Farmers & Mercenaries (41 page)

The thought of staying in the building that Alant had called home brought up a tinge of pain.

Yet, the thought of being surrounded by Shapers is more unsettling for some reason.

Arderi stood as well. “Nix, Sier. I am thankful for your offer. I am unsure of what I will do. For now, I think our paths separate here.”

“That is an easy question to answer, Mir’am Cor.” All three men flinched as a woman, tall and dark, with a look that spoke of emptiness and pain, glided into the room. “You will stay with us for as long as you wish.” She turned and gave an empty smile to Ragnor. “You will see to it, Ragnor?”

Bowing low, Ragnor inclined his head. “Of course, Mistress.”

“I am to understand that you are the one who returned with the collector.” The woman, whom Arderi took to be Clytus’ widow, locked her haunting gaze onto Arderi, and all he could do was nod. “For that deed alone, you have the gratitude of House Rillion. Whatever your need, you have only to ask and it shall be done.”

Arderi mimicked Ragnor’s bow. “My thanks to you, Mistress Rillion. Yet, I require nothing in return. I am truly sorry for your loss. Your husband was a great man.”

At his words, her spine stiffened, though whatever pain she was feeling never touched her face. “I am grateful for what you have done.” Turning, she drifted from the room without ever looking back, leaving an air of tension floating between all three men.

Clearing his throat, Jintrill broke the silence. “As you say, Master Ragnor, it is getting late. I will take my leave now.” He moved and looked at Arderi. “Are you sure you do not wish to join me at the Chandril’elian?”

Glancing first to Ragnor, Arderi shook his head. “Nix, Sier. I am grateful for your offer. Yet, I will stay here.”

And mayhaps I can glean some answers to my questions.

“Very well, then.” Jintrill reached out, placed one hand upon Arderi’s upper arm, and took his hand in his. “I have never thanked you properly. If not for your courage, I would have died up there in the Nektine. I will not soon forget that.”

“I do not feel I would have survived without you, either. I think we are even on that score.”

The two young men exchanged a long look before Jintrill withdrew from the room.

Watching him leave, Ragnor let out a grunt once the Shaper passed through the main doors. He allowed the Shaper enough time to cross the courtyard before he turned back to Arderi. “It be unwise to forgive a debt that be owed to you by a Shaper, Mir’am Cor. Debts of that level be hard to come by, and be valuable when needed.” He pointed back toward the chair Arderi had vacated. “Please, sit. I will tend to your quarters.”

Arderi sat and watched as Ragnor stared at the Crystal still in his hand as if he had forgotten it was there. Bouncing the Crystal in his palm, the man left the room heading in the direction Jintrill had taken. More than a few moments passed, and Arderi wondered if Ragnor meant to return.

When the black man did return, he carried Clytus’ sword in his left hand. Kneeling down in front of Arderi, he drew the blade and rested its point upon the floor. Unwrapping the leather from the hilt, he allowed the red light from the Ka’gana stone to flood out into the small sitting room. He then bowed and rested his forehead upon the sword’s pommel. “I, Ragnor De’haln, pledge to you, Arderi Cor, to uphold all that be Sujen. I shall protect you, always be faithful, and no waver in my vows neither to you nor to the Tat’Sujen Order. To these, I allow my Essence to be bound once again, by the Melding of my very being to that of Ka’gana.”

Arderi’s eyes opened wide as the red glow from the Crystal buried inside the hilt expanded to envelop both himself and Ragnor. “What—” Arderi’s throat went dry and he coughed to clear it. “What has happened?”

Standing, Ragnor re-sheathed Dorochi and held it out across his palms, presenting it to Arderi. “All will be revealed soon. Take Dorochi, she be yours now. As of this day, your training as a Tat’Sujen begins.”

T
he eve rolled on, yet Alant Cor never left his room. Shaith Ku’rin came by to ask him to lastmeal. It surprised him that he declined even her.

I do not think I could keep any food down anyway.

The events of the last few tendays, along with all that he had learned, rolled over in his mind like a whirlwind inside his skull. He could not puzzle out what the Elmorr’Antiens planned for him—what need they had of Humans at all. Mah’Sukai, Chi’utlan, the Chandril’chi with its black bark and blood-colored leaves—they were all tied in some way.

Ha! They are all tied around my neck!

Over and over he tried to recall all that he knew of the Elmorr’Antiens. Things he had learned while in Mocley, bits of stories he had picked up at his home in Hild’alan. Though he had to admit, most of what he learned prior to going to Mocley was petty fielder superstition. No one from his home stead had ever actually seen an Elmorr’Antien.

Alas, much
of
what I learned, even in Mocley, is
of
little help either. The Shapers do not really know the Elmorr’Antiens any better than my Ma or Papa.

A knock sounded at the door and Alant rolled over on his hard bed to face the wall. “Go away, Shaith. I need time to think.”

“Thinking is always good, yet I think we need to talk instead, yes?”

The silky-smooth voice of Vanria Delmith sent a shudder surging through Alant and he sat bolt upright. The Elmorr’Antien stood in the open doorway. Alant had not even heard the latch lift. “What—what do we need to talk about?”

Tilting his blue-gray, teardrop shaped head to the side, his teacher stood for a long moment staring at Alant. “You are almost believable enough to have passed here unnoticed. Actually, had it not been for the fact that I alone work with the Human Initiates, no one may have noticed you, yes?”

“I… um… I do not understand, Vanria Delmith.”

“Of course you do not.” Thin black lips slipped into a razor sharp smile that did not touch the Delmith’s black liquid eyes. “Come.” Raising a bone-skinny arm, he indicated the exit of the Human quarters.

Swallowing to moisten a throat gone dry, Alant rose to his feet, yet did not move. “Where?”

“You have been summoned to the Hon’Vanria’s office. There is nothing to fear, provided you keep a true tongue, yes?”

Hesitating for another moment, Alant’s mind raced.

Like a rat trapped in a corner by a housecat! I have no hope
of
escape!

Slowly, hesitantly, Alant nodded his head and walked into the hallway. It turned into a somber, quiet trip. The two wound their way through the halls that took them to the stairs leading to the Hon’Vanria’s private office. It was only the second time Alant had ever been allowed onto any of the upper floors of the Chandril’elian. The first being the eve he arrived on the Island of Elmorr’eth and entered the fabled city of Hath’oolan—the time when Shaith had led him to this very office.

How different that trip felt.

Reaching the top of the stairs, Alant noticed that the receiving room outside the office had not changed since his first visit. Benches and chairs sat opposite the large window looking out onto the end of the boulevard at the front of the school.

The area that holds the Chandril’chi—that Gods awful tree!

Without pausing, Delmith crossed the room to the double-doors leading to the inner office, with their strange carved runes of inlaid gold and silver. The doors swung open silently at his approach. The office too, looked the same. Bookshelves lined one wall stuffed with an assortment of items, and opposite these, another large window twin to the one in the waiting room, and the enormous desk that filled much of the space between.

Yet, like his first visit, Alant paid little mind to any of it. In fact, even though Prince Aritian and the Hon’Vanria stood on the other side of the desk, they held none of Alant’s interest either. All his attention fell on the black-skinned boy who shared the Human quarters with him.

“Ahh!” Prince Aritian sounded as if he were greeting an old friend. “Young Initiate Cor has finally arrived.” Turning to Jerith, he lifted a hand to the doors. “Initiate De’thane, you are excused, yes? We shall use your…”—the Prince cut his eyes across the desk to Alant—“…information wisely.”

With a hasty bow and a hurried glance at Alant, Jerith scampered out the doors.

What has that fool done! How could he have betrayed me like this?

Once the white carved doors shut, Prince Aritian glided around the desk and pulled one of the chairs from the side of the room. Sliding it in front of the desk, he rested both his hands on its topmost ladder-backed rung. “Please.” He indicated to the chair. “Sit. I think we have much to discuss, yes?”

Alant took a step toward the chair, then paused. The thin Elmorr’Antiens already stood a hand taller than he, and the thought of reducing his height by sitting—having them looming over him even more—appalled him. “I think I will stand, if that is acceptable, Prince Arit…tian.” He stuttered the last word as a bolt of cold from the Tarsith shot through him. It was all he could do to stop from grasping the amulet hanging around his neck.

Shock raced across the Hon’Vanria’s face. His eyes opened wide and his mouth fell open. “He knew! The boy knew when I performed the Chi’tar upon him! And you are correct, my Prince, I failed!” Anger replaced the shock upon the Elmorr’Antien’s face. “How did you do this, hmm? Tak’ju’nar!”

Thoughts spun in Alant’s head, things he might say to clear himself. Yet, fear clamped his mouth shut firmer than the gates of his home stead after dark. Unable to speak, he simply stood there looking from one blue-gray face to the next.

“Yes, you are an enigma, Initiate Cor. Yet, I think we all know what you are and why you are here, hmm?” The Prince paused as if he expected Alant to answer. “No? Very well. Silence may be your best defense now that we have found you out.”

Anger finally breached the fear that held Alant silent. “Defense! What need do I have to defend myself?”

“Let us not play games here, Initiate Cor, yes?” The Prince’s words dripped with scorn. “You
Humans
think you are so… clever. Just because you can see the Essence. You are like children to us! We know that fool Council of Elders has sent you here, yes? Sent you to spy on us! A Tak’ju’nar in our very home. Spying and sneaking, trying to bore out our secrets. What is it they wanted you to discover, hmm?”

Even though the accusation appalled him, Alant felt a surge of relief.

They do not know about the Tarsith! They are just worried that I am a Tak’ju’nar—a spy.

His heart sank at the realization that being a Tak’ju’nar could be worse for him.

“I do not understand why you think I am a spy. I was invited here by the Elmorr’Antiens.”

“Pah! We invited a promising young Initiate named Alant Cor. It is true you have skill—even Delmith agrees in that—yet, there is no way you are a simple farmer boy from some backwoods stead, yes? What is your real name, hmm?” At Alant’s silence, the Prince raised a hand and flicked up one finger into the air. “You speak our tongue, or at least understand it enough to know of what we speak.” The Prince added a second blue-gray finger. “You know of the Mah’Sukai. A word that has not been uttered in over eighteen thousand turns of the seasons.” The third and final finger joined the others. “And you ask too many questions about past Initiates who have studied here. How could all this be if you are not a Tak’ju’nar sent to us by your so-called Council of Elders, hmm?”

Alant stood stunned. He could explain it—or most of it, anyway—by revealing the Tarsith he carried.

Yet, my vow. Not to mention that people may die! Oh, Sarlimac, I do not think you foresaw this when you gave me that accursed amulet!

Thinking of his old Sier brought back the old man’s words of warning. Remembering the vacant eyes of Quiln—the slashes of red through them—added to his fury. Alant did not know what they planned, yet he knew for certain they were up to no good. “You accuse me! You stand there and see
me
as the villain! Yet what did you do to Quiln? I saw his eyes. They were not bloodshot from crying. Those jagged streaks of red slashed even the colored parts of his eyes! He was… changed, somehow. He looked at me as if he did not recognize who I was, nor even where he was! What did you do to him!?” He breathed hard once he stopped his rant, yet he did not back down nor remove the anger from his eyes.

Prince Aritian’s face had drawn into a sneer as Alant shouted. Now his face became a mask of rage.
“As if
you do not know!”
The Prince’s words screeched out, forcing Alant to cringe away in fear. The Tarsith grew cold while the Prince continued, and Alant did not think the Elmorr’Antien realized he had slipped into his native tongue.
“It is you Humans who destroy the Plane each Cycle! You Humans who misuse the Power of the Essence!”
Alant had seen an Elmorr’Antien angry before, at least
this
Elmorr’Antien. Yet, even the Prince’s own kinsmen gaped at him with shocked looks and shied away from his rant.
“My father and his Circle may sit by and let the time come again when you Humans rip the Plane asunder. I will not allow it! I will not!”
Jabbing an accusing finger into Alant’s chest, very nearly striking the Tarsith, spittle sprayed from Prince Aritian’s black lips.
“Your Council of Elders knows. I am sure of it! They know of the Mah’Sukai and covet the power they could wield. Your being here—being sent here to spy upon us—that is proof they do not know the secret!”
A wicked grin sprang to his lips, one that never touched his eyes, and he squinted at Alant. A high-pitched laugh filled the room, a laugh without mirth.
“Oh, I do think it is time that you accomplished what you came here for, Tak’ju’nar.”
Turning, the Prince glanced at Delmith.
“Yes, yes. It is time the boy gets what he is seeking. Take him back to his room until I am ready. Have one of the Gralet’nars keep him company!”

With a slight bow of his head, Delmith started toward Alant.
“As you say, my Prince, it shall be done.”
Grasping Alant by the arm—bitter cold penetrated Alant’s flesh where the Elmorr’Antien’s gray fingers touched—he half-led, half-dragged Alant from the room.

A pair of the giant Gralet’nars waited for them at the bottom of the stairs and fell in behind them as they walked down the halls toward the Human quarters. Mulling over all that had transpired, Alant’s mind still reeled with unanswered questions. His imagination rippled with the horrors that could be awaiting him.

It was a shock when Delmith broke the silence. “I do not feel the Prince is correct concerning you, yes?”

Lifting his eyes to his teacher, Alant glared at him.

Former
teacher. I will not be here much longer, no matter what happens.

Alant saw him for what felt like the first time. “I am no spy, no Tak’ju’nar!”

With the slightest bow of the head, Delmith smiled. “As I said, I am inclined to agree, yes? However, that does not explain why none of us can perform a Chi’tar upon you. Nor how it is you know our tongue.” Alant could think of nothing to say, so he kept silent—a silence that forced Delmith to continue. “You are an enigma, Initiate Cor, yes? Unfortunately, there is nothing I can do for you now. Once the Prince has set a course of action, none can alter it, yes?”

“What is to happen to me?” A pit of anguish nestled deep inside Alant’s core, yet the Elmorr’Antien strode along in silence without answering.

When Delmith did answer, he sounded as if he spoke more to himself than to Alant. “Mayhaps nothing. Though, I think not this time. Never before has the Chi’utlan filled so rapidly. It must mean something.” Turning his gaze to Alant, Delmith jumped as if he only just realized Alant still walked by his side. “We shall see, Initiate Cor. We shall see. It will be quite interesting, yes?”

Just before passing under the arch leading to the Human quarters, Delmith stopped short. When Alant stopped too, a Gralet’nar shoved him further down the hall toward his room. Turning from the hallway, Delmith disappeared back the way they had come, still talking to himself. “It will be quite interesting indeed.”

Not wanting to be left alone in the hall with the hulking Warrior Servants, Alant opened his door and entered his room. Sitting on his hard little bed, his mind still a jumble of chaos, he laid down and covered his eyes with his arm.

There is no way out. I am like a sheep waiting on the butcher. Only, I do not know what the butcher intends! Yet, I am not a sheep! I am a man! I will not die sulking. Whatever they intend, I will not give them the satisfaction
of
seeing me afraid ever again!