Circle of Reign (8 page)

I was to meet with him in two days. About what?

It was not completely strange that Lord Kerr had asked for Antious to visit him, but the message was not formal or any manner of a summons. In fact, it was rather informal and felt strange in a way.

Antious, my dear friend
, Thannuel’s message had read.
How I long for the simple days when our enemies were known and in front of us, when we could look them in the eye. Come to my hold, if you can spare a day for your friend. Bring your family if you wish, Moira would love to see Kalisa again and meet your children. I regret that our children are not
growing up next to each other, but our duties occupy the hours of our day. Perhaps too much. It has been too long, my friend
.

“But that’s what was strange,” Roan mumbled to himself, alone in his tent. “He was trying to tell me something, not as the leader of his province but as a friend. What?”

The gray canvas walls of his tent did not answer him. The closest town, Helving, had little to offer except strong drink at night; Roan had specifically forbidden his men from taking any fermented drink while engaged in training. This was his standing order throughout the Western Province’s forces. The training exercises he led on the cliffs in this remote part of the province were scheduled to be concluded in less than half a span, but he had ordered Lieutenant Colonel Bohdin to strike the camp immediately. He would return to Calyn to be at the assistance of whoever the new lord would be. Hedron, Thannuel’s only son, was still too young, not even over the age of innocence.

It was impossible to intuit the meaning of Lord Kerr’s message, but something was there—Roan felt it was a warning of some create, especially now with Kerr dead.

It’s still unbelievable! No one could best Thannuel
.

Thoughts of revenge plowed their way into his mind, but his military discipline checked them. He would bleed himself dry for the West, for Arlethia; he had nearly done it once. The black shores of Third Island played in his mind briefly, Thannuel near death, his body shredded from the bladed nets of the Orsarians.

I wasn’t there for you. Not this time
.

But perhaps Kerr’s death was a random murder, not related to anything larger. He sent an order out immediately once he received the message of Lord Kerr’s death, putting his soldiers on high alert; but no further affront or attack had been made—yet.

A knock came at the front post of his tent. The breeze that came from below the cliffs blew the front door flaps gently.

“Come,” Roan said.

Lieutenant Colonel Bodhin stepped inside. “I apologize, General, for intruding. You instructed me to report when the
camp was made ready to depart. Your tent is the last that needs to be packed. Shall I have a few men see to it?”

“Very good, Lieutenant Colonel. Thank you.”

“Our orders, sir?”

“You will march this battalion to Aelmi and take control of the forces already there. I will take two aides with me to Calyn. Remain on alert and wait for instruction.”

“Yes, sir.” Bodhin saluted and then departed.

I must see Moira. Perhaps she will have some insight
.

Lady Kerr was not a wilting flower. His mind replayed the night when they were all teenagers, students at Therrium Academy, coming back from the Doonalin Falls. A band of Marishee, a rebel group that had ceded from the Realm, had taken him captive and nearly killed Kalisa and Moira. That was the first but not last time Thannuel had saved Antious’ life. Even at sixteen, Thannuel had seemed nearly immortal. Antious had sworn an oath then, after that night, to always come for Thannuel, no matter what stood in the way. And yet, he had not...at least, not fast enough this time.

I must speak with Master Aiden as well
, he thought.
He will know something
.

It was strange to think of the lad as
Master
now, but apparently Aiden was nearly as renown as Thannuel had been with steel. The once castaway boy had accomplished much in his life, despite humble beginnings, not unlike his own childhood. Though, admittedly, Antious did have the advantage of parents throughout his childhood.

As Roan left the campsite with two corporals at his side, he watched from a hillside the battalion head west toward Aelmi. The march was silent save for the vibrations he felt through the rocky ground. Few trees lived here on the cliffs, making his senses slightly dulled to the vibrations all around him. It made for a better training ground for his men should a battle ever come outside their lands. This place and the Gonfrey Forest with Jayden’s wolves were his favorite spots.

“There is something coming. That’s what you were going to tell me, wasn’t it?” Roan’s voice was low when he spoke.

“Sir?” one of the corporals asked.

“Nothing, soldier. We’re leaving.”

They sprinted northeast toward the West’s state city.

FIVE

Rembbran

27
^th
Day of 4
^th
Dimming 406 A.U.

REMBBRAN WANDERED NEAR HOLD KERR
taking in the air around him. He would not get within a league just to be certain his footfall would remain undetected, or at least masked as it mixed in with other sounds and vibrations. Grief littered the atmosphere around him, its vector Hold Kerr.

Thousands of people had swarmed to House Kerr over the past days, each bearing condolences for the family that had lost their husband and father.

“Pathetic creatures,” he growled to himself. “It’s been nearly a span and they still mourn. Weak, these wood-dwellers have become.”

The surge of his Charge still throbbed within him. The pain was manageable while he was within the Kail in the Northern Province, the ancestral home his kind had dwelled in for centuries. An Influence of some create shielded the Helsyan from the most acute parts of his new pain. Now outside his refuge and searching for his prey, however, the pain surfaced unabated. The throbbing started on his left temple, gradually pounding its way through his skull to the other side. His brain felt as if a dull iron peg were coring it.

This is the price of failure
, he reminded himself.
Never has one failed as I have
.

He had yearned to come back to these woods the day after his failure, his incomplete
Dahlrak
a thirst that needed quenching. But the High Duke as well as the leader of his order, Maynard, forbade it, believing the situation too volatile. Even now they had their reservations but allowed Rembbran this chance to rectify his shame.

Arriving at the scene of his confrontation with Lord Kerr, Rembbran retraced his steps as best he could remember. He had lost track of the girl visually as he sparred with Lord Kerr, but still detected her scent through the confrontation until…

“Until I wrecked his weak frame and smote the life from him!”

But his revelry brought no relief to the pain or him any closer to completing his Dahlrak.

Retracing the path of his chase, the Helsyan eventually came to where the group had met to behold a demonstration of curious Influence. Rembbran generally had no patience for parlor tricks or children’s games, but High Duke Wellyn’s advisor had actually impressed him. He inspected the tree that had been the subject, a three-pronged leaf-bearing species the Arlethians called a Triarch. It appeared unaffected and full of life, quite the opposite of nine days ago. The tree’s bark was smooth as he ran his hand down its trunk. He recoiled suddenly.

“Fallen Ancients!” he swore. Inspecting his hand he found it to be normal in appearance: pale and inscribed with the runes all his kind bore across their bodies—illegible marrings that added to their villainous appearance.

It felt like acid
, he thought as he rubbed the tips of his fingers together.

“All Dark retreats from the Light, apostate.”

The voice startled Rembbran but he did not visibly react. Calmly, he turned about to see him who interrupted his investigation. He lowered his hood, exposing his glyphed, shorn head. The gills on his nose flared. He noted the man’s own small disfigurement on his left cheek.

“I did not sense your approach, old man.”

“No, you would not have. I do not allow my feelings to flow outward.”

As the chase-giver breathed in through his nose more deeply, flaring the horizontal gills across the bridge of his nose, he found that the visitor was utterly invisible to his sense of smell.

“Do not interfere where you are not welcome, old man,” he warned.

“Ah, the hollow threats begin. Come now, apostate, we both know you cannot harm me without a Dahlrak. Even then, I have my doubts.”

Rembbran sneered. “Mind your words, codger! You could easily become part of the Dahlrak by your hindrance!”

“Oh that’s right, the girl,” he said. “Well, you won’t find her here. Or anywhere, I’m sorry to report. Not for what will feel like ages to you in your torment, I’m sure. This level of defeat has never been known by your kind, I take it? It will be interesting to witness what becomes of you.”

Rembbran stood in shock, unable to answer.
He knows. Impossible!

“You were surprised, no doubt, to find this tree as it is,” the old man continued. “It was a weakened portion of Influence used, meant only for a temporary show, I surmise. The forest easily reversed it with little help from me, though its usage is disturbing.”

“And who, then, are you?”

“Not who, what.”

“I have no patience for these word games!” the Helsyan growled.

“That was always the way of it for your clan, even before the Turning Away.”

“What are you, then?”

“Let us say I am a Shepherd of Light, just as you are a Purveyor of Night, apostate.”

“Stop calling me that!” Rembbran growled. “I could draw and quarter you with my bare hands!”

“I thought we discussed hollow threats, no? But no matter, my time here is done. It is unlikely you will see me again.”

Without another word, the old man scaled the nearest tree with an agility that belied his elderly frame. In less than two blinks, Rembbran lost sight of him as he disappeared above the thick frondescent canopy.

Endless Night! Who was that?

Half a span and three days later the nearly incessant cold of the Northern Province embraced him like a cloak of daggers, welcoming him home. He desperately sought and needed the relief the Kail would offer in order to stem the madness he felt building within him.

As he entered Iskele, a stiff wind shot up from the chasm below the city, rustling the near barren trees growing out of the rocky cliff side. Two chilled rivers, diverted from their natural courses, ran through the city in open aquifers and poured down the chasm, two slender streams whose spray and mist obscured any from seeing them hit the bottom. Rembbran was surprised they hadn’t yet frozen, but would before many span more turn to stalactites of ice that would constantly change shape as the rivers’ runoff exited the city and froze over the existing ice falls. On rare moments, when the sun would prevail against the normal gray pallor of the northern sky, the ginormous icicles would sparkle and produce rainbows of intricate create, perhaps the only natural beauty of the otherwise austere province.

Rembbran noted the entourages of each of the Realm’s provincial lords positioned outside one of High Duke Wellyn’s meeting chambers as he passed by on his way to the Kail, holding his hood tight against the breeze, ensuring his concealment from those among the streets.

Not all provincial lords, actually
, he corrected himself. Hoyt, Gonfrey and Orion were represented, but the banners of House Kerr were absent. Horses and attendants alike were clad in thick
blankets and garments while they awaited the conclusion of whatever was taking place within the walls of the meeting chamber.

Maynard met him at the entrance to the Kail, a circular nondescript building of stone that was many times wider than it was tall and whose main levels were underground. The Helsyan leader’s visage bespoke his intent to question Rembbran before allowing him entrance.

“You did
find
her.” His words were not a question.

“Her scent is gone,” Rembbran answered. “I cannot make sense of it. Something of ill create besets me.”

Maynard stood unmoved.

“Let me enter! I need the Kail’s succor!”

“The
Urlenthi
will not be mocked, Rembbran. Your Dahlrak is incomplete. Return and finish it!”

Rembbran growled, but Maynard showed no sign of concern. “Use discretion in where you channel your aggression, brother.”

Maynard was the most skilled Helsyan assassin in ages. Though he did not contain the viciousness or brute strength of Rembbran—he was a more refined and eloquent killer—Maynard’s dexterity was unsurpassed. But Rembbran’s strength and speed were at heightened levels as he still labored under a Charge. Maynard had no such current advantage and yet he stood nonchalantly blocking Rembbran’s way to desperate relief.

Rembbran charged the Helsyan leader, hitting him with a force that would have broken stone as the two of them rolled through the opening into the Kail. The savage instinct that fueled all Helsyans exploded as Rembbran’s fists pounded Maynard’s body with a speed and fury only a
Dahlrak
could bring out. He envisioned the Kerr youngling, smashing her face and crushing her small body over and over, laughing sadistically in his mental revelry.

Accepting the punishment, Maynard did not retaliate. He blocked most blows but others landed home. After a short few moments, the explosion within Rembbran died down as the soothing Influence of the Kail overtook him, dulling the pain he suffered to a manageable
level. It still throbbed within him, but sanity was partially restored as he was pulled back from the mental cliff over which agony had dangled him.

“Did that help, brother?” Maynard asked.

Rembbran breathed heavily, becoming more tired as the surge of the
Dahlrak
waned. “Maynard, I’m—”

Before he could finish, Maynard stepped forward with a velocity too fast to block, grabbing Rembbran by the ears and bringing his head down against his upward thrusted knee. Blood spurted from Rembbran’s mouth and nose as he wailed. Maynard did not release him.