Vault Of Heaven 01 - The Unremembered (39 page)

“My lady,” Jastail said. “You’ve not yet given me your name.” He stood, his devilish smile pronounced upon his rugged face.

“I am Lani Spiren,” Wendra said. “Make yourselves warm at my fire.” Wendra knew they would have stayed regardless. Whatever their intentions, her game with Jastail would at least allow her to retain some freedom, for a while anyway. And if they did know where Penit was, then she would have to convince them to either tell her where or take her to him. She rubbed her stomach out of habit, a reassuring gesture during her pregnancy.

Jastail eyed her closely. He then motioned his companions to a fallen log. The men appeared disgruntled, but finally acquiesced. One of them produced a bottle of wine, and the two began to whisper in harsh, sibilant exchanges. Jastail sat with a flourish near Wendra and turned to look at her directly.

“Be true, lady. Why would you travel alone in open country?” He looked away thoughtfully, relaxing as though he shared a fire with an old friend.

“I have told you,” Wendra answered, not needing to pretend. “I am searching for a small boy.” She turned to him. “But you have not told me where I might find him, or how it is you came to see him.”

Jastail smiled, and Wendra watched the rogue’s profile dance in the firelight. He was preparing yet another prevarication, and she meant to catch him in it. “For my own truth, I see many people, young and old, and remembering a solitary one is a daunting task, even for me.”

Wendra persisted. “You are falsely modest, Jastail. I don’t believe that you forget much of what you see or do. A man traveling with such men”—Wendra looked over at Jastail’s brutish traveling companions and wrinkled her nose—“is clearly upon an errand. Or would you like me to believe that you
choose
to keep this company?”

Jastail laughed aloud, and his two comrades reached for their weapons in a start. When Jastail stopped, they resumed their muffled whispers and sidelong stares. “A sharp eye and reason besides, Lani,” Jastail said. “But would you also expect me to share with you all my secrets so soon?” He grinned suggestively, the smirk embodying the roguish wit and wisdom Wendra knew must serve him well. “And would you have me believe that I know all I must of you?” Jastail continued. He held up his hands to forestall Wendra from repeating her objectives.

“Yes, yes, I know you seek a boy child. Perhaps yours, perhaps a blood relation, but how carefully you dance around your solitary state in this endeavor. Something, lady, is missing in your story, and I forgive you for not coming straight out with it. Just as you must forgive me for guarding my secrets from a stranger. However”—he leaned in and spoke in a low, conspiratorial voice—“my friends there are not as inclined as I to extend courtesies. They listen to me most of the time, but the errand you mention is in their arms and legs, and as with most men who follow another, they don’t trouble with questions of civility or morality. They understand what they can touch, what they can take, what they can buy, and the work that brings them money to do it.”

He put a hand gently on Wendra’s leg. “I may even grow to be fond of you, Lani, but paid men mutiny when their salaries are threatened. And gifted as I am, I can neither remain awake all the time, nor predict their intentions when they part with my own.”

While her mind raced to understand Jastail’s veiled threats, Wendra forced herself to wear a smile. This man, she decided, was far more dangerous than the rogues she’d heard about. His eloquent language always traveled two steps away from its truest meaning. But she kept smiling.

“You undersell your persuasiveness,” Wendra began. “You convinced me to invite you to my fire, and your concern for me”—Wendra raised her voice so that the others would surely hear her—“gives me confidence that these two will abide your wishes when it comes to me.” She put her opposite hand over Jastail’s own. “You are right that I keep secrets from you. A lady is allowed such discretion, is she not?”

Jastail’s eyes narrowed. “I believe you’re right, Lani. How clumsy of me to forget. You must never allow me to interrogate you further about such things. My concern for you, however, is quite genuine. Whatever brought you here alone, and what the boy flees from or runs toward, is beyond our control.” He placed his other hand over Wendra’s. “But I must insist on conveying you safely to your destination.”

Wendra spared a glance at the men across the fire. They had ceased talking, dazed expressions on their faces, their eyes fixed upon her and Jastail’s clasped hands. She could not be sure that they would lead her to Penit, or that they had even seen the boy. But playing Jastail’s game might afford her an opportunity to escape, while attempting to dismiss them would only force Jastail to do whatever he meant to do more quickly, and perhaps more painfully.

The dark memory of her rape threatened to surface, but she pushed it back.

He had started by saying that this place bears fruit, perhaps his only mistake, suggesting that they had discovered someone, maybe Penit, here, just as they had discovered her. She was their prisoner, and looking into Jastail’s lying eyes, she believed that he knew she understood it. These things didn’t matter; it only mattered that she locate Penit. Her desire to find him grew in her with each passing moment. She would not have two children taken from her, even though one she had not borne.

Wendra searched Jastail’s angular face, trying to imagine what Balatin might do. Finally, her forced smile became natural, widening, and she put her second hand over Jastail’s, trumping him and coming out on top. “And together we will find the boy,” she concluded.

One side of Jastail’s weathered face tugged into a bright, fetching grin. This one, Wendra thought, had more the look of real humor. “And we’ve better than a gambler’s chance at that, lady,” he said, noting the final position of their hands before withdrawing his own and beginning preparations for supper.

But something in the way he used the word
gambler
left disquiet in Wendra’s heart.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

The Wall of Remembrance

The regent took private counsel in the darkness before the dawn. With her were her most trusted advisors, the Sheason Artixan and General Van Steward. Somewhere out of sight, shadowing them, were a half dozen of her Emerit Guard; they would never be seen, but were always as close as a word.

She had been unable to sleep. The implications of calling the Convocation of Seats plagued her, so she had taken to the street that encircled Solath Mahnus to walk the Wall of Remembrance. The Wall rose to the height of three men. It had been fashioned of granite quarried in the mountains south of Recityv, and carved in relief on its face was the history of the city; perhaps the history of the world. Or at least of those events that should not be forgotten.

Many of the stories depicted on the wall’s surface had begun in the halls of Solath Mahnus, which rose in palatial expanse behind it. Solath Mahnus was her home, just as it was home to all the courts of Recityv. In the darkness it sat, a hulking presence, at the center of the city. From the street where Helaina now walked, she could see all the way up to the pinnacle of her High Office at the top of Solath Mahnus, outlined now against a spray of stars.

Once again the regent recalled sending the birds of war; some few seats had already answered her call for the convocation to begin.

But unrest ruled even closer to home. Her own High Council stood in disarray. And she bargained from a weakened position that would undermine her voice when the convocation finally commenced.

“The League has begun to politick with those still loyal to you,” Artixan said. The Sheason kept his voice low in the stillness. “Some will remain faithful regardless. But others have weaknesses the Ascendant will exploit. And though they’ll loathe themselves for doing it, they’ll vote against you, Helaina, when Roth asks it of them.”

Van Steward nodded. “Staned’s lieutenants have been lurking around our garrisons. They are making their own appraisals of our capacity.”

“Are you concerned about a coup?” The regent continued to walk, noting the histories in the wall to their left.

“No, my Lady. We will hold. But anyone gathering information on the size and readiness of your army should be seen as more than a political adversary…” Van Steward let the rest go unsaid.

“The inns of Recityv begin to fill with the retinues of those answering your call to the convocation. And those they serve are directing
them
to appraisals as well.”

“Of what?” Helaina asked.

“Of you,” Artixan replied. “Many of them know you by reputation, some only by name. But all will want to come to their own seat at Solath Mahnus knowing your own council is uncompromised, that you possess the strength to draw them together. There will be alliances, Helaina, even before the convocation begins. Indeed, though no one has brought the hammer down in the great hall, the convocation has
already
begun.”

The regent said nothing. She had guessed as much. But hearing it from Artixan made it real and dire. There was no Layosah in this age of men to inspire the minds of rulers, to force their collaboration against a common threat. Instead there was skepticism and maneuvering.

She stopped again on the stone-cobbled road that encircled Solath Mahnus, and looked up at the Wall of Remembrance, where the Wars of the First and Second Promise played out forever upon the stone. She could see Layosah even now, depicted in the granite with her child raised up in risk of imminent death. The sculptor had given the figure an attitude of resolve the regent could see even in the darkness.

The Wall of Remembrance served its purpose well for Helaina in the dark hours before dawn. She considered a mother sacrificing a son against the threat of nations … of the Quiet.

No measure must be left untaken.

“Your recommendations?” she asked. “What do you advise?”

“Dispatch Roth,” Van Steward said without hesitation.

The regent looked around at her general, at his uncustomary joke. The three chuckled lightly in the darkness.

The general spoke again. “Truly, Helaina, put the call out to bolster the army. As peacekeepers we’re content. But we have not taken to the field in open war for a long time. If that is coming, we should train a contingent twice the size of what we have. It will also give you more weight against the League’s shadowy aims.”

“Are there men in Recityv to answer such a call?” she asked.

“No. But I would invite the whole nation of Vohnce to our ranks. And if even then we fall short, I would recruit beyond our borders.” The general spoke with earnest passion. “There are men who would take a post with us who have no allegiance elsewhere. I can find such men.”

The regent heard secrets in her general’s words, and was considering pursuing them when Artixan placed a gentle hand on her arm to draw her attention.

“You would expect me to ask you to rescind the order set against the Sheason, which even now imprisons one of my own. But it is not the time. The League needs to believe it remains in control where justice is concerned. Their propaganda convinces the people that they are their advocates. While you fortify the halls of Solath Mahnus with alliances, you should not give your people cause to question you.”

“It is an unholy law, Artixan. You know how I feel.” Helaina’s anger rose.

“I know. And the time may come. But that time has not yet arrived.” The Sheason himself looked at the Wall of Remembrance, his gaze growing distant.

The three then took another stroll around the wall, walking for a time in silence before Artixan spoke again. “It is your own council where you must begin, Helaina. Roth is right that many of its members are not rulers, and certainly not leaders. Their appointments were made in a time of peace, and most will either completely defer to your judgment, offering you no real counsel, or they’ll vote with the League, who will offer them false security for their support.”

“Are you suggesting that I remove members of the High Council?” she asked.

“Replace,” Artixan corrected. “Many of them will be relieved to go, I promise you. And you will have the advantage of qualifying their replacements before they take their position. You need to employ the shrewdness that won you the regent’s mantle to begin with. We need that now, more than ever.”

That was all it took.

In the many years of her rule, she’d been firm and fair, but her statecraft had not often been needed. As if new breath entered her bosom, she felt renewed. She would be the iron fist of Recityv again, by Will or war. The carvings on the wall around her home and courts helped give life to these old stirrings.

And with this decision, the path before her became clear.

“General, begin your recruitment. I will draw up the Note of Enmity before the day is done. But don’t wait for the note to begin; get started the moment you return to your offices.” She turned to her closest friend, and possibly most powerful ally. “Artixan, find those who have come already to Recityv to answer the call of convocation. I will see each privately to either discover their allegiance or create a new alliance. I will take those audiences in the High Office, where the glory of Recityv may be seen from the windows to inspire their honesty … and choice.”

She thought a moment, considering her next words. “As for my own High Council, it is made of old friendships, and I must speak with them, too. So we will do that in their homes, where they are comfortable. But we will do more than replace those who no longer have the capacity or desire to serve. We will find our next generation’s stalwarts. I daresay our incumbents can help point us toward them. They know well the guilds and orders they represent.”