Heir of Fire (42 page)

Aedion saluted the man with the mug, getting a cheer in response, and there was nothing faked about his feral grin. It hadn't taken Aedion long to
fi
nd the soldiers Murtaugh thought they should question—­soldiers who had been stationed at one of the suspected spell origin points. While Aedion had been searching for the right group of men, Chaol had taken the time to go about his own duties—­which now included considering a candidate to replace him—­and packing for his return to Anielle. He'd come into Ri
ft
hold today with the excuse of
fi
nding a company to ship his
fi
rst trunk of belongings, a task he'd actually accomplished. He didn't want to think of what his mother would do when the trunk of books arrived at the Keep.

Chaol didn't bother looking pleasant as he said, “Get on with it.”

Aedion stood, hoisting his mug. As though they'd all been watching him, the room quieted.

“Soldiers,” he said, loud and so
ft
at once, grave and reverent. He turned in place, mug still upheld. “For your blood, for your scars, for every dent in your shield and nick in your sword, for every friend and foe dead before you . . .”
Th
e mug raised higher, and Aedion bowed his head, golden hair gleaming in the light. “For what you have given, and have yet to give, I salute you.”

For a heartbeat, as the room thundered with roars and cries, Chaol beheld what truly made Aedion a threat—­what made him a god to these men, and why the king tolerated his insolence, ring or no ring.

Aedion was not a noble in a castle, sipping wine. He was metal and sweat, sitting in this
fi
lthy tavern, drinking their ale. Whether it was real or not, they believed he cared about them, listened to them.
Th
ey preened when he remembered their names, their wives' and sisters' names, and slept assured that he saw them as his brothers. Aedion made sure that they believed he would
fi
ght and die for them.
Th
us they would
fi
ght and die for him.

And Chaol was afraid, but not for himself.

He was afraid of what would come when Aedion and Aelin ­were re­united. For he'd seen in her that same glittering ember that made people look and listen. Had seen her stalk into a council meeting with Councilor Mullison's head and smile at the King of Adarlan, every man in that room enthralled and petri
fi
ed by the dark whirlwind of her spirit.
Th
e two of them together, both of them lethal, working to build an army, to ignite their people . . . He was afraid of what they would do to his kingdom.

Because this was still his kingdom. He was working for Dorian, not Aelin—­not Aedion. And he didn't know where all of this put him.

•

“A contest!” Aedion called, standing on the bench. Chaol hadn't moved during the long, long hour Aedion had been saluted and toasted by half the men in this room, each one getting a turn to stand and tell his story to the general.

When Aedion had enough of being serenaded by his own enemy, his Ashryver eyes brilliant with a rush that Chaol knew was precisely because he hated each and every one of them and they ­were eating out of his palm like rabbits, the general roared for the contest.

Th
ere ­were a few shouted suggestions for drinking games, but Aedion hoisted his mug again, and silence fell. “Farthest to travel drinks for free.”

Th
ere ­were cries of Banjali, Orynth, Melisande, Anielle, Endovier, but then . . . “Quiet, all of you!” An older, gray-­haired soldier stood. “I got you all beat.” He li
ft
ed his glass to the general, and pulled a scroll from his vest. Release papers. “I just spent
fi
ve years at Noll.”

Bulls-­eye. Aedion thumped the empty seat at the table. “
Th
en you drink with us, my friend.”
Th
e room cheered again.

Noll. It was a speck on the map at the farthest end of the Deserted Peninsula.

Th
e man sat down, and before Aedion could raise a
fi
nger to the barkeep, a fresh pint was before the stranger. “Noll, eh?” Aedion said.

“Commander Jensen, of the twenty-­fourth legion, sir.”

“How many men ­were under you, commander?”

“Two thousand—­all of us sent back ­here last month.” Jensen took a long drink. “Five years, and ­we're done just like that.” He snapped his scarred, thick
fi
ngers.

“I take it His Majesty didn't give you any warning?”

“With all due respect, general . . . he didn't tell us shit. I got the word that we ­were to move out because new forces ­were coming in, and we ­weren't needed anymore.”

Chaol kept his mouth shut, listening, as Aedion had told him to do.

“What for? Is he sending you to join another legion?”

“No word yet. Didn't even tell us who was taking our place.”

Aedion grinned. “At least you're not in Noll anymore.”

Jensen looked into his drink, but not before Chaol caught the shadow in the man's eyes.

“What was it like? O
ff
the record, of course,” Aedion said.

Jensen's smile had faded, and when he looked up, there was no light in his eyes. “
Th
e volcanoes are active, so it's always dark, you see, because the ash covers everything. And because of the fumes, we always had headaches—­sometimes men went mad from them. Sometimes we got nosebleeds from them, too. We got our food once a month, occasionally less than that depending on the season and when the ships could bring in supplies.
Th
e locals ­wouldn't make the trek across the sands, no matter how much we threatened and bribed them.”

“Why? Laziness?”

“Noll isn't much—­just the tower and town we built around it. But the volcanoes ­were sacred, and ten years ago, maybe a bit longer, apparently we . . . not my men, because I ­wasn't there, but rumor says the king took a legion into those volcanoes and sacked the temple.” Jensen shook his head. “
Th
e locals spit on us, even the men who ­weren't there, for that.
Th
e tower of Noll was built a
ft
erward, and then the locals cursed it, too. So it was always just us.”

“A tower?” Chaol said quietly, and Aedion frowned at him.

Jensen drank deeply. “Not that we ­were ever allowed in.”

“
Th
e men who went mad,” Aedion said, a half smile on his face. “What did they do, exactly?”

Th
e shadows ­were back and Jensen glanced around him, not to see who was listening, but almost as if he wanted to
fi
nd a way out of this conversation. But then he looked at the general and said, “Our reports say, general, that we killed them—­arrows to the throat. Quick and clean. But . . .”

Aedion leaned closer. “Not a word leaves this table.”

A vague nod. “
Th
e truth was, by the time we got our archers ready, the men who went mad had already bashed their own skulls in. Every time, as if they ­couldn't get the pain out.”

Celaena claimed Kaltain and Roland had complained about headaches. As a result of the king's magic being used on them, his horrible power. And she had told him she got a pounding headache when she uncovered those secret dungeons beneath the castle. Dungeons that led to . . .

“
Th
e tower—­you ­were never allowed in?” Chaol ignored Aedion's warning glare.

“
Th
ere was no door. Always seemed more decorative than anything. But I hated it—­we all did. It was just this awful black stone.”

Just like the clock tower in the glass castle. Built around the same time, if not a few years before. “Why bother?” Aedion drawled. “A waste of resources, if you ask me.”

Th
ere ­were still so many shadows in the man's eyes, full of stories that Chaol didn't dare ask about.
Th
e commander drained his glass and stood. “I don't know why they bothered—­with Noll, or Amaroth. We'd sometimes send men up and down the Western Sea with messages between the towers, so we knew they had a similar one. We didn't even really know what the hell we ­were all doing out there, anyway.
Th
ere was no one to
fi
ght.”

Amaroth.
Th
e other outpost, and Murtaugh's other possible origin point for their spell. Due north from Noll. Both the same distance from Ri
ft
hold.
Th
ree towers of black stone, all three points making an equilateral triangle. It had to be part of the spell, then.

Chaol traced the rim of his glass. He had sworn to keep Dorian out of it, to leave him alone . . .

He had no way of testing out any theory, and didn't want to get within ten feet of that clock tower. But perhaps the theory could be tested on a small scale. Just to see if they ­were right about what the king had done. Which meant . . .

He needed Dorian.

37

It was two weeks of training for Manon and her
Th
irteen. Two weeks of waking up before the sun to
fl
y each canyon run, to master it as one unit. Two weeks of scratches and sprained limbs, of near deaths from falls or the wyverns squabbling or just stupid miscalculation.

But slowly, they developed instincts—­not just as a
fi
ghting unit, but as individual riders and mounts. Manon didn't like the thought of the mounts eating the foul-­tasting meat raised within the mountain, so twice a day they hunted the mountain goats, swooping to pluck them o
ff
the mountainsides. It ­wasn't long before the witches started eating the goats themselves, building hasty
fi
res in the mountain passes to cook their breakfast and eve­ning meals. Manon didn't want any of them—­mounts or riders—­taking another bite of the food given to them by the king's men, or tasting the men themselves. If it smelled and tasted strange, odds ­were something was wrong with it.

She didn't know if it was the fresh meat or the extra lessons, but the
Th
irteen ­were starting to outpace every coven. To the point where Manon ordered the
Th
irteen to hold back whenever the Yellowlegs gathered to watch their lessons.

Abraxos was still a problem. She hadn't dared take the Crossing with him, as his wings, while slightly stronger, ­weren't better by much—­at least not enough to brave the sheer plunge through the narrow pass. Manon had been chewing it over every night when the
Th
irteen gathered in her room to compare notes about
fl
ying, their iron nails glinting as they used their hands to demonstrate the ways they'd taught their wyverns to bank, to take o
ff
, to do some fancy maneuver.

For all the excitement, they ­were exhausted. Even the lo
ft
y-­headed Bluebloods had their tempers on tight leashes, and Manon had been called in a dozen times now to break apart brawls.

Manon used her downtime to see Abraxos—­to check on his iron claws and teeth, to take him out for extra rides when everyone ­else had passed out in their cots. He needed as much training as he could get, and she liked the quiet and stillness of the night, with the silvered mountain peaks and the river of stars above, even if it made waking up the next day di
ffi
cult.

So a
ft
er braving the wrath of her grandmother, Manon won two days o
ff
for the Blackbeaks, convincing her that if they didn't rest, there would be outright war in the middle of the mess hall and the king ­wouldn't have an aerial cavalry le
ft
to ­ride his wyverns into battle.

Th
ey got two days to sleep and eat and see to what­ever needs only the men across the mountain could provide.
Th
at was something a good number of the
Th
irteen ­were doing, as she'd seen Vesta, Lin, Asterin, and the demon twins stalking across the bridge.

No sleeping for Manon today or tomorrow. No eating. Or bedding men.

No, she was taking Abraxos out into the Ruhnns.

He was already saddled, and Manon ensured Wind-­Cleaver was tightly strapped to her back as she mounted him.
Th
e saddlebags ­were an unexpected weight behind her, and she made a note to start training the
Th
irteen and the rest of the covens with them. If they ­were to be an army, then they'd carry their supplies, as most soldiers did. And training with weights would make them faster when it came time to
fl
y without them.

“You sure I ­can't convince you not to go?” the overseer said as she paused at the back gates. “You know the stories as well as I do—­this won't come without a cost.”

“His wings are weak, and so far everything ­else ­we've tried to reinforce them has failed,” she said. “It might be the only material that could patch up his wings and withstand the winds. As I don't see any markets nearby, I suppose I'll have to go directly to the source.”

Th
e overseer frowned at the gray sky beyond. “Bad day for
fl
ying—­storm's coming.”

“It's the only day I have.” Even as she said it, she wished that she could take the
Th
irteen into the skies when the storm hit—­to train them in that, too.

“Be careful, and think through any bargain they o
ff
er you.”

“If I wanted your advice, I'd ask for it, mortal,” she said, but he was right.

Still, Manon led Abraxos out through the gates and to their usual takeo
ff
spot.
Th
ey had a long way to
fl
y today and tomorrow—­all the way to the edge of the Ruhnn Mountains.