broadened when Eraeth snorted. “A slightly older version of you.”
“There is a resemblance, yes,” Moiran muttered. “Please, eat, drink. Your travels must have been harsh with the recent storms. Was the snow troublesome? Were the roads kept clear?”
“For the most part,” Colin said. “We had no serious trouble, it was merely-”
“Annoying,” Vaeren interjected.
No one reached for the food; they were all waiting for Colin, he realized.
He took one of the small plates on one of the trays and began with a few slices of the smoked meat he recognized as gaezel from the plains, ladling a spicy sauce that smelled of oranges over it. As soon as he started, the rest leaned forward for their own trays.
“I was going to say it was merely an inconvenience,” he said dryly. “I should introduce my traveling companions. Vaeren is caitan of the Order of the Flame. The others are Siobhaen, Boreaus, and Petraen, also members of the Flame.”
Aeren nodded to Vaeren. “Welcome to Rhyssal House.”
“Thank you for your welcome and your hospitality,” Vaeren answered. “May Aielan’s Light guide your House to prosperity.”
“It has.” Aeren’s gaze drifted to Colin. “So what brings you to Rhyssal at this time of year, and with such company?”
“The sarenavriell.”
Aeren, Moiran, and Eraeth stilled. Fedaureon and Daevon looked confused. It was not what they had expected.
Moiran was the first to move, reaching to pour some wine, but it was Aeren who spoke.
“The sarenavriell?” His voice was troubled. “I thought the Wells had been stabilized.”
“I thought so as well. For that matter, they may still be stabilized.”
“What makes you think otherwise?”
“Do you remember the storms on the plains?”
“They are impossible to forget. They were violent, their winds harsh, driving the rain so hard it felt as if it would scour your skin raw. And the lightning was… unnatural. Wicked. The thunder growling in your chest.”
Colin shuddered, recalling the viciousness of the storm that had caught the wagon train as it fled from the dwarren. He caught Aeren’s eyes and saw the same memory reflected there.
Fedaureon stirred. “What are you talking about? What storms?”
Aeren shook his head. “You would not know. The storms had been part of the plains since the arrival of the Alvritshai south of the Hauttaeren Mountains. The dwarren say that they were always part of the plains, as far back as their shamans can remember. But in the years before the Accord, the storms began to grow in intensity.”
“The number and size of the occumaen as well,” Moiran added. A shiver ran down her arms as if she were chilled, and her gaze met Colin’s, her eyes sad.
“Yes. The occumaen also became more prevalent. Shaeveran thought that the storms and the occumaen were the result of the awakening of the Wells by the Wraiths. He thought their actions were causing an imbalance, and that the storms and the occumaen were the side effects.”
Colin nodded. “After the Accord, I intended to see if I could correct the imbalance and stop the storms, but the attacks of the Wraiths on Alvritshai and dwarren lands grew too intense. I spent years trying to help the two races fight them, before finally realizing that something more drastic needed to be done. I created the Seasonal Trees so that the threat of the Wraiths and the Shadows would be halted, and after their seeding I focused my attention on the stability of the Wells. It took thirty years, and I lost count of how many times I faced the Wraiths and the Shadows, but I achieved a balance.”
“And the storms stopped,” Aeren said. “The occumaen faded. There hasn’t been an instance of either since you were born, Fedaureon.”
“Until now,” Vaeren said, and Aeren, Eraeth, and Moiran turned toward him.
He stood, his stance formal, as if he were addressing Lotaern in the Sanctuary, or the Lords of the Evant in the Hall. “Over a month ago, one of the acolytes from an outer temple on Uslaen House lands arrived at the Sanctuary with word of such a storm that ravaged the town the temple served. The Chosen did not believe him and sent a party of the Flame to verify the account. Since then, numerous reports of the storms have been drifting in from Redlien, Ionaen, and Licaeta, as well as Uslaen. A missive was sent to the dwarren shamans, the reply received two weeks ago. It appears a resurgence of the storms has been reported across the breadth of the plains. The occumaen as well. When Shaeveran appeared in the Sanctuary, we thought it was because of the recent activity.”
“But I hadn’t heard of the storms,” Colin said. “I was in Caercaern for a different reason.” He picked up the satchel he’d placed on the floor near his feet and removed the fine chain-metal cloth that held the knife. Aware that Vaeren frowned down at him in disapproval, he set the cloth on the table between the trays of food and then opened its folds.
The reddish-yellow color of the knife appeared to glow in the flickering firelight. Aeren and Fedaureon leaned forward, Eraeth and Daevon stepping away from their respective corners. Moiran leaned back with a frown.
Aeren shot Colin a hard look. “Does it work?”
“Does what work?” Daevon asked. “What is it?”
“It’s a knife that I believe will be able to kill one of the Wraiths. A knife that should be able to kill the sukrael.”
“Should?” Eraeth asked sharply.
Colin glanced up with a small smile. “It hasn’t been tested. Yet.”
Eraeth’s eyes narrowed, and Colin could see the sudden urgency in his expression. He wanted to test the blade himself, but he made no move to pick it up. None of the Alvritshai did.
“I found Lotaern to inform him about the knife,” Colin said, sitting back. “That’s when he took me to the Sanctuary’s roof and showed me one of the storms on the horizon. I told him that I would investigate, but Lotaern felt that an escort was necessary.”
Aeren said nothing, but Colin knew that both he and Eraeth heard what he had not said. The knife lay between them, although neither of them glanced toward it. After a moment, Aeren nodded, the gesture almost imperceptible.
“That does not explain why you came here,” Moiran said into the silence.
“No, it does not. The problem with our theory that the stability of the Wells has been altered is that I placed wardings on all of them, to keep the Wraiths away as well as everyone else. None of those wardings have been disturbed. The Seasonal Trees protect all but three of the Wells from interference by the Wraiths and Shadows, but Lotaern feels that the Wraiths have found a way around the wardings, and so, with my escort, we are going to these three Wells to see if they have been touched or if the wardings have been tampered with.”
“And where are these three Wells?” Aeren asked.
“Do you have a map?”
Aeren motioned to his son, who stood and began sorting through the papers on the large desk, Eraeth and Daevon moving over a moment later to help him.
“The Wells are outside the influence of the Trees, obviously. One of them lies far to the south, beneath the lands settled by the Provinces,” Colin said as they waited. He felt Vaeren listening intently. He wondered yet again what his orders from Lotaern were, but shrugged that aside. “The second lies to the west, across the Arduon, in Andover.”
Aeren’s eyebrows rose in shock. “I had not realized there were sarenavriell in Andover.”
“Neither had we,” Vaeren said sharply, anger threading through his voice. Colin assumed he meant Lotaern and the Order. The fact they had not known was strangely satisfying.
“There is only the one, as far as I know,” he said.
At the desk, Daevon and Eraeth had halted their search at this revelation, but Fedaureon cried out and pulled a sheaf of papers from a stack. He sorted through them as he came to the table, while Moiran moved the trays of forgotten food to one side to make room.
“Here,” he said, setting down a map of the Hauttaeren Mountains and Alvritshai lands. Each of the eight Houses were marked with different shades of color, Caercaern and the major cities black dots with swirling script, black lines marking roads and trade routes connecting them. Everyone, Moiran and the Flame included, Eraeth
