Authors: Benjamin Tate
Well of Sorrows (60 page)
Eraeth headed directly toward the Hall’s entrance, heavy stone double doors, both flung open to the sunlight. He nodded in passing to the Phalanx inside the foyer, a pair for each House of the Evant, then pushed through a set of polished wooden inner doors.
The Hall within was huge, circular arrays of seats surrounding a large open area. The arch of the circle broke on the opposite side from the entrance, where one large throne flanked by two smaller seats sat on a raised platform lined with folds of a heavy, rich, red fabric, accented in white.
The platform was empty, but the floor was not. Lords and their advisers and escorting Phalanx mingled in a loose throng, the rumble of numerous conversations filling the Hall, the colors of their clothing a bright splash in the pale whites and grays of the stonework and the stark white of the marble floor. Eraeth paused at the top of the stairs descending down to the main floor as he searched those gathered for Rhyssal colors. He tugged Colin’s sleeve, nodding to the left. “Aeren is there.”
They moved down the steps. When they reached Aeren’s side, Eraeth edged behind the Alvritshai Aeren was speaking to and caught his attention. A moment later, Aeren broke off his conversation, and Eraeth pulled him to one side.
“What happened?” Aeren asked. He kept his attention focused on Eraeth, but his eyes roamed the room.
“The acolyte met with someone in the courtyard on Brae.”
“Who?”
Eraeth shook his head, lips pursed. “We don’t know. Only Colin saw him.”
“What did he look like?” Aeren asked, his gaze flicking toward Colin.
“He had dark hair, almost black, and he wore common clothing. But I don’t think he was a commoner.”
“Why not?”
“Because his hair wasn’t long enough. He’d tied it back, but it still seemed too short. Longer than either yours or Eraeth’s, though.”
“Most of the lords don’t wear their hair as short as I do,” Aeren said, “nor do their assistants and aides.” His gaze fixed on someone on the floor, and he asked, “Is that him?” with a barely perceptible nod. “The man in black and gold.”
Colin tried to turn casually and noticed that many of the surrounding Alvritshai were looking at him from the corners of their eyes. Sweat broke out on his back, and his skin prickled. He found the man Aeren had pointed out. Dark hair, cropped shorter than a commoner. But this man’s face was narrower, sharper, giving it a predatory look.
The man in black and gold moved and caught Colin’s gaze. Ice cascaded through Colin’s arms, and with effort he tore his eyes away, but not before he saw the corner of the man’s mouth turn upward in a frigid half-smile.
“Who is that?”
Aeren smiled tightly. “That’s Lord Khalaek,” he said blandly, “my rival in the Evant, the one most likely to oppose my proposal today. He arrived a mere fifteen minutes before you did, which is unusual. Is he the man who met with Benedine?”
Colin shook his head. “No. He has black eyes. The man who met Benedine had dark eyes, but they were brown. And Khalaek’s face is too narrow.”
Aeren sighed in disappointment. “It’s too much to expect Khalaek to be meeting with a lowly acolyte directly.” His eyes suddenly narrowed, his brows coming together in a deep frown, eyes locked on the entrance to the Halls.
Both Colin and Eraeth turned to see Lotaern, along with four acolytes, descending the steps.
“What’s he doing here?” Eraeth asked, his voice sharp. The lull in the surrounding conversation that had occurred when Lotaern arrived ended, and the volume suddenly rose higher. “The Order has no power in the Evant, no representation.”
Aeren didn’t answer, moving swiftly across the marble floor among the rest of the gathered lords and aides to speak with the Chosen at the bottom of the steps. Eraeth and Colin trailed behind. When they caught up, Aeren broke off his conversation with Lotaern and turned immediately to Eraeth. “He was summoned by the Tamaell and asked to attend. It must be because of the sukrael and the attacks in Licaeta.” Aeren’s gaze darted around the Hall, then fell on Colin. “What else happened at this meeting?”
Colin shrugged, feeling his hands clenching in frustration. “Nothing. I couldn’t understand much of what they were saying. The acolyte passed the other man a piece of paper. It was written in Alvritshai, but looked like some type of map.”
“You didn’t take the note?”
Colin’s eyes narrowed. “I couldn’t. That’s not how it works. I’m there, I can see things and move around, but I can’t move anything else while I’m there. I can take things with me and leave them, but when I let go of them they return to their proper time. They simply change position.”
“Their proper time?” Eraeth asked.
“It’s as if time has slowed. If I concentrate and push hard enough, I can even go backward and visit an event that has already occurred. But I can’t change it in any way. Trust me, I’ve tried.” Eraeth drew breath to ask a question, but Colin anticipated him. “I can’t go forward and see what will happen either. I’ve tried that as well.”
Eraeth let his breath out in a sigh.
“Interesting,” Aeren said, “and potentially useful.” He turned back to the Chosen and spoke in a hushed voice, Lotaern’s gaze falling heavily on Colin, enough to make him shift uncomfortably. Colin had sensed the Chosen’s curiosity about in him since their initial meeting in the Lotaern’s rooms. He thought that curiosity had faded, but now, with Lotaern’s eyes boring into him . . .
The sharp rap of metal against stone rang out through the hall, echoing in the vaulted ceiling. All conversation ceased, and Colin turned to see an escort of the White Phalanx accented in red and white now surrounding the raised platform containing the throne and flanking seats. Two guardsmen standing at the corners of the platform carried what looked like large metal pikes, which they raised in unison and drove into the marble at their feet, calling the room to order.
Eraeth grabbed Colin’s sleeve to catch his attention, and they followed Aeren to where a section of the circular seating had been draped with cloth of blue and red. Everyone in the Hall moved to their prescribed area as one of the White Phalanx near the platform stepped forward and cleared his throat. As he spoke, Eraeth leaned to the side and translated for Colin.
“This session of the Evant, under the Ascension of House Resue, with all of the Lords of the Houses of the Evant in attendance, and under the auspicious and blessed eye of the Order of Aielan—” here the attendant bowed toward Lotaern, who nodded in acknowledgment as a murmur rose among the lords “—is hereby called to order.” The two Phalanx with the pikes slammed them into the floor twice more. “Tamaell Fedorem, Tamaea Moiran, and Tamaell Presumptive Thaedoren,” the attendant announced. Then he dropped to one knee, back bent, head bowed, hands resting on the upthrust knee.
Colin saw Aeren’s back straighten as the three Alvritshai entered the room, emerging from some hidden doorway behind the platform, the Tamaell first, followed by the Tamaea and the Tamaell Presumptive. Beside him, Eraeth’s breath caught, and Colin scanned the room, noticed the same shocked wariness on the faces of most of the lords in attendance.
“What is it?” Colin whispered to Eraeth.
“The Tamaell’s heir hasn’t been called to a session of the Evant for nearly twenty years. He shouldn’t even be in Caercaern. He’s part of the White Phalanx, one of their caitans, and he’s been carrying out duties along the dwarren border since a falling out with his father. Each House has its own Phalanx and guards its own borders, but the White Phalanx augments those forces and shares the burden since the Tamaell’s House does not border either the human or the dwarren lands. Since their argument, Thaedoren has elected to remain on the border. The Tamaell must have recalled him.”
“Recalled him in secret,” Aeren added without turning, his voice drifting back to them. “It doesn’t appear that any of the other lords knew of it.”
Colin drew breath to ask what it meant, but at that moment, the Tamaea and the Tamaell Presumptive both took their seats at a gesture from the Tamaell. The attendant who had announced him rose and moved swiftly back into the line of Phalanx beneath the platform, all of the guardsmen now standing at attention.
Then the Tamaell began to speak, his deep voice filling the room. After a moment, Colin realized that Eraeth had no intention of translating the entire session, but he tugged on Eraeth’s sleeve and asked, “What’s he saying?”
Eraeth looked down on him with an annoyed glare, then said, “He’s introducing Aeren as the reason for the summons. In a moment, he’s going to hand it over to him. I won’t be able to translate with everyone’s eyes on him, so shut up.”
Before Colin could react, the Tamaell motioned toward Aeren and then settled back onto his throne. Aeren hesitated a moment, head bowed, then rose and stepped out into the central oval.
When he finally spoke, his gaze circling the gathered lords, catching all of their attention, his voice was steady, slow, and purposeful. Colin saw the tension at the corners of his eyes and felt the same power vibrating throughout the chamber that he’d heard in the King’s chambers at Corsair. He struggled to understand what Aeren said, determined that he spoke of the dwarren and assumed it was about the meeting on the plains, but his grasp on Alvritshai was too tenuous. Yet he felt the earnestness behind the words, the conviction.
Colin glanced toward Eraeth, but the Protector was focused entirely on Aeren and on how the other lords were reacting. He sighed and settled back, began taking in the lords and their retinues.
The Chosen of the Order had been seated on the far side of the circle, opposite the Tamaell. He kept his attention on Aeren, but occasionally an attendant would approach and after a discreet pause, or when Aeren had turned slightly away, the Chosen would accept a note, or lean back to receive a whispered message. Often, he would simply nod, or his glance would shoot toward one of the other lords with a frown or small gesture with one hand. Only once did he actually murmur in return, the messenger scurrying back.
Colin followed this messenger with his eyes and grunted to himself when he realized the messenger had come from Lord Khalaek. The lord received the response with a dark, worried frown and glanced toward Lotaern, but the Chosen ignored him. Disgusted, Khalaek’s hand formed into a fist, his glance skipping toward two of the other lords, ones that Colin didn’t know, before settling on the Tamaell.
Colin didn’t know what was going on, but Khalaek appeared troubled.
He’d begun to turn away when a slight movement behind Khalaek caught his eye.
Someone had entered the room late and now shifted forward through the seats to join Khalaek’s retinue. He moved slowly so as not to draw attention to himself, like the messengers, but unlike the messengers, he came from the height of the room, not from those seated around the central circle of the hall.
Colin shifted forward and scanned the room, but neither Eraeth nor Aeren had noticed the new arrival. He turned back in time to see the man slip closer to Khalaek, standing back, waiting patiently to be acknowledged, something held in one hand. His face was turned away, but when Khalaek finally noticed him and leaned back, the man turned and faced Colin directly.
Brown eyes. Angular features. Short hair, but not short enough to be a member of the Phalanx, not long enough to be a commoner.
Colin gasped, the sound cutting through the growing conversation on the floor as more and more lords rose to question Aeren. Aeren cut off, turning toward Colin with a raised eyebrow, but Eraeth spun with a glare, one hand clamping down hard on Colin’s shoulder as he hissed for silence. Colin waved an apology, not daring to look in Khalaek’s direction.
When Aeren turned back to address the Evant again, Colin yanked on Eraeth’s sleeve hard enough that the Protector growled.
“It’s him,” Colin said. “The man who met Benedine.”
Eraeth straightened. “Where?”
“He came in after Aeren started speaking and handed Lord Khalaek a note.”
“The note he got from Benedine?”
“I think so, but I can’t tell from here. Should I—?” He made a fluttering gesture with his hand, but Eraeth’s eyes widened slightly in horror.
“Not here!”
Colin frowned in disgust, but then his gaze fell on Lotaern. The Chosen was watching him with that same concentrated interest he’d shown before. The other lords may have turned their attention back to Aeren, but not Lotaern.
“Keep an eye on him as best you can,” Eraeth said, his own gaze flicking toward Khalaek’s location, but not lingering long. “I’ll inform Aeren.” He shifted forward, so that he stood beside the seat designated for Aeren, unobtrusive, but far enough forward to catch Aeren’s attention.
Colin settled in to watch the man who’d met with Benedine, conscious of Lotaern’s continued interest as a prickling of the hairs on the back of his neck.
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