It was more along the lines of certain demonic powers that could be used to influence people, but instead it was meant to bind two mages together, enhancing their gifts.

Magic was dangerous in Larso, especially in Telfort, the seat of power for the Church of Pallisur. Even as princes of the realm, Rusol and his brother had grown up knowing they could never let anyone know they were mages. Rikard had grown frustrated early and given up on it, joining the knights instead, as their father had done.

Rusol, though, embraced magic whole-heartedly. He'd never done well at weapons training, tiring too quickly and too easily. Whether it was due to a demonborn stigma or an accident of birth, he simply wasn't capable of extended physical exertion. Magic only required his mind, and finding something he was actually good at had been exhilarating. His father had snuck an elder witch into the palace to train him, but Rusol had quickly outgrown the old woman's skills. Marten himself had undertaken Rusol's education on his demonborn powers, though demonic magic was more instinctive than learned.

Rusol felt confident in his abilities, but he'd always chafed at having to hide them in public. If this vision about wardens was true, it could completely change the future he'd imagined for himself. Experimentation would have to wait, though—his manservant had come into the room to help him get ready for the day.

An hour later, bathed and dressed, Rusol joined his family in the smallest of the three formal dining rooms—the one they used when they had no guests. He took his seat just as his brother entered the room.

"Good morning, everyone!" Rikard said with a wide grin, pausing to mess up Rusol's hair.

"Stop that," Rusol said, pushing the hand away. He was twenty-two years old, but his brother still treated him like a child.

Rikard was everything that Rusol wasn't. Not just heir to the throne, but also strong, smart, charming, and good at talking to women. Rusol could never decide whether he hated his brother or loved him. Sometimes he thought it might be both.

"Rikard," King Marten said, "we've got the meeting with Lord Samuel in an hour. Rus, I think he's bringing his son with him, and maybe that daughter of his, too. Why don't you keep the two of them occupied? It would be good for you to get to know the girl."

"If you wish," Rusol said, hiding a smile.

Lord Samuel, recently named Baron of Estwich after his father had passed away, had been Larso's ambassador to Sanvar when he was younger, even going so far as to marry a Sanvarite woman. After his return to Larso fifteen years earlier, Samuel had realized his son was the same age as the king's youngest. Even at seven years old, Rusol had been suspicious that their fathers had pushed the two boys together because he wasn't good at making friends on his own, but Samir had been sincere and genuine, and it made a nice change from having Rikard as his only playmate.

Samir's sister was younger, and had only recently been introduced at court, but she was beautiful, with the bronze skin and black hair she'd inherited from her mother. Rusol wouldn't object to spending more time with her, even if she didn't talk much. With two unmarried princes, there was only one reason for noble families with eligible daughters to parade them through the palace, but usually it was Rikard they were trying to impress. Rusol didn't mind being the target for a change.

"Good," Marten said. "And Rikard, we've got three cases to sit in judgement of this afternoon. We can discuss the details at the midday meal."

"Yes, Father."

The family was silent as they ate, until Rusol spoke up. "Father, have you heard of an order of mages called wardens?"

Marten and Rikard glanced around quickly, worried, but the only servants in the family's quarters at this time of day were their longtime trusted employees, all of whom had been gradually manipulated to not notice the occasional discussion of—or presence of—magic.

"No," Marten said. "Why?"

"I had a...dream about them, but I think they're a real group. I was hoping there'd be something on them in the library."

"A dream, huh?" Rikard said with a smirk.

"Shut up," Rusol replied. "It wasn't a normal dream. It was more like someone was telling me about them." That didn't really describe the sensation, but he didn't want to open himself up to more teasing. "They've got a way to bond other mages and make their magic stronger. I think I figured out how to do the same thing."

"What are you saying?" Marten asked.

Rusol wasn't prepared to come right out and tell them he was a warden, not until he figured out whether the dream had been real.

Instead, he said, "If I can find some mages, I know how to improve their gifts."

"What good would that do?" Marten said.

"The spell would work on me, too. And if I did it for someone, I could ask them for favors in return. Different types of mages, who can do things we can't. We've always been limited by the Church, but if there were mages we could trust..."

"I don't like the idea of taking advice from a dream. Who sent it, and how do you know they were telling the truth? I've never heard of these wardens before."

"I don't think there are very many of them, but I can make sure it's real by finding a mage and casting the binding spell."

Rikard snickered. "Good luck finding anyone in Telfort. Unless you're talking about a priest of Pallisur."

"You're a mage," Marten reminded his older son. He turned to Rusol. "If this works, could you make it so your brother actually has some control over his powers, rather than just ignoring them like he does now?"

The two younger men looked at each other, both grimacing at the thought.

"I'd rather not, Father," Rikard said. "I'm happy enough as a knight. If I don't know how to use magic, then I don't have to hide that I can use it."

"If you insist. Rusol, I wonder if this has something to do with you being able to use two different types of magic. I've never heard of anyone doing that before. I've always thought there was something special about you."

Rusol blinked in surprise. True praise from his father was rare.

"You really shouldn't be talking about magic here," Queen Merice said suddenly. As usual, she was a few beats behind everyone else. Shara, Rusol's mother, rolled her eyes and shook her head, but only after making sure Marten wasn't looking her way.

"You're right, of course, dear," Marten said to his wife. "We'll take this conversation up again another time. For now, I'm going to go prepare for my talk with Samuel. Rikard, join me when you're done here."

After Marten had gone, Rikard stood up and mussed Rusol's hair again. "Ooh, you're special."

"Rikard!" Shara said sharply. "Be nice to your brother!"

"Oh, Shara," Queen Merice said, "the boys are are just teasing each other."

Merice didn't see the flash of hatred in Shara's eyes, but Rusol did. The relationship between Marten's wife and his concubine, never great to begin with, had been worsening, though the two of them hid that fact whenever the king was around. Their sons had learned not to take sides, either with their own mothers or each other's.