Chapter 5

Ariadne lay on her side, staring at the canvas wall of the tent Leena had bought for her in Aencyr. Closing her eyes, she tried to force herself to fall back asleep, but it was useless, and soon she was staring at the canvas again. She didn’t like sleeping outdoors. A tent couldn’t compare to the thick stone walls of Tir Yadar. At least when they’d been camping in the remains of Old Town, there’d been a stone roof overhead and Mount Yadar itself had loomed comfortingly nearby. A thin sheet of canvas just wasn’t the same.

She’d lived in the inner city her entire life, and had only stayed outdoors overnight a few times during training exercises, always secure in the knowledge that she’d be returning to Tir Yadar soon. Now, though, she was leaving her mountain fortress home for good. What point was there in returning to a place that could only serve as a reminder of what she’d lost?

Despite the logic of that reasoning, she still had to fight the urge to run back to the mountain and hide in her family’s apartment. There was nothing left for her there, but it was hard to give up those last few links to the world she knew.

Outside the tent, the sound of the third watch making their passes around the camp finally gave way to the sound of people getting up and ready for the day.

Giving up on her attempt to sleep, Ariadne crawled out of her bedroll and put on a garment Sarette had loaned her. It was cut similarly to a soldier’s uniform, and provided some sense of normalcy. It was certainly a better option than the dress Katrin had offered.

Over the clothing, she strapped on a simple silversteel cuirass. Her mirrorsteel plate armor was packed away on one of the wagons, along with the Mage Knights’ equipment. Corec and Boktar didn’t seem to feel any need to wear heavy armor with no enemies in sight, and with the hot summer sun overhead, Ariadne had finally decided to follow their example.

After bundling up her bedroll and tent and tossing them into one of the wagons, she ate a quick meal of cold camp rations and then waited while the others hitched the mules to the wagons and loaded up the horses’ packsaddles.

Once the preparations were complete, she headed to her normal spot in the procession, joining Treya and Sarette. Treya greeted her, while Sarette just gave her a nod and a smile, not attempting to speak the Western language. The two women were the friendliest of the group, and by walking with them, Ariadne could avoid ending up in conversation with Ellerie or Bobo. The others in the party were polite, but they all seemed uncertain how to act around her, and the language barrier didn’t help.

“Will you teach me trade tongue?” she asked Treya. It was frustrating to only be able to speak to her or Sarette, and never both at the same time. When the three of them attempted to have a conversation, the other two had to translate for each other.

“Of course,” Treya replied. She’d offered to do so before, and Ariadne had turned her down.

Ariadne felt herself flushing in embarrassment. “I can’t understand anything anyone says,” she explained. Trade tongue was the only language shared by everyone in the group, so it was used for most conversations, but she couldn’t learn it from the Necklace of Tongues. It seemed that no one spoke it natively.

Treya nodded. “I understand,” she said, then turned to Sarette and spoke a quick sentence. She turned back to Ariadne. “I just told her, in trade tongue, that we’re going to teach you how to speak trade tongue. Do you remember what I said?”

“I think so.”

“Try repeating it, and I’ll tell you what each word means.”

While they practiced getting the pronunciation right, the woman called Razai walked by. She was leading her horse to the front of the line, where she would share scouting duties with Josip. Ariadne glared at her back as she passed. Razai had eyes like a snake or a demon, as well as pointed fangs that were visible when she spoke. Nobody seemed to consider her a demon, but Ariadne didn’t trust her.

“Miss Treya!” The language lesson was interrupted by the arrival of the boy Nedley, who was leading a limping mule. He stared at Ariadne for a moment, then flushed and looked away. On the first night of her bathing ritual, he’d shown up unexpectedly. She hadn’t realized he took the animals to the watering hole during the night. She’d made sure to go farther away from the camp for her later trips.

Nedley was speaking trade tongue, but Ariadne recognized the title of Miss, which the boy used when speaking to most of the women in the group.

Treya responded to him in the same language, and Ariadne rolled her eyes at being excluded from yet another conversation. Not that it seemed particularly interesting—they were obviously talking about the injured mule. Sarette joined them, running her hands down the lame leg before saying something.

Treya took her place, laying her hands on the horse. Her eyes went out of focus and she shook her head, spoke to Nedley and Sarette again, and then her hands began to glow with a white light.

Ariadne blinked in surprise. What was happening?

A moment later, the glow subsided, and Nedley led the mule away. The animal now walked normally, without a limp.

“I’m sorry about that,” Treya said. “Nedley doesn’t speak Western. He grew up in Tyrsall.”

“You’re a healing wizard?” Ariadne asked, confused. Treya, unarmed and unarmored, had managed to defeat her in combat with a single strike. She’d assumed the younger woman was some sort of war mage—which wasn’t a skill typically seen in healing wizards.

“I’ve never heard of a healing wizard. I’m a...” Treya hesitated for a moment, biting her lip. “I’m a divine mage, like a priest.”

“I do not know these words, divine and priest, but you asked about priests the other day when we were talking about Snake.”

“Priests are followers of the gods, and some are blessed with gifts of divine magic. One of my blessings is healing.”

“Like the shamans of the human tribes, you mean? But they have no magic. Where does yours come from if you’re not a wizard?”

Treya shook her head. “I’ve heard the word shaman before, but I think it means something different now. Priestly blessings are granted by the gods themselves.”

Ariadne eyed the other woman. “You think the human gods are real? Hundreds of them?”

“Hundreds?” Treya asked, giving her a puzzled look. “There are only seven. Seven new gods, I mean. Some people still worship the old gods, but they don’t have priests. Not real ones, anyway.”

These people referred to the totems as old gods, but they’d only seemed to know about three of them—Raven, Bear, and Fox. Bear had just attended Ariadne’s induction ceremony a few weeks earlier. Everyone had said it was a great honor.

No, she reminded herself. Not a few weeks. She pushed the memory aside and focused on the conversation.

“You follow one of these gods, then?” she asked.

“Not exactly,” Treya said, glancing at Sarette, who didn’t appear to understand what they were saying. “You know how wizards aren’t the only kind of arcane mage? There are other divine mages besides priests.”

“But you still think these gods of yours give people magic?” It was the same sort of silly story the human shamans had always told about their gods. Ariadne had been under the impression that Treya was better educated than that.

“Yes. That’s why Corec and I were asking you about Snake and the priests that attacked us. He’s worried they might be followers of Pallisur. We’ve had trouble with, well, not the Church exactly, but with someone in Larso, a kingdom that follows the Church.”

Ariadne drew in a sharp breath. “Pallisur?” she asked, ignoring the rest of Treya’s statement. Only that one word mattered.

“Yes, the God of War.”

It had to be a coincidence. “Who are the others?” she asked urgently. “Is one called Hera?”

“No. There’s Allosur, Arodisis, Demesis, Borrisur, Irisis, and The Lady.”

With each name, Ariadne felt her blood grow colder. Sarette had spoken of Borrisur, but Ariadne hadn’t connected the name to Boreas before. That meant Demesis could only be referring to Demea. There was no mention of Zachal or Hera—Zachalsur or Herasis as they would have been called if they followed the same pattern—but the other names, as a group, were too similar to mean anything else.

These people had taken the names of the lost wardens, added an honorific, and propped them up as gods.

Ariadne had held out some hope that the real wardens—her wardens—had somehow survived the destruction of Fortress West, but that hope faded now. The wardens would never have let themselves be used as barbarian superstitions.

“I think I’d like to walk alone today,” she said, trying to maintain her composure. She turned to head to the back of the column. Corec would be rear guard today. He was usually willing to leave her alone when she wasn’t interested in talking.

“You don’t want to learn trade tongue?” Treya asked.

“Perhaps another time.”

One of the biggest historical questions of our time is whether the ancient city of Tir Yadar actually existed. Enough references have been documented to say that it almost certainly must have, but if so, where could it have been located?

Muttering, Ellerie swiped her finger across the line, smearing the fresh ink to remind herself not to include the words in her next draft. She’d always assumed writing a book would be easy, but her sentences sounded pompous and amateurish to her own ears. This book—and the next, if Ariadne was willing to cooperate with her—would be how she was remembered by other historians, and now she feared it would turn out so bad that she wouldn’t be able to bring herself to publish it.

How did Bobo do it? He didn’t seem to have any problems with the sections he was writing. Was it a matter of the topics they’d chosen? He was focused on relating the facts of their discoveries, while Ellerie had taken it upon herself to frame the narrative and provide her own interpretation. In her head, that narrative flowed smoothly, but somehow that never seemed to be the case once she actually sat down with pen and paper.

Perhaps the problem was due to language. Maybe instead of Elven, she should try writing her first draft in Western, as Bobo was doing. The Elven language sometimes took longer to come to the point than it should. Writing in a human language might improve the clarity.

She started again, but before she could finish her first sentence, a voice spoke up behind her.

“Why haven’t you told Corec what you plan to do after we return to Tyrsall?” Katrin asked.

They were still in the barrens, just four days out from Tir Yadar. Ellerie had found a spot away from the camp to cut down on distractions, hoping it would help her concentrate better. She was sitting on a big rock, her lap desk across her knees, and had been so engrossed in her work that she hadn’t heard the other woman approach.

She blinked, trying to gather her thoughts. “I haven’t told him because I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“You must have some idea.”

“Well, I suppose we have to finish things off with Varsin Senshall first, and then Bobo and I need to find a printer for our book.” If we finish writing it, she added silently. “After that, I guess I’ll go back to Matagor.”

Katrin frowned. “You know what we’re facing with Prince Rusol, and you’ve overheard us talking about our plans. You say you want to help, but you’ve never offered to come with us.”

The conversation seemed to have come out of nowhere, but Ellerie had gotten better at masking her more irritated reactions. She set her lap desk aside, careful not to spill the inkwell, and looked up at the other woman. “No one ever asked me to,” she pointed out carefully.

“We didn’t ask Sarette either, but she agreed anyway. Leena’s the only person Corec has asked outright, though that’s more for her sake than anything.”

“Leena’s going?”

“She didn’t tell you?”

“We ... don’t really talk anymore.”

Katrin’s expression softened. “What happened?”

“I don’t know.”

The other woman seemed to realize Ellerie didn’t want to talk about it, and didn’t press her. Instead, she said, “She’s going because Corec’s worried she’ll draw more attacks to her family if she returns home too soon. He won’t ask you because he doesn’t want you to feel obligated. But you owe him.”

“Owe him for what?”

“Tir Yadar.”

“I would have found it without him,” Ellerie said before she could stop herself. It was true, but Corec pressuring Bobo to help had likely sped up the search by years, not to mention his and Treya’s contacts with the Senshall Trading Company.

“Probably,” Katrin agreed, “but you wouldn’t have been able to get through the wards. You wouldn’t have even known what a warden was if you hadn’t met him, so you wouldn’t have known you needed one to open the doors.”