Vault Of Heaven 01 - The Unremembered (116 page)

Penit waved a dismissive hand. “I will abide no removal of the council for deliberation. By a raising of hands I want a vote now on the dissenter’s guilt.” Penit cast his glance around. The boy’s haunted expression as he looked around the fire circle chilled Tahn to the bone. Without seeing a single juror, he knew the vote. With disquieting pleasure Penit announced, “The record will indicate unanimous conviction. Set the rest down as I now say.” Penit raised his chin so that he might look down his nose at the flames, at the convicted. “For the crime of treason it is hereby declared that Denolan SeFeery is unfit for citizenship in the free city of Recityv. It is further known and witnessed to in this writ that Emerit SeFeery has willfully committed treason against the stewardship entrusted to him and against the right order of progress as held by the Higher Court of Judicature and the Exigents.

“Denolan SeFeery is thus remanded to permanent exile, and in the interest of justice will be given a sentence in the emptiness known as the Scar. With the exception of the First Seat at the regent’s Table, he will remain the only one to know of the trust this judgment represents.

“Anyone known to abet Denolan SeFeery will be adjudged a traitor like unto him and punished accordingly.

“From this day forward, Denolan SeFeery will no longer be referred to with the Emerit honors of his former office. And return to the free walls of Recityv shall be construed as an act of aggression and punished by immediate execution.

“And so it is,” Penit ended, his final word at once the crack of a gavel and the sound of a closing book. All that was spoken hung in the air, seeming to dare contradiction. It came as an epitaph, like words one reads in the stone or journal of a dead man. The Soliel swallowed the feeling, absorbed it. Deafening silence remained, broken only by the hiss of wood.

Then with a touch of familiarity Penit leaned forward. He spoke in a sweet, conversational tone. “Death is too good for you, Denolan. In exile you will feel the weight of your crimes, and the barrenness of the Scar will remind you of the barrenness of my womb, whose only fruit has now been taken from me. There you will live, your sinews growing hard and eventually inflexible. And what will keep you there, you are wondering? Your honor? A guard? An army?” Penit laughed caustically. “Hardly any of these. No, it will be the establishment of an orphanage for foundlings, castaways, the children of unfit parents. The very thing you hoped to prevent will be the tie that holds you to your heated rock. Derelict guardians will be forced to surrender their offspring to the council, which will decide where the babes are to be reared. And to you will be sent a share. A tree will be hollowed as a waypoint and cradle at the edge of your domain. On an appointed day a child will be placed there, given into your care.” Penit sneered with severe reproof. “And if you do not arrive to retrieve the babe, it will die. And thus every cycle of the lesser light will you check the cradle. Some days you will return with only what you bring. Others you will nestle life to your breast and ride more slowly to your home.” Standing back, Penit let a satisfied smile tug at his lips. “Either accept the sentence, or become the murderer you conspired two days ago to be. My officers will be watching; anyone other than you attempting to retrieve the children will be killed. What honor still resides in you may fetter the sentence to you. If not”—Penit’s smile faded, his eyes blank in the firelight—“then the deaths of countless innocents will follow your every sky and cry against you when your life is at its end.

“Grant yourself amnesty? Grant yourself freedom and liberty from this mockery? The mockery is yours, Denolan SeFeery. Mockery of life itself. I am done with you.” Penit ceased, staring into the fire.

Glassy eyed, the boy did nothing more than raise his head heavenward, a last character change. “And I with you. My name in your mouth and the gossip of your court is like the sting of vipers. I will no more answer to it. I am not yours to hold accountable when your law is corrupt. When you violate the basic Charter of man, my obligation to you is annulled. I am free. I am clean … I am Grant.”

Wendra and Sutter turned at the same time Tahn did to look at the broad shoulders of their traveling companion who sat upon a nearby rock. Shock and respect showed in Sutter’s face as he mouthed something Tahn could not understand. Braethen alone did not look. Had he known? Why had he said nothing?

Suddenly, the sound of rushing air rolled toward them. Grant jumped to his feet and took a step into the night, his sword a flash in his hand. In an instant, Mira sprinted out of the darkness toward them. Over her head streaked flaming arrows, humming past her and flashing through the air above their circle.

“On your feet!” the Far yelled, drawing to a quick stop beside the exile to prepare for unseen pursuers.

Tahn jumped up, nocking an arrow and pulling a deep draw in one fluid motion. But he pointed the tip aimlessly toward the darkness beyond the fire, unsure of a target.

Out of the night more flaming arrows brightened against the night, soaring swiftly toward them, the shafts flying in an arc, seeking their target. Streaks of light angled down first toward Mira and Grant, parting the night in rapid, bright lines. As Tahn looked on, the Far and the exile danced away from of the arrows, and just as often turned them harmlessly away with a quick flick of their swords.

Sutter and Braethen took positions a few strides behind Mira, and Wendra placed herself between the arrows and Penit.

In the distance, Tahn heard the deep, resonant beat of a drum. Hearing the ominous droning beat, the hackles on his neck stiffened. Somewhere out there, cloaked by the night, Bar’dyn advanced toward them. How many would be hard to say, but before anyone could think to test the horses’ endurance and flee north, an echoing call of drums answered the first from behind them. They were surrounded. Tahn pulled his draw around, but still saw nothing. Wendra shuffled her feet, trying to decide which direction to shield the boy from.

“Terror tactics.” Grant spoke with a loud but calm voice, never looking away from the south. “They won’t have moved this quickly after us with an entire collough. But the Bar’dyn did not find us without help.”

The drums grew louder, closer. Where was Vendanj? Tahn searched the darkness for the Sheason, but saw nothing. Beyond the close veil of night, Tahn heard the approach of feet—labored, heavy steps, but not clumsy or careless. The sounds bore down on them from the dark.

Then in the distance, a glint of light reflected from two orbs bobbing in the darkness. A second set of eyes appeared, catching the light. Behind these came yet two more. Then all four Bar’dyn emerged from the night at a full run, their stout legs carrying their considerable forms at impossible speeds. No crazed look of ambush or bloodlust characterized their faces as maces and swords were raised to meet Grant and Mira.

Flaming arrows continued to light the sky above them, but these flew straight and seemed more an attempt at confusion than any real attack.

Still there was no sign of Vendanj.

The sound of drums drew closer still. Chaotic rhythms pounded. And just as the Bar’dyn came within three strides from Mira, the sound of footfalls fairly shook the ground behind them. Tahn whirled to see two Bar’dyn barreling in from the north. Wendra shot Tahn a dark look. His sister pivoted to meet the flank attack, and Tahn aimed at the first Bar’dyn coming in from behind.

He whispered his old phrase, now a thought more than anything else, and let fly his arrow.

Tahn’s arrow struck the lead creature in the arm. Without slowing, the Bar’dyn plucked it away as if it was a mere splinter and let it fall beneath his feet. As Tahn drew again he heard weapons and bodies clash behind him. He thought he heard Sutter cry out, but had no time to check on Nails. He released again, aiming for the Bar’dyn’s head. The arrow caught the creature just below the eye. A maddened shriek tore from its throat. The second Bar’dyn raced past his wounded brother and surged into their camp, closing on Wendra and Penit.

As Tahn raised a third draw on the Given closest to his sister, Wendra sang a string of syllables in a sharply dissonant melody. The air began to shimmer, looking like a horizon baking in heat. As Wendra’s voice grew louder and more angered, the camp swirled. Blood began to flow from the first Bar’dyn’s eyes, nose, and ears. But it pushed on as though fighting a river current, moving with deadly intent toward Wendra. A moment later it thrust a massive fist toward Wendra’s neck and grasped her around the throat.

She ceased to sing. The shimmer in the air stopped, and the Bar’dyn’s sluggishness ended. Wendra struggled against the beast’s grip and was thrown to the ground on top of Penit. Tahn tried to retreat a few steps, but the two Bar’dyn slipped behind him and began to drive him away from the firelight. Tahn began to fire his arrows in a blur, as fast as all his speed and skill would let him. Some deflected off the Bar’dyns’ tough skin. Others found home, sticking in the creatures, who wailed as they were struck. Yet Tahn had the feeling that the Bar’dyn did not swing their weapons to kill. And still they came on, pushing him farther from the fire. Tahn realized they were isolating him from the others.

And he was out of arrows.

He looked over at Wendra. He couldn’t tell if she was breathing. Penit struggled to free himself from beneath her. Behind the Quietgiven herding Tahn, Mira and Grant descended on a Bar’dyn simultaneously, swords flashing in the weak light; the Given dropped in a heap. At their side, Sutter brandished his longsword in a huge, sweeping figure eight. His arms worked with fluid intensity as he drove one Bar’dyn back several paces. Another Bar’dyn tried to sideswipe Nails, but before it could land a blow, Braethen was there. A radiant white flash of blade arced in the darkness, followed by a hopeless cry where the Bar’dyn fell.

Mira and Grant parted and drew the advance of two more Given. The whistle of steel wielded by mighty arms sliced toward the Far. One arm went up, deflecting the blow, the other came directly after, catching the Bar’dyn in the neck. A gout of blood splashed Mira across the face.

A second, more cautious creature waited on Grant’s attack. It held a menacing ax, ready to swing. The exile outlasted the Bar’dyn’s patience, his sword held dangling at his side. The Given swung, its great ax descending like a judgment. Grant anticipated the move and leapt close to the Bar’dyn’s wide chest. In a furious thrust, the exile swung his sword up through the underside of the creature’s chin. The creature’s movement ceased immediately.

Tahn looked back at the Bar’dyn pushing him far from his friends. They appeared unconcerned about the deaths of their comrades. The drums continued to pound, filling the night with sound.

Tahn looked around.
Where is Vendanj?

“I am I!”
Out of nowhere, Braethen flashed into Tahn’s view. His battle cry erased the sound of the drums, and caused Tahn’s skin to tingle. With fury, the sodalist came at the Bar’dyn that were pushing Tahn farther away from camp. Sutter rushed to Braethen’s side. But before they could be of any help, arrows hit them in the legs and they both went down in a tumble.

Tahn stood alone.

Then something occurred to him.

He drew his empty bow, rehearsed the oldest words he knew, and aimed.

A look of recognition caught in the Bar’dyn eyes. “We did not choose this, Quillescent. Beware your own destruction if you first seek ours.” It spoke with a soothing intelligence that caught Tahn off guard.

In the next moment the camp grew still. Quiet.

The drums ceased.

All light dwindled; the fire guttered. Tahn’s own wakefulness seemed to ebb. An apparition cloaked in white, parting the two Given that separated Tahn from the others, floated in the air. Even the stars flickered, their immutable light straining in the shadow that surrounded the figure. Icy fear immobilized Tahn, and he dropped his bow. A willowy hand, draped in deep sleeves, rose. It came to point at Tahn. Tahn looked away. He thought he heard the whispers of a generation all rushing into his ears in an instant. With sudden, total weakness in his legs, he fell facefirst into the ground.

But almost immediately, an explosion of flame ripped the apparition apart, and there stood Vendanj, his arms extended toward Tahn. The Sheason swept his hands up toward the sky, and a wave of soil swallowed the last two Bar’dyn. The creatures fell, snatched down into the earth amid the grinding of rocks and twisted roots. They shrieked into the Soliel, their throaty voices calling wildly as they went until their mouths filled with dirt and sand that seemed to flow there intentionally to strangle their cries.

But in the sudden calm, before their mouths were no longer of use to them, one of the Bar’dyn looked up at Tahn with blank, scrutinizing eyes. “You still don’t understand, do you?” the Bar’dyn said, turning a brief look toward the ground where his dead comrades had been swallowed up. “You cannot win a war against an enemy who hasn’t anything to lose.”

Then its mouth was full and its eyes lost their life.

Vendanj rushed to Wendra’s side. The Sheason took his wooden case from the inner lining of his cloak. He produced a single sprig, opened Wendra’s mouth, and placed it on her tongue. Then he took her hand and placed it splay-fingered on his own chest, placing his fingertips against Wendra’s throat. A throaty hum rose from the Sheason’s lips.

Penit sat close, watching Vendanj with fascination and concern. As Vendanj worked, the others were still, watching and hoping.