Angelaeon Circle 2 - Eye of the Sword (21 page)

The warrior woman threw him a towel and mopped her own face. “Meet you here again tomorrow, hmm?” She shouldered out of the gate, then leaned back in. “My name is Ollena,” she said, “in case you need to get me a message.”

“Mine,” Trevin gasped, his hands on his knees, “is—”

“Trevin,” she said. “I know.”

For the next two days, Trevin allowed Ollena to work the stiffness out of his sword muscles and the smugness out of his protective pride. With clearer focus and cleaner moves came greater confidence. Each day he chanced a look at his reflection in the sword, wondering if he would see anything different. Each day the same wise, assured face looked back at him.

As they left the grounds together on the third day, a servant trotted up with a message from the king, requesting Trevin to join him in the library that
evening. Trevin visited the baths, trimmed his scruffy new beard, and donned his dark gray tunic.

At the appointed time an attendant arrived and led him to the library, a columned room with scroll niches covering the north and south walls. On the west wall, shelves lined each side of a wide latticed window. In the center of the room, two lampstands threw warm light on a gaming table, where King Kedemeth sat.

Trevin bowed.

The king waved him over. “Join me for a toss of the dice?” He narrowed his eyes. “I presume you are honest at gaming.”

Trevin took a seat opposite the king. “I am, sire. But if I were dishonest, I would say the same.”

The king chuckled. “I must take my chances, then.”

Trevin studied the cross-shaped game board. Four squares were carved within each arm of the cross and in the center. “Thief and Guard?” he asked.

“Or Fox and Geese,” said the king, pouring white and gray pebbles out of a pouch. “We call it Attacker Defender.”

“I’ve few coins to wager,” said Trevin.

The king waved the comment away. “We’ll play for the challenge of it.” He scooped the pebbles into the center of the board. “Do you wish to attack or defend first?”

“Defend, sire, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Defending and attacking are
not
the same,” said the king, “though there are strategic matters involved in both.”

Trevin remembered Prince Resarian quoting his father’s words.
Strategic matters
. He smiled sadly.

King Kedemeth scooted two gray pebbles to Trevin. “You may defend. I rather feel like attacking tonight. I’ve spent the last three days with Ambria and her friend. Two women can leave a man tired of defending and ready to attack something. In this case, your fortress.” He counted out twenty-four white pebbles for his attackers.

“In Camrithia we call this game Dregs and Cams.” Trevin positioned his two gray defenders on intersecting corners within his fortress, the arm of the cross nearest him.

“Dregmoorian attackers, Camrithian defenders?” The king stationed his
white attackers on points across the rest of the board. “Thus King Laetham’s quest for allies.”

“Exactly. We of Camrithia are the two gray pebbles. If we had allies we could rely on, we would feel more secure.”

Trevin assessed his options. Numbers were to the king’s advantage, but the king’s white pebbles could move only toward the fortress and were not allowed to jump the gray. Trevin’s two gray pebbles had more flexibility. They could move anywhere in any direction and jump attackers to capture them. But he had to protect his fortress. If attackers filled the open points in his fort or trapped his two defenders, the king would win.

King Kedemeth scooted an attacker forward. “I wish I could send troops back with you, but we’ve not had a standing army since the Erielyon overcame the Vilnyri and pushed them into the fire mountains in the far north.”

“I’ve never heard of the Vilnyri.” Trevin moved a gray pebble.

“Leatherwings.” The king moved.

“Like bats?” Trevin moved. “I thought Erielyon were the only winged angels.”

“Leatherwings are not angels.” The king moved a white pebble. “I’m into your fort!” he crowed. “The Erielyon lands are a buffer between us and the Vilnyri now. I hear that the leatherwings have contented themselves with forming their own reclusive society. We are at peace.”

“Camrithia is a buffer between Eldarra and the Dregmoors.” Trevin captured the white pebble in his fort.

“And Montressi is a buffer to our east.” The king scratched his beard, pondering his next move. “So besides the occasional pirate attack on our western coast, we’ve had few interruptions to our peace. Our ‘army’ consists of small local militias that guard their own villages and towns.” He made his move.

Trevin captured the pebble.

“Ah! I didn’t see that one,” said the king. “I’m not thinking.” He made another move. “My own horsemen are trained in defense, of course. In the autumn each year, they go out in twos to train the militias and make certain of their readiness. What I’m saying is, I’m not sure how many would actually come to Camrithia’s aid.”

Trevin moved his pebble to a better defensive position. “You realize that if Camrithia falls to the Dregmoorians, Eldarra will be next.”

“I know. It’s in our best interest to help stabilize Camrithia. But it’s unlikely I can get my people to leave the peace of their homes to fight on Camrithian soil.” He moved a man to the entrance of Trevin’s fortress. “However, I believe you’ll find that help may arrive from a different quarter, and a stronger one.”

“Oh?” Trevin looked up with interest.

“Angelaeon. They will gather here within the week.” The king studied the board, then shook his head. “You have me blocked again.”

Pym spent his days in the stables and fields with the horsemen. Trevin trained at swords each day with Ollena and played Attacker Defender in the evenings with King Kedemeth.

The king parceled out information about his kingdom as they moved their pebbles. Trevin found the inner workings of Eldarra fascinating and asked questions that King Kedemeth seemed glad to answer. But occasionally when Trevin glanced up from the game board, he found the king intently watching not his moves but him, which Trevin found disconcerting.

Two days of mourning remained when King Kedemeth announced—over Trevin’s rare win as Attacker—that a good number of Angelaeon had arrived and would meet on the morrow.

Trevin had felt their presence gathering in strength. “Prince Resarian told me the queen is a friend of the Angelaeon and believes the stairway to heaven will rise again when the stars of the beltway align,” he said, scooping the pebbles into a pile.

“That she does.” The king paced to the open window and gazed into the night sky. “She’s mystical about it. I’m more practical. I believe what I see. I’ve seen Windwings, and I’ve seen Erielyon. They’re an odd bunch but trustworthy friends. As for the stairway and the tree that supposedly protected it … What’s it called?”

“The Wisdom Tree,” said Trevin.

King Kedemeth chuckled. “I’m not denying it’s real. It may well be. But I don’t rule my kingdom based on it.” He shrugged. “I’ll believe it if and when I see it.”

“What about your people? Do they feel the same?”

“Some follow my leaning; some follow Ambria’s. We tend to be an easygoing people, welcoming all types to our kingdom as long as they keep the peace.”

Trevin dropped the pebbles into their leather pouch.

“What about you?” asked the king. “Now that you know you’re Arelin’s son, are you inclined to join the Angelaeon?”

“I joined them months ago. At Ledge Rock I found one of the harps meant to restore the stairway.” Trevin pulled the drawstring of the pouch tight. “I’m in it up to my neck.”

The windows of the council chamber stood unshuttered to the warm day. As Trevin strode in, he marveled at the difference a change of perspective could make. The last time he entered this room, he was a prisoner facing the gallows. Now he was an honored guest walking into a room shimmering with the light of angels, their colors a welcome contrast to the gray they all wore. If he had not sensed them, he would have assumed they were the normal variety of townsfolk—dark, light, stout, lean, rustic, stately, all dressed in mourning. Ollena, the queen’s bodyguard, armed and alert, stood in the corner behind the dais. She gave him a brief nod.

As Trevin rose from his bow before King Kedemeth and Queen Ambria, a woman stepped up to the queen, leaned close, and spoke to her. A thin black cloak hid the woman’s broad shoulders, and her dusky hair was pinned back at the nape of her neck. Trevin sensed her familiar blue, calm presence.

“Livia?” he said.

She turned with a broad smile. “I’m glad to see you’re well. Last time I saw you grow a beard, it was not by your choice.”

Trevin scratched his chin. “Dungeons have that effect on me.”

Livia drew him to a bench by the window. “I should have made time to meet with you last week, but Ambria needed my full attention. I felt I could be of some comfort, since I lost my own son, Sergai, last year.”

“You were the visitor sequestered with the king and queen?”

Livia nodded. “They told me about discovering you, Arelin’s son. I didn’t know Arelin well, but I was delighted by the news.”

King Kedemeth cleared his throat. The room quieted, and the angels
found seats. Trevin placed his hand over the harp pendant that lay under his tunic. Seeing Livia made him ache to be with Melaia.

“Welcome,” said the king. “I hold the Angelaeon in high esteem. As you know, my wife, Queen Ambria, watches the skies and assesses the progress of the stars, eager for the time when the stairway to heaven can be restored along with the Wisdom Tree.” He glanced at Trevin with a twinge of a smile. “It appears the time is near.”

Queen Ambria, regal and controlled, gave a nod as King Kedemeth continued.

“Perhaps you’ve heard that Arelin’s son, Trevin, has been our guest for a couple of weeks. He has discovered … That, I shall let him tell.” He motioned for Trevin to rise.

Trevin felt insignificant in such great company, a feeling heightened by a group in the back corner who sat with arms folded, scowling at him. But Livia, her chin high, looked at him expectantly, so he rose, trying to exhibit the confidence of the man in the eye of the sword.

One glance at the king reminded Trevin who was in charge, at least in this chamber. He took a deep breath.

“Each of you is well respected,” he said, “and I value your presence. I know Dreia spent time here in the north. I serve her daughter, Melaia, who pledged to continue Dreia’s task of uniting the harps. She has secured one of them, and we believe the harp stolen from Dreia is in the Dregmoors. With the guidance of Windweaver, I found the third harp here in Eldarra.”

Whispers floated through the room. The scowlers talked among themselves.

King Kedemeth raised a hand, and the voices quieted. “Trevin is a comain of Camrithia. He will soon return to Redcliff. I ask that some of you travel with him to assure King Laetham that the northern lands are Camrithia’s allies and to offer aid as needed.”

One of the scowlers—a stout, surly angel with a bulbous nose—stood.

The king nodded. “Nevius?”

“We can talk about restoring the stairway all we want,” said Nevius, “but Dreia was murdered trying to unite the harps. If an Archon failed, why should we believe a Nephili will succeed? This Melaia may be Dreia’s daughter, but I’m not of a mind to follow her to my death.”