the air, serene as the suns.
Renir’s captive strained against his arm, but Renir held tight and watched. It was out of his hands now. The contest ended abruptly when a guard behind Drun finally clubbed him to the ground. But it was enough. Shiandra’s assault halted as her son jumped in front of her.
“Stop, mother! You’ll kill him! Grandfather!” called her son. “Father!” the boy cried out, but looked not at Shiandra’s husband, but at Shorn. Shiandra crumpled visibly in front of her son, an open admission of her lie, and the ice fell to the ground. Tears stood out on her cheeks, and she hung her head in shame.
Dainar spoke above the shocked whispers of the gathered crowd.
“Enough! Shiandra, cease this now. I would speak to you alone. Court is in recess. Let no man harm the prisoners, and in return I would appreciated it if you men would let your hostages go. No one will be harmed until I return.”
“I don’t think we will give up our only bargaining chip so easily, Dainar,” replied Shorn.
“You have my word no man will come to harm today. I have seen enough.”
“Then on your word, Dainar,” called Shorn, and released the guard, who stepped back warily. Renir and the others released theirs carefully, and when no reprisals for the sudden violence occurred, the guards being as good as Dainar’s words, Renir rushed to Drun’s side.
He shook him carefully, as Drun’s eyes cracked open. “Is it safe?”
“Yes, I think it is. How’s your head?”
“Never better,” the old man replied gingerly rising to his feet with a helping hand from the young warrior. “How did you know?”
Renir shuffled his feet in acute embarrassment. “A witch came to me while I slept.”
“Well, you must thank her for me,” said Drun sincerely.
“Peace, but it’s never dull,” said Bourninund, with a wink to Renir. “I could do with an ale.”
“Me, too,” said Renir, and finally let himself sigh with relief. “Perhaps now I can get some sleep. I have my guardian to thank, although as to payment, I can only guess.”
He spared a thought for Shorn. He was staring at his son, crestfallen, and his son was staring back at him openly, into cold grey eyes, so much like his own. Forgotten, to one side, stood the man who had no doubt been his father all his years. To one side Shiandra’s husband wept quietly. Of Shiandra and her father there was no sign.
Gods, thought Renir, is the price of being a hero always so high?
Chapter Thirty- Eight
Tirielle smoothed her dress nervously before rapping on the door to Library of the Secessionists. It would not do to look unrefined in this section of the city. She was dressed in the fashion of Beheth, but spoke with a Lianthre accent. j’ark spoke with a strange accent, one she did not recognise, but he wore wide breeches and a ruffled shirt, his long hair tied back. In Beheth, few wore their hair long. Unthor, keeping to the shadows outside the range of the lantern’s glow, was dressed in a similar manner. None could be marked for outsiders if they did not speak.
It was a warm city, and its warmth dictated what could and could not be worn. A monk was expected to feel discomfort, therefore Roth could pass if it stuck to the shadows, but no monk would be seen in a secular library, with its lascivious wood cuts, and ancient vellum which no monk would touch. Besides, as much as she would have liked to bring Roth with her through the city, to feel the comfort of her large companion watching over her, she was more than safe enough from cutthroats and footpads with j’ark and Unthor by her side. Unthor had asked to be their third — the Sard rarely travelled alone, and when they did it was only out of necessity — and seemed quite happy to stand watch among the shadows.
Tirielle didn’t mind at all. Unthor was prone to long periods of introspection, perhaps the only member of the Sard who harboured open discontent with their lot in life and the demands of their religion. Calling, perhaps, would be a more accurate description. Unthor never spoke of his disquiet, but brooded sometimes, a frown upon his broad face, sometimes stroking the side of his nose when he was in deep thought. He was not the best of company, but Tirielle had no doubts he would be watching warily tonight for anyone who followed them into the library. He would not forget his duty, even if it seemed that sometimes he found it hard to bear.
It gave her a chance to spend the evening with j’ark. Pouring over old scrolls and parchment was not quite the activity that Tirielle would have chosen, but they would be together, even in silence.
She caught him, rarely, in his lie. He said duty came above all else, but he could not deny that he found her attractive. She just wished he would come out and say so, or stop looking at her in that peculiar way of his that made her quiver inside.
When she could she stole a glance at him, or tried to catch him in an unguarded smile. She wished just for one moment he would set aside all that he was, and all that she was, and speak to her like a woman. Too often for her liking he called her ‘lady’, as if abashed to feel even her name slip across his tongue.
They were all alike, though. Stubborn, wilful men, devoured by purpose and forgetting their humanity. If they had had their way, they would be in Teryithyr already, and have left the Seer behind in their wake. She would not say I told you so, but they were outside the library tonight because the Seer had led them there. For all their talk of hope, and duty, they would never have found the right library. It was a city of books, and at least now they had somewhere to start. It was more than they had had before the Seer awoke.
‘Talented.’ That was what the Seer called her, that she could hear her mind-speak. What new strangeness, Tirielle wondered, would they discover on their quest? She could accept that the Seer could see futures, varied and shifting though they might be, but that she could speak directly into someone’s mind, and that she would be able to hear their thoughts, too? It was fey beyond words. Her powers were more than remarkable — she was in more danger now than ever. Should the Protectorate find the girl, they would not be so kind to grant her swift execution. Tirielle had no doubt that they would dissect her with their dark magics, make her do tricks for them to study, like a new animal, or rediscovered history.
Danger assailed them from all sides. She would not forget. The Seer had told them as much, that they would be split before the month was through, that they might or might not reach their goal — much they could have guessed themselves — but Tirielle had grown so accustomed to each and every one of her companions that she could not imagine them apart. What change could force them to divide? They could only become weaker if they were no longer together. Would they meet again? Tirielle had asked, but the Seer had only shook her head sadly with a weight that belied her years and said, ‘that, I cannot tell.’
The door creaked open and a librarian peered out into the darkness, myopic eyes straining to see further than an arms length. Librarians feared no violence in their halls — what thief would steal words? If only they understood the value of the words contained in these halls, the librarians would need a score of guards and the sturdiest of locks.
“Good evening, Reader. We come seeking knowledge.”
“At this hour?”
“Who among us could say that we have learned enough to sleep?”
“I suppose you have the fee?”
Tirielle withdrew a gold coin from her belt pouch and passed it to the librarian, who weighed it with his hand, and examine the coin.
“From Lianthre? You have come a long way on your quest for knowledge.”
“Distance is no bar, nor expense,” said Tirielle. She was aware of j’ark poised beside her. If she could talk her way in, there would be no need for violence, but they had already agreed that their need was great enough that a few cracked heads would not hurt. The Sard had argued vehemently against the use of such force against innocents, but Tirielle had sweetly pointed out that they were skilled enough to get by with a minimum of damage to the unfortunate recipient of their blows.
“You are welcome, of course, Lady,” said the Reader, squinting squarely into her face, seemingly unaware of j’ark beside her. He stepped aside and let them in, jumping somewhat as j’ark followed her inside.
“Oh, forgive me, I didn’t see you there.”
“No matter,” said j’ark, “thank you for allowing us entry at this late hour. I take it the fee is adequate for a
