Obsidian (25 page)

When they arrived at the Stoa, the rain had still not let up. Hull could barely see the crowd, though he knew it must stretch for hundreds of yards into the surrounding streets. “Fellow soldiers!” he called, projecting his voice as well as he could. There was no response. He tried the call again. In the end, it took four bellows to get the Square to quiet down.

“I am here to give you directions, not a speech. I trust that those Risen Ones who can hear me will relay my words to those who cannot. I was sent here by General Chiyo. But I am also the proud father of the two Advocates. They have been granted the authority to give orders. Vancien is young,” he brought forward his youngest, who was lingering behind a column. “But he will have charge of. . .”

His words were drowned out by shouts of protest. The Risen Ones looked on in amazement as Lascombe’s soldiers started a cry of “Imposter!”

One of the men close to Hull rattled his sword. “That boy’s not the Advocate!” he bellowed. “Lord Corfe is!”

Despite the calm, reasonable murmurs of the Risen Ones to the contrary, his cry was taken up by others around him. Hull was beginning to think he was going to have to take coercive action when Corfe himself, accompanied by Telenar, appeared at his side. They had obviously been running.

As soon as the soldiers saw him, they gave a hearty roar. But Corfe, once he had caught his breath, put up a hand to stop them.

“Good men and Sentries of Lascombe,” he shouted hoarsely, “do not shout my name. My name is nothing.
I
am nothing. I have made a horrible mistake.”

The roar stopped, first in the front, then towards the back as his words were passed on.

“Though I love the Prysm,” Corfe continued, “I was in error. I am not the Advocate. I never was the Advocate. But this man,” he put a hand on Vancien’s shoulder, “
is
Kynell’s chosen. He is the one equipped to lead you into battle. He is the reason that we have the Risen Ones among us.”

Before the troops could protest again, he gestured to the Risen Ones. “If you don’t believe me, believe them. They have come from Kynell himself! Do they not acknowledge Vancien as the Advocate?” he asked urgently.

The Risen Ones did not disappoint. As one, they saluted Vancien and cried “Vancien pa Hull, Advocate of the Prysm!”

They did not stop their chant there, however. Changing the angle of their salute, they shouted again, “Amarian pa Hull, Advocate of the Prysm!”

Amarian had also been hiding behind a column, watching the scene. When he heard his name, he stepped out. The crowd, excepting the Risen Ones, cried out in anger when it saw him. Some of them threatened to rush the Stoa, so enraged were they by the sight of him. The Sentries were as confused as they had ever been.

Amarian flinched but did not retreat. He watched with no small amount of distress as the Risen Ones restrained the troops. But they could not stop the shouting. Cries of “Murderer!” “Traitor!” and even “Dragonmaster!” all piled on top of each other in a chorus of accusation.

Both Corfe and Hull were shouting at the top of their voices to stay the crowd. Bedge, who had been following Amarian, moved protectively between her master and the soldiers. With front paws planted and hackles raised, she growled—a deep, throaty sound Amarian had never heard from her before. Some of the men laughed at this show of defiance. Those who were better acquainted with fennels gave her wide birth.

It was the piercing shriek of an Ealatrophe that stilled all protests. Thelámos’s cry cut through the shouts and the rain as he swept low over the assembly, landing in a hastily cleared area at the base of the steps.

There was a rider on his back. Unlike everyone gathered in the Stoa, he didn’t carry a sword or a shield. He dismounted, patted Thelámos on the neck, and led him up the steps, out of the rain. The crowd watched in surprise. Most of the Lascombian soldiers had never seen an Ealatrophe before, and the Risen Ones were just as taken aback by its presence as their comrades.

Once under the protection of the Stoa, he shook his head and clothes free of excess water, then pushed his hair back from his forehead. Then he began to study the crowd, as if he had come for no other purpose.

Vancien, a little offended that someone would dare ride Thelámos
,
decided to speak first. He didn’t know who this newcomer was, but clearly some questions were in order. “Who are you? Have you been sent from Chiyo? How is it that you can ride an Ealatrophe?”

The stranger began to roll up his sleeves, giving his answer to the stones at his feet. “I have not been sent from Chiyo. And Thelámos is an old friend of mine.”

Vancien started forward. “Then who are you? Why don’t you look us in the eye?” He glanced back at his father, who was also staring at the man. “You are not a Risen One.”

The man still gazed at the stones. “No, I am not a Risen One. Neither are you. Not yet.”

Vancien, keenly aware of the Obsidian army’s proximity, did not want to waste any more time in conversation. “Is that a threat? Look, I don’t know how you got on Thelámos, but if you can state your business, we can get on with ours.”

The man lifted his gaze even as Vancien heard Hull shout a warning. Then he felt his heart constrict as it had not done since his first experience with the Destrariae. He heard his name, but saw only Amarian as a young boy, stolidly taking a lashing for something he, Vancien, had done. He tried to look away, but other realities crowded in. Some of them he recognized from his past, some from his imagination, and some from his dreams. He felt himself try to embrace Verial, a woman forbidden to him, and felt again the rush of anger at Telenar for stopping him. He became aware that deep down, he was faithless, but that knowledge was no comfort. It was just a trivial admission from a small soul, whose punishment should be the greater for its pettiness.

The man was still looking at him, but now it was just a look, the same as any man would give. At first Vancien considered blaming him for such horrible visions, but then he realized that the man had only revealed the truth. Vancien could not accuse him of anything; his own shallow failings were too obvious. He felt impure, not because his impurity had increased in that moment, but because he realized that he was in the presence of purity itself.

He looked around and saw all the Risen Ones kneeling in the rain.

“My God,” he whispered, sliding to his knees.

Amarian and the others had watched Vancien go rigid, then fall to the ground. They saw the Risen Ones kneeling in worship. They felt their hearts pricked by something both terrible and delightful as the thought began to occur to them, “Could it be?”

Then they, too, were on their knees before Kynell, god of the Prysm, the Light of Rhyvelad and the Deliverer of Every Age.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

When Kynell spoke, his voice had the clarity and force of rushing water. He addressed his comments to everyone, and even those at the back of the crowd could hear him. Not everyone could tell at first who he was, and when they did hear the truth, every reaction was different. Several knelt, some tried to push to the front, many stood in shock, and a large handful shook their heads and slipped back into the dark streets, muttering about too many apparitions for one night.

“People of Lascombe, some of you know me, and it is good to see you!” He emphasized the word “good,” and those nearest him could see that he really meant it. His face was bright with cheer, as if he had just come from a tremendous feast and desired nothing more than to share it with others. Even the weather gave him cause to smile; he held out his hand to the rain in a gesture of invitation and several raindrops obligingly dropped into it. Then he reached out and rested one hand on Amarian’s shoulder and another on Vancien’s.

“These men—both of them, now—have served me well. I am pleased with them.”

A couple Risen Ones nodded, as if they had expected Kynell might come for the sole purpose of commending the Advocates. But he wasn’t finished. “The Ages have told you about the time of the Advocates. As you know, it has
come many times in the past. It is here now. But now I am going to do something—”

“He’s not really the Advocate is he?” A slender man in the front interrupted, his finger pointing at Vancien. He was quickly hushed by the men around him, though Kynell had already stopped his speech to glance down.

“You think that I was lying? Let him go,” he added, as the man began to disappear beneath a pile of scandalized Risen Ones.

The man returned to his feet. He had a bookish appearance, as if he had just left the library to fight a war. “I just don’t understand it. I have scarcely even heard of, of—what’s your name, young man?”

“Vancien pa Hull,” Vancien supplied.

“Vancien. Now I know that Lord Corfe has been with us for a while and of course, he’s a good man. He follows you, after all, although I wonder who you really are. I have read the passages that talk about the Advocates, and it seems clear that a man with his dramatic story could serve in the role. Like I said, I have never heard of that one.” He pointed again at Vancien.

The crowd watched the god of the Prysm, wondering if the rude fellow would be struck by lightning or vanish in a mist.

“What’s your name?” Kynell finally asked.

The man grinned. “You know that as well as I do.”

“I do. Your name is Clive.”

“Earnest. Clive Earnest. With an emphasis on that last syllable, as you also know. It’s because of my Ulanese heritage.”

Vancien couldn’t help rolling his eyes. The man was not only rude, but a bore.

But Kynell had fixed his gaze on him. “Clive Earnest, you are acting like a fool. And you have left your son at home. Why hasn’t he been evacuated with the other children?”

Clive fidgeted. “He’s very weak, as you know. A serious cough. The dampness of the tunnels. . .I fear it would do him in. But I’ve placed him in a safe location.” His voice wavered, as if he would like to be more certain of the boy’s safety. “I didn’t have a choice.”

Kynell dismounted the steps to stand in front of him. “Go to your son,” he said, speaking so Clive and those around him could hear. “He is well. Take him into the tunnels and stay there with him. And go without shame.”

Clive’s eyes lit up. He stared at Kynell for a moment, as if not comprehending what he had heard, then he turned and began pushing his way through the crowd, which tried its best to let him through. Those who could see him as he broke free later said that they had never seen a man move so quickly as did Clive Earnest.

Kynell hurried up the stairs to face the crowd. He clapped his hands again on Vancien and Amarian. “These two have served me well,” he repeated, and his voice clapped like thunder. “But they are no longer my Advocates. I
will be your Advocate now.”

__________

The dawn brought a reprieve from the rain. But it also brought a dim shadow on the horizon. Obsidian’s army had arrived. The watchers on the walls tried not to sound panicked as they shared what they saw, but panic was inevitable. Telenar made no attempt to hide it.

“They’re here! What in the Chasm are they doing here? They’re not supposed to be here until the afternoon!” He was standing with Chiyo on the eastern wall, gripping a range glass in his hand. Chiyo was staring in shock. Both men had woken up from a very short night’s sleep just minutes before. For a moment, they had both forgotten what Telenar had seen personally and what Chiyo had learned from witnesses: Kynell himself was in the city.

“So what do we do?” Telenar asked, beginning to pace. “They’re already here! What
can
we do?”

Chiyo watched his friend slosh through the puddles that had gathered on the battlements. Despite their grim situation, he couldn’t help but smile. Telenar was a great priest, but no soldier. His temper was too volatile.

“If what you say is true, Kynell is here with us. I wish I could be with him. . .” his voice trailed off.

Telenar ran a hand over his spectacles. What right had he to panic when the god of the Prysm was here among them? He looked down at the men who were soaking the buildings in the hopes of preventing fiery missiles from doing too much damage. He could see Kynell in the street below, his sleeves rolled up, taking a bucket in his turn and heaving its contents on exposed timbers. Telenar’s mind still reeled. If asked earlier what would be the effect of the Prysm god on common men, Telenar would have said they would be so awestruck as to be immobile—useless for anything but worship. But he saw instead that Kynell invigorated everyone around him. Instead of falling on their faces, they went to their task with renewed energy. He even heard laughter drifting up into the gray sky.

“Does he know, do you think?” Chiyo asked, following his gaze.

“He must. The question is, should we wait for him to say anything or go on with the plans we’ve already laid out?”

“If I send a messenger to ask him, he will only join the soaking crew. I’ve already lost two men this morning. Let’s tell the Risen Ones and the generals, though I’m guessing they already know.”

After his conversation with Telenar, Chiyo went about his duties like a machine. When he had heard the news of Kynell’s arrival the night before, he had sent a messenger (the only messenger who returned) to offer the Prysm god command of the city. The messenger had this statement to relay: “Keep to your post. I did not come to command.” And so Chiyo, after wisely getting a few hours’ rest, continued in his task, not taking time out even to see Kynell in person, as many of his men had done.