Tides of Rythe

a well aimed arrow. None of the dead sported arrows. He could only imagine that it was the Sard wizard.

Together, with Shorn, and their mysterious companion, they had slaughtered all his warriors. Powerful adversaries indeed.

He was not annoyed. He was piqued. The loss of more of his elite bothered him, as did the power that the Sard obviously wielded. The warriors, Shorn, famed as he was, worried him. Somehow, although he was merely a man with sword, he continued to elude his grasp. His ally, though, the Sard…he was something to be reckoned with.

Klan knew all about human power. For centuries, the Protectorate had tried to stamp it out. But like a roach, it survived, against all odds. Sometimes he wondered. Was it more powerful, more dangerous, than the arts his own kind used? Were the legends true?

He kicked a body with mild manners, and opened the portal.

They were coming to him. All he had to do was prove ready. There was no more time, or need, for subtly.

Chapter Seventy-Seven

It had been the hardest week of Tirielle’s long flight to date. The wildlife shunned the forest between Beheth and Arram, as if sensing the darkness to the north.

Tirielle had wondered many times if it was some enchanted laid down for an age by the Protectorate, magic lasting from the dawn of time, stilling the forest so that they could hear the whisper of any approach through the silence.

Food had been scarce, a forage woefully sparse. She had lost weight, she knew, and felt hunger gnawing at her insides most days. Now the end was in sight. They had ridden as hard as they could to reach this point. Hiding out, in a hollow a mile from Arram, hiding under the noses of the very hunters that sought them.

All they had to do was top the rise, and shout ‘here we are!’ and the mighty warriors of the Protectorate would be upon then.

Sometimes Tirielle longed to do just that. To end it all. She was tired, so tired, of the battles never fought, the war waged in hiding and silence, ducking, avoiding confrontation, sneaking through the back door. She wished it was all over. It was such a long road to travel. But when she felt despair welling from the black places in her mind she quelled the thoughts as best she could, with comfort from her friends, kind words from Roth, and memories of her father. It was her father who had taught her to be strong, to understand the tricks a mind could play on the unwary. Her father, who had made the ultimate sacrifice in the fight for freedom, the fight for justice, in a town far to the north. They had suffered more than most at the hands of the Protectorate. What had he done, though, in the end? He had saved the town, but the Protectorate had covered up, and without his strong voice against them, there was no one left to stand for the abused, to fight for justice for the meek.

She missed him daily, but never more so than when she felt despair, for she knew that even as a memory he was trying to raise her spirits, telling her to remember what made her human. It was the difference between humans and the Protectorate — compassion. The drive to do what was right, to fight against the fear and stand true, stand tall, in the face of oppression, despite of terror and human frailty. She understood her weakness.

In the face of her fear, and her tiredness, she consoled herself that she was human. She gave thanks that she could feel such emotions, that she could feel love, and anger, and hate. Her emotions ranged wide and free, and that set her apart from them. She had her father to thank for his wisdom, for the power to fight her own innate weaknesses and the drive to overcome them.

But it was so hard sometimes. Now, despite her fear, she knew she must enter Arram, not as a councillor, without title, just a sneak thief hiding in the dark places where the enemy dwelt.

Disper crawled back to the hollow, somehow managing to keep his cloak clean through the dirt. Tirielle started at his sudden appearance.

He gave her a quick smile, and turned to the Seer.

“I cannot see it, Sia. Are you sure it is there?”

“It is. I can see it in my mind. A small culvert, leading underground. It is there.”

Tirielle’s horse snickered. She placed a calming hand on the mare’s flank. Another friend to leave behind. She supposed, after losing Unthor, she could bear the lose of another horse. Horses, after all, were not people.

No Protocrat would imagine that they would have headed for Arram. The Protectorate in their hubris would think it insane that any human could gain entrance to their stronghold. But the Seer had seen the way. In her eyes, the future was solid, a thing of startling clarity. She had seen much, but told little. Tirielle watched her companion as she tried to give the Sard more accurate description of where the forgotten entrance was. That she could see the future she could believe. That the Seer could be mature enough to know how much, or how little, to tell them… that was remarkable. She was but a girl.

“I will move closer,” he said out loud in response to the Seer’s suggestion.

“Might I suggest, Disper, that you remove your cloak to do so? You shine like the sun.”

“Suggestion noted, Roth,” said Disper with a wry grin.

“Perhaps I should go.”

“No, my friend. If it is there, it will be small. I’m not sure you could pass.”

“Roth will pass. Roth must go with you.”

The Seer and Roth shared a look, unfathomable to Tirielle, but somehow full of meaning. Roth was the first to look away.

Tirielle wondered again just how much the Seer foresaw…and how much Roth was keeping from her. Sometimes her friend was as inscrutable as the child. But all things in their place, she schooled herself. Perhaps it was best not to know the future, as the Seer often reminded her. If you knew what was in store, always, it would be impossible to lead a normal life. You would be ruled by the knowledge. Crippled.

“Very well. We will go together. I fear that we could meet a patrol.”

“There will be no patrol. We dally too long. The time is now.”

The Sard exchanged glance. “Is there something we should know?”

“They come.”

“Then we waste time here,” said Quintal. “It is time to leave.”

“I cannot go with you.”

“What are you talking about? We have lost one already, and one is too many. You must come with us, Sia. We have need of your knowledge, and I have need of your company.”

The Seer smiled kindly at Tirielle, but shook her head. Tirielle thought she saw sadness in those startling, multihued eyes. It had always been there, Tirielle realised only now, as they were parting.

“I cannot, Tirielle. I must go, and you all must follow your own path. Just remember,” she looked at Tirielle as she spoke, “that all things happen for a reason. Sometimes the path might not seem true, but though it meanders, it leads to the same end. Follow the path, and know that the future will right itself. Follow the path, Tirielle, to its end. There you will find what you seek.”

“What do I seek?”

“I fear that is for every one to figure out for themselves. I cannot change a person’s nature. I am not a guide. I am a Seer. That is all I am. It is my gift, and my curse, but a person’s heart is theirs and theirs alone. Follow the path, Tirielle. I only hope that you will find what you desire.”

Tirielle held her tongue at a silencing gesture from the Seer.

Sometimes, it sounded like she was a thousand years older than the child she looked.

“Briskle and Yuthran will come with me. I have work to do on this land.”

“We should stick together,” said Disper, his tone perhaps harsher than the Seer deserved.

“If we stay together we will all fall. You must go, I must stay. I need an escort, and I must draw the hunters away. I know where to go. We go to the north. Once more, I must return to Lianthre. There is one there who will need my help more than you. Reih is in need of guidance. You know where to go. You know what needs to be done. As do you, Roth. Now heed my words. It will be as I say, or all will fall. There is no other way.