Well of Sorrows (48 page)

“He claims more. He says that the sukrael have created something he calls Wraiths and that those Wraiths have left the forest. The Faelehgre told him this. They also told him that there are other sarenavriell, dormant ones, and that somehow they are being reawakened.”

Lotaern’s gaze had hardened. “And has he seen these . . . dormant Wells?”

“He has seen one of the newly reawakened ones.”

“Where?”

“In the northern part of the forest, not that far from the Licaeta House borders.”

Lotaern grunted as if struck and spun away from both Aeren and Colin. From the side, Aeren could see the Chosen pinching his lower lip between his fingers, head bowed, brow creased in furious thought.

“Forgive me, Chosen, but it appears that you knew something of this already.”

“And?” Lotaern let his hand drop, the lines of concern smoothing from his face. He became a lord, letting nothing show.

Aeren felt his irritation spike. “I came to you with this knowledge so that something could be done.”

The Chosen sighed heavily and began pacing, moving to the far side of the desk. “You put me in an awkward position, Lord Aeren. The Chosen’s purpose is to guard the secrets of the Scripts, and to advise the Evant in the event that something . . . unnatural occurs. The Order was established for this purpose. What you have revealed is one of those secrets, one that every acolyte of a certain rank is sworn to protect, one that
I
have sworn to protect. I cannot reveal such a secret on a whim, and certainly not on the word of a single human.”

“But the sukrael—”

“I was not finished,” Lotaern said. He came to a halt behind the desk, pressed his hands into its polished surface and leaned forward, catching all of them with his gaze. “I would not believe you, or this human, except for two things. The first is that I have already been approached by the Tamaell and Lord Vaersoom from House Licaeta over an . . . incident on Licaeta lands. One of the outposts was attacked over a week ago, the Phalanx members all killed, at their posts, without a mark on their bodies. None of those on duty survived. In addition, a few surrounding Alvritshai villages and towns, those nearest the forest, were also attacked. The few who survived by fleeing report the very shadows themselves came to life to destroy them.”

“The sukrael.”

Lotaern nodded grimly. “Lord Vaersoom discounted the initial stories, believing that the villagers were lying, that there must be some other, more mundane explanation, that perhaps it was the dwarren raiding the borderlands as they have for the past hundred years. But he traveled to one of the towns himself, saw the bodies. Like the Phalanx at the outpost, they were found strewn about the town, dead, without a mark on them. Most had fallen while in the act of harvesting later winter wheat from the fields, their scythes still in their hands.”

Aeren glanced toward Eraeth, saw his Protector’s lips pressed into a thin line. “We’d hoped to arrive in time to warn you.”

Lotaern pushed back from his table. “You have. Before your arrival, I had only suspicions based on vague reports from villagers and the more concrete reports from Lord Vaersoom on the aftermath. You’ve confirmed those suspicions.”

“And did any of these villagers report on these other creatures, the ones Colin calls Wraiths?”

“No. They spoke only of shadows. No figures.”

“So what can we do to protect Licaeta?”

Lotaern grimaced. “I’m not certain. We’ve never had to battle the sukrael directly before. But there are references to them in the Scripts. I have acolytes researching those references already, but now that we have confirmation, I will double our efforts. I’m afraid that for the moment, the only option is to pull the Alvritshai away from the area of the sukrael’s influence. Does this human, Colin, know how far northward their range extends?”

Aeren turned to ask, but before he could speak Colin said, “I know a little Alvritshai. I didn’t waste all of my time in the forest sunk in grief. He’s asking about the Shadows.”

“Yes,” Aeren said in Andovan, wondering how much of the conversation Colin could follow. “He wants to know if you know the extent of the sukrael’s range. They’ve already attacked Alvritshai outposts and villages. And do you know a way to defend against them?”

“I don’t now what their range is, but I do know it’s expanding. The Well that I found, the one the Wraiths have awakened, it’s filling slowly, and as it fills, its range increases. As for killing the sukrael . . . if you can get them over water, deep water and especially running water, they can’t hold their form.”

Lotaern nodded, frowning in thought. “Our research has pointed to water as a defense on more than one occasion. Perhaps the aqueducts will be useful. I will inform Lord Vaersoom.”

Aeren waited a moment, then said, “You mentioned a second reason?”

Lotaern smiled grimly. “Yes. The second is the fact that nearly a month ago, one of my acolytes came to me with a rather bizarre request. He wished to do research on the Scripts, personal research.”

“On what?” Aeren said, stepping forward toward the desk.

“On the sarenavriell. I agreed to give him access to the Scripts, to allow him to do his research. It is not unheard of, especially when an acolyte has ambition. And this acolyte does. But this request felt . . . odd. So I watched him as he did his research, and when he left the Scriptorium, I perused the texts he’d used, noted the passages he’d copied, the maps he’d drawn. Would you care to guess where his interest in the sarenavriell lay? Not on their power, not on their uses, nor the lore surrounding them, but rather—”

“On their location,” Aeren finished.

“Precisely. He’s been researching where the sarenavriell are, attempting to find where they have been hidden. Some of them are known, such as the one in the forest. Most have been lost. But according to the passages this acolyte referred to, one was hidden in the northern forests.”

“This acolyte,” Eraeth said, his voice harsh. “What is his name? What House does he belong to?”

Lotaern gave him a placid look. “Acolytes rescind their House ties when they enter the Order. They are connected to no House, are beholden to no lord.”

Eraeth snorted, but before he could respond, Aeren broke in. “We both know that House ties are not so easily broken, no matter what vows are involved.” He touched the band around his wrist and the two lord’s rings on his fingers. His House had not been forgotten once he entered the Sanctuary.

Lotaern tapped his fingers on the desk. “True. And given what’s been happening in the Evant lately . . .” He began walking back toward the table against the far wall, where more plants waited. “I expect to be kept apprised of any actions that you take, and to be told of any information that you gather.”

“Of course,” Aeren said, bowing his head. He could feel where his hand gripped the hilt of his cattan. He didn’t know when his hand had drifted to it, but when Lotaern finally spoke, back to them all, he realized he’d already guessed what House the acolyte belonged to.

“The acolyte’s name is Benedine,” Lotaern said, “and he’s originally from House Duvoraen. Lord Khalaek’s House.”

“He’s left the Sanctuary,” Eraeth reported, and Colin watched his face twist into a vicious grin as he crumpled the small note that the Alvritshai boy on the street had handed him in passing.

“Who?” Aeren said, in Andovan, since that’s what Eraeth had used.

“Benedine. The acolyte.”

Aeren grunted, but he remained focused on the plaza ahead and the hundreds of Alvritshai that lined it. They were headed toward the Hall of the Evant, a huge ornate building at the end of the marketplace. Colin could see the thick arched colonnades that surrounded the circular building within, beyond the mass of people, carts, and small tents that had been set up in the plaza itself. Sunlight beat down, but it didn’t take the bite of winter out of the air, nor the metallic sharpness of snow. The marketplace was a cacophony of noise, most of which Colin couldn’t understand, since it was all in Alvritshai. He could pick out phrases and words here and there, but he couldn’t follow entire conversations.

“Dharel is following him,” Eraeth said. He almost reached out to halt Aeren as they forged their way toward the Hall, restraining himself with effort.

Aeren glanced over his shoulder and caught his Protector’s expression. “The Evant intends to meet in three hours,” he said.

“We will return before the meeting begins.” Aeren frowned. “Very well.”

Eraeth bowed from the waist, gave orders to the rest of Aeren’s Phalanx, then gripped Colin’s arm and dragged him away into the crowd, heading back toward the plaza’s entrance and the streets beyond with a grim glint of anticipation in his eyes.

Halfway back to the street, Colin jerked his arm out of the Protector’s grip. “I’m coming,” he protested. “You don’t have to drag me.”

Eraeth drew up short, his eyes narrowing. Colin felt himself shiver at the raw intensity in Eraeth’s gaze, at the dangerous heat to it—

But then that heat cooled, and the tension in Eraeth’s shoulders relaxed. “I apologize. But we’ll have to move quickly if we’re to be of any use following the acolyte.”

Colin nodded in return, tugging his shirt back into place, smoothing the folds where Eraeth had gripped his arm. “Lead the way. I can keep up.”

Eraeth frowned at the not so subtle reminder. “Stay close. You’ll draw attention, and you’re safe only as long as you’re with me. Most of the people in Caercaern have lost family to the wars with the Provinces.” Without waiting for a response, he turned and headed toward the street.

They moved out of the plaza and turned to the right, staying close to the buildings, passing the open doors and windows of businesses, winding past carts laden with produce and wares, one full of straw, another some type of melon. Colin definitely drew attention, mostly shock, titters of laugher, and a few angr y glares, but not as much as he’d drawn outside the city, closer to the plains. As they neared the ramp and the gates leading down to the first tier, Colin saw the flash of Rhyssal House colors on one side. Before he could point it out, Eraeth saw it as well and cut sharply to the left.

It was one of the Phalanx in Dharel’s group. The guard tucked the cloth he’d used to catch Eraeth’s attention back into a pocket. He wasn’t dressed in the typical House colors or in the Phalanx’s usual garb. Instead, he wore the flatter, looser clothing of the people in the street, all whites and grays and duns.

Eraeth spoke to him briefly, words too clipped for Colin to follow, then turned a hardened gaze back down the street they’d just traversed.

“What is it?” Colin asked. His breath came in shallow gasps. Eraeth had been moving fast.

Eraeth shot him a glance before returning to his scan of the crowd. “The acolyte is already here, in the second tier.” He turned back to the Phalanx guard, said something in Alvritshai, then nodded. “The acolyte headed toward the courtyard.”

On the far side of the street, a large wrought iron gate stood half-open between two other shops, the bright green of plants on both sides inside the entrance. Sunlight lanced down on the interior, suggesting a large open space.

They slid from the main flow of the crowd, to the right of the courtyard’s entrance. Dharel stood at the corner, back against the building, one foot resting against its side. Every now and then, he’d turn and peer into the courtyard beyond, a passing glance, as if he were bored. When he caught sight of Eraeth and Colin, he straightened. “He’s inside, in the shadows of the far corner, near the fountain. There’s hardly anyone in the courtyard at the moment. I couldn’t enter without being noticed.”

Eraeth scanned the inner courtyard with one glance, no more than a breath long, then turned to Colin with a grim look. “There aren’t many places to hide. It’s an open courtyard, a fountain in the far corner, a few potted plants near the walls, a portico against the back wall. The portico is mostly in the shade, so I can’t see Benedine or if anyone is there with him.” His gaze fell on Colin. “Can you do it?”

“Let’s find out,” Colin said, lacing the words with irritation. Before Eraeth could respond—but not before Colin saw his eyes begin to darken with a sharp reply—Colin let the world slow. The street stilled. People halted in midstep, one man in midfall, the contents of the basket he carried already spilling onto the stone walkway. Colin slid around them all and walked through the open gate and into the courtyard, shivering at the silence.

The courtyard was set up exactly as Eraeth had described. Colin headed straight toward the fountain and the shadows of the portico.

He found the acolyte in the shade of the roof, his back toward Colin. Another Alvritshai faced him, hand raised to accept a folded piece of paper from Benedine, mouth open. His eyes were hard, face etched with angry warning. Dressed like Dharel and the rest, in commoner’s clothing, Colin thought he was actually a member of the Phalanx or a high-ranking member of a House, based on his arrogant posture and the dark hair tied back behind his head. It wasn’t as long as it should be for a commoner.

Colin scanned for a good place to hide so that he could watch or overhear the conversation, but there wasn’t anything beneath the portico except a set of closed doors along the back wall, beneath the roof. Cursing, he stepped back out into the edged sunlight and considered the colonnades.