Vault Of Heaven 01 - The Unremembered (105 page)

“And what of the others?” The regent lifted her cane and swept it around the room. “What justifies their risk?”

Vendanj’s head turned a bit aside, his eyebrows rising. “Their choice,” Vendanj said finally, as though he could not help but believe the regent knew the answer. His face again became placid. “And more, my Lady, but none of the rest matters.”

The answer seemed to satisfy her, but she did not look pleased. Tahn thought this elderly woman’s stately eyes yet flashed talons and teeth.

The regent turned to steal a look at Artixan, who lowered his head in a half nod. Somehow, this put her more at ease. When she looked back, a resolved expression showed upon her face. “Very well, Sheason. What help are we to you?”

“An envoy must be sent immediately to the library at Qum’rahm’se. Quietgiven will seek it out to own or destroy. It is known, even to them, to be the greatest repository of knowledge we have on the covenant language. It will become among their primary goals to restore to themselves a conversant tongue with the lost language, since it has the power to make or unmake inherent in its use. Send General Van Steward’s best hundred men. Armored wagons. And bring the entire library here where it can be kept safe.”

Tahn suddenly remembered his cloak. Quickly, he thrust his hands inside, and sighed with relief at the shape of the sticks still concealed within. He’d not had an opportunity to locate Dolun’pel, and decided that he would have to trust the Sheason with the contents of the parchments hidden within his garment. He pulled them out and held them up. “Sutter and I were forced from the road out of Squim. We traveled east to the river, then north, where we smelled fire.”

Vendanj took the sticks from Tahn’s trembling fingers. The Sheason seemed to know the end of the tale from the beginning.

Tahn told of Edholm the scrivener and the melted rock of Qum’rahm’se Library. He explained how they had gone inside and how the scrivener had made them each write an account of what had happened, and how he told them to carry the parchments in these sticks to Recityv.

Vendanj broke the seals and withdrew the testimonies. He read Sutter’s, then Tahn’s. Next he rolled open Edholm’s parchment and looked it over. As his eyes scanned the lines, a still, calm anger touched his features. When he finished, he lowered the scroll, his fury emanating from him in palpable waves. Finally, he held up the fourth, larger stick but did not open it.

“The library is burned. Nothing remains.” Vendanj replaced the scrolls into their respective sticks. “There is no copy now of the Tract of Desolation. Translation would be impossible without the generations of research and scholarship it inspired. What we might have hoped to gain for ourselves of the covenant language is lost.” Vendanj turned to the regent. “Send word to Descant. They no longer have the protection of redundancy. If something should happen to the Tract, we have the memory of its singers alone by which to recall it.”

Tahn’s mind raced. A dozen stories told at Northsun descended upon him in a rush, things he hadn’t thought of in years, tales he’d read to himself in the waning hours of day. Everyone held their silence in the wake of the revelation. Tahn noted a kind of serenity in Mira’s face that either welcomed death or was not concerned over the loss at Qum’rahm’se. He lay captivated—maybe more now that he’d passed the Change—by the Far’s steadfast calm. And her soft, luminous eyes.

Vendanj continued. “Regent, the hundred that you might have sent to Qum’rahm’se send instead to keep watch over the cathedral. Dress them in common clothes. Metal and color would invite speculation. But chance not to leave it unprotected. The Tract of Desolation, though a fable to this season of men, is a keystone we cannot afford to lose. Without it, we would be unmade.”

Penit tapped Wendra, who had pulled him so tightly against herself that when she released him, he drew a ragged breath. She smiled an apology, and he amiably took her hand. Behind a grave expression, she, too, seemed to harbor secrets. Tahn hated the look of it. Wendra had always, even at work, whether forking out the barn or washing the cook pots, worn a smile.

The regent cleared her throat, a small sound. “It will take a vote of the High Council, but it will be done. We will put to the test our new Child’s Voice.” The regent looked down at Penit. “You should know the boy has shown the highest honor and wisdom, Sheason, refusing to take the ribbon at the Lesher Roon so that another better suited might sit at my table. His personal sacrifice for the common good emboldens me. For that, I nearly gave him the seat. But it would seem now that he has other works to perform.”

Vendanj gave Penit a knowing look, eyed Tahn briefly, and then turned again to the boy. “Indeed he has.”

Tahn did not like the way Vendanj said it. It was the ominous, multiple-layered speech of the Sheason. And the look in Vendanj’s eye felt like nothing so much as a farmer looking over his spring stock. It reminded Tahn of the indifference he’d previously witnessed in the Sheason. He must not forget it. And when he looked over at Sutter, Tahn saw his friend’s obvious concern for the lad. Clearly, Sutter, too, had heard some second meaning in the Sheason’s words.

“What needs to be done?” Grant interjected. “The boys will sleep until dark. I don’t intend to spend one unnecessary moment in the marble arrogance of Solath Mahnus.”

The regent stiffened. She rounded slowly on the man to face him. “If it weren’t more cruel to leave you in exile, I’d have you strung up this hour. What a waste of a man you are. I’ll allow you to accompany the Sheason for his sake. But curb your tongue until you find yourself outside with the animals, or you’ll wear stripes as easily as your boots. I may be old, but I am
not
too old to exercise the powers of my office.”

A terrible authority filled the regent’s voice as she spoke, something Tahn did not believe could be learned simply by filling a role. The guards beside the door straightened at the sound of it.

Grant stood still beneath her threat. Without any trepidation, he spoke in a soft voice. “Does all this not show you that I was right even then?” He returned the regent’s stare a moment more, then opened the door and departed, closing it softly.

“Go with him,” Vendanj said to Mira. “Make all things ready.”

In the silence that followed Mira’s departure, Braethen walked a bundle of clothes to Sutter, laying his sword at the foot of his bed. “Sweet of them not to pawn my belongings,” Sutter quipped.

Braethen smiled without conviction. The others ignored him.

Wendra said, “Penit should not come with us. He is a boy. Whatever needs to be done at the Heights of Restoration can’t possibly involve him.” She paused, looking into unsympathetic faces. “I won’t allow it.”

Instead of responding to her, Vendanj walked around Tahn’s bed and knelt in front of Penit. He peered into the boy’s eyes. “Child, it is a dangerous thing we do. If you come, you may be asked to pay a very high price. An ultimate price. Do you understand?”

Penit seemed to consider it.

“It is your choice,” Vendanj went on. “No one will choose for you.”

“He is a boy,” Wendra repeated. “Ten years old. How can you expect him to decide this?”

Vendanj turned impatient eyes on Wendra. “I would rather this wait, Anais. But it cannot. No one stopped you joining us in the Hollows when you were asked to come. Penit may choose this for himself. He is aware of the risk.”

Wendra began to argue, but Vendanj pinned her with a stare. “Wendra, your concern is noble, but you are not his mother.”

Words hung in Wendra’s open mouth. The Sheason’s statement had opened a wound as surely as if he had cut her. In her cheeks, Tahn saw the look of winter bark—cold, inflexible, but also perhaps strong, resilient.

The Sheason returned his attention to Penit. “Choose.”

Penit recoiled under his stern gaze. “I will go,” he said, turning into Wendra and hugging her belly.

Vendanj stood. Tahn thought he would look satisfied, but the Sheason merely turned to the regent. “Will you require a moment alone here?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I have much to do to prepare for the convocation.” She then moved with her cane to Tahn’s bedside. Though her back stooped slightly, she remained regal. Her clouded blue eyes peered down at him; Tahn thought he saw a concern behind them. But at last she put a soft hand on his arm and said, “Watch safe.” Then she turned and brushed past Vendanj. The guards led her out. And the man with the white hair and beard, bearing the order symbol at his throat, extended toward Vendanj a cupped palm facing the floor. Vendanj did the same, and Tahn saw an admiration in the token. Then the older man followed the regent from the room.

“How can we come quickly to the Heights of Restoration?” Braethen asked as the door closed. “The legend of Restoration puts it in the Saeculorum Mountains, by my sky. That is weeks … months of travel by the fastest horse.”

“There are ways,” the Sheason said. He folded his arms and gave Wendra a knowing look. “Have you been to the cathedral?” he asked her.

Wendra had taken to running her hands through Penit’s hair, her eyes far away. She looked up, startled. When she saw who asked, her eyes drooped as if reminded again of what the Sheason had said. She nodded and quickly looked away, focusing again on Penit, who continued to hold her close.

“When evening meals are done, and most the city is to bed, we’ll leave Solath Mahnus and find your cathedral, Anais. The talents there will make our journey short.” Vendanj drew a long breath. “Sodalist, it is time to look closely at Ogea’s books. Learn from them what you can of Restoration.”

“You haven’t been there?” Braethen asked.

The thought that Vendanj might be leading them somewhere he didn’t know, and then expected Braethen to assist him, filled Tahn with sudden anxiety.

“I have,” Vendanj answered. “You have not.” The response made Tahn feel no less concerned. The last time he’d heard Ogea speak, the reader had shouted unreal things from Hambley’s roof.

What might Braethen learn if he begins looking through those books?

Tahn wasn’t sure he wanted to find out.

Vendanj took the scroll of Edholm the scrivener and tucked it into the lining of his cloak. “I will return after evening meal. Eat well. Penit, walk with me. We have things to discuss.”

The Sheason and the boy left without a further word, leaving the four from the Hollows alone in the room. Tahn rested back onto his pillow, and sighed.

“I want him at my next birthday,” Sutter jested.

The rest stifled a bout of giggles that lifted the pall they all felt. Soon they spoke hurriedly of all that had happened to them, sharing freely and laughing in amazement over wondrous events. Tahn kept back a few things, unwilling to worry his friends, and unable to shake the Sheason’s words to Penit:
an ultimate price.

CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

Tokens

Vendanj strode the marbled halls of Solath Mahnus. He had an appointment to keep. Or rather, the regent and his old friend Artixan had to receive him. There were matters to discuss, and he would no longer be patient or silent. So he did not notice the grandeur of the halls, the history engraved in the marble, the sculpture and art depicting kings and war and the beautiful promise of the land that filled the high vaulted ceilings of the seat of the regent and her council.

This night, Helaina and Artixan would take his counsel.

Mira accompanied him. Vedanj had told her he meant to visit the regent and the venerable Sheason by himself. But she’d insisted, which was unusual for her. So he acceded to her request.

He knew where they would be: The regent’s High Office, the singular room at the top of Solath Mahnus, the eight sides of which each showed a unique view of Recityv. After the events of the day, there would be strategy to create; she always started with Artixan, as well she should.

At the final stair, two of her elite Emerit guard stepped in front of Vendanj and Mira. Other watches on their ascent through Solath Mahnus had deferred to the three-ring sigil at Vendanj’s neck. These did not.

“I am not Sheason Rolen,” Vendanj said coolly. “If I’d wanted to harm the regent, she would already be dead. You know I have been in her company today already.”

The two shared a wary look, then stepped back. Vendanj climbed the long marble stair, this one windowless and dark, and at the top did not knock, but threw back the double doors and went in. Mira slipped in silently and stood like a shadow just inside the door against the wall.

“Do join us,” the regent said.

“I told you he would come,” Artixan said to the regent with a smile.

“Yes, but you did not say he would show such disrespect.” She gave Vendanj a measured look.

“I do not have time for etiquette or the show of deference. You know of my esteem, my Lady, but we are running out of time.” Vendanj shut the doors behind him.

“It is worse than you know.” Artixan stepped in front of the great window that faced the south. “The leader of the League, Ascendent Staned, has called for a meeting of the High Council to review the regent’s special clemency in releasing the two boys.”

“That is the regent’s privilege. It has been a part of Recityv law for ages.” Vendanj looked at the old woman. “Do not allow him to convene such a hearing. It will undermine you utterly. And we will need the strength of your office when the Convocation of Seats begins.”