The Sword of Ardil: The War of the Furies Book 2 (14 page)

“General,” she said with a formal curtsy, lavender skirt held in one hand. Her shawl, he noted, was white, but had spiraling lines of intertwined silver and black at the seams. “My Lord Siren,” she added quickly. Keeping her head down, she put a hand over her heart. “We have anxiously awaited your return. I have followed your instructions and seen to your men’s needs. The Companions are within and a meal will be ready within the hour. Will that be sufficient?”

“The Landing has clearly prospered under your leadership, Kayln,” Imrail said, taking in the square. He paused, almost reflectively, before turning back to the clear-eyed, smooth-faced woman. “Unfortunately you are being recalled to Alingdor to serve under the White Rose. If your aid is capable, I suggest selecting him to replace you. That is, if you are willing.”

“Recalled . . . ?” She masked her shock smoothly as if schooled at a young age. “I will be led by the wishes of the White Rose, of course.”

“Excellent,” Imrail said, nodding. “One more thing. Do you have access to a courtyard or enclosure out of doors? Somewhere private.”

“Around back, my Lord Imrail. I will show you.”

“Good.” Imrail glanced at Lars. “Assemble the Companions in one hour. See the men are adequately accommodated first. I’ll need to review the reports out of Alingdor, too.” He swung his eyes on Luc. “You’re with me, my Lord Siren.” Puzzled, Luc spread his hands when Trian glanced at him questioningly. The square was well lit with at least two dozen men standing guard. Imrail’s men, not the factor’s. He wondered if the man expected trouble to find them here. Turning, he let a slight sigh escape him. He had hoped for at least an hour or so on his own.
What’s the man up to now?

Trailing the factor, they followed a cobblestone path that straddled the town square and looped around back, ignoring a few junctions that branched off through the modest grounds. Fenced in gardens gave it a quaint feel. Still not sure what Imrail was up to, he stifled a yawn. For once they did not need to worry about sleeping out of doors or about what might be waiting in the midnight shadows. Imrail was hardly the histrionic sort, so whatever he was about it must have been important. Luc decided he was going to need to look in on Rew. Something was troubling him, not that there was not more than enough to worry about, but this went beyond the encounter with the Earthbound. Rubbing a hand over his face, he detected a hint of stubble. He found himself wishing his parents were here. Maybe a layover in Alingdor was best, particularly for Imrail’s men. Deciding to think it over, he quelled a rising sense of impatience. Working their way through the grounds, eventually they reached the rear; the dominating structure appeared to occupy a full city block on its own, if not more. Coming to an open courtyard, Imrail stopped and turned to face the factor.  

“A word, Kalyn,” he said to the woman, stepping forward.

The factor pursed her lips. She was a slight figure even in her skirts and light cloak, striking in the dim light, he realized, dark hair caught back in a silver clasp. She had a distinct air, a cultured mind and practiced poise. Clearly she was more than capable in her current post. “What can I do for you, General?” she asked finally, gaze steady as she looked up to meet the man’s eyes.

“Two things,” Imrail responded, studying the yard. “No, three. First, this is Ariel Viamar’s son, as you know. The Lord Viamar has formally abdicated in his favor.” Luc’s head came up. He did not shoot the man a threatening look. Not precisely. “Not my doing,
my Lord
,” Imrail added, emphasizing the words before going on. “It is the Lord Viamar’s will that his daughter rule the nation in her son’s absence. They will be publicizing it when they reach Alingdor. You can expect them in a few days. See that the transfer here is handled smoothly so you can join them. If need be, I can assign someone to see to matters.”

Kalyn shook her head. “No need. Nerid is quite capable, General, I assure you. Loyal and deserving. I have known him since I was a girl. You and the Lord Siren should speak to him and inform him of the . . . opportunity. He will be pleased. There are any number of clerks to support him. In recent months we have seen a steady traffic from Alingdor. Word of Edgewood—the Landing now—has spread; several have settled here permanently from distant parts. I expect the town to thrive for years, if Altris wills it.”

“Good,” Imrail said. “The second point then. After a short stay in Alingdor we will be bound south pursuing the Sword of Ardil. A man who calls himself Ansifer—former Diem and one of seven who refer to themselves as the Forerunners—is in possession of it. I’m told he stayed here. I will need to speak to you about everything you recall and inspect the room he leased. Inform the innkeeper.

“Last, I expect your stay in Alingdor will be short. We have need of your . . . skills elsewhere.”

She blinked. “Riven did not speak of it. May I ask where?”

“Aldoren’s Watch. You have not spoken of it, but I see the fear in your eyes. You remember the Stand. This will be worse. The Watch is going to be important. I have yet to fill Draiden’s post, but I need your help in restoring order. We will likely need to put down the Lawless. Whoever we choose will need you. Fill the detention cells if you must. Build more if need be. Just see it done. If it needs a formal curfew, then do it. You will have ample men and arms. Build up a surplus of food. We are at war and will need to marshal all of our strength to prepare for a strike against the Earthbound in the north. Be cautious of them. They sent a considerable force against us and are capable of more, spies and other hornets’ nests. The Warden and I intend to see their city obliterated. Do you understand?”

She was speechless. A significant undertaking. Clearly Imrail and Luc’s father had made extensive plans. “This . . .” She glanced at them. “. . . this is unexpected. You believe they will accept my authority?” She sounded doubtful.

“You will have the full weight of the Crown to back you. I expect the Lady Viamar will escort you herself. And the Warden. No one will second guess you. A formal visit is long overdue. Again, you will have their full backing. Will that be sufficient?”

She bowed gravely, a little overwhelmed by the flushed tinge to her skin. “More than sufficient, my Lord. Thank you.”

Imrail chuckled. “Don’t thank me. It won’t be easy, Kalyn. But if there is a chance of saving any of the Lawless, do it. Some know no other life. Some are simply desperate. Give them a way out. Ensure you tell them about . . . this.” No doubt what
this
meant. “Some may willingly volunteer for service under the banner of Siren. Raise the Mark high, a sign of hope perhaps. More. You may achieve these designs quicker than we expect when the word spreads that he was there. Now, if you will ensure we are not disturbed, I need to discuss a few matters with the Lord Viamar-Ellandor.”

“Yes, General.” She inclined her head politely. “My Lord,” she said with a deep curtsy, her eyes focused on Luc. Hard to say for sure with her voice smooth and her expression tightly controlled once more, but he thought he detected the hint of a shudder. And not for the assignment the man had forced on her.

Luc waited until she was well out of earshot before glancing at the man. “What are we doing here, Imrail?” he demanded.

“We have a problem.” Imrail appeared to hesitate. Odd from the man, that. He was usually the embodiment of coolness and composure. “You aren’t afraid.” It came out like a sudden slap. “You say you are, but not about matters that would frighten even the most unwavering men. Back there you stared into the eyes of two creatures that wreaked havoc during the Stand—stared into their eyes and did not flinch. Two. I was almost certain you were going to give chase, and I have no idea what would have occurred if you had. I’m told you were a pragmatic young man. You’ve lost that. In weeks no less. What you did . . . Was it blind luck or some instinct and intuition you had?” He moved on quickly, not expecting an answer. “Until we know for sure, you had best exercise a little caution and good sense. In other words, get the soup out of your head and start thinking. You don’t think you can lose. Well, you can. Your blade is not your only tool, so you don’t rely on it. But there may come a time when it will be all you have, when you will have to focus all of your attention on its use. That’s why we’re here. To teach you a little mental discipline and remind you a little fear is welcome on the field. And to answer a question.”

Luc sagged a little. “You want to practice the sword? Now? I’m beat, Imrail.” It sounded a little too much like bellyaching for his comfort. Something else occurred to him. “Wait, what question?”

Imrail ignored him, beginning to pace. Imrail could pace with the best of them, he had discovered. “We have no idea when the enemy will strike. With your luck it might be after you have rested, but if Shaiar is any proof, it will come when you least expect it. Your enemies do not just dislike you, boy. They loathe you. They hate and despise you. And they are wise enough to fear you. As of now you have only one wayward, fallible man to guide you. I expected it to be Vandil, or your father. Either would be preferable. Vandil is older and has held a position of authority since the Stand. He is known throughout the west. Your father is . . . Well, you know what your father is. I am not them.”

Imrail paused, turning suddenly. “I understand he has you practicing some of the exercises the Diem use. This is just as important. Vandil meant to shape a weapon to make the world tremble. I have other intentions. Keeping you alive for one. That is my priority. You will have to face the world on your own when I am gone. Whatever else occupies you, remember that.

“You and I have come to a mutual understanding.” Imrail stroked his chin, eyes far away. “More. You’re a good lad,” he added, hesitating. “Had I fathered sons, I would have found no better. For now, heed my advice. As for my question, it is simple.” Imrail crossed his arms. “Why are you here?”

Luc could only look at the general, poleaxed. He had no idea what the man was getting at, but in one moment Imrail had revealed more of his mind than he had on any given occasion. Plainly he still thought Yasrin’s vision would still come true. Luc felt himself begin to tense. He liked Vandil, but Imrail led the Companions and understood him in ways he did not understand himself. “I’m beginning to wonder that myself,” he whispered. Unable to respond to the man’s grim assessment of their situation, he forced it aside. “I thought we were going to look over those reports. Are we really going to practice the sword?” Now he was just whining.

Imrail grunted. “What I am asking you, Anaris, is why you are here.
You.
What we call Siren; Sirien in the Annals. Is it to face the Furies? A little obvious, perhaps too obvious.”

Luc looked away. The question troubled him. That he did not know the answer made it worse. Once, eons ago, he had known. Now he was not sure. “I don’t know, Imrail,” he said finally. “I just . . . I know something has to be done.”

“Then you’d best figure it out. You won’t win not knowing. You have until the moment you face the creature who seized the soul of one of the most powerful Diem. If you don’t figure it out by then, you may never. We made plans to get you there. Not to finish him. That even your father would have difficulty achieving.” He exhaled. “Well, at least it’s out in the open. Let’s go, boy. This time no quarter. Use your blade and your wits to overwhelm me the way you did the Earthbound.”

It bordered on ridiculous. The Oathbound had thoroughly trained him. He may not have had Altaer’s skills, but he could follow a trail and survive in the backcountry. He knew how to handle the bow and sword both, but Imrail and many of the men he sparred with had something he did not. They had trained almost exclusively with a sword from a young age. Some had served during the Stand at Imdre. All he knew was he was chasing the Sword of Ardil. What it was, what power it held, remained a mystery, but he did have his grandfather’s sword. In Penthar that meant something. And maybe for the moment, in the here and now, maybe that was enough.

No,
he told himself. There
was
more. He had an obligation to the Nations, not just Penthar, one he had been born to uphold. It was in his fiber. He had punished the innocent and would need to be redeemed. And maybe redeem. Sometimes he almost remembered. Flashes of memory that dogged him, pursued him. Somewhere in the depths of his being, though, he did know his ultimate purpose. He could not shy away from it. There would be no running. Not for him or any of the Powers intent on restoring the First Plane and liberating the Second.

Taking in a breath, he drew his sword. It slid out of the sheath soundlessly. “I’m ready,” he said, forcing aside the numbing fatigue. “No quarter.”

This time he meant it.

* * * * *

An hour later Luc was dripping sweat from all pores. Imrail was lightning quick. Near impossible to know for sure if the man had held anything back. Luc had been forced to yield twice. Imrail was far and away the best swordsman he had ever seen. His movements were flawless, his style unpredictable. Light on his feet, he parried and countered, rotated and pivoted, movements fluid, the man never in one place. His reflexes were alarming, almost inhuman. He was cold and calculated. Without practice swords both had to exercise some restraint, but their swings would have cut through bone and sinew had either of them been a hair slower or lost their footing. In the autumn air and the quiet of the Landing he felt a sense of exhilaration he had not known. When they wordlessly stepped back and dropped swords, Imrail looked at him with some approval.

“Better,” he said. The admission was somewhat surprising.