thumped down a staircase
next to the entryway with a candle in one hand and a shortsword in the other.
He looked at Aiyan. “Well?” he asked.
Aiyan did his best to sound cheery. “Sorry to come at this
hour, Sedlik, but we need a place to stay for a couple of days.”
Sedlik frowned. “You’re in trouble and you need a place to
hide.” He looked down at the shortsword. “This is my house, Aiyan. My
daughter lives here. You know that you’re always welcome down at the
warehouse, that you can commit any heinous act you want there — in the name of
your noble order, of course. Old Dendi is still there and I know he would love
to see you. I’m sorry, but you can’t stay here.”
Aiyan looked him in the eyes, the unsaid words heavier than
the silence between them. “Not this time,” he said gently. “This is too big.”
“All the more reason for you to go elsewhere.”
“There is no elsewhere.”
Sedlik stood staring at him. At length he lowered his eyes
and handed the shortsword to Jela. He shook Aiyan’s hand warmly despite his
stern words. “Look at you. You’re filthy. Go down to the wine cellar and get
out of those clothes. I’ll loan you a couple of tunics.”
Kyric tried to not look at Jela. Her shift was cut with a
short hem and a plunging neckline. And it was so sheer he could almost see
through it. With her large eyes, loose wavy hair and the shortsword in her
hand she looked like one of the statues atop the arches over the Way of Kings.
“I also need you to talk to your friend the magistrate. I
need to know the latest in the Senate.”
“Aiyan, the Games of Aeva are starting tomorrow.”
“I need to know right away.”
“Alright,” Sedlik said. “Who is the kid?”
“Someone with whom you have something in common.”
Sedlik led them down a stone stairway behind the kitchen and
into an open storeroom. A heavy door with a heavy lock was set in a nearby
wall. Behind a wine rack lay a few sacks of straw.
“This is the best I can do for now,” Sedlik said. “Tomorrow
I’ll rig some kind of bed for you.”
Jela brought down a plate of
cold meat and hard bread, and some blankets to lay over the straw. Thankfully,
she had put on a robe. After a few bites Kyric’s muscles turned to lead. He
barely managed to slip his boots off before he fell back on the straw,
instantly asleep.
This time he stood in an ornate library with tall windows
and a vaulted ceiling. Fine wood paneling reflected the light emanating from
statues of dragons, serpent headed horses, and strange preternatural birds. He
found a secret panel and opened it, stepping into a cave with glowing
stalactites. A man appeared before him, dressed very much like the black
knight in the dream at the jail, except that he wore a long tunic over his
chainmail and his greathelm had no visor, only eye slits and holes for
breathing. All that he wore, tunic, sword belt, boots, all had been dyed
black.
A sparkling light shone through one of the eye slits.
“Kneel,” came a deep voice from within the helm. And Kyric
knelt.
The knight had a small spur on the thumb of his gauntlet,
and, removing the other armored glove, he used it to open a vein in his wrist.
“Drink,” he commanded.
Kyric took his hand and drank from the flowing wound like it
was a fountain. It was sweet, and it charged him with power, and the more he
drank the thirstier he became, drinking more and more until he was filled.
CHAPTER 6: The Sundering
Sedlik was already gone the next morning when they came up
from the cellar. Jela insisted they bathe before breakfast, and while they
were at it Aiyan decided they would wash their clothes as well, so they spent
the early morning fetching and heating water. Throughout all this, Aiyan made
sure to keep his sword within reach. By the time they made it to the kitchen
table for chickpea and spinach pie Kyric felt like he could keep
next to the entryway with a candle in one hand and a shortsword in the other.
He looked at Aiyan. “Well?” he asked.
Aiyan did his best to sound cheery. “Sorry to come at this
hour, Sedlik, but we need a place to stay for a couple of days.”
Sedlik frowned. “You’re in trouble and you need a place to
hide.” He looked down at the shortsword. “This is my house, Aiyan. My
daughter lives here. You know that you’re always welcome down at the
warehouse, that you can commit any heinous act you want there — in the name of
your noble order, of course. Old Dendi is still there and I know he would love
to see you. I’m sorry, but you can’t stay here.”
Aiyan looked him in the eyes, the unsaid words heavier than
the silence between them. “Not this time,” he said gently. “This is too big.”
“All the more reason for you to go elsewhere.”
“There is no elsewhere.”
Sedlik stood staring at him. At length he lowered his eyes
and handed the shortsword to Jela. He shook Aiyan’s hand warmly despite his
stern words. “Look at you. You’re filthy. Go down to the wine cellar and get
out of those clothes. I’ll loan you a couple of tunics.”
Kyric tried to not look at Jela. Her shift was cut with a
short hem and a plunging neckline. And it was so sheer he could almost see
through it. With her large eyes, loose wavy hair and the shortsword in her
hand she looked like one of the statues atop the arches over the Way of Kings.
“I also need you to talk to your friend the magistrate. I
need to know the latest in the Senate.”
“Aiyan, the Games of Aeva are starting tomorrow.”
“I need to know right away.”
“Alright,” Sedlik said. “Who is the kid?”
“Someone with whom you have something in common.”
Sedlik led them down a stone stairway behind the kitchen and
into an open storeroom. A heavy door with a heavy lock was set in a nearby
wall. Behind a wine rack lay a few sacks of straw.
“This is the best I can do for now,” Sedlik said. “Tomorrow
I’ll rig some kind of bed for you.”
Jela brought down a plate of
cold meat and hard bread, and some blankets to lay over the straw. Thankfully,
she had put on a robe. After a few bites Kyric’s muscles turned to lead. He
barely managed to slip his boots off before he fell back on the straw,
instantly asleep.
This time he stood in an ornate library with tall windows
and a vaulted ceiling. Fine wood paneling reflected the light emanating from
statues of dragons, serpent headed horses, and strange preternatural birds. He
found a secret panel and opened it, stepping into a cave with glowing
stalactites. A man appeared before him, dressed very much like the black
knight in the dream at the jail, except that he wore a long tunic over his
chainmail and his greathelm had no visor, only eye slits and holes for
breathing. All that he wore, tunic, sword belt, boots, all had been dyed
black.
A sparkling light shone through one of the eye slits.
“Kneel,” came a deep voice from within the helm. And Kyric
knelt.
The knight had a small spur on the thumb of his gauntlet,
and, removing the other armored glove, he used it to open a vein in his wrist.
“Drink,” he commanded.
Kyric took his hand and drank from the flowing wound like it
was a fountain. It was sweet, and it charged him with power, and the more he
drank the thirstier he became, drinking more and more until he was filled.
CHAPTER 6: The Sundering
Sedlik was already gone the next morning when they came up
from the cellar. Jela insisted they bathe before breakfast, and while they
were at it Aiyan decided they would wash their clothes as well, so they spent
the early morning fetching and heating water. Throughout all this, Aiyan made
sure to keep his sword within reach. By the time they made it to the kitchen
table for chickpea and spinach pie Kyric felt like he could keep
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