Leaves of Flame

Moiran and Daedelan took the two thrones behind him.

When everyone had settled, Thaedoren bowed his head slightly. “We have reached the end of another session of the Evant. I know that you are all looking forward to returning to your House lands in the next few weeks to see to their preparation for winter, and you will be able to depart as planned. But there is one last issue-one of extreme importance-that must be discussed before we bring the Evant to a close.” Thaedoren turned toward Aeren and nodded respectfully. “Lord Aeren.” He settled into the seat of his throne as Aeren rose.

Aeren hesitated, as if gathering his thoughts, then moved out from behind the desk and claimed the oval floor beneath the platform. He caught each lord with a penetrating gaze before he spoke. No one sneered or scowled as they had during the first meeting of the Evant Colin had attended when Aeren had tried to speak.

Aeren’s House had risen since the death of Fedorem and the battle at the Escarpment. And once his relationship with Moiran was revealed and a blood-tie established with the Tamaell, with Thaedoren …

Colin stirred in his seat. Even he, an outsider, a human, realized the power over the Evant that Aeren would wield then.

“The sukrael and the Wraiths,” Aeren began. His voice was soft, but everyone in the chamber stirred. “We have all suffered from their attacks since before the Escarpment, since before Khalaek’s betrayal of our people to the Wraith called Walter. Those attacks continue to plague us, the sukrael randomly taking lives within each of our Houses, attacking villages and towns, caravans and traders, sometimes destroying every living thing within a wide radius, every man, woman, child, and animal, their lives drained away, their bodies left where they fell. They ravage our lands, spreading out from the Ostraell forests as their power grows, as the Wraiths continue to awaken the sarenavriell that bind the Shadows. Lotaern, the Chosen of the Order of Aielan, has scoured the Scripts and used its knowledge of these creatures to train his warriors of the Flame to defend against them, but as we have all seen, those defenses are minimal.”

At this, Lotaern rose in indignation. “The Order of the Flame has done everything in its power to stop these creatures! If not for the Flame, their attacks on Lord Saetor’s lands would have been disastrous! They would have decimated the city of Touvaris at the edge of the Ostraell!”

Grumbles of agreement shot through the chamber, but Aeren overrode them all. “And what is the situation now?” he demanded. “The Order of the Flame has a permanent presence in Touvaris. They patrol its borders with Saetor’s Phalanx, using their powers and the Flames of Aielan to keep the sukrael at bay.”

“And the sukrael are at bay.”

“Barely. All that you have achieved is protection of one land at the sacrifice of another. The sukrael don’t care about land or buildings or crops. They care only for life. They shifted their attention elsewhere, so while Touvaris lies protected by the Flame, they attack House Redlien, or Licaeta, or roam out onto the dwarren plains attacking our trade routes. And as their power grows, as their Wraiths continue to awaken the sarenavriell and expand their territory, the Order of the Flame is spread thinner and thinner and becomes less and less effective. You have already split the force to cover Licaeta’s lands, those closest to the Ostraell. I know you have been discussing the use of the Flame in Lord Jydell’s lands. How many warriors do you have in the Order, Chosen? Are there enough to cover all of the Houses, all of the Alvritshai borders?”

Lotaern’s jaw worked for a long moment, his eyes blazing with anger, back stiff. “No,” he finally said, the word low and grudging. “More warriors of the Flame are being trained as we speak, but there are not enough to protect all of our lands, all of our people.”

Aeren nodded. “More warriors of the Flame should be trained, because the threat of the sukrael and the Wraiths is real. I meant no disrespect for the Order, and I-along with every lord present-am grateful for the protection that the Flame has provided from that threat so far. But we must be realistic. The protection the Flame offers will not be enough to cover us all. Not if the sukrael continue to grow in power and the lands they can hunt expand. We need something more. We need something stronger.”

“What?” Lord Saetor demanded, standing abruptly, one hand pressed forward onto his desk. “We have done everything within our power. What more do you propose we do?”

Colin rose, even as Aeren turned toward him. Every gaze settled on him as he moved forward, Aeren falling back as he took the center. He moved slowly, the butt of his staff thumping softly onto the marble floor. Tension escalated as he positioned himself before the Tamaell’s platform. A murmur ran through the room, and from the corner of his eye he saw Saetor shove back from his desk. He couldn’t see Lotaern, but he knew the Chosen well enough he could imagine the frown that darkened his face. He had wanted to include Lotaern in the meeting with the Tamaell, to plan how they would present the proposal, but Aeren-and later, Thaedoren-had felt it better that they catch him unaware. They didn’t want to give him the opportunity to turn this proposal to the Order’s advantage. And after what he’d seen and heard since his return, he found he agreed with their fears. The Order had gained in power, had grown, had created its own Phalanx with the Flame. He could feel the weight of its presence even here, not just in Lotaern’s inclusion in the Evant, but in how the Flame had been used to infiltrate the Phalanx of at least two of the Houses. Those members of the Flame would have influence on the caitans of the Phalanx they were there to help, and those caitans could influence their lords.

But all of that political maneuvering was Aeren’s concern, not Colin’s. He only wanted to stop the Shadows and their attacks, and keep the Wraiths from destroying what the Alvritshai, dwarren, and human races had managed to build over the last hundred years here on the plains of Wrath Suvane.

Whether the Alvritshai agreed to it or not.

Raising both arms, he pulled back his hood as he said, “I have a solution.”

A gasp of recognition echoed through the chamber, immediately followed by outcries of shock, of awe or derision, even a few curses. Colin didn’t flinch, kept his gaze locked on the Tamaell’s expressionless face, on his dark green eyes. Thaedoren let the Evant’s outcry rise and fall, but before he could speak, Lord Peloroun-Colin would recognize the lord’s sneering voice anywhere-snapped, “You have a solution? What of your promise to stop the Wraiths from awakening new Wells? What of your assurances that you could halt the spread of the territory the sukrael could control? Why should we listen to you when none of your promises before this have been fulfilled?”

A few other lords barked agreement, but everyone quieted when Thaedoren stood, anger flaring across his face. “We will listen because of the debt that we owe Shaeveran after his actions at the Escarpment. Without him, without his intervention, the armies of the Provinces would have slaughtered us all.” His gaze latched onto Peloroun’s. “You know this, Peloroun. You were there. You fought King Stephan’s men, know that they were out for blood, that nothing short of an order from their king could have stopped them. And Shaeveran convinced their king to give that order.”

Peloroun leaned back, but the heat in his eyes didn’t abate. “Yes, I was there. I remember.”

Thaedoren’s eyes narrowed at the disrespect that still tinged Peloroun’s voice. “Then let him speak.”

Colin waited until Thaedoren glanced toward him and nodded, then turned toward Peloroun directly. “I had intended to stop the Wraiths from awakening the Wells, but I’ve discovered that would not be in the best interests of either the Alvritshai or the dwarren.”

A low murmur rose. Peloroun scowled.

A low throb of anger pulsed through Colin, warmed his blood. “Since the Escarpment, I have battled the Shadows and the Wraiths. I have traveled these lands in search of them, in search of the Wells that they seek to awaken, using the information gleaned from your own Scripts, given to me by your Chosen. I’ve fought to the heart of forests, to the depths of mountains, to swamps and ancient ruins, all in an attempt to stop the Wraiths from awakening any more of the sarenavriell. And I have the scars to prove it!” He shucked back the sleeves of his robes and exposed his arms, exposed the black mottling that marred his skin, like ink, trapped beneath the surface, pooling and shifting and swirling back and forth. The lords gasped, drew back at the sight, most whispering to each other as he turned so that all could see, even as his own stomach roiled in revulsion. He did not rip open the robes to expose his body, where the hideous black marks scored his chest, shoulders, and back. All of the damage done during his attempts to stop Walter and the other Wraiths at the few Wells he and Lotaern had managed to discover. Every moment spent near the Lifeblood contained within those Wells made the stains upon his skin grow, the Wells themselves eating away at his soul, altering him inexorably.

“This is what I have suffered for your protection!” he roared, holding up his arms. “This is what I’ve done to help you!”

“And yet you have achieved nothing,” Peloroun spat.