The Sword of Ardil: The War of the Furies Book 2 (21 page)

“You are welcome in Penthar, Lord Thresh,” the general said. Quite intentionally he did not add anything further.

 “If I may,” Avela cut in, noticing the coolness in the man’s voice and the tightness around the eyes, “I feel obliged to inform you it would be in your best interest to remain here at least another few days, Minister Thresh. At the least. I’m told you left Rolinia in a hurry. Weeks to reach Pentharan soil with poor stores or proper provisions. Whatever you have left appears to have spoiled. I am confident most of your people will recover after proper rest and nourishment. Food we can supply. I’ve given the women instructions on how to care for the young and your men, but one thing we do not have enough of is water. Fresh water. The nearest town in this part is at least a half day’s march off, but I would not risk you moving your people now. We can ration what we have until our troops return with provisions, but your people need proper baths and a change of clothes. While we consider our options can you be persuaded to put down for a few days?”

Ronan sighed, unable to mask the fatigue and constant worry. “Of course, my Lady. Our thanks. Whatever you feel is best.”

“Unfortunately we have business in the First City that cannot be put off,” Imrail said. “We will leave our company to care for you until the supplies we sent for arrive. After, it will be up to you to decide if you wish the protection of the First City or choose to move south. Under heavy escort if you wish.”

“Will you tell us what brought you here?” Luc asked politely.

Ronan’s face darkened. A man of medium height and build, he still looked ready to do violence, but it did not take much prompting to loose the politician’s tongue. “Our command structure appears to have been compromised. A calculated plan months in the making, I suspect. Over the years our house has gained a great deal of support, enough that House Thresh assumed direct oversight of our armies. When the other Ministers went missing, I took precautions. For weeks there was a general feeling of mistrust. Lords and landholders began to demand session after session to debate the course of the nation. Tedious proceedings with onerous, ignorant men claiming Tolmar was undercutting the markets and Penthar was rallying to move on us. Idiocy. It went on for weeks. We had to move the Lancers in to maintain order. I’m afraid that did not sit well with the Whitefists or the people in the Lower City. But worse was to come.

“One morning, weeks ago now, the houses convened in the Ruling Hall in the People’s Plaza. That was the last public forum. Most were slaughtered. Those who escaped spread tales of creatures that rent the council chambers—explosions in the earth and fires that broke from the sky. The next morning a banner had been raised. An iron fist. I do not know what it means.” Ronan’s gaze crossed to Luc. The man saw the noticeable flicker of his eyes and paled at recognition in them. “This was all carefully planned. Some of our own stood against us. I took those loyal to me and retreated to my estates in the far south, the Heights we call them. We had barely arrived when these . . . creatures stormed it. I’m told the same occurred to the other Ministers and lords loyal to me. Thanks in part to our precautions, I had already moved most of my household to our swiftest ships. My generals stopped making their daily calls. There was looting and rioting in the streets. The Privy Council went into hiding. With few other options, I chose to make for Penthar, to save the few we could save and turn to the Lord Viamar for assistance. As I said, he has been a supporter in the past.”

Pausing to drink from a skin Grivas handed him, he exhaled and continued. “We set sail and nearly came apart three times. We are not seafarers by nature and my men had to learn as we sailed north. We thought of putting down west of Anneth, but powerful storms caught us and forced us further north. I thought we were done for at that point, but after two days we were able to steer back northeast. We thought to dock in the King’s Watch and send word to Viamar, but we did not know our precise position and my aides felt we could not wait with our stores emptying. Too many were already sick and our need for fresh water forced us to put ashore. We were as you see us now. Too weak to make for the First City, but forced to try. That was when the darkness took us.” The horror on his face was unfeigned. “Fell beasts. They slaughtered my already weakened guard. I lost almost a half-hundred of my best men. They gave us no chance to retreat, and the memory has led most to believe the end has come.”

“Not the end,” Imrail muttered. “The beginning.”

“These folk have a dangerous edge,” Grivas murmured, barely a whisper. “Best we be cautious.” Luc read his lips more than he heard the actual words.

Minister Thresh glanced at them. His eyes skittered towards Luc, then returned to settle on Imrail. “You have heard our tale. What of the nation of Penthar?”

“As I said,” Imrail began, “the matter will take some time. You do your people no honor standing here ready to faint from fatigue and worry. Will you join us in a meal?” Slowly, with a glance at his aid, the man reluctantly nodded. Imrail gave a crisp command and led them back to the compound, moving slightly east. Eventually they reached a cluster of tents set slightly apart from the others. His command center and likely where he intended Luc to bed down for the night. Not something he would willingly do when most of the others would be sleeping under the stars.

The meal was rustic but hearty. Instead of bread they had biscuits, preserves, salted pork, and a savory medley of beef, vegetables, and barley. Having lived it and already shared the account more than once, Luc did not pay attention to Imrail’s narrative. He still found himself missing Amreal. The knot in his throat swelled and his arms felt heavy. Forcing himself to breathe, he began the mental exercises his father had taught him.
Becoming and believing.
Not for the first time in recent days he drifted through the currents and inspected the area around the encampment. It was becoming increasingly apparent he was able to take in far more ground, far more space; he even thought he detected something beyond the fabric of the Making, through a hidden barrier he had never actually perceived before. The sudden realization was jarring. Keeping a straight face, he ignored it, this time pressing deeper, mind probing. It did not take him long to find it.

Water, and plenty of it.

His father had cautioned him about attempting anything too soon. But it seemed such a simple, subtle thing.

Urian’s description of the Ardan settlement in the north caught his attention, if only momentarily. Minster Thresh’s face held traces of skepticism; Altaer’s separate, succinct account confirming the Earthbound presence made it virtually impossible to discount. From there Imrail continued the tale. His portrayal of the Third Plane was so vivid Luc found himself snarling. The general continued with their escape, his arrival in Alingdor and the passage between the Planes, and the events that had occurred under Vandil’s watch, those of some significance at least. Grivas and Lord Thresh asked few questions, likely reserving them for the end. Luc, not wanting to hear the rest, set his plate aside and moved off to the east. He was a little surprised no one followed.

The manipulation did not require spells or incantations. That was not how it worked. He simply became a conduit for the Tides and activated a spark that ripped through him, from him. Something clicked within and a churning sound filled his ears. Lines of power instantly sliced through the earth. There was no sound. The force became a tunneling chute—he imagined the shaft of a well—forcing the dirt, rock, and clay to give way and coalesce. Sweat beaded across his forehead, but the effort felt negligible. The focused concentration was a different matter. The Tides shifted from a cone into a column, drilling deep. The power took on a sapphire light, luminous, blinding. He did not think anyone without the Trace could have seen it. Seconds or hours passed. He did not move, did not blink.

Eventually after another conscious trigger the glow faded. Now where there had been only bare earth, a circle of inky black rock surrounded a deep pool of crystalline water. Clean water. Pure. The rock’s smooth surface reminded him of the cool surfaces of the Shoulder.

Exhaling, he realized he had been holding his breath.

He had done it.

Discharging the primeval substance, separating himself from it, he sagged and gripped his knees, drained by the effort. Not just drained, more like depleted. He stood there panting for several moments. He was just glad the enemy did not choose that moment to strike. He did not think he could have summoned up the will to even raise his head.

He thought at least a quarter hour had passed before he took a final breath and peeled his eyes off the spot. When he turned and took a step, he almost plowed into Imrail. The general just looked at him, unsurprised. He did not comment on Luc likely appearing winded. Ronan Thresh was looking on from several yards off. Others too. The ominous silence was almost as unbearable as the flashes of awe that shimmered across their collective faces. 

“Orders?” Imrail whispered.

“See to the Ancaidans’ needs. I’ll be in my tent.”

Nodding towards the First Minister, he made his way back. Sweat leaked down his spine into the small of his back. The effort and considerable burden he bore weighed on him heavily. Arriving at his tent, he unbuckled the straps to the scale armor, difficult without another hand. He peeled off his boots and set them in the corner. Seeing his saddlebags propped next to his belongings, he peered into one of the compartments. Satisfied everything was in order, he poured himself a glass of wine from a decorative decanter likely given to them by the factor and settled in on the comfortable rugs and cushions, which for once escaped his notice. Settling back, he waited, hopeful Trian would look in on him before turning in.

 Feeling everything substantive and firm in his life tossed into an upheaval, he knew there would be no returning to the simpler times, the ordered lifestyle, in Peyennar. All he knew now was a relentless purpose and focus that defined his entire existence. He was bound to the defense of the Nations and the dispensation of judgment against the forces of the Unmaker. A mammoth task with him fumbling to find his way.

Imrail and Urian were the first to report in. The foot soldier asked for permission to enter and outlined the precautions he had taken for the night, sentries posted at regular intervals, a two hour watch rotation, Thresh’s guards given the night to recover, and a signal to announce if anything out of the ordinary occurred. Imrail gave the bowman leave to depart before addressing him.

“That went well enough, Anaris,” he said. “You made no guarantees other than those we would have given even under other circumstances. A good thing he did not ask for more. I expect you have given him more to consider than even your mother or father could have, though I think he will remember you more for the effort to provide his people with fresh water. That may have clinched his respect more than even word of our enemies and our clash in Peyennar.” Imrail paused. “From what I’ve been told, you took a considerable risk,” he added in low tones. “Perilous perhaps. I had this explained in detail. Ronan Thresh won’t soon forget it.”

Imrail searched his expression for some sign of response. When Luc only shrugged, he bowed slightly. “I won’t be far if you need anything. Goodnight, lad.”

Barely seeing the tent flap stir, he remained lost in his own thoughts for some time, in fears he would not be able to live up to his own expectations. He was not certain those expectations were fair or reasonable, but then he did not have a choice in the matter any longer. Hand wrapped around the wineglass, he sipped it until he found his head nodding. Setting it aside, he sank back. He was not sure how much time passed when he caught himself dozing and realized he had not heard from Trian or Rew. Standing, he reached the tent’s entrance, feeling the warmth of fresh coals recently added. Some hours must have passed then. Peering out, he realized Urian was standing watch in the cool night air. Everything appeared quiet. Chiding himself for not seeing the Val Moran or Rew before nodding off, he turned and found his boots, pulling them on. Taking his coat, he put an arm through as he exited.

Urian raised an eyebrow when he stepped out. Luc did not button up the formal overcoat, grateful for the feel of the autumn air even if it was significantly cooler. This part of Penthar was unique but no less riveting than Peyennar, in its own way. The feel of the air helped settle his nerves at least. The lowlands were not so dissimilar to the flatlands at the base of Peyennar. If not for the siege he suspected this land would have been tilled and seeded for miles in all directions. To the north the First City still waited. His last opportunity to see his folks and say his goodbyes before the end.

“Sorry,” Luc muttered. “Guess I fell asleep.”

Urian shrugged. “You weren’t the only one. Most everyone turned in not long after you did. I’d wager even Imrail’s getting an hour or two in. Good to have him back. Good to be back, I don’t mind saying.”

Luc clasped the man on the shoulder. “Thanks.” Impossible to fathom what he’d do without the bowman and the others. He was just grateful he wouldn’t need to find out anytime soon. “Any trouble?” he asked.

“Nothing so far,” Urian answered.

“Good.” He glanced at a tent to his left and hesitated. After insisting someone watch over the Val Moran at all times, Avela had taken to sharing Trian’s tent. No way to look in on her now. That would have to wait till morning. He didn’t quite understand the sudden anxiousness. Seeing him looking, Urian cleared his throat.

“The girl checked in on you,” he said. “I’m told she fussed over the Ancaidans until well after dark. She asked that you be allowed to sleep through the night, but told me she wanted a word with you as soon as possible. She stressed it enough I don’t think she’d mind if you woke her. She even asked Lanspree to sleep elsewhere.”