looking over Aeren’s shoulder, leaned forward as Colin perused the map to orient himself.
“And the third,” he said, turning the page toward him and pointing, “is right here.” He glanced up, met Aeren’s gaze squarely. “In the White Wastes.”
4
“There are only two routes northward to the lands that we abandoned,” Aeren said, sitting back in his seat as the shock of Colin’s revelation slowly wore off. “We can travel through the halls beneath Caercaern, or we can travel to the coast and take a ship up around the coastline, hoping for a break in the ice that would permit landfall. I’d not recommend the ocean approach.”
“And returning to Caercaern will add another week or more to the trip,” Vaeren said with a scowl, turning on Colin. “Why did you have us travel here if you knew we were going to be turning back? We could have sent a message by courier. We could have summoned Lord Aeren to Caercaern if it were that important. Aielan’s Light, we didn’t need to come here at all!”
“There is another way,” Colin said.
Vaeren straightened. “What do you mean?”
“I spent a large amount of time reading the Scripts in search of any hint about the locations of the Wells, and during that time I read much of Alvritshai history as well. Once, the Alvritshai dominated the entire region above the Hauttaeren, from the coast to the northern arctic sea, the mountains to the glacial ice to the north. There are more halls within the mountains besides those behind Caercaern, and there are passes through the Teeth that we can use to reach them.
“One of those passes, called Gaurraenan’s Pass, is here,” he pointed to a region of the mountains beneath where he’d indicated the Well lay. “It’s secluded in the reaches above Nuant House lands, but it is still accessible. Once we reach its edge, we can travel to the far side of the Hauttaeren through the ancient halls beneath.”
Vaeren stared at the map for several moments. “How long do you think it will take?”
“It depends on the storms and the snow, of course, but we should be at the Well within two weeks.”
Vaeren met his gaze, his expression hostile. “You planned this from the beginning. Why didn’t you tell the Chosen?”
“Because he did not need to know.”
Vaeren’s face darkened, his hand tightening on the hilt of the cattan at his side. Colin thought he’d confront him there, in front of Aeren and the rest, but instead he turned to Moiran. “Lady Moiran, if you would have someone escort me to my rooms, I’d like to retire for the night. The journey from Caercaern has been long and tiring.”
Moiran stood with a slow, formal grace. “Of course. I’ll show you to your rooms myself.”
Moiran led him from the room, leaving Aeren, Colin, and the others alone. Aeren waited until he heard their bootfalls die out before he frowned. “It does not appear that you are on good terms with the Order.”
Colin laughed. “Lotaern is still angry over what happened with the Winter Tree. He feels I should have brought the seed to him first, that it was obvious the Tree’s powers fell under the Order’s mantle, not the Tamaell’s.”
“But that happened over eighty years ago,” Fedaureon protested.
“This isn’t truly about the Tree,” Aeren said.
Daevon answered Fedaureon’s confused look. “It’s about the knife,” he said, nodding toward where it still sat on the table. They all looked down at it.
“I still don’t understand.”
Aeren reached forward and, with a wave of permission from Colin, picked it up. He frowned as he held it and Colin wondered if he could feel the power of the forest pulsing through it. He’d passed through Aielan’s Light, so perhaps he could. Then Aeren handed it to Eraeth, who hefted it in one hand, testing its weight as Lotaern had done.
“Colin came to the Alvritshai with an object of power once before and he used that object without Lotaern’s foreknowledge. The Chosen does not like to be surprised. He likes to be in control. If Colin had come to him with the Winter Tree, he would have used the Tree against the Evant, to gain even more power. The fact that Colin brought it to me, and then to the Tamaell, meant that he could not use it to his immediate advantage.”
“He adapted quickly,” Eraeth muttered.
“He did,” Aeren agreed. “Even though the Tree was never initially under his control, he’s gained control of it using the lords’ fears. For all intents and purposes, the Tree is now part of the Order. He’s walled it away from the people and uses it as a symbol of the Order’s strength.”
“That was never its intent,” Colin grumbled.
“No, but that is how it’s been used. And now you bring to Lotaern another object of power. One that does not have the same visual strength as the Winter Tree, but-if you are correct-is more deadly. The Tree merely protects us from the sukrael; the knife may be able to kill them. If Lotaern can show that the Order holds the power to rid the world of the sukrael forever…”
Fedaureon nodded his head in understanding. “The Alvritshai commoners will band around him even more. They’ll see him as a savior of sorts.”
“He wants the knife. He may even need the knife,” Aeren said. “The Winter Tree has been in Caercaern for over eighty years. The awe over its creation and its power has faded. For those that live in Caercaern, it has already become commonplace. Only those outside of Resue House lands find it striking. And those that have been born since it was planted, like Fedaureon, have never known a time when the Tree was not in Caercaern, protecting them. When they begin to take their places in the Evant, Lotaern will lose even more of his power, more of his control.”
“It’s already begun,” Eraeth added. “Both Houdyll and Terroec ascended in their fathers’ places after the introduction of the Winter Tree.”
Colin stared at the knife in Eraeth’s hands and grimaced. “I should never have gone to him after forging it, should never have revealed its existence to him.”
“You worked with him in its creation. It was only natural for you to take it to him.”
But Colin knew what Aeren would not say out loud: that Colin had once again ignored the changing world around him, that if he had only looked he would have seen how Lotaern had lost power in the Evant and he would have known that sharing the creation of the knife would be a mistake.
He caught Aeren’s gaze and said, “You are too forgiving.” Then he frowned, shifted forward. “Why does Lotaern seek this power? The Order is already equivalent to a House, from what I saw in the Evant years ago. Hasn’t he achieved enough?”
Aeren sighed and shook his head. “Once, before the threat of the Wraiths and the sukrael, I believe the Chosen would have been content with what he has now, but not any longer. I think he believes that the Wraiths and the sukrael are a trial, sent by Aielan to test us, to bring us all back beneath her Light.”
“He may be right,” Eraeth said.
“Yes, but he believes our failure to eliminate the Wraiths is because we are not showing enough faith-in Aielan, in the Flame… in the Chosen. He believes the Lords of the Evant, and the Tamaell in particular, have fallen short of Aielan’s regard. He believes that it is Aielan’s will that the Order rise up and seize control, that only then can we defeat the Wraiths and the sukrael.”
“With himself as Chosen.”
Aeren nodded. “He thinks the war with the Wraiths is a religious war, and that only with the Order in power can the Alvritshai prevail.”
“I would think he would welcome my help then,” Colin muttered, “since I have brought him the Tree, and now the knife.”
“And have a human be the savior of the Alvritshai?” Eraeth scoffed. “He has reserved that role for himself.”
Moiran returned, trailing a few servants who began clearing out the remains of the food, leaving the wine. “Are the members of the Order situated?” Aeren asked.
“I have placed them in the farthest corner of the house, on the second level. They will have a spectacular
