“None from Ekendoré, Lord Soren,” she answered. “But if you ask
what news from Udan
, I must answer differently. Udan fell to the Hodyn—three days ago.”
Silent shock registered on their faces. Caleb’s insides twisted: the reality of war was beginning to hit home. Then the Raéni poured out a barrage of questions and exclamations.
Soren silenced it with a shout, then faced Wirden. “Didn’t Garda relay our messages to Rewba?”
“She did, but it wasn’t much help. The enemy cut our best fighters to ribbons with those ‘fire weapons,’ or whatever you call them. Caught us totally by surprise.”
“They approached the fort without being seen?” blurted one of the Raéni. “Where were your scouts?”
“That’s exactly what we can’t figure out,” she said. “We sent them out to search the entire region as soon as we got your message. They found no sign of the Hodyn. Then early in the evening—four days ago, now—we heard news that hundreds of the enemy had assembled less than five miles to the east. They were at our walls within a few hours.”
Wirden shook her head, as if in disbelief of her own words. “They only used a few of these evil weapons, but the Hodyn rallied around them. Before long we knew Udan was doomed. Lord Rewba chose six Raéni, including myself, to escape and warn Ekendoré. Only three of us reached the city.” She gestured at the young man at her side. “Toár here saw the fortress fall, and escaped with Lord Rewba and a handful of others after we did.”
“Rewba’s alive?” Soren asked. “Where is he?”
“At the palace, my lord,” Toár answered, bowing his head and speaking with the formality common of new recruits. “He already met with the Overseer, of course, and hopes for your timely return. Lord Hené sent a force north of the Quayen to bivouac along the road for our defense, and to give first warning. He sent Wirden and I to catch up to the Raéni scouts he dispatched to Léiff before he heard about Udan.”
“We met them yesterday. They knew nothing about the attack.” Soren peered beneath Wirden’s hood. “Though I don’t understand why he would send an injured Raén on such a mission.”
“I insisted,” she said quietly. “I wished to atone for my behavior in Udan.”
Soren’s eyes hardened. “For my part, you are forgiven. But I’m not the only one you owe an apology to.”
At last she turned to Caleb. He had been dreading this moment all during the conversation, but perhaps she saw things differently now. She took a few limping steps toward him. “I can only claim ignorance as an excuse. I offer the apology of a very humbled Raén.”
“It would accomplish nothing to hold a grudge against you,” Caleb managed to say. “Yet a question comes to my mind: What if you’d known it was Warren?”
“My answer won’t change what happened. You are here, so I’m obligated to apologize for my error—nothing more.”
“What about Joásen? He’s the one who exiled me.”
Wirden hesitated, a look of pain or perhaps anger darkening her eyes. She faced Soren again. “Forgive me, my lord. Joásen is dead.”
Caleb’s self-righteousness vanished in an instant. He waited in nervous expectation, but Soren did not cry out or display any kind of emotion. He blinked at Wirden as if confused, then bowed his head.
The Raéni standing near shifted nervously. Caleb knew how close Soren had been to his father, and he saw the soldier in him fighting for control, hiding his grief from those under his command. In time Soren nodded, as if he had been expecting this for some time.
“My lord,” Wirden murmured, “Toár and I must hurry if we’re to find the other scouts in time.”
Soren emerged from his trance. “Of course.” Wirden and Toár returned to their horses as he addressed the company. “We ride until we reach the city.”
Caleb said nothing as they resumed their journey, knowing it was inappropriate to offer any comfort in front of his soldiers. Save for matters of necessity, Soren kept to himself for the remainder of the day as they rode forward at a swift pace, pushing their teams to the limit.
♦
Evening approached, and the inviting picture of Ekendoré appeared at last. Caleb could make out the silver spires of Wsaytchen, as well as the massive pale stones of Krengliné halfway between, all fading in the light. But as they drew closer he saw that the gates of the Old Wall were closed, and by the comments he overheard it was the first time in generations. Soren hailed the guards above, who acknowledged him and gave the sign to let them through.
The last of the day’s light faintly illuminated the snow-covered valley beyond, and shadowed the high bank of Sonién miles away. In time they passed the smaller gate there, and after nearly sixty days of exile, Caleb Stenger returned to Ekendoré. He remembered that early summer day with Telai and Warren, when he had clung to the boat like a frightened cat. Now the Tarn was frozen thick beneath a layer of snow. As they rounded the lake he sought out Gerentesk among the city lights, and beyond it the cherished home and its balcony where he had first kissed her.
The other Raéni took the teams away and went to find lodging for the night. Soren, tired as he was, would not rest until he spoke to Rewba, or at least Garda. Caleb’s feet dragged as he followed his companion up the street to the tall, engraved doors of Wsaytchen.
Soren tugged on the rope, and the clear toll from above engulfed Caleb in a wave of bitterness. For one terrible instant he saw Warren at his side, agape and full of wonder again. It wounded him to the core, and he wished now he had gone away to his quarters like the others, leaving matters of war to the Master Raén.
The doors opened, and Soren informed Derré that he needed to meet with Lord Rewba as soon as possible. After recovering from the shock of seeing them both again, Derré nodded curtly and hurried off to obey.
Another attendant stood nearby in the shadows, a young man barely out of adolescence with a Fetra at his side. At this late hour the exquisite dome beyond was lost in gloom, and Caleb wandered in and lowered himself to a bench along the wall. Soren stood close by, his dark form silhouetted against the light from the vestibule.
“I’d like to ask something rather personal,” Caleb said.
“Then perhaps you shouldn’t ask,” Soren answered. He paused. “What is it?”
“I’d like to know why you never publicly acknowledged Telai as—”
“That’s enough!” Soren barked, the lofty rotunda echoing his words. He peeked around into the vestibule, then bent forward to point at Caleb. “I want you to get one thing straight,” he whispered. “I refuse to discuss that subject even in private, let alone at the center of Wsaytchen. You are never to bring it up in my presence again—or anyone else’s!”
“I don’t give a flying ball of filth about your past, Soren,” Caleb hissed. “All I know is she’s gone off to Tnestiri, and Hendra knows where else, and I won’t be around to help her.
I’ve
abandoned her,
you’ve
abandoned her … ” He pointed a trembling finger toward the door. “You have no idea what it was like to just stand there and watch her leave, not after I lost … ”
Caleb bowed his head, clenching his fists. Warren’s name refused to pass his lips. It was as if some protective instinct had kicked in, preventing an eruption of agony that would have torn him apart.
Soren drew back, watching in silence as Caleb fought for control. “Then you’ve done her a disservice as well.”
“What are you talking about?”
“She’s stronger than you give her credit for. You must honor her commitment to duty by finding an equal strength in yourself.”
“My lord,” came a quiet voice out of the gloom. They turned to see the door attendant approaching. He stood before the Master Raén, his young face drawn with worry as he gripped the hilt of his sword. “Forgive the intrusion, but—can you tell me about this latest news hanging over the city? The Hodyn captured Udan by sorcery, or so I was told.”
“You could call it that,” Soren answered. “But my friend here comes from a place where sorcery is as common as the Fetra is to us.” He swayed wearily, and braced a hand against the wall. “What’s your name, son?”
“Onné, sir.”
“Well, Onné, sleep well tonight. We’ve brought some of that same sorcery to defend the city. Ekendoré shall stand!”
Even through the pang of his heartache, Caleb managed a smile of admiration. Hopelessness was simply not in this man’s vocabulary.
♦
Derré returned, and they followed her through an archway to the left, then up a long, straight staircase leading through a wide buttress to one of the smaller towers. At the top they crossed a circular foyer, its paneled walls warmly lit by gold-trimmed lanterns between several richly-engraved walnut doors. The one directly opposite stood slightly open, until Derré swung it wide to let them in.
Rewba, Master Raén and Underseer of Udan, stood robed before them in the midst of a small but luxuriously furnished room. Despite his brown, closely-cropped hair, a pug-nose, and standing nearly a head shorter than the others, he bore the hard-won lines of authority Caleb had come to recognize. But his eyes were full of sleep and sorrow, and one arm lay wrapped in a sling. He gestured for Soren and Caleb to enter, and Derré left, quietly shutting the door behind her.
“Thank Hendra for your safe return, Lord Soren,” he said, bowing. He turned to Caleb, his voice brightening a little. “No doubt this is the one man I’ve longed to meet, but until now in vain. Caleb Stenger, the—er—Falling Man, am I correct?”
“Yes,” Caleb answered, fighting off his resentment of the nickname. “I regret the earlier circumstances that prevented such a meeting.”
“Ah—that!” he said, raising his eyebrows. “I’ve spoken to Wirden, as well as … ” He turned to his superior. “Lord Soren—”
The old Raén waved a hand to forestall him. “No need, Rewba. We met Wirden herself, and Toár, beyond the Old Wall earlier today. She told us everything she knew.”
Rewba scrutinized him. “I see. Be seated, gentlemen. You must be tired. As for myself, I’m still recovering from my flight from Udan—despite my injury a weariness more of heart than of limb. But I’m ready to stay up through the night to discuss the matter of Ada’s defense.”
Caleb found a cushioned chair, and Soren took an oak one near the wall. “That won’t be necessary, unless more news reaches us,” the Master Raén said, his voice betraying some of the weariness Rewba mentioned. “Details can wait until we’re rested and our minds are clearer. But Wirden told me you knew of the messages we sent from Gebi and Spierel.”
“Yes—both well written, if I may say so. So there’s no need to explain the nature of this new evil, unless you’ve discovered a way to defeat it. We were helpless in Udan. It was a prudent move on your part to declare Kerraél.”
“Kerraél?” Caleb asked.
“Martial law,” Rewba explained. “Here in Ekendoré, citizen and soldier alike are involved in preparing the city for its defense—bladesmiths and bowyers and the like, all directed by Hené. I help wherever I can, but my doctor is a fussy old man who enjoys the Overseer’s blessing, unfortunately. But didn’t your letter say you were bringing this very same evil here to the city?”
“Evil does not lie in a tool, but in its use, friend,” Soren answered. “We’ve trained several of our Raéni with these new weapons.”
“You brought them here? How many?”
“Eighteen, plus six larger ones to defend the Great Wall.”
Rewba straightened in his chair. “Hope, indeed! Too bad they didn’t get here sooner.”
Caleb muttered a curse. “I should have destroyed that damned ship when I had the chance.”
Silence fell. “No, Caleb Stenger,” Rewba said at last. “If you had, we would be defenseless now against the Bringer of Evil. It’s the Lor’yentré that should have been destroyed, not your weapons.” His eyes filled with pity. “I grieve with you. No father should ever—”
“What about the defense of the city?” Caleb said. “Tell me what I need to do, and I’ll do it!”
Rewba shifted in his chair. Soren began, “If we weren’t so tired—”
The sudden click of the door handle interrupted him. Derré entered the room, her lips pressed thin and her shoulders drawn tight. Soren opened his mouth to protest the intrusion, then stiffened as Garda walked in.
“My lady,” they all murmured, rising to a stand.
The Overseer dismissed Derré with a nod, then stood in the doorway, her dark glance darting from one man to the next. “Am I to be the last person informed of your arrival, Master Raén of Ada?”
“I did not wish to disturb your sleep, my lady.”
She pointed at Rewba. “But you have no compunctions against disturbing the sleep of a wounded and weary man. Or do you think I lack concern for those who have fled a hopeless battle?”
Rewba stepped forward. “It’s been no inconvenience on my part, my lady.”
Garda ignored him, her stare drilling into Soren’s. “My apologies, Overseer,” he said, though there was a hint of irritation to his voice. “I meant no disrespect.”
Her expression shifted between hesitation and fury. “How dare you send her on such a quest,” she breathed at last. “She’s not a soldier—she’s not yours to command!”
Soren squared his shoulders, as if ready to charge into battle. “Ada is under Kerraél now. All able-bodied citizens are subject to my authority.”
“And you are subject to mine! You had no right to make that decision without my consent. And
you,
” she snapped, pointing at Caleb. “You have much to answer for as well. It was your idiotic fantasy of magic healing that brought this disaster upon us to begin with!”
“It was not my intention to—”
“To act foolishly, with no concern for my people? To destroy ten centuries of Adan toil and sacrifice?”
Soren took a half step forward. “
Please
, my lady.”
She paid no heed to him. “I should have trusted my instincts more at your Judgment last summer. May Hendra forgive me! Why did you come here with your foul devices, and your cowardice? Go back to—”
“
My lady!
” Soren cried, the practiced art of command sharp in his voice. She faced him, her hands tightening to fists as his words punctuated the air between them. “May I speak to you in private?”