The Eighth Warden Book 6
Copyright© 2024 by Ivy Veritas
Chapter 13
The little brook wound its way past the southwest edge of Tarwen Village. Farther downstream, it would join with the river that had carved the valley through the mountains, but here, it was just a few feet across, not even large enough for fishing, ensuring the spot was usually deserted.
Corec flicked another pebble into the water, watching it disappear with a tiny splash. He wouldn’t be able to do that for much longer. Once the weather grew any colder, the brook would freeze over, unless it dried up before that when the snow higher in the mountains stopped melting.
He’d just tossed the last of his pebbles in when Treya sat down by his side. Despite the thin clothing she wore, she didn’t complain about the cold stone ledge on which they sat. She never seemed to notice the cold anymore. She had started wearing thin, lace-up boots when she was out and about, though, to avoid tracking mud into his father’s house with her bare feet.
“You were quiet last night,” she said.
“I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
“Ariadne told me about your conversation.”
“Do you believe her?” Corec asked.
“She’s never given me any reason not to. And it makes sense, when you think about it. They’ve always been called the new gods, and no one ever asks why.”
“I don’t like the idea that they’re just walking around somewhere. Pallisur is the reason I had to leave Larso—or his Church is, at least. If he’s a warden, he’s a mage too. Why did he let his people burn mages at the stake for centuries? And he wasn’t the one who put an end to it, the royal family did. Now one of his armies wants to ally with us against the royal family, and I don’t even know what we’re fighting for anymore.”
“We’re fighting for your brother,” Treya suggested. “And for the people of Jol’s Brook. And Nedley and the others like him, whose minds were taken over.”
“I haven’t forgotten,” Corec said. “But what happens if we win? What if this is all some ploy to give the Church more power?”
“If it is, it’s going very badly for them. Mother Nora’s heard the same things Queen Yassi warned us about—Telfort Tower has fallen, the conclave is dead, and the knights are dead or scattered. It’ll take them a long time to recover, and I don’t imagine Blue Vale’s soldiers will remain here for long. They’ve got their own land and families to protect. Whatever Calum and Ephrenia want, they’re not all-powerful. They sent Conley here because they need your help. Which means you can stop them if you have to.”
“Maybe,” Corec said. “But what about you? How does it feel to know that some Chosar warden picked you as a priestess for some reason they never bothered to explain? What do they want from you?”
Treya was quiet for a moment before letting out a little sigh. “I’m not a priestess. I’m godborn. I think.”
“What?”
“Bishop Lastal told me. He’s godborn too, not a priest of Allosur. Not a blessed one, anyway.”
Corec considered the implications. “One of your parents is a new god?”
“Or grandparent, maybe. I’m not sure how far back it can go, but I think it’s like the demonborn. Once the bloodline starts, it can keep going.”
“It’s not Pallisur, is it?” Corec asked. The thought of Treya being Pallisur’s daughter made his stomach churn.
“I don’t know how to find out,” she said. “I considered going back to Four Roads and checking through the old records to see if any of our neighbors survived the raider attacks, but even if my parents knew the truth, why would they have told anyone? I think it’s just something I’ll never learn.”
She leaned against him with a sigh, and he put an arm around her shoulders.
“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” he asked.
“I wasn’t trying to keep it secret,” she said. “I didn’t believe Lastal at first, and then I didn’t know how to bring it up. Once I’d kept quiet about it for so long, I thought maybe it was easier to not say anything.”
“That sounds familiar,” Corec said. He’d done the same thing with his magic.
“Mmmhmm,” Treya murmured. He’d told her the story before.
She felt good under his arm, and he’d been away from Katrin and Shavala for weeks, but he’d never quite worked up the nerve to ask the questions he needed to ask.
Now was as good a time as any. “Do mystics ever become concubines?”
“No,” she started. He sighed, and was about to move away, but she kept talking. “But I have special dispensation from Mother Ola. I trained as both.”
“Oh,” Corec said. The way she’d worded her response meant she knew he’d been asking about her. “I ... Treya...”
Why were these conversations always so difficult? Katrin was used to his fumbling, and seemed to find it endearing, but she’d always been easy to talk to. Perhaps because she didn’t have high expectations of him when they’d first met, so any conversation at all was an improvement.
With Treya and Shavala, though, he was always reluctant to bring up the important topics. Shavala had never given any sign she wanted to settle down, and he worried that if he asked her to stay, he wouldn’t like the answer he got back. With Treya ... maybe it was because he needed her support and didn’t want to risk scaring her off? Or maybe it was because he still worried it would hurt Katrin, despite Katrin’s hints that she didn’t mind? Whatever the reason, he’d allowed the discussion to wait for far too long.
If Nedley can do this, so can I, he told himself.
“Treya, will you consider becoming my concubine?”
“Yes,” she said, a simple answer, though she shivered against his side. She wasn’t affected by the cold—she was as nervous as he was. “But not until after the wedding. I promised Katrin we’d wait until then.”
“I ... wait ... what?”
“I had to talk to her first, to make sure she didn’t mind,” Treya said.
“That was a good idea,” Corec admitted.
“It’s one of the duties of a concubine, helping to keep peace within the family.”
There was a tension in the air, as if they should do something to mark the occasion, but Treya was old-fashioned in some ways. She would want to follow Three Orders traditions before anything happened between them. So instead, he grasped her more tightly against him, just for a moment.
Then he let go and stood, offering her a hand up. “Any news from Leena on the bandits?” he asked.
“She never came today.”
Corec frowned. It wasn’t like Leena to change the schedule without warning.
“She’s alive,” he said, after checking his warden senses. “So is Ellerie. I hope nothing went wrong with the battle.” Ellerie had led a small group against the rogue mercenaries who’d remained in the free lands.
“She may just need to conserve her strength,” Treya suggested.
Corec nodded, but didn’t respond. There was nothing he could do about it from here. He’d just have to wait and hope.
Ellerie’s honor guard of archers and elven sentinels drew curious stares as they passed through the town’s outskirts, those stares hardening into anger once the residents caught sight of the four cavalry members accompanying them. Cason might refer to his men as cavalry, but they still appeared very much like the Knights of Pallisur they’d once been, and the hillfolk weren’t happy to see them.
Perhaps it would have been better to leave the four men at camp with the remaining archers and Kevik’s knights, who’d been assigned to watch over the prisoners. Graymoor wasn’t large, as towns went, but it was a town, not a village. If the residents decided to take up arms, the honor guard wouldn’t last long, and four extra men wouldn’t change that.
“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Ellerie asked, pitching her voice so only Leena, riding next to her, could hear.
“I’m fine, Elle,” Leena said, her tone not offering any opening for discussion. The Sanvari woman had refused to listen to Ellerie’s arguments that she should have stayed out of the battle. Leena’s exhaustion had left the group without any outside communication, at least until her apprentices had finally located them the day before. Yet Leena remained insistent that she had to push herself harder, for reasons she wouldn’t explain. Ellerie wasn’t certain how to end the argument, or even whether she wanted to, and the two women hadn’t shared a tent in days.
“There they are!” Harri announced, too loudly. He’d caught sight of Boktar and Cason waiting for them at the next intersection. “Headman’s not with ‘em. Them other two are priests. The Bear and ... I don’t know what the one on the left is.”
The Bear priest, wearing a fur vest and with bear tattoos on his upper arms, winked at the boy as Ellerie’s group brought their horses to a halt.
“Headman Charl is waiting for us at the longhouse,” Boktar told her. “It’s not far from here.”
Ellerie nodded and dismounted so she could join him. Leena and Alarein followed suit while the rest of the group remained on their horses.
The two priests led the way, giving Ellerie the chance to speak to Boktar without being overheard. “What do you think of him?” she asked. “The headman?”
“He’s guessed, roughly, why we’re here,” Boktar said. “I can’t say he’s happy about it, but he doesn’t seem willing to antagonize you. I think he’s more scared of your sister than of Corec.”
Ellerie sighed. She hated trading on Terevas’s reputation, but she’d take any advantage she could to avoid starting greater hostilities with the hillfolk.
The town’s longhouse, where the local hillfolk leaders passed down their decrees, was constructed of overlapping cedar planking, likely having replaced an earlier log building. The door, strapped in place with leather hinges, wouldn’t stay open on its own, so the second priest held it for them. Ellerie left her horse with one of the archers, then headed into the structure. As she passed by the priest, she caught a glimpse of a tiny snake tattoo on his hand.
She drew in a quick breath. The tattoo might not mean anything important—maybe the man just liked snakes—but the hillfolk were known to follow the old gods. Could Snake have built his northern stronghold here? Ellerie and her friends had gone so long without encountering any of Snake’s forces that she’d started to believe he was no longer a threat. Leena didn’t seem to notice the symbol, and there was no opportunity to warn her.
Harri followed them into the building without being asked. Ellerie hadn’t intended for the hillfolk boy to actually attend the meeting, but she didn’t want to embarrass him by sending him back out. Besides, while he’d grown up farther to the south, he still knew more about hillfolk customs than anyone else in the group.
Ellerie had expected the headman to be large and imposing, but instead he was slender, of medium height, and had a bookish look to him. The priest with the snake tattoo went to stand by his side, while the Bear priest tended to the longhouse’s communal fire.
“Mr. Charl,” Boktar said, “allow me to introduce Her Exalted Highness, the Lady Ellerie di’Valla, sister to Her Exalted Majesty Queen Vilisa di’Valla of Terevas and Chancellor to Warden Corec, Lord of the Dragon Lands.”
The farther the group had traveled from Hilltop, the more they’d heard that unofficial phrase for the region Corec had claimed. He would probably object if he ever heard it himself, but he’d never bothered giving the place a real name. People were going to call it something, and the dragon had been linked to the area for fifty-four years. Not to mention the stories of Risingwind that were already spreading across the free lands.
Charl grunted and gave a quick nod of his head. “Lady Elf, I hear you’re huntin’ them Larso mercenaries. Good on you, but I reckon they’s scampered back across the border by now.”
“I doubt that, Mr. Charl,” Ellerie said. “They won’t find a warm welcome in Larso after fleeing from Hilltop. King Rusol doesn’t seem to be particularly forgiving of those who’ve failed him.”
Harri rubbed at his temple. “My head feels funny.”
“Not right now, Harri,” Ellerie told him. “We’ll get you some willow bark tea when we’re done here.” She’d hoped that asking the boy to advise her on hillfolk matters would be a subtle hint at the responsible position he would one day hold, but it seemed he wasn’t ready to take it seriously.
“I have some,” the Bear priest offered. “I’ll brew it up.”
Charl ignored the side conversation. “So what do you want in Graymoor, then?” he asked Ellerie.
“The only mercenaries we’re hunting are those who took up banditry in the free lands. We captured over twenty of them just four days ago, nearly all of them hillfolk. The ones who got away tried to throw us off by splitting into small groups, but all of their tracks led west, toward the hills.”
In the darkness and confusion of the dawn battle against the bandits, Ellerie’s force had only killed sixteen of their opponents. For the most part, that small number was a relief—she hadn’t been looking for a slaughter. Her people had captured twenty-one more, plus those whom Leena had already transported to jail cells in Four Roads. None of the prisoners knew their exact numbers, but if their estimates were accurate, it seemed likely that nearly a hundred of the bandits had fled.
“I don’t know ‘bout that,” Charl said. “Graymoor ain’t got no bandits.”
It was the standard excuse used by hillfolk towns when anyone came hunting for raiders.
Ellerie spoke with a calm voice. “I want to reassure you, Mr. Charl, that we are not like Larso. We’re not here to invade the hills, or patrol your lands the way the Knights of Pallisur do. We just need your help to find murderers and thieves who’ve hidden themselves here among your people.”
He gave an expansive shrug, spreading his arms out wide. “I’d help you iffen I could, but you won’t find none of them here.”
“I think you’re forgetting the reason why the mercenaries fled from us so quickly,” Ellerie said.
Leena stepped forward. “Five of the mercenaries are here in town right now,” she said. “One is just a few streets over. Do you want me to point them out for you?”
This part was a gamble. Leena’s powers had just barely begun to recover, and in any case, she could only Seek the black brigandine armor the mercenaries had worn. She hadn’t caught the signatures of any of the individual bandits who’d fled.
Charl’s expression froze. “Well now, I can’t keep track of everyone comin’ and goin’.”
“Do we have your permission to search for them?” Ellerie asked.